#an insatiable curiosity for what could have been even though I love the end result

[dg-darkfantasy]

Sorry Huntlow, I have a new OTP

Paulina X William

[djarrex]

Pretty please can we have something where Echo and TBB find out Rex and reader are expecting? Bonus points for Omega's reaction cause I wonder sometimes whether she knows much about the natural way babies are made? I figure she wouldn't have need of that information in the Kaminoans' eyes.

I wanna preface this by expressing the joy I feel and the appreciation I have when you guys come into my inbox asking or wanting to talk about Post-Order 66 Rex and fam. I love it SO MUCH you have no idea :’)

So, if you remember, Hunter was briefly in Insatiable and has a couple lines of dialogue - he even congratulates them on the pregnancy and wishes them well in case he doesn’t see them soon - which is shown during Rex + reader + Hunter’s short interaction. The squad is told the happy news before the events of that particular installment, and I’m thinking that it happens when Rex contacts them to ask if they would be able meet him on [planet] for a little help with [mission].

Find the rest of the series and related works in the Post-Order 66 Rex ML

Let’s go back in time when Rex makes contact with TBB, which preludes the events of Insatiable: (pregnant!reader, TBB + Omega finds out, about 1.6k words)

<<<>>>

"We’re being hailed.” 

All members on board the Marauder drop what they’re doing and turn their attention to Echo, who had just called out and is signaling for everyone to congregate in the cockpit. Hunter sheathes the knife he’d been twirling in his fingers and nods before stepping towards the rear of the ship and calling for Omega, while Wrecker sets down Gonky and waves her over. Tech and Echo are already sat in the cockpit, getting the signal steady for the incoming transmission to come through.

"What is it?" Omega jumps down from the gunner's nest - now her room thanks to Wrecker's kind heart and creativity - and joins her brothers in the cockpit. The pilot seats are swiveled around and facing the small space in the center of all of them - the bust of a familiar captain popping into view. "Oh, it's Rex! Hi Rex!" She waves at his translucent blue form with a giddy smile plastered on her face. “Where is-”

"Hello Omega," you chime in with a smile as your head pops into the perimeter of the holo. Her sweet face lights up even more, and her eyes move back and forth between you both, unsure of whom to focus on. From the room you’re still staying at in a high-rise located in Yerbana City, the two of you exchange quick greetings with the five who are currently traveling through hyperspace.

“What’s goin’ on, Rex?” The gentle giant asks with a grin and hands placed on his hips. The captain straightens his stance and crosses his armored arms across his chest plate, and instead of directing his impending response to Wrecker, Rex’s attention turns to Hunter, who’s leaned against the frame at the threshold of the cockpit. A moment passes as the two share a nonverbal understanding before Rex opens his mouth - the focusing pairs of eyes on one another.

“I wanted to see if your squad would be available to help me out.” You quietly observe each individual who are all appearing on your end as full-body projections, landing on Omega to where she’s sitting on top of their Gonk droid - her hands folded neatly in her lap, legs swinging.

“Name it.” Echo is quick to respond with a affirmative nod as he meets the eyes of each member - cutting off Hunter before the sergeant can get a word in. Rex’s oldest friend found himself caught at the receiving end of a very slight glare coming from directly across from him, and begins to backtrack. “I-”

“What is it, Captain?” Hunter interjects.

You sort of tune out the rest, having already been given the spiel by Rex long before you’d suggested for him to contact Hunter for some much-needed assistance. It’s a simple mission: scouting out an abandoned base in hopes to obtain supposedly valuable information from the obsolete Republic database and perhaps to also restock on munitions if there’s anything left there. Normally this would be something Rex could manage on his own, though his thoughts have been a little busy since the start of your extended stay in Yerbana. The two of you ended up taking a little much-needed ‘vacation’ in the repopulating capitol city after receiving the incredible news, and you’re just now getting back into the swing of things. Well, for the most part. Rex doesn’t quite trust his focus as of late with far too many other important things swarming around in his mind, and is worried that he'd make a mistake doing the mission solo, no matter how simple the objective appears to be.

Hunter accepts without resistance, and confirms that they'll meet the two of you just outside the abandoned base immediately after they’ve finished their current objective for Cid, which will probably be in another eighteen hours or so. Rex transmits the coordinates, and it falls silent; the awkward clearing of the throat coming from Rex crackles through the air on their end.

“Somethin’ else, Rex?”

“Actually, yeah. We have some news.” Rex grins and rubs at his nape, and you can't help but to smile wide at him from your position at his side. The squad members all share a glance - a mixture of raised, inquisitive brows and narrowed, concerned eyes. Hunter steps closer to the projection, caution engrained within the features of his half-inked face as he crosses his arms.

“Tell them, love,” your sweet voice of reassurance crackles with the brief wavering signal - your hand laying to rest on his pauldron. Rex chuckles down at his feet and grabs your hand to bring it up to his chest, squeezing gently as he begins to acknowledge the others.

“Everything okay, you two?”

“Based on their lifted expressions and display of affection towards one another, it appears that this ‘news’ is of a positive, exuberant nature.”

You can’t help but laugh at Tech being Tech, which results in mixed reactions at the other end of the call. Rex inhales deep - the air quietly seeping through his nostrils on the exhale. “We’re, uh- we’re gonna have a baby.” His lit up eyes drop to his boots and he’s smirking at his feet as soon as the words leave his lips. You watch as the multiple pair of eyes widen with smiles creeping their way onto each member of the squad’s faces, but the first person to audibly respond is Tech - his focus not lifting from the device held in his hands.

“Are you certain?” All heads snap in Tech’s direction to where he’s leaned forward in the pilot’s seat, elbows resting on his thighs, continuing to tap away at the datapad. Smacking his bother’s knee, Echo squints at Tech and shakes his head.

“Yes, Tech,” you giggle as your hand releases from Rex’s and moves to rest against the beginnings of your baby bump, though you’re unsure if they are able to see either one of you from the chest down. “The bun has been confirmed as baking in the oven. We risked a brief visit to the local med center here, so, we’re certain.”

“Well then.” Tech’s brows lift above the rim of his goggles as he readjusts the spectacles with a finger pushing between them. “Felicitations to you both. That is quite extraordinary news. It seems that I was correct in-”

“That’s so wonderful!” Omega exclaims with the largest grin - hopping off the GNK and clapping her hands excitedly as she approaches you. “When are you getting the baby? Are we going to see the baby when we meet them at the rendezvous, Hunter?”

“Of course you're going to see the baby, Omega,” you answer softly for Hunter, giving him a quick smile and nod, saving him from having to explain. “It won’t be for quite a few months, though. Not until after the baby is born.” Omega’s brows pinch together in confusion, and you cautiously elaborate, unsure of what she already knows as far as what the natural-born process entails. “The baby has to grow inside of me first, and that takes a little while.”

"Inside of you?" Her curiosity is absolutely adorable. She turns to her brothers - soft eyes flickering to each one of them.

"You see, Omega, when-"

"Uh, Tech?" Rex clears his throat, and the intelligent trooper is quick to get the hint - closing his mouth and resuming to silently tap at the datapad. Echo is next to chime in, and he’s smiling like a fool, eyes wide.

“You’re gonna be a dad, eh? Wow... that’s- that’s just incredible, brother.”

“I’m gonna be an uncle!” Wrecker very loudly exclaims, and Omega and you share giggles at his enthusiasm.

“Technically, Wrecker, we are all going to be ‘uncles’ since Rex is our brother, genetically speaking. Therefore, any offspring he may produce would be considered as our nieces and nephews. That is how the nat-borns conduct their family trees.” Tech punctuates his statement with a sure nod - speaking with his finger raised in the air so as to draw attention to his point.

You’re so lost in the way Rex’s eyes continue to positively sparkle with pride and adoration as his brothers and Omega shower the two of you with congratulatory praises that you’re forgetting to respond to all of them.

“We appreciate it, everyone,” you say with an ear-to-ear grin - beaming at Rex. 

“We’ll see you all soon,” Rex concludes, “Stay safe out there.” 

The holo vanishes as the transmission disconnects, leaving the squad on board the Marauder to go over some more details of their next objective as well as to process the news.

“So...” Wrecker turns around and leads Gonky back to where he was benching the power droid before the call. “What do ya think Rex is gonna do?”

Hunter raises the brow bordered with dark ink. “What do you mean?”

“Are they going to keep this up, now that they’re going to have a kid? You know, the missions and stuff?”

“We have Omega,” Tech inputs matter-of-factly as he prepares the ship for exit from hyperspace. “And we are managing just fine, barring our dwindling ration supply.” Omega smiles sheepishly, but nods with confidence.

“Rex is a good man.” Echo swivels his seat around and sits up straight, meeting the four pair of eyes now gazing back at him. “Always tried to do what was best for his men, his brothers, and still does, even if it's beyond his control or out of his hands. Now that Rex is... free,” Echo puts the most stress into that word as it’s spoken - glancing down at his feet and chewing the inside of his cheek before continuing, “He’s in control of his life, and is able to choose his own path. And that path will lead to what’s best for his family.”

<<<>>> 

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[adorethedistance]

9 P.M. - Alive!Luke Patterson x Reader Modern Day!AU

JATP masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of suicide, painful breakup, and angst.

Words: 1991

Summary: Luke breaking up with you made your world stop turning, and when it finally starts moving again after four long months, Luke is back in typical agitator fashion.

A/N: Not requested, and I wrote this in about two hours so bear that in mind. I’ve been toying with an angst idea for a little bit now, and because all of my requests rn are fluff, I decided why not give Luke a little love since it’s been a minute since my last Luke fic. This isn’t proofread so proceed with caution.

“What are you doing here, Luke?” Dana’s voice cuts clear over the mindless chatter in the busy diner. She tucks a stack of menus under her arm to brush a loose strand of sandy blonde hair out of her face.

“I’m here to talk to Y/n. She isn’t returning my calls and she only has her phone on silent when she’s working.”

A solid four months ago, Luke Patterson had broken Y/n Y/l/n’s heart into a couple billion pieces in this very diner. After Luke requested to meet up as soon as possible, Y/n told him she’d be clocking out for the night around 9 PM, and true to his previous request Luke had arrived at 9 on the dot. He considered taking her to his car for more privacy but in fear of forgetting his long, crafted speech, he opted for a secluded booth in the very back corner of her diner.

He still remembers the evening, clear as day. They sat down across from one another on the red vinyl seats with nervous tension exponentially rising between them. He remembers the way she ruffled her loose hair after having it pulled back for an 8-hour shift. He remembers the way she rested her right ankle on her left knee to massage away the calf pain from 8 hours of waiting tables. And he remembers the way her warm smile disappeared after he uttered the words “I think we should break up.”

Y/n was so shocked she couldn’t respond. Everything seemed to be going well between them. They had said their first ‘I love you’s and she had even opened up to the possibility of giving him her virginity. And here he was, a mere week later, claiming that he had fallen out of love with her over the span of a month.

Tears clouded her vision. She was quick to wipe them away before they fell, something Luke noticed that she only did when she was crying out of anger. With her normal sadness or even stress she just lets her emotions run their course. But the anger swelling inside of her at that moment, she so desperately wanted to hide. As a result, she brushed them away. She bit her tongue. She saved face, not wanting to let Luke know just how much he had hurt her.

Luke expected a full-on interrogation. He knew Y/n’s mind was one of insatiable curiosity and she had to have at least a million questions. However, if she did, she didn’t show it. The only question she asked, “Is this really what you want?” Her voice was steady, but Luke knew how badly she wanted to tear him apart, to ravage him right then and there. But after losing such a huge part of herself, Luke, she held onto her dignity so tight it nearly crumbled into dust and blew out of her clenched fingers. Without asking for any more information, she slipped out of the booth and hurried to her car as fast as her walk could take her.

At the time, Luke felt guilty for making her cry. Now he feels guilty for ever having let her believe she wasn’t good enough for him. The only problem is she wouldn’t give him the chance. And her best friend, Dana, didn’t seem like she would give him one either.

“Well, she’s not here. Have you ever considered she’s not returning your calls when she’s off of work, too?”

“Dana, I need to talk to her-”

“What could you possibly have left to say, Luke? Whatever you said to her that night broke her, it absolutely destroyed her. She hasn’t been the same since.” Luke had no trouble believing that was true, which is why it hurt so bad to hear, granted it didn’t hurt as bad as how Y/n felt that night.

“What? No- I-I really need to talk to her.”

“You really don’t.”

“I have to get her back, Dana!” A tornado of shock and anger consumes Dana to the point where all she can do is let out a bitter laugh. The look in Luke’s eyes indicates how hurt he is by her laughter, and Dana’s desire for vengeance has never been so strong. So, she continues to tell the truth. The ferocious, unabridged, hurtful truth,

“You don’t deserve a second chance. You don’t even deserve an attempt at a second chance. Knowing her, Y/n would never tell you this, but I will: you fucked up so bad, you made her almost make the biggest mistake of her life.”

“What?” Luke almost hesitates to ask, knowing he won’t like the answer.

“That night, she came to my place and cried so hard for three hours before she could even get a coherent word out. She stayed with me for three days and, had my shift not ended early that Tuesday, she wouldn’t be alive today.” The dumbstruck look on Luke’s face is only more motivation for Dana to twist the knife, “She almost didn’t survive losing you, Luke. And god forbid she gives you a second chance because she won’t survive losing you again.”

The diner is just crowded enough that no one is paying the two of them any mind as they faceoff by the hostess stand. Dana spent four long months consoling her best friend back to life, and she was not about to let Luke destroy all the hard work Y/n had put into healing.

“I can make this right.”

“How could you possibly make this right?”

“I know more now than I did before. I’ve changed!”

“So has she.” Dana’s biting words render Luke speechless. Once she realizes her work here is done, she continues setting up tables as they’re disinfected.

__________________________

Luke’s conversation with Dana in the diner left him shellshocked, but it also lit a fire under his ass that he needed to move forward. Rather than discouraging him, Dana’s words gave him a greater incentive to win her back: proof that he was willing to do what he said he would. At least, that’s what Luke told himself. Rather than stepping into the future with greater clarity, Luke went into the world with confidence so large and blinding, his actions may sabotage his true intentions.

That’s how he found himself so determined to win Y/n back. And that’s how he found himself face to face with the front door of her home. It’s 9 PM, just early enough to where she’d be home for the day, just early enough to where she wouldn’t be asleep, and hauntingly just the exact time he had broken her heart all those months ago. Before giving his conviction a chance to back out, he was raising a steady hand to ring the doorbell of her residence.

Y/n opened the door without much thought, expecting a food delivery; she was drastically off-put by Luke’s presence at her doorstep this late.

“Oh.” Was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“Hi. Can we talk?”

There it was. The phrase that was a paradoxical toss-up regarding her emotional state. Half of her has been waiting for this day for so long, dreaming of the boyfriend she once knew to come genuinely heartbroken and remorseful to win her back. The other half was terrified of this impending day as she realized she wasn’t nearly as emotionally strong enough to handle the situation as she thought. 

‘Oh’ was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please just give me five minutes and if you never want to hear from me for the rest of your life, I’ll never bother you again,” he rushes out, knowing his time is finite. For what short period of time he thought it over, Luke always imagined pouring his heart out on her front doorstep. That’s why her silent sidestep and opening of the door caught him so off guard. He hadn’t anticipated her to actually give him a decent chance. Why would she? He broke up with her in the very diner she works in full time and crushed her heart so completely, the only things left behind had to be contempt and resentment.

Luke crossed the threshold of her small, cramped LA home with his heart on his sleeve. Reluctantly closing the door behind him, Y/n walks to her living room and sits on the couch amidst a mess of popcorn, her favorite chocolates, used tissues, and a bottle of Advil. The night Luke broke up with Y/n was four months ago and she’s still spending her Friday nights alone crying on her couch with a rom-com on the tv. A sharp pang of guilt cuts through Luke’s chest like a machete and his previous confidence completely dissipates into sadness. Though, he can’t tell if it’s actually remorse or just general pity.

“What did you want to talk about?” Y/n asks as if she doesn’t know what conversation they’re about to have. Luke takes a deep breath to prepare himself as best as he can before explaining what’s been on his mind.

“I am so sorry, Y/n.” His hopes for any sort of reaction are crushed once her blank stare doesn’t waver. In spite of everything that’s happened thus far, this is the moment Luke realizes this would be a lot more difficult than he anticipated. “That night, you asked if taking a break from… us was what I really wanted.”

“I remember.”

“I said yes and you left right after that. I know you’ve blocked my socials, but you haven’t blocked my calls, you just don’t answer. I’m sure you’ve got to be interested in why, you’re a very curious person.”

Luke wasn’t wrong there, Y/n had been wondering why. She had been wondering why since the words left his mouth that night, but she repressed that curiosity. She repressed it because she knew that whatever the answer was, it didn’t make any difference. Luke wasn’t hers to have anymore and that was what really mattered.

“I did it because I thought I was falling out of love with you.”

“You thought?”

“I wasn’t actually falling out of love with you.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you break it off?”

“I thought I was falling out of love with you but really my attraction was just changing. Instead of just spontaneous and passionate and exciting, I began to see our relationship as comforting and secure as well as those other things. I thought my comfortability was falling out of love, but really, I was falling in love. I was no longer just super infatuated with you, I was in love with you. Genuine love.”

“Luke…” Y/n trails off. She has no real idea of what it is she’s thinking so she opts to let Luke continue until she can figure it out.

“I love you, Y/n. And I broke things off because, before you, I didn’t understand love. Hell, with you I didn’t understand it was love, but now I do! I love you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“So, what does this all mean?” Luke draws in a nervous breath, identical to the one he used to soothe his nerves as he stepped into the all-too-familiar house.

“I know I don’t deserve it because of what I put you through… but all I’m asking is for a chance to prove that I really do love you.” The looking shimmering across Y/n’s eyes tells Luke how her thoughts are running wild. She’s experiencing a new train of thought at a mile a minute and it terrifies both of them.

“You hurt me, Luke. And I want to hate you so much for everything that you put me through, but I don’t, and I hate myself for that. But, I’m sorry. I can’t give you a second chance.”

***

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[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Sinners in a Pod (Chapter 1)

Updates for this will start posting after Witcher of the Night is finished. So, chapter 1 for this will only be posted right now and shall continue its updates soon. Currently, this is on hiatus. But, please do tell me what you think if you manage to read this! Thank you! 💞

PROLOGUE (Summary)

Characters:  Mob/Professor!Henry Cavill x small!stalker!reader (AU)

Warnings: 18+ Blood. Death. Psychopathic issues. The Mafia. Suggestive content and thinking. Stalker and manipulative reader. The word ‘Daddy’ used in different ways? (I don’t even know why this is a warning?) Y/L/N means Your Last Name. 

Words: 6.3k

A/N: Il babbo means Father and il compagno means comrade. Tell me if I’m wrong, I’m using google translate on this one. Sorry, if I’m making this on a hiatus. I wanna see how this will click for anyone. Also, the Geralt fic comes first because I wanna finish it. Hehehehe.

TAGLIST WILL BE OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! (I hope you would, bb!) IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

9:35 AM.

Mr. Cavill has been well-known in just his first day of becoming the substitute for your previous professor who has died due to an infectious disease that still had no cure. He has been the main topic of every person in the campus. Your professor in History was a complete hot-shot. An additional fact about him being attractive was his unconventional pedagogic style that can get students listening to every word that leaves his mouth, leaving you all wanting to hear more than just his educational discussions.

His presence definitely aroused each and every women's curiosity in your campus; hearing gossips about how they were willing to be the teacher's pet to have a piece of what your professor could offer like he was being treated as a play thing or some sort of food that they wanted to have a taste despite of how indecent it sounded. The hungry felines were willing and taking their chances, seeming to want and do it to also save their grades from their previous quizzes and special tests that they have taken from the deceased professor.

Until, You started to realized that you were even included in one of those students who was thoroughly affected by his presence; lately comprehending that he was being the main image of your filthy fantasies every night.

Especially whenever you notice how he tries to keep eye contact with you whenever he discusses. Your best friend can see how he kept on taking secretive glimpses without anyone noticing. Nonetheless, one person did and he was unlucky to have been caught by your best friend who promised to never lie and keep secrets when it involves you.

Though, there are certain situations that should be kept from her. Specifically the part about what happens every night with the idea of your professor fucking you like he'd never want you to walk for seven days straight.

That kind of fucking where you both can be considered as animals in a rut.

It took one look from your best friend to know that he was staring again. You could imagine his piercing ocean blue eyes that had a speck of brown drowning with it; observing every breath and move you make under those black spectacles of his. Curly hair gelled back looking professional but so tempting to be yanked hard.

You suddenly shook your head at the thought, blinking hard while you tried to keep focus on your paper.

Your best friend was done with her pre-test, but you weren't. She kept on silently but repeatedly snapping her fingers under her desk, giving you a signal that he was doing it again. You tried hard ignoring your best friend who was just clearly beside you; bringing you into a much more dangerous scenario by having your test incomplete or rather receiving a failing grade that would make you repeat this subject again.

Then, you'd remember the professor who could get you writhing under his gaze. He was also one of your fantasies---the one and only who could get you off every night---though, leaving you insatiable and craving for more.

Immodest thinking, but it was worth it every time you came.

"Daddy's lookin' again, hunny! Oh, teach me your ways, please! I would so let him fuck my ass raw, I tell you," She whisper-yelled knowingly. Only silence can be heard from around the four corners of the room, constant pages being flipped one by one, triggering you into panicking more than you should because you were still stuck on page one. You eyed the multiple choice that was written. 'Is it A? B? Or C?'

Your eyes narrowed on your test paper, struggling to think of an answer for the last question of the first page. The pen in your hand stopped on letter B, and in one quick motion. You encircled the whole letter before turning to the next page in a jiffy, never thinking whether your answer was right or wrong.

A small creak from your best friend's chair caught your attention, half on the test and half on your noisy best friend; seeming to be the person who was asking you answers when you haven't even finished the damned test yet.

"Psst! Bitch!"

You've sighed an exasperated one from being constantly distracted by everyone and especially from the penetrating gaze you could feel whenever Mr. Cavill tries to check on how everyone was doing from his desk.

"Ms. Rodriguez, I would rather like it if you try and keep your hands on your desk when you're done with the test,"

All together, the whole class turned their heads towards your best friend who had a panicking, shocked look written on her face. Her eyes seeming to tell she was guilty of trying to distract you while you answer the paper at hand. She evidently gulped, nodding silently and tentatively slipping her palms across her desk like a child getting a scolding. Embarrassment filling her body, the paper beneath her hands appearing to be more interesting rather than the gossip she ought to tell.

Mr. Cavill looked to be insouciant from her tricks, His eyes completely blank, cochineal lips forming a thin line from what he had in mind, "You all have thirty minutes left," the suave and sophisticated twang of his accent got you shifting in your seat. His baritone timbre that kept you up every night; never failing to give your core a throb whenever you get to listen to it personally rather than imagining it had you fidgeting with the sharp ends of your test paper.

He leaned back in his seat, the obvious bulk in his arms protruding once it was crossed. Your professor had always wore that extra tight, white dress shirt despite how it was popping out due to his sinewy biceps. The thatch of his chest hair slipping above the second to the last button of his clothing. You knew he was jacked in the flesh, the filament of his muscles straining out of his clothing which gives you images of what he could be like when he was stark-naked.

You had a bad habit of daydreaming in the wrong time.

Those Lapis Lazuli were brilliant under the morning sunlight that was escaping through the windows. Those eyes that you've been able to memorize landed on you, a sudden jolt in your insides made you feel warm and tingly.

"Please, do finish the test before the time is up, Students."

You were the first to break his gaze, the papers were an important matter and you didn't want to fail. Reason to that is because you didn't want to disappoint him by giving him a result that could make him think that you were never actually have been listening to his lessons and have just been daydreaming about his pretty little mouth on yours every day.

It was illicit of you to even think about having his mouth on yours or all over your body, exploring you till his curiosity would be answered and the same goes to yours. The devil was probably grinning in hell because of how risquè your thoughts have been.

Your soul was probably going to burn in hell.

Yet, on second thought; all seemed to be worth it.

Especially when you've been trying to stalk him for about two weeks already.

You haven't been caught yet; but, the idea of being collared seem to be a prize when you were a sinner.

10:05 AM.

"Time's up, everyone." Mr. Cavill's smooth, reverberant voice made you jump in your seat. You were only on the third page of your test and there were three pages left. The sheer frustration went to your head, emitting a vocal groan and a hard bite on your dried up lips. Every loud beat of your heart made your hand tremble in panic. Your eyes skimmed through every question, randomly circling any letter as long as you get to finish the damn test and not be left alone. Despite how anxious it made you feel, deep inside; you knew you were anticipating such a moment.

"Its time to pass your papers. Get your bags and you can go, I'll be seeing you guys tomorrow," He spoke in a monotone manner, his chair creaking once he stood up tall and lusty, grabbing onto the pile of papers, neatly stocking every test one by one with those hefty, streaking fingers of his as each student passed by in front of him. Some women slyly sparing him a glance, trying to check him out and that outstanding derriere of his as they smirked and quietly giggled on their way out.

Your tall, lanky but quite fit block mate stood along the threshold. His bright hazel eyes, tanned skin and dark red lips drawn with a grin as he held onto nothing but his pen; known to be a nerd but also a philanderer who had innocuous looks that appeared to be like he spends his time nose diving in games and books, "Have a great day, Mr. Cavill!"

"You too, Brent."

You could feel your breath shortening, grappling to answer your test urgently. Your breath hitched when somebody tapped your shoulder, you turned to look at the person you were expecting, but was left disappointed when you saw your best friend eyeing your papers; scrutinizing everything inside her head.

"Oh, you're doomed, Y/N." She inspected your answers and observed how her brows raise in an uncanny way, obtrusively telling that your answers were beyond incorrect. There were still students inside the room, slowly taking their time to leave before undergoing another set of lessons to be learned soon from their other professors.

"---I'll get going now, see you later, Chiquitita!"

She didn't even gave you a chance to ask some answers to your tests. What are friends even for?

Once the door was shut by her and others who left one by one, it was like every blood in your veins stopped cycling. No noise could be heard. You could feel an intense pair of ocean blue eyes began shooting you holes through your body that gave you the shivers.

Now, it was just you, him and nobody else.

You mentally gave yourself a slap for not reviewing for his test. It was quite embarrassing for him to see how you were struggling for a test that was undoubtedly easy for everyone.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Your professor started completely unfazed by your endeavor to get the test done in a minute. You breathed out a breath in utter frustration, closing your eyes and capping your pen closed. The time was up.

A large, warm hand gently clasped your shoulder, and you were sure you felt the imaginary sparks from it that also held a flush of shivers, creating a reaction that made your whole body go rigid.

"---Don't rush, you have all the time." Mr. Cavill surprisingly spoke in his calm, low voice. Warm, comforting heat gathered in a close proximity and before you could even realize what was happening; he was already hovering from behind, checking your answers for you.

His breathtaking face were inches away from you, his perfect side profile seen from your peripheral vision and his spectacles slightly falling on his tall, pointy nose. The dimple on his nose winsome for your taste and for every thirsty felines as well. Eyelashes long that can be considered as pretty, an exact length to beautify his eyes a lot more than it would. There was something mysterious about what lies beneath his bright azure eyes. Something dark was laying deep inside of it but it was a locked up window that nobody could ever get to see and understand.

Something about him was making you more intrigued for what his lifestyle is and the more curious you are, the more you were getting yourself at risk. Deeper. Intrusive. You were going to risk it all.

The deep scar on the top of his right eye brow distracted you from thinking anymore else. It looked like a battle scar that he once got from a fight, and it was quite interesting to see such a perfect face that held a flaw; telling you he was actually human after all and not a prince in your dreams.

"Ms. Y/L/N, I suppose you never listen to any of my lessons, am I correct?"

Oh, the way he says your last name always made you sin. Heat traveled towards your face, and some even had the audacity to travel down south. It was wrong.

