#and thus the true purpose of the scarf-things: something for my hands to do while im watching shows.

[orcelito]

Ended up adding that third row of double crochet, but now...

I think I can safely say I'm done. All that's left to do is tie it off, weave in the tail, and then trim a few imperfections, & then it'll be complete.

Compare this to the blanket Without the border ^ and it really does look much fuller now.

It's *very* big, and it's very heavy, but that's its purpose. It's essentially a weighted blanket. But crocheted entirely by hand. By Me.

Hefty. It does take up a lot of space, but it folds up quite nicely. I enjoy how uniform the crochet pattern of it is.

And with how big the overall blanket is, I don't think the third row of double crochet border looks strange. In fact, I like the texture of it all together. Very uniform & wonderful to run my fingers along.

And, most notably, this entire thing was finished in exactly a week. I'll take that as a real accomplishment.

[professorsnape394]

DAY 3 - Pumpkin Patch Proposal

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Pumpkin Carving

A/N: Day 3 of Snapetober 2021. A little late being uploaded, but it is a longer one this time so hopefully you'll forgive me :-)

Warnings:  Some angst, but fluffy ending.

Word Count: 2420

Credits to Gif Creator.

A proposal was long overdue on Severus’ behalf. He and Y/n had been dating for five long years at this point, almost going on six, and yet there had been no sign of anything of the sort in the horizon, and y/n was starting to get impatient. Over the year she had made it abundantly clear that a marriage and children were something she desired. In fact, it was pretty much a deal breaker. And while she knew Severus would need time to adjust to the idea given his traumatic past, he had never made it clear he was opposed to the idea. Thus, she had hoped that a glistening ring would have adorned her finger by now.

Severus, on the other hand, had made up his mind long ago about his future with y/n. Though it took a moment to get used to the though, it was true that Severus wanted exactly what she did; a wedding, babies, the whole nine yards. The only thing stopping him from making it official was how he was going to do it. He only had one shot at this proposal and it had to be perfect.

It took a year or so after physically purchasing the ring for him to settle on how he was going to ask her. This was it. He had no more chances to stall, for if he did, he might just risk losing her.

It was no secret that Halloween had always been Y/n’s favourite time of year (after all she was a witch). And the one thing she loved to do every year during the spooky season was to go pumpkin picking with her boyfriend, Severus.

It had become somewhat of a tradition at this point. The two would visit the biggest pumpkin patch around, take hours choosing the perfect one, then spend the evening carving into them, following it up with a steaming hot bowl of pumpkin soup for dinner.

This year Severus wanted to make it extra special. With a little help from Minerva (okay, a lot of help). Severus pieced together an eccentric looking picnic basket, filled to the brim with all of y/n’s favourite autumnal snacks, complete with a large patchwork picnic blanket to protect them from the cold.

“What’s all this?” Y/n asked, nosing into the kitchen as Severus added the final finishing touches.

“What does it look like.” He replied sarcastically. “I’m taking you on a picnic, duh.”

Hiding her bashful smile, y/n continued to absentmindedly braid her hair into a loose plait.

“And what’s the occasion?” She pried, willing him to divulge what she was sure he must be hiding.

“No occasion. I simply thought my girlfriend would enjoy a picnic in the field before our yearly tradition of pumpkin picking. I know how hungry you can get sometimes after a long day out. This way we don’t have to worry about rushing back.”

It had been a long time since Severus had been this thoughtful, and though he played it off as being for practical purposes, she knew really, he had wanted to plan something romantic for the two of them to share.

She couldn’t help but feel a sudden burst of affection for the man.

Without warning she bounded across the room, throwing her arms around his neck, expecting him to catch her. Caught unaware Severus’s hands fumbled around her body, before finding their way to her waist, pulling her in close for tight embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She screeched, planting a series of kisses across his face, finishing with a quick peck on the tip of his large nose, before he released her back to the ground.

“Go quick and get your coat, now. We don’t want to be the last ones there.” He ordered, trying his very best to hold back his ever-growing smile.

Y/N did as she was asked, fetching her coat, hat and scarf, before pulling on an old pair of walking boots appropriate for the day’s activities.

“I have the perfect spot in mind.” Snape informed as they arrived at their destination. “We better get their quick before anyone else has the same idea.”

Although appearing calm and collected to Y/n, Snape was a ball of nerves and anxiety on the inside. Internally screaming that something, anything could go wrong at any second. Taking those thoughts as a warning, Severus tightened his grip on the handle of the picnic basket as it began to slip from his grasp as his hands grew sweatier by the second. In another moment of panic, he quickly squeezed his coat pocket ensuring the ring was still safely hidden.

“What are you doing?” Y/n asked, noticing the Potions Professor becoming increasingly more frantic, the paranoia breaking his naturally stoic disposition.

“Nothing.” He lied, dropping his hand back to his side.

Still extremely suspicious of her boyfriend, Y/n was not about to willingly drop the subject.

To Severus’ fortune, however, his secret was saved by the most unlikely ally.

A trio of redheads came racing in his direction; two of which ran off with his girlfriend on their shoulders, the third shouting rowdily after them.

A look of disgust passed over Severus’ face as he meets eyes with Ginny Weasley, he always had thought her brothers were too close to his girlfriend for his liking. Taking no notice of her former Professor the youngest Weasley ran after her brothers, fetching y/n from their shoulders.

Shifting awkwardly on his feet, alone in the middle of the pumpkin patch, Severus cursed the Weasleys three times over for ruining his day and postponing his proposal with every second they stuck around.

Having all caught up Fred, George, Ginny and Y/n all returned back to Snape chuckling irritatingly about something he would never find out.

“Well, it was good seeing you, y/n.” said George, pulling her in for one final hug.

“Yeah, we’ll let you get back to the old bat for your date.” Fred scoffed. To which he and Severus shared a look of utter distain.

“Let’s get going boys, I’m absolutely starving.” Ginny groaned.

“Why don’t you join us?”

All eyes turned to Y/n, shocked at her offer. It was obvious to everyone her friends didn’t approve of Snape, not that he was particularly fond of them either.

Unsure of how to respond the Weasleys hummed and hawed, trying to think of what to say.

Severus on the other hand knew exactly what, but he didn’t want to risk pissing his girlfriend off when today of all day’s he needed her in her best of moods. Biting his tongue in rage, he could only hope the Weasleys would be smart enough to reject her kind offer.

“Are you sure?” George asked, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Absolutely! We’ve packed enough to feed a village; it would only go to waste otherwise. And I’m sure Severus wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“Not at all.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Then it’s decided.” She beamed, heading in the direction of the spot Severus had picked out earlier.

It was true what she said, Severus had packed enough food for everyone, so much so the Weasleys all took to having a lie down following their feast, making themselves comfortable on his blanket. All the while Severus willed them to leave so he could finally ask the biggest question of his life.

Eventually he decided the only way he was going to get them to leave was to take it into his own hands. The night wasn’t getting any younger, and he didn’t have long before he missed his opportunity.

“Isn’t it time you all leave. Don’t want Mummy getting worried, now do we?” He sneered, having had the last of his patience tested.

“Severus, don’t be so rude!” Y/n gasped, “They’re my friends, they can stay as long as they like.”

Fred shot up defensively, his twin not far behind him.

“Yeah, Snape. We’re her friends, and yet we never see her. She has to spend every miserable day with you, why don’t you let her out of the cage at least once, allow her a bit of happiness once in a while.”

“Don’t you dare insinuate what I think you are.”

“She’s bored of you, Snape. You can’t give her what she wants, let someone else get a chance.” Fred teased, eager to crack Severus’ temper.

“You’ll never get a chance with her. She doesn’t love you.” He hissed, eyes darkening.

“Prove it. If you’re so sure, why don’t you leave. Or are you scared I’m right and she won’t come back to you.”

“That’s enough!” Snape yelled, pulling out his wand from his inner coat pocket, forcing it into the skin of Fred’s neck.

The young man straightened his back, showing no fear in the eyes of his former superior.

“Leave now before I do something I might regret.” Snape warned, his voice eerily low and steady.

Fred’s eyes darted behind Snape, looking between his siblings and y/n.

“I think you should go.” Y/n whispered, agreeing with her boyfriend.

Saying nothing Fred apparated from the site. His brother’s and sister following at his heels.

“We couldn’t just have a peaceful picnic with my friends, could we?” Y/n yelled angrily wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“How can I be civil towards them, when that is what they think of me? Not the mention the fact one of them has been in love with you since the moment you met and yet you continue to be his friend.”

“His friend, Severus, nothing more. And what does it matter what he thinks of me anyway. I love you, Severus! Not him!”

Severus fell silent, ashamed of his words and actions. He knew he was wrong for not trusting Y/n, he shouldn’t have let the boy get into his head. But already he was already so stressed that things might go wrong today that when his plans became completely ruined, he couldn’t help but lose his cool.

“I’m sorry.” Severus whispered. “I can make it up to you. We can salvage the day, we still have to pick our pumpkins, after all.”

From the moment the Weasleys had intruded on his picnic he had been hatching a new plan, and this time he wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way.

“Fine. Let just pick one and get out of here.” Y/n sighed.

What seemed like hours later Y/n sat perched on a tree stump, cradling her pumpkin while she watched her boyfriend scan the entire pumpkin patch, still yet to chose his.

“What are you doing, Severus? Come on and just pick one, it’s time to go!”

“Not yet.” He demanded.

“It’s just a pumpkin, they’re all fine, just choose one so we can get out of here.” She whined.

“Just one more minute, it has to be perfect.” He said, bending down to inspect yet another.

Utterly fed up with the whole ordeal, all Y/n she wanted to do at this point was go home and relax in a long hot bath and forget about everything. The whole day had not been at all what she had hoped.

After what felt like days later, both Severus and Y/n made their way back home, having been the last couple on site to purchase their pumpkins.

Though Y/n had felt the day was a complete bust, Severus still held out hope that his second proposal would succeed, turning the day around for both of them.

Having chosen the largest pumpkin he could find there was little much left for him to do. Besides, of course, ask.

Grumpily kicking off her muddy boots at the door Y/n trudged her way into the house, slinging her coat and scarf lazily over the nearest dining chair, before disappearing into the bedroom.

Severus regretted not having paid better attention to her mood earlier and now he worried that dare he ask the dreaded question she may be more inclined to say no after the day’s events. He had been too focused on making it perfect for him, he had completely forgotten about what would make it perfect for her.

Having set the pumpkins down neatly on the kitchen table, Snape set about running a luxurious bubble bath for his girlfriend, accenting it with many tealight candles and the odd essential oil.

“Come with me.” He said, peeling Y/n from their bed.

Doing as she was asked, Y/n shuffled her way behind Severus as he led her to the bathroom.

“Wow.” She gasped in awe as the wall of scent washed over her. “It’s beautiful.”

“Anything for you darling.” He promised, planting a small kiss on her forehead. “Take your time. Relax. I just want you to be happy.”

“Thank you, Severus.” She smiled genuinely. “It really means a lot.”

Meanwhile as y/n stewed in the bathtub, Severus took the liberty of carving out one of the spare gourds, prepping the pumpkin soup for when she returned. Setting out an equally romantic looking dining room, just as he had done in the bathroom.

When y/n returned looking refreshed and slightly pink in the face from the heat of the water, Severus could tell she was already feeling so much better now she was wrapped up in her favourite pyjamas and slippers.

“Now, are you ready for your favourite part of the season?” Severus asked gingerly.

“Definitely!” She assured.

While Y/n laughed and joked around trying to take her mind off of the unpleasant task of removing the pumpkins guts, Severus remained silent and concentrated, ensuring his carving looked completely flawless, for he only had one shot final shot to make the night a perfect one.

Both announcing they were done and ready for the grand reveal, the couple lit their tealight candles, placing them inside the pumpkin’s skull for optimal effect.

Slowly Severus turned the Jack o’ Lantern round to reveal the words ‘Will you marry me?” carefully carved into the front of his pumpkin.

An infectious grin took over y/n’s face as she too quickly spun her pumpkin around.

To Severus’ surprise the word ‘Yes.’ shone brightly in huge letters, giving him his long-anticipated answer.

Unable to hold back his sigh of relief, a nervous laugh escaped Severus’ lips.

“Well thank God for that.” He puffed, leaning over the table to present her with her diamond ring.

“I knew there had to be a reason you were acting so strange today.” She laughed, pulling her new fiancé into a long and passionate kiss.

[winterscaptain]

figure it out.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this has been in my wips for literal months as i’ve done my best to get it just right for yall. i hope you enjoy it, and tell me what you think! There’s an addendum to this one, and i’m already working on it, but we’ll see a few more things before that’s ready :)

words: 3.5k warnings: sex mention, sex implication, language

summary: “love is like a backache. it doesn’t show up on an x-ray, but you know it’s there.” - george burns. au!january 2012. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You roll over in bed when your alarm goes off, but you don’t get very far. Aaron throws an arm over you and pulls you back to him with a grumble. 

You huff a laugh and wiggle up against him. It’s all a tease and you both know it - there isn’t any time to get up to anything fun before work, but it’s far too entertaining to rile him up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” His voice escapes his lips between your shoulder blades and you can feel his smile. 

“Oh, trust me, babe. I can finish.” 

He hums, his smile breaking out into something real. “I noticed.” 

+++

When the two of you finally make it out of bed (surprisingly still on time), you grab one of Aaron’s scarves and a hat on your way out. It’s your turn to drop Jack at school today on your way into the office, and the task serves two purposes. 

The first? It’s nice to spend time with Jack, just the two of you, when it’s your turn and you’re not on a case. It’s the same for Aaron, who always leaves a little earlier so he and Jack can sit down somewhere and have breakfast together.

The second is pure logistics. You two can’t show up to work in the same car at the same time, so a convenient excuse to separate and stagger your arrivals is welcome. 

“Really?” 

Aaron’s question stops you at the threshold and you look over your shoulder “What?” 

“My hat? My scarf?” 

It’s almost too tempting to cave when he’s looking at you like that - his tie hanging around his neck, shirt untucked, arms crossed, and playful frown hiding a smile. 

“Yeah. It’s warm and it’s here and we’re late.” 

Jack squints up at you and says, “We’re not late.”

“You’re not late.”

The observations come within split seconds of each other and you laugh. 

“Fine. Not late, but warm. And you have more hats.” You scamper back into the house to plant a kiss on his lips, smoothing the hair at his temples. 

Jack’s laughter is the underscore to your next quip. “You’re very handsome and I’m sure you’re very smart so you can figure it out.” 

“Yeah, Dad,” Jack chirps. “Figure it out.”

He has nothing to say to your retreating forms as he catches a glimpse of your smile through the crack in the closing door.

+++

Emily and Spencer are away at a conference-book-signing thing, so it’s just the five of you and Penelope this morning. You’d normally figure that would be Rossi’s purview, but apparently - 

“My book-signing days have been put on hold indefinitely in favor of -”

“ - He’s back.” Garcia interrupts, tossing case files at all of you. The conversation is cut short and you suppress a smile. “The Marin headlands last night.” 

You can see Aaron’s lips pull as well. 

It’s the little things. 

Penelope gestures with the notes and crime scene photos appear on the screen. “David Atley and Nicole Puli, both 24, both grad students at Berkeley, shot multiple times in their vehicle-- wait for it--” She clicks again and a familiar sigil appears. 

“The Zodiac?” Morgan’s shock is almost sardonic in its delivery. 

Rossi snorts. “No way.”

“Come on,” Derek says, amused, while JJ chimes in as well. 

 “It's gotta be the 2.0 version.”

While neither of you speak, you share a glance with Aaron. You’re kidding. 

He only raises his eyebrows for a split second and shrugs. 

There’s some part of you a little paranoid that you’re the most obvious couple to exist in the history of the universe. Sure, the team has been teasing you about your friendship for years, the will-the-won’t-they of it all, but now that it’s real you’re almost terrified that they know everything. 

Thus, the overcompensation has been wretched. You and Aaron barely look at each other in the field if you can help it (which you usually can’t) and he tends to put you with Derek more often than not. 

In truth, the others have noticed, but are far too interested in the spectacle to say anything. Emily’s almost certain the two of you have slept together, and Dave may or may not have suggested the possibility of a secret marriage during your period of suspension. 

However far-fetched and ridiculous their theories, they know you two well enough to know that something happened. The tension is gone. 

Derek almost finds himself missing the tension. There hasn’t been much to tease you about lately in its absence. 

“Yeah, you would think so, except for the crazy similarities in the MO.” Penelope clicks through the photos as she talks. 

“I'm talking same victimology, same geography. And,” she adds. “Two souvenirs were left at the crime scene.” She clicks once more and stands back for the full effect. 

“He left a photo?” Rossi asks.

She hums in the affirmative. “Local police say that is Marcia Miller. She was found near Napa in 1971. Strongly suspected that she was a victim of the Zodiac, but police never confirmed it and they didn't publicize the case.” 

Morgan’s still squinting at the screen. “So the Zodiac took this photo at the killing and then saved it all these years?”

“The Zodiac's last confirmed victim was the cabdriver Paul Stine,” Dave notes devolving into a conversation about The Zodiac, his timeline, his signature. 

It’s nothing new - The Zodiac Killer’s case details are common knowledge in your line of work, nevermind the sheer number of copycats that try their hand at the highly-ritualistic murders before inevitably getting arrested. 

There’s a reason this guy hasn’t been caught in forty years. 

After a few minutes of bouncing between you all, Hotch pushes back from the table and stands. “Have Reid and Prentiss meet us in San Francisco. Wheels up in 30.”

He heads straight to his office to collect his things and you swing in by the tips of your fingers for just a second. “You wanna call Jess or do you want me to?” 

In the middle of throwing files in his briefcase, he doesn’t look up when he answers. “Can you, please? I was supposed to meet with Strauss this afternoon and need to stop by her office before wheels up.” 

You smile at him, tapping the door frame twice. “You got it.” 

+++

It’s boots on the ground right away when you land in San Francisco. You drive to the crime scene with Aaron in the passenger seat beside you and JJ in the back. The radio’s on, and you sing under your breath, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you make your way up to the crime scene. 

Before you get to the local FBI agents, JJ catches you by the sleeve. “It’s nice to have music in the car again.” 

You just smile at her. Aaron looks a little puzzled. 

The three of you wipe the looks off your faces by the time you get to Agent Lynn. 

+++

“What did JJ mean?” Aaron asks you. 

The two of you are alone for the time being, posted up in the conference room with the old Zodiac case files. You look up. “Hmm?” 

“What did she mean when she mentioned the music earlier?” 

“Oh.” A little flush of embarrassment shoots down your gut. “Derek pointed out to me last summer that I didn’t play any music in the car.” 

...while you were gone is the thing you don’t say, but he knows that’s what you mean. 

“I didn’t really notice.” You shrug to cover your fib. “I guess I’ve reacquainted myself with the radio in the last couple of weeks.” 

Aaron hums, returning to his work. Something’s off, but you’re sure it’ll come up later. 

+++

“You don’t think it’s really him, do you?” You ask, unbuttoning your shirt and throwing your pajamas on. 

Surprisingly, this case seems to be one of those that allows for sleep at regular hours. For that, you’re grateful. It’s much harder to find time to wind down with Aaron at the end of the day when you’re all forced to sleep in shifts. 

Aaron shakes his head, “No, I think Reid’s right. We’re looking at a particularly sophisticated copycat.” 

“Isn’t that kind of worse?” Hopping up on your bed, you curl up and look at him over your nose - a clear invitation to join you. 

With a huff down his nose and a little smile, he flops down beside you and props his chin on his arms over your belly. “Could be. Luckily, we have Reid.” 

You almost think he’s going to say something else, but he gets that pensive look on his face again. 

“What?” 

With a sigh, he says, “I’m just thinking about what JJ said.” 

“Oh, Aaron -” 

He doesn’t let you finish. It’s probably a good thing. You didn’t know what you wanted to say anyway. 

“I knew how hard it was on me, but I’m realizing more and more how hard it was on you, too.” He shakes his head. “I feel ...I don’t know. I feel like I should have known better… or something.” 

Winding your fingers in his hair, you sit in silence for a moment. He doesn’t have anything more to say and eventually he crawls up your body and settles in under your arm, his head on your chest and legs wound between yours.

Sometimes, you’ve found, he likes to feel small.  

“You’re safe and you’re home. That’s what matters.” You kiss the top of his head. “And I love you.” 

He hums, arcing into your touch and wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you.” 

+++

You spend much of the next day chasing Spencer around the city, keeping notes handy (for yourself, not for him - he doesn't need them) and reporting back on his discoveries to the team like some kind of overwrought and hyper-trained secretary. 

Stepping off to the side, you answer a call from Aaron. 

“Hit your limit yet?” 

You look over at Spencer, who’s flipping through a newspaper like a man on a mission. “It’s actually kind of entertaining.” 

And that’s actually true. Watching Spencer push the limits of his intelligence is always a treat - it happens so rarely you almost forget how much you enjoy it every time. 

He huffs into the phone. “Hang in there. We’ll all meet back at the precinct once Reid’s done -”

“Doing magic?” 

“Exactly. Keep me posted.” There’s a pause. It’s an odd little habit you two developed in the field to leave space for the words you can’t say in front of the others. 

I love you.

“Me too.” 

+++

You’re almost asleep when a sliver of yellow light shoots across your room, promptly disappearing as the door to the hallway closes. 

He pads across the room and slips under the covers. “Hi.” 

A little smile crosses your face as you roll over to face him. “Hi.”

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on you and he’s half on top of you as he captures your lips. 

Needless to say, the lack of sleep is worth it. 

+++

Emily, long after she and Aaron are the only ones left in the precinct conference room, squints as she notices something right under his collar. 

He’s already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, no longer standing on ceremony now that all the local police have retired and the rest of the team gone up to their hotel rooms. There’s not much to do, but the compulsion to get ahead for tomorrow is one neither one of them can shake. 

What Aaron failed to remember when executing his wardrobe adjustment was the rather...spirited romp in your room the night prior. The little purple swatches painted on his skin just under the line of his collar stood out stark against the crisp lines of his dress shirt. 

Fortunately for you, there was no way in hell the rest of the team would find anything he left on you last night. 

Emily reaches into her purse and pulls out a tube of concealer and a powder compact. Though he’s more olive-toned than she is, it’ll be good enough in a pinch. “Hey, Hotch.” 

He looks at her over his nose, his eyes tired. 

“You might want this for tomorrow morning.” She pushes the crisis control kit across the table to him, but he only frowns and deepens his squint. 

By way of explanation, she reaches across the table and presses the tip of her finger into one of the visible bruises in the hollow of his throat. He flinches, freezes, and then immediately drops his head into his hands. 

It’s easy to say Emily is amused in the extreme. “Those look...really fresh.” 

He shakes his head, insisting as he picks up a file at random, “They’re from before we left.” 

It’s only because it’s Emily that he’s even humoring this conversation. 

“No they’re not.” She sticks her tongue firmly in her cheek. “These ones are though.” She points at yellowing marks on his collarbone and he smacks her hands away. 

“And I know what fresh hickies look like, Hotch. Those are fresh fresh. Like, last night fresh. And we’ve been here for four days.” She frowns, tracking back through the day. “When on earth would you have time to -” 

A series of images flash through her head, random wayward connections flashing together in an alarmingly clear picture.

You, avoiding her at the office back in September with quickly-covered marks painted across your neck.

You, flirting with Sean and having way too much fun doing it, looking over his shoulder at ...someone else.

Hotch, in a perpetually good mood (for him, anyway, and despite looking ill-slept) for the last five months. 

The way the mistletoe kiss at Dave’s Christmas party looked way too easy, too familiar. 

And now, the obvious indicators that Hotch is not only getting it, he’s getting it good. 

If he got those last night…

Wait. 

Their hotel rooms are right next to …

Oh my God. 

Hotch watches the realization flash across Emily’s face, and he knows you’re both busted. Instead of losing her shit like he expected, Emily just leans back in her chair - smug. 

“So. Are you still Not the Boyfriend, or has there been an update?”

He sighs. 

The corner of her mouth tips up. “How long?”

“For which part? The not-boyfriend part, the boyfriend part, or this part?” He gestures vaguely to the space behind his tie, and Emily snorts. 

“Just spill it.” 

Holding up a finger, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, dialing the first number on his speed dial. 

You’re hardly asleep, sitting up in bed waiting for him with a case file in your lap, when you get the call. You’re not sure who’s listening, so a “Hey, Hotch. What’s up?” will have to do. 

“Emily knows.” 

You straighten. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter. She knows.” 

There’s a scramble, and suddenly Emily’s on the other end of the phone. “He’s got very questionable and very fresh bruises just under his collar. Care to explain?”

There’s another shuffle. 

“Ignore her,” Aaron says. With a hand pressed to your forehead, you understand the question implicit in his phone call. 

“Just tell her. It’s basically her fault, anyways. If she hadn’t ditched it then we’d have our heads up our asses for another five years.”

“Alright,” then, after a second of realizing you don’t sound sleepy at all, “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed.” 

He rolls his eyes. Emily can only look on with amusement, gleeful in the extreme. “You know that’s not what I mean. Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” You reluctantly close the casefile and put him on speaker so he can hear the light click off. “I’m going to sleep.” Then, “I love you. Come up soon.”

“Okay.” He shoots a glance at Emily. Because he’ll never hear the end of it anyway, more ammo won’t hurt at this point. “I love you too. Now, really. Go to slee -”

You hang up on him. He double-takes at his phone for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket. 

He’s met with Emily’s surprisingly moved eyes. “You’re...okay.”

What she means is, You’re happy. 

He knows. 

He nods. “I’m okay.”

She puts her files down and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers. “Tell me.” 

So, he does. 

He tells her about the way you stuck to him like glue through the divorce, the way you wiggled your way into Haley’s heart, captured the love of his son, and earned the trust of his entire family. 

He tells her what Haley said in the hospital, the tenacious care you showed his unyielding and unwilling ass when he was healing, the way your grief soothed his in the wake of Haley’s loss. 

He tells her about the moments of euphoria in the years of want and doubt and fear. 

He tells Emily about the day she died, how there was nothing more painful than that necessary lie. He tells her how easy it was to lie to the others, how it ripped him in half to lie to you. 

