#but sometimes sacrifices must be made for the sake of seeing a man's chest

[roseblushkestrel]

"I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you."

[julek]

read on ao3

“Geralt?”

Jaskier moved closer, his footsteps echoing down the stone hallway. The Witcher was sitting down, his hands in his lap as a thoughtful look crossed his face. He looked adorable, admittedly, brow furrowed and white strands framing his face, which was burrowed into a woolen blanket.

“Hi, love,” Jaskier said softly, and climbed onto Geralt’s lap as he opened his arms in invitation. He gently traced Geralt’s cheeks, pink from the cold wind howling outdoors. “You look... transfixed. Did Lambert try fishing with bombs again?”

At that, Geralt smiled, a soft, small thing, pink lips curving up. His cold fingers traced nonsense patterns on Jaskier’s back, even though layers and layers of warm fabrics stood in his way — sometimes, it was about feeling Jaskier’s skin against his, the touch grounding and pleasant; sometimes, it was about occupying his hands for the sake of doing it, no plans or intention.

“Ciri and I trained earlier this morning,” he rumbled, his voice rough.

Jaskier hummed, his nose brushing Geralt’s hair. “I know. I heard her swearing all the way to the library.”

“Hmm. She gets frustrated.”

“That she does.”

“She’s getting good. Real good. She just can’t see it, I’m—” Geralt’s frown deepened, his mouth twitching like the words wanted to escape him. He closed his eyes and breathed out, once, twice. “She’s really good. I wish she could see that— how far she’s come.”

“Mm.” Jaskier pulled back, only a little, to catch a glimpse of that amber gaze. “Have you told her?”

“Hmm?”

“What you think— have you told her? How far she’s come, how proud you are of her?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes, almost a subconscious thing, and Jaskier could tell he was turning the idea over and over in his head. Jaskier tucked his head in the crook of the Witcher’s neck, then pressed a small kiss over his pulsepoint. He felt Geralt relax against him, if only a bit.

They stayed in each other’s arms for a while, comfortable silence surrounding them, Geralt’s hands running across the bard’s back, Jaskier humming a quiet melody as the hearth rumbled and firewood cracked, sizzling noises filling the air.

“You know,” Geralt murmured against Jaskier’s hair.

“Yeah?”

Geralt shifted his weight on the armchair, pulling the blanket tighter around them both. Some minutes passed, and Jaskier didn’t push, didn’t press — he just waited, knowing the words would come when they’re meant to, if at all.

“She called me ‘Dad’, the other day,” Geralt whispered, and he sounded embarrassed, somehow, his voice thick. “‘T was a slip of the tongue, she— she didn’t mean it. We’d been sparring, and she kept getting frustrated and wanted to quit. Then snow started falling.”

Jaskier found his hand, buried under the blankets, and squeezed it softly.

Geralt smiled, his cheeks flushed a gentle pink. “And Ciri was so tired and miserable, and I was getting impatient too, and I just— I took some snow in my hands, and made a ball, and just— covered her in it. She was furious.” He let out a small laugh. “‘T was war, she said. And we kept throwing snow at each other. She started running, at one point, and I chased her around the courtyards.”

Jaskier felt tears gathering in his eyes, delighted by the story, and by the sentiment Geralt’s voice carried.

“Ciri was laughing so hard by the time I got her, and she didn’t care that her hair was white and her fingers had gone numb,” Geralt continued. “She was so happy, Jas. I— I had never seen her like that. So carefree and happy, like any child should be.”

He took in a deep breath, pressing their foreheads together. Jaskier grinned, his eyes closed, as they breathed in the same air. “We were laughing together,” he said. “And then we stopped, and everything was still for a second, and she said, ‘that was so fun, Dad’, and— she sounded so happy, so... alive. She hugged me.”

Jaskier felt a tear slip down his cheek. “Geralt.”

Geralt looked at him, so open and vulnerable, and his thumb gently wiped the tear away.

“Of course she meant it,” Jaskier said, and his voice cracked. “Of course she did.”

“I don’t know, Jas, I don’t— This is so hard on her. Everything. I don’t want to pressure her into anything she doesn’t want.”

“You’re so lovely, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured against his cheek, and hugged closer, his heart breaking a little. “You’re such a good man, so honest and humble and good— she adores you.”

“Hmm.”

He meant it — he’d seen it firsthand. The first week Ciri spent in the keep, Geralt had made sure she felt comfortable, showing her around and encouraging her to ask questions and wander the grounds whenever she felt like it. He’d train with her in the mornings and, after they all had lunch together, he’d accompany her to the library, where she and Vesemir would sit for hours on end, surrounded by books and bestiaries and ancient stories, all under the Witcher’s attentive gaze. Late at night, after dinner but before the wolves turned in for the night, Geralt would walk her to her room, then stay for a bit to tuck her in and listen to her talk — long conversations about her past, Cintra and her family, or small remarks about her findings in the keep, a hunting trip with Eskel or an alchemy lesson with Lambert. Geralt listened intently every time, and remembered every detail she’d shared with him. He worried about her; sometimes, late at night, Jaskier would wake up to find him sitting outside on their balcony, a foreign expression on his face and a steaming mug of tea between his hands. He cared for her endlessly — he loved Ciri.

Jaskier brushed a kiss against his forehead, warm and loving, and was about to bury his face back into Geralt’s neck, when a soft noise made them both look up.

Ciri padded into the room, her hair mussed and sleep still tugging at her eyes as she rubbed them with the back of her hand. In the firelight, she looked even younger, her rosy cheeks and soft woolen socks the most perfect picture of pure innocence. As she moved closer to them, Jaskier saw it, the worn fabric of Geralt’s cloak, draped over her shoulders like a cape and dragging across the floor, too large to fit her body. He looked at Geralt and saw his own expression mirrored on his face, if only more intense — adoration, raw and blatant, pouring from his eyes, a smile curling on his lips.

“Ciri?” Geralt called, one hand stetched out for her. “What is it?”

She moved closer, entwining his fingers with Geralt’s, so different yet so similar; pale hands that were slowly becoming more calloused and hard as they gained experience. “Fell asleep in the kitchen, by the fire. Vesemir wanted me to tell you he needed help with dinner.” She yawned. “Also grumbled something about you being lazy, but I told him we trained hard today, and he frowned, but said it was okay. That we could be lazy today.”

Geralt huffed a laugh, and Jaskier shifted so Ciri could sit on Geralt’s thigh, too. “Hmm. Good, then. Wouldn’t want to laze around without his permission.”

Ciri wrapped her arms around Geralt’s neck, and rested her head on his shoulder, firmly fighting sleep but losing. “Hmm.”

Jaskier snorted, and swatted playfully at Geralt’s side. “Oh, Geralt, that’s all you. She did not even know how to ‘hmm’ before she met you.”

“Hmm.”

He shook his head in fond exasperation, and leaned back, just a bit, to look at them in earnest. He watched as Geralt now traced small circles on Ciri’s back, her body tucked into his side as she snored softly, a small smile on her face. Geralt looked so content, so peaceful, so at home, Jaskier’s heart ached in his chest, pride and love fluttering in his stomach. They deserved it — every bit of peace and quiet, every moment of tenderness they could get, they deserved them all, and even more.

“You’re being sappy in your head, I can tell.”

Jaskier clicked his tongue. “I’m being sentimental— there’s a difference, thank you very much.”

Geralt leaned back, his head pressed against the chair, and closed his eyes with a content rumble and a knowing smirk on his lips. “Hmm.”

“Don’t know why I put up with you and your nonsensical grunting, really. Must have been dropped on my head as a child.”

“Must’ve been.”

Jaskier gasped with mock outrage. “You horrible, horrible Witcher. Don’t know why I bother.”

Geralt cracked one amber eye open. “Because you love me.”

“Hmm. Yet further proof I was most definitely gravely injured as a child,” Jaskier replied, with but there was no bite to his words. “I’ll go help Vesemir with dinner— someone must, if you’re to stay here and simply laze.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Geralt said, teasing. Jaskier let out a small laugh and leaned down to kiss his forehead once more, then brushed Ciri’s hair back from her face. He took his hand back, but Geralt stopped him. “Thank you. Truly. I love you.”

Jaskier’s chest seized, and he smiled, smitten. “I love you, too. Very much. Now sleep, I’ll come wake you both when supper’s ready.”

“Okay.” Geralt leaned back. “Please don’t burn the keep down.”

Jaskier grinned, and looked back at him before shutting the door. “No promises.”

[miss-tc-nova]

A Way Into the Future - Luxu

Alright, we’ve got the green light kiddos! So, without further ado, here’s my piece for the Shattered Fates - Foretller Zine. Enjoy!

Music Inspiration: I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead - Set It Off

~~~~~

              Footsteps echo off the stone walls of the underpass beneath the Outer Gardens. One set—much faster than the other—struggles, moving unsteadily and with a lot of panic. It’s no wonder considering the owner of said steps took quite a beating. He put up a decent fight, but poor Braig had no hope of prevailing against his tormentor: a legend, a man of time, a Master—Luxu.

              Ruthless yellow lights barely have the power to illuminate the tunnels, but the young man doesn’t need to see to know the man hunting him is not far behind.

              As the black coat stalks persistently closer, his prey stumbles down the path, unaware that he’s being driven straight into a trap—doing everything that the stalker had intended to a T. Luxu has spent many years refining a variety of skills, both combative and strategic; coercing his victims into his snare is child’s play. Decades of thought have gone into formulating the criteria for his perfect vessel and, unfortunately for the young man, he matches every point perfectly. 

              Unbeknownst to the Radiant Garden native, Luxu had scouted his playground days prior to this encounter and had collapsed the only escape that gave his victim any prospect. His hope is effectively crushed at the sight of the clogged tunnel. 

              Eyes wide with pure terror, he turns back to Luxu. The sharpshooter has a quick draw, even in fear, but it proves just as useless as it had before. Barely any thought is spent on the barrier that prevents the bullets from reaching their mark.

              “I already told you resisting me was useless,” Luxu drawls. “All this fear and pain could’ve been avoided if you had just done as I asked. But I guess it’s only fair to assume any self-respecting warrior worth his salt would struggle.”

              Backed against the debris, the kid quivers. To his merit, he maintains his aim, despite how utterly doomed he is. 

              “What do you want with me?!”

              Luxu pauses his approach. “Hmm, let’s see—that brand new job you just took at the castle is a good start.”

              “A job? You want my job? I-I can talk to my boss! Just let me talk to Ansem!”

              “I hate to tell you, kid, but I need more than your job. I need your entire existence. Or more specifically, I need your body.” The boy’s petrified face goes pale. “My scapegoat has finally arrived; things are about to get very interesting and your life perfectly fits all my needs. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop struggling; I’d like to avoid injuring that body any more than necessary.” 

              As he closes the gap and the boy cowers beneath him, Luxu recalls how he came to be here, stealing the bodies of young men. 

~~~~~

              “Master, what is this?” the young man asks, looking over the paper and not entirely sure he’s read it correctly. 

              As he has many times before, Luxu stands in the Master’s study. The room is filled with books, vials, and plenty of objects of which Luxu couldn’t even guess the purpose of. The only thing he can be sure of is that none of it is as it seems, and that broad statement brings with it its own sense of security. It has always been filled with wonders and the Master seems to introduce him to a new one each time he visits. This time is no exception. 

              The eccentric man folds his arms. “What do you think it is?”

              His voice catches in his mouth. He’s read it over once, twice, but surely, he must be mistaken. “This sounds like a method for taking over someone’s body.”

              “Bingo! You are correct, sir!” the Master praises, waving his hands animatedly. 

              “WHAT?!” In his exclamation, young Luxu throws the paper in the air. 

              His master snatches the fluttering paper. “Don’t lose it! I only have one copy of that!”

              “Okay, one, why don’t you make another copy? And two, why do you know how to possess someone’s body?!”

              “Oh, I don’t know how; this is all just theory. I wrote it this morning.”

              His master never fails to perplex him. “And you think I need it why?”

              “Because you’re only human,” the Master of Masters replies. “That body of yours will become old and decrepit and weaken over time but your job will be far from done. So, you need some way to continue living and persist into the future.”

              The Master may be a strange man, but it’s no secret that he enjoys pulling emotions from his pupils—his favorite being shock. Luxu has made a point to accept his master’s eccentricity and all it entails, having come to see the unpredictability as predictable. It’s been a long time since the Master has been able to truly flabbergast the young man. 

              Luxu’s arms wave in disbelief. “And you think body snatching is the way to do that?!”

              Matching the animated gestures, the Master retorts, “Well do you have any other bright ideas?!”

              Luxu glances away. “Couldn’t you figure out immortality or something else?”

              The Master holds his arms up in an X. “Absolutely not. Immortality is far more complicated and we just don’t have time for that. So, this is your only hope of completing your task.” Again, the paper is pushed into Luxu’s hands. As the student stares at the page, the Master’s tone turns serious. “Remember, while the others have very important roles, everything hinges on the success of yours. If you don’t see this through, the Book of Prophecies won’t be written and things will fall in ruins.” His tone drops even more, almost as if he’s threatening his pupil. “And all those people you care about will die for nothing.” 

              Those words strike the young man. Aced, Ira, Invi, Gula, and Ava—they’re family. Even if they sometimes bicker and disagree, Luxu grew up with them. He already disliked the idea of them fighting, possibly to their destruction, but they’re all fighting for the light’s survival. If he doesn’t do his job, they’ll lose their guidance and their struggles will be meaningless—his family will die in vain. 

              But taking someone else’s body and losing his own: it’s unthinkably horrifying. He’d never considered that his body could be disposable; that something so undeniably “Luxu” could just be swapped out as easily as his coat. These thoughts become too much to deal with in this moment, so he decides not to. Still, he can’t simply throw away a key aspect of his master’s orders, so the paper is carefully folded and tucked into his jacket to address later. 

              “Thank you for your guidance, Master,” Luxu murmurs. 

              Back to his light-hearted self, the Master of Masters slings an arm around Luxu’s shoulders. “That’s more like it. Now, let me show you why you’re going to need that paper.”

~~~~~

              Spasms wrack every gasp he takes. They come not from his chase of the now-unconscious man at his feet, but from the seriousness of what he must do next. 

              Staring down at his very first victim, he feels a heavy guilt in his chest. Based on what’s written, he can only assume the original heart will be ejected and either become a Heartless or ascend to Kingdom Hearts. This man had no say in the matter; he was hunted down like a dog and endured only terror and pain in his final moments. He’s still young and could’ve had a full life ahead of him filled with happiness and adventure. He had potential but Luxu deemed him a lamb for slaughter. 

              Luxu shakes his head; he can’t have these sorts of distractions dragging him down. 

              The old parchment slips from his pocket, a perfect cross forever creased into its aged surface. Instructions written in black still read perfectly clear despite time’s efforts. He’s read and reread the page thousands of times, each time going through the shock of what exactly is being asked of him: ice shoots through his veins while his skin scorches, a suffocating grasp squeezes at his throat, and a violent churn nearly upheaves his stomach. The possibility of failure reels in his mind, threatening to evolve into a full-blown panic attack. He spent his whole life as himself—as Luxu—but now, for the sake of light itself, he must discard that. Just thinking about looking in a mirror and not recognizing the face looking back reminds him of his nightmares. Supposedly, his heart will retain his memories, but he still worries over exactly how much of himself he’ll get to keep; after all, sacrifices for such sins must be made. 

              The tremors in his chest have spread, shaking the page in his gasp. A deep breath does nothing to soothe his fears but allows him to regain focus. He reminds himself that this is for the existence of everything—for the people he loves. It doesn’t matter if he’s scared, it doesn’t matter if he loses himself, it doesn’t matter if the people who matter don’t recognize him, he has no choice.  

              Sighing, he lets the paper float to the ground, letting his eyes linger on the victim at his feet. He can’t let himself dwell on anything lest his mind trail back to his fear. He gets started.

              Clearing his head, he rests both hands against his chest. The suggested mental imagery serves him well while his heart begins to compress. He remembers the most important parts of himself—the things about himself he values—and imagines placing them in a box. His personality, skills, and knowledge are added inside. Memories follow suit; all the good, the bad, and the in-between are stowed away as important, for they have shaped the person he’s become. The young man takes great care in packing all of himself away. 

              As these things fade from his conscious mind—all bound to his heart for transfer—the darkness stalking at the edges of his mind begins encroaching on his thoughts like wolves prepared to devour him. Luxu’s natural instincts react in fear, causing the man to tremble and his physical heart to pound in his ears. Just like the darkness, a chill creeps along his quaking limbs, his control over them waning. With every bit of himself that he stows away for his next life, the little rationality that must stay behind cowers in terror. He would simply do away with all his senses, but he knows that some of his consciousness must stay to facilitate the move. He must suffer this fear and lose part of his mind to succeed. 

              The body to be left behind is nearly shut down. His throat closes, no longer able to draw air into his spasming lungs. He has no idea if he’s doing anything right or if he’s even ready, but the innate fear of death has him in a panic. He has to go now. 

              Eyes snap open, nothing but bright light consuming his vision. This is it; this is where he discards everything he is. This is the point of no return. With the dread as potent as ever, his consciousness fades as he sends the light on its way. 

              Instantly, Luxu becomes aware of the intense, stinging pain. Every nerve is like a needle, searing at his heart. He would absolutely be screaming if he could but, as it currently stands, he has no access to any vocal cords, let alone a mouth. 

              A firm pressure resists his heart, struggling against him. The way it reverberates is reminiscent of his own screams. This is his victim, desperately fighting to keep control. Their panic gives them strength, allowing them to push against Luxu to the point he feels his grip slipping. A desperate alarm shoots through him, fueling his struggle.

              As it turns out, Luxu’s fear is stronger than that of the man he’s possessing. 

              Resistance suddenly stops. Slowly, the presence of the other heart begins to fade, allowing Luxu’s heart to fill the hole left behind. The pain begins to ebb at an unbearably slow rate, but there is solace in the fact that it is fading. 

              His consciousness begins unfurling within his brain as he lies on the ground gasping. Comprehension begins weaving through the unpacking, bringing attention to what exactly just happened. He hadn’t been prepared for resistance; he didn’t know he could still lose after disarming his target. There was no warning for that. If Luxu’s heart had lost the struggle, he would’ve been expunged, become a heartless, and failed his task; he would have failed his loved ones. And this is only his first time. 

              It takes an eternity for the agony to fade enough and allow him to assess the body. It’s all still sensitive, like a limb falling asleep and waking back up, only far more intense. Nevertheless, he manages to open his eyes. Even they feel the stinging, giving him blurry vision. Nerves feel like fire as he struggles to raise a hand. The trembling extremities are different: the skin tone is a shade off, fingers are slightly longer, and there’s no sign of a mole he used to have on his wrist. It’s strange to feel and control the hand of a stranger. 

              It takes some time for all the nerves to properly connect. Small repetitions get the muscles moving as they should, and after a few hours, he is able to stand. Weak legs hold him up while he tries to regain his bearings. Palms press against his eyes, struggling to get rid of that remnant sting. 

              When his hands drop, he finds nothing. The expelled heart is gone and so is the body he left behind. There is no going back. 

              The old paper flutters, threatening to fly away. However, this is only the first of many stolen bodies and he will need those instructions to repeat the move in the future.

              Reaching down, he scoops up the paper. The action nearly topples him. Despite his careful decision for this particular individual, he couldn’t find someone exactly like himself. There are still differences that will take some getting used to, driving home one very important, horrendous fact. 

              He is no longer Luxu.

                             He is no longer Luxu.

                                            He is no longer himself. 

              The reality finally kicks him in the gut, bringing him back to the ground where a foreign scream tears from his mouth. 

~~~~~

              “You’re crazy! Stay away from me!”

              The cry drags the man back from age-old memories. Braig is the latest of his numerous casualties. 

              Luxu could’ve stopped long ago, given up his master’s orders and spared so many ignorant hearts—innocent people didn’t have to die for this. However, sacrifices must be made for sins, and Luxu’s been paying his due. With every bit of himself left behind, the rest naturally tries to fill in that hole, but it’s not the same. The new pieces become influenced by the suffering and bitterness Luxu endures with each move, filling him with more and more darkness. That’s not to say darkness is a bad thing, but it fuels the apathy born from repeated trauma.

              Luxu’s views on humanity have deteriorated; each passerby could die at his feet and he would simply step over them. Those chosen as new vessels hold some interest, but he no longer has any qualms putting them down. Only the people he started this journey for mean anything to him now; they are the only light left in his unrecognizable life. They would likely look down on him with disappointment, scold and abhor him, but he would burn every world in existence for their fates. But the end is near. The scapegoat has finally shown himself and soon Luxu will be free of this burden—his family will return to him. No matter what wrath he may incur from them, the relief of the end is just too tempting to spare this last victim.

              Luxu shrugs. “You might be right about that; repeatedly losing part of your mind does that to a guy. Unfortunately for you, there’s nothing more dangerous than an insane person with a goal. You were simply the poor soul that caught my eye this time.”

              “N-No! Please!”

              Having done this so many times, Luxu doesn’t even need the instructions, so he burnt them long ago. His mind already begins to pack away the things he wishes to carry forward and the chill starts in his fingers. 

              “Sorry, but everything I’ve dedicated my life to hangs in the balance. Neither of us have a choice here. But don’t worry—this isn’t my first time and I’ll ensure it’s as painless as possible.”

              As he strides closer, the man scrambles closer to the wall. Fear shines brightly in his eyes, but it doesn’t faze a man who’s seen it so many times before—who’s endured it so many times before.  

              “Take a deep breath, Braig. It’ll all be over soon.”

[lysjeon]

— sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:  When your boyfriend is late for your valentine’s day date you never thought it was because of a book he wanted to read to you. You would be mad for his tardiness, but how could you be when he comes running to you, chocolate-covered strawberries on one hand and a bouquet of your favorite flowers on the other and a big warm smile on his face as his twinkly eyes look back at you?

— ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: namjoon x reader

— ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: fluff, smut, valentine’s day au, college au

— ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: fingering, dirty talk, sub/dome themes, chocking (tie and hands), creampie, namjoon has a big cock lol, unprotexted sex (stay safe pls), lots of sex jokes, namjoon being a cute ass bad boy boyfriend.

— ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.7K

— part of the Bound In Love collab!

header credits go to @tokyoscript​

Namjoon’s fingers gently ran along the spine of the books in the library, his eyes scanning all the titles quickly, stopping every once in a while to take one that seemed familiar out but shaking his head in defeat when he realized it was not what he was looking for. This had been the third aisle he had been searching and if it wasn’t because he was doing this for you, he would have given up two hours ago and gone somewhere else to find a last minute gift for you before he had to leave for your date.

“Hyung, what are you even looking for?” Jeongguk asked, plopping down on a bean bag near Namjoon as he mindlessly skimmed through a magazine.

“For a book.” He answered matter of factly.

“Oh, really? I thought you were looking for the ice cream truck.” The younger answered sarcastically. “Just tell me the name of the book you’re looking for so I can help you find it, or else we’ll be here for another three hours and we both have dates to go to.”

“I don’t know the name of it.” Namjoon answered, not even turning around to look at Jeongguk. “I just remember reading it in my lit class like two years ago around the time I met her.”

“Why are you so fixated on finding this book, anyway? Can’t you just choose one of the other thousand books you read to gift to her?”

“No, because in it there’s this part where it says what love is and I remember thinking I wanted to feel those exact words some day and now that I do I want to read them to her.” Namjoon explained, walking towards the next aisle, Jeongguk following close behind.

