#and was like ‘you don’t have to quit i can single-handedly solve this problem for you’

[liesyousoldme]

woof. i am calling my therapists office tomorrow!!!

[shadowdianne]

Fic writer review [Or a fic writer tag game if you prefer]

I was tagged by @naralanis and I can already see her grin all the way from where I am xd Thank you, dear, for the tag, let’s see what are my answers, shall we.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

*bursts out laughing* Adding both pseuds I have… 535 according to the account info but by counting them all I’m reaching 541 so I’m guessing it’s counting some drafts I need to re-find.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

I seriously hated you for this one xd I was going to do it by hand by I decided one-third there that I value my mental stability a little bit more xd according to the stats page back at a03 that number would be 1257884. It may be wrong. I think there should be a few more numbers up there but the majority of my works are one-shots so *shrugs* There’s also the fact that counting my ao3 things only is shaving off like half of it Xd Anyway, can we laugh at the fact that I’m a pain in the ass and that I’ve written a lot? More than I should have, that’s for sure

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Trick question because I haven’t crossposted everything I wrote back in ffnet and I actually erased some fics from my account back there so the numbers are a little blurry there.

When I had the entirety of my work posted both in ffnet and a03 I had written for: Twilight (Bella/Alice) Glee (Faberry and there were a couple Pezberry and I don’t fucking remember the pairing name for Santana and Quinn), Harry Potter (Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Bellatrix) OUAT (SwanQueen and several oneshots focusing on the mad hatter and the blue fairy solely back at ffnet that were written in Spanish and never translated), I actually had a veeeery old au prompt of Frozen (Elsanna in where I wrote them as non sibilings), Rizzoli and Isles (Rizzles), Dishonored 2 (Emily Kaldwin/Alexi Mayhew), Lara Croft and Wonder Woman, Supergirl (SuperCorp/Supercat) I had a 100 one -or maybe two??- (Clexa), The Shannara Chronicles (Amberle/Eretreia [Or Princess Rover], Rwby [Blake Belladona/Yang], The Worst Witch (Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa Pentangle), The Half of it, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Madam Satan/Zelda Spellman) and… I think that’s it(?) I may be forgetting some but probably nothing important if I’m not remembering it lol.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Ah, we are going to go there, uh? Xd My works are not the kudos and comment getting type Xd So I was quite surprised when I went to check this.

1: Cracked it I wrote this one back in 2017, it was a prompt done by an anon: Lena is nerding with one of her projects at home, mumbling mostly to herself because she’s stuck and Kara casually mentions how to solve the problem like it’s nothing. I really had some fun with this. It was back when some us, SQeeners were fully doing the jump between OUAT and SuperGirl (I mean, there had already been some crossover as for fandom is related but this when the girls were actually getting their conjoined voice within the fandom)

2: Dateless I honestly needed to check what this one was about but I think I can see why this one shot has the amount of kudos it has. It’s a short and sweet idea and responds to the Teachers Au that went SO well with SQ. Everyone thinks they hate each other and try to set them up with other people whilst they, in truth, are dating. I don’t remember if I wrote them as married rather than dating but despite being from 2017 as well is one cheeky enough to be cool Xd I probably would edit some lines now *shudders*

3: After you I truly didn’t expect this one to be top 3. Makes me think of a lot of things, if I’m being honest Xd. After you was a one shot written almost feverishly as an answer to the fabulous drawings that Sejic did of both Lara Croft and Wonder Woman back at 2018 or something. It’s just Lara and Diana being himbos but not at all with each other.

4: How about… How about is one I remember perfectly, it was my answer to the ending of the Half of it film. I had SOME thoughts about it, let’s just stop there Xd I really liked the film itself but I think and I thought at the time that my response to wishing for a final scene at the very end of the credits responds to me being in a different personal moment than the characters. I really wanted to explore my feelings about it and so I wrote about them finding each other again after some time passes. It was also something I wrote after quite the hiatus so I took it as something I could write about without focusing too much on the why.

5: Come to me

Ahh, SuperCorp Xd I remember this one actually. A friend of mine and I were talking about descriptions, and she mentioned quite off-handedly how she wanted a fic in where Kara’s back was described. I complied… more or less.

Fun tidbit, despite the big volume of my work is obviously set in ouat there’s only 1 SQ fic there as you can see, the others are either SuperCorp or the random one shots I created for Wonderwoman/Lara Croft and The half of it. *sighs in deep thought* I’m also not going to look too much into how almost all of the fics were posted and written back in 2017. Nope, not at all.

*Small voice screaming you peaked in 2017 and everything else is garbage jumps back and forth*

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I tend to always respond, yup. I truly value comments. I might have gone for spells of time in where I didn’t have the mental capacity to check in old fics because I truly didn’t know what to answer but I treasure every single comment and you all who comment know that I can start to ramble in the answers xd -sorry about that- I really really REALLY love interaction.

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending:

Ok, Nara, come on, this one is a catch for me. I’ve written angst in far too many fics to remember the angstiest one :P I have the most recent one, though, that is the easy one to think about: Goodbye.Written for @delirious-comfort. I’m just going to say “Kisses with their last dying breath” as an idea of what awaits inside but I’ve written about death and loss and angst quite a lot. There were some I wrote back to SQ with Regina needing to kill Emma during the Dark Swan arc that, to this day, I still love and some others in where Regina is the one that dies, again and again, trapped by magic while Emma watches. I have the loss in mental destruction form and… I REALLY like my angst y’know xd

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not counting Lara and Wonder Woman not really! I think it comes from the fact that I loooove worldbuilding as a whole and some pairings would require all my focus into making the world perfect which in turn would make me self conscious on the OOCness of it all.

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

*snorts* I’ve received hate due to the pairing I’ve written about, how I’ve written about it, the amount I’ve written, how slow or quick I can be, the usage of some tropes, the lack of usage of those same tropes… Let’s just go with: yuuuup.

9. Do you write smut?

I’ve written smut, yeah! But I can already see the pointed looks of some so let’s elaborate Xd I write smut when asked and sometimes when not asked but there’s a part of me I like to call a terrible tease that prefers writing the beginning of a scene, taunt it, focus on what happens before the sex scene per se as I find it more enjoyable to write. The process of escalation is always the best for me to see what can I do it by using both dialogue and descriptors tbh, so I tend to tease more than show.

9. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

A few weeks ago I’d have said: Maybe(?) But trying to follow the trail of some other fics that had been stolen from some friends -I think it was me trying to find more about the page that stole something from your Nara!- I found some pages in where my fics had been reposted. In some it was stated that the person posting the fic wasn’t the author but I had never been contacted in order to see if I’d say yes to such a thing and in some others the page was locked up but I could still see someone was pretending to be the author. I did the thing and got some of those down.

Pointed note: Ask me if you want to post or translate or anything. I will look into you and answer you if you seem honest about the thing. But despite every joke and self-deprecating comment those 500 and then some fics represent MY time so very kindly I say fuck off to those who wish to steal from me and if I catch you… you don’t really want to see me angry, trust me.

10. Ever had a fic translated?

I’ve given permission to some, yeah, but never heard it back from them so I’m guessing it didn’t stick.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I’ve written series alongside other authors as @stregaomega for example. And some others that are unpublished -looking at you @carsonnieve - I’ve also done collabs… but fics co-written in the sense of two authors same chapters I don’t have anything posted I’m afraid :P

13. All-time favourite ship?

*snorts*, I guess the obvious answer is SQ uh? And I do think they were the ones that allowed me to read and write SO much. The one I feel more strongly about, however, is Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13.

14. WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

All of them counts as a valid answer? But if I only could finish one that would be Arcadia. With A forgotten Promise second and the one I did as an Assassins Creed AU third. (I don’t remember the name so there’s no link, sorry xd)

15. Writing strengths?

Uhhhh, you REALLY want me to say that? I don’t fucking know!! To me everything I write is garbage. I always try to go for the feelings so I guess. Dunno xd I’ve been told I’m good at worldbuilding and to be honest is what I enjoy the most.

16. Writing weaknesses?

Everything Xd Pacing? What I hate the most sometimes is dialogue, I would count it as a weakness but I’m always far too focused on description rather than dialogue. I don’t think it’s a bad thing per se but it’s something that I don’t do as much.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I’m conflicted. Always. Majorly because I think that having bilingual characters in fanfiction is portrayed and expected in a way that I don’t feel it’s honest with how bilingual people -us- talk. So if I go by what I know I do I think it’s not what readers hope to see when it comes to that and if I go for how canonically is hoped to be found I don’t think it’s logical. But that’s me and my overthinking Xd If I have the option I like to do it.

18. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Belice! Or Bella/Alice. Worst first fic ever but oh, well, I’m always saying that :P

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Uhh… Don’t make me do this XD Agh, I don’t know. I’ve always been very vocal about Metallic Ink because I let myself enjoy the process of creating a magic system almost out of zero and that was fun. Despite hating some of the writing process and that I’d do it differently now I think I’m going to stick with that answer. Or anything that had any steampunk-based undertone. To be honest I like more thinking of concepts, I had one in where Emma was a thief and it involved the robbery of a ring that was Regina’s one way ticket to freedom I then later repurposed that I adored thinking about so let’s go with…. Yeah, I love having the option of changing things up a little and focus on how characters would fit in different aesthetics for this one Xd

Annnd… these are four pages, gods. I’m just going to tag @waknatious @carsonnieve @stregaomega here and see what they do- Enjoy the questionnaire ladies :P

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 9 ~The Mediation~

Previously in Light Vs Dark ...

Tears streamed down her face as he grabbed his phone and keys and made his way out. He couldn't get out of the cottage fast enough. His heart hammered, his ears started to ring, his lungs squeezing out the last air. He'd hurt her. He'd seen the bruises with his eyes, and now she's crying because of him. He needed to get out fast to clear his head.

She followed him closely behind. "Please tell me where you're going, Jamie. At least give me that," she pleaded.

He couldn't stand to see her tears anymore or hear the plea in her voice. He was doing what's right for her because he loved her too much. He wasn't even sure where he was going or if anyone would be safe in his presence. All he could think of was how frightened his sister had looked at him and the bruises he'd inflicted in Claire's arms. He needed to get as far away as possible, away from the people he loved.

He got into his car, slammed the door, and started the engine.

Claire banged on his window, her face wet with tears. "Don't do this, Jamie. We can fix this together. Please don't go. I'm begging you."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

The sun blazed through the windows, but instead of feeling delighted with the promise of a beautiful day, Claire felt hollow.

Earlier, moving on autopilot, she'd numbly climbed out of bed, showered and gathered all the will and strength she could summon and prepared to face the day. Though a part of her would rather curl into a ball under the duvet until Jamie returns, she made a Herculean effort to stay positive for sanity's sake. It should have given her comfort knowing Jamie was safe after Willie had informed her he'd been spotted at three in the morning at Lallybroch's driveway in his car and was now resting in his childhood home. But her eyes would prickle with tears every time she stood still and stared into space. So Claire kept herself busy, feeding Jamie's pets, letting them out of the house, doing a bit of laundry and setting up her work station for the day on the dining table. Currently, there were things that needed attending to, like her own work, and anytime soon, Willie would be arriving.

She was just about to open her laptop when there was a knock on the kitchen's back door.

She knew it was Willie. "Door's open," she croaked.

Willie walked in and stopped. A line formed between his brows, reminding her so much of Jamie she felt the beginning of tears welling up. "Hey, how are ye?" he asked.

With more enthusiasm than she had in her, she gave him a small smile. "I'm hanging in there. How's Jamie?"

"He's asleep ...last time I heard from ma."

"How about you? You look like you didn't get much rest either."

"Knackered," he replied, shoving his hands into his jeans' pocket. "The bloody git sent us on a merry chase. And now he gets to sleep the whole day while I'm left to pick up the slack at work."

Claire knew Willie was trying to make light of things. Needing to move, she stood and made her way to the kitchen, having the sudden urge to keep her hands busy. It would have been easier if she'd asked Willie to take her to Lallybroch. But there had been a reason for her decision to stay put. She needed to remind herself, there's a probability her presence could make Jamie's condition worsened after having seen his reaction to her bruise last night. Even if in the light of day, nothing seemed good enough excuse to be separated from him.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea?" she offered. "I could use a strong cuppa."

"Coffee would be grand."

Conscious of Willie watching, she went through the motion of taking out cups and switching on the coffee machine. When she opened the fridge to retrieve some milk, she accidentally nudged one of Jamie's magnets on the door, sending a post-it note to slip down. Automatically bending down, she picked up the piece of paper from the floor.

As she turned it the other way round and read it, a cross between a sob and a laugh broke passed through her mouth. It was a note Jamie had written to her just the other day.

Gone to work. Bought some croissants, and they're in the bread bin just in case Adso gets his grubby paws on it first. Can't wait to see you later. Missing you already. Love you. X

"Oh, damn it." Claire leaned over the countertop, pressing the note with one hand on her chest. "I-I can't do this."

Willie came up behind her and touched her elbow, gently turning her to face him. "Ye cannae do exactly what, Claire?" he asked, a look of concern etching his face.

"Pretend Jamie is fine." She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, she let out a lungful of air. "When we first met, he was in a good place. And I have this strong feeling that I am making his condition more frequent and worse."

"No, Claire ...dinnae speak like that."

She glanced down at Jamie's note, and when she felt prickles behind her eyelids, she slipped the piece of paper in her jean's pocket and shook her head. "How can Jamie and I be together if I'm the one triggering his nightmares and anxiety? Before I came along, his episodes were a rare occurrence. And now here I am making that classic mistake of attempting to fix a man." Her breathing suddenly became laboured, like she'd raced ten miles. "I wish I could be by his side. I know it's selfish wanting to be with him right now when I'm the reason for his distress. But I do. On the other hand, logic tells me, it's probably a good thing all those memories he hasn't dealt with are finally coming to the surface, so at least we have something to work on. I just wish there was a less unpleasant way for Jamie to handle all of these." She glanced out the window, unseeing the beautiful view in the sun.

When the silence dragged on for too long, Claire turned to face Willie and was surprised to see him smiling. "Cannae ye see it yet, Claire? Ye are not making Jamie's condition worse. In fact, ye have been helping him heal all this time."

She frowned. She was confused. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

Willie took the portafilter and began filling it with coffee for her. "Ye said it yersel'. The suppressed memories are coming to the surface." He shrugged as he worked the coffee machine. "Meaning, after all these years, Jamie can finally confront them head-on, deal with it and lay it to rest once and for all. Isn't that what his dreams are trying to tell him? He's forgone dealing with grief and issues that it had nowhere to go to except present itself as this monstrous nightmare and panic attacks. And then ye came along, and somehow, ye've extracted more out from him than all his therapists put together."

A nervous laugh gurgled from her throat. "I might have been able to do that, but at what cost? Jamie could've hurt himself last night." She'd worried at the speed he'd taken off, thinking if anything grievous had resulted from it, she would have been so utterly devastated, she'd blamed herself. "He needs professional help, Willie. It can't go on like this."

"He does," he agreed, pressing the button on the coffee machine. "But Jamie needs you too, more than ever ...even if he believes he's a danger to ye."

"But he didn't hurt me."

He pushed the stop button on the coffee machine. "May I see the bruise?"

"Of course." She rolled up her sweatshirt sleeves. "I told him I bruise easily. I have an iron deficiency which I'm taking supplements for."

Willie studied the markings on her arms. "They're not that bad."

"No, they're not. I tried to convince him, but he won't listen. I only need to pinch my skin, and I bruise. It's a symptom of being anaemic."

Willie sighed. "Jamie won't be easily convinced, though. Weel ...at least not until he's calmed down."

"He used to have a therapist. Why isn't he seeing one now?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "I know he's against taking pills for his condition, but surely talking to a professional would help him a lot."

"He has nothing against seeing a therapist ..." he replied matter-of-factly as he handed her the coffee. "...just a particular one."

"Oh!" She took the cup from Willie and watched him make another one for himself. "May I know why?"

"Her name is Geneva Dunsany. She's the only available therapist in Broch Mordha. She took over Jamie's former therapist after he left for England." He paused to look at her. "Ye see ...a few years back, my da remortgage Lallybroch and then when the recession came, our family was hit hard financially and had trouble paying the bank. To cut a long story short, Jenny, our meddling sister, knew Geneva was infatuated with Jamie. Since Geneva comes from a well-off family, Jenny thought by playing matchmaker, she would solve everyone's problems single-handedly. Ever since then, my sister has been trying to get them together. So when she heard Jamie's therapist left for England, she encouraged Geneva to take the job even though she already had one in another town. Jamie is quite perceptive, though and knew what our wee sister was up to. Hence he refused to see Geneva."

"That's a bit sneaky."

"Ye can say that again. Geneva might have a wee crush on Jamie, but I dinnae think she's aware of Jenny's meddling, even though they're friends. Jenny thinks she's doing Jamie a favour by finding him a lass who lives here and can help him with his condition. Jen is practical like that."

"I've met her, actually. The therapist that is. We were introduced ...just before I went back to London," she explained, thinking back to the day when she first met Jenny and Geneva. And she's beautiful too, she thought grudgingly. Although Jamie had never given Claire reason to feel jealous before, every muscle in her body had gone rigid, hearing Willie's account on Jamie's would-be therapist. Jealousy continued to roll in like a lick of a flame as the image of Jamie pouring his heart out to a beautiful woman burned hot in her guts. The sudden urgent need to see him made her want to sprint out of the cottage at full speed, but a dose of decorum kept her rooted on the spot. "So, Jamie wasn't interested, huh? Not even the teeny, tiniest bit?" she squeaked, annoyed at the sudden change in her voice.

She thought she saw a muscle twitched along Willie's jaw, but she must have imagined it. Looking like he was sucking the inside of his cheek, he shook his head. "No. Never. And ye have nought to worry about, Claire. Jamie only has eyes for ye."

She swallowed the bitter taste of doubt. "Not worried," she lied, sipping her coffee. But in the true sense of the word, she already felt loads better after the enlightening conversation with Willie. It had taken the edge off her worry over Jamie's condition, even though she still couldn't erase the thought of Jenny pushing Jamie towards Geneva.

"Maybe ye should attend a therapy session with Jamie ...at least initially," he suggested, eyeing her closely as if trying to read her thoughts. "That way, it would put Jamie at ease, and Geneva would realise he's taken already."

Claire slowly placed her cup on the countertop. "Why do I get the feeling this meddling thing is inherent in your family?" she asked, feigning disapproval.

Willie put his own cup down. "Not inherent, Claire. I have my own selfish motive. Ye're the best friend of my Annalise, and I wouldn't be helping my cause if she finds out I've done nought to help ye." When Claire gasped, he grinned. "Kidding aside, even if Annalise wasn't my girlfriend, I want ye to know, I really like you for my brother."

Claire could barely see through the tears she hadn't been aware that was building up. "You sound so sure."

Willie placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. "Are ye sure about my brother?"

"With all my heart," she whispered.

"That's all I need to know."

..........

Jamie slowly opened his eyes and took in the familiar surroundings of his old room. His heart throbbed when he realised the last time he'd slept here had been on New Year's eve, with Claire tucked snuggly on the crook of his arm. Bracing himself up on his elbows, he heard his mother talking to Jenny and his da downstairs. They were probably in the kitchen discussing his state.

He rubbed his face with one hand, feeling the beginning of a day-old stubble, exhaustion washing over him in waves. A mixture of self-loathing and guilt rose within as he replayed the incident from the night before. He couldn't decide what pained him the most, the bruises he'd inflicted on Claire or the fact he'd left her in tears standing in his driveway.

When he'd taken off from his cottage, his heart had been heavy and thoughts dark, not having had any clue what he wanted to do or where to go, only determinedly pushing himself to get as far away from Claire as possible. A few hours later, he'd found himself parked outside his childhood home after Willie and Murtagh had woken him up in his car. So far, he'd only talked to his older brother Willie, and he hoped it would be enough to keep the rest of his family's questions at bay.

Sitting up, he realised he was still in his clothes. He searched for his phone and found it on the nightstand. Swiping the screen, he saw he had a few missed calls from clients and a voice message from Claire. Willie must have switched his phone to silence.

I should call her, he thought. It wouldn't be that difficult. Her voice would soothe him, and her lack of judgement would make him feel like he's on solid ground. He could show his worst, and he knew she'd still be there, smiling and soothing him with words, just like last night. Every hour that passed without seeing her or hearing from her put him a little more off centre, and he could see how too reliant he was becoming on those breaths of fresh air that sprung from her. He shook his head. She was too precious to be with someone who had this nonstop ugliness embedded in the insides of his head. It would only be a matter of time before he dragged her into his hell. He couldn't do that to her.

He was about to tap on Claire's voice message when he was alerted by a double knock on the door.

"Jamie, are ye awake, son?" It was his father.

"Come in," he answered, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

The door opened, and he saw his mother walk in first with a mug of tea. "My darling boy," she smiled, placing the hot brew on the bedside table. "I thought ye could use a bit of something warm in yer belly. How are ye feeling?" She stooped down and kissed him on the forehead.

Jamie scooted back to the headboard to make space for his mother while his father took the chair. "Exhausted," he said honestly. Although he'd slept all morning, it hadn't been a restful sleep.

His father, Brian, cleared his throat. "So ... what's going on with ye, lad?" he asked, cutting to the chase as usual.

Ellen sent her husband a warning glare before refocusing her attention back to Jamie. "Whenever ye're ready, darling," she reassured him, patting his thigh. "Willie vaguely told us what happened, and Jenny is beside herself thinking she triggered yer panic attack yesterday. And Claire ...ye never told us she's here. She's worried sick about ye."

Jamie sighed. "What's there to tell." He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "It wasnae Jenny's fault. It's just the same old, same old. The only difference this time is, I made a stupid mistake getting Claire involved with me. And I'm hurting her in the process."

Ellen briefly looked at her husband. "I find that hard to believe, Jamie. Ye're such a gentle soul, ye could never ever hurt a fly even if it's bugging ye to bits. Did ye two have a fight? Did Claire say ye were hurting her?" she asked Jamie gently.

"No. I just know I am."

"Oh, darling ..."

"So that's it ..." Brian raised his hands in the air before letting them drop to his sides. "Ye're giving in to this condition ye've fought hard against all yer life when the chance for happiness finally present itsel' to ye because ye THINK ye are hurting Claire. Is that what ye're trying to tell us? Because believe ye me, we didnae raise a violent or abusive son. So enlighten us ...where in heaven's name is this all coming from?"

"Brian!"

"It's a futile fight," Jamie blurted before taking a deep breath. "Trust me ... I'd like to have what ye both have. But at what cost? Look at the state of me. Is this the kind of man Claire deserves? She's willing to turn her life upside down for me, and for what? Only to find out later she'd saddled herself with a mentally ill man. So perhaps it's for the best she lucked out early before its too late for either of us."

His mother moved closer to his side and took his hand. "So let me get this straight. Ye're staying away from Claire because ye like her a lot, and ye're afraid to hurt her." Pain clenched tight on his vocal cords, incapacitating him to answer, but she interpreted his silence as a yes. Even though it's far more complex than that. "Oh, sweet lord, how youth is so wasted on the young," she clucked.

"Aye, perhaps." He rubbed a hand behind his neck. "But trust me, I ken fine what the problem is."

"Oh, is that so?"

His father's sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but he ignored it in favour of the pressure sinking into his chest. "I ken I hold back a lot from everyone, and I ken too that's wrong. When things get too much, I keep my mouth shut. And I dinnae realised at first that suffering in silence damages, instead of helping. Though it's easier said than done, I'm working on it. All I ever wanted was no' to be a burden or be the cause of anyone's pain. Claire deserves more."

Ellen sighed. "Jamie ...Jamie ... ye're never a burden. Ye're a delight, and we're so proud of ye. Ye need to understand, ever since ye were a wee bairn, ye've always needed a purpose, like fixing everyone's problem because it gave ye satisfaction to see ye've righted someone's world. Whenever someone was hurting, ye're always the first to reach out." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I thought it was endearing at first until it began to take over yer life. The trauma you've gone through only amplified yer true nature to a point it wasnae healthy anymore. And the guilt that came with it when ye can do nought and thought you've failed ...almost destroyed ye every time." She shifted on the bed. "Jamie ...ye have to stop denying yersel' a chance for happiness because ye're afraid of hurting or failing someone. Pain is part of life. It's inevitable. Though it's good of ye to think of others first, sometimes, it's also good to let others carry that burden for ye and help ye. Running away because ye're afraid of hurting someone is no' gonnae to do anyone any good. Ye'll only end up hurting yersel'. And when that happens, who's going to help ye?"

His mother's logic made sense, but the chatter in his brain continued to hold its ground. "Claire's been through a lot, ma."

"And so have ye, son," Brian interjected, firmly.

"But what if I make things worse for both of us?"

"Oh my sweet boy, what if ye end up happy together?" Ellen smiled. "I ken a crystal ball would come in handy right now, but because we dinnae have one, the only way to find out is to take the risk and hope for the best. Just like what Claire is doing."

Jamie shut his eyes for a while and pictured them together. Every fibre in his body was screaming to get in his car and drive back to Broch Mordha and start making it up to Claire. But his mother was right ...he needed help. He didn't want to put Claire through all that misery again, so he decided right there and then he would start attending therapy afresh. It was the way forth, and he'd held off attending therapy for too long, which might have worsened his condition. But first things first. He needed to be in the right headspace to start doing anything.

"Fine, I'll call the clinic later for an appointment but do ye mind if I rest some more. I'm still feeling a bit off."

The chair scraped the wooden floor as Brian stood up. "Aye, of course. Ye look worn to a frazzle."

Ellen reached out and pulled Jamie into her arms and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be downstairs if ye need anything." She got up and ruffled his hair as if he was still a wee boy. "And I've made leek and tattie soup in case ye're hungry."

"Thanks, ma."

His parents were just about to walk out when Jenny strode in. "Hey."

Jamie rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Jenny, can we talk later? I'd like to be alone for a bit."

Brian and Ellen gave his sister a warning look as they left the room, but she just shrugged. "I promise this willnae take long. Please, Jamie?"

Jamie waved a hand. "Fine. What is it?"

He watched his sister retrieve something from her jeans' pocket. "Mrs Fitz from the Airbnb gave me this. One of her clients staying over her place left an Oxford Mail newspaper a couple of weeks ago. As she was browsing through it, she came across Claire's name." She handed him a newspaper clipping. "Looks like yer wee girlfriend is an heiress."

"What? Let me see that."

Jamie skimmed through the short article about some property in Fox Lane, Boars Hill in Oxford. It said it was formerly part of the Berkeley Castle Estate. The original part of the house had been designed by the celebrated architect Sir Ernest George for Lord Berkeley, a family ancestor from her mother side. The house had apparently garnered loads of interest among the local rich after being recently vacated by a local MP. It mentioned the original owners' name as Henry and Julia Beauchamp, deceased, and the heiress as Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

Was this the South Lodge property Claire had been talking about she'd inherited from her parents? He hadn't really given it much thought ever since she'd casually mentioned it. This was a far cry from the cabin in the woods he'd envisioned.

"Three million pounds for a house!" Jenny broke through his reflection. "Doesn't it make ye wonder what else she inherited?"

Jamie looked at the paper again. That's what the house is worth? Ach, Christ! Even the Oxford gossip found its way to Broch Mordha. He knew Claire would be mortified if the news of her assets became everyone's favourite topic of conversation.

Folding the note, he handed it back to his sister. He saw Claire a little differently now. All that money in the world and all she only ever wanted was a place to belong to. Suddenly he felt awful for leaving her last night. He shook his head at his sister. "Not a word about this to any of yer mates!" he warned her. "Or else ..."

Jenny's eyes widened. "What do ye take me for?"

"A babble merchant," he ribbed, unsmiling. "Now, let me be."

"Ye're no' angry at me still, are ye?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm just exhausted."

"Can I do anything for ye?"

He puffed out a breath. Jenny was looking at him earnestly, and he knew she only wanted to reach out. "Aye, in fact, ye can. Ye can arrange that appointment with the therapist for me."

She smiled, seemingly happy to please. "Right on it. If ye need anything else ..."

"Aye, aye, I'll let ye know."

Jenny left, and somehow, he felt a little less heavy in the heart than he did when he woke up earlier. Grabbing his phone, he tapped play on Claire's voice message.

"Hey, it's me. Just letting you know how much I miss you. I felt a little sad earlier, so I wandered into a cafe in the village centre after Willie left. They had this upbeat music playing in the background. It's an old song. Probably from the eighties or nineties, I'm not quite sure. It's pretty cheesy, but it brought a smile to my face. And now I can't get the music out of my head. Maybe if you listen to it too, it will bring a smile to your face. It's from Rick Astley, Never Gonna Give You Up." There was a pause before she spoke again. "Right, I'll let you rest. Willie told me that's what you've been doing. I'm going to take Rollo out for a walk now and try to get some work done. I'll text and send you a voice message later. I love you."

