#and then its been flooding and people seem to think their cars can fLOAT

[notebookpapers]

The drugs he gave you don’t actually work on you. No drugs ever do, unless you decide to mimic the human digestive system well enough to get a little drunk, usually only at karaoke nights with your friends. The problem is, though, when your body realizes it’s supposed to be a paralytic that’s been injected into your neck, you panic. Because even though your instincts are telling you to fight back, your first instinct is to also use your powers, but then you have to remember to tell yourself not to use them, and then you’re being grabbed by the neck, and you think maybe you should use them, but what if there’s cameras?

And that’s how you end up tied up in the back of a pretty average looking car, half-pretending to be asleep because you don’t know how to reasonably get out of this situation.

You’ve seen your fair share of true crime documentaries, so you always thought the people who did these kinds of tings would be at least sort-of well prepared. This car, though, doesn’t have anything meant to protect the guy in it. No tarp in the back seat, no smell of cleaning supplies, no rubber gloves. Just a guy, and a passed out 23-year-old in his back seat. The empty syringe he used to knock you out with sits in a Walmart bag, with other used napkins and such, at the foot of his passenger seat. You’re not even bound or cuffed, and the bruises haven’t set in yet, so to anyone watching, you probably look like a drunk college kid getting drove home by their parents. He doesn’t seem as cold as you’d think a murderer would be, although as far as you know, that’s not what he has planned for you, yet. Still, he’s listening to the radio as he takes the exit ramp off the freeway, and he drives and drives as you mindlessly look out the window, watching the town turn to trees, and until the water is a river, no longer a stream.

A human instinct tells you to run, but you don’t, because that instinct means nothing to you. You could slip away now - really, you could have slipped away anytime since the start of your little escapade. You may not be human, but you understand why humans condemn these sorts of crimes. You do not fear this man, but your friends do, even though he is a feeble thing whose blade would not hurt you any more than it would hurt the air. A human, though, would be terrified. So, you bite down your boredom, and you wait. You’ve come this far, already. Might as well get as many details as you can so the police won’t have any problems identifying the kidnapper’s face.

You’re about dozing off when the man pulls up near the riverside, nearly jostling yourself awake before you remember you’re supposed to be out ice cold. The man shuts the car off and hurls you over his shoulder, settling you down on the riverbank before trekking back to his car, through the mud.

You take note of the riverbank and open your eyes again, once he’s gone. You memorize this place. Y pull on your power’s strengths for a more exact location. You remember the smell of the river, you remember the footsteps of every animal before you who came and drank from the water’s edge, in this spot.

It’s really the perfect crime scene for a murder, you think. Not in the praise of the human’s intelligence, but more so his good luck. That he had found nature’s perfect body disposal spot, and that no one else in the adjoining town had been adventurous enough to find him.

Close enough to town to be driveable, far enough for cadaver dogs to likely not pick up the scent. The river was deep, here, deep enough to float down a body to the faster and wilder rapids, downstream, where bodies could get trapped under rocks or crevasses and be picked apart by fish until just the remnants of them floated downstream. The bank is shallow here, and floods easily. Any trace of blood and its metallic smell would be washed down with the overflowing stream, and the fungi and little creatures of the soil would do the rest. How lucky for him, you think, that there seems to be an impending flood warning, just for the occasion.

Your inhale a little deeper, trying to take in the smell of every kind of organism that trudges through the earth, beneath you. It was a game you and your siblings used to play, trying to listen for bugs or worms and then trying to dig up the deep ones. You think back to the last large flood warning, a few months back, when you and your brother had played the game again, just for old time’s sake. You’d dig for worms in the backyard while, through an open window, you could hear the news play. A woman who’d been last seen stopping at a gas station in your town had gone missing. But, of course, you were a rural town. There had been no leads, and while the missing person’s case was still open, it was widely considered that she had just gotten lost somewhere along the way.

Your kidnapper comes back with an axe and an old-looking electric saw, and when you smell the blood on the respective metals, you feel a slap to your ego for not noticing something so obvious.

The girl from the gas station, gone missing just before a flash flood. The young family who supposedly “moved for jobs,” who had ceased content with anyone since another flood warning, a year or so before. And the two lone hikers who’d gone missing before that - suspected hiking too close to the river prior to the flood, and drowned.

You laugh out loud, despite yourself, not noticing that the man freezes until he takes a step back. You open your eyes, though it takes a minute to process, since, well, fuck it. There’s no pretending anymore, anyways.

You laugh again, at the sight that befalls you. The man stands there, gaping, fear in his lungs - you can smell it from here. Human pride, though, or perhaps optimism, keeps him planted in his spot.

“A strange reaction to the drugs,” he must be thinking. Well, you smirk, a strange reaction indeed.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, politely. Hell, you may be a demon, but you were raised on Earth. You at least have manners.

“What the-“

“Nice place you have,” you smile as you sit up, resting one hand on your knee as you get comfortable.

You can hear his heartbeat get just the slightest bit faster. Your eyes twinkle. Oh, this will be fun.

“So, what’s your deal,” you ask, shaking the twigs out of your hair. “I mean, every bad guy has a story, right?” You cock your head. “Or are you just one of those guys who likes hurting girls to feel like his dick is big?”

His nostrils flare. Good, you’ve hit a nerve. He charges.

He drops the saw, instead swinging his axe off the ground. You tut, watching the machine fall to the ground. You always want more weapons against a demon. Sure, they might not do much, but it’s still a laughably pathetic mistake.

You stand up, and debate moving, but decide to stay in place, just for entertainment purposes.

He swings for your throat. He misses, cuts into your shoulder instead. The blow could have bled out and killed you, at worst, put you in agony, at the very least.

Instead, you catch his eyes as he does so, and grant him your most wicked smile. You let your glamour down for the first time in decades as your haunting eyes and rippling feathers bleed out of you. It feels luxurious, no more tucking your wings back or shrinking your fangs down or hiding the echoed static in your laughing shriek.

He gasps, and drops his weapon, now, stumbling backwards as the fight or flight responses in his system are delayed.

“We are beautiful to them,” your mother had told you once, as you were sat in the living room, and she did you and your brother’s hair. “We fallen descended from Lucifer, you know. And he is beautiful.” She’d kissed your little forehead. “You know, he used to be god’s favorite.”

“Why do we hide, then, mamma,” your brother had asked. You mother had shaken her head, and chuckled.

“Because human beauty is fickle, my dear. Their fragile minds only accept beauty if it is in a way that they understand.”

Damien had frowned. “You mean like how they think blobfish are ugly?”

You gasped. “How could they?! They’re so flabby! They’re cute!!”

Your mom laughed, and ruffled Damien’s hair. “Like that, sweetie, sort of.”

She’d taken a shimmery blue bow and tied it in your hair, and then you were pushed off her lap so your brother could have his turn to get his hair braided.

“We are beautiful in a way humans don’t understand,” she’d said, as she brushed small knots out. “They’ve never seen things like us before, and it frightens them. Even if it amazes them, at the same time.”

“Is that bad,” you’d asked.

“Not necessarily,” she said. “But, it doesn’t always feel nice to be different. Of course, I can’t stop you when you’re older,” she smiled, “but I think, for now, it’s best to only have yourselves out at home, where it’s safe.”

“Okay mamma,” you’d both echoed.

Sorry mom, you think, distantly. But you’re an adult in human years now. You’ve grown up with them. You think you’re old enough.

“Boo,” you smirk, as his systems kick into gear. “Flight” seems to win over, as he screams, and then turns on his heel.

He gets about three good strides in before he stumbles over something he can’t see. He makes these pitiful little noises, all confidence gone out the window as he grunts, clawing and thrashing, trying to get off the ground, but being slowly pulled back by the force of something curled around his feet.

You bring him in a few feet closer before letting him go, and he gets just a few strides further than the first time before he stumbles, pathetic pleas bouncing off his lips as you slowly draw him backwards, let him go, draw him backwards, again and again.

“Don’t play with your food,” your dad had said.

Well, sorry mom and dad, you think, as you watch him keep trying to run. But you think this particular piece of meat deserves it.

-

A day later, a note to police leads them, mysteriously, to this spot. The man is found torn apart, eviscerated, partly by his own tools, in part by some indiscernible animal, blood and internal organs strung all over the riverbank, the man’s license and ID placed proudly in the center, for all to see. The remains of the other girls and the one young father are incinerated and sent to the doorstep of families in different cities, but no footage of them being dropped off is ever recovered - they just appear on the doorstep, as if out of thin air. There’s enough evidence in his house and car to posthumously convict him of the crimes, but there’s no evidence at the scene for who left the skin of his arms strung up along coiling vines like festival ribbon.

Your mother laughs when the news comes on, but she doesn’t care.

“I heard someone killed a killer,” she says, over coffee.

“Hm,” you mumble, cheeks full of cereal. “I wonder.”

The case ends up going unsolved. The only reason anyone ever goes missing from your town again is because of a bear. And if there are rumors of dark magic? Well, that’s just absurd. It’s not dark magic, you reassure them. It’s angelic. Just, perhaps, in a different hue.

You were born into a family of demons who escaped hell to live a normal life under humans. Your parents told you never to use your demonic powers. That is until you’re kidnapped by a serial killer of your hometown who you decide to teach a lesson.

[guste-disgusted]

shirt-rich

When glossy magazines found out about social media and made Instagram even glossier, publishing houses from my hometown started to make “what is in their closet” videos one after another. It seemed like a dream: how could one acquire so many beautiful things like expenses were nothing? How did they make their lives so successful they could afford a whole room and more filled with fashion items?

In full honesty, I think I wouldn’t be dazzled by those videos if my childhood was a little bit different. But it was the way it was - the most American thing in my childhood were the tv shows with a horrible translation and even more repugnant VoiceOver, which were broadcasted from Monday to Thursday, exactly 10 PM, unless something horrible happened or some basketball championship was taking place. Though I never watched these shows religiously, as I was tightly asleep at that hour (clearly it is before 8 years and counting of insomnia), there were instances I had a chance to take a glimpse at them. 

It dazzled me - peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch seemed magical, though it tasted like a quicksand and toothache the first time I took a bite; new cars in the garage of every character and never-ending wardrobes. Everyone had that - even the sideshows with two lines a season. I mean it - everyone - even the postman, had more than 3 shirts, which appeared almost impossible and something from another world, though these shows first aired almost a decade before I was born.

The only people with more than 10 items of clothing were from glossy magazines and the tv shows equivalents of them. My social bubble - adults mostly, thought that people who owned more than 6 items of clothing were shallow and even dumb. However, I wanted to be book, street or whatever smart and I also wanted to wear and own more clothing that I had at that time. See, they didn’t make a lot of clothes for kids who are built like Renaissance cherubs, or maybe they did, but my potato-rich parents couldn’t afford it at that time.  When I say “I was poor” I don’t mean that I was so poor the government institutions took me to a childcare where I got a spoonful of oats for a meal and never saw the light of day. However, I also don’t mean that I was so poor my family could only afford one ski trip a year and low-grade private school.  We had very limited funds and there had been weeks that I hadn’t seen a fresh cucumber - that was this kind of poor in my case.

But when I finally got into a little bit more money, plus moved to a country that doesn’t discriminate against people who enjoy the hedonistic side of the world as much as I do, I fell into the loop of buying, and then ended up with empty pockets again, yet shirt and everything else nice looking rich. Then, another problem came, as I didn’t have enough hangers for blouses, striped jeans or whatever floated the boat the second I pressed the button “pay”. When my hanger hunger was satisfied, I ran out of space in the closet, then stashed everything to chest of drawers, and when its seams were bursting, I had to take another trip to buy the cheapest rack and stored my second-hand clothes that were no longer loved by the previous owners. 

Everything - the lack of clothing during my childhood; the influence of people I admire; early memories of people who looked content with their situation; said magazines and the content they put out - everything became a flood of emotions and colours of London lead me to this - a moment when I am only shirt rich. The smoke of usually imitated success clouded me into thinking I needed a stack after stack of jeans, blouses and all to live a content life. Though I admire my taste and selection, I also realise that it is an example of an age old story that is perfectly illustrated by Oscar Wilde who said: “In this world there are only two tragedies: One is not getting what one wants, and the second is getting it.”

However, I can now close a chapter for a girl that loved magazines and late night tv shows, as I achieved the success of becoming “shirt rich”. I don’t know what will be my next fascination - another venture of becoming successful, but I am sure it won’t involve dressers were bursting because of my insatiable need for more clothes.

[internalsealpanic]

Dancing In and Above the Starlight

summary:  There is nothing to do but dance the night away.

a/n: Since I am depresso expresso today here is some fluff! 

warnings: Depression, heights, suicidal ideation

You curl your body into the sheets, limbs escaping the gnawing cold. Your eyes are wide open.  You watch as glittering snow falls away. There’s a press of static in your mind. Maybe your brain is finally short-circuiting. You really should have been asleep an hour or two or five ago. Even if you check the clock now, it won’t make any sense. On some level, you are lucid. You recognize the characters on your taped together alarm clock. The red characters on its screen… you recognize them as numbers and letters. Your head feels like it’s full of cotton. 

You shift again. You hit replay on the voice mail. 

Kon’s voice comes over the speaker, a light warm sound cutting through the viscous atmosphere of the apartment. “Hey, babe! Could you grab like 20 cheeseburgers on your way home? It’s- Uuuuuuh… It’s for science. Yeah, totally-”

You replay it again. 

“Hey, babe!”

And again. 

“Hey, babe!”

And again. 

Kon’s voice always managed to soothe you, smoothing out your fraying nerves even on the bad days.  But today was one of the bad days you never tell him about. The kind that kept your limbs locked together. 

You really should just call Kon at this point. 

You don’t. 

You don’t want him to see you like this. You don’t want to talk to him about these bad days. The days when you have to shuck off the quick wit and unbridled confidence. You don’t want to tell him about how you want to open your chest, peel it back bone by bone until the thing rolling and shifting in your chest escapes. You can’t bear to tell him about how on these days red is your favorite color or how good it would be to step out of your skin. You will never tell him about your feverish need to feel the wind as you fall from a great height. 

Waking up like this feels like waking up in a coffin with your hands bound. There is a shriek caught in your throat between your lungs and throat. It sits there sharp and unreachable. You feel so small. 

You shift, looking into the soft glow of your screen. You type Kon’s number.  It’s easy. You don’t think too much about it. At least not until the dial tone. 

You sniffle brushing away the tears as if he could see. 

The dial tone keeps ringing. 

He hates you. 

You massage your throat. You test out your voice. It comes out a mockery of itself.  It’s scraggly and unpleasant. 

The dial tone keeps ringing. 

He hates you. 

You brush away the tears again. They won’t stop. They streak down like fat rivulets of syrup down your face. 

The dial tone keeps ringing. 

He hates you. 

You hang up. You’re shaking and sniffling and you can’t stop crying.  Your body is caught between existing and not. There isn’t enough of your mind there for you to feel substantial. 

Once your nerves settle and your body reforms into something tangible, you pull on a sweater. Your feet touch the floor.  It’s cold like you expect but the solidness of the feeling makes you jump back. You look at the clock. It still makes no sense.  

You slink out to the balcony. You wrap your arms around yourself, phone burning in your pocket. 

You lean you over the railing, head in your arms, eyes fluttering closed as you drink up the scenery.  You can hear the honking of car horns and the flutter of wings. The city below you was alive. A living creature with flowing blood and a beating heart. 

Living was what happened to other people. For you, there was no room for it. Not when you are filled with everything else. It was just a skill you never quite got a hold of. You think this as the wind whistles past your face.

You open your eyes a fraction then shut them again mimicking the shuttering of a camera. Behind your eyelids, you can see the glittering lights of the city. 

Your phone rings. You flinch. Maybe it’s your boss. Or a coworker. Or…

You fish it out of your pajama pants. You debate on whether to answer it or just let the phone fall. 

From this height, your phone would be obliterated. Completely. You balance it carefully between your fingers. If it falls, you’ll have an excuse to ignore your boss. But you’ll have to pay for a new one and more importantly, you won’t be able to listen to Kon’s voice mails. You make an exasperated noise and decide to answer. 

“Hey sugar,” comes the smooth cream of Kon’s voice. It kind of reminds you of freshly made custard. You smother the catch of your breath by pressing your mouth into your sleeve.  “Babe, you ok?”

Of course, he heard. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe, voice sounding frighteningly robotic. 

“Liar.”

“Prove it.”

You can hear the playful hum in Kon’s voice. “I can make you sing all kinds of tunes, hun,” Kon teases. You can just picture him winking. “I’ll make you talk, doll.”

“Hilarious, Kent, ” You bite out, fighting down a blush. 

“Seriously, Sugar, what’s up?”

You hate the concern in his voice. No, no. You don’t. You love your boyfriend. You just- You just hate that you made him worry. “I- I’m just a bit down, Kon. I promise I’ll be better tomorrow.” You run your hand through your hair and you bury your face further into your arms. “I promise.”  

“Babe, tilt your face up.” You sigh, shaking your head but thankful for the change in subject. You tilt your head, keeping your eyes closed. “Kon, wha-” You feel the press of warm lips against yours. They’re chapped ever so slightly and you can smell the scent of leather and popcorn on the wind. Kon smiles against your lips, mischief tugging at his them. Slowly, you open your eyes and you’re greeted by the column of his throat. It takes the span of a few seconds to realize that Kon is hanging upside down, limbs angled like he’s Spiderman hanging from his we b. Your eyes widen in surprise and Kon laughs, realigning himself to face you properly. 

“Lemme guess, you guys watched the original Spiderman trilogy?”

“You know us so well.”

“I just know that there's only one of you that owns a  flat screen the size of my wall and that bastard is a nerd.”

“Don’t call Tim a nerd. That’s extremely rude.”

“He deserves all the rudeness I have to give after last week’s… what’s the word?”

“Fun?”

“Fun?” you snort. “If you find being thrown by a supervillain fun, then yeah.”

“I just call that kinky.”

“I’m going to hang up.”

Click.

Ring.

Click.

“YOU ACTUALLY HUNG UP.”

“I stick to my word.”

“Lil’ shit.”

“I’m your little shit.”

Kon kisses your nose. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Did you need anything, Kon?” He hums floating away from you drawing out the silence. You are going to smack him. Probably not but you like to think you can stay mad at him long enough to follow through with the threat. 

“I want to show you something,” he says, extending a gloved hand towards you. “It’ll be good. Promise.”

You stand on the balcony railing, feet feather-light. You hold on, gripping the wall tightly. Your eyes do not wander down even as a rush of wind blows the hair out on your face. Your blood is thumping in your ears.

“Trust me?” The words  weigh too heavy sending you into a dizzying vertigo. He can’t ask that of you. He just can’t.  You almost slip. You don’t know whether you would fall forward or backward. You take a breath, long and deep. 

“Kon, do I seem like the kind of person who would just stand on a balcony railing just for anyone?”

“Dunno, babe, you’re quite the Romantic.”

You blow out a breath, shaking hands steadfast on the wall. The drop is dizzyingly long from this angle. The length of it feels mind-boggling and uncertain. 

“C’mon, gorgeous,” he coaxes, voice honeyed iced tea. The taste floods your mouth mixing with the bitter doubt clambering your throat.

He reaches his hand out, grey eyes alight with sincerity. You swallow even when your mouth is bone dry. You take his hand, feet peeling away from the metal as you let Kon’s powers take hold of you. Your skin tingles, gooseflesh prickling here and there. It tickles and it’s almost enough to distract you from the hundreds of feet of empty air beneath your feet. 

You’re light, insubstantial. Your breath ceases. Your body braces for gravity to take hold. Your eyes screw shut, lips brushing against Kon’s neck as you breathe in his familiar scent. A scream is burning in your throat until you feel Kon’s hands firmly on your waist, his chin resting on your hair. 

“Don’t let me fall,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. 

Kon gently cups your face. “Wouldn’t dream of it, gorgeous,”  he winks, “I have better ways to make you scream.”

You laugh, pressing your lips against his, your laughter passing as vibrations between your lips. 

“Are you gonna open your eyes yet, gorgeous?”

“Nope!”

“Not even for lil’ ole me?”

“Why would you pull that on me you manipulative shit?”

“Because I love you?”

“You are the definition of ‘you’re lucky you’re cute’ ”

“No, I think I’m lucky cus you’re cute.” You open your mouth to protest but the syllable die on your tongue. 

Above you is a tapestry of stars extending beyond eternity. Below your bare feet is a sea of lights, incandescent in its vividness. The wind in your chest rises. Wonder and awe and miracles swimming in your veins as you go through vertigo for the second time that day. It was like the first time you saw the racing roll of a jet. A marvel. Pure wonder plucked from the abstract and made solid.

Your breath catches as you take everything in. The world is so wonderful. Your grip on Kon loosens as you maneuver your body so you could see it all. Your mouth whispers something that is lost in the wind. 

“What do you think, sugar?”  Kon asks, grip on you firm. He won’t let you fall. You are slack jawed and speechless. Eyes wide as you stare back into his, all the lights above and below you making his glitter in a barrage of colors. He pulls you close, one arm wrapped around.  A gloved hand brushes a tear away from your face. He kisses your forehead, all softness and warmth. He doesn’t beg you to stop crying or tell you that it’s all going to be ok. He just lets you be. Your head bows, forehead pressed against his shirt. You let the tears fall towards the bustling city. 

Kon rests his chin on your head and you feel the rumble in his chest before you even hear the tune. “Fly me to the moon~” he sings into your hair as he holds you close, his hands sliding to your waist,“let me play among the stars~” You sniffle, resting your head on his. You smile against his shoulder. You feel a giggle tugging on your lips as you two sway in rhythm with his singing. 

“”Let me see what spring is like on, A-Jupiter and Mars~” 

“You are so fucking cheesy,” you laugh, sore and bright and genuine. 

"Still your favorite cheese ball though," he chuckles. You do not argue. You simply press a kiss to his jaw and watch the twinkling lights around you.

"Fly me to the me to the moooon~" This time you sing along, careful not to step on Kon's toes. He presses his forehead against yours as you both sing off key and sway haphazardly in the wind. 

You sing and dance in and above the starlight. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks fir reading!!! Happy New Years. I will edit more later.

Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

[literaila]

i see red. i see nothing.

