#and will just call it a chain of frustrating coincidences

[katyspersonal]

[mckiwi]

Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Four: 1843

Read on AO3

Start << Prev < > Next

Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Words: 1087

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

London, England- 1843

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked, glancing over at the Angel. 

The two of them sat side by side to watch the first-ever showing of A Christmas Carol. Aziraphale was an avid fan of Charles Dickens, so of course he took up the opportunity to see it performed live on stage. If Crowley just so happened to go to the same theatre and sit in the same row as Aziraphale, then that was pure coincidence. The fact they had gotten a late lunch together before the showing was completely unrelated, obviously. 

Aziraphale turned away from the closed curtains, “What was that?”

“I said this brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked again, a little louder. 

“With Hamlet, you mean? Well, yes. It does. A much livelier audience this time, thankfully.”

Crowley had to strain to hear Aziraphale’s words over the chatter of the other patrons. “You could say that.”

“And much more comfortable,” Aziraphale added. “Have you gotten the chance to read the book yet?”

“It just came out a few weeks ago, angel. No. Though I’d bet you’ve read it four times by now.” 

“Not at all, actually. I haven’t even gotten the chance to buy the book,” Aziraphale answered so sadly that Crowley had to suppress his smile. He self-consciously patted his jacket pocket. “I go shopping for books at the beginning of every month, except I was in Yorkshire so I couldn’t go this time.”

“Oh, your poor thing,” Crowley teased. His comment was lost on the Angel, however, as the curtains opened and Aziraphale squirmed happily in his seat. 

Cheers rang out as the theatre’s manager crossed to centre stage. “Merry Christmas! And welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to A Christmas Carol!” More cheers echoed through the room. “We are so glad you decided to join us on this thrilling show of Ebenezer Scrooge and his haunting encounters with the ghosts of Christmas! Keeping in line with the Christmas spirit, I have an exciting announcement to make. We have a very special guest here with us tonight.” Everyone waited with baited breath. “Make sure to stick around after the show to see who it is.”

Disappointment and frustration surged from the audience so forcibly Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. The Demon may take credit for some of humanity’s cruelty at times, but he let Dickens take it all when it came to the invention of the cliffhanger. 

For the most part, the play continued like any other they’d seen together. Aziraphale oohed and awed at the appropriate times while Crowley considered the Hellish logistics of Marley’s chains. Eventually, the curtains closed. The actors bowed. The audience clapped. And the manager came back out a short while later with the much-awaited news. 

“Please welcome Mr Charles Dickens!”

Aziraphale’s hand latched onto Crowley’s arm. Crowley looked over in alarm, fearing something might be wrong, but only found Aziraphale completely and utterly captivated by the stage. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open in a silent gasp even as the crowd roared around them. 

Possibly the most famous author of their time crossed the stage to stand beside the manager. They shook hands before Dickens began, “Hello, everyone! It is an honor to stand before you all and I’m so glad you enjoyed the play! I am looking forward to meeting some of you!” 

Before anyone could question what that meant, the manager spoke up, “Those of you who donated to the theatre were also enrolled in a raffle. Five of you will be randomly selected to meet Mr Dickens and get an autograph! You will find a number on your ticket. If your number is called out, please make your way to the stage.”

Aziraphale perked up considerably and scrambled to find his ticket. 

“First we have Ticket 157!”

A woman yelped with joy somewhere behind them. 

“Ticket 023!”

A man held up his ticket with pride. 

“144!”

Another man stood from his seat. 

“079!”

Aziraphale looked at his ticket with growing dread as a woman cheered. 

“And finally Ticket 191!”

The audience began to gather their things as Aziraphale remained still, staring longingly at the stage. Crowley stood to smooth out his jacket when his ticket fell out of his pocket. He picked it up and went to stick it back in his jacket when he noticed. 

191. 

“Hey, angel! Look!” Crowley immediately shoved the ticket into Aziraphale’s hands. 

Aziraphale’s face did brighten just a smidge upon seeing the winning numbers, but his smile didn’t quite beam like it ought to. He handed the ticket back to the Demon. “Oh, that’s great, Crowley! Tell him hello for me.”

Crowley shook his head, “What? No. Here. Take it.” He extended the ticket out again. 

“That’s really kind of you, but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? You love his stuff. Here. Take it.”

“You can’t just give away your ticket.”

“You’re one to talk! I’m not giving away my ticket, I’m giving it to you.”

“But then you won’t have a ticket.”

“I’ll trade with yours if it makes you feel any better.”

“But they mi–”

“Aziraphale.” The Angel stopped arguing and looked up at his companion. “Take it.” Crowley pressed the ticket into Aziraphale’s hand and didn’t pull back until he felt the other’s fingers tighten around the paper. “I’ll meet you at the exit once you’re done.”

“I don’t even have anything for him to sign,” Aziraphale tried weakly. 

Crowley chuckled softly, “Yeah, about that. You remember 40 years ago when you gave me a gift? I thought I should return the favour.” He pulled a book out from his coat’s inner pocket and gave it to Aziraphale. “I was going to give it to you later tonight, but it looks like you’ll be needing it now. Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

Aziraphale gasped at seeing A Christmas Carol written in gold across the cover. “There was no need for that, my dear. There was no favour to be returned.” 

“People exchange gifts, angel. You were due one. Now go get your autograph before they close things down.” Crowley nudged Aziraphale towards the stage. 

Filled with renewed vigour, Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically, “Okay, I will. I’ll meet you in a few. Thank you so much!”

The two parted ways. Aziraphale made his way down to the stage while Crowley shuffled along to the exit. Even with Charles Dickens in front of him, Aziraphale frequently turned and scanned the masses looking for Crowley. Crowley only knew this because he, too, was looking.

[sparkletastic-cookiedough]

Jason has a few theories as to what’s going on, the least problematic of them is that he’s suddenly developed visual and auditory hallucinations and has completely lost it.

Because he doesn’t want to think about the alternatives here.

He’s aware that suddenly hallucinating isnt exactly likely, but he wants to live in blissful ignorance for a few moments. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that there’s a 6 year old in front of him in blonde pigtails who goes by Harleen Quinzel.

No, he wasn’t spying on some kids playing at the playground. He just overheard it.

Yes that was twenty minutes ago, but he’s investigating.

It’s probably nothing. It’s probably a coincidence, or a nickname, or he just misheard something. (The last theory is countered by the fact he hears the name multiple times as he watches the kids. He hears the same name over and over. It’s no mistake. Her name is Harleen Quinzel.)

She’s in a group of twenty-or-so different kids. It would be different if it was just one kid, but he watches the blonde child chat about flowers with a redhead she calls “Pammy”. She tells jokes to “Ed” as she cartwheels on the grass. Ed grows frustrated and starts insulting a “Johnny”. The two are quickly separated and scolded by the attendant watching them- a 20-something male with dark hair and blue eyes (Wayne adoption material).

One would be circumstantial. Two would be a coincidence. Four… is a problem.

Something has to be going on here. Clones? Time travel? Some weird trend? Jason isn’t sure. He’s still thinking that he might just be crazy.

Suddenly the dark haired attendant looks out into the alleyway and makes eye contact with Jason. It shouldn’t be possible- he was trained in stealth by the bat, the league, and years of living on the streets. But the attendant notices Jason and walks over to the chain-link fence that separates the playground from the rest of Gotham.

As the person gets closer, Jason feels something inside him stir. It sits at attention, like he’s going to listen to and obey the commands of whatever this authority says to him. Like a knight before a king.

So there might be mind control involved…

(It feels different than mind control. More primal. More instinctual. More right.)

The person leans on the fence and seems to stare into Jason’s soul. It’s thinking of a moment. It smiles at him.

(Jason feels something in him preen)

“Are you interested in volunteering?” The person asks.

Jason thinks it over. On one hand, he’d be going into what’s possibly a dangerous situation. His instincts aren’t telling him that something’s wrong, but if he’s being mind controlled, then his instincts might be fucked.

On the other hand, he’s being handed a golden opportunity to investigate. And Jason never was a coward. He just has to focus.

Jason smiles

“Sure, sounds like a good opportunity”.

He’ll figure out why some random adult is watching the de-aged forms of Batman’s rouge gallery.

The Daycare

Danny moves to Gotham after Lady Gotham themselves asks for his help.

Gotham's natural ecto has been deteriorating, and considering ecto was what held everything in existence together safely this was a major problem for Lady Gotham.

If Gotham got too bad it would spread to the rest of the world, and could cause it to cease to exist entirely.

So Danny came, as the Ghost King he had the power to filter in great amounts of the corrupt ecto just by being in the city.

But part of his obsession was protection & helping, Gotham already had a lot of help (Batfam). So he decided to focus on helping not with the problem at the top (villains), but with the problems at the bottom.

The problems at the bottom that would be the root cause in breeding more problems.

After all, many didn't start evil, but need and desperation pushed them towards that path.

So Danny moved to the worst part of Gotham, The Bowery.

What did he do there?

Why open a Daycare of course!

Many parents could not get a good or stable job simply because they needed to look after their kids and could not afford to pay the daycare fee.

Danny wasn't worried about money after all the coffers that he inherited as king would take forever to even make a dent in it, and that's only if he was living a very lavish lifestyle everyday for several human generations.

With this in mind his Daycare fee was pretty much nothing.

He would take care of the children of a very wide age group, while the adults could focus on getting a decent job or even returning to school for a higher education for better opportunities.

How does he care for so many children?

He duplicates himself of course!

At least in the very beginning, after a while he begins expanding his Daycare offering classes and tutoring to the children as well as free food at all times.

Who's helping him ?

His ex-rouges and other ghosts who volunteered.

Lunch Lady absolutely adores having so many people and kids to make food for, and Box Lunch can socialize and play with the other kids while she works.

Ember even volunteers to be the music teacher!

Danny has the help of many ghosts who once they heard his plans were very excited to help, many having the obsession with teaching children or in general. Other ghosts helped with building, expanding, and just generally helping maintain the building in great shape. Even building a very diverse and fun playground.

Of course all this catches the attention of Red Hood. Danny just appears one day on his territory with many others and practically having a building appear out of nowhere with how fast it was built, asking literal pennies to take care of the children, and free food for anyone who asks.

All that gains a lot of attention and is rather suspicious.

But the crime rate has been going down since he opened, which is a good thing.

But many people don't want good things and decide messing with Danny and his Daycare.

Unfortunately for them cuz Danny is absolutely down for violence if he's protecting what's his.

~

Villain: "What a lovely place you have here would be a shame if something were to happen"

Danny who has the audacity to fight Gods and win: "Someone call an ambulance! But not for me!

Also Danny: "These hands are rated E for everyone"

~

Other people:"Should we call someone for help?"

The ghosts:" Nah, let him have his fun he needs his enrichment"

~

Red Hood: "He's very suspicious"

Danny is absolutely covered in paint and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with the young kids: "Ah yes I'm totally doing normal Gothamite behavior"

~

Lady Gotham is having some self care spa time she's having a grand time: "Should I warn the young king of the other halfa (Jason)? Hmm best not, it'll be more entertaining if it happens naturally"

~

Just an Idea

[alicethemasked]

27 - Echo

The Siblings were annoyed, especially the left one, she had taken so much time and effort to figure out a new name for herself and now it was gone, how do names die twice? The Right one couldn’t help but laugh a little at that thought causing the Left to glare without heat, the Siblings seldom spoke these days, they avoided the others the best they could and had no need to verbally communicate with each other. Whatever the hell took them decided to be so typical with them, oh the twins with weird creepy twin powers, how creative.

The two shook their heads, no need to dwell on it too much, they are what they are and there is nothing to be done about it. They were taking a stroll in the City. They seldom left their rooms so perhaps whatever grabbed them decided it was alright for them to leave from time to time, it’s not like they did anything like that chain smoking bitch did to them so their freedom confused them. 

They got weird looks as they walked down a street that seemed to call to them, something wanted them out and well… even before all this the Siblings tended to seek things out they shouldn’t, the feeling led them to an apartment complex with a familiar figure on one of the balconies, ugh, she seemed to be speaking to someone before glancing down at them, seemed to say something before fading into smoke, as she always does.

