#also feat. crumpled paper again

[willabee]

about to get you stance

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil’s Den

Chapter 5: In Which Three Seek Out One

You can read this also on Ao3 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

Karl Heisenberg sat at his work bench tinkering away on a new fancy fangled weapon. What it was was as good as anyone's guess, including his, but when he found inspiration - clear or unclear - he ran with it and something useful usually always came out of it.

He reached for his cigar and took a puff, only to be met by stale air. Damn thing had gone out. "Ah, nuts," the lycan grumbled, scooting his wheeled stool over to the adjacent table that was littered with loose tools, odds and ends of parts, and crumpled pieces of papers with notes and scribbles. Finally retrieving his torch he snapped the button igniting the giant flame. Was this for lighting cigars? Absolutely not. But it would suffice.

After several puffs the end began to glow and he nodded his head happily, scooting his stool back to his contraption.

A few moments later his shop doors burst open and in flowed Daniela, Bela, and Cassandra.

Perking up his eyebrows he threw his arms in the air, "My darling nieces! What brings you by today?" he inquired a bit slurred as his cigar still hung from the corner of his mouth.

His question was met with silence and he then noticed the concern painted on each of their faces as they approached quickly.

"It's Mother," Daniela offered first, her tone much lower and muted for her usually rambunctious personality.

Karl was rising off his seat in a panic at her statement, grabbing the cigar and pulling it from his lips, "What's happened, is she alright?"

Though he would never admit it out loud, the lycan held deep feelings for the vampiress. Yes they fought and bickered like they hated each other, and sure it had started off that way; the lycans and vampires had been at war since the beginning of time, and if it hadn't been for he and Alcina, the bloody war would still be going. They had come through great feats together, and he had grown to admire her deep under the surface. He respected her. And after all, he gained three 'nieces' from the relationship.

Alcina hated it. It brought him great joy.

"It's ok uncle, nothing like that." Bela reassured as they gathered around.

He slowly lowered himself back on his stool and took a deep breath, "Jesus girls, don't do that to an old man," he scowled gently, "ever since the war ended I'm always ready for the other shoe to drop for it to start all over again... now, what's happened?"

The three huffed in tandem, Cassandra loudest of all.

"Mother's found another human."

Karl sat there blinking, eventually passing his gaze between them, "I uh, I'm afraid you'll need to be a little more specific."

"A woman." Cassandra enunciated, folding her arms over her chest.

The revelation displayed clearly across his face as his memory kicked in. His brows narrowing and furrowing harder as he slumped back, "Oh."

"Look, we don't actually know it's like that, but - "

"Bela we don't need to, the situation is problematic as it needs to be - "

"Oh my god Cass, why are you always interrupting me?"

"Because! You're downplaying this too much!"

"We do not know what the whole situation is! You are jumping to conclusions! Yes, it's worrisome, but we don't know if Mother is serious about this human - "

"It's serious enough! She's slinking out every night -"

"SHE USUALLY GOES OUT EVERY NIGHT!"

"SHE TOOK HER HOME, BELA! SHE TOOK HER HOME!"

Karl and Daniela sat back quietly as the two bickered back and forth. Karl's face blank and blinking, Daniela was grinning from ear to ear.

"GIRLS!" He finally shouted, halting the commotion, "Let's try to be a smidge logical here. You're mother is smart. She's no dummy..." his face twisted a little darker as the memories of the stories of what happened many years ago trickled through, "Bela might be right; this may all be a misunderstanding and your mother isn't actually enthralled with this human and being balls to the walls out of her mind for once."

Cassandra clicked her tongue, "When isn't Mother balls to the walls with anything she does?"

That gave everyone in the room pause.

Alcina never did anything less than 100%. If she was going to do something, she did it. No one and nothing got in her way. It had caused her more pain and anguish than anyone wanted to look at. It had always been who she was, even before she was turned. Everyone knew that.

"Ok... well, you have a point, BUT - why don't we start from the beginning and tell me what you do know." Karl offered.

The story was told. He could tell they were upset, as they should be.

They stared at him as he pondered the information and when he noticed their inquisitive glances his eyebrows shot back up.

"Oh no, no no, I'm not getting involved more than I have to, I ain't havin' a heart-to-heart with the 10 foot tall scarecrow from hell."

"Nooo, uncle, we don't want you to talk to her, we want to know what you think!" Daniela replied, the sombering past returning to her, "We're afraid. Afraid for Mother. You don't understand the whole of it, you weren't around then when it happened..." she added sadly, "we truly don't believe Mother would have survived if she hadn't had us. If she didn't have a reason to keep going... if she hadn't loved us so much, we know she would have laid out to die in the sun. We know. Mother Miranda broke her that day, she's never been the same."

Karl growled at the mention of Mother Miranda. He'd like to kill her in more ways than one, for many reasons, but her actions towards Alcina grated on his conscience heavily.

"Well, I've got nothing good to say about that fucking bitch as it is, if I had things my way..." he grumbled to himself not uttering his true thoughts all the way out loud, "anyway! Doesn't matter, we're discussing your mother. I think the three of you should talk calmly to her about it, stop jumping to conclusions, and stop assuming the worst, but also... maybe tread around this very, very carefully," his scruffy face smiled lovingly at them, "I really doubt she would put herself in a situation like that again."

"And if she does?" Cassandra rebutted gently.

He sighed. "Then she'll need the three of you more than ever."

That wasn't comforting to any of them.

"Thank you for listening to us uncle, it means a lot."

"You're welcome Bela, it's my pleasure, and my job! Someone's gotta look after you three and that psycho withered sequoia tree you call your mother."

"Uncle!" Daniela scoffed with a slap to his shoulder.

They shared a laugh and hugged each other as the girls made their departure.

"Please, if you hear anyone speaking anything about this, as I know they are, squash the rumors immediately." Bela requested half through the door.

He nodded, "Anything for you, kid."

As he tried to resume his tinkering his mind was stuck on the situation at hand. It was dire if it was headed the way the girls feared. You could cross Mother Miranda once and keep all your limbs, but cross her a second time and she hits harder and closer to home. This could mean danger for not only Alcina, but the girls as well. The bitch was ruthless, a terrible waste of air, in his opinion. He'd like to use her for target practice for his fully automatic nail gun. He shoved his cigar back in his mouth and wiggled his eyebrows at the thought. The nails were infused with UV gamma radiation.

~

Her escape had her reeling in the chaotic emotions that she felt were burying her.

God damn you, human.

She should be cursing herself. She didn't even know your name. You had been dropped into her lap just as she had yours. She didn't want to leave you, but she couldn't stay.

Alcina knew she was treading dangerous waters and you weren't making it any easier. The better of the questions unanswered were what were you? You were not a normal human, not by any means. It was eating at her as she escaped through the underground corridors. Her movements were swift and silent but instead of heading back to the coven she just walked the tunnels, passing a few vampires along the way, deciding on a random outlet of one of the many hidden entrances all over Manhattan.

As plagued as she was by you, Mother Miranda overpowered her thoughts as she re-entered the city nightlife.

She hated her.

Hated what she had done to her.

More than not she wondered if being 'saved' had been worth it. What had it gotten her outside of her three daughters?

She had been a slave to her blood illness when she was human, and now she was a slave to blood as a vampire.

What sick fucking irony.

Alcina found herself out on the West Harlem piers. Leaning on the railing she overlooked the black water, focusing on the crimps and folds on the surface. Her yearning for freedom was weighing her down as were thoughts of you, Mother Miranda, her girls, and everything in between.

What she wouldn't give for a moment of silence.

The night air wafted through her short raven locks, the gentle curls caressing her jaw like a mothers tender touch. She closed her eyes and struggled against the overwhelming guilt of feeling inadequate. Selfish. That her choices and actions were really all about her, not anyone else.

But was it true? Really, was it?

Had she really saved Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra for her own selfish wants and needs? To be make-believe daughters she never could have had when she was mortal? Or did she truly feel they had deserved their second chances, with her, under her love and guidance, not thrown away like broken toys by a bored child?

The human she loved once before... Was she, too, just another selfish decision, one that in the end got her killed?

No.

Murdered.

She shoved the thoughts back down violently.

As she turned to leave her steps were halted abruptly by a man approaching.

Nothing about his intentions were good.

Alcina smirked.

"Eyy, pretty lady. Why you out here all by yourself in the middle of the night?"

Her brow arched sharply as she let him get closer. She towered over him but he appeared up to the challenge. He reeked of drugs and evil intentions. She was unfortunately unable to hide the look of disgust on her face as his past atrocities against helpless women splayed out for her knowing senses the closer he got.

Good.

She needed a good distraction.

As the front door clicked closed to the manor, Alcina noticed her reflection in the mirror above the entryway table. She halted and gently wiped off the remaining blood from the corner of her lips.

She removed her trench coat and hung it over her arm and set off down the hallway to her bedroom. Upon entry she noticed her three girls together on her double king size bed.

"Mother!" They called together, faces forcing smiles.

"My dear daughters," she replied calmly with a genuine smile of her own, "what brings you all together to huddle conspiratorially in my bedroom?"

They jumped off the bed as their mother hung her coat in the large walk-in closet and gathered shoulder to shoulder.

Alcina stepped out and tilted her head at the strange display, opened her mouth to question their odd behavior but the three of them were in her arms before she could take the breath.

She hummed at their show of affection, lavishing in their genuine embraces. She kissed each of their heads and held them tightly. Suddenly the world didn't seem so dark, so heavy, and melancholy.

"This is sweet and warms my heart, but my dearests this doesn't get you off the hook for questioning," she giggled, low and deep.

None of them let go of their mother, instead, Daniela nuzzled her face a little deeper into her shoulder before she spoke.

"We're worried about you, mamă."

Alcina stilled.

"Dani..." she began, attempting to free herself from their grasp, "there is nothing to be worried about."

They all pulled back at her admission, each lovely face appearing to need a better conviction.

"Mother -"

"No," Alcina said more firmly, putting her index finger up in a hush motion, "you three have nothing to fear; please... don't complicate this."

Three sets of eyes penetrated hers, seeking truth and reassurance.

Silence.

"Trust me."

Alcina left it at that because telling them everything was under control, or that she was alright, would be a lie. She had no qualms of lying her ass off to anyone else, except her daughters. They were precious to her and she would do anything for them, they would do anything for her, so part of the truth was better than any lie.

She admired the beautiful faces before her as she caressed each cheek. They'd come so far from where they were. Yes, they had been adults when Mother Miranda bled them, turned them, and then abandoned their trials one at a time with her infuriating lack of patience. When Alcina saved them they had already had their memories wiped by the tyrant and she had to quite literally raise them all as if they were children. It was a bizarre time for her, to raise childlike adult bodies into the strong, willful, and brilliant women they were today. And she loved them so dearly.

"Come, let's enjoy each others company. I feel we haven't done that in far too long," she offered with a warm smile, "and perhaps we could all go on a hunt this week... I stumbled upon a gang of men that could use our expertise."

The girls giggled at her smirk and insinuation.

The four of them together were deadlier than any vampires they knew of this side of the earth.

And they had fun hunting together.

[ironheartedfae]

Timing: Just after this dash post Location: Osgood's Dump Feat: @mortemoppetere & @ironheartedfae Warnings: Child Abuse tw (past), Suicidal Ideation Summary: Emilio goes out to find Ren in the woods after she disappears again.

Normally, when Emilio trudged through the forest, he made an effort to be quiet. A loud hunter was, more often than not, a very dead hunter. He’d learned that at an early age, the same way he’d learned just about everything else — experience. But today, he let the twigs break beneath his feet, let the leftover leaves rustle around. If what Kaden told him was any indication of Ren’s mental state, she was probably scared and jumpy. Sneaking up on her was only going to make matters worse. He wanted to make sure she knew he was coming — and he wanted to make sure she knew it was him.

“Kid,” he called into the treeline, not for the first time. He’d been talking periodically, trying to make sure his voice was heard. If he was lucky, she’d come to him. He didn’t think he’d be very lucky. He rarely was. Still, he kept going. “It’s me. Heard you had a run-in with something. Gael says you haven’t been around in a couple days. I’m just here to check on you, all right? Not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but if you’re hurt, I’m going to make sure you get help.” From someone who was better at that than he was. “And if you’re not hurt, I’ve got food. Can you let me know if you’re here? Please.”

—

What had been a decently tidy camp made from an old dumping ground had become more of an actual dump. Tornadoes had done less damage than the wreckage wrought by the angry hands with plenty to destroy, little to stop them from doing so. Papers, old drawings, journals, supplies, all strewn across the dusty ground. And in the center a hunched and pouting figure. Carefully watched by another. 

The cu-sith. The very same that had come along that day with the ranger, apparently followed the fae home. And now it sat like a silent sentinel. Watching the tiny crumpled kid shudder where no more tears or screams could come. 

Ren was in no state to notice just about anything. Far too in their own world of self discovery and destruction. The creature however, was far more perceptive. Responding to Emilio’s call with a protective growl. Standing over the nymph and guarding her from the voice that rang out in the woods. 

—

He heard it before he saw it. A low growl cutting through the quiet of the forest, immediately putting him on edge. The knife found its way into his hand like it had always been there, like it was a natural extension of the limb. If Ren was out here alone — which Emilio highly suspected was the case — anything else was a threat. 

Of course, he had no intention of leaving. He came out here to find the kid, to make sure she was okay, to coax her back to the safety of Gael’s house where there were no wardens with iron knives or slayers who loved them too much to let them go. He cared enough about Ren to know that other people could keep her safe far easier than he could, far better. But he also cared about her too much to give up. So he moved towards that growling, moved towards that danger. And he was afraid. Not for himself, but for what he might find there. Images of a living room floor flickered in through the cracks, and he shook them away. Now was not the time to worry over ghosts.

The growls lead him to a campsite… or what was left of one. Things were strewn all over, fury clear in the chaos. Ren sat at the center, clearly hurt and distraught but alive. Emilio let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold, relief settling over him so heavy that he nearly stumbled beneath the weight of it. And above her…

Langley had mentioned a cu-sith, hadn’t he? Emilio didn’t know much about them. Bits and pieces here and there, things Rhett had told him. Enough to know it wasn’t a threat to Ren. Enough to know it probably was a threat to him. It seemed to zero in on the knife he hadn’t yet put away, and Emilio quickly tucked the blade into his pocket, holding his hands up in an attempt to communicate that he meant no harm. He wasn’t sure it’d work on the creature, but he wasn’t as worried about it as he should have been. Instead, he looked to Ren. “Hey, kid,” he greeted lowly. “You with me? Been worried.”

—

“It will not leave.” The tiny voice came out from the hunched figure. Raw, crackling, and clearly having spent a good long while under duress. She was referring, of course, to the creature that still stood over her. That eyed Emilio suspiciously, but made no move to go after him. It seemed warily content with the gesture, seeing as the kid didn’t seem too agitated by it. If anything, Ren was far more concerned with the cu-sith itself, how it hovered protectively no matter what she did. No matter how much she shouted at it, thrown things. It came back. It stayed. It tried to lick at the bite it left, either from guilt or care. Tried to bring her dead things to eat. But Ren just wouldn’t budge either. 

The growl stopped as Ren’s hand drifted absently to the canid’s side. Stroking the fur that sat beneath the moss and leaves. Evidence of her state was just about everywhere. Bloody knuckles that echoed the massive dents in the upended cars scattered around the dump, her leg still unbandaged, now with two wounds instead of just one, a thin coating of dirt almost everywhere. It was like she hadn’t moved from this camp in days. Hadn’t done anything but thrash about, destroying as much of this place as she could, and hurting herself in the process. 

“Why will it not leave?” 

—  

She looked like shit. Sounded like it, too. And Emilio hated himself for not checking on her sooner, for waiting until Kaden told him he’d run into her before realizing she was gone. He should have been out here days ago, hunting her down and doing something worthwhile, should have found her before things got this bad. He’d been so distracted lately. The anniversary of the massacre came and went in a haze of whiskey and grief, everything else numbed by the date on the calendar. It was no excuse. He should have done something sooner; he knew that.

“It likes you,” he said quietly, taking a step closer with his eyes still on the cu-sith. It didn’t make a move to attack him, so he risked another step and another, until he was crouching beside her in the dirt. “It’s got good taste.” The joke fell flat, because he was bad at this. At the comforting, at the being there for people. He wasn’t sure how it kept falling on him. Ren, Nora, Leticia, Andy… every one of them deserved someone who was better at this than he was. “It’s a cu-sith,” he elaborated. “They like fae.” He knew she’d hate that, knew she hated anything that reminded her of what she was, but he knew she’d want an explanation that was real, too. “Will you let me take you back to Gael’s? Somebody needs to clean you up.” And it can’t be me. Even if Emilio did know anything about first aid that wasn’t just slapping tape over a wound and hoping for the best, his hands were shaking a little too much to be useful. “You can’t stay here, kid. Not like this.”

—

Perhaps there was more to the steadiness of the cu-sith than the hand on its shoulder, the way it eyed the detective with a knowing look. Seeing something that Ren hadn’t even known. A past case, a freedom won. The nymph made no move to look around. She was too tired to move. Sleep evaded her on the best of nights, this last week? Well… it was safe to say she did more screaming than resting. Her head lolled forward, releasing all weight from her neck, dangling there like a leaf too stubborn to finally be felled by the cool winds of fall. “It should not like me.” 

Ren knew what it was. Of course she knew what it was. She even knew that they were supposed to like fae but that didn’t excuse the behavior. Its or hers. There was a guilt to her actions, to the fact that she hadn’t gone home. But the longer she waited, the harder it was. Worse, the way she took out her frustration, her confusion, and her bitter sadness at the beast who only wanted to help her. Just like Emilio. Just like Gael. Just like everyone in this goddamn town. 

“If…” Time was good for one thing, allowing the young nymph to endlessly rehearse conversations that may or may never happen. To come up with the explanation. To excavate her thoughts beneath those hard won callouses of propaganda and misinformation. “If it is kind that means—” Ren bit at her lip and felt the soft salty touch of a tear she thought she was much too dried out to cry. “It means I have been hurting things that are not evil. It means I–” She’d killed people. Who didn’t deserve it. People who were probably just… people. Going about their business. She’d only seen the worst in them because of the lens she’d been crafted to wear. 

“I cannot go there.” 

—

“Why not? I like you.” Again, a teasing lilt that fell flatter than it should have. If he were able to focus on the cu-sith instead of the kid, he might realize that he recognized it. Most animals looked more or less the same, but Emilio made a point to memorize every goddamn one of them that escaped from Joy’s shitshow, checked the papers every day to track attacks so he could trace them down. A few had been returned to where they belonged, but not all. Not this one. And he’d hate himself for it later, because he always did. But right now, there was a kid who needed his help and a father’s instinct that hadn’t died when his daughter did.

He ached a little as Ren spoke, because he knew that feeling. He remembered the aftermath of the massacre, the realization that while vampires had been the one to rip his family apart, his uncle had been the one to show them how. There were bullets, and there were the people who fired the guns. Both were guilty — Emilio wouldn’t absolve himself of his own sins so easily — but there was so much more intent behind the person pulling the trigger. And Ren? She was a kid. Raised to hate herself and anything like her. She’d blame herself for it, anyway; he knew that. But that didn’t make it her fault.

Glancing to the cu-sith again, Emilio settled into a seating position. “I don’t know how many vampires I’ve killed,” he said quietly, rolling a blade of grass between his fingers. “How many zombies, how many mares, how many furies. When we were kids, me and my brother figured we’d keep track of it. Like a scoreboard, you know? But you lose count, after a while.” He’d been much younger than she was now when that count was lost, and still so excited about it. He used to think he would save the world. All he’d ever managed to do was make it worse. “I, uh… I can’t change what I’ve done. You can’t change what you’ve done, either. But we can both work to be different from now on. Redención, you know, forgiveness… It doesn’t happen overnight. You gotta do the work. Figuring out you want it, I think, that’s the hard part. And you’ve done that.” Maybe not in the healthiest of ways, but she had. “Next step is just… trying to be better, right? And I can help you, if you want. You can help me, too. Maybe we learn to be better together.” 

She was more redeemable than he was; he knew that. Emilio wasn’t a scared, lost kid. Emilio didn’t realize the error of his ways before he spiraled too far to be saved. Hell, Emilio wouldn’t have changed at all if external forces hadn’t dictated it. He’d probably still be killing any vampire he came across if he hadn’t lost everything to them. Even now, he killed the ones he figured deserved it without thought, without guilt. But Ren was better than he was. He could see that. Anyone could. Hesitantly, he tapped his knee against hers. “As for that house… Somebody told me, uh, not long ago, that you don’t get to decide if you’re worthy of someone’s trust in you. They get to decide that. And it seems to me like Gael’s decided it. So don’t take that choice from him, kid. Or from me, or from anyone who’s made it. Let people feel what they feel. Even if it means they care about you.” Maybe especially then.

—

In a way, Ren wished it had been raining. Wished the sky reflected the open weeping wound her heart ached with. But no. It was sunshine and warmth. Felt undeserved and wrong. Made skin already sticky with grime feel even more so as whatever hydration she had left evaporated with her sweat. The hard lump in her throat proved a better shield than expected. Kept most of her practiced paragraphs from exiting in the way she wanted. Kept defiant responses to a scoff. He liked her. Gael liked her. How long would it be until she got them hurt somehow. Failed to save them from something like her. Something that was monstrous, not because of what she was, but what she had done. 

“I remember them.” A few times folks had remarked on their inability to account for things. The only bits of Ren’s life that had been forgotten were the ones magically taken away from her. Eidetic. Perfect picture clarity. Perfect sound, smell, the weight of the blades in her hand. The weight of the bodies that slumped under their perfectly applied pressure. How it felt to dispose of them. Fae didn’t disappear like the undead. You had to deal with the consequences. You had to carry that weight to the grave, literally and figuratively. 