“the beginning”

spencer reid x reader. 

request: this was requested... but if I tell you all of it it’ll be spoiled so. here's the summary. 

summmary: a car accident. a head injury. lost memories. all of them. Spencer doesn't remember the reader. But remembers everything else. 

the preface for this is here. you can read it if you’d like more insight into the story :)

warnings: blood. angst. car accident. hospital. needle mentions. amnesia. incorrect medical speak (probably) uhhhhh that's it? 

It was just a moment. 

There was just a moment of complete silence, a moment where they were just staring at each other. There was just a moment of them. They looked at each other, and the sun was shining on them, the sun was shining on just the two of them for a moment. And everything else felt like nothing. It felt like it was just them, for just a moment everything else ceased to exist, for just one tiny moment, there was nothing else. 

It was a moment too long. 

They stared at each other, and their smiles were outshining the sun, and their eyes were focused on one another, and there wasn't anything. 

It was just a moment.

One moment. 

And then it was gone. 

The ground was being ripped from underneath them, the world was spinning on its axis and there was nothing else left. Everything was gone. Everything had disappeared. 

They were flipped upside down, flipped completely around, their worlds destroyed in front of their eyes. 

There was something that sounded like screaming. 

And there was red all around them. Red in their eyes and in their mouths, and on their clothes, and in the air, and it was stuck on everything around them, red red red, there was so much red, there was nothing else but red. 

Red. On her hands, in her eyes, dripping from the ceiling. Red. 

She looked around, tried to see past the red, tried to look for him. 

She looked, and she stayed awake. 

There was still screaming. 

It was cold. It was red. 

She looked around, she saw him, her world, upside down. She saw everything the exact opposite of how it was supposed to look. 

She watched her breath float in front of her. 

Red. 

She watched her breath disappear. 

She closed her eyes. 

***

Five years ago, a similar moment had happened. 

Five years ago, a boy with long messy hair, and a girl who had no idea where she was going, they met eyes. 

Five years ago, everything ceased to exist. 

Five years ago, a moment had happened. A moment neither of them would forget. 

Five years ago, a boy with messy hair saw her eyes, saw her, and she looked back at him. 

Five years ago, they didn't know each other. 

A moment was shared, one that was only theirs. 

Now, the moment had disappeared. 

***

What did it feel like to have your mind ripped from your body? 

What did it feel like to lose everything that mattered to you? 

What did it feel like to have everything just simply disappear?

How could everything just be gone? 

Why was it gone? 

What did it feel like when you were ripped from the person you had become, from the people that had shaped you, from the very mind that you thought was yours to keep forever? 

How did that feel? 

***

Spencer woke up surprised. 

His body was paralyzed beneath him, and he wasn't at home. There was no one else in the room with him. 

He looked around the white walls, looked at the ceiling, looked at his body, listened to the beeping of machines all around him, he noticed the IV in his arm, the strap around his arm, the cast on his leg. 

He was smart enough to know that he was in the hospital. 

He wondered why he couldn't move, why his body felt like it weighed a million tons under him, why there wasn't any pain. 

He could feel a bandage wrapped around his head. He wondered why. 

He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of air filling his lungs instead of the questions flooding his head. He was sure he would know soon enough, he just had to be patient. There wasn't anything he could do while his body was paralyzed. 

He breathed in and out, counted in his head, and when counting got to be too much, he switched to the alphabet, going forwards and backward in multiple languages. And then when he couldn't remember anything else, he focused on his breath again. 

He just had to be patient. 

It took another half an hour, another half an hour of Spencer trying to distract himself from the agony of not being able to move, trying to distract himself from the fact that there was no one else in this hospital room but him, it was another half an hour he was alone. 

And then two people walked in, talking insistently to each other. 

“No, the doctor said that he would-” 

“Penelope you know there's always a chance-” 

“No Derek, he's fine. The doctor said he would be fine.” 

“Penelope…” 

“What would she do without him, Derek?” 

Both of the people sighed. 

Spencer was quick to follow, sighing out in relief. These were his friends. He wasn't completely alone. 

And then Garcia gasped, dropping the cup of coffee she had been holding. She was frozen there in place, shocked at the look of Spencer's eyes, shocked that he was awake. Derek was quick to take action though, he walked over to Spencer and started asking questions incessantly.

All of his questions involved different variations of “does this hurt?” and Spencer felt overwhelmed by every new question that Derek said, he still had no idea why he was in the hospital, what had happened, why both of them looked so shocked to see him. He had no idea what was going on. 

Shakily, he coughed out a “What happened?”. His voice was different, didn't feel right, he hadn't talked in so long. 

Derek looked back at Penelope, she took the hint and left the room to go find the doctor. Derek looked back to Spencer and sighed. “We’ve all been worried sick about you kid.” 

Spencer just frowned at him “I’m sorry?” 

Derek chuckled at him, happy to see that Spencer was functioning fine. Although the doctor had told him there might be lifelong effects on his brain that were irreversible, Spencer seemed fine. 

“Y/N’s been worried sick about you,” Derek said next, thinking about the girl who had refused to leave the hospital as long as Spencer was still there.  

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, his eyes innocent and confused. 

“Yeah Y/N, your girlfri-” Derek’s eyes widened. Spencer looked completely and utterly confused, there was no hint of joking in his face, nothing that showed that Spencer was just messing with Derek. No, Spencer had no idea what he was talking about, Spencer was actually confused. 

Derek's eyes flashed around the room, he thought of what the doctor had said about permanent effects. And he stalked out of the room, going to get some answers. 

“Derek?” Spencer called after him. 

What was going on? 

***

Four weeks ago she’d opened her eyes.

A million different thoughts appeared in her brain at once. 

One: She didn’t know where she was. 

Two: There wasn’t anyone in the room with her. 

Three: There was a light that was blinding her. 

Four: There were needles, pricking every nerve in her body. 

Five: Her head was buzzing. Pounding like a heartbeat, intense in her skull.

Six: Spencer wasn’t there. 

Red. 

She could remember red. Blazing, hot, boiling, shaking her. She could remember how bright it had been, how blinding it felt, she remembered red. 

She remembered her world turning upside down, changing positions before her eyes. 

She couldn’t remember ever leaving the car. She couldn’t remember this room. 

She looked around, her eyes were burning, dry, and hot. She saw a bright light on the ceiling, she saw white all around her. When she turned her head, the slight movement sending a piercing pain down her entire body, she didn’t see anything but white and gray. 

There were cabinets on the opposite side of the room, chairs next to the bed she was laying on, and cords coming from everywhere. 

She tried flexing her fingers, making sure she could still feel her body. Nothing felt like it was gone, she could feel her fingertips against a rough sheet. 

She wasn’t paralyzed.

She tried her toes next, bent them up and down, feeling the muscles in her foot tense and un-tense.

She definitely wasn’t paralyzed.

She was focused on listening to her heart, focusing on the consistent beat, the blood rushing through her veins. 

And she was still focusing when someone walked in. 

Her doctor explained the accident. He explained that when she felt like her world was turning upside down, shifting the wrong way, her car had rolled down a hill. He explained how long it took for anyone to come to get her and Spencer, explained how someone driving on the road heard screaming. He told her about the amount of blood she had lost, the pints that had drained out of her while she was flipped upside down. 

That explained the red. 

He told her about her broken ribs, the abdominal bleeding, the concussion she had managed to get in her car. He explained that she was healing fine, but that she hadn’t woken up for three days. He explained that she would’ve died if they had been ten minutes later, that she had lost much to blood to function any longer. 

She focused on her breathing. 

And when he was done, when he finally had explained everything, she only had one question to ask. 

“Where is Spencer?” 

The doctor hesitated. She could see that much, saw him lean back only slightly, saw his proud smile fade. 

That wasn’t good.

Both of them heard the heart monitor speed up, listened to the beeping get faster. She looked over to the machine and then back to the doctor with panicked eyes. 

Where was Spencer? 

“No, no, no.” the doctor said, raising his hands as if to calm her down. “Spencer is alive.”

And while this was good news to her, made her feel much stronger than she felt a second ago, she wasn’t happy. She had seen the hesitation, saw the doctor pull back. There was still something wrong. 

“Where is he?” she asked again, this time making her statement more clear. 

“He’s... he’s in the hospital.” the doctor winced, looking away from her. “he’s in the ICU.” 

The ICU. Intensive Care Unit. Spencer was in the ICU, the ICU meant danger. Oh god, oh god. He was going to die, he was going to die. ICU ICU. 

The beeping sped up again, and her eyes flew around the room. She started to move, started to get up to get out of there so she could see him herself. She needed to see him. He was going to die he was going to die. 

Pain blinded her as soon as she tried to sit up. It was freezing her, stopping her heart. She couldn’t breathe. How could a person be in so much pain? 

“Woah, come on, lay back down.” the doctor said, moving her back to the bed. “I’m going to go get someone. I’ll be right back.”

And she couldn’t protest. She could barely even move. 

The pain was circling her body, keeping her locked down to the bed. 

It was several minutes before the doctor came back. 

By then, the pain had started to fade out of her fingers, she was no longer blinded, but she still felt locked down. She looked over at him, trying to ignore the piercing that came with moving her eyes. 

She needed to get herself under control. She needed to see Spencer.

At first, she didn't notice that there was someone following the Doctor. A woman who was much shorter than the doctor followed him into the room, stepping out from behind him. 

Penelope. 

Y/N had met her 2 years after she’d met Spencer, the two of them had become close friends and had become a pair from the first conversation. 

Penelope. 

She would know what was going on with Spencer, she would make everything okay, she would tell Y/N exactly what was going on, she would explain everything, it would all be okay. It would be fine. Penelope was here. 

“Penelope.” she gasped out, her voice connecting with her thoughts. She watched her friend walk over to her, watched as her friend took her hand, watched as her friend smiled a hesitant smile at her. 

She ignored the buzzing that came with Penelope touching her hand. 

The doctor who stood by the doorway cleared his throat, and the two women looked over to him, he gave another half-smile. “I’m going to let her talk to you. I’ll be back in a little while to do an examination.” and with that, he walked out the door. 

Y/N could care less. 

She immediately looked over to Penelope, her eyes wide, her hands squeezing Penelope as a way to beg her to tell Y/N what was going on. 

“It's nice to see you awake,” Penelope said, giving her the same hesitant smile, the one that she had worn when she walked in the room. 

“Where's Spencer?” Y/N said, ignoring what her friend had said. 

Penelope looked away from Y/N, careful not to say anything yet. Y/N’s question floated in the air, flying above their heads, begging to be answered. 

“Pen. Where is he?” When Penelope still didn't answer, Y/N removed her hand from Penelopes, her eyes angry now. “What is going on?” 

“The doctors said you would've died if they had waited any longer.” Was all Penelope replied, looking behind herself for a chair. Ignoring the fury in Y/N’s eyes, ignoring the questions that were floating above their heads. 

“Penelope,” Y/N begged, trying to get her friend to just answer her. 

“I was really worried about you.” she paused, finally looking back to Y/N. “Even after the doctors said you would be fine, I was really worried. We were not sure when you would wake up, how much pain you would be in…” 

The reminder of the flame setting her body on fire did not help Y/N’s worry. She shifted uncomfortably in her bed. 

“How do you feel Sugar?” Penelope asked, her face tense. Y/N had never seen her friend so serious, it seemed impossible for Penelope to go a minute without smiling, without making a joke that would brighten everyone’s mood. But now, she wasn't smiling, she wasn't laughing, and she was only making Y/N’s mood darker. 

“I’m fine.” 

Penelope gave her a look. 

“I’m fine. I want to know what's going on? What aren't you telling me?” Y/N was feeling like she wanted to scream. She didn't like secrets. And she especially didn't like them when they were about Spencer. 

Penelope sighed and looked down. She picked at one of her nails for a moment then looked back up. “Spencers in the ICU.” 

“I know. The doctor told me that. But what's wrong with him? Can I see him? Is he going to die?” Just as the words left her mouth she could feel the pain intensify. He couldn't die. He wouldn't. 

Penelope shook her head, looking back down at the floor. 

“He got hurt in the accident,” she said, then paused and looked back up at Y/N. “He took most of the damage. He was crushed under the car, and they got you out first.” Penelope blinked rapidly as if she was trying not to cry. Everything she was saying was making Y/N more and more anxious. “He had to have brain surgery.” 

Y/N took a shaky breath in. Her lungs burned in the air. 

“W-why? What- Penelope what happened?” 

“His brain was swelling, and” she laughed ironically “Spencer would be able to explain it better than I can. I honestly don't know.” 

“Well is he okay?” Y/N asked, looking at Penelope with anxious eyes. 

“He's alive.” Penelope shrugged. “The doctors say he could suffer extensive brain damage. They don't know yet.” 

Y/N took a minute to think it over. It was a car accident. She’d gotten hurt. Spencer had gotten more hurt. He was alive though. He was alive. And he was in the hospital. 

In the hospital. 

“Can I go see him? I need to see him.” Y/N rattled out desperately, she started getting out of bed once again, moaning out at the pain, but refusing to lay back down. She had to see him. 

“Hey, hey sweetheart. Come on, you can't go anywhere right now.” Penelope said, jumping out of her seat to help her friend, carefully pushing her back down on the bed. “You need to let your body heal Y/N.” 

But Y/N looked at her angrily. “I need to see him! It's just a little pain, I need- I need to see him!” She pushed Penelope's hands away, forcing herself to keep moving, to get off the bed. She needed to go see him, she needed to be strong for Spencer, she needed to get out of bed. It was just a little pain, it was just a little bit of pain. 

It was just a little- 

She screamed out, her body shaking, every one of her nerves was being pinched, pulled, pricked at. She gasped out and tried not to let her body move anymore. 

“Y/N?! Come on, lay down.” 

But she was already flat against the bed. She was already frozen, stuck in the prison that was her pain. She couldn't move. 

God, why couldn't she move? 

She gasped. “Spencer,” 

She didn't notice the doctor rushing back into the room, she didn't notice Penelope and him talking very loudly. She didn't notice how hard her heart was beating, the beeping that came with it. She didn't notice Penelope looking at her worried, she didn't notice the hand holding hers, she didn't notice anything. 

But there was pain. There was so much pain. 

She didn't notice the drugs filling her body, the pain medication shutting down her nerves, she didn't notice the doctor leaving the room. 

She only started to wake up from her daze when the pain started to fade from her chest, the feeling going down second by second. 

“Spencer,” she said when she thought she could breathe again. 

“Y/N..” Penelope said, leaving over her bed, still holding her hand, her eyes still immensely worried. 

“See... Him.” Y/N said, her breath going out at the words. Her throat was extremely dry now. 

“Y/N,” Penelope said again, sighing and shaking her head. She waited a moment, then sighed again. “Spencers in a coma Y/N.” 

Suddenly air didn't exist. 

Suddenly pain wasn't enough to distract her. 

Suddenly she couldn't breathe. 

“The doctors don't know when he’ll wake up.” Penelope continued. 

And suddenly Y/N understood why her doctor, why Penelope was hesitant to tell her the truth. They knew she wouldn't take well to the thought of her boyfriend never waking up. 

Extensive brain damage. 

Maybe she did need to rest. 

 ***

Two weeks later, when Y/N was healed enough to go home, she screamed again. 

It was time for her to go home. 

Spencer hadn't woken up. 

It was time for her to go home. 

She still felt pain every time she tried to move, still felt her lungs, her ribs, her chest, burn out smoke whenever she tried to breathe, but she was walking. She could function almost completely normally. That was the deciding factor in her release from the hospital. 

It was time for her to go home. 

Spencer was still sleeping. 

She had to leave. She had to leave him. 

When the doctor came in the room, ready to hand her the paperwork, to kick her out, to leave her boyfriend in the hospital still in a coma while she was at home, to release her. 

She screamed. 

She fought everyone that came into the room. Every person that even tried to touch her. 

She wasn't leaving. She wouldn't leave without him. She wouldn't. 

She wouldn't stop screaming at them. 

She wouldn't stop screaming, wouldn't stop kicking and hitting, she wouldn't stop, just wouldn't stop. 

She was too focused on pushing a nurse away to notice the doctor next to her. 

She was too late to stop him from sedating her. 

She spent a week in the psych ward. 

 ***

After that week no one tried to make her leave. 

She spent a week sitting next to Spencer's bed until the nurses forced her out. She spent several hours of the day watching him breathe, watching to make sure he was still alive. As long as he was still alive she would be fine. 

She tried not to cry in his room. 

No one ever seemed to bother her in there. 

When she wasn't in his room, she was sitting in her hospital bed, eating all the pudding she could find, watching bad TV. She tried not to think about anything when she wasn't with Spencer, she tried to get away from it all. 

She didn't want to be sent back to the psych floor. 

It only took a week. 

168 hours. 

She was told three hours after he woke up. 

She’d been coloring on her bed, listening to the TV as background noise, shutting out the world, when her doctor came in with a seldom look on his face. 

“What?” she asked quietly, not liking the look in his eyes, not liking the way her chest got tighter, the way her breathing got even slower. 

She stared at him for a moment. Waited for him to say something.

And he did. “Mr. Reid is awake.” 

That was all it took. 

She was flying out of her bed, ignoring the doctors panicked look, she was ignoring everything, Spencer was awake. He was awake. 

It had been four weeks. 

He was awake. 

She was slipping on her slippers, moving past her doctor, trying to get to the ICU as quickly as possible. She cursed herself for leaving so early, for not being there when he woke up. She should’ve been there. 

She was walking out the door when her doctor gently grabbed one of her shoulders, stopping her from leaving the room. 

She looked back at him irritated, he knew how much she’d been wanting to see Spencer, he was the only thing she ever talked about, why was he stopping her now? 

“What?” she asked harshly, regretting the tone in her voice as soon as it came out. But she ignored her guilt, more focused on the sad look in the doctor's eyes. 

She waited for him to speak. She knew it was serious, and she wasn't going to leave without an answer. 

“There's unfortunate news.” He said quietly, avoiding her eyes. 

“What?” she asked, immediately panicked. “What's wrong?” 

“Spencer seems to be fully aware, he’s speaking fine, he seems to be fine.” Her doctor continued, and she looked at him confused. Spencer was fine? 

“Then what's wrong?” 

“Well... It seems that Mr. Reid has a completely different problem.” Her doctor paused, thinking of how he could explain this, how he could put it likely. 

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Why was she still here if Spencer was fine? 

“You see, Spencer, has suffered from retrograde amnesia.”

And no. Spencer definitely wasn't fine. 

 ***

“So he just doesn't remember me?” 

Her voice was all wrong. It was small and broken. 

Spencer didn't remember her. 

“Well,” her doctor said. They had moved to his office, as he had insisted she needed to listen and be away from everything else. 

She didn't have the best track record in the hospital. 

“There's always a chance he can gain memories back… but at the moment, yes he just doesn't remember you.” 

She knew he was trying to be reassuring, knew that he was trying to tell her that it would just take time, that everything would be alright. She knew he knew how fragile she was. 

The problem was, it just wasn't working. Reassurance couldn't help her. 

Spencer didn't remember her. He didn't remember meeting her, or texting her for the first time, he didn't remember the way they looked at each other, he didn't remember the time he tried to make her breakfast and ended up waking her up in the process. 

He didn't remember how nervous he was the day he asked her to move in with him, the smile on his face, the smile on her face when she said yes without any hesitation. He didn't remember their first kiss or first date. 

He didn't remember falling in love with her. 

How could she move on without him? How could she ever heal properly when he didn't know how in love they had been? How could she live without him? 

“He has asked to see you though.” 

She looked up from the floor. Shock filled her face. He wanted to see her? He knew about her? 

The doctor must have read all the questions in her eyes because he then continued, “Your friends mentioned you... That's how we found out he had lost his memory. Now he wants to meet you. He doesn't really understand yet.” 

She didn't understand. Why would he want to meet her? 

“I can take you to see him now…” 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can- I can go. I- I should go.” 

She left the doctor's office, ignoring the calls that followed her. 

She wasn't thinking. She couldn't think anymore. Spencer didn't know who she was. He probably didn't even know her name. 

But still. 

She had to see him. She hadn't seen his eyes in weeks, hadn't heard him speak, she could barely remember the sound of his voice now. After weeks of just watching him breathe, just breathe, she had to see him awake. She needed to confirm that he was alive, that he was still awake. 

That was all she needed. 

She didn't think about how he would react to her, about how he didn't know anything about her, she wasn't thinking about any of it. She just needed to see him. 

She walked down the hall, pressing on the elevator button incessantly. 

She remembered the time Spencer had told her that she would actually cancel it out.

“The motor is just going to restart the process Y/N… slow down.”

She remembered laughing at him, and pressing the button again, just to tease him. She remembered him glaring at her, and taking her hand. She remembered him smiling at her when she pouted, then kissing her hand softly and walking into the elevator. 

God, she needed to see him. 

She walked into the elevator, avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the elevator. She was irritated. She wished she could just be there already. She sighed and leaned her head against the wall. 

She’d been dreaming about his eyes for weeks. Thinking about him, what she would do if she couldn't have him anymore. 

She rushed out of the elevator, running down the hall to the room she’d spent hours in, she got there, her lungs burning, her heart racing, the pain ringing up and down her body. She thought it was worth it. 

And she was just about to open the door when Derek walked out. 

And then she remembered. 

Retrograde Amnesia. 

He didn't remember her. 

“Derek,” she whispered, trying to catch her breath. 

“Y/N.. do you... Did the-” 

“Yes I know,” she whispered quieter this time. She knew all about it. 

Derek sighed out in relief, glad he wouldn't have to be the one to tell her. “I’ve told him about you. Not a lot. But enough for him to understand… do you want to go in?” He asked, looking down to meet her eyes. 

And she thought about it. Felt the nerves crawling up her throat. She cleared her throat, hoping she could push them down, force them away. She didn't need them right now. “Um..” she breathed out, “I think- I think I’ll wait a minute.” she swallowed, her stomach bubbling. “If that's okay,” she said looking down. 

“Of course Pretty Girl, take all the time you need.” Derek gave her a side hug, frowned at the anxious look in her eyes, and quickly sent out a wish that Spencer would remember this girl that they all loved so much soon. And then he went back to the room. 

And she was alone again. 

She was alone again, and she was going to stay alone. Spencer had been her person, had been her best friend for so long. She didn't know how to not feel lonely without him, didn't know how to get rid of the sinking feeling in her chest when he didn't know who she was. 

She felt like crying at the hopeless thoughts that entered her brain. She didn't want to do this, she didn't want to be there. 

She blinked back the stinging in her eyes. 

She needed to see him. 