“So what brings you two here” the Singer asks, smile almost visible in her tone “we don’t know, but we hopefully won’t be here long” The Siblings glared and the Singer must admit, those two had a good glare, but the echo-y effect of their voice always made her laugh a little “what have you been avoiding little old me?” “yes” the deadpan tone doubled was funny to the chain smoker. “Come on, this isn’t all bad I mean eternal life is fine don't you think?” The Siblings just stared at her their heads tilting simultaneously. “Is it eternal, or until it is bored of us? If it was eternal there would be more people from the days of old in the Halls wouldn’t there?” The Siblings had put a lot of thought into this as Left had always feared the concept of eternal life, Right scolds that that fear would actually make it more likely the Jester seemed to take enjoyment, or the closest they had to it from their fears. Left coincides with that thought as the Singer responds “I guess that could be true, so why not enjoy what we have?” “You mean being reduced to nothing?” “Exactly, being someone is boring, being the Singer is so much more fun”

The Siblings sigh in exasperation, turning around they really don’t want to deal with her right now, they hear a blow behind them as smoke moves past them materializing the Singer again, who has a playful pout on her face “really? Not even a goodbye?” The twins are tempted to just attack her, but they know that the Singer is stronger than them, a fact that frustrates them to no end “please leave us alone” “but I am responsible for you am I not?” “which is why we want you to leave” the anger in their voice was almost boiling and they walked past her again. 

The Singer just stood there watching them leave shaking her head “such boring little creatures, Static don’t be anything like them ok” out of the lights a figure appeared, only real visible feature being it’s smile and painted on tear marks who nodded “good, hopefully if you get your voice you’d be a good conversationalist.

[haruka-vii]

Normally I don't write up Anipoke comments here but since I'm avoiding other social media for pretty much a month due to the release of Pokémon Scarlet and Violet to avoid spoilers until I'm done with the main story and post game, I'll just exceptionally write up my thoughts here concerning what's to come in these next two weeks.

Knowing how the show has been breaking the traditional formula chain we got used to witness for, perhaps 16-19 years if we count Alola or not, things might turn out differently but anything goes at this point as I can't predict with great certainty how did they write the Generation 8 disclosure. I had the theory for at least an year that Project Mew was secretly evil and this last Friday I was proved wrong so...

About what's going to happen in 9th December. I want to believe this is the scenario:

Goh is hesitant to tell Ash about his idea to go on a journey because he doesn't want to separate from him for an extended/undetermined period of time. The crying bit of the preview is either:

Not managing to tell and running away out of frustration

Admitting the idea to Ash and running away without listening to Ash's feedback

Admitting the idea to Ash, listening to his supportive feedback but Goh gets frustrated with his positive feedback and runs away

Now what I expect (I hope it's this, though), is Ash being supportive about the idea but asking Goh if he can join him in that trip as well (Paldea, everyone?). Knowing Ash I have my doubts he'll just return to Pallet Town, resting on his bedroom while polishing his WCS cup and do nothing else. Remember that dinner talk between Ash and Chairman Rose? The boy openly admitted that what he wants to do is to travel and meet lots of Pokémon and literally not staying stuck in the same place at once to have greater competitive battle notoriety and exposure. Ash will want to continue this as travelling is what made Ash grow as a Pokémon Trainer and what made him become a WCS Monarch.

Although the title of day 16th December was revealed I can't help but have two questions: together or separated? Together to Paldea? I also want to believe that Professor Cerise calls/suggests them to visit Paldea region to investigate something or to learn in first hand about the Terastal Phenomenon. Who knows! And besides I learnt yesterday that among the Pokémon that can be transferred in future to Scarlet and Violet games is Mew. And I'm still thinking about the "temporarily disbanded Project Mew" line of Professor Amaranth. Coincidence?

I'm trying to keep my spirit settled down and to be mentally prepared for any outcome in these next two weeks. I really love Ash and Goh's dynamic and the idea of separating them tears me apart, I think it would be their biggest mistake since that time they decided it was a good idea to write Unova arc as a soft reboot. It essentially thanks to them I found some mental stability during the pandemic curfew. There's a clear differentiated treatment to Goh as a travelling companion (both in and out of the screen) in the course of Journeys and it just wouldn't make sense to discard him away back to the drawer.......... would it? If Ash and Goh are confirmed to stick together then a travelling companion sticking around since the first regional meeting doesn't happen since Brock (who although had to absent for a while in the Orange Islands, he sticked around until the end of Sinnoh's arc so, 2010). It will feel like a Christmas gift for me and as a fan that lives in the Iberian Peninsula I would love to see the duo exploring Paldea! Please make it happen!! 🙏

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Business Roundtable's climate plan was killed by its arch-rival, the Business Roundtable

Three years ago to the date, the Business Roundtable unveiled its “Statement on the Purpose of a Corporation” — a commitment by its 200 member-CEOs and companies to protect the environment. Then they spent three years and millions of dollars lobbying against that goal.

https://www.businessroundtable.org/business-roundtable-redefines-the-purpose-of-a-corporation-to-promote-an-economy-that-serves-all-americans

Writing in The Guardian, Adam Lowenstein rounds up the Business Roundtable’s deep-pocketed, highly effective lobbying campaign, which has crushed numerous climate initiatives in the US, possibly dooming the human race to extinction.

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2022/aug/19/top-us-business-lobby-group-climate-action-business-roundtable

The Roundtable bills itself as “an association of CEOs of leading US companies working to promote a thriving economy & expanded opportunity for all Americans through sound public policy.” Its members include the CEOs of the country’s most politically connected corporations, including Apple, Pepsi, Walmart and Google — the most powerful people in the nation.

But while the Roundtable continues to trumped its commitment to addressing the climate emergency, it has mobilized millions of dollars to neutralize our best hopes of dealing with that emergency. The Roundtable’s initiatives include spending millions lobbying against Build Back Better and its carbon reduction/clean energy provisions.

The Roundtable has gone to war against a SEC rule requiring publicly listed companies to disclose their carbon emissions and risks from climate change. Instead, the Roundtable prefers “voluntary” disclosures that allow companies to omit emissions and risks in their supply chains. The Roundtable has met with the SEC three times to oppose this rule, and Roundtable chairman Mary Barra (CEO of GM) personally met with SEC chair Gary Gensler.

In the first half of 2022, the Roundtable’s lobbying budget was $9.1m, much of which went to opposing a climate disclosure rule. The Roundtable says that measuring supply chain emissions is too burdensome — the fact that the majority of emissions are in the supply chain is just a coincidence.

Meanwhile, the Roundtable continues to insist that “we have to move now,” and that the best way to address the climate emergency is through “market-based” solutions where investors choose “green” investments based on reliable information about companies’ contribution to imminent human extinction.

The Roundtable insists that “voluntary disclosures” will provide sufficiently accurate information to allow investors to direct their money away from companies that will murder them and their children by rendering the planet unfit for human habitation. Every other stakeholder — “many investors, analysts, academics, voters and experts, even companies themselves” — disagrees vehemently.

The calls for mandatory disclosure aren’t emanating from campus Maoists and Greta Thunberg’s child army — they’re coming from giant, institutional investors, like this group of fund managers who direct $5t in capital:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/aoa4f52ok2i4t06/Letter%20to%20SEC_Climate%20Disclosure%20Rule.pdf

The Roundtable’s most powerful members, like Apple CEO Tim Cook and Blackrock CEO Larry Fink, have also called for mandatory disclosure. I’m sure they’re frustrated that organization won’t listen to them — it’s just that they’re not frustrated enough to pull their funding from the Roundtable. After all, mostly the Roundtable lobbies to be sure they don’t pay taxes and can abuse their workers with impunity — weighed against those advantages, the Roundtable’s commitment to wiping out the human species is but a trifle.

It’s not just that the Roundtable’s members won’t hold the organization to its environmental commitments — the Roundtable also won’t hold the members to account on those commitments. Companies that signed the 2019 declaration were convicted of more environmental infractions and emitted more carbon that similar firms that didn’t sign:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3609056

And since 2019, the signatories to the environmental pledge were offered many chances to “formalize the pledge in corporate governance,” and virtually every time this happened, those signatories chose not to make good on their promises:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3899421

The Roundtable’s opposition to climate action continues to this day. The org came out hard against the Inflation Reduction Act, which has billions in clean energy incentives — they objected to the 15% minimum corporate tax that will offset those billions in the federal budget:

https://www.businessroundtable.org/business-roundtable-opposes-the-inflation-reduction-act

To be fair to them, we don’t need to tax corporations — or anyone else — to pay for climate action. The US government is constrained by resources (which things are for sale in US dollars), not money (which it can create by typing into a spreadsheet).

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/17/disgracenote/#false-consciousness

The point of taxing companies is to constrain what their shareholders can buy — because those purchases might consume resources needed for the climate emergency; and, importantly, to prevent them from spending profits to corrupt the government:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/18/bipartisan-consensus/#corruption

Meanwhile, the CEOs who keep the Roundtable afloat keep declaring that time is short, action must be taken, and no price is too high for action.

And again, to be fair, there is no course of action so radical that these corporations and CEOs won’t promise to take it — provided they never, ever have to lift a finger to follow through on that promise.

[Image ID: The Earth seen from space, wreathed in flames. Atop the Earth dances a jaunty 'Rich Uncle Pennybags' from Monopoly; he has removed his face, revealing it to be a mask, and his head is a grinning skull.]

[anotherhumanpet]

Were he in a better position to do so, Dennis would have questioned how Mephisto knew to wink at the exact moment that he did because he obviously did it on purpose and with precise timing to send whatever message he was trying to project. There was no way the gesture was just a coincidence, but there was also no way Mephisto could see through the peep-hole either to get his timing right. He wasn't supposed to anyway.

But the man was a demon, and Dennis couldn't call him out on anything without his alerting his mother to the truth of some things he was purposefully keeping away from her. So, in the interest of maintaining those secrets, and because Mephisto's request demanded more of his attention, Dennis let the oddity slide and instead fidgeted awkwardly at the door. An unexpected house call was one thing, but a house call just before dinner was bad timing that came with a lot of heavy-handed expectations - like inviting the person in for a bite to eat.

"Erm--" He glanced back and forth between the kitchen and the door, his mother and the Director, unsure of how to proceed. It wasn't his place to invite Mephisto into the apartment freely, but he didn't exactly want to snub Mephisto either and risk his ire. So, in a moment of indecisiveness, Dennis held up a finger to Mephisto and said, "Gimme a second." Then, he shut the door most of the way, and called out to his mom. "Hey mom. The director of the Japan academy is here and he said he wants to talk to us."

"What?" Penny gasped, forgoing all kitchen duties to fuss over her messy, homely appearance. "Why? Did you do something over there, Dennis Isaac Michael Wenny?"

"No! I--" Frustrated, Dennis sighed and reopened the door to speak with Mephisto again. "My mom wants to know why you wanna talk."

"Oh for the love of--" And now a sigh came from Penny as she composed herself before speaking again. "Just let him in, Dennis. I'll be right back." Without another word, the woman hurried off to the bathroom and gently shut the door behind herself.

Dennis did as instructed, loosely closing the door once more to undo the chain lock before he opened the door fully, gesturing for Mephisto to come inside. "She'll be right back. But, come on in, I guess."

It was quiet at home, save for the bustling and sizzling going on in the kitchen as Penny cooked a home-made meal. The noise didn't bother Dennis that much though, nor did it prove to be a huge distraction from his summer study work at the dining table. The smell, however, quickly proved itself to be a real problem as the scent of sauteed chicken and alfredo sauce wafted its way to him, stirring up his appetite and creating a black hole within his stomach all at once.

It was torture, to say the least, and when his mother had the gall to ask, "How's your study work going, sweetie?" Dennis wanted to slam his head into the table.

"Fine." He managed to strain out of himself without letting too much frustration bleed through. Things had come to a grinding halt ever since his stomach started eating itself in a desperate bid to get food, but it was fine. Everything was fine and the homework was fine and--

A polite knock at the door had all heads turning to look at the main entrance of the apartment. Then, before his mother could say anything, Dennis got up from the table and made tracks for the front door. "I got it."

"Check who it is before you just open it." Penny chided at him.

"Yes, mom." Dennis sighed out in annoyance because he was going to do that anyway. But whatever. It's fine. Looking through a peep hole really isn't that hard to do or easy to forget but whatever.

Opening the door though proved to be a slight challenge for Dennis after he actually saw who was standing on the other side of it, waiting patiently. Despite how unnerved he was to see Mephisto however, Dennis knew he couldn't keep the Director waiting for long. He didn't know what Mephisto would do if he grew impatient with them, but it didn't take a genius to understand that it just wasn't a good idea to try the demon's patience either. So, after a quick breath to steel his nerve, Dennis unlocked the deadbolt, kept the chain lock in place, cracked the door open, and poked his head in through the small space.

