#but if they all stay alive and she chooses neither of them and it’s implied in the future she might end up with Jon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smurphyse · 2 years ago

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Lokisdottir

Series Masterlist | Smurph’s Masterlist

Part 14 of The Arrangement

Word count: 3287

Warnings: grief, mentions of death and dying, implied murder, fear

Summary: Loki tries to hold it together while he waits for Adora to wake up.

Loki rubbed his eyes harshly in an attempt to stay awake. It was nearing midnight, and he'd spent hours by Adora’s side.

Holding her uncharacteristically cold hand, Loki whispered to her under soft candlelight. Every now and then he'd brush his hands through her curls and kiss her forehead.

He'd sponged the blood and the black from her face and chest a few hours ago, eventually cleaning her hand on one side as Wylen did the other.

His mother had bandaged up his hand and soaked it with a healing solvent, and soon enough the purple embers were replaced by pink skin as it healed itself.

The two men said nothing to one another, and even after hours of waiting and watching her, neither spoke a word. Odin had taken Thor and Hela with him to the dungeons, and his mother and Tanana had excused themselves to retrieve some more bandages for her healing wound while Vali stayed behind.

Aela was eventually apprised of the situation, and after a bit of shock, she asked no questions, instead leaving to assist Fryla in watching Milja for them. She came in again as Loki's eyes began to droop, the exhaustion of a falling adrenaline rush taking over him after the long night. Aela draped a blanket over Wylen first, and then Loki.

She watched Adora for a long moment, her eyes swimming with tears until she quietly excused herself. Loki appreciated her dedication to Adora, a woman she hardly knew, but cared for nonetheless.

He'd done right choosing Aela as a bed partner and now as his most trusted servant. He trusted her to take care of Adora and now Milja. She was his friend, and now she was Adora's. Aela was steadfastly loyal, kind to a fault, even when she was angry with him.

Adora would be happy knowing she was by her side through this.

"Adora likes her," Wylen murmured, his voice cracked dry from not talking and keeping his jaw clamped shut for so long. "She says she's very sweet."

"She is," Loki whispered back, but he kept his gaze on his betrothed.

Her face was no longer contorted in pain, instead lax and peaceful as she was when she slept next to Loki. He would find comfort in it if he knew for a fact she would wake, but he didn't, and it sat horribly heavy in his gut.

"Thank you," Wylen said quietly, and Loki finally tore his eyes from Adora to look at her grief-stricken father. "For all you did tonight."

"I did nothing," Loki began, and tears threatened to form again. "I left them to be murdered."

Wylen shook his head and frowned, "He would have just waited for another moment."

“You can’t blame yourself, nephew,” Vali spoke up from his spot at the foot of the bed. He sat in a chair with his elbows on his knees, his fingers threaded tightly under his jaw. “The Vanaheim Crusaders dedicate their lives to eradicating the Ljósálfar. King Wylen is right, the assassin would have just found another way to finish his plan.”

“Is he alive?” Loki asked lowly, his eyes trailing down to Adora’s bandaged side. The fire had healed most of it, but Tanana and Frigga had applied their own medicines just in case.

“He’s currently chained to the floor in the dungeons. Your father and siblings are interrogating him as we speak.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, and decided to run his fingers through Adora’s wild mane once more. It was tangled and dry, and she would no doubt be highly embarrassed to be seen in such a state.

“You never signed the papers,” Wylen said suddenly.

Loki shrugged, “I signed the engagement papers the day Adora arrived, as did she.”

“The Claiming of a Bastard papers, Loki.”

Loki stilled, blood rushing to his ears at the very thought. “What does it matter now?” “If Adora dies, Milja will never be legitimized. This will happen again when we go back to Alfheim, and next time they may be successful with her as well.” Wylen spoke slowly but firm, letting the weight of his words wash over Loki in a blanket of responsibility he didn’t want.

He said nothing, just prayed silently for Adora to wake then and tell him what to do. Her sense of responsibility, dedication to her people, Loki just didn’t have it. She would know the course for him, the road to take.

“Adora signed them last week.”

Loki closed his eyes and sighed. He’d wanted Adora to trust him and he’d succeeded. She had given her child over to his name, without knowing what he really was.

“You don’t want me adopting Milja, Wylen. I may be a Prince of Asgard but I’m a bastard myself.”

“I know you’re a Frost Giant, boy, and so does she,” Wylen growled, and when Loki looked up at him his gaze held not malice… but understanding. “You’ve been told by your father that you came from something terrible, and maybe you did.” He sighed heavily and waved a hand at his daughter, “You have the opportunity to be better than your ancestry. I’m a descendant of the worst Elven Conqueror in history, a brutal madman who slaughtered my wife’s people and forced her family out of the crown…

“She loved me anyway,” he finished with another wave of his hand. “She… she just loved me, and look what came of it. Ismene gave me four beautiful daughters, and Adora was our miracle baby, and from her came Milja.”

“Your miracle baby?” Loki asked, his brows furrowing together.

Wylen chuckled softly and stood just enough to kiss Adora’s forehead. He plopped down in the seat once more, and for once his eyes had a light in them.

“After Ade was born, we waited almost two thousand years to have another child. With Vanaheim in the back of our minds, and my wife’s heritage, we didn’t want to lose what we had. But then, we decided to have Abene, and a year and a half later we had Abha.” Wylen picked up Adora’s hand and played with her nimble fingers, rubbing his fingertips along her calloused digits from years of embroidery work and painting, “Ismene struggled to recover from the birth, her body was just too old to have had two children in such succession. A thousand years later, we were laying in bed and she just gasped…”

He smiled, his eyes that matched Adora’s full of happiness as he lived in the memory. “She felt the moment of conception. Elves can do that, you know? Ismene called it the Spark, the moment that the cells begin to build life inside a belly.

“We were so worried, and Ismene spent almost the entirety of her pregnancy on bedrest. Three thousand eight hundred and fifty years old is quite an age to have another child.” Wylen pulled Adora’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, “The birth was brutal, and I almost lost both Ismene and Adora in the process. She was so small, she could fit in the palm of my hand, and we spent weeks lingering over her crib, expecting each moment with her to be our last.”

“When did she get better?” Loki asked in awe, watching as Wylen eyed his palm. His gaze flicked between it and Adora, as if trying to imagine how such a tiny thing became this albeit still tiny woman who laid between them now.

“What we thought was sickness was actually her powers preparing themselves. Most Fae children don’t come into their powers until they’re twelve or so, girls usually earlier than boys, and they go through a period of slight illness before. Growing pains, if you will. Adora came into hers much earlier. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Wylen laughed, and it startled both Loki and Vali, who had also been listening with bated breath. “Ismene was holding her one day, begging the Norns and the Vídbláin, anyone who would listen, that Adora would thrive.”

He laughed again, “The baby burped and lit the curtains on fire.”

Loki and Vali breathed out shaky laughs of their own, and he could imagine the purple flame in his mind’s eye. Wylen shook his head in good humor, “Ismene tore through the castle to find me, and I couldn’t believe her… but then she did it again, this time to my cape.” Wylen shot them a playful look and pointed at Adora, “I no longer wear capes because of that child. I quite liked the look of them, too."

They shared a round of chuckles, but it died out too soon in the wake of the real possibility of losing Adora. Vali sighed heavily, “Again, it’s a good thing she was not pregnant when this happened.”

“What do you mean by that, uncle?”

Vali and Wylen shared a glance, and Vali bit his lip for a moment before he spoke, “Fae lose their powers when they’re pregnant. Their body focuses on creating new life, using all the energy of the Ether inside them to do so. They become weak like humans, easy to bruise and easy to harm. Were she pregnant, she surely would have perished from the poison.”

Loki swallowed thickly as the pair exchanged a look again, “What?”

Vali scrubbed his face roughly with his hands and groaned into them, “Ade was pregnant when she died.” “We sent the girls to Nornheim so they’d be safe, and my wife went with them,” Wylen murmured, his smile gone as he stared at Adora’s hand in his. “Ade wanted to have the baby in Alfheim, so they were on their way back when their convoy was attacked. Vali was coming in from a diplomatic trip to Asgard, or he’d have been with them.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this, Loki,” Vali told him gravely. “You’ll kill yourself thinking you could have changed a single thing.”

“Loki,” Frigga’s voice came from the doorway before he had a chance to wallow in his uncle’s words. He was grateful for her presence, as they surely would have dragged him down into the depths of whatever sorrow Vali and Wylen lived in.

“We need to clean her,” she said softly. “You all need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said, shaking his head. Wylen stood and rounded the bed. He put a heavy hand on Loki’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Let’s go, boy,” he told him, but Loki shook his head again.

“I can’t leave her, not again.”

Aela stepped into the room and clasped her hands in front of her belly, smiling softly at them. “We need to strip her and bathe her, my Prince. You know of Adora’s penchant for modesty, and the two of you aren’t married yet.”

Loki’s brow furrowed, and Aela sighed and cocked her head. He understood then, that she knew Milja wasn’t his daughter, that he and Adora weren’t two long-distance lovers kept apart by a centuries long war. She was keeping their secret though, because she was loyal to the end.

She truly was his friend.

“She’ll not want you to see her like this anyway,” Aela said gently. “Princess Adoa is a lady, and she’ll appreciate the privacy while you take care of your child.”

He still didn’t want to leave, but Wylen and Vali all but hoisted him up by his armpits and dragged him out of the room. He caught a glimpse of Adora over his shoulder, just before they surrounded her with washrags and scissors to cut off her clothing.

She was still nestled into the blood-stained pillows, her sweet face lax and stained with exhaustion. Loki wanted nothing more than to run back inside and wrap his body protectively around hers, and he almost did, but Wylen’s hand steered him back toward the parlor.

Loki didn't fight as he and Vali led him from the chambers, so lost in thought that he didn't notice they were heading for the dungeons until the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils again.

He could hear Thor, Hela, and Odin speaking at the entrance as they rounded the corner. They stopped and watched him with wide eyes as he stepped into the dank dark place.

They were just above the catacombs, the last level of the palace anyone who was not a royal was allowed. Servants did not even come to this hole in the earth, just guards and the executioners, sometimes the religious figures reading last rites to those awaiting their deaths.

"How is she?" Hela asked softly, and to Loki's surprise she came up and rested a gentle hand on his arm.

Their fingers intertwined, and he clutched her hand tightly for a moment before letting it go, "She's still sleeping."

Sleeping, not unconscious. Sleeping implies she'll wake soon.

"She'll be alright brother. After what she did to him," Thor offered, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder and at the dungeon doors,"she can survive a tiny knife."

"He hasn't succumbed to his injuries?" Wylen asked. All trace of his grief was gone, and in his place was the stoic king Loki had come to know.

"He's in an inordinate amount of pain," Hela grinned, flashing Loki a devilish smile. He couldn't return it though, and looked back toward the stairs that would lead him back to Adora.

He wished to be back at her side, or at least in Milja’s rooms to watch over her.

Wylen stepped further in, eyeing the man through the bars of the cage. He trembled on the floor, sweating and shivering from the agony of the burns blistering his skin.

Half his face had melted and dried against the bone, the leftover skin charred bright purple with embers that were still glowing. His teeth clenched in agony as he struggled to breathe through it.

Loki felt no sorrow for this man. He deserved every ounce of torment Adora’s blast caused him. Still, seeing him writhe in pain while shackled to the floor made Loki cringe.

"If you've the information you need, kill him and be done with it," Loki muttered.

He turned to walk away, to go back to Adora, but Wylen's hand flattened across his chest and pushed him back lightly. Loki wrapped his fingers around his wrist, but Wylen's grip tightened on his shirt.

"You swear to protect her?" he asked quietly, but his gaze burned with his paternal spirit.

"Yes," Loki told him back, and Wylen nodded.

"You swear to protect Milja? To keep them both safe from harm while they're in your care?"

"Yes," Loki replied, his own chest swelling with his defensiveness of Adora and her child.

Wylen reached into his robes and pulled out the blue Vanaheim blade the assassin had been carrying. Adora's blood stained the cool steel, and he turned it to point the handle at Loki's chest.

"Prove it."

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After leaving the dungeon, Thor and Hela all but carried Loki to his rooms.

He was bone tired, exhausted from the last few stressful hours and even more tiresome fortnight. They carried him straight to his bathroom and plopped him down on a seat before starting a bath.

Hela stripped him of his clothing while Thor checked the water, and then he carried Loki into it. He let them, unwilling and unwanting to do anything but stare at the wall.

Hela cleaned the blood from his face and hair while Thor scrubbed his hands and arms. None of them said a thing as they took care of their baby brother, just got him cleaned up and dressed him after.

Loki made his way to Milja’s room on autopilot, and Wylen was waiting outside.

The girl had been washed and changed into a set of footie pajamas, which Loki had learned were her favorite. Where Adora preferred to be barefoot and feel the grass beneath her feet, Milja liked what Loki did, to wear warm fuzzy socks and feel cozy.

Her dark curls were brushed back off her face, and she snuggled Prince Stuffy under the blankets. She’d thrown a fit when Adora made her leave the toy in the rooms, but it seemed it all worked out in the end. At least he wasn’t searching for it in the gardens at this hour.

Hodur laid at the end of the bed, and Fryla quickly excused herself as Loki and Wylen made their way inside. Much like in Adora’s room, they sat on opposite sides.

"Where'd the dog come from?" Wylen asked, pointing at Hodur, who wagged his tail in response.

"I gave him to Milja. He clawed his way out of the stables to find her before I did."

Wylen chuckled lightly and reached out a hand toward the dog. He licked his knuckles and Wylen gave him a little chin scratch for his troubles.

Loki couldn't help himself. The kindness King Wylen had shown him that night, even in the face of his own worst nightmare, made Loki want to tell him the truth.

"She saw everything," he said quietly. Wylen frowned and nodded.

"I hear you can pull memories from people, see what they see," he said softly, and when Loki caught his eyes they were full of hope.

"I can," he replied slowly, unsure.

"Can you take memories from people?"

Loki glanced over at Milja, sleeping soundly and safely. He'd already used magick on her tonight, and he wasn't sure if Adora would approve… but this?

"I… I don't think I can do it to a Fae. It's biological magick."

"Milja’s not a fully powered Fae yet," Wylen insisted, and he leaned over the bed to watch Loki intently. "Adora doesn't want her to be frightened, and if she saw everything, she will be. You have no idea what seeing the deaths of her mother and sisters did to Adora…"

Wylen took in a shuddering breath, his eyes pleading with Loki for something he wasn't sure was his to take, "I can't let that happen to Milja, too."

Loki watched this poor man, full of grief and love and fear that Loki thought he would never know. He didn't want to know what this felt like, and now he did. Part of him hated Wylen and Odin for forcing such a thing on him… but the other part was grateful, for now he knew what such deep affection felt like when it etched itself into one's heart.

"Bring me the papers first," Loki decided, "I won't do this to Milja without being her official guardian."

They fetched Aela, and she brought with her a royal notary. The man brought forth the documents with a flourish of his hand, "Upon this day, with the signing of these documents, Princess Milja of Alfheim will be known henceforth as Milja Lokisdottir and a child of Asgard."

Loki held the quill in his hand, hovering just above the papers as they laid on the soft down of Milja’s comforter. Adora's signature lay on the line just above. He cocked his head at Wylen, as if asking for his permission, and he nodded.

With shaking fingers, Loki signed his name. The ink lit up with white seidr, blossoming to a bright green as his own magick seeped into the linen paper, thus claiming Milja as his own.

"Presenting, for the first time," the notary said with his grumbling voice, "Milja Lokisdottir, Princess of Alfheim and Asgard, a bridge between two people."

Loki handed the papers back to him, and they disappeared in a flash of magick. He scooped Milja up from the blankets and held her against his chest, breathing in her comforting scent and closing his eyes.

Milja Lokisdottir.

He quite liked the sound of that.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes: My heart is warm... Milja Lokisdottir <3

The Arrangement Taglist:

@violethaze @huntress_artemiss @kbakery @nomajdetective @goldensunflowe-r

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ayoalex · 4 years ago

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I didn't expect for me to do a rant about bumbleby but I've been rewatching RWBY while me and my friend wait till February for the next chapter and holy shit, there's a lot to talk about.

Maybe it's because the first time I watched RWBY was all together without needing to wait like all the fandom but I'm pretty sure bumbleby was either a thought, a path they had as one option or being something it was going to happen no matter what since they started writing RWBY.

All the hints, subtext, etc were there, since the first moment Yang and Blake meet.

We all know RWBY doesn't have all the time neither the budget to make a 30min or 1h long for every chapter, so all the faces, the details, body movements are there for a reason and not to waste time and money.

Yang sees Blake and it's immediately interested, Ruby tells her she knows her and what Yang do? Uses Ruby as an excuse to go closer to Blake and talk to her + this will help Ruby to come out of her shell.

Now, before I continue I want to say that I personally head canon Yang as a lesbian because I relate to her as one but it's perfectly fine if y'all head canon her as bi or pan, what we all know it's that the girl is NOT straight.

Let's continue, Yang try to start a conversation and Blake was not vibing with it until Ruby started talking about books. It's quite a funny moment for me because Yang is so used to people wanted to be with her or wanted to flirt with her that she gets awkward and her confidence start going low the moment she is the one actively going for it and not the other way around.

Yang is quite an interesting character because at first it looks like she's a flirt and knows clubs and illegal stuffs, she's really cool, confident and really attractive. But then as the series progress we see how damage she is, such a low self-esteem she has in certain stuffs, how she's really smart, she doesn't actually flirt and when it's someone she likes she gets all awkward and stuff.

Then you have Blake, we see since the beginning the strong sense of justice she has, how passionate about it she is, she's lowkey most of the times, serious but then we see all her issues, her low self-esteem, how scared she is and how humorous she is as well, assertive and direct. If Yang is not there then the person making the jokes is Blake and I find that really cool.

I mention this because the Blake we see in Emerald Forest is assertive Blake.

Yang gets into the forest and start looking for Ruby while Blake seems to have been following her since they landed in there. She's in the shadows keeping an eye close to Yang, she sees her fighting the Ursas and took advantage of that to help her and appear in front of her. Purposely smirking while looking her directly at her eyes.

Now, why would Blake choose Yang? Why not Phyrra? Or Ruby? Well, because Blake is attracted to strength. It's the same thing that attracted her to Adam, she sees the similarities but there are so many differences as well.

As they continue their journey to find the relic Blake seems to enjoy Yang company, smiling and smirking at her. We basically see a different Blake than we saw when Ruby and Weiss were around, this is more direct, assertive and flirty.

At this point Blake is attracted to Yang, smiling at her jokes, smirking, going all sassy, the way she walks or behaves around Yang.

The best part? She loves it.

My favorite part of bumbleby between v1 and v3 is absolutely when Yang tells her "I love it when you are feisty" and Blake smirks and it's loving it.

Blake loves when Yang gives her attention. It always been there, I'm so sorry y'all can't see it.

But between v1 and v3, while she absolutely loves being around Yang, she's still feels the weight of her past, which makes her still closed and not as free as she would like.

Before I talk about v4 and 5 and the end of v3 I want to talk about Sun.

He's important for Blake's growth and I feel a lot of people don't like that but this is what the media does every single time with women, they present them in the narrative only to make the main dude to growth so, it's actually nice seeing it the other way around + Sun does get a bit of growth and he has some plot in the books I think (I still need to read those but I can't find them 😭).

Since the moment Sun sees Blake he's attracted to her, understandable, she's hot. He tries to catch her attention by helping her, etc.

Blake does not shares the same sentiment until like v3 or something, in some funny way Yang is the one that pushed her to Sun by making her go to the dance and spent time with Sun.

But Blake goes to the dance because of Yang and she specifically tells Sun, in a really smug way btw, how her first dance is reserved for someone else. In the dance she constantly smiles to Yang and then we see her having an amazing time with Sun and Neptune which helps her to relax and making new friends!

At this point Blake seems to be attracted to both Yang and Sun or at least she's a bit attracted to Sun in a sexual way and not romantic wise. Blake loves the attention them both give her, is not in bitchy or selfish way(?) It makes her confident and tbh that's such a human like reaction, knowing that really attractive and amazing people are attracted to you? Please, I would be worst than Blake.

Then we have the end of v3, where Adam appears and everything goes to shit.

It's interesting how they decided to animate and write Blake, Sun and Yang in the Fall of Beacon.

Blake is constantly worried about Yang, specially after what happened, Yang calls Blake and wants to be sure she and Ruby are ok.

Later Blake goes after a Grimm and Sun and Yang are finally in the last place Blake was before disappearing.

Instead of Sun going after Blake it was Yang, he just stays there, behind Weiss.

Is in this volume that we find out that Adam wasn't Blake mentor, they were together in a romantic sense (which is disgusting because it means Adam not only abused her but groomed her). Adam tells her he's going to destroy everything she loves and in that exact moment Yang comes into scene yelling for Blake and poor Blake is mortified and Adam sees this which for him means that the blonde girl is someone that Blake loves.

The freaking meaning of all this is AMAZING, the narrative presents Yang as someone that Blake loves.

When Yang lose her arm it's when Blake gets out of her black state to protect Yang, she could have died but she didn't cared because she needed Yang to be alive, that's her partner and someone who she has confused feelings about.

Because that's the thing, yes Blake knows she's attracted to her but what does that mean? Adam is still around and she knows Yang is vulnerable and can't take much emotional damage.

So Blake leave because at least without her around Yang can still be alive because Adam is looking for her not Yang.

Here's something important, bumbleby of v1 to v3 is something fun, is a teenager thing but then bumbleby of v4 till now is more important, is deeper and goes beyond a crush.

Sun stalks Blake which was pretty bad specially cuz Blake was paranoid about Adam which makes her react violently (she slaps him which is bad as well).

Blake character development in v4 and v5 is really important, not only Sun helps her a lot but spending time with her parents help her heal some stuffs.

But it's in v5 that everyone should have got the confirmation needed for black sun.

There's a moment when they are talking about Adam and Blake tells Sun that she's thankful that he helped her and that's what she wants to do, she wants to be that friend to help Illia, the same thing Sun did for her.

This implies so much and the most important one is that for Blake, Sun is a friend, a very dear one btw, and that she wants to be a friend to Illia as well, she wants to be that safety net that Sun and her parents were for her but with Illia. This is so powerful because Sun is more than ok with that, he only wanted to help Blake and if she ended up falling for him? Cool, and if not, cool as well.

Sun already knew this, since the beginning.

In the end of V3 he saw it and came to terms with it.

You know who were looking out for Blake and Yang when Yang was unconscious and Blake was taking her hand while crying and apologizing? Ren and Nora, who were both tired. And in front of them was Sun, looking at them like "oh", like he understood that Blake eyes we're always on Yang and not on him.

That's why in all the conversations of blacksun in v4 and v5 Sun always brings up Yang and how she may feel because he knows that's the person for Blake, not him.

Because if not, tell me why no romantic business happened? It was perfect to expand their relationship! But they didn't.

Later he was the one pushing Blake to go with her team, he knows, Sun knows how important is for Blake to be with her team and to be with Yang. At the end of the day, the person Blake felt safe with after Adam was Yang.

Now, v6.

Listen, Ruby and Weiss don't get why Yang can't seem to forgive Blake but... Blake does, back in Beacon Yang had an heart to heart with her about her family, Blake knew about what leaving would be for Yang and that's why she so angst about Yang in v4 and v5.

So she tries her hardest, and while I agree that there's some parts that should be written better and they need to TALK about it... V6 was good for them.

The Apathy mini arc was amazing but it was the end of V6 that settle bumbleby to be canon.

Blake finally understanding that they need to be equals in their relationship, them both going against Adam, Adam rage to see how much they love and respect each other, the final blow, Blake break down...

But the most important of all was the beginning of the second part of Blake and Adam fight, because Yang listen everything that Adam said to Blake and it clicked for her.

Blake didn't left because she wanted, she left because she loves them. And the moment Yang hug her, comfort her and reassure her they are fine it's the moment she forgives Blake and a new stage in their relationship starts which lead us to v7.

V7 bumbleby is v1/v3 bumbleby but mature. They talk more (as we see with the scene about Robyn), they want to be more close and close to each other, etc.

Assertive Blake is back! She keeps flirting with Yang, keeps making Yang to compliment her, to pay attention to her, she giggles at Yang's jokes, she goes to a club!! Blake doesn't usually goes to clubs!

In V2 we see Blake can dance but in V7 she doesn't seem to find the rhythm... Ohhh the classic "please help" You give to your crush to make them get closer to you so you can flirt with them and maybe make a move. And Yang? She goes with the flow, because is what Blake wants and Yang wants Blake to lead because Adam is still fresh.

That's why she gets worried about what Blake thinks of her in V8, what they have is new, they are aware of the attraction and the feelings but haven't done anything about it.

I love making it seem they are clueless but they aren't, they are smart and observant young women, Blake knows Yang find her attractive, she encourages Yang to watch her, to flirt, to get closer.

There's a scene in V7 when Yang is watching Blake through the mirror and Blake purposely gets flirty when putting her make up on.

They know they are dancing around each other.

It's so great seeing an wlw couple being like this, I love it. Bumbleby is a slow burn and it's a really cute and adorable one, it's a shame people hate it or claim is queerbaiting.

Yeah, maybe there's some stuffs that could be written better but overall? Bumbleby has been here since the beginning and the development is beautiful to see.

Highly recommend to rewatch RWBY with all this subtext in mind so you will find Bumbleby since day one lol.

Btw, ship whatever you want guys, blacksun is a cute ship, just stop being dicks to the VAs and the writers of the show for something that's your fault, like... Literally, your fault, all the signs were there.

And sorry for making this so long and all over the place, I hope you enjoy this rant tho lol

#bumbleby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #sun wukong #rwby #adam Taurus #blake and yang are gay and in love y'all #sun has a bet with weiss and ruby of when they start dating and for now weiss seems to be winning

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loki-hargreeves · 5 years ago

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Loki x Reader - Wounds

Warnings: mild gore, close description of wound cleaning, blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, sexual tension, masochism/woundplay (very subtle), implied smut Word Count: 3,7K+ Summary: Loki returns from a mission, wounded. He pretends to be fine but the reader sees through that. She offers to clean his wound and the sexual tension between the two of them grows. At some point, they can’t ignore it anymore. Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a fluffy one-shot, but @godidontevenknowwhat kind of inspired me to choose the dirtier route.

Loki was stubborn.

Perhaps it was in his secretive nature to keep his issues to himself, afraid that by asking for help he would appear weak or vulnerable. It wasn’t entirely Loki’s fault, Y/N knew that. His past was incredibly complicated, which resulted in Loki’s unusual stubbornness and unwillingness to accept other people’s aid. Trying to get close to him was like trying to boil water on an instant – impossible. It required a lot of patience and time, but in the end, it was worth it.

Today was one of the more difficult days.

Loki, who had recently joined the Avengers on several missions now that he lived on earth, returned from a dangerous mission. He claimed that he was fine, but the way he walked, avoiding putting his weight on his left foot gave it away. He was hurt and Y/N wasn’t going to let him ignore his injuries. Seeing him like that broke her heart a little bit. They had been close for months now. In her mind, they were clearly friends - if not more.

As the others stayed in the common room to discuss the mission, Loki retreated to his quarters. Y/N followed him closely, leaving the others behind. She hadn’t been on the mission as she had been busy in New York, dealing with politicians who wanted to stick their noses into the Avengers business again. It was more than just frustrating, but she didn’t want to think about it now. She was worried about Loki.

Once she found herself behind his closed door, she knocked on it three times. “Loki? It’s me, can I come in?”

She heard him sigh deeply before replying, “Come in.”

The door was surrounded by a green film of magic that turned the doorknob and opened the door to her. Y/N knew Loki possessed great magic, but it never failed to amaze her. Even something as simple as him opening and closing doors with magic was astonishing. She walked in and the door closed behind her. Loki was sitting on his bed, crouching forward as his large hand held onto his ribcage tightly. Despite how clear it was to her that he was in pain, Loki tried to act as if nothing was wrong.

“What happened?” Y/N wanted to know, walking further inside the large room carefully. The green curtains had been pulled in front of the windows, but the room was lit by candles and the ceiling light. Loki’s scent was so strong in the room that it almost made Y/N swoon, but she had a strong grip on herself. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of Loki, now did she.

“I knew you’d ask,” Loki chuckled, and his rosy lips curled into an evident smirk.

“You’re avoiding my question,” Y/N noticed that Loki didn’t continue to speak after that.

His smirk stilled and he tried to sit up straight. He couldn’t escape her watchful eye. “I might’ve stepped on an explosive-“

“Loki!” Y/N gasped, shocked to hear his opening sentence. “Are you alright?” Without giving it much thought, she rushed to his side. She took a look at him, trying to find signs of great injuries, but failed. It took her a while to recover from the initial shock. How was he still in one piece?

“I’m a god, Y/N. I’ll survive. Something as small as that explosive couldn’t possibly wipe me off the surface of Midgard,” He tried to reassure her that everything was alright.

Somehow, Y/N didn’t believe that he had escaped that without any harm whatsoever. She didn’t want him to be in pain, to suffer alone. “You’re hurt though,” She tested the waters.

