#don’t get me wrong. this is absolutely going to lead me to an early grave

[therealieblog]

Some thoughts on “food addiction”

It is really impossible to talk about food addiction within the structure of diet culture. It would be like talking about sex addiction in a culture where sex is routinely judged as dirty, damaging and wrong. 

Human beings will die without food. Our taste buds and olfactory senses are highly attuned to give us pleasure when eating and to detect problems (rot, poisonous elements) in foods. We, as a species are geared toward wanting to eat, because without eating, we will die. Just as we are geared toward wanting sex (with the exception of many ace people of course) because without sex, as a race, we will all die out. 

Add to this the multi-billion dollar, ubiquitous diet culture that has arisen in the past 50 years or so, and you have a perfect conflict between human survival mechanism and human shame and guilt.

This whole subject is far too fraught to just be written off as “people are addicted to sugar/food.” and I hope to outline some of why that is. 

I used to think of myself as a “food addict”. And the main reason for this was because I found it very difficult to control my consumption of carbohydrates and sugar. And the main reason for this was because I had been put on a strict diet at the age of 15 by my diet-obsessed, bulimic older sister. This, and what I’ll outline below, led me to a life of off-again on-again dieting that threw my relationship to food entirely into a disordered place.

I was also inundated with commercials across all media types promoting thinness as an essential and admirable quality in order for me to be considered a valued, lovable or desirable member of society. Add to that, the concept that I would go to an early grave if I did not stay thin, and well... I developed a bit of a complex around food and eating. 

Every movie star I saw was thin. Every woman considered sexy or attractive in every film and every television show was thin. There were constant comments made by friends, family, the media, school teachers, doctors, and random strangers in restaurants about dieting, thinness, weight loss, health. 

I am completely lost how anyone has a healthy relationship with food when growing up in diet culture. And I was no exception. I struggled with binge eating disorder, (dieting, then binging in an endless cycle) for a good ten to fifeen years of my life, and spent the intervening times just eating until I was absolutely uncomfortably stuffed whenever I ate. 

It wasn’t until I’d suffered to the point where I was sick of it that I started doing some research and found Intuitive Eating. 

Intuitive Eating advocates for changing our attitudes surrounding food and weight and in allowing complete freedom in eating, while listening to the body’s signals, rather than the advice coming from outside of oneself. 

It was revolutionary to me. It also clued me in to the body’s ways of dealing with limited food. Starvation (all diets, and actual starvation due to life circumstances), cause food obsession. Food obsession from food deprivation will cause binging when a person finally has access to food, or allows themselves to eat unrestricted. But the mental bullshit that’s built up around sugar, fat, weight and weight gain in our culture leads us to get involved in cycles of intense deprivation (cutting calories, cutting out carbs, dairy, processed foods etc.) followed by intense overeating (though I hate that term) when we slip and can’t help but try and re-feed ourselves. 

In order to talk about food addiction, we need to talk about it from a place of being aware of diet culture. If we don’t, it really is like talking about sex addiction from within the strict auspices of the catholic church, or in a culture where sex before marriage is strictly forbidden. Or talking about how women and fems are just randomly obsessed with beauty, without looking at the culture that tells women they are worthless if they don’t shave their legs and have perfect hair and makeup. 

How can we discuss the addictive properties of food, when we have such a twisted, guilt-ridden, fraught relationship with food in the first place?

[alexwritesfiction]

you really know how to make me cry (when you give me those ocean eyes)

AO3

johnlock | tw suicide mention, swearing | fluff and angst | a/n: ignore typos pls

the one where lestrade breaks down and tells sherlock about how wrecked john was after sherlock's fake death, and it leads to a very wholesome confrontation.

Prompt: Lestrade has a bit of a break down and starts telling Sherlock about John after the fall; "you weren't here Sherlock! you didn't see him! you weren't the one who got drunk phonecalls in the early hours and you didn't run to the cemetery to see him sitting by your grave with his gun in his mouth!"

---

Lestrade really did work hard. Well, lately he hadn’t had to. Sherlock had come back, after all. And for that exact reason, he’d called his dear friend for a breakfast. That was, if John could handle Sherlock being out of his sight for more than five minutes. Greg could swear he was clingier to Sherlock than to Mary.

And he couldn’t even blame him for it. The dumb fool had given all of them heart attacks when he pulled the big prank. Greg had hated himself for not being able to save Holmes.

As he waited, he looked down at his wrist to check the time on, ironically, the same watch Sherlock had once given him. Or rather, Molly had on Sherlock’s behalf.

“Hello, Graham,” an all-too-familiar voice spoke above him, and he looked up to see Sherlock already sat in front of him. He'd become good at that; sneaking around.

“Before you say anything, let me tell you, I will let you solve cases from now on, but I do need a good murder every now then. Maybe you'll need my help soon enough,” he smiled in that know-all way of him, placing his hand on top of another on the table.

Greg couldn’t help but show his wonder at how Sherlock had known exactly what was going to happen.

“How did you- never mind. I shouldn’t even ask,” he said. If his nervous tics were anything to go by, Sherlock probably had him all figured out.

“Well, now that that’s over, I need your help,” he said, quickly and Lestrade almost fell off his chair at hearing that from him.

“I- you- what?” he asked again, and he could genuinely not comprehend what Sherlock had just said.

“I'm going to, ah, prank John,” he smiled a little wider. “I need you to help me pull it off,” his eyes sparkled and as soon as the words “prank john” had left his mouth, Lestrade had hit his limit.

He was done. He was so done with his friend not understanding just how much he had really affected everyone around him. He knew Sherlock didn’t expect anyone to care if he was there or gone, but people did. Just like that, Lestrade burst.

“Prank? A prank?” he said and Sherlock was taken aback by the belittling way he'd said. Greg stood up, almost spilling his beloved coffee. For once, Sherlock did not know why he was so mad.

“How much more do you want to hurt him? Don’t you think you’ve done enough of that after the big fucking Moriarty prank?” His anger was rising and he willed for himself to calm down, but he couldn’t imagine being so dense after solving so many mysteries.

Sherlock remained seated, a frown pulled upon his cupid’s bow. Why would people be hurt? In his idea of a world without himself, all that would change was that John would marry Mary, Mr. Hudson wouldn’t be annoyed and Lestrade would have more work and Mycroft would be the same. Why would anything change?

“I don’t- Lestrade, it's just a prank. It's quite funny, I imagine,” he tried to get the situation under his control, under his sense. He wasn't used to not knowing what was going on.

Greg started to leave after a moment, grabbing his coffee and his coat and walking away. Sherlock’s voice calling him stopped him in his tracks, and just because he’d uttered his real name, called him Greg for the first time ever. That effectively shattered him and gave him courage to say what he was about to.

“You weren't here Sherlock! You didn't see him! You weren't the one who got drunk phone calls in the early hours and you didn't run to the cemetery to see him sitting by your grave with his gun in his mouth!" he yelled, speeding back to the damned detective still watching him.

His face turned ghostly pale, and he was speechless at the confession. John- his John- had tried to- God, he had tried to not exist anymore. Sherlock’s mind was completely blank and running the fastest it ever had simultaneously.

This time, it was Sherlock’s turn to abruptly stand up and sprint away in the freezing winds, leaving a very unstable Lestrade right at the table, reeling from what had just happened.

On his way back, all Sherlock could think of was a world without John. How could that even be possible? There would be no Sherlock, no Sherlock’s world. Because, as he had come to realize it in his days of living without him, John was quite literally his world.

He could not think of the time before Watson, he could not remember his lifestyle, one without seeing john right after waking up and right before sleeping, and sometimes only staring at him sleep so peacefully. 221B Baker Street came into view rather quickly than Sherlock expected it to, and his feet led him right up to his shared room, ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s calling him.

He found John sitting on a chair, particularly, Sherlock’s chair, wrapped up in Sherlock’s favourite billowy coat. And he looked like he had no worried in his life in that position.

Sherlock almost didn’t wake him, debated ruining his sleep for a mere question. But he needed answers, or he would drive himself crazy with all the scenarios in his head.

“John! Wake up!” he urged, and something in his voice didn’t feel right to a sleeping John because he was up and alarmed in five second flat.

He flicked his head around the room, finally settling his gaze on Sherlock, with his lips pressed into a thin line. John had never seen Sherlock like this, all red nosed and red cheeked and so human. And although one could say that Sherlock Holmes was the most human version of himself around john Watson, it still felt ethereal.

The sunlight fell on John’s face such that he looked like an angel to Sherlock, his anchor to reality. But he would not let himself imagine what it would be like to lose his anchor.

“Was what Lestrade said true?” he spoke carefully, closely inspecting John’s face. He saw John’s face contort in confusion, and shake his head.

“He said, he said he saw you. In the cemetery, with your- your gun, in your mouth,” he spoke so softly that John had to strain his ears to catch onto what he was saying.

And once he did, he was taken back, and it took a full moment for him to process that Sherlock knew. He did not get scared of this, he could not because him finding out seemed like such a small pain as compared to the night he was referring to.

He’d gone insane without Sherlock’s little quips and remarks and him being around all the time and his mere presence came back to bite at him. It was a particularly awful night. He’d fought with Mary, over Sherlock nonetheless, but it had been meaningless as soon as he found himself drunk at his grave. He’d called Lestrade because he needed anything that would make him feel like Sherlock was there. Like he existed.

“I thought you died, Sherlock,” he spoke slowly, Sherlock’s coat still around him. He didn’t dare take it off.

“John,” he uttered and then he was right there striding towards his freaking other half. He didn’t know what fuelled it but right then he had a burning need to hold john, to feel him close, for him to be his anchor through whatever whirlwind of emotions he was going through.

John hugged him back just tight, as hard as he could, because god if he hadn’t dreamed of this since the very first time they giggled together at a crime scene. He didn’t know if this chance would come again and he was not going to let it go now that it was here.

“I didn’t know that you cared,” Sherlock said then, and he was terrified of the wet feeling on his cheeks that completely broke john’s heart. John hastily wiped them away because absolutely could not stand the sight of Sherlock being so vulnerable.

Mary’s words came back to him: “You care about him, John, more than me or yourself, and enough that you’re willing to ruin yourself over him.” He realized how wrong she was that night. Sherlock was not the reason John was sad sad, it was his absence. As much as he had hated admitting it to himself, Sherlock was his anchor to reality, too.

The two men stood sharing a moment there, neither of them needing to say anything. But then john recalled Sherlock’s previous words, about not knowing that john cared about him. He wanted to tell him he cared about him, that he could not go a day without seeing him.

But that was exactly was Sherlock was scared of. So, he said the only thing that fit perfectly:

“Elementary, my dear Holmes.”

-

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moots: @sherlockisactuallyagaysname u might like this? 

[aminiatureworld]

Wings

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,523

Warnings: Slight depictions of violence

Premise: In which the reader has wings

Author’s Note: It’s been a while! Hopefully I’m not too rusty, although I can’t account for how late(/early) this is being posted. I’m going to bed.

Xiao

Even from the beginning Xiao had been enthralled with your wings.

They were larger than that of any bird or creature that Xiao had ever seen before, stretching far beyond your arms when they were unfolded, before bending to cover you in a cloak of downy feathers the color of warm soil, shot through with the occasional birch colored feather.

He’d decided to appear in front of you almost the moment he saw you in the distance, at first wondering if you might be an adepti or a god from one of the other lands in Teyvat. Although the look of surprise that crossed your face when he shed his invisibility before you quickly robbed him of that conviction. It was too late to go back at that point though, so Xiao begrudgingly let out his question.

“Who are you?”

Your smile was an odd one; it seemed to convey to Xiao that you didn’t have the answer to his question at all. Nevertheless you answered. You were a half-adepti, and as of such you had been born with wings. When pressed upon your adeptus side you merely shook your head. Both of your parents hadn’t stuck around that much, and you knew little of your heritage, or of the beings who walked the land who weren’t Morax.

Xiao had stared at you then, disbelief mixing with a vague sense of pity. What must it be like to be unable to recognize an adeptus despite being one yourself. It seemed ludicrous, but Xiao couldn’t find it in himself to disdain your state. Pausing then he decided upon what immediately after seemed a very foolish decision.

“Call for me if you are in need. I’m called Xiao.”

He didn’t bother waiting for your response before disappearing, unwilling to let his emotions be known.

 The next time he saw you was in the sky. The yaksha certainly hadn’t expected such a thing, and while the initial shock was certainly something, it was almost immediately replaced with a strange appreciation. Though Xiao had seen that the vision you wielded was a Geo one, he almost immediately began to associate you with his own element, with the winds that carried you where you wished to go. Any clumsiness or human fault in your step was almost immediately shed, for how could one be anything but graceful in the air, no matter how they dipped or shook or stopped suddenly. If Xiao was honest with himself, he was utterly enthralled.

Eventually you seemed to grow tired and soon you grew closer. Shifting slightly Xiao backed up as you landed on a branch next to the roof, face flushed with exercise and happiness. Spotting Xiao you smiled brightly.

“It’s a beautiful place to fly here.”

Seemingly unfazed by the lack of conversation on Xiao’s part you sighed, leaning against the branch and staring into the sky. Murmuring something to yourself you seemed so utterly content. A begrudging curiosity swept over Xiao as he found himself responding to your words.

“Really?”

“Oh yes!” You immediately replied, face brightening. “It’s much nicer here than where I came from.”

“Where?” Xiao found himself once more asking.

“Oh this small village on the outskirts of Liyue, near the Chasm a bit. It’s a poor mining town, always covered in soot and coal dust. It’s very difficult to keep things clean there let me tell you; and the people don’t really like things that stand out. I haven’t flown in a while actually, since everyone was so hostile when I did. Now that I’m here I think, I hope, that I can do what they want.”

“You can.”

“I’m so glad to hear,” you smiled once more. “I wasn’t really sure what it would be like here. I’ve mostly stayed in the village, but people seemed more hostile than usual so I figured it’d be better to leave now before I ended up on the wrong side of a pitchfork or a shovel.”

“Humans are so foolish.”

“Maybe you’re right. Still, I’m here now and who knows! Maybe things will turn out well.”

With that you clambered off the roof and walked into the Inn proper, leaving Xiao a swirl of questions and surprisingly burning emotions.

 After this you seemed to have gotten it into your head that Xiao was now primed to be your general confidante. Though this initially ruffled the adeptus, he didn’t truly feel like dissuading you, and by the time he’d gotten over the initial shock of your conversation he decided that your voice was surprisingly nice to listen to, and thus settled quietly enough into his new and strange roll of sympathetic ear.

“I registered for the Guild today,” you were saying today, voice bright with excitement. “It’s funny the lady at the stand, Ms. Katheryne? She didn’t even bat an eye at me! I was sure that I was going to get some questions, but besides the stares nothing happened. I’m supposed to start tomorrow. I have to make sure some supplies get to the quarry. Hopefully I won’t run into anyone there.”

“They will leave you alone. The Guild I’ve heard is a powerful force in Liyue.”

“I hope so! I don’t want my first commission to go wrong. I never thought about what I’d do in my life, beyond the usual village work. It’s exciting to have something new out in front of me.”

Xiao thought that was unbearably peppy of you, but he said nothing. Surprisingly he found himself also wishing that you’d do well.

 Xiao wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, following your commission on wind currents. It was none of his business how things went today, after all what did he care about the affairs of humans, even those who were half adeptus? Still he found himself following you, cursing himself all the while for doing something so stupid.

The usual unshakeable happiness that you seemed to exude seemed to disappear almost the moment you left the Inn, instead replaced with a face grim and jumpy with anticipation. A few times you even turned back, studying the Inn or the sky around it. Sometimes your gaze even seemed to pierce through Xiao, something the adeptus found slightly unnerving. Nevertheless he followed as you continued on your journey, all the while wondering what could cause such a massive shift in your demeanor.

If Xiao had any questions about the extent of the reality of your words they were quickly answered. The atmosphere of the quarry was absolutely suffocating, and you could’ve cut the tension with a blade as you slowly approached the drop off.

The foreman said nothing to you, merely glaring as he approached the balloon that you were accompanying. Scouring the barrels and boxes his scowl deepened and deepened. Turning around abruptly he disappeared into his hut for a moment before coming back out. Gesturing towards to open quarry he glared at you.

“There.”

“Thank you,” you replied, voice suddenly small. “Uhm, where exactly should I put this?”

“You lived with us for how many years and couldn’t be bother to retain a shred of information?” The foreman swore under his breath. “Damned half-creatures like you. Put it in Section 4. Tell the Guild master that I never want to see your face here again.”

You said nothing to that in response, merely continuing on your way. Though Xiao couldn’t help but notice how white the knuckles were on the rope you were using to lead the balloon with.

The hostility didn’t ease up when you walked in. Instead things seemed to grow worse, as men and women stared at you with open disdain. The occasional insult could be heard, but for the most part it was deadly quiet, and your steps seemed shorter and shorter as you approached your given destination. At first Xiao was trying to convince himself that such a spectacle didn’t affect him. After all, what did he care for the strange whims and fears of humans. None of this had anything to do with his contract, and he was under no obligation to help you in such an instance. These thoughts were chipping away however, and before Xiao was entirely aware of what he was doing he found himself lowering himself on the ground.

A chorus of gasps rose up as he emerged from the invisible winds that cloaked him. Standing in front of you Xiao nevertheless didn’t catch your eye, instead focusing his glare on the people around him. At first you stopped, taken aback as well it seemed by his sudden appearance. Almost immediately however your posture seemed to relax slightly, and your pace seemed to go back to normal as you walked towards him, continuing on as he followed you to your destination.

Everything else was done in deadly silence, as you got the paperwork you needed and headed out of the quarry. Xiao said nothing the whole time, merely following a few steps behind you. He half expected you to start chattering again the moment the foreman’s hut exited the field of view, but instead you remained quiet. Still you seemed much less grave than in the morning and though Xiao couldn’t explain why this somehow reassured him. Walking next to you now he found his hand drifting towards you, as if the two were being drawn together by magnets. When your hands finally connected Xiao couldn’t help but think how warm yours were.

 After that a ritual of commission sharing seemed to inexplicably pop up, though how exactly Xiao wasn’t really sure of. At first it had been to make sure there was no repeat performance of the first day, but then it quickly developed into something else, although what that something was Xiao didn’t really know. All he knew was that every morning when you went to leave he’d find himself next to you, frowning grumpily, muttering about how this wasn’t his duty. You were usually groggy in the mornings, but always managed to give his hand a squeeze before embarking.