“I never thought you were the romantic type.” Jeongguk teased his hyung, laughing when he slapped his chest and rolled his eyes. “You know, when you two started dating I never thought it would work out.” The younger admitted, earning the older’s attention, who turned his head to look at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” He chuckled at Namjoon’s furrowed brows. “I don’t think anyone expected you two to work out.”

“What do you even mean?” Namjoon asked, slightly offended at his friend’s words.

“You two are so different, aesthetically at least.” He shrugged, “You wear black and leather jackets. You smoke cigarettes and intimidate people with how quiet you are most of the time.” Jeongguk started, “And she wears dresses and light colors. She’s a social butterfly and everyone knows her as the cute girl on campus.” He shrugged, “So it was weird seeing you two together at first and we all thought your personalities would clash just like your looks did, but then when I got to know her better I realized you two were actually pretty much the same.”

Namjoon couldn’t deny that. You and him were completely different, but that’s what made you feel attracted to each other in the first place. You were attracted to his tough boy image- that proved to be just a facade because once you started going out with him more and more you realized how nice he actually was, always listening to you intently and making sure you were comfortable with each of his advances on you- and the way he always looked at you as if you had put the stars in the sky. And he was attracted to the way you, unlike every other girl he had tried to talk to, didn’t seem to be intimidated by him, staring back every time you caught his eyes on you at a party before you had even started hanging out, always shooting him a smile that had his whole world shaking from the moment he met you.

“I guess you’re right.” Namjoon shrugged once again, focusing back on searching for that one book.

Without any other words the both of them went back to searching for the book Namjoon was so desperately looking for, giving a quick description of the book to Jeongguk so he could help him find it. Only now, just a couple hours before your date, he damned himself for putting it off for so long and not starting to look for it before, then again he never thought that it would be so hard to find it.

Almost an hour later, the maknae had left Namjoon to search on his own, as he had to get ready for his date and unlike his hyung, he wasn’t risking being late, mainly because his girlfriend would kill him if he was. Don’t get me wrong, Namjoon knew you would kill him if he was late, especially today because not only was it Valentine’s Day but it was also your second anniversary, but he wanted to find the book and give it to you today, and he wasn’t going to stop looking until he found it.

He checked the time on his phone as he walked to another shelf of books to continue his search. You had agreed to meet two hours from now, so if he found the book in the next 45 minutes he would have enough time to get ready for your date and not be late.

Of course, that didn’t happen because two hours later, when he finally checked his phone again, he saw the time and below it the multiple calls and messages you had left asking him where he was and if he had forgotten about your date. Heart racing with panic and book in hand he ran as fast as he could towards his dorm, where he took the quickest shower he had ever taken before he left to meet you.

Almost thirty minutes past the time you were supposed to meet your boyfriend you still stood there, small gift bag hanging from your wrist as you wrapped your arms around yourself in hopes of blocking the cold air that had your body shivering every now and then (you should have worn a thicker coat, but you made a sacrifice for the sake of the cute outfit you had planned days ago).

Once the initial anger of him being late for your date, worry started to settle in the pit of your stomach because it’s Namjoon, he had never been late to a date in the two years that you had been together and he wasn’t answering your calls or messages (of course it was because he was too busy rushing over to where you were to do so) so something you thought something must have happened.

In no time you were calling one of his best friends and roommates, Hoseok, but he didn’t answer. Next, you tried Taehyung, because you remembered him mentioning that he didn’t have any plans for tonight, so unless that had changed he should be in their dorm.

“Y/N!”

You turned around to where the familiar voice calling your name had come from and saw your boyfriend jogging towards you, breathing heavy probably due to all the stairs he had to run up, bouquet of red tulips in one hand and a box which contents you couldn’t see in the other.

You quickly ended the call and turned fully towards him, your arms crossing over your chest as you watched him catch his breath. Now that he was there, seemingly unharmed, your anger was coming back.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I-”

“Thirty minutes late.” You add, cutting him off.

“I know baby, I lost track of time.” He confessed, looking at you with an apologetic smile, his dimples prominent. “I got you these,” He said, handing you the flowers “And these.” He showed you the inside of the box, revealing a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries.

You looked up at him and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how cliché his presents were, his smile getting bigger when he heard you. How could you be mad at your giant boyfriend when he was always so cute and soft? Shaking your head slightly, you went on your tiptoes to leave a soft peck on his lips, making him hum in content.

“Baby, I’m really sorry for being late, I just got caught up trying to find this.” He said, shrugging off his back pack and looking through it to take out the book.

“A book?” You asked, looking up at him with a puzzled look.

“Yeah,” He laughed. “I was reading it for a class when we met and I wanted to show it to you.” He smiled down at you shyly, making your heart melt.

You both put down the blanket he had brought on his backpack and sat down on it, strawberries between the both of you waiting to be eaten as you watched Namjoon go through the pages of the book with a soft smile. He did a little victory nod when he found the page he was looking for and looked at you, only to find you already looking at him.

With one last quick look at you, he started reading the passage and it wasn’t long until you started getting emotional, his soft voice reading to you about what love is making your eyes fill with happy tears.

You loved this man, more than you could ever explain with words and sometimes you worried not being able to express to him how much he truly meant to you, but at the same time you just knew he did. You were sure that he knew that he was the one for you and that this was it, the would never be anyone else like him for you.

He knew because he felt the exact same way. Before heet you he had never wanted to spend his life with anyone. Date? yes, but actually imagining a future where he grew old and shared every single moment of his life with someone else had never crossed his mind until he met you.

“When we started dating I knew that I would feel these words for you some day,” he confessed, referring to the book. “And of course I’ve felt them for a while, but I don’t think I’ve ever told you that you’re the one. I know you know, but I’ve never actually said it.” He smiled, his thumb collecting a few tears that fell down your cheek. “I love you, pretty girl, and I want to spend my life with you.” He whispered, leaving soft kisses all over your face as he spoke.

“Fuck, I hate you. I spent like two hours on my make up and you made me ruin it.” You say, making him chuckle.

“It was gonna get ruined later anyways.” He shrugged and winked as you hit his chest with your hand playfully.

You get up quickly and before he can even ask you what you were doing you sat back down on his lap this time, your legs on either side of him as your hands cupped his face to make him look at you.

“Joonie, I love you.” You whispered against his lips before kissing him softly for a few seconds. “I want to spend my life with you too, that’s why I got us this.” You say, handing him the small gift bag to him and waiting for him to open it.

"What is it?” He asks, taking a peek inside the bag.

You chuckle and shake your head. “You have to open it to see!”

He chuckled along with you as he took out the small rectangular box, giving you a quick curious glance before you urged him to open it with a smile that was making his heart race. When he finally opened the box, he saw two delicate gold rings that had both your initials engraved on the inside.

“Do you like them?” You asked with a smile when he looked up at you. “I know you hardly ever wear rings but I thought getting couple rings would be nice. They’re like unofficial promise rings.”

“Unofficial promise rings, huh? For a moment I thought you were about to propose to me.” You both laughed at that “Not gonna lie, I would’ve said yes.”

“I know, it’d be a blessing to have me as a wife.” You joke, making him snort as he leaned into you.

He pressed his lips against yours softly at first, but that didn’t last long because as soon as your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him closer he left the rings on the floor next to him so his hands could wrap around your waist.

The kiss turned hungrier and deeper, and you patted yourself on the back mentally for just wearing a tinted chapstick instead of lipstick. Namjoon’s hands slid down your back until they reached your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you moan against his lips and him to chuckle at your reaction.

He pulled away from your mouth and started trailing kisses down your jaw, licking and sucking purple marks into the skin of your neck that you know would be a pain in the ass cover, but you were past the point of caring. His hands reached the hem of your long dress, that thanks to the way you were sitting on his lap was scrunched around your knees, and rand them along the soft skin of your thighs until he reached your pantyline.

“Joon,” You whined, already worked up by his touch.

“Hm baby?” He asked, lust clear in his deep voice. “What’s wrong, little one?”

You whined again at his words, slowly starting to grind against him for some kind of relief, making him look down and chuckle at you. You stopped and moaned loudly when his hand slapped your ass, and even in this position his slaps were sharp and hard.

“You’re being so needy.” He chuckled darkly, completely taken over by lust. “So, so needy.” He repeated, finally sliding his fingers inside your panties, his fingers instantly getting covered with your wetness. “And so wet already. You’re always such a good girl for me, and since today is a special day I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” He asked, one of his fingers pressing against your clit and making you jump up.

“Y-yes.” You stuttered as his finger started moving. “Fuck, p-please.”

“Please what, baby? What do you want?”

“Fingers. In me.” You simply said, sentences getting harder and harder with every flick of his skillful fingers against your clit.

“Anything for you, princess.”

The moment he said that, two of his long fingers entered you, the sudden stretch making you almost scream in pleasure. He quickly set up a fast pace, one that had you seeing stars every time his fingers curled inside you. His free hand joined his other one and started playing with your clit, the bundle of nerves sending strong waves of pleasure through your whole body.

The fire in the pit of your stomach was almost painful as you were getting so close to your release. Seeing how close you were to your high, Namjoon started sucking and biting once again on your neck, knowing how sensitive you were there.

“Hngg- gonna c-cum.” You say breathlessly, hands squeezing his shoulders tight for support.

“Cum baby, cum for me.” He whispered against your collarbone.

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you so hard that you were shaking against him as he helped you ride it all out. One of your hands wrapped around his wrist once you became too sensitive for him to continue fingering you, signaling him to stop.

As you tried to catch your breath, you watched him bring his hand up to his mouth, his fingers covered in your release. He licked them clean, the sight making you whine.

“You look so hot doing that.” You say breathlessly, making him laugh out loud at your comment.

“You good?” He asked you a few minutes later. “I wanna take you somewhere.”

Intrigued, you nodded, and soon you were leaving the rooftop everything had started in two years ago, hand in hand and shiny new rings on your fingers.

>> “Why do I have to wear this?” You asked, more like whined, as you clung to his arm for support.

“Because if you didn’t it would ruin the surprise.” He said, and even though you couldn’t see him, you knew he was smirking.

A few minutes ago, before you got out of his car, he had blindfolded you with a tie that he had brought on his backpack, claiming that he had a big surprise for you and that he didn’t want you to get any ideas as to what it was until you actually saw it.

You couldn’t see anything which only made you hyper aware to sounds around you, but nothing that you’ve heard so far had given you any clue as to where you were or what Namjoon’s surprise was. So far you heard a dog barking, your footsteps echoing loudly as you walked up some stairs, an elevator, hardwood floors and finally the jinggling of keys.

“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” You asked when he left you standing there and you heard a door close behind you.

“Why would I have waited two years to kill you? It would’ve been a waste of my time.” He answered simply, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he came back to your side and made you walk a few steps more.

“I mean, maybe you wanted me to trust you so you could kill me without me putting up much of a fight?” You tried to reason. “Although that would be kinda stupid because usually the boyfriend is always one of the main suspects.”

“Babe, I’m not gonna kill you.” He laughed.

“I’m just saying you could, and I would’ve never suspected a thing.” You shrugged.

“Okay, I’m gonna take your blindfold off.” He whispered against your ear, shivers running down your spins at his soft voice.

You could feel him behind you, his chest was lightly pressing against your back as his fingers slid the tie that was blocking your vision down your head, leaving it hanging loosely around your neck. When he took it out, it took you a few moments to adjust to the lighting, but once you did you frowned, confusion taking over you.

As you looked around you started to recognize the place, it was the same as the last time you had been there, except for a mattress in the middle of the empty living room space and grocery bags next to the kitchen counter.

“This is the apartment we looked at a few weeks ago for you, isn’t it?” You asked, finally turning around towards him. “Did you get it?” You asked, excitement rushing over you when he nodded. “Oh my god! I’m so happy for you, Joon, this is the one you really liked!” You say jumping up and down and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He laughed at your reaction and wrapped his own arms around your waist before he spoke. “This is the apartment that we liked.” He corrected you, smiling brightly. “There’s a reason I wanted you to come apartment haunting with me. I wanted to get a place that we both loved because I want you to move in with me.”

You were clearly taken aback by his request, your eyebrows raising and your eyes getting big. “Really?”

“Yeah. We basically spend every night together already, whether it is at your place or my dorm and given that we both have roommates I thought it would be nice to have a space that’s just our own.” He explained. “Besides, here we can be as loud as we want.” He teased, squeezing your hips. “So what do you say?”

You smiled up at him and pecked his lips quickly. “Of course I say yes.” You answer, making him pick you up and spin you around, both of you laughing out loud.

When he put you down, he pressed his lips against yours, starting a kiss that once again started innocent but quickly turned sinful, tongues messily crashing against each other.

“I guess now we have to christen the apartment, don’t we?” You say teasingly, one of your hands coming down to squeeze his already hardening member.

He smirked at your words. “I guess so.”

As your hand continued rubbing his cock through the material of his jeans, he wrapped the long end of the tie around his fist to pull you in for an even hungrier kiss. As you kissed, you could feel his hands fiddling with the tie knot, wrapping it tighter around your neck and pulling you away from him when it was tight enough.

“Strip, little one.” He said, voice deep and tone demanding.

As you started stripping, first taking off your leather jacket- that he had gifted to you for your last birthday - and then slipping off your dress, you could feel his intense gaze on you, dark eyes scanning every single new patch of naked skin you revealed to him.

Once you were standing just in your underwear, you looked up at him with a smile, your eyes flickering to the now painfully noticeable tent in his tight jeans before locking your eyes with him and licking your lips. He knew exactly what you were thinking in that moment, so without saying anything, he pulled the tie down and in no time you were on your knees, hands quickly working to unbuckle his belt and take out his cock.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He chuckled as he watched you pull down his jeans and boxers in one quick motion.

“For you? Always.” You answered with a smirk.

Your hand wrapped around his cock and slowly started pumping it, your eyes locked on his, watching the pleasure your hand only was causing him. When he had enough of your teasing, he pulled on the tie quickly, making you giggle and get closer to him, licking a long stipe up his dick and pushing the tip into your mouth when you reached to it.

Getting bored of just having his tip in your mouth, you started taking him deeper and deeper, until you could feel him in the back of your throat and you were struggling to breathe properly, and even then you couldn’t take all of him in. Namjoon was big, the biggest you had ever seen and you remember feeling intimidated by his size when you started dating him but now, two years down the road, you absolutely loved it.

“Fuck baby, just like that.” He groaned, the hand that didn’t have the tie wrapped around it going to tangle in your hair. “Do you think you could go deeper?” He asked, and you looked up at him with wide eyes, but challenging yourself you nodded as best as you could. “Okay baby, relax your jaw.” And you did, little by little he started pushing deeper than he has ever been. “Fuuuck, shit, that’s it. You’re being so good. Stay there.”

When he saw that you couldn’t take him any deeper he stilled there for a few seconds, head thrown back as your throat squeezed his dick before relaxing again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He said, suddenly pulling all the way out of your mouth, making you start coughing and thick strands of saliva to dribble down your chin. “Baby, you’re so good to me, I almost came there.” He chuckled, pulling on the tie so you would stand up. “You okay?”

Without hesitation you nodded, the ache in the muscles of your throat the least of your priorities right now, and to be honest you could barely feel it with how turned on you were.

“Bed, now.” He demanded, letting go of the tie so he could take off the rest of his clothes.

You obeyed, turning on your heels and quickly walking towards the lonely mattress. You sat down on it and focused on how your boyfriend was taking his shirt off, seeing him strip was honestly one of your favorite parts of having sex with him. He always was so hot and sometimes it only took him taking off his shirt to have you wet beyond belief.

“Like the view?” He asked, walking over to join you on the makeshift bed. “You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“I plan on it.” You answer back, making him laugh.

After that he wasted no time in more small talk, he hooked his fingers onto you panties and slid them down quickly, revealing your glistening pussy to him. He pushed your legs open and leaned down to lick a few long stripes up and down your slit, making you moan every time his tongue pressed against your clit.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He whispered against your thigh, lightly biting it before he went back to lick your pussy a few more times. “Look how needy your little cunt is, it’s spasming already begging for my cock, isn’t it?” He says as he kissed up your belly and unclasped your bra.

“Please, Joon, fuck me.” You whine, your back arching when his mouth started sucking on one of your perked up nipples.

He didn’t answer you, but you could feel him smirk against your breaks. One of his hands went down between your bodies to guide his cock towards your entrance, making you gasp when you felt his tip pushing into you. He started slow, knowing that even after all this time, you still needed a few seconds to adjust to his size.

When you tried to push him deeper, that was his confirmation that you wanted him to continue, so without warning he slammed the rest of his cock into you until your hips were flush together and deep moans escaped both of your lips.

“Fuck, faster.” You almost screamed, his cock grazing your gspot with every thrust.

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His pace quickly fastened, making you scream his name and your vision to go blurry from pleasure. He pushed himself up with his arms, looking down between you to watch his dick disappearing into your pussy. When he looked back at you, your head was thrown back, eyes closed shut and mouth wide open as loud moans escaped it.

One of his hands wrapped around your throat, lightly squeezing so you would look at him, when you did he almost came right then and there, you looked so fucked out already. Your lips were bright red and swollen, your cheeks were flushed with pink and a thin layer of sweat covered your whole body.

Absolutely beautiful.

“Fuck baby, I-I’m gonna cum.” He warned, at this you opened your eyes and nodded, wordlessly telling him that you were too.

His thrusts became harder and sloppier, and it didn’t take much longer for both of you to come undone after that. Loud moans and curses were shared as both of you reached your highs together, Namjoon continuing to thrust into you to help you ride out your orgasm until you were too sensitive to handle his soft thrusts.

He carefully slipped out of you, watching his cum drip out of your pussy for a few seconds before he plopped down next to you, turning his head so he could look at you.

“You look so cute like this.” He commented as he pushed your hair away from your face.

“Like what?” You chuckled.

“Fucked out.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You probably ruined my make up.”

“I did, but you still look pretty.” He shrugged and leaned in to peck your lips. “Want one?” He asked, reaching over you to take out a package of cigarettes from the pocket of his backpack.

“Only if we share it.” You nodded, watching him light one up and then handing it to you.

“As long as you share those extremely overpriced strawberries.” He laughed, watching you exhale the smoke into the air.

“Wouldn’t share them with anyone else.” You kiss him. “Happy Valentine’s day and second anniversary, baby. Thank you for not killing me.” You whisper against his lips.

He laughed loudly at that and kissed you again. “No problem, babe. Happy anniversary.”

[sohin-ace]

Jojo Drabble - Jotaro (Pride Month Special)

It's the end of Pride Month, and I haven't seen a single, not a single post about Aro/Aces...

I'm not really surprised. At all.

I'm linking some interesting videos and websites to help you understand this sexual orientation.

Asexuality: The invisible Orientation by Hippie Calico

I spent a day with Asexuals by Anthony Padilla

Asexuality by David Jay

Asexuality.org (available in 16 languages)

R/aaaacccccce on Reddit

R/asexuality on Reddit

(Both subreddits are very cute and full of funny memes and good positivity 💜🖤)

In regards to the visibility of this marginal and forgotten sexuality, I'll be making a drabble about it. With the only openly Aro/Ace character of Jojo that I know of.

※ Jojo Scenario • Jotaro - Ace to Ace

You opened the heavy metallic door leading to the rooftop, the loud clank and dry screech making you cringe. Hopefully the sound wouldn't alert the teachers or the class reps. After all, nobody was allowed on the roof. Especially during class hours.

You walked around, searching for a certain someone and, surely enough, the boy in question was there, just where you expected him to be.

"Man, you sure love to ditch, don't you?"

You chuckled and the male didn't even spare you a glance, his hat effectively shielding his face from the Spring sun as he laid leisurely on the floor, his arms pillowing his head.

"I could say the same to you."

Well, he wasn't wrong, you thought to yourself, but you would never admit it out loud and possibly give this smug man reason.

You slowly and carefully sat down next to him, groaning slightly at the painful difficulty of the usually simple task.

Jotaro perked up slightly at your discomfort, making sure you were alright. Thankfully you seemed alright and he relaxed.

"Yare yare daze, you shouldn't have come. You're still recovering, why are you walking flights of stairs now?"

That's right. You were still under medication and strict medical supervision for your quite severe stomach wounds. And you still weren't used to your prosthetic leg just yet.

It was purely a miracle that you managed to survive that fight against Dio, and you never ever took a second of your life for granted after that, thinking of the friends who didn't have the same chance as you, lost forever during that battle.

You looked down at your uniform skirt. You couldn't think about that now. You had to lift up the mood for Jotaro, and for them.

"Hey, I'm fine." You dismissed with a smile, "It doesn't even hurt that much anymore, it's been a while now." You reassured and he only mumbled his catchphrase again, laying back down.

You two kept each other company in comfortable silence. Despite everything, Jotaro was still taciturn and you were much calmer after all that happened the past few months.

It was already the end of the school year and your thoughts drifted to the future that awaited you, and what it had to possibly offer.

"Say, Jotaro..." You softly grasped his attention and he only hummed in response. "What do you think will happen next? After we graduate, I mean..."

"Hmm?" He opened a curious blue eye at you." ...Go to college or get a job. Or both. What else do you want to do?"

"Ah well..." You paused and thought of your next words. "I don't want to but... Guess I'll have to get married and stuff eventually... Have kids, cook for my husband, things like that you know..."

Jotaro clicked his tongue and scoffed at the disgusting idea. "...Bullshit."

"I know..." You sighed and looked back down at the male, only to see him stare at the now more covered sky, his usual glare softer on his face. You knew what he was thinking.

"Jotaro..." You called and he looked at you. "You're the same as me... Right?"

He didn't say anything, but his eyes spoke answers for him. You may not have known him for very long, but the adventures and experiences you lived with him were worth much more than years of friendship.

He huffed and closed his eyes. "Yare yare daze... Why are you talking about depressing things, now?"

"I mean... Can you blame me for being worried? I know you feel the exact same, Jotaro." You brought your knees up to your chest and stared ahead. "You'll have to get through the same thing at one point too... That's... What we're expected to do, after all... Whether we like it or not."

He hated to admit it, but you were right. What was the place in society for two outsiders with not interests in romantic or sexual relationships?

What were Aromantics and Asexuals besides loners, straight people craving attention and finding poor excuses for their lack of charisma?

Especially when everybody well knew that the only way to succeed in life, was to share it with a significant other and keep the bloodline going forever.

...Or was it really?

All these thoughts, your obligations as members of the patriarchal modern society, the implications behind all of it, the consequences, the fate you two would be doomed in. All of these were so painful. A lifelong struggle.

He was aware that he'd have to complete his other half of his life, achieve the ultimate life goals of getting married to a beautiful little wife and have cute little children running around the house and all that jazz.

But that's not how Jotaro Kujo had ever imagined his life would be like.

He had his own dreams, his own comforts. Being alone was good. So good. But he had no choice, he'd have to satisfy society's expectations. He'd have to make his mother proud and granting her the little grandchildren she always wished to have.

Jotaro looked back at your metallic leg. After all you've been through, after all he's lost to save his mother, pleasing her and making her happy was the least he could do to honor your sacrifices and the deaths of his loved ones.

But what could he do? Force himself? A man couldnt force himself to develop feelings, he could only pretend. But what good would that do him?

He'd have to, eventually. He couldn't help but think back at you. You were all the same. And you two would be judged for life for not following suit and do like everyone else, like little sheeps.

Was it so wrong to not want to be with a special someone? To not get attached or attracted? Why was it so weird? Why was it unacceptable? Who deemed it necessary, to get stuck into marriage just for the sake of being married?