He tells her about the day he left for Pakistan, about the fight the night before, the kiss he pressed to your cheek on the tarmac, the endless, wretched nights missing you in the desert. 

He tells her about the fight when he finally came home, skims over the following days, jumps and meanders around to Christmas, to moving in, to the bliss that now seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

Emily watches the smile that plays at his mouth when he talks about you, the softness in his eyes as recalls the look on your face and the words you said and the way you are with Jack. There’s a kind of peace in him that she’s never really seen before. 

Maybe, she imagines, it was there before she met him (the second time). Maybe this peace existed with Haley. Maybe this is the most she’s ever heard him speak at once. Maybe it makes her smile. 

Maybe this peace is what his love looks like. 

If that’s the case, she thinks, you are very lucky indeed. 

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, but at some point he stops talking. 

“Hotch?” 

He looks over at her, the softness lingering in his eyes. 

“I’m really happy for you.” 

His lips twitch. “Thanks.” 

“And you know it’s my God-given right to tell everyone else once this case is over, right?”

+++

You actually are asleep by the time Aaron gets back to the hotel. He leans against the wall in the dark with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the peace before the inevitable shitshow. 

He crosses the room and crouches at your side, running the back of his fingers over your cheek. You stir, sleepy noises leaving your throat as your eyes crack open. 

“Aaron?”

“Yeah. Just me.” 

You smile a little and close your eyes again. “How’d she take it?”

“Remarkably well.” He kisses your forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“No,” you whine, drawn-out and slurred. “Don’t leave. Stay. I set an alarm.”

With a resigned sigh, he strips and slides into bed behind you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close. 

+++

You and Aaron sit on proverbial pins and needles for the rest of the case, but Emily keeps her word. The only indication of her knowledge came the morning after her chat with Aaron, when she pulled you to her and hugged you so tight you could hardly breathe. 

She seizes her moment on the plane, about halfway home. 

“Derek, you owe me fifty bucks.” 

She hardly looks up from her book as she speaks. 

He takes off his headphones and wrinkles his brow. “What?”

She repeats herself, slower, as if she was speaking to a child. “You. Owe. Me. Fifty. Bucks.”

“...Why?” 

Emily finally looks up from her book to pointedly stare at you and Aaron, seated next to each other and sharing a bag of Goldfish you stole from Jack’s snack drawer. You’re both reading from the same file, absently reaching for crackers as you go along. 

Derek’s confusion continues to smother his face until it finally clicks in. 

He steals a page from Reid’s notebook and balls it up, tossing it across the plane and breaking your concentration. You look up, only a little startled, to find a face-splitting grin blinding you across the cabin.

Derek’s small ruckus has drawn the attention of the rest of the team - well, all except JJ, who’s fast asleep on the couch. 

There seems to be a collective sigh of relief as money exchanges hands. You’re not quite sure what the bet was, but Emily seems to have won handily. 

Aaron takes your hand under the table, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It doesn’t. 

Everyone simply returns to their tasks, little smiles on their faces. 

+++

tagging: @quillvine @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos

[meinkampfortzone]

Who Was Hans-Joachim Marseille’s Fiancee?: An Opinion-Based Commentary, Part 2

(cont. from Part 1): 

HJM’s Family’s Attitude Toward Hanne-Lies

So one of the things I noticed when I first started getting curious about finding out who HJM’s fiancee was was the fact that she seemed so comfortable around his mom. That was, in fact, one of the first indicators to me that she was a bit older than him, other than her face. Had she been around his age, most of their interactions would have taken place outside of the house, away from his parents, so that they could make the most of their time alone together. That was, in fact, the norm among young people in the 40s, especially with the growing availability of cars which made getting around a lot easier and faster. When in the presence of each others’ parents, both parties had to act very reserved toward each other, and refrain from things such as holding hands or kissing, etc. (their parents would have been from the generation born in the 1800s, where doing things like that in public was inappropriate and prospective couples were meant to act with restraint when together). Therefore, the fact that 85% of the interactions between Hanne-Lies and HJM (except for the outing in Bad Saarow and their trip to Rome) took place at his parents’ apartment in Berlin was something that stood out to me. I took this to mean that Hanne-Lies was either a friend of the family or mature enough to want to spend time with and build a relationship with her future mother-in-law. As my research later proved, the latter ended up being true. 

After Hans-Joachim Marseille’s death, Hanne-Lies was allowed to live in Bad Saarow in Charlotte Marseille’s summer house that she owned there. I found this strange because Hanne-Lies had only known HJM and subsequently his family for approximately 7 months (they met in March 1942; he died in September 1942), which was hardly a long enough time for Charlotte Marseille to get to trust her enough to give her her house and allow her to live in it. Hanne-Lies remained in that house, keeping it as her main residence, until she got married in 1944 to former LSSAH member Martin Stephani. This led me to think that perhaps, like her son, Charlotte Marseille saw something in Hanne-Lies that reminded her of her dead daughter Inge, and due to the fact that she had lost her daughter so recently, she built a good relationship with Hanne-Lies. After HJM died, I believe that Charlotte Marseille sort of saw Hanne-Lies as the last thing she had left of her deceased son, and decided to let her have the house and stay there for as long as she needed as a sort of gesture of goodwill.

This is a picture of HJM at a bar in Berlin called the Regina Bar (between the two girls) and Hanne-Lies (at the other end of the table). This was taken during his leave in 1942, during which he met Hanne-Lies and became engaged to her. Notice that even in the presence of his fiancee HJM has no issue cozying up to other women. Judging by the look on her face, she doesn’t seem too pleased about it either. 

HJM’s Comrades/Contemporaries’ Attitudes/Opinions Concerning His Engagement

Another thing that I find sort of striking is the complete lack of commentary on the part of HJM’s comrades and friends concerning his engagement, or rather, his lack of commitment to his fiancee. According to Colin Heaton, the news of HJM’s engagement “shocked” those who knew him, only because of his playboy nature. However, once that shock subsided, and everyone saw HJM going back to his old ways and sleeping with various women, not one of his comrades thought to mention how they found it strange that he was engaged and yet having all of these publicized affairs. Although sex outside of marriage, etc. was common in the 1940s, it wasn’t until the 1980s that it became the norm. Up until then, infidelity and sexual promiscuity was kept carefully under wraps, more so for women than men. However, back in those days engagement was essentially a binding contract--the couple was considered married for all intents and purposes until they actually went and legally tied the knot. I found it strange that Marseille’s comrades and those who knew him, when interviewed about him, had no problem talking about his various sexual escapades but didn’t mention how he still did these things while he was engaged. I would have expected at least one of them to mention how it was strange that he continued to do this even after he was committed to one woman. It was almost as if the existence of Hanne-Lies in HJM’s life was unknown to them. This led me to believe that maybe HJM never bothered to tell anyone he was engaged or probably only mentioned it in passing and never really made a big deal about it, or perhaps his comrades knew that this was just part of his nature and that it was foolish to think that he could ever be faithful to one person. 

When asked to describe the nature of HJM and Hanne-Lies’ relationship, Hans-Rudolf Marseille (HJM’s half-brother) proceeded to talk about how he convinced her to go to Rome. 

Of all the things he could have said that would demonstrate that they really loved each other and that there was something between them, he chose this anecdote, which really doesn’t demonstrate anything between them. 

Even the members of the Nazi high command who had interacted with Marseille, when interviewed by Colin Heaton, had no issue talking about how, when receiving a complaint from an Italian officer who stated that Marseille had “violated the family honor”, they all had a good laugh about it, and one of them even said, “Damn it, Marseille, have some shame, man.” However, none of them bothered to point out that this was going on while he was engaged, which was something he had even mentioned to Hermann Goering. Overall, none of the members of the high-ranking Nazi hierarchy seemed surprised at his behavior in the slightest.

Some Miscellaneous Points 

1- All of the people who were close to HJM gave interviews about him or attended events commemorating him and gave speeches/contributed to the event in some way, shape, or form. Many of the primary sources used in Colin Heaton’s book come from interviews conducted with many of Marseille’s comrades, such as Eduard Neumann, Ludwig Franzisket, and Emil Clade. Marseille’s mother, Charlotte, attended the premier of the 1957 film “Stern von Afrika”, and an article appeared in Der Spiegel featuring her and the actor who played her son, Joachim Hansen. In the article, she thanks Hansen for his stellar portrayal of her son. 

Hans-Rudolf Marseille assisted authors and historians writing and researching about HJM, such as Franz Kurowski and Walter Wubbe, and also gave interviews, snippets of which were included in a 1999 documentary about HJM’s life. It was because of the efforts of Eduard Neumann and other airmen who had flown with Marseille that a set of Luftwaffe barracks in Appen were renamed the “Marseille Barracks” (Marseille-Kaserne in German). Even Marseille’s batman, Mathew “Matthias” Letulu, gave an eulogy for Marseille in Germany during a ceremony held at the monument for Marseille in the Egyptian desert. 

The only person who had been closer to him than most of the people mentioned above, his ex-fiancee, was strangely absent from all of these efforts. Other than making an appearance at the 1967 Fighter Pilots’ Reunion event at Furstenfeldbruck, where she attended as a guest of honor with Charlotte Marseille (and this appearance isn’t even documented, as there are no photos of her at the event), she never gave any interviews about her ex-fiance, nor did she contribute to the efforts being made by those who knew him to keep his memory alive. 

2- During his interview, Hans-Rudolf Marseille showed a plethora of letters he had collected that had been sent by HJM to various members of his family--his mother, his sister, even his father. Some of these letters were reproduced and included in Walter Wubbe’s book “Hauptmann Marseille”. But with regards to any written correspondence between Hanne-Lies and HJM, there are absolutely no letters or anything whatsoever between them. Given the fact that they got engaged during one of HJM’s leaves, and they only saw each other once more after that when he was on vacation, it would make sense that they would be constantly writing to each other. Yet there doesn’t seem to be any sort of correspondence between them, at least as far as Hans-Rudolf Marseille’s cache of letters is concerned. The only testament to their relationship is the scarf that Hanne-Lies gave to HJM, and the photo she gave him of herself with “Ich habe dich sehr liebe!!” written on the back. 

3- When I read that Hanne-Lies had given HJM a picture of herself with “Ich habe dich sehr liebe” written on the back, I was curious because “Ich liebe dich” is “I love you” in German. Thus, I set out to find the difference in meaning between “Ich habe dich liebe” and “Ich liebe dich.” I found an answer to this on a German language learning forum that I’ll include below. 

In Closing...

When I think of what Hans-Joachim Marseille’s love life should have looked like, I immediately think of the relationship between Alain Delon and Romy Schneider (not how it ended, Alain cheated on her with another woman and she refused to get back together with him, but just how aesthetically pleasing they were and how big of a power couple they were in the years they were together.)

 I believe that he only got engaged to Hanne-Lies because of the emotional turmoil he was going through at the time. I think that even if they had gotten married, their marriage would have never lasted long. After all, grief isn’t forever, and eventually he would have realized that with that therapist aspect gone, there isn’t actually anything that binds him to Hanne-Lies at all. Hanne-Lies, too, would have had a hard time putting up with his infidelity and flighty personality, especially since she would have been reaching that age when she wants to have children and start a family and settle down (she was almost 30 when she got engaged to HJM). I honestly just wish that Inge Marseille wouldn’t have died so that HJM could have actually gone and found someone who had the personality and temperament to be his other half. I feel like, had he met someone like that, they would literally have been the power couple of the Third Reich. 

I’d love to hear your guys’ comments/opinions regarding this in the comments. Thanks for reading!

[magioftheseas]

Gundham & Yasuke

Summary: The Forbidden Tanaka’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. YES.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and blood/injuries.

Notes: Unsurprisingly, Tanaka was the winner of the poll for which FTEs were to be done next. So his FTEs, quite hilariously, are getting posted on the anniverary date for sdr2′s initial release. That feels pretty...fitting. Writing Tanaka’s dialogue was really hard but I did my best. Despite my best efforts, these two don’t get along the best that they could. Cursed.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

It went without saying that he didn’t have a normal middle school experience so he didn’t interact with a lot of people who exhibited the so-called eighth-grader syndrome. But he knew that once kids had the cognitive ability to identify their lot in life and long for more, such desires could get...twisted, to say the least.

Just about everyone wants to be fucking special if they’re not too focused on surviving. And most people grew ashamed of the lofty aspirations and special interests they developed in that delicate era. Matsuda understood that much, even if he was considerably detached from it. In some ways, those people were like animals. Strange beasts that acted on impulses and instincts. That still had intelligence but not, like, awareness. When it came to engaging with these types, Matsuda had no choice but to accept them even as he shook his head at their delusions of grandeur.

He understands he’s supposed to do that in theory.

In practice, however...

“Sharp-tongued fool!” Tanaka bellowed. “You draw too near to the barrier of the Ice Kingdom!”

It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s always a beautiful fucking day. Clear, sunny sky. Warm but with a pleasant breeze to keep it from being too sweltering. It’s such a nice day—and Matsuda Yasuke does not want to be here.

Without another word, he turns on his heel.

“Aha!” Tanaka sneered. “To think just the warning prose would be enough to make you turn tail and run. A cowardice I did not expect, but perhaps... I should have.”

While walking away and listening to that guy cackle to himself, all Matsuda had in response was to flip him off.

He proceeded to avoid Tanaka for the rest of the day—and would’ve avoided him for the rest of his life had fate not had something else in store.

--

It was another beautiful day. The perfect day for a walk. He was thinking by the ranch so that he could admire the chickens as he passed. Unfortunately, he not only came across chickens but also the cow that used to be a chicken he quite liked.

Also Tanaka Gundam.

And their eyes ended up meeting.

There’s no real point in reasoning with someone who exhibits grandiose delusions, he reminded himself. It’s no good to denounce them, but it’s also no good to enable them. It’s a delicate line that I do not want to fucking bother with.

Matsuda does look away, intent on ignoring the other. Despite that resolve, his thoughts don’t shut up.

I didn’t have any peers in middle school for obvious reasons. I never actually spoke to someone my own age who felt this way. I was too busy being fixated on my own goals and lofty aspirations.

A couple of steps forward. It’s fine. If he continued the way he was already going, he can just pass Tanaka. It’d be easy. Simple.

...

Fuck.

He pauses. He turns. Tanaka has already turned away, but as if guided by the third sense of a fucking Evil All-Seeing Eye, he turns back to Matsuda. His brow quirks.

“Has the barrier truly weakened so?”

“I don’t know,” Matsuda replied intelligently. “For some reason, I feel too worn down to go through the effort of pretending you don’t exist.”

Tanaka cackled lowly.

“Such an insolent remark. It seems you do not truly know your place. But that is just as well. Even now, your true name is one that seems out of my grasp.”

“I’m Matsuda Yasuke. Nice to meet you.”

Tanaka clicked his tongue, scowling at Matsuda’s blank expression and his deadpan tone.

“That,” he snarled. “Is merely a brush against the surface. It does not encompass the deepest depths of your rogue soul.”

Alright. So he wants to know what makes me tick. If I had to guess.

“Your true name,” Tanaka requested impatiently. “I have no need for superficial titles.”

“That’s cold,” Matsuda huffed. “The name my mom gave me isn’t superficial.”

...even if it is ironic.

For some reason, Tanaka does perk up. He gives a nod of approval.

“A fair retort,” he concedes. “That maternal bond is its own scarring shackle.”

That admission was the first true crack in the wall between them. Or so Matsuda supposed, and he felt himself slip just a little bit further.

What a headache...

“Anyway,” he went on with a wave of his hand. “It’d be incredibly foolish to give you my true name, right? If telling a demon my name gives them possession of my soul and telling them my birthday gives them control of my life... Then telling someone like you...”

Tanaka nodded again, grinning so widely it was damn near grotesque.

“I see...the sharp-tongued fool is still retaining a sharp mind...”

I shouldn’t have played along even in jest. Fuck.

“What special abilities do you possess?” Tanaka purrs, drawing closer now. “What hidden capabilities have you acquired?”

Tanaka stalks even closer, his eyes are flashing with curiosity and hunger. Probably because this fucking weirdo wouldn’t understand a normal interaction if it bit him in the face.

I still hate that stare. I fucking hate that stare.

“You already know that,” Matsuda snapped, forcing himself to stay relaxed. “Neurology is my talent. You even know my name and birthday because of those damn student files...”

Calm down, calm down. It’s just fucking Tanaka—

Tanaka does halt. His head tilts quizzically.

“Hmph.” With nostrils flaring, Tanaka seemed to duck into his own scarf. “I suppose you are human after all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Simple.” Tanaka chuckled. “I sensed your apprehension, Matsuda Yasuke. I sensed—and yet, I could tell it was not a chill brought about by the Ice Kingdom.”

Matsuda does flinch at that.

“I shall take my leave for now so that you may re-gather your peace,” Tanaka declared. “Till next time, sharp-tongued fool.”

Tanaka gave him a salute. Matsuda barely had a chance to wave back before Tanaka flipped his scarf and coat so that it would dramatically billow behind him as he made his overly dramatic exit. So fucking extra, and yet—

He left so that I could take the time to calm down.

And how the hell was he supposed to feel about that?

--

“Even now, I can hear the crackling of the Ice Kingdom’s barrier.” Tanaka was cackling. Another beautiful day. Yet somehow this weirdo was set on shrouding himself in asinine mystery as well as his own dark layers. How the hell was he not burning up?

Tanaka noticed his staring and merely smirked. “What brings you today, Matsuda Yasuke?”

Aah. Even with that pompous fucking tone, it’s an understandable question.

“I don’t like things to be unbalanced,” he said which was a bald-faced lie but sounded persuasive enough. “Since you interrogated me last time, I thought I’d ask you a few questions of my own.”

“Hmph!” Tanaka snorted. “You seek a comprehension that may underlie a deep terror that cannot be contained! Do you not fear for your sanity?”

“No, I’m insane already,” Matsuda said flatly. “I drove myself insane years ago.”

“Is that SO?!” Tanaka boomed, incredulous or admiring, Matsuda wasn’t sure. “Your humanity is one that only hangs by a thread, then?!”

I...can’t disagree with that, huh.

Matsuda shrugged.

“We’re not supposed to be talking about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Tanaka remained guarded but gave a nod.

“Very well. Demi-human or no, I shall not lose to you.”

That’s more like it. You’re much less annoying this way.

“What talents do you have?” he settles on since it’s only fair. “Even if it’s not the full roster, I’d like to know some...special abilities.”

“You shall only get a portion,” Tanaka said, sniffing. “Despite my appearance, I’m an active fiend. Between sorcery and human hunting, I manage my website.”

Matsuda blinked, trying to imagine this guy at a computer. Actually, it was really easy to imagine. There’s no way Tanaka learned to talk like an edgelord on his own.

I bet he spends a lot of time looking up stupid shit like Norse mythology. But, if he has a website, then...

“I have encrypted my research with magic,” Tanaka informed him. “Thus, only those worthy can gain access.”

...if he means through password then I could probably hack in with ease.

“If I had to guess what kind of research it was,” Matsuda mused. “Then—probably something like a pet diary, right?”

There were a series of muffled squeaks from Tanaka’s scarf. Tanaka burst into a boisterous boom of laughter.

“Even with your wits, you would only be able to access the dummy site!” Tanaka grinned victoriously, even though no conflict had taken place. “Your skill level would only open the gates of the Exciting Breeding Journal.”

“...Alright. That’s fine by me.”

You’re literally here because of your talent in animal husbandry.

“Favorite food?” Matsuda asked next. Tanaka stiffened. Growled, even. Because he was pissed off about getting such a lukewarm response? Matsuda didn’t bother inquiring, instead pressing, “Do you have one?”

“The orange melon that bears the face of the devil,” Tanaka huffed, put out. “No other food compares in terms of high nutrients or versatility in cooking methods. More importantly, its seeds are the most effective food source for my Four Dark Devas of Destruction.”

...a pumpkin. He’s talking about a pumpkin, right?

“However! Those seeds must be carefully washed, carefully dried, carefully peeled,” Tanaka rambled on. “And lightly fried.”

“How meticulous,” Matsuda muttered. “But nothing less for...them.”

“Indeed. A difficulty that beguiles pain and pleasure alike matters not in the face of a grand purpose.”

I can agree with that even if I hate how it’s worded.

“There is more when it comes to the caring of beasts,” Tanaka rumbled. “Shall I lead you deeper?”

“Uh.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Next time. Let’s talk more next time.”

Tanaka gave him a truly wicked grin. For once, it actually felt malicious.

“Take as much time you need to prepare yourself, sharp-tongued fool.”

Matsuda made a face but bit his tongue.

Piece of shit.

--

Tanaka wasn’t out and about today at the ranch. He wasn’t in the diner, either. It went to reason that he was likely in his cottage.

It’s only because I found some pumpkin seeds that I’m even going...

When he knocked on the door, he found it unlocked. Since he wasn’t an animal, he was going to wait for Tanaka to answer the door rather than barge in but...

“Ku—!”

He heard a noise. A sharp, strangled sound that was undeniably made through gritted teeth. Matsuda opened the door immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

And indeed—Tanaka was holding his bloodied hand in a death grip. The hamsters were chirping and chittering, but unaffected. What happened was clear, especially in how Tanaka’s shoulders were hunched.

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around packets of wet wipes. He rummaged through his pocket for one, stepping forward and reaching out.

“Let me...”

“NO!” Tanaka shrieked, and like a startled beast he scrambled away from his hand. He was panting, still gripping his injury with a wide and wild-eyed stare. Seeing Matsuda there did little to calm him down, as he growled, “The blood that flows through my veins bears a fearsome curse. You must step away now to spare yourself their potency.”

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around disposable gloves. He slipped them on, tearing the wet wipe packet open, and made his way closer.

“Come on. We really don’t want that bite to get infected.”

“This is not my first blood sacrifice,” Tanaka snarled, even showing his teeth. Gross. “I have no need for your medical sorcery. And furthermore, that meager covering...!”

“Oh my fucking god, shut the hell up.” Matsuda snatched up his hand, prying the other off as Tanaka shrieked some more. Thankfully, Matsuda was able to pull it away and got to work dabbing and cleaning the wound. Tanaka had completely frozen now, but Matsuda was still fuming.

“Don’t ever fucking call me meager,” he snapped, and thankfully Tanaka had spare clean bandages for him to re-wrap his hand with. “Crude and foolish I’ll take. Meager I won’t.”

Tanaka finally scoffed as Matsuda made sure the bandaging was secure.

“A demi-human like you has such pride.”

Look who’s fucking talking.

“You should not have endangered yourself, however,” Tanaka went on. “I was not telling falsehoods about my poisonous blood. It is only by a thread that you have not already deteriorated. As crude and foolish as you are, I do not desire your demise.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of poison, so you’re worrying too much,” Matsuda replied but winced from a sudden headache. As he rubbed removed his gloves to rub his temples, Tanaka stood up.

“You once again face the ramifications for your hubris!” he exclaimed and rushed back to deal with his hamsters. “I grant you relief, and I advise you to take your leave immediately.”

“I’m fucking fine, it’s just a migraine,” Matsuda griped and disposed of the gloves and wipes. “Should you really be handling those hamsters again so soon?”

“They are not mere hamsters!” Tanaka bellowed. “The fangs I have taken are that of the Crimson Steel Elephant, Maga-Z!”

Maga-Z blinked its bright beady eyes at Matsuda.

“For the sake of the Invading Black Dragon, Cham-P,” Tanaka went to coo over the largest hamster which was orange, not black. “A golden demon, one who understands fear all too well... Much attention should be heeded to make sure they do not get overly stressed out... While many devil beasts of this ilk are aggressive and fearfully territorial, the golden variant is the most docile and intelligent. They recognize me as...”

He trails off. It’s as if he’s too moved to speak.

I have heard hamsters had an unnaturally high rate of cannibalism, Matsuda thought. But I suppose like with dog breeds, they come in all sizes...and temperaments...

It was obvious Tanaka knew his shit, being an Ultimate at all. But seeing it firsthand, watching him dote on the beasts with a cottage interior largely dedicated to their cage and tube, the guy definitely loved animals. Like, a lot. Despite his delusions of grandeur, he at least seemed to love animals a healthy, non-obsessive amount.

“They’re living well,” Matsuda commented blandly.

Tanaka scoffed at him.

“For demons that live a mere 1095 days, the luxuries in life mean everything. I would never settle for less.”

“I see...” He scuffed the end of his shoe against the wooden floor. “That’s good.”

Shouldn’t have worn open-toed shoes, but I don’t have any alternatives. Oh, right.

“I got pumpkin seeds.” He tossed the bag and it landed on Tanaka’s lap. The hamsters jumped, and even Tanaka flinched. Matsuda, however, turned on his heel. “Sorry. Bye.”

With that insincere apology, he headed out. He could feel a disproving stare on his back but that didn’t lessen his steps in the slightest.

--

His favorite chicken-turned-cow was in a good mood today. She was accepting pets and even nipping at his fingers. All he had on him was candy. Not any fruit much less hay although...

“If you plan to feed that creature, you should be wary of apples,” Tanaka rumbled from behind. Where the fuck he came from, Matsuda wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t surprised to be hearing from him. “You can risk over-eating which will cause a bloated stomach for the animal.”

“Ah, thanks for the advice,” Matsuda said sincerely, turning back and frowning when he noticed the other’s own hanging head. “What’s with the long face?”

“I would hope that you do not consider that creature to be your familiar, Matsuda Yasuke,” Tanaka murmured sullenly and solemnly. Like he had come across something truly pitiful to the point of depressing.

Although he seems more focused on the cow itself...

“I don’t have a familiar,” Matsuda huffed.

Tanaka quirks an eyebrow at him. Furrows it, even, as if Matsuda is the one not making sense. How seriously annoying. But rather than inquire further, Tanaka just shakes his head.

“Creatures like that one are born to be slaughtered,” he said, turning on his heel. “What a wretched fate, one that cannot be escaped even with the use of the Evil All-Seeing Eye. If one is to form a bond with such an unfortunate beast, they will invite only calamity.”

