#and its only because of her involvement that i even know i passed the class

[mothmanmalewife]

legitimately think that professors who don't allow any late aasignment submissions whatsoever shouldn't still be stalling to get my final grade back THREE WEEKS after the university deadline

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 6

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: a lot of jerking off WC: 8.4k AN: thank you all for your patience!! i started grad school so i got a bit busy, but now i will update about once a week! thank you all for the love :) also i am so sorry about all the angst

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, [Ch. 6], Ch. 7, Ch. 8

Chapter 6: Tearing

The afternoon sun filtered through his window shade and cast his room in its warm glow, but Anakin was too busy with his notes on his desk to notice. He needed something to do with his hands, just to keep himself focused, to keep his thoughts from wandering to you. To answer a practice problem, he was trying to find a specific case of heat diffusion the class had discussed--somewhere in October, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure. His desk was already messy before he began studying, but he was making it even worse with a paper thrown here, a staple there.

His eyes scanned the paper this way and that, trying to absorb any iota of information, but the words were slippery, wily things that wriggled out of his grasp. In the end, it turned out he had flipped past the page several times without seeing what he needed, and he finally found it on his fifth pass. Subconsciously, he dug his nails into his palms in frustration. Why couldn't he work? Why were you doing this to him?

His phone chimed, a text from his mom. Hey, how are finals? Doing okay?

For a few days, he'd been ducking questions about whether he was sleeping or eating enough, because he knew she'd be disappointed with his answers. He was running out of ways to change the subject in phone calls, and he knew she was catching on. Anakin decided he should probably respond.

yeah, really stressed about one of them, rest are fine. thesis going ok.

A second later, his phone lit up again.

Good luck. I'm so proud of you, Anakin, no matter what. As soon as he read it, he dropped his head into his hands. His forehead was clammy under his fingers. Of course she was proud of him unconditionally. He knew that. But he knew that he would be even prouder if he won. If he got a 4.0 this semester. Once, after he said something like that to Ahsoka, she looked at him with that knowing expression only she could produce, and asked him if his mom had ever said anything like that. Technically, no, he conceded, but he couldn't let her down.

He just felt so stupid right now, looking at the pages blanketing his desk. He'd been sitting over them for too long, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and stretch or take a break. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, really, let alone focus. So he was trapped. All he could do was just sit there, drink his Red Bull, and kind of review until he could destroy this exam next week.

Anakin decided to try another practice problem. Maybe that would make it click.

The surface tension of liquid argon is given by--

His phone buzzed against the desk. Putting it on loud was a bad idea, and he knew it. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. It was probably his mom, saying something else. Or, he hoped as his heart jumped, maybe you were coming from the lab early and wanted to meet and study. Or hook up. Or just talk. Whatever, as long as it didn't involve his textbook. His phone buzzed again. And again.

He gave in and opened it. It was you, he found, and he grinned like a lunatic, but caught himself. Then again, he was alone, so it didn't matter, really.

But then he read your texts.

Where are you We need to talk Now

He typed back immediately, his fingers flying faster than he thought they could.

in my room is everything ok?

He looked at the screen, saw the bubbles pop up that meant you were typing, then watched as they disappeared. Anakin was frozen, his phone in his hand. We need to talk could just have been a poor phrasing on your part, right? It didn't mean what he thought it did, right? He could deny it only for about five more seconds, when the little bubbles didn't return.

Fuck. Anakin let loose a string of curses and dropped his phone on his desk. He couldn't think of a single thing that would warrant ending… whatever the two of you had. But maybe you'd realized that he was doing a lot more than what fuckbuddies (fuckenemies?) should do, that he was an absolute wreck for you, and had been for a long time.

The caffeine was getting to him, and his leg was bouncing so quickly that he swore his downstairs neighbor would submit a noise complaint. His mind started racing with all the things he never would have told you, the things that would go unsaid if you ended what the two of you were doing. He'd never tell you that he had two dogs growing up, strays, or that his least favorite flavor of Skittles was orange. He'd never tell you that he was pretty sure that he hadn't felt this way about anyone, ever, and that he had laid awake for the past two nights thinking about how, if at all, he would tell you.

Ahsoka's voice echoed in his ears, wisps of sound urging him to just say something. His mind was racing, a million trains of thought all colliding at once. He should just tell you. He'd never learn your favorite kind of cereal. He hadn't responded to his mom, fuck. He regretted having that Red Bull. He'd never tell you that he called you baby during sex because he wanted to say it other times, too. The answer to that thermo question was probably 36 Joules. He'd never tell you that if you called him a pet name he'd melt and let you win any competition because nothing would matter anymore.

But that was precisely why he hadn't told you how he felt. Because if you felt the same way about him, that would be so much better than any amount of money or award. And that wasn't the kind of person he could be.

He'd spent so long training to control that wild hurricane of emotions that pulled him through everyday life. Anakin channeled it into perfectly neat parallelized circuits and technically exquisite poomsae, but around you it all let loose, angry and passionate and just so much.

It was terrifying. You were terrifying. And there was a selfish part of him that said that he deserved to let all those feelings loose for once. To feel as much as he wanted to feel because, goddammit, he was so tired of control.

But Anakin was a lot. A handful, his teachers always said. It was what ended his previous relationship, what drove Padme away. Would it drive you away, too?

If you walked up to him in two minutes and asked him what the two of you were, if it was just casual or something more, would he have the self-control not to blurt out exactly what he was thinking? His stomach flipped at the idea of you leaving the room, leaving his life, without knowing how he felt.

You walking away from him and disappearing into another part of the country after graduation would kill him. He was pretty sure that seeing you at a reunion in five years with someone on your arm, some beautiful person who you had never hated, would smite him on the spot.

He imagined himself six months from now, when the thesis was over. What would that Anakin want for himself? Would he let himself say something? Fuck it all, he would say. And he was right.

If you were going to end things, he was going to get this off his chest. He had to. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

The sound of knuckles on wood cut through the silent room like a dagger through his heart. One, two, three seconds passed as he sat in his desk chair, mind totally blank. He tried to produce a coherent feeling or, if he was lucky, an entire thought, but he came up empty.

Before, it was all something nebulous, something he could just worry about. Something he could stress about. Now, it was real. You were behind that door, and you needed to talk. And there was no escaping that. With heavy legs, he dragged himself to the door.

Anakin pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking when he wrapped it around the doorknob.

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The bus ride back to your dorm had been uneventful, other than the way you were staring daggers into the skull of some poor guy in front of you. He had the good sense to not turn around.

Anakin Skywalker is a thief. You clenched your fists, and you could barely feel the sting of your nails in your palms. Barriss wasn't one to lie, based on the past three years you'd spent with her. She told you the facts right after: she overheard one of the graduate students--probably Obi-Wan, but she didn't know who, just some vaguely hot older guy, she said--telling Anakin his idea for a thesis. And then Anakin ran with it.

If she was right, that changed everything. If Anakin really didn't come up with his own idea, that meant he had rigged the competition. He had a leg up this whole time. He really was exactly what you had thought for years. The golden boy of the department who had everything handed to him. And while you'd labored over choosing the perfect, most viable but impressive idea, he had just skipped right over that step. You'd cried over how hard it was to find a good idea, struggled for weeks on end last year, just trying to make something good, let alone great. And he was already weeks ahead of you in the competition.

All of his sweet gestures--staying with you in bed, holding hands in the library, getting you drinks--were suddenly less sweet. Last year, he was in the thesis lab with you, when he was working on his proposal, watching you go through ideas and get upset when they didn't work, and he knew that. And he never told you about where his idea came from, even when you were getting closer. He probably knew it would piss you off, and he still didn't tell you. He'd hidden it from you.

You didn't know if that hurt more or less than the unfairness of his advantage.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of your dorm, and you hopped off, then dashed to the elevator.

You just wanted him to tell you that Barriss was crazy, or misheard. Or anything. Anything to make it not true.

The elevator ride was agony as it whizzed up to his floor.

At his door, you hesitated. If you entered and fought, that made this real. So, so real. The second you walked through that door, everything between the two of you might change.

But you were too furious not to knock. Silence hung for a few seconds before you could hear the door unlock.

Anakin opened it to you, looking unfairly hot. Rage ripped through you as he looked at you with open affection, gesturing to enter his room, like nothing had changed. Like he wasn't lying to you all this time. You stormed in quickly.

"Anakin, I need you to be honest with me." Your voice came out tighter than you wanted as you searched his face for a reaction. He closed the door, then came to stand in front of you.

"I'm always honest with you," Anakin replied earnestly, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he forced a small smile.

You didn't smile back. "How did you come up with the idea for your project?"

"What?" Anakin blinked, caught off guard. He let out a breathy chuckle. "That--that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well?" You pressed, crossing your arms. The edge in your voice was obvious, cutting. You could see Anakin go through the stages of realizing what you might mean, and your stomach started to sink even deeper.

Anakin sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I--Really? Okay, fine. There aren't currently any microsurgery tools that mimic human hands. They're all pincers. So I wanted to make one." Your gaze narrowed.

"And you're saying Obi-Wan had nothing to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably supposed to sound confused, but it came out more scared. You knew him well enough to tell. God, he was infuriating.

"Did you or did you not get your idea from Obi-Wan?" The words came out like tiny daggers, sharpened steel that you spat at him. His face fell, and you could see the moment that he knew you knew.

"Look, it's not like that," Anakin said, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were suddenly avoiding yours, like his desk suddenly contained some information he desperately needed, or, preferably an escape hatch.

"Then what is it like?" You shot back, your heart racing. You stepped closer, trying to find an answer in his furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you just say no?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and he was obviously searching for the right words. Words that wouldn't piss you off, probably. "Because Obi-Wan helped, I guess."

"You guess?!" Your voice cracked, incredulous.

"I mean--look." Anakin raised his hands defensively. "Sure, Obi-Wan put me on the path to it. But every second in the lab since then has been me. My design, my coding."

"What do you mean put you on the path? You mean he gave you the idea, don't you?" Your frustration with him was boiling over. Even now, he was defending himself, trying to evade this. Justifying. It drove you crazy.

Anakin hesitated, his words faltering. "I--It's not--"

"Are you seriously about to say that it's not that simple or something?" You interrupted, your voice shaking. You threw your hands up, your fury finally reaching its peak. "Because, from here, it looks simple. Like you stole your whole fucking thesis idea!"

"That's not true!" Anakin snapped, his voice louder now. It wasn't the same kind of anger you were used to seeing from him, it was defensive, almost panicked. "Obi-Wan, he just, he suggested I look at applying an old project of mine to microsurgery. And he was right. So, I guess, technically, if you're looking at it like that--sure. He gave me the idea."

You stared at him, his words sinking in. His admission hung between you like a guillotine, its rope finally snapped. The air felt tight, like you were ten thousand miles above sea level and there wasn't enough oxygen to keep you afloat.

Anakin shifted again, his anger gone, his voice softer, pleading. "It's like… I don't know. I guess I feel guilty about it. But I really needed to submit something that day, or I couldn't enter into the competition at all. It was the rules. If I don't do a thesis… I--I don't know. I just had to. And I figured I'd just use that temporarily, and pivot as soon as it was approved, It was in the end of junior spring, and I just couldn't find a topic that worked. That idea I had about hand prosthetics didn't pan out, and I was telling Obi-Wan about it in the lab, and he told me I should look at microsurgery, 'cause they have a lot of the same issues--calibrating movement to user input, holding up to wear and tear, dealing with friction and joint movement--and that I should do my thesis on it."

His eyes finally met yours again, so deep and blue that it almost made you reconsider. Almost. He was pleading, begging you to understand. "So, yeah, I submitted an early version of the idea Obi-Wan gave me. But every second of design, build, everything was me. It's my work."

You stood frozen, silent. After a few long beats, Anakin started to fidget, his hands wringing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"If I could go back, I'd do something else. Anything else." Anakin's voice wavered, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "I just--I didn't know what else to do. I needed to submit something, anything. I need to win this," he finished, his voice trailing off.

The anguish over being proven right was something you didn't expect. You should have felt vindicated, that you were actually right all along about him. You should have hated him. But instead, you could feel your heart breaking, like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped over and lifeless. If he had just admitted it to you himself, maybe you could get over this. Maybe. But the fact that he hid it from you cut like a knife. Tears welled in your eyes, and your throat was drier than you'd ever felt it. The words fell from your lips softly, like you could barely get them out.

"How could you?" You felt like you'd never known him, like the person in front of you was a stranger. How could he be both this person, and the one who would keep you warm at night?

Anakin noticed the coldness of your gaze, and it gutted him. Anakin's breath caught, and you could see him shatter in real time. His cheek twitched, right under his scar, and you could swear you saw his eyes start to fill with tears. His hands were shaking where they were clasped together, and you were sure he was leaving indents with his nails. His shoulders shook under his panicked breaths.

He didn't speak for several long seconds, his mouth tugging this way and that as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" He asked as he stepped toward you, trying to seek reassurance to keep him from falling apart. But you couldn't give it. You didn't even know him anymore.

"I--" you opened your mouth, hesitating, before you restarted, "I don't know." Your voice cracked, but you hardened it. "I didn't before, but now I'm not so sure."

Anakin took another step closer, reaching out with his shaking hands as if to touch you, but you backed away. His face flushed even more, hurt and frustration jumping across his features. It made you even more angry. "This is so fucking unfair, and you just--you just let it happen."

He said your name, trying to jump in, but your anger surged, and it drowned him out.

"I spent weeks getting my idea just right." Each words was more brutal than the last. "Weeks. And you got everything spoon-fed to you. Everything I worked for--and you just took it from someone."

Anakin flinched like you had struck him, but you were far from done.

"I thought I knew you, I thought I was wrong about you this whole time," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, "But I was right all along. You're just a fucking cheater."

A tear slipped down the side of his cheek as you continued. Your voice shook as you admitted to him, and to yourself, what the worst part really was. "And you didn't even have the decency to tell me. And that makes you a fucking asshole."

He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he started to speak. "No, please, it's not--"

"Stop it!" You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. Anakin stood frozen, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Your breath rushed through your nose and your pulse beat in your ears. You couldn't even see him anymore through the tears, but you refused to let them fall. To let him see you cry.

He said your name one more time, begging, pleading. For a moment, you were tempted, but the hurt was too big to ignore.

Your voice was cold, distant. "Get away from me," you ordered. Your back was rigid with anger and hurt. "And leave me the fuck alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

You stalked down the hall as quickly as you could, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket as the tears you were holding back finally poured down your cheeks. You didn't even have the energy to wipe them away, you just let them fall while you punched the button for the elevator.

Only when the door closed, and you pulled out your phone to call Ahsoka, did you see his messages.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

They were all sent minutes apart. You could hear his voice reading them, desperate and thick with tears. Even though you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at him, the idea of him crying still made your chest ache. And then it made you feel vindicated. But then it made you feel horrible again.

You arrived back to the lobby, then crossed the building to the other elevator bank, trying to avoid the awkward gazes the students passing by gave you. You sniffled wetly, wiping away your tears, as you ran up the two flights of steps that brought you to your room. You unlocked the door as quickly as you could, then hid inside.

Your phone buzzed again.

i understand that you don't want to talk, but the second you're ready, i'll be here. i'll always be here.

The words made you sob loudly, and you were thankful for a moment that Ahsoka wasn't home. Until you saw the text, it hadn't hit you that this was the last time you'd talk for a while. You couldn't even remember the last kiss you two had shared. The library? Was that the kiss you wanted this to end on? You'd never see his half-lidded eyes as he worshipped you, never hear him call you baby again.

Why did he have to go and fuck it all up? You asked yourself, sobs wracking your body as you slid down the door. You couldn't tell if you were more sad or angry, but you were definitely heartbroken. Lately, his casual touches, his affection, the way you slept together every night, it was starting to feel like more. But it was all gone now.

You had been numbed with caffeine and stress, but the past week, you felt like you were soaring every time he touched you. Every time he gave you that intense look he always did.

But the two of you were just hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and you never thought you'd feel the pull to be with him when you weren't fucking, but it was like gravity. Even now, you wanted him to comfort you. Not someone, but him.

The realization that you had feelings for him hit you like a truck. All the breath was gone from your lungs, gone to some other dimension.

You liked Anakin Skywalker. Even though he was an asshole. Even though he'd hurt you. But those feelings didn't end just because whatever you were had ended, they didn't leave you alone.

You could have been his girlfriend if he hadn't hidden this from you. And that was the last nail in the coffin that made you break down fully.

You sat there, crying, sobbing, wailing, for at least another half hour before you dragged yourself to the shower. It made you feel the tiniest bit better to have your hair clean, your tears scrubbed off your face until the skin went sensitive and ruddy. When the water turned off, it was cold, and you relished the shock to your system.

And then, you started the process of getting over him. You knew you had to do it eventually, and you only had to get through finals before you could go home and forget all about him. Come January, when you next saw him in the lab, it'd be like seeing any other classmate.

That thought was enough to make you start crying again while you stood in the towel you stole from your house. Your tears mingled with the water from the shower, and it was enough to let you pretend that you weren't crying, that becoming strangers with Anakin didn't kill you inside.

You promised yourself that this would be the last time you cried this semester. That night, if you felt the threat of tears, you just threw yourself harder into whatever you were studying. There was nothing else you could do.

At the thermo exam two days later, you walked in later than you usually would for a final that was this important. When you slipped into the class, two minutes before they started passing out test papers, you spotted Anakin in the corner. Because of course you did. Your eyes hadn't stopped finding him in every photo, in every room. He had always been magnetic, and, just because you weren't together anymore didn't mean that stopped. And he was looking right at you.

His gaze ripped through you with some mix of desperation, affection, and sorrow. Anakin looked, in one word, horrible. His eyes were sunken in, red and swollen from crying. Most people would not have noticed, but you knew him too well. His dark circles had come back with a vengeance, like fresh bruises on his otherwise smooth and clear skin. His mouth twitched when he looked at you, like he was going to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes followed your path.

Throughout the exam, you could feel his eyes on you a couple of times, but you didn't allow yourself to turn around and look. You let the calm of equations and math wash over you, and soon there was nothing but the test. The questions and the precise way you wrote Greek letters in the blue book lulled you into a state of calm you desperately needed.

When you handed in your exam, you allowed yourself another look at Anakin, and then you left the building. You didn't see him before you went on break two days later.

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Two days before break, he saw you again. He hadn't changed his habits, still studied in the dining hall and had meals there, sometimes went to the library, and he secretly hoped, thrummed with anticipation, that maybe, just maybe, you'd be there too. That maybe you'd see him and realize you wanted to talk it out. That, obviously, did not happen. He spent an embarrassing amount of time awake, because you haunted his dreams whenever they came. The disgusted look on your face and the words I was right all along, you're a fucking asshole echoed in the back of his eyelids and his mind's eye whenever he laid down. So, he stayed up. More time to study, right?

He spent most of those 48 hours trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even when he broke up with Padme, it wasn't like this. He was angry, indignant, and, of course, sad, but it was the kind of sadness that settled deep on his shoulders and dulled the world around him. It wasn't the kind of sadness that wrenched sobs from his chest whenever he wasn't careful. It wasn't the kind of sadness that made him regret ever going to this college, ever meeting you.

Ahsoka cast him a funny look at him one night, when he fell asleep in a common room. She gently shook him awake, and noticed the redness rimming his eyes, and the way his hands shook from too much caffeine. She gave him a hug and made him promise to sleep tonight.

He did, and that was the night before the test. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest as he dragged himself from his bed. He arrived fifteen minutes early, just to make sure he got a good seat, and then his head kept swiveling like an owl. Every time the click of the doors opening echoed through the nearly empty lecture hall, he locked onto the person entering. He was pretty sure he'd accidentally given glares to at least four poor souls before you finally entered.

He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably failed the exam right then.

You were even prettier than he remembered, and the depth of your eyes when you stared at him was enough to make him shudder. Even now, he'd give anything to be with you again. When you sat down and didn't look at him again for the next three hours, he felt bits of his heart break off and get trampled under equations about heat diffusion and air pressure. You turned in your test, and then left, and he looked after you longingly. His eyes snapped back to his paper when he got a weird look from the TA.

He turned in his exam paper, rushed home, and promptly passed out on his bed. You came to him in his dreams, of course. Naked in his arms, lips pliant and wanting under him. The way your tongue peeked out when you were too hard at work, or the shimmer of your eyes when he made you laugh. The betrayal on your face. Get away from me.

He spent the rest of finals in a fugue state, doing tasks and exams because he was supposed to. Then, finally, the last one passed, and he was finally released to go home. He hadn't seen you since the exam, and that was probably better for him, he reasoned.

On day 1 of break, Anakin drove the whole day and listened to absolutely depressing music the whole time. He pulled over once and, in a fit of rage, smacked the steering wheel a few times. How could he be so stupid? How was he this much of an idiot? He sat at the rest stop for another fifteen minutes, his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Five hours later, when he arrived home late in the evening, he hugged his mom. Everything felt a little bit better after that. He had dinner with Shmi and Cliegg, even though all he wanted to do was lay in bed and sulk. He fell asleep quickly--he was too exhausted to stay up torturing himself with what could have been.

On day 2 of break, he lay in bed and just generally moped around. He could never be still for long, so that meant getting up to eat snacks, flicking through TV shows listlessly, and trying not to look at the texts you two had exchanged. He only cried twice, once at the thought that you'd never meet his mom, and the other at the memory of your body in his arms as he fell asleep. Both reduced him to hot, silent tears.

On day 3 of break, he did yard work and drove by his old dojang to say hi to his high school coach. He ended up agreeing to teach some lessons over break to avoid having to sit at home alone with his thoughts for three entire weeks. Plus, the money was good. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting that thesis prize at all, at this rate. He only cried once, at night, when he thought about having to watch you work in the thesis lab without speaking to you. He wouldn't cross that boundary. You already knew he wanted to talk, and you hadn't texted him back.

On days 4-9, he taught three hours of lessons a day. It was calming, familiar. He only had to splash cold water in his face to avoid getting too upset two or three times per day, but the undercurrent of wondering what you were doing never stopped torturing him. He hadn't touched himself in at least two weeks, and he regularly had to stop his thoughts from drifting away to the last time he was inside you. Every time it happened at home, in bed, he got up and took a cold shower. It served him right. At the end of the week, he went to the mall and bought his mom a Christmas present with the money he earned. Just because he knew his mom wanted to blend their family better, he picked out something small he could afford for Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, too.

On day 10, it was Christmas Eve, so everything was closed. There was nothing to do, so he answered a few emails from Professor Jinn, cleaned the oven, and helped his mom prepare for Christmas dinner. There were files on his device he had prepared specifically to work on his thesis over break, but his project made him nauseous. He'd give it all back for a chance to start over. He'd get a B on his thesis if it would make this pain stop. He didn't touch the files, and, that night, when he finally gave in to the temptation to see if you'd posted anything on social media, he didn't touch his cock, either, even though just an image of you was enough to drive him wild at that point.

On day 11, it was Christmas, and he woke up at 4am in his bed, as hard as a rock. Anakin spent an hour tossing and turning and begging his body to just let him sleep, but, eventually he gave in. It was Christmas, right? He deserved a present. When he closed his eyes, he didn't even try to think of someone else. It was you. It had been for a while. Your little noises as he kissed up your neck, the scrunch of your eyebrows right as you came, and the tight grip of your pussy around him when he buried himself to the hilt inside you were enough to make him cum all over his hand within a minute. He found it embarrassing, honestly, that you had this effect on him. Anakin fell asleep quickly and tried not to feel too gross about what he'd done.

On day 11, attempt 2, he woke up around 11, right before lunch, and came down to wish his mother and Cliegg a merry Christmas. Beru and Owen were supposed to come for dinner, but, this morning, it was just the three of them. Anakin had no particular yearning for Cliegg to be a father figure, he just wanted his mom to be happy. If Cliegg did that, then he'd watch endless movies with the two of them, or get Cliegg a present. But if she didn't want to be with him anymore, Anakin wasn't sure he'd miss him. Their second anniversary was in three weeks, and it was a shock that it had been that much time already. When dinner rolled around, and he greeted Owen and Beru awkwardly, not sure what a person is supposed to say to a newly-acquired sibling. He'd seen them a sum total of maybe ten times, almost all of which had to do with the wedding, so they were in how-was-school and how's-the-new-job and gosh-the-winter-has-been-brutal territory. When Anakin gave them their presents, they seemed overjoyed. He'd gotten them matching scarves, each with their first initial embroidered onto it. It was a miracle they had them in stock at the mall, he thought, but the present seemed to hit the right spot. Cliegg got the aforementioned fishing pole, something his mom had told him he was prattling on about, and he got his mom a beautiful new winter coat. She had been mending hers for years, and water and snow would soak right through it, but when he saw the beautiful down puffer coat in the store window, he knew she'd love it. He was right.

Cliegg got him a Laser Distance Measure, which must have cost a pretty penny, and Owen and Beru got him various engineering gadgets (a nice mechanical pencil for technical drawings and a cable carrying case, respectively). His mother's gift, though, was something he'd never be able to forgive. She had bought him a beautiful, fresh Raspberry Pi set, with 8 GB of RAM. It wasn't the most expensive thing in the world, but the $150 or $200 that it did cost her was enough to make him tear up. He'd mentioned months ago that he was thinking of getting one for some personal projects, something for his portfolio, and she bought it. He had the good sense not to say anything like You aren't supposed to get me presents for Christmas and crushed her in a hug, the kind that whispered I know how much this is worth, and I'm so lucky you're my mom. For a second, he was worried he would cry when he saw the crow's feet appear by her eyes, and he felt how thin the skin on her hands had gotten. When had she gotten so much older? For a terrifying moment, he realized he'd have to live without her one day, but then Cliegg made some comment about how he'd made hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the living room to chat. As the last tendrils of sunlight fell beneath the swath of trees in their backyard, he laughed at something Owen had said, and he felt the tiniest bit less alone. Like maybe it didn't matter if he got an A in thermo or had the best thesis in his year. The notion left him quickly.

On days 12-17, the warm feeling had subsided, and all he could think about was what you were doing. Whether you were moving on, or if you still felt the same way he did. If you wanted him again. The fantasy of you seeing him again and realizing that, oh, actually, you wanted to work it out, and also kiss him, inevitably ended with his hand on his cock and cum on his stomach, then regret and shame for about an hour afterward. Once the studio had reopened, he kept teaching there, but with more hours this time. Also, Anakin could finally open the folder on his computer named Thesis without cringing at it, but barely. His heart still skipped about four beats when he thought about how he'd have to see you practically every day. He pushed thoughts like that from his mind as much as he could. No point in torturing himself more than the actual semester would.

Day 18 was New Year's Eve. He went to a party hosted by some of his high school friends, some rager at a frat house. He just wanted to get drunk, honestly, and this seemed like a great excuse. It was sticky and hot even right outside the door, but the sweaty blast of steam that hit him when someone opened it turned his stomach. But the beer was free, so he wouldn't complain too much. A couple of times, he noticed a girl checking him out over the bone-shaking bass. He might have made a move, if he were a different person. If any one of them was you, or had your smile, or your eyes. As soon as he noticed something that was too different from you, he averted his gaze. They were all cute, he supposed, but that didn't matter. They weren't you. When the countdown started, Anakin retreated, not interested in being pulled into some kiss that stunk of beer. Instead, despite knowing he'd regret it, he sent you a text. happy new year, it read. He blamed the tequila, and went back into the fray of cheering people.