Ah, Sassenach! He swiped the screen to phone her, but his phone beeped and died. Ah, shite! He wanted to go and see her now but stopped. He had to take steps to make himself better first. He needed to put in the hours to help himself. She deserved the extra time he would put in because she's not getting half-arsed from him again. But for now ...

He scrambled out of bed and opened the bedroom door.

"Ma!" he called out.

"What is it, dear?"

"Do ye still have all yer old music from yer university days?"

"Anything in particular?"

He cringed inwardly. Ah, fuck! "Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley?"

He thought he heard females sniggering downstairs.

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for your patience with the previous chapter and, mostly, the feedback and beautiful comments. I hope this latest update felt a lot lighter to read. I'll keep this short as I'm drained today; nevertheless, I wish you a great weekend.

Looking forward to reading what you think of this update. Take care always, and keep those love vibes rolling. Much love. X

[justinhubbell]

Hey Justin! You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to ofc but may I just ask something? It’s kind of a weird question but what do you think about the view that you’ve gotta take up a job that solves one of the world’s biggest problems and help people? Idk I’m kinda questioning my place in the world and everything and like, what if I can’t do it, what if I can’t help anyone?

Anyway i hope you have a great day ahead regardless! Bye!

That is an excellent question my friend.

Story time: I have C-PTSD. Among the abuse I faced as a child, neglect was perhaps the most heartbreaking. I became a caregiver at a very early age, because I didn't want anyone to suffer as I did.

People like me (there are billions) find taking care of other people feels easier than taking care of themselves.

Enter my work...

...when "It's Not a Race" blew up, I decided I would single-handedly rescue the global Trans population. That was my calling.

Didn't care that I wasn't making money, this was DESTINY! I would serve as a beacon of hope in an ocean of misery, and to this day that is how I conduct myself. I will happily go to my grave knowing that I did everything I could to ease the suffering of my beloved community.

...but was I doing "everything?" or was I only engaging in self-sacrifice? chasing a feeling of success from a single comic? Hmmm...

I learned by way of terrible pain, that it's unsustainable to continuously neglect your own needs to help others.

No one person can save the world. Nice idea, but impossible.

I got a JOB on the success of "It's Not a Race." Let that sink in... ...but within a year I had to leave because I was a nervous wreck (well...that and they treated their disabled contributors like crap)

Nothing I did was ever good enough for me. It is so hard to stay positive with a growling stomach. I can't tell you how many popcorn dinners we ate. I lost so much sleep that I had to quit my other job too. And as I suffered, my work suffered. The worse I felt, the less art I made.

It was only when I decided to "turn heel" and specifically NOT care if I was "successful" or "liked" that I began to regain the joy of making art again.

My mantra became "I love to disappoint."

Now that I'm on the other side here's my thinking:

Step one: change the culture

- gradual process involving billions of people resolved to move toward nonviolence (both politically and philosophically)

Step two: everyone works together

Step three: SPACE TRAVEL THO...

Every day countless people beat themselves up for not having the ability to right the wrongs of the entire universe. What if you're right—and you can't help—what then? Give up and become an oil tycoon? I don't see that for you...

...you are person most capable of taking care of yourself, and you can't help ANYONE if you don't do that. You must learn to listen to yourself and your needs, and respond with kindness and compassion. This requires trust, and is a very slow process.

I recommend this book as a starting point.

Nobody is perfect. All we can do, is try! <3

[presumenothing]

we’re doing it to ourselves (or so the saying goes)

(AO3)

Jiang Cheng swears up a storm and a half when he shoves open the investigation room door the next morning to find someone already there.

The red ribbon hanging long down Wei Wuxian’s back blends in so seamlessly with the red thread strung all over the murderboard that it takes slamming his hand against the wall switch to shatter the sudden imagination of his brother’s photo up there with the rest of the clues, just another person they’d failed to save from this case.

Wei Wuxian gives a hiss of half-startled annoyance, blinking from the abrupt brightness, but it frankly serves him right for standing in the dark like a burglar with only the corridor emergency lights filtering in. Had he even been able to see anything? Even demonic cultivation doesn’t give you night vision, last he checked. “Good damn morning to you too, Jiang Cheng.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got in here,” he replies, because at least half of what he knows about breaking into places he’d learned after Wei Wuxian taught himself how to one boring rainy day in high school. “Tell me all this has nothing to do with you.”

He doesn’t specify what this is, because there’s no need to. Wei Wuxian hasn’t moved from his frozen stance in front of the board of clues, crimson lines running between the serial murders like a bloody taunt, a web Jiang Cheng has stared at long enough over the past week that the afterimage feels burned into his eyelids.

There’s nothing of Wei Wuxian’s usual brash overconfidence in the answering shake of his head. “No. I meant it when I said I’d never go vigilante again, Jiang Cheng. And I haven’t. I’ll swear it again on anything you ask.”

In a different time, Wei Wuxian would already have sworn up and down that the heavens should strike him down right then if he’d lied, but maybe that’s exactly the problem – he had already been struck down once, in almost every way that mattered, and worst of all is how it makes Jiang Cheng more inclined to believe him now.

It’s still not quite enough, though. “Swear it on Jin Ling’s life.”

He doesn’t need to see Wei Wuxian’s expression to know he’s not happy about that. Which doesn’t matter, because neither of them are; the space Jin Ling occupies among them has been almost sacred especially after they’d nearly lost Yanli-jie, but it’s also exactly why Jiang Cheng is asking him to swear on this. He can’t accept anything less.

Wei Wuxian has to know that, too, because he doesn’t argue, only says, “I swear on Jin Ling’s life that I don’t have any direct involvement with this case.”

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow and pointedly does not look relieved. “‘Direct’?”

“Duh.” Wei Wuxian gestures, wide and too-careless, at the grotesque web on the wall. “You’ve got a copycat killer, and a surprisingly thorough one at that. I’d be surprised if the original Yiling Patriarch isn’t tied to this somehow.”

“Careful, they might not be able to see your ego from space,” Jiang Cheng bites right back, even though he’s been thinking the same for probably about as long as Lan Wangji has, for all that they hadn’t acknowledged it aloud until the day before yesterday. “How the hell did you even find out about this?”

“Wen Qing did most of the autopsies, didn’t she?” Wei Wuxian answers, pretty much as he’d been expecting. “And before you think about going to yell at her, she didn’t actually reveal any case details to me, just that you and Lan Zhan were investigating something that I might be interested in. Also that she might snap and add one or both of you to the body count if she has to mediate even one more argument between you two.”

How Wei Wuxian’s presence could possibly do anything except exacerbate that, Jiang Cheng has no idea, but it’s not like he can afford to alienate the best medical examiner they have across all the districts. (And he doesn’t want to, either; Wen Qing’s clear expertise had single-handedly silenced all of the brass who’d had issues with hiring a Wen, but there’s never any telling what might get them started up again.)

Still. “I wouldn’t call that mediating,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

Wei Wuxian laughs, because he still doesn’t have even half an ounce of self-preservation, even against someone who could and would immobilise people with just three well-placed needles. “Speaking of which, how much longer are you gonna lurk there, Lan Zhan? I thought the Gusu bureau had a rule against eavesdropping and all.”

Jiang Cheng gets a crick in his neck from how fast he turns, and sure enough – there’s Lan Wangji stepping out of shadows that had hidden him far too well for someone in so much white. (Even after having no choice but to work this case together with him Jiang Cheng still has absolutely no fucking idea how Lan Wangji keeps his clothes spotless even at crime scenes; he’s starting to suspect it’s some kind of cultivation-related trick designed specifically for this purpose.)

“Eavesdropping would require neither of you to be aware of my presence,” he says, like that isn’t just some bit of pedantry, and inclines his head. “Wei Ying. Jiang Wanyin.”

And that’s definitely intentional, putting his name last like Jiang Cheng cares what order Lan Wangji addresses people in. Which he really, really doesn’t, especially not before inhaling at least half the thermos of coffee that always resides in his backpack in avoidance of the acidic slop from the pantry machine.

Wei Wuxian smiles at Lan Wangji, because of course he does, but it’s strangely gratifying to note that he hasn’t put any effort in making it look convincing at all. “Well, Lan Zhan – do I need to swear my innocence in this case to you too?”

“Unnecessary. I believe you,” Lan Wangji says, bearing regal like he’s some monarch issuing a decree, and Jiang Cheng snorts. How easy for him to say that when Wei Wuxian hadn’t cost his bureau and family almost everything they’d been.

It doesn’t make the back of his throat taste any less bitter when Wei Wuxian’s expression warms a little at that, but at this point Jiang Cheng doesn’t think anything ever will. “Enough chitchat,” he snaps. “The paperwork?”

Lan Wangji retrieves a folder from his briefcase and slides it over to the centre of the table wordlessly, while Jiang Cheng crosses his arms and scowls at Wei Wuxian until it sinks through his stupidly thick skull that the paperwork is for him.

The answering groan, at least, is entirely sincere. “What the hell is that for? You know I hate paperwork, Jiang Cheng, I didn’t quit over it but I very well could have.”

Yes, he’s very aware of that, seeing as their weekly paperwork grudge-match marathons from before everything had gone to hell had been held in his office. “Just read and sign the damn thing, Wei Wuxian, it’s the only bloody reason I haven’t already arrested you for breaking into bureau offices ten minutes ago.”

And that has to be enough for Wei Wuxian to already know, because bureau policy hasn’t changed that much in the years since his defection except to get more annoyingly onerous, but still he looks surprised at the contents of the contract. “A civilian consultant?”

“You have a skillset that could be invaluable to resolving this case. It would be highly remiss not to bring you on board.” Lan Wangji still looks perfectly neutral, as far as Jiang Cheng can tell, but that’s more sarcasm-free words in a row than he’s ever heard from him since the start of this investigation. Possibly since their first acquaintance with each other.

“I wouldn’t call ‘being the prime suspect’ a skillset, exactly,” Wei Wuxian mutters, which is something Jiang Cheng can definitely agree with at least. Though the only reason this is possible at all is because there’d never been an official conviction in the original Yiling case, for a whole chaos of reasons including the public uproar in support of whoever had taken down Wen Ruohan and his cronies for good, and because they already had reasonable evidence to suggest Wei Wuxian’s non-involvement in this spate of murders.

The non-suspect in question is still flicking his way through the clauses of the contract, which Jiang Cheng would feel insulted by except he’d also gone through each and every one just as closely, taken his concerns to Yanli-jie who’d taken them to Jin Zixuan until they could be sure this arrangement wouldn’t jeopardise Wei Wuxian in any way.

He reaches the last page, and from the skip of his gaze Jiang Cheng knows instinctively what Wei Wuxian has to be looking at – the grid of signatures starting with his own and Lan Wangji’s as primary investigators of the case, dated clearly to two days before this conversation had even occurred, followed by Lan Xichen’s confirmation both as Lan Wangji’s superior and because Jiang Cheng can’t very well second his own recommendation even as the Yunmeng bureau chief, and finally a space for Wei Wuxian’s chickenscratch initials.

(It’s frankly mystifying, why someone who can draw talismans that flow like the finest art has never bothered with a more elegant signature, but it’s not a mystery Jiang Cheng cares to solve. Better that than the unmistakable signatures the Yiling Patriarch had left at his scenes, at any rate; even he has had nightmares about that.)

Jiang Cheng tosses him a pen, anything to break the sudden silence, and Wei Wuxian catches it without looking but of course doesn’t get right to signing, because that would be sensible. “What is this for, then? There are easier ways to keep an eye on me. Cheaper, too.”

“The forensic evidence is scant, and the culprit has done something to keep the victims’ souls beyond my ability to communicate with,” Lan Wangji answers without further prompting, which is probably more information than they should be giving out to a not-yet-contracted civilian but Jiang Cheng’s not the one with a stick up his ass about protocol in this room and anyway Wei Wuxian had already broken in here. “An alternative method might help.”

“Last I checked, no one likes the alternative when it means resurrecting th– ah,” Wei Wuxian cuts himself off with a flick of his gaze between them, and has the gall to look amused. “So the old coots are desperate enough by now that anything goes?”

“Not anything,” Jiang Cheng grates out, just to be clear. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been wrong; the investigation methods favoured by each bureau differ even just among the four major ones, but the dislike of the way Wei Wuxian had done things since somehow escaping being taken hostage by Wen Chao had been almost universal.

(There’d been a brief period when it seemed like things might work out after all, when Wei Wuxian had demonstrated how undeniably efficient demonic cultivation could be in comparison to their regular methods – even the Gusu musical techniques couldn’t beat speaking to the victim in the flesh, as it were. But then everything had gone to hell in a massive speeding handbasket and Wei Wuxian had been most of the one who’d sent it there.

Possibly Jiang Cheng is being monumentally idiotic in not assuming this time will turn out exactly the same way, but annoyingly enough Wei Wuxian is also correct in that they need this case solved, or everything might just go to chaos anyway.)

“I’m pretty much the definition of anything, I think,” Wei Wuxian retorts, which Jiang Cheng ignores like the obvious nonsense it is. “Don’t blame me if you lot regret this.”

“Pretty sure it’s already too late for that,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, swiping the thermos out from where he’d set his backpack down.

Lan Wangji can deal with filing that paperwork, if he’s just going to stand there in stoic satisfaction. Jiang Cheng needs his damn coffee.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

mad woman

part of my folklore series

Summary: Kurt is concerned that Santana has lost her voice; Blaine helps her get it back. 

Notes: I really feel that this song embodies Santana. I can’t explain it but it just reminds me so much of her. HAPPY 1 YEAR OF FOLKLORE!!!!!

AO3

Anytime he heard Santana singing in the shower, Kurt wondered why she gave up performing. Sure, she had the Spotlight Diner shifts but she was seldom a soloist. More likely, Santana opted to be backup vocals unless she was feuding with Rachel that day. It was like glee all over again. Her voice silenced or drowned out by the attention seekers. She didn’t fight for it as she had during her short-lived time as a member of the Treble Tones. Hell, she wasn’t into the music as much as Elliott and Dani were when One Tree Hill had been a quintet. 

Kurt was worried about her. Though she’d deny it, Santana loved to sing. She needed glee just as much as the rest of them. The problem was since she moved to New York it was like she lost her voice. 

He remembers feeling like that when he first arrived. Without NYADA, Kurt was another drop in the huge sea of city folk. No longer did he stand out for his bold fashion choices or being gay. Here, the things that once made him eccentric were just another thing people tried to ignore as they went about their days. No one in the city had time to pick on or compliment a newcomer from a small town in Ohio. 

At first, Kurt liked it because the fear of being beaten for being himself had completely vanished within a few weeks of moving. That was all behind him. Way back in Lima. After a few months, the novelty wore off. He actually started to miss the stares from his classmates at McKinley High. 

He hated to admit it but Rachel may have been right when she said they were similar. Sometimes, Kurt felt like Tinkerbell too. He needed applause to live. Craved the attention. Then, he got it at the Winter Showcase. Madame Tibideaux handed the limelight to him on a silver platter. The entirety of the NYADA staff got to hear him sing. 

Of course, he could’ve thrown up because he was so nervous and completely unprepared. Yet, it had been exhilarating. That rush of being on stage with a captive audience. Combined with his attendance to NYADA being on the line, Kurt hadn’t felt this energized since he last saw Blaine in person. 

None of that seemed to faze Santana Lopez. 

Honestly, after pulling her into the band and having her quit, recommending the evening dance classes at NYADA, and taking her out to Callbacks on weekends, Kurt was out of ideas. She refused to get on stage. But he saw that small smile on her face when she hummed under her breath when she thought no one was listening. No matter how vehemently she denied it, she missed singing. So, Kurt called Blaine. 

“I don’t know, Kurt, it’s kinda hard to help when I’m not seeing the situation for myself.” Blaine sighs, likely bummed he can’t solve this. 

Kurt practically saw him pouting through the phone. Thank god, they weren’t on Skype. He hated seeing his boyfriend looking so defeated when he wasn’t there in person to kiss the top of his head. 

Blaine had become the self-proclaimed advice-giver of the New Directions since he transferred. 

He helped Mike Chang fix his relationship with Tina when they had a week-long fight about only eating at Asian restaurants on their date nights. Tina had been pissed. No simple apology was going to cut it.  Blaine single-handedly compiled a list of Tina’s favorite places to eat and added a few of his personal favorite date night places. 

When Finn would forget special dates and Rachel got fussy about how Finn never uses the couple calendars she made for them, Blaine stepped in and helped him set up a reminder alert on his phone. 

And there was that whole fiasco about Miss Pillsbury not-so-subtly hinting that she wanted to get engaged. Blaine was able to straighten Mr. Schue out pretty quickly that day. For the life of him, that man didn’t understand why Miss Pillsbury was acting so weird. 

“You don’t have to be so roundabout, you know?” Kurt told him. 

“Huh.” Playing dumb, typical.

“Just come up to the city, Blaine,” he said. “I know you want to ask.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, boyfriend of mine,” Blaine huffed. “I have zero ulterior motives while being completely unhelpful to your current predicament.” 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure that’s the case. I’ll see you next week.” 

“Unless Cooper can find an earlier flight!” Blaine exclaimed. 

He had been using up the countless number of frequent flyer miles his older brother had racked up to make weekend trips to New York. After Cooper discovered their long-distance relationship (likely after one too many late-night calls from Blaine missing his boyfriend), he offered them to Blaine. 

Blaine arrived the following Friday. McKinley had some teacher’s day so Blaine was able to hop on a morning flight. He was waiting in the loft when Kurt finished classes for the day. 

“Okay, we’re going to Callbacks tonight,” Kurt said, removing his coat. 

“Hello to you too,” Blaine replied, standing up from the sofa. “How are you, Blaine? How was the flight, Blaine? I missed you so much, Blaine.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes and ignored his boyfriend. 

“This isn’t about you, Blaine,” he said, “it’s about Santana.” 

“Wow, Blaine, you look great! Aren’t those my yellow pants you’re borrowing?” Blaine crossed his arms. 

“Hey!” Kurt exclaimed. “Those are my pants!” 

“Yeah.” Blaine blushed. “I rolled them so they’d fit better.”

Kurt marched over to him and knocked him onto the couch. “You look hot in my clothes.” 

“I look better out of them.” 

Instead of verbally agreeing, Kurt unbuttoned his yellow pants. Blaine was quick to keep up removing his own shirt and attempting to pull off Kurt’s as well. However, Blaine was sitting on the couch and Kurt was kneeling between his legs. It was proving to be rather difficult a task. 

“Kurt…” Blaine groaned, “come up here with me.” 

“I can’t very well do what I want up there, Blaine.” 

He sat up straighter. “Is this payment for not properly greeting me because I’ll take a blowjob over ‘how do you do’ any day?” 

Kurt pressed his face into Blaine’s naked thigh. “So long as you aren’t accepting blowjobs from anyone but me.”

“No, I would…” Kurt licked around Blaine’s hip. “Never.” 

Within seconds, Blaine’s head was fully tipped over the back of the couch and the only thing coming from his mouth were moans. He couldn’t even force the word ‘Kurt’ from his lips. When Kurt finally gave in and decided Blaine had received efficient teasing, he sucked at the tip until Blaine screamed his name. 

They were quick to clean up their mess afterward, unsure of when the girls would be home. It was one thing to have sex in the living room, it was a whole other to get caught. Though, Kurt figured Rachel owned him after Brody paraded around naked for the few months they dated.  

“Okay, now that we’ve defiled Santana’s bed, can we focus on helping her?” 

“Step one, don’t tell her about this,” Blaine suggested. 

Kurt slapped Blaine’s chest. 

“Ow.” 

“Be helpful. You said if you were in New York, you’d be able to help better. So do it.” 

“FIne,” Blaine replied, “no Callbacks. I have a better idea.” 

Turns out that idea was a speciality club night of Alternative Tunes. 

“It’s open mic. There’s gonna be singers, poets, magicians, and I heard their harpist is opening tonight,” Blaine explained, as they waited in line. 

“Is that why she brought your violin?” Rachel questioned. 

“Yup!” Blaine held up his black case. “I haven’t played to an audience of more than one in a while.” 

Kurt smiled at him. He loved when Blaine performed just for him almost as much as he enjoyed watching Blaine in front of an audience. Something about his face just lit up on stage. The same way Santana’s did in front of a microphone. 

“As much as I love talking about violins…” She rolled her eyes, “is there alcohol at this place?” Santana asked, “because that’s like 90% the point of going out.” 

“Yes, there’s alcohol,” Kurt confirmed. 

He told Blaine they’d need at least two drinks into Santana before they brought up performing to her. Which proved true. After nursing two long island ice teas, Santana was finally talking to Blaine about being on stage. He hadn’t gone up yet and she was teasing him.

“Come on, you brought your own instrument and everything,” she said. “Give us a show and tell.” 

With that, Blaine stood up and walked to the stage. No one was in line so he went right up after the juggler finished. He tapped the microphone and introduced himself.

“I’d like to dedicate this first one to my boyfriend.” 

He mouthed an “I love you” towards Kurt, who blew a kiss back. 

Then, he was lost in the strings. The next song he did was for Santana. Blaine didn’t announce it or anything but he watched her face when he could during the progression of the song. When he finished his set, Blaine thanked the audience. Kurt whistled and clapped, Rachel was jumping up and down while screaming for an encore, and when Blaine was back at the table Santana offered to buy him a drink. 

Without Kurt even realizing it, the next performer on stage was Santana. Just her. She didn’t introduce herself as Blaine did, the piano music just started to play and then she was singing. 

“What do you sing on your drive home?

Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn?

Does she smile?

Or does she mouth, ‘Fuck you forever’?” 

Kurt couldn’t say why exactly but the song suited her well. Santana was always one to command an audience when she soloed. Soft instrumental with harsher lyrics was always her style. 

While Santana had the audience and Kurt captivated, Blaine bounced back over to their table. He had two drinks in his hand. 

“For you,” he said, passing Kurt a mojito. 

In return, Kurt pecked his check. He really was so lucky. Then, his full attention went back to the stage. 

 “Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy

What about that?

And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry

And there's nothing like a mad woman

What a shame she went mad

No one likes a mad woman

You made her like that”

 As Santana finished her song, Kurt and Rachel turned to Blaine, who was positively beaming. He’d done exactly what he had told Kurt he could do. 

“How?” Rachel asked. 

“I’m a smooth talker,” Blaine said with a smirk. 

Kurt rolled his eyes.

 If anything, his boyfriend was a clumsy mess. Romantic and adorable? Yes. Tripped over his words? Constantly. 

“Come on, Blaine, give it up,” Kurt said. 

“Magicians never reveal their secrets.” 

Rachel huffed. She had a glint in her eyes suggesting she wasn’t giving up. Rachel rarely did when she really wanted something. Kurt had a theory that she could pester anyone enough to get what she wanted. Example A, a ticket to NYADA by tracking down the head of admissions and inviting her to Chicago to watch a show choir competition.  

Before Kurt could tell Rachel to drop it, Santana returned. She had a new drink in her hand. 

“Compliments of the lady in red,” she told them. 

“Excellent song choice,” Kurt said.

“Blaine’s idea.” she shrugged, sipping her drink. 

Blaine was still beaming. 

“It’s perfect for her, isn’t it?” Blaine replied, “When I first heard it I knew I had to hear Santana do a cover of it.” 

Santana winked at him from across the table. 

“What is going on with you two?” Rachel asked. “The devil incarnate and the sun from teletubbies should not get along this well.” 

Santana shrugged. “He’s besties with Britt.” 

“It’s true.” Blaine nodded.  “She even called us the Sunshine Twins.” 

Kurt’s eyes drift to Blaine’s—his—yellow pants. “Yeah, that fits.” 

[shintorikhazumi]

Honey

A/N: Clearly, based on Kehlani’s song. Also, One, I did not try to learn the song on guitar just for this fic… Two, this may or may not be an advertisement to the Pole Dancing! AU I’m planning once I’ve completed A Warm Diana. That pole dancing au is completely separate from that one-shot I released, “Dance For Me.”, though it’s possible that a chapter may be named as such. Been a while since I did a songfic so… woot. The events here probably won’t happen in the final AU tho, but the world details are shared~. Not as much pole dancing as the last, sorry

Dedicated to @kagarikhylev, thank you! I said last, last weekend but I got swamped by college starting up again, all the LWA reposts to ao3 since I’m behind, and just generally… being distracted by a lot of things, so deepest apologies.

This fic may or may not be good. I am screwed because I have a 7am quiz and it’s 9:48pm, and I did not study a thing. Priorities, amiright? My concentration is busted.

Also. Diana is an idiot.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

 Honey

“I like my girls just like I like my honey, sweet

A little selfish…”

She walks through the halls, following the echoing of unfamiliar lyrics against the empty corridor. The clock ticks just that bit closer to five in the afternoon, and the east wing is relatively empty, save for the presence of a voice carrying that pleasant tune, and words that pique her interest. At the moment, she should be on her usual search for her friend who has been avoiding her like a pandemic these past few days, but her body is keen on taking a detour, her ears the leader that guides her whole way. Eventually, she finds herself standing in front of the sliding door to one of the dance course’s practice rooms. She expects that to be here, seeing as the music programs featuring vocal and instrumental courses held their classes on the opposite side of the large building, according to the map posted down the hall.

What she isn’t expecting is the singing present in the air. Because why would singing come from here? From a dance major?

While singing might not be solely reserved for the ones actually studying it, it is a rarity for occasions such as this to happen in a school that had students ready to ridicule anyone not up to par with their personal standard of skill. This holds especially true for those majoring in classical music as they often have their heads lifted high, considering their genre to be ‘superior’ to the rest.

So, she understands why theater children stick to theater, why dance majors stick to moving their bodies to the beat, and why people aiming to get into Philharmonic- much like her- only stick to performing and doing what they do best, in-and-out of class hours.

Here, in this institution, resides a slightly toxic, competitive atmosphere that forces you to give your all for your craft, and not insult others by dabbling in their own specialties half-heartedly. There is no encouragement, there is no beautiful rivalry.

Or at least, that’s what she’s known since entering both vocal and instrumental programs. As a flutist, in particular, there remains quite a bit of competition for seats in their prestigious school’s main touring orchestra, so auditions that may as well be full-blown battles were common. The dance majors always look so friendly from afar, though; maybe they are different.

And maybe that’s why they remain the school’s outcasts.

Breathing out her thoughts into a puff of air to clear her mind, she peeks through the small window of the room’s door. Her eyes widen in surprise, but pink lips tip into a fond smile as she spots a familiar tuft of brunette hair in that signature hairstyle she knew all too well. The one she’s been looking for.

‘What a treat.’

She leans heavier on the glass, pressing her ear against the door, believing it might allow her to hear this secret serenade better.

“I like my women like I like my money, green

A little jealous-“

In the light of the late afternoon sun, the singer is enchanting, magical. Reflected through ocean blues, she always has been. Ever since they first met. But something’s changed. There is a different kind of blossoming taking place in the musician’s heart. She doesn’t understand it. But she wants to. However, she wants to understand it with that particular girl- singing with abandon on the floor, antique guitar in her lap- by her side, but being avoided doesn’t make her need any easier to satisfy.

She doesn’t understand it at all. Why she can’t solve it on her own. She doesn’t understand why she’d being avoided either.

Hums ease the creases that have subconsciously formed on her forehead, the gentle voice tickling her ears pleasantly. It eases a weight off her soul, and she relishes in the ambience of the present hour.

She would have loved to listen for much longer had she not accidentally placed her full weight on the door at the wrong angle, sliding it open with a very audible screech. And the next thing she knows, she’s falling forward, and the floor comes up, about to give her a kiss she won’t forget, and it’s not the one she would have preferred.

But no, that should not happen. If her moniker of ‘Miss Perfect’ was anything to go by, she is sure she can do anything. Including catching herself against the now stuck door, leaving her bent in an awkward posture, face hovering inches off the floor. The sudden chain of actions has her heart jump up to her throat, all the calm air in her lungs stolen by shock. She remains in an awkward position for a while longer, gathering her bearings, and thankful she didn’t injure herself with what had just occurred. The room’s occupant is just as surprised as she is, apparently.

Shaking away her initial wide-eyed expression and donning an appreciative smile, she poses a casual statement, trying to brush off the awkward situation as she stands up to her full height, brushing imaginary dust off her jacket at the same time.

“I didn’t know you could play the guitar.”