She took a deep breath. A couple of days ago she’d still been worried he was going to die. Anything was better than him dying. This was better. This was fine. 

She knocked on the door, not wanting to scare any of the people in the room, not wanting to let herself turn around. 

Derek was the one who opened it. He gave her a sad smile, still noticing the anxiety that laid on her face, covering her entire body. 

She looked past him. 

Oh, god. 

She saw him. She saw his eyes- 

His eyes were wide, looking right into hers, they were the color she had missed, longed for, they were so familiar, so so familiar. They were her home. God, she hadn't seen his eyes, she hadn't seen him in weeks. It felt like a screen was being moved away from Spencer, that now he was awake she could finally see him. 

She gasped, unexplainable tears rolling down her cheeks. 

She wanted to run over to him, wanted to feel his warmth, to live in his scent, she wanted to be with him, she wanted the pain to go away, she just wanted to hold him. 

He was looking at her worriedly. His eyes were darting back and forth from her and Derek, he looked panicked like he wasn't quite sure what to do. 

Derek moved past her, resting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly. She’d forgotten he was there, too focused on the man in front of her. 

Derek cleared his throat, looking between the pair. “So Reid, this is Y/N.” 

She wiped her cheeks off, embarrassed that she had started crying, and gave him a wave. 

“Hello,” Spencer said, his voice raw from weeks of not talking, his tone worried still. 

She tried not to freak out at the sound of his voice. 

It still sounded the same. 

She laughed emotionlessly. She looked down at the floor. 

“Hey Spence-” she paused. Reminding herself. “-Spencer.” 

It was a minute of silence. When Y/N finally looked up, she saw how worried his eyes still looked, how concerned he seemed even though they had technically just met. 

She hated it. 

“Well..” Derek said, drawing out the word. “I’m going to let you guys introduce yourself’s. I need some coffee.” 

With that, he left the room. 

Leaving the two of them, together, alone, and uncomfortable. 

Eventually, Spencer spoke up. “It's um-” he cleared his throat. “It's nice to meet you.” 

Y/N laughed again. Surprising herself with the sound. She looked past him, out the window, wishing that she could disappear. 

She hated this. She hated that he didn't know her. She wanted to hug him. 

When she stayed silent, Spencer tried again. “I’m sorry I can't remember,” he whispered quietly. Almost ashamed of himself, almost like it was his fault that all of this was happening. 

She looked back at him. She knew that expression well. She felt like she could feel exactly what he was thinking. She was quick to stop it. 

“No. It's not your fault Spencer,” she reassured, stepping closer to him. “It's unfortunate. But it's not your fault. Please don't feel bad. It’ll only make me feel worse.” she whispered the last part quietly. 

Spencer looked back at her, searching her eyes, looking for answers. He’d been hoping that he would remember her as soon as he saw her. He was hoping her appearance, her eyes would set something off in his brain, hoping he would know the girl his friends had been telling him about. 

He didn't see anything except a colorless girl. Nothing except the tears she’d spilled for him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. 

She looked back at him. A frown on her face, one that felt like it would never go away, her eyes almost angry. “Why?” she asked. 

Spencer shook his head. She didn't need to know. She just needed to know he was sorry. 

He quickly asked her if she wanted to sit down. Looking for anything to fill the silence between them. She agreed, just so he would stop looking so guilty. 

They both sat there in the hospital room, silent. There was nothing either of them could say, nothing that would make the situation any better. 

And then they both spoke at the same time. 

“So how are you feeling-” 

“I want to remember you-” 

And then both of them looked shocked. Surprised that the other had something to say. 

Y/N was the first to speak up. 

“You want to remember me?” she asked, her mouth dropped down in disbelief. 

“I mean-” Spencer stuttered, her expression making him nervous. He had never been good with girls. “I want you to help me… remember you.” 

Y/N just stared at him. She hadn't been expecting anything from him. In fact, she’d been expecting a goodbye. She thought that after not knowing who she was, after not remembering why he fell in love with her, he wouldn't want to bother trying. Why try to bring back something that was gone?

She shouldn't have been surprised. Spencer always did the thing she least expected. 

Even this new version of him, the one that had no idea who she was. 

“You want to remember me?” She asked, in a whisper, her voice barely there. 

Spencer was quick to speak up this time. “Derek and Garica, they told me about you. They explained all the important details of our relationship…. In fact,” he laughed a little bit, remembering only a couple of hours ago. “It seemed like they were the ones in love with you.” 

Y/N gave another humorless chuckle, still shocked. 

“They made you seem amazing. I think you seem worth remembering,” he said, trying to get her to meet his eyes. Still looking for the spark, for the memory in his brain.

When she looked up, her eyes meeting his, he still found nothing. 

“You want to remember?” she asked again, just for clarification, just to be sure this was what he wanted. 

“If you are up to helping me?” he asked hopefully. 

And she thought of his expression earlier, thought of how worried, how concerned he had looked. She thought about all the years she had spent with him, the years she had never needed anything but him. She thought about the person she knew Spencer to be, and the person he had no idea she was.  

She nodded. Trying to find her voice. 

“Okay,” she said, her voice shaking as she tried to numb down the pain, the thought of having to remind Spencer who she was. 

Spencer smiled though, looking finally content since the moment she had walked in the room. “Okay,” he repeated after her. 

And looking into his eyes, she decided. 

At that moment she decided that Spencer was the most important thing. She didn't want to see him upset, she didn't want to see him uncomfortable, didn't want to see him worried, didn't want him to feel guilty for something he couldn't control. 

At that moment she decided she would be numb for him. She would not feel the pain, not feel anything. She would just help him. She would do it for him. 

She smiled then. 

An emotionless void. 

hehe see “the beginning” meaning this isn't the end. don't worry. 

my masterlist here.

[kevyfanfics]

Touch Deprivation: When in Doubt, Hug it Out

Trying this out!! Seen a lot of “tumblr fics” out there so I thought I’d see how if goes :) This is part of my “Irondad Ending in Platonic Cuddles” one shot series!

---

Peter sits on the edge of the sixteen story building, feet dangling towards the street below as cars inch their way through the lunchtime traffic. Golden beams of the midday sun reflect in his lenses, but he doesn’t feel their warmth. It’s not the same. He sighs and a cloud of steam floats through the crisp, winter air.

“May has texted you that she won’t be able to make it home tonight for dinner,” Karen softly relays the message. “Her shift has been extended.” Peter closes his eyes and focuses on the chilled breeze.

“I know.” For once, his voice is ladened with defeat and acceptance. This has been the usual for the past few months. May has to work extra shifts to keep up with the ever-increasing bills, he has school and Spider-Man, mix those two together and they’ve seen each other for a total of four hours in the past week. He’s been counting. He knows keeping track isn't a good sign, but what else is there to do?

“Peter?” Karen’s voice reaches him through the deep thoughts. Peter opens his eyes and hums a response.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” He considers the question. Ned and MJ have been asking him that a lot lately, but he hasn’t quite found a good way to answer it. He just…doesn’t know how he feels. He’s not sure he does feel. He just kind of exists.

“I miss…people,” he settles on. It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong, either. Feelings are difficult and he doesn’t have the energy to decipher them. Instead, he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. The pressure against his chest feels nice. Comforting, even.

“You saw MJ and Ned today,” Karen gently reminds, trying to coax more out of him without pushing it. Peter takes in another deep breath before shrugging.

“I miss May,” he finds he’s able to clarify. He loves his friends, but coming home to an empty house for two months straight is different. If it weren’t for patrols and workshop days, he’d go stir crazy over the break.

“You had dinner with her last night,” Karen attempts, her voice sweeter than usual. “That was nice.” Peter continues to stare at the pedestrians as they cross the street in hordes.

“The only reason we ate together was because we both got home at 2am and had leftover Chinese takeout,” he counters without much thought. Even to his own ears his voice is monotonous. He feels like he lost a part of himself, but it makes him feel selfish. May’s working hard to make sure they can get by and he’s a bit lonely.

Either way, last night was a rough patrol and he ended up unceremoniously climbing through the window at 2:13am all battered and bruised. That’s all he’s gotten recently. Nothing but punches to the face, kicks to the stomach, bruises to the ribs, blood coating his hands. Nothing but violence. He hasn’t had a single, positive touch in two months. No hugs, no loving hand rubbing his back, no lingering touch in his hair, no gentle thumb smoothing over his palm. Nothing but violence violence viole-

“Peter, your alarm is going off.” Karen’s voice pulls him back once more, and it takes him a moment to process what she just said.

“Hm?” He blinks sluggishly, then unfurls his warm legs from his chest, already missing the pressure.

“It’s time to head to the workshop,” Karen patiently provides, an absolute saint as usual. Oh, Peter thinks, it’s already four. It doesn’t feel like 4pm, but he can’t exactly argue with time and space. Rolling out his stiff, aching shoulders, he lazily flings out a web and starts swinging to the Tower. He just goes through the motions: thwip, double tap to release, thwip, double tap to release.

And, in what feels like the blink of any eye, he’s there. His muscles are taut and trembling from the frigid air, but when he slips inside one of the countless windows, the warmth from the Tower at least helps minutely. As soon as he’s clear, he pulls off the mask and breathes in fresh, spandex-free air. His teeth chatter and he warms his arms up with his hands, but besides that he’s no worse for wear.

“Hey, Fri? Where’s Mr. stark?” he asks through chattering teeth hidden behind blue-tinted lips.

“He's down in the shop. I’ve alerted him to your arrival,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. promptly replies and he nods a quick thanks. First, he goes to his room to change into normal clothes, then catches a ride down the elevator. His lips are more of a peach color again, but his teeth still clack against each other as his body tries to generate some warmth. Stupid spiders with their no thermoregulation. The elevator comes to a halt and he walks into the music-ridden, always-bustling workshop.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” he shouts over both the welder and the guitar solo. Tony’s head pops up and the music lowers at the wave of his hand.

“Hey, kid,” he greets, lifting his goggles with a smile. “How’s your bumps and bruises.” Peter shrugs, hardly remembering the superficial injuries from last night’s fight, before sitting on the nearby stool.

“Don’t really feel them anymore,” he answers honestly as he rubs his hands together. Feeling is hard these days. Tony raises a curious eyebrow, then sets down his tools and saunters over to the teen.

“And is that because of the super spidey healing or the ice cubes you call fingers?” he inquires casually. Peter glances up and tries to put on his best I’m-really-not-in-the-mood-for-this face. Nonetheless, Tony chuckles at the expression. “Alright, alright, just get warm at least.”

“I’m trying.” Peter looks back down as he responds, but then an unexpected touch has him freezing in place, muscles tense.

“Jeez, bud, you’re frozen,” Tony mutters aloud as he rubs Peter’s hands in his own to provide more warmth. It takes more than a few seconds for Peter to register what's happening. But when he does, he slowly looks up at Tony as the man continues to warm the cold hands in his own. For some reason, it makes Peter want to cry. The hands are gentle, carefully moving back and forth and all he can focus on is that it doesn’t hurt. After months of nothing but agony and breaks and blood, there’s finally something full of love and support.

He closes his eyes and his eyebrows pull together…and he starts to cry. He doesn’t mean to, but the tears slip out in a mix of relief and pent-up devastation. His toes curl under in an attempt to regain control, but it’s already too late.

“Peter? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Tony suddenly questions when he sees the tears and Peter’s distraught expression. All Peter can manage is the shake of his head, causing tears to fall from his chin and onto his jeans. He should’ve been more prepared, but he wasn’t expecting the concerned tone or the protective hands encasing his. He didn’t realize he was touch deprived until Tony held his hands, the first positive touch he’s had in two months. Two months. “I need you to talk to me so I can help,” Tony tries to get through to him, kneeling at his level.

“I- I don’t-“ is as far as Peter gets before a sob cuts him off. He wants to curl up in a ball and never face the outside world again. It’s like his armor has cracked and the cruel reality of just how brutal and heartless the world can be is flooding in. It’s breached completely when one of Tony’s hands leaves his and cups his cheek.

He doesn’t hold back the sobs after that.

He simply cries, leaning into the soft touch and grabbing his mentor’s wrist like a lifeline. The thought of losing the contact now is unbearable. He can’t. He just can’t. At the action, Tony seems to catch on. This time, he pulls Peter into his chest and holds the kid tightly in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he assures into Peter’s curls, “I got you.” Peter feels them begin to rock and a hand rubs its way up and down his back in a comforting, predictable motion. He pulls in shuddering, uneven breaths, but his body isn’t ready to calm down. Instead, he grips Tony’s sleeves and buries his head in his chest so that his sobs are muffled by fabric. All the built up emotions force their way out, but being hugged is all he needs. Warm, strong arms keeping him safe. His cries rip Tony apart at the seams and he wonders how he could’ve missed this. It’s a basic human need to have positive, physical affirmation, something Peter evidently hasn’t had for a while.

The hug eases the aching in Peter’s chest and he holds on tighter. He can’t lose this feeling again. After all these weeks of apathy and going through the motions, he’s finally able to feel everything.

“I can't- there’s no-“ Tony gently hushes him, afraid that the teen will work himself into a panic attack if this keeps up. Honestly, it’s the last thing on Peter’s mind. He just knows he doesn’t want to be let go.

“Deep breaths, kiddo,” Tony patiently encourages. Peter can feel him shift and he registers that they somehow made it to the floor while he was focused on gripping the fabric closer. Breathing, Peter recalls, breathing is important. Gotta breathe. Just have to- He takes a deep, shaking breath, but the exhale becomes a sob and he just can’t pull himself together and he hates it and he just wants to be in control again- “I’m so proud of you.” He starts at the quiet, genuine admission. “I’m unbelievably proud of you,” Tony continues. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time. Sometimes strength is asking for help when it’s tough.” Peter’s chin wobbles and fresh tears glide down his cheeks. He nods into Tony’s shoulder, and pulls his legs to his chest for extra comfort.

“It’s, it’s been tough for a while,” he divulges in a hoarse whisper.

“I know, kid,” Tony acknowledges, lightly combing his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“I didn’t,” the teen confesses in a whisper. He really hadn’t seen any of this coming. “I thought I was okay. I, I thought I was fine just doing what I,” he swallows, “what I was doing. I didn’t think it affected me this much. It was just…I didn’t feel anything.” Apathy was probably a more apt description, but it was true. He hadn’t felt any intense emotion in such a long period of time that Tony’s loving, concerned action sent him into overdrive. Tony lets out a deep breath and rests his chin atop Peter’s head, tucking the kid into him to provide as much comfort as possible.

“From a scientific standpoint, lack of human contact decreases cortisol levels and NK cells,” Tony points out. It might seem like a cold and calculating response, but he knows what he’s doing; he’s putting it into perspective for Peter. He’s showing the kid that it isn’t just all in his head. It’s a physical change to a lack of touch. Peter let’s out a breathless chuckle, his wound up muscles starting to relax into the hug.

“A, uh, a hug needs to last at least twenty seconds for dopamine and serotonin to be released. Happy brain chemicals,” he adds with a sniff, closing his eyes. He just needs a moment to take it all in. It’s rare for Tony to be the one to illicit physical contact, so he accepts it while can.

“Well then,” Tony softly starts, “guess we gotta wait til you have enough happy brain chemicals.” He situates them more comfortably on the floor, then tightens his hold. Another trembling breath escapes Peter, emotions still raw and superficial, but manageable. It's a start, and if that start just so happens to be in Tony’s arms, maybe it’s not such a bad one.

[soliloquiums]

You find him under a bench in Berlin, more skeleton than man. It is 1955. It is winter. It is the post war era. Behind every dingy, squalid corridor you're bound to find a hundred of them, the left over almost-corpses that god just wasn't kind enough to kill. Haunted by a memory of a Germany that just doesn't exist anymore with charcoal padded under their eyes, limbs trebling from one two many needles. You're sure that if you pulled that ratty, dark blue coat sleeve you'd find his similarly pockmarked with cowardice. Still, something draws you in closer, a shiver, something about him seems heavier, denser, like his very body extends with gravity. A planetary mass. His neck snaps up in a lightening motion and he smiles, his mouth a crooked line that resembled a mountain you swear you've seen in the horizon, somewhere in the east. Beggars aren't allowed to be this beautiful. You shudder. And you take him home.

To your surprise, his skin is deceptively smooth. Like untouched snow after a blizzard- and you search him thoroughly, almost desperately, during your intimate moments, for some sort of mark, some sort of human imperfection. He allows you, absently, as if he’s been through this before, and strokes your hair as his mind wanders into places you know you will never reach. But that comes after, first, you seat him on the rim of your bathtub. He is listless, almost bored, as you wipe the river of blood off his shoulder. There’s no entrance wound, exit wound, no highway crossing where it could come from and after 20 minutes of frantic scrubbing, his hand grips yours. “It’s not mine,” he tells you gently, with that same crocked smile, eyes a circle of glowing blue like the hottest kind of fire, and you pretend not to notice as a very, very fresh red droplet runs down your porcelain bathtub and streaks red onto the tile. There’s not enough of him and there’s too much. After a week, his presence on the couch, skeleton hands gripping a book or remote seems commonplace. His place at your dinner table, the second pair of shoes thrown carelessly next to your orderly ones. The permanent, watery brown stain on your granite countertop where he'd spilled tea and that neither of you bothered to clean up. He is an indelible and yet insignificant mark. Most days, it's nice, quaint, the gentle buzz from the television every time you come back home, his coarse laugh punctuating a mediocre sitcom joke, the way he threatens bodily violence on inanimate objects for refusing to bend to his will. Other times, he is something just north of uncanny valley. He is wearing human skin. Sometimes, at night, he doesn't seem to be breathing and every few weeks, for a second at a time, you'd swear his eyes flashed a macabre red. Two months in and he still doesn’t have his own clothes. Doesn’t have his own closet. You offer to take him shopping, to empty out another shelf but he only shakes his head gently, pityingly, “I don’t own things.” You’re not sure if he’s crazy or if he’s one of those communist philosophy types. You’re not sure if you’d care if he was. You press your lips together. Don’t say anything about how his old clothes seemed to have vanished from the laundry altogether. Three months in and you don’t know his last name. You ask once, casually, assuming that a man abandoned to the snow wouldn’t care much for family anyways. (You can relate, your strict, catholic mother and even stricter pastor father are tucked far away somewhere in a mountain village in Saarland. Out of sight and out of mind.) But he says nothing, or smiles in that whimsically gentle way of his, or stares blankly as if he isn’t sure what a last name is. Sometimes he carefully grasps your hands and kisses you as a distraction and in those moments you’re sure you could live without knowing. Sometimes, you see his gaze catch on the window and you know he is somewhere else. Doesn’t feel like he was ever here in the first place, a ghost boy that floats around your apartment and gives you frigid smiles in place of actual conversation. Once, he lays awake in bed with you and asks if you will remember him on your deathbed with an earnest that makes you want to climb out of bed and vomit. His eyes flash blood and pin you to the bed. Yes, you say, without really understanding why, yes even when you are gone I will remember you always even in the smallest things even when there is nothing more to remember. His eyes go back to blue and you drift off into dreams about an achingly vast field with no horizon and crooked mountains shaped like a smile All at once you are disastrously, cripplingly in love. Falling from a cliff. You try every method in the book to ground him. You bring him flowers in the middle of winter, you buy him books, watches, a cell phone, wine, chocolates, a car. You clean up your act, work out, pen him love letters in the candle light when you think he’s sleeping, insist on cooking the food you think he likes. You drive her to parks. A cottage by the sea, take him to every pretty place in Germany that might even slightly interest him. Cologne, Dresden, Munich, Heidelberg, Watzmann, Brocken. You He dismissed every material gift with an apologetic shake of the head, almost disappointed you don’t understand. His fingers wrap around your wrist and you can feel the cold from his skin drip into yours as he pulls you close, whispering gently, a reminder, “I do not own things.” And I cannot be owned, without saying. The places, however, slaps him out of despondency. He puts a hand to an oak tree in a park in Heidelberg and tells you, absently, his voice drenched in memories, “Someone I loved is buried here.” He sees things you do not. He stares at abandoned buildings with a remorse and vindication you do not understand. There is a tragedy under the bridges, in every lake, that he seems intimate with. In cologne, he strikes a match and lights up a car at 9:43 pm. The pretentious, red thing goes up in smoke a carcass of metal and charred leather seats. He is seething with rage and you don’t touch him because you know he’d burn you if you did but you watch. In rapture and fear. He seems to consider doing the same to the house, but doesn’t. It feels empty, the motion, like the brace before firing a gun. Except there’s no bullets. You watch as the dancing flames reflect on his face, still perfect as soot begins to gather like dark butterflies. “Why?” You ask, sacrilegiously. Breaking the silence of that distinctly consecrated night. Even the stars seem to be holding their breath. “Personal despair could never be desperate enough," he tells you, watching as the smoke gathered and swirled off into the open night sky. A translation of pain, “When tragedy happens, it needs to pass down the line, like a disease. There is an innate sin in the blood of some people.” Like most things, this escapes your comprehension entirely, and all you can focus on, even when the police sirens start blaring, is how beautifully the red reflects off his irises. He gives you a wayward grin. Like he’s done this before- and he has, you know he had- as he grasps your hand with a grip that for once feels real and solid as he darts the other way, dragging you along behind him in this mad dash. He laughs, the sound beautiful and loud and perfect, like church bells or sermon. Something holy, pure. You’re just sane enough to stop your ethereal, cackling lover from veering into oncoming traffic. He looks at you were a eerie intensity that makes you stammer an apology, an apology that he quickly cuts off as he pushes you against exposed brick and crushes his lips to yours. Your tongue flooding with the taste of him, a musky wilderness. There’s a sigh, somewhere, and even though you’ve had sex this feels like the most heart trending thing you’ve ever done in your life. You tremble. Your arms slip around his waist, pulling him closer, as if forevermore. As if drinking god. It’s enough to make you forget that it’s the 50s and that you’re both boys and that if any police officer caught the way his fingers were tenderly, tenderly brushing against your cheek, both of you would be carted off to jail for a decade but you don't care, really you don't, for the first time you feel as if you know him. Gilbert. Your Gilbert. - When the story ends, you're on the floor and the coolness of his skin seems to finally have crawled inside you, making a home amongst your other fragile, human organs. He stands above you with his red eyes, disappointed but not surprised. He mumbled something about this before, in the beginning, about what it would be like once you knew, what the pain would feel like. A sigh from him and you know without looking that all the stars outside the glass have blinked out, that every single other person in the apartment besides you and Him have gone still, paused or maybe dead. Maybe it was the whole street, the country, a few million bodies and still, how can it said to have mattered? "Ignorance isn't safety," He quietly tells your quaking form, in some something that could've been kindness, "Tell me, how many poor weeds have you stepped on, unthinkingly, in your lifetime?" The clock doesn't tick but you can feel the universe moving, entropy. You can feel the vastness of it, remember those dreams with out any horizons in sight and the knowledge weighs down on you like a million bowling balls. "You promised to remember me," He reminds you, his voice still quiet but brimming with an emotion that hasn't quiet come to a boil, "We had more than this." All of Germany shifts slightly, as if moving in its sleep, and the stars blink back, your breath releases. "If I've hurt you," he begins, but shakes his head, stumbling over words that he knows you won't ever really understand, won't forgive him if he lets you know. Resignation, tinged: resentment, "You'll go on living just fine." You look up at him once, I love you, your look says, but he does not look back. The door closes. There are no footsteps down the hall.