Loki sighed, again. He didn’t want to lie to her out of all people. She had a funny way of finding out about the truth of most things sooner or later. Besides, being vulnerable around her wasn’t that bad. Loki had grown quite fond of her and he had to admit that he enjoyed the attention she gave him. At first, he couldn’t understand why she cared. He was almost infuriated by the affectionate words and gazes, but now he had learned to like that. Now he often found himself wanting more, but he never acted out on that wish.

Silently, he stood up from the bed, now standing close to her. She didn’t step further away from him as neither one of them minded the closeness. Loki raised his wrist, using his magic to discard himself of his heavy, battle clothes, leaving him in his emerald green robe and black pants. “The ceiling in the base collapsed and I got a splinter in my side. How unfortunate,” Loki played it off cool as he opened his robe, revealing his bare chest underneath.

At first, Y/N was taken back by the fact that Loki was slowly undressing himself right in front of her. His tones chest was only a foot away from the tip of her nose and she played with the idea of letting her hands roam over his body. Quickly, her focus shifted to the wound in his side. He had pulled out whatever had pierced his flesh, but it had left behind a nasty injury. He was still bleeding!

“Loki…” Y/N struggled to find the right words. Seeing him like that and knowing he must’ve been in pain hurt her. She wanted to make him feel better.

“Don’t worry about it. In two days, it’ll be impossible to tell it was ever there,” He explained casually.

“Well I’m not going to stand by and let you suffer for two days,” She told him. Y/N knew how to be stubborn too. “Let me at least clean it for you, okay?”

Loki narrowed his jade eyes, looking at her properly for the first time that day. He noticed that she seemed genuinely worried about him. Her eyes that were usually so full of joy and light were now glossy. Was she truly upset that he was in pain? He didn’t know what to think of it. Suddenly, Loki felt nervous. His cheeks felt warm as blood rushed to his face and he had to avoid her gaze. “If that’ll make you feel better,” He gave her his verbal permission to do what she pleased.

Thank goodness, Y/N thought as Loki surrendered to her help. “Just wait here, I’ll grab the essentials,” She told him as calmly as she could, focusing entirely on cleansing his wound.

Quickly, she turned around to go to his bathroom, knowing that there was a first-aid kit in there, somewhere. She could’ve sworn that the Avengers compound had more first-aid kits than anything else they could need. It didn’t take long until she found the little red box from the cabinet. She grabbed that along with a roll of toilet paper – If things got messy. Then she returned to Loki who was comfortably sprawled on his bed. He seemed exhausted. Poor thing.

Oh, what she’d do to rest by his side, to let her hands dance across his skin. Perhaps she could catch a kiss or two, or let her lips trace the skin of his neck…

Focus! Y/N told herself as she put the essentials on the bed and then crawled on the soft mattress herself. She sat as comfortably as she could next to Loki so that his wound was easily reached. There was dry blood surrounding it and it was beginning form a crust, but the wound itself looked painful and fresh blood coated it. To stop the bleeding, she grabbed a generous amount of cotton and pressed it on it, watching how the crimson red blood soaked the white material within seconds.

“Were you just going to let yourself bleed out for two days?” Y/N wondered as she sat there, hoping to avoid an awkward silence. It was rare between the two of them as they often found themselves lost in conversation. Somehow this moment felt different, more intimate.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” He shrugged. He couldn’t be serious.

The scars all over his torso let her believe that he was serious. Sure, he had lived much longer than any mortal and seen battles that didn’t compare to the mission he had been on. But it didn’t mean eh deserved to be in pain.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Y/N shifted the focus from the wound to the fact he was alive and considerably well. The thought of losing him, even if he was just a friend, was terrifying. It was quite unlikely due to his strength, but nothing was impossible.

Loki felt his tongue turn heavier by the second as he heard that. He appreciated her care, but he struggled to find the right words to answer her with. It had been so long since he experienced this, that someone genuinely cared about him. Most people stuck around him because he was royalty. Others tried to get closer to Thor via Loki. Y/N didn’t have any ill intentions.

“It would be unfortunate if I passed this early. I’ve still got plenty of people to piss off,” Loki joked after a brief moment of silence. When Y/N giggled in response, he felt a strange sense of pride. He liked making her laugh and listening to that sweet sound was like music to his ears.

Eventually, the bleeding stopped so Y/N removed the cotton. Before she could close the wound, she would have to clean it properly. Unless Loki wanted water soaked on his bed, he had to move to the shower. “I need you in the shower for the next part,” She explained as she gathered the dirty cotton balls into her hands so she could throw them away.

“Oh, are you joining me?” Loki teased her, hoping to shift the attention away from him to her. Besides, he thought she looked cute whenever she was flustered.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” She rolled her eyes as the two of them made their way to the bathroom, which was far more elegant that Y/N had expected. It was clearly built while keeping the resident in mind, it looked like it could belong to a palace. The shower was huge, and it had a seat in the corner, built into the wall. It was perfect.

While ignoring her heart that was beating a little too fast in her chest, Y/N made Loki sit on the shower stool. She grabbed the showerhead and made sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold. She was happy that the water supply in the compound was clean which made it so much easier to rinse wounds. Using alcohol was unnecessary, at least when it came to a wound like this.

Carefully, she placed the showerhead over the wound and washed away the dry blood. It only took seconds for the crimson wound to change into a fleshy colour, looking better already. The blood really made everything seem worse.

“Your clothes are getting wet,” Loki stated the obvious. He could’ve easily done this himself, but he wasn’t going to argue with her.

“So are yours, smartass,” Y/N smiled, calling him that jokingly.

Although the water wasn’t even that warm, the air in the bathroom felt hotter by the second. Y/N would’ve loved to get rid of her outer layer of clothes, but she refused to do so in the shower. Besides, her clothes got wet and it stuck to her skin awkwardly, not leaving too much to the imagination.

“Once I’m done with you, you should be as good as new,” Y/N assured him happily. A dry spot of blood refused to dissolve with the water, so Y/N put her thumb over his skin, ever so carefully rubbing the blood off. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him. She noticed how her touch made Loki’s abdominal muscles tense underneath her hand, which she ignored to avoid making things strange.

“Uh…that’s great,” Loki mumbled quietly. Why did her touch make him act that way? It felt like his thoughts were racing when her hand rested on his belly.

“I think that’s good,” Y/N turned off the waterflow and placed the showerhead on its rightful place. She stood up and looked at her soaked clothes with a smile, laughing as water followed her steps, forming a wet path.

Loki did not want that water on his bed, which gave him an idea. “You can borrow my clothes until you get your own. That is, unless you like to be wet and cold,” He didn’t think about his voice of words until it was too late. Damn. He hated how he felt like a young fool around her, thinking twice over a word as simple as ‘wet’. Yet, he did, and he couldn’t help it.

“I’d appreciate that, Loki,” Y/N brushed it off and returned his kindness with a smile.

It didn’t take long until they were both in dry clothes. Loki changed his robe and put on sweatpants, something he had grown fond of during his time on Midgard. The people sure knew how to make comfortable clothes. He left his robe open and lied down on his bed again so Y/N could finish what she had started.

She was wearing one of Loki’s many, surprisingly comfortable robes. She wrapped it tightly around her body and savoured the moment. Being wrapped in the silky material that smelled so strongly of Loki felt lovely. Would he notice if she borrowed it for longer than one night?

With clean hands, she grabbed tweezers so she could pull out the tiny splinters from his wound that she noticed while she was washing it. There were only a few of them, but she was determined to get them all out of his body.

“This might hurt,” Y/N warned him as she carefully began to work on the wound again.

“Maybe I like a little pain,” Loki hinted mysteriously, unintentionally making Y/N grow nervous again. He had noticed how recently his words captured her, made her avoid eye contact and sometimes she’d play with the hem of her shirt nervously. Making her flustered was fun, but he wasn’t too harsh on her. As much fun as it was, Loki couldn’t avoid the deeper truth behind it. She wasn’t flustered for no reason and he didn’t enjoy for no reason either.

One splinter was out. Loki had barely noticed it at all.

Y/N put the bloody splinter on his chest, too lazy to get up and throw it in the bin just yet. “I don’t understand how you step on an explosive, get buried by a ceiling and walk out of that in one piece,” Y/N wanted to talk about the mission.

“That’s where magic comes in handy,” Loki explained, wiggling his fingers playfully. “Besides, the ceiling debris didn’t weigh much.”

“What happened to the enemy?” Y/N wondered as she tried to pull out the larger splinter. It was harder than she imagined at first.

“They tried to escape, but we caught them by the entrance. Thor used his- ah!” Loki suddenly moaned in pain, which interrupted whatever he was about to say. Instinctively, his hand wrapped around her wrist. Y/N had pulled the splinter out and she figured it must’ve hurt him.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she felt guilty, “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Loki’s pale cheeks turned red, a rosy colour that spread to his ears as well. Was he blushing? Y/N found it much cuter than she should’ve, especially considering the situation. Her brain began to work in order to understand what happened and she concluded that he was either embarrassed or that Loki liked it.

Once her brain connected Loki with masochism, there was no turning back.

Little did she know that she was right. Loki liked that a little bit too much. He was unsure whether he should ignore what just happened or make her do it again. Her touch had been so gentle, so caring which already messed with his mind. When she insisted they would go in the shower together, Loki was almost baffled by disbelief. Seeing her in there, soaked by the warm water, on her knees right in front of him, his mind had gone to extremely sinful places.

Now this.

This made his thoughts somehow worse.

Loki hadn’t been joking when he said he liked a little bit of pain.

Their eyes met and Loki knew it was be delusional to believe they could move on as if nothing happened. His hand was still holding onto her wrist, but neither one of them was pulling away.

He cleared his throat, “It’s okay, Y/N.”

Gently, he pulled her hand back to his wound. It took every ounce of strength he had not to pull her onto his lap like he desired to do. Instead, he let go of her wrist and muttered, “Just…continue, if you’d like.”

Nervously, Y/N nodded and decided to finish this. Her hands were shaking now which made it harder to pull out the splinters. They both avoided each other’s gazes and a silence lingered around them.

It was quiet until Y/N was ready to wrap it up. “I need you to sit,” She explained while grabbing bandages from the small first-aid kit.

Loki did as he had been told and sat up. His wound already felt much better, but that wasn’t what he was focused on now. Y/N had completely taken over his mind, lurking in his every thought. He had felt strongly for her for a while now, but this intensified his feelings ten times. Her gentle touch, the intimacy of trusting her with his wound, the nervous touches… and the damn pain that she had accidentally inflicted upon him. It was so wrong, but it had felt so good.

He watched her as she placed a square piece of bandage over his wound and began to tape it down on his skin. Seeing her wrapped up in his robe made Loki feel strangely good. He felt possessive over her, but not in a delusional way. He was protective over her, he cared about her more than he dared to admit. Now she was wrapped in his scent. Anyone who saw her now could see that she wore something of his. Loki enjoyed that a lot. If he had the guts to take a risk, he’d ask her to be his as he would be hers.

He stayed quiet as she grabbed a softer bandage and rolled it around his waist a few times, scooting closer to him so she could reach around his body. They were so close now. Loki looked at her flustered face, noticing that she was nervous by judging her expression, the way her eyebrows were furrowed together.

Oh, how he wanted to grab her and kiss her. To smother her with his affection like she did with him. To show her that he cared, even though he seemed cold at times. He had fantasised about it several times before, but the urge had never been this strong before. He yearned for her. It felt like his heart tightened in his chest painfully every time they were close. He nearly lost his breath when they were like this. Loki was surprised by his own feelings. It had been so long since he last craved someone like he craved her.

“You’re all wrapped up,” Y/N was finally done with him. Gently, she patted his stomach, forgetting all about the intimacy. She was going to pull her hand away, already regretting that she touched him when it wasn’t necessary, when Loki grabbed her hand in his own. He had feared she’d pull hers away, but she didn’t.

Their eyes met, both full of questions that no words could answer. Only actions.

Fuck it, Loki thought. Their time together was too short anyway and he felt strangely confident as he did what he had wanted to for so long. Loki pulled Y/N towards him, almost making her lose her balance as she crashed against him. Her impact put pressure on his wound, but it only hurt a little bit which Loki welcomed. Their lips met roughly, and their teeth nearly clashed by the sudden force. As Loki tilted his head, the kiss got more comfortable. Their lips melted against one another and they both felt sparks igniting between them, on their lips and within their hearts.

It felt so right.

Loki tasted her and she was just as sweet as he had thought. He used his other hand to cup the side of her face, his fingertips resting against the back of her head. He felt her pulse underneath his palm, and it relieved him to know he wasn’t the only one whose heart was racing like a wild horse.

They pulled away after a moment, staring at each other curiously, almost in disbelief. Y/N couldn’t believe Loki kissed her. It felt magical. His kiss seemed to put a spell on her, or perhaps it was the burst of joy she felt when she faced him so lovingly.

“Thank you,” Loki smiled, overjoyed at the moment. He had to thank her properly for taking such good care of him.

“I couldn’t let you bleed out, now could I?” She laughed lightly and then glanced at his lips again, feeling like she needed to kiss him again more than she needed air in her lungs. So she did that, closing her eyes as their lips met again. This time it was expected and somehow even better.

Y/N got a boost of confidence from the kiss. She had a strange feeling that Loki wouldn’t mind her as she threw her leg over his lap, straddling him on his bed. Loki welcomed that, holding onto her body to keep her close. She couldn’t believe herself as she leaned her body seductively towards the dark-haired man and grabbed him by his waist, letting her hand linger above his wound. As odd as it was, he seemed to enjoy a little bit of pain. Touching him was so exciting and she wanted more. She longed for more as she felt Loki’s large hands on her body, holding her a little tighter than a friend would.

Loki didn’t want to scare her away from him, but he couldn’t control his body when she grinded her lap against his. Suddenly, his comfortable pants began to feel tight around him. Loki pulled away from the kiss, stopping himself before surely, he’d make her back away. “Y/N- you’re going to drive me mad!” He warned her seriously, yet he didn’t let go of her.

“So be it,” She shrugged, eyes darkened by lust. He was a fool if he thought she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her.

A/N: Well, well, well. You’ve made it to the end. I would appreciate your feedback! Thank you so much for reading this 💕

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joonsdiary · 5 years ago

Text

jamais vu (m)

↳ noun | the illusion that the familiar is being encountered for the first time.

(are you the remedy to my broken heart?)

pairing: jungkook | reader | taehyung genre: slice of life au, acquaintances to friends (to lovers?) au // heaps of angst, a tiny bit of smut, a sprinkle of fluff word count: 13,4k

— warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, hints of gaslighting, mild descriptions of a panic attack, themes of infidelity, sexual intercourse (protected penetrative sex, implied female masturbation)

— note: mildly inspired by the films lost in translation and ocean waves, as well as jamais vu by bts (hence the title). some concepts were derived from my wip list, so in a way this was my remedy for the writer’s block i was having while writing ‘worth fighting for’. i hope in one way or another it can be your remedy, too. (p.s. despite being inspired by lost in translation, i haven’t actually seen the film so this won’t be exactly like that adkjhsd)

— playlist: carry me home - jorja smith ft. maverick sabre / sweet insomnia - gallant ft. 6lack / drew barrymore - sza / run - joji / truth is - sabrina claudio / bath - offonoff / ghostin - ariana grande / ... etc!

There’s something thrilling about sitting in the backseat of a car past midnight, windows rolled down as the driver chases the destination planted on her navigation device. You welcome the cool breeze that tangles your hair into an uncomfortable mess, as it only helps propel your heart rate faster. Inhaling slowly allows you to savour the musky scent of the earth shortly after being bathed with rainwater; if this is what freedom tastes like, you wish to savour as much of it as you could.

Eventually, the exhilaration wears down as the city lights blur into a cacophony of colours. It’s incoherent and indiscernible, yet it possesses the ability to lull you into a dream-like state. You had the utmost privilege of plugging your phone into the aux cord, therefore the familiar voice of your recently played songstress croons softly against the speaker, filling the cold, void spaces in between. Your heavy eyelids fall into an accustomed pattern, gradually flickering until it closes shut.

Sleep beckons; fatigue welcomes you into the abyss, and you embrace it with open arms.

Well, almost.

“Can you roll the windows up? It’s freezing,” he mumbles as he sinks further down the leather chair. You jolt awake at his sudden announcement, but he doesn’t apologize for disturbing your calmness.

“Hm? Yeah, of course,” your fingers scramble to find the right button to press until the tempered glass lifts, shielding you away from the busy city. You want to argue that it’s not even that cold, but he scoots closer towards you, tugging on your left arm before burying his head in the crook of your neck.

A wistful sigh escapes your lips and you turn to place a quick kiss on his crown. You immediately understand the exhaustion that plagues you both, brought about by the time difference between the country you came from and the one you’re currently visiting. You glance out the window once more as your thumb plays with the golden band on your ring finger.

Seoul is beautiful. The city itself is alive, evident by the way the summer stars in the night sky are dimmed by the light that emits from the numerous buildings and towers that create Seoul’s skyline. Looking at it from above while on a plane is similar to peeking at a telescope to view a galaxy far away, dotted by billions of brilliant stars. But despite the breathtaking aerial view, nothing feels more intimate than weaving through its streets.

Although you can tell its old roads are recently refurbished, unsurprisingly, which buries any inkling of familiarity beneath the cold cement. Despite you knowing the place, there’s still something different about it, like buying a new laptop to replace the old one. The specs are guaranteed to be exactly like its predecessor, but the fact that it comes in a sleek box, still unspoiled and untouched, fascinates you all the same. It begs to be used until you’re so attached to it that you refuse to part ways even just for a singular moment. That’s what defines Seoul for you.

But the city can wait. There will be plenty of opportunities to explore and rekindle your love affair with the town you once called your home. For now, your reason for being lays cradled within your arms, encapsulated within the bubble you desperately wish would stay intact, unmarred by the destructive forces of reality.

Although those illusions of fantasy can only take you so far. The fragility of your relationship is beginning to materialize into a spectre, its gaunt face haunting you in every corner you look. There’s no escaping the truth as it will, without a fail, catch you in one form or the other.

“What are you thinking about?” he hums lazily, soft breath tickling the nape of your neck.

“Just excited to finally be back after so long.”

“That’s right, you moved away long before I did.”

“Mhm.”

The discussion flickers out of existence, whose life is shorter than that of a fire in measly matchstick. You aren’t much of a conversationalist, and you appreciate that neither is he. Is that the defining trait that convinced you to marry the man sitting next to you three years ago? Perhaps. You like that he gives you the time and space to bask in your thoughts when you need it, even if there are moments where you’d like nothing more than to connect with him like you used to.

“I miss you,” slips out before you’re able to hold your tongue back. But you don’t scramble to reclaim the words like you usually do, followed by an apologetic I didn’t mean it like that. You let the phrase simmer, hoping it will soak him to the bones enough that it becomes his wake up call.

But, “I’m right here,” is all he says.

The him-of-past would have cradled your face in his big hands, turned you so that you’re face to face before he makes a silly face that will make you laugh. He’ll say you’re being silly for even thinking of such thoughts when he’s always been by your side, and forever will be. It will follow one chaste kiss, then a second, and before you could blink his limbs will tangle with yours, hearts beating fast but in unison, nonetheless.

“I know,” you murmur.

Perhaps he believes it’s enough that he’s there beside you, physically. Perhaps it’s wise to presume the same. It’s only wishful thinking to expect otherwise, after all.

Jungkook believes he’s a creature of habit. Or, he used to be, at least.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with falling into a certain pattern in life, especially at his age; God knows he needs a stable rock to hold on to so he doesn’t get carried away by the raging currents of the river.

But it had only been once upon a time where he enjoyed such endeavours; waking up, coming down to work, going back up to bathe, before finally retiring to bed. Yes, he’ll find pockets of time to eat meals, of course. Days come when he has the freedom to choose to go to the gym, instead, so his life isn’t completely mundane. There’s a nuance to such life, and he always aspires to have the propensity and the undeterred tenacity to stick to such a strict regimen.

However, days began to bleed into each other with the same shade of grey, indiscernible and incomprehensible. It’s not necessarily a lousy experience because he never felt starved or threatened out of his home. Life for him is like cruising down the endless highway, foot off the gas but going at one hundred kilometres per hour all the same. The figures he passes by become obscured by the speed he’s going at, but at the very least he’s still heading somewhere.

It’s only recently he’s fully realized the futility of his mundane schedule. She’d told him so.

“Don’t you want to break away from all of that? From your parents’ expectations of you?” her voice comes softly through the phone. His moments together with her are often brief and hurried, their conversations cut short by external forces acting upon them both. It’s dinnertime for him, but she has to drop the call in order to catch the early bus for work. Such a prick, time and distance can be.

(Perhaps, he now looks back and thinks to himself, they’re merely trying to find more reason to converse less with each other. Since when did it start, the feeling of obligation?)

“Are you suggesting that I—”

She says yes without letting him finish his sentence.

So he finds vigour in his life once more as he throws himself into his work, constantly propelled forwards by the need to meet an end goal: Save up enough to be able to move halfway across the world. To see her. To be with her.

But the respite is brief, however.

The more money is stored in his bank account, the less he thinks of the idea as brilliant. Is he ready to uproot his life from the only home he knows to move in with somebody he has only met through the screen of his phone?

Looking at the bigger picture, nothing else has changed in his life. He needs a true break; a real step back from a routine that is numerous years in the making.

Having sex with a stranger in a random motel seems like a good way to go about it, he thinks.

Several hours prior, his friends asked him to go out drinking with them. Jungkook, who rarely makes time for such occurrences, naturally agrees, surprising the very same acquaintances that invited him. At that point he believes they’re only asking to be polite, not having the courage to kick him out of an old group chat formed during their college days. They never expected him to say yes then, and they didn’t until now.

Countless bottles of beer and a few shots of liquor later, he’s fumbling with the zipper of his tight jeans. The woman, whose name he didn’t have the courtesy of asking, giggles as she rises from the bed to approach him.

Mistake number one.

“Do you need help, love?”

He fumbles through his words, unable to form a coherent thought. It’s not that he’s completely inexperienced — although the woman probably thinks he is by the way he acts — it’s just that, admittedly, it’s been a good while since he’d had sex with anybody. Add the nervousness to his inebriated state, and he’s got himself in quite the dilemma.

Mistake number two.

“I’m guessing you like them tight,” the woman points out.

“Huh?” his head whips towards the woman, eyes wide and mouth agape, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Your jeans, I mean.”

The woman chuckles once again as he attempts to peel the fabric off his skin. “Wasn’t really planning on this, that’s why.”

Mistake number three.

“But you have this,” an inconspicuous packet is pulled from his back pocket. Jungkook merely grins sheepishly in response. The woman kneels as she grips his underwear but he grabs her hand and pulls her up instead, crashing her body into his. He recalls her murmuring something about getting straight to the point, but he’s unsure if the woman meant it as a complaint or a compliment. He didn’t bother asking to elaborate, because none of this is even supposed to happen.

Mistake number four.

Guilt bubbles from within his chest, gnawing at every nook and cranny of his consciousness.

Mistake number five.

He’d have to tell her sooner rather than later. It would be fucking shitty of him not to. But before he has the time to steer clear of trouble and save himself from potentially ruining the only good thing he has going in his life, the woman’s lips are on him. There’s no going back now, he assumes.

Mistake number six, seven, eight.

Nine: His kiss feels famished as he drinks in each quiet moan that comes out of the woman’s lips. Every second feels reinvigorating like he’s sitting in front of the roller coaster as the ride pauses before the first drop. When the wheels turn and roll against the metal railroad track, he stumbles back and falls into the bed. He’s here for the thrill, which would bring the total up to ten so far.

Eleven is when he watches the woman slip the condom with ease, sheathing him. His presumed experience she possesses excites him further; that is number twelve.

He loses count when she traps him between her knees as she licks two of her fingers at once, before hiking up her skirt.

Jungkook wants to laugh at his lack of perceptiveness. Tactless when it comes to asking for the woman’s name; even more inadequate and impolite not to think about prepping her.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, head tilting to the side as wisps of her hair fall across her face as she grinds herself against him. He bites back a moan as he looks away from her. It probably would be best not to tell her. He then catches his reflection in the mirror, and despite the dimmed lights he could outline the expression he’s making; a reflection of someone unrecognizable.

“There’s a mirror,” he pauses as she gets a hold of him, her warmth enveloping him as she slowly sinks onto him. His hips jerk seemingly involuntarily in response, and she groans, tossing her head backwards. He forgets to speak altogether. The woman does the same, opting to mumble profanity, instead.

Jungkook wishes to hide the shame and guilt, the wrongfulness, the missed opportunities to say no. Is his need to feel something other than the heaviness of his heart worth all the pain he’s about to put not only himself but the person he wishes to spend the rest of his life with?

And so he buries himself deeper before denial could even stake a claim in the vast expanse of his thoughts. If to forget is to lose himself in the pleasure of someone else’s company, then he’ll desperately seek the ecstasy he’s craved for so long until he’ll see stars beneath the darkness of his eyelids.

His breathing is no longer erratic when he comes into consciousness.

“That was good,” she breathes out softly, and he turns in time to watch her brown eyes disappear from view.

“I have to go.”

He gets up from the bed and begins to move on autopilot, picking up his discarded clothes one by one. The woman immediately sits up and asks with an evident frown on her face, “Already? Didn’t you have fun?”

The corners of his lips are pulled upwards into a grin. “It’s for work.”

“At this hour? It’s almost one.”

“Midnight shift.”

When he’s dressed, he hesitates at the foot of the bed, shifting weight from one leg to the other. He’s never been the best with words, and his unexpectedly expected tryst with a stranger leaves him at a loss for what to say. It doesn’t help that the woman refuses to meet gaze with him.

I wouldn’t want to look at me either, he thinks bitterly to himself.

“Thank you for your time. I hope to see you around,” his half-truth is enough to pluck a rueful smile from her lips.

The bus ride back home is the longest one Jungkook thinks he’s taken ever since he moved to Seoul.

You watch as Taehyung lazily drags his feet behind him each step he takes towards the bed and breakfast place you decided to rent. The cicadas chatter loudly as if to cheer him on. A few more steps, they urge.

“Come on, Taehyung,” you groan from above the stairs, already reaching the top long before he does. “I’m about to pass out, too. But can we do it once we get to the bed?”

“I’m literally, like, dead,” you can’t help the roll of your eyes at his dramatic statement. But you hold your tongue back at any other snide comments that might offend him further. Patience is the key with him, always. Complaining to him, as you did earlier, will only force him to act against your wishes.

He reaches the top with a huff and a hand on his bent knees, handing you the duffel bag that’s filled to the brim with your clothes and his.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” is your attempt at making the situation lighthearted and less serious than it needs to be.

“Still should have booked a hotel, instead,” his nose scrunches in obvious dismay.

“For the last time, I thought—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” gone is the Taehyung of previous, whose tiredness begins with softness around his personality. It’s not unusual for him to get cranky after being jet-lagged. But hey, guess what, so are you!

You ignore him for fear of escalation as you make your way inside. A quiet chime of the bell signals your arrival, and your gaze meets a familiar set of doe eyes; someone you knew once upon a time in a place you can pinpoint exactly. His expression mirrors that of your surprised one as he tries to figure you out. It wouldn’t surprise you if he doesn’t recognize you as you did him.

It’s Taehyung who breaks your state of bewitchment when his shoulder bumps into your arms as he jogs towards the receiving desk.

“Hey, stranger! How long has it been?” Taehyung exclaims a little too loudly, his state of disarray seemingly vanishing in a flash. With the roll of your luggage as a guide, you follow after him, standing nimbly behind the shadow of his confidence.

“Since we graduated high school? Probably ten years,” he says humorously.

“That long, huh? Damn.”

They fall into a small talk which is somewhat out of sync, which is understandable considering the amount of time they haven't been in contact with each other. No matter how close they had been during their teenage years, some words are hard to come by more than others.

He suddenly calls your name out in a greeting, and you peak over Taehyung’s shoulder with a small wave of your hand. “Hey, Jungkook.”

His smile is gentle, and your mood shifts entirely.

“Are you back here on a trip?”

It’s clear the question was directed to you, but Taehyung absolves you the courtesy of answering. “Actually, it’s a work-related thing. She wanted to tag along.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” you say with a strained chuckle, and Jungkook glances between you and Taehyung.

“Ah, I see. In any case, I’ll get out of your hair,” he slides a pair of keys in your direction. “It’s well past midnight, so I’m sure you guys are tired from your flight.”

Taehyung snatches it up, and it falls into the pocket of his slacks with a soft jingle. He thanks him with enthusiasm before turning towards the direction of the elevator.

“Hope I see you around. Have good night.”

Something about your greeting has Jungkook’s eyebrows creasing in discomfort for a split second before he gives you a small nod. “I’ll be here if you need anything else.”

But he isn’t there to greet patrons by the next morning when you go down for your complimentary breakfast. Taehyung did not join you, opting for an extended hour of sleep. You didn’t mind, but you couldn’t lay aimless in bed for too long; you’ve always been a morning person, after all.

So you sit by your lonesome in the vast dining area, surrounded by an old couple in one corner and a young family of four in the other. The two children fight for the last remaining pancake while the parents share a hushed discussion. You glance down at your warm abalone porridge.