From days 19-24, Anakin kept on keeping. Dishes, teaching, occasional progress on his thesis. He submitted over 20 job applications. Sometime in the week, in his daily rehashing of all your messages, he noticed the read receipt had popped up on his text from New Year's Eve, and he cursed himself. He was cursing himself a lot lately. Especially when he promised he wouldn't jerk off over you, but it always ended up happening. The subtle rock of his hips against the mattress when he thought of you, grinding the hard flesh against the soft material, then the sticky warmth of release and the rush of regret that always came with it. The heat of the shower made him hard when he thought about how he'd always wanted to try fucking in the shower, more specifically, fucking you in the shower. He really shouldn't, he reasoned while his hand pumped his dick.

Day 25 was spent driving again, after he gave his mom a big hug and threw his suitcase in the car. Despite himself, he realized that he was no more over you than he had been on his drive to his house. The fact that he would see you tomorrow still made him perk up and wilt at the same time. In a short twenty-four hours, you'd be real, three-dimensional in front of him again. He wasn't sure what would happen--would you kiss him? Slap him? Combust? He could never tell with you. He wondered if you'd cut your hair over break, or if you'd talked to Ahsoka about him. Whatever fantasies he'd been nursing, they were all going to be proven or disproven tomorrow. So he had to use the hour before he arrived on campus to imagine, as hard as he could, that you were in the passenger seat. That you were his girlfriend. That you had just come from meeting his mom, who had shown you a bunch of truly humiliating baby pictures and had whispered to him that she liked you when you had gone to the bathroom. For the rest of the night, that was the reality he lived in.

You had compared schedules last semester, before things got weird, and you shared only two classes, both of which were on Mondays and Wednesdays. At 10:30, you'd both be in Unsupervised Learning, then at 2:30, you'd both take Dynamic Systems and Controls. When he woke up at 8:30, he showered, then tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He put on a shirt he knew you loved (you'd remarked on how well it fit him, and he didn't see it, but you did, and that was all that mattered) and his most comfortable jeans and hoodie. He secretly hoped you were doing the same kind of preening at home, trying to look good for him, but he didn't let the thought take up too much room in his mind.

At 10:25, when he walked into the lecture hall, he saw you instantly. Time stopped as he felt like someone had just gotten a particularly good hit to his solar plexus, and his whole body was responding, out of breath and weak and dizzy all at the same time. You were in the third row, to the left-hand side of the seats, and you looked more gorgeous than he remembered. How didn't he spend the whole break fantasizing about the way your hair shone or the curve of your neck? Seconds started ticking by again when he realized he was blocking the path to the seats, much to the anger of the group of people behind him. He walked down the steps to the second row like everything was normal, then positioned himself on the other side of the lecture hall. He kept his eyes firmly not trained on you for as long as he could, and, when the professor started droning, he turned to look at you, really look at you.

You had put on just a touch of makeup, something he'd noticed years ago that you always did on the first day of class. It suited you, and you looked well-rested and happy. Like you didn't miss him at all. It gutted him like a fish on the chopping block. What was wrong with him? How could he let you get away?

He turned back to the professor, pretending to be interested in the syllabus. When class ended, by the time he packed up his things, you had gone.

The second class was a repeat of the first, only in a smaller lecture hall. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but he snuck glances. He was only human.

He didn't go into the lab for the week, mainly because he was almost done with build and was spending most of his time on securing materials for testing. They had their first practice that Monday, so he got dressed and headed over to the Athletic Center, where he grounded himself in the ritual, the calming power of it all. It was amazing to see Rex and Ahsoka again. They always made him smile, something he'd been missing over the break.

Later that week, Ahsoka invited him to your room to talk about that semester's competitions. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before he accepted. The hallway to your room was achingly familiar, just like he'd seen it in his dreams. Only Ahsoka was home, so she wasted no time before interrogating him about what happened with the two of you.

When he told her the general gist, she had the good decency to be honest and tell him that he was kind of being an asshole by not mentioning it, but that it was normal to get advice from professors and other students. It wasn't ideal for it to be as explicitly grabbed, sure, but the point still stood.

By the time the door opened and you came in (his mind raced--from a date? from class? from some other part of your life that he would never come to know?), Anakin and Ahsoka were discussing taekwondo logistics. You looked gorgeous in the cozy cable-knit sweater you had on, and he hoped against all hope that he wasn't staring the way he thought he was.

You looked shocked for a good second before smiling awkwardly with a little "hey." You retreated to your room almost instantly, and Anakin felt a pit open up, wondering if he'd made you uncomfortable. It wasn't his fault, honestly, but he still felt guilty. He left an hour afterward.

Was this his fate? To watch you from a middle distance as you lived your life? He was trapped, pinned down like a bug, reading into everything he saw. If you were in a four-block radius, his eyes would find you. They always would. In class, he had to stop himself from turning toward you, from studying your features and trying to read anything from them. He never could.

Anakin was still fucking haunted by you, especially now that he was on campus. Everything reminded him of you. The boba place, every inch of your dorm, the emptiness in his mattress. He knew he was hallucinating when he thought he spied you at practice one day, just a wisp of hair in the corner of the room, but, by the time he did a double take, there was only empty floor there.

On Thursday, he got a text from Ahsoka.

Party tomorrow at Cody's. You should come, she had written. He didn't really, actually feel like partying. But he went anyway. Maybe he could spend enough time with his friends to forget about you.

He threw on a nice shirt, some kind of button-up his mom had gotten him, cuffed the sleeves, and set off.

It was a standard-issue party. He'd been to plenty of them, so he figured was ready and prepared for what he'd see and feel. Bass in his eardrums so loud it shook the blood in his veins. Having to scream basic conversation over music. Cheap beer and a sticky floor. Enough heat that his hair would start curling more.

It felt like home. He entered, found Cody and Ahsoka quickly, promising to return after he grabbed a drink. Anakin made his way to the folding table crammed full of bottles, as well as some kind of vile jungle juice, and took two shots. Just enough to stop thinking about you, he hoped.

By the time he fought his way back to Cody and Ahsoka, he was feeling it. Rex had joined them in the meantime, and Anakin joined the little huddle. They were talking (read: yelling "what did you say?" over the music) about one of Cody's dates that week, and Anakin let himself slip into the familiar rhythm of his friends. It was nice, honestly. He only thought of you five or six times, which was a record low.

Then Ahsoka suggested they go get another drink, and, as the four of them pushed back toward the drinks station, he saw you.

You were fucking radiant, and the breath stalled in his chest. You had always been the only thing he ever wanted to look at in a room, even from sophomore year, when you began to piss him off more than anything, but right now, you were a supernova. And he was a moth. He felt his wings get burned off as he traced the curve of your jaw and acknowledged to himself that, yeah, he probably wasn't going to get over you until you were across state lines.

You were wearing some sinfully short, tight dress, which crept higher and higher up your thighs. He could tell you weren't wearing a bra, and something stirred inside of him.

But then he saw the guy standing next to you, leaning in to tell something to your ear. Anakin hated himself for the thought, but he instantly started comparing himself to the guy. What was Mr. Boat Shoes saying to you that made you tip your head back and laugh like that? He remembered when he used to do that, when he would make you throw your head back to do more than just laugh.

Anakin felt his jaw clench and his body start to shake with the same energy that he always had before competitions, coiled like a snake about to strike.

He knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But he was never one to resist bad ideas. He blamed the alcohol. It wasn't that you were his, or some misguided attempt at owning you, but he just couldn't watch this. He couldn't let this feeling tear him apart anymore. When you swatted the guy's chest playfully, Anakin felt his eye twitch, right under his scar. Oh hell no. But he shouldn't. It was your business.

Fuck it.

Anakin started pushing through the crowd, and then he saw the guy lean in, and he saw red.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @johnbassplayercutie @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm @ann4zw @gimmefood

[poppadom0912]

Excuses

Warnings: Mentions of fainting, diabetes, canon-typical injuries

Summary: You suffer the consequences just because your teacher thought you were making excuses.

A/N: First fic of 2024!!! I had plans that I was going to post weekly in the new year just like last year but things went downhill. This january and february has had its very good but also really bad moments and even writing this was a struggle. I've found myself in a weird place of wanting to write but struggling and all of a sudden not being able to balance my schoolwork and writing. So I took a lil step back to solely focus on my work but looking at everything now, my fic updates will be much less frequent but hopefully just as or if not, more fun to read.

I feel bad for not saying or posting anything since the new year but I'm here now and hopefully will be more alive. I've got lots planned for you beautiful people, several series and way too many fics in my drafts that I cannot wait for you all to read. This wasn't as long or as juicy as I intended but my brain completely failed me so I hope this is good enough. I initially wanted to post this at the beginning of March but I finished the final editing today so here you go!!

Final note before we start, I have general knowledge about diabetes but that's all from my grandma. I have no idea if it's the same for teenagers so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Happy reading!!

Your biology teacher had been on maternity for three weeks now and you were seriously contemplating life.

Because of the crappy rules surrounding maternity leave, when your teacher refused to return before her three months ended, your school had a supply teacher fill in for her till she came back.

Since day one, you knew you hated her.

It was mid lesson and you knew as soon as you started feeling sluggish that your sugar levels were dropping. Your thoughts were only confirmed when your Dexcom receiver let you know of your decreasing glucose.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. Will and Jay always made sure you had eaten enough and you had the means to maintain the needed glucose levels so that nothing happened.

Alas, you were up late revising and you were stressing about keeping up your good grades. Jay was rushing you out the door because he needed to go to a scene he'd just been called to and Will was out walking Kol and hadn't seen you leave.

In conclusion, it'd been a hot minute since you last ate something.

The school were well aware of your diabetes. It was one of the very important things your brothers stressed them about when you first started.

Most students knew about it actually, having seen your Dexcom and not understanding since a diabetic child apparently wasn't common according to them.

So, when you randomly pulled out a snack from your bag mid class, no one questioned it and instead would make sure you were okay. There'd never been a problem before in school and everyone wanted it to stay that way.

However, this new teacher, Mrs Byrne was apparently completely unaware of your medical condition.

"Y/N. You know the rules about eating in class." She said strictly, pulling away all the attention from the board onto you.

She stopped you in the middle of opening the packet of fruit gummies. You frowned, looking at her confused along with your classmates.

"I have diabetes." You said bluntly, continuing to open the packet. "I don't eat this and I'll pass out."

Mrs Byrne only rolled her eyes, smiling at you condescendingly. "I've heard that excuse hundreds of times, give those to me."

You scoffed at the audacity, refusing to hand over what was yours.

It was when she started walking towards your desk with a pep in her step that the entire class got involved. Their raised voices overlapped, some angrier than others over what was happening.

However, you too were Stubborn alike to your brothers so you kept as firm of a grip of the packet. You turned a blind eye to the anger fuelled cover teacher. You continued to smile as she spewed threats of all sorts.

Due to your frustration and annoyance over the teacher who wanted to take your gummies away, you didn't notice how everything started change; how hard it was to move your eyes and lips, your limbs getting heavier and you thoughts slowly getting muddled up.

Lost in a daze, you were no longer able to fight back when she pulled harder, successfully snatching the small packet out of your hands. It was now that the class got furious, your friends were already up and at your side but now they were verbally attacking the teacher.

Fed up with her petty behaviour, you were going to get up and go to the nurses office who would take care of you but getting out your seat was harder said than done.

With one of your friends help, you weren't too sure who was helping you from your hazy sight that cleared when you blinked too many times.

You were wobbly on your feet, taking slow and hesitant steps towards the front of the classroom but before you could leave, you felt your legs give out and everything went black.

*****

It turned out that supposed crime scene that he was imminently needed at was nothing but a prank by a bunch of college boys resulting in a grumpy Hank putting them in cuffs and having them fined for a very reasonable reason.

That's how the rest of the unit found themselves finishing up paperwork, catching up about life in general as they debated what they were getting for lunch.

Jay was smugly sitting back, eyes flickering between Kevin and Adam who were bickering over something trivial when his phone rung, catching everyone's attention.

They were all so bored and normally when one of their phones went off during work hours, it meant something came up and they were needed.

In interest, everyone turned their heads towards Jay and waited for him to tell them they got a crime scene.

Picking up his phone, Jay's brows furrowed at the number, confused as to why your school was calling him in the middle of the day. They'd only call him if two things happened: You'd gotten in trouble or you got hurt.

"Hello. Is this Y/N Halsteads brother Jay?" A voice he couldn't recognised asked, most likely some lady from the main office.

"Yeah, that's me." Jay confirmed, sitting up in preparation for whatever he was going to be told.

"So sorry to interrupt you sir but Y/N collapsed in class." The lady said with guilt laced in her words. "Your other brother didn't pick up the phone. We called to let you know we had to call the paramedics and they've taken her to Chicago Med."

"Uh yeah." Jay said, collecting his jacket and keys. "Yes, thank you."

Not waiting for a reply, Jay hung up and quickly knocked on Hank's office door frame.

"Sarge, I gotta get Y/N-"

"Go get her. We're done here."

*****

Wanting to pull his hair out, Will rubbed his eyes in frustration, glaring at his patients scans that only confused him further. He was tired and was coming to half way through his twenty four hour shift.

"Dr Halstead- Uh, Dr Rhodes in T4." Maggie stumbled, looking down at her brick and making sure she read it correctly.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, confused as to why Maggie changed her mind which she usually never did.

"It's Y/N."

Now fully awake, Will followed Connor towards the ambulance bay where you were being rolled in. You were groggily sitting up on the stretcher, you hair a mess and a few scratches around your face and hands from when you fell.

"Sylvie, what happened?" Will asked the blonde paramedic while looking you over. He desperately wanted to check you over himself but let Connor do his thing. He really did not need Ms Goodwin on his case today.

"Teachers didn't tell us much but her classmates said she collapsed after not being able to eat." Sylvie relayed the minimal information she knew, shrugging her shoulders when the two doctors looked at her weirdly. "No one would tell us anything more."

"Y/N, it's Connor. Can you hear me kid?" Connor said while pulling out his penlight. He was like another brother to you, his concern just as high. "Can you tell me what happened?"

You groaned, mumbling nonsense with your eyes screwed closed. Your words were mostly unintelligible but Will understood them mere seconds later.

Fixing the problem you complained about, Will turned down the lights and let Connor continue fussing over you.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of your collapse, Will sighing at the news when he read the numbers from your tests.

"I thought she was always on top of her sugar levels." Connor said, closing the room door so you could sleep in peace.

And what he said was completely true but they weren't aware of why you couldn't today specifically of all days.

"She is." Will said, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "Maybe her dexcom malfunctioned or something."

Connor hummed, agreeing with his friend.

"Hmm, maybe."

*****

Arriving at Med, Will gave Jay a detailed rundown of everything he new about your medical state but also the events pre your hospital arrival.

Getting a good look at you, holding your hand in his and kissing you on your forehead, Jay was more than happy to leave you in your oldest brothers safe hands while he got to the bottom of this entire ordeal.

He noticed Sylvie was still at Med, Foster mentioning they were running low on a few supplies so they needed some stocking up. Jay took this opportunity to interview the two paramedics and try to get further understanding on this situation that wasn't making much sense to him.

Arriving at your school, Jay had some thoughts in mind but they weren't very concrete and his confidence wasn't as strong as he'd like it to be.

Walking into the school, Jay immediately noticed an entire class sitting and standing around in the corridor waiting in front of the principals office.

One of the girls who had been sitting in a chair had caught sight of Jay, her eyes widening before she smiled, gently nudging the girl next to her and pointing in his direction. The girls reaction was the exact same.

This created a sort of domino effect as the boy next to her noticed Jay and everyone was telling the other of his sudden arrival. The once silent corridor was now beginning to fill with murmurs and whispers, all their eyes glued onto his figure that moved down the corridor, their shocked faces quickly changing into smiles and smirks.

It seems that Jay had a reputation of sorts.

"Why are you making so much noise? What did I just say about talking-"

The principal cut himself off from his scolding when he suddenly noticed Jay's presence, his face blanching as all the pieces clicked into place.

"Detective Halstead! What a surprise, we weren't expecting to see you so soon-"

This time Jay cut him off, not too bothered about his lack manners. "My brothers with Y/N at the hospital so I thought there was no other perfect time."

The principal remained silent.

"Now, why don't you explain to me why my sister fainted under your watch?"

The students behind Jay couldn't help but snicker knowingly.

[bambisnc]

can you write something about winter????? write harever you want with gn!reader. thank you!!!

apple cider [ft. k.mj]

pairing : winter x gn!reader genre : everything i write is crack honestly. some fluff cw/tw : swearing + uneditted af xx + reader is js confused <3 wc : 0.7k?

your first time meeting kim minjeong had entailed a bruised hip, a spilled drink and a late pass.

it was almost as if the universe had had it pre-determined; made up its mind, even, for you to not like her.

... sure, it might've slightly been your fault that you were late and scrambling to find a seat in the already pretty hectic classroom that caused you to bump into said girl,.. which in turn had the equal and opposite reaction of her managing to push you and your (now bruised) hip with a loud thud! towards one of the tables.

which lead to you spilling your entire drink all~ over your shirt.

your favorite shirt.

before you even knew her name, you had decided you were not a fan. and even now, having spent considerable time in roughly the same friend group,.. you really don’t get the hype around her. 

okay, yes, you admit she’s, like, really nice and pretty and helpful and cute, but it’s whatever.

hence, obviously, the only liable course of action then was to take advantage of the fact that your teacher announced a project to be done in pairs and end up being minjeong’s partner because you don’t really like anyone else in that class which somehow ends up with you having to break her out of a literal, physical fight with some girl whose name you couldn’t even be bothered knowing.

huh? 

“let’s meet at the library.” she had suggested, “it’ll be quiet – it’d be easy for us to focus and get our work over and done with as fast as possible.” 

you had taken a little offense to that. but hey, at least you knew your (slightly) bitter feelings towards her were just as reciprocated. 

so naturally you were surprised when you walked straight into a crowd in the otherwise quiet hall, and happened upon the previously mentioned scene. 

the tense scene was captivating, to say the least. both girls involved showed no apparent signs of remorse or stopping. it even took you a while to manage to pick up your jaw off the floor and move to intervene, albeit your actions being mostly on instinct.

you’re not quite sure why you did it. maybe because your project was at stake? yeah that was probably the only reason.

… doing so was shockingly easy, however. the minute minjeong felt your touch on her, she paused, quietly. a strangely herculean feat on her part, considering how fiercely she’d been fighting merely seconds ago.

but her opponent didn’t have the same mindset. despite the comparatively much more bruised appearance (minjeong barely even had a scratch on her, really), she still found the ability to paste on a sneer and speak out. “wah~ your beloved’s here for you, huh? here to rescue you? just like you were trying to keep their name clear from the rumors-” 

at which point, the girl previously in your grasp all but leapt out to land one last (rather satisfying) punch square on her opponent’s face. 

and then, wordlessly, effortlessly, she walked out;... with you trailing behind, mind chock-full of questions but not being really sure how to express even one of them.

you could only watch as she walked all the way to the courtyard with all the casualness of the world before sitting down on one of the benches .. and soon find yourself stopping in front of her, offering her the bottle clutched in your hand all this while, surprising not only minjeong but also yourself. 

“...you’re probably tired out after all that .. exertion. plus dehydration’s never fun.” is your flimsy, offhanded excuse.

she smiles, then, and accepts it, but both you and her know that she doesn’t really believe it. 

your eyes meet hers, finally, asking if she’d mind company. she shakes her head, no, shifting to make space for you. 

the warmth of the late evening embraces both of you with an orange haze. from where you’re sitting, a disarmingly comforting scent invades your senses, your mindspace even. 

it’s somewhat fruity. and it’s so inexplicably kim minjeong that you feel like you’re almost going crazy for thinking about it like that.

when minjeong hands you back the bottle, you notice rather grimly that she’s finished almost the whole drink, “i didn’t know you liked apple cider too. it suits you, weirdly.” 

her words only barely register, but her voice manages to crash your reverie completely. 

what exactly was that bitch girl saying earlier in the library?

why are you even here with kim minjeong right now? it’s not like you owe her comfort or anything, it was her fault for getting into an unnecessary fight (over you?....) in the first place  –  god knows you don’t even like her that much.

…

wait. fuck.

notes : tysmmm for requesting lovely <3 im sorry it took like. almost exactly 6 months (june 24th.........) :( + [m.list] song rec : ill edit link in later but apple cider by queen bea

𐙚 . regulars : @brocoliisscared ⋆

[honeyncherry]

Through the Looking Glass - Two

Rafe Cameron x Reader

content: tension, bad parenting?

word count: 6.3k

previous

The morning time used to be your sanctuary. In the quiet hours before the world woke up, you’d find peace. Those fleeting moments where it felt like the universe had hit pause just for you.

As a child, mornings were your reprieve, a small window where no one demanded anything of you. No clipped commands and no pressure. Just you, the soft light filtering through your bedroom window, and the occasional birdcall drifting in from the trees outside. It was your time to breathe. 

Sometimes you’d sit cross-legged on the carpet, a book balanced on your knees, imagining yourself in stories that didn’t involve expectations and schedules.

Other times, you’d sit by the window tracing patterns in the condensation with your finger, imagining what life could be if it were yours to choose. The stillness made it easier to dream, to let yourself believe, even if only for a little while, that there was more to life than what had been laid out for you.

That quiet was everything, a momentary break from a life that wasn’t truly yours.

But mornings weren’t like that anymore. The peace had been replaced by a steady thrum of tension that refused to let go. You couldn’t escape it, not in this world where every move felt calculated, every interaction weighed. Even on a campus as vibrant as this one, sunlight spilling across the red brick paths, students walking in clusters as laughter rang out, the tension remained. All coiled beneath the surface.

Today was no different, though the stakes felt higher. As you walked with Brooke, Maddie, and Sabrina toward campus, their chatter filled the space around you, light and carefree. They swapped stories about professors, exaggerated tales of late-night cramming sessions, and Maddie’s latest tirade of a group project.

“Seriously, who decides to leave the entire presentation to me?” Maddie was saying, her tone dripping with incredulity. “I’m not a babysitter.”

Brooke laughed, “that’s why I never volunteer for group work. Let them pick the slackers. I’ll take a solo essay any day.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Sabrina chimed in, nudging Brooke playfully. “Besides, you’re better at flirting your way out of deadlines.”

“I prefer to call it persuasion,” Brooke said, grinning.

Their banter washed over you like waves, grounding you in the moment. It was a relief, in a way, to let them take the spotlight. Their vibrant personalities filled in any gaps where you might’ve had to speak. But your thoughts were elsewhere, trailing ahead toward the building looming in the distance.

Personal Relations 201.

This wasn’t just another class. It was the class. The agency had assigned it with purpose, placing it carefully into your schedule. Not because of its content, though it was useful enough, but because of who sat in that very lecture hall every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at precisely 10:15am.

Rafe Cameron. 

“You’re so quiet this morning,” Brooke’s voice cut through your thoughts, light and teasing. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who actually gets nervous for class.”

You blinked, her words pulling you back. “Just thinking about everything I need to get done. You know how it is.” You forced a small laugh, shaking your head. 

Brooke grinned. “Oh, trust me, I don’t. That’s why I don’t think about anything until five minutes before it’s due.”

Sabrina laughed, nudging her shoulder. “And yet, somehow, you still manage to pass.”

“Talent,” Brooke said with mock arrogance. “Pure, unteachable talent.”

You laughed softly, grateful for the distraction. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“But, you’ll be fine,” Brooke circled back, giving you a reassuring pat on the arm. “Just sit in the back if it gets boring. That’s what I do.”

“Or sit near the hot guys,” Sabrina added with a smirk. “That’s what I do.”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “Try sitting where you can actually see the board. That’s what normal people do.”

“Pass,” Brooke said with a wave of her hand before turning to you. “What’s your strategy?”

“Probably somewhere in the middle,” you replied lightly. “Close enough to look like I care, far enough to keep my sanity.” You flashed a grin as if you already had this system mastered to the T.

“Smart,” Sabrina said, flashing you a grin. “See? She’s already got this figured out.”

You gave a small, easy smile as you all stopped in front of Bynum Hall. “This is me. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Good luck!” Brooke called after you as they moved on, their laughter fading into the distance.

The building stood ahead of you, its tall glass doors reflecting the morning light. You adjusted the strap of your bag, your fingers brushing the cool canvas as you stepped inside. The air conditioning hit you immediately, a sharp contrast to the warmth outside. The hallways were already bustling with students, some lingering in small groups, others disappearing into lecture halls.

You kept your steps measured as you entered the room, its rows of seats sprawling out in neat, orderly lines. The space hummed with quiet conversations, a handful of students already seated, their notebooks open and pens poised. You chose a spot near the middle, strategic, of course. It was the sweet spot — the balance you always aimed for.

Unpacking your things and sitting down, you let your gaze sweep the room with casual detachment. The overachievers clustered at the front, their attention already focused on the professor’s notes on the screen. The socialites and athletes occupied the back rows, leaning into each other as they whispered and laughed. It was a dynamic you’d seen, yet never stepped foot in before, one that always fell into place like clockwork no matter the setting.

The door opened, and you didn’t need to look to know it was him. The energy in the room shifted, a subtle ripple of awareness that followed him wherever he went. Rafe Cameron walked in with a kind of confidence that felt almost performative, like he knew the impact he had on a space and enjoyed wielding it.

You kept your gaze on your notebook, feigning interest in the syllabus you’d already memorized. The footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped just a few feet away. He settled into the row you were in, leaving a seat between you. The distance was purposeful, a space that felt charged even in its quietness.

You barely glanced up, your fingers tapping lightly against your notebook as your eyes skimmed the same lines over and over again. But when his voice broke through the hum of the room, low and casual, it was impossible to ignore.

“Morning.”

You glanced at him, letting a small smile play on your lips. “Morning.”

He leaned back in his chair, his pen spinning lazily between his fingers. For a moment, it seemed like the exchange would end there. But then he turned slightly, his eyes catching yours. “Didn’t think you’d be in this class.”

You tilted your head, feigning mild curiosity. “Why’s that?”

He smirked, tapping his pen once against the desk. “Just didn’t peg you for the communications type. You seem more…” He let the silence linger, his eyes scanning you briefly before finishing, “…reserved.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting his words hang in the air before responding. “Maybe you just haven’t seen enough to know.”

His smirk deepened, like he wasn’t sure if you were challenging him or playing along. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back again. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, though.”

The professor’s voice cut through the room then, calling for attention as the lecture began. Turning forward, your pen remained over the page though you were acutely aware of the weight of Rafe’s gaze lingering on you for just a second longer.

As the lecture progressed, you fell into the rhythm of note-taking, your handwriting neat and orderly. But every so often, you felt the pull of his presence, the subtle shifts in his posture, the quiet scratch of his own pen on paper.

It was when the professor began discussing the importance of first impressions, that Rafe leaned forward ever so slightly, scribbling something in his notebook. Then, without looking up, he asked, “So, what was your first impression of me?”

The question caught you off guard, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Do you want the honest answer or the polite one?”

He finally turned to look at you, his smirk widening. “Always honest.”