This wasn’t like the fight they’d shared before. Ren’s tone wasn’t defensive, wasn’t parroting things that had been shoved down her throat since before she could talk. She was thinking for herself, for perhaps the first time. Coming to terms with what it meant. “Gael is a good man. He is normal. Not like us.” A slight shift, a shared guilt, and Ren’s hand slid over to where Emilio sat. Lacing a pinky finger into his. The cu-sith settled too, deciding to nestle in around the pair. Providing support for both their backs if they chose to lean into it. 

“I cannot understand why he is so nice. It feels…” Wrong? Sour? Heavy? “It feels like I am setting him up for disappointment. He knows what I am but he does not know. Does not understand that I have killed many of my own. How can I just… pretend like it is normal?” Ren’s face still hadn’t lifted, nor had her tone. A flat tuneless stretch of words. “I do not deserve normal. I do not deserve to have… family like this. He should leave just as my parents did. Or perhaps I should leave. I–” A long sigh, and Ren’s green eyed gaze lifted skyward. “I do not know anymore. I do not know anything.”  

—    

“I know you do. Probably makes you better than me.” She’d hurt people, but at least she remembered them. At least she hadn’t done what Emilio had and seen them as so insignificant that she’d forgotten their existence at all. For her, redemption was still possible. A rocky road, maybe, but a clear path. She could make up for the things she’d done, because she was a child who someone had lied to, a prisoner of war who’d been fed self doubt and hatred all her life. She was never meant to be this, was never supposed to be a hunter any more than Nora should have been raised by humans who hadn’t known enough to tell her what she was. There was so much cruelty in the people who’d brought her up. If he ever met them in person, he didn’t think she’d forgive him for what he’d do. He didn’t think he would, either.

That wasn’t to say they wouldn’t deserve it. Emilio was a piece of shit; he knew that. He was a bad man, a monster that lived under someone’s bed, a knife with so much blood on the blade that you couldn’t see the shine of the metal underneath. But even he couldn’t make sense of Ren’s ‘family.’ Of what they’d done, of how they’d raised her. To take a child and feed them hate their entire life, to tell them they were inherently evil just for being what they were born… If anyone had done it to his daughter, he would have soaked the ground in their blood until nothing could hope to grow from the soil. Ren deserved better. Anyone would, but especially Ren. She was kind. She remembered the people she’d hurt. She cared, despite all attempts to take it from her. 

He was glad she had Gael, at least, even if he’d never say as much aloud. If Emilio was a shining example of all the things she shouldn’t strive to be, maybe Gael could act as the opposite. He was a little naive sometimes, sure, but Ren was right — he was a good man. Not like Emilio. “I don’t know about normal,” he said, thinking of all the pieces in the puzzle that were Gael’s ‘bear attack’ and what they meant, “but he’s a good guy. You’re right about that. But you can learn from good guys, right? You’re a quick learner.” He’d seen that much.

Her touch on his hand drew his eyes downward, and he looked at where she’d intertwined their pinkie fingers together. Warmth spread through his chest, and somehow, he felt guilty for it. Feeling warm when she was in this state, when people like him were the reason for it… It was something to be ashamed of. Everything was something to be ashamed of, really. “You do,” he said quietly. “You do deserve normal. Kid, you were — You were forced into a life that wasn’t supposed to be yours. Somebody made that choice for you when you were too young to know any better. You’ve been away from them for, what, a couple months? And you’re already seeing that they weren’t right about everything. You know how hard that is? Maybe…” He trailed off. “Maybe you’ve done bad shit. But maybe you wouldn’t have done it if you were where you were supposed to be. Maybe this is proof of that. You’re allowed to grow, kid. To change. To be better. You’re allowed to give yourself a damn break, too. Your parents leaving…” If they had at all, though part of Emilio suspected something more sinister. “That’s not on you. You were a baby. All a baby is supposed to do is exist. And no half decent parent would ever leave their kid like that. So that says everything about them, and nothing about you. Okay? Gael wants to stay. He wants you to stay. He told me that much. So… Let him stay.”

—

In the quiet of the woods, with someone who knew the kind of things Ren had gone through, the nymph was able to find a little peace within the turmoil. She wrestled with that. Ached with it. Guilt was a strong force that guided most things she did these days, even if it was far more aimless than it ought to be. She listened. Ren had always been pretty good at listening. Maybe it was the only thing she was really good at in the end. Emilio didn’t think himself a man built for comfort or speeches, but his words were a providence all their own. Everything she needed to hear. 

She was quiet. More than usual. This time out of reverence, of contemplation. The Cu-sith rumbled itself forward slightly, wormed its massive head onto Ren’s lap. Which in turn pushed the tiny fae a little closer to the hunter. She didn’t mind. The support on all sides was welcome, and she even leaned into it. Leaned against Emilio in a way she hadn’t before. In a way she might not ever have if she hadn’t allowed Gael into her life, hadn’t finally felt how nice a hug could be. 

“If…” A soft spoken voice finally broke the sweet sounds nature had to offer. “If it is possible, I would like to get better. I would like– if we could… figure it out together.” Wind rustled the leaves, branches heavy with the early summer boughs. Birds sang, bugs buzzed. It was peaceful, here in the dump. Whenever Ren wasn’t making a mess of it all. Whether or not he’d believe it, the detective had been one of the most solid rocks the fae could hold on to. Something about his understanding, his context, made it so much easier to attach. The world could turn, oblivious to those upon it. Every day would bring something new. Challenges, set backs. But if Emilio Cortez said they could step forward, said they could find a way… maybe it’d be okay in the end. 

Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future. 

— 

She leaned against him, and Emilio hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around her shoulder, letting his hand rest on her arm in a quiet show of comfort he’d never been allowed himself. He remembered sitting in the woods, leg a mangled mess and mind in worse shape than that, when Rhett bound out of the trees and pulled him into a tight grip that a man could only manage when stumbling upon a man instead of a corpse, when a beating heart was found instead of a dead one. Other than that, how many people had held Emilio in the interest of comfort instead of hurt? He figured Ren’s past was very much the same. Worse, maybe. He’d had Rhett, sometimes. Who had she had? 

Maybe he could provide a better answer to that here. Maybe he could do for her what Rhett had done for him in those woods two years ago. He was built to either bury the dead or turn them to dust, but maybe he could do more than that, too. Maybe he could speak them back to life, just as Rhett had in that clearing in the woods. Emilio couldn’t redeem Ren. She had to do that herself. But he could let her know that it was okay to want it, that it was something that she could achieve. And didn’t that count for something?

He swallowed as she suggested that they get better together, tried to determine if getting better was a thing he could do. Ren was a kid. Emilio wasn’t. The things he’d done, he’d done himself. He had a wife who had hated him, a daughter he’d failed to protect. There were people who could find redemption, he knew. People like Ren, who realized they wanted it before it was too late to grasp, who decided to make that change for the better before the hill they had to climb to get there turned itself into a mountain. There were people who could be redeemed. 

Emilio Cortez was not one of them.

But he could pretend, for a little while. He wasn’t fae; he could lie if he had to. He hated it, hated lying to her, but it was a necessary evil, sometimes. You told your kid you were going to bed at eight o’clock at night in hopes that she’d get some rest herself. You told your wife you’d put a knife in your daughter’s hand tomorrow or next week or in a month and you packed a bag in secret. You told a kid in the woods that you were a half decent person so she’d let someone care about her. It was part of it, wasn’t it? Part of the thing Emilio didn’t let him say aloud anymore, part of what had died on that living room floor. It was part of it.

“Yeah, kid,” he said quietly, “we’ll figure it out together. Okay? It’s you and me, kid. You and me.” Maybe some lies were kinder than the truth.

[primojade]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐈𝐔𝐕𝐀𝐓. ( fortune favours the bold )

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈.𝐈𝐈 : 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐌 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐈

" fear not death for the hour of your doom is set and none may escape it. " - volunga saga, c.5

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒' 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | As a veteran AR60 player of Genshin Impact, you pride yourself as someone who knows the ins and outs of Teyvat, even studiously completing Spiral Abyss every reset, and having 100% exploration to some, if not all, of the released regions so far. Everything is fun and enjoyable, especially since Sumeru just recently debuted so you still have a lot to do!

All that ends though, when a mysterious passerby pushes you off the building of your university while playing Genshin. But instead of meeting your inevitable end, you find yourself waking up in the very world you were addicted to! 

It's supposed to be a fun dream, right? Something you could laugh at when you wake up? Right?! So, why is that you were back in AR1 with nothing but a dull blade in your inventory?!

…well, at least you still have those 700+ sunsettias and mints, Timmie's fowls…and surprisingly similar game mechanics you used to merely see on the screen before. But what should you do now? Flirt with the Genshin men??? Good lords...

"Welcome to Genshin Impact, Dreamer. Here, we can show you a happier ever after you've never had before…so, ready?"

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | In which you somehow find yourself tangled in the start of a web of conspiracies and confusion as the threat of the crumple paper of fate led you to a strange path with two equally strange men.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐖 | Cursing, possibly ooc Kaveh and Alhaitham, spoilers for Sumeru Archon Quest, let me know if I missed anything <3

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | This is a lot harder to write because I established a new plot lmao. And because of Kaveh and Alhaitham it was so hard to write them sjakahs. Also, this was supposed to be posted on Friday last night but I was so tired after a whole day doing god-knows-what outside so I wasn’t able to finish the chapter :( Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

masterlist | route 1: argumentum ad hominem | (alternate route) route 1.1: magister dixit

Apparently, today was simply not your day.

Even before you get the chance to leave the blasted scene you found yourself in, you got stuck in the House of Daena together with two potential suspects of book robbery, one is known for being an academia lunatic and one for being a perfectionist architect. Not that you knew that they would do it, of all people, but at this point, you just did not want to give a damn.

Anyway, flashback almost a week prior after your arrival in Teyvat and before all this crazy fiasco happened, it's not everyday that your rationality won over your desire to earn and farm primogems, you know. It's also a near impossible feat to abandon the quest that could potentially help you advance your AR and even more so in pretending that Cyno is not outside, talking to Tighnari over something you wisely choose not to listen to–lest you might incur more suspicions from the both of them.

Which, in fact, is the last thing you wanted to do.

So, ignoring the questline and the angry red mark of the Paimon Menu, you closed the tab and let yourself fall on the soft bed once again with a dejected sigh. You repeatedly told yourself that this decision was the best course of action and you will have no regrets in this route. Still, you didn’t know how many hours had passed since then–all you somehow perceived is falling asleep, being lulled by the hushed whispers of the people outside and the quiet stillness of the Avidya Forest you grew accustomed to in the past months from behind the screen of your device. 

All dreams would soon end. Your hippocampus reminded you, and you agreed. No matter how much this bittersweet reality you found yourself in looks so believable, you couldn’t be far from your own reality…right? 

There has to be a way to go back.

That aside, the past four days you spent in Tighnari’s care was far from not being nerve-wrecking, if you were being honest. The fennec therianthrope seems to like hovering around you a lot, fussing like a distressed mother when you do something that he thought would strain your body and passionately lecturing you about the pros of staying in bed while you rest as if you were a poorly disciplined child.

While you admit that he was a great caregiver and it was endearing seeing a former 2D character worries about you despite literally knowing nothing about you, Tighnari’s inevitable tendencies to get lost in his lectures and fussing made your resolve to go back home hardening even more. 

Though when the sixth day had passed, you were finally allowed a bit more freedom to roam around. During that time, Tighnari had introduced you to Collei, his student and a trainee forest ranger, and it takes you a lot—and really, a lot—not to bawl your eyes out when you see the green-haired girl. You remember when you used to see Collei in the Genshin manga, she was still so small back then! And now, she is all grown up, cheerful despite her life experiences…and even kind-hearted enough to offer to take you to a visit in Sumeru City along with the other forest rangers to fetch some supplies to stock before the start of the heavy rainy season.

It was also on the sixth day when you found a crumpled paper with the word ᛚᚨᛖᚡᚨᛏᛖᛁᚾᚾ written in all bolds and italics using bright green ink in the folds of your clothes. Although you were weirded out and freaked out why, how and who slipped it there, you decided you did not give a damn about it.

Well, that was until you found another crumpled piece of paper under your pillow when you decided to get dinner with Tighnari and Collei outside. This time, ᚷᛚᛖᛁᛈᚾᛁᚱ was written on it using the same bright green ink. 

It doesn't even looked remotely similar to Teyvat's language, as what you've seen in passing when looking at the forest watcher's books on his study table. You have a vague idea what it means, but it was possible that it was one of their ancient languages, too. Since apparently, Alhaitham himself and any other scholars of his Darshan knows at least twenty languages, according to the lore.

But what the hell does it supposed to mean? It gives you the same level of anxiety when you are taking an exam in Foreign Languages. You started to question every motive, every reason why someone would send you, someone not even from this world, a crumpled paper with Earth's Runic inscriptions. Why would they send this to you? Who sent this to you? Do they even know you? A prank, maybe? What do they get from this? What do they want from you?

In any case, you don't want someone out there continuously bullying you, and you don’t have any lawyer here to sue them (unless you count on Yanfei, but that’s beside the point). So, as a last resort, you asked Tighnari if you could join the forest rangers going to Sumeru City because you planned to find your answers, and the possible prankster, in the House of Daena. Plus, you were really itching for a change in scenery!

So, yes, you won't get defeated by the Crumpled Papers of Fate before you could find a way back home!

"—oh, Collei…did I tell you how much I appreciate your existence? How could I cry in reverie for your benevolent acts? Just say the word, and I would do anything for you, you lovely human being."

Collei, probably used to your strange flare for dramatics, giggled in response and tugged your looped arms together. "I just think you need a change of scenery while recovering, and I know Master Tighnari's lectures could be too much sometimes, even if they come in good faith. Especially when you were recu…recu…um, what does he say again?"

"Recuperating?" You wrinkled your nose and Collei modded cheerfully. You can't really blame her for tripping over words, since most of the Genshin characters, especially those with super rich and scholarly background, used to speak formally and use deep words. The first time a curse slip passed your lips about two days ago, you remember seeing Tighnari's scandalous stare as if you offended his whole vocabulary.

It was also a fun way of teasing him. A small payback for all his lectures about flowers and taking care of yourself.

In any case, he begrudgingly allowed you to come see the Sumeru City along with the other forest rangers. It wasn't a long, arduous trek as you expected it to be, despite not using any Teleport Waypoints, maybe because the journey was an eye-opening one (especially when you saw chests and puzzles that you swore you already gotten before) and your group had tried your best from steering clear of any hilichurl or Eremite camps scattered around the forest.

After dropping you off at the Akademiya grounds, Collei and the other forest rangers told you that they will fetch you later after they're done restocking their supplies, you excitedly went inside, hoping to find some sort of lead or help in solving your crumpled paper predicament. 

Although Katayoun, the librarian, had adamantly asked for your credentials and permits before she let you borrow any books. Apparently, only students are allowed to have access here, but thankfully, Tighnari gave you a letter that he said would be enough for the librarian to let you inside, should you give it to her. 

“—what kind of book do you need, anyhow?” Katayoun finally relented.

“Uh, anything about Teyvat’s ancient language. The one with the alphabet similar to this one, if possible.”

The librarian peered into the two crumpled papers you presented to her, before shaking her head. “Most books about ancient language are strictly available only to students of Haravatat Darshan, and since your permit is from an alumni from Amurta, I apologise if I cannot comply with your request.” 

As she said with no room to complain, you had no choice but to pick other possible books to read that were available for you, stomping and frowning in defeat. But just as you sat on a chair in the farthest corner of the grandest library you ever saw in your life (it was even bigger than the one in-game!!), someone walked towards the seat across yours, waving his hand to you to get your attention.

"Hello! Do you mind if I sit here?" 

You felt as if you had a sudden epiphany, hearing a familiar voice that made your head snapped to him in surprise. You even almost knocked the pile of books you borrowed earlier when your eyes met a pair of sharp, mystic red irises and a tuft of fluffy-looking dirty blond hair. 

You resisted the urge to scream in both panic and excitement as you stiffly shook your head at him. IT'S KAVEH…?!

He coughed to gain your attention. "Ahem, I know it's very unbecoming for a gentleman such as myself but I couldn't help but to…overhear your conversation with our resident lovely librarian earlier. You were looking for books about ancient languages, correct?"

You blinked out of your reverie, slowly nodding at him. "Um, yes. I just need to find some references about…something. Unfortunately, I'm not a scholar from Haravatat to borrow the books I need."

His face lightened up, as if he, too, was hit by epiphany just like you. "Say, Mx…?"

"[Name]..."

"Mx. [Name], did you, perchance, recognise this?" Kaveh fished out something from his pocket and slid it across the table to you. Your eyes widened like saucers when you saw the familiar inscriptions of Runes written into three separate pieces of paper.

"The Crumpled Papers of Fate!" You hissed. "You have it, too?!"

"Yes!" He exclaimed in the same amount of enthusiasm as yours.

"But who the hell sent this?!" 

Kaveh shrugged his shoulders elegantly before resting his elbows on the table and leaning close to you. He playfully beckoned you to inch closer as if he's conspiring something with you. "That's what I want to know as well. All I realised is that the Crumpled Paper of Fate is some sort of code that gives us symbolism over something."

Your brows raised in curiosity. "Symbolism?" 

"It looks like you got two pieces. Though somehow, I got three." He tapped his gloveless finger on the table, the corner of his mouth turning downwards. "One in my pocket, the other was clipped together with my roommate's book in our living room, and the last was stuck in the door of my room. I even accidentally smack my head—"

"—which proves my point that your eyes are made of marbles if you didn't notice the door in your face."

Both you and Kaveh almost jumped from your seats when a deep voice spoke from behind you. Your jaw dropped when you caught sight of the Akademiya's Grand Scribe pulling the chair on your right side before getting himself comfortable on it, placing the books he held on his hands on the table with a soft thud.

WHAT IS ALHAITHAM DOING HERE THIS TIME?!

You were near hyperventilating near two handsome—and former 2D—dudes that was now glaring at each other. Well, more like Kaveh killing Alhaitham with his glares because the Scribe just leisurely opened his book and crossed his legs, seemingly adamant in ignoring his roommate.

And just like every playable character you met so far, and even the NPCs themselves, these two looked so human and real to someone from a game. The finer details from their designs and splash arts were more highlighted and even the contours in their faces are too detailed to be true.

Your eyes briefly glanced at the scribe's arm, and you inwardly whistled in amusement. Wow, those muscular arms could crush my skull. Lololol.

"Oi, Alhaitham! What in Teyvat are you doing here?" Kaveh asked in irritation, his former cool-ish aura vanishing in the instant.

He ignored Kaveh, his light turquoise eyes, highlighted with orange pupils, looked at you for a second and your breath hitched at its intensity. "...I overheard you two talking about the ancient scriptures and codes from the crumpled papers."

Your brows furrowed. "Huh…do you guys have something for eavesdropping or something?" 

He ignored you, too, and fished out three very familiar pieces of paper and slid it together with yours and Kaveh's. "....I suppose this is the reason why you want to borrow books of ancient languages, no? I will give you a hint. All of our papers are written in Runic inscriptions."

"Yeah, yeah, you the great scribe of the Akademiya from the Haravatat Darshan surely knows what it means." Kaveh said, sarcasm lacing his tone like a venom.

You grew more curious. "Where did you find yours?"

"Does it matter?"

You tried again. "And what does the Runic mean?" 

"Kaveh's Crumpled Paper of Fate means Ship, Blind, Light—which is rather suspicious, especially given that Kaveh found one of his papers in my book." Alhaitham said in a matter-of-fact tone, tapping his said book, that made Kaveh rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

"As a matter of fact, the only suspicious thing about that book," the architect scoffed. "...is that it's being held by a drama queen."

The last thing I remember, Kaveh's Vision is Dendro, not Pyro. Lol.

Alhaitham gave an unimpressed, humourless stare at his roommate's spiteful words and you tried suppressing your laughter, remembering Alhaitham's Oscar-like performance in the Archon Quest.

"Anyhow, back to the topic before someone rudely interrupted me. Mine was translated to Eye, Knowledge and Ravens." 

"But what does mine—"

You suddenly halted when a loud thump echoed across the library, and then there's screaming. Before you knew it, several Matra of the Akademiya flooded across the room, startling everyone who was inside.

"A book robbery took place in the library's restricted section. Everyone that stayed in the House of Daena between six in the morning until now, we are expecting your cooperation."

So, that's what happened to your supposedly peaceful morning. You were suddenly caught in the apparent book robbery in the restricted section, and you heard the General Mahamatra was going to interrogate every single person that the Matra caught.

This is not freaking good.

The prospect of meeting Cyno should be wonderful, right? BUT NO. You were on the receiving end of his job right now. And it's not even close to thrilling at all knowing the side of Cyno working that you honestly, do not wish to know.

Well, at least Kaveh and Alhaitham were with you right now. Though with the way they were bickering nonstop, you suddenly wished you could tell them to shut up.

"Theory number ten," Alhaitham muttered to himself; he was sitting so comfortably beside you as if they weren't on your way to the interrogation room. 

"You seriously reached theory ten with your nonsense?" Kaveh bited.

The scribe fished out a notebook from who-knows-where, looking for something. You tried to peek a little, but his muscular arms were in the way and it's embarrassing to inch closer when they didn't even bother introducing themselves to you. "It's possible that whoever sent this has the connection with the three of us—or at least, knows us to some extent. Perhaps wanting to measure our intelligence? For what?"

"Isn't that already obvious?" His roommate impatiently said. "[Name] got their Crumpled Paper of Fate in their own home, we got ours in your dorm, which by the way, only the two of us have access to. Whoever did this surely knew us pretty well."

"This is the reason why you didn't pass in anything other than your courses in Kshahrewar." Alhaitham said. "You always assume things."

"Excuse me, I'm not assuming. I am concluding!" He defended, apparently offended.

"Then don't jump into conclusions even if that's the only workout you do."

"Why you—"

As much as their banter was so amusing to watch, there are more pressing matters you had to know. "But that's impossible. I don't know anyone in this place aside from the Forest Rangers in the Avidya Forest, you know. It's nearly impossible that Tighnari and Collei would do this just to prank us. Though, I always had someone with me, so it's not possible that someone I don't know snuck into my room either…"

"You seem like you always have a witness with you?" Kaveh turned to you.