There’s a curious pause, wine-red eyes stunned at the brash intrusion to her solo afternoon world. The perpetrator feels her toes clench in nerves, hidden behind closed shoes. She’s hoping her companion wouldn’t just… stare. She’s certain those eyes have a million questions running amok in her pretty little head, but she is beginning to feel the heat rising its steady course up her face, and is unsure she could handle this atmospheric pressure any longer.

By some deity’s saving grace, there’s a blink to reboot the mind of those same questioning eyes, the room’s initial occupant finally managing a response. “It’s a little hobby… I almost didn’t hear you come in.” Stood by the door, the newcomer wonders if that was meant to be a joking or a literal statement.

“And you never said you could sing.”

“I don’t.” The guitar is kept to the side, in a place hidden from the immediate view of anyone casually visiting the room. “I dance, is what I do.”

“I know.”  The flutist replies as casually as she strives to look in these strange moments; she hopes to keep the conversation flowing, to keep the person in front of her from leaving her side again. “I watch you.”

“Of course, you do.”

  //-//-//-//-//

She wonders what the song is all week. It replays over and over in her head in class. It haunts her dreams at night, and plagues her in the waking hours. She even unconsciously hums it while doing her homework in the library. This leaves her friend, Hannah, wide-eyed.

And she appears to be wide-eyed as well.

“Diana!” Is the harsh whisper in her ear. She doesn’t like the feeling of hot air there, but her astonishment at the fact that this song has now consumed her renders her the tiniest bit numb.

“What.” Diana replies just as quiet, but softer in delivery.

“Why are you singing that?” The brunette queries, voice no longer a whisper, and away from Diana’s ear, but low enough to not be overheard by anyone else in the vicinity. She doesn’t look mad, nor is she upset. Diana takes note of this. She’s merely… very, very befuddled.

“Is something the matter? I think I like the tune.”

“…”

“Hannah?”

“Do you really not know what that song is about?” Is the bewildered reply. “I mean… I know you aren’t that straight, m’lady…or at all…” The last part, she whispers under her breath. “but… like… I didn’t think you would expose yourself like this?”

With the faintest flush on her cheeks, Diana responds in confusion. “What are you saying? Am I not supposed to like this song?”

The shorter girl is taken aback slightly. “N-no, you can like… it. Just… your voice professor would have a heart attack if she hears you sing that and knows the song, so let’s not. Okay? Not in public, at least. Especially with your status.” She huffs, then whips her head back up, recalling something. “Don’t play it on you flute either. I see Barbara wasn’t lying when she freaked out earlier at lunch telling me about this.”

“I still fail to understand the problem?” Diana states, impatient as her foot taps on the wooden floorboards.

“Of course. Because you’re dense.” Is the offensive reply she gets. Before she can retort, or pose further question, Hannah takes her by the hand, clearing up all their stuff single-handedly with the other, showcasing surprising efficiency; and she drags her friend right out of the area.

As they turn into a relatively empty hall, the heiress’ hand is released, and she walks side-by-side with her friend who releases a snort that is succeeded by a fit of giggles that are quickly replaced with bouts of laughter. The brunette bends over, hitting her knees, tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Diana, you utter idiot.”

“Wha-“

All too quickly, the laughs dissipate and a serious Hannah slaps her hand on Diana’s shoulders in a firm grip.

“I would have hoped you’d look up the lyrics if you recalled them, but then again, you’re hopeless with technology. Or if you only heard the tune… well, I guess that’s understandable too.” The brunette patted her cheek fondly.

“It’s called Honey.” And Hannah finally tells her the title she’s been seeking; feeling grateful she hugs her friend.

“Wh-what’s happening?! Will I die tomorrow?”

“You overreact.” Diana rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“Don’t listen to it too much that you become addicted. Don’t want to catch you at the head of even more rumors than you already are.” Her shorter friend teases, picking up the materials she dropped earlier as she made a grab at Diana. “I’m serious.”

“Do you doubt my self-control?”

“After meeting her, what I do doubt is if you have much left.”

Diana splutters, chasing after the fleeing imp sticking her tongue out at her.

She’ll get back at her.

Hannah is rarely right over her, after all.

  //-//-//-//-//

Hannah is right, after all.

Immediately after reaching her room, Diana had looked it up; her barely cooperating fingers carefully typing in five simple letters… that soon became nine with a space between the previous ones and new ones as she clearly knows that she’s not looking to view videos of bees and liquid gold in glass jars.

And after the first click, she’s defeated. She listens to it over and over.

And over.

And over.

And over again.

//-//-//-//-//

[“'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck

A colorful mess, but I'm funny”]

The video plays on her phone for the thirtieth time that day. Considering that it is barely noon, with classes in between this time and the moment she woke up, that’s probably a lot of repeats. It isn’t unhealthy yet. Right?

And she likes the song. It plays well in the background as she does her homework. She’s too distracted for the lyrics to register properly in her mind anyway.

So a woman was singing about her companion who she seemed to be very loyal to. Just as Diana was to her new best friend. The singer also appeared to be bragging about their charm… and their preferences on women’s attitudes? Or visuals? Did this person like green-skinned ladies?? Who happened to be jealous and tasted sweet? Diana always thought the skin had a more… salty flavor to it.

Maybe she should ask what her new friend, Akko, thinks about this. She has been slowly sharing bits and pieces of her world to the unknowing prodigy, and she always likes hearing the brunette’s opinion on various subjects. Akko’s opinion.

Ah, yes. Akko. Right.

And Diana goes back to that afternoon with Akko and the guitar. The catalyst for this strange addiction to Honey. Not the food, she added to herself. The song.

The song, yes, now entering the thirty-first cycle. As the words came to play with the dancing melodies, Diana muses that the lyrics certainly suit the girl who had introduced this wonderful song to her.

[“'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck

A colorful mess, but I'm funny”]

And she reaches this part once more, still thinking of the one named Kagari Atsuko. The dance major, and her newest best friend. Friend. Yes, that’s what her other friends had said. She's been spending far too much time; sparing too much attention on her… friend, so they were a little lonely.

She digresses.

Anyway. Akko. Yes. She may not be much of a wreck– scratch that, maybe she was. Diana chuckles. Nevertheless, as the lyrics preach over and over, she was a beautiful one. Incredibly so.

She is all the vivid colors of the world, incredibly funny. Diana is not one for comedy, but Akko pulls laughs out of her with fabulous ease.

She closes her eyes, seeing that loveable face blinding her with the brightness of the sun, encompassing her with its warmth, and inspiring her each day. What an amazing friend.

As blues are revealed to the world behind the fluttering of thick lashes, she takes in the vast rehearsal room designed for the practices and assessments of the dance majors for ballroom. It houses a piano and a few of the larger percussion instruments for the live accompaniment of collaborating music majors. It also serves as the general area of practice for when the school would prepare for their showcases and events. Or well, this room used to be all of that. Now, it simply remains as a spare practice and storage room.

After the students had fallen into an unfixable dispute due to their hardheadedness towards their differences, collaborations seldom happen. When they do occur, they are looked down upon by the rest of the body. It was a shameful ordeal, supposedly.

It is a shame, Diana agrees. That they would sacrifice the beauty of performance for pride.

Only the people who come to utilize all this free space clean it before and after using. That is rare as well. Anyone who reserves this room becomes the target of rumors to want to unify a broken crowd.

And nobody wants that. That’s what the populace says.

The poor unused floorboards, the scarcely maintained instruments and tools… and here she sits at the aforementioned sad piano, lid sliding open, fingers splaying across ivory keys. She punches a note. And another, and the tune that has been imprisoned in her mind- or has it imprisoned her mind- is now escaping into the air, into the theme that fills her senses. She first tests it out with just the melody on one hand, but then her left comes to join in the only dance she really knows how to do.

This moment is hers alone. No one can come to break it.

Hannah can’t complain if she goes against her advice and performs the song for no one anyway.

A beautiful song for a beautiful no one.

She caresses it like a ballad, hands deftly sweeping over the keys, light and gentle.

Piano used to be her first love. Her mother loved it more. After she passed, Diana had lost many competitions, and she was forbidden from touching one ever again.

Only in secret could she stroke her lover’s keys, that beautiful ivory, that shimmering black. Only in secret could she kiss the melodies with all her affection, press down with the right pressure to allow the instrument to voice its beautiful moan of music.

Only in secret would could she play this song on repeat; only in secret could she play it herself; only in secret could she think on the lyrics well; only in secret would she link every syllable to one girl.

Only in secret could she wish she were here.

Only in secret could she realize and admit,

“I love you… Akko…”

--

A clanging sound, loud, metallic.

There’s a pole rolling on the floor, and the sound of shuffling, a figure scrambling to gather her belongings now scattered everywhere.

“…Akko.”

“Diana. Hi.” Rubies flit about, landing temporarily on anything not Diana. “You… were practicing… a thing?” Her voice is choked, its timbre pitched higher than the usual. “I guess I should leave you-“

“NO!” She doesn’t mean to yell, but her desperation has the better of her. She only has so little time to stop the girl from escaping her again. “S-stay. I… I mean… stay? Please stay? Please Stay.” She says the same words in different ways and tones, unsure. “Don’t… leave me.”

A nod is the only movement the frozen body can manage. There’s this stillness between them before Diana pushes out words from her frenzied mind.

“C-come here?” She pats the bench beside her awkwardly, not knowing if her invitation was a welcome one. She breathes a sigh of relief when Akko places her things to the side, neatly against the wall before walking up to her, standing by the bench, staring at the hand still covering the seat.

She hesitates.

“Sit?”

She does. She leaves a hand’s-width of space between them.

And it’s a painful silence.

One Diana tries to break.

“Hi.” She seeks her eyes.

“Hi.” They don’t seek hers. “What did you call me here for?” Akko asks nervously, feet shuffling against the floor.

Think fast, Diana. Anything to make her stay longer.

And it’s only honey on her mind once more. Her saving grace. “C-Could you sing that song for me once more?” Akko looks like she’s having difficulty recalling. “The one I walked in on...”

Akko bites her lip nervously as she contemplates that, and Dear mother of Cavendish Diana finds that so attractive.

“I don’t… think I know what you’re talking about.” The dancer plays dumb.

But Diana wants her plan of… whatever she’s trying to do… to work. So, her mind, as helpful as it is, hides the memory of the title she’s replayed over and over. She tries to tell her the song anyway. As best she can.

“It’s… it’s the one about loyal friendship.”

“F-friendship?” If Akko had been playing dumb earlier, she no longer was. She doesn’t recall singing a song about friendship…

“And the singer boasting of their charm… and their… preferences for women, I suppose? Or maybe it’s not friendship. Companionship? Partnership? The one where… something about jealousy and sweetness and colors, and flying- and dear Beatrix, I deeply apologize for my incompetence, Akko…” Diana covers her face in a shame that’s burning the blonde alive.

Silence.

“Pffft- what the hell Diana, ahahahaha.” Akko finally loosens all that tension she imposes on Diana, relenting. Diana was just too irresistible. Knocking lightly against the music major’s head, she makes known the song’s name once more. “It’s called Honey.”

She doesn’t understand this sudden change in mood, in mind, but Diana now has the opportunity to play it cool, her plan of keeping Akko there, having Akko want to stay there is working. So despite not understanding, she welcomes this in comparison with the cold she’s received as of late.

“O-Oh? I didn’t know that.” But of course, Diana does. Clearly.

“Well, you do suck at using your phone. And your laptop. And the internet.”

“Akko!”

And there’s that pretty pink flush on her face once more, annoying her.

“Fine.” Akko says.

“Huh?”

“I’ll sing it.”

“Y-you will?!” Diana finds herself standing excitedly, hands clutching Akko’s.

“Wow, you really must want to hear that song.”

“I… I’ve been a little curious…”

Akko smiles that gorgeous, honest smile. “I can see that.” She gets up as well, facing Diana, but then remembering something. “Ah! But… what time is it… I was supposed to be practicing for the show at the bar later, and I have class in-” The time read two pm, on the dot. “Shit, I only have an hour, and I have to leave for my job right after the lesson…”

That explains the pole she had with her.

It was no secret to Diana that Akko had gone to school here at Luna Nova against her parents wishes. Akko also worked a night job, pole dancing in secret. It was- is her passion. Not to entice people into desiring her body, by any means, but to tell a story of grace, honor, sensuality, and honesty through her dance.

And the medium Akko chooses is the pole.

“Oh, I know!” The brunette interrupts her reverie. “How ‘bout you play the song again, and I’ll practice to it. The music I was going to use has roughly the same tempo, I think.”

“…are you going to sing while dancing?” Diana speaks to the retreating back that moves to prepare her set-up, Akko loosening a secret portion of wood on the floor away to reveal a hole that would snuggly hold her practice pole in place.

“Eh, why not?” She shrugs, nonchalantly and Diana is amazed by her as always. “Two birds with one pole, or something.”

“Stone.”

“Same thing.”

Finishing her little stage, Akko smiles in triumph, chucking her jacket and jogging pants to the side without a care. Not even for Diana who pries her eyes away from toned muscle.

“Ready when you are.”

Diana isn’t, but she plays for Akko’s sake anyway. Her hands traverse the keys on instinct, eyes on the slender figure that begins its preliminary moves in grace and desire.

Red meets blue and the show starts.

  “I like my girls just like I like my honey, sweet~

A little selfish”

It’s a simple twirl about the pole, with a wink thrown in, but Diana thinks it’s the most spectacular motion already.

“I like my women like I like my money, green

A little jealous”

And there’s the pleasant laugh she adores.

“'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck

A colorful mess, but I'm funny”

Akko sings in that strong voice, as she runs her hands through her hair, shaking the strands loose as she prances around the metal shaft before clutching onto it, allowing herself to fly through the air. By the next line, she’s sliding down painfully slow, body pressed against the reflective equipment in the room, eyes locked with Diana’s. A hand clutches the thin fabric barely covering her chest, the other reaching out to pull Diana in, only strong legs keeping her up.

“Oh, I'm a heartbreak vet

With a stone-cold neck, yeah, I'm charmin'”

‘You truly are…’ Diana says to herself, her heart starting to physically hurt with the desire to touch, and to hold in her arms. That smile shot at her was simply unfair.

“All the pretty girls in the world

But I'm in this space with you”

For a second, Diana feels as though Akko were speaking these words to her for real. That idea makes it that much tighter in her chest. There was no way. That Akko finds her appealing like that, that she would choose to stay with Diana here… Diana… hadn’t forced her to do this little thing they were having at the moment, right?

“Colored out the lines

I came to find, my fire was fate with you”

‘Fate…’ Her sight turns bleary, but she doesn’t understand why. Warmth traces after the wetness that rolls down one cheek. And that hand surprises her, cupping her cheek, prompting her to look up into emotional pools of red that are very, very close. Their proximity is far too close. “Wha-“ When had Akko…

“Heartache would stay with you

Fly great escapes with you, oh…”

-are the murmured lyrics, breaths ragged puffs of air brushing against her parted lips. A hand rested over her own that had now crumpled the cloth of her shirt over her chest, fist gripped tightly.

“You… stopped…hah… playing… Diana.” Akko gets out, breathing uneven the sudden change of her moving body to its stationary state.

Ah. She has. Her other hand is simply resting on the keys, motionless. She feels kind of bad now, to have cut Akko’s practice performance short; but she can’t even work a reply out. Her lips tremble, facial muscles feel wobbly.

“Hmm… that’s no good. I can’t complete your request without your help.” Akko muses, taking a deep breath of air as she pulls away from the shaken heiress. Index finger of her free hand tapping against her cheek, her eyes lit up in realization. “I know!”

“H-huh…?”

“Diana.” At the call of her name, she offers her attention. “Come dance with me.”

“W-wait, I can’t-“

But it’s too late for that, and she’s easily dragged by the overwhelming force of Akko’s strength built from the foundation of dancing and every other physical activity she must have done to mold her body into the shape that it is now. Striking, alluring, lean, and every bit the exquisite art that Diana sees it as.

And now said art presses against her back, pushing her against the cold metal Akko clings on to on a regular basis. Hands guide her own to grasp the bar, and soon they slowly spin. A soft voice hums into her ear, those sounds turning into the lyrics she’s far past memorizing now.

They are engraved in her very heart.

“I countdown to the clock, saw you awake

Don't walk away, or would you wait for me?”

How ironic that Akko should sing this for her. When Diana has been the one pleading for her to stay day by day- maybe not in words, but in her gestures, in her eyes, in her sighs. How hurtful she was being, when Diana has been the one seeking after her. When Diana is already the one waiting.

How cruel, Akko.

“I go out to the bar, fuck hangin' with the stars

Don't even have a car, but you would wait for me, mm-hmm”

A shiver crawls up her neck, tiny hairs upright as Akko’s lips vibrate against the skin there as she hums the end of the line. The touch is ghostly, barely there, but Diana knows. She knows.

It was painful.

So, so painful for Diana.

Akko feels that pain as it drips onto the arm she has wrapped around Diana’s waist, the girl curling into herself as she bites her lip to keep her sobs trapped within.

“I-I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what’s come over me, I should just!” She wants to escape. Just escape and run from the confusion that hangs in shadows over her clarity.

But Akko doesn’t let her.

Quickly, she’s in a tighter hold, a gentler hold; the scent of strawberries and sweat permeating the bubble of air they are locked in. Her eyes see black as a hand goes over to cover them; she feels Akko’s movements through the back of her shirt.

They make another twirl.

Everything in her heart stirs along with the motion; it aches.

“All, all, all…”

Diana waits for those familiar lyrics to go on, each word digging painfully into her, because, in the end, that’s all they are. Lyrics. Lyrics that make her realize just what it is that draws her like a moth to the everlasting brightness that is Kagari Atsuko.

What it is that keeps her listening, if only to fuel her imagination when all these lines point to the same girl, painting pictures in her dreams of them walking aimlessly on a street, Akko smiling at her, laughing with her. So beautifully.

“…all the pretty girls in the world…”

She braces herself for the same old lines, ones that mean nothing but the words to catchy music.

“But they don’t compare to you.”

And they don’t come. The change of words had her whip her head up, craning her neck to look behind her, puzzled; Akko had already hidden herself against Diana’s nape. Those… That’s… not… how she remembered the song…

“You’re the color of my life

I’d battle fate if it meant I’d stay with you”

“That’s…”

“My heart aches; it longs for you”

“That isn’t…”

…

“…I know I’m in love with you.”

And Akko releases her, stepping away from the pole, and from her. It’s all cold again, freezing the blood that pumps through her veins after the bombardment to her senses.

“I’m sorry.” There are tears in Akko’s eyes now. And she just stops singing altogether. “I’m sorry.” Her voice loses that melody, now replaced by sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s…”

“You must have realized, right? What I’m feeling.” She smiles grimly. “Ugly, dirty… wrong feelings… for someone like my best friend… and… I’m sorry I made you cry. You must have felt creeped out and harassed, huh? You must have been scared because I wouldn’t let you go…”

“That isn’t, that’s-“

“I’m sorry, forcing myself onto you after being so cold. I… I didn’t mean to avoid you, I just-“ She meets the confusion that clouds the sky in Diana’s eyes. “I didn’t want you to know if by chance you didn’t feel the same way.”

“That’s…”

“I… when I came into the room, I thought I’d heard wrong. What you said… the… c-confession…” Akko clenches her eyes shut, willing the tears away. “But then you said the song was about friends, so I probably have the wrong idea, and you might have just meant that you… l-love me as a friend.” She sniffles. “So, I’m sorry. I just…” I sob rips its way past the barriers of her lips, and more tears spill down apple-red cheeks. “I didn’t want you to find out like this… but I’ve… for so long…”

A beat passes, and Akko’s teary hiccups, and the pair’s mismatched breathing are the only sounds that remain in the room.

“You… You can reject me now, or something. Please don’t be this quiet, Diana.” Akko laughs bitterly, saltiness escaping sealed eyes. “I guess, I just couldn’t help it any more. Ran out of options, had nothing else I wanted to do here but tell you I love you.”

Another beat. There’s a breeze that rustles the leaves outside closed windows. Breaths calm, and the only noise that remains is the occasional sniff.

“Please just say something so I can leave.” Akko whispers, only for them to hear.

“That’s… that’s wrong.” Diana finally manages to complete her sentence.

“Loving you? Yeah. I know.”

“No.”

“Oh, leaving after telling you something so imposing like that-?”

“No, what’s wrong is… That… That’s not…”

“That’s not what, Diana?” Akko asks, a little high-strung from everything. “You’ve been repeating those words a while now.”

“That’s…”

“Hmm?”

“That’s not how the lyrics go…”

“…”

“…”

“…Diana, you dense little- mrrnngghhh!” Akko reaches forward, hands almost touching Diana’s cheeks before they pinch the air, shaking with whatever feeling fueled her strength to have her hands trembling like that. “I cannot believe you. I just… I just confessed to you, poured my heart and soul out, and all you remember, all you can say about that WHOLE thing, was that I got my lyrics wrong?!”

Akko fumes, red in the face with frustration, or sadness, or confusion, or maybe all of those combined.

“… yes?”

“Well, ain’t that great, then?” Akko sarcastically utters. “You seem relatively unaffected by all of this. Guess I should have only worried about unrequited feelings.” She begins trudging toward her water bottle by the window, donning her jacket after taking a few sips.

She is just about ready to leave.

“What next? You at least want to stay friends now? I can stay friends if you give me… space for the next couple of days to get over you-“

“Why would you have to do that? Can’t we be friends at the same time?”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

The pair blinks synchronously in their shared confusion.

“I mean... Don’t we feel the same way? I know dating follows after these kinds of events… and then we become l-lovers… but I believe that being best friends on top of that is even more wonderful-“

“Waitwaitwaitwait, hold it! Hold it right there!” Akko waves her arms frantically in front of her.

“I- what do I hold… exactly?”

Slapping a hand over her face, Akko lets all this information sink in, processing it with her brain that has definitely shrunk from all the stupidity taking place in one room. Is it her? Or is it Diana? The one who is misunderstanding things? Or are they both not coming to an understanding? Do they just not understand each other?

“So let me get this straight…” Akko pinches the bridge of her nose, a migraine coming on.

“Of course.”

“We’re both not straight.”

“… ah.”

Akko looks to her companion curiously at the weird sound.

“That’s what Hannah meant.” Diana says with an audible snap of her fingers, face looking very enlightened, a smile decorating her features.

“…”

“Eh- Akko? Where are we going? Akko?!”

“I could kill you right now, but it’s almost time for my class. You are coming with me to work, and we will talk about this afterwards.”

“Understood.”

“Finally! One of us understands.” She drags Diana behind her, marching towards her classroom.

“Then, why must I accompany you to your class?”

“…”

“Akko?”

Diana feels a tingle in her heart at the sight of red-tipped ears, at the feeling of a heated hand holding hers, and words that are the lyrics to the best song she’ll ever hear in her lifetime.

“I love you, and I just found out you love me too… so I wanted to kiss you…”

Diana’s smile grows wider, now a stupid grin on her face. “But?”

“I’m late for class, so staring at you will have to suffice.” The blonde is pleased to know they both have their priorities set. Though she wouldn’t have minded straying from time-to-time.

“Understood.”

“You’re beginning to understand a lot of things now, it seems.”

“Naturally. I’m a fast learner.” Diana boasts. Akko simply rolls her eyes at that. “Am I allowed to stay with you in your class? What is your next class, anyway?”

“I think it’s the required language class?”

“Oh, I have that now too... Wait- we share that class, don’t we?” Diana realizes, her steps speeding up and now she’s the one dragging Akko.

“Oh, right~, wait- Diana?”

“We have a quiz in that subject.”

“…”

“…”

“Fucking run, Diana! Remember stuff like that and tell me sooner! You idiot best friend!”

“I’m your lover now too!”

“JUST. RUN.”

“I love you too, Akko.”

“I love you most.”

  //-//-//-//-//

  “I (I), I like my girls just like I like my honey, sweet

A little selfish… huh”

“You’re selfish”

Akko pauses in her guitar playing to slap the blonde’s hand.

“I like my women like I like my money, green” Both chuckle at the joke only they share; Diana rolling her eyes, sporting a blush, her minty strands fluttering in the wind. “A little jealous”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” Akko teases, kissing red cheeks.

“Oh, I'm a beautiful wreck

A colorful mess, but I'm funny”

“You are.”

“Oh, I'm a heartbreak vet (oh)

With a stone-cold neck, I'm so charmin', oh, oh”

Shifting to a position behind Akko on the little hill they’ve chosen for their first date, Diana wraps her arms around the slender waist, planting a kiss to Akko’s shoulder blade before resting her head on the girl’s shoulder, positioned in a way that she could just watch the expressions on her girlfriend’s face.

“I love you.”

Akko gives her a wink as she continues her song, everything she is- her tone, her warmth, her body language- exclaiming that she loves Diana back in the way words can’t.

“La-la-la-la-la-la-la

Do-do-do do-do

Ooh

Do-do-do do-do

Do-do-do do-do

Da-da-da da-da

Isn't love all we need? Is it love?

Do-do-do do-do

To be the same prophesy? Is it love?

Do-do-do do-do

Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti, is it love?

Do-do-do do-do

Love (ooh), do-do-do do-do”

It’s a sweet kiss. Gentle, intense, with all the colors of the rainbow, and the passion of the burning sun.

Just like Honey.

  “It’s love.”  

A/N: If you’re wondering what Diana typed, it was “Honey song” because she doesn’t know the artist. Aren’t we glad Diana is such a smart lass?

Also, this was not supposed to be this long and frustrating. Sorry for the mess and bad plot?

Comments, kudos, reblogs, any feedback is always welcomed!

~Shintori Khazumi

[tartagilicious]

spoken love > gavin, mlqc

→ Pairing | gavin x reader

→ Genre |  angst w happy ending

→ Word Count | 9555 

→ Warnings | tw; kidnapping and mild torture, + general heartbreak/feeling like you’re not good enough + the fluff at the end might give you cavities

→ Songs | orbit by hwasa and stefan’s theme by michael suby

→ Note | this plot took all of my brain cells to put together rip but at least I’ll be able to start working on requests again :) and yes, I love harassing victor in these for some reason. the poor boy deserves to be the one to win mc’s love 😔

@n3verending16​

Flowers don’t bloom in the dark. Biologically, it’s impossible, but there are other factors that weigh in — things that stunt its growth just as greatly. It’s quite an open ended question, but this time, perhaps simply, the flower just felt as if growing any more was useless without her sun there to see it.

Call it a personal bias, but you think that must be it. Because as Gavin utters the very words you dread to hear, you feel as hopeless as a flower cut off from the sun.

“___,” he sighs. And it’s pained — too pained for someone who has just single-handedly snapped your heart in two. “I’m sorry. But it wasn’t something I could keep from you forever.”

I don’t love you anymore.

The words echo in your head so forcefully that you barely register Gavin’s voice. His apology only goes in one ear and out the other, much to both of your dismays.

“...I don’t understand.” Your voice is flat, but you know it’s only a matter of time and how particularly strong you’re feeling today until that breaks. “Why all of the sudden...?”

Gavin bites his bottom lip, as if holding back something before he only fesses up a shrug in response.

“I’m sorry.”

He sounds sorry, but you know from the bottom of your heart that there’s something underneath it. Gavin, a boy you’ve known since high school, who would always keep an eye out for you, who always picks you up and flies you home, who is always the first person to be there for anything -- is someone you know just as well as you know yourself.

“I don’t want to hear that. Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Your voice raises slightly with irritation, but in lieu of your unclear communication Gavin only stands and takes it. Like he should, you think, but you know that you don’t want to yell at him. He doesn’t deserve that — he never will.

“I really am sorry.”

You‘re at a loss for words as he shifts past you and silently lets himself out of your apartment.

Stay safe.

You frown as you whip around to the closed door, recalling the words he’d whispered to you when walking out. They fill you with a hopeless sense of dread and irritation that you can’t possibly manage to keep at bay for long.

And your frustrations do quickly surface — in the form of hopeless tears, with soundless sobs sneaking out of your throat that have you crippling to the floor.

That was almost 3 months ago.

By now, you’re not over it. You’re not over it in the least, and you’ve never lied to yourself or anyone else about that. That doesn’t mean it’s any less harder, but denial is simply just another fruit that you’re not willing to pick in the end.

Because there are already plenty of other nights that fill in the absent spots that denial leaves. Times where you’re too empty to eat, when you’re too lonely to sleep, and plenty and plenty of nights where your sadness tries to blame Gavin for your troubles — but, you can’t. The part of you that still believes something isn’t right just can’t bear to.

And so, you spend every moment of every sorrowful minute reminiscing, even if every single one of them is not your choice.