“Well,” you said, keeping your tone light, “you seemed... confident. Maybe a little too confident.”

His laugh was low, quiet enough that it didn’t carry far. “Figures. What about now?”

You leaned back slightly, tilting your head as though appraising him. “Still confident,” you said after a beat, “but maybe not as intimidating as you think.” You had to force down the grin that was threatening to show.

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. “Not intimidating, huh? Most people wouldn’t say that.”

“Maybe they don’t know you well enough,” you countered, letting your voice dip slightly in mock seriousness.

He grinned at that, tapping his pen against the desk again. “Fair. And I’m guessing you’re one of those people who don’t get nervous, huh?”

You shrugged, forcing a small laugh. “Not much phases me. But maybe I’m just good at hiding it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer before he turned back to the lecture, a quiet “touché” falling from his lips.

The rest of the class passed in a blur of half-heard lecture points and subtle glances exchanged. You could tell he was intrigued, though whether it was because of what you said or how you said it was harder to pin down.

As the professor dismissed the class, students began packing up their things, their voices rising as conversations resumed. Rafe stayed in his seat, taking his time as though he had nowhere to be. You followed suit, slipping your notebook and laptop into your bag with measured movements.

“See you next time,” he said casually, his voice low enough that it felt like it was meant just for you.

“Maybe,” you replied, your tone breezy as you stood.

You walked out without looking back, though you could feel his eyes on you. Let him think he had the upper hand. Let him think you were quiet, nervous, unsure. Every word, every glance, every moment was intentional, and he just didn’t realize it.

You stepped out into the bright sunlight, blinking against its intensity as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. Your mind replayed snippets of the conversation with Rafe — his subtle smirk, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long. The memory hovered like a cloud, equal parts intriguing and irritating. You shook it off. Focus. You needed to focus.

Your feet carried you almost automatically toward the coffee shop Brooke had shown you during her whirlwind tour. Over the past weekend, it had quickly become a favorite. Not just for its cozy atmosphere and strong espresso, but for the sense of anonymity it offered. Everyone here seemed absorbed in their own world, sipping lattes, scrolling through their phones, or flipping through notes. Sitting alone didn’t feel out of place.

The familiar bell above the door jingled as you pushed it open, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You stepped into the line, your eyes scanning the menu even though you already knew what you’d order.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a voice said, pulling your attention.

You turned to see Sabrina standing a few feet away, her signature grin firmly in place. Beside her, Liam held a large iced coffee in one hand and what looked like a half-eaten bagel in the other.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling lightly. “Small world?”

“More like predictable habits,” Sabrina teased, stepping closer. “This is our go-to post-class caffeine fix. Liam can’t survive without his sugar rush.”

Liam raised his coffee towards you. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

You laughed softly, the interaction easing some of the tension still lingering from class. “Good to know Brooke showed me the right place.”

As you moved up in line and placed your order, Sabrina leaned casually against the counter. “We’re heading to the quad after this. It’s kind of our regrouping spot. You should come.”

“Regrouping spot?” you echoed, tilting your head.

“Translation: Brooke and Maddie will be there, and there’s going to be gossip,” Liam said with a smirk. “The quad’s like our version of the water cooler.”

Sabrina nudged him with her elbow as you laughed at his joke. “Ignore him. It’s chill. A good place to just hang out and unwind.”

You hesitated, but the decision was already made for you. If the group was heading there, it was the logical next step. “Alright. Count me in.”

“Perfect,” Sabrina said, grabbing her drink as it was called. Yours followed shortly after. “Let’s go before Brooke starts texting us every five minutes asking where we are.”

The three of you left the coffee shop together, the sun casting long shadows across the path as you made your way toward the quad. Liam walked slightly ahead, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his drink as he whistled a tune you couldn’t quite place. Sabrina fell into step beside you, her drink in hand.

“So,” Sabrina began, her tone casual but laced with curiosity, “what’d you think of PR class? Worth the hype?”

You shrugged, keeping your response neutral. “It’s… interesting.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Liam called back, smirking over his shoulder. “Bet Rafe made it more ‘interesting,’ though.”

You felt your cheeks warm slightly but managed to keep your expression calm. “How’d you know he was there?”

Sabrina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. All the guys have each other's schedules memorized. It's borderline obsessive.”

Your eyebrows lifted as Liam laughed but didn’t deny it. “Rafe was… chatty.”

Sabrina laughed. “That’s one word for it. He can’t help himself sometimes.”

As you approached the quad, the sound of laughter and conversation grew louder. Brooke and Maddie were already sprawled on a large blanket under a massive oak tree, Maddie scrolling through her phone while Brooke gestured animatedly, mid-story. A few other students lingered nearby, their own little pockets of chatter blending into the atmosphere.

“There they are,” Liam announced, lifting his coffee as he waved. “The queens of the quad.”

Brooke’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her face lighting up as she spotted you. “Finally!” she called out, her voice carrying across the lawn. “We were starting to think you ditched us.”

“Never,” Sabrina replied as the three of you reached the blanket. “We had to fuel up first.”

Brooke turned her attention to you, patting the spot beside her. “Come sit. We’re just planning tonight.”

“Tonight?” you asked, lowering yourself onto the blanket.

“The party at Beta,” Maddie said without looking up from her phone. “You’re coming, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indecision. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot to do.”

Brooke gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like you’d just insulted her. “A lot to do? It’s your first day of classes! That’s practically a crime against fun.”

“It’s Beta’s first big party of the semester,” Sabrina added. “Basically a rite of passage.”

“And by ‘big,’ she means chaotic,” Liam chimed in, plopping onto the grass beside Maddie. “But, you know, in a good way.”

Brooke leaned in closer, her expression morphing into one of exaggerated pleading. “Please tell me you’re coming. It won’t be the same without you.”

You sighed, letting a small smile slip through. “I’ll think about it.”

Brooke’s grin widened triumphantly. “You’ll think about it,” she repeated, her tone teasing. “That’s code for yes.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the chatter. “I hear we’re talking about a party.”

You turned to see Chase and Rafe approaching. Chase’s grin was wide and easy, the kind that could disarm anyone, while Rafe’s expression held its usual mix of amusement and judgment, his stride unhurried yet commanding. The two moved with the kind of assertiveness that turned heads without trying, their presence drawing the group’s attention almost instantly.

“Always,” Brooke gave a slow shrug, her grin widening mischievously. “And you’re both coming, obviously.”

Chase dropped onto the blanket beside her, his energy infectiously cheerful. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Rafe lingered at the edge of the group for a moment, his gaze scanning the circle before settling briefly on you. Then, he sat down, “what about you?” he asked, his voice low and casual. “You going?”

“Still deciding,” you replied lightly, keeping your tone neutral.

Chase leaned forward. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s coming.”

“Bold assumption,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not an assumption,” Chase countered, his grin widening. “A prediction.”

Laughter rippled through the group, the easy banter flowing seamlessly. You let yourself relax slightly, the warmth of the moment grounding you even as you felt Rafe’s presence like white noise beside you. Your gaze flicked to him only once, but his attention had already shifted, his focus split between the conversation and whatever silent thoughts lingered behind his eyes.

As the group continued to talk about the party, you couldn’t ignore the way Rafe’s quiet confidence filled the space, unsettling and fascinating all at once. He didn’t need to dominate the conversation to make his presence known. It was in the way he leaned back, effortlessly commanding the moment, even when he was silent.

“Alright,” Brooke announced, clapping her hands together with finality. “So it’s settled. We’re all going, and we’re going to make it the best night ever.”

“I didn’t agree yet,” you teased, though your tone was playful, a subtle challenge in the words.

Brooke waved her hand dismissively. “Details. You’ll thank me later.”

You laughed, the sound blending into the chatter around you as the group shifted into easier conversations. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the quad in a warm, golden light. It felt almost like one of those carefree moments you’d seen in movies, where the world seemed simpler, lighter. Almost.

For now, you let yourself settle into the moment, even as the undercurrent of your true purpose hummed beneath it all.

Brooke leaned back on her hands, her curls catching the golden light as she tilted her face toward the sun. “This is what college is supposed to be about,” she said with a content sigh. “Good weather, good company, and not a single textbook in sight.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maddie quipped, raising an eyebrow as she gestured to the pile of notes beside her. “Some of us actually care about passing our classes.”

Chase scoffed, leaning forward with an easy grin. “It’s literally the second week of classes. Relax, Hermione. You’ve got time.”

Maddie shot him a pointed look, though her lips twitched as if holding back a smile. “Some of us like to stay ahead. Not everyone can get by on charm and last-minute cramming.”

“Cramming is a skill,” Chase declared, pressing a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him. “It’s an art form, really.”

“Wait, didn’t Brooke say the exact same thing earlier?” Sabrina perked up, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Maddie raised an eyebrow, glancing between Brooke and Chase with a sly smirk. “Wow. Maybe you two really are meant to be.”

Brooke froze for half a second before recovering with a dramatic groan. “Oh my god, Maddie, stop. That is not what I meant.”

Chase smirked, leaning back with a serious expression. “You hear that? She didn’t deny it. Sounds like someone’s got a serious crush.”

Brooke shot him a glare, her cheeks faintly pink. “Don’t flatter yourself. Just because we’ve been talking doesn’t mean I’m part of your fan club.”

“Oh, you’re definitely in the club,” Chase shot back with a wink. “You might even be president.”

Brooke stretched her arms above her head with a dramatic sigh, her voice light but edged with playfulness. “You wish.”

Before anyone could add more, Rafe, who had been silent until now, leaned forward slightly, his tone dry and sharp. “If this is your version of foreplay, it’s painful to watch.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the group, breaking the tension as Brooke turned toward him with an incredulous expression. “Oh, shut up,” she said, her tone exasperated but tinged with amusement.

Chase grinned as he gestured between himself and Brooke. “You know, this is why we’d never work, Brooke. Too much drama, not enough appreciation for my charm.”

Brooke scoffed, swiping her hand through the air like she was brushing him away. “Please. If anything, I’m doing you a favor just by being seen with you.”

“Oh, it’s a mutual favor,” Chase quipped. “Trust me.”

Brooke rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Speaking of standards…” She emphasized before fiddling with her phone screen, the faint sounds of swiping and tapping filling the air as the others groaned preemptively.

“Here we go,” Liam muttered, shaking his head with mock despair.

“Patience,” Brooke said, holding up a finger as she turned the screen toward the group with a flourish. “Okay… what about this one?”

The phone’s screen displayed Braeden Lowe’s Instagram profile: a parade of gym mirror selfies, flexed biceps, and overly filtered vacation shots. His toothy grin practically screamed “wannabe influencer.”

Rafe groaned dramatically, leaning back on his elbows with an exaggerated wince. “God, Brooke. Even my thirteen-year-old sister wouldn’t give that guy a second glance.”

Brooke’s glare shot toward Rafe as she clutched her phone protectively. “You have no taste. Besides, I’m not asking for you.” She turned her gaze pointedly to you, her grin teetering on the edge of mischief. “What do you think? He’s your type, right?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You’re asking me?”

“Of course!” Brooke’s tone was light but the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her intent. “Someone’s gotta find you a date, and clearly, I’m the most qualified.”

The group broke into grins and scattered chuckles, their amusement filling the space between you. Heat crept up your cheeks as you shook your head. “I don’t need a date, Brooke.”

“Oh, come on,” she whined, tilting her head with exaggerated drama. Her curls bounced as she grinned. “What’s the harm in a little fun? Live a little!”

Rafe snorted, his smirk widening as he gestured lazily toward the phone. “If this is Brooke’s idea of fun, I’m concerned for all of us.”

Laughter rippled through the group. You couldn’t suppress your grin, even as Brooke shot Rafe a withering glare. She snatched her phone back, brandishing it like a weapon. “You’re so predictable, Rafe. If you think you can do better, be my guest.”

Rafe relaxed into his spot, his smirk growing as if he’d been waiting for this opening all day. “Please. If I tried, it wouldn’t even be fair.”

“God forbid,” Maddie muttered, rolling her eyes as she stretched her legs out in front of her.

“Please don’t,” you interjected, your tone laced with mock alarm. “The last thing I need is Rafe Cameron picking anyone for me.”

“Why not?” Rafe countered smoothly, angling his head toward you with that maddening smirk. “I’ve got great taste.”

“Great taste in what?” Maddie asked flatly. “Flapjacks and trouble?”

Sabrina and Chase snorted, their laughter mingling as Brooke waved them off impatiently. “Come on. College is for having fun, and fun means romance. Don’t tell me you’re going to be the tragic single friend.”

You shook your head, trying to stop this before it spiraled into something unbearable. “No one needs to help with anything. I don’t need a—”

“Boyfriend?” Rafe cut in, his tone dripping with amusement. His blue eyes locked onto yours, daring you to take the bait.

You froze for a beat, your mind scrambling for a comeback that wouldn’t play directly into his hands. Of course, he’d jump in just to throw you off balance. These past couple of days have been like a game of tug-of-war with him, and the more you tried to steady yourself, the harder he pulled.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Right,” he said, dragging out the word. “I’m sure.”

You sighed, waving him off with a dismissive shake of your head. “Thanks, Brooke, but I think I’ll survive without your matchmaking services.”

“Single and thriving,” Sabrina chimed in, raising her drink like a toast. “Brooke, not everyone needs a boyfriend to complete their college experience.”

“Fine,” Brooke relented with a dramatic huff, flopping back onto the blanket. “But when you change your mind, don’t come crying to me.”

“If she changes her mind, she can come to me.” Liam grinned from across the circle, wagging his brows in exaggerated hopefulness.

“Dream on, Liam,” Maddie shot back, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh and nearly spill his own drink.

The group’s banter dissolved into smaller conversations, the air light with their laughter. You let yourself relax slightly, slipping into the rhythm of their chatter. It was easier this way, listening from the edges, laughing when appropriate, and staying out of the spotlight. It kept the focus off you, which was exactly what you wanted.

Except Rafe wasn’t letting that happen.

His gaze lingered, sharp and steady, even as the others’ attention shifted elsewhere. When you glanced his way, his smirk softened into something subtler, his eyes assessing. It was unnerving, the way he seemed to notice too much, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle you hadn’t even known you’d left scattered.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the surrounding noise. “No boyfriend back home?”

The question caught you off guard, your hesitation betraying a flicker of surprise. His smirk deepened at the pause, a glimmer of triumph sparking in his eyes like he’d just gained the upper hand.

Little did he know, that pause wasn’t hesitation; it was calculation. His quick quip had only confirmed one thing: he was playing the game exactly as you wanted him to.

“No,” you said firmly, refusing to let the silence stretch any longer. “No boyfriend.”

“Interesting,” he murmured, his tone casual, though his gaze suggested he was testing the waters, waiting to see if you’d flinch.

But you weren’t about to let him think he’d rattled you.

You looked away, focusing on Brooke instead as she picked up her phone and waved it in Rafe’s direction. “See? You should be thanking me. I’m just trying to help.”

Rafe scoffed, the smirk creeping back onto his face. “You’re not helping anyone with that lineup, Brooke. Try harder.”

Her jaw dropped in mock offense. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from giving opinions.”

“Good luck enforcing that,” he shot back with a grin.

The group laughed. Around you, students lounged on blankets, paging through notes or simply soaking in the sun. It was the kind of scene that should have felt idyllic. Carefree. But the weight in your chest wouldn’t let you fully sink into the moment.

Every time Rafe’s gaze landed on you, it felt like the walls were inching closer, pressing in on all sides. He watched too closely, noticed too much.

“Don’t tell me you’re zoning out already,” Brooke teased, nudging your arm. “It’s not even midterms yet.”

Her words snapped you back into focus. You managed a small smile. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” Rafe quipped, his smirk curling once again. He sat up slightly, his posture shifting from relaxed to alert. “You sure you’re not plotting something over there?”

You rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh. “Always. Can’t help myself.”

“You’ve got that look,” Chase added, gesturing vaguely toward you. “You know, like you’re solving the mysteries of the universe or something.”

Before you could respond, Rafe tilted his head, studying you more closely. “Seriously, though. You good?”

The shift in his tone threw you. It wasn’t soft, not exactly, but it lacked his usual playful bite. His smirk had faded into something subtler, almost... curious. Like he was genuinely asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, nodding to punctuate your words. “Just... tired.”

For a moment, he didn’t reply, his gaze flicking over your face as if weighing your answer. Then, just as easily, his smirk returned. He leaned back on his hands, his posture lazy once more. “Good,” he said simply, his tone dismissive, as though closing the conversation.

Brooke’s phone buzzed from where it lay in the grass, pulling the group’s attention back. She groaned, picking it up and waving it in the air like a flag of defeat. “Okay, someone else can take over. Clearly, my taste isn’t appreciated.”

“Maybe you should let her pick her own boyfriend,” Rafe quipped, tossing you a glance that felt sharper than it should’ve.

The group laughed, the moment dissolving into more teasing and chatter until the sharp trill of a ringing phone cut through the noise. Everyone instinctively glanced at their devices.

“It’s me,” you murmured, a mix of relief and dread flooding you as you pulled your buzzing phone from your pocket. The screen displayed a stark “No Caller ID,” and your stomach sank like a heavy stone. That familiar block of text only ever meant one thing, and you’d been hoping to avoid it, at least for now.

You stood quickly, smoothing your shirt and offering a rushed excuse. “I’ll just be a second,” you said lightly, though you felt the weight of curious eyes as you stepped away.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you forced your voice to remain calm. “Hello?”

His response was immediate, clipped, and impersonal. “How’s everything looking?”

Your eyes closed briefly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. How typical. Not a greeting, not even the pretense of concern. Just straight to business. “Fine,” you replied, keeping your tone as brisk as his. “It’s early, but everything is progressing as expected.”

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying the same detached authority it always did. “You’ll have more updates by the end of the week.”

It wasn’t a request, but you knew better than to push back. “Of course,” you said flatly. “I’m working on it.”

There was a pause on his end, brief but heavy, the kind that made you want to fill the silence just to escape the weight of it. But you didn’t. You knew the routine too well.

“When I say ‘progressing,’” he continued, his tone colder now, “I expect measurable results. Not vague reassurances.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice steady. “I’m handling it. You’ll get what you need.”

His sigh was barely audible, but you could picture it clearly. Him sitting at his pristine desk, lips pressed in a thin line, calculating as always. Likely already rifling through another case file, another project. “Good,” he said finally. “Because you can’t afford to screw this up. Neither can I.”

There it was. The reminder that you weren’t just representing yourself, you were representing him, his reputation, his legacy. It was always like this, a constant balancing act between proving your competence and falling short of expectations that always seemed impossible to meet.

You leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, the bark rough under your palm as you steadied yourself. “I know what’s at stake,” you said evenly.

“Do you?” he shot back, his voice slicing through any lingering resolve. “Because if you did, I wouldn’t have to call and check in like this.”

Your stomach twisted, anger and hurt mixing into a cocktail you’d become all too familiar with. He didn’t trust you — not fully, not really. And maybe he never would, no matter how many times you executed flawlessly, no matter how many hoops you jumped through.

“I’ve got it under control,” you said firmly, your fingers tightening around the phone. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

Another pause, longer this time. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, calculating the risk of letting you take the lead versus micromanaging. When he finally spoke, his tone was sharp and dismissive. “Then prove it.”

The call ended abruptly, the line going dead before you could reply. You lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen as his words echoed in your mind.

He never said goodbye. He never said much of anything, really. Just orders and expectations, always dangling just out of reach like a carrot on a stick. You’d stopped hoping for more years ago.

As you slipped your phone back into your pocket, you let out a slow breath. You couldn’t let this rattle you. But the lump in your throat lingered, a reminder that no matter how far you went, no matter what you achieved, you were still chasing something you weren’t sure you’d ever catch.

When you turned back toward the group, their energy felt like it belonged to another world entirely. The laughter was a stark contrast to the weight still pressing against your chest. You moved toward them, forcing your steps to remain casual, your shoulders to relax, even as the tether of that phone call pulled tighter.

Of course, it had to be Rafe’s gaze that caught yours immediately. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes lingered made it clear he’d noticed the sudden shift in your expression. His sharp, discerning eyes seemed to pick at the seams of the mask you were holding in place.

“What was that about?” Brooke asked, tilting her head with a curious smile. Her voice was light, but her curiosity was genuine.

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, shaking your head as you eased back onto the grass. “Just family checking in. You know how parents are.”

Brooke’s curiosity flickered for a moment, but she didn’t press. Before she could pivot the conversation, Rafe’s voice cut in, laced with curiosity but edged with something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Seemed tense.”

His usual smirk was gone now, replaced by a look that made your skin prickle. It wasn’t soft, Rafe Cameron didn’t do soft, but it carried a weight that left you uneasy. His tone wasn’t quite prying, but it felt like he was looking for the cracks.

Sabrina nudged him with her elbow, her tone light as she chided, “Don’t be nosy.” There was amusement in her voice, but not enough to ease the tension winding tighter in your chest.

The weight in your body increased tenfold, everything suddenly feeling heavier, sharper. You forced a small smile, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you stood. “I just remembered I need to drop some things off at the administration office. I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

Brooke pouted, her bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated frown. “But we were just getting to the good part!”

“It’ll have to wait,” you replied lightly, though your voice sounded strained in your own ears.

The others nodded, letting you slip away without too many questions. Brooke’s attention, thankfully, quickly shifted back to the group, and their conversation resumed.

The quad stretched out before you, still buzzing with its lively energy as you walked away, but the laughter and sunlight felt distant. Each step carried you further from the group, yet the weight in your chest refused to lift. You rolled your shoulders back, trying to shake the lingering discomfort, but it clung stubbornly, an unwelcome echo of the phone call.

Thankfully, with each step, the air began to feel lighter, the distance between you and the group growing wider. But even as you moved further away, the flicker of his face lingered in your mind. Not as a point of intrigue, but as a reminder: Rafe Cameron got everything he ever wanted.

And maybe that was why you didn’t like him. Because you never had.

A childhood that was spent under a microscope, every move dictated, every choice already made. Your father had ensured there was no room for rebellion or freedom, no time to breathe or dream of something different.

While Rafe had likely been breezing through his teenage years on a tide of parties and privilege, you were memorizing ciphers and learning to silence every part of yourself that wasn’t useful. You’d been shaped, molded, and stripped of the very things he took for granted.

He was the kind of person who existed with ease, who took up space as if the world owed it to him. And maybe, in a way, it did.

But this was one round he wouldn’t win. Not with you.

The thought steadied you, a sharp contrast to the unease that had been clawing at your chest. Let him smirk, let him watch. Whatever he thought he was playing at, let him keep playing. Because he didn’t know the rules. He didn’t even know the game.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you from your thoughts. You hesitated for a moment before pulling it out, the screen glowing in the fading sunlight.

unknown: Hope to see you tonight.

You stared at the words, your pulse quickening slightly. Not from fear, but from something harder to name. The message wasn’t signed, but something about it felt deliberate. Intentional.

You let the weight of the text settle, your mind flickering to Rafe almost instinctively. It felt like his kind of move. Subtle but strategic, designed to test you. A flicker of a smirk tugged at your lips before you shoved the phone back into your pocket.

If it was him, it meant he thought he had the upper hand.

But then again, you’d already set the board.

divider: @adornedwithlight

a/n: i've had a couple people ask to be tagged so if you'd also like to be, feel free to comment and lmk!

[little-diable]

The Game is Won - Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 9/9)

I decided to end this story here, because I want to focus on a few other ideas I can't let go of. Thank you so much for your love on this fic! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, some angst due to the kidnapping, regular CM stuff, a happy end

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2.5k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest. Every step she took felt like a risk, with the room closing in on her. Her fingertips were bleeding, her head pulsing in pain. She was driven by her determination, driven by the need to escape. And she was close, so very close.

Deep down she had feared the man, deep down she had wondered how far he’d take it. But as she had noticed that he hadn’t locked the door to the room she was held hostage in, everything had begun to clear up. He was stuck up, did believe too much in himself, not even thinking about the possibility of (y/n) trying to leave. This was her chance, probably her only chance. 

With a shaky breath, (y/n) let her eyes wander. She was now in what appeared to be his office, eyes focused on the window to try and figure out where she was. It took her a moment to read the street name, but the second she managed to focus on it, she reached for the corded phone. 

Her hands trembled as she dialled Aaron’s number, no longer sure who she could trust – especially after her kidnapper had dropped Penelope’s name. (Y/n) counted the seconds passing by, eyes squeezed shut to try and keep calm. Aaron would get her out, he would come to her rescue. 

“Hello?” The sob that left her at the sound of Aaron’s voice was almost violent, shaking through her whole body. (Y/n)’s hand shot out to stabilise herself, clinging to the nearest chair to try and stay on her feet. 

“Aaron, it’s me, (y/n).” She inhaled a shaky breath, and had to wipe her face to try and get rid of her tears. (Y/n) heard him shuffle around, heard the deep breaths leaving him. “Listen to me, Aaron, he’s working for the FBI, and somehow Penelope is involved in this.”

“What? What’s his name? Where are you, sweetheart?” A groan left her as she sank down on the chair, limbs no longer able to support her weak frame. The room was spinning, she was close to being swallowed by darkness, but now wasn’t the time to give up, not when she was so close to disappearing from this hellhole. 

“I,” another sigh left (y/n), eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know his name, but he’s about the same height as me, brown hair, dark eyes, he’s wearing round glasses. He told me Penelope helped him, I don’t know how, but she has something going on with him. The street’s called Jerwick Road, but I- uhm I don’t know which house I’m in.” 

“I’ll get you out. He’s working on the case, I’ll have him arrested in a minute. Hold tight, sweetheart, I’ll come get you. I always will.” 

……

“Morgan,” Aaron had his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of his office door, trying to keep his composure as he let his gaze wander. (Y/n)’s words kept ringing in his ears, repeating them over and over again. How could he have been so oblivious? He should have trusted his gut, and should have picked up on the uncomfortable feeling the guy had emanated.

“You alright, Hotch?” Derek stood close to Aaron, concerned eyes wandering over his hard features. 

“Where’s Garcia and Kayce?” He quietly murmured his words, eyes still not meeting Derek’s. Aaron kept trying to figure out if Kayce was close, knowing they had to work fast. He needed to get to his woman, needed to hold her close as soon as possible. 

“Hotch, what’s going on?” Only as Derek didn’t answer his questions did Aaron dare to look at him. Could Penelope be involved in this? The woman Aaron loved like a sister? The woman who loved (y/n) with all her heart?

“(Y/n) called, it’s him. He told her that Garcia helped him get to her.” Derek took a step away from Aaron as if he had been pushed, eyes growing darker. For a second neither of them spoke, but then they both began to move, quick steps carrying them down the stairs. Aaron called out to the others as he followed Derek to Garcia’s office, hand wrapped around his gun. 

None of them spoke, guided by the tense atmosphere, knowing that something was going on, something that left their boss shaking with what appeared to be anger. Derek came to a halt in front of the door, he let his eyes wander back to Aaron, waiting for the nod that would give him the go. And within seconds, they burst into Penelope’s office, forcing a gasp out of her as her wide eyes found her team, guns drawn. 

“Where is he, Penelope?” She flinched at the sound of her first name rolling off Derek’s tongue, eyes instantly turning glassy.