Alhaitham paused for a second. He blinked slowly, before a subtle smirk slowly pulled from the corner of his lips. "That's it."

"Huh?"

He stood up from his seat. "A witness." He vaguely replied before he went through the door faster than you could blink.

You and Kaveh stared at the door.

Then you two realised what Alhaitham just did.

"Oi, he just ran off without us!" Kaveh exclaimed in anger before tugging your hand to follow his roommate outside. "[Name], let's go before the Matra catches us!"

What in the world did you got yourself into?

Route 1.2.1: Stop Kaveh from escaping. You had a feeling that escaping isn't a good thing, especially since Cyno would probably hunt you down later. What's there to fear when you're innocent, no?

TAGLIST (open! Send a dm or ask to be added :3) | @xinii , @maehemthemisfit , @abvolat , @crazypriestess , @ghostsaysno , @kittence , @unabashedlyminiaturetyrant , @xiyanin , @toasterinabathtub , @sketcheeee , @fuoon , @luvwukong , @salty-salty , @rosebatsc , @inky8 , @thegeekact , @almighty-raiden-shogunate , @isuckat-avery-thing , @perhapsabitgirlypop , @2cuteforyourlies , @stxrgxzxr , @elsoleil , @tsukkinoyya , @mkaella , @celi-alika , @tiffthescales , @blurr3db3rry , @messyserver , @shadowmist0706 , @chin-chii , @observation-subject-753 , @clovers-anxiety , @shizunxie , @lleoll , @shoujishu , @uwu-panic , @forgotten-blues , @chaneylovesfangirling , @enma-reblogs , @cookielovingalien , @iruiji , @samarill , @definitionofsad , @spynerr , @bigcandlesmolbrain , @universal-rose , @feverish-dove , @inlovewithwaffles , @louise-rosita-leroux , @chocogi , @jar-03 , @swaggyb0ke ... (if ur username is bolded, it means i cant tagged u :(( maybe its in ur settings? Also lmk if i missed anyone cause im such an idiot sometimes shsh)

Route 1.2.2: Go with Kaveh to chase Alhaitham. If he escaped, you two would escape along with him! He's the grand scribe and Kaveh is an influential architect, they could get away with this mess with you…right?

[tomthesoftie]

her hidden crystal tears

❧ synopsis: keeping a relationship under covers isn’t an easy feat. when a popular, successful jock of a college, who has many obsessive fans, dates an average student, they decide that it’s better to keep their relationship secret due to safety reasons, but when the jock starts to become more ignorant of how their s/o is feeling, what might happen to their barely stable relationship?

❧ pairing: jock!tom x fem!reader

❧ genre: angst

❧ warnings: lots of angst (?), petty girl fights technically harassment, crying, pent-up emotions, unhealthy coping

❧ a/n: this is an unedited fic, as always and I didn’t know how to end it because I had two endings in mind. I might write both endings (angst and fluff) or maybe I’ll let you guys suffer lmao I’m kidding I originally was writing a blurb about the reader hiding their emotions/hiding their tears by feigning happiness, but I ended up writing like a 2500+ word fic lmao. also if some shit seems wack, it’s because I posted this on my phone.

alternate fluff ending here: let them flow

masterlist                     prompt list                     add yourself on my taglist!

Swerving through the large crowd, you found yourself a seat on the filled bleachers, squeezing to fit in the front rows to spot your boyfriend. Looking about, you located your brunette partner jogging into the field arms raised in the air, pointing towards the crowd you were hidden in. He waved his hand mindlessly, eyes scanning the ocean of screaming schoolmates and “fangirls.” His gaze finally fell on you, and his face lit up, bringing a pink haze to your cheeks as he blew a kiss in your direction. The girls sat beside you screamed out, pretending to catch his kiss and sending one back. 

You and Tom decided to keep your relationship under covers, due to the overly obsessive “fangirls.” Both of you knew it would be the best option to keep you safe. If you were ever injured or threatened by one of his “fangirls,” Tom wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

Tom held the leather ball in the crook of his arm, with the other pushing his way through the attacking team. Calculating his success, he dove into a touchdown, scoring him and his team the winning point. 

The anticipating crowd jumped up, cheering loudly and hugging one another, whereas the visitor team’s crowd let out a loud, mutual sigh of disappointment. 

You jumped out of your seat, screaming out your lungs as you stared, wide-eyed, at your beaming boyfriend. His teammates had lifted him into the air, tossing him about. You giggled as he caught your eye, slyly winking at you. 

Lost in your own world, you almost ran down to where Tom was before you saw a hoard of girls jumping and reaching their arms out to grab at him. Frowning, you walked away from the crowd to retreat to the warmth of Tom’s car. 

You scrolled through the collection of images you and Tom had had together, warmly smiling at the memories. You let out a breathy laugh, selecting on one specific memory: Tom’s head laid on your lap, eyes shut, and lips puckered lightly as he let out even breaths. 

The car door beside you opened, shaking you out of your train of thought. 

“Hey,” your eyes were met with the blue pupils you weren’t expecting. 

“Haz?” You looked behind him, hoping to find your beloved boyfriend. 

“Tom — um — he told me to drive you back to the dorms, said he would be heading to the celebratory party,” Harrison explained, eyes shaking with concern and sympathy. 

“Oh, I understand,” your smile not quite making it to your eyes.

“He was being hoarded by his,” Haz hesitates, “fangirls. He didn’t want you to get involved.”

“It’s all good, Hazzy. No need to worry about me,” you let out a feigned laugh. 

You stepped into the warm building, waving Harrison goodbye. Another football victory, same schedule. 

You go to Tom’s game to support and cheer him on, Tom wins, you avoid him, Tom’s “fangirls” hoard him, you wait in Tom’s car, Harrison comes instead of Tom, Harrison brings you back to your dorm while Tom goes to his party, you fall asleep in your own arms: the ‘Tom’s football victory’ schedule, named and created by you. 

To say the least, you weren’t fond of the last half of the schedule. You always were left alone to celebrate Tom’s victory on your own, while Tom was doing who-knows-what at the afterparty. 

In full honesty, you were slowly growing tired of hiding your affection for one another. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold onto this style of dating. If the pair of you were going to date, you would date publicly and however you wanted, whether it meant risking your safety or not. Besides, you weren’t some helpless girl that doesn’t and can’t protect herself.

The next day, you woke up with an aching head and puffy eyes. Groaning, you looked into your mirror located at the corner of your room. You flinched at the sight of your pink, tear-stained cheeks and tangled, mop hair. Pushing yourself off the soft mattress, you stumbled into your bathroom, prepping a warm shower to start your day off fresh.

With your laptop and notebook resting in your arms, against your chest, you made your way to your next lecture. You walked sluggishly across the large campus, occasionally catching a glimpse of passing football team members. 

A specific group you walked past caught your attention. You saw the familiar brunette curls in your peripheral vision, immediately making you turn your gaze towards it. You saw his warm smile as he chuckled with his group of friends, some of his “fangirls” giggling along with the group. 

There Tom stood, laughing and joking about with his peers, radiating happiness. He was basking in the attention he received from his friends and “fans.” 

You tried to catch his eye, and you swore you did for a split second, but he only walked past you as if you weren’t even there. Not even a hidden smile or wink of acknowledgment was sent your way. 

Your walking came to a stop as you frowned at your boyfriend’s back. You wanted to shout out his name, call for his attention. You wanted to nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his scent. You wanted to look into his chocolate-pooled eyes, see the twinkle of adoration as he stared at you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything with Tom in public, for you were just another girl on campus, trying to get by, and Tom was the successful jock with a bright future ahead.

You walked into the large room, taking a seat, conveniently, in front of Tom. This time, you were the one to not spare him a single glance, albeit he probably wasn’t expecting or looking for one. 

You tried your best to listen and focus on the lecture, but the consistent whispers behind your back began to nag at your patience. You leaned your down further into your notes, as if it could fix the slowly kindling fire in you. Checking the clock, you saw that only five minutes of the lecture had passed, and your professor had barely said anything. 

“Five minutes? I swear it felt like half of the lecture had gone by. And the professor. I swear he had just said like tons of important information,” you muttered to yourself under your breath, catching a few students’ gazes. 

You gently pounded a fist into your temple, forcing your attention onto the lined sheets of paper on your desk. You expected to see notes, not illegible scribbles. You silently groaned, switching the sheet for a new, clean page. You took a deep breath and began jotting down the key points of the presentation that was being projected onto the large whiteboard. 

A feminine voice cleared their throat beside you, “Excuse me.”

You looked up from your work, a glare on your face as you were pulled out of your focus once again.

“Can I help you?” You asked, irritated. 

“Uh, yes, you can. You can help me by moving yourself to that seat over there,” she pointed at an empty seat across the room, “and giving this,” she placed her hand on the desk, atop you notes, “seat to me.”

You scoffed, “And why should I?”

“Oh, honey,” you cringed at the nickname, “Tommy, here,” she nodded towards Tom, “shouldn’t have to suffer by looking at your terrible hair. Like, honestly, do you even care for your looks?”

You were practically fuming in your seat, but to avoid trouble, you responded with a monotonous voice, “I’m sure “Tommy” can take care of himself. Spare us both the inconvenience, and go sit yourself on that empty seat because if you couldn’t tell, I’m occupying this spot.”

“Who do you think you are?” She shouted, hand crumpling your notes.

Furrowing your brows, you grabbed at your notes, hoping to spare them.

“Move your ugly ass before I kick you off this seat,” she threatened, pulling you by your hair.

The professor stopped talking, glaring at the pair of you. You took it as a sign to shut up and not fight back.

Fist clenching, nails creating red crescents in your palm, you stood up, pushing the girl off of you, ignoring her gasp. You grabbed your notes and laptop, turning to see if Tom would defend you, but when you saw his passive expression, you let out a quiet laugh of disappointment, carrying yourself to the back of the room. 

For the rest of the class, you stood in the back, writing your notes with blurry, tear-filled vision. Although you were still in shock due to the event that had unfolded minutes into the lecture, you wouldn’t let it falter how you were doing in school. 

As soon as you were dismissed, you bolted out of the room, heading to your safe haven on campus. 

Not many people, if any, knew about the hidden garden located within the campus’s vast park. You had only discovered it by accident when you were a freshman looking for your way around campus. 

The first thought you had when you walked in was that you were transported into a different dimension. Thinking back on it, you were naive to think that, but you were still justified. Anyone would think such a beautiful place couldn’t belong to the aggressivity and rashness of this world. The variant shades of light green and pastel pink flowers growing between the weeds of grass gave the place a heavenly feeling, followed by the mist that sparkled under the sunlight. 

You dropped yourself at the thick tree’s stump, letting your notes and laptop slip out of your grasp. You cried into your knees, pouring out all of your stresses. Your breaths were short and heaved, occasional hiccups bubbling from your lips. Your sobs slowly lulled you closer to sleep, emotional and physical fatigue catching up to you. That is, until you heard the recognizable clang of the door handle hitting against the wooden door.

“Darling,” the accented voice you longed to hear spoke up.

Quickly wiping away your tears and sniffling away any evidence of your sorrow, you stood up, “Tommy!” A feigned smile lay on your supple skin as you ran over to your boyfriend, embracing him in your arms, “What’s up?”

“Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for you during class. I should’ve told that girl to get her hands off you,” he stroked your hair, “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” 

Letting a pained giggle out, you shook your head, “Nope, I’m fine. You know how strong I am.”

“I really, really did want to speak up, but you know that we should keep our relationship under covers, for your sake,” he spoke gently, placing a kiss on your head.

You scowled into his shirt but kept up your cheerful facade, chirping, “Mhm, safety.”

“I knew you’d understand,” he sighed. His hold on you weakened, “I should get going, though. The group will start to wonder where I’ve gone.”

You frowned, pulling away from him.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” he cooed, “I’ll come over tonight. Don’t worry.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “Of course, as you always do.”

His brows furrowed at your sudden mood shift, “What are you on, darling?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirp, hopping back to the tree, collecting your notes and laptop. “Go ahead, meet with your friends. Leave me behind like you always do,” you murmur the last half.

“Love?” His voice neared you, and you barely registered the stray tears betraying you, rolling down your peachy cheeks. 

Quickly bringing up a hand to wipe the wetness away, you keep your back facing Tom.

“Shouldn’t you be going? Don’t want your friends to worry,” you laughed, lightly. A hand placed itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact startling you. “You scared me, Tommy. You shouldn’t do that,” you giggle, hiding your true emotions, “You know how easily scared I am.”

“Darling, can you look at me?” He asked, quietly, concern lacing his tone. 

“What for, Tommy?” You inquired, nervously laughing.

“You’re acting quite… strange,” he explained.

“No need to worry about me, bubs. I’m as peachy as always,” you quipped, shoulders bouncing in emphasis.

“I’m giving you one more chance to turn, or I will do it for you,” he said, sternly. 

You stayed, unmoving, forcing Tom to turn you with his raw strength. At first, you tried to fight it, but you came to the revelation that there was no way you could overpower him.

When you met his warm, liquid eyes, you felt your own tear up, and suddenly, your shoes were an intriguing sight. 

“Baby, please look at me,” he whispered, hands rubbing up and down your arms.

You shook your head in denial, trying to keep your weakness hidden.

“It breaks me to see you this way,” he lifted your face with a finger to your chin. His thumb moved to wipe away your crystal tears.

“Then leave,” you hissed, weakly.

“W-What?” Tom stuttered at the unforeseen reply.

“I’m tired, Tom. I’m tired of hiding, of you ignoring me and me, you. How long are we going to do this? It’s so stupid, all of it,” you dropped your head again, this time of fatigue.

“B-But, you know why we’re doing this-” you cut him off.

“I know, and I can’t help but think that this was a stupid choice,” you motioned between the two of you, “You’re barely around me, and on campus, you don’t even acknowledge me. On the slim chance I do have you to myself, it can only last for so long. At this point, it feels like we’re not even together.”

“I-I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” Fear filled his eyes as the pit in his stomach became more and more noticeable.

“I think it would be better if-” you stuttered in a breath, “if we took a break.”

“Why? Just because we’re hiding our relationship? You know why I- we chose to keep it secret,” he rushed out his words, hands gripping yours.

“Do I? Do I really? Today was display enough that even though we act like we don’t know each other, I’ll still get harassed by those “fans” of yours. Not to mention, you saw it all unravel, and what did you do? Nothing. There’s no practicality to keeping our relationship hidden because either way, some “fans” will go overboard no matter who the person. Also, I think I showed that I can defend myself from crazy people when I pushed that girl off of me today,” you spoke, ferocity and resentment spurring you on.

“I know I messed up when I didn’t help you, but I thought about our relationship-” you scoffed.

“So what? Even if we weren’t in a relationship, you should’ve helped a girl out. Especially when she’s getting harassed because of you,” you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“Tell me how to make it better. I want to make it better. Don’t end us, please,” he begged, gripping your hand tighter.

“Stop, Tom. I told you that I want to take a break. Besides, it won’t be any different to how our normal relationship is,” you laughed. Pulling your arm out of his grasp, you walked away, “Now, I won’t have to waste any tears on you anymore.”

[neonacity]

HYACINTHE | CHAPTER 3: JAEMIN X READER

SUMMARY:

Na Jaemin is far from being your typical 20 year old. Instead of slaving through college, he wastes away his hours cracking safes. Weekends that should be spent partying with friends consist of illegal races on good days and small scale bombings on bad ones. Na Jaemin is far from being average, unless you consider being a member of Seoul’s top organized crime family normal.

There is no such thing as a sense of normality and peace in his trainwreck of a life, so when he met a barista who was brave enough to call out his dangerous taste in coffee, he was like a moth to the flame. Everything about her is normal, which means she is forbidden to him, in all sense of the word. So why, then, does he always find himself at the front steps of her shop, breaking all his personal rules even if he wishes he could stay away?

A/N + Disclaimer: this is a side story to Black Daisies, my main mafia fic feat. 0T23. While the plot is based on the main story, this can also be read as a standalone fic. As usual, this is purely a work of fiction and in no way am I implying any member of NCT to behave the way I write them here. tw: crimes, heists, potential death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities.

PAIRING: Jaemin x Reader

TW: illegal activities, gunshot wound, mentions of blood

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

FIC TRAILER

MASTERLIST

"Another bank was looted last night around 11PM, this time in the Geumchon district. This is the second bank that was broken into in the past week and the fourth that is rumored to be the doing of one of Seoul's organized criminal…."

I sighed and put down the pen that I have been using to scribble on a piece of napkin. A frown creased my forehead before I grabbed the offending piece of flimsy paper and crumpled it with my hand. Jeno, who was silently watching the news, looked up and shot me a curious look. He was leaning over the counter lazily, his cup of half finished hot cocoa beside him. 

"You okay?"

I winced. "Yeah... Actually. Actually, no. I am not okay," I said finally as I threw the used napkin to the closest thrash. I have been scribbling all the things I have to pay for the coming month there and couldn't bear to take another look at it. Jeno grabbed his drink and silently took a sip of it, obviously waiting for me to elaborate.

After my initial 'unplanned' meeting with Jaemin's friends, it has become more or less of their routine to drop by the cafe to hangout. Jaemin was initially against it at first, always scowling whenever he would see one of them already in the shop, though it seems like he has gotten used to it lately—or rather, he didn't have any other choice but to simply accept it. They would often sometimes come in groups—Jisung and Chenle are big fans of the pastries—but other times it's just one of them who would drop by to visit like Jeno now. My favorite is when all of them drops by to visit, not only because I've started getting closer to them too, but because customers would automatically flock into the shop whenever the "handsome gang" is there. Honestly, I couldn't blame them.

"I'm a little bit short on money this month. I was supposed to get my monthly allowance from my scholarship but something happened so it will be delayed. I have lab things to buy and well—everything sucks." 

Jeno nodded slowly, though I have a feeling he doesn't really understand my plight with money. Spending time with the seven of them has given me a better understanding of each boys' personalities. Jeno, for example, is definitely the calmer one of the bunch. While the others would cause chaos every now and then—Jaemin included, he would be on the side watching them usually with that adorable eye smile of his. He is different from Mark who would mostly jump in to join the fun before calming everyone once things get overboard, though both seem to share the same responsibility over the group. He also seems to be the closest to Jaemin, so by extension, I am also most comfortable around him. 

"How much money do you need?" 

I gave him a look as I reached out for a paper cup to make myself my own hot cocoa. 

"I heard the same question from your best friend before. Are you also going to offer to be my sugar daddy?" 

Jeno choked on his drink and hid his laughter behind his raised cup. 

"Do you want Jaemin to kill me?" 

That made me inappropriately blush.

"Sometimes I just want to bust out a bank like that group everyone is talking about." 

Jeno didn't say anything and continued watching me from the brim of his drink. 

"You think you can do it?" 

"Do what?" I asked as I poured hot cocoa on my cup. I said that off-handedly, I almost forgot my words the moment they left my lips. 

"Rob a bank. You know, do something illegal." 

I leaned back against the counter and craned my head a little sideways as I thought the question over. I didn't actually think of that before so I had to listen to my moral compass a little bit before answering. 

"It depends on the reason." 

Jeno looked surprised by my reply. He was probably expecting a goody two shoes answer from me, which I don’t blame him for, to be honest. Even I am mildly shocked by what I said. 

"The reason?" 

"Yes. I mean, if the only reason I would steal is because I don't have money to support my studies, then no, I wouldn't do it. I have other options. I can work extra jobs or I can just drop out from uni. But if I didn't really have any other choice, if I had to do it for someone really close to me, for example, then I would do it." 

"That is very…"

"Cliche, right? I know. But that's how it works, at least for me," I said with a laugh. "I do know what's good and bad, but I'm willing to jump the gun if I have to." 

I didn't know if it was my imagination, but I thought I heard Jeno murmur something under his breath as I turned to get back to work. 

"I bet Jaemin wouldn't like that." 

-----

PRESENT DAY, a little over one month after the happenings in the first chapter. 

They disappeared like bubbles. No, he disappeared in thin air, like smoke that was blown over by a strong gust of wind. After that night when Jaemin bust through my cafe door, hiding god knows what and asking for temporary shelter, he hasn't shown himself again, apparently leaving while I slipped into a light sleep. Even his friends stopped visiting the cafe which, for a few days, made me genuinely feel scared. Are they okay? What happened to him? Who was he running away from?

That worry slowly and gradually morphed into anger as the days lengthened. I know it was my way of coping with my emotions, but I couldn't help myself. I tried calling him, but the line was cut. It even came to the point that I had to call each of his friends, but it seems like the numbers they gave me were all temporary ones, too. I felt frustrated. I felt...abandoned. 

Was it really easy for him to just cut off all contact with me? 

Was it foolish of me to think that there is...something deeper here than just friendship?

It was the start of winter when the loud ringing of my phone woke me up from my nap. Eyes still heavy with sleep, my first instinct was to look at the clock by my table which registered 1:19AM. I frowned. I was in the middle of finishing a paper before I decided to take a nap but who could be calling me at such an ungodly hour? 

I blearily reached out for my phone and barely looked at the unregistered number before hitting the answer button. 

"Hello?" 

"Noona?"

I froze. Just like that, I felt the sleepiness slowly melt away from my consciousness. I know that voice. 

"Jisung?" 

"Noona, we need your help." 

I sat up on my seat after registering the panic in his voice. I heard another tone suddenly hiss at him from the background before a rustling sound overtook the speakers. It sounded like someone grabbed the phone from his grasp before he could even react.

"Jisung. What's happening—"

"Hello?" The new voice that spoke on the other line made my heart stop. I stared at my wall, wide-eyed.

"Jaemin." 

"I'm sorry. We didn't mean to—"

"Jaemin, we don’t really have any other choice but her, give me the phone," another one jumped in. It was Mark. 

"No. Hyung—"

"We're losing him," my lips parted in shock at what I heard. His voice sounded clearer now and I could very much pick up the iciness on it. Mark has always been so friendly and warm that it threw me off guard. 

"Give me the phone." 

The authority he held made me assume that Jaemin did as he was told. Next thing I know, he was calling out my name from the speaker.

