#also comparing our weight all the time? when i was lighter than her i remember feeling like i did crack it was genuinely concerning

[just-a-queer-fanboy]

Torn between wanting to relapse and refusing to because in like half convinced my ex might have been kind of turned on by my restricting and that fucking scares me

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 2: Into the Deep // Ch. 10

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 3,500+

⚠️ Warning ⚠️: Mature Content

Masterlist

————————

“This is Triton’s schedule!?” You can’t help but shout out as you are handed the schedule from the butler. Astronomy, Literature, Human History, Mythology, Business, Sword Fighting, Seahorse Riding, The list seemed to go on and on. How could the boy think or even breathe with all of this on his mind?

“Thank you. That’s all for now.” You tell the butler with a sigh as you put the sheet down on the desk, right next to the other stacks of paperwork you had yet to deal with.

It’s been 3 weeks, 3 long and grueling weeks, since your meeting with Scylla. During that time, you have been busy. Not only from etiquette classes and paperwork but also with managing your survival plan.

Yes, a survival plan. You, at first, didn’t want a survival plan—it just didn’t seem that useful—But, after meeting Scylla and learning more, you decided one was absolutely crucial. After all, even in your protected manor, Amphitrite was still a huge threat. Not only just to you either.

With the butler now long gone, you reach down to the last draw of your desk and pull out a couple of sheets of paper. Pieces of paper that laid a simple rough draft of the plan.

So far, you had a Plan A and a Plan B.

Plan A seemed simple. It was to get Amphitrite kicked out of the palace but that was far from as simple it seemed. You thought Poseidon would be rushing to divorce the woman, He hated her after all, But he wasn’t. Working at snail pace was more like it.

“…It seems he needs some sort of push to get her out…” You mumble to yourself as you update a couple of things on the paper. It seemed you would have to come back to this plan later. “…Perhaps I should learn more about Poseidon….”

You quickly shake that idea out of your head. Not a chance. You felt bad for the guy but you weren’t about to become all buddy buddy with him just yet.

“Now as for Plan B…”

Plan B was a lot harder. Plan B was to get Poseidon and Triton to actually have a decent father-son relationship. You, at first, tried having Triton’s schedule free for the past three weeks in hopes Poseidon would stop by. Perhaps to check up on the child now that Amphitrite is gone. But, that was again a wrong guess on your part.

“What to do… I have to at least put one of these plans in soon. It’s not like I can continue ignoring the elephant in the room.” You groan to yourself as you lean back in the chair. On top of your survival plans not working, you had recently discovered that Hermes—who was stopping by a lot—was secretly relaying information to Zeus and the other gods. It seemed they were checking in to see how your progress with seducing Poseidon was going. “I have to kick out Amphitrite sooooon if I want to save myself from facing Zeus’ wrath or, much worse, getting married to Poseidon.”

As you whine to yourself at your bad luck, you miss the door opening as someone sneakily slips in.

“What to do… what to do…” You whine to yourself as you massage your temples, “I have to figure this out soon or—“

Instantaneously, you are cut off as something comes jumping up onto your stomach. Almost knocking you off your chair.

“Huh?” You choke out as you see the familiar head of gold leaning against your chest. His body is smooshed against you as he sits on your lap. Seeming to try to get as close as possible to you, “T-Triton?”

At your call, Triton’s head lifts up to look at you.

“Hello mom!” He says with a smile. A smile that seemed to instantly brighten up the room and your mood. Your depressing thoughts now long forgotten.

However, like everything in the world, things can’t last forever.

“Whatcha looking at mom?” Triton asks as he leans towards the desk to take a look, bringing you back to reality. Casually, well to the best of your ability, you grab a couple of papers and cover them just enough so that Triton couldn’t read them.

“Oh, just paperwork, Triton.”

Surprisingly, Triton seems to perk up at that, “Like what? I bet I can help. Is it finances? Party planning? Invitations? Wages? Fa—“

Quickly, you cut the boy off. “It’s fine, Triton. I don’t need help. Why don’t you go play instead? It looks like a nice day out.”

You are surprised at how Triton lets out a loud huff. Seeming displeased with your suggestion. Unsure of what to do, you sit there frozen. Was it something you said?

“It’s…” Triton mumbles under his breath, the rest of the sentence he mumbles you can’t hear, and you are forced to ask him to repeat. He seems to pause for a moment, seeming hesitant to repeat before finally doing so, “It’s not the same without you….”

“Oh, Triton…” You cood out as you rub the boy’s head, trying to console the boy. A pit of guilt settled in your stomach as you remember that you haven’t spent a lot of time with the boy recently. Especially with being busy and all. “Well…”

You pause as you take a look at the giant stack of paperwork. Could you even leave in the first place with all these things that still need to be done?

If only there was a way to spend time with Triton and get some of the work done at the same time…

As you scan the desk and room for ideas, it suddenly hits you.

“Well. How about you and I pick out your lesson plans?” You suggest to the boy as you reach across the desk and pick up the schedule. The giant scroll-like paper slightly unravels as you loosely hold it in a singular hand.

“Lesson plans?” Triton asks confused as he tilts his head slightly to the side. “Wouldn’t it just be the same as it was before?”

“Not a chance!” You accidentally shout out before catching yourself. Shit, you didn’t mean to raise your voice like that. “This is too much for a boy your age, even if you are god. We need to pick out a balanced schedule that gives you lessons to learn AND enough time to play or relax.”

“So I get to choose…?”

“Pretty much. I mean you would still need to take some classes that you wouldn’t like as some are needed to help you learn as a god. But, if there’s any unneeded classes we will just scrap it.”

.

..

…

“Aren't they all needed…?”

At Triton’s confusion, you can’t help but let out a sigh. Looks like there’s still a lot of work to go with helping this boy act and be happy like a kid his age.

“Not exactly. Here.” You grab onto Triton and lift the boy with you as you stand. “It's better to show you what I mean. Let’s go to each of the classes and pick them off one by one.”

“Ok!” Triton exclaims. His eyes wide and sparkly as he holds onto you, just happy to spend some time with you. Precious boy…

As you walk towards the door to leave, you can’t help but note that Triton felt lighter than usual. Had he possibly lost weight since he arrived? You did notice Triton had smaller portions of food compared to you at meal times. That wasn’t good for a growing boy…

“Seems like I’ll have to pay the chef and cooking staff a visit later…”

—.—.—.—.—

What a nice day, you can’t help but note as you stare up into the sea. Sea turtles and rays swimming high above as they make their way to their destinations.

You were currently standing in the empty grass field between the three manors. The same place you met Poseidon on the night you snuck out to find Triton.

Quickly, as the memory comes to mind, you shake it out of your head. That wasn’t important to you right now and that was because of one simple fact.

Today was Triton’s first day back at lessons. It had taken a lot of work and negotiation but you got the boy a healthy and balanced schedule. You honestly gave yourself a pat on the back once you were finished.

Though, on top of the schedule, you also pulled off another impossible stunt for yourself.

“Mom!”

You spin around as Triton comes sprinting over, books in his hands from his History lesson that just completed. You should tell the boy to slow down but you can’t find it in you to do so. Instead, kneeling down and opening your arms for the boy to jump into.

“Oof—“ You squeak out as you catch Triton, accidentally falling over on your back as you do so. You let out a loud laugh, too happy to even care that you embarrassingly fell over in front of some of the servants that travelled from manor to manor.

Triton didn’t seem to care either as his books were astrew all over the sea grass.

“I was so excited for our first lesson today, mom! It was so hard sitting still in the other classes.” Triton shouts out excitedly as he finally lifts himself off of you, allowing you to sit up.

That’s right. The impossible feat you did. You got your own taught class to be placed into Triton’s Schedule.

You called it “Humanity 101” but, in reality…

“Could we try playing kickball today? I saw a lot of human kids playing it down the street when I stayed at your place.” Triton asks excitedly as he looks through the bag of goodies you brought out.

…It was honestly just an excuse for you and Triton to spend time together with your ever so busy schedule.

“Of course we can play!”

Kickball… Soccer.. Board games… The days seem to fly by as you and Triton do your “classes” and before you know it a week has already gone by. Life is brighter during these days to the point that even the ever so plentiful paperwork doesn’t bother you. But, as you’ve learned in your time staying here many, many times, nothing is forever.

“S-Shit…” You mumble out anxiously under your breath as you attempt to distract yourself with the kickball in your hands. You were in the field yet again waiting for Triton to get out of class. The boy had mentioned yesterday as you walked him to sword practice that he wanted to play a simple game of catch for class the next day. But…

What in the world was this guy doing here?

Hesitantly, you shift your gaze over to Poseidon who stood a couple of feet away on the sidewalk. At first when you saw the male, you thought nothing of it. After all, he seemed to be passing through the area with a group of his attendees.

So, why did he stop? You can’t help but think as you quickly shift your gaze away from the male and back down towards the ground. You just didn’t understand why he dismissed his attendees and chose to stand there and watch you.

Well, he technically wasn’t watching you—His gaze was up to the sky—But, there was no doubt in your mind the guy stayed back for you. Could he perhaps be stalkin—

“Mom!”

Just in time.

You let out a sigh of relief as Triton came running over, just getting out of class. He seems to pick up on Poseidon’s presence, staring at his father for a little bit as he walks over, but chooses not to pay it too much attention. Instead, continuing to run up to you.

“Hello Triton—“ You freeze for a second as a shiver goes up your spine. What the hell? What was this nasty feeling… It felt like you had just been thrown in some sort of ice bath.

As you spin around to see what was causing you to feel this way, you almost instantly figure out why. Poseidon was now staring down at his phone, seeming to have gotten a text message or something, and you could tell he wasn’t in the brightest mood from it either. You could practically feel the blood lust from where you were standing.

“You better not take it out on me…” You grumble underneath your breath, instantly regretting it as Poseidon’s gaze shifts up to glare at you. He couldn’t have heard you… right?

However, you weren’t take any chances this time and turned your attention to Triton. Trying to make it seem that Poseidon accidentally heard something.

“Now. Why don’t we get started? I’ll stand about a few feet away and you—“ Your voice trails off at the end as you stare down at your hands. Your empty hands. Where did the kickball go? You just had it— “Ack!”

You couldn’t believe your eyes as you looked, a gasp, at the kickball that was held… in Poseidon’s hands. How did that fucker…

Actually, never mind, you should have realized before that Poseidon was clearly fast as he was not only a god but also, right in front of you, leaped a large distance to stop that jellyfish that tried to kill you.

“Mom, Are we going to play?” Triton blinks innocently up at you, pure puppy eyes that awaited the game of catch that he wanted to play. Shit, you can’t just allow Poseidon to keep the ball now.

“I-I’ll be right back.” You anxiously tell the Triton as you leave his side. Making your way over to Poseidon. You honestly felt like you were the sacrificial lamb approaching the big bad bully of the playground. Except this time, Poseidon wasn’t just a bully picking on you but an all powerful god that could literally snap you in half with his pinky if he so pleased.

“H-He—“ You don’t even get past the greeting to Poseidon before he grabs the back of your head. Holding you still with one hand and the Kickball in the other, Poseidon started to practically curse you out with god knows what. Honestly, it was just a spew of curses along with your name and other things.

However, across the field, what seemed terrifying to you was way different to someone else.

As Triton observes the scene in front of him, he gets even more confused. In Triton’s point of view, he didn’t pick up on your nervous clammy hands or anxious shifting as being something from Poseidon’s glare. He honestly didn’t even pick up on the fact his father was glaring, he just thought that it was his usual stare.

To him, it looked like you two were chatting as his father held the back of your head. Seeming to tease you as he held the stolen kickball away in his other. But… his father doesn’t tease. He doesn’t even joke around. So, what was going on?

Staring… Clammy Hands… Nervousness… Physical Touch…

Triton lets out a small gasp as a thought hits him. It can’t be true, Triton couldn’t believe it.

His mom and father…

were in love.

He didn’t want to believe it but the evidence was all there. If watching any of those cheesy romance movies taught him anything, it was to identify the signs of falling in love.

At any minute, they look like they could possibly ki…

Triton’s face blushes up at the thought. He just couldn’t believe it. Does this mean mom is now his real real mom?

Triton perks up at the thought. That would be awesome.

“I’ll help you, mom…” Triton mumbles underneath his breath as he looks determined up at you two. He will help you two just like how Uncle Zeus was helping you. Like….What do humans call it…? A wingman. Yeah, he would be your wingman.

“Father! Mom!” At Triton’s shout, it was then that Poseidon finally stopped his heavy train of insults. Oh, Thank goodness for Triton…

“I realized I have to go see one of my teachers for something. Why don’t you guys go play instead?”

You feel yourself choke at Triton’s words. What was he saying?! However, before you can even ask the boy, He was long gone. Leaving you and Poseidon alone, with a grip still on the back of your head.

This was a nightmare for you. Poseidon still looks like he wants to kill you at any moment.

“What a pain.” Poseidon grumbles out under his breath, sending shivers up your spine. You know what… Screw Plan A and B. You now have Plan C, worrying about Poseidon’s constant mood changes so he doesn’t kill you in a fit of rage.

“Hey… why don’t we talk thiS— Eep!” You are cut off as Poseidon picks you up. Instead of his usual hold, he throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You just wished Poseidon knew you could keep up with him perfectly fine so he didn’t have to keep picking you up like this. “Where…Where are we going?”

Silence.

Well, at least he wasn’t angry at you anymore, you think with a sigh as you relax into Poseidon’s hold. Accepting your fate as there was no way to possibly escape from him.

Gods… any of them except Poseidon. Please… help…

—.—.—.—.—

“Oooo…” Triton lets out as he peeps from around the corner. His gaze trained to his father back as he left carrying you.

“I didn’t know father could be so romantic.”

“…Hmm? Triton?”

Triton feels himself jump slightly at the voice behind him. Spinning around, he expected to be caught by some sort of maid or teacher but instead, it was someone else.

“Uncle Zeus? Hermes? And…” Triton’s gaze trails over the third person, “Aunty Aphrodite?”

“Hello dear Triton. It’s been a while~” Aphrodite coos out at the boy in front of her. Slightly leaning down to fondle his cheeks. “Goodness me…Look at how much you’ve grown.”

“T-Thank you.” Triton chokes out with a blush, “I-Uh. W-What are you all doing here?”

Zeus can’t help but chuckle out at the nervous attitude of his nephew. Still ever so shy in front of women it seemed. “I apologize for the surprise visit but we are here to see (y/n).”

“See mom…?” Triton questions out as he looks back and forth between the three. He could understand why Zeus or perhaps Hermes was here to see you but, why Aphrodite?

“Ohh~, I’ve brought a couple of gifts for your mother.” Aphrodite explains with a coy smile as she shows Triton a lidded box.

“Really? What sort of—“ Hermes instantly grabs onto Triton as he attempts to check under the lid of the box. “Huh? Hermes?”

“It’s…It’s specifically for Lady (Y/n), Master Triton.” Hermes answers vaguely as Aphrodite and Zeus laugh at the funny moment that just occurred. That was a close one.

“Specifically for mom?”

Calming herself down, Aphrodite explains more clearly, “It’s women's clothes for your mother. Ones that…Oh Goodness, your father can only see.”

“Ohhhh… Ok.” Triton answers, even if he still doesn’t understand. “Well, Mom just left with dad.”

At this Zeus chokes and Aphrodite almost drops the box, Seemingly shocked at what Triton just said. Even Hermes was startled but he still, somehow, keeps a cool head and quickly hides his reaction.

“What do you mean by that Master Triton?” Hermes asks for an alaberation as the other two nod. Thinking they were simply misunderstanding something like Poseidon giving paperwork to you compared to you two actually hanging out.

“Well, Dad stole the ball from mom to tease her.” Hermes and the others feel themselves freeze at Triton’s words. Poseidon…Teasing a human? “So, mom walked over and they started talking… No, flirting with each other.”

“Flirting?” Zeus asks, surprised as he strokes his beard. He would usually take others' words with a grain of salt as they could perhaps be lying but, this was Triton. The boy has probably never even lied in his entire life.

“Yeah, so I decided to leave to give them some space and after I’m gone, I was actually hiding around the corner here, Father picks mom and throws her over his shoulder. They walked that way so… I think they are heading to father’s manor.”

“Oh, Isn’t Amphitrite out today…?” Zeus chuckles out, a nasty thought filtering into his brain. Could they possibly be going to do…

“A-Aunty Aphrodite?” Triton chokes out cautiously, catching Zeus’ attention.

“Oh ho ho. Be careful, Aphrodite. You are scaring the boy.” Zeus says, not exactly meaning his words as he reprimands the woman. Knowing that from how she was crushing the box in her hands and how hard she was biting her lip that she was too lost in her nasty thoughts to even listen.

“H-How Scandalous!” Aphrodite squeals out as she clutches the box to her chest, seeming to grow faint from all her excitement, “Zeus, I need your opinion on this. Could they possibly be—“

Triton’s hearing is instantly blocked off by Hermes as Aphrodite and Zeus continue to talk. The younger boy looks up at his cousin in confusion but doesn’t say anything. The only thought running in his mind being.

Why was Hermes' face turning so red?

Author Note: very Quick author note before I forget. Hahah this was kind of a messy funny chapter so I hope people still enjoyed this one. I wanted a fun moment of misunderstanding to help join into the next chapter thursday. Where Chapter 11 will pick up back with Poseidon and Reader. Also R.I.P Triton. Feel bad for putting my baby through meeting Aphrodite.

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq @sproutcorner @orophaea @anime-lover-forever-1127 @fortuna-stella @icy-spicy

[saturatedboy]

Hai! I have another request ( if it's okay ) can you do a donna x fem pirate reader where Donna is just wondering around with Angie when she found a portal to another dimension that leads to a beach where the reader's ship is alongside the shore then they went to inspect it but ended up being caught by the crew and brought her to the captain of the ship ( which is the reader )

Donna Beneviento X F!Reader

Quick talk, this will be in two parts. I missed some of your idea to keep for the next part because I had ended up getting caught in writing this that I completely forgot to check through the request again. My deepest apologise for that but I promise to have the next part up soon.

Part 2- https://saturatedboy.tumblr.com/post/657437883445166080/donna-beneviento-x-fempiratereader

Requests: Open

Words: 3k

The fragrance of sugar and chocolate had diffused around the small room. Sat back in her chair was none other that Lady Beneviento, Donna. Brining the china cup up to her slightly chapped lips, she sipped the Earl Grey tea and sighed in delight as the steaming liquid ran down into her stomach system. Gently placing her cup down, she looked to the other side of the small round table that was surrounded by nature's plants. At the other end was Angie, the doll, chewing down on some Victorian sponge cake. Donna raised her dainty hand to her lips to hide the small smile that had sketched itself onto her face. Keeping her lips pursed together, she held in the chuckle that threatened to escape from Angie having some icing around her mouth. Pushing the chair out, the metal scraping amongst the wooden floor, Donna had raised herself out from her chair and walked over to Angie, picking up a napkin that was settled in the middle of the table.

Making her way towards Angie, she took the doll's head within her hand and dapped at the white smooth icing that had coated her mouth. "I know you can't feel but please do try to be careful when eating." Donna spoke softly, folding the used napkin up and placing it next to Angie's now finished plate.

"Yeah yeah, I know. But now we have had our afternoon tea, I think it's time for an adventure!" Gliding up from her own chair this time, which was stacked with books so Angie could reach the table when sat, the doll had grabbed it's toymakers hand and whooshed out through the many corridors.

"Angie, I wasn't finished with my drink," The whine came from Donna's mouth, her veil flying behind her unmasked  face as she tried her best to keep up with her doll's quick speed when flying. Angie however completely ignore the cries of Donna and dragged her to he front of the manor by the cloak rack. A stern look had edged its way onto Donna's features as she was still upset about her tea going cold.

"I will make you more after a walk in the woods!" Angie swirled herself around the cloak rack and grabbed a black cloak for Donna to ear. Twirling herself around Donna, Angie placed the cloak on and tied the front into a bow. "There now lets go!" Donna shook her head slowly and flipped her veil over her face, only to follow Angie out of the manor, still wishing she could of finished her cup of tea.

"10 green bottles on a wall...10 GREEN BOTTLES ON A WALL!" Donna mentally screamed in her head as she listened to Angie scream. Although her behaviour would be accepted in the manor, Donna was very against of any attention outside her territory, which to her was mostly the manor.

"Angie, please keep it down a little," She whispered, closing her eyes as she followed the familiar path through her woods. Angie groaned loudly and dropped her arms to place weight onto her float. She let her eyes turns about as she started to spin in the air to give herself entertainment since she wasn't allowed to be loud.

"Spinning I am, spinning indeed." Angie talked to herself as she continued spinning, completely unaware of Donna having her eyes closed behind her veil as she herself was subconsciously following Angie's voice. As Angie was spinning, being unaware of her surroundings, she came connected to a rather large tree that had branches sprouting far and wide. "OW!" She screeched, altering Donna of the sudden pain. Donna opened her eyes and hurried towards Angie who was now sat on the dirt floor looking up at what she knocked into. "WOAH!" She cried out as she was back up floating around the large trunk. "When were you going to tell me you have a huge tree!?" She questioned Donna, circling around the trunk once and gliding towards Donna to settle onto her shoulder.

"I...didn't." Much just like Angie, Donna was also curious about the tree. She knew her territory like the back of her hand and she was more than sure that this tree had just came out of nowhere. Kneeling down onto the slightly soggy dirt, she inspected the large roots that were coted in a slimy orange substance. Dragging a finger through the slime, she fiddled with it between her index and thumb. "How strange, I haven't seen anything like this before."

"Oooooo maybe it's magic!" Angie threw her hands wide, her head doing a full 360 as she wriggled herself about on Donna's shoulder. Donna wiped the substance off her fingers onto the ground, pulling herself back onto her feet as she stared through her black veil at the now growing orange. "Erm Donna, what did you do?" Angie asked, watching as the orange had sprouted its way higher up the tree from the roots, to the trunk and so on, accompanied by a slight rumbling erupting from what sounded like inside the trunk.

"I have no idea Angie!" Shielding herself and Angie with her hands by crouching and hugging Angie close, Donna closed her eyes as the orange glow grew lighter and brighter in colour, changing into a warm white. She felt her body became much warmer as her head began to spin. Not knowing what was going on, she felt the faint touch of breeze brushing through her cloak. Letting herself fall onto her side, Angie still in grasp, Donna curled around and let whatever was going on to happen.

"-off mine. Go scrub the lower decks Decker."

"And why should I! I was only takin' a look!" Donna groaned as she felt the sudden feel of sickness wash over her body. She curled tighter as she felt like her body was swaying side to side. Trying to pride her eye open, she was met with the once darkness she had remember seeing from when she was first experimented on with the Cadou. A deep feeling of fear washed over her

"Because I'm the captain and you don't want to make the Captain angry now do ya boy?" Donna's fear increased at the sound of the voice. It was dripping in venom and threats that even she felt frightened of. The voice wasn't familiar either and the accent was one she hadn't heard before, Donna could've swore she knew everyone from the village, even the small children that had wished to see her to make flowers crowns with her when the festivals would be around.

"No ma'am-"

"Captain Decker. I am your Captain. Now off ye go boy before I get Slasher on ya. Beat it." The noise of heavy footprints had sped past Donna's head as she kept still, trying to keep her breathing to a minable. As far as she was now aware, whoever this captain was should be the only person left with her- wait no. Angie....where was Angie? More heavy footprints has walked past her head but whoever this pair has stopped right next to her head. Donna kept still on her side, not daring to even open her eyes in fear her veil may not be covering her face.

Silence was between all of them.

...

"I know you're awake~" The same voice, the Captain's voice this time was right above her ear making Donna squirm under the heat that came from the mouth. Shaking in anticipation, Donna shot her upper body up and pulled her knees to her chest, feeling small against the new person she has came in contact with. Looking up and keeping her eyes wide, she was in complete utter shock. In front of her stood a rather tall woman. Above average height she would compare her height to. Her hair was knotted, having a large Tricorn hat with a white feather place amongst the small nest of hair. A wide grin with small sharp teeth was scarred on the face of the female. She stood tall, a sword hanging from her hip with a long tail coat in white covered her body mostly with the front being open wide. Underneath the tail coat was a white waist coat, hugging the figure perfectly. White tights were worn with brown boots that reached the knee area. Donna's mind flicked to one word and one word only,

Pirate. Just like in the many stories she had read to Angie in the past. In front of her was a pirate, and a good looking one too in her eye. "Say there lassie, ye a long way from home ain't ya?" She spoke loudly, a chuckle rumbling her chest as she stared down at Donna. Donna was beyond speechless, did she transport world? Pirates were made up stories, they belonged in a book but the tree....the tree.

"Donnaaaaaaa," A satisfied sigh left Donna's mouth as she heard the familiar voice of her partner in crime. Looking around her space trying to find where she was, Donna saw blue the surrounded the scratch wood she was on. Looking back at the female pirate, she saw behind her an upper deck that had led to a steering wheel with a large male behind it with a pipe in his mouth. Looking behind herself, Donna saw the bow of what she now knew to be a ship. A sudden grip wrapped itself around Donna's back, a giggle escaping from whoever it was. "Donna we can be pirates! Oh this is a wonderful adventure!" Angie screamed out, squeezing herself under Donna's left arm to hug her from the front instead. Beneviento looked down at Angie, who now had a small hat on top of her grey veil.

"Angie, oh Angie." Donna huffed out as she hugged her doll close, being glad she was safe and not a single scratch on her.

"Gotta say, she's quite the hyper character ain't she. Pretty tough when up against Slasher as well. My mutt was gonna take a swig at 'er head there" Donna glared at the female pirate, feeling invaded and insulted that she would call Angie out on her character so easily like that.

"And you're just a...just a..." Donna threw her head to look back at Angie failing to come up with an insult to fend Angie's honour.

"Don't mind her, she's just head over heels for cute girls like yourself," Donna flicked Angie's head at her sudden words. Donna was sure she wasn't interested in fictional characters. Donna preferred to be clean, not like a pirate who would stay in the dirt and drink beer till they pass out inly to want a 'good time' when it was for their own personal needs. The thought of even dating a pirate sent shivers up her spine.

"I ain't no cute girl, I prefer the words dare devil or even maybe sexy~" The female flirted back, staring directly at Donna. Donna let go of Angie and stood up, her shy demeanour was long gone. She crossed her arms over her chest and threw her veil up not daring to take such immature behaviour from the other. The other had gasped, but not in shock but rather like she had just found treasure.

"Sexy isn't a word to describe such yourself- gosh I don't even know your name."

The pirate smirked, leaning their arm on the grip of their word as she lightly leaned back on her knee. She licked her teeth and smiled peevishly. "The name's (Y/n), however on the sea 'ere the name's Captain Silver-ring." Donna grimaced at the sudden outtake of the 'Captain Silver-ring's hand. She softly knocked it away from herself with her own hand and tutted, Angie watching from the side lines next to a rather buff dog which had seated itself on top of a barrel.

"I prefer it if you didn't touch me (Y/n). Contact by others isn't something I'm much used to." The quick explanation from Donna had created a head tilt from the Captain. She way beyond confused, what was a lassie doing dressed in full black even doing on her boat. Everyone in the area knew that contact was the only quick way to gain any booty, either by stealing or by taking- totally not the same.

The captain slowly nodded her head, a finger drumming on her cheek. "Okay, so ye on my boat with no thoughts of getting any of me treasure? Who are you working for? The Wooden Boot? Maybe you're a stealer for the Crow's Eye. I always knew she would try take me booty." Angie laughed out-loud drawing the attention of all the sailors on board the ship, even Donna.

"She said booty!" Donna covered her eyes slightly, feeling embarrassed. Her she was, a new world with new people and she may end up dying here. Great...just great.

"So if ye not 'ere to steal me booty, why are you 'ere then?" (Y/n) asked suspiciously as she then began to circle Donna, making her feel smaller than ever. Under the intense glare that (Y/n) gave out, Donna could only whimper slightly until the same light headed feeling came back to her just like before she came to be transported here.

"I don't know, I just somehow got here." Donna mumbled, letting herself drop to her knees with her head hung down. (Y/n) waited and stared at Donna, only getting bright eyes when she signalled everyone off top deck. Hurried feet ran down below, leaving just the captain, Donna, Angie and Slasher on top as night began to roll in.

"I never got ye name," (Y/n) said, kneeling down but keeping distance away from Donna after remembering she didn't like contact.

"I'm lady Beneviento-"

"A LADY! Oh my gosh, Where are my manners." Donna raised a brow as she lifted her head, it swirling around a bit, and watched as (Y/n) bowed.

"My Lady Beneviento-" A quiet gasp came from Donna's mouth. Never in her life was she ever called by 'my'- it was oddly comforting.  "-I am Captain Silver-Ring, name belonged to me mother who used to be the greatest pirate of all times. I am in her place as Captain of the white vessel, I strive to find the treasure she never found."

Angie began to bounce up and down, the sudden energy that surrounded them all made her giddy- especially the loudness of (Y/n)'s voice. "An what is that treasure?!" Angie asked excitedly, seemingly slightly affected by the same feeling of Donna with the light headedness as she would use her hands to steady herself straight.

"Well, it's simple- kinda." Donna waited for an answer, her vision slightly blurring as she looked up at the Captain who was now on two feet. Swinging her sword out, she raised it high as the sunset light had bounced off the silver blade. "And that is to find the perfect woman to be with forever!"

Just like she was hit with cupid's arrow, Donna fell suddenly to the ground and felt the same sickness run over her body. She dropped in temperature as she held tightly onto the cloak that covered her body. Closing her eye, she sucked her lips in and bit on them to keep her mouth shut. She didn't feel like throwing up t the moment, gosh no but the burning sensation building up in her stomach would want to beg her to.

Voices rang about in her mind as she curled once again. Letting ridged breaths out through her nose, she no longer smelt the salt that had clogged her nose when she was on that ship. Instead a smell of pine and mud filled her senses. Staying laying down, Donna waited until she felt like she could move and not throw up. Expecting when she opened her eye to be faced with the cocky smirk of the pirate, she was surprised to find Angie- without a pirate hat- looking down at her. "Looks like we are back home." She said, letting herself glide up into the air.

Donna closed her eye and re-opened it. Indeed this was her home. The smell of the mud was familiar to know. Pushing herself up, light headed still evidence within her mind, she watched as Angie looked behind her. "Ya know, that was quiet the adventure. I think we should do it again tomorrow!" Angie exclaimed as she pointed at something. Following her finger, Donna looked behind herself to realise the tree that had gotten themselves into that mess was still there.

"I think I'll skip." Donna said, letting herself lay in the mud. Angie hovered right over Donna, looking down at her with a smirk.

"Too afraid to face Captain Silver-ring?" She teased, wagging her finger at Donna making fake kissing noises. Donna scrunched up mud in her hand and threw it at Angie who laughed in returned. With slightly rosy cheeks, Donna protested against the idea of seeing the Captain again. "Okay okay...maybe I'll show Lady Dimitrescu the tree! ooo I bet (Y/n) would love her. A lady who loves danger, how perfect their match would be."

For unknown reasons to herself, Donna couldn't help but scoff at the name of Dimitrescu. "You know what, I will go back tomorrow. Not like we have much to do anyway," Donna dragged out, her scowl still on her face. She wouldn't let Dimitrescu see her, oh no. She wouldn't allow it.

She found Captain Silver-Ring first, she shall be the one to see her again. "Is this you saying you love her~"

"Angie love is a strong word, one I'm sure Pirates don't use. I'm only going to gather more information- who knows maybe mother would like this tree." Donna bit her lip after her sentence. "Or- we just keep this tree to ourselves and leave it like that?" She questioned mostly herself but either way, Angie replied with a grin.

"Maybe we could help her find a lover and we could ask for information in return to give to Mother Miranda!"

"Yeah....lets do..that." As Angie floated away back to the Manor clearly excited for the next day, Donna stayed laid in the mud questioning herself. A sudden flash back of the Captain's grin came into her mind making her hit her cheeks. "No no Donna, you are a Lady. She is a Pirate. A really...really- awkwardly nice pirate." Closing her eye, Donna laid there silently enjoying the look of the Pirate in her mind on repeat. How weird- she was enjoying remembering the new Captain. A new world.

Her now favourite adventure.

[illfoandillfie]

A Different Kind of Education: I Is For Impact Play (Chapter 8)

ADKoE MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Series Summery:  After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Chapter Summery:   A new week and a new lesson, but also a new challenge. How can you possibly find the courage to talk to your professor about your period?

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, conversations about and mentions of menstrual cycles/periods, discussions of impact play including: spanking, kicking, slapping, punching, floggers, paddles, crops, whips, and canes

Words: 10,391

A/N: Better late than never, right? Big apologies for taking so long to get this one up! Once again I've had to split a single topic into multiple chapters lmao. This one is mostly the theory part of the lesson and a bit of an info dump, but the next part will focus more on the actual smut.

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini 

@80s-roger @libsterslobsters @okilover02 @cjand10 @dealorgirl32 @youngpastafanmug @onceuponadetectivedemigod​

You knew it was something you’d have to deal with eventually, that having your period would affect your lessons with Roger. But still you felt reluctant to broach the topic with him. It wasn’t something you generally discussed with people, especially not your professor (even if you were regularly sleeping with him). And you could already hear the lecture he’d give you about why you shouldn’t be embarrassed to tell your sexual partner about your cycle, and about how he’d taught reproduction enough to not be phased by it. The problem was you weren’t really sure how you felt about having sex during it and you knew even less about whether Roger would want to. You were definitely going to have to talk to him about it, no matter how much you didn’t want to. So, wondering when the best time to bring it up would be, you checked the curriculum he’d written for you. Impact play. That was the topic for the week. Roger might consider you clueless about kink (as you’d learnt during the previous week’s munch), but you at least knew enough to know that impact play meant spanking. For a moment you were distracted from your worries about the conversation you were going to have, rather excited by what you’d just read. Spanking was one of those things you’d been expecting to try. When you thought about BDSM, spanking was the second thing to come to mind after bondage. It was one of those things Dylan had hinted at being into. A couple of times during sex he’d given your arse a slap and, though you’d never really asked for it you also hadn’t told him to stop. He never hit too hard and it added a bit of excitement so there was no harm in it. And you suspected he might be interested in pushing it further if you ever suggested as much. So, to know that Roger was going to run you through the basics of it and show you how it felt, you couldn’t help but be a bit excited. And maybe you’d be able to keep things over the clothes to start and you wouldn’t have to tell Roger about your period after all. The good thing with having an implant was that it reduced the duration of your period. It would have been nice if it stopped it entirely but at least it shortened it and made it a little lighter. So maybe you could organise a second session later in the week for the more hands on part of the lesson, and not have to explain at all. You left your apartment feeling happier and excited to see Roger that night. But you didn’t have to wait so long to see him.  