“Who? What is going on?” Aaron could instantly tell that she was just as confused, not understanding why her family was standing close to her with their guns drawn. But he had no time to lose, especially when Kayce was no longer with Penelope.

“Kayce, where is he?” Her eyes flickered to Aaron’s, not used to him speaking with that harsh tone he only used on unsubs. A sight that left his heart clenching. Tears ran down her cheeks, seemingly spurred on by her confusion and her shock. 

“He left almost ten minutes ago. What did he do?” 

……

She must have passed out, swallowed by darkness after Aaron had ended the call. Perhaps it had simply been the fault of the safety she had felt for the first time in hours, knowing that Aaron would come and save her. Whatever it was, it had instantly forced her out of this reality.

But now she woke with a groan, eyes struggling to focus on her surroundings. She was still in the office, no longer sitting on the chair, but lying on the ground. It took (y/n) almost a minute to set into motion, knowing that she needed to get out of the house while she was still alone. With a sigh leaving her, (y/n) shifted on the floor, eyes squeezed shut because her surroundings were still blurred. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” Her eyes shot towards the door, her heart coming to a stop as her eyes met the ones of her kidnapper. He was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of his chest, lips pulled into a smirk. “I didn’t think you had it in you, (y/n). It’s a shame it has to end like this, I wanted to keep you around for a while longer.”

“They’ll be here any moment now, you lost the game, because you got sloppy, because you underestimated me.” Her words seemed to swallow him wholly, drowning in waves of anger now flushing through his system. (Y/n)’s gaze was forced down to the gun he had cocked, pointing it at her with a sinister smile glued to his lips. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, (y/n). You’re in no position to defend yourself.” He took a step into the room and didn’t take his eyes off her features as he closed the door. A shudder ran down her spine, goosebumps covered her limbs in fear of dying in a room with a man she hated more than any words could ever describe. She needed to drag this out and give the team a few more minutes to find her. 

“You won’t kill me, it was never the plan to kill me.” She murmured her words while slowly rising to her feet with aching limbs. (Y/n) carefully watched his every expression, trying to stay calm as she reminded herself that this was the situation she had been training for. And now, as she watched him with tired eyes, she knew that he wouldn’t kill her, not when he still hadn’t shot her, even after moving around. 

“You messed it all up! You were supposed to stay in the room, wait for me like a good girlfriend would do. But I misjudged you, you’re no longer worthy, I have to get rid of you to free myself from your spell.” Confusion swapped through her, words she couldn’t pay any further attention to as the loud sounds of somebody calling out her name echoed through the house. 

She was safe, she was safe, she was safe. 

……

“Here, let me.” Aaron stood behind her, arm wrapped around (y/n)’s waist. Their eyes met in the bathroom mirror as he carefully watched her wipe her face clean, struggling to get rid of the blood covering her skin. 

It hadn’t taken the team long to find her, within minutes she had been freed, ripped from the man’s grasp who had been shot by Aaron the second he had moved closer towards (y/n). The sobs that had wrecked through her as Aaron had pulled her into her chest had been violent, shaking up the whole team as they engulfed her, all but Penelope and Derek. 

“Can I ask you something?” By now she had turned around in Aaron’s hold, staring up at him as he cleaned her face and neck. The hum that left him vibrated through her, once again reminding (y/n) that she was safe, that she was right where she belonged. 

“Did you figure out why he had ties to Penelope?” She watched a frown tug on Aaron’s features, taking his time to answer her question. It seemed as if he was still as shaken up as she was, reminded of the past trauma he had been forced to endure. 

“He befriended her and got access to her system, and from then on he managed to get into her system to watch you. She’s shaken up, Derek’s currently with her.” (Y/n) shifted her weight onto her toes to meet Aaron’s lips for a slow kiss, needing to feel him close, desperate to feel him pressed against her body. 

“I’ll visit her tomorrow, I can only imagine how awful she’s feeling.” Aaron pulled her in for another kiss, placing the wet towel down to wrap both his arms around (y/n). The moan that left her allowed a grin to widen on his lips, enjoying the feeling of having her back here with him, the only one who’d ever be able to make her feel like this.  

“Take me to bed, Aaron.” Her whispered words rang in his ears, forcing them to part as Aaron pulled her into his bedroom. Carefully he pushed her down on the mattress, pulling her shirt over her head, and her jeans down her legs moments later. 

“God, how I missed you, how I missed having you in my arms, I won’t ever let you out of my sight again.” His words left her chuckling, forcing (y/n) to pull him down, unable to reply with words. Aaron kissed his way down her throat as his hands did quick work on her bra, letting it fall down to the ground. “My pretty girl, how I feared that I wouldn’t ever get to see you like this again. I would have burned earth to its ground for you, everything to have you back with me.”

“Aaron,” she choked on his name, eyes finding his as she parted her lips once again. (Y/n) was overcome by her emotions, unable to stop herself from speaking what she had wanted to say for years. “I love you, so goddamn much.”

“I love you too, and I always will.” Aaron kept holding eye contact as he sucked on her hardening nipples, forcing groans from (y/n) that made his cock twitch. Both wouldn’t waste any time tonight, it had been too long, too many hours had passed without feeling one another close – hours they wouldn’t get back.

“Love me, Aaron. Fuck me, please.” His hum vibrated on her skin, shooting shudders down her spine. (Y/n) watched his every move, how he rose to his feet to undress, how he reached for the nightstand to pull a condom free. Only as his cold hand found her heat, panties ripped from her, did her eyes fall close. He brushed his fingers through her slit, collecting drops of her arousal to spread on her folds. It felt as if she was reborn, finally freed from the grasp darkness had on her.

“I got you, pretty girl, let me take care of you.” He aligned himself with her heat, slowly pushing into her to leave them both breathless. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke, needing to adjust, allowing her to let go of a heavy moan. With a small nod thrown his way, (y/n) allowed Aaron to move, clinging to him as he began to build a fast rhythm. 

Her nails scratched at his skin, begging for more without finding the strength to speak up. But Aaron seemed to understand everything her body was telling him, fucking her even deeper. Their eyes met as she reached for his hand, wanting to feel every part of him on her, guiding his fingers to her pulsing bundle. 

“I will always love you if you let me. You’re forever mine.” Tears welled up in her eyes, her throat was too choked up to reply, (y/n) could only hope that he could read the emotions swimming in her pupils. God, how she wanted to be his till the end of their time. How she wanted to cling to Aaron till their last breaths would leave their frail bodies. 

Aaron dipped his head down for a slow kiss, tongues moving together as he fucked her into the mattress, set on burning his touch into her skin. He could almost hear the racing beat of her heart, he could almost feel her passing out beneath him due to the intensity of their touches. All for the man she loved, all for the woman he adored more than words would ever be able to describe. 

(Y/n)’s walls fluttered around him, already close to the edge, begging Aaron to give her the last needed push. With his fingers adding more speed to their movements, he watched her fall apart, pleasure-drunken features staring up at him. It was a sight so raw, a sight so beautiful, Aaron followed her down moments later, letting go with a groan. 

Slowly he pulled out of her, getting rid of the condom before he pulled (y/n) into his chest. Neither of them spoke for a while, hung up on their thoughts, wondering how they had ended up right here. Brought together by their shared interest, forced to meet as student and professor, guided by their emotions for one another. But yet it had always felt awfully right as if they had been made for one another.

“I love you, Aaron Hotchner.” (Y/n) shifted in his grasp, staring up at him with a smile. 

“I love you too, (y/n).”

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Hey so you know how you made Dick speak sanskrit in your fic? lives in my head rent free.

Why did he not speak romanian. how far back in the historical timeline was his clan(??? idk how to translate the word im thinking of into english but its “ନକ୍ଷ୍ୟତ୍ର”/ “ଗୋତ୍ର”) separated from the rest? How was it not prakrit? Were his parents just trying to reconnect to their roots? Did he learn it from his parents or was it learned while trying to connect with his roots? Does he ever realise that any songs and texts are all religious? Is HE religious with how many words in sanskrit straight up reference god?Does he feel alienated with how his culture is romani but his language is indian? Does he ever realise theres only one village in the world that speaks sanskrit as a native language and its over 13,000 km away? Does it get lonely realising that even damian’s knowledge of languages cant cover it?

Im sorry for ranting but my struggle to reconnect w my culture has me projecting HARD 😭

OH BOY- I have been avoiding some asks (because I haven't had the mental strength to give each the time and love response they deserves I swear im getting to yall) But THIS one was just far too good to pass (and im bored as hell in class)

I would say I do dive a little more into my headcanon culture stuff involving Dick and even Damien in Mama Bird (which again I REALLY NEED TO UPDATE)

BUT Let the rambling begin <33

Why does he speak Sanskrit in the fic vs any other language? Simply it was the closest language I could trace similar roots to Romani ancestery too that was easily acsessible dictionary/translator that I could use in my writings.

Canonically he probably WOULD speak a dilect of Romani or Prakrit etc, but in my desperate trying to look into the language and culture half of the resources I came upon were incredibly racist even for someone who had no idea about the culture before then.

How far back in the historical timeline was his clan??? (Clan/Tribe/Family are good english translation's) Im not familiar enough with Romanian clans to assign a specific one (Though from my understanding of research, The Grayson family would be desenced from Romani people lineages that used to reside in the Indus Valley region- yet another reason for the use of Sanskrit)

Were his parents just trying to reconnect to their roots? Did he learn it from his parents or was it learned while trying to connect with his roots? I havent thought into this TOO much, but i'll say as a headcanon that his family felt a great pride in their culture as some of the lucky few who could maintain their nomadic lifestyle with the circus. His Mother was probably less connected (only knowing from her grandparents sort of thing) and rediscovered her roots after meeting his Father who was VERY in tune with his culture.

And as such tried their best to reclaim those roots and share them with Dick. So yes he learned from his parents- but they were still fully connecting themselves.

Does he ever realise that any songs and texts are all religious? Is HE religious with how many words in sanskrit straight up reference god? This is more projection but as someone who grew up in the bible belt, (Translation- American southern region nicknamed "The bible belt" because of how ingrained the Christian Faith is in both religious practice and general culture) Dick is less belief religious and more culturally religious- he will use religious phrasing, have some habits/beliefs FROM religious background without being fully invested, and even some things he doesn't realize are heavily religious until pointed out.

Aka religious pratices in the way of how your mother would teach you to put knifes in the dishwasher upside down (so they wouldnt be as much of a hazard) but something you do because its how you were told instead of thinking about the WHY as much.

Does he feel alienated with how his culture is romani but his language is indian? Does he ever realise theres only one village in the world that speaks sanskrit as a native language and its over 13,000 km away?

Now this is more complicated, I don't know much about circus life (though I do actually have a friend I can ask so might change this later) But from what I know its a VERY mixed enviornment so Dick was both entrenched in his cultural lifestyle as a nomad with his parents proudly sharing their roots, while also being exposed to dozens of other cultures that were also "his".

Aka- Dick is an amalgamation of culture to the point he both belongs in more ways than most people could ever have, and yet feels completely isolated as a result since no one else understands why he gets upset when people wish him Happy Birthday early, why he always dumps the first steep of tea, why he "pays respects" to his bike and tools, why he sets aside food just to be thrown out, etc etc

Its nice, to be able to connect with people over so much, but at the same time it sucks when his family points out "weird habits" that he hadnt even realized were strange. (Thankfully after a few long talks, people stopped commenting on Dicks habits, anyone who does faces the wrath of the Batclan and just about every Hero from Metropolis to the edge of the Milky way)

Does it get lonely realising that even damian’s knowledge of languages cant cover it?

Actually Batfam DOES know some Sanskrit just by exposure of living with Dick. The one who knows the most is probably Alfred since he was the one dealing with the rambunctious kid who would get frustrated with instructions he didnt understand (and that frustration only getting worse for English being like 5th or so language)

None of them are anywhere near fluent though, but I like to think Dick has a pen pal/friends he practices with. Also because he's terrified of losing his proficency and in turn, losing another part of his culture his parents tried so hard to give to him.

And No need to apologize! Like I said, im an outsider looking in from a very different culture but I loved reading (what little good sources I could find) about this topic. Of course if you have any insights/comments/crituqes I would love to hear about them and thank you for the ask!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ordinary Day

Isn’t it nice weather? Let’s take a short stroll and enjoy it.

This is part 16 of 20. We come close to the conclusion.

The Tale of the Cursed Raven:

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6 I Part 7 I Part 8 I Part 9 I Part 10 I Part 11 I Part 12 I Part 13 I Part 14 | Part 15

Information has a way of spreading by word of mouth. Without a form, there is nothing to restrain them from travel, and from the details straying from the truth. By the end of the school day, Kon has already picked up on at least seven variations of the same story.

The disappearance of one Raven Crowley, and the aftermath of it.

She hadn’t attended class for some time now, hadn’t shown her face in public. A wind blew through the grapevine, supposed tea brewing. 

“I think she transferred. Didn’t really fit in here anyway. Probably at some all-girls place now.”

“No, no, she’s being homeschooled for safety reasons. The headmaster keeps her locked away in that tower and personally tutors her.” 

“I heard she’s dead. She Overblotted and went on a rampage in the woods. The dorm leaders had to suppress her and collect the body afterwards.”

He grips onto his textbooks harder, fingers digging into the leather-bound cover and spine. Kon is always anxious, but the whispers tug at his nerves, pulling them taut.

It doesn’t come from a place of concern, he knows. Gossip is gossip, meant to amuse and entertain. 

He wonders if he should confront them, ask them to stop--if they’d even listen to his pleas. 

Because no one wants a story’s end to be as sad as that…

Instead, he ducks behind a column and waits for the chattering group to pass. The debate grows heated, turns into betting and rough housing. Ugly, unpleasant sounds.

The thought occurs to him again. If he tries…

“Are you going to say something?”

Kon startles at the sudden question. 

He senses a figure beside him, but is too frozen with fear to turn his head, to see who it is.

From his periphery, he can glean glimpses of them. Auburn waves threaded with gold, a frilled gown colored as green as the springtime. A soft voice to belong to one of the rowdy mobs. It’s sweet yet flat, like a soda without the carbonation.

Who is this…?

His mouth won’t move to utter what he wants it to. 

“No? You won’t?” they ask. “Ah, you choose to observe then. You are wiser than you would appear to be. A story is just meant to be witnessed. To involve oneself is to meddle. The impartiality, ruined.”

Shock dislodges the knot in his throat. “Wh-What are you saying? The rumors floating around… I don’t think anyone would want that.”

“Talk is what they have, so they relish in it.  Action is difficult. Very few manage to scale the tower to witness the truth for with their own eyes. The chosen, the worthy.”

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

There is a scoff.

“Perhaps not now, but in the future you may.”

He sees a hand extend, cupping the sunlight. It is sheathed in a billowing green sleeve, nothing like the NRC school uniforms.

“This is a day like any other. Please enjoy the mundaneness to its fullest. We do not know for certain how long this peace will stay with us.”

“You’re not a student,” Kon says weakly. Already, he is sweating up a waterfall on his forehead. “Who are you?”

In the response, a slight smile.

“Just a visitor passing through. Pay me no mind.”

“’Scuse me! Sorry! Comin’ through!”

A ghost outfitted in a mailman’s uniform weaves his way through the hallways of Octavinelle. He doesn’t so much as go around students as he was fazing through them. The only trace of him left behind is a slight chill in the torso, like an ice flower has just melted there.

The mail ghost launches itself through the Mostro Lounge doors.

It’s a busy night.

Students are seated at the booths and at the bar. Friends with friends, soaking up jazz and the aquatic ambience. Plates of seafood and colorful drinks, served under glowing jellyfish.

The conversation flows like water.

“They shipped her off to a lab to get tested. Or maybe she got kidnapped.”

“Nah, she’s in hiding somewhere.”

“She opened up a portal to another world and hopped into it.”

From the podium up front, Jade bows to the mail ghost.

“Welcome to the Mostro Lounge, honored guest,” he greets. “I’m afraid we are fully booked at the moment, so if you wish for a table, you will have to come back in 45 minutes’ time. Though--” Jade eyes the bag of mail hanging from the ghost’s body. “--I suppose dining was not in the cards from the start.”

“Just here for the usual mail delivery.” He reaches into his bag and produces several envelopes, fanning them out.

“Thank you for your service as always. I will receive them for Azul.”

The exchange is made, and the mail ghost continues on his route.

As soon as he vanishes, Jade allows his smile to relax.

The merman begins going through the envelopes. It’s a distraction, but preferable to paying mind to the swirling hearsay. It will only make him irritable.

Plain white, mostly bills or spam mail and advertisements. Hardly anything worth gracing their dorm leader’s desk.

Azul.

Jade frowns.

Since Azul had been whisked away to the emergency meeting, he has been more alert than usual. Jade notices it in the subtleties. His breaths, his glances, the way his fingers drum.

Whatever happened that day, it still bothers him.

He had “spoken” with the other dorm leaders, of course—but none of them knew much, not even Kalim, who claimed to have found her. “Not sure why she was in the woods, but all that matters is that she’s okay now. Maybe she just wandered and got lost?”

Wandering and lost. Those were apt descriptors for how she had looked that night she had stumbled into him. She was haunted then, small and shuddering in the glaring moonlight.

Jade dislikes not knowing, dislikes being kept in the dark.

He barely bats an eyelash until he comes to the final envelope. It doesn’t look like the others, with their formal business addresses and postage. Pitch black, with golden embellishes.

His name is written on it.

In handwriting that makes his heart stop.

“... What is this?”

He tears it open at once, retrieving the letter inside.

Jade,

I realize receiving this may be awkward, given our history. However, I still hope it finds you well.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting about many things. Our time together, our relationship... and also about myself and what it is that I’m seeking.

I haven’t been very brave or honest. I think I can admit that now, though it doesn’t leave me feeling good. It’s like when a baby bird first hatches from its egg. It can’t quite see the world clearly, and nor does it have feathers to shield its vulnerable body from the forces of nature.

I have something important to tell you. Too important to scrawl on paper. It must be said face-to-face.

The apple tree in the courtyard is in bloom. It’s so very beautiful this time of year. I wish I could stare at them forever and ever. In the language of flowers, apple blossoms can mean many things. Love, peace, rebirth, good luck... a long life too.

Let’s meet there, in the shade of the apple tree and under the cover of stars.

Tomorrow, right before the stroke of midnight.

I will give you my answer then.

Best regards,

Raven Crowley

Life at Night Raven College continues.

A single cog it may lack, but the mechanism continues to churn. There is a spot in the core that is empty, where the missing cog belongs. Still, the machine operates without its heart.

Another day comes and goes.

And in the highest room of the tallest tower...

Something goes bump in the dark.

Someone stirs.

[satoriberry]

"there's no ink." "yer kinda cute." - karasu tabito

★ resume: you need to make photocopies of a correction sheet for all 35 of your classmates. also, karasu can't use printers.

★ heads up: karasu is potentially ooc but imo he acts the way he does when it comes to football outside of bllk he's CRINGE BOOOOO, reader has hair that can be tucked behind her ear so it can be short or long yknow and uhhh nothing else ig, maybe just karasu being cringe but what's new. also reader is so fucking sick and tired of people in this so she's a bit rude but its justified :3

★ berry's note: oh wow im WRITING!! [😱😱] n e way, i hate this guy a lot and i cant imagine him excelling at using a printer by himself, so time to make a cutesy scenario out of it where he makes a fool of himself!!! enjoy!! :3

maybe it was because of the big, fat, red "57" that was surely an adequate and representative grade for your work - and not just your geography teacher being a bitch - but for some arbitrary reason, an itch developed in the back of your brain and made you feel a bit less tolerant of stupidity. at least until you get back home and sleep like a comatose patient.

you felt a slight comfort in knowing that even the self-proclaimed class genius got a gut-wrenching 60 on the same test, which isn't the nicest way of finding inner peace, but who cares? besides, geography is for losers who want to make statistics about the declining birth rate, and you couldn't care less about women giving birth to less and less children with each passing decade. strutting down the empty hallway, you gripped the sheet containing the answers to the questions with a bit too much intensity and aggression, slightly creasing it in your hand but you had bigger things to worry about. the printer room.

the godforsaken printer room - that served as the only motive to still keep hallway number 4 of the third floor accessible - possessed a myriad of faults and problems, the worst one being that they rarely kept the ink fresh; 'they' being the student body whose only involvement was that. keeping the ink fresh. they didn't even have to buy it, their only job was checking the printer's ink every 4 to 5 days and replace the cartridge if needed so. but, suprisingly (considering how competent they usually are), no one was bothered enough to accomplish this single task. nevertheless, it seemed that you weren't the student to first stumble upon this inconvenience today. the door to the printer room was slightly ajar and the lights were clearly on, so someone had to be in there.

taking the final steps, you lightly pushed the door all way to the end and gazed upon the wall where the (shitty) printers sat on an alignment of old desks. there was someone, you knew that already, but that someone seemed a bit familiar.

oh. it's that super soccer guy from bambi osaka. kawaru tamiko.

or at least you thought that was his name. you weren't good with names.

he was leaning forward against a table carrying an old canon®, tilting it forward with a grip on either side, and his hair flattened against the wall. almost like a person checking the label on the back of a cargo box that was too heavy to move. he was probably trying to look at the wires in the back, there was no other explanation for such an awkward posture.

it took him a few seconds to notice your presence, partly because he was so engrossed in the printer, and partly because you didn't care enough to say a word and instead opted for standing awkwardly with a hand on the doorframe. he turned his head towards you a first time and immediately went back to the printer before rapidly turning his head towards you again, this time fully absorbing your existence. kawaru abruptly let go of the table, producing a loud noise as it hit the wall, making you slightly wince at the idea of an even more damaged printer. you walked towards him.

running two fingers on the dust coating the surface of the printer, you lazily muttered, "it's not working, is it?", expecting nothing less from junk that was probably in use from before the fall of the soviet union. he had stood up straight and begun to awkwardly swing his arms back and forth, a clear attempt at de-stressing. "err, no, pretty sure there's a wirin' problem," he answered, though you were moreso talking to yourself than him, but that didn't matter.

"and uhh, this button right here hasn' stopped flashin' ever since i turned the thing on. prob'ly needs a technician," he continued, forcing a more assertive tone towards the end. you asked him to show you what button he was talking about, so he eagerly pointed at a flashing button located on the left side control panel of the printer. a button that had the image of an opaque drop on it. a button that had the faded word "ink" written underneath it.

the printer was working fine. it just needed ink.

and he thought it was broken.

you stood there in silence, physically and mentally unable to comprehend how someone can miss such an obvious clue. you didn't take your eyes off the flashing button, breathing quietly, trying your best to not lash out on kawaru. you noticed a frizzy lock of hair sticking out from your head and proceeded to tuck it behind your ear, then put your hand over your mouth in an attempt to hide your frustration, eyes still on the flashing button.

karasu, on the other hand, was waiting next to you, though his eyes were moreso fixated on you than the printer. did he know you? he didn't think so, but you seemed like someone he can find interest in, definitely the thinker kind since you appeared to be pondering a solution to this ordeal in a rather sophisticated manner. other questions flowed through his mind: what class were you in? were you a 3rd year? were you in the advanced course? did you have any mutual friends? did you do any extracurriculars? did you like soccer? have you ever been to one of his matches? he couldn't stop the flow of possiblities as to how to get to know you.

"there's no ink." "yer kinda cute."

you slowly turned your head to face him, body stiff and unmoving. he realized how outlandish the comment he just made was, and possibly inappropriate considering the circumstance.

"huh?" "what?"

you blinked at him with gradually developing bewilderment, fully certain that you heard what you heard but that didn't change the fact that you weren't awaiting that from him.

and sadly, you couldn't say that it displeased you. the opposite actually.

"i err, i...anyway, you said ink? there's a few cartridges in the desk's cubby. whaddya need? black? magenta? cyan? yellow?", he started to speak again at a fast pace, wanting to get done with this interaction and dwell in sorrow from his incapacity to talk to cute girls. "black's fine," you answered, looking away to make it less embarrassing from him. he dug in the cubby for a moment, hand banging the sides of the metal compartment before he got hold of a blocky object. he read the cartridge's sticker and made sure it was black ink before standing up again.

you expected him to press the button that dislodged the upper half of the machine and replace the cartridge, however, he stood quietly, fiddling with it while nervously looking at and away from you multiple times. oh. he doesn't know how to replace ink. exhaling through your nostrils, you stuck out your hand, wordlessly demanding him to hand it over - an order he prompty followed.

karasu felt you snatch the cartridge before he could even fully place it on your palm, making him feel even more guilty for wasting your time. he watched as you effortlessly pressed a series of buttons, took out things, replaced things and before he knew it, you snapped the top of the printer back on, which caused the flashing button to stop doing so. was he a loser or were you just a printer connoisseur? he didn't care enough to think of an answer though, he was once again focused on subtly seducing you and make you notice his more pleasant qualities.

you chose to ignore him for the rest of your stay in the printer room, procuring 35 copies of the sheet and preparing to leave when you felt a hand (his hand) lightly tap you on your back.

"yes?," you said, though you recognize you could have said it with a bit less bluntness in your voice. he took no notice of this however, and asked, "what's yer name? i think we've met before."

"(last name) (first name). no, we've never met, or at least i don't think we did," you replied before staring at him with more attention than before, noticing a few details about him that you missed. for example, the mole on his upper left cheek, or the weird angle at which his hair was styled. what kind of fucking product would you need for that?

"ah, hahaha, my bad, i was prob'ly thinkin' of someone else. umm, i...i meant what i said earlier," he mumbled his words more and more. you raised an eyebrow, not getting what he meant by 'what i said earlier', before remembering that he had called you cute. oh, right. that happened.

you involuntarily flashed a face of understanding, then lowered your head to bite your cheek. you didn't want to look like a loser while trying to hide your smile, a smile you rarely gave to guys with bad flirting skills, albeit this one was of the more good-looking variety so you can superficially excuse his lack of skills. "thanks, that was very sweet. i wasn't expecting it but it's still sweet. thank you."

"i can help ya' carry those papers to your classroom, that looks a bit heavy-"

"it's fine, really. but i do have a question. what's your name?"

his expression changed from nervous suaveness to a giddy grin, feeling honoured that you were interested in his name. "karasu tabito. i play for the local youth team, bambi osaka. you didn't ask fer that but, y'know...," ah. that was his name. karasu tabito. kawaru sounded a bit too childish for a guy like him.

"karasu tabito. yeah, i've seen you play. you're fun to watch." you tried to lighten the mood a bit cause the boy was seconds away from developing a rash if he kept scratching his neck like that.

"fun to watch? me? oh, thanks. i've been called a 'good player' and 'excellent' even, but 'fun', i've never gotten that before. w-whaddya mean by that though? what's fun, my playstyle or my presence or-,"

you couldn't afford wasting any more time than you already have, so cutting him off, you replied, "fun as in watching you in your element is rather entertaining, i don't do much sport outside of PE, but i can tell you love what you do. sorry, i have to leave, my teacher is gonna be up my ass about taking so much time."

karasu's lips formed a thin line, bitter about not making much of this exchange. and before he could even hold himself back, his mouth let out, "wanna watch my practice after school? you don't have to stay fer the whole thing, jus' to show you how i play outside of official matches."

"sure."