[hold-your-applause]

Is there a way I could get number 7 with Akechi? And I just wanted to say your writing is really good! You do really well!

In the arms of my love, I'm flying

Over mountain and meadow and glen

And I like it so well that for all I can tell

I may never come down again

Rush Hour

It had been a long day.

You'd spent all night picking up the slack of your partner on a project that was due today, and you totally forwent sleep in order to make the deadline. This had set you up for a turbulent day of attempting to stay awake through your other classes. You knew all your notes left a lot to be desired, and you planned to ask to borrow someone else's to update them properly, but before you had a chance, you had been called by your boss to cover a shift, so you now had to rush into the city to make it in time.

Today was not your day.

And you most definitely weren't looking forward to the cramped subway car.

You always managed to make it right before it got packed, so you had a moment to prepare yourself for the flood of bodies that shuffled in once the doors opened. You pulled your bag closer to you as they moved in close, shifting to attenlt to leave enough room that you tried to fool yourself into thinking was comfortable.

This proved futile, as the push of the crowd was stronger than your patience today, and you found yourself stumbling backward.

Before you had a chance to make any sound of discontent, you felt a hand between your shoulder blades and a surprised breath hit your ear. You felt your throat close up and a shiver race up your spine at the gentle touch on your back and the soft heat near your face.

"Are you alright?"

You turned your head to look at the owner of the voice, and you felt the air in your lungs elope with the thoughts in your head once your gaze locked with a pair of russet eyes.

All of your senses seemed to dull; you no longer felt crowded like you did a moment ago. In fact, all you could feel was the hand on your back, keeping you steady and upright. You felt like your vision tunneled, only able to take in the kind concern on the boy's face and the fact that he was holding onto the grab handle directly above you both. You heard the gentle pounding of your heart in your ears, wondering why it seemed to be going so fast. You weren't even totally sure you were standing anymore, but instead, perhaps... floating?

Floating where? Where even were you right now?

You couldn't remember what you were doing before now. Where were you going? Where had you come from?

"Hello?"

You blinked, and you saw him tilt his head as he looked at you.

You wondered if he felt as lost as you did.

Although, you couldn't remember ever being so comfortable in uncharted territory before, so perhaps lost wasn't the best word.

"Yes, sorry. I'm fine. Thank you. I didn't mean to bump into you."

You were glad his hand was still supporting you, because you felt your knees weaken at the sound of his quiet laugh, so soft it was as though it was meant just for you to hear.

"I assumed you didn't. It's alright, it's not your fault." He shifted, letting go of the grab handle. "Here, I think this will help."

You didn't want to admit that it took you longer than just a moment to realize that he was offering it to you. You lifted your arm and took it, suddenly very aware of the way you were moving your body, but you couldn't bring yourself to care too much.

"Thank you." You said softly, worried that speaking too loudly might pull you out of whatever spell you seemed to be under.

He offered a handsome smile, and you felt pleasant warmth spread through your body. "It's nothing." He replied. You didn't miss the way his eyes darted over your face, or the way he didn't remove his hand from behind you.

"I'm Goro Akechi. What's your name?"

Oh no.

What was your name?

You felt your mouth move on its own, and you were pretty sure whatever came out of it was the right answer, but you had no idea what you said.

Whatever your response was, it satisfied him, because he nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a strange tone sounding in the air. His eyes wandered away from yours for the first time since finding them, and you felt the cold loss of his hand on your back as he pulled away from you.

"I see." He looked at you again, offering you another charming smile. "Well then, I hope the rest of the week goes just as smoothly for you as today has." All too quickly, he gave you a small wave as he turned to leave, disappearing from sight.

Even though he was gone, you could still feel the tingle from where he had touched you. The haze on your senses still hadn't dissipated, and you were sure you were going to be walking on air for the rest of the day.

Why had you been so angry before? You couldn't even remember. Did it even matter anymore?

Even in your dizzy state, you didn't miss the deeper sentiment to his well wishes. It brought a large grin to your face, and you didn't care if people ended up staring at you.

He wanted to bump into you again. And hopefully, soon.

After all, it was only Monday.

[vostokovasmelina]

emerald stained goodbyes.

for @smallheathgangsters ‘ 1k challenge - huge huge congrats, leah and so sorry i’m so fucking late! all the love xx

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k+

warning: substance abuse - this is really dark; i’m sorry, okay??

prompt: “i probably tore her heart right out” (cassie by chase atlantic)

disclaimer: i believe people with any kind of addiction deserve help and recovery, so this piece was not written against them. however, i have seen what it can do to loved ones and i was also heavily inspired by some other lyrics from the song referencing substance abuse, so please don’t misunderstand my intentions - it’s just a piece of fanfiction. many thanks

a/n: phew i think i’m officially back, folks; i’m lowkey not happy with the ending but ‘tis the best i can offer right now

italics = the past

He stumbled to the front door absent-mindedly, mostly his subconscious reacting to the sharp ringing of the doorbell and Tommy just obeying its demands. He had been in a relatively good mood, which had been quite rare lately, and he didn’t even give much thought to a possible threat waiting for him on the other side. He didn’t even check if his gun was close to hand at all, something which he had always done. Tom simply swang the door wide open, frozen in his tracks at the sight that was worse than any armed rival could have been.

“Y/N-”

“Let me in,” you whispered, pulling your baggy coat as tight around your cold body as possible, all your clothes draining of water as you stood there, outside in the pouring rain.

He flicked his cigarette and watched it land in a grey puddle, a few desperate strings of smoke floating towards the sky as if they were drowning in the dirty water. Tommy felt the dull ache in his chest slowly spread around, intruding every little bit of his body and he knew he would go mad if he had to stay here any longer. He kept waiting for that soft hand on his shoulder, that bubbling laughter from inside the bar, the one that hid all your sorrows from everyone but him. Tom wished he could go back in time and make everything better, be there for you and pick your pieces up instead of stomping on them on his way out.

He watched you stumble into his living room and throw yourself into one of his most expensive armchairs. Tommy’s face jumped into a painful frown as he thought about the soft material sucking in all the water from your clothes but he didn’t say anything - he simply shut the front door and turned back to you. Your cheeks seemed even more hollow in the light and Tommy felt heartbroken and furious at the same time.

“Where have you been?” He questioned in a low voice, trying to stay calm and collected as if that would fix the mess you had become the past few months. Tommy thought he had been relatively patient while trying to look out for you but he wasn’t sure if that was still what you wanted from him. Technically, you were still a couple and you wore the ring he had given you proudly on your better days but the sight of the tiny piece of jewelry did nothing but turned him bitter now. The promise of marriage was growing into a heavy burden, pressing down on Tommy’s shoulders and he was more and more convinced that he was the most selfish man in history for wanting to send you away in your deepest sorrow, trying to shield himself from your flames.

“Why do you care so much all of a sudden?” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, your eyelids getting heavier with every passing minute as the warmth of the fireplace flooded your whole body and your frozen limbs slowly returned to life with a sweet tingle running through them.

All of this didn’t make a difference though. You couldn’t ignore the hellfire raging deep inside of you in an attempt at burning you and everyone around to ashes and looking into its flames had become so mesmerising these past months that you simply couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Everything had shifted out of focus by now and even Tommy, the man you had loved passionately ever since you first met him was but slightly clearer a silhouette than everyone else. You had been turning in on yourself slowly but surely, leaving less and less of hope behind for those that loved you.

Tommy shook his head in the hopes that it would clear out all the memories from the night before for all eternity, providing him with a fresh start, a blank page to start his next chapter on. He didn’t want to erase you - no, he couldn’t do that. Afterall, he still loved you and was grateful you had played a crucial character in so many of the most imprtant chapters in Tommy’s life but he always knew he shouldn’t make himself believe you would stay that loving, harmonious couple you were in the very beginning - especially after you had discovered your great appetite for snow and morphine and god knows what other kinds of drugs you got obsessed with while falling down the rabbit hole.

Tom pulled out another cigarette from the depth of his pocket, suddenly becoming aware of the real destruction of this habit of his, the real damage it was and had been doing to his lungs and he rolled it around slowly between his thumb and index finger as if he was contemplating whether or not he actually wanted to keep doing this to himself. He eventually stuck it in between his lips and felt a perverted kind of excitement at the thought of pure smoke filling up and dirtying his insides, thinking he was deserving of the punishment after all he had done and said to you - even though the actual torture would creep on him slowly over the next years and decades.

He was cruelly pulled back from the downhill of self-distruction the next moment as Tommy turned to see who had intruded on his bitter loneliness and raised an eyebrow at his rosy-cheeked aunt.

“Arthur’s hosted a little bit of tasting of his best liquor if I’m not mistaken?”

Polly frowned at him as she shut the door behind herself and pulled her fur coat tighter around her shoulders, taking the burning cigarette from her nephew’s hand to take a drag. Tommy was sure that soon there would be none left for him.

“Please. Not everyone needs alcohol to have a good time, Thomas,” she remarked, raising the cigarette slowly to her crimson lips to hide a cheeky smile.

“You’re alone with that in this whole fucking town,” Tommy mumbled lowly and looked around as if he was looking down on the whole of Birmingham, seeing all the sorrows and dirty secrets, the skeletons in all those filthy old cupboards. His fingers ran around in his pocket driven by his subconscious and Tom was pulled back into reality only when they touched the tiny cold silver, the only thing you left behind after you had said your final goodbye.

He gathered all the courage hiding deep inside of himself and gave you the coldest piercing look those pale blue eyes had ever cast on you. Tommy could even see you shrink in your seat for a moment before fire lit up in your E/C eyes just again, ready to defend yourself by any means. He couldn’t recall the moment when everything took such a sharp turn for the worse but he felt like it didn’t matter anymore. There was no way he could fix it this time and it was useless dragging out both your suffering too long. However, it was high time he had finally said it all, everything that had been weighing him down.

“I’m literally the last living person who still cares about you, Y/N. When was the last time you looked in the mirror? Do you even realise what you’re doing to yourself? You look horrible,” Tommy let out a cynical chuckle as he looked you up and down, shaking his head and you could feel the angry tears swell up in your eyes, your palm itching to slap his perfect face.

Tommy felt it coming. He was trying to get himself ready for the slap but he was still taken aback by the force your numb and lifeless arms still held. As he took a few steps backwards to regain his balance, you jumped up from the armchair and headed towards him, rage narrowing your sight to your soon-to-be ex-fiancé only. All of it evaporated though when you felt Tommy’s strong hands wrap themselves around your wrists and pulling them into his chest forcefully so you couldn’t get out of his grip so easily. For a moment, you could feel all the anger and determination leave your soul, leaving only vulnerability behind and you got so scared of the possibility of crumbling in Tommy’s arms that you panicked and started trying to escape his grasp, tearing at his white shirt and pushing him with all the force you had left.

“How can you say this to me? How dare you forget that you were the one who got me high the very first time?” You were screaming at the top of your lungs at him and hit his muscly chest one last time before you felt his grip loosen as you pushed him against the wall and trapped him. Your breathing was loud and fast when you looked up at him with the familiar rage back in your eyes. Tom didn’t answer with a word and once you realised he had already ended any kind of relationship he had ever had with you, you scoffed and pulled away, shaking your head in disappointment.

“Fuck you, Thomas Shelby. Fuck your big ass mansion, fuck your cars and horses and fuck your bloody family. Only a madwoman would marry into the Shelby household.”

He looked down at his hand and watched the tiny emerald stone reflect the pale sunshine even in this gloomy Birmingham day. Tommy let out a big sigh before turning to Polly, his aunt raising her eyebrows at him in anticipation.

“I won’t be needing this any time soon, Pol,” he stated and handed the small piece of jewellery to the woman who had given it to him only a few months ago. Tommy knew his aunt was trying to hide her relief but he was too drained and exhausted to listen to Polly give him a lesson about the perfect wife and how Tommy always found the broken ones way too interesting for his own good.

“I probably tor her heart right out, Polly. Try not to look so happy about it.”

He fixed his peaky hat, gave Pol a nod before lighting the last cigarette he had on him and headed home in the dirt and fog of Small Heath, blaming the pinching cold air for the swelling tears in his tired eyes.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 6) The Red Sea

This is my fiction writing. There is no scene like this in the novel or the game. But it could have been there.

Enjoy!

Because it involved your abilities, the earthquake preparedness system of Tokyo interested you. You understood that if enough seismic activity were detected, the Early Warning system would activate, giving more people time to seek safety from the seismic activity that could be generated by Soul Skill Eruption. So now, in the hopes of causing as few casualties as possible, you increase the pressure on the fault line at a carefully measured pace taking minutes, rather than seconds to reach the point of no return, where the pressure you were exerting would be released and the earth would move. 

As you grit your teeth in the dark of your improvised shelter of concrete and mud and exert the extreme forces of the earth, You think of Chu Zihang, Caesar, and Lu Mingfei. By this time, Chu Zihang and Caesar would know you were missing and start to look for you. Perhaps they would be trying to find this Hell floor but they wouldn’t know it even existed. It was like you had truly gone into a bottomless pit. They could run around forever and never find you.

But you hoped that Caesar would trust you to make your way out through the underground on your own without his help and get to safety. Once the earthquake hit, it would throw the Hydra in disarray. They would be too busy fighting monsters and escaping themselves to even notice the boys. They could explode the Kaguya computer core and blow things up, as many things that would make him happy to make them pay the debt for Ms. Makoto.

Your smile fades and you huff out a little whimper of a laugh. That would be way too easy and in his leisure mind, he would definitely waste time trying to find you.

All across Tokyo, television programs were interrupted with a message window showing the epicenter of an earthquake under Tokyo. On the radio, two sets of chimes sounded, followed by a voice announcement in Japanese. “This is an Earthquake Early Warning. Please prepare for powerful tremors!” Japanese major mobile phone carriers blast out text messages urging the citizens across the city to take cover now!

People flooded the streets in panic, rushing to shelters and emptying out highrises. Traffic turned from neat rows of shining cars to a snarled mess, as people panicked and collided. Everywhere, hundreds of thousands of feet pounded, creating vibrations on their own.

Five seconds later, it hit.

To most people's eyes, skyscrapers stood still on the ground, unmoving. But this is only an illusion. Skyscrapers use steel as the skeleton. The physical properties of steel are not only strong, but also flexible.  When under pressure from an external force it will naturally bend to unload the force, and then rebound. At the height of the Genji Heavy Industry building, in windy weather, the top floor will also be given a few dozen centimeters of sway. A few dozen centimeters compared to the height of the Genji Heavy Industry is insignificant. The general public will not use laser rangefinder and other sophisticated equipment to observe it, so this sway is usually ignored. But in a high-intensity earthquake, all the skyscrapers in Shinjuku district swayed the moment the shock wave passed through, like a cedar forest in a gale. 

You hold your breath in your own minishelter, feeling the pull of the enormous forces being exerted on these buildings. Each sway was a potential disaster that could mean hundreds, even thousands of lives lost, but the results were out of your hands now. Like a waiter bumping a table full of delicate crystalware, all you could do was observe the whole city as it jostled and pray.

You’re shaking from fear, exhaustion, and mental fatigue, but also lack of oxygen. The shelter was watertight as well as air tight. You force open a small hole in the top and peer out. You had formed a dome shaped earthen shelter for yourself that held back the water and shielded you from falling debris. Fresh air poured in the smell of seawater and fish.

Z was gone. All around you the whole basement was flooded save for the section surrounded by your little levee. A few red emergency lights illuminated the shattered tank and bits of glass block and made them look like you were floating in an extremely large pool of blood.   The tank wall was gone and the room that was already large now seemed more like a baseball stadium in size.

Through your spiritual feelers, you could detect the frequency of vibrations that your mind could interpret as sound. Many muffled voices were desperately screaming and yelling and pounding on doors.

There were still so many people in this building. Why had they not evacuated? The ground was full of tension. Aftershocks were sure to come and there was no way you could stop them. These people needed to get to shelter! Hydra were so organized even by Japanese standards. This disarray was unusual.

You’re struck with a sudden vertigo and dizziness. Your mind becomes aware of the smallness of your body, while at the same time it is still aware of the vast depth of the earth beneath you. You try to take deep breaths against the wave of nausea but the food you ate in the elevator comes up in a single heave. You lay down against the levee and clutch your head against the stabbing behind your eyes. Cluster headaches were normal and actually a good sign that the blood vessels in your head were still working. If you didn’t feel anything, it was likely you had lost too much brain function to ever recover. But they also made it impossible to move or think about escaping. After using such an apocalyptic force you were rendered as weak as a child.

You close your eyes and feel your tired brain rebound from your body back to the residual spiritual energy in the Earth. Every time your mind returns to the earth,you hear something strange. It was as if a long river of metal was flowing underground and scraping against rock, except his metal river hissed with powerful breath. It growled with menace at the same time it breathed, as though there were many of them. 

Something massive was moving near Tokyo. It was underground. It was alive.

In that moment, another sound hits you, a loud explosion, followed by gunfire. This time it was much nearer by. The sound echoed down from the elevator shaft. Because it was connected to the building, these sounds were reverberating through the ground. By the time they reached you they were quite faint, but wherever they were coming from, it must have been a very loud noise.

Caesar and Chu Zihang could be engaging with the enemy, or maybe the Hydra were engaging with the monsters. Either way, you have to start making your way out.

The water surrounding you was going to be a problem. Any hole you made at this point would be immediately flooded. Before you could tunnel out, you needed to move the water away and drain it.

A movement catches your eye. One of the floating blocks of glass is spinning rapidly in the opposite direction from the other floating bits. Something knocked into it. You freeze, gasping in fear, and reach for your pistols. With shaking hands, you start to load them with mercury laden armor piercing rounds. Your eyes scan the dark water but every wave could be concealing a serpentine creature. The floating glass created their own ripples. Plus, you were surrounded by water.

A loose bit of metal detached from the glass wall of the tank. It fell, colliding with a piece of concrete slab sticking out of the water with a soft clang. A three meter long tail thrashed wildly and an invisible shape formed a clear wake in the deep water as fast as a jet ski. It exploded from the water. Its claws were like scythes and serrated. It’s golden scales were like copper in the crimson light.

The creature's upper body was six feet long, so that made it a good fifteen feet, enough to rival a saltwater crocodile. It lifted the piece of metal and bit down and the steel deformed between its teeth. Infuriated that this actually was not edible, it flung it high in the air where it twinkled for a moment before descending. After a few seconds, you hear a small splash somewhere else in the room. The beast screeches and dives in the water, heading for the splash it didn’t realize it made itself, soaking you in the process.

Huge, fierce, strong, reactive… stupid. You recall Z’s play with these creatures. They reacted to light and sound very strongly and they were also cannibals. The emergency lights largely meant that there was no power in this place and a quick glance upward at the now-still and silent ventilation fans seemed to suggest the same. The pumps and siphons that managed the tank were shut down. But that may not last either. 

So long as that thing was swimming around there’s no way you’d be able to work. It had to die. You had your guns and your ammunition and you also had a little C4 and a detonator. You remove your trenchcoat and pin it to the levee with a pocket knife. Then you adhere a bit of the C4 to the coat. Once everything was set up. You whistle loudly.

The beast’s roar echoed and  you duck as low into the water as you can. It flies beneath the water toward the flapping windbreaker and seizes it, tearing it away from the knife and stuffing it down it’s throat. You press the detonator. It was so fast to swallow the bait that the C4 must have been half way down its throat. The lower half of the monster’s head shatters in a bloody spray and bits and pieces of it plunk into the water. The beast howls and chokes, still alive but unable to bite, only flailing about uselessly.

You’d scarcely begun to smile when the wake of something else slips by you. Fortunately you’d been standing still so it didn't notice you were there. Another monster of the same kind reared up out of the water and bit down on the other injured animal. While they were both distracted you ran away. Every step sent water slapping and splashing in all directions.

You were heading for the control panel. There was a long wiring run that ran up the wall through metal pipes attached by bracing. You should be able to climb it! You don’t dare look back but take a flying leap and hit the wall. Your fingertips just barely grasp the braces holding up the wiring run. When you look down, the uninjured sphinx is waving its claws just inches from your swaying feet.

But then it’s pulled back! The other sphinx with the half head is now missing part of its right arm but  has pulled your pursuer by the tail and slams its claws into its head piercing its eye while it screamed and flailed its forked tongue. It pulled the eye out. The nerve still dangled like a bloody root. It popped the eye into its upturned throat. It didn't need a lower jaw to eat that.

Using just the strength in your arms and shoulder, you pull yourself to the next brace. Soon you’re swinging precariously 20 feet in the air. From this vantage point you can see that under the water is a massive pile of glass and steel rubble. The water actually isn’t that deep and if you fell from this height, you would probably die due to impact with the debris. But at least now you could see the entire complex. 

It looked like most of the sphinxes were gone from the cavern, only these two were left. But then the world goes blurry. Once again you’re hit with vertigo! You moan softly and squeeze your eyes shut as the room tilts and your mind reacts to movement in the earth. The ground was filled with great tension, like the tension a cold person feels right before they shiver.

Your eyes snap open. Aftershock!

You didn’t have much time. A powerful aftershock could easily shake you off the wiring run and kill you.There was a small ledge next to the ventilation fans. But it was a good distance from the last brace. You wouldn’t be able to just leap frog up to it.

The two beasts below were still locked in a battle but the one eyed monster was winning. Unable to bite and now missing a limb, the one injured by the C4 was grasped by its head and tail while its opponent ripped bloody chunks out of its flesh with its shining bald head.