"Director Faust...?" Dennis sounded unsure when he addressed the demon. With so many names and titles to his name, it was hard to know which should be used at any given time. Seeing how his mom was unaware of Mephisto's true demonic nature, Dennis opted for the more 'safe' name at the moment; the one he had been given by Mephisto when he asked him for a name some odd weeks ago. It seemed to be the 'human persona' name that Mephisto had, but Dennis could only guess at that.

@mayhemmaybe

[sweet-s0rr0w]

This is my Wheel of Drarry gift fic for the lovely @hogwartsfirebolt, E, I hope you like it!! 🐺❤ It's (obviously) werewolf Drarry, and I'm going to post one part each day. Thanks (er, mostly in advance) for the fab beta, @graymatters, you're an absolute gem! It's first person alternating POV, roughly T rated and has no real CWs, although there's a lot of meat consumed so vegetarians be aware! You can read it on AO3 here if you prefer.

Part One

Before we start, I want to make something clear.

There’s only one reason Potter came to me, and it has absolutely nothing to do with our history. Sure, it wasn’t a coincidence that he turned up on my doorstep, but it wasn’t due to some hidden desire to cause me bodily harm either. And it certainly wasn’t because of a longstanding crush, no matter what Witch Weekly thinks.

No, Potter chose me because he was looking for the best. And I’m it.

I’ve been doing this for a long time now, you see. The best part of two decades, give or take, and I’m bloody good at it. Go ahead, ask anyone in the know who’s the man (ha) you go to for this kind of thing, and they’ll all give you the same name: Draco Malfoy. Pans teases me about it, calls me the celebrity wolf whisperer. It pisses me off, but I’m always telling her she’s just my glorified make-up girl, so I guess we’re pretty much even.

Yes, I’ve seen it all before… or so I thought. People are all the same, you see. You’ve got your shy ones, your meek ones, the ones who tremble in their boots as they stand on my threshold. I had a teenage girl who was actually afraid of the dark once – can you imagine? But those types don’t cause me any trouble. I just let the wolf inside them do its work. When you’re top of the food chain, you soon find that there’s nothing left to fear.

I find the angry ones harder to deal with. The people who hate our kind, who blame me, by proxy, for what happened to them. I’ve been attacked in my own home, you know. More than once. I mean, it’s not like they can actually harm me, not really, but it is rather… frustrating.

Worse still are those who turn up depressed. Fatalistic. Would rather take an AK to the chest than accept what they’ve become. But hardest of all are those idiots who find themselves actually pleased with the situation they’re in. You won’t believe me, but they do exist. Usually got themselves bitten in some stupid dare, or a fight at a dodgy bar, and now they’re drunk on blood-lust and pissed as hell that the Ministry wants them to integrate when they’d be quite content to just get out on the hunt. Not easy to rein in, that lot. They often end up causing me quite a bit of bother.

Fortunately, most of my clients don’t fall into any of those categories. Most of them are regular wix, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, who just want their old lives back. There’s still so much stigma, despite our best efforts here at the Foundation (the aforementioned reckless pricks don’t exactly help that, either), and many of them are still in shock themselves.

But whatever their circumstances, whatever their crimes, I do my job. And it’s always the same – I take them under my wing, spend a month or two working through their issues, then send them on their merry, wolfish way.

In twenty years, though, I’ve never had a client quite like Harry Potter.

You’d think if Potter was going to get bitten, it’d all be a kind of big heroic thing, wouldn’t you? A daring raid or something. Exposing a necromancy ring or dragging orphans from a burning building. Rescuing a Kneazle stuck in a tree. That’s the sort of stuff that ran through my mind, anyway, when I got the Floo call. Twenty years, and to me he’s still that faultless, shining Gryffindor darling. The Golden Prat. Shows what I know, I suppose.

Mind you, until he showed up on my doorstep, I’d only clapped eyes on him a handful of times over the years, and we’d never spoken. Although… well, I suppose that’s not completely true. A few years in, when the Foundation was starting to make a name for itself, even though it was still just Badru and me working night and day to modify the Wolfsbane, some grateful parent nominated us for a Ministry award. And we won, and – just my luck – who d’you think was up there on the dais, Order of Merlin pinned front and centre, handing out the envelopes? Yes, you guessed it. Malfoy, Potter had said to me then, grasping my hand so lightly that our skin barely brushed. That was it, just Malfoy, and a nod, the world’s most feeble handshake and the click of a lens, and then Potter’s eyes moved quickly onto Badru, and it was over. The Death Eater and the Boy Who Lived, and never the twain shall meet, I thought. Although the Death Eater thing – that’s not quite right either, is it?

Back to Potter, though, and the bite. Turns out, it wasn’t an Auror thing. I didn’t even know he’d quit the DMLE, although when I asked Pans about it, she just rolled her eyes, like I should have spent less time working and more time keeping up with important things, like the Prophet’s gossip pages. Potter’s up at Hogwarts now, she tells me; everyone knows that. Apparently he took the job as groundskeeper after Hagrid buggered off to France to get married. So Potter’s got all that power, all that potential, all that political sway, and he chooses to spend his days bowing to Hippogriffs and dragging First Years out of the Forest. Sounds about right.

I can’t pretend it doesn’t suit him, though. When he turns up at my front door, all brooding and petulant like we’re still fifteen years old – jaw set, arms folded sulkily so his white t-shirt pulls across the expanse of his chest – I swear to Merlin my first thought is shit, getting bitten hasn’t exactly done you any harm, has it?

My subsequent thoughts, of course, are much more professional.

[anyotherwriter]

On Purpose - [2/2]

Masterlist / buy me a coffee? / art insta

Y’all here’s part two. 

Normal TWD warnings, I don’t do specific warnings. Credit to whomever made the gif (idk sorry fam). I only post my writing here. And feedback is always welcome!

Okay, love you, bye.

\\\\\\\\\\\////////////

Daryl was fine with hunting and going on runs, but recently his preferred times were being on watch. The guard towers were high up and isolated and quiet, the way he liked to be. He'd stand with his hands resting on the railing, scanning the edges of the woods. The woods that offered cover and anonymity to the evil and dead and unpredictable. 

Typically he'd be nesting up there in the nights but took watch duty in the tower during the days, too, to keep the fence crew safe. Fence duty was the front lines, the most vulnerable. Just because there was a chain-link, didn't mean it could stop greedy teeth and hands or bullets. And you happened to be down there, in crosshairs and reaching distance, at the same time he was posted to watch over you.

A coincidence, he'd tell himself. 

Since the farm, he'd been trying to find more coincidences. Giving you his full water bottle when his head was growing dizzy from dehydration, covering you when a group of walkers approached, giving Maggie or Carol some food to give to you because he'd just watched you give it to one of the kids. He had to find coincidences because after he raised his voice at you like the stupid fuck he chastised himself for being, he assumed you wouldn't want anything from him. He wanted to apologize many times, but apologies weren't something he knew how to do. Apologies weren't offered to him freely growing up, and the older he got, the harder they became. They were a habit learned by most that were never taught to him between beatings and abandonment. He knew when they fit into a conversation. He knew when a change of the face called for one, or a quick, angered action desperately asked for one. But he couldn't ever give them. Daryl could feel the two words resting on his tongue often, trying to dive out in desperation, but the idea that it was weakness was drilled so far in and he didn't know how to reverse it. So he never did apologize to you. And as time went on, he watched as you pulled away from him further and further, not asking any more of your annoying questions and doting on him the way you had. 

And he missed it.

With his life being what it was and how it turned out to be up to now, he wished someone would ask him all those questions and make him feel safe and fed and happy. He wanted you to talk to him again, and not in the piss-poor way you did the other day when you offered to help him carry his bags. The words coming from your mouth felt feral and defensive even though he hadn't said a word to you yet. But you were prepared for it and that frustrated him. And when he saw your outstretched hand, he felt his chest twist at the sight of the shredded red flesh and the splinters and dried blood. He wondered if something bad had happened while he was out, but the yard and everyone seemed calm. 

He was unable to restrain the words of care that slipped out of his mouth. He only asked if you were alright. Two words articulated sharply but still gentle. He expected you to answer him, which was so silly of him because he knew better. He narrowed it down to stupid hope. And when you motioned your beat up hand in impatience, he released the bag into your palm. 

And he saw the wince. He didn't like it one bit. He nearly punted the second bag out of your reach when you went for it, but his legs were locked. Daryl instead followed your lead into the common area inside as you had a bag on your right shoulder and in your hand respectively. Your left hand still carried the wooden stake you used on the fence. The spike was covered in a grimy sheen of brown, rotting blood and brains that you smacked against the brick wall to shake loose before you took it inside. The top, where your hands usually gripped too tight, was equally as brown from your own dried blood. 

It had been like that for a long time and Daryl never said anything. One night he made his way down towards the fence while on watch. There was a large collection of weapons for them to choose from, but he could never find that stake. Glenn caught him one night after his many missions to find it and burn it and told him you stashed it under your bed. 

He was frustrated. Angry, even. Why keep it if it was hurting? 

But that thought took him back to Merle, who may now be gone, but at the time was familiar.  He left that day because it was what he knew, even if he knew Carol would be upset and he would probably never see you again. Familiarity, whether it destroyed you or not, was comfortable. And he understood. That didn't stop him from cussing up one side and down the other. Or stop him from making odd, unplanned trips past your cell in hopes he would see the splintering wood and he could snatch it and make it disappear. Poof, gone. But he never saw it. And your hands kept bleeding. 

Giving you those gloves was not a coincidence. An "on-purpose" was his only goal and when he'd think about it, his face would grow hot and the stubble that wrapped around his chin became itchy. He could've given you the gloves that morning before he even left for the run. He had them tucked in his pocket for the last week or so but he was scared. He even asked Rick, who mosied down to the fence with you that morning, to give them to you. But Rick told Daryl to do it himself. 

He couldn't. There was no natural way to make it seem like a coincidence. He had no excuses to go down and give them to you, and that's what he needed. Coincidences allowed them to stand side by side without you stepping away too quickly for distance, they didn't allow animosity or uncertainty. Coincidences just were. 

But when he got back from that run and you reached out that hand, he could've kicked himself. He could've easily stopped that from happening; your hands could've started healing from yesterday's work if he wasn't a fucking coward who didn't know how to say 'i'm sorry'. He started to reach down into his pocket for the pair but your impatience with him made your stride quicker and then you were gone. 

On his perch that evening, overlooking everyone and finding comfort in their easy conversation and safety, he decided that was the time. Standing outside of the curtain that closed you off from everyone, he felt anxious. He didn't belong in your doorway, let alone inside. Didn't deserve it. But he still knocked on the bars and your honey sweet voice calling out for him to come in gave him pause. He hadn't heard that tone in your voice directed to him in so long and he waited as long as he could before he was the one that stepped into your little corner of the world, turning your voice sour. 

He didn't dare step all the way in. Daryl could see the confusion at him simply just standing there in his dusty jeans and heavy poncho. His fingers wouldn't stop moving over the fabric fingers as he tried to search for something to say. The mellow orange of your lamp made your cheeks glow and his throat closed up a little. He only choked out that he hoped they would fit you. They seemed small, but your hands were small. He remembered that from the times you bring him something or use your fingers to rake away a piece of hair from your face. And when you looked down at them, Daryl saw the crinkle in your eyebrows deepen. He didn't want to hear your tone change or know what you were thinking, so he slipped out quickly, for once grateful that there were silent wisps for curtains that allowed him to disappear. 

A couple weeks passed before you finally approached him.

His watch was over when yours was but he made sure to always hang back a minute and let you go inside before he even left the tower. But you were waiting for him right outside at the bottom of the stairs, so close that the opening door almost plowed into you. You took a few steps back as Daryl left the doorway. He watched as you started to slide the gloves - the gloves he got just for you - from your hands. The skin of your palms was now a bright healthy pink where the divots and splinter holes were starting to finally heal up.

"Just wanted to say thank you." You offered softly as you weighed them back and forth between your hands. "Hershel does, too." And then she laughed.

And he smiled.

He didn't know what to say, except for the apology that still crowded his throat every time he was around you, but now didn't seem like the right time. The only thing he could do was catch the skin of his thumb in his teeth and nod. Your cheeks were red from the killing and the cold and he found it endearing when you tucked your chin just below the collar of your coat. It was freezing out, but you both still stood there and let the snow beneath your feet pack down.

Part of him wanted to tell you how he'd gotten them. How he'd come across a walker in an old warehouse a couple months ago and the gloves were all but melded into its hands. He killed it and then cut off the hands. It was meticulous work peeling all of the skin and muck out, and scrubbing them in the cold creek with no soap. Once the yellow of the threading started to peek through again, he scrubbed harder until his knuckles locked up and wouldn't unfold. He wanted you to know that they weren't just something he'd stumbled across and waited until someone needed them. No, they were for you. Gifting in this world was different and about sustainability and practicality. And the gloves were practical and no longer smelled like death and would most certainly save your hands from certain demise. If he was lucky, they would remind you of him, too. But he tucked that thought deep, deep down. The last thing Daryl wanted was for that thought to gain momentum and find any hope, because then he'd be royally fucked. 