And man, his thoughts rathered to drift to sex either, that's really the last straw and if possible, he'd love to shut everybody up about it. Shut up everybody who only validated a man's worth by his primal urge to knock a woman up.

You seemed to be the only one he could actually talk about this with, since people would just tell you the usual 'You're gay!' or 'You haven't found the one yet!'.

Just like telling a depressed person to 'cheer up'. Bullshit excuses of people who couldn't accept that mindsets and sexualities differ with each human being.

What were the two of you supposed to do? You were stuck, cornered.

He was a stone that knew nothing about affection, and he already pitied the unlucky woman who'd get to him.

And you were just as bad of a stone. He felt bad for you, for having to have to lay down and take it without batting an eye just to satisfy the needs of the greedy bastard that'd snatch you away.

"... We'll figure it out, Y/N. We've dealt with much worse to worry about things like that."

"That's true but... I don't know. It's hard to imagine a family life. I like chilling on my own. And I'm still too sad about them to be lovey-dovey."

He scoffed, hitting your back playfully. "So what? Let two hopeless rocks with crippling depression be themselves. Sounds like a plan."

"Now, hear yourself talking about depressing things!" You chuckled and pointed out accusingly at him, stealing his precious hat and putting it on your own head.

He sat up with an exhausted sigh and roughly pulled his hat down your eyes, as his own little revenge, gratified by a small 'Ow!' of response from your end.

He let out a ghost of a smile as you were blinded by his hat, thankful that you couldn't see him even though he knew you'd never tease him for being more expressive.

"Ow, that actually hurt, Jojo, you bastard!"

"Let's go." He stood up before stretching his huge hand out to you, making sure to be careful with your injuries as he pulled you up to your feet with surprising gentleness.

Before you could reach your classroom, you grabbed your friend's arm, prompting him to stop walking in the empty hallways.

"But really, Jojo... Wherever you are, and if you have been pushed into a life that unsatisfies you in the future... think about me, okay? You know that somewhere, I'll be the exact same... You're not alone."

He couldn't help but soften his gaze just slightly. You were a thoughtful person, that wasn't a secret. You already had proven yourself to be compassionate multiple times during your crusade, and you kept on.

You made him realise that he was normal and it was okay to not feel anything. You two could only rely on each other now, and it sure didn't matter to him what people say.

Oh of course he'd heard his classmates gush about how cute you two were and how uncharacteristically sweet he was towards you ever since you came back from your trip.

Because the infamous Jotaro Kujo wouldn't just have a soft spot for just anyone, right? Nobody would believe that he became so gentle just because you were injured, there must be something more, right?

No. Absolutely not. And screw society for fogging people' small brains into thinking that there's an afterthought or innuendo behind every male-female, or even same sex platonic relationships.

He knew well that it made you as uncomfortable as him, but you always brushed it off and let the people talk. Let them believe whatever they wanted.

He never wanted to think too much about it, but he couldn't help but worry as well sometimes. That was the kind of things that pissed him off.

It pissed him off so bad. If it wasn't for you he would have crushed so many skulls already. That would teach some people to shut the fuck up.

"What are you thinking about, Jotaro?"

He blinked, humming questioningly at you as you had taken him out of his transe.

"You just called Star Platinum." You said as you grabbed the Stand's big hand, shaking it around as if to greet him, to which he responded with a whispery 'Ora'.

He sighed heavily, calling his Stand back. "Nothing... Nothing at all."

You chuckled a bit. You've learned to read him quite well overtime. A skill only his mother and Kakyoin had mastered. "I'm worried too, Jojo. Hopefully it will be okay... For us."

You patted his back reassuringly and he smiled.

Wasn't that kind of love enough? Love without obligation, without commitment. Without the consequences. Without gender norms, without standards. Just people caring for each other. Wasn't friendship, camaraderie, sisterhood and brotherhood beautiful enough?

Platonic, unromantic love was much stronger than any other type of relationship. He was satisfied with this form of social contact. He didn't need anything more.

Jotaro Kujo was never a greedy man, after all.

The male was suddenly brought back to his sense when he felt a tiny hand tug insistently at his sleeve, hoping to wake him up from his rêverie.

"Papa, you fell asleep on your desk again..."

Jotaro inhaled tiredly, scratching his head and taking in his surroundings, his study back in his home in Florida. He patted his daughter's head, making her scrunch her face a little.

Was it that late already? He was so used to dozing off after working on his thesis, reflecting on his life and his choices. He had been overworking himself lately. He knew he shouldn't overthink, but he couldn't help it.

"Thank you Jolyne. Go back to sleep now, alright?"

The little girl nodded and trutted out, leaving her father alone to his thoughts.

Jotaro let out another breath, eyeing a certain picture frame, taken in the desert. Hopefully you were living a fulfilling life of your own.

And hopefully you two would get to meet again, and maybe talk again.

Ace to ace.

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 31

This is it! The very last post of Whumptober, and the long-awaited sequel to Day 8! If you're brand new to this whump party and haven't read it yet, you'll want to go back and do so before diving into this monstrosity. And when I say monstrosity I mean, it's looooooong. I wanted to do it justice and give you guys the ending you deserve, which...I'm hoping I pulled off. I'm not used to posting stuff so soon after writing it, without re-reading and editing over a period of time! Anyway, it wasn't one that I could easily just say, oh and they rescued him and put him in a pod and they lived happily ever after, because there was a whole bunch of emotional stuff everyone had to deal with, too. Thus the length, and the postponing of this post so I could actually finish it. 

That said, this is actually more angst than it is whump, but hopefully there's enough whump to satisfy and hopefully it's a satisfying way to end the month. Enjoy!

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Day 31 (No. 29 and Alt. 7)  - Reluctant Bedrest/Found Family

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: fantastic racism, self-hatred, death mention, blood, referenced animal attack, fever, infection, hallucinations, needles, panic attacks, suicide ideation

It had been nearly a week since they abandoned Keith. Discarded him, like garbage. Dropped him off on some deserted planet like some people back on Earth used to drop off animals that they didn’t want to have to take care of. 

Shiro had always hated those people. Now he was one of them.

Except worse, because this wasn’t a puppy they had dumped on the side of the road, this was a hu-...okay, well only partly a human being, but a person, nonetheless. The person that he had seen as the little brother he never had for the past several years that he had known him. The person that he had sworn, even if only internally, to look after, always.

And sure, it wasn’t like it was his idea, but he had still let it happen. Yeah, if he had tried to fight it, Allura probably would have locked him in his room and done it without him. But he should have fought anyway. He should have let them drag him away like they had Keith that day they found out he was part Galra. Maybe they would have thrown him in a cell, too. Maybe then he’d actually be able to look at himself in the mirror now.

They wouldn’t have, though. He was human. He was trustworthy.

So trustworthy that he had turned his back on his brother, all for the sake of Voltron and the universe. 

That was the lie he had been telling himself, the one thing that had kept him from jumping in his Lion and going after Keith for days. The universe needed Voltron. Therefore, the universe needed him. He was the leader of Voltron, he couldn’t just abandon the rest of the team and disobey the Princess’ orders for the sake of one man. Being a defender of the universe meant having to make sacrifices and hard choices.

And maybe all of that was actually true, but it was only half the story. Keith needed him. As the leader of Voltron, he should be setting an example for the rest of the team to follow, and should be able to make decisions for the good of every team member without being threatened and overruled by the Princess. Being a decent person who could live with his own choices meant not going against his own promises and ideals.

He knew all of that. But both sides seemed true, and which side seemed more important changed by the second. 

To top it all off, the team had practically fallen apart since leaving Borulmyte. Not only were they down a Paladin, unable to form Voltron, but hardly anyone was speaking to each other unless forced. Allura was sulking because her father’s Lion wouldn’t accept her. Hunk, who had never seemed all that happy with the idea of kicking Keith out, seemed depressed. Pidge had pretty much locked herself in her room, he assumed furiously searching for any sign of her family. Lance was, as always, hard to get a read on, but he was noticeably quiet and stoic whenever he happened to appear. Coran had barely spoken a word the whole week.

And Shiro? He couldn’t stand to be around any of them. They were the ones who had done this to Keith. Sure, a couple had made weak arguments on his behalf at the beginning, but in the end they had all caved to Allura’s wishes and turned on him. He blamed them just as much as he blamed himself for sitting here in the comfort of the Castle while Keith...who even knew? At the very least he was alone and probably scared, even though he’d never admit that. At the worst, he could be struggling to survive, dying at that very moment, and none of them would ever know.

Whichever it was, he didn’t deserve it.

Coran had called a meeting on the bridge for something he said was urgent. It was probably another distress call, though the last one - the only mission they had attempted that week - had gone so terribly that Shiro wasn’t sure if they should even bother trying again. Running a smooth, successful mission is awfully difficult when no one wants to speak to each other, much less work in sync.

Usually he was the first one to arrive for meetings like this. Well, except for maybe Keith, but that wasn’t a thought he wanted to dwell on right then. This time, when he finally dragged himself to the bridge, the others were all already there, though none of them looked happy about it. Unlike in the past, when he always tried to keep up everyone’s morale by being focused and enthusiastic himself, no matter how he actually felt, now he didn’t bother. Crossing his arms, he let his face rest in exactly the scowl he was feeling.

“What is this about, Coran?”

“Yes, I would like to know as well.” Allura’s brow was furrowed, clearly not happy at being left out of the loop. 

The orange-haired adviser wrung his hands, staring down at the floor. “Well, it’s...this is difficult to say. But…” Drawing in a deep breath that puffed out his chest, he finally looked up, catching each of their gazes. “I’ve been keeping something from you. It’s about Number F-...Keith. It’s about Keith.”

Keith’s name had practically become forbidden, so of course it automatically caught everyone’s attention. Shiro unfolded his arms and stepped forward. “What about Keith?” he demanded.

Coran’s eyes darted back to the floor. “He gave us messages to pass on to each of you. Before we left Borulmyte.”

“Coran!” Allura hissed.

“No, Princess.” The response took everyone in the room by surprise, including Allura if the expression on her face was any indication. None of them had ever heard Coran speak that way to her, especially not to tell her no. He took another breath and seemed to steel himself. “You know that I have always served the royal family willingly, and that I see you like a daughter. I would follow you anywhere. However...you are still young. A great burden has been placed on your shoulders, and you have done extraordinarily well with it. But sometimes you make mistakes, and this, my dear...this has been a grave mistake.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we never should have left the boy behind. Galra or not, he has never proven himself anything but the most loyal of paladins, and yet we have punished him for a crime he did not commit.”

Shiro was torn between feeling relief that someone besides him was saying it, and anger that it hadn’t been said sooner. “Why didn’t you speak up when I was trying to convince them all of this same thing days ago?”

Coran flashed him a guilty expression. “Because I was too much of a coward. I didn’t want to speak against my Princess, even though I knew what she was doing was wrong.” Squaring his shoulders, he looked around at the other paladins again. “But regardless of what anyone else thinks or decides, I can do this. I can fulfill the boys’ last request before he was left behind.”

Something in Shiro’s gut twisted at that statement, and he could see some shuffling of feet and shifting of positions around him that pointed to the others feeling the same way. No one liked to be reminded of what they had done.

“Fine,” Allura finally spat. “Do what you must to clear your conscience.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the console with a huff.

“First to Number Two...Hunk.” Coran gave the Yellow Paladin a gentle smile. “He wanted you to know that he would miss your cooking, especially the brownies you made for him.”

That was all it took for Hunk to start crying, though he said nothing in reply.

“Lance, he said to tell you that he never hated you, that you annoyed him sometimes but were a good friend, too.”

If Shiro hadn’t been intently watching, he might have missed the way Lance’s eyes widened before he ducked his head and scuffed his sneaker into the floor.

“Pidge, your message was that he really, really hopes you find your family. And that he kept meaning to tell you he thinks you’re doing great with your bayard.”

Her eyebrows pulled in tight at the first part, but at the second she blinked as if surprised and looked away.

“And besides his message to the Red Lion that he would miss her, and to us, thanking us for the opportunity to fly her…” He turned to stare at Allura for that, and she couldn’t hold his gaze, either… “That leaves you, Shiro.”

The other messages had already left him ripped open, so he wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to handle one meant just for him.

Coran lips pursed into a sad smile. “‘Just tell him I love him.’”

He felt as if all the walls came crashing down on him all at once. He loved him. Of course he did, he knew he did, they had always treated each other like brothers. But he had never said it. And now he had, and it was after Shiro had allowed him to be kicked out of the place they had all come to see as a home.

Spinning on his heel, he marched toward the door without a word.

“Shiro, wait, where are you going?”

If it had been any of the others, he might have just ignored them. But it was Hunk, so he at least threw the answer over his shoulder. “I’m going to get Keith.”

“Shiro -!”

“No!” This time he whirled around, sending all of his fury in a glare toward Allura. “I’m done letting you tell me how I should treat my little brother! I am going to get Keith, not the Galra, but our friend, the Red Paladin, the strongest and bravest and most loyal person I know, and no one is going to stop me! If you don’t want us back here, fine. I don’t care. Find yourself new Red and Black Paladins. But I won’t leave him down there a second longer.”

It was unclear whether Allura even knew what to say to that, but before she had the chance Hunk piped up again. “I’m coming with you! Erm, if...that’s okay.”

Shiro spared him a small smile. “Of course it is.”

No one said anything as they left the room. Hunk jogged a little to catch up to Shiro’s long, quick strides before matching his pace. 

“I was a coward, too, like Coran said. Which, you know, isn’t really anything new, just...me being a coward isn’t usually at the expense of one of my friends. I was scared, to start with. Of him being, you know. Galra. But that’s stupid, really. Galra Keith is still Keith.”

“Yeah. He is.” He just hoped he was still Keith, still whole and well and not irrevocably changed, when they got to him. “I was just as much of a coward as anyone else, or more. I let the duty I felt to Voltron and the universe get in the way of the way I actually wanted to act. I should have gone after him right away.”

Hunk hummed in understanding. “Well, at least you actually stood up for him.”

They stopped off in their rooms to change into armor, then headed for Black and Yellow’s hangars. The long way, since they didn’t want to risk going back to the bridge and running into everyone else. Shiro had debated whether or not he should take Black, or just a pod, but decided that even if Allura wouldn’t let them stay, returning Black would give everyone a good chance to see Keith again and really make sure they wouldn’t change their minds.

“Since we don’t have a wormhole, it’s gonna take us a while to get there,” he told Hunk over the comms once they were situated in their Lions and starting to take off.

“I don’t mind. Just...how are we gonna find him once we’re there? I mean, he could have traveled a ways from where we...you know, left him.”

“I can track his quintessence.” The new voice took him by surprise, but not nearly as much as spinning around to find Green and Blue hovering over the Castle. “But I’ll have to be pretty close to him first. So we’ll still have to fly around for a while to try to catch a signal, then we’ll be able to narrow it down to a smaller area.”

Shiro was too shocked by their appearance to come up with a reasonable response, so he just ended up echoing, “We?”

Lance’s solemn face popped up on a video screen in front of him, followed by another with Pidge’s. “Yeah, we,” he said, mouth set in a firm line. “We’ve been stupid, and we wanna fix it. If...if we can.”

Clenching his jaw, Shiro sighed. “That’ll be up to Keith, I suppose. What kind of shape he’s in, and...whether he’ll forgive us.”

“We don’t really deserve it,” Pidge mumbled.

“No, we don’t. But let’s go ask for it anyway.”

They talked a little as they flew. It was quiet, and a bit awkward, but it was more than they had talked all week. Lance admitted that he had been having doubts ever since they left, memories of time spent with Keith haunting his thoughts. The message had just sealed the deal.

Pidge shrugged when asked about her change of heart, and quietly conceded that she didn’t think she had ever really believed he was a bad guy. She was just hurting, and he had been the perfect target to take it out on. Her desperation to find her family had blinded her.

They were several hours into a trip that Hunk calculated would take a few days when a wormhole appeared in front of them, seemingly out of nowhere. Every Lion pulled up short, exclamations of surprise echoing across the comms. 

Shiro jerked his Lion around to find the Castle looming behind them. His immediate thought was that Coran had somehow taken over and caught up with them, but Coran couldn’t make wormholes.

“...Allura?”

Her voice over the comms was more tentative than he thought he had ever heard it. “I have not yet decided to trust him. But I...I have seen how passionate all of you are about this, and I am...willing to reconsider my original stance.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was more than he had expected. He’d take it. 

“Alright guys. Let’s go bring our boy home.”

The sight of the planet Borulmyte made Shiro’s stomach turn a flip. This was it. This was the place where Keith had been living for the past week. He couldn’t even imagine what it had been like for him. Allura and Pidge had done extensive research on multiple planets before deciding that this was the best one, and they had had plenty of “reassuring” things to say about it. He had always wondered, though, what they weren’t saying. Or what their research hadn’t turned up. There was no way that they could have known everything there was to know about a planet just from reading about it. “Livable conditions” didn’t mean enjoyable conditions.

“Coran and I will stay here with the Castle. Keep us updated.”

Shiro gave a nod. “Pidge, how close do you need to be to pick up Keith’s quintessence?”

“Within a few miles.”

“Alright. We’ll start at the drop off point. I’m gonna guess he would have headed east, into the forest, to find shelter.” That was the one reassurance he had about the whole situation, knowing that Keith was trained in survival skills. “We’ll head there first, and take it mile by mile.”

It took them the rest of the day. Only a fraction of that time had passed when Shiro started to run every possible horrible scenario through his mind of why they weren’t finding it, even though he knew that they probably just hadn’t hit the right spot yet. 

“There!” Pidge shouted. “I’ve got it!”

Relief flooded Shiro down to his toes. “Alright. Mark this location. We’ll have to go land in the desert and fly back in the Green Lion. She’s the only one small enough to fit in that little clearing over there. 

The little clearing, as it turned out, was around a creek that seemed to be clear and safe. His relief grew just a little more. If Keith had managed to end up this close to a water source, then maybe he was doing okay.

“Okay, Pidge. Lead the way.”

Hiking through the woods took almost another full day. A day in which the sun never actually rose. He hadn’t paid attention to start with, when they were still flying, because constant darkness outside had become the new norm, but now that they were on solid ground it was painfully obvious that they had yet to see light this entire time. And the temperature gauge on his helmet display was much lower than he wanted it to be. Livable? Yes. Comfortable without armor? No. He wanted to interrogate Allura and Pidge on whether they knew about this when they had chosen to send Keith to this planet, but it wasn’t the time. He had to focus on finding Keith, nothing else.

After hours and hours of walking by only the flashlights built into their helmets, during which time no one, not even Lance, dared to complain, there was finally a spike on Pidge’s quintessence tracker. 

“Over here!” she shouted, taking off at a sprint through the underbrush. 

The others followed, swatting branches and bushes out of their way. Any second, Shiro expected to run into Keith. Maybe sitting in whatever hideout he had found, or out hunting for food in the never-ending darkness, his eyebrows flying up in surprise when he saw them all rushing in.

Instead, when he stumbled to a halt beside Pidge, she was staring at the ground, and there was no Keith in sight. 

“Pidge? What is it?”

Lifting a shaky finger, she pointed. Even before he looked, Shiro could feel his chest tightening with anxiety. And for good reason, too. The stain that was illuminated on the dirt and leaves was dried, at least a couple of days old, but it was undeniably blood. It was also concerningly large, and with the quintessence tracker crackling louder than they had heard it so far, there was no getting around the fact that it belonged to Keith.

Hunk immediately began babbling his worries, but Shiro’s heart was pounding too loudly in his ears for him to comprehend what he was actually saying. For a long moment he just stared at the bloodstain. It wasn’t until Lance stepped in closer to speak that he was broken out of his trance.

“Shiro? Do you think he’s…”

“No.” Yes. He didn’t know. It was a lot of blood. But he wouldn’t allow himself to believe that Keith was anything but okay until he saw him with his own eyes. “Pidge, is there a trail?”

She tore her eyes away to look at the screen, pacing back and forth a bit before nodding wordlessly and taking off through the bush. If her steps were a bit quicker now, no one blamed her. They just picked up their pace, too, solemn and silent other than Lance quietly updating Allura and Coran on what they had found. 

Every once in a while, a small patch of dark red on a leaf or tree trunk would catch Shiro’s eye. He tried to take it as a good sign. If Keith had been able to pick himself up from whatever had happened and trek through the woods, then maybe he wasn’t too bad off. At the time. Two or more days later? It was impossible to say.

The walk from there only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, finally, he spotted a small cave over the top of Pidge’s head, just as the tracker grew in volume and Pidge broke into a run. 

“Keith? Keith!”

He was right on her heels, barreling through the opening, terrified of what he would find. And what he did see was almost exactly what he had feared - Keith, his skin far too pale under their flashlights, lying completely still on the ground next to the cold, charred remains of a campfire. There were rough slashes in his t-shirt, through which bloody scabs could be seen, and his right leg was almost entirely wrapped in large blue leaves tied off with what looked like dried grass. It didn’t take much guesswork to figure out that the sporadic dark stains on the leaves were blood.

“Keith.” Shiro was by his side without really knowing how he got there, sliding down onto his knees next to the unmoving figure. “No, no, no, no, Keith, come on, don’t do this to me.” He carded his hand through the messy black hair. “Keith, please.”

Pale lips parted, and a groan spilled out. Shiro nearly fell over with relief. Somewhere behind him, Lance was exclaiming his own relief in Spanish, while Hunk hovered just over his shoulder. Keith’s forehead, which he now noticed was coated in a sheen of sweat, furrowed, and he turned his head slightly to face Shiro before squinting his eyes open.

“Go ‘way,” he rasped, taking all of them by surprise. “‘re not real.”

“Yeah, yeah we are, buddy.” He stroked his hair again, then yanked off his glove so he could lay his flesh hand against his cheek, trying not to wince at the heat that met his touch. A fever. Whatever that wound was on his leg, it had probably gotten infected. No wonder he didn’t think they were real. “Doesn’t this feel real?”

Keith seemed to consider this, his brain probably having to work twice as hard as usual to process anything. Finally there was what seemed to be acceptance in those glazed eyes, but instead of seeming happy or confused or surprised or any of the emotions that they might have expected, he simply let his head roll back to the side and closed his eyes. “Come to...finish me off?”

“What? Keith, no, why would you think that?” Hunk exclaimed, dropping down right next to Shiro. “We came to take you home.”

“We’ve, uh...we were really terrible to you. It was really, really wrong,” Lance joined in.

Pidge shuffled her feet awkwardly. “Yeah. We, um. We want you to come back.”

“Even Allura is willing to reconsider, but whatever she decides, we're getting you out of here.” Shiro took one of Keith’s hands in his own and squeezed. “I never should have let her dictate how you were treated to start with.”

Silence fell for a moment. Keith cut his eyes up toward Shiro, not moving his head. “Knew you weren’t real.”

Pidge gave an exasperated grunt. “Keith -”

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Sliding his glove back on, Shiro straightened and got ready to pick Keith up bridal style. “He’s burning up with an infection. We’ll have to talk to him later, once he can actually comprehend what’s going on. For now let’s just get him back to the Castle and into a pod.”

Shiro scooped Keith up gently into his arms, causing him to cry out when his leg was jostled. “I’m sorry, bud,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be okay.” He didn’t at all like how light he felt, nor how gaunt his face looked. It had only been a week, but it didn’t seem like he had eaten much in that time.

