#and only time and replays will tell if I remember it more or less fondly than botw or if that's a metric that even matters

[gnosk]

Why is every take about TotK either "the best game I've ever played and beats BotW in every way" or "alarmingly mid and actively worse than BotW in all respects." Genuinely I have not seen a take on this game between these two extremes and it is kind of bizarre to me.

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2023 Day 8

Mermaids or Monsters

Today's entry is inspired by an underwater scene I watched recently, so, yes, I chose mermaids. With Toki's imagination track, I think mermaids makes more sense also.

Slight but not so slight Skwistok for this, however it's more than everything about Toki because I love him.

If you recognize the scene this is based on you get a gold star. ;)

Toki couldn’t remember when it had started. Only that he was sinking, deeper and deeper. At first, he had actually tried to swim back to the surface. But the lower he descended, the less likely it seemed that he would be able to free himself. Eventually, he had accepted his destiny and watched the murky waters grow only darker in shade, his body trapped in an infinite fall.

He used to be scared of the dark, of loneliness, of being cold. He couldn’t say he liked it now, however there was something almost welcoming about it. Something familiar. After all, wasn’t this how he had lived his entire life? Witnessing brief glimpses of light, but mostly being submerged, like he was right now. Maybe he had been running away from his nature this whole time. 

Maybe he belonged there and he had been a fool to pretend otherwise.

The flame inside him that wanted to fight back had almost entirely gone out. And it didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel frustrated about it anymore. He didn’t feel like crying about it anymore. 

Not like tears could be seen in the water anyway.

Toki closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end. He could feel it, his fingertips were freezing and his legs were starting to go numb on him. He could barely tell the difference from when his eyes were closed or open. It was all pitch black by now. 

With the spare time he had left, he tried remembering any happy memories he had from his life, any nostalgic-inducing moment that he could cling to until it all ended. Something he could look back on fondly and not feel like his existence had been a waste. 

Yet, in another play of destiny, he didn’t have recollection of anything worth even a smile. Because the light had always been on the next day. But there wasn’t going to be one anymore, so it was all dark. Like turning off the light switch in a room. Toki had persisted for things to get better tomorrow. He had always hoped. Where was he supposed to look at now that he couldn’t see anything?

He felt his face scrunge with frustration and cursed at himself for not having enough. He had done everything he could. Now it was time to let go. It was time to rest. 

He let out what seemed like an infinite sigh and he knew. It was close.

It was here. 

Suddenly, a ray of light pierced his eyelids. He opened his eyes and he blinked several times, in disbelief of what he saw.

A halo of light falling on him, growing in girth by the second, as if it were coming for him. And someone…was it a person? No, it had a fishtail…and a human’s body? A mermaid? 

The mermaid traveled with the light towards Toki, who could only watch in confusion as the silhouette turned more defined the closer it got. When he recognized the face, an involuntary bubble burst out of his mouth.

That wavy blond hair, sharp cheekbones and hypnotizing blue eyes…Skwisgaar.

Just the name sounded faraway in his mind. When was the last time he thought of it, let alone said it outloud? When was the last time he saw Skwisgaar besides his own replayed memories?

Skwisgaar stood still in front of him and his stare wasn’t disdainful for once, though it wasn’t a joyful one either. It was like he was observing. Like he was truly seeing him for the first time. 

And Toki…well, he was mesmerized. It’s like Skwisgaar had been born to be a merman. Yellow highlights in his otherwise all-blue gaze, golden mane sparkling like it was made of stars, his iridescent blue fishtail waving and maintaining him in perfect, majestic balance, skin glowing like a diamond. And his face…well it had always been beautiful, but for once Toki didn’t have to look away out of fear of being caught staring too hard.

Maybe Skwisgaar had responded to the call of Toki’s brain for a good memory and now he could die watching him. That wasn’t so bad, he thought with a smile. 

But then, Skwisgaar stretched his arm towards him, his hand opening. Confused, Toki looked at his own palm before slowly raising his eyes to meet Skwisgaar’s. 

Insistently, Skwisgaar extended his hand, his lips uttering something Toki couldn’t hear. Still not quite sure of what was going on, Toki offered his hand back.

Their fingers brushed and Toki was struck by a string of memories. 

During one of the practices after he joined the band, Skwisgaar smiled at him and reached to fix the position of Toki’s fingers. When Toki opened up about his childhood to him, the first time he got really hammered. That night Skwisgaar invited him to his room and played for him and only him for hours. Getting arrested together for vandalizing the wall of some politician’s mansion. Skwisgaar falling asleep against Toki’s shoulder while they were watching Sátántangó. When Toki beat him at checkers but Skwisgaar refused to accept it, demanding a rematch. 

Lastly, Skwisgaar bandaging his fingers after Toki suffered a minor accident in the kitchen. Nobody had ever done that for him before, not even his mom. He had brought Toki’s hand to his eye-level and asked him to move his fingers to check everything was alright. He could’ve sworn that Skwisgaar’s touch lingered on his palm before it went away and Toki almost immediately missed its warmth.

Awakened, Toki glanced at his surroundings and saw the others approaching, too. Nathan, Murderface and Pickles, also in merman form, joined Skwisgaar and extended their hands to Toki. They all smiled at him gently, urging him to join them. 

And he wanted to.

Abruptly, a burst of light came from below and he gazed in its direction. It was his own legs lighting up, sparkling, until Toki couldn’t tell them apart anymore because they were one big glowing thing. He wasn’t scared, though, he was enthralled by it.

Slowly, the light started fading out, revealing a light-blue fishtail in place of his legs. Toki gasped and looked at his friends with expectation. They nodded at him and his fishtail waved with the same excitement inside his chest.

They began swimming upwards and he followed them, towards the light. As they swam, the water began changing its colors in an infinite technicolor whirl. He smiled, feeling life flow through him just like the colors in the ocean.

He was home.

[abtheb]

What are some pieces you're particularly proud of?

This is a really great question and I wanted to give it a thoughtful answer so it took a few days.

I'm most proud of the art I made when I first started learning Blender a little over two years ago so I could do gamejams with friends.

Very early on, I remember thinking that I wanted to save and keep all my progress so I could look back on it one day -- so I saved more or less everything I've ever made, in chronological/numbered order, so it's easy to look back fondly and get a snapshot in time of what I was making and how goofy it was.

This is the first thing I made after fumbling with Blender's sculpting tools, and realizing I could make muscly-men-shaped things and also bird-shaped things.

I would try to keep sculpting things for a while and get super frustrated at my computer not being good enough to handle the files. Eventually this would nearly cause me to quit learning altogether, convinced that my computer was too underpowered -- not that I was working in absurdly high-poly without realizing it.

This attempted gimpsuit Bowser I tried making for a friend, for example:

75 million triangles!!!

400mb!!!!

Not really knowing any better, it took me a long time and a lot of trial and error doing gamejams and working with my smarter, more wizardly gamedev friends to start getting an understanding of poly counts and optimization. Eventually, with a lot of practice and models, I would get better at working in low-poly - a style I really like. By comparison, my last model was 33,116 triangles (7mb)

I can tell from looking at my pile of projects that something clicked after our third gamejam. I started having a better understanding of how Blender worked as software, and how 3D modeling worked conceptually. At some point, I started seeing misc art ideas on tumblr etc. and thinking "i think I know how to do that!", and some of the time I actually could (or at least, a bootleg quality version of it)

But the biggest turning point for me, and the closest I can get to answering the question about projects I am most proud of, were these two models.

I had started playing Dragon Quest 11 some time before I started learning art, got bored/burned out on it, and unknowingly quit right before the big mid-point events of the game. It wasnt until a year or so later that I picked it up again, and immediately saw it with the noobie "cube eyes" I'd been developing over the last few months.

I realized that the art style was beautiful yet simplistic enough that I could try and copy it, and was indeed able to make pretty decent versions myself (though unusably unoptimized it has to be said). It was also my first deep dive into Blender shaders, something which would take me another year or so to even scratch the surface of.

That moment not only empowered me a ton as an artist, but it also opened a whole new way for me to play and appreciate games that I had never experienced in my like 25+y of viddy gaming up to that point.

Honorable mention:

I went through a BOTW phase earlier in the summer when I replayed it looking for art to make. My eye crimes are buried deep in my #my art tag, but tldr I made a rito first, then zora, a goron... building up to the big man himself - whom I was afraid to try making because I was afraid I wouldn't do him justice.

Kass was easily the most complicated model I had ever made until that point - involving handpainting his colors and patterns, a complex rig for animating both the body and the accordion, and just a lot of decor and misc outfit accessories. I cut some corners from the original design, but I was still really happy with both the result, and myself for being able to have achieved it.

Thank you for the ask!!

[cryptidmullet]

renga + their families headcanons

- reki Was bad at cooking but then when he starts sharing food from his bento with langa he wants to start learning to make it so him and his mom cook together

- he’s better at cooking than baking bc baking is so precise and he prefers to just go at it rather than follow a strict recipe

- langa loves his food :)

- langa only knows how to make like. Tacos spaghetti omurice grilled cheese pancakes etc things like that until he’s in his like third year reki ropes him into helping make food and he finds that its kinda fun

- (but he mostly likes to see reki cook bc somehow he makes even That seem lively and fun and natural almost like he dances around the kitchen instead of awkwardly fumbling through the chaos like langa himself does)

- so after that langa starts joining reki and masae when they cook :)

- he reki and masae all take turns looking after the twins when the other two are cooking so if masae thinks the two of them are all good she’ll leave them to it but other times she’ll be walking langa through a recipe and reki will be sitting at the table drawing with chihiro and nanaka and other times when its masae and reki langa will stand in the doorway with chihiro on his hip and nanaka sitting on the counter messing with his hair

- reki absolutely loves seeing langa with his sisters bc he’s cute and awkward but he tries so hard because he adores the three of them and they all equally adore him (and yeah he gets better at interacting with them over time, they kinda come to feel like his own siblings at some point)

- anytime reki comes home alone the twins are like :C wheres langa-kun 

- koyomi likes to tell langa about the drama and gossip at school and he always nods along and listens carefully even tho he definitely does not remember “that girl hina who stuck gum in ichikas hair in elementary school”

- he actually does pick up on some of the names and stories and stuff tho and koyomi will be talking to reki about something that happened at school and langas like oh is that the same girl who spilled juice on that guy she liked and rekis like wtf

- i just like to think langa actually puts in a lotta effort to have good relationships with all of rekis family partially bc he knows how much family means to reki and also bc he only has his mom and its nice to have sibling dynamics and talk to rekis mom about baby reki stories

- even tho langa could give a rats ass about american football somehow the topic is brought up and he ends up teaching (with his limited knowledge) and playing it with reki and his sisters one day out in their front yard

- and really theyre just running around a lot and doing underhand tosses with a random wiffle ball they found and letting the twins “score” and acting upset that they lost to “those two great athletes” just to make them giggle

- masae gets a video of them all playing together and sends it to reki who saves it and watches it at night to replay the moment langa scoops up chihiro and runs across the yard with her held up in the air and setting her down all grandiose like for a touchdown

- rekis constantly having to yell at koyomi not to just barge into his room

- she comes in one day her finger already pointed accusingly at reki as he sighs in exasperation and peels away from where he was cuddled into langas side and shes like “you took the last blue popsicle.” and rekis like “whaaaat no that was langa” and koyomi rolls her eyes and says “langa doesnt even like the blue ones you jerk” and then jumps on his bed and lays all spread out so reki fusses and pushes her off with his foot and they end up squabbling for a while all while langa sits there watching fondly amused

- reki always closes the door when him and langa are in his room but every time his mom comes in for anything she hovers in the doorway for a second longer and then leaves it open Just a crack which makes reki sigh dramatically as he gets up to toe it shut again

- after they make up in e10 they both get more touchy and clingy and just generally are less worried about their affection being rejected so it kinda becomes normal for them to cuddle

- like they would before but it was always under the guise of falling asleep in bed together and then oh wow we woke up literally glued together what a coincidence? How does this keep happening?

- but now its a little more intentional and even tho neither of them really bring it up reki will lay down on his bed all sprawled out and be like? You gonna lay down man? And then pull him into his side and press his face into langas shoulder

- or when they’re sitting against the wall on the bed reki will sling a leg over langas and rest his head on his shoulder and wrap an arm around his back 

- and langas still not very good at initiating that kind of physical affection but he always reciprocates it and longs for it

- i think theres this moment one day when langas helping his mom cook dinner and he’s chopping onions and she’s stirring something over the stove and he stops for a second and says “hey mom” and she looks at him a little bit hopeful and a little bit nervous like she always does in situations like these and he asks “could i… could i have a hug?”

- and its the first time theyve hugged since oliver’s funeral (aside from a couple side hugs like on the day they moved into their apartment in japan) and nanako tears up a little bit and tries not to get snot all over him and they stay there embracing for a good long while until whatever she’s cooking on the stove starts to boil a little too loudly and they finally pull away and get back to what theyre doing

- and i like to think that was kinda a turning point for them and langa starts to lean on her a little more and she gets less nervous every time he takes a longer than normal breath 

- on the rare occasion reki will curl up on the couch while his mom is watching some rerun of an old show and he’ll lean up against her and she’ll run her fingers through his hair 

- and on even rarer nights she’ll make just the two of them tea or hot chocolate and they’ll sit together talking and catching up while the television runs in the background and its on one of those nights he tells her just how much langa means to him

- and masae tears up just the tiniest bit bc there’s something so beautiful about seeing that kind of unadulterated fondness and love for someone and she’s so happy her son has langa in his life and they end the night cleaning out their mugs together and hugging

- (masae’s hugs are warm, maybe even warmer than joe and reki’s combined) 

- and the next time langa stays the night masae kisses them both on the head to say goodnight and smiles at the way reki laughs and teases langa about turning red because “he’s officially been accepted as part of the family now!” once she’s left the room and closed the door

- and every once in a while she’ll come in on a weekend morning to inform them breakfasts ready but see them curled up together, rekis hand fisted in the front of langas shirt, face buried in his chest, and langas leg and arm thrown haphazardly across reki’s body and their faces both so relaxed and content and she’ll leave them be to sleep a little while longer

[edie-baby]

baby girls - chapter two | lando norris

Chapter Two: Perhaps

summary: What's the best way to tell the guy you like that you have a kid? Well, lying about it and making him think you're cheating isn't the best tactic, Mila's about to find that out the hard way.

word count: 1650

warnings: swearing, absentee father (the asshole ex has evolved)

last chapter

Dreaming of a perfect man while on a perfect vacation in the perfect scenery was, well, perfect. Until the dream ended, and Mila was forced back into reality by the wails of her daughter coming from the next room, the heartbreaking sound kicked Mila’s motherly instincts into high gear, her sleep-addled brain coming into a laser sharp focus within a split second.

“Hey baby girl, what’s going on?” Mila spoke, scooping Mahri into her arms with practiced ease. Mahri’s sobs quieted almost instantaneously, her tears still tracking down her face with a vengeance. Mila tried wiping the tears away, but they were replaced just as quickly.

“It’s okay, just breathe bubs. Whatever’s making you upset, we can fix. It’s all good.” Mila whispered, bouncing Mahri around the room as it had calmed her down when she was just a baby.

“I want Daddy.” Mahri cried, and Mila could have collapsed at the weight of the words the toddler had said. There was a large hole in both of their lives in the exact shape and size of Mahri’s father. Once high school sweethearts, now sworn enemies.

As much as Mila tried to block out all thoughts and feelings related to Mahri’s dad, she couldn’t blame the kid for missing a man Mila herself found missing sometimes. Matyas was Mila’s first love, her boyfriend since 8th grade, and her best friend since kindergarten. They had grown up side by side, acknowledging they had crushes on each other in their second year of high school, and having a baby together by the second last.

Matyas and Mila, contrary to most’s predictions, had stayed together through her pregnancy, and even for a while after Mahri was born. Matyas would bring all of Mila’s schoolwork home and help her work through assessments while she was pregnant, and once Mahri was born, they alternated taking days off school to babysit when members of their family couldn’t.

But something Mila had never admitted to others was that Matyas was an asshole, only kicking into higher gear once they had both finished school. Mila had an acceptance letter for university and a part time job lined up, whilst Matyas hadn’t even bothered looking, preferring to use the excuse of ‘I have a child’ to stop him from venturing into the adult world. Despite this, cooking, cleaning, and looking after the baby was Mila’s job, obviously because she was the woman, the mother.

When Mila finally decided to end her toxic relationship with her lifelong best friend, she was villainized for it. Her parents and friends blamed her for tearing her own family apart, whilst her older siblings were more than supportive, having accidentally witnessed Matyas’ less than desirable traits. Up until about six months ago, Matyas would visit regularly, taking Mahri for her swimming classes, and playing with her at the park, occasionally taking her for the day to save Mila some money on daycare.

However, much like any tale of a teenager, Matyas was single and lonely, and a barrier to being in a relationship was the fact that he had become a father at seventeen. It wasn’t exactly a big check mark next to his name, so when he had told Mila he needed to move on, find someone special, she didn’t anticipate that meant moving on from his daughter. Six months with no contact was the longest Mahri had ever gone without seeing her father, and it was the longest Mila had ever gone without seeing him. Mila didn’t have the heart to tell Mahri, who looked at Matyas as though he hung the stars, that her father wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Yet as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, Mahri’s cries for her dad became all the more heartbreaking.

“I know, baby girl. But he’s on holiday, remember? He’s having lots of fun in Limbo.” Mila lied, continuing to rock her daughter in her arms, heart feeling heavy as stone at the blatant lies she was forced to tell her daughter just because her ex-boyfriend was a coward.

“I want a new daddy.” Mahri whispered, giving up on keeping her head up, preferring to let it fall heavily onto her mum’s shoulder. Mila couldn’t help but chuckle silently, the unfiltered, mumbled by age, words that her daughter came out with sometimes were what kept Mila going. With a few more bounces, Mila was sure her daughter had fallen back into a deep slumber and moved to lay her back in the small bed, covered with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals.

Mahri’s words echoed in Mila’s head, and as she reached for her phone to send yet another unanswered text to Matyas, Lando’s face appeared on her screen, an incoming FaceTime call that was as daunting as it was exciting. Mila looked over her shoulder, listening for any movement from Mahri before she answered the call, setting her phone against the toaster on the kitchen counter as she began brewing some coffee. It was nearing five in the morning, and knowing she would be usually waking up in an hour and a half meant it was going to be a caffeine fueled day.

“Hey baby boy.” Mila spoke a moment after the call had connected, looking down at the phone to see Lando’s tired face, snuggled up in bed with a small smile on his face. His smile only growing when he heard the fond nickname fall from Mila’s lips.

“Hi love. Why are you making coffee? It’s so late.” Lando mumbled, squinting to get a better look at what Mila was doing in front of him. His eyes devoured her figure, a large tshirt covering the tops of her thighs, and from what he could see, or lack thereof, she wasn’t wearing pants.

“Actually, it’s early. It’s a bit past five at the moment.” Mila replied, giggling at the way Lando seemed entranced by the view of her bare skin, smiling fondly when he snapped out of the trance at the sound of her joy.

“What the fuck are you doing up so early?” Lando almost shrieked, the volume of it causing Mila to startle forward, pressing incessantly at the buttons on her phone to lower the sound, checking over her shoulder paranoid that the gorgeous Brit had woken her barely sleeping baby.

“Oh, sorry. Do you have someone over?” Lando mumbled, looking crestfallen as he recognised the anxious look on Mila’s face. He couldn’t have been so naive to think that a woman as gorgeous as her wouldn’t have company on a Friday night - Saturday morning for her - and it had been about four days since they had spoken, he should have known.

“Uh, kind of. But no, but yes. Fuck.” Mila cursed, trying to find the right way to tell Lando that, yes, indeed she was worried he had woken someone up, but no, it wasn’t the kind of someone he was thinking of. She watched as Lando gulped, his mind spiralling with images of Mila with someone else, and although he had seen it in Austria, it hurt to know that their week together hadn’t meant as much to her as it did him.

“That’s alright. I’ll, um, let you get back to that, I guess. I’m sorry I called.” Lando muttered, moving to end the call when Mila panicked, the thought of hurting the man she was falling in love with had overridden her fears of him freaking out over the fact that she came with a lot more baggage than initially thought.

“I’ll call you later, baby boy, I promise. I want to talk to you, now just isn’t really a good time. I’m sorry.” Mila’s voice was trembling, she could see Lando’s want to get out of the conversation and never speak to her again, and it was the very last thing she wanted.

“It’s fine, you have your own life. We’ll talk soon. Bye.” Lando finished, his voice curt and clipped, but Mila could very clearly see the hurt hidden beneath the thin veil. She felt a piece of her heart break at the sight, knowing she was not only lying to him, but also causing him pain whilst she did so made her question whether it was really worth it hiding the little ball of energy in the next room.

Before Mila could reply, the call cut out, and she was left staring at the photo of herself, Victoria, and the twitch quartet on her lockscreen, something she had changed to remind herself of the amazing week she spent with some new lifelong friends.

Mila unlocked her phone, desperate to get away from the look she and Lando gave each other, preferring to admire her home screen, a photo from hers and Mahri’s most recent adventure to the park, Mahri laughing her ass off at Mila, who was very scaredly looking at the flock of geese running toward them while she took the photo.

Of course she had to give birth to a sadist, and if she was honest, she’d take that over the obvious masochistic trait she had been born with. The conversation with Lando replayed in her mind a million times, part of her wondering why she couldn’t just own the fuck up and tell him she had a kid. It wasn’t like she was telling him she wanted kids with him, or that he already had a kid, fuck if he didn’t want to, she probably wouldn’t introduce him to Mahri for years.