They were a gift to you. Because even if he still didn't know when the right time to apologize is, you thanked him kindly without hesitation and a dismissive coldness that he'd typically gotten since his head-wound induced outburst. 

And he was okay with that. For now.

Because as he started making his way across the yard behind you and back into the dark, musty safety of the prison, he ached for you to turn around and ask him if he was taking care of himself. Just so he could say no.

Because then you would worry about him again.

[holykillercake]

Coin Stealer

Trafalgar Law x psychic!Reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: Law does not believe that you can see dead people, so you crochet him the strange-looking beanie of the strange-looking man that walks around the Polar Tang. 

highlight: ¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

warning: You are entering Trafalgar´s room. 

notes: Bello, ma people! This is the 3/3 part of a lovely anon request in which the s/o makes them a thing with crochet! This time is Dr. Heart Stealer edition!! I really enjoyed writing this, and it got a little long, but I did not want to cut off important things. Anyway, I hope you like it!

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞!

¨Hey, Bepo! Have you seen Law?¨

¨Y/N! I don´t know where he is... I´m sorry.¨

¨Oh, it´s ok!¨ you patted the mink´s shoulder, giving him a warm smile. 

You were never a big fan of his constant apologetic personality, but you couldn´t deny that you missed it during your time apart from the crew. 

The Heart Pirates had parted ways a long time ago when your Captain decided that the time to put his life-long plan in action had finally come. The crew split into three parts, and each one followed a different path. 

After the sudden disappearance of the Strawhats, the Paramount War, the Rocky Port Incident, and Law obtaining his title as a Warlord of the Sea, you were the first to depart, remaining in Sabaody Archipelago, waiting for the owners of the Thousand Sunny to return. You fought alongside a fishman called Hacchin, a weird guy that reminded you of Black Leg and other allies to protect the ship. 

Next to leave was Law, who sailed to Punk Hazard, where he formed a partnership with a crazy scientist bastard. Then the rest of the crew went on their own towards the island where you would meet once the plan was concluded.

The trajectory was not smooth by any means, but you did it, all of you. And now you feasted along with the Strawhats, celebrating whatever it was that you did not understand. Maybe they were like that, or maybe they didn't understand the risks you would take from now on. 

Anyway, the crew seemed to be in need of some music and fun, and you were too busy looking for your Captain to care about that.

In the midst of the evening breeze, the crackling of the fire, and the barrels of beer crashing in celebration, you saw the answer you were looking for.

Of course.

¨If I didn´t love you...¨ you growled as you made your way out of the island to reach the Polar Tang. And let´s face it, that was a detour.

You went straight to your room, where Law would probably be sipping coffee, napping, or just running from the crowds. And just like you, it has been months since he stepped on his own ship and slept in his own bed. 

So maybe you could cut him some slack. 

However, as you approached the room, there was no smell of coffee. No smell of coffee and no light snoring. Just a stillness carried with heavy emotions and your boyfriend, sitting in the dim light holding tight the crochet piece you gave him years ago. You swayed in place, expecting that thing you made to provoke him to be at the sea bottom.

¨Wondering why I kept this?¨ he asked. 

¨Not really.¨ you replied. ¨But I am surprised. Am I disturbing?¨

¨You never do.¨

You jumped on the bed, sitting beside him and resting your head on his shoulder.

¨YN-ya... do you know how he...¨ the question struggled to come out.

¨Peaceful.¨ 

¨Hm.¨ he nodded.

¨I don´t like when he smiles, though. It creeps me out.¨ His body bounced slightly as he joined you in a chuckle. 

¨Remember when you gave me this?¨

¨Of course, you almost kicked me out of the ship!¨ you giggled with the memory.

¨You were really annoying back then.¨

¨Hey! Objection!¨

¨Objection rebuffed.¨ he smirked and moved on the bed, pulling you to lay down on his chest.

You told him to shut up before cuddling in, not falling asleep immediately. None of you said much. Instead, you enjoyed the calming and comfortable silence of each other´s company. 

It has been a while since you had that. 

You remember every moment of your early days as a Heart Pirate. You and Law hadn´t started on the best terms, but he needed you - well, your skills - and you were given a good deal. 

The pivot of your history together began on a chain of coincidences. The first one being both of you docking on the same island. The second one was him finding a rare coin for his collection, the same one you would later slip into your pocket. 

You wandered around towns using the beautiful art of distraction to get anything you wanted from anyone. Watches, necklaces, wallets, and, well, coins? It was all he had in his pocket, and since it was a cute one, you decided to keep it. 

Some called you a thief. Some called you a burglar, and some may even have called you a big son of a bitch. But the thing they all had in common was that none of them knew exactly who they were calling those names. 

The thing is, you messed up the first rule and made eye contact with him. Well, it was more of you not being able to take your eyes off of him. He stood out in the crowd, and you had gotten cocky. So when he later found out about the missing coin, it did not take him long to connect you to it. 

A lot of things went through his mind. He felt frustrated because his Haki failed him, annoyed for the trouble he would have going after you, and intrigued by the touch so light he did not feel at all. 

Or that is what he kept telling himself. 

Yes, he was interested in someone with skills like yours, but maybe there was something else he would not admit. The way you looked at him as if you had deciphered his entire life and found the missing pieces of his puzzle. Even the ones he tried to hide. 

That night he went out for your head. Or better, your heart, literally. 

You were enjoying the comfort of your hotel room, eating some snacks, and playing with your new commemorative coin when he materialized himself by the bed. You instantly knew something was about to go down.

Oh, fuck.

That situation got pretty tense pretty quickly, both ends asking things, and no one willing to offer any answers. The stakes were high, glares cutting the air like blades. It did not help to ease the mood when in the sway of his hand your heart popped out of your chest. 

Long story short, his plan was never to drag you to the Polar Tang. Law wanted you to go willingly, joining his crew in exchange for your heart. However, the unfortunate variable he did not consider in the equation was that you would not go down without a fight. So by the time he reached the ship, he noticed the gentle fresh breeze ruffling his hair. 

You know, since his hair was usually covered by the hat. 

...

THE FREAKING HAT!

The next morning when he returned, you were waiting for him with a satisfied smirk bending your lips, the hat on your head, and the coin dancing between your fingers. 

At some point, you had stolen it, and once again, it passed unnoticed by him. That was not a good night for the Heart Pirates. And that was also the night Trafalgar Law realized a couple of things. The first, he needed you on his crew. And the second, you were going to be the death of him. Or maybe the aneurysm of him, he would not give you such credit. 

¨You´re late.¨ you said, amused, and his grip tightened around the sword.

¨What´s your name?¨ he repeated the question you dodged several times during your last encounter. 

¨What´s with the dog?¨ you pointed at the tall, white polar bear wearing a uniform. Law pursued his lips, breathing heavily through the nose.  

¨I am B-¨

¨Bepo-ya don´t talk to he-¨

¨Your name is Bepoya?¨ you ignored the man, bumping into his shoulder as you walked towards the mink ¨Hi, I´m Y/N! Nice meeting you.¨  

The polar bear looked back and forth at you and his Captain, not knowing how to behave in this situation, so he apologized and stepped farther back. 

¨Alrighty, now that we are all introduced, shall we go?¨ 

¨What?¨

¨Come on, Law, focus.¨ you snapped your fingers multiple times, teasing him. ¨You came here to pick me up, right?¨

¨No. I want my hat back.¨ He tried to grab it, but you ducked in time, holding the hat on your head with both hands. It was so soft. 

¨How about a trade? The coin for the hat.¨

¨How about my hat for your heart? Do this, and I won´t...¨ his words died in his mouth as he clutched his pockets. 

¨Looking for this?¨ You held your heart, wrapped in a cold and gelatinous box that you retrieved when you bumped into him minutes earlier.

How could you fool him again? He kept seeking answers that explained why it was so easy for you to outwit him, and his expression showed. 

¨You´re getting close, Law. Put your little trash can to work.¨ you tapped your temple, smiling mischievously at him. 

¨YN-ya, you know I can kill you, right?¨

¨Yeah, but you won´t.¨

¨How do you know?¨

¨I got a sixth sense for these things.¨ 

The rest of the conversation did not take long to come to an end. Amid sarcastic comments and threats to each other's lives, what should have been the pinnacle of the moment became a random passage in the Heart Pirates´ logbook.

¨So, YN-ya, do you want to join us? You´re gonna have to wear a uniform and address me as Captain.¨

¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

Law sighed, giving himself a carotid massage ¨Ok. Let´s go.¨

He walked a few steps ahead of you and Bepo, wondering why he spent so much effort on an arrogant thief that wouldn't even call him Captain.

You quickly became friends with the polar bear, even apologizing for calling him a dog. He strangely apologized for your apologies, culminating in what would almost make the notorious Surgeon of Death suffer a stroke.

¨What the hell is that?!¨ you shouted when the Polar Tang entered your field of vision ¨That´s not a ship!¨

What if I am claustrophobic?

The ya thing is a schtick?

Death? That´s a little borderline controversial for a doctor.

Trafalgar more like Trafraude!

On occasions like that, Law wondered how peaceful and quiet would be the sixth level of Impel Down. From a current perspective, your initial interaction served as a vaccine, creating the necessary antibodies Law would need to deal with future pirate alliances. 

The crew got attached to you very quickly. Your adventurous spirit, your stunts, and street trades fascinated them. Losing bets against you seemed acceptable, your card tricks and the thing of guessing the numbers they thought was like fuel for a good day at work.

Law didn't seem to mind that much. After all, you wouldn't get him on his nerves if you were busy with them. However, one day, you let slip something that caught his attention. 

¨YEAH! That´s exactly what she looked like! How did you do this?!¨ 

Law heard Shachi´s roar, followed by a wave of surprised ´ooh´s coming from the kitchen, where the majority of the crew hunched around the dinner table. 

The doctor leaned against the door, silently observing what could possibly be more important than keeping the ship working. He had been drowning in files all night, and now he decided to have a coffee break. That mess early in the morning did not make him happy. 

No one seemed to be too intimidated when he cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Everyone greeted him with smiling 'good mornings' and turned their attention back to you.

 ¨What is going on here?¨

¨Captain did you know Y/N can see dead people?!¨ 

The coffee left a bitter aftertaste on his mouth.

¨What?¨

¨Yeah, Captain!¨ Shachi yelled on Law´s face, earning a death glare ¨She just described my mom!¨

¨Really, Y/N-ya? Now you´re a magician and a psychic?¨ he asked, taking the seat across from you. 

¨The perks of being me.¨ you shrugged. 

¨Do you see more dead people here?¨ 

Yes

¨No. But you sound a little skeptical, Law.¨ 

It was way too early for that discussion, but your biological clock didn't seem to care. Whenever Law came with his teasing, you would be ready to strike back.

He gave everyone a lecture about empathic accuracy and how good you were reading cues communicated by words, emotions, and body language. Or some crap like that. 

¨Ok, let me see if I got this right.¨ You shifted in the chair, hands moving in the air ¨You can pull organs out of people´s bodies, cut them in pieces without killing, switch their souls, but you do not believe that I can see dead people?¨

He tilted his head, but not giving you an exact answer.  

¨Do you wanna know what I think?¨

¨No.¨

¨I´ll tell you anyway. I think you have something you don´t want people to know, like a soft spot or a tragic past.¨ you sought the answer in his eyes ¨I´m guessing a loved one who died?¨ 

Overall, he was not wrong. You were a master in reading people´s body language, but you were not a jackass. So when the slight twitch of his mouth cleared up your doubts, it was time to stop. 

You knew how it felt, soft spots, tragic pasts, or late loved ones. There was no need to go further and throw more salt on his wounds. Hopefully, that taught him a lesson. 

An awkward silence ensued while everyone watched the scene, uncertain how to act, fearful that an extra spark would make everything explode into massive destruction.

¨Whatever.¨ he sighed ¨Show´s over. We´ll be reaching land in a few days, and we should be preparing to dock.¨ 

When everyone left the kitchen to go about their businesses, you remained alone with the figure that constantly wandered the submarine. He didn't do it in a creepy way. Despite his extravagant makeup and the intimidating aura, he was not a bother.