“That’s...” Not necessarily true. There is livestock out there allowed to live full lives. But they’re exceptions that prove the rule, I suppose. And the fact that I even thought to use a word like allowed... “Woof.”

Tanaka barked back. “This sentimentality only arose because I have not encountered any new beasts. I shall go searching as to put my mind at ease.”

He walked on, and Matsuda found himself following. Tanaka didn’t seem to mind at all. The opposite, in fact.

“There are many creatures I’ve tamed, sharp-tongued one,” Tanaka went on to say. “The Cerberus. The Phoenix. Even then Midgardian Serpent.”

Looks like I was right on the money about him looking up Norse shit. That’s just another fucking word for Earth, asshole. I’ve read enough shitty fantasy manga to know.

“I saw a toucan one time,” he commented in lieu of verbalizing his thoughts. “And I guess there are the seagulls. Or those mascots.”

“Those uncute fiends cannot be trusted with their speech,” Tanaka hissed. “As for the others... Ah, the ravenous, feathered beasts.” Tanaka nodded sagely with approval at that one. “They are a perilous project as they are quite fearless and impulsive. Even when greater threats arise, they gather like a court waiting to hand down judgment.”

I think...that’s more something that crows do rather than seagulls.

He does think about it though, birds judging one another. If he looked up, he’d even see a seagull or two soar overhead. A phrase rose to his mind, unbidden.

When the seagulls cry...

“Hm?” Tanaka paused when he noticed that Matsuda had stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, and whatever expression was on Matsuda’s face—whatever that was had Tanaka clicking his tongue. “What is on your mind?”

“Something stupid,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Even in peaceful times, I can’t help but worry about how easily things fall apart. Sometimes for something as petty as a broken promise.”

Is it speech alone that gives us the means of betraying one another?

Tanaka did stiffen.

“It sure is fortunate for us that we’ve yet to deal with any storms,” Matsuda went on to say. “In fact, it’s perfect weather every single day. Isn’t that strange? It almost doesn’t feel real, and if it’s not real... Does anything that happens here matter?” He paused again. “Like I said. It’s stupid.”

“Your inane ponderings still have an air of malice,” Tanaka muttered darkly.

Huh.

“Are you saying I’m someone to be on guard around?” He cracked a dry smile. “I’m not that fucking interested in messing with people. I just lack patience.”

Tanaka gave him a look. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

“I think... I will seek solace elsewhere. Do not follow me.”

Matsuda didn’t. Simply watched the other go. It might’ve been one of those annoying situations where the person was saying the exact opposite of what they wanted, but even if he could tell that was the case, he still wouldn’t have followed.

After all.

He lacked patience.

--

Tanaka seemed especially moody today. Although no matter how sullen his air was, the island sun wouldn’t let up in the slightest. In a way, that was pretty cruel, right? In that much light, it made it difficult to hide. Or something like that.

Wonder what he’s being so fucking temperamental about...

Matsuda makes his way over, waving as he does. He stops, however, when Tanaka regards him coldly.

“Matsuda Yasuke,” he rumbled in a gravelly tone of voice. “The sharp-tongued fool whose practices engage in the constitution of the mind... Would you like to duel?”

Huh?

Matsuda dropped his hand.

“...have you finally fucking gone actually insane?” He sighed. “Don’t answer that. No, I don’t want to duel. And if you push it, I’ll leave. I don’t have time for that bullshit.”

Tanaka’s cold stare became more of a glare.

“I’m afraid I do not have such luxury around you,” Tanaka said sharply. “You grind down my defenses with this continued, unsightly association. Despite wearing the face of a human, you, Matsuda Yasuke are...!”

“I’m just human,” Matsuda replied before he could finish. With an unimpressed shrug, he added. “And if you wanted me to stop bothering you, all you had to fucking do was say so.”

“I allowed these exchanges out of a sense of curiosity, arrogantly unheeding the danger,” Tanaka went on, muttering as he did. “Truly, I have been foolish.”

The sun shone down on him. On a day this bright, there wasn’t anyone to hide. Tanaka ‘Gundam’ looked a bit ill. When Matsuda took a step closer, however, he recoiled. With a sharp hiss, Tanaka held up his hand in warning.

Like an agitated cat.

Matsuda drew back with a sigh.

Someone like this—really is so needlessly fucking difficult. And for what? An inflated sense of importance? Wasn’t getting into Hope’s Peak enough?

...if he complained too much, he’d veer uncomfortably close to hypocrisy.

Hope’s Peak was just another step for me, but I wonder what it was for someone like this? Where the hell would he be if he didn’t get in? Honestly—I doubt it would’ve been all that significant.

“Alright,” he said. “Did you get anything out of our interactions at least?”

Tanaka stared at him, but being a normal fucking person without magical powers, Matsuda was more than capable of staring back, unaffected. For some reason, Tanaka did shy back a little.

“I have keenly observed you,” he said lowly. “Namely how your regard only shifts when directed towards creatures already marked for death. I suspect—you are a creature of calamity. The eye of the storm.”

“So, what,” Matsuda drawled. “Like a demon?”

Tanaka hummed, seemingly considering it. “No... That is not quite right.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, then,” Matsuda huffed, waving his hand dismissively. “But—I think I get what you’re saying. I just think it’s funny coming from you—and that you don’t understand.”

Tanaka’s stare blazed with an offense, and Matsuda paid no heed at all.

“How I regard creatures marked for death...” Matsuda snorted. “I’m a fucking doctor. Obviously, I treat them differently. It’s part of my fucking job.”

Although he’s referring to the cow, isn’t he? Seriously...

“I guess it’s weird,” he admitted. “With how shitty of an attitude I have. But I take my job seriously. If you can’t get something that simple, then your Evil All-Seeing Eye is pretty fucking lacking.”

“You...” Tanaka growled. “You’re truly impertinent. You wield your blade recklessly and foolishly. You and I both know—that it runs deeper than mere duty for you, Matsuda Yasuke.”

...so what if it does?

He supposes he should be impressed that Tanaka isn’t that fucking dense. That the animal freak is, in fact, a little perceptive.

Smiling mirthlessly, Matsuda reached out to pat the flinching other’s shoulder. He gripped him for just a moment.

“That’s all you need to know about me,” he murmured into Tanaka’s ear before pulling back. “I think we’re at enough of an understanding. Thanks for your time.” He gave a salute as he headed on his way. “We don’t need to talk again. We especially don’t need to duel. Have a wonderful fucking day.”

“One day,” Tanaka swore. “You will meet your cruel, disastrous end. That is the decree of the Tanaka Kingdom!” As Matsuda got further away, Tanaka boomed after him. “Mark my words, sharp-tongued FOOL! You are MARKED for des—!”

It was such a headache that Matsuda tuned him out. But as he found himself alone, he did wonder.

Marked for destruction? Or something else? Despite all that time, rather than growing close, that weirdo is now convinced that I’m hopeless. He might be right. Actually, I’d still consider us closer if he can recognize that. I still don’t really care. I don’t.

He walked on, moving forward because he had nowhere else to go.

Decree. What a fucking riot. If I do die, it won’t be because of an idiot like him. But whatever makes him feel better I suppose.

Matsuda shook his head, brushing the whole thing aside except...

If I die... It won’t be until I reach the very fucking pits. I won’t settle for anything less.

[hqprotectionsquad]

𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒚 - 𝒊𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒛𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝒉𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆

⤷ 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏, 𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒊𝒕.  ⤷ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒊'𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒚 ⤷ 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

words: 3311

tw: brief mentions of partying and alcohol

“You’ll never find your soulmate, loser. I don’t even know why you keep trying,” one of the girls in your class smirks above you as she says this. She approaches you at your desk, furnished with permanent marker stains that you’ve attempted to wipe away. There’s no point. You’re seen just as dirty as your now gray desk. Two other girls flank her sides and knock a few things to the floor.

You don’t say a word because if you say something, they will immediately be twisted. Nothing hurts more than sitting through dozens of monthly soulmate ceremonies in school. Why do they need to celebrate when someone finds their other half when it’s expected in society anyways? What’s there to brag about? You can’t lie when there’s a nudging squeeze in your heart when you see all of the pairs forming a horizontal line on the school stage, reciting the poem you can say with your eyes shut and brain asleep. Sitting in the audience while everyone finds their true love burns a fire in your soul.

Your eyes trace imaginary lines into your uniform and you wait until you can hear their laughter drifting away. Your fingers reach for your belongings because this isn’t a fiction story where your soulmate will brush your knuckles as he reaches for your pencil case and you meet eyes. This isn’t a romance novel. This is the way your life goes, even if you’re the only one in your class that apparently hasn’t seen your soulmate.

Many people meet theirs in their childhood, or a popular way to meet their soulmates is when they’re first enemies and gradually become lovers. What’s the probability that you might fall in love in a cliché way that would make you want to roll your eyes otherwise? You’re only in high school. It shouldn’t matter because you’ll eventually meet your soulmate.

You’re now in college. Still, you’ve never taken part in a soulmate ceremony, but now, the university you attend holds these ceremonies in private instead of major assemblies in front of the entire student body. Part of you is very thankful for not having the want to gouge your eyes out every time someone bragged that they’ve been on stage to commemorate finding their soulmate. Another part of you is confused because how else will you find out who does or doesn’t have a soulmate? Many people are very private about their personal lives and won’t let you know until you maintain a very strong relationship with them. 

You, on the other hand, have no problem playing with the fates of time and love. At this point, you’ve almost lost all strength in your wishes of having a soulmate. Your roommate, Hitoka, will tell you on their way out everyday, “You never know who you’ll meet!” Yet, nearly every day is as boring as the last.

“I’m going to start seeing people,” you break the silence as you and your roommate are up one night while working on homework. You sink into your respective beds, hunching over your laptops and miscellaneous papers that won’t mean anything in four years.

“Like how?” Hitoka uses her knuckle to brush a hair out of her face, taking a moment to cast you a confused glance. Just as quick as she looks at you, she’s back to her own work.

“Well, I don’t know. Dates, probably sex. I don’t know if it’ll lead to a soulmate but I’ve almost given up on trying to find one. It’s like the universe hates me or something.” You sigh, placing your pencil to the side. “At this point, it’s not even something I’m actively seeking.”

“You should keep trying,” she tells you while she taps her head with the eraser of her pencil. “I met my soulmate a few years ago, but I didn’t know she was my soulmate until last year.”

“How did you know you clicked?” The homework is off to the side now. Talking about soulmates is much more interesting. You can always finish it in the morning. “Everyone always says that they meet their soulmates, they throw huge parties, but they never reveal how they knew they were the one.”

That is the most frustrating thing about this societal match up system. Even your parents told you that when you meet the right person, you would know. Back then, you found it so endearing, but as you grew older and wiser, you can see it’s just a way to make sure nobody cheats their way into a relationship that isn’t meant for them.

For a brief moment, you think she’ll brush it off to the side and tell you it’s something you figure out on your own. “Well, I joined the volleyball club as a manager because she was actually recruiting people and I was the only person who was up to it. I was so scared because she’s so pretty and so intriguing, and I’m just me.” The grin on her face stretches as she reminisces. It almost erupts a green flame in your stomach, but you push down any harmful feelings. “I was really shy, and I saw some really tall guys who looked super scary. And now, I’m standing in front of the door because I’m too scared to go inside. I eventually made it inside, but that’s just when we met. Last year, when she was paying a visit to the high school, I was pushed into her and I think it was just magic. I swear we were glowing, and she told me she was glowing.” Hitoka scratches her head. “The funny thing is, when we asked the volleyball team if they saw the light, they said they didn’t even notice I got pushed into her.”

“That’s...that’s amazing.”

Thus begins your search for your soulmate. Something about what your roommate said that day, you can’t pin it down, but something so wonderful brews within your heart. A new fire has come to the light in your soul and you’re ready for the mission.

You try to brush against other people when passing by them. Take friends’ hands if they aren’t uncomfortable with touching. Drop your books and give the helper a hug for doing something they didn’t have to do, and they fall into your half purposeful, half by accident trap.

Nothing you do makes anything feel right. In fact, it feels like the harder you try, the further you’re straying from your soulmate. 

“Maybe you’re just looking at everything in the wrong approach,” your roommate says nonchalantly, just putting in her two cents while you both wind down for the night. She’s brushing her hair, looking at her reflection in the mirror on the left side of the room. On the right side of the room, you sit at your desk, looking into the mirror sitting next to your lamp. Wouldn’t it be easy to pinpoint the reason why you haven���t met your soulmate yet? With each passing second, the resolve seems farther away, as if it is purposely running away from you. “Have you tried sex yet?”

You bite your lip. You’ve forgotten that you told her you’d do something like that, but you never followed up on your solutions. “Um, no.” Would it be too embarrassing to tell a potential hook up to be careful because you haven’t tried it yet?

“Go to the next party and I’m sure you’ll find someone. Even if they’re not the one, you’ll have a fun night. Maybe you just can’t think about things, you know? They can’t really come if you’re forcing it.” Hitoka nods to affirm you, and then without another word, she rests her head on her pillow and turns on her side.

You nod to nobody and slide under the covers with unease settling in between your bones. This feeling is as physical as it is mental; your bones tighten with your lungs squeezing. Nothing you shouldn’t be not used to, though. Ever since you recommended temporary relationships as a temporary solution, pangs attack your gut like nobody’s business. What is your body trying to warn you? Or maybe it is a sign to look for what is to come?

Whatever it is, you take it along with you to a party that an acquaintance invited you to. No frat parties for you, but club events usually have free food and drinks, and nobody is trying to take advantage of you for a ratio. It’s off-campus and you hail down a cab to take you to the location.

“Holy God,” you mutter, stepping out of the car, one foot at a time after paying your fee. Slamming the door, the driver almost immediately takes off, your arm seconds close to being detached from your body. “This can’t be a house.” It’s a towering complex of some sorts, three stories above the ground. No wonder it’s off-campus housing. It looks like it’s someone’s parent’s house with its carefully trimmed lawn and pristine windows that, you’re sure, some kid was privileged and invited friends to live with them.

“Coming in?” A girl beckons, waving you out of your rose-colored fog. “This is for the debate and engineering clubs, a joint party of some sorts.” Right, clubs that you have no membership in, but luckily, nobody really cares about that. 

You follow her into the house and it is as stunning as the outside. Vaulted ceilings greet you in the foyer and you’re certain the rooms can never be counted in full. The furniture looks perfect despite students hanging from each bit of it, slurping mixed alcohol and scarfing down snacks from the convenience store.

“Is there any particular reason for celebration?” You ask, but when you shift your head from focusing back on the girl, she’s long gone. The rest of the party is a blur. You don’t drink too much and you’re basically sober by the end of the occasion, and you wish you weren’t, to be frank. As toxic as your mentality is, you just want a reason to get out of your head for a night. Now, the real problem is trying to get home. The taxi driver earlier demanded two times the price of a usual drive, just because it was slightly out of his range, and presently, you flip through your bills, or rather, your lack of many.

“Hey, do you need help?” A boy with spiky hair approaches you. “You look a little lost and we’re about to finish for the night.”

The weight in your chest sinks even lower. With no friends here, you have no one to hitch a ride from and no one to call at this late hour. You thread your fingers through your hair without a word.

“Hey, don’t cry. Do you need a place to stay or something? Campus is kind of far from here, I wouldn’t mind opening my doors if you need.”

Your eyes widen and your heart freezes in the mix of blood and plasma. “Uh,” you’re basically speechless and your mouth moves up and down. “I don’t know if that’s safe.”

His hands raise to the shoulders of his hoodie, shaking his fingers. “I wouldn’t do anything like that. I don’t really take girls to my place, but I promise if you just need a place to crash, you can come. But of course, if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just thought you’d want to postpone the ride until later, they upcharge even more in the middle of the night.”

Spiky hair boy makes a point. “Okay, thank you. What’s your name?” You ask as he leads and heads out of the house. What kind of dude does this? Is he some kind of simp, willing to do anything for a girl? Whoever he is, his face does not match his subservient personality.

“My name is Hajime.”

“I’m Y/N.” You keep your words to a minimum, just as a preventative measure. What if he sells your information on the internet, or plans on spreading rumors about you and all he needs is your first name? Your mind keeps swirling with the possibilities that he takes your hand in his.

“You look really pale. Are you okay? My apartment is only two blocks away. You just have to stick it out until then.” Hajime loops his arm under your shoulder to keep you balanced. Maybe he’s just a nice boy. Hasn’t his mom ever told him that nice boys finish last? He won’t ever get a soulmate if he’s this nice to you.

When you make it to the apartment, a new surge of energy rushes through your veins. “It’s two in the morning, you shouldn’t be this excited,” you mutter to yourself. To him, you ask, “You have a clean apartment. Is it just you here?”

“Yeah. I just like my area neat.” It shows, from the frugal amount of items in the garbage can to the lack of specks on his wooden desk next to the bed. “I can give you some clothes and a toothbrush, but besides that, I don’t really have any other stuff to share.”

“Thank you,” your voice trails off when you sit on the edge of his bed, which is neatly made with navy blue sheets that are pulled up to only two pillows. This is a simple man’s apartment, one that is evidently made for one person. Hajime is fetching the things he said he would, and your hands are folded into each other. Your fingers crunch against the opposite knuckles. Something is off about him and you can’t tell what.

With a hint of a smile, he hands off the clothing and the packaged toothbrush. “I just found whatever would fit you.” You take them, your brows gnawing at the center of your forehead. His own clothes lay in your hands and you can’t stop looking at them. His shirt and his pair of sweats are in your hands and somehow, your fingers won’t stop shaking. “What’s wrong?”

“I, I don’t know. I’m sorry, let me just change and get out of your way. The quicker I go to bed, the quicker I’ll get out of your hair.” His really beautiful hair, you think off-handedly. “That door over there is the bathroom, right?” You stand and you tilt your head back a little to get a better look of his face. He’s a serious looking guy and you wouldn’t want to cross paths with him on the street or even a classroom. 

“Right.” 

But even now, barely knowing him, you know he has a record of being a supportive person. You can tell. He’s probably the type to place a 500 yen bill into a person’s charity bucket and the type to be kind to everyone, no matter who they are. What kind of connection are you really feeling here?

You rush towards the door, fumble with the knob, and finally, you’re into his small rectangle of a bathroom. Your back presses against the door and your eyes shut as air comes in and out of your nose. “Oh my God.” Heat flows in your body and especially to your cheeks, as you see in the mirror. Is he experiencing the same emotions you are?

No. It can’t be possible and you refute any ideas that come to your head. This is silly! You’re just sleep deprived and you’re not thinking straight. You splash some water onto your face and stare into your reflection. These dark circles underneath your puffy eyes are a sign that you shouldn’t be thinking so hard. First, you brush your teeth with the toothbrush and some toothpaste you found in his cabinet. Then, you slip out of your damp clothing. You glide into his shirt that reaches to your thighs and his sweatpants that have extra fabric that pool at your ankles. You don’t need to intentionally sniff into the material to have his scent ingrained in your head.

“All good in there, (Y/N)?”

You come face to face with him after opening the door. “Yep, all good. Thanks for lending me your clothes and the toothbrush.” You slip past him, allowing yourself space. “Is it cool if I just put my stuff in this corner?”

He nods and then he bites his lip. “Take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” You couldn’t believe that the one time you actually get into a man’s bed, it’s not for a date or sex. The two things you wanted to do to mess around are thrown out the window. Would it be too early to rule them out?

It is too early to rule them out. You just met him, though he is a very kind person. It’s your tired brain trying to run faster than it can. You slip under the covers, it’s the same scent as before. It’s a mix of husky man and detergent, something you’d never really understand outside of a man’s apartment. Your head sinks into the pillow and you shut your eyes.

After ten minutes, you shift positions, fluff the pillow, count sheep. Nothing. You sit up, squinting your eyes to see Iwaizumi’s bare back hiding behind a sheet while he sleeps on the floor. He’s illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the one window in the apartment. Even though you’ve taken his source of comfort, he is taking it in stride.

“Are you awake?”

Iwaizumi hums in return.

“Thank you.”

“For what exactly?”

“For being you. I know we just met, but it feels like I’ve known you for a long time.”

Disregarding what you said, Iwaizumi sits up and stares at you. “Do you have a soulmate?”

“No. You?”

“No. Maybe we’re each other’s.”

All you can hear is your breathing and his in this quiet apartment. It’s quiet enough to hear yourself gulp. “I think we are.” How else can you explain how you’ve been feeling? Is this what Hitoka meant when you’d know? “How do we know for sure?” You’ve hardly been shy all of your life, yet now when you meet someone who could be your soulmate, you’re crawling into your skin.

“We can let this be our one night. If we don’t feel a connection, then I guess we aren’t soulmates.” Hajime says this all while biting down on his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to look at you, but he forces himself to make eye contact.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” There’s no going back anymore.

Hajime tosses his sheet off of his legs and sits on the edge of the bed, dangerously close to you. He takes one of your hands into his and studies the way your eyes look up and down, from either looking at all parts of him or just not wanting to look into his. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper and after releasing one breath, your hands nestle along the dips connecting his neck to his shoulders and you kiss him. Your lips are on his and you’re lacing your fingers through his hair, taking him all in, taking this whole experience in. Your hands fit perfectly in his, your lips press against his in the perfect mold, and you wouldn’t be surprised if when you hug him, it’ll feel like the world melts away. Honestly, even though you told Hitoka you’d be fine with messing around, maybe you were just waiting for the right person. He doesn’t have to be perfect right now, but he will be the one who throws out all of the lists of traits you wanted in a soulmate. He will end up being the one item on your list.

And here he is in front of you, clutching onto your body like his life depended on it and basking in the presence of an almighty moon.

tag-list: @clowninfortodoroki

[tiaragqueen]

Bee In Bonnet

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Namjoon x Reader

✂ Word Count: 3,5k

✂ Trigger Warning: Mentions of sex and death, obsessiveness, manipulation, stupor

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin if I can’t help falling in love with you?" - Can’t Help Falling In Love [Elvis Presley]

          Namjoon knew what he felt was wrong.

          He knew he shouldn't have gotten close with you.

          No matter what angle you see it, no matter how many times you'd try to defend it, their relationship would and always be forbidden. Because this wasn't a fictional world where you can date your own boss.

          No, you weren't like that. You kept your relationship strictly business. Just like any other decent worker would do.

          He knew it. He acknowledged it. But that doesn't mean he liked it.

          Besides, it wasn’t as if he could automatically erase every sentiment that had bloomed on his chest. The very same sentiment that would eventually drive him into the pit of unquenchable desire.

          Jimin crouched on one knee before you, holding out an opened crimson velvet box. A silver ring – not too big and not too small, either – encrusted with little diamonds and a bigger one in the middle laid inside. You tried to laugh at the cheesiness of his proposal, knowing just how romantic Jimin could be, but joy overpowered any hilarity that you found from this situation. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you let him take your hand gently and put the ring on your ring finger.

          It fit, just like what you expected.

          Jimin had always been an attentive person. It was a trait that attracted you in the first place, and for him to buy the ring you were eyeing at the mall a few days ago warmed your chest.

          Your female colleagues cooed at the sentimental scene, shouting congratulations. Some even expressed their envy for being proposed by such a handsome man. The males were busy patting Jimin’s back like proud brothers they were – being familiar with him due to his frequent visit – and whispered innuendos on what to do during the honeymoon. Overwhelmed with the barrage of compliments and attention, you hid your glowing face on to his chest. Jimin giggled, stroking your hair with such loving eyes that made your nape reddened even more.

          Everyone was happy. Everyone was smiling. All, except one.

Namjoon stood in the threshold of his office, jaw stiff and hands clenched so tight the knuckles turned white. He hadn't expected to see this kind of thing during a break; the only time where he could meet and chat with you over a hearty lunch. Work has been very hectic lately, and he figured taking you out to that new café down the street would ease his stress.

          Yet, here he was, watching future husband and wife basking in the spotlight.

          It was terrible. How could that man be able to freely hug you with those disgusting limbs, while Namjoon had to resist his urge to even touch a single strand of your hair?

          Because he was respectful like that.

          And because he already knew you were taken.

          Namjoon hadn’t planned for this to happen. For his feelings to go out of control. You were smart and cute, yes. He liked cute things and people.

          But the more time you've spent together, the more time his opinion of you rose. Higher than any other woman he'd met before.

          You were unknowingly charming, hardworking, ambitious, and other positive adjectives he could think of. If anyone were to ask him to write a novel about you, he'd surely do it in a heartbeat. And possibly create a new one for your angelic appearance.

The cover would be your concentrated face because that was when you looked at the cutest. Not that your other expressions weren't cute either. It was simply his favorite amongst many photos he'd captured without your knowledge.

Well, everything you did enchant him anyway. Even your elated smile of finally being Jimin’s fiancée.

          Namjoon sighed, skulking back into the office. The hollow thud of the closing door echoed like a broken record in his ears.

          If only it was him that put the ring on your dainty finger and proudly stood beside you.

          If only it was him that you hugged.

          If only you loved him, he would surely give you everything. The world, the sky, the universe. Everything that you wanted, he would gladly give it to you.

          Except he couldn’t have you, could he? Because you already belonged to someone else. Someone other than him.

          And it hurt. It hurt not to be with the person you love, no matter how much you pray or wish to the stars.

          Why did fate have to be so cruel to him? Sure, he could have anything - anyone - in a flick of a finger, but why couldn't he have you? Was it wrong to love you? Was it wrong to want to make you happy?

But you were happy, weren't you? You were smiling brightly, brighter than he'd ever seen before, with Jimin. If Namjoon wished for your happiness, then he'd have to be prepared to see you in another man's arms. Because that's what true love is, right? If you can't have them, then you have to let them go so they can seek their own happiness somewhere, anywhere.

          Of course, he understood. He was famous for his intelligence, after all. But it didn't make the heartbreak any less painful.

          Namjoon glanced around the place. Despite the papers that scattered on his desk and a few items of furniture here and there, it was still empty. Funny that he had been working here for years, and yet it was the first time he'd felt this way.

          Sighing, he shuffled towards the rolling chair and plopped down. His body felt so, so heavy. Like someone had put the weight of the world on him. He unlocked his phone and stared down the bright screen. It displayed a selfie of you and him, standing in the snowy sidewalk. You looked cozy wearing that dark coat, wrapped in a red scarf. He remembered that he used to sling an arm over your shoulders, pretending that the scarf was a red thread of fate which connected the two of you.