You’d barely taken two steps inside when a familiar voice called out Ms Y/L/N and you found Roger walking towards you, his hand raised in a lazy wave.  “Hi Professor,” you smiled, surprised but happy to see him, “I’m just on my way to class, what’s up?”  “Oh, in that case,” he glanced over to a group of students ambling past you, “do you have time for a meeting before you leave this afternoon?”  Your heart rate sped up at the serious way he looked at you over his glasses, “Umm sure.”  “Good. I’ll see you this afternoon then. Don’t forget.”  You nodded but a new worry had taken over your mind. There was only one reason he could want to talk to you. Your degree. If it was anything to do with his tutoring sessions then he would have just said it when you got to his place that evening. No, it must be to do with your class work. Maybe something had been wrong with your last exam? Possibilities were turning over in your mind as you resumed your path to your first class, each worse than the other. Maybe you’d misunderstood a question and gotten it completely wrong. Maybe he’d had to fail you. Maybe your overall grade had dropped. Maybe he was going to call the whole tutoring thing off because you’d gotten too distracted and done so badly on your recent assessment. You spent the entire day trying not to get too worked up about it, trying to tell yourself that if your work had slipped even a little he would have called to talk about it earlier, that if it really was as bad as failing his subject you’d have discussed it long before now. By the time your last class of the day ended you were somewhere between terrified about what Roger was going to say and relieved that you were about to find out.  

Your hand was shaking as you knocked on Roger’s office door and pushed it open at his word.   “AH, Ms Y/L/N, shut the door please and take a seat.” he said, shifting a stack of papers to the side of his desk. It was only once you were sitting that he seemed to look at you properly, “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”  “Professor I’m so sorry, I swear if something was wrong with my last exam then it wasn’t because of our lessons and I promise I’m not letting them distract me at all. I put so much time and effort into studying and if-”  “Woah, woah, hang on. No one said anything was wrong.”  Your breath caught in your throat and it seemed to take you twice as long as it normally would for you to understand what he’d said, “There’s not? Then....why am I here?”  “It’s about tonight’s tutoring session.”  “Oh?”  “I wondered if you’d be okay making a small change to the plan.”  “S-so nothing's wrong with my work?”  Roger shook his head, “Your work is impeccable Ms Y/L/N. Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d assume the worst. I had no intention of worrying you like that. I was intending to mention it this morning but you seemed to be in a bit of a rush and I didn’t want anyone to overhear so...” he gestured vaguely towards you with his hands.   You let out a relieved chuckle, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders, “What was the change you wanted to make?”  “Do you know what we’ll be focusing on this week?”  “Impact play, Professor.”  “Very good. And do you know what that entails?”  “It’s like spanking isn’t it?”  “Spanking is definitely part of it, yes.”  “Cool. But you’re not wanting to switch topic are you? Only I’ve been kind of looking forward to this one since it’s like proper BDSM stuff....or like, not that other things aren’t I just mean that spanking is part of what I initially imagined, y’know?”  Roger held up his hand to quiet you, “I understand what you mean Ms Y/L/N. And it’s not that I want to change the topic, I just wanted to change where the lesson would take place.”  “Okay...” you were a little surprised by that. Where else could he have in mind when your lessons were supposed to be secret.  “I thought we might have the first lesson here.”  “Here?!”  “Keep your voice down, Ms Y/L/N. Not here exactly, not this office. In the first-year bio room actually.”  “Why? Isn’t that kind of risky? What if someone saw?”  Roger shrugged one shoulder, “It might be, but I think what I intend to show you could be covered as a biological experiment. Let me explain,” he said upon seeing your confused face, “So, as you no doubt remember, first years do a lot of dissection of various animals, working their way up to human.”  You nodded, remembering hours spent bent over various carcases and cadavers.  “Well, I thought it might be beneficial to show you some of the impact play tools we can use, demonstrating how they work and what effects they can have, but I don’t want to demonstrate them on you straight away. Luckily, it just so happens that one of the animals my first years are studying right now is pigs, so I thought we might use a pig carcass instead. Pig and human flesh are quite similar so you should get a decent sense of how being spanked with various tools will look and the impact they would have on your skin. We can compare being spanked by hand to flogging to a crop and so on. All without experiencing any pain at all. Of course, it is a dead pig so it won’t be exactly the same and you probably won’t see the same levels of bruising you would on a living human being, but it’s a good starting point. Plus this way you could try wielding the tools too, so you can get a sense for how they feel to use them and how much force is required to make them work.”  You were taken aback by the explanation and had to stop your jaw from falling open as you listened. But Roger waited patiently for you to think it over and you quickly concluded it was a good plan. You could easily write it off as related to your dissertation if anyone saw and asked what was going on. It wasn’t at all related but Roger was about the only person who knew what topic you were researching so no one else would pick up the lie.   “Okay then, let’s have the lesson here.”  “Excellent. You really don’t mind hanging back?”  “Not at all.”  “Good. I think we should possibly wait until a little later before we start, just to let the place clear out a bit. Perhaps we could get some dinner and eat it in here before we head down to the room. You can tell me how you’re getting on with your dissertation.”  “Okay, I like that idea.”  “Shall I duck out and get us some food then? What would you like?” 

After what could only be described as a minor argument about the merits of Mexican food, you and Roger eventually settled on a nearby Greek place. He tapped the order into Uber Eats and then went to wait for the delivery out on the street so the driver wouldn’t have to find their way through the numerous carparks and laneways on campus. You ducked out to your own car to drop off your bag full of books, though you kept your laptop to make notes on. It would also make your story seem more legitimate if anyone did stumble onto the lesson and ask what was going on. The thought of the lesson made you smile. Partly because you were keen to learn about the topic but also partly because you knew there was no way sex would be part of it. Roger would definitely draw the line at fucking his student in his classroom where anyone could catch you. And if you were going to be spanking a dead pig then you wouldn’t be asked to remove clothes or anything like that. So you wouldn’t have to discuss your menstrual cycle with Roger at all. You’d just say you were busy until later in the week when your period stopped and organise the follow-up lesson then and Roger wouldn’t be any the wiser. It was perfect. That, in addition to knowing nothing was wrong with your actual schoolwork, put you in a very good mood and you could have whistled with joy as you made your way back to Roger’s office.  

By the time you’d finished eating, the sky outside the window had changed from a mix of warm pinks and yellows as the sun set and was gradually darkening the longer you watched. It was only when Roger glanced at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to seven that he decided the building would be empty enough for your lesson to start. He grabbed his own laptop as you grabbed yours and then led you along the corridor and down a set of stairs, taking you towards the back of the building where the hands-on biology lessons were held.   Roger made sure the door was shut and locked before dumping his belongings onto a desk. “Can you give me a hand?” he asked, before moving to the door to a walk-in freezer at the back of the room.  Together you hoisted a large pig carcass onto a cart and wheeled it out into the main room.   Roger then ducked back into the freezer returning, after a little rummaging, with what looked to be a child’s toy crate. It was made of yellow plastic and seemed light enough that Roger had no trouble hoisting it onto one of the desks, but it was not full of children’s toys. You couldn’t see everything immediately but poking out of the top was a long black handle with a leather flap hanging off the end.   “Is that what we’ll be using then?” You were eyeing the box warily.  “Yup,” Roger began pulling the items from the box one by one, laying them out on the desk, “I brought the box in earlier and hid it down here so no one would stumble onto it. I didn’t want any awkward questions. Or to have any of them stolen since they’re mine,” he added with a chuckle.  You looked over the collection with interest, some of the objects familiar to you and some only vaguely recognisable, “Is that a hair brush?”  “It is,” Roger winked playfully, “Kink can be very D.I.Y and the back of a hairbrush makes for a good makeshift paddle. The front of the hairbrush can be fun too actually. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m going to go through everything individually, explain what they are and what sort of effect they have and I’ll demonstrate them on our piggy participant. There’s also a few things I don’t have which we can run through at the end, sound good?”  “Sounds great.” You sank into one of the nearby seats, pulling your laptop towards you, ready to take notes.   “Right well. Impact play is a BDSM practice where one partner strikes another for sexual gratification. As you rightly said earlier this includes spanking but there's a little more to it than just that. You can slap your partner, punch them, kick them, whip them or flog them. There’re numerous ways to play with impact and as with all BDSM it’s important to negotiate what you want before you start. Being struck can leave marks of course. Brusies, welts, scratches, right through to cuts that draw blood. For some people, the marking aspect is an important part of their enjoyment, and they might go so far as to intentionally make the marks more apparent. But whether or not you want visible marks might be influenced by your job or the season or your social life or any number of other things. Personally, the marks are secondary to why I enjoy the forms of impact play I partake in. But my feelings aside, the nature of our lessons and the secrecy required, means I won’t intentionally be marking you anywhere that isn’t easy to cover up. If you even want to try it out. You might see everything today and decide it’s not for you and that would be okay.”  “I don’t think there’s much danger of that Roger. Dylan’s spanked me a little before and I’m interested enough to try more.”  “In that case then, you should know that physical pain is part of impact play no matter what aspect you try. And it can bring up more mental pain too, depending on the individual. Which is why I want to start with testing some implements on this pig. We can go through a few things and you’ll get a sense of them and then we can talk about what you might actually want to try or if any of it seems wrong for you. I’m also going to be much more diligent with your safe word in these lessons than any before. So what is your safe word?”  “Pizazz, Roger,”  “Good. Remember you can use it whenever you need to, even today. If things get too much for you I want to know.”  “I know. I promise I’ll use it.” You were struck by how serious Roger’s tone was but understood it, after the conversation you’d had during your previous lesson. And, for the first time, you wondered if this would be a topic Roger would find hard to teach.  “Thank you. I’ll check in with you every so often, especially when we move onto the practical lesson and you’re experiencing it firsthand. So, if I ask you what your safe word is, I need you to respond as loudly and as quickly as you can. It’s a way for me to gauge how well you’re coping and to make sure you’re still capable of using it.”  “That makes sense.”  Having assured himself of your understanding, Roger took a deep breath and smiled again, “Well, I have a range of different implements you can use here today but we’ll start with the most basic,” he held his two hands in front of him, palms towards you, fingers wiggling, “Hands.”  You smiled at his showmanship but your gaze lingered on the offered view. His hands had always seemed quite lovely, even when he was just teaching you biology. The way they moved so delicately as he demonstrated necessary scientific processes for the class, or rapidly twirled pens around his fingers to impress new students. Of course, you’d felt them too since you’re first private lesson, the way he caressed you and held you. His fist tightening in your hair and his fingers plunging into you and making you moan and the way he’d gently stroke your skin as you were both regaining your breath. You were excited to feel the power in them as he spanked you.   “Spanking is entry level impact play. Everyone and their mother has heard of it. It’s a common thing to see in pornography and even in Hollywood movies when they want to show sex as kinky. And because you don’t need more than your hands it’s easy to experiment with. Do you want to see what it looks like?”  You nodded and Roger stepped closer to the pig, angling himself so you could see.   Suddenly there was the sound of a clap as Roger’s palm hit the pig’s flesh.   “See how my hand was open and my palm was flat?” Roger demonstrated again but slower so the hit barely made a sound, “But what if I do this?” He hit the pig again but changed the position of his hand. The sound of his hand colliding with the pig was deeper the second time around, “If you cup your hand, curve it slightly, you can change the way the spank feels and sounds. Just like clapping.”  You experimentally clapped your hands together, first with open palms and then with each hand cupped so that the fingers wrapped around the back of the other.  “Now you give the pig a try.”  Feeling a surge of nervously excited butterflies, you got out of your seat and took your place at the pig. With a breath and a swallow you quickly brought your hand down. The slapping sound seemed to echo in the quiet room but it wasn’t as crisp as the noise Roger’s hits had made. With a look to Roger for permission, you tried it again, creating a slightly more impressive sound.  “Good, now cupped?”  You did it again, curving your fingers in a bit and bringing it down again. It felt more awkward than the open palm hit had so you repositioned yourself to hit the pig from a slightly different angle and tried once more.  “Don’t be afraid to pull your arm back further. The more your rear back, the more force will be in the spank. Like this,” he pulled his hand back past his ear and swung down hard, the spank echoing around you. “Of course, you can also spank from a nearer point too. Spanking, and a lot of impact play, is best if you mix it up a bit, don’t stay in one rhythm too long, do some spanks with your fingers spread, or change how hard or fast they are. I might give a sub two or three hard hits each with a pause between but then I’ll switch to a more rapid series of spanks that don’t have as much force behind them but come faster.”  You nodded and experimented with taking your arm back further, testing out ways to change the strength of each spank, until Roger finally called you to stop.  “How did that feel?” he asked as you took your seat again.  “My hand tingles.”  “That’s normal,” Roger laughed, “in fact it’s one thing I really enjoy about spanking by hand. The sub isn’t the only one who feels the spanks, the dom gets some of the pain in his hand too, especially if the intensity ramps up or there's a section of quick-fire spanks. And that can a) help the dom understand what the sub is feeling and work out how long the scene should go and b) brings a sort of intimacy to the scene that is harder to achieve with a tool.”  You hummed as you noted down what he’d said, “Have you ever spanked someone so much you injured your wrist or anything?”  “No.” Roger shook his head, amused by the question, “My wrists are pretty sturdy. But a few times I’ve been left with a stingy, tingly hand for an hour or two. Which brings me to an important note about pain. There are two main types of pain you can experience in impact play. We refer to them as thuddy and stingy.”  “Thuddy and stingy? What is this, an afternoon kids show?”  Roger rolled his eyes, “The names are simple but they explain exactly what they mean. Some types of impact will have a stingy sensation which is usually superficial. It won’t go deeper than the first few layers of skin and probably leaves the skin feeling warm and a little tingly or like sunburn, y’know? It’s typical of spanks and slaps. Thuddy pain is deeper, it gets into the fat and muscles and tissue and aches more. And I’ll go through which tools cause which sort of pain as I get to them. Generally though, people who enjoy impact play have a preference for one or the other.”  “And your preference is what?”  “Thuddy. Definitely. Although I prefer inflicting stingy.”  You hummed thoughtfully.  “Now, I’ll go into details about ways to actually incorporate spanking into a scene later. We can talk about it while we’re negotiating our scene. Today is just about the practicalities and sensations involved in the different types of impact play. So are you okay to move on?”  “Yup, definitely.” And then, sensing Roger might ask, you added, “Pizazz.” feeling pleased when you saw him smile. 

“I don’t expect us to delve too deep into them but I think I should touch on kicking, punching and slapping. Kicking and punching are things I’ve not done. They can, obviously, be quite painful. But they’re pretty self-explanatory. From what I understand about it, and what I’ve heard others who enjoy that kind of thing say, kicking and punching can both be very intimate, similar to the way spanking by hand is, but in a more primal or animalistic way. Punching is, of course, done without any accessories but kicking often includes footwear of some kind. A lot of time it’s something like a steel-toed boot or something with a bit of weight to it.”  “That isn't something I want to try.” You’d learnt a lot about how far kink went so weren’t completely shocked that some people would enjoy something as forceful as kicking, but it did take you by surprise to hear Roger talking about it.  “What about slapping?”  “How is that different to spanking?”  “Well, you’re right, they are similar. But slapping generally refers to slapping on the face whereas spanking is usually on the, uh, derriere. Of course you can slap or spank other parts too. For clarity’s sake, if I say slapping assume I mean on the face whereas spanking is anywhere else on the body.”  You thought about it for a second, “I’m not sure if I’d be game to try it but I do want to know more.”  “Slapping can be fun. Again, it’s not one I do a lot but I have played with it in the past. It comes in handy for particular scenes and there’s a fairly bratty sub I’ve worked with who responds really well to it. The most important thing to know is that if you are slapping someone’s face only ever aim for the cheeks. There’s a lot of fragile places around the face and it’s close to the brain so you need to be careful not to do any lasting damage. Never hit the temples because you hit them with enough force and it can kill a person. Nose and ears are off limits too, anything that is important.  You knew enough about biology to know Roger wasn’t making those rules up for fun. Noses were easy to break and hitting an ear too hard could damage someone’s hearing. But face slapping did still intrigue you. 

“Well, I’d say the next – let's call it the next level – of impact play is paddling.” He picked up what looked to be a wooden plank with a handle. It was an inch or two longer and wider than his hand with small holes cut out in a repeating pattern over the flat side so you could look right through it. “They don’t always look like this. Paddles come in lots of different shapes and sizes. This is a wooden one but they’re also frequently made of leather and sometimes the leather ones will have one side that’s a little more padded than the other. That gives you a bit of versatility with the pain. You can start off lightly with the padded side to get you in the zone and then during the scene switch it to the firmer side that hurts more. Or, if you don’t have access to a paddle at all, you can substitute a hairbrush.” He picked the hairbrush up and waved it back and forth.  “And that-” you pointed at the hair brush, “will feel the same as that?” you pointed at the wooden paddle, not quite able to reconcile the two in your mind.   “Not exactly the same but close. Honestly you can get really creative with impact play and not spend any money to get nearly the same results. I mean a plastic hairbrush might take a few extra hits or a little more force to really bruise someone but they’ll still end up sore from it. Or, if the hairbrush doesn’t do it for you, dig through your draws and see what else you can find. Wooden spoons, cutting boards, rulers, leather belts, spatulas, rolling pins, ping pong paddles, anything you can get your hands on. Just be mindful of how easily they’d break or them causing more pain than you expect.”  Again, you weren’t necessarily surprised by the lengths people would go to for sexual gratification, as Roger had put it, but it was a bit astounding. Still, you noted it all down just in case.   “Now a paddle generally falls under the stingy category but you do tend to get a deeper bruise than with your hand. Different factors could alter the way it feels too. If you put less force into it the pain will fall more on the thuddy side, same goes for if your hits are slower. But the pain call also be influenced by the size of the paddle, the material it’s made out of, the texture of it.”  “Texture?”  “Sometimes paddles have added texture, so they aren’t just a smooth, flat board. They might have metal studs that are more raised than the surface of the blade – the part you hit with – or ridging that will imprint the skin. This one has holes in it which definitely changes the feeling, makes it more intense. As you strike and the blade hits, the holes do two things. They stop any air cushions forming that would lessen the impact and they sort of push the skin into the holes which means the pain isn't completely even along where was hit. Plus it also leaves these cool circle marks behind which is fun.”  You realised you’d held your breath through the explanation, eyes following the paddle as Roger waved it through the air and ran his hands over it unconsciously. You hoped he had something more beginner friendly at home, though you couldn’t pretend you weren’t turned on by the way he wielded his weapon.  “Using it is quite similar to spanking but your hand isn’t hitting, it’s holding onto the paddle handle. So you just pull back,” Roger’s arm went back and the paddle swung backwards,” and then hit,” he swung his arm forward, the paddle cutting through the air and landing directly against the soft flesh of the pig. It made a satisfying thwack sound on impact and when Roger’ brought it back again you could see the circular patterns he’d talked about.   He demonstrated a few more times before he handed the plank to you.   It was heavier than you’d been expecting, solid wood, but the handle fit into your palm comfortably. You ran your hands over the flat part, what Roger had called the blade, and felt the holes with your fingers. The weight made it a little hard to swing but not impossible. You managed to mark the pig as well, stroking the circular imprints with your fingers.  “Try the hairbrush,” Roger said, swapping it for the paddle.  Its handle wasn’t quiet as long, but it was lighter and you found your hits were harder with it, without you even trying.   “Something to be aware of if you use an ordinary household item, or even just a different sort of impact toy. Because it’s lighter you can pull it back further and swing harder. A dom has to be aware of how much is going into each hit and how much their sub can handle.” 

“So what’s after paddles?”  “Floggers.” Roger picked his up off the table, “This is a fairly typical flogger. As you can see it’s made of black leather. It has the handle which is the thickest part and then a number of smaller tails. The tails is where you get the most variation which can be a stylistic choice or just a side effect of its price and overall quality. There’s a trick for knowing if a flogger is good quality or not. It should be pretty evenly balanced between the handle and the tails, so you should be able to do this,” he held out a finger and balanced the flogger on it carefully, the handle pointing out one way and the tails dangling over the other.   You thought for sure it would tip forward onto the tails and tumble to the ground but it hung there perfectly.  “Sometimes there will be more tails or they'll look different but no matter what, it should be balanced.” Roger gave a practiced flick of his hand so the flogger leapt into the air and he was able to catch the handle before it fell. “From a more stylistic point of view, you could get a flogger with less tails but they’ll be made of braids of leather which makes them heavier and thicker. Braided tails are also likely to have knots in the ends which can be a bit scratchy and even draw blood. They don’t have to be made of leather either. Rubber floggers are also popular. The tails on them tend to be more rectangular in shape, still flat but they have more edges and it actually feels like you’re being hit with more tails then there really are. And if you’re looking to really fuck someone up you can get hemp floggers. Sometimes they’ll look similar to this leather one but hemp is fairly stiff material and sometimes the tails will be shaped so that they’re sort of squiggly rather than flat lines. The squiggles hurt like a bitch, especially if they have knots at the end. Definitely start off with simple leather and work up once you’re more experienced.” Roger dragged the ends of the tails over his hand as he spoke, “I’d say this falls into the more thuddy type of pain. It can cover a large area of your body since the tails spread out and each of them creates an individual pain point. And because you’re being hit six or seven or nine or however many times at once, you can build up quite a rapid movement over a short period of time.”  You eyed the dancing tails as Roger moved his hand through them, “How long are the tails? Isn’t it a bit dangerous to have so many bits flying in all directions?”  Roger laughed, “Well yeah, kinda. I mean, that’s BDSM for you though, it gets dangerous which is why we’re all obsessed with safety. It’s a good thing to have noticed though, well done. The tails on this one are on the shorter side but some floggers will have much longer ones which means the dom can stand further back and still inflict a lot of pain. But you’re right, you do have to be mindful of the length and where they’re flying because a longer tail can potentially wrap around to somewhere you aren’t intending to hit. For instance, if you’re standing behind a person and flogging the back of their shoulder, you don’t want one of the tails to fly past their shoulder and around their neck. That would be incredibly painful and probably not what they expected or wanted from the scene.”  “So you have to take into account the length of the tails when you’re negotiating the scene then? And know where on the body to focus the hits so you don’t risk causing the wrong sort of pain and ending it early.”  “Exactly. That’s why negotiating the scene is important. Then both the dom and the sub will know what they want to achieve, what they want to get out of the experience, and they can tailor things to fit better. A lot of doms who are into impact play are likely to have multiple versions of their favourite toys – I myself have a few different paddles at home, I just didn’t bring them all in with me today – so by talking through what you want they’ll be able to choose the style of toy that will best fit the scene.”  “So how do you use a flogger then? Is it the same as spanking and paddling where you just swing your arm forward?”  “Sort of. Floggers have a few different ways to use them. There is of course the single strike option where, yeah, you do just hit them like you would with a paddle. I find that you don’t need to bring your arm back so far though, the movement comes from your elbow more than your shoulder.” Roger bent his arm so his hand and the flogger were roughly head height and then brought it down on the pig, “And you can change the angle of your single strike so that you hit them overhand or underhand or from one of the sides.” He demonstrated each direction as he said them, first bringing the flogger down from above, then swinging it up from below, then from the right side and finally a backhanded hit from the left. “But you don’t have to just pick a side to hit from. Paddles and hands are limited in how you can swing them but floggers have more movement. One way to use them is to swing them in a circle.” He moved back towards the pig to demonstrate, standing side on so that the tails whipped around and struck the pig, “I like starting off with circles because you can keep the pressure quite light. The tails sort of brush over the sub as they pass and it can be a good way to slowly build up. And then you can move into a figure eight as you get a bit harder.” Roger shifted his circles so they made a sideways eight in the air, subtly adjusting his stance so that the tail swished over the pig’s skin on both the forward and back motion.   You watched, awe-struck by how easily Roger swung the flogger, falling into a rhythm quickly. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he’d suddenly change the speed or the force of the swing when you were least expecting it.  

You were brought back to the present by Roger clearing his throat as he stilled the flogger, “The figure eight is why you should practice your backhand swing as much as any other. Because the tails will hit the sub on both the forward and back swings and you want them to be as even as possible.” He flipped the flogger in his hands, holding the handle out to you.   It felt smooth and cool in your hand, lighter than the paddle had been. You swished it experimentally, trying to get a sense of how it felt in motion.”  “Show me your overhand hit.” Roger said, leaning back against the nearest desk to watch.   You tried to imitate how he’d swung it, elbow bent, flogger raised.   It must have been good enough because Roger nodded and said, “how about underhand?”  He kept calling out different directions for a while, testing your reactions but you felt it helped you get a better grip on the toy and you found yourself adjusting how you held it so your movements became more fluid.   Roger watched you as you tried to keep up, his eyes locked onto your hands. Had you been looking, you might have caught sight of him subtly adjusting himself in his pants.   Finally, he seemed satisfied that you could successfully single strike from any direction and asked you to try the circle and figure eight motions.  They were harder to start, more awkward as you tried to work out the best way to move the flogger, and you caught Roger chuckling.”  “Oi, stop laughing,”  “Do you want some help?” he was still smiling but his request was genuine and when you nodded he stepped towards you. One of his hands moved to your waist as the other lay over yours on the handle of the flogger.  You tried not to grin too much as he did exactly why you’d hoped, and you felt him so close behind you.  “Like this,” His arm gently directed yours, the flogger beginning to move in a smooth circle.   “Oh, not so hard then,” you laughed, half turning to face him, “Y’know if someone walked in now this would be pretty hard to explain.”  His eyes darted to your lips, “Good thing we locked the door then.”  You hummed, waiting to see if Roger would close the gap.  He did a few seconds later, leaning in to kiss you softly. But the movement caused you both to forget about the flogger, your hands falling out of rhythm, and the tails whacking against your outstretched arms as they fell.   “Ow,” you both groaned, Roger stepping away from you.  It was disappointing but the disappointment was a little confusing. Surely you weren’t hoping for your professor to kiss you when you had no intention of sleeping with him that night.   Roger laughed, “Maybe that’s enough of the flogger today.”  “Might be for the best. Good thing I was so bad at it, otherwise we might have been really hurt.”  “You weren’t that bad. You actually looked good with it before I brought in the circles. Quite sexy really.”  “Thanks,” you said softly, trying to hide how pleased you were at that praise, “What else is there then?” 

“There's only one more that I can demonstrate but then there’s a few others I’ll touch on quickly too. So the last one I own is a crop.” He picked it up off the table, his fingers sliding along the length of it’s handle as he spoke, “This one I would put in the stingy category. It’s fast and sharp. Again, you can get crops in a few different styles. They will all have a handle like this, long and thin and probably with a slightly thicker point towards the end that’s easy to hold onto. The difference will be in the bit you hit with. This one is based on the sort of riding crop that's used on horses, so it’s quite plain. There’s just this loop of leather which hangs off the end. But others can be more decorative. I’ve seen crops which had ends shaped like hearts or that had studs pushed into them. Some of them are padded and some have a more rounded shape. We like our variety.”  “It looks scarier than the others I think,”  “Yeah, they’re quite intimidating aren’t they. And if you do it right, it’ll make a noise through the air, which just adds to how intimidating it can be.”  “Can you show me how to swing it now?”  “Absolutely. Now, you want to stand a bit further back with a crop because there is such a long handle. And the magic is in the wrist with these. You just flick the wrist and...”  You could hear the whooshing sound of it flying through the air before it cracked against the pig.  “Now some crops are more bendy and some are more stiff so, if you get one, you’ll want to practice swinging it a bit before you use it on a person, to get a feel for it. The flexibility of it might dictate how you stand or how strong the swing has to be. Give this one a go though.”  You felt oddly powerful as you took the crop and tightened your fist around the end. For a moment a vision of you decked out in leather dominatrix gear popped into your head and you nearly laughed. Unfortunately, the intimidating whooshing noise Roger had achieved was not as easy for you to make as you’d hoped, and the imagined power soon dissipated as you struggled to make the weapon sing.   Roger however was not disappointed. “It takes practice,” was what he said when you lamented your inability to create the sound, “And you don’t have to have the sound to make a good hit. It’s just kind of cool.”  When you still seemed disappointed he sighed.  “If it’s any help, I can’t always make the sound either. And besides, I wasn’t intending to use that one on you, unless you really, really want to. I mostly brought it to show you as an interesting part of your theory lessons. And so you’d have a sense of what a cane is like, even though I don’t have any of them to demonstrate.”  “A cane? Like....caning? Like what Victorian kids used to have done if they misbehaved or whatever?”  Roger laughed, “Kind of, yeah. It does have a history in corporal punishment. Which, might I add, wasn’t just for Victorian kids. It was still a thing when I was a kid. We didn’t get caned, more likely to be whacked over the knuckles with a ruler, but still. I don’t think it really left schools until the 80s.”  “Jesus,”  “Yeah. Occasionally I do wish I could bring out a ruler to shut a kid up,” he winked in jest, “Anyway, caning for BDSM is similar and uses the same sort of tool. A cane, funnily enough. Canes are long and thin like a crop but without the leather flap at the end or the more padded handle area. Traditionally they’re made from rattan which is a type of plant, but you can also get synthetic canes which are covered in leather. In my experience synthetic canes are actually harder. Not to use, I mean in the way they feel when you’re hit with them. The traditional rattan ones require a lot of maintenance though. You have to water them between uses, literally soaking them in a bath of water so they don’t dry out and break. But the benefit with a rattan cane is that if you get it home and realise you’d like something a bit shorter, you can cut it off yourself and just sandpaper down the rough edge and it’s good as new.”  “So are there any different version aside from synthetic? All the other toys had lots of variety.”  “Hmmm, not really. Most of the difference will be in how thick the cane is, which can effect the feel of it a lot. A thinner cane will sting when it hits and the force will make the skin hug the cane so it leaves these long marks behind. A thicker cane though might sting less but it’ll still hurt a lot, just more thuddy. And you tend to get more bruising from the thicker ones.”  “And do you use it the same as a crop?”  “Mostly, yes. The biggest difference is that you can use a larger section of a cane. The crop has the specific bit at the end to hit with whereas a cane doesn’t have that limit. The most important thing to remember is to try and aim a little short of where you want to hit because if you hit with a part of the cane six inches down, those top six inches are going to hit as well, and with force behind them they will wrap around the person’s side or arse or whatever until they make contact. But other than that, it’s a similar motion from the wrist and uses a similar amount of energy. And canes can make the cool whippy noise too.” 

“Is that everything then?”  “One last one, really quick. Whips.”  “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of whipping in kink.”  “Yeah, it’s one of those things that gets mentioned a lot even if comparatively fewer people are actually into it. But everyone’s heard the phrase chains and whips in relation to BDSM. There's a few different varieties of whips but I don’t really know enough about them to know the difference. They all look like whips to me. Very cowboy. But they’re one of the more intense versions of impact play. The pain they cause is quite sharp and stingy and will be very localised to a specific point because they have the one tail, as opposed to floggers which have multiple tails. Whips are very capable of breaking the skin though and feel very intensely painful. I do not recommend them unless you discover you’re a masochist and you’ve tried everything else impact play has to offer.”  “No need to tell me twice, Professor. Definitely do not want to try whips any time soon.”  “That’s very reasonable. And that is all of the impact play options I wanted to go through. There’s a little more to cover regarding safety before I let you go for the night, but how about we put the pig away and hope no one notices it’s been marked by crops and floggers.”  You chuckled and quickly moved to help Roger push the trolley back towards the freezer, locking the dead pig away securely, and to help pack up his toys.  When everything was tidy again you re-took your seat, Roger taking the one beside you. It made the end of the lesson feel less like a lesson and more of just a casual chat, the topic of which happened to be BDSM.   “The most important thing to remember when trying impact play is which parts of the body are safest to hit.” He paused for a moment, considering you, “But you’ve been studying biology for a while now, Ms Y/L/N. Care to guess which parts are safe and which parts you should avoid?”  You hadn’t expected to be asked so took a moment to consider your answer, “Well, the arse obviously. Ummm.... I guess I’d assume the best places to hit are the bits with more meat on them.”  “Very good. Entirely correct. There’s a reason most people think about spanking on the arse and that’s because it’s one of the best places to spank. Well, that and the fact that spanking is used so frequently in punishment scenes where you bend the naughty girl over your knee. But, yes, hitting the arse is good. Hitting the thighs can also be good, though the bit just under the arse cheek where it connects to the thighs hurts a lot. Which isn’t to say don’t ever spank there, just be mindful that it’s going to hurt more than directly on the arse cheeks. The pecks or breasts can be good places to hit, even the upper back where the shoulder blade is can be good. What about places to avoid hitting? Any ideas what those might be?”  You hummed in thought, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to hit the spine since it’s so important.”  “Right again Ms Y/L/N. The spine is definitely something to avoid. I don’t like hitting on the back much at all because there's too much important stuff there but I do know some others who don’t mind using a flogger there, especially while warming up before things get too intense. There are also the kidneys to watch out for,” he moved his hand to press against the spot on his own back, “because, as you no doubt know, part of the kidneys stick out under the ribcage so aren’t fully protected. Then a little lower down, just above the arse, is the tailbone which should also be avoided.   “What about the neck? That would be bad to hit too, right?”  “Yup. And that’s something to watch for if you’re doing anything on the shoulder blades. The spine of course runs all the way up the back of the neck and hitting there can do some very serious and lasting damage if you’re not careful. I know some people who will only flog the shoulder blades if the sub is wearing a collar because that adds a bit of protection around the C5 and C6 vertebrae but even so, better safe than sorry in my opinion. The front of the neck is also not good to hit since that’s where the vocal cords and all that is.”  “Which is why you have to be careful with a flogger’s tails, right?”  “Right. But what about on the front? Is there anywhere else you’d avoid?”  “Pussy,” you said with a laugh.  Roger laughed too, “Actually, depending on how it’s done, spanking a pussy can be quite enjoyable.”  “Wait really?”  “Yeah. I prefer doing it with my hand since you can feel when it makes the sub wet but it’s not totally unusual to use paddles or crops or even floggers down there too. I’m sure some people whip as well.”  You gulped at the thought.  “The biggest area to avoid on a person’s front side is the diaphragm and middle of the chest. There’s a lot of important stuff in there and a lot less tissue than elsewhere.”  “Do people get badly hurt doing impact play?” you glanced over the list of places Roger said to avoid. It made it seem like almost any spanking was running the risk of more than just some bad bruising.   “Sometimes.” Roger said seriously. He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued, “Things can go wrong. And when you’re playing with intentionally hurting someone, things going wrong can be very serious. I won’t pretend there aren’t stories of people trying impact play and ending up paralysed or worse. But if you’re careful, if you pay attention and only hit certain areas and are mindful of how hard you’re hitting, then you’re going to be fine. And that’s why we come up with safe words and talk through scenes before we do them. So that you can minimize those risks and have a chance to communicate any worries or concerns.”  “But how can safe words help if you say them after you’ve already been hurt too much?”  “Well, for one, even if you’ve been hurt badly, using your safe word can stop things from being made worse. But you don’t have to wait until you’re hurt to use the safe word. Yes, if I spank you four times in a row and the fourth one feels so bad you can’t go on, then you should use your safe word before I give you a fifth. But you could also use it after the third hit when you aren’t sure if you want the fourth. And safe words aren’t just about physical pain. If you start off excited but then feel anxious after two hits you are well within your rights to safe word. You don’t have to wait until the damage is done. And, obviously, it’s not always easy to tell if that one hit more is going to be enough to make you want to stop. You can’t always know if the next hit is going to catch your neck wrong and do serious damage. But if you feel at all worried that it might, speak up. Not just worried either. If you feel distracted or you think I’m not paying enough attention to how I’m spanking you, or if I move to spank and area you don’t want me to touch, tell me. There is no wrong reason to use a safe word, even if we’re only a few minutes into the scene. I’ve said before that I’d rather you tell me to stop than for us to go on and you not feel comfortable, and I mean it.”  “I know, I guess I just never really thought about it being for mental stuff as well as physical.”  “Mmm, I should have checked that.”  “Well, let’s face it, you probably tried and I just didn’t pay attention. But, y’know, you’re very good at reassuring me when I start to get nervous.”  “I hope that’s a good thing.”  “It definitely is. I think if I didn’t have the reassurance, I’d chicken out of some things.”  “As long as you’re aware of the difference between some healthy nerves and anxiety that could be a sign you should slow down. And that you keep telling me how you’re feeling.”  “Of course I will.”  “Good girl.” 