If Xiao had subconsciously assumed that the mining incident was a standalone thing he was quickly robbed of that conviction. At first it seemed as if everyone was out for you, though in general the reason seemed to be less your status as half illuminated beast and more due to the figure you cut soaring against the sky, wings obviously too big to be a glider. Everyone seemed to be after you. Treasure Hoarders and Fatui Agents would try to shoot at you, though often you were much too high for their weapons; bandits would ambush you, aiming for your feathers as they attacked; even geovishaps and other such creatures seemed weirdly obsessed with going after you.

Though Xiao had told you more than once that it would be faster if you let him dispatch the monsters and knock out the hunters you always forbid him from doing so. It was your work after all, and if you couldn’t do it yourself then you might as well resign. Xiao usually responded to this with grumblings, but he had to admit that a part of him admired your tenacity.

Still it was difficult to sit back and do nothing. It wasn’t your presence that irritated Xiao, it was more everything else. Besides, he felt as if he was neglecting his duties sometimes. Thus when you told him one day that your commission tomorrow was going to see if a citizen had found a ruin network Xiao excused himself. You didn’t seem to mind too much, though you joked that you would miss your adventuring companion. Still the idea of suddenly not going with you seemed strange after weeks of this new routine.

“If you find yourself in trouble, do not forget to call my name. No matter where you are I will hear it.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” you replied, smiling softly. “But it’ll be fine. I probably won’t even need to fight anything, besides maybe some slimes. I might even get back before you.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. I’ll come back as soon as possible, and then maybe we can fly a little together?” For some reason you seemed to like the idea of flying alongside Xiao, who found himself more and more often indulging you, though he wouldn’t really call his use of currents flying.

“Maybe.”

“Good! Then I’ll try to wrap things up quickly. Can’t miss something like that, can I?”

Xiao didn’t say anything in response. Later that evening, after you went to bed, he stared up at the night sky, trying to grasp onto his thoughts. He seemed to be awfully worried about you, or rather you seemed to be invading most of his thoughts. Why Xiao couldn’t tell. At first it had simply been that your strange situation somewhat interested him. He couldn’t imagine the idea of a half-adeptus who had lived as you had. Then it had been the mining, then the commissions, then the gliding. Now he couldn’t even think of the next day without a strange sense of worry.

What did all this mean? Xiao never thought he would find himself infatuated with anyone. His only loyalty was to Morax, his only connections had been with the yakshas who were now lost to him. His only remaining duty was to guard Liyue, to clear the land of the curses that remained. Nevertheless he found himself thinking about you, worrying about you even. What did this mean?

Staring out into the sky Xiao asked himself what he wanted. An image of you seemed to materialize in his brain. You were flying high in the sky, arms stretched out wide, smile as wide and clear as the sky above you. He wanted you to feel that way, and, more than that, in that moment Xiao wanted nothing so more as to share that feeling with you, to be some piece in that vision of happiness. Shaking his head the yaksha let out a snort. What a stupid idea.

 The next day started in a way much more similar to the days that had passed before you arrival. Xiao left early, finding it easier to deal with the lingering evils of the world when there were less people going about to get in the way. He thought of waiting for you to wake up, but for some reason the action seemed foolish. Or maybe it seemed somehow unlucky. After all, Xiao was embarking on a day that would surely have to end with some sort of cleansing ritual.

The monsters weren’t excessive, and the going was fast enough, though the sun had risen high in the sky by the time Xiao stopped to rest. Traveling towards Jueyun Karst Xiao thought of the pool of water up near Cloud Retainer’s domain. It would be good to rest for a moment, up near sure pure energy. Summoning some winds Xiao found himself in a weirdly clear frame of mind, detached once more from the world around him.

Then he heard your voice.

Almost immediately Xiao found himself above you, instinct reacting before his mind had time to catch up. You had never called for him before, and the unexpectedness caused a flood of hot panic to rush through him.

Staring down at the scene above Xiao felt another wave of burning emotion rush through him. You were backed up against a few stones, panic evident in your stance. One of your arms appeared to have suffered a gash, and as of such the claymore Xiao knew you carried lay in the grass next to you, too heavy now to be of any use. You also seemed to have suffered a blow to the head, and your awkward movements seemed to indicate some sort of dizziness. But what drew Xiao’s eye the most was the blood staining the brown of your wings, the feathers that were scattered around you.

The people surrounding you wore the crest of the Fatui, and their smiles were ones of absolute triumph.

“You should’ve flown away. What could a half-baked fighter like you do against the greatest army in the world? Now your wings will decorate the walls of the palace of Snezhnaya.”

You were mute to the Skirmisher’s jeers, your head bobbing to the side slightly. Once more Xiao heard your voice ripple through his head, though this time it was fainter, unsteady. The anger welling up inside of him seemed to ripple, and before he knew it the yaksha found himself standing in front of you, not caring about the black tendrils that licked at his polearm, only coherent thought that the Fatui members should have picked a different assignment.

Xiao despised fighting humans. They seemed to bend around him, shredding like paper. Though a part of him jeered that he was fighting nothing but monsters, the adeptus still pulled himself back. Some burdens were too heavy to bear, and even fighting a human was something that he would normally never do. Still the fight was brutal, if painfully short, and when Xiao finally found himself standing alone he surrounded by the groans and shrieks of those whose injuries would not be forgotten tomorrow.

Taking his mask off Xiao pushed through the tendrils of darkness that were now clinging to his skin. There would be time to bathe and clean off all the evil he’d generated and purified later. For now the adeptus ran over to your side, scooping you up and traveling as quickly as possible to the Inn. The smalls groans that escaped you cut through him, but at least you were alive. At least he had made it in time. At least.

Though there was nothing that the adeptus could really do to cure gashes and a concussion, Xiao found himself unwilling to stray from your side in the aftermath. Pushing away the guilt that threatened to burn through him when he was alone Xiao became a constant figure in your room. Perching no your dresser, or eventually in the chair Goldet dragged next to your bed, Xiao supervised your health with a regiment that would’ve been impossible for a mortal. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, it never felt like enough. Watching over you as you fell in and out of naps Xiao felt the guilt buzzing behind his ears. Your fault, this is your fault.

One evening Xiao found it all too much. Covering his face with his hands he rasped into the silent room.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Whipping his head up Xiao was met with your slightly groggy face. Reaching over to grasp his hand you smiled as the adeptus moved to intertwine his fingers in yours.

“I didn’t go with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I thought, I thought it’d be easy. But it wasn’t so I called for you and then you came and saved me, so it was fine.” Your voice was heavy with sleep and your words slightly slurred, but there was still some urgency behind them, an urgency Xiao found himself responding to.

“I still wasn’t fast enough.”

“You seemed pretty fast to me.”

“I still, it’s still my fault.” Xiao didn’t know why he found himself repeating the same words over and over. Somehow he seemed completely unequipped to deal with the panic that had been slowly crushing him for the past few days. How could he explain this to you? How could he explain the fear that shot through him, the anger, the… something?

“No, it wasn’t. It’s not your fault that I look strange, or that I have these weird wings. It’s not your fault that people don’t like it.”

“Humans are fools,” Xiao spat out. “They try to destroy something that is beautiful, all because they cannot understand it.”

“You think my wings are beautiful?”

“Yes.” Xiao didn’t realize that was a question. Somehow the looked of sleepy happiness on your face filled him with a sense of embarrassment. Ducking his head the adeptus shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you replied, happiness in your voice. For a moment you paused, before piping up again. “You haven’t been sleeping a lot have you?”

“Sleep is unnecessary for those who are full adeptus.”

“Still, it can’t be fun to sit here alone for hours,” you frowned before scooting over slightly.

Xiao stared at the unspoken invitation for a moment, disbelief mixing into the thoughts that were cramming his head. He said nothing, but as the look on your face dimmed slightly he sighed. Laying his mask on the nightstand the yaksha lay next to you.

You smiled, seemingly satisfied. Linking your hand once more with his you let out a small sigh, before relaxing slightly, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Xiao stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft cadence of your breath. The panic that fizzed through his brain only moments earlier, replaced with a contentment that the yaksha rarely felt. Suddenly everything seemed at peace with the world, and despite the summer heat Xiao felt no more discomfort.

[corysmiles]

Could you believe I actually am back with some Runnaway Experiment WRITING??? :D

This takes place very early on in the story, and gives some more insight into Tommy's life before they escaped (in the comics). Enjoy :D

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The experiment was growing years after years, to everyone’s delight. It seemed the first laboratorial human had a decent enough lifespan so that it could be studied in the long run. And so, 14 years, it has been since T0M saw the light of day, and it acted in a similar fashion a 14 year old human would. .

Of course, the many researchers failed to take in consideration an alteration of the most cumbersome. T0M looked human, could understand the english language, followed orders and didn’t complain, asked some questions but the specimen…. was big.

Too big to fit in a human bed.

Too big to fit comfortably in a room.

It went in spurts, which was terrifying the first time. It kept on growing and growing, as scientists hoped it wouldn't take long for it to stop, otherwise, it might lead to a lot of problems. But for the past 2 years, no noticeable change really occurred, which was a relief when the thing was already 25 ft tall. It never seemed to be challenging personality wise, which was a relief, but they still needed to keep him in line.

Hopefully, the Doctor Soot, as well as Doctor Puff took part in daily check ups and made sure he didn’t rebel.

So, every 2 day, they took turns to visit T0M in the room accustomed to its needs.

And both’s reports were excellent! T0M learned more while being as obedient and compliant as ever. Phil couldn’t be more happy with those results.

However, as time went on…. Wilbur failed to mention another kind of teaching he had going on with the subject for the past months.

“And this is called ‘Sadness’.” He held an A3 size paper with a moody smiley drawn on it, the word being written below. “It’s that feeling when our sessions are over and I have to go and you say ‘oh noooo’ in that voice.”

T0M was sitting on his knees in front of him, paying the utmost attention to what Wilbur was showing and saying.

“I hate that one.” He pouted.

“I know,” Wilbur chuckled. “No one likes to feel sad. But it’s a part of life.”

A single hum. Wilbur’s smile turned more sympathetic.

“Do you remember the other ones?” He stood up from his place and put the sheet in one of the dark grey metallic drawers.

T0M nodded, excitedly. He took his hand and poked his fingers as he counted. “ there’s “Happiness”, it’s the good one. And “Disgust”, it’s when I have to eat the weird green stuff.”

“Brocoli”

“That. And then there’s excitement, it’s when I smile real big because you come early.”

Wilbur clapped “Wonderful!” T0M’s eyes were shining stars at every approval from Doctor Soot. Even though T0M’s enjoyment was very appreciated and contagious, but it could be a bit… much, to handle at times.

“Since you understand the basics, I think it’s time for us to start a whole new lesson.” He clapped.

T0M gasped and cheered from the top of his lungs “YEAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!”, throwing his arms in the air and effectively making the room shake from the sheer volume of his voice. When he looked back at the scientist, his eyebrows were pinched and the brunette was covering his ears and curled up, almost in pain.

“...Doctor?” He brought his head close to the man who, after making eye contact, scrambled back until he hit the same drawer he put the papers in earlier. T0M looked at him confused, face still too big in Wilbur’s peripheral.

“I… Tom, I appreciate your enthusiasm when we do our lessons, but if you could prevent yourself from screaming, it would be nice.” He tried in the most gentle voice he could muster without it shaking.

“What’s screaming?” T0M asked, crouched so his face was almost on the ground at eye level with him. He brought a hand closer to the doctor who was still breathing heavily. When his head shot to look at the hand, his body on alert, he froze before saying.

“... Is it a moment when I can’t touch you?”

Wilbur’s eyes were locked on the now frozen hand for a good second before returning to T0M, nodding. “Uh, yeah.”

“... Okay.”

The hand retracted in the following seconds, and soon, he was back in his initial position.

The doctor thanked before regaining his composure. He looked back at T0M, and his expression held remorse. A guilt twisted Wilbur's guts at the view. Thing is, as T0M grew up, people quickly realised he was the equivalent of clingy. He would constantly grab people into hugs and had a hard time keeping his voice down which resulted in a large noise blocker investment. And so they had a rule. T0M couldn’t make any sort of physical contact with anyone without being given explicit permission first. Obviously, most workers considered T0M as a test subject and therefore, wouldn’t give him that pleasure.

Wilbur, though, was not in the same vein. Once he realised how empathic and emotional and human T0M was, he started teaching him things a human teen should need, and started giving him a sort of affection a human teen should have. Which included some sort of physical affection.

When T0M was sad, he would sit next to him or pat his back. It quickly evolved as Wilbur accepted being held by the boy and brought to eye level as long as he was careful when doing so, and ever later, they would hug and wilbur would try to brush his hair at times.

Still, that didn’t make him immune to any of T0M’s carelessness which’s consequences were amplified ten fold due to his scale.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked pitifully.

“I- no, it’s not your fault. It can just be a bit overwhelming is all.” Wilbur explained.

“... what does that mean?”

“It means… when something is ‘too much’. Like when you want to bring Techno very close, but he keeps reminding you about the rule.”

“Oh.” T0M let his head fall. “... I don’t like that.” Wilbur scratched his head. “I want to be so close and show that I’m very happy and it’s all inside and I can’t let it out.”

“Well, here, it’s a bit more of the opposite. When outside, there is a lot and you’re incapable of letting it in.”

“... I’m sorry Wilbur” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, I’m not angry.” reassured the brunette. “I just have sensitive ears.”

“...Everyone has sensitive ears.”

“Well, when you’re a small guy like me, you’re sensitive on pretty much all fronts.”

“... It’s not fair.”

“What’s that?” Wilbur perked.

“When I stop getting big and strong, I want to hug you with all of my will. Like you do with me. It feels nice. I want you to feel nice just like that. I want you to be overwhelmed with happiness. I want to hug you so, so bad but I can't and it's shit. I don't want to be strong, I hurt you if I’m strong. I want to hug you."

Tommy vented, more to himself, and when he looked at Wilbur, his eyes shined, not with joy.

"Oh Tommy…."

It ached. It ached Wilbur to his core that something as simple as a hug was something he craved and still couldn't get. Because he knew. He knew all of the things T0M was missing out on. All the life he could have lived if he was granted freedom. How much he could live and appreciate. It kept him awake at night.

But he was here. Trapped. In a room barely tall enough to contain him, treated like a circus monster. And the worst thing was, T0M wasn't aware of it. Of all the life he wasn't living. How his life was no life and how he thinks this absence of everything is what life should be.

Plato would probably laugh in his grave.

"I promise you. One day, you will be able to do that. I promise you that I'll find a way for you to hug me just like you are a small man too. I promise you that I'll make you discover all of those joys of life, Tom. I Promise you. I will help you. And I'm sorry for not being able to provide it sooner. And I'll apologize for all the years it took for me to get it."

They stared at each other, and Tommy nodded, throat tight and eyes wet.

"And a promise makes sure that it's gonna happen." T0M croaked.

"Exactly, tom." Wilbur smiled. "You are going to live many more things."

The bell rang, and both faces fell a bit.

"I'll see you in 4 days, Tom. We're gonna have a little recap over the emotions you learned and then I'll teach you about relationships."

"Oohh, that sounds nice! What is it?"

As Wilbur packed his little bag, he looked at T0M and simply replied "it's all around you. But I'm not gonna spoil the next session. On that note, I wish you a nice week, Tom."

"Have a nice week, Wilbur! " T0M waved with a smile. "It's nice talking to you."

"It is my absolute pleasure, Tom."

And thus, they parted. As Wilbur walked down the immense corridor (just tall enough Tom could run through them.) He wore a satisfied smile. His small steps resonated, the only sound in the room, yet peaceful enough for his ears to listen to them as carefully as silence. Halfway through, the sound was doubled.

"Helloooo."

"Oh, hey techno! How are you?"

"Doing fine. You seem very happy."

"I am. I made some good progress with T-he subject. I feel like he's learning well. The next tests should have fabulous results."

"Ahh, wonderful. Let's make sure it doesn't learn too much though." He joked.

And at that, Wilbur chuckled, his hand on the man's shoulder. "Oh don't you worry about that, my friend. I can assure you that'll never happen"

"Amazing" techno replied, deadpan. Both nodded their conversation away and walked the rest of their ways.

As he got further away, the doctor's smile turned to an amused grin. His steps resonated, so much smaller than what could be, in a corridor in which the boy just next door should walk through.

"Don't you worry about a single thing."

MEL YES I ADORE THIS AU SO MUCH ITS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!

Poor Tommy but at least Wilbur is helping him :”]

[firemanwhenthefloodsrollback]

Who Saved The Day? Season 6

Going right back in with season 6 of Who Saved The Day because last time I didn't move straight on to the next series I accidentally left it a month. It's a controversial statement sometimes but season 6 has always been my favourite season by far and I will never get over my obsession with the darkness and moral complexity. I think this is going to be a hard instalment of deciding who saved the day but I'm excited to get started.

A reminder of the rules: in every episode, including the first parts of two parters, someone must save the day including when the day isn't really saved. The day can only ever be saved by one person and when there are multiple candidates, the person who did the physical saving of the immediate physical threat gets the point.

At the end of season 5 we left it with:

Buffy: 54

Willow: 7

Angel and Giles: 5

Spike: 3

Anya, Faith, Oz, Tara, Xander: 2

And 9 characters including Dawn who have 1 each

So without further ado:

1. Bargaining Part 1: Willow

Straight in with a hard one. Willow is the main man in the spell to bring Buffy back, which certainly solves a problem in a more general sense. The buffybot didn't save the day at all so there isn't really another candidate here.

2. Bargaining Part 2: Dawn

I really really nearly went for Buffy here but I felt like Dawn was the one who solved the main problem. Reaching Buffy when she couldn't function like a human being feels like the greatest achievement here. According to my own rules, I really felt like it should have been Buffy getting Dawn down off the tower but Dawn was the one who solved the main problem.

3. After Life: Buffy

Buffy kills the thing with an axe. An underrated and very very creepy episode. The late seasons moved a long way away from the horror movie origins of the high school years, but After Life is one of the greatest horror movie-esque episodes of the later seasons, and potentially also overall. Willow and Tara did the spell but Buffy wielded the axe.