Yes, Mahri was her number one priority, but she couldn’t live her entire life for her child. She was nineteen, a gorgeous woman, and she deserved to be loved. Perhaps she could live her life with her child, and perhaps with someone else too.

But after today? She wasn’t sure she’d get the chance to even try.

[novelist-becca]

Mama's here

Fandom: The Owl House

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Eda Clawthorne & Luz Noceda

Summary: Luz and Eda have a rough night after Lilith and Gwendolyn leave.

AO3

After Lilith and her mother left, things were…uneventful to say the least. Almost.

Eda was tired. Luz was tired. Everyone was tired. To put it simply, the events of that day were finally catching up.

True to her word, Eda flopped onto the couch immediately.

Luz had come back inside, noticed her, and approached cautiously. After...everything, the girl wasn’t sure if Eda wanted to talk. But Luz wanted to say something nonetheless. The guilt was practically gnawing at her chest. For the time being, she settled on sitting on the floor against the couch, next to Eda’s head.

“Eda?” Luz started. The witch turned her head to her in response, her eyes tired. It hurt all the more for Luz to look at her mentor like this. “I know you’re tired, but...can I say something?”

“Hm?” Eda hummed in response. Luz took this as a signal to continue.

“I’m sorry. About everything tonight.” Luz said.

“Kid, it's fine.”

“No, it's not. I shouldn't have gotten involved. I only wanted to help you, but- I think I made things worse by listening to your mom.” Luz explained. Eda was looking at her. That meant that she was at least listening. “I thought that if I helped her cure you, the rift between you and her would be mended.” Luz almost mentioned that it felt like fixing the rift between her and her own mother, but holds her tongue. This isn’t about her.

Eda sits up in her spot on the couch, facing Luz. “Luz, it’s- it’s okay.”

But Luz continued, needing to get this across to her mentor. “But I’m the one who set up the apple blood signs. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have fallen into Gwen’s traps, which almost got you killed! I swear, I tried to stop her, Eda. I had no idea she would do all that stuff! Heck, I-I had an elixir ready for you- I was ready to bail! But...it was the last second. You turned into the beast again, and it’s my fault.” She finished with a sigh. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve trusted your judgement. You have every right to be mad at me.”

Eda glanced to the side, choosing her words carefully. It was clear that what happened weighed heavily on the kid, as would anything else. Luz, the selfless soul she was, was only trying to help her.

“Luz, I'm not mad. It’s okay. I get it.” The witch says, touching Luz’s shoulder. “You had no idea my mom would hide the elixirs. You didn’t know she would get that extreme. If anything, I should’ve told you more about her sooner. I could already tell her ‘cures’ were bullshit anyway after a few years. It’s not on you.”

Luz looked at her with unsure eyes. “But I still played a part in what happened. You turned into the owl beast because I was too desperate to know a way back to the human realm. And...now I know that Gwen fell for a stupid scam because she was desperate to help her daughter.” Memories come back to Luz of people in the human world just like Gwen, except they were less willing to change when presented with facts.

Eda squeezed the girl’s shoulder, smiling softly. “Hey. Did you forget what happened tonight? Mom finally got it into her head that I don’t want a cure. She’s willing to give the elixirs a chance, and-” The witch’s smile faltered and she looked down as she remembered. “She’s going to make things right with Lily. I-I know it.”

Seeing the sadness in Eda’s eyes, Luz takes her mentor’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry about Lilith too, Eda. I can’t imagine how much it hurt for her to leave. She’s your sister, and she was only here for a few weeks.” Luz knows Eda and her sister were close, and despite everything that happened between them all, Luz has to admit she is starting to miss her too.

“And now she’s gone.” Added Eda, who squeezed the girl’s hand.

“Don't worry, I'm sure she misses you too. And King and I are still here for you, Eda.” Luz reminds her. “Remember?”

Eda smiles again. Why did the kid have to be so good? “I know, kid.” she wants to make sure to remember that and also return the favor moving forward. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being so sweet.” Eda says fondly with a yawn. She places a hand on Luz’s head, stroking her hair gently. “Honestly, what did I do to deserve you...?”

A light blush spread over Luz’s cheeks as she leaned into the touch. “Dunno, just got lucky I guess…”

About a minute passed before Luz was close to dozing off on her mentor’s lap. Seeing this, Eda finally decided it was time to settle in for the night. Titan knows both of them need it.

“Well-” Eda clicked her tongue, gently shaking the kid’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we both get to bed, dontcha think?”

Luz slowly stood up from her spot on the floor, rubbing her eyes. “You’re right…” she yawned.

Eda stood up as well, stretching out her back. Remind me to not fall asleep sitting up again.

“Sooo, if you need me, Luz, I’ll be in my nest-”

Suddenly, Luz had grabbed Eda’s arm. “A-Actually, umm…” The girl tried to choose the right words, because she didn’t know if she could sleep alone tonight, not after today. She couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Can...may I sleep with you in the nest tonight? I don’t wanna be alone.” Luz asks sheepishly, closing her eyes, not wanting to see Eda’s reaction. To her surprise, Eda has a small smile on her face.

“‘Course you can, kiddo.” Eda says, patting the kid’s shoulder in reassurance. She almost asks why, but a part of her feels that she already knows the answer, and that the kid would rather not say. Besides, the witch could use some company other than King tonight.

The girl sighs in relief, her body relaxing. “Thanks Eda.”

“Aight then, you go change, and uh, I’ll be up in my room.”

And if Eda noticed how Luz held her hand as they both went upstairs, she didn’t say.

~

By the time Luz had changed in her room, Eda was already lying down in her nest, still in her dress since she was too tired to get into her own pajamas. She was on the verge of falling asleep, until Luz had appeared in the doorway in her pajamas holding a large pillow and her sleeping bag. She looked unsure of herself until Eda sat up and nodded her head, gesturing for Luz to come in.

The kid eagerly walked over to the nest, already trying to scramble inside, albeit very clumsily. Eda snorted at the adorableness of it all, but reached out.

“Hey hey, slow down there, kid. Let me help you with that.” Eda tried, keeping her voice soft so she doesn't wake King.

Luz shook her head. “Nooo, I'm fine. I can do it. The walls of the nest aren't that high…” Her words were slurred. She obviously was already getting tired, the grip on her stuff weakening. But the witch wouldn't give up.

“Luz, really. You're tired and you're carrying a huge pillow plus a sleeping bag. You could easily trip.” Eda insisted, reaching a hand out. “And trust me, you don't wanna pass out on the floor.”

“I'm fiiiine.” Luz yawned.

The witch rolled her eyes at the stubbornness and took the pillow, placing it in the nest along with the sleeping bag, surprising Luz, but she didn't protest.

Said human girl was about to climb in when two bony hands grabbed her arms and yanked her up and inside with a surprised ‘oh!’

“C’mon kiddo, get in here.” Eda said, releasing her and allowing the kid to get comfortable while adjusting her position herself. Now they were both laying on their sides, facing each other.

“Hey…” Luz yawned again.

“Hey.” Eda whispered tiredly. Next to her, Luz was all tucked inside her sleeping bag, one hand hesitantly sticking out, as if reaching out to her. Eda didn’t know why, but she stuck her hand out, close enough to Luz’s.

The events of the day were, to say the least, exhausting. From Gwendolyn visiting, to the old woman making things worse, to Lilith getting more and more stressed by her presence leading to the curse affecting her, to both sisters transforming, to Lilith leaving after weeks of living there.

But as usual, it all worked out okay in the end.

“Well...sleep well, Eda.” Luz murmured, and within a minute, she was asleep.

“You too, kiddo.”

~

“AH!”

Eda bolted up in her nest, shaking and breathing heavily. She looked around frantically, making sure she was truly safe.

So it was one of those nights tonight.

Eda had that dream again. The one where things had gone...differently during the bridge duel. The witch suppressed a sob and hid her face in her hands as the horrible images replayed in her head.

Luz was thrown over the side of the bridge, like usual, except...Eda couldn’t catch her. Luz had, to her mentor’s horror, been impaled by the spikes, screaming out in pain as she bled out while Eda was helpless to watch the poor girl die while she herself had succumbed to the curse.

There was nothing she could do.

The witch took some deep breaths, trying to remind herself that it wasn’t real, that her kid - Luz was fine, she was safe, they were all safe and -

Next to her, Eda heard the sounds of rustling of fabric and soft crying. It was Luz. And she was tangled up inside her sleeping bag, tossing and turning. Her face was scrunched up in discomfort, and she seemed to be fighting something only she could see.

“Luz?” Eda called out softly, taking Luz’s shoulder and shaking it. The writhing girl had tears coming down her cheeks, and started kicking out. “Luz?!” she said, alarm creeping into her voice. “Hey, wake u-”

Suddenly, Luz stirred awake, eyes wide with fear. She tried to sit up, but was trapped by her zipped up sleep cocoon, making her begin to panic and breathe heavily. The girl didn’t know what was going on, but whatever was binding her down, she wanted out.

The sight of it made Eda’s heart crack. So she quickly unzipped the damn thing, freeing the panicking kid. She helped Luz into a comfortable sitting position, curling an arm around her shaking body.

“Luz, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You're safe. I’m here,” Eda says, pulling Luz close as the girl snuggled closer in return, burying her face in her chest. “Easy there.”

“I-” Luz choked out as she clung tight to the back of the witch’s dress. “I-I can’t- Mamí -”

Eda held her tighter and tried to ignore the feeling that came with what Luz just said. “Shh, shhh, mama’s here, you’re safe, kid,” She repeated, combing a hand through the girl’s hair over and over. “Jus-just breathe, okay? I got you.” She could feel her own throat tightening, and the tears began to form at the corner of her eyes. Whether she was comforting herself or Luz, she didn’t know. Luz needed her.

“I got you…”

As Eda cradled and rocked Luz in her arms, she felt the way her human shook with sobs, and it broke her heart. She knew what it was like to wake up scared and alone, and she;ll be damned if her kid went through the same. All she could do was hold Luz close and tight like her own child and try to help her.

At the same time, Eda was just glad Luz was alive. She wouldn’t forgive herself if anything had happened to her. The child -- her child at this point --, although scared and crying, was enough to reassure her that she was safe. That they were both safe.

Shit, kid, I wish I knew how to make this all go away.

“Eda…?” A small, scratchy voice squeaked.

Eda looks down at the girl, pulling away only a little bit, keeping her arms wrapped protectively around her. “Hey, kiddo.” she says softly. Luz looks back up at her with tired, glossy eyes. “You okay?” She asks, even though it is a stupid question. Of course she isn’t okay.

“Mmh.” Luz responds. “I don’t know…”

“That’s okay,” Eda says, adjusting Luz so that her head is resting on the witch’s shoulder.

A small smile forms on Luz’s face. “You’re alive.”

Eda nods. “That’s right.” So are you.

“I’m glad…” Luz murmurs. Then her eyes widen. “The dream - it was the bridge again, I-I was on the…a-and you were…” She squeezes her eyes shut and burrows close to the witch, going in for another hug. “I’m sorry.”

Eda’s breath hitches and she returns the embrace easily, because for Titan's sake, she needs one too.

“Oh, Luz, it’s okay…” Eda rests her cheek on top of Luz’s head, holding her tight once more as she tries to hold back tears. “I'm here.”

“I know it’s just a dream, but I was so scared. It could've been real.”

“I know, but it's over. We’re all okay, thanks to you.” Eda reassures, continuing to stroke her hair.

“Thank you…” Luz clings tighter. “'m sorry for waking you up.”

Eda pulls back to look her in the eyes. “Don't apologize, Luz. In fact…I had the same nightmare.”

“Really?” Luz gasps softly.

Eda nods. “Mm-hm. When I woke up, I really thought you were…” she stops there, not needing to elaborate further. “But I know you're still alive and well.”

Because I really don't know what I’d do if I lost you.

The witch cups Luz’s cheek, and Luz leans into the touch.

“I don't know what I'd do if I lost you.” Luz says, resting her head on the witch’s chest.

“You won't, you won't. I’m not going anywhere.” Eda promises.

After a while, Eda looked down to see Luz starting to drift off.

“You ready to try to go back to sleep, kiddo?” She asks. But Luz opens her eyes and shakes her head.

“I dunno, Eda…”

Eda grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Luz, draping the top part over her head. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here, and I won’t let ‘em get to you. Okay?”

As Luz was laid down in the nest, a warm feeling sprouted in her chest. The way Eda’s been treating her lately has been soft, kind, and… god, Eda was just being so good to her.

And it reminded her of her mother.

She didn’t know how to feel about that. But it was nice.

“You’re a lot like her, Eda.” Luz says to the witch.

“Who?”

“My mom. You take care of me...”

Eda looks away at that, not sure of what to say. She still wasn’t used to the idea of being a mother, especially after the fiasco that was her own mom’s visit, and yet taking care of Luz and King came naturally to her. She won’t admit it, but she likes the warm, fuzzy feeling it gives her.

“Well, I’m glad I get to take care of you,” She says simply. And it’s true.

Eda settles down next to Luz. “Now, let’s get some shut-eye, yeah?” She says, kissing Luz’s forehead.

Luz snuggles closer to Eda tucking her head under her chin, letting the older witch wrap an arm around her swaddled body.

“Good night, mamá…” Luz mutters.

The last thing she remembers before drifting off was a warm feeling of safety.

[aubreyprc]

happier

for @ssa-sparks , who asked for happier+hotchniss💕💘 feel free to send requests, ask/message💖💗💞💘💓

part four of my sour series

ao3

“Say you love her, baby,

Just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly,

When your hands are on her

I hope you're happy,

But don't be happier”

-

It hits her sometimes, how close she was to having everything before her life unravelled, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. Leaving her too broken to even attempt at rekindling something with him, too messed up to think he could ever truly feel the same for her as he did before. Before Ian, before Boston. Before he learnt of Lauren, and how she’d shared her body and a bed with a known terrorist for two years as part of a job.

She’d been cruel when she ended it, forcing words out of her mouth that she didn’t mean in order to keep him safe. She remembers the look on his face when she’d called them casual, can remember the words he spat right back at her as she left.

She remembers how forgiving he was when he sat at her hospital bed. Grabbing her hand gently while he whispered gentle words, placing a soft kiss on her lips as he promised her that he would do whatever it took to get her back the team. Back to him.

She can also remember just how different everything was when she returned, how absolutely nothing was the same between her and anyone on the team, but especially him.

She remembers the moment it ended, the moment he told her he wanted her, but they needed time. She should recover from everything that she’s been through and they’ll talk when it’s time. They’ll know when it’s time.

Yet that time never comes, the two of them moving further and further apart as months go by and soon they’re not even talking. She accepts with a heavy heart that it’s truly over when it’s obvious he’s started to see someone new.

It hits her again with force, like a harsh slap to the face (which, she thinks she would have preferred. It probably would have hurt less) how close she was to having everything when she hears the name Beth fall from his lips, talking in his office with Dave with a glass of whiskey. (something the three of them used to do, but she won’t dwell on it. She can’t. It hurts too much) Her plan was to just hand him her report and leave. Ignore the way his eyes would linger on her for a moment too long to be friendly, words he refuses to say on the tip of his tongue as he watches her walk away without a word. Absolutely nothing let to say between the two of them. They had something, something remarkable, something that a person only gets once and it was taken from underneath them because of her, and as she stands outside of his almost but not quite shut door, she freezes, the soft tone the other woman’s name being said in rendering her frozen, the wind completely knocked out of her.

It could have seen seconds, it could have been hours before she clears her throat, tapping three times softly on the door before opening it.

“The report,” she smiles, walking to his desk, setting it down gently with a fake smile while her broken heart hammers in her chest. “Night.” She smiles to the two men, nodding her head in farewell and she turns to leave.

“Can we talk, tomorrow?” He asks her and she closes her eyes, holding down the door handle as she takes a deep breath before turning, her fake smile back on her face.

“Sure,” she agrees, “is that all?”

He nods, sending her back a smile that doesn’t seem like his and she wonders then, if he can see right through hers. Nodding again, she leaves his office, taking deep breaths, holding back her tears as she grabs her coat and bag before swiftly existing the building.

She’s in the comfort of her own car when she lets them fall, can feel them rolling down her cheek as she speeds out of the parking garage, as though she can out run the heartache.

To Emily’s surprise he comes to her the next night, knocking on her apartment door at too much of a late hour for it to be anything professional and as she lets him in, watches as he looks around her new apartment she inhales a deep breath and prepares herself for whatever words he was about to speak. Maybe he’ll finally say the ones that have been on the tip of his tongue for the last three months, she thinks.

“I take it you heard?” He questions, looking at her for the first time since he walked in.

“About Beth? Yeah…” She tells him, sending him a sad smile.

“I was going to tell you first, before-” He stops, shaking his head. “You should have found out from me first hand and for that I’m sorry.” He tells her.

“It’s fine,” she smiles, “I’m glad you’re moving on. You’ve seemed happier these last few weeks.”

“Emily-” He starts to say, only to be stopped by her a moment later.

“Really, Aaron.” She smiles, “It’s okay, we ended and you moved on, it’s normal.”

“Yeah,” He says, “I just wanted to apologise, for not telling you first hand.” He smiles.

“No hard feelings,” she jokes, a small laugh escaping her throat. “Did you want to talk about anything else?”

He stays silent for a few moments, mulling over the words in his head as he ponders about saying them, ponders about opening up old wounds.

“No,” He says, deciding to draw a line on what could have been, choosing instead to try and work on gaining her back as his friend. His close friend. Maybe his best. “No that’s it.” He tells her with a smile.

She nods, leading the way to her front door, almost closing it as he steps out only to stop when he turns back to face her.

“You know you’ll always have me, right?” He questions shyly, as if he’s unsure, “No matter what…”

She stares at him, clearing her throat before speaking.

“I know.” She tells him softly, smiling as her eyes meet his properly since he walked out three months ago. “I know.”

“Good.” He nods, “Good night.”

“Goodnight.” She smiles, watching him walk off before closing her door, his words ringing in her ears like a siren.

Knowing about Beth and meeting, Beth, turn out to be two completely different feelings.

You can ignore the existence of someone you’ve never met, trick yourself into thinking that they’re no one, that’s it’s nothing.

You can’t ignore them however, once you’ve met them. Seen first hand the happiness written over their faces.

That’s something Emily learns while hungover, stood at the finish like of a triathlon, staring at Aaron’s smile as he hugs the other woman, the way his eyes almost shimmer as he looks at her…Beth. The happiness that radiates of him causes her stomach to turn and she has to look away while she does her best to ignore their laughs, turning to watch him, Beth and Jack walk away, her heart cracking in her chest as she watches him smile into their kiss, forcing herself to look away and follow JJ and Penelope to Reid’s car, throwing on a smile while spilling a lie about her head when they ask why she looks like she’s just seen a ghost.

The conversation with Regina sends her right back to where she started, hitting home more than she would have liked and she knows its obvious when Hotch lets her go back to the hotel, telling her she was done for the day and to take sometime to herself.

She’s no idea how much time had past, how long she’d been staring at the ceiling replaying how well her life was going before Ian had found her, how happy she was, maybe the happiest she’d ever been. She thinks about how he’d run a hand down her spine as they spoke in hushed whispers in his bed, confessions and laughs shared between the two in the late hours of the night, as though they were the only two people in the word. She thinks about how he’d cup her jaw gently before kissing her if she babbled on too much, leaving them both smiling into their kiss, pure happiness written on both their faces as they each tore further into the others heart, the feeling of forever lingering in the air as they wrapped themselves in each other.

She turns her head to the door at the gentle three taps and sits up, running a hand through her hair as she walks over, already knowing who it is before she even opens the door.

“Hey,” He says softly, passing her as she moves aside to allow him in. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” She tells him, “Just a tough case.”

“I know how hard it must have been, to listen to Regina.”

“It’s fine,” She tells him, “She was right. Mine is dead.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.” He tells her from experience and she looks down, wiping her tears just as quick as they fall but not quick enough, already feeling him talking steps towards her before stopping mere inches away, cupping her face gently as he had done so many times before, and wiping her tears.

“It’s going to be okay.” He tells her gently, her eyes meeting his and in that moment it’s easy to let themselves believe for a second it’s him and her again, that there’s no Beth, no Ian and no Boston, just them, a mere year ago, happy and on their way to love. 

His lips are almost on hers when she places to flat hands into his chest, pushing him away slowly as she drops her head.

“We can’t,” she whispers, “You’re with Beth.”

He steps back, “sorry, I should…I should go.” He mumbles, looking around the room as he clears his throat.

The words I want you die on his tongue as he forces himself to walk out of the room, flashes of their nights together playing on a loop in his brain as he screws his eyes shut.

They don’t talk about what almost happened.

She continues to watch his happiness increase as months go by, and carries on pretending that she’s fine, that she isn’t dying inside with every passing moment she spends watching him smile at another woman, watching him be happy with someone else.

He finds her for the second time at JJ’s wedding, a few hours after their previous conversation. He comes up to the side of her, smiling as she laughs at one of his lame jokes and as she turns to face him, he stills, a look on her face one he hasn’t seen before.

“Do you love her?” She asks softly, and he nods.

“I do.” He tells her and she rolls her lips, nodding her head as she forces herself not to cry. “But not like I loved you.” He continues and her eyes snap up to his, examining his features for a tell he’s lying and failing, her heart beating rapidly against her rib cage. She stares a few more moments, before gently placing a hand on the side of his face, catching his lips with her own in a delicate kiss, looping her hands to rest on the back of his neck when his arms softly wrap around her waist and pull her into him.

Their foreheads rests together as they separate and she smiles sadly.

“I miss you already.” He whispers, pulling her into a hug.