An understanding seemed to pass between you as you sat in near silence, eyes on the other. Until Roger drew in a long breath and stood up.  “Right well, I think that’s just about everything. Obviously we weren’t able to see the levels of bruising that different implements can cause but it’s kind of dependent on the individual anyway. Everything can influence the severity of bruises and other marks. Tell me what a bruise is.”  “It’s broken blood vessels under the skin which cause discolouration.”  “Bingo. Now, obviously being spanked with a hand will leave less obvious bruises than being hit with a crop will and usually a paddle will bruise less than....i don’t know, a leather belt. But there's lots of factors to consider. The sub’s age, diet, the colour of their skin, their hydration level, how much sun exposure they’ve had recently, stress levels, hormones. And the biggest of all is how much stimulus they receive on that part of the body. The more you hit a spot, the deeper it will bruise. So, don’t expect bruises and marks to appear exactly the same every time you make them. There are some ways to heighten or lessen marks left during BDSM, but I’ll go through those when you’re ready for our practical lessons. And we’ll also go through some ideas for popular scenes and positions before we settle on what our scene will look like.” Roger seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, “Of course, it’s not so late we have to stop. If you did want to start testing out some light impact play, or if you wanted to revisit a previous topic, you’re more than welcome to come back to mine.”  “No,” you said much too fast, the suggestion catching you completely off guard.  “Okay, no problem,” Roger said, his eyes downcast.  “I didn’t mean...just that tonight’s not great timing.” You’d really thought you’d got out of having to talk about it but you could see Roger was going to ask what you were talking about when on a regular tutoring night you’d likely still be in his bed. All the same you couldn’t quite make eye contact as you explained, “My period started last night, that’s all. Makes things a bit awkward.”  “Oh is that all?”  You shrugged, “Yeah.”  “Well there’s no need to feel awkward or embarrassed about that. And there’s no reason to hide it from me. Aside from the fact that I’ve been married and had kids, I’ve also been teaching biology for longer than I care to count, so I’m very familiar with the reproductive processes and the reality of the menstrual cycle.”  “I knew you were going to say something like that.”  “Because it’s true. And besides, periods are important to factor into our lessons because they can change how you’ll respond to various kinks. Fluctuating hormone levels can change how much you enjoy or desire sex, as well as the physical sensation of different forms of touch. A lot of women find breast stimulation uncomfortable in the lead up to their period because their breasts become tender at that stage of their cycle. It can also make vaginal sex undesirable, at least in the first couple of days if not longer, whether because of a physical discomfort or pain, or just because it makes sex messier and more annoying to clean up after. The hormonal shifts in a menstrual cycle can also effect libido too, either stopping you from feeling aroused or causing hyper arousal. And all of that is important to consider, especially when we get to other things like orgasm denial. So, don’t feel you have to hide your periods from me, okay? I want to know if something is going to effect how enjoyable these lessons are for you. And plus, I factored periods into the timeline, remember? If you want to postpone for a week we can.  His little speech did put you at ease a bit, the weight of admitting the truth no longer as heavy now that he knew, but it still wasn’t an especially comfortable conversation, “Well, I should be okay to go in a few days.”  “Would you be up for having sex on one of the last days of your period when your flow is a little lighter? Or would you rather wait until after it was finished?”  You tried not to cringe too much upon hearing Roger talk about your flow, “After I think. I don’t know. How do you feel about it?”  Roger shrugged, “If we were just having sex without the kinky stuff I’d be okay with period sex. It’s a little more effort since we’d need to put towels down and all that but I’m not completely opposed to it if we’re both in the mood. However, I think since we’re playing with BDSM it’s probably a good idea to wait.”  You nodded, glad the topic was almost settled, “Yeah, that makes sense. I think I’d feel too self-conscious to enjoy any period sex but you’re definitely right about the BDSM stuff. Just makes it easier for my first time trying things out if I’m not worrying about, um, bleeding everywhere.”  Roger gave you a reassuring smile which made your heart flutter, grateful he hadn’t made things too difficult or drawn out, “That’s settled then. We can put a pin in all of this for now and come back to it when you’re ready.”  “Thanks. Will Friday suit? I think I should be right by then.”  “Friday sounds great.”  “Really? You don’t have to, like, pick up the kids or anything?”  Roger shook his head, amused, “No. It is technically my weekend with them but they’re both staying at friend’s placed over night so I won’t see them until Saturday. Friday we can start testing some things and if we need to, we can come back next Monday and go through more. And I finish a bit earlier on Fridays so maybe we could start a bit earlier.”  “Yeah that works for me.”  “Great. I guess we should get out of here then.” Roger ushered you from the classroom and walked beside you all the way to the carpark, your footsteps echoing down the corridors. He chatted to you quietly about non-kinky topics, as if you’d merely ended up walking the same direction by accident, just in case anyone was looking.   You were almost sad to reach your car, drawing the conversation to an end, “This is me.”  “One last thing, Ms Y/L/M.”  “Mmm?”  “For homework-”  “Homework?”  “Yes. For homework I want you to watch some porn with impact play in it. You’ll find a few examples linked in a document I’ve dropped in our folder but feel free to find your own too. It can be spanking by hand or flogging or any other form of impact we discussed today, whatever turns you on most. Because I want you horny when I see you on Friday. I want you to spend all week thinking about naughty sluts who get spanks, knowing you’ll soon be one of them. I want you excited to be hit and wet at the thought of me spanking your arse and cunt while I fill your holes with cock. Is that clear?”  Roger had leant closer as he talked and your stomach did a backflip as he stood up. All you could do was nod, completely lost for words as Roger chuckled and walked into the dark towards his own car.   

[kim-seungmine]

moonlit

title: moonlit

characters: fem!reader x lee minho (lee know) of stray kids feat. bang chan, kim seungmin, hwang hyunjin, kid!yang jeongin

genres: exes to lovers au, romance, angst, based on eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, chan’s one sided love if you squint real hard, bff!seungjin.

warnings: cursing, mentions of drinking and food, mentions of insecurity/emptiness, minho is lowkey a flirt (and smooth af), this one is WORDY, sometimes nonlinear (flashbacks marked in italics, phase 2 completely happens in the past), lots of inner conflicts, watch me repeat the same words again and again.

word count: 14k

synopsis: after a nasty breakup, you have lee minho clinically erased from your mind... only to be reminded that while memories can be erased and forgotten, feelings will always demand to be felt.  

Phase 1: Awakening

You clamp your shaking legs together, desperately trying to look like you’ve got it all together. The carton box on your lap feels heavier with each passing second as you wait for your name to be called. When the receptionist finally tells you to enter the consulting room, your head is full of him. His laugh, his voice, his touches, his smile, his empty promises, his lies, his last words…

This is why you’re doing this. You want him gone.

“Miss Y/N, please have a seat.” The doctor, Seo Changbin, motions at you to sit at the back of the room. A nurse places a tripod in front of you, setting the camera so it will capture your whole body. “Your sessions will be recorded, and we will keep all the recordings as archive. These recordings are confidential unless they’re needed for national security purposes. And, of course, if you wish to get your memories back in the future.”

Dr. Seo smiles, the calming tone in his voice doesn’t match the weight of his words. “You… you can restore the memories back?”

“I can’t,” he answers. “Patients are usually able to remember some past memories when triggered. And at least you will be reminded of why you want to do the erasure procedure in the first place. There are a lot of patients who regret doing this, and the last thing we want is to get sued because people make the wrong choices for themselves. I’m sure you have already read that part on the consent form.”

Great, you’re going to stop him from messing with your head by letting strangers literally damaging your brain.

“I won’t sue you. Let’s get this over with.”

“Sure.” Dr. Seo points at the camera. “Now, tell us everything, starting with who you want to erase.”

You grip your box tighter, as if to check if all the things inside still cause you pain no matter how many times you’ve seen them. You could have done this the normal way—crying, cutting your hair, even turning to God for help.

The thing is, one of these days the pain is going to swallow you up, and then you’ll be left with nothing. Nothing but an empty shell.

You should have been able to do this the normal way, but you’re too weak. Can’t you be weak for once? You can, right?

Clearing your throat, you stare at the lens. “Lee Minho.”

“Lee Minho,” you repeat. Louder. Clearer. “I’d like to erase Lee Minho.”

Chan finishes his beer in one gulp while you’re still struggling to open yours. It’s a shame, really—you drink almost every week, he drinks twice a year. He tosses the now empty can to the trashcan before opening another with ease, handing it to you. Mumbling a quiet thank you, you take a sip and watch him tear a pack of dried squids open.

“You’ll never go to those parties again,” he says. “I didn’t know my parents invited you because of that.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. They meant well.”

He pulls his hair in frustration. “I can’t believe they said that in front of everyone! You must’ve been so shocked. I’m sorry.”

You grimace, the unwanted attention was indeed quite embarrassing. Enough to make you politely reject the next time Chan’s parents invite you to another gala. Mr. and Mrs. Bang have always been supportive of their eldest son, letting Chan started his own business instead of taking over the family business. Chan’s mother had called you a few days prior, asking you to accompany her son since it would be a good opportunity to “build connection and expand your business.”

You and Chan did exactly that, so it wasn’t like they were lying. But Chan’s parents also used the opportunity to try to convince the two of you that you’re match made in heaven.  

“Can we drop this?” You glance at your watch, stretching your limbs before rising from your seat. The traffic light turns red and you signal at your best friend to walk faster. “I keep getting flashbacks of CEO Kang’s son laughing at us.

Chan follows suit, placing his hand at the small of your back before crossing the street. You let out a relieved sigh when you reach the warm subway station. “Kang Younghyun has more embarrassing incidents than ours combined,” he scoffs. “This is nothing compared high school. No worries.”

“You sure you don’t want me to take you home?” he asks as you train is arriving. “I should’ve brought the car instead of letting my parents drive us to the party.”

You click your tongue at him. “Then you’ll miss the last train.”

“I can take a cab home. You always fall sleep on the train it’s giving me headache!”

“Bang Chan.”

The train stops and opens its doors. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Just don’t fall asleep.”

“No promises!” you tease, stepping into the train a second before it closes. You wave at Chan until he disappears into a small dot before choosing the seat beside the door. The train is almost empty; standing near the door is a high school student listening to an online lecture and sitting across you is…. the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. He meets your eyes for a second before shifting his attention back to his phone again, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You despise socializing at parties but you want the Hottest Man Alive to talk to you? Y/N you’re so pathetic.

The sight of a bundle of name cards inside your purse is what gives you a reality check, various names and faces are popping up in your mind. Only now you feel how exhausted you are, parties and talking to a bunch of strangers have never been your thing. You take your platform heels off just as the train makes its stop, one of them almost hitting Hottest Man Alive as a result.

Apparently God has decided to make you the embarrassment icon of the day.

“I’m so sorry!” you panic, about to reach your flying heel when he stands up and picks it up. He silently places it in front of you before pulling out a card out of his pocket.

“It’s okay, just check out our café when you have time.” Hottest Man Alive slips the card into your palm, rendering you speechless with his bashful smile.

Oh, you’re not going to fall asleep at all tonight.

You run your eyes over the black embossed letters once more, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat as you mentally convince yourself that he does want you to pay his café a visit. Your whole life has always been normal, so alarmingly calm and peaceful it makes you question your whole existence. Sometimes it feels like you’re living in someone else’s dream, foreign and temporary. Uncertain and insecure.

Last night was… weird, to say the least. You’ve never felt that attracted to someone before, not even your ex-boyfriends. In that moment, you felt unstoppable, carefree, happy… everything that wasn’t you.

Sadly, that moment didn’t last long and now you’re back to your overthinking self. What if he was just playing with you? Will he find you desperate or, God forbid, easy if you actually show up at his café? But what café owners don’t want a new customer? Besides, you’re bringing Chan, so Hottest Man Alive (or Lee Minho, according to his name card) is getting two new customers. If anything, he will be thanking you and hoping you will come again, just like any normal business owner.

“Hey,” Chan calls out to you, knocking on the car window. “We’re here, daydreamer.”

You shove the card back into your wallet, met with Chan’s confused eyes when you finally open the door. “You okay?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You look so out of it.”

Chan knows nothing about your encounter with Hottest Man Alive; he would’ve freaked out if he knew you wanted to visit a café because a random (handsome) stranger told you so. “Just thirsty. It’s so hot,” you mumble.

Eat Here Café gives off the homey atmosphere that immediately calms your nerves. You quickly scan the whole building, looking for any sign of Hottest Man Alive. You feel lighter yet bummed that he’s not there, except for some photos of him with a group of children pinned on the wall.

You choose a table near the cashier. “I’ll order. What do you want?”

Chan shrugs. “Any kind of cake.”

The puppy-like part timer greets you with a smile when you reach the counter. “Good afternoon, what would you like to order?”

“Injeolmi bingsu and Coke, please. Oh, and a vanilla cake!”

He repeats your order politely and you decide that you like the boy, taking a glance at his nametag that says Kim Seungmin. You never really pay attention to part timers before, but this one is remarkably efficient, polite, and very very cute (in a “I’d like to adopt him!” way).

You drop some cash into the tipping jar, the twinkle in Seungmin’s eyes feels so rewarding that you’re ready to put it into your “little things that made my day” on your journal later. He hands you the buzzer with a bright smile. “Please wait for your order!”

“Your stingy ass never gives such a generous tip. Did he flirt with you or something?” Chan marvels—loud enough to get Seungmin’s attention—when you return to your table. There are times when you regret being Chan’s business partner, but you realize that you’ve invested so much of your time and energy into building the company. That, and Chan is actually a dependable friend when he’s not trying to ruin your image.

Chan gets your order after the buzzer vibrates, digging into his cake right away. “Whoa this is good!” he exclaims. “How did you find this place?”

“…Instagram.”

“Do you think they hired a branding consultant already?”

You shake your head. “They post pretty regularly but I don’t think so.”

Chan’s eyes sparkle. “Do you think we should ask to meet the owner or something?”

“Hey Seungmin, iced Americano please! And remind me to pay your bonus later.”

The faintly familiar voice stops you from answering, your eyes wildly searching for the source. And there he is… the one you’ve been dreading to meet and also the one you’ve been yearning to meet. Lee Minho saunters into the café with his charming bunny smile and soft eyes, earning everyone’s attention except for Seungmin who’s still taking orders.

Seungmin only replies with a short hum, not taking his eyes off the cash register. You glance at Minho, mentally surprised by the way he doesn’t seem to be bothered with how Seungmin treats him.

“Quit staring before you start embarrassing yourself,” Chan warns you in the most boring tone. “I think he’s the owner.”

You almost spit out your drink. “I’m not staring!”

Minho exchanges some words with Seungmin before focusing his attention to all the customers. Your bingsu is melting, but you still follow his every move through your peripheral vision, not knowing whether you want him to recognize you.

“You really came!”

Chan points at himself, then at you. “Us?”

Minho shifts his gaze to Chan like he didn’t even notice the dimpled man was there whole time.

“Ah… y-yes,” you stutter. “This is very a nice café.”

One look at Chan and you know there’s no way for you to hide anymore. “He invited me!” you quip. “I mean, us.”

“Do you have anyone handling your social media accounts? Planning the digital marketing? Creating ads?” You have bombarded Minho with questions before Chan says anything, skipping the whole small talk step in “how to smoothly intrigue clients” manual.

Seungmin arrives with Minho’s iced Americano, putting the tall glass in front of him with no words before smiling at you and Chan. “Does any of you want anything else?”

“Yes, please,” Minho interrupts before you can refuse. “Please order whatever you want, it’s on the house.”

“Pulling the boss card, huh?” Chan jokes. “Then I’ll have orange juice.”

“Y/N?”

You didn’t have a chance to try the vanilla cake Chan ordered because he inhales food instead of digesting them, but the chocolate ice cream looks beyond tempting—

Minho chuckles. “How about our vanilla and chocolate ice cream?”

“Did I say that out loud?” you mumble to yourself, but proceed to thank Minho for his suggestions and tell Seungmin you’d like to have those. Minho flashes you a soft smile, almost making you melt on the spot if it weren’t for Chan’s leg kicking yours.

The conversation continues without any embarrassing incident. Chan lets you do all the talking, only adding further details when necessary while Minho asks you challenging but intriguing questions you answer passionately.

The so-called meeting ends with Minho promising to sign the contract by next week and Chan shaking your hand under the table, both confused and impressed.

“Is that why your employees are so relaxed around you? Because you just want everyone to eat and live well? I swear Seungmin didn’t even try to curse discreetly when you told him to wipe the counter for the 5th time,” you ask.

Minho laughs as the said boy exits his station, backpack slung across his shoulder. “Yes I’ll transfer your money after our guests leave. Don’t you dare remind me again!” the former yells playfully before the part timer opens his mouth. Seungmin bows to you and Chan before scowling at his boss. “You’re the one who told me to—nevermind. See you tomorrow, hyung.”

“I really like that boy,” you coo when Seungmin closes the door.

“I treat them as my friends,” Minho says. “I decided to do this because I just want to help everyone, including my employees. I don’t want Eat Here to be one of those expensive, pretentious cafes. I just want everyone to eat what they want, that’s why we have all sorts of things here. Combination of Eastern and Western, stuff like that. But this is still business, I have to do things to keep it running, right?”

You’ve met a lot of people with beautiful visions, but you’ve never met someone who wants something so simple yet complicated like Minho. It’s been quite a long time since you’re genuinely excited for a project, and now you know why Chan didn’t freak out upon knowing that you met Minho on the train.

“You guys can do whatever you want,” Minho adds, waving to a pair of part timers clocking in. “Are you going back to the office?”

Chan stretches his limbs. “Yeah,” he groans. “Gotta make sure our intern doesn’t jam the printer again.”

Your phone rings the moment Chan finishes his sentence. ”You jinxed it! Hyunjin is calling.”

“Whatever it is, wait until we’re back!” you whisper-yell at your intern.

“But noona, the printer—”

You give Hyunjin no chance to blabber about one specific printer and end the call. Minho giggles at your antiques, and you don’t have the energy to stop yourself from admiring his pretty features in the most obvious ways possible.

Chan pats your back before grabbing his phone and stands up. “I guess that’s our cue to leave.”

“Take these.” Minho writes your name on one of the paper bags, handing them to you with a big smile. “For everyone at your office. Thanks for reaching out to us.”

You peek inside the bag that has your name scribbled on it, not surprised to see both vanilla and chocolate ice cream inside—it’s the clear bottle that you’re curious about.

“Bye! I’ll send you the gym’s contact later!” Your best friend slash business partner waves at your new client slash crush from the driver’s seat. You take out the bottle, it’s filled with sikhye.

Your favorite drink, but Minho isn’t supposed to know that.

“Everyone deserves a fresh start. Don’t let anyone from your past haunt you. Start Erasure now.”

Minho mutes the television, heaving a sigh as he recounts his fateful meeting with you yesterday. The world has always been rather weird, he would say, but nothing defeats meeting his ex-girlfriend—his first love—who has no recollection of your time together. He heard from his former classmates that you sent them a message a few years ago, informing them that you would undergo the erasure procedure. According to his friends, you specifically told them to “never ever mention Lee Minho’s name or ask you about the procedure.”

You’re back in his life now, happy as ever, and the last thing Minho wants is breaking your heart all over again. He no longer owns that special spot in your heart, you owe him nothing. He left you insecure, disappointed and soulless, and now it’s his turn to be haunted by all the questions and what ifs in his mind.

His phone vibrates as soon as he flips the signage open, your name flashing on his screen. “Hey Y/N what’s up?”

“Minho I can’t multitask so please give me quick and accurate answer. I’m at the traffic light in front of Lotte now—”

“You need to turn left.”

“Okay… didn’t know my non-existent sense of direction is that obvious — damn, let me change lanes.”

Minho suppresses a chuckle. You’ve always been bad with directions.

“Turn left once more, and you’ll find us. We’re right across the first G25 store on the street.”

He steps out the café to welcome you when he spots a white Kia arriving. In contrast to his horrifying memories of teaching you to drive, you manage to parallel-park your car smoothly in 10 seconds, stopping Minho from offering to help you park your car.

“Sorry,” you grimace. “I suck at directions. Last week was the first time I went here and Chan was the one driving so I wasn’t really paying attention… and before you ask, no I can’t use GPS while driving. I barely managed to dial your number.”

Minho lifts his hands. “I was just going to say hello.”

“Oh, good! People always judge me for that!”

You don’t let him respond as you point at the photos on the wall. “Tell me about them!” you request. “Our photographer Hyunjin is going to be here any minute, and we’ll give this corner a special attention. Your customers need to know this.”

Minho scratches his head bashfully, the glint of admiration in your eyes is making him a bit dizzy. It’s been a long time since you looked at him like that. “Uhh, okay. These are the kids I’m supporting, they live in Africa,” he starts. “I hope I can visit them someday, but they’ve been sending me letters, saying thank you... telling me about their days and all.”

“Wow!” you marvel. “How does it feel? To receive such lovely letters?”

“Honestly, it kinda makes me feel like a parent,” he replies. “It feels wonderful.”

Moving onto the next set of photos, his smile grows wider. “I teach these kids dancing, sometimes taekwondo. They’re all very sweet, especially the maknae, Yang Jeongin.” Minho points at a boy with contagious smile. “He can be a brat sometimes, but everyone loves him.”

“Is this an orphanage? Can I meet them?” you blurt out.

“Of course! You’ll love them to bits.”

“You have to come back with Y/N noona!”

A few weeks later, Minho took you to the orphanage. You played with the kids all day and watched him teach them dance. You thought the kids wouldn’t like you as much, but now they’re trying to persuade you to stay the night.

“Aww, of course I’ll come back. Be a good boy, and we’ll be back sooner than you thought!”

Yang Jeongin, the youngest boy in the orphanage, has done everything to make you stay. If it weren’t for your “adult responsibilities,” you would have caved in because nothing could beat his puppy eyes and hopeful smile.

“Alright, go back inside, everyone. All of you need to sleep.”

The kids grumble at Minho’s command, slowly walking back to the main hall. After making sure no one sneaks out to follow you, the two of you make a stop at a nearby park that Minho claims to be the perfect place to admire the moon.

“Okay, you’re not lying. The moon does look pretty from here.”

The man sitting beside you smirks in satisfaction. “I never stay too long but I always like spending time here. Now that I think about it, you kinda resemble the moonlight.”

The switch of the mood has you cackling. “Aren’t everything about the moon associated with werewolves and murders? You’re expecting me to fall for such a lame pickup line?”

“That’s not how I see it.” Minho disagrees. “I think you’re radiant, bright but not blinding. Take it as a compliment.”

The word radiant strikes you light a lightning, forces you to face the harsh reality that you’re doing a really good job in hiding the hollowness inside—all the lingering questions and uneasiness. You’re far from being the light Minho admires.

“Trust me, I’m not radiant whatsoever.”

Minho stiffens, observing you carefully until you feel brave enough to look at him. At first, you see pity in his eyes, but it morphs into something that feels too good to be true. You find tranquil in his gaze, so serene that you nearly let your tears fall.

He reaches for your hand, interlocking your fingers together before pulling you up from your seat. “I’ll tell you whenever you’re being the moonlight that you are,” he promises, his voice is a perfect mix between sincerity and mischief. “Prepared to get sick of me because I’ll remind you everyday.”

Just because most people often cross the line doesn’t mean that being able to exert self-control when needed is something to be proud about, but Minho has always thought of it as his positive trait.

He’s going to cross it out of the list today.

His hand is still holding yours tightly, chatting away with a lopsided smile on his face. And yours. This wasn’t what he intended to do, but life loves to play God and tests him the moment he thinks he knows what he’s doing. Giving you his name card on the train has spiraled into taking you home hand-in-hand, peppering kisses on your temple when you become too cute to handle (which is almost all the damn time) and falling in love with you all over again. What happened in the subway impulsive and dumb, but he couldn’t control himself. He wanted to see you again, he longed to talk to you.

Minho just wanted a second chance to be good to you, but will things ever be enough? How will he make things right again? Providing you free coffee and say thank you for your visit? It was a selfish wish he shouldn’t have acted upon.

“We must’ve crossed paths somehow. There’s no way that we’ve never met before!” you say, swinging your intertwined hands happily.

It’s too late. History repeats itself, but Minho’s too far gone to stop. He’s trying to feel it, the need to exert self-control—he can’t.

“I didn’t come home often,” he lies, every word feels like knife stabbing his heart. You hum in response, a yawn escaping from your mouth as both of you are nearing your unit. Minho watches you enter the door password, mouthing the numbers silently, 2 3 0 9. Your grandma’s birthday. It’s always been your password for everything—phone, laptop, even Minho’s old apartment since you were the one who set it for him. It stays with him until this very day although he no longer lives in the same apartment.

You tug at his sleeve. “Come on in.”

Your stuffs are pretty much the same, if not exactly the same as a few years ago. The only things missing were those related to him. Polaroid photos of you together, the umbrella he left at your place, the mug he…. wait.

The purple mug Minho bought for you is sitting on the kitchen counter, causing him to nearly trip over his own feet. Did you forget to get rid of it before the procedure?

“Let me go change first,” you tell him. “Feel free to grab any snack. There’s cold water and beer in the fridge.”

He can barely answer as you disappear into your room. Memories start flooding his mind, it feels as if he finally finds all the folders with your name on them that he tried so hard to bury, stashed in the deepest part of his heart.

Those memories were so painfully beautiful he has to bite his lip to prevent his tears from falling.

“Oh that’s my favorite mug!”

You’re back, dressed in the black loose T-shirt you always wear during summers. Minho’s eyes automatically dart to your left shoulder, spotting the hole on the shirt that exposes a part of your shoulder.

Another thing that hasn’t changed. Another thing that makes you the you he knew. Another thing that diminishes his self-control into nothing because you have no idea how much he loved to—

“Minho?”

You cradle this face softly, wiping the tears he didn’t know he shed. Confusion and panic reflected in your irises. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh?” He touches his cheek before attempting to laugh. “Something probably went into my eyes...”

“Let me see.” Before he refuses, you’ve taken a step closer, gently blowing into his eyes. “Better? Want some eye drop?”

Minho shakes his head, removing your hands from his face and plants a kiss on your forehead. Another mistake that feels so right. “I guess I’m just tired. Is it okay if we chat some other time?”

You mumble an okay, following him to the front door. When he turns the door knob, you reach for his hand. “Hey,” you murmur, slowly examining his face. Minho tries to read yours in return, sensing your hesitation. He waits for a good minute patiently, letting you form words in your head.

“What are we? These things we’ve been doing… what do they mean to you? Does this mean we’re…”

You let out a frustrated sigh, more directed to yourself than him, and Minho understands what you’re talking about. He tightens his grip on the knob, desperately begging himself to stop all of this. You don’t deserve another heartbreak when you’ve done everything to continue living.

You’re a whole new person, yet you remain the one he adored. How can you be so different yet familiar? How can you be so… dearly you?

“Minho, does this mean that we’re—”

Minho throws his arms around you, burying his head into the crook your neck before slowly trailing his lips towards the exposed part of your shoulder. You have no idea how much he loves leaving kisses there, on that particular spot. As strange as it sounds, it gives him the strength and hope he needs. Minho never told you this; you’ll never be able to imagine how happy and relieved he currently feels when he plants one, two, three, countless kisses that set his whole being on fire.

“We are,” he whispers, dropping one last kiss before pulling you even closer, enveloping your body in his embrace.

There’s only one thing in Minho’s head now: love. He can only think about loving you better than before, and in this moment nothing can stop him from doing so because whether he likes the old you or the new you doesn’t matter anymore.

Minho just loves you, and he doesn’t want to think about anything else. Not even his selfishness. And especially not your future heartbreak.

“You’re so precious, Y/N. You’re so precious to me.”

Hyunjin is the only one at the office when you arrive. He’s busy with his camera, changing its setting every now and then before capturing random things on his desk. You and Chan were on the fence about hiring him at first since you’re just a small company and he’s a student with high expectations. However, Hyunjin turns out to be the one of the most eager apprentices ever, and you’re going to bawl your eyes out when his internship ends next month.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, only earning a distracted “Huh?” as an answer.

“Hyunjin, don’t forget to go over the photoshoot details with me before we leave later, okay?”

He lifts his head a little this time. “Okay. Let me just finish trying out this new technique Seungmin taught me.”

You chuckle, snapping a photo of your intern yelling at his camera when he messes up. Sending it to Chan, you write, “We should give him a raise.”

Your phone rings a few seconds later, frowning when Chan’s urgent voice greets you. “I’m inside my car. Can we talk?”

“Whoa, relax. What happened?”

“Y/N, please. Just come out for a sec.”

No one wants to start a fight with Chan when he’s talking in that tone, so you inform Hyunjin you’re stepping out for a bit. Chan’s sedan is parked right in front of the building, his conflicted face prompts you to enter the car right away.

“You told me there’s something weird about Minho but now you’re dating him? And you’re hiding it from me?” he deadpans without waiting for you to close the door.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” you murmur. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

Chan sighs in exasperation. “Why do you think you owe me an explanation?  I’m your best friend, not your mother. How is Minho different from any other guy you’ve dated that you really tried to keep it a secret from me?”

You gulp. “Things between Minho and I… it’s different. I thought I knew what liking someone felt like, but after meeting him I realized I knew nothing about it. Everything feels so overwhelmingly wonderful and insanely intense I think I may fall apart if I start talking about it.”

Your best friend gives you a knowing look, but says nothing as he stares at a random stranger walking down the street. “And I know you’re not really fond of him so I was trying to look for the perfect timing to tell you. Sorry.”

“I just want to keep you safe. This guy knows small details about you that even I didn’t know. Are you sure you never met him before?”

He pauses, taking a deep breath before adding, “Did you do that erasure procedure?”

“How am I supposed to know?” you snap. “Isn’t forgetting about the whole thing the point of the procedure?”

“You love him, don’t you?” Chan’s voice is soft this time, but his words hit you right in the gut you have to stop yourself from flinching. Hearing someone say that they love you is scary, admitting that you are in love is a hundred times scarier.

Taking your silence as a yes, Chan turns on the engine. “Look, the last thing I want is seeing you sad. It breaks me, more than you know. So please consider trying to find out the truth. How are you going to love him if you don’t trust him? How is he going to love you if he keeps you in the dark?”

You lean your head against the window, watching your best friend dialing Hyunjin’s number to tell him that both of you will be back after lunch.

“We better be quick,” Chan says. “Hyunjin’s terrified he will have to answer Mr. Song’s call again.”

“We should definitely give him a raise.”

“Oh we will,” he snickers. “If he survives Mr. Song’s call.”

“You’re cruel.”

For the first time in your life, you feel like a ruling queen inside your island instead of a trapped princess. You know every nook, every secret passage, every hidden treasure that nobody else has ever explored. Everything feels real for once, you’re in control and you want to stay here forever.

Eat Here has gained more regular customers since you and Chan started handling its social media accounts, and the face-splitting grin on Minho’s face whenever a new customer pushes the door open makes you feel proud and giddy at the same time.

You weren’t able to witness your Hottest Man Alive greeting his customers happily today, but you promised to pay him a visit at the café. It’s a few minutes past 10, meaning the café has closed for the day, so you were prepared to see everyone cleaning up. To you surprise, there’s nobody inside when you arrive.

“Minho?”

Your boyfriend waves from inside the pantry. “Coming!”

Moments later, he comes out with a tray of food. Gesturing at you to take a seat, he places a bowl of potato salad, a pot of kimchi jjigae and some side dishes. “Wait, let me get some more.”

You recall your phone conversation 2 hours ago, vaguely remembering telling Minho that you haven’t had dinner. When he serves the last batch of side dishes and a bottle of sikhye, you tease him for being so sweet.

“I’m not being sweet though?” He pulls out a chair for himself, watching you eat with content eyes. “You said you were starving, so I prepared you some food.”

You shrug, letting him pour sikhye into your glass. “I just never expected that you’re someone who…”

“… cooks?” he finishes for you. “I just did the bare minimum. Do you really want to see me being sweet?”

“Is that a challenge?”

Minho clears his throat, the way he stares at you makes you fidget in your seat. Only God knows what’s inside this man’s mind. One second he’s nonchalant and cool, then he’s Mr. Flirty and makes you all swoony.

Patting his thigh, he smiles at you. “Come here baby.”

You shake your head in fear of completely losing your sanity. “No. What are you trying to do?”

“Being the most romantic boyfriend ever. Come on.”

Minho tries his best to suppress his laugh as you finally settle yourself on his lap, not sure whether you should rest your head on his shoulder or peck his lips or marvel at how firm his thighs are... damn it Y/N, what are you? 17?