"Mark, yes, I'm listening." 

"Hey. I'm really sorry about this, but we need your help. We really have no other choice, Haechan is in such a bad state—"

That made me stand up and push away from my desk.

"What the hell is going on? What do you mean about Haechan?"

"I'll explain later. We're on our way to you now."

"Wait, what? You don't know my address."

"We'll be there in seven minutes."

That was all he said before he cut off the call, leaving me standing shell-shocked in the middle of my room.

---

They banged on my door not even five minutes after. I had barely pulled on a cardigan when loud knocks rang through my small one bedroom unit causing me to quickly run and grab my knob open. 

I stood frozen at the sight of the seven boys crowding my doorway. Everyone was covered in some sort of soot, leaving them almost unrecognizable in their black outfits. Mark and Jeno were in the middle of the group, carrying a half-conscious Haechan between them. Jisung, Chenle, and Renjun brought the rear, their eyes moving wildly as if checking for eavesdroppers. Jaemin stood closest to me, his jaw tense and his eyes apologetic. My gaze snapped back to the center of the group when Mark called out my name. 

That's when I saw it for the first time. I didn't notice it at first because of its dark color, but Jeno was holding a towel against Haechan's stomach. Except it isn't black, it was a deep dark red.

Blood. 

"Oh my god." 

"Please help us." 

Maybe it was the shock, but I quickly stepped aside to let everyone in. I had barely slammed the door shut when I heard a crashing sound from my small dining area. Jeno pushed everything on top of my table to the ground as Mark and Jaemin gently guided Haechan on it. 

"What—what is going on—"

"He's been shot. Thrice. We're not sure but I think two of the bullets are still there," Renjun answered me as he grabbed the soaked towel from Mark's hand and replaced it with a new one. Jisung and Chenle worked on closing all the shutters of my windows while Jaemin tore off a lamp from my living room to move it close to Haechan. He closed all other lights other than the ones on the dining area and the small lamp.

It was then when my training finally kicked in. I ran towards the table to peer at the wound, my shaking hands gently moving the new towel that is quickly getting soaked by blood again. Haechan gave a soft grunt of pain before slipping to unconsciousness again. 

"I think there are still foreign objects there. It's what causing the severe bleeding."

"Can you take it out?"

My eyes shot to Jeno. The harsh lights from the lamp threw strong shadows on his stressed features. 

"I'm not a licensed doctor."

"We don't need a licensed doctor right now, we need someone who can patch the hole in his stomach. Please." 

I gritted my teeth. I have a ton of questions running through my head right now, but he's right. We need to act fast or else we will lose him. I rolled up my sleeves then and called out to whoever can act fast to my orders. 

"Somebody get the black box under my bed. I have all my surgery practice tools there. I need hot water and lots of towels. Everyone move. Now."

As soon as I said my orders, each of the boys were moving in a flurry to get everything that I asked for. I was adjusting the small lamp directly over the wound to peer at it better when I felt a gentle hand circle around my arm. I looked up to see Jaemin staring at me. 

"Thank you." 

I didn't say anything at first. I don't know if it was the shadows playing over his features, but he looked different from the Jaemin I knew in that brief moment.

"Don't thank me yet. Say that once we're sure he survives."

---

I was stirred from my sleep by the light snoring of someone to my right. Turning my head, I was greeted by the sight of Jisung who was currently sprawled on my sofa, his legs so long that they were dangling on one end. Chenle was on the floor below him, his face covered by one of the pillows he probably fished from one of my love seats cradling Renjun's curled up form. Mark and Jeno were both sitting upright, the former close to Haechan and the other by the door like a sentinel. They seemed to be in deep sleep too, they're heads hanging low. Jaemin was on the floor next to my seat, his breathing slow and relaxed. 

I blinked slowly as my gaze moved from boy to boy. It took me a painful two hours to do the impromptu surgery, first working on taking the bullets out before sewing everything back together. Haechan was lucky enough that the bullets didn't hit any vital organs or important vessels, and that the extreme bleeding was only caused by the wrong muscle being hit by the impact. He slipped from being conscious to unconscious throughout, and everyone had to work together to help me while I did my thing. 

I couldn’t really blame any of them from crashing the moment we made sure that Haechan’s safe—for now. 

After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I tried to silently move from where I was curled on, careful not to stir anyone. I still have a ton of questions, but those can be taken care of later. I padded as carefully as I could towards the table where Haechan was still resting and peered at the IV that I had hooked on his arm to make sure everything was moving well. 

They even have spare blood bags with them for emergency transfusions. 

...As if this kind of thing normally happens.

"He's going to be okay, right?" 

I hastily turned to see Jaemin staring at me. His voice was low and was only loud enough for me to hear. 

I stared at him for a bit before looking away. 

"Yes. He'll survive."

"Thank you so much." 

I didn't answer. He also didn't say anything else, though I could still feel his gaze heavily on me. I braced myself before speaking again.

"We need to talk." 

I didn't wait for him to reply. I simply walked towards my room, leaving my door open for him to follow. I only turned back to look at him when I finally heard it close softly behind him.

"Who are you?" I asked, before he could even say anything else. I watched as his jaw tightened and released, his eyes full of indecisiveness. I didn't waver. Not this time. 

"You said…"

"That I will never ask questions? I did. But I can't do it anymore, Jaemin. You disappeared for a month without even saying goodbye then showed up on my door with your friends, one of them with a hole in their stomach. You have blood bags—freaking blood bags. What the hell is going on?" 

I tried my hardest to control my voice, not wanting any part of this conversation to be heard outside. My legs felt weak at the moment but I tried my best to continue standing so I could hold his gaze. 

The look in Jaemin's eyes, however, almost made me want to give up. I knew from the pain and hesitation there that I wouldn't like whatever it is he is about to say.

"I'm a criminal."

My stomach dropped. 

I was expecting it, but hearing it straight from him didn't soften the impact and the shock. 

"A…" 

"We steal. We do illegal things. There is absolutely no good way for me to describe this, but yes, I am a runaway who was stupid enough to bring you into this mess," Jaemin said through gritted teeth as he tore his eyes away from me. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to take a deep breath to steady himself.

"I was stupid and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone back and tried to befriend you after that order of coffee. I'm sorry I ran to you that night a month ago. I seriously thought I was going to die and I wanted you to be the one that I see for the last time. I'm sorry for today, or that I couldn't answer any of your questions back then. It was selfish of me to keep you in my life without giving you anything back," he stopped and forced himself to look at me again. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest when our gazes met. 

"I'm sorry." 

I didn't… couldn't say anything. One part of me had already expected this because it is the only reason that makes sense. Those vague answers, his detachment from normal society, the money, every clue seems to point to one direction, but that didn't spare me from my moral dilemma now. Because while I knew, I didn't exactly consider how it relates to me.

I was afraid to.

Because the truth is, I like Na Jaemin to the extent that I'm afraid of what I can do for him.

"Do you kill…" I asked in a whisper, my voice shaky. A frown passed his already stressed features before he answered.

"No. None of us do," he answered, and I knew then that he was telling the truth. Regardless of what he is or what he didn't tell me, I trust him to not lie to me.

"Am I—am I in danger?" I asked next. He firmly shook his head.

"No. I made sure of that. No one would dare—" he stopped, as if gauging what words he can use to not scare me even more. "You have always been under protection." 

That’s when it clicked. The cafe visits from his friends. The random strangers who seem to spring out from nowhere every time I was out and about and needed sudden help. 

My legs finally gave way and I collapsed on my bed behind me. My mind was trying its best to wrap around the situation, leaving my thoughts in a jumble. There are a million things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get a single one out at the moment. 

Jaemin seemed to know what I was feeling at the very least because he simply stood there, silently watching me. I'm not sure how long the two of us stayed in that bubble of silence, but it was also him who brought me back to reality when I felt warmth cover my hands.

I looked up to see him kneeling in front of me, both his hands gently enveloping my clasped ones. The look in his eyes made my heart lurch, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything still. 

"I'm sorry if I was selfish… I promise, after this, you won't have to worry about anything else."

No. 

"When I met you, I saw something that's so different from the life that I have. Believe me, I tried my best to leave you alone, but I wanted more of it—more of —you, so I kept coming back." 

Are you going to leave me again?

"But you'll be safe now. I promise. You can go back to how it used to be before I… almost ruined it." 

Please don't leave me. 

Jaemin gave my hands one last squeeze and I felt him move to straighten himself. Before he let them go, however, another gentle warmth pressed against my forehead as he grazed it with his lips. 

"Thank you."

My tears dropped the same time the doors closed behind him. 

---

Chapter 4

[shroomcult]

@soulxmakaweek

Day 4: Apologize

I fell way behind with Soma week because I got slammed with work and this monster of a fic took me too long to write.

Summary: 

Maka comes to realize that Soul had never felt fully comfortable around Crona, and in ignoring this entirely - she unknowingly hurt her closest friend.

Special thanks to Tori @chichirichick (she betas all of my dumpster fires, bless her) for proofreading this mess of emotions and also to Zi @azroazizah for coming up with the concept for this fic. 

**Disclaimer** This story is not about putting blame on Crona, but instead about acknowledging the fact that Soul went through trauma due to their actions and it was never taken into consideration by Maka before inviting them into their friend group. I'm not saying Crona didn't deserve support, but it's also completely valid for Soul - a victim of Crona - to not feel entirely safe around them regardless of their tragic background and circumstances. If Crona is a big comfort character for you and you feel you would likely be upset by this concept, then I recommend not reading it altogether. We all interpret things different and we're all entitled to our own opinions, and I'm not going to get in arguments with people over this.

It’d been a while since the Spartoi team was all together again.

After the fall of Asura, they really had no purpose to join forces as a team. No big baddie to unite them in ass-kickery. 

The skies were blue again. There were still Kishin eggs to take down, and a shaky new diplomatic relationship with the witches to maintain as well. 

Things were more or less … normal. Boring, even.

The only big difference Blackstar could discern was that nobody seemed to have time to just hang out and be friends anymore.

Kid was over his head with his new responsibilities, and while he was doing an admirable job filling his father’s shoes; there was a steep learning curve and his perfectionist tendencies only made it more challenging to overcome. He upheld a calm and collected demeanor in the public’s eyes, but Liz and Patty spent most of their time holding him together behind the scenes. 

Soul and Maka were a different situation entirely.

It was odd enough to adjust to the recent change in the nature of their relationship. They claimed to be the same as they’ve always been - just Soul & Maka. Only, they grew much closer after the hardships they had endured both in the book of Eibon and on the moon.

They had been close to begin with, but this was a different kind of close. Stolen glances, hands reaching for each other when they thought nobody was looking. Blushing for almost no damn reason. 

Something was going on between them - he could be sure of that.

More recently, however, Maka had been particularly obsessive about solving the dilemma of Crona’s entrapment on the moon. She was driving herself to a slow-burning insanity, considering every moment that she hadn’t rescued them yet to be a personal failure.

She’d been spending much of her time in the restricted section of the library, consuming every piece of relevant research for hours on end. Soul often stayed up there with her doing the same, or at the very least keeping her silent company when he was too burnt out to read anymore.

He’d also spent much of his extra time with Stein, training to perfect his sound-wave abilities into his own form of wavelength attack.

He’d been giving his all ever since making deathscythe status to hone his strength and better serve Maka. He’d even been able to hold his own for a surprising amount of time in the sparring ring against Blackstar, and that was a feat in and of itself.

All of the focus on Crona’s rescue had appeared to be wearing on him, though. 

Soul may have accepted Crona into his friend group for Maka’s sake, even empathized with them - but he had never fully trusted the demon sword meister. Although Soul was outwardly friendly towards them, Blackstar noticed the way his friend had watched them like a hawk before they turned back to Medusa. He was always ready for a scenario like that because he had never felt entirely safe around them to begin with.

Not that Maka had bothered to even take Soul’s feelings into consideration before forgiving Crona on his behalf.

She couldn’t have possibly been that dense. She had to have been actively ignoring the signs of Soul’s discomfort because she couldn’t handle acknowledging them.

And now she was doing the same thing all over again even with Crona as far away as the moon. It was obvious that Soul was doing what he always did - shoving his own feelings aside in favor of Maka’s. The loyal mutt of a boy valued her wellbeing far above his own, that was for certain.

He just seemed so exhausted of it all now. Searching tirelessly with Maka for a solution that may not even exist took up much of his time and energy.  

He never had the time to shoot hoops or play video games like he used to, and Blackstar was far above begging for his attention. He stopped even bothering to ask him.

Just for one night though, by some divine luck - everybody was willing to clear their schedule to have a late night dinner at the most beloved and heart-attack inducing burger joint in town. 

Every member of Spartoi was crammed into the largest booth in the restaurant and their chatter was loud enough to fill the whole section. 

There were multiple conversations happening at a time, but Blackstar was zeroing in on Soul who had his chin resting on his palm and that stupid, dopey look he got on his face when he was proud of Maka. Yuck. Keep it in your pants, loverboy.

Maka was next to Soul, his arm stretched out behind her on the booth, while Ox engaged her in a fiery debate over god knows what across the table from her. Judging by the redness in baldy’s face - Maka was on the winning side. He really couldn’t understand Soul’s hard-on for a bossy know-it-all personality, but whatever floats his boat he supposed.  

He decided he’d seen enough of that look on his best friend’s face and crumpled up a straw wrapper, dipping it in his soda and sticking it at the end of his straw.

He blew on the other end, sending the sticky wad of paper flying across the table. The projectile hit its target directly on the cheek.

“Fuck’s sake dude, how old are you?” he grumbled, reaching over the table to grab a handful of napkins to clean his face off with.

Maka snatched some of his napkins for herself, rubbing it vigorously into the flecks of cola that stained her uniform. “You got my shirt all wet, idiot.”

Blackstar simply threw his head back to cackle obnoxiously. “I just thought I should break up your lame little debate team fight before Ox over here pops a blood vessel. You know he can’t handle losing well.”

“I wasn’t losing!” Ox hissed under his breath.

Maka only met her opponent’s glare with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, Maka! What had you stopped to talk with Professor Stein about earlier today?” Tsubaki cut in, obviously attempting to diffuse another argument between the two competitive brainiacs.

Maka’s expression relaxed into something a little more neutral, seemingly caught off guard by the question. Debate-mode successfully disarmed.

“Oh. Well… I just had some questions about my black blood research for him.” 

Blackstar didn’t miss the way Soul tensed up beside her at the mention of black blood. His face was void of any distinct emotion, but something was off in his body language. The way his shoulders squared as if he were instinctively bristling.

Anyone with a shred of social awareness could have deduced that black blood, Medusa, and Crona were not Soul’s favorite topics. It wasn’t unusual for him to shut down and discontinue any contributions to a conversation when any of these things were brought up. 

Unfortunately for Soul, all of those subjects were constantly on Maka’s mind since she began her obsessive pursuit for a solution to Crona’s ordeal.

“Oh? And what did he have to say?” Tsubaki pressed, completely oblivious to the tense situation she was potentially triggering.

“As you’re already aware, there’s not really any official research on the black blood that exists. We’ve been digging through countless books - gathering as much information about madness and Kishins as we can, but it can only get us so far. It would be so much more useful if we could get our hands on a physical sample of the substance itself.”

Soul’s eyes widened in concern, but only for a second before he slipped his usual poker face back on. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously despite the veneer of calm he displayed.

“Anyways,” she continued, turning to look at Soul, “I was going to talk to you about this later, but maybe some of the black blood still remains in your system? I know we believed it was all gone, but surely there’s some residual amount of it lingering behind? Something we could maybe isolate, extract and create a concentrate of? Stein said it was unlikely, but technically possible. We have to try for Crona, right, Soul?”

He was no longer wearing his mask of apathy. Unmistakeable, visible discomfort was etched into his facial features and he was clenching his hands, knuckles whitening from the pressure. Everyone at the table was hushed and the tension was palpable.

“He doesn’t have to try anything,” Kid’s voice cut sharply through the silence, golden eyes flashing sternly at her.

A soft gasp escaped her and her eyebrows shot up, clearly taken-aback by the sudden burst of hostility from her boss and close friend. Her eyes darkened seconds later, determination setting in.

 “I think that’s his decision to make, and I’d like to hear what he has to say,” she turned her attention back to Soul, hope still shining in her eyes.

He fidgeted with his necktie, loosening it and clearing his throat. “Yeah, s’fine. Whatever you need, I guess.”

Maka’s face lit up into a bright smile that turned Blackstar’s stomach and she pulled Soul into a brief hug. “I knew we could count on you, Soul! You’re the best partner ever.”

“Whatever, it’s no problem. Just try not to drain me of all my blood, alright?” he chuckled weakly, avoiding her eyes in favor of staring a hole in the middle of the table.

She gave an easygoing laugh in response, and went back to conversing with Tsubaki as if she hadn’t just pressured her partner into volunteering himself as a guinea pig for the sake of someone who had literally sliced him open from shoulder to hip and infected him with black blood to begin with.

Is she fucking serious?

Blackstar was practically vibrating with fury from the interaction he’d just watched, and Tsubaki’s normally soothing hand on his shoulder did little to calm him down. When he glanced at Kid, he instantly knew the death god had shared his frustration with Maka’s obliviousness. 

It wasn’t long before Soul abruptly stood from his place at the end of the booth, pulling a twenty out of his wallet and placing it on the table in front of him.

“Soul? What are you doing? The food hasn’t even gotten here yet,” Maka blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m not feelin’ too great - gonna head out, sorry guys. Could you just bring my food back in a to-go box?” he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning on his heels and making his way out of the diner in long strides.

Why does she look so shocked? Does she really not understand that she’s been hurting him?

After that, the night passed by in a haze for Blackstar. He hardly spoke for the rest of the meal due to the fact that he was using all of his mental capacity to keep his impulse to stand up and loudly call his friend out in front of everybody in check. 

The only thing truly stopping him was the knowledge that Soul would likely be embarrassed and more than a little pissed off if he’d made a big scene over something that he wasn’t even willing to talk about.  

So he waited - held his tongue until he could lash out in private.

As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Blackstar watched her rise from her seat gathering her to-go boxes carefully and giving him a nod of acknowledgement before she headed out.

His eyes bore into the back of her head as she left, and Tsubaki’s hand clamped gently on him for the second time that night. Her eyes were crinkled with a gentle concern.

“I think you should leave this between them. If Soul wanted all of this out in the open, he would have had that conversation with her himself.”

A heavy sigh settled in his chest, “You know how he is. He’s the suffer in silence type and he always does her bidding. If nobody says anything, then nothing’ll change. I just want to talk to her - not like I’m gonna beat her ass or anything … unless she gives me a reason to.” 

“Blackstar,” she chided, fully aware that he would make good on that threat.

“I know, I know. I won’t be long, see ya at home,” he said, throwing up placating hands before stuffing them in his pockets and striding in the direction Maka had gone. 

            _______________________________________________

Maka set her walk home at a leisurely pace, dragging her feet slightly as she watched the sunset bleed into the sky above.

It wasn’t that she was trying to prolong seeing Soul, or that she wasn’t worried about the way he’d acted back in the diner - like something was eating at him. 

She was pretty positive that he wasn’t physically ill, which only left the option of it being an emotional issue. 

And getting Soul to talk about emotional issues was like trying to pull teeth from a temperamental bear. 

She had to figure out a way to go about this delicately, and she had to figure it out soon because their apartment block was fast approaching.

She stopped in her tracks when she felt the presence of a familiar soul behind her. His steps had been so quiet, she wouldn’t have even been aware he was stalking her from behind if it weren’t for her exceptional soul perception abilities.

“I know you’re following me, Blackstar.”

In moments, he was stepping out in front of her. “Wasn’t trying to hide. I need to talk to you,” his voice was uncharacteristically stern.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Blackstar had some kind of problem with her since dinner. He was deathly quiet and glowering at her for most of the night; very unusual behavior from someone who never shuts up or hesitates to start a fight. 

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, already preparing to defend herself against whatever absurd argument he wanted to pull her into.

“The whole situation with Crona - have you ever once thought about how Soul feels about it?”

Whatever she had been expecting to come out of his mouth - that wasn’t it.

“What? I mean, I know how Soul feels. He wants Crona to be safe, just like I do. What are you trying to get at?”

“I’m not talking about what he thinks about Crona being stuck in the deathdamned moon, Maka! I mean have you ever thought about how he felt when you forced Crona into his life to begin with? After being sliced open?” 

Maka’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and her mouth opened and closed a few times, baffled by the question. 

“Soul understands why I welcomed Crona as a friend. He trusts me,” she answered, hoping her voice conveyed the confidence that she couldn’t find in this moment.

This entire conversation was throwing her off.

“Yeah, okay. He accepted your decision because he trusts you, or loves you or whatever the fuck. We all know that - but that doesn’t mean he was comfortable with it. It doesn’t mean he felt safe. He just stuffed his own feelings down, because he knew it made it easier for you.”

Her throat tightened as her own conflicting emotions overcame her. He had no idea what he was talking about. Soul was fine. He’s always been fine. 

“Did he say that to you? That he didn’t feel safe?” she choked out. 

“Soul? You think he tells people things? About his feelings?” he snorted. “No, he doesn’t have to tell me shit. It’s clear on his face every time you mention Crona, or Medusa, or that fucking blood.”

“Maybe you’re just making assumptions about how he feels!” she shouted back, gripping handfuls of the front of his shirt.

He leaned in, completely unfazed by the rage burning in her eyes. “You ever noticed how when Crona was around, he was always watching them out of the corner of his eye - twitching every time they made some sudden move. You ever noticed how quiet and withdrawn he’d get around them? Or any time they were brought up? You didn’t - because you didn’t want to.” 

“Shut up! Y-you’re making something out of nothing. Are you trying to tell me that I should just give up and forget about Crona? That they don’t deserve to have a friend?” 