4. Flooded: Buffy

Buffy kills the demon and most, most, most importantly, save the pipework. Now I'm 25 and have my own relationship with the water company I finally understand the true horror of this episode.

5. Life Serial: Buffy

Three times as a matter of fact.

6. All The Way: Dawn

Dawn saving her own life in one of the sweetest late season episode endings, I feel. This episode and a few others like it remind me of how much the things that seem silly and easy to deal with in the later season were major threats early on. For Dawn, this is a disaster on the same scale as the things Buffy was facing and hoping her friends could face in seasons one and two. I love that Dawn got to save herself here and show the kind of strength that Buffy was using to save the day inn the high school seasons.

7. Once More With Feeling: Spike

Xander averted the demon taking Dawn, Buffy and/or himself away to his magical demon world, but Spike saved Buffy's life during Something To Sing About and I feel like I'm gonna count that? It gets presented in the episode as a bigger deal than Xander's saving of the day, which is thrown away as a comedy line.

8. Tabula Rasa: Xander

By accident, but that'll do sometimes. Treading on something by mistake is the kind of saving of the day that I feel like I could actually aspire to.

9. Smashed: Tara

I have absolutely no idea who saved the day here. Normally I'm very insistent on it being the person who stops the supernatural threat saving the day who gets the point, but I really don't know what threat that was here? Obviously a lot is going wrong psychologically, and I love this episode both for Buffy and for Willow, but neither of them faced a 'threat', as such. So the person who solved a problem and kept someone safe at the end of the episode was Tara, choosing to stay with Dawn to keep her safe even when it was potentially awkward.

10. Wrecked: Buffy

It really depends on what the actual villain is here. I originally gave Willow the point for killing the demon that was chasing the car, since that was in a very real sense the monster of the week, but it's just impossible to watch this episode and feel that that was the real threat or the time that the day got saved. The threat here was Willow's addiction and the episode makes it very clear that that's what we're meant to be focusing on, so Buffy helping her at the end is portrayed as saving the day. There's a mystical element to it and it resolves the issue that was the main threat here, so Buffy it is.

11. Gone: Willow

Willow changes the settings on the invisibility gun thing and Willow makes the trio visible again. Just thinking about the trio makes my skin crawl, more and more and more with time.

12. Doublemeat Palace: Willow

How profoundly and wonderfully symbolic.

13. Dead Things: Buffy

Tara honestly deserves it more for the way she talks to Buffy at the end of the episode - one of the rare moments of pure, open-hearted, uncomplicated goodness in a very dark season. Tara is the one who comes closest to making things better here, but the rules I've been using for the other seasons were that the person who deals with the supernatural threat or monster of the week gets the point even if someone else does something more emotionally resonant. I also almost gave it to Spike for stopping Buffy going to the police, but he also didn't really stop her going to the police so no point for Spike. When Buffy recognises Katrina's name and leaves the police station, that's the moment that ruins Warren's plan, so Buffy gets the point.

14. Older And Far Away: Anya

One of my absolute favourite episodes and certainly one that deserves to get talked about more. Anya puts two and two together about Halfrek being the demon who cursed them, and her bringing Halfrek to the house is what gets the curse lifted, so a well deserved point for Anya.

15. As You Were: Buffy

Buffy throws the grenade. Weird episode.

16. Hell's Bells: Buffy

Buffy and Xander do kill that demon communally, but for very obvious reasons I refuse to give Xander a point for this episode and I defend that decision.

17. Normal Again: Buffy

Buffy makes the horrifically difficult decision to go back to the world we recognise so no one else is getting close to this point.

18. Entropy: Willow

Was...... the day saved here at all? Willow solved the issue of the hidden cameras which was technically the threat here I guess?

19. Seeing Red: Xander

My least favourite episode by a very very long way, and not one I ever rewatch. I had to use a plot summary to help me with this one because I just don't do Seeing Red at all. Xander gets Buffy the ambulance, which is the closest thing to saving the day that we get here.

20. Villains: Anya

This episode was so hard to make a call about that it kind of undermines the idea of doing my silly little project at all. Anya finds where Willow has taken Warren and leads the way there, and probably comes the closest to saving the day of anyone?

21. Two To Go: Giles

Giles!

22. Grave: Xander

The yellow crayon speech makes me tear up and it always, always will.

So that was season 6! Some very difficult calls and fewer points for Buffy than any other season by a fair way. At the end of the season we are left with:

Buffy: 63

Willow: 11

Giles: 6

Angel and Xander: 5

Anya and Spike: 4

Dawn and Tara: 3

Faith and Oz: 2

And 8 other characters who got 1 each

I'm excited to get to season 7 and finish my weird little project off. No one is coming for Buffy, obviously, and I'd be very surprised if anyone takes the number 2 spot away from Willow, but what happens further down the leaderboard is anyone's guess.

[luxekook]

chapter two.

⇥ pairing: namjoon x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic namjoon, power tools, hints of poly relationships, overall pretty smut free (who AM i???)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I'm gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot...

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat. 

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year...”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

a/n: i love namjoon. that is all. 

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[moonwaif]

So I've been thinking about some CQL crossover ships for Xie Wang, and one of them is XieWang/Lan Xichen. Long post with headcanons under the cut.

Also, like. I guess all of these take place within a xianxia/cultivation universe? More high fantasy than the universe of SHL. And none of this is based on novel universe for either fandom--both are strictly SHL and CQL universes.

Xie Wang/Lan Xichen (aka Zewu-jun can have a murder boyfriend, as a treat.)

The Dynamic.

First off . . . there’s no age gap. Both of them are adults. I’m not sure how old either of them are exactly in their respective canons, but. I just want to make that clear.

Both have been deceived/manipulated by people they care about. Interpret it how you want to interpret it, but they gravely misunderstood one of the most important people in their lives and paid the price for it.

The, "No matter what you've done, I can't kill you" one is dating the "But I can!" one.

Also, like? Pipa and xiao jam sessions? Matching outfits? Sign me tf up.

The early stages.

I’m not sure how they would meet. Perhaps Xie Wang is on an undercover mission in Gusu. Meanwhile, Lan Xichen has finally left seclusion so that his brother can go on a honeymoon with the Yiling Laozu.

When Lan Xichen and Xie Wang meet, I think it would be nice for there to be instant attraction. This can be on a physical level, but also on an intellectual level. They both have silver tongues, are intuitive, and are excellent communicators. I think these two kings would recognize that in one another just after one interaction.

However, they don’t trust each other. Xie Wang is probably operating under some kind of alias. Lan Xichen is more guarded now. I’m sure he still wants to believe the best of people, but life has scarred him. He feels like Xie Wang may be hiding something. Xie Wang, meanwhile, thinks Lan Xichen is just “too good to be true.” Someone with such a peerless reputation must be corrupt on the inside. I mean, just look at the Venerated Triad and how they ended up. Could the only surviving sworn brother really be THAT good?

But as time goes on, they see more sides of each other. It gets harder and harder to believe the worst about the other person. Xie Wang probably falls first, and falls hard. He likes Lan Xichen’s balanced outlook on life, his willingness to overlook rumor and reputation and make his own judgments on a person’s character. In an unguarded moment, Lan Xichen might imply that this has been one of his flaws or weaknesses in the past. Xie Wang just smiles at him and says it’s a strength. (Lan Xichen’s heart flutters, but so what? He doesn’t feel like he can trust his heart yet.)

Anyway, back to Xie Wang. He is impressed by Lan Xichen’s acceptance of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian--particularly considering Wei Wuxian’s less than pristine background. I think there is a lot of good material here for some intimate conversations in which Xie Wang asks Lan Xichen about his opinion of Wei Wuxian, but he’s not actually talking abou Wei Wuxian--he’s really asking about himself.

The ordeal of being Known.

Nevertheless, Xie Wang doesn’t completely trust Lan Xichen yet, and he’s terrified of what will happen when Lan Xichen finds out who he is, but . . . Xie Wang still cares about him. He enjoys Lan Xichen’s company. He craves Lan Xichen’s praise and attention, and resents anyone who tries to steal it away. He wants their time together to last as long as possible. And inevitably, he wants to do whatever he can to help Lan Xichen succeed in his goals. Which, to Xie Wang’s surprise, have less to do with personal gain and more to do with making a positive impact on the cultivation world. As more time passes, it gets harder and harder for Xie Wang to play it cool and hold his cards to his chest.

Lan Xichen is touched by Xie Wang’s earnesty, enthusiasm and loyalty. It softens his heart. He finds himself growing fond of Xie Wang’s company, looking forward to his visits, indulging in conversations about music and art and calligraphy and politics. At the same time, he witnesses instances of violence and cruelty from Xie Wang that disturb him. It reminds him of Jin Guanyao--the red flags that in the past Lan Xichen either rationalized or ignored. It puts Lan Xichen in this awkward position of growing closer to Xie Wang, opening up to him, only to pull back suddenly. Rinse, wash, repeat.

Xie Wang, of course, doesn’t really know what’s going on in Lan Xichen’s head. Fortunately, he’s perceptive. As he does more digging into Lan Xichen’s past, he probably puts two and two together and realizes that Lan Xichen is trying to protect his own heart. However, he’ll also wonder if Lan Xichen knows more than he’s letting on--if he is perhaps aware of Xie Wang’s true identity, and that’s why he won’t open up to him. Or perhaps it’s just Xie Wang’s personal flaws. He’s always been too impulsive, too selfish, too distracting. Someone of Lan Xichen’s calibre may find these characteristics distasteful.

I actually think Lan Xichen may put the pieces together and begin to suspect Xie Wang’s true identity. If Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are around, they would probably do the same and accelerate this realization. However, I am not sure that Lan Xichen would act immediately on it. He may instead try to give Xie Wang opportunities to come forward with the truth on his own.

Xie Wang will dodge all of these opportunities like “lol nope.”

Cat’s out of the bag.

Anyway, after lots of like. Cute moments, and moments of camaraderie, and moments of yearning and angst, things finally come to a head. Perhaps Lan Xichen finds himself caught up in a scheme that involves the Scorpion and a rival group. Xie Wang ends up having to take Lan Xichen captive in order to protect him. In this moment, Lan Xichen is able to see another side of Xie Wang--one that he’s only caught glimpses of before. Xie Wang is cold, domineering, calculating, and cruel. It’s sexy but also terrifying. Lan Xichen hardens his own expression and is quite distant to Xie Wang, which of course just breaks Xie Wang’s heart. But Xie Wang can’t show it just yet, not while they are still surrounded by onlookers. It wouldn’t be wise to reveal any weaknesses to those who are constantly at the ready to take advantage of any vulnerable bits.

As soon as Xie Wang can find a moment to be alone with Lan Xichen (truly alone, with no spies or eavesdroppers), he would sit down and speak honestly with him. He tells Lan Xichen that he harbors no ill intentions towards him or the Lan sect (or perhaps he does, at least with concern to the latter--it’s up to how complicated you imagine this kind of AU). And against his better judgment, the more Lan Xichen hears . . . the more he finds himself believing Xie Wang. In fact, he’s relieved that they can finally reach this point of honesty with each other.

Lan Xichen is terrified he’s making a mistake, but . . . he wants to believe Xie Wang. He wants to believe him so, so badly. After some difficult conversations and lots of promises exchanged between them, Lan Xichen relents.

Xie Wang is just absolutely delighted to the point of tears. All of his softness and sweetness comes back.

From this point on, I think we can see a power couple at work. Both of them are intuitive, intelligent and nuanced. They can work together to solve whatever scheme is happening. Collaborating brings them closer, honestly.

Xie Wang is reluctant to let Lan Xichen go, but does so. (He’s mostly worried about Lan Xichen’s safety.)

(If you want to make things really painful, you could have Lan Xichen temporarily reject Xie Wang. This would probably be motivated by Lan Xichen’s past experiences, when he continued to support and defend Jin Guangyao despite all evidence to the contrary. Terrified of making the same mistake--of letting people he cares about become hurt because of a temporary lack of judgment--might actually lead him to betray Xie Wang and reveal his true identity to the Lan clan. This would lead to a temporary and very angsty “break up” arc. The irony could be that Lan Xichen actually regrets NOT trusting Xie Wang or supporting him down the road. I would like to see something like this culminate in Xie Wang being injured/narrowly escaping a dangerous confrontation with an enemy, and Lan Xichen rescuing him, holding him close, and whispering, “I’m sorry.” GOD Xie Wang would just fall apart. The hurt/comfort potential. My word.)

Hurt/comfort potential.

At some point, Xie Wang might be injured or suffer some kind of loss. Perhaps he went after someone who was a threat to Lan Xichen in some way, and got himself in a pickle. He makes it out, but is the worse for wear. Lan Xichen, who is normally so polite and intentional with his words, finds himself losing his temper. How could Xie Wang make such a rash decision? Isn’t he supposed to be the Scorpion King for a reason?

These words push Xie Wang over the edge. He snaps back that yes, he knows he’s reckless--that he’s too impulsive--too demanding--that he’s always letting his emotions get the best of him, again and again. But he was scared for Lan Xichen. What was he supposed to do, just sit back and bear it?

Lan Xichen’s anger dissipates. He consoles Xie Wang, tells him that he’s not any of those things. Xie Wang is shocked speechless. He’s even more shocked when Lan Xichen admits he was wrong for speaking harshly and asks for Xie Wang’s forgiveness. “It was only that seeing you in this state unnerved me. I would not want any harm to come to you on my account. I’m sorry.”

Xie Wang melts.

Xie Wang drinks vinegar.

Being together means that Xie Wang and Lan Xichen are more intimate. They are moving physically closer, becoming more familiar with one another’s spaces. Xie Wang is very greedy for this closeness, and probably starts to become a little possessive about the things in Lan Xichen’s room. Keeping things tidy, adding decorations, sorting through things, etc.

Anyway, one day he comes across Jin Guangya’s hat by accident.

“Gege :+) who’s hat is this? :+)”

He begins to engage in a recurring fantasy where he slices the hat to pieces.

It’s just that, well. Xie Wang is intensely jealous of Jin Guangyao’s hat. He is intensely jealous of Jin Guangyao’s memory. Just hearing his name is enough to make Xie Wang lose it a little on the inside, like, “Not this b**** again.” But on the outside he is very calm.

Most of the time.

Look. It’s already hard enough knowing that someone like Xie Wang, the leader of a shady group of assassins, will probably never be accepted as a suitable partner for Lan Xichen. And this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. He’s been used before by Zhao Jing, the person who was supposed to be his yifu, the person who kept Xie Wang in the dark and only brought him into the light when it was useful. So Xie Wang can’t help but feel nervous that Lan Xichen will just want to keep him in the dark, too. Like logically, he knows Lan Xichen wouldn’t do that. Lan Xichen is a better person than that, he wouldn’t take advantage of anyone in that way, especially not Xie Wang! Lan Xichen cares about Xie Wang! But Xie Wang also knows he’s miscalculated in the past. He can’t help the nugget of uncertainty that weasels its way in.

You can play this up as angsty if you want, or you can play it for comedy. Maybe Lan Xichen receives a gift from a potential suitor. Xie Wang sees it and asks who it’s from. On his best day, he smiles calmly and says something like, “How elegant and thoughtful. I know just the place to put this.” (That place is the trash.) On his worst day, he wines and says, “How tacky! Gege, why do you continue to even meet with that old cow?”

Lan Xichen is exceptionally understanding and patient, although he does need to set some firm boundaries from time to time.

Jin Guangyao causes drama from beyond the grave.

Eventually Xie Wang is going to have a very off-day. And on this off-day, he talks about a topic that he should definitely have avoided, which is Jin Guangyao.

Basically, Xie Wang is not going to understand why Lan Xichen feels guilty for what happened to Jin Guangyao. Or rather, he does not believe that Lan Xichen SHOULD feel guilty. And he tells Lan Xichen this, very insistently. Lan Xichen, who has been coping through the good ole Lan technique of Repress And Don’t Express, becomes frustrated. His frustration builds when Xie Wang basically says that no matter what Jin Guangyao may have suffered, he shouldn’t have betrayed Lan Xichen--that Jin Guangyao even deserves what happened to him (and perhaps Xie Wang believes this last part, or perhaps he’s just being petty--it’s up to you). Lan Xichen almost loses his temper--almost. But then he just. Shuts down, completely. Like very coldly and calmly says something to the effect of, “I expected you of all people to understand me. I see I was mistaken. Excuse me.” And just. Leaves.

Xie Wang is a MESS. Honestly he would have preferred being yelled at. This calm reaction is disconcerting and makes him worry that he’s lost Lan Xichen for good. He’s also shocked at himself for being so purposefully wilful and obstinate. He was trying to be good!!

Making up.

Instead of pulling away, Xie Wang waits an appropriate amount of time for things to settle (lmao like 12 hours), then shows right back up acting like nothing ever happened. He’s very talkative and sweet, chatting peacefully about unrelated topics. He probably flits about the room, straightening this and that, then perches beside Lan Xichen. His heart sinks when he sees Lan Xichen’s expression.

Xie Wangs cautiously begins speaking. “About yesterday . . . I shouldn’t have contradicted you. I was being difficult and impetuous. Gege, please forgive me.”

And like, what is Lan Xichen supposed to do with that? Say “no”? Lmao.

Fortunately, Lan Xichen has taken some time to self-reflect. He’s a bit dismayed that he continues to act out of character with Xie Wang. Normally, he is so good at maintaining his composure. With Xie Wang, however, he continues to get caught up in his own feelings until he fumbles.

Anyway, Lan Xichen actually takes this opportunity to reflect and open up to Xie Wang about his friendship with Jin Guangyao. He tells him about what happened between him and his sworn brothers, where he believes he made mistakes, how he wishes things would have worked out differently. He also says that he sees it as a weakness of his own that even now, he isn’t able to completely blame Jin Guangyao. It’s not like this is Xie Wang’s first time hearing about any of this, but it IS his first time hearing the information directly from Lan Xichen.

Xie Wang takes his hand and says that kind of loyalty and kindness is what makes Lan Xichen dear to him, and is its own type of wisdom. Lan Xichen doesn’t completely agree with this assessment, but he doesn’t argue against it, either. He merely asks Xie Wang if there is anything else he’d like to know.