There was a time when you imagined such a life with Taehyung—a family you can call your own. Of course, it’s by no means too late for you; at the tender age of twenty-eight, you know that life still has a lot to offer. But approaching three years into your marriage, Taehyung does not present any hints of wanting such a future with you. Sure, the topic has been brought about occasionally, but never serious enough to be considered anything but a passing daydream.

“I hate to break it to you, but that soup isn’t going to give you the answers to your most pressing question, even if you stare at it like that.”

You look up to see Jungkook wearing an amused expression, carrying a plastic bag on his right hand. He follows your trail of gaze and lifts the item into view.

“I might have raided the kitchen before my shift is over. Don’t tell a single soul,” his gaze holds differently, but the smile he wears is the same one from his youth.

“Cross my heart,” you humour him, and his grin grows wider. “Have a safe trip home.”

His nose wrinkles in contemplation. “If you mean be careful going up the stairs to my room, then sure, I will.”

Your brows lift in confusion, “You rent here?”

“You could say that. I own this place,” the chair scrapes against the tiled floors as he welcomes himself into your bubble. “Well, sort of. My parents own this, but my older brother and I manage it.”

“You should have said so earlier!” you chuckle, placing your chin on your palm as you turn to face him. “I would have asked for a discount.”

“Ouch, this is exactly why I didn’t do that in the first place. It’s opportunists like you that I’m terrified of.”

“Okay, Richie Rich, I knew you were always a selfish prick even then.”

“Hah!” he exclaims, leaning closer. “I’m well aware of my reputation back then, and none of them was ‘selfish’. In fact, there was always a lot of me to go around.”

“I highly doubt that, somehow.”

“You wouldn’t know,” he says in a casual tone while crossing his arms in front of his chest. He gives you a knowing look. “You were always with Taehyung.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” you mumble against your palm, your voice growing quiet. Your ring suddenly feels heavy on your finger.

“Mhm, that’s why I wasn’t surprised when I heard you two got married a few years back. In another country, no less. Congratulations, by the way,” his tone softens, mirroring your sudden predisposition for a hushed conversation.

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile. “Married life is…”

“Different?” he offers, and you nod wordlessly. You would’ve chosen a different word for it, but you’re glad he finished the sentence for you. “All my other friends who’re in the same situation say so.”

“And you?”

He wears the same troubled expression from hours ago, but only for a brief moment. He mimics your posture as his face lights up with the biggest smile you’ve seen him wear. You know that expression; there was a point in time where you’d wear the same elated look when someone asks you about Taehyung.

“Long-distance. But we’ve been together for a couple of years,” he hesitates briefly, before continuing. “I’m leaving in less than two weeks to move in with her.”

“Where to?”

He reveals the name in a hushed tone, almost as if it’s meant to stay a secret between the two of you.

Your eyes widen with bewilderment, and he grins sheepishly. “Wow, that’s—”

“Halfway across the world? I know.”

It’s only when there’s a pause that you realize what your intended purpose is. So you dig a spoonful of the soup and chase the heat away with a quick blow before taking a quick bite.

“You’re really here just to tag along with Taehyung?”

You look at him in surprise, not expecting the subject to be brought out once again. “Not really. We um…”

You hesitate, unsure whether to share your thoughts or not. But Jungkook is neither a friend nor a stranger and is possibly the perfect candidate. There’s nothing that binds you to him and in a few weeks, you’d be back to being strangers. Perhaps he wouldn’t even remember your story.

“We didn’t really have an official honeymoon after our marriage, and this was supposed to be it,” you chuckle, trying to play the situation off nonchalantly. “He sort of double-booked because he couldn’t turn down this gig.”

“That seems shitty, to be honest.”

You’re taken aback by the ruggedness of his tone, and you immediately jump to defend Taehyung. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve been back home.”

“Yeah, you missed out on our high school reunion just by a month,” his aura is lighthearted once more, and you’re glad for it.

“You went?”

“Nah, there was nothing good to reminisce about high school.”

You turn to him with your mouth agape. “This is coming from the captain of the football team, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Ah, come on, stop with the teasing,” he says as he rolls his shoulder back, before clearing his throat. “It just so happened that I was good at kicking. And running. And scoring goals.”

Undeterred by his boasting, you give him a sly smirk. “I’m sure you revelled in the attention. There was enough of you to get around, you said?”

“Now you get it.”

You giggle and he laughs along with you. The interaction gives you a certain heaviness within your chest but at the same time, you feel lightheaded, almost as if you’re about to soar towards the heavens.

“I should go catch some sleep,” he says once your euphoria dies down. “I’ve had a long evening.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then,” you say almost wistfully. He mumbles a quiet later! and you allow your gaze to follow his movement.

“Don’t get lost on your way.”

He looks back and motions a mock salute. “I’ll come knocking on your door if I need help with directions.”

However, three days go by without seeing Jungkook; not in his usual spot at the entrance of the building, and nowhere near the kitchen or the lounge area. Although you weren’t looking for him by any means because Taehyung constantly kept you busy, dragging you from place to place to take cityscape photos for his client. Despite the constant travelling, it’s hard to enjoy the scenery when the affair appears to be completely one-sided.

There’s no mistaking the fact you’re extremely proud and gratified that Taehyung pours his heart and soul into each project he throws himself at. But would it hurt that much for him to point his lenses towards your direction even just once? Surely, your whole trip will not consist of you constantly waiting on him.

He must’ve noticed your affliction because suddenly the weight of his stare begins to feel heavier each quiet second that passes.

“Bored yet?” he asks, left hand on the wheel and the other placed on the knob to change the car’s gear. Your eyes flit back to him and his right palm opens for you to take. With your fingers interlocked, he places a soft kiss on your knuckles.

It’s difficult to harbour resentment towards him when he makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter with merely the tiniest of gestures.

“With you? Never.”

He chuckles, and you feel the rumbling of his chest as he presses the back of your hand against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat doesn’t match your erratic, nervous one.

“Hm, you should have said yes. I was going to save you of having to come with me later,” his tone is playful, and a small smile adorns his flushed lips.

“What’s happening later?” you shift in the passenger seat to face him.

“The dinner with Min, my client. I told you, remember?”

You carefully sift through your mind regarding your recent conversations with him. You recall them being short and clipped, sure, but none told you of a certain meeting with somebody else. So, you tell him in earnest, “No.”

“I’m sure you’re just forgetting,” his grip on you loosens, and you reclaim your hand before it falls on his lap.

No, you’re one-hundred-percent certain you would remember something as important as that. Yet you don’t tell him so and instead, you yield with a wordless nod.

“You mean to tell me you’re going to miss out on having takeout dinner with me?” you ask, attempting to humour him, but your tone mistakenly comes out tasting bitter on your tongue. The silence that ensues sears into your brain like the afternoon Seoul sun, prickly and scorching hot to the touch.

“You can come with, if that’s what you want. I’ll tell you in advance that it’s going to be boring, though, since we’re going to talk about work.”

Somewhere along the line, you presume Taehyung has developed the proclivity towards telling pretence with a straight face. It catches you off guard when you join him for the much-anticipated dinner that he apparently told you about. It’s not the fact that “Min” turns out to be a woman — you have no qualms about that. Taehyung is somebody who could make acquaintances with somebody while waiting in line for their prescription in a pharmacy. Rather, it’s the way he prepped you for the oncoming conversation or your lack of inclusion in any of them, for that matter.

Introductions aside, you found her to be amicable and friendly. But afterwards, you fell behind two steps as they divulged into a topic other than work. Despite the premise that the chat would be boring, Taehyung is deeply engrossed in whichever story she decided to share. You didn’t have quite the energy to match theirs, so instead of playing catch up, you decided to stop walking altogether. You watch as their figures grow smaller on the horizon, not even bothering to look back and ask if you’d like to join them.

She laughs at something Taehyung says and automatically reaches to grab his arm as she giggles along with him. When she makes eye contact with you, instinct tells you to force a smile. And you did, uncaring if she perceives your gesture to be nothing but utter bullshit.

You busy yourself with studying the restaurant instead as you pensively wait for food to be served. The dim lights of the room create a warm ambience — romantic, almost.

The gears in your brain stop turning as they click into place. Your pulse gums with vigour as you feel the sweat seeping through the pores of your palms. Suddenly, the vast expanse of the dining hall feels suffocating; there’s no room for you. To breathe, to feel, to be.

“I’ve got to go.”

You suddenly feel lightheaded as you begin seeing multiples of dark spots, clouding your vision. The floor caving beneath you, and you struggle to keep afloat.

“What?” Taehyung looks at you with wide eyes but makes no move to hold you back from gathering your things.

“I forgot I was supposed to meet a friend today,” you say with self-assurance, miming the same expression he wore when he lied: I told you, remember?

Taehyung stands when you move away from the table and hope blooms dangerously in your chest; your wish for him to hold you back and stop you from leaving begins to permeate.

(Though in hindsight, you should have known better.)

“I’ll call a cab for you.”

Static fills the void, and for the first time in his life, Jungkook fears the silence rather than basking in it. He’s unsure when his words began to fail him; is it because he’s nervous he’ll slip up and say the wrong thing? Truly, at this point, being seen as the bad guy should be the least of his concerns.

Because as far as any human with a functioning brain thinks, he’s already fucked up in more ways than one. There’s no returning from the level of hell he’s put himself in.

“Are you still there?”

Her voice is patient, but he can tell she’s apprehensive.

“Uh, yes—just, thinking.”

There’s a brief pause before an accusatory, “Look, if you’re having second thoughts then maybe it’s too early.”

He immediately leaps from the couch of the empty lounge area. It’s a little past eleven at night, so everyone is either already in their rooms or out enjoying the city, which gives Jungkook a leg room for privacy.

“What? No, that’s not it!”

Two years isn’t too damn early. He feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime; tired of the time difference, tired of the distance, tired of being deprived of touch. Tired of the same old city, with the same predictable people. Everything around him is starting to feel foreign; the steps that lead to the bed and breakfast lodging, the corner street that sells the best tteokbokki he’s ever tasted in his life, the crosswalk that has malfunctioning lights which should be a public safety hazard but at this point he thinks will never be fixed. It’s all mundane, cycling through the same wheel of routine.

He no longer wants to feel apathetic when he faces his future while he houses resentment on his present self milling around aimlessly. She’s his only ticket to escape, so he better stop fucking around and tell her the truth.

But where to begin?

“Listen, I—”

“Whatever it is, can you please just say it? I’m leaving for work soon.”

He takes two steps back, for fear of retribution. Is he ready to ruin the entirety of her day?

“Never mind. I’ll talk to you later. Have a great day at work.”

She heaves a sigh, and preemptively ends the call.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he mumbles as he stares at his phone with her name printed in big letters across the screen. He contemplates pressing the call button and finally telling her everything—her work be damned. He knows that he owes her the truth at the very least.

But you come barrelling down the door, barefoot as you clutch your heels safely between your armpit. You’re dressed formally, yet casual enough for a nice dinner outside plenty of Seoul’s restaurants. But the slight stutter in your step and your somewhat dishevelled hair tells Jungkook all he needs to know. He doesn’t have to hazard a guess.

“Jungkook!” you raise your arms as you exclaim, and the wooden floor welcomes your shoes with a loud thud. “It’s been so long. What are you doing here?”

He laughs, not because of your deeply inebriated state, but because of your inquiry. What the hell am I doing here? He’s been asking himself that very same question without an answer in sight for a while now.

Though he doesn’t have time to answer because you almost knock him over when you skid over to wrap your arms around his neck. His senses are overwhelmed with the pungent smell of liquor, mixed with a subtle hint of rose water.

“I miss you.”

Jungkook is perplexed by your brutal honesty, to say the least. Though he knows to excuse any action while somebody is foolishly drunk, so long as they are not harming anybody or themselves. You grow quiet, and Jungkook is about to ask where you’ve been when he feels dampness on the front of his button-up shirt. He looks down and sees you visibly shaking, before grabbing at his sleeves seemingly for physical support.

It’s when you ask, with conviction, “Why did you hold me back?” that he realizes you aren’t referring to him. So, he wordlessly wraps his arms around you as he pats your back reassuringly. He doesn’t mind that you began sobbing louder, not even when a guest comes through the door and gives him a perplexed expression. He simply nods in their direction as a form of acknowledgement before giving a tight-lipped smile.

When minutes pass and Taehyung doesn’t arrive, he puts two and two together and concludes that he had to be the reason. His heart squeezes painfully as you attempt to swallow a sob which ends up sounding more agonizing and hollowed, carrying with them the weight of all the sorrow you’ve seemingly piled up.

When your cries are reduced to soft hiccups, you pull away from him with a quiet apology. Jungkook shakes his head as he places his palms delicately against your face before wiping the remnants of your sorrow away from your cheeks.

“Better?”

“No,” you sniffle. “I feel like shit.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I wanna go out again. Will you come with me?” you look up at him, bleary eyes pleading. Jungkook dips his chin as he guides you to sit on the leather couch, which you thankfully follow.

“At this rate, you’re going to pass out before we step foot outside the building.” With a sigh, he crouches down to reach eye level with you. “Do you need to puke?”

“I already did that after getting off the cab earlier, I think.”

“Okay then, wait here.”

You nod wordlessly and he goes to pick up your discarded shoes before placing it near your naked feet. He unlocks his phone as he makes his way to the dining hall, dialling a familiar number.

“Jaehyun?” he asks after the third ring. “Can you come earlier for your shift? Something came up.”

When he’s sure someone is going to take over for him, he makes his round in the empty kitchen, grabbing whatever he thinks might be immediately necessary: clean towels, an empty bucket in case of an emergency, and a glass of water.

You’re placid when he returns, eyes puffed out and red as you stare at nothing in particular. He hands you the water and you immediately finish it before he can blink.

You mumble a quick apology as he exchanges the empty glass for the clean towel.

“Don’t worry about it. This will all be billed towards room service.”

You chuckle and throw him back the towel which lands squarely on his face.

“Not funny.”

“I’m dead serious. Look at this damage on my shirt!” he points at the makeup smear accusingly, causing an escalation in your laughter. But the tears return, and you wordlessly wipe them with your palms.

“Come,” he offers his hand for you to take. “You have to eat.”

You stare wordlessly at it for a while, before taking it and pulling yourself to stand. You’re wobbly on your feet, and Jungkook tightens his grip on your hand in an attempt to steady you.

“I can’t go out like this,” you mumble. Jungkook nods in agreement as he wears a playful grin. You nudge his side, brows furrowed and lips forming into a pout. “I know I look like a mess. No need to rub it in.”

“I never said anything,” he chuckles. “Weren’t you the one asking to go out again?”

“I still do. But don’t worry,” you pat the back of his hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to come with.”

“I haven’t noticed Taehyung pass through yet, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jungkook watches your expression morph back into a blank stare. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, after all. His mind scrambles to quickly divulge the topic. “Where do you want to go? I already called my replacement at the front desk—”

“I know this is a bed and breakfast and not a hotel, but you guys have liquor, right?”

You’ve somehow convinced Jungkook to siphon a bottle of whiskey and a few cans of beer from the lodging’s inventory. Though he can quite happily admit that it didn’t take much to get him on board. But he technically can’t be seen drinking and lounging on the job for morale’s sake, so he sneaks in some food along with the alcohol — and you — back to his room. Although Jaehyun did catch you and Jungkook on the way up.

(He promises a wage increase if Jaehyun doesn’t say anything to Jungkook’s older brother. You didn’t have to but since you offered, I’ll take it, the latter said.)

“Apologies for the mess,” he mutters, holding the door with his foot as he welcomes you. He turns on the lamp instead of the main lights since they’re less obtrusive to the eye.

“Are you kidding?” you stumble in, trying not to drop the cans of beer you’re holding. “This place is practically spotless. You have bodies in your closet, don’t you?”

Jungkook laughs as he makes a beeline for the makeshift table sitting between his pseudo-living-room-slash-bedroom and kitchen—

“Wait, you have a kitchen?”

Jungkook isn’t sure if you’re perplexed or amazed. He shrugs nonchalantly either way.

“Perks of being part-owner, I guess?”

He haphazardly throws a blanket and a pillow near the table for you to sit in, but apparently, you have other plans and proceed to make a home for yourself in his bed. You bury your head in the sheets, mumbling, “It smells good.”

“I change the sheets every month,” he boasts rather proudly; all part of his routine.

“I should definitely check that closet.”

“By all means,” he grins, plopping down in front of the table. He’s yet to have dinner, so his intentions to get food and beer had been partly selfish. Jungkook turns to you, now laying on your side, sullen eyes already studying him. He quickly looks away and grabs a spoon before holding it up.

“Food? You’re probably hungry, right? I know I’m always craving, especially after a good cry. Not that I cry often, but doing so from time to time doesn’t hurt either, I suppose. I hope that doesn’t sound too weird—I know there’s this stigma around men and crying but honestly, it’s all such bullshit. We are born into the world crying, it’s literally the first thing we do as humans. Anyway, do you fancy some beef and white rice? I know it’s not much, but...what are you laughing for?”

Jungkook watches you descend into hysteria, clutching your stomach as your giggles turn silent, but your shoulders are still visibly shaking. You heave for air, turning over so your back is face to him.

“If I knew I was this funny, I would have switched careers,” he mumbles, though loud enough for you to hear, as he stuffs his face with rice.

“It’s not too late,” you reply with a sniffle. “You can still change your mind.”

“That’s true, I suppose. Don’t they have that saying that goes ‘a fickle heart is the only constant in this world’ or something?”

Your head whips back towards him, swollen eyes wide in astonishment. “Did you just quote Howl’s Moving Castle?”

His nose scrunches up in deep thought. “Maybe? I did watch it recently.”

“You’re an odd one, Jeon Jungkook,” you muse quietly, eyes mimicking one of the phases of the moon as you grin.

“Says the person who’s soiling my fresh linen with her tears,” he says playfully. But there’s no reply this time around, and he quickly backtracks. “It’s okay to laugh at that one—it was a joke. A very terrible one, apparently.”

“No. You’re quite spot on, actually.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak for a while, unsure whether he should be overstepping the boundary more than he should have. But he looks at your vulnerable state, splayed across his bed, and thinks all formalities are out the window at this point. Despite the previous state of your relationship with him, or otherwise the lack of it, this would probably constitute friendship. Therefore, as a friend, it’s his moral duty to rid you of your throes and woes, even just a little.

“Where did you go, anyway? Must have been fun if you got all shit-faced like this.”

Keeping the tone airy is probably the best way to go as an introduction.

“Just a pub. I didn’t want to go clubbing by myself, it could have been dangerous.”

Jungkook’s forehead creases with worry, and he holds himself back from the question that he’s burning to ask: Then where the hell is Kim Taehyung? He reserves the right to be outright angry because he knows it’s not his place to. He reaches for the can of beer, which hisses in frustration when he opens it.

“You don’t have friends in the city?” he asks, hoping you will not take offence at his question. You shrug.

“I didn’t really keep in touch with anyone after moving away. It felt weird asking someone out of the blue.”

“You could have called me,” he says without much thought.

“I seriously considered it, but…” you trail off, leaving Jungkook to fill the void himself. He doesn’t mind that he probably didn’t cross your mind as a go-to person to call in times of crisis. “I heard you were quite the party pooper in high school, so I had my doubts.”

“Hey!” he protests, but you ignore him and continue. He doesn’t disagree, of course, but being called out is not a fun experience whether it came from a drunk acquaintance or not.

“New in town, straight-A student—but to be fair, quite good-looking and athletic to boot. My god, all my friends had a stupid on crush on you.”

Jungkook’s cheeks grow warm with embarrassment at the deluge of compliments. “Me? With gangly limbs and an awful bowl-cut? Who couldn’t even get a single word out to anybody, especially girls, without stuttering? That Jungkook?”

“You need to give yourself a little more credit than that, Jeon.” You’re facing him once again, both hands tucked neatly beneath your head.

He nods as an acknowledgement but swiftly changes the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat, though? I’m halfway through this already.”

“I’m sure. I think I’ll probably just nap, then go,” you chuckle. Jungkook can only offer you a rueful smile. He doesn’t mind if you’re unwilling to share the whole spiel of what caused you to be miserable enough to drink by yourself. He’s quite well-versed in that area, after all. It doesn’t solve anything, sure, but it’s enough to numb the feeling of being alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t have to guess who the root of it is, though.

He sighs as he turns on the television, before lowering it down to a manageably quiet level where it will not disturb your sleep. He doesn’t have a particular show in mind to watch, but having the mindless static accompany him is more than enough.

“I lied,” you begin after several minutes of silence. “I can’t sleep.”

“That’s because you’re doing it wrong,” he motions for you to move over as he walks closer to the bed. You follow his instruction, and he peels a layer of the bedsheet. Jungkook laughs as you scramble to get under it. “Better now?”

You didn’t answer but instead, lift your head from the sheets before nodding. He’s overcome with a sense of assurance when he sees your peaceful, content expression.

He hasn’t so much as turned his back on you when you call his name out once more.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Just make sure you leave us a five-star rating.”

He grins just as you crack one eye open. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. We need that public approval to keep running,” he watches the corner of your lips twitch in amusement as you settle back comfortably into the futon with a nod.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Was I wrong? For feeling wanted, I mean.”

Your question catches him by surprise; suddenly the hardwood floor beneath him begins to feel cold against his feet. Instead of returning to his previous spot, he carefully sits on the edge of the bed as the springs creak from his weight. He pulls both his legs underneath him; he couldn’t quite face you, so he stares at the television, instead.

“I don’t think so. We all crave validation, more so from our partners than anybody else. I think it’s natural. Otherwise, it’s pointless.”

“Pointless,” you echo softly.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t work it out, though. Part of it is communicating your needs to each other.”

Hypocrite, Jungkook says to himself. It’s laughable, the level of bullshit he allows himself to bask in. What’s the point of giving someone else advice, when he can’t even get his shit together?

“You have to be truthful because the other person might not know what you want.”

“I know that,” your voice is shaky when you speak. Jungkook hedges his bet and assumes that you began crying once more; he didn’t need to look back to confirm. “I guess I’m just scared of facing the outcome of the confrontation when it does happen.”

“You don’t want to be abandoned when shit hits the fan,” he says more to himself than you.

“Exactly. I don’t even know when it began. One day I just woke up and,” you pause, and Jungkook hears you sniffle. “And everything felt so unfamiliar. The places—the people I thought I knew. It’s like I dissociated from my body, and I've just been on autopilot ever since.”

You pause, and Jungkook continues for you. “And you thought going along with the flow would fix things, but it feels even more jarring because you’ve lost that sense of familiarity.”

“Yeah, exactly. I thought coming here would somehow magically restore everything, but quite the opposite, actually. I guess running away from it doesn’t solve anything,” you chuckle bitterly. He slowly shifts on the bed to face you.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook feels seen; like someone has found the lock to the door he threw away so long ago. Your words continuously play on a loop in his mind, forcing him to look at the actions he’s been taking. Certainly, he’s not racing away from himself by choosing to move to a different country despite his parents’ protest, is he? What about the fact that he chooses not to tell her, the supposed love of his life, about the fact that he’d felt so deprived that he couldn’t resist the temptation to have sex with someone else? And to top it all off, he doesn’t have the guts to tell her.

Jungkook knows he doesn't deserve the right to sit there and tell you what to do when he doesn’t dare to be honest in his relationship.

When you’ve cried your eyes dry and the evenness of your breathing signifies you’re fast asleep, Jungkook gently moves from his spot on the bed. He grabs the phone that has been idly on top of the table, before heading to the bathroom and closing the door shut. No matter the outcome of the conversation, she deserves the truth.

Jungkook inhales deeply and presses the call button.

You rise before daybreak, and at a glance, Jungkook is nowhere to be found. There’s a painful throb on the side of your head as you sit up, and you ignore it as you untangle yourself from the sheets. With the help of the lights from the television, you find him splayed across the couch not too far from where you stand. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on a few hours ago, and guilt creeps up quicker than you anticipated it to.

You untuck the blanket you’ve used from his bed before walking towards him, careful not to disturb his slumber.

“I apologize for bothering you,” you mumble as you lay the blanket softly on top of him. You didn’t think to wake him before your departure; you already told him that you were set to leave after a short nap, anyway.

Hurriedly, you exit his room, forgetting that you’re completely barefoot. It’s fine, it’s just a few floors down, anyway.

The short elevator ride gives you little room to prepare for what you’re going to tell Taehyung. You glance at the phone you’ve been keeping on ‘do not disturb’ to find two missed calls from him a few hours prior. You just hope he’s already asleep by the time you get to your room.

You’re relieved when you enter and the lights are turned off. It feels juvenile to be sneaking around as you use your phone’s light to pick up a discarded shirt before stripping away your clothes and hurriedly putting it on.

Taehyung’s body is turned towards the wall as he hugs the pillow tightly against his body. Seeing him tranquil and at peace shifts your mood, as if all the frustration you feel dissipates within an instant. You slide under the covers, careful not to disturb him but he shifts at your presence anyway. He forgoes the pillow, snaking his arms around your waist instead as he inches closer.

“Where have you been?” he murmurs sleepily against your ear.

“Just...here.”

He doesn’t ask further and you don’t elaborate, thinking that he’s fallen back asleep. A part of you is glad for the unadulterated freedom he’s giving you. But there’s a sudden feeling of optimism; perhaps the sensation of loneliness will pass, and that you’re merely being dramatic (for the lack of better term). Once again you’re lulled into complacency. But it’s never a bad thing to just hope for the best, right?

But Taehyung is gone by noon when you finally have the decency to peel yourself off the bed. There’s a simple text from several hours ago that reads: Didn’t want to disturb you. Call me later.

You do exactly that, but it takes you straight to voicemail. Twice. Three times.

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach, but you try not to read into the situation too much.

“It’s fine, I wanted a day to go around by myself anyway,” you say out loud, uncaring if the walls are the only ones hearing you out. You fall back into the mattress, knowing the eagerness to get ready will not come unless there’s anybody to encourage.

But it seems like you didn’t have to wait for your saving grace for too long because your phone rings and you immediately roll over to reach for it.

Your heart sinks when you read the caller ID, but you grin and answer the call, anyway.

“Hey, Mom.”

She answers back cheerily, before divulging into her familiar list of questions; the usual how are you’s and the have you been eating well’s. When she finally inquires about Taehyung, you answer hesitantly.

“He’s out for work. You know how it is.”

She sighs and you wince, regretting your choice of tone. “Did you argue again?”

“No! That’s not it at all. I’m just—”

“Whatever it is, just be patient with him,” she admonishes. Your grip on the phone tightens. Right, because that very same rhetoric did nothing to salvage your marriage with Dad. It had been one of the reasons why you decided to move away after high school in the first place. Your mother managed to convince you to move in with her, stating that she wanted to make up for being absent most of your youth.

A different country. Foreign places to see, people to meet. The thrill of it all had been enough to convince you to depart the only place you knew your entire life. But part of the reason why you agreed had been because you were growing weary of living with your father’s new family. There was never a sense of belonging that tied you to Seoul despite spending all your life there.

Except for Taehyung.

He followed you five years later, like a fool in love. Then you decided to get married two years after rekindling your relationship. Three years since then, it feels like you’re floating in between two sides of the same coin with him, neither in bliss nor in terror.

“I know,” you chew your bottom lip. Fear is catching fire in your chest, and you smother it quickly so it will not disperse and reach your heart. “I’m trying.”

She switches the topic quicker than you can wipe the tears that manage to fall, and soon enough she’s complaining to you about having to come out for late lunch with her friends. Your answers are short and subdued, just enough to let her know that you’re still there, but your mind is itching to run somewhere else. Before she hangs up, you give her a gentle reminder to check on your apartment. She promises not to forget.

“Have fun, dear! Don’t forget to visit the places I told you about.”

“You act as if I didn’t live here before,” she chuckles at your unintended humour. “But don’t worry, I won’t.”

The line cuts after a short goodbye, and you welcome silence with a long sigh. It seems like there’s a lot on the list for you to finish: get some food to cure your hangover, take a nap, and then another after waking up. The prospect of going out alone is more daunting than it seems, therefore, staying in feels like it’s the best option.

Suddenly, a fleeting thought crosses your mind. You could have called me.

You instinctively reach for the telephone by the bedside table and dial his room number, fresh and vivid in your memory.

It takes half an hour to get to the destination Jungkook suggested. He agreed that you’ll treat him to (a very late afternoon) lunch if he picks the place.

“No way, it’s still here!” you exclaim as soon as you step foot off the cab. Waves of nostalgia come trickling in one by one, then hits you all at once when you open the door. Your senses are overwhelmed with familiar spices as soon as you push the door open. You look back and beam at Jungkook, who’s watching you with a small smile.

It’s only when you’re seated and have ordered that Jungkook clears his throat before saying, “I’m glad you still remember.”

You gawk at him, before crossing your legs firmly beneath you.

“Are you kidding? They have the best bibimbap and tofu stew. I was here almost every night especially during the exam period.”

“I know,” he says with confidence and you eye him with suspicion. “I mean, it was tough not to. You were always so loud around your friends.”

You scoff at him despite you knowing it to be true, but Jungkook takes no offence to it as he grins.

“It’s called having fun. You should try it sometime,” you point at him with your spoon.

“I am having fun with—”

“If you say ‘with you’, I swear to god you’re going to pay for the food instead,” you warn him despite a smile threatening to break from your lips.