You don’t want your heart to drop into your stomach at the mention of his name. But it does. You don’t want to let a single person control your emotions like this, but you do. It’s meaningless to even claim that you want to feel this way, but it’s all too worth it to be the only one that knows you at least deserve better than your worst.

You want to get back to working at your best. You want to enjoy your favourite things again. All you want — all of it’s just out of reach for now. But, without him, without the reason that had torn you apart, you fear it’s impossible.

Yet, ironically, he was the one to teach you that nothing is impossible. He taught you that anything you chose to put your mind to, you could do, and now, you’ll be trying to use that very advice to piece everything back together.

Starting with him, of course.

There’s, of course, still that aspect that sticks out to you as wrong; something you haven’t been able to shake even after months of general, yet still mutual, silence on the subject. Whether it was the hesitance in his eyes or the sadness in his voice, you refuse to believe that it’s the end of the line. Especially considering Gavin’s own personality in regards to you -- it had always been in his best interest to keep you in the safest hands, even before you began to see each other as more than friends. So, it’s not as if you can completely rule out that possibility yet.

But, Gavin is like a lock. And sadly, it’s one that you lost the key to long ago.

Every time you encounter him, whether he flies you home, or helps you with a detail concerning something at work, he’s nothing but friendly and lithe in the ways he interacts with you. There’s little evidence of the hesitation you could’ve sworn that you saw that night, and it discourages a certain part of you greatly.  

Still, you don’t want to give up. You feel like doing that would be like casting it to the side -- or more accurately, labelling the situation as plainly unimportant. And no matter what, that isn’t true. You want answers more than anything; concrete ones that won’t leave you with a bad taste in your mouth anymore. Answers that even if you didn’t like them, they settle your questions all the same.

Yet, you can’t help but feel pressured to.

Time after time he ignores the unsaid words floating in the air above you, and smiles without pain even when it’s obvious that you do.

maybe I was wrong?

You think hard to yourself one afternoon, right after Gavin had just dropped you off at home; unincidentally, of course. You can’t think of anything else, really, but the heartbreaking possibility that you’re concerned over nothing and Gavin really has just fallen out of love as he said haunts you more than anything else ever has.

That night spent alone is by far the worst.

But unbeknownst to you, a certain someone’s nights vary little.

Gavin feels tremendous regret. It’s a gnawing, aching feeling to know that while not only he lied to the love of his life, he is by no means closer to solving the problem that forced you apart. Three months have passed with only average progress on the particular case, and without you by his side, he can’t help but feel anxious every step of the way.

He feels time and time again the urge to tell you the truth, even if you choose not to accept it. And not just for himself -- but also for you. The way you’ve changed over time is terribly obvious to him if no one else.

But you aren’t a switch he can turn on and off at will -- your happiness is relative to only yourself. He just finds himself wishing that if not him, at least you could find the opportunity to live happily without him for now. He sees the way the emotions in your eyes rise and fall whenever he interacts with you. And though it gives him little insight into what goes on behind closed doors, it makes him feel bad all the same.

Because he knows it’s his fault, and wants nothing more than to get things over with so he can tell you the truth you deserve.

And finally, one day he realises that he might be closer than he thought.

“Gavin.”

He looks up to greet the man who’d just walked in, but thinks better of it when he sees his expression. This particular case had been handed to Eli first, as it fell more under his category than Gavin’s, but was extended out to him in lieu of progression.

That much alone told Gavin that this mission was unlike any he’d done before.

Usually, missions take mere days to complete -- up to about a week at most, but this one has been stretching on for months. It makes him anxious when he thinks about how long Eli had been at it before him, but all Gavin knows he can do nothing more than try his best to shorten it.

“What is it?”

“I think you should see this.”

A newspaper, dated to only a few weeks ago, is tossed on the table in front of him. It doesn’t really look to be anything special, with the headline only referencing business moguls and trivial local news rather than information they’re looking for.  But, just as Gavin goes to open his mouth, he notices an article on the bottom of the page. It’s small, barely even noticeable, even, but the moment he reads the first words his eyes widen.

His eyes flicker up to meet Eli’s, who’s standing there with a small smile on his lips.

“Is this--?”

“Yep.” Eli nodded. ”Good thing I actually stopped to read it this morning, huh?”

Gavin’s lips curve up into a distracted smile, his attention returning to the newspaper and ultimately the little article about a missing persons case -- one of the very same they’ve been following. Listed under a few incidents is a woman’s name and information -- all average details such as height and weight that would inform anyone in the public of any specifics.

It’s nothing that they haven’t already uncovered, but there are certain details in the article itself that strike him as odd.

“Time and place of abduction.” Eli fills in the blanks before Gavin can even find the words to speak. “Whoever wrote this article somehow managed to get a hold of the cctv footage from that night and put it out to the public.”

“Spiteful of them to do that,” Gavin mumbles, his grip around the newspaper tightening and loosening with every absentminded flex of his hand. “Especially when we’ve been trying to get it for months.”

“I don’t know, but, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe they were just lucky.”

He turns to Eli with a dubious look on his face. “The footage is protected under the ownership of the residence, and not to mention, the permissions you need for it can take months. There’s no way they were just lucky.”

“Look, fine. I agree, okay? It shouldn’t have been possible, but here we are.” Eli shrugs, cutting the argument off even as there was more hanging in the air. “What if they just got special permission from the courts or something? Isn’t that possible?”

Gavin shakes his head. “No way. These processes take a while no matter the circumstances, remember?”

“Fine, then let’s find whoever put this article out and make them tell us how they got their hands on all this stuff.” Eli obviously can’t hold back a smile any more, patting Gavin on the shoulder a bit too lightheartedly for the other man’s taste. “Maybe we’ll be a little closer to finishing this all if we do.”

Finishing.

Gavin turns the word over in his head what feels like a hundred times, but no matter how he looks at it, it’s good -- really good.

He stands up and ceremoniously returns his partner’s smile. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

But, before they even have time to breathe, a new setback finds its way into their plan

“Wait.” Gavin does a double take when, hours later, Eli finally announces the company responsible for the article.”That can’t be right, it’s--”

Eli interjects with a sigh. “___’s company. I know.”

“It’s a production company, though. They don’t do articles and stuff, do they?”

“It’s not uncommon for companies like that to have different departments or whatever.” Eli shrugs. “And the article in question would check out, I guess, considering how close they are to the street with the cctv we’re trying to get.”

“But last time I talked to her, she wasn’t doing anything like that…”

“When was the last time you talked to her, then? Maybe it’s just a recent change or something.”

Eli asks the question nonchalantly, but is really none the wiser about Gavin’s situation than he was when everything began months ago. And so, the words do nothing remind Gavin of memories and mistakes, sending an involuntary strike of pain through his chest.

When was the last time I talked to her?

Not long ago, he thinks. Not long ago at all. He remembers distinctly all of the times he had encountered you on the street, or the times he’d flown you home after a carefully acted day out.

But when was the last time he’d really talked to you? Held a normal conversation?

He finds himself squeezing the hem of his shirt, so hard that his knuckles begin to fade into a sickly white. It’s like a punch in the face to realise something so late, but he can’t help but consider it a bit of a blessing to even recognise it in the first place.

“You know, this makes it easier if it’s just ___.” Eli interrupts Gavin’s downspiralling thoughts, resting his chin on his hand as he says, “We can just ask her about it face to face, then we don’t have to bother with the paperwork for requesting an official interview.”

And around an hour later, that’s how Gavin ends up in front of your company’s doors, cursing Eli and his cluelessness.

He swallows the ball of nerves in his throat and fidgets with his hands for a moment, but he knows that he can’t stay there forever. Everyone around him moves unabridged and casually, whether it be while talking on bluetooth or out on a late afternoon jog. He may not be the only one around that’s stuck in the past, but he sure is the only one taking time to dwell on it.

He uses that much to prompt himself inside.

The inside of the building is just as he remembers it to be, if not the same as it was months ago. It’s the little things he notices, like the familiar fake plants sitting in the corner of the waiting room, or the painting hanging on the wall that you’d mentioned was a gift from your dad a few times.

He’s relieved at least one thing is still familiar.

“Hey stranger. How can I help you?"

Gavin instinctively turns towards the voice, his eyes momentarily widening when he sees who sits behind the reception desk.

"Anna? What are you doing up here?” He gives your friend a polite smile as he makes his way over to where she sits. “Where’s the receptionist?”

She sighs, shaking her head. “He quit a few days ago, so your girlfriend put me up here on duty.”

Gavin pulls his lips into a thin line, trying to hold back his surprise. She didn’t tell them?

“Um, anyway, speaking of ___, where is she right now? I need to talk to her." He changes the subject as quickly as he can manage, and thankfully, Anna doesn’t seem to notice that was the intent.

“Right now? Should be up in her office finishing paperwork.”

“Okay, great. …Do I need a pass or anything?” He asks this, but regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. They're suspicious, of course, and it’s a dumb question regardless.

Anna gives him a deservedly strange look.

“Um, no, of course not.” She tries to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere with a laugh. “Just go. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

“Right,” He laughs nervously and briefly giving his thanks, steadily walking towards the direction of the elevator. When he steps inside, though, he lets out a long sigh. The previous awkward interaction left an embarrassed sting in his chest, and the familiar oncoming heartache of seeing you again will no doubt only add to it.

So, he spends the entire minute of the ride downright terrified.

It’s not like everything is magically resolved when your door opens either, though. The moment he hears your voice acknowledge his presence from inside the office, it’s appropriate to say that his heartbeat doubles -- or even triples, in just seconds.

But contrary to what he expects, your eyes still light up upon registering his face. He doesn’t understand why you’re happy to see him, but he welcomes it regardless.

“Gavin! It’s nice to see you.” You give him a friendly smile, but the all-too familiar feeling of anxiousness still lingers in your expression.

Startled, he just smiles back as he says, “Yeah, likewise. How are things here at the office lately?”

“Ah,” You sigh out a laugh. “They’re fine, but I’m sure you’ve already heard from Anna that our receptionist just quit. It won’t be hard to find a replacement, but it still kind of sucks since he was responsible for coffee runs.”

Gavin winces novelly, playing into your slightly joking tone. “That does suck. Who’s been going instead, then?”

“Minor offered, thank god.” You smile, a sliver of joy finally peaking through your tired eyes.

“That’s good.” He nods, slightly relieved at the sight. “I wanted to ask you, though, I saw an article in the paper that said it came from your company. Since when have you thought to put articles in the paper? I never heard anything about it from you, so--”

You interject, “Articles? We don’t write articles. That’s not the type of company we are.”

He blinks.

“Your company, though--” Gavin fishes his phone out of his jacket, where he pulls up the article in question. “This traces back here.”

Your brows furrow as you lean forward to read the screen in his hand, unaware of the way his face begins to heat up when noticing your concentration. On the other hand, he’s very painfully aware of how your brows twitch as you read it over, and even more so to the way your lips twist in apt concern.

Gavin spits out an explanation in place of the straining silence, and you nod along, though you take in every word at half its worth due to your own racing heart.

“We have basically no contact with the owners of that building, so we wouldn’t be able to get the footage either even if we wanted to.” You explain steadily, hiding your nerves in the squeeze of your knuckles beneath the table. “I don’t remember giving anyone permission to even write something like that, anyway.”

“Would someone else have given permission, then? Or, alternatively, do you think someone put it there for any other reason?”

“I can’t think of another reason, but there are definitely other people in the building who can give permission to employees, of course. “ You push a laugh. “I’m not the one sole source.”

“Anna can do almost everything I can, so maybe she did. Try her next.”

With that, the conversation trickles off weakly. It’s unbearable to do so, but Gavin leaves the room with a clambering heart. He has no doubt that things ought to be difficult if this is what he’ll be returning to, but still saves face for the chance that everything will turn out okay.

And around an hour later, he exits the building carrying all the information he needs.

“Eli, the guy’s gone and quit.”

His partner looks up at him with locked brows when he returns to the STF. “Our article writer?”

Gavin purses his lips and goes silent in thought, but it’s all the answer Eli needs. Gavin’s chest is heavily wrought with regret and disappointment that spans over multiple reasons, but he merely shakes out his shoulders and takes a seat down next to the other man, concealing his face in the way he always has.

Eli only turns a blind eye to Gavin’s front.“I guess that’s just our luck, but it’s still okay right now. Did you get any details about him?”

“Yeah, I managed. I’m not completely sure they’re real, though.”

Gavin hands Eli the small slip of paper that Anna had scawled the man’s information on and explains as he reads it over.

“Anyone else probably wouldn’t get anything out of this,” Gavin says, referencing only the name and phone number of the man in question written on the paper. “But since we’re here, we can probably do something with it, at least.”

Eli nods along as he speaks, and upon skimming the information, a pleased smile curves at his lips. “At least? We’ll have to run them, but it seems viable enough to me -- maybe even enough that this can finally give us the info we need to close the case.”

He returns a smile at the thought.

“I hope it does.”

Gavin’s mind brings him back to a few hours prior, where he watches himself trip and stumble over himself around you through the pitiful eye of his own memory. It takes a lot of him not to frown outwardly at his mistakes, but little to gain the determination needed to fix it. What happened then, that’s not how it’s supposed to be, and he knows it.

The memories switch to happier times when his heart finds it in him -- the starry and clear night he finally kissed you on the ferris wheel, the buzzing warmth of your arms around his torso when he goes a strategically fast speed on on his motorcycle, and of course, the moments where all he can see is you smiling in front of him, looking just as delighted as you always have been.

It’s just out of his grasp, but Gavin finds himself hoping that it’s still in his reach.

Because, in his mind, nothing is truly unattainable. And that philosophy goes for everything, but is most virtuous when it becomes the bearer of good news.

“Everything about this guy checks out for now.” Eli says this from his spot at the database station days later, turning his head over his shoulder to where Gavin is checking the contents of his utility belt from across the room. “So, I’m not sure that much precaution is necessary, Gavin.”

The other doesn’t even look up at his remark.

“Better safe than sorry. You know that.”

Eli just laughs and nods, obviously in a good mood regardless of his partner’s hesitance. “Ok then, whatever you want.”

Gavin gives him a dubious look, but otherwise goes back to his business.

“It’s not like we have much to expect, anyway.”

But, whether or not you expect something doesn’t deter fate. It seemed easy enough at the time, anyway -- so there was no reason for Gavin to doubt their plan even as he walked up to the man’s presumed address.

He eases into the situation by knocking on the mahogany door softly, calling out with what Eli had long called his ‘business’ voice.

“Police! Is anyone home?”

Gavin notes a candle in the window out of his peripheral vision and instinctively furrows his brows. Whoever’s here, the perp or not, it’s clear that they’re at least not one step ahead of him.

So, with that in mind, he makes the split decision to try the door. And much to his surprise, it opens without a lick of trouble, even the hinges not making the slightest sound. He purses his lips slightly as he comes face to face with the dark entryway he was expecting, yet still chooses to silently draw his weapon before stepping into the building.

And the moment he locates a pair of eyes in the dark, he knows his decision to do so was correct.

He clicks his tongue with the shift of the safety lock, his expression instinctively hardening even though he’s sure that the person can see just as much as he can.

“Come out with your hands up!”

Gavin’s voice doesn’t waver, but neither does the faceless figure in the dark.

Multiple sets of footsteps echo throughout the entryway, but Gavin doesn’t let them make a show. His eyes stay locked on the same unblinking ones that had drawn him in, and cocks his gun as if in warning.

Maybe they actually are one step ahead.

“I’ll say it one last time -- and that goes to anyone in the room. Come out with your hands up.”

His voice is cold, and if it were ordinary people standing around him, perhaps they would have listened. But, the thugs surrounding him have little in common with the regular citizen, most startlingly obvious in the weapons they hide sheathed in their belts; daggers engraved by the agency they belong to:

BLACK SWAN COLLECTIVE

The last thing Gavin can recall is the sharp pain of someone thrusting the handle of one of the said weapons into the back of his head, immediately sending him into a darkness he tried so hard to avoid.

Maybe it’s futile, useless even, but as everything goes black, he can’t help but think of you.

“You aren’t seriously planning on wearing that, are you?”

You look back at the exasperated voice that interrupts your shoot preparation, the recording equipment in your hands shifting slightly with your deep sigh.

“Victor, it’ll be hot once we’re on set, I promise.” Sending him only a brief smile, you continue to wrap the cords up. It’s quiet long enough that you naturally assume he’s left, but a few minutes later, you feel a presence at your side taking the last microphone and starting to mimic the same process you’ve been at for what feels like hours.

Victor takes in a near silent breath as he places the microphone in its case, zipping it shut with such familiarity that it momentarily muddles your brain. It’s been almost two years since you’d met him for the second time, walking into his office only to meet his cold voice and fearsome business methods. You’re subconsciously glad that you’ve gone through so much together, albeit tough, because your relationship has moved far because of it all.

“...I’ll grab a jacket before we leave.” You look up and flash another smile at him, but this time, you try to make it seem like you mean it. He seems to notice your hesitance regardless, but the look in his eyes still lifts slightly as he nods wordlessly.

The location of the shoot itself isn’t very far-close enough that the transportation won’t be taxing-but the stakes are still high nonetheless. A reputable American fashion outlet had reached out to Anna around a month ago asking if your company would consider filming an episode featuring some of their pieces, and even without asking you first, she had accepted in a heartbeat.

You couldn’t be mad at her for obvious reasons, of course, but you almost considered thanking her for a separate reason, too -- because it somehow seemed to line up on the perfect date.

It’s a hard pill to swallow even as you think about it, but today, the date of the shooting, is your and Gavin’s would-be year anniversary.

Without this shoot, there’s no doubt in your mind that you would be sulking at home otherwise, halfway through your second or third depression nap of the day. But instead, here you are, conversing quite normally to Victor and feeling a little less hopeless than you expected.

Your mind momentarily flickers to him, though, as if habitually. You can only imagine what he’s feeling like right now, sadly, but you still can’t help but pray that at least a fraction of him feels the pain you do

“___!”

Then someone calls your name, and suddenly, you’re back to work again.

One of the main focuses of the episode for your team is the outfits people on-screen wear, of course. But otherwise, the episode itself features a local meteorologist aiming to spread more information and awareness about the conditions of the recent continuous snow. It may not be known to be directly related to superpowers as of now, but as the producer of Miracle Finder, it’s your job to find miracles, and not only those of the supernatural kind.

“Okay, Victor, let me know when everything on that side is good. I’ll check over here.” You say this and wait for nothing more than a nod before going ahead and double-checking with all of your employees that stand ready to record.

All of your operations for the day seem to be going smoothly, so you shoot a quick thumbs-up to the main cameraman. As soon as your arm is back down at your side, though, you notice your phone buzzing from the pocket of your jacket.

Anxiety habitually runs through you as the screen lights up with a blocked number, unwillfully taking you back to all the times you’d been directly contacted by the unknown officers of Black Swan. It startles you so much that you think about letting it ring, but in the last moments, you decide to pick up.

You release a short breath of relief when an automated voice reaches your ears, and you even find yourself feeling a bit dumb about freaking out over nothing. Yet, while you think, a few words the robotic voice says catch your attention and send your heart into another panicked frenzy.

a wind evolver.

You bite down on your lip subconsciously, hoping that you heard wrong.

The voice says an address with its now eerie-seeming tone, and you squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can when the line cuts off without warning.

It’s a prank call. You think, not noticing the way Victor’s eyes finally find your worried ones from across the room. Gavin’s completely fine.

You stuff your phone back in your pocket with a resigned huff, a sour feeling settling deep in your stomach the longer you just stand there. Certain possibilities begin to habitually fly through your mind at a rate where you can barely discern them from one another, but each one leaves you with the same aching in your gut -- the same aching that has saved you so many times.

So, you take your phone out again and dial the number you know by heart.

The line’s continuous ringing suddenly seems ominous, and somehow worsens when you’re greeted by Gavin’s voicemail. But, you don’t want to give up just yet, so you find another name in your contacts that could potentially help.

Eli and you don’t communicate often-at least, not much outside of the times you see him-but he had given you his number soon after realising how close you were to Gavin, only just in case. You didn’t think there would ever have to be a ‘just in case’ scenario -- at least, until now.

Thankfully, he picks up after the first couple of rings, his familiar voice bringing a small smile to your face.

“Hey Eli,” You return, your smile growing slightly at the soft sound of recognition he lets out.

“___!” It sounds like he sits up straight before continuing. “It’s nice hearing from you. What’s up?”

You take in a hesitant breath before starting. There’s still a small chance that you’ll be asking baseless questions, and as embarrassing as that might be, you know you’d rather take it than the alternative.

“Well, it’s something with Gavin.” You say. “I just got this weird phone call saying something about him, and now I can’t get a hold of him. Is he with you?”

Eli doesn’t respond for what feels like a millenia, but then, the soft sound of a keyboard fills your ears, so you opt to wait patiently. He unabashedly picks the phone back up a few seconds later and sighs.

“..Do you remember what the phone call said?”

You recount the automated voice’s words and wince at how Eli curses under his breath. If anything, you know it’s at least not a good sign.

“What? What is it?” Dread spirals through your chest as you ask, habitually expecting the worst.

“Gavin went on a mission last night. He told me he’d get in touch when he finished, but he hasn’t yet.” You can almost hear him contemplating from across the line. “___, thanks for calling, but I’ve gotta go now--”

“Wait!’ you quickly interject, garnering the interest of a few production crew around you. But, you pay no mind to them. “Let me come with you.”

“What? No, ___, you’re not coming with me. Gavin would kill me if I got his girlfriend hurt!”

“Eli,” You sigh, a fingertip’s length away from sitting down to massage your temples. It seems that Gavin had chosen not to tell his colleagues about your breakup as well, but that doesn’t help the massive headache it causes every time to explain when someone catches on. “Gavin and I broke up 3 months ago. And now that that’s out of the way, I’m meeting you at the STF in 20 minutes, and if you aren’t there, I’m going to that address myself.”

He’s silent for a few moments before he lets out a reluctant agreement, only to peg on a few rules at the end that you just nod to.

“...20 and that’s it. Any more and i’m leaving without you.”

“Then I'll be there in 15.” You challenge, unable to contain your smile when you hear his resigned laugh.

“Then I’m counting down, ___.”

You say your goodbyes and hang up the phone, quickly thinking to find Victor. It’s unethical to leave during the middle of a shoot and you know he’ll give you crap for it, but you pray that the case of emergency will balance him out, even if it’s just a little bit.

You whisper his name until you’re able to wave him down, unable to help your nervous smile as he approaches you.

“___? Why aren’t you over there monitoring those--”

“I’m really sorry, but there’s an emergency that I need to--”

You cut yourself off when you notice Victor’s surprisingly unreactive face.

“I need to, um, be there. To help with it.”

Victor’s sigh feels heavier than usual as he crosses his arms, hitting you with his signature dubious look. But, the words that come out of his mouth aren’t at all what you expect.

“You look like you’re expecting me to decline something I have no right to keep you from doing in the first place.”

His words take a few moments to process in your jumbled brain, but before you can even react, he begins to shoo you away.

“That means go, dummy.” A soft laugh escapes his lips as his expression begins to melt. “I’ll tell your coworkers, just try to hurry back so I’m not blamed if something goes wrong.”

Your face perks up at the unexpected but appreciated development, shifting with a wide grin as you thank Victor as many times as possible before slipping away. While you weave your way through the distracted crew members, your phone mimics a lead weight in your pocket-- something that’s almost painful to ignore

But you only keep walking, putting on a brave face and praying that Gavin is okay.

“Nineteen minutes, ___.” Eli tells you this as soon as you hurry through the STF’s doors, tapping his smart watch with a familiar smile. “What happened to that fifteen you were talking about?”

“Shut up,” You scoff, unable to hold back your smile as you shake your head. “Would you really have left without me, anyway?”

“You know the answer already. But enough about that, come with me and I’ll catch you up a bit before we head out.”

You descend into silence as you follow Eli to the research room most frequented by the duo over the past few months, listening to the man skim over the events prior while somehow still leaving no semblance of a detail out. It’s faster than you expect, his explanation, yet it leaves you with very little gaps in the story between Eli’s and your own accounts.

“But, ___,” Eli begins as he picks up his jacket, meeting your eyes with such intensity that you almost flinch. “Make sure that when we’re there, you stay behind me no matter what. If they took Gavin down…”

He doesn’t need to finish.

“Yeah,” You choke out softly, berated by the hazy image your head provides of Gavin being so easily overpowered. “I will.”

Eli gives you a small reassuring smile before leading you out of the room, checking that every piece of his equipment is on correctly as he walks. An involuntary chill runs down your spine at a catch of his expression -- his usual carefree smile replaced with the solemn air that you would expect from an officer.

And you don’t like it one bit.

Gavin’s eyes shoot open, drawing a sharp gasp from his lungs as he slowly begins to regain consciousness. But the crackling sensation that floods his chest cuts him off before he can even so much as catch his bearings, begetting an irritated wince from the already tired man.

His vision is clouded by not only exhaustion, though, as the room is also dark in what feels like an unreasonable manner. Absolutely nothing is clear, whether it be what had happened beforehand, or even what lays a few feet in front of him. But in the meantime, another sharp pain forces him to look down and find out.

Rope burns his wrists as he twists his hands, trying to gauge a location for the extreme pain that has suddenly popped up. Gavin curses under his breath as he looks at the gruesome beds that used to hold his fingernails, snippets of memory coming back to him as his eyes rake over the beaten skin.

“You’re in no position to protect her anymore. Give up.”

A curt voice had induced Gavin to look up hours before, glaring into the tepid eyes that already stared back into his own.

“Ya hear that, pretty boy?”

The second and last black swan officer in the room had leaned over slightly as he engaged Gavin, but stood up straight again when the first gave him a subtle yet strong look of warning.

Gavin was silent throughout the exchange, though in his mind, he knew they were talking about you. Black Swan’s interest in you had all but lessened in the recent months, much to his and the STF’s displeasure. Knowing that they were after someone so powerless but not having the slightest idea why -- that scared him beyond belief.

“Your silence will change nothing,” The first man said, calmly re-buttoning his long coat. “Wind evolver, I’m afraid this is it for you.”

Gavin squeezes his eyes shut upon recalling the interaction he’d tried arduously to forget, inadvertently biting his lip so hard that it disturbs the blood already dried there. Disappointment and pain go hand in hand while flaring through his chest in equal measures.

He even briefly considers using his evol despite how little energy he has left, but is painfully aware of what it would take to escape if he did.

So he stays still, his mind racing far too much to notice the pain. Because even if he should, it’s not him that’s he’s worried about --

It’s you.

Meanwhile, seemingly worlds apart from the danger Gavin perceives, you sit in Eli’s passenger seat, safe and sound yet fueled by the vehicle’s general silence. A part of you thinks that you should be scared, but only because you know it wouldn’t be refuted as much as if you said how you really feel.

It’s not necessarily wrong to be determined, though. And because you’re sure that if your roles were reversed, Gavin would think the same, you don’t ponder on the subject any longer. There’s no use in worrying about something you’ve already set your mind to.

And your intuition proves to be correct.

Upon arriving at the designated address, Eli immediately comments on how normal everything looks, and you can’t help but nod your head in agreement. It’s a small traditional style house that you stop in front of, yet to have signs of people inhabiting it other than the few candles to be seen behind some of the shaded windows -- too ordinary for a place that supposedly serves as a lockhouse for Black Swan

“...It doesn’t really look like anyone’s home.”

“Good. Let’s just hope the bastards have left so we can get in and out, then.” Eli says, squinting at one of the windows while noiselessly drawing his gun. “We don’t want to spend any more time here than we need to.”

Eli wastes no time after you hastily concur, very obviously ready to stay true to his words and making quick work of the lock. The entryway is small and homey, but it has an odd smell to it -- one that’s familiar, but not so much so that you can directly pinpoint it.

It sends an involuntary chill down your spine just thinking about it, though Eli says nothing about it, so you choose to do the same even if it’s difficult. He’s too busy surveying the area to notice your hesitance anyway, and you don’t blame him. If your sources are correct, Gavin is somewhere nearby. There’s no time to be distracted, no matter the circumstance.

With that in mind, you force all of the bad premonitions away and focus on the matter at hand -- and the fact that Eli is looking more sceptical with each passing second. It’s understandable, how his eyes flit around uneasily enough for the both of you combined, but you feel yourself getting impatient just watching him.  

“Eli…” You mumble, elbowing him and giving him the liberty of pretending not to notice when he flinches. “Let’s start looking.”

His gaze falls to meet yours, and after a moment of thought, he nods. “Fine. Just stay close, okay?”

You don’t have any qualms with that.