          It was obviously a delusion, but Namjoon just wanted to enjoy the moment. The moment where he was the boyfriend protecting you from the cold, and you snuggling up to him like a cute girlfriend you would be.

          Oh, how wonderful it must be if that could become a reality.

          Namjoon frowned. Well, he supposed he could get rid of Jimin through an assassin. He didn't look particularly strong. In fact, he seemed rather... fragile. So it would be an easy job for Namjoon.

          No, he shook his head. If the news of Jimin's downfall ever reached your ears, you'd surely spiral down into depression. It was what most people tend to behave after the death of their loved ones. Namjoon refused to see you sad and, inevitably, lower your work standards.

          He needed to think of something nonlethal, yet enough to make you change your opinion on Jimin complete. But the question is, how? How could he think of anything unrelated to death, when his brain was already filled with Jimin's gruesome demise? What was the least painful route?

          Think, Namjoon, think!

          It was obviously easier said than done because hours after the proposal ended and his employees had long gone back to work he still hadn’t had an inkling of an idea. God, was it hard to think of anything less toxic...

          Glancing at the reminder that glued on to the wall beside him, an idea immediately popped on his head. Namjoon gasped before snickered, finding it amusing how he hadn’t thought of that before.

          The most used excuse in the business world. How silly of him to only finding it out now.

          He snatched his phone from the tabletop with the eagerness of a child about to receive their present and sent a short, yet detailed message to you. Pressing the send button, he rested his head against the cushioned backrest and hummed. Now all he had to do was carry out the second phase.

          A giggle pierced through the quiet evening. Namjoon reached out a hand to grab the air, pretending that it was you atop of him. Everything would go according to plan, he was sure of it. Otherwise, he wouldn't mind using his high intelligence for... unrighteous purposes.

          You came.

          Of course, you came. How could you relax after receiving such an emergency text from your boss? Not to mention, it was sent half an hour after you went home. As much as you wanted to spend more time with Jimin, you knew that it would have to wait. Besides, you were sure that this meeting whatsoever wouldn’t take so long. Hopefully.

          To be honest, you didn't know that you had a meeting tonight and even thought of refusing.

          But orders are orders, anyway. If you wanted to keep the job, then you have to obey your boss.

          You smoothed out the wrinkles on your maroon dress. It was the dress code because apparently the meeting was held in some fancy restaurant in the city. It wouldn’t be appropriate to wear formal clothes, although that was what you were planning before you read the postscript.

          Screw that. You didn't want to add other dirty clothes on to your already piling up laundry, but it was bound to happen soon. Might as well finish this quickly, so you could go back to cuddle Jimin in his full chubby glory.

          The dress was a gift from Jimin after your first date, along with a bouquet of red roses that had withered the next week. It was your favorite dress among others, for some reason. Thus, you resolved to only wear it for important matters.

          Although Namjoon wasn't aware with that fact, it didn't hinder him from smiling appreciatively at the sight of your amazing looks.

          Standing up from his seat, he approached your confused figure and held out a hand.

          “Good evening, [Name]. You look gorgeous, as always.” he greeted, exhibiting the persona of a gentleman. Namjoon kissed the back of your palm, letting his lips lingered against the soft skin. It smelled coconut, must be new body lotion. He had to buy it later.

          “Good evening, Sir,” you mumbled distractedly, paying no heed to the rather intimate gesture. Pursing your lips, you glanced around the empty restaurant. Where the heck was everybody? “Um, I thought it was supposed to be a meeting...?”

          “Indeed,” Namjoon nodded patiently as he pulled a chair for you to sit in. “A meeting of you and me.”

          He didn't mention that he had excluded this small detail from you, but you were still clueless it was almost endearing. Understandable; you must have read the text in a hurry.

          “... What?”

          Namjoon ignored your quiet inquiry and instead seated himself in front of you. Even such a simple action was so elegant in your eyes. You wondered if a graceful class existed in rich people's worlds because he might be mistaken for a butler due to his smooth movements and impeccable suit.

          Without wasting another time, Namjoon poured some red wine into one of the glasses. Your glass.

          “Here, drink it.”

          You reluctantly took the glass from his hand and took a wary sip. The cautious side of you kept telling that he might have adulterated the drink, even though you saw it with your own two eyes that he did nothing to warrant such suspicion.

          “Thank you...” you muttered. It tasted the same as other expensive wines you'd drunk before. Namjoon was too kind to do vicious things such as poisoning.

          Namjoon proceeded to ask you some questions - nothing too intrusive because he still respected your privacy; yet - and filled wine after wine in your glass until you were inebriated. You weren't aware of your own condition until you abruptly stood up and almost fell headfirst on to the table.

          Good thing Namjoon was there to save you, otherwise you'd go home with a huge bump on your forehead. Jimin would fuss over it like a mother hen he was, and you didn't think you could bear the onslaught of questions so late at night. Especially when you just wanted to hit the hay.

          Slurring a soft thank you under your breath, you attempted to leave but to no avail. Namjoon watched you struggling while still maintaining his grasp around your stomach. How could he release you when he already had you in your weakest and vulnerable moment?

          “You’re drunk,” he whispered huskily in your ear. His other hand twirled a lock of [h/c] hair that framed your darling profile. “I know a place where you can rest.”

          Somehow, the gesture managed to lull you into sleep. The world grew darker in each second as you nodded dumbly and blacked out on his arms.

          The next day, you woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Recalling the past, or at least the event that led to this situation, proved to be a challenge. You sat up against the headboard and massaged your head, hoping to assuage the headache for a little. It wasn't until memories from last night suddenly rushed in like a flood; the text, the meeting, the conversation, and the... loss of consciousness.

          Eyes widening at the size of a saucer, you ripped the blanket from your body only to discover a myriad of hickeys littering the skin. From the neck, chest, stomach, thighs, even legs. There was no area left uncovered, and you weren't sure what to fear more. The hickeys or the throbbing pain in your vagina.

          Tears welled in your eyes. What have you done? You promised to yourself that you would give your virginity after marriage, and now here you were. Laying naked on someone’s bed. Or more specifically, your boss'.

          This was infinitely worse than having a one-night stand with someone because the person you've slept with was the same one who you encountered nearly every day.

          What would your parents say later? No, what would Jimin say later? He had always been a possessive one; it took you almost half an hour just to convince him to let you go. Now, you had broken the promise you'd made both to yourself and him.

          You were such a terrible human being.

          A door opened to your left. Namjoon - the cause of your current mental breakdown and possibly more in the future - strolled inside, carrying a tray of steak and hot tea. You immediately pulled the blanket back on to your nude body, trying to retain what was left from your dignity.

          If you still had any, that is. You doubted its existence now.

          “Good morning, honey.”

          Honey? You gripped the seam of the white comforter, resisting the urge to lash out. How dare he called you with that nickname when you had no special relationship prior? No, that wasn't what angered you the most.

          It was the fact that he had tricked you into the so-called meeting. Or maybe you were the dumb one here. Either way, you were boiling.

          “Did you sleep well? I hope so. I have changed the bed and set the air conditioner so you would be more comfortable.”

          You frowned, finding it ridiculous the lengths he'd gone through just to satisfy you. As if. “What are you talking about?”

          Sighing, Namjoon put down the tray on the nightstand and started to crawl towards you.

          “S-sir?” Screw your nervousness. Why did you have to fucking stutter in front of the one person you were supposed to be brave towards? Now he knew just how much you began to fear him; his little smirk proved that to you. “What are you-?”

          A hand stopped you from falling backward from the bed. You stared wide-eyed into his darkened eyes, chest heaving at the thought of tumbling and possibly have a concussion. It was a rather unlikely scenario, but it still scared you nonetheless.

          The hand lingered on your back, before slithering lower to grasp your waist. You shivered at the coolness of his palm and put your hands on his broad chest to push him away.

          “Sir, I’m sorry but I have to go now. Jimin must be worried sick and I-”

          “Do you think he’d still accept you, after what you did with me?”

          You fell silent, hands slowly slid down and fell on his bent knees. Somehow, while you envisage Jimin's reaction, you hadn't thought that he would probably call off the engagement. A one-night stand, however accidental, is still a form of disloyalty.

          Simply put, you've indirectly cheated on him.

          Jimin might be understanding in some aspects, but nobody told you that he'd accept this betrayal. It was understandable if he chose to break things off. Still, you refused to see him leave and abandon of what could've been a happy ending; you loved him too much to let him go.

          “Bold of you to assume that he’d still love you after having sex with another man,” Namjoon mocked, his other hand went to pat your bare stomach. It churned at his touch, and there was nothing you desired more than taking a bath. Who knows, you might be able to cleanse some of his germs from your body.

          But of course, it wouldn't magically solve everything. You've slept with him, for goodness' sake!

          “... And carrying his sperm. You know what will happen right?”

          He did what-?

          “No...” The severity of the situation finally dawned on you as you shook your head frantically, hair whipping around. “No, no, no!”

          This must be a joke. It had to. There was no way you’d be pregnant with his baby. No way. Nuh-uh, you refused to believe it. This must be a dream; a nightmare.

God, how you wished you could just wake up and forget all of this ever happened. You couldn't stand another minute with this crazy man. You wanted to get out.

          But the door was behind him, and if you wanted to escape, then you had to face him first. After that- what? Running to the police station stark naked? What would people say later? They must think that you were a lunatic, while the true one was this CEO who somehow managed to impregnate you.

          What did you do in your past life to deserve this kind of reality?

          “You’ll get pregnant.” There goes that dreaded, absolute unnecessary answer. But it wasn't over yet. Namjoon was still hell-bent on shaming you even further as if this bombshell wasn't enough for you to digest.

          “I'm not!” you screamed, dismissing the fact that you literally shouted at your boss. Something that you used to not have the guts to do considering he could be quite intimidating if he wanted to.

          But now, you just couldn’t give less of a shit.

          “I’m not and I’ll never be! Jimin would still accept me cause he’s my fiancé! Now let me go, you freak!”

          Namjoon threw his head back and laughed. It was the kind of laughter that send chills down your spine. You never thought that you'd lived to see the day where he would finally lose his sanity. He'd always been the calm, composed one. So what caused him to snap?

          “Really?” He ignored your flailing limbs and gripped your waist, leaving indents of his nails on the skin. “Then how about you? Would you still accept him after what he did?”

          The struggling ceased as you frowned. “What the fuck do you mean?” He really needed to stop giving you confusing questions and be straightforward already.

          Namjoon reached out to take a remote from behind you and pushed the red button. It flickered on, conveniently displayed a piece of breaking news regarding the discovery of a young woman’s corpse in some nondescript apartment.

          "It was such a hassle to find the exact location. But with a bit of hard work, nothing can't be achieved."

          You ignored him in favor of watching Jimin thrashing about when the police took the body from the bathtub. A torrent of tears streamed down his cheeks as he begged them to touch her; to hold her for one more time. He looked desperate and heartbroken. Normally, the sight would've saddened you too.

          And now, you weren’t so sure anymore.

          “He might have proposed to you,” Namjoon murmured provocatively, kissing your jaw like a husband appreciating his wife's body. “But that doesn’t mean his heart fully belongs to you. You’re just another woman in his life, you know?”

          You bit your lower lip. It stung, you admitted, it stung because it was the truth. And there's nothing more painful than the truth being shoved on to your face, forcing you to accept it as though it's that easy.

          There was nothing left to say anyway. At this point, you didn’t know whether you should feel betrayed or ashamed. It was an agonizing mixture.

          “Do you know that girl? She is, and will always be his love. After all,” he inclined his head slightly and bit your earlobe. “Nobody forgets their first love, even if they want to.”

[ineffablecolors]

Contrary to Popular Belief [1/1]

I forgot my Word doc at work yesterday so... a belated Valentine's Day CS. 

Contrary to Popular Belief; ~ 3k words; FF.NET || AO3

Emma and Killian are... well, he is not really sure what they are. "Courting" seems to have gone out of fashion as a term. Post-3A, except they defeated Pan's curse and stayed in Storybrooke.

Contrary to popular belief, Captain Hook rarely lurks and he certainly doesn’t eavesdrop if he can help it.

Which he really can’t when coming out of the lavatory at Granny’s. Swan and the wolf girl are the only ones left in the whole dinner, their conversation echoing slightly in the empty place, while Emma waits for him so they can leave.

Ah, yes, that. Killian has almost started to feel the bounce in his own step the last month or so. Ever since Emma resolutely decided that no reconciliation, past the one necessary to share the parenting of the young lad, would be occurring between her and Baelfire. Well, perhaps since a week or so after that actually, when she also decided that he was finally “out of the dog house” for sharing in the nefarious practice of “making decisions for her”.

“Just don’t mention it to Hook, ok?”

It’s involuntary really, the way his ears perk up when he hears her voice shaping his name.

“I think he is bound to notice all the pink and the hearts and the whatnot. Granny is putting out a 2 for 1 Valentine’s special.”

Emma groans and Killian wonders why on earth a Granny’s special would warrant such a reaction and why—

“Just… try to distract him from the whole “a day to celebrate the people you love” thing, ok?”

“I have one bulletproof way of distracting a man, Emma Swan, but I’m not sure you will want me to—”

He steps forward – quickly, heavily, loudly. If Emma is so desperate to keep him in the dark about what sounds like a romantic holiday, he has no wish to hear how willing she is to hand him over to another woman.

Her head whips around and she smiles – it looks genuine enough to fool him so he focuses hard on the little smudge of guilt, the slight tightness in the corner of her mouth and the tension in her shoulders.

It was always too good to be true.

“Ready to go?”

By the time he leaves her in front of her parents’ dwelling, any traces of Emma’s guilt and stiffness are gone, but so is the bounce in his step.

///

Contrary to popular belief, Captain Hook is an educated man and there are few things that he hates more than being ignorant about his surroundings.

Thus, it is not hard to imagine that living in Storybrooke has been… testing to say the least. But for the most part he has figured things out on his own and when truly stumped, Emma has always been willing to direct him, even if she takes a couple of jabs at his cluelessness while doing so.

This is obviously not a situation in which she is eager to enlighten him and he does not feel inclined to try questioning anyone, only to discover they have been instructed as Ruby. So he waits for this Valentine the way one waits for an enemy to strike – with growing agitation, restless limbs and a heavy heart.

It is not so much that Emma wouldn’t wish to spend such a day with him – he could understand that. It has been mere weeks since they started sharing morning and evening beverages at Granny’s counter, taking the long way by the docks on the way to her parents’ home and occasionally swiveling into a little alley or stumbling onto the Jolly for a “heavy make out session” as Emma explained their more amorous activities should be dubbed. If you ask Killian, it’s courting through and through. Rather brazen and speedy courting, as a matter of fact.

But speedy or not, he never expected winning Emma Swan’s heart to be anything but the work of a lifetime and he is more than willing to put in the time. So it is not her unwillingness to display her affections that grates on him. It is her unwillingness, perhaps even fear, at having him display his own on a day apparently meant exactly for such displays.

Alas, he cannot see another move but waiting for the day to arrive and pass. Well, that is not entirely true. He has considered a whole array of other moves but all of them hold the very real possibility of putting him back “in the dog house”.

So Killian waits. And then a couple of days later he walks down main street and the hearts Ruby mentioned seem to have finally appeared. The harbinger of romance. And apparently Emma Swan’s reluctance to engage in it. He keeps his face carefully impassive and his comments deliberately short and offhanded as he makes conversation with Granny and then with Emma for a few minutes before she has to head to the station. If he notices their slightly confused looks, he chooses to ignore them. If denial is what Emma wants instead of romance, denial she shall have. She has some arrangement in the evening and he deliberately doesn’t pry even if his mind is all too quick to conjure up the numerous things that she might be occupying this evening dedicated to romance with. None of them involve him, apparently.

Killian thinks he handles it rather well. Half a bottle, taking the Jolly out for a couple of hours and being safely back in the Storybrooke harbor long before sunrise, ready to face the reality of whether Emma will come into Granny’s in a few hours to share breakfast with him or someone else.

Of course, he’d assumed that will be it. So when the hearts and roses and banners featuring the word “love” seem to have only multiplied on his walk back into the heart of town, he is reminded once again that there is much he has to learn about the Land Without Magic.

But Emma does come in to have breakfast with him and he is much too tired and ruffled to hold on to his irritation when she jokes that he looks like he needs the whole pot of coffee today and then puts her hand on his arm and drops her teasing, asking if he is okay.

In that moment he decides to let it go. Well, he decides to at least not hold it against her the way he senses he has been the last few days. Still on the third day of red and pink everywhere, he starts to get irritated for a whole different reason. How stupid does she think he is to not notice all this? It’s absurd for him to not make any comment on it all so when he joins her for her afternoon patrol that day he casually drops in the town’s new colour scheme.

“Oh, umm, yeah, it’s… it’s this silly thing they do here.”

“They”, not “we”. He will usually indulge his curiosity and ask her further questions about the traditions of her land but—

“I have to pick up Henry in a bit.”

“I can walk you and then retire to the Jolly.”

He knows better than to wait with her for the lad. Henry is still understandably disappointed that his parents are not getting back together and he appreciates that Emma made it abundantly clear that wouldn’t have been the case with or without the pirate ship docked in the harbor but he does not wish to press his luck with the boy. He awarded him the title “kinda cool” a week ago and Killian thinks this is quite the progress already.

“Great. I’ll stop by after dinner?”

He blinks at her a few times. After dinner sounded late. So far they have restricted themselves to moonlit strolls at such hours of the night. He swallows at the thought of Emma boarding the Jolly at night.

“’Course, you know you’re always welcome, love,” he coughs and tries to regain his footing, voice dropping and eyebrows rising. “Should I prepare for your visit in any way?”

Predictably, Emma rolls her eyes and shoots him her best unimpressed look. There is something in it though—

“Just make sure you have your pants on, we’ll be going somewhere else.”

He doesn’t sputter. He is Captain Hook, he doesn’t loose control of his motor skills over a woman referring to his undergarments.

///

„Let’s go.”

“Don’t you wish to have a drink first, Swan?”

She seems to contemplate the bottle in his hand with careful deliberation.

“We can take it with us. Come on.”

He hasn’t seen Emma so single-minded since they left Neverland. Of course, then her focus was razor sharp with a heavy undercurrent of desperation and rage. Now it’s like energy incapable of being contained, a strong sense of eagerness and impatience and only the slightest nervousness to it.

He much prefers this.

“Are you kidnapping me, love?”

The lights are getting fewer and they are definitely on the edge of town now. He makes a confident move for her hand, one that he hasn’t felt like making in the last few days. Her palm is surprisingly warm against his, if a little clammy. She spreads her fingers wide so he can fit his bigger ones in between them and Killian very purposefully lags half a step behind her, his shoulder nudging her shoulder blade, his body almost bumping into hers.

She laughs.

“Is this the pirate equivalent of “Are we there yet?””

“This is the equivalent of “Where even is there?””

She blatantly avoids his question.

“Hm, if I were to kidnap you – what then?”

“Why, I should hope that you will have your wicked way with me. And seeing as there won’t be anyone to random me, I shall remain in your clutches for a long, long time.”

His last few words are little more than warm exhales against the little skin exposed by her scarf and somehow Emma manages to march on and squirm at the same time. He still doesn’t miss the little hitch in her breathing or the way her hand tightens around his almost painfully.

“Here.”

Killian looks up, jarred out of his thoughts and… well, if he has to be honest, disappointed by the sight before him. It is a completely ordinary building for this realm, a few stores smaller than the one she lives in. Honestly, he thinks they should’ve stayed on the Jolly.

“Come on.”

Emma tugs him towards the entrance and then up the stairs with more of that impatience and single-mindedness. Then she comes to a very sudden halt on the third floor. He bumps into her shoulder – this time not on purpose – and almost topples back down the stairs.

“Swan?”

She whirls around and he moves a step away from the stairs to prevent any more losses of balance since Emma seems to be all about sudden movements tonight. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold air outside and her hair is a little wild under her beanie – she obviously curled it today but the wind has made sure that random strands and hairs are flying everywhere.

“So, umm… shit,” she looks around as if she has forgotten what they came here for. “I thought it would be a good idea to combine the two but now I have to explain and ugh.”

The excitement is gradually mutating into frustration and he decides to take matters into his own hands.

“You don’t have to explain, love, just do what you planned to.”

“I was just going to let you in but—“

“So just let me in.”

If there is a certain heaviness to his words, a promise and a plea tucked somewhere in those four words – well. Emma’s eyes rove over his face and he hitches up one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth and tries to introduce some levity to it all. Her eyes sparkle in a way that he finds very hard to resist but before he can lean in, she nods to herself and turns around.

He doesn’t really start analyzing the situation until he steps into the apartment Emma unlocks. He has been much too busy delighting in the closeness of tonight after days of doubt to think about what tonight might entail.

By the looks of it, some magical ritual.

“Swan… are you sure you shouldn’t have Regina here instead?”

Her face does something that he has previously only seem on the faces of children when faced with the most slimy of sea creatures.

“What?”

Her tone suggests much the same disbelief and mild nausea at such an offering.

“For whatever spell this is?”

He frowns and looks around the room. It is mostly bare. There is a fireplace and some pillows and blankets before it but otherwise all the space seems to have been cleared out in preparation for some ritual. There are candles everywhere.

“Oh. See, I told you I should’ve explained first.”

He shakes his head.

“If you need my help for a spell, Swan, I’d be willing to assist you of course, I just—”

“No, no. Shhh,” Emma moves closer and suddenly her palm is obscuring his whole mouth – his mouth quirks up behind it and he can’t resist the slight press of his lips against her flesh – her lips purse in something that is obviously not displeasure. “We’re not doing any spells, pirate.”

He is relieved he must say. He would’ve trusted and helped Emma with any magic but he can’t deny that he was slightly vexed at the turn the evening had taken.

“Didn’t you guys ever light a whole bunch of candles to set the mood in the Enchanted Forest?”

His eyebrow rises – part in surprise at the suggestion and part to indicate that he is still prohibited to speak. Emma removes her palm with slight reluctance and an expectant expression of her own.

“Darling, candles are rather expensive in quite a few places and when everything is made of wood – often enchanted wood at that – a blazing fire is not exactly the best way to– How did you put it? Set the mood.”

“Oh.”

“However, surely you know that whenever you are around my mood is always—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

The thought had drifted so far into the back of his mind that he almost jolts at her proclamation.

“And I’ve never— I mean I’m not much into the hearts and roses, it’s… it’s a bit much but I thought – candles. Candles are a nice touch. And wine. There is wine in the fridge. I have a fridge. Not much else in the way of furniture though and now I totally see why you thought I was gonna be sacrificing virgins in here or—”

His laughter is loud in the semi-empty, candle-lit room.

“Swan, I can assure you I will not be of any use to you for any virgin sacrifices, nor did the thought cross my mind.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“I think you mean to tell me that this place is yours?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I signed the lease the other day.”

“And all this…”

“I… I don’t know. I thought I’d combine the holiday and showing you the place and yeah.”

“You mean this Valentine’s holiday.”

“Um, yeah.”

“The one you didn’t want me to know about?”

Emma’s eyes widen a little.

“I may have… overhead.”

“That’s why you weren’t being all nosy about it!”

“Nosy? I—”

“Yeah, I didn’t really want you knowing all about it before.”

He gives her a brisk nod and looks down at his boots. They are standing very close and he can see the tips of hers as well.

“Swan, I want you to know that you are under no obligation to celebrate this with me just because we’re…”

He looks up at her and waves his fingers between them. Courting seems to have gone out of fashion but he doesn’t know how to work “make out sessions” in his sentence and Emma is frowning at him and—

“I mean, that’s kinda the point? You celebrate it with the person you’re dating.”

Dating. He turns the word around in his mind a few times and then files it away. They are dating. And yet.

“But you did not wish me to know about it.”

She frowns again. Then her face seems to clear and her mouth shapes into an almost perfect “o”.

“Oh, no. Well, yes, but not— I didn’t want you to know ‘cause I knew you’d do a thing and I wanted to do a thing so…”

“This thing?”

He looks around yet again and finally let’s himself see the setting for what it is – atmospheric, cozy, romantic.

“I mean, I know it’s not much of anything but—”

He cuts her off with a kiss.

///

It’s much later, when they have finished the wine and moved on to the bottle of rum they brought and their “make out sessions” have apparently progressed to “third base” and Emma is being terribly amused by his questions about “fourth base”, when Killian realizes something.

“Did you leave those candles burning while we were walking here?”

Her eyes widen a little and he is not sure if it’s alarm at the realization or shock at his tone.

“Jeez, relax. No, I lit them when we got to the building.”

“With magic?”

She nods hesitantly but he doesn’t restrain his grin.

“You’re getting really good at that, Swan.”

“What? Lighting candles? That’s like Magic 101.”

“Still.”

He lifts her hand up with his hook and kisses her fingertips and he swears he can almost feel the hum and warmth of her magic under the skin. She looks like she is about to protest but then sighs and relaxes further into him.

“So, this Valentine’s Day. Now that I know all about it, am I allowed to do “a thing” next year?”

He keeps his voice deliberately casual but the implication is loud and illuminated by the calmly crackling fire. Her eyes are very green under this light as well. They narrow in a way that tells him she knows exactly what he is pulling but her words are more reassurance than reprimand.

“Sure, you can do a thing next year.”

Contrary to popular belief, it seems Emma Swan is a romantic. Contrary to popular belief, she apparently wants to be romantic with him.

For more: MY FANFICS   MY BOOK   MY BLOG

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 194: Dream Analysis and Joint Battle Training

Previously on BnHA: Deku had a freaky dream! All the previous wielders of OFA were there (although we couldn’t see all of them clearly), and there was an epic flashback starring the first one, All For One’s Brother. He spent most of the flashback screaming at All for One to stop toying with people and using them for his own purposes. AFO spent most of the flashback ignoring his brother completely and being a bad bitch. He built an army of loyal followers who eventually grew bold enough to start taking violent and even lethal action against AFO’s enemies. Then one day he came to see his little bro again, and they talked about an old comic they read as children. AFO was inspired by the villain in the story, but his bro identified with the story’s hero, who never gave up in spite of the struggle, until he finally won and saved everyone. AFO was all “well that’s just a story,” which was some great fucking irony right there, and then he bestowed his brother with a quirk, thus unknowingly sealing his own doom. OFA Primo then turned to Deku and started talking to him, telling him there was more he wanted to show him but that this was all he could manage right now. But he told Deku “you are not alone.” And then Deku woke himself up by activating some sort of new power in his hand, inadvertently destroying half of his fucking room in the process.