“With you,” he emphasizes the phrase almost mockingly. You murmur the word “impossible” under your breath as you feel the tips of your ears grow warm.

Although the comment seems gratuitous at the time of its conception, to Jungkook’s credit you also come to enjoy time spent with him. Perhaps it’s the fact that he stands between novelty and familiarity that you fall into an easy discourse with him; you didn’t have to choose your words too carefully or worry that he might think ill of you based on what you say. There’s no seed of doubt and no root cause of anxiety.

You can’t help but find it odd, nevertheless.

Jungkook, whom you’ve never shared more than two lines before your current interaction with him. You’d never have thought in a million years you’d confide in somebody who used to give you odd stares and unfriendly glares when you passed by him in the halls of your high school. The past you would gawk, confused as to how he manages to coax even the tiniest smile out of you.

You’re about to point out that very fact to Jungkook when your phone rings and you’re immediately reprieved back out of the comfort of his presence.

It’s Taehyung, and you immediately answer.

“Babe, don’t freak out, but I’m currently in Daegu. Crazy! I know, I know. But remember I told you last night about—”

He begins listing names you recall hearing in passing. But it didn’t matter, because you stop paying attention after hearing where his current location is.

“—is why I couldn’t answer your call. But don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, probably.”

You watch Jungkook shift in his seat as he asks you if everything’s all right. You nod instinctively.

“Okay.”

“Cool. I’ll call you again later after we get settled. Love you.”

“Mhm.”

He must have been in a hurry because the call cuts before you could get another word in. Although you didn’t attempt to answer longer than a few sentences in the first place, afraid that the quiver in your voice will reveal the hurt and anger that has slowly been piling up one by one.

Jungkook thinks you’re a dam that’s overfilled and just about ready to burst. He’s afraid because you seem overly happy, obviously overcompensating for the devastation he had seen in your eyes hours prior to your call. He needn’t guess who it had been on the other side. Although he doesn’t know what Taehyung said, it’s enough to send you in a frantic search for your sanity.

This begins with you asking him to go to a karaoke bar with you, before proceeding to order several drinks. It’s on me, Jeon! I owe you lots, you declare before proceeding to down a whole glass of beer in one go.

Within the privacy the four walls of the room bring, you pour your energy into one upbeat song after another, seemingly uncaring of Jungkook’s presence. That is until your umpteenth song ends, and you turn away from the screen dramatically and towards him to hand him the mic.

“Your turn!”

“Great, I thought you’d never ask,” he says sarcastically and you join him on the seat, giggling. He takes the remote and punches in his selected number as a familiar tune comes through the speakers. He looks at you as he begins to sing the lyrics of the verse, and you break out into a small grin.

“I’m trying to realize, it’s alright to not be fine…” he sings softly as your head gently leans on his shoulder. Jungkook lets you.

He does again on the cab ride to the pub for a late dinner. And again on the way home. The weight of your presence against him is most likely inconsequential to the heaviness you carry around with you. That’s why he’ll do his part even though he most likely doesn’t have to; anything to let you know you’re not alone. He just hopes you know.

“Jungkook,” your voice is quiet against his ear as he carries you up the concrete steps.

“Yes?” he adjusts you on his back, careful not to drop you. He’s only slightly inebriated, and he’s hoping there will be no accidents for him or you.

“Thank you.”

“Just leave us a—”

“Five-star rating,” hearing your laughter feels ticklish in his stomach. “I will.”

His older brother greets him with an odd look once he enters the door of the lobby, before asking, “Is this what you skipped work for?”

“I’m only cashing in my days off before a leave,” Jungkook points at the elevator with his chin.

“Yeah, yeah,” his brother says dismissively before pressing the button for Jungkook. Silence passes through them as they wait for the doors to open. “Is she the reason why you changed your mind?”

Jungkook feels the steady rhythm of your pulse against his back, which is kilometres away from his erratic heartbeat. He tries not to put too much thought into it; he did just carry you up several flights of stairs, after all.

The harsh ping of the bell saves him from answering, and the older didn’t press him any further. It’s only after he’s turned the keys to your room, safely placed you on the bed — but not before he falls back onto the spot beside you with a deep sigh — that he has the time to formulate an articulate response.

“I’d like to think I did it out of my own volition. But a lot has happened the last few days, and, well…” he trails off as he turns his body to face you, one hand tucked against his cheek as the other reaches out to comb a stray hair out of your face.

You stir under his touch but he doesn’t make the effort to move away.

“Seems like I owe you again, Jeon Jungkook,” you whisper, the words stringing together seemingly in an indecipherable sound. He manages to put the pieces together, nonetheless.

“You’re not under any obligation to repay me,” he grins when you peel your eyes open. “I don’t want to give you all the credit, but you might have saved me more than once.”

“How so?”

The reflection of the city lights chase away the dimness of the room, but they also reflect your eyes in a way that makes Jungkook think you’re holding the galaxy’s secrets within them.

“I was having this, sort of, midlife crisis—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” you place your elbow against the mattress as you lean your flushed cheeks against your palm. “Saying you’re having a midlife crisis now in your late twenties makes it seem like your life’s going to end in your sixties.”

He shrugs half-heartedly. The pessimist in him urges him to declare, “Who’s to say I won’t?”

“Boo! I hate this story already.”

“Buckle up, because it’s about to get worse,” he smiles wryly.

And Jungkook opens up his fresh wounds and bares his soul without pomp and flowery words. He watches your reaction intently, nonetheless, knowing well enough that by the end of the night, he might get kicked out of the halls. He’ll take the punishment kindly, since she didn’t have the chance to slap him when he could tell, despite the distance, that she would punch him square in the face.

“I know it’s wrong, and I’m not making any excuses for my actions.”

“I feel like I have no place to get angry at you. But strictly speaking, from a rational person’s point of view...fuck you.”

“I deserve no less,” he says, appreciating your candour. “That’s why last night, when you fell asleep, I told her everything. I realized that I had no place to speak of communicating when I’ve been holding out on the truth from her for a while now. You can only imagine how angry she is with me.” He swallows thickly, hating the way his throat constricts uncomfortably. Perhaps he did care about how you’ll view him, after all.

“Are you all right, though?”

The worry engraved in the crease between your brow disarms him; the unexpected delicacy in the way you ask him suddenly brings him into sobriety. After hearing the phrase I don’t want to see you, ever, he hasn’t had the time to process how he feels other than the guilt that continues to plague him. He’d buried heartbreak that comes along after losing somebody so quickly that realizing it now has him terrified of himself.

Has he truly reached the point where he’s incapable of feeling anything?

Or is it that somewhere between then and now, he’s fallen out of love with her and made excuses for himself so that it’s easier to let her hate him because he didn’t have the courage to break it off? Is it because he’s using her as an excuse — his ticket out of Seoul, out of the life he thinks to be mundane? Because if so, then he’s an even bigger scumbag than he originally thought.

“Jungkook?”

The warmth of your hand on his cheek salvages him from sinking into the bottomless depth of his thoughts.

“I can’t believe I strung her along for this long.”

Then it hits him all at once; an unavoidable freight train carrying the emotions he’s repressed himself from bearing. In him blossoms the violent need to abate the heaviness that began festering within the depths of his mind a long time ago.

One sob and you pull him against you. Two and you’re running your hands soothingly down the curves of his back. Three, and he’s clinging onto you for dear life as the uncontrollable cries consume him. He’s overcome by a sense of déjà vu as you wrap your arms tighter against him.

Jungkook lets you.

Again and again, he will selfishly welcome your presence, as if doing so would diminish him of any wrongdoings he has committed.

You drift in and out of consciousness, but the warm body stays unchanged beside you. Another aspect feels indifferent: The pounding headache constantly knocking against your temple. In hindsight, you probably need to stop drinking to the point where your body can’t handle the after-effects. Inhaling slowly puts your mind at ease as the scent of fresh lavender wafts over your senses; you’re immediately reminded of hanging freshly laundered sheets during a hot summer day. Only one person manages to conjure such specific and vivid imagery for you.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your body goes rigid at the feeling of his heavy arm draped across your waist. You slowly open your eyes, hoping that your initial hunch is wrong, and you’re merely dreaming that you let someone who’s neither a stranger nor a friend lay in bed with you.

But you’re met with his peaceful sleeping face, a stark difference between last night’s troubled and despaired Jungkook. For a split second, you let your mind wander with your heart amongst the perilous grounds of your imagination.

If picturing life with him is a sin, then there’s absolutely no saving you from entering the depths of hell.

(A tad bit over-dramatic on your part, but you believe you have the license to do so since you just woke up in the arms of someone else other than Taehyung.)

Despite the slight panic accentuated by the quick palpitations of your heartbeat, you make no genuine effort to move away. Bits of cynicism creeps up, either way, as you berate yourself for clinging onto anybody willing to keep you company.

But at this point, is Jungkook truly just ‘anybody’ to you? In a short period of time, you’ve managed to share more with him than you’ve had with Taehyung. With Jungkook, there’s nobody to compete for attention with.

So, what is holding you back from leaving the anguish behind and instead run straight on towards Jungkook? Is the sanctity of marriage you’ve sworn to uphold after seeing how it tore your own family apart enough of a reason to stay with him?

The answer sits on the tip of your tongue like a ripe fruit ready to burst.

Jungkook shifts his position as he raises one eyelid open before breaking out into a lazy grin. You return the gesture as you peel yourself away from his touch to sit upon the mattress and stretch your limbs wide.

“That was the best sleep I had in a while,” he admits.

“Maybe all you needed was a good cry.”

He gives you a knowing look. “Maybe.”

Silence ensues, and all of a sudden you’re unsure of what to tell him when minutes ago you allowed yourself to stare at him unabated. How exactly are you supposed to express gratification to the person who’s allowed themselves to be the unfortunate passenger to your rollercoaster of emotions? What’s more, is you’d done the same for him. Do you, then, without a need for more words, go back to how it had been previously and pretend nothing had happened?

You didn’t have much time to ponder because your phone vibrates in the back pocket of your jeans.

“What do you mean by ‘we need to talk’?”

“Good morning to you too, Taehyung,” you mumble. Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise, as if in sudden realization of something he’d forgotten. He moves off the bed and motions for the bathroom. You nod wordlessly. It almost slipped your mind that you sent him a somewhat vague text the night previous after Jungkook’s spiel. “It means exactly what it says. We need to talk when you get back. You are coming back, right?”

“What’s with the sudden hostility in your tone? Of course, I’m coming back.”

“I think I deserve to be a little hostile,” a sudden wave of bravery washes over you. “How exactly am I supposed to feel after you leave me without warning on our trip?”

“I told you—”

“Stop fucking lying to me, Kim Taehyung,” your voice breaks as tears blur your vision. “You never talk about anything with me anymore, and you know it.” There’s a certain pride you feel when he doesn’t respond right away. “I can’t talk to you about this on the phone. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Jungkook returns well after you’ve ended the call with Taehyung.

“I should probably get back to my room and change. I need to take over for my brother.”

You follow him towards the door, where he haphazardly puts on his shoes. When he stands, he gazes at you, eyes filled with tenderness. Your heart stutters. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course,” you offer him an encouraging smile, but he doesn’t return it. With one nod he’s out the door, and you watch as his figure retreats towards the elevator without so much as a wave, not knowing that would be the last you see of him for a while.

Taehyung’s arrival comes earlier than expected and catches you after your long shower, but says nothing to quell your worries. He merely sits on the bed and watches you pace around the room; for a comb one minute, then you put on lotion next, then you’re folding clothes to be laundered — anything to busy yourself from confrontation. It’s not that your courage has wavered, but rather your dignity prevents you from breaking first.

Yet as soon as your name rolls off his tongue, there’s a magnetic pull that has your feet nimbly walking to where he is.

“I’m sorry,” is all it takes from him for you to unravel completely. There’s no shortage of fresh, hot tears as he engulfs you against him. You bring your palms up to grab on his shirt tightly, before hitting his chest with no real intentions of hurting him. He doesn’t stop you but instead pulls back to place a chaste kiss on your forehead. Your arms fall nimbly to the side and Taehyung continues to mutter apologies one after the other, catching each teardrop before they reach the bottom of your ruddy cheeks.

He waits until you’ve stopped sobbing before you begin diving into a conversation that’s been long overdue. Slowly, the walls you’ve built around yourself begin to crumble brick by brick as the imperfections of your relationship reveal itself on the surface. It’s uncomfortable for him as much as it is for you to dredge up old wounds, evident by the way his eyes well up with tears, but it’s an intervention needed to regain what was, if possible.

Both you and Taehyung know one conversation is not enough to undo the fractures, but it’s a step closer towards salvation.

The end of your trip creeps up closer than you’d like. You stopped tagging along with Taehyung’s workdays because he agreed to go places with you. Days without him are spent milling around the neighbouring places of the bed and breakfast, which leads to your discovery of the best spicy rice cake just around the corner of the street. There is also the obligatory bike ride alone around the Han river, which proves to be more satisfactory than almost anything you’ve ever done.

You find yourself looking for Jungkook in-between the hours where your mind wanders and for a split second, all of your thoughts are suddenly dedicated to him. Deception comes in the form of denial when you push the aimless sentiments aside, afraid that you might get too carried away. It’s maddening to think that he only seems to show up in times of dire need as if the deity responsible for overlooking fate is playing tricks on you.

(Though you know that if you want to see him, the only thing you have to do is knock on his door. You dismiss that idea, either way, for fear of being too obtrusive.)

On the day of your departure, you wake up early to catch breakfast. You ask Taehyung if he wants to join you despite knowing the answer. He grunts in response but stays unmoving. You untangle yourself from the warmth of his body before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

Food has been prepared once you’re in the dining area, but there’s nobody to be found. It immediately reminds you of the first morning of your arrival—the excited faces of the children and their parents who were engrossed in a serious conversation, and the elderly couple enjoying their morning of peace together. Two weeks have gone by, and you’re not even sure if they’re still here or if they’ve moved on to see other places, meet other people.

Inadvertently, you steal a glimpse of the kitchen door, waiting for it to swing open and reveal the one person whose smile you’ve been longing to witness one last time. You grin as you shake your head; your propensity towards wishful thinking never ceases to make you feel disheartened.

“Last time you were staring longingly at your soup, and today you’re smiling to yourself,” his voice cuts through your thoughts intrusively as he strolls in, dressed down in a pair of casual joggers and an ill-fitting shirt too big to possibly belong to him. “Hi.”

Your gaze meets his, and breathlessly, you say, “Hi.”

He doesn’t make any gesture that indicates he wants to sit and chat this time around.

“Been busy?”

“I could say the same about you,” your lips curl upwards in a small smile. There’s a landslide of things you want to ask him, topics you want to share. You want to thank him over and over, invite him for a meal or even a simple walk around town. But words seem to fail you as you shift your eyes to stare at your half-eaten plate of fruit slices.

“My older brother mentioned you’re leaving today,” he announces offhandedly, scratching the nape of his neck. You’d like to think he’s just as unsure as you on how to go about having a conversation. Is he also stumbling over his thoughts like you are?

“Uh, yeah—” you flick your wristwatch to check the time— “I just have to wake Taeyhung, and we’ll be on our way.” The rueful smile he gives you feels like a splinter prodding your heart. “You?”

“Oh, I was just on my way to grab something before heading to the gym.”

“Ah,” you nod. Unlike the last time you two shared a conversation in the same place, this one is marred by awkward pauses and long bouts of silence. Afraid this will cause him to leave, you promptly state, “I honestly thought you ended up leaving the country since I didn’t see much of you.”

“That was the plan, yes,” his smile finally reaches his eyes. “I was supposed to leave a week ago— I mean, I had already bought the tickets and despite how it ended with me and her, I still wanted to leave. But someone told me just because you try to run from your problems doesn’t mean it will not follow you there.”

You chuckle as you shake your head. He continues. “I feel like I owe it to her to grant her wishes of not wanting to see me, no matter how much I wanted to get out of this place. A lot of reasons compelled me to stay, and I think I’m better for it.”

When your gaze meets his, there’s an unstated agreement; a kinship that cannot be unbound, locked away in a time you can only revisit through your memory.

“With that being said, I might tour Europe in two months’ time, starting with Sweden,” he grins playfully, cheeks dotted with a dimple. You roll your eyes as you stand before shoving him lightly by the shoulder.

“Alright, Richie Rich, no need to rub it in. I get it, I get it.”

“You have me mistaken, Miss. This was a culmination of years of hard work and savings.”

“I’m happy for you,” you say with finality. No matter how much you did not want the conversation to end, there’s a twinge of sweetness to a farewell amidst the bleakness that often comes along; it doesn’t always have to end in thunder and rainfall.

But then he asks, “Are you happy for you?”

It might have been then, at that moment, where you’d willingly say blurt the phrase out loud, your situation be damned. But you didn’t—you couldn’t. Not when you nod wordlessly. Not when he opens his arms seemingly as a conclusion, a wordless action that says: I should probably let you go so I can also go about with my day. Instead, you carefully place the three words in your back pocket to be used later before you step into the warmth of his embrace.

He whispers a farewell and a promise that you know you’ll carry in your heart until the time fate allows you to meet again at another time and another place.

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leonawriter · 4 years ago

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My Personal Takes on Stormbringer:

Without a full and accurate translation to go through in one sitting, it’s still hard to get a handle on things properly. That said, thank you to everyone who’s working on it.

Now.

(please note all quotes are my memory of translations I have read, and are not verbatim.)

-Asagiri, please, you do not need to make so many coding analogies with regards to Chuuya and Verlaine. They don’t work.

-It often feels - not just in this book but also in 55 Minutes, where there are tight restrictions on a time travel ability - that Asagiri limits abilities based on how scientifically accurate they are. However, this doesn’t make sense! why should it! Literature should be an expression of freedom. There should be rules - the same way the Page has rules - but in the sense of Magic A is Magic A. You make up the rules and then you don’t break them in future. Why have Kunikida able to create something with a mass heavier than a piece of paper out of a page of his notebook, but then say you can’t do [x/y/z] because it’s scientifically unviable?

-I have no issue with how skk treat each other. they are chaos teens. let them be. like... this is the beginning of their actual trust. they’re also in the mafia, and in a dark time in their lives. it’s fine. (it isn’t, but at the same time, it kinda is.)

-I feel like Chuuya taking things from other people and making that thing “his” fits him as a character? he had nothing before, so when you have nothing, all you have is what people give you. If someone gives him a bike, then that bike is his now. He has to learn to look after it, love it, and respect it, and he’ll remember that friend by it. Same goes for pretty much anything else. Also, it’s a show of how well Chuuya adapts to things, and what things he chooses to pick up.

-The hat. I do not like how the hat was treated. Making it into the key that helps Chuuya be able to activate Corruption cheapens the meaning and weight of having been given the hat as a memento of the first person who told him to live as a human being. Why not have the hat be a reminder of his humanity in a purely sentimental way? I’m going to ignore anything canon about this and just say it’s sentimental. Which, like, it could have been a safety blanket type thing, not pseudo-science.

-The coding in Chuuya’s body is a bit... of a reach? How do you put that in there? I don’t get it. Just say that there’s a possibility he might die if he uses Corruption, or that he’ll never become “Chuuya” again. That he’d lose himself utterly. The log history can be either on a chip (insert Dazai making “lost dog, if found return to the mafia” jokes here) or on something else that could easily be destroyed during the course of the story (or not).

-Dazai living in the shipping container reads to me like an extreme version of “I do not want to be found I do not want to be helped I am worthless trash and what’s the point in having an actual home if I plan on dying any day anyway.” Verlaine asks what drove him there, and Dazai says “you” and tbh that offers up so many questions (like, was the shipping container thing recent, was it temporary, or what). There’s the possibility that Dazai doesn’t always live there, because otherwise he’d suffer from hypothermia and get pneumonia in the winter! But above all, Mori had nothing to do with this. He was probably terrified to go too close in case he got killed. Stop saying Dazai lives here because “poor baby was abused :(” that sure was not it.

-Dazai goes all this way - plotting for ages, since before the beginning of the book, having been number one on Verlaine’s hit list, just to get the truth about Chuuya’s humanity and to preserve it - because “I want to see Chuuya suffer as a human being” is him saying he doesn’t want to see Chuuya become like him, or inhuman, because that’s not Chuuya. (dude, there ain’t a straight explanation for this...)

-following on from the previous, Dazai refusing to just let things be the moment he realises that it’d mean double suiciding with Chuuya. I personally see that as a shippy moment because Dazai had already given up on Chuuya being alive (if I read the translation right) and in that case, dying would just be letting go. But Mori says “yeah but I don’t think he’s dead yet?” and that, along with the “double suicide” thing, makes Dazai go “absolutely NOT.”

OK a related thing - as far as I remember, when IRL Dazai attempted double suicide, right up until his actual death it would result in either a failure or... his partner dying and him surviving. The cold potential of this happening in BSD if Dazai had just given up reminded me of that.

-Regardless of my thoughts on how it was handled, Stormbringer reinforced my previous ideas about how Chuuya basically IS Arahabaki. It also suggests that Arahabaki was more of a sentient ability than a true “god” but... that’s fine. For me, all I cared about was that all those “Arahabaki is an evil being that is constantly trying to take over Chuuya and Corruption is Arahabaki being let out” takes are not true. It’s... basically Chuuya taking the lid off his power. I joked at one point that Corruption is Chuuya going “I’m so pissed off I’m gonna kick the door open and throw away the key” and Dazai going “go for it babe, I got your key.”

-Rimbaud and Verlaine are... very complicated characters? They’re not easy to get a handle on. I sometimes find myself liking them and sometimes find myself disliking them, and that’s something that’ll be easier when I have a full translation available - and one of Fifteen. Rimbaud was held back by seeing Chuuya, at first, as nothing more than an empty vessel to Arahabaki’s power, while Verlaine was so taken over by grief without understanding how to handle that, that he became a monster up until the end of the story. Neither of them were good people. That said, their relationship to each other? It’s very complicated and reminds me of their IRL selves to a point but without the skeevy nature and without it going so far, so kudos to that.

-Adam. Knowing his creator was a ten year old girl makes so much sense when you look at the things he says and does. He doesn’t get so much. He’s very logical, but doesn’t understand that a game of billiards isn't as much of an icebreaker as he thinks it should be. Surprised by bubble gum. Games like “strange things humans do” are very much like the word games kids play in the car.

-Verlaine being the fifth executive was something I did not predict at all, whatsoever, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Like... how did he get to that point. Only so much can be said in a few paragraphs (it seems) of “this is [x] number of years in the future where Chuuya’s an executive now.”

The last we see of him, he’s overcome by grief, hatless, and he seems to have only just realised how much he wished he could return what Rimbaud gave to him. (Ironically, by being able to grieve like that, it shows that he is capable of what he thinks he can’t do - same as Dazai.)

But how does he become an executive? Do they come to him slowly at first, and they gradually build up trust? Does he stay in contact with Chuuya? Do they see each other properly as brothers now, or not? I can’t help but feel that as it’s a long time - six years, in fact - between Stormbringer and canon, some bond of trust must have been built. The mafia protects Verlaine from the authorities and from the outside world just the same as Kouyou says that she wants to do for Kyouka, and the same as they’re there for Chuuya, too. So. A Verlaine who trains the mafia’s best assassins not because he’s forced into it, but because he feels the same loneliness as Chuuya, and finds that it helps? A Verlaine who learns slowly that he can care about more people than just Rimbaud and Chuuya? Holy shit yes please. A Verlaine who is loyal and protective and who you should be glad is in a (probably) gilded prison of the mafia’s basement, because otherwise he would actually do so many things to those who would harm his family.

Let’s just say - if I think of Arahabaki as a guardian or protector god who is just plain destructive because it can’t help that, then Chuuya and Verlaine looking and acting in similar ways because they share that same “parent” in a sense, makes sense. They are no longer just Arahabaki, they’re “Chuuya” and “Verlaine” - but they also share traits such as “Papa Wolf” and “lonely” and “violent,” among others.

-At least twice, pre-Soukoku Dazai and Chuuya refer to how they’re constantly thinking of each other. No, they don’t mean in positive ways, but they’re chaos teens and it’s still strong emotion. Chuuya mentions how he’s thought of at least 190 ways to punish Dazai for the things that he does (which also implies how their relationship is equal, and Dazai doesn’t call all the shots, and doesn’t get away with everything scot-free), and Dazai says that Verlaine can’t possibly win against him, because Dazai “spends all of his time, waking and sleeping, thinking of ways to annoy and harass Chuuya,” (quote not perfect.)

We also have Chuuya having Dazai appear to him first in his hallucinations, which I see as Chuuya’s inner Dazai-voice saying all the worst things, and ironically not actually saying or meaning things that would get across what real Dazai would want him to feel; in other words, that’s Chuuya’s view of him, or his mind searching for the one person he’d believe it to realistically come from.

As well, Dazai saying “there’s no way Chuuya could be an artificially constructed personality, because no one could create a personality that I [hate/that annoys me] so much.” Which, like... sure... you tell yourself that, kid...

Basically, they’re all the kinds of things that teenagers who don’t really get how strong feelings like these work yet, who are still figuring themselves (and their orientations, probably) out, would say if they don’t even like that other person that much, but they’re still attracted to them. A strong “why does it have to be THEM?” haha. And yet, as others have pointed out, Chuuya seems more on the oblivious side than Dazai, since as said, Dazai goes to all this effort and seems fond (but only when Chuuya’s not looking, dumbass) but Chuuya just... doesn’t get it.

A shorter summary of my thoughts and feelings?

Chuuya suffers, but is ultimately happier for it no matter whether he’s one of the clones or whether he’s the original (it’s arguable either way, and I don’t mind either way) as he’s still Chuuya. His bond with the mafia is also stronger than so many people think it is. They’re literally his adopted family. Even if he chose to leave, he’d still see them as family. I can’t see him leaving. He’s just... they’re family... don’t tear them apart...

The skk is strong, no matter what people say, because this is the start and it’s the end of their first year in the mafia and it’s not supposed to be a healthy time, for fuck’s sake. They’re both all sorts of messed up. They’re allowed to be. This is a time when that’s kinda the point of the book. But yeah, the trust and the bond is real.

Verlaine. I am now fascinated by Verlaine. I was so sure before the spoilers and translations came out that I’d hate him. I no longer do. He confuses me but I NEED TO KNOW MORE.

#bsd #Stormbringer spoilers #bsd spoilers #all opinions are the OP's #you don't have to agree but they are mine #facts are just facts tho #and this got long whoops #may add more if I remember more later

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originalwinnercheesecake · 4 years ago

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Chain of Iron theories: Who is the Killer

Its coming up on a week since last made a COI theory post. I said that I was going to try to post all my theories on COI BEFORE it comes out next month, so this posed a problem. So mow I am going to give my input on one of the biggest Mystery’s for COI, Who is the Killer? So in COI Belial will have a new minion who will target the shadowhunters, manages to kill 5 of them (same number Tatiana needed for the ritual) and is difficult for them to apprehend because they are somehow able to disappear. CC has left some hints that the killer is actually another Shadowhunter that Belial has somehow managed taken Possession of, despite protection rituals that should have been placed on this individual at birth ( My theory on that is that since this book is called “Chain of Iron” we will learn that Belial controls all his pawns with “chains of iron”. All hidden on their persons and glamored to look like ordinary accessories.) Our synapse for the book says that James Herondale has been having strange nightmares and fears he may actually be the killer. In COI he will start to tie himself up to sleep at night. We all know its not James right? In mysteries like this you always throw out your first guess/ the obvious guess. I have seen a lot of posts theorizing on who the true identity could be. I have seen some theories do not make much sense to me and some that were really good.

One theory that seems off to me is the idea that the killer is actually multiple killers, more specifically a collection of the survivors of Belial’s illness. If you support this theory I get your reasoning:Belial was able to briefly posses these people before, and the illness may have left biological changes in them. But here’s where I am confused, the killer is implied to be a massive threat wielding enhanced dark magic. At the end of COA there are 30something cured shadowhunters released from Silent City. CC says that the killers body count will be 5. If Belial has 30something new pawns that he can posses, gift his terrible powers to, and send out to prey on shadowhunters, I feel like there should be a lot more than 5 victims. I know Beial is not yet at full strength from battling Cortana, but he should at least be stronger than that. I have also heard theories that it is one of the Blackthorns. This also does not make much sense to me, given that for one thing none of them have training, Tatiana and Grace already have established rolls in Belial’s plans, and while I know Jesse is a part of Belial’s plan I believe his part will be save for COT after he has been resurrected. IF Belial were using Jesse’s empty body to walk the earth, then wouldn’t he also need to stop anyone from trying to resurrect Jesse?

I have heard many theories on Elias Carstairs being the killer. Many of them just want to make Elias out to be CC’s newest and most horrible monster parent, and absolve Alastair of any responsibility or need to apologize for the cruelty he has shown to our mains. If this is your reasoning for believing Elias is the killer than let me stop you right there. CC has written multiple series and her skills have evolved beyond the need to rely on such easy black and white tricks. But I also saw some people posting about how Elias goes home so late and stopped writing to his family. Some are theorizing that the real Elias Carstairs was intercepted and killed on his way back home and that the being that arrives in COI is actually an eidolon demon pretending to be Elias. This theory is AMAZING. It makes a lot of scenes, would give Belial another spy in a key place, and could potentially explain why Cortana starts acting so weird. I love this theory I do. I am just putting it t the side right now because I need the real Elias alive for other Carstairs family theories, and again have been working with the theory that the killer is a real shadowhunter whom Belial is controlling with another “chain of iron”. My theories are below.