Following Eli around as he checks each room is an unexpectedly stressful job, not knowing if Gavin lies beyond the doors until you get the chance to peek inside yourself. The call you’d received earlier burns hot in your memory each time you do so, the voice’s words of warning towards a so-called wind evolver damning.

It’s a scenario you don’t want to delve into, but is unfortunately a reality you have to be ready to accept.

It takes a few attempts to locate the right place, though it’s all-too easy in the long run; almost worryingly so. But even so, that doesn’t stop you from nudging Eli aside to see the scene better for yourself.

The smell you’d noticed at the entrance is potent here, and with a scrunch of your nose, you finally put a name to the hazy smell. It’s the same one you’d become acquainted with after spending so much time in the hospital months back, and while grotesque, it’s almost intimate in the way you remember it.

Narcotics; the pills and liquids you were given to ease your pain each day and night, hang in the dense air.

Tears fill your eyes as you make your way over to where Gavin sits abandoned against the wall, uncertain of where to start. Bruises litter his exceptionally pale skin almost to the point of disfigurement, and the parts of his hands that are visible from where you crouch down show the empty beds that used to hold his fingernails.

You’re afraid to touch him.

Eli comes up beside you, his hurried footsteps conveying the worry you both feel. But unlike you, he has little problem in taking action immediately, taking Gavin’s wrist and feeling for a pulse.

He doesn’t speak, but Eli’s expression tells you enough.

You take your leave quickly after, relaying Gavin to the nearest hospital and tearfully handing him off to the startled nurses. As you sit, Eli takes the opportunity to fill in the doctor assigned to Gavin, even showing his badge to stress the severity of the situation.

The entire ordeal takes days.

Life all but goes back to normal afterwards, your schedule ultimately flipping on its head with the man you love unconscious in the hospital. The rounds you make to visit him are constant enough that you even acquaint yourself with some of the nurses that frequent his room in the time you’re not at his side.

But even they are incapable of soothing your worries.

Gavin feels nothing but sparkling white pain. Whether it’s burning or freezing to the touch, he can’t tell, but it’s an awfully persistent sensation. It’s confusion personified, and like quicksand, he finds himself unwillingly drowning in it. It’s similar to the lights he sees when he first opens his eyes again -- washing everything out with little effort.

Gavin’s gaze adjusts to an unfamiliar ceiling in due time, and soon after, his ears catch up to pick up the faint sound of a beeping heart monitor. Copious amounts of his senses return to him at once, launching him into a coughing fit that makes him very abruptly aware of the warm presence at his side.

They call his name, though their voice is hardly distinguishable.

But, then they reach out and cup his cheek, delicately rubbing their thumb over the shallow cut that lies there. The intimate touch is unmistakable from then on, the way it caresses his skin familiarly soothing him.

“___…”

Your name leaves his lips in a single pant, his eyes squeezing shut as his coughing suddenly begins to cease. You almost find yourself holding your breath as you look on at him, waiting for another sign of life.

And soon enough, his eyes begin to open again, slowly focusing on your face from where you lean beside him. Gavin’s lips turn up in a small smile, and he makes no attempt to hide the affection that oozes from his gaze.

“___.” He repeats your name, his emotions stretching out control as tears come to his eyes. A thousand things flash through them at once, baring both things you expect and things you don’t.

“...Are you okay?” You ask hesitantly, your hand shifting to cup the side of his head as you study his expression. “Does something hurt?”

Gavin only smiles in response, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes as his body shakes silently. You stare at him for a moment, at a slight loss of what to do when you realise you can’t distinguish whether he’s laughing or crying.

“I’m so sorry, ___.”

You don’t understand.

“What?” Your brows furrow as tears begin to prick at your eyes yet again. “What are you apologising for? None of this is your fault..”

Gavin shakes his head, inadvertently cutting you off.

He lets his hand fall back down to his side, allowing you to see his puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You can only stare at him as he continues to avert his eyes, ultimately surprised at his uncharacteristic outburst.

“I thought limiting our contact would help keep you safe.” He weeps quietly, his cheeks flushing from what you assume is a healthy mix of embarrassment and emotion. “But I caused us both so much pain. Every day I was held back by the possibility of messing everything up and never being able to see you again…”

Your heart flutters and drops all in the same motion.

I was right after all?

The memories recall moments stretching back to months ago, to all the moments you spent doubting that everything was really done; that you were really expected to move on like nothing was wrong. But hearing that your suffering wasn’t in vain somehow makes it seem like it was all worth it in the most twisted way.

“But look at you,” You interject softly, releasing a stagnated breath as Gavin looks on at you. “You’re here, next to me, and Gavin -- I won’t leave you. You won’t mess up, and everything will be fine..”

Your words fall out little by little as your eyes well with tears, but every single one is wiped away by the hand of the man in front of you.

Your reach up and place your hand over his. “I promise.”

Things are not all well, and little is fixed when you leave the hospital for the night. But somehow, you still feel like it’s just enough.

Gavin arises hours later feeling like his body is full of lead, unable to even open his eyes enough to focus on the dull light of the setting sun. But it’s with that alone does he realise that you’re no longer asleep next to him.

It makes him anxious in his delirium to think about how you’re probably home well by now, doing a face mask and scrolling casually through social media despite the unceremonious hour. You’re in the perfect spot for someone to take advantage of, namely referring to the Black Swan officers he’d recently become acquainted with.

But you’re blissfully unaware of his worries, making your way back home without an inkling of similar emotions in you. If anything, after months of your future appearing gray and blurry, the unexpected clarity of the situation eases something in you.

It’s a relief how lucky you’ve been.

Gavin’s thoughts go to the same concept as he pulls the thick hospital blanket off of himself, lips twisting into a thin line. It’s a miracle you’ve both managed to get so far -- and luck, unfortunately, only stretches so far.

It’s easy to get his original set of clothes back from the nurse, who seemed weak in the knees from the moment he approached her. The shirt smells distinctly of bleach, though his head feeds him the putrid scent of his own old blood regardless of how well it had been scrubbed out.

Getting out is the harder part. While the on duty nurse had been kind enough to slip things like his phone and badge back into his pocket, it was hell convincing the receptionist to let him check out even when he opted to show them his badge. Though eventually, with his name and number written down haphazardly on a loose scrap of paper, he’s given tight permission to leave temporarily.

The night air sends a chill down Gavin’s spine, and the quick change in temperature has the bandages covering his body sticking awkwardly to his skin. He tries to alleviate the discomfort, but the air currents feel odd in the way they swirl around him, somehow unfamiliar in the few days he’d spent locked away.

Though he shakes this away, writing it off just as he has hundreds of times before.

It’s harder than he expects to fly the short distance to your apartment. His healing wounds give way to a slight headache that only interferes more with the air around him. When he drops himself on your balcony, he practically has to lean over to catch his breath.

Gavin’s brows twine delicately together as he clears his throat a final time, straightening up and making sure there’s no sign of his trouble before knocking on the glass.

He smiles when he notices you padding over in your slippers through the sheer curtain. You seem casual enough that it lets him release a breath, relieved that his worries were for nothing. But then you suddenly open the door, catching him off guard once again.

“Gavin?” You’re rightfully shocked at his sudden appearance, the moonlight lining his quickly drooping figure in silver. “Why are you here instead of the hospital?”

He sighs gingerly, averting his eyes with a sheepish smile.

“I… was worried about you.”

You purse your lips lightly, your eyes going up and down his injured body. It’s hard not to notice the way he stands unevenly, no doubt to hide his limp and alleviate the pain in his torso -- but that much shows in just the way he slouches.

As if on cue, Gavin fumbles, letting himself come down into your waiting arms. His breathing is hard in your ear as you stroke the back of his head, cutting down a bubbling sigh in your throat.

Of course he came to check on me.

“You can barely stand, Gav. What were you thinking coming all the way here?” You lean back to see his tired face and chatsey him gently. “You need more time.”

“I was worried about you, ___.” He reaches up hesitantly to stroke your cheek with his thumb, silencing you for a split second as you watch him.

Gavin’s voice is raspy, showing not only his fatigue but also the pain he tries so hard to hide. “Can you allow me that much?”

You pull your lips into a line and look over his face. His eyes search yours simultaneously, but for what, you aren’t sure -- a sign of forgiveness? Leniency? You only know that whatever he wants to find, he probably won’t.

“Why would you be worried about me?” You ask, brows coming together in a delicate sign of frustration. “You were on the verge of death only days ago!”

He lets his hand fall from your cheek as he exhales. “I know. But your name is passed around a lot when it comes to the black swan officers. This time was no different.”

You don’t respond.

Gavin takes your silence as an opportunity to continue. “So, I decided that after my evol leveled out, I would come and check on you. Just to be sure.”

“But what I don’t get, is why you couldn’t wait?” You say, your eyes narrowing slightly as his ajar mouth closes slowly. “You’re nowhere close to being healed. And if you were that worried, I’m sure Eli or someone would’ve--”

He interjects, his eyes darting away. But you don’t miss the way they soften. “Because I owe you this much, ___. I hope you can understand what I mean.”

You do. The things he had said when he first woke up in the hospital, about the situation and the pressure he hoped to alleviate, it all connects back to where you stand now. So, as much as you hate to admit it, Gavin isn’t completely in the wrong for coming.

You nod, sighing in renouncement.

“Yeah. Yeah, Gavin, I do understand. Sorry.” You say it a bit reluctantly, your eyes shifting down until Gavin catches your face in his hands again.

His lips turn up in a small but attractive smile as he nods. “Hey, don’t apologise for being concerned. I love you for caring.”

You could almost swear that you’re hearing things, but looking up into his eyes, you know you aren’t. Your eyes narrow again, but this time in a more goading manner.

“What’s that?” You hum quietly, smiling up at him as the distance between you slowly begins to close.

Gavin gives you the charming smile you missed, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, as log as you never forget it.”

The kiss is soft and slow at first -- as meaningful as it should be, but it steadily transitions into what you’ve been holding back since the moment you met eyes again. His hand shifts languidly to cradle the back of your head, augmenting the already rising feeling in your chest.

His hands mould to you as time drags by, seemingly slowing down in your interaction alone. It makes you happy knowing that some semblance of your buried attraction is still eager to pop out again.

Everything passes by quickly after that point, to the moment you’re standing inside again, pulling away from him.

“Gavin, it’s late, you need to rest.”

He looks at you with a boyish glint in his eyes, his lips twisting slightly.

“Let’s stay up later.”

You step aside to pull back the covers on your bed for him. “But it’s sleep! You know, that thing you need to function--?”

He cuts you off by pulling you back up for another kiss, laughing with you as you ultimately decide to return his affection. But, then he catches you by surprise and lifts you into his arms.

“Ok!” You squeal in delight as you’re dropped right down onto your open bedsheets, your hair splaying messily around you. “Five minutes, that’s all!”

“Ten!”

The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them. But, one of the best is when you earn them back.

[mbti-notes]

infj. my head is in chaos regarding the topic of activism, especially in the current climate. i always try to keep myself knowledgeable and take action where i can. but right now, everything is chaos. its like no matter what you do, it will never be enough. i can’t look away or ignore injustice or pain. right now current events are filling my head up. on the other hand i feel like i’m concerned with messages about “be here now." (1)

[con’t: i’m not here in the sense that i’m with the political movement, what i’m reading online, etc. but every time i try to go about my day and focus on the “good” (like nature, or my blessings, etc.) it just feels wrong. like i’m lying to myself. because something is chipping away at me to still focus on the bad, or maybe to just focus on where i’m needed — activism. i’ve signed the petitions, made calls, donated. but an anxiety drives me to continue reading what’s happening and absorb it all i do feel driven to action. i think its natural for me to become consumed by this, these aren’t normal circumstances, and i care, but because of “mindfulness” philosophies and not wanting to be clouded by anger/judgement/fear, i’m starting to question how good it is to become all-consumed. a part of me thinks “i should post something related to this fight,” another thinks “post something unrelated” to show a sliver of happiness/hope in all the madness. i'm really broken up about this. i’m faced with the question: how much is enough? i’m bombarded with messages about “if you’re not posting about this you’re not caring enough!” now i’m too scared to post anything else, even if some people clearly need reprieve and maybe a small distraction in the midst of the pain. i’m scared i’ll be attacked for “not caring enough.” i know this is sort of a vent, but you seem like you might have guidance in this.]

IMO, it isn't a matter of doing "enough", at least that’s not a concept that I use to understand the problem. As long as injustice exists as a systemic problem in our society, then, as citizens in a democracy, we haven't done "enough", have we? In a perfect society, everyone should be treated as equal under the law. Perfection is, by definition, the highest standard, but it's not the standard that should be used to measure the actions of an individual when you’re talking about society at large. Privilege and power aren’t doled out equally in society. You don’t control the color of the skin that you’re born with nor the family that you’re born into. It’s unproductive to whip up guilt about things that you don’t control. It’s more productive to think about how to utilize whatever facets of privilege and power you possess in the wisest, most helpful way possible.

I think a better question to ask is whether you're doing all that you're reasonably able to do, given your moral duties and obligations as a member of society. Are you educating yourself in a way that allows you to be a positive rather than negative influence in society? If enough of us did that, a lot of harm would be prevented. Are you addressing how you might be contributing to systemic injustice in your life? If enough of us did that, we'd be much more mindful about who we reward, how we consume, and the candidates we vote for, which would create significant structural change. Are you able to do something to help support the victims of systemic injustice? If enough of us did that, there'd be enough resources available to root out the bad actors more quickly, which would significantly reduce future victimization. 

The only person you really have power over is yourself. As one person, you have limited time, energy, and resources to solve a problem that exists at the societal level. Your actions are only ever a drop in the bucket, perhaps a few drops if you have some social influence. Yet don't forget that every drop counts in the big picture of trying to fill up that bucket. It's easy to look at the enormity of the bucket and feel like it's impossible to fill (despair); it's hard to keep the drops flowing in at a steady pace (persistence). Generally speaking, long term goals are very difficult to achieve, both for individuals and especially for society, because it's easy to lose sight of an abstract future target when the present suffering is all too real and painful.

I’d say that you don’t understand the concept of “mindfulness” if you think that it’s meant to rid you of all your negativity. Injustice is quite sad to feel and angering to witness, is it not? Do you treat your negative feelings as legitimate? There'd be something wrong with you if you didn't feel anything upon witnessing inhumane treatment, if you didn't care about people getting hurt for no good reason. Negative feelings aren't problematic; it's what you do about your feelings that matters. Since you can’t handle your negative feelings very well, your thinking process is prone to being oversimplistic. People can care about more than one thing at a time, and caring about one thing a lot doesn’t mean you don’t care about other things. You also fail to recognize that the good and the bad are not mutually exclusive but inextricably intertwined. The existence of good doesn’t mean that there shouldn’t be any bad; the existence of bad doesn’t suddenly negate all the good. Being able to envision a better possibility actually serves to make you feel unhappy, sad, or angry that it doesn’t already exist; feeling unhappy, sad, or angry about the negative state of affairs motivates you to create something more positive in the future. In other words, good and bad exist in relationship and should be understood from a bigger, more holistic perspective - it’s useless to try to pretend that one or the other doesn’t exist.  

It's not about suppressing your negative feelings (emotional dysfunction); it's about using them as a catalyst for positive transformation (emotional intelligence). It’s not about whether you have a right to be happy (misplaced guilt); it’s about whether your happiness comes largely at someone else’s expense (examine your complicity). It's not about whether you're doing "enough" (self-punishment); it's about whether you’re mindful of the consequences of what you do (self-awareness). It’s not about whether you should/shouldn’t post this or that online (performative identity); it’s about showing who you are through what you care about (authentic expression). 

If you're trying to stop whatever you do to perpetuate the problem (not always an easy task), educate and raise awareness of the problem (which requires time and energy), and help redirect resources to better tackle the problem (which requires self-sacrifice), that's all you can reasonably expect of yourself or anyone else. Are you being reasonable in your expectations? Your concern seems to be that your "best" isn't perfect and that "trying your best" is all-consuming. As NF, you must always be vigilant about the unhealthy/extreme perfectionism that comes from being far too unrealistic/idealistic. What do you imagine is your "best" and what is the reality of being "at your best"? Can you tell the difference between the self-inflicted ideal of what you want and the reality of what you are? Is devoting all of yourself, like a martyr, your "best"? In REALITY, are you at your best when your life is lived at emotional extremes, constantly exhausting all of your energy? NO. How can you be at your best when your mindset is steeped in self-destructive tendencies?

You are at your best when you are able to maintain a proper balance between your well-being and your devotion to service. Only then are you able to be most effective in helping others. As soon as you start punishing yourself for not being/doing "enough" and start feeling guilty for not suffering in tandem with others (as though creating more suffering helps), you're creating a new problem that’s about you (i.e. your perfectionism and lack of emotional boundaries), and then you're no longer able to contribute of yourself in positive ways. Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Perhaps you need to reflect on what you consider to be your "best" and re-calibrate it to meet the reality of what it means to be a well-functioning and well-adjusted HUMAN BEING. 

Never forget that you are human, with real limitations that should be observed and respected. If you treat yourself with self-compassion - the compassion that you so easily extend to others - you would never think that making yourself miserable is a good way to help anyone or anything. You may not have the power to solve a social problem single-handedly, but you have the power to help influence positive change in your part of the world. And you won’t be able to exercise that power if you don’t practice proper self-care. 

[silenthillmutual]

I beg your pardon! It’s me who is going mad.

So, I know I did a Twitter thread about the ways Daniil is manipulated in Classic, and I thought I’d put it on here too.

I’m going to stop short of calling it gaslighting here though, because too many people are using that term who don’t really understand what it means. Gaslighting is specifically a form of abuse where the intention is to make the victim feel they are going insane. Not all manipulation or abuse is gaslighting - which doesn’t make it less bad, just...not gaslighting.

That being said: in Classic, there are quite a few times where Daniil can say that he thinks he’s losing his mind, and there are times when the game seems constructed to make you feel this way. Particularly I had in mind the ending of the game, and not just the part where you find out you’re a toy and always have been (that falls more under cosmic horror). What bugs me about the end and how that fits into things, is the fact that the Sand Pest and its outcomes have been chasing you - the clouds, the angels, the muggers, the firestarters, the rats, literally chasing you through houses and through town, only for all of it to completely vanish without a trace on the exact day you’re meant to give a solution to it all. I made a point on Twitter about how people attempting to gaslight you will submit you to a large amount of damage - physical, verbal, emotional, take your pick - and then remove the abuse and any signs of it just before they’re caught. it’s how they show to others that it’s you who’s the problem, not them. 

Regardless of whether you think the intention is to make Daniil feel he’s losing is sanity or not, the question would be who is manipulating Daniil, and why? There are a couple answers.

The first answer is the Town. The first playthrough as the Bachelor of the game is probably the closest fitting to psychological horror as the game gets. Like Silent Hill, the Town is full of horrors that seem tailor-made to torture Daniil specifically: most of these people are uneducated (the Town doesn’t even have a school), their cultural beliefs (mostly appropriated from the steppe culture) actively prevent him from doing his job as a doctor, his word and name are constantly weaponized by people with ulterior motives, and men run around on the first two days beating women to death or burning them alive and intervening actively costs you reputation - which you need to do anything. He arrives with the hope of finding evidence to keep his lab opening and, as we later learn, keep himself from execution, only to find that both the man who would serve as this evidence and the colleague who informed you of his existence have been murdered just before your arrival. You have a lot of things riding on your success, and everything about where you are is actively working against you. The government wants you to find a cure single-handedly, but the Town has other plans for you. 

And those plans are: errand boy, and scapegoat. People throughout the Town will inform you that they are scared of you when you’ve barely interacted with them, let alone in ways that should inspire fear. It doesn’t matter how good your reputation as Daniil is (and through the course of the game, there’s very little you’re made to do that lowers your reputation, and it never gets bad enough for you to be attacked on the street or refused sale from shops), what matters is the fact that everyone in Town, from the nameless NPCs to the rulers, are putting every bad thing they’ve done down as being your fault. 

But the Town has another way it’s manipulating Daniil, by almost making him a member of it. I don’t think I got a screenshot, but I’m sure that somewhere along the line Daniil comments that he’s starting to talk like one of the townsfolk. You can see this happens to Andrey, too, later in the game; he talks in what Daniil calls “Griefisms”. 

You have been sent here to fight an adversary that inherently cannot be beaten - in foolish hopes that a miracle would happen and your outstanding mind would stumble upon a once-in-a-million chance. And just so that you wouldn’t give up, they kept insisting that the adversary must be destroyed. Do you see how insidious the Powers That Be are?     > But why? Their motives are becoming less and less comprehensible to me by the day.

The second answer is the Powers That Be.

Three people enter the Town that the Powers That Be want to get rid of: the Bachelor, the Inquisitor, and the Commander. It wants them all to fix or solve or demolish something in the town, and doesn’t really care what happens to any of them. Pathologic 2 spells it out clearer for you that Aglaya, Block, and Daniil will all be executed upon return to the Capital if their answers are not what the Powers That Be want to hear. And for the time that you are in the Town as Daniil Dankovsky, the Powers That Be - like the town itself - actively work against you. The trains that are meant to bring food and medication never, to my knowledge, arrive, and most days bring about a new letter from the Powers spelling out for you how disappointed in you and your progress they are. Some of the ways they attempt to manipulate Daniil through these letters are subtle, but most of them are unsubtle suggestions that what he’s been able to accomplish is not good enough, that he was meant to work alone.

Even one of your first letters from them is suspicious; early on in the game, they write to let you know that they are in no way responsible for the outbreak, which is an incredibly suspicious thing to say. What is the point of sending such a letter? Would the player have really thought that they were if they hadn’t suggested as much through denial? After all, what called you to Town was a letter from Isidor Burakh. But yet, the Powers That Be are the ones who leave you stranded in the Town with limited resources, no help, and constantly shifting goalposts. Aglaya makes this clear to you when she arrives: you were never supposed to be successful. 

The letters from the Powers That Be do not serve any purpose other than to upset Daniil, and most if not all of them contain lies: that a train will be arriving, that they don’t mind if you have help in carrying out your plans, that Thanatica still exists, referencing conversations you’ve never had, signing drafts of letters you didn’t consult on with your name. One of the reasons i had put this down as gaslighting is because people who gaslight like to keep you off balance and emotionally fragile so that you’re easier to manipulate. You’ll do whatever they want to make the feeling stop, because you just can’t handle the stress anymore, and in the process you come across to others as unreasonable, unhinged, crazy, dangerous, so that no one will trust you. And that’s exactly how Daniil starts to come across to the townspeople: deranged, strung out, dangerous, untrustworthy.

You can contrast all that to a different letter they send you where they claim to be proud to call you one of your own. Combine the two, and you get honeymooning. They want to remind you of the good (or at least, not-as-bad) times you’ve had with them. This behavior serves two, sometimes three purposes: to keep you off balance from the violent back-and-forth, dizzying nature of what they’re doing to you, and so that you’ll defend them to people who can see what’s going on and want to get you out of it. You’ll even convince yourself that you’re not really being mistreated. If you were being abused, would they be so nice to you? 

You are the last friend our family has. I hope our attachment to you doesn’t look obtrusive.      > It requires too much from me. I’m not comfortable with it.     > No, not at all. 

The third answer is the Kains. Specifically, Georgiy and Maria repeatedly manipulate Daniil, though I’ve no doubt in the text above Victor stating their attachment to Daniil is also a manipulation, and one possibly planned by either or perhaps both of them. The text above probably looks normal, but think about the purpose it serves: to reinforce that Daniil is friendly with the Kains. Your only two options are to say that it doesn’t bother you, or to express that you feel your boundaries are being violated by their attention. But I even thinking about picking that option... Well, it feels mean. 

Throughout the game, people will comment on Maria’s attachment to you and what they feel is your predestination to be romantically paired with her. All this, despite the fact that you don’t really interact with her that much. I’ve seen this be explained as forced heterosexuality, but I think it also is a way of the Kains manipulating Daniil into doing what they want. Daniil gets upset whenever people cry; when children cry, he tries to calm them and fix whatever’s upset them - there’s an entire sidequest after the army arrives in which Daniil kills a group of soldiers, spurred into action by upset children. Whenever he encounters Maria crying, he reacts with discomfort, and she uses these tears and upset to manipulate Daniil into thinking Aglaya has lied to him, effectively distancing him from one of the only people in the game with a rational mind to show him support and tell him the truth. I don’t think the two are in any way unconnected. Something abusers, manipulators, gaslighters love to do is isolate you so that you only have one source of information to go to. If they cut you off from other people, they can continue to feed off of you. You’ll never have a chance to question if what you’re being told about yourself or others is correct, you’ll just be a constant supply of drama for them. 

DANIIL: Was there any particularly notable backstory? I’m deadly tired of all these people. They’re inhuman. They tell the future, believe in walking zombies, and die in all manners of painfully abnormal ways. 

AGLAYA: Your line of thinking is obviously fallacious - and I was implying something rather mundane. I promise you no one can really tell the future around here and neither are deaths inspired by third parties uncommon. Mysterious phenomenons do occur here sometimes... but hardly more often than anywhere else.

You can see, first, the effect all this has had on Daniil, how dispiriting the past several days have been to him. But you can also see here exactly why a family that prides itself on multi-generational reincarnation and manipulation through “fortune-telling” wants to keep its blunt instrument in the dark. 

That is, ultimately, why they are manipulating Daniil. Georgiy knows full well when he tells Daniil at the beginning that everyone, even himself, will lie to Daniil, that being that honest upfront is more likely to lead Daniil to trusting him. They want to sway him to their cause; this is why you are told that your success here depends on the wellbeing of the people Maria considers useful: herself, her father and uncle - who she gets out of the way later on to come into her power, the architects of the Polyhedron - which she will use to ascend to power, and the theatre director who has pledged himself to be her loyal servant. Eva’s on the list, too, but her inclusion was deliberately set up to make you depend on the Kains later in the game, considering that it’s Maria who convinced her to commit suicide:

DANIIL: Why did Eva die then? AGLAYA: I have a distinct suspicion she was made to die. DANIIL: By whom?  AGLAYA: One of the Kains. I’d even go so far as to claim that they may have performed human sacrifice.

It’s a two-for-one deal: try in vain to make a Focus of the Cathedral, and remove from Daniil the last piece of influence who was not totally in love with Maria. Maria “cries” and is “upset” at you for thinking Eva’s death is her fault, but no one directly tells you Maria is responsible - all Aglaya does is tell you the Kains are at fault. The rest is just you remembering how nasty Maria was about Eva at the beginning of the game. I wouldn’t even say that Maria was removing a rival for Daniil’s affection. She really does only view Daniil as an object: if you speak to her on day 12, she assumes that you’re leaving, and doesn’t even ask you to stay (for kicks, contrast this with either ending of Pathologic 2 when you speak to Daniil as Artemy, where he’s supposed to be your rival. what was all that about Maria being in love with you...?); he’s not even present in his own ending cutscene. Even Mark Immortell says you’re leaving -

And actually, that’s a really fascinating conversation you can have with him on day 12. It’s where the game outright admits exactly what Aglaya told you: it’s all fake. Maria cannot really see the future, you’ve just been manipulated the entire game to achieve someone else’s goals, and unless you’ve gone around and saved Artemy’s or Clara’s bound, it’s too late for you to turn back and make a different decision. If you’ve picked Daniil’s ending, you just destroyed an entire town on the basis of outright lies. 

[paoladamasco]

AU MEME 🔆OUR FLATS ARE OPPOSITE EACH OTHER AND YOUR KITCHEN WINDOW FACES MY KITCHEN SO WE ALWAYS SEE EACH OTHER MAKING COFFEE AT 3AM featuring @ofrosso; @benvoliosantodomingo; @romroses; @odessasvernon; @ofcastora

There’s a very specific reason Felipe wants her to move, and Paola is pretty sure it’s the hot neighbor right across from her.

“I like it here, Felipe,” Paola says as she sets breakfast down on the table. “It’s affordable, it’s a good neighborhood and I just figured out how to stuff all my books in here without looking like an abandoned library.”

“You could move in with me,” Felipe offers, stabbing a blueberry with his fork and popping it into his mouth with relish.

Paola laughs as she imagines it: both of them living in either of their cramped flats, with all their things overflowing so there’s no space to even sit on the floor. “It’s a little soon for that, don’t you think? Besides, neither of us can afford a place big enough. And I’m still not convinced I need to move out at all.”

Felipe shoots her a look that says he doesn’t believe her. “Your neighbors are questionable, for one.”

“There’s only been two deaths in the area.”

“Yes, but you hear three gunshots every night.”

Paola shrugs, sipping on her tea in between handfuls of grapes. “I don’t mind it.”