Although you’re just sitting there like a log, Minho looks unbothered and reaches for the chocolate cake. He slices it into smaller bites, taking a piece of it with the fork before telling you to open your mouth. “If you still want ice cream then we can get some on the way home.”

“I’ve had enough ice cream for today. I went to this cute ice cream parlor with Chan.”

You take the plate from him, stuffing yourself with the rest of the cake. Minho’s soft pats on your shoulder and the sweet taste of chocolate seem to flush all the initial awkwardness from your system.

Another hour passes with you curling up on Minho’s lap, the latter listening to your little speech about how grateful you are for vending machines as if you’re talking about world peace. Your back hurts and his thighs ache but the way your head nestles in the crook of his neck and the way he pecks your cheek every few minutes are enough of a spell to trap both of you in this exact moment, where lies, doubts and regrets cease to exist.

You wake up with a jolt, reaching for your water bottle on the bedside table. It’s surreal for a dream to feel that real—it almost felt like a memory, something distant but present nonetheless. You’re sure that was the younger Minho you saw in the dream instead of the one you know, and before you come to a realization that it’s currently 2AM, you’re already dialing his number.

He picks up on the fifth ring. “Hmmm my moonlight, missed me?”

His sleepy voice causes you to blush, definitely not seeing that coming. “Nothing.” You wince at your parched voice. “I just had a dream.”

Minho lets out a low laugh, you can hear him sitting up on his bed. “About me?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

You sink into your bed, heaving a sigh you forget to hide. “It’s complicated.”

“Was it a bad dream?” Minho’s voice is firm but oh so calming that you start recounting every detail you can remember. He listens to you attentively, humming once in a while, and your muscles are all relaxed now. Minho is here, listening to your bullshit in the wee hours of the morning. Minho is here, calling you his moonlight with the most caring tone ever.

“I miss you,” he declares the moment you finish talking. “Can I come over?”

“All of sudden? Minho, it’s 2AM.” You glance at the clock. “Wait, it’s 2:18 now.”

“Then I’ll be there at 3AM.”

“But—”

He hangs up, and you just sit there until Minho enters your room at 3AM sharp, taking in your dumfounded state before plopping himself onto the bed and pulling you close. “I’m here,” he sweetly says and you can only nod, eyes boring into his as he runs his thumbs along your cheekbones. “I like you, exactly the way you like me. I like you more.”

You shake your head, burying your head in the crook of his neck to hide your red cheeks. “It was just a dream,” he adds, enunciating each word like a mantra. Closing your eyes, you repeat his words again and again inside your head, traces of pain from the dream still crawling up your skin as Minho’s sweet praises lull you to sleep.

“I’m sorry but that’s classified information. We cannot mention anything about our patients.”

“But she did the procedure because of me! I’m the one she erased!”

“That only gives us more reasons to forbid you from obtaining any information. It’s our policy to protect our patients, especially after the procedure is done.”

Minho wonders how this sullen kid managed to land the job, but bites his tongue before he really gets kicked out. He takes one deep breath before pleading at so-called receptionist (his name is Kim Seungmin but he could care less) once again. “May I at least know whether she was in so much pain?”

Seungmin fixes his glasses. “People her age mostly spend their money on traveling or whatever cool things they want to do, but she chose to have her memories manipulated so she wouldn’t have to remember you. I think that’s enough of an explanation.”

It’s no big deal, Minho tells himself. It’s normal for people to have the Erasure procedure thesedays. In fact, it’s become so normal that no one bothers to talk about it anymore. Erasure is simply another way to move on, just like Love Alarm is another way to detect love. If you decided that your memories together weren’t precious enough to keep in your heart, so be it. If he hurt you that much but you chose to erase him instead of confronting him, then it’s your loss.

Exactly. Was he that bad? Did he hurt you that much?

“Excuse me, Sir?” Seungmin is already standing by the door. “I think it’s better for you to leave.”

“Alright.” Minho lifts his hands in defeat, starting to feel bad for the poor boy who’s just trying to keep his job. “Hang in there, kid.”

“Congratulations, you just earned a VIP pass to Hell.”

Eat Here is doing well, the kids he’s supporting are starting school soon and he finally gets to return the feelings of the girl he loves the most but yes, Seungmin is right. The gates of Hell are open for Minho.

“Right,” he scoffs. “As if you didn’t greet people with a smile and convinced them that erasure was the best solution for all their problems.”

Seungmin grits his teeth; talks about Dr. Seo Changbin’s Erasure Centre are never easy for both of them. For Seungmin, it reminds him of all the pain, rage and guilt he thought he was used to seeing. For Minho, it reminds him of his selfishness and failure to make you happy.

“The erasure did help a lot of people though,” the puppy-eyed boy trails off. “It’s been years yet I’m still torn between wanting the procedure to perish and thanking it for saving lives.”

“Maybe it does save people. But then there’s Y/N.”

“And you,” Seungmin adds.

Minho chuckles. “And you.”

“Are you just gonna wait until she realizes that those dreams actually happened?”

A long silence looms over them until Seungmin slides a clear CD case along the counter. “I guess it’s time to reveal how I risked my life for you the day I quit my job there.”

A label with your name is plastered on it along with the logo of the centre. It’s the answer to all his questions when he first met Seungmin. The sole proof that everything between the two of you happened.

“I can get sued anytime,” the part-timer warns jokingly. “So use it well, and don’t cry. She said some hurtful things, but you deserved it anyways.”

“Do you think it could last another hour?”

Hyunjin snaps one last photo and tells the models to get a 5-minute break. “Do you want an honest answer or an intern-can-make-anything-happen answer?” he whispers at you while checking his shots.

You’re currently at a photoshoot in Gyeongju with a client you desperately need to impress, but your clumsiness just had to choose today to get in action. Chan was almost furious when you told him you left all the cameras’ charging cables at Minho’s apartment.

“So we’re fucked up,” you conclude. “How many outfits are left?”

“Including this one… three.”

“We’re so fucked up,” you correct yourself, approaching Chan to relay the expected bad news when a familiar car arrives at the villa. You barely hear Hyunjin muttering, “God is a male… for today…” before rushing to take the black duffel bag from Minho’s hand. He only smiles when you tell him he’s getting all the hugs and kisses later.

The photoshoot continues smoothly; allowing you, Chan and Hyunjin actually breathe after 5 hours trying to make the cameras’ batteries last as long as possible.

“I’m so sorry Chan,” you sigh.

He lets out a weak chuckle. “It’s fine. The problem’s solved anyways.”

“No thanks to me.”

“Thanks to you.” Chan glances at your boyfriend who’s leaning on his car, watching you from afar. “Minho brought the chargers, but you were the one who made him drive all the way here. You need to stop underestimating his feelings for you.”

You let Chan’s words sink in, eyes meeting Minho’s in the process. For a split second you forget about everything’s that’s been bugging you, wanting nothing but to lose yourself in his affection for you.

“Do you trust Minho now?”

Chan puts his hand inside his pocket, exhaling softly. “I know he’s crazy for you Y/N, I’m not dense. But does that mean he’s being honest with you?”

Hyunjin snaps one last photo that marks the end of the shoot, giving you a reason not to respond to Chan, jogging towards the models instead. “Thank you, everyone!” You bow to them. “There are some snacks left inside so please eat before you go, or you may take them home.”

You can still feel Minho’s eyes on you, following you wherever you run with the sweetest kind of fondness that makes it hard for you to question him. He’s like a prince who comes from another kingdom after crossing the long bridge and fighting in the wild forest. He stands there in front of your castle, waiting for you to deem him worthy of your love, of you.

How do you say no to that?

But how do you know if he sees you the way you feel he does?

After that night, you’ve had other dreams—the ones you never told him—each dream etched itself into your mind, filling in the empty spaces slowly but surely. They become a part of you so naturally that you’re convinced you somehow lived them.

“What are you thinking about?”

Minho has just finished loading the last box of props into Chan’s car trunk, now waiting for you to break your train of thoughts with an amused smile. You barely hear Chan and Hyunjin saying goodbye before they enter the car, leaving the two of you alone.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Minho’s smile is long gone, his expression mirroring yours: confused, lost, a bit scared. “Are you okay?”

Even your 18 year-old self knew what to do then. A bit late, but she did it. The thought of embracing her as a part of you is making you nauseous, the acknowledgement of having a past you don’t remember is disturbingly scary.

“Those dreams... they were real, right? Those are my memories.”

Your stomach churns when Minho nods, surprisingly calmer than you expected. He pulls out a CD out of his bag, carefully slipping it into your hand. The thin plastic feels heavy in your hold, the world as you know it crumbling at the realization that this Lee Minho was the same boy who had your heart in his palm and broke it.

“I tried to picture this situation in my head every single day, but never had the courage to actually tell you. I’m so sorry Y/N. For everything, then and now.”

Lee Minho, the one who sees you as his moonlight, was also the one whose heart could never be yours.

“I’m Lee Minho. We’re both from Gimpo, and we met at high school. We were best friends, then sometime during 11th grade we started dating. You were this amazing, lovely girl who wore your heart on your sleeves, and I was the asshole who failed to realize how blessed I was to have you.”

Minho pauses to look into your eyes, the sorrow in his orbs triggers the tears you refuse to shed. “I became your boyfriend because I didn’t want to lose you,” he continues. “I was stupid, wasn’t I? Stupid and inconsiderate. All I had to do was tell you how I felt…”

"B-but why?” you sob. “Y-you l-lied to me, Minho. Again.”

“I did. Fuck. I did,” he admits. “You have every right to never ever forgive me. But Y/N, I never meant to play with your feelings. I was too late, but I loved you then. I love you now, and I don’t think I’ll be able to love anyone else even if I try.”

Phase 2: Forgotten Days

“A mug?”

Minho hums as an answer while copying your English homework in a speed of light, failing to answer your questions about why, out of all things he could buy in Japan, he decided to gift you a mug. You let out a huff when he leaves your next question hang in the air (“How did you know that I needed a new mug?”), but lets him be since the bell will ring in 15 minutes.

The purple mug is quite heavy and somehow that makes your heart flutter. Minho gave all the other classmates green tea Kit Kats and keychains, but he was willing to fit the bulky mug into his tiny suitcase for you.

You don’t know what’s going on inside his head most of the time, for all you know he could’ve bought the mug because he forgot to buy something for you and decided to grab the first thing in sight. It’s just a little gift, something you should just appreciate without thinking too much about it, but you can’t help but wonder. Sometimes you feel sorry for yourself for overanalyzing Minho’s every little gesture, trying to guess how much he likes you.

“I’m done!” Minho exclaims, returning your book before grabbing his wallet. He finally looks into your eyes, smiling at you as he ruffles your hair. “Gotta grab some snacks. You want anything? Strawberry milk? Chips?”

When he comes back with both although you told him you only wanted chips, Minho argues that he knows you’ll get hungry in the middle of lessons. Again, it shouldn’t feel so special, but he’s looking at you now, you and no one else. Lee Minho is like an enigma, but at times like this, you bask in his bright smile and everything is forgotten.

Summer is the enemy you’ve managed to beat every single year, but combine the scorching heat with excruciating cramps and you don’t stand a chance. You peek into the practice room once again, but Minho is still practicing his dance routines, his phone laid neglected at the corner of the room. The supposed-to-be 30 minutes practice turns into an hour, and you decide to just wait outside since you don’t have energy to go home on your own.

The door opens when you’re on the verge of passing out, luckily someone has caught you before you collapse on the floor. “Y/N,” Minho’s voice forces you to open your eyes. “What happened?”

“… cramps…”

He lifts you and dashes to the infirmary without saying anything else, yelling at some other students to “fucking move!” while trying not to trip over his undone shoelaces. You try to tell him that you’re alright, just a little tired from enduring the pain but he gives you no chance to talk.

Minho finally stays still after kicking the infirmary’s door to no avail. He makes no other attempt to open the door, slowly making eye contact with your drowsy eyes. You love seeing fire in Minho’s eyes, especially when he dances or plays with his friends. This is the first time Minho sees you with such intensity, but this is not the passionate flame you’ve been craving to see. This fire is destructive, painful. It breaks your heart that he’s looking at you like this, like you’re the source of all unfortunate events that happens in his life.

You feel like you’re the unfortunate event in his life, and the thought is enough to make you break free from his bruising grip, pushing the door open yourself.

“Go back to practice,” you tell him, sitting on one of the beds. “I’ll lie down for a bit then go home.”

Minho rummages through the medicine cupboard, taking a painkiller pill and fills an empty glass with warm water. “Drink this, I’ll take you home.”

“I’m fine, Minho…”

He shakes his head. “You’re sick and I’m taking you home.”

Too weak to argue, you swallow the pill and let him walk you home. Minho keeps his hand around your shoulder the whole time, not even bothering to check his ringing phone. He doesn’t talk to you either, and at this rate the silence is more concerning than your cramps.

“Can you go up on your own?” he murmurs when you reach your apartment building. “I have to go back to school, but I’ll stop by later.”

You only nod, about to wave him goodbye when he reaches for your arm. “Wait.”

Minho cups your face, pressing his lips on yours and stealing your breath away. Soon, he starts kissing you harder, but his lips still feel cold against yours and he still feels so faraway even when he’s gripping your waist like his life depends on it.

“Minho,” you manage to rasp, cradling his face to stop him from planting another kiss on your lips. He opens his eyes, staring at you with those beautiful eyes that, sadly, never really shine for you. “Your friends are waiting.”

Still panting, Minho gives you a nod before pulling away. The fire you saw in his eyes earlier has died out.

As you watch him walk away, you finally realize that you’ve been asking yourself the wrong question. It’s not about how much Minho likes you, it’s about whether he likes you at all.

If Minho could choose only one person to be with for the rest of his life, he would choose you. He enjoyed watching movies with you, he loved sending his silly selfies to you, he always wanted to end a tiring day by talking to you all night long.

He can still do that, you’re still his friend. The only difference is that he can hug and kiss you and tell other people that he’s yours. Minho doesn’t know why he lets the words “boyfriend and girlfriend” change the dynamics between the two of you, but it’s too late to undo everything.

“Can we just be friends again?” he repeats the question in his head over and over, yet he can never voice it out. The look in your eyes will be too devastating for him to bear, and he will you lose you forever.

“I’m outside,” he tells you over the phone, trying not to flinch at your excited “Oh!” 

A few minutes later, you step out of the elevator, walking towards him with big steps.

“Feeling better?” he asks, noting the way your eyes light up at the question.

“Hmm. I took a short nap and it’s gone.”

Minho sighs. “Don’t wait for me next time. If I take too long, you can just go home. I’m sorry that I let you wait around like that.”

The last sentence causes you to lower your gaze, seemingly self-conscious with the fact that he forgot you were waiting for him. “Bought you some ice cream,” Minho says, trying to distract you from your thoughts. “Chocolate, vanilla, mint choco, it’s all there.”

“As an apology?” you half-tease, the tinge of sadness in your voice causes Minho’s heart to clench a little.

He quickly pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Yes and no,” he murmurs into your hair. Part of him is relieved when you don’t question his answer, only humming against his chest before wrapping your arms around him. It’s so easy to make you happy and it angers him. You’re too kind. Too patient. Too loyal. You’re too in love with him, and it hurts not being able to feel the same.

But as the warmth of your body starts to comfort his senses, Minho realizes this is where he wants to be. He wants to be with you, no matter what the labels are. “If you miss the last bus you’re gonna have to walk all the way home,” you remind him, voice muffled since neither of you wants to let go.

“One more minute,” he replies, fingers playing with the hole on your shirt. He places one feathery kiss there, a silent promise that he’s going to try his best loving you. The one promise that could have made you stay, but it remained unsaid until the day you left him.

“Surprise!”

Minho lets out a yelp, coughing up confetti that you pop right in front of face. His parents, standing a few steps behind you, are giggling at their son’s reaction. “I thought you had to go somewhere with your mom!” he exclaims, the surprise in his eyes is now replaced by confusion and… annoyance?

You quietly step aside, letting him shake off the confetti as you’re trying to find your voice. Minho’s parents don’t seem to notice the tension, laughing and explaining that they invited you over for the family birthday dinner.

His mother ushers both of you to the dining room where the feast awaits. “After all this time you still haven’t introduced Y/N to Soonie!” she protests jokingly while the said cat is purring at you. Coming over to Minho’s house without his knowledge sounded like a terrible idea right from the start, but now you really wish you had turned the offer down. The birthday boy only pats you on the back before telling you to sit down, and you spend the rest of the dinner conversing without ever looking at each other in the eyes. That’s no surprise, what surprises you is the fact that you don’t even bother trying to get him look at you.

After 2 years, you’re finally tired of waiting for Minho to love you.

“Soonie doesn’t usually like strangers,” Minho says as you’re walking to the bus stop. “But he really likes you.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Like me. Do you like me?”

Minho chuckles. “What kind of question is that?”

Words are bubbling inside your head, all emotions threatening to spill out you have to literally swallow them down. It feels like the world has come to a stop—the realization that your world has been revolving around Minho all this time makes you feel queasy.

“Y/N?”

You want to explode. You wish you can explode. There’s nothing you want more than taking out every piece of your broken heart, count all of them and show him how much you’ve been hurting. You thought your love was enough for both of you, but the bigger your love grew, the farther the distance between the two of you became.

Minho keeps his gaze on you as you’re mustering up courage to ask the most heartbreaking question. “Why?” you quiver. “Why do you pretend that you like me? Why do you bother doing that for 2 years?”

“I-I like you. So much,” he stutters. “Just not in the same way you like me…”

Blinking your tears away, you return his tormented gaze. “Then why did you let me like you alone? Every fucking day you let me wonder how much you like me, if I mean anything to you… I wait for you, convincing myself that you must’ve liked me if you chose to be my boyfriend. But it’s just a game to you, isn’t it?”

Lee Minho has always had his own way to love. You’ve seen him showering those around him with love in ways that seem so ordinary that people often take it for granted. But you see and feel everything, including hints that your feelings have always been one sided. You bury all those hints, telling yourself that he only needs time.

That time never comes, and you have run out of lies and excuses and hope to cover up for both of you.

Phase 3: Chasing Moonlight

The Queen lived under a spell all this time, believing that the foreign kingdom was her whole world while she didn’t even have a home to begin with.

But the ruins of her castle—the only thing that’s left of the kingdom she tried to understand her whole life—will become one. She’s going to build herself a new kingdom, one that she knows by heart, and call it home.

“Noona!!! I’m going home!!! Don’t stay there too long!!! You’ll get sick!!!”

You tear your gaze from the cloudy sky as Hyunjin shouts at you from the ground. You dismiss him with a little wave, forcing a small smile so that the boy will leave instead of going back to the rooftop.

“He’s right,” Chan adds. “You’ve been here for hours.”

After showing up at work with puffy eyes and hoarse voice, Chan attempted to send you home, but you insisted to complete some of your tasks before breaking down during lunch after Hyunjin accidentally revealed that he would meet Seungmin at Eat Here.

So here you are, finally sated after crying all the tears you had left at the rooftop during the remaining working hours.

“I’m fine,” you croak, cringing at your own voice. “You can leave.”

“And let you stay here until you’re all stiff and frozen?”

“Just let me be pathetic for one more day.”

He furrows his brows. “You’re not being pathetic. After what he’s done to you, weeping is the least you should do.”

You let out your first laugh of the day. “I surely wept.”

Looking incredibly relieved that you haven’t lost the ability to feel other emotions than sadness, Chan continues, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Do you know what hurts the most?”

He takes the longest time to think, but shakes his head at the end.

“The fact that I’ll probably never see him again.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing, but go on.”

“Should I give him one last chance? Or should I just hate him until I die? What’s the right thing to do? What should I do to heal? What should he do to heal? All these questions are driving me insane.”

Those questions are the easiest to answer, so you expect Chan to sigh and tell you to snap out of it, but he just smiles at you. “What do you want to do?”

“Huh?”

“Have you tried answering your own questions? What you want to do is what you’re supposed to do. It’s easy, my dear friend.”

“I want to…”

Your mind wanders to last night, recalling that agony on Minho’s face that mirrors your own. A small part of you wants him to suffer for the rest of his life, consumed by guilt and the sheer horror of being erased from someone else’s memories.

“I want to curse him out.”

Chan playfully smacks your head. “You didn’t do that?”

“My mind went blank, then I started crying. That wasn’t cool at all, I know,” you huff. “I should’ve told him to go to hell or something.”

“After that? What do you want to do?”

You bury your face into your palms, ignoring the teasing tone in Chan’s questions. “The last time we talked, you were Lee Minho’s #1 hater. What happened?”

“I just wanted him to be honest with you. I never hated him,” he tells you softly. “Do you?”

You may never get all of your memories back, but the ones you can remember are enough to know that being with Minho used to be a silent torture. He was a thorny rose, beautiful yet unattainable. You wanted him so much you refused to look down and see your bloody fingers. The thorns were stuck there for the longest time, eventually infecting your soul until you were too weak to heal yourself.

But he’s not that boy anymore. He’s just Minho who listens to all of your rambles and actually keeps all those details in his mind. He gives you the warmest hugs and the most sincere kisses. He stays by your side, and you will always want him to stay.

When you finally lift your head to answer Chan, he gives you his reassuring smile that never fails to make you feel better. It’s the first time he’s talking about Minho without a frown, and you hope it’s a good sign. “Like I said,” he sing-songs. “Do what you want to do.”

The sound of footsteps approaching prompts you to curl yourself into a ball, trying to make yourself as invisible as possible under the dining the table. Jeongin manages to push the heavy door open after a few tries, mumbling that you’re not going to take the “king of hide and seek” title from him. You can’t help but giggle at his determination, waiting for him to find you while he’s scanning the whole room.

“Minho hyung!”

You stay still, not wanting to fall into the 5 year-old’s tricks so easily… until you hear Minho’s voice calling the little boy’s name. “What are you guys playing? Where’s Y/N?”

“We’re playing hide and seek,” Jeongin answers, his eyes still as sharp as a hawk. “I’ve found everyone, only Y/N noona is left!”

Minho hums. “Want me to help you find her?”

You don’t hear Jeongin responding, but the next thing you see is a pair of pretty eyes staring into yours. “Found her,” Minho murmurs.

Jeongin pulls you out with a huge grin on his face. “I knew you were there! Thanks for helping me, hyung.”

Minho ruffles the boy’s head before gazing back at you. “If you’re thankful, can I borrow her for a second? We just need to talk, then she’s all yours.”

You can’t find the strength to say no, hoping Jeongin will somehow be clingy this time. “Are you guys fighting?” he asks instead.

“Do you think we’re fighting?”

Jeongin nods, his sparkly eyes turn gloomy. “If I let you talk, will you make up?”

Minho glances at you. “I don’t know… I made a huge mistake.”

“Did you make her cry?”

“Yeah,” Minho confirms, voice thick with remorse and you’re not sure how long you can pretend to be okay in front of Jeongin.“I’m a bad person, aren’t I?”

You crouch down, pinching the boy’s pout with an endearing smile. “I promise nothing bad will happen. Can we go outside now? I’m sure everyone is waiting for you.”

Still a bit sullen, he links his hand with yours and lets you lead him out, Minho trailing behind the two of you. Once you’re back at the garden, Jeongin whispers into your ear, “I’ll always be your friend, noona. I won’t hurt you.”

“Of course you won’t,” you laugh. “I’ll join you soon, okay?”

Minho turns to you as soon as Jeongin goes back to his friends, studying your expressions carefully. You want to tell him so many things, yet the only words you can produce are, “Fuck you, Lee Minho.”

You feel slightly lighter when Minho says nothing to defend himself, sitting on the grass before gesturing at you to do the same. It fuels your need to let out the pain you previously sealed inside your heart, ironically basking in his comforting presence as you do so.

“The whole time I felt like something was missing. You knew that, then went on hiding the rest of the puzzle pieces and left me there, incomplete. Just like that.”

This isn’t your first time baring your heart to Minho, the last time you did it you were left with such immeasurable pain that erasing a part of your brain—your soul—sounded like a better choice. You wait for the sadness and rage to take over your mind, but the storm never comes. You wonder what makes it different until Minho shifts to look at you in the eye.

Minho is looking at you with those pretty eyes like you’re the only one he can see. It’s not just a sweet dream you tried to dream of every night when you were 17. You’re no longer the only one who’s wearing your heart on your sleeves.

“Am I doing this because I feel guilty or because I genuinely want to be with you?” he begins. “Believe me Y/N, I spent months trying to find the answer and justify what I did, but I guess you can never exactly separate those two feelings.”

His confession is bittersweet; you know it won’t end all your personal battles. You still have to fight them, help yourself to understand why you are thinking and acting the way you are. The gaps have been filled, and now you have to be the one who define yourself.

“I thought I could just treat you better for the rest of our lives. I was sure my love would be enough to heal you. That was very stupid and selfish of me, and I’m sorry. You’re free to hate me, push me away, ruin my life… the decision is yours. But I don’t wanna hide how I feel anymore. Not from you.”

You’re still pondering his words when Jeongin comes to check on you, making sure Minho isn’t making you cry again.

“No, Jeongin, I’m fine. Look? I’m not crying!” you reassure the pouty kid.

He beams at you with his toothy smile. “Really?! Did you make up? Friends have to forgive each other!”

“I know, sweetheart,” you coo. “And yes, we made up. Friends forgive each other.”

Minho shoots you a surprised look, but you ignore him until you convince Jeongin that he can continue playing. “I don’t know whether we can go back to what we were,” you tell him, gazing at the clear sky. “I still need time to process everything, but I was afraid that I wouldn’t ever see you again. So we can be friends, if you want.”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling and hopeful. “Hi. I’m Lee Minho.”

“I’m Y/N,” you reply. “Anyways, Lee Minho my new friend, how did you know that I’m here?”

“Your scary friend Bang Chan told me you’d be here.”

“So you think Chan is scary.”

Minho does something that’s between a shrug and a shudder. “He’s always shooting daggers at me how do you not notice?!”

As you and Minho spend the rest of the day laughing and enjoying the sun, you rediscover the magic of following your heart.

It’s heavenly.

To Minho, there are only okay days and good days. Bad days almost never happen, but today is a bad day. Everything started from Eat Here’s fruit supplier sending them the wrong strawberries, then Seungmin called in sick minutes before his shift started, and now he has to deal with a couple whose order hasn’t been processed since 40 minutes ago.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. We’re processing your order now and it will be on us. Jisung, we need another 2 glasses of lemonade—”

“We need our food, not—”

Minho’s lips stretch into a thin smile, the kind of smile he hates because you once said you could sense that he was faking it. His business smile is the only that can save him now, so he ignores the fact that you’re watching the whole chaos and says, “It will be on us. You’re going to need more drinks while waiting.”

After making sure that he’s appeased the angry customers, Minho goes back to the small table at the corner where you’re waiting for him. He can no longer mask his fatigue and annoyance when you lay your eyes on him, all he wants now is to hold you in his arms and sleep everything away. He knows he can’t ask you for more, he’s already getting more than he deserves since you agreed to be friends with him again.

He’s undeniably the luckiest man in the whole galaxy, but it’s human instincts to always want more. There are days when his longing for you is too much to handle, and today is one of those days.

His train of thoughts is interrupted when a cold glass is pressed against his cheek. “Minho?”

“Huh?”

Your eyes crinkle knowingly when he focuses his eyes on you again. “I want to listen to you ranting but I really need to go now. Chan needs me back at the office.”

“Okay,” he answers rather brashly. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Minho almost pouts the way Jeongin does (that pout always gets him) whenever the two of you are going home, luckily he stops himself just in time, opting to wonder what will happen if he tells you that he wants you to stay just a minute longer instead.

You make your way to the door, but not without stopping to give him one last advice, “You better not complain that everything is annoying every 5 seconds if you want that new guy to last more than a day. He’s been looking like a lost quokka!”

Your “warning” came out a bit too loud than you expected. Of course, it reaches Han “that new guy” Jisung’s ears and Minho hopes he remembers to give the poor kid a slice of cheesecake for free after his shift ends. You flash him an apologetic smile, turning to Jisung to convince him that his boss isn’t as bad as he seems before your phone rings.

“He’s harmless, Jisung, just make him iced Americano everyday, praise his cats, and you’re good. Okay, I have to go now or I’ll be jobless in an hour! Byeee!”

Minho’s mouth has curled into a lovesick smile at your antics, waving at you until you close the door of your car. The way you naturally calm him down surprises him everytime, it’s like you’re unaware of how much power you have over him.

God, you really own every inch of his heart, don’t you?

Second chances are overrated.

People change, but once you pay attention to them a just a liiiitle more, you realize that they’re still the same. Lee Minho believes he doesn’t deserve any second chance from you, yet he finds himself seeking forgiveness the moment he looked into your eyes again. As selfish as it sounds, Minho wants your love. Nobody else’s, just yours.

He tried to fill in the empty space you left with other people, but none of them fit. It was always too much or too little, punching him right in his gut for ever thinking that what you two had was too much, that you were too much.

Seeing you fast asleep in his living room with Soonie, Doongie and Dori is another reminder that you were never too much.

You were, and still are, his everything.

Dori opens her eyes before jumping out of your arms, making you stir. Minho quietly strokes your hair to lull you back to sleep, but soon your eyes flutter open as well. “Hmmm look who’s here… the hottest man alive,” you mumble.

Minho points at himself. “Not that I’m surprised, but thank you.”

Your sleepy smile and the breathy chuckle that comes after make his stomach flip. It’s just a simple reaction, something you probably didn’t realize doing, but it feels breathtakingly intimate and loving to Minho. A small part of you that only him can see, something that will cross his mind sometime during work, making him wish time to pass quickly so he can rush back home. To you.

Damn, he promised himself not to let him picture a life with you as the love of his life, but look at his defense crumbling right in front of you because of a mere smile.

You seem to notice his dilemma, lips forming another smile. Opening your arms, you whisper, “Come here.”

The voices in his head are drowned by your request, it’s echoing inside his head like a deathly spell. You have him in your embrace nanoseconds later, curling your hands around his neck as he completely succumbs to his longing.

Minho’s head buzzes with the need to tell you that he loves you, wants you, and misses you to the point that he almost asks you to please please please please forgive him and take him back.

“Okay.”

He lifts his head from the crook of your neck, eyes flickering to yours. You chuckle at his reaction, cupping his cheeks with your warm hands. “Say that again.”

“Say… what again?”

Minho blinks up at you, tiny groans of regret escaping his lips when he realizes that he just spilled everything out loud. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I wasn’t supposed to say that. I know this isn’t about me, but—”

“Did you mean it, though?”

“Of course I did,” Minho says. “But I want to go according to your pace.”

“If I didn’t want the same thing I wouldn’t be here, Minho.” Your voice is as sweet as honey, hypnotizing him into dropping his hopeless pretense. “I’ve built a new home that truly feels like home. It’s probably just a small house, filled with everything that makes me me. But it feels like a beautiful kingdom, and it’s not complete without you in it.”

You don’t have to say it; the way you hold his gaze with such a raw, pure sincerity and the way you asked him to be with you as if he’s the best person in the whole world are enough to let Minho know that he’s all forgiven.

Feeling a tug at his shirt, he meets your expectant eyes once again. “Are you going to continue staring at me like that until we fall asleep?”

The last traces his fear for disappointing you melts away as you start stroking his hair. “I love you,” he rasps, unconsciously leaning in until his lips brush over yours. “My precious moonlight, I’ll do my best so you won’t ever have to erase me again. I love you, Y/N, please don’t leave me.”

You barely manage to nod before Minho finally crashes his lips against yours, not giving you any chance to steal a breath as he lets his feelings overtake himself. He explores every part of your lips like a madman and you accept whatever he gives you, trying to keep up with his feverish kisses and letting him know that he doesn’t need to hold back.

The sudden urge to see you encourages him to pull away. Minho says nothing for a while, only looking into your eyes with silent adoration. Still breathless, you prop yourself up to reward him with a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, the sweet gesture causing Minho to attack you with a series of playful smooches.

“How long do you think this will last?” you ask in between kisses, giggling when Minho switches your positions, you’re now lying on top of him.

“This?”

You pinch his cheek. “I gotta admit it feels kinda nice to hear you saying please so many times.”

Minho arches an eyebrow at your cheeky remark. “Is that so? Wait until you find out how much I like hearing you beg.”

“Minho!” you exclaim, dropping your head on his chest to hide your flushed cheeks. He wraps his arms around you, ready to make you even more flustered before accidentally locking eyes with his cats. You lift your head when you feel his body stills, following his gaze.

“Oh no,” you murmur. “The kids saw that, didn’t they?”

He smiles sheepishly at each of them, somehow feeling like he’s gotten caught by his parents. “This kind of thing happens when you love someone,” he attempts to joke. “So get used to it, okay kiddos?”

You nudge his chest with your chin. “God, you’re shameless.”

“They’re cats!”

“Then why are your ears so red?!”

Minho tuts. “That’s it. We need to do this more often so they’ll get used to it.”

As he silences you with another searing kiss, Minho almost malfunctions at how addicting and comforting it is to have you as his again. It’s impossible to fathom all of his feelings for you into words, yet he still hopes you’ll feel every single one of them.

And you do, because Minho is yours. Entirely yours.

“How did you pass your driving test? Did you bribe them or something?”

Hyunjin doesn’t bother to answer Seungmin’s accusation, eyes glued to the road.

“Watch it,” Minho warns monotonously while you’re gripping his hand, too scared to witness the younger trying to drive. Seungmin shrieks in horror when Hyunjin hits the break almost too late. He glares at the passenger seats where you and Minho are seated. “Hyung can you just take over? Or at least switch seats with me?”

“I can’t.” He points at you. “Y/N is scared as hell and I’m not gonna let you hold her hand.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath when several other cars pass him. “Give me a break! This is my first time driving at the highway,” he argues. “And I was supposed to borrow Chan hyung’s car! Driving your car makes it even ten times scarier!”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my car?!” your boyfriend protests.

The three men continue talking over each other, causing you to roar, “SHUT UP!! Hwang Hyunjin, if you take your hands off the wheels you’re gonna die before you even scratch the car!”

Twenty painful minutes later, Hyunjin succeeds in parallel parking the car with the help of a very frustrated Seungmin. The two boys are heading to the orphanage right away, leaving you and Minho alone for your little date.

Minho opens the trunk, setting it up quickly before pulling you to sit beside him, handing you one of the toasts he packed this morning. “Whoa, the moony park is even more beautiful during the day,” you muse, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Minho agrees. “Should we come here more often at this hour?”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re with me.”

