#but it doesn’t stop that being a little jarring for myself and presumably some others

[cynicalmusings]

[bbangsoonie]

11:11

member: changmin (q) genre: angst word count: 6,802 synopsis: when changmin finds himself trapped in the past, repeating the day of your death, he’s convinced that he’s been given a chance to save you. warning(s): death

Changmin woke up with a dreading feeling. He hadn’t set an alarm despite it being a weekday. He was hoping to sleep through the day and wake up the next morning. Unfortunately for him, the sleeping pills he took the night before only allowed him rest until noon.

He checked his phone, staring at the date. A year had officially passed by since that fateful day. Groaning, he threw his phone back onto his bed. He stayed under the blanket for a while, not wanting to get up. However, the sunlight shining through his window refused to let him go back to sleep.

Declaring defeat, he sat up and scowled at the sun. It was annoyingly bright today. The weather had no regard for his mood and was unusually warm for a winter day. It pissed him off.

He heard his phone vibrate and chose to ignore what he guessed was Chanhee’s daily check in. Still not fully awake, Changmin walked towards his fridge to grab a cold water bottle. After gulping half of it down, he let out a sigh.

His brain was still at war with himself. Half of it felt obligated to visit you and half of it wanted to drown his feelings in alcohol. He stood there, zoning out, contemplating his options.

Eventually, his guilt triumphed and he found himself throwing on whatever clean clothes he could find. He trudged out of his apartment and down the stairs. On his way to the main road to find a taxi, he passed by a flower shop. The same sense of obligation from earlier made him backtrack and step inside.

It had been over a year since he last visited the place. It felt strange to be back. The emotions he came here with were entirely different from the emotions he had back then.

He asked the worker for a small bouquet of daisies and muttered a word of thanks after receiving his change. After flagging down a taxi, he braced himself for the long ride.

The car escaped from the noisy city and headed towards a more remote area. He almost laughed, remembering how often you would mention that you wanted to be buried in nature and not locked up in a jar behind glass. He used to always chide you for thinking of and planning for your death but in the end, you had been the insightful one. He never thought he’d be traveling to your grave—at least not while he was still in his twenties.

When he finally arrived, his feet rooted itself and he couldn’t bear to walk further. He hadn’t been here since your burial a year ago. A wave of embarrassment suddenly hit him. He truly was an asshole to you until the end. He couldn’t even make things up to you even after your passing.

He hadn’t made any efforts to visit you but it was painfully obvious to those around him that he was still grieving. He blamed himself for letting you die. That burden prevented him from continuing to live life without you. His friends watched as he willingly ruined his own life. He gave up dance and even came to resent music. He spent the past year surviving and not living; he filled his time with part time jobs that would earn him the money he needed for rent and food.

In Changmin’s mind, he didn’t deserve to be happy when your life was cut short. He wished so badly that he could trade places with you.

With another sigh, he made his way towards your grave. He could tell your family stopped by earlier that morning. Someone had left a big bouquet of pink flowers for you. Beside it was a photo of you smiling, oblivious to the tragedy that would occur just a few months after it was taken.

He forced a smile, recalling how you used to complain about how everyone would bring you pink flowers instead of daisies for every occasion. Daisies were your favorite flower and Changmin was the only one who ever remembered.

He placed his own bouquet down and sat next to it. Holding up your photo, he spoke to it as if you would reply.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it, Y/n?” he attempted to say in a cheery voice. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I… I was afraid. Seeing you like this really makes reality hit as if waking up in an empty bed isn’t a strong enough reminder.”

He set the picture down and turned around to face your headstone. Hesitantly, he wiped at a spot and fell into silence. 

“Everyone tells me that the accident wasn’t my fault. I don’t believe it but even if it was true, I still hate myself for letting you leave when the last words I said to you weren’t that I love you. Not only did you die a painful death, but you died with the hurt I inflicted on your heart,” his voice cracked as he choked back tears.

Flashbacks of that day flooded his memory. He winced, finally confronting what he couldn’t for a year.

Changmin had left the dance studio angry. Angry at himself. Angry at his inability to perfect the choreography. Unlucky timing had you outside waiting for him to finish. He had planned on blowing off some steam by meeting Sunwoo for drinks but was stopped by you. You had noticed how upset he was and wanted to cheer him up but was brushed off.

Changmin knew he was snappy when he was pissed and didn’t want you to be on the receiving end. He wanted to spare you from walking on eggshells around him and knew that Sunwoo would quietly let him rant without getting hurt by his actions or words. Instead of clarifying, however, he let you misunderstand and walked away.

You watched him leave, staring at his back. The past month with him had been rocky. You knew he was stressed from preparing for the upcoming competition but you still missed the bubbly Changmin. Nowadays, he was more sensitive and on edge than happy and affectionate.

You had bought matching couple rings in hopes of brightening up his mood. They were simple rings made of silver and meant for the pinky finger. It was to symbolize your promises to each other—to always love and appreciate each other. Yours was already on your pinky but his was left in the box you were hiding in your pocket. You sighed and figured that you’d get the chance to give it to him later.

Except that chance never came. Changmin only came across that ring later when he found it on his table back at his place.

“You know, I left you knowing you probably thought I was irritated with you too. It was because I assumed I’d get to clear that up later. Like always. But later never came,” he fidgeted with the ring that now never left his own pinky.

What a cruel way to teach him a lesson.

“I guess at one point, I started taking you for granted. Taking our time together for granted. Who would've known that death would literally do us part before we even made our vows?” he chuckled at the irony. “I never told you but I intended on proposing to you as soon as we graduated. I got ahead of myself and was planning things way in advance. Would you believe me if I said I already decided where to go for our honeymoon?”

He could almost hear you laugh. If you were next to him, you’d lean on his shoulder as you doubled over in laughter. You had loved and teased him for his sweet side.

“That’s how sure I was that we’d get forever together. You spent the rest of your life with me but now I have the rest of my life ahead of me without you. A little unfair, don’t you think?”

Changmin had so many regrets. He wanted nothing but to go back in time and re-do things. After bottling everything inside him for a full year, everything was spilling out now that he was there with you.

You and Changmin hadn’t moved in together but you often slept over. That day, you waited until night for him to come home. He never did.

Sunwoo had called you from the restaurant they were at, asking you to come pick Changmin up. He wasn’t completely wasted but he was definitely too drunk to go home by himself. Sunwoo apologized, saying he couldn’t take him home because he had a prior arrangement to attend.

So you ended up sitting across from your boyfriend, waiting for him to sober up a little more before leaving the restaurant. This was not how you thought you would spend your anniversary with him. When he stormed off from the dance studio after spending the whole day there, you had already presumed he forgot what day it was for you two. You tried to be understanding, knowing that he felt extreme pressure about the competition.

You didn’t expect any gifts but you had hoped that you would at least have dinner together. But now that was also out of the window. You suppressed your annoyance and reminded yourself of how happy Changmin was when he was dancing. You wanted to be supportive of him.

“Why did you come here?” Changmin asked. Something about his tone irked you.

“What?” you frowned.

“I’m a fully grown man who can find his way back home fine,” his words dug a knife into your heart. You wondered if he forgot that you were the reason why he made it home safe and sound after drinking.

“You should be thankful that I always take care of your drunk ass,” you huffed. “You know, you can’t just count on me to do all these things for you. I do it because I want to but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be appreciated.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he sighed.

You hated that look on his face. He had that look often nowadays. That tired look that screamed that he was too tired to even argue with you. It scared you. Even arguing took interest that he didn’t seem to give you these days. You would rather fight with him than live in such silence.

So you did. You exploded at him.

“No, Changmin, I don’t know. I never know what you’re thinking anymore. You don’t tell me anything and just assume that I can read your mind. And it feels like I’m expected to play the role of your girlfriend when you don’t even act like my boyfriend. You need to take a step back and realize how grateful we should be towards each other.”

After your outburst, you waited for his response. You waited for him to either yell back or apologize. Anything to show that he still cared. Instead, he said something that made you wish that he just didn’t say anything at all.

“Why are you being like this today?”

You felt the knife dig deeper into your heart and his words stunned you into silence.

“You’ve changed,” you whispered.

And with that, you got up and left. Realizing he screwed up, Changmin ran out to chase you. It had gotten late and dark while he was inside and the sky was now pouring buckets. Without an umbrella, you were getting hit by the rain that hid the tears wetting your cheeks. When he finally caught up to you, he grabbed onto your wrist and spun you around to face him.

“You asked why I’m being like this? Today? Well, news flash, Changmin. Today’s our third year anniversary but I guess I’m the only one who cared to remember,” you cried.

His heart shattered at the sight of your face. He never meant to upset you. And he certainly didn’t mean to forget your anniversary. It had slipped his mind while he was focused on practicing. All that seemed futile when he saw the pain on your face.

You didn’t give him a chance to reply and shook his grip off of you. Wanting to avoid him, you ran to cross the street before the light turned red. At that moment, however, a car failed to break in time and the rain caused the driver to lose control.

Changmin’s eyes widened as he watched the vehicle crash into you. The noise was terrifying but seeing your body fly in the air and fall to the ground was even more horrifying. His legs moved before his brain processed the scene he just witnessed. He ran to your side and tried to shake you awake. His hand trembled when he saw that it was bloodied by the wound on your head.

The driver came out of the car, feeling both disbelief and guilt about what just happened. Changmin screamed at him to call the ambulance before returning his attention back to you. He begged you to stay alive but you took your last breath that night at 11:11.

After Changmin came back to Seoul, Chanhee caught him outside of his apartment and dragged him to dinner. He knew that his friend would be mourning all day and not remember to eat. So they went to a nearby restaurant and he practically had to shove the soup into his mouth.

By the time Changmin arrived home, it was late. He washed up and plopped onto his bed, wishing the day would hurry up and come to an end. Staring at the ceiling, he waited for sleep to take him out of his misery for a while. Eventually, his fatigue took over and he fell asleep the second the clock turned to 11:11.

When he awoke, he didn’t feel as groggy as he normally did. He felt strangely well rested. Wondering how long he had slept for, he checked his phone for the time. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he saw the date. It was yesterday’s date but with the previous year. He figured it was a cruel glitch on the device’s part and threw it back down.

He got up to get ready for his shift and fumbled around to look for the sneakers he just recently purchased. No matter how hard he looked, it was nowhere to be found. He found it odd but settled for an old pair of sneakers he hadn’t worn in a while.

After he put them on, he turned the doorknob to leave. He swung the door open and was shocked at the sight in front of him. You were standing there, holding a bag of groceries. Just like you did a year ago.

“Uh Changmin?” you stared at him, waiting for him to move so you could walk in.

Changmin was speechless. His brain felt like it stopped functioning; he didn’t know how to react to the familiar scene in front of him.

“Is this a dream?” he asked out loud.

His heart was racing. You hadn’t shown up in his dreams in so long. Now that you appeared to him, there were so many things he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he was sorry. But in that moment, all he could manage to do was pull you in for a hug.

“Is something wrong, baby?” you asked.

“Everything. N-nothing,” he stuttered.

Was he supposed to talk to you about everything that happened? Was he supposed to just enjoy reliving this day? He couldn’t decide.

You chuckled at the peculiarity of your boyfriend, finding him endearing. You motioned for him to move over and let you in, which he complied while still in a daze. You placed the groceries on the table and began to put away what needed to be refrigerated.

“Are you going to the studio to practice today as well?” you asked, opening a small carton of milk for your boyfriend.

He slowly took the drink you handed him and nodded. He then shook his head, not wanting to repeat his mistakes.

“Today’s our anniversary. We should do something special,” he suggested.

You lit up, excited to go on a date with him. You were glad you chose to dress up today.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked.

“Hmm how about that art gallery you’ve been wanting to go to?” he smiled at your happy expression. “I haven’t had lunch yet so we can eat some pasta before we go.”

So you two headed out to your favorite Italian restaurant and he ordered a bunch of dishes. You had protested, insisting that you wouldn’t be able to finish but he insisted that he wanted to spoil you that day.

He felt like he was on cloud nine as he watched you enjoy your meal. He missed this. He missed seeing you wiggle in your seat because of how good the food was. He missed cutting your steak for you because you were clumsy with knives. He hoped the dream wouldn’t end any time soon.

Noticing that he wasn’t eating much, you picked up a slice of pizza and held it in front of his mouth. His cheeks filled up after he took a bite and you laughed at how cute he looked. Your laughter prompted him to laugh as well, showing off his dimples that you loved.

You left the restaurant stuffed and was ready to fall into a food coma. Yet you couldn’t refuse when Changmin bought you your favorite ice cream. You strongly believed that people had a second stomach for dessert. You walked with the ice cream in one hand and with Changmin’s hand in the other. You stuck closer to him and leaned your head on his shoulder. He turned to look at you and didn’t want to ever look away.

After spending a couple of hours at the art gallery, you found an arcade and tugged him inside. You bet on dinner over three rounds of a vintage game, which you won. You cheered when your victory flashed across the screen, making him chuckle. To be honest, he let you win by pretending to slip up at the end but seeing your joy was worth it.

To Changmin’s discomfort, you chose the samgyupsal place that you two had fought at. Of course, you didn’t know that and just wanted to spend the night eating meat and drinking beer. Although hesitant, he agreed to your menu selection.

Changmin was indescribably elated to be able to sit and chat with you for hours. He didn’t even notice the rainstorm that began once again outside. He was too busy listening to you talk about one of your assignments for a random elective class you took but ended up liking. You rambled on about how your professor was extremely kind and lenient with grading.

By the end of the night, you two left the restaurant and he grew anxious, anticipating the end of the dream. You took notice of his sudden change in demeanor and questioned him about it. Before you could hear an answer, however, your hat was snatched and taken away by the wind. Not wanting it to get wet and dirty, you chased after it.

It all happened so fast. Again. Just as you were about to catch the hat, it blew further away, causing you to step out into the road. And again, there was nothing Changmin could do about the car that crashed into you.

This time, Changmin woke up with the feeling of falling from a tall height. The sensation startled him awake and he jumped up gasping. He scanned his surroundings, unsure of what he just experienced.

“A blissful dream turned into yet another nightmare,” he groaned.

He paused, reaching out for his phone to check the date. Both his jaw and phone dropped at the repeated date.

“No way,” he muttered. He shook his head, refusing to believe what was happening. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

He racked his brain for any plausible explanations. Surely this was another dream. A dream within a dream. Or maybe he’d finally lost it and was hallucinating everything. Believing in the latter, he made up his mind to finally go to the therapist Chanhee had been bugging him to go to. He quickly got dressed and put his shoes to head out. He paused when his hand grabbed the door.

“Surely it won’t happen again… right?” he wondered out loud.

To his surprise, you were there again on the other side of the door when he opened it. Trying to figure out what was going on, he slammed the door shut and froze. Outside, you blinked at the door in your face. Puzzled at your boyfriend’s behavior, you knocked.

Inside, Changmin flinched at the sudden noise. He was bewildered and beyond confused. This had to be a joke. Or a dream. Or a hallucination. How could you be real? There was no way you were actually back.

Or maybe, it was his chance to set things right. Maybe, if he did everything right, he could prevent your death. The idea sounded ingenious and insane to him. Taking a leap of faith, he flung the door back open and gazed at you. Still skeptical, he extended his hand out to hold yours. It felt warm, unlike the last time he held it in the rain. He wanted to cry in both shock and joy. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat and took the groceries from you.

“Are you okay, baby?” you asked, following him inside.

“I’m okay as long as you’re with me,” he said in a shaky voice.

You chuckled as you began to organize the groceries just like you did the day before.

“Are you going to the studio to practice today as well?” you asked, opening a small carton of milk.

Changmin stared at the milk you offered again. So many thoughts ran through his head as he tried to understand the situation. He determined that this was a blessing. He was given an opportunity to go back in time and change things. To save you.

“Let’s go watch a movie today,” he said.

He thought out and planned the rest of the day. He would sneak out in the middle of the movie to go buy a present for you. Using the excuse of an upset stomach, he went and bought a necklace he had been eyeing for months. It was quite expensive so he had saved up little by little and now he could finally afford to give it to you.

With the corner of his eye, he saw a couple looking at the ring section together. As if caught in a trance, he found himself walking towards the engagement rings. He gaped at the endless options of diamonds that sparkled as bright as your eyes. He bit his lip, contemplating if he should buy a ring as well. He initially wanted to wait until you both graduated but graduation never came for you. It was one of the biggest regrets of his life.

So he carefully took a look at the rows of rings until he saw one that immediately felt like it was meant for you. He quickly asked the worker to help him with his purchase and ran back into the theater to finish the rest of the movie with you.

You didn’t suspect a thing until he took the necklace out after lunch and put it on for you. You beamed at the surprise gift, eager to show him yours. Shyly, you retrieved the couple ring from your purse.

“It’s a promise ring meant for your pinky,” you explained as you slid it onto his finger. “A promise to always love and appreciate each other.”

He smiled at how proud you looked.

“See?” you showed him the ring on your own pinky.

“I love it,” he held his hand next to yours, admiring the view. “But uh I actually have a ring for you as well.”

With his heart pounding, he pulled out the square box and stood up. He took a deep breath before getting down on one knee, making you gasp. You felt tears brimming your eyes as he opened the box to reveal the diamond ring.

Watching proposal videos had always made you cringe. You didn’t get why people would cry. But in that moment, it all made sense when you found yourself unable to verbally reply. As a college student, you never expected him to propose. Sure, you had thought of marrying him but that seemed like such a faraway idea. You knew Changmin would always be in your future and didn’t see yourself marrying anyone else but him. So you managed to nod before he placed the ring on your finger.

“I know the timing may seem premature but with you, I want to have the courage to do what my heart desires. I want to see you walk down the aisle towards me. I want to show the world that I’m yours. I want to spend our honeymoon at Bora Bora and have two kids together. I want to raise a dog with you, just like you always dreamed of. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he confessed.

After hearing his words, you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore. He embraced you in his arms and you buried your face into his chest as you sniffled. Resting his chin on your head, he wished time would stop. All he wanted was to stay in this moment forever.

By the time night approached again, he made sure to keep you away from the street and from any vehicles. You wondered why he was being so overprotective and clinging onto you. He didn’t offer an explanation and just gave you a nervous smile.

Looking at his watch, he let out a deep breath when he saw that it was almost 11 PM. His leg shook anxiously as he held your hand tighter. You had insisted on enjoying the sounds of the city in the rain so you two were sitting at a random bus stop.

All of a sudden, the cry of a child was heard. You turned around to see a little girl who seemed to be lost. You stood up to go help but Changmin sat you back down.

“You stay here. I’ll go,” he said, feeling uneasy.

While he brought the little girl to the bus stop to avoid the rain, a young boy caught your attention. He was playing with a ball and you wanted to warn him to be careful. Before you could open your mouth, however, he dropped the ball and ran into the street to get it back. You panicked, seeing a motorcycle speeding towards the kid.

You ran out to pull the child back but was hit instead. Changmin’s heart dropped at the sound of the collision. When he turned back to find you, you were laying on the wet ground with blood pooling around you. Seeing you die for the third time wasn’t any less traumatic. In fact, it broke him even more. He hated himself for letting it happen again.

“Y/n, please please wake up,” he begged as he held your face in his hands. “You can’t leave me. Not again. I promised myself that I would change your fate. Y/n, please!”

Every time Changmin woke up, that day repeated itself. And each time, he would try to keep you alive. But no matter how hard he tried, that cursed time of 11:11 always ended his brief time with you with the same outcome.

When he kept you inside, you fell down the stairs. When he tried to make you sleep by tucking you in early, you never woke up. Thinking it was Seoul that was the problem, he even took you down to Busan. Paranoid, he even spent the whole day and night with you at his place. But every time the clock hit 11:11, the inevitable would occur and he would wake up to repeat it once again.

The seventh time he awoke to the same day, he screamed in frustration.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he yelled out.

He cried into his sleeves, wondering if this was his punishment for being unable to save you. While he wallowed in grief, he heard you knock on his door. He wiped away his tears and got up to greet you. Oblivious to his mood, you walked in and opened the refrigerator like you did the previous times.

“Are you going to the studio to practice today as well?” you asked, opening a small carton of milk.

“Let’s just stay in today. I’ll cook you something,” he bitterly smiled when he saw that the engagement ring was no longer on your finger.

He rummaged through his kitchen, looking for ingredients. You sat down next to the counter and watched as he made you kimchi fried rice. You enjoyed watching him cook. He didn’t do it often because he wasn’t very confident about his skills but you loved the gesture. You thought it was cute when he had that concentrated look he usually saved for dancing.

After lunch, you spent the next few hours watching movies. You had eventually noticed how sad he was. You looked over at your boyfriend who seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. Mustering up some bravery, you proposed watching a horror movie. You knew it was his favorite genre but didn’t watch scary movies with him often because you got scared easily. Slightly surprised by your suggestion, he agreed and let you choose one of the recommended movies on Netflix.

At every jump scare, you snuggled closer to him. Throughout the whole film, you clung onto his arm and he comforted you by stroking your head. Treasuring the time he got to spend with you, he allowed himself to feel at ease for a bit.

For dinner, you convinced him to go out to eat. On the way back, he lured you into a gift shop, kicking himself for not preparing a present ahead of time. While you were busy looking at the dolls, he managed to pick out a bracelet and slid it into his pocket after secretly paying for it. He knew it would be gone when the day reset and dreaded having to see your listless body again later.

When you two returned back to his place, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He wanted to savor every second he was able to spend with you. Noticing his gaze, you stared at him back, bringing a smile to his face. You poked his dimple, laughing at his expression.

“So I got you a little something. I hope you didn’t think that I forgot our anniversary,” he said as he put it on your wrist.

Smiling, you took out the gift you had prepared.

“It’s a promise ring meant for your pinky,” you said as you slid the ring onto his finger. “A promise to always love and appreciate each other.”

“See?” you revealed the ring on your own finger.

After hearing those words for the nth time, he finally broke down. He began to bawl, catching you off guard. For a few minutes, he wept as you tried to soothe him.

“Okay, spill. What’s been bothering you all day, Changmin?” you demanded.

He sighed, knowing what he was about to say was insane. He didn’t want to scare you but it all came out as word vomit.

“I’ve been reliving this day multiple times. I know it sounds crazy—it is crazy—but I was sent back in time. It’s actually supposed to be a year from now, a day after today. But instead, I’m stuck in this endless loop trying to save you. You died, Y/n. You died a year ago and you keep dying again and again! I thought I was given this opportunity because of all the regrets I had. The day you died, I was a complete jerk and you got into an accident after we argued. I blamed and resented myself. I had so many “what if’s” and “if only’s” that it tormented me,” he paused to catch his breath.

“I thought I had to repeat this day until I successfully prevented your death but nothing’s working. I can’t change things!” he cried. “I’ve tried over and over and over again. I’ve tried keeping you away from the street, taking you out of the city, and even locking us up in this damn apartment and nothing’s working! Every time 11:11 comes around, the same conclusion happens.”

You sat in silence, unsure of how to process all the information he just threw at you. He was way too emotional for this to be a joke and too upset for it to be unreal. But at the same time, you wanted it to be fake. You didn’t want to believe it. You were still so young. You had hopes and dreams you had yet to achieve. You wanted to crumble but you couldn’t bear to do so after seeing how heartbroken Changmin was. After thinking for some time, you finally spoke up.

“Maybe you were given a chance not to save me but to let me go,” you said quietly. ”You said you regretted the day I died. Maybe this is your chance to get closure. Send me off in peace. Find peace yourself.”

“No. No way. I’m not letting you leave me again. Not after all I’ve been through,” he said, desperately hugging you. “I finally get to hold you in my arms again. It’s okay if I have to relive this day forever. As long as I can see you, I’m okay with that.”

“Changmin...” your heart broke at the sight of his crestfallen face.

You let him keep his tight hold on you. He was so afraid you’d disappear again that he refused to let you or himself fall asleep. You looked at the clock and saw that the time was approaching.

“Baby, you know you can’t. I’m not coming back to life. I can’t. That’s not how the world works. We were blessed to have the chance to say our final goodbyes. Not everyone gets that. We’re lucky. We get to remind each other of how much we love each other and I get to tell you that I want you to be happy even if I’m not by your side. I’ll still be with you. In your heart. As long as you keep me there,” you pulled away to meet his eyes. “I don’t want you to be miserable without me. I want you to live your life to the fullest. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“But I have so many things I want to do with you. So many things I never got to say to you,” he stammered.

“Nobody gets to fulfill all their desires,” you smiled sadly. “Just know that I know how you feel. I know that you love me. I know that you want to grow old together. I know that you want to see mini me and mini you. I do too. I’m so sorry I won't be able to do that with you.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. Admitting it out loud made it feel real.

“You have no idea how badly I want to walk down that aisle with you. I want to live happily ever after while bickering with you. I want to see you dance and I want to succeed in my own career. I hardly lived over two decades but you made me so happy for most of it. I’m glad I got to love you. It’s a shame I won’t get to get my degree after studying so hard but there are bigger regrets. Like wishing I had spent more time with you. Wishing we took more trips together.”

Changmin looked at you with a pained expression. He wished that he had taken more pictures with you. That he had gone on more dates with you. That he made you laugh more.

“I guess we were given this opportunity in exchange for all of that. At least now I’ll get to leave knowing that I’m loved and that you know I love you. Our last day wasn’t spent arguing but hugging,” you pointed out.

The two of you lain wordlessly on his bed. The only sound was the clock on his wall ticking.

“Can you tell my family that I love them? And my friends too. I wish I could say goodbye to everyone but that would be greedy of me,” you said wistfully.

At his silence, you turned to look at him. When you saw the guilt on face, you sat up and beckoned for him to do the same. You glanced at the clock, taking note of the time.

“Ji Changmin, I love you. Thank you for making me the happiest girl in the world,” you smiled with tears in your eyes. “While we make promises with this ring, can you also promise me another thing?”

You waited for him to nod before continuing.

“Promise me that you won’t blame yourself for anything and that you’ll move on. I want you to have all the extra happiness I’ll miss out on. I’ll be expecting you to lead a fruitful life for my sake too,” you held out your pinky, waiting for him to wrap his around yours.

“It’s okay if I start to fade out of your memory over the years,” you added. “I’ll understand when my face starts to become fuzzy to you. I’ll even understand when you get married and have kids. I’ll be your kids’ godmother and look out for them. I can’t wait to see little baby Ji’s.”

“But I don’t want that if it’s not with you…” he whispered.

“Don’t be silly. You’re still young and have the rest of your life ahead of you. I’ll be mad if I’m the one that’s holding you back. Now, hurry up and promise me. My arm’s hurting,” you shook your pinky at him, urging him to lock fingers together.

It tore him apart but he shakily held out his hand to make his promise. More tears escaped his eyes each time he blinked.

11:05.

Changmin held your tear-stained cheeks in his hands, staring into your eyes. You hated the sad look in his own eyes but knew yours was the same. He hated the ominous feeling that predicted that this would be his last time in the loop. Now that he came to terms with the fixed ending, he would be freed from his desperate desire for a different outcome.

“Thank you, Y/n, for teaching me what love is. From when I first met you up until now, there hasn’t been a single moment that I didn’t cherish. I love you. I love you so so much. I spent the past year unable to forget you and I never will. I’m going to believe that you’ll be watching over me and I’m going to make you proud. I’m going to experience both my and your share of happiness. So don’t worry about me. I won’t be able to follow you soon but I’ll join you up there one day. Please wait for me.”

“I may be your first love but I certainly don’t hope I’ll be your last. Instead, I hope that I’ll be your endless love,” you hummed, feeling drowsy.

“Of course,” he affirmed. “I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Changmin.”

Changmin awoke feeling oddly comforted. The sun was shining through the window again and his apartment didn’t feel as empty for some reason. He eyed his phone and hesitantly picked it up. He was filled with mixed emotions when he saw that the year was finally set back to the present.

Out of habit from the past week, his eyes lingered on the door. You weren’t going to come knocking again but you also weren’t going to die again. You were finally sent off in peace.

His phone vibrated, notifying him of Chanhee’s daily text message. Chanhee was a persistent one as well.

Changmin decided to reply and asked him to grab breakfast together, which earned him an immediate “yes”. He told his friend to invite Sunwoo as well and got up to get ready for an outing for the first time in a long time. This was his first step in the healing process.

a/n: tbh i kinda cried writing this. i hope you cried too hehe also idk if you noticed but the line “endless love” is actually from the boyz’s “priority”. i really like that phrase and it’s been stuck in my head ever since the song came out

[leejungchans]

— new girl.

juliet’s masterlist

word count: 1.5k

set in late 2016

summary: in which juliet makes two new friends on her first day at kq as a trainee.

a/n: uM turns out this is the first predebut scenario for juliet!! as always, let me know what you think and feel free to chat with me in my inbox!! thanks for reading and ily 💕🥺 take care!!

“And here’s the final stop of our mini tour, the practice room,” the company staff tells Juliet kindly as they stop outside said room, which is still dark as no one else had arrived yet. “You’re our only female trainee, so you can train with the boys. They’re sweethearts, but you can always come to us if there’s any trouble, okay?”

“Okay, thank you,” Juliet replies meekly.

The older woman smiles in response as she unlocks the door, stepping inside the room to turn on the lights. “We’re a bit early, so you can just wait here until the others and the instructor arrives. I’ll be at the front desk if you need anything. Good luck on your first day!”

The girl quietly thanks the woman, watching her disappear down the dimly-lit hallway before hesitantly entering the practice room. Truth be told, she never expected herself to be a trainee once again, having thought that her experience at SM was enough for a lifetime. But deep down, she knew that if she didn’t give it a second try—hence why she is now here—she’d spend the rest of her life being regretful and thinking about the what if’s.