“Be happy.” She whispers back, before pulling from his arms and smiling at him, the words but please don’t be happier with her than you were with me renaming unsaid, taken instead by, “You should go, I’m sure Jack will be looking for you.”

He nods, turning to face the garden, before looking back at her.

“Go,” She laughs sadly, “I’ll be right out.”

He squeezes her hand before walking off and once he’s out of view, she takes a deep breath and turns, catching a glimpse of him, Jack and Beth as they laugh together in a corner, and even though it kills her, she has to be happy for him, she loves him, and with a heavy exhale she knows that’s all she wants, for him to be happy, even if it is without her.

She flies to London and he lets her go. He lets her go without ever telling her that it’s her he was ever truly happy with. Starting to find far too many similarities within Emily and Beth. He sees Emily’s face sometimes when he kisses Beth, imagines it’s her spine he’s tracing his fingers across and thinks of her when he envisions forever.

He ends it with Beth six months later, a tumble of apologies falling from his mouth as she walks out with a sad smile and a nod.

“You should call her.” Beth says as she stands in the doorway, “Emily.” She tells him as he frowns, his eyes widen and then she’s gone.

He calls her two weeks later and three weeks after that, is standing in front of her door, drenched head to toe as he waits for her to answer.

The smile she gives him when she opens the door makes the terrible weather and the awful traffic worth it and when her lips crash into his, he realises he’s never needed anyone but her to be happy.

fin

[winterscaptain]

focused.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: thanks to kira for helping me through the last dregs of this!! you’re amazing!! As promised, here’s lo-fi/mayhem in our ajf world. as (usually) usual, no context required to enjoy, but it’s pretty fun over here!

words: 6.4k warnings: language, canon-typical injury/violence, everyone’s mad and everyone’s worried!

summary: “knowing when to fight is just as important as knowing how.” terry goodkind, faith of the fallen. au!may 2008

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? updated: february 1st, 2021

“Don’t get comfortable. There will be time to debrief on the plane.” Hotch’s eyes are trained on the monitor, where grainy security footage plays and replays an exceedingly casual murder in an underground subway station. 

Reid, entering behind you, squints at the monitor. “Where are we headed?”

“New York.”

Rossi advances on the monitor. “Five shootings in two weeks. It’s about time we got the call.” 

You watch as Hotch replays the tape again. “Why the delay?”

Aaron doesn’t answer you, but rather addresses Derek. “I want to take Garcia with us. Hopefully they’ll give us access to their surveillance systems.”

He’s distracted, almost absent-minded. It’s odd. 

“What do we know?” You try again with another question, and Emily dips her chin - she had the same one. 

Hotch pauses the video, turning toward the rest of you - loosely circled around the table. “All the killings are mid-day. Single gunshot to the head with a .22.”

“Any witnesses?” As always, JJ looks for somewhere to go as soon as wheels are down. 

She really doesn’t get paid enough. 

There’s something odd in her voice and temperament this morning, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Now that you’re really awake and looking around, everyone's a little jumpy this morning. It doesn't help that the two most grounded people on the team are the most absent-minded of you all. 

“No.” 

Spencer pipes up. “.22-caliber pistol’s only 152 decibels. New York streets and subways are routinely well over a hundred.”

“So,” you ask, “could it be such that possible witnesses don’t even clock it before the unsub’s already on their way?”

Spencer nods. 

Derek shifts beside you. “They sound like mob hits.” 

Aaron dips his chin, but says, “Except none of them have ties to organized crime.”

The rest of the facts and questions fly past you - no connection between victims, no communication or contact, surveillance footage that shows next to nothing, an establishment that the unsub is bold and well-trained. 

Seems completely random. 

Spencer voices your next thought. “Son of Sam all over again.”

The grim look on Aaron’s face tells you all you need to know. 

+++

Derek, Penelope, and Emily shoot the shit as they get on the plane, but you notice JJ staring forlornly out the window. You resolve to discover what that’s about as soon as possible. Having her down was odd…

But she has been acting strange lately, not just today. 

You sit beside Hotch, across from Reid as Rossi flips through photos of the victims. 

Spencer makes astute observations about the continued pattern of, well, no pattern at all, while Hotch provides some remarks here and there. 

One of them catches your attention. “It’s a joint FBI-NYPD taskforce?” 

Yeah, because those always go over so well. 

“Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She’s running point on the case and called me directly.” He calls out to JJ, who then informs the pilot you’re all ready to get wheels up. “Kate’s starting to butt heads with the local detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes.” 

There’s something in his voice you can’t place. History, maybe? 

“Joyner, I know her,” Derek says. “She’s a Brit, right?” 

Hotch shrugs. “Well, dual citizenship. Her father’s British, her mother’s American. She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau.”

You look over at him. 

That’s a ridiculous amount of knowledge for someone who doesn’t work in the same state, Aaron. 

“I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass.” It’s a test. The defiant tip of Derek’s chin tells you as much. 

Hotch takes the bait. “I didn’t think so.”

You can’t help it. “You know her?”

“We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard.”

You look at Emily, who shrugs. 

“And she’s good?” You wouldn’t call Dave’s tone skeptical, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was another test. He’s a lot subtler than Morgan. 

Hotch looks back at Dave. “I think we’re lucky to have her.” 

+++

You all step out of the elevator, and you stay closest to JJ. Her absent-mindedness had yet to leave her, and as the person closest to her age, you were doing your best to support her with your presence alone. 

JJ leans toward you as you approach the center of the office. “Is it just me or does she look -”

“- exactly like Haley?” You finish JJ’s thought. “Yeah.”

There’s a little smile you can see on Aaron’s face, just touching his profile. Agent Joyner has one too, and it makes you feel...something. 

Whatever it is, it isn’t comfortable. 

“Kate.”

“Aaron. How’ve you been?”

You take another glance at JJ. She seems to have the same thought as you. 

First name basis? How close are they?

“Well, thank you. This is my team.” He introduces you all one by one, and you attempt to plaster a polite smile on your face, just like everyone else. Derek’s the only one who doesn’t make an effort, and you tap the side of his shoe with your foot. 

Penelope gets settled right away, and the NYPD detectives approach shortly after that. Of course, they start with a snide remark at Spencer. Your hackles rise, and you take a little huff of a breath. 

Calm down. 

Kate introduces Detectives Brustin and Cooper. Dave gets right to the point, doing his best to establish baseline rapport. 

It doesn’t work. 

You don’t notice that you’ve crept closer to Aaron throughout the proceedings, now standing just off his shoulder, next to Emily, until Kate leans into him. “Can I have a word with you in private?”

The crumpling of your brow is quick, and you hope nobody noticed. Emily’s head, whirling around to look at Derek, is far less subtle. 

“Sure.”

Emily tracks back to JJ, who looks confused. In a hushed and suggestive tone, she tells her, “They...liaised when she was at Scotland Yard.”

You hide your laugh in your shoulder, covering your movement with an attempt to adjust your backpack. 

Derek steps up behind you. “Let me get that for you, kiddo.” 

You look up at him, hard-pressed to keep your mirth to yourself. A little smile plays at the edge of his lips as well. He turns you around when he’s done pretending to be helpful, holding you in the little huddle that develops between the rest of you and the NYPD detectives. 

Derek’s eyes keep flickering to Kate’s office, where she and Hotch chat informally and perhaps even fondly, to an extent. Heat rises in your cheeks. 

Get over yourself. 

+++

You attempt to ignore the sheer amount of time Aaron spends looking over Kate’s shoulder behind her desk. Tearing your eyes from her office window, you return to your task. 

The whiteboard marker in your hand is seeing lots of use as you follow Spencer’s instructions, tracing lines between key points, making notes, etc. Cooper’s banter with Emily puts a little smile on your face. 

“Anti-geographical profiling? Now you wonder why we’re so skeptical?” Cooper’s voice is full of play, but there’s a very real concern behind it. 

Emily laughs, but then explains, “This unsub’s organized. He strikes at the same time of day, he knows where the cameras are placed. That means he’s doing his own surveillance.”

You offer your two cents in support of Spencer, who outlines the difference between need-motivated killers and organized killers. Cooper looks a little impressed by the time you add, “So, essentially, we need to look everywhere this unsub isn’t to find where he lives. He has a comfort zone, and we just have to find it.” 

“What are we finding?” Hotch and Kate roll out of her office, and he settles beside you, peering at the map.

You look over your shoulder at him. “He’s organized, so we’ve redirected to an anti-geographical profile.” 

“Keep looking.” He turns on his heel and walks out the door, Kate trailing behind him with a confidence that tightens your jaw. 

Maybe Derek was right. Maybe she is a pain in the ass. 

+++

You keep your eyes up as Rossi and Hotch inspect the body on the busy New York street. Your mind wanders to a lecture at the academy, the voice of the late Jennifer Shepard echoing through your head. 

“Always watch the watchers.” 

But then again, she’d always backed it up with another story about “the man with all the rules” to undermine the rules in question. The stories did more than make you laugh - they helped you remember. 

“See anything?” Hotch looks up, not at you, but you know you have his attention. 

You shake your head, your eyes still on the crowd. “Nothing obvious.” 

He hums, and tunes back in as Derek says, “From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they’re gonna get is the back of his head.”

“Let’s not be too quick to decide what we do or don’t have.” Kate meets Derek’s eyes and stares him down. You bristle, but Hotch turns just the smallest bit toward you, reminding you to behave. 

The detective makes another snide remark as Kate brushes past the rest of you. 

Derek turns toward Hotch, and you step back, giving them the illusion of privacy. “You mind telling me why I’m catching attitude from her?”

Because you’re better at your job? Because you don’t have a chip on your shoulder the size of the Atlantic? Because you probably haven’t maybe slept with our unit chief, maybe?

“FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn’t bring this case home, she’s gonna be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her.” 

“You’re kidding me.” 

Aaron squints a little, but his words are deeply genuine. “Why should you be surprised? You’re good at your job. People notice that.” 

He’s right. 

“What happened to the Bureau patting itself on the back from stealing her away from Scotland Yard?” 

Hotch shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know. Politics here are different. And you can see she doesn’t pull punches.” He walks away, and Derek looks over his shoulder at you. 

With a little smile, you say, “He’s right, you know.” 

“You’re a terrible ass-kisser, kid.” 

Nevertheless, he taps your shoulder with his knuckle and you both make your way to Rossi, examining a tarot card. 

+++

“We’ve got more than one unsub.” Hotch’s tone is more than defeated, and you peer further over his shoulder, your fingers pressing lightly into the back of his arm for balance. 

Rossi circles the desk. “So, we have more than one unsub. What does that tell us?”

“Most teams stick together,” Spencer says. “Ng and Lake. The Krays. Bittaker and Norris. They don’t usually kill separately.” 

Derek is next, offering, “Could be some kind of gang initiation.” 

Emily and JJ volley about gang operations and local task forces for a moment before Kate asks. “Do you think we have enough for a working profile?”

You startle a little. She’s closer than you thought, on the other side of Hotch. You lean around him, the soft wool of his suit sleeve still under your fingers. “Broad strokes, maybe. Nothing specific, yet.”

Hotch makes a few assignments, but you’re focused on Derek. As you suspected, he has an idea. “I think we should get out on the streets.”

Also unsurprising, Kate has an immediate rebuttal. “I brought you here to create a profile.” 

“Which we can give in the morning, and they can share it with the afternoon shift.” 

She huffs. “We’ve allocated every extra man we have.” You don’t miss the warning glance Hotch shoots Derek or the way Derek ignores it. “This is New York City. It’s not like adding a few more people is gonna blanket the city.” 

“I understand it’s a long shot. But these guys, they hit at mid-day. We could target ingress and egress to particular neighborhoods. Position us near express stops - 14th, 42nd, 59th -”

“Morgan. It’s not your call.” Hotch’s rebuke is harsh, surprising. 

You inhale sharply and tuck your lip between your teeth, retracting your hand. 

This is gonna be a long case. 

+++

Thankfully, you’re all headed back to the hotel in fairly short order. Hotch has all but ordered Kate to bed, and you try not to let your thoughts stray too far in response. 

Spencer’s eyes wander up, and you follow them. “JJ -” 

Will?

You’d only met him once but like him well enough. He was polite, pleasant, and even funny. Seeing as you hadn’t heard much about him in the last few months, you assumed JJ had broken it off. 

Guess not. 

She turns. “Will.” 

“Hey,” he says, “took a shot and flew to D.C. but it didn’t work. I figured I’d train up to New York - only a few more hours.” 

Hotch looks a little surprised, which probably means you do too. He extends his hand. “Detective.” 

Will takes it. “I’m sorry for showing up like this. I know you’re working. But, um…” He drops his voice. “I can’t stand you being on this case and me not being here - not with what’s going on.” 

You look at JJ, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then Hotch, who looks a little confused. Aaron’s the first one to speak, and you’re more than a little touched by the concern in his voice as he addresses JJ and JJ alone. “Is there a problem?”

Will dips his head, and you know he’s disappointed. 

What the hell is going on? 

She turns toward the team. With a little laugh, she says, “I’m pregnant.”

Hotch freezes, and you step close to him as Emily congratulates her. Will extends his hand and Hotch shakes it again. “I’ve asked JJ to marry me.” 

JJ whirls around, and there’s a warning in her voice. “Will.”

“We’re, ah, working out some kinks.” 

“We’ll, um” Aaron says, coming back to himself, “give you both some privacy.” He nods and steps away. You follow close behind him, but you fall back as JJ hops after him. 

“Hotch -”

There’s something in his voice you’ve never heard before when he replies. “JJ, you could have told me.” He almost sounds...hurt? Your brow crumples, and you try to stay out of his eye line as they chat. 

Pin that for later...

“I know.” 

“I understand if you need to take some time.” 

“No, I want to be here.” She’s firm in her conviction, and you can’t say you’d be any different if you were in any similar situation - injury, illness, otherwise. 

“Okay. Seven AM.” 

She nods and turns back to Will while Hotch continues toward the elevators. The rest of the team passes ahead of you, leaping into the open lift. Aaron hangs back and you follow his lead, letting the doors close. 

“Are you okay?” 

He sighs. “Yeah. Just unexpected.” 

Taking a little leap, you step close to him in a show of camaraderie. He’d never let on, but he needs contact sometimes. You might even go so far as to say the poor man is touch-starved. 

He wraps his arm around you, and you bite back a pleased smile, feeling more than a little chuffed. You examine his profile. “What’s on your mind?”

His shrug says many things. His sigh says more. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”

+++

“We’re not having that discussion, right now.” Hotch’s cutoff is flat, and it shoots irritation through you.

Your brow furrows, and you sputter for a second before turning on him. “What’s with you? That’s like the sixth time you’ve shut me down today.” 

Hotch opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Kate’s voice chirps from behind you. 

“Are all your younger agents this insubordinate, Aaron, or is it limited to this one?”

You grit your teeth, and blatantly ignore the apology blossoming in Hotch’s eyes as you say, “Excuse me, sir.” You turn your head, not quite looking at Kate. “Agent Joyner.” You brush past Hotch, almost shoulder-checking him, and leave the room. The door shuts loudly behind you. 

Derek looks up, and you wave him off as he rises to follow. 

Throwing the stairway door open, you fly down two flights of stairs before sitting heavily upon the landing. You throw your blazer off, the heat under the fabric only fueling your anger. 

Your hands cover your face and you manage three deep breaths before tears press in at your eyes. Molten humiliation courses through you, your face hot and hands shaking. 

It’s not fair to expect Kate to understand the rapport you have with Hotch, why you can push him inexplicably further than the rest of your team. It’s not fair, but you still feel betrayed by Hotch’s accommodation of her insecurity and Kate’s own ridiculousness. 

The lack of sleep doesn’t help.

A few relevant thoughts regarding the profile float through your head and you pin them for later. 

The door opens two floors above, and you hear Aaron’s familiar footsteps hesitate before they slowly descend to your level. You keep your face pressed into your hands as he sits beside you, resting his arms on his knees. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you today.”

You sniff, but don’t answer. He waits for you, a few minutes passing in silence, but you don’t have anything to say. 

“I’ve done my best to make Kate feel supported, but I -” he huffs, and you know he’s working hard to properly articulate his feelings. You appreciate it. “I’ve failed both you and Morgan in the process. I’ve explained the situation to him, but I didn’t speak to you before I…” He trails off. “For that, I’m sorry.” 

You drop your hands from your face, wiping at the evidence of your anger. “Just...remember who’s on your team, would you?”

“I do.” 

“Then -” You throw your arms up and huff at him, his response inspiring a new wave of irritation in your chest. “Then why the fuck are you riding my ass about this shit today? You haven’t taken a single one of my ideas, and all but one has been really good.” 

He sighs. “I know. I also know that you can take it. I trust you to be resilient in difficult political situations such as this one. I don’t have that same trust in Kate right now.” He pauses and you watch his left thumb worry a track back and forth over the knuckle of his middle finger. Your eyes wander to the barely-noticeable tan line where his wedding ring used to sit. With a start, you realize you didn’t notice its absence and you don’t know when he took it off. When he speaks again, your eyes snap back to your feet. “Your ability to step away instead of rightfully lashing out at Kate speaks to your excellence and professionalism in your role, and shows me my faith is not misplaced.” 

You look at him, finding his brown eyes soft and apologetic. “Thanks.” 

He grabs your blazer off the ground and stands. He straightens his suit jacket, offering you a hand. You take it and rise, using the back of your other hand to rid yourself entirely of tears. 

With gentle hands, he slips your blazer over your shoulders, fixing the collar and brushing debris off the back. You let him fuss, knowing all the while his concern is another apology. 

“It’s far too organized to be just organized crime, by the way,” you inform him casually, as if remarking on the weather. 

He looks almost startled. “What?”

You tug on his arm and take the stairs two at a time back up to Kate’s floor. “Look.” He follows you as you burst back through both sets of doors into the conference room, stepping in front of Kate for access to the map. “We have more than one unsub. They’ve attacked different neighborhoods across Manhattan - all different demographic and socio-economic backgrounds. They’re trying to send a message, and each attack is a play to build their audience. If anything, our presence tells them that it’s working.” 

A look of realization crosses Hotch’s face, and he presses a hand to your shoulder, his fingertips squeezing just a little before he lets go. “Well done.” He turns to Kate. “We’re ready to update the working profile.” 

You keep your eyes trained on Aaron, but Kate’s clenched jaw doesn’t escape your notice. 

+++

“Focused? From where I’m standing, your focus is on her.” 

It’s finally come to a head. Derek has absolutely lost it, rightfully so, in the middle of the federal building, while Hotch tries to keep the peace, and Kate looks appropriately chastised. 

You reach for Derek’s elbow with gentle fingers, but he shakes you off. 

“Take a walk. Now.” Aaron’s tone is nothing to trifle with, and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Fuck. 

“Derek. C’mon.” You yank once on his sleeve and lead him out the doors. He’s pissed, almost vibrating with energy. 

You look over your shoulder exactly once to check on Aaron, who leans heavily over a desk. When he looks up, you turn your head before he can meet your gaze. 

Yes, it’s a punishment. Yes, he knows it. He'll get your attention once he’s earned it again. 

Derek cools off a little once you get outside, and he leads the way to the hotel bar. You’re sure you'd be better off returning to your post upstairs, but he needs you more than anyone else right now. 

You also don’t trust yourself to be in the same room as Aaron - the likelihood of losing your usually-endless patience with him is dangerously high. At this rate, you’d get yourself a first-class ticket to Suspension City - at worst ending with your removal from the unit. 

There was no way on this green earth that you’d end up off the unit of Hotch had any say, but your exhausted brain was only giving you the worst-case scenario at the moment. 

He sits heavily on a barstool and orders a Stella. You don’t comment on his choice to drink while on the clock. You take a water, and wait for him to speak. He doesn’t touch his beer. 

“Thanks for coming with me.” 

“Of course.” 

“You should go back.” 

Looking up, you see Rossi walking through the doors. “Alright, but you’re not getting out of anything.” By the time you’ve finished, Dave is at Derek’s other side, getting comfortable. You press a hand to Derek’s shoulder, leaving them alone. 

You take a few deep breaths before returning to the proper floor. Kate is in her office with Hotch over her shoulder. 

He looks up when you walk in. How’s Morgan?

“He’ll be back.” 

+++

You reach Emily with Derek and JJ, and she looks flustered. 

“Are you okay?” Derek takes stock of Emily, but you figure out there’s nothing to know about Cooper. 

Emily walks through the moments before and during the shooting, growing increasingly intense. You watch her as Derek digs and digs - finding the right questions for the answers she wants to share. 

“Wait,” you ask. “You think he deliberately shot someone where he could be caught?”

“What if he did?” Her eyes are wild, angry. “What if they chose this spot because we were here?”

“What are you thinking?” Derek leans forward, searching her face for answers.

She enumerates her points. “He had no ID on him. He waited until we caught up to him. He was strangely calm- it’s almost like suicide by cop.”

“Why?” You hear yourself ask. “Why would he do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to make us think everything was finished.” 

You look at Derek. He looks back at you. 

“We need to walk back through this profile.”

Just then, Aaron and Kate dip under the police tape and make a beeline for Rossi and Reid. Dave looks grim and you can’t hear what they’re saying, but you’re sure they’ve come to the same conclusion as you. 

Terrorism. 

+++

“So much for theory.” Dave uncrosses his arms and the room leaps into action. 

Kate grabs her blazer and looks at Aaron. “We need to hit the ground running.” 

“I'm gonna head to the hospital,” Emily says, already headed for the door. “I'll check on Cooper and brief detective Brustin.” 

“Good.” Aaron makes the rest of the assignments. “Dave, will you go talk to the commissioner?” He assigns you and Derek to Homeland Security for a briefing, and you grab your things. You will be Derek’s shadow for the duration, and you’re more than happy you’re with him. 