Minho snorts at your cheesy answer, but you still sense his wary from the way he keeps glancing at you from time to time. “Is this about the erasure recording you found in my room yesterday? Is that why you took me here?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re still keeping it. I thought we agreed to destroy it,” he says, doing his best to conceal his uneasiness. You initially thought it was a great idea to forget it ever happened, but no, you’re not running away. You want to accept all the consequences of the decisions you have made, especially this one.

“We did, but then I realized I didn’t want to. I don’t want to erase anything anymore, Minho. I want to live life as it is. It’s a memento from the most important period of my life, and while it hurts, it’s a part of me.” You throw your arms around him, squeezing his body until he turns to you and return your hug. “It’s also a reminder that what we have is stronger than anything, don’t you think? I erased you and I still fell in love with you again. Like an idiot.”

Relief washes over you when Minho chuckles, carefree and amused. “You’re not an idiot,” he teases. “You just have an exceptional taste, and I’m way too irresistible. Let’s face it, you were already crazy for me even before I gave you my card.”

“No I wasn’t! I just thought you were attractive!”

“I am the hottest man alive.”

You sigh. “You’ll never let me live it down.”

“No,” he affirms. “Because you’re right. It’s time to stop trying to forget our past. I’ll never forget the fact that you’re calling me the hottest man alive, just like I’ll never forget how much I’ve hurt you. And how much I’ll always try to make it up to you.”

You laugh at his comparison. “I honestly can’t tell whether we’re having a serious conversation or just trolling each other.”

“It’s my talent, baby. Life is always fun with me.”

Although the park has become more crowded and your boyfriend is never big on PDA, you have no choice but giving him a kiss on his cheek. “You don’t have to do anything for me,” you whisper. “Just love me.”

“Hmm.” His lips stretch into a loving smile, the one smile reserved for your eyes only. “That I do.”

Minho isn’t a prince charming who sweeps you off your feet. He is your wandering prince and you’re his moonlight, illuminating his gloomy world. You show him that he doesn’t have to wander for the rest of his life, that he can call you home and stay.

And Minho will always be with you, showering you with the love you deserve. He’ll be the one who fight the demons for you and with you, he’ll be the one who reminds you over and over again how strong and precious you are whenever you lose faith in yourself. Together, you are moonlit. Together, you are complete.

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 20

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 19

Next Chapter: to be posted

After a long consideration, Lucie decided to wear her fit flops into the woods. Perhaps not the best choice of shoe, but she still had blisters on both feet and any other shoe would make it worse. She regretted that decision when her feet started to get cold, but if she’d chosen different shoes she would probably regret them being painful just the same. She began to understand why middle aged men insisted on wearing socks with sandals, no matter how awful it looked.

‘Are you seriously wearing flip flops?’ Alastair asked when he noticed.

‘They’re fit flops,’ Lucie protested.

‘Which are not flip flops?’

‘These are structured and very good for the feet. Also I have blisters everywhere. This is how I can still walk.’

No one had additional questions. Alastair checked the pictures on his phone every once in a while and compared with their surroundings. The pictures he and Thomas had taken off the ruins had become pictures of this world instead of the one in between, and Alastair was trying to pinpoint the location of the ruins. None of them felt it was a good idea to spend an extended time in the land in between, considering the danger of being sucked all the way into the realm of the thief of souls. It was possible Lucie could portal them back from there as well, but even entering that realm could also kill them all. Lucie wasn’t willing to take chances.

‘I think these plants match the pictures,’ Alastair said.

Lucie tried to look over his shoulder at his phone, and got a glimpse of the same shrubs that were in front of her. It wasn’t conclusive, this could have been anywhere, but Alastair scrolled through his pictures and made more comparisons. Not to mention he’d been to the ruins before so he at least knew what path he��d taken to get there.

‘Alright, I’ll open a portal,’ Lucie said. ‘Darkness, create a gateway to the land in between only open to myself, Cordelia Carstairs, Alastair Carstairs and Thomas Lightwood, a gateway that remains open until all four of us make our way back through the same gateway.’

The gateway of shadows was subtle as always, but soon the four of them disappeared through it. Lucie tripped over something as soon as she was through, falling over and falling onto her knee.

She scrambled upright and inspected the parts of her body that were hurting. Her knees were bleeding, but the wounds were superficial and she could walk just fine. She’d probably have to clean and disinfect it when they got back.

Of course, the floor of the ruins was higher than the path in the wood, so stepping through the portal meant she had to step upwards while not seeing the floor. Honestly, it was a miracle she was the only one who’d tripped.

‘Are you alright?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Just a little clumsy,’ Lucie said. ‘Next time we go here I’ll open the gateway before the ruins and not in the middle of them.’

Lucie sat down on an a block of stone and looked around. Her knees did hurt. As a child she’d been rather uncoordinated and had had bleeding knees all the time, but she thought she’d grown over that. Nowadays Thomas, who wasn’t quite used to his size, was the clumsy one.

The ruins looked the same as she remembered from seeing them in Alastair’s memory. It had been a weird experience, to look through his eyes. Looking in Alastair’s memory let her experience the memory as he had sensory wise. Somehow his senses were even more overwhelming than her own. It made her wonder if Alastair was autistic too. She wasn’t the only who experienced his memories that way, according to Cordelia it was much easier for her to revisit her own memories than his, since his memories tended to be so overwhelming even when they were very neutral memories. Alastair believed Cordelia’s memories were duller and less detailed because they belonged to someone else and he was just visiting, but Lucie wasn’t so sure.

He definitely struggled socially and had specific and sometimes odd interests, it wouldn’t surprise her if he were autistic, or at least not neurotypical somehow. Although she guessed considering he had PTSD that already made him not neurotypical. She was never quite sure what did or did not fall under the neurodivergent umbrella.

‘Is this the trap door you couldn’t get open?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Right here,’ Alastair said.

Thomas knelt down and started pulling on the handle. ‘I still can’t get it to open.’

‘Let me,’ Cordelia said, and she firmly grabbed her sword and swung it at the trap door, shattering the wood until there was an opening and a ladder leading down somewhere.

‘Who wants to go first?’ Alastair asked, studying his nails.

‘I’ll go,’ Cordelia said.

Alastair didn’t listen to her and instead descended the ladder himself, disappearing into the darkness. Cordelia groaned.

‘I’m the one with the magic sword!’ she shouted into the opening. ‘What part of “I’ll go” do you not understand?’

Alastair called something back, but Lucie was too far away to make out what either of them were saying. She stood up from her rock, which was hurting her butt, and walked over to Cordelia and Thomas.

‘Anything down there, Alastair?’ she called into the opening.

‘It’s dark,’ he yelled back. ‘I’m turning on my flashlight.’

Lucie didn’t realize he’d brought a flashlight. Then it occurred to her he probably had one on his phone. She could see a shimmer of light coming from down the trap door. Whatever it was down there, it was deep.

A howl pierced the air, not unlike the sounds the werewolf Cordelia had killed had produced. It came from downstairs.

‘Alastair, get back up here!’ Thomas yelled down.

Alastair did not respond. There was another howl. A growling sound. Something Lucie interpreted as a struggle.

‘Alastair!’ Cordelia yelled.

A deafening silence. None of them dared to breathe.

‘I’m alright!’ Alastair called back.

The creature growled again, the sound of nails screeching against the floor. Lucie didn’t recognize everything that was happening down there.

A moment later Alastair emerged from the trap door, some dust on him which he carefully petted off, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

‘Did you kill it?’ Lucie asked, eyes wide.

‘Not yet,’ Alastair said. ‘It’s another werewolf, and last time I used this dagger on it, it didn’t work. We need cortana.’

‘How come you’re not dead?’ Cordelia asked, smacking him over the head. ‘You bloody fool, why did you go down there without me?’

‘Because otherwise you would have,’ Alastair said. ‘There’s a werewolf down there, but it’s bound by a chain. It tried to attack me, but it wasn’t nearly close enough to reach me. There were two doors behind it, it’s protecting something. Meaning we’re in the right place.’

‘If it’s not the skin then it must be something else important,’ Cordelia said. ‘So, I kill the wolf and then we open the doors.’

‘Careful, it’s starved and very aggressive,’ Alastair said.

‘I killed a werewolf before.’

‘One that had its eyes on me and Thomas. You could surprise it from behind, that is not possible right now… Unless I distract it first.’

Cordelia frowned. ‘I’m not sure…’

‘I know now where I’m safe. I’ll try to provoke it into attacking me while remaining someplace it cannot reach me. You follow me down, quietly, and then attack from behind.’

Alastair went back down. Cordelia looked nervous and Lucie squeezed her hand for a moment. ‘You can do this. Come back when you’re safe.’

Lucie was nervous too, but she had faith in Cordelia. She’d killed a werewolf before, she could do it again. And this one was chained, she could always run and make her way back to a location it couldn’t reach.

Waiting seemed like forever. She heard the werewolf, she heard it howl and screech and make sounds Lucie interpreted as an attempt to attack. She didn’t hear any screams, no sign Alastair or Cordelia were in danger. Then the werewolf made a pained sound. Silence.

‘It’s dead!’ Cordelia yelled. ‘You can come down.’

Lucie went first, carefully gripping the ladder and going down. It creaked under her feet and she held her breath as she descended slowly. The ladder had held both Alastair and Cordelia, she reminded herself. She might have gained weight the last few months, but she suspected she was still lighter than Cordelia and it had held her.

Lucie took in a deep breath when she was all the way down. She turned around and took a good look, taking out her phone and putting on the flashlight. In front of her, its ankle chained to the wall, was a dead woman. Lucie shrieked. She was beheaded, and an arm was lying a little farther away from the rest of the body.

‘That’s the werewolf,’ Cordelia said.

‘It’s horrifying how they return to human when they’re dead,’ Lucie said.

‘It is. No ghosts here?’

Lucie shone her flashlight in all directions, but didn’t recognize anyone beyond Cordelia and Alastair. ‘No, no one. And there are two doors. Which one do you think we should take?’

‘One is locked, one is not,’ Alastair said. ‘I imagine the interesting things are behind the locked door.’

Cordelia hacked at the locked door with her sword, but when the door was out of the way something else was stopping her. Lucie walked over to take a look, shining her flashlight into the room. It was a big room with a table, on top of which lay something that resembled maybe a blanket? Lucie tried to get a closer look, but an invisible barrier stopped her.

‘I think that’s it,’ Cordelia said. ‘That’s Grace’ skin.’

Lucie realized it was indeed a skin of sorts, not a blanket.

‘Cortana cannot breach magical barriers,’ Alastair said. ‘So how are we going to get through? Lucie, can you dispel it?’

‘I have no idea how,’ Lucie said, ‘but I can try. Darkness, please lift the barrier that keeps us from entering this room.’

What remained of the door disappeared, but when Lucie stepped forward the invisible barrier was still there. ‘That’s odd. I couldn’t open or close any doors at home, much less make anything disappear.’

It was one of the things she’d tried, but nothing had worked.

‘Perhaps your power is different in this realm,’ Alastair mused. ‘Perhaps this is where it comes from.’

Lucie wondered why that would be. The land in between was something layered over their own, tied to the thief of souls who waited on the other side. Lucie suspected the souls that were taken were similar to ghosts as she knew them in her world, so that was one connection. Her magic seemed to be tied to darkness, at least it was according to Grace, and the land in between was certainly darker than the normal world. But what was the connection between her and the thief of souls? Was there one? Lucie wasn’t sure she was ready to find out.

‘Perhaps,’ Lucie said. ‘I might have disappeared the door, but the magical barrier is still there. What is behind the other door?’

Thomas opened it and bent down to fit through. Lucie wasn’t sure when or where these ruins were built, but the people who lived in it were not accustomed to tall people. The doorways were wide enough, but not very high.

Thomas returned, hitting his head against the doorframe this time.

‘Careful,’ Lucie said.

Thomas rubbed his head, wincing in pain. ‘Why are the door openings so low?’

‘Probably because tall people hadn’t been invented yet when this was built,’ Alastair said. ‘Anything interesting there?’

‘Corridors, doors, vines… it’s a bit of a mess down there, and there’s a part that’s underwater. I think it’s a maze. Which probably means it hides something interesting.’

Alastair frowned. ‘Would Tatiana have reason to go there and hide anything beyond the skin? I’m assuming the barrier lets her through.’

‘But perhaps there’s something else down there someone else hid,’ Lucie said. ‘Or there’s a key that can get us through the room. Perhaps we were supposed to find the key there instead of shatter the door. Like in a legend of Zelda dungeon.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Alastair said.

‘It’s a video game,’ Thomas offered. ‘Well, a series of video games. It is common for the key to a locked door with something important behind it to be hidden someplace else.’

‘But this isn’t a video game,’ Alastair said. ‘If I wanted to defend something at all costs, there would be no puzzle solution to getting it, and the only way to shatter that magical barrier would be by casting magic on it of such force it would be unable to withstand it. If there was a key, I would take it with me, not hide it in a maze this close by.’

‘But the text did say something about every puzzle having a solution. Perhaps that’s against the rules. Since we can’t cast enough magic to dispel the barrier, it’s worth taking a look there,’ Lucie said, entering the next room.

It did look like something out of a legend of Zelda dungeon, although perhaps a bit more decayed and creepy. There was a lower level beside where she was walking, which was flooded. Lucie didn’t think it was safe to go in the water. Flooded areas could be treacherous, and filled with bacteria. She placed her steps carefully, there was nothing keeping her from falling into the water. There was a bridge farther ahead, leading to a series of doors, most of which had locks on them. There were vines growing along the walls, but none of the doors appeared blocked so far. The atmosphere was dark and gloomy, but bright enough to see even if she couldn’t identify a source of light. She wondered how the vines grew here without sunlight.

Cordelia followed her, sword still ready, but when Thomas tried go through the door something stopped him.

‘There’s a barrier here too,’ Thomas called.

Lucie immediately turned back, worried she’d locked herself in. She put her hand out to feel for the barrier, only to feel… nothing. She moved back into the first room.

‘Oh, it’s gone,’ Thomas said, moving into the second room again, carefully bending down to protect his head.

When Lucie tried to follow him, she felt what Thomas had noticed, a barrier just like the one keeping them from Grace’ skin. Which was odd, because just moments ago she’d been able to go through both ways. Alastair tried as well, but it didn’t let him through. Not until Cordelia returned and he suddenly stumbled through as if he’d been leaning on the invisible barrier and now he’d fallen, catching himself by taking a few steps until he’d found balance.

‘Maybe it will only let two of us through,’ Thomas speculated. ‘It doesn’t seem particular on who enters, but when there are two of us on the other side the barrier closes for the ones left behind.’

‘That’s an odd mechanic,’ Alastair said. ‘Why not keep everyone out if you’re so keen to place a barrier?’

‘The inscription said something about every puzzle having a solution and every lock having a key,’ Lucie said. ‘What if it means that there must always be a way, and you cannot guard a treasure in such a way it’s impossible to reach? You can only make it so long and complicated that people would give up or get lost in there, but there has to be a solution. So this is like a dungeon, and maybe Tatiana created it not to make it impossible to get the skin, but make it hard enough most people won’t succeed. There had to be a key to the skin and it has to be somewhere here.’

Lucie figured this land played by its own rules, and she hoped she was right and getting past the magical barrier was possible if they solved whatever was here.

‘But if we stay too long, we’ll end up trapped in the realm of the thief of souls,’ Alastair said. ‘Is it worth the risk?’

‘Perhaps there is a way to keep track of this realm changing into the other one,’ Thomas said. ‘Just before I followed you down, something changed into the ruin structure. Small, but some bricks were added to a wall. Lucie, would you be able to reverse the changes, and freeze the realm in this state, so to say? To give us more time?’

Lucie guessed that meant she had to stay here. So much for exploring the dungeon. At the same time, her knees still hurt and getting to sit in the ruins and cast magic might be better than stumbling through dark caverns. Not to mention her chances of catching an infection from whatever was in that water was far greater.

‘I could give it a try,’ Lucie said. ‘I think it should be possible, but I won’t keep up forever.’

‘Only two can go in, so one person should stay with Lucie whereas the other two go explore,’ Cordelia said.

Part of Lucie hoped Cordelia would stay with her, but she suspected there might be more dangers lurking inside, more beasts chained up blocking exits, and it made sense for Cordelia to go.

Cordelia had the same idea. ‘I’ll go, I’ll have my sword to protect myself.’

‘You’ll get lost in there,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ll have to join you since I can always trace our way back.’

Lucie imagined with his memory he’d never get lost as long as he made sure to take in his surroundings and look for landmarks. She’d never considered that use of his ability.

‘I’ll stay with Lucie,’ Thomas said. ‘If we can’t hold on anymore, if we’re attacked, what do we do?’

Alastair grimaced. ‘You run. You take the gateway back. Do not wait for us. The gateway should remain open in case we do make it back. Depending on how deep this complex is, one of us will return every once in a while to check how you are doing. Just make sure you stick close enough to the entrance that you’ll hear us yell. If there’s no response, we will leave immediately.’

Lucie wasn’t comfortable running and leaving Alastair and Cordelia behind, but she agreed that they had little other choice. The gateway would remain open for them either way, they’d have a way back.

‘If we have to leave without you, I will stay around and check every once in a while,’ Lucie said. ‘However, if I leave and then enter again, does that not reset the time before it has been too long?’

‘If we stay too long we might get trapped with the thief,’ Alastair said. ‘Leaving and entering might reset the count until that happens, we should try that before delving in. But I do not want to end up buried alive.’

Alastair had a point, if she opened a gateway here they might be very well end up somewhere under the ground. All four of them ascended the ladder, and made their way to the still open gateway, a ray of light, stepping through. The difference was subtle and yet their world felt so much safer, warmer, kinder. The greatest difference was the ruins disappearing. When all of them were back, the gateway closed.

Lucie checked the time on her phone. One in the afternoon. It didn’t feel that long, but she was used to that by now. Time ran differently in the land in between.

Lucie opened another, using the same conditions. When they entered again, the ruins did look different than they had upon leaving, but only slightly.

‘That wall was much higher,’ Alastair said, pointing his finger. Lucie was impressed by his attention to detail. ‘Now it is crumbling. I think this is a complete castle in the realm of the thief of souls.’

‘Yes,’ Lucie said. ‘So we must make sure the castle doesn’t get built.’

Lucie hugged Cordelia before she left. ‘Don’t die, alright?’

‘I’ll do the best I can, and we’ll be careful. We won’t take any unnecessary risks.’

Lucie found a comfortable stone to sit on close to the trap door, while Alastair and Cordelia descended the ladder once more, disappearing into the darkness.

‘Darkness, freeze this place in time so that we will not be transported to the realm of the thief of souls,’ Lucie commanded.

She wasn’t sure if anything was happening, but she would keep her eyes open to see if anything changed. She might not have Alastair’s memory to keep track off the difference but Lucie had always had an eye for detail.

Thomas was pacing restlessly, head down, posture slumped, walking everywhere across the ruins. It was getting on Lucie’s nerves, but she tried to ignore it and let him do whatever he needed to.

‘Everything alright up there?’

It was Cordelia. Some time had passed and she was checking up for the first time.

‘Nothing has changed yet,’ Lucie called back into the opening. ‘Any progress?’

‘We checked which doors open and which don’t,’ Cordelia said. ‘There’s a mechanism here that we think will drain the flood water, but Alastair’s still trying to figure out how to operate it. And most of the locked doors only give us more keys to open new locked doors, so that’s not exactly helpful.’

‘Alright, good luck! If you need anything, just let us know!’

Cordelia went back inside and Lucie was starting to get very irritated with Thomas’ pacing. She knew it was irrational, but it was too much sensory wise.

‘Will you sit down for a moment?’ she snapped.

Thomas’ eyes went wide in shock and he immediately came to sit down next to her. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘It’s nothing to apologize for, it’s just getting on my nerves,’ Lucie said, remembering Thomas’ tendency to apologize for everything, always worried he was taking up too much space.

‘I’m nervous too,’ Thomas admitted.

‘Cordelia was here not long ago,’ Lucie said. ‘They’re alright.’

‘I have faith in them,’ Thomas said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I like waiting up there. I hate not being able to do anything. Alastair and Cordelia are trying to figure out how to get Grace’ skin, you are keeping us from falling into the realm of the thief of souls with no way back, and I am useless.’

‘You’re not useless,’ Lucie said. ‘You can help me. I need to be very focused on these ruins, so I need you to keep me safe.’

Thomas nodded, clutching a dagger in his hand. Another one of Alastair’s collection. Cordelia always claimed he was very possessive of his daggers, but now he seemed alright with sharing them. She knew there was a bad story behind the one he’d given her though, she knew this dagger had once been a gift from his ex lover, someone who had apparently been rich enough to buy this for him. She wondered how Alastair had felt upon receiving such a gift. Lucie guessed she’d feel uncomfortable receiving an expensive gift from a lover. But perhaps he’d felt indebted to his former lover too, had felt like no one else would love him like this person.

‘How are you and Alastair?’ Lucie asked. ‘Was it nice, sleeping over?’

‘Uhm, yes, it was nice. Well, I did accidently trigger a flashback and I’m terrified it’ll happen again. I don’t want to hurt him.’

‘Did you say anything weird?’ Lucie asked. ‘What happened?’

‘I think getting intimate with him brought up memories of his ex,’ Thomas admitted. ‘He said it wasn’t my fault, but maybe I did push him too much, or did not consider…’

Lucie wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t think it was Thomas’ fault, especially if Alastair said so. She knew he had a tendency to get angry when he was hurt, although she hadn’t witnessed many outbursts lately. According to Cordelia, his anger had calmed a bit since going to therapy. Lucie wasn’t sure if the way he always seemed tired, the fight drained from him was much better, and Cordelia agreed that sometimes it seemed worse.

‘What did you do after that?’ Lucie asked.

‘I took him outside to look at the stars,’ Thomas said. ‘It was a little cold, but it was nice. And Alastair did want to touch me again, so I’m guessing that’s a good sign.’

‘I really don’t think he blames you, or he would have gotten angry,’ Lucie said. ‘He tends to lash out when he’s hurt.’

‘He used to,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t think he does that anymore. Not against others anyway.’

‘Do you like being with him?’ Lucie asked.

‘It’s amazing,’ Thomas said. ‘I mean, it’s difficult sometimes because I hate seeing him in pain, and I don’t always know how to help, but we also have fun together. He liked watching the stars with me, or going swimming.’

‘You can’t take all his pain away by yourself,’ Lucie said. ‘I know in novels it’s always love will fix everything, but unfortunately in real life that’s not how it works.’

‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘But that doesn’t make it easier, watching him suffer in silence. If anything, it’s worse knowing that I can’t make it go away. The best I can do is support him and help him through it. How is it going with you and Cordelia?’

‘Not great,’ Lucie admitted. ‘I haven’t figured out how to tell her I like her.’

‘Blurting out feelings after nearly being mauled by a werewolf worked out for me,’ Thomas said. ‘Maybe you could tell her after today’s mission if we’re all still alive.’

‘Maybe,’ Lucie said.

She noticed a change in the wall, the same wall Alastair had pointed out earlier. It had grown, some bricks added to it until the wall seemed complete, no longer crumbled.

‘Darkness, reverse the progression to another realm and take us back to the land in between we entered.’

It worked, the bricks disappeared and the wall was crumbled again. Lucie felt as if she’d lifted all the bricks by herself. She wasn’t sure how many more times she’d be able to do this. Lucie tried to even out her breath, and lay back on the stone. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she didn’t think she could find something better around here.

‘As Nico di Angelo once said, with great power comes the need to take a nap,’ Lucie said. ‘Can you keep in touch with Alastair and Cordelia for me? And alert me if anything else changes.’

Lucie closed her eyes and tried to find a comfortable position. Next time she’d bring a pillow. And a blanket.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay- Chapter 1

Fury/ Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

Summary: Don "Wardaddy" Collier just wanted his crew to make it through the war. He carried no expectations for himself. But as each day passed, he worried he would be unable to keep his promise. When fate (or more accurately- Boyd Swan) places a woman in his path with a soft touch and softer heart...perhaps he has more of a motivation to see the end of the war after all.

Hey so I’m back with this series! I posted the first chapter awhile ago and then realized I did not have my plot and characters as “polished” as I wanted. So if you read the first chapter already, I would recommend rereading it. 

The first chapter is shorter compared to the others so to make up for it, I will also be posting the next chapter! Two in one! 

Our beloved Easy Company will come into play in a couple chapters. Patience, my friends. I have a plan...

Warnings: Swearing, some mentions of wounds/blood

Tag List: @happyveday​ @evelynshelby​ @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ 

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

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Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Dirt and grime covered his skin and clothing. The sound of the Sherman's tracks rolling over the muddy ground encompassed them. Patches of ice and snow still lined the feeble road. He stared ahead blindly, trusting Gordo to get them to the camp safely. The looks on those around him mirrored his own feelings. Everyone was exhausted. Everyone wanted real food. Everyone was tired of watching allies killed by fucking Tigers. 

 Everyone was sick of this shit. 

 They approached the camp. The cesspool that it looked like from far away became even more evident the closer they got. Half-demolished buildings with a dusting of snow were the only standing structures left of what used to be a quaint little town. Soldiers in grubby gear, rifle over their shoulders, ran around. From far away the sounds of artillery fire echoed. Don wondered who was dying now. 

"Boyd." He looked over at his gunner. "When we get parked, you go find an aid station. Get that hand looked at."

 "Yes, sir." The gunner held his injured hand against his chest, wrapped in a makeshift bandage. 

 After getting directions from a lieutenant, they found the tank squad on the other side of the town. Seeing the three other tanks gave the staff sergeant some hope. 

 "Boyd, medic. Gordo, fill 'er up. Grady, check that suspension. I don't like the way it sounds. Norman, find us some ammunition and where the hot chow is." Don barked out orders as everyone jumped off the tank. Replies of "yes, sir" made him nod, silently proud of his crew, before stalking towards where he assumed HQ was. 

 Soon enough he found the building, soldiers scurrying in and out, making the place look like an overturned ant hill. The glass on the store-front was still intact surprisingly, but the door was busted down leaving a gaping hole to walk through. Sliding past a private who looked barely eighteen coming out, he entered the HQ to see a table set out in the middle with maps laid out, paper weights and bullets strewn about. 

 "Who you?" 

 The gravelly voice made him turn to his right, eyeing up the man sitting on a wingback chair. "Staff Sergeant Don Collier, commander of Fury, 66th Armored Regiment, 2nd Armored Division."

 The man exhaled, smoke slipping between his thin lips, cigarette hanging precariously. "Ah, Wardaddy, eh? Right, come on." He stood up and waved Don over to the table. "Captain Evans. What's your status?"

 Don eyed the man, he seemed far too relaxed for being in a war zone. Then again, his greying hair and beard and those sharp eyes made him briefly wonder if this Captain Evans had been in the Great War. Maybe this was easier compared to trenches? Either way, it was nice to see someone in charge for once that looked like they were actually old enough to shave. Fuck knew too many kids were running around with rifles now, having just gotten out of bootcamp. Don wanted nothing to do with them. 

 "We secured the town here," he pointed at the map, "left 86th Infantry to hold. Then my guys and two other tanks were sent here."

 Captain Evans stared at the maps, mind clearly seeing how best to utilize them. "You and two tanks, eh?"

 "Yeah. Ran into a tiger though. Now it's just my guys."

 His bushy eyebrows shot up, even those around the table quieted down with the news. "Just you?" At Don's nod, the Captain tapped his fist on the table. "Damn those tigers. Alright, good to have you here, Don. We're waiting on some intel before sending you out. You and your guys get some chow and rest. Come back and see me in the morning."

 "Yes, sir." Don nodded and walked out of the building, relieved they were not being sent out right away. 

 As he walked down the filthy, cobbled street, he could feel the shakes beginning in his hands. Quickly, he stepped onto a side street, hoping no one would notice him. Leaning back against the brick wall of the building, he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets before anyone could see them shaking. Memories of the fight from yesterday replayed in his mind without permission. The tiger easily destroyed the rest of his platoon. In a matter of minutes, him and his crew were alone. Ten men. They had lost ten men. Good men...well mostly good. There was that one asshole in Edward's squad no one would miss.

 War took the best and worst; death it’s equally possessive lover.  

 Hands slightly fumbling, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The lighter took a few clicks before catching. With the inhale, the nicotine and smoke settled in his lungs beautifully. He closed his eyes, letting the cigarette help calm his nerves and try to erase the memories of his platoon. They were dead now. It did no good to dwell on it. 

 After several minutes his hands finally stilled. Running a hand through his hair, he pushed off the building and headed out to find his crew. He glanced around wondering the likelihood of finding a roof and real beds for his guys tonight. They deserved it. Especially after all this shit. His own back cried out for a reprieve from sleeping on the hard ground. 

 Yeah, he would figure out something. Even if he had to toss some goddamn young Privates out into the stained snow. 

 *****

 "Nurse Cooper! You can handle this!" 

 She pushed the flyaway strands of auburn hair out of her face as she walked past the injured, following the voice of Doctor Erickson. The cries, screams and whimpers of the injured and dying no longer affected her. Or at least that was what she told herself. At least this field hospital had separate areas based on severity and a roof over the top.

 She had worked in far worse conditions before. 

 She nodded to the tall, blond doctor who barely gave her a passing glance as he shoved past her, away from injuries he deemed lesser than what he should be focusing his attention on. 

 A man sat on the edge of a cot, cradling his hand in his lap, which was wrapped up like a mummy. He was not screaming or swearing, so she took that as a good sign. His eyes were closed, lips moving silently like he was praying, a thick mustache twitching with every movement. He looked like he could only be a couple years older than her own twenty-three years.

 "What's your name, soldier?" She stood in front of him, wiping her hands on the stained apron she wore over her equally stained dress. Once they had both been white; now, the apron and dress were a patchwork of stains from blood, dirt and other questionable fluids she chose not to think of. 

 He looked up, his brown eyes meeting her blue in surprise. "Boyd Swan, ma'am. Those in my crew call me Bible though. " 

 "Well, Boyd, mind if I take a look at your hand?" She perched on a stool as he offered up his hand. Quickly, she unwrapped it to see the damage with a gentle but methodical touch. A long laceration bled across the palm and past the wrist, thankfully not deep. Honestly, looking it over, it was kind of a miracle it was not worse. 

 "Well, you're lucky, Boyd. Any deeper and you might have lost use of your hand. You might have some nerve damage; I do not think immobility is a concern at this point. I think we can get away without stitches if you can promise me you'll keep your hand bandaged and try not to use it."

 "It's not luck, He's looking out for me and my crew." He pointed a finger on his other hand skyward. 

 "Yes, He certainly was. Let me grab some new bandages." She grabbed some cleaning solution and bandages for the man. The sooner she finished with him, the less likely there would be concern for infection. If she guessed, it would appear the injury happened at the earliest maybe yesterday. More than enough time for it to become infected. Though her training had taught her to ask and determine when the injury occurred, lately she found herself hating that question. It always led into a story and hearing even more of the horrors these men faced. Her mind had enough memories of blood and guts to fuel nightmares for a hundred years. If she could refrain from hearing others’ memories, she found herself choosing too.

 The other reason she wanted to finish with him soon was to open up the bed he currently sat on, in case a worse injury came in. Luckily there had not been a large-scale fight in a week so they only had trickles of men coming in instead of waves of dying men. 

 "You a religious woman?" 

 She looked up from cleaning his hand to meet his earnest eyes. "I guess. I don't pray like I used to."

 He hummed. "I can respect that. I suspect you've seen plenty of death."

 Not wanting to remember all the faces of young men she had slaved over, only for them to die under her care, she changed the subject. "Why do they call you Bible?"

 "I'm always reading the Bible... I reckon that's where it started. I stopped trying to convert those heathens in my tank. I pray for their souls though. Always will." His voice trailed off quietly, but the fondness in it was unmistakable. 

 "You're a good man, Boyd."

 He nervously chuckled, looking away for a moment with the sound of his foot tapping repeatedly on the ground. "No, I'm just doing the Lord's work. That's all."

 "Well, I'm done." Smiling at him, she pushed back slightly. It was nice to have a patient not screaming at her or leering. There were too many of those men as of late. "Do you know your orders yet?"

 "No, ma'am. We just rolled in an hour ago."

 "Alright, if you're still here tomorrow I'd like to take a look at your hand again in the morning."

 "I can do that." 

 "Good. Go rest up now, find some food. You earned it." She stood up, holding the soiled cloths, ready to move on to the next patient or task. 

 "I will.” He rose along with her, clearly understanding the dismissal. "Oh ma'am, what's your name?" 

 For a moment she hesitated to share her name. Normally she preferred the men to call her Nurse Cooper. From past experience, if she told them her name, they seemed to think she was interested in them. Yet with this man, she found herself wanting to share her name. He was kind and respectful. There were no gut feelings scaring her away from him. "Anna. I'm Anna Cooper."

 "Pleasure to meet you, Anna Cooper. You need anything, you let me know, right?"

 She was unsure how he could help her. Depending on his orders she might never see him again, but she nodded to humor him. "Sure. It was lovely to meet you too, Boyd."

 With a parting smile from both, she hurried to the back of the building where they kept the large tub for boiling cloths. She grimaced when she noticed how low the water was. That meant she would have to go to the river soon. A shiver shot through her at the anticipated cold awaiting her outside. Thankfully most of the snow had melted already but winter’s chill still clung possessively to the air. Plus, it did not help how easily cold sunk into her bones. Back home her family would tease her about that fact. Here, on the edge of the front lines, it only made her life more difficult.

 Before Doctor Erickson found a reason to yell at her, she headed back out to assist in whatever way possible. Her conversing with Boyd was her first positive interaction in a few days besides with the few others nurses stationed at the field hospital. She hoped he was not sent away too soon. 

[phantom-curve]

did I shatter you? pt. 2

part one: you’re not my homeland anymore | part two: when a good man hurts you | part three: there’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me | part four: my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand | epilogue: what died didn’t stay dead

It was him. There was no denying those overgrown brown locks peeking out from his favorite orange beanie or the ocean within his eyes. His feet skipped a beat at the sound of his name, head raising to stare at her with the pain of a thousand heartaches lurking behind his cloudy gaze. Her chest burned. Both of them in so much pain, so close, and yet still unable to cross the chasm that had opened between them. They stared at each other for a long moment, the snow dampened silence spinning out between them. Luke’s face was pale, his eyes bloodshot from crying or lack of sleep she couldn’t possibly know anymore. He sniffed, raising his arm to wipe at his nose with the back of his overlarge flannel sleeve. So, crying it was. Julie felt like she was staring at a ghost.

“What are you doing here?”

