#death is supposed to be something that is SO rare in the Lost Cities

[thelasttaleofthepari]

I'm praying that characters that are dead (Jolie, Mr Forkle, Kendric, Brant) don't come back to life just for more plot points I hate when that happens

like as much as I would LOVE for Mr Forkle or Kendric to be back, or for us to see Jolie's dynamics with Sophie (I don't wanna see Brant at all though) I think if they're alive it'd just lower the stakes a bit

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell) Scene from the Uberwald Grand Sneer

[licityvibes]

☣︎Whispers of The Darkened Mist☣︎

☣︎ Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x female reader ☣︎ Word count: 8,8 k ☣︎ Warnings ☣︎ - cursing, mentions of death, injury, mentions of blood, suggestive

☣︎ Summary: The world is shrouded in a dark, venomous mist that makes survival nearly impossible. Alone and hunted by other desperate survivors, you were on the brink of giving up. But then, Kim Hongjoong's fearsome crew found you. Though Hongjoong seemed intimidating and distant at first, he secretly cared for you, even if he didn’t show it. Now, in a world where betrayal could mean the difference between life and death, will you be able to trust each other enough to survive?

Or will hidden tensions tear you apart before the world does?

☣︎ A/N: I would've never thought I was going to write something like this lol. This is really the first time for me. This is totally new territory for me and I tried my best istg, idk it just happened. Actually, it started because I dreamt about this world and I woke up saying I have to write something with this. I don't know if it even makes sense but I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing and I hope it's not so confusing, lmk. Also sorry for the mistakes I am really trying. I might return to this world with the other members *wink wink* (divider)

The world went quiet. Darkness embraced the streets and buildings, creating a bubble around the earth that whispered danger. The streets were empty along with the fields that were supposed to be full of wildflowers. But everything was black, it looked like hungry flames consumed the planet, leaving behind nothing but emptiness. The planet became more and more harder to survive for humans, they needed to adapt to the odd situation that came with not being able to breathe fresh air for too long.

The air was tainted with alchemical toxins, giving humans only a few minutes to find shelter where the air was filtered and cleaner than the toxic atmosphere outside.

It was tough, people's freedom was taken away the day when simultaneous terrorist attacks occurred worldwide. That we call the Black Day since. They filled the air with nuclear gas that came in the form of black smoke, which blinded the people immediately, because of how dense the smoke looked. Being too much in the smoke makes people feel dizzy, like they are a little drunk, feeling intoxicated from the venomous air spreading in their lungs like rivers all around a map. If the ones that were in the smoke for more than five minutes without a mask, their days ended for good. Specialized masks prevent the gas from getting into your lungs, but those are hard to get, and if you are not that lucky to somehow provide one for yourself, you are doomed. It's breaking into a lab that has a lot of these types of masks—but these are rare to find—or it's killing someone that has the mask.

This is the game of survivor. But this time it's not just a game.

It's already five years, five years of the world being in infinite darkness, the sun was already a forgotten phenomenon. More than half of the population was gone. No one could expect something like this. People who were still here were the strongest kind, it's not easy to survive five years in a world that was doomed for eternity. The world changed completely, it wasn't the type of survival where people needed to work to get money and to buy everyday necessities. It was the type of survival when people needed to fight for the things they needed, to search every inch of the cities that were ruined into specks of dust so they could find some supplies that they needed to survive.

If you were alone, you had no chance. People usually gathered together, because it was easier to survive along with others than being alone in the big and dark world that held only surprises for you. Being alone in the wild is like you are prey that has nowhere to run. People hunt for the lost ones because they have nothing better to do.

I had luck. A crew of random people found me on the top of a building unconscious, where I ran up to find shelter away from the smoke that was spreading through the air. In the beginning, there were places where the smoke still did not reach, it was spreading slowly, and after trying to survive for five months alone, being tired of the constant running away from the toxic air, that haunted me even in my nightmares. I stopped. I was on the verge of giving up. I was ready to let the fog consume me, to eat my soul and take me to a better place.

I was almost there, I could see the sun above me, which was beaming at me, embracing me in a tight and warm hug. I felt like finally I could rest and leave this world behind in peace.

But there was nothing like the sun above me and the warmth I felt was hands around me that pulled me up from the dirty ground on the top of a building that was so high, I could feel the warm beam of the sun.

That was the last time I felt the warmth of the sun. Since then, I had already forgotten how it felt and how the sky looked like when the sun was rising or setting down. The people who came to that exact building when I wanted to give up, slowly became my family. Felt like it was destiny. It needed to happen. It was a sign from life, that whispered I should fight until my last breath. And from that day, I decided I was not going to give up.

Kim Hongjoong was the leader of the crew. They saved me that day, Hongjoong lifted me into his arms and they took me to their base so I could survive. His sharp eyes were staring into mine when I was in a haze, trying to perceive what was happening. While I was recovering, I constantly saw his face in my dreams.

Surviving wasn't in my plan, those five months were torture, the worst days of my life, I had no food, and I needed to kill a little squirrel someday to get some strength from its meat. I needed to do a lot of things I could've never imagined I was capable of doing. The worst was when I needed to kill a woman, that had the mask I desperately needed.

This was life. To survive you need to do everything, and when our survivor instincts turn on, we can't turn them off. We become unstoppable and we lose our humanity. It drives us crazy until we can't think clearly. That was when I thought it was better if I gave up. But when they found me and did not let me die there, I realized, it wasn't my choice to die, if destiny wanted me to survive, then I was going to fight until my last breath. I owed my life to these people and one day I might get the opportunity to pay them back.

In theory, it was Kim Hongjoong who brought me to their base; it was his decision. But as the others later told me, he intended to leave me there to die. He argued that I wasn't their problem and wanted to abandon me. However, the others insisted on checking if I was still alive. Hongjoong was prepared to leave me behind, but the others refused, so he had no choice but to take me with them.

And since that day they became my family. Even though Hongjoong hated me for some reason, probably because he did not want someone new in their crew back then—especially a girl—he did some things that made me believe he did not hate me. For example, when they found me, he was the one who took me to their base in his arms—because he did not let anyone else do it.

Or times when it was my turn to explore an unknown sector of the city, Hongjoong never let me go alone. He always sent Wooyoung with me because of his exceptional archery skills—his arrows never missed their mark. Wooyoung was there to protect me if anything went wrong, and Hongjoong made sure I was safe at all times, even though he pretended not to care about me. At first, Hongjoong seemed unapproachable, with his strong charisma and the aura of a true leader. He was the reason everyone survived, always involving us in his plans and valuing our opinions. He was prepared for every possible outcome.

There were times when some strangers attacked our base because we had just been to collect the supplies along with some important masks we needed for survival. People knew about us; we were a strong unbreakable team and it was hard to break through.

And when they attacked us, it was a usual night. We were sleeping.

They managed to kill one of us. I am never going to forget that horrible day. It was a girl, who we saved just two weeks ago. I saw myself in her, he was as broken as me when they first found me on the top of that building. But when we found the girl, her eyes were shining and it was full of hope and with want of surviving, not like mine back then.

After the night they attacked us, we started to be more careful and did not trust anyone. People are here to survive; it was not a game where we could make allies with anyone. If you want to survive, you just destroy everything that comes your way. And that is why our world looks like it was destroyed by an army that looked never-ending, just to leave ashes behind.

 Hongjoong always sent me out with Wooyoung, he was good at covering someone and letting you know if there were any dangers around you. Wooyoung's charisma was captivating and he radiated happiness in this sad empire. Wooyoung's nickname was The Hawk because he had eyes like a hawk. Sometimes when I wanted to tease him, I called him pigeon and he always pouted with his rosy lips with folded arms saying he is not a pigeon.

Wooyoung became my best friend since the first day Hongjoong sent us on a mission together. He taught me a lot of survival tactics and he even showed me how to use the bow. He was the closest to me, he was like my brother who I had not seen way before the Black Day, just like my family, and it hurt, it was like losing a piece of me, that belonged to my family. It is the worst when you don't know if they survived or not if they are in a better place or outside the cruel world trying to survive. I did not know which one was better.

We were in our bunker that was deep in the ground. This was the base of ours, where we could breathe, well—fresher air here than outside. It was built of concrete, the walls were huge and cold, and some pillars kept the weight of the building deep in the heart of the ground.

The huge hall where we were sitting, echoed the voice of Kim Hongjoong, our leader. He was standing in the middle of the room, us surrounding him. He was wearing his usual black fur coat, his black hair cut short, and his undercut as sharp as his jawline as I watched his side profile while he was speaking. With a lot of jewelry hanging from his ear, he looked intimidating and I would have given up instantly if I had run into him randomly on the empty streets. He was an interesting man. I have known him since they saved me, but he surprises me with every passing day. He was protective over his people; he would do anything for the ones who stood by him and followed him along this dark and bumpy road we were on.

I always respected him; five years is long. Our relationship was like a roller-coaster through the years. We had some times when we hated each other, and he made my stay a lot more difficult, as he always made me feel like I did not belong there. Like it was a mistake saving me. But also, there were times when he acted weird. This overprotectiveness of his came out a lot recently. And I did not know what to do with him. I couldn't yet figure him out. He was like a deep ocean full of secrets, some beasts lurking around in the dark. Kim Hongjoong was a monster and it was hard to quell him down. Especially if you betrayed him.

Like that one time, one year ago, when those people broke into our base and killed that innocent girl. It turned out there was a traitor between us. Someone betrayed us by allying with the enemy and revealing the location of our base—or so they thought. When we managed to eliminate them all, their leader, the last one standing, warned us to find Judas among us, then took his own life.

I have never seen Hongjoong like this. The veins on his forehead were visible, as he was shouting at us to tell him who betrayed us and whose fault was the girl's death. He was wearing his usual leather vest as he downed a glass of whiskey that flew down both sides of his neck, making him look like he was psychotic. His hands were still bloody from the fighting just like his face with some red stitches on it. He was furious, he trusted these people he called his family, but someone betrayed him and he went mad. Seonghwa, his best friend and our medic, tried to calm him down, but Hongjoong just pushed him away shouting at him to leave him alone. His best friend looked at him wide-eyed not recognizing the best friend he respected so much.

Seonghwa was already part of the crew when they took me in. He once saved Hongjoong's life, and ever since, Hongjoong promised to protect him if Seonghwa used his medical skills to help their people. Seonghwa was a calm and composed guy, never showing anger or sadness. He took his work very seriously and saved many of us over the years. Though he seemed cold, his charisma was rooted in deep care—his sole purpose was to save lives.

Then Hongjoong faced me. And I froze. It was like he was pointing a gun at me and I was just a little lost bunny in the depths of the forest.

"You," He pointed at me, his eyes shooting daggers right into my eyes, making them invisibly bleed. He slowly walked towards me. "You did this, didn't you?" He looked like a predator, and my heart started to beat fast afraid of getting caught. When he was standing in front of me, I avoided his gaze. If I had looked into his eyes, I might have started to cry, because I was terrified. Then I had no choice but to look into his eyes, because something sharp lifted my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. It was his knife with a wooden handle.

I was just staring back at his eyes, and when I did not say anything, he pushed me into the room behind me with a force suddenly I saw black dots in my vision. And it wasn't better when he pushed me against the cold concrete wall, his veiny hands around my neck. The air was knocked out of my lungs and I tried to scrape his hands off my throat, but there was no point, he was much stronger than me.

"You have one second to explain, then I'm going to kill you with my bare hands." He hissed through his teeth, close to my face, his hands getting tighter around my throat.

I tried to breathe, but it was impossible, there was no way air could go through his hands that were chains around my neck. I tried to speak. "M-mfb" Some noises came out of my mouth but made no sense.

"Try harder, sweetheart." His hands squeezed more and my mouth fell open, his lips almost brushing mine. I looked at him wide-eyed, I was ready to die in between the arms that saved me.

But I didn't want to give him that satisfaction. "M-m my br-brother." The words stumbled out as a whisper, the air long gone from my lungs, his face close to mine was blurry as black dots appeared next to his black figure hovering over me.

Then a sudden wave of air hit me in the face like I was in the ocean and the waves crushed me against the sharp cliff that stubbed my lungs. I fell on the floor, on my knees, supporting myself with my hands, breathing heavily as I coughed blood on the floor. My lungs were full of air, yet I still couldn't breathe, I was on the verge of fainting. But I needed to explain. 

"Th-they told me, they have my brother." I looked at the dusty ground I was kneeling on, as a tear fell from my eyes, the bloody dust getting wet from my teardrops. I looked up at him, I still felt his hands around my throat as he was standing further from me, leaning against a table. "But I did not tell them, where our base was, Hongjoong, please, believe me." My voice cracked as I looked up at him with begging eyes. "They must have followed me when we met at the bridge, I wasn't careful enough, forgive me." I tilted my head down; I couldn't look into his eyes full of disappointment and disgust.

He pushed himself off the table and approached my sobbing figure on the floor. I only saw his shoes in front of me. "I should kill you, sweetheart. How did you even believe them? Did I teach you to believe anything they say to you?" He kneeled, lifting my chin with his fingers.

I shook my head. "But I thought I saw him, that is why I followed them. I don’t even know what I was thinking, he could be dead, but I just hoped it was really him. And when they caught me, they promised they were going to let my brother choose if he wanted to come with me. But they wanted masks in exchange. I would do anything for my brother Hongjoong and you know that so well." I looked at him desperately.

“I know, you would even betray us,” He grabbed my cheeks and lifted my head straight to his face.

“No! I would never, just listen to me, please…” I looked up with tears in my eyes.

"What happened after?" His thumb traced over my cheek to wipe away my desperate tears.

 "Then I told them I wanted to see my brother to make sure it was him—it wasn't him. So, I told them the deal was not valid anymore. They did not want to hear it, so they captured me and did not let me go. But I managed to escape, that was why I was late the other day from my exploring when you were so mad at me for staying out for so long…" I looked down at my hands on my lap, still kneeling on the floor, Hongjoong listening to me carefully, his expression getting softer but still angry. "I'm so sorry Hongjoong, you know I would never betray you and the others. You are my family, I know I made a big mistake, but for a moment I believed it was for real my brother, I was blinded by my feelings." Tears flowed down both my cheeks as I said with a weak voice, my gaze still on my hands.

"I'm glad we killed all of them." He said simply as I snapped my head up. "You should have told me though, you know you can tell me anything, sweetheart." He whispered cupping my cheeks.

"I-I know, but…I felt embarrassed of how naïve I was, they tricked me so easily, I don't want it to happen again." I wanted to be stronger, and the more I was with them, the stronger I became. "And that girl…she died because of me." I buried my face into my hands as I sobbed she was going to hunt me in my nightmares for eternity.

Hongjoong carefully withdrew my hands from my face to look into his eyes. "Sometimes we need sacrifices so we can learn from our mistakes. It happened, now we are moving forward, and you become stronger. Will you promise me?" His hands reached towards my black hair to tuck a string of hair behind my ear, his fingers tracing down on my red neck, his handprint fully visible on my skin, which is going to be red and blue reminding me of the mistake I made. I deserved it because an innocent girl died because of me.

I nodded. "I promise."

"Forgive me." He whispered suddenly. At first, I didn't know why he was apologizing but then his gaze was on my neck that mirrored perfectly the print of his hands around it.

"I deserved it," I whispered as he leaned down to kiss the redness.

"You deserve the world." He whispered in between warm pecks on my neck.

But the world was doomed anyway.  

Since that day, I have become stronger. I did not let people fool me, to lead me towards the wrong way. Hongjoong's words echoed through my mind every time I needed strength, every time I felt like I might give up.

As we watched Hongjoong stand in the middle of the hall echoing his low voice, his black fur coat almost reaching the ground as he was wearing a black leather vest paired with black pants, the flashbacks from that night echoed through my mind as sometimes I still felt his hands around my long-healed neck. I always felt the urge to trace my fingers through my skin to calm myself down a little.

"We need to secure Sector 1 and Sector 2. Yesterday our exploring team said we are being watched again. We might have to move from here if we can't protect this base." Hongjoong turned around to look into every person's eye, who eagerly listened to Hongjoong's commanding words, then his eyes settled on mine and landed on my fingers that were on my neck. He must have noticed as it became a habit of mine and he seemed it bothered him. "Sectors 1 and 2 are around us, we need to set traps and even bombs, to slow the enemy." He averted his gaze quickly away from me as he continued.

 It was funny how people were fighting against each other when it would be much easier to ally with each other and find a solution to this venomous fog that surrounds us all the time, like our nightmares that won't leave us since the Black Day.

"I can go to Sector 2 with Jongho!" San volunteered immediately.

"That sector is big, you are going to need help. I'm coming with you!" I said immediately as I knew that sector just as the back of my hand.

Hongjoong turned in my direction and looked at me sharply. "You are staying here!" He pointed at me.

"I explored that sector before; I can help them." I stepped closer to Hongjoong determined.

"We need you here on the base, Y/N! And this is my command!" His voice came out demanding as he hovered over me.

"Actually," I heard a voice coming from behind. "Y/N could really help us, we haven't been there once with Jongho, it's a new territory."

My eyes bored into Hongjoong's trying to convince him to let me go with them, as his eyes snapped between my eyes from left to right. "I want you to stay by my side, sweetheart." He whispered so the others wouldn't hear what he said his expressions seemed like he was worried.

"It's going to be okay; we did this a lot of times, we go out quickly, doing the usual and I'll come back to you, I promise. They need me out there Hongjoong." I looked up at him sounding confident, but deep down in my heart I was always afraid of going out, anything could go wrong.

He ran his fingers through his raven-black hair frustrated. "Okay, but Yunho is going with you!" He shouted so the others could hear him and they started to move to get ready. I wanted to turn to help the others pack but I felt a hand catching my wrist.

"It's not safe now out there, everyone wants our base and everything we have. Be quick, I need you here. I-I mean we—we need you here." He stuttered at the end as he scratched his nape a little shy. Wait a minute. The scary Kim Hongjoong who almost killed me, was shy?

"Oh, you need me, Kim Hongjoong?" I teased him as I bit my lower lip lifting my eyebrows.

"Shut up and go!" He said as his lips curved up barely visible.

"Now you want me to go or stay? I can't quite figure it out—" I said smiling at him pretending to be confused. I loved to tease him.

Then his hands were suddenly on my waist as he pulled me flash against his body. "I want you to go and come back to me." He whispered onto my parted lips his last word was like an arrow that landed right on my heart, making it bleed with a new feeling I had never felt before.

"Don't worry, you can't get rid of me that easily, Kim Hongjoong," I said close to his lips as I looked deeply into his eyes then pecked his right cheek and turned around leaving a stunned Hongjoong in the middle of the hall.

We started to pack some things we needed, especially weapons. Mingi was in charge of the weapons, he always knew what kind of gun or knife suited you. His charisma was always foolish a little, his eyes always bored into your soul and made you tell him everything. He was a reliable person. Yeosang on the other hand, who was responsible for the food, was a little cold, his charisma seemed nice, but I never had the chance to talk with him. He came with Mingi three years ago and he only opened up to him. Something very traumatic must have happened to them.

We were jumping over pieces of buildings and wrecked cars on the streets, our gas masks on as we were heading towards sector two. While discovering the sector with Yunho, San, and Jongho, we set off some traps so that if someone passes, they are doomed.

When we finished setting the traps we wandered a little out of that sector, and found ourselves in an unknown sector. We wanted to turn back immediately but then Yunho saw a 12-passenger plane. It was white and cute and Yunho wanted to drive it. He was not a pilot, in fact, he had no driver's license. But we somehow trusted in him and we knew it was a very important tool in discovering the city more. We needed it and Yunho was a guy, who was just naturally good at everything. His charisma was like sunshine that can turn into a storm rather quickly.

As he managed to turn it on without any difficulties, we pushed it to a clearing so it could fly, we settled into the seats and buckled in. I was sitting next to Yunho in the pilot seats, he checked the buttons if they were working or not, he was a very sweet guy.

Until some point.

He came with his lover, Hana, they were running away from the smoke when Hongjoong offered shelter for them. There was this one time when someone attacked his lover while we were out to explore the district we were in. As I said people are willing to kill for the masks we were wearing. They just wanted the mask and it happened to be Hana's.

The ones who attacked did not make it. Yunho killed all four of them with his bare hands until they couldn't move anymore. We had no chance to help, it happened in a blink of an eye.

Since that day I knew it wasn't good to play with Yunho's nerves. The girl was his weak point and he did anything to keep her safe.

 Behind me in the passenger seats was San, who was a very buffed man, with wide shoulders and an intimidating charisma, everyone feared him who came his way, but in reality, he was just a cute guy, who loved to call Wooyoung pigeon as well. On the other side of the plane, Jongho, San's brother was sitting. He was also very muscular and carried a hammer as his weapon. Despite his imposing appearance, his charisma was sweeter than intimidating, unlike his brother's. Jongho was a man who did not speak a lot, he was similar to Yeosang, they both just observed from far away, but still coped with us easily.

The Choi brothers were unstoppable. They were the strongest links in the chain we created. Sometimes when the siblings bickered together it reminded me of my relationship with my brother and I felt jealous of them because they were there for each other, they could protect the other, but I just couldn't do it with my brother because I did not know where he was. Back then when I thought I saw my brother, hope blinded me until I was in danger. I could never let that happen. Not in this cruel world.

"It's pilot Yunho, welcome on board, we are getting off the ground in ten seconds," Yunho murmured into the microphone that was surprisingly working. We laughed at his bickering and breathed in when the machine started to move. The next thing I knew was us being up in the sky, flying through the black smog that was floating in the air constantly. My jaw dropped as I looked down, where I could barely get the shapes of the destroyed city, the buildings fallen apart, remains lying on the ground unmoving, the streets full of abandoned cars, and no living creatures in sight. I was in shock; it was totally a different point of view. As I looked further and further, as long as the fog let us. It looked horrible. Dystopian. Like it was a game where they dropped you into an abandoned city and you needed to survive. But sadly, it was not a game.

As we reached the end of the city heading towards our base, we spotted the ocean. We didn't even know we were next to an ocean the fog did not let us see it, it came in handy—maybe we could travel with ships, so we wouldn't meet with unpleasant people along the way.

Everyone was in silence as we tried to take in the view that wasn't the best in our lives. I looked down at the beach where I spotted a figure running, it looked like it was a girl, because her hair was flowing behind her and he was holding a gun wearing all black. I was so distracted watching her, that I did not notice the strange noises the plane made.

"What is happening?" San asked his voice getting worried.

"Don't worry, I can handle it," Yunho said as his face was focused, pushing some buttons on the console. He had no idea what he was doing.

"Oh my God we are going to die." Jongho's voice came from behind panicked.

I looked down, we were quite far away from the safe land, and my heart started to beat fast. There was no way it was going to end like this.

As Yunho pushed some buttons, it seemed the engine got to its full power again, and we released a sigh we all held on to that. But then suddenly the engine fully stopped and we didn't even have time to process what was happening. Only hold for our dear life, and pray to the Gods to save us. I looked at Yunho panicked who tried to control the plane to at least land in the ocean—which was safer than the dry land.

Then Yunho held my hands as I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to witness my own death. The next moment, I felt the collapse. It was overwhelming—an explosion of colors, and then everything went black. 

The Black Day.

I was heading to my flat with my best friend from work after a tiring day when the chaos started. While we discussed with my best friend what kind of movie should we watch, that was the first time we heard the sirens. It was low and whispered danger. We did not pay much attention to it, as there were days when the city made some tests with these sirens.

But when we saw people run around panicked, my best friend held onto my arm, not wanting to let me go. Especially when the guards with scary big gas masks separated us, saying everyone needed to go to their district. I still remember the face of my best friend, when we cried trying to hold onto each other, she was heartbroken as we both cried, promising we were going to find each other. I never saw my best friend again.

When the guards told me to go home, I was lost. I wasn't in my hometown. My family lived miles away from me. I couldn't go home and see my family. I was a college student and it was my second year in university. I barely went home, because my family lived far away and I needed to work to pay my bills. It was hard not seeing my family only once a month.

But when I got close up with strange people in a crowded room, I have never felt that lost. I didn't know what to do and what was even happening. Then the people with the gas masks on came back and dragged us into a school bus to take us into an improvised survivor camp, where they only enlisted young and ambitious people. If there were children or old women, they transported them somewhere else and we never found out where they took them.

When the masked men told us what happened in the world and what are we doing there, I was full of anger and felt like I could burn the whole world down. Just as half of the population thought. And this is why the world now looked like it was in fact burned down.

The smoke was spreading unstoppably and no one knew how to stop it. So, people needed to adjust to this terrifying situation, they needed to survive. And in this survivor camp, they taught us how to do it. This was the reason I survived for five months alone. I was hoping somehow with a miracle happening I am going to meet with my family along the way. But I never saw my family again.

I was with my family; we were eating dinner. Everyone was smiling and laughing, my brother looked at me and said how proud he was of me. My mother held my hand and told me to keep going. Then I looked at my father whose face looked a little concerned, he opened his mouth to say something—wake up—but it wasn't his voice, it came from far away, I was confused as I still looked at my father's face.

WAKE UP! I heard again.

Y/N, WAKE UP!

Then I opened my eyes and sat up breathing heavily. My head was aching so bad I needed to close my eyes for a second, then I felt a painful stinging coming from my chest.

"Finally, Cinderella managed to wake up from her long beauty sleep." I heard a familiar voice that always made my heart relieved.

"Wooyoung!" I snapped my head up to look at him. His usual black framed glass was sitting on his tall nose, his sharp eyes were boring into mine, and he was wearing a light blue hoodie that hid his well-defined body well, paired with sweatpants. I hugged him close to me.