You had to stop.

"I-I..I do, Sir." You struggled to keep your mind straight. Your eyes stared straight at the whiteboard in front of you, never giving him a glance.

Those heavy gaze of his fell on you; piercing and utterly inquisitive; giving your heart a chance to leave the curiosity before he would want to pry a lot about you that you couldn't imagine him to know, you could feel the disappointment within his eyes that crushed your hopes in making him proud.

"All of your answers are incorrect. It seemed like you've been guessing your answers the whole time,"

Shame and guilt was all you felt at that exact moment. The ends of Mr. Cavill's lips formed a tight thin line before languidly curving into a small, sinister smile that he never gave to any of his students. Yet, you were an exception.

"Must I say, do I sound uninteresting for you?"

An excruciating ring of your school bell rang loudly enough for you to jerk on your seat. You couldn't deny the intense attraction you were feeling towards your professor. The windows weren't locked anymore, and you knew for a fact that you've seen the treacherous glint in his eyes; giving you the key for you to decide if you wanted to enter. Deep down something diabolical lived inside and it left you curious enough to dig down whatever hidden darkness it could be.

"I..I.." You anxiously trailed off and stared into his eyes, feeling yourself get enticed by the gorgeous hues around his dark pupils. He was bold enough to stare back, his face too close for your liking.

"You think I don't notice it at all, do you? you're interested---curious even and that curiosity of yours will risk you a lot, sweetheart."

The words that came out of his mouth were utmost accurate, you felt your throat become dry from getting caught red-handed and from how he could read you with his eyes. Your professor was totally unbelievable and you didn't know whether or not he was just too conceited enough to say it straight to your face like it wasn't wrong nor indecent.

"I think...y-you got everything wrong, sir." you quickly scrambled out of your seat, books falling from your hands and you crouched down to get it, yet your professor was faster than you. He gathered those fallen books and stood undeniably tall, placing them on your opened palms. His eyes absolutely unreadable. You couldn't see what his emotions are at the moment, and it was terrifying to see that he looked like a sociopath for one second before playfulness have been replaced within his eyes.

He looked down at you, a small smile on show, "You think? No, Darling,---" Mr. Cavill momentarily paused with a smirk that got you swallowing the uncomfortable, heated feeling down your throat.

"---I know what's running inside those pretty head of yours and I assure you, it can be shameless and utterly unchaste as it can get,"

Without any second thought, you had everything around your arms; running out of the room. Never looking back at your professor who lowly chuckled to himself, seeing how he connected the dots with the right pattern. He knew you would end up walking with the same path as him, together and as one because of how you were hunting him down behind his back.

You were only acting. He could feel it.

Your unfinished paper was left on your desk, the ends of your test so wrinkly from the hard tugs while you tried remembering the right answers to those questions on his test. He remembered your face, he remembers every move you make all day and Henry knew you've been his shadow for the last two weeks like a canine he didn't remember that he has adopted.

Mr. Cavill had your papers at hand. He smiled to himself and with no doubt, he ticked every question correct despite of your wrong answers.

You passed his test and darkness was bound to happen soon.

10:20 PM.

The strange encounter you had with your professor didn't stop your undying attraction towards him, to be honest. It lured you into knowing more about him; becoming selfish to the point of being invasive, secretly following him around to find details about him and his life. All you knew was his name and that he was your History teacher.

William Cavill. That was his name. Other than that, there was nothing you ever did know except for where he lived. In a basic, plain rental apartments where everyone had one gate to begin with. You've noted that in your hidden diary made just for men who'd reach the point of being stalked by yourself. The kind of level where you plan on breaking inside his house to find more information because your lack of knowledge about him was frustrating you from the start.

You would try breaking into his apartment soon enough.

His place wasn't extravagant like how you imagined him to be, owning no car as he walks home and sometimes take public vehicles to arrive in your university like a normal human.

He wasn't rich. Though, his features could mistake him as a prince. Deserving more than to live in a ramshackle apartment.

You've lost track of Mr. Cavill and his whereabouts. One minute you were just following him in discreet, and now he was nowhere to be seen after turning at a sketchy street that made your feet stop from following him.

'Am I turning into a nutjob? No. I'm doing this to know him better, know what he likes or dislikes, knowing more about him that a typical woman would do. This is for the better and he probably will like it if he knew, I need to jot down things that will make him like me,'  You thought to yourself, your feet trembling with every step you took; the brisk, cold wind making it difficult for you to keep steady as you walked through the dark, strange street that your professor just walked in minutes ago.

There was finally light after walking through a dark path; feeling like it could've been a new beginning for your life if you were being metaphoric. You've seen a streetlamp beside a locked up door and a dumpster. It was the only light you could see. From your perspective, the end of the street was a dead end.

You were about to turn around, thinking that this might be a trap for being caught because your professor was no where to be seen. Up until, you've squinted your eyes at two men talking farther away from the lamp, hiding amongst the silhouette of the night sky. One voice quite foreign and the other recognizable by your ears.

The pitter-patters of your feet were stealthy, strolling closer and closer towards danger zone.

"Did the Rossi's hired you?" there was a hint of Italian from the stranger's voice, you managed to move and hide beside the huge dumpster, and it was the right hiding place because you could see and hear everything.

Everything including Mr. Cavill's features. Howbeit, without the black spectacles.

Why was he here and why is he interrogating a man? a man that also seemed familiar to you?

"You just don't know when to shut up, will you?" He curtly spat, the usual calmness whenever he talks in front of his students was now gone and replaced with a very ill-mannered tone. A tone you didn't expect to come out from him because he was pretty much a reserved and refined man.

"I am living a good life by being a professor in St. Hallmark Institute. But, you've come to try and ruin everything,"

"I've never ruined anything in the first place. It was you who made your own destiny. You've told secrets to other people that was meant to be buried deep in the ground, Henry. Finally, I found you---we were all looking for you,"

Henry? who was Henry? All you knew was that his name was 'William Cavill' and not the Henry that he was talking about.

Your hands began trembling with your back against the dumpster, eyes popping out of its eye sockets from all the scenarios happening.

The more you wait, the clamorous and intense their voices have become, "You're a Cavill, yes? I've known that unimpeachable but minatory gaze in your eyes. A family where everyone kills for a living, one of his son's best known hit man in Jersey; definitely the best out of the rest and people have been striving to find you---wanting to experience services that would definitely be worth the shot because you've struggled to learn everything---trained to become unstoppable. Although, there is one mistake that runs in the family,---" pause, "Your daddy never misses, yes?" The man dragged on and on, he was walking on a path of burning coal and fire. Hence, you were sure he was soon going to get a beating out of what gossips he was saying.

You closed your eyes, breathing quieter than normal; scared to get caught listening to their conversation. You heard a thud on the wall beside you, and it was because your professor boldly strangled the man around his neck, choking him to the point of taking his life out of it. His rage seen from how the veins on his temples were protruding and aching to burst from his anger.

Your fingers trembled from the sudden violence. Downright feeling frightened for what was going to happen with the pestilent man who wanted to get onto his wick, provoking to turn him into a savage animal who wouldn't deliberate for the kill. This man was bringing back memories that Henry wanted to avoid and forget after months of thriving.

But, it never happens because he was born to assassinate and the memories and guilt continued to haunt him forever.

"U-Until, he missed the part that your mother wasn't the target, but your weak, senile, clumsy il babbo aimed the sniper at her head," The man was trudging with fire, a fire that wouldn't be easy to kill.

You heard a cock of somebody's gun, and a deep hitch of breath from the stranger. He violently thrashed against his hold as he could see the gun tucked between the side of his pants. The barrel of the gun shiny beneath the moon light. The Italian clawed on Henry's large hand that was wrapped around his neck with a vice grip. Your professor didn't felt any remorse, nor guilt. Only amusement after trying to spur him on.

"It's quite a shame that you think of me that way," he smiled, a pure wicked beam that you haven't seen since then, cocking his head to the side as he gave him a frightening glare and a simple raise of his eyebrow, "---I'm definitely not like my father because when I hold a gun?" Mr. Cavill seethed through clenched teeth and a tight jaw, "---missing a target would be one of my greatest mistakes and I haven't had any blunders since then,"

"---I never risk to make any mistakes, Leo. I'm far different from my father. When I annihilate a target, I don't think twice and I know you've heard the gossips,"

Leonardo Bianchi desperately tried to fight off the hand that was slowly killing him. After a few more attempts, he have seen that there was no escape and that he'd click the switch inside Henry's head to become the lethal weapon that he was born to be.

The family has given him the go signal. Leonardo has only been a pawn for the family's success into whatever decision they had for the only Cavill that was left alive. But, he had hunt him down; catching the beast as to where it lived; hunting down its location. But, tonight will be the night he reaches his demise, and the man definitely knows it when he'd been given the order to stay close and find what they needed.

Leonardo was just merely their cat's paw.

He loudly laughed manically, breathing labored as the latter heaved to live for his family that was held hostage by the organization that he was in. If he wasn't alive before they get to track him down then his very own family---the real ones---will lose a father and a person who protects them from treacherous doings that he had been involved.

"I won't be the only one rotting in hell, Henry---" he deadpanned, "---you are too because revenge can be bittersweet and you're living for it,"

Mr. Cavill's smile turned upside down into a phlegmatic grimace, sliding the pistol out of his black trench coat that was tucked in between his pants before closely aiming the gun right in the middle of Leonardo's forehead, sweat began to roll down Leonardo's temples from the fear of being dead in the middle of a dead end street. Henry's eyes held no sympathy and just undying wrath for how his past was haunting him down no matter what he does. No matter what he does, they always crawl back like they have been hiding under his bed since then.

Leonardo Bianchi shut his eyes before death could even take him. He knew then and there he was going to die because whenever one does get to find the hit man that every familia wanted to get a hold to, they die in that exact day; complicating their trackers and showing them the wrong location until Henry decides to leave whatever life he created in his current one.

Though, he doubt that he'll be leaving this place for good today. Maybe, fate was about to take its turn and play the wild card.

"Let's share hell together then, il compagno."

It didn't take two seconds before you've heard the blaring sound of a gun going off; never thinking twice about pulling the trigger. He was dead, just like that; leaving his family in the past of his sins.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Everything was gory. The bullet punctured the wall where Leonardo's head was roughly pushed with his dreams and faith that has been crushed in just a single bullet and because of one malefactor that you didn't expect to see.

Mr. Cavill killed a man with his gun and he wasn't just any man; the Italian man was his co-worker, a fellow professor too who went with the name 'Aaron Anderson' who also hid his Italian accent with a rough southern intonation of his tongue.

He was your new Physical Education professor last week ago and now Mr. Anderson was laying on the cold, hard ground on a dead end street.

Henry slipped the gun in his trench coat for safety; audibly sighing for a sight that he never knew would happen again. However, they took three months before he was found again rather than those weeks that they've taken for him to be hunted down. He didn't need another re-location of his life in another country or place; the latter was pleased to be a professor in your university, living in a secluded and a slightly run down rental apartment which was needed for his bolthole; so he would hardly be found.

Crimson blood pooled along the ground, he crouched before Leonardo; his eyes wide opened to tell that he was fighting to live with a gun on his head. Yet, Henry apathetically stared at his pale, bloody face, showing no ounce of pity for the whole situation. He took his white handkerchief tucked in his coat pockets, expunging the blood that coated on his thick fingers before bluntly throwing it on Leonardo's face. Once his rue was clean and forgotten, he firmly stood on his feet like this has been a daily occurrence for years end.

Curiosity killed the cat and care was too obsessed over the Cheshire cat. Now, she was left to deteriorate for letting her other professor be killed by his own co-worker.

Your hands began trembling and your breath was getting the best of you. Hence, it added more panic when the rough, relaxed sounds of footfall started to echo closer and closer before it ceased before the dumps that was behind you.

A faint click of a button has been heard before hearing his low, satiny timbre of his voice nearby; feeling as if eyes were boring into your head while you have been rooted, crouching beside the dumps.

"Blind alley. East side. You know where I am because I know you track me down, Huntsman. Go check your fucking tracker---yeah, yeah. Another bullshit of a carcass. Shot in the head, mate. Got blood on my hands again---it was the first time for the last three months though,"

He sounded like he was just talking dinner with the caller on his phone. Too stolid for what he has done after the shooting. Thus, you've heard soft tapping of his foot on the ground, nearer than it ever has been.

"---I want the whole fucking alley pasteurized in less than ten minutes, got it?" he brusquely ordered around, giving a moment for the caller to finish whatever he or she was saying before you've heard Henry scoff from above your head; making you audibly hitch your breath, "---Don't act like you aren't following me around and that you live nearby,"

You were caught. The cat was captured from her sheer curiosity. Cats have seven lives based on the sayings. Nevertheless, you only had one left for tonight.

It felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown on your head. The eerie, tranquil silence for waiting whatever it is that his friend wanted to say was killing you alive. You began to breathe fast, hyperventilating in your space as your nails scratched the clothing of your knees, panic was rising through and becoming uncontrollable.

Sure, you were a stalker. But, did you deserve to die in the same place where your P.E professor has been killed? will you accept the fact that you'll be perished by the man who was worth the obsession before you knew he was a convict?

If so, then why was your core still throbbing to be caught like it was giving you thrill and excitement to be lured in?

"---Might have caught a witness this time," Henry bluntly confessed, his tone quite exuberant from the expected emotion you imagined him to be in; sounding like he caught the biggest fish in the sea as he went on to talk.

"---Don't worry. This one's mine. I'll do all the interrogating tonight,"

Then, you've heard the shuffling of his clothes, thinking that he'd tuck his phone inside his pockets before you've felt him crouch beside you; slowly and painstakingly.

Warm set of thick fingers clasped onto your fretful ones, his touch sending sparks and probably knives from how tender yet threatening it felt; like his softness had a trade of contract with the Grim Reaper because he didn't seem to be like a person whose heart was delicate, virtuous and guileless like how you've imagined him to be.

His face can trick you into imagining him to be the opposite of what he actually was. An unfortunate disguise that he had which infatuated you to the core. Literally.

He pried those hands away from fidgeting over your knee, his eyes burning you alive as it felt so heavy on the side of your face.

"You shouldn't have followed me, sweetheart."

His presence was near. Too near for you to handle the bad omen lingering around. Your heart stopped beating from the moment those thick, rough, calloused fingers reach out to lightly clasp around the width of your soft, silky neck. The loose grip more frightening than to receive a rougher one because it was giving you mixed signals that you've hit a nerve and your death was just being postponed for minutes.

You've unconsciously swallowed, "You've seen the murder. I know you were a smart one no matter how you were always misbehaving---but, this time; you behaved like the good girl that your parents have always believed in," Henry whispered in your ear; his fiery, hot breath fanning the side of your face in ways that got your heart pounding in such crazy exhilaration. Shivers began to shake your spine, leaving you scared and thrilled for your life.

His thumb grazed along the edge of your jaw, your primal focus on his hand ghosting over your neck like he was planning to choke you alive. Henry could have it, he could do just that with how you've easily submitted to the murderer of your night.

Those cobalt eyes were cryptic. An enigma that kept you insane and wanting for more because of how secretive he was that got you following him around. But, you obviously couldn't deny the tremor of being caught by the man himself.

Your professor forcefully turned your head to look straight into his face. Thus, there you notice splotches of blood has painted his face; such perfect canvas that has been ruined by the blood of the person's life that he has taken. Henry was almost perfect, too perfect that it leaves you thoroughly intrigued for what flaw he had because you knew, deep down; there was something more.

His nose nuzzled upon yours, the dimples of his nose slightly grazing as he lowly seethed with spite and utter sophistication, "If you were any normal person, you should have left me alone since the last two weeks,"

He knew.

Mr. Cavill knows he was being followed by you and nothing was more frightening than a smirking devil who hid behind a picturesque face that would make you kneel before him like his Acolyte. Though, you were just thinking about it that you haven't even realized you were already glorifying him before you even know it.

His breath met your mouth. Your veins were flowing faster than it ever does before, much more than your orgasms could ever take. You lightly scoffed, sounding a little more shakier than how you imagined it to be, worried about everything you've done for the last two weeks. Your actions thoroughly inconspicuous.

The stalker title taken seriously like you have done it for a long time.

"But, I'm far from sane, Sir."

You knew you were. Saying it out loud was so bold in your part. But, if you were being honest it felt like this whole shaken girl that he was seeing has just been all an act that you wanted to manipulate.

Manipulation was just the icing on the cake because you could do more than that for the man you love. The facade that everyone sees was just merely a veil that came with your fancy dress, drinking wine as you let all the plans go through your head that was written inside your secret diary that was buried under the Sycamore tree that your mother loves to disregard because of how high maintenance it was, close to reaching its death as you noticed the leaves falling every day like bad-omen was coming. Hence, she didn't like how ghastly it appeared to be like; making it a better spot for your secrets to be kept under the pile of shattered dreams and bones.

If your mother wouldn't love the horrible ones, then you were willing to appreciate its natural beauty despite of how hideous it was for everyone.

Once you love someone or something, you never let it go that easily; reaching to the level that you would do everything in your will power to get and have what you want.

Henry's grip tightened in a way that got you grinning like a Cheshire cat, he was playing a game where he was trying to let you run for the hills. Mr. Cavill was mindlessly telling you that your life wasn't useful nor significant to him; though, you knew he didn't have it in him to place the gun on your temples because if he did then you should've been dead right now.

Deep within the waves of his ocean, you've seen something valuable that can be useful for you. Your lips curled wider as you've read his eyes that secretly tells you that he was more than interested for the poker game because of the cards he set beneath his palms; confidently assured that he would win.

He had a three of a kind.

But, you hold out a straight flush.

"---I doubt you're sane for stalking me around like it is a normal thing for a student like you,"

You quietly giggled beneath being dominated within his reach. Your tongue slipped out of your mouth, the wet muscle sticking out to lick the cupid's bow of his lips which made your crime-filled professor growl from the sudden action. He harshly huffed out of his mouth, giving you a menacing flicker of his Cobalt eyes which made you laugh out louder as the pungent, metallic scent of blood wafted through both of your noses.

Tag, he was it.

Now, you had more reasons to pry into his life more than how you were invited. Howbeit, Invitations weren't needed because your strong determination was enough to trespass into his dangerous world.

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, BB! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag the user. Please do check your settings, dollies!) PLEASE DO REBLOG! 🥰

Taglist for Sinners in a Pod: @amirahiddleston​, @iloveyouyen​, @godohammers​, @uncoolcloudyhead​, @marvelousell​, @boundtomyfate​, @evansislife​, @rahdaleigh​, @justine-en​, @agniavateira​, @maan24​, @fangirl-inthe-us​, @mary-ann84​ @snatchedbylele​

[foodreceipe]

A Brief History of Peanut Butter

The bizarre sanitarium staple that became a spreadable obsession

By Kate Wheeling | February 2021 Smithsonian Magazine

North Americans weren't the first to grind peanuts—the Inca beat us to it by a few hundred years—but peanut butter reappeared in the modern world because of an American, the doctor, nutritionist and cereal pioneer John Harvey Kellogg, who filed a patent for a proto-peanut butter in 1895. Kellogg’s “food compound” involved boiling nuts and grinding them into an easily digestible paste for patients at the Battle Creek Sanitarium, a spa for all kinds of ailments. The original patent didn’t specify what type of nut to use, and Kellogg experimented with almonds as well as peanuts, which had the virtue of being cheaper. While modern peanut butter enthusiasts would likely find Kellogg’s compound bland, Kellogg called it “the most delicious nut butter you ever tasted in your life.”

A Seventh-Day Adventist, Kellogg endorsed a plant-based diet and promoted peanut butter as a healthy alternative to meat, which he saw as a digestive irritant and, worse, a sinful sexual stimulant. His efforts and his elite clientele, which included Amelia Earhart, Sojourner Truth and Henry Ford, helped establish peanut butter as a delicacy. As early as 1896, Good Housekeeping encouraged women to make their own with a meat grinder, and suggested pairing the spread with bread. “The active brains of American inventors have found new economic uses for the peanut,” the Chicago Tribune rhapsodized in July 1897.

Before the end of the century, Joseph Lambert, an employee at Kellogg’s sanitarium who may have been the first person to make the doctor’s peanut butter, had invented machinery to roast and grind peanuts on a larger scale. He launched the Lambert Food Company, selling nut butter and the mills to make it, seeding countless other peanut butter businesses. As manufacturing scaled up, prices came down. A 1908 ad for the Delaware-based Loeber’s peanut butter—since discontinued—claimed that just 10 cents’ worth of peanuts contained six times the energy of a porterhouse steak. Technological innovations would continue to transform the product into a staple, something Yanks couldn’t do without and many a foreigner considered appalling.

By World War I, U.S. consumers—whether convinced by Kellogg’s nutty nutrition advice or not—turned to peanuts as a result of meat rationing. Government pamphlets promoted “meatless Mondays,” with peanuts high on the menu. Americans “soon may be eating peanut bread, spread with peanut butter, and using peanut oil for our salad,” the Daily Missourian reported in 1917, citing “the exigencies of war.”

The nation’s food scientists are nothing if not ingenious, and peanut butter posed a slippery problem that cried out for a solution. Manufacturers sold tubs of peanut butter to local grocers, and advised them to stir frequently with a wooden paddle, according to Andrew Smith, a food historian. Without regular effort, the oil would separate out and spoil. Then, in 1921, a Californian named Joseph Rosefield filed a patent for applying a chemical process called partial hydrogenation to peanut butter, a method by which the main naturally occurring oil in peanut butter, which is liquid at room temperature, is converted into an oil that’s solid or semisolid at room temperature and thus remains blended; the practice had been used to make substitutes for butter and lard, like Crisco, but Rosefield was the first to apply it to peanut butter. This more stable spread could be shipped across the country, stocked in warehouses and left on shelves, clearing the way for the national brands we all know today. The only invention that did more than hydrogenation to cement peanut butter in the hearts (and mouths) of America’s youth was sliced bread—introduced by a St. Louis baker in the late 1920s—which made it easy for kids to construct their own PB&Js. (In this century, the average American kid eats some 1,500 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before graduating from high school.)

Rosefield went on to found Skippy, which debuted crunchy peanut butter and wide-mouth jars in the 1930s. In World War II, tins of (hydrogenated) Skippy were shipped with service members overseas, while the return of meat rationing at home again led civilians to peanut butter. Even today, when American expats are looking for a peanut butter fix, they often seek out military bases: They’re guaranteed to stock it.

But while peanut butter’s popularity abroad is growing—in 2020, peanut butter sales in the United Kingdom overtook sales of the Brits’ beloved jam—enjoying the spread is still largely an American quirk. “People say to me all the time, ‘When did you know that you had fully become an American?’” Ana Navarro, a Nicaraguan-born political commentator, told NPR in 2017. “And I say, ‘The day I realized I loved peanut butter.’”

Though the United States lags behind China and India in peanut harvest, Americans still eat far more of the spread than the people in any other country: It’s a gooey taste of nostalgia, for childhood and for American history. “What’s more sacred than peanut butter?” Iowa Senator Tom Harkin asked in 2009, after a salmonella outbreak was traced back to tainted jars. By 2020, when Skippy and Jif released their latest peanut butter innovation—squeezable tubes—nearly 90 percent of American households reported consuming peanut butter.

The ubiquity of this aromatic spread has even figured in the nation’s response to Covid-19. As evidence emerged last spring that many Covid patients were losing their sense of smell and taste, Yale University’s Dana Small, a psychologist and neuroscientist, devised a smell test to identify asymptomatic carriers. In a small, three-month study of health care workers in New Haven, everyone who reported a severe loss of smell using the peanut butter test later tested positive. “What food do most people in the U.S. have in their cupboards that provides a strong, familiar odor?” Small asks. “That’s what led us to peanut butter.”

George Washington Carver’s research was about more than peanuts

By Emily Moon

No American is more closely associated with peanuts than George Washington Carver, who developed hundreds of uses for them, from Worcestershire sauce to shaving cream to paper. But our insatiable curiosity for peanuts, scholars say, has obscured Carver’s greatest agricultural achievement: helping black farmers prosper, free of the tyranny of cotton.

Born enslaved in Missouri around 1864 and trained in Iowa as a botanist, Carver took over the agriculture department at the Tuskegee Institute, in Alabama, in 1896. His hope was to aid black farmers, most of whom were cotton sharecroppers trapped in perpetual debt to white plantation owners. “I came here solely for the benefit of my people,” he wrote to colleagues on his arrival.

He found that cotton had stripped the region’s soil of its nutrients, and yet landowners were prohibiting black farmers from planting food crops. So Carver began experimenting with plants like peanuts and sweet potatoes, which could replenish the nitrogen that cotton leached and, grown discreetly, could also help farmers feed their families. In classes and at conferences and county fairs, Carver showed often packed crowds how to raise these crops.

Since his death in 1943, many of the practices Carver advocated—organic fertilizer, reusing food waste, crop rotation—have become crucial to the sustainable agriculture movement. Mark Hersey, a historian at Mississippi State University, says Carver’s most prescient innovation was a truly holistic approach to farming.

“Well before there was an environmental justice movement, black environmental thinkers connected land exploitation and racial exploitation,” says Hersey. A true accounting of American conservation, he says, would put Carver at the forefront.

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/innovation/brief-history-peanut-butter-180976525/?utm_source=pocket-newtab

 Tags

 African American History

 Food 

Food History 

Food Science                                            

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

YO SEBAS’ ROUTE HAS BEEN ANNOUNCED FOR JP I CANT WAIT!!! Do you have any theories of what could happen in his route?!?

Haha, yes, I saw this morning! For those who haven’t yet seen the announcement, it has been said that Sebastian’s route will be coming to the JPN version of Ikevamp on August 25th! It’s very exciting news, and I can’t wait to get started translating after I finish Dazai’s.

Honestly I’m finding this so many degrees of hilarious because I was like “oh ya I’m curious” at first, but after seeing that character introduction video with the lil forehead kiss and the horny as all HELL biting, I’m SLAMMING the horny button holy shit??? (I have that card CG in the JPN ver of the game on my phone and. lord jesus. That scowl. WILL HE STEP ON ME ONEGAI AKIHIKO)

Putting the rest under a cut bc is long and has some JPN ver spoilers:

That being said, let’s address the second part of the ask, shall we? Theories! If I’m honest I’m not surprised Sebastian was next on the docket, but I do admit I’m thoroughly surprised by the CG of him biting MC in earnest--he visibly draws blood on her neck and shoulder. This raises so many questions that are likely to be reiterated endlessly until his rt comes out in full, the most pressing of which is: does Sebastian turn into a vampire? Or is he just really into sadistic foreplay?

If I’m honest I sincerely don’t know if he’s fully turned, only because I’m trying to sort out the information we do have. Why turn into a vampire if the goal is to be with MC, who is also human? If we follow this course of thought, it doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it?

But then our boi Sebas is different in terms of his internalized conflict when compared to the vampires. Granted I may turn out to be wrong about this, but I think the two focal points of his route will be as follows: insecurity and the pursuit of knowledge. Remember that the reason Sebastian (our dearest Akihiko Sato) agrees to Comte’s proposal at all is his insatiable curiosity. I mean just think about it. If Comte told all that stuff about the mansion to someone in modern times, they would probably just figure he was a crazy person and go on with their day. But Sebas, the absolute madlad, agreed; he wanted to see if it was true, and to learn everything he could about people who exhibit extraordinary talent. 

I foresee that this, however, may become a double-edged sword. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. What I mean to say is that it could be very possible he might turn or undergo something similar to the changing process in order to experience what it’s like firsthand (whether to prove he can handle it or because he wants to understand the residents better/gather info). Furthermore, while Sebastian is curious--with no malicious intent at all--this doesn’t mean that envy is impossible in this kind of scenario, either. Admiration and envy are like two sides of a coin; depending on how one interprets information, they can skew to self-consciousness or inspiration. Given the content I’ve seen for Sebastian so far (and man has it been limited as all heck) I often get the implication that he truly does feel inadequate in some ways compared to the other men. As soon as MC chooses him a kind of overwhelming awareness of his normalcy begins; the implication that he is the wrong or lesser choice. Knowing this, I truly wouldn’t be surprised if problems arise as a result of this self-effacing.