1.) Lucie Herondale is the Killer

I am working with he theory that all Belial’s pawns have “chains of Iron” on them, which means all three blackthorns have them. In old art CC released of Grace she is seen wearing a pearl necklace that I was convinced had to be her’s. Tatiana’s (who probably consented to wearing hers) could be anything, maybe that stupid, creepy bird, she wears in her hat. Jesse... is mentioned several times to wear a locket.... that we know is connected to Belial.... and was weakened when he took it off to give to Lucie... who is wearing it now. Do you people see where I am going with this? It can also be noted that one of the parts of Lucie’s arc is that she is frequently overlooked in favor of James and how that is a mistake on peoples parts. Everybody knows that James has powers, he has had 4-5 years of people helping him figure out what they are and how to control them. Nobody but ghosts know that Lucie has powers, she has no training, and is only starting to understand what they mean. James is vulnerable but so is Lucie. I do not want her to be the killer. Lucie is such a fun character, and I was so happy to finally have a female Herondale play a role that was close in size to her male relative’s. I truly feel that Lucie deserves better than to be just a tragic character in the story. I want her to be that plus a hero, but I cannot deny that she is a possibility.

2.) Charles Fairchild is the Killer

I have seen Charles name appear on multiple lists of theory’s on the killer’s identity. People never really give reasons as to why they believe he is the killer. They are just mad at him for choosing to put his career higher on his list of priorities than his relationship with Alastair, or him being the killer would hurt less because he is not written to be a fan favorite. If you are someone who wants the killer to be Charles, but are unsure how likely it is your in luck. Because I can give you a whole list of reasons it is likely

Charles is already acting strange. We know he made some kinda screw up in Paris and had to come home. Apparently Charlotte is sending Tessa and Will to Paris to Start the fix up and Charles will go back afterwards. Well based on what we have gotten on Charles making a mistake like that is unlike him. Casting Long Shadow’s reveals that Charles has been working as a politician since he was 13 and is normally known for being very dependable and reliable. That’s part of the reason he is considered such a shoe-in for Counselor once his mother retires.??? I have theories on Charles mental state (which I will address in a later theory post that will be centered around the Fairchild’s) and do consider the possibility that he was sett off by fear over the outbreak or grief over losing Alastair... But this sudden change could be from other things as well

As of COG2 Charles is engaged to Grace Blackthorn, who controls him like a puppet. Grace herself is the puppet of Tatiana Blackthorn, who is the puppet of Belial. So Charles is now part of a very dangerous carnival. Charles decade of study and knowledge of clave politics at the top could be very useful to Belial in taking them down. Also previous short stories say that Charles spends most of his time in Idris for work and when in London usually stays at home going through law books and records. So I could easily believe he does not completely know his way around London and (like the killer is hinted to) would need to use a map to get around.

Now on to my biggest reason for theorizing Charles for the killer. Charles and Matthew’s relationship with each other. Charles and Matthew do not get along, like at all. They did once, but that was a real long time ago. A lot of the reasons they don’t get along is dumb sibling stuff: Charles calling Matthew an immature child, kicking him and his friends out of rooms in their house, and lording his increased age over Matthew. Matthew making more noise to annoy Charles, telling everyone Charles embarrassing middle name, and regularly sneaking into Charles room to steal his cologne instead of just buying his own. We are not hear to discuss any of that. All of that has me laughing because it is peak sibling rivalry. Rivalry aside Charles and Matthew model the old dynasty trope for Ssons with Charles being “the Heir” and Matthew being “the Spare”. The Heir’s life is decided for them as soon as they are born, they will succeed their parent and continue their legacy. The Spare is just that, a back up plan kept around should the heir die, become disabled, never marry, or turn out to be infertile (happens way more than people like to think about). Charles struggles with the weight of his parents expectations. Matthew is more or less the Black sheep of his family, living his life day by day with no grand plan. Because of this he is cut off from them in a way, and goes through a lot of loneliness and isolation in his own house. Neither brother see’s the others hard time; the other has what they themselves want: Charles has attention, Matthew freedom, so they wrongly assume the other must be doing fine. This is a lot like Matthew and James relationship in Dust and Shadows. Matthew and James talked things over with each other and were good after. Matthew and Charles stay apart and ignore each other when they cannot. They will not just talk and be good after. So maybe if put on different sides they will fight out their issues with each other? On the subject of Matthew having to fight Charles, lets say hypothetically Charles is the killer and is possessed. We know from previous books that clave protocol is to place a kill order on possessed members. If that becomes the case do you think Matthew would be able to follow through with those orders? Be able to hunt, fight, and kill his older brother? No. No matter how rough their relationship I doubt Matthew would ever be able to do that. It would be to much for him, to similar to his “sin”. He would want to catch Charles, then try to find a way to free him from possession. Maybe if Mathew could successfully accomplish this then maybe he could forgive himself for his “sin”. If Matthew tries to save him and fails than at least this time other people would know and could potentially get him some help.

3.) Filomena DI Angelo is the Killer.

Ahh our upcoming new arrival from Italy. Why are you coming to London girl? Haven’t you heard about all the crazy things that happens there last fall? What possible role could you play in the story that couldn’t be filled by one of our many already existing characters from COG2? (Do you even know your way around?) How suspicious that Filomena should show up around the same time as this killer? Wouldn’t it be great for the story if the killer came from a different country? Wouldn’t that do wonders for showing how powerful a threat Belial is? His dark influence stretching across country lines, maybe even across oceans! We have already been told that TLH characters will need to travel to other countries. How the villain is less one person and more a force. Filomena could start that. She could provide reason to search countries besides London for Belial’s influence. Proof of it being so wide spread would definitely make Belial feel more like a force. Oh but wait, cheesecake wait. Filomena cannot be the killer! That would make her evil, and CC said she was a nice girl! Oh I am sure Filomena is a nice girl, but people tend to change when under demon control. But she is a girl and the killer is hinted to be a male shadow hunter! Are we sure the killer isn’t presented as male because Belial is presented as male? Is it impossible that while on the hunt as the killer Filomena DI Angelo dress in men’s cloths in order to more safely move through the streets? I feel like we have saw that trick once before in TID.

All we really know about Filomena is that she came to London, will interact with some of our established characters, and she will get a crush on someone we know, thus presenting herself as a possible love interest. Matthew was my first guess, hey he was every bodies first guess. CC shut that down, Filomena is not being brought in to fix the love triangle between James, Cordeila, and Matthew. Matthew is one of the only ones to not have at a least semi-confirmed endgame ship. So this means that Filomena will probably not be endgame with her crush. Why? My next guess was her crush was on Anna. Ariadne is shown to be relentless in her attempts to “win Anna back” and Anna is not having it. Tweets time and time again depict her basically telling Ariadne “Its not going to happen. Give up and leave me alone”, but falling on deaf ears. So maybe Anna will try to get a new girlfriends and keep her around until she is ready to forgive/ go back to Ariadne. Well Anna is more a secondary character, a loving big sister figure to our mains. She gets less page time because of this. We already know she will spend time with Cordelia, Lucie, Ariadne, Eugenia, Thomas... not much page time left for Filomena. After further analyses I have theorized that Filomena must have a crush on Thomas.

A quick google search on the name Filomena shows that it is an Italian name that means “loving friend” “strong friend” and “lover of music” all these sound kinda like Thomas. (Filomena is also the name of a character in the 14th century Italian collection of short stories called the Decameron, who liked to make stories up about plagues... or so some digging around google told me ). This could fit quite nicely into Thomas’s story. First of all to everybody who has been calling Thomas “gay” please wait a moment to be sure. Thomas does not yet publicly or self identify as gay. He clearly has an attraction to one man, but CC says that he has not yet realized his sexuality and will spend TLH figuring out. He might be gay, but he could just as easily turn out to be bi or pan. For the sake of this theory lets assume Thomas is Bi. Thomstair is definitely endgame. We know Alastair is gay, and CC usually likes to pair gay characters up with bi characters in queer ships, see Malec and Heline. Should Thomas be bi, should he start to become close and develop feelings for Filomena, it will have to go wrong. More wrong than he considers his feelings for Alastair at the end of COG2 (Filomena do not hurt this boy, he has been through enough). We got a tweet that suggests Thomas is interested in the killer, and a hint that he is planing something big. We got a kinda frightening picture that suggests the Killer may be very interested in Thomas.

If Lucie is the killer she will somehow be freed from Belial’s control,. I can 100% guarantee it, Charles I feel will have a 50/50 chance, Filomena will die from it. It would be a herculean task to free her, and she is not important enough to the mains for them to actively try and do anything more than give her a merciful death. Should she and Thomas become close than it will break his heart. But if Alastair is there for him afterwards, able to emphasizes and offer him comfort that will go along way to redeeming Alastair to Thomas. The whole experience could be love is hard, both men and women have the ability to hurt you. but the right person will make it up to you and it is good to forgive them when they do. I personally think that would be a pretty cool direction for Thomas’s arc to take.

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 16

Scully searches for Mulder in the desert; Missy encounters her own trouble back in Washington.

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As she stands in the charred boxcar, she can’t help but fear that Mulder’s remains are scattered around her. She fears him being dead, of course, but thinking about his condition if he’s alive makes her insides swirl. She had heard coyotes howling through the night and all she could think about was what if Mulder was out there, what if their glowing eyes faced him in the dark, what if their howls drowned out his cries? She thinks of all the children on milk cartons, and their poor parents, and all the pain in the world.

Albert and his son accompanied her out to the desert while Melissa stayed back and phoned the Navajo Nation police department and New Mexico’s county police. Mulder is a wanted man in the eyes of the federal government, Scully’s sure, but she’s more concerned with whether he’s a dead man. And if the FBI knows what’s good for them, they’d be concerned too. Of course, that’s a hard argument to make when her name is probably scribbled alongside Mulder’s for aiding and abetting a fugitive. Still, the more manpower they have, the greater the chance of finding him, and that’s in everyone's best interest.

She kneels on the red-dusted bottom of the boxcar and recalls what Mulder had told her he’d found: bodies, piles of them--inhuman by his description--and smallpox vaccination scars. She hadn’t been thinking clearly the night before when she told her sister there’d be nothing left. When a body burns, the skeleton survives. Not intact, exactly, but there. Permissible as forensic evidence, capable of unfurling the secrets of the skin that once surrounded it. Crematoriums have to put bones through a grinder to turn them to ash. Scully sees neither bones nor ashes around her--what is she to make of that?

“Anything ma’am?” Eric calls down to her from where he and his father are searching the rocks.

Scully stands up. “No, nothing but sand and smoke.”

“FBI man couldn’t have gone far,” Eric emphasizes. “I never saw him leave the boxcar.”

“Well, in that case there’d be bones or some sign of remains...I see nothing, not even what he told me he saw down here.”

Albert appears at his son’s shoulder. “What was that which he saw?”

Scully squeezes her temple. “Bodies with smallpox vaccine scars. He said they didn’t look human.”

“Ah. The disappeared.”

“No, I don’t think it was the Anasazi. I think that...it’s related to whatever caused them to disappear. I think the government knew, and they wanted in on it.”

“You see?” Albert tells her. “Nothing disappears without a trace.”

Scully turns her back to them. She’s said that exact sentence to Mulder before...what if she was wrong? About all of it?

Eric helps her out of the boxcar. Vultures whine above them.

“Is the tribal police equipped to handle a missing person case?” Scully asks Albert, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“I sure hope so, but it is not often that a non-resident goes missing on the reservation.”

“Since this deals with one of their agents, the FBI could get involved,” Scully relays, “but I fear it might disturb the community.”

Albert nods. “It would be best to leave the federal government out of this.”

“Unfortunately,” Scully says, kicking a stray rock, “my partner and I were in the midst of a sort of dereliction of our duties, so I suspect the FBI will track me down no matter how hard I resist.”

“That is unfortunate,” Albert affirms. “But we will protect you as best we can.”

“Thank you.” Scully meets his eye. It is warm, but it is not the gaze she wishes she were looking into. “I’d like to get back to my sister now,” she divulges, moving toward the truck Albert brought them in.

“We’ll go,” Albert replies, ushering Eric into the truck.

And as the tires rattle over the earth, Scully realizes that the heart can choose to stop beating when it pleases, and my god, what a burden to bear.

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Scully’s phone is ringing when she walks through the motel door. She ignores it--Skinner chewing her out is the last thing she needs right now.

At the desk, Missy labors over a spread of tarot cards, not even acknowledging Scully’s entrance. She whispers to herself as she analyzes the selections.

“You brought those?” Scully gripes.

Missy nods, still engrossed by the arrangement. She looks up from the cards. “I suspected I would need it.”

“And what do you need it for?”

“To make decisions. Specifically, to decide whether I should go back to Washington.”

Scully’s forehead wrinkles. “And what do they say?”

“It’s not definite, of course, but the cards are leaning toward yes.”

“And you needed the cards to tell you this why?”

Missy smiles. “Because the cards work in concordance with the universe, Dana.”

Scully turns away so her sister can’t see her roll her eyes. “Oh. Right.”

Missy slides her chair back, stands up. “I know you think it’s crazy, and I won’t try to change your mind. However, I believe that it’s a worthwhile instrument of spiritual guidance, and I’m inclined to follow its advice.”

“By going back to Washington.”

Missy nods.

“Does that mean that I come too?” Scully asks, suddenly seeing the appeal of putting tough decisions at the mercy of a completely arbitrary system.

Missy pushes a lock of her sister’s hair behind her ear. “Not so fast. I only asked the cards about me. They said I should go.”

Scully allows the corners of her lips to turn up slightly. Oh, to let child’s play seep into your adult life. “So you didn’t ask them about me?”

“No,” Missy says, eyes shining. “Because I already know the answer. You should stay.”

“Well, shouldn’t you check with the cards about that?”

“I can, but I know what they’ll say.”

Scully frowns now. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know the answer in my heart. It’s obvious, like what color the sky is, or should you take an umbrella when it rains. There’s no need to use the cards for that.”

Scully just stares at her sister, feeling backed into a corner. If she asks her to use the cards, that implies that she has some faith in them...but to her the answer isn’t obvious, it isn’t something she knows implicitly in her heart, and sometimes she doesn’t even take an umbrella when it rains!

Missy pats her sister’s shoulder, sensing the uncertainty. “If you want me to use the cards, I’ll use the cards. But I can tell you what the right answer is.”

Scully screws her eyes shut, opening them after a long moment. “Fine, fine, I’ll just stay. But were you able to get a hold of the police?”

Missy nods. “The reservation department doesn’t have enough resources to launch a search until tomorrow. And county police won’t get involved unless the FBI requests assistance.”

“But the FBI isn’t even involved!”

“The conclusion was that since the case involves their missing agent, they should be involved (or you know, would be if we told them), and they have superior jurisdiction over the matter. It would be considered rude if local law enforcement got involved.”

Scully bites her lip. “I’m sure there’s an APB out on us, is that not enough for them?”

Missy shrugs. “I don’t know. I only gave them Mulder’s name, and they didn’t mention anything about him being wanted.”

“Well, maybe they’ll get the memo…”

“There’s a simple solution, Dana.”

Scully raises an eyebrow, inviting her to answer.

“Tell Skinner where you are and what’s happened! Having the Bureau on this would increase the chances of finding Mulder.”

“If the Bureau doesn’t disown us first.”

Missy shrugs. “I’m sure it’s in their best interest to locate a wanted man, and maybe even his rag-tag partner…”

“That’s kind of what the rag-tag partner is afraid of,” Scully concurs.

“Look, you’re not gonna be able to avoid questioning him for his father’s murder, but you have evidence that proves he didn’t do it. And then that will be done and over with, and you can move on with your lives. Or you can continue to hide out in the middle of nowhere and further incriminate yourselves.”

Scully lowers herself onto the bed, her face in her hands. “That’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say before we drive across the country!”

“I wanted you to make progress on the conspiracy. You have, now it’s time to stop hiding.”

“You call what’s happened here progress?” Scully grumbles.

“Sure. You got translations from Albert--”

“That don’t reveal much.”

“--and Mulder got a look at what was inside that boxcar.”

“What good does that do if he’s not here?”

“He will be. And this will motivate both of you to push even further.”

Scully looks at her sister with world-weary eyes. “I’m really hoping that elder sisters have some sort of psychic abilities that I don’t know about,” she sighs.

Missy pulls her lips into a smile. “We do.”

The girls hug, and Scully feels the world right itself just a bit.

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

As he steps out of his office, key in hand, the phone sounds. He answers without hesitation, not normal for him at such a late hour.

“Hello?” he barks into the phone.

“Director Skinner, it’s Agent Scully.”

“Agent Scully, where the hell are you?”

He hears her voice tremble with a sigh, then--”It’s a long story, and I can explain it all later, but right now I need you to know that Mulder is missing.”

“He’s on the run,” Skinner responds. “Because he killed his father.”

“No, sir, he didn’t. He came to me, and I...well, I’ll spare you the details right now, but we ended up on the Navajo Reservation in New Mexico, and Mulder’s disappeared.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner booms into the phone, “Agent Mulder is a federally wanted fugitive. If you’ve known where he is all this time, you are complicit in his crimes.”

“He didn’t do it sir, I took his weapon to ballistics the morning after his father was shot. They ran a ballistic fingerprint test. The results are in our office, you can see them for yourself.”

“Why was I not informed of this? You had contact with Agent Mulder after the shooting--when he was a suspect--and you didn’t turn him in?”

“Yes, sir,” Scully sighs.

“You told our men you didn’t know where he was.”

“Uh-huh, and I gave them a weapon to run ballistics on, but I didn’t tell them it was Mulder’s. It was FBI issue, so I told them we should run it to confirm that a FBI weapon wasn’t used.”

“That doesn’t clear him, Agent Scully. He could have used another gun.”

“He doesn’t own another gun.”

“His father does.”

“Then ballistics test it. It wasn’t Mr. Mulder’s weapon, I promise you. I’ve seen the weapon, and I know who used it.”

“So you’re withholding information from the FBI as well!”

“It’s not that sir. I’d be more than happy to share it with you, but first and foremost, I need your help.”

“How can you expect me to help you when you’ve deserted your duties and committed multiple federal crimes?” he thunders.

“This is about Agent Mulder’s life, sir. As you said, he’s a wanted man. Here’s your opportunity to catch him.”

“I see you in my office before I do anything.”

“Please, sir. I’m in New Mexico.”

“You either come to my office tomorrow morning to acknowledge your failure to carry out your duties and provide me with the whereabouts of Agent Mulder, or consider yourself stripped of your badge with a warrant out for your arrest.”

Scully’s jaw clicks, he can hear it through the phone. “Alright,” she responds curtly. And with nothing else to add, “Good night.” The line clicks.

In the desert motel room, Scully turns to her sister. “He wants to see me in his office tomorrow morning.”

“You could fly back. I’ll take the car.”

Scully bites her lip and looks out the window, but all she’s met with is darkness. “I hate this, Melissa. It’s my job, or my partner.”

Missy frowns. It’s not cold, but she lifts a blanket and drapes it around her sister’s shoulders. “And you’re thinking of dad, aren’t you?...What he would do?”

Scully nods, pulling the blanket closer to her. “I thought I knew, but now that I’m faced with the decision, I’m not sure.”

“He loved his work, but he loved his family more,” Missy muses, a smile creeping onto her lips. “That was his last wish, wasn’t it? He visited you, told you that he wanted more time with you.”

Scully averts her eyes. He had, he had. A vision of him told her that when she thought she was dying, and it turned out she was not. But what is she to do with that now? Mulder’s not family, not in that way…

As if she could hear her sister’s thoughts, Missy responds, “It’s about love, Dana, in all its forms. What is life if not the connections we make with others?”

A dam tucked away in Scully’s soul has broken open. She looks at her sister with water-logged eyes, her lips trembling.

“I love him, Melissa. More than any…”

“I know you do.” Missy wraps her arms around her sister, rocking the two of them back and forth like a mother and her baby. “Act from that place. The world needs more of that feeling.”

Scully sniffles against her sister’s shoulder. The gears have clicked into place, finally. If this is the hill she has to die on, then so be it.

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

The tide climbs the shore like the man in the sky is holding magnets, drawing it onto land faster than even the moon could dare. This is no tsunami; no sky-scraping waves, no crash and burn as water meets solid. This is a flood. Like there was an invisible barrier keeping the water in its place so well delegated on maps, and suddenly that impediment has disappeared. Water sweeps onto and over land like it's been waiting since the dawn of Earth to do so. Like it’s been held back all this time, drifting in silent slumber. It’s beautiful, really. Natural. But in its celebration of freedom, it unwittingly wipes out the world.

This is the dream Scully wakes from, roused by a knock on the motel door. Through the curtains, night’s pure darkness softens to a navy blue. She rolls out of bed and pads to the door in her silk pajamas, standing on her tip-toes to peer through the peephole. Sheets rustle as Missy sits up.

“It’s Albert,” Scully whispers to her sister, who pulls on a robe and joins her at the door.

Scully unbolts the door and ushers Albert in. Chilly air slips in behind him. The desert becomes a void without the sun as its heat source.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he mutters. “But we’ve recovered your partner.”

Scully feels like she’s had a stun-gun taken to her spine. “What? How? Is he alive?”

“He is not conscious, but there is breath left within him. My son was out feeding the goats and noticed buzzards circling over the desert. He rode down to see, and sure enough, FBI man’s body was tucked in a quarry.”

Scully’s voice leaps octaves. She gropes for her coat. “He needs medical attention right now--”

“Yes. We are handling it,” Albert says with the calm manner of a stately man. “We are preparing a traditional healing ceremony for him, the Blessingway. We will summon the power of our holy people to help him, but ultimately, it is his spirit that must choose to stay.”

While respectable, this is not a good enough answer for Scully. She pulls on her coat. “I need to see him. I’m a doctor, I can examine him.”

“It is not medical intervention that he needs now. He is being hydrated and will be fed when the time is right. He has no visible injuries...I believe that the desert simply wore him down, as is its way.”

“There could be internal injuries, and his vitals need to be checked…” Scully argues, the scant slice of sanity she held onto slipping away.

“We are caring for him, I promise you. You can come and observe our rituals.”

“With all due respect, I think what Mulder needs right now is more than rituals.”

Missy scoffs and lays a grounding hand on her sister’s shoulder, pulling her away from Albert. “Dana, please just let them do their work.”

Scully turns on her sister. “Mulder’s dying, and you want me to leave it in the hands of the spirits?!” she snaps.

Missy sets her lips in a line. “That is what prayer is, isn’t it?”

Scully crumbles, her world-views clashing like tectonic plates. Finally, she whimpers--“I care too much about him to leave it up to fate.”

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

And so Melissa sets off for Washington in Scully’s sedan, while Scully herself stays cloistered in that motel room trying not to scare off a miracle. The call she expected from Skinner comes, followed by many others. All go unanswered while she waits for an answer from the universe.

Albert invited her to look in on the Blessingway ritual, but she couldn’t do it. It would be intrusive and painful and maybe even blasphemous--she can’t tempt the fates at a time like this. Besides, looking at Mulder and not being able to help him would take her back to her med school days of staring at death through the glass. Nowadays, there are only two conditions where she’ll allow herself to face death: when she can strangle it, and when she can examine the damage left in its wake. It worries her, then, which one she’ll meet Mulder under.

Missy had gone in to see him before she left. She understood her sister’s apprehension and took the liberty of checking up on Fox herself. Albert had not lied; Mulder was unconscious, but he looked alright. No blood, no bruises, just sun-burnt skin and the aura of exhaustion. She would not have left if she didn’t believe that he would pull through and that his awakening would be a moment of reckoning for he and her sister to tackle on their own.

Four days pass before Eric greets Scully with the vague notion of a smile as he pulls up on his motorbike. She had been expecting him; he takes her over to Albert’s for lunch every day. His countenance is different today, but he is quiet like always. She snaps on the helmet he brought for her and settles herself behind him on the bike.

The growl of the engine reminds her of Maryland forests and Bill’s four-wheeler. How she’d sit behind him and Missy would sit behind Charlie and they would race over the paths traced by hundreds of children over hundreds of years. It felt like being a part of something bigger than herself. It felt like freedom.

Now, it feels like chains. Chains she’s had put around her because she’s choosing to do the right thing. The ones keeping her hidden in the desert. The ones making her pin all her hopes on the Navajo people and their gods. The ones holding her feelings hostage from her. And the ones hiding the truth from her and the man who needs it the most. She wants to be back in the basement office with Mulder. She wants things to be okay.

It’s a short ride to Albert’s, and he is standing on the driveway to greet her when they drive up.

“Hello Agent Scully,” he says as she swings her leg over the bike and hands her helmet to Eric. “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

She had been too occupied with her thoughts to notice, but yes, it is as good a day as the desert gives. Sunshine offset by a breeze, low humidity, and temperatures that do justice to spring.

“It is, Albert,” she answers kindly. “How are you today?” She has become quite comfortable in his company. He’s been helping her scour the translated passages for useful information, though they have not come up very lucky.

“I am well,” he answers in his warm tone. “There is someone who wants to see you.”

“Oh?” Scully’s attention snaps to Albert’s house. Has Skinner tracked her down? Is he waiting inside to admonish her? There are no extra cars in the driveway, but knowing what she knows about helicopters and appearances and disappearances, this means nothing.

“No one in there,” Albert assures, following her gaze. He lays a hand on her shoulder and guides her toward the Blessingway tent.

Scully resists him. “I’ve told you, I feel it would be disrespectful to enter your sacred space as a non-believer.”

“You are not a non-believer just because you believe other things. You are one of the most fervent believers I have met. Besides, your partner wants to talk to you.”

Scully breaks away. “What?...He’s awake?”

“Yes, ma’am. As of dawn.”

You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who reverses course as quickly as Scully does about the tent. She rushes toward it, Albert following after. “Is the ceremony over then?”

“No, it is up to FBI man to end it properly. He may not work, change clothes, or bathe for four days.”

Scully groans, then takes hold of the tent entrance flap. “I can go in…?” she queries, still uncertain despite days worth of invitations.

Albert nods. “Go on. I will stay here, and you can ask the boys to join me.”

Scully pulls the material aside and enters. She’s met with the same excitement one feels when stepping onto a train car or off of a plane. She is arriving somewhere only her imagination could previously touch.

At the far side of the tent, a cluster of Navajo boys about Eric’s age char a piece of bread over the fire. Completing their circle, with his back to her, her partner sits with a blanket pulled around his shoulders. His hair brushes the nape of his neck, and the curve of his biceps look less defined than she’s ever seen them. Yet undeniably, it is him.

“Mulder.” Hellos have never been necessary for them.

He’s heard so many voices talk to him over the past few days that he assumes this is one hanging behind. Only when he sees the boys stop their conversation and draw their attention toward the entrance does he turn and realize this is not a voice, but the voice.

He rises to his feet far quicker than has to be healthy and stumbles toward his partner. “I didn’t know if you had stayed or not. When Albert told me you were here…” Words can’t capture the feeling. Scully understands.

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” she says, deciding to gloss over the details of her dilemma. “Melissa took the car back, but yeah, I’m here.”

She lays a hand against one of the diminished biceps and walks him over to the pillows that have been laid out for sitting. She helps him down in a delicate fashion, then takes a place next to him. The Navajo boys exit without being asked.

“I didn’t think I would see you again,” Mulder confesses, his voice straining as it gains back its strength.

“Were you planning to join the Navajo?” Scully wisecracks, taking over his usual duty.

“No, I…” he chuckles at himself. “I don’t know. I just thought I’d wake up and it would be like Freaky Friday, like I’m in someone else’s body, someone else’s life.”

“In Freaky Friday, the mom and daughter switched bodies. They knew each other. So it would be like if we switched bodies, and I think we’d figure out a way to switch back, don’t you?”

Mulder cracks a smile. “On second thought, no take backsies!”

Scully rolls her eyes. She hasn’t done that, she realizes, in about five days. What an influence he has on her.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, threading a hand beneath the blanket so she can lay a hand over his.

“You ever asked the bodies on your autopsy table that? I think they’d have a comparable answer.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” Her voice is a rush of tenderness. “Water?...Have they fed you?”

Mulder rubs his eyes. “I’ve been fed, watered, and bathed like any respectable man brought back from the dead. I apparently have four days of lazing around ahead of me.”

“Yeah, I heard. Not very convenient for a wanted felon.”

“Damn, I was hoping I dreamed that part.”

“No, unfortunately not,” Scully sighs out. “And I’ve been ignoring Skinner’s orders, so I’ll be lucky to still have a badge.”

“So we’re the Bonnie and Clyde of the FBI now, ey?”

Scully smiles. “I think we’ve always been the Bonnie and Clyde of the FBI, though now we’re just...Bonnie and Clyde.”

“So fugitives without the employment of the federal government to protect them…”

“Yeah.”

“Great.” He pulls the blanket tighter against him. Then--“So do you have any idea how I got here?”

“Which part are you fuzzy on? New Mexico, this tent, life in general…” She is so relieved to have him back that she’ll indulge in a bit of playful banter.