Juliet also didn’t expect herself to be so early. She was told to come in a little earlier after school so the staff could give her a quick tour of the building before training starts, but she had expected at least some of the trainees to be here already.

Then again, she’s gotten a lot more introverted ever since moving to Seoul, so perhaps it’s a good thing that she has a few moments to herself.

Still, Juliet has never felt this awkward in her life. Scared? Maybe not. Nothing will ever beat the sheer intimidation and fear she felt on her first day at SM, and though she’s only trained there for two years—much less than most of the friends she met there—she already feels like she’s gone through the wringer. Still, being in a new environment with no idea what to expect is unnerving, especially when it’s so different compared to what she is used to.

Juliet looks around the room tentatively before sitting down on the ground, her back pressing against the cold wall. She takes the time to text her aunt that she’s arrived before shoving her phone back into her bag, not wanting to ruin her first impression on anyone by being on her phone.

She doesn’t know how long she’s being tracing the pattern on the wood flooring with a finger when the door to the practice room bursts open, revealing a tall boy around her age standing in the doorway.

Before Juliet can scramble up to greet who she presumes is her fellow trainee, the boy is already beaming at her as he introduces himself. “Hi! You must be the female trainee the staff told us about! My name’s Jeong Yunho, what’s yours?”

“Baek Minyoung. Or Juliet, whichever you prefer,” she says before bowing to him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Juliet,” Yunho tries, still smiling brightly. She wonders how someone can be so cheerful after a long day, but his joyful disposition is definitely not unwelcome. “That’s a pretty name! Did you grow up abroad?”

“Yeah, I’m from Australia, but I’ve been living in Seoul since 2014.”

Yunho nods, eyes sparkling with amazement. “That’s cool! I’ve always wanted to go there. Is this your first time being a trainee?” he asks as they sit, ensuring that there’s a reasonable distance between them as to not make her uncomfortable. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Juliet, and she smiles wider to show her gratefulness.

“No, I trained under another company for two years before coming here,” she says quietly, omitting the name of said company to avoid being asked about her time there.

As though sensing her reluctance, Yunho dances around the topic. “Then you’re already a lot more experienced than most of us, so you don’t have anything to worry about! Did they give you a tour of the building yet?”

“Yeah, but it was pretty brief, so I might forget a lot of it after today,” Juliet admits sheepishly.

Yunho giggles. “Don’t stress it, the same happened to me too! But Hongjoong-hyung—he’s another trainee here, but he won’t be here today because he has another class—helped me, so if you need someone to show you around, I’d be more than happy to!”

Juliet smiles shyly. “Thank you, that’d be really great. Speaking of the other trainees, where is everyone?”

“Oh, they’re still probably at school or on the way here! We can keep talking until our trainer arrives—he’s really nice, so you don’t have to be nervous—or we can just... sit, if you don’t really want to talk. Either is fine!”

Now it’s Juliet’s turn to laugh. “No, no, we can totally chat! I don’t know much about anyone or anything here, so that can be a place to start!”

Turns out Yunho was extremely easy to talk to, and Juliet found that the following fifteen minutes or so passed by as though they were nothing.

It was slightly awkward when the trainee arrived with just the two of them in the room, but that remedied itself when a second boy, just as tall as Yunho, burst into the room, mumbling apologies for being late as the trainer simply laughed and told him to get ready.

The atmosphere was definitely more lighthearted than what Juliet was used to at SM, perhaps due to the jarring difference in the number of trainees in the room. Not that the trainer didn’t take them seriously—in fact, quite the opposite—it was just that everyone was less... tense and had more room to joke around.

The change wasn’t unwelcome, and Juliet finally understood what Yunho meant when he told her she didn’t have to be too nervous.

She does find it slightly nerve-wracking that the second boy would occasionally look at her confusedly whenever Yunho talked to her, but she supposes that it’s inevitable whenever a new trainee joins the company. Hell, it happened plenty of times at her former company as so many trainees would come and go, and everyone would be eager to get to know the new trainees. Some because they wanted to make new friends, others because they wanted to assess and intimidate the competition.

Juliet hopes that in this case, it won’t be the latter.

When they’re given a 5-minute break, all three of them walk back to where their bags are to take a sip—or rather, huge gulps—of water.

“You did great!” Yunho tells her, his bright smile never leaving his face despite how tired they all are.

“Thank you, so did you!”

“By the way, this is my friend Mingi,” Yunho introduces, patting his friend’s back to get his attention. “Mingi, this is Juliet. It’s her first day here.”

“Hi,” Mingi rumbles in his deep voice, “I was a bit confused back there because I thought you two were already friends because you seemed so friendly, but I didn’t recall Yunho having mentioned you before. Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable from the staring.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Juliet tells him, smiling to reassure him because of how apologetic he sounded. “Yunho’s just really friendly. I would’ve been an awkward mess if he didn’t talk to me first.” The tips of Yunho’s ears turn pink from her praise. “Did you two meet here too?”

Mingi shakes his head. “Nope, we’ve been friends for a few years before we came here.”

She can’t help but blurt out, “Do you only have tall friends?”

The two boys freeze, taken aback, though they quickly recover after a few seconds and burst into giggles.

“No, because we have you as a friend now,” Yunho says cheekily. Juliet can’t even find it in her to be offended, not when they just called her their friend. “Don’t worry, you’re young, you still have time to grow taller! Wait, when we’re you born?”

“2001.”

Mingi grins. “See? You’re fifteen? Sixteen? You have time! Plus, you’re not even that short now!”

“Easy for you two to say! I feel like I’m gonna strain my neck someday from talking to you guys!”

Yunho and Mingi exchange looks before crouching down to her height, though they don’t last long before they whine about how the position makes their thighs burn, especially from all the dancing they did, making Juliet giggle.

“Do you wanna get food with us later?” the older boy asks as he stands back up to his full height. “There’s this stall around the corner from the building that makes really good tteokbokki! Mingi and I always go there after training. You know, we gotta reward ourselves somehow.”

The girl smiles hesitantly. “I mean... if you don’t mind me tagging along, then I’d love to join.”

“Why would we mind? We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“We... are?”

“You sound so unsure!” Mingi whines. She doesn’t know how she saw Mingi as scary earlier, because all those feelings of intimidation she felt towards him dissipated into thin air the moment they started talking. “C’mon, say it with more confidence!”

“We are!”

“That’s the spirit!”

a/n: “yunho dances around the topic” haha get it bc he’s a dancer 🤩🤩 i’m so sorry i’ll go show myself out 🚪🚶🏻‍♀️ anyways yungi best boys and i will not accept alternate opinions ✨✨ please feel free to leave feedback and chat with me, and have a good day!! ❤️

[shashawip]

Mia Asking Jason About His Feelings For Roy While Cooking

Summary:

Mia asking Jason about his feelings for Roy while cooking, and Jason didn’t deny it.

Notes:

English isn’t my native spoken language so there can be grammatical errors.

This snippet is from an originally planned fiction revolving around Roy, Jason and Mia with Mia being the witness of Royjay’s developing relationship. I may never find a chance to finish their story so I will just post moments that I enjoyed writing while picturing their world. Hope you enjoy.

Published on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33110860

——

It wasn’t Mia's turn to cook today, but not like she minded it and all. She’s in a good mood lately given how well the day job has turned out, and the camaraderie she’s developed with the colleagues at work.

To be frank, the two other housemates’ cooking skills just weren’t satisfying. Jason was alright, if he really paid attention and invested his time to cook. Same cannot be said for Roy, however, who was an entirely different story. The only edibles on his menu might just be that ham and cheese sandwich he seemed to be barely able to assemble.

Mia hummed in joy while she poured her lasagna sauce into a rectangular Le Creuset, which had already been layered with some pre-made lasagna sheets. She raised her eyes to look at Roy who’s sitting across the kitchen island, while still preserving her attention down at the stoneware.

“I never knew you’d be so interested in a wooden door before.” Mia chuckled.

Roy seemed to be dragged out of his lost thoughts and back to the world by her voice, quickly moving away his glaze, looking a little embarrassed. He’d been fixed to the stool he’s sitting on and stared at Jason’s bedroom door with his head rested in his elbow in the same position for quite a while, even the oven had been pre-heated.

Mia continued to work on layering sheets and pouring the mixture from the saucepan, the warm steam spreading the fresh smell of tomato, garlic, slightly caramelized pork and veal bolognese along with other goodness that’s been well combined into the open air kitchen. She kept her head down while going on, “Figured what’s getting into your head. Now that James and I are dating, Jason seems like about to start one himself, you’d be thinking of finding someone to hang out with too?”

Roy admitted almost immediately, let go of an unnoticeable sigh for Mia seemed to not be aware what’s really going on in his mind. “Didn’t you always mention that girl… the one on that team you and Dick were on back then, was it Danielle?” “Donna.” “Donna. Anyway. I don’t know, maybe you can try contacting her again?” Roy looked a little confused by her suggestion. “Donna… she’s a partner and a good friend that’s all. Also I haven’t caught up with the Titans for quite some time.” “But there is always a chance out there somewhere, right?”

By now Roy seemed to have lost interest in this topic, and just shook his head towards the room that Jason was in, and steered the conversation back to what’s happening in there. “You can’t know… that girl, she came here and was after Jason…” Mia knew what he’s going on and about, “If you ask me, well, from a female perspective, what she’s after from Jason could not have been any more obvious.”

Just a little less than half an hour ago, a silver white long haired girl walked in from the front door of their apartment without giving any heads up, she promptly glanced over the room, including Roy who was laying on his back in the couch at the time, and Mia who’s busy preparing their dinner behind the counter. She briefly studied the situation, confirmed with the cook which bedroom was Jason’s, then dashed and disappeared into that room with a not-so-gentle bang as she closed the door, leaving Roy and Mia completely dazzled and curious.

Roy exchanged looks with Mia as he got up. He thought that girl looked familiar before he remembered that he, or rather, him and Jason had met her on the plane from Gotham back to Star City. She was sitting across the aisle, had started to strike a conversation with Jason around halfway of the flight. Roy hadn’t paid them too much attention as he curled up comfortably in his window seat and napped almost the entire time. When their plane had arrived and the seatbelt signs turned green, and Jason stood up to reach their backpack from the overhead bin, Roy saw the girl had slipped a thin piece of paper into the back-pocket of his jeans.

Roy had never seen her again after they got back home, until just now. He bet that Jason had contacted her without him and Mia knowing, and for Christ’s sake, he’d exposed their secret headquarters - an apartment on Winnick St that the three of them would scramble each month to come up with the rent for - to a stranger that hadn’t gone through their little gang’s trust test.

Mia saw him shuffled around yet eyes glued to that door, so she ordered him to buy some more basil leaves from the store that apparently her topping sauce is now short of. Roy groaned before leaving the apartment, still managed to strike a last look at that door that the girl has vanished into.

Some time later, the girl has finally decided to stomp out of that room again, she glimpsed over Mia, without saying a word then bounced across the communal space before walking right out, seemingly assuming oneself to be one of, otherwise, the owner of the house.

When Jason emerged just a little later too, Mia then stared at the ceiling and started talking at loud to herself, “Gotta be impressed with all the soundproof works of these walls, you can’t even hear a thing that you’d expected from the other side.”

Jason said that he and Roslyn merely spoke while in there and nothing more had happened. He looked around and asked where Roy is. Mia told him that she requested him to go to the shop and get her some more basils. Jason pondered on that. Mia figured out he’s gauging whether he should go out too, “I thought he might want some air for himself seeing that both his housemates are romantically involved in a relationship.” Jason started to look confused.

Mia thought to herself, Mia Deardon, don’t you screw this one up. She made an effort to calm her tone of voice before speaking up again. “That girl and you, aren’t you a thing or about to be?” She probed in a slightly joking way.

“A thing?” Jason now looked even more puzzled, as if this image of presumed future has never come across his mind before, “I don’t recall anything remotely like that ever discussed in our conversation.”

Mia stopped what she’s doing and pointed a silicon spatula at him, which was still covered with warm tomato chunks, “Jason, when you let a girl walk into your room, you should be prepared to provide her the chance of a mutually respectful association that is what we called a relationship, instead of just fooling around and walk away like a jerk.” Though in this particular scenario, the female individual seemed to matched that perona more, Mia had no intention of pointing that out.

“I’ve not even had a clue how she found this place, I thought she’s just some upper manager of a business, not some sort of a detective.”

Mia squinted her eyes, clearly not buying, “You know, usually a girl found out a guy’s address through a text message or a phone call.”

“Trust me, Mia, I’ve never even asked for her number.” Jason wiped his forehead and started to feel the angst up his gut, but he tried hard to not let it unleash upon Mia. “Do we have enough ingredients for tonight?” He indicated the kitchen bench filled with mixing bowls and food scraps with a nod. Mia gave it a thought, then answered, “We might have just run out of paprika, can you give Roy a ring and ask him to get a jar from the shop?”

“I’ll head down myself, don’t think he can hear the call right now.” Jason turned around to leave. Just when the door’s about to be opened, Mia called his name.

“Jason, do you love Roy?”

His hand on the doorknob came to a sudden halt. He paused for a second, “Why’d you say that?”

Mia took a deep breath, giving her best to not give away the fact that she’s rehearsed over and over what’s coming next. Instead of answering the question, she continued, “I’m not saying the kind of brotherhood you’d shared with Dick or your other partners from the cop shop, what I meant was something like Ollie and Dinah, like between me and James.”

Jason looked to be caught off guard with what she’s just said, and Mia for one was happy with how this whole situation had been going, as he at least didn’t just abruptly deny the question nor went on interrogating why the hell she’d stir up some shit like that. She heaved a sigh of relief, carefully thanking herself for the sharp observation and analysis she’d secretly inducted on themselves.

Jason looked at her, without saying a word, seemed to be still waiting for her to go on. So she did. “Roy is the kind of person that, how should I put this, would rather let his feelings sink than swim if you don’t show anything to him first. Probably why he and Ollie never saw each other eye to eye when they came across.” Jason nodded in agreement. “If he thinks that the other person doesn’t share a mutual feeling, I bet you he’d take it to his grave than ever speaking up about it.” This actually has contradicted to Roy’s impression on him, as he always saw the guy as carefree and weren’t shy about showing his affections towards the others, but Jason wasn’t going to oppose otherwise and just let Mia kept on.

“He had a crush on a girl in that crime fighting group he was in before, always claimed that he wasn’t good enough for her, so the girl never found out his feeling for her in the end.” Mia fixed her eyes on him, her spatula had now dropped to the bench surface as she leaned against the edge with both of her arms, looking at him demurely, “He’s recently acting more and more like that again. I don’t know about you, but here’s what I thought, if that other person this time at least showed him some sort of hints, maybe he wouldn’t have too many regretful undone deeds to carry with him to his tomb after all.”

Jason lowered his head and thought on that for a moment, his hand already loosen from the doorknob and he just noticed how his palm had been sweating all this long. He turned around to face Mia behind the island, who’d clearly done speaking and was waiting patiently for a response. Jason found her gaze again as he meticulously raised his eyes, “And you think this person… is… me?”

Mia grinned, “We both know that his current social life, or rather, his only life is devoted on bringing down that Merlin’s evil little scheme, which the whole operation comprises only two people, and he’s surprisingly one of them.” She could not have been clearer than that who the other person she’s referring to.

Jason couldn’t bring himself to let out of a word. There was too much to be said, too many questions bursting in his chest. When did Mia start to notice Roy’s altered behaviours as she described? How did she work out the confidence to ask him about it and not even worry that she might’ve been wrong? Did Roy ask her to feel him out, or was her perception of Roy’s feeling for him even legit?

“Jason, hello, someone in there?” His thought had been interrupted with her teases as he drown, “So let me ask again, Jason, do you love Roy? The kind of love like between Ollie and Dinah?”

The former Robin had let out a deep breath before cracking her a smile, “I’m gonna go get us some more paprika from the shop.” Then he opened the door and left the apartment.

None of the three housemates had ever demanded paprika when they had lasagna night, Jason knew better than that, and he secretly thanked Mia a thousand times as he sprinted downstairs.

——

End of snippet

End notes:

I draw Royjay fan arts from time to time, if you liked this story you’re welcome to also check them out on my Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shashawip

[impaladolan]

Capture - Grayson Dolan [8/-]

summary: y/n is quick to plot revenge.. but does she get away with it..?

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, and smut :)

a/n: i seriously love you

Anonymous said:

Ooohoohohoh I’m excited for her to steal his Rolex haha omg maybe she wears it and doesn’t give him it back when he asks for it OMG u know what would be cute!! if one day she goes snooping in his bedroom and tries on his chain necklace n rings and he walks out the shower n he’s like ummmm ok ily

Anonymous said:

i want y/n to ride gray’s thigh in his office, like he’s just got in still fully in his suite w his gun on his belt and she just walks in and strips 👀👀

Anonymous said:

I have an idea hehe!! WhYi f y/n gets drunk like she f inds alcohol in graysons office or kitchen or something and shes being really bratty but it’s so cute and she’s giving him nose kissies and hugging up and telling him stuff and he’s just listening and loving her

Relaxation.

That's how you'd explain the certain state of euphoria I'm embezzled within. Young love is a treacherous trap that can either end in favor, or be torn to shreds in only mere moments. To feel so passionate and fervently invested in someone you've only ever known and loved is such a thrill, and you could never forget those memories embedded in your mind.

Like right now, laying in bed while the sun's first shine leaks through the window and gleams down upon the two of us, nuzzled under the covers. His leg was wrapped over mine and his arms hung loosely around my hips, sheltering me from ever possibly leaving his grasp. I was the first to wake, but I dared not to move an inch.

The world around me was motionless, so peaceful and calm. Nothing could bother or disrupt the atmosphere around me. Everything felt so perfect, embraced by the one I love and the man I admire. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever unsettle me in this moment.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself...

A darkness warped over my newly sunken eyes, shielding the world around me. I called out his name, but nothing came out. The warmth I once felt upon my body, vanished into the air and seemed like it'd never return. The world became cold and useless, all the positivity and tranquility that once surrounded me was blown away and now, I sit in darkness;

All by myself.

Him.

-

It seemed too early in the morning to be awake at such an hour, but you had crashed shortly after making it back to your room last night. You were so mortified and embarrassed, for all those men to see you so vulnerable and being punished. Though, the crazy inside you kind of liked it, but still, it pushed boundaries.

Initially, you had wanted to sleep in all day, and hopefully never leave your room ever again. Although, today's forecast decided otherwise. A ground shaking rumble of thunder made you awaken and the shoestring lighting bolts strung across the darkened sky had drawn you in. Since you essentially have no concept of time, whatsoever, you had to believe it was early in the morning, unless you really had slept in all day...

It's been presumably an hour or so since you first fluttered your eyes open. By now, you had plotted a sickening revenge to his outrageous acts he had committed only a day ago. Of course, you had created horribly ill plans that even you could never pull off. Such as vandalizing his expensive vehicles or even trashing the entire house. You had even gone as far as to planning an "accidental" fire in the kitchen.

But something inside you had put a halt to those thoughts.

Other than not wanting to be known as a malicious arsonist, you had some sort of pull towards him— but what that pull was, you couldn't figure out. The phrase; " Darling, I may be a stranger to you, but you're no stranger to me," has been left in your mind ever since the words first left his mouth. You couldn't possibly help but wonder what that even meant. You felt like you've known him from a past life somehow, and that could potentially explain the affection you have towards him. All of that aside, you have to remember that he isn't who your brain morphs him in to be. He's a felon who's abducted you and has pulled you away from society and everything you've ever been a part of.

For some reason, that's hard for you to mentally consider.

Aside from criminalizing yourself too by creating a fire or becoming a vandalizer, the best option is to state your assertiveness and trespass the "laws" that he has forbidden you ro break. Unlike yesterday's escapades of you ruining the dining room table, today you were up for higher anticipated endeavours. You had it all planned out and you knew what you'd do in order to complete your vengeances.

And he's not going to be very happy...

The atmosphere above and around you still rumbles with the loud, crackling thunder and the strikes of lightning flooding certain increments of light through the surrounding windows pave your path to the daunting door. You were still dressed in the white shirt that could barely pass as acceptable in the public eye, and your feet were frozen at the first touch of the wooden floor. You kept on like you have done in the previous times you have left your room for mischievous reasons. You silently open the door, leaving it wide open as you crept out of your assigned room and into the hallway. You knew that the very first place you would go would be the kitchen. No, you aren't creating a fire or any of the sort, but you were going to raid the fridge and have your fill with what it has to offer.

You walk straight past the opening and right into the glorious establishment of cookware, like it was your very own home and you were just up for a midnight snack. In all honesty, you could get used to living here.

If only it weren't forced onto you, that is.

Your fingertips soon collide with the long, frigid handle of the refrigerator door and pull it wide open, marveling at the large display of different beverages and foods strategically set up. Of course, it was mainly veggies and several healthy-looking meal options. Which didn't surprise you whatsoever.

He has a nice physique for a reason...

You couldn't find anything that made your stomach growl with hunger, until you opened up the freezer drawer and spotted a nice looking ice cream container. Still, it looked healthy and it'd make you all the more frozen, but it would manage to subside your aching sweet tooth for now. You pop open the lid and fish around the drawers for a utensil. With a content sigh, you plunge a huge spoonful of the solid liquid and empty it into your mouth, savoring every last flavor like it would be the last time you'd ever eat the sugary treat again. It was delicious, the absolute best ice cream you've ever devoured in the entirety of your life.

You almost ate half the jar until you decided you were parched and needed a nice drink to soothe your throat. Luckily this time you were familiar with where the glasses were kept and already had your hand wrapped around a large wine glass that was a little bit higher up than the rest of the glassware. You set it down quietly, trailing your eyes upon the clean and prim counter.

A tall, fancy upscale bottle of what looked to be whiskey was settled in the corner, nicely organized with the other alcoholic beverages that were of the same importance.

Now, you weren't exactly a "drink-whiskey-out-of-a-wine-glass" type of gal, but as they say; desperate times call for desperate measures— and you were on the search of something to loosen you up a bit, and that was that.

You brought the glass over to where you had stationed your cup, not even flinching when you uncork the liquor and pour its contents out. With improper proportioning of the said liquid, you put the whiskey back how it was.

"Fuck, here we go." You inaudibly groan to yourself, just knowing that you'll regret every decision you've made in the near future. Raising up the plum-full glass, you tip it back into your mouth and down a whole gulp.

Nasty.

It's definitely an acquired taste, but the barely detectable taste of vanilla made it hardly feasible. You dared to not put the glass down until you were finished with it and had that sour taste submitted through your fiery throat.

The least you could say was that it's pretty smooth, but not something you'd drink in your free time.

In your head, you knew you'd feel a bit wonky, considering your nearly empty stomach and your abstinence from alcohol for the last month or so. It'd be easy to feel the side effects and overall feel much better, like you were aiming for.

Once you drained the glass of every last drop, you held your breath and rushed to the sink. The overwhelming want to just regurgitate what you ingested had drawn upon you, but you refrained from doing so. Waiting out the sickly feeling, you run a bit of cold water over your hand and press it against your forehead for a moment. Everything became hot, even with the freezing temperatures, you felt like breaking a sweat.

All just the side effects of alcohol, I'm sure.

Within the passing minutes, the faintness flew away and the sounds of the thunderstorm filled your ears. A large banging of the clouds above frightened you and you knocked over the glass you had just rested your lips on.

You didn't even feel bad about all the shattered pieces on the floor, it actually brought a smile to your face and you were ready to begin the fully planned extravaganza.

First stop; his room.

You skipped back the hallway, still quiet but not as careful as before. You weren't afraid of any consequences and whatever he was going to do to you wouldn't be too harsh. It's not like he's embarrassed you enough already anyway.

You easily find his door, pushing the handle down as slow as possible, just in case he was asleep in his room. His door didn't creak as you opened it, and nor did his floorboards as you walked straight into his marvelous bedroom. It was extravagant, but yet it still felt homely. You check the bed, no sign of him or anyone for the matter. He probably at a meeting, or something.

Not that you care..

You continue your stroll, glancing around his room for anything that could spark your immediate attention, considerably his desk. It held a lot of his more—fashionably inclined belongings. Such as his masculine jewelry and expensive watches. There was even a small, purple ring that reminded you of something you had worn a long time ago. You brush that off, it brings up sore wounds from a time where you were a lot happier and everything was simpler.

I wish I could say that now..

You began to pick up the neatly placed objects, slipping a couple of heavy necklaces around your neck and the large rings upon your fingers. You laugh at the size difference of your hand and how they barely stay on your fingers.

The stationary mirror attached to the desk caught your eyes, and you begin to make funny faces at it. Which sends you into a hushed giggle fest that makes you double over in your seat. Still caught up in your laughter, you take off all of the rings, just leaving a couple on the desk and tossing a few over to his bed. You do the same with the necklaces, except for the two that you threw into one of the drawers.

That’s when your eyes caught the nice watches, stuffed in clear pouches with the brand labeled across them. Rolex is the first you saw, and the first one you picked up. You weren’t thinking clearly. Hence the reason you tore it out of it’s protective packaging and brought it up above your head, throwing it down to the ground and watching the tiny glass fragments splatter everywhere.

It’s not like he can’t buy a new one, right?

Feeling content and a little less frustrated, you left the messy scene and followed your footsteps back into the hallway. He didn't seem to hear you, so the determination to find out his name came across your mind and you became dead set on finding it, so you basically sprinted into his ominous office and delved into his comfy chair without care.

Your motor skills were altered and it seemed to take for ever to lift yourself out of the chair and tap on the computer keyboard for it to wake up. While it began its process of turning on, you led your hand down to the drawers and pulled at them. And that’s when you found the very first locked up thing in this house.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing in here darling?” His alluring voice blasted through your ears and made you leap upward. “It’s not been a day and you’re already back to being a brat?” You couldn’t see what he looked like, but his silhouette looked suited and enticing.

Very enticing, actually...

“M’trying to find out your name, Daddy.” You spoke before you could think, crossing your arms over your chest while your lips form a pout. His body leaves from the doorway, and you’re barely able to see him as he strides over towards you. Suddenly, a light flips on and you’re met with his beautiful frame, a smile daunting his face as he looks down at your innocence.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He moves closer, wrapping his hand under your chin while his other has his blazer hung on his finger and thrown towards his back. He looks cute in a smile, until it forms into a confused frown.

“Have you been drinking, Y/N?” Your eyes widen and you quickly nod. You knew you’d be in trouble with him anyway, so might as well be honest now. “I c-couldn’t sleep and I- I just wanted a sip of somethin’.” You shrug, looking downward as you give him an okayish explanation.

“You know what helps me sleep?” He lets your chin go, dropping his jacket and beginning to roll up his dress-shirt’s sleeves. You shake your head, chewing your bottom lip as you take in his appearance. “A nice cocksucking does.” Thunder crackles loudly outside as his husky voice deepens and makes a cool wind run down your spine.

“Then let me help you..” You wrap your arms around his neck, twisting him around and forcefully pushing him down in the chair you were once sitting in. You were about to fall to your knees to “help” him, but he pulls your hips towards him and sets you on his lap. You replace your hands around his neck, sinking your fingertips into his hair and massaging the silky softness of it. He sweetly sighs, readjusting the leg you were sat upon.

And that’s when you feel the sensation you’ve been craving for however long you’ve been here.. you think..

“M’hm, do that again..” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He actually obliges, his brows furrowed as he watches your face contort. “Like riding my thigh, huh?” He asks as he placed his large hands around your waist. You nod, moving your hips in the same direction. You eyes shut, your head falling back a little as you smoothly move against his muscled thigh.

It felt so good, everything felt so good actually. He somehow looked so much more attractive, the beard dotting his face and his hair styled nicely. Even what he was wearing had you wanting more.

You open your eyes for a moment, watching his pleased expression as he watches you needingly thrust yourself upon his warm, clothed thigh. He even steadily lifted his knee in the correct places, aiding in the pleasure that him alone could bring you. Your eyesight seemed foggy but visible enough to see the gun at his waist side, and you almost froze when you saw it. Even in your intoxicated state of mind, you knew that just the weapon could possibly help you escape and make it back to your own home.

You didn't think it through thoroughly..

You lean in, your lips next to his ear as you practically collapse upon him, though your movements to further yourself towards releasing didn't halt. You slipped your left hand down to his waist band, sensually gliding it over his tented groin. He shutters under your touch, clearing his throat as his heads falls back slightly. As quick as your body would let you, you grab for the handle of the gun and raise it up towards his forehead, stopping all your movements and gaining his attention.

"Y/N—" He starts, gliding his hands up your bare thighs.

"Don't fucking move, or I'll— I'll shoot you." You sounded clear as day in your head, but your words became slurred as they left your mouth, and he smirked at your innocence. Just as quickly as you pulled the gun, he took it away.

He grabbed the barrel and snatched it from your grip, placing it back into its holster at his side. You yelp as he grabs your wrists, twisting them around your back and slamming you into the table with an evil chuckle. "Better keep those hands pretty little hands to yourself, princess. You're too innocent to commit murder anyway." He continues his hoarse chuckles, licking a stripe up his hand before striking your slick pussy. "D-Ahh!" You hiccup, pressing your legs as close together as you can.

“Better fuckin’ pray that you can walk tomorrow, darling...”

to be continued...