They spoke at the same time, their voices overlapping in a sloppy mess of harmonies they hadn’t practiced in too long. Julie’s heart stuttered at the sound of Luke’s low vibrato. He stared at her as if she was the answer to a prayer he hadn’t known he’d been asking for. Electricity sparked between them, bodies drawing closer together without conscious thought from either one. Julie hadn’t been this close to him for a year. His hair was longer, even more unruly than it had been in the years they’d been together. His face looked tired; brows heavy with the weight of whatever battles he had been fighting alone. Always alone now. Her fingertips itched with the desire to reach up and stroke his cheek. She didn’t have that kind of unspoken permission anymore.

She turned on her heel without a word, soundlessly making her way back to the very same bench she had just vacated. Her steps were sure, no hesitation to wait and see if he would follow. She knew he would. His quiet steps provided the only other noise in the frigid air. They didn’t touch as they each took a seat on the farthest corners of the bench. It was an unspoken agreement to keep that space between them. They needed a buffer zone for this conversation. Julie fidgeted with her necklaces; fingers tucked underneath a chunky knit scarf so they would stay far away from Luke’s body. She watched him tuck his own hands underneath his thighs. At least the feeling was mutual.

Snow accumulated around them in pristine, white piles. Julie watched it gradually stack on her knees, shivered underneath the wetness of slowly melting flakes in her hair. She would be damned if she broke this silence. Luke had come here. He knew how much it had always meant to her and he had come here, on a December day so close to the one she hated most. He could speak first. It only took a few minutes longer for him to break.

“I’ve missed you.”

Three simple little words, yet they cut through her like a finely sharpened blade. She sucked in an icy breath, bracing herself against the burn in her chest.

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Her words were low, barely an octave above a growl. She stared at him head on, saw him flinch away from the raw emotion in her eyes.

“You chose to leave. You didn’t want to listen to anything I had to say. You left before I could even try to stop you. You don’t get to miss me.”

Her voice had grown stronger with each pointed statement. It was true that Luke had chosen to cut and run instead of stick around and fight for her. But it was also true that she hadn’t chased him down. She had accepted the end of their relationship in silence, too tired at that point to care enough to fight back. She was writing a revisionist history here, and she could tell by the way his eyes blazed that he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. He angled his body towards hers, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. Probably so he couldn’t get overworked with hand gestures that she would tease him about.

“You didn’t try to stop me. You never tried. Just let Andi reach out with tour negotiations and recording schedules so you could avoid me at all costs while we fell apart! How the hell was I supposed to talk to you without a middleman? You know I hate sending messages through other people.”

“How else was I supposed to talk to you, Luke?” His entire body shivered at the sound of his name leaving her lips. “You barely came home anymore. The only time I really saw you was at the studio and I was tired of trying to communicate with you through song lyrics. Couples should be able to talk to each other!”

“Oh, like you ‘talked’ to Nick?” He scoffed.

“Jesus Christ, not this shit again. Those tabloid photos were taken from the worst possible angle and there was absolutely no kissing involved, but even if there was, what do you care? I kiss Reggie and Alex on the cheek all the time. Why shouldn’t I kiss an old friend like Nick on the cheek? Just because you said not to? When have you ever not done something just because I asked?”

“That’s different! Reggie and Alex respect you, they respect us! Nick was always just waiting in the wings for me to fuck up so he could swoop in.”

Julie let out a humorless chuckle and shot to her feet, unable to keep the frustrated, restless energy out of her legs as she paced back and forth in front of the bench. Luke stayed seated, but his body was vibrating with tension. She could see the strain in his neck as he fought to keep himself in check.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Nick has never done anything but respect us, and he hasn’t been waiting around for anything! You did just fine burning our relationship to the ground on your own. Don’t stand there holding matches and then blame him because he once owned a lighter! Even before we met, Nick was nothing more than a friend. After you...”

She bit her lip to stop the confession. Luke glared and she suddenly couldn’t help herself, the words tumbling out in a desperate whisper.

“After I met you it was over for me. No one else could possibly compare.”

It felt like they were having the exact same fight they had every day leading to their break-up. Luke never confident enough, Julie never willing to shrink herself for the sake of his pride. She had been a fool to think a year apart would change them. It was always like this. All the ways their souls fit so seamlessly, all the ways they connected, were the same things that sabotaged them every time. They would come together in a moment of perfect harmony, and then suddenly the notes and lyrics would sour, and they would be right back at square one.

Luke was constantly fighting to prove himself, pushing harder in the studio, nagging at everyone in the band until every note was perfect. His passion and drive were never-ending. It wasn’t enough for Julie and The Phantoms to be as successful as they were. Nothing could erase the sting of losing Sunset Curve to Bobby right before they were about to make it big. Nothing could erase the way his parents had dismissed his work, refused to help him fight the label Bobby had moved to because they didn’t see a point to it. Julie still remembered how angry Luke had been when she first met him. Ready to fight the entire world and then some.

She had thought working together was softening him, thought that maybe she was healing him. Things had been so good for the first few years after they made it big. Some lightness had returned to him, and the fame they found as a band had given him the exact connection with the world that he had always craved when playing. Julie had thought that would be enough for him. She had thought she would be enough for him. It was far too late when she realized nothing would ever fill that hole in his heart, not even her.

He had kept those wounds hidden, letting them fester and rot until his entire system was corrupted. She couldn’t fight a ghost, and he let the betrayal poison him against her more and more every day. She would never forget the final words he had screamed at her on this exact boardwalk as they fought about why he cared that Bobby was releasing another album. Would never forget the heavy silence that had fallen over the two of them as they landed like a bomb, tearing her apart in an instant. Well maybe if you wrote music worth stealing you would understand! She had felt their connection snap in that moment, had known with every fiber of her being that it was the end then.

She had left New York that same day. Escaped back to LA and their house in the hills to wait for him, but he never returned to her. It had been the last time she saw him until this exact moment. Julie had dropped The Phantoms from her name and pretended it didn’t feel like she had cut off one of her limbs in the process. She nearly sold her soul to the label reworking her contract into that of a solo artist, and the press had a field day with the breakup since no one would talk about it. Reggie and Alex had come by to collect Luke’s things. The three of them still got together every week they were in town at the same time, but it wasn’t the same. The empty fourth chair at their brunch table always felt haunted.

Luke stared up at her from his position on the bench. Her words had drained the fight right out of him. She watched him crumple, felt her own ire dim. He was deviating from the script now. He was supposed to stand up and yell back at her about how she didn’t understand his pain. He wasn’t supposed to look so defeated already.

“You’re right.”

His confession was a raspy whisper, both words pulled from the deepest part of his soul. She came to a stop in front of him, mouth falling open. He lifted his head, their eyes locking. Tears clung to his lashes.

“It was my fault. I ruined it.”

Her heart flared at his words. He had never before admitted that his attitude had helped lead to their downfall. She felt herself drift towards him, drawn in by the genuine anguish she could see etched into every line of his face. He didn’t reach for her, not even when their knees touched. It was all she could do to stop herself from pulling him close.

“You didn’t deserve that. We didn’t deserve that. I let myself get so worked up over beating Bobby at his own game that I didn’t realize I had already won the better prize.”

Julie felt her breath catch in her throat. She was drowning in the unending depths of his ocean eyes, the pain there just as intense and familiar as her own.

“Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Worse than losing Sunset Curve and my songs. Worse than all the bullshit with my parents. Losing you was like losing myself.”

A muffled sob managed to work its way up and out of her throat. Luke’s hands lifted and clenched before he dropped them back to land on his thighs with a smack that echoed in the frozen air. Still so close and so far away at the exact same time.

“I tried so hard, Luke. Nothing I did was ever enough, and you were so angry all the time.”

Now he did stand, jumping up so fast he nearly knocked her flat on her back. His hands shot out to clasp her forearms. She could feel her skin light on fire under his touch even beneath the layers of winter clothing.

“Not with you, Julie. Never with you.”

She nearly wept to hear him say her name like that again. No frustration or annoyance, just pure affection and adoration. Like her name alone was the highest power he could call to.

“You were the one light in my life. I just didn’t see it until you were gone, and I was alone in the darkness. I’ll never regret anything as much as I regret hurting you.”

Julie let herself fall into him, the soft-spoken words a balm to her ragged soul. His arms raised to tuck her body fully into his, the two of them fitting together like puzzle pieces. It wasn’t everything, wasn’t a full reckoning of their past just yet, but it was a start.

[child-of-the-nighttime-stars]

The Things I’ve Carried

Before I could even properly grasp my mother’s finger, thrust upon my shoulders was the ideology of being a miracle. It was something that lifted me up yet weighed me down all at once. It was something that I didn’t even realize I carried until much later in my life. But since I was too young and couldn’t know about this, I carried the weight of dreams filled with great ambition and the perfect life. A goal to go to college like my father before me and like my mother had dreamed to. 

As I arrived at my first day of elementary school, the weight of these dreams only grew. Along with my sparkling backpack that carried my crayons, pencils, books, and toys for show and tell, I also carried a small bag that looked like a briefcase. It was heavy to me, despite only weighing five pounds, yet I carried it with pride. For within it rested a small and very primitive laptop. To be honest, it was a little more than a lighter, digitized typewriter, but to me it was everything. This is because within that small screen and my ever-growing knowledge of how things were spelled laid the key to my self-expression. This laid down the pavement for me to travel down a digital road. A long and winding one that wore my heavy and stumbled steps down the older I got, yet to me it was natural, what I thought every child does since I still did not understand that my body wasn’t natural like all of my peers and their families. 

But as I grew, the differences began getting clearer and the weight of them began getting heavier and heavier. I shook too much and far too often. My steps were stumbled. My speech was slurred and sloshy. A lot of the kids were quick to point it out. But none of it was in my control, What bothered me the most was how these kids would ask all these questions about the bulky braces casting my legs. They were lovingly called my robot legs when I was younger and when I was asked brief questions about them. They helped me walk so I had begun to think of them as my cybernetic enhancements that were just another part of me. Even though they were carved from plaster and screws rather than breaking edge technology that went to my brain. But as my classmates began to twist their questions from marvelous curiosity to cruel mocking, the light weight of two and a half pounds on each leg began to weigh on my entire body. That uplifting load of being considered a miracle began crashing down as I began carrying the burden of knowing that I was a burden all because of my missteps on the things I could never control.

I tried to hide it. I tried to fit in. I was desperate for the relief that normalcy seemed to bring. But even when I threw away the robot legs for the constricting nature of skinny jeans, the title of outcast and burden was still thrust upon my shoulders and slashed at my heart like a dagger to the back. Only now, these titles were not only thrown mindlessly by children who don’t know the weight words can have. Many adults outside of my family cemented those titles into my brain. I could see now that their praise about me being a miracle, an inspiration, wasn’t because they saw my intelligence or my creativity to work around my problems. It was all because they thought that I was incapable of doing anything in the face of them and would never amount to anything besides simply existing. But I was furious! I wanted them to see that I was capable, that I am competent. But the weight of my lungs burning, gasping for breath that would only be wasted on the willfully ignorant, became too much.

 So I gave up. I began hiding behind a screen. The digital world was where I could hide my flaws. It was where I could hide behind a mask of normalcy, just like everyone else. But putting on this mask was not the relief I hoped it’d be. Every time I put it on, it didn’t blend with my skin, with who I was. It made me feel like a liar and those lies crushed me as the craving for acceptance and true validation became an addiction that left me unable to stand before it.

So within this digital world, I became a storyteller. I wrote short stories and poems about my feelings, about the adventures and romances I’d have with characters I felt connected to. I mean, if I could love them when no one else around them did, then maybe I was worthy of that love from someone as well? Yet still crumpled by a load of cynicism that my condition and other unsavory circumstances life had thrown on to me, my stories, although well-written for my age, were dark, bitter, and dare I say, a bit edgy. They granted temporary relief. A cathartic release of my emotions that someone could read and know how I felt. Although, in the end, I was left feeling hollow. That hollowness led to a sensation of stagnation. That stagnation is a sensation that ground my soul into ashes and didn’t have any decency to spread those ashes anywhere but the trash. At least there, I was where I belonged both in the eyes of those around me and in my own eyes as well.

But one positive thing I see now about this dark time in my life is that physically I couldn’t stay stagnant. My family was homeless and that meant I couldn’t stay in one place for too long nor could I carry much with me every time I moved. The only thing I had made sure to always have was my laptop. An upgraded one from my little digital typewriter, at a weight of seven to ten pounds, compared to the now measly five that used to be so heavy to me.

Within these transfers of homes and schools, it was the last school I was transferred to where I finally made some friends. The first one was a quiet girl named Sydney, her acceptance of my circumstances and patience with them planted the seed in reality that I was worthy of love despite them. We bonded over arts, both her visual and my written works. But what I still remember what really connected us was a hatred for P.E. class. I got hit on the head with enough volleyballs that weigh half a pound to leave a pounding weight in my head. Not only that but we also liked the same song, one that I carry within my heart to this day. The next friend I made was a year later and who I thought hated me like the rest at first, despite myself really admiring his bold style. His name is Chris. We bonded over Halloween since Sydney was the one who brought us together. That night they both helped me carry my candy bag and the beautiful gown I wore as a costume, making sure I was never left behind. I don’t think they even know that they also lifted one of the crushing weights on my back of slowing everyone down and troubling them with my stumbling steps and slowly helped me grow into a genuinely more positive person.

The third and final friend of this group that Sydney and I made through Chris was another girl named Elisa. Our first meeting was rocky since I had invited them to see me perform because I had finally grown confident enough to get back to singing and acting publicly. I was even the opening act for this show! But due to traffic, they had missed it. I was heartbroken, The anxiety of being forgotten and replaced gnawed at my bones and the weight of a heavy broken heart crumbled me to the floor when I saw them finally arrive. I was worried that I was in the wrong for being upset and that Chris and Sydney would leave me soon after this night. As for Elisa, we hadn’t met before in person, and seeing someone sob hysterically wasn’t a great first impression. Even at that moment, the fear that she wouldn’t want to be my friend mangled the confidence I had carried minutes prior. 

But they didn’t leave. Not then, not soon after, and not even all the times they could’ve. Elisa and I grew to be really close as well. She allowed me to do things that everyone before her and my other two friends forbid me from doing since they viewed me as too incompetent. I enjoyed every bit of our excursions! Even if one of them ended up with me jumping out of a treehouse and having to carry my right arm in a cast and all the soreness of doing so for several weeks after…

During this time I still continued writing on my trusty laptop, which fluctuated in upgrades, sizes, and weight. But now my writing began to reflect my true feelings and perspectives. My stories had dark moments but were not drenched in it. My poetry had begun to blossom with hopeful beauty rather than wither with the venom within my words. The weight I carried of being unworthy, unlovable, incompetent, and being a burden began to slowly fall away as I settled into a happy home and friends that truly cared about me. With the final weight being ground into ash and thrown in the trash when I realized that regardless of what ails me I am not inhuman and I’m no longer alone. Now I am strong enough to not hide away but to carry who I am and the companions I’ve made with love and pride once more...

[thewingedwolf]

Not Telling: A Study in How Much We are Actually Told About The Characters, Part One of Two

AKA that meta I started writing/promised to post fully a year ago and then never finished or posted bc I’m a mess. It’s being posted in two parts because it got a bit long.

So we all have our own idea of what the characters look like although many people believe the characters look roughly the same, with some minor differences from headcanon to headcanon. But what does the text itself tell us? The answer is...both more than I expected but also in keeping with Not Telling, not a whole lot at all.

I want to start this with a caveat that I kept very good notes on TT, ACoK, and TaT, mediocre notes on KoA and passable ones for QoA lol. however, it does give us a decent picture of what everyone looks likes. This is like 70% quotes and 30% extrapolation, but I try to explain my thought process on some of my conclusions.

Eugenides:

There’s a few instances that I remember reading (mostly in The Thief) that I forgot to mark but I know all of those dealt with his height and hair - that his hair is long, that it’s dark, and that he’s smaller than Pol and the Magus. So here we go:

“..the man wearing it was tall. Taller than I was, of course, but taller than the magus as well.” - Note that he’s talking about the one of the gods here, which indicates that

eugenides is very short at this point

the magus when compared to other people is probably pretty tall

“Scabs that were black against my prison-fair skin.” - Indicates that his skin has lightened noticeably since he was in prison although that’s the only indicator we get about what he looks like until literally the very ending with...

“He mentioned an Eddisian mother to explain his dark coloring.” - Which is exactly what I mean in Not Telling - we are told enough to have a clear blue print of him, but we are left to fill in the details of how he looks.

About his wound: “it’s taken a divot out of your face...it might heal clean.” and “I was quite certain I’d have a feather-shaped white scar.” - Note that Eugenides thinks this is a sign of approval from the Eugenides the god.

We get just as little in The Queen of Attolia, although note that this is the first time we are getting Gen from someone else’s point of view, instead of him describing himself:

“...his dark hair covering his face...He’d grown...he was not quite her height, but with his hair cropped short under his helmet, she hadn’t looked twice at him when she had seen him.” - that’s the only real description we get of him in the beginning of QoA before It Happens, and it’s from Irene’s point of view. There’s also several references to him looking “young” “naive” and “guilless” - young pops up about half a dozen times, and she remarks often on him being “a boy” and “half-grown.” Obviously part of that is guilt, but I did want to note that when we’re in Gen’s mind, he doesn’t focus on how short or young he looks, but when we’re in someone else’s mind, they immediately zero in on how young and small Gen is.

There’s a lot of descriptions of him after The Thing but it’s all involved in how sick he looks ie bruises showing against his yellowed skin, being so pale that his scar looked dark against his skin, that he’s lost a lot weight, stuff like that. It gives us the sense that he is very sick but no real indication of how he looks when he’s not suffering from fever and blood loss.

“His dark hair blended into the darkness behind him…” - first physical description in KoA

“The Queen was several inches taller than Eugenides…” in KoA during the dance scene

“His usually dark skin was so pale the scar on his cheek showed against the lighter skin around it.” - during the assassination attempt

“Costis was sufficiently taller than the king…” - I think this is our first reference to Costis being very tall, but of course nowhere near our first reference to Gen being short.

“His face was pale, his normally dark skin yellowed.” - My note has nothing to do with his look, but the fact that his skin is usually dark but is now both pale AND visibly yellow makes me think his liver was damaged by the assassin and that’s why it took so long to heal.

“He chose Mede coats with the long bell sleeves because no fighting man who’d seen the muscles in the king’s wrist would have underestimated him the way the Attolians had. His other wrist with no hand at the end of it appeared oddly narrow and delicate. Costis tried not to stare and found himself looking instead at the king’s scars. The long line across his belly was an angry red, but there were other marks: ragged tears around his knees and elbows, and lighter shining bands around his ankles that could only be the mark of fetters, as well as the various lines left by edged blows on his chest and arms, and one long one on his thigh. There were also a number of bruises, some newly purple and black and some fading almost to nothing. Costis wondered where they could have come from.” - WHEW long description for the first time and its all about Gen’s scars.

“...skinny and prison pale, incongruous with the clean clothes the Magus had picked out for him.” - Sophos’ PoV from AcoK. This seems to imply that Gen is usually darker than he is in the Thief - which we’ve been told before, that he’s darker skinned but stints in prison and a number of serious injuries seem to frequently make him look sickly and pale - but also that he’s usually heavier - whether that means, like Sophos believes, that Gen is normally not as skinny or that he’s gained weight since becoming Attolis is anyone’s guess.

“I kept going until I could see his face, see every detail—the quirk of his eyebrow, the twist at the corner of his mouth, the mark on his cheek, where he’d said the Attolian guards had once shot him when he was running away…” - Kamet’s description of him.

“I remembered him as a boy, small for his age. I found him taller, broader in the shoulder, much older than the intervening years would explain, with a hook where his hand had been—wholly changed, in fact, but for the scar on his face and that smile.” - Gen is finally like a normal height lmao, but also he’s gotten bigger in general, which seems to imply IMO that re: Sophos’ assessment earlier, most of the weight (and likely muscle as Costis points outback in KoA) is the result of his time in Attolia and not weight he lost in jail. But whether THAT is due to him like, eating more potentially or having a different fighting style/routine that is bulking him up, or just a natural consequence of getting older or a combination of the two is again, your guess.

Helen:

“By far the least attractive of the women stood up.”

“She had black hair, like Attolia, and her gown was red velvet...tended to stand like a soldier. The ruffles on her shoulders made her arms seem long enough to reach to her knees. Her nose had been broken and reknitted crooked, her hair was cut short like a man’s and curled so much over her simple silver crown that crown itself was nearly invisible.” - all Gen’s point of view.

“She was short and too broad to be called petite. Her father had been broad shouldered, Attolia remembered, and not over-tall. Eddis had a serious expression.” - From QoA, in Irene’s pov. It seems the shortness of Gen is something that runs in the family.

“She’s ugly...she’s short, she’s broad-shouldered, and hawk-faced with a broken nose. I would say no, she is not ideal...I’ve seen men fall on their knees and get to walk across hot coals for her after one of those smiles.” - Gen talking about her with the Magus. I feel like it’s relevant that Gen calls her “the least attractive” when he’s with her, but only “ugly” when talking about her with other people.

“You look a little vulpine yourself.” - probably more a personality quirk than anything, but I still wanted to include it.

“Eddis reached to touch her own crooked nose. ‘If I laughed,’ she said, ‘it is only at the idea that we make a matched pair now, you and I.’” - for both her and Sophos here. Love flirting in the form of pointing out your irregularities, girl’s got game.

“The queen of Eddis is as beautiful as the day and as brilliant as the sun in the sky..he chuckled and quoted Praximeles about beauty being in the heart and not the eye..” - obviously Sophos’ opinion is colored by his love for her, but STILL, he does offer a description that she’s beautiful, is immediately contradicted by Akretenesh, and then basically thinks “it’s not my fault you’re stupid as fuck.”

Irene:

“Her hair was black and held away from her face by an imitation of the woven gold band of Hephestia. Her robe was draped like a peplos, made from embroidered red velvet. She was as tall as the magus, and she was more beautiful than any woman I had ever seen.” - Gen’s PoV in the Thief. We have a hint of his feelings for her in the way he describes her, and also there’s her Hephestia cosplay as well.

“Her hair was held away from her face by the ruby and gold headband that crossed her forehead just above her dark brows. Her skin was flawless and so fair as to be translucent. She dressed as always in an imitation of Hephestia.” - Gen calling out her Hephestia cosplay lmao. I also notice that she’s specifically not just “fair skinned” like Sophos or other Attolians, she’s described as almost weirdly pale.

Sophos:

I KNOW I forgot to mark a scene where Eugenides describes Sophos in TT as like...fair or pink-cheeked or something like that but I’ll be damned if I can find it.

“They were both obviously well bred...I wondered if they were brothers...the older one had darker hair and was better looking.” - obviously the older is Ambiades.

“One member of the crowd, a young man with a broken nose, a lip twisted by scar tissue, and dirty clothes that combined to suggest a person of violent and criminal habits…” - good description that also tells us that Useless the Younger looks significantly different since we saw him four books (and several years) ago. It’s not just that he’s older, or scarred, it’s that he *looks* dangerous now.

“I was taller than Malatesta by inches.” and “I wasn’t heavier than [Hyacinth] but I was taller and bore him to the ground.” - both give us an approximation of his height, weight, and strength.

“I felt my upper lip and rubbed my thumb against the scar tissue. I could feel it distorting my mouth. My nose had a new bump in the middle of it as well.” - scar healing badly

“Measuring myself against [The Magus], I realized we now saw eye to eye.” - considering several references to how tall The Magus is (which we’ll get to), this means Sophos is incredibly tall.

“...my hair all cut away and ragged.” and then they mention they dyed it. Once they get to Attolia however, “A barber came in to trim and shave us, taking off the last of my darker hair and leaving it tidy, if short.” So it’s gone back to his natural color, but this implies he usually wears his hair long.

There’s also a mention of him eating a lot, which isn’t a physical description, but does, IMO, imply something to his size - like how many sheer calories a lot of Olympic athletes have to eat a day.

“I smiled until I felt the scar tissue tighten...I had never let him see what I looked like when I smiled: my uncle.” - ICONIC.

ALSO - Sophos is frequently compared to animals. These animals include a lamb, lion, rabbit, bunny, puppy, and then back to lion.

Costis Ormentiedes:

I couldn’t find any description of him beyond a few references to him being tall in KoA which either means that I just missed it bc I got to emotional over KoA (which is likely) OR we don’t get a real description of Costis until TaT which is an interesting choice. ONWARDS:

“He was a very large Attolian…” - Kamet’s first impression of Costis, yet again reminding us how big Costis is

“He was a typical Attolian: sandy-brown hair, a broad face, light-colored eyes. Altogether he had a simple, straightforward look to him, and he seemed perfectly serious.” - gives us a general idea of what Attolians as a people look like.

“He was large, as I already knew, and a soldier. He had the scars on his hands and forearms and the unmistakable muscles from swinging a sword day in and day out. I had no doubt he was good at what he did - he rather reminded me of an ox, very strong, not terribly quick - but I thought killing was his work, not his pleasure….he moved easily, so he was no veteran crippled’s in his country’s service, but he was too young to have done his twenty years - my own age, or perhaps younger.” - Lots of information here from Kamet. The ones that stick out to me are: moves easily, which means Costis has likely not even been minorly injured before, but he has scars, which of course means he’s had a lot of flesh wounds. The other thing is that Kamet instinctively knows that Costis doesn’t like killing - I don’t know if that means Kamet is a good judge of character or if there’s something about Costis, whether it be the way he carries himself, or something physically like his expressions, his youth, his eyes, that tells Kamet this, but it *could* be something physical.

Kamet makes several references to Costis being hot lmao. He uses the word “attractive” several times in several different chapters and others agree with this assessment.

“She sent him to the potter to see if he could use a young man with a strong back.” - more comments about how ripped Costis is.

Kamet

Couldn’t find any description of Kamet in QoA, and he doesn’t really describe himself in TaT. I’m worried I missed something, but this is what I found:

“Normally as warm-toned as myself…” - Kamet comparing his own skin tone (undertone?) to Laela’s.

He also describes himself as small and skinny compared to Costis several times - once saying his face is roughly at level with Costis’ chest - and mentions flogging scars on his back.

EDIT: THANK YOU FOR COMMENTS, we get this like in QoA about Kamet: “The slave’s almond shaped eyes and red-brown complexion set him apart from the Attolians.”

—————

Not sure how to end this but anyway that’s what we’re given for the main PoVs. Surprisingly, we get more description for Helen than we do for Irene, and barely any for Kamet. There were some things that I had misremembered - I thought Gen was described as “brown skinned” but instead it’s “dark skinned” or “dark coloring” and I thought he described Helen as ugly more than once, but it’s just to the Magus, when they’re discussing Sounis’ potential marriage, which is....interesting to me, and sounds a lot more like Gen trying to downplay his cousin so the Magus will fuck off, especially when he offers Agape as an alternative that is, notably, prettier and also holds significantly less power. I also thought Costis was described as “blonde” or “fair haired” like Sophos but instead he’s “sandy brown” and I think the idea of him being Blonde was a fandom thing that I just misremembered.

[dumbkombuchakid]

I’m finding more and more that mindfulness and awareness play a massive role in everything. All the growth I’ve undergone has been rooted in cultivating those skills in myself. 

Getting curious instead of judgmental, asking questions and being objective, letting go of outcome and expectations. All of these things seem tiny and maybe insignificant on paper; but in practice have made all the difference for me.

This past Thursday, I met with my therapist (as I usually do on Thursdays) and she told me she was proud of me. I am so grateful for that feedback, for her helping to contribute to my awareness of myself. Awareness extends beyond the present moment, it encompasses patterns and trends and habits and intentions and consequences. It informs decisions and aids processing and understanding. Awareness is the key to it all.

She commended me for staying in wise-mind while telling her about a situation that was upsetting me. She noted that though I had the opportunity to allow my emotions to take control, to pull me into a spiral, I made a choice to remain in control. That’s not what I would’ve done a year ago. That might not even be what I would’ve done a few months ago. Her providing that feedback about my new patterns and trends, specifically my ability to abstain from following old, maladaptive patterns and trends, brought that new data into my awareness. It’s very difficult to be cognizant of your own patterns. It requires parallel processing of data about several versions of yourself in different but comparable situations across a timeline. That’s not a skill that comes naturally; that depth of data about each version of ourselves just isn’t stored. 

I am proud of myself. I’m proud of my ability to say that I’m proud of myself; proud of my capacity to believe that I’m proud of myself. For the larger majority of my life (I’m talkin 1st 19 years) I refused to allow pride to penetrate my consciousness. I grew up fearing that I’d slip into narcissism and lose who I was, instead developing into some spawn of my father; a figure I’d associated with all things self-centered and antisocial. Any shred of pride or self-esteem was too great a risk; I’d rather be humble and miserable but secure in my pro-social self-appraisal. I vividly remember the day I felt true self worth for the first time. It was in june, a month before I’d turn 20. That day came a few years after another significant (in hindsight) day when I began working with my current therapist. I fear I may accidentally catalog the past several years here for the sake of clarity and continuity, but the main takeaway point is that I’ve undergone immense growth, all a result of my own innervism.

Innervism is a term I’m borrowing from Elizabeth Lesser, the author of the book Cassandra Speaks. It refers to inward awareness and intentional growth. Tuning in to tune up. If not for facing the things about myself that I didn’t want to get true, I’d never have reached a point where I’m able to act with intention and display a self of whom I’m proud.

I’m far from perfect, and I’ve made a personal vow to never stop growing, learning, listening, and adapting. I will never reach my final form; there is always room for growth.

My point in writing right now is to address some of the cognitive behaviors I’ve noticed myself exhibit when in relationships. In the beginning, when things are wonderful and new and affection has a strong presence, I latch on. I start to fantasize about the future and how my life could play out with this other individual by my side, treating me the way they do at the beginning. 

This tendency to idealize based on that first impression, that best-behavior scenario, extends into the period when things begin to slip. When the negligence begins, when manipulative tactics begin being employed. When I am expected both to change myself and also to unilaterally accept the other’s lack of change. I am projected to grow into a mould that aligns with their current state, rather than the two of us developing into a new shape, together.

Internally, this is accompanied by a fear of communicating my feelings. A hesitation to go against the grain and a tendency to shrink and abide by these new terms of engagement. I get quiet and small and they become all powerful. I am aware of the red flags and harm and damage and yet I remain docile and strive for perfection in their eyes.

This is how I’ve always done it, it’s how I’ve been conditioned to behave in relationships. I’ve been conditioned to accept that A) there will be a power imbalance and B) it will not favor me.

I no longer accept that. Today I did something that past me would not have done. 

A few important things to note about the situation that allowed me to make this development are that:

1. my “picker” is getting pickier. I’ve always fallen into relationships with narcissists in the past, not because I chose them, but because they chose me and I only knew how to go along. This time, in my current relationship, I made a choice as much as they did. The quality of their character actually had a chance to play a role in deciding whether or not the relationship was worth pursuing.

2. I trust them. I trust that they care about me and want this to work. I trust that they want me to be happy and healthy and that they’re willing to grow.

We didn’t talk much today because he had a big day of doing things that I won’t get into, but then tonight when we did finally get to talk, we spent a long time discussing his day in depth and then never shifted to talking about me. Instead, he started multitasking and doing other things and talking and singing to himself. I told him if he wanted to do those things that was fine, but if we were going to be on the phone that I wanted to him to talk to me, to pay me attention. This didn’t actually turn a result, which hurt me.

Eventually, he got tired and said he was going to turn in, and wished me a goodnight. I said goodnight too, without my typical enthusiasm or affection, and he noticed that those were missing. Instead of asking why though, he simply told me to say it like I meant it, since he didn’t believe me. He has a tendency to make jokes when I’d really rather he be serious, and I’ve stopped laughing along and instead stay true to the tone I want to be received. I don’t want to diminish the weight and value my thoughts and feelings deserve. I’ve decided to not accept less than I deserve.

We hung up and I journaled a bit and felt myself getting worked up, and this is where I did a few things I’m proud of.

I called him back. He didn’t answer, so I recorded a snapchat video and told him how certain aspects of our conversation made me feel, and how I had realized that if I didn’t tell him then he’d have no way to know that those things had hurt and upset me.

This was honestly terrifying, and sending it (and not getting an immediate response) made me feel a whole other type of awful. 

I decided to set a timer for 15 minutes and meditate. During my meditation, I focused on a few things. I repeatedly reminded myself that I must let go of outcome; remind myself that I spoke only about my feelings and my feelings deserve to be heard. Silencing all the spiraling thoughts about the conversations that could follow was hard, and I noticed the colors in my awareness shift as more potential outcomes forced their way in. I repeated the mantra “I deserve love” to myself and focused hard on not allowing expectations or theories about what could or may happen in. Those things aren’t real, they’re imagined. I forced myself to choose to refrain from processing events until an event actually occurred.

15 minutes passed and I felt a little lighter. Part of me still really just wanted to cry, but then eventually I got a notification. He said he was sorry, that it was more of a mental hiccup than a true representation of how he feels.

I thanked him - intentionally rerouting from a typical path of saying “it’s okay” in response to an apology. I then wished him sweet dreams and told him we’d talk tomorrow, and I meant it.

It was uncomfortable, I’ll admit. It’s never fun to confront something that hurts you, especially when it’s something or someone that you don’t want to lose. During my meditation I had to remind myself that if someone doesn’t value my feelings or have respect for me, then they aren’t the person I should be with. That’s terrifying - holding people to a higher standard. Choosing to not accept less than what I deserve is something almost completely foreign to me and is fucking scary, but it’s also sort of exhilarating. The idea that mutual respect is now a requirement, that my partner needs to give a shit about me and express that through their behavior is something I deserve. I never used to think about myself as deserving anything - at least not anything good. But now? I put so much effort into who I am and how I treat others. I’m a good, kind, caring person. I know that I am because I do it on purpose. I think that qualifies me as deserving someone who treats me the same. 

It’s 5am now. My sleep schedule is off kilter in a big way. I’m going to finally stop and allow this day to end. I’ve already made a to-do list for tomorrow and I hope the day brings joy. I appreciate you reading what I have to write; it helps me to do this and I hope it helps you to read.

Goodnight and sweet dreams, remember that you deserve love.

[yet-another-saberface]

Interim Headcanons: Fuyuki -> Orleans

This is the first in what’ll be a series of story posts that are ‘Interims,’ or what takes place in between singularities! (Other than the eventual events.) They have less heavy story content but are still necessary because they do contain character stuff.

This one has a fic section roughly in the middle of the post! It’s around 1500 words & in the first person POV, which is actually what I’m most experienced with writing, so I hope everyone can enjoy that! There should be another short fic post coming out before I start on Orleans that’s less story and more slice of life stuff, but I’m still figuring out what exactly I want to do with that and had everything else done, so I decided to post it now!