“Um…” through his bleariness, he is still able to smile at her silliness. “I remember our car ride out here. I’m not really sure how I ended up the guest of honor at a Blessingway ritual.”

“Do you remember being in the boxcar? You called me and told me there were bodies with smallpox vaccination scars.”

“And that they didn’t look human…”

Of course he remembers that above all.

“Right, how could I forget?” Scully teases.

“And then I remember heat--really searing heat--and a long period of nothing, and then crawling into the rocks and hearing coyotes cry as I closed my eyes. And then I found myself here.”

“The boxcar went up in flames. CSM’s work, I believe.” She rakes her nails against his blanket. “I don’t know how you escaped without any burns.”

Mulder shakes his head. “I don’t remember.” He looks up at her. “Did you think I was dead?”

She bites her lip, thinking of the hours she spent on the imaginary-that-she-worried-wouldn’t-be-so-imaginary eulogy Melissa made her write.

“I was afraid of that, yeah,” she answers tautly. She considers...should she tell him of the heartache she poured out on paper because she had nowhere else to put it? It seems so futile now with him there in front of her, his heart beating blissfully.

She knits her brows together. “I had to think about what I would say at your funeral, so I would really appreciate if you could not scare me like that again.”

“I’ve seen your gravestone, Scully. I think we’re even.”

She contorts her face so as not to show her frown. “Maybe.” She rises, offering him her hand. “You wanna go back to the motel? Sleep in a bed for a change?”

He links his fingers through hers, and she hoists him up. “You’re still paying for that second room?” he jests, only half-joking.

She makes her way toward the tent entrance, looking back at him with a mischievous smile. “No, but Missy’s gone, so you can have her bed.”

Mulder snickers. “Cheapskate.”

Scully gets her revenge by letting the tent flap fall back on him as she goes through, and he laughs because yeah, that sounds about right. He has definitely woken up in the right life.

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

She’s just stepped out of the shower when she hears it: the faint clash of a rubber sole against hardwood. It shouldn't be; her sister is 2,000 miles away, her lover even more than that. She is to be alone...but she’s not.

And it scares her, but it doesn’t. She knows what to do--she’s read about this, thought about it, almost lived it dozens of times. It comes with the territory. A young woman, a conventionally attractive young woman, a young woman who walks hand-in-hand with her girlfriend in public...yes, she has been waiting for this like winter waits for the first snow. She was born with the knowledge of this fate in her bones.

And so she slides on her t-shirt and shorts, grabs the phone from the nightstand, and wordlessly locks the bedroom door. Seeking as much cover as she can get, Missy slips into her closet, her hair still bundled in a towel. If she could get to her purse, she could grab her mace, but it’s in the kitchen and that’s too much of a risk.

She won’t cower defenseless though, for she will not allow herself to become another name in the paper, a number on the page. She raises onto her tip-toes and grabs an old lamp from the top shelf. Sliding off the lampshade reveals some nice sharp carvings that’ll surely do some damage.

She presses herself against the slats of the accordion door and listens. Could she have been hearing things? She didn’t hear anyone break in, but the shower was running. Now she hears nothing more than the usual creaking of the walls. Still, she could have sworn there were footsteps, and that’s happened here before, so how could she rule it out?

She thinks of her sister, alone, running a bath to relax after another day on her new job and ending up laid out on her bathroom tile. Put on display like a mannequin in a store window. It sickens her. That was just the first time her sister became a board for bad men’s depraved darts. How do you end a violent cycle without further violence?

Murmurs--too loud for their speaker’s own good--confirm Missy’s suspicions. So it is not one pair of footsteps, but two, that stalks her. They come from the other side of the door, though not too much beyond it. She dials the three digits that can save her and squeezes the phone between her ear and shoulder.

As fate wills it, so it shall be.

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

Scully can’t take her eyes off him, and she’s not sure whether it’s the motherly instinct or its perfect opposite. He’s lounging on the adjacent bed in his undershirt and jeans, chewing leftover Spitz while absorbing some public broadcasting documentary about the Trail of Tears. His eyes prowl the screen, and Scully wonders if he always watches television like this: hungry desperation meets boyish wonder. It is charming, and it is sad. She wishes she knew him when he was growing up, and that he knew her too.

The documentary breaks for a word from its sponsors, and Mulder rolls onto his side, the front of him facing his partner.

Scully gives him an acknowledging smile. “Are you comfortable?”

He nods. “These are better accommodations than the Bureau would stick us in, that’s for sure.”

Scully smiles at her cross-legged lap. She doesn’t think so really, it’s the second cheapest she could find and all the drinking glasses have lipstick stains, but it’s a nice idea. And he’s spent days against the Earth floor, so she won’t challenge him.

She runs her eyes over him, thinking of the days and nights she passed staring at that bed’s emptiness. Forget the fear of losing her job, even the fear of arrest--none of that matters because he is back now, and that is all she could ask.

With a stretch, she pulls open her bedside drawer and takes out a notepad. The notepad. Just like that, she is a teenager taking a plastic key and unlocking her diary.

Mulder tosses a sunflower seed in the air, but it thuds on his chest instead of landing in his mouth. Scully pretends she didn’t see.

“When I said that I had to think about what I’d say at your funeral, I mean I thought about it a lot...I wrote it down even,” she stammers. Now she is a teenage boy asking his crush to the prom with a handmade sign and a balloon, and god does it feel inadequate.

Mulder’s face lights up. “Lemme see!” He sticks his arm across the way, flexing his hand like he’s begging for a cookie.

Scully clutches the paper close to her side. “It’s stupid and sentimental,” she insists.

“As opposed to the crushing takedown you were hoping to deliver?”

She shrugs. “It just doesn’t do you or your life justice, and that’s all the more clear with you right in front of me.”

“C’mon, Scully. I’m not asking you to create world peace--I just wanna know what you said.”

She scans her sprawling writing, her beating heart in ink. “I mean...it’s nothing you don’t already know.”

He leans forward on the bed, closing the distance between his hand and the paper. “Let me see it.”

Scully lets it slide from her fingers with a huff of apprehension. Indifference has always been her go-to defense mechanism, but there’s nothing about Fox W. Mulder she can be indifferent about. If he doesn’t already realize that, he will in a moment.

His eyes trace her sentences with a curiosity that is quenched by every word. He smiles up at her, and it’s the youngest she’s ever seen him.

“Best friend?” He can’t even make it through his teasing with a straight face, chuckling before he gets a chance to continue. “Scully, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Thank god we got that out in the open,” Scully hums, riding his playful wavelength.

“No doubt.” Mulder caresses the paper between his fingers, absorbing all the care she put into it while she thought he was gone. “Well, at least you won’t have to read that anytime soon.”

Scully nods, a bashful smile adorning her face. “At least.” Her lips part decisively, but she closes her mouth, a self-imposed censure.

Mulder takes a stray look at the TV screen, the documentary having come back on. Quickly, his eyes fall back on Scully; she shines brighter than the television light.

“For what it’s worth,” he stammers, “I’m glad I didn’t die...that I get to be here with you.”

Scully’s eyebrows crease. That’s the most moving thing a living person has ever said to her...it’s as if she’s taken a bird with a broken wing into her palm, a display of trust so tender it renews her faith in existence.

She turns her face away from him. He’s left with a view of her profile--a dainty white cheek and the curve of her nose--and he’s never understood the urge to break out a sketchbook until now. This is a sight crafted for capture.

“Mulder, that’s...thank you,” she spills out. If she looked at him now, she’d do the thing she fears would ruin them forever. So she doesn’t. She closes her eyes and tilts her head toward the popcorn ceiling with something like a prayer in mind. It’s God’s hand, she knows it must be, when the phone rings at just that second.

She lifts it off the bedside table without opening her eyes. “Hello?”

“Dana?”

Her sister’s voice floats through the receiver, sounding as close as it ever does. Scully sits up, turns toward the table’s edge as if her sister were in the room. “I’m here. Is everything okay?” She asks this because she’s used to it being the first thing she’s asked.

“Well…” A pang leaps in Scully’s heart. Her sister is not one to know uncertainty. She lays the receiver on the table and hits the speaker button.

“There was a break-in.” Missy’s voice fills the room, catching Mulder’s attention too. He mutes the TV. “I’m okay, I wasn’t hurt, and I didn’t encounter the burglars directly. I hid in the closet and called the police--I don’t think they even knew I was home. They were gone by the time the authorities arrived. They dug around in your room.”

“My room?” Scully’s heart beats in double-time. “Did they take anything?”

“Not that I can tell.” Missy exhales. “They were looking for you, I think.”

Mulder leans forward, and Scully swaps a pin-prick glance with him. “Are the police still there?” she asks.

“Yes, they’re swabbing for fingerprints and shoe-prints.”

“Can I talk to them?”

“Yeah--I’ll give you someone better.” Before Scully can question what that means, she hears the receiver switch hands and a familiar voice boom toward her. “Agent Scully, we’re reviewing your complex’s security cameras to see what we can get.”

“Skinner?” Scully remarks, as if his voice is one she might fail to recognize. Mulder chuckles, and she wishes he didn’t.

“Are you alone?” Skinner asks, probably tipped off by her partner’s lack of finesse.

“No, Mulder is here,” she replies nonchalantly.

There’s an indiscriminate grumble on Skinner’s part, then he continues--”Well, this appears to be a targeted attack. As far as we can tell, all of the apartment is untouched but your bedroom and bathroom. Drawers were left open in both areas.”

“And this wasn’t law enforcement serving an arrest warrant or anything?”

“No, that situation has been resolved.”

Scully’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean…?”

“I found the ballistics report for Agent Mulder’s weapon in your office, and after speaking with your sister, mother, and Albert Holsteen, any charges have been dropped. For both of you.”

Scully’s mouth falls open. She and Mulder lock eyes. Stress he didn’t even know he had falls away.

“Now, there will still be internal discipline by the Bureau, but that’s not the subject of this call. We believe that whoever is responsible for killing Mulder’s father is the same person who broke into your apartment.”

“Krycek,” Scully and Mulder both choke out.

“Alex?” Skinner scoffs. “I’ll need the details on that, and I’ll need to hear them from you. In my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Scully exudes.

Finally, she and Mulder are homebound.

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

They are a sight to see as they crawl through airport security, Mulder in week old clothes and Scully lugging their suitcases just in case that might count as “work.” Mulder passes through the metal detector first, coming up clean despite the tangy stench he is taking on.

Scully takes her gun out of the holster and presents it to the security guard in one hand, her badge in the other. “I’m a federal agent. This is my FBI-issued weapon.”

“Alright, leave it here and we’ll slide it through.”

She does so, then slips under the metal detector herself. It whines in protest, and she’s surrounded before she can even process the sound.

Her hand goes to her cross. “Is it the necklace?” It doesn’t usually set off the detectors, but maybe this one is more sensitive. She takes it off and tries again. Again, the machine beeps.

“We’re going to need to pat you down, ma’am,” the guard informs her. She pushes away the fear that flashes in her core, then spreads her arms and legs. Hands--men’s hands, brawny and uncompromising--inundate her. She closes her eyes and pretends it isn’t happening, and god, she wishes Mulder weren’t standing only a few feet away.

After a minute that feels all too indulgent, the men back away. “I’m not finding anything,” one says to another, like Scully isn’t even there.

“Let’s see the x-ray again,” another says, limping off with the other while one stays positioned in front of Scully.

“Neck…” she hears them say. “I’m thinking it was just the necklace.”

The men return, and one moves her hair aside to examine the base of her neck. Nothing shows. “You got a bomb in there we should be worried about?” he jokes.

“I sure hope not,” Scully huffs, getting testy.

“Well, here’s your necklace, and your gun. You’re good to go.”

She takes her items with the feeling that she is nothing but a toy to them. They work at a candy shop, but only every once in a while do they get to taste the candy. She hopes she left a sour taste in their mouths, though she doubts that.

Joining Mulder, she feels a sense of cleanliness, a rebirth of a sort. How do his hands touch a woman, she wonders? She’s been privy to his gentle touches and reassuring swoons, so she knows he’s not greedy, but...would he be? If she asked him to?

A woman can only wait so long.

#good lord this got very long #we are getting close to the 'twist' that is the whole reason I wanted to write this...#also prob about 3/4th done with the whole thing :)#thank you so much for reading/liking/commenting #mwah 💋#only the light fic #the x-files #txf #txf fic #missy and scully fic #mine

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

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Hey! I have another poly Lost Boys idea it’s kinda angsty but a good ending. I was listening to the slowed song “Dusk Till Dawn”, and thought what if the mate of the Lost Boys was taken by hunters for like a year and they weren’t able to find her. Then on a stormy night she shows up at the cave after having escaped the hunters. And the boys just break down from joy and relief. I understand if you don’t want to do this one though! Thank you for doing my other request!💜

No problem! I'll happily do this request, I find it really interesting💛💛💛(I'm sorry if the ending sucks, I'm not that great at emotion😅)

Agreed.

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: mention of death, blood imagery, implied injury

Masterlist

Winds howls through the echoing halls of the cave, whistling amongst the stalactites as it rushes past, creating a haunting ambience that seems to hang over the darkened areas like a black miasma, dampening the already depressive mood. Rain pelts the rocks outside, the waves crashing and roaring at the seaward entrances, adding an almost deliberate rhythm to the catawauling shriek of the wind, a deep chill diffusing into the air as the night wears on, the frequent growls of thunder and crashes of lightning helping to create some natural orchestra of noise. A damp odour perpetrates the usually stale air, giving it a fresher feel and smell, though this new scent will most likely cling to the inhabitants for days to come, the moisture easily soaking into leather coats and dark denim jeans, rendering the garments' warming-abilities useless. None of them notice this, however, as they slouch in their communal area, all of them oddly silent for once, each deep in their own thoughts, though they all share a similar objective, one they'd rather not talk about out loud anymore.

In his wheelchair, David idly flicks through a book, unable to concentrate on it as his mind recalls more depressive memories, the heart-wrenching pain in his body reinstating itself after a year of oppressing it, the vampire nearly biting through his lip to prevent himself from crying in front of the others, blue eyes narrowed slightly. Across from him, Dwayne leans against the wall, polishing an older part of his motorcycle, working the cloth rhythmically round as he grates off the grease and rust that has built up over time, dark eyes scrutinizing the bright silver under the blackish marks with an acuteness borne of experience and practice, trying his hardest to stay distracted. Over in the corner, Marko tends to his pigeons, fussing over them with a deep affection, feeding them and petting them as much as he can without smothering them, cooing silently to them as he does so, doe eyes not quite sharing the enthusiasm he is putting on, their depths flooded with partially concealed grief. A little way away from him is Paul, who is listening quietly to his walkman, staying mostly still for once in his life, hands crossed placidly over his chest as he lies back on the sofa, blue eyes staring aimlessly up at the ceiling, jaw set in a tense manner, a reaction he's always had to a hard topic.

The silence is broken by a particularly loud crash of thunder, the deafening sound snapping the four of them from their trances as they look up, each pair of eyes meeting with each other's as they do so. None of them say a word choosing instead to remain quiet, waiting for the others to acknowledge the subject eating at their conciousnesses. Eventually, it's Paul who manages to say something.

"I can't believe it's been a year." He murmurs out loud, drawing a hand down his face in habitual remorse, nails scratching lightly at his skin as he does so.

"Me neither." Marko agrees from across the room, setting the pigeons free again as he moves to sit on the edge of the fountain, his posture slouched and downcast.

"I can't believe she's gone." David mumbles quietly, feeling a little uneasy admitting his feelings to the room, but feeling it necessary in any case. His tone is hollow and empty for once, the snide undertones gone from it, leaving him sounding oddly vulnerable.

"I don't think any of us can." Dwayne points out, placing down the part in his hands and coming over to sit beside Marko, flicking his long, dark hair from his face. Paul pushes off his headphones and joins them, all four vampires watching each other in dull grief, listening to the sounds of the storm around them in silence for a few seconds.

Greif-stricken, they remain like this until Paul catches something on the wind, his head snapping towards it with a confused look in his eyes.

"What is it, Paul?" Marko questions, having noticed his friend's sudden discomfort, looking in the direction that Paul is gazing in.

"I could've sworn I just heard something...like a moan or something." The blonde informs them, listening out for it again until David goes to scold him.

"Paul, I'm not really sure now is the time to be playing tricks on us."

"I'm not! I swear I heard it!" Paul insists, straining his ears for the sound again, only just catching it as it carries past him on the wind, "There! Did you hear it?!"

Marko and David shake their heads, eyeing Paul oddly as they do so, slightly sceptical of his antics.

"I heard it." Dwayne speaks up suddenly, eyes wide.

"You did?" Marko exclaims in disbelief, prompting them all to listen closely again.

Under the howling of the wind and the ferocious tapping of the rain, once the thunder and lightning have faded for the moment, two sounds are audible: a pained moan, and trembling footsteps.

Instantly, the boys are out of their seats and racing to the entrance, ready to scare off this new intruder, unwilling to be crafty about it tonight, faces morphing as they go, eyes flashing yellow. David is first out of the cave, but he stops stock-still as his eyes fall on something a little way away, not quite believing what he's seeing, the others running into him with protests and cries of annoyance, only for these to peter out as they also find the object of their leader's attention.

There, lying face-down on the last step, clothes torn and wet, hair sticking to their head, is a body, the shoulders barely rising and falling as they breathe.

Unsure of what to do, the boys stand there, staring at the vaguely familiar figure until Dwayne decides to go over to them, going cautiously, expecting it to be a trap of sorts. When nothing happens, he kneels by the body and rolls it over, a sharp gasp escaping him as he sees the features, in disbelief over what he is seeing.

"You guys are not gonna believe this." The vampire says out loud, carefully moving to pick the body up as the others surge forwards, their shock voices loudly as they see who it is.

"Is that..?" Marko starts, allowing David to finish the sentence off for him.

"It is." He swiftly ushers Dwayne inside, allowing the brunette to lay his burden down on the sofa before the four of them crowd around her, eyeing the form of their presumed-dead mate.

Visibly discouloured, (Y/n) appears much thinner than before, her bone structure showing through her frail skin horribly frequently, her beautiful features gaunt and sallow, bedraggled hair matted and unkempt as it sticks to her now-prominent cheekbones, leaving her pallid lips uncovered and parted, a single trickle of crimson steaming down her icy cheek. Her clothes are ripped and torn in many places, showing areas of wounded and scarred skin, blood forming a thick crust around her side, cracking as she moves slightly, drawing a thin whine of pain from her. Slowly, her somehow clear eyes open up, having been woken from her sleep by the sharp jolt of agony, flicking back and forth as she tries to figure out where she is.

"P-paul? M-m-marko? D-Dwayne?" She manages out, her head turning slightly to look up at the platinum blonde, eyes locking, "D-david?"

"We're all here, kitten, don't worry. You're safe now." David is barely able to contain himself as he looks over the form of their mate, relief, happiness and joy flooding him, momentarily dampening the concern.

"G-good..." She forces out, coughing slightly, her body shivering in cold as she reaches up, grabbing for one of them like she used to, asking silently for one of them to hold her, despite their freezing body temperatures. Wordlessly, Paul slips in behind her, pulling her body into his with a smile, teeth digging into his bottom lip at the feeling of her against him again after so long.

Upon seeing this, the others exchange glances, all of them thinking the same thing.

"She's back...(Y/n)'s alive..." Marko muses, unable to keep himself still as tears start to track down his pale skin, eventually throwing himself forwards with a gasp of happiness, burying his head into (Y/n)'s chest, hands feeling at her body to make sure she's real.

Dwayne does nothing to hide the fact that he is beaming from ear to ear, cheeks wet from crying as he looks over the form of his mate, the brunette vampire turning his gaze up to pick with David's, resulting in an overload of emotions for the latter. Tears spill out over his cheeks, a wretched sob leaving him as he collapses to his knees, blue eyes fixing on (Y/n) as he reaches out one hand to grasp her's, taking off a glove so that he can feel her skin under his, a giddy shudder of relief erupting from him as he does so, unable to contain himself.

Ignoring the blood and rainwater, Dwayne lifts a hand to caress (Y/n)'s face, murmuring to himself quietly in disbelief, mixtures of English and his native tongue slipping into the exclamations, fingers brushing over the raised bone in her face.

"No one will ever take her again." The dark-haired vampire promises to the others, looking fiercely at them with conviction.

"Agreed." Marko responds, looking to the others.

"Agreed." Paul confirms, tightening his grip on the girl in his arms.

David takes a little while longer to respond, feeling that just saying so will do nothing.

"No one will ever take her again and live to tell the tale. I'm not gonna let them get close." He snarls, leaning in to press a soft kiss to (Y/n)'s scalp, "We're not gonna let them get close."

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)

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scrimmification · 4 years ago

Text

taking a self care day and was instantly hit with temptation so u know what. here’s that dhurkemara essay. but it’ll be under a cut because i’m polite like that

the following is some canon facts sprinkled in with mostly my own headcanons and opinions. but i’m right about everything. cw for mentions of trauma and aa6 spoilers.

i should actually start this by saying that i see a lot of polycule dhurke/amara/jove or dhurke/amara/datz and while it is cute i feel a bit weird about using a poly relationship as just a “oh he has two hands” solution to love triangles. not that poly relationships aren’t valid, but it’s usually just people putting characters together without thinking about how the dynamic would even function. as if a polycule is a band-aid solution.

but that’s not important because this essay is about why dhurke and amara should just be friends (post SOJ)

i do not respect capcom or its canon, but here’s a bunch of canonical soj facts that are kinda fucked up; - when nahyuta is born, amara is 19 and dhurke is 20 - when the palace fire breaks out, amara is 21 and dhurke is 22 - there’s a gap of approximately 8 years of time where dhurke thinks amara is dead before they reunite and have rayfa (they’re each around the age of 30 at the time) - there’s a period of time anywhere from 9 months - 1 year that they’re living together again before rayfa and amara are both kidnapped - following this, dhurke never sees his wife ever again

because i have extreme brainrot, i sat down and feasibly considered the amount of time they would’ve been together. like, genuinely face to face together. if you only take into account the numbers the game gives you, then that means out of 25 years of marriage, they only see each other for about 3 of them. i tend to tack on an extra year or so for dating, but that’s still a really short amount of time, with almost all of it being before the palace fire ever happened. not to mention, they married incredibly young, and amara is royalty. typically royal families will push for children to be wed as soon as they come of age.

there’s also the fact that canonically, dhurke was not wealthy to any degree. he mentions in a throw away line having a bunch of weird odd jobs including both farmer and street performer (side note, street performer dhurke is hilarious). considering amara was basically hailed as a goddess by virtue of existing, i kind of doubt they were childhood friends or anything before that. my own hcs for how they met and got married initially tend to fall into a romeo and juliet style of mushy romance. plucky lawyer steals the heart of the queen with his humble charm and promises to whisk her away kind of thing. idk i do actually think they were very in love when they were younger, and maybe like... TOO in love, but my essay and thoughts tend to skew towards characterization through how the two of them grow through their traumas. so let’s just go in order of events here;

the palace fire

i do not care what capcom tries to tell me, dhurke has burns. if amara has a giant chest mark from being in the fire for a very short amount of time, dhurke would have full body burns from literally breaking into and out of a burning building. do you know how hot fire is? it’s fucking hot. it’s also genuinely terrifying. my point is i hc dhurke has some form of pyrophobia.

the years after the palace fire and before rayfa is born aren’t given much canon information, but it is stated that amara is convinced dhurke was out to kill her and willingly lives in the palace outside of the public eye. she’s convinced that dhurke is evil and was trying to kill her for at least twice as long as they were married. that kind of skews your perception of a person, no matter how much you might have once loved them. even if you STILL love them, it’s different. feelings change with time, and i think that’s a really fun thing to explore in fiction.

the rescue/rayfa’s birth

so here’s where i add the drama. just sprinkle it in. there’s a very sneaky line in the game that they kind of slip in during dhurke’s recounting of events around the time rayfa was born, and i have not stopped thinking about it for 2 years.

so plot wise, when apollo presses dhurke about lying about amara being dead, he talks about how he (somehow) got a tip that amara was alive and still being held in the palace. he broke in to save her and potentially run away with her, datz, and and nahyuta into safety, but they add something else in there. dhurke has a moment where he says she didn’t initially believe his innocence. and it’s kind of just played as a joke.

but because i like conflict and i do not write dhurke the same hyper-toxic-masculine way they do in canon because i think Men Should Be Allowed To Have Feelings i thought. man that must fucking suck. everyone in the entire kingdom thinks he’s the devil, and the one person he’s been doing it all for the sake of - his wife - initially doubts his innocence. of course this is obviously an understandable response. she was basically trapped and gaslit for nearly a full decade over an event that nearly cost her her own life (and would have to instead come to terms with the fact her own sister wanted her dead) but like it still. it would still suck to hear that from your spouse?

they were together for under a year, and in this time rayfa was born. this is probably my favorite window of time to explore a dhurke and amara relationship adapting because they would be such different people now. time already effects how you personally grow and adapt, but the kind of horrors they went to would drastically change them both. neither of them would be the same kids they fell in love with, and dhurke had just shipped one of his kids to america in an attempt to protect him. he’d already be down bad, but to have to deal with that, his wife not fully trusting him, nahyuta not knowing their own mother and most likely not trusting her initially, and also an entire pregnancy... that’d be an incredible amount of stress, on top of the fact they’re both living under the law.

(sidebar; because of how weird they had to twist the timeline to make it so apollo was gone before rayfa was born so they never met, i tend to headcanon this as dhurke trying to send both his kids to america to protect them, but not being able to initially send nahyuta because of their royalty status, and it quickly becoming too late.)

something else that confused me was why the hell they’d even have another kid while they’re both trying to save themselves, and that... uh. okay maybe this is an unpopular thing to say in terms of headcanon, but i actually believe rayfa was an accidental birth. like logistically, if you see your wife for the first time in almost a decade, you’re going to do Something. and you don’t have protection in the mountains. i’m just. i’m just saying.

but all of that being said, more than anything, i think they’d still be in love during this point. or more accurately, i think they’d be trying to convince themselves they’re still in love. they wouldn’t be the same people anymore, but the only thing dhurke has left is his family. it’s the thing he’s fighting for, and amara would have just been told she can’t go back to her sister for her own safety. there’s this kind of pressure to stay together for both themselves and their kids. there’s also a part where dhurke implies that the two of them were planning on trying to escape khura’in together and cross country lines before shit hits the fan.

turnabout revolution

so if you’re a coward who actually considers canon, after rayfa and amara get kidnapped, dhurke never sees them again. sure, he gets spirit channeled by amara in the final trial, but he never sees her face to face, or gets a chance to speak with her. if you’re like me and simply refuse to believe your favorite characters die, then that means there’s a 14 year gap between the next time dhurke and amara speak to each other.

what’s the first thing amara does when they see each other again? accuse him of murder.

in fairness, she’s under threat of blackmail to do so. she’s trying to protect both her children at this point, and clearly had a role to play in inga’s murder herself that she doesn’t want to admit to. but at the same time, when apollo reveals that dhurke was actively hiding evidence because he still loved her, she seemed genuinely surprised. this revelation is the thing that gets her to actually go against ga’ran’s plot. there’s also the obvious point of her picking her children’s safety over dhurke’s entire revolution, and what he’s been working on for her sake for most of his life. and honestly I thinks she made the right and most understandable choice. the real part that makes me think they wouldn’t get back together after the events of soj (provided dhurke isn’t an epic ghost guy) is,

amara chooses her own safety over dhurke’s, while dhurke chooses her safety over his own.

dhurke’s a very hopeful character, a very jovial one. throughout all his screen time, there’s no point where he genuinely thinks nahyuta has betrayed him. there’s no point where he thinks apollo isn’t capable of handling the case without him. he clearly cares a lot about his family, and would do anything for them. this includes amara. he’s not asked to hide evidence for her sake, he just does it. at the risk of undermining his entire revolution and destroying it entirely, he tries to hide evidence that’d implicate his wife of murder.

amara’s more of a realist. she doesn’t give up information until she absolutely has to. she doesn’t even admit to loving dhurke until the last moment she’s on screen. the only lines in the game she has as herself are during the trial, and half the time she’s just telling everyone how horrible and awful and terrible her husband was. and again, i must say, this would probably suck to hear.

the aftermath

the country is kind of a little fucked after soj. sure, it ends on a positive note, kind of, but there’s both a lot of political stuff to fix. and a lot of family stuff to fix. dhurke basically has to rebuild his relationship with every single one of his family members (and in rayfa’s case, from scratch). while I do think marriage is important and stuff, I don’t think it’d be... the most important.

what i’m saying is i think they’d be friends. even if they stayed married, they’d have to relearn almost everything about each other. they haven’t seen each other in forever, and also amara just threw dhurke under the bus. that’d sting! i think he’d forgive her for that, but it’d sting. knowing your partner would have willingly let you and your entire cause go up in flames sucks. it all sucks. soj is a very downer aa game.

and also i value m/f friendship a lot. i value older adult relationships a lot. i value exploring unfortunate and uncomfortable themes in learning to grow as a person and dealing with your own trauma a lot. i think there’s a lot to explore in characters like dhurke and amara. alot of people prefer thinking about the relationships between nahyuta and apollo and rayfa as siblings, which is great! but... i don’t know. i really like fictional dads. i like thinking about him getting more time with his kids. i like thinking about amara learning to become a person instead of a revered goddess. i like them becoming real people instead of just figureheads in a political war.

also i think dhurke and datz should kiss because they raised kids together in the mountains for 20 years

#thanks for coming to. something #i think about dead side character so you don't have to #dhurke sahdmadhi #amara sigatar khura'in #soj spoilers

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evermorehaikyuu · 4 years ago

Text

Day 12

Title: The Pressure of The End

Note: I won’t lie, I like the title to this one. Anyways, here’s Shirabu’s angst, this takes place after the timeskip because I thought it’d be a little fun to write it. (Yes it was, it was very fun to write it.) There are warnings though, there are mentions of blood and there is a surgery, not in detail, but it is strongly implied. Proceed with caution.