"Are you okay? Is everyone okay?" I asked starting to get panicked. I just realized I was in one of the base's rooms, where usually the injured ones were.

"The question is mine. Are you okay? You slept like a mummy, man. Seonghwa told us, you should wake up in a few hours but you just did not wake up, Y/N, you scared me…" His voice got low as he sat next to me on the bed. "You hit your head very bad and a few of your ribs are broken, but that should heal quickly now you are awake. Thank God." My best friend said as he looked down at his fidgeting hands, and I needed to smile at the fact of how worried he looked.

"I'm okay now, Woo," I said as I scooted closer to him and leaned my head against his as he turned towards me. Then I just hugged him again, because I loved him so much, I would burn the whole world down if needed, even though it was already burnt into ashes.

Then everything just flashed in images in front of my eyes. The plane. The falling. The crushing. The blackness.

I separated quickly from Wooyoung looking at him shocked. "W-what happened? Where are the others? Tell me they are okay Woo." Sudden emotions hit me and I was so scared something would happen with them.

"Hey, relax, Y/N. They are okay." He cupped my face into his hands as I sighed in relief. "Well…mostly."

"What do you mean?" I looked at him shocked, my heart rate at the highest.

"San and Jongho made it with smaller injuries. San broke his right arm and Jongho suffered a brain concussion, but it's slight so he is going to be okay." He said caressing my cheek to calm me down. "And Yunho…he is…he is in a coma. He hit his head severely and some nerves in his brain aren't functioning. It needs time to heal. It seems very serious but Seonghwa said let's not give up hope, he is a very strong guy, and he can fight this off." He wiped the tears away that escaped from my eyes.

We were so stupid; how could we think it was a good idea to take off a random plane without any knowledge of how to drive it? We were responsible for our lives and still, we just threw it away like it was garbage. I really hoped Yunho was going to be okay. No—not hoping, because I knew he was going to be okay.

"He is going to be okay, I'm sure." I nodded in determination as I said. "How's Hana?"

"She can barely keep up, but she is next to Yunho all the time."

"How did we get back here?"

"A girl found you and helped you. She said she was at the beach right when you crushed. You were lucky to crash into the ocean; it absorbed much of the impact. So, San was on the verge of fainting when she went to the plane to see if you made it. San told her where the base was and then she ran to our base to call us. But we were occupied a little back here." Wooyoung's face became frustrated. 

"What happened here? The others?" One particular sharp face jumped into my mind and it seemed I couldn’t shake it off.

"Our base got attacked while you were away," Wooyoung said his expression getting sad.

"What? How? What the hell happened Woo?" I got up and ran my fingers through my hair stressed, ignoring the pain coming from my ribs.

"Some random people, who were well-armed, attacked our base and almost burned down the whole base. But we managed to fight them off. Oh my God, Y/N, I thought that's it. This is the end. But then these other guys came and helped us." He buried his face into his hands stressed.

"Who were they?" I asked feeling very thankful for those guys that saved my family.

"I don't know, they told us they came with good intentions and just wanted to ally with us. They call themselves Xikers or what, they are a bunch of kids but still helped us."

 I felt relieved, if the base had been burnt down, that would have been the worst. And I was so thankful everyone was okay…well mostly okay. But I still didn't know one piece of information and it bothered me, boiling my veins with worry.

"Is-is Hongjoong okay?" I asked looking down at the ground as I needed to support myself on the table behind me.

Wooyoung stood up and walked towards me, he grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes with a sadness I had never seen before.

I shook my head. "Wooyoung don't do this." Tears appeared in my eyes.

"He's…" Wooyoung reached his hand towards my cheek to tuck my hair behind my ear. "Hongjoong is—"

Then I heard a door slam and I looked towards it and I saw him. Hongjoong was standing in the doorway with an angry expression that also showed clear signs of worry. He was wearing his black leather vest a black shirt under it paired with black pants, his hair messed up, and some black strings falling onto his forehead. I was speechless for a moment, but when I came to my senses, I let go of Wooyoung's hands and ran towards Hongjoong not letting him time to even blink I wrapped my hands around his neck and hugged him strongly.

"Hey, be careful, sweetheart, you’re injured," he murmured into the crook of my neck, his hands on my waist gently pulling me away to keep my broken ribs from pressing against him.

"I don't care, you are alive," I said into his ear almost tearing up.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked as he pulled away to look into my eyes caressing my cheeks with a frown.

"Wooyoung told me—well it seemed on his expression you were dead…" I looked next to me angrily, where Wooyoung was leaning against the table with a shit-eating grin.

"I didn't say he was dead, I'm just good at acting Y/N, I'm glad it worked." He giggled with a devil smile.

"Jung Wooyoung, I swear to God—you son of a pigeon." I escaped from Hongjoong's arms to chase Wooyoung and slapped him as he held an arm out as a shield.

"Okay, enough. Act yourself out Wooyoung." I heard Hongjoong's voice from behind me, his hands finding their way around my waist. I didn't see his expressions but seeing Wooyoung's told me enough as his smile faded quickly and he sprinted towards the door. I followed him with my eyes squinting my eyes at him. "Hongjoong got stabbed," Wooyoung shouted lastly before slamming the door.

I turned back to Hongjoong with wide eyes. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Hongjoong sighed. "It's not a big deal." He turned away and walked towards the table next to the bed. He always did this, he always turned away when something was about him. He always cared about the others but not about himself.

"How is it not a big deal when you got fucking stabbed?" My voice got higher. I just wanted to scream at his face to not turn away from me. I walked towards him, slowly approaching him. He supported himself on the table looking down at it, his wide back facing with me. I was next to him as I saw his face, his eyes closed, his undercut showing. He looked like he was in pain, not just physically.

I reached my hands towards his chin to slowly, carefully lift it. He looked so vulnerable I was scared I might break him. When he looked at me, I saw so much pain in his eyes. He went through a lot. His family died in front of his eyes. The smoke killed them and his family shouted at him to run and to survive. I knew this was what kept him going. But after five years, only their faded memory remained. What was the reason for him to keep going?

I caressed his cheek like my hands were a feather, scared his skin might fall apart. "Where did you get stabbed?" I whispered looking into his eyes that looked so divine, that I was ready to fall on my knees.

He looked away for a moment. "On my back," He scoffed. "It's so embarrassing, I can't watch my back for a second and this happens…"

I felt worried as I looked at his face it seemed he was really ashamed of it. "Hongjoong look at me," I tilted his head towards me to look into my eyes. "It's embarrassing for the person who did it. They couldn't face you because they knew they wouldn't make it alive if they did."

"Well, they didn't make it either way." His lips curved up a little and mine as well at that.

"Take it off!" I demanded holding his vest in my hands, feeling the leather material under my touch. 

He just looked at me a little confused.

"I want to see your wound, Hong."

He just nodded and grabbed my hand to slowly take it off his body, so he could unbutton the vest, his sharp eyes never leaving mine. My heart was in my ears, I couldn’t hear the usual noises of the base coming from the other rooms. I only saw Kim Hongjoong in front of me as he unbuttoned his black shirt as well after throwing the vest on the floor. He slowly took off the shirt his upper body now fully on the sight. His abs were well-defined, his chest full of strength where a tattoo of a sneak's head was hissing at me. I reached my fingers towards the snake's head to trace the tattoo as I looked at it. Hongjoong's gaze still bored into mine. I followed the snake's figure with my finger as it came from his back, and then I walked behind him, still following the snake with my finger all over his back. My fingers traveled through the snake's length as I felt Hongjoong shiver under my touch. The snake circled all over Hongjoong's back, ending on his chest where the sneak’s head was.

I always admired the tattoo whenever I saw it, while he was working out or just changed. But I never got the opportunity to touch it, and that was one of my most wanted desires. Then there was the stab, it was stitched carefully, Seonghwa doing a good job as always, some white ointments were all over it, so it wouldn't get inflamed. I circled the wound with my finger as I heard him hissing. I leaned down a little to leave a healing kiss above it.

"So, it's going to heal faster," I whispered warmly onto his skin.

"Sweetheart," I heard his desperate voice coming from above.

I did not stop leaving kisses all around his back, following the line of the snake on his back, as I got up to his nape kissing it. My arms circled his abdomen as I left one last kiss on his neck, putting my chin on his wide shoulder. He leaned his head against mine as he kissed my temple. "Thank you," He whispered as he took my hands from his abdomen and turned around to cup one side of my cheek, his other hand on my waist pulling me close to him. I bit my lower lip as my body got hotter, my heart beating unstoppably. He looked into my eyes like I was his whole world, even though it was doomed into a speck of dust.

"I was so worried, Y/N, I thought you would never come back to me." His eyes were full of emotions and with tears.

"I said it's not easy to get rid of me." I smiled at him as I felt his fingers trace through my face.

He smiled at that too and traced his fingers through my temple, where I felt a little stinging, I didn’t even notice I got injured there as well. Then his warm lips were on my wound again.

"So, it's going to heal," His lips curved up into a sincere smile that I have never seen. It cured everything inside me, it didn’t matter if I was injured, his smile healed everything inside and outside of me. Then his hands traveled down to my waist and went under my T-shirt, touching my skin with his warm fingers.

"Let me see your wounds, Y/N," He whispered close to my lips, his eyes so genuine, that he made me trust him. I always did, since the day they found me on the top of that building.

I just nodded, signaling to him I trusted him. His fingers grabbed the hem of my oversized white T-shirt and lifted it very carefully, looking into my eyes the whole time. When he took it off, I was standing in front of him half-naked. We were now equal as both of us were standing in front of the other in a vulnerable state and were injured, yet full of passion that made our pain go away.

His eyes landed on my chest and on my ribs where a bandage was wrapped around my torso. There were a few black and blue marks under my ribs. Hongjoong traced his fingers through them carefully so as not to hurt me. Then he kneeled and looked up at me from there, his eyes questioning if he was allowed to touch me. I just nodded as words simply couldn't escape my mouth.

Hongjoong then leaned against my warm skin and left soft pecks on the blue marks. My chest was rising up and down quickly as I felt like I was in heaven. His lips traced above my ribs, on my chest, leaving healing kisses there, then he stood up and kissed my neck where once his hands were wrapped around when he almost sent me to the other world. Since then, he just couldn't stop apologizing for that move, saying it wasn't him and he would never hurt me. I forgave him because I truly deserved that and because he made me stronger, he made me keep going instead of my family. He was my family. They were my family.

“I’m jealous of Seonghwa because he got to see you like this before I did.” He whispered onto my lips in a possessive way and cupped my face.

As he caressed my cheeks I looked up into his eyes and after five years I felt like I was at home, home that gave me safeness and warmth in this cruel and cold world. When his warm lips met mine, it felt as if the world healed around us. The darkness faded away, and the sun emerged once more, casting warmth over a world that had been cold for five years.

The last time I felt this warm was when Hongjoong held me in his arms when I was on the verge of dying. That was the last time I felt the sun come out between the dark mist. He was my sun that we couldn't feel anymore.

His lips gave me warmth as they moved against mine, I wrapped my hands around his neck as he turned me around to lift me at the table. I wrapped my legs around his torso as he was holding me by my waist, squeezing it, making me let out a quiet moan as his hands squeezed a black mark on my stomach. My hands traveled down his chest and then to his back where I felt the snake as it almost circled my wrist. I felt his wound that I traced with my finger and he let out a hiss on that and sucked my lower lip between his teeth, making it almost bleed as I hissed at that too. He captured my lips in a deep possessive kiss, that made me part my lips and let his tongue dive into my mouth. Our tongues met with each other and danced along to our heartbeats as I let out a moan. I bit his lower lip as we fought for a little dominance, he let out a low groan at that, kissing me deeply like he was obsessed with me and could never get enough of me. I felt the same because I wanted to be with him in this dark and cruel world, to be his reason to keep going now that his family was just a memory. I wanted to be his reason to survive.

 And he was mine.   

When our eyes met again, his gaze was filled with desire and emotions that mirrored my own. Emotions that connected us, that made us feel like we belonged to each other in this cruel world, so we could fight together against the bad. That came in the form of a dark mist that always whispered you promises, promises that said it's going to be better if you die. But dying isn't the solution. Survival was the only solution here and it did not matter how long you needed to survive, you had to because there were people who counted on you, people who were the reason to survive.

Survival wasn’t about the world anymore. It was about the people you encountered along the way, those who became your family amidst the dark mist that whispered of unachievable desires. But if you fight for it, you can achieve anything. I was determined to stand with Hongjoong and the others, so we could save the world one day.

(Ateez masterlist)

Yunho's part-> Demons of The Darkened Mist

[joelalorian]

Lost Cause

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

Word count: 2,594 oneshot

The hits just kept coming. Time after time, year after year, life just beat Joel Miller down. It started when he was young, always taken down a peg by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no matter how hard he tried to build himself up. There was a brief respite when he had Sarah – those fourteen years were the happiest of his life, despite the sudden and unexpected nature of becoming a father so young, until it was all ripped away in the blink of an eye on that one horrific day.

Since then, he’d given up hoping for more. Life had completely shattered his hopes and dreams. He couldn’t even put himself out of his own misery, for fuck’s sake. Life hated him that much it wouldn’t even release its grasp on him. He was so damaged beyond repair, and he could do fuck all about it.

His latest hit was a sucker punch to the gut, though.

Just when he finally opened up his heart again, when he allowed himself to feel something other than misery again, that’s precisely when the hit came.

Ellie – sweet, feral child that she was – wanted nothing to do with him after finding out the truth of what happened to the Fireflies in Salt Lake City.

The fracture in his relationship with Ellie sent him spiraling out of control, resorting to old behaviors and vices – drinking too much at the Tipsy Bison, smoking pilfered cigarettes out back behind the bar, taking pills on the rare occasions he could get his hands on them. The nightmares returned no matter how blasted he got to chase them away and he was often moody from lack of sleep.

Joel still contributed to society in Jackson, but he did it in ways that he could keep to himself. Fixing things around town, building stuff in his workshop, taking the odd patrol shift with his brother. He avoided everyone but Tommy and Maria, and Ellie, if she didn’t flee from the very sight of him.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. What the fuck? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Because it almost worked!” Tommy was worked up, laying into Joel at the tail end of their patrol shift. He didn’t know if his older brother had a death wish or was just too hungover to pay proper attention, but Joel was nearly taken out by a clicker while they cleared their route. A clicker that he normally would have dispatched without much effort or thought. Joel cut it way too close this time.

Joel gazed at his brother with baleful eyes. He had nothing to say for himself. He did have a death wish, but how could he tell Tommy that?

Tommy knew Joel was struggling – his behavior was similar to what it had been after Sarah died, when he became a fraction of the man he had been. “Come on, let’s grab a drink at the Bison,” Tommy sighed. At a loss on how else to help him, Tommy often accompanied Joel to the bar despite already thinking his brother drank too much.  At least he could keep an eye on him that way.

They made small talk on the way, Joel’s responses little more that grumbles and grunts. Something needed to give, but what? Tommy didn’t know, but he sent up silent prayers for a miracle to save his brother.

Once they were seated at one end of the bar, Tommy ordered a round. “Joel, brother, what is going on, really? Is it just the thing with Ellie or something more?”

Two sets of deep brown eyes stared at each other for long moments, each waiting for the other to flinch or look away. Joel gave in first, clearing his throat, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as he spoke. “It’s… everythin’, Tommy. It feels like somethin’ inside me is broken, somethin’ that was just starting to repair itself until this thing with Ellie shattered it again.”

Tommy’s heart clenched. Life had done Joel dirty, even before the outbreak, and it seemed like it finally broke him beyond repair. “I know it ain’t been easy, not with… well, everything. Do you… would you ever consider talking to someone about it all? Like a professional, I mean. I know we got someone here who used to be a counselor.”

Brows pinched together, Joel’s stormy eyes glared at the bar top, avoiding Tommy’s searching gaze. “Fuck, no! I don’t want a stranger diggin’ into my psyche or whatever the hell they do, just so they can tell me I have daddy issues or some such shit. And talkin’ ‘bout it don’t help none, either. I’m talking to you and it ain’t doing shit but pissin’ me the hell off!”

“Damn, alright! Don’t gotta get all caveman on me.” Tommy held his hands up with a blatant roll of his eyes. His brother never did like the touchy feely shit and he should have known better than to bring it up. “Maybe you just need a sweet lil’ thing to take your mind off shit.”

That got Joel to laugh for the first time in a long while. “Oh yeah? You think getting my dick wet will solve everythin’?”

Tommy smirked. “Well, not everything. You’ll still be you afterwards. I’d pity whatever poor girl got stuck with you, honestly. But it couldn’t hurt none, right?” It was good to see his brother grin, nose and corners of eyes crinkling with the broadness of it, and they fell into a comfortable silence while people watching. Sudden movement at the entrance caught Tommy’s attention and Joel followed his eyeline.

You walked in with Maria, the pair of you had your heads tilted toward each other giggling madly about something. While Tommy only had eyes for Maria, Joel drank in the sight of you. New to Jackson, you arrived with a small group a few weeks ago and, while you were still settling in, you were eager to meet people and get involved in helping around town. Maria took an instant liking to you, and you spent a lot of time with her, quickly becoming part of the Miller group.

Catching a glimpse of his brother staring at you, Tommy slapped Joel’s back. “Speaking of a sweet lil’ thing. Maybe this is your chance, brother.” Joel scoffed in return. Girls like you don’t go for guys like him, at least not the guy he was now. It was the law of nature or some shit.

“Hey boys,” Maria greeted, taking a seat next to Tommy. With a knowing glint in her eye and an exaggerated wink, she gestured for you to sit next to Joel. You never should have mentioned to her how handsome you found Joel. She was becoming a menace with her not-so-subtle methods of teasing and pushing the two of you closer at every opportunity.

“Hi Joel.” You slipped onto the stool next to him, one hand placed on his shoulder for balance as you did so.

“Hey darlin’. Whatcha drinking?” he grunted, fighting to ignore the burning heat of your touch. When was the last time a woman touched him? It must have been Tess and that was… a long time ago.

“I’ll take a red wine. Cabernet or pinot noir, whichever kind is available, please.”

After relaying your request to the bartender, and with his brother’s attention focused solely on Maria, Joel turned his attention back to you. He was a miserable sod, but you were a beautiful woman – he’d be a fool to ignore the attention you paid him. “How are you settlin’ in?”

“Pretty good. This is some community.” You launched into a few stories about mishaps and people you’ve met so far, drawing a few chuckles from Joel with your interpretation of some of the townsfolk. You had a way about you that drew him out of shell of melancholy.

One drink quickly became two, then three, and before either of you knew it, Maria and Tommy left and the two of you were alone at the bar. The wine buzz left you feeling bold and brave, making a move you would not have normally.

“Do you want to go back to my place for a nightcap?”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, brows pinched, at once drifting back under the dark cloud of hopelessness and unable to meet your heated gaze. “You don’t want to waste your time on me. I’m a lost cause.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what and who I waste my time on,” you challenged.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tenacity. You were a beautiful young woman and for some unfathomable reason you were interested in him. He had absolutely nothing to offer someone like you, except for a one-night stand, at best. He was good at those – they didn’t require deep connections or feelings, two things he was avoiding like the plague. Maybe Tommy was on to something though – sex would take his mind off his miserable existence for a bit.

“Okay then. Let’s get outta here,” he replied, downing the last of the amber liquid in his glass, and leading you out of the bar with a large, warm hand at your lower back.

The journey to your house was cold and quiet and you began to wonder if you’d made a huge error in judgement. You weren’t a one-night stand kind of girl, preferring the comfort and security of relationships instead, but something told you that this would be the only way you’d get to have Joel. There was a darkness about him, a deep residing mass of regret and remorse, and you felt a burning need to fix him, to be his sunshine, even if only for a little bit.

Your hands fumbled with the latch when you finally reached your house. The warmth of Joel’s large hands suddenly overwhelmed your senses as he helped you, and you were flinging yourself at him before the door even closed behind you.

His kisses were anything but tender, all harsh presses of his lips, teeth, and tongue, like he was a man starved. There would be marks left on your tender skin come morning, but you didn’t mind, giving him the same treatment as you sucked at his neck, soothing your tongue over the spots you just sunk your teeth into.

“I have a bottle of wine. Do you want some?” you breathed against his lips, taking a moment to slow the momentum before the pair of you spontaneously combusted.

A smirk crossed Joel’s lips as an idea struck him. “Sure, why not.” He watched you open the bottle and pour two glasses before returning to him. Accepting one of the stemless glasses, he clinked it against yours before taking a sip. The momentum picked right back up after that first taste of the dark liquid.

Fingers frantically working to undo the buttons on Joel’s flannel with one hand, you walked backwards up the stairs to your bedroom, pulling him along with you without a spare thought about the wine spilled on the wood flooring as you went. Patience wearing thin, he tore your clothes from your body with his free hand, leaving you naked and yearning as you continued working on his shirt. Placing his glass of wine on the nightstand, his hands were everywhere, he could not get enough of your smooth, soft skin.

You were the antithesis of him, bright and bubbly where he was dark and brooding, soft where he was hard, adaptable and happy where he was rigid and sad. You were ripe like fresh fruit ready for plucking. You were everything he wish he could still be. Perhaps he could get just a brief taste of happiness being with you, inside you.

Once his jeans and boots were shed, Joel tossed you onto the bed, watching with hungry eyes as your tits bounced with the movement. He was on you in a flash, hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body. Sharp teeth scraped against your puckered nipples, making them impossibly harder, and the sensation shot a bolt of pleasure right down to your core, where the weight of his hardened cock rested, twitching for attention.

Nails scraped down his chest and belly until you reached his cock, slipping your slender hand around the heft of him. He was huge – both long and thick, a combination you’d not experienced before, and your mouth watered with the desire to taste him. If you only had one night together, you wanted to make it a memorable experience.

It took great effort to get Joel to detach his lips from your breasts, the whine that emanated from him as you did so had you downright aching for him.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” his deep voice rumbled, dark eyes rolling back in his head when you moved down his body and slipped your plush lips around the head of his cock. “Oh, fuck!”

After spending so long living in hell, your mouth felt like heaven as you licked and sucked on his length.

“Wait, doll, I wanna try somethin’.”

Sitting up against the aged headboard, Joel grasped the wine glass and brought it down to rest on his belly. Two thick fingers dipped into the dark red liquid and swirled, coating every bit of surface area from fingertip to second knuckle before he brought his drenched fingers down towards you. His hand hovered over his cock and you both watched as droplets of translucent ruby red liquid dripped onto his hardened flesh.

Your mouth watered as you watched him repeat the process, eager to taste the heady mix of the bitter tang of wine and his salty pre-cum. Ravenous, you slurped at the liquid trails running down the length of his cock before lapping at the bulbous head, leaving no hint of wine behind as you wrapped your lips around him.

Joel was a panting mess when you took him as far as you could, his weeping head hitting the back of your throat. The glass of wine was forgotten, slipping from his hand to stain the hardwood floor next to the bed. That was a tomorrow problem as you focused on devouring his beautiful cock. He was close to the edge within minutes, the sensations too much, and he pushed you off him none too gently, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

“My turn, darlin’,” Joel murmured, nestling his face between your legs. He’d been told that his current lifestyle was bad for his health, that all the drinking and smoking was hopeless. They weren’t wrong, but it felt like that was all he needed, the only thing that set him free from his sorrows. Now that he’d tasted you, he knew that was utter bullshit. You could so easily set him free if he got to have you, taste you every day. You were enough to change a man like him.

“Joel,” you mewled his name between long moans as his tongue teased at your clit, thick fingers exploring your folds before dipping inside you. He drew an orgasm from you effortlessly and you clawed at his back as the blinding flash of pleasure washed over you. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

He could refuse you nothing, shifting to hover over you. “Save me from myself,” he murmured against your lips as he sheathed himself inside your tight warmth. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Always,” you replied breathlessly, rocking your hips against his. Your mouths met in a kiss full of promise.

[arandomferretsthoughts]

This popped into my brain and wouldnt leave so I wanted to share it with yall

—

A young boy and his parents are attacked on the street, only the boy makes it out.

It's a rare occurrence, an event like this, the police find the man and arrest him and everyone else is safe.

Bruce Wayne goes home to a mansion that feels larger and lonelier than ever, with only his butler to take care of him.

And yet the young boy finds himself too afraid to leave for more than necessities.

The young boy grows into a young man, he inherits his parents business and starts to leave his house a little more, unwilling to lose this connection to his lost parents but still he finds himself afraid, afraid to be around people, to be seen.

Until one day at a gala he must attend for the sake of the shareholders, he sees a man, a reporter, who holds himself in an odd way, clearly a tall and strong man who could be intimidating if he tried but the man held himself as if to appear smaller and unassuming, Bruce's brain flitters across the idea that the man is hiding something, or more hiding himself.

His brain that has soaked up comics and movies for years so as to not grow bored in his home.

And when he learns of all the good this reporter has been trying to do, he thinks the man would make a good superhero.

When he goes home the thought wont leave him alone, he thinks of a world with a hero, a world that needs a hero, one where his parents murder would have just been one of many, but this hero wouldn't have been there to help, he was too bright, a hero for the daytime, not for the shadows of night.

He thinks maybe he could have been a hero in this world, one that saves other kids from suffering a fate like his own.

One who is afraid and fights anyway.

The next time he leaves his home there's an event at a museum, with some special objects that are in town for a few days. There he sees a woman who knows so much about ancient relics and is so beautiful that he doesn't believe she could be just a normal human.

He thinks she would share her knowledge and kindness with the world given the chance.

While he remains mostly alone, other than his Parental figure/Butler, he also keeps in contact with two friends from when he was in school.