(Note: I don’t think that about Sebastian at all, personally! I think he’s very mindful of others and really astute--to say nothing of his skill when it comes to the domestic sphere. I don’t think just anybody could do what he does, and he sells himself far too short. I always think of how the men call him the Ninja Butler and praise how capable he is, how they freely admit the place wouldn’t be the same without him. Sometimes I wish Sebas could see that, though I understand his concerns as well ;-; I’m always torn bc I’ll be like “I understand but alSO N O”)

Besides those latent insecurities, time to expand more on the pursuit of knowledge. In one way this drive might feed his self-derision; he might believe that the more he is able to do and understand and study, the more he can be of use/help other people. (Put simply his value as a person = the increasing extent of his knowledge in an almost linear relationship; without it he is nothing). On the other hand, I think he just genuinely enjoys collecting information the way he does! He likes assessing all the different ways people behave and why, and how this contributes to how they think and who they are. More insight offers him more ways to preoccupy his endlessly moving mind, but it also offers proximity with the subject in question. This to me is absolutely key--I think so much of his studying the great men is linked to his admiration, his wish to be like them and/or his wish to be close to them.

I’d like to address a quick reference to the drinking event that recently released in the ENG version of the app, if only to expand on/clarify where this is coming from. It essentially featured Sebastian and Napoleon sharing a drink together at a bar and in it, Sebastian speaks to the way that he encountered Napoleon in his life, and the reason why he grew so fond of him. He speaks to a childhood entirely detached from the people of his own time, roving through the shelves of libraries, reading endlessly to fill that void. It was a quote by Napoleon that caught his eye and inspired him, and ostensibly the words of people long past that gave him the strength to keep moving forward. This information, coupled with his strange excitement in Isaac’s rt introduction about how Isaac used to throw hands with people who mocked him seems to bring to the forefront a few things for me. 

Sebastian is highly, highly individualistic: he doesn’t seem to care much about what is conventional or normal, only in what brings him joy and makes others comfortable/happy. His life is highly internal, but I sense no anti-sociality in this removal from societal expectations. He just lives his own way and tries not to trouble anyone. (This is also highly notable in his acute impatience with Dazai’s shenanigans/ineptitudes now and again; while he doesn’t always scold or explode, he shows a sharp and surprising impatience with willful/harmful/irresponsible behavior.) He’s tactful and measured, but highly excitable under the right circumstances. He also doesn’t seem to think much of his own life re: self-derision. Think Leonardo’s rt ending: he insists that the serial killer focus on him and not on MC, he tells her he has no qualms with dying if it means she’ll make it out alive. MC has to be the one to tell him to think more of his own life. As such I wouldn’t put it past him to have enough nerdy reckless energy to test the waters of being a vampire (all the better if it helps him understand the great men).

Comte once said it in an event story a few months ago, but I think he really hit the nail on the head in some respects. He says something to the effect of “His curiosity is admirable, but please Sebastian--some things are to remain private.” Sebastian doesn’t intend to be intrusive or malicious, he just likes knowing things for the sake of knowing. It’s about the cones answering his nerdy desire to piece things together, not stepping on people’s toes. (It’s nice too because Comte seems to understand this and doesn’t see it as a shortcoming/nuisance, he just tries to nudge Sebas in a different direction if he starts prying too close to people’s personal business ;-; pls pardon the Comte love I just can’t help myself)

Enter Johann Georg Faust.

Now then we know very little about the reserved priest doctor, but there are tidbits of information that we can work with (or at the very least, stand out to me a lot). The one I would like to focus on for this explanation is the little blurb that appears when you open the Ikevamp app and it’s loading, providing something like trivia facts for each character. In the ENG app we got those early, but we don’t have the ones for our antagonists. Iirc, Faust’s reads something to the effect of “will often sneak substances into their (as in the castle residents Vlad and Charles’) food to test the effect of his concoctions on vampires.” There have been hints that Faust is to be our mad scientist of sorts; that he is experimenting under Vlad’s orders to find a reliable way to transform a human being into an immortal equivalent to that of a pureblood. But I have mentioned on more than one occasion that I really don’t think Faust is only doing all of this for Vlad. He has his own curiosity that is seeking to be alleviated, perhaps he is satisfied with having another puzzle dumped in his lap--a means to distract himself and exhaust his faculties. 

(One has to wonder if Vlad turned them under the same principle of desperation, and if that were the case, what Faust and Charles might desire more than anything else...Is Faust operating on a kind of necessity to atone? Has he simply given up hope that scientific advancement can happen without someone getting hurt, and so he does his best to balance the good and bad wrought by his explorations? Is he trying to bring someone back himself, is he trying to stall Vlad’s efforts in his own way? I really can’t be sure; there are just too many unanswered questions when it comes to Faust...)

This is where Sebastian and Faust begin to overlap. The pursuit of knowledge, an insatiable curiosity, a capacity to overreach the bounds of appropriate civility/decorum to get the information they want. It could potentially serve as a temptation for Sebas; become a vampire by Vlad’s hand and you can watch history over the span of generations. Assist in the development of an immortal, and you won’t even need someone like Comte to walk you through the different eras of time--you could explore yourself. While Sebas seems to be motivated more by service to other people, there can be no doubt that this could cause a great deal of friction. He will have to work to remind himself why he’s doing what he does and what it means to him, and whether or not becoming a vampire is truly what he wants.

But, there is also the issue of Vlad’s telepathic manipulations. Is it possible that an encounter with Faust (and by extension, proximity to Vlad/meeting Vlad head-on) could result in Sebastian being turned/experimented on without his knowledge? I.e. Vlad using his compulsion and sending him home with a word or memory of what happened. Though that’s certainly not the only possible explanation available. The other thing I was thinking about was a mechanic that was introduced in event stories prior to Sebas’ MS announcement. In the event story, MC and her suitor of choice encounter a street merchant that boasts a serum that can turn people into vampires. They, of course, don’t believe him--but the vial is procured and MC either purposefully or accidentally is exposed to it (i.e she knocks it over and it shatters in Leo’s ES). For a brief time, she exhibits vampiric qualities; she feels the thirst for blood as acutely as any of the other vampires in the mansion. I.e. In Napoleon’s ES, Sebas notices something wrong with MC when they’re just pouring vials of Rouge--the usual prepwork--and she runs out of the room looking dazed. Her odd/new instincts are only alleviated when she bites and drinks Napoleon’s blood, but after that single episode she shows no further signs of vampiric qualities. It’s a temporary but acute transformation. While I have no specifics as to how this is possible, I have to wonder if something similar might be done to Sebastian; whether as a means to test him (does he really want this? find out after the commercial break) or a kind of trick/trap laid by the antagonists. I remain unsure, but these are the two most likely explanations that come to mind if he hasn’t been fully turned.

As to whether or not his vampirism will be permanent, I’ve genuinely been oscillating on that one. I think it’s certainly possible given his intrigue (I never see much fear in him) with vampirism and his probable enjoyment with the prospect of an endless life learning about things (I can literally hear Leonardo screaming internally and I’m ngl it’s sad and funny). But there’s also something about the bite CG that speaks to strain/alarm, to surprise--that he wasn’t at all aware of the changes within himself--and I have to wonder if it might put him off of the prospect (like that he lost control/hurt MC)...Essentially I think it will just really boil down to how the symptoms come about (temporary or permanent), and how much his affections for MC might deter that curiosity/possible wish (if temporary, he might not touch the prospect again--if permanent, THAT WOULD BE SO FUCKING SEXY BECAUSE I’d wager the rest of the route might be MC trying to help him adjust/recover IN A SEXY WAY).

(Note post-translation: I fucking HATE IT HERE. The bite CG text says smth to the effect of “The bloodlust is unbearable--stay away from me; I don’t think I’ll be able to keep from attacking you.”) In light of this information, I am this 👌 close to launching myself straight into the sun. OFC his route is gonna be sweet as all shit and then it’s just gonna go downhill from there with angst. WHYYYYYYYYYY AKIHIKO (at least his voice is mega sexy and heals my wounds OTL) It also says something about “a fate that is greatly moved” so that does suggest a more permanent change than the temporary alternatives I mentioned (though we all know how Cybird loves to jerk us around so I’m leaving that up for debate)...this shit better be hurt/comfort or i s2g im throwing hands

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THE ANTICIPATION IS KILLING ME!!!!!!!

Here’s hoping he’ll make for a delightful surprise! I’m looking forward to it c: 

[sodone-withlife]

gnossienne

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 |  PART 2 |

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: implied (canonical & non-canonical) character death, canon-typical violence, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/reference child abuse

Notes: I really don’t know where these ideas come from. I love agent as unsub stories, but I decided to twist it and this fic is the result. This starts a few weeks after “100” and involves an AU origin story for Hotch.

gnossienne: n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand. (The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

Morgan and Prentiss slumped against the elevator wall, heads tilting back against the wall in exhaustion. “How are you doing?” Prentiss asked, turning her head to look at her fellow profiler.

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Well, considering that my boss seems to be the subject of an obsessive serial killer’s desire, I’d say I’m surprising myself with how calm I am,” he said, matter of fact. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, forcing herself to stand straight as the elevator doors opened.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but there’s just something so… off about this whole situation,” Prentiss confessed without expecting an answer. They both were fully aware that she wasn’t just referring to the case. The sudden reassignment had remained a constant topic of conversation over the past months (always away from Rossi, of course, but they were under no illusions that the senior profiler didn’t know what they were talking about).

The two agents walked out of the elevator in contemplative silence. Morgan scanned the room, noting Reid and JJ deep in discussion and marking places on the map of Lower Manhattan they had up. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He turned to look, only to stop in his tracks when he saw that Rossi, who was walking in through another door, wasn’t alone.

“Isn’t that—” Prentiss began in an undertone before getting cut off by Morgan.

“—Charles Fredericks, head of the New York field office?” He finished, “Yep.”

“What’s he doing here?” Prentiss asked under her breath as she and Morgan walked over to Reid, who was also watching the senior agent and the director in open curiosity.

“As I’m sure you know, this is Agent Fredericks, head of this field office,” Rossi introduced. The agents nodded in greeting, only for their carefully blank expressions to turn into one of surprise at his next words. “It seems like our case is connected to an active investigation into a local offshoot of a weakening transnational criminal enterprise.”

Before any of the Quantico agents could ask, Fredericks raised a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry, you are not being sent away,” he said, but the team remained tense, sensing a caveat. “I do have to ask that, even if you have an opportunity to do so, you do not go after the unsub.”

“What?” Prentiss stepped forward, catching the agent’s attention.

The director didn’t reply; he only exchanged a look with Rossi and motioned for the team to follow him as he turned and began to walk away. The profilers shook themselves out of their shocked stupor and followed, exchanging loaded glances with each other and quietly speculating as to what could be going on.

~~~

Reid closed the door behind him before moving to sit at the table in one of the secured conference rooms. Each agent, sans Rossi, had a file and pen in front of them and was directing their focus at Fredericks, who sat at the head of the table with a stack of thinner files next to him and trying not to show his discomfort under the sharp eyes of the profilers.

“I don’t believe I will have to introduce the protocol regarding active undercover operations?” Fredericks checked. Despite their rising confusion, the profilers voiced their affirmation as he stood up, file in hand.

“As Dave alluded to earlier, your investigation has led you to a man deeply entrenched in a local branch of a transnational criminal enterprise, one that the bureau and other agencies have been tracking and working on eliminating for decades,” he motioned towards the files on the table. The profilers took the invitation and began to flip through, taking in the basic rundown of the branch’s activities that were listed inside—all involving rather brutal, but rather forensically clean crime scenes.

“Richards?” Reid said out loud, musingly, “no first name?” Fredericks didn’t answer, remaining unwaveringly silent.

“He started as a standard low-level member and eventually got to taking care of the dirty work the people at the top didn’t want to do,” Prentiss said, brow furrowed. She looked up, “He was in a good position, so why did he go rogue and start killing?”

“Seven months ago, the head of the enterprise died, likely of cardiac arrest. Soon after, his son,” no one missed how Fredericks shot a quick glance at Rossi, “who dropped off our radar twenty-two years ago, resurfaced and took over. Since then, it seems like the new head’s been completely restructuring the enterprise, particularly its membership and structure. This whole affair” The agent dipped his head at the profilers, “seems to be Richards basically throwing a deadly juvenile tantrum because he went from being a feared enforcer to being disregarded by the highest echelons of this local enterprise.”

“And you know all this… how?” Morgan asked in disbelief, though not about the unsub’s motives: they’ve all come across this type (and stranger) before. “There’s no way your undercovers could be in positions that make them privy to this information, not even if they’ve been under for a decade.”

To the team’s increasing suspicion, the agent shot another glance at Rossi, who met his gaze with an indecipherable stare.

“That I cannot tell you at the moment.”

“There’s the resemblance to our boss, SSA Hotchner, and you said seven months?” Morgan pressed. “Is this what Hotch has been working on?”

Fredericks’s stare didn’t waver, though they all didn’t miss how he shifted in his seat as he dodged the questions. “What I can say, and with complete certainty, is that it will be quiet tonight. Richards will not murder anyone tonight—”

“With all due respect,” Reid cut in, “it’s impossible to know anything for certain. Statistically, there’s always going to be some—” he turned faintly pink as he was cut off by a poorly-suppressed cough from JJ. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, keeping it short.

This time, Rossi answered. “While you guys were out visiting the clubs and the victims’ neighborhoods, I was meeting with Charles,” he acknowledged the agent with a look in his direction, “and the agent heading the field ops. And yes,” he said, sensing the questions his colleagues were about to bombard him with, “I promise I will explain, but right now is really not the best time for that.”

Despite hating that they weren’t being told everything, the profilers recognized the need for efficiency and kept silent to Rossi’s approving nod, settling with speculating within their own minds.

“I explained the fuller details of the case to them,” he continued, “and it was decided that we would send the case file and our notes to one of the lucky undercovers who managed to get to a position that made them privy to helpful information. They got back to us with their input within an hour, and after surprisingly little discussion, it was determined that you would be briefed on the situation as it is,” he finished.

Fredericks took over, meeting each team member’s critical eye. “Your technical analyst, Ms. Garcia, has been briefed a short time ago and has started working with our other techs in digging into the members of this enterprise. You would be acting as backup in a field operation,” he didn’t mention his expectation that the firepower they’d provide would end up being unnecessary, “and, in the future, we may request some consults.”

“How so?” Morgan asked.

“In a few hours,” Fredericks began, distributing the thinner folders that had been stacked in front of his seat, “there will be three ‘business meetings’ across Lower Manhattan and one date.” He ignored the strange looks that his phrasing earned him.

“These ‘business meetings’ are when three high-level members—‘enforcers,’ basically—check in on the mid-level members and their activities. There is a ten minute time interval during which these meetings are most vulnerable,” Fredericks watched the profilers rifle through the newest folder, “and in previous raids, that is when we moved in. This time, however, we’re moving in as soon as we get confirmation that the members are all present.”  

“What’s so different about this time?” JJ asked cautiously.

“Assuming that it goes as expected, this will be the last raid that bureau agents will be involved in,” the agent explained. “Over the past few months, we’ve been able to catch a number of members and shut down quite a few operations. From here on out, NYPD will be tying up the loose ends and we will be only peripherally involved.”

Rossi, who was only now learning this much about the investigation, looked up from his perusing, a strange glint in his eye, “You said a date?”

Fredericks’s reaction—an amused snort—surprised them. “Truthfully, ‘date’ is the last word I’d use to describe it, but that’s what he insisted on calling it,” he pointedly ignored the curiosity he could feel pouring off the profilers. He let out a pained half-smile, “There wasn’t a strong reason to say no, especially given his history.” Rossi nodded in understanding, also ignoring the insatiable interest of the profilers.

The director refocused on the team, sensing their curiosity. “While not normal protocol, we have someone in deep cover at the top of the local branch who has a history with your unsub.” Here he hesitated, and the profilers immediately picked up on his discomfort, quickly realizing that they would not like what the agent was holding back. They watched as Fredericks inhaled deeply, bracing himself.

“He also happens to be the object of your unsub’s attention.”

The room was dead silent as the profiling team took in the statement. Three seconds ticked away before the room exploded with noise.

“Hotch?” “How the hell is Hotch involved?” “Hotch’s here?”

“Rossi, did you know?” At Reid’s question, the team went silent, turning their focus onto Rossi. Normally able to maintain his composure while having numerous sets of eyes staring at him, he couldn’t help but shift under the angry focus of the people he’s grown to be so fond of.

“Yes,” he confessed, then raised his voice to be heard over the indignant reactions. “But only that he would be deep undercover as part of an active investigation into a criminal enterprise here in Manhattan.”

That did nothing to lessen their anger. “You looked like you knew what the director was talking about when he talked about the Hotch’s history with the unsub,” JJ pointed out. “What else do you know that we don’t?” she asked.

“We have anticipated the possibility of having this team join the investigation the moment we heard of the developments seven months ago, ”Fredericks intervened on Rossi’s behalf, relieving him from the heated stares he was getting from the team. “However, there is information that you have not yet been cleared to know, and it is Agent Hotchner’s decision and his prerogative to tell you, should he wish to do so.”

“I get that you’re angry, believe me, I do,” Rossi spoke emphatically, “but I ask that you respect Hotch’s decisions. This assignment…” he sighed, feeling a pang in his heart for the man he took under his wing and brought over from Seattle all those years ago. He looked around at the profilers, watching as they softened, the angry light in their eyes still present but dimming, hoping that all would turn out well.

“He knew this assignment would dredge up painful memories, but this was also an opportunity for him to permanently get rid of some of the demons that have dogged his step since he was fifteen.”

~~~

“Do we know what to expect here?” Morgan asked Rossi quietly. The profiling team was in the backroom of the rooftop bar watching the footage captured by the surveillance cameras—which were also being monitored by Garcia down in Quantico, ensuring their functionality—while JJ was outside playing the nervous bartender to the lone customer: a visibly tense, professionally-dressed man in his mid-fifties with a gun poorly hidden under his suit jacket.

Rossi shook his head, allowing uncertainty to creep into his expression. “I doubt Fredericks knows, either, but he probably has a better guess given that he’s been overseeing the investigation and only sent us in for this one.” When asked about SWAT support, the agent had only given them a loaded look and shook his head.

“Guys, movement on camera 3,” Garcia’s voice filtered through their earpieces, directing their attention to the said camera, which had a clear view of the elevators and lobby area.

“Is that Hotch?” They watched in stunned silence as a tall, lean, dark-haired man walked out from an elevator and into the lobby. They noticed a scar running up the left side of his face, one that was at least partially hidden by a thick scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. Like the other customer, he was dressed professionally, wearing a black on black suit under a long overcoat.

Having not seen him in over six months, they didn’t try to suppress the instinct to profile the man who, despite the noticeable changes, they easily recognized as their boss. Six pairs of eyes followed Hotch’s movements: four from the back room, one in her office two-hundred and sixty miles south of Manhattan, and the other from the bar, trying to act as if she’s never seen him.

There was a new darkness in his gaze, even as they briefly lit up in surprised recognition when they landed on the blonde before reverting to the hard impassiveness when he took the seat next to the other customer—Richards, the unsub. Hotch carefully placed his hand just over Richards’s, who tensed even more, though now in anticipation.

“What can I get for you today, sir?” JJ asked, her surprisingly steady voice cutting through the silence of the rooftop bar above the city.

Hotch rearranged his scarf, the dim lighting of the bar putting the whole of the jagged scar on his face on full display. JJ couldn’t help but stare, her mind immediately jumped to the worst possibilities as she wondered how he got that scar.

“A vodka martini, extra dry and two olives, please,” he requested smoothly, bringing her back into the present. She froze as the weight of his stare suddenly landed on her and he pointedly sent a look towards the back room before refocusing his heavy gaze on the unsub.

“I’m sorry. I—I don’t think there are olives ready here at the moment,” she made up on the spot, getting his message. “I’ll, um,” she motioned towards the back room, allowing some of her nervousness to show, “go get them from the back,” she finished. Fleetingly glancing at Hotch as she made to walk to the back, she was relieved to see him give her a barely perceptible nod of approval.

Shutting the door behind her, JJ allowed herself a second to let go of the tension within her after having remained wound up while watching the unsub who, in his obsessive desire, had assaulted and stabbed five people. She shot a fleeting smile towards Reid, who had noticed her hidden agitation and was looking at her in concern, before taking off her blazer and moving to pull on a kevlar vest over her button up.

“He’s changed,” JJ said quietly, moving to watch the two men at the bar sit in silence on the screens. “Colder,” she elaborated when the profilers looked at her in question.

“Knowing what we’ve been told about the people involved in this group?” Reid murmured. “Spending even a month with them is bound to change anyone, and Hotch has been under for over half a year.”

They lapsed into silence when Hotch stood up and turned to casually lean backward on the bar, deftly reaching under the left side of unsub’s suit jacket. The unsub didn’t tense, didn’t move, as Hotch pulled back with a gun in his hand.

“I paid the hotel to open up their seasonal rooftop bar for you, and you bring a gun,” Hotch’s amused, almost offended baritone was picked up by the hidden microphones and came through their earpieces as he smoothly unloaded the gun on camera. “Should I be worried?”

“What can I say, Adrian,” Adrian; the agents’ minds whirled with possibilities. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I don’t want anything ruining this,” the team watched as the unsub finally looked up and moved closer to Hotch, unable to hide the greed with which he took in the taller man’s form.

“It’s impressive, Elijah,” Hotch offered, impassive as ever, though the unsub— Elijah Richards, apparently—didn’t look disappointed at the lack of any emotional reaction. “Last time I had a direct conversation with you was what, when I was fifteen and you were twenty-two, right? The day before I found out that my mother was dying of lung cancer.”

Elijah nodded vigorously, exceedingly happy to hear that he was remembered. “Yes, yes, yes. Twenty-two years ago, over your winter break. You remember that night in your room, our first time?” he asked eagerly.

The team listened with increasing horror and steady, boiling anger. Rossi, trying his hardest to not run out there and shoot the bastard in the face there and then, focused on Hotch, who remained impressively stoic—apart from the eyes that darkened even more—in the face of the delusions coming out Elijah’s mouth.

Out of nowhere, his affect smoothly shifted towards a suggestiveness the team had never seen before. “I do, I remember very well,” he hesitated as if he was nervous about what he was about to say.

“You should know, I came back to take over because of you,” he said quietly like he was confessing a secret. “But my father left behind such a mess, and I had to clean everything up,” Hotch shifted closer to the other man, allowing his voice to soften as he brushed the other’s arm, “I really am sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you sooner.”

In the backroom, the profilers were filled with silent disgust as they watched Elijah’s expression light up with dreamy delight.

Hotch kept the act for a few moments—which, to the high strung profilers, felt like hours—before he suddenly shifted again, dropping all pretenses and letting his expression contort with cold rage within seconds.

“I remember you so vividly. You started out ingratiating yourself with prepubescent boys, seeing yourself as their protector—probably a remnant of your childhood, am I right?” Dark eyes carefully took in the other’s every expression and microexpression, “Your father probably did the same thing to you when you were a child.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly turned lucid as he listened to Hotch dissect his psyche, word by word. “You probably would have gone on sticking with grooming your younger brother and his friends,” the agent continued, “but then my dearest father decided it was time to bring in his eldest. And suddenly, you had a young boy put under your tutelage, one you decided to groom and take advantage of.”

Moving closer to the man, Hotch allowed some seething rage to bleed into his voice. “You assaulted me, physically and sexually, for seven years straight under the pretense of ‘training’ me because you wanted to ‘take care’ of me,” Garcia let out a soft, tearful sound as the others listened, frozen in horror.

“Fine. That, I could have taken care of alone. But,” Hotch’s voice was frigid, colder than the profilers have ever heard it be, “you started beating my little brother to the point of unconsciousness in front of me, year after year until he finally fell into a coma after one of your assaults when he was eight and woke up months later an amnesiac.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly shifted into one of dark, manic anger as he listened to Hotch pull apart his fantasy with every word that came out of his mouth. Reaching his breaking point, he suddenly turned in his seat and lunged at the other man, prompting the team to leap up and rush out into the bar, guns drawn and prepared to fire if it became necessary as the two men crashed onto the ground.

They couldn’t do anything, however, even as the unsub managed to pull a knife from somewhere and slashed at Hotch, who had also pulled out a knife and was fighting back with equal fervor. Neither of them paid any attention to the other agents—Elijah because he didn’t notice them, and Hotch because he knew them and the protocol well enough to know that they wouldn’t be physically interfering. The once-quiet bar became filled with grunts and hisses of pain as the two men landed hits and slashes onto the other.

Though protocol dictates that they should be attempting to de-escalate the situation, none of the profilers could find it within themselves to try and do so—not only because they were admittedly very drawn into the fight, which consisted of an amalgamation of dirty tactics and well-trained strikes, but also because they knew there was no chance of the situation de-escalating, no matter how many different negotiation tactics they could try. The chances that interrupting a fight between a very devolved suspect and a laser-focused agent with a personal vendetta would have even not negative results were basically nil.

The profilers, tensed and ready, watched as Hotch was knocked to the ground and lost his grip on his knife but managed to disarm his opponent in the process. Elijah was in too deep to care, as he nevertheless lunged forward with deadly intent. The profilers quickly brought their guns up and aimed at him, shouts to stop just on the tip of their tongues, when the sound of a suppressed gunshot ripped through the air.

Elijah jerked and managed to stumble a few steps backward before his legs gave out, a sudden feeling of numbness spreading out from his upper abdomen. He reflexively placed a hand over where it felt like it starting from, only to bring it back in front of his eyes when he felt something wet and warm touch his fingers. Elijah looked blankly at the blood on his hand and then at Hotch who was getting up from the ground, gun still in his hand and aimed towards the injured man.

“You know, I was content with letting things play out, letting the feds take care of you and send you to rot in prison,” Hotch knelt down, kicking the knives near them even further away. Somewhere, in the back of Elijah’s mind, he wondered in betrayed confusion as to what was going on.

(—why did you do this to me? I did everything for you—)

“But then I found out about all of the other people you just had to assault and murder over the years in an attempt to play out your disgusting fantasies, and now in a desperate attempt to get the slightest amount of my attention.” His sight blurred, his surroundings darkening as he began to lose the fight against the tantalizing nothingness that threatened to engulf him.