Now that they knew where they were going, the walk back to the Green Lion went by quickly. Pidge flew them back to their own Lions, with Hunk and Lance towing Black to the Castle so that Shiro could stay in Green’s cargo hold with Keith. He didn’t want to let him go, couldn’t even keep his eyes off of him. He was too afraid that if he looked away, he would be gone, would succumb to his infection or perhaps just vanish into thin air. In the better lighting of the Lion, Keith looked all the more pale and feverish, his breaths coming shallow as he mumbled unintelligible words and occasionally whimpered with pain.

“What kind of injuries are we dealing with here, Number One?”

Shiro barely remembered arriving at the Castle and exiting the Green Lion, but there he was, standing next to Coran and a stretcher. Tenderly, he settled Keith down onto the padded surface. “Not sure. Maybe an animal attack of some kind? I haven’t been able to get a look at his wounds yet. He’s got a fever for sure, though, so they’re probably infected.”

Coran’s face turned grim. “That’s unfortunate. We won’t be able to put him into cryosleep until his temperature is back to normal.”

Gritting his teeth, Shiro found Keith’s hand and held it as they walked toward the infirmary. Poor kid just couldn’t catch a break. He didn’t deserve any of this. And now it sounded like when he was back to himself, they were going to have to go back through a whole three years’ worth of self-esteem boosting...maybe even more. He let out a long sigh. It seemed like he had just finally convinced Keith that he was worth loving, that he was important, that not everyone in his life was going to abandon him. 

Then he sat back and let everyone in his life abandon him.

Coran sucked in a loud breath through his teeth as he peeled back the crude leaf bandages. “Yes, this is most certainly infected. And I would say that your animal attack hypothesis is correct. These look mostly like tooth marks. Quite deep.”

It looked mostly like a mangled, bloody mess to Shiro. His stomach turned, not just from the smell of the infection, and he was glad that Hunk wasn’t there at the moment. “What do we need to do?”

“Well, I’ll need to clean these. You might want to hold him down for that part.”

Keith bucked and writhed under Shiro’s hands as Coran poured antiseptic over his leg, screaming in agony. Shiro was pretty sure his heart was permanently residing in his throat now. He whispered reassurances, hardly knowing what he was saying, well aware that Keith probably couldn’t hear or comprehend any of it. 

After a thorough cleaning, Coran wrapped the leg in clean bandages and pulled a thin sheet up over his waist. Shiro sank into the bedside chair, relieved beyond words that the worst part was over. They spoke very little as they went about the rest of the work that needed to be done, Coran handing Shiro the antiseptic and a clean cloth so that he could work on the claw marks across Keith’s chest, then focusing himself on preparing an IV bag of antibiotics and nutrients. Shiro gently smoothed adhesive bandages over the cuts when he was done. When he looked up, Coran was sliding the IV into place in the back of Keith’s hand.

“That should do it for now. I’m going to get a cool, wet cloth to help bring his fever down, but he should recover just fine.”

It was only then that Shiro finally allowed himself to dissolve into tears, like he had been wanting to ever since finding Keith in that cave. Burying his face in his hands, he let the tears soak his cheeks and the sobs wrack his body, uncaring for once that someone was there to see him fall apart.

A sturdy hand landed on his back, rubbing soothing circles. “There, there, lad. I know it’s been a rough few quintants, but it’ll be alright.”

“Will it?” Shiro scrubbed at his face with his flesh hand. “You should have seen him, Coran. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to trust any of us again.”

The adviser heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, either. I’m not sure if I would be able to trust us, if the roles were reversed. But perhaps, with time, we’ll be able to prove to him that we do, indeed, care for him.”

Once Shiro had cried himself out, Coran convinced him to go change out of his armor and possibly get something to eat. He was surprised to find all three of the other paladins sprawled out on the floor just outside the infirmary, remnants of snacks scattered around them and expectant looks on their faces.

“Well? Is he...okay?” Pidge asked tentatively.

Shiro sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Physically, it seems so. He’s stable for now, at least, and Coran thinks he’ll be fine. We just have to make sure his fever doesn’t get too high.”

They all nodded slowly, seeming lost in thought. He imagined they were all thinking about the “other than physically” part that he had failed to comment on.

Hunk cleared his throat. “Is he awake?”

He shook his head. “He’s been in and out, but he’s resting pretty peacefully for now.”

“We didn’t want to, you know, be in the way,” Lance supplied. “But you can let us know when it’s okay for us to see him. Or we can take turns watching out for him.”

“Alright. I’ll let you know.” Right now he couldn’t imagine leaving his side, not for longer than he was doing right now. As he started down the hall again toward his quarters, he met another unexpected presence - Allura, lurking just around the corner from where the paladins sat, looking abnormally anxious. He stopped abruptly, not sure he was ready to see her again yet.

“I heard your update,” she stated after a moment of awkward silence. When Shiro said nothing in return, she pursed her lips. “I suppose we have some more discussions ahead of us now.”

“No. We don’t.” Allura’s eyebrows flew up in surprise, but he didn’t give her time to respond. “There’s nothing to discuss. Either you accept Keith back as the Red Paladin...and treat him just as well as the other paladins, or he and I leave. Whether or not the others stay is up to them.” 

Allura’s brow furrowed, and she dropped her gaze to the floor with nothing else to say. Pushing past her, Shiro continued to his room, hurrying through changing so he could be back with Keith.

.o.0.O.0.o.

They would tell Keith later that he had been out of it for around two days before the fever broke. All he knew was that he woke up in the infirmary of the Castle with no memory of how he had gotten there, and assumed he must have been hallucinating again. He was actually a bit surprised that the wounds from that death beast hadn’t killed him yet...or maybe they had. Maybe this was some sort of purgatory or something, though the infirmary seemed like a strange choice.

It made a bit more sense when he turned his head to the right and saw Coran sitting there studying him. Seemed maybe he was going to have to face people he had failed in life before he could move on to whatever came next.

“Are you with us this time, my boy?”

Wrinkling his eyebrows at the strange question, Keith licked his dry lips with an equally dry tongue and tried to come up with something to say, but all that came out was a raspy, “What?”

Immediately Coran went into action, producing a hydration pack from somewhere nearby and holding the straw up to Keith’s lips. The cool liquid hit his throat like a slice of heaven, and he gulped greedily.

“Not too fast, now. Don’t want you making yourself sick.”

Keith nearly whined when the straw was pulled away, but he could already feel the liquid sloshing around inside of him, so it was probably for the best. Clearing his throat, he decided he could try talking again. “What am I doing here?”

“You were in pretty bad shape when the others found you. Something had torn your leg all up, and it had gotten infected. We couldn’t put you in a cryopod until your fever went down, which it seems it now has.”

His eyes darted around the cavernous white room. “So...this is real?”

The corner of Coran’s mouth tilted up. “Yes. It’s real.”

He had kinda suspected after the water. But that left one major question…“Why?”

Before Coran could respond, the door slid open, and Keith turned his head to see Shiro enter the room. The sight of his surrogate brother had him torn between happiness and a strange sense of dread, leaving him to clench the sheets in his fists and wait for some kind of reaction to come. Half of him expected it to be disgust, or anger, or maybe just an apathetic announcement of what his new punishment for existing was to be. 

Instead, Shiro’s face lit up with a happy, almost hopeful expression. “Keith?”

“Wait, is Keith awake?” another voice called from the hallway behind him. Lance’s head poked through the doorway, making Keith’s stomach clench, before he turned and yelled back down the hall. “Hey guys, Keith’s awake!”

All at once the infirmary was filled with almost all the people who hated him, all crowding around his bed and staring down at him with faces he couldn’t read. They were going to hurt him. He knew they would, why else would they have brought him back here? Obviously they had changed their minds and decided they had been too lenient. What were they going to do to him? How much pain would he be in now?

He couldn’t breathe. Suddenly it felt like that beast was sitting on top of him again, crushing his chest, and he struggled to draw in air through an open mouth while tears stung his eyes. His hands shook where they were still gripping the sheets. People were talking, but it sounded as if his ears were stuffed full of cotton and he couldn’t make out any of the words.

He almost didn’t notice when the crowd above him dispersed, but it did help his breaths start to come a little easier. Only there was still Shiro, and he still didn’t know where Shiro stood on any of this. The Black Paladin sat down next to the bed and tried to grasp his hand. Keith yanked it away.

“Don’t...don’t.”

“Okay. I won’t touch you. Do you know where you are?”

Of course he knew, that was the whole problem. “Yes.”

“Okay. You’re safe now, Keith.”

Safe. Yeah, right. There was no such thing as safe, not anymore. He had thought the Castle was safe, that these people were safe, but he had been wrong. “Why?”

Shiro looked at him in mild confusion before choosing what to say. “We made a mistake, leaving you there. We -”

Keith rolled away, tucking his hands up next to his chest, cringing at the pain that still radiated through his leg. He didn’t want to hear it explained, how they wanted to punish him further. Yet at the same time, he needed to know what was coming. 

“Keith…”

“Now?”

It had been a long time since Shiro had needed to interpret his one word sentences, but luckily it seemed he was still good at it. “Now you keep resting and getting better until we can put you in a pod for your leg.”

“Why?”

That one seemed to give him pause. “So...you’ll be well.”

Were they really going to prolong the torture like this? Make him get well before they did away with him? He curled up tighter. “Just...kill. Now.”

“Kill? Keith -”

“Please.”

The chair scraped across the floor, and Keith flinched. Footsteps came around the bed. He tensed, waiting for the blow. The air in front of his face stirred, and Shiro’s voice came from very close.

“Keith, can you look at me, please?” When he didn’t comply, Shiro put a hand on his fists and pulled them down so that they were face to face. “No one is going to kill you. No one is going to hurt you. You’re back on the Castle because we were wrong. They were wrong about you being untrustworthy, and I was wrong about my duty to Voltron being more important than my duty to you. I’m so, so sorry that I let them kick you out, and that I didn’t come after you sooner. You will always be more important to me than the rest of the universe. You’re my brother. I love you.”

Tears welled up in Keith’s eyes despite his reluctance to believe any of it. Tugging his hands out from under Shiro’s, he covered his face again, unable to respond.

Shiro let out a long, quiet sigh. “The others want to apologize, too, at some point. But for now you should try to get some more rest. You’re still recovering from the infection.”

He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t be messed with while he was asleep. But his body decided for him that it was ready, drifting off without his permission.

.o.0.O.0.o.

Keith hadn’t really improved by the next couple of days. He slept some, he ate some, and his color and temperature seemed to be returning to normal. But he regarded everyone who came into the room with the wary stare of a cornered wild animal, and he still wasn’t speaking more than one or two words at a time, if that. Just as Shiro had feared, he had reverted back to the year that they had met, except worse. 

He tried to spend as much time in the infirmary with him as he could, hoping that the company would eventually coax him into relaxing. The other paladins still hadn’t gotten their chance to talk to him. Everyone, including Shiro, was afraid their presence would trigger another panic attack. He had already nearly gone into one when Hunk had delivered his breakfast that morning, and had been extra jumpy around Coran, too.

Shiro was eating his own breakfast, trying not to focus too much on the fact that Keith’s was just sitting there untouched, when he heard a telltale sniffle. Keith was sitting up, propped on some pillows against the wall, but his head was turned away from Shiro, as was pretty common. Even so, he could see the shimmer of a tear as it streaked down his face. Setting aside his bowl, he rounded the bed and settled down on the edge, expecting the flinch that followed but still hating it.

“Talk to me, Keith.”

He didn’t expect a response at all, and especially not a long one. But Keith angrily dashed the tears away, forever hating himself for ever crying, and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

Shiro’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“I was almost dead. It would have all been over. You should have just left me there.”

Heart aching, he scooted in closer, though Keith leaned even further back away from him. “Keith, no. We don’t want you dead. We want you here, alive and well, with us. If you died, I...I thought you were dead, when I first saw you. And it was like...it was like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I don’t know if I could survive it.”

Keith’s face, passive up until then, creased with a look of emotional pain that Shiro could hardly stand. “But why should I live? I’m...I’m Galra, Shiro. I’m one of them. But not even really Galra, just some cross-breed freak of nature. I never should have existed. Maybe that’s why my mother walked out on me, she knew I was a freak and she couldn’t stand to -”

“Stop it. Keith, stop.” He grabbed his shoulder and shook it, not caring at the moment whether it startled him. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are not defined by who your parents or grandparents or anyone else were. You are you. You are Keith Kogane, Red Paladin of Voltron, best pilot at the Galaxy Garrison. You’re a survivor. You’re a fighter. Not because you have Galra blood, but because the universe has thrown every hard thing that it could think of at you and you’re still standing strong.”

“I’m not standing strong, don’t you see me?” Keith met his eyes finally, a tiny bit of his old spark of anger visible. “I’m pathetic. Maybe I was the Red Paladin, maybe I was a survivor and a fighter, but right now I don’t think I can be any of those things. I don’t want to fight anymore, Shiro. I’m tired of surviving. I just want…” He broke down into tears again, covering his face with his hands.

Moving over closer, Shiro wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him in tight. “You want what?”

Keith’s shoulders shuddered beneath him. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t trust any of them. I can’t trust any of them.”

“I know.” 

For a long time, they sat together like that, Keith’s face buried in Shiro’s chest while he cried out all his tears. Shiro ran his fingers through his hair, trying desperately to come with anything he could say to comfort him. 

“Do you think you could listen to them, if they come and talk to you? Just one at a time, not everyone at once. I know they’re really anxious to speak to you, and I think it might do you some good, too.” Or at least he hoped.

It took him a minute to answer. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well, it doesn’t have to be now. But I’d like you to consider it.”

Keith just nodded.

.o.0.O.0.o.

He had been in bed for days. The infection was all but gone, there was no longer any danger in putting him in a pod, and doing so had been brought up a couple of times. But Shiro and Coran must have noticed how he shrank into himself every time it was mentioned, because they dropped the subject and just continued to let him stay there. 

He didn’t want to go in a pod. Being forced unconscious for who knew how many hours or days was just too vulnerable, and he already felt that way far too much, anyway. After all, he was stuck in bed in the middle of a ship full of people who hated him. He was pretty confident that Shiro would try his best to protect him, and Coran might, too. The Altean had taken the time to sit down and apologize to him for his role in the whole mess, and based on the way he had been treating him Keith was fairly sure he could be trusted. 

But that left four others, all who had weapons, one of whom had some kind of weird magic and was literally connected to the Castle. He didn’t feel safe, and he hated it. There hadn’t been many places in his life that he had been able to truly let down his guard and feel safe. A foster home or two, though later on he had become so jaded that even the good ones didn’t feel like they would last. The Garrison to some extent, at least as long as Shiro was there.

And the Castle. Yeah, there was always the chance of an attack, and there had been the couple of times that someone had snuck on board without them knowing. But in all of those situations he had known that there were people around who had his back, people that he could count on. It was the most at home he had felt since Shiro had left for Kerberos.

Now it was those very same people that he was afraid of, as stupid and weak as that made him. The thought was almost laughable. Him? Afraid of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge? But he couldn’t get the hatred he had seen in some of their eyes out of his head. Couldn’t forget the venom in their voices. Couldn’t erase all the times he had watched them, hallucinations or not, show up in that cave with insults on their lips and weapons in their hands, ready to make him pay for the crime of being part Galra.

He didn’t want to talk to them. But he knew that Shiro really wanted him to, and that meant he would have to do it sooner or later. Maybe if he went ahead and got it over with, they’d leave him alone more, and then when his leg was healed enough that he could actually walk it’d be easier to leave. He hadn’t figured out where he was going - definitely not back to Borulmyte - or how he’d get there, but leaving was the best option for everybody.

“Will you...stay? If I let them…”

Once again, Shiro knew exactly what he was talking about, despite the question being out of the blue. “Of course. I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

Sinking back into the pillows, Keith hugged himself. “Okay.”

Shiro smiled softly. “Okay. I’ll send them a message and let them know you’re ready.”

Hunk was the first to come in. He burst into tears pretty much as soon as he walked through the door and saw Keith, and cried so much the whole time that his many, many apologies could barely be understood. It made Keith uncomfortable, if he was honest. He had never known how to deal with tears, his own or anyone else’s. But Hunk was so obviously genuine and straightforward, and he had always had a hard time believing that there was any part of such a loving person that could have held such malice. 

“I get it.” It took everything in him to force multiple words out, but he knew he had to this time. “It’s hard to...stand up. When...everyone else...disagrees. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, it’s so not okay!” Hunk blubbered. “I don’t know if it would have done any good for me to say anything or not, but I still should have done it.”

Keith nodded. “Okay. You’re right. It wasn’t okay. But…” He took a deep breath. “I forgive you.”

The way Hunk’s face lit up was totally worth the difficulty of saying the words. “Really, man? Thank you. Like, really, thank you, you don’t know how happy that makes me. I know we’ve never been, like, the best of friends, but I’ve always really wanted to get to know you better, I mean if you’d be okay with that, it’s totally up to you, but maybe sometime when you’re feeling better we can like, hang out? Also I know you haven’t been eating much right now but I am definitely making you brownies when you feel up to eating them. Like, a ton of brownies. All the brownies I can possibly make. Hey, maybe you could help me make the brownies! Cooking is such a good way to bond, I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before! What do you think, does that sound okay? Or I mean, if you really don’t want to hang out with me at all, I totally understand that, too, I just -”

“Hunk.” Keith’s lips twitched upward slightly as the breathless Yellow Paladin finally screeched to a halt. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Hunk beamed. “Great! Okay, I’m gonna like, go, and let somebody else come in here, ‘cause, yeah. Feel better, Keith!”

When the room was empty again, Shiro leaned over and squeezed his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” He was surprised to find it was actually pretty true. A small burden had been lifted from his chest.

“Good. You ready for Lance or Pidge?”

Keith’s heart started beating double time again. “Lance.” Even though he had been more active in the process of his condemnation, Pidge’s response had hurt the worst.

The boy that came into the infirmary wasn’t the Lance that Keith knew. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the floor, or his hands, or anything but Keith and Shiro, and when he spoke his voice was so soft it was barely audible. 

“I don’t know why I did it.” He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. “I just get...so emotional, so caught up in the moment sometimes...I’m really just as much of a hothead as you are.”

If his demeanor and apology hadn’t caught Keith’s attention, that statement did. Lance, admitting he was as bad as Keith at something? “Thought that was because...I’m Galra.”

Lance’s face pinched. “Yeah. I said some pretty stupid things. I mean…” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe it is because you’re Galra. But still, it’s...you’re just you. And that’s okay. Maybe we don’t always get along, but I don’t really think you’re evil. I mean, I guess I kinda thought you could be. It was stupid, though. I’m an idiot, that’s what I’m getting at. There’s no real explanation, just...I’m sorry, like I said.”

Part of Keith wanted to accept that. Part of him didn’t think he could. “I...thanks. For apologizing. I think...maybe I can forgive you...soon? Maybe not yet. But, yeah. Soon.”

Lance nodded. “That’s fair. I didn’t really expect you to, like, at all, so…” He finally flicked his eyes up to meet Keith’s. “I think you and I could use to work on some things, anyway. Like, you know, not acting like we hate each other. Because I don’t. Hate you, that is. And I’m...pretty sure based on what Coran said that you don’t hate me, either.”

“No. I don’t. And yeah, that...that sounds good.”

“Okay. Good.” A brief smile flashed over his face, then he nodded again and excused himself.

“You still doing okay?”

Keith pressed his lips together. “Think so. I’m nervous, though. About Pidge.”

Shiro smiled sympathetically. “I know. Just give her a chance, ‘kay?”

Pidge shuffled into the room in a very similar fashion to Lance, eyes on the floor. She perched on the very edge of the chair that each paladin had occupied, kicking her feet back and forth since they didn’t quite touch the floor. In a low voice, she said her apology and explained that she had let her hurt over her family get the best of her, but insisted that it didn’t excuse her blaming him. 

It took a moment longer than the others for him to find his words. “I remember what it was like...missing somebody. Believing that they were still out there, but not knowing for sure. I mean, it wasn’t my actual family...unless you count my mom, which...at least I knew she chose to leave. So, she’s...probably fine.” Just didn’t want him. “But Shiro is the closest thing I’ve had to family since...since my Pops. And it’s hard. I mean, I kinda went ballistic, broke into a commanding officer’s office, punched a bunch of other officers, and got kicked out of the Garrison.”

“You what?” Shiro broke in, sitting forward, then realized his interruption and sat back, waving a hand. “Never mind. Sorry. We’ll talk later.”

Pidge snickered a little, and Keith took that as encouragement to continue. “But, yeah. I know how hard it is, and I would never, never wish that on someone else.”

Her head popped up, eyes wide and wet behind her glasses. “I know you wouldn’t. I know...I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, I never should have said something like that. You...you’re right, you understand probably more than anyone else, and I…” She trailed off, ducking her head as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Once again, there was someone crying in front of him, and he didn’t know what to do. But he was pretty sure what any of the other paladins would have offered in this situation, so… “Do you, um...need a...hug?”

The next thing he knew he had an armful of Pidge, curled up on the bed next to him and leaving tears and snot all over his shirt. He patted her back awkwardly. “You’ll find them. I know you will.”

“Why are you comforting me? I’m supposed to be in here helping you to feel better, this is not how this is supposed to work!”

Keith frowned. “Um...sorry?”

Pidge glared at him, not at all intimidating with her sopping wet face. “No, don’t apologize, that’s my job, too!” 

“Sorry!”

She punched him in the ribs. “You’re a good hugger. Why are you such a good hugger.”

Keith was just getting more confused the longer this conversation went on. “I...don’t know? It certainly isn’t from practice.”

Tilting her head back, she narrowed her eyes at him as if she could see into his mind. “Do you not like hugs?”

“No, I...do.”

“Then I’m gonna hug you. Every day. From now on.”

“Aw, can I get Keith hugs every day, too?” 

Keith startled a little bit when he realized that Hunk and Lance had returned to the room, but forced himself to relax. This was okay. They weren’t going to hurt him. They had all been very open with him, and even though it was going to take some time, he thought he could learn to trust them again.

“I...guess?”

“Yay!” Hunk settled onto the end of the bed, and Lance took the now empty chair, folding his long legs up into it. Shiro scooted forward again to be in Keith’s line of vision.

“How are you feeling now? Think maybe you can keep surviving a little longer?”

He felt Pidge tense in his arms, and Hunk’s face froze while Lance’s went carefully blank. Keith swallowed. “Yeah. I think...maybe I’m ready for that pod now. So I can finally get out of this bed and...I don’t know, kinda figure this out all over again.”

Shiro ruffled his hair fondly. “I’m glad. We’ll all be there with you for every step, okay?”

There was one more question, though. “What about Allura?”

Shiro’s face darkened slightly. “I’ve already told her she can either treat you the same as everyone else, or we’re leaving.”

“Nah, we won’t leave,” Pidge piped up. “There’s more of us than there are of her now. We’ll just stage a mutiny.”

Keith laughed awkwardly. “Somehow I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“I don’t think so, either, because I think she’ll come around,” Lance said. “But the point is, Mullet...we’re gonna support you.”

“You’re part of the Space Family now, dude!” Hunk cheered.

“Exactly,” Shiro smiled. “And Space Family has to stick together.”

The others kept chattering quietly, someone throwing in something about “ohana” in a weird voice, which triggered a whole conversation about some movie that he didn’t care about keeping up with. Closing his eyes, Keith let his body truly relax for the first time since before going to the Blade. 

And he felt safe.

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

Thanks so much to everyone who joined me this month!!! This was my first ever Tumblr writing challenge, and it was a blast. You guys are what made it so much fun, with all the comments and likes and reblogs! Thank you!

If you want more Keith whump from me sometime in the future, you  can follow me on here, on FFN, or follow the series "In which I whump Keith" on AO3...and if you haven't read Abyss yet (my first Keith whump fic!), you should check it out!