[bisexualdaemon]

mad woman (nessian)

a/n: In which Nesta copes and Feyre interjects

hello! again, new here ☺️ this kind of just...happened? the idea came upon me late talking with @harryandmolly​ idk anyways hope you enjoy! if you don’t like modern AUs then this probably isn’t for you, but if you’re into that sort of thing and all the warnings that go with it then I would love to hear what you think!

tw: angst, coping with death, sex work, language

original art by the incomparable charlie bowater

Things were great until they weren’t. 

Nesta Archeron had been engaged. She had a father who loved her and a sister she adored. Until the plane crash. Until a faulty navigational system sent her fiancé, her father, and her sister into the side of a mountain on the way to her destination wedding.

She had gone to Hybern early, to get settled and calm her nerves, to plan around the security that Feyre had hired so that Rhys could attend the wedding. Nesta had told her not to bother, Rhys could stay in Velaris for all she cared. She’d gone and set it all up anyway. But it had all exploded when Nesta got the call that her world had ended and all she had left was a sister she resented and a brother-in-law with too high a profile. She was a tragic headline. A fucking media circus. 

High Lord Rhysand’s sister-in-law left at the altar in tragic plane crash. 

The press camped outside her Velaris studio for weeks. They’d only left when she had thrown a maelstrom of empty glass bottles out of her windows at them. Empty because she’d come back to Velaris and crawled inside a whiskey bottle and stayed there. She might be more whiskey than person now. The days were passing at a rate she couldn’t gauge anymore. Had it been hours or days or months since she’d picked up the phone in the middle of placing name cards on tables in the reception hall? She didn’t particularly care. Everyone who mattered was dead and being drunk was better than counting the minutes since her future had evaporated. 

A knock sounded at the door. 

Nesta removed the eye mask she was wearing and squinted at her phone. 7:15 AM. She’d been up all night again, had just laid down to try and sleep. Who the fuck was at her door at this hour?

She knew but she opened the door anyway. 

Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court, was in the hallway looking worried. Well, Nesta assumed she was looking worried. She could only see Feyre’s furrowed eyebrows between the oversized sunglasses and the wide-brimmed sun hat. She had wrapped her red-gold hair, twin to Nesta’s own color, into a low chignon to hide it away from prying eyes. A disguise. Nesta snorted. Feyre Archeron could be noticed in this city by a blind man a hundred yards down a busy avenue. It was the way she carried herself, the easy confidence. No one could mistake her for anyone but their High Lady. 

“What do you want?” Nesta crossed her arms over her chest, blocking the view into her apartment.

“Well, to start, a little respect for the person who has been footing your liquor bill for the last eight months.” Her red lips were turned down at the corners, tight. She angled her head past Nesta’s shoulder and crinkled her nose, “God, I don’t even need to see in there to know what it must look like. I can smell it from here. And I can see you.” 

Nesta kept her face a mask of annoyance but considered how she must look. Compared to Feyre’s heavy cream sweater and perfectly tailored tan pants, anyone would look slovenly but Nesta knew she'd let herself go.

A while ago, she’d taken to wearing Tomas’ shirts to bed. Then eventually she wasn’t getting out of bed so it was all the time, changing only when she found the strength to shower. Today’s shirt—more like this week’s shirt if she was being honest with herself—was an old striped dress shirt, one Tomas had maybe worn twice with a suit. It now had several stains from whiskey and whatever takeout she had ordered last night. She couldn’t quite remember. Chinese? Greek? 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Her marriage was supposed to be one of convenience. They had been friends, had both gotten older and then tossed in the towel on dating. Tomas needed a cover for a lifestyle his parents forbade and Nesta...well Nesta wanted to be comfortable. Nesta wanted her sister to stop meddling and leave her alone. At least, she thought she did. 

But, no one had known. No one except Elain.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. 

Her hair hadn’t been washed in days, it was matted in some places, stuck to her face in others. She knew her eyes were hollow, sunken in and lacking that fire people saw when they looked at her. She’d been avoiding her own reflection for weeks, had even covered the mirror by the door. Months ago, apparently. Eight months. 

Had it really been that long? Had she really been moving from bottle to bottle, takeout container to takeout container, for eight whole months? She’d barely left the apartment, had lost her job, happy to exploit Feyre’s seemingly unending pity. Pity she guessed had run out. 

Today. 

She didn’t care about that either.

“Come all this way to chide me, dear sister?” Nesta curled her lips as she moved aside to let Feyre through. Might as well let her see. 

“Thank you.” Her sister breezed into the little sitting area and stopped dead.

Her eyes scanned the room, marking the recycling bin first, overflowing with empty glass bottles. All different labels. Whatever Nesta could find quickest. Then the kitchen counters, filled with boxes of crackers and empty ramen noodle packages, cans of tuna and an open jar of peanut butter, anything that could be quickly consumed with minimal effort. She didn’t want to die, but she hadn’t exactly been concerned with living either. 

At last her eyes darted to the corner, over by the window, where a white dress hung from a hunting knife that had been punched through the wall. Straight through the center of the sweetheart neckline. Nesta had lost count of the weeks it had been there. A reminder. A memorial. Little circular burns littered the fishtail skirt, remnants of late nights with too much booze and an ashtray full of half-smoked blunts still on the windowsill. 

“Oh, Nesta.” Feyre’s hand came up to cup her mouth. Nesta raised her chin, refusing to feel reprimanded. “I’m sending Alis this afternoon.” 

“I can look after myself,” Nesta hissed through her teeth. 

“Clearly,” Feyre threw her arms wide and turned in a circle, “you cannot. You know I came here hoping you were getting better. I gave you space, knew you blamed me for what happened. At least partially. But it’s time, Nesta. I lost them too. But I don’t have the luxury of drinking and smoking my way into oblivion on my sister’s dime.” 

“Is this just about the money?” Nesta asked incredulously, “I’ll fucking pay you back if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“No, no,” Feyre brushed a lock of hair out of her face, frustrated, “it’s not the money. I don’t care about the money. Neither does Rhys. We just want you to come back to the land of the living.” 

“Ah, yes. The royal We.” Nesta sat abruptly on her sunken couch and leaned forward, not caring that she was just wearing a pair of underwear beneath the oversized shirt, “how is dearest Rhys? High Lording as well as ever I presume. Now with better reasons than ever to hate me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” she said too quickly, wringing her fingers for a moment before she whispered, “we...we missed you at the funerals.” 

Nesta’s blood ran cold. Her eyes swam with tears that wouldn’t fall.

“I know why you didn’t show,” Feyre couldn’t look at her, “I almost understand it...but we still missed you. Father was interred with full honors of the Night Court. I’m having a garden planted for Elain up at the estate. You should come see it when you’re ready.” 

Nesta really needed a drink. Feyre needed to leave. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not today. Not ever. 

“Get out.” 

“Nesta—”

“Get out.” Nesta’s voice was low, lethal. 

“Fine,” the High Lady voice was back in full force, “I only really came to give you this.” She pulled out what looked like a business card from her freshly pressed pant pocket, “this might seem...forward. But, I think it might help you. Rhys and I use the service sometimes when we’re looking for something different. I know you won’t go see someone. This might be a different kind of therapy. Tell her I sent you, she’ll know what to do.”

“Fine, fine,” Nesta took the card from her, hoping it would get her to leave faster, “get out.” 

“Nesta,” Feyre stopped and took a breath, her hand wrapped around the doorknob, “please do be discrete.” 

Nesta furrowed her brow, but nodded. She had been, for the most part. Except on nights she was too blitzed to remember her own name, let alone that her sister was High Lady of this region. 

“I’m still sending Alis,” Feyre wrinkled her nose again as she opened the door and strolled out. And that was that. No goodbye. They hadn’t ever been good at those. 

Nesta blinked at the door, the apartment suddenly feeling small and cramped. She turned over the card in her hand. It had only a name and a number. AMREN. 202-555-0187. She flicked it onto the table. Whatever, she thought as she sauntered over to the kitchen and took a swig from the nearest whiskey bottle. 

↞↠

“Ms. Archeron.”

“Yes?” The tone of the man’s voice made her drop the place card she had been holding. 

“There’s been an accident. A plane crash,” he hesitated. Her eyes stopped seeing. Her body shivered with a bone-rattling chill despite the summer sun streaming into the room through the open windows. They couldn’t be—

“Say it.” Her voice was a breath on the wind. 

“There were no survivors.”

She didn’t hear the rest. Someone was screaming. A crash, glass breaking, warmth sliding down her leg. A sharp, metallic smell in the air. She couldn’t hear them calling her name, couldn’t feel their fingers gripping her skin, feel the pressure of the towel collecting the blood from the gash in her leg. 

A plane crash, he’d said. No survivors. 

Tomas was dead. 

Her father was dead.

Elain…she had just planted flowers for spring. 

A fresh scream ripped from her throat.

↞↠

She woke up with it echoing in her ears, heart pounding. Wrenching the fresh sheets off her clammy skin, she felt for the scar on her thigh, catapulting her back into the present. Nesta hadn’t let them stitch it for days, had wanted to remember. It had almost festered. Feyre had held her down while they numbed and sutured. Most of those days were lost now, either to shock or sleep, she didn’t know. It hadn’t taken long for the drinking to start. 

Her head was pounding. Alis had stormed the apartment hours earlier, tut-tutting about the stale stench, throwing open every window. Nesta actually appreciated the fresh air. She didn’t appreciate the old woman’s silent appraisal of her ruined wedding dress. 

“Don’t touch it,” Nesta had snapped. Alis had tut-tutted some more, cleaning as she went, but she left the dress alone. 

Now, with a clean apartment and nothing to keep her company but her own self-pity, she laid spread-eagle in her bed that felt too big in clothes that felt too clean. Nothing matched her insides anymore. The small, decrepit thing inside of her that shrivelled that day and rejected everything still living. Even herself. She had never been a particularly warm person, but Elain, sweet and beautiful Elain, had made her care about something outside of herself.

She got up to find something to dull her head. A bottle of ibuprofen sat on the coffee table, next to a decanter of scotch. She washed the pills down with the brown liquor and sat on the edge of the sofa, her head in her hands.

The silence pressed her on her eardrums. An oppressive lack of sound, only the barest of sounds audible on the street. Too quiet. For the first time in months it was too quiet. Her head shot up and focused, eyes darting to the card neatly placed in the corner of the table. 

Amren. 

What had Feyre meant, “a different kind of therapy”? Hell would have to freeze over before Nesta crawled onto a couch to talk about her feelings, Feyre had admitted as much. So what was this? 

She picked up the card and flipped it over. Simple, white, just the number in embossed black. The curiosity was going to kill her if she didn’t just call the number. She reached for her phone, hauled out from between the couch cushions by Alis earlier. It had been dead for weeks. She’d given up on ignoring the condolences calls and just let the battery drain. Probably why Feyre had shown up yesterday unannounced. She swiped past all of the missed call and voicemail notifications and pulled up the keypad. 

It only rang once. 

“Yes?” A clipped, cold voice answered the phone. 

“Uhh, is this Amren?” 

“Speaking,” her voice didn’t soften, “can I help you?” 

“My sister gave me your card,” Nesta didn’t like this woman. She wracked her brain to think of how this person could help her, especially when she didn’t particularly want anyone’s help. 

“And who, my dear,” Nesta could hear the snide smile in Amren’s voice, “is your sister?”

“Feyre,” Nesta huffed, “Feyre Archeron.” 

“Oh, Feyre darling! Why didn’t you say so?” Amren warmed immediately. Well, at least to a level above stone cold. “Yes, Feyre told me about you.”

“You must have read—”

“I don't read the news, dear girl,” Amren said, flippant. “I have someone perfect for you. I will send him. Already have your address.” 

God, she really needed to have a conversation with Feyre about boundaries. Who is she sending?

“Who are you sending?” Nesta had not been sober long enough for this. Her brain wasn’t firing quick enough to deal with whoever this person was sending to her apartment. 

“His name is Cassian. He’ll be at your apartment in two hours.” 

Two hours?!

“I can’t have anyone in my apartment in two hours! What is this??” 

“We call it therapy,” just like Feyre had, “you don’t need to do anything to prepare.” 

“But I don’t even—” The line went dead. 

Nesta stared at her phone. How could I prepare if I don’t know what to prepare for?

↞↠

Two hours later, Nesta was pacing. Nervous. She was rarely nervous but she was also rarely unprepared. This felt like a bad omen, like suspense in a horror film. Like this Cassian might jump out of the shadows at any moment from some secret portal. 

She had washed her hair but no makeup. She had put on leggings but no real pants. There were concessions she was willing to make and others she wasn’t. It didn’t matter that they were only concessions to her own pride. Feyre got one opportunity to meddle in Nesta’s life, one opportunity to try and control how she coped with losing everything. Nesta would endure it in her own home, in her bare feet, or she wouldn’t endure it at all. 

An assertive knock at the door made her jump. 

Her heart thundered. She hadn’t talked to a man in months, let alone been in a small space with one. Now there was one at her door. She padded across her expensive rug, smoothing her hair as she went. Her hand gripped the doorknob, giving herself a second to stop shaking. Breathe in, breathe out. She jerked the door open only to be left utterly speechless. 

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen was leaning on the door frame, forearms crossed over his massive chest. 

“Nesta?” one corner of his full mouth curved upward. He inclined his head behind her left shoulder after she nodded. “Gonna let me in?” 

“Why should I?” She challenged, angling her chin up at him. 

“Because,” his shoulder length black hair slid into his face as his towering frame looked down at her. He came closer and held her chin between his rough fingers, “you’re at least a little curious about what I’m doing here.” 

Nesta ripped her face from his hands and took a step away from him. His hazel eyes stripped her bare. How does he do that? He appraised her frankly, taking in her sloppily thrown together appearance. The baby hairs that clung to the side of her face, unable to stay in her top knot. Her soft curves that the oversized t-shirt she wore only hinted at. All the way down to her toes, the cracked polish left over from her wedding manicure, just a couple of splotches of color left. 

His gaze sent a warmth through her. She tried to will it away, send it back to the hell she belonged in. Shaking her head, she stuck him with a glare. 

“Fine,” she stepped aside, “come in and tell me what you’re doing here so I can tell you to get out.” 

He walked in smoothly, his gray slacks gripping his toned thighs with each stride. Too casual, Nesta thought, for a therapist, especially with his white shirt open at the collar and rolled to his elbows. Not that she actually believed whatever this was even approached therapy.

He stopped in the center of Nesta’s living room and turned, giving the place as detailed a once-over as he had given her. His eyes only paused briefly on the wedding dress still hanging in the corner, but he faced her again as if nothing were out of the ordinary. 

“So,” he took up so much space as he spoke, too big, too much life for this apartment that had only contained her hollow soul for so long, “everyone up to this point has referred to this appointment as therapy, correct?” 

“Yes,” Nesta replied, curt. “But you’re no therapist, are you, Cassian?”

He snorted, a challenge to her fire temper. She didn’t like to be mocked and somehow he knew that. “No, I’m no therapist.” 

“I’m what is referred to in the circles you run in as an escort, a friend, of sorts.” He looked her dead in the eye. No shame, no fear. Just a professional. “We call it therapy, first and foremost for discretion, but also because I’m here to make you feel better. Feel alive again. In whatever form that might take.”

Nesta stiffened. Her mouth dropped open. No. “My sister sent me a hooker? You’re telling me that, my sister, the High Lady of the Night Court, sent me a hooker?!” 

She could barely keep up with the 100 mile an hour thoughts racing through her head. It wasn’t long before the pacing started again. Feyre said she uses the service sometimes...with Rhys?! She maybe could have guessed that her sister and her ass of a husband were freaky but prostitutes?! Couldn’t they just ask someone? 

Nesta, please do be discrete, she’d said as she walked out the door. She guessed paying for silence was easier than risking a secret. Money is always the best form of currency. 

Well, I guess I fucking know why. And she set this up for me?! What in hell’s fire did she think she was doing?

Cassian just stood there while her brain worked, while it exploded with all of this new information. So still, a statue compared to her frantic pacing. He must deal with this a lot. But wait, don’t people usually know what they’re asking for?! 

“You’ve never–“ she couldn’t finish the question out loud. Sharing was something foreign to Nesta even when she wasn’t talking about sexual partners. 

“No,” he shook his head, “Amren wouldn’t have sent me here if I had. She just told me the context of the visit.”

“So, you’re here,” Nesta stopped in front of him, “to have sex with me?” The words came out a whisper. They sounded so foreign, so ridiculous. 

“I’m here to help you.” He took a step toward her. The walls came down fast.

“And why do you think you can help me?” The words cut through the space like a knife. Accusatory, incredulous, they almost stung passing over her vocal cords. 

“Because, dear Nesta,” he took another step toward her, and another, “I’m very good at helping people.” 

The warmth in her blood returned and warred with the acid coursing through her veins, the hate. It came raging back from this morning, from the past months, from ten minutes ago when this cocky prick knocked on her door. He was staring again, close enough to have to look down at her, just an inch or two from touching. 

“I don’t need help from a high-dollar whore,” she spat. The only sign that she’d hit her mark was a faint twitch in his eyebrow. 

“I’ve been called worse, sweetheart,” he drawled. “But let’s get one thing straight. I think you need help more than you’d ever admit. I don’t think you’ve taken a breath since then. I read the papers. A beloved dead sister. Absent from the funerals. You blame yourself for not being there, for not dying with them. The guilt warms your bed at night while you lie awake, as much a part of you as the alcohol that twinges your breath. It’s become so familiar you don’t remember what it’s like without it. Who would Nesta Archeron be without that dark stain on her conscience following her like a storm cloud? Will all those liquor bottles I saw outside answer that question for you? Will that tattered wedding dress?”

“How dare–“ she felt the door press against her back, unconsciously moving with him while he lashed at her burning soul, fire for fire. 

“Oh, I dare,” he continued, planting his hands on the door behind her, trapping her with his eyes. “Because take it from someone who knows, when you decide to wake up and live with what you have left instead of existing with everything you’ve lost, there may not be anything left to live with. And trust me, guilt makes a very lonely bedfellow.”

Nesta had barely blinked this whole time, refusing to let him have that victory. Even if everything he’d said had hit home. Even if everything he’d said had flayed her open and raked her insides across the coals. She still burned with that unyielding rage. 

“Is that what you say to all the girls that pay for your time?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. She was close enough to smell him, the warm spice of clove and sandalwood with a distinctly male musk. It was intoxicating. It was infuriating. 

“Some. Some of the men, too. I’m an equal opportunity tough lover.” 

She swallowed hard. He was close enough that if she moved an inch his hair might brush her cheek. “Is that what this is? Tough love? For someone you just met?”

“It’s the truth,” his breath tickled her face, the tension crackling like static electricity around them, “isn’t it?”

He sounded tentative for the first time, like maybe he’d overstepped. Is it really so obvious?

“Did Feyre pay you to say those things?” Or were they just written so plainly on her face?

“Nooo,” he said, lower than before, gentler, raising one of his hands like he might stroke her cheek. She cursed herself silently for hoping. He came closer then, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her ear, “Feyre paid me to fuck you senseless.” 

Goddamn him. Fire shot into her veins. Not the simmering fury of her anger but something deeper, hotter, pooling in her core. Her breath caught in a little gasp and he smiled. A wide, full grin with teeth that made him look more predator than man.

Her body was a traitor, but it made no difference. She was already burning in hell.

Cassian held still, letting her make the next move. Part of her wanted to make him stand there forever, punish him for what he said, what he knew about her, daring to say what no one else would with just one look. A different part of her wanted to rip him apart. 

“Come on, Nesta,” a prince of cats toying with his prey, “show me that fi–“

Her lips crashed against his. God, he was big. She reached around him, fingers tensed to claw at his back, and savored the muscles and sinews that made up the terrain. He pressed her into the door. His hands cupped her face, so gentle for a kiss that was anything but. Flames licked her skin everywhere he touched, at every point their bodies connected through clothing.

He leaned and gripped and suddenly she was taller than him, her legs wrapped around his middle, his fingers pressed into the curve of her ass. She gripped the sides of his face and guided him to the side, forcing herself deeper, her tongue brazenly exploring his mouth. He even tasted wild, like fresh mint and adrenaline. Her heart beat in her ears, deafening over the silence of the apartment. He moaned, so deep it vibrated in her chest.

Nesta broke first, pupils blown and breath ragged.

“Finally shut you up?” she asked, sagging back against the door, her head falling against the wood with a low thud. 

He….well, he growled. There was no other word for the sound that rippled through his whole body and found a home between her legs. Her toes curled and she thanked every god that he couldn’t see. 

“Pretty little acid tongue,” he pushed them off the door and walked her toward the bed, almost tripping twice over the plush rug. Nesta didn’t notice. She was too busy tearing at the buttons down Cassian’s chest. Each one revealed inch after inch of smooth golden skin. Licks of black ink stretched from his shoulders, mostly hidden by more shirt. She huffed, trying to shove it off, but instead caught his nipple by accident with her nails. 

His nostrils flared as he hissed and dropped her unceremoniously on the mattress. She bounced, breathless. Dangerously close to a giggle. Traitor. She schooled her features back to bored disdain. The only hint of lust was the glassy haze in her vision, honed in on Cassian’s bare chest. 

He had removed his shirt while she had been distracted by her traitorous body, discarded it somewhere above her. The black inked lines Nesta had seen stretched around his shoulders and down his arms in dark whorls and spirals. The tattoo was almost feminine in its pure decoration, a stark contrast to his cut biceps. It was beautiful. 

He was beautiful. 

“Careful, Nesta,” he chided, “someone might think you like what you see.” 

She gave him a filthy gesture. A deep, rumbling laugh escaped him as he took a step closer, his fingers grazing the outer seams of her leggings. From her ankle to her knee, where he stopped to make circles. He curved around her knee and gripped her legs, tugging her to the edge of the bed. The palms of his hands burned her skin straight through her leggings. He hadn’t tried to remove her clothes. She couldn’t decide if it was a tease or an insult. Probably both. 

“Are you just going to talk?” she cocked an eyebrow at him, “or are you going to do something productive with that mouth?” 

His eyes narrowed, “are you sure that’s what you want?” 

She wanted him. Damn her, she wanted him so bad she could barely stand to look at him. The guilt roiled in her stomach, that she should take pleasure while everyone she’d loved could no longer. He’d offered her help, but it would be her damnation. No, this was just a distraction. No amount of distraction could bring back Tomas, or her father, or Elain. 

Light from the city outside shifted and spread into the corner drawing her eye. The dress. Her wedding dress. In the night shadows, the blunt burns looked like angry, gaping voids. They whispered to her as she stared. Traitor, traitor, traitor. 

I’m here to help you. His words were poison. Bred from a kind of hope only Feyre, with her perfect life, could ever have again after what they had lost. Her want for Cassian’s body burned her from the inside, stoked the fires of the self-inflicted hell she’d cast herself into. Nothing more than a catalyst. She could take his body and burn for doing so, but she would not accept his help. 

“Cassian,” Nesta’s voice didn’t belong to her. She pulled her t-shirt up to just below her breasts, exposing her flat stomach and drawing his eyes to her waistband. “just do what you came to do.” 

The air chilled as he stiffened. Her heart raced, waiting for him, fingers teasing her bare skin. He didn’t move. She lifted a bare foot and ran it along his pant leg, coaxing him to touch her. He nodded, as if making some decision Nesta wasn’t privy to. His face, lit so beautifully by the moonlight, hardened into a mask. A smooth, smiling mask. Prince of cats no more. 

“Cassian?” 

“Dear Nesta, I do believe our time is up,” he leaned down and reached over her, his chest just grazing her belly, the only skin to skin contact they’d had. She swore she felt him shudder, but it was over in an instant. He quickly retrieved his shirt from behind her and pulled it on. 

She gaped at him, “what do you mean our time is up?” 

“I mean,” his eyes shot right through her with cool confidence, “it’s getting late and I do need my beauty sleep. I must be going.” 

“But–“ she didn’t understand. Isn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t this how he gets paid? How can he leave? 

He buttoned up his shirt, swift and efficient. Little feeling or warmth. Nesta wasn’t sure what to do. Confusion quickly gave way to anger, boiling in her veins, flushing her skin.

“So, you’re not just a whore,” she hissed, “you’re a bastard whore that can’t even finish the job.” 

“So lovely meeting you, dear Nesta,” he turned with a sweet smile and opened the door, sending any tension between them out into the hallway. He breezed through the door, clicking it shut behind him so gently he might have been a phantom. 

Nesta slammed her head against the mattress and let out a frustrated scream so loud she had no doubt the bastard whore heard it.

taglist: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron

Cassian’s POV is next ❤️

[melancholydreadfuldream]

Going Under Part Four

Fandom: Doctor Who

 Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

 Summary: An accident during a routine adventure made your life spiraled out of control with only the Doctor as the anchor. Will you ever find your way back to your Doctor again?

 Trigger Warning: ooc, angst, plot holes as usual, attempted suicide, dark!doctor, death, insanity, etc. You have been warned.

 More warning: English is not my first language so beware of the headache you will receive upon reading this.

     I fell on my knees as I clutched the sand beneath my fingers. I could feel wind blowing around me. I look around and I saw that I'm currently stranded on some beach?

  "(name)?" 

  I heard someone called my name from behind me.

  "(name)!!"

  I turned around and squinted my eyes against the annoying wind. It was Tenth Doctor in a blue suit and he is not alone. He is with Rose. 

  "Doctor?" I trailed in confusion.

  The Doctor ran toward me with a grin and hugged me tight while I just stood there and hesitantly hugged him back. 

  I just left a version of him alone. My heart ached suddenly at the reminder. That Doctor is sad, so very sad and I couldn't do a thing to ease his sorrow.

  The Doctor released me, still grinning happily.

  Rose didn't say anything but she smiled at me.

  I nodded at her. "Thanks for the stun gun?" I blurted out.

  She chuckled at that. "Don't mention it."

  The fact she know what I'm talking about meant she is the same Rose I met back at the crucible. Which meant this version of Tenth Doctor is from that time too.

  "What stun gun?" The Doctor asked. "Why do you even have a stun gun?" He sounded annoyed.

  "For protection." Both Rose and I simultaneously answered and we smiled genuinely at each other.

 "Stun gun is useless against the Daleks." The Doctor pointed.

  "I know. But it worked against the Master." I said.

  The Doctor's eyes widened. "The Master? You met the Master?!" He yelled.

  Rose is confused. "Who is the Master?"

  The Doctor explained who the Master is to her.

  My head felt dizzy suddenly I almost lost my balance but the Doctor caught me.

  "Are you okay?" He asked in concern.

  "Just a bit dizzy. Where are we now?" I asked. "Can we get something to eat first?" I rubbed my stomach as I smiled sheepishly at them. "I'm a bit hungry."

  It was Rose who told me where I am. Bad Wolf Bay.

  "Where is your Tardis, Doctor?" I asked.

  The Doctor rubbed his head with an almost guilt look. "Well, that is...a bit complicated."

  I stared at the Doctor in confusion as he explained that he is not exactly the Doctor. He said he is the metacrisis Doctor whatever that's meant. 

  My eyes widened when Rose helpfully tell me that the metacrisis grew from the hand in a jar I saw before.

  "Like a worm?" I asked with almost disgusted look.

  The Metacrisis looked insulted while Rose laughed out loud.

  I shivered in cold from the wind. Thankfully they noticed and finally suggested we left the beach.

  I stared at the metacrisis who is holding hand with Rose in contemplation.

  Usually I always ended up wherever the Doctor is. I suppose this metacrisis version counted as the Doctor.

  Rose called her mobile and shortly after a black car appeared. She gestured for me to get in.

  It felt kind of awkward as we shared a car. I didn't know what to say to them. But the two lovebirds are too busy staring at each other in silent.

  A sudden sharp pain in my head made me gasp out loud and I found myself spiralling like little Alice who fell into unknown hole. It feel like splintering but also...not?

   7777

  Cold. It was so cold.

  I opened my eyes and suddenly fell into a panic state as I found myself submerged under water. I opened my mouth, causing icy water to fill my throat and lung. 

  I struggled to surface and coughed harshly when I did. I wiped the water in my face and I saw Thirteenth Doctor rushing toward me, saying some comforting words but for some reason she sounded so far away. There must be waters inside my ears too.

  The Doctor is still rambling as she clutched my cheek, sometimes my hair but I still couldn't get what she is saying.

  "D-Doctor?" I whispered with chattering teeth. "Where am I?" I made a move to get out of...glass tube? "W-what is this?"

  The Doctor prevented me from moving out of the glass tube. She said something to me but I can't understand.

  "Doctor, I can't hear you!" I said in frustation.

  The Doctor stopped talking and she stared at me in sorrow.

  Suddenly she pushes me back by the head back into the icy water.

  I was shocked at first before I struggled against her strong grip but it was useless.

  From beneath the water, I saw her yelling something at someone I couldn't see. Someone is beside the Doctor and that person is about to inject me with something.

  I panicked even more as I screamed under water and everything turned black once more.

   7777

  I screamed myself awake.

  "(name), it is okay! Open your eyes! You are safe!" I heard a voice said urgently.

  I opened my eyes slowly to see Tenth Doctor, no, Metacrisis Doctor and Rose. They stared at me in concern.

  I took in my surrounding while still trying to calm my breath. I am in some medical room and I am not wet despite being under water just before. I coughed a few times as if getting the air knocked out of me.

  Was that a dream? I thought to myself as I touches my neck, remembering how the Thirteenth Doctor pushed me back into the icy water. Was she trying to kill me? Why?

   "W-what happened to her? What was that?" Rose asked the Metacrisis Doctor.

  I blinked, trying to focus on those two talking. 

  The Metacrisis Doctor is staring at me with a look of concern and fear. Fear for me? 

  "What?" I asked him.

  They told me that I suddenly fainted in the car and that I was in a...state. 