So why does something feel...wrong?

You look at Aaron, and his brow is furrowed. He meets your eyes. What’s wrong?

I don’t know. 

His mouth presses into a thin line. This first, then that. 

You nod and he starts talking again. “Kate and I will go talk to the mayor and we'll meet back here as soon as possible.”

“One advantage that we have right now is that they don't know we know they're watching.”

For once, you agree with Kate. It’s about damn time. 

+++

You get into the car with Derek and head toward the DHS field office. 

“I’m proud of you, kid. You’ve done well.” 

Smiling a little, you thank him. “Though I do think we’ve pushed Hotch to the absolute limit this week, between the two of us.” 

He rolls his eyes, speeding down the shockingly barren New York streets. “If one of us isn’t, who is?”

“Rossi.” 

You both freeze as an explosion goes off. You don’t know where it is, but Derek turns around with a spectacular screech of tires. 

“Derek...What -”

“We’re going back. That’s not good. Let’s go.” He guns the engine, and you’re on your way back to the federal building with sirens blaring. 

His phone rings and he checks the caller ID as he answers. “Yeah. I'm still here.” He looks at you. “We’re still here.” 

“Yes, you are. Thank God.”

Garcia. 

“I'm almost back at the federal building. What the hell's going on?” 

“Alright, we're going over the closed-circuit footage right now.” You can hear her faintly through the phone, and he puts her on speaker. 

“Who else have you checked on?”

“You're the first. Rossi and Reid called me.”

“All right. Keep me on the line while you check on everyone else.” 

Emily picks up next. “Is everyone ok?”

Garcia tells her she’s got the both of you on the line, and she’s already spoken to Rossi and Reid. 

Your body is almost completely bowed toward Derek, twisted in the passenger seat. “Emily, where are you?” 

“I'm following detective Brustin to one of the NYPD’s Critical Incident Command Posts.”

“One of them?” Garcia’s confusion is only a little frantic, and you more than sympathize with her tangent. Anything is a better thought than the one you’re all sharing at this very moment. 

Derek explains the decentralization of the CICP’s following 9/11 - too many eggs in one basket. 

Garcia cuts him off, getting back on track. “Has anyone talked to JJ?”

Emily answers her. “She was headed back to the hotel.” 

“In an SUV? 

“I think so. Stay with me a minute. I'll dial her mobile.” 

JJ’s voicemail rings through Derek’s phone, and your heart sinks. “This is Agent Jareau, Communications Director for the FBI’s Behavioral--” It cuts off.

You lean over the center console. “What was that? What happened?”

Garcia’s voice is flustered when she answers, “It went dead mid-message.”

“Try her again. She's probably back at--” You lose Emily. 

You lost all of them in the middle of a sentence, and all the blood drains out of your face. Derek drops his phone into one of the cupholders and reaches out. You grab his hand, holding it in both of yours. 

This is a nightmare. 

Derek keeps driving, and you find a police barricade on your way back to the federal building. Derek throws the car into park and you both leap out of the car, flashing your badges at anyone who will look. You find the man in charge, but he tells you to get back to the federal building. 

Hot anger flies through you. 

Who does he think he is? 

You stick close to Derek, but startle when you hear Hotch cry out. Pressing along the barricade, you call across the block. ��Aaron! Aaron! We’re here!” 

You get leave to go, and you and Derek sprint toward Aaron and Kate. He’s covered in blood, both his and Kate’s and you get on one side of him while Derek crouches on the other side of Kate. Your hands flutter over him for a moment, one of them landing on the nape of his neck. The softness of his hair is the same as it’s always been, and it grounds you. 

“Aaron -” 

He’s not looking at you. “Morgan, we've got to get her out of here.” 

Derek throws his arm out of the side, outlining the situation. “They're not letting any ambulances down here ‘til they clear the scene.” He turns to the young man hovering behind Aaron. “Kid, you gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go. Go!”

Hotch nods at him. “Go, Sam.”

“Good luck.” The kid sprints off, and Derek draws Hotch’s focus again. 

“Talk to me. Can we carry her?” He leans further over Kate, into Aaron’s eye line. “Hotch, can we carry her?”

“No, I tried. Morgan, she's gonna bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We gotta do something.” The ache in his voice is horrible. You reach out, brushing some hair off Kate’s forehead. She’s cold to the touch, and you press your hand to the side of her face, willing your warmth into her. 

“C’mon Kate.” You whisper to yourself. She’s still not your favorite person, but Aaron’s agony as he literally holds her body together tears your heart in two.

Derek’s phone rings, and it’s Penelope. “Garcia, I got Hotch. But listen to me. You gotta get somebody down here right away, you hear me? Right now. What? You're absolutely sure?” Derek looks up, finding the kid standing by the shelled remains of the car. “Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber.” 

“Go.” Aaron’s voice is defeated, and you hesitate as your body coils to chase after Derek. Aaron looks at you. “Please. Stay.” 

You nod, and tuck in close to him, keeping one hand on his arm and another on Kate’s cheek. An ambulance pulls up, and you’re more than relieved. 

Hotch briefs the paramedic. “She's got an arterial bleed in her back and I'm doing my best to hold it closed. 

“You ok?”

Isn’t that the question of the hour. 

“I just want to get her out of here.”

That’s not a fucking answer, Aaron. 

You let it go, for now. He’s a mess, but he’s alive and he’s conscious. That’s what’s important right now. You tune back in. 

“You were calling for help and I couldn't listen anymore. My partner was too afraid to come in here with me.” 

Aaron leans into Kate, and your heart pulls again. “Kate, we're gonna get you out of here. We're on our way out of here.”

You help as much as you can, following instructions and making sure Kate’s stable. 

+++

When you’re all finished, you get into the passenger seat of the ambulance. Hotch is on autopilot and he shouldn’t be driving, but you’re ready to take over at a moment’s notice. 

When you’re stopped at the emergency room entrance, you flash your credentials as Hotch explains the situation as clearly as he can. The Secret Service agent reluctantly waves you through. Kate’s crashing in the back, and Aaron’s agitation flies through the roof. 

It’s a blur, but you finally end up in the hospital, shadowing Aaron. He collapses, and you cry out for help, holding his hands as he hits the ground. 

Everything's happening so fast. 

When will it end?

+++

“Kiddo, where’s Hotch?” Derek comes flying through the doors of the ER, and you throw yourself into him. 

“He’s fine. Massive trauma to his right ear and a shrapnel wound. Kate’s in surgery.” 

There’s a commotion from behind the open door, and you both rush in when you hear Hotch’s voice.

You get in between Hotch and the attending, doing your best to calm him down. “Aaron, Hotch. Calm down. Slow down. You’re really hurt.” 

“Where’s Kate?” 

You press your hands into his wrists, and he twists his arms, surprising you by gripping your forearms. “She’s in surgery. Your go-bag is on its way. Nothing’s happened since the first blast.” 

He looks somewhat placated but looks over at Derek. “Sam?”

“He’s dead.” 

Hotch releases you. “Morgan, the profile's wrong. Call JJ.” 

+++

“Are you ok?” Emily takes full stock of him, and isn’t happy with what she finds. 

“Yeah. I just want to understand why I'm still alive.” You help him with his vest, minding his shoulder. You’re not sure what’s wrong with it, but he’s favoring one over the other. He looks at you, and there are thanks in his brown eyes. You offer him a quick, soft smile but continue with your task, gently tightening the vest around his tender ribs, smoothing over the velcro with even pressure. 

You’re listening as they go along, talking signatures and bomb-making and all manner of horrific precedent. You pass two pieces of fresh cotton to Hotch, who immediately replaces the bloodied cotton in his right ear. He shakes his head with two deep blinks.

His ears are ringing something stupid right now, I bet. 

I wish I could do more. 

Just be here. Do your job. That’s what you can do. 

All at once, you figure out that the ambulance is the bomb. You spot Hotch as he moves (way too fast) down the hallway. 

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

+++

The bastard slit his throat. 

Fuck. 

The look on Aaron’s face is nothing short of disgust, and you’re sure yours matches. 

+++

You’re waiting for him when he walks out of the operating room. His eyes are hollow and they seem to look through you rather than at you. 

“Hotch - Aaron - I’m so sorry.” 

You didn’t particularly like Kate, but you know how much he cared for her. His pain often feels like yours - even more frequently, you can't parse his from yours. While you didn’t expect to mourn her, you find that weight in your belly anyway. Your eyes mist up against your will, your breath hitching in your throat. 

He doesn’t say anything, and your voice is almost desperate when you ask, “What can I do?”

Brown eyes flicker around the room. He looks more like a caged animal in this moment than in any other you’ve ever seen. You approach him slowly, and you’re not sure if he heard you. There’s still blood on his neck from his ear, and you’re terrified he’s lost his hearing for good. 

“Aaron?”

He finally acknowledges you when you’re close enough to him to take his hand. You catch him as he wilts, pressing a hand to the back of his head as he tucks his head into your neck. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Aaron.” 

He mumbles something into your shoulder, and you lean back, holding him up with your hands on his biceps. 

“What?”

“Call Haley. Tell her, please. They got along really well. She’d want to know.” 

You nod and guide him to a chair. He sits heavily, tilting his head against the wall. Pulling your phone from your belt, you ask, “Do you want me to stay here?”

He nods, his eyes closed. 

You dial the familiar number and hold the phone to your ear, settling down on his left so he can hear. 

Haley answers the phone, a question at the end of your name. 

“Yeah, Haley, it’s me. Hi.” 

“Hi. Is everything okay?”

You look at Aaron, who’s still and quiet beside you. “Not really.” 

“I heard about the bombing in New York, the murders...Is everyone alright?”

“We’re alright. Aaron’s fine - some mild injuries but nothing serious.” 

“Okay?” You hear the unspoken question. Then why are you calling?

“I was told you’d - um.” You take a deep breath, and it catches. Aaron flips his hand palm-up on his knee, and you take it. “I was told you were close with Kate Joyner, from the New York field office. She used to be at Scotland Yard?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Her voice falters. “Wait. Oh, God…”

“Haley I’m so sorry.” You swallow some tears. “I’m so sorry, but she was killed in the bombing.” 

You hear a shaky breath on the other side of the line. “Oh.” There’s a pause, and you suspect she has more to say. You’re right. “Aaron told you to call, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” 

She sighs. “Can I talk to him?”

You look over and he nods, releasing your hand and holding it out for the phone. “Yeah, he’s right here.” She says something else, and you put the phone back to your ear. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I just wanted to thank you. Thank you for telling me.” 

You nod to yourself. “Of course. Here’s Aaron.” 

He takes the phone from you. An exhausted, “Hi,” leaves him. 

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

A little smile pulls at his lips. “I’m alright. How’re you?”

Her bright laugh echoes faintly through the phone, but there’s a solemn edge to it. “You’re asking me how I am?”

His eyebrows rise, his eyes still closed. “Isn’t that polite?”

You can almost see her suppressed smile. “It is. I’m fine. Jessica and I just finished dinner and put Jack down for the night.” 

“How’s Jack?”

You tune out, the exhaustion taking over. Aaron pats the seat on his other side and you shuffle around, tucking yourself under his open arm. Leaning against his shoulder, you close your eyes, letting the voices of two divorced people who love each other very much lull you into something that feels a little like sleep. 

+++

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[cloudyskywars]

Back to December is about Anakin and Obi-Wan and here’s 2,000 words why

So there I was, listening to Back to December, you know, as one does. And then I nearly started crying because this is without a doubt an Anakin and Obi-Wan song. I roped my friend @renegadeontherunn into doing a full song analysis with me. The whole analysis is based from Anakin singing this to Obi-Wan immediately after the events of Return of the Jedi. So everyone’s a Force Ghost, and feelings ensue. Enjoy the angst! 

The analysis will be below the cut, because as I said, it’s approximately 2,000 words. 

I'm so glad you made time to see me/ How's life? Tell me, how's your family?/ I haven't seen them in a while - Obi-Wan’s family was the Jedi. And Anakin has spent the past twenty five years hunting down the Jedi, eliminating them one by one. And now that he’s one with the Force, he’s gotta be wondering, “Are the other Jedi here too?” because he may not have realized it, but they were his family as well. I’m just imagining Anakin asking Obi-Wan where everyone else is, and Obi-Wan having to tell him that not everyone stayed with the Force the way that he and Yoda did.  

Your guard is up and I know why- Obi-Wan’s guard probably wasn’t up, but Anakin would expect it to be. He rightfully feels guilty, and probably expects Obi-Wan to hate him and not trust him anymore. 

Because the last time you saw me/ Is still burned in the back of your mind - on Mustafar, Anakin literally burning, the image no doubt haunting Obi-Wan ever since. In Obi-Wan’s 20 years on Tatooine, how many times do you think he replayed that memory in his mind? You were my brother Anakin, I loved you/I hate you. (grouped with previous two lines)

So this is me swallowin' my pride- Anakin as a Force Ghost, standing in front of Obi-Wan. He’s asking, begging for forgiveness, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Anakin was always prideful for a Jedi, and this is him humbling himself and asking for Obi-Wan’s forgiveness (for so many things; Order 66, turning to the dark side, killing the Jedi, killing him)

Standin' in front of you sayin' I'm sorry for that night - the night Anakin fell to the Dark Side, their fight on Mustafar, and also probably the last 20+ years of him as a Sith and causing so much death and destruction. He’s sorry for so much, but especially that night when everything went wrong. 

And I go back to December all the time - he revisits that battle in his mind constantly, still hating Obi-Wan as Vader, but feeling deep (deep deep) down, an enormous sense of regret and guilt, and especially at the end when he reunites with Obi-Wan

It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you - We see in Episode 2 that Anakin feels that Obi-Wan is constantly holding him back, preventing him from reaching his full potential (feelings no doubt put there by Palpatine) Once he turns to the Dark Side, he believes he is stronger than ever, (“I’m stronger than the Emperor, I can overthrow him.”)and so most likely feels “free” from Obi-Wan and the duty of being a Jedi. But we know that he learned, eventually, that all the Dark Side brings is loneliness and despair. “It is in this blazing moment that you finally understand the trap of the dark side, the final cruelty of the Sith — because now yourself is all you will ever have.” 

Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine - Anakin spent much of his time as Obi-Wan’s Padawan feeling less than and like he was never good enough for Obi-Wan. Then, when he finally became a Knight, he still felt held back by the Jedi. In reality, he had a substantial support system there waiting for him, ready to help him, that he never realized existed. He had the tools and the people he needed to be a successful Jedi and to have a happy life and to stay in the Light, but he didn’t use them. And now he’s wishing he had. That he’d recognized his and Obi-Wan’s friendship when he’d had it.

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it alright- Can you IMAGINE the regret Anakin is feeling right now? After 25 years of being the terror of the galaxy, Darth Vader, he has finally returned from the dark and knows all the bad things he’s done, and now recognizes that they were bad things. He slaughtered younglings, helped strike down the remaining Jedi, even took away the clones’ free will. Just imagining the pure regret that he must be feeling at this moment. 

These days, I haven't been sleepin' - REVENGE OF THE SITH ANYONE??? We know for a fact due to the Matthew Stover novelization of ROTS that Anakin was getting almost no sleep during the events of the movie. I believe when he Fell he had been without sleep for,,,, at least three days? (I think it was five but I’m not sure)  Anakin please take a nap. Nightmares!!! But also, as Vader, I’m pretty sure Anakin doesn’t actually need to sleep or at least doesn’t need a ton of it, so again he’s literally not sleeping and only sustaining himself on the Dark Side.

Stayin' up playin' back myself leavin'- Do you think- do you ever think that during his time as Darth Vader, he would constantly replay those days when everything fell apart in his head? I’m specifically thinking about the scene where he marches on the Jedi Temple. Granted, in that scene, he isn’t leaving, per say. He’s returning home, but it is no longer the place he calls home. I imagine that scene playing on repeat in his mind, because that’s the moment that he passed the point of no return. Before that, yes, he had already screwed up, big time. But he hadn’t crossed the line yet, I don't think. 

Then I think about summer, all the beautiful times- At this moment I’m sure he’s feeling loads and loads of guilt and regret, as discussed above. But I can’t help but think he’s also thinking about the good times he shared with Obi-Wan and Padme. (Padme specifically because of summer and Naboo for that one good week, where they fell in love and it was beautiful.) And although his relationship with Obi-Wan was strained near the end (and eventually fell apart) there were good times, times that they both cherished. During his time as Darth Vader, he probably looked back on those memories with hate. But now that he’s Anakin again, he is probably remembering those times fondly.

I watched you laughin' from the passenger's side- [insert gif of Obi-Wan smiling in the speeder] 

And realized I loved you in the fall - in the Fall. This could be for either Anakin or Obi-Wan. There must’ve been a part of Anakin that knew he was lying when he shouted “I hate you!” and felt happy when Obi-Wan said he loved him. And for Obi-Wan, he knew he loved Anakin, he had just never said it to him before. The only time he did was when Anakin had Fallen and was dying. And he probably regretted that with every piece of himself during his exile on Tatooine. 

And then the cold came, the dark days - There are so many instances where Palpatine is connected with the cold, with darkness, with everything that is the opposite of the Jedi and, more importantly, of Obi-Wan. The darkness referred to here is the Dark Side, when it became overwhelming and Anakin fell.

When fear crept into my mind - Anakin’s already-intense fears of never being good enough or Obi-Wan not reciprocating Anakin’s love were intensified and heightened by Palpatine’s influence and him planting even more fear and doubt into Anakin’s head. This fear and this doubt in his friendship with Obi-Wan was ultimately one of the reasons he fell. Yes, it was his fear for Padme’s life that really did him in. Anakin was known as “The Hero With No Fear.” But there at the end, he became a person full of fear, and as we know: “Fear is the path to the dark side … fear leads to anger … anger leads to hate … hate leads to suffering.”

You gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye -Again, this is Anakin finally realizing that Obi-Wan did love him, that he was a good Master for him, and it was Anakin who hadn’t seen it, who had betrayed him. There is a quote from the book Lords of the Sith in which Vader acknowledges his betrayal of everyone he loved. Palpatine: “‘You were a traitor, were you not, Lord Vader?... To the Jedi. To Padme. To Obi-Wan. To all those you loved.’ Vader: Vader did not know the answer his Master wanted to hear, so he simply answered with the truth. ‘Yes.”’

I'd go back to December, turn around and change my own mind- Talking about guilt, again. Without a doubt, Anakin would go back to where it all went wrong if he could. He wouldn’t turn, he’d save Padme, he’d do everything differently if he could.

I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile/ So good to me, so right- Obi-Wan was so good to him. Obviously in a platonic sense. But Obi-Wan was the best Master for Anakin, and you can’t change my mind. Even if they had a rough start and maybe Obi-Wan should have had some time to recover from his Master dying before he took on his Padawan of his own, but I digress. He did the best he could with Anakin, and was most likely far more patient and understanding than other Jedi Masters would have been. Of course at the time, Anakin did realize this and only resented Obi-Wan. Hindsight is 2020, and Anakin would have only realized after everything went down how good Obi-Wan was to him. 

And how you held me in your arms that September night/ The first time you ever saw me cry - This one doesn’t exactly fit because apparently Anakin and Obi-Wan never hug in canon and that is a crime (Filoni and Lucas I’m coming for you). But I am pointedly ignoring canon and choosing to believe that when things got really hard or bad, (after Satine died, maybe even after Ahsoka left the Order) they hugged. Maybe it was a sad hug, the kind where one of them breaks down in tears and the other just holds them as they cry. But I am confident that they have hugged, so this line applies to them. Fight me on it, I dare you. (I’m kidding but only partially) 

But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right - After realizing how wrong he was in becoming Vader and how his relationship with Obi-Wan wasn’t one-sided, and especially after seeing the pure, selfless love of Luke, which ultimately brings him back to the Light, Anakin is no doubt thinking of the millions of ways he could’ve done better. He wants Obi-Wan to know how sorry he is and that, yes it took him all these years, but he’s learned his lesson. If he could do it all again, which he probably wants to, he would do it right this time. He swears to himself (and to Obi-Wan) that if he just gets this second chance, he’ll do everything right. 

I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't- Anakin knows he can’t go back and fix everything, no matter how much he may want to. All he can do is ask, beg, even, for Obi-Wan’s forgiveness

So if the chain is on your door, I understand - the metaphorical chain isn’t on Obi-Wan’s door, of course, he’d always welcome Anakin back. He wanted nothing more than to see Anakin succeed as a Jedi and be happy, and so of course he’s ready to see Anakin again, to forgive him. But still, Anakin doubts Obi-Wan’s love and his own worth and braces himself to be rejected, even though Obi-Wan’s arms are open. (this might be niche but think: doctor who, “You betrayed my trust, you betrayed our friendship, you betrayed everything I ever stood for. Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”)

And, that’s it! If you read this entire thing, Fiona and I love you from the bottom of our hearts. As you can tell, we feel a lot of things about this song, and hope you enjoyed our analysis! 

[autumnslance]

What was it like going from World of Warcraft to FFXIV? As someone who has never played an online RPG before FFXIV I am often :0 ?! when I hear that some people found getting into FFXIV hard because of the mandatory main quest when they just want to go to endgame content as soon as possible. Is going endgame ASAP a regular thing in most online RPGs?

Have a header image of a FFXIV version of my original WoW Main, Discipline Priest Lirriel F’sharri.

Me, a concise answer? Hahaha! Sorry. This got long, so behind a cut it goes and hopefully I answer to Nonny’s satisfaction, taking the questions and breaking them down:

Is going endgame ASAP a regular thing in most online RPGs?