Today on BnHA: Deku tells All Might about the dream and about how OFA Primo spoke to him. All Might says he’s seen the “Vestiges” of One for All in the past, but that they’d never communicated with him. Shimura had told him about that phenomenon though. Apparently the wills of the past OFA wielders are contained within the quirk as part of its power. But All Might has no clue regarding the explosion that took place when Deku woke up, and he tells Deku that for now, they’ll search for the answers together. As Deku heads off to his afternoon training session, he runs into Aizawa and Shinsou in the hall. We then cut to the industrial training ground area, where class 1-A shows off their various cold weather gear, including Katsuki, who’s got almost a whole new look going on and I love it and never want him to go back tbh. Class 1-B then joins them, and we learn that today’s class will be a joint training exercise. Oh, and there’s going to be a special guest -- Shinsou, who is still trying to transfer into the hero department. And he’s also sporting a familiar-looking capture scarf around his neck.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my mostly-unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 213 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

so it’s the middle of the night still, and Deku is out running because he couldn’t fall back asleep

ahhhhh look at his cool winter gym uniform!

incidentally, the title of this chapter is “Wintery Sky! U.A. High!” and yesssss we’re finally getting into winter now! THAT MEANS A CERTAIN SOMEONE SHOULD BE GETTING HIS NEW COSTUME ANY DAY NOW, I THINK. I CAN’T WAIT AHHHHHH

and a brief flashback now of Aoyama giving Deku some cheese to make him feel better after his episode

true friendship right here

and now Deku’s continuing to run, and thinking that even though it was a dream, he remembers it as clear as day

that’s because it wasn’t just a dream, Deku. those are memories, obviously. memories which are now a part of you bud

it looks like his hand’s back to normal. I wonder what quirk it was that he activated?

also is he allowed to be out at night like this? you trying to get yourself put under house arrest again or what?

YOOOOOOOOOO

THIS IS THE COOLEST FUCKING SHIT OH MY GODDDD

though it’s looking more like androgynous trenchcoat dude is indeed just a dude. well, whatever!

at least we finally get to see the First’s face! yessss I’m so hyped this is the coolest fucking thing ever

and now we’re cutting to U.A. the next morning!

oh my god

ALL MIGHT YOU GOT SOME ‘SPLAININ’ TO DO

LOOK AT DEKU’S ANNOYED FACE

YOU KNOW HE FUCKING DID, DEKU. WHAT ELSE HAS THIS ASSHOLE BEEN HIDING FROM YOU. HE NEVER TELLS HIM SHIT

still trying to figure out exactly how old All Might was when he received OFA. we know Shimura died before his last year of high school. and he seems to have met her when in middle school. I guess he most likely received it around the same age as Deku but just had a better handle on controlling the strength part of it as he explained in the previous arc

so Deku’s explaining that he watched until the point where the First received OFA, and then after that the dude started talking directly to him

...does Deku actually think that All Might omitted this by accident? does he not realize All Might was deliberately untruthful?

...

...is this true or not. damn it

I’m inclined to think no, because All Might has a history of Not Telling Deku Things

anyways we’re flashing back to when Shimura told him about this

ah, so is this the explanation for why a power-stockpiling quirk would also stockpile memories, and even what appear to be souls? you’re saying it’s his predecessors’ wills?

(ETA: somewhat disturbing but also intriguing thought that just occurred to me. we know that AFO’s quirk and OFA’s quirk are related. they’re more or less opposites of each other, but they both grew out of the same bloodline. so if OFA can pass along the previous users’ wills, does it then stand to reason that AFO can do the same thing? when AFO imparts a new quirk on someone, is he also imparting a little bit of the previous quirk owner’s will? could that be one of the reasons why the process often overloaded people’s minds and turned them into “puppets”? and also, if this is the case, does that mean there’s actually a 10th person’s will hidden somewhere within OFA? whoever it was who originally owned the power-stockpiling quirk in the first place?

one last thought -- if this is the case, wouldn’t it be great if this is part of what leads to AFO’s eventual downfall? all the quirks he’s stolen over the years betray him, with their owners’ wills working to battle against him in his own mind. kinda makes me wonder whether Horikoshi has ever read FMA.)

and in fact All Might did experience this when he fought All for One for the last time, now that I think of it. pretty sure I even made note of it at the time. Shimura was there telling him to remember his origin. although by that point he’d already given up OFA to Deku, so it’s hard to say for sure. but I’m still choosing to believe it really was her, offering him her strength and support when he needed it the most

always with the not saying things. why do I stan this frustrating man so badly omg

the more we see of All Might, the more I recall what he said to Endeavor about having a tendency to push everyone away from him. and it seems like even with Deku, his beloved protege whom he loves and supports with all his heart and is devoted to, there is still some part of him that he has closed off there. either to protect him, or just out of habit by this point. he’s just used to holding everything in and never confiding in anyone. and damn it but why are all of my faves like this

now Deku’s snapping him out of his reverie and All Might’s like “oh yeah wait a sec”

whoa, but it seems like not even he understands what happened there?

so he doesn’t know about the whole passing along the quirks thing? or is he keeping it secret? tbh I cannot think of a single reason why he would keep that knowledge from him if he did know, because it could potentially be super dangerous. and obviously All Might only ever had the one quirk himself. so I’m thinking now that this is indeed something that only Deku has awakened thus far, which is super interesting

(ETA: so the verdict appears to be in, and it seems he didn’t know. also, yet again here is another mention of that quirk singularity shit. you sure have awakened something dangerous my little green son.)

damn it All Might

he seems so genuine... I feel like he really is telling him the truth for the most part. or maybe he knew it was a possibility but he never experienced it much himself and so he figured it would be the same for Deku

so what I’m taking from this then is that while All Might was a natural when it came to figuring out the physical side of OFA, maybe Deku’s more naturally gifted when it comes to the spiritual side? I’m starting to think of it in Avatar: The Last Airbender terms now lol. All Might was more of a Korra while Deku is an Aang

(ETA: and you know, I think that analogy can even be stretched to their respective coming-of-age processes as well. like Korra, All Might went through the normal training process and was given time to master his power. but Deku is more like Aang in that he hasn’t had that same benefit of being able to learn all of this gradually. like Aang, he’s kind of been thrust right into the thick of things before he was fully prepared for it, and a lot of his growth has been of the trial by fire variety.

and this is only going to get worse from here, because the League of Villains is not going to wait until little All Might Jr. is all grown up before making their move. Deku is going to be put to the test soon, and he won’t be ready for it, and he’ll have to do it anyway because the fate of the world may depend on it. I know the whole SIXQUIRKS thing potentially looks like a massively overpowered upgrade at first glance, but the thing is that he’s still a kid, and he has no idea how to use this shit. look at how much he’s struggled learning how to use just one quirk without killing himself. now throw in six new ones with no training manual. and on top of that they’ve all been cranked up to 11 thanks to that quirk singularity(TM) shit. basically it’s going to be a hot fucking mess that will probably get him into as much trouble as it helps get him out of. he’s still going to be figuring out what percentages he can safely use, and he’ll be forced to put his Big Hero Brain to the test in new and fascinating ways as he comes up with strategies to use whatever he does manage to figure out.

and meanwhile he’ll be up against Tomura and the League and -- eventually -- AFO himself. much like Aang inevitably had to take on Ozai even though he was only 12 years old and his training wasn’t complete. I’m anticipating something similar for Deku in the endgame here, and I think it’s going to be an amazing ride and I can’t wait.)

so now Deku is smiling and he says he’ll do his best

oh!

;_;

;_______;

(1) THIS IS THE PUREST INTERACTION THAT’S EVER GRACED THIS MANGA’S PAGES, and (2) HELL YEAH SHE FUCKING WAS

(ETA: this makes me so fucking sad now because I’m sure All Might would give anything to be able to see and talk to Shimura again one last time. if Horikoshi does kill him off I hope he gets to see her first.)

so now they’re heading out and All Might’s escorting Deku to his next class and says he’s gonna watch and that it seems like it’ll be fun

and they’re running into Aizawa who’s stepping out into the hall himself

OH SHIT

WAS HE JUST MEETING WITH SHINSOU??

okay but I’m pretty sure Shinsou hasn’t been accepted into the hero program yet? because truthfully this is another thing I’m pretty sure I’ve been spoiled for, though that was kind of an inevitable development so to me it’s not a huge spoiler. but anyways pretty sure that won’t happen until around chapter 216 though so this meeting can’t have been about that

given that this is not the first time we’ve seen these two together, I think we can assume that Aizawa has been mentoring him off and on? I keep seeing Shinsou included as one of Aizawa’s kids in fanfics (maybe once I finish this arc I can finally read some of those), so I’m guessing it’s something like that. he’s so addicted to being a good dad that he goes out of his way to find even more kids to adopt in his free time. jesus christ

huh, Shinsou seems much happier than he was the last time we saw him!

... [hair ruffles]

LOL AIZAWA

THIS CLOSE-UP STARTLED THE SHIT OUT OF ME LMAO

and now we’re cutting to one of the training grounds! I think this is the one where they had that race that one time right after the Hero Killer arc. but I forget the name of it though

AHHHHHHH

WINTER CLOTHES

why the fuck can’t Momo wear a cape all the time!?

Tsuyu’s winter gear seems less extreme than I thought and I’m a bit surprised! but I guess it must be warmer than it looks

all Mina did was add a fur collar. girl you are going to freeze your ass off

no comment on Hagakure but you all know what I think already lol

AND WHERE IS MY SON WHO I KNOW FOR A FACT HAS A COMPLETELY REVAMPED WINTER OUTFIT WHICH I’M ABOUT TO BE LIVING FOR

AHHHHH YESSSSSS

COME AND FANGIRL WITH ME DEKU!

OH MY GOD YES!!!!!

IT’S SO MUCH BETTER THAN HIS NORMAL COSTUME. 10,000x BETTER!! THE SLEEVES AND THE COLLAR COMPLETELY CHANGE THE LOOK. THE COLLAR ESPECIALLY, IT MAKES IT SO THE METAL COLLAR NO LONGER LOOKS SO WEIRD. I’M SORRY BUT THE DEEP V-NECK AND THE BARE SHOULDERS WERE JUST ODD

like, I think his normal costume was designed more with his future image of himself in mind, and doesn’t necessarily work as well with a teenage boy who is still growing and still has a relatively lean frame. he’s got a lot of muscle, yeah, but his costume is the sort of thing that would look more natural on someone with an Endeavor or Muscle Might type of build. his shoulders are not broad enough yet for it to really look natural

(ETA: and you know what, come to think of it I don’t think he’s ever gonna bulk up as much as either of them, because the more muscle he’s got, the more difficult it’s going to be for him to propel himself with his quirk. he’s gotta strike a balance there. so in conclusion Katsuki your summer costume needs a redesign!)

so the collar really helps here because it hides his whole neck which helps a lot with that awkwardness lol

anyway I’ll stop analyzing Kacchan’s costume now you guys but please rest assured that I fucking love it and this shit was worth the wait

(ETA: oh my god and now that Awase’s gone and busted up his gauntlets too, is it too much to hope he might redesign those to be a bit less bulky as well? dare to dream!? Horikoshi are you listening??)

and now I’ll let Deku have his own fangirl moment

you guys. I can’t oh my god I fucking can’t

but just. he’s so excited. and more importantly he’s interacting naturally with Kacchan without the slightest bit of uncertainty or hesitation or awkwardness, even though Kacchan’s still being a grumpy grump

and really Kacchan is behaving no differently than he would toward any other classmate. there’s no actual heat there, just normal Kacchan banter

in fact, if you look a little closer at this interaction, Katsuki actually invited him to talk. he saw Deku staring at him, and rather than telling him to fuck off and go bother someone else, he actually gave him express permission to start geeking out. (and then got fucking embarrassed by it oh my god)

in other words, they are interacting like normal classmates with none of the awkwardness and unease and hostility that was there before, and it’s fucking amazing. this is all I’ve wanted this entire time you guys oh my god

(ETA: seeing Bakugou and Deku finally interact again in this arc has given me so much joy. this is easily one of my favorite arcs just for that alone)

so now Ojiro’s coming up to Deku and saying that his suit is the one that’s had the most dramatic change lol. and that he even got new gloves recently

oh for fuck’s sake lol

okay at this point I totally support the Dekacho if that’s what they want to do. but why do they have to keep showing it by having Ochako get jealous of every third person Deku interacts with??

(or rather, every third person with boobs. because if this was a bit more realistic and she was paying just a bit more attention, the person she ought to be the most jealous of right now is Kacchan lol)

ohhhhhhh SNAP

I know it would end up just getting shredded, but Kiri might want to think about getting some sort of winterized non-shirtless version of his own costume too regardless. maybe just get something made from an inexpensive and easily replaceable material

anyway! holy shit, I forgot all about this, but I knew there was something with class B coming up soon because the manga was in the middle of this arc back when I first started reading it. and so this was what everyone was talking about

Monoma is surprisingly flexible

where’s Kendou? and that Pony girl?

holy shit Monoma

“my research”

son, I want details on your sample sizing and the way the question was phrased. I’m not sure if this holds up

lol and even then they only won by 2 votes

did you vote in your own questionnaire Monoma

lmao Aizawa is choking him out with his capture weapon oh shit

“shut up” oh damn. you do not insult class A in this man’s presence

so now Vlad is saying they’re going to have a special guest! and Aizawa’s telling them not to embarrass themselves

is it Shinsou. again, this guess is based solely on what I can recall of the fandom atmosphere when I first started reading the series and before I realized that I should blacklist spoilers

(ETA: okay so rereading this recap, I realize it seems like I’ve been spoiled for practically every damn thing in this arc, and I just wanted to make a quick note that this isn’t actually the case lol. I knew some basic stuff about the Joint Training arc, but I had no idea what the battles would be like, who was gonna win, or that Deku’s new upgrade would come into play the way that it did. basically I knew about SIXQUIRKS (but with no context), Kacchan’s costume, Shinsou’s presence (and what I assume is his successful bid to join the hero course), and that it would be 1-A vs 1-B. so basically most of this arc has still been a ride and I’ve really enjoyed it.)

I love that Baku, Kami, and Tetsu are all demonstrating their own unique ways of how they would befriend the special guest

AHHHH YEP IT’S HIM

THE WEIRD MASK THING OH MY GOD

I HAVE WONDERED ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG YOU GUYS. HE WAS WEARING IT IN SO MANY FANARTS AND I WAS LIKE WTF IS THAT

and is that an Aizawa-style capture weapon?? oh ho?!

you guys, this chapter was only 13 pages long. and it was so good. that’s not fair, you deserve more pages BnHA. why is the page count so damn inconsistent; I’m already dreading once I’m caught up and I never know what to expect each week

but for now I still get to binge. finally my procrastination pays off. thanks to my efforts, I have another 22 chapters to read instead of like 4 or 5 lol. there’s a lesson in that, kids. maybe. or probably not actually lol

okay guys, and unfortunately I have to end this recap by announcing that I’m going to be taking another brief hiatus, most likely for about a week or so. there is some financial shit I need to get sorted before the end of the month, and I need to find myself another job too so I’m gonna need to do everything I can to focus on that.

I’ll try to catch up with some of my asks and the comments whenever I have a chance. and aside from that, I will hopefully see you guys in a week, hopefully under circumstances where I can breathe a little easier! be well, everyone.

[timeagainreviews]

A Loch back at a Zygon Era

Hello friends! I've had quite the week! Monday was my birthday, so my boyfriend and I took a road trip around Scotland. We saw lots of things from the Beatrix Potter Garden in Birnam, to the Cave of Caerbannog from Monty Python, to the Devil's Pulpit in Dumgoyne. But our main destination was Loch Ness! We settled into our hotel by watching "Terror of the Zygons," which seemed appropriate considering our surroundings. Naturally, I decided to review it here. Before I do, however, I would like to thank all of you who have been liking and reblogging my stuff lately. It means a lot to know I'm connecting with people. Thank you for your support!

On the surface, "Terror of the Zygons," appears to be just like any other serial of its era. However, if you do a bit of digging, you'll discover that there are some interesting facts about its production. Did you know that there was a sort of "real-world," tie in with the story? No, I don't mean Nessie. Think closer to Mickey Mouse. In 1975, Tom Baker played the Doctor for the August "Disney Time," bank holiday special. After introducing several clips from Disney films, he is called away by the Brigadier to the events of Terror of the Zygons. I can't help but wish this information was known to me before writing my Doctor Who and Disney article! You can watch the clips on youtube. They feature Tom being suitably bizarre.

Along with having an unusual prequel, the story also had a deleted scene from the beginning which was later colourised by YouTuber "babelcolour," for the DVD release. This edited version is the one I rewatched for today's review. The scene begins with the TARDIS materialising invisibly. The Doctor walks out from nothingness, wearing a matching tartan tam and scarf, replacing his usual fedora and scarf. Not far behind are Sarah Jane and Harry Sullivan wearing said hat and scarf respectively. There's something rather humorous about the Doctor using his companions as human hat racks. Considering Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart's name, it seems appropriate that the Doctor is sporting the Royal Stewart tartan. I can't help but wonder if the costume department did this on purpose. After rematerialising the TARDIS to "fix," it back to it's usual broken police box state, the three continue their journey to answer the Brigadier's Disney Time summons. It seems an oil rig off the coast of Scotland has crashed into the sea just shortly after having lost radio contact.

After hitching a ride from the eccentric Duke of Forgill, the three meet up with a kilted Brigadier in a small Scottish inn where the landlord, Angus, plays bagpipes ad nauseam. They're really driving the Scottish shit home, which makes sense when you consider they filmed the episode in Sussex. Also gathered at the inn are Sergeant Benton, various UNIT soldiers, and a man from the oil company named Huckle. The Duke has some curt words with Huckle, informing him that any crewmen found on his land will be shot. After leaving in a huff, we see one of these crewmen wash ashore, seemingly alive. Over the past month, three different rigs have all met their demise. The gang splits up Scooby-Doo style. Dr Harry goes off to check on the injured crewmen, while Sarah stays behind to get the scoop from the locals. And the Doctor goes off to be the Doctor.

Back at the inn, Sarah mentions the odd nature of the Duke to Angus who promptly defends the duke as a good man. However, even he has to admit that the Duke has been acting strangely since the oil companies came. After letting go most of his servants, the only real bit of interaction he's had lately was gifting the inn with a goofy looking stag head. Nowadays the Duke keeps mostly to himself at Forgill Castle. The surrounding area of Tulloch Moor seems steeped in mystery. People go missing as the mist comes in, Angus tells Sarah as they're being spied upon from a distance. Eavesdropping in on the conversation over a veiny, bio-mechanical screen, an unknown figure watches from the shadows.

While driving alone, Harry spots the washed-up man from the rig and jumps out to help him. Believing him to be yet another trespasser, a beardy fellow by the name of Caber shoots the survivor and wings Harry across his brow, rendering him unconscious. Back in the bio-mechanical ship, alien villains twist and caress a fleshy panel in the weirdest form of nipple play ever seen on Doctor Who, causing the destruction of another oil rig near Ben Nevis. While trying to decipher the signal that has been jamming the oil rigs' radios, the Doctor learns of Harry's brush with death.

After checking on Harry, the Doctor goes out to inspect the oil rig wreckage where he discovers strange holes in the foundation. After taking a cast of the holes with plaster of Paris, the cast reveals what looks like the shape of an impossibly large sharp tooth. During a call with the Doctor, Sarah is attacked by the previously seen alien hand, which belongs to none other than a fearsome Zygon! I've always loved their design, especially in this scene. Something about the shape of its mouth is particularly disturbing. I was slightly disappointed about the redesign from the new series. I'm a big fan of the Zygon cat nose. I almost named one of my cats Zygon due to his dark orange fur and similar nose shape, but my partner at the time vetoed that idea. I named him Rory instead.

After discovering both Harry and Sarah missing, the Doctor discovers Sarah in a decompression room for divers, the door slightly ajar. I was annoyed by the fact that the Doctor fell for such an obvious trap, but it also led to an intriguing sequence. Harry's nurse, Sister Lamont, closes the heavy door behind the Doctor and seals it shut for decompression. Running out of air, the Doctor hypnotises Sarah and enters into a trance to conserve air. I'm a big fan of any time the Doctor acts like a bit of a mystic. I'm a meditator myself, so it's cool to see the Doctor tap into the innate powers of thought control. One of the side effects of certain meditations is a slowing of breathing. It was nice that the scene doesn't overly explain this. It allows Tom the chance to really play up his weird alien charm as his eyes roll back and he howls toward the ceiling. Moments like these are why I love Tom Baker so much. He's not afraid of being utterly bizarre.

It's around this time we begin to learn a little about the Zygons. Having taken Harry to their ship, their leader, Broton, tells him a bit about their history. After they crash-landed centuries ago they awaited rescue while subsiding on the lactic fluid of their giant Nessie-like cyborg pet known as the Skarasen. That's correct, you did not misread that- they feed off of cyborg breast milk. Only with a show like Doctor Who can you get a sentence like that. You've kind of got to love that. After discovering their planet was destroyed by a cosmic event, they redirected their efforts toward getting their suckers on Earth. The Skarasen is to be the form of Earth's destructor, as no human weapon could hope to penetrate its augmented skin. In order to move their plan into motion, the Zygons gas the village, knocking the Brigadier and the UNIT soldiers out cold, thus allowing them to move in secret. Luckily for the Doctor and Sarah, Sergeant Benton was on the lookout for them where he saves them from death by asphyxiation.

After coming to, Huckle gives the Doctor a bio-emitter that attracts the Skarasen, which he found among the wreckage of the rig. Having bugged the inn, the Zygons reveal to Harry that they use the psychic imprint of humans in order to mimic their form. He sees the likes of Sister Lamont, Caber, and the Duke, stored in hibernation chambers, maintaining a link to their Zygon counterparts. They use Harry's form to slip back to the inn where they may fetch the emitter. But he is intercepted by Sarah who is concerned by his odd behaviour. She chases him into a barn where they scuffle in a manner that had me weirdly thinking of “Super Vixens.” Russ Meyer's Doctor Who is not something I ever expected to imagine. After a bit of trouble, Zygon Harry falls from a hayloft onto his own pitchfork, killing him instantly and revealing himself to Sarah as a Zygon. However, the crafty Zygons completely evaporate his remains to hide any evidence. I wondered why they didn't just do the same thing to the emitter in the first place, but I guess the answer is "it doesn't do that." Ok, sure, whatever. Now free from his psychic link with the Zygon, Harry is able to sneak about on their ship unabated.

After realising the Zygons were working from the shadows, the Doctor assumes they must have bugged the inn somewhere, so the lads go about searching the place from top to bottom. I love Angus' indignant response to the idea that his inn might have actual bugs. Angus Lennie's performance as Angus is a true highlight in the story. Afraid of the humans discovering that the goofy stag head must be the bug, the Zygons decide to send the Skarasen to rid themselves of these tiresome humans. After figuring out the secret of the emitter, the Doctor draws the Skarasen away from the village only to find it has fused itself to his hand. But Harry's meddling with the ship's systems allows the Doctor the ability to toss the emitter in the path of the Skarasen, destroying it in the process. 

The Doctor and friends meet up and go to Forgill Castle to ask permission to drop depth charges into Loch Ness, the source of the signal. Their hope is to draw the Zygons out. Meanwhile, the Sister Lamont Zygon goes to fetch the stag head and fights with Angus in the process, killing him. It's a sad ending for one of the more likeable characters, but it's also kind of wonderful in its simplicity. I never quite understood why the Zygons needed to turn people into electric balls of something I might pull out of my hairbrush, as they did in "The Zygon Invasion." If anything, I much prefer the updates they received in Mark Morris' "The Bodysnatchers." Using venom from their suckers matches their physiology far better than superpowers. Morris really fleshed out the Zygons in a way I wish the show would. Seeing them in their initial incarnation using brute force seems far more practical to me. I think sometimes, more is less.

After discovering a way into the Zygon ship, they save Harry, but the Zygons flee with the Doctor still onboard. The Doctor gets a wonderful opportunity to match wits with Broton in a speech that includes my all-time favourite Fourth Doctor line- "You can't rule the world in hiding. You've got to come out on to the balcony sometimes and wave a tentacle." Evidently, that line was ad-libbed by Tom Baker, only further solidifying my love for the man. He makes a good point though, the Zygons have mostly been working from the shadows, in secret. The Zygons fly away, masking their trail from UNIT, still hiding. I must admit, it's not abundantly clear what their plan actually is. Sure they intend to use the Skarasen against earth's weapons, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of explanation as to how the oil rigs play into everything. There's mention of turning the Earth into something more habitable for Zygons, but I'm honestly not sure. I asked my boyfriend what his impression was, and he couldn't quite figure it out either.

There's a lot of what happens at this point in the story that seems like happenstance. The UNIT crew and Sarah end up going to London, which also happens to be where the Zygons have set their next target. They plan to swim the Skarasen up the Thames to wreak havoc on Westminster Abbey. In my review for "Castrovalva," I mentioned how the Fourth Doctor's super-heroics were oftentimes overstated, and what comes next is nothing shy of extraordinary. After rigging some ventricle type wiring from within his cell, the Doctor uses his own body to complete the circuit, allowing UNIT to see past the Zygon's scramblers and pinpoint their location. I loved that it was Benton that did this, by the way. This was twice in one story where Benton got to play hero. They pinpoint the ship's location to be a disused quarry, which made me ugly cackle. Classic Doctor Who used quarries so often to make up an alien planet, that the idea of them saying "This actually is a quarry," seemed almost cheeky. Broton, thinking the Doctor has died, uses his Duke disguise once more to go plant another emitter in Westminster. After releasing the human captives aboard the Zygon ship, the Doctor sounds an alarm and sets off the self destruct killing the remaining Zygons onboard. Yay, murder!