And it wasn't like he was there all the time, definitely more than anyone else. His passages were guaranteed on the days when Law was more sensitive. For bad or for good. He would look after him from the distance like a parenting figure. 

¨Who are you?¨ you murmured under your breath. 

For the next few days, Law made sure you were too busy to foster discussions about dead people or paranormal abilities.

When your services stealing rare supplies or getting answers to your Captain's questions you weren't required, you would help him with mountains of paperwork.

Only this time, he had outdone himself.

He managed to assemble the annual check-up of the crew, the inventory packing list, and the update of the logbook at once. This last one could easily wait until after you docked. But that freaking workaholic sadistic surgeon would not let this opportunity slip. So you pulled several all-nighters writing, signing, and stamping, all without exchanging a single word.

When you emerged, a few miles from land, you barely enjoyed the fresh breeze and sunlight. The crew hopped around, getting ready to put their feet on the continent as you sat in the kitchen profusely grouchy.

Your brain was fried, burnt, carbonized. 

¨You´re not coming?¨ Penguin asked, and you shook your head. ¨It´s been a while, Y/N, you should come.¨ you shook your head again. ¨I guess you´re not buying anything for the Captain´s birthday as well.¨

An incohesive question came out of your exhausted being. Penguin couldn´t help but feel sorry for you. ¨By the time his birthday comes up, we will be underwater, so everyone is preparing.¨ 

¨Do I have to?¨

¨No!¨ he chuckled ¨He doesn´t really like it, but we still buy him something.¨

¨Why?¨

¨´Cause he is a good Captain!¨ he said and sprunt out by the voice of someone calling him, waving goodbye at you. 

 It wasn't that you didn´t think Law was a good Captain. It was just an inherent nature of yours to clash every time you looked at each other. 

But on such occasion, you could combine the useful with the pleasant. After all, you were grateful because he gave you friends. Of course, he was the unfortunate by-product that came with them, but you could handle him. 

So fighting against your will to stay and sleep, you forced your way out to the solid ground, hoping to find the most random store someone could wish for, a haberdasher. 

Much to your delight, you did it. You picked a burgundy color wool and the first hook you put your eyes on and returned to your soft bed. 

The chances of you having scared your crewmates by staring at the blank for hours were high. In reality, you wanted to memorize and come up with a pattern for the strange-looking beanie that man wore. 

It had no pompom at the top like Penguin´s. Instead, two long pieces of fabric ran down from each side with heart-like things hanging.

When the sixth day of the tenth month arrived, Law´s desk was cluttered with presents. You had decided to wait until you were done with work and heading to bed to give it to him. 

After conquering that task, you locked yourself in your room, where you stayed until you had it finished. For some reason, you bothered to buy a box to put it in. Whatever.  

On the sixth day of the tenth month, Trafalgar Law could not focus on work. Every slight movement of yours, every bathroom break got him jittery, rehearsing words that wouldn´t make you hate him more. 

Not that you ever hated him, but you didn´t talk, so he didn´t know. After some time starting small talks and being ignored, you just gave up trying. 

By the end of that night, he had given up too. So when you placed the golden-yellow box on his desk, he couldn´t vocalize his feelings. It became just another silent night. 

Chests tight and hearts clogged with unspoken words. 

Law did not work for the next couple of days, and if he left his room, no one saw. The gifts on his desk were not even opened. Everything was left the way it was. 

Maybe you had crossed a line. 

As you marched up to the room at the end of the hall, several paths popped into your mind. You could act like you didn´t care, so what if you left? You had been alone for so long, it wouldn't make any difference! Still, something was begging you to apologize. To ask to stay, because being there was good, everything you never knew you wanted.

You were ready to pack your bags and have your title as a Heart Pirate retracted when you woke up one morning, finding a note on your desk telling you to meet him in his room. Your nails dug into your sweaty palms. Where did this tightness in your chest come from?

When you set foot in the room, your eyes hovered around. It was the first time you saw Law's room. It was exactly how you thought it would be.

Keeping your gaze locked on his was more difficult. He was sitting in an armchair near the foot of the bed. From afar, his appearance remained neat, as always, but as you approached you saw the circles under his eyes even darker. A thing you didn't think was possible.

For the first time, you didn't know how to read his expression. And seeing him vulnerable like that made your stomach drop. So you prepared yourself for the worst. However, to your surprise, all he did was ask you questions. 

No snarky remarks. You just talked.    

That day something changed. And from that day on, Law had found someone to help him carry the unbearable weight he had on his shoulders, and you found a place to call home. 

                                                             ...

¨Y/N-ya.¨ he called you, who was a cuddle away from sleeping.

¨Hm?¨

¨Before you left, in Sabaody...¨

¨Uhm.¨

¨You stole the coin again, didn´t you?¨ 

You giggled and pulled the commemorative coin from your back pocket, snuggling closer to his body and feeling the vibration of his chest as he chuckled.

Extra notes: I hope you had enjoyed it! It came out a little too long, but I have been feeling like I´m limiting myself when it comes to the number of words... I don´t know, I´m confused. 

Anyway, is that pink and red that I see on the horizon?

[lvnatiq]

Modern!au Felix Escellun x tattoo artist!gn!reader | Headcanons

a/n: Hey!!! I’m back at it again with my beautifully fucked up request fill. I’m still working on three other things, while I make you wait I took it upon myself to not starve this fandom. So here you have it. Please reblog or comment so that I have a crumb of motivation to keep up.

Should I do a smutty pt. 2 ? Who knows lmao.

Your hand slipped through the pile of designs that your colleague (and your close friend) had sent you to choose and pick apart from.

Unfortunately you were spending the night at the beautiful library of your uni, trying to balance off your school work with your actual work.

You didn’t mind spending your time under the faint scent of books and the mere sound of wood beneath you feet, but what you ‘do’ mind is the fact that the library is way colder than you thought it would be after the midnight.

Good thing that the yearning for finishing your work and leaving as soon as possible made it easier to concentrate on the task at hand.

It also made it easier for you to not notice the presence of an unexpected company.

That was until you felt the warm floral yet musky scent invade your senses as you felt the weight of cotton drape around your shoulders.

You slowly turn your head towards the owner of the coat who’s already making their way out. Desperately trying to find a way to make them stop but failing to raise your voice because of the circumstances.

The last picture of the person buried in your head was their hair caressed by the wind and their quick steps.

Fast forward to a week later, going completely out of luck with finding a place to stay you decide to ask help from your friend whom interestingly has a lot to offer.

With things going a lot smoother than you expected you stopped by the tattoo shop to finish your appointments with couple of customers before you left to meet up with your possible candidate.

“Don’t bother I’ll just call him here so you could talk comfortably.”

Your work seemed to take a lot longer than usual. So you kindly accepted your friends offer as you wrapped up the leftover stuff, finishing up the last customer.

“Hey, oh-“

The sight of your guest tickled your memories as you kept glaring at the glorious figure in front of you.

Felix, completely avoiding eye contact, placed the fallen hair strand behind his ear as he kept his eyes on the table of the tattoo equipments.

You quickly got up as you grabbed his coat from the hanger and walked back where you left him.

“Thank you for the coat, you really saved me back there.”

“Oh- no problem.”

That day you two chatted and melted the ice in between. Deciding to rent the close by apartment and start your roommate era.

Your friend smiled to themselves knowing all too well that felix was completely crazy about you.

Your encounter at the library wasn’t a coincidence either, well don’t think of him as a stalker now, he just dumped a couple of coins in the fountain wishing that you would be there that night. That’s all.

As you two moved in together you realized that there were a lot of things to be ‘caught off guard’ about him but you were most baffled by the tremendous amount of books felix owned.

“Hey Lover boy ! Would you mind recommending me some of them ?”

Felix blushes terribly and you love it so much that you constantly bother him in order to catch a glimpse of his flustered state.

Unbeknownst to you, the pile that felix left on the doorstep of your room was consisted of the books that he thought of you as he read.

Felix, abandoning his night owl habit, decided to fix his sleeping schedule for the better. Definitely not because he wanted to see you at morning before you got off to the work.

Insisting on offering you a ride on your way back home with his nice car.

Nearly every single day.

He knows that it may annoy you but he knows how much you are devoted to your responsibilities so he at least wants for you to save a bit of energy before you dive into the work.

Speaking of his nice car, it tickled your curiosity so you decided to check the price tag on the web and... well...

“Felix... you don’t so some sketchy illegal shit for a living right ?”

“It’s nearly impossible for me to work at the moment because of my studies. Why did you ask ?”

“Your car costs more than the apartment we are living in right now.”

With that, you discover that Felix’s father owns one of the most prominent chains of pharmaceutical companies and that he basically flee from his fathers mansion because he was pressuring Felix to take over his position in the future.

Being his puppet was not a thing to be tolerated in Felix’s book.

That being said, your domestic life with felix was pretty soft to say the least.

Cleaning together, cooking while talking about how your day went or getting to enjoy his expressions while he spilled his frustration against authors that didn’t affect him well.

Occasionally noticing the new cooking books appearing out of nowhere

and the delicious smell of food welcoming you after work, quite often than you expect.

Finally, more skinship.

One day whilst you two got through the gates of your apartment block you noticed the open doors of the elevator so instinctively you held Felix by the hand and ran into the mirrored box.

What you didn’t notice was the fact that you didn’t let go of his hand as you two went up.

From that day on Felix used every single opportunity to sneak his hand into yours.

Don’t blame him, it’s just that your hands are warm and the feeling of security that radiates from your fingertips is his medicine.

You absolutely avoided to tease or point it out to him because you knew that he would never do it again so you went with the flow.

You really enjoyed it though.

Snaking your arms around his waist while he is organizing the bookshelf. Feeling him shutter into your arms.

Nights became more and more enjoyable once he started to accompany you.

Everytime you caught him slacking on the sofa, you used his lap as a pillow.

Felix is extremely easy to figure out, mainly because he can’t hide anything.

Also, well

He is ticklish and you use his weakness against him, a lot.

Diving your fingers down to the sides of his tummy you started to tickle every possible sensitive spot you could catch on.

“Spit it out.”

“I-I wan’t you to- give me my first tattoo.”

Telling his words apart from his adorable giggles, needless to say you were ecstatic.

“Alright. What do I get in return ?”

“Name your price.”

You thoughtfully stared at the ceiling, humming as you blurted out your very obviously well thought out response.

“I want you to show me what keeps you up all night.”

You can’t be serious.

If you asked for an organ, he would’ve been more compliant.

You didn’t know what you got yourself into.

You basically asked for him to show you his ‘masterpieces’ that he showcases on AO3. Something that you were already well aware of.

“Deal ?”

“No !”

“Good ! Let’s see what you got.”

Felix anonymously contributed to the community by writing some of the most famous slow-burn stories on the web.

Just so you know, his author persona blew up thanks to the mind blowing, earth shattering smuts he wrote.

Yeah you heard that right

Smuts

Well he is fucking panicking now.

Nonetheless days kept on going as felix prayed each night to every single deity that you forgot your ‘deal’.

The days go on even if his worries don’t.

Did I say that Felix is a whimpering, whiny mess ? he struggles to stay in one position as the needle drags upon his skin.

“If you plan to keep on moving, I might as well strap you down felix. 5 more minutes and then we are done. Please behave.”

When you put it like that how can he refuse I mean you made things worse he is internally screaming at what you just said but he is not going to refuse a command when it’s given by you.

In exchange for giving him a tattoo you decide to let him give you one even though he’s inexperienced.

He’s terrified because he thinks that something would go wrong, his hand would slip or something and he would scratch that pretty skin of yours with a horrendous tattoo.

But you assured him nevertheless and offered him to draw something very minimal and easy. He accepted eventually.

As it turns out Felix is a natural. His hand is extremely steady and the tattoo turns out great.

Throughout the process he’s constantly asking if you’re hurt because he thinks that he’s doing something wrong but in fact he’s very delicate and gentle with the strokes and his touch.

You decide to be evil and use it against him. After you touch up your tattoo you lean in very closely and turn your cheek towards him.

“What are you doing ?” He stutters.

“I can’t possibly ask you to kiss my freshly made tattoo, so won’t you give me a kiss so that it heals faster.”

If his hands were steady before they weren’t now.

As soon as his lips left your cheek you held him by his wrist and pull him back close again so that you can lean in onto his ear.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten our deal. I am excited to see what you have in store for me tonight.” You winked.

Then the worst thing happened

The “tonight” came.

Felix was running in circles around the living room with one hand on his forehead wondering what could get worse after this.

Maybe you’ll be disgusted or scared hell if he knows.

He wanted to do nothing to harm your relationship in anyway because you and what you two have is all he ever wanted.