“Well,” the dark baritone whispered into his ear, “you’ve gotten it.”

~~~

He leaned back, uncaring of the blood that was surely staining his suit, which had already been ruined by the knife fight just minutes before. Slowly, methodically, he placed two fingers at the neck, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there. His gaze didn’t waver from the slowly cooling body that was slumped in front of him, blood pooling on the ground surrounding the torso, not even as he registered the sound of guns being put away and of multiple footsteps slowly walking in his direction.

“Hotch?” He looked behind him at the men and women slowly approaching him as if he were a dangerous animal, their expressions a strange amalgamation of wariness, worry, and relief. He remained silent, his ever-keen eyes roving across the people he hadn’t communicated with or seen in over half a year, picking out the subtle details and changes that have accumulated in his absence.

Somewhere, deep in the dark recesses of his mind, he felt something slowly pushing its way out from behind the barriers he had erected and continuously reinforced after that meeting seven months ago. No, he thought, not right now. He pushed it down for what felt like the millionth time since he first heard that the BAU had been officially brought in on this case and turned away, standing up and looking out over the lights of the city.

The darkness that had been at the edge of his sight for seven months straight didn’t recede, even as Rossi carefully moved to place his hand on his shoulder. He had to suppress an instinctual urge to melt into the warm touch he had been craving for so long, remaining still and meeting the senior agent’s gaze—in which he saw no judgment, no fear—with his own flat one.

“He’s the last one,” the dark undertone his voice had gained during the seven months of deep-cover was still present. “With the raids that have probably just happened, he’s the last one.” There was a barely discernible shake in his tone, one that Rossi, with his history with the younger man, immediately identified along with the blank look in his eyes that indicates the start of a retreat deep into his mind.

Making a quick decision, the senior agent carefully moved to wrap his arm around the younger’s torso and began to gently guide him towards the exit, motioning for the other stupefied agents to stay behind. On the way to the elevators, the duo passed the crime scene techs that came at Morgan’s all clear and were hurrying to the body behind them.

The two agents rode the elevator down in silence, the senior keeping a careful eye on the younger, who was trying to regain some semblance of outward stability before leaving the premises of the hotel. By the time the elevator dinged on the ground floor, the raging storm inside him had been once again suppressed.

As the elevator door slid open in the underground hotel parking garage, Rossi was both relieved and worried to see that Hotch didn’t make a move to shake off Rossi’s arm or to protest his presence. He let the younger man lead the way to a black Mercedes parked near the wall of the garage but forced him into the passenger’s seat before the senior agent entered on the driver’s side and put on his own seatbelt.

“Where to?” Rossi asked softly, gently, once in the car. The younger man shook himself from his near dissociative state and quietly rattled off an address which the older man input in the GPS. The car ride was spent in heavy silence, Rossi still sending Hotch discerning looks while he weaved through New York traffic.

~~~

“Adrian Roan Hendrickson.”

“What?” Prentiss looked at Hotch, confused. “Who’s that?”

“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” Rossi answered in a question directed at the unit chief, who nodded in affirmation. It had been a few weeks since New York; they had spent that time in a strange sort of limbo, wanting to interrogate Hotch but also wanting to respect his privacy.

“Much of everything else you know about my history is still true,” he said quietly, not looking at any of the other profilers in the jet. “But as far as I’m concerned, Adrian Hendrickson died three weeks ago.”

[chocolate-parfait]

Hey! I would like a matchup for Ikevamp please! I'm ENFP, Gemini, Slytherin, I have shaggy half black half dark green hair, I like to wear large masculine clothes but am actually very skinny. I love to draw and create stories! I also collect knic-knacks, like, I am a hoarder of trinkets specifically cups, clocks, and books. PLANT GUARDIAN! People say I'm kind, but I'm also kinda stupid. I have lots of people I'm close with, but very few friends. Hope that was enough! Thank you!

Anon, idk why but my sixth sense is telling me we'd make nice friends😳

I match you up with... Leonardo!

Leonardo enjoys talking to you. You're both extremely creative and thoughtful people, so you can share ideas and whatever comes to your mind with no fear of judgment whatsoever. When he notices he's getting a bit too attached for his liking, he tries to back off and put some distance between you two, but he can't help come right back to you every single time.

Your relationship is taking a very dangerous turn towards that something he's utterly afraid of. Love. He can't let himself give into his own feelings, but when he sees your smile, your sparkling eyes, when he hears you excitedly calling out his name, his willpower wavers and his love for you completely takes over his heart.

He sees some parts of himself in you, but you're way better than him. In fact, your characteristic optimism is what eventually wins him over. He finds your approach to life endearing and admirable, and he slowly starts to believe that by staying by your side, his ugly feelings will melt away little by little.

Leonardo is the type of person you know you can trust from the first time you see him. Despite all his talk about how untrustworthy and dangerous men and vampires are, deep down he's as soft as a teddy bear and he's always keeping an eye out for you. You can confide and show him your true colors, he will soothe your doubts away with tranquil confidence and some light teasing.

Whereas many may judge you because of your looks in the Victorian period, he'll quietly accept you for you you are and who you want to be. He's actually the type to value comfort and practicality over looks (have you seen this man? He wears boots from two different pairs and a shirt that is too small for his big tiddies. He's a walking fashion disaster), and he thinks that your clothes must be very comfortable and warm (he might try to steal them every now and then). The first time he holds you he's a bit surprised at how small your body is in comparison to your baggy clothes, but he doesn't complain. When it's cold and the two of you are cuddling together, he makes his way inside your hoodie/sweater and hugs you from inside, pressing his warm torso to your back. It's a very pleasant feeling and you can't easily get away from him. Two birds with one stone.

Your rooms are kinda matching. His is full of dusty books and forgotten trash, whereas yours has the most random items in it. Plants, clocks, hourglasses that you stole from Comte's room, plants again, books and countless other things; it has a whole different aesthetics than Leonardo's dumpster though. It's a bit like Howl's room from the ghibli movie?? He honestly adores it.

Leonardo doesn't think you're "stupid", he believes that all people reason differently from each other, and he likes getting to discover how your mind works, how you think and how you view the world. It may sound creepy, but it's just his endless curiosity and love for humans that make him act that way. He doesn't care if you're slow or whatever, in his eyes you're one of the best people he's ever met, and he truly means it.

Second match: Vincent

Vincent is instantly drawn to your optimism and sunny personality. He finds himself getting along with you right away (not getting along with him would be a talent tbh) and he often invites you over to his room to draw and paint together! Every now and then he casts a glance to what you're drawing, but whenever he does so he can't seem to look away. He's totally absorbed, so either you or a passing-by Theo need to snap him out of it.

What immediately catches his eye about your appearance is your hair! Is that your natural color? Did you do something to it? Why did you choose dark green? He's genuinely interested and he finds it amazing! He's never thought about painting his hair, maybe you can teach him how you do it? Theo won't let you hear the end of it, though.

He's one of the most open minded people out there, so you won't ever catch him making any type of negative comment about your appearance or style. Additionally, he'll shush and reprimand Theo in the eventuality he makes you uncomfortable. He's not taking any of it, especially from his little brother.

With time his curiosity and appreciation for you become more and more intense, until he starts developing a weird insatiable thirst whenever he's around you. After getting confronted by his brother, he'll finally grasp the truth behind his feelings, though he'll hide them until you confess first; he doesn't want to hold you back, but once you tell him about your love for him, he won't be able to lie to your face and will give in.

As your partner, he'll get the impulse to cuddle and have some type of contact with you 24/7, but as he doesn't want to come off as too restrictive so he'll try to restrain himself. It's really hard though! He loves you so much it hurts, and he doesn't really know how to express his feelings directly without using art as a mean, so the first solution the heart comes to is skinship. He particularly loves snuggling his face into your neck. It's warm and it smells of you, how could he not?

Just like Leo, there's no way he'll ever think of you as stupid! There are many definitions of "smart", one can be good with books, with numbers and sometimes with art! He has been called dumb by many people during childhood, but as an adult everyone seems to consider him a genius for his paintings, it's a very relative thing! Even if you were a but foolish he wouldn't mind. Why would that matter? His feelings for you would be there nonetheless!

Outdoor dates! He will take you to his favorite flower field and shyly ask you whether he can paint you between the dazzlingly colored tulips, poppies and wildflowers. He either keeps the result for his (and yours) eyes only or directly gift it to you. If you ask him to, he'll also paint the plants you keep in your room! He's another plant lover so he totally understands your love for them!

[bubonickitten]

Chapter 2 is up. Cross-posting the full text below the cut:

   CW: angst; grief & loss; (temporary) major character loss/absence (left intentionally vague); flashbacks re: canon-typical trauma; brief mention of past self-harm; some blink-and-you'll-miss-it internalized ableism; one (1) very persistent spider; SPOILERS through MAG 169.

Chapter 1 can be found here: tumblr // AO3

   Jon waits until he’s safely out of sight before he lets himself fall apart. He’s trembling all over as he sinks to the floor, fighting back tears, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

  He underestimated what seeing Jonah Magnus again would do to him. Staring into the eyes of the man who stripped him of agency and humanity, taunting and gloating as he led him into trauma after trauma, setting him on the path to becoming a weapon and a monster and a hapless victim all at once…

  Jonah’s statement wormed its way into his head on the day the world ended, and it’s lived there ever since, playing on a loop and consuming him from the inside out.   

  …when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you…

  Did the Web choose Jon from the very beginning, or did he just have the bad luck to stumble upon the book, and only then catch the Web’s attention? How much of this broken future is due to an insufferable child’s inability to stop being such a nuisance and just sit still for five minutes? Even back then, he had that restless, insatiable curiosity, driving him to wander off and ignore any sign of danger.

  …attacks on the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be…

  He had always been fumbling in Gertrude’s shadow. Tim and Basira always thought that everyone would be better off if Jon had tried to emulate her. He disagrees with that now, but still, Gertrude wouldn’t have fallen for such obvious traps. She never let the Eye turn her monstrous, never let Jonah turn her into such a pliable sacrifice.

  …I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones…

  And he did, he did; the sense memories still haunt him, as marrow-deep as the worms once were. Some days he can still feel them burrowing and his fingers curl around an imaginary corkscrew as he’s swept away by the panicked urge to get them out. 

  …it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you…

  At every turn, Jon had played right into Jonah’s hands. Georgie warned him that his stubborn investigations would destroy him, and he pressed on anyway. He may have been dependent on the statements by then – though he didn’t know it at the time – but he didn’t have to seek out Jude Perry or Mike Crew, did he? Was it any wonder Georgie gave up on him?

  …I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right here, a ready target. I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise…

  Melanie. God, Melanie. She had fought tooth and nail to make a place for herself in a world that underestimated her. She was the protagonist of her own story until Jonah forced her to play a supporting role in Jon’s. It was never Jon’s intention, but the fact remains: if it wasn’t for him, Melanie would never have been trapped.

  …you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things…

  More meat for the grinder, more lives sacrificed solely for the Archivist’s progress. Tim died for nothing, Daisy was subjected to the Buried for nothing, and –

  …it inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate…

  – Martin was ushered into Peter Lukas’ machinations, all for nothing.

  …you should have seen my face when you voluntarily went to him…

  Jon feels sick imagining Jonah’s unbridled delight at watching his ignorant, malleable chosen one so willingly offer himself up to the Boneturner. Could Jon have made it any easier for him to win?  

  …how is Martin, by the way? You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that…

  He’d promised, he promised he would protect Martin, and his best just wasn’t good enough.

  Jon leans against the nearest wall, curls in on himself, and gives in to the wracking sobs. He hates Jonah – hates him in a way he never thought he was capable of hating anything – but even now, the anger is still eclipsed by the fear and the scars it left behind. He feels more like a victim than a survivor. Jon could take retribution on Jonah in a million ways and Jonah would be powerless to stop him, but it doesn’t change anything: all the power in the world won’t chase away the grief, the nightmares, the incessant fear and pain the Eye filters though him every moment.

  One look at Jonah, and the memory came rushing back: Jonah using him as a mouthpiece, slithering into his mind and commandeering his tongue, forcing his eyes to open, moving his jaw like a ventriloquist’s dummy, only to cut the strings and send him buckling to the floor as soon as he’d served his purpose. He had tried to scratch out his eyes, claw out his throat, but every wound would heal before the pain even registered. And Jonah – 

  …I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious…

  – it wasn’t enough for him just to get the result he wanted. He had to take the opportunity to degrade his victim one last time, had to use Jon’s own voice to do it. There are times when Jon can’t even listen to himself speak without flashing back to that moment and shattering into full-blown panic. He hadn’t felt human for a long time by that point, but the Ritual… it was dehumanizing in a way he could have never imagined. He’ll never be free of that memory, no matter how far he runs, no matter how much Jonah Magnus suffers, and no matter whether he manages to reverse the damage –

  Stop. Spiraling isn’t helping. Breathe. Play it back again, slower this time, and think. How would Martin respond, if he was here? 

  Running was never an option. You’re probably right. Jonah Magnus’ suffering has no impact on Jon’s recovery. He still deserves to have his eyes gouged out – yes, okay, fine! Priorities, I know. (A nearly imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Jon’s mouth at that.) Reversing the damage, though, making things right – that’s still on the table. There’s still a chance. Then I’d say it’s worth a try, Martin would say, and between the reassurance of his smile and the sincerity in his eyes, Jon would believe him.

  Jon imagines Martin sitting beside him, arm around his waist, a warm and comforting weight for him to lean on. Thankfully, blessedly, it’s just as strong a sense memory as the nesting worms and Jude’s searing handshake and the Boneturner’s groping fingers in his chest cavity. Martin helped him relearn that physical contact is not always synonymous with pain and fear and violence. Safe hands, warm eyes, gentle touch. Jon holds fast to that thought and lets it anchor him until the storm passes.

  Eventually – Jon doesn’t care to Know how much time has passed – his sobbing dissolves into broken hiccups, and then into exhausted sniffling. He sits up, scrubs at his face, and forces himself to breathe. The guilt is still there, the pain is still acute, but he has a job to do.

  Once he’s composed enough, he forces himself to stand and lets his feet take him to where he Knows he needs to be.

   As Jon mounts the spiral staircase leading to the top of the tower, Helen’s door creaks open on the wall ahead of him.

  “That little confrontation was a bit dramatic, Archivist.”

  Ten many-jointed fingers curl around the frame. Or twelve, or maybe sixteen, or – it’s not important. Jon stops counting and continues climbing.

“And what did it accomplish?” Helen’s face peeks through the opening now. “You've changed nothing.” When Jon does not reply, she leaves her doorway and plants herself on the staircase a few steps above him. She leans down close to Jon's eye level and tilts her head at a disquieting angle. “Ah, but that wasn’t the point, was it? That spectacle was all for you.”

  Jon doesn't have to Know to determine that Helen is bored, which means she isn’t going to leave until he entertains her. Better to get it over with, he figures, and so he finally focuses on her and shakes his head fervently.

  “Oh, of course. Martin.” Helen smiles – cruel and condescending as always, but Jon can detect some fondness there as well. “He really did rub off on you, didn’t he? He would have enjoyed that little performance. The sheer pettiness of it all.”

  The corner of Jon’s mouth twitches up in a rueful little smile. She’s right – Martin would have loved that little standoff. Jon can picture the moment of awe in the aftermath – the lopsided grin, the stammering insistence that Jon, that was amazing, and the inevitable moment once the adrenaline wore off when Martin would tell him: I know I keep saying this, but I didn’t think it was possible for me to be any more attracted to you. And much later, once they were safe and the dust was settled, they would joke about it: Martin would do a terrible impersonation – always fond, never cruel – and Jon would point out that it did have the intended effect –   

  “Daydreaming, are we?” Helen barks a laugh when Jon startles, his face heating with embarrassment. “Even after all this time, you really are adorable.”

  Jon groans and makes a shooing gesture in Helen’s direction. Her laughter reverberates even more than usual; it leaves Jon with the distinct sensation of chewing on tinfoil, and his teeth begin to ache.

  As the echoes fade away, Helen pantomimes wiping a tear from her eye. “So, do you really think this plan is any better than your standard fare?”   

  Honestly, Jon has no idea.  

  “I’m well aware that” – a brief pause as he skips ahead in the statement – “to try and prevent whatever fate is coming – is likely impossible anyway, but after what I saw, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”  

  It’s odd, using Oliver’s original statement like this to express a worldview so antithetical to his current stance. Comparing the person Oliver used to be – desperate to change fate, then desperate to escape it – with who he is now… it’s still unsettling, to see how much a person can change after coming into contact with one of the entities.

  “Hmm. I still think you're fighting a lost battle. But I can say that I am very curious to see what happens when you try.”

  Jon shifts from one foot to the other, hitching his bag higher on his back and giving Helen a pointed look.

  “Impatient to meet your god? Well, don’t let me keep you.” Helen steps back over the threshold of her door. “Try not to get vaporized, will you?”

  The door swings shut on Helen’s delighted cackle and Jon lets out a long, exhausted breath before continuing his ascent.

   Jon doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually he reaches the top of the staircase, which opens up into a circular, empty room. Stone walls, stone floor, stone ceiling. The only interesting detail is a stylized eye carved into the very center of the floor. As far as Jon can tell, there’s nothing arcane about the symbol at all – just a bit of trite aesthetic flair for an otherwise bare temple. Still, now that geography has ceased functioning, it marks the exact center point of the wasteland, and it’s exactly where Jon needs to be.

  He has no way of Knowing whether this will work. He still isn’t even entirely sold on the idea of the Fears being sentient, rather than just… forces of nature, no more or less conscious than gravity. But it’s the only idea he has left, and it’s something that he and Martin planned together, which makes it worth trying. If it doesn’t work, then… well, with any luck, hopefully he won’t live long enough for it to matter. Not that Jon has ever been particularly lucky –

  Several of his eyes swivel and train themselves on a single speck moving down the far wall, and he hears his voice before he even makes the conscious decision to speak:

  “Leave.”

  The word comes out as a cacophony of overlapping tones and Jon staggers with the force of it. The spider, for its part, scuttles through a crack and out of sight at the command, leaving Jon alone and swaying with vertigo.

  This is why he hates vocalizing single words – it means replaying every instance of the word stored in the Archive simultaneously, and it always leaves him feeling like a blown out speaker. It’s safest to stick to full, unique phrases – anything with an exact combination of words that occurs only once in all of the Archive’s records.

  Ears still ringing, Jon shakes his head and tries to reorient himself. If he’s quick, maybe he can get what he needs and retreat before the Web interferes again. He hurries to the middle of the room, stands on the pupil at the center of the eye motif, and –   

  As Ceaseless Watcher turns its gaze on him again, Jon prepares himself for a repeat of its earlier scrutiny. It starts slow – a searing, infectious ache jumping its way from cell to cell like a charged current, seizing upon every scrap of conscious thought, building up to a crescendo of rending, electric agony. 

  This time, though, the Archive Watches back.

  Helen had said it best: “There are exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: The Watcher, and the Watched. Subject, and object.”

  What happens when a part of the Eye allows itself to embrace both roles? What happens when the Eye’s pupil shifts its focus on itself?

  “An eye can’t see within itself,” Jon had said. And much later, out of the blue, Martin had mused: “But what if it could?”

  Jon had averaged at least one identity crisis a day ever since becoming the Archivist, and Martin grew accustomed to sitting through Jon’s hand-wringing over how much of his humanity remained. Martin had always maintained that, first, it wasn’t as simple a dichotomy as Jon wanted it to be, and second, Jon was human in all the ways that mattered.

  One day as they journeyed through the dying world, though, Martin suggested a new theory. Jonah Magnus had presented a one-way progression from human to Archivist to Archive. The Watcher’s Crown Ritual was meant to be a final act of dehumanization, wherein Jon would cease to exist as a person and become instead a perpetual conduit for the Eye. But Jon had never fully lost himself, had he? It was more like he had shattered into multiple states of being.

  He could – was forced to, really – See everything that the Eye could See. The part of him that was Jonathan Sims felt the fear and suffering as it was (that is to say, horrific); the part of him that was Archive felt only detached fascination and a sense that everything was just as it should be, because this was the role it was born to serve. The result was a dissonant, twilight emotional state wherein everything felt both right and horribly, irredeemably wrong.

  In a way, it reminded Jon of how he felt reading statements. When he first started out, he hated it – he could literally feel the fear of the statement givers as if it was his own, and it always left him feeling exhausted. Then, at some point, came the physical dependence on statements – without his realizing, they had become life-sustaining rather than draining. Even then, though, the fear never actually went away – he was just forced to vicariously feel the Eye’s perverse satisfaction in it. Sometimes it felt like being made complicit in his own terror; sometimes it just made him feel numb. It was like having a parasite tucked away inside his mind, passing its own wants and needs onto him and making him feel them as if they were his own.

  After the Ritual, every instance of fear in this new world was a statement to be taken in by the Beholding and dutifully filed away inside the Archive, and all of it had to go through Jon first.

  Jon also had some control over the Eye, though: he could focus its gaze and, as its Archive, he did theoretically have access to most of its knowledge, as long as he knew where to look. He both took to it and hated it, constantly flitting between roles from one moment to the next like a moth wavering between funeral pyres.

  “What even am I now – human, Archivist, Archive?” Jon had stormed one day, only for Martin to take both of his hands, meet his gaze, and tell him, very seriously: “How about all three?” 

  Jon had taken it as a dig at his habitual indecisiveness, but Martin was being sincere. He suggested that Jon try to embrace being a walking paradox, to use that multiplicity to his advantage – and that was the premise upon which they’d built their future strategies. As they pressed on toward the Panopticon, they each took turns acting as the other’s anchor, and Jon practiced compartmentalizing. Now, finally, it was time to put the hypothesis to the test.

  So, what does happen if an Eye learns to See within itself?

  What happens is this: the Archive Beholds the Watcher –

  …the Eye in the sky scans forward, back; stares into, through; sweeps above, below. Nothing escapes its gaze: not the bloated bodies swaying listlessly in the vast deep; not the cooling cinders of an endless building at last consumed and rendered to nothing but ash in the wind; not the algal bloom suffocating a corpse-choked lake long-dead and fetid; not the merry-go-round with its rusted gears and peeling-paint horses…

  …far away, the Falling Titan drifts aimless in a void where the stars flicker in and out and eventually not at all; emaciated beasts of the Hunt stagger listless in search of a chase, falling one by one in the dust as the prey remains scarce; the endless war has been reduced to pilotless technology running through the same protocols over and over, few human minds remaining to witness or suffer the collateral damage…

  …closer, the paint continues to flake away from the Distortion’s doors; the Sandman is running out of eye sockets to plunder; the Forsaken despairs the absence of lonely souls to appreciate its embrace; the Corpse Routes continue their inexorable crawl toward the center of creation, wilting all the way…

  …there is nothing new under the roving Eye; moments blur together, time runs down, and every grain of sand in the hourglass is the same, the same, the same, the same…

  …closer, closer, honing in: follow the woven threads and observe how all the lines converge on a single point…

  – and the Watcher blinks first.

   When Jon finally comes to, he’s sprawled on the floor, all twitching limbs and exhaustion. Dazed, unfocused eyes blink in and out of existence around him, making his vision go pixelated and wobbly. He swats uselessly at them – or tries to, anyway, before realizing belatedly that he can barely lift his arms. Like a cat waking up from anesthesia, he thinks with a delirious little chuckle. What he wouldn’t give for a cat video compilation – no. Focus.

  Standing up is out of the question right now, but the brain fog is starting to clear. It was so much all at once, but he tries to parse it.

  The world is running through the same loops now, over and over and over again. He could revisit every domain he trudged through on the way to the Panopticon and any statement he could offer up would be identical to the one he gave the first time around. Victim after victim fed to the endless slaughter, sacrificed at the eternal maypole, retracing the same lonely paths in the fog. The same buildings burning again and again in the exact same way; the same worms struggling one-step-forward, two-steps back in the same tunnels day after day; the strangers on the merry-go-round trading the same limited supply of faces in a closed economy of uncanny horror.

  It’s… monotonous. Predictable. Stale. And the Ceaseless Watcher never was satisfied by stale statements – oh. Oh.

  The Eye is bored, Jon realizes all at once. Or – no, maybe that’s not the right word. Malnourished, perhaps? Or is that still too anthropomorphizing? Even after coming into direct contact with the Beholding, he still can’t say with any certainty whether it has any mind or will of its own. It could just be that the metaphysical concept itself is unraveling without anything to challenge it – or, ironically, perhaps it’s simply weakened by its visibility in this new world.

  The Beholding is the fear of being watched, of being judged, of having one’s secrets exposed. Or, how did Gerry put it… “the feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch.” Jon thinks back on his months-long bout of paranoia, and he remembers that one of the most frightening things about it was his inability to trust his own judgment. There was always that creeping fear that perhaps it really was all in his mind, and – when he thinks about it, that paranoia might not have had the same bite to it if he knew for a fact that he was being watched and precisely who or what was doing the watching.

  The fear of the unknown is an important variable. Once all your secrets are known, what else can the Eye take from you? Once your suspicions are confirmed and the source of your fear has a name, how can it use your doubt to taunt you? In this new world, everything can behold the Eye in the sky. Everyone is fully aware that they are being watched, and the identity of the Watcher is indisputable. It dilutes the fear. The Ceaseless Watcher may well have been at its most terrifying when it was at its most subtle, in the world where the Dread Powers still lurked in the shadows. 

  And now – now, on top of all that, the End’s promise looms nearer and nearer every day. What is an observer with nothing to observe? What is the Watcher without mortal minds to experience the terror of being Watched? Jonah Magnus’ nightmare kingdom is as inimical to the Ceaseless Watcher as it is to all the other Fears and all of their victims.

  It takes a minute before Jon realizes he’s laughing at the absurdity of it all.    

   Jon still feels a bit lightheaded as he exits the Panopticon, mind abuzz with hypotheticals. He’s jittery, excited – afraid, yes, but the anticipation is tinged with hope. He still isn't prepared for Helen's abrupt appearance, though.

  “So, how did it go?”  

  Jon scowls at her before he can think better of it, and her mouth quirks in amusement as she soaks in his momentary burst of alarm. He closes his eyes and begins to shuffle statements in his mind. 

  “…spent so very long staring into” – a brief skip ahead – “infinity and knowing, truly knowing.”  

  “You’re telling me you had a staring contest with the Eye?”  

  It’s a simplistic and annoyingly flippant way to put it, but she isn’t entirely wrong. When Jon doesn’t deny it, Helen claps her hands together in delight.

  “It just sat there and stared at me,” Jon continues. “I didn’t like staring back at it. It made me feel strange, like it was sorting me into cuts of meat. There was more in those eyes than I’d ever seen -"

  “Jonathan, won’t you stop speaking in metaphor and get to the point?”

  The twinkle in her eye tells him that she’s enjoying his struggle to communicate. He really should know better than to let her rile him, but he feels himself growing irritable all the same. 

  “…a new door,” he says. “And it wasn’t there before. The man asked me again what was inside –”  

  In a flash, Helen has her deadly sharp fingers at his jugular, just barely brushing his skin. A few tiny pinpricks of blood well up and heal almost immediately. “Don’t you dare repurpose my words, Archivist,” she hisses.

  It’s not easy to press Helen’s buttons, and he won’t deny the flicker of spiteful self-satisfaction the flares up that for once the tables have turned. He doesn’t plan on provoking her further, though; they both know that she can’t kill him, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t still hurt to have his throat skewered.

  But he wasn’t using Helen Richardson’s statement just to antagonize her. It’s just that his library isn’t forthcoming with accurate words. After a few moments of perusal, he finds something that might work. There’s a risk of further inflaming Helen’s temper by using a statement about the Distortion right now, but…  

  “…staring at them, measuring the patterns they created – the maths behind them – he was on the verge of a great truth.” Jon pauses, watching for Helen’s reaction. 

  The dangerous look in her eyes remains, but she lowers her hand. “I’ll allow it,” she says. “Go on.”

  “He was going to shake mathematics to its foundations once he figured out the truth, hidden in those cascading fractal patterns.”  

  To Helen’s credit, she seems to be seriously attempting to interpret his meaning now.

  “You Saw into the Eye’s inner workings,” she begins slowly, waiting for Jon’s affirmative before continuing. “And you think you learned something about the underlying patterns of this reality.” Jon nods again, more vigorously this time. “You think that you can use that understanding to… what, close the door you opened?”

  Not quite wrong, but not quite right, either.

  “He wanted to close it, lock it back in place and get some semblance of control back,” Jon concedes.   

  But there is no other side of the door anymore, and the Fears can’t be exiled if there’s nowhere to send them.   

  “It was, to put it quite simply, impossible, and I must have approached it from a hundred different angles trying to make sense of it.” 

  “Then what?” Helen lets out an incredulous little laugh. “You think you can… unravel this reality? Tug on the strings holding it together, reshape it to your liking?”

  He doesn’t quite approve of the phrasing – to your liking – but it’s close enough. He’s actually pleasantly surprised that she managed to read that much into his clumsy attempts at an explanation, so he gives another nod.

  “…to circumvent physics, and suspend natural laws,” he says excitedly, gesturing with his hands and tripping over his words as he stitches the sound bites together. “Rewrite them wholesale – petty rules like space or time –”  

  “And how exactly do you plan to do that, Archivist?” Helen scoffs. “You may be overpowered now, but even you don’t have the capability to meddle with the fabric of reality.”