  "It was like you got stuck between one place and the next..." The Metacrisis Doctor said with a frown. "...like a blip..."

  I grimaced. Well, that one is new. So did I splinter? Unsuccessfully? "But I was here, right?"

  "Like I said, to us, it looked like you were stuck...like a blip but yeah, you are mostly here." He said again, frowning as he ponder about it. "Did you go somewhere?"

  "I think so. But it feel more like a vision of nightmare rather than being stranded somewhere foreign again..." Oh this is confusing and kind of scary. I groaned. Great, another unwanted complication.

  "Where did you go when you were in that state?" He asked. "Was that the first time it happened or...?"

  "I think that was the first time that happened to me...?" I was unsure, remembering that vision of waking up to a frantic Thirteenth Doctor but that time...it didn't feel like splintering. It almost feel unreal so I didn't mention it or even write it in my notebook.

  "Were you in pain?" Rose asked in concern. "You look like you did."

  "I'm fine...I think?"

  "You don't sound sure..." The Metacrisis pointed. 

  I didn't speak for a few seconds. "I think the Doctor...I think she just tried to drown me?"

  "What?" The Metacrisis yelled loudly making me wince.

  "Wait, what? She?!" Rose also exclaimed loudly.

  The Metacrisis got distracted by Rose as he sheepishly told her about the future of the Doctor being a Time Lady.

  Despite knowing about regeneration, Rose look pretty astonished by the revelation.

  The Metacrisis turned his attention back at me and demanded I tell him every detail of my encounter with the alternate Thirteenth Doctor. 

  But is she really an alternate version? She seemed to know me. I know there are alternate version of me who is also travelling with the Doctor. I met one before. Could that version of the Doctor mistaken me with her version of myself?

  I sighed again. That doesn't make sense either. Why would she tried to drown any version of me? 

  The Metacrisis snapped his fingers to get my attention as he urgently asked me for the detail of my experience earlier. "Focus!"

  So I told him about waking up in some deep glass tube, of seeing the Thirteenth Doctor and of her trying to drown me and inject me with something.

  The Metacrisis frowned as he asked more detail on the glass tube I was in. Sadly, I didn't pay much attention to the glass tube so there is not much detail I can tell him

  He thought that the Doctor I met is probably experimenting on me for some reason, presumably to save my life. He was a bit disappointed that I can't give more information.

  I decided not to contradict him with the fact that I once met a somewhat insane Thirteenth Doctor. But that version wanted to keep me for herself while the version earlier...

  You know what? I need to give her benefit of the doubt and just consider that what Metacrisis said might be true. Maybe she is just trying to save me? I sighed. Here I am in denial.

  "Next time, doc, keep in mind to tell someone when you are trying to save them by drowning, say, to save misunderstanding." I said in annoyance.

  He grinned sheepishly. "Noted." His cheerful demeanor vanished as he told me to write down everything that happened to me in my notebook.

  I nodded obediently. 

  I noticed Rose is still staring at the Metacrisis. I think she can't get over the fact that one day the Doctor will switch gender. I understood the feeling but I have accepted it somewhat. 

  They gave me some food and a set of new clothes. I drank my medicine and get a rest some more. They gave me some privacy.

  My mind keep replaying being under water with the Doctor hovering over me as she pushes me under. I closed my eyes, wishing for that memory to leave me alone.

  I stared at my notebook that I just finished writing in with a sigh. I put the notebook on my bag. I could feel the sign that I was about to be pulled away again.

  The Metacrisis and Rose are nowhere to be seen so I couldn't say goodbye to them.

  7777

  I blinked as I found myself in an unfamiliar room but I know I am inside the Tardis. I turned around and yelped when I saw two bodies embracing each other on the bed.

  "Oh my God!! Cover everything!!" I yelled as I covered my eyes with my hand. I turned my back from the surprised and frantic couple.

  It was definitely Eleventh Doctor and River Song...in bed, having sex. I wish I could bleach my mind.

  The Doctor grabbed a pillow to cover his junk while River remained chill despite the unwanted interuption. They both redressed themselves.

  "(name), have you ever heard of knocking?" The Doctor glared at me.

  I glared back at him. "Like I have any control which place I ended up to!!"

  River perked up. "(name)? Your alternate future companion? The one who is crossing all over your timeline in every alternate universe? That (name)?" 

  Wow, River's description of me making what happened to me sounded awesome. I mean I supposed it is exciting if not for the fact that I'm dying. 

  The Doctor nodded at his wife as River immediately grinned at me, offering a handshake.

  "How exciting... Nice to meet you. I'm River but I reckon you know that, don't you?" She said with a friendly smile. "I've been wanting to meet you for a while now."

  I felt awkward under her attention as I forced a polite smile. I turned to the Doctor and asked about the last time he saw me.

  "It was at the crucible. Remember? Tardis got taken by the Daleks?" The Doctor reminded me.

  I nodded. "Yeah, I was actually just at Bad Wolf Bay with your Metacrisis and Rose."

  The Doctor look surprised and turned solemn at the mention of those two. "How are they? Do they seem...happy?"

  "I think so...?" I trailed in confusion.

  He beamed a little. "That's good."

  River put a hand on his shoulder in comforting gesture.

  They took me out of their bedroom and back into console room as I told them about what happened to me earlier. About Thirteenth Doctor tried to drown me and how the Metacrisis disagreed.

  I took my medicine as they asked me to tell them everything that happened to me. They wanted to take some of my blood to conduct their own test. I gave them what they wanted.

  Afterward they gave me a room for me to get some rest.

  River came to have a chat. It was awkward at first but soon we started talking animatedly about the Doctor. She also asked to read my notebook. I was hesitant at first but...she is the Doctor's wife so...essentially I can trust her, can't I? So I let her read some pages. 

  She told me she kept a diary too detailing her encounters with the Doctor. She has a wistful smile as she got to the page with the gallifreyian writings. She can read it but she won't translate it for me.

  "Don't worry. They all spoke fondly of you." River said, fingers tracing on the gallifreyian writings.

  I sighed at that.

  "I must admit I am curious about the female version of the Doctor." River said. " Did she ever mention me?"

  I shook my head slowly. I felt bad for River because she looked sad at my answer.

  "Honestly, she was very secretive about her past. The fam and I, we didn't know much about her. I only know some stuff about her because of the splintering." I said.

  When she noticed my stun gun, River decided to teach me how to use a gun. She started simple with a small gun. 

  That's how the Doctor found us in a room for target shooting, apparently a room that the Tardis created just because River asked the ship out loud. 

  The Doctor look absolutely disappointed at us and our gun. He pouted much like a child under River's teasing.

  I observed them with a fond smile. The smile slide off my face as I felt it was time to go. I voiced my gratitude for their company.

  They turned to me with unreadable expression before smiling encouragingly at me.

  "Next time you come here, I promise I will get you a simple weapon for your protection." River sweetly said despite her husband's protest.

  I laughed at them as I slowly faded away right before their eyes.

   7777

  I blinked in confusion as I found myself in some random wood. I walked around, hoping to find the Doctor soon. Wonder who will I get this time?

  I didn't watch where I was walking and I ended up triggering some trap.

  I screamed as I found myself hanging upside down by feet.

  Someone must have heard my scream as I could hear many someones coming my way. I could only pray they are friendly, not the kind who want to eat me. Oh gosh, please don't let me meet a cannibal.

  I got a headache already thanks to the unwanted position I am in. Thankfully, the universe is kind to me today as a bunch of people came toward me. I recognized Twelfth Doctor and Clara. Clara's red period dress caught my eyes immediately. 

  I blinked at them.

  "Oh, it's you." The Doctor said flatly.

  I would feel insulted by his tone if not for the fact I am hanging upside down. I pitifully pleaded, "Help me get down please..."

  One of the men, his name is Robin Hood, Clara supplied, thankfully catches me after he ordered his merry men to free me.

  I was too busy trying to balance myself again to appreciate the fact I'm actually meeting a Robin Hood. 

  I sat on a fallen branch as the Doctor stared me down. Clara sat beside me and engaged me with friendly conversation. But I was a bit dizzy to keep up. Thanks to her being chatty, I found out that this version of Doctor and Clara are the one I met when they were imprisoned alongside the Doctor's other past faces and companion.

  I finally looked up toward the Doctor. He was staring at me in calculation. I sighed. "Don't worry, I won't demand a cure from you. Judging from how you look at me, you didn't expect me to come back again, did you?"

  The Doctor look almost ashamed but didn't say anything.

  Clara watched over the both of us in curiosity.

  "Honestly, I'm beginning to think a cure for my current state is impossible." I said softly.

  "Don't be absurd. I just haven't figure it out yet. It does not meant I give up or that there is no cure." The Doctor said. "Do you still have your medicine?"

  I pulled out my pill bottles. There are only a few pill left. 

  "Thought so. I have a backup for you somewhere back in the Tardis." He said.

  "You actually make the medicine for me just in case?" I asked, feeling a bit surprised. He sounded like he was annoyed when he first saw me.

  "I did promise you a cure, didn't I? Though I have to disappoint you as the cure is just a temporary measure." He said.

  I smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Doctor."

  We are interrupted by Robin and his men, something about an archery tournament launched by Sheriff of Nottingham.

  I noticed Clara is flirting with Robin with ease while the Doctor is grumpy and overall rude toward Robin. 

  Clara and I exchanged amused glance as we both watched the Doctor challenge Robin with archery, trying to one up one another. They are definitely trying to impress Clara, I think.

  Everyone cheered every-time those two releases their arrows.

  Predictably thing turned into trouble when we found out the soldiers employed by the evil sheriff are robots.

  I exhaled loudly in annoyance as I ended up in a dark prison with Doctor, Clara and Robin. The Doctor really is a magnet for trouble, isn't he?

  Clara and I exchanged annoyed look as the Doctor and Robin won't stop yapping at each other.

  Eventually Clara was taken away as they thought she is our leader after she lost her patience and snapped at both Doctor and Robin. I am impressed with her. 

  Though I felt kinda insulted that they only take Clara. Was it because I don't look like a noble lady like her? But then again I'm not the sort who take charge. I wouldn't know what to do if I am in her position.

  I was shook out from my musing when the Doctor and Robin yelled loudly again at each other. It was amusing at first but this gets really annoying fast. For once I wish to splinter as soon as possible just so I could get away from their stupidly grating voices.

  I glared at them but they don't notice me. I sighed as I stared at the cuff around my wrists. I hope I won't end up splintering taking the cuff with me. That would be awkward.

  After a few minutes of them yelling and mocking each other, I yelled at them to calm the fuck down.

  I glared at the Doctor. "Stop being jealous of him and start using that brilliant mind of yours to get us out of this mess." I said.

  The Doctor glared back at me with a scoff. "Jealous? Of him? Hah!"

  Robin, in turn, scoffed at the Doctor, exchanging annoying 'hah!' at each other repeatedly.

  I rolled my eyes. I felt a headache already. I glanced at my bag. When I was taken, they took a look inside but deemed it worthless and tossed it on the ground nearby. I really hope the Doctor stopped being childish already and work on our freedom. It would really be troubling if I splinter without my notebook and medicine. Also I wonder if Clara will be okay.

  I watched in annoyance as the Doctor and Robin acted stupidly which ended up with the key to our freedom far from our reach. I groaned. This is going to take a while.

  Eventually they did finally able to release themselves and worked to release me. Unfortunately, they still can't get along even for one common goal, rescuing Clara.

  I picked up my bag as I held back from rolling my eyes as those two started to bicker, practically ignoring me. It was at that moment that I felt the tingling.

  I hitched a breath and turned toward the Doctor. But he was too busy yelling at Robin to notice. When he did finally noticed, I was already fading away. Last thing I heard is Robin demanding what is happening to me.

  7777

  I felt dizzy as I arrived on...wherever I am this time. I found myself standing in some sort of a deserted land? But I didn't see anyone. I took a walk tentatively. Then I saw figures coming my way. I squinted my eyes to see and my eyes widened when I saw the Doctor and Ryan. There is an old man with them.

  The Doctor and Ryan called my name in disbelief and confusion. They recognized me. I wondered if I am home but knowing my luck, that probably not the case. But they recognized me so I have to assume they were the set that I met much earlier, an universe where I never travelled with them. I sighed at that. It is such a sore subject for me. I can't imagine not knowing the Doctor and the fam.

  The Doctor scanned me with her sonic screwdriver and once she is done, she smiled. "It's good to see you again, (name). Wish it is on a better situation."

  I smiled at her and Ryan. I have to swallow my bitterness upon confirming they are not my original friends. "What is going on?"

  The Doctor glanced at me sadly. "Cybermen."

  The smile slide off my face immediately. "The lone cyberman?"

  "Now, it is an army." Ryan replied.

  "Where are Yaz and Graham?" I asked in worry.

  "We got separated from them." Ryan said.

  I turned toward the Doctor who remained silent. We exchanged a look. I was reminded the last time I saw her, how I warned her about a version of herself who went insane after losing her companion.

  "I won't let that happen." The Doctor suddenly said.

  I prayed that she can keep her promise. They might not be my original set but they are still a version of the same sort of people that I care about. I don't think I could deal if I saw one of them die here right before my eyes. Last time was hard enough, watching a version of the Doctor died with me being completely helpless, to the point I lost my marble. 

  I swallowed down a fearful sob as I took a very deep breathe to calm myself. A part of me wanted to stay and help but another part of me just wanted to fade away from here. I am such a coward.

  The Doctor fussing about some communication equipment nearby when suddenly a static noise and we heard Yaz's voice.

  Ryan and I quickly come closer to the Doctor so we could better hear what Yaz said until I realized she was saying goodbye. They were trapped in a cybermen spaceship with the army on the way of either killing or converting them. A flashback of the sweet Bill Pott turned into a cyberman flashed my mind.

  I observed the Doctor's face. She flinched at what Yaz said. The despair in her eyes as she realized she is helpless, unable to save Yaz and Graham. I feared that she would snap into that version of the dark doctor I saw before.

  I tried to focus on what Yaz is saying and froze when I heard her confess to the Doctor. Yaz is in love with the Doctor!! My mouth dropped open in shock. 

  In hindsight, I shouldn't be surprise at all. The Doctor is such a person, so wonderful, I don't know how to describe it. I never thought I like woman until I met her. But maybe it is because she is the Doctor that I fell for her. I wonder if I meet earlier incarnation of her instead of her, would I also end up catching feeling for them?  I admitted I kind of have soft spot for all the alternate previous incarnation of the Doctors I met so far.

  I watched the Doctor as she clutched the device close to her lips, hearing her muttering Yaz's name solemnly. The Doctor closed her eyes as if in pain. My heart goes for Yaz and the Doctor. Though now that I knew, I can't help but wonder if my Yaz also has feeling for the Doctor. She never said anything to me. I wonder if the Doctor...

  Gosh, noo! Oh, no! I hit myself on my head immediately, feeling stupid for having a love crisis when Yaz and Graham are in danger! Priority, Me, priority!! 

  I bit my lips hard as I focused on the Doctor.  I felt the tingling right at that moment. 

  No! I can't leave right now! I have to help them somehow anyhow or...I have to know what will happen next in order to prevent my original friends from suffering the same fate. I sounded so selfish I realized but what am I supposed to do?  I want to go home to them, to that version who know and love me as much as I love them.

  I didn't call out to the Doctor. I didn't want to ruin Yaz's possibly last moment with the Doctor. As I fade away, I can only pray that they will survive whatever ordeal coming their way. 

  7777

  I landed on my knees on the floor and I coughed up blood. I quickly popped up on my medicine, wiping the blood using some napkin I saw before taking a look at my surrounding. I was in a room, a bedroom and on the bed, the Tenth Doctor in pajamas sleeping. My mouth dropped open in confusion. I noticed he look pale. I stepped toward him when the door opened and Rose entered the room. Upon seeing me, she started yelling at me.

  "Who the hell are you? How did you get here?" Rose demanded. "Stay away from him!"

  Wow, she is so intense.

  An older woman entered the room bearing a fruit knife and upon seeing me, waved her knife threateningly at me after hearing Rose yelling at me. A young man also entered the room bearing a frying pan.

  What a welcome.

  I raised my hands up in placating gesture and then I blurted something stupid, "I come in peace!"

  Rose and the others stared at me stupidly before they started talking at the same time. I think the man accused me of being an alien.

  "Would you please be quiet so I can explain?" I finally snapped.

  They did.

  I figured I shouldn't say anything complicated so I told them I am from the future and a friend of the Doctor. I also said I knew Rose in the future, well, a version of her, but like I said, just keep it simple.

  Rose didn't believe me at first. She told me to move out of the room as not to bother the Doctor. She let it slip that the Doctor has just changed his face. 

  I braced myself as Rose then started to interrogate me about some stuff regarding the Doctor and the Tardis. I think I passed the quiz as she finally relents. 

  I thank my lucky star that she didn't press my knowledge of Rose herself. I only met her a few times and I didn't know much about her aside that she is a bad-ass with weapon and is in love with the Doctor. 

  Is it a common occurrence, I wonder, for the companion to catch feeling for the Doctor? Rose, River, Clara, Yaz and myself, so far that I observed. But obviously River is the one most special since the Doctor married her. From what I have seen of River, she is amazing woman. 

  Rose introduced me to Jackie, her mother and Mickey, her best friend.

  Both Jackie and Mickey tried to ask me about future events. It was then Rose suddenly noticed the Christmas tree in the room and asked her mother about it.

  I stared blankly at the tree when it started to whirl around mechanically. My mouth dropped open when the tree started flying toward us just as Rose screamed for everyone to run or take covers as the tree hurling sharp ornaments at us. Mickey grabbed my hand and pulled me along. 

  I can't believe a Christmas tree just attacked us. Seriously life with the Doctor in it is so weird but fascinating, never a dull moment.

  We ended up inside the room where the Doctor is sleeping. Trapped and helpless, I saw Rose climbed up the bed and whispered in the Doctor's ear. Suddenly the Doctor woke up and immediately use his sonic screwdriver toward the tree. He ran outside the room toward the balcony and the others followed.

  I saw creepy figures in Santa Claus clothing stared at us from below. I didn't hear what the Doctor said but I was worried when he suddenly grabbed his chest as if having a heart attack with Jackie hovering and asked him what he need, even going as listing everything she thought he might need much to my amusement.

  I accidentally laughed when the annoyed Doctor shouted at Jackie that he need her to shut up. Everyone stared at me much to my embarrassment. I muttered a small sorry at Jackie.

  "Who are you?" The Doctor asked. "you are new."

  Rose glared at me. "She said she is a friend of yours. Did you lie?"

  "Really?" The Doctor turned to look at me. "Are we?"

  "I did not lie. He just don't know me yet." I said.

  "A-ah." The Doctor suddenly nodded as if he understand. "Sometimes I did met someone in a wrong order. Hello, there, I'm the Doctor. Who might you be?"

  I shrugged. "I am called (name)."

  The Doctor grinned at me clutching my hand on his, shaking it rather hard. He released me with a groan as he clutched his chest again. When he exhaled, a sort of yellowish energy flew out of his mouth.

  "What is that?" I asked.

  "Don't worry about it. It is just some regeneration energy." He waved it off as if it is not a big deal.

  At the mention of regeneration, my eyes widened. I only get a glimpse of a regeneration energy once when a version of Tenth Doctor transferred the energy into his spare hand. I hope I would never saw it in my Doctor. My wish for her to remain as she is.

  "Aah, you woke me up too soon. I am not finished yet." He said, pale and sweaty and then he fainted.

  With the Doctor is out of commission, things went downhill pretty soon with a broadcast from an alien race that somehow able to control the mind half of the population into walking on the edge. Next thing I know, Rose and the rest of us suddenly met up with Harriet Jones to deal with the alien.

  Much to my horror, I realized I couldn't understand what the alien is speaking. Rose said the Tardis must have some malfunction of some sort or maybe the ship is connected to the Doctor. That never happened before with my Doctor and the fam. I dreaded meeting alien with language barrier, bound to cause misunderstanding. Although these alien race seemed wanting to invade the earth for some reason, I wonder if we could reason with them without the Doctor.

  Rose tried her best though much to my admiration, she took charge. I don't know what I would do if I'm in her position. I prayed the Doctor feel better soon so he can help us with this crisis. I grimaced, feeling useless and I have a few hours to kill before the next splinter. I hope I could be of help somehow.

  I accompanied Rose, Harriet and a bunch of her people to face the alien. Part of me thought everything will be alright because I met  a version of Rose far back in the future, which meant that Rose probably survived these event, which meant the Doctor definitely will come through for us. And I was right. The Doctor did come through, still in his pajamas, with a smug look on his face as he started talking fast at everyone.

  "I want to be ginger. I never get to be ginger." The Doctor complained.

  Next thing I know the Doctor challenged the alien leader into a duel. He even lost a hand. I gasped as I covered my mouth. The metacrisis! I chuckled as the puzzle started to fit. My mouth dropped open as I saw the Doctor grew another hand. I meant I know he will do that since the version of him that I met didn't walking around with one hand.

  "Like a worm..." I whispered to myself.

  Rose gaped as she stared at me and then she covered the giggle that burst out of her mouth. But soon she started laughing.

  I chuckled and soon followed laughing especially when the Doctor walked toward us, asking us what is so funny. We just kept laughing.

  As the Doctor give his oncoming storm warning at the alien, they retreated. He took us back with his Tardis. The Doctor is pissed at Harriet for obliterating the retreating alien but she stood tall, believing she did the right thing. The dark look that crossed the Doctor's feature made my heart clenched in fear. But this is the Doctor. He would not do anything to punish her, would he? All he did is whisper something to Harriet's assistant and then walked away, ignoring Harriet attempt to plead her case.

  I frowned as I watched Harriet and then the Doctor's retreating figure.

  "(name), come along." The Doctor called out. He turned to Rose to tell her to get inside her house and that he need to change his clothing. They shared a flirty smile at each other before parting. He turned toward me, looking way too serious which make me very, very nervous. He gestured for me to come on board his Tardis. He made me wait in the console room while he went to the wardrobe room to change.

  "What do you think?" The Doctor, now in a proper suit, asked me. He was grinning in almost flirty manner.

  "It's very you." I answered flatly, trying to cover my nervousness of being alone with him.

  "Ah, right, you are from the future, so you must have already seen me in this suit." He said as he put his hands on his pockets and walked toward me with a stern look. "Care to explain why you are here?"

  "You didn't trust me." I know I can't expect the Doctor, any alternate version of him, to immediately put their trust in me but damn, I hate having to try to convince the Doctor again and again. Luckily, so far, I haven't met a version of Doctor that outright reject or dismiss me.

  He shrugged. "I don't know you." He said.

  I sighed. I pulled my notebook from my bag. I haven't updated my record yet, I really should do that soon. I flipped some pages.

  The Doctor stared at my notebook curiously.

  I showed him a page written by a version of Tenth Doctor. "Here." I gave the notebook to him. "This should at least clarify." The Tenth Doctor that I met wrote in my notebook said it will help the other Doctor to help me.

  The Doctor read the writing on the page but he look confused. "What is this?"

  "It is your handwriting..." I said with a touch of 'duh' on my tone.

  The Doctor sheepishly scratched his head. "Yeaah," He drawled. "I haven't done any writing yet, brand new hands, you see..."

  I gaped at him. Suddenly I felt stupid, he is right after all. I pulled to the next page. "But I'm sure you recognize this language." I said to him.

  And he did. A sombre look passed his feature upon seeing the Gallifreyan writings on the page.

  "How did you get this?" He asked suddenly looking almost angry.

  His  harsh tone took me aback. I gulped. "You are the one who wrote that..." I said almost defensively. "Well, technically an alternate version of you."

  He glanced at the notebook and then at me and then back to the notebook. He flipped some pages. "Alternate universe? You?" He asked. He pulled his sonic screwdriver to scan me. While he is waiting for the result, he flipped on some pages again.

  I glared at him and the sonic. I grabbed the notebook from him, almost in petulant. "Some of that is private, okay?" I put the notebook back on my bag.

  He took a glance at his sonic and his mouth dropped open. "You are telling the truth..." He glanced at me with a look of pity. "...and you are dying..."

  I exhaled at that. "Thankfully I'm still alive and kicking thanks to medicine your alternate future self give me, but I'm about to run out. The last Doctor said he has the back up but we got into trouble and then I splintered before he could give me the back up medicine."

  "That does sound like me...getting into trouble..." He pondered thoughtfully and then grinned boyishly at me. "Oh, well, it is nice to meet you, (name)."

  I tried to smile but it is more like a grimace.

  "Now, about the medicine... I think I spot a page about the formula of some kind."

  "Ah yes, he does wrote it in my notebook." I said as I pulled back out my notebook, flipping on the page of the formula written by a version of Twelfth Doctor. I showed the page to him. He took the book from me and scanned it using the Tardis. "What are you doing?"

  He smirked at me. "Making you your backup medicine. The Tardis will help me find the key ingredient for the formula."

  I watched him moving in circle surrounding the console, pushing some button on it.

  "My alternate-self seemed to trust you so I don't see any reason not to help you." He said, without looking at me.

  "Gee, thanks." I said sarcastically.

  He grinned. "I assume you took one when you arrived in this universe?"

  I shrugged. "Kinda have to considering..."

  "considering...what?"

  "Well sometimes I cough up blood. He said, the Doctor I met before, he said to take one."

  The smile slide off his face as he is looking at me solemnly, pity in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

  I shrugged. "It is fine. I'm getting used to it. So, the medicine, how long will it take to finish?"

  He glanced at me. "We could join Rose and her family for dinner. It should be finish afterward. Join us?"

  "I don't want to intrude."

  "Nonsense, come along, (name)." He said with a grin as he grabbed my hand and pulled me outside the Tardis.

  "Oi, hurry it up, will you two!" Rose called out.

  A bright, adoring smile crossed the Doctor's feature upon seeing Rose. "Coming..."

  I relented and joined the Doctor and Rose. Thankfully, Rose is friendly enough with me. But I kind of feeling like a third wheel around them...again.

  I smiled as I observed the Doctor, Rose and her family. They seemed to having much fun. After we finished dinner, we got out and saw it started snowing much to everyone excitement until the Doctor ruined it by saying it is a remnant of the exploding ship of the alien earlier.

  I glanced at the obvious couple as they stared and pointed at the night sky. That's when I felt the tingling. Realizing I was about to be taken away, I called out to him.

  "Doctor, thank you for having me. But it looked like I couldn't get the medicine again. Hold on it for me, will you? We might see each other again..." I said with almost a sad smile.

  The Doctor and Rose frowned at me in confusion. Their eyes widened as I slowly started to fade away.

   7777

  I landed somewhere and immediately feeling like the ground beneath me collapsed. I fell on my knees, clutching my head and groaning.  "Ooww..."

  "Are you alright?"

  I blinked and opened my eyes to see a red-haired little girl staring at me curiously. I took a glance at the surrounding, I was at the backyard in some random house. "Where is here?"

  "Leadworth." The little girl answered almost in annoyance directed at the said place.

  "Leadworth?" I repeated. Then I finally noticed the Tardis next to a shattered shed. "Doctor?" I called out. "Doctor!"

  "You know that weird man?" The little girl asked.

  "You saw the Doctor?" I asked as I turned to question the girl.

  Suddenly the Doctor come out from the house, calling out my name in excitement. "(name), you are here!"

  I blinked as I saw Eleventh Doctor in a messy, torn suit. "Doctor?" I pondered about which Eleventh Doctor is he when he went to hug me tight.

  "I'm so glad to see you again." He whispered at me.

  I hesitantly hugged him back. "Me too."

  He released me and he suddenly sniffed me. "You smell weird."

  "W-what?" I asked in horror and offended.

  He suddenly licked my cheek.

  "Eww." The girl and I exclaimed at the same time.

  "What the hell, Doctor? You can't just go around licking people!" I yelled, wiping my cheek with my clothes.

  "You smell...You smell like me...like a regeneration. Have you been with a version of me that has just regenerating?" He asked.

  My eyes widened at that. "Err, yeah, actually." I remembered the Tenth Doctor from before, with that weird yellow regeneration energy thing, it does get caught on my face. "You can smell that?" I asked. I glanced at him, really taking him in. "You...you also have just regenerated?"

  He smiled almost solemnly.

  "Doctor." I called out. "The last time we met is..."

  "Thank you for comforting me that time, (name)."

  My heart clenched in sorrow suddenly upon remembering that version of Tenth Doctor, the one so clouded with sorrow and burdened by the prophecy of his death. He finally regenerated into his eleventh self after all. I am sad that I won't see him ever again despite knowing they are still the same person in all the things that matter.

  "I am so glad that you survived. You make it sounded like you will not." I said softly.

  "Yeaah, sorry about that, mind is a bit messy last time."

  The little girl coughed up to catches our attention.

  The Doctor is beaming as he introduced me to the girl, Amelia Pond. I recognized the name and I stared at the little girl in wonder. 

  Amelia grabbed the Doctor's hand asking about some crack in the wall.

  We ended up in Amelia's room, observing the crack in the wall. A faint voice calling out a prisoner zero can be heard through the crack.

  The Doctor observed the crack carefully, sonicking it. At that moment, I felt the tingling again.

  "Doctor..." I called out. But he ignored me, staring at the opened crack and some eye thing that he said to be the warden of some alien prison.

  I turned to Amelia who is staring at me curiously. "Amy, I have to go. Stick with him, okay? He can fix the crack. Be safe."

  "Are you leaving?" Amelia asked looking almost disappointed.

  "I have no choice. But I'm sure we will see each other again." I said as I faded away.

  The Doctor turned to me at that exact moment. He looked like a kicked puppy upon seeing my fading self.