˜”*°•.˜”*°•.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

Surgery was both a miracle and a curse. On one hand, if everything went well, you got out of the hospital room, back to full health. However, one little misguided position and the whole operation was off, the doctors having to tell the family of the deceased one that they hadn’t made it.

It was an awful job and yet Shirabu Kenjirou had chosen it. He was incredibly smart and he hadn’t chosen to continue volleyball after high school. He had chosen one of the hardest fields in any industry and he was pulling it off greatly. He was at the top of his classes and when push came to shove, if any surgeon had had an accident, Shirabu would be the one everyone would choose.

He had studied until he couldn’t anymore. Every single day of this new life offered him so many opportunities and he would be damned if he didn’t take it. Shirabu learned to take a break only because of someone.

Y/N L/N was in one of the top classes as well, but her job wasn’t as complex as a surgeon’s, she was a pediatrician. Both of them had met in their first year of med school and knew each other from Shiratorizawa. They had never talked; they had seen each other around the school though, so in this new environment, they only had each other.

Before long, they found themselves looking out for the other, making sure the other was okay even though Shirabu tried to deny it.

By their third year in med school, he had fallen for her and they started going out together. Their job allowed them lunch breaks, which they spent together. It was difficult to go on dates but they were determined to continue their careers and stay together.

“Kenjirou, you need a break, I know you want to keep studying, but it’s 3 am.” Y/N yawned, rubbing her eyes as she walked into the living room in her pajamas. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she put her chin on his shoulder sleepily.

“I need to know this, Y/N, just in case I’m supposed to know this.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, also knowing that he was getting tired. He had skimmed through his old textbooks until coming upon something new that he had never learned before: craniectomy. He didn’t think he’d need it, but nevertheless had studied it at least a little bit before. Just the basics, because he never thought he’d actually have to operate on the brain.

“I know you like to study at this hour, but it’s not healthy.” Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she buried her face in his neck. “Come back to bed.”

His eyes started drooping at her melodic voice and he agreed, going to bed with her and leaving the textbook open. The next day would be his day off after all. He’d have enough time to study what he needed to study.

Or so he thought.

6 am brought news he hadn’t expected and he dreaded with all his heart. A phone call came in and he reached for his work phone, holding Y/N closer to him as she put her head on his chest, stirring slightly. In a sleepy voice, he answered, “Hello?”

“Shirabu, we need you at the hospital right now. Our best surgeon’s out somewhere else and it’s craniectomy. You’re the only one we know that knows at least the basics for this, everyone else is one level behind you.”

With that last word, his heart started racing in his chest, almost dropping his phone. He hadn’t studied enough for this. He only knew the basics. He was replacing the best surgeon. Shirabu cursed softly as he wished he hadn’t listened to Y/N and kept studying. “I’ll be right there.”

Quickly getting out of bed, Y/N turned over in their shared bed. She didn’t have to worry about being called immediately, he thought. She got to sleep in without any worry. Just the thought made him feel a little envious, but no matter, he couldn’t think of it right now.

Racing to the hospital and entering the room, he started getting ready for the procedure.

Blood was on his hands. Literally and figuratively. It was all his fault. It was his fault the patient had died, he was not prepared enough, no matter what anyone had said. If only he had actually studied and ignored Y/N, he wouldn’t be in this position.

“You can go now.” His supervisor said solemnly. Shirabu could feel the disappointment radiating off of him as he hurried out of the hospital and into his car. He got back home to Y/N sitting on the couch, reading a book.

She heard the door open and merely said, “Hey, honey, how did it--”

“I’m a murderer.” He whispered, staring at the floor as he collapsed against the door. “I should’ve studied more, I should’ve stayed up studying.” He looked up at her, desperation in his eyes. “Why did you stop me?”

Y/N set her book aside, standing up but not moving over to him. “What? Kenjirou, it can’t have been that bad--”

“Yes, it was! Because I didn’t study, I killed someone innocent, someone that expected to get out of there alive and I wasn’t able to do it!” Shirabu was grabbing fistfuls of his hair, hyperventilating. It was a normal thing in a doctor’s life for some patients to pass away under their hands, but Shirabu was brand new to that scene.

“Shirabu, calm down, it was your first craniecto--”

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN WHEN I JUST KILLED SOMEONE!” Shirabu screamed, his eyes becoming bloodshot. Never once had Shirabu lost his cool and yelled at her like that. She stepped back and stared at him, wringing her hands. Already, she was feeling guilty for what she had done, but how could she have known?

“You didn’t kill anyone, you didn’t know.”

“Which is why I should’ve paid attention and studied beforehand, but I didn’t do that, so now I’m a murderer!” Shirabu was losing his common sense and nothing could calm him down, except himself. Which is exactly what he did as he glowered at Y/N. “Why did you stop me?”

“Kenjirou, if you didn’t sleep, it would’ve been worse for you.”

“But they would’ve still been alive.” A dark smile came on his face. “So it’s not my fault. It’s yours.”

Y/N looked at him as if he had gone insane. “It’s MY fault for me wanting you to get some sleep?! I’m sorry, but what kind of logic is that?!”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.” Shirabu told her, clenching his fists. “Sorry doesn’t bring back a dead person and sorry does not fix this situation! Because of you, now my job is on the line!”

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. “Because of me? Shirabu, are you even listening to yourself? You’re being delusional, you’ve been suffering from delusions of grandeur for all of your life and now that I try to help you once, the blame is on me?”

“I guess it is.” He said bluntly, not even looking at her. “Just go. I don’t want to see you.”

Y/N was taken aback at his words and she swallowed, the lump in her throat growing bigger. Her voice came out shakily as she said. “So this is it? After all we’ve been through?”

Shirabu didn’t say anything as she left the room, going up to their bedroom and slammed the door. The sound brought him back to reality and he immediately felt guilty for what he had done.

Hours later, after he had calmed down, he went back to the bedroom to try and apologize. But she was gone. Every trace of her, except for picture frames was gone. The bed was untidy and all her things, gone with her.

No. No, she can’t have left, I didn’t mean for her to leave. Shirabu rushed around the room, trying to find a hint as to where she went. But seeing as he was a doctor and not a profiler, he did not have the slightest idea as to where he had gone.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he hugged her pillow to him, trying to get the comfort she used to give him before he blurted what he could never take back. He buried his face in the pillow, stifling a sob that was rising in his throat. Her familiar scent was slowly leaving the object, a metaphor for her leaving him.

Why was I so stupid? Why did I tell her to leave? All of these years together and she left, because I was ignorant and stupid and believed it was her fault when it was neither of our faults.

What felt like a century later, he looked at the clock. 8 pm. Something glinted off of the cabinet. He stood up and picked up the shimmering object, followed by a long trail of gold. A promise ring on a necklace.

“Here.” Shirabu handed the object to her. “It’s a promise ring. I promise to never hurt you and never leave you and never cause you to leave me. I promise to protect you and be by your side whenever you need me.”

She had also given him a promise ring the next day, promising to always be by his side.

Some promises were never supposed to be made.

Taglist: @skyguy-peach @jovialnoise @versatilewindow @tsukiibaka @jaegersblogh @kodzuken-pie @sugusho @kara-grayson04 @erialexerz @attixca @volleybloop @selca11

#angstember #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjirou x reader #shirabu x y/n #shirabu kenjirou x y/n #shirabu x you #shirabu kenjirou x you #shirabu angst #shirabu kenjirou angst

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marahope-things · 4 years ago

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I think the similarities that people are finding between Adora/Catra and Mara/Light Hope are less to do with the relationships being the same internally (as in, in terms of the dynamics between the two characters) and more to do with the fact that their stories deal with a lot of the major themes of the show, because the two pairings embody a LOT of the major themes of the show between them.

I don’t think it’s an accident or any kind of misrepresentation that the two relationships have parallels, but as someone who enjoys Mara/Light Hope A Whole Lot, while being pleased but more or less happy with how Catradora is presented in the show and not feeling a need to go beyond that, I want to unpick why, and what some of those differences are.

Partly because I think people make broad, thematic-level arguments about why a pairing is attractive to them, and for me, there are a lot of intra-relationship or interpersonal dynamic elements that have more bearing on why I like a ship. And it’s hard to frame in a positive light, but with Catradora, they already engage with some relationship dynamics that I’m a huge fan of (namely, rivalmancy, childhood-friends-to-lovers, and enemies-to-lovers).

The big similarities I see people picking up on are: The mind-control thing, and the "you deserve love too"/"you’re more than what you can give to other people" exchange.

And these are extremely valid parallels! They touch on two Extremely Core messages of the show! They’re very real! And you’re correct—those parallels do mean something about Mara and Light Hope, about their importance to the show and its message. Mara and Light Hope embody many of the show’s core themes, and I am glad people are starting to write about that!

But I find myself sometimes feeling like that’s… not quite the reason why I like the pairing. Y’know?

So, with the caveat that this is just my feelings about the pairing, and probably literally everyone who ships either Catradora or Marahope has a different opinion than me in some way or other, I want to discuss the major differences between Catradora and Mara/Light Hope as I see them.

Because we started liking these ships before we saw the themes that they’d be used to embody in the end, right?

Breaking it down

What Adora and Catra have is a rivalmancy, essentially—especially when they’re first introduced.

Even when they’re on the same side, they have a competitiveness to their dynamic, and part of what drives their split is that Catra, on some level, resents Adora for getting all of the things that she wants, but can’t have, because of (basically) Shadow Weaver—and then abandoning both it and her. It’s a rivalry between peers, fellow soldiers, and there’s a colossal amount of abandonment issues and emotional trauma involved as well. They’re also both close to the same age.

And they were raised together. They spent their formative years extremely close, and their split has a lot in common (probably intentionally) with painful adolescent splits that happen as people grow up, change, grow apart, and (sometimes) come back together. It’s quite moving!

Mara and Light Hope aren’t peers in the same sense; you get the sense that they started out more like co-workers, and their eventual split only happens because Light Hope has their mind wiped and their ability to choose taken away from them (Catra, on the other hand, makes a lot of choices that put her and Adora at odds, often intentionally). The two of them work together and depend on each other, and they become friends, and their roles are complementary. Literally neither of them could do the other’s job, and they depend on each other’s skillset and resources to stay safe and fulfill their own duties effectively.

So they meet as fully-formed (relatively) people in a professional context and become closer, rather than being together for those formative years and undergoing a separation as they change and discover they don’t fit the same way they used to.

There’s also an implication that Light Hope may have trained other She-Ras in the past. I don’t know how long Mara expected her tenure as She-Ra to be, but it seems like that could be a lifelong commitment, once she’s been chosen. If so, then that could imply that Light Hope’s "age" (though I don’t know if that’s something anyone would even keep track of for an AI, because they weren’t supposed to change and “grow” like a person) is on the scale of centuries by the time she meets Mara.

And even if you headcanon them traveling to Etheria together immediately after Light Hope was minted, they’re still not really anything like Catra and Adora in their dynamic. The development of their relationship has a lot more in common with interspecies or human-AI relationships in sci-fi—Terminator, Andromeda, and Killjoys come immediately to mind.

I’m also intentionally including platonic relationships here, like John Connor and Uncle Bob in Judgement Day, too, because this is such an established trope, and touches on some of those Core Sci-Fi Questions that exist in the genre—about the nature of life, consciousness, sentience, individuality, and choice. It’s not just in a romantic context that you see humans and AIs ruminating to each other about what beauty is, why people find flowers “pretty”, what it means to have free will, to feel emotions, or to be an individual. Hell, you can even include Data from Star Trek in that list.

But it is also something of a trope for AIs to "fall in love" or develop special bonds with humans that they work particularly closely with, or for humans to fall in love with AIs (sometimes they go more Pygmalion with the latter and cast the human as the AI’s creator).

Which brings me to the core trope being engaged in Mara and Light Hope’s relationship, one that Noelle has actually alluded to in their remarks during the "Exit Interviews" streams:

Relationship makes Light Hope more than their intended purpose.

Memory and programming

In one of the streams, Noelle states that the writers’ room made the decision that something about Etheria "broke" the people who have tried to conquer it, and kind of made them part of itself (God this show has Star Wars all over it). He uses several examples, including Hordak.

Hordak, however you feel about him, develops a sense of individuality that makes his re-assimilation into the greater Horde impossible. Like Light Hope, he remembers things he isn’t supposed to, and on being presented with a physical reminder of Entrapta and his relationship with her, Horde Prime’s conditioning begins to break down.

Over the course of her arc, Mara comes to realize that being She-Ra means something more than her superiors have told her, and on realizing what her superiors are doing to Etheria, concludes that She-Ra, and all of Etheria, are being exploited and need to be protected from the First Ones. So, by betraying the First Ones (breaking her oath to them), Mara fulfills her role as She-Ra.

And Light Hope falls in love with Mara, something she was never supposed to be able to do. In the end, it is the memory of Mara that allows Light Hope to break through her programming long enough to allow Adora to destroy the Sword.

I know I brought up how AIs gaining sentience and self-will is a trope within sci-fi, but the best recent example that I can think of off the top of my head (and the reason I was able to articulate this at all) is actually The Good Place, with Janet.

In The Good Place, successive reboots are the in-universe mechanism that allows Janet to grow and change—but it’s her relationship with the other core characters that shapes who she becomes and what she believes. In fact, if she hadn’t been stolen and rebooted so many times in the first place, she never would have become who she did at all.

So: Like the rest of the cast, relationship makes Janet more than she was originally intended to be. Relationship makes Janet whole and fully alive. Light Hope’s story is, um, a bit more tragic, but I think the comparison works.

Catra and Adora, on the other hand, are dealing with a separate problem(/s): Catra’s pain and abandonment (and Adora’s self-abandonment) as a result of what they endured growing up, and the angst of childhood friends growing up and growing apart. It fits very squarely within the parameters of She-Ra as a kids’ TV show.

To boil it all the way down, their relationship *is* the problem. And it takes the whole show to fix it.

What’s suggested by the (sparse) textual evidence on Mara and Light Hope is that their relationship followed a more well-worn sci-fi path: By becoming friends with Mara, Light Hope learns how to be in relationship with another person, how to make her own choices, go against her programming as needed—how to have fun and appreciate beauty and being. Her falling in love with Mara is, metaphorically, her learning how to be alive in the world. Through loving Mara, she gets a glimpse of a world beyond being someone’s instrument, someone’s tool.

That’s part of what’s so heartbreaking and beautiful about them: In the midst of a situation that’s that’s built on deception, concealment, and coercion, where both of them appear to have been lied to or denied the entire truth by their superiors, where Mara, Light Hope, and the entire planet of Etheria are considered expendable by their superiors as long as they get their shiny weapon, Mara (who seems to understand that there’s more to life than duty and heroism) creates a space for Light Hope that is free from the constraints of her programming, to a degree. And as a result, Light Hope changes.

If Light Hope is a villain for her role in all of this (and this is complicated by the fact that she’s a programmatic being created for a particular purpose), then loving Mara is part of what makes her redemption possible. Her relationship with Mara makes her more than a weapon. In fact, it breaks her as a weapon.

And there’s certainly elements of that in Catra and Adora’s relationship, but it’s not the throughline that it is for Light Hope and Mara until you get to season 5—a full three quarters of the way through the show.

Love also doesn’t play as positive of a role in Catra’s redemption arc, really (where her parallels to Light Hope would be the most obvious), both because her villainy is something she explicitly chooses, and because her internal conflict and pain regarding her feelings for Adora are so much a part of her villainy. It only becomes redemptive in Adora’s struggle with the Failsafe—i.e. when we get back into the world of the First Ones, where most of the themes of "destiny" live.

So yeah. That’s the breakdown. I want to get into the individual tropes, but I’m going to have to save that for another day.

#marahope #meta #spop

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

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THE HOUSE-ELF LIBERATION FRONT

I was originally going to save the opening for this chapter for the end of the book, but then I was looking at my notes and saw I already had a crap ton for that, and this really is a pressing enough question to get in now. Thanks for all the lovely reviews and support!

HPHPHP

Try as they might, even in the face of the dragon nightmare from the last few chapters, neither Sirius nor Remus had forgotten their intentions to try and have a private conversation regarding what they'd finally had confirmed for them in Moody's first lesson. Something had happened to Harry the night his parents were killed, something involving Lily and her ability to save her son, and the two desperately wanted to try and talk about it out loud in hopes sharing some ideas would make some sense, but without the others around. They loved Lily like a sister and this was going to be hard for them to focus on, neither of them wanted the other three around as it would only be worse.

Neither of them had a clear idea what could even be said, but they'd always come up with their best ideas spit-balling to each other, so Remus decided to get the worst of it over as he blurted, "have you ever heard of anything that Lily could have done to save Harry?"

Sirius chewed on his answer for a few minutes, denying that he was holding back a yawn, as he said softly back, "nothing comes to mind, and I've been trying to figure it out since I first heard about this. Nothing can block the Killing Curse."

"You don't think it's just something undiscovered," Remus tried to wheedle, "not even a rumor that you can work with?"

Sirius shook his head and insisted, "not a peep, and I can't imagine how that would change in the next year. I wish we'd said something about it to Harry in the Shack," Sirius' face twitched with the most base hatred one can hold at the mention of that place before continuing and ignoring it, "but at this rate it doesn't look like the three of us are going to be in the same room for a while. Merlin knows if we even know then."

Sirius knew quite a few things the others didn't from his Black heritage. As a child, he'd questioned one to many things and if they regarded their ancestry he usually got an answer, though the vile nature of them really have led him on the path he was now. The fact that Dumbledore had suggested the Fidelius Charm for them to hide under meant that this must be the most powerful thing Dumbledore could find to keep them alive, so it clearly wasn't any good magic that had saved Lily. Then again, it had been Dumbledore who said that Harry had been saved by the love of his mother, and even back in the first chapter it had been implied Dumbledore might have some idea of what had happened, but hadn't shared it with Harry.

It was another of those questions where they just couldn't help but wonder what their old headmaster was doing to their lives. Did he know and was keeping it from them, to what end? Did he figure it out after the fact, and decided Harry was too young to know? Not unreasonable, but still information Dumbledore shouldn't even be the one to share, it should be Sirius' decision at least now.

They talked for as long as they could until they couldn't take it any longer. The vision of Lily dead in front of her wailing child was most certainly going to feature in their nightmares tonight as long as they had lingered on the subject, so while neither wanted any rest, sleep took them before either had even made it to the stairs.

James grinned as he came down the stairs the next morning, with the baby in his arms, to see his two friends passed out on the sofas. He'd known from the moment he'd left they were going to stay behind and talk about something, and he knew his friends well enough to guess the topic. The sight wasn't even that unfamiliar, in school they'd often gone down to the common room late at night to pick apart each others brains and fallen asleep down there.

Remus slept like an Inferi, dead until activated, but Sirius was usually a light sleeper so even as James tried to creep past them into the kitchen, Sirius began stirring. James only just got Harry into his highchair when Sirius entered from behind.

The two chatted in sleepy mumbles for a few minutes before Sirius shook himself hard to fully make sure he was awake before he dug in for something he knew he needed to talk about.

"Alright Prongs, out with it," Sirius sighed, hopping up onto the counter and swinging his legs around in an attempt to just look bored, but the tense set of his shoulders made it clear Sirius actually thought he was in trouble.

James frowned, struggling for a moment before plastering a grin on he knew full well Sirius wouldn't buy, but hoping his friend would take the hint and stop asking anyways. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Sirius eyed him for a moment, clearly considering this very thing, as he knew that there weren't many things James wouldn't tell him. If he wasn't talking without some hard prodding, then it was either something about Sirius himself, or James wanted to handle it himself. Sirius had just decided he really would drop it, if James wanted to be silently jealous then Sirius wasn't going to keep at him, when Ron's face flashed across his mind. Sirius had never even met Ron, but he could understand where Ron was coming from in his anger. He was more frustrated the boy hadn't stood by his mate, but Sirius didn't want something to linger in James if he could get it out of him. So instead he pressed, "go ahead and have a yell at me, something. I know my interacting with Harry is bothering you."

James groaned as he leaned on the counter beside him and muttered, "I'm not angry Sirius, not really. What can I even say? Fine, I'll admit it bothers me that you're the one Harry's been looking to for advice, but it's not like I'm there and he's choosing you over me, I'm just not there." The pain that tore out of James' throat even as he got that last part out made Sirius all the happier he and Remus had their conversation last night without Prongs around. He didn't need any other stress on his life right now; and since it hadn't done them much good in the end, it really would have just made things worse for him right now.

Even as the rest of the house stirred James and Sirius managed to keep up a lighter and friendly banter between them now, even having gotten it out in the open had made James feel just slightly better.

The two looked far happier than they did going in as they sat down for the next chapter. Everyone took the spots they had before, James even passing the baby to Remus again while Lily sat next to him.

It was Lily's turn to pick up the book where they'd left off, which she did with only a slight tilt of unease. Harry had just survived the first task, surely nothing too bad was going to happen in the very next chapter.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were heading up to the Owlery in search of Pig,

"Nice to hear the trio of names again," James smiled.

so that Harry could send his letter to Sirius about how he'd gotten past his dragon.

"Best letter I'll have gotten in ages," Sirius smirked, before catching sight of Harry and quickly adding, "not that I'll have any doubts you could do it even without my advice."

Harry was filling Ron in on everything Sirius had shared with him about Karkaroff, and while at first shocked at the news, Ron quickly agreed he was an obvious suspect.

"Didn't miss this though," Remus grumbled testily. He may have forgiven Ron, but his attitude was going to still bother him for a while longer.

Pointing out what they'd heard on the train about Malfoy saying his dad and Karkaroff were old friends, now they knew from where.

"Got a point there," Lily sighed, remembering back to that moment and how they'd hoped they were just being paranoid in thinking the same.

Ron did add though that if it was Karkaroff doing this, he'd be feeling stupid now, Harry had only got a scratch from the first task.

"Hopefully that's the worst you do get," Remus agreed.

They found Pigwidgeon, but Harry began having difficulties tying his letter to the minute owl.

"Got to love the little guys enthusiasm," Sirius grinned, still unrepentant he was the reason Ron had that particular owl.

Ron had to snatch him out of the air to hold him still long enough before releasing him again, Ron still babbling about his confidence now Harry was doing so well he had no doubts Harry could win this tournament,

"I'm more focused with you living through it, then fourth place would seem like a blessing," James huffed.

While Harry agreed, he couldn't quite seem to do so out loud, something of what Ron said lingering with him. He couldn't have really won though, right?

he was being serious.

"No, I am!" Sirius blurted with the proudest smile on his face like he'd just made the end of all jokes.

Lily knew ignoring him wouldn't actually make him stop, but it was still better than retaliating and letting him keep going.

Harry knew Ron was being overtly kind because of his previous attitude,

"Not that it's really helping," Remus grumbled.

but Harry didn't deny either that he smiled in appreciation.

Hermione frowned at Ron though, reminding Harry had a long ways to go before he should start thinking like that

"She's such a buzzkill," James snorted.

seriously.

"I still don't believe she could do any sort of believable impression of me," Sirius sniffed, this time James did reach around and smack him for it.

Ron told her to stop being such a sunshine.

"It's good to be agreeing with Ron again," Lily chuckled.

Harry watched Pig soaring away with a heavy roll of parchment, his letter to Sirius had been filled with every bit of detail Harry could offer about his match with the dragon.

"I can imagine that giving me a combination of heart failure and pleasure," Sirius nodded.

"I'm just glad you didn't get a chance to make an appearance," Remus scoffed, "you would have pissed yourself in the stands and drawn attention to yourself."

Sirius stuck his tongue out at him.

Ron caught his attention by saying they should head downstairs for Harry's surprise party.

"Well it's not a surprise now!" James threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Wish the surprise was they hadn't done it," Harry rolled his eyes.

Ron was right, the moment they stepped into the common room they found it decked out for a party. The twins had gathered everything they needed from food to entertainment, plus Dean had used his art skills to put up posters such as Harry's battle with the dragon, and a few of Cedric's head on fire.

The Marauders gave appreciative laughs at that, though Lily and Harry couldn't find it that funny. At least Cedric was okay for it.

Harry finally felt able to laugh along and chat with everyone, Ron and Hermione by his side all night. He hadn't felt so happy in months, and he wouldn't have to worry about anything again for months.

"All bright spots that I will cherish as long as I can," Lily agreed.

Lee had come over to talk to Harry, and had grabbed up his golden egg to investigate it, then asked Harry to open it for all of them to hear what was inside.

"Now that would have to be classified as cheating," Remus raised a surprised brow. "Getting the whole of your house to help you with that."

"I wouldn't put it past anyone else to be doing the same," James waved him off with honest curiosity of what this was going to be.

Hermione tried to say that was against the rules, but Harry quietly reminded her so was her helping him past his dragon, too which she grinned.

"I just love it when Hermione points out the rules when they don't relate to her," Sirius snorted.

After more prompting from the rest of his house, Harry did indeed open the seal on the egg, and it fell open with a wail of noise. The high pitched shrieking was horrid, the only comparable noise was the saw music at Nick's deathday party.

"That sounds like a pain in the ear," Remus winced in sympathy, rubbing at his own ear in just the thought.

"What on earth would be making that noise?" Lily asked as she tried to guess what this had to do with the tournament's second task.

"Banshee," Sirius offered with a frown.

"No, I heard that once," Harry corrected, thinking of Seamus' boggart, "and this wasn't that."

"Hard to really guess since we can't actually hear it," James pointed out with a pout.

Harry had to struggle to get his wits about him before shutting it back, everyone now watching him with a bit of fear. Seamus pointed out it sounded kind of like a banshee, maybe Harry would have to go against one of those next.

"I'd still take that over a dragon," Sirius shivered.

"I don't think that's it though," Lily frowned, "the tournament usually has three separate events, not the same thing like getting past a creature every time."

Neville stuttered that it had sounded like someone being cursed with the Cruciatus.

"You can't fight that," James shivered in disgust at the thought.

"And there's no way that would be in the tournament," Remus agreed.

George told him that was ridiculous, they wouldn't use a curse like that on the champions. Then he offered it had sounded like Percy's singing, maybe Harry would have to go after him in the shower.

"I like his suggestion the best," Harry grinned as they all burst out laughing at that suggestion. For some reason what George had said seemed to linger in Harry's mind. Why would Percy be a stand out at his next task though, he shouldn't even be there.

Fred then offered Hermione a jam tart to change the subject, which Hermione did not take.

"Why?" James asked innocently enough. "Do the twins often spike the food?"

"Rule number one of the Gryffindors," Harry shrugged, "don't take anything the twins offer you without expecting something."

"Now where have I heard that before," Lily rolled her eyes as the Marauders all smiled at that.

Fred grinned at her, promising he hadn't done anything to them, it had been the custards he may have tampered with.

"Which clearly means he's done something to those tarts," Sirius' smile widened.

"Unless he was trying to double cross them," Remus grinned as well. "The twins wouldn't tell what they'd spiked, so of course people would be fooled into thinking the creams are okay, then they'd eat those anyways."

"You boys worry me," Lily told them before James could continue the convoluted idea.

Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out.

Causing all five of them to cackle. That could have been the joke all along of course, just to make someone think they'd eaten anything.

Both twins laughed at his response, before promising it was all a joke. Hermione took the offered food, but then asked how had they gotten all of this? Fred quickly said that it had all come from the kitchens, the house-elves had been begging to give it to them. They'd go fetch him something exotic if he asked for specialties.

Sirius smacked his lips in appreciation. He'd loved testing them to the limits to see what they would bring him, and they'd never let him down.

Hermione asked where the kitchens were.

"I see Hermione's taking your advice," Lily grinned. She really hoped Hermione would meet these house-elves and see how most were treated.

Fred at first went into all the details of it, before cutting himself off as he scrutinized Hermione and asked why she wanted to know.

They'd been so stressed for so many chapters in a row, that perhaps they're continued giggling of anything the twins did was possibly being exaggerated, but no one seemed likely to stop soon either.

Hermione quickly tried to act innocent, but George wagged his finger at her, telling her not to go getting ideas of rebellion into their head.

"That could be some potential mayhem," James smirked.

"Kind of wishing we'd thought of that," Sirius agreed.

"You value your meals to much to try and put the house-elves up to anything," Remus snorted.

Fred agreed they'd all be pissed if she put them off their cooking.

"Unless Dumbledore specifically told them to stop, nothing would actually put them off their cooking," James corrected, shuddering in horror at the very idea.

Neville caused a distraction by sprouting the feathers of a canary.