Some of his aggression was fizzling out as he released a heavy sigh, placing his hands calmly over hers, still clenching in his shirt. “I’m not trying to say that you shouldn’t have helped Crona, or that you shouldn’t keep trying to help them now. I’m only telling you that even if Soul has forgiven and moved on - he’s still a victim of Crona’s actions. He suffered trauma from that, even if he’s too fucking stubborn to admit it. Just acknowledge that maybe he needs a break from thinking about them - all of that shit that happened - every now and then. Get your head out of Crona’s ass long enough to check if he’s okay too.”

She stumbled over wordless sounds as her hands went limp and released their vice-grip on his clothing. She was trying desperately to think of a way to refute the awful things he was saying, but Blackstar wouldn’t give her the chance. 

“If you gave him even half the thought you gave to Crona - maybe you would have noticed it like everybody else has. I just want you to think about it for a bit, that’s all,” his voice softened towards the end, shoulders sagging slightly as he turned away, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his confrontation.

The heat of tears prickled behind her eyelids and she clenched her fists tightly to her sides. 

She wanted so badly to swing around and scream at Blackstar’s retreating figure that he was wrong, that he had no idea what he was talking about and of course she thinks about her weapon.

But the longer she allowed his harsh words to sink in; the more she could feel the sting of truth settling into her heart.

Had she really been so blind? 

             _______________________________________________

Soul had been laying on his back in bed, hands resting on his stomach and eyes pointed at the ceiling, unmoving for some time. He wasn’t entirely sure how many hours, but he knew his playlist had ended long ago - no music played from the earbuds that were still jammed in his ears.

He couldn’t explain the heaviness in his heart. The anxiety that often set in whenever Maka mentioned Crona or the black blood. It was all water under the bridge, wasn’t it? There was no point in allowing himself to wallow in all the negative emotions that punched him in the gut at the mention of their name. It was selfish to feel those things - it was his job to give Maka his full support. His own feelings were irrelevant.

It was just harder on this particular night. Sure, she droned on about those sore subjects often. Their research revolved around it anyways. He’d just hoped that it could have been different just for one night.

He’d secretly been ecstatic when Maka begrudgingly agreed to shelve her research just long enough to get a late dinner with all of their friends. A break had been long overdue. 

Things had been different between them, after all. They’d been sharing a bed, and they’d even shared a few kisses in the small, rare moments that they’d spent alone together - focused only on each other. They were chaste kisses, but he’d greedily take whatever he could get. 

As she became more frantic about her lack of results in helping Crona, he may as well have not even existed to her. 

He’d just needed that one dinner to pretend things were normal, to pretend as though he was on a date with her and she was willing to spend time with him and think about literally anything aside from her latest fixations. Instead, she’d asked him to play part in some unsound experiment - to prod for things that he hadn’t wanted to find again. It had only been made more uncomfortable by the scrutinizing presence of all of their friends. 

He’d felt used.

Soul perked up at the familiar sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut. He was immediately ashamed of the pavlovian response he had to the sound of his meister returning - the little flip in his heart that made him feel like a stupid dog wagging its tail at the sound of its master.

Just keep to yourself. She doesn’t need to interact with you in this useless state of self pity. You don’t deserve her comfort.

Self-loathing curled in his gut and he kept his eyes stubbornly trained on a water stain in the ceiling.

Suddenly, light flooded into his dark room as his door was hesitantly opened. He reflexively brought himself to sit up on his elbows only to meet a teary-eyed Maka.

All self-indulgent angsty thoughts instantly evaporated from his head, and he was ripping his earbuds out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get up.

She made purposeful steps across his room, throwing her arms around his neck and forcing him back onto the bed with the motion.

“I’m so sorry, Soul,” she warbled mournfully into his sweater. 

“Huh? Sorry ‘bout what? What’s going on, Maka?” he tried to nudge her into looking up at him, but she adamantly refused.

She took a few shallow breaths before rubbing her wet cheek against the quickly-dampening fabric and looking up at him with dewy eyes.

“I haven’t been a good friend to you - have I? 

Was that a trick question?

“I-I don’t get what we’re talkin’ about here,” he stuttered uselessly, attempting to compensate for his lack of eloquence by brushing his fingers comfortingly through her soft hair.

“I never asked if you felt okay with Crona being around you. I never asked you if you forgave them at all - I just brought them into your space, your home. I just wanted them to have a chance at a normal life so badly - I ignored your pain, and I’m so sorry,” she rushed her confession out like it had been a breath she was holding in.

He had to fight the urge to bark out a laugh. It wasn’t that he found anything that she said humorous - it was just so strange that she was addressing this out of the blue. She’d seemed completely unaware as usual back at the diner, where had this even come from?

He was so lost in thought, he’d almost forgotten to respond and instantly regretted the prolonged silence he’d left her in. “Maka, it’s fine,” he insisted, “I get why you forgave Crona. I admire you for it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you were okay. I should have at least checked on you, or asked you about how you felt - or literally anything,’ she mumbled numbly from his chest.

“Hey. Look at me,” he said, lifting her cheek from its resting place against his sweater, “Sure, I didn’t feel the most comfortable around Crona. I think it was pretty awkward for both of us to be near each other. That doesn’t mean I dislike them, or didn’t want you to be their friend. You can’t beat yourself up over something I hadn’t bothered to tell you.”

His words hadn’t brought the comfort that he’d hoped they would, and her brows remained stubbornly crinkled. “If it had been me - if I was the one who’d been cut by that sword, would you still say that you don’t dislike them? That you’re okay with us being friends?”

It was a question that he instantly knew the answer to, but he was reluctant to say it out loud. He finally caved, bringing his eyes back to hers, “No. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive them if it was you.”

She closed her eyes tightly, nodding her head in grim acceptance of that truth. She had likely known that would be his answer already, but hearing it must have been difficult.

“But I love that about you. You have so much compassion. I only care for the few people that I’ve decided I love - I don’t have room in my heart for others like you do. I’d like to be more like you,” he whispered reverently, taking her cheeks in both of his hands and briskly wiping away all of the moisture he could reach with his thumbs.

“I should’ve had more compassion for you,” she lamented softly under her breath, eyes downcast.

“You’re not a fuckin’ mind reader, Maks. It was my choice not to bring anything up.”

She nodded slowly, but the way her grip tightened on him only confirmed his suspicion that she wasn’t going to forgive herself for it.

Minutes passed before a word was spoken, but Soul eventually cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t expect you to ever stop being friends with Crona, or to give up on rescuing them. I don’t want that. I don’t mind helping you like you’d asked earlier tonight, too. If that’s what you need from me, then I’m here.”

She brought herself to her elbows on top of him to get a better view of his face.

“I know. I’m not going to give up on them. But It matters to me that you’re happy too, and if that means you need a break from all that, then I want you to know that it’s okay to ask for that.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a hushed tone, distracting himself with a piece of her hair twirled between his fingers.

“And I don’t want to use your blood for research. It was wrong of me to even think of asking you that. We’ll find another way,” she assured him, voice tightening with emotion, “I definitely got carried away with all of this. It wasn’t healthy, and I really am sorry I’ve pushed you away in the process. We can’t solve this thing if we don’t have time to properly take care of ourselves. You’ve been working so hard with me, and I think we need more actual quality time together.”

“Yeah, I could get on board with that. I kinda walked out on dinner tonight, so how about we do something - just you and me tomorrow? Movies sound good?”

“Movies sounds great,” she hummed in agreement, hands idly playing with his hair.

As much as he would have preferred for her to continue her ministrations, he stopped her movements to grasp her hand, bringing it to his chest to rest above where she knew his scar was. He pressed down on her hand lightly.

“I’m glad it happened. I’m glad they gutted me, ‘cause I hadn’t understood what you meant to me till that moment,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

She only exhaled shakily, hand tightening against the evidence of his devotion.

“I just hate that it took a lecture from Blackstar of all people for me to realize that I’d been hurting you.”

His eyes widened a little at that new piece of information. Blackstar was the one that brought all of this on her mind? He could’ve sworn it would have been Kid if anyone. He couldn’t help but feel a little touched that Blackstar had been so concerned about him, but he was also somewhat irritated that his friend had distressed Maka as much as he had.

“Blackstar, huh? Remind me to have a conversation with him about mindin’ his own business,” he laughed half-heartedly.

“No, don’t. I’m glad that he said what he did - I needed to hear it,” she urged him.

“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t have to make my girlfriend cry from guilt over bein’ friends with someone,” he muttered, but his face immediately burned a bright red as soon as he’d caught what he’d called her.

She was a similar shade, holding her breath as well as his gaze with a tortuously difficult to decipher expression on her face.

“That is, uh- I mean… fuck.”  

Very articulate. Great job, Soul.

He hadn’t needed to agonize over whether or not he’d just fucked everything between them for long because her face soon melted into a warm, genuine smile.

“Girlfriend, huh?” she said with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

“I’d like that. If that’s w-what you want,” he wanted to kick himself for the voice crack he just experienced. Not cool in the slightest. 

At least she got a good giggle out of it. The melodic sound squeezed something in his chest and he swallowed nervously as a response.

She brushed back his bangs, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his forehead. She peppered a trail of kisses down his cheek until she reached his lips. 

This kiss was far from chaste. She cradled his cheek and jaw as she slanted her mouth sweetly over his, pressing fervently, constantly moving against him and eliciting a breathy moan from him that he would never admit to making. 

When she tried to separate, he followed her, bumping noses for a moment and giving the corner of her mouth a few more enthusiastic pecks before backing up and allowing her room to look at his face. 

“Girlfriend sounds nice, actually,” she smiled broadly, letting her fingers brush against the back of his neck.

“Glad that’s settled, then,” he laughed easily, not even bothering to feel any embarrassment over the flush of his skin or the lightness of his breath.

He crushed her to his chest, and they stayed like that for a while, just listening to the other’s loudly beating hearts until they were lulled to sleep. 

He’d have to thank Blackstar with a game of basketball later.

[sinnergetreadymp3]

CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC

Uhhhhh I feel like I should give this a title but I have no idea what to call so uh, nevermind !!

Anyways,I finally finished the fic I said I was writing like,a month ago lol. All my Chameron stans out there this one's for u,I rlly hope at least one person enjoys this,I rlly enjoyed writing it !! Ok sappy stuff outta the way,here it is:

As rain pounded against the window Charlie sent what was probably the thousandth crumpled ball of paper across the room.

"Jesus Charlie,is your arm not getting tired?"

Charlie smirked at that, clearly preparing to make a dirty minded joke,but a thoroughly exhausted Richard Cameron was already one step ahead.

"You know what,forget I asked, you're gross."

Getting up from the seat at his desk and ignoring an indignant retort from Charlie, Cameron thought of the rest of his friends,out for the weekend. Todd and Neil celebrating their one year anniversary, Meeks and Pitts embarking on a two day road trip,for what they still claimed to be, entirely platonic reasons (although the rest of the poets were all too aware of the almost palpable romantic tension between them). Even Knox had found something to do with himself on this miserable Friday night.

And here Cameron was,stuck in his dorm with nothing but stacks of extra homework and his obnoxious roommate to keep him company.

Speaking of that obnoxious roommate, "Oh come on Cam,you're not seriously going to bed already,it's barely eight!"

"Shut up Dalton,I'm tired."

Refusing to admit defeat, Charlie sprung from his own bed into Cameron's, attempting to wrestle the poor boy from his comfortable position.

"Charlie,get off you psycho!" Cameron managed to get out, already laughter threatening to give away just how welcome his friend's childish antics were.

After a few more minutes of "fooling around" as Charlie insisted on calling it (mostly because of how profusely it made Cameron blush),the two boys lay breathless beside each other,trying desperately to think of something else to do that would ward off impending boredom.

After a few moments of comfortable silence,Charlie suggested,looking expectantly towards the ginger, "Wanna go to the cave?"

With extreme,mind numbing boredom as motivation, it was inevitable that Cameron would say yes. It certainly helped that Charlie was gazing at him with those oh-so convincing doe eyes of his. Charlie Dalton and his stupid,gorgeous eyes. And his stupid,gorgeous smile,which Cameron was abso definitely not thinking about as he got up and grabbed his coat.

The two boys trudged through the woods,bickering lightly when Cameron complained of the cold that Charlie apparently couldnt feel at all,but always with an unusually friendly air between them. Before long they were sat together in the middle of the cave,sharing an apple that Cameron had managed to salvage from somewhere (a feat Dalton was of course impressed by),and trading stories of girls and parties galore. In Cameron's case, the stories of girls were few and the parties were from years long before even middle school,so Charlie did most of the talking.

After a while though,the boys came to discussing their friends,and the luck they all seemed to have in finding each other so easily. Charlie, ever the romantic,made no waste of his extensive vocabulary,tediously lamenting on all the opportunities of love he had missed and the everlasting loneliness he was doomed to,all because his dashing knight in shining armour would never come to find him and-

"Why dont *you* just find somebody?"

Charlie,still sprawled dramatically over a rock ,and mildly offended at the interruption,indignantly questioned "What do you mean?"

"What I said? You dont just have to wait around for somebody to come find you and fall madly in love. Why don't *you* just find somebody?"

He thought for a moment,taken aback by the ginger's harsh words,but eventually decided to humout him for a moment.

"And where exactly do you suggest I find him then, hm?"

Cameron shifted in his seat,not expecting to be taken seriously and certainly not prepared to be giving advice. Especially not *this* kind of advice. Especially not to *charlie*.

"Well,uh," he looked up to see the other boy looking at him expectantly,with that ever-present smirk on his face that, oddly enough,made Cameron feel a little more comfortable.

"Maybe,you could,I don't know, consider that the guy you're looking for has been here the whole time?"

"Wow Cam,Pittsie and Meeks' radio must've really gotten to you. All those love songs have turned you into a big softie." Charlie joked,grinning and nudging Cameron playfully.

Through a soft laugh,Cameron continued, "No I'm serious man,I think you're making this whole love thing way harder for yourself. I mean- and be honest with me, what's actually wrong with the guys at our school?"

"Other than the fact that about three quarters of them are raging heterosexuals?"

Laughing again,Cameron replied "yeah,other than that."

After about zero seconds of careful consideration,he had come to a conclusion, "Well,I guess nothing,but I dont know? Cameron, I don't see how this changes-"

"It *changes* things because clearly you don't anything about half the guys at our school. And you can't write off people you don't even know." At some point, Cameron had gotten up and started pacing around,but with the end of this triumphant speech,he finally sat down,a little closer to the other boy than he had been before.

Charlie looked across at Cameron and was suddenly met with a wave of fondness. Weird,how all it took was to sit and talk for a while before someone you thought you near hated,started to feel like your favorite person in the world. And,was he going completely crazy or Cameron at his most comfortable, without the fear of a teacher lurking nearby,without the stress of constantly trying to prove himself,was he... A little..... attractive??

All at once,Charlie made a decision,partly to try and prove himself wrong,but also because hey,if Richard Cameron was the surprise love of his life,what better time to figure it out than right now?

"So how,sir Richard Cameron,do you propose I get to know all these charming suitors?"

Cameron, completely in the dark about Dalton's recent epiphany,was still stubbornly trying to explain how much easier Charlie's love life could be,if only he would let it.

"Well,maybe by actually talking to them? Y'know,kind of like,What we're doing right now."

"So,what you're saying is,*you* could be my knight in shining armor," he said with a smirk.

"Well,that's not what-"

"No,no it's fine,as long as we're talking about this version of you. Regular Cameron is kind of a buzzkill but Cave Cam is actually a kind of.... And I can't believe I'm saying this but,in here,like this...well. You're actually a little hot."

After this, overwhelmingly romantic confession, Charlie was certain he had completely stuffed it,and sure enough,

"Gee Charlie,thanks. Really makes me wanna ride into the sunset with you." To say Cam's ego had been hit was an understatement,but before he could make a swift exit from the cave and lock himself,alone,in his dorm for the rest of the weekend,of course Dalton kept talking.

"God,I'm sorry,that was, I have no idea why I said that. I thought I was being funny but out loud- god I'm so sorry," while he had initially been mad,seeing Charlie fucking Dalton blush (and because of *him* no less) was rather funny. And sure,a little cute. So Cameron decided to hear him out.

"Can I start over? You're not saying anything so I'm gonna start over. I,uh, I really do think you're hot. Like really hot. And not just right now,all the time,like that time we were at rowing practice and I started pushing you around and we ended up on the floor and I saw like,a single sliver of skin because your sweater had ridden up,and I couldn't stop thinking about it all day,which I thought was a little weird but then-"

"Uh,I think I get it,Charlie." Now Cameron was the one blushing.

"Uh,sorry. What I meant was,that I *do* think you're hot l-"

"As you've said"

"Yeah,yeah,but it's more than that. Like,when I realized we'd basically be spending the whole weekend alone together,I was actually sorta excited for that,even though I knew I'd just be sitting by you while you did homework the whole time,I like,wanted to do that. And tonight,I haven't talked like this with anyone who isn't Neil like,ever. What I mean is,I guess,is that,I think that uh,"

Deciding to lighten the mood,Cameron tried for a little sarcasm, "Wow,Dalton, stuttering? I must be superman or something."

"I'm trying to be romantic here Carrot top," Charlie said with a grin,

"Listen,I don't really know what I'm doing here,but I think it might be kinda nice if we tried having a little romantic weekend of our own. Just to try it. If it totally sucks we can pretend it never happened and the others don't have to know about it and-"

"Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Relax," Cameron said with yet another laugh ,he didn't think he laughed like this since... Well,he couldn't even remember.

So with a radiant smile on his face,he said,"A romantic weekend of our own sounds amazing. Gotta warn you tho I'm not a great kisser."

"Well, lucky for you I am a great teacher," Charlie replied,with a somehow even bigger smile on his face than Cameron's,

"Why are you laughing,I *am* a great teacher!" Unfortunately for Charlie,his indignance only made Cameron laugh harder.

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"If you shut up and stop laughing,maybe you'll get to." After this was all it took to get the ginger to sober up, the look on his face pushed Charlie to make his final,but (in his opinion) most important decision of the night.It was high time he flirt with Cameron way more often (which was *very* difficult to explain to the other poets,at least the first time).

[dudeandduchess]

Demon!Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Forget Me Not (Angst, SFW Scenario)

Summary: Wherein Kyōjurō tries to remove every trace of his existence in his wife’s life; if only to get her to finally move on from him. Part 3 of that fic where Kyō said goodbye to his daughter. Read Part 2 here. Note: I just had to get this last one out of my system. Enjoy, bbys. 😂💜✨

***

Warnings: Angst, Sad Feels

Day in and day out, everything was the same for (Y/n): wake up early to get her children ready for school, do the chores around the house, prepare lunch for herself, do some more chores, prepare dinner, get everyone ready for bed and— lastly— sleep. She had been stuck in a seemingly-endless routine; tethered there by her own will, so as not to clue anyone in to the grief she felt brewing inside her.

It was constantly bubbling up within her, always a feeling that she had to push back down in fear of making her children worry about her. Because it was her burden to bear; not theirs. And she wouldn’t have even dreamed of ever letting them know that, even after all that time, her heart still ached for their deceased father.

Every night, as she laid in bed, she would always say a little prayer; a small one, asking all the gods to look after her husband’s soul until they could meet again. And every night, it was inevitable that she would cry herself to sleep.

Since it was the only time when she could shed the tough front she put up along with the rising of the sun, she shed that façade when it was just her in the room that she and Kyōjurō used to share.

Sometimes she would give in and wrap herself up in one of his uniform jackets, if only to imagine him holding her in his arms— like he always did when she was sad. The feel of the rough garment didn’t even come close to giving her solace, but the knowledge that it had once belonged to the man she loved provided her some modicum of comfort.

“Please, Kyōjurō,” She would plead every night, as tears continuously fell from her eyes. At first, she had tried to wipe them away but, as time passed by, she had given up on willing them away— as only more tears fell when she tried to get rid of them. “Give me the strength to do this.”

Ever since her husband’s death, she would ask that each and every night. She would plead his soul for the strength she needed to keep on living for their children.

No answer came, but it always made her feel better to say her thoughts out loud. It made her feel that Kyōjurō was still there— even if only for a second.

But when she opened her eyes, especially in the stark brightness of day, she was constantly reminded of the fact that the person they were meant for hadn’t heard her at all; nor would he ever hear her words again.

Or so she believed.

Unbeknownst to her, Kyōjurō had been sneaking around their home for the past few weeks, ever since he had regained his memories of his human life. He took great care in leaving no trace, and remaining undetected, but he would be damned if he didn’t admit just how much his heart ached whenever he sat outside his and (Y/n)’s room— listening to her cry herself to sleep every night.

Because he couldn’t show himself to her. Ever. If he did, then she wouldn’t let him go— she would hide him within their home and keep him there, which was treason to the Demon Slayer Corps.

The last thing that he wanted was for his family to lose favor with any of his former comrades; as they were the ones that he expected to protect them, if they would ever need it.

So he chose to reign his own feelings in, and stayed rooted right where he sat on the engawa attached to their room— each and every night. Her quiet sobs and sniffles always had him close to breaking his resolve but, thankfully, he always managed to resist going in their room to show himself to her.

And when she did manage to fall asleep, he would silently open the door and sit down right beside her sleeping form; wiping her tears away, before simply cupping her cheek in one of his hands.

There were those rare times when he gave in to his own selfish wants and had gotten into bed beside her— wrapping his arms around her as lightly as he could, and burying his nose into her hair, all while pressing kisses to the back of her head.

It killed him inside that she had to suffer so much, and mourn over a man that was technically still alive, but he also knew that once he was done with his final mission, then he would have to leave. Permanently.

Kyōjurō couldn’t put her through losing him twice in one lifetime. He wasn’t that cruel and selfish of a man.

“I love you, (Y/n),” He would whisper as softly as he could to his wife each night he visited her. “You can do this without me. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

For all of his effort to console her while she was asleep, he wasn’t there simply for that, however. The reason that he kept on coming back to his old home was to get rid of all the traces of him in his wife’s life.

He couldn’t do it in one fell swoop, as it would be too noticeable of a feat to pull off. So, with every night he was there, he took his old things one by one, and kept them out back at the very back of their storage shed.

It started with his old reading glasses, and escalated to the pieces of clothing that were easy to take, as they had been stowed away in one of the unused built-in closets. He never found out what (Y/n)’s reaction was to his slowly disappearing things, but the more that his things disappeared, the harder that she cried.