Xie Wang is a bit hesitant. Without meeting Lan Xichen’s gaze, he observes that Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen were very close. He wants to know what place Jin Guangyao still occupies in Lan Xichen’s heart.

To be continued . . .

(Lol I ran out of steam for a minute)

[warwickroyals]

ROYAL BURIAL GROUND, WOODBINE - MID-NOVEMBER - 12:04

Transcript under the cut!

Beginning | Previous | Next

(Louis) Phillip? Why, I never thought I'd find you here of all places.

(Phillip) As depraved as I am, sometimes I feel the need to pay my respects. Plus, no one ever bothers me when I'm here.

(Louis) Perhaps next you'll find the restraint to not smoke here.

(Phillip) Would you like to be alone?

(Louis) No, as a matter of fact, I have several things I'd like to discuss with you.

(Phillip) Ah, you want to reprimand me. Usually you get one of your grey men to do that for you. Forgive me, but I don't remember doing anything wrong.

(Louis) I never said you did anything wrong.

(Phillip) You haven't said anything yet. I'm your spare, remember? I was always meant to be the inferior son, even with death in the picture.

(Louis) Well, if you want that to change, you'd best snuff out that cigarette and take things seriously for once. Unless your desire is to join your brother in an early grave.

(Phillip) And now you've said something. I am most certainly in trouble.

(Louis) Walk with me, Phillip.

(Louis) As you know, next year is my Golden Jubilee year.

(Phillip) Yes, I’m aware.

(Louis) There will be extensive celebrations across Sunderland and its territories. I’d like you to attend the celebrations in Sulani no my behalf.

(Phillip) What? No. Absolutely not.

(Louis) I am not making suggestions. This is an order from your king.

(Phillip) But why me? Why not Henry and Shelby? I'll never be as popular as they are right now.

(Louis) That's exactly the problem. I want you to be more conscious of your image, going forward.

(Phillip) My image? Do you think I care what people who don't even know me think? It's just petty gossip.

(Louis) Petty gossip has an impact, Phillip. Your role in this family, your duty, is to Sunderland and her people. You cannot serve the people if they despise you. The divorce was four years ago, yet you and Courtney manage a scandal a month, due in part to your God awful temper. Which leads me to my next point . . .

(Phillip) No. I'll do Sulani. I'll do everything else you're asking of me, but I won't do this. No.

(Louis) I understand that you and Courtney have history, but things cannot go on this way between the two of you. It is a burden this family cannot continue to carry. Whatever bad blood is still between the two of you needs to end. Let bygones be bygones.

(Phillip) Bygones? The woman was having an affair.

(Louis) Yes, because she felt trapped in a marriage with an emotionally absent and self-destructive man. I'm not defending her, Courtney is not a perfect woman. But you're far from a perfect man. This family has suffered so much since James's passing. This family needs you. Your mother and sons need you. And I need you to take responsibility for the past and ensure a better future for yourself.

(Louis) These are non-negotiable requests, boy.

(Phillip) Fuck.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Loki Odinson’s Guide on How to Woo a Noble

Chapter 3: The Beauty of Love

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: It’s time for the solstice ball, and you’re the only one Loki wants to go with. All that’s keeping him from a perfect night with you is his own fears that you don’t want the same. Warnings: ‘tis just fluff A/N: This is it: The end of my first miniseries, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and I hope you enjoy this last part :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Epilogue 

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki’s leg bounced under the table. Just a few more excruciatingly boring minutes and he’d get to be with you. His tutor droned on and on, making him wish his illusions were just a little bit better. Then he could get out of here early. Though he was doing his best to focus, Loki’s mind kept wandering to the plan he was concocting. The summer solstice ball was quickly approaching, now just a few days away. All month Loki had been trying to figure out a way to ask you to accompany him. His birthday was a mere two months away and yours would quickly follow. Then you’d officially be at courting age and he wanted to secure his place as a suitor. The looks that Fandral and the other dashing, young nobles have been sending you did not go unnoticed by the God of Mischief.

“Pssst. Loki,” Thor whispered, tapping his brother on the shoulder. “Are you following any of this?”

“Obviously, Thor. It is not very hard.”

Of course, that was a lie. Well, it may very well have been easy to follow, but Loki’s distracted mind was not allowing him to do so. Thor was scratching his head and looking intensely at his notes, which Loki peered at and realized were little more than scribbles. Though, that might just be Thor’s atrocious handwriting.

“Brother?”

“Yes, Thor?”

“Can I copy your notes?”

“May I copy your notes.”

“But I just asked to copy yours.”

“Yes, Thor, I know. But you asked ‘can I’ when the correct form is ‘may I.’”

Thor scratched his head in confusion again. “So can I then? And, by the way, I don’t appreciate your tone being so condensing.”

“The word is condescending,” Loki sighed. “I honestly do not know how-”

Loki was cut off by their tutor, Lord Asmund, clearing his throat. If looks could kill, Loki and Thor wouldn’t live to see another day. They both gave each other a nervous look, hating for this to be reported to their father, who was very insistent upon them learning Asgard’s history.

“Prince Loki,” Lord Asmund said, “perhaps you could tell me for what purpose the Treaty of Light with Alfheim was made?”

“To set up a trade route?” Loki guessed

“No. Thor?”

“For, uh. Um. Wait! To... No idea,” he ended with slumped shoulders.

“Of course not,” he said with an exasperated eye-roll. “The correct answer is to settle a land dispute. And you can both write me an essay about it due on Monday. Dismissed.”

The brothers gathered their belongings in their arms and headed out the door. Loki sped up, trying to avoid Thor, but he ran after him. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded some advice on how to ask you out, but that would surely be accompanied with teasing. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Thor wanted to talk about.

“So, brother, have you invited anyone to the ball yet?”

“Maybe, maybe not. And you?”

“Sadly for many of the ladies, yes I have. Sif and I will be going together.”

“I see. Hypothetically, if I had not asked anyone out yet and wanted to, how would I go about doing that?”

“The same way I have been telling you since the beginning. Just be your charming self and ask them. They’ll say yes to you, you know.”

“I do not know who you are talking about,” Loki lied, still not wanting to confirm his brother’s suspicions.

“Uh-huh. Listen, Loki, you can do it. I know you can,” Thor comforted his brother. He saw his friends approaching and started jogging to them. “Good luck!” he called over his shoulder.

Loki snuck away before they could invite him to join in whatever brutish activity they had planned. Heading into the lavish library, Loki breathed in the calming scent of old books. He trailed his fingers along the binding while walking towards the bay window where you were supposed to meet. You were already sitting there, legs hugged to your chest, and a book perched on your knees. Lupus was sprawled on the floor, bathing in a patch of sunlight. He perked up upon noticing Loki, alerting you to his presence. Loki sank down onto the cushion next to you, and the wolf pup jumped into his lap. The god’s face lit up when you looked at him with a radiant smile.

“How’d your lesson go?” you asked, closing your book.

“Fine, I suppose,” he replied while distractedly petting Lupus.

“But?”

“But I was getting a little distracted,” he conceded, nervously looking away. “I could not stop thinking about the solstice ball.”

“I see. Is your date giving you trouble?”

“My-my date?” he questioned, voice cracking. “I-I don’t have one yet. Do you?”

“Oh. You hadn’t mentioned anything, so I just assumed. I don’t have one either.”

You both looked out the window, Lupus’s pants the only sound in the library. He looked at you in confusion, wondering why the mood had changed. Loki was confused, too, though for a different reason. He was fairly certain that someone had asked you already, though he supposed it was possible you declined. Fandral had seemed pretty downtrodden a few days ago. Though why would you turn down your other options unless...

“Would you like to go with me?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes!” you replied, a little too excitedly. You calmed down a bit before continuing, “I mean, yes, I would love to go with you.”

You began to excitedly plan for the upcoming night. Naturally, the two of you coordinated outfits, and you’d be wearing Loki’s colors. As the prince’s date you’d be required to make a grand entrance, which admittedly, both you and Loki would prefer to skip. Sure, he loved the attention, but anything he did would certainly be overshadowed by his brother. Yet another reminder that he’d never be as beloved as Thor. That he’d never get what he wanted. Though, he realized, that wasn’t entirely true. After all, you were going to the ball with him, not his brother, which counted for more than it perhaps should have. But, right now, sitting here with you, with the sunlight reflecting in your eyes, meant more than the whole world.

The conversation was flowing so easily between you that Frigga had to enlist a servant to summon you for dinner. Everyone was eating by the time you arrived, and Loki slinked up to the head table, taking his seat. Odin greeted him with a glare out of the corner of his eye. Loki was sure he’d be getting a lecture later, but the extra time with you was worth it. His mother gave him a knowing smile that made him flustered, certain that she’d be asking for details later.

“So,” Thor asked after a few minutes, drawing out the “o” in an exaggerated manner. “How did it go?”

“Quite well,” Loki confessed. “They have agreed to accompany me.”

“See, brother? You should listen to me more often.”

“I doubt that. Thank you, though,” Loki begrudgingly added. “For your support and advice.”

“Of course. What are brothers for?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apparently, brothers were not for helping when one of them was extremely stressed out. Loki had checked himself in the mirror multiple times before leaving the room, but he still felt paranoid that there was something wrong with his appearance. It certainly didn’t help that Thor kept telling him he had a hair out of place or a loose buckle on his armor. In retaliation, he turned Thor’s cape bright pink, but his mother was quick to fix it with a spell of her own and a warning look. At least Odin hadn’t noticed. With only a few moments left before it was time to enter the ballroom, Loki began to pace. You’d yet to arrive, and he began to worry you decided that you didn’t want to accompany him, after all. He had no doubt that you were friends, but this would take things to another level. For all means and purposes, this was a date, and it was entirely possible you didn’t want everyone to see you together, considering that all your meetings to date had been rather clandestine.

“Relax my son,” Frigga assured him, placing a calming hand on his shoulder to still his nervous movements. “They will be here.”

Thor peered over his shoulder and gave him an encouraging thumbs up, attempting to make up for earlier after seeing how truly distressed his brother was. Loki nodded gravely, not sharing the same faith that his family did. Yes, he was a prince, but to be honest, the lesser one. Everyone knew Odin favored Thor as the next king, and in turn, the subjects adored him far more than they ever did Loki. Before his mind could stray any further, your shoes were rapidly clicking on the polished tile floor as you ran down the hall, a hand grasping your circlet to make sure it didn’t fall off.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you said to Loki after greeting the royal family with the proper respect. “I had a slight wardrobe malfunction, but it’s all good now. Sorry that I kept you waiting.”

“It is quite alright,” he replied while Thor snickered, knowing how troubled he’d been mere seconds ago. “Might I just say, you look absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks Loki. You too,” you responded, shyly looking away.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Odin gruffly said to the small group.

Following the king’s orders, the assembled pairs lined up behind the large doors leading to the grand stairs of the ballroom. Having the least status in the royal family, Loki had to go first. You gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before placing your arm on top of his in the proper, formal manner.

Loki squinted against the bright lights of the room as the steward announced your arrival.  There was a polite smattering of applause as you descended the stairs. As expected, the crowd was much more enthused by the arrival of the elder prince, and Loki sulked while his brother followed the path he’d just taken. You gently bumped him with your shoulder, offering a kind look as Odin began his speech from the landing. Though, Loki didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. He had no need to; it was the same as every other year.

Then came the first dance, Loki’s favorite part of the night. The royal family walked out to the center of the dance floor. Once they were in place, the musicians came to life and an ethereal waltz tune filled the air. Loki placed one hand on your waist and the other grasped your hand, while your free one was lightly resting on his shoulder. Your two bodies became one as you spun around the floor, lost in each other’s eyes.

“You know,” you ventured, “you really shouldn’t let what others think affect you so much. You do believe me when I tell you how amazing you are, right?”

“I thought I was not supposed to listen to what others think of me,” Loki said, trying to make light of the situation by teasing you, in the hopes of avoiding having to actually talk about his feelings.

“Well, this is different because it’s a fact,” you persisted as Loki blushed. “You really are amazing.”

Before he could say anything else, the music stopped and a new dance begun, one where you switched partners. You threw him a look that said “we are not done talking about this.” He was having mixed feelings at the moment. On the one hand, he was able to dodge a conversation about his emotions for the time being. On the other, he couldn’t spend this dance with you as his partner. Eventually, you made your way back to him and the dance came to an end. He whisked you away to the edge of the room where you could rest out of the public eye for a minute. Though it was highly improper, you and Loki made comments about the rest of the guests, being careful that no one overheard you. At some point, you were able to circle back around to Loki’s lack of faith in himself.

“I am not sure this is the best place to discuss this,” he said, trying to buy himself more time.

“You’re right,” you agreed, fiddling with the bracelet he’d given you, which you’d yet to take off. “Join me for a walk?”

Between the innocent look in your eye and the proposition of alone time with you, Loki couldn’t refuse. The night air was warm as the two of you made your way down the cobblestone path of the garden. Reaching a bench, you stopped for a spell, feet tired from all the dancing and standing around.

“If you really are correct,” Loki began after a short silence, during which you absentmindedly rested your head on his shoulder, “and I am amazing, why does no one else seem to see it?”

You considered his question for a second before picking your head up and looking into his eyes. Such a scrutinizing gaze would usually have made Loki defensive, but he recognized the soft undertones of yours, leaving him with just a worry that you wouldn’t like whatever it was you were looking for.

“I don’t know, really,” you finally admitted. “Maybe because for all your supposed confidence, you don’t really see it either. Or, who knows, maybe they’re just jealous.”

He considered that for a moment, simultaneously loving and hating how astute your deductions were. At least, on the first account. And he did often believe others envied him for the few talents he would admit he truly possessed.

“Maybe,” was all he said.

“Yeah, maybe,” you echoed, placing a hand over his.

Loki’s cheeks flushed again, and he looked at you. You really were beautiful, inside and out. It was a pity, he thought, that people usually only recognized the latter. Though, it made him feel honored that you let him get close enough to you that he could see the former as well. As he was observing you, you turned your head up to look at the sky, presumably thinking of the first time you’d met. He knew he was. The motion upset your circlet, and it slid out of place. Loki went to fix it, but as he was doing so, got an even better idea.

“What are you doing?” you inquired, fixing him with an inquisitive look as he took off the accessory.

“I just thought you might look even better in this,” he answered.

He took off his helmet and put it on your head. It was ever so slightly too large and slid down a bit farther than it should. It only served to make you more adorable, Loki thought. You looked at him for a second as if trying to make up your mind about something. Then you suddenly rushed forward and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It was enough to make you both fidget and chuckle sheepishly.

Loki stood up after a moment, making up his own mind about something. He placed another kiss, to your knuckles this time, and asked, “Shall we return to the ball?”

“We shall,” you answered, beaming at how self-assured he seemed.

You went back hand in hand and made it to the center of the floor just in time for the final dance. Both of you danced so beautifully that every other guest stopped to admire your grace. As you finished, they erupted into the loudest round of applause that evening.

“Loki,” you gasped later that evening as he walked you back to your quarters. “I’m still wearing your helmet!”

“It is alright, darling. Trust me when I say you look quite ravishing. And,” he added after a split second of hesitation, “I hope you know how amazing you are, too.”

As you stopped in front of your door, Loki leaned in, and you finally met in a long-overdue, sweet, gentle, loving kiss.

[emerald-echeveria-plant]

Bye, bye, Queenie.

//In the Terran Castle, there was a large group of people being given a tour guide. The group entered a chamber of special and old artifacts.//

Tour guide: and here we enter the possessions that the Terran empire had gained throughout generations of ruling!

Crowd: oooooo..

//someone in the crowd takes a photo.//

Tour guide: some of these artifacts are sacred relics of their time while others are rewards taken from battle. Have a look around, there's so much history around!

//the crowd took a look around, admiring all the old artifacts. Some taking pictures while others read the signs next to them. A group of people surrounded one artifact, that seemed to be the center piece out if everything else. The artifact was a red and black staff. At the top of the staff was a heart that had thorns all around it.

Person #1: what's this?

Tour guide: ah, it appears you've all found the Amoretian staff. A precious item that was once passed down from generation to generation in the Amoretian family. That was once a tradition, then Hatred became queen.

Person #2: um.. who?

Person #3: since when did an emotion become ruler..?

Tour guide: No, no, that's her actually name! Hatred was a tyrant who lived many years ago. She tried her best to destroy all love and rule the universe. She almost accomplished it but luckily was caught and executed!

Person #4: erm.. I kinda heard she was immortal, you sure she actually died?

Tour guide: Oh please! I'm an expert on this type of stuff. I am very, extremely, absolutely, totally, and completely right that she's-

//the wall burst open behind them, cutting off the last remaining words of the tour guide. The a wall was thrown at the crowd which caused them to be thrown back. Many were injured and unconscious. From the the rubble, stepped out Hatred with Veronica along side her.//

Veronica: huh I knew that wall would lead to here. I'm a genius!

Hatred: congratulations, you tore out a wall and alerted our presence. I hope it was worth it.

Veronica: of course it is! The staff is right there!

Hatred: it is..? *Realizes* It is.

Veronica: heh, you denied the museum room would have your staff there! Saying that 'oh the Terran empire would leave it in a pristine and secret place'! But here there is! On display.

Hatred: Veronica.

Veronica: yes?

Hatred: stop talking before I slap you.

Veronica: okay your majesty!

Hatred, rolls her eyes and walks forward, she looks at the glass casing before her: so, that's where my staff has been all these years.. behind glass to be merely gawked at by passersby. How demeaning.

//A couple of guards enter the room their swords and spear out in hand. They looked in shock as they saw the woman who was presumed dead after all these years, standing there inches away from them. No matter, the captain of the guards stood firm.//

Captain: Ma'am, I would stay away from that if I were you.

Hatred: don't you think it's impolite for the owner not to receive their missing property..?

Captain: I SAID STAY BACK! *Draws out his sword*

Hatred: huh, and hear I am thinking that Terra would teach their armies to never engage first.. *sighs* what a pity. I truly believed they learned.

//the captain then dashed towards her along with the other soldiers. What they were met with were long vines, grabbing onto them, pulling them up off the ground.//

Veronica: Ooo! I'm about to have some fun! Hehe!