One is now a psychiatrist, with an interest in learning about fear and how it can change people, and the other a psychologist, both working at the city's asylum. 

Harleen is who Bruce considers his best friend, a goofy but kind girl who cares alot about others, she tells him about a patient, without going into much detail, who she claims would be cute if he wasn't so insane. Smiling and laughing while he talks about harming others. 

She got a boyfriend somewhere along the way, a man Bruce is sure abuses her but she can't seem to leave.

The three get in a fight one day, and lose contact, and Bruce supposes you can't have heroes without villains, though he can't bring himself to think of Harley as a villain by her own choice.

On the news Bruce learns of a man working to better science as they know it, a man who always seems to be a few minutes too late, he follows the story until the day something goes wrong and the man is there on time to shield workers from flying chemicals, killing him but saving others, Bruce thinks the man a hero in death, and could have been one in life, one who always made it to where he was needed just on time.

As time went on Bruce tried to get out more in normal ways, one night he went to the circus, he enjoyed it, reminding him of the day when he was little and his parents brought him to one just like it.

It was a few days later that he learned at the next show there was an accident, and a little boy lost his parents, he remembered being small and feeling alone when he had lost his, thankful for the man who cared for him he wished he could do the same for this little boy, but knew he didn't have the skills needed.

He could, however, make sure the boy got somewhere safe, and other kids like him too.

So he held a fundraiser and donated a lot of money into the foster system, doing what he could to make it safe.

And he thought of a world where he could have taken the little circus boy into his home, making it brighter and less lonely.

As he ventured out more and more Bruce travelled through different parts of the city, he saw a group of little children cowering behind one bigger who had just chased off a grown man, Bruce smiled as the kids cheered for the little hero.

It was the news that later told him the boy was dead, a homeless kid who stopped being seen, the little hero was gone.

Bruce held another fundraiser, this one for the homeless shelters and kitchens.

It was the news that told him the boy was not dead, found by the police, with other stolen children. 

Children that returned to a better place.

The day he lost his last parent is the day where he began to feel truly alone, the only person there for him gone, but Alfred would live forever in his memory's as the man who loved and cared for him.

He reached out to Harly again not wanting to be all alone, and they made up, he learned she had gotten free of her abusive boyfriend and had fallen for a woman who's love of nature was refreshing and new.

He knew little about his neighbours, but he tried to get to know them better, he struggled but eventually learned that the woman that lived there was very sick and that the man was not home much, when he learned of the child who spent so much of his time alone, he thought the kid was brave and told him if he ever needed anything to just ask.

The kid needed someone the day when his mother didn't wake up and his father wasn't home. Bruce did what he could, he was no father but he cared for the kid the best he could until his was able to return.

Bruce knew it was expected of him to have a family, someone to give his things and his business when he passed. He tried dating, but nothing ever seemed to work out.

However one day he learned of a child, a son, one the mother hadn't told him about, he tried to gain any sort of parental rights but couldn't get any custody, only visitation, he met the boy, a quiet but fiercely determined child, And he loved his son even without seeing him much.

When the quiet, hermit, billionaire Bruce Wayne, best known for appearing, donating large amounts of money to random causes and then disappearing again, passed away his belongings and company were to be split between two people, Timothy Drake, and Damian al Ghul, when the two met up to split his things, they found writings the man had never told anyone of.

Writings of a world where regular people became heroes, where aliens walked amongst humans, and where magic made lives exciting.

They agreed to publish the story's for the world to see.

To most people, the writings were just an entertaining fiction story that a billionaire wrote with his unlimited free time.

But to the retired reporter who knew his height frightened others, who now rested and found the stories learned that someone had seen how he stood, and what he had done and thought of him as a hero,

To the artefact collector and preserver who learned this man believed she was so knowledgeable about what she had strived to learn everything about, as well as beautiful, that he thought her to be blessed by the gods,

To the old psychologist who mourns her friend, a man who thought that no matter what she went through she'd always make the right choice in the end, 

To the family of a man who lost his life saving others, who this guy they had never met thought so highly of,

To the man that lost his only family to an accident at their circus, he was a man who wanted him get a good home, where'd he'd get anything he ever wanted, 

To a man that went through so much, believed dead for so long to learn this man who he had only seen once, saw him not as a poor homeless kid but as a fighter and protector,

To the boy that new the man for a short time, as a temporary guardian and protector, who made him feel safe and not alone when he needed it most, 

And To the boy who wished he could have known his father, but was kept away by his mother,

The storys showed to them all that this man, who some thought of as cold and egotistical, as he locked himself away and refused to be around others, was actually an anxious, lonely man, who saw what others didn't and cared about everyone in his own odd way.

—

I just thought it was a cool idea I wanted to share with yall, so I hope you guys like it

This is my first post on here, so please be nice,

Also, ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes Dyslexia goes brrr

If you want to know what I think he based the other heroes and character off of, just ask, and I'll figure it out!

Thanks for reading, and have a good day!

Edit:

Thanks for all the nice comments and reblogs :)

I genuinely didn't realize how sad this was, lol. Sorry, not sorry, guys

[beauttifullife]

Epilogue: The Silence that Comes After the Echo

234 Years Later

The world had truly gone to shit. Global warming. Plagues. Food shortages. Greed. War. It all came together like Thanos’s little infinity stones, and with a snap of the universe’s cruel fingers, chaos reigned. Rio had never been so busy. And she’d been around during the Black Plague—unjustly blamed on her, of course.

There was so much death now.

More than Rio could handle at times, though she'd never admit it. The air was thick with it, the stench of rot and decay almost suffocating. It clung to her, followed her through every town, every city, as she quietly took the souls who still had somewhere to go.

There were fewer of those lately. She used to be able to walk among humans with a sense of detachment, knowing she was there to serve a purpose. Death wasn’t something to mourn; it was a passage, a release. But now? Now the ones who died weren’t going to the beyond.

No, they weren’t deserving of it anymore. Not after the cruelty they had unleashed.

It was a strange thing—how the balance had shifted.

In the past, death was a tragedy, something that cut lives short, something that wasn’t supposed to come so soon. But now? Now Rio saw death as a mercy. It was the rare souls—the ones still clinging to hope, to love—that she found herself walking alongside. The ones who deserved rest. The ones who still carried light in a world that had gone dark.

Rio knelt beside a dying man, her expression cold, unmoved by the grotesque gurgling sound that came from his throat as he choked on his own blood. His body twitched, fingers clawing at the dirt in desperate attempts to hold onto life. His little gang had made the fatal mistake of stealing an ancient tome of death magic, using it with a sadistic glee that even made Rio’s stomach turn. The way they’d torn through towns, leaving nothing but ruin and screams in their wake, had drawn her here. And now, as the life drained from him, she watched without a flicker of emotion.

She had seen it all before. Death was her world. But some deaths—like his—were earned.

His eyes glazed over, and as his soul began to slip from his body, he finally saw her. His face contorted in horror, his final breath catching in his throat.

"Please... take me," he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken, the weight of fear palpable in every word.

It always amazed her, how the worst of the worst always begged in the end. They’d tormented, slaughtered, and destroyed without a second thought, showing no mercy. And yet, when they saw her, they pleaded. They fell to their knees, terrified of the fate they knew awaited them. The irony wasn’t lost on Rio—their victims had begged too. Their screams had echoed in the same way, only to be met with cold indifference.

So, she returned the favor.

Rio didn’t flinch. She simply stood, silent, and turned her back on him.

Behind her, his screams turned from the agonized wail of a dying man to something far darker—a sound that echoed around the room, the scream of a soul trapped, torn from this world but never allowed to leave.

She had no mercy for monsters.

His soul would rot here, forever bound to the misery he had created.

The air in the room was thick with the stench of death, bodies strewn across the floor in dark, crumpled cloaks. These men—no, these monsters—had brought this on themselves. Rio had only come to deliver the consequences.

From across the room, purple magic crackled and hissed, cutting through the air with a savage intensity. The beam hit one of the last remaining men, and his scream reverberated through the hollowed-out room, bouncing off the stone walls and filling the air with its haunting sound. It was the kind of scream that stuck with you, that crawled under your skin and stayed with you long after it stopped.

Rio’s gaze landed on the source of the magic, knowing exactly who it came from.

Agatha stood at the far end of the room, her face twisted in pure, unbridled rage—the same fury she had carried in her youth. But time, as it always did, had marked her, like it had everything else, even witches. Her once dark hair had turned a striking shade of silver, the strands catching the dim light of the room like threads of moonlight. Her face was lined with wrinkles, etched by years of heartache and battles.

Rio didn’t age.

She never had.

It was both a perk and a curse of being what she was—a cosmic being, beyond time, beyond death itself. But she could manipulate bodies, shift her appearance to blend in. As Agatha aged, so did she. Gray streaked through her hair, wrinkles carved themselves into her skin, and the look of frailty clung to her like an old cloak. But it was all a façade. Beneath it, she was still as powerful as ever, capable of breaking someone in half if necessary.

Sometimes, it was even fun—taking those by surprise who thought they were dealing with an innocent old lady, only to find out they were woefully mistaken.

But now, as she watched Agatha—watched the weight of centuries hanging off her like heavy chains—Rio felt an ache deep inside her. Agatha had truly aged. Time had marked her, left its fingerprints in the silver strands of her hair and the lines etched across her face. And yet, there was something about her in this moment, something raw and untouchable, something that transcended the years.

The fire in Agatha’s eyes, the strength that had never waned, even in the face of all they had lost—it was still there, burning just as fiercely as ever. And it made Rio’s heart clench with that same familiar ache of longing she had always felt for her.

Gods, even now, after everything, Agatha was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Rio stepped forward, her eyes glued to Agatha’s labored breaths, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. There was something unbearable about the sight—the weight in every breath, the weakness in Agatha’s posture that shouldn’t exist in someone like her. This woman, who once set the world on fire with a glance, now seemed too heavy, too tired to stand straight.

A century ago, Rio had felt it. The first soft tug, like a whisper from the universe, telling her that time was running out for Agatha. She’d felt it deep in her bones, the same way she felt Nicky's, and it had nearly broken her. The first time the pull came, it tore through her so violently she nearly brought down their entire house with a storm of magic that hadn’t erupted from her in over 5,000 years.

She never told Agatha. Rio didn’t lie to her, ever—but gods, she had thought about it then. She had considered lying, just once, to protect her from the truth. But Agatha had never asked, and so Rio had kept her silence, grateful for that one small mercy. Agatha had chalked up Rio’s outburst to another tragedy in their broken world, and Rio let her believe it.

That night, Agatha had simply made her soup, sat beside her on the couch, and read aloud from their old, worn copy of Candide. It was a balm to the storm inside Rio, soothing her without words, without questions. It was just what Agatha did.

But time was relentless. The pull on Agatha’s soul had only grown stronger, harder to ignore, louder with each passing year. It gnawed at Rio, a relentless, unyielding force. The truth was, no matter how powerful she was, Rio didn’t have the ability to stop the world from turning. She couldn’t hold back the sunrise, no matter how hard she tried. And every time she felt that pull, she knew—Agatha’s time was running out.

She had even considered finding the Time Stone, diving into the multiverse to seek it out, but she couldn’t risk it. Time was fickle in the other dimensions. A day spent searching could mean centuries lost here. She could come back to a world where Agatha was long gone, and that... that was a fate Rio could never accept.

And now, standing here, the pull on Agatha’s soul was like a scream. Rio felt it in her core, in the way her magic hummed with warning.

Something had shifted.

She stepped forward again, her heart pounding in her chest. Agatha’s face twisted in a wince, her hand pressing hard against her side, trying—futilely—to stop the steady flow of blood pooling beneath her shirt.

“Agatha,” Rio’s voice came out as a broken whisper, her chest tightening painfully. 

Agatha met her gaze, stubborn as always, even in pain.

“It’s nothing,” Agatha muttered through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched tightly as she pressed her hand harder against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

But Rio knew better. She could feel the pull, that terrible, familiar sensation gnawing at her insides—the countdown had begun, and this time there was no turning it back. Agatha’s soul was slipping away, and if Rio didn’t stop the bleeding soon, it would be gone for good.

“Let me see,” Rio demanded, her voice soft but trembling with urgency. She stepped closer, her hands shaking as she reached out, helping Agatha sit down. She winced at the sound of Agatha’s sharp intake of breath, the pained whine that escaped her lips as she sank against the crumbling wall behind them.

Rio’s chest tightened painfully, her heart twisting at the sight of the woman she loved suffering like this. She’d patched Agatha up more times than she could count—this wound wasn’t even the worst one she’d seen. But somehow, it hurt more now. It hurt in a way that felt deeper, sharper, like her heart was curling in on itself, folding under the weight of the inevitable.

Rio knelt beside her, carefully pushing Agatha’s blood-soaked hand aside to get a clearer look at the wound. The crimson seeped through her fingers, warm and unrelenting, as she tried to assess the damage. 

“You’re getting slower in your old age, my love,” Rio said, her voice teasing, knowing the jab would bother Agatha just enough to distract her from the pain. Normally, those words would have come easily, a playful banter between them, but now they felt heavier on her tongue.

Agatha’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She let out a ragged breath, wincing at the sharpness of the pain that spread through her side.

“Don’t… push your luck,” she muttered, her voice weak but defiant.

But Rio saw through it. She always had. She could feel the pull—Agatha’s soul, slipping away, the countdown nearing its end. It terrified her more than any enemy they had faced together. More than the armies, more than the wars, more than death itself.

“Here—let me fix this,” Rio whispered, her voice trembling despite her best effort to keep steady.

She moved forward, green magic already flaring at her fingertips, desperate to heal—mend—anything to stop the inevitable. But before her magic could do its work, hands—wrinkled now but still so familiar—came down gently on hers, stopping her. The feel of them, the way they grasped her, firm but tender, sent a wave of emotion crashing over her.

Agatha.

Rio didn’t want to look down, but she did. She stared at their hands, intertwined over the wound, and felt it before she even had to look into Agatha’s eyes. The release. The quiet, heartbreaking acceptance. Agatha’s soul—ready to let go, ready to move on.

Once, that feeling had been a comfort. It used to bring her peace, a soft melody of closure. But now, coursing through her veins, it was unbearable. Like fire. Like loss. Like her world was being torn apart, and this time she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“No,” Rio whispered, but her voice came out so weak, so broken, that she hated herself for it.

“Let me fix it, Agatha” she said, her voice more urgent as she pushed against Agatha’s hands, desperate to bring her magic back, to do something—anything.

But Agatha held on tighter, her grip weak but unyielding. She wasn’t going to let Rio save her this time.

“Mi amor,” Agatha whispered, and there was something so soft, so final in her voice that it made Rio flinch. Their fingers, once pressing against the wound, slowly intertwined—holding hands now, not to stop the bleeding, but as if to hold on to something far more fragile: time.

Time that was slipping away.

Rio felt like she was shattering, piece by piece. The weight of it all—Agatha’s life slipping through her fingers, the helplessness that wrapped around her like a vice—was suffocating. She couldn’t bear to look up, couldn’t face the truth that was already written in Agatha’s eyes.

“Please,” Rio whispered, her voice cracking as she tried again, even though she knew it was useless. She pressed her trembling hands to Agatha’s wound, trying to summon her magic once more, feeling it surge beneath her skin, but Agatha’s hand came down gently, stopping her.

“Please, let me fix this,” Rio begged, her voice raw with desperation, trembling as she struggled to hold back the rising tide of panic. The words hung in the air, desperate, pleading, like a prayer she knew would go unanswered.

But there was only silence.

A heavy, unbearable silence, one that pressed down on Rio’s chest like a weight she couldn’t lift. The stillness of it stretched on, filling the space between them like a gaping chasm, an unspoken truth that Rio wasn’t ready to face.

She could hear Agatha’s shallow breaths, each one weaker than the last, the sound growing fainter, like sand slipping through an hourglass. Time was running out, and Rio could feel it, could feel Agatha slipping away, even as she fought to hold her close.

The silence felt like a scream trapped in her throat. It felt like death, creeping closer with every heartbeat.

“Look at me,” Agatha rasped suddenly, her voice faint but commanding, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Rio hesitated, her heart pounding as she blinked back tears and forced herself to meet Agatha’s gaze.

Agatha was slumped against the wall, her body growing weaker by the second, but her eyes—those piercing blue eyes—still sparked with life. The fire in them had always been Rio’s beacon, the thing that pulled her back from the edge, time and time again. But now… that light was fading, and the thought of losing it made Rio’s chest ache like she was being ripped in two.

Agatha shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

“I’m tired, Rio.”

The words sliced through Rio like a blade, sharp and unrelenting, piercing through every defense she had left. She wanted to fight, to rage, to push against the reality of it, but Agatha’s hand—weak as it was—held hers in place. Agatha’s grip was enough to anchor her, pulling her back to the truth neither of them wanted to face.

“No,” Rio’s voice broke, a sob clawing at her throat, threatening to escape. She felt helpless—completely powerless.

Gods. It felt like Nicky all over again.

That same unbearable pain, that same crushing grief. Only this time, it was worse. This time, Rio had the power to heal it. Agatha still had time.

“Agatha, please,” Rio’s voice was barely audible, her hands shaking against Agatha’s. Her magic flickered, weak and unstable, but Agatha’s purple magic just deflected it.

“I need more time,” she pleaded, the words strangled in her throat. “Just… a little more time.”

Agatha’s lips quirked in that familiar, tired smile, the one that had always undone Rio, and the sight of it now shattered her all over again.

“We’ve had centuries, Rio,” Agatha whispered, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her hand slipping weakly from Rio’s grasp. “And I… I’ve loved you every single second of it.”

Rio squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head fiercely, refusing to let go, refusing to accept the finality of those words. She clung to Agatha’s hand, her heart shattering in ways she didn’t think possible. The centuries they’d spent together flashed through her mind—a lifetime of love, laughter, and battles fought side by side. She wasn’t ready to lose her. Not yet. Not ever.

But Agatha, with that familiar stubbornness, gently unraveled their intertwined fingers, and then, Rio felt her hands on her face, cradling her with a tenderness that made Rio’s breath catch in her throat. Even now, Agatha was the one offering comfort, and it broke her all over again.

"Look at me, please," Agatha murmured, her voice soft but insistent, knowing exactly what that one word—please—would do.

Even after 580 years, Agatha had never quite mastered manners. She used them only when absolutely necessary, when she wanted something desperately enough to break her usual defiance. And this… this was something she wanted from Rio, something final, something that made Rio’s heart splinter and fracture with each passing second.

Reluctantly, Rio opened her eyes, her vision blurred by the tears she had fought so hard to hold back. They fell, one after another, and Agatha’s thumbs moved gently across her cheeks, wiping them away as if they were nothing more than droplets of rain. That simple tenderness, the softness of her touch, undid Rio completely.

Agatha pulled Rio forward and kissed her, so soft—so tender—that it broke something deep inside Rio. The kiss felt like a farewell, so final, so filled with love and acceptance that Rio couldn’t hold back the choked sob that escaped her, the sound muffled against Agatha’s lips.

When Agatha pulled back, she brought their foreheads together, resting against Rio with a familiarity that felt like home and goodbye all at once.

Rio’s breath hitched, tears spilling freely now, and Agatha just stayed there, her fingers curling weakly into Rio’s hair, offering the last of her strength. She was slipping away, and Rio knew it, could feel it. The countdown, the pull, the inevitable—all of it crashing down in this moment.

Agatha’s voice, barely a whisper, was the last thing Rio heard before the world shifted.

“Take me on an adventure, mi amor.”

The sun rose on the horizon, and Agatha was gone.

Agatha Vidal died on October 19th, 2258.

She was 584 years old.

She died wiping out an entire coven of witches who had been harming innocents. The world had gone to shit, and people no longer deserved to walk with death. But Agatha Vidal walked with her wife out of the world hand in hand.

She lived a long life, full of adventures, but her favorite one was her last.

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 11

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 11/? 5.2k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Parent teacher conferences and long forgotten stories uncover worlds beneath.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: stories within stories, high fantasy, discussion of childhood hardship, implied spousal abuse, parent death mention, drug use mention, heavy angst

Friday, November 15th 1985

Eddie was lost in another world.

He was floating actually. High above the clouds, not that he could see them. He wished he could but the empty crate he had stolen away in was the only thing shielding him from the suspicious eyes of the merchants aboard the zeppelin. His heart pounded as the wind carried him further than he’d ever been from the only place he’d ever known — the isolated Cloud Kingdom of Myrne. High atop a mountain range. A city of gold, gleaming like a beacon in the sun.

His back ached against the stiff wood rocking him like a cradle. He was lucky to be small enough to fit. Lucky that he had just enough space to shed his silk coat to use as padding. If he laid just right he could even stretch his legs toward the ceiling to relieve the cramps that threatened his claves. 

He would have to ration the dried boar’s meat and meager flask of water that he’d stashed away in his knapsack. There wasn’t space for very much, and he needed the precious real estate for not only clothing, but the jars of herbs and poultices to stave off the illnesses he was so susceptible to. 

That was why he — or, Lady Cybelle rather, ended up here in the first place. See, there was something she needed from the world beneath. Desperately. Her brother did anyway. A rare, translucent plant called a ghostfern found only in the depths of certain caves. It was a known cure for his equally rare illness, or at least that’s what she read during her herbalism studies. Much like Eddie, all she knew of the world beneath was what she read about.

Cybelle begged the high council to send for it. To send scouts to collect it. But they refused, unwilling to risk the safety of the collective for the life of just one. There was always a risk involved in the leaving and returning of Myrnish people. A risk to contract and spread more illness that threatened the lives of them all.

Cybelle was crafty though, and equally determined. She’d fashioned a mask out of moth silk with a pocket for illness-staving herbs. She would need it when the zeppelin finally landed in Torgaard. When she figured her way out of this crate without being spotted. When she set foot, for the first time, on the land she only caught a glimpse of when the clouds beneath her parted.

Eddie had grown rather fond of Cybelle. He’d been spending every evening with her since Wednesday. Ever since you handed him your world in a black three ring binder — Worlds Beneath.

It was intimate, reading your work. As if he could read between the lines and observe the way your mind worked. The way your phrasing flowed. Your choice of words. As if part of you was there within the pages. The hidden part of you.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he was as captivated as he was impressed. He supposed after watching you analyze literature on a daily basis that it would be more… literary. More serious. Less fantastical. But this was beyond anything he could have anticipated.

There was a secret world in you. He would catch glimpses of it sometimes when you laughed. It would peek around the mask you wore like a curious child when he talked about elves and magic. He could hear its quiet voice becoming braver. 

He was there now, inside of it. Crammed inside a crate aboard a zeppelin. You had a way of doing that, he noticed. Taking him there. Making him feel the wooden crate against his spine. The stuffy air in the close darkness around him. The fear twinged with excitement. It was a sort of magic you possessed. 

He could feel it outside the pages too. The gentle burning in your fingertips, even when you pulled away. Especially when you pulled away. The quiet wanting of it all.   

He wondered how often you went there, to the secret world in you. Did you drift there as you glided down the hallway? Would you hide there when the real world was too much?

He wondered how many people saw it. How many others you let in. 

He wondered if he stayed there long enough, set up camp and looked around, if he would find himself there too. 

______

You fixed your hair as you checked your reflection in the faculty bathroom mirror. The old light bathed everything in a yellow wash. It made your skin look as tired as you felt. You picked lint off the black blazer you pulled from the back of your closet this morning. The one with the shoulder pads. Professional, right? It made you look bigger than you felt. Perhaps parents would take you seriously if you looked like you belonged behind the desk.

There were some perks to in-service days. No classroom to manage. You got to come in at noon instead of 7:30 am. Got to be the one listening to a lecture instead of giving one. The only downside was having to stay until 7:30 pm. That and trying your best not to cry when a parent inevitably got defensive. You always looked for something nice to say about all of your students. It softened the less savory news, if there was any. More often than not it was just making small talk, telling parents what a pleasure their child was to have in class. 

The heels of your shoes clicked down the empty hallway, past the trophy cases filled with plaques of names you still recognized. You caught the ghost of your reflection in the glass, the angular silhouette of the costume that you wore. You noticed your tight pencil skirt riding up in the back and you corrected it with a downward tug, keeping on the straight and narrow path toward the teachers lounge. 

The wood paneled walls welcomed you in, and you padded across the old carpet toward the open boxes of pizza laid out on one of the three round tables. You grabbed a paper plate and pulled a few slices of pepperoni from the large, square cut sheet, the cheese already hard from sitting out. You rarely complained, and this time was no exception. Your stomach was threatening to eat itself and lukewarm pizza more than fit the bill.

You took a bite to satiate your blood sugar and made your way to the coffee station for the third time that day. Grabbing a mug from the stack, your fingers grazed the faded lettering that vaguely resembled the Chief’s Auto Repairs logo. You glanced at the clock as you filled it with your liquid vice. It was 2:37, which meant you had approximately twenty-three minutes before you had to be posted at your station. Your stomach churned, and not from the pizza. 

 “Boo,” came a gentle whisper from behind you.

Your hand jerked, sloshing coffee all over the wood veneer.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” Diane apologized, making haste to grab a generous handful of square napkins from beside the sugar. Her bright red nail polish glinted under the fluorescents as she blotted up the mess.

You put a hand to your chest. “No, no it’s ok,” you sighed, grabbing a napkin to wipe the bottom of your mug. “It’s good to see you, honestly. I didn’t think I would.”

“Yeah, I still have quite a few notes to catch up on. Just because I’m not a teacher doesn’t mean I’m off the hook,” she said with a wink. “What was the seminar about this time?” She tossed the napkins into the trash at the end of the table.