The UNIT soldiers dispatch Broton after a fumbling fight scene between him, Harry, and Sarah. All the while, the Skarasen is working its way up the Thames. It's a brilliant little bit of puppetry mixed with stop motion animation that I found completely charming. Even if it does look a bit naff, it's effective enough to be a suitable set piece to end such an episode. It's very much within the tone of the story to have the Loch Ness monster stomping through London. The Doctor manages to trace the emitter and toss it into the open jaws of the Skarasen. It nom nom noms the emitter into nothingness, causing it to lose all interest in the Abbey. The Doctor casually supposes that it will most likely return to its home of Loch Ness. I loved that the show kept the Loch Ness mystery intact. After all is said and done, "Nessie," may still be out there. It wouldn't have felt right killing off a beloved cryptid that brings so much wonder to many. Such feelings of wonder are what Doctor Who thrives upon. Sadly, while we got to keep Nessie, we say goodbye to some regulars. This marks the last regular appearance of both the Brigadier and Harry. With the Doctor no longer relegated to the Earth, UNIT begins to play a much smaller role in the story. And Harry, now back in London, hasn't a lot of need to continue travelling with the Doctor. It's an almost unceremonious end of an era for Doctor Who.

All in all, I really enjoyed this story. While I feel like it somewhat falls apart in the final act, the mystery and intrigue in the first few episodes really draw you in. Even my boyfriend, who is a casual fan, was drawn in by the atmosphere. You can see the beginnings of what was to become the more horror-themed stories such as "The Talons of Weng-Chiang," or "The Horror of Fang Rock." The Zygons are, for me at least, a classic baddie. They may not be as popular or iconic as the Daleks or Cybermen, but I think they work as their own kind of threat. Bringing them back has also proven to be successful. The Big Finish audio "The Zygon Who Fell to Earth," is well worth a listen. There's a lot of care put into this story that I think makes it stand out from others. Geoffrey Burgon's beautifully haunting music was a nice change of pace from Dudley Simpson's usual work. The track "A Landing in Scotland," is particularly memorable. The Zygon ship interior being organic was a unique touch that we rarely see in Doctor Who, save for maybe "The Claws of Axos," and the model work was also pretty damn charming. Having recently been to both Loch Ness and Ben Nevis, it really added something to the experience as well. There is a surprisingly low amount of episodes that take place in Scotland, which is unfortunate. If there's anything this trip has taught me, is that Scotland has a lot to offer. There are so many peaks and valleys covered with lush greenery and deep dark waters. It's easy to imagine that somewhere, something is lurking down below. Hats off to Robert Banks Stewart and Robert Holmes for seeing this potential, and turning out something magical.

[uniiiquehecrt]

TTS THEORY: The Dark Kingdom Heir.

THE DARK KINGDOM HEIR THEORY. | Past &. Present. | Cassandrium | Physical Similarities.| Portraits. | Rapunzel &. Varian. |  Dreams vs. Reality. |

So a lot of people have been speculating that there might be someone in the main cast of the show Tangled the Series who is a direct relation to King Edmund. 

Some have suggested Eugene, others have suggested Cassandra, and so I’d like to put my hat in the ring by suggesting someone nobody else seems to have thought of: Quirin.

Now you may be thinking to yourself, “But Vi, Quirin isn’t in the main cast and we saw him expressly calling King Edmund ‘Your Majesty!’”, to which I say, “Yes fellow viewer, you’re right that Quirin isn’t part of the core 3 main characters and he DID call King Edmund ‘Your Majesty’, but have you considered this:

Varian and Lance, Pascal and Max are all considered to be part of the “main cast”. Varian especially for being the FIRST and arguably MAIN villain of the series. They’re both constant, reoccurring characters who hold some weight in the show’s plot. Quirin is ESPECIALLY tied to the main story.

Real Princes and Princesses still called their mothers and fathers “your majesty” in medieval times. It was actually more likely that they call their parents by his/her formal title rather than “mother” and “father”. It was customary, and it was especially required in formal situations.”

Tangled the Series has presented a character in a way OPPOSITE of their intended purpose in the show. (Varian.) It’s a similar technique most notably called a red herring. 

With Quirin being specifically cast alongside Adira (who we KNOW is plot relevant) and King Edmund (who we also know is plot relevant and likely a returning cast member for s2, be it real time or flashbacks), why HAVEN’T we given Quirin a chance at the Dark Kingdom crown? We know little to nothing about Quirin except for his mark &. that, clearly, he comes from the dark kingdom (DK). so let’s start with the mark.

Not only is this mark (the alchemical symbol for comet, btw) on both Adira (right hand = ‘right-hand man / support &. loyalty. ) and Quirin’s hand ( left hand = commitment. ) , but it’s featured as the clasp of Quirin and Edmund’s cloaks. It’s framed as a centerpiece of their outfit - with both men wearing similar armor, mind you, whereas Adira’s symbol is worn on her waist. (keep this in mind for later.)

Then there are facial features shared between Quirin, Edmund, and even Varian.

 Noses.

A common and dominant trait commonly shared when it comes to genetic + noses is a broad , roman , “eagle-like” nose. This trait is especially seen in King Edmund and mirrored closely in Quirin’s nose as well. Varian, too, emulates the “hooked nose” that King Edmund has, only Varian’s nose points up like his mother’s (from the portrait.)

Ears.

Ears are another physical feature greatly reliant on genetics. Mostly when it comes to detached and attached earlobes. DETACHED earlobes are a COMMON trait, meaning that the gene is a dominant one. ATTACHED earlobes are, thus, a recessive trait, and harder to find.

Admittedly, in the show’s arty style it is hard to say whether or not Quirin, Edmund and Varian have detached or attached earlobes, but their ear shapes are incredibly similar. Quirin and Edmund both have small, angular ears, and while Varian’s are similar to Edmund’s in shape at the bottom (suggesting a similar earlobe), his are more rounded, again taking physical features from his mother.

Eyes.

Eyes are ESPECIALLY important in a person’s physical features and this especially holds true in an animated show. Quirin is most notably drawn with squinted eyes,but they are the same shade of brown as Edmund’s. Varian and Edmund also have EXTREMELY similar eye shapes, being round and wide, and similar eyebrows (thin, angular, and more defined than Quirin’s.)

It’s also important to note that in the flashback, Quirin’s eyes were animated to look EXACTLY like King Edmund’s, brown, round, and wide eyes. Not only does this further draw physical similarities but also draws more similarities between Quirin and his son Varian, who - again - has wide, round blue eyes. (something that, at the very least, Varian VERY likely could have gotten from his mother.)

Face Shape.

Quirin and Edmund also have nearly identical face shapes: long, with high, prominent cheekbones, small ears, brown eyes, a hooked and/or roman nose, and a large, rectangular jaw.

It’s also interesting to note that all three men in question share very similar expressions when it comes to something pertaining to the rocks, and leaving (or in quirin’s case, not leaving) the rocks alone.

“Alright Vi,” you might be saying, “you’ve got me on Quirin and Edmund looking alike, but I’m still not buying it. What other evidence do you have?” 

HOH BOY do I have a plethora.

So let’s start with ATTIRE.

these are a few examples, but here we can observe and deduce a few things:

only King Edmund, King Fredrick, Queen Arianna, and Princess Rapunzel have been shown to wear furs in their attire. But then the outliers are Adira, Quirin and Varian.

all three of these outliers are of some great importance, not only to the plot but the universe of the story.

Furs are INCREDIBLY rare to be seen in common attire in the middle ages. It was incredibly expensive, and worth more to common folk if the furs they poached were then SOLD to make a profit. 

YET we not only see Quirin wearing furs in his normal attire, but VARIAN wearing furs on his cloak. Adira, too, can be deduced to be of some high rank (again, keep this in mind) , so this fits in theme.

ONLY ROYALS HAVE BEEN SHOWN TO WEAR PRINCELY CAPES.

King Trevor is shown to wear a cape, King Edmund is also shown to wear a cape, and yet so is Quirin. This automatically puts him above the others, and for good reason.

Now, you COULD argue that people like Quaid have been shown to wear capes, but Quaid has a very informal cape. It slings across his shoulder, isn’t especially long, and has a strange neck adornment. (x.)

Quirin’s cape is especially similar to stereotypical princely capes (x) / (x) / (x) / (x) / (x) , something that Quaid’s cape does NOT resemble. (Quaid’s cape actually makes me think more of paladin!shiro’s cape but w/e not the point.)

Quirin and Varian both wear RED

This is especially important because in medieval times, true red the likes of Quirin’s tunic, Varian’s scarf, and Quirin’s cape weren’t common dyes for common folk. There is a REASON why little to no commoners in the background are wearing anything true, bright reds. True, deep, rich red was mostly worn by more wealthy people, including royals like King Trevor shown above.

Again, Quirin wears deep red in his normal everyday attire.

This deep red is also the EXACT same shade of red as King Trevor’s attire and cape.

So let’s get back to ADIRA.

Adira is especially interesting, because she’s - as my friend and co-creator of a majority of this theory @shadowweirdo​ has stated - a “fully-realized Cassandra”. Adira is everything that Cassandra wants to be: calm, cool-under-fire, strong, confident...

And their clothes even match.

Both sport clothes that primarily have the colours Red, Yellow, Grey and Black. The difference is that Cassandra - in matching of her personality - wears colours that are muted versions of Adira’s. In a way visually showcasing that Cassandra has the potential to become very much like Adira, she just hasn’t learned how to be.

And if Adira is in fact Cassandra’s DK!parallel, then she fits perfectly.

The framing and positioning of this shot and each character is incredibly similar. We have a royal on the right side of a servant whose hands are clasped, and whose face is angled down. she’s looking up at the highest ranking royal in respect.

and it’s something Cassandra is shown to do often. Because she’s a lady-in-waiting to the crown princess, Rapunzel.

Adira sports many of the personality traits and skill sets necessary to be a considered bonafide bodyguard to Rapunzel and co. If the crown Princess of Corona has her own personal bodyguard in Cassandra, why wouldn’t the Crown Prince of the DK?

It’s even further implied by how Quirin and Adira interact with one another. Adira is constantly behind him, and so far, the two never outright speak to or look at each other either.

This idea of Adira being a servant or bodyguard to the crown (or a specific member of the crown) is further supported by the placement of the DK!Comet symbol on her sash. It’s further down her torso than that of Quirin and Edmund, suggesting that, while her mark is to be noticed, it’s not front and center. You are not supposed to look at her mark first, which is an exact opposite of a symbol resting directly over your chest.

So now you may be saying to yourself “Well, Vi,  for all your points, I’m still not convinced.”

To which i would like to conclude with one question: have you ever noticed that Varian’s household is the ONLY family in TTS shown to have a family portrait besides the royal family of Corona?

Have you ever noticed that the portraits are MIRROR IMAGES of one another? Don’t believe me? Have a look:

The framing, the hand positioning, the two parents smiling down at their newborn child; these portraits are meant to be mirrors of one another. There was a REASON why the show-runners of TTS made it a point to linger on Varian’s family portrait.

And I believe that that reason is because Varian and Quirin are the living (or at least currently canonically present) heirs to the throne of the Dark Kingdom.

[sever-heart-archive]

Awakening

“Keep your distance. At present, we’re not entirely sure if everything will hold it, now that it’s fully conscious.”

[ music ]

Chains clinked, the hot arcing hiss of interlaced binding spells straining against the muffled shrieking of the creature they held. The laboratory had a dank smell, overlaid with the tang of chemicals and reagents. A faint smile curled Neshua’s lips, but beneath the smooth veneer he maintained, excitement welled. Finally, there were signs, however minimal. Perhaps his lord would receive the results commanded of him after all.

Inky hair hung in the creature’s face, and it was gagged by an enchanted mask. Mad fury shone in black-shot igneous eyes. It had been this way every time thus far, but for this occasion. With the latest series of treatments, when addressed directly, it had paused in its wailing. It looked right at Neshua, and he could see intellect behind the chaos. 

Thick dust pervaded the gloom, getting in Firi’s nose and lungs and making him choke. Large stones that had made up the cavern ceiling littered the area, large sentinels in his blurry vision. There were vague pains answering the mind’s query into the rest of the body, but a sharp one answered from his arm. It all had a very familiar feel. Aurelio’s ghostly visage appeared, his dark eyes anguished.

Firi woke with a start, his heart pounding. Someone had strapped him to a bed. 

Why? 

As his thoughts cleared, he calmed, but not for long. In a rush, everything that happened at Karazhan came flooding back. Learning to summon, to manipulate the dark magic of the left-hand path. Hunting the power fluctuations. A selfish mage’s deceit. The Cinder Stone, and the sacrifice of his master.

Tristan…

Subsequent decades were hazy. The last thing he remembered was sinking deep into the ocean. Out of desperation, he’d taken a boat out, tied a net of stones to his legs and thrown himself in. 

Somehow, even then, he’d known he wouldn’t die. A last bastion of his rational mind realized the power could never be destroyed, and he had failed to control it, or the desires its true owners enacted through it. Unfortunately, despite wards to hide him, even in the remotest part of the frozen sea they had still found him, and he recalled nothing but darkness between then and now.

The myriad assortment of emotions that tore through barely had time to resolve when the bolts on his cell door were thrown. An odd-looking pair of elves admitted themselves, one with a scholarly look, the other muscular. The latter of the two carried spell-inscribed manacles, but it was the former who smiled.

“I am pleased to see you’ve returned to yourself. Do not be alarmed by my assistant, those are only for transport purposes. While you’ve remained in a stable state for the last few weeks, every precaution must be observed.

“Tell me,” he continued, coming nearer and crouching. “Are you hungry? We’ve kept you suitably nourished, but I can’t imagine it was terribly satisfying.” He gave him an appraising look, his odd blue eyes incisive, curious. “Something will be sent down. Once you’ve eaten, you’ll be bathed and made presentable. Our benefactor has something to discuss with you.”

Firi had questions, but the gagging mask remained, magically adhered. He could only look on in confusion. The larger elf released him from the bed in short order, applying the manacles just as quickly. As unsettling as it would normally feel being cut off from magic, he instead felt relief. Left alone a short while, a bowl of food finally slipped through the hatch on the door. When the room was resealed, the mask changed shape, allowing for a small spoon.

Silence kept him company while he ate, little time passing between the last bite he’d taken, the return of the large elf, and the gag in his mask. He was led down a quiet hallway of doors like his. Sound wards were etched into each, along with a mixture of other spell-work. A right turn went down another hallway, into a tiled room. His manacles were placed on a high-hanging hook, bringing his arms up. Scissors were taken from a locking case, and his long hair was hacked off to near the shoulders. The other then took a long-handled brush and liquid soap and washed Firi head to toe, carefully rinsing with a sprayer. Quickly dabbed with a towel, well-cut clothing was put on him with the aid of a second attendee.

They seemed to walk forever. Corridors led to stairs, and those led to corridors, until he was placed in a chair in a spacious empty room. The scholarly elf appeared, moving to stand behind. Firi’s raven brows rose in curiosity when a portal opened. A moment later, a nebulous being drifted from its depths and drew close.

YES, THIS IS THE ONE, it murmured. Though in truth, he’d felt the words more than heard them. Shadow-chased glimmering eyes bored into him. I CAN RETURN YOU YOUR FREEDOM, FIRIORI NINAEL. FOR A PRICE.

The process itself had been exceedingly painful. He’d nearly died from the trauma several times, and remained passed out for much of it. In the end, at least, there was a new silence to Firi’s mind, and a strange lightness to his being he hadn’t thought possible. Memory of every atrocity he’d committed as a Herald had returned, every awful deed more than enough to sicken the most hardened. It was vaguely odd to him that he felt indifferent, but didn’t dwell on it.

Returned to his rooms at Karazhan, Firi stood in front of his mirror for a long time. Snarled, shoulder-length black hair was tucked into a hood pulled low, but it did little to hide the bluish tinge to his formerly silvered skin. Smoldering orange remained in his eyes, though black now dominated, having spread to the sclera to leave the autumn hue a glowing ring amid the dark. Normal elven fingers absentmindedly pulled his collar open. He considered the arrangement of indigo spell-forms etched into the left side of his chest and shoulder. They were placed amid larger black runes that covered him from the collarbones down - his inheritance from his master.

It would take time getting used to a body like this, after so many years. Firi lived, but was changed. Part of the power that had enslaved him was gone, the amount remaining more than manageable. The whispers had fled, his thoughts clear at last. Tell-tale attributes could be hidden for the most part. His life was, more or less, his own again.

There were many questions left unanswered, and they inspired a restless feeling. How had they managed to take him from his former masters? How had they achieved what had been offered? Firi knew there was more than a good chance he’d only exchanged allegiances, from one group of powerful beings to another. But what was the true cost?

Firi shook his head at his reflection. In the meantime, he had orders. There were others like him, and items that bestowed similar power. As he was, Firi could feel them – this new benefactor had made him into a living compass, and it would be easy hunting. Dawn broke pale amid the eastern mountains as he pulled a scarf up, breath misting in the chill air. He summoned a wrathsteed, his long cloak whirling as he mounted and departed.

[smiling-hope-blog]

Alibi

Tags: non-au & fluff. Cast: Ouma Kokichi & Kiibo. Pairing: Ouma x Kiibo. Story Summary: Now is the final countdown of Chapter One. Ouma Kokichi is one of those hiding in his room as he waits with the music and noise drowning his ears for his lonely death, until an unexpected visitor comes with a purpose unknown. Warnings: Slight madness and paranoia towards death. Kiibo is referred to as "they." Author's Note: For the beginning of story, I do not remember the exact words used within the actual game; therefore, I used substitutes that fulfill the same purpose. Word Count: 2.7k (about 14 min).

"So you want to know my alibi?"

"Yes. Where were you at the time of the murder?"

"..."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I am just searching for the right words. It's rather difficult to explain... I was just... just in my room..."

"Nishishishi. This is all getting rather exciting." His purple eyes laid upon the countdown displayed so conveniently on the monitor. The smile that was formed fell from his face to a frown. "Although, if it ends like this then it's boring. So boring. It's not even a game anymore just a massacre. Boring." He plopped his light small body onto his plain bed and tucked his arms behind his head. As he stared at the empty ceiling, a smile reappeared slowly as the gears turned within his head. "Unless, someone murders someone." Was the darkly whispered foreshadow of fate. "Promises are meant to be broken after all. Who knows, someone may come in and murder me. Nishishi! I would love to see them try."

Music blared from the speakers, menacing and annoying; the monitor flashed images of colorful group murders swiftly. The teen felt no worries. Though startled, he could feel his mind counting down the seconds as he continued to gaze at the ceiling. One. Two. Three... The seconds until death accompanied by the tune. Maybe it would have been maddening if he wasn't already mad.

Click. He could have sworn he heard something. Clatter. Clatter. His eyes slid unamused to the door. "So they're out there waiting, huh? How boring. Whatever. If they want to bring hell then let them. I won't go down easily." With those last words, he closed his eyes. Heavy trembling breaths. The illusion must stay strong.

BANG!!! The teenager snapped to attention and jolted to a sitting position. Though the bed was very comfortable, it now felt as if it was the hardest of rocks. The door to his room was blown open wide and what stood there was not a white and black bear horde but rather one robot, the robot. His lips parted to a scream. "AHH!!! THE TERMINATOR'S HERE!!!!!" His voice cut the music but did not faze the stern look of the bright blue eyes that rested upon him. Slowly, the robot approached him and he backed away. This continued: the robot's advancement and his retreat. What was this? Why? Was this... fear?

His tiny back pressed up against the wall with his legs against his chest, and the robot came closer still with unreadable eyes and an unmovable expression. Dry was his throat so he tried to swallow, but the lump was hard and heavy. Instead, his mouth hung open breathing in the air of tension. They joined him upon his bed and kept on coming till they seated before him. Only a foot separated them from each other and kept their legs from touching.

"I can't..." Came the voice that sounded so human but so soft. Their black hands reached up and grabbed his shoulders firmly. He was certain they could feel his heartbeat emulating. Where were these hands going to go? His neck? His waist? He waited. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he wanted to do. His mind was blank.

Instead, he observed the unreadable eyes for the determination of murder. He was very much suprised by what he found. Those eyes began to shake as hard as he was. Then, their true strong voice stated their purpose. "I can't stop hearing this song!! It's driving me crazy!! Please I beg of you to help me, Ouma-kun!"

"Eh!!" Kokichi found his voice once more. "That's what you knocked down my door for! You're so dumb, Kiiboy-chan! Solve this yourself!!" With that, he knocked off the hands that gripped him and formed his face into a scowl.

Kiibo's hands fell into his lap and began to fidget with each other. They confessed. "Well, I... I don't know what I can do..."

Though he was not in his best of moods, Kokichi slyly drew closer to Kiibo's face and whispered. "Welp, I suppose I could give you a hint. You just need to kill someone." He observed the eyes widen and their trembling stop. Satisfied, the teen postured into a straight back with crossing his legs and cracked his neck hidden under his checkered scarf.

"Don't suggest such a thing in such a manner! Even in this situation, murder is unacceptable!" The robot bellowed their beliefs with mild annoyance written all over their face. This was one of the moments Kokichi was glad that robots could not spit. They were close; too close.

Instead, he muttered dryly and looked away at the wide open doorway. "So you would rather sit here and die at the hands of Monokumas?" Thanks to Kiibo, they were in even more danger and a quicker death, but he decided against mentioning that.

"It's 100% better than the alternative." Was the rather solemn reply as if Kiibo already accepted their fate. The fate of being victims. That just made him chuckle.

"What about my hands?" Kokichi met their gaze once more. Alarm was present in those crystal eyes, but they did not comment nor move from the spot they occupied. Rather, they waited with clenched fists and tightened lips as if they wanted an explanation. A reason to defend their life. That simplicity amused him greatly and the smile returned to his face. The teen raised his right hand and touched Kiibo's cheek with his small index finger. He dragged it down following the black line within the crack on their face. As it dropped to the edge of their chin, he spoke once more. "You know I can kill you now. I promise to make it nice and painless. As long as it's fun for me that is."

Kiibo still did not flinch. With really no reason that Kokichi could see, they just slightly shook their head. "No way. Even if you are a robophobic, you wouldn't do that, Ouma-kun."

"Shi..." He returned his hand to his lap and pouted. "Well, whatever. It was a lie anyway. Killing you would take way too long and be a waste of effort." He could see the "I knew it" reflecting through the scowl that formed on their face, though most likely the reason he gave injured them greatly. He let out a little yawn. Bored from this conversation, Kokichi decided to return to the original topic. "Anyway, to solve the noise problem can't you just clog your ears or something?" After saying such, he examined the strange ears that Kiibo possessed: black circular and what looked like ear muffs devices covered where his ears should be. He kind of regretted asking that question now.

The robot looked down at their hands and answered. "Um, well. My "ears" are located on my hands along with my senses of touch and smell. So it's rather difficult." He followed their gaze to the robotic black hands resting on their dark grey plated legs. They were twitching every couple of seconds at some of the higher tones of the songs. Now that their attention was brought back to the music, Kokichi observed that their face also flinched in small ways by the corners of their lips and eyes. Interesting.

"Ja, what about this?" Without any hesitation or giving Kiibo a chance to react, he lunged forward and cupped their hands with his own. If the robotic parts could tense, he felt it within the fists not much larger than his own. As a reassurance, he smiled selflessly.

"Ou- Ouma-kun!" With every right, Kiibo was startled by the strange and unpredictable movements of Kokichi. But they did not attempt to wiggle their hands free, rather they looked as if they were unable to process such a situation. What a weird act was before them, thus they tensely waited.

"Nishishi!" He guided their hands to be in the middle of them as if the space that was there existed just for this moment. Once more, he was reminded that this was a bed, a comfortable bed, by the sheets tickling their hands. As a distraction, he asked of the robot. "What do you think, Kiiboy-chan? Works?"

Kiibo closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Ah, yes. Somewhat. It's not as loud as it used to be." The hands slowly unwinded from the fists that they were. Kokichi was surprised; he suddenly realized that their hands were not cold like metal should be but rather contained a warmth he found himself longing to hold onto. Soothing, but he must not let them know.

"Still though. Kiiboy, you are so lame. Why are your hands those critical parts? One chop, and you're disabled in three different ways." Kokichi giggled his tease and watched the robot sigh once more, not of relaxation but rather disappointment.

"You're being rude again." Kiibo muttered to the teen and opened their eyes to rest upon their hands again. They tried to explain the importance of their hands to his indifferent ears. "My hands were built for functionality and comfort, while including fifty different functions. I find no problem with them."

He just rolled his eyes unimpressed. "Lame." That word escaped his mouth and the robot obviously flinched at the harshness in his tone. They did not say anything; however, to protect themselves. They merely soaked in his "robophobia" without a word but was saddened nonetheless. The music continued to haunt the silence between the two. Kokichi breathed in and out, and slid his eyes over to the brightly flashing screen. "Kiiboy-chan, it's almost time."

"Indeed." Was all the robot could muster to say, not moving a single inch of their body. They just remained slumped and miserable.

Eyeing them, Kokichi groaned and slumped his back against the wall. "What a boring game. Three days of life to be ended so abruptly. I wish it could continue."

His complaints stirred Kiibo to meet his eyes. He saw thoughtful thinking and processing running courses through the programing. He smiled a hidden smile. Finally, Kiibo placed their thoughts before him. "Even though it is a low probability, I can say I feel similar; however, that would mean someone would be sacrificed for our own survival. That is unacceptable." They were firm and resolute, without a trace of the misery that remain before. The robot was so easy to direct.

Kokichi sat back up and cheerfully spoke in light of their situation. "Well, at least we will go together. Will you fight, Kiiboy? Rocket punch?"

"I can't fight..." As if they were hiding something, Kiibo's voice trailed off absentmindedly. Though he had to admit curiosity, the teen did not want to heard some long story nor fight to hear it. Just was not enough time. There would be plenty more time in the afterlife.