In a lot of games it can be, yes. WoW doesn’t really have a linear overall storyline; each zone has its own story, and each expansion has its own story arc. Nowadays, with how long it’s been running and how big it’s gotten, WoW has revamped their questing so that you decide if you want to go through 1-50 in a specific expac (Burning Crusade, Cataclysm, Wrath of the Lich King, etc), and then catch up to the newest expac for the newest levels, since they also recently did a “level squish” as well as a stats squish, as they had gotten well over 100+ levels in the last couple expansions. Numbers are a problem for long running games (which is why experienced MMO players nodded and some even sighed in relief when the stat squish for Endwalker was announced).

I don’t think FFXIV will be able to do anything similar since their overarching story is so linear; it’s more like playing a single player traditional JRPG with some MMO features attached. I can see them perhaps scaling experience point gain with quests the way they have with the side quests in Shadowbringers, or with Beast Tribe dailies; that would work going forward I think. Unless we get the option to start with the new storyarc starting in 6.1; that could be interesting!

The only other time I had a linear story to go through similarly to FFXIV was early days of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, which I played briefly at launch. Even then, each planet had its own storyline, the overall storyline was the individual class questlines. There was, I think, an overarching plot, but it didn’t really come into play until level cap? I don’t even remember and never got to cap because the grind in that game at launch was awful.

And that’s a thing about many MMOs; the leveling experience is learning about the world, introducing characters and setting, but it’s mostly filler until you get to the endgame where the raiding is--and in WoW, the story is only completed via seeing it in raids (thank goodness for Looking for Raid) and was the main focus mechanically as well. WoW didn’t really have an overarching story in Classic, it was a lot of disparate elements setting up and holdovers from the original RTS games and led to random raid content. Burning Crusade gave us an overarching plot with going to Outland to face Illidan--which honestly wasn’t all that well done storywise. BC is remembered fondly for the quality of life changes and allowing smaller groups to raid, rather than requiring wrangling 40 people. And the raids were challenging and fun--or frustrating, but mileage varies there. But the impetus for “the Dark Portal opened and Illidan’s in Outland being bad” was...pretty much it? Later expacs like Wrath had much better story setup and throughlines as they went, and my one friend described Shadowlands as having something like an MSQ. There are, however, a lot of retcons and putting necessary plot information in supplemental material, which was always frustrating. I’ve likened it before to “imagine going from defeating Tsukuyomi at the end of 4.3 and all the separations and set up there...and then the next patch picking up with getting warped to the First because everything that happened in 4.4 and 4.5 occurs in a novel.” That’s too often been WoW’s method of connecting expansion stories while players languish for a year or more in the last raid content.

I wish I was kidding. FFXIV having a set, quick release schedule, that they keep to so consistently with such good quality--and cosmetic and RP stuff added too!--is astounding to me. I worry for the devs’ health at times--then I hear things like Yoshida turning down requests for crunchy overtime to keep said devs from burning out, hence why the next Ultimate is pushed to 6.1. I appreciate that greatly. Getting anything not pertaining to endgame raid and PvP content in WoW was often impossible, coming with complaints from the raiding community that frivolous additions for sheer fun cost them whole tiers, and seriously 18 months between patches was not unheard of.

What was it like going from World of Warcraft to FFXIV?

I started FFXIV at the beginning of Heavensward...but I was still playing WoW. FFXIV was my side game, as I was still invested in roleplay and raiding with my WoW friends. So I mostly enjoyed playing through the story at a leisurely pace, but I didn’t finish ARR for like 2 years. When Stormblood came out I was hitting burnout in WoW despite mostly enjoying Legion, and the quality of life changes for StB really invigorated my interest and ability to play. The longer GCD for FFXIV was actually one of the biggest challenges for me, especially since I had primarily tanked and healed in WoW. I am not an aggressive or competitive player, nor very manually coordinated, so DPS has always been a challenge for me. I find DPS easier in FFXIV thanks to the longer GCD--I’m still not great, but I don’t feel overwhelmed by trying to hit my rotation buttons instantly. It’s taken me a while to get used to tanking, and I still don’t do it in 8man content, except once or twice with my friends. Mostly cuz I’m just enjoying my DPS jobs, really, so haven’t invested in learning.

...And some of my old fear of random roulettes as a lone tank/healer; WoW’s LFG was a toxic pit for various reasons FFXIV has mostly avoided and even my worst day in FFXIV’s roulette is better than a good day in WoW’s, which gave me anxiety and I stopped doing without friends. FFXIV has no Public Test Realm that people expect you to get on pre-patch to not only spoil story moments, but also learn all the fight mechanics ahead of time and if you don’t know them Hour 1 Day 1 of a new patch release you’re deserving of abuse.

I won’t say never, but I just haven’t found myself interested in going back to WoW or feeling invested in that story, though I do sometimes miss my RP characters (and may write more stories for them sometime). I do keep track of certain beloved NPCs and events--a friend streamed a beautiful moment in Ardenweald for me because I did play through what happened to that character in Legion, sobbing the whole time. I’m tracking what’s happening to Anduin Wrynn closely; we’ve literally watched that character grow up in real time over the years from boy prince to king of Stormwind and I’m still a bit heartbroken about his father. But I play for story and characters, and Blizzard’s way of telling those stories and handling those characters lost me, and with how the Acti-Blizz execs and higher level devs act lately (Hazzikostas keeps striking me as out of touch), they don’t give me much incentive to go back. I may not even pick up Diablo 4 at this rate.

So FFXIV’s story hits the right narrative and character focus for me, especially when I buckled in and replayed...and then replayed again...and now have NG+...Anyway, I like how they build the lore and characters and while it’s far from perfect and they have their own flaws, coming from WoW, it’s a lovely change of pace. Not to mention just how Yoshida and his team interact and communicate with the player base, and see the players’ trust as paramount post-1.x.

...I hear that some people found getting into FFXIV hard because of the mandatory main quest when they just want to go to endgame content as soon as possible.

Some people play only to raid; they like mechanics, and challenges, and feeling powerful at max level with the best gear. They don’t care about the overall story--in some cases because they don’t realize it’s so in depth and linear and sensible after/compared to the constant retcons and revamps in games like WoW!--and are just here to play with friends. Cool for them, if that’s what makes them happy! If that’s how they relax and have fun, power to ‘em so long as they aren’t being nasty to others less advanced/able/willing to put in the time and effort for gameplay. But for me, story and characters are far more important, and I raided quite a lot in WoW at various levels of difficulty and raid size. I am old and tired and want to relax and have fun with friends and write stories that get away with me when my characters get a mind of their own. So I rarely do more than Normals, avoiding Savage and Extreme cuz that grind doesn’t interest me. I’ll do stuff I can do on my own to get my progress fix for my brain (like leveling jobs).

The trouble we’re running into now is FFXIV’s linear story is well over 100 hours long. Even with the ARR revamp cutting a lot of chafe, there’s a LOT to get through to reach HW, and then a lot to get to StB, and then to ShB. And there will be a bunch to get through to EW. That’s JUST MSQ, not counting all the side content a new player may also want to catch up on, like the Alliance and Normal raids, PvP, Relics, Hildibrand, side quest stories like Mail Moogle, Beast Tribes, Crafting...the list goes on and on!

Content in a successful MMO must be varied for multiple styles and preferences for the long term health of the game. Roleplayers and story-focused folks tend to be the ones who stick between patches, farming content at a slower pace to get rewards they want for RP or to see story info, as opposed to raid-focused folks who push new content at release for the challenge and glory. Some of those folks also RP or like story though, so go back to farm between blowing up new content. There’s room for all kinds, and there has to be, and while I am sometimes annoyed by people who skip story (or outright dislike it!) while demanding to know how X works or why a character did A thing, they play their way and pay their sub to keep things running same as me and my obsessive need to know the lore and see it for myself. I can certainly understand those players who story skip that much content to get to where their friends are, if that’s the primary reason they play is to raid with pals, and with New Game+ it’s easier than ever for someone to go back and catch up the story later anyway.

[yslkook]

#by the books (5)

#corporate masterlist

summary: seokjin helps you come to several epiphanies. you wrestle with your growing fondness with jungkook, while determining how to talk to him. word count: 5570 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, some alc a/n: this is part 2/3 of being in tokyo!

SUNDAY

Seokjin knows something is wrong when you don’t respond to his texts for over fourteen hours. It’s well into Sunday morning, closer to the afternoon, when he makes the executive decision to camp out outside your hotel room until you let him in. He knows you’ve been on your phone- you’ve been on Instagram. You’re just avoiding him, and probably the rest of the world. As you usually tend to do, when you’re upset.

You don’t know what to do. You’ve never yelled at someone the way you yelled at Jungkook last night, much less literally ran away from someone like that. Embarrassment colors your memories, internally cringing when you replay the night’s events in your mind. It plays like a movie, the same moment mocking you incessantly. Jungkook’s heartbroken, doe eyes haunt you- you’ve barely been able to sleep because you’ve struggled coming to terms with the fact that you put that look on his face.

The reflection in your mirror disgusts you. And yet, you still do nothing about it, burying yourself under the duvet and ignoring anything that wasn’t sleep. It’s easier that way.

Your phone rings again- it’s Jin. You ignore his call. That’s your first mistake. He nearly screeches your name outside the door to your hotel room, menacingly knocking on your door. He’s clearly on a mission to piss off everyone who had the bad luck to be staying in the hotel rooms adjacent to you.

“I’m sleeping,” You shout easily, your voice muffled from the comforter.

“Open the damn door,” Jin demands and you groan. He won’t stop until you let him in, much to your chagrin. You just want to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, is that too much to ask for?

So you finally force yourself out of the bed and drag your feet to the door. “You look like fuckin’ shit,” Jin remarks, taking in your bleary eyes and the permanent frown on your face.

“Thanks, Seokjin. Just what every girl wants to hear,” You mutter and burrow yourself in bed once more. Without a moment’s hesitation, he gets under the covers next to you, curling into your side. Like he’s done a million times before.

“Leave me alone, Jin,” You mumble, without any real heat in your voice, “Yuna wouldn’t like this. Your girlfriend wouldn’t like you to be in bed with another girl-”

“Shut up, stupid. You’re not just another girl,” Jin dismisses you, only tightening his hold around your waist.

“Go away,” You try again, rather weakly. Instead, you let your hand sit on top of his. You both lay together in silence like that for a while. His presence always calms you down, brings you back up a few notches.

“I did something awful last night,” You finally say, voice hoarse from disuse.

“What did you do?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I yelled at Jungkook in front of my favorite ice cream shop… and then ran away from him.”

“What did you yell at him for?”

You tell him- you tell him how he told you he couldn’t keep up with you, how he called you his dream girl, how you screamed at him that your dad died and that you dropped out of school because you couldn’t handle it, how just seeing Jungkook reminded you of when you were happier.

“I’m such a fuckin’ idiot, Jin,” You mutter, pressing your face further into your pillow, “A-and how can he say I was his dream girl, I’m just such an-”

“Shh,” Jin says, muffling your mouth with his hand. Once you stop your self-deprecating train of thought, he pulls his hand away. Jin lays with you in silence once more, only running a hand over your upper arm to soothe you.

“Let’s go get lunch,” Jin suggests and he already hears the protest about to erupt from your lips, “You look like shit and I know you haven’t eaten. Go shower and wear something new. I’ll wait.”

You groan before forcing yourself out of the bed and dragging your feet into the bathroom. Jin rolls his eyes when you shoot a death glare in his direction. Jin was right- the hot water against your skin was soothing. You welcomed the stinging of the water as it pelted your skin with open arms. Feeling a little better coming out of the shower than you did going into the shower, you change into day clothes.

“Lookin’ better already,” Jin says, pulling you into a side hug.

Why is Jin friends with you, when you can’t stand yourself some days? You don’t know what he sees in you. Not when you seem to hurt everyone around you, so selfishly, as if it’s second nature.

But he keeps you close to him, his arm tight around your shoulder and those thoughts don’t throb in your mind as much as they usually do.

Jin sits across from you in a small, quiet ramen shop. You’re in a corner, away from most of the other patrons. There’s only four other people here, including the waitress. Jin says nothing about your outburst at Jungkook from the night before, only noisily slurping his ramen and then screeching with he bites his lip accidentally.

“You eat too fast,” You admonish, shaking your head when he rubs his bottom lip gingerly. Jin immediately takes his phone out to take a selfie and sends it to Yuna, claiming that he needs a kiss to make it better. You roll your eyes fondly and smile at him.

Puppy love is cute on him.

“So,” Jin finally says and your heart races. His tone has instantly shifted to a little more quiet, a little more serious.

“What do I do, Jin?” You whisper, shoulders slumping and avoiding his eyes, “He didn’t know. The kid didn’t know why I left, that Appa died- a-and I don’t know why he’s so hung up over it either. ‘Snot like we were friends like that back then anyway… God, Jin, you should’ve seen the look on his face before I ran away, like a fuckin’ coward.”

You hold your head in your hands above your half finished bowl of ramen and groan. “What a mess. I’m a fuckin’ mess.”

“Jungkook considered you friends back then,” Jin says slowly, “As far as I know, at least. I mean, I remember him being excited to see you every week for those mentor mentee sessions. And how grateful he was when you pulled him away from mean girls. He’s sensitive, you remember at least that much, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” You laugh despite your misery, “Used to call him Bambi back in the day. He’d get so flustered. But… I just- like, I told him it hurt too much to even look at him. Because he reminded me of when I was happy. Who fuckin’ does that?”

“But are you happy now?” Jin asks bluntly, slurping another mouthful of noodles.

“I don’t… know,” You murmur, “I think I can be.”

“Happy isn’t a constant thing. You won’t be happy all the time, the same way you won’t be sad all the time. But the last few years have been so hard. Let yourself be happy, sweetheart,” Jin says, reaching over to squeeze your hand, “Happy back then doesn’t have to be the same as happy now.”

“How do I just be happy?” You wonder out loud, making a mental note to talk to your therapist about this.

“I don’t know, but for starters, talk to Jungkook. He considered you both friends. You hurt his feelings when you left without a word. And he’s hurt now. And… I know you spent a long time blocking out the last few years, blocking out all of the bad. But there was some good, too.”

“Can’t believe he called me his dream girl. What does he know?” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest but you feel a little lighter.

“You gonna tell me you didn’t like that?” Jin asks smugly.

“I didn’t!” You protest unconvincingly. Jin says nothing, only eyeing you with a knowing smile.

“You’re fooling no one. Eat your ramen, stupid.”

And so you do, the spicy broth curling in your belly as if it’s your home.

It feels like it’s been too long since you had spoken to Grandma, so you call her the minute you and Jin part ways. You tell her about the events of the past few days- how you had met up with friends you hadn’t seen in years. And how you had screamed at Jungkook undeservedly-

“I miss Appa,” You mumble, eyes watering, “He would be so upset with me. For the way I’ve been acting. Like he never existed, never talking about him…”

“He’d just want you to be happy, honey,” Grandma says kindly, “And to forgive yourself. To allow yourself to love and be loved.”

And then you cry some more. Grandma does, too.

Later, when you drive Jin, Jimin and Hoseok to the airport, all three of them wrap you up in tight hugs. As if you wouldn’t be in the same city as them in less than 48 hours. You promise to keep in touch with Jimin and Hoseok. Maybe they believe you, because they both hug you again with bright smiles.

MONDAY

Today’s the day. It’s the day that the Seoul team meets the Tokyo team face to face for the first time. Excitement brims in your blood- you’re certain that you have a lot to learn from this team. They’ve been a part of more submissions than your smaller team had been, and it had been a big surprise that Namjoon was named as the main lead of the project. But he was more than capable, as he had shown in the last few months.

The Tokyo team consists of Lisa, Irene, Minhyuk and they’re led by Mark. Mark, who you’ve known for about as long as you’ve been with the company. He had started with you in Seoul, in the same position and had quickly moved up in the ladder. Which seems to be the case for a lot of people, namely men, around you. He had actually beat you out for the job that he currently had. It had left a sour taste in your mouth for a long time- what did he have that you didn’t? But slowly, with time, you had gotten over it. After all, the job was in Tokyo, and you don’t think you were ready for that kind of move at the time. Everything happens for a reason, or so they say.

The company office in Tokyo is a little older than the one in Seoul- after all, the Seoul office had been recently renovated. If there was a word to describe the Seoul office, it was sleek and modern. You quite liked it.

Minhyuk had picked you, Jungkook, Sana and Namjoon up in the lobby to take you to the conference room that you would be working in. He’s a chatterbox, telling you about the history of the building, how long he’s been with the company and how grateful he is to be part of this team.

Jungkook tunes him out, nodding when needed and asking questions when appropriate. He casts his eyes over to you despite himself. You had put on a little more makeup today than usual, trying to conceal the puffiness of your eyes. Not that Jungkook could tell. He thinks you’re pretty. And the way you chew on your glossy bottom lip as you listen to Minhyuk- he thinks you’re cute, too.

You’re hyper aware of Jungkook’s presence next to you as you walk through the hallways and finally reach the conference room. He sits across from you, and for the first time since Saturday night, you allow yourself the luxury of looking at him. Despite a room full of new faces, the only person you want to look at is him. His dark hair is softly tousled over his forehead, barely there dimples dotted in his cheeks when he smiles at his new team members.

His gaze is transfixed on Mark and Namjoon, as they introduce themselves formally to each other and the rest of the team respectively. Mark’s eyes brighten when he sees you, but he keeps it professional, only shaking your hand with a smile that borders on a smirk.

Irene and Lisa eye you almost warily, until you introduce yourself to them with a warm handshake and a warm smile. You’ve been told you have an intimidating persona when people first meet you- in fact, your boss is the one who always tells you to smile more. What a jerk.

Mark and Namjoon both present on the mission and the objectives of the submission, and then what each individual team will be responsible for. You take a sip of your coffee, and cast your eyes around the room. Irene, Lisa, Sana and Minhyuk are intently listening to Mark and Namjoon and taking notes. While you’re staring at Jungkook.

And he’s staring back at you.

You pull your eyes away first, heart doing almost painful somersaults in your chest. You don’t mind being caught at staring at him, but you just feel like there is so much you need to say to him.

Like apologize. You need to apologize for unloading and dumping on him when he didn’t ask for it. But then, his smile fades and his doe eyes are sad. Because of you. It’s all because of you.

You and Namjoon present your slides for your team’s plan going forward, with details on the timelines and deliverables. Jungkook and Sana will be working on the logistics piece to organize another face-to-face workshop, and for the next one, the Tokyo team will come to Seoul.

Despite the heat of Jungkook’s gaze on you, you speak clearly and confidently. Jungkook loves the sound of your voice, the way it floats out into the room and wraps itself around him comfortingly.

Even when you had yelled at him outside of the ice cream shop, about how your Appa had died, about dropping out of school, and about how seeing him reminded you of when you were happy… Even then, he could never wince at the sound of your voice.

Jungkook was pissed that nobody had told him- that he had gone this long thinking so selfishly about you. He could have never have fathomed the gravity of your circumstance. He had yelled at Jimin the next day, but Jimin had only yelled back at him-

“She dropped off the face of the earth! She wanted nothing to do with us and it was her thing to tell!”

“So she was all alone that whole time? Because you all thought it was her thing to tell?”

“Don’t act like you’re better than all of us just because you didn’t know! You and I didn’t reconnect until recently, how was I supposed to tell you? And we tried to reach out to her. She shut us out, literally. What could we do if she ignored us for five fuckin’ years?”

You were alone. With your Grandma and with Seokjin. But still, alone, and possibly thinking that nobody was checking on you. Even if there is truth to Jimin’s words, Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s too late. If he had known…. Well, what would he have done?

This crush of his feels more and more childish as days go by. And yet, when you look at him, the way you’re looking at him now. With softness lined in your irises, he can’t help it.

He can’t help but look back at you. Maybe you can see his apology in his face.

“Hi,” A voice comes from your left side. You’re at the coffee bar, refilling your second cup of coffee before noon. His voice is reserved, almost shy. Your heart seizes up immediately at the sound of it.

“Morning, Jungkook,” You say breathlessly, grateful for the coffee cup in your hand for something to hold on to. To channel your nervous energy into.

“Morning,” Jungkook says softly, “Can I talk to you later? Maybe after the happy hour?” He asks, hope shining in his voice and sparkling in his eyes.

No- it was supposed to be you who would reach out to apologize. After all, you were the one who had screamed in his face and ran away. He’s probably only reaching out out of pity, you think cynically. Nevertheless, it throws you off.

And apparently, since you’re the keeper of bad decisions, your response to him is predictable. Despite every synapse in your heart screaming at you to say something else.

“Uh. I don’t think I’m going to the happy hour. I’m not really feeling great,” The lie blooms from your painted lips easily. His face falls and you pretend like your heart doesn’t ache over his doe eyes.

“Oh, okay. Feel better,” Jungkook says and you give him a barely there smile, passing him to head back in the conference room.

A headache is beginning to brew in the back of your head. It’s the last thing you need.

Why does it bother you that Jungkook had been the one to reach out to you first, rather than the other way around? After all, you were the one who caused a scene. What reason does he have to want to talk to you? If anything, you’re the one who needs to apologize, right?

You stare at the shifting trees in front of you, hoping that if you stare hard enough, the leaves will whisper an answer to you.

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe he just is that good, to want to speak to you just because.

You’ve been sitting here, at Appa’s park, for the better part of an hour. You’re hoping for an epiphany, or some type of sign. It feels strange that Jungkook is weighing so heavily on your mind. You’re not used to this feeling.

A whistle of wind rustles through the collar of your thin jacket, curling around you in comfort. With a loud exhale, you stand up from your bench.

“Oh, fine. I’ll go to the stupid happy hour,” You scoff into the sky. As if the sky can hear your complaining. And so you turn on your heel and leave the park, begrudgingly making your way to the happy hour venue.