“Oh, just the usual stuff. Classroom management, how to have better boundaries with students, you know, hah.” Knots twisted in your stomach as you leaned against the counter, grabbing a milk carton and tipping it over your mug. 

Diane hummed, eyes fixed on your generous pour threatening to overflow the coffee from the rim. “Sounds riveting.”

“Oh yes, enthralling,” you said, folding the mushy lip of the carton back in on itself, something to do with your hands to keep them from shaking. The coffee probably wasn’t going to help.

Diane’s eyes narrowed, “Are you… ok?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I’m just uh,” you tapped your finger on the edge of your mug. “Parent teacher conference day nerves, you know.” 

“Ugh, I can only imagine. I hope everyone is nice to you today. I have no idea why they wouldn’t be.” 

You offered a shaky chuckle. “Yeah, me neither. Just getting in my own head I guess.” 

“Love the blazer, by the way. Super sharp.”

“Oh, thanks. Figured I’d dress the part.” Grabbing your plate of pizza in one hand and very full mug in the other, you took a sip off the top, marking the rim with a delicate red blot. You pulled out one of the old chairs and found your place in it, which your feet were thankful for.

Diane leaned against the table, “So, Darren called last night.”

“Oh, you’re still talking to him?” The sauce squeezed out from the corners of your bite as you sunk your teeth into the hard cheese and gummy crust.

“Yeah, a bit. Off and on. He’s a nice guy. Does stuff for his sister and her kids lot, which I feel like is a good sign, right?”

Your brows raised a little. “Yeah, totally a good sign,” you said through a mouthful. 

“He invited me to the Colts game this weekend. I think I’m gonna go.”

You blotted the sauce from your lips. “Really? I thought you said he wasn’t your type.”

“I mean, what is a type anyway? If I keep waiting around for my type I might be waiting forever. I’ve gotta just start putting myself out there, you know? Give guys the benefit of the doubt for once. You never know until you try,” Diane offered as she opened up the large box of sheet pizza and ripped off two slices onto her plate.

You huffed through your nose, “Sometimes you know.”

“I mean, yeah. Sometimes, but with this one, I dunno. I mean we do have some things in common. We both like Saturday Night Live and spending time outside. He’s decently attractive, or he was at Mojo’s anyway,” she chuckled. “We’ll see what he’s like off the phone. At the very least it’s something to do, right?” 

You swallowed your bite. “Right. I mean, hey, free entertainment I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Diane as she settled into the seat beside you. 

______

The phone was ringing. Shrill and deeply annoying as it echoed through the trailer. Eddie sighed and pulled himself away from your world in his lap, his expression blank and perturbed. He thought for a moment about answering it. About putting an end to the intrusive noise, but that would mean getting up from the toasty blanket cocoon he’d wrapped his legs in, like a warm pretzel. November’s creeping chill was doing nothing to help his motivation to leave it.

So he let it ring. And ring. Until finally the answering machine picked up, coloring the voice that came through in static and tin.

“Hey man, it’s Gareth. Um… I’m kinda freaking out about this date tomorrow. I know you’re probably just gonna tell me to stop being a pussy, but uh… yeah. Call me back.”

Eddie smirked and rolled his eyes. His friend knew him so well. There would be plenty of time to tell Gareth exactly what he needed to hear. That he was, in fact, being a total pussy. Later though. Right now he was busy. 

He was a man named Lazarus now. The Amazing Lazarus, formally. And he had a full time job shuffling cards and making purses disappear. 

The small crowd that gathered around him didn’t know that though. Not in this city anyway. He was certain he hadn’t seen any… artistic interpretations of his face plastered on any of the buildings in Torgaard. Yet.

If he could be quick enough with his hands they wouldn’t even notice what was missing until they were blocks away, and by then he would have long since packed up his banner and left. 

“Is this your card?” he flourished to the unfortunate man who had stepped forward from the crescent crowd.

The man squinted. “No I don’t think it is.”

“Ah,” he answered curtly. “Oh, what’s this?” He feigned surprised, reaching forward to dip his fingers into the man’s pocket. He pulled back with another flourish. “Is this your card?”

“Why it is!”

Cheers and claps erupted from the crowd. Lazarus took a bow. “Thank you, thank you.” He took off his weathered top hat and passed it around to collect any loose change that the crowd was eager to get rid of.

The people dispersed as quickly as they came, leaving him alone. He reached into the hidden pocket beneath his leather glove and extracted a small pouch. And now, for the even bigger reveal. 

He dipped his finger into the opening and loosened the draw strings to reveal a few spare coins and…

Another pocket watch. 

It was almost like everyone carried them around in their pockets. Dull and predictable, and practically worthless to him. He sighed, wondering how long it would be before he actually made his trade worth his time today.

That’s when he spotted her — the strangest person he’d seen all day. Maybe all year. Maybe in his entire life, and he’d seen a lot of people.

The first thing he noticed was her shock of white hair, cropped in a bob with bangs like a toddler. She toddled like one too. Petite and girlish. Flat boots with curled toes flapping like duck feet against the dirty cobblestone. Deeply unstable. Crinkled gold coat gleaming like a beacon in the sun. 

But the real clincher was the mask she wore. A big crescent moon that swept across her round face. Strange and alien. Stark against deep copper skin. Eyes like saucers. 

The perfect target. 

He strolled up to her, and her enormous eyes drank him in like they were parched.

“Hey, you look like the type of person who might appreciate a magic trick.”

She looked up at him, chin lowering beneath her mask. “A… a magic trick?” 

He couldn’t place the accent.

“Oh yes,” he said, shuffling his cards in an arch from one hand to the other. “Have you ever seen a magic trick before?”

It was a silly question to be asking someone who looked like they’d never seen a man before.

“Oh, um. I do not think so,” she said, her flat silk boots stumbling across the cobblestone to regain her footing. “Sorry I am a little, uh… it is like the air here is just so… different.”

Lazarus stopped shuffling. “Different? Different how? Different from where?”

She looked around, out past the zeppelin docks toward the horizon. She pointed toward the sky. “Myrne.”

“Really,” he half whispered. In all his travels he had never seen a Myrnish person before. He had only ever heard about them from others and what little they knew secondhand of their isolated culture. 

“The air…it is just… thicker,” she said between breaths. “Sorry. I am quite dizzy.”

He took a step closer. Close enough to assess that there were no pockets to be found on her strange garments, but there was something else that excited him much more. An obelisk of glimmering pale gold that dangled from her neck. Worth a small fortune, at least. 

The gold found in the mines of Mount Myrne was different from any other precious metal in the world. It was found only there, and unlike common gold, was very hard. It sparkled rather than shined, and most importantly possessed an energy that could be harnessed. Like magic.

The gnomes would use it to power their inventions. It didn’t take much of it to make a moderate machine come alive. A piece this size could surely afford him a permanent home, and then some. No more hiding his caravan outside cities. No more paying for stables or worrying about wolves making a meal of his horse.

He could picture it now. A little cottage in Shantiglade by the sea. He would wake up to a full body stretch in a real bed. He would fix himself a goose egg omelet over a real stove with peppers from his garden. He would open his windows and taste the fresh brine in the air. 

He would stroll leisurely to the beach where no one knew his face. Where the tide would kiss his ankles and wash away his footprints. Where his past couldn’t follow him.

The pendant winked in the sunlight. She was so small. He could easily break the chain from around her neck with a single tug and run.

“So, what brings you all the way down here?” He drew closer, unable to tear his eyes from the shimmering treasure.

She stepped back in time with his advance, like a dance, adjusting the mask on her face with hesitant eyes.

“I am looking for ghostfern.”

“You’ve come a long way for a plant, my dear.” Another step forward.

Another step back. “My brother needs it. He will die without it.” 

It was a look he’d seen before. Desperation twinged with hope. He’d seen it in his own reflection more times than he cared to admit. He saw it in his mother too, though the hope faded almost as quickly as she did when the cost of the cure was too great.

She lowered her gaze. “Ghostfern is very rare. None of our merchants carry it, though I hear it can be found in caves outside of Rower’s End, but I do not know how to get there.”

Rare, expensive — what difference did it make when it was out of reach? 

“That’s a long ways off,” he offered solemnly. It was deep into the boglands and nary a merchant dared to venture along the thin, winding path to Rower’s End. The rumors of sinister creatures and  bog crone hexes were enough to keep them away.

The strange young woman seemed unfazed by this. “Have you been there before?”

Lazarus huffed. “No, I but I do know how to get there.” The gold obelisk winked at him again and he stilled his itching hands. “How about I uh… make you a deal?”

“A deal?”

“Yes, a deal. I take you to Rower’s End in exchange for that pendant you’re wearing.”

She sized him up, the gears turning behind her enormous, chestnut spheres. “You will take me back then too? To Torgaard?”

Lazarus nodded firmly, “Of course.”

Her eyes crinkled, sparkled like the obelisk she wore. “Then it is a deal.”

“Excellent,” smirked Lazarus. “Ah, what is your name, by the way?”

“Cybelle.” Certainly one he hadn’t heard before.

“Lazarus, pleasure to be doing business with you.” He extended his hand.

Cybelle cocked her head, studying his open palm hovering in the space between them like a foreign object. 

“Uh, you — you shake it. See? Like this.” He demonstrated awkwardly with his other hand, then presented her with the opportunity again. “Now you try.” 

Cybelle stared at his hand. Her fingers twitched, gaze darting from his palm to his eyes. “Ah… sorry.” She put her hands up sheepishly, waving his away. “Trying not to get sick.”

Lazarus retracted his hand and gave a single, solemn nod. “As you wish.”

______

Your eyes tracked down your list of parent names, then up at the clock. It was 6:45 on the dot. The last name on your list was scheduled at 6:40. 

There was a part of you that hoped he wouldn’t show at all. The churning in your stomach was kicking up with each minute that ticked by, anxious eyes flitting from the paper, to the door, to the clock.

Until suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway. He was tall, weathered, with a short grey beard. Hair even shorter, stark against the ruddy skin that it encircled atop his head. He wore a denim jacket with a corduroy collar and olive green work slacks stained with patches of grease.

He peered around your classroom tentatively, as if looking for a sign that he found the right one. “Hi, Wayne Munson." It sounded like more of a question.

You stood up from behind your desk with a jolt. “Oh, hi! You must be Eddie’s dad.” Knots twisted in your stomach. You extended your hand to him and put on the warmest, brightest mask you could muster. 

“Uncle, actually.” His hand was rough and thickly calloused, fingers stained from nicotine. You could smell the stale scent of his vice on him, a family habit, evidently. “Sorry ’m a little late. Still a bit early for me, I work the graveyard at the plant.”

Uncle. The questions bubbled in your gut but there was no place to air them in the split second between you. “Oh that’s no problem, you’re last on my list today anyway. Here, have a seat.” You gestured to the chair opposite yours at your desk. 

Your desk. The same desk his nephew held your hand under. Your stomach churned again.

As Wayne eased himself into the small, wooden chair, you allowed your timid eyes enough agency to take stock. There was a weight to him, not in his body but in his aura. A heaviness that you could feel. Tired stories you strained to read between the lines on his face, stained into the cracks of his fingers. You would search for the resemblance to the one you saw most often in that chair. You would find very little save for their strong oval faces and the warmth that surprised you in his ice blue eyes.

Wayne sighed, deep and heavy as he creaked back into the chair. “Alright, how’s Ed doing in class?” he asked flatly.

There was something else in his eyes, leaden like defeat. Like bracing steel. Like tired expectation. 

He might as well have said, “Let’s get this over with.” It was the same tune. A tune he memorized. Sung a thousand times. A tune his voice was tired of.

“Eddie is…” a soft smile crept onto your face and you suddenly became captivated with the pen on your desk. You felt him lean forward, hinging on the words you left hanging in the air.

And so you told him the truth.

“…one of the most creative and tenacious people I know.”

There was a breath that he’d been holding in, a sigh that permeated the stunned stillness between you. 

“I know it isn’t easy for him to be here. I know he’d rather be doing a million other things but he’s still here, you know? Despite being denied graduation twice.”

He knew. You could see it as clearly as the lines that softened on his forehead.

“I mean sure, I could tell you that he’s got a B minus in my class right now. We could sit here and talk about grades, and attendance, and behavior, but… he’s trying really hard and I don’t think that you can… quantify that. There aren’t grades for effort. They don’t give marks for how many lonely students you offer a place to sit in the cafeteria. It isn’t something you can measure.”

Wayne leaned closer, the ice in his eyes melting so much that he needed to blink it away. 

The sight stirred a deep part of you. The easing of the bracing steel into something so much softer. Tender like a bruise. You thought about Eddie Munson with pen on his hand and shame in his eyes. Your nose burned.

“You know he’s got a lot of leadership qualities too,” you said, steadying the quiver from your voice. “He’s in a band, he runs a club. He’s involved and engaged. He’s…” your eyes lowered again, thumbing at the pen on your desk. “He’s got an enormous heart,” you said, quieter. “I think he’s just… extraordinary. If you want to know the truth.”

Wayne glanced away, toward the windows, as he swiped a calloused finger at his cheek. “M’sorry,” he muttered, blinking. “Y’know I’ve been goin’ to these for the past, what is it… nine years now? Nobody ever has nothin’ good to say about ‘im. Not a single one.”

An ache sank deep in your chest. It stung, like your eyes did when you imagined the younger versions of the man who took that chair most often, and those of the one in it now. Sitting in front of the big desk. Facing someone who was far less kind than you on the other side.

“You’re the one who’s been tutoring ‘im, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, stomach churning again. You figured he’d mentioned that. It would have been strange for him not to. “Yes. A few times a week after school. It seems to be helping. He showed me his progress report, all passing grades so far. He’s gonna walk that stage this year. He will if I have anything to do about it.”

Wayne cracked a smile at your determination. “Well thank you kindly for all your patience. I mean it. The boy’s always struggled in school. Been an issue even ‘fore I had ‘im.”

“What happened before you had him?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had a moment to process whether they were appropriate or not. Whether it was your place to ask. 

Wayne sighed deep as his weathered hand eased the exhaustion creasing his brow. “My younger bother is… really somethin’ else to put it mildly. Always has been. He’s in county now doin’ time for stealin’ cars and other petty shit— sorry, young lady, pardon my French.” 

You shook your head and waved it off, the humor of his comment overshadowed by the concern twisting in your stomach. “It’s fine, really. Please continue.”

“Ed’s mom on the other hand, well she had ‘er own problems but not like him. Actually, I recon Warren was the biggest problem she ever had. Real young when she had Ed, maybe 19, if even. ’S hard to remember. Younger than Warren was, I know that much. We were all still livin’ in West Virginia at the time. A few years after that Warren got in hot water with the law. Packed up Lorena and the baby and settled in Hawkins with a few gamblin’ buddies he’d met from out this way.”

A twist, deep in your heart. You swallowed, leaning forward.

“Well, Warren managed to find some stable employment fixin’ cars. Stayed out of trouble for a few more years. Then Lorena started gettin’ sick. Always had issues with her heart, see. I don’t think the stress of livin’ out here with Warren helped none. I seen the way he’d talk to her when I would visit, always so suspicious of every damn thing.”

Your chest was so tight all of a sudden. Head filled with flashes of images you’d never seen. Images that you could feel. A woman in a cotton dress looking out a window. A profound loneliness. A longing for a freedom she may never know.  

“When Warren started gettin’ into trouble again I knew I had to do something, for Ed and Lori’s sake. They put ‘im away for a year that time, so I packed it up and moved out here. It was a good year. Gave us all a break from my brother. Sorry to go on a tangent, it’s just been a lot.” Wayne sighed deeply, smoothing his beard with his hand.

 “No, no you’re fine,” you reassured, putting on your best mask for him. Behind it you were breaking.

“He was worse when he came back though. Started gettin’ into drugs. Few years after that, Lori passed due to her heart. Ed was ten at the time. I shouldn’t have let the bastard have him at all, but he was stubborn as hell and he had custody. Had ‘im for a year before he finally messed up bad enough to go away for a long while. Best thing he ever did was go to jail, I’ll tell you what.”

 “I—,” you took a deep breath, the pen on the desk so enthralling again, “I’m sorry, this is… I wasn’t, um, expecting—”

“No I’m… sorry to dump all this on you. Don’t get many people who wanna listen to be honest.”

“No, it’s really ok. I’m the one who asked. It’s just…”

“I know. Kid’s had it rough, to put it mildly.”

You took a slow, shaky inhale to steady yourself and found the courage to meet his eyes again. “He’s incredibly lucky to have you,” you said earnestly.

The ice in his eyes melted again. The steel now soft and pliant. The weight in him less heavy.

“You’ve done such a good job raising him,” you offered gently, swallowing your tears. “Really, he’s a wonderful person. You should be so proud.” 

Wayne sighed, allowing a full, bright smile to wash over him. He blinked quickly, glancing toward the windows again, and you wondered how often he heard that. If he ever did before.

“Thank you,” he said, barely audible. 

It was strange, your sudden fondness for a man you dreaded meeting. 

“I should be thanking you. For sharing. For everything,” you said, stilling the quiver in your chest with a deep breath. “I think that’s all I really have for you today.” Your trembling hands gripped the chair beneath you.

Wayne nodded, “I’m glad I came. For once.”

You smiled, big and bright. “I’m glad you did too.” You extended your hand, your open palm hovering in the space between you. “It’s been an honor to meet you.”

Wayne’s warm, calloused hand bridged the great divide and squeezed yours gently. Lingered for a moment. “You as well,” he said, a fondness you could feel in his touch. He gave a firm shake before letting go.

“Have a great rest of your day,” you said with mustered cheer as he creaked out of the wooden chair.

“You as well,” he said with a wave as he made his way toward the door. His footsteps faded beyond the threshold, into the din of the hallway. 

A deep, ragged sigh escaped you.

You thought about Eddie Munson again. Thought about his oval face and big brown eyes. Thought about them smaller. In a hospital. Filled with unspeakable sadness. Sitting in the emptiness she left behind. At home by himself drawing dragons on his pages. Fighting a monster in his living room.

Eddie Munson. With pen on his hand and shame in his eyes. 

There was hope in them too. Unbreakable. Eager and wild. Restless, and frenetic, and warm. 

All at once.

It surfaced then. The strangled sob that released from your chest. It echoed off the tile floor and concrete walls that would still surround you both.

______

A/N: Apologies for how angsty that was. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it though, lots to explore in these new worlds we're uncovering ;)

As always, I deeply appreciate any and all comments -- keyboard smashes, theories, small novels, all of it. I work very hard on this story and hearing your reactions fuels me in ways that I can only begin to tell you.

Please reblog and help others to find my precious creation! ✨

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[darkwicks]

NOTHING IS LOST (YOU GIVE ME STRENGTH) – FUSHIGURO MEGUMI & READER

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side. Or, the one where you find your way back home.

TAGS.⠀gender-neutral reader; ambiguous relationship; childhood friends; aged-up au/canon divergence; brief smoking; angst & hurt/comfort; mental health issues, talks of death/suicide ideation, implied past suicide attempts; mild gore; near-death experiences; drifting apart and coming back together. hopeful/happy ending. SFW. 3,9k words

A/N.⠀my first work after so long and it's just a ventfic LOL sorry i have been looping phoebe bridgers and lorde for ages.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always felt things fervently.

One moment you’d feel euphoric, like you’re walking on air and nothing can get you down, but then everything crumbles and you’re left as nothing but an empty husk. It’s ironic how emptiness can feel so heavy, a constant weight on your shoulders, constant tugs at your heartstrings. 

Despite all the things you hate about yourself, there’s still one part of you that you’ll always remember with pride: there is no limit to the unconditional love you can give to people. It’s taken some time for you to decide you want to live and love as much as you can. 

But for some reasons you couldn’t fathom, these days, you feel as though your love is forced. Unnatural. Ingenuine. Like it’s just something you’ve gotten used to doing passively. Like you no longer believe, like you are living a lie. 

In a way, maybe you are. The longer you are surrounded by your fellow Jujutsu sorcerers, the more aware you become of how rotten this world can get. Plagued with death, unhappiness and turmoil on every corner, and with humans repeating the same mistakes, you’ve begun to believe that this is all hopeless. You’re well aware that it’s quite a pessimistic view to hold, but in the world that you are in, you find that it keeps you grounded. A realist. 

Or, as your beloved teacher Gojo Satoru would call you, a downer.

The sound of his voice referring to you as such makes you click your tongue in irritation. There’s not much you know about him, but the bitter part of you believes that  he  of all people should at least understand how you feel. You hold your position as a jujutsu sorcerer in high regard and with honour, but as time passes by, you’ve started to contemplate if it’s even worth it at all.

You wonder if people know that you weren’t always this way — as a child, you were bright-eyed and innocent, full of love for people and the world. Growing and going through life shattered it all, making you a husk of what you once were, and even now, you still don’t know who you’re supposed to be.

You lie and you cheat, tricking people into believing that you’re independent and fine on your own, but you are lonelier than words can describe.

And just what do you live for? You’ve survived time and time again by sheer instinct and reflex, but you still don’t know what your purpose is. You fight and you risk your life to keep other people safe at the cost of your wellbeing. Every day is a task to complete for the greater good, but what’s in store for you? You’ve grown distant from your parents — on your end, anyway; it’s difficult to read people — and your once close friends rarely contact you anymore. All you have are your peers, but you still feel so out of place among them. 

The cigarette burns between your fingers as you stare off into space by the edge of the river. At the mere age of nineteen, you feel as though you’ve lived several lives, all of which have harrowed you to no end. Nicotine flows in your system as you take yet another drag, wondering if this is what your youth was meant to be. Years of saving the city in favour of feeling like you’re wanted, needed should’ve made you feel happy. Yet here you are, alone in the streets of Tokyo, all because there’s nothing waiting for you at home.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” a voice says from beside you. It’s deep and quiet, almost monotonous, but you’d recognise the hint of concern anywhere. Megumi slightly grimaces at the sight of you exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t.” With a scoff, you put out the cigarette in the ashtray and turn to face him instead. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

He frowns. It amuses you how it seems to have been a permanent expression etched on his face since you were kids. You don’t remember if you’ve ever seen him with a different look, but that’s on you, you suppose. You haven’t spent much time with him for a while now. Time ages you and your weariness distances you from those you wish to stay close to.

When he doesn’t reply, you speak up again, “I'm trying.”

“I know.” He glances at you. As blunt as he sounds, you know he means well; that’s just the way he is. He looks like he has more to say but he doesn’t, instead opting to hand you a packet of your favourite mints. Any other time you’d take it as an insult, but you find yourself getting sentimental over the fact that he still remembers what you like. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, popping one into your mouth. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The corner of his lips quirks downward for a split second. With a quiet sigh, he lightly flicks your forehead, not reacting at all to the indignant yelp you let out. 

“Where’s your jacket?” he asks in a chiding tone, though there isn’t any venom in it. “You’ll get sick. I don’t want you sneezing on me.”

“You always take care of me, though,” you grumble without thinking, putting on the jacket that was previously tied around your waist. Another beat passes before you realise what you’ve blurted out. Were you being too familiar with him? You’re not sure if he still wants to be friends after all that isolation you’ve been doing. You part your lips to apologise, but he interrupts with a huff and a flick to your forehead again.

“Shut up.” The pink flush on the tips of his ears betrays the irked expression he wears. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the chilly air or if it’s because he’s blushing, but it brings a smile to your face nonetheless. “Let’s go back.”

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side.

You were only twelve when you started seeing Curses everywhere you went.

You’d never been the type to get scared too easily, but there was something about those creatures that unsettled you to the core. They seemed horrifically disfigured and hungry, ready to pounce at any moment, and you could only be brave for so long. You tried telling your mother and your friends only to be met with suspicious and concerned looks. 

They thought you were crazy. You didn’t blame them for that. You never believed in the paranormal, so this sudden change must’ve been quite a shock. It wasn’t until two years later did you learn what they were and that you could exorcise them, somehow like they did in the horror movies. Your memory of your recruitment is hazy, but you did remember sitting with Megumi and Gojo in the car and asking the most questions you’ve ever asked in your lifetime. Your new teacher found it amusing; your classmate, however, did not.

Your mother didn’t seem to mind sending you to a boarding school. With an elaborate lie about your full scholarship told by Gojo, she’d beamed in joy and helped you pack your bags. She’d be too busy to actually notice your absence, but that didn’t stop her from sending a message to check in on you every once in a while. At some point, you stopped responding. Not because you were annoyed, but rather, you just didn’t have the energy to.

Ironically, for a school with quite a handful of staff and students, you never felt lonelier in your life. You stuck by Megumi’s side for the sole reason that he was the only one you felt comfortable enough to approach. You didn’t talk to him much, but he was good company and you came to consider him a friend. Eventually, he started approaching you as well, and you’d spend time together like regular friends would do. It felt nice to be able to be around someone and not have to explain yourself all the time. 

In hindsight, you think it’s your fault that you’re so distant from everyone now. You don’t quite know when it all began—the depressing thoughts, the near-uncontrollable impulses, the lack of care for your safety and well-being. Every time your teachers or a peer brought it up, you’d simply dismiss it as just a ‘hormone thing’ which seemed enough to make them stop asking. Megumi didn’t believe a thing. He doesn’t have to tell you for you to know that.

But what else could you do? You’re alone, and it’s not like anyone can help with whatever the fuck is happening in your head. Your mother got you in touch with professionals to help with your troubles, and even if she doesn’t say it much, you know she’s always worried sick and thinks you should just come home. You’ve been able to keep yourself in check since then, but with the sadness now mostly gone, you now have to deal with the void in your chest that plagues you constantly.

The forest surrounding the dormitories is quiet save for the leaves rustling in the wind and the cicadas chirping their evening tune. You’re not sure how long it’s been since your last official mission. You haven’t been good at keeping track of the time for a while now. But at the very least, you know that it’s been too long.