On (Y/n)’s part, she hadn’t noticed her late husband’s things disappearing— not until she had entered their room one quiet afternoon and had noticed the empty, and somewhat cold feeling that surrounded the space.

She had even tried looking around for wherever his things might have ended up, but never found them. Hell, she couldn’t even ask her children if they had noticed anything else going missing— as she didn’t want to alarm them.

It was highly odd for only Kyōjurō’s belongings to have vanished but, no matter what she did— and no matter what lock she put on the doors— things still went missing; little by little.

Until all the remained in her possession was one of his old Demon Slayer uniforms; which had only survived the underhanded ransacking because she’d taken to holding on to it while she slept.

On the last day of his final mission, Kyōjurō stepped into his and (Y/n)’s room with the heaviest heart; he then laid down next to his wife and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

Tears pricked his eyes, as he pushed her hair aside with his left hand— laying it on the pillow afterwards— while allowing his right hand to glide along her waist and hip; taking into memory how she felt beneath his hand.

Since it was going to be the last time that he saw her.

Kyōjurō then placed a chaste kiss against the nape of his wife’s neck, letting his lips trail up along the side of it, before stopping by her right ear. “(Y/n), you have to let me go.”

No words answered his soft plea, and even more tears began to pool in his eyes; spilling over just as a breathless sob broke free from his lips.

Slowly, he placed his right hand upon both of hers— which clung tightly to his uniform, even in her sleep. He tried to loosen her grip on it, but she wouldn’t budge.

It was true that he could easily take it out of her grasp, but there was a tiny part of him— a selfish part— that still wanted her to remember him, even after he was gone.

For all of his silent talks of erasing his existence from their home for her sake, he couldn’t bear to take away the one last item that would remind her of him. It was highly illogical of him to even leave it, after going through all of the trouble to make her let go of her memories of him, but he just couldn’t do it.

One simple mission, and he couldn’t even finish it.

His hands felt so numb, and his entire body felt so cold with guilt and sadness— yet he still stayed beside her throughout the night; wishing that their time together would last longer.

If he could, he would stay there forever. But it was nothing more than a selfish whim; so, when the chirping of the birds alerted him of the oncoming sunrise, Kyōjurō hugged his wife as tightly as he could without waking her up, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

His tears had long dried, but his heart still wept for the family that he had to leave behind.

For one last time, he went to each of his children’s rooms— merely gazing at their peacefully asleep faces at first, before giving in and pressing light kisses against their foreheads.

He’d thought that he couldn’t cry anymore, but the very moment his lips had brushed against his eldest son’s forehead, it took everything in him not to break down and cry.

But what hurt the most was going into Ren’s room and seeing her sound asleep on her bed; the western one that they had painted a ghastly shade of green and orange; ‘to match Giyuu-ojii san’s haori’ she had said.

The former Hashira sat down beside his daughter’s sleeping form, gently shushing her when her eyes fluttered open. “Tou-chan?!”

“Go back to sleep, baby,” He whispered softly, while caressing his daughter’s cheek and leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I love you. Always remember that.”

“I love you too, tou-chan,” Ran answered groggily; her voice sounding garbled more than anything— which had her father smiling a watery smile, as he tried to hold back more of his tears. “Goo-night.”

“Goodbye, Ran-chan.”

***

When (Y/n) woke up that morning, it wasn’t to her usual sight of her husband’s crumpled uniform beside her. Instead, when she laid eyes on it, her breath immediately caught in her throat, as breathless and choked sobs bubbled free from her lips.

Because right there, on the empty space where Kyōjurō used to sleep, was his uniform neatly folded up— and on top of that were three sunflowers; tied with Kyōjurō’s hair tie that she had kept in the uniform’s pocket, as well as a short letter in her late husband’s penmanship.

With a shaky hand, she picked the piece of paper up and silently read it.

‘I know that I should take this away, to let you move on, but I’m still a selfish man, and I want even the smallest memory of me to stay with you.’

(Y/n)’s eyes ran over the text, eagerly consuming every word as more and more tears blurred her vision. It didn’t even make sense how such a note could have appeared at that time, but she didn’t question it— couldn’t question it— what with all of the feelings that coursed through her.

‘Just so you remember that, even for a short while, there was once a man named Rengoku Kyōjurō that loved you more than his own life. I’m so sorry, (Y/n).’

[susiequaz12]

Carrot Top- 2: Splice

It’s part 2! The story is moving along, and hopefully I can write a bit more soon. Again I��m gonna tag @imagination1reality0 (and if you want me to tag you in future posts let me know.

Also, Andrew might be referred to as “boy” sometimes, but in the storyline he is almost 20. (It’s just a way to differentiate between him and the other characters.)

CW: Manhandling, gagged, beating, mention of bullying, restrained.

The sun had climbed over the horizon and was heading towards the center of the sky by the time the minivan pulled up to the long, gray building.

Keeping just the gag on, they removed every other thing that kept him bound to the seat of the car. Once he was released he fell as dead weight in their arms. Apart from initially knocking him unconscious, they had drugged him a few times. Most of it should be wearing off soon. 

Two of the men carried Andrew through the hallways of the building while the driver took the van away once everyone had exited. The building was mildly busy on a saturday morning. Guards shuffling about, other prisoners following blindly as they were shuffled like cattle from one place to the next. The sight of an unconscious body being dragged through miles of hallways was not unfamiliar. 

As they walked, Andrew slowly began to gain consciousness. His eyes could barely make out faint shades of gray and white, and endless hallways of doors and rooms. They finally stopped in a hallway that smelled vaguely of chlorine and cleaning solution.

Andrew was conscious enough to realize he wasn’t bound or tied up anymore, and took the opportunity that he saw. As he tried to wrench his arms free from their grip, one of the men pulled out the same stick from earlier, stretching it out to its full length. With a strong arm he threw Andrew to the ground, placing a knee on his back, one arm holding his wrists into the floor, the other using the end of the stick at the back of his neck. Adding just enough pressure so that he wouldn't move. Andrew's chest rose and fell heavily, pressing into the cold floor, and the man leaned down, speaking directly into his ear.

"Listen. If you want to make things easier for yourself, than do as you’re told. Take these clothes, and go into the room. The door will be locked for no longer than two and a half minutes. You have that long to change into your clothes, leaving your other belongings inside. Understood?" Andrew didn't move or say anything, a look of hatred on his face. The man pushed the end of the stick a bit further into the back of his neck and Andrew winced. 

He nodded, he understood. 

The man eased off of Andrew but maintained a steady grip on his arm. The second man handed Andrew a small bundle of clothes before shoving him into the tight room. 

The first thing he did once his arms were free was rip off that gag, spitting the soggy cloth onto the floor. His mouth was free, and he was grateful. The room was about the size of a small closet, or a bathroom stall. There was nothing but a bench built into the wall that Andrew nearly collapsed onto. 

He looked through the bundle of clothes he was given. It was barely anything, was what it was. All it consisted of was a pair of standard cotton boxers, and some grey cotton Capri pants, with elastic that fit right underneath his knee. As Andrew slipped the pants on he realized they were a perfect fit. Not just your standard size, but tailored specifically to him. That was no easy feat. His light weight, plus long legs and height made shopping for any clothes incredibly difficult.

Feeling that he would be too exposed with just the capris, he kept his t-shirt on and quickly retied a shoelace that had come undone, just as the man started banging on the door. He could hear it unlocking and the room was small enough that just by reaching in, the man was able to grab him by the arm and pull him out. The man glanced him over, and was obviously displeased. 

He pulled out his stick again and knocked Andrew down, whacking him in the side of his legs before he had a chance to realize what he did wrong.

Andrew yelped, crumpling to the floor, but that pain was quickly replaced by anger as he was forced face-first onto the ground.

“I thought you understood?” The man said, his knees digging into Andrew’s back. The stick laid flat against the back of his neck, ensuring Andrew wouldn’t try to get up and fight back. “You’ll learn like the others soon enough.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw the second man come over, and his shoes and socks were soon untied and removed from his feet. A shiver ran down his spine as he heard the unsheathing of a knife from behind him.

“Wait, no! Don’t, I-” 

He braced himself for pain but instead felt cold air, hearing a ripping sound as his shirt was torn down the back. They pulled him to his feet and the remains of his t-shirt fell to the floor in front of him.

He stared at it for a second. “Now that’s just mean.” Andrew stated, shaking his head as his arms were pulled behind him once more. “That was one of my favorite shirts!” He tried to rip his arm out of the man’s grasp, but it was just grabbed tighter, pulled backwards at an angle that made him yelp. He screamed, yelling obscenities at the man holding him.

The man just shook his head and waved the other man over once more. As his arms were pulled backwards, the man shoved the same filthy rag into Andrew’s mouth. It was cold and soggy from his own spit, making him feel nauseous. He grumbled as the strip of fabric was tied around his head, getting tangled is his curly hair.

With one man on each arm holding him tightly, they continued walking.

It was a large building. Multiple wings. The next few minutes of walking consisted of more struggle. His arms were pulled so tight behind his back, that he was almost lifted off of the floor, and his steps more closely resembled stumbles. At one point, Andrew got so frustrated that the man kicked him in the back of the knee hard enough to make him crumple to the floor. He was then dragged by his arms for a distance until he could regain his footing. 

Eventually, they made it to his office. To Splice.

“We’re here.” The man stated. 

By this point, Andrew had beads of sweat pouring over his neck and shoulders, and down his spine. His face was red out of anger, and lack of breath.

They knocked, and the door was soon opened by another guard standing inside the room. Andrew was thrust forward into the office of the man known as Splice. He sat at a large desk, filled with papers, and ornamented with various tools and contraptions that looked intimidating at a first glance. 

As soon as Andrew saw him, he refused to make eye contact. Instead choosing to turn his eyes towards the ceiling, defiantly. This man was a disgrace to the family, and had betrayed Andrew and his friends.

For that, he had not earned his respect. 

Splice stood up from his desk, waving the man holding Andrew's arms to remove the gag and to back away. Once that was done, without anyone holding him back, Andrew stood still: silent. Looking straight up as Splice circled around him. Noticing the flushed skin and beads of sweat, Splice spoke. 

"Well I hope you didn't bruise him up or beat him too bad. I was hoping to get the first few beatings and scars in myself." Splice laughed at his own joke and went back to inspecting the boy. 

As Splice turned towards him, Andrew would turn away. Obviously avoiding eye contact. Splice soon caught on to his little game, and proceeded to make a joke out of it. Trying to look into his face and get his attention. Eventually Splice grabbed Andrew by the chin and his forced his face downwards to look him in the eye. Their eyes were two complete sets. They perfectly matched each other, both the same shade of greenish brown. If Andrew’s hair had been smooth and brown, instead of curly and ginger, he could have looked just like a younger version of Splice.

With his arms free, Andrew reached up quickly to strike him across the face, but Splice grabbed his wrist sharply in his hand, and did the same with the other as Andrew tried for a second punch. Holding both of his wrists, Splice threw him to the ground and he landed with a soft thud on the carpet. The guard in the room immediately pulled out a matching stick that the previous ones had as well, as if ready to use it at Splice’s command. 

He considered it for a second, as a dazed Andrew started to rise to his feet, and then looked at the guard and nodded. 

Raising the stick, he struck Andrew across the shoulder, across the side of his arm. Andrew rolled back to the floor, unfortunately leaving his back exposed. The guard struck over and over again. Each time, a soft “oof”, or a muffled groan could be heard, intertwined with shaky breaths.  He rolled over again, tucking his knees into his chest, but the guard struck him right in the ribs. A loud cracking could be heard and Andrew’s chest heaved into the air with the measure of pain, trying to breathe in air like a drowning man. 

After a few more blows, Splice raised his hand in the air and the brutality stopped. The guard stepped back to his post by the door.

Andrew laid on his back on the cool carpet, his eyes drooping, every inch of his body throbbing. His chest seemed to be on fire with the pain in his ribs, making it harder to breathe.

Splice knelt down next to him on the floor. Andrew’s eyes were glossy and filled with tears that were leaking down his face.

“I heard you’ve been causing problems all day.” The man trailed a finger down Andrew’s face, catching a trail of tears. He stood up to his full height before wiping his finger on the side of his pants. He stared down at Andrew.  “Fortunately for me, that means it’ll take longer for you to break. Unfortunately for you, I get to be creative.” He called the guard over and he pulled Andrew to his feet. “For now, enjoy your nap. You’ll need it.” 

Andrew struggled to regain footing and dignity as he was half-walked, half-dragged out of the office.

“Don’t give him a bed just yet.” Splice instructed. “He can have one once he’s earned it.”

The guard nodded and Andrew was dragged out of the room. 

His mind was racing, but not just with the pain he’d just received. But you throw that in a blender with his humiliation, frustration, and embarrassment, and you have yourself a depression milkshake.

This was just another bully, he told himself. Just another old highschool bully who’d call him a freak, corner him after school, slap his books away. It was another beating, another normal day. This was nothing he couldn’t get through. He had gone through similar before: kicks, and punches and spits. Those couldn’t be too far off from a metal rod right? He’d feel better once he woke up. He always did. 

After what felt like miles of walking, Andrew was led into a different room. Bigger than the shower room, but smaller than the average bedroom. There was nothing, only a door, and two chains attached to the wall. 

Andrew grumbled underneath his breath, shaking his head. Just let him sleep on the floor, please. Too tired to fight back, he did his best to maintain his footing as one arm, and then the next, was attached to the cuffs on the ends of the chains. His hands hung loosely by his sides, but his legs quivered underneath his weight. It wasn’t long before his knees buckled and he fell onto the floor. The chains pulled his arms upward above his head, but at least he was sitting. He leaned his head up against the wall and tried to ignore the throbbing in his arms that soon began. 

He didn’t stay awake for very long. It wasn’t soon after he sat down that his eyelids closed and he succumbed to unconsciousness.

[sockablock]

would it be ok to ask for a continuation of the Winter Soldier Molly AU you did last time? if not, can I instead have a Widomauk reunion at a masquerade ball that goes awry? thanks! also congrats on the 5k followers hot dang.

(oh effy it’s so tempting but you can’t just say MASQUERADE and expect me NOT to write that djfhsdjk)

—

Later, years later, so many years later that the road and the grove and the blood on the snow were nothing but lingering, colorless echoes, the Mighty Nein attended a ball.

It had been at Ormid Hass’s suggestion—there’s nothing else like an imperial function for trying to weed out government spies.

So it was really rather a shame that the King had chosen a masquerade gala. All the guests twirling through the ballroom had exquisite masks and veils across their faces, tracing their temples, hiding their eyebrows, draping their noses and wholly covering their features. Occasionally, one noble would lower their visor to eat an hors d'oeuvres or dab delicately at their cheek, but quickly their ornate costume would return, the disguise re-set, the facade readorned.

“Think of it this way,” Fjord had said, while Jester tied a mask to his head, “at least nobody will actually recognize us.”

“You have green skin,” Beau had answered. “Caduceus is literally eight feet tall.”

For him, though, Caleb mused to himself as he drifted past the dancers and tried to name what he was eating, it was really easy to fit in. Red hair might be a bit uncommon, but his plainly lanky build and tendency to stick to corners meant that he’d be out of the general eye. Best to leave everyone to stare at Jester, who was currently tearing apart the dance floor with “Veth.” Fjord had been roped into waltzing with some noblewoman, and Caduceus and Beau were doing a good enough at job socializing and cancelling each other out. No, luckily for Caleb, standing to the side and memorizing what he could of the gentry would suffice. And even better, there didn’t seem to be Archmages present, not unless they’d opted to abandon their ceremonial robes, a very real possibility that Caleb hadn’t decided—

“And what are you doing here, standing alone all by yourself?”

He did manage, at least, not to groan. 

He turned, saying, “I really do not see why—”

And stopped. He tried not to stare.

Which was a very difficult task, as the individual before him was…odd, to say the least. They were taller than he was, almost by half a foot, and wore a long, flowing gown that might have been a dress. Their collar rose high, their arms were gloved, and their mask was a strange combined silver visor that drifted down with a thin, flowing veil that obscured the bottom of their face almost entirely. Their eyes were all but hidden from the light, but that was alright because Caleb was busy gawking at the two, enormous ram’s horns curling up from the side of this person’s mask, really an impossible feat of engineering that Caleb himself was almost impressed by—

The stranger cleared their throat. 

Caleb felt his cheeks, blissfully hidden, start to warm.

“Entschuldigung,” he quickly muttered. “I did not mean—”

“Oh, no, it’s alright. I dressed up tonight just to get that reaction.”

Caleb cleared his throat. He probably nodded. 

“Ah…well, then I am glad to have helped. Excuse me, I will be going to get a drink.”

“So quickly?” The stranger, it sounded like they’d pouted, “and here I was looking forward to a conversation. I’m not that boring, am I?”

“My friend,” Caleb snorted, “you are the least boring person I think I have ever seen. It is just that I am not much for conversation.”

“Is that so?” A flicker, like they’d just raised their eyebrows. “How tragic. I had assumed that you were a dashing nobleman with some stories.”

Caleb choked. “D-dashing?” he repeated incredulously. “Noble, nein, no, again you are mistaken. I am not anyone of good breeding.”

He could’ve sworn that the stranger just snickered. But they quickly answered, “In that case, dear, I’m in good company. I’m not exactly a noble person myself, but I’m trying to find someone who is.”

Caleb wasn’t sure if they’d said “noble-person” or “noble person.” Somehow, he felt that the distinction was important.

“Well,” he said slowly, gaze shifting for just a moment, “you…certainly are in the right place, for that.”

“You’ve never heard of a ‘Tanila Pucine,’ have you?”

Caleb shook his head. “My apologies.”

The stranger just shrugged, and through the veil, came a smile. “No worries. I’ll just keep searching harder.

He nodded, and glanced back one last time. “Well, I wish you all the best in that endeavor. M—Mi…ah…?”

The stranger tilted their head. 

“Your name,” Caleb said, and then wondered why he had. “Is there a way you would like me to address you?”

Their mask drifted downwards, staring into Caleb’s.

“I…that is a good question,” they said slowly. “Personally, I’m not really so picky, but the one who knows me best seems to always call me ‘Lucien.’“

They lifted a glove and scratched at their chin. “And as for the title…well, I suppose ‘Mister’ works—”

—calls him Lucien?

Caleb grabbed their hand and yanked them to the side, shoving past dancers and almost smashing a vase of flowers and nearly elbowing a waiter to death. His fingers dug into the stranger’s arm but they didn’t seem to mind, didn’t even fight it, just immediately, easily, let Caleb drag them into a courtyard.

The music was softer here, below the cricket-song. Summer sighed in the breeze of this garden and the moonlight shone on the night-blooming flowers.

Caleb spun around. He threw his mask down.

He gripped the stranger tightly by the shoulders.

“Are you real?” was the first thing that he said.

The stranger chuckled. He said, “I believe so? That’s not a bad line, Mister.”

It took Caleb a moment to begin dissecting that one. As he did, the stranger calmly began reaching down to remove their gloves in the silence.

The first one came off, and his skin was light purple.

“You know, there are better ways than kidnapping to do this. But I’ve got to say, I like your fire, dear.”

Caleb felt his blood freeze. He suddenly stepped back.

The gloves tucked neatly into their belt and the stranger—not so strange—took off their mask.

Those horns weren’t actually part of the visor.

But Caleb knew that.

His gait uneven, arms quaking, he stepped back again.

This was answered with a raised eyebrow, another pout.

“What? Are you only getting cold feet now?”

Shakily, Caleb raised a hand. He pointed. He gaped. Then finally, found the words—

“M—Mollymauk? Mollymauk Tealeaf, is that you?”

Molly stroked his chin. He blinked a few times.

And then his eyes went wide.

“That…that name, wait, that’s—” He shoved his hands into his pockets. There was a second of rifling, loud as thunder, and then he produced a scrap of paper, stained and crumpled—

He shook it around like crazed, astonished flag. 

“That’s the—that’s the name—but then—did you write this letter?”      

—

Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!

[citrus-himmel]

The quill got twisted one more time around her fingers before Nami finally allowed it to fall back onto the drafting table, bone deep exhaustion after countless nights of little to no sleep finally taking its toll. How the utensil clattered against the wooden surface sounded too loud in the otherwise quiet room, not even a breeze coming in from the open window to her left. Before Nami could think twice, her head twisted to stare expectantly at the door, too tired to feel any form of real dread. It's late, well past midnight, and normally if she made any type of noise at this hour one of Arlong's henchmen wouldn't care about breaking down the door, more than ready to violently discipline her if she stepped out of line. With some of them, not even Arlong's orders were enough to stop them. You're nothing more than a tool.