It wasn’t even swallowing the meat. This was a vengeful tearing apart!.

Finally, it dropped the lifeless body into the water and turned back to you. It hissed, baring its red tipped fangs. It’s body undulated once and reached the wall. It climbed with spider-like alacrity, claws plunging straight into the concrete like it was soft mud. It only took a second to reach your height. It lashed out and you rocked away from it’s claws, coming inches from being disemboweled. It leaped to the side to pounce on you!

And it fell short. The single eye made it lose depth perception!

With a mighty heave you lift yourself upward by your arms. The flat of your foot smashes into its face and using that as a springboard you make it to the ventilation ledge!

The strong aftershock hit the Genji Heavy Building and pounded it. Cracks spread through the reinforced concrete structure, steel was shorn, water pipes burst, steam and cold wind filled the air. The monster was knocked off balance by the sudden quake and plunged twenty feet to be skewered by a piece of steel that was bent upward. It wiggled it’s long serpent body, curling silently like a worm on a hook for a few seconds before it began to scream, a single high pitched note. Over and over and over. 

A single shot to the eye and it goes limp. You hold the gun at the ready, just in case another was needed, but there was no more sound.

You lie on the ledge to catch your breath. But you couldn’t rest. You weren’t done. You had to drain the water.

With what little residual spiritual energy you had left remaining in the earth, you use it to form a channel under the wall, forming a pipette that would hopefully lower the water level. You wave your hand and from a distance your eyes glow gold. Mud rolls in hills pushing the water towards the channel. It takes a long time, several minutes. Meanwhile, you can feel yourself getting more and more dizzy. More and more sleepy and less able to think.

An extremely loud sound banging and crashing is getting nearer and nearer. Something big was falling down the elevator shaft! It crashed with such force that the car folded like an accordion on and one door was blown out, flipped and landed with a loud splash.

Blood oozed from the resulting debris and a golden clawed hand fell limp. You take a few deep breaths and crawl back to the wiring pipe and slide down it easily. You cautiously sift your way through the debris.

By looking at the elevator shaft can feel the scale of the building, the elevator shaft of ordinary buildings are only three or four elevators, elevator shaft area of no more than twenty square meters, but the source of The levator shaft can accommodate more than a dozen elevators at the same time. So it has an area of more than a hundred square meters. In this one hundred square meters hundreds of high-strength angle steel columns stood in the middle of the steel crossbeam. This kind of high-rise building uses super high-speed elevators, and the metal cars pass up and down at a high speed of 5 meters per second, reminding people of the future cities in science fiction. 

You sniffle. Red drops of blood come from your nose. You no longer had the strength to create a tunnel. But you could crawl up above ground and find a way out that way.

The elevator was pitch black and impossible to see inside like an endless starless sky. The idea of climbing up such a massive shaft would be impossible for an ordinary human. But even in your state of fatigue and pain, it wasn’t too far to go when it came to distance. It was just vertical. 

You step over the dead sphinx. Its upper half was in the shape of a woman's body and it’s guts were torn out of it. It was missing limbs and the skin of its face was falling off in a flap. This beast was never a danger to you. It must have been torn to shreds and fallen. It was dead before it hit the ground bottom of the shaft. It served as a warning to you. It would not just be a matter of climbing the elevator shaft out of the Basement called Hell level. The elevator shaft was another level of Hell!

You check your weapons briefly, go to the back of the shaft where the rail created a sort of ladder and start climbing.

[since0202]

Chapter 26: Heal

Grace woke up to the low, cloudy light of dawn breaking around her. The low light still caused her vision to go in and out of focus as a throbbing headache made its debut. She groaned, raising a sore arm to her face and rubbed it. 

She had no concept of time or where she was but she felt deep, pulsing pain throughout her body. She tentatively touched at her midsection and sucked in a breath like a hiss as the tender skin felt too hot to touch. Grace slowly stretched the fingers on each of her hands and felt the excruciating pain shoot down her wrist and up her arm. She felt battered, like she’d been stamped by a thousand hot irons pounding at her body for hours. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but Grace tried her best to push her body upright into a sitting position. A painful moan escaped her as her vision went black.

“Hey, woah woah woah.” Suddenly there was someone kneeling beside her, bracing her back, their hand hot and firm. She knew that voice. 

“Where am I?” Grace said, her voice scratchy and hushed like she had a sore throat. 

“My place.” Paul said, his face coming into better focus. “Drink this.” He held a glass of water to her lips and she drank gratefully, draining the glass easily and gasping for air afterward. 

“Where’s Jake?” she croaked. Grace was too disorientated to even take in the fact that she was in her ex-boyfriend’s bed in a home that was supposed to be hers. That ache had no room to exist as her body screamed at every move she made. 

“They took him home. He’s okay, he’s healing.” Paul was scanning her body frantically. He didn’t know what to do when she had passed out. He just knew he had to get her out of that clearing before the ancient vampires —Volturi the doc had called them—came into the clearing to kill them all. So he rushed her to his home. She had been out for a solid 18 hours until now. 

Grace rubbed her eyes and tried to bring more things into focus. She looked down at herself, still wincing at even the slightest movement. She was wearing one of Paul’s shirts and her pants were missing. 

“My clothes,” she said groggily, an aching finger pulling at the shirt she had on. 

“Yours were covered in blood,” he breathed. “You scared the hell out of me. Grace being in that clearing was not part of the plan. You could have gotten killed, why the fuck did you do that?” his voice rose slightly as anger flooded him. Seeing her in the clearing had sent a shock wave through him. One he felt rippled down the pack. 

But he had to admit that once she was there, they felt renewed, faster, more agile, their adrenaline at seeing her allowed each wolf to tap into a stronger or maybe more panicked version of themselves. Sam had been the most upset. He was trying to keep everyone safe and was pulled in so many directions during the fight, dividing his attention to ensure no one died on his watch. And when Grace came into the clearing, that attention dialed in to just her. It was maddening for him. Paul thought he’d attack Grace instead of the newborns for a second.

Grace looked at the empty glass and said in a hoarse voice: “Can I have some more water?” 

Paul nodded, letting out a huff of air and stood up to get her more. When he went into the kitchen there was a soft knock at the front door. He set the glass down and pulled it open. 

Rachel. 

“I come bearing gifts.” She said, a small smile on her face. Paul felt his stomach drop. Just seeing her made everything swim in his head. His eyes cast around her face to the beautiful sprinkle of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose to the strand of hair that fell in front of her perfectly tinted russet skin. Her amber eyes almost glittered and her full, ruby lips pulled open into a welcoming smile. 

“Um, hey.” Paul mustered. She let out a light laugh and returned a “hey.” 

His eyes fell to the stack of clothes in her hands. “I brought some clothes over for her. Thought she might need it, what with all the blood.” 

“How’s Jacob?” Paul said. He could see the pain there on her face. 

“Yeah, he’s okay. It’s going to take a bit for him to heal, but the doctor has him on a morphine drip to keep him comfortable. My human biology course isn’t really coming in handy as much as I thought it would considering the whole….wolf...thing.” Rachel paused to look Paul up and down. She’d been given a crash course in the pack’s secret once Paul had imprinted on her. He had also demanded that Sam let him tell her.

She held out the clothes in Paul’s silence, her warmth never leaving her voice. “Here. She’s only a little bit shorter than me, but these should fit.” Paul took the clothes, their hands brushing in the process. Rachel blushed and Paul tried to keep the heat from rising in his body. 

“Thanks.” he said. Wow. So eloquent. Great job, Paul. Real smooth. You have seen a girl before you know? Idiot. The thoughts raced through his head. 

“Okay, well. See you later!” she trilled before hopping down the steps, stumbling just a little in her overexcitement. Paul automatically took a step forward like he was going to help her but she held a hand up and laughed, heading toward her car. 

Paul carried the glass of water and clothes back to his bedroom and kneeled by the bed where Grace sat with her head in her hands. 

“Hey.” he gently said holding the glass out. She took it but it started to slip from her fingers. He placed his hand on top of hers and helped tip the glass so she could drink. 

He set the half empty glass down next to the bed and held out the clothes to her. “Something to change into.” Grace gently folded her arms around the clothes and gave a soft ‘Thanks.’ 

Her head was still spinning and showing no signs of stopping. The ache was growing rather than subsiding and she felt an excruciating need to get out of here. 

“Can you take me to Jake?” she said automatically, trying to listen to her body. Paul hesitated, his eyes staring at Grace, trying not to touch her. 

“Yeah.” he whispered, pain apparent in his voice. Grace tried to focus on his face but he kept disappearing behind a blur making its way across her vision. “Can you stand?” he asked. 

She hadn’t considered this. Her body felt weighted in a pain she’d never experienced before. 

“Can you help?” she said as she winced and tried to pull herself up. Paul grabbed her easily, like he was meant for it, and took the weight off of her limbs as he pulled her into a standing position on the floor. He gently placed her on her feet, slowly letting her weight come down. She gripped his forearms for support and felt the blinding pain of standing on her own. Without meaning too, she let out a sharp cry of pain and a pitiful “Ow, ow, ow,” that triggered Paul to panic and lift her again. 

“Okay, that’s not gonna work.” Paul said, “I don’t think we should move you yet.” 

“Just help me get dressed,” Grace said, her labored breathing returning. Paul looked at her carefully and then nodded his head. Grace was flushed with embarrassment but didn’t see any other way. He gently removed the shirt he had changed her into before putting her and she shivered. Paul tried to keep his face straight. Looking at her now felt different and filled him with guilt. Grace didn’t even bother trying to cover her exposed chest before Paul pulled the University of Washington shirt over her head that Rachel had brought. He leaned down and Grace raised her leg to thread through the fitted matching sweats. He pulled them up around her hips and tightened the strings on them, tying it into a loose knot so they stayed put. He picked her up under her knees and took her to the car, stone faced, trying not to think about how warm her body felt in his arms. 

When he pulled up to the Black residence, he could see some members of the pack filtering out of the house. He popped open his door and they came over to him.

“Is she okay?” Embry asked worried, his eyes pulled to where she sat, eyes closed, in the front seat. 

“I’m not sure. Is the doc here?” Paul replied. Quil shook his head. 

“He just left but we can get him back if you need.” 

“Yeah, maybe. I need to get her inside, she’s been asking for Jake.” 

Embry and Quil gave him a surprised look. He didn’t really want to deal with the barrage of questions. “Just go get the leech.” He said annoyed. They nodded at him wordlessly and were off, slowing to stare at Grace as they went past. 

Paul grabbed her from the car gently and walked her into the tiny house. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with her, but when she murmured a sign of being awake, he gave an exhausted sigh and walked her toward the back of the house where Jake’s room was. When he pushed open the door, Sam was there. The tiny room didn’t afford for this many people but Grace was already awake and pulling out of his arms, reaching for the bed. 

“Put me down,” she grumbled. Paul tentatively set her down, holding around her waist in case she fell. Grace looked hypnotized, her body reacting to seeing Jake’s motionless frame sprawled on the bed. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat and he was pulling in deep labored breaths that were raspy and tight. 

“Doc said his lung collapsed but that it was healing. He had to reset all of the bones on the right side of his body because he healed too fast and they fused together unevenly.” Sam’s voice shot through with pain. Paul saw the guilt there—Sam thought it was his fault that Jake got hurt and thought he’d never forgive himself.

Grace, still entranced, pulled herself onto the bed next to Jake. She shimmied herself  into the left side of his body that wasn’t wrapped up in gauze and buried her head in the crook of his neck. His left arm automatically circled around her waist and his breathing evened out some, the rasp cooling. Grace immediately felt the relief crash through both of them. Her pain ebbed and she let the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull her to sleep. 

At some point later in the day Carlisle came in, but Grace floated in and out of consciousness as he took her vitals. He seemed perplexed by her state, muttering something about not being able to get a good read on anything since it was so inconsistent. Since he had limited knowledge on how their wolf bodies healed and even less knowledge on how Grace’s bodies interacted with theirs, he didn’t feel confident giving a determination or diagnosis. 

Jacob was improving quickly and was able to be conscious for longer periods of time over the next day. He wouldn’t let anyone take Grace from him though, keeping his arm tightly around her as she struggled to pull in air through her throat. She seemed to be getting worse for some reason. 

Sam spent most of his time sat in a chair in Jacob’s room or wandering up and down the short hallway, pulling at the nape of his neck. Emily was having a hard time getting him to eat. 

“Should we get Ti’Hal?” she asked Sam at one point. 

“Not yet.” Sam said, afraid of what she might say. But it became apparent that they’d need to call her in sooner than later when Grace stayed asleep for a solid 24 hours, the sounds in her chest starting to rattle. Jacob's lung was almost healed at this point. 

When Ti’Hal shuffled into the small room, Jake was awake, his arm wound around Grace. He had slowly pulled her more and more on top of him in an attempt to bring her closer. Her body was now draped over the left side of his, her head in the center of his chest. Ti’Hal gave Jake a soft smile and put her hand to his cheek, closing her eyes. 

“You’re healing well,” she acknowledged. He nodded but looked down at Grace, concern warping his features. “Ah.” she said, “But you’re not worried about you.” She moved to place her hand on Grace’s forehead and one on her back. Ti’Hal sat for awhile just listening to Grace. 

“She’s healing,” she finally said. A domino of sighs could be heard in the living room where most of the pack had been milling about, listening intently. “But she’s healing you first,” Ti’Hal said definitively. 

“What?” Jacob said surprised. “Why?”

“She’s healing him?” Sam said incredulously. 

“First, she heals him and then herself. She protects, heals, defends, and connects. But you haven’t made it easy on her.” Ti’Hal suddenly said looking over her shoulder at Sam and then back to Jacob. She wasn’t accusatory, simply stating a fact. Something she understood better than them. 

“We’re still figuring it out, Ti’Hal,” Sam said with some strain in his voice. 

“Figure it out together. Or you’ll end up putting her in more danger,” she said sternly, closing her eyes once more to feel Grace and then taking her leave. “She should wake soon. I suggest you don’t move her and keep her close to Jacob so as not to interfere with the healing.” Sam nodded and helped her to the door where her granddaughter was waiting to ferry her back home. 

“So we wait.” Jared said in the living room. Sam turned around and nodded. 

“We wait.” 

Paul stirred uncomfortably on the couch. Rachel was in the kitchen cooking them some food with the help of Emily. None of the pack wanted to be away from the Black residence or Grace for too long until they knew she was in the clear so they spent their afternoon and evening huddled in the small living room, eating and joking and watching TV or spilling out onto the lawn to kick around the soccer ball. 

Word got out about “the accident” and the community showed up. Theo Merdra, the local carpenter even stopped by and made it a point to say he’d come and fix their sagging porch and install a proper wheelchair ramp for Billy. He even replaced a rusted rain gutter while he was there and had his son clean the debris from the roof. 

Bella showed up every few hours to check on Jake and Grace and helped clean and cook. She brought over a duffel bag of clothes, a toothbrush, and toiletries for Grace for when she woke up knowing she’d need to shower. She asked Rachel to call her as soon as Grace was up so she could come and help. 

The Black residence was soon overrun with a massive amount of food, some of Sue’s friends came by and cleaned up the house. George Runnings fixed the wiring on the back of their fridge since it kept blinking on and off. Billy was overcome with emotion. Everyone who came through did their best to keep it down to ensure they didn’t disturb Jacob or Grace. Jacob was almost fully healed by the second day and only moved from her side to go to the bathroom. 

Carlisle had stayed away to ensure he didn’t overstay his welcome with the community descending on the Black home. But he was itching to get back to monitor Grace. As the sun set on the second day, Grace’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Hey,” Jacob said, cupping a hand to her face.

“I need to sit up,” she croaked. 

“Okay, okay,” Jake said. He pulled his body up and rested it against the wall and then gently pulled Grace between his legs so her back rested against his chest. He looped his arms around her stomach and she leaned her head back onto his shoulder, winded by the sudden movement but breathing clearly.

“How do you feel?” Jacob whispered. Grace laid her hands on top of his and looked out the window at the people gathering around a makeshift bonfire in the twilight. Seth was kicking a ball around with Jared and Embry. The sounds of happy voices floated in through the window. 

“Like shit.” Grace finally breathed. “But better. You?” 

“Like new,” he said, kissing the side of her head. She closed her eyes at the warm feeling. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“Couple of days.” 

“Mmm,” she replied, lazily sinking into Jacob’s embrace and turning her head to face into his neck. He rested his head lightly on top of hers and pulled her in a little closer, making sure she was tightly nestled into his body. 

“Grace?” Jacob said softly. 

“Mmm?” she replied again, starting to drift in and out. 

“We really need a shower.” He laughed softly, his body shaking her some and her face cracked into a smile, starting to laugh too. 

“Oh my god,” she mumbled. “Gross.” Tears sprang to Jacob’s eyes as he pressed another firm kiss to her forehead. He was so happy she was awake, she was alive, and she was here. The thought of losing her in that clearing suddenly washed over him and he squeezed her ever so slightly. 

“You okay?” Grace muttered sleepily, her hand coming to gently rest on his cheek where she felt the clear damp of tears on his face. 

“Fine. You just smell...really really bad. It’s making my eyes water.” he joked, letting out a choked laugh. 

“Nice one,” she breathed before drifting off to sleep. 

Late that evening, Grace was feeling good enough to get up. With Jake behind her, she stood on her own two feet and only winced a couple of times before standing upright. She stretched her neck around and shook out the pain in her hands. Rachel was in the doorway of the room supervising. 

“I’ll call Bella,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen. Grace made her way slowly into the hallway toward the living room. Leah was there, biting her thumb and when she saw Grace come into the room and shot to her feet. 

“Grace, I’m so so sorry,” she said. She’d been holding in her guilt for the past three days. Grace waved her off and said, 

“Leah, it’s fine. Are you okay?” Leah nearly crumbled at this question and nodded her head quickly. “Good.” Grace paused for a second and then looked dejectedly at her feet, “I really have to pee.” Leah bounded over as an uncertain look crossed Jake’s face. 

“I got it.” she said and led Grace to the bathroom. 

“Bella should be here in 15. Leah, fill up the tub while you’re in there.” Rachel called. Total mom-mode. She hugged Jacob and confirmed that he indeed did smell. 

“I’ll wait until Grace is done,” he said. “Got some grub?” Rachel smiled and opened the stuffed fridge. “Woah.” he said. 

“Take your pick. Or you can wait. I’m making mom’s homemade lasagna,” She smiled at him and he felt so glad that she was home again. Just then the pack spilled through the open door elated and pulled Jacob into a group hug. 

“You’re alive!” Seth cried. 

“Thought you were a goner for sure.” Quil said. 

“Yeah, what took you so long?” Embry said. 

“Jeez Jake, way to hog all the healing for yourself,” Jared jabbed. Sam came through the door and looked to Jake. 

“She okay?” The worry was still there. 

“Yeah, she’s in the bathroom with Leah,” Jake said, giving him a reassuring smile. Sam nodded, relief pulling down across his shoulders. 

“Who’s hungry?” Rachel said, pulling out some freshly baked lasagna. Bella arrived, taking a second to hug Jake tightly before saying, “Where is she?” 

“Bathroom,” multiple voices answered her before Jake could even open his mouth.

“Okay,” she said, her face looked flushed as she headed down the hall. She knocked on the door, announcing her presence before pushing it open. Leah came out a few seconds later and gathered around the table with the others. 

“God, I haven’t heard someone pee for that long in my entire life.” 

There was a chorus of ‘Ewws’ and ‘I’m eating’ and ‘When you gotta go you gotta go’ followed by laughter around the table as the group dug into the food. 