//the vines held a tight grip around their arms and legs. Then, they slowly began to pull them off. Loud screams bellowed from all the guards as their limbs were pulled off of them. Their bodies fell one by one as Veronica giggled menacingly.//

Veronica: what a thrill! Haven't done that in a while.

Hatred: yes quite amusing. Now, hand me my staff.

Veronica: of course!

//The Venus flytrap with legs, walks over to the glass casing. She punches the glass and grabs the staff out from it's case. Veronica walks over to Hatred then proceeds to kneel.//

Veronica, bows her head: all hail, the return of the Amoretian Queen... Hatred.

Hatred, snatches her staff away: Finally, after all these years I can restart my savioronce once more... The etherium will finally know peace.

Veronica, looks at cowering crowd that are still alive: well don't be rude! Bow before your queen!

//the crowd nodded in response as they began to bow before their queen. Hatred looked down at them. Without another thought, she waved her staff causing a spell to happen. The spell turned the people into stone, keeping them in the bowing posture.//

Veronica, confused; why'd you do that?

Hatred: I wanted to make sure I still knew how to use.

//Suddenly more guards arrived, after hearing all the commotion that was happening. They stared at the horrifying scenery of dead bodies and people turned to stone. Without another thought, the guards charged at the two women.//

Veronica: you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'??

Hatred: tear them apart limb by limb and make their suffering hurt like hell. Yes, I have that on my mind 24/7.

Veronica: YAY!

//The two women then used their magic abilities to get through the charging guards. Hatred using magic spells that she remembers while Veronica used her nature abilities to tear the guards apart. The two women went through thirty men. Yet it seemed more kept coming. They were trying to make their way out of the castle buy how will they accomplish it? Having enough of these foul guards in her way, Hatred screamed loudly as she let out a powerful spell from her staff. The spell caused a massive explosion, killing all the guards. Veronica looked stunned for a moment before brushing herself off.//

Veronica, pouting: well, you could've let me have my fun for a few more minutes..

Hatred, harshly grabs Veronica by her hair: and risk more of them coming?! Are you an idiot!??

Veronica:

Veronica: well, you made me so..

Hatred, hits her on the head before letting her go: let's keep going.

Veronica, rubs her head: alrighty then!

//The two make their way out of the castle. Before them was a long bridge. They walk across it in order to get to their ship. Yet before they could get to their ship, Hatred looks back. Behind them came scurrying the queen of Terra and a few of her guards alongside her. The queen stood still, in shock, as she looked at Hatred with wide eyes. Hatred only stared back with a frown on her face.//

Hatred: So you're the new queen? Huh, I excepted your lineage to be dead years ago. It appears I'm wrong.

Queen Illysa, distraught: I-I thought-

Hatred: Thought I was dead. You're parents lied to you. And their parents lied to them. And then their parents lied to them. And then, then their parents lied to- you get the idea, I don't need to further explain. Point is, I'm alive.

Queen Illysa: Guards! Arrest her!

//The guards came running at her. In response, Hatred used her staff to destroy the bridge. The guards quickly stopped themselves before they could fall off.//

Hatred: Typical Terran rulers, always throwing their men at their enemies first. Haven't you learned nothing from the past?

Queen Illysa: We have, we just never expected a corpse to come out of its grave again.

Hatred: Do I look like a skeleton to you? I thought I already told you THAT I'M WASN'T DEAD! THEY LIED TO YOU! HOW MANY TIMES MUST I SAY IT SO IT CAN GO THROW THAT THICK SKULL OF YOURS??

Queen Illysa:

Queen Illysa: goodness when they said you had a temper, I never thought it'd be this bad.

Hatred, rolls her eyes: ugh, your trying my patience... You know what. I'm just going to shut you up now-

//Hatred uses a spell on Illysa. Queen Illysa suddenly froze still as her body slowly became stone.//

Hatred: by making you shut up entirely.

//The guards next to Queen Illysa looked on in shock as their queen became entirely of stone. Hatred took Veronica by her hand and they two began to walk away. They aboard their small ship. From a far more guards along with important officials came to the queen as support but unfortunately, they appeared to be too late. As Hatred and Veronica drove off into the skies, Veronica couldn't help but to celebrate early.//

Veronica, smiles widely: WOOHOO! we did it! We did it! Wow it was that easy...

Hatred: we're not done yet.

Veronica: huh? We're not?

Hatred: did you really think that getting rid of the queen was going to topple the entire Terran empire?

Veronica: umm.. maybe?

Hatred: no you dimwit! It's all apart of my plan. By getting rid of the queen, they'll scramble around trying to find order then when they're all disorganized, I'll storm the kingdom and kill everyone. I just need my spell book to accomplish it.

Veronica; that plan sounds perfect! I guess we're gonna have to go back home then.

Hatred: Amoretia. I hate that place, I know I won't be pleased at looking at it.

Veronica: oh come on it's not too bad! It's like the utopia you wanted it to be without love!

Hatred: I know, it truly is a utopia but it's in my nature to hate everything so unfortunately I won't be pleased about it but the citizens will be.

Veronica: and they certainly are happy! well not really..

Hatred: what was that?

Veronica: NOTHING!

//Meanwhile back at the Terran Castle. A group of politicians and other important members of the empire are sitting around a table, discussing what they should do next.//

Politician #1: we must wage war!

Politician #2: we have to keep the peace! The last war with Hatred caused the empire a fortune!

Politician #3: maybe we can negotiate with her??

Politician #4: and listen to her ludacris demands??? Are you mad!??!

Politician #2: THE QUEENS GONE! WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO??

//They all continued to argue with one another. Then the door suddenly slammed open. All the people at the table turned their heads to look over to see who it was. There stood Admiral Evar with a soft grin on his face.//

Admiral Evar: what's all this commotion about?

Politician #1: the queens been turned to stone!

Politician #2: Hatred's back!

Politician #3: she also has her staff!!

Politician #4: WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO??

Admiral Evar: Please calm yourselves. We need to take in a deep breathe and think things clearly.

//everyone takes in a deep breaths and relaxes as Evar takes control of the situation.//

Admiral Evar: unfortunately since the queen had been turned to stone, we'll need someone else form her bloodline to take charge. Anyone know where her brother is?

Politician #2: he's dead sir.

Admiral Evar: ah, what a pity... Guess that means someone next in charge has to be it. and I certainly know that the position falls to me. I will humbly accept in the behalf of the-

Politician #3: well he does have a daughter.

Admiral Evar: what-

Politician #2: yeah! Let's have her be queen! She'll know what to do!

Politician #1: what an excellent idea! Let's go with it!

Admiral Evar: now, now let's not jump to conclusions-

Politician #4: no, no it's agreed!

Politician #2: let's find the girl!

//Everyone storms out the door in order to find the daughter of the brothers queen. Also know as Connor's daughter.//

Admiral Evar: uhh.. I can't believe I have to deal with these idiots.. no matter, I'm sure the girl is "hopefully" in safe hands.

//meanwhile somewhere on a ship.//

Sophie: how many purps do you think I can fit in my mouth?

Tori: I don't know, maybe a gizillion!!

((Hatred and Veronica belong to me

Tori belongs to @authorchanlove

Sophie belongs to @sleeplessdreamer14)

[sunfloweradoring]

the one where five become four

masterlist

Hey everyone! I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone that has been following my writing recently, it’s absolutely insane to think nearly 300 people have read a couple of them! It means the world to me, so thank you <3 K xxx

word count: 2.7k

The boys had been on tour for a matter of months now; I couldn’t actually remember the last time I physically saw Harry. However, what got me through the lonely nights and long hours we couldn’t speak to each other was the knowledge I had - knowing he was doing what he loved and enjoyed above all else. There was only a few weeks of tour to go before they would all be home and with the people who loved them.

Everyone seemed just that little bit extra excited at this tour break because Zayn was to be getting married in this interlude. Perrie had kindly asked me to be a part of the wedding party, meaning me (along with many others of her close friends) had been beavering away back home, rigorously planning away from the wedding that seemed to be speeding towards us faster than we could process.

It made me so happy to see her so looking forward to the marriage - it was evident how she felt about him; and I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like for my own wedding. This year would be mine and Harry’s fifth together, and it only encouraged the small flame of excitement within me. Of course we’d spoken about marriage and the future we could have together, but he was yet to pop the question. I knew that it was definitely something I could do myself, but there was something in me that really wanted it to be Harry that asked me to be his wife - for the rest of our lives. 

I didn’t mind though, I was beyond happy where we were in our relationship currently. I felt so lucky to be a part of his hectic life and I loved to hear all the tour stories each time we got to sneak in a phone call or text. 

He really was the love of my life.

I couldn’t contain the smile that was threatening to come across my lips as I dialled Harry’s number and patiently listened to the dialling tone.

“Hello, love.” Harry’s gravely tone greeted me. Almost instantly, a frown took over my features as I pulled the phone away from my ear to quickly inspect the time. I’d been careful to leave my call late enough in the day to avoid waking him; yet his voice sounded like I’d done just that.

“Hiya, baby.” I gently responded. “Did I wake you up? I thought it was the afternoon or something there?” I questioned, leaning my body back against the pillows of our bed, my right hand absentmindedly stroking over his side of the bed as I spoke. There was a brief amount of shuffling on the other side of the phone before he spoke again.

“Y-yeah, it’s like three or something.” He replied. Now I was a little concerned. It really wasn’t like Harry at all to be so blunt on our phone calls - especially after so many weeks apart. Perhaps he was just feeling the distance particularly hard today, or recording hadn’t quite gone as smoothly as hoped. 

“You alright, Haz?” I was careful to keep my voice soft and smooth to prevent him from detecting my concern. 

“One sec,” Harry quickly replied before I heard his voice again, this time, though, at a distance from the phone. “Mate, I’m on the phone,” There was a muffled response from whoever ‘mate’ was. “No, I don’t wanna keep talking about it. We’re all in the same boat, here, I think we’ve talked about it enough for one day, don’t you think?” There was a brief moment of silence before: “You still there?”  I hummed in response, now completely confused as to what was taking place on his side of the the phone. 

“Baby...” My voice was met with a loud huff.

“Zayn’s thinking of taking a break.” He suddenly said. “He said he’s feeling too pressured and wants to go home for a week before coming back and continuing the tour.” Whatever I was expecting to be wrong, it certainly wasn’t anything like that.

“What?”

“He said we’ve been doing this almost nonstop for years and that he needs time to go home and breathe.”

“Oh my god.” I muttered, hand pushing the hair from my face. “Have you guys been talking about it all day? Is that what you just said?”

“Yeah; he just announced it at breakfast this morning and then just kinda shut himself in his room. He missed all the recording we were meant to be doing today. I don’t even know if he’s gonna come to the show tonight.”

“What are the others saying about it?” 

“Liam and Niall seem to having some sort of existential crisis about it. But honestly I’ve never seen Louis so angry before in my life.” As he spoke his words seemed to become more and more strained. 

“And you?” I spoke after he finished.

“What about me?”

“How do you feel about it?” His sniffles told me all I really needed to know but he did speak up after a minute.

“God I feel so conflicted.” His tone was a mixture of frustration, sadness and pure disappointment. I didn’t speak, allowing him time to continue. “This is like... the best thing that’s ever happened to me; this opportunity to go around doing things I love in different parts of the world, meeting fans, you know? And yeah, of course I understand the pressure he’s going on about; we’ve been putting out an album basically every year since X-Factor, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like a chore - it’s something I want to do. It’s something we all want to do!” Pause. “Well, I thought we all wanted to do it.” He added quietly. I really felt at a loss for words. I’d never heard Harry sound so manic before and I worried what would come of this new situation. 

“Are you coming home?” I asked.

“N-no. Well, at least, I don’t think we are. I think it’s just him.” Another silence came over the phone. I really didn’t know what to say to him that would make it any better. “Baby...” Harry trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come? I just... I just really need you here right now.” I could hear him feverishly fighting back tears.

“Do you want me to come?”

“Yeah...” It almost sounded like a child, desperately calling for the comfort of his mother.

“Of course I can, my love. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

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

I managed to get a late night flight out that same day, getting me in the next day, early morning for his timezone. The hours on the plane seemed to pass at a snail’s pace; I couldn’t contact Harry; I couldn’t see if there was any news about anything for that period of time - only fuelling my anxiety at the situation. 

Finally, though, the plane landed and I was able to get into the airport, through immigration and retrieve my bag without too much delay. My knee nervously bounced against the floor of the car the entire ride towards the hotel. Harry had already notified the reception that I was to be arriving, so they gave me a key to the room without trouble. I almost ran to the lift, pressing the button about four times; as if it somehow sped up the process. 

I scanned the numbers on the walls next to the doors as I made my way down the corridor; I was pretty sure that this entire floor was dedicated to the boys and their extensive team, but I wasn’t about to waste time knocking on a million different doors. As I came closer to the end of the corridor I could hear shouting from inside room 803. I quickly glanced down at my phone, open on the text Harry had sent me with the information for the hotel.

‘Mine is 803, they should give you a key but I’ll leave it open for you xxx’

I huffed out a breath, pulling my small suitcase to a stop as I reached out for the door-handle. Before I could pull it, however, the door swung open and a red faced Niall was stood in front of me. 

Since 2011 Niall had become one of my best friends. A part from Harry (obviously) he was the one I was closest to in the band. We shared many things and I’d often been the one he called for advice on girls, or even held him (in a purely platonic way, of course) as he cried about his most recent heartbreak. He’d also been my shoulder to cry on in the times Harry and I experienced a particularly tough fight and was always willing to help both of us out in any way he could. His surprise to be met with me was evident in the way he spoke my name.

“Hey.” He cleared his throat, rubbing his palm roughly against his face. “I guess you’ve heard, then?” He asked, stepping to the side to allow me to enter the room, seeming to have forgotten about his departure of the space.

“Yeah.” I nodded in sympathy, reaching out to rub a soothing hand up and down his arm. 

“I just can’t fucking believe he could do this.” Harry came into my view as Niall spoke, his eyes red rimmed. 

“He’s just stressed, I’m sure he’ll come round. Just let him go home for a few days and cool off.” I suggested, walking towards Harry to pull him into a hug. 

“Let him go home?” Niall repeated.

“She doesn’t know, Niall. She’s just got here.” Harry speaks, voice croaky. 

“Don’t know what?” I asked, keeping my arms around Harry’s middle as I pulled away enough to look up at him. 

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” I spoke Niall’s words again, looking between the two men in the room in utter confusion. “What do you mean he’s gone?” Harry pulled away, taking my hand to lead me towards the sofa in the room as Niall pushed the door closed and followed us. Harry and I sat, legs touching, on the sofa as Niall sunk down into the chair opposite. 

“Well you know that I said he just made the announcement at breakfast yesterday?” Harry asked, leaning back in the cushions, arm slung over the back of the furniture behind me. I nodded, urging him to continue. “He just stayed in his room pretty much all of yesterday; he spoke to Lou before the rest of us left for the show, he didn’t come, even though he said he would.”

“He was gone by the time we got back.” Niall finished. 

“Oh my god.” I breathed, my head falling into my hands. “Well what the hell does that mean?” 

“We don’t know.” Harry replied. Both men looked in a right state; I wouldn’t be surprised if they told me neither of them had a wink of sleep last night. Both of their hair, usually pretty immaculate, was now roughly sticking out every which way as if they’d been pulling and pushing at it in frustration. 

“Has any of his family said anything?” I asked. “Perrie?”

They shook their heads in reply, looking down sorrowfully. Suddenly the door was pushed open and one of their body guards walked in. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” He started, shooting me an acknowledging nod. “There’s been some... developments.”

“What developments?” Niall asked.

“I think you should just come into Liam’s room, there’s a meeting.” He said, refusing to say anything and standing to the side of the door, watching the three of us. 

“I’ll stay here.” I offered, watching Harry and Niall get up.

“No, come.” Harry said, holding his hand out. I took it, following him as he pulled me towards him, his hand at the small of my back as we were led by Niall out of the room. Collectively we muttered a ‘thanks’ to the man holding the door open as we went to the room three doors down.

“One sec,” I said, feeling my phone vibrate in my back pocket. “I’ll meet you in there.” I slipped it out, giving them an encouraging smile and nod before answering it - not looking at who the caller was. “Hello?” I was answered by someone crying out my name. “Perrie?” Harry stopped, reaching out and grabbing Niall’s arm to stop him continuing into the room as they both spun around to watch me.

“It’s Z-Zayn.” She continued to cry.

“What’s happened? Has he made it home?” I asked, exchanging a worried look with Harry. As I spoke, Louis, Liam and their tour manager emerged from the room, all standing and watching me.

“What’s going on?” Liam whispered. Niall quickly explained.

“He just texted me. He said he’s back in London, but he said that was it. He wasn’t going back. The band is over for him. And so are we!” She hiccuped between each sentence, her explanation laced with sobs. My heart seemed to come to a juddering holt at her words.

“The band’s over? What do you mean? You’re over?”

“He’s called off the wedding!” 

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

I sat in Liam’s room next to Harry as their tour manager explained the situation. “So he’s quit?” Louis asked after what felt like an eternity of silence between the seven of us. It was evident in his ton and body language it was taking every fibre in his body not to rage.

“What the fuck?” Niall cried, face falling into his palms. His shoulders were shaking, showing us that his tears were falling. Liam moved to sit on the arm of his chair, pulling him into a hug, but it was clear he himself was fighting tears. 

“And he’s broken up with Perrie?” Liam confirmed, looking between me and their manager. We both nodded. 

I was absolutely stunned. I didn’t know what was going on. The last twenty four hours and been a rollercoaster, a whirlwind, going from one thing to the next in what felt like a flash.  

“Christ... I can’t believe this.” Louis said. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to me that Harry remained silent. I turned my head to look at him; he seemed to be in a sense of shock. I gently squeezed the hand that was in mine. 

“Haz...” I prodded quietly, my other hand rubbing up and down his thigh gently.

“Can we go?” He croaked, averting eye contact. 

“Um... I think we’ll be right back.” I spoke up, standing and waiting for Harry to follow. The other seemed to have an unspoken understanding; all feeling this sense of numbness and loss. We made our way back to Harry’s room in silence. I pushed the door shut behind us, watching cautiously as Harry went straight to the bed and almost fell onto it, his gaze staring up at the ceiling. I slowly approached him, laying beside him without a word. Both of his hands were sort of cupped around his mouth, eyes welling with tears. 