So, he adjusted. "Then the only use for you is a shield. Nishishishi! Make sure to protect me well, 'kay?" The light jab was greeted by a gasp from the robot. How diabolical of him to suggest such a position for the lowly them. He was impressed by himself. He truly is the ultimate evil supreme leader.

"I wish I could take offense; however, I am more durable than you so I can actually shield you for a while." They accepted his words with saddened truth. Kokichi meant it as a joke but Kiibo was so serious. He was even more startled by their hands. Kiibo adjusted their hands to where they were locked together with Kokichi's. The robot continued their plea with a new form of purpose. "Yes, I will try to protect you and when that happens, make sure to run. As long as you keep moving you will have a greater chance for survival."

He narrowed his purple eyes and squeezed Kiibo's hands in return. "Stupid Kiiboy. I'm not running."

His declaration must have been so outlandish to Kiibo that all they could do was squeak. "Eh?" Or maybe they were blind to the truth. But either way annoyed the teenager greatly.

"I'm not going anywhere." Kokichi looked away and puffed his cheeks a little. This robot was just so dumb. "I said we will go together and that's not a lie. If you think about it practically, I would just be forestalling the inevitable. A waste of time and boring."

Kiibo tried to reason with him. "But Ouma-kun-" Kokichi silenced him with a stern gaze. That was all it took.

Then he relaxed his muscles and pondered some thoughts, all the while reading the robot for fear or something else. "Though I never got to do what I wanted to do in this place, I would rather die here. That would really piss off someone in particular. Doing such is an act of rebellion, don't ya think?"

"I don't understand your logic, but in any case..." Kiibo shook their head and a smile formed on their face at the childish teen. They finally completely stopped trembling. "It was somewhat a pleasure knowing you, Ouma-kun."

"The pleasure was all mine, Kiiboy-chan! That's a lie, though!" One minute left. The music continued. Though they ignored what he said, Kokichi observed Kiibo's eyes close as if they were waiting for the death to come or maybe to salvage the last moments of life. Regardless, he had no intention to do the same. His heart pounded with such painful apprehension, but still he did not close his eyes nor move them from the robot's death-like face. Their hands gripped each others tighter and tighter. The music continued. He shifted himself into a new postion mirroring Kiibo's before him. Carefully, Kokichi drew himself nearer to them. It was almost time. Time to depart from this world. But still, the teenager had one last wish. He was so close their noses almost touched and he mindlessly wondered if Kiibo could sense him; sense him and his desire.

Ding. Ding. Dong. Dong. "A body has been discovered. Everyone please gather in the library."

"Eh? What?! A body?!!" Kiibo's eyes snapped open so fast, Kokichi had no time to react. Their close gaze only locked for a minute before the robot peeled away, unaware of the other's motives no doubt. They jumped off the bed and began to pace in confusion.

Kokichi grumbled. "That means someone was murdered, doesn't it?" He was sour but he stood up as well. Already missing the moment, the warmth, the safety, and the desire.

However, he pushed those wants to the back of his mind as Kiibo's expression turned to horror and they gasped. "Oh no! That's terrible!! Let's hurry, Ouma-kun!" With that, they dashed to the entrance of Kokichi's room.

"Wait, Kiibo." Kokichi commanded and the robot halted. He waited until they turned around and looked him equally in the eye. "Can you keep this meeting private? It would really dampen my image if it was heard that I had to protect a fearful and powerless robot in my last moments."

"Oye! That's not what happened! What are you trying to pull, Ouma-kun?!" As Kiibo asked him that question, Kokichi lightly skipped by them out into the main entryway that connected all the dorms together.

"Nothing! Nishishishi!" He giggled and dashed away down the stairs, while tossing out the last few words. "Just don't expect people to believe you, I'll deny it with every lie I got!"

"Get back here!!" With the robot in hot pursuit, Kokichi headed to the murder more excited than ever. The game was continuing, not only the killing game, but his own personal one that only Kiibo and him were a part of. His true enjoyment.

[texanredrose]

Celebrity Matchmaker (Part 3)

And the final contestant.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (here) / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8  

The redhead took her place beside Blake, offering her typical, confident smile to the cameras and greeting the Faunus warmly. Thankfully, the remaining candidates liked the others quite a bit, negating any unpleasant bickering during the final weeks of the show. It was both a blessing and a curse; in previous seasons, the sniping towards the end as contestants tried to improve their chances by tearing down their competition revealed who was in it for the fame and glamour and who genuinely just wanted the romantic lead to be happy. Bereft of that, Weiss got the benefit of a calm run for the show in terms of squabbling at the expense of never really knowing if veiled unpleasantness lurked beneath the surface.

At least, in theory. To her mind, she'd seen more than enough to banish that doubt; Blake was exceptionally snarky until after breakfast and her morning tea and Pyrrha had absolutely no patience or appreciation for scary movies or pranks involving jump scares. She didn't consider either to be exclusively bad traits but they did show other sides to their personalities that Weiss probably wouldn't have guessed at otherwise. Certainly not enough to count either out as a viable prospect, both to the audience and to Weiss.

"It's good to see you, Pyrrha," Coco said, keeping the show moving right along, aiming to get through all the introductions before the first commercial break.

"And the same to you," the woman replied, her dazzling smile in place. "I'm so happy to have made it this far."

"This is probably the first competition you've entered where getting to the final stages wasn't practically guaranteed, huh?"

Although her expression tightened by just the barest amounts, both Weiss and Blake noticed the slight misstep in the host's words, but Pyrrha maintained her composure despite that. "I like to think that the competition portion took a backseat to getting to know Weiss, and the other contestants." Emerald eyes slid to the Faunus standing beside her briefly, who graciously nodded her head in agreement. "These past few weeks, I think, have proven that coming here was one of my best decisions, no matter how things turn out."

Another round of applause followed, with Coco stepping away for a moment to draw attention off the redhead. The movie star disliked the fact she had to stay in her assigned spot for the time being, unable to offer a soft word of encouragement to Pyrrha, but she could see out of her corner of her eye how Blake leaned over and said something. The tension in the woman's shoulders lessened, a thankful smile flashed towards the Faunus, and Weiss let loose a subdued sigh of relief. Soon, the whole spectacle would be over, and perhaps she could take a more direct approach in discouraging such remarks. It would be nice if others recognized Pyrrha for the three dimensional person she was rather than reducing her to the titles bestowed by others.

"And that brings us to the last but certainly not least of our contestants." Coco waved towards off stage. "Everyone, please, give it up for the rock star of the century, Yang Xiao Long of Vale!"

Weiss half expected smoke machines, pyrotechnics, and a full band to accompany the entrance, which would be par for the course when it came to the boisterous woman, but no. Instead, she simply strode into view, with her usually unruly mane held in check by a thin hair tie at her shoulders and an unusually small, modest smile on her lips. Her yellow tuxedo- and it was a true tuxedo, rather than a ripped or altered version- was perhaps a bit loud for just about anyone else, but for Yang, it seemed subdued, about as formal as the woman would go while still wearing her scuffed brown boots and an orange bow tie rather than her quintessential scarf. For the majority of the past sixteen weeks, the blonde had been nothing less than a constantly burning wildfire, boasting to anyone who'd listen and maintaining the high octane reputation she'd carried for the past several years.

It would be entirely untrue to say the persona was maintained for the purpose of the audience; although a good number of her fans tuned in each week to watch the rock star's antics in the manor, the puns, jokes, pranks, and volume were there whether or not the cameras were, too. Yang simply lived loudly, often racing from one thing to another, thoroughly enjoying everything she set out to do regardless of her inherent impulsiveness, but recent weeks had shown a different side.

She wasn’t just the Queen of Rock, an outlandish musician with a penchant for living life on the edge; she actually had a diverse array of domestic skills and an overprotective streak a mile long, and her usual ferocity just made the gentler moments stand out all the more clearly. Yang broke the rules habitually, earning more than enough speeding tickets to fund a new park or two, but sometimes, she didn’t do it purely for the thrills. Sometimes, she was just doing what she thought was best, and her priorities rarely, if ever, centered on herself.

Weiss’ head pounded, the increasing pressure just behind her eyes nearly forcing a grimace to her lips, but she managed to maintain a pleasant smile through the lunch regardless. Here, in week thirteen, the producers were keeping them on a tight schedule to increase the drama, scheduling more one-on-one time between Weiss and the remaining candidates. One would think that entertaining six people would be much easier than twenty, but it lead to longer segments that took up the entire day, often leaving her drained from so much interaction. Blake and Pyrrha made it easier- both were quieter, comfortable in silences and more than willing to allow them to develop much to the continued grief of the camera crew- but nearly everyone else would fill any silence with idle chatter, expecting her to do the same to pass the time. It might not be so bad, if it didn't feel like she'd had the same conversation twice already that day alone, and they were supposed to do a group activity before getting around to the remaining three.

Her headache throbbed with the reminder, threatening to evolve into a full blown migraine at this rate.

"Hey, Princess."

Weiss suppressed a sigh. She'd hoped to steal at least a few minutes to herself but turned, putting on a pleasant face as the blonde approached. "Yes, Yang?"

The blonde lacked her typical confident swagger while closing the distance, looking almost like she was walking on eggshells. The rock star knew how to make an entrance and treated the whole world as her stage but right then, in the hallway away from the camera crews, there was no ego on display, just a brow pinched together in concern and lilac eyes filled with worry, her voice lower, softer than usual. "You're not lookin' so good. You feelin' alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, offering a tight smile. "Just a little headache. Nothing to worry about."

Yang hummed, nodding her head slightly. "So, in Weiss-speak, that means your head is killing you and you'd like to just lay down, but everyone's buggin' ya, huh?"

"That's not-"

"Weiss." One blonde brow arched as she crossed her arms over her considerable bust, cocking her head to the side. Her leather jacket creaked with the movement, the patches and holes no longer as concerning as they once were; the woman ran hot, much hotter than most, and only wore the accessory so she wouldn’t have to worry about her wallet falling out of her back pocket. Jeans or shorts, it didn’t matter- they were often in worse condition, and her pockets always seemed to suffer most. "Come on, babe, give me a little credit."

By all rights, it should be infuriating. Early on, it was- the pet names, the loud and brash demeanor, the jokes and teasing- but the rock star possessed a single ability that both surprised Weiss and made those early weeks more tolerable: she knew where to draw the line. She could read other people well, when she deigned to do so, and would cede the moment she became aware her antics weren't appreciated. Yang even apologized for her actions, if she liked the person well enough; for all the pranks she'd pulled in the manor thus far, only Pyrrha, Blake, and Weiss had been on the receiving end of such, but the blonde also wore her heart on her sleeve at all times. She rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, coming off as undeservedly cocky, and that caused friction at first that only abated when the movie star stepped in to put a limit on it. A spectacle was required for the sake of the audience but she could only take so much, especially when the cameras weren't rolling.

Yang respected that. Not with a grumbled, grudging acquiescence but with an honest apology, and she honored that throughout the weeks since. She still got loud and rowdy at times, but they'd all acclimated to each other, gotten used to those little quirks, and she could appreciate the disruptive behavior, too. There certainly existed no dull moments in the manor, so long as the blonde was around, and the puns were growing on her.

Very, very slowly.

"Fine. That's more or less accurate." She sighed, rubbing at her forehead and trying to will the pressure to lessen. "But we've still got-"

"Nuh uh. Whatever it is, it can wait." The rock star put a hand on her shoulder, the pressure firmly pushing her to turn and start walking towards the nearest staircase. "You're going to bed, right now."

Her protest, if it could be called that, included not moving quite as fast as the blonde would've liked while trying to persuade the woman otherwise. "Really, Yang, I can't-"

"You can and you will," she firmly said, squeezing at the shoulder in her grip lightly. "We've got nothing but time here, alright? You can take an afternoon off to rest."

"But- wait, no, stop!" Anything further she might've given in defense of sticking it out through the rest of the day crumbled into dust the moment Yang decided to take matters into her own hands, hooking one arm beneath the movie star's knees and scooping her up into her arms like she weighed nothing. "You can't be serious."

"Aw, c'mon, babe." The corner of her mouth lifted up into a smirk. "The whole reason you're here's to get swept off your feet, right?"

With a defeated sigh, she sagged against the blonde's chest. Despite her occupation requiring very little in the way of heavy lifting, Yang worked out almost religiously, even at the manor, and often cited her time hitting the heavy bag or running on the treadmill as prime inspiration time for her songs. She just had too much energy, too much zest for everything that life had to offer and too little self control to keep from taking all of it, so spending a few hours working up a sweat served more than a single purpose. It also made for a rather comfortable position, resting against hard muscle beneath a layer of soft fat, even if she would be a tad bit embarrassed to be caught being literally carried up the stairs. "I saw that joke coming and I didn't stop it. I clearly must be sick."

"Yeah, yeah." The blonde chuckled, easily navigating her way to the second floor and turning down a hall, towards the plethora of rooms. "You love my sense of humor."

Rather than confirm or deny that claim- because, honestly, she wasn't quite sure where she stood on that front at present, and she’d certainly fallen in love with the brash woman’s gentler side and even her more outlandish overtures- Weiss focused on the obvious issue at hand. "This isn't the way to my room."

"That'll be the first place they check!" The rock star stopped in front of her own quarters, backing into the door to open it rather than put her down, which actually won her a few points- she half expected for it to be kicked open instead. "I'm already done for today, so I can hang out in my room without anyone thinking twice about it. I'll just make up something about getting struck with inspiration and, boom, air tight alibi."

"We still have that game-"

"Screw the game; we can play tomorrow." Yang walked around the couch set in the middle of the anteroom- a bit antiquated for a design style, yes, but it provided for more 'intimate' encounters when the shot could be framed in a way that it appeared she was spending time in the actual sleeping area of a contestant, because a conversation held in a bedroom somehow had an entirely different connotation than one held in a sitting room- and knelt, setting the movie star down with care. She retrieved a blanket from somewhere and set it on the back of the couch, grabbing the remote for the television the couch faced and going back to close the door. There was a bit more moving around, the sound of the minifridge in the corner being opened and shut, plus the rattle of a pill bottle.

"Aren't you going to turn on the lights?" She made the offer out of politeness' sake; after a muttered curse from the woman as she navigated the darkened room, it became obvious that there wasn't quite enough light for her to see by without electrical aid.

"No; light's not a good thing for a pounding head." Eventually, the blonde made her way back to the couch, with a bottle of water and two aspirin. Both were offered to her without fanfare and Weiss harbored the strong suspicion that the woman only kept bottled water for others' sake. She'd certainly witnessed no proof that Yang drank from the bottles instead of the tap, at least, but she'd seen Pyrrha and Blake with water bottles before, and the blonde always had one to offer whenever they were outside for a segment. Where she got them from remained a mystery, seeing as the crew restocked the fridge and only took into account dietary limitations, not personal requests. It was supposed to be an added layer of tension, being bereft of ‘comfort food’, but the remaining women hadn’t seemed too upset by it. Those who complained were among the first to go. "Besides, you need to rest."

"And you'll, what, stand watch over me and discourage anyone who comes looking?" As much as she wanted to truly argue the plan, just being horizontal was doing wonders for her head. She could also feel the call of sleep, begging her to regain some of her lost energy.

Yang smirked. "I'll do you one better, if it's okay with you."

Weiss raised a brow in askance, hardly surprised when the blonde carefully joined her, pressing as far as she could against the couch's back and draping the blanket over both of them. Although she had a bigger frame and build in comparison, Yang had turned on her side so she took up as little space as possible and, once the movie star did the same, she found they could both fit and see the television with no trouble at all. The producers certainly spared no expense when it came to furnishing the living spaces for their contestants.

"There. Now, if anyone comes looking for you, I can pull the blanket up and they'll never even know you're here."

"I'll have to come out eventually," she said, though the heat from both of them being under the cover was already lulling her into closing her eyes, even as the television was turned on and the volume brought down to a dull mumble, whatever movie or show being played set in a dark world with muted tones. Despite being the only light source, it wasn't too terribly intrusive, and her headache began to calm from just lying still. "They aren't... going to just stop filming... you know that."

"Let me worry about that, Princess." Yang's voice, soft against her ear, reassured her, one hand resting on her hip lightly. "You just rest."

This was the part of the rock star that her fans didn't get to see, or saw so rarely that they thought considered the behavior atypical. Although the vibrant life of the party at nearly every hour, Yang could also be surprisingly calm, though in her own way. Like earlier, during their one-on-one segment, she must've sensed Weiss' discomfort then, because she effortlessly carried on the majority of the conversation in a quieter tone than her usual, seeing as they were seated side by side. At the time, she'd chalked it up to the chemistry of the segment- nearing the final weeks, everyone was seriously considering the finale, weighing whether or not their presence at this stage of the show warranted renewed effort or active sabotage- but she should've known better. Yang cared about people, especially those closest to her, like her genius engineer sister and her bandmates who were using the time away from the studio and the tour bus to relax and enjoy extended vacations, and somehow the movie star had found her way onto that list. Beneath the ridiculous jokes, groan worthy puns, and high energy antics, the rocker had the clever mind to phrase her monologues as if Weiss had prompted her and she didn't doubt the camera crews would run themselves ragged looking for her while Yang led them on a wild goose chase without even moving from the couch. She was that rare sort of extrovert who could run on solar power when engaging with an introvert, neither pushing for more interaction or leaving to seek it out, but finding a comfortable middle ground where she could fill the space between Weiss' replies with silly stories, odd conjectures, and all manner of idle chatter.

Honestly, she'd felt almost content enough to fall asleep during their segment earlier. Somehow, Yang had kept her words in a constant cadence, just a little slower than her normal speech, and the constant thrum of her voice saying words while her eyes said it was okay to stop listening had both saved her from a worse headache and made her want to just fall asleep to the sound of her voice. In fact, at one point, she might've actually started singing during their segment; it was a bit hazy towards the end, when the desire to sleep and the pounding in her head eclipsed nearly all else. Despite her best efforts, Weiss felt herself being pulled into slumber again now, but there were far fewer reasons for her to ignore the call this time around. It didn't matter how much of a lecture they earned from the producers; a little nap would be more than worth it.

She was almost asleep when she felt the gentle pressure against the top of her head, almost as if Yang had kissed her, and it made complete sense for the woman to kiss her good night. Weiss fell asleep with a soft smile, warm and content.

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

Far Greater Purpose [f. Thalon Lavellan]

Emma Sparrow gets a lecture from Inquisitor Thalon Lavellan (belongs to the wonderful @ourinquisitorialness about hiding things, scars, and healing.  Cameo appearance by @sunshinemage‘s Nindarhmen Lavellan.  ~2400 words.

“Agent Harper, isn’t it?”

The low, soothing voice that ever so calmly broke her focus was unfamiliar, but it and the shadow that fell over her had such a heaviness to them that Emma could mistake them for no other.  She raised the steaming mug she cradled in her hands to her lips and only nodded.  She did not turn to greet their owner.

“I don't believe we’ve met,” the voice continued.  “I am-”

“I know who you are, Inquisitor.”

Now, she turned.  

Inquisitor Lavellan stood far enough behind her that his height would not overwhelm her, his blue eyes offering a kind reassurance and a bit of a sparkle as he chuckled, giving a soft glance to the ground for a moment before returning his attention to her.

“Even so, my name is Thalon.”

Again, Emma responded with only a nod, even as he watched her for a moment longer, waiting for an actual reply.  He would be waiting quite a while; he knew what the Inquisition called her, and he could easily find out what the rest of Thedas called her should he be so inclined.  No reason for her to waste the breath to tell him.

“Would you walk with me?” he finally continued, after far longer than she had expected.  She nodded again, cautiously this time, through a furrowed brow.  Months had passed since she and Lux entered the Inquisition’s service, and, as he had keenly pointed out, she and the Inquisitor had never spoken.  There had never been a need.  Any reports of hers meant for his eyes passed first through Nightingale’s.  What, she wondered, prompted him to seek her out now?

Thalon walked with a straight back and a leisurely pace, one to which Emma’s short legs, accustomed to walking briskly to remain abreast of her tall, gangly partner, took a few minutes to adjust.  He kept his eyes forward, with only an occasional glance in her direction, almost as if to make sure she was still there, and did not speak until they reached the courtyard in the lower bailey of the stronghold.  He took up a position leaning against one of the stone walls, and stared pensively across the courtyard at the area recently designated as the Inquisition’s infirmary.  The soft curves and branches of his vallaslin twisted and turned around his face, not much older than her own, which in turn stretched and bent them further as he silently eyed the aides and servants rushing in and out of the infirmary to assist the healers and surgeons, simultaneously swelling with pride and sinking under the weight on his shoulders.  Silence was generally welcome, if not preferred, but he had not asked her here to be silent, and Emma’s curiosity grew with each second he did not speak.

“I overheard a fascinating story about you earlier today.”  

“Oh.”  It came out in a barely articulated sigh, breathed into her tea as she sipped; she hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but Thalon’s eyes were already fixed on her, the slight upward arch of his eyebrows almost teasing her to go on.  “Piper?”

“Yes.”  He offered another quiet smile as he folded his arms in front of his chest, and glanced across the courtyard once more.  “He was rather enthusiastically telling another agent that you were injured on a mission.  Quite badly, in fact.”

A flesh wound to one arm and a few cracked ribs.  She’d had worse, and Lux knew it.

“He exaggerates.”

The corners of Thalon’s mouth turned downward for just a moment, and he tilted his head slightly to one side, as if he'd expected she'd say that.  The way his eyes settled on her once he held his head upright again was not any less ominous.

“He also said you were able to heal this grievous injury yourself.  With magic.”

Damn it, Lux.  Damn it all.  

“I...see.”

“He spoke the truth, then?”  No use continuing to hide it; the nod that confirmed his suspicions was slow and reluctant.  Instead of tensing into a glare, Thalon’s face simply fell.  Emma would have almost preferred he be angry than this sort of knowing disappointment, as if he’d known better than to expect otherwise but did so nonetheless.

“The two of you have been in the Inquisition’s service for months, yet neither of you have ever mentioned that you are a healer, and one skilled enough for such a feat at that.”  

Emma said nothing, and instead lifted her mug to her lips again.  What would she have said?  No excuse she would have given - not that she was particularly talented with excuses, anyway - would have stopped him from staring spears through her before watching his infirmary once more.  

“With your proficiency in combat, I can understand not wanting to be stuck in an infirmary, but times like these leave Thedas in desperate need of healers, and healers in short supply.”  

The way the lines under his eyes almost shivered as he turned back to look at her again said he was telling her something she already knew, or should already know, at least.  Something he shouldn’t have to tell her.  

“This is precisely the worst time to keep such a skill to yourself, agent.”

No.  This was exactly the time to keep it to herself.

“My proficiency in combat is of greater benefit the Inquisition,” she replied, taking another sip, and avoiding what she knew he wanted to ask.  Thalon’s face finally tensed into a stern glare down his nose, indicating he tired of her avoidance of the subject as much as she tired of being forced to discuss it.

“You should have told us,” he admonished her after a resigned sigh, the friendly tone all but disappearing from his voice, settling instead into a low, coarse timbre reminiscent of a parent trying not to be too angry with an unruly child.  “It is a far greater purpose, and a far more pressing duty of the Inquisition as a whole, to save lives rather than to take them.”

Emma returned her own heavy sigh.  A greater purpose, perhaps - no, that, at least, was objectively true, but not a purpose meant for her.  

“That is why I did not.”

Thalon arched an eyebrow.  “I'm not sure I follow.”

She finished her tea, and gave the mug a quick wipe with her sleeve.  “Do you have any scars, Inquisitor?”

A moment’s hesitation, then a curt nod.  She knew the answer before he said it.

“I do.”

“Then you know that wounds will heal on their own, given time and proper care, and the process can be painful.”

The vallaslin relaxed around his eyes, and the freckles around Emma’s mimicked it.

“That is true, yes.  In more ways than one.”

Some elves left the infirmary burdened with full wash basins and wet rags stained with blood.  Emma reached across herself and rested her hand on the opposite arm, just below the shoulder, where she'd held back a steady flow of blood as her flesh knit back together only days before.

“I simply accelerate that process to close wounds and mend broken bones quickly so I may continue fighting.  I am not a true healer, Inquisitor.  I cannot call spirits to aid me as you do.”

He made the face that seemed to be the quintessential response to hearing someone say they cannot do something; part gentle yet enthusiastic reassurance, part shock that she would say such a thing in the first place, and just the slightest bit condescending.  Thankfully, Emma suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“Ignoring that spirit healers are not the only ‘true healers’, have you tried?  It isn’t always as intuitive as you might think.  Perhaps you just need to learn how to speak to them.”

She stared back at him for a moment, her face fixed in a half-glaring, half-bewildered expression.

“They will not hear me.”  Predictably, Thalon didn’t seem to fully understand, but Emma sighed with relief when he decided not to press the issue.  The condition of her mind was an entirely different conversation she had no desire to have at the moment.  “I can block the body’s signal to feel pain, but the mending itself requires so much focus that it is impossible for me to do both.  Thus, pain that is usually spread over weeks or months is felt all at once, in the space of a few minutes.  It is...excruciating.”  

As much as she tried not to, she could still see the scaly, grey skin, lined with veins black with corruption, the gaunt cheeks surrounding desiccated lips begging her for relief.  Still heard the screams of agony as her magic tore through him, chasing the corruption with such focus, so sure she could kill it, so absolutely certain that with her help, the Blight would never take him.  She’d never even considered...

“Sometimes lethal.”

Despite her attempts to keep the memories from displaying themselves on her face, the Inquisitor’s brow creased upwards at the center.  Emma looked away before he could speak; sympathy was the last thing she wanted from him.

“Someone close to you?”

Damn it.  Her eyes fell shut as her chin fell softly to her chest.  

I’m sorry, Papa.  I’m so sorry...

“Very.”

She didn’t look up, but after a long pause there was a soft rustling as Thalon shifted his position against the wall.  