[salemsbones]

Lonely Stars- Chapter 1

TRIGGER WARNING: anxiety attack, self doubt

Age 11      The train station was flooded with people, Muggles rushing to catch that last minute train to wherever they were going. There was the screech of the train tracks, shouts of people talking to their friends and the croaky metallic voice of the intercom, announcing that train 31B will soon be departing, but all I could hear was the harsh slap of my Mother's heels against the concrete pavement as her, my twin brother Regulus and I walked closer to platform 9 3/4.      I kept a tight grip on my trolley that contained all of my belongings that were coming with me for the next few months that I attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There was a lump in my throat that became bigger and bigger as the three of us neared the platform that would transport us to where the Hogwarts Express would be. The sound of my Mother's heels slowed as we reached the platform; she turned to me and gestured towards the large brick wall labelled 9 and 10 on each side,      "Well go on Aurelia, we don't have all day." My Mother said impatiently, jerking her head to the wall yet again. My white knuckled hands grew sweaty around the trolley, the lump in my throat making it close so words were hard to form. My Mother scoffed at me, rolling her eyes. "Follow me."      Without looking bad at me or my brother, she walked straight forward at the wall and then simply walked straight through it as if the brick wall only merely mist. This was how my Mother, Walburga Black, always acted; always addressing me or my siblings as if we were dumb play things she could dress up when she needed the family to present a certain way. She was never helpful, instead acting as if the challenge or problem one of use faced was the simplest thing in the world. She was in ways better than my Father, Orion Black, who had chosen not to see Regulus and I off at all.      I look back at my twin brother Regulus who stood behind me. His grey eyes flashed as he smiled a reassuring smile at me, "Go on, I'll be right behind you." I looked back at the looming brick wall and swallowed hard, the lump in my throat only growing bigger by the second. Taking a shaky breath, I started walking towards the platform wall with the same speed and confidence my Mother had, although my confidence was fake. I had seen my older brother Sirius and my Father do this twice now, each time in September as Sirius leaved for another year at his school, only occassionally returning during the holidays or sending owls to name all the stories he had while attending Hogwarts; but watching was very different from doing it. As I neared the wall I braced myself, closing my eyes tight, preparing for the wall to be hard bricks rather than the mist my Mother easily floated through, but before I knew it, I had crossed the barrier and I was now on Platform 9 3/4.      "There you are, where's your brother?" My Mother said condescendingly, watching my brother quickly follow me through the platform barrier much braver than I had been. Quickly, my Mother began walking down the platform, away from the many parents and their children saying goodbye or boarding the train. As we walked farther down the platform, the loud voices began to quiet  and people began to be more spread out. My Mother's heels had resumed their deafening click against the concrete again, almost as reprimanding as her voice as she spoke, "Remember, I expect both of you to make the  Black family proud this year."      "Yes Mother." Regulus and I said in unison, used to her tormenting tone and passive threats she has given us throughout the years.      We stood in silence for several minutes, Regulus and I standing side by side, my pinky finger wrapped around his in a silent promise that he is right there with me, not going anywhere. I looked around the platform, noticing the shiny exterior of the cherry red Hogwarts Express, or the hundreds of children hugging their parents goodbye, promising to write to them often so they won't get homesick.         Then I notice a familiar dark haired figure, he was tall, much taller than I was, his thick black hair that brushed his red and black plaid flannel shirt delicately, that crooked smile he wore that made his grey eyes gleam bright: my older brother Sirius. Although I had only seen my brother just two weeks ago, I missed him terribly, he had decided to stay with his best friend James Potter and his family for the last few weeks of summer after yet another argument with our parents.      It seemed as I wasn't the only person who had noticed my older brother and the Potter family standing a bit farther down the platform, Regulus twitched his hand that held into mine, refocusing my attention to him and my Mother, who was muttering harsh words about blood traitors and dishonor. The train blew its whistle long and loud, signalling for Regulus and I to finally board the train car that would bring us to our new school, I untwist my finger from Regulus' and remove my luggage from the trolley, I had been told it would be waiting for me when I arrived at Hogwarts and wouldn't have to worry about it until then.      "Goodbye Mother," I said quietly, giving her a small nervous smile. She looks down at me and gives a quick nod as a goodbye.      "See you at Christmas Mother," Regulus said before wrapping his pinky around mine again and leading me onto the train.                                                                <>      It had been Regulus who noticed my symptoms and quickly fled the carriage we were sitting in, bolting down the hallway. I was sitting still staring out the window, feeling my hands shake, my lungs compress and heat beat thud like a drum. The lump in my throat had only gotten worse, it seemed to travel down to my lungs, making breathing incredibly difficult, making my mind race thinking about how if I couldn't breathe then I would die, or if I died this early in life I would disappoint my Mother and Father and be just another disgrace with my face burned off the family tree. It wasn't until I felt a warm hand on my shoulder that my thoughts started to cease, turning my head I was met with my brother's stormy grey eyes.      "You alright Lia? Reg said you're not feeling too good right now," Sirius says, kneeling in front of me and taking my hand in his.      "What if I don't get into Slytherin?" I say quietly, tears flooded my eyes.      "So what? I didn't get into Slytherin," Sirius smiles, wiping away some tears with the sleeve of his soft flannel shirt.      "Mother said to make the family proud, but what if I don't make them proud Siri? I don't want to disappoint them! I can't! They will hate me and then-" I start to stammer only to be cut off my Sirius.      "Hey hey. Listen to me. I didn't get into Slytherin, and sure Mom and Dad aren't happy with it, but they can't do anything about it. So even if you're not in Slytherin, you can keep me company and we'll be disappointments together," He smiled, making me give him a small smile in return.      "Promise?"      "Of course Lia,"

[ahsoka-lives]

Apprentice

SUMMARY/ AN: INQUISITOR CAL SOULMATE AU The first words your soulmate says to you appears on your wrist after they’re spoken. Reader is almost in Cal’s position except the backstory is different(you’ll see what I mean and reminds me of Rey a bit). I’m sure you’ve all read a fic that started with the Bracca scene so I tried to change it up. Gif is by @ciricinnamonroll​ and it’s sos os goood. Please lmk what you guys think!! 

WARNINGS: A bit violent and a little sad

WORD COUNT: 1594

   The weather on Bracca was as cheerful as ever. Grey and dark blue clouds were scattered across the sky as the rain carried on into the night. You were exhausted, no beyond exhausted. If you were to spend one more minute on top of that frigate you would have fallen asleep up there.

You’d been a scrapper for as long as you could remember, Bracca was all you’ve ever known. The woman who raised you claimed that you just appeared on her doorstep in a small wooden basket, barely a few months old. She took you in and raised you as if she was your mother but she was already old when you arrived. She passed away when you were young, leaving you to learn the ways of the junkyard planet by yourself. You were eternally grateful for the time you had with her but there was part of you that ached for that feeling of belonging again, for a family. Everyday alone here was the same; Wake up, go to work, take the train back to the husk of an Imperial Walker that you called home, and do it again the next day.

One day, you told yourself, one day you would meet your soulmate and then you would get to have that feeling. You dreamed of the day you would look down and see the first words of your true love on your skin. You knew only a handful of people who had theirs and the envy you felt was unparalleled. 

Suddenly the train began slowing down but it was way too soon for it to be your stop. The calm chatter of the train transformed into hushed gasps and you could almost feel the tensions rise. You jumped to your feet and looked toward the commotion at the front of the train car. 

“Imperial troopers!” A small boy who couldn’t be older than 15 yelled from against the window. 

“Troopers are stopping the train?” You mutter aloud to yourself. This was unusual, sure troopers were just about everywhere nowadays but they almost never did random stops. 

The train finally came to a full stop and the doors to hissed open. The sound of the rain pattering onto the ground could be heard from inside. Two troopers walked onto the train and side-by-side inspected the car while ordering identification papers from everyone on board. This was also unusual, your stomach began to churn with anxiety. What was going on?

“Everybody outside now!” A trooper ordered with the usual lifeless tone. Within seconds all of the passengers filed out onto the muddy Bracca terrain. You pulled the hood of your poncho over your head in an attempt to protect yourself from the onslaught of rain. 

Standing side by side perfectly still were two Imperial Inquisitors. You recognized them from a propaganda poster that the Empire used to trick young boys into willingly enlisting but you weren’t sure of their purpose. Living out here kept you hidden from a lot of the Empire’s atrocities and you considered yourself lucky. As you were pushed toward the Inquisitors by the wall of troopers that formed behind you, you fixed your gaze to the mud that caked your boots. 

“We are here today because we received word that one of you may be a traitor to the Empire.” A bitter voice called from behind her winged helmet. “It would seem that one of you is a Jedi.” 

Her words sparked visible confusion from the group and everyone began exchanging worried glances between one another. A Jedi? Aren’t those extinct? 

“If this traitor doesn’t come forward and reveal themselves, all of you will be executed. Show yourself, or we will spill all of your blood!” She shouted angrily and the sound of blasters being aimed could be heard from behind you. Mere moments passed before she sighed in mock disappointment. “Very well, open fire.”

“Wait! Stop!” The young boy from earlier shouted from his place next to you and stepped forward, arms raised above his head in submission. Shock ran through the line of your peers at the events unfolding in front of you. 

“Kestis, time to play your part in this.” The woman commanded and stepped away from the other Inquisitor. 

The second Inquisitor reached to his hip and grabbed a small piece of equipment. In one fluid motion the Inquisitor released it from its clasp and brought two fiery red blades to life. You let a loud gasp slip past your mouth and terror flooded throughout your body. The man called Kestis stalked toward the boy like a predatory animal and that he was. The boy was backing away with fear written all over his face and your heart was racing. Rapid eyes moved from the Inquisitor to the boy and you couldn’t help but think they had to be mistaken. This little boy couldn’t possibly be that much of a threat. 

“Kestis, he has to prove himself first.” The woman growled from behind him, clearly aggravated. 

“Fine, we’ll do this your way.” The deep voice of the man just a few feet in front of you sent chills down your spine. He deactivated his weapon and placed it back at his side before extending a menacing hand to the boy. When the boy hesitated his wrist was grabbed harshly and pulled into Kestis’s arms. He kicked against the Inquisitors hold and grunted useless “get off”s and “let go”s, your heart ached for him. There has to be something I can do.

Before you knew it he had dragged the boy to the cliff side and the Inquisitor hoisted the boy up by his collar and held him over the edge with ease. 

“If he lives, he’s a Jedi and I get to kill him myself. If he dies then we kill them all.” His voice was riddled with irritation, Kestis clearly didn’t like to be told what to do. The Inquisitor gave the line of bystanders one last glance before turning back to the child. “So long, Jedi.” 

The gloved hand left his collar. Screams left the strained throats of those around you and the rain seemed to quiet itself to allow the sound to echo louder. Your hand shot out helplessly as if to grab the boy and a scream of your own left your throat raw. The next few seconds defied all of what you thought possible

It was as if the air obeyed the profound “NO” that you screamed and halted the movements of the plummeting child. He floated over the edge of the cliff for just a moment before your reflexes pulled your hand back to your chest. While the words “What did I do” rattled around in your brain, you cradled the hand that acted on its own and the boy fell. His screams were heard only for a moment as he fell from earshot. 

“So, it wasn’t the boy.” The woman hummed curiously as the two Inquisitors turned toward you. Tears pricked your eyes and mixed with the rain against your cheeks as guilt filled your consciousness. “You don’t even know what just happened, do you?” 

You were panting and staring at the rogue hand, barely paying any mind to the Inquisitors ahead of you. They paused unsure of what was to be done with you. The Inquisitors seemed to be arguing over the issue but you really didn’t care, your mind was still reeling at what just happened around you, to you, and to that poor boy. 

“We can’t just leave her here, Kestis.” 

“We shouldn’t kill her either, she doesn’t even know what she is.” Kestis bit back in a hushed but aggressive tone and stared down the woman in front of him. 

“Do what you want, I’m done here. Troopers, they’re free to go.” The Inquisitor snapped and turned on her heel to leave. You were finally pulled from your trance at the damning sound of his boots stomping over to you. 

Your eyes snapped up and your instincts kick in once again making your feet start to step away from him. The man let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist pulling you to him while he simultaneously brought his masked face to sit in front of yours. From this close you could hear the heavy breaths that left his modulator.

“You’re with me now.” He gritted and within seconds a burning sensation tore into your skin making you scream out in pain. “Oh come on, I barely touched you.” 

You yanked your wrist from his grasp and looked at him appalled. Thankfully, the burning quickly subsided and you blinked away the tears to let your eyes focus on the words forming in your skin. 

Oh my gods, this is it? 

“You’re who I’ve been waiting for?” Your unnerved state was evident in your tone. Kestis hissed and pressed his hand over his wrist as the words you spoke burned into him. He hurriedly ripped his glove off and pulled up the sleeve on his uniform as if they were the cause of his pain. The cold rains of Bracca fell onto the newly revealed skin and soothed his skin.

“What an interesting turn of events.” He chuckled as he read the words over and over again. He was surprised to say the least. “You’re really stuck with me now, hun.” 

He pulled his glove back on and laughed once again, he couldn’t believe his luck. His soulmate and a new apprentice all in one.

[persephonesfill]

breathe me in

a/n: this is the fic i promised for my 900 follower celebration! i’ve had this blog a for a while and it’s crazy to think that there’s people let alone 900 of them that care about my stupid opinions on stony. thank you guys so much!

summary: Tony tries to have a heart to heart with Steve after their fight on the Helicarrier and gets more than he bargained for. Set during The Avengers.

rating: Explicit, so explicit

warning(s): tony has self confidence issues but what else is new, heavy smut

edit: this fic has a sequel now!

choke on me—chapter one

—————

Almost dying, Tony decides, really puts one's life in perspective. They weren't kidding when they said your life flashed before your eyes, right up until your last breath. His life flashed alright, in a riot of color and noise, camera flashes, cheers, and jeers alike. And when he opens his eyes, he's greeted by Rogers kneeling over him looking distraught.

His almost death aside (he'll deal with that trauma later) Tony does what he does best to break the tension; he cracks a joke. And because today is just chock full of surprises, Rogers laughs. He laughs, and his eyes are as brilliant as the sky above them. Tony swears his heart stops again. It's happened enough for him to recognize the feeling.  

Tony knows he can be an asshole. He can be rude and obnoxious and interruptive, all very much asshole behaviors. The majority of the time, it's just an act. People have come to expect a show from him, whether they know it or not, and Tony's never been one to half-ass anything. The public wants a rich, smarmy bastard? He can do rich, smarmy bastard. He's the fucking poster boy for rich, smarmy bastard. 

But Rogers, laughing with him, smiling at him after dealing with Tony Stark: Peak Asshole Edition™? It makes Tony pause. The joke isn't that funny (you try coming up with a zinger after sacrificing yourself for the sake of the world), so why is Rogers smiling? It's not that Tony hates himself so much to the point where he immediately distrusts any signs of affection. But Tony's Tony. And Steve is Steve. 

"That's why," he tells himself. "This is Steve Rogers. Being kind is in his blood." There's only death in Tony's. 

"You're a real piece of work, aren't you, Stark?" Steve says, chuckling to himself. There's no heat to his words.

"You wouldn't like me nearly half as much if I wasn't," Tony says and immediately wants to shovel the words back into his mouth. He and Steve aren't friends. Steve isn't like Rhodey or Happy or hell, even Romanov, who Tony's still not sure what the status of their relationship is. 

Instead of rolling his eyes or sighing, that slight smile stays on his face. 

"Okay," Tony thinks. "That's new."

***

Tony's got a new perspective on things. Maybe Rogers isn't that bad. That doesn't mean that they're friends, not even close. But, Tony thinks, as he shuffles from foot to foot outside the soldier's makeshift quarters on the Helicarrier, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to at least try. 

Tony knows how to be the bigger person when he wants to be. 

He knocks on the door, and before he can change his mind and retreat to Stark Tower like a recluse, Steve is opening the door. 

Tony must have caught him while he was stripping out of his uniform; Steve's still wearing the bottoms of his suit, utility belt and combat boots in all. Aside from that, Steve is shirtless. Which is fine. Tony isn't going to question why Steve is shirtless, but it is hard to make direct eye contact with him when his abs are right there in front of Tony's face. And it's not like Steve didn't have time to put on a shirt before he answered the door. 

"Stark?" Steve says. "I'm surprised to see you up and running."

Right. Near-death experience. "I may have bribed the doctors in the med-bay into letting me leave early," he says. 

Steve frowns. Tony's quite familiar with Steve's frowns now. There's the "I can't believe you just said that" frown and the "Captain America is disappointed in you" frown, but this one, Tony can't seem to pinpoint. 

"Your heart stopped."

"After the second time, you get used to it," he says with a shrug. "Look, I didn't come to talk about my medical issues." 

A muscle works in Steve's jaw. Tony shouldn't find it as attractive as he does. "Why did you come, then?"

"I wanted to apologize." 

Steve arches a brow. "For?"

"For being an ass." It comes out sounding like a question. "I...said some hurtful things, and I want to own up to them instead of sweeping them under the rug."

"It wasn't just you," Steve admits. "We both were at each other's throats."

"Still," Tony says. "You're not a lab rat. Not even close."

Steve's lips quirk up. "I'm a step up from rat, now?"

"Yes," Tony says. This is good. Steve is smiling instead of punching him in the face. Tony can handle this. 

"You know...what you did today, that took courage."

Oh, God. Tony doesn't want this to be about him. (Despite popular belief, his ego isn't that fucking big.) 

"Don't even mention it. Please," Tony says. "If you're not gonna let me apologize to you properly, at least let me do something for you, or buy you something. I'm great at buying things."

Steve frowns again, but his interest is piqued. "Like what?"

"I don't know, like a vintage car or something. A blowjob. Whatever floats your boat." Why did he say blowjob, why did he say blowjob, why the fuck did he say blowjob? 

Steve's staring daggers into him. "Did you just offer to blow me?" 

Seriously, why the fuck did he say blowjob? 

"It was a joke," he says lamely. 

"Oh," Steve says, his face dropping and—is Tony crazy, or does Steve actually look disappointed?

"I'm sorry. You don't have to if you don't want to," Steve says. "I thought...you know what, never mind." Steve's retreating back into the safety of his room, a blush flooding his cheeks. 

Tony has two options, and he has to pick fast. He can either let this whole thing go and pretend it never happened, as that seems like it's what Steve wants to do. Or...he can roll with it. 

"Wait," Tony says, grabbing Steve by the arm. His skin is hot to the touch. "It...it wouldn't be a chore or anything." 

Steve swallows, looking Tony up and down. Tony feels oddly naked in front of him like Steve is seeing past every mask he's ever donned. "You mean that?" Steve says.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it," Tony confesses. His stomach twists into knots. During their fight he had thought about Steve pinning him against a wall, wrapping a hand around his throat, kissing his mouth like a savage—

"Yeah?" Steve says, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

"Yeah," Tony breathes. The hallway feels like it's closing in on him. 

Their eyes meet, and it's a matter of seconds before Steve's yanking Tony by his arm into the barrack. 

Tony barely has any time to close the door and observe the room before Steve's on him. 

He's kissing Captain America.

Tony Stark is kissing Captain America. 

Steve kisses like he fights; All confidence and barely restrained power. Tony's back is pressed against the wall, but he can't find it in himself to complain as Steve's tongue finds its way into his mouth. 

Tony doesn't know if they closed the door or not, and that sends an electric thrill running down his spine. Anybody could walk past and see him ready to fall to his knees and give Captain fucking America the blowjob of his life. 

Steve slots his thigh in between Tony's legs, silently prompting him to spread them, and it's no skin off Tony's back to comply. 

Steve's tongue is quick and clever, eliciting moans from Tony's mouth. Steve's a practiced kisser, and Tony's not sure if that bothers him or not. He had assumed that Steve was a precious virgin with 1940s sensibilities, but obviously, he had been with somebody. Tony wonders if it was recent and if Steve still thinks about them in his spare time. 

The thought of Steve with another lover fills him with jealousy, and Tony finds himself kissing Steve harder. He winds his hands into Steve's hair and grinds his rapidly growing cock down on Steve's thick thigh. 

Steve pulls back, chuckling as Tony chases after his lips. 

"You're a needy one, huh?" he says, working at the fly of his tac suit. 

"Like you're any better," Tony says, marveling at how out of breath he sounds. "You can barely get your pants down, you're so eager." 

Steve raises his hands. "Alright, genius, you do it. I'll just stand here and look pretty." 

Tony bites back a smile and instead makes quick work of Steve's fly. 

"Oh, wow," he says softly when he pulls out Steve's cock, already hard and leaking precome. He's not a poet, but he's never seen a dick that looked so...nice. It's so hot in Tony's hands, like a brand. Steve keeps himself trimmed and neat, which makes sense, given the rest of his appearance. 

Tony can hear his heart beating a rapid rhythm in his chest as the gravity of what he's about to do hits him. It's not like he's never given a blowjob before, far from it. But this is Steve. Steve, who lied on registration forms just so he could serve his country. Steve, who freed prisoners of war with little to no help. Steve, who plunged a nuke-laden plane into the ocean without a second thought. 

"Hey," Steve said. "I meant it when I said you don't have to do this if you don't want to. Are you still okay with this?" 

Something in Tony's heart softens at that, and he silently pushes it down. This is a one time only situation. He can't afford to get feelings involved, so instead, he nods. "Yeah," he says, "You think I'd say no to this?" And with that, Tony fully sinks to his knees.

He takes Steve into his mouth before he can ask any more questions. A sharp intake of breath escapes Steve's mouth. Tony's hands come up to rest on Steve's well-muscled thighs. It's hard to breathe at first—Steve is so big, Tony would bet his fortune that he had been like this before the serum too. 

Tony takes his time, and Steve lets him adjust to the foreign weight in his mouth. He breathes through his nose because he's not a goddamn amateur, and settles into a steady rhythm, bobbing his head along the length of Steve's dick. 

Tony savors the little gasps and moans that Steve emits whenever he swallows around him or flicks his tongue a certain way. He commits them to his memory like a raven collects shining trinkets. 

Steve's hand curls into Tony's hair, not necessarily pushing him down, though. Just a steady, almost comforting weight on Tony's head that makes something in the back of his mind purr in satisfaction. 

"You're doing so good," Steve whispers it like it's a secret. 

Tony looks up at him, and Steve looks just as wrecked as Tony feels. The blue of his eyes is naught but a thin ring overtaken by a pool of black. His skin is sweaty and flushed, his lips red and swollen from where he had been biting them to stifle his moons. Tony wants to devour him. 

Steve's fingers tighten in his hair, and Tony's moaning himself now. Steve's eyes flutter shut, his mouth dropping into a slight 'o'. 

"How can someone be so fucking beautiful?" Tony thinks. 

His own cock tents his jeans, leaking precome, but Tony will deal with it later. He's not expecting Steve to return the favor. This is an apology, after all. An unconventional one, sure, but an apology all the same. 

"I'm close," Steve says. "Do you want me to—"

Instead of answering, Tony hollows out his cheeks and sucks. His teeth ghost over a vein along the length of Steve's cock, and Steve's coming with a muffled shout into Tony's mouth. Tony's careful to swallow it all, not wanting any of Steve's come to go to waste. He tells himself that it's just so that there's less of a mess. 

"Jesus, Tony," Steve says, his voice all scratchy like he had been the one on his knees for the past fifteen minutes. 

Tony pulls off of Steve and looks up at him with big eyes, his lashes shining with unshed tears. Something primal crosses Steve's face, and he snaps. The next thing Tony knows, he's being hauled to his feet, and Steve's tongue is down his throat like he wants to become a part of Tony. A pang of arousal hits Tony in his stomach like a sucker-punch at the fact that Steve would still kiss him after what he had just done. 

Steve unbuttons Tony's jeans with deft fingers and shoves one of his hands down Tony's jeans. He finds his cock with ease. Tony wraps his arms around Steve's neck and digs his fingers into Steve's skin as he jerks him hard and fast like he's trying to punish him.

It should hurt. But a savage part of Tony's brain revels in Steve's loss of control. Steve isn't Captain America right now, America's golden boy. He's Steve fucking Rogers, and he's taking what he wants, consequences be damned. Tony doesn't even bother trying to hide his cry when he comes hot and wet into Steve's hand, pleasure lighting up every single one of his nerves as if he has been struck by lightning. Tony's knees tremble, and if it weren't for Steve pinning him against the wall, he surely would have fallen to the ground. 

Steve breaks their kiss and tucks his head into the nape of Tony's neck. 

"God," he says, his voice like sandpaper. "God," he repeats as if that says everything that needs to be said. In a way, it does. 

"Hell of an apology, huh?" Tony says. He's always known how to ruin a moment. 

Steve gives him a breathless chuckle in return. "If that was your apology, I'd kill to see your 'thank you,'" he says. 

"Give me something to be thankful for."

"Yeah?" Steve says, lifting his head up to look at him. His eyes are bright, but there's a glint to his gaze that makes Tony feel like he's being hunted. 

"Yeah," Tony says. Steve's smile cuts like a knife.

[meow-bebe]

Elusive

The First installment of my Neo Classics collection, ‘Elusive’ is set in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.