We’re summoning some people, so get ready!

Between Fuyuki and the first real singularity, Eva practically refuses to have any downtime. She’s told that she should take it easy, let her leg heal, and wait for them to pinpoint the appropriate rayshift point. At some point they’ll help her set up the summoning circle for backup, but until then, she doesn’t need to be doing anything.

Instead of following those orders, Eva essentially ends up doing the work of multiple people herself. She hangs around the command room, usually standing the entire time, and will rush over to help anyone that seems to be having any difficulties. One of your numbers seems off? She’ll double-check it for you and if it’s correct she can explain exactly why. Tech isn’t working? Not her area of expertise but she’ll troubleshoot it until she can’t anymore, at which point she runs off to find Da Vinci. Something weird happening magically? You better bet she’s all over it and probably pushing you out of your workstation to handle it herself.

After a day or two, Roman notices what’s going on and takes her aside. She’s promptly banned from the command room unless someone asks for her to be there.

She tries to hide her disappointment… Which is surprisingly easy when the only emotion you can really convey at the moment is ‘tired?’ She heads back to her room, takes her boot off, and collapses onto her bed trying to figure out what else she should do, falling asleep in the process.

She wakes up around a full day later with a brilliant idea.

She’s gonna set up the summoning circle and perform the ritual herself. She forgets about the boot and immediately rushes off the Chaldea’s library with the intent of double-checking her memory.

She actually ends up spending a lot more time in the library than she intended when she finds out just how expansive it is. There’s all the books on magic she’s read before, along with literally everything else she could ever hope to find. This is how she finds herself filling a crate with somewhere upwards of 15 books and dragging it back to her room after leaving a note so people know who took them.

Mash catches her as she’s heading back with the books, glad to see that she seems less tired. When Mash offers to help with the books, Eva tries to say no, until Mash notices that she isn’t wearing her boot anymore. 

“Senpai, did Doctor Roman say your ankle is okay now?” “Uh… Wait. Right. My ankle is injured. Still. Crap.”

It’s only then that she starts to notice how the pain is coming back from all the unsupported weight she’s been putting on the injury, and finally accepts Mash’s offer to help with the books. When they finally get them back to Eva’s room, Mash makes sure that Eva actually puts on the boot this time. Afterwards, Eva is posed with a question she’s not sure if she should answer.

“What are you planning on doing with all of these books?” A pause. “I was just going to refresh my memory! I’ve done a lot of research into servants and stuff in the past, but I’m not sure how much of it I actually remember…” “That’s a wonderful idea, Senpai! Do you mind if I borrow some of these?” “Oh… No, go ahead! Just uh… Not this one, I was gonna start here!” She conspicuously grabs the book on rituals.

She spends the rest of the day reading up on how summoning rituals work, and later that night, when the fewest people possible are awake, she sneaks off to the summoning room that was pointed out to her earlier… 

        I open the door to the summoning room to find darkness. It’s unexpected, unsettling. Darkness is not something easily found in Chaldea, where everything is lit up with screens and fluorescent lights. It’s fitting, I guess, that humanity’s last hope should be constantly illuminated. But if that’s the case… Then why is it here, of all places, that I find darkness? Doubt creeps into my mind, as it always does. Millions of questions spring from that first one, slowly weighing me down, and looming over me like a shadow. Is this really a good idea? Maybe there’s a reason they said I should wait for their help setting this- No. I can’t just not do it. I need to prove it. That I’m capable of being the Master that saves humanity. And this is the first step. The light from the hallway illuminates just a bit of the room, but it’s enough that I can see that a circle has indeed already been drawn on the floor. Good. Now I just need to take care of… Everything else. I feel around on the walls by the door for a light panel until I finally knock my hand against it. The room lights up in blues and whites, unlike anything else in the facility, leaving me in awe. This is definitely the place to be doing magecraft. Glancing around a bit more, the room appears to be empty… With one exception. Tucked into the back right hand corner, there’s a small stack of white crates. Okay, then. Let’s start there. I make my way around the edge of the circle that takes up most of the room, ducking my head a few times as I try not to disturb any of the floating bands of light throughout the room. I don’t know exactly what they are, but I can’t afford to take any risks. When I reach the boxes, and carefully remove the lid of the top one to find it full of prism-like stones, each one containing every possible color. They’re big enough that I can only fit one in the palm of each hand, and are lighter than I expect. I set the one I’d been holding back down in the box, rummaging for the book I’d stuffed into my pocket before coming over here. I skim through the pages for just a second before landing on the one I’d marked earlier. Stones, stones… Gems, maybe? Why are these here? I’m halfway down the page when it hits me. They’re probably catalysts. I have no idea if they’re meant to summon anyone in particular, but there’s little chance they’re anything else. Summoning’s supposed to be easier with a catalyst, right? There’s several boxes of these… Surely using a few wouldn’t be noticed. And besides, most catalysts stick around even once the summoning is complete. Most of them. Hopefully that’s how these work. Given that I’m unsure what exactly they are, I grab 3 just to be safe after setting my book down on the floor. With one in each hand and a third tucked against my chest by my upper arm, I carefully inch a toe into the summoning circle. Nothing happens. …Okay then. It’s probably not activated yet. That’s good. I set the stones down in the very center, one at a time, so that they’re arranged in a triangle formation, before walking out of the circle as quick as I can. Still, nothing happens. Good. No surprises. I put the lid back on the box, grab the book, and then walk back around to close the door for good measure. Something tells me I don’t want anyone walking in on this. Circle, catalyst, mage… There’s no way this is as easy as it seems, is there? There’s gotta be a catch to it. But… If there is one, it’s definitely not mentioned at all. So all I can do is hope that what works in theory works in reality, like always. So I set my book down and stand my ground in front of the door, facing the circle. Don’t screw up the incantation. Remember how you changed it. Remember your theory. This is all gonna work out just how it’s supposed to. I take a deep breath. I blink. And before I speak, I picture it in my head. A drop of ink hitting paper, spreading a deep blue color across the white page. With that, I can feel the familiar hum and warmth of magic circuits spread through my body, giving me focus. I can do this.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let my own hope and faith in humanity be what allows it. Let a wall rise against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the kingdom rotate. Know this; I am all the good remaining in the world. I stand against all the evil threatening our world. And it is I that shall come to have dominion over that evil. Heroic Spirit, attended to by the three great words of power, Come forth from the right of restraint, keeper of the balance!”

As I progress through the lines of the chant, I can feel more and more magical energy building up in my body, desperately trying to be released. But that heat, that feeling of everything building up, cannot compare to what happens as I end the spell. All of the energy is pulled from my body at once. I can feel each and every individual nerve fighting against it, to no avail. It’s like my heart has stopped beating, yet is also beating too fast. I’m hit with a sudden migraine, yet the next second, it seems like it was never there in the first place. And all the while, I’m forced to close my eyes because the room, once dimly lit, is now full of a blinding white. And while they’re closed, images flash through my mind. Fire. Death. A silhouette, unidentifiable. And finally the back of a boy, my age, in a Chaldea uniform, standing at the ready. I hear something incredibly loud, some sort of boom, though maybe that’s not the best way to describe it, followed by a much quieter cracking noise, as the light behind my eyelids fades away. My hearing starts to recover, but I’m scared to open my eyes. I have no idea what just happened. Did it work? Was all of that meant to happen? The book hadn’t mentioned any of that. So I stand there, listening and breathing. Hoping against hope that everything is okay. Until I hear someone speak. “I ask of you, are you my Master?”

As I finally open my eyes, another girl stands before me in the center of the circle. The stones are gone. (Dammit.) As she looks at me expectantly, her green eyes seem to see right through me. I can’t tell if I’m being judged or not. But as I take in the rest of her, I do my best to offer a response, however quietly. “Yeah. I… I’m your Master.” It’s barely more than a whisper, riding along a shaky breath. So much for seeming confident. We stand in silence for a few more seconds as I catch my breath. It worked. It really worked. That’s a Servant. Right there. In front of me. That I summoned. This time when I look at her, I begin to notice things without trying beyond her physical appearance. For starters, she’s a Saber. Wait a- That’s not any Saber. That’s. “You’re King Arthur.” “That… Is correct, Master,” she replies, showing slight confusion. “Holy… Okay. Um.” As I’m pausing to take a breath, the door behind me slams open. I jump a bit, and when I land, pain shoots through my leg. My boot broke during the ritual. I glance behind me to find Mash, Roman, Da Vinci, and a few other staff members staring. “Senpai, what did you-” “IsummonedaServant,” I blurt out, trying to shift as much weight off my right foot as possible. When everyone keeps staring, I add on a halfhearted “...Sorry?” There’s a collective sigh from the group, none of whom really seem to know what to do. “You do realize we told you to wait, right?” Roman asks. “Yes, but I thought I could handle it, because I’ve studied this a lot, and clearly I can handle it, because it worked, so-” “Chaldea actually has an alternate summoning system-” Da Vinci starts, but I cut her off. “...Oh. Of course! That… Makes a lot of sense now.” I find myself looking towards the ground. “Why’d I go and do this?” I add at the last second, quieter than the rest. “Don’t worry, this is nothing I can’t handle!” Da Vinci responds. “Just make sure to let us know before you summon anyone again, okay?” “Okay,” I respond, still quiet. When no one else says anything, Roman speaks up again. “All right then, everyone else should get back to what they were doing.” He glances at the leg the boot had broke off of, even more worried than before. “Mash and…” “Saber,” the other Servant answers. “Right. Mash, Saber, can you help Eva to the infirmary for now?” The two of them nod before stepping over to me and adjusting so that each of my arms is over one of their shoulders. I cringe a bit when I have to adjust my right leg, and soreness is slowly starting to spread through the rest of my body. This idea is continually turning out to have been way worse than I thought it would be.

So, as it turns out, Eva continually doing things that put strain on her injury has set back the healing process, and even when it does heal, it’s likely still going to be weaker than it was. She won't need a cane or anything, but she should still be wary of it and avoid relying on her right leg too heavily from now on. Running and other simple physical activity is fine, but should she need to say, kick something, she should absolutely favor her left leg unless she’s made the necessary precautions and given her right ankle the support it needs to prevent more injuries. 

They get her a new boot and she’s essentially grounded for 2 days, not allowed to leave her room. They also start cutting the lights in her room on a schedule for as long as she’s grounded so that she’s forced to sleep.

She emerges, somehow, both less tired and more grumpy. Everyone catches on pretty quickly that she’s getting antsy because she’s not allowed to do anything, so they decide to set up the summoning system and let her try out a summoning that won’t make her injuries worse.

She’s initially hesitant to try any summonings with the more tech-heavy system, but she eventually agrees to go ahead with it after Da Vinci spends over an hour explaining every intricacy of how it works and how it differs from normal summoning. It’ll work, according to magical theory, so she doesn’t have anything to lose by trying it out.

This time, instead of just a single servant, she actually manages to summon several, those being Medusa, Caster Cú, Archer Emiya, and Saber Alter.

The tension between the 2 Sabers is pretty obvious, so Eva does her best to make sure that they aren’t forced to interact much while still spending time with and attempting to understand each of them. Since they’re both pretty reserved, it’s a slow process, but at least she figures out pretty quickly that they both really love food.

Cú is still salty that he’s not a Lancer, but is still glad to have at least been summoned again. He’s actually rather surprised by just how much Eva immediately puts value in him. She starts carrying a notebook around with her, and will write in it whenever she notices something new about Runes she didn’t know before. He actually tries to help her use Runes at one point, but it ends up blowing up in both their faces because Eva was focusing more on her anxiety than on the effect she wanted to achieve. 

Eva knew literally nothing about Emiya, so more than pretty much every other Servant that’s around, she tries to seem professional around him. That completely collapses when he catches her in the kitchen at 3 in the morning halfheartedly making grilled cheese. From then on she’s a lot more casual and every once in a while she pesters him incessantly about Reality Marbles. She’ll probably eventually figure out that he knows more about the Sabers than he lets on.

Medusa actually surprised Eva a bit. While Eva knows a lot about her from mythology, it took awhile for her to figure out anything about her as a Servant, other than what she could discern from practice battles. The first real bit of progress she makes is when she finds Medusa reading in the library. Now they just kinda have one of those “sit and read in silence together” type friendships.

Eva isn’t exactly all hyped up for whenever the next singularity is identified, but she promises herself that she won’t be scared to go and do whatever’s needed in order to correct it. After all, she has more allies this time, and it seems like her magecraft is getting better by the day. Now all that’s left is to save humanity.

New Servant Log:

Artoria Pendragon (Saber)

Artoria Pendragon (Alter)

Cú Chulainn (Caster)

Emiya (Archer)

Medusa (Rider)

I actually have an excuse to tag people and that makes me happy

@contractgreen​ @panyum​ @withanina​ @campanulabell​ @delfinaschiffer​ @princessaslan​ @armageddon25​ @patproductions​ @xviicprc​

[tardytothepardy]

Fruits Basket - Vol.12

Compared to the previous book, this one was a lot lighter. It also featured Kagura, who hasn't really been in the series for a while. She kinda showed up for a little bit in the previous book but it wasn't much. It's not necessarily that I like her but she used to be around a lot, then she just kinda poofed away. In this volume, we discuss fun things like breaking curses (or trying to, anyway) and parent-teacher conferences! Exciting stuff, right?

We start off with Tohru meeting with Kazuma to ask about the curse, if he can help at all. She's doing all of this as secretly as she can, because she knows that if anyone finds out, they will try to stop her, either in a "Agh I'll kill you for trying to meddle with these things!" way or a "Ah you don't know what you're getting into, stay out if you value your safety!" way. Either way, it'd get in her way. (how many times can i say "way" .-.) During this talk, Kazuma says that Akito has a strange power over the Juunishi, that his words really do have a heavy weight on them, something that even Kazuma, despite being a Sohma (but not a Juunishi), can't fully understand. They're all tied together, in a bond. That is part of the curse. But because of this extra power that Akito can assert over the rest of the Juunishi, it makes it extra difficult to figure out how to help them break the curse. Later, as Tohru leaves, our local Horse Girl, Izusu shows up, asking what the fuck Tohru was doing. It seems as if Izusu is also trying to break the curse. Spicy.

Since we were already at Kazuma's,, dojo? Should I call it that? I don't know, but Kyo and Kagura are also there, because they practice kicking butt at least three times a week. What a ritual. Kagura asks if she and Kyo can talk somewhere, which works well with Kyo, since he was planning on talking to her anyway, but she insists that they go out on a "date", wherein she takes them to a place that I guess they played at when they were kids? Something like that.

During this scene, we get to know why exactly Kagura has been latched onto Kyo throughout this series, and she admits that it was sort of out of pity for him. She herself didn't like the fact that she is a Juunishi (is that how I should phrase it I'm not sure about that either), but when she saw Kyo out in the yard area, drawing fried eggs, apparently, all alone, she felt worse for him than she did herself. She knew that he was the cat, and that he was treated worse than she really ever would. And so, she took pity on him. Maybe she didn't fully realize or intend for that in the beginning, maybe she just saw Kyo all alone, and wanted to get to know the orange haired boy drawing fried eggs in the dirt, because, hey, who wouldn't?

But over time, it definitely became that way. Everything changed significantly when she pulled Kyo's bracelet off, the one that keeps him from being in his dark form or something (is it like a light switch or something does he really have no control over that like i know at the time he was just a little kid but like,,, currently in the story. does he have any control whatsoever?), and she promptly got quite scared (understandably), and ran off. Afterwards, she just kinda pretended that it didn't happen (Kyo's mom did that too, I just remembered), and for some reason decided that if she was as close to Kyo as she possibly could get, that all of that stuff would go away, and that Kyo would like her. As we know, that did not happen.

One big reason that I was glad about the scene is that Kagura is admitting to herself but also to Kyo that she was being selfish. She apologizes for her actions, and is aware that she was acting that way in some part (however big or small) for her own peace of mind, for her own gain, potentially. She still says that she loves him, which I'm not here to debate. That's her own business. Kyo just thanked her for saying that, but also made it clear that he never really did and still doesn't feel the same way at all. So thankfully that's all been put away. For now, anyway.

I mentioned our local Horse Girl earlier, and she does come up more in this story. Apparently, when Yuki was younger, for some reason, people weren't really allowed to visit him. Maybe it was just a thing that happened as part of a punishment, or maybe it was something else, but basically Haru would go like "That rule doesn't apply to me because I can't read!" and see him anyway, and sometimes Izusu would also be there. She wouldn't talk to either of them, she would just sit in the corner for a while, then leave. At the time, it didn't make much sense, but within this book, we find that she was actually listening to people outside the room, and if she heard anyone come too near, she would go out and distract them so that Haru could leave without punishment. So our local Horse Girl does care <3

Speaking of the parent-teacher conferences, Tohru's grandpa can't go. Why not? Because he threw out his back, probably from all the energetic dancing he does in a day (i mean they didn't say how he hurt his back so,, dancing. i'm deciding it's from dancing), but this is a bit of a problem for Tohru, seeing as she no longer has parents that would go. Valiantly, Shigure offers to take her grandpa's place, mostly so that he can see Mayu's reaction to his general existence. (Specifically her look of disgust. Admittedly, it was pretty good.) The conference goes over fairly well, with Mayu telling Tohru to not take on too many things at once, which is true. Tohru is running around here thinking that she isn't pulling her weight as if she isn't part of the reason why Yuki and Kyo aren't constantly fighting, or the fact that, just by existing and being the ray of sunshine that she is, she's helped basically everyone she's come into contact with to strive to be their best selves. Sure, Tohru, you're slacking soo much. (Honestly it's probably one of those things where she wouldn't really be aware of it, since she's only known these people to be the way they are since knowing her. Like, she's noticed that people are changing, but she doesn't know how much they've really changed, so it makes sense, but still. Girly is doing lots and she doesn't even know it.)

The conferences go over pretty well, but Yuki's mom had it changed to a later date. Yuki has already been having some struggles with it all, because he's going to have to be around his mom, who he does not have a great relationship. There's some mention of her making decisions for him, and I imagine in the next book that will shine fantastically. It seems that Ayame is going to pop up, though, and hopefully that will work in his favor.

As it is currently, Hanajima said she thought Kazuma, who showed up for Kyo's parent-teacher conference bc let's all be honest he's basically Kyo's dad at this point, was handsome. Also apparently people say that Uotani should be a model. She said that she's trying to get to six feet tall (as if that's a conscious decision that you have much control over??), and so she just said she wants to do that when she's older. Be a model, that is, not be six feet tall. Agh, grammar. It's weird.

Later, Tohru visited her grandpa, and talked about her parents. I think it was mostly a dream that she was talking about, and how they got along. I thought it was interesting, because as a whole, if Tohru is talking about her family, it's usually only about her mother. I'm anticipating that later on, there could be more of a focus on the rest of her family, or, at least, her father. Who was he? Was he an awful human being and good riddance, or something else? Hopefully it's just "something else", I'm not sure how many "awful human being and good riddance" characters I can handle.

Anyway, for some reason, after Tohru left her grandpa's place, and was all overwhelmed with emotions and memories, Kyo showed up. What was he doing there? I dunno. She asked him why he was there, and he just said that she's tiny and skinny. Nothing to do with anything, but whatever.

This feels so disorganized, but that was mostly what happened. I feel like I list things out too much, drawing out on every detail, and I think I'm trying to reign myself in. Unless someone does want a play-by-play run down of this series, in which case I'd still probably be lacking in something. I dunno.

[jasperwhitcock]

05. FAMILY FEUD

surprise, bitches. bet you thought you’d seen the last of me. why do i update my fic always a month apart. sorry!! i’m always working on it, i just write really long chapters... anyways, here is chapter five of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy​ posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag.

i've incorporated some quotes from midnight sun because obviously this is still something of a parallel to midnight sun & i wanted to stay true to some of the reactions. also, you may recognize a little blurb imbedded here that i've written before about the bookshelf hehe. hope yall enjoy ♡♡♡

The weight of the battle I was fighting within myself was beginning to surpass the previous toll it’d taken on me. Every moment since I met Edward, it seemed I was falling further down into an abyss that I couldn’t climb out of, and every time I felt like maybe I’d found my grip, I only fell further. Again, I was frustrated as I sat outside Edward’s house in Carlisle’s Mercedes, watching the hazy, obscure sun slip further away behind the blackened clouds, leaving me shrouded in the darkness of a midday storm and the cover of pouring rain. I felt partially guilty for not returning Carlisle’s car. He wouldn’t mind running home, but Esme might not be too pleased about the puddles his drenched clothing would leave on her newly installed flooring. Although after today, it might not matter anymore.

I wondered what I’d return home to. Would they have already finished packing up our belongings? Would they be waiting to confront me about the consequences of my actions? Carlisle was forgiving, but would the rest of my family be?

For those reasons, I wasn’t ready to return home yet. But mostly, I was hesitant to drive away because I knew the moment my tires left Edward’s street would be the moment I’d be leaving him behind in Forks. I felt unprepared for the finality of such a moment.

When I heard the soft purr of an engine turning onto the street around one in the afternoon, I sighed, shifting the car into drive and moving forward to the end of the road in case it was Edward’s father returning home. I watched in my rearview mirror as the silver vehicle confirmed my suspicions by pulling into Edward’s driveway. Although the darkness of the thunderstorm’s gloom brewing in the clouds did little to obscure my eyesight, the torrent of rain pounding down relentlessly onto the green earth was too thick for even my eyes to catch a good glimpse of his face.

I could stay and listen – hear the voice of his father and compare it to the quality of Edward’s low, soft timbre, see if Edward’s sincerity in sticking to my version of events was genuine, check if he was truly as alright as he insisted – but maybe I was only looking for reasons to avoid heading home. Or maybe I was just being unforgivably invasive.

I glanced at the digital clock. 1:05. If they had stayed in their classes after the accident, there was still another hour and forty minutes before my siblings would be released from school. If they went home early, then Carlisle still wouldn’t be home for another two hours and twenty five minutes. I decided I’d rather not be there without Carlisle, so I lifted my foot off the break, slammed on the gas, and headed for Port Angeles before I realized where I was going.

As I left Forks behind me, the rain softened to a more consoling pitter patter on the roof of the car, and the clouds, although still grey, were lighter, hinting at the hidden sun. I made it to Port Angeles in under half an hour, luckily finding the roads to be mostly empty.

I drove at an appropriate speed once I reached the city. It was surprisingly beautiful scenery for such a disastrous day. It had snowed the night before here as well, but the melted snow hadn’t refrozen into ice. Instead, the tops of the buildings were covered in a thin layer of fluffy white snowflakes. The clouds above were thick enough to conceal me from the sun but held no implications of oncoming rain.

I located a parking spot near my favorite old brick building and paid the meter for the next few hours. The air was even more wintry here than in Forks as the harbor air brought in fresh, freezing ocean spray. There was a bookstore I liked to go to here in Port Angeles. Even as a child, Forks didn’t have an adequate library or bookstore to satiate my needs. My previous grievances with the rainforest of a city aside, there was always the silver lining of the bookstore.

If there was one thing that I looked forward to when arriving in the otherwise detestable small town of Forks in the rainy state of Washington, it was returning to the familiar mahogany of the sturdy bookshelf in the tiny living room of Charlie’s small, two-story house. It had been a gift – a homecoming gesture – in hopes to put me in better spirits when I was forced to spend my summers with my father. He knew how I had disliked his gloomy town just as my mother had. A friend from the reservation, Billy Black’s, young, cheerful son built the bookshelf himself. Billy had dismissed Charlie’s offers to pay his son for the service, insisting he accept it as a present in return for all the nights Billy stole away to the Swan Residence (Swan, the last name I held as a human) to watch the game on Charlie’s much larger – though not by much – television screen. When he hadn’t been looking, Charlie slipped a small wad of cash to Billy’s kid who excitedly accepted it, eager to save for some other projects.

Over time, the book shelf became a home for some of my favorite classic novels. On his days off, when his friend Harry Clearwater was unavailable for a fishing trip, he’d picked up books of all kinds, hoping I would find at least one I liked in the overflowing collection. The bookshelf was stuffed with paperbacks and hardbacks, lining each ledge edge to edge with books piling horizontally on top of the other books as space began to run out. It was a gesture that moved me in ways I was unused to and ways I couldn’t find the words to express.

When I was in town, Charlie drove me to some of the larger cities surrounding his small town and waited patiently as I perused the shelves of second-hand book stores. Smart as he was, he wasn’t a very articulate man, struggling to convey the depth of his emotions through words. But something in his eyes betrayed the way his heart overflowed with pride and adoration watching his small, gangly daughter enter into a world of her own as she searched for her next favorite story to add to their beloved bookshelf. It was a look I caught that sometimes made me feel embarrassed and shy by the profundity of the love in it, but now a look that I’d always remember. A look that would always make my unbeating heart feel somehow full and empty at the same time. Intense feelings of love and sadness for what I’d once had and since lost. This bookstore was our favorite, and therefore, it would always be my favorite. It still held the aged charm of the past, but they made some modern improvements in desperation for relevance today. I’d made sure to keep the store open with anonymous donations. Too many independent bookstores suffered in such a competitive, unfair market full of large online distributors.

I listened to the familiar hum of the glowing red neon sign in the window as I reached for the door. A bell above let out a peal of rings as I entered, and the clerk behind the wooden counter looked up beneath her large glasses. Her skin was deeply tan with olive undertones and her dark hair was cropped in a perfect line above her shoulders. Her eyes registered shock upon seeing my face, her heart rate picked up, and she stuttered over her words. “W-welcome!”

“Thank you,” I smiled softly, though finding the politeness to be difficult today. I didn’t want to come across rude or threatening, but feigning anything resembling joy was especially exhausting. I kept my voice gentle and even so as not to alarm the woman.

“Let me know if you need any help!” She called after me as I passed the counter, heading deeper into the store.

The shop was unpopulated at this time of day. Only a few people loitered here and there examining the shelves or curled up on loveseats with hot coffee cups to recover from the chill of the outdoors.

I crossed over the entirety of the first floor, finding the concealed narrow staircase that led to the upstairs. Tasting the air, I could tell there was nobody immediately near me, so I flew up the staircase at a more reasonable speed though I was in no hurry. The second floor was a brown labyrinth, the bookshelves placed in a way to create an intimate maze with countless little crevices to slip into and hide away from the rest of the world. Hardbacks and paperbacks piled the shelves and walls from the floor to the ceiling. The air was filled with the scents of crispy paper, aged ink, and the sweet, musky smell of older books. The lighting was warm reddish-orange, dull, and not ideal for reading despite the setting, but a miscellaneous mélange of lamps in all shapes and sizes embellished the spaces tucked between the bookcases, generating enough brightness to read in tiny, personal pools of light.

I weaved a path through the maze until I reached a dead-end corner with a single, wine-colored armchair in a faded leather. An ornate wooden plaque spray painted gold with eroded edges was drilled into the shelf behind the chair, the words “For Charlie” engraved into the pallet. Well, my donations were mostly anonymous.

No matter how many times I rounded this corner, every time my eyes fell on the empty chair hit me like a wrecking ball with nearly unmanageable grief. Any attempt to decipher the thoughts that came with this always led me to simplistic statements because that was all that I could ever handle. It was too much emptiness, too much numbness, too much complexity. It was always simply too much. And that was about all the conclusions I could come to no matter how much gentleness and coaxing Esme, Rosalie, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Carlisle comforted me with. It was always easier to push away the thought, to avoid thinking too much than to acknowledge the hole in my chest. Some days I almost forget, and some days it becomes seemingly ever present. It was always easier to ignore the gravity of the grief.

But in this life with the absoluteness of what we are, all we can do is to go on. One next step at a time. As much as I felt so much stronger and accustomed to this life, there was no denying the simple truth – there is so much loss in immortality.

I sighed. Even with all of our physical resilience, the extremities of our emotions in this form was enough to be tiring. I took steps forward and turned to sink into the chair, feeling very small. Looking out at the warmth of the bookcases and the endless array of novels, I thought of what it would be like to be Charlie sitting here, watching his awkward daughter run her finger along all the spines or disappear into the maze only to be found on the floor somewhere surrounded by piles of books.

Sometimes being here I could feel the ghost of Charlie’s love. The intensity that he couldn’t quite always communicate and that I didn’t always understand the extent of. But here, I could feel it. And I felt the same love for him in return. I missed him. His thick mustache, the sudden youthfulness in his warm, brown eyes when he smiled, the endearing crinkles that reminded me of his age. The coffee rings on the table, and the snow chains on my tires. The flush of red under his translucent skin when he was angry or embarrassed. Just like how my skin had been. Like father, like daughter.

I wondered what he’d think of my life now, and what he’d think of what I’d done today. Knowing the circumstances of the secrets I was meant to keep, would he have thought I’d done the right thing as Carlisle had? Or would he have thought I interfered and placed my siblings at risk like the rest of my family might think? I think that despite the consequences, he would have said something like, “you did the right thing, kid.” And maybe he’d even uncomfortably ask me about whether or not this boy was someone he should be keeping his eye on and would be immensely relieved when I reassured him that the answer was no. The thought almost made me smile. So then, I couldn’t bring myself to regret my decisions, and I wouldn’t allow myself to.

I sat there in the weathered leather of the chair for some time, listening to the subtle dragging of pages sliding off of shelves, the whoosh of air and the crispy rustle of paper as someone turned a page, the heaviness of footsteps on dead pieces of floorboard, the twinkle of the bell above the front door, and the whisper of the frozen wind rushing inside. After an hour, I stirred, rising from Charlie’s chair to trace my finger along the edges of the shelves, the action stirring up some dust particles to leap into the air like dandelion seeds, the warm light catching them in astonishing ways as they floated along. I left my little nook briefly to find the right section that would hold the book I was suddenly searching for.

When I located it, I plucked the gently used novel off the shelf, vowing to officially mend my own copy at home since it was the same story that Emmett had destroyed the morning of the first day I saw Edward.

I returned to the armchair, once again sinking down into the burgundy, and flipped through the aged pages until I found the place I left off at.

I’d have read until closing time, but eventually something in the unreliability of initial appearances in Pride and Prejudice began to bother me in a way that it never had before. I gave up on the book and instead sat unthinking – or attempting to, at least– quietly for a few hours.

Again, I longed to sleep. I’d never needed an escape as much as I did now as my mind was becoming too tiring a place to consciously be.

After some time, I heard creaky footsteps on the ancient wood up the stairs and the jingling sound of keys hitting each other. I waited patiently as they approached, imagining where exactly they may be in the labyrinth as they turned corners and hesitated to quietly shove stray books back onto shelves. They drew closer, closing in the distance between them and my little nook, finally rounding the corner.

“Oh!” The clerk from downstairs gasped in surprise, dropping the book in her hand. I stopped myself from saving it to not startle her any further with sudden movements, allowing it to clatter noisily to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, only then rising from the chair to lean down and collect the novel after an appropriate amount of reaction time. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The clerk’s heart boomed loudly in her chest. “No, no, it’s alright!” She laughed breathlessly, a hand fluttering to her heart. “I just didn’t think anyone else was here... We’re, uh, sorry, we’re closed!”

“Oh, I’m sorry again,” I laughed softly as well to relax her, extending my hand to offer her the book she’d dropped. “I must have lost track of time.”

“That’s okay! It happens more often than you think...” she laughed again, her heart rate slowing down to a more regular place, though now that she recovered from the shock, her face was mesmerized by the oddness of my jarringly perfect appearance.

“I’ll leave now,” I smiled politely, pushing the book forward to her hand, careful not to touch her skin. Without processing, she took hold of the book. As I began to pass her, she clumsily turned.

“Oh, uh, wait! I’ll unlock the door to let you out!”

I allowed her to pass me up and leisurely followed her through the maze down the stairs. Her blood had a sweet smell, but it was still unappealing in comparison to Edward’s.

Once we’d reached the door, I could see how much time had passed whilst I hadn’t been paying attention. Through the large windows, night had fallen in a blackened cloak over the port city.

“Here we are,” she shyly chirped in a very intentionally favorable tone – something she probably reserved for customer service – and fiddled with the keys. Her hands shook slightly, and I felt guilty for how it must feel to have her back turned to a predator. Of course, she couldn’t know the difference, but her body recognized the threat. Finally, once she’d found the right key, she jimmied the rusty metal into the lock – missing the narrow fissure twice at first – and opened the door.

“Sorry about that. Thank you so much for coming,” she turned, gesturing with a shaky hand towards the outside world. The bitter wind blew in through the opening, making her shiver.

“Thank you,” I smiled again for her sake. Her eyes were peculiarly light compared to the rest of her features, making them extremely prominent. They were lighter and more hazel, yet the shade of green made me think of Edward again. I sighed. “Have a good night.”

I stepped out into the darkened street, looking down at the strange way the red light from the neon sign in the window washed over and illuminated my skin. Tiny bugs flew around the street lamps up above, casting irregularly moving shadows on the frozen sidewalk.

The heavy door shut loudly behind me, and she clicked the lock. It was unusually quiet, though that could be due to it being a weeknight. The bulbs in the streetlamps hummed and the bugs buzzed in response.

I strolled along the sidewalk, taking my time before returning to Carlisle’s car. I should have paid the meter more generously. It expired two hours ago. I’d received a parking ticket. Oops.

I removed the frozen slip of paper and unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. I had no desire to drive fast at first, deciding to return home at the speed limit. After about forty minutes, suddenly the anticipation to get the confrontation out of the way overcame me, and I drove 200 miles per hour the rest of the way home. Within minutes, I was turning onto the miles-long driveway.

As I raced for the garage, I listened for any movement from the bright house. There was none. I wondered how long they’d been sitting still, waiting for me. I groaned aloud in greeting.

The garage door was open so I pulled into the blue fluorescence and parked beside Rosalie’s day car. I sighed once before determinedly exiting the vehicle.

I slammed the door a little too hard before catching the handle before it hit the body. Perhaps I’d reached my quota this morning when it came to destroying car doors.

I ran through the small section of woods separating the garage from the house and braced myself for the impact of the meeting.

“Hello,” I said sheepishly. I wanted to sound stronger and more confident, but my nerve wavered as I entered the dining room to see everyone waiting for me at the long oval table. At the eastern head of the table, Carlisle and Esme sat side by side, their hands resting together atop the mahogany. I felt some of the resilience I’d mustered in the last few seconds return upon seeing the intensity of Esme’s golden eyes. They were full of concern and overwhelmingly forgiving. It was reassuring.

Rosalie sat directly opposite from Carlisle, very intentionally avoiding eye contact with me, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. I could feel the tension and coldness emanating from her. I was unused to feeling spurned by Rosalie. She always tenderly cared for me, always taking my side… My actions must have truly offended her today. A twinge of guilt twisted my abdomen.