There is it: he can’t help but glance at her kitchen window. Looking for them, Paola knows. She heaves a great and tired sigh to recapture Felipe’s attention, raising her brows pointedly. “You know I’ve never even met them, right?”

“You could have mentioned you live across someone who looks like that when they’re shirtless,” he grumbles.

His frown, all boyish and charming, still wins her over, no matter the reason. Paola’s smile is genuine as she tells him, “They don’t even notice me. Now eat your breakfast, I want to go visit the new bookstore down the street.”

Before they leave, Paola sneaks a peek at the kitchen window. Just like she thought — they’re there. And they’re looking straight at her.

🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆

Marcelo watches the girl who lives across from them, and wonders if she knows she missed a spot while brushing her hair. There’s a hint of bedhead right in the back, still frizzy and bunched together.

They noticed her when she moved in, primarily because she moved in alone. With boxes in her arms, she trekked up the stairs tirelessly for hours with only a bandana holding her hair back. It did nothing to help the sweat; they know the feeling, the burn when it gets into your eyes. They remember grinning when they saw it happen to Paola, as she squeezed her eyes shut and began wiping furiously at her eyes.

They didn’t leave their apartment to offer their help, of course. It wasn’t their problem; it was just an interesting show, and they liked that she never seemed to tire. Every few hours, she stopped to eat a banana over the sink and take a long sip from a beer bottle. They liked that, too.

It’s pure curiosity that keeps them watching this tiny, waifish girl who single-handedly moves endless boxes — many of them books, the heaviest and the worst kind — into a tiny apartment. It’s been several months since she’s moved in, and they’ve learned quite a few things since.

She likes to make tea during the day, but she makes coffee at night. She seems to have books everywhere and even reads while cooking; it’s always a different volume in her hands. Sometimes, the two make eye contact and she always looks surprised to see them; she also always smiles.

She has a boyfriend. They didn’t know that until today. Apparently, the boyfriend never spends the night.

🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆

It’s 3 AM, and Felipe is long gone; but Paola is wide awake, devouring the book of philosophy she bought from the new bookstore. Or at least, she’s trying to be wide awake. Eyelids growing heavier and heavier, the solution is obvious. She needs at least two cups of coffee to get through this next chapter — and then maybe three more for the next.

She rises from the couch and heads to the kitchen. Instinctively, Paola looks out the window for the person she’s become used to seeing at this hour. Yep, as usual, they’re pouring a drink too.

Just after she’s noticed them, they lift their head. Their eyes meet.

They raise their brows at her as if they’re asking a question. Paola lifts a hand and smiles as if she’s giving an answer. And she can’t help herself — she ends up taking a quick peek at their shirtless torso, a sight she’s seen nearly every night and still can’t seem to get enough of.

Okay, she’s starting to see Felipe’s point.

Paola turns away quickly, focusing on her coffee and willing herself not to look back at them. She’s been dating Felipe for two months, and it’s been fun. Nearly effortless, with conversation as enjoyable as their silence is comfortable. It’s rare for Paola to find people she connects with so naturally. Since he first introduced himself, she’s blossomed beneath his attention.

She takes a sip from her cup and decides to get curtains for the kitchen window in the afternoon. It solves everything: Felipe will feel more comfortable, the dip in her stomach will stop and she won’t waste as much coffee looking for excuses to see them in the middle of the night.

Before she returns to her reading spot, Paola looks for one last sight of them. But they’re gone.

Why is she so disappointed?

🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆

As it turns out, curtains can be quite expensive. It also doesn’t come with the set-up she needs to get it ready, so Paola is quick to abandon her search. She doesn’t look too deep into how easily she abandons her project. It’s inconvenient, and out of her already-skim budget.

Over the next month, Felipe grows more distant — sometimes, when she goes to spend the night, his eyes are glazed over and never seems to be quite there. She has a feeling he’s using something, but he always vehemently denies it. Paola keeps an eye out for anything that gives him away every time she visits. Felipe is a recovering addict; she can try to save him, but she is only a helping hand. Ultimately, Felipe is the only one who can pull himself out of the abyss.

She still sees them intermittently during the day, and always every night. They’ve developed a routine: they hold up whatever liquor they’re drinking, and Paola shows them the book she’s reading. Sometimes, they’ll smile at the cover as if they recognize it. Whenever it happens, she’s overwhelmed with the temptation to go to their door and ask if they do.

But Paola is smarter than that, so she never does. Although, admittedly, she has gone to her door as if she’s about to make the first step outside.

🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆

They saw the boyfriend in person, once. Out for a drink with their friends, it’s a regular night for Marcelo. Bellamy is beside them and talking to the bartender, making friends as he always does wherever he goes.

Roman is flirting with everyone at the bar while keeping a close eye on Odessa, who’s dancing and pretending she doesn’t dance for his benefit. They roll their eyes and throw a shot to the back of their throat. Idiots.

Castora is fighting off every single person who dares make a pass at her. Next to her is Armand, who goes by his middle name — Ajax — and has been best friends with Castora since they were children. He’s also in love with her and it’s obvious to everyone but Castora. Marcelo flags the bartender down for another shot. It’s something of a game tonight: one shot for every idiot duo they see tonight.

They’re scanning the room for the rest of their friends when they spot him: the boyfriend. They straighten slightly as they search for the girlfriend. She’s reading a book that their dads used to love. Part of them wants to ask her for her favorite parts, as if it will give them a new piece of their dads to remember and lock into their memory.

She’s not with him. Damn. Whatever, it’s just a stupid book and they have plenty of their dads to remember anyways. The bartender finally arrives with their shot, and they take it without a beat.

The boyfriend is coming closer, and he’s loud. Marcelo can’t help but start listening in.

“It’s this new drug called faerie’s blood, and I’ve never had anything like it. You guys have to try it, I can ask my dealer to hook us up…”

They wonder if Paola dabbles in drugs, too. It’s not that they have a problem with that — but somehow, she doesn’t strike them as the type. But what do they know? They’re just neighbors who have this weird, hidden ritual that they look forward to every night, for some forsaken reason.

Marcelo orders another shot. They’re not sure which idiotic duo it’s for this time; they just know they need one, now.

🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆

Felipe is using again. She can’t say what drug is in the small plastic bag in his wallet, but Paola is positive it’s a drug. The two fight for hours. Felipe insists he’s being careful, and he’s sick of being watched like a hawk. Paola calls him weak, a liar who knows he’s ruining his life and choosing to do it, anyways.

The two are broken up by the end of the night, and Paola returns to her flat with her things. Hot, angry tears roll down her cheeks as she throws out whatever she finds that belongs to him: a few T-shirts he left behind, his toothbrush…

She’s pouring out the perfume he bought for her down the kitchen sink when they show up. They’re wearing a shirt, for once. Paola likes them in a shirt, even a simple gray T-shirt with their built chest filling it out nicely.

They hold up a bottle of scotch. Paola doesn’t have anything to hold up: no books, no coffee, nothing. She just stares at them blankly, until their expression becomes visibly bewildered and they shake the bottle in their hands as if to remind her of their ritual.

An idea dawns on her.

She holds up a finger for them to wait. Before they can respond in any way, Paola grabs the last book that made them smile — she’s kept it on her coffee table all this time — and runs out to find them.

🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆

Their door looks exactly like hers, but it feels entirely different. Paola takes a moment to stare at it, contemplating all that it means: seeing them up-close without glass between them, hearing their voice, learning their name… All of it is so simple, so necessary; yet they’ve found a way to communicate without it.

Is this stupid? Is this too rash, not even 24 hours having passed since she and Felipe broke up?

It doesn’t feel stupid; it feels right, it feels brave, it feels like an adventure. It doesn’t feel rash, either, with months and months of silent interactions and their nightly show-and-tells.

Paola doesn’t care; she’s going to do it.

She knocks on the door. When it opens, she’s struck by how tall they are. Paola blinks up at them and studies the small details she’s never been able to see across the distance. They have more facial hair than she realized. Their eyes are startling, not quite brown and not quite green.

They’re so tall. Paola isn’t sure why she’s so fixated on that, until — without her thinking it, without her questioning it — her hand is reaching up to cup the back of their neck and bring them down to where the small people like her live. Their lips crash together, uncomfortably at first; it takes only a short beat to find a rhythm, and when they do, they lean into it as if they’ve done it their whole lives. They seem to realize what’s happening a second after Paola does, hands gripping her waist and pulling her flush against their body.

She’s the first to pull away, breathing harder than usual. They don’t even seem to be affected — as if they expected this all along and it’s her who’s late to the party. There’s a smirk on their lips, the lips that she just kissed. Paola wants to kiss it again until they have to swallow their smirk, until all that’s left is the same smile she saw when she held up the right book title.

“Do you think kissing someone the night of your breakup is a bad thing to do?” Paola asks.

Surprise flashes across their face, but they look almost satisfied as they respond, “The better question is, do you care?”

She likes their voice. Better yet, she likes their answer. She smiles at them stupidly, having nothing else to say. It’s Marcelo who breaks the silence, stepping aside to make room as he says, “Want to come in?”

“I thought strangers weren’t to be trusted,” Paola points out, hoping the sincerity of her voice is understood as a joke.

It’s a relief when they laugh. They get it, she thinks, they get it. “I’m Marcelo.”

“I’m Paola.”

“Great, now we’re not strangers. Get the fuck in here already.”

[haveanotherkpopblog]

Shall We Dance?

Inspired by @noona-clock‘s “EXO as Royal Princes”

Pairing: Kim Junmyeon x You

Genre: AU, Fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: None

Masterlist

As real as the situation was, you still couldn’t believe it was happening. Your parents, the King and Queen of a wealthy and powerful country, had finally decided on a suitor. You’d always known you’d be married off, and, since it was for the benefit of your country, you accepted the fact. It was who your parents had chosen.

Prince Junmyeon, the most sought-after prince everywhere. Every kingdom wanted him to take their daughter’s hand. Yet, out of all the eligible princesses, you were the lucky one. As happy as you were to secure your country’s future, you couldn’t help the melancholy feeling in your heart. You’d just promised away your future and life to a man you’ve never met.

You huffed in annoyance. You’d been trying to learn this dance for weeks. The Royal Waltz was a tradition of Prince Junmyeon’s family. Every new royal couple danced it as their first dance. But, if you couldn’t get the pacing right, you’d single-handedly ruin a centuries old tradition.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a high-pitched squeal, followed by the ballroom doors bursting open. Two boys, one seven or eight , the other fourteen or so, came barreling in. They ran around, not truly paying attention to where they were going. “You little prat!” the older boy screamed. “I’m going to wring your neck!”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. As soon as the younger boy was within reach, you snatched him up. He giggled as you twirled him around. You set him down, crouching to his level. He stared at you with big, brown eyes.

“Give it back twerp!” the elder yelled. He stopped a few paces away from you and the little boy. You turned your attention back to the younger one. He was hiding something behind his back.

“Hi,” you greeted, a small smile on your face. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”

“Kwangseok,” he replied meekly.

“I like your name. Can we be friends?” He nodded happily. “What’s behind your back Kwangseok?” you inquired. He bit his lip, slowly bringing his hands in front of him. He was clutching a phone. “Is that yours?” He shook his head. You nodded, pursing your lips. An idea popped into your head.

“Ah-choo!” you fake sneezed. “Uh-oh. I’d give me that phone if I was you. Unless you want cooties.” He tilted his head to the side. “You do know what cooties are, don’t you?” He shook his head. “Well, cooties are a germ girls have. It makes them want to have tea parties, play dress up, and stay inside to read.” His eyes were saucers as he stared at you. You leaned in close, ready to deliver the kicker. “I used to be called John.” Kwangseok let out a scream and thrust the phone into your hands. He took off, sprinting out of the ballroom. You stood up, chuckling softly.

“Works every time,” you mumbled. You turned to the older brother, who was grinning.

“Thanks for that, I thought I’d have to get our brother,” he laughed. “I’m Sungjae.” You handed Sungjae his phone, bowing your head.

“Of course, it’s no problem,” you assured him. You stared at Sungjae closely, he looked oddly familiar. “Who’s your brother?”

“Junmyeon.” You froze. Junmyeon? As in, Prince Junmyeon? No, that was impossible. Junmyeon was blonde, and both Sungjae and Kwangseok had black hair. “In case you’re wondering, I do mean Prince Junmyeon.” That means you just scarred your future brother-in-law. You facepalmed, just your luck.

“Well that’s great,” you sighed.

“What?”

“I can’t learn this damn Royal Waltz, and now I managed to make my future in-law terrified of me. Today has just been fan-flipping-tastic,” you huffed. Sungjae chuckled.

“I like you Y/N,” he told you, glancing at his phone. “You’re a lot better than the other princesses.” You quirked a brow at him. “The other princesses who are, or were, vying for Junmyeon’s hand. They weren’t like you. They were, how do I say this politely, artificial.”

“Explain.”

“Just from the brief interaction between you and Kwangseok, I can see you’re one, good with children, two, can think fast on your feet, and three, have a compassionate heart because you willing helped two strangers you’ve never met.” You stared at him, your jaw hanging open slightly.

“You got all of that from a fifty second interaction?” you questioned. He nodded. “How old are you exactly?”

“Fifteen.” You nodded, thoroughly impressed. “I kinda wish you were my age, or I was your age. I think you and I would get along a lot better than my bottle blonde brother.”

“Well that’s rude.” You and Sungjae whipped around. Prince Junmyeon was walking towards the both of you, dressed in a white button down and black slacks. His blonde hair was parted to reveal his forehead, and his smile was warm and kind. He was the stereotypical prince charming, and he was perfect. You curtsied, bowing your head.

“Your Royal Highness,” you greeted. You rose slowly, keeping your eyes cast down. “A pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise, Princess Y/N. Sungjae, could you give us some privacy?” Junmyeon asked. You glanced over at Sungjae, catching his eye and silently pleading for him to stay. He looked between you and Prince Junmyeon.

“Of course,” he replied, shooting you a cheeky grin. “Good evening Y/N.” You watched as Sungjae disappeared out the ballroom doors. Damn it Sungjae.

“You and my brother appear close,” Prince Junmyeon commented.

“Not really, my Lord. Kwangseok had just taken Sungjae’s phone and had stumbled in here in the middle of me practicing the Royal Waltz. I was just helping Sungjae out,” you explained.

“The Royal Waltz? Have you not yet learned it?” he inquired. You bit the inside of your lip.

“I have learned the steps, Your Royal Highness. It’s the pacing I can’t get right.”

“Would you like some help?”

“Pardon?”

“The dance is best learned with a partner. Would you like help?” he repeated. His hands were clasped behind his back as he stared at you. You licked your lips, swallowing thickly.

“If that is what my Lord wishes, then so be it,” you answered. He nodded, and began playing the song through his phone. He gently grabbed your hand, placing it on his shoulder. He put his hand on your waist, keeping you at a decent distant. He took your other hand in his and slowly led you into the song. You stared down at your feet.

“Look at me.” You glanced up at Prince Junmyeon. He was grinning. You quickly dropped your gaze. “I didn’t realize the floor was more interesting than me,” he jested. Your eyes snapped up.

“I meant no disrespect my--”

“Junmyeon,” he interrupted. “If you can refer to my brothers by their names, you may refer to me by mine.” You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip. “May I refer to you by your name?”

“Yes my--Junmyeon,” you replied. His smile grew, making you smile in return.

“Do you enjoy jokes?” he inquired. You nodded. He smiled. “Have you ever tried to eat a clock?” You tilted your head to the side. That was a weird follow up question. “It’s very time consuming.” You paused, letting what he said sink in. You broke out laughing and he followed suit

“That was atrocious,” you wheezed. “That was awful!” He continued to laugh with you.

“If it’s so atrocious, then why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s atrocious.” You both laughed, not having realized the song ended quite some time ago. “Thank you, Junmyeon. You were right, it’s easier with a partner.”

“You’ll find I’m usually right,” he joked. “I have to thank you, Y/N.”

“For what?”

“Solving the issue between Kwangseok and Sungjae. I try my best to guide them and make wise choices, but they’re still young and have a way to go. I’m very thankful you were able to help.” You smiled, bowing your head. “Y/N, I know we’re being forced into this marriage for the sake of our kingdoms, and I’m okay with that. I’m not expecting you to fall in love with me or to dot on me and be arm candy, but I’d like for us to be friends. You’ve already won over and Sungjae, and Kwangseok will come back around. Eventually.”

You mouth dropped slightly, trapped between gaping and grinning. “I’d like that Junmyeon.” He grinned back.

“My friends call me Suho.”

“Guardian?” you said. He nodded. “It suits you.” He chuckled, slightly blushing. He took your hand, his lips hovering above your knuckles. His eyes met yours, sparkling under the ballroom lights.

“Same time tomorrow, Y/N?”

“Until then, Suho.”

[musicalluna]

a long, lonely while, part vi

this part came out a bit different. let me know what you think.

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | on ao3

--

Clint's vision is 20/10, which is as good as it gets. More importantly, he knows how to see. Actually seeing things and not just looking at them is something of a special skill, he's learned. Most people don't do that.

Point is, he does.

So he sees a lot of things the others miss. Natasha hates the smell of cooking meat. Bruce gets shifty-eyed when he sees people drinking bottles of Pingo Doce. Thor tends to poke them occasionally—Clint hasn't quite figured that one out. Steve flinches when he hears trains. Tony won't let anyone else drive, or hand him things, and since Pepper left, he's gotten progressively sicker. Things have improved slightly since Thor came back, which was when Clint realized it wasn't just break-up blues, but something else. Thor's a handsy guy and apparently just what the doctor ordered for Stark. He's still under the weather, but it's better. Clint prides himself on his observation skills, so he hates that he didn't put it together before.

He thinks he's made up for it though, because he's pretty sure he's the only one—except maybe Natasha—who realizes Steve's totally smitten with Tony. Sure, Tony can get Steve's back up in a hot second, but you only have to watch the guy for ten minutes to see the way he looks at Tony. Like he single-handedly built the 21st century. Like he's the only thing that makes sense in the whole world. Which—really? Tony makes sense to Steve. Tony.

Anyway, if Clint handles things right, this could solve all their problems. No more sick Tony, no more moony Steve. Steve might even let his hair down and start actually living in this century instead of just playing the part he's been given by rote. The team might actually work. They're coming up on the end of Tony and Pepper's self-imposed Separation Period, so that's gotta mean it's been long enough Tony can start seeing other people, right?

Clint's got arrows, which makes him the perfect matchmaker, obviously.

When he explains all this to Tasha, she pulls back mid-spar to give him the most underwhelmed look ever. “You know, sometimes you're as dumb as you pretend to be.”

“Hey, I am exactly as dumb as I pretend to be.”

Nat's hand shoots out and smacks him across the face. “You are not.”

“Ow, hey. You literally just said—”

“I know what I said. They're both fragile. Tony is touch-starved, that doesn't mean he wants a relationship again so soon. And Steve has rejected everyone I propose.”

Clint pushes sweaty hair back off his forehead. “Yeah, but have you proposed Stark?”

“No,” she admits.

“I'm telling you, the guy is gaga over Stark. You think Stark wouldn't be into him?”

“Anyone with even a marginal interest in men is interested in Steve Rogers,” she says wryly. “And Tony's interest is anything but marginal.”

“Right. So what's the problem? They hook up, Steve's happy, Tony gets all of his pent up 40s-boy handsy-ness, we all win.”

“Unless it blows up in our faces. If it goes badly, they'd tear the team apart.” Her fists clench and she looks at him, her mouth tight. “Clint. For the first time in my life I think I have something instead of nothing. And I want it. I want it so badly it scares me. I can't risk it.”

Clint steps closer, curling one hand around her fist. “What, I'm not enough for you?”

Natasha gives him a dirty look, and Clint wrestles back a smile.

“Kidding, I'm kidding. But, Tash, what if it goes right?”

Nat sighs shakily and lets her head drop forward until her forehead is resting on his chest. “Well, if they're screwing they'll be able to work out their frustration.”

Clint snorts and cups a hand around the back of her neck. “Probably mellow them both out, right?”

“Oh, god. I hate that you're probably right.”

Clint grins.

“Take it slow, okay? Steve might be interested, but he's still floundering. And Tony. Well, he's Tony.”

“I got this, Nat. Leave it to me.”

–

Clint takes it slow, as promised. Nat isn't the only one who feels like she's found something that's been missing from her life.

First, he takes Steve out for beers to verify that Steve is, in fact, into Tony.

“So is it just Stark's ass you're into, or is it the whole package?”

Steve splutters, spitting a mouthful back into the bottle. When he gets past the surprise, he drops his head forward and groans, “Am I still that obvious?”

“Your crush is visible from space, man. It has it's own zip code. Disney songs play when you look at him.”

This look of panic comes over Steve's face, and Clint holds up a hand before he can get going.

“Tony's clueless. He's kind of going through shit right now, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says soberly to his bottle. He sighs. “I can't seem to get my timing right.”

“Hey,” Clint says, elbowing him lightly, “don't write the whole thing off yet.”

So that's all he needs to know about Steve. The spark's there. Now he just has to see if the same is true on Stark's side. It doesn't have to go anywhere soon, Clint just wants to know if he's barking up the wrong tree.

“'Ey, Tony!” he calls in lieu of a greeting and gallops across the workshop to sling his arm around Tony's neck.

“Barton!” Tony complains, failing to stifle his amusement. Clint puts him in a headlock.

“Time for a break, buddy,” Clint says cheerfully.

“I've only been here an hour!” Tony protests.

Clint leans forward to look Tony in the eye. He points at his own face with his free hand. “This is me. Not caring.”

“You're a dick.”

He lets Clint haul him up off the stool and toward the elevator though. He also leans into the arm Clint still has hooked around his neck. Clint's specialty is brotherly manhandling, but, hey. It works okay.

“Speaking of dicks. You like them, right?”

Tony snorts. “Seriously?” The amusement drops out of his expression abruptly. “Uh. Please tell me you're not asking for you. Because, uh, I'm flattered, but—”

“Gross, no. There's, like, one guy I'd bang and it's not you.”

Tony relaxes into his grasp again. “Coulson, huh?”

“Not talking about that,” Clint says loudly. “We're talking about you. And dicks.”

Tony snickers. “Yeah, I'm into dicks.” He shrugs, Clint's arm riding the wave of the motion. “Into whatever, really.”

Clint glances down at him, marveling. Tony's not secretive about his queerness, but it's still kind of mind-blowing how different Tony is from his flashy public persona. “What, so like, aliens? Tentacles?”

=

“I was thinking more along the human spectrum, but...” He shrugs with his face this time. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You think Thor has a dick? Or something else?”

Tony barks out a laugh, then quickly schools his expression, elbowing Clint. “Were you raised in the circus? You don't ask about people's genitals. Wait—”

“Har har!” Clint drags Tony's head down against his chest and gives him a noogie, inordinately pleased with himself when Tony cackles and smacks at his hands.

“Asshole! Cut it out!”

Clint lets him go and they fall against the back wall of the elevator, shoulders pressing together.

“Why are you so interested in my proclivities all the sudden?”

Clint shrugs, deliberately jostling Tony. “The period of mourning is going to be over soon probably, right? I'm getting intel so I can be the best wingman ever when the time comes.”

Tony covers the arc with one hand, like he's touched, but then he says, “You are never going anywhere as my wingman, Bird Brain.”

Clint tackles him and they fall into one corner of the elevator, yelling and laughing and Clint doesn't let up until Tony's coughing too hard to breathe between bursts of laughter.

“What the hell?” Steve demands, standing in the open door. “Clint, are you tryin' to kill him?”

Steve leans into the elevator and helps pull Tony to his feet, Tony clinging to Steve's arm and giggling in between hacking coughs.

Clint smiles while they're distracted. Tony'll be ready sooner or later and he'll be okay until then.

[seenashwrite]

It

Word Count: 3K Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Humor; Friendship-Turns-To-More; On-the-case Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Reader/Female OC, Cas [ever-so-briefly*** ] Pairing(s): Dean x Reader Warnings: None Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post, minus tags and links, in an effort to make it show in searches; more post-story Overall Summary: Dean, you thing-breaking dumbass, this is why we can’t have *nice* things.... Okay, but really:  A fellow hunter finally finds it, the answer to solving a case she never quite put to rest; enter Dean and his penchant for picking up, dropping, and breaking things. 

“I broke it.”

Dean immediately made some sort of slightly cringy face that I’m guessing he thought came off as adorable, then Sam looked over his shoulder at me with the same routine, albeit nervously.

I couldn’t say what expression my face had taken on, but Castiel was staring at me like I was either going to vomit or combust.

“It was an accident,” Sam tried. 

And failed - I was seething.

“I can’t kill you, I know, ‘cause that never seems to take,” I said to Dean. “But I sure as hell can beat the tar out of you.”

Dean narrowed his eyes a bit at me, and I knew he was trying to judge if I was serious.

I was serious.

Several moments of near-painful silence went by, which Dean, naturally, broke.

“It was… look, this thing on the side… here… and the… is… it wasn’t my… then my hand, so… see?"

"Uh-huh,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I’m going to go. I think I should check on the bunker,” Castiel said to me as he backed up, sticking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh-huh,” I repeated, only seeing him out of the corner of my eye, as I was still focused on my target.

Dean frowned. “Nice, Cas, thanks a lot.”

“You’re most welcome,” Castiel replied, then promptly zipped away.

I was proud of him. That was some absolutely-on-purpose, right-back-atcha sarcasm. I was also glad he had 86′ed himself, one less thing to stand in between me and laying down that aforementioned ass-whooping.

Dean rolled his eyes, then warily brought them back to mine. Sam sighed and leaned over in his chair, getting a better look at the pieces scattered around Dean’s feet. He reached out.

“Nope! Don’t. You. Dare,” I said.

Well, possibly yelled. Could’ve been a shout. Either way he jumped back, held up his hands briefly as if I were going to arrest him.

“What is your problem?” Dean snapped.

My jaw dropped. “You. You, with the constant touching things and handling things and us having to watch you like you’re a four-year-old!” I snapped right back.

He glared, and I started pacing around, gesturing with my arms and hands, and I probably looked like a raving lunatic but I felt like I was dealing with a lunatic, so he deserved a little crazy dished back at him.

“I honestly don’t get it - I really don’t. Consider me boggled. With the knife spinning and the gun flipping like you’re in some movie, and then the behind-the-back shots, and the sliding over to some nasty or away from some creeper, like you’re on a damn baseball team, all those moves, and I just - how can one man have that level of coordination and still manage to fumble everything else? Huh? Can either of you tell me that?”

“You know, you’re being a real—”

“I don’t know how Sam survived childhood, with all the dropping him on his head you must’ve done, but hey - maybe by some stroke of luck you activated a hidden part of his brain and that’s how he ended up a genius.”

Sam grinned. “Thanks!”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean told him.

“The hours… the days…. the weeks… months… all wasted,” I went on. “There’s not another one. It’s one of a kind. Nothing else like it. You have single-handedly screwed me.”

Sam stood and walked over. I’d quit pacing, but my arms were still up and out. I brought my hands to either side of my head. I was muttering random sounds, essentially growling at no one in particular. Sam hesitated briefly, but then took me by the wrists and gently lowered my arms, sliding his hands down to hold mine, giving them a few good squeezes as he spoke.

“Listen, lemme just… if I can just move all of it to the table, get a real good look at the damage, maybe there’s something that can be done to fix it.”

“Sure, super glue should do the trick,” Dean said dryly. He was still hanging out on the side of the bed. I had to give him credit, though - he was holding onto what was left of it like it already had been coated in super glue, not making the first move to touch the rest.

I made myself inhale and exhale a deep breath before responding. “I appreciate that. I do. I wish you would let me do the moving. ‘K?”  

Sam nodded. “Okay. And we’ll go pick up some dinner, let you have some space, that sound good?”

“Good. Yeah.”

“What can we bring you?”

I almost said a time machine so we could all go back ten minutes, so I wouldn’t have left it with Dean, and so he wouldn’t have picked it up in the first place. But I didn’t - Sam didn’t deserve to be treated that way. His brother on the other hand…

Dean stood.

“Don’t move!” I exclaimed, pulling my hands from Sam’s and rushing away from him, dropping to my knees near Dean’s feet.

“I can step over—”

“Put— put it down on the bed, and please, just— please take it slow.”

He did so, but then I felt him staring at me as I surveyed the mess around us. I looked up, and I admit, the anger was fading and the panic was starting to set in. He must’ve seen it because his expression got a bit softer and there was actually a little sympathy in his eyes.

He glanced away for a second, then back. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I know.”

“If I thought it would slip out of my hands, I would have—”

“Stop, will ya?” My head had already dropped again, as I gingerly picked up one of the larger pieces that was directly in his path. I leaned up briefly to set it on the bed, away from the edge, then back down I went. I grabbed the back of his calf, scooted myself to the side, then prompted him to lift. “Step clean over these smaller pieces, alright?”