  I wanted to say something, anything but it was too late.

   tags: @thatsonezesty13

 A/N: And...I'm stuck. Sorry that it took so long to update. Hope this will still be a good read.

[poison--ivory]

Haikyuu! Virus AU (Random/Reader) Part 1

“I don’t fear the dark itself, but what may lurk within it.”

Warning: Blood, Gore, Character deaths and trauma

Part 2: link

Yamaguchi loathed the inky room of which he sat in. The only source of light that gave him some comfort was the natural light of the moon. Since the power in the city was out you could hear the wind blowing or the soft barking of dogs. He could barely make out the outline of team Nekoma’s manager, Y/n Shibayama. She was already knocked out as soon as her head hit the makeshift pillow. While he was wide awake, and sort of jealous that she could just sleep like everything was fine. He can’t stay mad at her for too long since her school lost their middle blocker, So Inuoka. Their team captain hasn’t been the same since. Not even a couple hours ago they too had lost another member of their group. 

Ennoshita screams still wrecked his mind and the smell of rotting flesh was forever inscribed in his nose. It really should have been him who went in that trench by himself. He was the one to point out the food truck and even made a small plan to gather the canned goods. Ennoshita and him had a little dispute on who would go and by the time he turned his head to give his side to Daichi, Ennoshita was already marching down the steep hill. A couple of seconds of arguing, before he heard the sharp screech, loud enough to pierce his ear drums. The next thing he knew, Suga and Yaku were rushing down the hill to try and save him. They stopped half way before running back, a herd surrounded Ennoshita in under a minute leaving little to no gaps for escape or retrieval. 

He knew deep down that it was his fault even if the others told him that there was nothing that could have been done. Yamaguchi knew that if he kept his mouth shut Ennoshita would still be alive, yelling at his second year teammates and patting us first years on the head. He tried everything to get his mind off the details, the screams and the stench. Yamaguchi’s mind even makes up certain info to scar his psyche.

Ennoshita wasn’t the only causality. At the very beginning of the outbreak, which to him felt like years, but in reality it was really a few weeks. Karasuno, Nekoma, Fukurodani, Ubugawa and Shinzen planned a last get together for the graduating third years. They all met at the training camp to play volleyball, visit Tokyo and to gain a few memories before they graduate. Really sunny that, but it wasn’t as hot, mostly a comfortable warmth that hugged his whole stature. 

When it started the Yamaguchi and some of the other first years were gallery gazing at the various window shops. Yuki Shibayama was buying a couple sticks of dango for his sister, Tsukishima made a small remark of him being a real sister boy. Haiba at the time seemed to be annoying a very displeased Teshiro. A small and weak yell was heard, however it was quickly brushed off due to the large crowd. Yamaguchi stopped at a food stall that sold fries, even though they weren’t soft as he wanted them, they still tasted pretty good. Hinata and Kageyama were arguing about something. Yachi stood in the middle to make them stop their yelling since they started to draw a small crowd. Another scream echoed this time a bit more heavier. The noise left his heart beating a bit faster; it sounded kind of. . . primal. Before he could react another yell followed by a wave of screeching rang throughout the air. The howling caused even the duo to shut up for once. 

He froze in place as a girl who looked no older than thirteen, a middle schooler was pinned down a lady. Her shrieks sent shivers down his spine, her dog bit the neck of the lady who fell off to the side trampled by oncoming people. The dog licking the girl’s cheek in a loving manner didn’t sense the sudden change in his owner. Her small frame was on him in a second tearing fur and flesh off his yelps and whine would fall on death ears. He managed to escape, but the large chunk left a noticeable hole in his side. Yamaguchi felt useless in that moment, his feet glued to the very dry cement he stood on. He turned to stare at Tsuki who was too engaged in his phone to notice what was transpiring around him. Yamaguchi's hand reached out for his friend, however in a split second Tsukishima was yanked from behind by a man, who looked extremely ill. Everything played in slow motion as the man bit Tsukishima on the neck and in complete shock elbowed the man square in the face. Clenching at the wound to dull the jarring pain.

Blood flowed down his neck and coated his white shirt, his headphones ripped off his ears hitting the pavement with a harsh smack. Yamaguchi remembered running to aid his best friend, dropping the fries in the process, his mind running faster than his legs and before he could even inch forward the same man and a woman gripped Tsukishima and tore his skin from his flesh. His gut wrenching screams through terror into his heart. Witnessing his childhood friend being eaten alive was a pill he tried swallowing, but soon regurgitated it back up. Throw up ran down his chin as Kageyama shoved him forward making him trip on ground beneath him. Yamaguchi noticed Hinata yelling at a very dumbfound Yachi, she stood there frozen, shaking and stunned by the madness happening around her. Everyone knew she was a very anxious and scared teenage girl, even suppressing a scream when she met the captain from Ubugawa again. 

Hinata’s pleading fell on deaf ears as Yachi stared off into the chaos, her mouth slightly shifting like she was mumbling under her breath. He shouted at her as well, but Kageyama pulled him again, cutting him off half way. Yachi was lifted from her stupor the moment someone else bumped into her. She ran off so fast in the crowd shrieking before even Hinata couldn’t grab her and before he could run off to catch up with her Kageyama snatched him up from the back of his shirt. They sprinted through the thick crowd and with luck on their side made it back to the camp and collapsed on the grass from exhaustion. He took notice of the other first years slowly arriving, a dazed Inuoka clutched at his side. Haiba guided him down to the ground and ran inside. Tears fell on the back of his hands and they streamed down his face like a water spout. He lost two of his friends in less than thirty minutes that day and it wrecked him.

It sounds so much like the beginning of a movie more than anything. Even the part of when we thought everything was okay Inuoka transformed into one of those sick creatures. He tore out the throat of Nekoma’s team coach. Coach Ukai with the help of Daichi and Kuroo shoved the reanimated Inuoka out. No one talked as we listened to the moans and screeches constantly banging at the locked doors. 

Yamaguchi snapped himself out of his depressing thoughts as a soft rustle startled him from the dark corner of the room. 

“Go to sleep. I can feel your depressing aura from here.” Konoha grumbled.

“S-sorry.” His face grew warm from embarrassment.

Konoha groaned as he sat gazing over at one of his teammates. Washio was still sound asleep as Konoha shifted out of his own makeshift bed. “Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah, my mind’s running faster than a rabbit right now.” Konoha nodded strutting across the room to my futon, sitting down on his rump and leaning on his head on his knee. “Sorry, that I woke you up.”

“Ya know it’s nearly morning, so don’t worry about it.” Yamaguchi just nodded. “Let’s just keep it down. I really don’t wanna hear Washio complain about us keeping him up.”

“Y-you don’t have to stay up with me. You don’t know when you can sleep peacefully again, ya know.”

“Nah, it’s fine already awake now and I don’t think I can force myself too either.” He gingerly smiled back at his senior. The two young men stayed up for the rest of the night mostly talking about anything that would keep their minds off their dead friends. They yammered on about family members and past friends that still lingered from childhood. Konoha mentioned his older brother and younger sister, but soon switched the topic. Yamaguchi talked about his mother, father and his grandmother who makes his fries extra floppy for him. The memories of sitting in his living room under the kotatsu with Tsuki. The air surrounding them would usually be scented with whatever his grandmother was cooking at the time. It really made him think about some of the embarrassing situations he was in with some family members. Now he kind of wants to wake up to that familiar smell of home cooked meals and laughter.

The conversations waived from school life, hobbies to old crushes. Yamaguchi had opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, he knew it was only a crush. But, knowing that the girl he liked was presumably dead made him suffer a wave of guilt. Konoha on the other hand was shyly gazing behind himself. 

“You know, I kind of have or may have developed a small crush on their manager. During my first year, we met Nekoma for the first time. Her cheeks were so plump that they bounce when you pinch them.” His facial expression stayed the same, however his cheeks were heavily flushed. “She probably doesn’t like me in that way, and that’s fine. I just don’t want it to be weird.”

“I heard that confessing can make you feel better. Maybe, I don’t really have that much experience in this or any experience for the matter.” Yamaguchi shrugged.

Konoha tore his gaze from the small frame hidden under the thin covers. “Maybe, but when shit settles down I’ll do it. Right now, seems like a very bad time.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s the better option.”

Konoha glanced around the room, seeing that the room was being illuminated by the morning sun. “Guess we’ve been talking for a while now.” Stretching, the sound of joints cracking invaded their ears, “So, wanna come with me on morning prep?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

 So, the day starts over. The endless cycle that now fills Yamaguchi’s life starts anew.

[seventhfracture]

q. 3, 16-19, 26, 28, 32, 34-36, 38, 40, 44, 51, 53, 58, 66, 73, 85, 96, 97, 100 please? (feel free to not answer, I'm aware these are way too many questions but consider! I had to choose from 100 when I just wanted to ask `em all- again no pressure to answer all of these)

TUMBLR FUCKED UP THE NUMBERS FORGIVE ME

1. Do you really think there is somebody for everybody? That presumes everyone wants someone. Which I don’t think is true. If you do want someone… well there at what? 9 billion people? Statistically your odds of finding someone are pretty good. But if you want something you can’t just want it. You have to take steps to make it happen. And that might mean compromise or action.

2. Do theoretical ethical debates have any value? Is it important people discuss ethical dilemmas, e.g. the trolley problem? I think a lot of pressing social issues started as a “theoretical ethical debate” in one circle or another. “Should we free the slaves?” was definitely a thought experiment before it was a reality. If we go real obtuse like “What if reality is a simulation, does that change anything?” etc. Shit we can’t really know. Then I still think there’s interesting stuff to pull. And philosophy has contributed a lot to different parts of society. Thinking is good.

3. Did you have imaginary friends? Do you still have them? Lol I think lots of people keep their imaginary friends in some way or another. “God” or “my roleplay blog” or “my online persona” or “my sexually dominating side” or “my OCs in my WIP” etc. etc. Whatever you call them I think its kind of natural?

4. Are you religious? Do you think your religion is ‘correct’? I was raised a polytheist. I’m a form of Pagan in practice. I believe there are lots of gods. I don’t really bother with asking if another religion is “real” or not. If someone believes something, then that’s fine. But I think you should be prepared to argue your point. People use religious belief to justify stances all the time. So you should be prepared to argue why your religion is good or right if you’re going to use “well my faith says…” as your justification.

5. If you aren’t religious, do you wish you were? Why? Religion is interesting, I could talk about it for ages, but I’m glad I’m not more religious. I think if I couldn’t take science into account when asking certain “should we/shouldn’t we?” questions that’d suck.

6. What’s the most life-changing choice you’ve made so far? Probably to transition. I transitioned after high school. Which in some ways was a blessing but I got doctors, I changed all my documentation, I picked a new name, I had to come out to all my family, my work… It made me very happy but it was huge.

7. Would you want to live forever? How about for a billion years, a million, a millennium, a century? I believe in reincarnation but I think it’s natural to be scared of death. Frankly if I could avoid the gamble I’d rather live. Even if I’m just a brain in a jar. If I can be here that’s better than being nothing.

8. Was your childhood happy? Uhhhhh….?? Um…. Well—Uh—Next question.

9. What are you missing from your life? A way to make money doing things I’m passionate about. I’m still figuring that out.

10. Have you ever met someone who had a very similar personality to your own? Did you get along? I knew someone who was very like me when I was a very different person. They were trash, I was trash, and I’m glad that 1) I changed and 2) we don’t speak anymore. I was a fucking psycho.

11. Is your life what you expected it would be five years ago? Totally different in some ways. Exactly as planned in others. I’m happy, so who cares? I made the best decisions I could with what I had at the time.

12. What makes a person ‘good’? Are you a ‘good person’? “Good” people do good things. Even if they think awful things. “I fed the poor, but I only did it to fatten my ego!” The poor don’t fucking care. They got fed. Likewise a person who has good thoughts but doesn’t act on them (aka “well I think gay folk aren’t hurting anyone, but God/my church say they’re against the bible so I guess—”) are bad people.

13. How often do you lie? Is all lying inherently bad? Are you generally truthful? I lie a lot. I think you should. I think we should stop demonizing lying. Most people don’t care about your details. They just need the gist to get the job done. And if it doesn’t involve someone, they don’t deserve to know anything. It would be truthful to tell your landlord you got a promotion, but they’re not entitled to that information. You should be as honest as you feel comfortable being. Even if that’s not very honest at all. And, yes, there are consequences. You have to deal with those.

14. What question could you ask to find out the most about a person? One question? Oh man that’s hard… probably “who do you love most?” Because do they answer themselves? Their partner? Their parents? There’s info in all the options.

15. Which beliefs do you have that is most likely to be wrong? “Eat the Rich, literally” will not actually solve anything. But I think cannibalistic revolution has been overlooked too long as a viable option.

16. Are we eventually going to ‘run out’ of new combinations for music, art, language, etc.? Is there a limit to human creativity? Never. I mean you could argue we already have. Isn’t everything just an old story repackaged? Or an old song dressed up? I think the ‘when’ and ‘where’ something is released is as powerful as ‘what’ it is.

17. How do you feel about the idea ‘an eye for an eye’?| My dear friend has a policy “do no harm, take no shit.” And I abide by that. I think you should care about people, I think all life is improved when we improve the rights/conditions of others, but if you start shit I’m going to end it.

18. Would you fight for your country? Do you feel a sense of loyalty to your nation? My country? Eeeeeh my country is flawed. My rights? My way of life? My home? Yeah, sure. It’s not about the flag.

19. Do you think you would be happier if you had been born a different gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, nationality or religion? I think I got pretty damn lucky. My life would be MUCH harder if even one of those factors was altered. Yeah, I’m trans but it could be waaaay worse.

20. Is your perception of yourself similar or the same to how others perceive you? People are usually a lot nicer about me than I am to myself. I like that. Generally, I like myself too but it’s not always easy. More than once my relationship with my body or mind has been purely antagonistic.

21. Are you overly analytical? I guess? I have too many opinions lol. Things would be simpler if I cared less.

22. What belief do you have that isn’t logically grounded, but you still firmly believe in? I’m a Pagan. And I hate the “these essential oils cure cancer!” stuff but I definitely believe you can curse someone. And I get that’s a little crazy lol.

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.09

Nairi double checked the address Linden had texted her and looked back up at the set of buildings. They were squat and stuck together, looking kind of like a demountable set up someone had made permanent as best they could. The foundation was brickwork that looked more recent than the dirty siding, and about halfway up the wall it was all old windows, half of which were propped open.

The number she was looking for was around the side and about halfway down, and Nairi could smell cleaning supplies and cooking food, and hear discordant music as she walked up the ramp towards the door she was looking for. It was propped open a couple of inches by a worn paint can filled with concrete, a little angry face painted on it in red. She knocked on the window panel in the door. “Linden?”

The door swung all the way open, and Linden poked her head out, smiling at her. “There you are! Found it okay?”

She was completely bare faced for the first time since Nairi had met her, and while the denim cut offs were a familiar part of her wardrobe rotation, the oversize grey t-shirt was new, shapeless and paint spattered. There was also paint all along her forearms, some of which had managed to get onto her legs as well.

“Yeah,” said Nairi, holding up the paper bag. “And I brought lunch, as requested.”

“Oh, I’ll have to keep you around,” said Linden, grinning as she stepped back and opened the door properly to let Nairi in. She took the bag as Nairi stepped past her, digging in to retrieve her enchilada with a pleased noise.

“Having a… productive Tuesday?” asked Nairi as Linden let the door fall back into the paint can with a muffled clang.

Even with all of the windows propped open and the extractor fan wheezing loudly, the room still stunk of turpentine, paint, and something else chemical and sweet that she couldn’t quite identify. There was an unfinished counter running along one side of the room, cluttered with tubs of paint and half-filled bottles of oil, dirty jars and mugs, with an industrial sink at the end with an old microwaved plugged in next to it. One of its hinges was held on with electrical tape. The shelves under the counter had a lot of plastic tubs filling the space, labelled in masking tape and marker.

Linden crossed the room to a section where the floor was covered by an old bedsheet, sitting down on a wheeled office chair with the back broken off in front of an easel holding a canvas that was mostly pale green. She nodded as she picked up a tall ceramic mug with a lid, and she drank deeply from it, gesturing at a ratty couch under the windows on the wall. The mug had a strip of masking tape wrapped around it, ‘NO TURPS >:|’ scrawled on it in thick marker.

“Yeah, I got my wash layer down for the base of this bad boy,” said Linden, setting the mug back down and jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the canvas. “I spent a good chunk of last week fucking around with thumbnails, but your housewarming gift is officially on the way as of now.”

Nairi, sat on the couch. A strut creaked under her, threatening to crack. “You don’t have to—”

Linden waved her off. “I told you, your walls are too bare, and this is literally my area of expertise. How was your morning anyway?”

Nairi shrugged. “Okay, I guess? I really only got out of bed when you texted me.”

“Nice for some,” said Linden, grinning at her. “Layabout! How do you and Aggy get anything scheduled? She’s up by six and in bed by ten sharp.”

Nairi shrugged, unwrapping her own lunch and shifting uncomfortably on the terrible couch. “I guess we’ll find out; I’m having dinner at her apartment tonight.”

“Co-sy,” said Linden sarcastically, setting her enchilada on the folding table next to her ‘not turpentine’ and a clear jar filled with what was presumably turpentine. She picked up a flat paintbrush and dabbed it at her palette, rolling her chair forward and making a couple of light, decisive strokes on the green. “You two are enjoying yourselves, then?”

“I think so,” said Nairi, not entirely certain if she’d messed something up or was missing something. “Have you got plans for the night then? Or are you working?”

“Both,” said Linden promptly. “Got a hot date with a cool hook up, and then a much hotter date with the rest of next month’s rent check. Can I ask you a favour?”

“Sure,” said Nairi, chewing slowly. “For your cool hook up or next month’s rent?”

Linden turned her head and bounced her eyebrows at Nairi. “Next month’s rent check. Si’s kind of a dickhead, but he’s only dangerous if you don’t like T.S. Eliot or are allergic to, like, papercuts, or lignin, or something. I need a safety check in for when I finish my job. I have a couple of people I’d usually ask, but the one I normally go to during the week has a daughter in hospital for her appendix, and Flo takes melatonin to keep her schedule, like, regulated during semester so asking her to wait up on a school night is a no-go.”

“I should be able to do that,” said Nairi, nodding, partially because her only other option was asking what the hell ‘lignin’ was. “What do you need for it?”

“It’s just waiting for me to call when I’m finished with my job, or calling to check in, just to make sure I haven’t been murdered or whatever,” said Linden, leaning back a little to scan the lines she’d marked out on the canvas. “I’m booked for eleven, so I should be done before one. I’ll like, send you the address and the number for my work phone and stuff.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, sounds easy. So, if I can’t reach you by one, what do I need to do?”

“I’d tell you to call Nick, but he’d only call the cops so you can probably just cut him out of the equation and go straight to them. I’d like, rather not with them, like at all, ever,” she emphasised this with a slashing motion of her paintbrush, “but if it comes to that, then tell them like, I’m on a first date with a guy my dad thinks is creepy and I promised to check in or something, I don’t know.”

If she had the address, then… well. “Why would Nicholas call the cops if he knows you’d hate it?”

Linden rolled her eyes extravagantly and set her brush down, going for her enchilada again. “Because he believes in the power of the system, doesn’t approve of my job, is convinced that one day cops will magically stop being shitty to me, and also he apparently still thinks I’m sixteen.”

“Right,” said Nairi, slowly balling up the foil and paper of her lunch. “He uh, cares a lot about you, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s an old friend of my dad’s,” said Linden, nodding and swallowing. “Looked out for me when I was a teenager, you know? He’s still convinced that every time he turns around I’m gonna run off and nearly get myself killed again, it’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Again?”

A rueful smile flickered across Linden’s face. “Yeah, I ran away from home when I was about fifteen. Jim’s the one who found me and got me off the streets at first, but Edie and Nick were the ones who really made sure I got on my feet.”

“Right,” said Nairi, and she hesitated. “Jim’s a friend of theirs?”

“Was, yeah,” said Linden, glancing down at her lap to brush off an invisible crumb. “He died when I was about nineteen. Lung cancer, you know. It happens.”

“Damn,” said Nairi, not sure what to say in the face of that. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too, sometimes,” said Linden, her smile a little lopsided as she looked up. “It was a long time ago, though—water under the bridge and all that.”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, glancing at her hands briefly. “So what, Nicholas is worried that you’ll end up in a gutter?”

“Street corner, more like,” said Linden, dryness creeping back into her tone as she popped the last piece of her enchilada into her mouth, shaking her head. “He was pretty pissed off when I got out of college and went straight back to hooking.”

Nairi snorted. “Yeah, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d ‘approve’ of that.”

“Real stick up his ass, yeah,” said Linden, nodding again. “Edithwas the fun one when I was a teenager, so you can imagine what a downer life was back then.”

“A little, yeah,” said Nairi, her mouth twitching. “I didn’t know anyone like that as a teenager, maybe it would’ve helped me out some.”

“Oh, I know that feeling,” said Linden with a laugh, giving Nairi a carefully measured side-eye. “He’s very useful to have around sometimes—my taxes get filed on time every year and all that.”

Nairi laughed. “Nothing shows you care like robust budgeting, huh?”

Linden cackled with laughter, a loud, startled noise. “Yes! Exactly—god, you should have seen him when I got my first apartment. He came with me to sign the lease and he interrogated my landlord, did his own goddamn tour, took his own photos of the place when I moved in and hunted the guy down to sign that he’d seen them, made copies of my bond payment, and thenhe was on me every single month to make sure I had a receipt for my rent.”

“Ferocious,” said Nairi, grinning at her.

“And wildly disappointed in me the first time I got evicted,” said Linden, grinning back at her.

Nairi laughed without expecting it, the lines around her eyes creasing. “You’re a menace, then?”

Linden was smiling with bright eyes; head tilted a little. “Damn right I am. Nick’s been putting up with my shit for ten years, I really thought he’d’ve clued in by now.”

“Maybe he thinks you can be better than shit?” suggested Nairi.

Linden’s smile softened a little as she picked up the paintbrush again. “No, he’s a little better at managing his expectations than that. I mean, he sticks up for me with dad, but it’s not like I get away scot free when I fuck up!”

“Your dad’s not a fan of the hooking I take it?”

Linden made a wheezing sort of noise as she went for her paint again. “Oh god, no, my dad doesn’t know about the hooking, he’s an attorney, he’d kill me. That’s part of why Nick fucking hates it, he doesn’t like lying for anything, least of all my sorry ass.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, so, your dad’s just kind of a dick, huh?”

Linden paused and turned her head to look at Nairi, giving her an annoyed look. “No, he’s fine. We don’t get along that well, is all. And that whole thing where I was a missing teenager for four years and then came back queer and punk didn’t exactly help things either. We’re fine, I’m going up for dinner with him in a couple of weeks, actually.”

“Right, sorry,” said Nairi, holding up a hand. “I never met my parents, I don’t know what’s like, normal or whatever.”

“It’s fine,” said Linden, shrugging at her. “People get the wrong impression sometimes, is all.”

Somehow Nairi wasn’t shocked by this. “Will I hit another pothole if I ask about your mom?” she said instead.

Linden laughed. “I never knew her. I asked about her a bunch when I was a kid, but my dad was kind of really evasive and I stopped asking—I sort of got the impression she died when I was extra small or something. Edie reckons that whoever she was they were never really, like ‘together’, ‘cause apparently I was a surprise baby for everyone who knew him.”

“Oh, I don’t think kids work well as surprises,” said Nairi with a wince.

“Definitely not,” said Linden, grinning widely. “He did okay, though.”

Nairi shifted uncomfortably on the couch again. “You turned out okay, so he must have.”

Linden snorted.

Nairi’s phone chirped in her back pocket and she tugged it out to check the message. The couch creaked ominously as she shifted again, and she paused, glancing down at it. “Just out of curiosity, how much did you pay for this couch?”

“I didn’t, I nicked it from a guy who was throwing it out,” said Linden, taking a drink of not turps as Nairi’s phone chirped again. “Who’s texting?”

Nairi glanced down at her screen, tapping open the messaging inbox. “Agatha. She’s just checking that we’re still on for tonight.”

“You’re not gonna disappoint her, are you?” teased Linden.

Nairi looked up at her, not sure what to make of the way her tone had dipped. “No?”

Linden hummed, her mouth twitching. “Well, don’t party too hard then,” she said in the same tone again, and she turned her attention back to her canvas.

[hen-of-letters]

To me, the Supernatural finale felt like a slap in the face. And then a suckerpunch to the stomach and a knee in the crotch. Afterwards some more punches, a bit more kicking, and a spit in the eye. So, here's my rambling account of just why I think it was so hurtful, and why I don't think I'll ever stop being sad and angry about how the show ended.

Stories matter. Everything that happens in Supernatural is the result of a decision. Each of these decisions carries a weight and a significance that resonates well beyond the screen.

Castiel's love confession in 15x18 is a beautiful, powerful thing. The love between Cas and Dean has been shown in the text for twelve seasons, but it had never been named in the text until that moment. Castiel's words brought their love out into the open.

However, his immediate and permanent removal from the rest of the narrative (aside from the briefest of mentions) is also powerful. He is erased from the text. After speaking, he is silenced.

Dean is silenced, too. He's never allowed to respond. With him never voicing his feelings for Castiel, their relationship is slammed right back where it came from: into the narrative closet.

Dean's love for Castiel is left as it always was: shown but not spoken. Open to interpretation. This is presented as a positive thing: there's a blank space left in the text where you can imagine them reuniting in heaven.

However, telling the audience that a love story between two men can't be openly declared and that their reunion can't be shown on screen is massively harmful. It perpetuates the idea that queer stories can only be told in the margins, in between the lines, in the silences of the text.

Claire is never shown on screen again after we hear that she loved Kaia. Kaia is rescued from the Bad Place, but their reunion is kept off-screen. Queer love is present, and at least in this case openly defined, but kept in the sidelines, unseen.

It's a phrase with a complex history, but it's telling that 'the love that dare not speak its name' came to be used as a euphemism for homosexual love. Queer love had to be kept silent out of safety. Even now, for many of us, being openly queer can endanger our lives.

Supernatural had a massive opportunity to say: queerness is not to be marginalised or silenced. Here is a love story that is central and spoken and celebrated. I think it's probably the enormous gap between the finale that we had, and the finale that we could have been given (which was the finale that the entire season had seemingly been building towards), that makes Supernatural's ending so heartbreakingly hurtful.

There's a reason, I think, why it feels so viscerally jarring for Cas' confession to never receive a reply or even acknowledgement. Disregarding every other episode of Supernatural up until that scene in 15x18, and with absolutely no knowledge of the characters, what we have is one person saying to another: "I love you". From this point on, every fibre of our being is aching for the answering "I love you, too". That's just how human beings are wired. That's just how narratives function. We hear a question and we need the closure of the answer.

When someone proposes publicly, even though these people are strangers to us, we are all waiting anxiously to hear the "yes". Imagine that you're watching a TV chat show, and then the host announces that someone in the audience has a very special question. Cut to the audience, where someone kneels and says to their partner: "will you marry me?" The camera moves to the partner's face ... and then cuts back to the action on stage. The proposal is never mentioned by the host ever again. You never find out if they said yes. Don't you feel cheated? Don't you feel, maybe, at least annoyed?

Now imagine you have two friends that you've known for years. You've grown up alongside them and you love them dearly. You think they're perfect for each other and you're sure they're in love with each other. One day, you see on Facebook that one of them has finally proposed to the other! You're overjoyed! But this is the last you ever hear from either of them. You never know the answer. You might feel just a little bit frustrated with the ghosting little fuckers. Yes, you can imagine that they're ridiculously in love and they've moved to Maui, but you never know. They might be dead in a ditch. They might be utterly miserable. You just never, ever know.

I swear, I'm normally all about the ambiguity, the open ending, the delicious possibilities of uncertainty. But here the question was too clear, the answer too obvious, the significance too weighty. The entire issue of Supernatural's problematic queer representation came down to this: could we see Dean say "I love you, too"? Could we see them live as well as speak their truth? Sadly, the answer was "no".

There could have been something powerful in the death of the author in Supernatural, in the exhortation to write your own ending, in the acknowledgement that meaning is created in active, creative collaboration between the text and the reader. But this wasn't handing over power. This was passing the buck. Representation is a responsibility.

In the end, Supernatural utterly dismissed the possibility of giving either the characters or the audience the power to write the story. We could have been gifted an open ending: Chuck defeated, Dean, Cas, Sam, Eileen and Jack alive and reunited, and the audience given free will to imagine their future. Instead, it gave us the most closed-down ending possible: all three main characters dead, other characters forgotten, and with nothing more to tell.

Going back to considering characters as friends made me think again about why the finale hurt so much. Yes, the erasure of Eileen from the narrative angered me because the decision was misogynistic and ablist. But also, I absolutely adored Eileen, and wanted her to be happy. She, like every single character in the show deserved better.

However, we don't only see characters as our friends.

We see pieces of ourselves in the characters we love. When we get to see those pieces acknowledged, and treasured, and loved, we feel validation. When we see those pieces disregarded, or silenced, or torn to shreds, we feel hurt.

Consider what someone might see of themselves in Dean Winchester: a queer individual, a war veteran, a survivor of physical, mental or sexual abuse, someone who has felt worthless or suicidal, a caregiver who has sacrificed their own needs for the sake of another.

What killing Dean says to these people is: there is no place for you in the world. The only 'peace' for you is death.