Usually, showing up to work events like this alone was a breeze. It was easy for you to think about these things as just being something to check off in your list of things to do for the day. You stayed to say your hellos and made some small talk before leaving, all within an hour.

But today feels different. Your carefully put together nerves are beginning to fray at the seams. You take a deep breath before swinging the door open to enter the bar. Namjoon and Mark had rented out a corner of the bar for your teams to have your own space. High tables of appetizers and drinks surrounded the bustling voices of your teammates.

Your hands are inadvertently balled into tense fists. This place is littered with people and still, you feel so alone. You wish Jin was here. You wish Jin was here.

Jungkook sees the crown of your head the minute you walk into the bar, even with the dimmed lighting. He had been sulking before, barely interested in the conversation that he had forced himself into under the pretense of ‘networking’. Not that anyone would be able to tell- Jungkook has mastered the art of making it seem like he was present. He would never jeopardize an invaluable opportunity like this, and he’s never been one to allow others to surpass him in settings like this. He knows what the stakes are. But he’s become adept in the art of multitasking.

Your lips are pursed, eyes darting across each side of the room. It feels overwhelming, like too much. Maybe you shouldn’t have come…

You cross your arms and dig your nails into your cloth covered bicep nervously. Before you can calm the thudding of your heart in your ears, you turn your head and see Jungkook walking towards you with a smile.

You can’t help but smile back.

“Jungkook,” You exhale, “Hi.”

“You came,” Jungkook says, eyes crinkling at the sight of you. Has he always had those deep laugh lines around his eyes when he smiled? For a second, you’re breathless but you break his gaze, not wanting to let your eyes linger over the rest of him for too long. At the risk that you’ll be sucked into his warm, brown whirlpools.

“Yeah,” You say faintly. Jungkook can sense your nervousness- you can’t help your eyes darting around you at the number of people surrounding you.

“Wanna get a drink with me?” Jungkook asks, gesturing towards the bar with a flick of his fingers.

“Really? You wanna get a drink with me?” You ask incredulously, with a raise of your eyebrow. How could he possibly want to spend time with you, when you had treated him the way you had?

“It’s on Namjoon and Mark’s company card,” Jungkook shrugs and you laugh. He leads you towards the bar. There are a few people seated at the navy blue leather bar stools surrounding the bar, a few of them eyeing Jungkook curiously. It doesn’t surprise you- he looks good in a form fitting black turtleneck and black slacks. Rings adorn his fingers and small hoops sit in his earlobes, a soft smile peeling across his face when he looks at you.

Yeah. You’d stare at him, too. If you didn’t have the fortune to know him.

“What can I get you?” Jungkook asks, relaxing with his elbow on the bar top.

“You mean what can Namjoon and Mark get us?” You say, pulling a laugh from him. Your heart sings at the sweet sound. “Hmm… I’ll have wine, I guess.”

“Red or white?”

“White?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Jungkook teases and your cheeks heat up.

“Telling you! I’ll have a… chardonnay,” You reply, turning your head towards the bar so he can’t see how flustered you are. But he does, and he pockets the information for later.

Once Jungkook orders two glasses of chardonnay for both of you and you’re both holding the wine glasses in your hands, you gently clink your glass with him. It makes you a little nervous, how easily you find yourself talking to him. How comfortable you feel around him, as if you were old friends. As if you hadn’t been so mean to him only the night before.

You don’t know him well. But you remember that he’s always had a big heart, offering his forgiveness to those who didn’t deserve it. Would you ruin him? But maybe a little selfishly, you want to chase this feeling.

“I went to this park earlier,” You murmur, swirling your wine in your glass, “It’s really pretty and quiet. I used to go there all the time when I was younger.”

“You’ve been to Tokyo before?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah,” You nod, “I used to come here a lot when I was a kid and spend summers here with Appa. Sometimes Grandma, too. Appa taught me Japanese from when I was really young, it’s probably why I’m even on this team…”

“That’s not true, you’re on this team because you’re really smart and good at what you do! And I know Namjoon values your opinion a lot-” Jungkook protests, an annoyed furrow in his brow. Is that really what you think of yourself?

You laugh and give him a grateful smile. With a breath of seemingly transient courage, you part your lips- “Jungkook,” Your voice is soft and small and nothing like what he’s used to, “I want to-”

And then you’re both interrupted by both Sana and Namjoon slinging their arms around your shoulders. Jungkook gives you a reassuring smile, a promise that you’ll talk later. You wonder if you’ll lose your courage by then.

Namjoon pulls you away from Jungkook and Sana, introducing you to some people that you’ve never met. You recognize them as higher ups, Hyo-Jin, the head of submissions for all of Asia and Hae-ri, the head of business development. The realization makes you take a few generous sips of your wine and straighten your back.

You can hear Jin’s voice in your head, telling you to make a good impression. Namjoon easily pulls you into the conversation, giving you plenty of opportunity to insert yourself in-

“She’s my right hand woman, though I don’t think even that is a good enough term to tell you what she is to me,” Namjoon says. Compliments like that always fluster you, and this time is no different.

“Namjoon speaks too highly of me,” You brush him off, “I’m just glad I have this opportunity, I mean being on the submissions team has always been one of my favorite parts of the job.”

“Oh? Do you see a future for yourself in submissions?” Hyo-Jin asks curiously, with a quirk of an elegant eyebrow. She’s a no nonsense woman, you can tell just from the five minutes you’ve had with her.

“I definitely want to lead submissions teams one day. I mean, Namjoon is a great teacher,” You grin, elbowing him, “But even more than that… I’d like to oversee an entire product line end to end later down the line. And I think it’s important to invest in our young talent, too-”

“Young talent? As in people development?” Hyo-Jin asks.

“Yeah, I mean they’re our future leaders, aren’t they? It’s important that they have the tools to succeed now and beyond,” You say vehemently.

Hyo-Jin says nothing, only nodding and taking a sip of her drink. “And you? Do you have the tools to succeed now and beyond as a future leader?”

The question makes you stumble. Do you throw your boss under the bus? But you’ve never been a liar, and you sure as hell won’t start now.

“No,” You say bluntly, “I’ve learned so much with Namjoon and being part of this team. And in general being part of regulatory and submissions projects. But I don’t think my skill set is being effectively used in my current role. If you want an honest answer.”

You can practically hear Jin scolding you from far away. But you won’t build a professional relationship on a fallacy. To your surprise, Hyo-Jin smiles.

“That’s refreshing,” She says, her painted lips splitting into a smile.

“What is?” You ask, feeling rather stupid.

“Your honesty,” Hae-ri chimes in, “People aren’t always honest with us, because of our titles. Like they have something to prove.”

“Yeah, well, maybe people are rightfully more concerned about making a good first impression than I am,” You joke, gripping the handle of your wine glass tighter. Hyo-Jin and Hae-ri both laugh with you, telling you to put time on their calendars to meet with them virtually when you go back to South Korea after the trip. With that, they both slip away from you, making sure you know that they appreciated your presence. And then you let out a breath.

“Holy shit. I fucked that up,” You mutter, “My boss is going to kill me, Joon. What the hell is wrong with me-”

“Relax,” Namjoon says easily, his dimples on display, “They loved you. Trust me, they loved you. They already knew who you were, you know.”

“What? How could they possibly know who I was?” You gasp incredulously, “I’m a nobody!”

“Seokjin’s right. For someone so smart, you’re dumb-”

“Hey! That’s unprofessional of you,” You say, but a smile threatens your lips.

“They never tell anyone to put time on their calendars unless they like them. So just trust me. And this submission has the eyes of all of the higher ups. Our good work doesn’t go unnoticed.”

“I just,” You sigh, “I’m used to it going unnoticed. So I guess… Thank you. For your leadership, your guidance… and your friendship.”

He smiles at you brightly and clinks his glass with you. “C’mon, let’s go find Mark.”

Jungkook can’t help but cast his eyes in your direction every so often. He knew, he knew you were about to say something poignant at the bar. All of the signs were there- your serious eyes, the way you forced yourself to look him in the face, the barely there nervousness that he could taste.

It seems that everyone suddenly wants a piece of you- you flit around with Namjoon, taking it all in as he introduces you to people. Jungkook is beyond happy for you, that you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve from the company.

But still, he can’t help but crave just a minute alone with you. Especially when he sees Mark’s face light up at the sight of you, pulling you into a too-friendly hug. And you don’t even realize it, it seems. Only offering him a smile in return, surprise coloring your face when he hugs you so tightly.

Jungkook tries his best to stay present in the conversation he’s in, with Sana and a few other members of the Tokyo team. But he has such a nice view of you that he can’t help his eyes drifting every so often. He can’t help noticing the way your pink pants sit on your hips, and the way your black blouse is tucked into them. More than that though, he can’t help noticing Mark noticing.

Do you know? That Mark sees you in that light? He’s so obvious about it, and yet. It seems like you’re oblivious.

Namjoon eventually excuses himself from both of you, claiming that he can hear Sana calling for him. You think nothing of it, shrugging and continuing your conversation with Mark.

“Hey, you did great today,” Mark compliments, stepping just a hair closer to you.

“Oh! Thanks, I know,” You wink at him, “I have a great team, I mean it.”

“Well,” Mark says, taking a sip of his soju, “You’re pretty great, too.”

“Oh, stop,” You wave him off with a roll of your eyes, “You don’t need to butter me up, Mark. Save it.”

“C’mon, you know I mean it. We’ve been through a lot, you and I,” Mark says with a crooked sort of grin. You understand why people fawn over him, that smile could get anyone to do anything but you roll your eyes.

“Have we, Mark?” You ask dryly.

“We go way back,” He says self-assuredly, almost cockily.

“No, we don’t,” You mumble under your breath, and he hears you. You subtly take a step back from him, turning on your side. Only to find Jungkook already looking at you.

“You wound me,” Mark murmurs, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. You roll your eyes, but still give him the same grin. It’s polite, nothing more, nothing less.  

The way Mark looks at you teeters on the edge of something more than friendly professionalism. It’s clear that you both have known each other for a while. Maybe through work? Maybe something else? It bothers Jungkook, and he knows it shouldn’t. Especially when Mark leaves you for a minute, only to return with a refill of your wine.

An irritating ember settles in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach. Perhaps he has an ulcer, he thinks dryly.

Mark has your phone number, from other projects you’ve worked with him on. He does text you every so often, maybe once every few months. You’ve never thought much of it, only responding to him out of obligation since he is your colleague and technically your superior. You don’t think it’s malicious- he’s always been a charmer. Even when you first met him when you first started at the company.

By the time you manage to shake yourself of Mark, Jungkook has disappeared. How long has it been since you’ve been here? You look outside of the windows quickly, taking in the darkness of the sky and the moon hanging from it.

“Hey, you ready to head back to the hotel?” Namjoon asks, Sana already in her coat next to him.

“Yeah, where’s Jungkook?” You ask, craning your neck to see the top of his fluffy hair.

“He left a bit ago. Said he wasn’t feeling well,” Sana says, fastening the buttons on her coat. The bitter pill of regret settles in your belly. How ironic that he had left happy hour saying he wasn’t feeling well, when that had been your excuse to not attend.

So still, even when you are in your hotel room after the happy hour, changed in your pajamas and about to watch a show to end your night, you think nothing of it when Mark texts you later that night:

Mark: it was good to see you tn :)

Despite Mark’s name lighting up your phone, you feel an ache in your heart. Over the fact that you hadn’t had the chance to speak to Jungkook. He’s somewhere in this hotel, and you could, you really could just ask Namjoon his room number and talk to him. But the bolt of courage from earlier seems to have fizzled out long ago.

So you text Mark back instead. Thinking nothing of it.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (60) || atz

“You shouldn’t have done that, Wooyoung-ah.”

At the sound of your voice, the head gunner turns away, completely silent, dark anger boiling beneath his skin. He’s clearly not in the mood to have a talking to now. But you have no fear, not anymore, anyway, and seat yourself next to him on the bed. Your bed, you realise.

Wooyoung’s mouth is pressed in a tight line, edges of his lips curling white in something crossed between a frown and a sneer. There’s a big bruise on his cheek, presumably put there by Jongho again, and he’s looking away very determinedly, set on not meeting your eye.

Unfortunately for him, your stubbornness more than rivals his own, and you’re not about to let him off the hook so easily. He punched his captain, for god’s sake. That’s not typical Wooyoung behavior. “We can sit here all day, you know? I have all the time in the world.”

You really don’t (haha brain, very funny joke), but fingers scratch irritably over the cover of your pillow, Wooyoung chancing a quick glance at you before his eyes have flitted elsewhere. The tension is so thick it’s practically suffocating the two of you alive, but you’re not about to give in anytime soon.

You wait.

Waiting doesn’t take long. Wooyoung’s personality loves comfortable silences or noise. Awkward silence? Not so much. He opens his mouth once, hesitates, closes it, and opens it again with a swallow.

“How... how’s your hand?” He’s still not looking at you.

“This?” You raise the empty stump, the phantom itch still throbs strangely. You’re strangely calm for someone who’s just lost their hand, but knowing death is right on its tail really puts things into perspective. “I’m fine. I was injured by Gunho during the battle and, well, you know the rest.” you shrug, turn away yourself. He really doesn’t, but it’s easier not to go into the specifics.

Wooyoung flinches a little, but you see it. Then an angry growl leaves his chest, fingers digging so hard into your pillow they turn white. “I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

“You couldn’t have known what he was going to do.” You tell him gently, glance out of the porthole and watch the sky outside slowly turn from inky black to midnight blue. Silence lingers between the two of you for a moment before Wooyoung finally puffs out a breath, licks his dry lips.

“How’s Captain?”

Your captain snorts a little as you dab water at his nose. “If Wooyoung had been serious about beating me up, I’d have a lot more than a broken nose.”

“Well,” you shrug, bringing your knees up to your chest, “you nearly broke his nose, gave him five different bruises, very big ones, I may add, and almost gave Master a heart attack.” Wooyoung makes a satisfied noise, patting his raw knuckles fondly.

“He deserved that much, at the very least.” He mumbles, drags a hand across his face, but he looks relieved. “Five bruises was letting him off too easy.” You glance at him for a second, turn back to the world outside, the sky and sea separating as the first hints of day draw a line of light across the horizon. Beyond the heavy wooden door of the sickbay, orders are called, the thud of boots resounding across the deck as the crew rush to carry out said orders.

“I’ll be fine, really.” You find yourself saying, though he hasn’t asked. His eyes find yours and more words start to spill out of your mouth unchecked. “I might have lost a hand, but at least I’m not dead, am I?”

The second you say that, you feel like you’ve somehow slapped both Wooyoung and yourself in the face, metaphorically, of course. At least I’m not dead, your heart gives a little self deprecating chuckle, and you resist the urge to cut off that loose tongue of yours for its stupidity.

Great job, you.

“Get ready to storm the island! I want every one of us to find that Captain Kang and drag him to the Treasure by the knees! Do you understand me?” You hear Mingi shout from behind the door of the sickbay and you make to rise to your feet, “we should go check out what they’re up to-”

But you’re stopped by a familiar hand. “Wait.”

Frowning, you turn back, arch an eyebrow. “Why?” You ask, a little confused. Wooyoung glances up at you with deep green eyes, soft and serious with emotion, and one by one, his fingers lace around yours, squeezing gently. Your heart skips, tumbles a beat, but you keep your eyes on his face. “Wooyoung?”

“Just listen to me for a moment.” He says, voice pleading and for some reason, it makes you nervous, like you’re not ready for whatever emotionally weighted words he’s about to unload on you. “I just need to say something.”

The two of you probably really should get going, but something about the way he’s talking makes you pause, nod for him to go on. “When I was on that island... and we realised that it was a trap for the Treasure...” a shudder runs down his spine, the pad of his thumbs tracing small circles on the inside of your wrist, “I can’t begin to say just how damn terrified I was. And while I was running back to the ship, all I could think about was just how stupid I realised I had been.”

“You couldn’t have known it was going to be a trap, Wooyoung.” You remind him firmly, intent on stopping him from blaming himself just like his captain did, gods were all of them going to be like this? “No one knew, not even Captain, and we all came out fine, so there’s no harm done-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wooyoung interrupts. The chains rattle as his hand falls to his side, as heavy as his words. “What I meant was... pushing you away, thinking that by distancing myself, I was keeping you safe, but in reality I was just a coward who didn’t have the balls to face my feelings.”

What?

“When I was running back to the Treasure, one thought kept replaying in my mind.” He bites on his lower lip, an agonized look crossing his eyes as he stares at you so longingly, so painfully. “What if the last thing you remembered of me was leaving you alone on that mast and removing myself from your life without knowing how I really felt? What if...” he chokes, head bowed, “what if the last thing you had thought of me was that I hated you, and you died without knowing just how untrue that was?”

You don’t even know what you’re hearing right now. The words, you hear them, but you don’t really hear them. Wooyoung doesn’t hate you, that... that’s amazing to know, but why do you feel like that isn’t the end of it quite yet?

“Chin Hae.” He looks into your eyes, so piercingly you couldn’t look away even if you tried. “I’m scared of women. I’m terrified of them. I have scars all over my body, and I can’t forget the way they touched me, how I was forced to serve them until Captain rescued me. After I left that life behind, I played women like toys because I wanted to convince myself that I was no longer the victim, no longer the powerless.” He takes a deep breath, searches you with a defeated smile. “But it seems like I was wrong, and I find myself powerless in front of a woman once again.”

Your thoughts swirl like the raging waves, a jumble of noises and words and so much emotions. “Wooyoung, what-”

“I love you, Chin Hae.”

“Wait, give me a moment-” You try to collect yourself, but Wooyoung smiles gently, squeezing your hand lightly again and that affectionate, familiar gesture grounds you like a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

Gentle eyes meet yours.

“You don’t need to love me back.” He tells you, smiling a little wistfully. There’s peace in that lopsided grin, as if a massive weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders, as if he hasn’t just dropped the emotional equivalent of his 42 pound cannon right into your arms. “I just wanted you to know. You... you’re really precious to me, Chin Hae.”

You try to find words, and only one comes to mind. “Buh...” You’re immediately disgusted by your own apparent inability to form complete sentences. What is your brain made of, clay?

...probably.

At your flustered state, Wooyoung breaks into peals of laughter that resemble an entire pod of happy dolphins, slapping his thigh in amusement. Fumbling about, you throw your headrest at him, only making him laugh harder when it bounces off the wall next to head. “Wooyoung!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughs, not sounding sorry at all. You glare at him, not amused, but squeeze his hand back, like you always have.

“I don’t know how I feel yet.” You tell him honestly, linking your fingers together. Wooyoung nods earnestly, purple hair falling into his eyes. “You... you might only be saying this because you almost lost me, so I want you to think about what you feel again, after all of this has calmed down... before you tell me this again.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I know what I feel, but if it makes you feel more assured, alright then. I’m fine with waiting.”

A breath of relief escapes you, and you nod seriously, but before you can say anymore, there’s a knock on the door, and it swings open to reveal-

“Captain.” Wooyoung rises to greet his captain a little awkwardly, scratching his head. The corner of Hongjoong’s lips lift in a slight, weary smile at the sight of the two of you seated on the bed, pausing slightly at the door.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” You wave your captain over and Hongjoong takes a step, but his toe dances lightly at the door right before it crosses into the room, and stops to squint a little at his head gunner.

“You’re not going to throw another punch at me the second I step into this room, right?”

Wooyoung lets out a humored chuckle. “God, no, even if I wanted to.” The ice broken, he bumps shoulders with his captain and Hongjoong finally cracks a smile, although it seems a little... off, somehow. “Though I still think it would have been an improvement to your looks if I’d broken a few things on your face.”

Your captain gives a good-natured snort for someone who’d just been beaten up less than half a day ago. “Well, it’s good to have you on the same side again. I was wondering if I could borrow your gun and your eye in,” he glances out of the door onto the deck with a grim smile, “maybe about a few minutes or so.”

Something about the way he says that has something sinking in your chest.

“Just my gun and eye?” Wooyoung tries to lighten the tension by joking with a raised eyebrow, similarly on edge at the tone of his captain’s voice, his fingers shifting towards the long flintlock at his hip as he gestures at himself. “You know you have to get me too, right? We’re kind of a package deal.”

“I might throw in a bonus if you come along.” Hongjoong shrugs, still gazing out of the door. The angle the two of you are at, you can’t quite see what’s happening on deck, but the shouting from outside is loud enough to reach your ears and you’re immediately tensed.

“Appreciative enough to spare me bilge bailing duty for a week for rearranging your face?”

“Maybe. If you ask nicely. Actually, no.” Hongjoong replies, turning to look at the two of you with a smile that’s a little too strained for your liking. “Well, someone has just approached the ship from the island, and-”

“Captain Kang says he wants to talk.”

[atc74]

Out of This World

Warnings: Cas dream walking Dean’s dreams...again, pining, mentions of group sex, Destiel, M/M, anal fingering, voyeurism, M/M sex, M/F sex...there is a lot of sex

Summary: Dean experiences something in a dream he never considered, not in real life anyway. Then an angel changed all that. 

Pairing: Destiel

Word Count: 1710

A/N: The fifth *and yes, final) installment of A Whole New World, in which there a lot, like an obscene amount of sex, of all kinds. Unbeta’d, all mistakes, and limb placement, are my own. 

After another two rounds and more orgasms in a single day than he can remember, Dean fell into the other bed. Sam, Y/N, and Cas were sprawled in the other bed, sleeping soundly. He replayed the conversation with Y/N over in his mind, wondering if Cas really felt that way about him. Dean always knew he was curious about men, but had never taken it further than porn,  fantasies, and his own self-exploration. But now, as he tried to fall asleep, his best friend, the angel, was all he could think about. 