Happy Halloween and Happy Whumping!

[inkstaineddove]

Asystole

Ships: AusHun

Characters: Hungary, Austria; mentioned Prussia

Summary: His empire failing, Austria is desperate enough to make anything work. His empire failing, Hungary is desperate enough to finally break free. One of them must give.

Vienna, 1867.

Erzsébet padded across the hallway, spine stiff and shoulders rolled back. A minute before, some poor servant had been tasked to play the messenger, urging her to head to the office straightaway. Ordinarily, this sort of urgency would’ve shocked her; today, it was expected. All people talked, from the lowliest maid to the richest of emperors, and word of their machinations never seemed to escape her. Plus – if she allowed herself a moment of honesty, instead of falsely praising her cunning – her politicians had told her everything. There truly were no surprises.

Her first sight upon entering was that of Austria, scowling down at whatever papers were before him. She wondered when she had last seen him smile – and not the fake one he flashed at diplomats and hangers’ on, but the real one. It couldn’t have been years, could it? It seemed true enough, but for his sake she hoped she was wrong.

“Are you intending to get your face frozen like that or do you just enjoy tempting fate?” Hungary slid into her seat as she spoke. Her voice lilted up in a way that would sound like gentle teasing to the untrained ear.

Fortunately, his was trained perfectly to her pitch. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, looking as if he was in no mood to be messed with. He’d been looking like that a lot recently. It disappointed her, only because it put a damper on her fun. There was little joy in kicking a dog while it was down, even one prone to biting.

“Would you prefer I pretend to sit here, giddy about all my misfortunes? If you wanted that, you should’ve convinced your boyfriend his time and resources would’ve been better off warring with a different enemy of the hour.” Austria attempted to keep his tone dispassionate, though it didn’t work. Try as he might, it never did.

She sniffed, scrunching up her nose. “Do you have to call him my ‘boyfriend?’ That sounds so…juvenile.” It was a minor thing to pick a fight over, but she certainly wasn’t going to over whether Prussia’s war had been legitimate. There was no need when they both agreed.

“I feel I have to because, if I didn’t and forgot my restraint, I’d be tempted to call him something awful like your little bitch, but I would never. I’m above that.” Austria smiled, all teeth and hostility, and Hungary wondered how nice they would look knocked out on the floor.

She flicked her wrist dismissively. No reason to get herself worked up over something so petty. There was business to discuss and deals to be made. She leaned her weight onto the arm of her chair. “Can you just tell me what you want? You know how it is, so many rebellions to plan and so little time.”

A quirk of an eyebrow was enough to show his displeasure. “Not like you to play the fool. There’s no reason for you to pretend to be so unaware.”

“If I didn’t pretend, you might get curious on my methods. If I reveal my hand, there goes whatever illusory personal freedoms I have. You want me even more miserable than I am?” His silence was the answer she wanted. She smiled, resting her cheek on her hand. “So, tell me. What does Hofburg have in store for me?”

“You’ll be thrilled to know that for a change, it’s an offer instead of an edict. I don’t see any point in attempting to sweeten reality to you – you live here and you’re not an idiot, after all. The empire, my empire, is in an increasingly bleak situation. You would think this would endear me into the hearts of all my subjects, but I suppose I underestimated how deep nationalism’s poison infected their bloodstreams,” Austria rolled his eyes at his own foolishness. “Yours being the most infected – and, as you love to remind me – being the most likely to one day succeed, a deal needs to be made to quell their bloodlust.”

That certainly was one way to put it. Hungary couldn’t stop herself from laughing, unable to look at Austria’s overly serious expression or risk breaking into hysterics. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself, though still with a noticeable smirk. “Bloodlust? Really, Roderich? They want independence, not the death of every Austrian. Who has the time for that kind of petty revenge?”

He scoffed, clearly insulted. “As if they’d be capable of that. If I had to sacrifice a few peasants here and there to keep them peaceful, I wouldn’t bat an eye. My kingdom for a commoner is a trifle. No, the blood they want is mine. They want to see what I’ve built up over the centuries diminished in months, in days. I’ve jumped into wars for less, you know as much. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’d fare well if an army were sent in and the backlash for such a heavy-handed move doesn’t make it worth the trouble.” He shook his head, clearing his mind of useless plans.

Hungary pitied him. Look how desperate he was to hold onto something so ephemeral, so meaningless. Empires came and went like the seasons. Here was a man who thought himself wise, yet he couldn’t grasp such a basic tenet of their existence. She had learnt it; so had Poland and Lithuania and every other plaything these so-called ‘powers’ sought. It was a lunacy, one that infected all of them the same. Now his was crumbling all around him and instead of attempting to move on, he would drag out the process. It was predictable and entirely disappointing. Despite having no reason to, she expected better of him.

She sighed and turned her gaze away from him. If she stared at him any longer, she’d feel nauseous. “What do you want from me?”

Relieved to be back on track, Austria’s body became less rigid. “Nothing, really. My offer is quite favorable to you. Our marriage, partnership, whatever descriptor you prefer becomes one of equals. Complete control of your lands returns to you. You’ll have the privilege or the torture to pore over the minutiae of whatever half-formed, barely coherent policy is cooked up by your own hacks in Budapest. Christ, am I normally this cynical?” He shook off the self-awareness. That could be dealt with later or, preferably, never. “Really, everything you’ve ever harassed me and all my various rulers about is now yours. You lose nothing in this arrangement.”

“Everything, bar the most important thing. Just because it’s been roughly twenty years hasn’t changed what the people want. You’re not giving me anything you view as important. Ruling my people has become an inconvenience, so you’ll hand it off to me. Ten years ago, you would’ve been insulted at the prospect. And now the insulted party will be us.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Why is conceding so difficult for your lot to do? Clinging onto everything will only make the inevitable that much harder.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared her down. “Nothing is inevitable. We’re in a difficult spot, but we’ve been through those before. As long as I bide my time and there’s no more incidents, everything will be back on track and no one will make anymore of their bitchy little comments.” The way he sneered as he said that last part, she was willing to bet that bothered him more than anything else. He tried smiling at her, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve conceded a lot to you with this. Fine, you’re not quite independent, but it’s just as good. In some ways, I’m doing you a favor. Foreign policy is such a nuisance. All of them are sharks, all of them would be circling you, sniffing out fresh blood. Europe isn’t how you remember it.”

Hungary grinded her teeth together. Patronizing, always patronizing. Even desperate for her assistance, he couldn’t view her as a peer. And then he wondered why she behaved the way she did? Why, sometimes, she can’t even stand to be near him? He was dumber than he had any right to be.

“Do you think I’ve been completely isolated from the world? I know how they all act, how they all think. The only ones I’d have to worry about fighting off would be you and Russia, and without me, what army do you have?” She smiled, enjoying how that blow landed. How could he argue against it? He’d said as much to her – sometimes with pride, sometimes with fear – many times throughout the years. “And believe me, I would love to strike out on my own and form my own alliances. I can think of a few who’d be more than happy to spurn you with a treaty or two.”

He folded his arms over his chest, staring at her with derision. “Insulting me won’t get you what you want, Liebchen.” He practically snarled out the nickname. Pet names had always been their favorite weapons. “This is the only deal you have. I don’t get all your bitching either. We negotiated with two of your most darling heroes. There’s no need for you to be putting up this much of a fight. Will you ever be satisfied with anything I do for you, or should I learn to accept your eternal disdain?”

She took shaky breaths through her nose. That was hardly enough to constrain her. “Perhaps I’d be more accepting of the terms if you’d bother to invite me to negotiations! I appreciate,” she roared the word out, her fury overtaking her, “that you were oh-so-fucking considerate enough to know who I would’ve chosen to be my representative. And here I thought you only paid attention to my lands to slaughter innocents! But you have never, will never, respect me enough to listen to me on what my own goddamn people want! Deák and Andrássy are good men, but they know nothing compared to me! How many times must I scream this at you until you get it? If I’m not allowed to have any free will in this life, then so be it! That’s my curse, but at least let me speak on their behalf! Give me the chance, the fucking chance, to win them the freedoms it appears I’ll never have!”

She only realized she was leaning over his desk when she was done. Her rage, built up over the centuries, was causing her to tremble. Staring into Roderich’s eyes, she swore she could kill him. She swore she could and it would be the last time, the most permanent of his deaths. It was so vivid in her mind that, for a moment, she believed it to be reality.

What brought her back to the present was how utterly bored he appeared at her antics. Here was the same song and dance they performed for each other. Here it was, meant to play out for eternity. Why would he fear her? What could she do to him that was permanent? Nothing. The one thing she could, he locked it away in some deal she wasn’t allowed to be apart of.

“Don’t you ever get tired of carrying on like that? So sanctimonious. As if your cause is the most just. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be bound to you?” He shook his head. “I’m convinced that if you ever tried to shut up, it would kill you. Though, honestly, I’d be grateful for the silence.” As she sat down, he smiled with an unrivaled arrogance. “There. Now, please, Erzsébet, try to be reasonable for a change. There’s no use in becoming so hysterical over this. Everything doesn’t have to be such a battle. Fighting like this, you haven’t taken a break in centuries. Aren’t you tired?”

She would not be baited. She refused to tell him what he wanted to hear, refused even if it were partially true. “The only thing I’m tired of is being brushed aside, but I know not to expect change from you.” She looked outside the window and sighed. “The ink is already dried, isn’t it? I can’t stop what’s been put in motion.”

“For the most part. All it needs is ratification. Though, we’ve been assured that that won’t be an issue.” Once more, he relaxed against the back of his chair. His relief was clear across his face. “I’m glad you’ve calmed yourself of those delusions. While I can commend your…dedication, you’ll have much more important things to busy yourself with.”

Hungary smiled, pleased with his false sense of security. “You’re right, there will be. I understand that, at this point, I can’t prevent anything. But, when news travels around, most will not be happy. This flies in the face of everything they’ve worked so hard to achieve over these last few years. They’ve been sold out, and I’m inclined to believe them.” She licked her lips, savoring the moment. “So, when the people take to the streets, when they demand what they know is owed to them, I won’t try to smooth things over. Never again. I will be right beside them, doing whatever I can to rile them up. Whatever they choose to do, however they decide to handle this, I will support them with every fiber of my being. And if that creates problems for you?” She stood up, smirking and curtseying. “Solve them yourself. I’m no propaganda piece.”

Head held high, she began striving out of the room. It was the only card she had left, the only thing she could think of. With every step she took, she prayed he’d be as weak as she knew he was. He had said it himself, there was nothing he could do to fight anything. Today did not come about out of a position of strength for him.

“Wait, Erzsébet! Please, don’t do this.” She heard him rise, heard the soft steps of his feet. “If you do that, neither of us will walk away from this looking good.” A soft intake of breath from him. “For once, I’m not too proud to admit that I need you. But, please, don’t throw it all away over nothing.” His voice was gentle, as if he were pleading with a lioness and not a woman.  

When he reached out, she allowed him to touch her and spin her around. When had his hands last been that soft? Cornered, he was like a new man. “All you have to offer me is insults. What should I stay around for? I have more to gain away from you than besides you. I always have.”

“I know, dammit I know!” She watched his Adam’s apple shift as he swallowed. Roderich’s eyes were wide, all too aware that he was on the precipice. “Not now, though. You’re right, you’re my equal. I’ll give you whatever I can, within reason, to prevent that. Anything to prevent you from ruining me.”

The urge to scowl at his self-preservation was there. What else should she have expected? He was still Roderich; nothing could change the core of a man. Still, this was further than she’d ever gotten before. “You know me well enough to know what I want.”

“I assumed I did when making the last deal and look where it got me. Forgive me for wanting you to spell it out.” The beginning of a smile appeared on his face.

Erzsébet didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. Feeling off-kilter, she settled for sitting on the sofa. “Not even you could mess this one up. I’m tired of sneaking around your back to leave the home. I’m not a young girl and you’re certainly not my father and you will stop treating me as such. If it’s that important to you, there’s only three places I’d be anyway, and you know them all. More importantly, start treating me like a person! You want your life to be less miserable? Then do yourself a favor and at least treat me with indifference, I’d rather that than constant disgust.” Her eyes met his and held them, challenging him to deny her. “And, whenever some big decision comes up, you better discuss it with me and actually give some consideration to my thoughts. You’re not any smarter than me and I’m as aware on everything as you are. If this is going to be both our futures, for whatever time you just bought yourself, then I’m not going to do anything to sabotage it.”

“That’s the very least of what I can do.” If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she a flash of shame in his eyes. It couldn’t have been. She doubted that he could feel such things, so high were the walls he’d built.

She studied him skeptically. That had been far too easy. There must’ve been something he’d want in return. He couldn’t just have thought what he’d taken was enough. “Don’t you have anything you want from me? There’s no terms?”

Roderich paused, deciding his best course of action. He shrugged, apparently not finding any trap in her words. “Two. The first: cut off the affair. It can be anyone else, but not him. On a personal level, this will make me look like an even bigger cuckold than we all know I am.”

Erzsébet’s eyes hardened and she leaned away from him. “No, that’s out of the question.”

He frowned when she offered no further explanation. “Really? You could do so much better. Don’t tell me you actually love him.”

“You have no right to my personal life.”

“Right. I thought that was the case.” She couldn’t quite distinguish the exact emotions in his voice beyond disappointment and resignation. There was a layer to it that wasn’t simple to place.

He snapped her out of her thoughts when he spoke again. “Now, the emperor wants this sealed with some sort of formal wedding between us. I begged him to do anything but this. Unfortunately for the both of us, he thought it would make such a lovely story for the masses.” He gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m also not exactly asking for you to do this, since there became a gentleman’s agreement on it, but something that means much more to me.” He grew serious again at whiplashing speed. “Let me break the news to Gilbert. Give me the satisfaction.”

Erzsébet could imagine how it’d go. How the scene played out in her mind, it was horrid. Her stomach wrenched. “You’d wreck him.”

“That’s the point,” Roderich wore a cruel smile. He’d been imagining it as well.

“Why do you think I’d ever let you do that?”

He shrugged in an effort to appear nonchalant and failed. “Simple, really. If you tell him yourself, do you think he’ll believe you can’t just stop it? God, he’ll have every moronic scheme to prevent it and act all wounded when you tell him it can’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he were just your little plaything all along. Even though I have ‘no right to your personal life,’ as you so kindly put it, I’m no fool. What’s the point in risking it and being stuck with me?” He smiled at her, warm in a way she was unfamiliar with. His tone attempted to strike a friendliness that didn’t fit him. “If I do it, he hates me, comes sobbing to you about it, and you can both continue to curse my very existence. The status quo is maintained. It’s an obvious choice to me.”

She wandered if he’d prepared that speech just for now. It was tempting to ask him, but the knowing would be worse. Ignorance could, indeed, be a bliss. Erzsébet knew there was an ulterior motive for his words, there always was with him. He wasn’t Feliks, who she wouldn’t feel such guilt over listening to. Still, there was a human part of her that needed outside validation regardless of the source. “Do you think I’m a coward?” Her voice was so soft, she wondered if he’d even heard her.

“No, because I can understand it. Sometimes it’s braver to manipulate.” There was an understanding in his voice. She wouldn’t be surprised if this were coming from experience.

“Fine, but don’t be crueler than you have to. Try to have some compassion if you can.” There was a feeling of hollowness Erzsébet forced herself to ignore. Her life would be livable, that was what was most important. No one would have done it differently.

“He’ll get what he deserves,” Roderich bit back his irritation. They both knew who it was really for. Instead, he nodded his head and offered her his arm. “I’m sure you don’t want to spend the rest of the day watching me work. Allow me to walk you to the door.”

She politely took his arm. They walked in silence to the door, too busy was her mind for idle chatter. Anyways, hadn’t they said enough? Only on her way out did she smile at him and offer him her thanks.

He smiled at her. “Thank you. I promise I’ll make this worthwhile.”

[straight-into-the-animus]

Share the Pain of Our Defeat (Malik and Kadar)

@cimbaerly​ Thank you so much for the kind words! I’m sorry it took so long; I’ve never written anything for AC1 nor do I claim to know much for it, but I knew I had to give it a try for you!

I hope you enjoy!! Warnings for angst and mentions of canonical character death/beginnings of AC1 spoilers

read on ao3

The castle of Masyaf was, in all things, the heart of any Assassin. It was where many of them were born, kicking and screaming like the fighters they would almost all grow up to be.

It was where many were born and where many might retire, should they be lucky to have such an honor. Malik knew from a young age that it was a rare luxury as soon as he was old enough to comprehend the world. Not many would end up making it to such an age; not when you were meant to give up everything for the Creed, including your very life, should it come to that.

That was how things were, and it was all for the eventual betterment of mankind. Mortality was finite under the best circumstances. 

Kadar grasped this and the importance of this sacrifice, yet dealt with it in some different way. He first began to question when he was entering the beginnings of his teen years, in the most unusual ways.

“What if the Creed ends?”

“What?” Malik almost stopped in his tracks, grip on the training sword faltering for just a second. Kadar kept his defensive stance, ready should his brother attack, but his eyes almost seemed to be focused on something else which eluded him.

“If the Templars were to attack Masyaf, and they were to kill all of us… What would happen to the Creed? Would people just forget it?”

“Well… No. No, there would still be people to carry on the Creed.”

“But they’d all be dead.”

“The Creed is an idea. Ideas don’t die.”

“People do. And you just said-” He put his sword down and edged out of his defense as he started to get into the discussion, and Malik quickly came in to take advantage. With a few swift movements, Kadar’s sword was thrown away from his reach, and he was pinned on his back, wide-eyed at the sudden shift in behavior.

“And people will die if they keep talking and getting distracted during training.” Malik arched an eyebrow, and Kadar mumbled out something in understanding before Malik got off of him, and he rolled to stand.

“I was just asking questions, big brother.”

“And for every one second you spend asking questions, you lose one second off of your life.”

“You’re no fun.” Kadar huffed but agreed and went silent as they continued to train.

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

“Does it hurt?” Kadar sat next to Malik on the stone wall, gingerly as if he would any further hurt his brother. Malik looked over at his younger brother from where he was focusing on his hand in his lap and attempted to give a brave smile. 

“It is not so bad. The pain goes away after a while. And the fact that they burn it stops any impurities from entering the wound. See?” Malik pulled his hand out of his lap and showed Kadar where they had taken his left finger off. There had been a rush of pride when the Masters had told him he was ready for the honor of his initiation, to be made into a true man of the Brotherhood. Both him and Altair were now, and that burned something fierce in him that they were on the same level. Not in capability, but in rank. That would need to change soon.

“Why do you do it? Is it because of the Creed?”

“What does the Creed…?”

“It seems unnecessary. To have to cut off a finger.”

“It’s for the Hidden Blade. It makes things easier, so we don’t have to risk our fingers every time we use it. And it’s a sacrifice. For the Brotherhood.”

“There you go on again.”

“Excuse me?” Malik sharpened his tone; not that it was hard with pain still shooting from his hand and throbbing from the stump of his finger to the rest of his body. Kadar still looked unfazed, meeting Malik’s gaze with his own challenging one.

“You cut off your finger without any question? Caused yourself pain because someone told you?”

“Those are our Masters-”

“And have you not thought that you’ve made yourself a target? Obviously, Templars will know what to look for if they see a man in white robes.”

“Kadar, please silence yourself-”

“I don’t want to.”

Their voices didn’t raise at all, a feat remarkable for the heat of the conversation, but there was anger there that Malik was unsure of, something he couldn’t control. This was meant to be a proud day, something he thought his brother would care to witness and be excited to undergo someday of his own accord, and it just… wasn’t there. Or it was hidden under this new bitterness. The younger man went quiet despite how he had protested against his silence, looking down at the ground below the mountains, and Malik took the opportunity.

“This is how things are done. This is how the Brotherhood will survive.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because- Because I do. Because I must. For all our sakes. Look at me.” He waited until his younger brother’s head was raised, and their eyes met. “It is seen as harsh, yes. But it is our world. It is a noble effort. And we are the only ones able to do it for the betterment of men. Though we might not be remembered, not by them, we will be remembered by our own. There is nothing to fear.”

“I don’t fear anything-”

“You do.” And Malik hadn’t been sure of it, not entirely, but he knew in the instant that it was the truth; when he brought it up, Kadar’s eyes had darted away to the left in avoidance, though his voice remained steady. “Kadar. It’s fine to be afraid. But not forever. You’re to be a man of the Brotherhood, and then we all need to look out for each other. You look out for me. And I’ll look out for you.”

Kadar was silent as he studied him for a long moment before speaking again. “You swear that?”

“I do. I swear it on everything.” Malik intoned, face serious as he looked into his brother’s eyes, which were so similar to his. Eventually, Kadar nodded, releasing a breath.

“Then I’ll swear as well to look out for you. And I’ll hold you to it.”

“Fair,” Malik responded, body relaxing slightly as Kadar’s body turned away, and he leaned back on his arms to look out on the landscape stretched out in front of them. The sun was not yet begun to set on them, and in his eyes, Malik saw some quiet flame of passion not yet stomped out despite what was said. He was young yet, and a pain quickly made itself known in Malik’s chest -- one more intense than the one in his hand -- that this wouldn’t be the case forever. Which he expected, it was their lot in life, and Malik was proud of that.

But… were they any different, he couldn’t help but wonder if that fire in Kadar’s eyes would be suited for something else. Where that passion and youth would be directed if not for their Brotherhood.

The sun was long set when they left the wall.

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

Malik still thought about those days, sometimes, when things were too quiet, and there were no maps to make, no novices to direct. When he had been younger, there had been a part of him that longed to go and fight for their cause, to leave the safe haven of Masyaf. He had been a young man, then, full of ambition. Jerusalem seemed as far away as you could get for the moment.

There was no pain in his left hand, now. Though that had been so long dulled now, the years making it so, he had to adjust to no hand at all; most of no arm.

And now things were too quiet.

He still saw Kadar, heard him despite how impossible things seemed. In the face of every novice, either much too serious or much too brash, ready to made their presence known and make someone proud, make Malik proud. Sometimes he had to stand still and center himself to keep the bile from rising in his mouth long after those boys left because most of the time they truly were no more than boys.

Except for one. The minute he would walk in, he felt inside as though he was a cat, spitting and hissing and righteous indignation because how dare he stride in when Malik was trying to pull himself together after he had ruined and broken the promise he had tried so hard to keep?

The circles under his eyes seemed to darken every time he caught his reflection, but no one dared to make any sort of mention about it. The food tasted bitter, always, but he would attempt to eat it anyway. 

Things would be better someday, he knew somewhere deep in his bones. He had more people to look after, in his own way, and there was a comfort to be had there. For as much as those novices scared him, he could guide them, teach them. Fix his mistakes.

But for now, just for now… When the sun was starting to set over the high buildings, he would think of indignation and fear and an eager young man who tried to embrace a Creed that Malik now knew he had no place in, never did.

He hoped that Kadar could forgive him, that he could forgive himself. And he would. He would.

But not now.

This was a weird, experimental mess and I’m sorry y’all had to sit thru it, but I somewhat enjoyed it?

So I hope you enjoyed it in return! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request!  If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here! Safety and peace!

[originlist]

the successive deaths of ritsuka fujimaru.

you have dreamed before of death. you are no stranger to narrow escapes, and there are times when you didn’t escape, saved only by twists of fate, your being only in a dream all along, or a timeline collapsing into yours. sometimes, still, they haunt your dreams again.