The same message can be read in Castiel's death. It's Castiel in whom I saw a piece of myself. I'm nearly 40, and when I started watching Supernatural in 2005, I didn't yet realise that I was maybe non-binary and definitely bisexual. The world looked at my body and assumed I was a woman. The world assumed I was straight. I was being told a story about myself. It wasn't until later that I realised that there were other stories, that there were other words that I could use about myself. Castiel's story was one that I could identify with (if I'm honest, mostly because of our shared social awkwardness), so his death said to me: if you speak your truth, you'll be shut down and forgotten. Happiness is not something you can have.

The deaths of Castiel and Dean find their bleakest mirror in that of the Kaia from the Bad Place. Not-Kaia wants to return to her own universe, even though she knows it is dying. She feels she doesn't belong in this world: "This place is cold. I don't understand it. I don't know how to move through it. So I just find empty spaces and I hide. This world doesn't want me, and I'm done with it." And, honestly, haven't most of us felt exactly like that at one time or another, for whatever reason? If we've felt different or excluded, if we've experienced physical or mental ill health, if we've felt like an outsider? Although Sam and Dean do try to get her to come back with them, she accepts death - just like Castiel and Dean. Visually, the moment closely resembles Castiel's demise: she's enveloped by blackness, her serene face the last thing to be covered.

Alternate Kaia is the embodiment of otherness. Her hopeless, voluntary annihilation is incredibly troubling. I wonder though if perhaps this moment is the text criticising itself: Alternate Kaia chooses death because the world is hostile towards her. If we marginalise others, if we tell people that who they are means that they have no place in the world, if we tell people that they can only exist in silence and in the shadows, then these people will feel despair. Depression and suicide are a real concequence of exclusion and marginalisation.

In contrast, we're shown Kaia being accepted by Jody. Castiel has already acknowledged that Jody is Claire's found family, and we know that Claire loves Kaia. Here is a hopeful mirror: Kaia, who has been set up previously as an analogue to Castiel, finds acceptance, and love, and a found family.

Dean and Castiel could have been given Claire and Kaia's ending, but instead they die like Alternate Kaia. The world doesn't want them.

I think that the erasure of difference is why the finale feels so flat to me. So empty, so hollow, so silent. The brothers' diverse found family is killed off or forgotten (like Kevin Tran, presumably left to wander the earth forever as a ghost); women are erased; people of colour are erased; queerness is erased. Sam and Dean are reduced to being cardboard cutout versions of themselves, devoid of complexity, with nothing to say.

For 15 years, Supernatural has said: choose free will.  You can make your own destiny.  You can write your own story.  Love can defy the will of God himself.  You can be loved and supported by a family that you choose, even if you are rejected by your blood.  In the final episode, every single one of these ideas was systematically trashed. It hurt.

What gives me hope, though, is how the fandom responded to this hurt: with creativity and kindness. Immediately, fundraisers such as The Castiel Project and Dean Winchester is Love were set up & have raised a massive amount of money. I don't think I'll ever stop being awed by this.

[wanna-b-poet31]

A (maybe) 4-part meta on Good Omens: Part 1: Aziraphale’s Abuse and Trauma

SOOOOO I promised myself I wouldn’t get too obsessed with Good Omens but I’ve got some meta-thoughts. 

So, it’s no secret that abuse is prevalent in Good Omens, but the methods of abuse are interesting ultimately working as a catalyst for how Crowley and Aziraphale interact with humans, Heaven, Hell, and each other. 

Several of the characters we see in Good Omens are traumatized by the time we meet them, although some more than others. For example, Newt, for what little we see him is clearly ostracized by everyone around him and he shows signs of trauma via isolation. Until the end of the world, it’s heavily implied that he’s bullied, if not dismissed from the rest of the world due to his explosive tendencies with computers. He’s not shown to have healthy coping skills with the isolation, and although it is ultimately good he doesn’t get his job, and works with Shadwell, and meets Anathema, but he’s unable to express himself in a healthy way or handle his past.  Similarly, due to the stress of saving the world, Anathema is traumatized by the expectations of her family, of being a “descendant” of Agnes Nutters.  

But, both begin recovery journeys by beginning to assert their own needs and well-being. Newt begins forming real, relationships and coping with his loneliness by making friends and Anathema defies her family’s obligation by burning the letters. Overall, it’s a straightforward approach to begin recovering from traumatic events. 

However, Crowley and Aziraphale do not have quite as straightforward a narrative. 

Heaven is unbending. It is clear to both of them that God and her representatives punish independence, asking questions, and having any defined version of a “self”. 

Look at the photo below. It’s an environment that (per my last post) is cold, abusive, and really, isn’t a functional space. Nothing can get done reasonably in here. There aren’t any personal touches and it makes the space devoid of any sense of home. AND THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE HEAVEN, land of milk and honey Heaven. It’s not just bland, it’s much more insidious than that. It’s false transparency, a “nothing to see here” mask that the angels use to belittle, attack, and intimidate each other. 

Then there’s the messy business of the dogmatism Heaven follows that affects Aziraphale throughout the series. We see it first in the garden that questions (a la Crowley) lead to abandonment. The fear of falling, of knowingly being discarded by people/entities that supposedly love one another is a violent space to grow up in and incentivizes the remaining angels to keep their head down and not question actions that are clearly wrong. It is Crowley who asks why it would be okay to kill kids (because it’s clearly wrong) to which Aziraphale responds: “I’m not consulted about policy decisions”. It’s clear that 1000 year after the garden he’s internalizing his conditioning. 

His behavior, especially coming from THE angel who gave away his flaming sword without any hesitation and then LIED to God about it, shows that he clearly knows right from wrong is jarring. But, it’s unsurprising, given the abusive place he is attached to. Heaven’s love for him is conditional and wholly dependant on him being able to do as he’s told, not what might be right. 

It’s also clear that Aziraphale is being abused during the events of the series. While not always physically violent (although I’ll get to that in a second), he is continuously belittled and degraded. 

Take a look at Heaven’s least favorite Asshole: Gabriel

When we are introduced to Gabriel the first few things out of his mouth are insults. Although we’ve had Aziraphale for only like 5 seconds and we already can tell how passionate he is about food. Aziraphale is eating sushi, presumably a favorite food given his familiarity with the chef, and taking some time for himself, and like a good family member offers some to his “fellow”, his “ally”, an entity who supposedly had his back. When the food is refused, it’s presented with a dismissive tone and called “gross matter” that would “sully” his body.  This is is a smack in the face to Aziraphale and he quickly lies, saying he’s only eating to keep up appearances. This shutdown of interests and likes pushes Aziraphale to be like Newt, ostracized from people who are supposed to be his friends. Then, like Anathema, his exposure to the “great plan” and what is expected of an angel is villanizes his interests, causing him to feel shame and associate his individuality and sense of the self with “wrong” or “broken”. 

This differs greatly from how Crowley and Aziraphale meet. Although we see Crowley tempt eve, they talk to each other as equals and Crowley does the one thing Heaven has never done -- tell him he’s doing a good job. There is no harm in eating or enjoying eating but he’s being treated like he’s committing some kind of sin. Crowley, in contrast, reaffirms Aziraphale’s actions and helps relieve his concerns. Gabriel, instead, aggravates his anxiety.

Then, we see Gabriel do one of the more insidious discreditings of Aziraphale’s sense of self at the bookstore.  Whereas Crowley is able to tell when there are new books in the shop and knows that losing the shop is a significant loss for Aziraphale, Gabriel can’t be bothered (more on that at the end). At some level, it’s his disdain for humanity that makes him indifferent at best about the bookstore. But, his disregard for Aziraphale’s livelihood, something that is a clear point of pride and joy, is belittling. He is demanding that Aziraphale drop everything he loves to fight the great war, and while asking to fight is not intrinsically abusive (Crowley too asks Azi to join him and fight), the dynamic is not of equals with the same motivations, rather it is clearly meant to be talking down to Aziraphale. Gabriel sees no value in the shop or his “brother” and if he can’t see it there must not be any. The blow to Aziraphale’s emotional state is apparent in the grimace he gives the two angels. 

Even when Aziraphale, (who does his best to uphold what he has been conditioned to be “right” and after many millennia has grown to trust Gabriel despite no reciprocation) DOES go to Heaven with a plan, news about where the anti-christ is and how to stop it, or push him to be neither satan no saint, he’s met with more belittlement. None of the angels at the meeting believe that Aziraphale can accomplish his goals, but worst than that, none of them are willing to give him the support he needs to achieve his goal. Sure they don’t smite him where he stands for purposing an alternative to the end of the world, but that’s not the same as being a support system he can rely on. He can’t even voice here the reasons why he cares so deeply about Earth or why they may be wrong. He is not their equals in their eyes. 

You can also see it at the park when Gabriel and Aziraphale are running, and Gabriel punches his stomach, telling our adorable angel he needs to lose the gut, devaluing Aziraphale’s worth further. Even the face he makes in the gif below is filled with condescension. He’s not taking Aziraphale, or Aziraphale’s concerns seriously. 

Which brings me to the final nail in Heaven’s abusive coffin via Gabriel. The intended violence of his “sentence” is meant to, like the fall, strike the fear of abandonment, disownment, and death into Aziraphale. There is no scenario (except the one we see) where Aziraphale is meant to make it out of Heaven alive. 

After Armaggeddon’t Gabriel, who knows Aziraphale’s intentions of diverting the apocalypse, if perhaps not the rationale, is pleased to belittle the restrained Aziraphale. There is legit joy in his face when they force Aziraphale to walk into the hellfire. 

In the above gif, you can see that not only is he being verbally abusive, throwing ill-intent insults at Aziraphale, but that he fully expects the fire to kill his supposed brother and PLEASED about it.  

LET ME REPEAT THAT. The place/people who Aziraphale is supposed to love, trust, and be loyal to are ready, and happy to, drop him at a moment’s notice. At this point, considering the layers of abuse already outlined, Aziraphale’s insistence that he can’t be on Crowley’s side because Heaven wouldn’t like it is symptomatic of someone who is longing for a genuine, honest connection and has been “raised” to believe that is Heaven, no questions allowed.   

this is not to say Heaven isn’t above physical abuse towards Aziraphale.

I’ve seen some excellent metas floating around dissecting the Crowley vs. Aziraphale  and the Angel’s vs. Aziraphale “intimidation” (although I can’t find them now, please @ them if you know them) and the bottom line is that Aziraphale is terrified by Uriel and her legion of Angels much more than Crowley ever could. Aziraphale is damn well aware of how violent the angels who aren’t even touching him can be vs. his calm response to Crowley pushing him against a wall. 

Which brings me back to Crowley and Aziraphale. Although I can (and will) do another one of these on Crowley, and dive deeper into the implications of their relationship and the closure they need/got by being on their own side. I want to take a second to articulate just how much Crowley does not (try) to do be this way to Aziraphale. 

I maintain that Crowley, is aware of Heaven’s abusive tendencies due to his fall and the subsequent fear that must have caused other angels, I do not think he’s aware of the levels of mental, verbal, and emotional abuse that heaven throws Aziraphale specifically. The way Aziraphale talks up heaven, you’d suspect he was getting awards left and right, or at least some semblance of respect. But no. In stark contrast to Gabriel, Crowley will entertain Aziraphale’s interests/passions like food and books even if they aren’t something he indulges in often himself. Whereas I said earlier Gabriel dismissed the bookshop and presupposed it was something Aziraphale would be able to drop like a rock, Crowley KNOWS that Aziraphale cares so deeply for his books, his food, and his identity as an angel, that losing any of them would be unbearable. Although Crowley pushes and sometimes goes too fast for Aziraphale, he’s not approaching Aziraphale in bad faith. 

Of the 10 observed historical meetings, we see Crowley initiate at least 6 of them (it could be said the Victorian meeting is also Crowley’s doing, but the jury is out about who called that particular meeting as Aziraphale walks toward Crowley first in that scene). We also see Crowley go out of his way to do things that make the Angel comfortable and does not once break his trust. Although he storms out 3 times in the show, he always uses it as breathing room, before once again seeking Aziraphale out, and doing his best to work on their relationship AS EQUALS. Their dynamic (Which I’ll go into more later) is not on uneven footing, and both parties treat the other with a kindness neither of them is offered by their respective worlds.  

TLDR: Crowley’s love for Aziraphale helps heal him from the abuses of Heaven

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 65: Broken Spell

Keith enjoys a morning out with Lance... Except for this one, *tiny* problem

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Keith wakes to a bare leg slung over his hip, fingers trailing from his shoulder and down his side, sliding across his waist to form teasing circles low on his abdomen. Lips flutter against the edge of his exposed ear, just a hint of teeth.

“Seriously?”

“What? I spent almost a decaphoeb celibate for you!” The Altean snuggles closer. “And now I find myself with a beautiful man in my arms who, unlike anyone else I’ve ever had, is entirely mine.”

The growl on Lance’s final word has Keith wavering, until he shifts and discovers the discomfort between his legs. He sucks in a breath between his teeth. “I think the fuck not, Lance. What did you do to my vagina?”

“Crude. Also, nothing. Discomfort is normal your first time. But I can fix it, if you like.”

“Please do. And how would you know that’s normal?”

“Well, I have an ass.”

“Gross.” Keith sighs as Lance’s quintessence slips beneath his skin. He’s come to associate that warmth slithering into his veins and nerves with Lance’s love and affection. It's familiar to him now, bringing him comfort, a sense of home and belonging. Basically, he’s a huge sucker.

“Hm… I’d love to have you in it.”

“Lance!” Keith roles over, discomfort gone, glaring at his mate. Lance raises an eyebrow. “I’ll... think about it. Thace says that I have to check and make sure my dick works anyway.”

“I’d be delighted to help, either way.” The Altean's smile is playful, easy-going.

“I’m sure you would.” Keith sighs. “So that’s the plan then? Have sex all day?”

“Mnh, no. We're going home before your season.”

“Lance, I need to have my season here. And stay two movements after that to see if I’ve conceived-”

“I meant your home, beloved. Your childhood home, remember? We said we’d-”

“Really?! You- Really?!” Keith’s face lights up like a thousand stars.

Lance beams. “Yes, really!"

Keith throws his arms around his mate. He'd never really doubted Lance's word, but that word still means worlds to him. Furry, plumed tail twisting around his ankle, purring loudly in his throat, Keith nuzzles into Lance's neck. He loves this Altean so much, couldn't think of a better place to be than right here.

Okay, maybe he's riding the high of being freshly mated, but he actually doesn't feel that different than before. Maybe a little giddy, but other than that... no more or less full of love. Still just as overflowing.

Laughing, Lance squeezes him tight, fingers running through his long, loose hair. He lets go all to soon- "Let’s go! Get your clothes on!”

Keith leaps up, scrambling for a fresh set of clothes. Lance flops back on the bed, chuckling as his spouse’s eagerness. The Galra pauses, turning back to meet Lance’s soft gaze. “What?”

“I love you,” Lance sighs.

“Well I should hope so, since I just gave myself over to you.” Keith grins, just a little cocky. “I love you, too.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, tucks the hem into the waist of his pants. Lance is still staring at him. “What?”

“Are we really gonna have a baby?”

“So that’s what you’re up to, is it?” Krolia leans in the doorway. Lance shrieks, pulling the blankets up to cover himself. “Making kits?”

“Well, we’re going to try. We’ll see what happens,” Lance squeaks. “Could you, um, let me get dressed?”

“Yeah, seriously, Mom. What the fuck?” Keith snickers, settling his circlet on his head. He hasn’t worn it in a while, but feels like it today. Lance wears his every day.

“Fine.” Krolia turns around, still leaning against the wall. “You do realize, don’t you Altean, just how easy it is for a Galra in season to conceive?”

“Uh… Not really, no. Altean females ovulate every ten movements -two phoebs-, and even then pregnancy is far from assured. It can take decaphoebs to-”

“During season, pregnancy is all but guaranteed, even for intersex people like Keith, though they do have a slightly lower success rate.” Krolia turns back, slow, slim smile on her lips. “So you’d better be damn well sure you want a kit with my son.”

Lance, fully dressed, slips an arm around Keith’s waist. “We have a responsibility to provide my kingdom with an heir. It’s an ugly thing, but it is something that we must take into account.” Keith’s tail twists around Lance’s ankle, squeezing tightly, approval of his honesty and forthright. “That said, I have wanted to be a father since I was a small child myself. I’m more than ready for it, and more than certain. Especially if I’ve got this one by my side!”

Lance beams, pressing their brows together. Keith purrs, soft and sweet in his throat.

“Right. So, we need elk, and supplies, and to meet up with hunters-”

“I want to visit the Sanctorium. I need to get an offering for my father.”

“You’re going back home? It’s almost your season!” Krolia frowns.

“Yes, which is why we’re going now,” Lance argues. “It’s not terribly far, it’ll give me a chance to see some of the wilderness, and we’ll be sure to return within a movement. In the meantime, we’ll send a message to Thace and inform him of our intentions to conceive, and he can begin collaboration with our own castle health care professional, Tavo, and Hunk, who is in charge of providing Keith’s meals. Additionally, I’ll have Adam and Pidge break into Daibazaal’s database and steal Lotor’s medical records. Honerva and Zarkon refused to unseal them for us.”

“Odd.” Krolia cocks her head, counting her coins, passing them to Keith. “Why would they refuse?”

“Not sure. Perhaps his records will tell us something. I intend to ask the man himself, as well.”

"Let me do it," Keith murmurs. "He's my cousin."

"Sure, of course! Do let me know what he says, though."

Krolia eyes them, gaze dark. “The Imperial couple is as morally dubious as Alfor is. Everybody knows that.”

Keith ties the bag of coins to his belt, scooping BleepBloop onto his shoulder. The primate works a hand into Keith’s hair, the other exploring his circlet. “Possibly even worse, though that is debatable.”

“Oh. Remind me to tell you about that later,” Lance mutters, suddenly looking nervous. “But for now, to the square! I want to see this 'Sactomium' you talked of.”

Arms linked, Keith leads Lance through the crowded streets, attention completely on each other save one moment where Lance murmurs something to Krolia, and she heads off with a nod, and something shiny in her hand...

The Sanctorium is a large structure, much like a den, but much larger, surrounded by gardens, vines creeping up the sides. Druids in long robes and masks walk among the vegetation, taking clippings and peeling bark from trees. Windchimes made of metal, wood, glass, and stone sing from tree branches and metal stands. There are Galra praying, meditating, simply walking about the grounds. Some converse with Druids, perhaps seeking spiritual council or advice on different rituals.

“So what are we here for?” Lance asks, gazing up at the structure. It’s clearly treated with respect. The stone is cared for and polished, painted with intricate designs, stained glass in the windows.

“Herbs. And a few different crystals. I need to make an offering spell for my father. For both a reunion and a goodbye.” Keith passes BleepBloop over to his mate, leading the way into the Sanctorium.

Inside is just as fascinating as the outside. There are shelves, arranged in a spiral shape, a single aisle through the middle to a desk, a Druid standing just behind. The shelves are lined with… stuff. Some, Lance can tell, are herbs, seeds, bits of stone and crystal. Some are definitely pieces of animals, like feet, claws, teeth, tails, and feathers. Others are… presumably one or possibly more of those things, but Lance can’t really tell.

“Hey, what do you think about this?” Keith holds up a clawed foot of some kind, only for BleepBloop to snatch and start munching on it. The Galra rolls his eyes at his uncooperative pet.

Lance shrugs. “I… Know nothing at all about your religion, either your magyks or your gods.”

“The basics are as follows,” Keith says, wandering through the aisles, grabbing seemingly random objects. “Different stuff does different stuff and only the druids know all of the stuff. And we have gods. There are hundreds of them, and everyone picks one or two to observe.”

“So who do you observe?” Lance leans over to inspect a box of he knows from his studies are shards of volcanic glass.

“Trija.” Keith continues selecting, measuring, gathering different objects, setting them all in a clay jar.

“Trija?” Lance’s brow furrows, a bit of forgotten knowledge tickling at his mind.

“She’s a star. A small one. She was our first empress, who supposedly married a sorceress and joined her in the stars when they both died.”

“I see… Why did you pick Trija?”

Keith pauses, fingers hovering over a box of dried fruits. Or maybe they were some kind of dead animal? He shakes himself, sets one of the dried… things in his jar.

“It was the only star I remembered. My father, he tried to teach me about the stars. I was really little, only six when he died, and I was a… precocious child-”

“Sassy. Opinionated. Stubborn. An adorable pain in the ass, no doubt.”

“Heh, yeah. Pretty much. But the one that managed to stick with me, no matter how unwilling a pupil I was, was Trija, because of the story. I held onto that, all those years. I was little, and alone, and I couldn’t sleep hardly at all. So I’d sit on top of the den, or in a tree, and I’d stare at her for hours, and it made everything just a little bit better. It made me feel less alone.”

“Keith…”

Keith’s fingers stop trailing over jars of herbs, turning to look at his mate, only for the Altean to latch onto him like a sucker eel, squeezing him tight. “I’m sorry. It was Altea’s fault you went through all that. My people took your father from you. I’m so sorry, Keith.”

“It’s not your fault,” Keith mutters, voice surprisingly thin. “Don’t apologize for them.”

“I promise I’ll ruin our childrens’ childhoods by spoiling them, not killing their parents.”

“Well, I am one of their parents, so…” Keith noses into Lance’s neck. “Let me buy this, and then we can-”

Keith’s eyes find Krolia, leaning in the entryway, glaring at Lance with absolute loathing. Something inside him breaks a little bit. She’d promised- Well, no, she hadn’t promised, but she’d agreed to give Lance a chance, to give him the opportunity to prove himself. And yet here she is, his mother, staring at his mate like she wants nothing more than to eviscerate him.

Something in Keith hardens, even as he squeezes Lance harder so he won’t pull back and see. He feels betrayed. It must reach his eyes, because Krolia falters in her glare, blinking at him in alarm.

Keith meets her gaze, stares her down as he rubs his cheek against Lance’s skin. Petty? Totally. Possessive? Oh, yeah. Necessary? Absolutely. He hates it, but yesterday, he would have chosen Lance, and today, it wouldn't be a choice at all.

“Come on, beloved.” Lance rubs his back, soothing circles. “Let’s get the stuff for your offering, and then get you home.” The prince draws back, lacing their hands together. “I want to meet Akira of house Kogane. I want to thank him for saving you.”

“Of course you do,” Keith murmurs, smiling, hand slipping up to link their arms. “I don’t remember him very well, but Dad would have liked you. He was the fun-loving, mischievous type. I think… That’s how I remember him, anyway.”

“If he made you, he must have been. You certainly didn’t get it from Krolia.”

“Yeah…” Keith grimaces, paying the druid behind the desk for his stuff. “You’ve no idea.”

“I mean… I’ve shared a room with her. For about a varga. I think I’ve at least some idea.”

Keith laughs. He just wants to enjoy Lance’s company, riding the high of their freshly consummated bond.

“But you know… Your mother has had a hard life, and one far from painless. It might just be taking her a while to remember how to do those things.”

“Yeah. I guess. Maybe.” They step together out into the sun. “Maybe she’ll loosen up as time goes on, huh?”

“Lance!” Krolia jogs up, like she just arrived. “I need to speak to you for a moment. Alone.”

“Very well.” Lance lifts their joined hands to indicate a pair of elk, laden with saddlebags, suddenly reminding Keith of his first night in the castle, when Lance gave him a tour of their quarters. “Your mother procured some supplies and elk for us, over there. Do you mind?”

“I guess not…” Keith eyes his mother cautiously. “See you soon?”

“Yes, and then we’ll leave.” Lance kisses his cheek, hurrying after Krolia.

Anxious, Keith heads for the elk, recognizing one of them as Lance’s doe from training, Bruna. He rubs her nose. “Hey, pretty girl. You’re gonna take good care of my dumbass mate for me, right? Assuming my mother doesn’t kill him first?”

Lance comes running up, a bag over his shoulder. “Okay, lets go!”

“What’s in the bag?”

“I’ll tell you later; let’s go!” Lance vaults onto Bruna, turning expectantly to his dazed spouse. “Kee-eeith. Let’s gooo-oooo.”

“R- Right!” Keith mounts his own elk -nameless, because he’s not an enormous dork-, urging him into a walk. “So we’re really leaving, then?”

“Yes, we’re really leaving! I can’t wait to see it! I want to see everything, remember? Remember when I-”

“You’re going to talk the entire way there, aren’t you?”

“Wha- No! No, I’m not! But I just want to mention-”

Keith smiles, shaking his head. His mother’s glare still stings, but it’s hard to be angry when facing off against Lance’s smile. He doesn’t see his mate like this very often -hardly ever-, so he might as well enjoy it while he can.

He does have a question though, one that’s been nagging at him for the better part of a movement now…

[chrysalispen]

xxix. whose bounty these have spurned

AO3 Link HERE

Chapter under cut.

====

As quickly as it had all started, it was over. 

Aurelia sat in the tilled soil of the Wolndara homestead, heart only now beginning to slow its hectic beat and her hands caked with dirt, and blinked furiously, eyes watering from the blinding flash of light from the Garlean’s grenade. 

Once the spots in her vision had cleared - for the most part - she took silent stock of what she could see, attempting to assess the damage. Smoke still belched out of the front door, and the eye-watering ammonia stench from her own makeshift grenade seared her senses even with the kerchief tied about her nose and mouth.

Most of it had been done to the house. Aside from small scrapes on her palms where she’d caught herself after losing her footing, she was unharmed. 

Rhaya, however-- 

Rhaya sat in the grass cursing. 

“Those buggering--!” 

“Don’t move,” Aurelia called. She regained her feet, coughing heavily. “Hells, but we’ve got a mess to clear out. Are you all right?”

“One of them shot me,” Rhaya answered, and now Aurelia could see the dark outline of blood soaking into the Miqo’te woman’s sleeve, just above the clutching grip about her upper arm. “If the bastards value their skins they had best stay gone!”

“Rhaya,” she coughed. “Sit still and stop thrashing about-- let me look at your wound.”

Still growling, ears flat and every hair on her tail standing on end, Rhaya’s hand fell away from her arm. Aurelia gently tugged at the torn threads of her hempen shirt, careful not to apply too much pressure. Restless tension thrummed through the smaller woman’s body, a stray current looking for an outlet. 

“Just a graze. Let me take care of it and we’ll go inside and clear out the smoke bombs and check on Vahne.”

A stiff nod. 

Aurelia gently placed her open palm over the injury, concentrated, and a steady stream of water-tinged aether flowed from her fingers. The bleeding stopped and the flesh began to knit beneath the cool glow. It wouldn’t require a bandage, she thought, although the shirt was like to be a total-

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Aurelia froze at the flat, matter-of-fact question; her chin snapped up to look into the woman’s eyes, and it was clear by the hostility in them that she would not be able to make any excuse which would satisfy. 

Rhaya knew. Somehow, she knew. 

Silence hung between them like an invisible curtain until finally the huntress let out a sound that was something between a sigh and a bitter laugh.

“I knew it,” she said. “I bloody knew it. You were playing us both for fools.”

“Rhaya-”

“You aren’t half as clever at hiding yourself as you think. I saw that bag of yours in the cellar- the one with the symbol on it that you tried to cover.” Her tail thumped angrily against the ground. “Tried to tell myself there must surely be some good reason why a conjurer from Gridania would be carrying around something like that. But it seems to me like the simplest explanation is like to be the most obvious. ‘Specially when you and him started speaking in tongues.”

She sat still, bewilderment creeping up her spine and dread twisting her stomach. 

When had she lapsed into Ilsabardian? 

“You didn’t think a couple of stupid savages would figure it out, did you?” Rhaya bared her teeth, and she saw in that moment that she’d lost all of the trust she’d gained in aiding Vahne. “When were you planning to tell us? Before or after those men nearly killed us?”

“Rhaya, please. I can explain if you would just--”

Clawed hands planted themselves in the center of her chest and shoved. Aurelia fell back, sprawling into the dirt. “Keep your filthy hands off me.”

Unable to think of anything to say in her defense, or to bear the censure and fury in the other woman’s eyes any longer, her head bowed and her gaze fell to the ground. The Miqo’te wasted no time in standing up, brushing the soil off her legs as she did so, tail still lashing from side to side. Her utter contempt settled like an invisible weight on Aurelia’s shoulders.

“When he’s able to leave that cellar,” she said, her words tight and clipped, “I want your bags packed and I want you gone. And I had best never see you anywhere near my lands or my niece ever again. Or you’ll see exactly where my mercy for your kind begins and ends. Garlean.”

Rhaya spat the word out of her mouth as if it were something that tasted foul. 

The huntress stomped back towards her cabin. Aurelia didn’t watch her go. She listened to the receding footsteps and slamming door, swallowed back the sudden tide of frustrated tears that threatened, and stared up at the stars’ cold fire until the urge to shed them had passed.

==

The stew had gone cold. Vahne passed it silently to her while she dried her cleaned hands on a piece of spare hempen weave and the pair listened to the dull grinding roll of the spent smoke bomb as it went over the threshold and out the front door. The girl looked unhappy and quite subdued, her eyes averted from Aurelia’s - clearly Rhaya had spoken to her when she’d told her it was safe to come out.

“How does he fare?” 

As ever, it was easier to simply concentrate on matters of work for the time being. She’d deal with her own emotions later.

“He’s awake,” Vahne whispered. “What happened? Auntie says I’m not to talk to you.”

“I thought as much.” Aurelia patted the girl’s shoulder with her free hand. “Go help her clean up the glass. She doesn’t… that is, I need some words with our friend either way.”

“Is there aught I can do? I can talk to her if-”

“Don’t place yourself in the middle of this, Vahne, love. Please. Your aunt and I had an argument, that’s all you need to know for now.”