There’s no doubt Gojo had something to do with it, you think bitterly. Otherwise, you’d be as busy as your peers right now. If there’s one thing you hate about this place, it’s the fact that no one here ever really gives you a proper reason. You feel trapped, ignored, and maybe if you were more carefree you’d look past it, but you’re not. If they didn’t believe in your abilities, you’d show them; you don’t think being the underdog is that bad, after all. Maybe they’ll finally recognise your prowess and respect you.

With your heart pounding hard against your chest, you grab your ootachi and flee, letting your instincts guide you to wherever feels the most dangerous, exciting. The more rational part of you tells you that you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t turn back now, but you find that you really couldn’t care less.

You need to feel alive. You need to feel afraid, to feel something, anything. While you don’t mind resting, you also didn’t overwork yourself to the bone just to remain stagnant. You didn’t spend weeks training with every weapon the school had to offer just to let them rust. You didn’t hone your cursed techniques only to not use them at all. So punishment and criticism be damned, you’re going to do what you want whether people like it or not.

You find yourself standing in front of a dingy abandoned shrine in the woods. Unease settles in the air as you slowly creep into the light of the moon. It’s dim, incredibly so, but you can’t afford to be afraid of the dark now —you have something to prove, and you’re not going to let yourself be intimidated by something so childish. There are blood splatters on the cobblestone steps, both fresh and dried, and your grip tightens on the handle of your sword. Your instinct to fight rears its head within your body, adrenaline and the humane need to survive rushing through your veins, but you breathe and try to rein it all in.

You have to think.

(It’s quite ironic how for someone who doesn’t give a single shit about their life, you always fight your hardest so you can live.)

You take another step. A twig snaps beneath the weight of your foot. The dried leaves crunch and rustle like someone (or rather, something) is sizing you up, keeping itself unseen to take you by surprise. Incomprehensible gargled sentences echo from within and the stench of death and decay grows stronger. Even when fear starts to wrap you in its cold embrace, you walk through the gate and into the dark shrine. Your blood runs cold and your breath gets caught in your throat, but you force yourself to face the task at hand.

You’re met with a grotesque mass of green; all of its endless bloodshot eyes leer at you as its tendrils slither in your direction. Misshapen hands protrude from those tendrils and reach for you, taunting you with the blood and entrails stuck to their skin and nails, telling you that you are next. 

Not today.

An aura of black and purple coats your sword as you withdraw it from its sheath. It’s not the best space to utilise such a long sword—the shrine is somewhat cramped and is lacking in space for mobility, much less combat —but you grit your teeth and decide that you will adapt. Electricity crackles from your blade, and without any more hesitation, you charge. Its tendrils are faster than you had anticipated; they come close to wrapping themselves around your legs until your cursed energy latches on to them and forces them to disintegrate.

The curse glares at you in fury. You can practically hear your heartbeat as you slash through its tendrils, splattering the wooden floors with its steaming blood. A guttural growl leaves the curse and the air feels thicker; it’s getting hard to breathe and your vision is starting to fade. 

Am I going to die here?

There’s a sharp pain in your gut. The sword slips out of your grasp and blood sputters out of your lips. When you look down, you realise that the curse has pierced through you.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it fucking hurts.

But you can’t die here. Not like this, not without a fight.

Shakily, weakly, you put your hands together, breathe, and with the last of your strength, you fire a powerful blast that hits the curse square in the centre, making it screech in pain. Vapour rises from its form as it melts into the ground and eventually dissipates. A relieved sigh leaves you, but then the world spins, your body hurts even more, and before you know it, everything goes dark.

You fall into nothing.

(Somewhere not too far from the shrine, apprehension crawls into Fushiguro Megumi’s system.

He doesn’t hesitate. He follows the curse residue and he runs.)

You wake with a dull ache between your ribs.

The first thing you see is never-ending walls of white. There’s a generic decorative painting on the wall along with an old clock that tells you it’s a quarter past noon. Blearily, you realise that you’re in the infirmary, and judging from the soreness that spreads through your body and into your limbs, you’re still alive.

Somehow, you’re not as happy about it as you should be.

You feel like you’ve been through hell and back. In a way, you did. You’re too tired to regret your poor decisions from who knows how long ago, and you’re not a stranger to deliberately ignoring whatever makes you feel like shit. So you do just that all while staring blankly at the wall in front of you, hoping that you’ll eventually fall asleep again and forget. Maybe even not wake up until the month ends.

(You’ve come to a realisation that you don’t want to die anymore; you just want to stop existing for a while, get yourself together then come back when you’re ready. Like pausing a game or a video being played, you don’t lose the progress, but you sure as hell forget what the hell happened earlier.)

The door slides open. You contemplate pretending to be unconscious again, but your ears pick up heavy footfalls on the tiled floor and you decide maybe you shouldn’t. 

“Hey, Ieiri-sensei,” you croak out, weakly raising two of your fingers in a peace sign. “I’m alive and moving.”

She hums, amused as she makes her way over to your bedside. “Yes, you are. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit?”

“Good. You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. Can you stand?”

She gently urges you off the bed, hoisting you up by the shoulders as you try to maintain balance after being bedridden for hours. Or days. Or even weeks. You’re not sure.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

The concerning duration of your bedridden state goes completely ignored. All you can think about is the mention of Megumi. 

You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. 

“What do you mean he found me?”

She smiles wryly. “That boy’s been worried about you. Ran off from Satoru as soon as he felt a ‘weird pressure.’ What were you fighting?”

You shrug and wince at how stiff you feel. God, you hate this. Your legs are shaky as she helps you walk out of the infirmary and on the familiar path back to the dormitories. The school is quiet, making you wonder where everyone’s gone for the day.

“Some curse thing. Had tentacles and slimy skin. It was gross.”

“Well, that thing punctured you right there.” She gestures toward your chest. “Surprisingly it didn’t hit any vital organs, but you still lost a lot of blood. Did you exorcise it in the end?”

“I did.” A beat of silence passes. “Am I in trouble?”

“Yaga-sensei’s suspended you for a month. Oh, Fushiguro-kun. Just in time.” She helps you sit on a stone bench as Megumi approaches, his fingers furling and then relaxing by his sides. “They still need some support when they’re walking, but they’re healing quickly. They’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m still in my thirties, silly.” She ruffles your hair affectionately. “Be careful, hm? Come see me if there’s anything else.”

As Ieiri-sensei takes her leave, Megumi sits down next to you on the bench. His brows furrow the same way they always do when he’s thinking of how to say something nicely. He opts for silence instead, eyeing you cautiously. It almost feels offensive, but it’s only then that you’re aware of the bandages that cover essentially your whole upper body, so you brush it off. If someone else were in your position, you’d be worried sick too.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this visibly upset (well, for someone like Megumi anyway) over anything, and knowing that it’s because of you strikes you with a pang of guilt. With your lips pursed, you avoid his demanding look and glance at your hands instead. The bruises have almost faded away by now. Ieiri-sensei must’ve worked herself to the bone to patch you up.

“I’m not happy, Megumi.” Your throat closes up and your nose burns as the tears start to form and fall. “I’ve been trying to force myself to feel something. It didn’t matter what it was. I just hate being like this all the time.”

It hurts to cry. It hurts trying not to. Your state of mind is in tatters and you’re desperately doing your best to hold yourself together, but the way he’s looking at you makes you drop your guard completely.

“I know I’m surrounded by people, but I still feel so alone.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything. That’s fine, you think. The last thing you’d want to do is pressure him to speak his mind. He takes every word into consideration and thinks a lot by default, and if he’s still the same boy you knew all those years ago, he’d prefer to let his actions speak for themselves. 

“You didn’t have to come for me,” you murmur. “I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

“No.” He pauses for a moment as if he’s trying to formulate what he wants to say into words that won’t feel like jabs. He huffs quietly. “I want to stay with you.”

Hearing him say those words practically has you melting on the spot, your heart fluttering as warmth rushes to your cheeks. You reach for his hand instinctively and with the slightest bit of hesitation, he responds by lacing your fingers together. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. You don’t know if it’s because you’re still exhausted or if it’s because you’re worried you’ll upset him somehow. Either way, it takes so much out of you just to talk anymore. “I’m trying.”

He squeezes your hand softly. “I know.”

“I say that to you a lot, don’t I?” you chuckle, leaning against his shoulder. I’m trying. You tell it to him every time you don’t have anything else to say, but it hardly feels true. Or maybe you’re just overly critical of everything you do, expecting yourself to reach certain heights before you consider yourself enough. 

“You are trying,” Megumi says. “Even now.”

You smile weakly. “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He lets go of your hand and your heart sinks, wondering if you’d done or said something wrong, but then he gently flicks your forehead the same way he always used to do when you were kids. “I found you bleeding out on the ground.”

“Pretty gnarly, wasn’t it?” you joke, laughing nervously. He shoots you a glare that shuts you up immediately.

“We were worried about you,” he continues, ignoring your interruption. “I was worried about you. I thought you were going to die.”

“Is this the part where I tell you that all jujutsu sorcerers die at some point?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I didn’t know I was that important to you.”

“We grew up together.” You feel a slight weight as he rests your head on top of yours with a sigh. “You’ve always been with me. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there.”

It’s unusual for him to be this open about his feelings; he’s never been the overly sentimental type like you are, so to have him be this vulnerable with you makes you feel like you’re going to burst. The cool breeze passes by as you hesitantly take his hand again, and for the first time in so long, you find yourself genuinely smiling. He cares about you. He loves you, despite what that voice in your head tells you otherwise. It’ll take a while for you to change or get used to knowing these things, but for him, you’ll do everything you can. You’ll live — if not for yourself, then for him. And as slow and tedious as your path to recovery may be, both physically and mentally, you think that it’ll be worth the endeavour because you’re not alone. 

You are loved.

You are loved by him, and for now, that is enough to quell every anxiety in the back of your mind.

You glance at him. “Wanna watch a movie later?” 

Almost imperceptibly, he smiles back. “Sure.”

(You never end up finishing the movie.

Halfway through, exhaustion gets the better of you, and you fall into a deep sleep on the bean bag you borrowed from the recreation room. When you wake in the morning, you’re sore and aching all over, but the blanket draped over your frame and the arm around your waist makes you forget about it for a moment.

With a content smile, you curl closer.

He’s still the same Megumi you’ve always known.)

[greeenchrysanthemums]

@thatlesbainmushroom and @jjlovesgoodies (hope you don't mind the tags, I was not sure how else to make sure you seen this<3) both said yes to hearing about my roomies zombie au, so here it is!! Though, I must admit that it is more of a half-baked idea than a fully thought out au. I'm not sure if I will ever actually write it, so it's free game with credit.

I suppose a TW is required before you read any further. It is a zombie au, so it is pretty grim. Mentions of death, blood, injury, and other apocalypse typical things.

Etho and Cleo were college roommates before everything went to shit. Cleo was a graphic design and arts student in her fourth year, while Etho was an engineering student in his second year. They have been together since the start, and were actually in their dorm room when the chaos started. Bdubs used to be with them, but they lost track of him (and his horse) months ago. They assume he is dead.

Grian was a first year architect student from a few towns over. His group consisted of his roommates, Jimmy and Joel, along with his work friend, Scar.

None of them had ever used a gun before the apocalypse, so it is none of their preferred weapon. Cleo has a baseball bat, Grian has a knife, and Etho has a machete. Etho and Grian both carry handguns but rarely use them. Cleo knows how to use a gun but does not carry one and would have to be in mortal danger to be convinced to use it.

Cleo is immune to the bite, something they found out at the beginning because a classmate had bitten her and she never turned. Though, this immunity would not hold any narrative weight. The world has fallen apart, there wouldn't be anyone left to try to find a cure from her anyway. They are just focused on surviving and trying to keep each other safe.

However, because of her immunity, she does take risks that Etho doesn't/can't. She used to be a real softy, not much a fighter who was all bark no bite, but she would do anything to protect Etho. She has many scars, from bites and scratches, because of this reckless behavior.

It would start with Grian having just been separated from his group and he's been wandering around the remains of a big city looking for them. He eventually gets overwhelmed by a hoard and ends up cornered in an alley, where he is then saved by Etho, who kills the zombies and offers to bring him back to his camp.

Grian says no and tells him he has to keep looking for his group, but Etho is persistent. Grian caves and agrees to go with him when Etho offers to help look for his missing friends; no strings attached.

The group traverses the remains of the burning world together for several months looking for Grian's group and slowly getting to know each other. Etho and Cleo share information freely, but Grian is more reserved. He only answers simple questions about his past. They barley know anything about this group they are trying to find. Instead of opening up as the months' pass by, he actually becomes more and more reserved.

He keeps asking why they keep helping him when they have no obligation to do so, especially since he's given them next to no information or reason to trust him, and they say why not? They don't have anything better to do than lend him a helping hand.

Grian leads them more and more northwest as time goes on, telling them that he was told to head in this direction to meet back up with his group, but still, they find no trace of them.

Around 6-7 months into traveling together, the group do a supply run in a mall that they thought was safe and end up getting trapped inside with no way out after Grian brings some kind of a display/structure down on top of himself on accident and it attracts a hoard that was hidden away out of sight.

They are very low on ammo, Etho was bit while getting Grian out from under the display, Grian was injured by the accident, and they're all too exhausted and malnourished to fight. They make it into a staff area, but there's no exit that they see, so they barricade the door. It is only a matter of time before the hoard breaks through.

Sitting inside of the small room, Grian admits to them that his group was already dead and had been for a while. He tells them that he had actually been ready to die that day Etho found him. He felt bad letting Etho's kindness (which was a rarity in this dying world) go to waste, so he went along with it.

He was just along for the ride at first, leading them on a wild goose chase while waiting for a chance to leave them, but then he grew to care for them. He never thought he would find friends again in a world like this, but, somehow, he did. They gave him a purpose, a reason to keep going. They made him want to live again. They made him happy. They made him laugh; something so simple and yet so important.

He didn't want them to leave him behind once they found out the truth, so he'd kept lying to them and pretending like he was still searching so that they would have a reason to keep helping him, a reason to have him around.

He was closing himself off all that time in an attempt to hold onto the one good thing in his life. He tells them that he's sorry, that he loves them, and that he's scared.

Cleo and Etho say they don't care that he's been lying, and that he's just as important to them as they are to him. They say that whatever happens next, they'll do it together.

And then in my mind it would end somewhat ambiguously/open ended as the zombie's break through.

[akwolfgrl]

Once upon a blood moon part 2

<part 1

Law sat at a booth with Luffy waiting for the lost green wolf to arrive. Luffy was whining beside him with a pout on his face.

“I'm hungry,” he moaned.

“You're always hungry.” Law was irritated; he was supposed to be crawling into bed and sleeping the day away.

“Is that broccoli headed wolf still not here?” a gruff voice grumbled. Law glanced up at the old were-goat who owned this establishment. Red-leg Zeff had asked him to come, saying he had a surprise for him. “This is the surprise I had for you.” Zeff handed him a new looking menu, roughly the size of the blood and wine menus.

Law took one look at it and stopped when he saw. “Bloody onigiri!?” It had been so long since he last had his favorite food. “How is this possible?” Luffy peered over his menu, curious. “I'll have that and a glass of 1984 B+.”

“My daughter was a chef before she was turned. She said something about blood being used as a substitute for eggs in baking.” Zeff shrugged. “This is her first vampire-friendly menu. Eggplant gave me her word that she's tried every dish on it and successfully kept it down. Told her I'd kick her ass back to the city if one customer projectile vomits in my restaurant because of her. Now, Meatball, what ridiculous order do you want?”

“I want a ham, meatloaf, a whole chicken and 5 16 oz steaks!” Luffy ordered. He didn't need to say how he wanted the steak done; every wolf got it done blue, and cooked as little as was legal. “Zoro's usual!”

“All right.” Zeff left them.

Law couldn't believe he'd finally be able to eat his favorite food… or any food for that matter. He had not realized he actually missed food until the thought of actually having it was presented to him. Honestly, it was a good thing Luffy wasn't a vampire, his black-haired wolf was food obsessed, especially meat.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that When Luffy's impatience was truly starting to get intolerable, Zoro finally came through the door. The sooner they finished the sooner he could crawl Into bed, if it had been a rough at the clinic he wouldn't be here.

"Zoro! What took you so long?” Luffy whined, reaching across the table for his future beta. His pout was far too adorable for Law to admit. Luffy was like the sun - so bright he burned, but you couldn't resist him.

“Got distracted, someone new moved into the old Moria place. Franky fixed it up really good, can hardly tell it was abandoned to the ghost that haunts it.” Zoro spoke, sliding into the booth across from them.

“Wait, really?!” Luffy asked, ignoring the fact that Zoro shouldn't have been by the old Moria place if she hadn't gotten lost.

Law tuned out their chatter, sipping on his glass of blood, B+ had been his blood type before his death and then resurrection. Every vampire craved the blood type they had before death. Other blood was good, but it didn't quite hit the spot in the same way. Far as he could tell vampires still had some of the antigens in their veins and when they drank the right blood type it was as close to being alive again as a vampire could get especially if it was fresh but they rarely drank from living humans unless it was during sex or an emergency. While Luffy's blood could taste a little odd due to him being a werewolf, they had the same blood type.

“Here mushroom, eat up.” Zeff's voice interrupted his musing. In front of him were three pink onigiri triangles. He could smell the blood wafting from them. “Try it.” The goat's gruff voice encouraged.

Law took a tentative bite, he really wasn't in the mood to projectile vomit across the table. But the moment the rice hit his tongue nothing happened. Nothing except his taste buds awaking for the first since his death. “Mmmm.” He couldn't stop the moan or the bloody tears streaking down his cheeks as he once again got to eat his favorite food. The rice was warm and a little sticky, he could taste the blood in the rice and in the filling. Why, it went so well with the spicy mayo and tuna he'd never question it.

“Good?” Zeff asked, he must care about his daughter to serve this meal himself and to stick around after to hear his thoughts.

“Excellent.” Law quickly finished the one in his hand before reaching for the other two before Luffy got into his head to try it for himself. Between Dracul Miwhak inventing a way to age blood like wine and now being able to eat food, being a vampire wasn't so bad after all.

[mncxbe]

Sweet n Low

𝑨𝒌𝒊 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒄𝒘: csm spoilers, sad Aki, on and off unestablished relationship, lil bit of smut and silly, slice of life// 2.3k words

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: ok so my city's full of wax cherry trees and they all bloomed this week♡ i was riding a bus when i passed some of the bloomed trees and they looked like they were covered in snow and it gave me this idea for Aki// divider by @benkeibear

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕: Aki rarely takes days off of work. It’s pointless, a waste of precious time he could spend hunting down devils, but after getting injured into a fight, Makima forces him to go on vacation.

The heavy snow on the streets of Tokyo was long replaced by blossoming trees and vendors selling sakura mochi. Everything is so much lighter during spring- the air, the people, everything except the weight on Aki’s shoulders and the questions weighing on his mind. What’s he supposed to do with a free week? The whole point of this vacation is for him to relax and recover, so staying at home with Power and Denji is out of the question. The only other place he knows is Hokkaido, but he swore he’d never go there safe for the anniversary of his parents’ death.

Truth is, Aki has nowhere to go, and when Aki has nowhere to go, he comes to you.

When you open the door to your apartment, your colleague greets you with a nod “Hey there”

Oh hi, Aki. You move to the side, letting him step inside. As always, Aki takes off his shoes and sits down at the kitchen table, looking around the apartment while you make him coffee- medium grind, slow drip with no milk and a pinch of sugar. You notice he’s quieter than usual, his expression darker as he stares at something outside the kitchen window. During the few years you’ve known each other you learnt that Aki has the bad habit of getting lost in his own thoughts when things got tough– his mind is both a refuge and a prison, but today it seems to be the latter. Placing the steaming cup of coffee next to him you squeeze behind his chair, wrapping your arms around his neck. I see you were discharged. You feel any better?

“A little bit…” he muses “Look, I was wondering if I could crash at your place this week. Makima made me take a week off after my injury” You smile, nuzzling your chin in the crook of his neck. He always smells so good despite smoking, like a fresh summer breeze. I’d let you stay but I’m going back to my hometown this week so… “No, no it’s okay I get it. Forget I asked” Aki and you are close, but not close enough to let him stay at your place by himself. Still, you can’t shake off the feeling that you have to do something for him. You could come with me you suggest and he tenses up, shaking his head “I couldn’t possibly it’s your vacation. I don’t want to intrude” Nonsense you giggle, slowly running your hands up the sides of his face and into his hair to undo his topknot. The protests that fall from his lips are quickly silenced when you trace soft kisses on his neck and jaw, working your way up to the shell of his ear.

Come on, Aki, it’ll be fun. You and me in my little hometown for a whole week you whisper, rolling his stiff muscles under your palms, easing the tension in his shoulders. We could go on walks all day. I’ll show you around, it’s a pretty village, quite quiet too, perfect for you to relax. Your hands slide lowers down his chest and abdomen, finding purchase on his thighs. Your body’s practically flush against his back and Aki’s breath catches in his throat when you kiss his cheek again I can help you relax–

“Ok, alright, I’ll come with you” he cuts you off, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist, one of the few signs of affection he showed you. You straighten your back at his compliance and ruffle his hair, earning a soft frown from the man Wonderful, we’re leaving tonight.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

You reach your hometown by morning, just before sunrise, and you rent a room at a local inn. “Why don’t you just stay with your family?” he asks the moment the door to your room slides shut behind you. He drops his luggage on the floor and reaches for his pack of cigarettes Because I promised you I’d stay with you. You snap your fingers to get his attention and Aki turns to see you pointing at a no smoking inside sign and huffs, mumbling curses under his breath as he returns the pack to his breast pocket. “I really have to go all the way to the front porch to have my damn cigarette?”

Sort of you laugh and it’s like music to his ears. He takes a deep breath in to calm his nerves and looks around the room: it wasn’t much larger than his own bedroom, with a bed in the middle and a table for two in the corner, next to the built-in closet. A fresh breeze seeps inside the room through the open window, carrying a faint flowery scent. It was early morning and people were slowly starting to come out on the streets “So, what’s the plan for today?” Jee, Aki, relax we just got here. We should sleep for a while, we’ve been up all night you say as if you didn’t sleep during the whole trip. “I think I’ll pass. I’m going to take a walk around town” You nod, yawning as you slip out of your clothes and into your pajamas. You sure you don’t want to stay?

Curling up between the sheets with you in his arms sounds awfully tempting, but he needs to be alone at least for a while. “I’m sure. I’ll be back in a few hours though”

And so he leaves the inn and walks down the stone paved street lined with pretty houses, family restaurants and shops with closed windows. From time to time, someone passes by and gives him a friendly good morning but aside from that, the place is silent. There are no cars rushing around, no bustling crowds and no devils massacring innocent civilians, just peace and quiet, as if the whole town was frozen in time. Aki doesn’t understand how a village just hours away from Tokyo could be so serene, but he welcomes the normality of this place, allowing it to settle down over him and soothe his worries.

He finds a bench on the main street and takes a seat, procuring his pack. He cups the flame of his lighter with a hand, sheltering it from the soft breeze as he lights a cigarette and takes a deep breath in, the smoke stinging the back of his throat. Aki drops his head back and closes his eyes, listening to the birds chirping in the distance. Perfect, everything is perfect, he’s certain he made the right decision by joining you on this trip. He’d go back to you in a few hours and you’ll show him around town, maybe he’ll even get to meet your family one of these days and the two of you would have a good time. Maybe he will even allow himself to believe that you are more than occasional fuck buddies.

But then he notices the trees and the sense of peace crumbles. As he looks up at the crowns of flowers above him through half lidded eyes they seem covered in snow and nausea washes over him. How did he not notice them sooner? Fuck his mind for not allowing him to have one peaceful moment before memories of the day his family died rushed in. Suddenly, the picture he conjured up of this corner of paradise, his plans to enjoy the vacation are spoiled, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. He ashes his cigarette and gets up from the bench, retracing his steps back to the inn, away from all the things that remind him of his past. He shuts himself in, desperately trying to ignore his memories and the white trees lining up every street that make him feel like the world is caging in on him.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s in his room until your sleepy voice snaps him back to his senses. Aki, you’re back so soon? you mumble, rubbing your eyes and stretching out an arm, beckoning him to join you in bed. And he does, shrugging off his jacket and slipping under the sheets. Did you have fun on your walk? He mumbles a yes, though you can tell he’s not in the best of spirits, so you simply smile up at him, holding his face in your hands. I’m glad then. Maybe we could go to the hot springs later today. I’m sure you’ll love it. Your touch feels so warm against his skin, your lips so deliciously sweet when you kiss him. Aki hooks an arm around your waist and deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against one another and your breaths grow shallower as he pulls your pajama shorts to the side.

His actions are urgent, desperate, but you let him kiss you and touch you and fuck you and he does it like you’re his lifeline. Because in moments like this one, when he's plagued by his past, the pain so vivid and intense even years after those unfortunate events, you are the only thing that brings him peace.

So what’s up with you, hm? You seem awfully tense.

The sun sunk low under the line of the horizon a few hours ago, the only source of light coming from the lampposts on the main street, a hue of gold floating dissipating in the dark of the night. Aki’s back is turned to you as he pretends to sleep, his ribcage rising and falling with each breath he takes. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk– he’s been acting strange ever since he returned from his walk and didn’t even join you to the onsen, but you can’t just leave him like this.