“Come here, baby.” I whispered, pulling his body into mine as he let out a choked sob. His head rested on my chest as I wrapped him in my arms. Soon more sobs escaped his mouth, morphing into an almost continuous cry as his body shook. “Shhh, my love, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just let it out.” I spoke gently into his hair as I kissed the back of his head. With each passing moment my heart was breaking more and more. Never had I seen him like this and it saddened me to no end. 

About half an hour had gone passed where he had uttered no words or sounds. “Thank you,” His voice was hoarse and muffled into my jumper.

“What for, my darling?”

“For coming, for being here. For just... being you.” He whimpered. I sniffled, a couple of my own tears falling from my eyes.

“Of course.” I replied, squeezing him gently. “Of course.” 

Neither of us knew what was going to follow this day; would the band continue? Would this be the end of the road for all of them? All I did know was that as long as Harry and I were together, we could weather any storm thrown our way, because we loved each other, supported each other, unconditionally. 

[asagi-s-garden]

WB is the worst when it comes to DC. It's no coindence that Constantine is leaving 'Legends of Tomorrow" in the wake of the upcoming HBO Max show. And this pandemic ruined a lot of plans. As you said "BL" wasn't meant to be in the Arrowverse put when it happened they were all gung-ho for it. They had plans for Jeff to visit Central City and for Anissa and Grave to chill in Gotham. But then the pandemic and whatever BTS drama that got "BL" canned. Like *something* happened. It got an early renewal in Jan then it was cancelled in Nov. And CW didn't even bother to have proper trailers for new episodes. Don't tell me somebody on the show didn't rub the network the wrong way to result in that level of pettiness

Yeah, WB isn't just the worst with DC, but really the worst with favoritism in my personal opinion

They tried so hard to make the DC streaming service a huge success but as soon as they saw it wasn't going to be they got rid of everything like it was on fire, HBO Max is the new golden child so they're cutting their own throats in other areas to make it succeed- IE: Theaters

My poor Suicide Squad 2 ;_; no I won't say "my THE Suicide Squad" it won't roll off the tongue it was a sacrificial lamb to the damn streaming service :(

I know it's an unpopular opinion to not be all over streaming but they're really clearly cutting way more than just corners in order to feed that specific beast and try to make it compete with Disney+, that's why they're starting to draw the string on the Arrowverse :/ The same thing happened, I think, with the DC streaming service though, when they saw that the biggest success of DC was the Arrowverse, they decided to pull their dying streaming service as well as the DCEU into it to pump the Arrowverse up more, now that the Arrowverse is starting to go under- with three shows being gone, Batwoman being in questionable territory, and the two biggest successes of the year being largely disjointed from it (Superman and Stargirl), I think they're going to try to scramble it like eggs :/ They're doing the same with the DCEU to a degree though, by having loosely connected stories that do more universe hopping and tone changes (IE: Joker coming out just months before Birds Of Prey and having been preceeded by Shazam!) I think since they're seeing more promise in that approach right now for the movies, they might be trying to do the same for TV- or they're just trying to let the Arrowverse die of neglect so they can pump up HBO Max like you said

Ofcourse now that WB has been bought by Discovery, we might get some big changes to this; Discovery already said they wanted to pour seven BILLION dollars into DC properties specifically in the first year alone, and I know the rumor is that they're only going to try to gloss up DC so that they can sell the assets to the highest bidders once their "probation" period ends but like.... seven billion is a hell of alot of gloss..... and if they can start pulling in more numbers like Joker, Superman & Lois, and The Suicide Squad (wich may have not been a huge hit at the box office but wich reportedly smashed the HBO Max numbers enough that WB is circling James Gunn like a starving shark), then I have a hard time believing they'd be wanting to get rid of it, especially when, let's face it, DC is easily the most well known and most marketable asset Discovery has ever had and probably ever will have purely because of Superman alone, you can't find a person anywhere who hasn't atleast heard of Superman, regardless of how much the film properties are hit-and-miss financially, I have a hard time believing anyone would just throw that kind of name power to the wolves....

But onto Black Lightning, I actually have a pretty strong theory about that one

I'm almost certain that China Anne McClain is why the show was canned

And do not get me wrong, I don't mean that in a snippy way, but China quit Black Lightning pretty urgently- to the point that she only wanted to do limited episodes for the final season

Backing up a moment here though, let me explain why I think this was the nail-in-the-coffin

Black Lightning was very quickly becoming centered around Lightning specifically

That doesn't mean to say that it wasn't still Jefferson's story and that Anissa wasn't still important, but Jennifer was getting set up to be The Powerhouse of the show, with the bulk of the drama probably surrounding her and the thought of her potentially taking on her father's mantel

It seemed like the idea of Black Lightning retiring or atleast putting on the suit a little less was starting to become a thing, and with Jefferson firmly accepting his daughters as part of the world of Metas at that point, that would have lead to Anissa and Jennifer taking much more of the spotlight than they had in the beginning- that's a natural progression of things, and although I actually prefer Anissa's storyline (it's just more my personal cup of tea), I will readily admit that Jennifer was the one who had the ability to carry an entire season's worth of story on her shoulders.... not so much Anissa, who has her wife (so romantic subplots are pretty toned down), her powers are developed and stable (nothing quite like the learning curves Jennifer was facing), she has a stable job and a stable superhero identity- two, in fact-, so no literal schoolyard drama or issues with "Am I in my father's shadow? Is this how the world sees me and do I want them to see me this way?" much like what Jennifer was starting to experience in the end of the show either

TLDR Anissa mostly had her shit together, wich is great for her, but it doesn't lend to being able to carry the most dramatic storylines like it does with Jennifer, who's still figuring out pretty much everything

I think Jennifer was already starting to take a very large amount of the story as of the last season and even starting to steal the spotlight before that, if they were to come back for more I feel like she would have been in a place of being much more obviously groomed to take on the main charector status wile Jefferson stepped back just a little bit to be more supportive to her journey instead of the other way around

And the show could still exist very much as Jefferson's story wile that story happened to center on Jennifer

.....Buuuuuuuuuuuuut that's where the problem comes in

China said before the show was cancelled that she was going to step down from playing Lightning because she wanted to focus on her faith more and be removed from anything that wasn't "in service to God", wich is totally fine for her, but it does put Black Lightning in a bit of a difficult position because the charector they were gearing up to make their breakout star was suddenly going to either have to pull a Winn and just... be.... gone.... or have to get recast

To be entirely honest, I'm not sure why they didn't stick with the recasting instead, I thought Laura Karuki did a fantastic job as Jennifer and the "Am I Jennifer or am I JJ?" story would have been a great thing to explore for an entire season, but if I had to guess, they maybe just didn't want to mess with it?

Black Lightning had good numbers but it wasn't in the top five or anything to my recollection, not since it's premiere season anyway, and it could have been a compound decision of "We weren't going to keep this up much longer anyway so let's just take this as a sign to wrap it up", although I think that the way the recast was done could have presented a stable option for them if they had decided to give it a go for a full season, although maybe that's just my opinion and they initially made the recast so that the people behind the curtain could see if Laura would work well enough as Jennifer and when they decided that the vibe wasn't right they went on ahead and pulled the plug rather than risk getting the same um... resistance.... than Batwoman met over their recasting choices

Although I could go on for days about why that situation is different (to be clear: I do like Ryan quite alot but I don't think the Batwoman situation was nearly as seamless as Black Lightning's in terms of recasts, but that's another story for another day)

TLDR I think if China had stayed aboard they would have gone on for atleast another season or two, but there are some shows where members of an ensemble cast are so essential that their leaving is too big of a blow to stay through

It's much like when Dylan O'Brien had to bow out of Teen Wolf for a little wile, I think you'd be hard pressed to find a fan who absolutely loved season six, and even before that people were having a hard time staying with a lack of Tyler Hoechlin, with some even stepping away when Crystal Reed left, even though- at both of those points- most of the core cast was still there and at no point did the titular main ever leave, I feel like Black Lightning's situation is very similar, people were just too invested in Jennifer

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Misery is the Drug in Your Veins 1

Dead Dove Mob/Yakuza AU

Hanzo has a problem threatening Shimada-gumi’s working relationship with Reaper’s organization: the altercation between his shit-for-brains men and Reaper’s kid’s bodyguard that ended with blood spilled. It’s his responsibility to smooth things over and offer an appropriate apology.

Over two years earlier, working deep undercover in Reyes’ family, Jack finds himself with his cover blown and his very life a balancing act on a tightrope.

Warnings: Serious Dead Dove, ncs, dubious/coerced consent, ncs drug use, violence (like people buried alive at night in woods in future or mentions of necklacing), abuse, objectification, ptsd, cptsd, fawning, no-one is objectively good, etc - also Hanzo & Genji being bros.

*

He should have taken the coat, not just the scarf, Jack thinks, observing the falling snowflakes, big and fluffy. Probably the first snow, too, all poetic and shit. He just needed some space to breathe and clear his mind, if only for a moment - hitching a ride with Amelie and Jesse on their morning trip to the shore seemed like a good idea then, not so much now.

To his left, Amelie speaks into her phone in angry spitfire French. Jack sighs and closes his eyes as he leans his head back against the wooden post. Should've taken the coat, he's too fucking cold. Cold enough to shiver.

"Will you die?" Jesse asks and Jack cracks one eye open. He can hear the sirens getting closer - he also feels the blood seeping through the fingers of the hands he keeps pressed to his side - and he's so fucking cold.

"I don't know," Jack answers sincerely, "but Gabe's gonna be angry with me, for sure..."

Jesse nods solemnly and puts his own hands on his - Christ, he's what, seven? The kid's seven, Jack needs to remind himself, and asking him if he's going to die now, and no child should do that ever, but he's just tired and fucking freezing.

It doesn't even hurt anymore and the sirens are getting away.

*

 The car ride through the early winter landscape takes over an hour. The serpentine road leading up the mountain mansion is cleared of snow - and at this point, observing the scenery passing by the window, Hanzo is considering making a damn PowerPoint presentation. If it will save him from this kind of headache in the future, it will be worth it. Maybe he will even delegate the task to Genji. Speaking of whom, as the car turns around and rolls to a stop in front of the mansion, Genji is the first out with a cigarette in his hand.

Hanzo waits for Daichi to open his door.

The air is chilly but not enough for the snow to linger for more than a few days unless the temperature drops further. Hanzo would spend a moment to appreciate it under any other circumstances.

The angry European woman, underdressed for the weather, leans on the banister of the balcony and glares death at them. Another variable Hanzo’s unfamiliar with.

"Get back in the car."

Genji waves his cigarette.

"I just light..."

"The car, now."

Genji swears in a protest but complies. Good. Hanzo needed him to only show his face around, anyway, so it’s known he’s taking the situation with all the seriousness expected.

The woman above raises her chin and turns away from the banister, disappearing from his sight. He's expecting to meet her inside.

Hanzo walks past the first car, nodding to his people as he passes them. The hall is hot, and Hanzo entertains for a moment the notion Americans have absolutely no moderation in anything. He lets Daichi take his coat and leaves him behind in the vestibule, following one of the two guards deeper into the house. Up the stairs, the mercenary lets him into the day room connected to the balcony. Through the glass doors, he can see it's far more spacious than it appears from the outside.

The woman from earlier sits in a wicker chair, drinking something warm from a cup. The kid, dressed more appropriately in a sweater and a cap, plays with toy cars on the floor, pausing once in a while to talk at her - by the movement of the steam above the rim of the cup he can follow her answers.

Hanzo sits down on the couch.

When he was much younger, he believed in all the tall tales of honor, whole-heartedly even, before he had realized it was just a pretty word for bruised egos and petty vendettas of the vain. And as such, the vulgar display of power before him is merely that.

"Shimada," Reaper raises his glass minutely without offering. The whore, half-sitting on the floor with face leaning on his thigh, bound and gagged - thankfully covered with a thrown on yukata - either pretends not to notice the audience or is completely out of it. Hanzo fixates for a moment on a darker patch on Reaper's trousers, obviously wet with drool and gods know what else. He's even marginally curious if the whore's going to be one of those he has to arrange for a discrete cleanup after, one of the obligations of the agreement negotiated by his father, both the supply and the subsequent removal.

"I've become aware of an... incident involving some of my men. I want to extend my sincere apologies and assure you they will be disciplined appropriately."

"Will they?" Reaper sips his drink.

They certainly are already very sorry, is what Hanzo would want to say, since your minder sent all three of them running, and two, in the aftermath, to the urgent care. He settles for the appropriate prostration.

"I will personally ensure a situation like this won’t repeat."

"My property was put at risk."

The negotiation stage, at last. If such a thing ever came to be, Hanzo dearly hoped he himself would never refer to his own child, or their mother, as his property, though he harbors no such futile delusions where his own future is concerned.

"We will offer the customary tribute."

"I demand the full retribution."

"It was a grave mistake but it would be a far too drastic action to undertake."

"I don't think you understand the severity of the situation, Shimada," Reaper smiles and inclines forward, setting the glass between them on the table while his other hand pets the whore's hair. He leans back against the couch, pulling at the gripped between his fingers hair, forcing the whore to straighten frantically to follow his movement. One of those gags, Hanzo notes in the back of his mind, watching the man's throat as he seizes and tries to fight for his breath with his changing position. The cloth slips off his frame, revealing the stitches on his left side and the reddened flesh underneath.

It's the distinctive scars that make Hanzo realize he had read the situation wrong, right from the very start.  Whatever Reaper sees in his face is enough for him to let go of the man's hair and allow him to fall back against his thigh with a small sound of distress.

Hanzo was never in a position to negotiate.

"I'll arrange for the place and the time."

"See that you do, Shimada."

Halfway down the mountain, Genji finally asks.

"So, what's it gonna be? Fingers?" Hanzo holds his hand out to him and Genji, sighing, gives him his flask. "What, their balls and dicks?"

When Hanzo drinks more before passing the flask back to him, Genji grimaces.

"They just pestered the chick and knifed the hired muscle, that's a bit much."

"Only he wasn't a hired muscle."

"What, some family?"

Hanzo looks out of the window.

"Genji, do you remember, when the old man sent us to pick up the kid from the airport?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"The junkie."

Standing outside of the terminal with the kid in his arms and a backpack, with a duffel bag full of money on the ground. Obviously lost and confused, suffering from withdrawal if one knew what to look for, and ready to bolt if anyone as much as tried to approach him - with months-old scars slashed across his face, and another one along the left side of his head, barely hidden under the hair.

And he would run if Hanzo didn't have the foresight to instruct his men to surround him; even made a panicked move before a strange resignation took him over and he quietly followed them to the car - not letting go of the kid even as he tore into the packet Hanzo provided him with and swallowed the pills dry, high as a kite already when they finally arrived at their destination and made the exchange, staying long enough to see him and the kid escorted to the mansion.

"Yeah, what about that one?" Genji flippantly takes a swig from the flask.

"It was him, and he's his woman."

"Shit." Genji meets his eyes, then continues in an unfamiliar display of sympathy. "I'll get everything ready, you just pass the word."

"Thank you." And Hanzo means it.

 *

 It's not the first time that Hanzo considers Genji would be a much better fit for the position, if not for his rambunctiousness, and some other quirks seen as weaknesses and not the strengths they were. Nevertheless, it was far more likely it would be Genji providing the heir, either by design or by accident, Hanzo idly thinks by the way of distraction from his current task, which is delivering a signed death warrant on his own men. They were foolish and young, their deaths superfluous, and yet...

The Chinese were good partners if one traded in lives - and Shimada-gumi partook in it - but drugs and firepower were a whole different matter altogether. The triads were unwilling to part with the total control, so if the man who provided the connections and his network wanted a blood tribute, he got the damn blood tribute. Too bad he never got to know what the old man paid for the deal they've inherited, but merely seeing him squirm over it was sure worth the price.

Hanzo sits on the couch just as the maid – Filipino, if he were to guess - finishes pouring the tea into what appears to be his designated cup out of the four on the table. The host is absent, as is the angry European woman; he can put the time it affords him to some use.

The indirect source of his headache is half-lying, half-sitting on the cushions on the floor. The kid, working on a picture, is sitting between the table and his legs. Hanzo observes for a moment, trying to look past the preconceptions and circumstances skewing his perception. The man is relaxed and definitely under the influence, be it painkillers or something else altogether, and except for the initial glance, he ignores Hanzo completely, staring off into space. Hardly frail, in a physical sense of the world. His physique is maintained. A wide bruise that wasn’t there before is circling his neck.

"I don't believe we were introduced," Hanzo clears his throat, extending his hand over the table. "Shimada Hanzo."

The man flicks his eyes at Hanzo's palm before returning to looking at an unspecified point in the air.

"...Jack."

But his lips were forming a different sound at the beginning before Jack apparently caught himself.

"I see," Hanzo puts his hand back on his thigh. "Can I ask you something, Jack?"

Jack shrugs noncommittally, with the accompaniment of subtle clinking.

"Thank you." Hanzo spares a glance to the kid busy adding copious amounts of red crayon to the picture. "This might be an inappropriate discussion for a child."

Jack shrugs again - there's the metallic sound once more - and answers without looking.

"I shot his mother in front of him."

That's... definitely, one way of saying it doesn't matter what's discussed. Hanzo purses his lips, mulling over how to proceed, when the kid puts the crayon back on the table and looks at him.

"Mom killed dad and wanted to kill Jack," the kid smiles and grabs the black crayon this time. Jack at first just stares at the boy, then Hanzo feels his surprised attention on himself as if, somehow, Jack had consciously noticed him only now, biting his lip in what could be apprehension or anxiety. Intriguing, how his focus wavers immediately, prompting Hanzo to continue with caution, to sustain it.

"Can you tell me, Jack, how you got the scars on your face?"

Jack mulls the question over.

"Glass. It was... a window, and the bomb went off..." His voice trails off. Fair enough. The cuts must've been clean and deep, missing both of his eyes by a close margin.

"Jack." The man's wandering gaze snaps back to Hanzo at hearing his name, again. "And the burn on your neck?"

"...gun." Jack doesn't elaborate on it. Hanzo keeps the momentum up and does not push for the information that is not provided freely.