"what? hu-"

"i said, 'sure'. i'll watch you, i'll even stay for the whole practice, i've got nothing. catch you at the shoe lockers, bye."

and with that (plus a quick smile to soften the blow), you speedwalked out of the printer room and began to go down what felt like a dozen floors.

you didn't allow yourself to think about what happened up there, to avoid cringing at your bizarre attitude and not think about the fact that a (weird) guy you would consider somewhat out of your league, just asked you to watch him play.

bonus!!

lunch break finally rolled around, and your friends typically hung out in an obscure part of the courtyard to eat while hiding their cellphones from any faculty members. checking your messages, you noticed an instagram dm from someone whose username already crossed your mutual recommendations but you never took the time to open their profile.

kr_tabito23.

-> coach is sick but i still want an excuse to talk to you

-> there's this really rad crepe shop in namba parks

-> im paying :]

-> you can't say no

-> lol kidding

-> sorry that was weird

you giggled at whatever he was trying to achieve, he was definitely a dork. you didn't mind that.

-> sure. still gonna catch you at the shoe lockers c:

and somewhere in the school, on the opposite side of the main building, next to the fountain where he and his friends usurped the benches, karasu jumped from his seat and into the air, bumping his fist and yelling unintelligible words while his friends watched, confused but happy for their normally cool and collected fellow.

★ berry's post-writing note: guys im gonna be honest i hate the ending my inspiration juice ran out so i just came up with something but i feel like it could've been a bit better. still happy that i wrote something cause ive been in a long ass writer's block since?? what??? february? anyway, criticism is always accepted and uhh thank you for reading till the end!! <3

[dramavixen]

Love and Redemption: A Fantasy Epic About How Prejudice Destroys Worlds, and How Love Pieces Them Back Together

**major spoilers for: Love and Redemption

After wrapping up a watch-through of Mysterious Lotus Casebook, my mom had the brilliant idea that we should rewatch the work that launched Cheng Yi to fame (or at the very least solidified him as the man to hire if you need someone to spit blood): Love and Redemption. 

I’m certain she only found this idea appealing because she doesn’t remember a TV show after it’s over. Credits rolling? Aight, time for the woman to clear up space on her brain’s memory drive. Meanwhile, my life flashed before my eyes as I recalled the anguish that’s synonymous with the show’s plot. But you know how things go when your mom wants something. If she says you're sitting through 44 hours of emotional torture with her, then you plant yourself on that couch until it’s over.

Ironically, Love and Redemption fares even better on rewatch. Though other xianxias have come close to its place in my heart, I’m now concerned that my palate won’t be so easily satiated again. It’s got your conventional reincarnation, warring realms, and a star-crossed romance while throwing curveball after curveball to shatter your expectations. Complex characters, too? An endgame villain who will haunt you in your sleep? You can’t ask for more. 

Just because you didn’t ask, doesn’t mean that the show won’t deliver something extra. I like to think that nothing reflects a society’s unsightly reality like a well-done fantasy, and this one hits closer to home the more time that passes. A thinly veiled commentary on human flaws and how difficult it is to be a good person, Love and Redemption is a drama for the ages.

This is going to get lengthy, so to prepare you, here’s how I’m divvying up this piece:

Part I: All of Them Are Classist

Part II: All of Them Are Sexist

Part III: All of Them Are Racist

Part IV: Love Wins All

---

Part I: All of Them Are Classist

It’s not my intention to disgust anyone right out of the gate, but we need to talk about Wu Tong. Do you hear what I hear? Yes, it’s the distant echo of Wu Tong’s nefarious laughter, resounding between the walls of my skull.

Quite simply, Wu Tong is the worst. (Or at least he would be, if it weren’t for that other fellow named Bai Lin. That dude will get a glaring spotlight later in this essay, trust me.) But it’s not for no reason.

Coming from a background of poverty, Wu Tong spends most of his young life trying to prove himself to upper class cultivators who don’t have any interest in who he is, only in what he has to offer them. He earns his place in his sect through relentless hard work. He utilizes unsportsmanlike methods in his attempts to win the battle tournament in opening episodes. It's not just a competition to him—he's directly told that if he gets anything other than first place, he can forget about keeping his place in his sect.

When he and the protagonists first meet, his prideful personality results from his inferiority complex. There’s no doubt that he’s a powerful cultivator, but the issue is how he finds that to be his only real value. He doesn't bother to be likable, because what's the point in doing that? Being likable doesn't fill an empty stomach. But the more he disrespects others in an effort to make himself appear important, the more others look down on him, and the more he overcompensates by fighting back even more. It’s a vicious cycle—one that never ends because no one involved wants to take the first step back.

Knowing what type of person he becomes, it’s hard to pity him in any capacity. However, it would still be unfair to ignore how others mistreat him before he even turns into a true enemy.

One scene that sticks out to me happens early on, where Wu Tong nearly injures Xuanji during a 1v1 battle against Minyan. The protagonist crew insists on getting payback. Okay, I’m with it. You can’t let such reckless violence slide. I guess they’ll get their revenge in a later stage of the tournament by beating him into the ground? 

Nah. That would be too reasonable. What they actually opt for is tricking him to fall into a trap by putting up a “have you seen my lost snake?” poster with a financial reward, knowing that he’ll be fooled because…he’s poor.

Sifeng: I asked around. Wu Tong was born to a family of lower status. He lives frugally. The reason he trains so hard is because he hopes to become someone powerful one day. […] Now he needs the money urgently to buy medicine and recuperate his inner strength before his next battle. Minyan: When you put it that way, doesn’t that mean he has no choice but to come for the ten night pearls?

Sifeng…oh no. Not you too.

The way Wu Tong behaves doesn’t warrant anyone being amicable toward him. I, too, have a nonexistent tolerance for obnoxious, violent egoists. But if later episodes are any evidence, this scene foreshadows that two wrongs won’t make a right. If they want to teach him a lesson, they shouldn’t stoop so low as to take advantage of his poverty. His family background is the one thing about him that isn’t his fault, yet it’s the one thing they choose to use against him. That’s what I call “going too far.”

Now that he's been hit where it hurts, Wu Tong feels justified in going too far himself. In a fit of desperation and contempt prompted by his master abandoning him, he stabs Xuanji. Not great. Things get extremely not great when you remember that Xuanji is the daughter of a sect leader. That quickly transforms Wu Tong’s attempted murder/almost manslaughter into the evilest act known to mankind. All five sects turn against him to hunt him down and kill him. I’m no law or philosophy expert, but I���m pretty sure the punishment for almost manslaughter is not the death penalty. 

The five sects can treat him as their prey because he doesn’t have a support system to counter them. If he were the son of another sect leader, the thought of killing him would never even have entered their minds. Targeting him so relentlessly has less to do with justice and more to do with exerting power over a lower-class young man who hurt someone infinitely more “important” than him. 

That imbalance between crime and punishment is what pushes Wu Tong over the edge. He goes on the run for several years before officially succumbing to the call of evil, after which he becomes truly irredeemable. Still, you’re occasionally reminded of his struggle—is he destined to be a villain? Or is throwing aside his remaining morality just his best chance at survival? 

Do you have any idea how I survived these past several years, when you were all trying to kill me? What did I do back then that was so unforgivable? Did your sister die? Was it warranted for all five sects to team up against me, an average disciple? Was it warranted to back me into a corner over and over again, to force me to claw out of hell? Open your eyes and look at me! These past four years, I’ve already died countless times. Every time, I clawed my way back out of hell. Five hundred taels? You want to take my life with a measly five hundred taels? Don’t look down on me. Touch here. I have a fake leg. That’s what your five sects have left me with. What’s that look of yours? Guilt? Pity? I’m not telling you this for you to pity me. I, Wu Tong, survived this far because I must have my revenge.

Something my mom likes to say is if you find yourself going against someone—but especially a dangerous person—you must leave a path for their survival. It’s less for their sake than it is for yours. Should you eliminate all their options, they’ll have no choice but to bite. And they’ll make sure it hurts like hell. 

As an impetuous teenager, Wu Tong is in the wrong. He needs to be taught that his actions are unacceptable. But that can’t be accomplished by putting a bounty on his head and demanding that he be murdered. That’s how you turn a scoundrel into a monster.

Minyan, Wu Tong’s foil, similarly doesn’t come from an optimal background. An orphan, he was taken in by the Shaoyang Sect without the obvious pressure that Wu Tong suffers. Even so, he can’t escape the innate inequality that seems to exist between him and his fellow disciples. It especially affects him because he’s in love with Linglong, Xuanji’s sister but more importantly…also the daughter of the sect leader! Poor guy.

When I was little, kids in the village would surround me every day and call me a bastard child with no parents. I could only pretend that I didn’t hear them. Because if I took it to heart, they would only ridicule me more. We can’t shut the mouths of people who want to slander us. But we can choose not to listen.

He may think that he’s past it, but later episodes see Minyan being manipulated using that exact insecurity. It’s easy to impersonate his master and nudge him to become a “spy” in the enemy base because he’s compelled to prove himself worthy of the sect and worthy of Linglong. Fake Sect Leader Chu Lei tells him:

When I first met you, you were only eight years old. You were homeless on the streets, starving and shivering. Still, you clung to your family dagger and refused to pawn it. In that moment, I knew that you were a child with an iron will. That’s why I’m here to find you today.

I can agree that Minyan is really stupid to immediately believe that his master, a guy well-known for pretending to do important things more than he actually does them, would tell him to do something as reckless as invade enemy territory. However, he also heeds the impostor’s instructions because realistically, his master asking him to prove himself is something that could happen. Any good disciple would naturally want to repay their masters for their favor, let alone a disciple who would otherwise have nowhere else to go.

The contrast between Minyan and Wu Tong shoves itself in your face as you watch, primarily through their respective relationships with Linglong (well, one of them has a relationship. The other is a creep. Can you guess who’s who?). Without family backing, the two men both struggle to find their place in the world, but they’re complete opposites purely because of their upbringing. Thankfully for Minyan, he found a family amongst people who don’t treat him as “another,” even if he may think of himself as such.

Wu Tong isn’t so fortunate. You can say it’s his own doing, a result of his terrible personality, but he certainly wasn’t born like that. And now someone will pay for it.

---

Part II: All of Them Are Sexist

As a caveat, I’ll mention that the main cast really could have used a woman who isn’t some combination of foolish, lovestruck, and/or loud. But I’m willing to overlook it just this once because the writers excel in highlighting both the ladies' flaws and how we as an audience exaggerate those flaws through our own preconceptions. 

Working backwards in terms of plot importance, we can start with Xiao Yinhua. Sifeng’s snake familiar in a human form, Xiao Yinhua is like most female leads from the turn of the millennium in that her only real strength is throwing temper tantrums. She’s also like most second female leads from the turn of the millennium in that she constantly prefers using underhanded tactics and harming others to achieve her goals—in other words, a snake. Oh. I guess that makes sense.

Her affections toward Sifeng cloud her already nonexistent judgment and prompt her to make some of the worst decisions made by anyone, ever. At first, I thought I was being unfair toward her because of my own internalized misogyny. But no. I can say with absolute confidence that I would abhor this character no matter what gender or creature or object she may be. She has no redeeming qualities aside from teaching us that someone foolish, lovestruck, and loud is doomed to self-sabotage. From that perspective, she’s still a valuable character to have because now we know that before we act, we should think: would Xiao Yinhua do that thing? If she would, do not do that thing. 

If Xiao Yinhua were willing to grow up, she could become more similar to Zi Hu. Zi Hu almost acts as a parallel to Sifeng—hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t return the affection for a literal thousand years. Also, both are very pretty. Ahem.

Zi Hu’s thousand years’ worth of experience gives her the skills to back up her unrelenting feelings for Wu Zhiqi. She’s a rarity in that her driving force is a man—a motivation that's typically a reputation ruiner for female characters—but you find her lovable instead of thinking that she lacks self-respect. The key is that her love isn’t blind and rash like Xiao Yinhua’s. Zi Hu has a plan to save Wu Zhiqi from his prison and she carries it out with intention. In other words, it’s okay to focus on love, but only if you can take responsibility for your feelings. 

Ting Nu: Why go so far? When did Wu Zhiqi ever tell you that he loved you? Your affections are merely one-sided. Zi Hu: When did he tell me he didn’t love me? Look, once I rescue him, he’ll have to be with me to thank me. 

Because Zi Hu is a literal fox, people suspect her both for being a demon and for being the demon notorious for seducing men to consume their souls. The latter is quickly debunked and becomes less of an issue than her just being a plain demon. I nonetheless find it hilarious how everyone balks when she shows them her harem of men gleefully living in her backyard. Yep, she’s a cunning vixen. You can just keep wishing you could join that harem.

Zi Hu: You're trying to shoo me away. You think I’ll storm out because of your petty tricks? You’re underestimating me. I’ve already decided, starting today, I’m going to follow you everywhere. Even if you don’t want me to, I’m going to cling to you. This old spirit isn’t going to let those thousand years of waiting be in vain. Wherever you go, I’m going with. If you dare sneak peeks at other pretty women, I’ll dig out your monkey eyes. All in all, if I’m around, no pretty woman can enter your vision. As if you could bear to leave me behind if I hang around for another thousand years!

Xiao Yinhua and Zi Hu aren’t overly victimized based on their gender within the show itself. For the better too, because whoever dares to do so would probably end up dead by a fox's claws and a snake's teeth. These two characters' existences test your innate view of female characters instead. What is it that matters to you in a female character? What standards do you hold against them?

(**Content warning for the below segment until the next purple break: brief mentions of sexual assault and suicide.)

And that's where we come to Linglong. Linglong is a loudmouthed spoiled brat. She's overbearing, and while she wants to protect Xuanji, her method of doing it is by crying crocodile tears and throwing temper tantrums in front of their father. No wonder she and Xiao Yinhua clash—two childish people who both have a compulsion to win arguments? Forget it.

A bulk of the drama sees Linglong’s primordial spirit being taken and held captive by Wu Tong. Wu Tong puts half of her primordial spirit into the body of a flower demon, whom he also forces to take on Linglong’s physical appearance. No other reason, he just wants to have his way with someone who looks and acts like Linglong, the person who jeered at him all those years ago. By the time the real Linglong recovers her primordial spirit, Wu Tong has done enough damage that she’s haunted by nightmares and memories of someone who assaulted her when she couldn't even fight back.

The lead-up to this arc is incredibly disturbing and takes root in the very first episode. On my first watch-through, I thought their relationship would take a classic enemies-to-lovers path. The directors and writers pull you in this direction with no subtlety, showing a smitten Wu Tong when he first lays eyes on Linglong. They then keep the scam going by having him act out in awful ways as he attempts to gain her attention. That’s right, it’s the brainwashing girls receive when they’re on the playground: “he pulls your hair because he likes you."

During their first meeting, Linglong is surrounded by a halo filter from Wu Tong’s perspective. Knowing what he’ll later do to her makes the seeming innocuousness of this scene revolting, but it's necessary. It's the first of many steps to prove that someone’s “affections” can’t be used as an excuse for harming whomever’s on the receiving end of them. 

Linglong can be an extremely annoying person. Her outspokenness and difficult temper shape her into an unlikable character, which then ensures that by the time Wu Tong captures her, the audience almost instinctively wants to say that it’s her fault. We all know the talk track: “he liked her, so why couldn’t she just have been nicer to him? She asked for it by being mean to him.”

When Linglong first offends Wu Tong, it isn’t for no reason: she’s angry because he endangers her sister’s life over and over again. Admittedly, she goes overboard in her retaliation against him. So what? Linglong being mean to Wu Tong and Wu Tong later targeting her are indeed connected events, but the former doesn't justify the latter. If we say that the five sects hunting Wu Tong down isn’t a fair punishment, then isn’t it also unfair for him to turn the tables on her in such a way? 

Essentially, Linglong isn’t the “ideal” victim. That’s what makes her arc all the more heartbreaking. To this day, society wants to find any excuses for the assailant. Any mistake, any flaw of the victim's will be used against her. As humans, maybe it’s instinct for us to hope that bad things only happen to bad people, and victim-blaming is our twisted way of making that an impossible reality. 

Overcome with depression and trauma, Linglong is unable to come to terms with what Wu Tong did to her. Men gossip about her and her “relationship” with the enemy, sometimes harassing her straight to her face. Wu Tong himself finds great delight in taunting her about her “sharing his bed,” not only relishing the memories but also enjoying how much it torments her.

Linglong: It was my fault that I was captured by Wu Tong, wasn’t it? [...] Everyone thinks so. I didn’t want to be captured by Wu Tong. But after Wu Tong said all those things, everyone thinks so. Minyan: Linglong, why care about what everyone else thinks? Just pretend that you didn’t hear any of it. Linglong: But I did hear them. Why do I need to pretend I didn’t? It’s something that actually happened, so why do I need to play dumb and trick myself into thinking it didn’t? Are you going to be like them too, and mock me?

All the accusations brainwash her into thinking everything is her fault. To Wu Tong and all the people judging her, she’s nothing but a pawn to be used for their own entertainment. And once she and Minyan leave the protection of the sect, everyone finds her an easy target to push around. Hoping that her death will mean freedom for both herself and her loved ones, she attempts to drown herself before being yanked back to life and reality by Minyan.

Linglong’s struggle is many women’s worst nightmare. It’s also a diligent representation of PTSD, something that I normally wouldn’t expect from a xianxia drama. Even after she's rescued and everyone tells her that her suffering is over, it never feels over for her. At night, Lingling is awoken by harrowing dreams of Wu Tong returning to kidnap her once again:

Nightmare!Wu Tong: You’ll always belong to me. You can’t escape.

The conclusion to her arc being Wu Tong’s death and his literal letting go of her may be quite idealistic. But I prefer to think that giving Linglong her happy ending is the writers’ way of trying to assuage our fears, of showing us that there will always be another sunrise regardless of what happens.

(**Content warning end.)

Linglong becomes the drama’s strongest woman-centric plot, and I really love that the writers did it with a character whose personality isn't the most appealing. She's the imperfect woman we can find in every corner of the world, a representation of women overall instead of the minority who are considered "deserving" of justice.

Next to her, Xuanji also gets a short end of the stick. She's constantly being pushed to marry Hao Chen. Every excuse in the book is used against her: they're a fated couple, he's the only one that can take care of her, doesn't she agree that this is a part of her duty? No matter how logically she objects to it, no one really cares what she thinks. If she objects, she’s being headstrong, and that’s the end of it. (More on Xuanji to come in Part IV of this essay.)

And aside from Bai Lin’s more obvious transgressions (we're getting to those), what really irked me is just how twisted he makes the God of War’s rebellion appear in others’ eyes. The logic turns quickly from “Bai Lin must have done something wrong” into “the God of War must have been in love with Bai Lin and grew resentful that he rejected her.” I guess it’s very believable that the God of War would want to destroy the entire universe because some guy wouldn’t date her? That’s right, you can be the most accomplished woman in your field and someone will still want to attribute everything you do to being motivated by romance.

Naturally, the next question is—why is Bai Lin such a weirdo? Why does he insist on turning his friend Luohou Jidu, a man, into a woman when creating the God of War? Hmm. I smell a waft of homophobia...

---

Part III: All of Them Are Racist

And except for a small minority, I really mean "all of them" this time. Humans and celestial beings are racist toward demons. Demons are racist back toward humans and celestial beings. If you asked both sides who started it, they'd point at the other without hesitation. "They started it. By existing."

I don’t even know where to start with this topic. Part of me believes this entire section of analysis could be extraneous—do I really need to do a deep dive when you could just click a random timestamp of a random episode and have a 50% chance of finding a character saying something incredibly racist? No case studies necessary. The drama is the case study.

Obviously, while I may say that all the different races are racist toward one another, some are notably more egregious in their discrimination than others. The five sects, being in power, are the worst offenders. Every other second, someone is reminding another that they need to wipe out demons. Just the utterance of the word “demon” makes them froth at the mouth. In their possession, they have treasure troves of weapons and magical devices whose collective main purpose is to identify and kill demons. Perhaps you know someone in real life who thinks that hating something is a personality trait—that’s the five sects in a nutshell.

Zi Hu and Ting Nu are continuously snubbed for not being human even after they’ve long proven that they’re more help than harm. Ting Nu is a doctor, but even saving Hao Chen doesn’t make them think of him as anything but a demon who is evil in his very bones. Demons can do everything right, but the high and mighty humans are too pure and innocent to associate with them…aside from killing and torturing them, of course.

Highlighted Exhibit A: Sifeng almost being tortured and whipped to death based on the mere suspicion that he’s a demon. The fact that he is one doesn’t matter. His assailants operate on the doctrine that they’d rather kill an innocent person than let a demon roam free. Every action to rid the world of a demon is a virtuous one. It's a reenactment of the Monty Python witch trial but they're being completely serious. 

Highlighted Exhibit B: the other sects band together to wipe out Lize Palace without solid confirmation as to whether they’re all demons. They’re operating on the same principle as in Exhibit A, so at least you can praise them for being consistent.

Highlighted Exhibit C: before Sifeng is revealed to be a pretty bird, Xuanji’s repeated defense of him consists of "Sifeng isn’t a demon." The main purpose of these lines is to instill further fear into Sifeng and give him more reason to keep lying to her, all while Xuanji's trust in him deepens. But is it also some of her lingering innate judgment seeping through? A subconscious understanding that her family and sect will never accept a demon as her boyfriend? Well, joke’s on them because he’s one hot bird.

So how are you supposed to survive as a demon? Lize Palace results from the humans’ desire to eradicate an entire race of demons. Just as Wu Tong is driven only by revenge, the demons of Lize Palace just need to survive for long enough to one day remove their masks and live as themselves. Humans’ endless thirst for blood does nothing but fuel demons’ fire of rebellion and keep the wheel of tragedy turning.

As for the “bad guys” of Tianxu Hall? At least when they commit the same acts of evil as the other five sects, they’re willing to admit that being evil isn’t beyond them.

Yuan Lang is an extremely successful villain for this very reason. All of us love Yuan Lang, so much that we start grinning whenever he comes on-screen with his fan and sarcastic mouth. So much that when it's revealed he's been consuming people's souls, all my mom had to say about it was: “Oh. That's mean of him.”

He plots and he lies and he murders, but he doesn’t put up a facade of holding himself to a lofty moral standard. It’s also quite telling that while Yuan Lang machinates behind the scenes, 90% of his time is spent standing by and calling others out on their bullshit. Everyone around him creates their own downfall. He just happens to benefit from their stupidity.

Man with a fan and a plan. I like. 

Even so, Yuan Lang isn’t invulnerable to emotion. One of my absolute favorite scenes is where Di Lang sacrifices himself so Yuan Lang can make a getaway. It’s the only instance of Yuan Lang being subject to the pain of caring about someone else. Those short moments contrast so starkly against the sects’ inhumanity that suddenly, a revolution doesn’t seem all that bad.

Behind the bulky mask, his despair is apparent. Man. This actor’s come a long way since his F4—I mean, H4 days. If you've never watched Let's Go Watch Meteor Shower Together, don't.

Finally, we arrive on the topic of Bai Lin. Oh, boy. I still haven’t watched Blood of Youth because seeing the actor’s face triggers my fight-or-flight response. And it’s been years.

Bai Lin, the one racist to rule them all. The guy must have a handbook on “How to Be Racist” or something—how else could the contempt that spews from his mouth, the spark of repugnance in his eyes, and the brazen obstinacy in his opinions be so immaculate?

The entire drama consists of setting the stage for the full reveal of Bai Lin turning Luohou Jidu into a weapon of war to be used against his own people. By the time all the pieces fall into place, you’ve already witnessed the tragedy created by discriminatory practices between mortals. You've seen how Sifeng is targeted and Xuanji forced to move her hand against him. You've seen how the sects use their power to harm instead of help. You've seen how demons plot their revenge for centuries. Once Bai Lin is confirmed to be the genesis of all that, there’s nothing left for you to feel but utter revulsion.

Bai Lin: Celestial beings and demons cannot coexist. How could my Heavenly Realm possibly hold a marriage with the Devil Tribe? Luohou Jidu: Celestial beings and demons cannot coexist...Then why do you drink with me today? Why are you friends with me? Bai Lin: Naturally, Brother Jidu, you’re different from other demons and devils. Out of all the demons and devils in this world, Brother Jidu is my only friend.

Can’t believe he even pulls the "you’re one of the good ones" card.

Bai Lin, practitioner of unethical tactics: his ultimate decision to trick and use Luohou Jidu results from racism-induced paranoia. He simply can’t believe that his friend will remain his friend, not unless he becomes "one of us." He thinks the God of War should appreciate that he's given her power and invested his time and energy in her tenth reincarnation, going so far as fool her into thinking that they loved each other once upon a time. Once Xuanji shows herself capable of independent thought, he doesn’t hesitate in turning against her and manipulating her to destroy her own self. He eventually sacrifices the entire world for the Heavenly Realm's survival. After all, what's the value of an entire planet's human and demon population in the face of his power?

He's the representation of what happens when those in power, those who have the best chance of righting wrongs and preventing more from happening, decide to perpetuate the problem. At the same time, he presents the predicament that those we rely on to give us justice are also victims of their own emotions and fears.

I venture to say that Bai Lin is the best-written antagonist in modern xianxia. He’s ruthless but has a moral compass, albeit one that only points in one direction—toward himself. His hubris aside, you have to admit that he genuinely believes he's acting for the greater good. The ends justify the means because he thinks he’s bettering the world.

Bai Lin makes awful decisions that involve genocide and cruelty because he operates on a strict utilitarian philosophy. "I do what I think will bring the best results, even if it means sacrificing something huge in the process." He’s the most dangerous character and the person we should also fear in real life because he’ll stop at nothing to create his definition of a paradise.

It would be easy to dismiss him as simply being a bad person. However, this show draws from reality in that every person exists in a gray area between good and bad. You can lean one way or the other, but you don’t fall completely into either. And that’s the foundation of the show's conflicts. Everyone's so busy trying to define what’s right and wrong that they’ve lost sight of basic compassion.

When he’s finally faced with the consequences of his actions, Bai Lin is driven to despair. He feels true remorse over what he’s done, but only because he’s fortunate enough to actually witness how the thousand-year conflict wouldn't have existed without him. We as people aren’t so lucky—those “what if”s will forever remain in the shrouded realm of impossibility.

Heavenly Emperor: You always thought that evil had sparked in the hearts of the God of War and Luohou Jidu. But the one in whom evil truly sparked was you. All things and happenings in this world are originally empty. From emptiness comes meaning. Yin and yang reverse; they support and restrain one another. The Heavenly Realm was originally empty. The Asura, too, was empty. If all is empty, then how could the Heavenly Realm be superior; and the Mortal Realm, Demon Realm, and Devil Realm be inferior? Your excessive concern for the safety of the Heavenly Realm prompted evil to take root in your heart, unable to be undone.

Seeing him in such despair almost makes me feel bad for him. Maybe I do have too much sympathy.

At this point, it's already too late to repair the damage he's caused, a realization that causes him further anguish. He rids himself of his divinity to show his remorse and accepts death. But he's already caused so much pain to everyone else. Who can put back together the world that he's destroyed?

---

Part IV: Love Wins All

(We love IU for her perfect song that also gave me the best possible final section title.)