Vahne worried at her lower lip with her teeth but stepped beyond the partition into the common room, and in a few more moments Aurelia heard the sounds of a broom sweeping up glass. The stew was hearty but she barely tasted any of it. Her emotions felt like the bottom of an old jar, scraped out for its contents and left to molder.

Except for her anger, of course. That was still in fine working order.

She stared at the closed trapdoor and shook her head and reached for the ladle and a spare bowl. Tea would have to wait. 

Aurelia had half-thought she might have to rouse her patient but she did not. Sewell was awake, watching her descend the ladder with a bowl in one hand. He still looked weak - his cheeks bore a faint flush and the rest of him was pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - but his eyes were clear and alert and tracked over her face as she sat down on the stool at what accounted for his bedside. He was well out of danger, she thought, and there was little doubt now that he would make a full recovery.

The spoon and bowl rattled on the crate as she set them down without ceremony.

“I’ve brought your dinner,” she said, unable to keep the tight, clipped coldness out of her voice. “Tea will have to wait until I’ve changed your dressings. Eat.”

He said nothing, but picked up the bowl with his good hand; Aurelia could hear the slow-paced clink of the spoon as she reached for her bag. 

She dragged her burden from the foot of the pallet to the close side of the crate she'd been using as a makeshift side table and started to remove tools, one by one. The piece of cloth she had wrapped hastily about the strap back in Gridania had fallen away - the knots must have loosened over time with use and exposure to the elements, she thought. Not that it mattered now. Rhaya knew what she was, and presumably so now did Vahne.

The scarlet-and-ivory tripartite links winked in the dim light, mocking her. 

No matter how far you travel, no matter how much you might try to deny us, they said, you will carry us with you to the ends of the star, and beyond it.

Every time she thought she’d passed that obstacle, the black anxiety of being set adrift and rudderless in a foreign land, every time she thought she’d found friends and a place to set her feet- it came back to haunt her again. Always.

And it was always, always, down to this.

After all, you cannot outrun your own blood.

Her jaw set. She neither needed nor wanted the reminder.

She set out the bowl and ran fresh water into it, and by the time she had found the antiseptic salve she’d sought, she heard him set his bowl of stew aside. It was only half finished.

“My arm pains me still,” Sewell admitted at the questioning tilt of her chin. “It will be some time, I think, before I am able to eat at the same pace.”

“Once I’m done I’ll help you.” Aurelia reached for her shears and leaned forward to examine the bandaging. She held aloft the shears, adjusting by eye until the old linens lay betwixt the blades, and slowly and carefully began to cut. “You’ll need to finish your meals to regain your strength. The sooner you do, the sooner you can leave.”

“...You seem vexed with me.”

She didn’t bother to look at him. “I am.”

“Why? What have I-”

“Don’t you dare finish that question,” she stripped away the soiled fabric as swiftly as she dared and dipped one of her instruments into the jar to spread over the exposed area, still in the process of healing, “You know precisely what you did.”

“If you’re talking about that commotion outside tonight, I warned them not to take me in. They were under no obligation-”

Aurelia tossed the depressor to the top of the crate where it rattled against the bowl alongside her shears. Sewell started at the sound, then let out a strangled yelp when she grabbed a handful of his undershirt and hauled him into an upright sitting position. She did not stop until his face was mere ilms from her own, her cheeks flushed not with fever but with righteous fury.

“Look at me,” she snarled. “Look me in the eyes, you craven, and tell me you bear no responsibility for what has happened this night.”

“I warned them not to do it!”

She shook him hard enough that it jostled his hurts, and he choked out an alarmed groan. “Upstairs are two people who did you a kindness and they nearly lost their lives for it. You could at least have the bare decency to appreciate the risk that they’ve taken for your sake!”

“I do appreciate it! What sort of opportunist do you take me for?”

“Your cowardice does not affect only you!”

“What do you-”

Aurelia shoved him angrily back against the pallet, ran the fingers of her left hand beneath the borders of her blonde fringe, and raked the handful of golden strands back to her hairline. The man’s eyes went huge and his jaw slack at the sight of her third eye, laid bare.

“Oh hells,” he said weakly. “Oh hells.”

Her throat felt tight again and her eyes burned, but she managed this time to keep her voice steady, fueled entirely by her rage given an immediate outlet. “I’ve seen retrieval squads before, Master Sewell. I served in the VIIth Imperial Legion under Nael van Darnus, and if you know aught of the White Raven’s reputation then you know we had our share of deserters and defectors. All of whom were dealt with severely.”

“Then you know the penalty for desertion is death,” he muttered.

“Yes. I do. I helped Mistress Wolndara to drive them off, but it was a temporary measure. If we remain here she and her niece will be placed in unacceptable danger. Those soldiers will return in short order, with wheat-counters to reinforce their numbers.” Aurelia dropped her hand and let her mussed hair fall back into place. Her anger had faded to something manageable, though her gaze upon him remained icy. “And I suspect they will not only have come for you.”

Sewell stared at her, still deathly pale, still frightened and astonished--- but shame had begun to creep into his eyes as well. She sighed.

“You have naught to fear from me,” she said. “But the very least you owe your hostess is an honest explanation as to why she has risked her home and her life. Tell me everything that happened up until you came here.”

His eyes fell shut and his expression twisted in something very like pain.

“You asked me before,” he began, “who Imanie was.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I had best start from the beginning.” He plucked listlessly at a stray thread on his coverlet. “Imanie was my best friend from the village where we grew up - Ala Ghasti. You’ll not have heard of it - and when we were of a goodly age, or good enough for the Empire to see us as grown, we were drafted along with a number of our mates. Most of them were sent off to other lands. Imanie and me were the only two who ended up in the viceroy’s legion. We all had linkpearls and the like, of course, and we had each other’s shells, but we fell out of touch. 

“Well, about a moon ago, I got a message from Imanie. Couldn’t make nothing out of it - bad connection, I thought. Static bursts and the lot, but I didn’t think much about it. Communications have been more difficult through anything that isn’t official army channels ever since the moon fell. But she said she was going to be in Ala Mhigo in a fortnight’s time and she wanted to meet me. I thought she was allowed leave and wanted to catch up, so of course I agreed to it.”

“I take it things did not go as planned.”

“Not so much, no.” Sewell allowed himself a quick, humorless smile, one that ended in a grimace as Aurelia pulled the bandage taut and began to roll it in place. “She looked bloody awful when I saw her. Haunted. Like she’d seen things no one ought to see. Told me she had something important she’d come across. She wasn’t making much sense, though- kept repeating the same thing over and over. Something about a flower.“

“A flower?”

“Aye. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.” His brow knitted in a deep frown. “...She kept calling whatever it was--- aye, I recall now. She kept saying ‘black rose.’ But there ain’t no such thing as a black rose, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware. One would have to engineer a flower of that color, and I doubt very much the Empire is interested in horticulture.” Aurelia's fingertips tapped against the edge of the crate in thought. “...Perhaps she was speaking in some kind of code. A phrase to denote some classified project or other? You said yourself she worked in research and development.”

“Maybe. Don't suppose it matters now. She wanted me to come out to the lab with her and…” Sewell hesitated. “This bit’s where everything went tits up.”

“I’m listening.”

“It wasn’t far away, the place where she was stationed.  I recall thinking it strange that there wasn’t hardly anyone about when we arrived. Couldn’t be they’d all gone on leave, but Imanie didn’t want me to wait outside. Said it’d be too suspicious. So she uses her pass card to get me inside the gate and through the facility doors, and then we get to the lab. 

“Imanie says ‘wait here’ and comes back out with what looked like a wee tomestone on a chain about her neck. She hides it under her shirt gives me that look again- the one like she’d peered into a hole and seen all the seven hells stare back- and says ‘Let’s go.’ We got as far as the gate, and there were-” 

Aurelia paused as he took a long, shaking breath. 

“There were armed men, in full battle armor, blocking the way out. They says, ‘Hand it over.’ She says ‘Hand what over?’ and they says ‘The information you stole.’ They knew she was going to take whatever it was she took-- they’d laid a trap for her. There’s no tomestone any longer, because it was destroyed when they opened fire on her. Shot her down in the road like a godsdamned rabid animal. I guess as long as there wasn’t anything to take back to anyone like she wanted, her secret dyin’ with her was just fine by them too.” 

He stared into space. Grief and pain etched deep lines into his face, and though he was only a scant handful of years her senior, he appeared in that moment old and haggard. 

“Whatever it was they were doing in that place, it must have been bad. Bad.”

She could hardly belabor that, speculation or not. After all that she’d seen for herself at Castrum Novum, Aurelia had no doubt that he was right.  

“How did you escape?”

“I bolted for the gate while they were... occupied. They weren’t off their guard long; I felt a couple of shots whip right past me before I was able to get on the chocobo and get out of range.” Sewell swiped at the tears trickling down his beard-scruffed cheeks with his good hand. “I didn’t know where else to go so I made for the Twelveswood. I knew they’d kill me if they caught me, and they’d certainly kill me if I went back to Ala Mhigo.”

“They would have,” she said simply. “You were fortunate.”

“Aye… I traded the chocobo to one of the bandits smuggling folk across in exchange for passage. Most of ‘em were headed for Gridania but that road passes too close to the Oriens garrison, so I went with the caravan long enough to make it through before heading south. I guess I hoped maybe it would take them longer to find me than it did.”

She set down the last of her gear, dipped her soiled hands in the water to clean them, and gave him a long and steady look. “You didn’t, by any chance,” she said, “venture near a village on your way out here, did you?”

“Don’t rightly know, my lady. I might have. Truth be told, I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going. I was just running. I kept seeing my best friend, the girl I’d known since we were children, cut down by gunblade fire. Blood everywhere. Her head--” 

The hands that lay on the bedding began to tremble. 

“...I knew I’d deserted my post and I knew the penalty, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Imanie. How she’d wanted me to live. So I ran. I knew they’d find me eventually. And on the third day out, about a sennight ago, they did.

“There’s a man in Castrum Oriens they call ‘the Crow,’ and a more ruthless scoundrel isn’t to be found in the entirety of the XIVth Legion, they say-- save, mayhap, the man to whom he answers. But he’s the one who sends out the retrieval squads. And they might fetch you back to the castrum to face a courts-martial - if you’re one of the lucky ones. They ain’t above killing their targets, as you’ve seen.”

“No. No, they’re not.”

“And they’ve more reason to see me hang than most. When they caught up with me on the other side of that creek-- I still had my lance. One of them was blocking my way out, and when he wouldn’t move, I put the business end through his chest and ran.”

“You killed a frumentarius?” 

“Not on purpose. I wager I only managed to escape because they thought I’d surrender rather than run from them. They started shooting at me once the shock passed. I thought for sure I was a dead man. One struck true, the other three went wild. It hurt like anything, but I was worried if they had even the slightest notion where I was and a good clean shot to take, that would’ve been the end of me. I managed to get across the creek and spent the rest of the night wandering through the forest. Finally stopped under a tree to catch back a second wind, and next thing I knew I was lying on a pallet inside this good lady’s root cellar. She tried her best to patch up what she could, but then the wound started going bad…”

“And so that’s where I came in.”

“Aye. ‘Tis obvious they were able to track me here.” He reached for the bowl again, fixing her with a pleading stare. “I know you’re angry, my lady, and you’ve every right to be. But you have my thanks, anyroad, for keeping me alive long enough to tell me what a coward I am.”

She stared at him for a long moment and picked up the spoon she’d slammed onto the crate. 

“Pray accept my apology for calling you a craven,” she said. “I was angry, but that was unkind of me.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.”

“I’m not anyone’s lady. My name is Aurelia - just ‘Aurelia,’ if it please you. I’ve little reason to use my family name these days and even less use for a rank or a title.”

He opened his mouth and she spooned stew into it. After a moment of chewing, he asked, “And what’s a lass like you doing in the middle of the woods patching up deserters?”

“I was but one of many who were taken prisoner at Carteneau, in the aftermath of the eikon attack.”

His eyes flared with astonishment. “You saw the moon fall?”

“I don’t recall much of it,” Aurelia lied, “but after everything that Legatus van Darnus had wrought upon this realm, the Eorzeans were out for blood. They were like to make an example of me by letting me swing from some gibbet or other, did I not acquiesce to their demands to formally defect. As part of that bargain, I relinquished my rank, and...”

“And?”

“Suffice to say my presence here is not what one would call welcome, but I certainly can no longer return to Garlemald even if I wished it. It’s not important, I suppose.” The naked sympathy in his eyes made her feel uncomfortable so she quickly changed the subject. “...What is of paramount importance is getting you back on your feet so we can get you up that ladder and out of this house before the retrieval squadron comes back. I judge you’ll be fit to travel again in a day or two, as fast as you’re mending.”

“But there’s nowhere for me to go either.”

“I know where we can start. I’ve a very clever partner, and I promise you that between the three of us we’ll come up with some sort of plan.” She patted him on the hand and lifted another spoonful of venison and gravy. “Now open up.”

~*~

Their departure from the Wolndara homestead three days later was without preamble. Rhaya’s reception remained chilly, though she was somewhat warmer towards Sewell, and she would not pass a moment in the root cellar while Aurelia was there - which was just as well, for Aurelia’s unease never once lessened each time she set foot on the ladder. She passed the time helping with makeshift repairs of the windows, and tried to let nothing of her regret show each time Vahne shot her a sad and questioning stare. 

Thus it was with surprise when, on a cool and foggy morning, Vahne led them out to the small chocobo paddock at the edge of the property. Two modestly sized sacks of goods sat at the gate, alongside a large and placid-looking bird.

“Aunt Rhaya’s payment,” she said simply, “for your aid. I’ll come with you as far as the ruins and take him back with me, but she says Master Sewell is in no condition to go so far on foot.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said. Vahne’s eyes didn’t lose their mournful cast, but now was not the time to discuss it. She adjusted the strap on her bag, and the new linen covering she’d placed over the imperial seal. “Master Sewell, you go first. I’ll ride behind.”

With some effort they were able to get him astride the bird, and Aurelia clambered up behind him with her arms about his waist. Vahne patted a handful of fluffy yellow feathers, then took the reins in hand, and the three were off.

The journey was slow and careful and tedious even on chocoback. It was late afternoon by the time they reached the ruins where Aurelia and Vahne had first met. They lay still and silent now, save for the wind rustling in ivy creepers and tall stands of belladonna, and she thought to herself how strange it was that so much seemed to have happened in such a very, very short amount of time. It had been all of a sennight since she had met Vahne Wolndara, and it felt as though it had been months. 

She sighed aloud as Vahne clicked her tongue at their mount and pulled him to a stop. The girl continued to watch with that sadness in her eyes as the pair dismounted and began to collect their things before she finally mustered the wherewithal to speak.

“Miss Aurelia?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about… what happened.” 

“So am I.”

She could tell by the uneasy way the girl kept shifting her weight from foot to foot that something else was bothering her, and it was only moments before the truth came pouring forth, like a flood gate that had been released.

“I keep asking why she’s so cross with you,” Vahne blurted out. “She won’t talk about it. She just says you’re not welcome back and that’s the end, and I shouldn’t keep asking her so many questions when there’s work to be done.” 

Aurelia said nothing. Vahne chewed on her lip, staring down at the ground before lifting her chin so that her gaze met the Garlean’s. “You aren’t going to tell me either, are you?”

“I’m afraid not, darling.”

“Why?”

“Your aunt’s disagreement with me is not something you would be able to set to rights. And-” Aurelia put her hands on those small shoulders and squeezed. “...Vahne, you are going to be grown one day. You will have to learn how to make judgments about people independent of your aunt’s opinions. This is a very large star, and there are many, many people on it. And you will meet good and bad in the course of your life.”

“I won’t meet that many. Unless I leave the forest. And… and I don’t know if that’s what I want. Not yet.”

“Of course you don’t have to leave the forest if you don’t want to do that. But I think you will be a great woman no matter what you decide to do, or where you go in life.”

Wiry little arms wrapped about her waist. She gently combed back the wild hair between the girl’s flickering ears with her fingers. 

“I don’t want you to go back,” Vahne sniffled. “I never had so much fun washing clothes.”

Aurelia laughed. “You were a very good teacher,” she said. “And I am quite certain I shall be in need of further instruction.”

“...Can I still come visit you sometimes? If that’s all right?”

“Of course, Vahne. I would be happy to have you.”

“And the villagers won’t mind?”

“Goody Miller certainly won’t. Some few might, but I think given time and familiarity they’ll come around just fine.” 

Vahne stepped back, swiping furtively at her eyes. They were still red-rimmed, but no longer wet. She took the chocobo’s reins, set one small foot in the stirrup, and leveraged her weight onto the beast’s wide back. Aurelia’s brows arched into the fabric of her head covering.

“You’re going to ride him back?”

“Why not? Old Fred knows the way back. We’ve had him forever- Master Buscarron gave him to her as thanks for being one of his road scouts a long time ago.” Vahne grinned. “Besides, I’ve been riding him about the fields since I was eight summers.”

“Fair enough. Be careful going home.”

“Be careful going back to the village. Those awful men might be out here.”

Aurelia only nodded. Vahne gathered the reins and hesitated, looking as if she meant to say something else but thought better of it. Instead she clicked her tongue twice against the roof of her mouth and dug her heels into the chocobo’s sides, and with a soft kweh the aging bird began to saunter back towards the direction of the road. She watched the pair go until they had disappeared into the trees once again, then looked at Sewell.

“Guess it’s you and me now,” he said.

“So it is. We’d best get going if we want to make it back before nightfall,” she said. “Follow me.”

~*~

“We must report, my lord. When you-”

Argas rem Canina barely heard his second’s suggestion, as all his concentration was fixed upon the sharp and sudden pains lancing from his side in hot spikes into his shoulder and hip with any sudden movement. It felt as though he’d been stabbed with a handful of darning needles.

“Shite and hellsfire!” the pilus prior swore, sputtering out the mouthful of merlot he’d just taken. It spilled down his chin and the front of his undershirt, staining the linen a deep violet-red. “Damn it, Salvitto, can’t you be a bit blimmin’ careful?” 

“Broken from the look of things, my lord,” Lavinia jen Savitto interrupted blandly, enduring her superior’s ire with the patient air of a mother bringing a stubborn toddler to heel. He groaned again when her fingers brushed over his bared side, winding a linen field bandage about his torso. 

“Salvitto--”

“I am taking as much care as I can, my lord.”

“Well, take more care. I’m not a godsdamned rack of lamb in some farmer’s market.” Her expression remained carefully neutral. Argas gave in with an exasperated sigh. “And I can’t very well lie here like a gormless lump when there’s work to be done. Can they not be set?”

“By the look of the injury there is little to be done save wrap them and otherwise leave them to heal, my lord. I’ve alchemics that will speed the process, of course, but I must strongly advise you against strenuous activity for a sennight.” At his derisive scoff, she added: “The bones will need that much time to knit.”

He waved an impatient hand. 

“Get on with it, then.” Argas watched the medicus excuse herself before he turned his scowl upon his second. “And what has Lord Fabian to say?”

“He asks that you contact him with your report.”

“What report? There’s nothing yet to report.”

"Nothing at all," Phoebus said drily, “save the entire operation was undone by two women and a jar of antelope piss, you're injured, Caelius quo Merula's got an arrow in his gut, and Blackthorne was most likely able to escape with-”

“I am doing my bloody best,” Argas snarled, “to capture a criminal while deep in enemy territory with minimal resources. If you or his lordship believe you can do better, then I invite you to try.” 

Something ugly flashed through Phoebus pyr Cinna’s eyes - the belly of a trout surfacing for just the barest second - before it was submerged once again beneath a layer of ice.

“Be that as it may, the tribunus militum is still expecting a report, and we must needs have one ready for his review.” Phoebus’ voice dropped in volume so that only his superior could hear. “You know how the Crow is when he receives bad news.”

Argas set the cup on the side table with a clumsy clatter and dragged himself upright despite the pain it caused him. Wheezing, he spat out, “The transceiver is in my belt pouch.”

“My lord?”

“Bring it here. I might as well get this done and over with.”

“Of course.”

Despite his air of annoyed impatience, he knew the queasy and unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach was due to anxiety, not pain or irritation. He stared down at the module Phoebus had deposited in his hand, then snapped, “Go and close the door behind you. Let Salvitto know I am meeting with Lord Fabian first.”

His second snapped a perfunctory salute and quit the small room. 

Argas watched him go, eyes narrowed. There were words he needed to have with Cinna- but that could come later. Girding himself with what courage he could find, he thumbed the switch that would patch him through directly to Fabian rem Corbinus’ personal line.

Five minutes, a burst of static, and an indeterminable number of dial tones later, a gruff voice crackled across the transceiver. “Who is this?”

“Argas rem Canina, my lord.”

“Mm.” A pause. “I see you’ve received my message.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Cinna tells me your team discovered the whereabouts of the traitor Sewell oen Blackthorne. By chance were you able to capture him alive?”

He hesitated.

“Well?”

“No, my lord. There were... unforeseen complications and oen Blackthorne is still at large.” At the lack of response, he continued, “We tracked him to the location of a safe house not far from the town of Quarrymill, but we were met with resistance and myself and one of my men were injured. As we realized that we faced an unknown number of enemies and had no reinforcements with which to subdue them, it was my opinion that we stood to lose additional personnel-”

“Then you retreated.”

“I… yes, my lord.”

“You had all the resources that you requested, including two tracking experts at your disposal, and you could not capture one criminal. One unarmed savage.”

He swallowed and wiped his sweating palms on the coverlet. "With all due respect, my lord, you don't understand. This circumstance is extraordinary; we did not expect to fi-"

"Methinks it is you who lacks understanding. I have no interest in excuses." The tribunus militum’s barked words, as biting as they were precise, halted Argas mid-sentence. "You have been tasked with retrieving the blackguard by any means necessary. Pray tend to those orders with due diligence, lest I am given further cause to reconsider the calibre of those under my command."

"Requesting permission to speak, my lord," he began.

"Permission granted."

"We have good reason to believe the local population within this region of the Black Shroud has granted succor to at least one other defector. A Garlean woman." Once again there was no response forthcoming, although he knew the man was listening behind the small bursts of static that marked aetheric interference. "My lord, the Empire cannot be thought to fear a handful of unarmed savages living amongst the trees. There are consequences for harboring imperial fugitives in defiance of the law, but without tangible support we cannot-"

"Yes, yes, I’m aware. You needn't quote the officers' handbook at me, pilus.”

“Yes, my lord. I apologize.” 

“On the other hand, I suppose it would be rather unseemly of us to leave this woman you mention to run about the area unchecked.” Fabian rem Corbinus sighed. “Very well. You have authorization to request what additional resources and personnel you may need, and further to take whatever measures you deem necessary for her arrest. I will draft the paperwork so that the praefectus at Oriens knows all is in order-"

"Thank you, my lord."

"-but do not forget that the primary objective is to neutralize Blackthorne. If you find the woman, take her into custody by all means... but I want his head.”

“Yes, my lord. I won't forget-” 

"It will be your head if you fail,” the tribunus militum interrupted, the words flat and matter-of-fact. “Do I make myself clear?"

Argas rem Canina swallowed with a soft but audible click in his throat. "As glass, my lord," he said.

"Excellent. I’m so glad we understand each other. Feel free to return to the castrum for your reinforcements.”

“You have my thanks, my lord,” Argas said, relieved--but that relief was short-lived: 

“As you are injured, Phoebus pyr Cinna as your second has my express authorization to obtain information upon the deserters’ whereabouts in your stead until your recovery is deemed complete."

His stomach clenched unpleasantly. “My lord, I don’t think that--”

“Are you questioning my orders, Canina?”

“...Not at all, my lord, of course not-”

“Good. I expect a timely postmortem report.”

Before Argas could protest further, the connection had lapsed into hollow static.

[ellstersmash]

Three: Sixteen

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU)

Rating: overall E for Explicit | this chapter T for Teen

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--

Athi moves the rearview mirror a fraction of an inch. Returns it to its original position, then back. Tough to tell if her discomfort is due to a misjudged angle or the fact that it’s been more than a year since she’s driven anything other than her bike. Not as if she could have let him drive, though. Not in his current state.

“Take this to Saelac,” Solas murmurs. 

He has his eyes shut, but his thumb is still softly stroking hers the way it has been since she pulled onto the freeway. She expected him to pass out right away, but then this city’s policy on roadwork seems to be: Not if we can help it. Every street is scarred with what must be two decades’ worth of springtime patches, and if he couldn’t sleep through a little bit of air turbulence, he sure won’t manage it here.

“How was your week?” he asks, words quiet and slurring together. Enunciation is hard work.

So she tells him about the bar. About the missing, well, everything, and the cleaning list, and Tali’s prediction that Seggrit will be getting more involved with the day-to-day operations, and how for all that she gripes about it, his absence is what makes her job mostly tolerable. Solas nods where more or less appropriate, sometimes smiling sleepily at her tale from the passenger seat.

She tells him about the houseplant she bought. Remembers she forgot to water it today. Yesterday, too. Fuck.

And she tells him about Sera. About their argument and Dagna moving in, and how odd that will be. How sudden it all is, and maybe destined to be a disaster but worth a try, right? She gets the sudden urge to retreat. Three steps at least away from this talk of people moving in together, of possible futures that they’re far too brand new to traverse, even in conversation, even unrelated to either of them entirely. And maybe he feels it too, because he perks up only to fixate on the rally. Asks her when and where and what's it for and who's in charge and whether or not they got a permit and has the audacity to frown when she admits she won’t be there.

"How unfortunate," he says.

Athi groans."Not you, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Sera already gave me shit about it, so if that's your angle I don't want to hear it."

"I did not intend to ‘give you shit,’ no. I was hoping to invite myself along."

"Really?"

"Yes, it is a worthy cause. I had no idea Sera was such an advocate for social reform."

“Then you don’t know her very well.”

“Clearly I have misjudged her.”

“Why are you interested?”

“Why would I not be?”

She tries not to twist that into an accusation. "You just don't strike me as that kind of guy."

"The kind who cares, or the kind who takes action?"

Eyes on the road, it’s impossible to tell if he’s as offended as he sounds. She shrugs. "Both? Seems like you'd rather dig up the past than fix the future."

“Perhaps you have misjudged me, for I do not see the two as mutually exclusive. Take this next exit, then left at the light.”

The change in subject is a welcome one, but she needs her hand to downshift. Squeezes his before she lets go. Not an apology, not for that, but a no hard feelings. His house is only a few blocks away from here, but that’s as much as she remembers because the streets in this section are laid out in a grid and the corners are basically identical.

“Third one down, take a right.”

The yellow house with the overgrown garden jogs her memory. The plants are sad and brittle and dying now and the last time she passed it was early spring, so the perennials had not yet bloomed and the rest was only partially planted. But it must be a sight to behold in the throes of summer. The colorful pinwheels and kitschy glass butterflies sticking up from the withering stalks imply a love of whimsy, and there’s a small white bench surrounded by unlit lanterns under a nearby tree. She hopes she gets to sit there one day. Hopes the neighbors are friendly.

He has her park in his driveway, nose to the garage and she wonders if he’s filled it with more piles and boxes of dusty books or if he just doesn’t want to bother with the door.

Solas points out the house key for her, then grabs his luggage. Once she realizes the lock is upside-down and gets it open, she flicks the front hall lights on and it’s jarring. The house has that hush which places sometimes get after a prolonged vacancy—an absence of sound to soak up and spit out, and the jingle of his keys in her hand and the scrape of his suitcase on the doorframe are too loud. Like it forgot it was ever lived in. 

But nothing else has changed. Not the clutter in the office. Not the cobweb high in the corner. Not even the slight skew of the painting hanging in the living room. Maybe if they’d made these plans before he had left, he’d have tidied up . . . or maybe not. She doesn’t know him well enough to guess.

“If you do not mind, I have been looking forward to a shower all day,” he says and leans his bag against the wall. Starts down the hall toward the kitchen, then stops so abruptly she nearly runs into him.

“I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, half epiphany, half confession.

Athi threads her arms around him, pleased to discover the tension between them is gone. “I’m very aware.”

His gaze rests on her lips and he blinks slow, as if the effort to open them again is monumental. When he lowers his face to kiss her it is terribly gentle and maybe it’s not on purpose. Maybe it’s just because he’s tired, but it makes her melt. 

Without a reason not to, her hands wander. Slide over the row of tiny gray buttons on his shirt, push the boundaries of his collar. They graze along his throat and through the short dark hair on his scalp, barely there but for the way it catches on her fingerprints. She presses closer before they part, her dazed and him borderline delirious.

“Ok, go shower,” she urges him. “And don’t doze off in there. I’ll have to make fun of you.”

“After that? It is unlikely I’ll be able to sleep at all.” But his dopey grin belies the truth. “Though if you are concerned for my well-being, you are more than welcome to join me.”

Gods, she never sees it coming. He slides straight from stumbling and sleep-deprived to smooth insinuation like it’s his default setting and she wants to say yes. But she knows better. 

“See, that sounds sexy right up until you’re trying to get to sleep with my hair dripping cold water all over the both of us. Besides, I have some snooping to do.” Teasing, of course. She doesn’t care where he keeps his linens or what lies hidden under his socks.

“By all means, peek anywhere you like. Except the attic, which is strictly off-limits.”

Her eyes light up. “Why, what’s in the attic?”

But he only laughs and heads up the stairs. Pauses halfway up and calls down, “Do you need anything?”

Right on cue.

“I’m good,” she assures him. “Go.”