Shifting closer to him, you run your hand along the expanse of his arm, feeling his muscles relax under your touch. You’re not going to accomplish anything by ignoring me, you press and he sighs, turning to lay on his back. He looks so pretty in the soft light that seeps through the open window, his jaw tense, lips pressed in a tight line, lashes batting slowly as if to fence off the sleep. When he finally speaks his voice has a distant edge to it. “It’s just the trees. They remind me of the snow in Hokkaido”

And is that a bad thing?

Of course you don’t know, he never told you about his parents and he has doubts that this is the right moment to have this conversation. But your eyes are so imploring as you prop yourself up on your forearm and look down at him, waiting for some sort of clarification.

“You know... my parents and my brother died when I was a kid, killed by the Gun devil. It was winter and everything was snowed in. I was playing outside with my brother but I sent him to grab something from the house and that’s when-” His voice is strained, like he has to force the words out of him and you feel your heart breaking for him. Your gaze drifts to at the tree in front of your room’s window, its white flowers basking in moonlight and somehow you can see it: the soft glow of the petals and the way they slope to the ground when the wind sweeps them off their sepals resembles snowflakes falling.

You fiddle with the collar of Aki’s t-shirt, trying to find the right thing to say. Would he even appreciate your sympathy? You know he’s not the type of guy who likes to be pitied and you fear doing worse, pushing him farther away. I’m sorry to hear you say under your breath, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist and placing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. I didn’t know it’d be like this.

“Don’t apologize, it's not your fault. I’ve got my own issues to deal with, but I want us to have a good time here” His reassurance doesn’t really have the effect he hoped for, he can tell you’re already overthinking. Aki cups your cheek, tilting your head up, making you face him. “I mean it, Y/N. Don’t worry.” His lips brush against yours in a soft kiss, his hand finding its way to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “Plus they’re just fucking trees. I won’t let them ruin the only actual vacation I had since I joined the Public Safety”

But won’t they bother you if you see them all the time? I mean, hell, they’re everywhere.

"I know they are…” his voice drifts off as he leans closer to you, his deep blue eyes scanning your features as he traces the contour of your face with his fingertips. Your skin is smooth and warm under his touch, a reminder that you’re here. That he’s here. He’s not in the frozen land of Hokkaido, not in his childhood home, but in a little town with cherry trees east of Fukuoka. This is your home, your life, and for a week he’s allowed to be part of it, to forget his worries and leave his past behind. And he’d be damned if he let a couple of plants ruin it for him. So he kisses you again, gently pushing you back down on the mattress as he whispers against your lips “I guess I’ll just have to keep my eye on you whenever we’re outside.”

[levantura]

"That smile looks good on you."

Leon Kennedy X Reader

description: Its Leon's first week as a cop and the pressure and teasing is too much to bear, when he meets you, a recent transfer to RPD, things finally start to look up.

Re2!Leon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, drugs, Police, death, harassment, alcohol, blood, wounds.

2.2k words.

It was a Thursday afternoon, Leon was awkwardly leaning against the wall in the break room sipping on some liquid which he thought was supposed to be coffee but most definitely is not. The watery brown lukewarm liquid swirled through his cup as he looked down at it, not knowing where to look or what to do. Not even ten days on the force and he already wants out, out of here at least. while its true that Raccoon city was home to Leon, he wanted better for himself. he hated to be a cliche 'gotta get out of my hometown type' but it was true. when he got his assignment he sighed, he knew it would be a long time until he was able to transfer, he had no choice but to stick it out.

When Leon walked into work this particular Thursday the atmosphere seemed...different. it wasn't unusual that people here were on edge but today they seemed superbly anxious. Leon questioned it but quickly brushed it off, 'maybe someone got written up or theres somethin' up with the coffee' he made the smart decision to throw out the caffeinated mystery beverage.

"Wasting coffee now huh rookie?" An older officer, Wilson, teased. "n-no sir, it was pretty much empty um-" Leon cringed at how weak he sounded, in truth he's just so tired. he hates picking fights, he hates the pressure, he hated the the names they called him. if there was one thing he hated the most? the mocking. He didn't know if they treated all the rookies like this or just him. 'i wonder when things will be different.' officer Wilson chuckled, "Aw kid, you nervous around me?" he got up from his chair which judging by how much he sat in it definitely had an ass-print of some sort, and marched right up to Leon's face. Leon could feel and smell the hot coffee breath of his colleague and visibly winced. "Rookie, do i make you nervous?"

"Hey officer Wilson, i could see you haven't changed a bit."

'Who is that?'

Leon's eyes met the petite officer's, she was beautiful. her skin was glowing, she had the softest looking hair. The way she carried herself was nothing short of confident. 'Wow, is she new here? now, she knew officer Wilson, maybe that's why everyone's been so weird today? maybe-' "who are you?" Leon was snapped out his thoughts, "uh I'm officer Kennedy, Leon S. Kennedy, I'm a rookie, I started about eight days ago, I'm from-" he paused and cringed at his demeanor once again, "Leon. Leon Kennedy." he had a goofy grin on his face from just being in your presence. he held his hand out and you took it gladly. the warmth of his hands feeling nice against your cold ones. "I'm y/n. it's really nice to meet you." your eyes lingered on his for a few moments before your face got hot and you looked down shyly. this was a rare occurrence, no one ever made you shy, you were usually the outgoing one! But apparently not when it came to attractive rookie police officers...

The phone rang causing you both to let go of your hands which you realized you were still holding. 'Shit,' Leon thought to himself. Leon watched you as you walked away from him, looking down to hide your rose-colored cheeks. you grabbed the phone to stop the incessant ringing, "Hello Raccoon City PD who am I speaking with?"

Leon couldn't help but stare. He watched the way you carried yourself, even on the phone. He watched the way your eyebrows furrowed, the way you bit the left side of your lip, how your lips looked oh-so-soft and pillowy, something he could only dream about.

"Rookie."

The soft features of your face, now looking at him. he tried to listen, really, but he was lost in trance.

"Leon!" Now you had his attention. his head snapped to meet your eyes, god...your eyes.

"I'm going to need your help Leon, you up for it?"

Leon had never been more ready.

Riding in the squad car with you was not easy for Leon, radio or no radio? windows down? temperature? He wasnt sure of anything. He settled with whatever you picked even if the AC temperature was freezing him out.

"So, you clear with the plan?"

"One more time, to be safe?" and Leon looked at you with his baby blue puppy dog eyes and you couldn't help but feel sad for what the future had in store for this boy. you knew firsthand life on the force, in Raccoon City nevertheless, is soul crushing. you shook your head at the thoughts of the last call you went on here, the face of your dead partner is something you will never forget.

Mel was the only other woman assigned to raccoon city, you quickly bonded over that. you bonded over all of the smile more, the are you sure you could handle that? and all of the mistreatment. you guys quickly climbed to the top of your ranks at the precinct. Everyone knew not to mess with you guys, they knew what you were capable of.

The day of your last call at Raccoon City you had been assigned to an armed bank robbery. The perpetrator had called in for back up from three more of his men but when you called for backup it was already too late. a gunshot sounded and without even having to look you knew. Mel had gone down. there was nothing to do now but rush to her side and hope and pray to whatever was up there that she would be okay, but the sad truth was, she wasn't, and she wasn't going to be.

"Mel..." you cried and reached for her, cradling her in your arms in her final moments.

"Make change. for us. for the new girls, the new guys. you could do it y/n. thanks for everything." and with that, she left. You could only imagine she'd be happier wherever she was, that she was looking down and you were doing the best you could to make her proud.

you took a deep breath.

"So!" you clapped your hands together, "this is a domestic violence report, right? You take front door and try to distract the perp, from what we know he's around six feet tall, dark hair, a cross tattoo on the wrist and according to the call we received, had been drinking. I'll go around back to look for an alternate entrance, make sure our vic could get out okay without too much confrontation. then ill signal you and we will reconvene from there, sound good?" Leon nodded.

"You ready?"

Leon swallowed hard. "Let's do it."

As you both walked toward the house, Leon's head was spinning. There was a lot riding on this. This was his first call, and he was determined to make sure this perp was going down. he was so desperate to prove himself, he wanted the relentless teasing to just stop. this would do it. if he made it through this without fucking up, which would be hard, he knew they would think him worthy of this position.

knock knock knock

nothing.

As Leon raised his fist again to knock, the door opened.

"Yes officers?" a man answered. This man definitely matched the description, especially the drunk part. Leon was no toxicology expert, but he knew what booze smelt like, maybe a bit too well. "Hello sir, I don't mean to disturb you, but we got a call about a disturbance?"

"Disturbance? what kind of disturbance?" The man asked, definitely whiskey hot on his breath.

"The. Um. the disturbance kind." what did he just say?

'What the fuck is wrong with me?'

a thousand face palms arent enough to explain how much he cringed at himself. nails on a chalkboard, tin foil in your teeth. 'How long do i have to do this for?' he sighed.

"Uh huh. well unless you have any evidence, I don't see your point of being here when clearly, there no disturbance of any kind going on."

Leon looked down, knowing he fucked up. But then he spotted the blood. It trailed from his shoe into his living room, at least from where Leon could see. "what's the blood from?"

"That? oh... A Nosebleed!"

He wasn't buying it.

"Well then would you mind if I took a look inside? if it's just from a nosebleed, you'll surely be okay with that right?"

"You know, I know my rights. you need a warrant!" Leon chuckled; all of his test scores proved otherwise to this man's statement. "Actually sir, you see there are some exceptions to this rule, not that I have to explain this to you but, you see, there was a call made about this here address and that," Leon pointed to the decently sized blood pool on the ground, "That is a plain view probable cause, so I really didn't want to have to this but, excuse me." Leon Pushed past him into the house where he saw you and you locked eyes. He knew he had gone off plan a bit but he really wasn't expecting such an easy lead. Your eyes widen, "Leon behind you!" He whipped around and saw the man hurling toward him, the man threw a punch that landed on Leon's jaw, he retaliated and kicked him back. there was an all-out brawl in this drunk bastard's living room, and you were watching, completely forgetting about the victim you were supposed to be finding. "Y/N! go grab her! follow the blood, I could handle this from here!"

You nodded and followed the trail to the bedroom, opening the door you found a younger girl, clearly drugged, handcuffed to the bed frame.

You rushed into the room and grabbed the woman's shoulder.

"Hey, hey! it's okay, don't you worry, I'm going to get you out of here." she was so thin, you were afraid you'd break her arm with one wrong move. You spoke into your radio, "This is officer L/N, im requesting an ambulance at four thirty seven lunder court, ASAP victim in critical condition," snapping back to the job at hand you whipped out your lockpick, quickly removing the cuffs from the girl, you easily lifted her out of the bedroom and to your squad car where you tried to keep her awake. the cuts and bruises from whatever that thing had done to her were starting to ooze with pus and blood from being reopened when she was moved. You were skilled, you had the resources. You knew what to do. grabbing your first aid kit and tying gauze around her wounds, applying pressure. you hoped shed be able to hang on until the ambulance arrived.

things in the living room had escalated, for a drunk man, this guy had amazing balance and stamina. In fact, it was so great, Leon nearly lost a head to a dining room chair being hurled at him. But he finally had an advantage when the man got kicked in the nose, pushing him back. The rookie then grabbed his head and threw him to the ground, knocking him unconscious. 'Thank God it's over. I'm breaking a sweat.' and as soon as the man went down, the cuffs came out. "Perpetrator unconscious, awaiting instructions." He called into his radio. then as if on cue, the flashing red and blue lights of the ambulance were seen from the window.

"So! you seemed to have handled yourself quite well, you sure that was your first mission?" you almost chuckled. You were both back at the station, you were dressing Leon's wounds from the living room brawl. He smiled, "Yeah! maybe now the rest of the officers will take me seriously. hopefully something scars and I'll be able to prove it." he chuckled. "Well, it certainly was some fight. definitely a great first call," you pressed down on a cut, trying to wipe whatever blood was left over on his swollen bottom lip. He winced, "So sorry!" You smiled, looking down at him from where you were standing in the dirty precinct bathroom, he was sitting on the sink counter and you standing almost in between his legs. he looked up at you again with those eyes, and this time he smiled. "You know rookie, that smile looks really good on you," he blushed, mouth agape, "you should wear it more often." He was stunned, he couldn't believe a woman as beautiful and strong as you were complimenting him, the rookie, the new guy that was bullied mercilessly. "You know, Y/N, I really couldn't ask for a better partner for the day at least. it was an honor to work with you." say it, Leon. just say it. "You're an amazing officer and I would be lucky to be half as good as you are eventually, I mean you're kind, you're compassionate, you are so smart and brave, you're beauti-," he stopped short, mentally cringing. 'God Dammit.' His eyes squeezed shut and his cheeks flushed red, "Um well," he looked down and your finger lifted his chin to look up at you. "Leon, as unprofessional as this might be, how about dinner sometime? l want to know you. And I'm getting the feeling it's mutual... So, is it a date?"

Leon took your hand in his and kissed it. "It would be my pleasure."

F i n.

A/N: hello! this is my first fanfic in a really long time!! i hope there arent too many mistakes and enjoy :) ill leave my inbox open for any requests!

[azriel-scum]

It Wasn't Supposed to be This Way Part 3

Warnings: domestic abuse, mentions of sexual abuse and semi-graphic scene toward the end. Please do not read if this will trigger you!

Elara was shaking and trying very hard to control her breathing.

It wasn't just that Merikh had been in her face, gripping her harshly, dangerously close to recreating the events of the night before.

It wasn't just that Azriel had potentially discovered what was going on before she could fix it herself.

It was the intense feeling in her chest. The intense wave of shock and anxiety that had slammed into her. She had never felt emotions that intensely before, not even on Merikh's worst nights.

Azriel continued to stand there.

With restless and shaking hands she gathered up the scattered papers and books on her desk, having no idea if she actually needed any of it.

Azriel was still just standing there.

"Azriel, did you need something?" Her attempt at being composed came out breathy and rushed.

Still speechless, he just stood there. Opened his mouth. Closed it. And then settled on just shaking his head.

She picked up her haphazard pile of papers and made toward the door.

Azriel stepped to the side, out of the doorway and found his voice.

"I think Cassian wanted to discuss having his soldiers doing some city patrol shifts. He's upstairs."

Elara nodded her head and walked out the door. Taking two steps down the hallway before Azriel speaks again.

"El -" She paused in the hallway but didn't turn around.

Before he could finish, shouting erupts from down the hall.

Merikh, distraught and furious, screaming. She can't see him, but she knows it's him. Would recognize that kind of shouting anywhere, from her nightmares, from the drunken nights, from the daylight when he would track her down in the city.

Rhsyand. He was screaming at Rhysand. This couldn't be happening, someone she had brought around, someone she had gotten a job was screaming at the High Lord.

He was screaming at Rhysand; the High Lord was deathly silent.

For Elara, everything went black. The shouting was more than just yelling between two men. It triggered in her a reaction like nothing else in her life.

A warrior, a female who had seen unfathomable tragedy; had seen death occur in such unnatural, unimaginable ways over and over and over again - had even caused it by her own hands. As a young female, she'd seen abuse that was indescribable, memories that would play in a trance over and over again as she tried to sleep. Yet, none of those things triggered a reaction in her like the one she was having in this moment.

Elara had barely made it out of the doorway when the yelling started, now her body was frozen and none of her senses were working.

Azriel appeared next to her. "El maybe we should -" he reached out a hand to usher her back into the office, but Elara stuck out a stiff arm, commanding him to stay back.

A wave of nausea had overcome her and it was taking everything in her to not gag in front of Azriel. Gods how embarrassing would that be.

Elara had tried so hard to keep her interactions with the inner circle strictly business. She would consider all of them her friends, her closest confidants when it came to work, when it came to the battle field, but when it came to her personal life, she didn't typically factor them at all. It was a defense mechanism, a way to shield herself, and her heart, from being hurt.

Rhysand was the closest thing she had to an older sibling, he had saved her life and her family, but even still they rarely had conversations that didn't revolve around work. He was busy and she was happy to keep her personal life outside of his radar.

If you never have anything, you can never lose anything.

Elara had already lost so much in her life and felt the impending doom of losing her mother day in and day out. Every single day she mourned the loss of someone who was still here and every single day she worried about the safety of her siblings. And every single day she worried about the safety of the citizens of Velaris. There was nothing else she could attach her heart to.

And so she ran to the bathroom. One for the impending nausea and two for the escape of anyone who cared for her, who wanted to be a friend.

Her knees hit the tile and her chest hit the front of the toilet. As she kneeled on the floor and wretched, it was the loneliest she had ever felt in her life.

Elara leaned back against the door, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. No one had followed her to the bathroom, no one had knocked on the door. She assumed Azriel knew of her intense desire to be left alone and with all the commotion downstairs she was the last person on anyone's mind.

She couldn't stop thinking about that feeling in her chest. The intensity of it, the unfamiliarity.

Finally, she stood up on shaky legs, picking up her papers and notes that were strewn across the floor and walked out of the bathroom. The hallway outside her office was empty and the shouting had stopped. She walked toward the window, hoping to simply fly out of the house undetected - no such luck.

From around the corner, Rhys walked toward Elara, looking concerned. He looked at her, his eyes asking if she was okay. She gave a soft nod.

Silently she said to Rhys. I'll be back tomorrow, Do you need anything before then?

Before he could respond, Merikh came up behind Rhys, Azriel and Cassian quickly following behind him. Elara made brief eye contact with Merikh and that feeling from her chest returned. Before, her anxiety had covered the feeling that she wasn't able to discern the feeling, but now she knew exactly what it was. A small tug, right where her heart lays.

No.

This had to be some awful horrible mistake, some kind of cosmic mistake.

Maybe she was wrong, maybe this wasn't the mating bond. After all, how would she even know what it felt like?

Only from hearing it be described for hundreds of years of her life.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Merikh stopped in front of her. Cassian and Azriel were still standing behind him looking weary of his actions and Rhys just watched him apprehensively.

Elara had to keep reminding herself that they didn't know, they didn't know that he was violent with her, maybe Azriel was suspicious, but she could easily dispel that. In the seconds that she stood staring at Merikh, she reimagined her entire life. No one knew how horrible he had been to her, she could start out with him on a fresh slate. Surely the mating instinct would kick in for him and he would be protective of her, not want to hurt her anymore. This could be good for him, it could give him the purpose for his life that he's been searching for. They could be happy together, Elara thought. They weren't so different after all, they had been through a lot in their lives and neither one of them coped especially well, but surely surely there was a reason for this bond from the Mother.

She searched his eyes, trying to see if the bond had snapped for him too. The only thing she saw in him was anxiety.

"Lara I - I wanted to apologize for earlier. I - I shouldn't have talked about you getting r- attacked in Illyria and -"

Is he always this insufferable? The words came into her mind from Rhysand and she had to push her lips together to smother her reaction and keep her face neutral. It was abundantly clear that the shouting match had ended in Rhys forcing him to apologize.

Merikh stumbled through the rest of his apology, nothing more than a disjointed handful of words that didn't go together. Elara said nothing when he was done speaking just nodded her head once. Even though Rhys had put him up to this, maybe this could be the start of the clean slate she so desperately wanted. With her mate.

She winnows them down to the streets out the House of Wind and they walk home together. They don't hold hands, there's some tension, but Elara thinks maybe things will be okay. They chat easily, nothing serious, but they cover all of the small talk. As they near their apartment, he ventures to ask about her mother and siblings.

Elara tenses, she knows that out of all the conversations they could have, this one is probably the most volatile. For once though, she lets herself take a breath and relax. If she doesn't get defensive, maybe he won't either.

"I saw them, they're doing well. Enny and Vira are doing well in school, I'm very proud of them."

Merikh nods, but doesn't add anything and Elara thinks she's okay with him listening and not always having to respond.

Over the next few days, there's still some nervousness, they both seem apprehensive toward each other, as if they are a new couple that's just starting to date. Elara tries to work out if Merikh feels anything of the bond on his end, but there's been nothing to suggest that he had.

A couple weeks passed and Elara couldn't remember the last time she felt a tug in her chest. Was this how things were supposed to be? You get comfortable enough with your mate and things just get easier? Maybe your less aware of the bond, don't feel it everyday.

Elara had been busy with work over the last few weeks and it seemed that so was Merikh. They rarely crossed paths with each other, but when they did Merikh had been...good. He had made her dinner twice, they had sat on the couch together and chatted easily, they laid in bed together. It had been a very long time since they had been intimate together, but Merikh had started to initiate; in the past by the time Elara had gotten home Merikh would already be drunk or passed out, but he had been drinking less and was much more present. Being intimate with him was...fine. It wasn't something she loved doing, but she didn't hate it either. They didn't talk about work, or her mother or anything else of importance, but they also hadn't fought. Things were unremarkable, but they weren't bad. This was the person that the universe had chosen for her and maybe, just maybe, this is how things were supposed to be.

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

Today, Elara woke up sore.

She had bruises on her waist and sides from Merikh gripping her last night.

She hadn't said no last night.

She had agreed to be with him, but she hadn't known how excited he was going to get.

Maybe these bruises are okay, proof that he loves her, proof that they had made love.

They were not bruises borne from violence or aggression, but were they from love?

Elara wasn't sure.

She spent her morning making her rounds through the city. Stopping in and talking to shop owners, and visiting the school. Around mid morning she headed back to the training rings at the house of wind. Sometimes, she wasn't in the mood to train with others and preferred to work out by herself.

On her way to the rings, Elara was feeling a high of gratitude and happiness. How very lucky she was to be leading this city, to be trusted with the wellbeing of its citizen and the security of its borders. How very lucky she was to have had a second lease on life, but this was the promise of Velaris. A safe haven, a paradise, a place of redemption.

She flew up to the rings, landed gracefully and then promptly got to work.

The bruises made it hard to do any kind of core workout, but she did her best. The sweat and endorphins from lifting weights and doing exercises freed her mind and released her of the crippling anxiety.

In the middle of a bench pass, Cassian suddenly appears and is pulling the bar up from Elara's chest and racking it.

"I didn't need your help." She sits up on the bench and turns around to see the Illyrian general smirking.

"I know. I want to spar."

Sighing, she stood and looked at him to assess how serious he was being. He raised his eyebrows in a challenge, daring her to say no. Elara was in no shape to spar and she knew it. On a regular day, she could easily give Cassian a run for his money, but today she was far too fragile to move the way she needed to.

"I need to make sure our governess can still keep the city safe." He was smiling like a cat, knowing he gave a challenge she couldn't possibly say no to.

And then they were in the ring, a flurry of punches, ducking and defensive stances. Elara's mid section was on fire, but the thrill and adrenaline from the fight made her forget everything. She was completely dialed in until there was that feeling in her chest again. A tug on the bond. She hadn't felt it in weeks and it sent her heart into her stomach. Gasping, she lost control of her stance and Cassian landed a hit on her, squarely in her abdomen. She stumbled back, falling into the corner. The breath was completely knocked out of her, her chest and lungs were burning.

"Shit El. Are you okay?"

Elara couldn't catch her breath and it was making her start to panic. Between the sudden tug in her chest that she hadn't expected to the all the sensitive areas of her bruises flaring up, the punch Cassian had landed almost felt like an afterthought.

And now she hyperventilating and couldn't make eye contact with Cassian. This was embarrassing. She was so unable to be loved that she couldn't even handle the feeling of the bond, had a panic attack every time she was reminded of its presence.

He kneeled down in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"El, you've got to breathe. Deep breaths."

Slowly, with the soothing sounds of his voice she calmed down.

"Sorry, Cass. I've just been feeling off today, I think I might be getting sick or someth-"

"El," he's looking right into her eyes and it feels so vulnerable and she knows she has to get out of here.

"El, what's going on?" His eyes had travelled down to her waist, where her shirt had ridden up. Following his line of sight, Elara knows she has to make a decision. Does everything about Merikh unravel right here, or does she tell Cassian an embarassing half truth about where the bruises came from.

It was a no brainer.

"Rough training session last night." It was meant to come out as a joke, but the delivery was half-hearted and Cassian doesn't react in the slightest, just continues looking at her.

Finally, he helps her stand up. She's leaning on him heavily and still trying her best to take deep breaths. She turns around and flinches slightly when she sees Azriel is standing in the doorway of the training rings.

When had he gotten here? How much had he seen?

"Cass, we have to go for a meeting with Devlon." He doesn't say anything to Elara, but catches her eyes for a moment before looking back to Cassian.

The general looked reluctant to leave Elara, but they had a meeting and Azriel was waiting.

Quickly, she took her out. "I'll see the both of you later, have a good meeting." She winnows away before she can even register either of their reactions.

Elara ends the workday in her office, handling some correspondences and then meeting with Sylas about visiting Windhaven. They had identified the citizen of Velaris that defected out to the rogue camp, a young male named Taron. Despite everything, Elara felt empathy for him; he seemed lost, like he was searching for a purpose, she only hoped sense could be talked into him.

After her meeting with Sylas, she'd finishing up some paperwork, slowly, because she dreads going home to Merikh right now more than anything else. A note appears on top of her paperwork in Rhy's handwriting.

My office please, when you can.

After a few deep breaths, she winnowed down the hall and into his office. Rhysand was sitting at his desk, leaned back in his chair with a glass of bourbon. It wasn't unusual for him to end his day with a drink, and Elara knew Rhysand was a good male, but seeing him with the drink put her on edge. It felt too similar to what she been coming home to for the last few years.

He gestured to the seat.

She sat.

The nerves building, logically she knew he probably just wanted to talk about work, but there had been too many close calls recently and the risk of the truth coming out felt far too eminent.

"How are you feeling about your trip to Windhaven?"

"I feel good, Sylas and I finalized our plans today. I'm not excited to be back at the camp, but I know it's necessary."

He nods his head, but doesn't say anything else. Elara refuses to fill the silence.