As I seek to be conscious of my own biases, I once wondered: why is it that shaking my head at a female character for being dedicated to a man comes so naturally to me, but I can’t be more gleeful to see Sifeng put his heart out on a platter for Xuanji? Perhaps I’m also sexist. Perhaps I have double standards.

Then I thought about it some more and realized everyone loves Sifeng because he’s so blatantly unrealistic that you’re immediately able to sink yourself into his fictional beauty. He transcends gender norms because there is no person of any gender who would go to the extent that he does for Xuanji, nor is there anyone who could remain as levelheaded when faced with some of the most shameless people known to mankind. Forget all the people flying on swords and uttering magic spells. The biggest absurdity in Love and Redemption is its male lead. Yes, I'm a skeptic. But we're so lucky to have him.

Sifeng grew up in a bizarrely backwards environment where—instead of girls needing to cover up to not attract men’s attention—all men need to protect themselves by wearing masks and not associating with the opposite sex. Brainwashed for years to believe that Lize Palace is the only safe space for golden fire birds like himself, he keeps cautious around people while still harboring a subconscious longing for their warmth.

In my entire life, I never knew what a "friend" is. I finally understand now, the meaning of "fervent friendship."

Sifeng is established as the loyal lover extremely quickly. He's whipped—figuratively and literally—for Xuanji, his sheltered childhood leaving him defenseless against her unintentionally flirtatious mannerisms. He teaches her about her lost senses without judgment, nurtures limitless patience with her and others by proxy, and isn't afraid to question the status quo.

We love Sifeng for his wisdom and levelheadedness. He sees things for what they are and is commonly the voice of empathy and reason within a world of selfishness. The entire show is Sifeng going, "I might as well do it myself" in every situation because no one else cares, is capable enough, or both. He's the guy in group projects who quietly does everything and doesn't even get mad that you're the most useless team member ever. What a saint.

In the xianxia universe, he's distinct husband material (which isn’t saying much since the bar there is so low that you'd need to dig yourself a grave to reach it—which is also great because then you already have a place to go once your xianxia spouse gets you killed. I digress). His loyalty to not only others, but also who he is and what he wants, leaves him able to counter the complacency with hatred and evil permeating the world around him.

With his endless empathy, he's able to understand Luohou Jidu. While Sifeng's earliest motivation in facing the greatest devil is only to save Xuanji, he later views Luohou Jidu as an individual with his own sufferings. He's the only one to truly view Luohou Jidu as himself, not someone to eliminate, not just an extension of Xuanji. To Sifeng, everyone deserves a chance to be heard before a verdict is passed over them.

Not to mention, these two’s interactions are absolutely hilarious. I wish I could've seen the extensive conversations that must’ve went on in the censorship agency over them. 

Fellas, is it gay to clasp a guy’s hands within your own and stare deeply into his eyes while reminiscing about your loving relationship if he’s technically got a woman captive in his brain? 

But perhaps what shines the brightest about Sifeng is how he suffers. He's so pretty when he suffers. Wait. That's not my point.

When his Lovers’ Curse triggers for the first time, Xiao Yinhua speaks the gospel that a lot of the audience probably has in mind: "you did so much for her, you were so good to her, but she doesn’t love you back." And it sounds kind of right? But also kind of not? Then Sifeng opens his mouth and you think, "oh, crap, I've been brainwashed by misogyny yet again."

She never asked me to like her. If someone wants to kill another just because she doesn’t reciprocate their feelings, then that person will never be loved. They also don’t deserve to love another.

Again and again, Sifeng puts himself in harm's way to keep loving Xuanji. Sure, he wants her to love him back, but that's secondary to his desire to be honest with his own feelings.

With the bright beacon of light that is Sifeng’s blinding love, I feel most viewers overlook Xuanji’s capabilities as a female lead. Her comparative passiveness in the relationship makes it seem as if she doesn’t love him enough. I attribute this to the same reason as our previous conclusions, that female characters in romance dramas have a harder time garnering the audience’s approval than their male counterparts. Are we innately more judgmental toward women, or is the standard for men still so low that we’re already impressed when a guy surpasses the bare minimum? Probably both.

It's easy to forget that Xuanji is the one who's nice to Sifeng first. When they first meet, Xuanji literally falls into his arms. Then he just…drops her. (And they say chivalry is dead.) But Xuanji doesn’t care.

The rules of his sect push Sifeng into being a bit of a porcupine in his demeanor. He puts up a wall against everyone, but especially Xuanji. After all, as an innocent boy, Sifeng needs to protect himself from evil women. Or something.

Xuanji is the one who can't take the hint tries to befriend him and tears down his wall with the gentle, graceful nature of a sledgehammer. She insists that she'll retrieve his lost mask because she knows it's important to him. When she discovers that Sifeng is punished over it, Xuanji is the one to point out how unfair it is. Her straightforwardness and sense of principle are the reason Sifeng begins to open up at all.

Xuanji: I’m the one who took off his mask. If you want to hit someone, hit me. [...] Not to mention, he almost died trying to get his mask back. So I'd like to ask you, Palace Leader, is Sifeng's life more important, or is that mask more important?

She knows no fear, so she doesn't consider emotionless rules to be worth anything if they cause pain for the people she cares about. In many ways, Xuanji is the one who teaches Sifeng to stand up for what he believes in.

That Xuanji lacks her six senses makes her the least susceptible to the prejudicial habits of her surroundings. She accepts what they believe, that demons are bad, but only because that's all she knows. Whereas most of her peers are content remaining in their ignorance, this supposedly heartless gal is curious about the world. She can easily abandon her preconceptions in favor of what she witnesses the world to be.

It takes constant practice and tests for Xuanji to completely shed her old beliefs. The introduction of Zi Hu marks the beginning of her growth. Xuanji, concerned and angry that Zi Hu is holding her friends captive, fully intends on killing the fox until Ting Nu reasons with her:

Ting Nu: Zi Hu isn’t a malicious demon. You shouldn’t threaten her life. Xuanji: But she kidnapped my friends. How can I spare her? [...] No. She did bad things, so I have to kill her. Ting Nu: [...] Zi Hu has never actually harmed anybody. She’s simply misguided by her anxieties. You should spare her life. […] If you discover that she’s actually committing malicious acts, you could kill her then, no?

If it were Minyan or Linglong in her position, you could bet that they'd ignore Ting Nu. For one, he's a merman, so of course he'd protect another demon. To Xuanji's credit, she really does give Zi Hu—and Ting Nu—the benefit of the doubt. Does she have to? No. But she does anyway.

If Sifeng’s love comes naturally, then Xuanji’s comes through determination. Who's to say that one is inherently better than the other? It takes ten lifetimes for her to understand a semblance of love. She wants dearly to understand what it means to "like" someone, even though she's already the least unafraid to show how much she cares about others.

After she successfully grows the heart light for Sifeng, I don't think anyone is more excited than Xuanji herself. Look how proud she is. Obviously, she's happy she can use it to protect him, but I imagine that she also views it as the clearest proof that she’s as human as anybody else and as capable of loving as anyone else. Sifeng may be stunned when the heart light disappears, but Xuanji falls despondent—she really wants Sifeng to be someone important to her.

People sometimes struggle to see past Xuanji’s initial naivety. They're especially harsh toward her for not seeing what Sifeng has sacrificed for her until it’s almost too late. It's true, the drama primarily favors Sifeng's perspective, so it's easy to only see what he’s done and ignore Xuanji’s efforts.

In spite of warnings from Sifeng himself to not do so, Xuanji emerges to save him from the third lash of the demon whip. You go, girl.

Love isn’t a competition. But for the sake of the discussion, let's say proof is needed that Xuanji’s effort in the relationship matches Sifeng’s. In that case, the important part is looking at what they sacrifice in a relative scope instead of an absolute one.

The things that Sifeng sacrifices are astronomical. He climbs a tower blustering with an eternal blizzard and puts on the Lovers' Curse mask. He stands right in the middle of the conflict between humans and demons even though there’s no way humans will spare him. He gets stabbed…a lot. But everything he does is a result of his own will and careful calculations—they’re all things he knows he can take responsibility for.

Sifeng's major flaw is that he's a massive liar. He's not right to lie, but he's also right to be scared about what would happen if he doesn't. As a demon, he knows what happens to anyone who isn't distinctly human. That's why he conceals his identity from Xuanji.

Then, once he discovers that Xuanji is also the reincarnation of the Star of Mosha, his fear is ignited again for her sake. Xuanji has almost always been defined by what she is, not who. She's berated for being useless when she doesn’t have her six senses. The moment she’s revealed to have the God of War's power, suddenly everyone finds her more than useful. If she's publicly revealed to be the Star of Mosha, then she'd be killed without question, and the person that is “Xuanji” will also cease to exist. Just as he doesn’t want Xuanji to view him and as anything other than himself, Sifeng doesn't want anyone else to view Xuanji as anyone other than herself. That's also why out of everyone, the one person he must keep the Star of Mosha secret from is Xuanji herself.

When Sifeng's lies begin to unfold, Xuanji is left to handle the mess he's inadvertently created. Suddenly discovering that he's a demon and also protective of the demon that possibly murdered her mother, Xuanji is torn. Her wavering faith in him isn't because of his identity, but because he lied to her.

Zi Hu: Do you dislike it that much, that [Sifeng] is a demon? Xuanji: Should I not? Zi Hu: Well, you healed my wounds. And you’re friends with me and Ting Nu, a merman. As for little Sifeng, he’s not a malicious demon who harms people. I don’t think he was aware of what went on with Tianxu Hall and Lize Palace. Xuanji: That’s different! He shouldn’t have lied to me. He’s the person I trust the most. But he even kept from me who he is. Then, all the things he told me and did with me in the past…what part of it all was real and what was fake? Zi Hu: What’s real and what’s fake? Can’t you just drag him over here and ask him? If he’s a scumbag, just kill him. But if there’s any misunderstandings, the two of you should clear them up. Resolve them and see what solutions there are. When two people are together, the scariest thing is misunderstanding one another for no reason. If you lose each other, that might be the end, forever. You’d regret that. 

And then she eventually does try to kill him. Good going, Zi Hu.

Xuanji's main conflict in the latter half of the drama is that she wants to find a solution that satisfies everyone, an impossible dilemma. Everyone starts pressuring her to lead the charge against the demons. It's her duty as the God of War, isn't it? Oh, but if she doesn't want to, it's because she's in love with the enemy. But she can't be in love with the enemy. She's the God of War, after all.

That’s the duplicitous world that Xuanji lives in. Yet, without knowing why he's been dishonest or what else he could be lying about, she still chooses to believe in Sifeng—even if it means being treated as a traitor herself and being further guilt-tripped. She's bound to her duty, family, and the expectations that come along with that. Going against them in any capacity is a challenge to her entire livelihood and the moral standards imposed on her. If you take that into account, suddenly the things that she risks don’t pale in comparison what Sifeng does for her.

As an omniscient audience, it's easy for us to say that she doesn't do enough, that she should know better. It's an interesting thought experiment to wonder what else she could do in such a situation. Her boyfriend lies to her. She believes he has a reason, believes in him when he tells her to trust him. She defends him repeatedly to people who don't even care to listen unless it's to interrupt and call her crazy. She lies to her father that she'll devote herself to killing demons like Sifeng so they'll stop calling her crazy and threatening her. Then, when she goes to rescue Sifeng from Mingxia Cave, he's suddenly getting passive-aggressive with her: “oh, what does the mighty God of War need from a lowly demon like me that she deigns to talk to me?” Bro…if I were her, I might just ditch him in a fit of rage. That's how you want to play? Have fun turning into frozen poultry in this cave, then.

Obviously, more is going on behind the scenes that Xuanji is completely unaware of. Sifeng almost dies from her fire magic that Hao Chen stole. The broken hairpin. And okay, I'll admit that her saying that she'll kill him while he's eavesdropping outside is not a great look. But come on, Sifeng. Where have your critical thinking skills gone? If you can lie, don’t you think Xuanji can too? And after all that, she still instinctively shields him from her father’s sword.

Sifeng. In this case, I do have to criticize you in a serious manner. Do you have any idea how hard it was for Xuanji to finally try to get herself stabbed for you, only for you to go “no, me” and get stabbed again? Do you have a sword-magnet in your chest?

Then Sifeng tells her that he’s never loved her and was only using her because he’s Luohou Jidu, the world's biggest villain. And she still can't bear to hurt him. When Xuanji discovers that Hao Chen has tricked her into using a so-called “Purifying Vase” to doom Sifeng to a painful death, she's furious:

Xuanji: For my own good? You want me to practice the Method of Love, but you also want me to be heartless. I can’t be so contradictory. Hao Chen: I told you to practice the Method of Love through feelings between you and me, not for you to continuously absorb yourself in your fixation on Sifeng! Xuanji, don’t forget. Our marriage is one determined by the heavens. It’s destiny. Xuanji: The heavens determine nothing. If they do, then why did they make Sifeng and I meet in our past nine lives? What a joke of the heavens. Hao Chen: So, you’d rather resign yourself to your doomed fate with that demon than stay properly by my side? Xuanji: Fate isn’t split into a virtuous or doomed one. I hate myself for loving Sifeng before, and we won’t ever be together again. But since I already gave him my love, I won’t take it back.

But of course, Hao Chen has more tricks up his Mary Poppins sleeves. He pulls out all the stops and uses his last breath to manipulate her into stabbing Sifeng. Oh my god. Look at all these trust issues, just making themselves readily available.

Her stabbing him is, how do you say, very bad. But let’s be honest, she’s seen him survive worse. I don't have a nifty conclusion is here, but basically, she subconsciously knows he'll get over it (physically, at least).

Of course, Sifeng is heartbroken. It's intensified by the tragic fate of his father. His father’s goal was always to protect Sifeng from the dangers posed by the racist five sects, led primarily by fabricated memories that his lover Hao Feng was driven to suicide by her own family. When Yuan Lang reveals the truth, that Hao Feng's fear of demons trumped her love for her husband, it’s intense foreshadowing of Sifeng and Xuanji’s relationship. Maybe Xuanji isn't like Hao Feng and she can cross the rift between humans and demons, meeting Sifeng in the middle. But finally, she still retreats, away from him. Her betrayal, now the tenth in all their lifetimes, leads Sifeng to leave behind some of the most truthful but hurtful words for Xuanji to deal with:

I finally understand why my fate turned out as it did in all my past nine lives. From beginning to end, you have always been a heartless person.

It’s not fair to ask Sifeng to keep considering Xuanji’s feelings under the brunt of her violent wrath. But just as she has no idea what he’s been doing to protect her, he has no idea what she’s been doing to protect him. Zi Hu is right again: nothing poses a greater danger to a couple than misunderstandings. And racism.

The ultimate resolution only occurs once Xuanji recovers the memories of their past lives. Congratulations, Sifeng. After a millennium of pining, your love has finally touched the heart of your beloved. Indeed, it might take a long time getting there, but love will find a way.

I love the short scenes that show the God of War and Xi Xuan's quiet but gentle relationship. Xi Xuan is the only one who cares that the God of War wants her own identity, then gives her a moment in which she doesn't have to wear her armor, just as Sifeng does everything in his power to let Xuanji be "Xuanji." Through all their lives, Sifeng is the one who recognizes her for who she is and wants to make her happy, even if she doesn't have a heart.

Activate: Xuanji, shameless mode. After Xuanji tracks down Sifeng in his solitude, they return to their days as teenagers. Xuanji acts like a fool in front of him, demanding his attention, and Sifeng only wants to get her the hell out of his house. It's not only a reminder of the times when things were a lot simpler, but also of how far they've come.

She intends on marrying Sifeng. Even if her father doesn't approve, she no longer cares. There's not enough time left in the world to hesitate about the people you love to satiate someone who can't be satisfied. Just as Sifeng upends his whole life for her, she's willing to do the same.

And as Sifeng is dying, Xuanji makes the ultimate decision to become the Star of Mosha. This isn't a reckless move done just to save him. Rather, her faith in Sifeng has strengthened into steel after all they've been through. Even if the world ends, she knows that a little bird with unshakable resolve will come get her. For two people who have spent most of their time as a pair of parallel lines, never to coincide, this is their point of intersection—a challenge that they'll face together, even if they're apart.

Sifeng: Xuanji, stop! I'd rather die than watch you become a devil for me! Xuanji: Sifeng, I can't consider all that now. I have to save you! Whether I be the Star of Mosha or the God of War, I don't care. I just need you to be okay. Sifeng. If I become Luohou Jidu, you absolutely can't forget me. Remember to bring me back! I cry during this scene. Then I immediately start laughing at Sifeng's gobsmacked expression once Luohou Jidu shows up. It just reads "but...my girlfriend..."

And Xuanji's right. Sifeng is the solution. No one else can save Luohou Jidu, the God of War, and the world by extension. Luohou Jidu's pain results from being betrayed purely because of his identity as a devil, but Sifeng becomes the confidante that Bai Lin pretended to be. The God of War's pain comes from having no self-identity, but Xi Xuan gives her the ability to seek one and accompanies her for a thousand years to help her find it. The suffering that Bai Lin set into motion would lead to a ceaseless cycle of revenge and a destruction of the world’s good due to its sins, but Sifeng alone convinces Luohou Jidu and the God of War that there's something in life worth keeping. But you have to fight for it, and persistently, because good things only come to those who are willing to chase after them.

Xuanji to Bai Lin: I won’t mess with someone else’s life so simply due to my own matters, even if that person is someone as despicable as you. Sifeng once said that using hate to obtain vengeance is an endless cycle. In this life, I already have something that matters more to me than that. I have no space to keep my hatred.

I know it can sound cheesy to say that the best revenge is living a happy life. But Love and Redemption can convert even the most insistent of cynics—me, for example. People will practice evil whether or not there’s a reason for it and whether or not those consequences will ripple out into a tsunami that will engulf the world. Only true, honest love can hope to settle the uneasy sea. It’s why Zi Hu gives Wu Zhiqi something to live for other than war. It’s why Linglong and Minyan have a reason to persist alongside one another. It's why Luohou Jidu gives his heart and life to Sifeng. It’s why Sifeng is able to save Xuanji. It's why the three realms are blessed with the chance to keep finding a reason to persist.

Sifeng and Xuanji’s story is a journey of overcoming all odds; of learning to love someone unconditionally not because it’s easy, but because you want to; of letting that love grow into a ray of hope in the world. Yes, if we let it, love wins all.

Sifeng: Your heart has become one of flesh and blood. It couldn’t bear to destroy the three realms. Because…it’s a heart that I held and warmed in my hands, bit by bit.

[heich0e]

the wake - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 8 in the bff!osamu series word count: 2.5k tags: angst, childhood friends to pining, every miya fic i write is just a thinly veiled love letter to the miya brotherhood and that is very clear here, angst gets worse before it gets better so be nice to me, ps: u ever heard the song vienna by billy joel?

The longest that you have ever gone without speaking to the Miya twins was thirteen calendar days—a single day shy of a fortnight—when the three of you were eleven years old. 

It all happened because you’d invited the twins over to see the brand new lava lamp you’d gotten for your birthday—the one you had been longing for relentlessly, and talked about incessantly in the lead-up to your big day—and, well, one thing led to another (as it often has the tendency to do when Osamu and Atsumu are involved) and the beloved lamp had ended up shattered across your bedroom floor only a few hours after you’d torn it from its pretty purple wrapping paper. 

Neither of the boys had been willing to take responsibility at the time, each pointing an identically vehement finger of blame towards the other, and they both refused to offer you anything remotely close to an apology—lest that somehow imply an admission of culpability. 

Your mother had sent them home after a stern, disappointed talking to and a call to their own mother (which she then echoed in a far less civilized tone when they returned home to her) and then they didn’t hear from you for almost two full weeks. It felt like an eternity back then, when life was small and days were long and just a couple of hours felt like a lifetime. You refused to come to your door when the two of them showed up knocking, didn’t answer any phone calls or instant messages they sent, and outrightly ignored them at school each day—hiding in classrooms on breaks between classes or behind the backs of other girls to avoid the increasingly desperate attempts of the twins to get your attention.

And so, on the two week anniversary of The Incident, the twins showed up at your door one last time—sheepish but earnestly remorseful—with a new lava lamp in tow. Thus the silent treatment was ended, reconciliation was struck, and there has scarcely been a day that passed since then where you had not been in some form of contact with the twins.

Osamu hasn’t heard from you in 6 weeks.

After the night of Atsumu’s party, he’d waited with bated breath to hear from you. His phone was on, sound at full blast and never too far from his reach. He knew it wasn’t really his place to reach out first. Knew you probably needed time to process things. To forgive him.

That first night he’d barely slept a wink, staring up at the ceiling of his living room, sprawled across the couch the two of you should have been sleeping on together, regretting every single moment of his life that had led him to this misery. He had texted you a simple: Let me know when you’re home safe please. It was a message he’d sent you countless times before, but never with so much urgency—but it went unanswered. It didn’t surprise him, even if it hurt. Even if it only added to the twist of anxiety turning his stomach into knots. More time passed. Seconds bleeding into minutes that turned into hours, each more agonizing than the last. He thought about calling you. Texting you again. Pulling on a jacket and chasing after you like he should have when you walked away from him hours prior. But he didn’t.

Osamu texted Atsumu first thing the next morning, with bags under his eyes and exhaustion in the marrow of his bones, asking if you’d made it back to the party safely. He’d wanted to reach out sooner—he’d had an entire sleepless night to think about nothing else, after all—but he’d waited for the sake of saving face with his twin. 

When Atsumu finally woke up and saw his message, replying back with a frightening ??? didn’t she leave with u?, Osamu’s worst fears were realized. 

After hearing from his brother, Osamu immediately texted your roommate—a girl you’d gone to college with, who might even have been considered your best friend had the twins not beaten her to the punch by about two decades. She and Osamu had always been on good terms, seeing each other semi-regularly over the years by virtue of their shared connection to you. You’d even once implied she had a little crush on him after Osamu had met her for the first time, though he had (for obvious reasons) never acted on the information. He felt no hesitation reaching out to her about whether or not you’d made it home the night before.

Yes.

Her icy reply came through almost immediately—even though it was early in the morning, even though he rarely ever texted her. The message was just three letters and a full stop, but it told him everything he needed to know: you were safe, and she knew what he’d done.

Osamu knew that the very least that he could give you in this situation was space, and he really did try, but he only made it two days of silence before he was reaching out to you again. His text had gone unanswered on that horrible, sleepless night where he had ruined everything, so after two days he finally tried to call.

It went right to voicemail.

His subsequent texts (and eventually calls) over the following days were similarly ignored, and every day that passed without hearing from you felt worse than the last.

Atsumu’s concern took root the day following his party, thanks to his brother's early morning text, and it only continued to grow. You were ignoring him too, the reason for which he had not the faintest idea, and the blonde inundated his twin for details as to what exactly had happened when the two of you had left his apartment that night.

But Osamu couldn’t tell him.

He couldn’t.

So he started avoiding his brother's calls and texts, too.

Osamu’s feelings for you were the only thing he’d ever, ever kept from his twin in all of their shared lifetime. And look where it had gotten him. 

But eventually—inevitably—Osamu finally broke. 

It was to be expected, really. He was hardly eating, scarcely sleeping, and any hours not spent robotically going through motions of keeping his business running were spent holed up in his little apartment. The apartment that now somehow reminded him far too much of you—like you had inked yourself as indelibly into the walls as you had the paint that you helped him apply when he'd first moved in.

Osamu showed up at his brother’s place at 11 o’clock on an otherwise completely unremarkable Wednesday night, still in his Onigiri Miya uniform, and as soon as Atsumu opened the door he burst—violently, spectacularly—into tears before he could even manage a greeting.

It must have been shocking, frightening even, for Atsumu to see his twin in that state. For him to have to help his brother’s crumpled frame across the threshold, over the step in the genkan, and to the couch in his living room—supporting the entirety of his weight to keep him upright. Atsumu had shown up a hundred times at Osamu’s door in not dissimilar states of heartbreak, but that was the first time he’d ever seen his twin—largely credited as the level-headed, rational one between them—like this. He’d always thought Osamu was just stronger than he was when it came to heartbreak; his relationships fizzling out with relatively little fanfare, and no substantial distress, and his exes sort of just faded into the background like they’d never even been there at all.

Atsumu never realized it was because his brother’s heart had never been theirs to break in the first place.

Osamu came clean that night in his brother’s apartment. Confessed to the sins he’d kept locked away in the recesses of his chest for so long, more fully and unequivocally than he had ever voiced the long-held secrets to anyone. And Atsumu listened. He didn’t tease him for his tears. Or berate him for keeping his feelings from him. Or yell at him for harming you and jeopardizing the friendship that the three of you had spent so much of your lives building. 

He just hugged him. Comforted him. Cried with him. Because that was what his brother needed from him more than anything else.

When Osamu calmed slightly, many hours later, Atsumu quietly admitted that he’d suspected there may have been feelings that his brother was harbouring but he’d never really known for sure. I figured ya’d tell me when you were ready. Those were the simple words he’d offered, with a little shrug and a gentle, wobbly smile. And it was the first time in all his life that Osamu realized that his brother had far more tact than he’d ever given him credit for.

Atsumu reached out to you again that night, though his messages to you for the past week had gone unanswered like his brother’s. He put his message simply. He told you that he knew what had happened. That he wanted to talk. That you were his best friend and he needed to see you.

The twins were laying side by side in Atsumu’s bed, neither asleep nor fully awake, when your reply came through.

I need some time, Tsumu.

The brothers shared a look across the mattress of Atsumu’s bed in the dim light of his bedroom, their eyes sore for crying and the harsh glare of the cellphone’s light.

They yielded.

A few day later, you finally reached out again, and agreed to meet Atsumu for dinner.

Just Atsumu.

The evening that Osamu knew the two of you were meeting without him, he was a mess. He burned half the food he tried to prepare at the restaurant, got a nasty cut on his finger when he was chopping carelessly, and almost charged a customer 250,000 yen for their 250 yen purchase. When the restaurant finally closed, he slumped over the counter with his head in his hands and waited.

Atsumu showed up not long after.

“It was weird," his brother confessed, fiddling with an edamame pod but never moving to bring it to his lips—curled down slightly as the corner as he spoke. "But I can’t go between the two of ya like this, and she can’t see me without thinking of you."

“She hates me,” Osamu rasped, a familiar, suffocating tightness swelling in his chest that had made a home there over the past two weeks. 

“She’s just upset,” Atsumu tried to console him, but Osamu could hear the wisp of frustration creeping into his twin’s tone. It wasn’t Atsumu’s fault—Osamu knew how hard this entire situation must have been for him, all as a result of the circumstances for which only he could bear the burden of blame. You’re Atsumu’s closest friend too, as much a part of the elder Miya twin’s life as you are the younger's, and Osamu didn’t take that fact for granted. Atsumu shut his eyes, sighing. “I think she’s confused, Samu. Hell, I’m confused and we shared a womb.”

Osamu’s eyes began to burn with a familiar, unpleasant prickle. He didn’t cry much about it anymore, now two weeks on, like he’d somehow run the well dry. But he’d occasionally get phantom pains behind his eyes, like the precursor to tears he knew couldn’t come. It was almost worse.

“I know,” the dark-haired twin finally muttered, his head hanging dejectedly.