He let his mind drift where it desired as sleep took over. The last image he saw was bright blue eyes in the darkness. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas appeared suddenly before him, startling Dean. He bolted upright, unsteady, and tumbled to the earth. He looked up, and the first thing Dean noticed was Cas’s eyes, bright and shining in the midday sun, mimicking the sky above them. He looked around, taking in their surroundings. Soft sand between his toes and waves crashing in the distance. 

“Where are we?” Dean asked, brushing the sand from his body as he stood and adjusting his sunglasses. 

“You tell me, Dean. We’re in your dream,” Cas smiled, his eyes squinting in the brightness. 

Looking for anything familiar, Dean turned, but the beach was vast, open, and empty, save Cas, himself, and his trusty green cooler. He bent down, flipped the lid open, and smiled. “Yahtzee!” Dean pulled two beers from inside, twisting the tops off and passing one to the angel. 

“I don’t know where we are, Cas. But this ain’t bad. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything but nightmares, I’ll take a deserted beach,” Dean smiled. 

Cas sipped the cold beer and admired the form of this human. They had just spent hours naked and taking turns fucking Y/N to the point of delirium, but seeing Dean relaxed and bronzed in the sun, wearing nothing but a pair of swim shorts, was possibly even more enticing. 

Two chairs materialized and they settled into them. “Ahhh.” Dean sighed, sinking further into the canvas, his eyes closed as he sipped from the beer. His thoughts rambled in his head, thinking about what he wanted to say to Cas if anything. 

“We’re friends, right, Dean?” Cas broke the silence and Dean’s train of thought with his gravelly baritone. 

“Best friends, Cas.” 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

“I know that.” Dean scoffed as if he wasn’t aware. There are things he’d told Cas that he had never even told his brother. 

“Okay.” Cas settled back in his chair as well, mirroring Dean. 

“Damn, is it hot out here!” Dean no sooner opened his mouth than a wide umbrella appeared above them, shading them from the scorching rays. “Ahhhh, that’s more like it.” 

“You know what else is hot?” Cas asked, sitting up and locking his eyes on Dean’s chest, smooth and glistening with a layer of sweat, scarred from years of hunting, but no less attractive to the angel. 

“What’s that, buddy?” Dean asked casually, as if this was really just a day at the beach, just a beer between friends. 

“The afternoon we spent with Y/N and your brother,” Cas answered openly as he tended to do. 

“Yeah, that was pretty spectacular,” Dean smiled fondly, looking over at the angel. 

“You were pretty spectacular, Dean. I learned and experienced many things today,” he contemplated. 

“I heard you got to experience both Y/N and Sammy, in her body, and your own. So tell me, what was your favorite part?” Dean looked expectantly at Cas. 

“I think my favorite part is the one thing I’ve yet to experience today, and that is you,” he admitted. 

“Me? What - what, uh, what exactly does that mean Cas?” Dean gulped, wishing and hoping for one thing, but also apprehensive of the same. 

“I noticed you bend at Sam’s command today, and I was wondering, well, hoping really, if you would do the same for me,” Cas elaborated. 

“Cas, you’re the only angel I’ll ever say yes to,” Dean answered truthfully, his gaze flicking between the angel’s mouth and lips. He leaned forward and closed his eyes as their lips grew nearer. 

~*~

Gasping, Dean bolted upright in the spare bed, still naked, fully erect, and no longer alone. 

“Good, you’re awake. It wouldn’t have felt right if you weren’t,” the deep voice next to him murmured. Cas’s hand cupped Dean’s jaw as he pressed his full lips to the hunter’s. 

Dean’s body was hyper-alert as he returned the kiss, moaning into the angel’s mouth. He didn’t know Cas could kiss like this, but it made his toes curl, and his cock twitch. Dean leaned into Cas, tilting his head and allowing the angel to deepen it, their tongues tangling as he let Cas explore his mouth. Breathing heavily through his nose, he wrapped his arms around the firm body next to him, pulling him in closer, their cocks grazing each other. 

“Cas,” Dean panted, breaking the kiss. “I’ve wanted this, you, for so long. I was just too scared to admit it, and what it might mean.” 

“Dean, I’ve been yours all along, I just needed you to be ready. You’re mine. It was cemented when I raised you from perdition,” Cas declared, placing his right hand on Dean’s left shoulder, just like he did so many years ago. 

“I’m yours, Cas,” Dean whispered. 

“I know.” Cas reached for the lube, squirting a large amount in his hand, and placed it between Dean’s cheeks. 

The coolness of the lubricant on his heated skin caused a hiss to escape his swollen lips but quickly turned into a moan as Cas spread the slickness over his hole, a finger slipping inside. “Oh fuck, Cas, shit.” Dean had never been with a man like this, but he knew how to pleasure himself. This was not like that. This was so much more than Dean could ever have anticipated. 

His body was humming and they had barely started. His cock, leaking precum, bobbed with every movement of Cas’ finger. Dean spread his legs even further, lifting his head, watching the angel open him up. Cas added a second finger and Dean’s vision blurred. 

“I’m going to take good care of you, Dean,” Cas whispered sweet nothings, licking the outer shell of his ear as he pumped two fingers into the hunter. “Gonna make you feel so good.” 

“You learn how to talk like that from Y/N and Sammy?” Dean gasped, Cas grazing his prostate. 

“I told you I learned many things today. Do you like it?” Cas asked, adding yet another finger. “Are you going to be good for me Dean?” 

“Yes, I love it, Cas. I’ll be good, so good for you,” Dean panted, his eyes slamming shut at the onslaught of pleasure the angel was bringing him. A warmth spread across his nipples, tingling. “Ohhhh, yes!” 

“Shh, Dean. We don’t want to wake Y/N and your brother,” the angel reminded him. “Or do you?”

“No, I’ll be quiet. Please, Cas. I need you to fuck me already.” 

“So needy for me already.” Cas withdrew his fingers and added more lube to his hand, slicking up his cock before lining up with Dean’s stretched out hole. “Keep your eyes on me, Dean. I want you to see everything.” 

Dean nodded, unable to speak as Cas breached his entrance. He fought to keep his eyes open, keeping contact with the cobalt orbs as they stared into his, Cas pushing further into his body until he was fully sheathed inside his heat. He had never experienced anything like this before. It was too much, yet not enough. No toy he owned, no matter how fat or long, could ever make him feel like this. Only his angel could make him feel this way. 

“Cas,” the name fell from Dean’s lips over and over, like a prayer. 

“Come for me, Dean.” 

Unable to hold back, unable to disobey, Dean’s body flooded with pleasure, his white seed coating his chest and stomach, as Cas continued to pound into the hunter. Each thrust causing the hunters cock to expel another load. “Fuck! Cas!” 

The primal scream erupted from Dean’s lips woke the occupants of the other bed. Y/N and Sam were now wide-eyed, watching Dean take everything Cas had to give him, alighting their own arousal. After what had already transpired in the room between the four of them earlier, neither hesitated as Sam moved her body where they had the best view, entering her from behind. 

Cas took his time and his movements were fluid as he thrust into the hunter, who responded willingly, his legs wrapped around the angel’s narrow hips. “Dean, I’m close. I want you to come with me.” 

“Yes, fuck! Cas, yes!” 

“Oh shit, baby, I’m gonna come.” Sam gasped, pumping faster into Y/N’s slick pussy. 

“Come now!” Cas commanded, a sly smile on his face, and the room erupted in screams of pleasure as each of it’s four occupants reached their climax as ordered. 

“Holy fuck, what the hell was that?” Dean groaned, melting bonelessly into the mattress. 

“I used my grace,” Cas explained, pulling Dean’s spent body closer to him. 

“On all of us?” Sam questioned.

“Yes, you did angel,” Y/N cooed from the other bed. 

“Fuck, that was awesome.” Sam concurred.

“We are so doing that again,” Dean yawned. 

“I would not be opposed,” Cas replied. 

“So, Dean, how was it?” Y/N grinned wickedly, watching her two best friends. 

“Out of this world. Like, probably the best sex I’ve ever had, Y/N. No offense,” Dean confessed. 

“None taken, baby. Now get some sleep.” Y/N yawned, rolling back into Sam’s side. 

“An out of this world experience? The best sex you’ve ever had, huh?” Cas asked smugly. 

“Yeah, Cas. It has definitely been a day of firsts,” Dean smiled sleepily, drifting off in the angel’s arms. 

“And many more. Rest well, Dean. You’re going to need it.” Cas pressed a kiss to the sleeping hunter’s lips. In his millennia, Cas had never felt so much. It truly was an out of this world feeling. 

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The Whole Enchilada: @dolphincliffs​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @flamencodiva​ @blacktithe7​  @amanda-teaches​ @hannahindie​  @kickingitwithkirk​  @wi-deangirl77​ @hobby27​​ @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne​ @idreamofplaid​ @manawhaat​ @crashdevlin​  @emoryhemsworth​  @fangirlxwritesx67​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @jensengirl83​ @anathewierdo​  @winchest09​​ @michellethetvaddict​ @magssteenkamp​ @waywardbaby​

cover art by me, pic credits to @irensupernatural (via deviantart.com)

[tarlosbuddie]

Chapter: 2/3, 1600 words

Fic Summary:  Shannon Diaz thought she was going to die when a car hit her. But as she wakes up in a hospital with Eddie by her side, she knows she has a second chance and refuses to screw this up again. Her near-death experience changed a lot of things, but it didn’t change her mind about the divorce. It’s the right thing to do for their family and she needs to convince Eddie they need to do it so they can all move forward.

-----

Shannon fell asleep over an hour ago and Eddie hadn’t left her room since. He’s looking at his wife wondering if this is the last time he can refer to her like that without having to add the dreadful word “ex” before. He feels lost. He’s replaying every word of their conversation in his head, but somehow all he can hear is the words she didn’t say at loud “you are not enough”.

He texted everyone to let them know how Shannon is doing, but he hasn’t answered Bobby’s text. He wants to know how much time off Eddie wants, but that is not a question he can answer. Will Shannon want his help? Can he still be in her life, even if she doesn’t want to be his wife? Bobby doesn’t know about the divorce. Nobody knows even the one person Eddie tells everything. He can’t tell him that the only person stupid enough to marry him, finally realized how unlovable he is. He doesn’t want to talk to him about it, but he still feels the need to see him.

  As if the thought magically summons him here, Buck shows up with a sleepy Christopher in his arms. Eddie wasn’t sure his son would be able to sleep knowing his mother was in the hospital, but of course, Buck managed to put the boy to sleep. He was so great with him.

Shannon opens her eyes at the same time Christopher does and opens her arms for Buck to put her son next to her. He does it very carefully to make sure not to hurt her legs. The boy is still a bit sleepy and quiet but he hugs his mom with all the strength his tiny arms can muster. He rests his head on her chest and lets his heavy eyes shut again while she runs her finger in his wet curls. Judging by the unusual smell, Buck must have used his own shampoo to wash the kid’s hair.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she says, breaking the heavy silence filling the room. Now that she is awake she can see that Eddie won’t even look at her.

“My pleasure,” Buck answers with a tired smile on his face. He looks as exhausted as Eddie, and Shannon is wondering if he got to sleep at all. They barely know each other, they just briefly met when she showed up at the station and Buck was too embarrassed by the situation to introduce himself. ��I’m just glad you’re okay, you gave us a big scare,” and the 6 ft 2 man suddenly looks small and vulnerable. She doesn’t have to know him to know that he’s sincere. “I don’t know what Eddie would’ve done without you. He loves you so much.” Buck says genuinely and the heavy silence is back.

Buck looks at Eddie but the man had turned his back at them. It’s not enough to get rid of Buck and the concerned man walks to his friend to know what’s up with him. “You okay man?” he asks while putting both his hands on Eddie’s arms. Eddie just shakes his head and tries to remove himself from Buck’s hold but it just increases his friend’s worry and he holds him even more tightly. “Shannon is okay,” Buck says to reassure him.

“I’m not,” he snaps, successfully pulling away from Buck’s hands. He should not have said that because now he's getting even closer to comfort him. He doesn’t deserve to be comforted. He doesn't deserve any of the people in this room. They are all too good for him. Eddie is not enough for them. Buck will probably find a way out of his life like Shannon did. That's inevitable.

Shannon looks up from her sleeping son and lets her eyes on the two of them. She is surprised to see that Eddie is not hiding his feelings from Buck. He's as vulnerable as he was with her and she hasn't seen him like that with anyone else but her. Eddie is always in control, he never raises his voice, never shakes. He's the kinda man that rather let his anger eat him alive than to show his emotions. But here he is, in front of the man he describes to her as his best friend, open like a book Buck seems to have read a thousand times before.

Buck must be one special man for both her son and husband to trust him so much. “Talk to me,” he says to Eddie and Shannon would barely have heard it if she wasn’t paying this much attention to them.

“I can’t,” he says with a quiver in his voice. He bites down his lip, leaving a teeth mark in it. Buck gently put his thumb over his friend’s mouth to prevent him from hurting himself any further. It’s not even that weird for them to touch each other’s faces. Buck had stuffed his giant mouth with pizza so many times that Eddie is used to cleaning the corner of his lips with his thumb as he does with his son. Even though the other way around is less common, Eddie doesn’t flinch from the contact.

“Eddie, it’s me” Buck insists and Eddie’s eyes finally meet his. They are wet but he’s holding his tears. Christopher is still in the room. He can’t tell him about the divorce, not like that, not when he looks like a hopeless mess. His boy is not 8-years-old yet and he just got his mom back, now is not the time to break the news to him. Chris needs to believe that their family will be okay and Eddie is in no condition to make this promise. “You can tell me anything.” Buck continues. “I hope you know by now that I have you back” this sounds like a promise he made to him before.

She could explain everything to Eddie’s friend but she wants to let him be the one to tell him when he’s ready. So she just sits there, in her hospital bed, holding her son and watching the man she married crack open every wall he built around him. He almost looks small now that he dropped his armor. Shannon looks down at Christopher and runs her hands to his curls and can’t help to think fondly about how much that boy looks like his dad. He has so much Eddie in him; his pure heart and his strong mind are the greatest evidence that he is a Diaz boy. God, she loves them.

“Maybe you two should talk outside the room,” Shannon whispers. Eddie will not truly believe the divorce is happening until he says it out loud, and from what she’s seeing, Buck is the only person Eddie can talk to. He doesn’t want to leave Shannon’s side. She could have died and he’s being remembered of it every time he dares to close his eyes. They were saying goodbye in the ambulance. She was dying, he was sure of it. But she lived and now he’s losing her in a whole different way. Eddie doesn’t know if he can move. He wants to stay here forever, to keep looking at his son, sound asleep on his mommy’s chest, slowly rising from the movement of her living body.

Buck seems to read his mind and he gently guides him outside the hospital room, leaving the door open for Eddie to see Shannon. 

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Buck says. He gives Eddie all the time he needs to talk. He doesn’t want to push him. He’s here, he’s not going anywhere and that’s the only encouragement Eddie needs to open his mouth.

“She wants” he starts before swallowing hard. His throat feels like it could close itself to keep the words in. He cannot say it yet. But when Buck’s hand meets his arm again, he feels safe enough to say it. “A divorce”. The word leaves a salty taste on his mouth until he realizes that that’s the taste of tears he didn’t know were falling on his face.

“She’s been through a lot.” Buck says to comfort him “The accident was pretty traumatic, maybe she doesn’t mean it”.

“It’s…” once again he bites his bottom lip. The voice in his head tells him to brush it off. “It’s not the first time she wants to leave me.”

“You mean when she left Texas?”

“I mean the other night. She doesn’t want to be my wife anymore. She’s leaving me again. What’s so wrong with me that” he can’t finish his sentence before Buck pulls him closer to him, hugging his shaking body against his strong chest. He almost melts in his embrace, enjoying it while it lasts because he knows that it’s only a matter of time until Buck leaves him too. Buck will find out sooner than later how unworthy he is.

Even though she’s watching her husband sobbing into his friend’s neck, his legs barely able to hold him as he shakes from the crying, Shannon can feel in her bones that she took the right decision. As much as this hurts, she knows that they will be okay. All of them. She realizes that Eddie is not alone, he hasn’t been alone in a long time but he doesn’t know it yet.

This is the end of a chapter of her life; Shannon Diaz, wife of Eddie Diaz. She just hopes she deserves a second chance at being Shannon Diaz, mother of Christopher Diaz.

[targaryenimagines]

Living Darkness

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,117

Summary:

Warnings: Angst

A/N: I hope this is what you wanted.

"Khaleesi."

A soft voice whispers but she doesn't bother to turn around. She only squeezes her eyes shut at the intruding noise. Trying to block out everything that was around her.

Trying to block out the memories.

Every time she opens her eyes she was met with a constant replay of events that she could never change. Taunting her for her failures.

Every time she hears whispered words as she passes she hears the sound of Viserion's cry. The sound of your scream when he wouldn't pull up. The sound of her own when she saw what was happening.

Every time she blinks she sees your broken body falling from the sky. A crimson trail following in your path. She could see Viserion diving towards you. His cream colored scales stained red.

Every time she closes her eyes to sleep she's met with broken ice. Ice that quickly turned from blue to red.

"Daenerys."

Her mind keeps replaying everything over and over again. Telling her what she already knew. What she's known since you disappeared underneath the ice.

She had failed.

She had failed you.

She had failed Viserion.

She had failed everyone.

"Dany."

Everything she has worked for meant nothing now that you were gone. You were her light, shining brilliantly like a flame. Your constant warmth and love exuding from you igniting her with a passion of a thousands suns. One of the reasons Viserion had chosen you as his rider. Your shared gentleness a clear indicator in the potential bond.

Despair starts to fill her heart at a rapid pace. Paralysing her within it's dark embrace. Trapping her in a constant repeat of events that she would do anything to change.

Causing her to remember everything with perfect detail.

All the events that transpired before. Everything that could have been changed to stop her light from being taken.

-----

The plan was set, everything was going into motion. With each step she was closer and closer to claiming her birthright. Nothing was going to stop her now. The sound of soft laughter interrupts her thoughts but it brings a warm feeling to her heart.

Daenerys turns her violet gaze towards yours. Your beautiful eyes sparkling underneath the sun. Your hair getting tousled by the wind. She couldn't help the smile that spreads across her lips at the sight of you. Watching as you play with Viserion, whose eyes were sparkling with delight. Both of your movements in sync with one another. A true testament to how close you two have gotten over time. A sight that brings the same warm feeling back to her heart.

Her earlier thoughts returning to her but with a new addition. That when she took back the throne she would finally make you her wife. She would finally show the world that you were hers and she was yours.

With the plan underway she was that much closer to her goal.

For a better life not only for the people of Westeros, but the both of you.

Her forever with you coming closer and closer as each moment passed.

A thought that brings a lightness to her heart and soul, and a smile to her face.

-----

If only I had stopped it. I should have listened to her when she was trying to talk me out of it. I should have known that she was right, Daenerys thinks, her mind crying out everything that she should have done. I should have protected her and Viserion. If only I'd known.

Tears were escaping her eyes at a faster rate. Her sorrow consuming her and darkening her world. It was her fault her love and son were gone. If she had been faster, if she had been paying more attention to her surroundings she could have prevented it. If she would have been better than you would still be with her. Bringing joy and laughter wherever you went.

Instead her world was nothing but despair and agony. Her body trapped in self-inflicted numbness to everything but her pain.

Her pain was the only thing that kept her close to you.

Her pain was the only thing that kept you alive.

Her pain was what she deserved for failing you.

She should have listened to you, the pain was only her punishment for not doing so.

-----

"Dany, please, we both know that this plan is suicidal, at best. We shouldn't be wasting our time in trying to impress Cersei Lannister. Every moment we waste gives her more and more time to grow her defenses. We shouldn't be wasting our time heading beyond the Wall when our most immediate threat is here," you plead, your eyes staring at her with urgency. Your words ringing loudly across the silence of the room.

"The plan has already been set into motion. It was decided that this course of action would be for the best," Daenerys responds, her words calm and precise. Trying to show you the necessity of this course of action.

However, you simply shake your head. Disapproval shining within your eyes, and laced in your voice. "This is not the best course of action. We both know that Dany and even if it is the best course of action it, certainly, isn't so for us. You're not only risking one of your most trusted advisors but the possibility of the North blaming you for their king's death if this were to go wrong," you stress, you hands starting to fidget by your side. A nervous tick that you have always had, she thinks fondly. "It would be much safer and more efficient if we take King's Landing now and issue a royal decree to help the North. Why should you get Cersei's approval when you can do what she can when you're queen?"

Daenerys closes her eyes at your words. Knowing that you were right but everything has already been decided. There was nothing more that she could do. This was the course that was set and agreed upon. There was no changing it now.

"My love, I know you disapprove of this decision but please believe in it. Believe in me, everything is going to be fine and Cersei Lannister will learn the truth. A truth that all of Westeros needs to know. I promise you nothing will happen," Daenerys says, bringing her hands to clasp yours. Her hope for you to understand growing with each moment as you look at her.

"You have done amazing things, Dany. Things I could never in a million years do but, not even you, could predict the future and I don't want to see that future when you're proven wrong with this. Only death awaits when you head beyond the Wall. I just hope you don't come to regret your decision."

With those parting words you slip out of her hold and into the hall. Your words ringing loudly in the silence of the air even as you presence was long gone. Echoing like a phantom within her ears.

I just hope you don't come to regret your decision.

-----

She does.

With each ragged intake of breath that takes more and more energy to accomplish.