...and he believes that he has a tendency to ruin things.

But what happened was beyond his expectations.

Your eyes followed every single sentence throughout the screen, the white light traced your expressions as your eyebrows raised up and down and the corners of your lips inched closer to your ears. Your lower lip became a victim of your teeth’s assault.

He was so confused. Still waiting for you to lash out or make fun of him, at least.

“I used to think ‘what am I gonna do with you’ when it comes to you. Mostly out of frustration.”

Yet here you were with the laptop closed shut and your arms behind your head as you closed your eyes and groaned.

Slowly the smile plastered on your face grew.

”Now I know what to with you.”

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 7: Daisychain

***

“Mr. Harrington? Who’s your favorite student?”

The question came about at least once every year without fail, and he’d always answer in the same, textbook way.

“I don’t have favorites. I love all my kids equally.”

And, deservedly so, the whole class would grunt and moan because they knew just as well as he did that it was a load of bullshit. Steve loved every one of his kids, that part wasn’t a lie, but… he also definitely had his favorites.

For the graduating class of ‘90 when he was only a teaching assistant his name was Daniel. He was the youngest in his class because he started early, and he was incredibly bright. He could count higher, he could read quicker, and his mind just worked in ways that no adult could possibly understand. But it wasn’t the textbook intelligence that made Steve fall for this kid. It was his emotional intelligence. He was funny and he was kind and five year olds were cruel, but he never let that get to him. He had an outlook on life that Steve was jealous of, so when the other kids would turn him down for a game of checkers, Steve would happily join him, because Steve saw it as his job to keep that kid kind.

For the class of ‘91 it was Christopher. He was nothing like Daniel. He was held back and was repeating kindergarten, and that was evident in the way he walked through life. He was quiet and would voluntarily remove himself from the rest of the class. He’d sit by himself and read a book and get frustrated when he didn’t understand one of the words, he would swing by himself and he always tried to sneak off with the first graders when it was time to line up. And Steve perfectly resonated with that feeling of watching all of your friends move on without you. He was left in the dust too. When all his classmates moved on to college or hightailed it out of Hawkins, Steve was left there by himself, working at Family Video with his only friend in the grade below him, and it took her leaving him as well for Steve to finally get his shit together, haul his ass west of the Mississippi, and enroll in a community college and work towards his teaching degree.

And he did it, against all odds and obstacles in his way, he did it. It took extra work and the support of his best friend who he followed, and he did it. He saw himself in Christopher, and he wasn’t going to make that kid wait as long as he did to realize that setbacks don’t define his future.

Steve usually took a liking to the quiet kids, and that only changed in ‘93 with the girl named Amy and the familiar last name. She was loud, vibrant, and everyone loved her. Her smile was contagious and she could be the sweetest little girl at times, but she also wore her heart on her sleeve. She cried quite a bit, just the littlest thing could set her off. A boy accidentally knocking over her blocks, not knowing how to spell a certain word, accidentally coloring outside the lines. She didn’t throw tantrums like he saw in the other kids. She would just bow her head and cry and it would break Steve’s heart every time.

But other than those few moments, she was bright and charismatic and with the last name, the blonde curly hair, and the big personality, Steve really should have put it all together much sooner than he did.

He didn’t put it all together until he saw Billy Hargrove in the soup aisle at the local grocery store wearing a chain of little daisies on his head like a crown, and he knew exactly where it was from.

It was from the little girl named Amy Hargrove who frolicked in the field instead of playing on the playground, collecting flowers that she meticulously made into bracelets and crowns and anything else she put her mind to. She gave them to friends, she even gave one to Steve, and of course she would give one to her dad too.

He looked so different, and yet exactly the same. He still had the damn mullet, just dragging the eighties with him as far as he could, he was a little more cleaned up but still had a similar style to what it was in highschool. Still with the same denim jacket, denim jeans, Canadian tuxedo type deal. In a side by side picture situation you wouldn’t really be able to tell the difference. It wasn’t his dress or his hair or anything physical about him that made him look so different, it was the way that he carried himself. It was the relaxation and the eyes that didn’t droop and the smile lines that didn’t used to be there that made him almost entirely unrecognizable from the Billy Hargrove who pushed freshman against lockers and drove his car too loud and too fast and had cigarettes for three meals a day. Not the kid who ran off to California as soon as the hospital released him with only his Camaro and a small suitcase and a large sum of money the government used to keep his mouth shut, leaving just a note for Max on the fridge that didn’t get any more specific than that about where he was going, not even leaving a phone number for her to contact him with. He also didn’t look like the kid they all pictured in their heads after basically the whole town found out about exactly what Neil Hargrove did to his son behind closed doors.

Steve wanted to go up to him in the store, but he stopped himself. Because Billy left. Without a trace or a word, and who was Steve to think that Billy having to be reminded of something he voluntarily abandoned without a second thought would have any sort of positive outcome?

So he turned down the aisle and kept his distance from the man in the flower crown because he was scared. He wasn’t scared that Billy would see him and turn back to his old ways and hurt him again, he was scared that he’d turn back to his old ways and hurt himself again.

Because he’d been hurt enough already.

Steve successfully avoided Billy until parent teacher conferences had rolled around, and instead of seeing Amy’s mom on the list of names he’d be seeing that day, it was Billy’s.

Steve would be lying if he didn’t think about calling in sick and sending his TA in his place. But he still had to be her teacher for another six months, he just had to get the interaction over with.

Many of the parents that came before Billy had to have known he was on edge about something considering he excessively tapped the table with the eraser of his pencil and stuttered his way through conversations. His organized folders and notes of talking points had been entirely thrown out the window and he was an absolute nervous wreck. And he could only anticipate it being ten times worse when the cause of said anxiety walked through his door with the long hair and the leather jacket. It was only with the help of the little girl in the sunflower dress and daisies in her hair skipping from the entrance to the chair in front of him that calmed his nerves just a bit.

But Billy had just stayed at the door, no movement, and any hope that Steve had that perhaps his new haircut and the glasses on his face would be enough to keep Billy from noticing the obvious vanished when Billy snapped his fingers like the lightbulb in his head finally flickered on.

“I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

Steve just held out his hand to shake like he did with any other parent, unsure how to gage the situation because Billy’s words could go either way and his facial expressions didn’t give him anything to go off of. It would be weird to introduce himself, he didn’t know what to say.

“Hi, I’m Amy’s teacher. Should we start?”

Billy looked a little confused, but he sat down in the little kindergartener chairs anyway. This meeting was almost more organized than the ones prior, likely because he was trying to go as quickly as possible and get it over with. Steve showed Billy some of her artwork and commented on how her reading comprehension was great but she could work on her spelling a little more. He didn’t want to bring it up, but he brought up the crying and it hurt to see how him bringing it up set her off again. The same bowing of the head and quiet sniffles into her sleeve.

But Steve thinks he just fell in love a little watching Billy comfort her. With one hand rubbing circles into her back and the other holding her small hand. Steve feels like shit watching her cry because of him and is also semi-fearful for his life because he already knows he can’t take Billy in a fight.

“Baby, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with crying. It’s okay.”

“You’re dad’s right Amy. I think it’s very healthy. Crying is good for you.”

She looks up at Steve with those big blue eyes and tear stained cheeks when he says that.

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah! I’d say it even makes you more mature. Even some adults I know don’t let themselves cry and it’s not good.”

“My daddy cries a lot too.”

Steve looks at Billy who’s eyes widen when she says it, then tries to laugh it off like she didn’t just say that.

“Hey Amy, you wanna go and play while your daddy and I talk for a minute?”

She just nods her head and wipes away her remaining tears and quickly hauls the bucket of Lincoln Logs off the shelf.

“So. It’s been a while. Hasn’t it?” Steve starts.

“Yeah it has. So, you’re a teacher now.”

“And you’re a father. That’s crazy.” Steve was fiddling with his hands, trying to make the conversation less awkward. “She’s wonderful by the way.”

“Yeah. She doesn’t get it from me.”

Steve just shakes his head. “No. I don’t think that’s true. She has your charisma, and it appears you found a better way of channeling your emotions since last we saw each other. She’s a lot like you.”

“Thanks.” Billy blushed. He actually blushed. “I don’t know if this is allowed considering you’re her teacher, but would you want to catch up sometime? Maybe dinner or something?”

There it was. That was the olive branch. And Steve would be an absolute fool not to take it.

“I’d love to.”

Before they could come up with a time or a place, Amy was running over to the table with loudly stomping feet.

“I almost forgot! Daddy! show Mr. Harrington what I brought him!”

Billy reached into his pocket upon her demand and pulled out a little bracelet made out of little daisies and honeysuckle and handed it over to Steve.

“Thank you Amy! It’s lovely.”

“Daddy show him yours!”

Steve looked to Billy’s wrist where he slowly lifted his sleeve to reveal an almost exact replica to the bracelet in his hand.

“Looks like we’re matching.”

[another-fantasy-world]

Theirs, In Every Way Possible

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Pairing: Jemily x Fem! Reader, JJ x Reader x Emily

Summary: JJ and Emily thought that their life couldn’t get any better, until they met you. However, what happens when you aren’t completely truthful to them and the team who was already a family to you? 

Warnings: Canon Violence, Reader came from a serial killer family, Reader has so many traumas, Homophobia, Reader has trust issues and is very indecisive. Y/N might frustrate you. Major Character Injuries.

Word Count: 3816 words

GIF isn’t mine

This case is completely made up from the top of my head, so if there are any similarities in the episodes in CM, they were probably just carved in my brain. Also, this might be a little ooc because I can’t just seem to tap into their personalities just yet

I’m sorry, I tried making this as angsty as I possibly could, I’m still working on my angst.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were fairly new to the BAU, only working there for about 6 months, and yet you fit in really easily. It definitely helped that you were the sunshine- Penelope Garcia’s bestfriend and that Erin Strauss couldn’t bring herself to dislike you. But what matters the most to them is that fact that you were a genius. No, not like Dr. Reid genius. You understood the serial killers in a personal level, and you would often coax the weapon out of their hand and get them to submit and surrender. Of course, when they confronted you about it, you easily lied and they somehow accepted that. So much for being profilers.

You never really did know when you first started seeing the couple in a new light. Yes you liked them both. It never really mattered since you just knew that it would just fade away. It was already embedded in your brain that everyone eventually leaves and that being too close to anyone would only get them killed. You learned that the hard way. But that didn’t stop you from admiring them from the shadows. It didn’t stop you from smiling whenever they talk, it didn’t stop you from memorizing their features like they were about to vanish into thin air, it didn’t stop you from admiring how JJ controlled the media, or how Emily used that voice when she’s speaking to the unsub and it didn’t stop you from admiring how well they fit each other, how their hands fit like puzzle pieces, and how your heart clenches in awe when you see them cuddled up with each other. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself, you desperately needed to get away from them, but you also wanted and needed to be around them. God, you knew you sounded like a hormonal teenager. 

“This is Daryln Garcia, Ahron Balydyn, Abbey Banagher and Jehoushua Castiel. Their names are on top of the list of the recent chain of murders all over each state.” Garcia winced at the pictures that she had to present to the whole team, she never did seem to get used to it

“Some of these are from waaaaay long before, why only now?” Emily asks from her seat , which was coincidentally next to yours

 “The M.O’s are all over the place, which is why they didn’t connect the murders until now. The only thing connecting them are black sticky notes that are posted on the wall and on their body.” Rossi reads out.

“Where’s the latest one?” You ask, sipping your coffee

“...Los Angeles, California.” 

“Wheels up in Five.” Hotch concludes, as everyone gets up to gather themselves. 

After talking and discussing the case a bit more, You all decide to calm down for a few hours, and each and everyone of you set off to do your own things.

“Uh-huh, you’re staring at them again huh.” Garcia teased you through the screen.

Spencer was memorizing and rereading the case files,

Hotch was talking with Rossi, probably discussing the case,

Morgan has his headphones clogging his ears,

JJ and Emily were cuddling with each other as JJ munched on her cheetos.

You were currently seated away from the team, just out of earshot because you knew that Garcia would begin spouting non-sense. 

“Shut up...” You blushed bright red. “...I told you this once, while I was drunk and now you bring it up in every conversation that we have. It’s just a silly little crush, sunshine. It’ll pass.” You told her, playfully glaring at the screen, to which she laughed

“Sure, Gummy Bear. Keep telling yourself that.” She grinned.

When you were about to land, you hung up on your bestfriend before steeling yourself, You didn’t need to acknowledge the gut feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you most certainly ignored the growing headache that you have. 