"I'm concerned about this wayward group in Windhaven, but I'm more concerned about any of their members being in Velaris." Rhys finally says.

"Me as well, I've been working with Cassian to have more patrols and I've been speaking with citizens almost daily to catch anything suspicious , as far as any of us can tell there hasn't been any more activity in the city."

Rhys leans back further in his chair, looking at her intensely.

"I'm concerned about your partner and the access he has to the governess of the city."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm concerned about Merikh. Azriel and Cassian are concerned about his connections in Illyria. And I don't think you've been entirely honest with us."

Elara could feel her power stirring up in her, threatening to blow over.

"What are you trying to say?"

Rhys stands from his chair and walks around until he's leaning against the front of his desk with his arms crossed.

"I'm saying that Merikh has been acting and speaking suspiciously. I'm saying that I sense you haven't been entirely honest recently. I'm worried about my governess and I'm worried about her as a sister.

Elara kept her face completely steeled, her lips pursed and her eyes burning holes into his. She didn't move an inch, didn't betray anything in her emotions. Rhysand stares back and neither one of them are surrendering.

"If you have concerns about Merikh, then they need to be addressed. I can assure you, High Lord, that there are no issues with my honesty or my ability to protect the city."

Rhys still continued to look at her, not saying anything. Elara took that as her cue and walked out of his office.

She headed home, desperately wishing that Merikh was passed out on the couch or simply not home.

Elara entered the house and her senses went up immediately. Her intensified senses picked up the smell of whiskey. Her wings instinctively tucked in closer to herself when she saw Merikh sitting on the couch; he drains his glass and stands up to look at her.

Enough time had passed since the last incident with him that Elara was almost able to forget what he was capable of, but seeing the look in his eyes was a stark reminder.

"I thought I told you not to go to Windhaven, that's no place for you. You're making me look like a fool by going out there."

"How do you know I'm going out there?" It was a stupid thing to come out of her mouth, an instinctual reaction, but her mission was supposed to have been confidential and subsequently all the meetings had been strictly closed door. He had been in the room when she suggested going a few weeks ago, but no one had brought it up since. The orders for the mission had come down from Rhys last week and the meeting with Sylas had been in the afternoon.

Merikh completely ignored your question, but was slowly walking closer to her. He got up in her face and Elara tensed, waiting for the ball to drop. His breath hot on her face, he asks "what do you think all the other Illyrian males will say when they see you out there by yourself? You're too attractive of a female to be roaming around the camps?"

Forget the she was Illyrian and had spent her entire childhood in that camp - was he flirting with her? Was he acting like a jealous male? The kind that's actually protective over their partner?

Elara had no idea what to say to him. She couldn't tell if this was supposed to be an intimate moment for them or if she could set him off at any second, so she simply turned her head up and kissed him. Thankfully, he reciprocated.

Things progressed quickly from there, Elara's anger at Rhys long forgotten, her embarrassment in the training rings drowned out. His hands and mouth were all over her, their clothes flying off of them in a fury.

But still, Elara couldn't stop thinking about how Merikh knew of the mission. Why he was so adamant that she didn't go. It all felt off. But the male standing in front of her had been chosen for her, was her perfect match - he surely had his faults, but there was no way he'd be able to plot anything against her.

With no express warning or preparation, Merikh bent her over to slip inside her. Elara twisted around and put her hands on his forearms, trying to signal she wasn't quite in the mood for that yet, but Merikh was too drunk or indifferent to care.

Turning her back around, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Taron won't be able to keep his eyes off of you, don't forget to let him know who you belong to."

This time Elara twisted around to look at him with force. Stood her ground against his rough hands. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"At your trip to Windhaven, don't forget who you belong to."

"No, who is Taron? How do you know him?"

"You wicked bitch, why does it matter?"

She lunges at him and he's fighting back. There has never been a time that she actively fought Merikh, she always became submissive and just waited for it to be over, but this time she realized that Rhys had been correct and the safety of her city and everything she worked for was at stake.

He's fighting back and she's resisting the urge to completely burn him up with a blast of starlight, but she can't muster up the power. Her powers have been dampened. She tries to winnow and she can't. She tries to speak to Rhys or Feyre mind to mind and she can't. She tries to fight back, but she's getting uncharacteristically tired. It starts to feel as though she's paralyzed.

Merikh has an evil look in his eye. He's pushes her to ground, starts kicking her and slashing at her wings, at her face, anything he could.

Elara remains conscious the entire time, but is completely frozen.

Finally, mercifully he places one final kick to her face and leaves. As soon as he's out the door, Elara feels a fizzle in her fingertips. Her magic returning.

She can barely move, barely think and can barely breathe.

With her last ounce of energy and consciousness she screams into Rhysand's mind.

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 13

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

“When you say gone and missing, what precisely do you mean?” Wen Ruohan asked.

Wang Liu shrugged. “Exactly that, Sect Leader. The two heirs of Gusu Lan were last seen at their lessons, shortly before the delegation left for the Yunmeng, and not since.”

It wasn’t that Wen Ruohan hadn’t understood what his spy meant. It was just that he couldn’t believe it.

“In the sense that they were kidnapped,” he said slowly, “or in the sense that they’ve run away?”

“It is my belief that the latter is more likely. There have been no recent threats, and Gusu Lan’s gate wards remain unbroken – no one without a pass token has entered or exited.”

That was at least something, Wen Ruohan supposed. Still, when Lan Qiren found out…

Wen Ruohan did not want to imagine Lan Qiren’s reaction to finding out that his brother had somehow managed to misplace Lan Qiren’s beloved nephews. Not after all the work he’d put into keeping the man intact for his own purposes! And for that matter, how had Qingheng-jun permitted something like that to happen? He’d only had sole guardianship of the boys for a handful of months! They were his own sons and heirs!

Wen Ruohan was not particularly fond of children, not even his own, and his taste for the pleasures of familial life had largely evaporated after the death of his first family. But he hadn’t gotten to where he was by being careless, and so Wen Ruohan made a point of always knowing where his sons were, what they were doing, and what company they were keeping at any given time. To not know that was to invite disaster, and that was even without behaving in such a way as to make them think running away was a better option!

Currently, Wen Xu, his oldest, was at nearly fifteen finally getting to the point that he was worth talking to. About half a year prior, he’d expressed an interest in the army and Wen Ruohan had happily granted his wish, sending him to train under one of his generals. Lu Qipei had made some token protests about her son leaving her side, but she’d been satisfied enough with the placement. Wen Ruohan suspected she would have preferred that he just give the boy command outright, never mind that he was underage – but as Wen Ruohan had not yet reached that depth of madness, he ignored all her hints and hoped instead that Wen Xu would actually genuinely learn something from the experience. In contrast, Wen Chao was only eight, so he remained in the Nightless City, but his daily life was filled with tutors and friends, overseen by his mother (and Lu Qipei, who often offered her “help”). Wen Ruohan had assigned him Wen Zhuliu, the Core-melting Hand, as a bodyguard and personal servant, ensuring that no one would ever dare challenge or threaten his son.

He certainly had never lost either of them.

Much less both!

Oh, Lan Qiren was definitely going to have another meltdown when he heard the news. Wen Ruohan couldn’t even imagine what that one would be like…and Wen Ruohan did not want him to have another meltdown. He had plans! Plans that involved Lan Qiren being of sound mind!

And now Qingheng-jun was, through sheer negligence, going to mess with those plans.

Wen Ruohan reached up and pressed his forehead above the bridge of his nose in a rare outward concession to his frustration.

“Do the Lan know where their heirs went?” he asked, forcefully restraining his temper. Thoughts of stabbing Qingheng-jun were pleasant, but not productive. However he might feel about the other man at the moment, he was the sect leader of a Great Sect, and not trifled with lightly. “For that matter, if their heirs are missing, why isn’t there more of a frenzy on their side?”

“The Lan sect disciples at the Cloud Recesses are trying to see if they can find the heirs before reporting to Sect Leader Lan on their absence,” Wang Liu reported, which made sense. Better to report that they’d temporarily misplaced the children rather than have to report having lost them, minimizing the fact of their failure by mitigating it in advance. “It was initially believed that they were simply hiding away somewhere in the Cloud Recesses, possibly as some sort of protest, but they’ve since ruled that out. They’ve sent disciples down to Caiyi and are now searching there. If they can’t find them there…”

Then they’d have no choice but to send a message to their sect leader, confessing all.

After all, the boys were only nine and six. They weren’t exactly accustomed to travel. If they weren’t in the Cloud Recesses, and they weren’t in the nearby town, and the only people who’d passed the Lan sect’s gates were those with the approved pass tokens, the only plausible place they could be was...

Here.

“You got the news early?” Wen Ruohan asked, then nodded in approval when Wang Liu confirmed. “Well done.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader. Your grace is immeasurable. Do you want us to start searching Gusu Lan’s baggage for them now? We could find and secure them before the Lan sect admits to themselves that they are lost.”

It was a tempting thought. Wen Ruohan could imagine the scene now: Lan Qiren noticing the increasing hubbub on the Lan sect’s side and growing concerned, eventually (reluctantly) turning to ask Wen Ruohan if he knew anything, Wen Ruohan drawing him off to the side to privately tell him, Lan Qiren’s moment of shock and horror, delicious in its suffering, which then melted away into profound relief and appreciation when Wen Ruohan murmured in his ear that he’d already sent people for them and found them – that they were safe, and secure, and with him –

Wen Ruohan wasn’t sure exactly what would happen after that, but he was certain it wouldn’t be boring.

It was a beautiful image.

Sadly, common sense intervened.

“No need,” Wen Ruohan said. “Let us not risk your cover on such a thing.”

Even if he found the boys first, he wouldn’t be able to take them away without being caught. The Lan sect was on the verge of confessing to their sect leader that the children had been lost. Once they did that, a search would undoubtedly begin at once, and then it would be impossible for him to hide the fact that he’d ordered his men to start the search early. Once that came out, whether or not he’d secured them by then, he would be blamed for having tried to spirit them away – and unfortunately, there were still things Wen Ruohan could not do, lines he could not cross and taboos he could not violate. Neither his power nor his insanity had yet grown to the level where he thought he could get away with stealing the heirs of the other sects.

(Yet. That was what Lan Qiren was for.)

Wang Liu must not have thought of that. Well, he was still relatively new.

“Sect Leader, are you sure?” Wang Liu asked, frowning. “If we miss this chance, it is unlikely we will be able to gain access to the children in the future – ”

“I’m certain,” Wen Ruohan said firmly, making it clear that his patience was starting to slip. He appreciated his spies, but he did not permit anyone to question his decisions. “You’re dismissed.”

Wang Liu saluted respectfully and absented himself very quickly. Presumably he still remembered what happened to people that got on Wen Ruohan’s bad side.

Wen Ruohan forgot about Wang Liu the moment he left, instead opting to look around the room he was in, the one used to store the considerable luggage his sect had brought with them, with a critical eye. After a moment, he pulled out a piece of talisman paper from his sleeve. He hadn’t bothered doing this for himself in ages, but calling for a servant would take both more time and more energy – for the talisman, he just needed a few strokes, a twist of power, a little focus…

The talisman activated in a flash, splitting into four and flying onto all four walls of the room, the pattern on them stretching out until they covered the entirety of the walls, then dissipating. The gentle background sounds of the Lotus Pier went with them, the privacy arrays locking it all down into silence.

“There we go,” Wen Ruohan said, and smirked in triumph. “Would you like to come out now?”

No reaction at all.

“I know you’re there.”

Still nothing.

Fine, then. He’d go for the kill.

“And to think how upset Lan Qiren will be when I tell him that he missed you – ”

Two small heads, adorned with Lan sect ribbons, immediately popped up from one of the larger trunks, right where Wen Ruohan had noticed them earlier. His cultivation was too high for him not to have noticed the presence of two children hiding away close by like that: he’d heard the rustling of their robes, felt the small pulses of spiritual energy, smelled the faint hints of sandalwood from the incense packets hidden in their clothing. He hadn’t especially cared, of course, since they’d been too far away to hear or see him talking with Wang Liu – what did some stowaways matter?

Then he’d found out who they likely were.

After all, just because Wen Ruohan couldn’t search for them and couldn’t take them away didn’t mean there wasn’t an advantage to be had in finding them.

The older boy, who must be Lan Xichen, looked properly appalled, just like Lan Qiren when he was faced by some profound breach of etiquette, though on a far smaller and rounder face; it wasn’t clear whether it was because of Wen Ruohan’s implicit threat or simply the idea of his uncle being upset. The younger one, Lan Wangji, who was even rounder than his big brother and looked even more like a big soft bao, merely looked determined, hopping out of the trunk and marching straight towards Wen Ruohan, his two little fists gripped tightly at his side, teeth bared –

“Wangji, no!” Lan Xichen yelped, throwing himself forward.

Wen Ruohan bemusedly lowered his hand, which had very abruptly flown up to the level of his face – he’d had to withdraw it very quickly in order to keep from being bitten.

Bitten.

By a junior version of Lan Qiren!

“Where is Shufu?” the little boy demanded, heedless of his older brother rushing forward to try to tug him back. “Bring me to him right now!”

Lan Wangji was lucky that Wen Ruohan was too busy trying to imagine what Lan Qiren must have looked like at a similar age to strike him down for his insolence. The effort wasn’t working very well, even though Wen Ruohan assumed that Lan Qiren must have resembled Lan Wangji as he was now – but no, Wen Ruohan really just couldn’t see the other man as anything other than the antique he’d already been by his early twenties.

“Please let me apologize on my brother’s behalf, Senior Wen,” Lan Xichen said urgently. “He’s just very distressed, he doesn’t mean it.”

Wen Ruohan glanced down at him. “Do not tell lies,” he drawled, and Lan Xichen winced and turned red with embarrassment. “He most certainly meant it. And it’s Sect Leader Wen.”

It was only when both boys gasped that he realized that he should have kept his identity a secret. He hadn’t realized that they actually hadn’t recognized him – if he’d realized, he would have kept it back and used it as leverage, played with them until they’d said something particularly dreadful or embarrassing.

It just hadn’t occurred to him that they were being genuinely ignorant rather than just speaking too fast. Everyone recognized him.

But of course it made perfect sense that these little children wouldn’t. Lan Qiren had never allowed a single child of his sect under the age of thirteen anywhere near the discussion conferences, not even the ones his sect had hosted. Once someone had asked about it, more teasing than curious. In return Lan Qiren had given a ponderous frown and started reciting rules of etiquette in his dull monotone until everyone’s ears had started bleeding and the person who’d asked looked as though he regretted being born.

Moreover, these weren’t just any children, but Lan Qiren’s children. They probably even obeyed the rules against gossip…though it was fairly clear from the look of worry on both their faces that they had at least some notion about some of the rumors that accompanied Wen Ruohan’s name.

“You are the one who has Shufu,” Lan Wangji hissed like a little viper. “Give him back!”

“Wangji!”

Lan Xichen had to literally pick up his brother to keep him from lunging forward.

There was something intrinsically funny about the sight of one boy hoisting the other up by the waist to keep him in place, barely able to keep standing steadily given all the wiggling and kicking. Somehow, when Wen Ruohan had heard about Lan Qiren’s two nephews that he had personally raised, it had never occurred to him that the man might have raised one normal child and one absolute hellion.

“Wangji, behave,” Lan Xichen said, and put his brother down. “You won’t get anywhere with Sect Leader Wen by trying to bite him. He’s a very reasonable person. I’m sure he doesn’t want us to cause a fuss, because then people might come here and think he was the one who brought us here.”

Make that two absolute hellions.

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows arched involuntarily. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” he asked, deeply amused. And also pleased that he’d bothered to take the time to set up the privacy talisman earlier, because Lan Xichen wasn’t wrong. “I’m certain that’s against your sect rules, little Lan.”

Lan Xichen looked up at him with a set face, stubborn determination in every line of him. “Is that so, Sect Leader Wen? Which one? Please educate this junior.”

Lan Qiren had raised these children?

On second thought, of course he had. Who else could take something so fundamentally uninteresting as children, who were boring, needy, and unpleasant until they’d at least completed adolescence, and create such a fascinatingly unpredictable mix of contrasts, cloaked in seemingly implacable Lan sect righteousness?

And if he could do that with his own children…really, Wen Ruohan had already been eager enough to see Lan Qiren teaching when his sole interest had been in hearing Lan Qiren dominate a classroom, but now he was really crawling out of his skin with anticipation. Perhaps he would even send his own sons to him to see if maybe Lan Qiren could somehow salvage the wrecks their insipid personalities and mothers had made of them – after all, they were Wen, and thus deserved the best. And everyone agreed that Lan Qiren was the best.

“My sect also has a list of sayings by which we are to abide,” he said instead. “All left behind by the founder, my ancestor. Do you know which one applies in this situation?”

They both looked uncertain.

“Neither do I. Because under my rule, they have become obsolete.” Wen Ruohan’s lips curled back into a sneer. “I would recommend against underestimating me.”

The intimidation worked beautifully against Lan Xichen, just as intended: the boy paled and looked as though he were reviewing everything he must have heard about Wen Ruohan in his mind all at once, and pairing that with the fact that Wen Ruohan had his beloved uncle within his grasp.

Lan Wangji, in contrast, scrunched up his face angrily, shouted “Arrogance is forbidden!” and smacked Wen Ruohan right in the knee with his little fist.

And then he burst into tears.

“Oh no,” Lan Xichen said, clearly horrified. He tried to reach out to grab his brother once more, only for Lan Wangji to throw himself on the floor and start hitting it with his fists, still sobbing, but with his mouth pursed as if he were trying desperately not to make too much noise during his temper tantrum.

Causing noise is prohibited, if Wen Ruohan had to bet. Those ridiculous Lan sect rules…

He really did look like a little Lan Qiren.

Wen Ruohan crouched down in front of Lan Wangji, wondering briefly if he should restrain him the way he had ultimately restrained Lan Qiren during his own fit – probably not, since Lan Qiren had commented that in the future he would prefer if Wen Ruohan limited his involvement to merely ensuring that there was nothing breakable in the vicinity and keeping other people away. Likely that was the course of action he would recommend to others as well.

It made Wen Ruohan again wonder if this was what Lan Qiren had looked like as a child, all chubby cheeks, red faced and utterly miserable.

No, he still couldn’t imagine it. Given the poor relationship between Lan Qiren and his brother, which must have started in their childhood, he simply could not imagine Lan Qiren being spoiled and beloved and secure enough in himself to have a fit out in the open in front of strangers. Though perhaps he was being unduly dismissive of Lan Wangji – the boy’s life had been through rather a lot of changes recently, all negative, and he’d already seen the impact of a similar thing on the already adult Lan Qiren. Sometimes meltdowns were simply inevitable.

No matter.

“How often do these fits happen?” he asked Lan Xichen, who was wringing his hands and bouncing up and down on his toes in profound distress.

“More often than they used to,” Lan Xichen replied in what was practically a wail. “He used to have much better self-control. That is, before – before Shufu…Wangji doesn’t like change.”

“Mm. Neither does your uncle.”

Lan Xichen glanced at him sidelong, gnawing on his lower lip. “Earlier…I heard…is my Shufu really your wife?”

“I’m his,” Wen Ruohan corrected, then grinned at the sweet memory of the disaster Lan Qiren had caused earlier by publicly calling him his wife. The cultivation world was never going to get over that one. “Tell me, what was your plan, hiding yourselves here? Why didn’t you try to go find your uncle straight away?”

“We didn’t know if he was going to be at the conference,” Lan Xichen said, looking abashed. “But he’d certainly be in the Nightless City, wouldn’t he?”

“I see. And when you were found in my possession? What were you planning to do then?”

“We wouldn’t be found!” At Wen Ruohan’s doubtful look, Lan Xichen puffed out his cheeks and pouted. “We wouldn’t. We weren’t found until now, were we?”

That was only because no one had properly looked.

Wen Ruohan decided to refrain from commenting. He could wait until a more appropriate moment to ruin the boy’s illusions – or at least until he managed to figure out what he intended to do with them. As he’d already determined earlier, there was no way he could smuggle them out of the Lotus Pier and to the Nightless City himself. Once the two children’s escapade was discovered, he and Lan Qiren would be immediate targets for suspicion. Their baggage would be searched, their retinue investigated, no stone left unturned. There was a limit to how clever even he could be, trying to hide something away when the focus of the entire cultivation world was on him.

And yet the other option was even less appealing: to bring Lan Qiren so close to the children he so longed to see, and yet not letting them see one another. Or worse, letting them see each other and then sending the boys back to the Cloud Recesses, thereby delivering the most powerful card over Lan Qiren into the hands of their father, Wen Ruohan’s rival in power.

No, that was intolerable. The boys had to come with him.

As for how – well, he’d think of something.

He was Wen Ruohan, after all. He always got what he wanted, eventually.

“Are you done?” he asked Lan Wangji, who seemed to have exhausted himself.

“I want to see Shufu,” Lan Wangji replied. Stubborn brat. “I want to see Shufu right now.”

“That can be arranged,” Wen Ruohan said. Both boys lit up, as he’d expected them to. Children were painfully easy to manipulate. “What will you give me in exchange?”

They both stared at him, clearly wondering if he was being serious.

Naturally he was. He would never have bothered if they were just two ordinary children, of course, but these were Lan Qiren’s children.

“Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others,” Lan Xichen finally said.

Cute.

“Do not be wasteful,” Wen Ruohan replied, fighting down the amused curl of his lips. He’d gotten pretty good at irritating Lan Qiren with his own sect rules, these past few months. A few children would be nothing.

“Do not build wealth using others,” Lan Wangji volunteered.

“…do you even have any wealth?” Wen Ruohan wondered, abruptly distracted, and tried not to laugh when Lan Xichen dug a single piece of silver out of his sleeve to proudly show off to him. His own little Chao-er had a monthly allowance of ten times that amount, but then again the Wen sect wasn’t nearly as fond of frugality as the Lan. “Don’t be unreasonable. How about a favor? One each.”

“A…favor?”

“Why not? I’m doing you a favor by bringing you to your shufu, aren’t I? Propriety suggests reciprocity.”

The boys looked at each other, clearly wary and searching for a trap, or at least a way out of the one they were in. That alone made them smarter than any number of sect leaders Wen Ruohan had to deal with on a regular basis, many of whom were blindly self-confident even when knowing the caliber of their enemy. In fact, even Lao Nie would generally agree to just about anything rather than owe Wen Ruohan an open-ended favor without limitation – he knew, as all smart people knew, that Wen Ruohan always remembered what he was owed, and that he was more than willing to wait for just the right moment to call it out, even if it took decades.

He had the time.

But in the end, wary as they might be, these were still only children.

“All right,” Lan Xichen finally said, clearly unable to think of another solution that would satisfy the situation and reluctantly accepting it. “One favor each. But nothing bad!”

Wen Ruohan thought about it, then inclined his head in agreement. Vagueness in a contract was beneficial to both sides, and he could go quite far with the wiggle room ‘nothing bad’ offered him.

Lan Xichen looked relieved. For his part, Lan Wangji looked between the two of them and nodded firmly, signaling his own consent to the arrangement. And then, having apparently decided that Wen Ruohan now qualified as a good adult, he held up his arms and said “Up!” to Wen Ruohan in an imperious tone.

“Not a chance,” Wen Ruohan informed him. These two children might be more tolerable than most, but he wasn’t about to start indulging them. “You have two legs, you can walk. Or ask your brother, if your fit earlier has truly incapacitated you.”

He waved away the privacy barrier and began walking back to the rooms he had been assigned, weaving his way through the many bridges and floating platforms of the Lotus Pier. Presumably Lan Qiren would be back from the ducks by now – though Wen Ruohan supposed he was the one who’d ended up being trailed by ducklings.

He found that he was looking forward to presenting his newest prizes to Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren’s reaction would be amazing. The other man would undoubtedly be quick to realize the same issues with their presence and disposition as Wen Ruohan had, of course, but he was still a Lan; he would be emotional first, rational second. Seeing his nephews for the first time in months would snap that reserve of his in two like a twig, and Wen Ruohan wouldn’t have to suffer that dull-as-dishwater self-effacing persona that Lan Qiren had adopted as soon as they were in public.

Truly, it had been more irritating than Wen Ruohan had realized it would be, seeing Lan Qiren forcefully stuff all of the interesting things about him – his sharp insight, his fiery temper, his well-concealed ruthlessness – back into the perfect model of the navel-gazing scholar, untouched by mortal filth. That might be appropriate for the Lan sect, but Lan Qiren wasn’t here to represent them. He was here for Qishan Wen, as he himself had admitted. Admitted repeatedly, and in public.

The Wen sect did not hide their talents. They didn’t hide that they were better than everyone else.

It was more than that, though. Lan Qiren’s behavior made it painfully clear that he had been brought up to be a proper second son, always staying one step behind and ready to offer support without eclipsing the first son, not as beloved as his brother and excruciatingly aware of it. Given that he was so obviously superior to his brother in every respect, it grated on Wen Ruohan’s nerves to see him act like that.

But all that was in the past, now. He was better than that now.

Husband or not, Lan Qiren was Madam Wen now. He ought to act like it.

Perhaps Wen Ruohan would suggest that Lan Qiren learn a little from Lan Wangji. Now there was a younger son the way a younger son ought to be: deeply beloved and spoiled rotten, utterly certain that he deserved everything good in the world because his family had always strived to give it to him. He certainly didn’t seem to have any trouble being appropriately demanding, assuming other people’s acquiescence to his will as if it were inevitable.

Yes, this was going to be a great deal of fun. Lan Qiren would have his moment with his nephews, emotional as it would undoubtedly be, and then he would master himself and return to Wen Ruohan’s side so that they could plan out how to manage the fall-out when the boys were inevitably discovered.