It was unfair to feel any sense of betrayal considering the danger I’d placed my family in, but still with Emmett wrly seated beside Rosalie, and Jasper standing behind them, leaning against the wall mirroring Rose’s crossed arms, I felt some irrational anger at the lines being drawn. Of course, I should have known better than to think Emmett would have my back as if he wouldn’t undoubtedly support Rosalie.

Alice sat beside Esme, her eyes focused on something other than the room. I wondered if her visions made her support waver, if in all the hours I’d been gone, she’d been moving back and forth on either side of the room. She always chose the winning side.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “First, for this,” I crossed to the other side of the table to sit beside Carlisle, placing the parking ticket on the wood and sliding it over towards him. His lips curved into an amused smirk, and I felt encouraged by the expression.

“And more importantly,” I turned to face Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper. “I’m very, very sorry for this morning. It was incredibly selfish, irresponsible, and stupid of me to put any of you at risk. It’s all my fault… I take full responsibility for my actions.”

Rosalie’s exquisite face finally looked up at me, her expression full of hurt. “And what does that mean, Bella? Are you planning on fixing this?”

The implication behind her words filled me with sudden indignation, and before I could calm myself down, I snapped, “not in the way that you mean.”

Of course, something had to be done about the accident, but what was the point of going to such idiotic lengths to save his life only to end it later? Didn’t she realize I’ve been fighting to keep him alive since the very moment I’d met him?

Rosalie took offense to the harsh accusation of my words. “You say that as if I’d advocate for this under normal circumstances.”

“I had planned on leaving before, and I will leave now if it makes things easier.” Rather than keeping my voice calm and even, the words again came out in ways I didn’t intend. Unnecessarily punitive. I knew it was ridiculous to be so angry with Rosalie’s anger towards me when she was entirely right, but I couldn’t tame my passion in defense of Edward’s silly little life.

“Oh, no, Bella,” Esme murmured. “Please, you can’t leave.”

I reached to squeeze my mother’s hand.

“It’d have been helpful prior to this morning,” Jasper spoke up. “Now, it’s irrelevant.”

“Jazz is right,” Emmett agreed. “There’s no point in leaving now. If anything, that’d look more suspicious.”

“I agree with Emmett, Bella,” Carlisle nodded. “For you to disappear, perhaps it’d make the boy more inclined to talk. Either all of us leave or none.”

“Edward won’t say anything,” I insisted.

“You can’t know that,” Rosalie argued.

“I trust him,” I disagreed, surprising myself at how true the statement was. I thought back to the biology lab when he’d jokingly asked if I trusted him. It was in response to his identification of the stages of mitosis, and I had said no. Now, I suddenly entrusted him with the secrecy of my vampire abilities. I was really unintelligent. She scoffed at my words. “Alice, back me up.”

“I can’t see what will happen if we just ignore this,” Alice rubbed her temples before shooting an accusatory glance in Jasper and Rosalie’s direction.

“We can’t ignore this. Bella, I have always supported you, and of course I love you dearly. But clearly, this isn’t some minor mistake. You were right – it was incredibly selfish and irresponsible and stupid! And it’d be even more irresponsible and stupid for us to allow the human the chance to say anything about it. Carlisle, you must see that,” Rosalie turned her attention to our adopted father.

“It’s not like we haven’t left rumors behind before,” I reminded her. “And I don’t recall anyone else’s first offense putting them on trial like this.”

She ignored the second part of my statement. “Rumors, Bella. Today, you’ve provided eyewitnesses and evidence! It’s not enough that you were perfect prior to today. You’re no more a saint than the rest of us! We have to be perfect always! This was a massive mistake!” Rosalie stood up from her chair. “And I know that!” I stood up as well.

“Then you should agree with what’s the right course of action! It doesn’t have to be a big production. So he seemed alright after the accident. Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. Say Carlisle missed something far more serious than it looked. I don’t delight in this, Bella, but the rest of our kind would expect us to take care of this. Technically, you should be the one to clean up after yourself.”

“Rosalie, the Masen boy is completely innocent,” Carlisle gently disapproved.

Rosalie frowned. “It’s an unfortunate consequence to Bella’s mistake in favor of protecting us all, but a consequence nonetheless”

“Rose, I am sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t matter anymore, Bella!” She interrupted.

“I never wanted this. I never wanted to place you or Emmett or any of us in this position. I know my actions have affected you. But I couldn’t just let him die that way!” My chest sunk at the thought.

“But it wasn’t your place to meddle with fate. You’ve already interrupted his life with your existence alone. Why let him survive? So that you could slaughter him later?”

I winced at her words, but a low hiss escaped my throat as well.

“Rose...” Emmett reached up for her hand to placate her, but she pulled away.

“No, it’s the truth. Our existence and your fixation on his scent posed a threat to the boy. His time came, but you interfered. Now he poses a greater threat to us. So what was the point of that then? You couldn’t help yourself from cutting into his life? It seems the universe provided you with an easy way out, and you went out of your way to make things not only more difficult for yourself but for us as well. I don’t always love this life, but excuse me for taking it personally when you’ve threatened the tiniest piece of happiness I have here! You should have just let him die! It seems you’ll end up killing him anyways!”

The room shifted completely. Suddenly, everyone was on their feet, Rosalie leaned towards me in defense, Emmett uncomfortably but faithfully crouched by her side, Jasper’s stance was more confident and relaxed but poised to strike as well. Carlisle and Esme were both by my sides, holding me in place by my arms. Only Alice remained in her seat, not at all concerned by the change in atmosphere. It took me half a second to realize what had triggered everyone’s response – to process the vicious growl that erupted from my throat and the tenseness of my body as it coiled to spring at my own sister. I was too stubborn and furious to feel any shame yet. I scowled but eased my stance, allowing Carlisle and Esme to gently coax me back to my chair. Everyone else loosened their defensive posture. Emmett made Rosalie sit down, her golden eyes narrowed in a harsh glare of which I was the recipient. Jasper stood straight again but remained stiff. Once we’d all relaxed, Carlisle began speaking again.

“Rosalie, I know you mean well, but every life is precious. To murder a blameless child poses an even greater risk to us. The occasional accident or lapse in control is a regrettable part of who we are, but to bring harm to the boy would make ourselves unworthy of the protection you so lovingly wish to give us. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk something much more important. We risk losing the essence of who we are.”

I couldn’t help the tiny smile that pulled at the corner of my lips.

“Carlisle, it’s about being responsible when Bella was so horribly irresponsible.”

Being on the receiving end of Rosalie’s inflexibility and anger was not at all pleasant.

"It's being callous," Carlisle corrected softly before repeating himself. “Every human life is precious.”

Rosalie sighed heavily and turned her head to again avoid looking at me, making it very apparent where the two of us stood.

“The question is whether or not we should move on,” he continued.

“The last thing I want is to unroot any of you. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Carlisle. I feel confident about Edward’s silence,” I insisted again.

Rosalie huffed loudly, and I turned just in time to catch her rolling her eyes.

“Well, we certainly don't have to decide now. Perhaps we wait then,” Carlisle nodded.

I turned to face Alice, searching for some reassurance about the future but instead following her accusatory gaze to where Jasper stood leaning against the wall again. They were having another one of those silent conversations they shared that the rest of us were lost to. It was almost as if they could read each other’s minds.

“What?” I asked.

“Jazz seems to feel he’s above this conversation,” Alice gritted her teeth. “He seems to think he should set things right.”

My eyes flashed between her and Jasper, whose face was expressionless and unmoved. It took me a moment to piece it together.

“Jazz,” I warned as I began to feel irrationally overprotective again. “I won’t let you punish him for my mistake.”

“So he benefits from it then?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I won’t allow it,” I repeated.

“And I won’t allow Alice to live in danger. You can’t understand, Bella. You don’t feel about anyone the way I feel towards her.”

“That’s irrelevant. I’m not just going to stand aside as you murder him,” I hissed. “I will not let you hurt Edward Masen.”

We stared at each other. I knew he was measuring the opposition and sampling the depth of my determination.

“Jazz,” Alice interrupted us, cutting through the tension in the air.

“Don’t bother telling me you can protect yourself, Alice. I already know that, but-”

“That’s not what I was going to say, but thank you for the assumption,” she rolled her eyes. “And it’s true, I can. I don’t need the backup, you overprotective fool.”

She said the last words playfully, her voice full of affection, as she stuck her tongue out. The action was out of sync with the mood of the room. “What I was going to ask for was a favor.”

Jasper’s eyebrows raised at what was seemingly an inappropriate time to make any requests. My eyebrows knitted in confusion at where the conversation was heading.

“I know you love me, but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill Edward. First, we all know how headstrong Bella is, so you shouldn’t doubt how serious she’s being right now. I don’t want the two of you to fight. Seriously. Secondly, Edward is my friend. Yours too. At least, he’s going to be.”

“What?” Jasper gasped. Even though we were all very much accustomed to Alice’s ambiguity and the bizarre certainty she spoke with about things only she had seen, this was not a statement that could so easily be digested. I couldn’t tear my attention from Alice, staring intently at her face as if the meaning behind her words would suddenly be written on her forehead. What had she seen in that little odd head of hers?

“I’m going to love him–” as she said this, I nearly choked on the air whistling down my throat “–someday, Jazz. I’d be very put out with you if you don’t leave him be.”

I was locked into place, my eyes still boring deeply into my sister’s face. I could feel the pucker on my forehead etched into my expression as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. I kept expecting Alice to explain, but every time she opened her mouth she only confounded me more.

“Ahh!” Alice sighed, smiling brightly. “See, there’s nothing to worry about! Edward won’t say anything at all.”

I could not see.

“Alice,” I whined impatiently. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know, Bella. I told you something was changing in your future.”

“In my future? What did you see?”

“Hmm… I don’t think I should share quite yet,” Alice locked her jaw, and I growled, exasperated.

“Oh, clearly, Bella can’t be trusted lately to not act on her impulses! You should give her whatever warning you’re hiding,” Rosalie sighed, annoyed.

I was still feeling illogically irritated with Rose’s resentment, but I couldn’t disagree with her. “She’s right, Alice.”

“I really don’t think-”

“Who votes that Alice shares what she knows?” I asked restlessly. “Raise your hand.”

It was juvenile, and this was not how we came to decisions ever. Of course we’d discuss differing opinions, but never so bluntly did we vote in this manner. The way I approached the subject was rude, but still unanimously, six hands shot into the air including mine.

“Fine,” Alice huffed, scowling. “But I’m not obligated to share anything just because the rest of you voted. That’s silly. I’m only sharing because I can see that Bella won’t let this go.”

She paused and we waited, staring. It was as if we were awaiting the results of a reading from some fortune teller at a carnival, anxious to see which tarot cards she had pulled. Anxious to see what this would mean for my life.

“My vision keeps becoming clearer. At first, it was just hazy, and I couldn’t make sense of it or of who I was seeing. Every minute it’s like Bella’s more decided,” Alice began. Six pairs of eyes flickered to me, but I had no idea what she was referring to, nor did I know how this related to the boy. Alice frowned a little as if she knew what she was about to say wouldn’t be received well. “It seems there’s only two ways left for Edward now. Either Bella will… end his life or… he’ll join us.”

Esme gasped as my mouth dropped open.

“Join us?!” I choked out once I recovered. “I…. I have not made a decision anywhere in that realm at all. That has never ever crossed my mind. Why in the world would I turn him?”

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe I do it because I love him too or at least, I will. I don’t know.”

“Love him, too?” I gaped, convinced Alice’s abilities were broken somehow. “What does that even mean? Who else are you talking about?”

“Who do you think, Bella?” Alice rolled her eyes again, impatient at my lack of clairvoyance. “Clearly not Rosalie.”

“Love him!?” Rosalie questioned incredulously, eyeing me as if I’d completely lost my mind. Maybe I had.

I then realized what Alice meant as I watched Rosalie’s face and processed the other baffled pairs of eyes.

“You mean me!?” I gasped.

“Woah! What the hell...” Emmett almost laughed in surprise, then decided it was indeed actually funny and broke out into real, booming laughter. “Damn! That’s rough. Of course, Bella would fall for a human!”

“Fall for a human?” Esme asked, completely astonished. “Fall in love? With the boy she saved today?”

“Nobody is in love with anybody,” I stood up. “That’s completely absurd!”

“Ooh, touchy subject,” Emmett snickered. I glared daggers at him.

“What exactly do you see, Alice?” Jasper asked.

“I already told you. It depends on Bella’s strength. Either she’ll kill him herself which would really destroy you, Bella, not to mention how very irritated I’d be with you–” she gave me a stern look through narrowed eyes as if I’d already committed the murder then returned her attention to the rest of our family “–or he’ll be one of us someday. There’s not much else to say; the visions are finite but not detailed. It will require a great deal of self control…”

As she continued to muse, I was still frozen in place on my feet, completely numb and completely bewildered.

“...Greater than even Carlisle’s capability maybe. I wouldn’t have put it past her prior to this, but now… It’ll be extremely close as to whether or not she kills him. The only thing she’s not strong enough to do is stay away from him. That’s a completely lost cause.”

The room was entirely quiet.

“Well, this complicates things greatly,” Carlisle murmured.

After another moment of silence, Rosalie piped up. “I can’t believe it. In love with a human-”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Rosalie!” I snarled, returning to some clarity.

“Girls, please-” Esme began to plead.

“Ooh, she got you there, babe,” Emmett interrupted, chuckling as Rose growled at him.

“Emmett,” Esme warned sternly. He held up his hands in surrender but winked at me, grinning widely.

I couldn’t even appreciate the realliance. I was still too lost in the sudden upheaval of my entire life.

“I suppose the plans remain the same, though," Carlisle said thoughtfully. "We'll stay and watch. Obviously, no one will...hurt the boy.”

“Of course not,” Jasper agreed, nodding his head once. “If Alice only sees two ways, then it’s unnecessary to take matters into-”

“Shut up, Jazz,” I said numbly.

Everyone’s eyes flickered over to me.

I was just loving being the center of attention these days.

If Alice only sees two ways...

“You’re wrong,” I whispered. For the first time in my life, I was betting against Alice.

My psychic sister opened her mouth to protest but stopped after seeing either in her head or on my face that I wasn’t finished.

“I hardly know Edward. I don’t see how it could be possible for me to… develop any kind of… feelings for him. That’s entirely ridiculous. I mean, he’s… human! The only scenario that could potentially ever happen – which again, it’s absolutely implausible – would be if I were to accidentally change him. And even then, I mean, why would I-... He’s so… Ugh, just nevermind! That would be a complete mistake. A mistake greater than the one I made today. And I’m very sorry to you all for how I’ve mutilated the future with my actions, but I’m going to fix it. I’ll leave-”

“You can’t,” Alice and Esme interrupted at the same time. My sister’s tone was one of annoyance while my mother’s was one of concern.

“You’re right,” I nodded, but my agreement wasn’t for the reasons Alice meant. I wasn’t considering my capability to leave based on my own will power against leaving the boy behind. That was something too complicated to unpack here in front of my family. Something that’d be better dealt with on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. I wouldn’t leave because it’d be more crucial for me to stay now. The responsible thing to do. “But I’ll try to...I will stay away from Edward–” suddenly, I felt a desire to begin to distance myself from him and referring to him by his name felt too deeply personal, so I corrected myself, “–from the boy, I mean. It’s not right to condemn him to either fate. I won’t allow that to happen.”

As I spoke, Rosalie’s face softened and she materialized by my side, taking my hand.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved today, Bella. I only spoke out of love for our family. But you’re right. It’s not right. And I’m glad you’re choosing to do the right thing by staying away. I still don’t feel as though trusting him is responsible, but if what Alice has said is true-”

“I’m sorry, too,” I cut her off quietly, not wanting to hear the rest. I was feeling sorry for so much more than just how I spoke to Rose.

Esme appeared behind me as well, placing her hand encouragingly on my shoulder. “We are here to support you, Bella.”

“Thanks,” I murmured unenthusiastically.

Nobody moved again as they waited to see what I’d do next. I felt like a zoo animal.

I sighed, releasing Rose’s hand and shaking off Esme.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to be by myself.”

“Of course,” Carlisle responded.

I crossed behind the west side of the table. Emmett let out a low, cartoony whistle of relief to break the tension, and I punched him on the arm as I passed. As I exited the room, Alice called, “wait!”

She was by my side in an instant.

“This is from the accident. It’s Edward’s. I thought maybe you’d want to return it to him.”

I looked down as she pulled my unresponsive hand away from my body to place the thick, chestnut journal I’d seen Edward reach for in his backseat right before the accident. I stared at her, impassive, so she sighed and wrapped my fingers around the worn leather to force it into my grip.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, turning and disappearing out of the house into the forest.

As I ran, I felt the weight of their eyes on me.

[badlypostedeverything]

Promises are made, Promises are Broken

Part 1 of Septic Summer Camp Au: Away from the lake. (Basically just the stuff that happens outride of the actual summers.)

Read the au here @septicsummercamp

tw; child abuse. 

Anti has a bad morning with his parents, then a better day with his family

The Samson household, however calm, always held the quiet undertone of something else. Something slightly off. This something was usually Antonio Samson, the only child and main disappointment of his parents. The general solution to the Anti problem, as far as his parents were generally concerned, was to push it away. To pretend it wasn't happening. Anti had known this talk was coming ever since he had finished term with an above average report card with a few unsavoury notes.

Ant needs to learn how to use his social skills.

Anti disrupts class often.

Antonio should work on controlling his emotions.

'Disrupts' was the key word in all of this. Disruptions were out of the ordinary, and anything out of the ordinary was unacceptable, so as Anti walks into the kitchen for breakfast on the first Sunday of summer, he knows that something is coming. It could just as well have been written across his father's creased forehead and his mother's tart lipstick.

'Son, we need to talk,' his father begins. Anti takes a seat on the arm of a chair. 'You know what we discussed, don't you?'

'Yeah, I remember,'

'Don't give me a 'Yeah', give me a yes or a no.'

'Yes father, I do recall our previous conversation,' he rolls his eyes.

'Watch it, Antonio,' his mother chides.

'Anyway, you clearly put no effort into improving this year. You know what that means.'

'But I-' Anti starts, but he's cut off with a glare.

'Don't start that voices shit with me. It's in your head, and that means it's your responsibility to deal with it, is that clear?'

Anti nods.

'This summer, I'm sending you away to some outdoorsy place. Less wimpy than last year. You'll stay there until it's over, because if you come home before it's officially done, it's lockdown for the rest of the summer. Understood?'

Anti doesn't respond, he just kicks his heels against the side of the chair.

'Understood!?' His father stands up, towering over his son.

'Yes, Dad,' he squeaks, edging backwards.

'Father,' he replies, no longer interested enough in the conversation to look at him. 'It's father. You can call me dad when you man up and stop with all of the weird mind shit.' The taller man stands up and leaves the room. Anti looks to his mother for comfort he knows he won't find.

'Go on then,' she tells him. 'Go run away to your little safehouse.'

Anti stands up and grabs his coat off the hook. 'I'll be back later then. If that isn't too disappointing for you.' Without another word, he slams the back door behind him and hops his neighbour's fence, cutting through their flower patch onto the street. Once he would have cried, but now he only feels the dead weight in the pit of his stomach which he's come to associate with the love of his parents. That's what you get, he supposes, for failing to find an off switch to the voices in his head.

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

'Hey, Ant!' Marvin's mother, Claire opens the door. 'We're about to have breakfast, want to join us?'

'Thanks,' he smiles slightly, stepping over the welcome mat. He loves the McLoughlin house, it's so much lighter and more familiar than his own. He even has his own height marks on the kitchen door, and his own special mug in the cupboard that Claire bought him one weekend when he came over inconsolable from an argument at home. That weekend taught Anti a lot of things about life. It was also the first time Claire referred to Anti as her child. They were shopping for the mugs - Charmander for Anti and Squirtle for Marvin, - when the cashier asked who they were for. 'My sons,' she said, almost without thinking. It was, Anti thinks, the first time he'd been referred to as someone's son in a positive context.

'Hey Marv,' Anti slides into the chair opposite his friend. Marvin sits in a singlet and shorts eating a bowl of cereal, hair wild around his head.

'Hi Ant!' Marvin replies, still chewing. 'Guess what?'

'What?'

'Mum convinced your parents to send you to the same camp as me!'

Anti smiles wider. 'How'd she do that. Wait, I thought you weren't going to a camp this year.'

'I am now!' He grins. 'She went onto the community facebook and pretended to be some headmaster promoting a military style summer camp. They saw it and asked her questions so she bullshitted some answers about straightening out young boys. They fell for it!'

'Language, Marv,' his mum sets a cereal bowl down in front of Anti. He takes it gratefully.

'But isn't it good news?' She asks.

'It's brilliant. Thank you so much!' He smiles. Suddenly, his head starts pounding. 'Can I go outside for a second?'

'Sure, are you okay?'

'Yeah, just the voice again.'

'Alright. Marvin, get dressed then go out with him.'

Anti scrapes his chair back and retreats through the kitchen and out into the garden. There's a little wooden shack with an entrance just big enough for the two boys to crawl into. Anti squeezes his shoulders through the gap and curls up in the corner where a blanket lays, tattered from years of use. He curls up, trying to block out the stream of black words leaking into his brain. Mostly, he can't even distinguish what they're telling him, only that the words are giving him a similar feeling to being punched in the ribs emotionally. The closest thing it can be compared to, in his mind, is the worst of the conversations with his parents. After a while, they let up, and Marvin crawls through the hole too. He doesn't say anything, only sits beside his friend until he's ready to speak. They both know how this goes. Neither look each other in the eyes, both instead focusing on the opposite wall.

'Good morning,' Anti starts finally.

'How did the conversation go,' Marvin replies flatly.

'Either I stay there until the end of summer or it's lockdown.'

'Shit.'

'Yeah'

'Listen, if it happens you can stay here. There's space on my floor, it'll be fine.'

'I don't need pity. I can deal with it alone.'

'No, what you need is those voices to go, but they aren't going to. For either of us.'

'So what do you propose we do about it?'

'Well,' Marvin reaches out to grab Anti's hand. 'We go to the camp which I so cleverly found.'

'And this helps us how?' Anti squeezes it back.

'Because the area there has something to do with the voices.'

'Marvin, you know what happened last time,'

'No, I'm certain it's safe this time. There was a news story three years ago. Some boys were out at the camp and I'm convinced the voices were there for them too.'

'Why do you get all the braincells? Anti complains, colour coming back into his face. Marvin turns to face him, kneeling with his head ducked in the rotting wooden cave.

'I want you to make me a promise, Ant,' he places both hands on top of Anti's now.

'Yeah?' Anti turns to face him too.

'Promise me that we'll last the summer at camp. We'll both stay there for the full six weeks like we're two regular teenage boys and we'll find out what's happening to us. No matter what.' Marvin stares into Anti's eyes, and Anti stares back.

'I promise,' he smiles solemnly.

'So, wanna come to the park later? Mum says she'll buy us ice cream.' Marvin changes his tone of voice abruptly.

'Sure, but why later?'

'Gotta pack. We leave tomorrow.'

'Can I stick around? I'll pack later on once my parents are asleep.' They begin to crawl back out of the shack, brushing moss off of themselves.

'Of course, but only if you sing with me,'

'As long as it isn't Legally Blonde? Deal.'

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 13

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,260 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Also on ff.net and AO3. In which Tim isn’t Jason.

A long long time ago, in a tragedy If ever comes a day that I go away In a forest deep, you'll sink like a stone From that moment on, you'll go alone

For we are two of a kind; when we walk, we are one The sound of lies being told disappear like the sun And now we both bow our heads; only a single shadow Didn't you know that I'm also going alone?

-Fullkawa Honpo, "Alice"

————————–

Now.

Alfred had been in the midst of pouring himself a calming cup of tea in the parlor when he heard the doorbell ring, followed by loud banging on the outside.  He set the pot down and strode with as much steady grace as he could muster to the portentous sound coming from the porte.  Opening it, he came face to face with his former young charge, now grown older and grimmer in appearance compared to the foregone past.  …That seemed like only yesterday, yet at the same time so long ago.  When he’d wear a wide grin as he dashed straight into the manor upon coming home from school, eager to tell all about his day over a plate of snacks that would already be laid out and waiting for him; tossing coat and bag carelessly to the side, where Alfred would quietly pick them up and hang them in proper order. He’d shake his head, but smile and say nothing in light of the boy’s brimming energy and excitement as he waved to the butler in thanks, before charging up to cheerfully greet an ever expectant Bruce, vaulting heedlessly over any furniture on the way in vaunting display.

“Why, Master Timothy, what a… pleasant surprise.  How good to see you.”

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim interjected briskly.  “I don’t have time to chat.  …They’re down there, aren’t they?”

“‘They’, sir?”

Tim’s eyes darkened dangerously.

“Cut the act, Alfred. You know who I’m talking about.”

Alfred sighed, standing aside to let the young man in.

“Master Bruce arrived back shortly ago with a young lady through the… ‘other entrance’.  They are at present where you’d suspect.”

Tim immediately brushed by without another word, breezing brazenly through the halls in a burning haste towards the study, where he stopped before an old grandfather clock.  He hesitated a moment as his hand tremblingly reached out, taking a deep breath before pulling on the pendulum to slide the access open, shouting an angry warning into its depths.  Foreboding darkness and blue cavern walls stretched before him as he descended down the familiar staircase for the first time in forever, feeling the sudden drop in temperature from subterranean chill.  When he reached the bottom, he arrested at the sight of his (second) worst nightmare come to life, freezing another few degrees.  …He was too late.

Seething, rage flooded his face as he flew at the culprit in fury, and for a second all he saw was pulsing red and bursts of black – erupting flashbacks – as he heatedly yelled at what was once his must trusted companion.  How could he?  The sheer nerve. He had given everything for him, and now he had betrayed his secrets – taken whatever little independence – or semblance of it – he had left.  Destroyed any remaining faith in his “father” by proving himself a fake and a liar, exposing sins of the “son” without even so much as consulting said subject. Insulting his pride and privacy in the worst way imaginable.

It took Steph’s worried voice and shaking to snap him out of it, and his mortification magnified as he wondered what she must think of him now.  He couldn’t even stand to look her in the eye, afraid to confront the same expression one would surely exhibit at a freak show.  Stabilizing, he stalled by requesting her to wait for him above ground. …Whether she actually would was a different story, but he didn’t really want to consider that possibility right now.

As he observed her cloaked backside heading up the steps, his vision traveled to the row of costumes beside, locked away in clear cases like inmates in their cells at Arkham.  He approached the smallest one in scarlet and put his palm on the mirrored glass, mimicking the exact same motion he made so many years ago the first time he laid shining, hopeful eyes on it, now staring dully at his own tired reflection.  In front of the mask instead of behind.

“So this is what you did with it,” he muttered, somehow unsurprised.  “You should’ve just burned it.  Like those tapes.”  Bitterness wedged in his tone as he glimpsed down the aisle at Batgirl’s and Nightwing’s dead, shed skins as well.  “…Or is that all we ever were to you?  More trophies to add to your collection?”

Batman simply stated:

“It’s there as a reminder.”

Tim nodded.  Deep down, he had known the answer already, but still he just wanted to make sure.  He needed to hear it said – out loud.

Rotating slowly back, he returned his gaze to his ex-guardian’s own guise, studying the apparent lack of revealing emotion.

“Bruce.  Take that off.  I want you to look at me.”

Batman remained unmoving for a beat, but acquiesced.

As the façade fell away, Tim could see the old man looked even older than he remembered, wrinkles and peppered gray starting to show.  Maybe far older than he should be.  …Than either of them should.

He fixed those cold, steel blue irises with a firm deadlock.

“Promise me you’ll never take on another Robin.”

“That I can assure.”

Tim surveyed the seriousness in the other’s countenance, accepting agreement on that front at least. He revolved to regard the rest of the room, a place filled with so many overwhelming memories he didn’t even know where to start.  (Though he deliberately avoided looking at the giant Joker card hanging directly above; why Bruce still bothered to keep that up was beyond him.)

“The last time I was down here… was the night you brought me back from Arkham.”  He swallowed, recollecting little about that time other than brief spots of awareness to his surroundings, and dimly hearing echoes of concerned voices that weren’t the Joker’s laugh or Harley’s high-pitched shrill, as his body was still in shock after everything.  …Or maybe he had just blocked it all out.  (Perhaps just as well, if he could’ve seen the pale looks of pure, panicked horror on their hovering visages, that very nearly matched his own.) “It hasn’t changed much, has it? New tech, new trophies…  But still the same dreary atmosphere.”

He ran his hand along a railing as he moved over towards the training equipment, recalling how he used to spend so much time balancing on it, performing handstands to help keep blood and thoughts flowing (and limbs from getting bored stiff) while they casually discussed more difficult cases – with Batgirl and Nightwing as well when he stopped by to assist in cracking particularly tough ones (or just to hang out and spar a bit with his lil bro) – brainstorming together as a team by combining their collective detective skills.  Barbara tended to pace as she pondered, while Dick would smirk and lean back in his chair with muscles lax behind his neck and feet propped up on the terminal, teasing that she looked like a lumbering red gorilla when she does that, and she’d snap back that he was being no help (and besides what was he even doing there didn’t he have his own place now maybe he should go fight crime with Catwoman if he’s so smart), and Bruce would irritably bark at them all over the two’s bickering (and Tim’s smothered snickering) to stay focused on task, only to be interrupted by Alfred as he came down to serve some food, insisting they all stay vitalized if they hope to make any progress.

Tim crossed over to the target range – past the medical bay, where Batman had interrogated him once after he’d been caught sneaking around (and stealing from) upstairs right after their initial meeting, whereupon he learned of Bruce Wayne’s secret identity.

“So what?  I know how to keep a secret.  You can trust me.”

He picked up a Batarang from the table.  It looked like a newer model than the ones he was used to; lighter, sleeker, circular, with bits of red on the edges of the winged blades.  He took careful aim at a stalactite, attempting to adjust to its weight, but the persistent tremors and twitches in his fingers wouldn’t cease, no matter how hard he endeavored to suppress.  Gritting his teeth, he shut one eye and let the wild projectile fly, but it only veered far off course, bouncing harmlessly off the back wall to drop down into the river below with a weak splash.  Shoving hands shamefully in his pockets and peering down into the chasm, Tim reflected on how he had stood here once, lifting his arms in breathtaking glory as he basked in his ultimate childhood fantasy, beholding the bedrock and bats, wistfully absorbing the beauty of it all.

“If you knew how many times I’d dreamed about this place.”

He kicked a stone into the ravine.

Bruce was watching him the whole time in silence.  Tim turned back and addressed gloomily.

“You know, I was always doing dumb stuff to try and impress you.  Draw your attention, get you to notice me.  Make you proud.  All I ever wanted was to be just like you when I grew up.”  He paused, taking in the pathetic, penitent image of his prior idol – now weary and weathered, clearly worn down by age and the endlessly waging war he still kept stubbornly fighting on his own, come hell or high water.  “I used to think you were the greatest man alive.  …You’re still the greatest man I ever met, Bruce. But this-” he gestured vaguely at the empty expanse, “-what you do – what you had us do – it can’t be called ‘living’.  …I realize that now.”

The other only grunted, questioning gruffly:

“What’s your point?”

Tim gave him an almost-pitying glance.

“Bruce, I forgive you – for not saving me.  But when are you – for once – going to try and save yourself?”

Bruce blinked back at him, blankly.  Tim bit his lip as he tried to explain.

“I didn’t leave – just because I couldn’t be Robin anymore.  I was mad at first, that you would take all of that away from me.  …But I understood why.  The real reason I left – is because I couldn’t stand the way you looked at me afterwards.  Like I was your greatest failure, as if you regretted ever picking me up off the streets and taking me into your home in the first place. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He inhaled.

“Even then, I would’ve stayed – if you’d only asked me to.  Admitted – for once in your sorry life – that you still need someone in it.”

His fists balled in frustration.

“But you never could admit that, could you?  I get it: Ever since your parents died, you’ve had trouble expressing yourself.  You blame yourself for what happened, every single bad thing that’s come your way since then. That’s why you keep all this old junk around, just like their pictures everywhere upstairs.  So you won’t forget that it’s all your fault, that you’ve hurt everyone you’ve ever come in contact with, isn’t that right?”

Bruce said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

“So you end up pushing people away, until you’re finally all by yourself.  Because you believe it’s for the best.  You think you deserve to be alone, when it…”  He gulped, sensing the hypocritical stab in his own gut. “…Isn’t true.”

Tim took a tentative step forward, trying to close some distance, bridge the extensive gap between them – that almost seemed like an eternity at this point – but simultaneously struggling to find words and will for it.

“Bruce, I’d like us – to still be friends.  …But if this is how it’s going to be between us – if I can’t even trust you to keep my secret, not to ruin the one good thing I’ve had since then – then I can’t be around you anymore.”

He cast one last nostalgic look around at what he used to call “home”, etching the sentimental scene into his brain.  His safe “haven”, where he could always count on his “family” being there for him.   …Not a sanctuary, he recognized fully now, but a prison.  Built for one solitary soul, never meant to share in the first place. A private “Plan” others weren’t originally supposed to be part of, no matter how much the architect desired it deep down.  Who broke that vow more than once in an effort to better someone else’s life, only to be burned so badly (and vice-versa) that both parties feared forming close connections again as a result.  To care that much for someone, only to eventually receive bitter disappointment in the end – if not the other way around.

Yet, despite all odds, Tim had found a flicker of hope in another’s company.  Comfort.  Courage.  And he- wanted to keep striving towards it.  He didn’t want to end up like him.  Like this.  So lonely and isolated from the entire world.  Even through all the hate and hurt, he didn’t wish for this kind of bleak future, a mere hollow existence – for either of them.  …But this was as far as he could confess it.  He couldn’t keep coaxing, chasing constantly after remote coattails and infinite comets, straining so desperately to catch and ride on them anymore; he needed to be met halfway.  It was up to the opposite side, ball in the other’s court now.

“When you’re ready to come out of the cave and be a person again, let me know.  I’ll be waiting.”

With that, he walked past the mute shadow to the stairs and up the ascent, never looking back. Denying darkness for the light.

“Goodbye, Bruce.”

————————–

And I am one of a kind; when I walk, I am alone I've grown weary of lying to the bone Now I bow my head in this golden room I was here with you, and now, it's gone too soon

In a forest deep, I sank and I knew I'm a charred and dirty, forsaken fruit And that is the end - there's nothing more to recount From this moment on, you'll go alone