1. beltane.

it’s real and unreal at once, a dream and present. aren’t they always? you don’t know. “you have to kill me,” says the green man, because he’s the sacrifice and he loves you too much to let you have a part in this incoherent revelry. your own blood sings in your ears.

“just come back home afterwards,” you tell him as you push a knife into where you think his throat is. just come back home. you aimed wrong. or maybe it’s just impossible to kill the green man like this. a part of you doesn’t mind, because you don’t want to be the death of anything you love, no matter how much the part you love is buried under moss and living stone.

you really didn’t want to hurt him, and that’s where it gets you. the sound of music gets louder around you, frantic, dizzying. it smells like plants. something bites into your chest and you can feel your blood feeding the grass beneath. shouldn’t this kill you? you are not the sacrifice but you are a sacrifice. he loves you. teeth tear your heart. you forgive him. it’s because you couldn’t manage the knife mostly... it’s not robin’s fault.

of everyone you could possibly die to, you mind him the least. the seasons turn. do you help? all you hear is the music, even after your vision blacks. all there is, is the music. spring is here. it wants to be fed. alright, alright.

you’ll feed it, because it’s robin.

but, ah, it hurts....

2. the depths.

it tastes sweet, strangely. you fall in slow motion, with the taste of strange honey in your mouth for reasons you don’t really understand. water follows, but you can’t move enough to swim. it feels like watching yourself from an outsider’s view, a person sinking slowly and passively in a black sea.

what fell before you first was a star. a bird, wings cracked and broken off by a monster. a pity, you wanted to see the solo. you wanted her to dance. but what were you alone supposed to do against a beast, one who makes your mind buzz, vision go blank, makes you feel like you’ve had your face shoved into a lotus flower, too close to its lakewater.

maybe you did and that’s why there’s water in your nose. maybe you drowned. you assumed that would hurt more, but this is more like falling asleep. ah, you can’t feel your body any more.

“sorry,” you silently tell the egret (swan, she says, though you think her more like an egret). “i really thought i’d be reliable enough.”

a flash of light, a glimpse of something bright white. the last thing you see as you think oh, maybe it’s not too late...? you’ll cheer her on. of course you will. you, for her, for everyone you represent, will cheer her climactic solo. redux. you don’t see as your command seals flare and impart on the bird’s flight all that you can give. why hold back? it’s the last thing this ‘you’ can do. will do. this is your denouement.

3. the furthest reach.

it’s not a real place. you know this. at the real end of the world, you were surrounded by both servants and demon pillars. more of the former. because you aren’t supposed to be truly alone, but in this place you are.

in this place, it’s worse, because you’re in your own head and you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. maybe it’s a final curse from goetia. maybe you’re just fucking traumatized. you end up at the end of the world, alone.

forever, there is only this place, beyond time and space and reality and anyone’s ability to reach or save you. you walk.

what else are you going to do?

you never get anywhere, no matter how far you walk. it’s the same. the leftovers of demon pillars, dead and hollowed out. broken stone. things that once were great and now are pieces of marble long forgotten. you might be long forgotten, too. what else are you going to do? but walk, and think about walking, because it’s either that or thinking about how alone you are and how silent it is. even when you slip or if you talk to yourself, the sound dies before it’s made.

a human can only live so long. it’s been an eternity. it’s been a second. in this place, you will die eventually. of exposure. of deprivation. of isolation. of your feet giving out from under you and leaving you with no other option but to lie there and let your awareness rot, having forgotten who you are and why you are here, in this pit of eternity and nothingness. a parting gift. from [???]. maybe.

4. the [???] of [???].

the air is hot and choking, a bitter taste on every inhale. laden with curses. your hands are bloody. your own. everyone else’s. chaldea is crushed underfoot, and you speak to something immense and incomprehensible.

you are pleading. there is no life to save. “please, come home.” the command seals on your arm are dull scars beneath the blood and burns. there is poison in your veins. “i don’t hold it against you. we can still fix it. please, [???], just trust me. come back.”

hands reach for you, the same which have managed to kill every one of your allies. you have defeated embryonic beasts, emerging monstrosities, lostbelt kings, but this is not that. pupating, maybe. you do not flinch, because you aren’t scared. you simply don’t have any other options. the air gets heavier as it approaches, until you’re lightheaded and dizzy on foul prana and your own blood in your lungs.

you’re picked up. the presence of the current [???], even as ‘chrysalis’, is toxic to humanity. inherently. in these hands, dizzy, with blood that’s more poison than you dribbling from your lips, you try to hold yourself up, still rambling. they’re forgiven. they’re forgiven. please don’t be lost. i will always welcome you home.

you die here, because the presence is suffocating and there was no other option for a human in the presence of its antithesis. you die with words on your lips, said in a bubble of blood, slipping with your hand still offered. you die, the last human, and there is a pause.

and then, there is a scream, desperate and despairing and mourning.

5. someone else’s dream.

something echoes in the wood of the rafters. paper pins you down at the same time as a voice and face you know whispers love against your intercostals. you’re called a name that is and isn’t yours. once again your heart is palmed, still not for the first time. for the sake of [???], you don’t let them know that.

your bones crack. you can’t feel your own blood, but you do feel the blood of someone else dripping onto you, into your flayed-open ribcage. “this is love,” someone says, and you know them both wrong and right. maybe it is. maybe it’s not the type you want. it’s still forgiven. you don’t know why, you just can’t hold a grudge here.

even as bones crack between teeth and your heart is pressed too tight in hand, you still can’t hold a grudge. you can just wish this wasn’t happening. is it so hard, to simply not be disemboweled by someone whispering saccharine. funny, fitting, it reminds you of shimousa... “this is love.” well. you don’t relate, but you can believe them. it makes you sad, strangely. it must be so sad... is [      ] lonely?

even as they tear you open, searching for something you don’t have, you wish you could provide whatever it is. sorry. the words aren’t aloud, but some part of you mouths: don’t be lonely, don’t be so lost, you can still come home... because you’re still [???], aren’t you?

you die, bleeding out, in a flurry of sound and frantic hands grabbing at you, and this time your final words are once again “it’s okay, don’t worry”.

6. [???] [???]

the [???] [          ] your [???].         chest           [         ]   hurts. [???] [???]             cold air. [            ]

this is not a memory you know.

[chocolate-parfait]

Congratulations on the 300! I see you do matchups?! (I really hope this is the right inbox, I'm still new to this) Could you do one for me (Mixed matchup IkeVamp, IkeSen)? INFP-A, like drawing, cooking, reading, writing, languages (translator to be), sarcasm, traveling, dogs. Don't like unnecessary drama, people disturbing my peace. I'm straigt forward and don't like but can be very confrontational but that rarely happens (no one wants to witness this). Unpaid therapist of all my friends. Thx!

Thank you, sweetie! Hope you enjoy~

I match you up with... Dazai!

Dazai is one of the few people in the mansion who enjoys his peace and tranquility, so aside some teasing and clowning here and there he won't be causing too much of a ruckus (unless Ai-chan is involved~)

Your relationship with Dazai evolves pretty slowly. From two acquaintances who exchanged basic greetings and made small talk every now and then, you slowly became friends who chill together while quietly enjoying the other's company, only to turn into a deeper relationship after various syntomps typical syntomps of the phenomenology of love took root in your hearts. Despite a comfortably unhurried evolution and what some may deem as just fleeting and superficial attraction, your feelings are actually genuine and strong. You and Dazai were able to find the perfect balance that not many couples are able to achieve; neither of you forces the other into something they don't want to do, and you can safely call the each other out without fear of hurting or offending, confident in the mutual respect and understanding you both have of the other

You can spend hours sitting together side by side in complete silence, only the ticking of a clock or a little bird outside comfortably filling the background. You read a book and he writes his newest novel or vice versa. Sometimes it's just one snuggling against the other in search of warmth and affection. It's extremely domestic and Dazai literally LIVES for it

Your romance falls into a steady routine that gives Dazai the impression of leading a completely normal life, just like any other man, finally free from all the doubts and sorrows that used to torment him back in his human days. As if the constancy of such lifestyle wasn't enough, he's also got you to fix up whatever trouble may pass through his golden orbs. You're always there to hear and help him out, and you're also the main reason why he was able to break free from his self destructive mentality, and knowing that you can live a happy, safe life just by being with him brings him ungodly amounts of joy.

One particular night you two had a semi-fight. During that period Dazai was already pretty much always on edge, despite concealing it pretty well behind his usual smile, but when the moon is high in the sky people are more vulnerable, and his remorse and self hatred all came flowing out at once. He absolutely didn't expect your reaction. For the first time ever since you arrived at the mansion, he saw fire burning in your moonlit pupils. Your usual serene tone slightly lowered to a much more aggressive and harsh pitch as countless words came out of your pretty lips. With each sentence you destroyed every one of his qualms just like a knight would cut down his enemies to save his princess. By the end of your discussion he was shocked and amazed to find how you had literally flipped everything upside down and gave him much to think about. A new perspective, things he ignored too much and others he cared too much about. After that night Dazai's usual behavior changed considerably towards you. You could now clearly feel the genuineness behind his smiles and gazes, the softness in his voice and movements when addressed to you. It was the spark that ignited the flames of your love.

Your favorite dates vary from strolls around the city to him teaching you Japanese. He has never taught a language to anyone before, but by having such a receptive student as you makes his heart swell with pride and he wants to try harder for your sake! He's actually on cloud nine ever since you asked him to teach you his native language. The fact that you want to get to know his country and a big part of him better means a lot to him, and it does nothing but strengthen his love for you

Dazai loves animals!! So even without pleading too much he'll agree on adopting a dog if you want one. He's going to take great care of it and you will often see him petting him while quietly babbling on various topics as if the poor creature could understand him

Second choice: Mitsunari

As the resident angel of Azuchi becoming friends with him was no difficult task, as he already trusted you with his life the moment you became a part of the Oda Forces. Additionally, he truly admires your kindness and care for others, so much that he can't help but happily praise you with the biggest smile on his face. Barely even a week passes and you already find yourself watching after him as you remind him to eat, sleep and maybe even breathe. Hideyoshi is extremely grateful as he finally can take it easier and not worry too much about the young man (he still does nonetheless, trust me)

On your part, hating Mitsunari is basically impossible, and even though your sarcastic retorts completely fly over his head (in return you gain Ieyasu's sympathy), spending time with him becomes the most natural thing in the world. Before you know it, you find yourself looking forward to being with him and your heartbeat confirms your suspicions. You may or may not have fallen in love with someone from the Sengoku period and the realization is a scary one. What will happen to your family and friends back home? And what about your dream job? But then that handsome smile, those vivid amethyst eyes full of tenderness, that soft voice that caressed your ears leaving pink warmth on your skin; it all came crashing down on you, leaving no other room for doubts.

If and when you confess him about your past and what had brought you to Honnoji that fateful night, you'll see the fires of an incredible passion taking ahold of his usually placid irises. He cannot fully explain with words the endless facets of what he's feeling, but he'll lock your hands in a tight grip and earnestly try to let out as much as he can. He vows eternal gratitude to you, the one who gave up everything for him, he who does not deserve such loyalty but decides to live up to the sacrifice you made. This new side of Mitsunari renews the love you felt for him, and at the end of his speech, in order to seal such an important promise, he kisses you on the lips, fiery and passionate

Everything escalates from there, and anyone in the castle can see how much close you two got in the blink of an eye. The moment you announce your relationship you get submerged from congratulatory blessings and gifts, even from a very grumpy Ieyasu who doesn't let this opportunity to slip in an ironic comment here and there

You may have given up on everything you had, but Ishida has no intention of making you regret choosing him over the rest of the world. If you're vocal and direct enough about your needs and wishes, he'll try to spoil you rotten at the best of his abilities. Your feet hurts? He's going to carry you bridal style to your bedroom to give you a two hours long massage. Headache? He's already in town with Hideyoshi to buy the best infuses for your head. He's very dedicated and it's very surprising to see him so active and attentive. If he starts getting too overwhelming the only choice you'll have is to explicitly tell him to tone it down a notch or two (please give him cuddles later, baby boy just wants to help)

Knowing about your love for travel, he makes sure to take you with him each time an inspection in a domain comes up, though he'll firmly refuse in case he deemed it to be dangerous. If something were to happen to you right in front of his eyes, he'd blame himself for 500 years and even more for not being able to save you. This is actually one of his biggest worries and from time to time he'll have related nightmares that cause him to wake up with a start, soaked in cold sweat. Take him in your arms, snuggle against his chest or cradle his head against your beating heart and most of the job will be done. If you happen to be concious enough and hear him out, console him with firm words of reassurance, press a kiss to his lips and he's going to be out like a candle in no time at all

Mitsunari is fascinated by the foreign languages you speak! You must have put a lot of time to learn all those exotic-sounding words, and he asks you to teach him a word or two. He's a fast learner and his brain has plenty of space to store whatever you say to him, and although he might cutely stumble every now and then, you're pretty surprised at the enthusiasm he's showing for your passion. He's going to take you to the tenshu to discuss with Nobunaga about a possible occupation involved with languages, and in no time at all you're already on your way to Nagasaki to discuss some deals with European and Asian merchants

[izzyphantomgamer]

Episode Ignis.

A consideration of Ignis Scientia and his Episode.

I apologize if this is not my usual ridiculous post, but I wanted to talk about Ignis, a small rant of how I felt through all of this. If you want to read a sad post then please do, listen to the OST ‘Solidarity’ if possible.

"I'm afraid I must ask for your forgiveness"

Those words opened the Episode. It takes no genius to know how tragic his story is, perhaps all of us cried but the more I repeated the playthrough, the more I realized how unaware I was the first time I saw it.

 "I'm more worried about Noct. I'll find a way to the altar, but I need you to keep the enemy distracted."

"Be safe."

Being thrown into the water from a falling building that collided with an airship was never the easiest thing, but he had no time to wonder if the others, nor if he, himself, was alright. The moment he opened his eyes from the collision, he only had one thing in his mind: Noctis.

 Ignis "I need your help: I fear Noct is in danger."

Camelia "As in the entire city of Altissia. In case you haven't taken a look around. He and his 'girlfriend' are probably long gone."

Ignis "No, I made a promise to keep him safe - a promise I intend to keep!"

Camelia "How noble. I'll see what my men can do - but I won't promise anything."

This was the start of it – the change in his personality that we never expected. The side of Ignis that we never saw before, but nothing could prepare us for what was about to come.

 Ignis "Wait, I need to go to the altar. I need a boat."

Commander "Have you lost your marbles?"

Ignis "No - but we'll lose the King if we don't act."

Noctis is the future King of Lucis and it was his job to protect him and guide him, he was his royal retinue. ‘We’ll lose the King if we don’t act’ I believe that behind those words, lies something deeper. Ignis was not there to save Noctis, the One True King; he was there to save Noctis, his brother. He was not there to save him because it was his duty, he was there to save him because losing Noctis was unthinkable for him.

 Prompto "... Do you copy?"

Ignis "..."  

Gladiolus "Ain't a hard question, Iggy. Do you copy - yes or no?"

Ignis "Yes, I copy."

Gladiolus "Then speak up next time. Look: I'm just as worried as you are, but we can't go losing our heads. If we wanna save Noct, we've gotta keep it together."

Ignis "Yes, I suppose you're right."

Prompto "We'll keep moving. Hang in there, Iggy."

Ignis "I will... Thanks."

He was in a panic, his mind was racing. The once calm and sensible man that achieved all of his objectives through a clear and efficient manner, it was all disappearing. All he had in mind was to save Noctis and the fact that he was unsure how or if he made it in time made him apprehensive to the point that all he knew was to fight through the crowd of soldiers that prevented him from reaching the altar.

 "Hang on, Noct... I'm on my way."

He ran through the streets, he fought through hundreds of enemies, all alone at first, he tried to find a solution while aware that he had no time to lose. He continued to move, no concern of how much his body was in pain or how exhausted he felt. He would never let anything stop him.

 Ignis "Noct, didn't choose to become King, his ascension was ordained by the Crystal, it wasn't mere happenstance."

Ravus "It must have been a mistake, one that must be corrected."

Ignis "You of all people must understand how Noct feels: bereft of both parents and forced to carry on despite losing those you love. You both feel that pain!"

Despite all he went through that day, it was far from the end. He fought Ravus to save Noctis, he did all he was able to, he tackled him to the ground as he felt his body no longer able to do much because of the fatigue, but even so Ignis nevertheless continued to fight until he was no longer able to stand, while he still had all of Noctis’ pain in his mind, all the suffering he went through. It was evident at that point, about how much Ignis deeply cared for him.

 "I swore an oath to stand with Noctis and keep him safe. Whatever it takes, I will protect him!"

"This world means nothing to me. Do with it as you wish."

"But I refuse to let Noctis sacrifice his life to save ours. I won't let you take him away!"

"Even if it costs my own life to save him... I will pay that price!"

This is the point where we all realized how reckless he was when Noctis was in danger, how he was ready to sacrifice his life, not for the King of Lucis, but for his brother Noctis that he wanted to save. All that talk about the One True King that needed to be saved for the sake of the world, but to damn with that. He acted not out of the sense of obligation as a Crownsguard officer to sacrifice his life just for the sake of his title, but out of his own selfishness to permit Noctis to see and live another day.

But that was not all – the moment before Ardyn was able to hurt Noctis, the panic and fear on the face of Ignis was too visible to be missed, how helpless he felt to see the one dear to him get hurt while he was pinned on the hard ground. It was too much for him to take, it came to the point that he was almost reduced to tears, but to his relief Ravus managed to save him in time.

 "Please... forgive me..."

The Ring of Lucii, we know the price to pay for the power it gave for those who are not of royal blood and he certainly paid, how much pain he felt, how much of a torture the sensation was, how his consciousness almost left him but he swung his daggers still, he carried on and neglected the pain to make sure that Ardyn never got too close to Noctis. He was supposed to give up his life in exchange for the power he obtained, but his desire to protect Noctis surpassed all else and he it allowed him to live, but not without a cost – his sight. To live in the dark, to fail to see how Noctis got older and how he changed. He was never able to see that. But what use did he have for his sight if Noctis got killed? He told himself that, I honestly do believe it.

 "Where's Noct? Is he... alright?"

The first question once he was able to speak through his ragged breath. Again, all that was important for him was his safety. He fought a whole army of soldiers, their magitek armor, bestiary, Caligula, Ravus and Adyn but all he wanted was to know how he was, that was all he asked. If Noctis was alright then somehow he’d managed.

 Ignis "Perhaps it might be best if we brought our journey to a close."

Noctis "Why?"

Ignis "It's just that... uhm... we've already lost so much... too much"

Noctis "That's exactly why I have to keep going - because if I give up now, their sacrifices would have been for nothing! And you... you, of all people... You should know that better than anyone."

Ignis "The decision is yours to make and yours alone. But do remember we will stand with you always and help you bear your burdens. Don't be afraid to let us share the load. I'll be back."

How naïve I was, to think that he wanted end the journey because of all the pain he went through and because of his lack of sight when the reason was far greater. He saw a vision, the future that awaited Noctis – the future where he was to sacrifice himself to defeat Ardyn. He did not want to see that, he did not want to live a day where he was no more. He wanted Noctis to be away from that danger. He wanted to be selfish and convince him to end their journey. Although, who was he to force Noctis to be quiet while Eos was in danger. He was aware and it pained him to accept the reality he was confronted with.

It makes me think how much he cared for Noctis since the day he met him, through simple tasks like cleaning after him, making sure he had a proper meal and attending meetings in his stead. As his mother died and his father was busy as the King, he took it upon himself to make sure that he became a proper person despite sometimes being at a loss of how to do it. It makes me think even more how much he sacrificed for Noctis, how much he cares for him and how hard he worked to overcome his blindness for the day of his return. Sometimes, what gets me is at some point in the game, Gladio said that Ignis wanted his world to be crystal clear, but now all he saw was the dark.

I’m just glad I was able to get this off my chest.

[luxusnoname]

Quotations

Summary: Aeleus faces the challenge of recommending a book to Dilan based on his personality. But how can he do so without giving his own feelings away? A late submission for @apprenticeweek’s Day 3 prompt: Quotes.

Characters/Pairings: Dilan/Aeleus

Rating: G; real fluff hours here folks

Word Count: 1.4k

~~~

Quotations

It wasn’t often that the shift schedule at the castle aligned perfectly to give Aeleus and Dilan the same afternoon off. The only other senior guard was Braig, who was trusted with the duty of overseeing the lower ranked guards only in the absence of the other two. Dilan had grumbled and said there was good reason for it, but Aeleus wasn’t about to complain. 

And so as they often shared their patrols, they shared their afternoon together in the library. Dilan had selected a tome on horticulture, his brow furrowed as though proper soil acidity and cross-pollination techniques were the most stimulating topics in the world. Aeleus settled in beside him with some light fiction.

The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.

Aeleus dog-eared the page, making a mental note to write it down in his notebook later before continuing on with his reading. Beside him, Dilan’s eyes flickered to the book.

“Found another one, have you?” He asked impassively, feigning disinterest even as he leaned over to peer at the page himself. “Let’s see it then.”

Aeleus helpfully tapped at the page with his forefinger. Dilan chuckled to himself. “An apt quote. Your heart is far too soft, my friend. Many would take advantage of that.”

“Better to open it for others than close it off from the world,” he rumbled, a small smile softening the jab.

But Dilan was used to the teasing from his oldest friend. A huff was his only response before changing the topic.

“You must have a quote for every person and situation at this rate,” he muttered as he turned a page, no longer actually reading his own book. “I bet you even have quotes for me.”

“I don’t believe I do.” Aeleus hummed. “But if I find any, I’ll pass them along. Or, better yet, I’ll lend you the book.”

“Oh you know how I do so enjoy fiction and poetry,” Dilan deadpanned. “Though I suppose if you recommend it, I’ll suffer through for your sake.”

Aeleus smiled. His companion didn’t share his love of reading for enjoyment, so the offer itself was rare. Dilan’s choices always served a purpose, academic or otherwise. That wasn’t to say Aeleus only indulged in light reading, but he was the only Apprentice that did so frequently. It could do the lancer some good, he thought. Something to soften the tough exterior.

Aeleus peered at his friend, who was thoroughly engrossed in horticulture once more. It was just about as peaceful as he’d ever seen Dilan. He smiled, warmth radiating from his chest and making its way throughout his body before he turned back to his own reading for the remainder of the afternoon.

~

A week later, Aeleus had read a few books, but struggled to find the perfect quote for Dilan. Well, that was actually a lie. There was one that made him think of his fellow guard, but it turned out to be more of a reflection of his own feelings toward the man. And it was much more forward than he was capable of being.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

The verse encapsulated feelings that he’d spent years trying to make sense of, feelings he wished he could one day verbalize to his friend. He had little to offer but would give it all in a heartbeat. But Dilan was slow to let others in, and hard to win over with pretty words. And Aeleus, of course, wasn’t great with words to begin with. Perhaps he could work up to it.

After a few more days - and many skimmed books - he found a line that was perfect for the stoic guard. It was a romance novel, of all things. He would probably hate it. But the quote was so perfectly Dilan that as soon as he happened upon it, he knew it had to be the one.

He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.

It was a gentle reassurance that no matter what trials the heart has suffered, love would prevail with time. After all, it was with time that the man opened up to him as much as he had. If it was time he needed, then Aeleus would give it to him. Secretly, it served as a promise as well. If the time came that Dilan was willing to open his heart… Well, then Aeleus would be there for that as well.

After some hesitation, he bookmarked the page with the quote and handed the book off to Dilan the next day. The lancer accepted it with only a small grumble, promising to read it soon.

By the next week, he still hadn’t reported back to Aeleus with his thoughts. It worried him that the guard hadn’t said anything at all, positive or negative. Perhaps he had come on too strong after all, and he’d been too forward. Dilan’s heart could be a delicate topic, no matter how hard he tried to convince the world otherwise. Hopefully the man had just forgotten and the book sat on a nightstand gathering dust, its bookmarked page blissfully undisturbed.

But one night as Aeleus retired to his quarters after a shift, there was a peculiar book-shaped package at his doorstep. He picked it up and unwrapped it once he was inside. It was another romance novel. One he was familiar with, actually. He’d read it some years ago in his youth. Turning it in his hands to inspect it, he noticed the corner of a page was folded in.

He smiled. It had to be from Dilan. But what prompted it? His friend had said nothing to him about the other book, but clearly he’d read it seeing as how they were exchanging literature now.

Since he had read it before, he felt only a little guilt in skipping to the marked page. As he flipped through the pages, however, a slip of paper flew out and fluttered to the ground. It was a note. He picked it up, holding it under a lamp to read.

I appreciated and enjoyed the recommendation, my friend. But next time, I’d appreciate your honesty first and foremost. Braig brought me one of your other books and told me it was your first choice. Consider this a response to that one.

~ Dil

Wait, when had Braig been in his quarters? Aeleus rubbed his forehead. What book had the nosey guardsman delivered on his behalf? He performed a quick inventory of his bookshelf. The only one that seemed to be missing was… Ah, of course. The confession. But how could he have known it was meant for Dilan?

With a sigh, he concluded that there were many things Braig shouldn’t know but did anyway. His heart leapt into his throat, dreading his friend’s response now that he knew what had happened. He returned to the delivered book and began reading through the earmarked page, searching for the quote.

But Dilan wasn’t a man to bother with subtlety. He had underlined it.

I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.

A gentle smile broke out as he sat down, reading it one more time for good measure. It would appear that he should’ve been more forward in the first place. He never would have thought that his own feelings were reciprocated. Moreover, he never would have thought that Dilan would read a classic romance novel of his own free will. He studied the book once more; the spine was slightly cracked and worn, and the pages fanned out with ease. The lancer continued to surprise.

Now, with the difficult part sorted out, Aeleus began to think about his response. He could invite Dilan over for tea that weekend. Or perhaps they could discuss it as they patrolled the castle grounds. But of course, the answer was obvious.

He tucked the book into an empty spot on his bookshelf, thumb brushing over it with a soft smile, and began searching his shelves once more.