God she does, with every moment that you're not by her side. It was like the world around her was swallowing her whole. Consuming her in darkness and despair. Her mind and heart at a constant war with each other. Her entire being screaming out in agony for not having you there.

She couldn't breathe knowing that you were no longer doing the same. Like the air was toxic and was clogging up her lungs. Only causing her sobs to become more and more erratic with each breath she takes. Her body folding in on itself because she couldn't find the strength to keep standing. To appear strong and collected when her whole being was shattered beyond repair.

Her mind was only a vessel for her pain.

Her body was a prisoner to her despair.

Her heart was a hollow shell of what it used to be.

Everything was different without you by her side. Without Viserion's playful cries in the morning towards Drogon and Rhaegal. Now there were only sounds of mourning. Their cries raising towards the heaven and echoing across the land.

They too understood what was lost because they weren't good enough.

They too remember when everything fell apart.

-----

The snarls of the dead fill the air. Drowning out the whistling of the wind.

Daenerys lifts her gaze towards the sky and watches Viserion and Rhaegal. She could tell that they were starting to get tired. Something that sends a bolt of terror through her chest. They needed to get out as soon as they could. Drogon rumbles underneath her, clearly, agreeing with the sentiment.

Daenerys brings her gaze towards the mass of Wights. Their eyes sending a shiver down her spine. She had never seen such soulless eyes before. Not a hint of emotion within their depths. She knows that they have to get out of here soon. Their time here was out and they're running on borrowed time.

Bringing her gaze towards Jon's she sees the desperation within his gaze. Clearly he hadn't expected this sudden attack. None of them had expect you. Daenerys feels her heart skip a beat at the thought of you. Fighting with their children while she was stationary on the ground. A fact that she was not happy with but there was nothing she could do.

Daenerys reaches out her hand towards Jon when she sees he's coming close. The sooner he was on Drogon the sooner they could leave. The sooner they could leave the less likely any casualties will happen. As Jon grows nearer she could feel a lightness starting to take over her body. Her heart slowing down from its erratic beat.

Only to completely stop when Viserion's cry echos through the air. Filling her with a complete sense of dread as she turns to him. Her eyes only widening at what she sees.

You.

Falling towards the ground in a deadly arc. The crimson of your blood staining the air around you.

Daenerys didn't even realize that she had let out a scream of her own. The sound sounding like she was having her heart ripped from her body. It was a sound that all that were present would remember. It was the sound of complete and total agony.

Agony that was encompassing her as each second passed. Her only reprieve being when Viserion dove after you. Hoping beyond anything that he would be able to catch you. He was always the fastest of the three, and he would be able to catch you.

He had to.

Her hope starts to dwindle, however, when you grow closer and closer to the ground. With Viserion showing no signs of pulling up.

Your scream was a testament to what was happening. "Bē, Visērion, jikagon bē."

You knew what was going to happen. What Daenerys was willing not to. You knew and so did Viserion.

He wasn't fast enough.

He wouldn't be able to catch you.

You would hit the ground and there was nothing anyone could do.

A thought that brings another, sharper, cry from her lips. Despair filling her being within its embrace.

Her pain only grows that much more when Viserion tucks his wings tighter into his body. Knowing that she wasn't only going to lose you today she was going to lose both. She was going to lose the love of her life and her son.

She could see Rhaegal diving towards them but Daenerys knew he was too far away. Causing tears to start to slip from her eyes. Her pain growing more and more as you grow closer and closer to the ground.

She watches as you grab Viserion's neck and hold on. Clinging to him for the last time and Daenerys feels her heart break even more.

More so than the ice when you finally hit it.

The explosion of water shatters the silence of the landscape. The howls of the dead and the wind comes back, but Daenerys can't bring herself to move.

Her body and mind completely numb to everything. She was stuck staring at the hole you had dissapeared into.

Even as Drogon took off into the air she couldn't bring herself to look away.

Knowing that her light had been taken away.

Plunging her world into darkness.

The North may be facing their Long Night when the Night King comes.

Hers had already come, she would live in darkness until she saw you again.

Until she would be able to see her sun again.

[aplusjaybirdie]

like real people do

read on ao3 here. @genderqueercrowley asked to see it so here you are! I’m done with it finally! Beta’d by @vowsatthewake

“Aziraphale, you bloody genius, I could kiss you!” Crowley exclaims, grin wide and free, and filled with a light that should be impossible for a demon. Life pauses for a moment, as he realizes the implications of what he’d said. Aziraphale pauses, wine-deep eyes lifting briefly up at Crowley, his soft lips barely parted, hair curling like a halo around him, catching the weak London sunlight filtering through the bookstore window and catching it alight with holy fire. Crowley opens his mouth too, though it would hurt like Falling had, did, to apologize, to reign himself back in, like he’s done so many times before, like both of them had done so many times before. Six thousand years of love and some of it had to spill out eventually, like wine out of a cup when the pourer is rather drunk, though usually only after the two of them had consumed a fair amount of alcohol. The two beings had gotten rather good at tactfully dancing around it, or reasoning around it, talking it over to convince the other (themeslves) that it had been nothing, a drunken slip of the tongue.

“Alright,” Aziraphale says, softly, barely a hint of vibration on the air, spoken like anything louder would bring down the wrath of Heaven and Hell.

And once, it might have, Crowley reflects, before the Armageddon’t.

Crowley does not need to breathe, but at this moment, this impossible, incredible, ineffable moment, it is the only thing he can do, mouth hanging open.

In. Out.

Aziraphale is pointedly not looking at Crowley’s eyes, staring determinedly at his chin instead. His back, however, is as firm as can be, and he is settled in his soft armchair like a king, hands lightly lying on the ends of the armrests, his fingers gently braced against the chair. He is assured in this; a general whose armies are merely waiting for the clarion call. There is no movement, no hesitation or regret, and in between breaths Crowley realizes three things.

In. Out.

First, that Aziraphale has finally caught up to Crowley, and in fact, Crowley realizes with a pleasant jolt to his stomach, like reaching the top of a roller coaster, teetering in the space-time between heartbeats before plunging down, knowing that you will survive and yet - that Aziraphale might be going rather faster.

In. Out .

Second, that were Crowley to release the moment like a firefly from a jar, Aziraphale would let him. The days would keep on turning, the earth would keep spinning on its axis, and the Ineffable Plan would keep being, well, ineffable.

In. Out.

Third, if Crowley was to replay the scene-though with the roles reversed- from so many years ago, where, in an old black Bentley that had survived for a century without even a scratch, he had been given something wholly Aziraphale, been trusted with something that could drag them apart forever, wrapped in a reminder, a soft, desperate tartan grasping, a Pandora’s Box that would plead for its life as a fool opened its lid, but with a Hope, a Maybe In the Future Invitation, trailing like smoke from dry ice from a thermos of the most blessed holy water. Where he had offered the closest thing he could give in return, a lift , and if he was to play out his part in the give and take and “temptation accomplished” and “hereditary enemies” and curl Aziraphale’s fingers back around the hope, the possibility in his extended palm and say “I can’t,” there might not be another chance for the rest of their lives.

In. Out.

Aziraphale is still staring resolutely at Crowley’s chin, and Crowley realizes that he had been sitting there long enough that it would be quite nerve-wracking for a being that has just put the friendship of his best friend, his only friend, now that Aziraphale has been forcibly separated from the Host(Crowley’s fault, a small voice in the back of his head whispers, perhaps Aziraphale would never have been pushed away from Heaven like a sticky child peeled off a leg). Though Aziraphale is sitting as steadfastly as ever, gaze still proud, still unflinching, Crowley’s eyes track the bob of Aziraphale’s Adam's Apple- what a ridiculous name- as he swallows almost imperceptibly.

Crowley has Made a Choice. If he is to Fall Again (but he has been Falling in Love for so many years, centuries, millennia), it will not be a vague saunter downwards. It will be a purposeful march to arms, to serve in the armies of Their Side, the only side that matters anymore. The rallying cry of “to Aziraphale!” has been shouted and Crowley would rather be damned- again- than leave him to fight whatever battles he must alone.

Aziraphale did not seem to have reacted to Crowley as he smoothly, though not necessarily without great difficulty, removed his sunglasses and thus pulling away the emotional wall that is always in place, unless he is drunk or alone or both, or on very rare occasions otherwise. He leans in, moving like he is in a dream, and his somewhat less plush chair finds itself a great deal closer to Aziraphale than it had been previously, allowing his palm, miraculously free of the sweat that had beaded there in just a few moments ago, a few wingbeats of soaring, falling, twisting thoughts, to rest on Aziraphale’s cheek. His fingers, long and thin and as bony as a skeleton’s(Aziraphale had once called them slender, beaming fondly as he held the tips of Crowley’s fingers in his own. Although both of them had been drunk at the time, Aziraphale had been rather more so, and Crowley had done his best to convince his heart that if it was going to beat so fast it might as well not beat at all) were allowed to tenderly wrap one golden-white curl around themselves, and somehow, miraculously, Crowley was allowed to purposefully (slowly, hesitantly, seeking permission the whole while, yes, but purposefully) march his lips on a pilgrimage to Aziraphale’s own holy pair.

At some point, Aziraphale’s eyes, thick with some undefinable emotion, had transferred from Crowley’s chin- no, not his chin, his lips - to Crowley’s eyes, and Crowley is reminded yet again that he is a Principality, a Nation Unto Himself, and thus is capable of moving with all the undeniable deliberateness of its ruler as he moves to meet Crowley in a kiss as soft as a rumble of thunder in the distance, followed- or, do they happen in the same moment? who can tell- by an arc of wondrous electricity, searing and sweet, along the places where Crowley’s atoms meet Aziraphale’s atoms and it feels like nothing has since Crowley spread stardust through the heavens, so many, many years ago.

Like any lightning bolt worth it’s stuff, the kiss is too short to really be comprehended, leaving behind only ghostly after images and a brief whirl of panic in which one's brain must catch up to the fact that it is still in fact in existence, and has not been blotted out for daring to be the tallest thing, the most favourable target around. Crowley’s brain, despite being of an altogether different and more powerful type than usual humans’, went through the same process, thudding about in a trembling, wild panic that brought to mind- well, a mind that was not struggling to catch up with six thousand years worth of love being wrestled and tugged and squashed down and suddenly freed in an instantaneous rush- the origin of the word “panic,” back to the Greeks and the half-goat immortal Pan, who actually happened to be a particularly wild demon who, unsurprisingly, as he was a demon, hated Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes had fluttered mostly closed, and one of his hands had settled on Crowley’s hand-the one resting on Aziraphale’s cheek- with the grace and warm regality the hand’s owner had used when on his chair, the other tangling and lacing and tangling again in Crowley’s other hand, his somewhat shorter and infinitely warmer fingers possessive with Crowley’s. He is mine, said his hands, and nothing could take him away from me.

Aziraphale had once pulled Crowley along with him to one of the original performances of Romeo and Juliet. It was exactly the sort of thing any proper demon would scorn and scoff at, and so perhaps that was why something of it had lodged itself in Crowley’s heart. He’d seen it dozens of times throughout the centuries, and had it read to him once otherwise, in secret, stolen moments, hiding away from everyone, those who might have ever cared most of all, and memorized it as quickly as he could, lining his soul with it’s gentle sighs.

(He still absolutely could not stand the other tragedies of Shakespeare, and overall thought the funny ones much more deserving of attention.)

Whatever the cause of Crowley’s shaking voice, the Bard Himself would have been moved to tears with the tenderness with which Crowley and Aziraphale held each other, the vulnerability of voices that shook themselves into stability. Their faces were inches apart, if that, and each murmured word puffed against the others’ face, caressing them and warming them with love.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:” Crowley’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, the bursting of his heart prolonging the s’s into an adoring hiss. “My lips, two blushing pilgrims stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Aziraphale was smiling, soft lips curving up like a beam of sunlight- or moonlight, who can tell the difference after all? Crowley is in love- and if Crowley’s voice was a half-remembered dream brought to life, then Aziraphale’s was a loving caress, sure and impossibly soft, a fire in a hearth, tamed only because he wanted it to be, wanted to warm Crowley and bring him joy, a scratch of loving laughter because here was his demon, reciting him love poetry because who were the original star crossed lovers if not they?

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,” here he moved his hand, and Crowley’s too, so that their palms hung in the air against each other, fingers entwined, “and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

Crowley’s throat was dry.

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?” he croaks, heart beating fiercely , and he is glad that he does not technically need his heart to survive because he does not think it’s working correctly.

“Ay, pilgrim,” says Aziraphale, softly earnest and softly, fondly amused in one. “Lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.” Crowley is not sure when, if, his words and Romeo’s became one, a needing keen, desperate want lying like a snake waiting for the moment to bite Orpheus’s bride and send her down to the Underworld, to Crowley, to keep Aziraphale there with him forever- “They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

They kiss, again, and it is just as much of a sweet shock as when Adam first came, as much as a gift as the first rain, as much as a wonder and a fierce delight as the first of anything, and all of the faith Crowley has lost is exalting in the streets of his own personal path from quiet despair.

It is rather longer than their first kiss.

Aziraphale is an excellent kisser, and Crowley is more than happy to let him take the lead. One hand stays, snaring Crowley’s hand, and the other moves from Aziraphale’s cheek down to Crowley’s side, skimming over his jacket and coming to rest on Crowley’s waist, pulling him as close as possible without toppling Crowley out of his chair. Then Aziraphale nips Crowley’s lips and Crowley involuntarily- though not unwillingly- gasps his mouth open and for a single starstruck moment, a fraction of the time it takes to blink- not that either of them were blinking, eyes closed into the kiss- they stand on a cliff edge and then Crowley’s mouth is burning with something with just a tinge of holiness, a brilliant spark that Crowley couldn’t imagine parting with, even if he were to dissolve into a demonic puddle, which he feels he is dangerously close to. Not because of Aziraphale’s holy saliva, but because, despite all his bluster and posing and brag, Crowley is ultimately a very sensitive being and being kissed so thoroughly is quite undoing him. Aziraphale does not have a snake tongue, though Crowley could have been fooled. It is light and nimble in Crowley’s mouth, darting around for surely not enough time, an eternity that feels like an instant, and Crowley misses its presence terribly in the second or so it takes Aziraphale to move his lips- which Crowley realizes taste of ozone and vanilla chapstick, a touch of wine(neither of them are drunk, and Crowley is glad) and something intensely older, something inherently Aziraphale, from Crowley’s lips to the corner of skin next to them, open-mouthed like he’s delivering a benediction(and being blessed had never been so wonderful, not for an angel and certainly not for a demon) and Aziraphale is pressing passionately precise kisses down Crowley’s face, onto his neck. He pauses for a moment at the hollow of Crowley’s throat, and it is the opposite of Falling. Perhaps, the small part of Crowley not currently occupied with the angel, his angel, kissing him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, muses, all that is needed to turn a demon into an angel is love, true and angelic and specific love directed full force onto them, and then that small part of his brain joins the rest of it, exalting wholly in the moment. And then joins in protesting, like a wave crashing against the immovable bone-rocks of the beach, when Aziraphale stops. His thoughts had been mostly compressed into emotion, to allow for him to process the sheer amount of information and sensations flowing through his nerves. So it took some time- not a lot, mind you, but any amount of time is a lot during possibly the most important moment of your six thousand year life- for Crowley to start properly working again, and so as Aziraphale rose his head back to the level of Crowley’s, all he could manage was a sound that was most assuredly not a whimper, nor a whine(at least if you were to ask Crowley about it later), but more of a “ngk.”

Aziraphale’s cheek was warm and pink under Crowley’s hand, his breath was a little heavy, and his eyes shone like stars pulled from the undeserving heavens.

“Aziraphale, I-“ Crowley can hardly speak. He doesn’t want this moment to ever end, can’t bear to imagine what it would be like to exist without Aziraphale’s hand in his, without Aziraphale’s lips on his.

“My darling, my dearest,” murmurs Aziraphale. “My demon.” He is fond, and not long ago(no, not long at all) Crowley would have resented being called something so soppily un-demonic as “darling” but that was then and this is now. Crowley would endure a “sweetie tums” if it was Aziraphale speaking. Maybe. Well, maybe not that particular pet name; even if Hell no longer wants anything to do with him he is still a demon and he does have some self respect and Aziraphale is pulling Crowley out of his chair and onto Aziraphale’s, except the chair was not of a size that they could sit next to each other on it(funny, Crowley could have sworn that it was bigger, not that he was complaining) and so Crowley ends up kissing Aziraphale like it’s the end of the world from the angel’s lap, both of his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, fingers running through almost white curls and one of Aziraphale’s hands pressing warmly on his waist, and the other on his back, pushing Crowley in even closer to Aziraphale. Everywhere that Crowley’s skin touches Aziraphale’s there are intense tingles, like his entire body had fallen asleep and was only just now waking up. Crowley has recovered enough of his usual swagger to put his snake tongue to good use, and Aziraphale is matching him. Finally, they are going the same speed, and the wait is worth it. They are caught in a bubble of time that is purely their own, existing solely in the arms of the other. Like two halves of the same soul, bright and lasting and burning with infinite starfire. “I love you,” says Crowley. “I love you, I love you, I love you-“

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” replies Aziraphale, pulling from his beloved books to express what he alone cannot find the words to describe. “I would love you if I never saw you again, and I would love you if I saw you every Tuesday.” Aziraphale is pressing kisses to Crowley in between quotations. “I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life. I love you, Crowley,” and all the while, Crowley melted into Aziraphale. Demons are not used to really any amount of love, and though Crowley was more used to it than most, as he had been living with a literal being of love for several millennia, he was being inundated with the type of love he didn’t think he’d ever felt in such focus, not in Hell, not on Earth, and his memories of Heaven were foggy enough if he had felt it he couldn’t remember and so it didn’t count, and Crowley was nearing the point where he might just turn into a snake(which would be rather embarrassing) and so Crowley shut up the angel as effectively as he could by kissing him even harder than he had before and using all of his devilish wiles available, though admittedly he didn’t have much experience with this sort of thing.

Aziraphale shut up.

Which of course meant that was the moment that the bookshop doorbell rang at that moment, and Aziraphale, hardly breaking stride, snapped the sign on the door from begrudgingly open to happily closed and called towards the entrance from among where they draped around each other somewhere among the stacks,

“We’re closed!” Without waiting for confirmation that’s whoever it is has left(or rather, found themselves roughly shoved outside the door, in accordance with the sign), he turns back to Crowley, deepening the kiss, grabbing lapels and twisting fabric, pulling both of them to their feet with reckless and purposeful abandon. Every line of them scorched in a most delightful way, tingling and roaring and crashing within and around them like a tempest. Lost in each other, bits of their true forms begin to leak into the physical realm. Wings sprout from their backs with a contented, aching gasp. A nimbus of eternal, ephemeral energy lances around Aziraphale, crackling pleasantly where his skin meets Crowley’s, whose hands have slipped under Aziraphale’s creamy soft, oversized knit sweater. His fingers are rubbing little circles, little pieces of golden forever, into Aziraphale’s skin, like watching an hourglass and tipping it over with just enough sand left in the top that it never ran out. Scales, black as an oil slick, dance along Crowley’s spine, and form constellations on his shoulders, hiding beneath a leather jacket and silky smooth shirt. The whites of Crowley’s eyes disappear- their owner has better things to think of- and under his eyelids they shine with an inner light, winging their way to the height of joy. There are no words for this moment, but if Aziraphale were to try to voice what could only be described as ineffable, every word would ring with a hundred holy chords, a hundred hallelujahs, their nuances and trembling songs inaudible to the mortal ear, overlapping in whispers and yells and gentle screams in languages that haven’t existed in millennia, that won’t exist for millennia, in tongues that would break minds and addle thoughts into a twisting, writhing mass, the bastard children of Babel and things far older. The two of them hold infinity in the palms of their hands, and an hour would hold eternity, if they asked.

They had started somewhere in the twisting, purposefully labyrinthine shelves of the book shop, lazily filling out crosswords from local papers and sharing smiles over hot chocolate with too many marshmallows. Evidence of the rest of the day could be found in the books, knocked from the shelves and hastily miracled back into place and then knocked again, Aziraphale’s beloved jacket, thrown over a chair, black and white feathers scattered- one here, one there, three a few feet away, and finally in an angel and a demon snuggled together on a couch in the back room of a bookstore that ran odd hours and always smelled vaguely molding, stealing kisses and giggling at each other as late-night television quietly mumbled on an old box set, complaining that no one was paying it attention.

“I didn’t realize you remembered that much about Romeo and Juliet,” said the angel, gently playing with the edge of the demon’s sleeve, dark black- except when it caught the light just right, revealing a glowing grey- and all sharp edges and hard lines- until you touched it, when it became soft as a lover’s sigh, soft as a lamb in Eden.

“Well,” said the demon, clearing his throat. “I may have seen it a few times over the centuries.”

“Enough times to have it memorized?” asked Aziraphale, with the kind of voice that could not be used without a raised eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like the tragedies.”

“I don’t!” Crowley said hastily. “I just-” His voice softened. “It reminded me of us.”

“You old softie,” teased Aziraphale, kissing Crowley’s cheek.

“Oi, I’m a demon , I’m not soft,” groused Crowley, smiling. “Just very, very in love.” And he kissed Aziraphale back, this time on the lips.

Lovers have been feeding each other sweetly sickening coos since the beginning of time. Aziraphale and Crowley had watched, silently, as Adam and Eve whispered sweet nothings to each other, and both had grimaced slightly and turned away as nothings had progressed into rather loud and vigorous somethings.

However, nothings were more than enough to lull one particular demon into sleep, safe in the arms of his beloved like he was nowhere else, and Aziraphale was more than happy to play sentinel.

After all, he was a Principality, a Nation Unto Himself, and a good ruler will always take care of his own.