  “You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked.” Jonah’s words leave a bitter taste on his tongue, but hopefully it gets his point across. “The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you – in the world that we have made.”  

  “That’s… you’re giving yourself far too much credit.” Helen sounds flustered now. That’s… rare, and Jon doesn’t quite know what to make of it. “You’ve always been a – a conduit, not a conscious actor. A tool, not an architect. All you did was open a door.” She pauses briefly and gives him a severe, almost affronted look. “Reality is malleable, but that doesn’t mean you can manipulate it. You are not the Worker-of-Clay. You are not of the Web. The only ‘power’ that the Ceaseless Watcher grants you is voyeurism. You Watch, you observe, you… you sit on the sidelines and curate reality. You do not shape it.”

  But I did, Jon thinks.

  Compared to some of the other Avatars, his powers can seem passive. He has no command over insects or disease; he can’t reach into someone’s chest to turn their bones or cook their heart; he can’t drop people into the sky or disappear them into the fog; he doesn’t have the prowess of a Hunter or the berserker strength of the Slaughter. He Watches, he Knows, he Sees. He asks questions and he compels answers. And yet, he’s just as dangerous as the rest. He doesn’t have to draw blood in order to prey on others - he invades them like the Crawling Rot and haunts them like Dark and traps them like the Buried, and all he has to do is use his voice. The insidiousness of it is part of what makes it so terrifying.  

  So yes, Watching and Knowing may not seem like much compared to the flashier abilities of the other Avatars, but being marked by each of them in turn molded him into something new – something with a voice that shattered and reshaped the world with a single invocation. The concepts of Watching and Being Watched are the metaphysical building blocks of this universe, and both of those are within his purview. The most fundamental law now is the interplay of Watcher versus Watched, and Jon balances precariously on the tightrope of a boundary between the two – likely the only living being that doesn’t fit neatly into one category or the other.

  The power threaded through the tapestry of this reality is a part of him as much as he is a part of the Eye. And if he pulls in just the right way, in just the right place…

  “All you did was open a door,” Helen repeats, but softer this time, almost to herself.

  But there’s power in the small things, isn’t there? Helen owes her current state to the simple act of opening a door, after all. For Jon, everything was set into motion when he opened a book. Curiosity is so very human, Jon thinks – it seems unfair that it could lead both of them so far astray from their humanity. Perhaps Jon’s life is a Rube-Goldberg machine painstakingly orchestrated by the Web, and finding the book was just the first domino in a long chain of missteps; or maybe his fate was just a perfect, unfortunate combination of bad luck, his own restless curiosity, and an entitled old man’s god complex. It doesn’t really matter – the consequences are the same.

  As Jon starts walking, Helen paces after him. He watches with faint surprise as she wrings her hands uneasily – or a close enough approximation to it, anyway. It’s disorientating to watch, like an Escher woodcut in fluid motion. Several eyes attempt to track her movements, but it only succeeds in making Jon dizzy.

  “Where are you off to now?” Helen asks, voice leaden with uncharacteristic uncertainty.  

  “It felt like if you picked a line, any line, you could follow it through to the center, to some deep truth, if only your eye could keep track of the strands that had caught it.”  

  “The Panopticon is the center.”

  Jon stops, turns, and shakes his head. “A stronghold of the Web.”  

  “Oh,” Helen says, eyes brightening in realization.

  Jon rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “I was returning to Hill Top Road, no matter what I might feel about it.”  

  “The axis of the Spider’s web…” Helen gives the ground a long, pensive look. Then her eyes narrow and flick back up to meet Jon’s. “And what exactly do you expect to do there?”

  “A scar in reality, that I believe has since been compounded by the interferences of other powers.”  

  “Yes, we all know about the rift,” Helen says impatiently. “What do you plan to do with it?”

  “She was going to wait and see.” With that, Jon begins walking again.  

  “I changed my mind,” Helen practically whines. “This Archive nonsense was funny before, but now it’s just obtuse.” When Jon doesn’t bite back, she heaves a theatrical sigh. “Fine. As usual, I would offer you a quicker route, but you’d be something of an allergen in my corridors.”

  Without turning to look at her, Jon flips her off over his shoulder.

  “Rude,” Helen calls after him, and apparently she’s recovered enough to goad him, because he can hear the smile creeping back into her voice. “Try not to get lost traipsing back through the Lonely, Archivist. I would hate to have to come in after you.”

  Her laughter is still ricocheting inside his skull when he hears her door swing shut, and he can already feel a headache blossoming in his temple. He takes a moment to collect himself before turning his back on the tower.

  Jon sets out into the wasteland again once again, and he doesn’t look back. 

   End Notes:

- Jon's dialogue was taken from the statements in the following episodes, in order: MAG 011; 057; 103; 047; 008 (x2); 124; 57; 162; 160; 59; 139; 59; 139; 160.

[marmolady]

Broken Chains: Through the Fog

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Part 5 : Post-ending (Endless ending). Taylor’s consciousness is battered and weak, but from the darkness, something is calling her home.

Previous chapter/Next chapter

Word Count: 7621

Warnings: Probably rated M to be safe, for language.

Tagging (even though it probably won’t work): @sceptilemasterr @bbaba-yagaa @brightpinkpeppercorn @edgydepressedchoicesthot @endlesssummerfan @acidsugar0

Over time, the darkness that had enveloped Taylor’s consciousness faded into a shroud of black mist. Was she dead? She couldn’t be sure. It felt as though she was floating through a cloud, her senses muffled, and the vaguest of shapes and sounds… like voices whispered on the wind… surrounding her. Taylor had no sense of the passing of time, if time even existed in this place… wherever she was.

Through the fog, Taylor could make out a face, blurred and indistinct. She tried to focus, to see, but the effort overreached her, and she fell helplessly back into nothingness. And then the figure returned to her. How long had it been? Was this figure... waiting… for her? Careful not to push the boundaries of her senses, she allowed her vague surroundings to wash over her until the face came into focus. There was an aching familiarity in those dark, serious eyes.

Estela?

“Taylor…” The face was older and yet less battle-weary than it should have been.

A strange jolt pulsed through Taylor. It didn’t speak well for her mortality if she was seeing ghosts.

“You’re Olivia… Estela’s mom. I’m… dead?”

Olivia looked upon Taylor with warmth and insatiable curiosity. “No. You’re not dead. You can hear voices? Not clearly, but they’re there. Those are the people around you.”

“Then, how?” Did it even matter how? Taylor was not alone; whatever Olivia’s presence was, it made her feel safe, as though she was no longer stumbling through an unknowable eternity. That energy was so very Estela, that the instant sense of security only made sense.

“It seems,” Olivia said, “as though you are walking a tightrope between one plane and the other. Not really standing in either, but close enough to reach. You have a gift for speaking with your mind… your essence seems to invite company.”

Taylor tried to take it in. Her memories, her sense of self, it was all shaky, but she could recall a blazing light and a great transfer of energy that seemed to drain her very being. Vaanu’s spirit had left her, leaving behind… what?

As if able to reach into her thoughts, Olivia ventured further; “The energy, the same energy that the crystals held, it seems to have returned to its source. It looks as though you developed your humanity from the ties you shared with your friends… first the manufactured bond with Mr Soto, and then those you formed on your own.” Her expression became deeply sad. “I owe you a deep debt of gratitude. You’ve done what I never could. For Estela. I knew about you; the second Omega Specimen… you’re not what I expected.” Her hand reached out and brushed Taylor’s, giving not a physical touch, but the sharing of an emotional state.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Taylor’s senses blurred. She felt happy… the emotion pouring into her from outside, and yet there was a wave of melancholy that followed through. It was simply… love. A love for someone precious, and so far away. Slowly regaining her focus, she locked eyes with Olivia, silently asking the question that mattered most.

“I believe,” Olivia said, hesitantly, “that you’ve been left with just enough regenerative energy to rebuild what you had. This energy source, the capability it had to create was astronomical. But it’s the human part of you that needs to take you the rest of the way. If you reach out to them… I believe they can bring you home.”

Everything became hazy once more, as echoes of memories surrounded Taylor, driven by the growing urge to be back with her friends-- with her family. As she focused, they came to her. Sitting beside Diego on the plane… the boozy bar crawl with Craig and Zahra, and Raj’s famous peace feast that followed….

“That’s it… try to remember. Embrace who you are.”

The wordless voices that swirled all around her felt closer somehow. Within the slurred stream, she picked up distinct sounds, and slowly, they formed words, disjointed as though she was listening through a radio that kept cutting out.

“Taylor… come… you… me… Taylor…Taylor… love…”

Her eyes swam with a vision, a memory, so vivid that it seemed to fill her whole being. Estela sat alone on the grassy hill, her eyes meeting Taylor’s across the pool front, seemingly oblivious to anyone else. With no words, calling her.

“I want,” Taylor said shakily, reaching back through to Olivia, who blurred out of focus, further and further away, “to go back to her. I want to be with them.”

“Try,” came Olivia’s voice, muffled now. Her eyes were wet. “Please try. I need you to hold her for me.”

And then Taylor was alone again. She cried out. “… Don’t… don’t go…”

Of course, it made sense. She had shifted towards the plane of the living. That she’d been reachable at all was a miracle. To carry on in the direction she needed to follow, she could only be alone. Was this what could become of her? Eternal solitude in some misted void if she couldn’t quite reach home? Even as the deepest of fears tried to ensnare her, Taylor would not allow herself to hold onto it. No. She was going back. Calmly, careful not to push so hard as to overwhelm herself again, she let herself hear, and feel, and remember. She was still there, and she was fighting.

  __________________________

The mood in the medical room had taken a turn. Estela wasn’t sure what it was; Taylor still looked the same, there had been no measurable change, but she felt different. It was unexplainable, but she didn’t care. Something had shifted, and for the first time, Estela began to truly believe that they might come through the other side of this nightmare… together.

With Estela rather more rested, and rather less moody, the near constant presence of visitors resumed, now welcomed. With a greater hope that Taylor might be reachable, her bedside became much busier. Sean, eager as always to take good care of his loved ones, joined round the clock rotation of helpers, which had resulted in a much-needed heart to heart with the head of the team, Michelle. As Taylor began to show signs of improvement, he busied himself with arranging for his mother to join him on La Huerta for a couple of days. Naturally, he talked Taylor through all his plans and showered her with love and gratitude. Raj expressed his affections by feeding Estela and the ‘Taylor team’. A lot. With newfound access to the outside world, he was suddenly faced with the ability to source whatever ingredients he wanted… and the resulting dishes were ecstatically experimental, and just excitingly different to anything they’d become accustomed to on La Huerta. The taste of home gave everyone a welcome buzz of optimism. Diego spent most of his time plastered to Taylor’s side, and having endured several gruelling days of emotional turmoil together, he and Estela had become very close. In Diego’s words, he was her sidekick’s sidekick, and that was a very precious relationship that few people could understand.

Even Aleister, who had mostly kept his distance out of uncertainty of how to provide emotional support to his sister, began coming by frequently. He and Grace would keep Estela in good supply of books, knowing that there was not a whole lot to keep her occupied. Sometimes they’d quietly read side by side, enjoying the company but not needing to force conversation for conversation’s sake. Aleister mentioned only briefly that he’d been dealing with the Costa Rican authorities in the declaration and inevitable fall-out of their father’s death, but for the time being omitted details of the actions he’d taken to keep Estela safe. That was something he’d own up to once her emotional state was not so vulnerable. He simply let her know that Rourke had not been a popular man with the government, and that no one seemed particularly upset by his loss. In the wider world, of course, there was a great deal of conjecture, but locally, it seemed the authorities were happy enough to put it down to ‘just strange La Huerta business’. That people never returned from the island was not newsworthy; it was of no great surprise that a man who claimed the place as his private property would meet a sticky end. Estela had far more important people to think about than the now long-dead monster who’d caused her a world of grief, and was relieved that Aleister broached the subject with her only briefly.

That morning saw Zahra and Craig bring out the game console they’d found at the Elysian lodge. Diego, an ever-present fixture at Taylor’s side, had pushed the two hospital beds together and was doing his darnedest not to get completely thrashed by the vastly more experienced players. Having tired of a fast-paced combat game… and the accompanied grumbling by Estela about how pointless and unrealistic the virtual fighting was, they’d fallen back on dependable old Mario Kart, something that Diego actually had a clue on how to play.

Smirking, Zahra pushed a controller into Estela’s hands. “Here. This one you can play without fear of getting shown up.”

“Wha-- I wasn’t…”

Craig laughed. “Come ooooon!”

Drinking in the sounds that floated through to her, Taylor could make out the voices, calling as if from a great distance. She knew that Craig was there, no doubt about it. The others were harder to make out, but he was loud and forceful as ever. To hear him made her feel warm and happy, as though she was being surrounded by a great, big, bear hug. His laughter was reassuring… everyone must be all right. Other voices became louder, more aggressive. Were they playing a game? Expecting to find Zahra’s snarky tone in the chaotic mixture, she was not disappointed. Taylor’s mind took her back to that New Year’s Eve, visions flashing before her of a room in the Elysian Lodge… it felt like a lifetime ago now. She’d helped Craig and Zahra out with seeking the cable they needed to fire up an old gaming console, and for a good hour or so, she’d played along with them, getting caught up in all the same competitive banter and trash talk. Even when she’d just sat back and watched as she left it to the experts, she’d been happy. How could she not be? The two of them… they’d found something in one another thought lost. To be witness to something wonderful being rekindled, Taylor felt lucky. As the visions flowed through her, she felt fuller, more complete. This, she knew, was what Olivia had meant. These people, her family… they were what had made her the person she was. And they would always be her way forward.

As the game amped up, Taylor managed to hear the other two voices just enough. Diego was there… her sweet, wonderful Diego. Of course he was staying close; he was as devoted as a friend could be. And, as she’d been sure would have been the case… Estela. Quiet beside her over-excited companions, but right there, no doubt stubbornly protective. Taylor ached to reach out to her, to give some kind of reassurance that it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Instead, all she could do was to try and feel that strong presence, and to let the memories overtake her… heal her. But there was something new… something probing her consciousness, seeking her out. Taylor felt a swoop of excitement-- Varyyn was close, and he was trying to contact her. This, she knew, was the chance she needed.

Summoning all the strength and focus she could muster, she reached out her mind. The effort was staggering, and Taylor felt herself tumble back into oblivion. She never heard the shouts of jubilation that erupted around her, nor could she know that her message had come through.

“I’m still here… I need you.”

  __________________________

  With Taylor having made a significant breakthrough, and the medical room really needing to be used as less of a gathering point, Michelle cautiously facilitated the moving of her two patients to their own home, where it would be easier to manage the crowds of well-wishers. Taking only the minimum equipment needed to be safe, she settled Taylor in her bed. Michelle had made Estela agree, rather begrudgingly, to be carried by Jake piggyback-style, but judging by the time taken before she finally hobbled in the front door, she’d stubbornly walked most of the way herself. A wheelchair had been brought over from the medical room, in an attempt to keep Estela off her leg. No one expected it would get much use. Though she rarely left Taylor’s side, when she did, Estela found herself perfectly capable of getting around. She knew her own body, and Michelle’s approach was to her mind excessively cotton-woolly. Though she grumbled, and threw out death glares the likes of which would make almost anyone else wither away, she truly appreciated her friend’s obvious care for her. Had she been alone through the past harrowing days, everything would have felt utterly bleak. In the evenings, when the room was quiet-- and even Diego had finally cleared off for the night-- Michelle came to use Taylor and Estela’s bed as her go-to study spot, spreading out her books and having Estela quiz her as she went. Now that medical school was once again on the horizon, if a year and a half behind schedule, it was full steam ahead, and Michelle pored over her books like a woman possessed. When Quinn came searching for her one night, she found her crashed out, curled up in a ball beneath Estela’s arm.

“Awww!”

“I think Michelle’s over-extending herself…”

“Don’t worry,” said Quinn, “I’ll take good care of her. I might help her down to the couch, give you two some time alone. Especially now it seems like Taylor might actually be hearing us now.”

Estela desperately hoped she could. She talked to Taylor in spurts through the day, usually when there was no third-or-fourth-or-fifth wheel hanging around the bed. It was hard to know what to say after a while. Everything that mattered, Taylor already knew. But she kept talking to her; little whispers and words of reassurance. She told her that she trusted her to come through. That she was getting pretty suspicious that there was something going on between Quinn and Michelle. That they were already putting together the bare bones of a plan to clear Jake’s name. That Raj’s room service ‘pity meals’ were getting more and more extravagant by the day-- not that Estela complained. That Diego appeared to be worryingly close to seeing Estela as a stand-in best friend, and had set up Netflix in the room at first opportunity so they could all watch TV together. But mostly, just that she loved her.

“I love you too…”

For all the patchiness of what managed to reach her, Taylor could always make out those words. Probably, she thought, because she had no doubt they were being said. She’d heard them out Estela’s mouth enough times to know that much.

Finally alone with Taylor, Estela could relax.

“Just you and me now, carińa… just us.”

She adjusted her pillow, taking care not to disturb Taylor, who lay right beside it, an expression of serene calm on her still face. A scrap of paper fell out from the pillowcase.

“Wha…” As she took the paper in her fingers, a glimpse of too-familiar hand-writing made her heart pound. “Taylor, you…”

With shaking hands, she unfolded the paper and read.

 “Estela,

So, I guess we’ve done it. I’ve finally worked up the guts to do what I always had to do. And you got me there. I honestly don’t know how you’ve kept it together for me all these months. If it wasn’t for your incredible courage in the face of losing everything, we wouldn’t have been able to make the time we did have so perfect. You made my life-- even if those short months turn out to be all I’m entitled to-- one that I would not change for anything.

I hope I can find a way to be with you. We should never be parted, but I think we both know this universe is too screwy for ‘should’ to hold any weight. If it’s all I have left to give, you’ll have me in the ways you’ve grown since we’ve been together. When you trust yourself to give of yourself, to love and be loved, that will be a little part of me left behind. Be happy. Obviously, you’ll cry a little bit… or a lot. I’ll be pretty offended if you don’t, to be honest. And if it makes you feel better, take a few swings at Top Gun-- he’s a big boy, he can take it. But please, my love, please… let yourself be happy.

I wish I knew the words to tell you just how much you’ve filled my heart, how you can make the worst day bearable with just a glance or a smile, and how much I completely, utterly and unflinchingly love you. I wish I knew the words to tell you just how remarkable you are, my Estela, my starlight. But I think you already know. We have our way of understanding one another… some primal connection that goes to the heart of us. So, I know you don’t need me to spell it out. You know. As you read this, you’re probably remembering the moments leading up to the end-- no doubt my actual goodbye was an absolute blubbering mess. I hope this letter will give you a way of hearing my voice in your head, the final heart-to-heart we never had. Whatever becomes of me, that love will never leave you.

With a thousand kisses,

Taylor”

  Estela hastily wiped away her tears, fearful of smudging the writing, but they kept coming. Giving in to it, she cried against Taylor’s shoulder, overflowing with gratitude for her gift, and sorrow that the voice that should have been speaking those words remained still. Typical Taylor, always finding room for one more surprise….

The door creaked, and Quinn’s pale face peered through. “I thought I heard crying… are you okay? I can leave you if you prefer.”

With a sniff and a little laugh, Estela sat up. “It’s just…” she sighed. “Taylor.”

“Is she all right? Do you need me to get Michelle?”

“No, no, she’s fine. She just…” She lifted the piece of paper. “She left a note for me in the pillow. I guess she figured I hadn’t been through enough emotional walloping, so she threw in another punch.”

Quinn couldn’t help but smile. “That is definitely a very ‘Taylor’ thing to do. I mean, the letter-- not the punching. I think if she could, she’d tell you how much she loved you every minute of every day. I’ve always admired how openly affectionate she is, how thoughtful. If you were special to her, she’d never let you forget it.” She carefully studied Estela’s face, trying to ascertain what she needed from her. This really was a personal moment, and she didn’t want to intrude where she wasn’t welcome. “I can leave you be…”

Estela shook her head. “I can see you’re dying to do your hug thing. You and Taylor have a very similar ‘desperate-to-smother-my-sad-friend-with-love’ face.” As Quinn burst into giggles, she added. “I appreciate that you came to check up on me. You’re too good.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Quinn, putting her arms around her friend. “More like… just good enough. At least when it comes to my specialties of cuddles and cupcakes.”

Her head nestled in the crook of Quinn’s neck, the sweet scent of a fruity shampoo filling her senses, Estela looked over to Taylor, who appeared as though she was sleeping peacefully. She’d be content, knowing that Estela was surrounded by friends, and, day by day… coping.

“Quinn, I… had a thought.”

“Hmmm?”

“What Varyyn said… she needs us. All of us, together, the same way we faced everything. We can’t give that to her here.”

Quinn became thoughtful. “We could go back to the Celestial?”

“Or, we let Raj work his magic. He seems to think he can solve any problem by throwing alcohol, food and loud music at it; maybe we should give it a shot. Everyone would be around, just having a good time…”

“Just coming together as a family?”

“Something like that.” Estela shook her head, unable to believe she was suggesting such a thing. Several nights ago, even the notion of something resembling a party would have sent her into a fit of anger. Taylor had said it though… love and let yourself be loved. Be happy. Perhaps they could both be healed. “Does that sound insane? We can’t just drag an unconscious person around a party.”

Quinn’s eyes, though, were bright with excitement. “We’ll work something out-- even if I have to beg Michelle just a little bit. Honestly, insane or not, I think that’s what we all need after everything that’s happened. Sometimes I feel like my head’s gonna explode trying to make sense of it all… Taylor… talking to my parents again… having to deal with my parents again… Kele…”

“Michelle?”

Again, Quinn giggled, and her cheeks flushed red. “We’d wondered if you’d noticed. But, yes, that too. Taylor would be very pleased with how things are going.”

“I’m sorry if she’s tried to interfere; Diego’s a bad influence.”

“What I was trying to say was that… I think we all need to unwind, and just… be there for one another. All together.”

Estela settled back down into the bed. “That sounds nice. I think she’d like it if we did that for her.” She snuggled in, missing as she always did, the sweet comfort of Taylor snuggling right back into her. She looked back at Quinn, who was padding towards the door. “You sleep well.” She gave a little smirk. “You and Michelle.”

“And to you two.”

Amid the murmurs, the jumbled sounds, Taylor once again made out the words that mattered.

“I love you, Taylor.” Estela tenderly kissed her wife’s cheek.

“I love you, Estela.”

 ________________________

There was music playing, low beats that vibrated through Taylor’s being. There were so many voices, all talking over one another, wonderfully chaotic. The feeling was familiar. It had never needed much of an excuse to get everyone together for a lively shindig. That past year, they’d celebrated just about everything… taking comfort in one another while building new traditions. Obviously, all the birthdays, as well as the requisite six-monthly multi-birthday celebrations. Christmas had been Taylor’s favourite. They’d all hiked up for a holiday getaway at the Elysian Lodge, which they decorated spectacularly with glowing red and green flowers, and a shedload of decorations found in the Celestial’s holiday stash. She heavily suspected that riding around on the back of a yeti, in full Santa costume and lobbing gifts at his friends from a great height had been a highlight of Craig’s year too. But it was just like this… they all gathered together around a delicious meal, laughing and talking. Almost without fail, someone would have a little too much to drink, there’d be some ridiculous brief spat over something petty, and then they’d all collapse, happy and exhausted. How she longed to be a part of it, to be with her friends. She could almost… she could almost feel it, like she was there, not set apart, trapped by her weakened body.

Grace sat down on the little bed that had been put up for Taylor in the corner of the echoey hall, just beside the long table where all their friends were already clamouring for food.

“We hope you like it, Taylor,” she said. “We’ve thrown a lot of feasts during our time, but this one’s especially for you. To thank you.” She kissed her friend’s forehead and leaned close in the hope that her words might come through. “I… spent a lot of my life looking up to my mother, trying to match her, to be good enough. I had to be successful. The thing is, I didn’t really know what successful was before I met you. You listen to the people you care about, you appreciate them for exactly who and what you are, you nurture their dreams… and their happiness is your happiness. You made me feel like I could be proud just to be me. I’m so very, very glad you showed up on that plane with us. Please join us again soon… you might have been Vaanu’s missing piece, but now you’re ours.”

Estela quietly joined them, settling herself just away from the dinner table so she could remain close to Taylor; always touching her.

“I really think she’s going to wake up,” Grace said, her eyes still on Taylor’s still face. “It’s so easy to forget when you see her every day, but she’s come so far already. When I first saw her, she really was pale as a ghost. If it wasn’t for the tiny movement of her chest, I would have thought we’d already lost her. And now… she looks as though she’s sleeping peacefully. Just waiting for the right moment.”

Estela nodded, but said nothing. This had turned out to be an emotional experience. Seeing Taylor lying there as if asleep, with a feeding tube sticking out of her, and not an eyelid flicker of a response to the activity around her was unsettling. She just looked so small and helpless. Even knowing how far she’d come, she appeared vulnerable, and it made Estela nervous. She realised that she’d never really joined in these big family get-togethers without Taylor by her side. It was difficult to shake the feeling that something was missing.

“It really is fascinating to see her recovery,” Grace was saying, as Aleister took the chair beside Estela.

“You don’t mind if I join you. I presumed, with Taylor’s presence, this would be the less rowdy end of the table.”

“That’s a fair assumption.” Estela looked up the table. It was an almost perfect rowdiness scale, to be honest, from an unconscious Taylor at one end to Craig at the other.

Aleister gave a polite nod of acknowledgement to Taylor before beginning to eat, and felt his cheeks flush as he remembered that she couldn’t actually see him. “Er, yes. I quite agree, Grace.” He pointedly ignored Estela as she stifled a laugh at his expense. “She’s in what we would call a comatose state, yet her body is rebuilding, becoming something new. There must have been very little left within Taylor if the greater life form was set free… and yet, even from the most minute sparks of life…”

“…she’s coming back to us.”

Estela picked at her food as she listened to their musings. It was all very interesting, she supposed, but she imagined she’d be more concerned with the hows and whys once Taylor had finished with all this extraordinary rebuilding. She changed the subject. “So, Grace, are you gonna pay your mom a visit?”

“Hmmm… that’s actually a difficult question. I know I’m going to, I just don’t know when. We spoke on the phone. I hoped it would clear the air-- it’s been such a long time-- but I hung up afterwards and I just felt terrible. Terrible like I haven’t felt in so long. Somewhere down the line, I need to confront her, to finally put everything I feel out on the table. I just… don’t know if I’m there yet.”

Aleister took Grace’s hand and clasped it in both of his. “When the time comes, you can rest assured that I will be cheering in your corner. I could write your mother a book on how brilliant, sensitive, and utterly marvellous you are, but I feel my words would hold more meaning to your ears.”

“Well, I hope she realises what she’s got,” Estela said, smiling to herself at Aleister’s gushing. He absolutely worshiped the ground Grace walked on, and she couldn’t say such devotion was misplaced. For all the heartache and drama of those early days, so long ago now, they had each found in the other exactly what they needed.

Grace gave a sheepish little smile. “Thank you, Estela. I hope so too. But what matters is that we’re our own family now… a family that gives love and support without conditions. The more I think about it, the less I care what my mother thinks.”

Estela returned the smile. She knew that Grace was not just talking about the Catalysts as a family, but their small band of relations, tied together by genetics or marriage. She’d been reluctant-- or rather, the idea had filled her with a violent urge to stab things-- but she’d come to accept Aleister as her brother, and cared for him and Grace rather more deeply than she’d like to let on. She supposed living on an island with someone for a year could do that to a person.

With the buffet dinner complete, Aleister sat beside Taylor, reading to her from ‘Pride and Prejudice’, hoping that it would appeal to her romantic nature. Having had been quite at a loss as to what to say to someone who, to be frank, was hardly there at all, he’d fallen back on the reliability of classic literature.