"The scars on the chest, Jack?" As soon as Jack parses the question, the additional nervousness builds up in his shoulders. The metallic clinking is back. He answers with a barely perceptible stutter.

"...Afghanistan."

Either military or mercenary, might be both. Running convoys, possibly; maybe this is the connection Hanzo's looking for to sate his personal curiosity, but the further line of questioning is best saved for later.

"Jack," Hanzo calls the man's wandering attention back to himself, again. "And the scar on the left side of your head, Jack?"

Jack freezes for a moment before both of his hands fly up to cover his hair there - handcuffed and used to it, judging by the flawless coordination - the reddened skin around the wrists has an oily wet shine to it.

"No, it's not visible, Jack," Hanzo finds himself trying to placate him with his open palms showing and reaching over the table. The unexpected manner of an animal gulping air and ready to lash out reminds him of all the times he had to talk Genji down from whatever bad high he'd been on. "I've seen it before. Before. There's nothing to see now, Jack. Nothing."

The change is gradual. Jack's expression settles back into an impassive mask as his hands slowly return to their previous position. Hanzo lets the matter rest, sparing a glance at the kid unperturbed by the incident and happy to be left alone working on his picture.

"I failed to blow my brains out," Jack delivers in a flat voice bereft of any inflection. There's something disturbingly familiar in his words and eyes Hanzo cannot pin down, not now at least, but the impression of the fact that he had seen it somewhere before remains. Puzzle pieces to be assembled together later - if he finds enough of the missing parts to create the image or at least the idea of the image.

"That's all that I wanted to ask, Jack," Hanzo focuses on the cup he reaches for, still feeling the uncomfortable stare of blue eyes bore into him.

Over time, he grew accustomed to the western idea of what tea is - made with much too hot water and too many leaves - and marinated. The one in the cup has a lovely red coloring and smells deeply of tannin. The taste is tart and bitter, with a smidge of sweet fermentation. From the corner of his eye, Hanzo can still see Jack observing him with unnerving intensity. He tries to remain unbothered by it while sipping his tea, idly noting it would be acceptable as a sweetened drink when watered down.

The uncomfortable moment lasts until Jack shifts his whole posture, best described as a scramble to prop himself up on his hands - the reason obvious when the host enters Hanzo's field of vision - the whole of it a ridiculous approximation of a pet reacting to its beloved owner.

As ridiculous as Hanzo's own refusal to refer to the man as 'Reaper' in the confines of his own mind, but the fact some of his people took to calling him 'Shinigami' is even more preposterous, and he will take no part in this absurd game unless otherwise required. And, even being in a position of a supplicant - again - he will not vie for the attention that at the same time he is owed as a guest. The whole situation leaves Hanzo with a substantial quandary to navigate while he goes through the mental list of all the interdependencies. Not for the first time, he's more than curious what the old man had offered his current host in the introductory package - but definitely not the mansion itself. Hanzo had discreetly investigated all the details of the acquisition of the property and nothing came up, except for the fact that it had been allowed to be bought out by a foreigner. If he were to hazard a cautious guess, it almost looked like a cozy retirement plan.

Hanzo sips on his tea, watching the interaction before him play out: at the same time put off and fascinated by it. Jack strains, the corner of his lips Hanzo can see from his vantage point twitches. The position he put himself in must be forcing pressure on the stitches that punches through whatever pain medication - or anything else - he's on. The host takes ahold of his jaw - definitely not a gentle grip but probably not bruising - and pulls him up even higher, enough that Jack now has to brace his palms on the table to keep balance and minimize the strain on his side. Hanzo has the unsettling notion he's being privy to something far too intimate to be displayed during what is basically a business meeting. While he does understand the difference in the sensibilities, this is too much, with how Jack keeps his eyes trained on the man. As soon as the so-far hidden from the view pipette is raised, he opens his mouth obediently.

Hanzo counts three drops, a pause, and then the fourth one like an afterthought. Free from the grip, Jack remains at attention until the host pats his cheek in dismissal. At this, he eases off slowly, sinking down until he rests his forearms on the edge of the table and reaches for his teacup, downing it in a fashion that makes it clear he's trying to get rid of a displeasing taste in his mouth. All things aside, on its own, it is an impressive maneuver to be pulled off while being impaired both by the cuffs and the sustained injury, not to mention the medication. Hanzo makes a note of it, moving Jack up several rungs in his personal risk assessment. He's dangerous, maybe on par with the angry woman, who, at the moment, seems to be absent from the meeting.

"Don't worry about your little earlier chat, Shimada."

Ah. Hanzo had been caught snooping for information, not that he really counted on it to go unnoticed. The question, how much his host, now sitting in front of him, cares about this perceived invasion of privacy.

"He won't remember it."

Apparently, not as much as Hanzo would expect, but another possibility opens: a warning that Jack won't recognize him as an ally down the line. He might be overthinking it. Probably is, and, feeling the warning bells of borderline paranoia, Hanzo glances at Jack now reclining back on the pillows with his eyes half-closed.

The kid remains unbothered by it all, focused fully on his artwork.

"I understand," Hanzo begins, reaching into his front pocket for a card he places face down on the table - keeping his fingers on the laminated paper. "Regarding our previous discussion..." He slides the card towards the host. "I hope the time and the place are acceptable."

The man observes him with the most irritating smirk on his face, barely noticeable but definitely there. It's his frayed nerves, Hanzo decides when the host finally leans forward and he pulls his hand away from the piece of paper, straightening his posture. Only, the man picks up his cup.

"I'm sure there will be no scheduling conflicts for this event."

'Event'. Hanzo will murder his own people in cold blood. Idiots of mythological proportions, true, but still his people. Business oiled with blood, like any other. The loud clack of a crayon put down with force on the table startles him - Hanzo hopes his face doesn't show it. The kid gets up and steps over Jack's legs, going for the cupboards on the other side of the room.

"Did you finish your classes?" The host asks, not breaking the eye contact.

"In the morning," the kid answers as he retrieves what looks to be a handheld game from the drawer before making his way back to the table.

"Okay then." The host smiles, almost fondly. Nodding at that. "Children," he adds as a means of the explanation that's unneeded. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe this was all, unless..." The man sets the cup back - untouched - and rises from the couch. Hanzo mimics him, struck by the sheer rudeness of it: another garish display of the imbalance between them and their respective organizations. At least, until there's a hand extended towards him over the table. He takes it. The grip is firm and does not ease, making it uncomfortable as silent seconds pass.

"Gabriel. I'm looking forward to our continued partnership."

They'd never been formally introduced before. Hanzo feels the balance shift imperceptibly with the name slotting into the appropriate spaces in his mind.

"Hanzo."

"See that it doesn't end too soon," Gabriel releases his hand with finality. Hanzo nods, feeling like he has just, how the western saying goes, sold his soul to the devil.

"I will definitely keep it under consideration."

"Good."

Gabriel sits back down and Hanzo more than feels it's his cue to leave. He turns, with one last glance to the kid: he has managed to place himself between Jack's arms, with his back leaning against the man's chest. If not for the cuffs around the wrists laying across his lap, it would appear as nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn't, really, with how the kid was now engrossed in his game like everything was in perfect order.

Hanzo spends the ride back ruminating on the meeting.

The puzzle pieces do not want to fit together - he gets two or three to connect but not more - different bits of information suspended in the void of unknowns. When Daichi opens his door, one memory strikes him randomly. Hanzo sends him away with the wave of his hand.

Still sitting in the car, he takes one cigarette out of the case and lights it.

Hanzo doesn't smoke. It's rather a sympathetic nervous habit he had picked up from Genji: holding a burning cigarette between his fingers and the disagreeable smell help him focus and calm. He has been right. He knew the expression, or rather the lack of it, that Jack wore on his face when asked about the scar. He had seen it before, had heard the same flat voice, all from some of the used merchandise, the ones that were broken in, or just simply broken.

 *

 Two and a half years ago.

He wakes slowly, with pain lacing through his body at every minute motion. Tries to sort his memories out, what was real and what has never happened.

The room is oddly familiar. The slid shut curtains remind him of something disturbing.

It's probably morning.

Over the hum in his head, he can hear someone moving downstairs.

He works the courage up to shift and sit - then stand on unsteady legs - his tongue feels swollen and sticks to the roof of his mouth. It makes sense for it to be morning, somehow.

The first door he tries is the bathroom. The light comes on by itself - he barely registers moving before he's gripping the sink with both hands and drinks straight from the tap. When he finally looks up, there's a baggie stuck with yellow tape to the mirror's surface.

He rips it off and stills, staring. His reflection is a sorry sight - but it's not right - the bruises and scrapes are healing, his lips are scabbed. It's days, not hours. Tentatively, he reaches to his cheek and winces at the sharp pain.

But it's not right, not when his wrists are rubbed raw fresh and stinging - and there's nothing in the air but the smell of gasoline - and if Gabriel comes any closer, his hair will catch on fire too...

He flinches away from the mirror and the specter lurking in the reflection. But Gabriel is still standing in the doorway. Blocking his way out.

He knows.

Gabriel knows.

The fragments of the last few - two? three? - days come together into a mismatched tapestry of metal, gunpowder, and gasoline. He tastes blood and breathes in the sand. The edge of the sink digs into his back as Gabriel steps closer and crowds his space, hand reaching to his palm and freeing the still-gripped in it plastic bag.

With his fingers, Gabriel forces the pills past his lips; a drop of blood trickles down his chin from an open again split lip.

But he's only interested in finding what hides behind those eyes that observe him with the knowing superiority: what’s the verdict?

One phone call, he needs but one call, and 'Jack' will be wiped from existence, and he will be safe and away from all this.

Away and safe to lick his wounds. He’s good at that.

"Swallow." The command comes with a pressure to his jaw and a palm covering his mouth - he does. "Good doggie. Wash up, change, and come downstairs. Dinner's ready soon."

Gabriel lets go of him and leaves.

'Jack' needs to die.

He spares the last long look for his own reflection and wipes the blood off his face with one of the pristine towels hanging by the side. He throws it to the ground.

Hot water in the shower stings and hurts, but his lips and fingertips tingle with numbness. The steam makes it hard to breathe; the towel still comes away tinged pink with a few darker spots scattered around, stark in the contrast to the glaring white. There's still some grime under his nails he can't get to; he's not sure he cares, not now.

Opiates, this time, with something extra mixed in, he realizes when he overshoots with his hand at first try while reaching for the change of clothes lying on the bed. The loose sweatpants and the long-sleeved shirt, both in spruce - is spruce even a color? - hang off his frame. It's... a first. He remembers losing some weight, but this is ridiculous, as is the thought they're probably a set of pajamas. He chuckles and covers his mouth immediately, surprised at the sound.

He needs time and a place to lick his wounds and process before he crashes. He needs time away from 'Jack'.

He knows his way around the house as well as he knows someone outside will put a bullet in the back of his head if he runs.

He needs 'Jack' to die.

He steps barefooted off the carpeted stairs onto chill parquet.

On the chest of drawers by the wall lie his keys, gun, wallet, and the phone - the screen is cracked but as long as the other sim card is in it should dial the right number and 'Jack' will die either way. He almost picks up the phone and the gun but thinks better of it.

He's got a straight line to the outside. Baby steps. Just be quiet. He recognizes the jacket hanging on the coat rack, it's his own - looks back to the gun.

The sound of metal hitting on glass is too loud, almost like it's supposed to catch his attention.

"Oh, you're up! Just in time, too." Chipper and pleasantly surprised. He blinks and winces at the voice, turning to his right. She's there, in shades of pink, holding some spatula or some other implement. "Sit down, I'm just finishing up," Angela continues with a smile.

She can't not know. There's no fucking way she doesn't know at least that one thing. She shouldn't be smiling at him.

"...I don't want... to intrude."

"Don't be silly, Jack, I'm happy to have you. I tried something new tonight. I hope you like lamb in mint and black beans."

The table is set for four people. Jesse sits in his chair, elbows propped next to his plate, his cup of juice half-emptied already. Gabriel's not here. He can't decide if that's good or not.

Cautiously, he walks to the closest chair and sits with his back to the corridor.

Closest to the exit.

Angela busies herself with the pots. Jesse observes him with the fervent disinterest only children are capable of. He tries to smile; Jesse's not impressed and kicks the table.

"You must be hungry." It's bad. He had missed her moving.

Angela puts the meat on his plate first. It smells sweet. He is hungry - he must be hungry with how his breathing speeds up and shallows - or maybe he has just noticed it? She comes back with the beans; they're really, honestly, just black in black, and he laughs and chokes on it.

He wipes his lips with his wrist, barely noticing the blood.

The hand on his shoulder is not hers even if she's back again by his side, closer than before. Fingers move to his throat, a thumb rubs hard circles into the back of his head. She sees it, doesn't she? She has to.

"You'll be eating with us more often, won't you?" Angela coos, leaning in. She pets his hair and kisses his cheek. "You're family, after all. Well," she straightens and claps her hands. "Everybody, dig in. Dinner's served."

The hand on his neck lets go with one last shove - and only then he feels he's able to take a shallow breath. He focuses on the plate; the fork held between his fingers wavers. The beans glisten and he's pretty sure they are not moving, even if he would swear they do. He pierces one with the fork and brings it to his lips; somehow, it tastes numb. He almost recoils at the sudden pain when his tongue presses it against the roof of his mouth - and after a short pause, he moves the bite to the side of his mouth before swallowing.

That's... he remembers. That has happened.

He keeps his head low, forcing himself not to look anywhere but his plate, carefully gathering what is probably meat on the fork that hits the glass with too much force more than once.

He blinks.

The meat is on the fork.

The light is different.

The sickly sweet smell brings up bile in his throat. He lets go of the fork. The sound it makes when it falls is louder than a gunshot. He almost trips to the side together with the chair when scrambling to stand up, one hand pressed to his mouth.

"I need a smoke." Stained and high-pitched. It's not his voice.

He backs into the corridor until there's a wall behind him he can lean on. His breath comes in short wheezing gusts through the gaps between his fingers.

Little late to start panicking.

"Take the jacket. It's cold."

He turns to the left. The jacket.

He vaguely remembers he had a pack of cigarettes in there, one he only started on. He slides along the wall and tries - fumbles at it the first time; it feels too heavy - to pry the jacket off the hanger – stumbles to the door - forgets for a second it opens outward and pulls first.

The chill in the air hits him as he steps out to the porch. It's dark out. Shivering, he manages to slip the jacket on his shoulders and pats the pockets before he finds the cigarettes.

There are two SUVs with tinted windows parked in the front. He knows there are people in them.

He can't run.

The first cigarette is broken - he lets it fall next to his bare feet. The next, too. The third, too; he breaks off the dangling part and puts it between his lips.

He lights it off the offered light, noticing only after the fact Slim is standing next to him. And Slim is not slim, it's hilarious.

He drags on the cigarette. The smoke feels like nothing and burns the roof of his mouth, but quells nausea. Vertigo comes as he closes his eyes; a hand under his elbow keeps him stable for that fleeting moment.

His mind is clearer. Somehow.

He should be dead. He isn't. His cover is blown, and he has nothing. He's compromised. He throws the butt to the ground and takes out another cigarette. Slim lights that one for him, too.

Maybe, just maybe, he can go.

Walk past the parked cars with no one stopping him. Hitch a ride to the nearest gas station. Make a call and wait for someone to come and pick him up. With nothing of substance to show for the months spent.

Pathetic.

Run away with his life.

But...

No one else but him got this close. It almost feels like he's... being allowed to stay. Like they know - Gabriel knows - it isn't about him. The game's far bigger.

He can do it. 'Jack' can stay for a while longer.

He can do it. He still needs to make the call.

Jack takes the last drag on the broken cigarette and then tosses it away. He's still shivering. The hand leaves his elbow; Slim is still not slim, it's still hilarious, and Jack bites back a chuckle that sounds wrong even to his own ears.

"How's...?" Slim asks, almost like a concern.

Jack shrugs. Feeling the gaps in the wood with his soles, he takes a small step forward and breathes in the air.

He can stay a while longer. Jack is here to stay.

He turns around and sizes the door leading back into the lion's den. The click of the lock has a finality to it.

The only light in the corridor pours in from the kitchen. The familiar vertigo is back. Foot after foot, slow and careful, the thrum of blood rising in his ears, Jack makes his way to his phone left haphazardly in the open.

"What are you doing?"

He freezes with his fingertips trembling just above the cracked screen. Gabriel is behind him.

"I... need to make a call."

"You can do that tomorrow." Jack flinches when a clip of notes lands next to his palm. He flinches again when the jacket slips off his shoulders and falls to the floor. "You'll need a new phone, anyway."

"I really..."

The hand on his wrist pushes his arm down; Jack offers no resistance, his breath catching in his throat.

"Good doggie."

Fingers move over his shoulder and then knuckles brush against the hair on the nape of his neck. The touch follows the bumps of his spine - stops just below the shoulder blades with commanding pressure. He climbs the first step of the staircase. His grip on the handrail spasms. It was stupid, to expect the lion to lie meek in its own den.

Jack doesn't fight the hand at his back - doesn't fight it even as it pushes him later down under and keeps him at the bottom of the bathtub. In the morning, Angela fuses over him with the concealer. When she's satisfied with her handiwork, she drags him to stand in front of the mirror.

"See? It's all better now."

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 16 - Leon with Flowers

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ - here is the latest update

@crikeygatormate, @alisakagi​ - apologies for the late update

Leon with Flowers

…

…

["We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year."

- Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd]

…

…

Leon arrives outside the Wild Area Pokemon Nursery and pushes open the door. It jingles with a light tune upon his arrival and he sees a lone nursery worker behind the counter. It's Raihan's girlfriend and her Goomy and Dreepy huddle together on one of the sofas, watching TV whilst she works, juggling several large canisters of baby pokemon food and moomoo milk in hands.

“Hi Leon,” she greets him politely as soon she spots him, despite the hectic atmosphere. Her voice is very soft on the ears.

“Hi,” he replies, and Goomy and Dreepy gurgle and chirp at him happily; Goomy uses one of its horn to press down on a random button on the remote control beside them, changing the channel from a drama to a cartoon show.

Throwing a quick glance to the clock on the wall, she says, “You’re early.”

“Ah, yeah, I managed to get everything done…I can come back if you’re not ready.”

“Not at all, give me a minute.”

“Sure.”