Really, it was such a pleasure to have someone smart enough to actually keep up with him.

It was a painful rarity, especially when coupled with loyalty or straightforwardness. Most of the people who were actually smart enough to anticipate Wen Ruohan’s plans were too greedy or presumptuous to be tolerated, and the ones who were matchlessly loyal tended to be too stupid to talk to. Wen Ruohan trusted no one, of course, but doubting Lan Qiren was practically pointless, an exercise in futility…

A small hand tugged at his sleeve.

Wen Ruohan looked down.

“Don’t we need to hide?” Lan Xichen whispered loudly to him. “Anyone could see us!”

“Don’t be absurd,” Wen Ruohan said, shaking him loose. “I would be able to tell if anyone were coming long before they got anywhere near.”

“And then we’d hide?” Lan Xichen asked.

“No,” Lan Wangji replied before Wen Ruohan could say anything. “He’d kill them for seeing us.”

“Wangji. Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t!”

“The rule against killing is only in the Cloud Recesses. So why not?”

“Because it would still be wrong! Also, he wouldn’t be able to get away with it. Not in the middle of a discussion conference.”

Sad but true.

Wen Ruohan wondered if Lan Qiren had deliberately trained Lan Xichen to be more practical, a necessity in a sect leader, while Lan Wangji, as a younger son, had the luxury of being intransigent, or if the two boys’ characters had simply ended up that way by chance.

He really would need to give Lan Qiren a chance to make something out of his Xu-er and Chao-er. They weren’t bad boys, as far as Wen Ruohan could tell, and naturally, as his sons, he was proud of them, but just as obviously he wanted them to be outstanding adults, befitting the dignity of his bloodline. And even he could tell that the present difference between his Chao-er and Lan Xichen, or even Lan Wangji, was quite wide…

“He’d probably just hit them really hard on the head instead,” Lan Xichen concluded. “At most.”

“Mm. That would work.”

Very cute.

There was no point in telling the boys that Wen Ruohan was both so powerful that he could easily sense and avoid anyone coming their way and also a master of arrays, including those that were more than capable of hiding two children. It would be much funnier if he told Lan Qiren later about how they had plotted for him to incapacitate any enemy that came across their path. Lan Qiren would make such a face…

Ah, and just as he thought of him, Wen Ruohan turned a corner and there was the man himself, standing right outside the entrance to their rooms. He was unmistakable in his white-and-red robes and Lan sect forehead ribbon, his back straight and his face turned away from where Wen Ruohan was standing.

He was not alone.

He was talking with a woman – or perhaps more accurately, a woman was talking to him. She was tall for a woman, dressed in clothing of a rogue cultivator with no clan insignia, though there was a horsetail whip tucked into her belt alongside her sword. She moved one of her hands as she spoke, almost as though she were signing what she was saying.

The nails of the hand she was waving around were lacquered a very dark red, and very sharp. Not just the ones for playing guqin, either, but all five. Her other hand –

Her other hand was wrapped around Lan Qiren’s wrist.

And Lan Qiren was letting her.

Wen Ruohan stopped, knowing that the two boys were too small to see as far as he did, and glanced around – ah, there was another set of rooms here. Probably one of his subordinate sects, since no one else would agree to be placed so close to his Qishan Wen. The entryway was locked, but he forced it easily with a palm and held it open for the children.

“Your uncle is not far,” he told them, observing the way their faces both took on a hungry cast, as if they could think of nothing that they longed for more than the sight of Lan Qiren. “But he is not alone. Wait here until you hear me call.”

They went in obediently, although Lan Wangji had to put his clenched fist to his mouth and bite it in order to motivate himself to do so – he clearly wanted more than anything to run straight to his beloved uncle, as if simply being in his presence would cure all previous ills.

Ah, the stupidity of youth. Was I ever that young?

Perhaps once. He’d learned better quickly enough – betrayal had a way of doing that.

He didn’t bother applying another privacy talisman, knowing that the flare of spiritual energy would be enough to draw the attention of other cultivators, particularly one as sharp as Lan Qiren. The children would be fine without it, and if they weren’t…well, that wasn’t really his concern, in the end. What did he care?

They were just Lan Qiren’s nephews, not his.

Moreover, Wen Ruohan wanted to maintain the element of surprise. He wanted to see Lan Qiren’s face when he tried to explain what exactly he was doing, as if he’d completely forgotten that he’d written Do not give your wife reason to doubt your fidelity with his own hand on his own list of personal rules on how to be a good and worthy husband. Rules he was meant to follow.

Had that one been included as a trick? It only said “do not give reason to doubt” – could that be the loophole, that it focused more on Wen Ruohan’s doubt than Lan Qiren’s own fidelity…?

“I am fairly certain that cannot be accurate,” Lan Qiren was saying as Wen Ruohan stalked closer. He sounded somewhere between appalled and resigned, as far as Wen Ruohan could tell; it was sometimes difficult to determine given his general inclination towards monotone. “Why in the world – no, on second thought, please do not explain. I have no desire to hear any more.”

“Don’t give up on learning,” the woman said, her voice surprisingly deep, lively and cheerful. Was this the type Lan Qiren liked? She had a certain wild beauty about her, barely tamed, and even her hair was set in something that was neither the style of a maiden nor that of a married woman, more like that of a man at leisure. She was powerful, much more so than he would have expected of a woman her age. Nowhere near Wen Ruohan’s own strength, but he supposed that meant that at least Lan Qiren’s taste in partners had that much in common. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your family rules so quickly after marriage. Your memory isn’t supposed to be one of the things you give up when you make your marriage vows – you should pick something less necessary. Like freedom, or blood.”

Wen Ruohan paused. What?

“I…do not think you are supposed to give up your blood,” Lan Qiren said slowly, although he was oddly hesitant. Possibly he was simply wary of upsetting an obviously crazy person. “Or that such a thing is – possible.”

“You’ve been talking with the wrong people, then,” the woman said, brisk but cheerful. “Or thinking too narrowly, which you have a bad tendency to do. You and all the other Lan, always thinking straight! You should look around more – to look down more. Being in the Wen sect will be good for you. It’ll broaden your horizons.”

Then she giggled.

“Get it?” she said. “Horizons?”

Lan Qiren was visibly staring at her. Maybe she really was crazy. Maybe she’d been the one to grab onto him, and he’d only refused to shake her off because he feared what she might do.

“…no,” he said. “I do not ‘get it’. At all.”

“I think it’s especially apt now that you’re married! If there’s one thing I’ve found about getting married, it’s that it means you spend a lot more time being horizontal – ”

“Cangse Sanren!” Lan Qiren shouted, having clearly ‘gotten it’ this time.

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows arched up immediately. He knew that name: Cangse Sanren was the immortal Baoshan Sanren’s disciple, who had descended from the celestial mountain. It would certainly explain how powerful she was, the spiritual energy coiled within her and glowing with strength.

Wen Ruohan had seen her once before, shortly after her descent from the immortal’s mountain. He’d been as curious as the rest of them, possibly more so given his own personal quest for immortality, but he hadn’t managed to make many inroads – she’d been quite fiercely protected by Jiang Fengmian at the time, the young man nominating himself to act as her escort and guardian as she traveled through the cultivation world to visit various sects. He’d been right to be so protective, of course, since at the time, it seemed as though half the world had been in love with her. It was no wonder Wen Ruohan hadn’t recognized her; it had been quite a few years since then, and she was no longer the young girl she had once been. He’d heard that she’d become a rogue cultivator after marrying Jiang Fengmian’s servant rather than the man himself – perhaps that was why she was here to visit him during the discussion conference, when the publicity would help quell the inevitability of gossip, rather than in private.

If Wen Ruohan recalled correctly, Lan Qiren had been acquainted with her back in their youth as well; they were of an age with each other, and would have been peers. She had spent a summer in the Cloud Recesses. In fact, from what Wen Ruohan had heard, while Lan Qiren had not been one of the many suitors that had proposed marriage to her, he was said to have liked her a great deal…

Wen Ruohan’s anger, which had been temporarily dampened by confusion, rekindled.

“I suspect the joke may relate to me,” he said as he came up to them, voice intentionally chilly, reflecting his displeasure. Oddly enough, Lan Qiren didn’t jump or try to hide away from him, which meant that he was either a better actor than Wen Ruohan had assumed or perhaps that he genuinely possessed no feelings of guilt. “The midday sun faces no horizon and looks down upon all the earth.”

“That’s the one,” Cangse Sanren said agreeably. She didn’t seem bothered by his presence either, and rudely pointed to him with those sharp red nails of hers – though interestingly now that he was close by, he couldn’t smell any lacquer or powdered herbs on them. Surely they weren’t that color naturally…? “That’s the joke. But also the Wen sect are all a bunch of arrogant – ”

“Cangse Sanren,” Lan Qiren hissed. “Do not use vulgar language!”

“I was going to say surgeons!” Cangse Sanren turned to look at Wen Ruohan, fixing him with an unexpected glare. “You’ve got medical skills, don’t you? You took long enough to get here. Fix him.”

She nodded at Lan Qiren.

Wen Ruohan frowned and turned to follow her gaze to Lan Qiren – who looked awful, now that he was actually looking at him. His lips were thin, pressed tight from tension, and all the skin of his face unusually pale, his lips unusually red. There was a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth that hadn’t been wiped off properly, and a matching stain on his sleeve.

He’d been coughing up blood.

“Didn’t you go to feed ducks?” Wen Ruohan asked, the chill that had filled him abruptly melting away in the heat of his irritation. He grabbed Lan Qiren’s other wrist to check his pulse – weak, miserable, distressed – and immediately started transferring over spiritual energy to stabilize him. As Cangse Sanren had been doing through his other wrist, he could now see. “How did you manage to get into a state like this? Did a particularly violent goose break one of your sect rules?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lan Qiren said, equally irritated. Wen Ruohan was pleased to note that he immediately shook off Cangse Sanren’s hand as soon as he was in possession of superior assistance. “It seems that I am too regular with my habits. My brother was waiting for me there.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes narrowed.

He’d known, of course, that Qingheng-jun wouldn’t take well to seeing Lan Qiren well and whole and intact – that had been part of the fun he’d been expected – but he hadn’t anticipated that the man would actually take action against Lan Qiren. He knew he hated him, of course, he’d based his entire strategy in making the marriage offer to Qingheng-jun on that fact. But even putting aside the taboo of injuring your own blood kin, surely the man didn’t hate his own brother enough to waste the benefits he’d managed to use Lan Qiren to obtain for his sect, and certainly particularly not before he’d actually had the chance to seize them…? After all, Qingheng-jun was a sect leader, however long he had lapsed in the position, and for a sect leader, the sect always came first.

But if, despite all that, Qingheng-jun had still raised his hand against someone wearing Wen Ruohan's colors –

"He didn't do anything to me," Lan Qiren added sourly, presumably picking up on Wen Ruohan's murderous expression. "I did it to myself."

"To yourself?" Cangse Sanren echoed. She sounded suitably skeptical. "How, exactly? Walked into a post hard enough to cause internal injuries, did you?"

"I really did walk into a post that time," Lan Qiren informed her, confirming Wen Ruohan’s sudden seething suspicion that it had been a reference to some shared past event. "But no. Nothing so crude. He baited me with words, not even objectionable words, and I fell for it. I allowed him to get to me to such a point that I grew unbearably angry – to the point that I nearly died of rage like…like some sort of Nie!"

Wen Ruohan choked. That might be the rudest thing he’d ever heard Lan Qiren say, scornful and definitely violating the rules against sneering and contempt.

(Wen Ruohan was such a bad influence on Lan Qiren. He gloried in it.)

“I don’t think we can go that far,” Cangse Sanren said, unmoved. Presumably she didn’t realize what a momentous event Lan Qiren coming anywhere near the vicinity of a pejorative was. “I’m no doctor, I’ve got no medical skills, but I’m pretty sure your current state can’t be diagnosed as ‘dying’.”

Lan Qiren glanced warily at Wen Ruohan.

“It’s not,” Wen Ruohan confirmed with a scoff. “You’re hardier than you think you are.”

It was that pure and shining golden core of his again, keeping him stable and helping him swiftly recover his equilibrium. Absent some truly tremendous trauma, some deeply intimate betrayal, Lan Qiren would be a hard man to break.

“See?” Cangse Sanren said haughtily. “Nothing but exaggeration. You’re worse than my son, and he’ll complain just to hear the sound of his own voice.”

“I recall hearing that you have a son,” Lan Qiren said. “Around the same age as my younger nephew, I believe? I never had the chance to offer you and Wei Changze my congratulations.”

Wen Ruohan glanced at him, wondering if that was sarcasm or jealousy, but he seemed genuine.

“My news is old news,” Cangse Sanren said dismissively, waving a hand. “Yours, on the other hand, is far more interesting. Why are you wearing Qishan Wen’s suns?”

“Yes, Lan Qiren,” Wen Ruohan drawled. “Why don’t you introduce us?”

Lan Qiren blanched, clearly realizing how rude he’d been. For her part, Cangse Sanren laughed at him and made a gesture that appeared to be mimicking stroking a fake beard, intoning, “No improper behavior” in a deliberately exaggerated manner.

“Sect Leader Wen, Cangse Sanren, disciple of the immortal Baoshan Sanren,” Lan Qiren said stiffly, not paying her any attention. It was near enough to his usual behavior that it was hard to tell whether he felt anything more for her than others, but then it would, wouldn’t it? “Cangse Sanren, Qishan Wen sect’s Sect Leader Wen, Wen Ruohan. We were married a few months ago.”

“You got married? To him?” Cangse Sanren grinned widely, showing off some rather sharp tiger teeth. “Wow, Qiren-gege, who would’ve thought you’d like – ”

“If you insult my wife, this conversation is over,” Lan Qiren snapped, causing both Cangse Sanren and Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows to jump up in surprise.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said primly, obviously lying, but then she smirked. “Is that why you were asking about a wife’s duties?”

“No!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, abruptly flushing red. That was good, it meant he had enough blood to spare for his face now. “I was merely – a suggestion had been raised earlier, and I found myself unprepared – I mean, I know they manage the household, but – and – I was only making conversation! And it’s not as if you had anything useful to say, anyway!”

Wen Ruohan felt his lips twisting involuntarily up in amusement as Cangse Sanren outright guffawed.

“Of course what I said wasn’t useful,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You were coughing up blood. I would have said anything that kept you talking, or else otherwise I’d be worried that you’d faint.”

Lan Qiren spluttered, but Wen Ruohan was already nodding in approval. Judging the moment right, given Lan Qiren’s improved appearance, he took the opportunity to stop transferring energy, though he kept his fingers curled loosely around Lan Qiren’s wrist.

Perhaps he really had misjudged the situation between the two of them, he reflected, his mood vastly improved for whatever reason. Lan Qiren was precisely the sort of tactless person that would on first meeting ask an old acquaintance for advice on his personal life, provided that he perceived them to be a potential expert on the subject, and for her part Cangse Sanren seemed a practical sort of person, familiar enough with basic first aid to realize that the damage would have been worse if Lan Qiren had lost consciousness or kept stewing.

“What did your brother say to you to get such a result?” he asked. Not that he couldn’t guess, but he wanted to see a little of the rage that Qingheng-jun had inspired.

Sure enough, Lan Qiren’s face soured, his lips pressing together once more and his eyes narrowing. “Nothing that anyone could object to,” he said. “He updated me about – about my nephews.”

Wen Ruohan nodded, feeling his own smirk start to grow. He noticed Cangse Sanren’s eyes flickering between them, frowning, but he ignored her. This was going to be fun.

“There is no point in dwelling on it,” Lan Qiren said, clearly trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “There is nothing I can do about it, far away as I now am. And after all, they are his sons.”

The way he said it sounded not unlike a man stabbing a knife repeatedly into his own chest.

“On that subject,” Wen Ruohan began, figuring now would be the best time to strike, “regarding your nephews – ”

Sadly, he never had the chance to finish his sentence: it seemed that he had delayed too long, outlasting childish patience. A small quavering voice interrupted him, shouting, “Shufu!”

Lan Qiren nearly jumped out of his own skin, then twisted around, gaping as two small bundles of white hurried down the floating walkway towards him. “Wangji…? Wangji! Xichen!”

He fell to his knees with an almost audible crack, holding out his arms, and the two boys rushed into them, both children sobbing so hard that they seemed scarcely able to breathe, let alone talk.

Emotional, just as Wen Ruohan predicted.

It was a pity that they’d come out so early, Wen Ruohan thought to himself, since he probably could have extracted some fun concessions from Lan Qiren before revealing them. Still, he didn’t mind it as much as he might have otherwise. Lan Qiren would know that it was his doing regardless, and he would find a way to make it up to him. He was good for that, dependable.

“You seem improved from when I last laid eyes on you, Sect Leader Wen,” Cangse Sanren commented, crossing to his side of the walkway and idly pulling herself up to perch on the railing like some sort of monkey or bird. “Less maliciously destructive, which I assume means less bored. Could it be that married life suits you?”

“My wives would likely dispute that claim,” Wen Ruohan said dryly. “At present I have two which preceded him, and neither reported any such improvement.”

“Ah, but now you have Lan Qiren. That’s different!” She grinned and tapped the side of her nose knowingly. “They say one mountain can’t hold two tigers, but that doesn’t apply if they’re one family. Put a tiger in a cage with nothing to do, they’ll destroy everything and then themselves…sometimes you need two.”

Wen Ruohan shrugged, not disagreeing. Lan Qiren was certainly far more tiger than either of his wives had ever been – and he himself was indeed a great deal less bored.

“It’s good, though,” Cangse Sanren chattered. “I haven’t spent any serious time with Lan Qiren since I was sixteen, and I’ve been meaning to make that up…anyway, it means I can stop avoiding the Nightless City, and just in time. I was going to go over to Xixiang to check out the rumors about that old mine, but after that, my little A-Ying has been begging me to take him somewhere new.”

“Naturally he has, if he hasn’t been to my Nightless City,” Wen Ruohan said, practically on automatic. “You will find nowhere finer in the cultivation world…”

He paused, the idea coming to him in a beautiful burst of light. No one ever paid attention to rogue cultivators, who came and went wherever they willed – and Baoshan Sanren’s wild disciple more than most.

“Cangse Sanren,” he said, and she turned to look at him, a questioning expression on her face. “Your son is about the same age as Lan Qiren’s youngest nephew, is he not?”

At her nod, he smiled with teeth.

“I think it is an excellent idea for you to bring him to visit my Nightless City once you are done with your next night-hunt,” he said. “And, perhaps, you could see your way to also bringing along a few small traveling companions…?”

Cangse Sanren’s eyes followed Wen Ruohan’s to look at the two young Lan boys, talking excitedly with Lan Qiren, all three of them smiling with faces wet with tears.

Her answering smile had just as many teeth as his.

[laurestcphens]

location: westriver gardens time: saturday night, post-masquerade

The week since the masquerade had been largely uneventful in her eyes. It seemed that most of the inhabitants in the city decided to remain quiet in its wake, though she imagined it wouldn't be long before something came along to rock the boat once more. But until then, Laure continued to place down the foundation for her plans.

The masquerade had given her plenty to think about, chief among them what she planned to do with Aria. Laure sees now that she had only been delaying the inevitable. In her delusion, she had wanted the girl to be someone she wasn't, and she's since realized that fate brought Aria to her not as a replacement, but as a vessel. Desmona confirmed that it was possible, even if difficult, and she had told the witch to begin preparing.

But that would take time. Laure has waited three years, she supposed she can wait a few more weeks if she must. She hasn't spoken with either Aria or Morgan since the night of the masquerade, fairly certain that neither of them are particularly happy with her at the moment. If she were capable of feeling regret, she might have tried to reach out to smooth things over, at least with Morgan. But obsession has taken over once more, thinking about how close she is to finally regaining what she has lost.

She leaves Westriver for the first time since the masquerade to hunt, unable to stay cooped up any longer. Laure is restless in a way that she detests, feeling unsettled and not entirely in control. Finding a victim is easy, some sad divorcée who wants to be pampered. Laure pays for their drinks, invites her back to Westriver, and leaves her in the sitting room while she fetches a bottle of wine.

Laure has gotten entirely too used to how quiet the house has become after Kiri's death. Music used to fill their home at all hours of the day, but she rarely has the desire to do so anymore. Instead, she has become familiar with the way the wood creaks in the wind, or the groan of the pipes. She knows what it sounds like when she is the only one in the house, and when she has a visitor.

She also knows what it sounds like when there is an intruder.

The bottle of wine is left forgotten as she speeds down the hallway. Long black hair obscures the attacker's face as it is buried in the human's neck and Laure moves forward without hesitation. One hand wraps around a throat while the other sinks into their chest, fingers wrapping deftly around a heart that no longer beats. Laure's eyes are black as she snarls into their face, unable to fathom that someone would dare to be so bold. In the next moment, she freezes as she stares into the face of her wife, whose eyes and fangs now match her own.

"Oh darling, don't tell me you still haven't taken my name off the title."

Laure is breathless, despite the fact that she has not needed to breathe in over six hundred years. Her knees tremble, threatening to give way, even as her hand is still inside her chest, wrapped around a heart that no longer beats.

"Kiri?"

[yamperzzz]

About your bandit trio...

I'd love to hear more if you have any or want to! I love madcom aus and ocs so much, they are the coolest.

Thanks! <333

Sorry for the late response!! I saw this late the other night but I was already tired and now I'm writing this later LOL

SO! I'm glad you asked! I'm a bit of a perfectionist so sadly I don't have something I drew that I like enough to show yet, but I can give the current lore summary instead to make up for it!

The Whole Gang

Douglas, Duffus, and Duncan. Much of what they do is really jokey, but in regards to the entire AU, it isn't supposed to overshadow the overarching theme of the story. It follows these bandits in their struggle for survival as they become pawns for a bigger story behind the scenes, their lives rewritten and their fate manipulated on the fly by an outside power.

Douglas

The eldest and shortest of the group, Douglas used to be much like the average cannibalistic and violent bandit living in the Outskirts -- that was, until, he met Duffus. Since then, Douglas changed his lifestyle drastically, retiring to a more peaceful way of life with Duffus in the Hovel far from where many other bandits live. He's still rather eccentric, but he's grown much more friendly and even dropped his cannibalistic diet to make Duffus happy. He trusts Duffus with his life and quite literally has several times before

Douglas often gets ahead of himself and drones on and on when retelling any story on his mind, which usually annoys everyone but Duffus. He gets lost in thought, often relying on Duffus to help him. Despite this, he's still intelligent, as he's able to navigate through tough situations if age or madness doesn't catch him first. He just wants to spend the rest of his life peacefully with his only companion in these wastes, as he's given up on a better future long ago. He's content with what he has.

(a doodle of Douglas and Duffus' current designs)

Duffus

Though Duffus is a G03LM bandit by affiliation, he's not a bandit brute. Unlike them, Duffus has maintained his friendly and polite demeanor even after everything life throws at him. Duffus was a servant in Nexus City before the outbreak, serving as a butler for his abusive masters. As such, zeds were the least of their problems when much of the masters' fleet of G03LMs revolted against them to take advantage of the chaos. Duffus, however, was unable to bring himself to join their revolt, and as such, Duffus was persistently bullied by the G03LM survivors even when years had passed and they had evolved into bandit brutes.

Douglas would find his battered corpse deep in the city during one of his rare supply runs, and he would go on to resuscitate him. Since then, Duffus has become Douglas' shadow, following him wherever he goes and ensuring his safety. Duffus didn't immediately become loyal to him the moment he was brought back from death, rather, their current relationship was a result of years of trust built over time and their strong bond shows it. Duffus doesn't speak often and usually tries to blend in with the background, an unusually stealthy skill he gained over years of solitude. By the time you hear him, it's too late.

Duncan

The newest addition to the bandit group is Duncan, a survivor who spent almost his entire life within the confines of the residential sector. Duncan is taller and much younger than Douglas (though Duffus beats him out on both). Duncan is a motorhead, having spent many years before and after the outbreak obtaining a motorcycle and repairing it with the hope that he could ride out far away one day and get the freedom he so craves. In the present day, he's finally ready to head out, but after an encounter with the MERC on the way out of the city, he escaped with his life at the cost of totally trashing his bike, forcing him to seek refuge with the bandit pair in the Hovel.

Unlike most survivors, who preferred to live up high and away from the dangers below, Duncan spent most of his time down there with the zeds and other threats using his street smarts to make it out alive. His method of survival involves being hard-headed and selfish, threatening and intimidating others to get what he needs, which unfortunately ends up seeping into his relationship with the Hovel bandits he met. They often clash especially since Duncan doesn't want to stay with them longer than he needs to, leading to him often stranding the duo in danger. Still, Duncan is the most experienced in combat of the three, giving the trio a much-needed man skilled with firearms. And, sometimes, just sometimes, he allows himself to be vulnerable and humble for once.

Mr. M

Mr. M is an enigmatic figure who pops up from time to time in their story. He's seemingly nothing more than a sentient zed merchant (though that in itself is still strange), but over time, the bandit trio learns more about the true nature of Mr. M as he's shown to potentially be a higher power of sorts, though his true identity is ambiguous. He starts as a source of rare goodies for the trio so as long as they accept to run his "errands". Eventually, these contracts mutate into something that the trio is unable to decline as they're forced to commit to more dangerous missions and learn more things they were never supposed to know. Mr. M is deeply knowledgeable about the hidden mechanics of Nevada, and he uses that to his advantage as his manipulations of reality begin to upset certain parties...

And yeah, that's it so far! A lot of this is still early in writing and design so don't be surprised if something changes, but this is the gist of it! ^_^