 JJ and Emily certainly noticed you right from the start. The woman who had no experience in the field whatsoever is suddenly the finest one they ever seen. (or maybe that’s just because they were so attracted to you that they happen to pay too much attention) That wasn’t the only thing they noticed though: They also noticed the tiny change in tone when you talk to either or both of them at the same time, or the way that your head would be the first to turn when they walk in the bullpen, or the way that your eyes would quickly scan them from head to toe before you bury your face into the paperwork that Hotch gave you, just a slight hint of embarrassment in your eyes peeking out from the cover or maybe it was the way that you would breathe a little heavier and talk a little faster when you discussed the case with them. You weren’t painfully obvious, but they were profilers for God’s sake, they notice everything, especially if it’s about you. There was just something so painfully attractive about you that interests them so much. The way your hair flowed as it dances with the wind, The way you licked your lips since they were dry (They tried to get you to use a lip gloss or a lip balm but you fought them, real hard.), The way your body tackled unsubs who got into your nerves (They always had to change clothes after that...), The way your eyes shined when you successfully return and reunite families, The way your mind worked: How you analyze quick, How you look at things in all angles, How you tried to put yourself in the very scene, How you work so well with Spencer and How you always seem to know what to say, every damn time. Maybe it was the way you broke social construct just by wearing a suit everytime you go to work, or it’s probably the smirks you give them when you’re right about something and they were in the wrong. (It makes them want to pounce on you, but they restrain themselves, taking their frustrations out on each other in the privacy of their own home.) But what they hate the most, it how dense you are. At this point, JJ could send you a love letter and you would think that it’s a recent case evidence. 

"...This is Dr. Reid, SSA Prentiss, Y/LN, Morgan, Jareau, and Rossi."

“Right this way, we have arrested a prime suspect this morning.” 

“How?” You ask, lifting two duffle bags and setting them down to your designated table

“She was found lurking around the crime scene and a bloody shirt matching one of the latest victims in his backpack.” 

“Can we have her bag?” Emily asks, approaching the officer

“Yeah sure. Right this way Agent.” He leads her to somewhere while you trail Hotch to the interrogation room, only to freeze in your tracks.

“What the hell” you whispered under your breath, feeling the same suffocating aura when you felt like your past is catching up to you. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You hear Derek ask you.

“I can’t do this. I need to call Garcia. Excuse me.” You replied with a look in your eyes. Derek recognized that same look with Emily when she ran away, pursuing Doyle to protect the team, and he’ll be damned if he let’s history repeat itself.

“Nuh-uh sweetcheeks. I know that look. Tell me.” Derek grips your forearm gently.

“Derek. I promise I won’t run away. And if I’m not back within an hour, track my phone and my ring.” you assured him, pulling your phone out and hurrying outside.

“Garcia. Please tell me that my identity is still concealed.” You begged Penelope while you were stress smoking at the back of the precinct. 

“It is! I promise! There’s no way they would find you! through technology at least.” she ranted. You see, Penelope Garcia doesn’t do well with secrets, but you really needed her, and she understood that. Which is why your secret is the best kept secret she has, she hid your secret for a year now.

“Then tell me why my aunt, who might I add is an absolute psychopath, is in our major suspect list right now?” you panicked, knowing that your “family” has somehow tracked you

“It might be a coincidence, Gummy Bear. But I will look into it! I promise.” 

“Garcia. One more favor. Back up all my files, all of it. From my work laptop, my FBI files, my personal devices, all of it. Then delete them all. I’m going to use a disposable starting now. Pull up the GPS service for my ring, keep an eye on me at all times. I’ll be damned if I see more of my family.” You spat out, stomping out the light of your cigarette, before popping a mint.

“Consider it done. Don’t you think it’s time to tell them?” she carefully asks, knowing how sensitive you are.

“Thank you Garcia, And I will. Once the time is right.” You grumbled, knowing that it’ll be sooner than later.

“Y/N. Tell them before it’s too late. Please, for your sake and for ours too.” 

“I will short stuff. I will.” 

For days you successfully evaded interrogating your aunt, subtly helping them as much as you can without raising suspicion. You knew that this secrecy is going to be revealed soon

“Y/N. We picked up coffee for you.” You suddenly hear JJ behind you, Emily’s hand gently placing the coffee in front of you, her eyes filled with concern

“You didn’t go to your hotel room did you?” Emily accused

“...No” You dropped your head onto the files in front of you

“You need your sleep Y/N. You’re no use when your brain can’t even function.” JJ retorted, taking a seat beside you, with Emily by her side.

“...Fine. A nap on that sofa. That’s it.” You bargained, determination shines in your eyes

“Okay. Go.”

And then, the moment your head hits the arm rest, you blacked out. Only waking up to Derek’s frantic shaking of your body

“Y/N! Get up!” It was rare for Derek to be this panicked and scared, and that gave you anxiety

“What? What is it?!” You stood up, feeling yourself get dizzy my how fast you got up.

“JJ and Emily are gone.”

What?

“Wait- What do you mean- How long was I asleep?” You blinked

“Precisely 4 hours, 36 minutes and 56 seconds.” Reid blurts out from infront the whiteboard.

“What happened for fuck’s sake?” You sat back down, rubbling your head

“Hotch was about to send you in on a lead, but they both volunteered instead.” Rossi explained

“And no one sent backup?” You were angry, barely keeping it in, you were slowly regretting keeping your secret now

“No one knew until now, when JJ and Emily didn’t come back after an hour, Derek went after them, only to find this.” Rossi lifts up the black sticky note.

“Family for Family, Blood for Blood”

“Is it possible that Rayna Torres, is their relative?”

“ Call and Tell Penelope I said Yes.” You point to Derek, knowing that Garcia will know what to do. You’ll let your bestfriend explain, she’ll explain it better since your mind is fogged

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your face hardened, clenching your jaw. You rarely showed anger, or annoyance for that matter, so they didn’t know what to do when you stormed off in pursuit of Hotch.

You found Hotch in the interrogation room, silently observing your Aunt

“Let me talk to her.” You say, earning a nod from him

You stormed in, slamming the door behind you.

“Listen here, you little psychopath. Where are they.” His eyes widened slightly, Hotch didn’t expect you to be so hostile

“There you are. I was beginning to think that we got the wrong team.” She grinned, intertwining her fingers, her wrists still bound to the table by a handcuff.

“I am not in the mood for your games.” You deadpanned, gripping the table to conceal your anger

“Hmmn. You always did have your father’s temper.”

“WHERE. ARE. THEY.” You slammed your palms on the metal table, making a slight dent on it. Ignoring the pain, you glared at her hard

“You know where they are child. I know that you know where they are.” The devilish grin once again appeared on her face.

“If I step foot inside that warehouse, and they are not there, I can’t guarantee your head will still be attached to your shoulders when they prepare you for your casket. Auntie.” At that statement, you walked away with a surprised Hotch on your trail.

He treated you like his very own ever since you knocked on his door, crying your eyes out, ranting about your family. Of course he noticed the small slip-ups you accidentally let out especially when you’re drunk. But it was never enough to completely put the picture together. He knows that you treat him as a father figure. Which is why he can’t let you go in there alone.

“No. Absolutely not. You might die Y/N!” You raised your brow at him, the bulletproof vest never felt as heavy as it is now

“You’ve known me for 6 months, you’ve known them for years. Why are you picking me over them? You know that I’m what they want. You or any other person steps in though that door, they’re all going to be dead before they see JJ and Emily. Not to mention they might kill JJ and Emily too. Please Hotch. This is my battle. If I die, I die. I don’t want to live knowing I could’ve done something.” Those were your last words before you slowly walked to the warehouse door after getting wired.

“This really isn’t the best first impressions you could make on your future daughters-in-law. Father.” You spoke as you saw him pointing a revolver at her, at your Emily.

You almost collapse at their state. JJ’s beautiful blonde hair caked with dirt and blood, she was staring at you, shaking her head, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip is swollen and you could see multiple bruises forming. 

However, Emily’s state was much worse. Her eyebrow was bleeding, her knuckles are bruised, she has small cuts everywhere and you could see that she was struggling to stand up despite being tied by her hands to the ceiling

“This one has a sharp tongue daughter. i don’t appreciate it.” He snarled, now pointing his gun at you

“Last one who said that exact words to had his dick cut in half. Where’s my jerkwad of a brother anyways? How’s his dick? Still has my bite marks? Scars maybe?” You smirked, hearing your “mother” load her gun

“Disrespectful Bitch. Don’t talk to your brother like that, he’s better than you ever will be” She snarled, firing at your feet, slashing through your pants, making you bleed slightly, making JJ scream through her gag.

“Your aim’s getting rusty.” You pulled out both your guns, pointing them at you biological “parents” 

“And you’re wearing a bulletproof vest. Take it off and kick your guns to us. You know what’ll happen if you don’t” you gritted your teeth, taking off the vest despite the protests of Hotch and the rest of the team

“Happy?”  “Very.”

“Now let them go.” You frowned

“No. You see, since you do love them right?” Your father smirked, making you frown

“Yes. I do. I’m in the same team as them for fuck’s sake!” 

“No. No. That’s not just it. You love them in a different way as well. Say it.”

“...” Your mother rolled her eyes at your silence and fired two bullets to Emily and JJ, scraping Emily’s cheek and JJ’s shoulder.

You flinched, you knew not to show emotion, but it’s painful to see the women you love get hurt. 

“Okay! Fine! You want me to say that I love them? I will.” You gritted out

“Go on then, you know how I love my drama shows.” You glared at them, taking a deep breath in, watching them walk out of the room, a bright spotlight aligns itself on the three of you, It really is a sick TV show that your parents would love to watch.

“What they say is true. I don’t know if you noticed it yet. But I do love you, both of you. I really hoped that I could tell you over dinner, or a cup of coffee, but I guess life has other plans. Loving the both of you seems so weird, and unconventional, but who wants to be normal and boring am I right?” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, which they didn’t appreciate.

You moved your hand to their gags slowly, listening for complains from your parents, hearing none, your grabbed their gags and pull them down.

“Y/N-” They both started

“Shhh. Let me speak, you know I don’t have much time.” You smiled, implying that you wouldn’t get out of this alive.

“I notice everything. I do. I’m not as dense as you think I am. I just... I didn’t like the thought of you both getting attached to me. I love you both so much that I knew that if they catch up to me, I could die, or you could get hurt. And now this happened.” JJ shook her head as if to say it isn’t your fault.

“I love you both so much, I love the way you look at each other, often wished I could look at you both like that. I love the way you both force me to sleep then give me coffee in the morning. I love the way your brow furrows when you see a detail in the reports that displeases you, and then you’ll playfully glare at JJ and I when you notice that we’re laughing at you. There’s a lot more that I want to say to you, but I don’t have enough time.” you say, moving closer to them, tears staining their bruised cheek.

“I’ll see you in our usual spot in the coffee shop across the street?” You whisper to JJ, kissing her cheek

“I’ll be copying your move now.” You chuckle lightly, kissing her cheek

A slow clap rang throughout the room.

“Now that is a perfect drama and revenge.” You whipped your head around, only seeing your father. Pulling out your knife from your thigh, you run towards him recklessly, the screams of JJ and Emily’s pleads piercing your ears.

And then three gunshots rang throughout the warehouse, Derek kicked the door down, chasing after your laughing family. Your ears were ringing, you didn’t even notice that you collapsed from the impact. You couldn’t believe it actually worked. You could feel the sticky, red colored cornstarch mixture on your abdomen. However the growing pain on your shoulders prevented you from celebrating.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, the impact of the bullets on your abdomen radiating throughout your body, yet you can also feel the bullet that’s still in your shoulder.

“Y/N. Stay with us come on” Emily whispered, despite her being in a worse condition that you, She still has your hand in a death grip.

“I’ll be fine Em.” You reassure her through jagged breaths, JJ’s crying face invading your view made you smile too. 

The moment that Emily and JJ were free from their binds, they immediately limped towards you as fast as they can, both of them on each of your side, silently wishing that they had more time

“They only managed to shoot me on my shoulder okay? I’ll be fine.” You could see the confusion in their faces, which faded when the paramedics unbuttoned your stained white shirts, only to find another bulletproof vest and an empty plastic bag, previously filled with what they can assume was fake blood. 

Emily’s eyes widen, what you did was dangerous, and extremely risky. You gambled on a unpredictable mess and she wondered how you got Hotch to approve of what you did, only to find out later that Hotch didn’t know either.

You could only smile at them, feeling the drugs the paramedics injected take effect, slowly drowsing off. You were happy they were somewhat safe. You were also happy that you managed to stab your father in his arm. Even if your brother did shoot your shoulder from behind, you were still happy with how things turned out.