~~~

Author’s Note: First time writing Dilan/Aeleus \o/ I hc Ael as a bit of a classic lit nerd; mostly adventures and epics, but with a definite soft spot for romance and poetry. Also I’m a terrible reader OTL I just spent a few hours searching for quotes that stuck out to me. In order they are: Ernest Hemingway (no source so probably just something he said but we’ll pretend he wrote it), Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by W.B. Yeats, Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Márquez, and finally the big one: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Maybe Aeleus isn’t the only one with a soft spot after all 👀

[venmomejoy]

The Lucky Ones- pt. 3

ugh writing is so hard sometimes why do i do it

hope you guys are liking the fic so far! feel free to drop any comments, i love hearing from you all :)

part one / part two / part four

read it on AO3 here !!

The studio was huge.

Neil expected it to be big, but this was incomprehensible. It would take him days to map this place out. It made Neil nervous; his mother always took care to keep them away from large buildings- there are too many places for someone to hide in a big space, too many nooks and crannies he might not know about where someone could lurk. Smaller places were far easier, where you could check the entire space for attackers in a matter of minutes, where no one can sneak up on you, or catch you by surprise. He tried to absorb as much of the layout as possible, retracing every turn they've taken until the building starts to take form in his head, vague and nondescript as it may be.

Neil couldn't figure out how to hold onto his bag without raising any more suspicion than he already had in the car, so when Dan showed him to his trailer, he took care to hide it in the safest place he could find. Given, that was the cupboard underneath the bathroom sink, so Neil didn't exactly feel secure in his location of choice. He made sure to lock the door on his way out, but the thin metal sticks in his bag reminded him that locks can easily be picked. He was reluctant to leave when Dan beckoned him on, deciding they had spent time enough on the trailer and that they needed to move on if they wanted to see the whole studio before midnight, but he relented before anyone could notice his hesitance. Throughout the whole tour, every set and editing room and lounge, Neil felt the faint thrum of anxiety never leaving his skin, even as he focused on all the new information he was receiving.

The tour took more than a few hours, Dan and Matt talking extensively on every area they stopped at. Seth and Allison hadn't acknowledged Neil much, besides the casual glares Seth threw at him, too wrapped up in each other. Renee had the occasional soft-spoken comment, but for the most part left the talking to Dan and Matt. Neil appreciated all of the tips, a mix of things he already knew and things he made sure to store for when they began filming, but the influx of information was a little overwhelming. Throughout it all, a thought kept pressing his way to the front of his mind- his mother would be so disappointed in him.

Not just disappointed. No, she would be livid. She dedicated her entire life to keeping him safe, and he had thrown it all away. In all their years on the run, she had always put his safety first, had always made the hard decisions to keep him protected. Even when she was fatally shot, she kept pushing for his sake, not even letting on how grave her injury was until they had gotten to safety. But by then, it was too late. And all of the promises he had made her as she took her last breaths, all of the promises he had made to himself as he threw a match in the old car and watched it burn into ashes, taking her body with it, were destroyed. She had given up her life to keep him safe, and he answered her sacrifice with disrespect, practically spurning the freedom she fought so hard to give him.

Neil could feel his throat closing in. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he panted, willing his hands to stop shaking. Neil quickly excused himself as he rushed to the restroom, but not before he saw the concerned faces of his castmates. He would have to deal with their prying questions later, but right now all he could think about was his mother, how she would hate him, how he couldn't breath-

Neil braced his knees on either side of the toilet as soon as the stall closed behind him, the restroom blissfully empty. His stomach heaved, but he couldn't throw up food he never ate, so Neil sat and heaved and gasped until his heart stopped racing, until his breathing became even again. He didn't have time to panic. Panic left you vulnerable, and wasted precious minutes. So he pulled himself up and rinsed his mouth out in the sink, even though no bile had come up, expertly avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

When he left the bathroom he walked straight into his castmates, almost bumping directly into Matt's chest. It looked as if he had interrupted their deliberation session on whether to come in and check on him. He's glad they didn't. He doesn't need his new coworkers to see him like that after knowing him for one day. Neil pulls on his calm and collected face, though he's sure the remnants of his breakdown are still visible. Let them come to their own conclusion about what went on in there.

"Neil, are you okay, man?" Matt asked, the concern on his face mirrored by all the others, excluding Seth. But it wasn't just concern- there was pity there too. Neil didn't know how much Wymack had shared with them of the little he knew himself, but if his backstory was set in context to this, he was making a sorry first impression.

"I'm fine. Sorry for stopping up the tour." Whether they believe him or not, he can't tell, but his hard face leaves no room for inquiry.

"Don't apologize, Neil," Renee says. Neil's stomach turns at her saccharine tone.

"This was the last stop anyways. We can head home now, if you're ready," Dan notes, a look of understanding on her face. He almost laughs. There's no possible way she could understand.

"Sure, I just need to get my stuff from my trailer."

The group goes back the way they came, with significantly less talking this time, and the others wait patiently while Neil retrieves his bag, his trailer mercifully untouched.

The trip to the parking lot was filled with excited chatter, his castmates telling him about how excited they were for their character's plot this season, which couples they thought would make it to the end of the season and which would hit the chopping block, old scandals amongst the crew. Neil tried to contribute when he could, but the conversation seemed to go largely over his head, so he was content just to listen.

Matt addressed him after a while. "So, Neil, you've met the Monsters?" When Neil tilted his head in confusion at the name, he clarified. "Andrew, Nicky, Kevin, and Aaron. We call their group the Monsters, because those four are tyrants."

"Oh." After years of running from people who want him dead, Neil thought he had a pretty good radar for people that are threatening. He could understand the name for the twins, but Nicky didn't seem the aggressive type at all, and Kevin while seemed like a hardass, but he would probably roll over at the first sign of real conflict. "Yeah, I talked to them a little. Kevin and Andrew came with Wymack to pick me up, and I spoke with Nicky and Aaron for a few minutes right before I met you guys."

It was Allison who spoke up this time, the first real thing she'd said to Neil all day. "What a way to start your first job. You're scrappy-looking, but I'm still surprised that group didn't run you straight out the door."

Matt was inclined to agree. "Yeah, if I'd met Andrew on my first day, I never would have started acting. I have a good amount of experience and he still makes me question my career choice every day."

"Kevin, too," Dan says. "He's not as outwardly aggressive as Andrew, but with how hard he pushes us? I don't think I would have lasted a day if it was my first."

Renee glanced back over at him. "They're not that bad, Neil, don't let them scare you."

He was tempted to ask her if he looked scared to her. Andrew didn't frighten him, definitely not as much as he probably should. He knew Andrew's medication made him a little crazy, if not borderline psychotic. Andrew's medication was court-mandated, a sentence that, coupled with extensive therapy, allowed him to avoid jail time after he had almost beat four men to death when he caught them attacking Nicky. Neil knew Andrew probably had no qualms about hurting him, but he had far larger threats to worry about, and he had always had a hard time reconciling threat level with age. Even if he knew a younger man was dangerous, he didn't feel very frightened because he had been so conditioned to fear older men, like his father. In the same way, even obviously harmless middle-aged men put Neil's every muscle on edge.

They reconvened with Andrew's group as they made their way to the row of cars. "So, what did you think of our humble abode?" Nicky asks.

"It's huge."

"Yeah, it's easy to get lost in there for the first couple of weeks, but eventually you'll know this place like the back of your hand. We spend too much time here not to."

Neil looks back over at the building, wondering how long it would take for him to feel comfortable here. He was inclined to believe he never would. Glancing back, Neil catches Andrew's heavy gaze. Gone was the sarcastic humor and thinly veiled contempt, replaced with... nothing. Andrew wasn't glaring at Neil, but the look definitely wasn't friendly; he was just staring. Andrew's face was empty, void of any emotion at all. He must be coming down.

Without a word, Andrew turns and pulls himself into the driver's seat of an expensive black car. Turning towards the group, Neil asks, "Are we going to the cast house?"

"Yeah, it's only about a ten minute drive from here. Perfect for when your dead-tired leaving set at 4 am." Matt says. "You came with Wymack?"

"Yeah. Does he stay there too?"

They all chuckle a little. "God, no," Matt says. "He'd kill us if he had to spend that much time with us. He has his own place, but it's pretty close by."

"Oh, okay." That lifted a weight off of Neil's shoulders. He would never be able to relax if he was under the same roof as Wymack.

A honk draws their attention back to Andrew, the rest of the monsters going to join him in the car. When Neil just looks at Andrew through the windshield, he cocks an eyebrow at him silent demand. Neil knew better than to protest. "I guess I'll see you guys in a few?"

Matt and Dan both sent him disapproving looks. "Are you sure? There's space in Matt's truck," Dan says, sending a searching look towards the Andrew's car, as if she were trying to figure out why they were interested in Neil. He wouldn't mind knowing himself.  

"I already told them I'd go with them. It'll be fine."

Matt shrugged. "Whatever you say, man. But that group is psycho. If they go too far, just let me know. I have no problem with kicking Kevin's ass if you need me to." He smiles warmly at him.

Neil shoots him a puzzled stare. Matt just met him, why would he be offering to stand up for him? He has no attachment to Neil. "I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

Matt looks unconvinced. "Okay, well, the offer still stands as long as you're here, alright?"

"Okay." Neil inclines his head at the two before stalking over to Andrew's car, sliding into the backseat next to Aaron and Nicky. Andrew peels out of the lot before Neil can even buckle his seatbelt.

Kevin and Nicky fill the short car ride with idle conversation, asking Neil about what he saw in the tour and what he thought of the sets. Nicky shares all kinds of stories from when they shot the earlier seasons when Kevin begins speaking in rapid French to someone over the phone. Neil was competent in French, but not fluent, and Kevin was speaking too fast for Neil to understand anything, so he focused on what Nicky was saying instead. Neil didn't mind Nicky dominating the conversation; he didn't have much to say anyway, and he was feeling tired after spending so many hours wandering around the studio

As Andrew swung the car into the driveway, Neil admired the house from the his window. It was huge, at least three stories, with sweeping windows and a spacious lawn; the porch alone was the size of some of Neil's old homes. The blend of brick and stone made the house feel classy and elegant. Neil's gawking was cut off as Andrew drove into the garage. Nicky practically pulled him out of the car, insisting on giving him a tour of the place. The door from the garage opens into a small hallway, with a break that leads to a laundry room before opening up into the kitchen. Kevin and Aaron follow them, but Andrew disappeared somewhere along the way. "Where did Andrew go?"

"He went to dose up," Kevin answers. "If he didn't take his medication soon, he'd be bent over a toilet somewhere."

"He'll be up in the clouds when he comes back," Nicky says, a little sadly. "That's the cycle: mania and apathy."

Neil didn't know what to say, so he turned back towards the kitchen, running his fingers along the marble countertops. Nicky's phone pinged, and he glanced at it before addressing them. "Matt says their going to pick up dinner. Chinese okay with you, Neil?"

He nods, and Nicky quickly types his response before pulling a smile on again, resuming Neil's tour. The inside of the house was as luxurious as the outside, fit with plush carpet and expensive-looking paintings. The lower level seems to have an open floor plan, the living and dining rooms visible from the kitchen. A large flatscreen TV sat across from a red couch that could easily seat five people. Two armchairs bracketed the couch, a plethora of throw pillows adorning all three. The extravagance made Neil uneasy; this much money just poured into fanciful items... he couldn't fathom it. There had never been time for him to buy anything for himself. They had limited resources, his mother always reminded him. They could not afford to buy things they didn't absolutely need.

"There are two bedrooms on the bottom floor. This one's Kevin's," Nicky said, pointing between two closed doors, "and the other is shared by Renee and Allison."

"Allison doesn't stay with Seth?"

"It's like Matt said earlier, those two are really on-again, off-again. When they fight, they can't even stand to look at each other, let alone sleep next to each other. They argue so often we thought it'd be easiest to just give them separate rooms, so Allison stays with Renee when she's on the rocks with Seth, and when they're doing well, she stays with him."

Neil's head already hurt trying to understand their dynamic. "Sounds complicated."

"Just wait until you see it for yourself. Their screaming matches are legendary." Nicky chuckles.

The four of them go up the first flight of stairs, which opens into a large sitting room, two twin hallways branching from it. Down one is Nicky and Aaron's shared room, and down the other is Seth's, as well as Dan and Matt's room. Fans of The Foxes loved Dan and Matt's relationship. The two met on set during season one, Matt playing Dan's love interest, and their romance quickly evolved off-screen.

"We tried to put the two couples as far away from the rest of us as possible," Nicky informs him.

"Not far enough," Aaron grumbles. "I don't know how it's possible for Allison and Seth to be that fucking loud."

"Oh, come on, Aaron, no tolerance for young love? I'm sure Neil knows how to make a girl scream," Nicky jokes, nudging Neil's shoulder.

Neil froze. "What?" There's no way they know who his father is, now way they meant it like that-

"Unless you swing, like me, which is totally cool. Makes my job easier, anyhow." Nicky winks at him.

Aaron groans. "Jesus, Nicky, can you not be a fucking creep for one second?"

"Hey, I didn't do anything! I'm just saying that if Neil was interested-"

"He just got here, and you have a boyfriend."

"You know Erik doesn't mind-"

This conversation was giving Neil a headache. "I don't swing."

"Damnit, you like girls?"

"I don't like anything. Can we keep moving?"

They grudgingly obliged. The layout of the third floor was pretty similar to that of the second, a large lounge opening into two hallways. One held Andrew's room, the other his. Nicky led him down Andrew's hallway, showing him to space, the door firmly closed. But as they turned to move towards his room, the door swung open, a doped-up Andrew standing on the threshold.

"Oh, joy, my favorite people coming to pay me a visit! Sorry, but I'm not in the mood. Do stop by another time!" Andrew grins.

"Sorry, Andrew, I was just showing Neil around. We're heading to his room next."

"Lucky for you, I know exactly where that is! If I cared more, perhaps I'd take you there. Unfortunately, I don't." Andrew threw his head back in laughter, pushing past them as he bounds downstairs. One look at the others' face and Neil can tell this behavior is commonplace.

Neil follows Nicky into the opposite hallway, Kevin keeping pace with them while Aaron hangs behind. Kevin had been abnormally quiet during this tour; Neil felt like he was gauging his reaction to everything, trying to feel him out. He refused to balk under his scrutiny.

Nicky paused dramatically with his hand on the doorknob, as if bracing them all for a great reveal, which was just a bedroom. Admittedly, it was easily the nicest bedroom he'd ever laid eyes on, but he imagined the others were used to the luxury by now.

Neil's eyes widened as he took in the huge space, the deep wood of the four-poster bed, the dresser that was far too large for the eight outfits he owned. A door opened to an en suite bathroom with a walk-in shower. It was the nicest place Neil had stayed in his entire life.

"It's good that you are the only addition to the main cast this season, since this was the last free bedroom we have. If there were any others, they'd have to stay in the pool house." Nicky joked. A quick peek from his window confirmed that, yes, there was a pool, clear blue water glinting in the setting sun. It was large, surrounded by lounge chairs and what looked to be a volleyball pit off the side.

"How do you guys afford this place?" He had been concerned about wasting his resources on housing before, but this was worse than he imagined. The house had to be millions of dollars, especially considering Los Angeles's real estate prices. He could not afford to spend this much money, since he still had a lifetime on the run to finance after his stay here.

Kevin finally spoke up. "You'd be surprised how large a salary is for a core actor on a show this popular."

"How much do we all pay for rent?"

"None," Nicky laughed. "Allison is practically an heiress. She has so much money it's stupid. She bought the house back when we first started the show, and she pays for the whole place."

Neil tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she has money to blow, so why not?" Nicky's smile faded a little as he took in Neil’s expression.

Kevin interrupted their conversation. "Dan and the others should be back soon. Let's head to the living room to wait for them."

They found Andrew on the couch, mindlessly surfing through channels, his focus anywhere but on the TV. When he saw them approaching, he tossed the remote unceremoniously onto the cushion next to him. "Back so soon?" Andrew gibes. "There's nothing good to watch, but it seems the universe has answered my plea for entertainment! Neil, tell me some of your deep, dark secrets."

Neil was tired of Andrew's taunting. "Leave me alone, Andrew."

"Oh, come on, Neil, don't be such a downer! Tell me, which one of your parents hits you, your mom or your dad?

"Christ, Andrew," Nicky groans.

"Could be both, I suppose," Andrew surmised. Neil simply fixed him with a glare, but Andrew was unfazed. "Your old director mentioned that you liked to wait until everyone left the theater to change out of your costume, said that a lot of times he gave you the keys and let you lock up. He thought you might be sleeping there. I'll admit, the duffel bag does add to his case, but why would you need to hide your body unless someone was hurting you? And I saw you leave that night, so you obviously had somewhere to go. So who is it?”

Neil gritted his teeth. He didn't need Andrew paying this much attention to him. "Stop trying to solve me."

"You can try to keep your secrets, Neil, but I'll figure you out soon."

"I'm not a toy."

"Oh, but you are," he smiled. "I've been needing something new to amuse myself with, though I doubt you'll last long."

"I mean it, Andrew. Don't mess with me."

"Ooh, the scary face!" Andrew laughs. "Yours gives Kevin a run for his money."

The doorbell saves Neil from answering. "I'll get it," he grumbles, eyes still boring into Andrew's. He strides towards the doorway to let the others in, a few of them presumably bringing the food in while Matt parks, but the cousins start talking before Neil is out of earshot, making every bone in his body seize. It isn't the words that alarm him; no, it's the language. Because Nicky was currently speaking in German.

Neil didn't know how they could know he spoke German. His mother had taken them across the world in an effort to confuse his father enough to lose their trail. Neil spent years living in German-speaking countries, namely Switzerland, Austria, and Germany itself, and as such, became fluent in German. Neil felt frozen to the spot, his every instinct telling him to get out of there, that they know,but as he listens to what Nicky is saying, it becomes apparent that they are not addressing him at all.  

"What did you and Kevin say to him before he got here? When I showed him his room there was pure panic on his face. I thought he was going to make a run for it."

Andrew only shrugged. Aaron spoke instead. "Yeah, did you see his face when he finished touring the studio? He was practically green," he scoffed. "He's not going to last a week here."

They had no idea he understood them. Neil loosed a breath of relief, resuming his journey to the door. The whole encounter hadn't lasted more than thirty seconds, but it felt like thirty years to Neil. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. If they didn't know he understood German, he wasn't going to tell them. He needed every advantage he could find, and if they thought they could have private conversations right under everyone's noses, Neil would play along.

He swung the door open, ushering Dan and Seth in, their arms full of bags of food. Everyone made their way into the kitchen as they dumped the food down on the table, Matt hanging the keys on a small hook as they came in from the garage.

After a few moments of everyone shoving food in their mouths, Kevin addressed the group. "Neil needs to familiarize himself with the previous seasons, so starting tonight, we are all going to rewatch the past episodes together. We need to finish all of the episodes before the table read, so we're going to have to start right away,"

The proposition is met with a series of groans from the cast. They probably all have better ways to spend their limited free time before the rigorous filming schedule overtakes their lives. "You guys don't have to watch it with me, I'll be fine on my own," Neil says.

"No, we all need to review the past plot anyways," Kevin says. "You should always review what has already occurred before you start a new season to ensure you are as prepared as you can be. Not only is it possible you have forgotten little details or nuances of the characters, but being explicitly reminded of your characters' backstory, personality, and motives helps you slip back into your role after so many months. So we're all watching the show, from the beginning."

Seth shot Neil a glare, muttering something that sounded like "fucking rookies."

When all the plates had been cleared, the group settled themselves in the living room. Dan and her group settled onto the couch together, while Andrew claimed one armchair, Neil the other. Aaron and Nicky sat on the floor, their backs pressed against the coffee table. As they dimmed the lights and started up the TV, Neil found himself completely engrossed in the show. He had always loved television, had always been able to completely lose himself as he watched these characters' lives unfold. Three episodes flew by, and Neil almost wanted to protest as Kevin shut the TV off, telling them all to get some sleep. They had to be up at the studio by 10 for their session with Abby, and it was already 1 am.

Neil felt too roused to sleep, excitement from watching the show and anxiety for his meeting with Abby tomorrow keeping him alert, so he decides to go for a quick run. Slipping into his running clothes, Neil stashed his bag in the dresser and takes off down the stairs, pushing the front door open and going on his way. Neil takes this time to familiarize himself with the neighborhood, although the darkness makes it hard to discern the details. All of the houses in this neighborhood are enormous, with neatly trimmed grass and tall columns on their porches. Neil makes his way around a few blocks before turning back the way he came. He's barely sweating when he reaches the house, so he opts out of a shower, ready to collapse on his bed from fatigue. Neil had barely slept last night, and had been walking almost all day.

But when he pulled out his duffel bag to change into some sleep clothes, he stopped cold. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like nothing was amiss. But Neil knew better. Neil always folded the tags on his clothes, and as he inspected them now, every single one was flat.

Someone had been through his things.