Taylor could hear Aleister talking close to her, even amid the jumble of voices all around. His stood out with ease; his accent and almost exaggerated enunciation could not be mistaken. He’d been reading that book to her over the past couple of days. She got lost trying to follow what he read, but it nonetheless felt nice. It had taken some searching to find it, but she’d become well acquainted with Aleister’s sweeter side. After Grace, it was she who he’d first began to warm to, and they rekindled their friendship almost immediately after he’d made his allegiance to the other Catalysts clear. He and Grace had always good company. And it was always the both of them; both seemed more secure in themselves with the other present. The conversations they shared with Taylor were so different to those she had with anyone else. They could animatedly discuss art, history, science… for hours. Taylor was always listening more than contributing much, but they always appreciated her earnest curiosity. She could almost feel the library around her… a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands as her friends took her into their world of unlimited wonder and learning.

“You’re reading to her now?” Estela asked as she returned with more drinks. “Without me?”

“And here I thought Regency era romance was ‘boring’?”

“It kind of is, but you went and got me invested.”

Jake, who walked by at what by Estela’s reckoning was very much the wrong time, gave a shout of laughter. “Never fear, Katniss, your secret’s safe with me.” He smirked as she flushed a deep red. “Or should that be Darcy? I’m not seeing you as the Elizabeth Bennett of the relationship…”

Aleister cleared his throat. “Some impressive name-dropping for someone unfamiliar with the works of Austen…”

Choking on his drink, Jake turned on his heel and started in the other direction. “Hey-- I’ve got a sister-- she had a major thing for Colin Firth in high school! It’s seared onto my fuckin’ brain!”

Estela laughed into her beer. “Well, at least Taylor’s an appreciative audience.”

The evening rolled on timelessly as their feasts always did. The space around Taylor’s bed, as anticipated, drew everyone in, a loving and supportive circle forming around her. Or, at least, they were supportive of her, if not always one another, as was the case when Craig realised he’d downed his creamy cocktail a little too quickly.

“Could you please not vomit while I’m trying to read to Taylor? We’re trying to convince her to re-join us in the land of the living and not to flee into some unknown void where mercifully she might never again have her ears assaulted by your bodily functions!”

Quinn brought out a cake, carefully shaped and decorated in the form of a dinosaur, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the oryctoraptor. As everyone raised their glasses to Taylor, Quinn began dishing out her creation, giving Estela the leg from the knee down to take a bite out of.

Everyone fell about laughing as Estela hid her face in her hands, unable to stop herself from cracking up. If anyone could get away with making a jab at her sometimes-violent sense of justice, it was Quinn… especially if she was going to do it with cake.

In their circle, which seemed to huddle in tighter as time went on, they all reminisced, looking back over what would no doubt be the most incredible period of their lives. There was laughter… a lot of laughter, and a small amount of cake flinging, for what was a party without at least a little food fight? For a while, they played truth-or-dare, which resulted in a dramatic reading of the pivotal romantic scene in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ as performed by a delightfully drunken duo of Sean and Jake with impressive conviction, a moving turning point in a relationship once fraught with egotistical rivalry. Tears were shed. Everyone agreed it to be tragic that Sean’s mom had returned home a day too soon to see his star turn as Lizzy.

With such highlights as Raj drinking a concoction that looked like dishwater but actually contained vodka, coffee, white wine and gravy; Varyyn dancing Gangnam Style, and an awful lot of kissing, with just about every possible combination of participants, the game went on and on, only dissolving as everyone-- bar the responsible doctor on duty-- became too inebriated to keep track of whose turn it was. By that point, Michelle was happy to let the game fizzle out before someone got hurt.

Taylor soaked it all in. The shouts, the laughter… it left her swimming in flashes of memory, more of them than she could comprehend. All those times she’d been there, egging on her friends, giggling hysterically. How could drunken shenanigans be so meaningful? She supposed it was that desperately needed bit of fun that had made the trials they faced bearable. It wasn’t so much the parties that mattered, but the people who were a part of them.

When truth-or-dare became too much like hard work, a session of soulful, if largely skill-less, serenading of Taylor began in earnest, firstly with Diego pulling out his entire repertoire of friendship songs from the screen, before the whole gang joined in.

The singing… it took Taylor back to that New Year’s Eve… Michelle sang for them. Taylor had been entranced by her beautiful voice, ringing clear against a snowy night. This singing… was not like that.

By the end of the night, Jake had finally managed to prise a tipsy Estela away from her protective post as Taylor’s guard, coaxing her into a wrestling match on the floor in blatant disregard to Michelle’s scowling. Within minutes, it had turned into a tickle fight, and it became a free for all.

“Will you please be careful-- that leg is healing!”

Estela and Diego tumbled together beneath the table, gasping with laughter as they jostled for prime tickling position. It was as if the worry and grief from the days’ past had left them, and they’d come out of it an unlikely pair. Just as she had her fingers an inch away from her opponent’s neck, Estela’s body was jolted by an immense hiccough, and she cracked her head against the tabletop. Seizing his moment, Diego became a tickling machine, leaving Estela a spluttering mess before him.

“Shit, Katniss. Ever hiccuped so hard you lost a fight to Petey?”

“I’m not even gonna bother being offended by that-- I won!”

Varyyn beamed. “I am so proud of you. Ten points to Hufflepuff!” As everyone snorted into their drinks, he became concerned. “Is this not how the point system works?”

Estela just laughed, and her whole body spasmed with another violent hiccough. “On that note… I think I’m done. Can someone give me a hand with Taylor?” She tried to get up, and realised quickly that a combination of alcohol and a banged-up leg were going to make manoeuvring herself a challenge.

“I’m not gonna say ‘I told you so…’” Michelle said under her breath. Rolling her eyes, she helped Estela to her feet. “It’s honestly a relief to see you laughing.”

A steady stream of voices framed with laughter, one after the other, each coming close, talking to her and her alone. “I love you.” Again, and again. With each voice she felt a part of herself, shining through her consciousness in the form of memory. The essence of who she was. And then… Taylor was sure she felt strong arms around her, holding her close to a heartbeat, carrying her. The connection she had with her body was weak, but as she searched for that feeling, that sense of touch, it returned to her. She was almost there… and she could feel her friends all around her… keeping her safe… making her whole.

 At last, quiet. With Taylor propped into a comfortable position for the night, Estela flopped down beside her, feeling a tingling warmth all through her body. At least the hiccoughs had stopped. That she’d been relaxed enough to drink a few beers was something in itself; in the wake of her wife’s sacrifice, her body had been tightly wound, ready to leap to protect the one she loved at any second. But now she could see the change… she could feel it. Had Taylor not spoken through Varyyn, Estela would have believed it all the same. Taylor was still with them. She looked over her adoringly. Her Taylor… stronger than any person she’d ever known. When Estela closed her eyes and imagined their future together, the belief in it that had been shaky since Taylor had first shared her intentions to restore the world… the belief was firm and true. And the faith made her heart sing.

“Psst-- Taylor!” Estela giggled. Yeah, shit. One drink too many. “Taylor, mi amor, mi bella durmiente, mi señora de otro mundo… I love you. So. Very. Much.” She rolled onto her belly and caterpillar crawled up the pillow to give her lover a kiss-- aiming for her cheek but getting her ear instead. “You’re not gonna remember that I was pissed, are you? I’m just a little… a little bit…” As she sank into her pillow, tiredness snuck up on Estela like a TacoNinja. A TacoNinja?, she wondered. Fucking Raj giving me weird drunk thoughts… “But you’re coming home… you’re coming home… estas viniendo a casa… coming… home…”

Watching the hypnotic rise and fall of Taylor’s chest beside her, affection bubbled in Estela’s heart, making her giddy… though the drinks helped. She huddled in close, her face nuzzled in to Taylor’s neck, her arm draped protectively against Taylor’s breast, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Because-- of course-- to her, she was.

“Sweet dreams, mi corazón.”

A hand, resting gentle and loving against her heart… her side shielded with the strong wall of soft chest and firm belly… those sweet lips tickling her neck with tiny kisses…Taylor could feel it, the tender embrace of her love. Her Estela. It made her want to purr with contentment. With all her heart, Taylor wanted to reach up her hand and wrap it around Estela’s, to hold her. The connection with her body was not quite there. Through the night, Taylor allowed herself to revel in that new feeling; the wondrous, heavenly sensation of Estela’s body against hers, suddenly real to her.

 __________________________

Estela woke slowly, disturbed by light streaming through the window, but unwilling to accept that further sleep was unlikely.

“Good morning, Taylor,” she whispered, offering a sweet kiss to her wife’s collarbone.

Her voice was so close, agonisingly close. The kiss made her feel alight with a glow, the touch of Estela’s breath on her neck made her entire spirit sing.

Estela reached out and took Taylor’s hand in her own. Those slender fingers had held her through so much… wiped away so many tears. Too many.

Taylor concentrated on the soft pressure against her hand, willing herself to return the touch, to make contact. Her eyelids flickered. She was almost there… almost there. A gentle stroke of fingers across her own heightened her senses further. Frustrated, she tried to reach out, to return the loving touch, but she couldn’t quite do it. Taylor slowed her breathing, seeking the calm she needed to finish her journey. She focused on the rhythmic, steady beating of Estela’s heart against her back, letting it guide her home. A warm squeeze around her fingers made her own heart flutter. And Taylor squeezed back.

[wiltingbeast]

         [PANDEMONIUM] || We Are (Not) Animals

    In one fell swoop, the Golden Ward had effectively become its own, unofficial quarantine zone. Disease was not the cause of this though-- rather, the whims of forces unknown determined that chaos needed to be stirred, for nothing more than curiosity and the insatiable desire for entertainment. All those already in the Golden Ward had no choice but to participate in the twisted event. Denial in any shape or form could possibly result in an early end that none were willing to test. They were all “free” to leave, with the only requirement being to take that risk of failure.

    Despite the danger in place, the law of the city made no attempt to block off or barricade any entrances to the city. Everyone was aware of the danger, and few were willing to enter. It’s true that some citizens were foolish enough to charge in to try and save the people they care about... but maybe they didn’t stop to think that doing so would only lower everyone’s chances of surviving the twisted game. There were only so many points to go around, and more players result in thinned out results.

    Of course, there was always the option to steal the points of others...

    But only if one was willing to murder for their own survival.

    Adam Taurus had witnessed such an outcome himself. He was lucky enough to have not be in Golden at the time, and nor did he have reason to go in... Yet he went out of his way to the Archimedes ward, dangerously close to the border between wards. He managed to secure a free spot on a tall building’s rooftop to observe what he could in Golden. The bull was essentially powerless... going in there would have been utterly foolish. Yet his interest could not be ignored.

    The general populace of the unaffected wards was content to wait out the event, to pretend that it had nothing to do with them. Adam didn’t find it surprising at all; a majority of people will always prefer to ignore the suffering of a minority. Such an unspoken law of society seems to prove true even in Isola, in a situation where race was completely unrelated to the situation at hand.

    However, in this case... the minority is choosing to destroy itself in the process of survival. From his vantage point, the faunus took notice of various different conflicts regarding the “players” and their targets. The main issue that came up, though, came up when two strangers came across each other. Every time this happened, a choice had to be made. The strangers could choose to ignore each other and go about their own survival... Some may choose to form a temporary alliance. But the most frequent resolution Adam witnessed was one of violence. Though one method or another, such encounters usually ended up with someone injured or dead, without discrimination.

    Humans killing humans, nonhumans killing nonhumans. All manner of people turning on each other, all clawing for their own safety. In a way, this was perhaps the most pure form of equality among living creatures. Nothing stood in the way of discrimination, barring the ties of friends and loved ones. Total anarchy of this nature... By turning everyone against each other, everyone is reduced to the same level. No one group of people can be considered more valuable over another, aside from the arbitrary numbers of the game.

    Was this one possibility for equality? Creating an environment where individuality is rewarded more than anything?

    ... No. This landscape of bloodshed couldn’t be the answer. An environment like this only turns people into monsters. This behavior is exactly what the worst kinds of humans in Remnant believe to be inherent to all faunus.

         “... I won’t accept a world of animals.”

    Without another word, Adam turned to leave the violent show down below, feeling a pit of disgust form in his stomach.

[ncfan-1]

I just want to say I adore all of the meta you've done on Eclipsa! And I loved your headcanon and fanfic on Skywynne being Eclipsa's first daughter too! Do you have any other headcanons about them or other past Mewni Queens?

Thankyou! I’m glad you liked the fic and the meta!

As forhead canons, well, I’m keeping some of my Eclipsa head canons under wraps untilwe find out more about her on the show, but there are some I can talk about.She had Skywynne (or whoever her older daughter turns out to be, if theyaddress this on the show and it turns out to be someone else) at a relativelyyoung age, nineteen. She married her Mewman husband when she was seventeen. Hewas only a year older than her; this wasn’t some ‘old man marrying a child’deal. They were friendly with one another (they liked to talk shit aboutmembers of the court they didn’t like together, and both trusted to the other’sdiscretion), and her feelings for him were… complex. So complex that Eclipsaherself can’t really define them.

Whydid she marry him? The Butterfly family sort of goes through cycles of having alot of branches or relatively few; in present-day, it’s pretty extensive, butin Eclipsa’s time, it was relatively small. Eclipsa didn’t have a lot of alliesat court, and her future husband was from a powerful family. When thingsdeteriorated, the fact that he was from a powerful family wound up workingagainst her. Badly.

Skywynne?Once her mother was crystallized, Skywynne did much the same as Elizabeth Iregarding Anne Boleyn and never spoke of her again. She wore some of hermother’s old jewelry from time to time, but otherwise, avoided any connectionto her. Skywynne had to work hard to rehabilitate the reputation of the crownin the eyes of the Mewman people after everything that went down with Eclipsa.She had to work equally hard to avoid falling under suspicion of sharing hermother’s “unconventional” beliefs, both regarding dark magic and the place ofmonsters in Mewni society. (Her natural position towards both was already inline with Mewman society as a whole. She was predisposed to fear and distrustdark magic, and was inculcated with the institutionalized racism of her people,which unlike her mother, she never shook off, nor even questioned. This didn’tmatter to the royal court.)

Skywynne’spersonal feelings for her mother were complicated, to put it mildly. Sheregarded her mother’s fleeing Mewni as a personal betrayal, and even beforethen, their relationship wasn’t untroubled. I talked about it in thispost, but basically, Eclipsa, though she loved Skywynne and she did try, wasn’t an ideal mother. AsQueen, she already didn’t have much time for her kid, but she was also, uh,consumed with other things (Research into dark magic. Trying to make strides inintroducing reforms into how monsters are treated. Stuff like that). Also,performing the constant emotional labor that comes with being an involvedparent didn’t come naturally to her. They didlove each other; they just didn’t have a perfectly untroubled relationship.Eclipsa was a bit absent, and Skywynne more than a little needy. They bondedover a shared love of spellcasting and research.

On topof regarding her mother’s fleeing Mewni as a personal betrayal, she wasrepelled by Eclipsa’s experimenting with dark magic (though like the rest ofthe MHC, she didn’t know exactly what Eclipsa did, and never cared to find out)and repelled by the notion that monsters should be regarded as equal toMewmans. Her feelings towards Meteora were resentment that this was the childher mother had “replaced” her with mixed with quiet revulsion of theabomination she and society both regarded a Mewman-monster hybrid as being.

Butlike Eclipsa, Skywynne had a fascination with incredibly dangerous magic, though unlike her mother she had thegood fortune to be drawn to magic that wasn’t regarded as “dark.” Unfortunatelyfor her, time magic happens to be even more inherently dangerous than most ofthe dark magic her mother came up with. She died a rather gruesome death whenone of her experiments went wrong.

Otherhead canons?

-Skywynne had a twin girl and boy at the age of thirty-five, and no otherchildren.

-Celena the Shy, like Star, read Eclipsa’s chapter, and like Star, made use ofthe All-Seeing Eye, though she did so much more than Star did. A bit too much,in fact. Her insatiable curiosity led her towards “things men were not meant toknow”-type knowledge, and as tends to happen when someone stumbles on “thingsmen were not meant to know”-type knowledge, Celena did not come away from thatmentally unscathed. Many of her contemporaries thought she held her fan up toher mouth as some sort of nervous tic. It was in fact because of a curse thatwas laid upon her; I’ll leave that one to your imagination. The fact that shewears gloves over her hands may be significant.

-Celena favored plant creation magic. She wasn’t much of a fighter.

- Eclipsamet her monster lover/possible second husband shortly after she became Queen.She had a number of monster friends that she made when she snuck out of thecastle while she was still just the princess.

-Someone, I think it was @nomidot, head canons (or head canoned; I don’t know ifthey still do) Eclipsa’s mother as being blind. I like that head canon, so ifthey don’t mind, I think I’m going to use it, too. My version of Eclipsa’smother was named Persephone. She went blind as a young child due to illness.She could be rather distant with the court, fierce with her own child, but shestill loved Eclipsa very much, and Eclipsa spent much of her childhoodpractically attached to her mother’s hip. Eclipsa didn’t like to worryPersephone, though she spent plenty of time worrying about Persephone. Persephone had an ebony cane with a silver handlethat she used to walk with.

-Eclipsa’s father died when she was a little girl; she has no clear memories ofhim. Her mother died when she was fifteen.

-Eclipsa’s first foray into dark magic involved trying to bring her mother backto life. It ended badly. Really badly. The results were… Well, imagine theresults of human transmutation in FMA: Brotherhood if the result was actuallythe person the alchemist was trying to bring back to life, and you get thepicture. What was brought back didn’t survive very long.

-Already reeling from the loss of her mother, Eclipsa sank into a deep, numbdepression after her attempt to bring her mother back to life failed so spectacularly.Her first husband supported her through it (though he didn’t know about theresurrection attempt; no one in the royal court did), hence Eclipsa’s verycomplex feelings for him. No one else had been willing to do that; just him.She sort of fell in love with him during this period. It wasn’t an enduringlove; what it was was lingering.

-Solena died by committing suicide.

- I’mwavering on whether the “a castle stormed” in Solaria’s tapestry poem refers toher castle being stormed, or her storming someone else’s castle, namely acastle belonging to the monsters. Right now, I kinda want to believe that whatwe know as the Butterfly family’s castle was originally a castle belonging tothe monsters that Solaria sacked and conquered. After she conquered the castleand established it as the home of her court, any references to it having oncebeen the monsters’ castle were thoroughly effaced. Whether or not I stick withthis head canon, I’m head canoning her as one of the earlier Queens of Mewni,rather than being one of Eclipsa’s descendants.

-Bubipsa the Barbarian Baby-Eater… oh boy. Right now, I’m head canoning the‘barbarian’ part of her epithet as coming from her having a Johansen father. Asfor the ‘Baby-Eater’ part… She got away with it because the babies in question weremonsters. Yes, really. Even the ultra-racist Mewman royal court regarded thisas being beyond the pale of acceptable behavior, because, you know, babies. Since they were monster babies, though, the MHC didn’tregard this as a crystallizing offense (Though Rhombulus was still appalled.Hence why he cites his mistaken recollection of Eclipsa as being a baby-eateras justification for crystallizing her). Bubipsa was eventually killed when herdaughters staged a coup against her; eating babies wasn’t the only unsavorything she was doing, as it turns out. Oh, and no matter how evil you thinkEclipsa might turn out to be, Bubipsa was worse. Much worse.

- Thetreaty Comet intended to sign with the Monster King… Well, monsters would havebeen better off if the treaty had been signed, but that’s more because therearen’t too many ways they could be worse offthan because it was a fair, equitable document that was going to signal thebeginning of a new age of peace and friendship between Mewmans and monsters.Comet’s particular brand of racism was the (not really) “benevolent” kind. Thekind of benevolent racism that believes in noble savages and ExceptionalMonsters and “separate, but equal.” Which is to say, still hella racist.  (I don’t have a hard head canon for why Toffeekilled her, not yet. I’m still hoping the show will address that directly.)

- Star (is not a past Queen of Mewni, but she’s on here anyways)was originally left-handed, but when she was about seven years old, she brokeher arm while playing (Let’s be real, given the stuff we know she got up topre-S1, she probably wound up with broken bones at least a couple of times).Her mother let the break heal naturally rather than heal it with magic to tryto teach Star a lesson about being reckless (And because healing magic can bekind of dicey and Moon isn’t an expert, but she told Star it was to teach her alesson about recklessness). One of the consequences was that Star had to learnto write with her right hand while she had the cast on, and couldn’t reallywrite with her left hand anymore even after the cast came off. She still usesher left hand for plenty of stuff, and is still left-side dominant, but shewrites with her right hand nowadays.

(Theissue muddling this is that pretty much anyone who’s left-handed has to learnhow to do certain things with their weak hand. I’m left-handed, and I can tellyou that the average left-hander uses their right hand for more things than theaverage right-hander uses their left hand for.)

[soto-translates]

Saiyuki: Love Quizzes

Big thanks to @flowermiko for the original scans!

Ever wonder which of the guys you're most like?  Which one you should date?  Wonder no more.  With these charts from the Gensoumaden TV guide and OVA, you can find out X3

※ 天上転(天)下唯我独尊 [Ten Jyo Ten(Ten) Ge Yui Ga Doku Son] The proper phrase, meaning “I alone am holy throughout heaven and earth”, uses the character 天 (heaven) twice, so the quiz replaces the second 天 with the homophone 転 (turn, roll, change).

BIG Presentation of Chart Results Here’s the result explanations you’ve been waiting for!! The character corresponding to the word you arrived at on the previous page is absolutely your personality type.  Like birds of a feather, your compatibility is on the mark!!

天 [Ten] Heaven SON GOKU ENERGETIC MOOD MAKER Always full of energy.  At any rate, you’re the Goku type who prioritizes exercise.  Because of that personality you often get those around you into trouble, but you’ve got a strange charm and for some reason everyone loves you.  And of course, your insatiable curiosity and appetite (!?) are hard core!! ● I like this type of person -- Genjo Sanzo ー A guardian-like person who seems like he’d forgive selfishness. ● This type is popular -- Kanzeon Bosatsu ー You’ll be teased and played with ... don’t get too close!?

上 [Jyo] Above KOUGAIJI EXTREMELY SHY PRINCE You’re the Kougaiji type with a strong sense of responsibility and a kind soul that thinks of others.  Sometimes you can be too serious and you’ve been left holding the bag more than once.  However, you’re charismatic and quickly pull people to you; you blow away any difficulties. ● He’s the type that would make a good rival -- Son Goku ー It’s amazing watching him break through without any hesitation!! ● The type of person I want to be near -- Yaone ー She gently takes care of both his mind and body (she’s an alchemist, after all)

転 [Ten] Turn CHIN YISOU FAITHFUL TO HIS OWN SELF INTEREST You’re the Chin Yisou type who tends to get too obsessed with a single interest.  In regards to interpersonal relations, you are unable to honestly voice your feelings or act on them.  You should try to be more honest. ● The Chin type is definitely one I pay attention to -- Cho Hakkai ー Hakkai is also the type to straight-forwardly fall in love.  He’ll be charmed!! ● On the other hand, what type likes him... ー Umm, he may be difficult to like as he is right now!?

下 [Ge] Below NII JIANYI SMILING MAD SCIENTIST!? You’re the Nii Jianyi type, bright-minded and not one to show your real intentions.  Your words and actions tend to be unfathomable and your smile can be suspicious, so people around you may suspect that you’re “definitely plotting something”. ● I think I’d get along with someone like him -- Chin Yisou ー Two strange characters!?  However, you must have a condescending attitude... ● It’s good luck to be beneath this sort of person!? -- Gyokumen Koushu ー It’ll be worth it someday to give in to his selfishness!?

唯 [Yui] Merely SHA GOJYO A SKIRT-CHASER, BUT ACTUALLY A SENSIBLE PERSON You usually take things lightly.  Actually, you possess incredibly various talents.  But no matter what you do you’re the jack of all trades, master of none -type for whom many things go unrewarded.  You’re someone who can be relied on in a pinch, though you may grumble.  You’re admired by everyone. ● The type of person I’d take as my sworn younger brother -- Son Goku ーA comrade he bickers with as soon as he’s near ● Popular with the opposite sex -- Woman at the bar ー Your witty conversation is spot on with anyone

我 [Ga] Oneself GENJO SANZO PRIDE HIGHER THAN A MOUNTAIN!? Quiet and blunt.  You are the Sanzo type who is easily misunderstood by all.  Your hand (paper fan) moves before your mouth, but that’s because you can’t show your emotions honestly.  First, find a friend who can open your heart! ● This type of person can understand you very well -- Cho Hakkai ー Someone who understands your thoughts without saying a word ● What about the type that can open your heart? -- Goku and Lirin ー Uncalculating innocents.  Are they small animals or babies!?

独 [Doku] Alone RIKUDO RACE WITH YOUR IMPULSE! You’re the Rikudo type who is moved by emotion, unable to suppress your impulses.  Thus, you tend to cause trouble for others, but in the end you know where to draw the line.  You’re someone who can easily take things too far, so be careful! ● This is the only person who can suppress you! -- Genjo Sanzo ー This is the person you want to be recognized by.  Your embarrassed feelings are important!! ● The person of the opposite sex who will come to like you -- ...... ー Unfortunately right now... And you were such a catch before

尊 [Son] Noble CHO HAKKAI DON’T BE FOOLED BY THE NONCHALANT SMILE You’re the Hakkai type who is good at looking after others and is kind to all.  You’re liked by everyone: man or woman, young or old.  And, you can calmly make decisions and possess the strength of spirit to use your smile as a weapon (!?) and overcome any situation you get dropped into. ● You can’t leave this kinda guy alone! -- Sha Gojyo ー You have your hands full dealing with the sloppy Gojyo ● This sort of person is a good match -- Kanan ー Anyway, their wavelengths are √+.  The perpetually smiling couple.

LOVE LOVE Compatability Check Sanzo, Goku, Gojyo, Hakkai ...... Which character is compatable with you in LOVE LOVE?

Fortunes by Kanon Miwa Profile: Astrologer who loves music, reading and ballet.  Pisces.  Type O Motto: The grass is greener on the other side. ※ Birthdates are taken into account, so fortunes will be different from start sign -only ones.

GENJO SANZO Birth: November 29, Sagittarius Age: 23 Blood type: A He’s a person who discovers a new self through knowledge and understanding, and strengthens his own power by exchanging energy with others.  He can fully demonstrate his powers as a leader and will continue on toward his lofty goal so long as he is in unrestrained.  But he tends to abandon his efforts when faced with an obstacle rather than endure it, so when sensitive people get close to him they end up hurt... Also, he will run with wild ideas when pressed. Keywords: Aim high and move your pieces forward

SON GOKU Birth: April 5, Aries Age: 18 Blood type: O Bright and full of charm!  But he can be absent-minded, and this has hurt the people around him.  But he has no evil intentions! He is the type to attempt things normal people would never think to try, and this awakens his hidden talents.  However, he has a habit of jumping into dangerous situations, so be careful!  He is the type to become extremely down when depressed, but shows an innocent selfishness when loved. Keywords: Has good intentions...