Nami sighed softly when, after a few tense minutes of watching the dim light filtering in from the crack at the bottom of the door, waiting for movement, the door didn't slam open. Whoever was on watch just outside her prison must have been asleep. That's the only explanation she could come up with. It happened on more than one occasion in the past. Some of the men Arlong had working under him weren't exactly the most reliable. Returning her attention to the map she was currently in the process of making, Nami trailed bloodshot, tired eyes over the crudely drawn lines. They're made out of necessity. There's none of her usual passion in the drawings, no enthusiasm. Just hastily drafted, dead scrawls of ink printed on the cheapest drafting paper money can buy. A thin hand shifted to trace one of the lines that Nami messed up on earlier, but didn't see the point of correcting before the ink properly dried. It wasn't like Arlong would notice, or care, so why should she? Even if he did, the consequences were so predictable now that Nami was more than used to them. Maybe he'd get more creative the next time Nami 'disobeyed' him. Fingers curled absently against the paper as her thoughts wandered, gaze leaving her work-in-progress to take in the piles upon piles of other completed maps he forced her into making over the years. Her small room was a mess of them. Even the ones she faked, he refused to get rid of. A reminder for when you feel like being a brat, Arlong told her in the beginning, that sinister smirk accompanying the not so subtle threat. Some were tear-stained and smudged beyond recognition because of how he loved to roughly rub her face against the still wet ink like a naughty dog. Others were even more crumpled and in worse condition from when he decided to get a little more brutal than his typical move of crushing her head under his palm. Nami made sure to keep them all together in the darkest corner of the room, somewhere she didn't frequent, only sparing them a glance on nights like this. Slowly, so her rickety chair that was on the verge of falling apart didn't make too much noise scraping against the uneven wooden floor, Nami pushed herself away from her drafting table and stood up. She made sure to grab the lone candle given to her for light from the corner of the table, then moved over to the aforementioned pile of maps, brown eyes taking on a faraway look once she dropped to her knees. How long had it been since he took over her village? Five, going on six years? Either way, it was too long. Nami didn't think gathering a hundred thousand Beri would take this long, but here she was, barely at the half-way mark. That in and of itself wasn't an easy feat. She had to do some unthinkable things just to get this far. Worse than just stealing from filthy pirates who were none-the-wiser. There was no doubt in her mind that she would need to continue doing said things, too. What other heinous acts would Nami have to force herself through to get the rest? Why did it matter so damn much? Her entire village already hated her, probably more than they hated Arlong and his crew, and she couldn't really blame them. The hatred was more than deserved. She was a traitor. Bellemere was probably looking down on her right now absolutely disgusted with the vile thing she'd turned into. Nami wouldn't be surprised if she was even disappointed in the choices she'd made. Using her skills to help the enemy. A let down, through and through. Nami didn't realize she was subconsciously gripping at her left shoulder—the tattoo—until the slight sting of her nails digging into skin registered, ripping her from her spiralling thoughts. Teeth clenched, a lump of heavy emotion forming in her throat that Nami tried, and failed, to swallow down. She didn't remove her hand. Instead, Nami's grip tightened and then she dragged, thin lines of blood welling up to the surface of rather deep scratches. It didn't take long for the rage to come after that. ❝ Damn you... Damn you for destroying my life, ❞ Nami hissed out through gritted teeth, tear-blurred vision staring down at the incriminating maps in front of her. In a fit of anger, she growled and swiped aggressively at the pile with her free hand, forcing a flurry of papers and other small knick knacks surrounding it to scatter about the room. More noise, far louder than when she dropped her pen, but at this point she didn't care. Nami was tired. Tired of dealing with being treated worse than dirt; tired of being hated by the people she was trying her damnedest to protect; tired of working under the very person who murdered her guardian right before her eyes. Tired of it all. Unfortunately, when Nami found herself spiralling like this, thoughts heavily saturated with self-hatred and disgust, she also got self-destructive. She knew exactly what would take her mind off of how she was feeling, give her a taste of what she truly deserved, and also knew exactly how to get it. Not that it was very hard to do living under the thumb of a man who would no doubt kill her when she was no longer useful to him. This time the door did slam open, metal handle banging back against the wall from the force, followed by a litany of curses and heavy, angered footsteps from whoever was on watch duty. Nami was prepared for it. The anxiety, emotional pain and anger quickly got pushed aside to make way for an emotionless, cocky smirk, which she levelled on the man who barged in when she stood back up and slowly turned around to face him. ❝ What the fuck do you think you're doing?! ❞ The Fishman roared, taking her wrist in a bruising grip to hold it above her head and roughly shaking her like a ragdoll, not seeming to care about the blood now trickling down her arm. ❝ Stupid wench, do you realize what time it is? ❞ Already so angry. Good. Nami knew Arlong ordered his men not to harm her, but all she had to do was say the right words to tick them off and they would act without thinking of said orders, especially the idiots like this one seemed to be. Giving her arm a tug, definitely not using enough strength to get out of his grip, Nami tilted her head off to the side, as if confused. ❝ Why... I believe it's half-past kiss my ass, ❞ she stated in a sickeningly sweet tone. It got the desired effect. If he wasn't already angry, he definitely was now. Absolutely livid if his features twisting up was anything to go by, and it had Nami lighting up inside, even after getting swiftly backhanded. Her head knocked harshly to the side, blood flooding her mouth from accidentally biting into her cheek, but she couldn't stop herself from chuckling. Please. Don't let me think... Don't let me feel anything else... ❝ Fucking bitch. Seems you need to be put in your place, again. ❞ Yes, it seems I do...

[maximusthewolfe]

Letters I Never Sent

We all want to know what’s in that envelope, right? 

Here are a bunch of things Eliot Waugh wrote and didn’t send. And one that maybe, just maybe, he will. 

Also on AO3

Eliot pilfered a stack of parchment paper from the drawer of an old desk in a room where he used to sleep as High King. He grabbed it and ran. Down a hall, around a corner, his feet skittering over one another as they tapped down a spiral staircase and skidded into a hallway. Moments. He only had moments. If he was gone too long, Margo would ask questions he wasn't willing to answer. If he stayed in one place for too long, he risked getting caught. He unfolded the paper, pulled a pen from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and....tried.

Q,

Don’t do it. Please don’t do it.

Love,

Eliot.

It wasn't enough. Of course it wasn't enough. He crumpled up the pathetic attempt and started on a new sheet, his hand shaking slightly as he set it on the smooth, cream-colored surface.

Quentin,

We both know I’m not going to send this. So why the fuck am I writing it? Words are - fucking stupid, right? It’s all fucking stupid. I have to do the right thing. I can’t be selfish here, and I know that because of you.

I hate you for that.

I love you for everything.

Fuck.

With a short, soft grunt he pulled this one up, too, balled it, and threw it across the hall where it settled a few feet from the discarded first attempt. How, how was he supposed to do this? How could he convince Quentin Makepeace Coldwater to not save the world. The one thing he'd wanted to do from the moment he found out magic really existed. The one thing he believed would give his life meaning. Was it even possible? What could he possibly say that would change that stubborn man's mind?

Q,

Peaches and Plums. We get proof of concept like that. We can have it again. Fuck the seam. We’ll figure it out. We always do.

Love,

Eliot

He felt raw, ripped open for the world to see, as he read the words back. Like two fucking fruits could somehow encapsulate an entire lifetime spent together, or like they could explain why he'd said no when they returned. As if anything could manage that Herculean feat. He heard rustling somewhere in the distance. He folded the remaining parchment and tore a stamp off the sheet, sticking it to the outside of an envelope and stowing it alongside the parchment inside his jacket. He ripped the letter attempt in half and returned to the dungeons, his heart aching and his head swimming.

Quentin,

I wrote....a lot of versions of this. I told Margo I already sent it. She thought I told Josh to drink himself to death. In her defense, I'm not sure that was an entirely unfair accusation. I let it go. I just wanted to save a stamp.

She wrote one for the last stamp. She told Josh goodbye.

It’s not the same.

But I get it.

I don’t want you to do what you’re about to do, Q. I don’t want you to throw away the chance I have to be braver. I don’t want you to throw away the chance WE have at proving that concept once and for all.

But I get it.

Save the world and all that, right?

But. Q.

I love you.

I really fucking love you.

If you're gonna die, at least die knowing that.

Love,

Eliot

He should have been making quick work of his time by this god forsaken time-jumping mailbox, sending the letter he was writing to a dead man about, but instead it was tucked into his back pocket. And here he was, kneeling beside a boulder on the outskirts of town, rushing to summarize the whole contents of his heart in a way that might - not even guaranteed, just a might - get Quentin back. He had time, but it wasn't his. It was borrowed from Margo, borrowed from Whitespire guards, borrowed from any absently wandering questing beasts or gods who might come across his path at any moment. Borrowed time. The only kind of time he knew, it seemed, when it came to Quentin. Borrowed time, but he was determined to make something of it for once.

Q,

I know you have to.

Please know I love you.

We had one lifetime together, I’m sure we’ll find another.

Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I’ll see you in the next one. I promise not to fuck that one up.

Eternally yours,

Eliot

That felt - closer, somehow. Maybe it was the copious swearing. But it didn't seem right. What if there wasn't a next one? And besides, he didn't want a fucking timeline 41. He wanted this timeline. This life. He didn't want the slate to have to be wiped clean in order for him to get it right for once. And suddenly, just like that, he was mad again. More than mad. Furious. A strangled something-like-a-yell fought its way out of his throat and he ripped the parchment from the stack and tossed it across the expanse of the forest, as far as he could. "Fuck you, Quentin," he shouted, and the echo of his voice against the trees betrayed him. It mirrored his own brokenness back at him, and he hated it. Hated everything. He scribbled down one letter, and then another in quick succession.

Quentin,

For fuck’s sake, don’t be the volunteer tomato. You’re smarter than that. You don’t have to be the chosen one.

-Eliot

*****

Quentin,

You know I don't give a shit, right? I don't give a flying fuck if you love Alice. If you love me. If you love both of us if you love neither of us if you if you if you.

I don't fucking care.

I just want you here to love at all. I want you here to be floppy-haired and doe-eyed and full of belief and faith and YOU underneath all that pain.

I want you here so I can look at you and you can look at me and we can know we're not alone.

I want you here so you can love Alice, if you want to.

Or you can love me, if you want to.

Or you can love someone else altogether. Or no one. Whatthefuckever, you know?

Just. Be here. Come back. Don't do this to us all.

-Eliot

Neither of those were right. Jesus. He made small paper projectiles out of them both and threw them, twisting his fingers as the flew through the air so that they caught fire and turned to ash before they ever reached the ground. The magic felt good - terrible, but good. Controlled chaos, he'd heard Fogg say once. The problem was, Brakebills expected chaotic creatures to understand control. Eliot had increasingly prevalent doubts about whether or not that was possible. Whether or not human nature and magician nature diverged in this very specific way. Wherever magic went, tragedy seemed to follow. Whether it was the chicken or the egg, he didn't really care. All he knew was the pain of the heartbreak and the way it made his chest feel hollow at the same time it made his head feel like it was about to explode. He inhaled, closing his eyes as the breath moved out of his lungs. He bent down to grab the pen where he'd dropped it in favor of the spell and knelt down to try again.

Q,

Some of us need you more than we know how to say.

Some of us fuck up because we’re scared of being happy.

Some of us can’t imagine having something so beautiful in our grasp and not breaking it.

Some of us need you to prove us wrong.

Prove me wrong,

Eliot

Prove me wrong. As soon as he wrote it, he knew. Maybe he'd known the whole time. He was, so very fucking often, a mystery even to himself. But Quentin wasn't a mystery to him. That's how he knew. Quentin would have loved to prove Eliot wrong. It was, in fact, one of his favorite pastimes. On Earth, in Fillory. Quentin lived to tear down Eliot's carefully constructed charisma. He relished any opportunity to break past Eliot's masterfully-placed cynicism. If he sent that letter, it might just work. But what did "work" look like anyway? If Quentin didn't go to the Seam, what would happen? What did Jane Chatwin mean when she said they won? Hadn't they won before? Couldn't they win again? What was so different about this time? Eliot didn't know. But he couldn't know, either. He folded this one and stored it in the free pocket of his pants. Maybe he didn't need Quentin to prove him wrong. Maybe, for once, he needed to prove himself wrong.

It went against everything in him. It laughed in the face of his pain and it ripped and pulled and cut at the already very ragged, very wrecked shreds of his heart. It was exactly the opposite of everything he wanted to do, in this moment. Which was exactly why he wrote:

Quentin,

Jane Chatwin told me something I don’t know how to live with. Something I don’t know how I ever lived without.

We. We are the reason you ever went to Fillory in the first place. In the first timeline, you ran away to escape the grief of losing me.

In the first timeline.

Maybe it’s always been us. Maybe we’re the Romeo and Juliet. Maybe we have the great love. But the great love always gets the tragic ending, right?

I asked her to save you again. She said no. I thought I could find a way to do it anyway. I'm wondering now if she was right.

If I saved you, could I live with myself? Knowing the win that we'd be giving up? Honestly? Probably. Because I'm selfish like that, you know?

And that's the difference, I think. Between the two of us. The difference that counts. If I could save you, you wouldn't let me.

I know what you’re about to do. I know I can’t stop you.

I also know we found each other. In the first timeline. In this timeline. In the timeline we created for ourselves.

I didn't mean it when you said we should try and I told you neither of us would choose each other. I was scared. You scare me. You make me feel alive, and that - scares me shitless. But I suspect you maybe knew that. I'm sorry I didn't make it easier for you to call me on it.

We’ll find each other again. Do what you have to do.

We are the proof, Quentin.

Yours,

Eliot.

P.S. Maybe I wasn’t your first choice in every timeline. Maybe you weren’t mine, either. But Quentin Coldwater, you are the love of my lives. And I’ll be damned if you go to the grave not knowing that.

Before he had a chance to think himself out of the moment. Before he could let his wants catch up with the tiny seed of rightness he felt in his gut, he hastily folded the paper and placed it in the pre-stamped envelope. And then, with slow, deliberate strokes, he addressed it. He wrote Quentin's name with reverence, feeling every line like the cipher to a code that his heart understood when his head would not. When he was finished he stood, brushed the dirt off his pants, and delivered Margo's final letter to Josh.

His borrowed time was up, for now. So he stowed the letter in his pocket and returned to his last real lifeline. The one that still existed, in this plane. He'd have his chance soon enough. And maybe by then the seed of rightness would have grown into something courageous enough to do something with that chance.

To: Quentin Coldwater

Before He Went to the Seam

God, he hoped that seed would grow.

[bngtanah]

The Difference Between Boys & Girls | o7

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss.

pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park) feat. Park Jimin (Brian Yi)  x Named OC characters: meet the cast.

genre: angst, smut, fluff word count: 3k chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14 warning: boyfriend!hoseok, jealous!hoseok, painter!jimin, friends to lovers trope, college au, angst, sexual themes, slow burn, arguing, pining

a/n: this ones a bit short, sorry!

Sammy stopped waiting for Erin to return long after the sun had set and the plates of food he'd set out for both of them grew cold and inedible. His intentions for the night were simple; treat Erin to a highly deserved meal prepared by someone who was not him, commend her for how hard she had been working lately in order to do as well as she could on her few remaining final exam and somehow during the night offhandedly mention the fact that he was in love with her and probably has been since the first time they met. Just to gauge her reaction. It was a simple plan that didn't require any extra factors to be accomplished but it definitely did require Erin to be present, which she was not.

A frown turned down the corners of Samuel's lips and created an expression that was rarely seen on his naturally bright and cheery face.  With one final glance down at his cell phone that had been quiet all night, Sam huffed and pushed himself back from the coffee table then stood up. It was well after 12 and Erin hadn't called, texted or left any indication of where she might have been and what was taking her so long to come back home. He thought about calling her as he blew out the single candle that was placed in the middle of the coffee table, Samuel argued with himself the entire time he put away the extra food and ultimately decided that he shouldn't. He was worried about her but that didn't really give him ample reason to treat her like a child breaking curfew, especially since he had a vague idea of where could be at this hour.

Samuel knew that Erin wasn't exactly a party-going socialite so she couldn't have been out dancing; if she was staying late at the library or work she would have texted him or left a note for him somewhere when she came home. He had also taken note of the aftermath of clothing and makeup left behind by hurricane Erin all over her room which meant she went someplace where she wanted to look her best and there was only one reason Erin really dressed up these days. 

Brian.

The image of that orange-haired punk putting his hands on Erin made Sammy grit his teeth and fling his body back against the couch. He was letting his imagination get the better of him but just thought of anyone but him comforting Erin after a long day at work, touching her or anything else made Samuel's blood boil. His feelings were irrational and childish and even if Samuel recognised that it wouldn't have stopped the anger that found root in his heart or the ache that pinged him after he allowed his agitation to settle down.

Erin was no longer just his.

She was content in finding happiness elsewhere and Samuel had to find a way to accept that. They were getting older and even though he would have loved to, Sam supposed they couldn't continue to simply play house for the rest of their lives. Eventually, they had to grow up and maybe that meant growing apart too.

Brian was normally a late riser. It was never unusual for him to still be in a deep sleep well after 12 in the afternoon but today was different. Today he was up with the sun and the scent of lingering arousal and a familiar gentle aroma of woman’s perfume filled his nose. The first thing he felt was something against his face, warm, soft brown and ticklish. A yawn forced his jaw to go slack as the sunlight shone through the window, brightening up his bedroom. A nest of brown hair rested below his nose, belonging to the naked feminine body that was cuddled up against him. 

He swept a few strands of her hair away from Erin's slumbering face as a small, tender smile crept upon his lips. Her current expression was in such contrast to the one she was wearing just a few hours ago when she crying out with pleasure beneath him. Now she was so quiet. So calm. Brian wasn't sure which one he liked better. He pressed a kiss on her earlobe, then traveled down to her neck and brushed his lips gently against her skin until she stirred slightly and turned to her side, muttering something that sounded like 'Quit playing Sammy', but Brian couldn't be sure.

He ignored the doubt and peeled himself away from Erin's body, the cold air of his loft attacking his body the second he was no longer covered by the plush comforters. Brian pulled a pair of joggers on his lower body and decided that he might as well pick up the rest of the clothing that had randomly landed around the floor of his bedroom while he was at it. In a careful and lazy manner he retrieved most of Erin's clothes and placed them on the edge of the bed near where she lay, he grinned again when Erin rolled onto her back and spread her arms out at her side. Her jacket was in his hand and he was about to place on the bed with the rest of her clothes but something fell out of the pocket and gave him pause. 

Brian knew the easy thing to do would have been to put the folded up sheet of paper back into the jacket pocket since it wasn't his and he didn't really have a reason to read it, but he was curious and figured it was probably just some leftover fax from work that Erin had forgotten to send out. It wouldn't hurt to read it.

So Brian unfolded the sheet of paper and instead of seeing figures and numbers or a schedule of some sort like he expected Brian found himself reading a handwritten note from Erin's roommate. There was nothing scandalous written, and it definitely seemed like a friendly gesture between friends but something about the way Samuel wrote 'Love, Sammy' with a silly little heart in place of the 'o' and the general tone of the note rubbed Brian the wrong way. It was all just so.... intimate. An innocent kind of intimacy but still an intimacy that Brain often didn't feel when he was alone with Erin. The paper crumpled in Brian's fist and he shoved it back into the pocket where it fell from and tossed the jacket onto the bed before swiftly moving out of the room.

It took another few minutes for Erin to wake up and realise that she was alone in bed in a bedroom that did not belong to her. The initial panic within her subsided when she remembered that she was still in Brian's loft and her arms stretched far above her head as she sat up and glanced around the empty room. Everything looked so different bathed in sunlight but Erin didn't allow herself to linger for too long, she was out of bed and dressed in a matter of seconds and quickly went to search for her boyfriend. 

Erin smiled widely when she caught sight of him in the kitchen fumbling around with something she couldn't see. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and buried her face into the space between his shoulder blades, pressing her plush lips against his warm bare skin. 

"You let me wake up alone, rude" She giggled and hardly noticed the way he tensed up when her lips made contact with his body.

"Sorry," Brian muttered in response but didn't turn around.

Erin was slightly put off by his curt response and her eyes squinted downward for a moment but she pushed on regardless, concluding that Brian just may not have been a morning person.

"So um, I was thinking that since I have my final final in a few hours and I can't really stay for too long today maybe we could meet up this afternoon? You promised to take me back that speakeasy pub last month and we still haven't been back."

Brian shrugged and gave Erin a halfhearted 'maybe' in response but when he stopped washing dishes and moved from the sink to the refrigerator like she wasn't even holding him his actions left her confused and honestly a little hurt. She didn't understand why he was acting like his, especially after last night. 

"Are you okay Brian?" She asked gently, still hovering around the sink.

"I'm fine" he replied with his head hidden behind the door of the fridge.

Erin shuffled on the heels of her feet and bit down on her lip, he definitely didn't sound fine.

"Are you sure because you seem a little...upset? Is this about last night? Do you think we're moving too fast or something?" Erin paused and laced her fingers together "Do you regret sleeping with me?"

Her last question made Brian shut the door and look directly at her for the first time that morning, his expression soft and apologetic.

"What? No, of course I don't" he said in a whisper as he reached forward to pull her against his chest.

"Then why are you acting so weird?"

Brian pressed his lips together and rested his cheek against Erin's temple. 

"It's silly..."

"I still wanna hear it"

"...fine. I found something this morning that made me a little upset that's all"

"Upset? With me?" Erin asked and pulled her head back to look up at her boyfriend.

"Yeah. I came across the little note that your roommate left you when I was picking up your clothes and I didn't like it."

"Wait a minute, you were snooping through my pockets while I slept? Do distrust me that much?"

Erin completely detached herself from Brian's body and put an ample amount of space between them. She could understand if he was upset about something that actually warranted a reaction but there was nothing written there to explain this kind of reaction.

"I wasn't snooping, it fell out!"

"That doesn't matter who are you to be rifling through my personal effects? That note wasn't addressed to you so you had no business reading it, and what the hell could have made you so damn vexed? Is no one else allowed to hope I have a good day but you?"

Brian exhaled deeply and girded his hips, he was doing his best to keep a level head but with Erin's voice raising slightly the more she spoke it was becoming harder for him to remain docile. 

"It's not what was written on the paper but the tone of it all that bothered me."

"Because you can judge tone just by reading something?"

"No, but I can judge it based on past experience, I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not paying attention Erin. You've said that there's nothing going on between you two I not so convinced of that. I mean we can barely get through one date without you mentioning his name at least five times, trust me I've counted."

Erin gasped, her fingers raking through the front of her hair as she turned away from him for a few moments before turning back to face him with her features shrouded in anger.

"Are you fucking kidding me? If this has been bothering you for so long why are you just now bringing it up, you've had so many opportunities to ask me about this?"

"I didn't think it would be a problem before now, and look I don't want to keep bringing this up but can you honestly tell me that he doesn't feel anything for you? I'm not saying he's got to be in love with you but you can't live with someone and not-"

"Of course, we love each other!" Erin bellowed before Brian had a chance to finish his sentence, her gaze wild with anger as she stepped toward Brian who looked startled. 

"We've known each other for over half the duration of our lives, we have shared every major moment in life since middle school. I know that Sammy loves me with every part of him that is capable of giving love but there is a difference between loving someone and being in love with them. He's not in love with me." Erin noticed the slight tremble in her voice when she spoke, the part of her that still wished Sammy felt some other way was still alive and ached when the reality of her words hit her.