[detective-ai]

dolente

AO3

Considering other people and their relationships has never been something that Alice thought worthy of his time. He had his mind and heart full of the poetic aria of his lost bond with Reko, a bond he never imagined he would rebuild- a bond he now never could. Truly, he had never expected the lyrical tale of the two Yabusames to be a tragedy, despite his own departure from his sister’s tale three years ago. Those newly forged lyrics spend their time carving fresh wounds with every step he takes further in his life beyond Reko. It cripples him, causing a physical pain so deep in his gut that he doubles over sometimes. Since that… moment, he’s been seeing reprises of himself and his lost sister amongst the other captives of this wretched game.

First, in Sou Hiyori and Kanna Kizuchi. Their song was slow, a quiet, dolce little motif hidden underneath the ensemble’s performance- surely a feeling none would expect from Sou, but no one could deny how he softened around Kanna. The lengths the former had gone to in an attempt to save Kanna had reminded Alice of his own desperate devotion to his sister- and so, while he could not even begin to fathom voting for someone that Reko had held so dear, nor could he inflict on Sou Hiyori the same pain that plagued him since his sister’s passing. He considered it a mercy vote, a fitting end to the movement.

The second pair, of course, had been that of Keiji Shinogi and Sara Chidouin, the dynamic detective duet of this death game. Alice had watched their bond fluctuate with every passing moment, an uncertain dance of give and take that no one could understand- not even the two in question. But as Alice watched, something changed between them. Sara’s melody steadied as she learned to rely on Keiji when she needed guidance and in turn Keiji’s own loose adagio part surged to compliment hers, becoming more and more open with Sara- and all of them, in turn. The steady harmony the two forged together had played a monumental aspect in taking them through the Main Games- the first and second both. He was envious, almost.

It was what he had imagined for his own reconciliation with Reko, in the moments where he had forgotten himself and dared to dream of such things.

So it hadn’t taken him by complete surprise when Keiji Shinogi had pulled him aside upon gaining that pulsating death sentence around his neck, his ever lingering grin having vanished entirely. Something about it had chilled Alice to his core, had captivated his attention and refused to release it as solidly as any concert had.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“What is it you would ask of me, Keiji Shinogi?” He had crossed his arms, meeting the detective’s (ex-detective’s) gaze solidly. Keiji had closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Sara… if worse comes to worst, she may attempt to take this from me.” His fingers had raised, gliding over the band of his collar before sliding to secure around the side of his neck. Some morbidly fascinated bit of himself deep within urged him to reach out and replace that hand with his, to feel the beat of Keiji’s pulse against his palm. How fast would it be? Allegro? Vivace? “I need you to stop her.”

Alice had spared not even a thought, solidly raising his eyes to the other as a passion flickered alight in his chest. “Indeed, I would not allow her to sacrifice herself so.”

The promise had been made instantaneously but it was true nonetheless. Alice would rather he himself perish before he sees another harmony such as his and Reko’s, Sou’s and Kanna’s, brutally wrested apart.

He had hoped the promise would never come to fruition. Alice did not particularly care for the detective (no longer cares for anyone here, he tells himself), but Reko had liked Sara and relied on her, so he would do his best to prevent such strife from striking them. For Reko’s sake.

As indifferent as he is towards Keiji, it is difficult to watch that cursed Floor Master, the specter from his own past, face down the ex-cop and force him into a corner. Something deep and wrong trembles presto in his chest, seeing Keiji clutch his face with a vacant look in his eyes before falling to his knees and vomiting on Sou Hiyori’s- no, Midori’s- polished black shoes. Alice himself feels like vomiting as Keiji shakily picks himself back up, smearing the back of his hand across his mouth. He halfheartedly throws his weight towards Midori before he stumbles back, visibly looking faint. Midori laughs gleefully, raising a bony hand to gesture towards the onlooking party.

“Go on, Keiji. Why don’t you just tag Miss Sara and save yourself?”

Alice watches as Keiji closes his eyes. He flinches when Sara calls for him, her voice sharp and panicked. “Keiji!”

“You must not, Sara Chidouin!” Yet, as Alice hooks his arms around her waist to stop her lunge for Keiji, he knows he cannot stop the devastating crescendo brewing. Sara, he feels, understands just as well. The full body shudder that shakes her to the core is familiar and he knows the empty feeling that is surely carving its way through the deepest part of her being, tempered only by the desperate denial that a feeble hope can provide (though for Sara Chidouin, it is an emptiness that he knows she has felt before).

Sara sobs, straining against his grip to reach for Keiji.

“Keiji, Keiji, please!” Alice tries to pull her back as she throws her weight against his grip. Her fingers, splayed out wide, are close enough that Keiji could easily reach out and tap her fingers if he wanted to. “Please, just… just take my hand, let me take it! Let me take it from you!”

Keiji finally turns an unreadable gaze on them. First, to Alice, where warm gratitude and a solid promise of further protection pass between them in an instant (may Alice be damned if any harm comes to his new charge after this). It’s the most open he’s ever seen Keiji Shinogi be, even more so than when he had requested that promise. Alice watches him steel himself before meeting Sara’s eyes. It draws another shuddering gasp from her. A soft, sad smile crosses Keiji’s face and his fingers twitch at his sides (Alice remembers watching Keiji muss up Sara’s hair when she’d been particularly prying or clever, remembers Reko catching an arm around his own neck to rub her fist against the crown of his head).

“Sorry, Sara.” He breaks their gaze and tips his head back. He closes his eyes against the red glare shining up from beneath his chin. Something shrills loudly, dissonant and piercing. A collar. “No matter what, that’s the one thing I can’t do.”

Sara slumps, her strings cut abruptly. A man with quicker reflexes would have caught her, maybe. But for Alice, it is all he can do to sink to the ground with her and pull her into his chest, resting his chin on the crown of her head as he tries to shield this young girl from the death of her closest confidant. Midori says something he doesn’t catch. Sara fights her way out of his grip enough to twist her head and view the scene again. She quakes in his arms.

It is poetic, almost, the way she refuses to look away as Keiji Shinogi’s finale falls back into a coffin of Alice’s making, a last stanza to his song.

Alice would rather live a life empty of music at all rather than watch another meet it’s final rest.

[docholligay]

DAY 19- "30 seconds of brain activity" Mercy/Pharah

This is DEFINITIVELY not canon to my personal OW canon, in my canon Pharah lives to be in her 90s, she’s fine. BUT FOR TODAY’S EXERCISE LET’S PRETEND THAT’S NOT TRUE. 1500 words, please tell me if you enjoy, and ignore me if you don’t! 

Science doesn’t know everything. 

Mercy would be the first to admit that, strange as it might seem, and there were plenty of people who had sneered at the way Mercy managed be a woman of science and a woman of religion, all at once. But they were as guilty as the most rabid of preachers at any street corner of vastly oversimplifying the utter complexity of the world and all its contents. 

Whether of God or of science, death remained the great mystery, and both seemed sure their way would provide clarity on the charcoal grey veil that passed between worlds. Mercy had sat inside plenty of lectures on dying, on death, and always puzzled a bit at how there was an assuredness to the common idea that hearing was the last sense of all of them to go. 

Mercy had often though that, much like Christians’ assurance in heaven (her own faith, being what it was, offered no such promise, and left it up to the Jews to argue over, and Mercy argued it with herself most of all) it was simply a very comforting idea. It was obvious when people could no longer see, and dying being what it was, the idea of smell or touch remaining did little ease woes, but hearing provided some way to reassure the dying, and most of what we fear about dying is our own loneliness. 

In her years of practice, she had also discovered it to be a very effective way of stopping bedside arguments from the family. 

But she wasn’t sure that made it an absolute reality. 

And so, she was as unsure Pharah could hear her as she was of heaven, though in this moment she would have told you how utterly she believed in both, for Pharah if for no other person who walked this earth. If there were a heaven Pharah would deserve it, and if there was any chance that Pharah could hear her as Mercy utterly failed her, Mercy had to try. 

There is much fuss made over last words, and the significance of them, but Mercy would have told you that most people’s last words are confused and vague, whatever script we have written for ourselves forgotten in that instant, half in and half out of this world. She had heard grown adults ask for their parents, she had heard them rattle off items as if looking for groceries, and once, a reminder of when the train left for Berlin. But never had she heard anything profound, in those last moments. 

And so, she expected nothing, except from herself. 

Mercy had asked to face this alone, as she had removed her gloves. She was a physician, as little as she felt every Nobel prize and degree availed her now, and could care for Pharah in any way she could be cared for, and she would know when it all was over. Mostly, she had been allowed, though Tracer had asked at least four times if she were sure, and Ana had said she wanted to be there for Pharah. 

“Why start now?” Mercy had replied, knowing the moment it left her mouth she’d be apologizing for it in September, lavishing in the way it felt on her tongue now. 

Or maybe she wouldn’t apologize. God didn’t force her to ask for forgiveness, and if it took her the next twenty years to seek it, so be it. She was not feeling like asking God for anything just now, and if anyone should ask forgiveness, God should ask it from her. 

She stroked Pharah’s hair as she sat by her side. It wouldn’t be long, couldn’t possibly be, for Pharah was only human, however else Mercy had assumed she was a gift, the sort of angel that cared little for religion or God and so had come to earth. God gives us things to take them away again, and science gives us arrogance that we may fall. 

If Pharah had held religion closely to her, Mercy would have prayed, but Pharah had always shrugged it off as more a cultural touchpoint than anything else, philosophical and artistic musings with no logical basis that were very interesting to some people, but not for her. She’d apologized when she’d said that, that rare gleam of sweet and tender fear in her eyes that she had hurt Mercy. She had only been meaning to talk about herself, her life, her mind. Her faith. 

She said she had no faith, but Mercy knew there was a deep belief in justice, and in hope, and in the possibility that things could be made right, if enough people worked with enough diligence. They were alike, that way, as much as they were different. Pharah believed, and that was why Mercy was standing in a surgical theater over the top of her, waiting for the last of Pharah’s strength to run out. 

But if Pharah had held religion close to her, at least Mercy would have known what to say to her, as she hoped she still could hear. 

“I love you.” She had said, in English and in Arabic, and in German, once, knowing that was some of the only German Pharah knew. Answering back to the great love contained in that effort to learn. 

Tracer had angrily told Pharah she would pay them back, as a goodbye, and Mercy hadn’t doubted that a second, even as Winston had shook his head. 

“I’m sure Lena is on her way to find Reaper now,” she said, tying Pharah into her thoughts, “he will be paying, dearly, I am sure, my Fareeha.” 

She told her that because she realized there was nothing else to tell, that she could say, that would be more than she had already said. How many times can you tell someone how much you love them? How they’ve changed your life? How for a few brief years at least, that you knew what it was not to be alone? That they made you realize you weren’t broken, and that you were made for something more than to sacrifice? That maybe you survived that night in Zurich for your own sake? 

She had said so much, in so little time, until all of it felt as natural as a mi shebeirach on her lips, repeated and repeated and repeated again, and if God would allow her anything, after denying her so much, maybe God would allow that Pharah would remember this prayer she said, over and over again, as she went on to whatever came next. 

Science told her that hearing is the last sense to be lost, and so it made no sense, as she watched the numbers on the monitors dip lower and lower, to hold her hand, to cup her bloodied cheek, and yet she did, because sometimes the things we do are more for us than they are for anyone else. 

She was taking too long. She was trying too hard, at a fight she could not win. 

“Fareeha,” she said, too quietly, and so, strengthened it, “Fareeha. You have to be going, my darling, I am sure of it.” 

How many times had she said she was sure of something, in these past minutes? She was a fool, just as foolish as any scientist, lecturing in a hall, so certain of something that would be disproven in a few years. That voice of authority must come with the territory, and maybe it was the fate of every doctor to forget that the they were children in this world. 

“Fareeha,” she repeated, “You can’t stay with me. I know, I know that you would try.” 

There was a hitch in Pharah’s breathing, and it tugged at Mercy’s chest. That fear could not be quelled by any knowledge she had of the amount of drugs Pharah had been given, or how far gone she was, or even the general nature of dying. That fear would live with her until her own death. 

“Fareeha, please.” she rested her hand on her chest, and trying not to sob, trying to hold strong, so Pharah would not worry for her, “Please go. Please.” 

Pharah loved her, and if science could be believed, Pharah heard her, and so, Pharah let out a sigh, and Mercy felt a thump beneath her hand, softer and softer, until it couldn’t be felt at all. 

The brain has thirty seconds after the heart stops, she remembered, some man standing at the front of a lecture hall nodding vigorously. She chose, in that moment, to believe it and to believe in the afterlife, because Pharah deserved them, and whispered into her ear the truest prayer she knew. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

[kokina-kizoku]

Panic Room (M-21 & Frankenstein)

Hurt / Comfort and Family fic. Thanks to the great @justanaspiringsomeone for the correction!

M-21 was sitting on the operating table, shoulders sagging and shaking. The neon lights surrounded him. He hated these aggressive lights, who exposed his body on every angle, as an object to be examined. Why was this lab so quiet, so white? Normally, such pieces were filled with untold screams, blood, and atrocities... 

M-21 pushed his nails into the palms of his hands, trying to control his breathing and calm his deafening heartbeat. His control slipped slowly, his thoughts mixed to leave only terrible irrational anxiety. His eyes were beginning to blur, his skin tingling, as if thousands of hands were touching him, it was as if the open air grated his bare chest... Suddenly footsteps echoed behind him. He stiffened, his breath cutting momentarily. Frankenstein, walking with his steady and assured step, consulted his datapad as he approached the table. He was not looking at him for now, seeming to concentrate on what he was reading, and M-21 took advantage of that time to regain control of himself. But despite the fact that he had managed to find a decent appearance, he still felt the anguish lurking deep in his belly, knotting his throat and confusing his nally.

Frankenstein put down his datapad with a satisfied smile, adjusting his glasses. M-21, who had lowered his eyes, found himself obliged to look up while the scientist said cheerfully: "Well, M-21! Everything looks great, your body has fully recovered from your last fight. However, I will have to look at a few things; a blood test will be required." 

M-21 had hardly understood anything about what he said. He stared at Frankenstein's face, slightly dazzled. In the sterile and brilliant room, the only colors present were the blond hair of the scientist, who shone like gold under the neon lights, cascading over his shoulders. His blue eyes had taken a very pure, brilliant shade and, as always, very intense. He could read there an intense intellectual activity never completely at rest. There was this inhuman perfection in each of his actions, his words. Never a word too much. Never a hesitation. M-21 felt overwhelmed by this intimidating presence. He remembered at the Union scientists who looked like all-powerful gods, making creatures and torturing them for their own sake... 'But Frankenstein is not like that,' he says to himself inwardly forcefully. Usually he was able to come to terms with it. Why was it so hard to do today? 

Frankenstein resumed his datapad, taking a few notes. His hands were agile and his finger gestures perfectly controlled. Hands that could steale lives and destroy everything. Twist and tear, splash blood on this immaculate scientist's shirt...

M-21 gasped and scrambled to look up at the man's face. His familiar face. Not a nameless scientist, cold and impersonal. It was In spite of everything, the feeling of anguish at the bottom of him persisted, and grew even stronger when he met the questioning look of the man. With one eyebrow raised, he looked at him over his glasses.

''Everything is okay? Maybe you have a little fever." Frankenstein approached to be close to the werewolf, who, empty-eyed, forced himself to remain motionless. The scientist raised his hand and approached the front of that moment, something broke in M-21's mind. A flashback comes back to him with violence; a scientist grabbing his head and smashing it against the wall to test the newly acquired strength of his bones... 

M21 stared at that white, cold hand that brushed against his temple. He drew back with a terrified gasp, turning his head away. The abruptness of his reaction surprised himself. Half slumped on the operating table, he straightened slightly, turning to Frankenstein. This last was frozen, his eyes wide and his hand still in the air. He lowered it slowly, taking an impassive air. 

"M-21. Are you afraid of me?" Frankenstein asked in a voice that betrayed no emotion. M-21 clenched his fists, staring at the floor. He stammered: 

"I ... I ..." 

After a few seconds of silence, unable to answer, he slowly raised his head to look at his interlocutor. What he saw pierced his ere was a glimmer of poignant sadness in Frankenstein's eyes. This look disappeared as soon as he met M-21's, but it was too late. M-21 had already realized that he had managed to hurt this invincible man.A terrible guilt assailed him. Frankenstein, the unbreakable, the one who never let anyone pierce his defenses, had been hurt because he, M-21, was unable to control himself. 

M-21 sat down immediately on the table. His shoulders were shaking again, but his voice was firm as he said: 

"Absolutely not! I'm just... It's... It hurts. I feel like I'm sick ... Maybe I'm delirious, but it's not you, not you..." M-21 was now determined not to allow panic to invade him. He would bear the experiments that Frankenstein wanted to conduct in silence. Frankenstein had given him a house, a job, a family, an identity. The least he could do was not make him sad... However, Frankenstein looked dubious. M-21 hurried to assure him: 

"Go ahead, it's good. Do the tests you need to do. I'm just... a little agitated because of the lack of sleep and... the difficulty to adapt to my new power." Frankenstein nodded, looking worried, but M-21 could not miss the spark of relief shining in his eyes. He had a tense smile, which faded as soon as he noticed the needle that the scientist was about to insert into his arm.

M-21 closed his eyes, thinking it would help him face the moment. He was wrong. Instead, as the needle pierced his skin, he saw the panic room again, with contensions and torture devices. He again felt the infamous liquid flooding his veins, forcing him to stay awake for weeks, his body on the verge of agony, while he was planting his nails in the palms of his hands to forget the overwhelming fatigue...

M-21 opened his mouth and did not hear his own scream. The beatings of his own heart became deafening, the sound filled his ears and he felt like he was meone was holding him.

''M... 21! Answer me!'' He opened his eyes and was blinded by an azure glow. Suddenly, everything returned to normal; his hearing became stable again, he could distinguish the laboratory and, above all, the fretful face of Frankenstein.

''M! Talk to me.'' M-21 focused on the blue infinity of Frankenstein's eyes, trying to ignore everything else. Gradually his breathing calmed down, and he was ashamed to feel tears streaming down his cheeks. Tears were not a good thing. The scientists hit him laughing and calling him 'weak' when he cried.

He lowered his head, and felt the grip of Frankenstein's hands on his shoulders firm. One of them came down on his back, holding him closer as he was shaking. 

"Breathe." said a voice far and wide, "As long as you can breathe, everything will be fine." 

M-21 followed the advice of the voice and focused on his breathing. The room was silent except for the sound of their two breaths, their two human and living breaths. When he opened his eyes again, raising his head, the beating of his heart had finally calmed down. He ran his hand over his face soaked in sweat. "Is it the Union?" M-21 stopped his movement, hiding his eyes with his fingers.

''It was.'' He sighed heavily, and the words locked forever out. "These memories are stuck in my head. I see their faces, empty of compassion, but so perfect, intact, as I would never be. I hear them scream. To reduce to dust everything that matters to me. And their words... were so much worse than their blows. One shot is like the bite of an animal. But the words are...humans." 

The last sentence knotted in M-21's throat and he let the tears fall from his lashes, no longer worrying about shame. All his barriers were falling, he was falling in front of Frankenstein, and despite the benevolence of the man, he could not help but feel devoured by shame.

''What did they say?" The scientist asked, his soft voice in contrast with his jaw tight with anger. 

"It was... often things like... that my existence was scarcely real, for I would never have any value in the eyes of anyone.'' "Hm. They made a mistake, did they not?" Murmured Frankenstein. The aura of the Dark Spear was getting slightly stronger. M-21 did not care and made a weak smile, continuing by telling: 

"Sometimes they even had fun making me believe that all this was just a staging, a kind of dream I never woke up to. A bit like Takeo and his fake sister, but it was like my whole life had been simulated for their own pleasure... And sometimes I believed them." 

M-21 stopped talking, embarrassed by the silence that was growing ever deeper. He watched the progress of the Dark Spear closely. A purple glow blinked in Frankenstein's eyes, then disappeared like a flame going out. The aura had completely disappeared when the man slowly sat down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "M-21, look at me and listen carefully to what I am going to tell you. These scientists wanted to crush you. In your eyes, they saw their own helplessness, their own hate against the more powerful people. They saw in it their revolt against the higher beings, against their unlimited power. Power, M-21... That's what humans have always wanted. More than happiness. More than love."

 The grip of Frankenstein's hand tightened, and M-21 was shocked to hear his voice tremble as he murmured: 

"And to reach power, you have to sacrifice everything. You must flout life." 

Frankenstein, averting his eyes, removed his hand, seeming to try to sort out his ideas. Eyes down, M-21 respectfully waited until he found the words. He had no doubt that, just as he had opened himself to talk about his past, this conversation must have been very difficult for Frankenstein. Finally, the scientist began to speak again, and even if his face showed no emotion, his voice was loaded with so much fervor that M-21 shuddered. 

"But what humans do not understand is that there is nothing more sacred than life.M-21, you can not even imagine ..." "I understand. You're talking about the importance of respecting life." 

The man nodded, explaining in a low voice: "Your existence has always made sense. You are part of the huge chain of evolution. Billions of years have been needed to arrive at your genetic endowment..."

M-21 could not help interrupting him, clenching his fists: "Yes, if my physical and psychological characteristics have not been created upon request by the Union." 

"Then it would make you my child."M-21 turned his head in less than a second, stunned. "What do you mean?" Frankenstein smiled and said: "The union stole my experimental data and used it to create you. Does not that make you my child?" "You ... you ..." M-21 did not trust himself to hold back his tears again. Family. We are a family. Tears overflowed his eye. He forced himself to concentrate. Before letting feelings overwhelm him again, there was one more thing he had to ask. 

"Frankenstein?"

"Yes, my child?" 

M-21 put his hand against his mouth to suppress the sob that was threatening to come out. He began to breathe quickly again, but stopped as soon as Frankenstein's hand rested on his shoulder. He closed his eyes a few moments, then found the will to articulate: 

"Can I ask you a question?" "Of course." Have you always respected life?" 

Frankenstein's gaze darkened so much that M-21 almost regretted asking the question. Almost. He had to know. "No, of course. Have not you already realized that I'm crazy?" He whispered with a sadistic smile in his mouth. A burst of Dark Spear shimmered in his eyes. Millions of tortured souls shouting vengeance. 

Anyone would have been terrified. Would have panicked. 

M-21 dropped to Frankenstein's chest, wrapping his arms around his neck. He felt so exhausted. So safe. All his anguish had evaporated thanks to man's words. And as it seemed he needed to hear it, M-21 said it. 

"I'm not afraid of you and your madness. I trust you…" Frankenstein swallowed, wrapping his arms awkwardly. M-21 smiled: there were very few people who could boast of having moved the great Frankenstein. 

"Of course, I already knew that," he argued, but M-21 could hear a hint of relief again in his voice. M-21 only nodded, too tired to make a mocking remark. He murmured:

"One last thing... This thing, my child, keep it for when we're alone. Crying in front of Rael would be a bit embarrassing." He chuckled and mumbled a 'okay '. M-21 closed his eyes and fell asleep feeling scarcely Frankenstein lifting him up.                                                          ---

In the days that followed, Frankenstein stopped wearing his scientist shirt and glasses in the laboratory. When the others questioned him, he replied cheerfully that white was strictly reserved for his master. Following this strange argument, all the inhabitants of the house, without exception Rael, had to eliminate all the white pieces of their.

And no one understood why M-21 seemed to laugh secretly, and look gratefully at Frankenstein every time the incident was evoked.

                                                        ---

I hope you enjoyed! I know that the ''Where's my guy'' incident had pissed off a lot of people in the Fandom, so I thought I would write a story about it (correcting the monumental translation error of course). What do you think?