SHA GOJYO Birth: November 9, Scorpio Age: 22 Blood type: B A passionate person who combines acute human observation skills with precise powers of deduction.  His mysterious aura often sets hearts abuzz, but also displays a friendly side when he gets used to his surroundings.  Because he’s a passionate person, when he is unable to control himself he can suddenly become deeply jealous.  Until he achieves his wish he may fail or arouse the suspicions of the people around him, but he is the type to grow into a trustworthy person while going through many hardships. Keywords: Broad-minded

CHO HAKKAI Birth: September 21, Virgo Age: 22 Blood type: AB Sensitive, and even though he shoulders a burden, he won’t let you know it.  He’s the type to soothe people with his elegant charm. However, once he breaks through a wall he suddenly races to the limits and egoistically go out of control, so be careful! Even though he appears to act wildly, in actuality he is unconsciously calculating.  He is absolutely an indefatigable person. Keyword: Indefatigable

GENJO SANZO, Sagittarius △ Good 【Cancer】You end up worrying about him.  He’ll interact with you more easily if you’re more aggressive! 【Virgo】If you interact with him like a young lady would, he may instead pull away.  Interact with him as an equal and he will value you more than anyone else. 【Scorpio】If you approach him too aggressively he tends to be surprised and cool down.  First, firmly press forward and then mysteriously attack - that’s the key to success ♡ 【Pisces】Even though you actually have a lot in common, you tend to end up butting heads.  Watch over him kindly. ◯ Better 【Taurus】First, put yourself out there with your own original approach.  Don’t worry about being too bold; that level is perfect for the two of you. 【Libra】First, start with being friends.  As you gradually get closer, he may naturally come to feel more possessive of you. 【Sagittarius】Seems like you could have a telepathic relationship if you don’t restrain each other.  Jealousy and the urge to monopolize each other are the sources of your conflicts, so watch out! 【Capricorn】Precisely because you’re a steady person, you can support his unconventional areas!  Compromising with each other is important ◎ Best 【Aries】Once the flame is lit, your love will grow bright enough to consume you both.  However, if it interferes too much the fire will spread to unrelated areas. 【Gemini】The strength he receives from the sensitive you is the source of his courage.  His somewhat rough words are because he trusts you.  Don’t worry about it! 【Leo】Your existence is connected to his confidence.  The more you love him, the brighter the fire that burns deep within him will burn.  Push forward hand in hand! 【Aquarius】Even he acknowledges your superiority, creative as you are.  Open his heart little by little through casual conversation!

SON GOKU, Aries △ Good 【Cancer】Your sensitivity tends to awaken his teasing nature.  But he actually understands the same pain, so don’t take it to heart! 【Virgo】He easily troubles your intense feelings.  Actively promote yourself and restore balance. 【Capricorn】You both tend to get obstinate.  Don’t mind the small things; you can have a happy relationship if you can be honest with each other. 【Pisces】When you just can’t seem to understand one another, smile!  Cultivate trust by easily smiling at each other. ◯ Better 【Taurus】Heal him with your tolerance and broad-mindedness.  If you do that, he’ll come flying into your heart!! 【Leo】Support him even when he goes so crazy you can’t keep up with him.  If you do that, you’ll have a good relationship. 【Scropio】At first glance you two stand in contrast to one another, but you definitely have that “something” that connects you deep down.  Build up trust thoroughly. 【Aquarius】You’ll progress from an important friend to a best friend he can easily talk with.  A deep bond will form from your almost familial relationship. ◎ Best 【Aries】The fact that you two take on unknown things is the secret to your long-continuing, stimulating relationship.  You’ll have a bright and happy love like a burning flame ♡ 【Gemini】You two get along very well.  If you smile and forgive he selfishness, his kindness will rise even more. 【Libra】You’re the best couple when his power and your wits combine.  However, you may need to be cautious when he gets too excited. 【Sagittarius】Right now, it’s important to take just a few more steps.  If you can share various dreams and goals, you can have a very good relationship beneficial to you both.

SHA GOJYO, Scorpio △ Good 【Gemini】You may end up hurting one another with a careless comment if the two of you don’t watch your words.  Kind words are important. 【Leo】Your upright pride may be too bright for him.  If you listen to him carefully, he’ll find it easier to talk to you too. 【Sagittarius】You’re both filled with vitality, but even if you do the same thing you may be thinking completely different things.  Keep trying to understand each other! 【Aquarius】If you go at your own pace, he’ll go at his own pace.  A tip to have things go well is for both of you to aim for a reliable course. ◯ Better 【Aries】He may dodge you if you bump into him head-on.  Get him to honestly view you as the person fascinated with his behavior that you are! 【Virgo】Even if your values differ, he’s a comrade you can live alongside of.  Your coolness with light a fire within him. 【Libra】To him, you are a bit of a strange existence.  He’ll surely come to understand you if you actively approach him. 【Scorpio】Mightn’t both of you have parts you can’t see because you’re too close?  If you patiently listen to each other, you can deepen your bond. ◎ Best 【Taurus】You should be able to accept his tendency to burn himself with the flames of a dark passion.  If you devote yourself to healing and amusing him, you could have the best relationship! 【Cancer】He will catch hold of your deep sensitivity.  However, be careful of a deep and dangerous corrupting love. 【Capricorn】Although at first glance your personalities are different, your straight-forward approach hits his sweet spot.  You two are strangely suitable for one another.  ♡ 【Pisces】A very good union.  However, be careful you don’t see too much of each other’s good and bad points!  Firmly accept his passion.

CHO HAKKAI, Gemini △ Good 【Aries】Be careful not to rub his sensitive feelings the wrong way!  If you do you can maintain a very good relationship. 【Gemini】Be careful of your pride and his bumping into one another!  While he can be kind he can also be stubborn, so try yielding the first step. 【Sagittarius】He may be puzzled by your assertiveness.  However, fun conversations will develop if you listen closely to what he says. 【Aquarius】There’s a possibility you two will become an interesting couple.  In order to do so, police your plans without acting on impulse! ◯ Better 【Taurus】A slightly plain but stable union.  Cut down on selfishness and follow his lead, and you’ll have a very good relationship. 【Leo】In comparison to his calmness, your feelings tend to jump ahead.  You can slow down, it’s okay! 【Virgo】The longer you carefreely chat, the more your hearts will be soothed.  Things get tense for some reason when you stay silent, so be careful! 【Libra】You two enjoy conversations full of wit.  In order to proceed from friendship to love, the most important thing is to actively push! ◎ Best 【Cancer】He properly understands your feelings.  Respect for one another is the best. 【Capricorn】A good union.  Your feelings for one another envelop you two like a quiet wave.  Don’t forget to add some excitement to your lives. 【Pisces】He’s sensitive and you’re free.  You’re contrasting, but actually you have a destined tie.  However, don’t hold up in your own world! 【Scorpio】You both find what you lack in the other, and are charmed by it.  It will take time for love to bloom, but that’s just the strength of your bond.

※Play the ladder game to find your perfect girlfriend.  Pick a letter to start on and follow the line to the left.  When you hit a vertical or diagonal line, follow that to the next horizontal line, and continue left from there.  The vertical lines with semi-circles 'jump' over the horizontal line.  Keep going until you reach your girl! XD

Please let me know if the translated images are too small to read the text, or you want to see the originals.  And again, big thanks to @flowermiko for the original scans!

[shinneth]

Gem Ascension Tropes (5XF-specific: L - Q)

Primary General Post ✦ Full Article ✦  Primary Peri Post ✦ Primary 5XF Post 

Leave Me Alone!: In Chapter 4 of This is Who I Am, 5XF decides she wants nothing to do with Steven and Peridot and would rather face the dangers of Earth by herself rather than go back to them. She has no plan for where to go or what to do, but 5XF is resolved to be the only one who has a say in where life takes her and who she really is. She isn’t of sound mind at this point, and when Steven and Peridot are very close to reclaiming her (after putting the pair through hell trying to find her), 5XF is desperate enough to let the spirit of a disembodied voice possess her so that she’ll have the power to truly ward them away and make them pay for making her so mentally unhinged. By the end of Chapter 5, she gets over this thanks to Sphalerite coming into her life.

Literal-Minded: Shares this trope with her sister, though currently downplayed.

Little Big Sister: Originally, 5XF and Peridot were the same height. However, by the time the two formally met, Peridot (junior to 5XF by 6 seconds) underwent her post-ascension growth spurt. This leaves 5XF as the shorter of the pair by a few inches.

Locked Out of the Loop: After the events of Act I, White Diamond goes out of her way to keep 5XF and all other Homeworld gems oblivious to the causes of the drastic changes occurring in Homeworld, including the fates of Yellow and Blue. By Act III, she and her fellow Peridots are rounded up and held in various pocket dimensions for the sole purpose of stalling the Crystal Gems, but the most even 5XF knows by that point is that she’s being mandated to pretend she’s 5XG.

Loner-Turned-Friend: Thanks to Sphalerite, 5XF has learned to open up to others and dare to trust someone other than herself. While she still has a very low opinion of Steven and Peridot specifically, 5XF is open and willing to get to know the other Crystal Gems and hopes to befriend them.

Love Redeems: Even Garnet believes by the end of This is Who I Am that 5XF wouldn’t have progressed as much as she had if Sphalerite hadn’t been there to pick up the pieces after 5XF’s little meltdown in Chapter 5. She can see that Steven and Peridot wouldn’t have been able to help 5XF understand Earth or her new life any better. Even more, Sphalerite’s support has helped 5XF find the courage to own up to her mistakes and wrongdoings and is willing to face the consequences. Additionally, 5XF is driven to atone for what she put Steven and Peridot through and is consequently very cooperative with the other Crystal Gems. Without a doubt, Sphalerite and their abrupt love affair helped 5XF make great leaps in her Character Development.

Loves My Alter Ego: Both exaggerated and (somewhat) justified: 5XF at best is just very unimpressed with Steven and Peridot, both as individuals and collectively… usually she holds a great deal of contempt for them, though. Their fusion, Sphalerite, on the other hand… 5XF is completely obsessed with her. Her love is absolute for this fusion, and the feeling is mutual on Sphalerite’s end. Steven and Peridot, of course… they’re not fans of this at all (especially when their affair started by taking advantage of their comatose states within their fusion).

Loving Details: While waiting for Sphalerite to wake up from her Deep Sleep (which goes on for more than half a day), 5XF is compelled to write up a preliminary profile for Sphalerite to add to the Crystal Gem database on Peridot’s tablet at a later date (when the fusion is properly introduced to everyone). Despite only knowing Sphalerite for a few hours at this point, 5XF manages to write about her for twelve pages. It’s heavily implied that 5XF has fallen for Sphalerite by this point, as the narrative points out how often she’s thinking of the fusion and is inexplicably overjoyed to see her not defuse despite so much time having passed since Steven and Peridot formed her.

Moment Killer: One of the reasons 5XF is being released from her bubble at the start of This is Who I Am. Steven and Peridot have had a good number of days alone together, but now they’re getting a little too eager for each other and moving a bit too fast. Both are aware of this, and know that with 5XF around, her presence will prevent them from going too far. Chapter 3 has her become this without actually being there, but rather through Steven mentioning that they haven’t checked on her in a while, just as he and Peridot were about to indulge in each other. Peridot’s pretty peeved but concedes without complaint.

Mood-Swinger: Evident in This is Who I Am when you compare 5XF’s behavior in Chapter 3 to how she acts in Chapter 4: she’s basically on opposite ends of the spectrum in more ways than one. Sphalerite even lampshades this in Chapter 6.

5XF: “Sphalerite, I don’t know why I’m feeling this way! I swear I don’t! It feels ridiculous that I could feel like this at all, let alone so quickly!”

Sphalerite: “You’ve, uh… nearly gone through the entire emotional spectrum at this point.”

Ms. Exposition: Similar to Peridot, 5XF offers quite a lot of insight on Homeworld life in This is Who I Am. In many ways, she trumps her little sister in this role due to her abnormally sharp perceptive skills and insatiable curiosity. In Chapter 2, she explains to Steven in detail what it meant to be a Peridot on Homeworld, revealing they have next to no personal rights; not even to defend themselves when assaulted. She reveals details that strongly suggest Peridot is still holding a major secret from Steven, which turns out to be true in the next chapter (though 5XF’s overall suspicions were only partially accurate, ultimately). As a character, she represents how badly Peridot affected her fellow kind during her Manipulative Bastard days, even indirectly (as they never crossed paths back then). In Chapter 7, she backs up Peridot when talking about a gem’s capability for reproduction and even supplies information her sister lacks, such as why gems can reproduce naturally despite it always being illegal on Homeworld.

Must Make Amends: It is 5XF’s fault that Gypsum has become a threat to Earth, and being bonded to her crystal is a clear sign that she’ll unwittingly put the Crystal Gems through hell when they do directly confront the corrupted gem. However, 5XF is not only needed to accomplish this mission of neutralizing Gypsum as a threat, but would be coming along regardless because she does feel driven to make up for the potential catastrophe her poor decision-making caused.

My God, What Have I Done?: Downplayed, but evident in 5XF’s expression when she watches Steven and Peridot sob in each other’s arms after barely surviving being forced to fight each other to the death… which was her doing. When 5XF realizes she’s not feeling the least bit good about seeing the couple suffer what she previously claimed was a just punishment, the guilt quickly seeps in. It isn’t long before 5XF is resolved to do whatever she can to make up for what she did.

Narrating the Obvious: Attempts to defy this many times throughout This is Who I Am starting with Chapter 2. More often than not, she lampshades it.

(After Steven mends Peridot’s gemstone with his Super Spit)

5XF: “I-I would say you healed her, but that’s blatantly obvious!”

Nervous Wreck: Justified in the first half of This is Who I Am; 5XF has every reason to fear and doubt everyone and everything she sees now that she’s suddenly been permanently immigrated from Homeworld to Earth. Pretty much everything about her old life has vanished in an instant, and now she’s understandably overwhelmed after learning what exactly happened after Ruby poofed and bubbled her in Act III and what to do from here on out.

Not Evil, Just Misunderstood: While 5XF did dreadful things to Steven and Peridot in This is Who I Am, there are a myriad of outside influences that forcibly drove her off the deep end. She not only struggled with a great power influencing and exaggerating her mental and physical woes that she only accepted when it became apparent 5XF had no choice than to “be captured” by Steven and Peridot, but Steven and especially Peridot in their own right did a subpar job adjusting her to Earth and helping 5XF adjust to her new life. Their inability to foster a long-term trusting relationship with 5XF led to the chain of events that resulted in 5XF getting possessed by a corrupt gem’s spirit, as 5XF legitimately only wanted to take control of her life back and adhere to no one’s terms but her own. She wanted nothing to do with Peridot and Steven and only attacked them when they pursued her. After regaining her senses and having time to relax and recover with Sphalerite, 5XF legitimately regretted what she put Steven and Peridot through; it wasn’t just because she fell in love with their fusion. In Chapter 7, 5XF makes it clear that the last thing she wants to be is “another 5XG” – in other words, she wanted to repent for her crimes rather than get away with them. 5XF is rough around the edges, but there’s nothing inherently evil about her.

Not So Different: Steven silently takes note of this between her and Peridot in Chapter 2 of This is Who I Am. 5XF often comes off as a Tsundere when Steven points out her being sentimental and concerned for Peridot and himself. Coincidentally, much like Peridot during the early phases of her redemption arc, 5XF always refers to others with a “the” preceding their name. The Amethyst, The Steven, The Jasper, and so on. Peridot’s the only exception; she is always addressed as 5XG. Her general manner of speaking is also fairly similar to Peridot’s, though notably toned down. As 5XF further develops, she continues to acquire traits or make decisions eerily similar to her sister’s without meaning to – Steven’s comments of certain tropes “running in the family” might be more on the nose than he realizes.

Ocean Awe: When Sphalerite tours her through Millennium Island, 5XF is awestruck when she sees the ocean for the first time in her life. Considering she lived in a world that had virtually no water whatsoever, seeing this much at once leaves a major impression on her. The sight of the ocean quickly becomes a visual 5XF associates with her own comfort, and she was absolutely thrilled to learn her new home would also be on a beach with a full view of an ocean.

Official Couple: With Sphalerite, as of This is Who I Am Chapter 6.

Only Sane Gem: When Steven and Peridot are her only company, 5XF believes herself to be this wholeheartedly. Played fairly straight for the first half of This is Who I Am. Even after her major breakdown, 5XF refuses to acknowledge either of her caretakers’ competence and still thinks they’re both crazy.

Overcome with Desire: 5XF falls in love with Sphalerite within a day of meeting her. While she has enough of an understanding of relationships to be self-aware of how absurd it is for her to fall for someone this quickly and want to act on it, 5XF lacks the experience to do anything more than hold back on her urges… until she finds out that Sphalerite reciprocates her feelings. Within mere minutes, the pair instantly teleport to their vacation home (only doing so because both don’t feel like dealing with the consequences of doing this in sand), and a marathon of Coitus Ensues.

Power Incontinence: At first 5XF seems to adapt well to the mysterious power that is naturally attracted to her, as she makes good use of them eluding Steven and Peridot and incapacitating the pair in This is Who I Am Chapter 4. With Gypsum’s help, 5XF even manages to fragment the couple’s very identities and set up two deathmatches where they’re forced to fight each other’s dark counterpart – even keeping the two battles isolated in different dimensions to prevent the light combatants from helping each other – creating an elaborate and sadistic game where only one of them would ultimately survive. Once Light Peridot finds a loophole to make both matches end in a No Contest, 5XF finds she can’t do anything about it and has no way of reliably controlling her own powers. It’s worth noting 5XF never really knows or understands what these powers truly are; the last thing she manages to do is put Steven and Peridot back together (after being intimidated into it via 5XG/Dark Peridot). By that point, 5XF finds herself regretting ever becoming Gypsum’s power vessel, and said powers are completely dormant once she and Sphalerite leave Gypsum’s domain. They’re guaranteed to make a comeback when the Crystal Gems properly confront Gypsum, but everyone is aware 5XF is going to be a major liability in the power department, as she still has no concept of the nature of the power she wields.

Powers via Possession: 5XF’s powers are not her own; they are merely on loan from Gypsum, and she can’t use them to their full potential until she agrees to a binding contract with the corrupted gem. While she was able to utilize these powers for minor feats before the contract, that was largely due to her fragile emotional state being receptive to Gypsum’s influence.

Quest for Identity: Her new life on Earth revolves around this goal and is greatly emphasized in This is Who I Am.

The Quiet One: In contrast to Peridot, 5XF survived her hellish work environment on Homeworld by simply doing her work, minding her own business, and refusing to socialize with any other gems. While she remains much more reserved than Peridot after being relocated to Earth, this trait of 5XF’s becomes massively downplayed to the point where it’s barely in effect after the changes she experienced with her new life.

[youdontknowaboutthis]

A brief history of me

[This series of posts is a cohesive narrative designed to help me understand my current mind based on my past experiences. Writing it down helps me organize my thoughts and make insights that I would have never discovered.]

[This series of posts is brief in that it leaves out a lot of exposition and background. Instead it focuses on the most pivotal events, details, and descriptions in my life. For example, I had many happy events with my parents, road trips, caring moments. Normal kid stuff. But there were of course negative events too. By their nature, they had a bigger impact on who I am, so they are over-represented.]

My family

When I was born, I had a brother who was a couple years older and a sister who was 7 years older. My brother was mentally retarded and physically handicapped. My sister helped take care of me and change my diapers.

My father was the son of an alcoholic who probably abused his wife. His stunted relationship with his father made him prone to anger and made him bad at expressing emotions like his father. While my mother was strict that he was to never hit me, I was frequently yelled at. My early memories of my father are mostly the fear I had of him losing his temper. To this day a grown man yelling at me will cause me to break down.

My brother died when I was 1.5 years old as a result of his condition. I was not old enough to go to the funeral and don’t remember him. My mother tells me that because of his death she was depressed for about 5 years and wasn’t emotionally available during that time. 

I’m told as a kid I would try and suffocate my brother with a pillow. I must have been barely a toddler. Maybe I was jealous of the attention given to him or maybe I was just playing rough.

I wasn’t a bad kid... wasn’t a good kid either

As a result of the emotional unavailability of my parents, I developed a strong avoidant attachment style. I wasn’t emotionally close to my parents. The parent-like relationship to my sister meant that I never felt very close to her either. I learned to be independent and rely only on myself.  I had no experience forming intimate relationships and sharing my feelings because of this.

I was a smart troublemaker who was willing to lie, but early on I was bad at lying. I wasn’t able to emphasize with other people. I couldn’t really understand what other people were feeling or why. I would disobey and the only thing I was concerned about was if my dad would yell at me or my mom would get angry.

I didn’t really have a conscience, and I explicitly realized that in fourth grade. My teacher was discussing something about morals and what a conscience was. I said nonchalantly, maybe prideful that I didn’t think I had a conscience. My teacher was a little shocked and said something like “Surely you must have something that tells you what’s right or wrong?” I didn’t really, but I sensed her tone and backpedaled. I said either I was joking or I guess I did then. I remember very well that I was afraid of getting “caught.”

In school I was a nerdy, weird, unsociable, unlikable kid. I went to a private, rich elementary and middle school. My parents were lower middle class but were also bad at managing money. I had few friends and was at the bottom of the short social totem pole. My class was only a hundred or so kids and I had few friends.

I was constantly getting in trouble for dumb reasons. I was mean and would mess with people for no reason. My dad really likes sports and so I would end up playing on a lot of different youth sports teams. I remember there was an incident in baseball where I would walk through the dugout and kick over other kids’ water bottles. There was no intimidation involved, I wasn’t bullying. I just enjoyed misbehaving. I saw it as mild disobedience, I couldn’t empathize with the other kids who had to deal with the consequences.

I never had any desire to harm anyone, I was not a sociopath. Maybe there was a moral compass sitting around in there somewhere. Or maybe I just knew what other people’s moral compasses were, and I knew that the penalties for “wrong” behavior was more severe. I could use logic and reason very well. I knew the golden rule from church and school, “do unto others.” Perhaps it was self-serving behavior, I didn’t want 

I’m ambiguous here about my motivations. I remember some of the logical reasons I did things, for example to avoid getting caught. For reasons that will be clear later, I don’t have many memories about “why” I did things. I can only guess at my motivations based on vague feelings and context.

Self-development and emotions

I read a lot of books. I would go to the public library, check out a stack of 15 books a foot and a half high, and read most of them within weeks. I always wanted to learn more about science, but hated any kind of work. The books would satisfy my insatiable curiosity about how things work or what happens next.

In books everything was clear, you could read exactly what every character was feeling. Reading them would let me escape and I would be always wondering what happens next. Books would make me feel more than I did at any other time in my early life. My parents thankfully indulged this by taking me to the library just about any time I wanted.

My parents had dial-up internet and had recent enough computers. I naturally loved the internet. In elementary school I found internet porn online. I was curious and it was something I knew my parents wouldn’t allow.  I got caught, eventually, and my internet access was stopped for a while. Deceiving or disobeying my parents definitely gave me a thrill. I would watch TV shows I wasn’t supposed to just because I wasn’t allowed to do it.

From my earliest memories my emotions were unclear. I don’t remember being unhappy, but at the same time I don’t remember being very happy or excited either. I think of this like the static on a TV screen. I think this is partly why I loved activities that could greatly heighten my emotions like books or misbehaving. Nothing really stands out emotionally like those things did.

When I look back at the memories, I don’t really have any knowledge of what the feelings were, there is more of a binary “feeling” or “not feeling” that was fuzzy. This static refers to both the feelings I had at the time as well as my memories of the feelings, because at this point in my life I’m unable to discern the difference.

In middle school, I had enough practice with lying and getting away with stuff that I stopped getting in trouble as much and my relationship with my parents improved. I was smart, and so I realized exactly the bare minimum I could do to get by in just about anything. I think around then I become socially aware enough to know angering people was bad for my social standing and I developed a couple of friends. My social life was something I was constantly self-conscious about as I was still very unpopular. Puberty also was starting though there weren’t any major symptoms yet.

My path to depression

At some point in middle school, the emotional static disappeared and I was left with a strange lack of emotions. Before this point I remember the emotions being there. The memory is just lacking the feeling of emotion, which is why I think of it like static. Now there was just... Nothing? All my emotions were blunted, and I guess the default was sadness. There wasn’t any event that I can remember causing this. I don’t even know when it started.  I was seriously depressed and I had no idea why.

My dad would come home late most nights from work. I strongly remember how sometimes he would be angry and throw his keys and other things down on the counters and floor. I would watch from upstairs then go to my room and cry into a pillow for 30 minutes. I didn’t know why I was crying but I cried. The best explanation I have is that I was reflecting his emotions, since mine were kind of empty.

I kept my emotional state hidden easily enough from my parents. I think they were expecting teenage angst at my age. Instead of the usual teenage “storm” of emotions, I was experiencing nothing and, paradoxically, sadness. One night I sat on my bed crying for most of the night. I didn’t know why I was crying. My mom came and sat with me for hours. The only feeling that was worse than the sad nothingness was the feeling when she left. This struck me hard at the time because I never really felt strong love to my parents.

I was miserable and wanted to stop existing. I started looking up ways to kill myself. I didn’t think about what I would be missing in life or how my parents would feel. My empathy was definitely not functioning at all. I just wanted the misery to be over.  I was smart enough to keep up fake emotions and be sociable. I thought of this like a facade, everything was fake and I was just trying to be happy on the outside to keep up appearances and prevent questions that would lead to conversations about feelings.

My memories are extremely fuzzy from around this time. If I try to picture what fourth grade looked like, I think of the classroom I was in, the teacher, what I looked like in the mirror and pictures. If I picture sixth and seventh grade, it’s just blackness. If I try to think of what I looked like, there’s nothing there. If I try to think of what school I was in, I can’t automatically recall it and have to consciously deduce what it must have been.

Trying to kill myself

[These paragraphs are tough to read, and tough to write.]

I remember reading internet forums and discussion boards about committing suicide. I wanted an easy, painless method. In keeping with my SOP, I wanted to do this without being caught. If I got caught, I would have to admit my feelings, an intimacy that I did not want to share.

At this point I was already very experienced at managing risk. I was too afraid, for example, to sneak something on my parent’s credit card. I knew I could get caught before I killed myself, or maybe my attempt would quietly fail and they would notice it later and start asking.

I was more afraid of getting yelled at than I was afraid of death. I have no doubt I would be dead today if I had not been so afraid of punishment.

I had basically no money for this so I had to be creative and research. I decided I would use an “exit bag.” You take a large amount of sleeping pills or barbituates and then cover your head with a bag with some kind of rubber band or elastic around your neck. You hold the bag open while you fall asleep. When you do, your hands relax and you asphyxiate. 

I was very clear to myself on my intentions: I was going to kill myself and stop the sadness because that was the logical thing to do. No hesitation or thoughts of “what if,” I simply realized that’s what I needed to do and I set about doing it in the most practical way possible.

So I tried to kill myself. I got back from school before either of my parents were home. I walked to a pharmacy and bought a bottle of Benadryl. I went back home, took an extra large but not sickness-inducing dose, and sat to sleep with the bag over my head and my hand holding it open. I don’t remember what the bag looked like or how I had it arranged. The memory of my room, my bed, and the contraption feels jumbled and unreal, like looking at an Escher painting.

I slept for close to 10 hours. I woke up and the bag was wrinkled up far over my head. I had pushed it off in my sleep. I was still heavily affected by the Benadryl. I walked downstairs and my mom was in the recliner. I laid down on the couch and went to sleep again, only waking up at 2 a.m. when my dad came home.

I can see snapshots of the suicide attempt so clearly, I can remember how nervous I felt when I bought the Benadryl. I can remember standing in front of the aisle, checking multiple pill bottles and calculating what I needed. I remember taking what must have been 15 minutes decide. I was very nervous approaching the checkout. Surely they know I’m just a kid and I’m obviously buying this to kill myself.

Some memories were not clear. I don’t remember what the bag look and felt like. I remember very clearly waking up, confused, and finding the bag above me. I don’t remember my emotions when I fell asleep or woke up. I don’t think I felt relief. I think it was mild disappointment that my subconscious brain had messed my plan up.

I had thought of making a suicide note. It was a standard discussion point on the forums I read, and I’ve always been a person of process. I vaguely recall starting something written on the computer, but at that point I did not even know why I was doing it myself. I just knew it was the only escape. I puzzled over it a bit, writing a sentence or two. People online often had some ultimatum, they were doing it because of some thing tangible. I was just sad? I carefully deleted the file, a lesson I learned from being caught with porn.

My memories from around this time don’t have any time frame or order in them.  I may have tried the exit bag one more time at some point, but I’m not sure. The fragments I remember exist like they were carved from those moments of my life and stored in a dusty book in the back of my mind. I don’t have any memory of my self from that time, what I looked like or what my introspective thoughts were. I can’t recall the classes, what I learned, or who my friends were. I feel like I should know these things and that I may have repressed them.