"I-i'm sorry, I shouldn't have overreacted..." Brian stuttered and attempted to reach for her shoulder but Erin side stepped him and shook her head.

"I'm going to be late for my test."

It's well into the afternoon when Erin finally returns to her apartment and finds Sammy bundled up on his pullout bed watching something on Netflix that she didn't recognize. Silently she kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag and made a beeline straight for her roommate, forcing her way into his lap which made him sit up rigidly and peer down at her.

"Can you hold me?" were her only words and Samuel was quick to oblige her by wrapping his arms tightly around her body and holding Erin tight to his chest. He recognized the pained expression on her face and knew that she would probably need a minute before she felt like telling him what was wrong. So they both sat in a comfortable silence, the background noise from the television filling the void until Samuel finally looked down at Erin and ticked up one of his eyebrows.

"What's wrong, noona?"

Erin took a deep breath and relayed her entire day to Sam, the fight with Brian, her race to her university, the fact that she nearly missed her opportunity to take her final exam and the fact that she was so distracted from her argument with Brian she may have bombed her final. She was on the verge of tears by the time she was done speaking but Samuel calmed her in a way that only he could by pressing his soft lips against her temple and gently stroking the length of her hair, muttering gentle compliments against her skin the entire time.

"I am 100% sure you didn't fail that final, I've heard you reciting literary nonsense in your sleep for the past two weeks. Even if you were distracted there's no way you could have failed."

Erin pouted, she was glad for the reassurance but her gut was telling her otherwise.

"And about your fight with...your boyfriend," 

Erin clamped up the moment he mentioned the fight. In her haste to tell him what was bothering her she had completely forgotten to censor herself, she didn't mean to mention that he was the cause of their fight.

"You know he's wrong, right? I mean I love you, you know I do but...I-....you're family it'd be weird to think of you in any other way." Sammy managed to crack a playful smile even though he was dead inside, those words pained him to say more than he thought but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He didn't want to sway her heart, not like this when she was vulnerable and troubled. Erin sniffled and nodded quickly, pretending to be relieved when he said the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear.

"That's what I told him," She said softly and pulled back from and made and effort to get off his lap, "Sorry for bombarding you like this, I just needed a hug." Erin chuckled and stood to her feet.

"I'll always be here to give you one" Sam replied and then neither of them spoke for a few seconds, staring each other down and holding their gaze like they both wanted to say something but in the end no one spoke up and Erin found herself awkwardly waving and walking away.

She slumped to the ground the second she closed the door behind her and Erin buried head between her knees, she had been trying to hold in the tears since Samuel held her but hearing him admit what she already feared was the final straw to break the dam of her tears. What started as a gentle stream soon evolved into a silent sob as Erin pressed her head backwards against the door in a shallow attempt to stop herself from violently weeping like a teenager. She already had suspicions that Sammy didn't feel the same way so why did this hurt so much? A part of her wanted to go back out to the living room, grab her roommate by the collar of his thin white t-shirt and explain to him that she believed that they were soul mates and they belonged together she didn't care if he saw it or not. But what would that prove? It would shake the foundations of their friendship and Erin wasn't so sure their relationship could handle such a blow.

Instead of mustering up courage Erin dragged her body towards her bed and pushed herself underneath the mess of clothes and blankets, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.

[spiltscribbles]

combo of 7 & 8 for pynch hehe :)

Notes: Thank you so much love!!!  |   Send Me A Prompt 

.-

“It’s the last straw! I’m done! I’m over it!” Blue stabs the spoon into her yogurt, teeth clenched, and knuckles white. Adam, like the good friend he is, just calmly slides it out of her hand and gives her a banana instead.

“She’s not that bad of a roommate,” he tells her with a one armed shrug. The look she shoots him can only be described as the personification of betrayal. Adam can’t believe it’s the third time he’s rolled his eyes at her and it hasn’t hit nine in the morning yet.

“They were naked Adam! Nude! Birthday suits!”

“The biblical state,” Henry tacks on and Blue nods along graciously.

Make it four times before nine in the morning.

“It’s Orla…. She’s eccentric

“It was on the couch! I sit on that couch Adam!” blue hits her hand against the table, fully indignant now.

“I really would recommend having it at the very least steam cleaned before partaking in that activity  again,” Henry advises sagely as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Oh no! No way! I will never sit on that couch another day of my life!”

“Glad to see you’re taking this reasonably,” Adam says, voice blithe, as he brings their cereal bowls to the sink.

“Don’t start with me Adam! You haven’t seen the things I have! The freckles and birthmarks— The hair.” Blue shutters and henry slings an arm around her slim shoulders in comfort, clucking his tongue all the while.

Fifth…. It’s been the fifth time now.

“So how do you reckon you’ll live in there without sitting on the couch ever again?” He needles with a quirked brow, fully having decided to just fall into the dramatics. It’s always easier for him at the end of the day  when just excepting it.

“I’m moving out! Duh.”

“Oo, My Blueberry is becoming her very own American woman!” Henry preens. “Let me get you a chic new outfit Sabrina style!”

“That movie is sexist and culturally appropriates middle eastern garb.” Blue sniffs.

“Good to know that the new Blue has still got all her old spunk.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Adam tells them, lips pinched.

“We bring bursts of color into your otherwise stale existence,” Blue argues loftily.

“Ridiculous,” Adam repeats with feeling.

“Lying doesn’t become you my dear Henrietta Prince,” Henry tells him far too frankly before turning his attention back to Blue. “You know you’ve got a place here if you want it.”

“Where?” Blue snorts. “In your living room?”

“Our couch doesn’t have naked Orla germs,” Adam offers halfheartedly. 

Blue just levels him with a unimpressed look, and Adam’s got flashbacks to junior year when Maura caught the pair of them getting drunk off Persephone’s peach wine coolers.

It’s terrifying.

“Charming. But no need, I’ve already begun sifting around for places nearby that are looking for a new roommate.”

Adam takes the papers she’s already printed off and begins shuffling through them.

“This one has like five cats,” he tells her with a curled lip.

“It sounds homey.”

“You’re allergic,” Adam rebukes. 

“I’m desperate Adam!” Blue reminds him.

“This one has a picture of him wearing a MAGA hat on his facebook profile pic,” Henry informs her, holding a second listing.

“Okay not that desperate,” Blue crumples it up and tosses it to the side. Adam would tell her to throw it in the trash like an adult but reasons she’s having a moment. 

“Mmm, what about this one,” she waves around the paper and Henry takes it to look over himself.

“It’s with three random dudes.”

“Three normal looking dudes,” Blue presses. “And so to reiterate, I’m desperate.”

“Ted Bundy was a normal looking dude,” Adam charges, making Blue glare at him menacingly.

“Adam I can still see flesh in my nightmares!”

Sixth, sixth time he’s rolled his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ Adam is gonna be sent to an early grave because of  an aneurism from them.

.-

The problem is that when Blue sets her mind on something, not even the angels above can dissuade  her from it, so that’s why Adam spends his Saturday afternoon— the only one he’s had off from a shoot in literally three months— driving to some sketch apartment with her and Henry, in the latter’s abrasively flashy sports car. 

He feels like a fraud.

“Blueberry are you sure you put in the right address?” Henry asks, face scrunched in confusion once they cruise into the open parking spot in front of a dilapidated looking  manufacturing building.

Blue flickers her eyes back down towards her phone before glancing up with a sure nod. 

“Look it says Monmouth right over there on the sign near the front door. This’s the right place.” 

“Right place to get murdered,” Adam intones darkly. 

Blue only tosses him a glare before slipping out.

“Are we bad people for going along with this?” Henry asks Adam, his mouth downturned in concern.

“Nah, we were bad people long before this.” Adam assures him wryly  before following suit.

.-

“I don’t want a new roommate,” Ronan tells Gansey for the third time in the past hour. In turn, Gansey only rolls his eyes before trying to stuff the old pizza boxes into the trash can. God fucking damn it, Helen’s right, they do live like pigs.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Noah contends. “It’ll bring some new energy in this place.”

“Oy, what did I tell you about saying shit like energy and chakras.”

“That’s it’s something a douche hipster would say and you’d throw me out a window if you heard it again.”

“And yet.”

“All I can say to that is dude you need to clear your chakras.” Noah says, fully goading, and making it so an unexpected laugh tears out of Ronan, the total prick.

“For the love that is all holy and right, will you two please just attempt to act normal when she gets here.”

“It’s a girl?”

“A girl with models as friends,” Noah perks, completely beaming. “And you know what that means,” Noah winks and Ronan, for the good of the public, cuffs him on the back of the head. Hard.

“You fucking sly dog, how do you even know that?”

“Preliminary interview through the phone,” Noah shrugs. “She sounds nice, better than living with that guy with a pet snake.”

“That snake was fucking cool.” Ronan argues.

“There’s a one pet limit here, and your raven has taken the slot.” Gansey huffs, hand on his hip like Aurora would do if Ronan and Declan were being especially rowdy. “And Noah don’t ask about her model friends, that’s creepy.”

“That’s kind of my shtick man.” Noah points out, wide eyed.

“Less horror film creepy and more loser from Revenge of the Nerds creepy,” Gansey clarifies scoldingly.

Noah swallows down a lump, properly cowed.

It’s right then when the doorbell rings and Gansey frantically puts in the last of the empty cups into the dishwasher from the sink before scurrying to the doorway, Noah and Ronan on his heals.

Ronan knows he lost the battle and the war the moment the door swings open and the first thing the pixie sized, colorfully dressed girl says is a glowing “Blank 182?” While gesturing towards Noah’s… Well Noah’s everything.

Noah looks like the cat who’s gotten into the cream, Gansey looks more glowing than usual, and Ronan can’t take his eyes off the sandy haired boy she’s brought along with her.

.-

Living with Blue is a beast that Ronan can’t quite figure out how to defeat.

She, probably like any sane person, expects the house to be in some sort of semblance— aka no more jackets and other innocuous articles of clothing thrown about the shared living space, and for dishes to be rinsed after use and put into the dishwasher accordingly. 

“Your rooms can be as trashy as you want, but can we please not make the whole place a pigsty,” she had sniffed with a cocked head and jut out hip. Gansey of course nodded giddily— on account to his staring at her all moony ever since meeting her— Noah had shrugged, indifferent. But Ronan held out as long as possible, sneer on his lips. But alas, she met his every zig with a zag and he found himself in a stalemate.

But Ronan could deal with the tidiness and even the impromptu yoga sessions she holds with randoms from her classes at university. Hell he could deal with her weird obsession with Yogurt too, and can actually listen to her rants about the patriarchy and institutional blocks that keeps the impoverished and people of color and women down from being able to achieve feats once only meant for wealthy white men. Fuck, Ronan’s come to think her particular brand of spitfire humor is actually hilarious.

So yes all of this is fine. But with Blue comes them. Henry Cheng, best friend she met at some art class her freshman year. And fucking Adam Parrish, apparently someone she’s known for so long and so intimately that she refers to him as family more often than not.

And yeah. Ronan is not jealous and Noah needs to take that fucking sneer off his face.

“You’re jealous!”

“I am not jealous!” Ronan yells emphatically for the fifth time.

“Ronan has a crush!”

“Noah God so help me!” He threatens, totally venomous.

“You’re in loveee!” 

“Noah I will destroy you!”

.-

Okay so Ronan might be sorta, kinda, not jealous…. But bothered. Yes Bothered. He’s bothered because he can’t fucking figure out Blue and Adam’s deal. One second they’re sniping at one another about the economy and the next she’s lying her head in his lap while he’s carding a hand through her hair.

Fucking salacious shit.

But occasionally, on especially good days, Blue falls asleep early and instead of going back home right away, Adam stays. He stays and he shares a drink with Ronan on the porch and they talk about nothing really, but also a lot of things. Ronan find’s out he basically grew up with Blue, that she was his first everything. He’s deaf in his left ear and he didn’t mean to fall into modeling but he didn’t have enough money to finish the semester at MIT and instead of giving up he took up some side gigs which eventually culminated into a career of his own. 

Ronan finds out that Adam’s favorite flavor of ice cream is cow tracks and his front tooth is chipped from behind.  Adam has a small, crooked smile and when he laughs its more breath than sound and its absolutely lovely.

Ronan finds this all out but still has no idea whether he has a shot.

And again, he’s bothered.

.-

“I vote on something classic,” Blue tells them with a sip of her shake. (Read the shake Adam bought but Blue somehow still always drinks half of even while she complains about being on a diet, which then leads her to grouse about how Adam stays narrow and lithe even if he eats four quarter pounders back to back).

Sadly, this happened once and only once when Adam was especially stressed over a finals week and hadn’t eaten for literally three straight days. 

She really has seen him at his worst.

“Ooo, let’s watch some singing in the rain! I’m ready to belt out some toons.” Henry crows.

“Oh well if it includes your perfectly pitched singing,” Adam says flatly. Blue promptly elbow checks him and Henry waggles his tongue out.

“Sounds good to me Henry, so where?”

“Your place?” Adam says, brow kinked and trying to smother down the hopefulness in his voice. Of course, it doesn’t work. They know him better than anyone else, and they immediately stick him with matching smirks.

“Pray tell Parrish, me and you have the better entertainment system by far, and yet you’ve been insistent on heading to Blueberry’s place for our weekly movie nights for the past two months…. Hah, I wonder what two months signify?”

“Ooo ooo! I know Henry, I know!” Blue teases swinging her arm up high like an excited school girl. “I just moved into Monmouth and Then Adam over here got all slack jawed and goofily eyed over my scary roommate!”

“Blueberry gets the point!” Henry squawks, giving her a makeshift bracelet out of the straw wrapper.

Adam looks at them both with as much fury as he could muster, cheeks infused red, and jaw locked.

In retort, they only laugh ebulliently.

Adam is so tempted to make new friends.

.-

Ronan opens the door on a random Thursday afternoon a week later and Adam steels his nerves, not about to back down.

“Oh, ah Parrish.” His prominent brows furrow together, suspicious. “Maggot isn’t here yet.”

“I know,” Adam says, head tipped high. “Can I come in?”

Ronan only shrugs as he moves aside to give him the room to enter.

“You look like you have something squirming up your ass,” Ronan tells him, as blunt and as crass as ever.

Adam silently questions to the universe why is it that he’s so resoundingly attracted to him for that.

“You’re so eloquent with your words Lynch, you know that?” Adam tells him, completely flat, and making it so Ronan’s answering grin is something feral and amused.

“So you gonna just stand there looking pretty or actually get it out?”

“Jesus Christ, do you have an ounce of patience in your entire body?”

“I sweat it out at the gym, you wouldn’t know that skinny.” Ronan barbs, hip checking him while he struts to the kitchen.

Adam just glares after his form… His well built and deliciously broad shoulders.

“Still got enough muscle to beat your ass,” Adam teases and Ronan leers, impressed. Adam walks closer, magnetized. 

“So Blue’s enlightened me about something.”

Ronan hikes up a brow, betraying his mask of indifference.

“Is that right. What? Did Maggot make you understand that the hand holding and lovey-dovey looks are getting abrasive?”

Adam is utterly confused to what he’s talking about— Did he find out about the crush, and if so does that mean he’s already, wordlessly rejected Adam. Is Ronan completely uncomfortable right now.

Adam shakes off the questions, is determined to just plunge in for once in his life without beating a situation to death with analysis.

“She’s enlightened me that my crush on you is getting to ridiculous levels of yearning and i should just ask you out like an adult.”

A thousand different expressions pull at Ronan’s face until finding landing at something Adam can only call aw.

“Oh— Ah, wait. Wait do you like me?”

Adam rolls his eyes heavenwards. God he really is going to get an aneurysm.

“You are such a doofus,” Adam sighs before inkling his head forwards and kissing Ronan senseless.

Ronan grabs his head and presses impossibly closer.

.-

Later that night, when Henry and Blue march in with the decided upon movie they both begin to preen at the sight of them, exchange bills with Noah and Gansey too.

Again, Adam is going to be sent to an early grave. But hey, if in the meanwhile Ronan does that thing with his tongue, Adam will at least enjoy his final earthly days.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Brutal (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Teen Warnings: Blood, description of injury Characters: Law, Shachi, Penguin

There was no such thing as a 'no name' pirate crew in the New World. There were still tiers, of course, ranging from the Yonkou and Shichibukai to the Supernovas of their varying generations, to the veteran crews that took their time to pass the Red Line and the crews that didn't quite reach the hundred million bounty before their entrance, but every single one had a history that only required brief research to reveal. Even those formed in the New World were quick to gain infamy, mostly because they spawned from one of the Yonkou territories. Independence from such beginnings was an impressive feat in its own right (although it was rumoured that Akagami no Shanks was less sticky-fingered when it came to fledgling crews).

The Heart Pirates knew this. It was one of the admittedly many reasons for their own delayed crossing of the Red Line as they hung back to gather the final research on the current crews sailing the New World and bolster their own abilities before entering the most dangerous stretch of ocean in the world. By the time they finally ventured past Fishman Island some months later, they were far stronger than they had been at Sabaody. Law was confident that they'd no longer need to form unsavoury truces with unwelcome parties in order to at the least deal with one of the Kuma Clones (although the pirate himself was still another matter).

These facts combined to result in their current situation: a battle between the Heart Pirates, freshly into the New World at last, and a crew from the previous years' Supernova delegates. On paper, they were evenly matched, but paper rarely reflected reality. Experience was a teacher that could not be mimicked, and the Heart Pirates were at a distinct disadvantage, enhanced by their smaller crew size.

Law gritted his teeth, Kikoku bathed in blood as he endeavoured to save his stamina with minimal Rooms. There were too many to simply Amputate in one go, and exhausting himself would both make him a clear target, but also advertise his fruit's drawbacks to the world. They were disadvantaged, but as he kept as much of an eye on his crew as he possibly dared he could see that they were adapting well, working together in groups rather than attempting to fight one on one. Law himself had Bepo watching his back, the comforting wordless cries of the Mink a constant reassurance as the tide of the battle slowly swayed in their favour.

It would be too easy, too much like the protagonists in any fighting story, if they overcame the odds just like that. Law had never considered himself a protagonist.

"Penguin, move!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Law saw a flash of beige, the streak of green and orange betraying it as Shachi, diving towards his nakama and shouldering him out of the way even as a haki-coated fist blasted into his stomach. Armament haki had never been Shachi's specialty, and what meagre resistance he may have generated was annihilated as if it had never existed.

"Shachi!" Penguin screamed, recovering his balance with a roll away from a sword that meant to separate his head from his shoulders and leaping back to his feet, charging the culprit with his spear in hand. The opposing pirate grinned, revealing many missing teeth, and charged up his haki again defensively. Unlike Shachi, Penguin's speciality was armament and his spear pierced through as his offense overpowered the enemy's defence, disabling him instantly (honestly, from the way he fell like a stone Law was fairly sure the man would never rise again).

Shachi was still on his feet, unmoving for several long seconds. Law watched him in horror, frozen in place as his brain automatically catalogued the damage – there must have been something more to that punch, a simple haki-enhanced punch would never have done that much damage – and faintly heard Bepo behind him as the Mink intercepted a blow aimed for the back of Law's head.

Oh so slowly, Shachi moved, his katana slipping from limp fingers as his hands travelled to the bloody mess that was supposed to be his abdomen. Behind his shades, Law got the impression of a single blink.

"Ow," he said dumbly, blood spilling from his mouth and dying his teeth a mottled red before staining his lips and chin. Then he crumpled.

It was as if the world had slowed down. First his knees buckled, legs folding in on themselves as they lost the ability to remain locked in place. His torso followed, arms seemingly floating upwards ever so slightly before gravity shackled them with a violent tug, crashing them into first his torso and then the ground. As his head succumbed to the fall his hair remained suspended, playing around his face as if he were underwater before following the weight of his body to the ground. His hat slipped off in the process, settling all too lightly on the bloodstained ground beside him. The finale was a simple crunch as the impact proved too much for Shachi's shades, shattering the lenses and distorting the frame to reveal eyes lightly closed, as if he were only sleeping.

"SHACHI!"

At Penguin's anguished cry the world abruptly regained sentience, the sounds of the battle crashing over Law all at once as his limbs obeyed subconscious orders to get to the ginger's side. Penguin was already there, tentatively unfurling as much of the crumpled form as he dared to get a better look at the wound. The time for thoughts was long past as Law sacrificed his hoodie – his favourite yellow one with the black hood and three-quarter length sleeves he'd worn on Sabaody – for Penguin to use to staunch the bleeding as best he could even as he generated a Room to assess the damage.

They were in the middle of a battle. Leaving his back undefended to tend to the wounded was suicide, but all Law could think of was how quickly the yellow material was turning red, how Shachi's skin was already several shades lighter than it should be and still paling rapidly.

How Shachi was dying.

It was only once he'd stabilised him as best he could with field medicine that was of barely any use at all, expanding his Room in preparation to teleport them directly into the Tang's infirmary where he could work properly, that he realised his crew had manoeuvred themselves into a protective circle, defending his and Penguin's backs as they worked.

The battle was lost, Law realised. With the crew no longer on the offensive at all, they would be hard pressed to turn the tide back into their favour, especially with three of the strongest fighters down or otherwise occupied.

He sacrificed small boxes, barrels, anything not necessarily a requirement for their ongoing journey, and Shambled the entire crew onto the Tang. The sudden change wasn't good for Shachi, as the ginger was jostled slightly on landing and Penguin lost his grip on the now blood-drenched hoodie, but Law had at least ensured he landed on an infirmary bed, getting straight to work in his home domain.

There was no time to give his crew orders, to tell them to put the Tang into a dive and escape before they were followed, but someone must have kept their head in the panic, because the next thing Law noticed outside of his desperate surgery was the roar of the engines and the rising temperature signifying a racing dive.

He shut the distraction out, too busy with his hands buried too deep in Shachi's abdomen as he desperately pieced the stomach back together. He refused to let Shachi die.

What use was the potential for medical miracles if he couldn't use them to save his nakama?