Almost regretting what you did when you woke up to a staring Emily, JJ quietly handing you water, before they both scolded you like there’s no tomorrow. 

However, after what seemed like ages of reprimanding from the older women, they both pecked your lips before asking you out on a date.

I guess it all worked out in the end.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Getting real tired of the duffers and their split-second coincidences.

If Murray hadn’t gotten the code wrong, and Suzie hadn’t made Dustin sing with her to get the right code, thus forcing that ridiculously long montage, they could’ve closed the gate before the Russians arrived, so Billy wouldn’t have died and Hopper wouldn’t have been captured. If that random guy hadn’t walked past the Creel house and seen Erica, if Jason hadn’t responded to that tip and crushed the Walkman during the fight, if Mike's speech had taken just a few seconds less, Max wouldn’t have died. If Murray hadn’t been in the right spot at the right time with his flamethrower then Joyce and Hop would’ve died. Actually all of Russia was just one massive predictable chain of events, starting from the moment Joyce got the package, to Enzo conveniently being at the phone when they call back, to Yuri's betrayal conveniently happening in enough time to get them in the prison right before the demogorgon fight, to them finding a grate in the floor that lead to the middle of nowhere but was still close to Yuris hideout, etc. Also the California crew finding the Nina Project at the same exact time it’s being busted so they can take El away before the government realizes she wasn’t killed. The timing of every single moment is way too practiced and forced.

They’ve been doing this shit since season 1, the earliest I can think of being Jonathan taking an extra shift so he conveniently wasn’t home to notice Will went missing overnight or to give him a ride home from the Wheelers. One (usually) implausible thing after another building and building until it’s just over in the end and you feel empty because nothing really happened. It’s honestly getting boring. You can’t make a good show out of pure tension with no big pay-off. They drag out these sequences just for the outcome to be exactly the same. Hopper was in Russia for all nine episodes, and then he gets like five minutes to reunite with his family. Talk about rushed. We all knew he was going to survive, so putting him in these situations that were never going to end badly for them just made the Russia sequences feel long and unnecessary. And later, if Mike hadn’t said anything and El gave up, Max still would’ve died because the Walkman was broken. So what did the love confession add? They already created the setup, we could’ve skipped the middle entirely because it didn’t actually change anything in the long run. This is how they end up with details that they forget completely and it’s honestly just a frustrating way to write a story.

But they keep doing this over and over, crafting these extremely high stakes situations that they think are plot twists, where the predicted outcome still happens in the end, and there’s loose ends left over. That’s why I think the ending of the Piggyback felt so flat. Because it was the first moment in the season pretty much that wasn’t pinballing off of another. It felt like the start of the next season instead of a meaningful conclusion to everything that had happened in this season. Because after killing off two characters, their tension was used up, and they had to find a way to start over and fill in all the gaps they’d left in the storytelling while they were chasing those high-strung, coincidental plots. At some point, they realized they’d written themselves into a dead spot by beating this tactic to death and just went with a spongebob time card to fix all their narrative problems for them while they dumped all of the plot exposition into a half hour block of dramatic shots, which very much just felt out of place as a conclusion to this massive season with multiple episodes the length of films.

[anotherplacemag]

Black Was The River, You See | Dan Wood

The Ogmore is an unremarkable river. From its source at Craig Ogwr (527m) it runs approximately 28km before meeting up with the Bristol Channel at Ogmore-by-Sea. It is a river that has been a constant in my life. I grew up with it and know it well. As a child almost everything I did seemed to revolve around the river - swimming, fishing, camping alongside its banks, watching the annual raft-race and just general mischief. It has taken me many years to appreciate it and its role in local society, so I felt that this was my chance to pay tribute.

Ever since I can remember, the river has been fairly healthy, full of salmon, trout, and eel, but this hasn’t always been the case. It used to run black. Heavy industry (mainly coal mining) in the South Wales valleys caused all of the rivers to run black with coal dust. The rivers were damaged significantly, and since the closure of most of the mines in the 1970s & 80’s, an extensive clean-up operation has been underway. Vast improvements have been made, the river has recovered well and the fish have returned. However, due to its proximity to certain industrial sites, issues from invasive weeds, and general detritus, the river is still far from what is considered clean.

There were many challenges during the making of this work, and for a while I didn’t think it would ever be completed. Mid-way through, In 2019, I finished work on a character study - Pove the Great, which featured a troubled local called Steve Povey. Making that short series was a deeply unsettling experience and the realism of it weighed heavy on me. Spending time with Steve was extremely enjoyable but his story had a profound effect on me and not only triggered an existential crisis but, for some reason, crippled my confidence in terms of making work in general. An arduous chain of events then followed; family tension, job worries, financial difficulties and a frustrating absence of opportunities within photography all contributed to me very nearly hanging up my camera for good. These sobering events subsequently caused the narrative of this project to deviate and become complex and multi-layered - what began as a straightforward story of Wales' industrial past now included significant threads about childhood, family, friendship, life and death.

This transitional period in my life was successfully navigated thanks to the guidance from some of my closest friends within the photography world. I have undeniably changed for the better since the start of this work and I’ve also learned a valuable life lesson: family first, photography second.

I have undeniably changed for the better since the start of this work and I’m eternally grateful for the guidance, through those dark, confusing times, from some of my closest friends within the photography world. I’ve also learned a valuable life lesson: family first, photography second.

Then (of course), came Coronavirus. The project was completed during the early onset of the pandemic, when the entire country underwent lockdown and fear was palpable. Fortunately, we live in close proximity to the river and could regularly visit as a family during our ‘daily exercise’. The river was our sanctuary during this time and it provided the fix of normality that we were so very desperate for. It’s reassuring to know that the river will now be a prominent part of my children’s lives too.

Family also seeps into the project title. I never had grandparents as they had all passed away before I was born, in 1974, and yet, I was always fascinated with my grandfather on my mother’s side, Evan Jones. I felt a connection to him and think it’s probably because he was the grandparent that was talked about the most. Evan was a coal miner in the Rhondda valley all of his life - until the grand age of 69, in fact. I’ve always wondered what he was like, “a sweet, lovely, little man,” according to my mother. I miss him even though I never knew him. I imagine sitting on a hill with him, overlooking the valley, talking about past times, the ‘stay in’ strike of 1935, the simple life they led and the hardship and oppression of working for the greedy pit owners. He would glaze over when prompted about the industry that destroyed his beautiful valley and in his strong Welsh accent, would begin: “Well, the river ran black, you see.”

website

instagram

twitter

book - we’re featuring this fantastic body of work to coincide with the release of the book of the series, Dan’s 3rd photobook, which follows on from the epic (and now out of print) ‘Gap In The Hedge’. Published by Kozu Books, we highly recommend bagging a copy!

All images & text © Dan Wood

[miss-tc-nova]

For You - Brain

This is pretty in line with KH:DR if I’m being honest. P:

~~~~~

           “You don’t have to leave.”

           Though his voice is steady, Eraqus feels his world crumbling around him. Nevertheless, here he stands, the vision of the young man before him flickering. He can’t let this turn out like last time; he’ll be destroyed if it does.

           In the four years since the tragedy, things have only gone downhill. Eraqus had just begun healing from the trauma of his past, only for it all to come crashing back down. The darkness had taken even more people from him and Eraqus couldn’t forgive himself.

           At his side stood Xehanort, ever steady and always pulling him forward—at least for a while. Recently, Xehanort had been secluding himself, burying his nose in books and going off-world alone. These things wouldn’t normally be a problem, but the fact that his boyfriend refused to let Eraqus join is what hurt the most, driving him back into his depression.

           And then Xehanort announced that he was leaving. Eraqus was crushed. He knew Xehanort was looking for something, but he refused to let Eraqus in on it. They’ve had this argument several times now and, while he wants to scream at the seeker for trying to leave without a word, Eraqus is far more desperate for him to stay.

           “What happened wasn’t your fault.” It was mine.

           Xehanort lifts his gaze from the graves. “I Just want to see what’s out there before the Mark of Mastery exam.”

           “That’s not for a while. Besides, you’ve already seen what’s out there.” That’s how we lost them.

           The young man shakes his head. “Not everything.”

           Fear gnaws at Eraqus’s insides. “What are you looking for?”

           Silence. Then, without a word, Xehanort turns to walk past Eraqus.

           Fists clench, but he puts on a front. “So you’re gonna run away just as the underdog’s about to take the lead?”

           That stops Xehanort in his tracks. Only the sound of pouring rain consumes them until Xehanort speaks.

           “Don’t you miss them?”

           The front falters. “Of course I do.”

           “What about the Dandelions?”

           Unsure of where this is going, Eraqus answers. “Every day.”

           From his pocket, Xehanort pull the chain necklace. “And what about them?”

           At the sight of the ring, Eraqus clams up. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t been thinking of the past often as of late, and he’s pretty sure that Xehanort is aware of that. Still, his silence frustrates Xehanort who turns back.

           “Don’t you want to see them again?”

           “What does it matter? We can’t change the past.”

           “You don’t know that,” snaps Xehanort. “I’m going to try, even if it’s the last thing I ever do. I’m going to fix this, E—”

           That feels like a knife to the heart. He can’t remember the last time he heard Xehanort say his name; in fact, he’s certain his young lover has gone out of his way to avoid saying it. Eraqus has his suspicions as to why, but gods he wishes he was wrong.

           “Say it.” Eraqus stands firm as Xehanort turns an empty stare on him. “Say my name.”

           His fist tightens on the chain. “I’m going to fix this, for you, Grandmaster Brain.”

           There it is. Xehanort is doing everything he can to separate himself from Eraqus, using a name from another life Xehanort had nothing to do with. At least as far as Xehanort knows.

           Along with Eraqus’s suspicions that Xehanort would leave him, he’d begun to piece together similarities between them. Simple things from Xehanort’s specific way of eating things to the way his nose crinkled when he laughed. Then there was the way he treated Eraqus; it may be sharper than the one he called “darlin’” but there’s no doubt that Xehanort was always trying to protect him.

           Of course, Eraqus told himself over and over that these were merely coincidences—it was wrong of him to compare the two. Still, the thought never left him. In fact, the more he dwelt on it, the more right it seemed. The sheer fact Xehanort had that ring already connected them.

           But how could he tell him that without possibly destroying who Xehanort was? How would he take the idea that he may be someone else reincarnated? Would he be able to accept that Eraqus really did love him for him and not just because he might be someone else?

           None of this would be happening if only Brain had been strong enough.

           “Anyway, I think it’s best that I gave this back to you.” The ring flies through the air at Eraqus, denying him the chance to refuse.

           “We made a deal,” Eraqus argues.

           Xehanort’s response is empty. “Hopefully, when I’m done, you can keep your promise to the one you actually bought that fore.”

           Tears meld with the rain on his face as his emotions begin to get the better of him. “Why are you doing this?!”

           “I already told you why.”

           “So you’re just going to leave me for a mission that might not even work?!” Eraqus yells. “Risk your life for what’s likely to be a failure?! I know you’re not stupid, so why are you doing this to me?!”

           It’s small, but Xehanort’s shoulders shudder in laughter. “Because I love you.”

           It’s happening again and anything he says to make Xehanort stay will be meaningless. This is how it always is. Someone’s always hurting to protect him.

           “Wait!” He rushes forward, snagging the seeker’s wrist. “Marry me!”

           “What?!”

           As if the strongest gravity spell befell him, his knees hit the stone path. “Marry me! Please! I’m begging you!” Xehanort doesn’t answer and the fear from long ago swells. “I don’t know what to do without you! I’m scared to be alone again! Please don’t leave me! Not you too!”

           “You…” Even Xehanort’s voice quavers. “You’ll be okay.”

           “No, I won’t! My union, my friends, my partner: I lost them all! I can’t-…Please don’t make me do this again!”

           Warm hands cup his face just before a soft kiss meets his forehead.

           “I’m going to fix this.”

           Eyes filled with pity watch Eraqus as Xehanort backs away. Then, the boy in black lifts his hood and walks away.

           “YOU SAID YOU WOULD BE RIGHT BESIDE ME!” His sanity fraying at the seams, Eraqus slams a fist against the ground. “…To make sure I don’t sink any lower.”

           But Xehanort never looks back.

           Without Xehanort, Eraqus truly does fall. The happiness that was his saving grace is gone, replaced with a hatred for the darkness that surpassed obsessive. He sought tirelessly to go beyond the strength he had as an old master, determined to win this time.

           And it led him down a very dark road.

~~~~~

Next

Nova’s Kingdom Hearts Masterlist