I raised my free hand so he could steady himself. He responded with a firm grip and allowing me to guide the leg til his foot was planted, then we repeated the action with no problem on his opposite side. I let out a huge sigh of relief - so did he.

“We’ll be back in no time,” Sam told me, and I heard Dean fishing his keys from his pocket, but I was focused and didn’t acknowledge them. The door closed without any of us saying another word. And that was when the tears finally came to my eyes.

Here was the thing: the Winchester brothers had helped me over the last few hurdles in my quest to find it. I was more grateful than they’d ever know. I needed it to put a long-time cold case of mine officially to rest, and I couldn’t figure it out on my own, which had pissed me off to no end, but not getting the assist just wasn’t an option.

Sam had labored for countless hours over piles of clues and hints and other nonsense that had been tripping me up for years. Dean had been a champ out in the field, often checking leads on his own when their cases took them near some place that held promise, clocking who knows how many miles. We’d hung out socially a few times when they were in my neck of the woods, I’d spoken with Sam at least every-other-week, texted with Dean just as frequently, and well…

I considered us friends. Good friends. Maybe my only friends. MaybeI was their only friend, too.

And I thought about that, all of those things, as I stood over the table, staring down at what we’d worked so hard to find. Nothing was cracked or chipped, thin motel carpeting be damned. None of the pieces were tiny or crumbled, the smallest of them still taking up my entire palm.

It almost seemed… it shouldn’t have, really… it hadn’t felt like it…

Yet there were things about it I hadn’t noticed before, all these intricate details. Diagonal grooves on the piece Dean had managed to keep in his hands, along with oddly-shaped spaces that almost looked like they tunneled. I studied the smaller pieces - similar grooves. And on the sides that had faced internally, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, now that tears weren’t clouding my vision.

I was just starting to smile when the door opened.

“Hey that’s good to see,” Sam said. He was carrying our drinks and headed straight to the dresser - he knew better than to set them on the table with it.

“What’s good to see?” Dean asked. His arms were full of bags stacked atop a small box, so he kicked the door shut behind him.

I don’t know what came over me, but I rushed him, and the poor klutz would’ve likely dropped his cargo had I not pressed in so far as I put my hands on either side of his head and pulled his face in close, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

It was a toss-up, what I saw on his face - horror or surprise - when I pulled away and wide eyes stared back at me, but I couldn’t have cared less.

“Oh you beautiful man,” I told him, now smiling so much my cheeks hurt.

He blinked a few times, still startled. “I got you cupcakes.”

“What?” I asked.

“What?” he asked right back.

“What?” Sam chimed in. “I mean, what happened, why are you—”

I went to turn from Dean, but he wobbled, so I thought better of it. I grabbed the bags, leaving him with just the box. I mean, priorities and all, but I wanted those cupcakes. I answered Sam as I made my way to the dresser.

“He dropped it, but he didn’t break it - looks like it was supposed to come apart.”

“What?!” Sam exclaimed.

“We need to all stop saying ‘what’,” Dean said, and in a gruff tone, so I glanced over at him.

He met my eye, then immediately turned his back to me and started sorting out the food. I frowned slightly, but I didn’t have time to figure him out. I walked back over to the table where Sam was standing, taking a good look at it.

“I liked the compliment and all - but you are the genius,” Sam told me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Did you see, on these, how on the inside they’ve got—”

“Yup! Think those might twist and turn and snuggle up all nice and cozy into these gaps?”

Sam grinned, pulled me into a huge hug, held so tight I almost gasped. “I’m really happy for you,” he said, and heaven help me, wrapped those never-ending arms even tighter.

Dean cleared his throat. Loudly. Twice.

Sam let go and I chuckled as his stomach growled. Loudly. Twice.

“Let’s dig in,” I announced, heading over to the spread Dean had laid out.

“You don’t wanna—”

“Nah. It’ll still be there when we’re ready.”

Dean was on his bed and I was on Sam’s, both of us propped against the headboards, a handful of cupcake wrappers tossed on the bedside table between us.

Sam didn’t join in on dessert, instead making a beeline for the table, and was currently in a chair, hunched over, working on the puzzle. He’d made good headway - I’d barely set in to my second cupcake when he’d already gotten three pieces back in place. In their new places, that is - because that was the key to my little mystery. It wasn’t supposed to stay the same.

“It’s looking good,” I told him. And it was - it was turning into a completely different shape, but one that seemed much more sturdy. Dean had noticed immediately.

“It’ll stand up now, on its own, instead of being wonky on bottom, won’t it?” he asked.

“Looks like,” Sam replied. “There’s still something that needs to go over here, to keep it steady, I think.”

“You sure you don’t want me to take over?” I asked.

Sam looked up, shot me a little wink, then shook his head. “No way. This is the fun part.”

“You’re the boss.” Then I looked at Dean, who had just killed off the rest of what had to have been his fourth cupcake, adding the wrapper to the pile. “For someone in a love affair with pie…”

“Pie understands me.”

“You know, at first I thought that was going to keep us from being friends.”

“Hmm?”

“My cake preference.”

“We all have our faults.”

“Truer words,” I replied with a laugh. I pushed myself off the headboard, made my way to a sitting position on the side of the bed, grabbed my boots and started putting them back on.

“What’re you doing?”

“Well, if Sam’s not gonna let me help, least I can do is make a beer run.”

“That’ll be great, thanks,” Sam said.

Dean watched in silence as I laced up, then grabbed my jacket off of the chair Sam wasn’t in. He waited til I’d almost had my hand on the doorknob before he got up, told me to wait a minute, he’d come with me. Then I heard his keys jingle.

“I’ll drive.”

“My car’s here,” I reminded him.

Dean all but shoved me aside when he reached for the handle, pulling the door open even though I was still partially blocking the way. I gave him a look.

“Well?” he asked.

I looked pointedly at his arm. He moved back so I could pass, and out into the parking lot we went. We were nearing the Impala’s driver side, but I waited to go around, instead turning so fast Dean stopped just short of running into me. The odd vibe that had been hanging over us for months had to come to an end.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch earlier, I really am.”

“You had every right to be. Anyway, I tend to have that effect on women.”

I glanced down. The last quarter of his jeans and most of his boots were coated in a thin layer of dried mud, leftover from what he’d brushed off before getting into the car. I knew there must’ve been plenty of bruising on his arms and legs, too.

My mind went back to earlier that night, all the work he’d done to retrieve it from the abandoned, mostly caved-in mine out in the middle of nowhere. Sam was too big to fit through what little of an opening was left, and he’d physically held me back, fussing with me about the danger of a full-on collapse, when next thing we knew, we were alone. Dean had climbed down and started making his way inside while our backs were turned.    

I looked back up to find him staring at me, not making a move to go around me or rush me, remind me that the beer was out there all alone, waiting on us, needing a good, loving home, and I added that to the list of oddities.

“Still. I shouldn’t have. Being that close to something that… I’ve just been looking for it so long, to think it was right there and in one second…”

Dean nodded. “We’re good.”

I nodded as well, but didn’t budge. “I believe you. So can we… can we stop being weird?”

“Who’s weird?”

I gave him another look.

He gave one in return.

I let out a little huff.

The side of his mouth quirked up ever-so-slightly.

“It’s been… tense,” I pointed out. “Not just you making with the clumsy and all. I mean the past couple times we’ve been around each other. Then over this whole trip, we’ve been… Listen, I know what a basket case I’ve turned into, as we got closer to it, and I wanna make sure it hasn’t wrecked our friend—”

Dean planted his lips on mine just as abruptly as I’d done to him earlier. Only this was different. He’d shut his eyes. And he lingered.

He pulled away for a fraction of a second, I suppose to see how I’d react, and I didn’t give it much thought before I leaned in and kissed him right back.

It wasn’t what I would’ve expected. I’d seen him kissing other women. There was always this urgency to those kisses, like he was trying to speed through it to reach a finish line, to hurry and get it out of the way.

This, though… this was a slow burn, then just as slowly, his hands were creeping around my waist and slipping under my jacket, pulling me in, and I found myself following suit.

“See? Here you go again, with the touching…” I mumbled into his mouth.

“….and the handling….”

“….all the moves….”

He stilled, stopped another kiss before it really even started, though he didn’t move away. “But am I fumbling it?”

“Oh, this is a horrible idea,” I replied, my lips still brushing against his.

“Huge mistake,” he agreed, eyes shining.

We were kidding, sure, but there was truth behind it, and that was something we both damn well realized. And I realized I was probably the one who had to play the grown-up, so I let my hands fall away from him, stepped back. Not by much, though.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Liiiike….”

“Like you do at the chicks in the diners and the bars. That bartender last time we were all together -  the look.”

“And it’s how I’m looking at you, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm. It happened when you knew all you’d have to do was snap your fingers at her. Just like all of ‘em, when you’d know… ooooh.”

He hadn’t stepped into the space I’d created, just leaned, dropped his head to my neck, started planting barely-there kisses, and at that moment had landed on a nice spot just behind my ear.

“When I’d know what?” he asked, lazily kissing his way back around, under my jaw, then higher, to my cheek.

“Know you’d… how… it’d be a sure thing… that you were… you know… gonna get it.”

Dean brought his head around to look at me, and one of his patented, pleased-with-himself smirks was planted firmly on his face. “Well - I did get it.”

“Horrible idea and horrible jokes, I’m loving this whole thing we’ve got going.”

He dropped the smirk, turning it into something with a touch of sincerity. Something a breath away from being serious, and I didn’t quite know how to feel about it. About any of it.

“Not what I meant,” he said.

I drifted closer; he closed what little distance remained.

“That right?” I asked, and I couldn’t help it - it came out as a whisper.

And he whispered into my ear once he’d pulled me into his arms.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ve got it for you.”  

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

.

Author’s Note #2: Several folks asked what “it” was, and so I made a post explaining - you can find that link on the original story post, via my master list.

Like I say - this is a repost leaving off links purposefully, so that’s why you’re not directed to it so if you don’t feel like looking but want to know the “secret”, just shoot me an ask and I’ll link you.

Author’s Note #3: In case you wondered, this was written for a challenge involving taking inspiration from outtakes of the show. And the ***ever so briefly on Cas was because the challenge runner doesn’t like him but I snuck him in just long enough tee-hee-hee

[lechevaliermalfet]

Vae Victis! – A Look Back at Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain

It was the mid-1990s.  We were in the fifth generation of video game consoles, and gaming as a medium was eager to prove that it had grown up.

This had been going on before the fifth generation, of course.  The Sega Genesis sold itself on its contrast to the status quo.  “Sega does what Nintendon’t,” and all that.  Sega’s whole image was bound up in being the cool kid, the one who’d outgrown all those pokey “kiddie” games like Super Mario Bros. or Kid Icarus or Mega Man.  Sega fans played games like Mortal Kombat and Eternal Champions.  Even a mascot game like Sonic the Hedgehog had a kind of snide adolescent streak to it; leaner, meaner, and less patient.   Nintendo themselves had to butch up a little, even.  When their bloodless version of the first Mortal Kombat got outsold by Sega’s, which kept all the gore – despite otherwise being technically superior in every measurable way – they relaxed their standards and left all the blood and fatalities intact for the second and third games, and saw a jump in sales accordingly.  

The 90s were in part a decade of cynicism and ironic detachment.  Sincerity tended to be frowned upon as being kind of silly and naive, or else a cover for motives less savory.  Strong skepticism was the default mode, and in fiction, anti-heroes were all the rage.

Which brings us to Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain, described by its developers as a Legend of Zelda “for adults”.

Of course, any self-described adult who can’t bear to play a Legend of Zelda game because they feel it’s not grown-up enough needs to sit down and re-assess their idea of adulthood, and how secure they are in it.  If a tolerance for violence (if not a craving) is all it takes, then I was an adult at about eleven, when I was single-handedly mowing down whole armies of Nazis in Wolfenstein 3D.

But those were the times, and that’s how Blood Omen got pushed.  Which is unfortunate, because it misses the more thoughtful parts of the game’s story that actually did make it material mostly for adults.

“...the first act in my theatre of Grand Guignol!”

We begin in the world of Nosgoth, and if there’s a made-up fantasy word that screams “dark supernatural fantasy” more than that, I haven’t heard it.  Our main character is Kain, a nobleman caught out at night in a town where he can’t find an inn or tavern to stay for the night.  He is cornered by assassins and murdered, whereupon he goes to hell.  Or at least, we can assume it’s hell; I don’t think even a death metal band’s idea of heaven involves being cuffed to twin posts overlooking a literal lake of fire with a sword stuck through you.  Anyway, that’s where Kain is, cursing the fact that he can’t get revenge.  Which seems a little warped, on the surface of things.  You’d think if you were stuck in hell, then getting out, however impossible, might seem more important than getting back at the people who killed you.  But if you’re the kind of person who winds up in hell after being murdered, I suppose it stands to reason that your priorities may not be in order.

While Kain is in hell, lamenting his impotent rage and generally ignoring all the fine mid-90s CG scenery, he is approached by a necromancer named Mortanius.

The necromancer offers him a way back to the world of the living, and thus a chance at revenge.  Eager to oblige his overdeveloped sense of wrath, Kain takes him up on the offer, and fails to consider that there are only a few different ways, traditionally, that a dead person can cross back through the veil.  And none of them really involve returning to life exactly as you were.

Kain rises from his grave as a vampire, stronger than he ever was in life, and only too happy to hack up his assassins when he encounters them not far from the site of his crypt.  However, as he comes down from his vengeance-high, he hears a voice in the back of his mind – Mortanius’s voice, in fact – suggesting that his assassins were “the instruments of your murder, not the cause”.  Mortanius then urges him to seek out the Pillars to find the real reason for his murder, and its true culprits.

We need to rewind a bit.

IN THE BEGINNING, there were the Pillars of Nosgoth (in fact, “Pillars of Nosgoth” was the game’s working title for a while). Rooted who knows how deep in the earth below, and reaching up to the clouds, the Pillars are a structure that should be physically impossible.  They are somehow both integral to the natural order of the world, and also the embodiment of certain elemental principles. There are nine of them, embodying – in no particular order – conflict, energy, states (of being, not political), dimensions, death, nature, time, the mind, and balance.  Each Pillar has its guardian, a human endowed with powers according to the Pillar’s defining principle, and tasked with overseeing that Pillar’s particular province.  

A good while back in the past (how long is not detailed in this game, but probably centuries) there was a genocidal crusade of sorts against vampires, who were evidently a serious scourge of some kind.  In fact, the game opens on a view of a field – practically a forest – of stakes, with a vampire impaled on each.  Vlad Tepes would be proud.  This crusade was ordered by the Circle of Nine (the collective group of Pillar guardians), and carried out by the fanatical religious order known as the Sarafan Brotherhood.

Monsters that they are, the vampires did not take this well.  One of their number, an elder vampire named Vorador, decided to strike back.  Vorador was by this point in his unlife no longer quite human looking, with mottled grey skin (later series installments would make this varying shades of green), odd three-clawed hands, and giant bat-like ears. Blood Omen never elaborates on the reason for this difference.  At any rate, he singlehandedly stormed the citadel of the Pillar guardians while most of the Sarafan brotherhood were away (presumably looking for more vampires to stake), and wound up killing several of them (one of the sequels gives the number as six).  In the process, he even managed to beat down Malek on his way out, perhaps the greatest warrior among the Sarafan, and the one specifically tasked with safeguarding the Circle.

For screwing up his one job, Malek was punished by being made to do that job for eternity.  It might seem inadvisable to take the guy who failed to guard you and then make him your guard forever, but it helps if you rip his soul out of his body and bind it to his armor, thus making him a sleepless, tireless, unfeeling, and ever vigilant warrior fueled by pure wrath.  Which is what they (or rather, Mortanius) ultimately did.  At some point between this time and the present day of Blood Omen, Malek became the guardian of the Pillar of Conflict, so evidently he was fit for his role in the end.

Now we fast-forward a bit, to a point just moments before Kain’s birth. In fact, later games place this at the exact moment of that birth.

Somewhere around thirty years before Kain’s murder outside a nameless tavern in a random town, Ariel, the guardian of the Pillar of Balance, is murdered.  This is bad news for all the usual reasons, and also one or two unusual ones.  It turns out that her lover is the guardian of the Pillar of the Mind, the mentalist Nupraptor.  Her murder drives him insane, and being a telepath (among other things), his insanity infects the guardians of the other Pillars as well. This turns them from their usual purpose of upholding the natural balance, and instead sets them to destroying it.  This in turn corrupts the Pillars, symbiotically connected to their guardians, turning them from pristine white to a pitted and cracking grey.  With both the Pillars and their guardians respectively corrupted and insane, the natural order of things begins to fall apart.  Bad news all around.

Blood Omen is somewhat unusual in that it’s one of the few probably rare instances in fiction where a woman is stuffed into the fridge at the beginning of the story, and in order to drive the villain to extremes of behavior.

So.

Now we have Kain, in the present of our story, given to understand that his death was in some way connected with the Pillars and their corruption.  He makes his way to the Pillars, where he meets Ariel’s restless spirit.  She’s the one who lays out for him part of the business about her murder and Nupraptor’s madness, and the threat posed to the world by it all.  Kain is only interested in a cure for his vampirism (now that he’s had his vengeance, he wants no part of this undeath business), but Ariel persuades him that his best bet is to deal with the corruption of the Pillars.  So Kain storms off to go take care of Nupraptor, and ultimately to cleanse the Pillars by severing their connection to their now-insane guardians, solving the problem of their corruption by reference to his sword.  Go with what you know.

It’s at this point that Kain’s personal arc begins to unfold, as he becomes increasingly alienated from humanity, both the species and the concept.  While initially at odds with his vampirism, Kain spends the story coming to grips with the hypocrisy and corruption of human civilization, all the while becoming more and more comfortable with the seeming monstrosity of his new existence.  This is a matter of some necessity.  He has things he needs to do, he has to stay alive to do them, and so a certain amount of blood-drinking and slaughter seems inevitable.  

In his travels, he comes across Vorador’s manor, situated deep in a swamp teeming with monsters.  Kain seeks his help to destroy Malek.  Vorador, for his part, spends the encounter being lordly and largely dismissive of Kain’s quest.  He advises the fledgling vampire that meddling in mortal affairs is nothing but bad news.  Better to sit back and sate one’s hunger – or thirst, in this case – and let the mortal world turn as it will.  Humans are to be preyed on, not helped or manipulated or otherwise gotten involved with.  Best to stay above such passing concerns.  Nevertheless, he takes a liking to Kain, and gives him his ring to summon him at need.

Say a word often enough, and it starts to lose its sense of meaning.  Actions likewise lose significance with repetition.  They become rote.  And as time wears on, Kain seems to begin making a turn.  There’s a certain honesty in being a monster.  You always know what you are, and you always know how other people see you.  Kain may sneer at Vorador’s decadence when they meet, but at least the elder vampire is never less than one hundred percent honest about what he is.

And as Kain goes on, it begins to seem that Vorador was right.  So much of Kain’s and the world’s difficulties seem to stem from the selfishness, greed, shortsightedness, self-absorption, and general malice of the people he runs up against.  Eventually, he winds up accidentally sparking a second genocidal crusade against his own kind.  This has mostly to do with him traveling back in time to kill a man in the past who would grow to become a tyrant in his current era.  This mistake no doubt has its roots in his not having not grown up in a world with a whole sub-genre of fiction concerned with the merits or otherwise of traveling back in time to kill Hitler.

We will have such fun with time travel as the series goes on, let me tell you.

The game ends by offering the player a choice.  Kain’s efforts to cleanse the Pillars and restore balance to the world have made him the new guardian of the Pillar of Balance.  Yet, like all other Pillar Guardians slain at his hand, he himself is corrupt, and must die to complete the task.  So the player is asked: Will Kain willingly sacrifice himself for the greater good of Nosgoth, or will he refuse the sacrifice and choose to live in an increasingly broken and corrupt world.

The sequels take the second ending as canon, and honestly, it’s hard to argue.  This isn’t a story about hope springing eternal, after all.  The few people in it who are unambiguously good are either killed (Ariel) or largely ineffectual (King Ottmar, who comes to prominence briefly toward the end of the story).  The player may feel differently, but there’s little reason to believe that Kain would.  Proud, haughty, vindictive, wrathful, and growing ever more cynical and mistrustful of the motives of those around him, tired of being used as a tool for other’s schemes...  Why would he choose to sacrifice himself?

And so, canonically, we close on a shot of Kain sitting on a throne at the base of the Pillar of Balance, with it and all the other Pillars lying in a broken ruin around him.  He drinks from a goblet, and muses that Vorador was right after all: “Vampires are gods – dark gods – and it is our duty to thin the herd.”

The End.

“Nothing is free.  Not even revenge.”

So that’s Blood Omen as a story.  What about as a game?

On the balance it’s kind of uneven.  

On a technical level, it’s fairly impressive.  In its time, it stood as a testament to the potential quality of two-dimensional graphics in gaming, even as the entire medium was leaping into the third dimension, ready to ditch and decry anything made in 2D as inferior. The result from a technical standpoint is that Blood Omen has in some ways aged better than a lot of other games of its vintage, including its first sequel.  

But then you actually play the thing, and see where it sort of falls apart.

Let’s get the easy part over with, shall we?  The load times in Blood Omen are godawful, just the worst possible combination of long and frequent. It seems almost like a joke at times: “Really?  We’re loading again?  It was one fucking room!”  Were it not for the fact that it began development as a totally unrelated game, I would strongly suspect that the sequel, Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver, used its data-streaming technology to avoid loading times altogether purely as a response to this criticism.  I still think that may be the case.

Once we dig past the issue of loading times, though, the game reveals other issues.

There are good ideas on display here.  Let’s start with that.  The game has a day-and-night cycle, and while you can walk around during the day, you deal less damage (and take more) while the sun is up.  Water is like the touch of acid to a vampire, and any time you’re in it, you’ll take constant damage.  Rain and snow will likewise damage you, and while there are power-ups that are supposed to eliminate this problem, I’m not sure they actually work.  At least, not on the PC version of the game, which is what I’ve mostly played.  

The game also requires that Kain drink blood periodically.  His health naturally drains very slowly, but constantly, so you always have to be on the lookout for a way to top yourself off.  There are some more abstract health restoration items, as well as a consumable item you can use, called the Heart of Darkness (this item will become obscenely important in later installments).  However, the game is structured such that most of Kain’s health restoration will have to come from either enemies or, more often, helpless innocents.  This ties nicely into the game’s theme of alienation from humanity, though the way the game often presents these situations –random strangers chained to walls all over the world, for no apparent reason – seems a little odd at times.  And it has interesting ideas about different creatures having blood that might actually be harmful to Kain, or inflict him with a long-term poison.

In addition to the graphics looking nice (the CG cutscenes are definitely of their time, but the in-game sprite work and lighting effects are quite nice), the game has a great soundtrack, dark and moody and ominous. And the voice work is superb.  All character interactions are handled with voiceover rather than on-screen text, and the cast knocks it out of the park.  Not just “good for the mid-90s video game voice acting”, but great, period.

The puzzle-solving is a little lackluster, though.  For something pitched as a “grown-up Legend of Zelda”, its puzzles largely consist of pulling levers and pushing buttons, and navigating mazes. Which is fine, but again, any game that’s going to self-consciously compare itself to The Legend of Zelda needs to bring its A game, especially with its puzzle-solving.

The game does offer you a lot of tools to use, in the form of different weapons, spells, and magical items.  But a lot of these boil down to more inventive yet questionably practical ways to kill enemies.  And considering that setting up a selection of these items for immediate access involves going back and forth to the inventory menu (requiring a load time both ways), it’s easier to just stick with your weapon and a handful of the most commonly used spells and items and call it a day.

Weapons themselves are another problem.  You’ll find that your iron sword from the very beginning of the game is the most generally useful. The mace will let you stun human enemies to drink their blood after just two hits, but it lacks the crowd-control effect of the sword, and also lacks the stunning effect on the non-human enemies that make up the bulk of your later-game foes.  It’s also useful for knocking down certain stone barriers, but these are few and far between, and necessary for progress only very rarely.  The twin axes let Kain cut down trees barring his path, and also let him cut down enemies by spinning like a saw blade… but this means you’ll frequently kill enemies before you have a chance to drain them.  The flaming sword burns enemies alive and leaves only ashes, preventing you from drinking blood that way.  And then the final weapon, the Soul Reaver (also an item of incalculable importance later in the series), deals massive damage as long as you have magic power to fuel it.  But while thus empowered, it detonates the enemies it kills, making them impossible to drain.  And when not empowered, it’s only as damaging as the iron sword, but slower and more awkward.

Combat in general gets frustrating at times, thanks to the iffy hit detection.  One enemy might walk right through your sword swing, while another you could swear was out of range will register a hit.  It never becomes a total deal-breaker, but it’s a point of frequent irritation as you go.

Let’s have another positive: Kain also gains the ability to transform into various other states as the game goes by.  In his wolf form, he can leap over certain obstacles, but his attack in this form has no combo ability and a long wind-up, making him vulnerable.  He can use his bat form to fast-travel between beacons and certain landmark locations, while his mist form allows him to walk on water without taking damage, as well as cross certain barriers without opening the door.  There are also two disguises he can use.  One transforms him into a peasant, while the other turns him into a human-looking version of himself so that he can pass as a nobleman.  The use of both of these is largely situational, required in a very small number of situations and then mostly pointless outside of them.

But perhaps the thing that stands out the most is its linearity.

This is to some extent mandated by the story.  Unlike The Legend of Zelda, to which this game invites much comparison, Blood Omen’s story is very much at all times front and center.  A Zelda game will leave you with bits of story here and there, and largely leave you to explore or puzzle your way forward or dick around in town or otherwise do your own thing for long stretches of time.  The story in one of those games is the starting point of the experience, a backdrop against which you play out the adventure.  Hyrule is to some extent defined by that openness, with its plains and deserts and vast forests and so on.  

Blood Omen lacks this.  Its story is the entire point and purpose of the game. The path forward is always clear and rarely has room for deviation or discovery.  There may be things hidden off to the side, but these tend ultimately to be cul-de-sacs, connecting to nothing else.  This is even subtly expressed in the game’s environments: lots of indoor areas, caves, narrow trails, canyons, and so on.  There’s little opportunity to go off the beaten path.  Blood Omen’s pathways not only discourage exploration, they often disable it. This is not your experience to own; it is Kain’s story for you to be told.

I feel like in story terms, that’s ultimately the difference.  Legend of Zelda’s story always exists to serve the game that Nintendo crafts.  Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain’s game exists to serve the story.

And just to be clear, none of this is bad at all.  It’s every bit as valid in terms of game design and mechanics as any given Zelda.  But if you’re going to compare your game to The Legend of Zelda and then fail to do the most essentially Zelda things in it – not just do them poorly, but not do them at all, missing the point entirely of what a Zelda game is about – then it’s worth commenting on.  I like Blood Omen, but I had to get used to thinking of it on its own terms.  The Zelda comparisons are easy to make. Even without the developers making them, the look and structure of the game seems to invite them.  

Like a good book, Blood Omen is a (mostly) straight shot from start to finish.  Its linearity is what allows it to control the story, to unfold its plot and explore its themes at a pace of its choosing.  The game to some extent revels in its edginess, but to be honest, it was perfect for me at the time.  I was sixteen when I first played the game.  Sixteen, and a bit of a loner with an odd and private (but intense) interest in vampires.  It was probably the perfect game for me at the time.  And it’s still ultimately enjoyable today, if you take it as what it is.  Not as a Legend of Zelda game for adults, but as a decent action-adventure game with a good story and top-notch presentation.  If you don’t mind the linearity and the relentlessly dark and sometimes disturbing story, it’s just about perfect.

Post-script the First: Likelihood of Re-release, and Current Availability

Eeeehhhhhhhhhh...

Here’s the problem: Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain was originally dreamed up and created by Silicon Knights and published by Crystal Dynamics (who also had a hand in the development, late in the process), with distribution to be handled by Activision.  Crystal Dynamics eventually got full ownership of the Legacy of Kain brand, and used it to make the first sequel to Blood Omen, titled Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver.  Silicon Knights was against this, but had less deep pockets than Crystal Dynamics, so they were ultimately the losers of the resulting court battle over the affair.  The lone bone thrown to them was that Crystal Dynamics had to acknowledge in the game that Soul Reaver was based on characters and ideas created by Silicon Knights.