A sharp squeak is followed by the rush of water through old pipes as she skims the shit on his refrigerator. A coupon for an oil change and receipt from an art supply store. Nothing interesting in the least. His magnets are a confused but equally unenlightening collection of local restaurants’ takeout info and unused metal clips.

A few books sit on the island. Sundered: The Scientific Renaissance of Post-Veil Thedas; The Fade: Fact or Fiction?; and An Exhaustive Documentation of Suspected Elvhen Artifacts Destroyed in the Divine Age. She lifts the cover of the top one, flips pages until she comes to a black business card serving as a makeshift bookmark, scans a few lines:

After their own dark period, the Qunari appear to have focused their collective efforts toward adjusting to these new laws of nature. Extensive, detailed records show rapid technological advancement through experimentation and invention, much of which laid the foundation for generations’ worth of progress. Indeed, many modern conveniences can be traced back to their early successes.

Not exactly light reading. Though pretty typical for him, she suspects. What unsettles her is not the books or the boring refrigerator door. It’s the fact that in all of these rooms—the entryway, the study, the kitchen, the living room—all these living spaces, there are no pictures. Not of anyone. His home is steeped in history, but not his own. She's good at being alone, but at least when she inevitably uproots she takes the memories with her. He has nothing. No drawer full of snapshots to match hers, like some sort of trail to prove his existence.

Maybe they’re just very different people. Maybe he doesn’t feel the need to prove anything. Maybe he isn’t the type to take pictures. Or to keep them. Maybe his memories are painful. Maybe they were lost in some tragic accident that hasn’t come up in conversation yet.

Or maybe she’s reading into stuff she shouldn’t be. Again.

At the top of the stairs are two doors and two doorways. Bathroom’s straight ahead, shower still running. Next to that is a closed door, presumably the attic. The leftmost room is closed as well, but unlocked; there's nothing inside but a few file cabinets. The door to the right hangs open, revealing another bedroom. It is small and tidy with minimal furniture: a dresser and a full-length mirror, and a large bed flush with the corner, the thick crimson comforter slightly rumpled near the pillows on one side as if slept in, then hastily remade. A singular nightstand bears a simple swing-arm lamp.

She hunts through his dresser until she finds his T-shirts. Picks a white one with a logo on it from the middle, between freshly-washed and never-been-used. Not beloved—in case he cares—but not the crisp got-it-for-free-and-couldn’t-throw-it-out kind either. Sheds her clothes that smell like beer and citrus and bitters, all but her underwear and leaves them folded neatly on top of the dresser. Then she pulls on his shirt and knocks on the bathroom door frame.

“It’s open,” he yells, and she rolls her eyes. “Extra toothbrushes are in the lower right drawer, and the toothpaste is behind the mirror.”

“Uh huh,” she answers, but is beginning to regret turning down his offer. The shower curtain is nothing but a clear liner and with no door to keep it in, the steam does blessedly little to conceal his form. There’s still time; for more than a moment she contemplates stripping back down and slipping in, but then he shuts off the water and stretches a dripping arm out for his towel so she goes for the toothbrush instead.

By the time he emerges with that same towel wrapped around his hips, she’s finished and gives his reflection an appreciative glance.

He returns it and tugs on her sleeve. “The Lothering Museum of History will be thrilled to have your endorsement.”

“Why am I not surprised that you don’t have a real shower curtain?”

“This curtain is perfectly sufficient.”

“Hey.” Athi raises her hands and follows him into the bedroom. “Not complaining.”

She also doesn’t complain about the precious seconds between him losing the towel and gaining a pair of pajama pants. He’s fit. Cut, not bulky. Studying old stuff and reading books and attending conferences can’t possibly be a direct line to muscle definition and she wonders what he does to work out. If they could do it together. He doesn’t strike her as a runner, but he might enjoy climbing.

Solas interrupts her plans with a brief kiss, trades the overhead light for the bedside one. Four in the morning is hardly late by her standards, but she can tell as his head hits the pillow that he feels it. He tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles, sleepy and sideways.

“Thank you for coming over.”

Athi turns her head and kisses his fingers and whispers, “Thank you for getting naked.”

She’ll be the funny one forever if it means his nose will always crinkle like that.

“I am sorry that I am not—”

“No.” She presses a thumb to his lips to cut short his apology. “That’s not what I’m here for. Really enjoyed the view, though.”

His face is shadowed by the same light shining in her eyes, but the expression he wears is warm. He hits the switch and the room goes dark. She scoots in closer. Tangles their legs. Wriggles until she’s comfortable. It doesn’t take long, like a sign, or a nod from the universe.

We just fit.

Solas is asleep before she’s even ready to try. There are freckles scattered across his shoulders, constellations to trace while she waits. Tries to match his languid breathing. Thinks about where his pictures went. Almost there, then hits the last and loudest stop on her train of thought’s meandering track, and she’s jolted awake.

The bookmark. The business card. The cleaning and packing up. The answer has been stuffed into the back pocket of her least-favorite jeans for weeks.

Seggrit is selling the fucking bar.

--

She wakes up alone. Sprawled out in sheets that smell like him but without the him they belong to. Adjusting, she stares into the middle distance and listens to a faraway set of sounds—the fridge opens, then shuts, the clink of dishes and creak of the floor.

Seggrit is selling the bar. She has no idea what to do with that news except to tell Tali, have her check the books to confirm. They’ve been behind by at least a month for as long as Athi’s worked there, usually more, and if he’s really going to get rid of the place he’ll have had to catch up.

She rolls out of bed, digs her toes into the carpet. It could be nine or noon or later for all she knows. The sun here is strange, and there’s no clock in this room to tell her so she goes searching for one downstairs.

A mosaic-faced antique by the sliding door claims it’s noon.

“Good morning,” Solas says from the kitchen.

She mumbles something resembling words. Seven more steps and she hugs him from behind and they fit so well and his heart is beating fast and he stops whisking eggs to stand there with her all quiet and it’s not morning anymore and he should have stayed in bed and she needs to text Tali and—

“I want coffee,” she whines. Doesn’t mean to whine, but there it is. What if he doesn’t have any? What if he’s one of those people that doesn’t keep coffee in their house?

She might cry.

“There is a bag in the cupboard at the end there, next to the mugs. I was going to make it for you, but—”

“Say no more.”

Gods, she’s glad he didn’t. No one makes it strong enough, and he’s too cute to disappoint so she would have had to drink it anyway. Pretend that pisswater was fine.

Cupboard on the end, right where he said. She slides it off the shelf and can’t help but flutter as she examines the packaging. It’s the same as the ones she bought—or tried to buy then he bought for her—at the coffee shop last year. Or maybe he just asked for “something strong” at the shop and this happened to be what they gave him, but regardless, he thought of her and that feels good all on its own. Her butterflies settle as she opens the bag, breathes in deep. Pours a generous pile into a fresh filter and fills the reservoir with water.

“Roast date on this is yesterday. Did you really leave me sleeping alone in your house?” she teases and pushes the button to start the brew cycle. “What if I had woken up and you were gone?”

“I did consider that possibility, but weighed against the certainty of the alternative, it seemed the wisest course of action.” He arches an eyebrow. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” Athi revisits the cupboard to shuffle through his assortment of mismatched mugs. “And thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She selects one of the mugs, a pleasantly rounded stoneware dip-painted in orange and teal and gray. Her unofficial favorite. There is a newspaper, folded twice, laying on the counter between a plate covered in foil and two clean ones. Solas is reading rather than cooking. Maybe he’s fine with rubbery eggs, but she’s not so she leaves her mug to watch the coffee brew, plucks the spatula from his hand, takes over.

“Seggrit’s selling the bar,” she blurts out as she gently stirs, then scoops a heaping golden spoonful onto each plate. “I think.”

To his credit, Solas looks up from the article he’s so engrossed in. “Really?”

She nods.

“How do we feel about that?”

She shrugs.

“Perhaps you should buy it,” he says and moves his plate and his paper to the island. Yanks open the silverware drawer and hands her a fork. “You wanted to put your name on something, right?”

She snorts. “Didn’t mean literally.”

They eat breakfast right there in the kitchen. Hip to hip, or as close as she can get. Sausage from under the foil and rich maple syrup and toast and almost-perfect scrambled eggs and coffee he bought and didn’t make just for her.

Not a bad morning, truth be told.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Solas asks out of nowhere.

“Hmm?”

He is watching her intently and it occurs to her that she’s been grinning at empty space this whole time.

“Oh,” she says, “it’s nothing,” but her face won’t cooperate and Solas doesn’t buy it.

“It must be quite a pleasant piece of nothing to warrant such a smile. Are you sure it’s not something?” His voice drops low and he leans closer. “Perhaps even something you want to share with me?”

“They say 'bits' here, by the way. ‘Two bits for your thoughts.’ Just so you know.”

“Fascinating.” He doesn’t even pretend to sound sincere.

Oh, she wants to be brave. She makes him work a little harder for it. Keeps it locked up tight until he says please, then she scrunches her nose up where the honesty tickles, and spills even though it’s scary.

“I just . . . it’s nice waking up with you, and”—damn her burning cheeks—“I could get used to it. That’s all.”

Meeting his eyes afterward is a rush. Risk and reward all wrapped up in one because he is beaming right back at her.

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Fuck it. Athi polishes off her coffee. Slides her plate away and faces him fully. Fills her chest with air and bravado. “So what do you want?”

He looks at her quizzically.

“Yeah, context. Before we kissed—at my place, like for real—you asked what I wanted. I said I wanted you, which, I mean, I’ve wanted you since . . . ” She wants to say since the beginning but that’s so fucking cheesy. “Gods, since the coffee shop, I think. But when I asked what I meant to you, you deflected.”

Solas pauses. His gaze drifts, then snaps back. “You are right. I apologize.”

“Also not an answer.”

A full minute, or maybe an hour, passes as he percolates. She can almost see him directing his thoughts this way and that, organizing a response that shouldn’t be this complicated while her own mind skitters from one unsavory possibility to the next. 

“Should’ve sent my questions in ahead of time,” she jokes.

A brief, self-deprecating chuckle as he folds his fingers around hers. “In all fairness, your answer to the same question was efficient, but also vague. Is it so wrong of me to consider my own more carefully?”

“Got me there.”

“I was not trying to win. This conversation is an important one, and I feel it must be approached with both candor and subtlety.”

Candor and subtlety? Athi sighs. New tactic. “Listen, did you avoid the question on purpose?” 

She takes a steady breath—

“No.”

—and lets it out. “Well then, to be honest, I was kind of hoping we could make out at some point today so . . . how about we put the heavy conversation on hold, just for now, and I return the favor and make this easy for you?”

Solas’ smile is indulgent, if a bit weary. “That would be fine.”

“Good. Ok.” She leans her chin on one hand. “Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Like, not just sleeping over and having breakfast, even though we’re obviously really good at that. The whole deal.”

He smirks. “Yes.”

“Only me?”

“Yes.”

Athi claps her hands together. “Good! Excellent response time,” she says, satisfied. Stacks their dishes while she speaks. “Anything else to add?”

“That’s it? That is all you want to know?” A mixture of relief and disappointment is plain on his face.

“Ha! Cute. No, see, I want to hear that elaborate answer of yours, I do. I want to know absolutely every single thought you’ve had about me since day one. Also why you stopped coming to the bar”—she starts counting off on her fingers—“and how long you’ve felt this way, what you and Bull get up to at your secret little club meetings, about a zillion other things . . . But as I said,” and she shrugs, “I have plans.”

“I stopped coming to the bar because I already felt this way. Not”—he gestures between them—“exactly this way, of course, but the first stirrings of it. I had been alone a long time, and it frightened me. Next question.”

“Hold on. Same question. You’ve liked me that long?”

“Yes, though I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, did not notice. If anything, I have been too demonstrative of my feelings this past year. Given the circumstances, that is.”

“Too demonstra— Seriously?” Athi is at a loss. Frozen mid-bewildered-flailing, mouth agape like he’s just grown another pair of eyes right in front of her. “Maybe I, of all people, didn’t notice because we spent all that time together and you never said shit, and then—and then!— you invited me over to ask for dating advice which kind of cancelled out any prior feelings you may have demonstrated. I mean, what the fuck?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Solas sighs heavily. “I suppose we may as well sort this out now.”

“Yeah,” she hisses. “Let’s.” She props one elbow on the counter, rests her chin on her fist. Waits for an explanation.

“Athi,” and he scratches his jaw. “I do not know exactly how you remember that conversation going, but the subject of my inquiry—the woman I mentioned meeting—was you.”

Three beats to process, then: “What!?”

He winces—fair, it was piercing—and he half-hides his face in his hands before continuing. “I was attempting to casually express my interest and it did not occur to me that you’d misunderstood my meaning until recently. At the time, I assumed that you were simply not as interested as I had allowed myself to believe and therefore left before the situation became uncomfortable.”

“Well, I did do that.”

“Then, while I was away, I became convinced that a misunderstanding was possible if not probable, so I resolved to try again once I returned.”

“Oh no . . . ” she trails off and grimaces, and Solas just nods.

Such a mess, and for no fucking reason. They stand there in a dazed silence for a while, looking at anything but each other. Finally, Athi peeks over and Solas has his head hanging low like a puppy shamed for eating from the garbage. It’s so sad and so stupid and she can’t keep from laughing. First a little, then a lot, then he’s laughing right along with her.

“So you’re telling me,” she wheezes out between giggles. “We could have been banging for no less than six months already?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She’s swept away by another wave of laughter. When it finally subsides, she’s left with aching cheeks and tears in her eyes.

“Come on,” she says and grabs his hand, squeezes it tight, pulls him toward the stairs.

“What? Where are we going?”

“To make up for lost time.”

[ks-caster]

It’s Like Watching Fanfiction – An (Un)Necessarily Long Critique of The 100 Seasons 6 and 7

Ah, the familiar cry of the content-starved fan, particularly as our favorite shows descend into the depths of mischaracterization, unexpected ships, hiatus, abrupt cancellation and shock-value death endings. I’ve said it myself about so many of my shows, while wanting to spend some time watching the characters but not wanting to re-hash episodes I’ve nearly memorized: “I wish I could just watch fanfiction!”

But the further into seasons 6 and 7 I’ve gotten, the more I’ve come to realize that my dream of having new and exciting possibilities for the characters come miraculously to a screen near me wouldn’t be the pleasant experience I’d imagined.

Now, depending on the type of ending you like – hopeful but with a lot of lose ends left to your imagination, or bittersweet but more definite, you could consider either seasons 1-4 or 1-5 their own complete stories.

Both seasons 4 and 5 ended in a way that suggested an unknown but likely positive future. They could have been considered conclusions for the main characters’ developmental arcs, and while season 5 went a little off the rails in terms of offscreen character development and sudden new characters, they both stayed fairly close to the original concept: survivors living in the ruins of the apocalypse. All four (or five) seasons emphasized the importance of the found family dynamic (although those dynamics shifted radically in season 5 due to the time-skip, they remained an important source of character motivation).

But seasons 6 and 7? Those feel like I’m watching fanfiction. And I don’t love it.

A story told on a whole new planet with a new environment, culture and cast of original characters was always going to feel like an AU – it sort of is, no matter how you swing it. If that was all that had changed, then I think the story would still feel cohesive.

If it weren’t for the timey whimey bullshit.

Now, fun fact: when reading fanfiction, I love time travel stories. I haven’t posted any myself but I’ve sought out and read them voraciously, for every fandom I’m in. I love the idea of characters meeting themselves or their friends at radically different ages, plot points and levels of experience and the way that changes things for both groups. (Yes, I’m also a Whovian if that wasn’t blatantly obvious). I also love a good amnesia arc. And I DID think that the Josephine/Clarke body possession thing was pretty cool.

So why did season 6 and most* of season 7 fall as flat for me as they did?

The simple fact is that some things – and characters’ emotional dynamics are one of those things – are so much easier to get across in writing than on screen. A good actor can make us feel the character’s emotions, but unless the film goes full-on Clarke’s mind space, we can’t really know what they’re thinking in individual moments. For the most part film as a genre has ways around this, but if it’s mishandled, then the emotional beats come off all wrong. (See for reference Tony Stark’s funeral where half the actors didn’t know what was going on due to Disney’s spoiler fears.)

If you’re going to include time skips in which things have happened and character dynamics have changed, you cannot handle it wrong.

Which brings us back to seasons 6 and (so far) 7 of The 100. So far to date we’ve had all of this occur either offscreen or asynchronously enough to be confusing to an audience watching the episodes in real time:

Jordan’s entire life prior to meeting Napkru in the waking world

Octavia’s character development while living on Skyring with the Diyozas

Hope’s first 22 years of life, on Skyring and (I presume) Bardo

Echo, Hope and Gabriel living on Skyring for 5 years with Orlando

Going back a little further, we also have the season 5 timeskip, which brought us Spacekru as found family, Clarke adopting tiny!heda, and Octavia building Wonkru. Now season 5 took care to show us Wonkru flashbacks and dedicate time to show Spacekru and the Griffin family loving on each other, making inside jokes etc. But it was still incredibly jarring for the audience in a lot of ways, because at the end of the day, we’ve spent four years with the character dynamics and development doing one thing, and no amount of telling us that they’ve had 6 years to do another thing while our time with them only lasted about one year in comparison is ever going to undo the importance of “show don’t tell.”

Let’s take Bellarkers’ beef with Becho for example. (Disclaimer: Since I don’t really have a strong opinion either way on the popular Bellamy ships, I hope that I’m representing what I’ve read from other people accurately.)

I understand cognitively that Bellamy and Clarke knew each other for one year (during which they were in a lot of intense situations that really didn’t leave them the emotional space to figure out how they felt about each other outside of “I don’t want to lose this person”) and Bellamy and Echo knew each other for seven years (six of which they had plenty of low-stress time to get to know each other, grow and mature side-by-side, etc.).

But that doesn’t compute on an emotional level when I as a watcher went straight from watching Bellamy and Raven tearfully eulogizing Clarke on the ring, to him turning up with a coffee mug and a plucky attitude to rescue her the second he finds out she’s alive and in trouble. I don’t think that could compute emotionally for me without having spent the last few years watching the dynamics shift and Becho happen. And that was with the writers giving me as a watcher an episode at the end of season 4 where Bellamy stops Echo from killing herself and connects with her on an emotional level, and then one at the beginning of season 5 where we got to see the spacekru dynamics, including them being together.

So we’re watching this show, many of us for the found family character relationships (god knows it’s not for all the positive happy feeling I get from watching *checks notes* ah, yes, characters having to constantly choose who to kill off in a string of increasingly huge and horrible genocides. *Side-eyes my life choices for getting into this fandom in the first place.*) Okay, we’re watching this show for the characters, and between seasons 4 and 5, many of those dynamics radically shift offscreen. Becho is the easiest and probably most talked-about example (well, and the Blake siblings, but the radical change shown in Octavia’s character between 4 and 5 makes that at least a little easier to choke down) but there are plenty of others, take your pick.

Although it makes perfect sense for a lot to change between separated groups of people in a half dozen years, it makes a lot less sense to an audience watching week to week, particularly when the show’s limited amount of screen time was too focused on plot to really delve into those changes and let us see and understand them. That was what made me think that the show was headed into jump the shark territory in season 5, but I really wanted to know what happened to my faves (Octavia, Raven and Memori, to be specific) so I kept watching.

Our fandom’s excellent writers spent the hiatus crafting mid-time-skip vignettes and missing character moments, and I spent the hiatus reading them. And I remember thinking that it would have been great if even a quarter of this content could have been put into the show to ease the audience into the dynamic shifts – but of course they’d never have the screen time to do all of that.

Especially, coming back to the main point, since written fiction allows the audience to see inside the characters’ heads, while television (usually) does not. It’s much easier to write a scene in which, say, two characters who have known each other for 7 years show that they’ve gotten into a relationship some time before the scene, and convince the audience that their relationship is good and healthy and genuine, than it would be to produce one for TV.  

And then we come to seasons 6 and 7 – the 2-part AU longfic, stuffed full of OCs, loosely connected to the “science” of the original show, and heavily reliant on memory-bending time travel as a plot device.

As season 6 airs, the audience hasn’t really had a chance to process all the radical changes from season 5, and already we have a Marper child running around furthering the plot, and Octavia walks into the Green Flash from Pirates of the Caribbean and walks back out with a personality transplant.

Meanwhile, Clarke gets an actual personality transplant, and it takes even the people closest to her a concerningly long time to notice. Now, if I’d read that in a fic, the writer might’ve taken care to remind me as a reader – particularly after a long hiatus between seasons – that with the exception of Madi none of Clarke’s friends have seen her for more than a couple of weeks in 6 years, so them not noticing for a while that she’s behaving strangely isn’t really all that strange. But on TV, I don’t get to see Gaia’s thoughts when Clarke lets Madi go to school despite the danger – Tati Gabrielle’s facial expressions can only do so much to make up the difference. Because the time spent apart was not (and really could not be, based on the structure of the show) properly acknowledged on screen, scenes like that one leave audiences floundering and pointing out bad writing.

Having watched 7x02 The Garden, I think if I went back and watched season 6 after Octavia returns from the Anomaly, her conduct – especially around Bellamy – would make a lot more sense. (That was the plan for this weekend actually – but my damn Wi-Fi conked out…) However at the time it just seemed weird and unnatural. Had it been the only example of off-screen or asynchronous character development, it would have been a lot easier to swallow. However, season 5 happened, meaning both that I was still getting used to all of the new dynamics and that I had a higher standard for Octavia’s off-screen development, because we got enough bunker flashbacks that I felt like I at least understood Blodreina.

What would have made the whole thing make a lot more sense a year ago would have been if the hair and makeup department had made an effort to make her look older, so that we could see time had passed for her. Now, Marie is 33 in real life, and so was the Octavia who figured out that up is down and got Davy Jones Locker to send her back ran out of the Anomaly, so yes, that is what an actual 33-year-old looks like, and the media has distorted my perception of age. But from an audience perspective, I saw an actress playing a 23-year-old go in, and the same actress playing the same 23-year-old come out.

Gabriel pointed out that her hair was longer, but that only accounted for a few months of time. Since she went in looking dirty, wounded and exhausted, and came out clean, healthy and energetic, she could have passed for younger before I would have thought she was older. (In fact, I want to say there was a theory circulating at that time that the Octavia who came out of the Anomaly was actually a younger version of herself, and she was missing memories because she’d never formed them. I don’t remember whose theory this was though. If you know or if it’s your content I’m referencing please feel free to let me know and I’ll edit!)

In addition, the shifting loyalties in Wonkru near the end of season 5 complicated the character situation – in season 6, the majority of Wonkru peeps (lookin’ at you, Miller and Indra) switched over to the commander’s side. While Indra didn’t really have enough screen time to express an opinion about Octavia, Miller was very clear in season 6 that she was anathema now – which although that was probably a semi-reasonable step for his character, it just felt like someone took his Bellamy-and-or-Clarke-following season 1-4 character and popped it into his season 6 costume without taking the time to address the road he took to get there.

Post-lockerAnomaly Octavia had to face and slay her demons. (Grumbles and links the interested reader to this POST from @osleyakomwonkru regarding that horseshit.) Afterwards, she shows a major shift in personality, particularly towards her brother. Because we as the audience wouldn’t see her time on skyring for about year in real time (or learn that she was ten years older and therefore a lot more mature, the chemical changes of which would account for at least some of the difference even if she couldn’t remember anything else) we had no choice but to associate her change with the slaying of Blodreina, which seemed like a ham-fisted way of forcing her a quick and slick redemption arc and prepping The Blake Siblings to go back to being ride-or-die for each other in season 7.

Raven’s season 6 personality was also radically different from her 1-5 development – while I understand her having a remaining beef with Clarke and being emotional due to Shaw’s death (RIP!) the fact that the writing in season 6 reduced her to the nagging shrew trope until they needed her to do a coding deus ex machina just added to the feeling that I was watching someone take the characters around, change them to their own preferences (even if that preference was to push some into the background and make them tools for the B-plot) and toss them into an AU story. Which I could have enjoyed more if I had been reading it and therefore seeing inside the characters’ heads – and if I hadn’t paid for the privilege with ad revenue instead of voluntary clicks of the kudos/like/reblog/comment buttons.

Another issue with time skip relationship is exposition for the lesser known characters’ backstories. Both seasons 6 and 7 have so far had dramatic character mother death reveals that were conveniently not told to their most important people specifically because the appropriate time to tell those stories would have been during the offscreen time skips. I will (grudgingly) accept Echo, an adult making a conscious (and familiar) decision to change up her personality to fit into and survive within her environment, choosing not to tell a traumatic story that reminds her of her past. (She’s my next meta – stay tuned!)

I will not in a million years, however, believe that the Clarke Griffin who I watched for four seasons be set up as the blatantly obvious “compassionate mom-friend protagonist” adopted a traumatized 6-year-old, moved into said child’s village, burned or buried the bodies of everyone who lived there, and never ever brought up the child’s dead birth parents.

No way. The ONLY reason that could have possibly been scripted in that way was because that conversation needed to be there for plot reasons and the appropriate time for it to have been had was during the 6 years they spent off screen. Similarly, while (again) I’ll buy that Echo chose not to talk about her mom’s death with Bellamy before he decided to be a dick about it, I fully believe that the timing of that conversation was only there because if it had occurred on the ring where it would have been more appropriate, the audience would have missed it.

Now, picture this: if the scene with Madi had been in a written fanfic, Clarke could have said “you didn’t lose me,” Madi could have said “I didn’t mean you,” and Clarke could have remembered Madi telling her the story of her birth mom dying in her arms. Then Clarke could have mentally made the decision that she didn’t want Madi to relive that in an attempt to empathize with her, and she makes an effort to convince her that she’s fine. In just 2 or 3 paragraphs a written story could have effectively conveyed both the exposition and the emotional beats of the scene, concluding with Clarke making a (maybe misguided but still sweet) attempt to be a good mom by not dredging that up for Madi (or something – I’m not defending the crappy and inconsistent writing of Clarke’s parenting we’ve on screen so far).

Moving right along, we had a lovely flashback montage of Hope and Dev, which was sufficient to make me (and several of the tumblrs I follow) care about Dev at least enough to be saddened by his death. However, what we didn’t get was a damn crumb of flashback showing Orlando and Anomalykru developing any kind of familial relationship between him agreeing to train them, and whatever dynamic we were supposed to pick up on at the end of that episode. I got a little protective big sister vibe from Echo and Hope but that’s it. They apparently expended their allotment of emotion-inducing flashbacks on the dead guy, and failed entirely to make me give a shit about (as it turned out) the next dead guy.

Now we’re going into an episode with Octavia on (presumably) Bardo in the promo, so I’m guessing we get to see her skyring-self link up with her return-to-Gabriel-with-clean-hair self. As least with Octavia’s jumping storyline it seems like the writers have consistently made some kind of effort to fill in the blanks.

But we’re also looking at the rest of the season where Echo, Gabriel, Hope, oh hi Jordan I forgot about you again, Diyoza, Octavia, and probably Bellamy and Hoth!Kru (AKA team let’s follow Raven onto a strange planet without putting on suits or having an exit strategy, yay!) have all experienced asynchronous development over periods of multiple years. Given the show’s track record from seasons 5 and 6, I strongly suspect that this won’t be handled any better, meaning that the final season of this show is going to try not only to resolve all the plot points, but to toss in a bunch MORE offscreen character development and hope we catch on.

Beyond character development jumps, we also have Raven and Murphy losing their seasons 1-5 development in season 6 only to have to re-learn and re-change back to who they already were in seasons 4 and 5. Murphy learned to value his spacekru family and stop putting himself first 100% of the time, and yet his arc in season 6 happened. Raven has always been involved in the big life-or-death decisions, and had her being-the-bad-guy moment in season 4 with the rationing, but as we saw in 7x03 the writers really wanted to… redo all of that for her? The girl blew up a bridge full of guys and flash-fried a 300-person army when she was 18; blood on her hands may not be fun but what’s with seasons 6 and 7 acting like it’s something new?

While I’m aware that Jason said his seasons are individual movies (don’t admit that you’re bad at continuity buddy ‘cause that’s what it sounds like) seasons 1-5 and 6&7 are clearly telling separate stories (or 1-4, 5, 6-7 if you prefer). The trouble with 6&7 is that unlike seasons 1-4 (and sort-of 5) we no longer know the characters. Every time someone sits still too long, character-development wise, plot comes along and hits the reset button, tosses them into a wormhole for a couple of years and they come back with the same face but no continuity. It was difficult enough to deal with in season 5 – between 6 and 7 I just can’t keep up. (Even writing this meta, I have to keep going back because I remembered another character who fell into this trap.)

Now if a fanfic writer had done the exact same thing – same plot, same time skips, same organization – it would have played out completely different to the readers. We could have gotten to see inside the character’s minds when they arrived back on screen, seeing things with new, older eyes. We could have had minimally invasive flashbacks to show important exposition (like the disaster that was the conversation about Madi’s mom) and verbal descriptions to point out differences like Octavia’s ten-years-older body. Additionally, the plots of seasons 6 and 7 are so different yet full of overdone callbacks to the earlier seasons – if a fan was writing their own AU story but still wanted some of the trappings of the original plot I’d get it, but on a TV show written by the same people it just feels like they ran out of ideas.

Watching seasons 6 and 7 is exactly like watching fanfiction would be – but without the written and fan-made advantages of fanfiction, they fall flat.

*I do like season 7 better than season 6 because the content of the individual episodes containing Murphy/Emori/Raven and Octavia/Diyoza/bbyHope was still enjoyable content, so 2 out of 4 I have liked so far, despite this very very long rant I’ve just written explaining why as a whole I rather hate the season overall.