“Ten Lee throws the most extravagant parties in New York, though he rarely seems to be in attendance himself. When you find yourself in his mansion one warm June evening, you aim to find the elusive Ten Lee and get a bit more than you bargained for.”

Paring: Ten Lee x reader, Jung Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Roaring 20s au, Jazz Age au, The Great Gatsby au

Warnings: quite a bit of alcohol, general debauchery, mentions of adultery, mentions of smoking, this one gets a bit suggestive (heavy make out session, removal of outer layers)

Word count: 6.4k

Tonight’s soundtrack: Booty Swing - Parov Stelar, It Ain’t Over - Monsta X, Catgroove - Parov Stelar, Miss Jackson - Panic! at the Disco, Love Talk - WayV, Nicotine - Panic! at the Dicso

A/n: hiya! before you read, i’d just like to say that this fic is my pride and joy. Its my child. It took me over a month to plan out and write, is the longest thing ive ever written, and im very very proud of it. so please, if you enjoyed elusive give it a reblog! send me an ask! just scream in the tags, but let me know you enjoyed it! ill appreciate it more than you can ever know, and it will definitely help to give me motivation to keep working on the next parts of neo classics. 

“The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

In all of New York, fanciful, expensive, outrageous New York, there was one man known far and wide for his parties. Those in attendance always returned touting fabulous stories of more liquor than an army could drink in a week, of the celebrities that shamelessly showed their faces, and of the cover that night and perhaps hundreds of people could offer to those wanting to make a fool of themselves or sneak off with a mistress. It couldn't be denied that they were possibly the best parties in the whole state. 

And the man behind it all? The elusive Ten Lee. 

Ten was an enigma, a figure shrouded in mystery despite opening his property to all those who fancied a wild night most weekends. Very little was known about him to the general public. Even many of those in his own social circle knew little to nothing about the man. Supposedly he had inherited most of his fortune, and having only begun taking up residence in New York in the past year or so there was quite a bit of speculation that he was foreign. Despite being the topic of many a gossip column, Ten wasn’t exactly a public figure, and it seemed that this absolute lack of information about him bled into the atmosphere of his extravaganzas as well. Many of his regular partygoers never bothered to question his presence, or lack thereof. Ten had always interested you, and upon your invitation to one of his grand functions, you had decided that this was the night you would meet the little known Mr. Lee. 

Not that you were truly invited, but not many people were. Most just came anyway, saying they knew someone who was involved with Ten, or they had known him before he claimed his inheritance and became the Mr. Lee that all high class New Yorkers knew of. (Or was there a time before? Perhaps he had started out just as anyone else and his sudden acclamation of a large sum of money led him to spend on the most frivolous of things. Or maybe the man had arrived from his mother’s womb as the classy and expensive bachelor he was known as. No one seemed to know.) No matter what their story was, each attendee often brought along several plus ones. Automobiles would bear them out to Long Island, and they would flood onto the lawn, ready to dance and drink and make good use of all the expensive treats Ten provided. 

It was through a friend that you found yourself being driven out to the island one evening in late June. This was not your first Lee party, and it would not be your last, however you, unlike many of the other guests, held on to some shred of dignity and only showed up when invited. Even if you were only brought along because Irene didn’t want to be seen alone, it was something. Not that she ever kept to herself for long. 

Irene, a close friend of many years, was a self proclaimed rising starlet, although in reality she had been a very minor character in two films. She could be a bit dramatic at times (as her “profession” called for), and her title as “actress” was certainly an exaggeration. Still, she was a dear friend to you no matter how much she liked to stroke her own ego. And using her small claim to fame, Irene had managed to worm her way into the heart and car of a man who was also trying to make his way in the film business. You suspected he was about as in the public eye as Irene. Nevertheless, he had managed to get an invitation through one of his higher-ups and invited Irene to accompany him, which of course meant you would be tagging along as well. And truly, it wasn’t as if you minded. You enjoyed a night out as much as the next person, and Irene was your ticket into many affairs you wouldn’t otherwise find yourself attending. 

There were a few others driving out with you, all chattering amongst themselves and buzzing with excitement for the coming night. Irene, placed strategically in the front seat,  appeared to have latched onto the driver as her catch of the night. This was expected, after all he had been the one to invite her. You didn’t fool yourself into thinking she would stay by your side for very long anyway, Irene was notorious for ditching you as soon as a particularly good looking man showed up. You were fine on your own, and didn’t usually mind being left to your own devices. Depending on where you were you often got the urge to explore, after all the rich lead different lives, and getting a glimpse of that was always a good time. Irene often encouraged you to find someone of your own to pass the time with, and while sometimes you would find someone who could hold a half decent conversation, it was never very high on the night’s agenda. Though it seems tonight, in a rare break from your usual habit of flying solo, you had found someone. An attractive young man who had been introduced to you as Mr. Jung was seated at your side, and had begun talking quietly with you as the automobile sped along towards the island. 

“You look quite dashing tonight, Miss一?”

His voice was deep and soft, gentle and just a tad bit sultry.

“Y/l/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” you fill in.

“Miss Y/n Y/l/n,” Mr. Jung muses, and though you’ve heard them many times before the familiar words feel different when he says them like that, perfectly proper in his every action  except for the slight seductive tone slipping through his barriers. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine as he takes your hand and presses a chaste kiss to your gloved fingers, the black of the silk making a nice contrast with his pretty pink lips. “A beautiful name, though not as beautiful as the one who holds it.”

You giggle, raising the hand not grasped in his to cover your mouth, and reply, “Oh Mr. Jung, how you flatter me.”

“Please,” he lets your fingers slip out of his, “just call me Jaehyun.” 

Well, perhaps not entirely proper, but there was no denying that you were enjoying the attention he was laying on you. Finding Ten Lee might be the final goal of tonight but he could be notoriously hard to find, and even if you did have ulterior motives there was no reason you shouldn't enjoy yourself in the meantime. Jaehyun had been nothing but gracious and flattering, and it never hurt to have a gorgeous man’s arm to cling to. You chat idly with Jaehyun for the rest of the ride out to Ten’s mansion, words flowing freely between you the whole time yet each learning not a single note worthy detail about the other. 

By the time you arrive, just before dusk is preparing to settle herself over the bay, the party is already in full swing. Though the real festivities begin once night falls, many guests arrive in the afternoon, early enough to enjoy the section of the beach that falls on Ten’s property. They swim in the green glass waves of the bay and generally enjoy everything that the mansion has to offer while it's still light out before changing into evening wear in one of the many spare rooms and coming down the wide marble staircases in pairs, ready to throw themselves into the pulsing energy of the night. 

The beach is now empty as the unfamiliar man in the front seat pulls into the long drive snaking up the lawn and tries to find a place to park amongst the crowd of other automobiles. People dressed to the nines, still in their swimming suits, and everything in between trail up the lawn, bright light and the sound of many people talking all at once enticing them towards the house. 

The car comes to a stop, finding a lucky spot not too far from the house, the excitement rolling off each and every person surrounding you palpable in the air. Jaehyun opens the door and steps out before offering a hand to help you down. You take it with a slight smile, T-strap heels clicking against the pavement as you dismount and shut the door. The hand placed on top of Jaehyun’s quickly found its way to his elbow as he leads you up the lawn towards the french doors, thrown wide open and spilling the bright light that illuminated the inside and the growing noise of the party as people traversed in and out of the house. 

Irene and the driver were not far behind you, a familiar flirtatious bounce in her step as they traipse up the lawn. You knew from the way she looked at him一predatorial, like she was going to devour him but make him feel like he was the one doing the stalking一that you wouldn’t be seeing much of her after a certain point in the night. This wasn’t uncommon for Irene, she always said she liked the “thrill of the chase without having to do the chasing.” You supposed your own plans for tonight weren’t all that different, what with your search for the host. Usually that would’ve bothered you, as you didn’t particularly approve of Irene’s galavanting at events she shouldn’t really be present at in the first place, but tonight you were too wrapped up in the events unfolding to care all that much. 

The tiered silk of your dress swished against your calves, the heavy beading giving it a swing which accentuated the swing of your hips that grew with your confidence as you made your way up the wide steps leading to Ten’s front door. With each stride you take forward the noise inside seemed to dull a bit, fading away until it was just a buzzing murmur in the background. Your vision zeroes in on the mahogany doors, a small window to what felt almost like a whole other universe contained inside the mansion. You tended to get star-struck easily, but there was something different about the feeling tonight. An excitement burned in your veins, one you had never felt before, as if your body was in the know about some mysterious outcome or event of tonight. It felt as though you were surrounded by a bubble of water that hazed over the silhouettes of people and faded the harmonies of the symphony buzzing somewhere inside, laughter and the faint clinking of glasses tinny in your ears. 

There was something about the atmosphere that drew you in. You would never quite be able to explain the feeling, that odd tugging deep in your chest yanking you forward by some invisible string of fate. All feeling seemed to have left you except the aching want to throw yourself into the fray and dance until your feet fell off, drink until the sun came up, feel the burn of others’ cigarette smoke in your lungs until you choked, search for a companion until you found the right one. 

Time had slowed, and the usual clacking of your heels deepened to a hearty thud for each step you took. Every movement dragged you farther down under the surface, your sense of anything outside the confines of the house melting away until you had been utterly consumed by the muted liveliness of the party before you had even joined in. Everything happened so fast for being in slow motion, and before you could get the gears turning once again and recognize that you were no longer on the path leading to the steps Jaehyun was leading you through the double doors. The bubble popped. Imaginary water came crashing down around you, streaming off your hair and down your dress. The sensation was so strong you could swear that you felt the rivulets on your arms, the dampness of your hair on your neck. 

Everything was suddenly crystal clear, blurred forms regaining their sharp edges and an almost overwhelming surge of music and din of conversation assaulting your senses all at once. You look down at the ground, somewhat disoriented and almost expecting a puddle of water underneath you, drips falling from the hem of your dress, but there was nothing. The ground was dry, as it should be, and you shook your head slightly to yourself in hopes it would draw you back to reality a bit. 

As Jaehyun tugs you along, slipping nimbly through the crowds gathered in the tastefully decorated foyer, you simultaneously began to regain your wits and let your thoughts drift. An odd mix of cigar smoke, lust, and overbearing perfume hung in the air, threatening to put you in a trance and drag you away. There was always a feeling of disconnection with the world around you that creeped in at Ten’s parties. Often you would let it carry you away, but tonight you were here for more than just your own enjoyment, and so you clung to Jaehyun like a lifeline. He would glance back at you every few seconds, a reassuring smile on his face as your hand on his arm began to squeeze just a little tighter, the tiniest bit afraid you would lose him in the kinetic chaos of dancing and laughing. 

No guest goes without a glass of something to wash their inhibitions right down the drain, and many swipe the tiny sandwiches or pastries offered by butlers expertly balancing platters of hors d'oeuvres in hand as they expertly navigate through the throngs of people. You’re no black sheep tonight, for Jaehyun presses a glass of expensive champagne into your hand as you seek a somewhat less crowded place to enjoy the night, a replica clutched in his own. There are none who stand alone in this crowd, either surrounded by a group just as free spirited as themselves or paired off, hanging off their partners’ arms and not so subtly sneaking suggestive glances at each other. 

For each corner you turn you see a familiar face一an old acquaintance from school, a friend’s sister, the man who works at the bank. But just as quickly as you recognize them their  identities slip from your mind, partly from a combination of the overwhelming amount of people crowding around you on every side and the buzz of energy and alcohol. 

Ten’s parties were known for being quite anonymous to those looking for a good time. Those in attendance would always see people they knew outside the bubble of safety Long Island offered on night like these, yet no matter how scandalous their behavior it would never become public knowledge. Gossip was unavoidable, yet that was always how it stayed一mere gossip for the wealthy ladies to discuss over tea. As darkness fell over the bay so came a cloak of anonymity that drew in people like moths to a lightpost. 

An hour or so of aimlessly wandering the three story mansion, people have dispersed a bit which means that the rooms are a bit easier to navigate, though there is still no lack of bodies. You trail along through the groups of dancers, some getting drunk, all throwing caution to the wind (perhaps a little too much). The symphony had changed songs, now playing something with a bit more of a sexy tone to it and you sway slightly along to the beat as you walk. Idly chatting with Jaehyun, one hand on his arm and the other filled with a glass of something sticky sweet to replace the long gone champagne, the two of you traverse through Ten’s mansion, both surveying the rooms and glancing at the people passing by. 

He’s got quite the handsome face, and most people wouldn’t look past that on a night such as this. But he’s looking for something tonight, you can see it in his eyes. The subtle way his gaze flicks up and down the figures of women in dresses fancier than yours as he uses eyeing the crowds for a clearish path as an excuse to not be looking solely at you. The slight desire he holds as his eyes take in the people milling about matches exactly with the look he gave you when you first sat down next to him in Irene’s friend’s car, and the way he flicks nervously between observing the other women in the room and you, still holding fast to his arm, lets you know that he’s not yet sure if you’re what he wants. 

It doesn’t bother you though. He’s not what you’re looking for tonight either. 

You’re looking for Ten. Though you only vaguely knew what he looked like, you always kept one eye sliding over the many people you run across, hoping to see a face that would strike you as the one person that intrigues you most. You’ve always heard rumors that he never seems to be present at the parties he throws, but personally you have a hunch that he likes to hide in the cover of the crowds. You’ve done your fair share of research about the man, not that drunken recollections and idle gossip are much to go off of, but none of the people you’ve asked about him seem to care all that much. Free drinks, a good time, and the beautiful people that crowded into Ten’s mansion was enough to make most forget about the mysterious host within a matter of minutes. 

But not you. He intrigues you too much, and though you’ve been tempted to drown yourself in the pleasure offered up on all sides, your quest to find Ten is more important. 

Not so important that you can’t enjoy yourself as you search though. Jaehyun is good company, and the two of you mingle amongst the other guests. As you drift along, you meet people you would never believe were really there, had really talked with you, were it not for the reputation that Ten’s extravaganzas held and the fact that you had seen them with your own eyes. Actors, musicians, the richest of the rich, all to be found in the same house at the same time. Supposedly he knew many of them personally and had genuinely invited them. Many of the stories you’ve heard sounded more like they were just fantasies that had been made up with the help of some strong liquor and many expensive looking partygoers, but it seemed as though there was more truth to them than expected. Ten was a strange figure, and while most just take advantage of the numerous bars and sensually lit gardens, you’re itching to get to the bottom of the mystery that is Ten Lee. 

After several hours of drifting here and there in the house, you and Jaehyun find your way down to the gardens. The party still rages on the lawns, though there are a few less people and a bit more space. It's just as well lit as inside, and the alcohol flows just as plentily. Your surroundings are somewhat more tame, as people have more space to move around and less reason to do so. 

After exploring the gardens for a while, you nudge Jaehyun and tell him that your feet have begun to feel tired, after all standing around in heels for several hours isn’t exactly the most fun you’ve ever had. The two of you find a place to sit quickly, and you settle at a table already set up with a small group. A company of eight gorgeous figures sit there, several paired off with a partner equally as stunning on their arm. (You have to wonder; were only those perceived by the host as beautiful invited? What of those who just showed up?) Irene is among them, the reason you had decided on this particular table. She shares a drink with the driver from earlier, talking with you when necessary though most of her attention was focused on the man on her right. You sit to her left, with Jaehyun on yours. Swirling your drink around, you do your best to pay attention to Irene, although it’s not going so well. 

Something, or someone, has caught your eye. 

Your attention is brought back to the conversation you’re supposed to be participating in when Irene laughs一a high pitched sound that could be perceived as either mellifluous or grating depending on your temperament一as tonight’s beaux says something that’s supposed to be funny. You don’t think he’s particularly humorous but half heartedly play along anyway, eyes unabashedly set on the man sitting across the table and to the right a bit. 

He’s truly ethereal, both in looks and mannerisms. With a sharp and elegantly curved nose, dark hair swept tastefully to the side, and a sparkle of something dangerous you can’t quite place but find attractive anyway in his catlike eyes, he draws stares not just from you, but all across the garden. The sharp contrasting colors of his tuxedo seem to brighten his honeyed skin, his every movement graceful as he entrances you, all dazzling smiles and pretty features. 

You can tell that he’s so much more than that though. There are layers and layers to this man, all hidden just below the surface, and you feel the desire to claw your way into him and analyse every bit swelling somewhere in the back of your mind as he catches your eyes locked on him. His smile grows just the slightest bit before he turns back to the light flirtation he seemed to be pressing upon the woman next to him.

Though he had been an ideal partner for the earlier parts of the night, Jaehyun is almost forgotten in the presence of this new man. However, not so much that you don’t notice his attention drifting to another table. Watching his line of vision, you locate the young woman he has his eyes set on. She’s not hard to find, beautiful even compared to the other guests she’s gathered with. Wearing a slinky red dress topped with a fur shawl, she’s certainly quite the sight to see, and your companion has been observing her for a while now. 

It appears you weren’t what he was looking for after all. 

“Jaehyun,” you say, sipping on your drink delicately, “You should go on without me for a bit. I see how you’re eyeing the bar over there.” 

It’s a lie. His eyes flick from you back in the direction the woman in red was for just a second, and though it barely happened, a subtle movement that seemed instinctive, ot’s enough to give him away. Though he does his best not to show it you can see the recognition that you’ve seen through his show of keeping his eyes solely on you dawning in his eyes. 

“Ahh, but I shouldn’t leave you alone.” Still the same gentleman you met in the back of the automobile. Or perhaps he was just putting up appearances, there was no way to tell. It didn’t really matter anyway, you had your sights set on something higher than the possibility of the deeper fragments of this man’s personality. 

“I’ll be fine,” you wave off his concerns nonchalantly. “I’m not alone anyway, I’ve got Irene here!” At the sound of her name your friend looks over, leaning on the tabe slightly as she sends a wink at you and Jaehyun. 

You read the wink as more of a “I see you eyeing your man, if you don’t disappear with him it’s quite a shame and I might just take the responsibility upon myself,” although you were hoping Jaehyun, who you assumed was unused to Irene’s wiley charms, would see it as more of a “I’ve got Y/n, you go on now.” 

Either way, he seemed to take the hint, although he remained reluctant. 

You pat his arm, “You go and have fun, Jaehyun, I don’t want to drag you down.”

“Not at all,” he replied gently, and it seemed to you almost calculated the way his eyes didn’t stray from you in the moment. You weren’t sure why he was bothering to keep up the premise that he would be returning, that his interest in you hadn’t evaporated the moment the fur shawled woman pulled his attention to her the very first time. You both knew, and no one around you was aware enough of their surroundings to pay you any attention. But no matter, it wasn’t important to you.

“Well,” his words are hesitant, as if unsure of his decision, “if you insist. Would you like me to grab you anything?” 

“No, no, thank you but I’m alright.”

As he stands up and pushes his chair back into place, Jaehyun gives you one last look. It’s apologetic, he isn’t particularly proud of the way he was just leaving you for someone a bit more flashy and boisterous. But again, you don’t care. He can either deal with the guilt in the morning or drink enough to forget the whole night, it was no longer your problem. It hadn’t been since you locked eyes with the pretty man across the table. 

Before Jaehyun was even out of sight the man you had been watching across the table catches your gaze once again. This time he stands and sidles over to the chair on your left that Jaehyun had abandoned moments before, sitting lightly beside you. 

“Good evening.” His voice, low and silky with a hint of an accent you can’t quite recognize, would have knocked you right over if you were the swooning main character of some unrealistic romance film. He takes your hand and presses it to his lips, a coy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Might I ask whose presence I’ve been graced with tonight?” he inquires, and you tell him your name. “Miss Y/n,” he repeats. "Pretty." You raise an eyebrow at this, enjoying his efforts nonetheless. 

“And you? What’s your name?” 

He merely hums in response. “Has anyone told you that you look gorgeous tonight darling?” You let his avoidance slide, momentarily moving on. Some people wished to not reveal themselves, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t continue to enjoy his company.

“They have, in fact,” you say, thinking back to Jaehyun. You glance across the room but he’s long gone, the woman dressed in red having disappeared as well. 

“As it should be.”

Your attention is drawn back to your current suitor, and the nights former flirtations are quickly forgotten as conversation strikes up between the two of you. Every other word out of his is some flirtation or another, and you absolutely bask in the attention that the cat eyed man lays on you. His forearms are leaned on the table, and he’s staring up at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re sure that your face mirrors his, but in your case it’s true. He really is the most strikingly beautiful human being you’ve ever had the pleasure to set eyes on. And for the moment, he’s all yours. 

There’s something oddly familiar about him though, and the fact that you can’t figure out why is rubbing you the wrong way. It would be quite impossible to forget a face like that. The feeling is not so much recognition as it is that odd niggling feeling of deja vu that plagues your thoughts in a situation that you know you’ve never experienced before. You try to stay slightly wary of his presence, but he’s downright entrancing and your focus slips to his stunning features every time you feel like you’re approaching the answer as to who he is. 

You’re unsure of how much time has passed when he leans closer to you, lips brushing lightly against the hair falling over your ear. “Perhaps we could find somewhere we could talk a little bit more一” He sets a hand on your waist and a shiver runs up your spine一 “privately.” 

You grin slyly as he pulls away, awaiting an answer with his own smirk. 

“It would be my pleasure.” You glance over to Irene, thinking you should let her know that you would be sneaking off for a while, but she was already gone.

And so, all suspicion tossed right out the window, you follow this handsome stranger. His arm tucked securely around yours, the two of you dash up through the bright gardens, whisking by the tables full of couples making eyes at each other and under the pretty strings of lights, up the lawn and once again through the french doors, still wide open, although with less people flooding in and out. You duck through the crowd of people still meandering around in the foyer, expertly weaving around dancers and drinkers. He takes you through the ballrooms and up a few grand sets of grand staircases, which you certainly would have tripped down were it not for the tight grip he had now moved to your waist. 

“You seem to know your way around quite well, do you come here often?” you inquire as you slip down a hallway that was mostly devoid of guests. 

That odd, dangerous glint you saw when you first caught sight of him reappeared in his eyes. “You could say that,” he chuckled.

Before you could wrap your head around what that meant he was pulling you into a spacious bedroom at the end of the hall and letting his hold on you cease to draw the door shut behind him. You turn away from him and marvel at the bedroom he had chosen. The room (which you assume to be a spare) is although fairly simple obviously belonging to someone extremely wealthy. 