One time during some kind of PE class, I lingered outside while the rest of the group was inside in the gym. The campus had a large stadium with a high railing. I stood there, thinking about hanging myself from it. I fully knew hanging wasn’t a pleasant way to die. I was starting to realize now that since I’m going to be dead, it didn’t really matter if there was some suffering. I also changed my risk stance, and decided I could probably get away with stuff like climbing to the stadium as long as no one saw me. I remember consciously choosing to ignore the normal “what if” when planning, like what if I get caught, what if it hurts? I eventually went in to PE class and decided to think on it more. I would need to plan that better.

Getting helped

Some time after my first suicide attempt, I was brought to a therapist. I don’t know why. I don’t think I asked for one. My mom may have suggested it to me. My parents to this day do not know about the suicide attempts. They probably thought I had angst or raging hormones. I had occasional emotional outbursts of sadness and anger directed at my parents, but I remember nothing more than that.

I got an intake questionnaire for the psychologist. It had the question, have you ever had suicidal thoughts? For the first time, I realized someone might be able to help me and understand me. This is a standard thing they put on the form, so logically it’s something that can be treated. Before I did not think there was an alternative to suicide, but maybe this could change something. It would be safer as I knew a bit about patient-client confidentiality.

I remember the paper went in a manila envelope and I was so obsessed that it would close tight, that my parents wouldn’t read it, that one of the brads fell off making it less secure. I stopped thinking about committing suicide, although I still wanted to stop existing.

I had an intro appointment. The psychologist was a man and I remember nothing except the waiting room and the bookshelves of toys and books in his office. I didn’t open up in person. But he had the form with my response and my depression was pretty obvious. My parents went in after me and when they came out, they were very serious. I was surprisingly hopeful.

Months later, the therapy had done absolutely nothing for me. My avoidant attachment style meant I was too afraid of any kind of emotional intimacy, especially with men. I wasn’t introspective enough to identify what was wrong with myself. I had little experience understanding strong emotions, just noise. There was sadness, I don’t know where it came from, and I want it to stop.

I got referred to a psychiatrist. He gave me a short discussion to confirm that “yep, he’s sad all right” and sent me home with a Zoloft prescription. A month later, I was back to normal. 6 months later I was off the prescription. The blank emotions were replaced with something else that started as static and was overall “brighter” or “happier” than before. I could immediately tell that my brain was different, but it was hard to figure out how.

A self epoch

I had not been very introspective up to that point, so I had few memories of how “I” used to be. I had the strongest feeling that the Zoloft had changed how my mind worked but no proof. Perhaps the static actually started then, and I can’t remember clearly what I was like before. Perhaps I always felt like this, and I was so depressed that getting back to normal was so overwhelming as to seem brand new. Maybe I just can’t remember and I was introspective.

When I took the 30th Zoloft pill I remember thinking “huh, I feel happy now.” The feeling I get when I remember that day feels like my first real memory. It felt like I had been swimming underwater my whole life and my head had finally breached the surface to take its first breath. This moment, standing in the kitchen and looking at the prescription bottle, is the epoch of my self.

Usually at transitions in life and changes of personality, preferences, and beliefs I can identify myself as the same self from before, just different. In this case, my present day ego does not feel continuous with the person that grew up in my body, got depressed, and ended up going to that psychiatrist. I know, logically, I am the same entity now as I was before that time. I have memories of times before that. The feeling of discontinuity is just so strong.

Maybe it’s the 2-year gap of memories. All memories from before that time are uncertain, like I can’t trust that they actually happened. When I try to think, “when was that memory?” things don’t really make sense. The memories seem to contradict each other when I place them in order.

Maybe the depression had masked the changes in my mind during puberty, and the Zoloft worked so stupid fast that I was given a 30-day launch into adolescence. In truth I think it was the combination of these.

The various starts of my life

This epoch certainly marked the emotional start to my life. The physical start is well-defined of course, and I guess the start of my ego is still up for debate. At least, when I say “I” about events after this point, it feels like I’m talking about myself and not someone else. The static soon begins to fade and I was beginning to feel emotions. Mostly I was just happy. You know, cause of the Zoloft.

From that point on, my memories feel contiguous. I can firmly place memories on a timeline. I can recall feelings from memories too. My choices make sense in the context of my former self.

Some time in eighth grade I remember thinking that something was different in my mind, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. The lack of introspection from before my depression meant I had no reference point for what my mind should be. I just had the vague feeling that Zoloft changed me. I think this is my first memory of introspection. It’s also significant because this is one of the earliest memories that easily fits in a timeline.

[This post is titled “a brief history of me”. In truth, it’s because the history of me is different from the history of “I”. The next post will discuss the history of “I”.]

[legault]

Perfect (Rarepair Week Day 3, Azama/Subaki, Curious)

Title: Perfect

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood, vague kink-related content, intentional self-injury (but not in the way that self-harm typically implies), generally unhealthy relationship, non-explicit mentions of sex

Words: 4,665

Summary: Every time Azama catches so much as a glimpse of Subaki, his fingers itch with the desire to take him apart, piece by camellia-scented piece.

An incredibly late contribution for Day 3 of @ferarepair-week2k17-I’m very glad to see that y’all are going to keep reblogging for a week or so because I still am trying to finish out all 7 days but I’m several days behind...whoops.

AO3 Link

Whenever people ask Azama why he decided to become a monk and devote his life to healing others, he tells them it’s because people say the most fascinating things when they think they’re about to die. Most people think it’s a dark joke and laugh uncomfortably, not realizing til much later that he’s entirely serious.

When he first meets Subaki, Subaki doesn’t laugh, just looks at him quizzically, like Azama is an animal that he’s seen before but he just can’t remember the name of.

“This is where most people laugh.” Azama supplies helpfully.

“Why would I laugh?” Subaki says, voice polished smooth as rocks in a stream and flowing like honey. “I didn’t think it was funny.”

Azama’s grin grows even wider. “Oh, it’s going to be very fun to know you.”

“I’m assuming you’re trying to say that it’s nice to meet me,” Subaki’s voice is the epitome of polite disinterest and Azama can’t wait to change that. “And for politeness’ sake, I say likewise to you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to be off.”

Subaki retreats without so much as a glance back at Azama, leaving the scent of camellia blossoms in his wake.

Azama’s mother had been a basara and his father had been a clockmaker; their marriage was peaceful but not particularly joyful and Azama figured out from a young age that they stayed together because it was easier than starting over.

From his mother, Azama had inherited his mild talent for magic and his mild talent for lances. She tried to teach him both and he took to neither, remaining just mediocre enough that she eventually gave up on trying to make him care. His becoming a monk had been as much teenage rebellion against her idea of what he should be able to do as it had been anything else.

Azama had also inherited his father’s insatiable curiosity and propensity for taking things apart to see what makes them tick, the only difference being that Azama found humans infinitely more fascinating than clocks.

Getting under people’s skin in order to get to the machinery underneath was his dearest hobby, nay, his calling, and he never met someone who’s mind he wanted to get into more than Subaki. Every time Azama catches so much as a glimpse of Subaki, his fingers itch with the desire to take him apart, piece by camellia-scented piece.

“You’ve really got the perfect situation figures out with this whole perfection deal.” Azama says conversationally, without preamble. “If anyone ever points out your imperfections, you can brush them off because they are imperfect by sheer virtue of not being you. It’s quite clever, really.”

Subaki looks up from grooming his pegasus, annoyed. “Do you have a point, Azama?”

“Just making conversation. Since you’re perfect, I figured you would be a great conversation partner.”

“I am.” Subaki says. “Perhaps you’re just not cultured enough to appreciate it.”

“Arrogant and rude?” Azama tries to feign shock, but he’s enjoying himself too much. “Doesn’t sound very perfect to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with confidence and a desire to be treated with respect.” Subaki says, brows furrowed.

“Ah ah, careful! If you leave your face like that, you’ll get wrinkles.” Azama warns gleefully.

Subaki’s face twitches as his desire to maintain his looks conflicts with his absolute annoyance with the entire situation and Azama can’t help laughing out loud.

“Well, I’m off to minister to the weary and cure the sick, but this has been lovely.” He says, giving Subaki a jaunty wave. “I’m still not convinced of the perfection of your conversational skills, so I hope we can chat again later.”

Azama asks almost every member of the Hoshidan court about Subaki. It’s a mixed bag in terms of results; Saizo looks at him as if he’s insane and also potentially suicidal, Oboro sneers and insults his hair, and Hana almost decks him, but he scrapes together some information from Hinata and Orochi.

Hinoka calls him in to ask him about it, looking weary as a mother with too many disobedient children. It is one of Azama’s favorite expressions, second only to her defiant rage.

“Why are you interrogating the whole court about Subaki?” She asks, face pinched in anticipation of the answer.

“I’m providing him with spiritual counseling.” Azama says. The more blatant the lie, the more likely it is to be believed. “The more I know about him, the better I can help him.”

Hinoka looks at him with a face that is part-reproach, part-disbelief, part-throwing her hands up and ridding herself of any responsibility for the situation. It is Azama’s fifth favorite Hinoka expression.

“Did anyone believe that load of pegasus shit?”

“Hinata.” Azama says, and Hinoka rolls her eyes because of course he did. “And Setsuna, of course. Sakura probably would have but I didn’t bother her out of respect for you, and Oboro might have believed me but she didn’t listen to me long enough to find out.”

“If you talked to all the retainers, you’re lucky you got out unscathed. I wouldn’t be responsible for your recovery if Hana put a hole in you.”

“Ah, but then you’d have to find a new retainer,” Azama says. “And I’m irreplaceable.”

“Unfortunately.” Hinoka mumbles, under her breath.

Azama finds out that Subaki had a younger sister who had thought that he could do no wrong, that he was perfect. They had been very close, but she had been killed along with his parents when their village was attacked by bandits. Subaki was the only one who survived long enough to be rescued by the Hoshidan sky knights. Without a home to go back to, he decided to join the sky knights and eventually worked his way up to being a royal retainer.

“You don’t have to worry about being perfect for your sister, you know.” Azama tells Subaki. He’s found that starting conversations with pleasantries does nothing but waste valuable time before Subaki storms off, annoyed.

His words have the desired effect. Subaki stiffens instantly, tension filling his frame.

“What are you talking about?” Subaki asks, voice low and dangerous.

“Your sister. I’m guessing your little perfection thing comes from her idolizing you when she was alive. You feel guilty that you couldn’t protect her and so you strive for perfection to live up to her expectations and to avoid the same thing happening to Lady Sakura, who you view as a proxy for your dead sister.” Azama says, breezily as if he were discussing the weather. “You shouldn’t worry about it though, since you’re sister’s dead and couldn’t care less about whether you’re perfect or not.”

“I prefer to think that my sister is still with me.” Subaki says, body still on high alert.

“You can prefer to think anything you want, but it won’t change the reality of the situation.” Azama says. “Dead is dead is dead. No point moping about it.”

“Aren’t you a monk?” Subaki asks, incredulous. “You’re supposed to believe in the afterlife and bringing peace into people’s lives, not taking it away.”

“Well, the church and I have a few fundamental disagreements, but that’s ok.” Azama says. “I took the job anyway because I look good in the robes.”

Subaki looks at him incredulously. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.” Azama replies cheerfully.

“I hate you.” Subaki says, voice much more emotional than his normal smooth baritone.

“I think I can live with that. It means that you’re thinking about me.” Azama says, and leaves Subaki glaring and clenching his fists.

Azama has always known how to wield a lance, having been taught by his mother at an early age. But he finds inflicting violence much more boring than watching others do it and then healing them so they can inflict more violence, so when he becomes a monk he embraces the nonviolent lifestyle and pretends to be completely inept with weapons.

“Which end is the stabby end?” He asks Hinoka, holding one of her javelins upside down and tilting it like he would a staff.

“Don’t play dumb.” Hinoka rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen you cleaning my weapons, I can tell you know how to fight.”

“Perhaps.” Azama admits, thrusting with the blunt end of the javelin. “But I’ve taken a solemn vow of nonviolence, so cleaning lances is all I will do.”

“So you’re saying you’d prefer to let people die protecting you rather than fight alongside them?”

“You could interpret it that way, I suppose.” Azama says. “Ideally, they won’t die because I’ll heal them.”

He extends the javelin like he would a heal staff, but the javelin is much longer and the sharp end nicks his leg.

“Whoops.” Azama looks completely unconcerned that he’s bleeding onto his robes. Hinoka has that dumbfounded look on again, the one that she wears whenever she’s asking herself why the hell she choose such worthless retainers.

It’s an expression Azama sees a lot.

“Fine, have it your way.” She says, giving up. “But if we ever get into a situation where things are so dire that we need every last man, I want you to pick up a lance right side up and fight by my side.”

“Sure.” Azama agrees. “But only if I get to pretend that I’ve suddenly learned how to use lances thanks to the magic of master seals. I don’t get many chances to show off my theatrical ability.”

“Whatever.” Hinoka says. “As long as you fight with us afterwards, I couldn’t care less how you reveal it.”

Subaki hasn’t been talking to him lately, and Azama is mildly put out, even though he most likely deserves it. Luckily, Azama doesn’t believe in absolute morality; he also doesn’t believe in fate, which means that he has no problem tracking Subaki down instead of leaving it up to chance.

“Let’s spar.” Azama says as he walks up behind Subaki, who is grooming his pegasus.

Subaki jumps in surprise, turns around to glare at Azama. “What, are you going to hit me with a bloom festal?”

“No, with lances.” Azama says.

Subaki stares at him incredulously, a look that Azama has grown quite familiar with. Luckily, he likes it. “You don’t use lances.” He says, talking slowly like Azama is a child, or a very, very stupid adult.

“Then it should be easy for you to win.”

Subaki hesitates, thinking it over. “Fine.” He eventually agrees. “But only because I need to blow off steam, and you can’t get mad if I hurt you.”

"Same to you.” Azama shoots back.

Subaki leaves his pegasus behind as they head to the training grounds, because even though he is willing to fight someone who doesn’t know how to use a lance, he’s not willing to do so on a pegasus, because that would just be unfair. They both select practice lances and square off against each other, Subaki holding his lance fiercely with perfect form, while Azama waves it around like a flag.

“Ready?” Azama calls out.

“If you are.” Subaki says, and charges.

Much to Subaki’s surprise, Azama blocks his thrust, although he looks like he barely moved. Taking advantage of Subaki’s confusion, he counterstrikes, pushes him backwards. Subaki does not stay stunned for long but the few minutes for which he is are incredibly satisfying.

They trade blows back and forth; it is a good fight, but once Subaki recovers from the shock that Azama does know his way around a lance after all, it becomes clear that Subaki is still the more skilled of the two. He pushes Azama back until his back touches the wall, disarms him with a quick twist of his lance, and presses the end of his lance to Azama’s throat.

“I win.” Subaki says, breathing a little hard.

“Well,” Azama says, pushing the lance away with his hand as casually as if he were swatting a fly. “I suppose you had to at least once.”

“I’m surprised you’re not secretly an archer.” Subaki grumbles as he puts away his lance. “It would be just like you to want to bring me down to your level.”

Azama smiles, showing all his teeth. “I don’t need arrows to do that.”

Every few days, Azama gets bored and bugs Subaki about his perfection, listing ridiculous things upon ridiculous things in an attempt to make Subaki admit that he’s not perfect. Azama has little hope of succeeding, but the game itself is quite fun.

“We know that you take meticulous care of your hair and body.” Azama says. “And we know that you are a first-class Hoshidan Sky Knight. But there’s still so much about you that we don’t know.”

"What’s your point?” Subaki says curtly, unsure where this is going but sure that he is not going to like it.

“I just think it’s interesting that you claim to be perfect, but don’t give us any proof other than that you think you are, and since you’re perfect you can’t be wrong.” Azama shrugs. “It’s a little thing called circular logic, but since you’re perfect, I’m guessing you already know that.”

“Ok, name one flaw of mine.” Subaki challenges.

“That’s not really a fair challenge, because I haven’t gotten the chance to verify your qualities firsthand.” Azama says, voice deceptively light. “I know that you’re a skilled fighter, because we’ve sparred. I know that you have impressive social skills because I’ve observed you talking with others. I know that you have a beautiful face and a very attractive body, because I have eyes. But I don’t know whether you know how to use that body, so it wouldn’t really be fair to call you perfect, now would it?”

“What are you saying?” Subaki grits out, voice strained. “That you won’t admit that I’m perfect unless I fuck you?”

“Well, I’d personally prefer that I be the one to fuck you.” Azama says, casually as if he were discussing the weather. “But in essence, yes.”

“You’re crazy.” Subaki says.

Azama flashes a smile at him. “So I’ve been told.”

“Why do you think,” Subaki says desperately. “That I care what you think about me at all?”

“Maybe you don’t.” Azama shrugs again. “It’s just an offer.”

Subaki stares at him, fists clenched, thinking so hard that Azama can picture his brain working, gears whirring like the insides of a beautiful, beautiful clock that’s been wound much too tight. He doesn’t seem to be sure who he’s more concerned about arguing with, Azama or himself.

“Fine.” Subaki finally says, looking at Azama defiantly.

“What what that?”

“Fine.” Subaki repeats. “I’ll do it. But only to prove you wrong.”

To his surprise, Azama bursts out laughing, loud peals of laughter ringing out through the camp. Subaki looks around frantically, hoping that Azama’s cackling has not drawn the attention of anyone nearby.

“What’s so funny?” Subaki hisses.

“You never stop surprising me.” Azama replies. “I didn’t think you’d actually be willing to let me fuck you just to prove a point.”

“Maybe that shows that you should stop underestimating me.”

“Maybe. Well, this has been fun, but you can stop with the false bravado, I’m not going to call your bluff today.” Azama says. “I wouldn’t fuck someone who’s only agreed because he feels like he was cornered.”

“So you were the one bluffing!” Subaki exclaims, stuck somewhere between frustration and mad, wild relief.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’d be happy to carry through on my end of the deal, but as a man of the cloth, I do have a moral code to uphold, and consent is a very important part of that.” Azama grins toothily. “If you ever decide you want to take me up on the offer of your own free will, you know where I live.”

“Your morals force you to respect consent when it comes to sex, but they don’t prevent you from trying to psychologically torture everyone you meet?”

“What can I say?” Azama says. “The gods move in mysterious ways, and I am but their humble servant.”  

Their battles grow fiercer and more frequent and Hinoka tells Azama that it is time for him to start pulling his weight and using an actual weapon like any other decent retainer, tossing a master seal at him and warning him not to make too big of a scene.

Azama takes full advantage of his fake class change, casting a faulty heal staff to create a burst of light as he pretends to activate the master seal. Before the light subsides, he slips the master seal into his robe and grabs a lance he’d stashed nearby.

“Oh my, I suddenly know how to use a lance!” Azama exclaims, making a few experimental thrusts. “How lovely!”

Subaki peers at him suspiciously from his position nearby. Azama may have chosen this location strategically, knowing that Subaki always cleans his lance hear at this time of day, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Why didn’t your clothes change when you used the master seal?” Subaki asks loudly.

Azama flashes Subaki a bright smile. “Maybe it’s because I’m already perfect, just the way I am.”

“Help me practice.” Azama tells Subaki, interrupting an incredibly boring conversation he and Hana were having about the merits of different types of metal used in forging weapons.

“You do realize that it’s considered good manners to greet someone before launching into a conversation?” Subaki says dryly, unamused. Hana glares at him.

“Manners are a construct created by humans attempting to bring order into a chaotic world by imposing arbitrary moral values onto it.” Azama replies. “But if it makes you feel better, good afternoon Subaki, I hope that you are faring well on this lovely wartime day. If it pleases you, I would greatly appreciate your help in practicing for the next battle.”

Hana looks like she is about to yell at him for deliberately ignoring her, but Subaki puts a hand on her shoulder and instead of yelling, she turns her glare onto Subaki, shrugs his hand off her shoulder, and flounces away.

Subaki looks at Hana’s retreating back, looks back at Azama, looks at Hana again. Azama figures there’s about a 50% chance that he can goad Subaki into doing what he wants, but that might get lower if Subaki’s chivalry thing kicks in.

“Fine.” Subaki says. “Let me go get my lance.”

“Only,” He adds quickly. “Because I’m angry at you and trying to stab you in the name of sparring sounds quite appealing right now.”

Azama follows Subaki to his tent and then to the clearing that the troops like to spar in, letting Subaki get out his lance and drop into fighting stance before saying. “Actually, I didn’t need your help with lances. I need your help to practice healing.”

Subaki looks like he wants to hurl his lance at Azama like a javelin. “What.” He says, intonation more like a threat than a question.

“Healing takes practice too, in case you didn’t realize.” Azama says. “A lot of non-healers think that the rod does all the work, but that’s not true. It takes concentration for the wielder to effectively channel his or her magic through the rod.”

“That doesn’t explain why you need me.”

“I can’t practice healing without wounds, and I can’t heal myself. It’s the rule, you know.” Azama says.

“What rule?” Subaki asks, suspicious.

“The rule of magic, of course.” Azama says. His moral code does not forbid lying, as long as the lies are so blatant that the listener is shocked into believing them.

“The rule of magic...” Subaki repeats incredulously, then shakes his head, deciding that it is not worth it. “So let me get this straight. You want me to injure myself so you can practice healing? Why on earth would I agree to this?”

“Because without practice, I cannot learn to heal more effectively. And my healing skills could make the difference between life and death on the battlefield. Your death, perhaps. Or even the death of Lady Sakura.” Azama says. “If you’d prefer, I can be the one to injure you.”

“No, I’ll do it myself.” Subaki replies quickly, then realizes what he has just said. “Wait, I never said I would do this at all!”

“I believe you just did. You can back out if you want, but I don’t know if that would be very perfect of you.”

Subaki is far too easy to back into a corner, and Azama loves it about him.

Subaki inspects his lance, as if trying to figure out the easiest way to cause an injury without it being too painful.

Azama hands him a knife. “Try this, it might be easier.”

Subaki takes it without meeting Azama’s eyes, holds it over his left forearm and after a moment’s hesitation, draws a shallow gash down his arm, wincing as the knife touches his skin.

Subaki stares at the thin red line as blood begins to well up, barely acknowledging Azama until he murmurs a few words and waves his bloom festal, making the wound close up before Subaki’s eyes, blood seeming to evaporate into thin air.

“This is wrong.” Subaki says, voice sounding far away. “This is not normal.”

“Sure it is.” Azama says. “All you have to do is redefine what you think is normal. Now, again.”

Subaki repeats the motion on the other arm this time, and Azama heals him so quickly that Subaki barely sees any red.

“That was too easy. Do another spot this time, and try to make it deeper.”

Subaki obeys as if entranced, rolling up one leg of his light cotton trousers to reveal the skin of his calf. He brings the knife to his skin again, and Azama can tell by the twitching in his face that he is pushing harder.

Azama heals him again, and Subaki moves onto the other leg without prompting, looking only at the wounds as they open and close without sparing a glance for Azama.

They continue the pattern of harming and healing several times, Subaki creating wounds and Azama making them disappear.

How symbolic. Azama thinks. Or maybe ironic.

With every glow of the bloom festal Subaki looks more and more distant, and Azama thinks that although his experiment has been quite fruitful, it may be time to bring Subaki back to earth.

“Only one more.” Azama says, and Subaki starts at the sound of his voice. “Let me do it this time.”

Wordlessly, Subaki hands him the knife.

Subaki’s shirt has a lower neckline than he usually wears, leaving his collarbone exposed. Azama chooses that spot to place the knife and Subaki shivers when he feels it touch his skin, then grows deathly still as Azama opens up a new wound, longer and deeper than the previous ones.

He puts down the knife and picks up the bloom festal, but pauses before casting the spell, gazing at Subaki as an artist might gaze at their work. Subaki does not shirk from his gaze this time, closes his eyes and runs his fingers along the wound as it closes.

Subaki does not open his eyes until the entire gash is healed.

“Will that leave a scar?” He asks, trying to get a good look at the skin that was just healed.

“No. For a wound that minor, an experienced healer like myself should have to problem healing without leaving a scar.”

“Good.” Subaki says, rubbing his fingers over his collarbone and looking disappointed.

“What do you think love is?” Azama asks Subaki, without preamble. It is a trite question with many stupid answers and few good ones, but Azama finds it interesting to hear which stupid answer people choose.

“Love is when you care for someone despite their flaws.” Subaki answers almost instantly.

It is a trite answer, but it is delicious anyways, and Azama savors it.

“But then, if you have no flaws, how will you ever know if anyone truly loves you?” Azama asks.

Subaki does not answer, and Azama reflects that Subaki’s flaws are what he likes the best.

The battles grow harsher and Azama’s hands become more accustomed to the feel of his lance than of his rod, although they certainly have need of both. Everyone is weary, and when Azama tries to goad Subaki into bickering with him, Subaki only glares.

“Be careful, you’ll get wrinkles!” Azama calls to him, enjoying the sight of Subaki’s furrowed brow.

But Subaki doesn't respond, just turns away in the direction of his tent, and Azama is much more bothered than he has any right to be.

During their next battle, Subaki is struck across the cheek with a shuriken coated with some kind of poison. The shuriken itself barely hurts him, but the poison makes his muscles seize up, and only the combination of Azura’s song and Azama’s staff restore him to a somewhat normal condition.

After the battle, Subaki glances into the reflection of Benny’s armor by accident and sees that the shuriken left a scar. He makes a strangled sound as his hand flies to his cheek, ignoring Benny’s concern.

Stunned, Subaki stables his pegasus, sheds half his armor, stares at himself in the small mirror he keeps in his tent, sheds the other half of his armor, breaks the mirror and does not clean up the pieces, and marches angrily to Azama’s tent.

Azama opens the tent flap before Subaki reaches it and for once, neither of them say anything as Subaki storms in, grabs Azama’s forearms, digging his nails in much too hard, and puts his mouth over Azama’s like a plea.

Even now, Subaki kisses gently and with refinement, the very epitome of a gentleman. It would be perfect for some youngest daughter of a noble family wanting to swept off her feet by a dashing night, but Azama is no blushing maiden. He does not like the way that Subaki kisses and so he does not let Subaki kiss him for long, choosing instead to move his mouth to Subaki’s neck and bite down, hard.

Subaki gasps breathlessly and his entire body shivers, and he lets Azama bite him again, lets Azama draw him down onto his tiny cot and undress him, lets Azama lay him bare and fuck him.

Azama peels off Subaki’s clothes meticulously and with mechanical precision, and Subaki feels his layers removed one by one until all that remains is the clockwork within, whirring madly as his heartbeat quickens every time Azama touches him.

Azama takes him apart with every touch, with deft fingers and chapped lips and sharp teeth unraveling more and more of the identity that Subaki has spent years weaving, and Subaki cannot help but cry out for more.

As he fucks Subaki, Azama caresses his face, surprisingly gentle, and whispers that he is so good, that he is perfect, and Subaki shudders under his touch because he knows that it is a lie.

“What about you? What do you think love is?” Subaki asks out of the blue one day, picking up a thread of conversation that has been hanging loose for weeks.

“If you even believe in love, that is.” He adds.

Azama considers it. “I believe in love, I’m just not sure it’s a concept that applies to me.”

Subaki’s face is contemplative, free of relief or disappointment.

“But if I did want to engage in the silly practice of defining abstract concepts.” Azama adds. “I think I’d say that love is when you never get bored.”

Subaki is naked when they next hear the horns that signal an ambush; he grabs his pants and Azama tosses him a shirt and they rush out of the tent, weapons in hand. Even disheveled and disoriented and pegasus-less, Subaki rushes to the front lines, recklessly brave and bravely reckless.

Azama hangs back and watches him charge into the fray, hair full of tangles, neck covered in bite marks, and mind full of Azama.

Perfect. He thinks.