“We’re gonna figure this shit out, but she’s gotta take some time to get things straight in her head first, alright?” Atsumu said softly, nudging his brother’s hand with his own, lending him encouragement in the warmth of their knuckles meeting. “Just give her that.”

So he did.

Osamu gave you another full month of time. 

Of space.

Of absence.

And now he’s here, six weeks to the day since everything went wrong.

Osamu drives home to Hyogo on a whim—the idea of spending another weekend holed up in his apartment, wondering each day if it would finally be the one where you call, is enough to make him feel sick. His apartment has never felt more suffocating than it has in your absence. Never felt smaller than it does without you in it, no matter how contradictory that sounds. It’s been a while since he went home to visit his mother and the boys from high school who stuck around into adulthood, and even though his childhood home is as rife with things that remind him of you as his current one, he can’t help but hope that the change of scenery might do him some good.

The Miya family home hasn’t changed much, if at all, since the twins were kids. As an adult, Osamu takes comfort from this fact—finds stability and familiarity in the walls and windows and roof that endure today in just the same way and in the same shape as they always have. His mother’s car isn’t in the driveway when he pulls in to complete the picture, but he hadn’t told her he was coming so he can’t blame her for not being there to welcome him. 

Osamu grabs his hastily packed duffle bag from the passenger’s seat of his truck, walking up the stone pathway his feet have trod upon so many times, in all their different sizes, to the door. He keeps his mother’s house key on his own keyring, because the last thing she’d said to him the day that he’d moved out—her hands, smaller than his own now that he’d grown so big, clasped around his as they held the little silver key—was that no matter what this would always be his home.

The genkan is the same. The coats in the closet are the same. The air smells the same, though there’s the faintest whisper of citrus in it as Osamu closes the front door behind him and toes off his shoes. His mother keeps two pairs of slippers at the door for him and Atsumu when they visit but his are missing for some reason, so he stuffs his feet into his brother’s designated pair before he pads off further into the home.

He can hear the television—the faint hum of a variety show or something similar drifting through the halls—and he laughs to himself that his mother has never quite been able to correct her bad habit of leaving the TV on even when she’s not watching it. He turns the corner into the living room, the sound of the television having grown louder the nearer he got.

And then he freezes.

The duffle bag he’d held loosely in his hand falls gracelessly to the floor.

And even though the television is right there, he can’t hear it anymore.

Because between him and the LCD screen, tucked under the kotatsu with a satsuma poised in hand half-peeled, is a face he hasn’t seen in six long weeks.

There, in the heart of the place that would always be his home, is you.

[flauberries]

home | sebastian sallow x f!player character

He’d very much like to savor the feeling of her body so close, in this room that he can only describe as home. It is, as they say, where the heart is. And this heart in his arms has stood by his side since the very beginning.

Of all the common rooms throughout the castle, the loungers in Slytherin’s must surely be among the most uncomfortable seatings. Remarkably, when one spends his time upon the emerald-green chaise whilst babbling with a classmate about the injustices of weekend assignments and scrolls – or perhaps whilst thumbing through a book plucked fresh from the deepest bowels of the restricted section – Sebastian Sallow finds the arrangement plenty plush and aptly accommodating to his needs for rest and respite. When lost in his mind and the thoughts confined within, which yearn to burst from his tongue during the frequent nights wherein sleep does not come to him, the lounger beneath him is a bed of nails; sharp, and twisting into the nerves of his spine.

In spite of the heaviness behind his eyes, his body positively throbs with an unspent energy that would have been welcomed greatly during this morning’s potion class. Sebastian counts the crackling of oak splinters in the fireplace. His face grows hotter with each passing moment spent before the blaze. A cacophony of girlish laughter reverberates from the dormitories up the stairs. A door opens moments thereafter, and a set of uneven footsteps echo from the tunnel-like walls, against the grating of the bridge. They do not belong to Imelda Reyes – she doesn’t wear those buckled heel shoes. It could be Nerida Roberts, Sebastian decides, or even Violet McDowell. Certainly not a first year. Whoever it is does not carry herself with such grace.

Oh, he had forgotten about Grace Pinch-Smedley.

“Sebastian?”

He turns quickly. While it goes against no rules nor prohibitions to invite members of the other houses into the common room (albeit a taboo to be sure), the sight of Daphne takes him by the upmost surprise. Her hair has, at some point during the night, fallen from its patented bun at the base of her neck; he never knew her mane was so long, so abundant. Parted down the center now – wild and creased from bondage – her blonde hair radiates in the fireplace’s glow and takes on a copper twinge. The red hue of her cheeks bleeds beneath the worn powder pressed upon her skin. Her white uniform blouse has been unbuttoned twice from the top and remains barely tucked into the belt of her pleated skirt – no necktie nor quilted vest to be seen. The buckles of her shoes are undone because she hastened to slip them on in making her escape from Imelda’s bed.

“Well, well,” Sebastian starts as he beckons her to join him. She takes the cushion without hesitation; she reeks heavily of wine, but not unpleasantly so.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She beams brightly and reaches to pull him beside her. A pocket of dried burgundy pools in the cracks of her lower lip. He could very well wipe it away with the flesh of his thumb. As if she can feel his stare, Daphne brings the back of her hand to her mouth.

“Imelda and the girls invited me to spend the evening with them,” she explains.

She is trying far too hard to sound straight.

“To . . .” she trails off in some sphere of contemplation, “alleviate our compatriotic stress, you know.”

“I see. And does this ‘alleviation of compatriotic stress,’ as you put it, involve some forbidden indulgences?”

Only then does she shy away.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I must look horrible, don’t I?”

“Not at all,” Sebastian insists. “You simply look like a young woman who has earned the right to some fun and frivolity.”

Satisfied with his answer, and a hum tickling her teeth, Daphne slackens against the backing of the lounger. There is a stain upon her bosom, and it matches the color of her lips. Her right knee bounces up and down, her heel abandoning its shoe underfoot; her skirt jostles and rides up her bloomer-clad thigh, inching closer and closer to the place where her legs meet. She must not realize what she is doing, and heavens, her garters are slipping. Beneath the odor of wine, there is an inkling of jasmine. She observes the fire and puffs her cheeks to stifle a belch. He knows he ought not marvel at her, and yet he finds that he cannot help himself. Never, Sebastian realizes, has he seen her in such a state. So pedestrian. So shambled.

So perfectly imperfect.

“I’ve not been sleeping,” she confesses suddenly, and her knee stills. There is a silence now, in the absence of her ruffling.

 “I’ve counted sheep and paced my dormitory for hours. Tried to think myself into exhaustion, held my breath, gorged myself . . . At this point, the only thing I’ve yet to try is a sleeping draught. Professor Sharp cautioned me, but what have I left to lose?”

Sebastian frowns.

“That’s why I came here tonight,” Daphne continues. “Imelda assured me that a bottle of wine would do the trick. Lull me right to sleep, she said.”

“But you’re wide awake,” Sebastian counters.

“Absolutely wired.”

A string of deep voices sound from the central stairwell. Sebastian reaches to pull her skirt back over her knee; she doesn’t protest, though she jolts when his pinkie grazes the hot flesh of her knee (truly, however, she cannot feel his touch through her stockings). A group of older boys, who come about as seemingly unaware of the pair (or they simply care little to bother acknowledging them), descend and make their way to the dormitories.

“For what it’s worth,” he says once the boys are no longer within earshot, “I’ve not been sleeping either.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” And she means it – else, she wouldn’t say otherwise. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“Don’t say that.”

It comes a bit terser than he intends. He takes a moment to collect himself as Daphne flinches; his belly falls, and suddenly, there are two fingers against his temples. Phantom limbs, but pressing all the same.

“You’ve likewise suffered demons,” Sebastian clarifies. “You needn’t make light of your situation. It isn’t good for the spirit.”

She nods.

Daphne has, for as long as he has known her, always been this sort of individual – the kind to toss her troubles beyond and below, as if nothing. Always the sort to drop anything, and quite possibly everything, if only to appease another. Why else would she delay her first sojourn beneath the clock tower for dueling practice (how restive he felt as he waited for her), if not to retrieve the tempestuous Zenobia Noke’s blasted gobstone collection? It had taken Imelda a fortnight to hide them all. What of the bells in the tower above the music classrooms? Or that damned over-sized tentacula leaf for Puffskein Dunskein? Yes, it was quite a clever nickname, thank you very much. There was the matter of that mermaid artifact for Nerida; the Slytherin girl was rather eager to present the necklace to her peers, and although not so keen on confessing her ineptitude for swimming, she spoke of Daphne’s altruistic propensity with the upmost regard. Never mind that the necklace would have looked much better draped around her neck, Sebastian thought, when Nerida dangled it before him. He shan’t forget the way the aquamarine pendant sparkled beneath the light.

He shan’t forget the time she dove into the lake to retrieve that wretched astrolabe for Grace, either. Daphne returned to the castle a soaking, shivering mess. And she hadn’t the decency to ask for a damned thing in return.

“Sebastian?” she calls, tearing her gaze from the fireplace and staring him down; intent, keen, and fully serious. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you. Or, somewhere, I should specify.”

There is a lump in his throat that he does not feel until he swallows.

“It’s getting late,” he says, atypically cautious and certainly unlike himself. “Wouldn’t want to get caught by a prefect in your current condition, would you?”

“In my current condition?” Daphne asks. “What about you? Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You sound a bit like Ominis, and it doesn’t suit you.”

The brunet boy gawks at her. Sounding like Ominis? Sebastian Sallow? Never.

“Besides . . .”

She pushes herself from the lounger, sways, and buckles forth into the tea table. Sebastian jumps to his feet as his arms move to brace her – one beneath the crook of her farthest, and the other falling upon the bent elbow that hovers above a ruined game of chess. The ceramic pieces knock against each other. Her blouse is soft and unpilled, and the flesh beneath blisters.

“There’s no time like the present.”

He must imagine the flash of green upon her eyes. A trick of the light, and nothing more. Daphne straightens herself and steps around the table.

“Give me your hand, will you?”

Wordless, Sebastian takes her waiting fingers, and his palm finds purchase with hers. The faintest of callouses mar the thickest parts of her hand (she wears her leather gloves for trysts of wand mastery); whatever balm she uses preserves her skin well, he thinks, for she is smooth like a fanciful of bed linens and lovely silk dresses. Their bearing is not quite enough until she traps his fingers with his own and tugs him forward. The stack of demitasses atop the table rattles.

Properly disillusioned, she leads him from the spiraling staircase of the Slytherin common room to the landing just below the highest peak of the astronomy tower, their hands only departing from the other when Sebastian hastened to flip his wand towards a poorly placed pile of books to distract a wayward prefect who was absolutely certain that he had caught a glimpse of blonde hair below the trickling of moonlight from the tower windows. Their excursion must have been sobering enough, if not for the practical drowning in the girls’ bathroom when Daphne insisted that she was simply too parched to carry on. Sebastian didn’t mind holding her hair back as she cupped her hands beneath the running faucets and lifted the spilled water to her stained lips. Her pomade smelled of bergamot and black tea. And, as always, jasmine.

Now, in the astronomy tower, Daphne ushers Sebastian to turn around to face the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, who proudly dons his robin’s egg ensemble and wields his ivory baton towards the trolls he means to teach ballet.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” Sebastian asks. “It’s quite silly, I suppose, but impossible to miss on your way to astronomy. It’s hardly much of a secret.”

“No, I didn’t drag you here to show you a tapestry,” Daphne huffs. “Just stay there for a moment, and don’t turn around.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And so, arms crossed and admittedly feeling a bit indignant, he stares at the tapestry. He memorizes the pattern because there is not much else for him to do. First, the troll in the back left attempts what Sebastian imagines is a plie, and then the plie-esque troll’s neighbor throws his weight forwards and his arms above his head. Not quite graceful, though not quite gauche, either. The third troll, the closest to Barnabas, scratches his chest before bringing his club down atop the man. Barnabas rises, unphased and hardly discouraged; only a moment later, however, and the fourth troll likewise crushes him with a bone that must have come from a dragon’s femur. In the background, just beyond the tree line and the mountain ridge, is Hogwarts.

Barnabas stands, conducting away, and the first troll plies again.

Stone grinds behind Sebastian. He isn’t surprised in the least bit to learn that Daphne has discovered the Room. It’s nothing more than a hovel for bits and pieces, and the ordinary rubbish of a well-spent domesticated life. He had fooled himself once in believing he might happen upon a cure for Anne inside. No matter of wailing, browbeating, nor cursing could persuade the ceaseless Room to grant him the answer that he so tirelessly chased; or, rather, the solution to the utterly inconceivable problem that has rendered his sister a shell. There were no tomes filled with lost tonic recipes to dispel a curse derivative of the darkest arts, and certainly he found no vials filled to save him the trouble of reading – as if anything came so easily in life. At least there is comfort in knowing where to find a spare chair.

Sebastian turns. Daphne smiles at him, absolutely giddy and still under the influence of whatever cursed wine Imelda procured for the girls. Stolen from the kitchens, no doubt. He doesn’t mind looking after the Hufflepuff girl in this state, not really.  Next time, he promises himself, he’ll join in her silly indulgence.

He could make a quip about the Room. However, when Daphne takes his hand for the hundredth time tonight and leads him to the door, he knows he won’t. He can’t bear to see that smile falter. Can’t bear to be the reason why.

“You and Ominis have your Undercroft,” she tells him, her fingers dancing just above the bronze door handle. “But this . . . This belongs to me.”

And it is nothing of a hovel at all, Sebastian realizes, as she pilots him into the moonlit aura of the great room. The floor is a brilliantly ornate marble – the walls a deep walnut and lacquered in gothic, emerald papering and filled with bookshelves and cabinets. The ceiling above is a glass dome and just beyond that is a reflection of the night sky – a perpetual full moon and its stars. White drapes cascade along the marble arches above their heads. He won’t ask her where those strange, illuminated doorways lead to; a coastal castle, or a swamp perhaps – they are but questions for another time.

“Well?” Daphne prompts. She falls upon a lounger tucked into a corner next to the entrance. Beneath the lounger is a botanical rug and above that, a tea table cluttered with a skull, a wayward tonic, and a set of quills.

“What do you think?”

“I think this reeks of favoritism,” Sebastian admits. “I had written this place off a while ago.”

He joins her now and finally, he has found somewhere to rest in earnest. The cushioning is soft and plush – well loved, unquestionably cared for, and tender.   

“You’re probably right about that,” she acquiesces. “Professor Weasley thought the Room would be a fine place to catch up on my schoolwork. I suppose she didn’t approve of my extracurriculars.”

“I’m not surprised that this was her doing. She speaks fondly of you. Not to mention, we have her to thank for our foray into Hogsmeade at the start of the year.”

“Yes, and if not for her, you’d have been stuck in detention with Madam Scribner that day instead.”

It is Sebastian’s turn to grin.

“Despite the mess with those trolls and Rookwood, it was a grand trip,” he says. “Aside from Ominis or Anne, I can’t imagine that I’d take a lout’s bludgeoning for anyone else. If it were Leander with me, I’d probably take up arms with the trolls.”

He pauses.

“I think this room is wonderful, Daphne. Not becoming for a Hufflepuff, per se, and yet it fits you all the same.”

She cups her own cheeks to hide her blush. It could be that their journey has worn him into a proper weariness, or it may be that the lounger is commanding it of him, but Sebastian knows that if he only closes his eyes right now, he might doze off – next to his confidant and charge, who gazes upon him in such a way that inspires his want to pull her close and let her sleep in his arms.

He won’t do either.

“Will you stay here with me?” Daphne asks. “I know you’ve your own bed, and it’s selfish of me to say. I just don’t want you to go.”

She tugs on his arm, her bottom lip pouting just so. There isn’t much wine left in the crack of it.

“Now, now,” Sebastian begins, “who said I was leaving?”

“Stay with me. Please.”

Against his better judgment – and all semblance of self-control, for however much of it is left – he leans forward and brushes his lips against the crown of her head. He doesn’t catch the way her eyes flutter shut, nor the soft peak of her smile. Her fingers curl into her palm, perhaps to keep herself from tethering them against the lapels of his sleeping robe.

“I’ll stay here forever, if that’s what you want,” he mumbles against her hair. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

As you have been for me, in the brief time I’ve known you.

Sebastian decides that he could very well stay here forever. In this degree that can only be peace, pressed against the nook of the lounger with a lovely girl molded against his chest at last and her hair tickling the hair of his nose. Anne used to pester him ceaselessly about his snoring. If the universe is a fair maiden after all, then Daphne won’t mind. The truth is one that he knows all too well – he’ll just have to make sure she falls asleep first.

Amidst his thoughts, the Room begins the quake. Sebastian sits upright, his grip around Daphne growing tighter.

“What’s happening?” Sebastian asks, hiding his panic all too well. “Should we leave?”

“No,” Daphne insists, wide-eyed and alert. “The Room  . . . It’s changing.”

The thunder comes from up the stairs, just past the windowed stretch of a reading nook.

“What do you mean, it’s ‘changing’?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she confesses. “Shall we go find out? I’m almost certain it’s nothing dangerous.”

Though Sebastian insists he ought to take the lead, Daphne marches ahead and ascends to the balcony; helpless to do nothing more, Sebastian clammers after whilst gripping his wand terribly close. In an alcove nestled between the peaks of the twin stairs is a hallway and within that passage appears a doorway bearing the same adornments, engravings, and talismans as the entry.

“Unless you were thinking about inflicting pain on either of us,” Daphne says, arms crossed, “you ought to put your wand away.”

“Why does it matter what I was thinking?” Sebastian questions.

“I can manipulate the Room and shape it into the very design I wish, just by anticipating it hard enough. I made a loo appear once when I nearly . . . Well, I won’t finish that, but just take my word for it.”

Sebastian slips his wand away.

“You should do the honors,” she tells him. “Go ahead. Open the door.”

And so, he does. Beyond the creaking door is an oaken floor laden with a threadbare rug decorated with embroidered flowers. There is a fireplace against the furthest wall, and its orange hue casts the only light upon the furniture in the new room – a dresser with bronze knobs, a pair of mismatched nightstands (one yew and the other painted green), a porcelain wash sink with a ceramic carafe, and lastly, a wrought-iron bed topped with thick pillows and a diamond-crossed quilt. The glass of the windows is frosted around the panes, and he can see the quidditch pitch in the distance where it stands out brilliantly against the beating snow. A clever illusion to cure the springtime blues; it hasn’t snowed in nearly three weeks. He has always loved winter.

Daphne looms over his shoulder, a strange grin upon her face; as for Sebastian, he feels utter mortification. Implications be damned – she must think him to be a wretched fiend of the highest perversions.

“I wasn’t expecting this, Sebastian.” He can feel her jaw pop against his shoulder. “Dare I ask why you’ve summoned a bedroom in myRoom?”

If ever there was a moment more opportune to be choked by his own tongue, now would be the time.

“I was just thinking about how tired I was,” he confesses. “How easily I could have fallen asleep on the lounger out there. I promise, I . . .”

He rubs his neck and prays that she cannot see the blush of his cheeks in the firelight, or the ring of perspiration at his hairline.

“It’s not that I don’t find you attractive –” slow down, “but I really am exhausted.”

He can feel Daphne her firm hands against his shoulder blades just as she pushes herself backwards. She is fidgeting with the beds of her fingernails, and she refuses to look at him.

“Well, go on then,” she says. “The Room knows what you need.”

Sebastian gazes around the bedroom again. There are a few paintings along the walls: an aged woman cradling a niffler, which bats about at the golden pendant draped about her neck; a landscape of a village, which can only be Feldcroft, turned golden with the kiss of autumn; and, to his chagrin, a shrunken version of the tapestry of Barnabas, although this one has taken the medium of a framed canvas. Sebastian detects the smell of tobacco and balsam from the fireplace, and the fragrance of vanilla and patchouli from the steadfast candle above the mantle.

He swears it is what his mother and his father smelled of – an unmerciful reminder of what has been stolen from the brevity of the life he has. He hardly remembers their faces. He won’t confess it.

As he approaches the bed, he notices a set of two teacups atop the closest nightstand. Steam rises from the cups, and a bowl of sugar with a silver spoon has been set down between them. Chamomile, he realizes, when he lifts the first cup to his face. He wasn’t meant to drink both.

Holding the second saucer out to the girl standing in the doorway, he speaks: “Will you join me?”

“In the bed?” she asks.

He nods.

“It wouldn’t be proper, Sebastian.”

“I’m not asking you to lie with me because I wish to spoil your virtue. I’m asking you to share the bed with me because I do not wish to sleep alone. You’ve asked me to stay tonight – this is where you’ll find me.”

Without another word, she steps forward to take the chamomile; too bashful to say yes, and too galvanized to say no. Sebastian has the bowl of sugar ready before she has the chance to ask for it. He knows how she takes it; two teaspoons and a rigorous stir. She drinks the sweetened hot tea, and the sentiment lingers in her brain. Her shoulders fall as she hurries to finish it. Satisfied, she sets the emptied saucer back down, and Sebastian’s is soon to follow.

“I feel overdressed,” Daphne admits. “Would you mind if I made myself a bit more comfortable?”

Her shoes have already been tossed across the floor.

“Not at all.”

She slips out of her pleated skirt and slips her loosened blouse from her arms. Her garments lay precisely where they fall. She unfastens her garters next and rolls her stockings down. With a few frustrated tugs, the metal clasps along the front of her corset come undone. She stands now only in her bloomers and her chemise.

“I haven’t a gown,” she says.

“Then sleep as you are,” Sebastian insists.

He drapes his sleeping robe over the foot of the iron bedframe. A few bruises in various stages of healing mar the bare skin of her arms and her legs – some of them a deep purple, one yellow, and others brown. Along her clavicle is the worst one; it looks to be the size of an outstretched hand, and it is the darkest of them all. Sebastian’s palm lingers above it.

“What happened here?” he asks.

She watches his hand.

“An Ashwinder,” she says.

“Did it hurt?”

What a stupid thing to ask.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill him?”

There’s that flash of green again.

“I did.”

His arm falls back to his side. Of course, the Ashwinder was dead. Otherwise, she’d not be here to speak of him. Sebastian ought to feel anger towards the one who inflicted such injury upon her, and yet he takes solace in knowing her capabilities. He knows better than to fear for her – one more trouble to keep him up at night.

He knows better, because he taught her how to be brave.

“It looks worse than it feels,” she insists, wincing, as she traces the outline of the nasty bruise. “It’s tender.”

Just when he believes she is sobering again, her knees buckle.

“Here, sit down,” Sebastian tells her as he pulls her towards the bed; he yanks back the quilt for her to slip beneath.

“I’m just a bit dizzy is all,” Daphne claims whilst settling against the pillow. “I think it’s the wine.”

“All the more reason for you to rest.”

He tries not to acknowledge the sudden warmth pooling in his belly as he slides in next to her and casts the blanket atop their bodies – hers considerably less clad. He has no right, he thinks, to see her in such a way. Satisfied on his back, Sebastian turns his head to look to the window just past Daphne. The conditions of the blizzard have shrouded the quidditch pitch now. In the next room, the windows portray an unclouded, starry night sky. The bedroom may as well exist in its own realm.

Daphne shifts beside him. Her head falls upon his chest, and her left arm drapes over his torso. Unprompted, but absolutely sure that it is the right move, Sebastian lifts the leg closest to her. She threads both of hers around the appendage and pulls him close. His tongue sticks to the roof of his dry mouth – his ears ring and crackle when he tries to swallow the nothingness at the back of his throat. The heat is almost unbearable now; perhaps he ought to clamber through the window and burrow himself in the snow just outside and hibernate away forever.

He'd much rather tuck his arm beneath her head and rest his hand on her bare shoulder. His other hand, he decides, feels better threaded with the one across his stomach. She squeezes his fingers and sighs.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against the linen of his nightshirt. “You smell nice.”

“Do I?”

“Mm-hmm. Like the forest.”

She closes her eyes now, willing herself to drift off. Sebastian will not follow – not until she has first, just as he promised to no one other than himself. Truly, though, he doesn’t mind the wait. He’d very much like to savor the feeling of her body so close, in this room that he can only describe as home. It is, as they say, where the heart is. And this heart in his arms stood by his side from the very beginning, even when he feared that he had surely lost her for good. Just as he lost his sister (the grave of his uncle can attest to that) and now Ominis is becoming nothing more than a scent on the breeze and an occasional salutation.

Perhaps he can chalk it up to the dramatism of youth and the perpetual exaggeration of a boy’s emotions, or perhaps it is the sincerity of his spirit – Sebastian is not sure which it is – but he can say with absolute certainty that a life without Daphne is simply no longer one that he has any interest in. As friends, as lovers, it matters not; so long as she is a part of him for the remainder of his days. And this bedroom will only feel like home so long as she shares it too.

She shudders. Her breathing grows heavy and her lips part. Her grasp of his hand slackens. She is asleep at last. Sebastian closes his eyes now, with something of a smile frozen upon his face.

If only such a moment could last forever.

part one of four

[lambourngb]

wip wednesday

from "you and i were almost nothing" - a soulmate story based on this prompt: Soulbonds Identity Porn - Soulmate Goes By A Different Name Than The One on Soulmate's Skin

To give Carole credit she at least waited until Goose had drifted away to the diner’s beat-up piano to begin her interrogation. “All right, something is up with you. Tell me everything.”

Short and to the point, Mav wasn’t sure if Carole even knew how to beat around the bush. He nudged the french fries closer to Bradley, it was what passed for a vegetable on a plate full of chicken nuggets and bought himself a few seconds of a reprieve. “Nothing is up with me, unless you’re talking about our chances for the Top Gun trophy.”

Carole gave him the look again, and then, as if in sync, Goose started up with the slow tune that Maverick instantly recognized from his faded memories of his childhood. They were working together against him, using their mysterious Soulmates connection apparently to outnumber him. Mav held firm, until Goose tipped his head back to look at them with a saucy wink, “These… arms… of … miiiinnne-”

“Carole.”

“Mav.”

“Carole, stop him-”

She held up her hands in a faux show of powerlessness, “I don’t have any control over him, Goosey is his own man. I mean, just look at that mustache and shirt, do you think I’m involved in that decision makin’ process?”  She smiled wider as Mav glared across the table at her. Like it wasn’t a planned ambush.

In the meantime, Goose kept singing to the nearly empty dinner with a gusto, “These arms of miiiiinnnnne, they are yearning, yearning for wannnnting you-” From the front counter, their waitress was smiling at the display and everyone knew, Goose needed no encouragement to continue his ridiculous act.

Traitors, both of them. Mav realized he should have never shared his childhood connection to Otis Redding with them, and caved. “Okay, fine, there’s this guy-”

“You found him!?” Carole cut him off with joy and excitement.

“No,” he answered firmly. For as maddening as Tom Kazansky was, he wasn’t Avnotom. “Nothing like that. He’s in our class and he just pisses me off.”  

“Keep eating, baby,” Carole said gently to Bradley, nudging him away from playing with the nuggets on his plate, and then fixed an eye on Mav, like a drill sergeant during inspection. “And you, keep talking, you’ve dealt with assholes before, what makes this guy different?”