Which drove any talk of house-elves back out the window and a nice new round of laughter, no one in doubt it had been the twins.

In between his own laughter, Fred managed to apologize and admit it had been those creams he'd hexed. Less than a minute later and Neville had molted, then joined in the laughter.

"Good to see he knows how to laugh it off," Remus said warmly, thinking of previous times something like this had happened and very glad Neville had never once seemed to turn bitter about this.

Several people were murmuring in curiosity at the twins idea, as both boys quickly called to all listening ears that they were selling these Canary Creams for only seven Sickles.

"I can not put into words how excited I am they're still on about this!" Sirius squealed, bouncing in his seat at this new idea of the twins.

"They clearly have a gift for it," Lily agreed.

They went up to bed much later, and as Harry was laying down in his bed he pulled out his miniature Horntail and placed it on his bedside cabinet.

"Wait, so you kept that little dragon!?" Sirius asked in disgust.

"Yes," Harry shrugged, "but he ran away that night. I don't really know where he went either, I always wondered if Crookshank's ate him."*

"I hope so," Sirius muttered, while Remus went a little wide eyed and demanded:

"Did you say a dragon got loose in your common room, and you never reported it, or even looked for it!?"

Harry looked honestly confused as he asked, "Ah, no. Why would I?"

Lily suddenly released a burst of laughter and gasped, "Oh Merlin, I'm just picturing that thing getting out and going to live in the forest or something."

"I hate you right now," Sirius scowled at her. Even if he did know the magic of it would make it vanish after a few months, he didn't even want to picture running across one of those in his Forest.

Harry watched it curl into itself and begin to snooze, thinking as he drifted off himself Hagrid wasn't all wrong, they weren't all bad those dragons.

"Yes, yes they still are," Sirius grumbled mutionisly. He didn't care Harry had got past his, he still wanted nothing to do with the beasts.

December was hitting the castle with icy winds and mounds of snow. The warm fires and thick walls managed to keep the worst of it out inside the school, but Harry pitied those from the Durmstrang ship.

"Oh I'm sure they have it charmed on the inside to be plenty warm," Lily corrected, at least hoping Karkaroff would do this for his students. Even an old Death Eater had to at least pretend to care for his students, right?

"Even if they don't," James rolled his eyes, "don't they come from somewhere even colder? This can't be anything new to them."

Beauxbatons didn't look much better in their caravan, though Hagrid was commonly seen making their stay as comfy as possible. So far he'd kept to the task of providing their horses with their prefered drink of the single-malt whiskey, the fumes of which often drifted across the grounds and made the Care of Magical Creatures class going lightheaded. This was not helpful, as they still needed their wits about them around the skrewts.

"At least their blast ends will keep you warm," Remus muttered as he tried to repress a smirk.

Hagrid began a lesson by pointing out that he wasn't sure if they hibernated,

"Hagrid's extensive knowledge of these things really keeps me warm," James frowned. He liked Hagrid as a person, but that didn't change the fact he really wanted his son to drop both of his extracurricular classes lately.

so he'd prepared some boxes for them to try out, all they had to do was lead them inside. There were only ten of them left, apparently their kill drive had not been walked out of them.

"At least their dropping numbers is encouraging," Sirius chuckled.

The class did not look encouraged to be trying to force the brutes into pillow lined boxes.

"Can never deny Hagrid's enthusiasm though," Lily murmured in an almost affectionate tone.

The task did not go as planned, as the moment the skrewts realized they were being nailed inside mayhem broke loose, and soon the ground was strewn with smoldering blankets.

"Sounds like a disaster zone," Remus raised a brow, still unable to wipe his own smile off his face.

"Sounds like a party," Sirius agreed, both boys half regretting Kettleburn never did get these for their class. At least they'd know the end result of whatever Harry was dealing with.

The majority of the class took off running, Malfoy and his group in the lead as they hid inside Hagrid's cabin, but a few stayed out to help round them back up.

Hagrid was trying to convince his students not to go frightening them as Harry and Ron were forced backwards, throwing sparks at the skrewt advancing on them, the stinger on its back quivering to strike.

"I am genuinely certain the skrewt isn't the one frightened in this situation," James's brows just kept traveling up his forehead, like he was torn between wanting to laugh along with his mates at something involving these fascinating beasts, and the ever perplexing question of Hagrid's sanity regarding them.

They were momentarily distracted by noticing Rita Skeeter leaning against Hagrid's fence.

"I really wish Hogwarts had a stricter visiting policy," Harry snapped. He'd been quiet and only mildly concerned about his well being with the skrewt around, at least he felt safe in the knowledge Hagrid would handle it in the end, but the moment she was mentioned his annoyance went right back up.

Hagrid jumped onto the last skrewt then, pinning it to the ground long enough to loop a leash around it before turning his attention to Skeeter and asking who she was.

She quickly stated her title, and Hagrid frowned at her as he stated Dumbledore had banned her from the school,

"Ha!" Sirius released a bark of righteous laughter. Finally, Dumbledore really was still good for something!

"I think Hogwarts needs security," Lily sniffed, "guards around the school or something to stop her waltzing in the front gate, especially as Dumbledore specifically said she wasn't allowed in."

"Guards on gates yes," James approved, "but inside the castle and on the grounds? Come on Lil's you'll kill all the fun."

'As if Harry needs any more fun,' Lily mentally grumbled, thinking it would solve a few of the problems they'd had, but wasn't going to argue the point for now.

as he dragged the last skrewt to its comrades.

"That should really be telling us how indestructible those things are," Remus shivered, his mind still slightly distracted from Rita by those things. "Hagrid, landing on that with his considerable weight, and it's still able to walk!"

"I really wish Hagrid would tell already where he got those things," Sirius agreed.

Rita pretended not to hear that as she asked what these creatures where, and Hagrid told her with some pride.

Rita was confused, saying she'd never heard of them and asking where they came from.

Hagrid flushed in shock and didn't immediately answer, leading Harry's heart to sink as the question first occurred to him.

"His answer's just all kinds of encouraging," Lily muttered. They'd already guessed sure, but his not answering wasn't improving their mood.

Hermione stepped in by diverting attention to Harry, asking him how interesting he found these creatures.

"Why would she draw attention to you!" James spluttered in outrage. "That's all you need is for her to launch another article soon as she catches sight of you!"

"I can't blame Hermione," Harry sighed, "I'd have done the same thing if I'd thought about it long enough, to divert attention away from Hagrid."

Harry quickly agreed after a prompt stamp to his foot from her.

"That wasn't necessary," Remus snorted, he knew Harry would have agreed without it.

Rita was very pleased at seeing him again, at once launching into questions for him, such as was this his favorite class?

Harry agreed at once, noticing Hagrid beam.

"Still true," Harry grinned unabashedly. DADA may have been one of his best classes, but Hagrid would always be his favorite teacher, no matter err, the interesting things he brought to said class.

Rita asked Hagrid how long he'd been teaching, her eyes lingering on the still fearful students inside Hagrid's place and the remaining ones outside who were all slightly injured from the ordeal.

Hagrid admitted this was only his second year.

"And he's off to a great start," Sirius couldn't help the sarcastic spew. "Nearly sacked his first year, clearly up to something at least minorly illegal this year."

"Got to love Hagrid," Harry agreed without the same tone.

Rita was definitely interested now as she asked Hagrid if they could set up an interview.

"She's insane!" Lily scowled. "Hagrid will know that's a mad idea just from what she's already done to Harry!"

"You'd really think she'd take a hint," Remus agreed.

She wanted to pick his brains for their Wednesday article on zoological creatures for the Prophet, perhaps feature these Bang-Ended Scoots?

"Think I like that better than Hagrid's name for them," James snorted.

Hagrid quickly corrected their proper name, but did indeed agree this sounded like a good idea. Harry got a very bad feeling as they set up a later time to do this, but didn't know how to warn Hagrid with Rita watching.

"Don't know what you're bothering to be subtle about," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I'd shout it in her face what a terrible idea that was."

"I knew the moment I really said anything to her she'd twist it," Harry sighed, "if I had told Hagrid not to in front of her who knew what she'd put in her next article about me."

Considering she'd most likely be doing it anyways, Harry's caution most likely wasn't going to be useful, but they couldn't blame him for trying.

The three of them headed off to the castle uneasily, wondering what Rita was going to say about Hagrid. Hermione was worried Rita would find out Hagrid had imported those skrewts illegally.

"Yeah, I absolutely believe that," James sighed as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"Hagrid wouldn't admit to that though," Sirius reminded with plenty of confidence.

Ron did remind though that Hagrid had been in trouble before and Dumbledore hadn't done anything against him, worst that could happen was Hagrid would have to get rid of the skrewts.

"Worst?" Remus repeated with a light smirk. "I'd think he'd call that a good thing."

Then Ron corrected he'd meant best.

"Is there an echo in here?" Sirius snickered while Remus rolled his eyes at him.

They all laughed as they headed off to lunch.

Harry found Divination that afternoon very enjoyable again.

"There's something I never thought I'd hear," Lily laughed.

"Don't know what you're talking about," James told her with an almost straight face, "I think she's a lovely one."

"For a laugh," Sirius tacked on before they all started laughing again.

They were still tracking planets, and Trelawny was still trying to insist all the horrible ways they were going to die, but now that Ron was his friend again, they were a snickering mess as Trelawney went into the details of Pluto.

"Well that is the Roman planet of the Greek God Hades, lord of Death," Sirius rolled his eyes, "wouldn't surprise me that's her favorite."

She tried to keep up her mystic tone as she watched Harry reprovingly, stating how some would find it best to take her class without the frivolous attitude.

"And I would think," Lily shot back, "that you would take a bleeding hint, and realize Harry doesn't give a single care of you're bleeding predictions."

"Some people just can't take a hint," James told her with an earnest smile, making Lily give an indulgent grin back.

She trailed off into how just last night she'd been absorbed in her orb, gazing into its powers, and whispered to the class if they could guess what she'd seen.

Ron muttered under his breath a reflection of a glittering bat.

Lily had to actually pause for several minutes the boys were all laughing so hard. A combination of all the pent up stress leading up to the dragon, and this by far being the most lax chapters they'd had since Harry's name had come out of the Goblet was making them all a little punch drunk with giggles.

Harry fought to keep his laughing repressed even as Trelawny dramatically finished with, death! She finished with an obvious look at Harry again, who yawned.

"That was a kind response to what I was thinking," James wheezed out.

"Still didn't get through her thick skull," Sirius snorted.

As they were leaving, Harry was complaining that it may have had more of a hit if she hadn't used the same line over a hundred times now.

"My point exactly," Lily shook her head.

Pointing out if he'd died every time she said so, he'd be a walking miracle.

The good mood was still persistent enough that they all chuckled at Harry's comment, but it didn't quite erase the reminder that he'd actually had some pretty close calls that made them feel Harry wasn't exactly wrong either.

Ron agreed he could be some new kind of ghost.

"Your own original species," Sirius nodded in agreement.

"No thanks," Harry shook himself, he didn't like to think about dead things much.

Ron was at least pleased that they didn't have homework from her, hoping Hermione did as he always loved not having to do any while she did hers.

"Always something to lord over your friends," Remus agreed.

Hermione didn't meet them for dinner though, and though they went to the library to find her, she wasn't there either. They did find Krum, and Ron at first began a whispered debate of whether he should ask for their autograph, but then he caught a group of girls doing the same and lost his enthusiasm for the idea.

"Don't see why," Sirius stated, a wide grin creeping across his features. "I'd think it would actually encourage him to go get that autograph, go back to the girls and show off-"

Remus begged Lily to cut him off before they had to hear anymore.

The two boys had just made it to Gryffindor tower and had opened the portrait to go inside when she caught up to them, at once trying to drag Harry back off and babbling that he had to see something!

James spluttered a bit in shock, unable to stop the worry as he demanded, "now what!?"

"Relax," Harry soothed with his head cocked to the side, he felt nothing bad for this. "Hermione looked excited, not upset."

Lily eyed him for a moment, gauging how truthful that was, but when Harry clearly meant it she did keep going with honest curiosity.

Harry tried to ask what was going on, but she just wanted to show them!

They ran off after her, the Fat Lady calling behind them in annoyance that they shouldn't bother apologizing for leaving her open!

"Has anyone?" Sirius rolled his eyes. She was testy this year.

She'd just stay here wide open until they got back.

"Fairly certain she's not allowed to do that," Remus snorted.

Hermione dragged them all the way back through the castle, down to where the Hufflepuffs came up for their meals.

"Ooh," the Marauders said in understanding, though they remained just as confused as before. Hermione must have found the kitchen, and the house-elves, but that really didn't explain her excitement. Harry hadn't shown any enthusiasm for her S. P. E. W. gig.

Harry still remained as baffled as the others, but when understanding struck and he realized where Hermione was taking him, he also couldn't stop some happiness bubbling up in him as well. Something good was going to come of whatever was going on, he was at least sure of that.

The passage was brightly lit, with all sorts of paintings of food lining the walls.

"I don't know how the Hufflepuffs stand it," Remus said tragically, "having to walk past food so many times a day, how can they not be constantly hungry."

"Glad I don't have to know," James grinned, "though I bet they're on the best terms with the elves out of all the houses."

Harry realized where he was just as Hermione stopped in front of a large painting, asking if this was more spew stuff? Hermione tried to say it wasn't, but something else, but Ron laughed and asked if she'd finally changed the name to House-Elf Liberation Front?

"HELF?" Sirius snorted, "honestly that one's not as bad. Least it would be a little harder to make fun of."

Hermione promised this had nothing to do with that, she just wanted to show Harry something.

Harry was watching them all curiously, but clearly they had no more idea than him what was so exciting Hermione was going on about it.

She turned back to the picture of fruit, tickled a pair, and a handle appears which she quickly wrenched open and pushed Harry inside.

Harry only got a glimpse of the enormous kitchen, with all sorts of cooking supplies and a warm fireplace,

"Ah that brings back the best memories," Sirius' grin kept stretching wider.

"That place was as familiar to us as the Forest by the end of our first year," James agreed.

when something tackled him around the middle, squealing about Harry Potter!

Lily blinked down at the pages in shock as her mind tried to process what elf would be down in the kitchens squealing over Harry, none of them should have even met him.

When she looked up at Harry to see if he had any ideas, she saw him blinking in shock, his mouth flopping uselessly, and though she had a curious idea as the only elf this could be, she still read.

Harry glanced down at the elf hugging the life out of his middle as he gasped out Dobby.

"Wh-what!" Sirius spluttered, his face quickly flipping from shock to outrage the fastest. Despite his pleasure in the justice Dobby had dished out to Malfoy, Sirius still held no love for the critter that had genuinely tried to maim Harry at some point.

"I knew it!" Harry yelped in relief, clearly noticing no such feelings pouring off of his godfather. "I just knew I'd run into Dobby again! What on earth do you think he's doing there?"

"Best guess?" Remus offered indulgently at Harry's clearly laughing features. "Dumbledore might have hired him. Last we heard he was looking for a paying job, Dumbledore would be the first in mind to indulge in such things."

"I think that's brilliant," Lily agreed, ignoring the still flabbergasted James and stone faced Sirius.

Dobby agreed it was indeed him as he released Harry and stepped back so that he could properly see him. Dobby still had the same features as the last time Harry had seen him, but looked much different in the clothes.

"Yeah, like the fact that he's wearing clothes," James chuckled as he shook off his own disbelief.

He'd done an even more odd job of putting together an outfit than most wizards at the World Cup.

"And that's saying something," Lily giggled.

Wearing a tea cozy for a hat, a tie with horseshoes over a bare chest, kids soccer shorts, and one black sock Harry identified as the one he'd given the elf to earn this freedom, plus the other which was orange and pink striped.

Sirius couldn't keep it up any longer, he cracked and started snickering with the rest of all the garments, but Sirius' was still tinged with unease. Last time Harry had been in danger, Dobby hadn't exactly been helpful. This year Harry was actually in more danger than he had back in his second year, and Sirius was kind of terrified what the little elf would do when he found out this time.

Harry asked what Dobby was doing here, and Dobby squealed his excitement that he was working for Dumbledore now, he and Winky!

"And Winky?" James did a double take in surprise.

"I never thought about it," Remus cocked his head to the side, "but what does happen to house-elves when they get sacked. When Harry said he knew he'd see Dobby again I didn't think about it much, but Winky?"

"Honestly, I don't think anyone has a clue," Sirius shrugged absently. "It's so rare to even fire one, what Crouch did really was an extreme."

Harry finally noticed Sirius' disinterest in Dobby, and frowned slightly at him. He'd really been hoping that Sirius had officially gotten over his hatred of Dobby, but clearly he wasn't fond of him either. At least he wasn't spouting death threats again, yet.

They were surprised to hear about Winky as well, so Dobby led them over to see for themselves.

Winky was sitting on a stool in front of the fire, also wearing clothes, but unlike Dobby's odd put together Winky's matched well with a blue skirt and matching blouse.

"So elves do have a sense of clothing," Lily giggled, her fondness for Dobby managing to increase as she realized he just enjoyed standing out.

However, Dobby's were so well cared for they all looked new, Winky's were stained and burned in several places.

"Ooph," Remus winced for the poor thing. He couldn't even begin to imagine what would be going through an elves mind at being separated from a master they'd so clearly loved. Hopefully Winky's state would impress upon Hermione what most elves were really like, freedom did nothing good for them.

Harry greeted her kindly, but she merely burst into tears.

"I feel like that happens frequently," James cringed at the idea of a girl, even a female house-elf, crying.

Hermione tried to comfort the little thing, but Dobby took no notice and kept beaming up at Harry, asking if he'd like some tea, having to speak a little louder over Winky's cries.

"Oh that sounds lovely," Sirius managed to chuckle amidst all the still strained faces at hearing about Winky.

Harry agreed, and almost instantly six elves appeared with a platter of treats and fresh tea.

"Do they just have all that in waiting?" Harry asked in surprise.

"It's prepared in advance, and then kept magically at temperature in case Dumbledore, or any of the staff, ever have a call for it," Remus shrugged.

Ron was impressed at once as he took some, but Hermione just frowned and declined.

Harry asked Dobby how long he'd been here, and Dobby said it was his first week.

"Ah, well at least I feel slightly better," Sirius muttered under his breath. He gained stunned looks from the others as they finally guessed where his mind had been, but Sirius just shrugged and really did relax back. He hadn't been able to help it though, if there was something powerfully magical enough to con the Goblet, he'd put money on a house-elf. Dobby had done some pretty deranged things in his stride to help Harry before. Clearly though, Dobby really hadn't anything to do with this.

The others wanted to call him out on such a strange train of thought to them, but Harry was so relieved to see Sirius didn't look so uptight at the mention of Dobby anymore he pleadingly waved his mother on, who heeded him.

Dobby had come to speak to Dumbledore, because he hadn't been able to find a position anywhere else. It's very difficult for a dismissed elf to find more work.

Winky's volume continued to increase at that reminder.

"I can imagine that being a sore spot for her," Remus winced, kind of wishing Dobby would take this conversation elsewhere as it was clearly upsetting the poor thing.

Dobby kept going with his explaining, saying everyone he'd talked to just shut the door in his face when he said he wanted paying for his work now. The elves that had been helping them started to edge away from Dobby at his saying that, like they thought he was being rude.

"To them it is," James agreed.

Hermione was happy for Dobby though, praising him for being like this. Dobby gave her a happy smile as he agreed, but reminded that all the other wizards had been much ruder about it.

"Ooh that poor thing," Lily frowned.

"What was he charging?" Sirius suddenly started smirking. "I honestly might have taken him up just to piss off me own. Kreacher would go mad if he had competition, well more barking."

The boys laughed along, even Harry not because he found it funny, in fact every time Sirius mentioned Kreature lately he got a nasty twist inside his innards, but just happy to see Sirius had quickly jumped right back to his old joking ways.

Dobby liked his work, but he wanted to wear his clothes, because Dobby liked being free.

"Anyone would love being free after living with the Malfoy's their whole life," Remus shuddered in full agreement.

The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious.

"Doesn't seem to be gaining him many friends though," Lily frowned in sorrow for the poor thing.

"Like he cares," James scoffed, "most house-elves don't care about friends, Hogwarts is actually unique in having more than two on hand. Like Dobby said, they live for their work, so long as he's getting that he'll be more than happy."

Winky just kept up her crying as Dobby mentioned having gone to visit her and finding out she was free as well, to which the girl threw herself off her stool and began beating the ground in misery.

Lily was fidgeting terribly as she kept going, the worst feeling was that she didn't even know how to help Winky. She had no idea how to go comforting any elf, she'd never heard of one in this state! It was not a comfortable feeling for Lily who had always strived to help as many of those around her.

Hermione dropped to the ground beside her, still trying to comfort her, while Dobby continued with a bright smile of Winky's screeching.

Sirius really couldn't stop the uncontrollable shaking of his shoulders as he imagined this scene, Dobby just ignoring the fact that Winky was having a breakdown and just chatting casually with Harry.

It was then Dobby had the idea of where two elves could find work, Hogwarts of course. Dumbledore had been more than willing to pay Dobby for his work, a Galleon a week and one day a month off.

"Ouch," Remus winced, "didn't expect Dumbledore to cheap him so much."

"I don't think I'll blame him for that," James disagreed with a curious look, "think about this, it's the first time I've ever heard of a house-elf even being paid, maybe what would be considered normal for us would give the little guy a coronary. He'll most likely build up to it, I hope," he concluded, waving Lily on curiously.

Hermione was shocked at such low wages, but Dobby quickly disagreed and said it had been him beating Dumbledore down from his original offer of ten Galleons a week and weekends off. Dobby shivered in fear at the very idea of so much riches.

"There you have it," James's smile turned downright smug at having guessed this.

"Wipe that look off your face, it's not that hard to work out," Sirius snickered with no force.

Dobby liked being paid, but he liked his work more.

Hermione kindly asked if Winky was getting the same,

"Eesh, this isn't going to go well," Remus winced. If Winky was losing her mind over talking about this, he couldn't imagine discussing such other things like paying would help.

but then Winky switched. She stopped crying, but looked to Hermione with outrage. Winky was properly ashamed of being dismissed and would be doing no such thing as pay.

"There's the typical attitude," Sirius nodded, wiping his brow as if relieved the world still worked right.

"I still don't get it," Lily grumbled. "Crouch was horrible to her, what's she got to be so upset about?"

"Their minds don't work like that," James gently reminded. They'd gone over this a bit, so he didn't press his point, and neither did Lily.

Hermione was shocked at her, stating Crouch had been terrible and Winky should be happy, but Winky wouldn't hear it as she pressed her hands over her ears.

Lily still couldn't help but mutter a few bitter 'brainwashed,' comments in between reading that.

Dobby explained for them Winky was having troubles adjusting, she still didn't realize she could say anything she wanted about her old master.

Harry asked in surprise that house-elves couldn't do this.

"You haven't figured that out," James shook his head. "Remember how Dobby acted the last time he almost spoke ill of the Malfoys, and they're the definition of bad wizards."

"I was just confirming for all of them, not just Dobby," Harry defended.

Dobby quickly agreed they weren't allowed to do this at all very seriously.

"Never had a house-elf try to be me," Sirius smiled, ducking on instinct when James made to swing at him again.

It was part of the house-elf law that they were never to speak ill of their masters. Dumbledore hadn't forced this though, he'd told Dobby he could call him a barmy old codger if he liked.

"I think he's been called worse recently," Remus chuckled, "but he's got a point."

Dobby gave a frightened giggle at the very idea before quickly saying he had no want to do so, Dobby loved working for Dumbledore and was happy to keep his secrets.

"Most people would for him," Sirius muttered with a frown starting to edge out his good mood, he didn't want to think what all secrets Dumbledore was hiding.

Harry couldn't stop a smile himself as he reminded that Dobby could say whatever he liked about the Malfoys now.

"This could get fun," James still stayed in an optimistic mood, he didn't want this good chapter to be ruined just because of Dumbledore.

Fear crept into Dobby's eyes as he agreed he could do this, if he wished. Dobby even squared his shoulders and admitted that the Malfoy's were bad Dark wizards.

"Well it's a start," Remus indulged.

"Give it a few more years and he might even call them really bad Dark wizards," Sirius rolled his eyes.

Dobby seemed to realize what he'd said though, and rushed to the nearest wall and began beating himself over the head for it.

"Oh that poor thing!" Lily groaned. Even freed of those Malfoys, poor Dobby was still forced to act like that.

"I'll stop him," Harry said with confidence, he'd had plenty of practice.

Harry had experience with Dobby doing this though, so quickly seized him and didn't let go until Dobby stopped. Dobby thanked Harry, admitting it was still hard to do so, but Harry encouraged he'd get better with practice.

"And I'm sure Harry'll be happy to help," James grinned.

Winky was furious at the pair of them, telling Dobby off for speaking like that about his masters.

"I think not," Remus sniffed. "If we have them enslaved, the least they should be able to do is speak their minds."

"You keep that in mind if you ever meet mine," Sirius rolled his eyes in disgust.

Dobby stated back that they weren't his masters anymore!

Winky glared at him as she called him a bad elf, then bemoaned her poor Mr. Crouch. What would he be doing without her! Her family had always belonged to the Crouch's, her mother and her grandmother, oh what would they say to bad Winky!

"Wonder why they've had all females," Lily asked.

"Some just prefer a gender," Sirius shrugged when he realized he was expected to answer, "I'm sure it doesn't actually have any difference."

Hermione tried to be firm with Winky, telling her it was Crouch's own fault and he was doing just fine without her.

Winky slightly perked up at the information someone had seen Crouch, and Hermione agreed he'd been coming around because of the tournament, he and Bagman.

Winky looked very angry at the mention of Bagman, stating Crouch had told her all about that bad wizard.

"Well that was extreme," Remus cocked his head.

"I don't like him much anymore," James agreed, "but he's irking me. What has Crouch had to say about him?"

"Guess Winky took Crouch's complaints about how he runs his department literally," Lily offered with a shrug.

Harry couldn't help disagreeing with them, he really felt like there was something he was missing about Bagman, something Crouch would know about, and he really hoped Winky would elaborate on this.

Harry tried to ask what she meant, but Winky refused to speak anymore, saying she would keep her master's secrets, then started sobbing again. Dobby didn't seem to notice as he chatted with them some more about what he planned to do with his wages.

"What would house-elves even do with their money?" Sirius suddenly asked as the idea had never occurred to him.

"You ask just as I'm fixing to read," Lily rolled her eyes at him.

Dobby had plans to buy a sweater next. Ron heard this, and seemed to have decided to taking a liking to Dobby,

"He grows on you," James agreed while Sirius still tried to deny that was getting more true the more Dobby showed up.

and offered his Christmas jumper, so long as Dobby didn't mind maroon.

"Well that was sweet," Remus grinned.

"Though sort of agitating," Lily grumbled, his mum probably went through a lot to make those and Ron was always complaining about them and now he was just giving it away. At least it was for a good reason.

Dobby couldn't have been more pleased as Ron agreed they'd have to shrink it a bit, but it would go with his tea cozy.

"There's a sentence you don't get to hear much," Sirius grinned.

They made to leave then, the other elves popping back up and trying to give them more sweets. Hermione refused, but the boys stuffed their pockets.

"Never had a more memorable flashback to my school years," James beamed.

"This ought to become a regular occurrence now," Sirius agreed.

Harry called a goodbye to Dobby, who quickly asked if Dobby could come visit Harry, which Harry agreed at once.

"Aww, I honestly can't wait," Lily beamed, at least there was something good to look forward to.

Ron was laughing as they left about the twins, who'd always made it seem like a task to get stuff from the kitchens, but they all but gave it away.

Hermione wasn't really listening as she said what a good thing it was for the other elves to have Dobby around. They'd see how happy he was and realize they wanted the same.

"I, yeah no I can't picture that one bit," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"They'll treat Winky with more respect than him," James agreed, "and she's in disgrace, but at least she's embracing it."

"In fact hopefully this'll help Hermione more than anyone," Remus added hopefully, "she'll realize Dobby's the odd one of his bunch, maybe look into the ideologies and mindsets of the common house-elf and see how much damage she could do with this running group of hers."

Harry hoped they wouldn't take a long look at Winky instead.

Hermione tried to insist that she'd just cheer up once the shock wore off.

"It's already been how many months?" Sirius raised an odd brow at Hermione, "I think she's fooling herself."

Harry wondered what Winky's, and Crouch's, problem with Bagman could be. Hermione offered it may have something to do with Crouch complaining about how Bagman ran his department.

Ron scoffed he'd rather work for Bagman than Crouch, at least the first had a sense of humor.

"A good point I can't deny," Sirius nodded along. He was an annoying bugger when he came to Harry, but still leagues better than Crouch.

Hermione laughed as she told Ron not to go letting Percy hear him saying that.

Ron agreed Percy wouldn't work for anyone who could take a joke, since he wouldn't recognize one if it danced naked in front of him in Dobby's tea cozy.

Causing one last release of laughter in the room, a very good omen for how this morning was going as Lily passed James the book.

HPHPHPHP

*Was anyone else insanely disappointed when this thing was never mentioned again? I think it would have been adorable, or at least had a few funny moments if it had just popped up once or twice again.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #Marauders #GoF #James Potter #Jilly #Lily Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius black

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