“This...may be difficult for you to believe, but I do understand.”  Across the courtyard, one of the elven runners tripped, sending both the runner and the supplies he carried crashing to the ground. Thalon watched with his face set in somber, straight lines, the wrinkles around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth accentuated and betraying his own pain, old and long scarred-over.   “The loss of a loved one at your own hand is...far too great a wound to ever be truly healed, neither by magic nor the passage of time.  Sometimes, though…”  

He paused momentarily, his breath almost hitched in his throat as he continued watching across the courtyard, where another elf had emerged from the infirmary, one Emma had seen many times before; a small Dalish elf, white vallaslin standing out in stark contrast to his face, his neck wrapped in an orange scarf and his crimson hair reflecting bits of orange in the low sun.  He held out one hand to the fallen elf, and helped him to his feet before dusting him off and, once they’d gathered all of his supplies, carried some to the infirmary for him.  Thalon watched all of this as though entranced, his eyes heavy-lidded and locked on the other elf, and his mouth forced upward at the corners; he couldn’t have held the firm countenance he’d kept on her moments earlier even if he’d wanted to.  A few moments after the activity at the door ceased, and he seemed to snap back to the present, and continued as if he’d never stopped speaking.

“Sometimes, the forces that take from us are also those that give us our greatest gifts.”  

The red-haired elf walked the runner back outside, glanced in their direction, and sent Thalon a smile that in turn drew one out of him like a man watching the sun rise for the first time; almost involuntary, an innate reaction to such overwhelming beauty.  Emma knew it well, since the same look crept across her face as Lux, bow slung across his back and bound for the training yard nearby, hopped off of the second to last of the stairs in front of them and, noticing their presence there, stretched his face into a wide grin.  Thalon must’ve noticed, and he leaned downward towards her, almost whispering,  

“But, from what I understand, you already know that.”

She did.  The wash of warmth that permeated her already warm core as she watched her friend smile with his entire face, scars and all, and shake hands with at least five people before he finally reached his destination and readied his bow wouldn’t be as familiar and soothing if she didn’t.  There would be no need to suppress the chuckle as he lowered his weapon no sooner than he’d drawn it, to greet someone else and spend the next few minutes talking, forgetting why he was there in the first place.  The same magic that had ended her father’s life had brought Lux back from the very brink of death, and his resulting presence in her life had, in turn, saved her, too.  

It was her turn to snap back to the present now, facilitated by Thalon’s firm, yet kind hand coming to rest on her shoulder.  

“Your friend is proof you’ve not killed everyone you've ever healed.  It's not unreasonable to think that, should you try, perhaps take your time instead of trying to fix everything at once, you may not kill anyone at all.”  

Ten years, she thought, since this magic had killed anyone.  What the Inquisitor suggested was possible; she was far better adjusted to her magic now than she was then, but the thought remained, tugging on tiny bits of her like irritating pinpricks, that she’d achieved that for so long not through overcoming her own insecurities, but by simply refusing to take the chance.  Thalon noticed her discomfort at the suggestion, and she felt a momentary increase in pressure on her shoulder before he straightened his back, and folded his hands together behind it.

“I won't force you, but consider lending your talents to the surgeons.  There truly is peace in knowing you can save a life rather than end it.”

Thalon also noticed the hesitation in the terse nod she gave in reply, watching behind him and all around him, eyes anywhere but on him, and dropped his tone once more.

“Agent Harper…”

Deliberately, and with no movement anywhere else, her eyes flicked upwards to meet the Inquisitor’s, once again sparkling with a glint of that same kind reassurance.

“Consider it.”

A deeper, more respectful nod this time, laced with a barely noticeable smile, as the Inquisitor took his leave, turning his head back at least once with a bit of a smile of his own.  No such luck, Inquisitor, she thought with a slight twitch at the corners of her mouth, as she let her attention fall once more on the infirmary door.  

She considered it, just for a moment, and deemed a certain scrawny Tevinter elf’s need of a reminder to be aware of his surroundings more pressing at that particular moment.

She would consider it again tomorrow.

[bluraaven]

We are the Flame

2. Reynauld

As it turns out, 'almost there' by coach means a full night of marching on foot.  The sun has risen over the horizon and burned away the morning mist by the time their destination comes into view.  Almost as if they had agreed upon it in advance, their small group stops mid-stride to survey the cluster of buildings that lies spread out in the dale below.  Reynauld feels his spirits sink at the mere sight. 

Dismas hooks his thumbs into his belt, and the crusader can hear a low whistle escape the man, though it is muffled by the fabric of the red scarf he has once more pulled up to cover half his face.  "What a shithole." 

Out of all of them the march must have been the most unpleasant for him, but though he had not complained, only asking for a brief break twice, his mood had soured further with every hour.  Reynauld saw the flask reappear a couple of times, but he had refrained from commenting on it.  It was excusable considering the circumstances and besides, it really was none of his business. 

Yet if these are the lands Mallory had claimed belonged to her family, he cannot let that statement go unchallenged.  It is hard to come up with anything positive at all, and he ends up saying, "I think it has a certain... rustic charm." 

The words ring wrong even as they pass his lips. 

Dismas shoots him a look out of the corner of his expressive eyes that says as much.  "You, Sir knight, have taken one too many blows to the head." 

"He is right," Mallory sighs, then quickly corrects herself.  "This is a shithole.  But it is mine now, my responsibility."  She tugs on her horse's bit and steps forward, tired but determined. 

"If they don't have a tavern, I'm out of here," Dismas mutters. 

Reynauld gives them both a few paces of a head start, while he scratches the neck of the horse he is leading.  "What do you think, boy?" he asks the animal, and his answer is a snort and the shake of a shaggy head.  He couldn't have put it better himself.  With no desire to spend any more time than is strictly necessary on the road, the crusader clucks his tongue and the horse follows obediently.

It is not until they enter the outskirts of the Hamlet that they can see the true extent of disrepair the whole village has fallen into.  Houses have crumbled behind once-ornamental facades and every other building has either boarded up windows and doors, or is partially collapsed.  It is a sad picture, painted in grey, brown and the deep, endless blue of the sky spanning the horizon.

Their horses' hooves make loud suction noises as they sink in the mud right up the fetlock, and the one time they see townsfolk, the people hurry past with bent backs and bowed heads.  Their fear is almost palpable.  It hangs in the humid air, mixes with the scent of greenery, wet earth and sea salt and, underlying it all, the cloying sweetness of rot.  Far above the misery and the grime, an imposing estate thrones. 

"When I was a girl," Mallory says, "This was a proper town."  She has stopped in the middle of the road, either indifferent, or heedless to the muck around them.  "It had a port, and threescore masts could be seen bobbing in the harbour at any time.  I remember how colourful the sails of the trading vessels looked, kissed by the setting sun.  It is why the Old Road is called thus.  It was built to connect the eastern lands with the western kingdoms, one of the earliest trade routes of this country.  And the Hamlet, though once certainly befitting its name, became a center of trade." 

Reynauld looks around.  Nothing of that erstwhile splendour remains.  The Hamlet is, for the lack of any better words, a dump.  And a laughable one at that, when compared with the cities, or the plain villages of the far east, where even a poor man's family home might boast an entryway above which painted sculptures of the patrons of the common people have kept watch for centuries past.  Where the early and late sun sets the mud brick on fire, and where the air is ripe with a multitude of smells; that of opium, citrus fruit, and a thousand lives crammed into broad boulevards, cloth-overhung bazaars, and narrow alleyways. 

Here, it merely reeks, of mould and manure, and Reynauld half wishes to have a scarf he can tie around his mouth and nose as well.  The visions of his past come upon him, unbidden, and he attempts to shake them off before they can sink their sharp claws into him. 

"I remember this street," Malloy continues.  "It connected the Old Road to the main square and the Port Avenue.  It used to be cobbled like the rest of the Old Road.  It's like... like somebody had turned back the time by a century.  This," she makes a vague hand movement to encompass the misery around them, "Looks almost exactly like one of the paintings I remember hanging over grandfather's study, back from when his father's father had ruled over these lands.  What could have transpired here, to undo all the work my forefathers have done?"  The last part was whispered softly, desperation underlying every word. 

"Perhaps bandit raids?" Reynauld muses.  "We ran into one gang, more could have been harassing the town, this far from the justice of the king's courts." 

"Bandits don't steal cobblestones," Dismas points out, giving the muck on his boots a glare so dark, Reynauld half-expects it to burn off the offending dirt on the spot.  "Unless you meant to say that the evildoers are a band of enterprising masons."  He laughs at the very idea, a cold, cruel sound, quickly cut off by a string of mutters in a language of which the knight only recognizes the universal ring of profanities.

When Reynauld turns his head, Dismas' hand is pressing against his injured side again.  

Mallory shakes her head.  "No, indeed they do not.  I need to get to the cause of these strange happenings.  But this is not the time.  Let's hope my grandfather has kept a journal."  She looks towards the mansion, dark somehow even in the light of day, overshadowing the smaller houses.  "You are welcome to stay too.  From what I remember, there should be plenty of room for guests." 

"I could do with a proper bed," Dismas remarks, and despite their many differences, Reynauld shares that particular sentiment wholeheartedly. 

"Then it is agreed," Mallory decides, and turns their party towards her family home.  An alley lined with chestnuts leads up to the building, but the once proud trees' leaves are brown and withered with disease, and their trunks are twisted unnaturally.  The bad state of the town was worrying, but this, this is more than merely unsettling.  It feels... wrong. 

Reynauld tries not to let his unease show, but he cannot shake the thought that there is some evil at work here beyond that which man is capable of. 

"Does anyone else have a bad feeling about this or is it just me?" Dismas asks no one in particular. 

He receives no answer. 

A few minutes later they tie the two horses to rings that are set in the stone wall for that very purpose.  Reynauld carries most of their belongings inside, while Mallory takes some of the smaller satchels and packages and Dismas leans against the doorframe, surveying the interior of the mansion with avid interest.  

The house bears clear signs of the splendours of a bygone age, but it has not aged gracefully.  There is a layer of dust coating the arms that hang on the walls, and the thick tapestries and carpets have lost almost all colour and sport some prominent burn marks here and there. 

Meanwhile, Dismas has spotted an old armchair and is already relaxing into its soft-cushioned embrace.  "You don't mind, do you?"  At least he had the decency to kick off his boots before he puts his feet up on the footrest. 

Reynauld has barely had the time to take in the coat of arms that hangs above the fireplace – a raven holding up a tower on a chequered field of red and gold – when a door opens somewhere in the back, and in storms no one other than the Caretaker. 

The crusader has him by the coat and up against a wall before the old man can so much as make a sound of surprise. 

Mallory gasps in shock, but recovers quickly.  "What are you doing?  Unhand the man!" 

"He crashed the coach," Reynauld reminds her, keeping his grip on the servant firm, although it does seem excessive considering the man's outwardly frail state. "And right after we have been set upon by bandits.  Now we find him here?"  

"The chimneys needed sweeping," the Caretaker croaks.  "I stroked the fires, cooked for my lady's arrival, and cleaned the rooms."

The place looks like it has not seen a feather duster in at least a decade, and there's no evidence of any of the other things having happened anytime this year. 

"You did not think to come back for us?" Reynauld enquires with mounting rage.  "You just rode off on that horse, after you found it, leaving us behind to our fate?" 

The old man stammers something that includes a great many 'my lady's' and very little actual reason. 

The crusader looks back to Mallory, whose face has once more hardened into the mask of nobility.  "I urge you to listen to your heart and employ caution," he says, but lets the man go.  His destiny is not for the knight to decide. 

Mallory's eyes and voice are cold as the clearly unswept fireplace when she faces the Caretaker.  "Thank you.  Your services here are no longer needed today.  Go and see to the horses outside, and retire to your quarters.  We will have words tomorrow." 

The Caretaker bows his way out, making a wide circle around the knight.  The sound of the door closing is loud in the aftermath of him leaving. 

"Grandfather said he had left a trustworthy man in charge of the mansion.  This is... "  Mallory stands in the middle of the room, with arms wrapped around herself.  Reynauld imagines he can hear her whisper, 'What do I do now?' but it is so faint he cannot be sure. 

He suggests breakfast.  They have provisions, it shouldn't take too long to prepare a meal.  Mallory shows him to the kitchens, and refuses to rest when he suggests she do so.  He suspects that she feels like he does, deeply unsettled and in need of a task to occupy the mind and body.  The meal, when it is done, is simple; oven-heated hardtack, softened with butter, and some bacon and cheese melted on top. 

Dismas cracks one eye open when the crusader puts a plate in his lap, and then he all but inhales the food.

In the dim light that manages to filter through the grimy windows it becomes evident that he is pale, his skin covered by a light sheen of sweat. 

"I told you; you should have used the alcohol," Dismas comments, noticing the crusader's gaze, though there is no detectable trace of rancour in his voice. 

Reynauld firmly believes his condition stems from exhaustion rather than poor treatment – he has full trust in the healing powers of the holy water.  "All you need is a good night's rest," he replies once they have finished eating, and offers his hand to the other man. 

Dismas grabs his wrist rather than his hand, the way northerners do, and Reynauld pulls him up to his feet.  He wraps an arm around the other man's waist, holding him upright when he isn't sure the man's feet won't give way from under him. 

The staircase is opulent, mahogany handrails and walls coated in dark velvet, and, where it cannot be overseen, a portrait hangs.  The man, bigger on canvas than in life, wears a burgundy robe, heavy and rich with gold ornaments.  Around his neck a scarf is tied in the gentleman's fashion.  An immaculately trimmed moustache and beard cover the lower part of a lined face. From beneath bushy eyebrows, shrewd black eyes glimmer with humour and a wicked sort of intelligence. 

"Who do you think this is?"  Reynauld asks the man next to him more for the sake of making conversation than out of any actual interest.  He can guess the answer. 

Yet Dismas manages to surprise him by saying, "The bastard who is presumably responsible for all of that."  He points over one shoulder with a thumb, indicating the house, or perhaps the town they have left behind. 

The crusader feels a surge of ire at the shallowness of the statement.  "We do not know that yet." 

They take the stairs slowly, one by one.  Dimas holds on to the handrail, grimacing every other step.  "Sure we do," he counters. 

"How so?" 

"It's always one bloody noble or another.  What can brigands do?  Take some livestock?  Raid for a bit of money?  It takes a title and for the law to be on your side to fuck up a place like this without any consequences." 

They enter the room Mallory had said they were free to make theirs.  The furnishings are simple and practical.  There are two beds, a fireplace, bedside tables and a large dresser as well as a small console in the corner that would serve nicely as a desk. 

"Mallory told me her grandfather shot himself,"  The Heiress had told him the tragic story behind the letter she had received.  He cannot blame her for keeping most of it to herself, yet that detail weights heavily on his mind. 

"Yeah?  Does that sound like the action of an innocent man to you?"  Dismas yawns, before he lets himself down on the bed with a groan  "In all honesty, I don't think I'd care if he hung dead and dripping above me."  He toes off his boots, and then rolls under the blanket without so much as taking off his ratty coat. 

Charming man.

Reynauld decides he has no desire to keep him company.  He is worried about leaving Mallory with the likes of Dismas and the Caretaker, but since one is firmly asleep and there's no trace of the other, he figures she will be alright.  The Heiress has withdrawn from the living room, which leaves him alone, exhausted and restless. 

A bad combination, yet Reynauld knows it is wiser to save sleep for the night.  He makes his way back to the Hamlet, and is almost disappointed to find it unchanged.  The town is as uninviting on a second look as it was on the first.  

A tall statue of a man he recognizes from the portrait in the mansion dominates the main square.  Behind the rows of dilapidated houses rises the unmistakable star-topped belfry of a church.  Without him making the conscious decision, Reynauld's feet carry him up a path of gravel, past an overgrown foregarden that he is shocked to see contains the remains of graves long untended, and to the large abbey doors. 

To his surprise, there is someone in the building, moving about with a brisk step.  He uses the heavy brass knocker to announce himself.  The figure inside startles at the sound and turns sharply. 

"Who calls upon the Light?" a deep feminine voice asks. 

"A traveller, lost and weary of the Dark," Reynauld replies.  "Light's blessing be upon you."  

"And upon thee."  The person comes closer until she stands in the light of day.  Her hair is hidden under a headdress that frames a pleasant, round face, and she wears the forest green robe of a Vestal, a disciple of the Order of Light. 

"Brother," the woman exclaims, astonished.  "Thou art a long way from thine holy quest." 

"Indeed," Reynauld replies, dry-swallowing, but quickly catches himself.  "The Lord has led me here.  Are you in need of help?" 

"If thou'rt be so kind.  I have never seen a place so devoid of our Lord."  She motions for him to come inside, and he does so after kneeling at the threshold. 

Together, they begin to restore the Abbey.  They clean the altar and after they manage to pry open the shutters, the windws as well.  They sweep the floor, light candles and set straight the pews, many of which are altogether broken. 

"Have you been here for long?"  Reynauld asks during a break. 

"Four nights," the Vestal answers, wiping her brow with a sleeve.  "I was sent here by the Order, to investigate, after we heard some disturbing rumours.  Thou as well?"

Reynauld inclines his head.  No falsehood will pass his lips in a holy place, so he chooses silence instead.  "What did you find?" 

"A town quivering in fear, its doors shut to strangers.  An abbey shrouded in cobwebs and inhabited only by spiders."  Her hand, soft and long-fingered grabs his gauntlet.  In the light of the candles the sister's eyes shine all the brighter.  "There is Darkness at work here.  You feel it too, do you not?" 

"I had hoped my senses were playing tricks on me," Reynauld confesses and can feel his stomach twist unpleasantly.  "I arrived with a woman who is the heiress to this village which had been under her grandfather's rule, but has fallen to her after- ," he hesitates, "After he killed himself." 

The Vestal quickly crosses herself with the star.  "Then the Heart of Darkness will forever feast on his sinner's soul," she states with sorrow.  "This is a dark place indeed." 

"Shall we pray, then?" Reynauld enquires.  It had been a long time since he had been able to do so with another person of the Faith. 

He can see the white flash of her smile, bright in the twilight of the church.  "It would be a pleasure and an honour.  Will thou lead, or shall I?" 

"Please."  He gestures for her to begin, falling into the familiar lines of the Verse with an ease that comes from extensive practice.  They pray in comfortable harmony, reciting the Sciptures of Light, and Reynauld notices how the candles flare up as they do so, imbued with strength to fight back whatever it is that is suffocating the entire Hamlet.  Once they are finished, despite the discomfort of his recent journey, aching knees, and the weight of his armour crushing him, Reynauld feels lighter, stronger, carried by the Lord's purpose. 

"I would ask a favour."  

The Vestal brushes off her robes as she stands.  "Ask then, I shall listen." 

"A companion of mine got injured on the road.  He is in need of healing." 

"Shall I see to him?" she enquires without hesitation. 

"This evening, if you would be so kind.  He is resting now.  I have treated his wound, yet I fear it may fester despite my best efforts."

Dismas is still asleep by the time Reynauld returns.  He remains out cold until shortly before sundown.  The crusader isn't even sure he has moved once since falling into the bed. 

Reynauld takes advantage of the opportunity to study the sleeping man. 

Dismas has a frown that seems permanent, even in slumber, and a curious haircut; shorn short on the sides and longer on top. His black hair has the first streaks of grey at the temples and he is possessed of a weather-roughened face, a crooked nose, and eyes set so deep they always appear to have dark circles underneath. 

It takes a moment to register that from the depths of the roll made of cloth and blankets, Dismas is looking right back at him. 

"Have you been watching me sleep?" the other man asks, not giving Reynauld any time to protest.  "That's bloody creepy, you know?  Though I'd rather wake to your pretty face than that of that old loon." 

Reynauld can feel the blood rush to his face – who dares to say these things, and in such an offhand manner?  

Dismas apparently, who slowly sits up.  The crusader jerks away, his heart skipping a beat when the other man pulls his flintlock from under the pillow, a hand wrapped around the grip, finger on the trigger. 

"You could have shot someone!" 

"That's the point, actually" Dismas replies, dead serious. 

Reynauld finds himself speechless in the wake of the comment. 

"What?  You don't keep your sword at hand when you go to sleep?" 

"That is- ," he is about to say 'different', but a raised eyebrow makes him stop and reconsider.  "There is a holy sister in town," he says, changing the topic.  

"Great." 

"She agreed to look at your wound," Reynauld explains.  

"Thank you for asking me first." 

"I was going to."  The crusader bristles.  So this is the thanks he gets for his efforts.  "You weren't exactly coherent until now." 

Dismas makes a noncommittal sound in answer, and rubs his neck.  He is still wearing the same red scarf he never seems to take off unless it's absolutely necessary.  Reynauld has to admit that he doesn't like not being able to see the other man's expression.  It makes it impossible for him to judge what he is thinking.  Yet they had shed blood together, and Reynauld is aware that he needs to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Just then there is a knock on the door. 

"That would be her," the knight says. 

"Oh, whatever," Dismas mutters and calls out, "Just come in; I'm decent!"  

Reynauld is almost sure he is nothing of the kind.  At best he has the looks and mannerisms of a common thug.  Which does not explain the expert marksmanship, and that is something that requires closer investigation. 

The Vestal is wearing the same robes as yesterday, and after a brief greeting she kneels on the floor to look at Dismas' injury.  

"The stitches need to be pulled first," she decides, "Otherwise I'm going to heal them into the skin." 

"I want him to do it," Dismas says, indicating Reynauld with a tlt of his chin. 

The knight has put far more stitches into people than he has had the opportunity to remove.  He has no idea why Dismas picks him for the task rather than a professional healer, but in a strange way he finds the activity uplifting as it means the stirches are no longer needed. 

Once all of the catgut is removed, they recite the Verse of Light as the nun weaves the Lord's power into spells of healing.  

Dismas stays silent the whole time, staring out of window. 

Reynauld feels a flash of fury – they are doing this for him, praying for the recovery of someone who evidently does not appreciate it one bit, but he stays his tongue.  For the moment, at least.  He watches as flesh knits itself together and redness is soothed, swelling reduced.  Eventually, all Dismas is left with is a bright pink scar around which the healthy skin puckers lightly. 

"Feeling a residual pain is normal during the first days, but I suggest using this salve to keep the new tissue from hardening," the Vestal says and hands the other man a tiny jar containing a yellowish ointment. 

"Thanks," Dismas grunts stiffly and pockets the jar.  He then promptly gets up, wraps his coat tighter around himself, and heads for the door. 

"Where are you going?" Reynauld asks him, rising to his feet. 

Dismas regards him with a face devoid of expression.  "I'm off to see what the tavern has to offer."

He leaves them both gaping after him in the wake of his rude leaving. 

Reynauld is the first to shake off the disbelief.  "Thank you, Sister," he says, and avows to have a talk with Dismas come the morrow.  An insult to a Vestal is an insult to the Lord himself. 

"Junia."  

They look at each other and she and breaks out into pearls of laughter.  "Forgive me.  My manners seem to have deserted me." 

"No, not you," Reynauld answers with a twitch of his lips.  Such is the power of the Light when it unites the faithful that they had spent half a day labouring alongside each other, yet somehow they had forgotten to exchange names.  The crusader rectifies that immediately. 

"That man," Junia indicates the now empty bed, "Who is he?" 

Reynauld hesitates briefly before answering, "Someone we met on the road."  

"Thee and the lady Mallory?"  

The knight nods.  "I forgot to ask; did she let you in?" 

"She did indeed," Junia confirms.

Mallory awaits them in the same chair Dismas had occupied earlier.  She is sitting with her legs crossed and a glass of wine in one hand, twirling the dark red liquid around.  Reynauld and Junia both decline Mallory's offer of wine, and take their seats. 

"Mortimer Dumont was my grandfather," she begins after taking a sip, and launches into a more detailed version of the story the crusader is already familiar with. 

Reynauld had pledged himself to her cause before, but he is pleasantly surprised, when Junia offers her aid as well. 

"The Order of the Light would consider it an honour if thou'd allow us to assist, my Lady.  Such an undertaking as thine, is noble. The favour of the Lord is surely with thee."

"And who better to chase away the Darkness?  I would be most glad to accept such a generous offer," Mallory replies graciously and Reynauld releases a breath he did not know he had been holding, feeling instantly relieved. 

Junia takes her leave shortly after, and the two of them remain in almost companionable silence, considering they met only two days ago. 

"You must be weary," Reynauld eventually hazards to presume. 

"And yet I am neither wearing armour, nor did I fight off an ambush, or spent the afternoon finding allies." 

"You handled yourself well," Reynauld points out, feeling admiration for the woman whose courage had not deserted her, even when in peril.  The last part gives rise to the old, caustic feeling of embarassment that always manages to resurface, no matter how hard he tries to suppress it.  "Please.  Think nothing of it." 

Mallory smiles at him over the rim of her glass, but the expression quickly grows wistful.  "I know that what he did was wrong and there is nothing that can change it, but I do miss the man I thought I knew.  Grandfather had always been eccentric.  He liked perfumed, painted girls that were too young for him.  He got outrageously drunk and fell off stairs, and he has always been fascinated with the Occult.  But I also remember how he carried me on his shoulders, pretending to be a horse when I was too young to ride one.  Later we would sit in front of this fireplace, and he would make up riddles or poetry on the fly." 

The crusader studies the deep lines and pale scars criss-crossing his hands, and does not comment. 

"Do you think we can trust him?"  Mallory enquires out of nowhere. 

Reynauld lifts his eyes to meet hers, lost for an answer.  "I beg your pardon?" 

"Dismas," she clarifies. 

Reynauld takes his time to form a response.  "I would not speak ill of a someone until I have undeniable proof of their guilt.  Yet... he does strikes me as a dishonest sort of man.  And one without faith."

"The latter is no crime here," she reminds him, and the crusader bows his head, guarding his thoughts.  A man who will shun the Light carries Darkness in his heart.  The scriptures clearly state so. 

"As it turns out, my grandfather did leave a journal." Mallory apparently has arrived at the topic she wants to talk about.  "It is encrypted.  I know how to decipher the code, but it will take time.  Until then, this house needs to be made habitable again." 

"And then?" 

"And then," she replies after another mouthful of wine, "I mean to venture out to see what awaits us below."

AN: Thank you for reading. Did you enjoy the chapter?  Please find the story on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9482381/chapters/21455927

This week's typos include:  "It is not until they enter the outer skirts of the Hamlet..."  and: Rey the Cussader

#Quo vadis  #Dismas is a bad influence