By the time Soul Reaver rolled around, Crystal Dynamics belonged to Eidos.  Then, in 2005 (not long after the last Legacy of Kain game was published), Eidos was completely bought out by Square Enix, and was mostly refocused on creating western-style games under the Square Enix umbrella.  Crystal Dynamics still exists as a division within Square, where they’ve been making various Tomb Raider games almost exclusively ever since the acquisition.

The problem with any hypothetical remaster or re-release of Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain is that, for several years, it would have required some three-way legal wrangling to determine who really owned the thing, and what they could do with it (if anything), and under what conditions.  

As of about 2014, Silicon Knights ceased to exist (about which more later, because it’s a fun story), but that still leaves the rights an open issue.  Square Enix seems to own the larger Legacy of Kain intellectual property, but there’s the question of ownership regarding Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain specifically, and I’m not sure that question has ever been answered.  Silicon Knights doesn’t exist, but many of its personnel are still around in some capacity, and would presumably have something to say about anything involving it.

Venues like Steam and Good Old Games have released the every other installment in the series digitally (even Blood Omen 2), but nobody’s touched the original game.  Probably CD Projekt Red and Valve don’t have much desire to try unsnarling the ownership and licensing issues themselves, and none of the owners seem all that keen on it, either.

And it will probably stay that way.  The Legacy of Kain series in general has always been pretty solidly in the B tier of video games, from back when there still even was much of a B tier in the first place.  The fanbase for that kind of deliberately overwrought gothic supernatural fantasy was loyal, but never very big, and I’m not sure how much that’s changed.  Moreover, I’m not sure either Square is willing to bank on it having grown in the interim enough to do anything about this first game in the series.  The more time goes by, the less inclination any party has to make anything of the series, especially an early entry whose ownership may be contested. An indirect sequel, and also some kind of MMO, were both in the works at various points.  The MMO vanished after not very long at all on the market, and the indirect sequel never made it out of development.

Legal options for playing Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain are limited.  You can play the original PlayStation version on the PlayStation 1, 2, or 3.  It’s also digitally available on the PS3, although not for the PSP or Vita.  Infuriatingly, it’s one of a small handful of games that can’t even be side-loaded (a process that involves downloading a digital PS1 game onto your PS3, then copying it uninstalled to the Vita).  The PC version, meanwhile, can still be played, though there’s a special program custom-made for it that you’ll have to get in order to install it and run it on modern systems.  And this tends to run a little slow.  Music and sound are fine, it’s just the game actually moves slower than normal.  Or you could install a virtual desktop and play it that way.

Post-script the Second: The Death of Chivalry

So whatever happened with Silicon Knights?  

Well, the story is… not complicated, exactly, but not entirely straightforward, either.

Development of Blood Omen was troubled.  As we would later learn, this was not an especially novel situation for Silicon Knights to be in.  Two of their other big projects later on underwent some turbulence in production.  Blood Omen was originally to be created by Silicon Knights and published by Crystal Dynamics.  Later on, after Crystal Dynamics became part of British publisher Eidos, they were able to somehow leverage this connection to strongarm their way into ownership of the overall Legacy of Kain intellectual property.  They used it to make the first sequel to Blood Omen, titled Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver. This had begun life as a brand-new IP (originally titled Shifter), which helps explain some of the tremendous thematic, aesthetic, and design differences between the two games.  

Silicon Knights later maintained that they’d had their own ideas for a potential Blood Omen sequel, but never got around to it, and after Crystal Dynamics started making their own sequels, Silicon Knights lost interst.  I’m not sure how much of that is real and how much is just so much sour grapes.  Anyway, they went off and did their own thing for a while.  They published the survival horror game Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requiem for the GameCube, after having signed an exclusivity deal with Nintendo around that time.  It had originally been in development for the N64, but was ultimately moved up to the newer hardware after development delays.  For anyone who’s wondering, Eternal Darkness an excellent game, on the shortlist of must-own GameCube titles, even if you’re not necessarily a fan of survival horror.  It’s not perfect (among other things, you have to beat the game three times to see the true ending), but it does a lot of interesting things.  

They also developed the GameCube remake of Metal Gear Solid (likely under heavy scrutiny and supervision form Konami), dubbed Metal Gear Solid: The Twin Snakes.  Much as I tend to prefer the original version of the game for its restraint (Twin Snakes has a lot of ridiculous high-flying wire-fu maneuvering in its action cutscenes), the remake is worth any Metal Gear fan’s time. Among other things, series creator Hideo Kojima has apparently declared it the canon version of events.  It also saw a re-dubbing of the entire script, since apparently when the original audio was played back at a higher sampling rate, you could hear the traffic in the background, which the ramshackle soundproofing used in the original hadn’t been able to entirely shut out.  The re-dubbed script also has the benefit of having allowing Jennifer Hale and Kim Mai Guest to ditch their put-on accents – Guest’s being particularly irritating, and borderline racist (maybe actually racist; I’m a white dude, and not totally clear on these things).

After this, they moved on to the Xbox 360 with their passion project Too Human, which had been troubled from the beginning.  Its on-again, off-again development cycle spanned a decade and three console generations.  It began development for the original PlayStation, then shifted to the GameCube when the developer did in the early 2000s.  It went quiet for a few years, then resurfaced as an Xbox 360 project that was ultimately delivered in 2008, two years after its projected release on that console.

Too Human was a notorious, news-making flop, and Silicon Knights responded to this failure not simply by pinning the blame on someone else, but by doing that and then actually suing them.  Specifically, they sued Epic Games, from whom they had licensed the Unreal Engine 3 to make the final version of Too Human.  The accusation was that Epic deliberately sabotaged developers who licensed their engine by providing an incomplete product, and that the difficulties stemming from this had caused development delays.  These delays, and the compromises they brought about, were supposedly ultimately responsible for the failure and the financial losses of Too Human.

Epic responded by then counter-suing, which was the beginning of the end for Silicon Knights.

Epic’s counter-suit stated that Unreal Engine 3 was a work in progress, and that they were making it essentially on the fly as they developed the first Gears of War.  The counter-suit further stated that it was readily and openly acknowledged that the engine was unfinished, and that when it was done, it might ultimately not turn out to be useful for the licensees.  Epic’s suit further indicated that these facts were all known and laid out in the licensing contract, and so like all licensees, Silicon Knights knew this when they signed for it.  

But it gets better (which is to say, worse, at least for Silicon Knights). Epic’s counter-suit also included the allegation that Silicon Knights had knowingly and wrongfully copied code wholesale from Unreal Engine 3 and incorporated it into their own engine without permission from Epic.  They had then gone on to use this hybrid engine on other internal projects without the permission of the people they’d cannibalized it from.  

Now, I’m not one to root for a big corporation, even (especially) a game developer.  But Silicon Knights had the misfortune of being run by Denis Dyack, a known con-man, grifter, shady bullshitter, and general ambulatory phallus.  He maybe wasn’t in the same category as a Randy Pitchford or a Bobby Kotick, but that’s less a matter of capacity and more a matter of opportunity.  Given the chance to operate on their scale, I don’t doubt he’d have fit right in with that crowd.  

As far as the court case went, the evidence was overwhelmingly in Epic’s favor. In addition to their own court costs and damages awarded to Epic, Silicon Knights was forced to recall all unsold copies of Too Human and X-Men: Destiny (another game they’d developed with their Unreal Engine 3 hybrid), as well as scrap all projects using the engine, which seems to have been literally everything they had in the works at that point.

So what happened, essentially, is that Silicon Knights sued Epic Games in an effort to offset their losses by making money out of the Too Human debacle somehow, and it backfired so comically that they broke themselves against their opponent.

But their end, one way or another, was probably inevitable in that console generation.  Looking at their release history, there’s really nothing that stands out as a hit or an absolute classic.  Eternal Darkness and Metal Gear Solid: The Twin Snakes were both fine games, this much is true.  But Eternal Darkness was a GameCube exclusive, and the GameCube didn’t sell the way Nintendo hoped.  Meanwhile, The Twin Snakes is certainly nice, but as a remake of a different developer’s game, it has little in the way of originality, and very little of the material can really be said to “belong” to Silicon Knights, since it was someone else’s brainchild right from the start.  

They were never a hugely prolific publisher, with eight games published before they folded, and according to Wikipedia, seven known titles cancelled at various points during their existence.  These cancelled projects included two sequels to Too Human (which had always been planned as a trilogy).  Given the cold reception received by the original, both from critics and consumers alike, that seems questionable.  In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.  But however you look at it, they didn’t have what you’d call a good ratio of finished to unfinished projects.  And while it’s worth mentioning that many of those unfinished projects were upcoming games they were forced to cancel because they’d been made (or begun) with their illegal Unreal Engine 3 hybrid, the fact is that when your business plan hinges on stealing another developer’s game engine to make your own games, you’re already in a bad place.  

Silicon Knights pretty firmly slotted into the middle tier of video games.  For my money, the middle tier is in some ways the sweet spot.  It’s more high-tech and technically involved than the indie set, yet not so high-budget that developers in it can’t feel free to experiment.  But that middle tier has all but vanished these days. It’s questionable whether Silicon Knights would have hung on long enough to find a spot in it today, even if they hadn’t destroyed themselves going after Epic, just based on the iffy reception of their games.  That’s without considering the general skullduggery it took to keep them going in the first place.  And I also tend to think of X-Men: Destiny as a bad sign.  There’s no shame in work-for-hire; it’s how a lot of major development studios (like Blizzard) started out.  But that’s the key: you start out doing work-for-hire projects to make the money to strike out on your own. Silicon Knights was moving in the opposite direction, and that’s a bad sign.

Vae Victis, indeed.

[gaasaku-fanfests]

Getting Almost There

Title: Getting Almost There Author: drharunosakura Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 4390 Summary: An almost but never was rears its ugly head again as the smallest of exhanges are moved to new heights. Author's Note(s): Let me know what you think about this. If enjoyed I wanna spin this into a proper chaptered fic.

Trope: Unresolved sexual tension

Sakura Haruno could not believe that her next-door neighbor for years, her knuckleheaded idiot brother, her best friend in the entire world would do this. Yet, here she was almost too terrified to step out of her condo to start on this day trip to see the said idiot. “Well, I might as well get this over with. It’s not like Naruto actually knows about my past with his best man.”

If Sakura knew that if this was the friend that Naruto wanted to pick her up she would have never agreed on the four-hour journey to the Land of Tea with him. She did want to support him and his wife. They were doing a grand reopening of the Resort they were given on their wedding day. Sometimes Sakura just couldn’t understand the kinda money the Hyuuga’s had She supposed her ride would understand better as he similarly grew up in the world of class and sophistication and excess. Moving to grab her suitcase and walk out she got a good look at Naruto’s best man and Sakura’s biggest mistake at his wedding, Sabaku No Gaara.

He looked good, too good. The kind of man that whether he was in workout gear, a three-piece suit or the jeans and a t-shirt he currently wore he looked like the clothes were absolutely made for him and him alone. Nationally ranked MMA fighter in high school and college, tech multi-millionaire of his own fortune and grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth he had made Forbes’ 30 under 30 the past three years in a row. There weren’t many people in this world that could make Sakura Haruno, research scientist, incredible trauma surgeon, and published marvel, insecure. But the redhead smoking a cigarette in front of an Aston Martin that probably cost more than her condo, did with ease. Seeing her approach and stamping out the cigarette the man that she would be spending the next several days with approached her slowly.

“Naruto didn’t tell me it was you I was picking up. Here I thought I’d have to play Prince Charming to some... random bimbo.” He paused as he looked her up and down, before moving to grab her luggage and place it in the deep red convertible he was driving.

Not realizing Sakura had been holding in her breath for some time until she released it the moment he turned his back, she took a few more breaths in preparation for spending quite a bit of time with a man she has been avoiding for the past year.

“I’m surprised you didn’t fly there.” She murmured and he turned his head before snorting and opening up the door for her.

“I don’t like flying commercial and Temari needs the jet for her fashion show this weekend. I like not being a complete prick to my big sister.” He smirked before shutting the door and giving Sakura a moment to marvel at the luxury of the car he owned.

“What no helicopter?” She joked under her breath before holding it as Gaara moved over her and reached to grab something. He still smelled like fresh electronics and cinnamon and cigarettes and she hated how hypnotic of a scent it was to her. Pulling back the man grinned and produced a pair of sunglasses before whispering in her ear.

“Naruto hasn’t yet re-zoned the helicopter pad yet, I asked.” Before slipping on the sunglasses and starting them on their journey.

Sakura was silent for the first hour or so of their ride, glancing every so often at the redhead next to her. She remembered exactly what she felt the first time they locked eyes. It was at the initial rehearsal dinner and he was the last to arrive. No one knew what this mysterious best man looked like but Naruto was adamant that his best friend in the entire world from business school could be the only person he wanted to be the role and we would all love him.

Sakura was sitting beside Hinata and Ino, gushing over the fact that one of them was finally getting married when he walked into the private room of Choji’s restaurant. Ino was the first to recognize him and man was she starstruck.

“That is Sabaku no Gaara. How on earth did Naruto become best friends with Suna’s most eligible bachelor of the year?” Sakura couldn’t help but giggle. As she was the maid of honor (Hanabi was slightly too young as Hinata’s little sister) Sakura went to introduce herself to her partner for most of the wedding festivities.

“Sakura-Chan! You have to meet Gaara. This is my best man and he saved my ass a few times in business school.” Naruto grinned and Sakura turned to look at the redhead in question. She had vaguely heard of the Sabuko family, mostly from Shikamaru and his wild affair with the fashion designer Temari, but the younger was the marvel.

He was just under Naruto’s height but had the presence of being head over shoulders taller. He had eyes the color of jade and a smile that seemed new on him like he was trying it out for show and wasn’t sure if he would take it home or not. His hand reached out to shake hers and the low timbre of his voice absolutely rattled Sakura.

“You’re the maid of honor right? Naruto has not shut up about you. I guess you’re my partner for this thing.”

“Y-yeah.” She chuckled, hating herself for the stutter and quickly moved to shake his hand. She hadn’t been this flustered since high school and here she was near blushing at a man for smiling at her and shaking her hand.

“Well, you two are gonna be great pals. I’m gonna go check on Hinata and get this thing going kay?” Naruto grinned and moved along, leaving Sakura to show Gaara his seat across from her at the table.

“So,” She asked at the venue, they were waiting for their part in the ceremony to begin and Sakura thought she might as well get to know the man she was walking down the aisle with… figuratively speaking that was. “How did you and Naruto meet?”

Turning towards her Gaara smirked and this half-smile felt quite warn in, it suited him better. “I kicked his ass in a speech and debate class and he literally kicked my ass in the gym. We’ve had one another’s backs after that and he became like a brother to me in business school.”

Nodding Sakura looked up at the two to be married and added. “Well he was so excited everyone gets to meet you. It’s not like you get to visit too often living all the way in Suna right?”

Turning towards Sakura before taking another glance at the groom he replied. “I suppose I could visit more if given a good reason.”

Stopping at a traffic light Sakura supposed the silence had gone long enough and she couldn’t take it anymore. As she was far too terrified to touch the radio of his car she blurted out a question.

“So, what errand did you need to run for Naruto that was close to my place?” She quipped knowing that Naruto was a good enough bridge for them to talk about to start with; lest she loses her mind in the silence.

“Naruto needed a couple of high tech systems to help his POS system run on the multitude of international clients the resort sees. Making it easy for the employees to use multiple types of credit cards and translate itemized receipts was a pretty simple program to run. I just made it an offline system and there are a couple of monitors in the back so I could just give it to him to install before opening day next week. I have a pretty good supplier in the area and picked them up before I got you.”

Sometimes she forgot how smart Gaara was. How he could light up a room the moment he gathered their attention or how he could seemingly make things just appear from him. He could solve any problem at the drop of a hat and never seemed to make a big deal of it.

Sakura was freaking out. She was single-handedly going to ruin the wedding of her best friend in the entire world. Ino dealt with the flowers. Choji had catering down to a science. Hinata’s family dealt with the venue. All Sakura had to do was handle the music and her duo for the ceremony completely bailed. She had 72 hours to find another musician or Hinata was walking down the aisle in silence.

Sighing Sakura placed her head in her hands in her hair and let out a long slow groan.

“Last I checked wasn’t it the bride was supposed to be the one to freak out about a wedding?”

Looking up she saw Gaara. He was in a tank top and running shorts and yet she couldn’t be bothered to think him out of place in the hotel’s business center.

“Well, when one of your biggest roles in the wedding, really your only role in the wedding falls through you’re bound to get a bit stressed.” She sighed.

Sitting down beside her silently while he answered a few emails on his phone he asked, “So, what fell through?”

Looking at him she bit her lip before responding. “I was supposed to get music for the wedding and reception and I found this great band for the reception. That’s settled and I thought I found this beautiful Guitar and Violin duo for the ceremony but they canceled last minute and I don’t know where I’m going to find someone and this has to be perfect because it’s Hinata and Naruto and Hinata has been pining after Naruto since we were in grade school and if anyone deserves a fairytale wedding it’s her and I don’t know what I can do to fix…” She went to continue but Gaara stopped her with a silent hand before asking.

“So you need an appropriate soloist or duo that can play at the wedding ceremony right?”

Sakura nodded and went to explain her worries before looking at Gaara dial a number and pick up the phone.

“Cousin, Sasori you still dating that stupid artist guy? He still good friends with that harp player what’s his face Haku. Yeah, the one who just finished up that European tour. Get me his contact info for a job on Saturday. Wedding. I need it guaranteed but put that lovely family money stamp on it kay? See you for dad’s obligatory family get together next month.”

Sakura paused and attempted to close her mouth from the awe that she just experienced. “Y-you didn’t have to do that. You barely know me why would you help me like that?”

“I haven’t helped you yet. But if you haven’t gotten a text from me with his contact info in two hours then my cousin won’t be getting his spot in the gallery I own this year either.” He chuckled and moved to answer another set of emails.

“I don’t know how I can repay you Gaara, this is so sweet.”

Turning towards her Gaara simply smirked and lifted her chin. She could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek and she hoped she wasn’t blushing as noticeably as she felt she was. “Continue keeping this wedding exciting for me and Naruto happy. He deserves this day to be perfect too and it’s the least I can do to make sure it stays that way.”

Sakura paused as they pulled into a little cafe just passed the highway. Stepping outside it Sakura followed him as he ordered his order and then silently turned to her for her to add-in. Paying for the both of them before Sakura even had a chance the two of them moved to a spot outside of the cafe and Gaara pulled out another cigarette.

“I have to say this once just as a doctor, you know how bad those things are for you.” She murmured knowing he probably didn’t want the scolding but unable to hold back any longer.

“Running as many companies as I do at my age will kill me a lot faster. I think a couple of cigarettes a day are hardly comparable to the stress that puts on my body.” Rolling her eyes at that she conceded to her one statement and went to sip her coffee. She, while not one for too many sweets was a true lover of whipped cream and relishing in the delicious taste that accompanied her latte.

“How is the whole doctor thing going?” He mentioned after a while, startling her and shocking her that he remembered.

“Um, it’s great. I just finished up my residency so everything feels finally permanent; like I’m finally out of school. How is everything your way?”

Putting out his cigarette he paused before answering, taking a long look at her first and Sakura inwardly cursed herself for the delicious shudder that went down her spine.

“Of the Sand Corp is doing decently. Enough that my father is pressing me to sell it under the Kazekage Industries umbrella; not like I would. It seems he is punishing me for doing so by giving me more responsibilities to run under the family business not that Kankuro isn’t an epic VP of my company anyway.”

“Well at least visiting Naruto will give you a bit of a vacation. When do you have to go back to Suna?”

Taking a moment take a long gulp of his coffee, and give Sakura time to ogle the bicep that was holding it he responded, “I actually moved to Konoha a couple of weeks ago. Kazekage Industries is expanding and dad wanted me to take over the branch here. Hence making it really difficult to fully run my tech business based in Suna.”

“Oh, that is tricky, but at least when Naruto comes back or visits he’ll be able to see you as well. Have you been adjusting ok considering?” She asked taking another long sip of her coffee, not noticing the spec of cream that remained on her upper lip. Sakura wondered how he managed to do it all and how much stress she would be under if put in half of that situation

“The takeover was a bitch and I can’t find a good assistant to save my life plus I don’t know anyone in this town besides well, you and I just found that out.” Taking a moment to lean in close to her Sakura froze.

Was he going to kiss me? This is just like the wedding I’m freezing. He looks so good but we haven’t spoken in nearly a year! Oh kami please. Sakura thought before noticing him remove the offending cream and take it between his own lips.

“Think you would oppose to showing me a few places where I can lesson my will to murder? A good gym and a good bar would be only for the greater good at this point.” He teased and she frowned as he seemingly looked like he was enjoying this torture he was putting on her body.

“Yeah, I do. Perks of growing up around here and going to undergrad here.” Taking their collective silence Gaara moved to give her one of his smirks and asked.

“I might actually have to take you on a date then cherry blossom. Think you could handle me this time?” Sakura blushed and turned to look out at the scenery before them. The land of fire was changing into the more tropical more scenic land of Tea, though as Naruto’s resort was on the coast it would still take another hour or so to get there.

Taking the pause neither as a good or bad thing, Gaara finished up his coffee and stood up to stretch before glancing down at her. “Come on, if we’re late Naruto will assume I’m dead and blow up my phone to the point of me throwing it out the car, and between you and me I really can’t lose another phone this quarter.”

Giggling Sakura stood up and followed him to the car for the last leg of their journey. “Alright but just keep to driving safely. Late or not if I’m dead I can’t patch you up after a car crash.”

“I’ll definitely keep you alive but no promises on 100% safety Sakura.” He chuckled twirling his keys in his hands. “I gotta live a little reckless or I’ll go insane.” He paused before fully getting in the driver's side, “Well more than I already am.”

Sakura was attached to her phone at their bachelorette party spa night. The timid Hinata not one of clubbing or strippers so Sakura and Hanabi planned an elegant pamper night for all of the bridesmaids.

“Forehead, this is a girls night. Stop texting your prince charming of a boyfriend and come join us.” Ino chastised before moving to see what she was actually looking at.

“Oh my God girls she actually is texting Gaara.” Stealing Sakura’s phone to bring it to the girls Ino giggled much to Sakura’s chagrin.

“Let me see here, ooh, pamper night going well. Promise me you’ll send pics of Naruto if he does anything stupid?”

Sakura tried and failed to grab it, only to have it thrown to Ten-Ten, who continued reading.

“What’s in it for me? And he added a winky face!”

“Guys, come on.” Sakura groaned moving to grab it only to have the phone thrown to Hanabi.

“That’s not very Best Man behavior of you.” Hanabi paused before cracking up. “Oh my god Sakura is full-on flirting and I think Gaara is flirting back. He just responded.

“What did he say?” Ino grinned moving to hold Sakura down with Ten-Ten at the assist.

“He said, I may be the best man but that doesn’t make me good. I think we should respond.” Hanabi chuckled and mortified Sakura tried to escape.

“Hanabi, don’t.” Sakura begged.

“Kid you got this, we’ll give you the honors.” Ten-Ten chuckled and Sakura wiggled stronger before moving out of their grasp.

“And, send.” Hanabi chuckled giving Sakura her phone back and watching her pale in complexion, then only more so when the girls heard the ping of a response.

“So,” The bride-to-be finally spoke up. “What did he say?”

Nearly too shocked to respond, Ino looked over her shoulder and squealed before announcing.

“So our lovely Hanabi moved us with her elegant words of asking the very tasteful So what are you good at? And it looks like our little cherry blossom might have caught herself a billionaire.”

“Why?” Ten-Ten asked before Sakura took back her phone and shut it off.

“Because,” Ino continued. “He told forehead that he could schedule some time to show her later if she liked.”

Sakura shook her head from her blush and tried to calm herself from her memories of Gaara at the wedding. They were nearly inseparable then. He was always so smart, and so good with his words.

“Are you too warm Cherry Blossom?” Gaara added moving to turn up the air and finally turn on the radio, shifting the dial till some form of music could be heard.

“Maybe a bit, though I’m not exactly uncomfortable.” She whispered out looking at the road flying past them as Gaara sped them along the highway.

“So I still make you squirm is all. I know how to fix that.” He chuckled and Sakura involuntarily shuddered before responding.

“The wedding was a mistake. I don’t normally do things like that and I shouldn’t have gone as far with you that night.”

“Oh calm down cupcake I kept my pants on. You leading me on and then ghosting after just a kiss when you were acting like you wanted a lot more than that should make me a little antsy to be near you again not the other way around.” He scoffed moving to turn on their exit and get to the last leg of their journey.

It was the reception. The ceremony was lovely Gaara’s call had come through and it turns out Haku was someone Naruto had met a long time ago and had changed his life. The blonde idiot fully burst into tears at the sight of the delicate man softly singing as his bride came down the aisle. The pictures had all been taken the speeches given and now it was simply time for the party that they all knew Naruto could throw. Sakura was taking a well-deserved spot of air when she saw her best man on the balcony having a cigarette.

“You gave a wonderful speech. I think a couple of people cried, Iruka-sensei I know did.” She chuckled and he turned and smirked when he noticed it was her. Offering her a cigarette that she politely declined, he took a step to close the distance between them.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it Sakura, I’ve always had a knack for a good speech. Yours was pretty cute as well. I can tell Hinata really enjoyed it.”

Blushing slightly Sakura swirled the bit of champagne she had in her glass before asking, “How long are you in town for?”

“Couple days, then I have to head back.” Pausing when he saw her mood utterly deflate he moved to hold her chin. “But I can always make the most of my trip now.” He grinned and pulled her in for a breath-stealing kiss.

It made her weak at the knees. She felt dizzy. She felt like everything she had ever desired was in that kiss and so much more could be had, and it terrified Sakura. Pulling back she looked at him and quickly uttered out a soft. “I have to go.” Before disappearing from the venue.

It took a long time for Sakura to realize why she bolted when all her body was screaming at her to do was screw Gaara in his hotel room till the sun came up. He terrified her. Gaara had this type of undeniable power to him. He wasn’t overly tall. He was fit but no monster. He was beautiful but not in a way that was common and yet anytime Gaara spoke the entire room always gave him 100% of their attention. He was in control at all times and that was not something Sakura had any idea how to deal with. She was Sakura Haruno. She was a woman who always called the shots and she certainly was not one who knew how to deal with an alpha like Gaara; especially for a one night stand.

Not to mention that she had just had a rather ugly breakup with Sasuke Uchiha and was learning to be on her own; something that would have been ruined if it just looked like she fell into the closest thing available. So nothing about their current predicament made it seem like they should start a relationship and rather than deal with Gaara’s temptation of simply being there nor the teasing of her friends Sakura bolted and went back to the safety of her condo and her job.

She honestly thought she had gotten over her handsome wedding parter but the time apart clearly didn’t change the way her eyes still longed to undress him or the way she would follow the curve of his lips when he talked. How she could picture those hands of his wrapped around her body and how even going back to her deepest of crushes should she ever remember being remotely attracted to anyone else.

“We’re gonna be there soon.” Gaara murmured pulling her out of her thoughts and she took one last look at the curve of his jawline and how it tensed slightly as he turned before she moved to look at them entering the gates of the property.

Gaara parked briefly and before Sakura could react he had gotten out and moved to open the door for her. “One best friend of Naruto’s arrived safe and sound. Now I just need to collect my fee.” He smirked and Sakura scoffed and looked up at him.

“And what fee would that be?”

“I’ll take it in installments over the course of the weekend but I will go ahead and get my first payment before we spy the knucklehead.” He teased and pulled her up close to him. She could feel his chest pressed against hers. Smell that amazing cinnamon scent that only he had. Their lips were barely separated, their breath intertwined in a way that begged them to kiss.

She was shocked, she was aroused and she had just closed her eyes to let them have their second kiss when seemingly as soon as it started it was over and he pulled her away.

“What was that?” She asked slightly out of breath and angry at the overflow of emotions that were racing through her body.

“Evidence that you still want me so bad you can barely stand it.” Pulling her close to whisper in her ear and she actually did let out a soft moan as he whispered out.

“Our mutual friend has so kindly scheduled us some time together. I think this is the perfect opportunity for me to show you something I’m rather good at.” He grinned and pulled away grabbing both of their bags as they walked towards the entrance to the resort.

I really should have stayed at home. Sakura thought to herself as she walked behind Gaara and saw the genuine smile on his face as he greeted Naruto and she finally saw her best friend of over 20 years.

But it had been a while since I’ve had a vacation. Her mind rebutted. Maybe he is just an added part of the relaxation?

“Come on Sakura, Naruto says our rooms are right next to each other isn’t that convenient?” He added and resumed carrying both of their luggage.

Or maybe this weekend will be the most tiring vacation I have ever had.