A pretty chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and you have the feeling that the cufflinks scattered across the desk and the edging of the mirror above the vanity might just be real gold. You can see expensive velvet peeking out of the slightly ajar wardrobe, and just from glancing at them think the bedsheets to be silk. 

The only light in the room comes from the golden gleam of the gardens spilling through the french windows. The pretty glow gives the moment a sensuous and romantic feel, and you turn back to the cat-eyed man. He basks in the golden light, as if he knows that it's good to his complexion, accentuating the honeyed tone of his skin and shining in his hair. 

A hopeful smile works it’s way across your face, a gleam of eros in your eye as you take a step closer to him, hoping he doesn’t turn out to be a total bore like many of the men you meet at parties. A matching desire shows on his face, fingers reaching up to begin working at the black material of his bowtie. He expertly undoes the knot, and tosses the inconsequential scrap of fabric to the side. 

Placing a hand on your waist, he draws you towards himself as he takes small steps backwards, eventually landing against the wall with a slight thud. Your arms wind their way around his neck, and you press yourself up against him, sandwiching his lithe body between yours and the wall. 

As he traces your features with his eyes, a slight change occurs deep within them, a darkness pooling in his pupils and that familiar hint of danger from earlier making itself present once again. 

The corners of his mouth tug upwards slightly, and as he leans forward you tilt your head to nudge your nose against his, eyes fluttering shut. You meet him halfway, lips pressed together in a light kiss, almost as if you were just testing the waters, unsure as to whether you were truly interested. 

And, come to find out, you definitely were. His mouth was soft on yours, keeping your pace for the moment. You draw back for a moment, taking a breath and reinitiating the kiss, plunging yourself into his mysterious depths. 

He tastes of secrecy and some sweet cordial you can’t quite place, and you have never known something quite so heavenly. The heavy feeling of his mouth on yours is addictive, all your senses alight at once, and your hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, trying to draw him closer despite there being no space left between you. 

“What should I call you?” you whisper against his lips as you come up for air. His eyes flick open, meeting your own as you take a step back and pull him along to slip your hands under the shoulders of his jacket. He chuckles slightly, detaching your hold on him to undo the button and slip out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair before the vanity. 

“That doesn’t matter.” His hands resume their rightful place on your waist, one sliding down to your hip and drawing you into his figure. “Just enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, trust me,” you press a kiss to his jaw, taking his hand and slinking out of his embrace to place yourself on the end of the bed, “I am.” (You don’t notice until later, but the sheets were in fact silk.)

You tug him along to where you sit, bringing him forward and between your knees. You tilt your head upward as your hands come to rest on his waist, sealing your lips together again. 

You lose yourself to him, the feeling of his thin, wandering fingers tracing your silhouette and the way he pays the same amount of attention to every inch of your body, as if he was trying to memorize every dip and curve of your figure under the silk of your dress. The sweet taste of his mouth entrances you, and when he moves to press his lips to your neck or the line of your jaw between long winded kisses you feel as though you’ve ascended. 

Time no longer exists in the muted bubble of a third floor bedroom in an unfamiliar house. Perhaps it’s only been seconds, and maybe you’ve been locking lips with a handsome stranger for hours, the party melting away to make way for dawn to dutifully traipse her way into the sky. Nothing matters anymore, you’re far too immersed in the passion of the moment to pay much attention to anything other than your unnamed lover. 

Though in reality it’s only physical, he’s explored you so much that you feel with each slide of his tongue against yours he reveals another one of your secrets, one of your stories, something only you know. Despite the intimate impersonality of finding a lover in a stranger, despite the illusion of invasiveness that his careful movements bring, you want to fully surrender yourself to this feeling. Breaking a particularly lengthy kiss, he presses on your shoulder to get you to lean back, and you rest your weight on one hand behind you, the other busy clutching at the silky strands of his hair. 

“You know,” you say, words broken in between the slotting of your mouths back together, “I came to this party in search of the ever so elusive Ten Lee, but goodness一” you press a particularly sloppy kiss to his lips, and he hisses as you tug gently on his hair一 “I do believe I’ve found something much better.”

“Oh, darling, don’t you see?” He presses on your shoulder again, and you fall back to sprawl yourself across the bed. He hovers over you, dipping to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I am Ten.” 

With a smirk that would haunt you for the rest of your days, he gives you one last mindblowing kiss before evaporating into the shadows of the room, straightening the black vest he wore and slipping his suit jacket back on. As you pushed yourself back up so you were supported by your hands behind you, dazed and trying to comprehend what he had just whispered against your skin, Ten turned to look at you. He threw you one last look, a dangerous, beautiful look, before slinking out the door, back into the whirlwind of dancing and debauchery. 

That night would never leave your mind. 

No matter how many parties you attended, no matter how many men circulated through your life, no matter how much you drank, you could never forget Ten. And you’ve tried. He would forever live in your mind, fleeting thoughts of a bedroom flooded with golden light, of his discarded suit jacket, of that gleam in his eyes the first time you saw him.

It would take you many years and much consideration to finally figure out what that look in his eye was, that strange mirth you had never seen another wearing. Later in life, when you’re much wiser and have experienced more than your younger self who met Ten could even imagine, it comes to you one day. You realise that he seemed to find as much pleasure in the facade he presented to the world, the fanciful rumors and scandalous whispers that followed him like a shadow, as he did in the heated intimacy you shared in a darkened bedroom one night of the Roaring Twenties. 

You would attend many more parties held in that mansion, sometimes dragged along by Irene, sometimes finding yourself there alone and unsure of why a somewhat faded memory keeps leading you back here. Every time, you held onto a fleeting hope that you could see just a glance, a sliver of the man you met that fateful night. But as much as you held onto the notion that you would see him again someday, you knew it was foolish. Ten’s reputation preceded him, and he liked to uphold that reputation. 

True to your logic, Ten would never make himself known to you again. For years you would search, a futile attempt to prove to yourself he wasn’t just something you dreamed up in the haze of alcohol and the feeling of weightlessness one can only find on Long Island Sound on Saturday nights as the extravagant parties thrown by a man who rarely showed his face rage on. 

Ten Lee, larger than life, beautiful, nebulous Ten Lee, truly was elusive, barely more than a shadow to his grand reputation.

[fizzingwizard]

Digimon Adventure: Ep 19!

Wow! That certainly was an Episode!! It was pretty fun from start to finish, though nothing mind-blowing, but it was definitely the ending that made me gasp. Not wholly unexpected to an old turnip like me, but promising lots of fun (and angst!).

Picture of the week: MIKO, THE TRUE STAR OF THE SERIES!!

no for serious are the writers reading my reviews? they keep giving me what I want. within reason I guess. They seem to have an extremely limited budget as usual x’D

but Miko is still adorbs

ok I’m really looking forward to recapping this one so let’s get to it!

So last week I thought the kids sans Taichi and Yamato were abducted by Devimon, but apparently that either isn’t the case, or it was, but then Devimon decided it’s best just to dump the kids back on Earth and hold on to their partners. Because that’s the current situation. While concerning that the kids are separated from their partners, it’s probably best this way, since Devimon appears to be sending Gesomon(?) and Parrotmon(?)

to the human world, if I remember right. It’s hard to remember what happened in the first fifteen seconds kay So when the kids find their partners it will probably be in the human world and they can fight back.

Meanwhile Taichi and Yamato are alone and very Confuse

Taichi tries frantically to contact Koushirou. The others too... but especially Koushirou.

Finally he gets him!! He’s so happy!! My Taishiro heart flutters!

But I was fully expecting it to be a trap. When I saw this still here, my first thought was “Devimon’s forcing him to tell Taichi a lie by threatening him with a gun!!”

of course thats not whats happening. Koushirou is relatively fine and there are no guns (yet). What’s happened is the other kids have been sent back to the human world for reals this time!

This show is not even bothering to hide its Taiyama angle.

They spend the entire episode giving each other Significant Looks like this. The entire episode.

Now where’s Jou through all of this, you ask?

He went to talk to the police. He’s shocked they don’t believe his story about monster attacks and the world ending (well, at least Tokyo ending). I freaking love how taaaaall Jou is. Though it makes Koushirou look like a bean x’D

Jou = beansprout / Koushirou = bean

Koushirou has a much easier time dealing with the news that the police don’t believe them. He’s a denizen of the Internet. He knows how people’s minds work. And he has tons of chat logs to prove it.

People are chatting and spreading gossip and disbelief and complaints, but my favorite is the comment that just says “It’s a flood of fake news” xP

The home team runs into Mama Yagami! Who Sora literally calls Mama Yagami! x’D I mean I know that’s how kids generally refer to their friends’ parents but I still lol’d.

So un... Jou is almost as tall as Mama Yagami. LMAO. I’m gonna assume she’s short. Jou might indeed be quite tall for his age but Sora and Mimi are pretty close to Mama Yagami’s height too. I guess we haven’t seen Taichi standing next to his mom yet! With his hair he’s probably taller than her.

So Mama Yagami is HILARIOUS and I’m so glad that’s a continuing thing in the reboot! She was already that way in 99 Adventure, but we’re just seeing a lot of it now - like every time she’s around. (And we didn’t see it in Tri so I missed that.) Basically she seems like a basketcase. Not a totally irresponsible one, more like just... generally the carefree go with the flow type. Which is not bad. She just also seems a bit, uh, ditzy?? I think Taichi probably grew to be so serious by necessity. Dad’s busy with work and someone’s gotta make sure mom doesn’t leave the house without her keys!

The way Sora just stares at Hikari like “explain??” after Mama Yagami thrusts Miko at her and runs off to get her car with a big smile as if they hadn’t all nearly died recently... bahahaha.

also I love how she doesn’t even bother asking her son’s good friend if she knows where he is after not seeing or hearing from him for three full days

^The face of a boy shouldering the weight of nuclear family life and all its batshitness

Taichi and Yamato determine their priority is find the Holy Digimon. I wish they were a little more concerned with what happened to their friends’ partners, but I guess this is the only goal with solid clues. Anyway before they can do anything they are attacked by Bulbmon Looks like subtitlers went with Valvemon which also works, who looks like a Lego monster creation by an eight year old (and probably is).

He has the Domo face. Grrraaah

Domo is NHK mascot by the way. bahahaha

Next these guys come swarming out of Valvemon. (And if we didn’t already get it, apparently Digimon can construct other Digimon as we’ve seen before.) Nothing is quite as freaky as gas masks. They are commanded by Minotaurmon/Mintaromon whatever.

They too have the aim of Stormtroopers though so our heroes will be fine...

... probably...

... then Leomon finally shows up!! Yay! He looks good! All beefy and scarred and sounding exactly like Zaraki Kenpachi. Uhh. Is it the same VA?? Nothing comes up in the Google search so maybe not but it sure sounds like him. (Minotaurmon and Ogremon also sound like Leomon... while it’s normal for VAs in kids shows to voice multiple characters esp minor ones, it literally sounds like Zaraki Kenpachi is the voice of all the characters in this episode besides the main ones. And Mama Yagami of course because that would be weird.)

Leomon may look cool, but his ride... and his friends... uh, less cool x’D I want to strangle that ostrich thing with its own scarf somehow it inspires violent emotion in me

In the smallest, most shocked voice, Yamato says, “Leomon...?” It’s honestly kind of adorable. He’s clearly remembering what Neemon said about Leomon leading the resistance way back when.

Leomon helps them escape. Taichi very considerately and cutely helps Agumon aboard the fashion disaster ostrich emu thing.

Yamato also considerately helps his partner but rather less cutely xD

Leomon takes them to his hideout and gives them your standard fare of weird-looking Digi fruit. He then proceeds to tell them about Devimon and that he is trying to infiltrate Valvemon yadda yadda.

Taichi is freaking ADORABLE, immediately concerned that by saving their asses, Leomon’s battle plans have been ruined. Leomon waves that aside though. Yamato is equally adorabibble when he asks after Neemon and gets told that they made it to Leomon safely.

Leomon plans to try to get into Valvemon again because he knows Devimon’s put something related to the holy Digimon in there. Taichi is determined to join in. He doesn’t have much of an argument as it why they should be allowed when they just got their butts kicked so easily, but he has a trick up his sleeve: the Burning Eyes of Fiery Passion.

Not to be outdone, Yamato shoots off his Icy Eyes of Cold Determination.

Faced with this twin assault, Leomon has to give in. Ahh, I remember last week when we saw the trailer for this ep and I naively thought Leomon would train them like Piximon did in 99 Adventure. Nope. They’ve just met and they’re already spy buddies.

Okay, okay, yeah Leomon does seem to have some knowledge of the “Chosen Children” and that’s his real motivation. Still.

They break into Valvemon and we get the excellent invention of Agumon riding on Garurumon. I assume because of Garurumon’s advantageous speed. That seems to be recurring thing in this show.

Idk I just capped this because he’s so darn cute

I don’t know why I capped this one though.

They enter some sort of central space where Leomon tells them something relevant to the holy Digimon is being kept. (Lol I already forgot the details of what he said.) There are two protectors, Minotaurmon and Bullmon. Leomon tells the kids to take Bullmon while he faces down Minotaurmon. These guys might have been somewhat intimidating if we hadn’t already got Perfect level evolutions mastered, not to mention the occasional Jogress :P Sooo I didn’t feel too worried.

... uh, never mind x’D Taichi what are you doing

Yamato saves his idiot butt and almost gets in a bind himself. Once again I’m just wondering why they are sticking at Adult level. Whatever. They win of course

Leomon uses his Fist of the Beast King to maim Minotaurmon. His brilliant one-liner? “I have more than one first.”

Bully: *punches you*

You: ow

Bully: *smirk* I have more than one fist.

You: That’s funny, I only have one, but it’s made of titanium *You punch the bully straight through the stratosphere* Quality over quantity!!!!

*cough*

Our heroes approach the secret compartment supposedly holding something to do with the holy Digimon... Yamato gets a look inside and gets the black shadow of true terror over his eyes

becaue floating inside like some kind of Weapon X experiment is... Takeru!!!

Hold on while I put in my ear plugs. Okay, ready, screech all you want now.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

So... okay. First of all, baby Takeru is sooooooo cute <3 I had two predictions about what happened to Takeru last week. Either he ended up in the digital world and was now on his own, or he got abducted by Devimon. I thought the former was more likely, but in hindsight, it should have been obvious that it was the second. This show misses a lot of points where I feel like they could have developed some relationships or thrown in some drama, but it never passes up a chance for Yamato angst.

So yeah, this is pretty much gonna destroy Yamato xD Not only is the baby brother he wanted to protect no longer at home where he can easily protect him, he’s now in the digital world and in the enemy’s clutches.

I BETTER SEE REALLY TRAUMATIZED YAMATO NEXT WEEK. Of course, I expect him to be cool-headed enough to try to save Takeru, but I will be very disappoint if this goes off with no break downs at all. Takeru is always Yamato’s number one priority!

Super exciteddddd

So I give this ep 7.5/10. The .5 is pretty much for ending with a killer cliffhanger. My one real complaint about this ep is how highly plot-based everything is - we finally got the team all together only to split them up, and on top of that, once split up, we don’t even get all that many character moments between Taichi and Yamato. As I said, they give each other lots of Signifcant Looks, but man cannot live on bread alone. However this is par for the course for this show and I know I should stop mentioning it every week because I doubt it’s changing. We will get the big shockers when we get them and not a moment before.

I just want Yamato to cry in front of Taichi and make him all uncomfortable x’D That’s what made 99 Adventure so great bahahaha

Some cool bits from next week’s trailer:

Surprise surprise, Angemon is the holy Digimon! Or one of, anyway. And he is indeed trapped. This makes the “Angemon is Devimon” theory less likely. Let’s not forget that our heroes’ Digimon partners were evidently a band of powerful warriors in the past, but they’ve forgotten much of it. I won’t be surprised if the result of that war played a part in Angemon’s abduction.

Next week they’ll have to fight to save Takeru from being drained, I guess.

And then!! Digi egg! Excite. Also I only just noticed that his hate says TK!!!

Takeruuu <3 My first fav when I was 10. Though my heart has belonged to Taichi for many long years, I still have a special spot in it for Takeru only <3 Even if he does dress like a celery stick

[five-rivers]

Hold On

Prompt by @little-egg-buddy. Phor the Phic Phight.

.

.

.

The three teens, Danny, Sam, and Tucker, leaned around the edge of the train car and watched as Freakshow was carried away by the police, coins falling out of the folds of his clothing as he went. As one, they pulled back, hiding from the other approaching adult.

Tucker heaved a huge sigh. "Well," he said. "I'm glad that's over." He put his hands behind his glasses to rub his eyes. "We should get out of here before someone catches us."

"Yeah," agreed Sam, who was leaning heavily against the side of the train car. Her legs were shaking, just slightly. "You're right. Danny, can you..." she trailed off as she stared into his eyes, eyebrows knit together. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Danny, trying to smile. He abandoned the attempt. Red flickered in his brain. He felt sick, like he'd just jumped off a tilt-a-whirl from hell. He didn't know what he had done for Freakshow, but flashes of red-hued violence were spiking through his brain and the idea that he might have harmed someone made him want to curl up somewhere dark and cry. His fingers stung with the force with which he gripped the staff. "I'll fly you guys out of here," he said, hoping they wouldn't refuse, hoping they would still trust him after everything.

"Yeah, let's go," said Tucker, adjusting his glasses. Sam nodded.

Danny stepped forward and tried to wrap his arms around the two of them. The staff made every grip he tried uncomfortable and insecure. He floated back, stricken. "I'm so sorry," he said, hunching his shoulders. Red and blue were flashing around the edge of the train car.

Sam reached out to him, her fingers hovering just over the surface of the staff. "Maybe I could hold this, instead?" she asked.

"I..." Danny blinked at the staff. His head felt fuzzy. "How long have I been holding this?" he asked. He'd been holding it the whole time, hadn't he? Why? He shook his head. "I don't know." He didn't want to let anyone else have it. He didn't want to be used again. He didn't want to be hurt.

(And there might have been something else, something red and terrible lurking around the edges of his thoughts.)

But, it was Sam asking.

He extended it to her (when had he pulled it back?) his arm trembling. "I don't think I can let go, on my own," he said.

That made Sam's face do interesting things. She began to reach slowly for the staff.

"Guys, could we maybe hurry up? The police are coming this way!" hissed Tucker.

Sam jumped and grabbed the staff. Almost at once, the tension building in Danny was swept away by a flood of red. But it was a nicer, deeper red, not like (before) with (Freakshow), because Sam was a friend (but ghosts didn't have friends), and he trusted her.

(Not that it mattered.)

((And a very small part of Danny knew that he was much more thoroughly under Sam's control than he ever had been with Freakshow.))

He blinked.

.

Sam's room. He had never seen Sam's room so red. He reached out to touch the curtain he was sitting by. He could hear Sam and Tucker talking, as if under water.

"How did we get here?" he asked.

"You don't remember?" asked Sam. She sounded worried.

Danny shook his head. He felt like he was packed into soft red cotton. What was there to be worried about? He started to drift back into the red ocean, then blinked hard. No, if Sam was worried, he should try to understand.

"You flew us here," said Sam. "You- crap, I've screwed you up, and you'd been snapping out of it." She said something that would have gotten her detention if a teacher heard it. Her face was scrunched up like she was about to cry, which was wrong, because Sam never cried.

"Maybe we should try and destroy the staff?" asked Tucker. "Maybe that will help?"

"Or do something worse," said Sam. "We need to disconnect him, or something."

"Well, what got him out before was when Freakshow tried to make him do something... really bad."

"Yeah," said Sam. "But what if we ask him to do something like that, and he does? We can't do that to him. Or anyone else."

"Um," said Tucker. He walked into Danny's field of view and sat cross-legged on the carpet. "I think a lot of it also happened when you and I were in danger."

Sam nodded. "Let's shelve that for now," said Sam. "I... don't feel like jumping off of any more moving trains right away."

"Yeah, same. But most of the time... I think it was just waiting it out. Out of sight, out of mind." Tucker licked his lower lip. "Yeah."

"Okay, so we stash it under the bed or something. But in the meantime..." Sam trailed off. "Danny, are you following any of this?"

"Yes, Sam," said Danny, obediently. He had to answer questions. They were like orders.

"What do you think we should do?"

"Whatever you think we should do," said Danny, agreeably.

"Okay," said Sam. "Let's try this again. If you weren't, you know, under the control of the staff, what would you think we should do?"

That was a hard question. Danny's lips smoothed into a small frown. What expression had he been wearing before?

He couldn't just say that he didn't know. His last master had made it pretty clear that things like that would be considered disobedience. But Sam, his new master, she wouldn't punish him like that. Would she?

"Maybe if we gave it back to him, he'd be more, you know, lucid?" suggested Tucker. "He kind of seemed more like himself before, like you said."

"Yeah," said Sam, she shifted, and Danny's attention was arrested by the staff yet again. Sam told him to do something, and his body moved automatically, without the words being processed by his conscious mind.

The staff was in his hands again, and the world was sharp, ruby-tinted glass. He flinched away from the others in the room, holding the staff away from them. They would use it, and they would use him, and he couldn't.

"Danny?"

They knew his name. They knew his name. Why? Why? Only friends could use his name like that, and he was a ghost. Ghosts didn't have friends. This was wrong, everything was wrong, and it was so hard to think.

One thought prevailed: The staff was bad. It was dangerous. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

He lifted the staff above his head, and brought its head down against Sam's carpeted floor.

.

Danny curled around the shaft of the staff, staying well away from the broken glassy shards on the top. The severity of what had happened was only now hitting him. He felt dirty and stupid and wrong. How could he let himself be used like that? Be used to hurt people? He moaned.

"Danny? Danny, are you okay?" asked Sam. He blinked up at her. Part of him was wary. From what he remembered, she had tried to help him, but she had still used the staff and that felt-

-bad.

But she was his friend. She and Tucker were his friends. He could trust them.

"I think so," said Danny. "I-" He shuddered. "I think I'm myself, now. The red is gone."

Sam walked cautiously around the red shards, and put her hand on Danny's back. He tensed, just slightly, and she pulled her hand away.

"What do you think we should do about that?" asked Sam, pointing at the remains of the staff. "Burn it?"

"It's metal," said Tucker, "and rock or whatever. I don't think it would burn very well."

"Smash it into dust and bury it," said Danny. "As far away as we can."

He knew his tone was a bit more vicious than usual, and he didn't miss the way Sam and Tucker glanced at each other.

"Sure, Danny," said Sam. "Whatever you want."