“Nothing.” Maverick winced at the frankly blistering look Carole sent him, and amended it, “It’s a competition, of course, guys are going to be into it,” another look, even more narrowed, “Okay, I’m into it, I know I push things to the limit but the safety of my aircraft and crew comes first. I might have been a little too aggressive chasing down the CO, but I apologized to Goose about it. But this asshole, Kazansky, had the nerve to imply that I was in it for personal glory, that I only care about myself, that I don’t know what side I’m on out there-”

“And you’re mad because he’s wrong?”

“I’m mad because-” Mav broke off, unable to finish the sentence to its conclusion. He was mad because Kazansky had taken something he had learned in a vulnerable moment and had broadcast it to the whole class. He was mad because he had thought they had reached a new understanding after that volleyball game and he was apparently wrong. He was mad because he wasn’t mad at all, he was hurt instead- 

After leaving his aunt’s house as an adult, he had made a vow to never let someone hurt him again like that, and Kazansky had just brushed right past that wall. His words had cut deeper than Viper’s after that failed hop.

“I’m mad because he doesn’t seem to get it.”

[stromuprisahat]

Question: how do you justify what the darkling did to Genya, Alina and Nikolai? I don’t even mean this to sound rude, but I’m just genuinely curious how you just brush past that when you say the Darkling never did anything he’d have to apologize for 🙃

I'd start with stating that I don't like the word "justify". Google says its meaning is "to show or prove to be right or reasonable", which to me sounds like something that's expected whenever you're about to do something that might offend or hurt anyone. Like pre-made apology you owe people even though you might not have anything to apologize for in the end.

It's really about lack of better words. Czech dictionary translates "justify" as "odůvodnit" or "ospravedlnit", out of which the first one is strictly without that moral baggage. Closer to "give reason".

Aleksander's actions are often perceived out of context, as malicious crimes he committed for his own enjoyment, or whatever suits the antis best, while there are plenty of factors we shouldn't fail to consider.

Ravka- The country he loves, even though it doesn't love him. Rarely peaceful- according to Shadow and Bone, current wars last for over a century. Drained by both its neighbours, split in two for long enough it's pretty unbelievable the West is only planning to secede, poor, with ruling class, who doesn't care and has no reason to.

Grisha- From outright hated to respected, but in constant danger anywhere else, Aleksander manged to carve out a place for them under conditions. The Crown allows Grisha to live right on its backyard (to better keep an eye on), safely train and serve as soldiers or servants of noble houses, as long as they're useful, but... also has no need or intention to take it further. Grisha are glorified, envied serfs in fancy clothes. They're used by monarchy, despised and distrusted by masses, as proved by several little things throughout the first book and instant pogroms once the Fold moves (And don't forget there were no survivors- no true witnesses-, aside from few of the Darkling's people.).

His own lives' experience- Let's be honest- centuries of watching his people- however close- die, drawbacks, betrayals, constantly repeating history... gives one quite a perspective. It's a miracle the Darkling is merely numb and tired, yet somehow hardly unfeeling. Unlike the young heroes he possesses enough self-control not to start begging, crying, screaming... He's lashing out, when he has a reason to believe it won't bite him in the ass, he's petty and hurts others, punishing them for hurting him.

setting- Forget 21st century morality. If we're talking about 19th century-esque world, it wouldn't only have fancy nobles, dashing princes to play pirates privateers and masses of uneducated peasants. The reason people think the way they do is they got there somehow. Ravka still has servitude, for gods' sake! Lives don't matter the way people want them to today! It won't be only about some being rich and some poor, there should be huge differences depending on one's circumstances of birth, bloodlines, wrongs or slights generations old... I'm aware we're suppose to pretend Alina get a pass, because she's "Living Saint", but for example slapping a member of royalty should cost her. Bastard or not, you let it slide once, and next thing you know people are getting ideas and building guillotines.

Now to your question:

Genya is the easiest. She got punished for disobeying direct order, betraying the Darkling for a girl she hardly knew and who was too self-involved to truly act like the friend Genya for some reason suddenly feels her to be.

Aleksander let Genya close enough to be considerably honest around her, at least regarding his intentions with Lantsovs. Dangerous thing to do for a man in his position (and although I have my theories, this reply is no place for them). That's why he made it personal. She didn't only abandon their cause, she hurt him, so he took what she valued most about herself, fitting his revenge into her expectable punishment.

He could've had her whipped. To death even. Instead he chose more personal approach.

Alina's the messiest, because way too many feelings got involved and Aleksander's shit in handling those. His only lasting relationship is his abusive mother, others tend to die on him. Alina's a personification of a dream. Someone to keep him company for the rest of eternity. A companion he longed for for so long, he's not able to handle the bitter truth. I don't think he ever considered his "One and Only Equal" might not be interested in his goals and while he might rationally understand Alina's so much younger, he quickly loses his patience and decides to speed up her development because her young self is interfering with his general plans.

Now, while younger Aleksander might have been more passionate, he was never allowed the luxury of recklessness or even childhood, as a consequence of which he has no idea how to handle hormonal teenagers. Alina's worldview is incredibly narrow and she has several mental mechanisms to prevent her from changing that, while Aleksander's living in constant paranoia, possibility of fight or flight 24/7. They're incompatible the way they are- Alina unwilling to change, Aleksander too rigid and lacking the luxury of choice- yet in each other's way too much to merely split up. The Darkling needs the Sun Summoner as a tool and a symbol, and as long as he breathes, Alina won't have a chance to regain her beloved anonymity.

What he did to her?

The Collar was his hand forced. Unreliable deserter possessing the power he needed to ensure ceasefire.

What else is there that couldn't be explain by simple "They're on opposite sides of a conflict."?

The only other moment that comes to my mind is him burning down the orphanage, one of my favourites. The situation is thus:

The Darkling occupies the Throne (Yay!), but he lacks wide support, numbers and resources, therefore he's forced to rule by fear, which is no way to go, when he wants to build future, where Grisha are accepted. Who does have the love of masses, is an undeserving "Saint" and rogue prince, starving his own people, while being cheered on for it, because he's thwarting the Darkling at the same time. I'll ignore Nikolai for now. So, how do you catch a single person, who could be hiding anywhere, with help from anyone, while you can count on no one? You make them come to you. You make them show themselves under circumstances you control.

Alina already fled slaughter of others three times, one she even directly caused. She might pretend to be a do-gooder, but she truly cares only about herself and her otkazat'sya past. Threatening Malyen already proved to be fruitful, but that one's out of Aleksander's reach, so he tries the next best thing. Destroying her "home". There's also poetry in it- he lost his mother for Alina, it's only fair she'd lose hers. As a symbol of the past Alina's so stubbornly clinging to, there's even some chance it WILL really hurt her, which is certainly plus for his vengeful self.

Eventually it proves to be ruthless, simple and utterly brilliant. Alina falls for his threat and meets him in the Fold.

It's a beautiful example of sacrificing a few (The Grisha teachers probably stayed with the children for their sake, and residents of the orphanage were also just doing their jobs as far as we know.) to end civil war and bring the other side to heel. Ravka wasn't able to handle two-front war, opening third one was insanity and I'm genuinely surprised the country didn't fall (or that West didn't use it to finally free itself from East). With Alina's power under control the Darkling could've attempted "Peace or the Fold" again, perhaps even succeed this time.

And then we have Nikolai.

Second-born Lantsov thwarting his plans, proposing "his" Sun Summoner, loved by masses and army alike because unlike Aleksander, he's otkazat'sya. Goals? Same. Positions? Incomparable. Willingness to give everything? Yes for both.

In better world, they could've been allies. One easily accepted, the other highly experienced. But the story doesn't want that, so Nikolai is serious contender and an obstacle in Aleksander's way to "Fine, I'll do it myself.". He needs to be gone. Killing him would be easiest and most permanent, but Kolya fucked up, when he made it personal.

Tricking the Darkling, shooting him, proposing to his "not"gf, evacuating royal family AND Baghra, starving his forces once Darkles sits on the throne... taking away Nikolai's most valuable quality, while keeping him conscious enough to comprehend it is the way to go!

There's also a POV that says showing your essence down your rival's throat to irrecoverably change him might be seen as a romantic gesture or outright foreplay, but I happen to be a Fannibal, so I'm aware the majority of Grishaverse fans might find my ideas of romance a bit harder to digest (pun absolutely intended).

To sum up: Most of the Darkling's actions corresponds with his position of 19th century-esque war general and revolutionary attempting Coup to save his bankrupt country, while hated by masses and lacking resources. Plus a drop of clever, petty vindictiveness.

(And whole bucket of bad writing, because there are things that just DON'T MAKE SENSE- both regarding worldbuilding and characterisation.)

[bylerposting]

Max knows about Billy & Karen and that's what's in her letter to Mike: Season 5 Theory.

I've always wondered what the purpose of Mike being in this scene was, because it feels like such a specific choice. This scene is about Max experiencing the nosebleed symptoms. Mike is all the way in California having gay thoughts about his best friend. What's he doing here in Max's flashbacks? Why was it important that Mike saw Max getting this nosebleed?

From his perspective, Max's hair would be blocking his view from the blood, so mabye he didn't notice the nosebleed specifically. But he noticed something was wrong.

Check out these BTS pics. Look at how much went in to this scene.

All of those extras, the classroom location, outfits for everyone, makeup, props, just for a few shots of B-roll.

Note how Mike is blocked at the start of the shot, and the camera pans right to reveal, as well as racking focus on to him.

It could be just to show growth between the two characters. They both take math class together, and they sit next to each other. Mike and Max have been at odds with each other a lot, so its nice to see them a little closer.

It does keep Mike's from feeling too disconnected from the main Hawkins plot. But due to the nature of his story this season, his character was going to be little disconnected regardless. That's why I like to think there's more to it.

Remember that thing Karen/Billy had?

As lots of time has passed between seasons, a lot of fans have criticized that for it's characterization of Karen because, while it provided excellent subtext for what happened to Billy as he was flayed, it doesn't condemn Karen's involvement. Therefore it comes off as painfully tone-deaf toward the predatory nature surrounding that dynamic. If they weren't going to condemn Karen's involvement, then why characterize her this way in the first place?

At the same time, people have also noticed that season 4 seemed to slowly build something up with the Wheeler family. Namely, with Nancy's vision in S4E8 showing her Karen, Mike, and Holly presumably dead.

And I think the final piece could be hidden in Max's letter to Mike.

Season 2 Episode 8: Billy and Karen meet for the first time and are instantly infatuated with each other.

Outside of the meet-cute, Billy is looking for Max, and Karen knows where she is. Karen gives him the address and says "And when you see Mike, tell him to come home already, yeah?"

Both Mike and Max get tied to this from the start. Billy and Karen talk about Max and Mike as their responsibility, even though Billy is only 17.

As of up to season 4, neither Max nor Mike have any clue this even happened.

But I think Max could know.

Season 3 takes place 6 months after season 2. Billy and Karen met before the 1 month time jump at the end of S2E9, Add that up and from their first scene together up to their last scene together, Karen and Billy have known each other in-universe for 7 months.

Maybe sometime prior to S3, Max could've seen Billy and Karen together. Maybe she could've overheard how they were talking to each other, and and maybe just didn't know what to do. (I wouldn't blame her. She's 14. She shouldn't have to have a conversation like that.)

Mike's presence in this scene could therefore be to represent that secret. To hint at what she was hiding that got her the symptom.

As of Season 4's ending, Max is in a coma, and she instructed that her letters only be read if she died. Right now it's 50-50 on whether they'll actually be read in S5.

Mike finding out this truth would be really interesting. Finding out your mom cheated on your dad with Billy Hargrove makes a great catalyst for a TON of conflict. I think there's so much that it could lead to.

Argyle being cut in half in that shot with Mike and Karen; "your dominoes are gonna fall."

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: ptsd, violence, dehumanisation, kidnapping references, imprisonment references, trafficking references, implies sa references, blood and wounds, drowning/fear of drowning, death references, murder references, threats, spiders (a nightmare that involves a venomous one)

AO3 links

Chapter 53 - Nina

It was almost dawn by the time Nina reached the White Rose, and all she really wanted was a long bath to scrub this entire night off her. It seemed she was going to have to settle for sleeping first, however, and bathing later because the only bathroom in the place with an actual tub was occupied when she returned. There were two indoor bathrooms at the White Rose; the other had a shower that Nina wasn’t a fan of anyway, far less so because the building had no running water. She wouldn’t complain about sleeping, though, not a chance of that; as soon as she’d made contact with her settee she was drifting straight into slumber - and straight into unwelcome dreams. 

She was back on the ship, all those endless, terrible nights travelling from the Wandering Isle to Fjerda. Nina wasn’t even supposed to be there, not really, she was too young for such missions. But the Ravkan Second Army had been almost decimated by the Civil War; they needed soldiers, and, oh, how Nina had begged to be one of them. She’d travelled to the Wandering Isle with a small group, the only one she knew beyond in passing being Zoya Nazyelensky, in hopes of rescuing and recruiting more Grisha to join their cause. Nina had been alone when she stumbled headfirst into that Drüskelle camp, and out of any identifying uniform. She did not scream, she pleaded with them in Kaelish instead of Ravkan, not once did she cry out for help. She was terrified, yes, but she was more scared still to expose her team and their mission, of putting Zoya and all the rest of them in danger. She was bound captive on a boat headed to Fjerda, to the impenetrable fortress of the Ice Court where she knew she would be put on trial and then quickly afterwards put to death. Simply for existing. The boat had been horrendous, cages full of terrified men and women, beaten and bloodied beyond recognition, going days at a time without food or water, no way of washing and nowhere to relieve themselves, hands bound so tightly that Nina was left with horrible wounds on her wrists that she’d had to use her Grisha power to repair, and yet there was a strange, small part of her across the entire journey that had not wanted it to end. Because she knew that whatever lay on the other side of these weeks was going to be infinitely worse. 

They’d almost reached Fjerda when the storm hit, and Matthias accidentally saved Nina’s life. 

The dreamworld’s version of the ship was warped and changed before her eyes, but she knew instinctively to be in the same place. She was on the floor, her hands bound, the tall bars of an iron cage extending high above her head - impossibly high; elongated by the dream. There were no other captives here, so different from the cramped reality, but Nina was not alone. She was staring at a pair of boots, and before she’d even lifted her head she knew that it was Matthias who stood over her. He looked the same. He looked impossibly changed. 

“Nina Zenik,” his voice was cold. 

What did he intend to do? Apologise, demand apologies from her? Offer forgiveness, or pass sentence and carry it out? Did he intend to be her judge, jury, and executioner? She would never know. He moved as though to kneel before her and the scene melted in time with his step, changed its course to something new; the bars stood between them now, Nina was on her feet and even though he was left invisible by shadows she knew that Matthias was somewhere ahead of her. Was he the prisoner now, or her again? It was impossible to tell; each of them were surrounded by nothing but grey walls of stone, the bars stark and cold before their faces. 

She tried to tentatively call his name, but when she parted her lips a spider, almost as big as her own nose, crawled off her tongue and began to climb its way out of her mouth and up her face. Nina screamed, trying to brush the thing away as its thin, spindly legs found purchase in her flesh, and it was thrown by her hand straight through the bars in front of her. Breaths careened through her chest like runaway horses unmatched too soon from their carts as she stumbled backwards and tried to rebalance her footing. 

A hand stretched from the darkness and landed heavily on one of the bars, gripping it so tightly the metal might have warped beneath the fingers, and after a moment longer Matthias pulled himself forwards and into view. Nina gasped, rushing forward to him; their hands met between the iron, their fingers intertwined, their foreheads could almost touch. 

“Matthias…” she whispered, too many emotions to list imbued upon her tongue. 

“Nina,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across the skin of her hand almost rhythmically, soft and comforting, “Röedfetler,”

Little red bird.

“I’m here,” she nodded, pressing her thumb into his palm, “We’re… I’m here,”

She closed her eyes, tears that she both could and could not explain pouring onto her cheeks, an impossible weight collapsing into air inside her chest as though it had never existed in the first place. But then his grip was tightening, panic seized Nina as her eyes flew open and she saw the spider upon the bare skin of Matthias’ neck. It had bitten him; his flesh swelled in an instant, red and pulsating with hot anger. His grip had moved to her wrists now, tighter than she could stand, pinning her in place. She could imagine the bones snapping beneath his fingers with relative ease. 

“Matthias-”

The redness of the bite was spreading; his entire form was overcome by the furious fire. 

“What have you done?” he snarled, speaking Fjerdan, “What did you do to me?”

The swelling in his neck flared and his hold on her dropped away as he greyed into the hazy edges of the dream, keeling over and vanishing into nothingness. She screamed his name, scrabbled against the ground before the bars, tried to reach through them to find where surely he must be lying in the darkness, he had to be, he had to be, he had to be. Water began to rise from the floor, the room rocked and swayed. It was getting higher by the second, thrown this way and that by the rocking of what had transformed around her from a prison cell to the lower decks of a boat, threatening to rise above Nina’s neck. But she could not stop, could not move, could not stand; she continued to reach madly through the emptiness in front of her, where the bars had been was now empty but for the flood but still she could not find him. The pressure grew against her chest. The boat jolted; Nina was thrown across the space to careen into a wall and now the water was almost at her nose - when had it gotten so high. As she slipped beneath the surface, thrashing madly to try to move, try to swim, try to find a place that she could breathe, bonds began to weave themselves slowly around her wrists. No, no, no. Nina kicked her feet as best she could but now there was something tightening around her ankles as well. The boat jolted once more, the water sloshed, and Nina felt any distant dream of air, of Matthias, of breathing, to be a very childish fantasy. 

Matthias was gone. And Nina was drowning. 

Shipwreck.

She was thrown from the dream with a harsh crack, almost falling off her settee, a pounding in her head so loud it felt the walls were shaking. Wait, no… no, there was something banging here, in the world as well as inside Nina’s mind. She steadied herself, trying to shake her brain back into attention, and realised that someone was knocking on the door. 

“Nina?”

“I- yeah, come in!”

The door creaked slightly as Siobhan pushed it open, a long dressing gown draped over her and tied tightly at her waist, her red hair wet and straggling over one shoulder. She looked at Nina for a moment, a small furrow forming between her brows. 

“Are you okay?”

Nina tried to smile, pulling the scattered pieces of herself back into a shivering, temperamental whole that was sure to shatter in the next firm breeze that shook it as she stood to properly greet Siobhan. 

“I’m fine,” she managed, though by the look on the other girl’s face not very convincingly, “Thank you,” 

Siobhan nodded slowly, a little uncertain, a hand drifting up towards the damp locks of her hair. There was a small towel thrown over shoulder to keep the wet off her white, flighty gown and she began to fidget distractedly with its embroidered edge. Both the towel and the dressing gown were lightly imbued with a swirling pattern of roses along their edges. 

“Right,” she nodded, clearly not entirely believing her, “Well, I just came to let you know I was finished in the bathroom. You can go straight in, Petra brought in plenty of water; she said she’d start heating some more,”

Nina managed to smile and murmur her thanks, turning to the little wardrobe to find her own towels. She was only slightly surprised when she turned to see that Siobhan was still standing there; she was expecting her to be there in that she hadn’t heard he leave, but she wasn’t sure what she was waiting for. 

“Did you-?” she broke off, then tired again with: “I mean… that girl that they’re looking for, the one who broke her contract with the Willow Switch…”

Nina felt herself tense involuntarily, and hoped it hadn’t been noticeable. 

“It was her, wasn’t it, that you asked me about?”

“Asked you about?” Nina frowned. 

“A little before the arrest warrant came out,” Siobhan had now moved on to fidgeting with her sleeve, her neatly manicured fingers almost digging straight through the weave of the fabric, “you asked me if I knew of a girl at the Willow Switch and I’ve been thinking about it  and I’m sure… I’m sure you said Jeluna Kir-Mai,”

Nina opened her mouth, closed it again. Shit. What was she supposed to say now?

“You did, didn’t you?” Siobhan’s eyes scanned over her, studying her intently for every non-verbal response Nina was trying so hard to restrain, “I didn’t misremember? It was her?”

“Siobhan-”

Nina tried to step forwards and Siobhan took a frightened pace away from her. 

“Is she like the others?” she whispered, backing gradually towards the half-open door, “Like the Leopard? Amethyst?”

“No - well, no Siobhan, look - I can explain-”

“Oh Saints,” she’d found the door handle behind her, was trying to slowly manoeuvre her way into the hallway without taking her eyes off Nina, “Oh, Saints, Nina, it’s not true? Please say it’s not true. You didn’t… you didn’t…”

“No, Siobhan, I swear I didn’t do anything, I-”

“You knew,” she shook her head, still trying to find her way out of Nina’s room without turning, “You knew that she would… She didn’t run, did she? Did you tell them something? She… They… What did you do?”

Nina stepped forwards, arm raised in hopes of closing the door before Siobhan’s voice got any louder, and the girl released a strained yelp as she stumbled away from her. 

“Siobhan - I’m sorry - please, just listen-”

She turned and ran. 

In retrospect, chasing Siobhan through the White Rose into her own room and slamming the door shut behind her was probably not the best call, but in the moment Nina couldn’t think of anything else to do short of knocking her unconscious. 

Siobhan backed away into the farthest corner of the room, bumping up against her vanity, staring at Nina like a lost rabbit facing down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. She looked like she was very much regretting asking the question. 

“Nina, please-”

“You tell no-one this,” she hissed, which again in retrospect may not have been the most sensible thing to say, “You hear me? Not a single word,”

Siobhan nodded, over and over, so quickly it looked like her head was going to drop right off her shoulders. Nina watched her, walking slowly farther into the room as she ran her hand along the wall that ran alongside the corridor. She was looking for the peepholes. She knew there must be at least one; she needed to stopper it.

“Someone took her, okay? I had nothing to do with her first going missing, and I had nothing to do with Tara or Amethyst, alright? I promise you that. I don't know who it was, I don’t know what they did, but someone kidnapped Jeluna before that arrest warrant went out and they messed with her head. She doesn’t even remember anything. I found her in the Barrel a few days before the warrant went out, and I tried to keep her safe. I swear to you, I am just trying to keep her safe,”

“How… how did you know that she was gone? Before the warrant?”

Nina took a very slow breath. At least she was talking to her, at least she wasn’t running to find Feliks. She stood up a little straighter, no longer half collapsed against her little vanity, but her eyes were still wary. 

“You know I work for Brekker?”

Siobhan nodded. 

“After what happened to Tara - the Leopard - and Amethyst, I was worried. I asked him to keep tabs on things, and he told me that something was going on at the Willow Switch so I went to try and find out what was going on,” a slight stretch of the truth, but just barely, and a believable one, “One of the girls there, Kheja, told me that Jeluna was in danger,”

Nina had since been back to the Willow Switch twice, very briefly, with a note up her sleeve in search of Kheja, but she was yet to find her. Yet to pass on the very simple message, written on a curled up scrap of paper in mostly neat Shu characters: 

“I found her”

She needed Kheja to know that Jeluna was alive, that she was about as safe as Nina could get her, but after two unsuccessful visits had begun to feel concern sparking inside her for Kheja as well. She was just busy. She must have been. She’ll be back in the foyer eventually. 

But right now she had a more immediate problem at hand. Siobhan still looked nervous, and not entirely convinced. Would she go to Feliks, if she suspected Nina was involved with or maybe working for whoever orchestrated these kidnappings? Would she try to send word to the stadwatch? And in that case, had Nina royally fucked up by bringing Kaz and the Dregs into things? 

“And Dirtyhands just did you a favour?” she asked, incredulous, “Am I supposed to believe he’s keeping her safe somewhere as well?”

“I paid him,”

There was a brief pause. 

“I don’t not believe you…” Siobhan managed, her voice trailing and rising and drifting away like it was on a hike through a rocky mountain range, “You know you shouldn’t have gone to him, though? You shouldn’t get people like him messed up with girls like her. He won’t keep her unless he finds a use for her,”

Nina had nothing to say in response. Had those not been her exact concerns? Was that not the very reason she’d offered to add Jeluna’s debt onto her own? Kaz still hadn’t spoken to her about arranging that. 

“Do you think it was the same person? Who took Tara and Amethyst as well?”

“Yes,”

There were no two ways about that. Siobhan deserved the truth, anyway, or at least the closest approximation of it that Nina was able to give. 

“Is that why they’ve stopped? Because she ran?”

Nina hesitated. 

“I don’t know if they’ve stopped completely,” she said slowly, “and I don’t know how Jeluna got away. But it’s possible that they’re waiting until they hear about Jeluna, to find out if she’s told anyone what happened to her. I don’t… I don’t think that the threat’s over,”

Siobhan snorted a laugh, taking Nina by surprise, and flopped down onto her mattress as she said: 

“The threat’s never over, Nina. It just takes different forms,”

A moment passed as Nina tried to figure out what to say. Siobhan kicked off her slippers and pulled her feet up onto the bed, tucking them beneath her and picking up a throw pillow to clutch over her lap. 

“You’re not lying to me are you?”

Nina shook her head. 

“You swear it?”

“On my life. I have only tried to keep Jeluna safe,”

“Has… has Brekker told you about anything going on anywhere else?”

Nina swallowed. She stepped forwards and gestured questioningly towards the space next to Siobhan on the side of the mattress, who gave a casual wave of permission for Nina to sit down.

The room looked much like Nina’s, a square space with the same white walls, the same eaves, the same flowers on the table, but where the table was at the centre in Nina’s room Siobhan’s was pushed towards the near wall, displaying a tea tray surely to gaudy to actually be useable and only one slender white stool instead of proper chairs. At the centre of the room was the bed, its headboard pressed against the back wall, its white sheets arranged pristinely, usually with a rose-shaped throw cushion lying neatly in between the pillows but that was now sitting on Siobhan’s lap. The smell of the rose perfume was stronger here than in Nina’s room, and she noted the flowers studding the vanity and wardrobe. She also knew that, when in costume, Siobhan often wore the white roses in her hair. 

“There was a girl who went missing before Tara did,” she said, trying to keep her voice gentle, “who he told me about when I brought this up to him. I don’t know if it’s connected, but it might be. She vanished from one of the smaller houses, farther South, and was found dead not long after,” 

Siobhan nodded very slowly, not looking up to meet Nina’s eye. 

“I haven’t heard of anyone going missing since Jeluna,” she said, “When I asked you about her I only suspected something had happened, and was wondering if you might recognise her name. I was also having a shit day and I didn’t put a lot of thought into it, but-”

“Van Eck,” said Siobhan, as though she’d found sudden understanding. 

Nina frowned. That was exactly it. She’d had an awful time in court and then had Jesper walk her to and from the Geldstraat in wonderful timing for her to see just how much of a skiv Jan Van Eck was first hand. 

“I - sorry?”

“It was when you went to see Councilman Van Eck,” she said, “It put you in an awful mood; you had a go at Feliks,”

Nina nodded. 

“You know that put him in an awful mood?” Siobhan watched her for a moment, like she was trying to read something written in between Nina’s eyes in a tiny script, before she said, “I heard Van Eck asked you to go back,”

“Yeah, tonight…” Nina frowned, “I didn’t go,”

Siobhan started to say something that might have been “good” but then caught herself, and instead: 

“There’s rumours, you know? About the Councilmen,”

“Van Eck?”

Siobhan nodded. 

“And a few others; I heard the name Hoede, from someone who works for him,”

“What…?” Nina swallowed, “What are the rumours?”

“Well, maybe they’re just nonsense but…” Siobhan shrugged, “they’re saying there’s this drug,”