“Please have a seat,” she gestures to an empty couch and so he plops himself down.

Raihan’s girlfriend finishes filling up the shelves on the wall with the bottles and the milk before she ducks behind the counter and he hears more glass containers rattling within and she stacks two or three more on the shelf before she says, “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

"Okay."

Leon casually glances around the small waiting room until he casts a glimpse at her; Raihan’s girlfriend is a pokemon breeder and she’s the complete opposite of the dragon tamer: calm, quiet and certainly not flamboyant in any manner. Apparently she’s good at handling him and there are rumours flying around that he is madly in love with her. Despite her meek outward appearance, looks can be deceiving because Raihan’s girlfriend is also an EV trainer with an arsenal of high-levelled, competitive pokemon.

And he’s asked her for help.

She dries her hand on a Bellossom tea towel and finally heads to the gate, opening it. “Thanks for waiting! Well, come on in. Sorry about the mess.”

“No problem,” Leon gets up from his seat - looks like she trusts Goomy and Dreepy to be left on their own - and he closes the gate behind him, follows her inside the interior and often unseen part of the nursery.

She leads him towards the baby pokemon room; it's covered with pastel yellow wallpaper dotted with little stars and moons and there are plenty of baby mobiles hanging from the ceiling, soft play toys, alphabet play cubes and various squeaky toys and Leon is greeted with the sight of Cleffas, Pichus, Smoochums, Magbys and Bonslys running rampant around the available space and generally causing mischief. She runs inside at once, pulling at a Mime Jr that’s about to leap off a high shelf before she separates two Munchlaxes who are squabbling over a bowl of berries.

“So sorry,” she exclaims as Leon glances around, unsure where to really look due to the chaos, “I swear they can be very well-behaved. So…what do you think?”

Leon chuckles and folds his arms. “Of course, but…” as the babies bawl and drool and roll around the playmats, he puts a hand under his chin to ponder, “...Something’s not quite right. I’m not saying she won’t like a baby pokemon but…it’s not really her.”

Her shoulders droop. “Oh, r-really? Well…maybe not a baby pokemon then?” Copying his action, an Igglybuff taps at her calf as she rubs at her chin. She glances down and it points to a bottle it cannot reach on the table. She picks it up and hands it to it and Igglybuff rolls away, and she says, “What about an abandoned pokemon?”

Leon raises a brow. “There are abandoned pokemon here?”

She nods sadly; a Riolu tugs on her leg next, wanting to be held, “Unfortunately, yes, the number of pokemon dropped off at the nursery and subsequently being abandoned has risen," she says glumly as she picks the fighting pokemon up and pats him on the head.

“Where are they? Can you show me?”

“Of course,” she puts down Riolu, goading him to play with the others and all the baby pokemon look at her expectantly, “You guys be on your best behaviour, okay?”

There’s a response of chirping, squeaking, high-pitched trilling and a few nods of the head. She looks at them worriedly but has no choice but to leave the room for now. Regardless, the baby pokemon don’t seem to be intent on wreaking too much havoc.

She leads Leon out of the nursing room and further along the corridor, stopping at a random door and opening it; she holds the door open for him and his eyes grow wide when he sees a dozen or so pokemon littered around the room, resting in baskets or perches. However, there is something terribly gloomy about this room and he realises the dullness is emanating from the Pokemon within.

An Eevee in the corner is tightly curled up against the wall but looks up when they enter and its large eyes meets Leon’s. Its ears are flat against its head and its fur is dull and matted. It's clutching a squidgy berry toy to itself.

It’s….miserable.

Raihan’s girlfriend sighs under her breath, “We initially put them together with the other pokemon, but they seem to be doing better with other abandoned pokemon so…my boss put them altogether in one room. Some pokemon have actually broken out and run away…these are the ones that are still waiting for their owner.”

Leon glances around, inspecting the remaining pokemon; a Corvisquire with rough-looking feathers sits on the perch with its head under its wing. A Skwovet hides underneath its thick tail, its wet eyes looking up at the duo. A Minccino is crying in another corner; she runs to it immediately and scoops it up in her arms.

“…This isn’t new, but the numbers are growing rapidly,” she replies as she holds the small pokemon tightly to her chest. It responds to her embrace, closing its eyes.

“What’s wrong with Eevee?”

“We diagnosed it with a permanent leg injury. It can no longer battle.”

Leon bites down on his lip; the sight of abandoned or injured pokemon makes his heart clench with grief. “Arceus, I want to take them all.”

“You can’t. Not yet. They’ve actually not passed the period yet,” Raihan’s girlfriend replies, “My boss set a month, at least. If their owners don’t return, the pokemon are officially under our care."

Leon emits a sigh under his breath until he spots a small and malnourished fox pokemon sitting quietly by the window, staring outside at the scenery. It hasn’t seemed to have noticed their presences and he observes it for a fraction longer than usual before he takes a step forward. Once he's at its side, it turns round and a single, glassy brown eye blinks at him whilst the other appears to be missing. Furthermore, it only has one tail.

Leon moves to crouch on one knee before the small creature and it regards him silently before throwing its gaze to the window once more, though it wags its small tail.

“Oh! Vulpix…” Raihan’s girlfriend murmurs, “….Poor thing, she's been here more than a month and her owner never came back. She's absolutely lovely, she would be a great choice if it suits your friend."

“I’ll take her,” Leon says, without a moment of hesitation, “Will that be alright?”

She nods with a wide smile. “Of course! I'll get the paperwork ready."

"Paperwork?" he realises he's beginning to dislike that word.

"Yes, it's mostly for our records, then you can pick her up in three days minimum."

"Thanks, I'm looking forward to it!" he exclaims, and she grins in response, picking Vulpix up and off the ground.

"Thank you, Leon!! Isn't this wonderful? You're going to have a new home soon," she coos, lifting one of her paws and wiggling it gently. He can't help but grin.

Raihan's girlfriend hands him the Pokemon and slips her into his arms; their gazes meet and Vulpix blinks her single eye, wags her tail gently, then reaches over and licks his cheek.

She's perfect.

...

Although you’re not quite sure how you managed to get a wink of sleep for the remainder of that night considering what had happened between you and Leon in the garden, you wake up in time for further checkups and the doctors inform you that you will be discharged by end of the day. It's good news, though you will need to make routine visits to get your dressings replaced for a further week or so.

And when you check Rotom, you have received several messages.

Graves will come to pick you up before you are formally discharged and instructs you to get packing. He also briefly tells you his findings about Edward Rose: he was not a satanist but he did not have a good reputation amongst the Rose family. Being one of the lesser known 'Rose', he was remembered for his descent into madness and there is no record on how he obtained or why he chose to use human blood, skin and hair for his painting.

Fifteen paintings are alleged to exist and he was about to complete one more, but this final piece was apparently incomplete and subsequently went missing following his death. The existence of these paintings are bordering mythical. No-one has seen them before and there is no evidence. Just rumours.

But they do exist, and you tell Graves you had found the final painting in the basement of Rose's art gallery, but Graves remarks that there was no such thing when they searched it.

Therefore you realise Rose has already taken it and with that in mind, your fist curls until your knuckles turn white. Realising anything to do with Rose sets you off into an irrevocable rage, you move on and try to think of other things.

Magnolia and Sonia will visit you.

And so will Leon.

You hold your breath as you nervously swipe his message open, letting your eyes roam over the screen. Your mood lifts in a split second and your heart beat speeds up. He asks how you are doing and that he has returned to his duties but he will do his best to visit you before you leave hospital. On this occasion, there is one emoji included but the remainder of the message remains rather professional and straight-forward. You reread it a few more times before a smile worms its way over your face and your heart flutters.

However, you're able to subdue this profound giddiness and your response is a very neutral sounding 'okay' and you hope that's a satisfactory enough answer.

Thus your day begins and it starts off with Sonia and Magnolia visiting as promised; they’ve bagged the first slot and somehow your poster that says 'One Visitor at a Time' no longer applies as they've also brought little Yamper, Cutie and Poltea with them and once they enter the room, you are pounced on as everyone is simply dying to embrace you. Overjoyed to see them, you hug for a lot longer than usual, before Magnolia tells you off again for the danger you had put yourself in but you tell her you will no longer be working on cases and that you will be taking a break.

Pleased with your decision, Magnolia nods to herself.

"I had a dream," you murmur as Cutie and Poltea move to sit on your shoulders, "when you came to pick me up from the psych ward."

Magnolia and Sonia watch you quietly.

"...And I'm really grateful," you add, your fist clinching over the sparse, thin duvet, "for everything. For taking me in, for looking after me. Thank you."

Sonia reacts with a cheerful smile and throws her arms around you again, holding you as tightly as possible and you do the same, whilst Magnolia nods briefly as she balances her cane with both hands.

“That was such a long time ago," Sonia replies, "Don't think about it; it was a bad chapter of your life."

You can only nod.

"How are you feeling anyway?" she adds, when she finally lets go of you.

"I'm okay," you say, and you show her your arm, "...could be better, I guess."

"Hmm... at least the doctors say it's gonna heal. And I heard Leon stayed with you most of the night."

"Yeah, he saved my life."

Sonia giggles whilst Magnolia tells her to keep her voice down, thoroughly reminding her that they're in a hospital. You chuckle as Sonia pouts in response.

They’ve brought you breakfast and lunch in case the hospital food is not sufficient (and it is) and unfortunately they cannot stay for long; their visiting time is over. You and Sonia exchange a long hug and soon, they depart; though you long to tell Sonia what has happened, you feel it’s not particularly the right moment.

In your empty room, Gengar appears from your shadow and though you're aware he dislikes emerging during the day, you're glad he's here and he is happy to see that you are well too; floating over to your side, you and Gengar proceed to share an embrace. You sprawl your arms around his rotund body and back and rest your cheek over the top of his spiky head whilst stubby arms cling to your sides.

"Aww, I missed you too,” you say, and Gengar looks at you with a concerned expression, "I'm fine."

Gengar lets go of you, then puts his hands on his hips and waggles them for a bit and you're wondering what he's trying to say until he glances around the room for a while before he spots an old magazine left on one of the counters. He grabs it, returns to your side and after flipping through some pages, points to you again and then to a random page.

And Leon is on this random page. It's some kind of advert, where he is sitting on a throne with a crown atop his head.

It can only mean one thing.

"Did you see us??" you ask nervously.

Gengar nods and grins mischievously, before he uses a hand to sweep his imaginary hair back and catwalks down your room with a hand on one hip. You didn't realise Gengar had this much sass.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you huff, as his feet leave the floor so he can float up into the air to chuckle. Pointing to you and then to Leon's picture on the magazine, he then clasps both hands together and bats his eyelashes and performs a full three hundred and sixty degree circle in the air.

You roll your eyes in response.

"Harhar, yes, very funny," you reply, but you're smiling.

Gengar returns to rest and you realise you’re missing your other pokemon so you search your room briefly but to no avail; you can’t find the ragdoll anywhere so you leave your room only to see Mimikyu seated outside on one of the empty chairs with her head drooped, crying.

Alarmed, you head over to the pokemon at once, crouching in front of her and big, fat tears drip from the two glowing dots where her eyes should be, staining the dull fabric of its disguise.

“Mimi? What’s wrong???" you exclaim, "Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

“Mi…mi….” she squeaks as she shakes her head, weeping, “Me show you.”

“Okay,” you reply, and as you lower your good arm, she takes a few tiny steps forwards, hops over your elbow and climbs up to sit on your shoulder.

"Mi...are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Mi...it's okay," she replies, and she uses a shadowy tendril to pat you on top of the head.

"What do you want to show me?"

"This way, mi mi."

She stops crying as she leads you away from your room and out of your ward in its entirety, guiding you to the direction of the paediatric ward and though you’re not sure if you’re allowed inside, Mimikyu asks you to stop at a certain corridor and as you glance at the nearby nurse's station, the nurses don't seem bothered with your presence at all.

“Mi…look,” Mimikyu says, pointing at the wall.

It is covered in crayon drawings of many pokemon that stretches all the way deep into the children’s play area and into the visitor’s hall which you cannot enter. There's even a crayon drawing of a purple pokemon that says 'eKaNs is SnAkE sPeLlEd bAcKwArDs'.

“Me saw,” she adds as you inspect the wall carefully, “No Mimikyu. Other Pokemon, yes. Pikachu…lots of Pikachu. No Mimikyu. Mi….me hatePikachu…” Mimikyu growls before her eyes gleam furiously with murderous intent under her disguise and a dark, wispy miasma begins to escape from her body. Her shadowy tendril twists into a tight claw in response to her anger, shaking with rage, “Me kill Pikachu…”

You try to reassure her but she shakes her head, trembling fiercely with hatred. Underneath the rag, the sounds of teeth grinding can be heard along with a bizarre clicking noise.

"Hey Mimi?"

"What is it, mi?"

"Why do you not want to look like Pikachu?"

Mimikyu blinks at you in shock before her eyes narrow, the glowing dots burning brightly, "....Mi...me wear the skin of the enemy....?" she growls, and this time her voice positively turns low and demonic, "Me think not..."

As Mimikyu hisses and seethes, you place a finger to your chin as you contemplate how different your Mimikyu is compared to others. Considering Mimikyu is upset that there are no pictures of any Mimikyu here, an idea hatches in your mind and you carefully comb through the ward until you pass a room full of screaming children who jump in their beds and throw pokemon dolls around in the air.

A little girl sitting on her own at a play table is busy doodling princess castles on pieces of A4 paper (and unfortunately, onto the table) captures your attention and you head over.

"Hi."

She looks up at you, blinking her big blue eyes. Then she proceeds to stick a green crayon up her nose. Lovely.

"Can I borrow these?" you ask, gesturing to a pack.

She nods, then grabs a brown crayon and sticks that one up her remaining, empty nostril.

Luckily for you, you don't need those colours so you grab several clean crayons and untarnished paper off the play table closest to you and leave the ward and return to your own; you close the door shut and climb over the bed.

“Mi…what are you doing?” Mimikyu asks, baffled, as you spread the paper over the table and lay the crayons out.

“I’ll draw you,” you utter and Mimikyu looks at you with shock.

“You…draw mi?”

“Yep.”

Mimikyu blinks at you blankly before she lets out a high-pitched squeak of glee that makes your eardrums rattle and a lurid snap rips through the room and you throw your glance to the window where a small crack has appeared in one corner. As Mimikyu continues squeaking, albeit at a lower pitch, tears of joy stain the fabric of her disguise once again and two shadowy tendrils proceed to slither out from her mouth and ensnare your head. It's a rather bizarre and cold, clammy sensation as Mimikyu hugs you.

Whilst you smile at her reassuringly, the door to your room opens and you look up to see Jace and two others you didn’t expect to see: Tanner and Cole.

“Duckie!” Jace exclaims with relief and he dives for you but Mimikyu hisses at him, her ragdoll features contorting horrifically and he comes to a skidding halt, letting out a rather high-pitched shriek in progress. "W-what is that?"

“Mimi, this is Jace," you say as you flick a casual glance to the pokemon, "Jace is good.”

“…Jace good?” she says.

“Yeah.”

“Mi…okay.”

"Jace, this is Mimikyu. She prefers being a ragdoll disguise than a Pikachu one."

"Oh, I see."

“That thing can talk,” Tanner says with wide eyes as Mimikyu slowly releases you and slides down to occupy an empty space on your bed, her tendrils slither back inside her mouth which closes up, the stitches returning to their proper place and Jace is free to approach and embrace you with no issues.

“Yeah, she can talk,” you reply, and Tanner and Cole stare at the ragdoll, bewildered. Regardless, you’re more occupied with Jace.

“Are you okay?” you ask as you let go of each other.

He nods wildly, rubbing at his eyes and nose which is very wet. “I’m fine! Are you okay?!!!”

“Yep.”

As you pat Jace reassuringly on the back, the Ghostbunkers glance at each other awkwardly as they stand in the room and everyone looks at each other and it’s as though everyone is thinking the same thing.

“I had to bring these guys,” Jace moans aloud as he jabs a thumb to their direction, “They wanted to tag along.”

Tanner steps forwards. “Yeah. Um, I know you probably don't wanna see us. Me, in particular, which I can totally understand....but we wanted to apologise. We’re really sorry. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He looks badly battered and sickly in his fraying chalky-white hospital gown. The possession must have taken its toll on him.

“Me too,” says Cole. Unlike his best friend, Cole is in better shape.

“Can you forgive us?” Tanner asks morosely, and he gulps as though he's terrified of your response but you nod and he emits a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks. Oh god, I can't really explain it but I was still conscious when…” he gestures to your poor, bandaged arm, “I’m really sorry. Like so, so sorry. Hell, I don't think sorry's good enough so I brought Runerigus. I think he should stay with you. He's actually really nice... a totally chill guy. Cole, bring him here.”

“Yeah, sure," Cole searches in his pockets and pulls out the capsule which Tanner scoops up; he takes a minute step and leaves it for you on your table then returns to stand sheepishly before you with Cole at his side.

“We’re sorry,” Tanner says again, hanging his head low, “I’m not gonna let this slide, you know. Rose is a double-crossing, no-good Raticate bastard.”

You and Jace nod in agreement.

“I made him richer,” you murmur, “I can’t believe it.”

Cole and Jace appear confused and toss their gazes to you.

"His ancestor Edward Rose was a painter," you explain, "and he died before he could complete a painting, which was the one we found in the basement. It was a map, and it led to a treasure. I asked Chief Inspector Graves to investigate the art gallery but he says they didn't find any painting so obviously Rose has taken it and now there's no evidence of its existence. By now I'm pretty sure Chairman Rose has used it to find the hidden treasure, sold it or hid it away."

"Damn it, he's a clever bastard, I'll give him that," Tanner grunts out, "Cole, what about our video? We recorded it, right?"

"....I hate to say it but the video footage doesn't work. The moment we went into the basement, the recording went fuzzy."

"Yeah, that was probably Edward Rose's doing," you reply, “Rose will make sure it’s as though it never existed so we can’t persecute him or claim compensation.”

“Well, we’re not going to let him get away with it. I’m still going to press charges. Two can play at this game, ya know? I’ll let you know what happens, okay? It’s not fair on us. He used us. We’ve all been played and what happened last night was…crazy, it was so crazy, man.”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” Cole echoes, nodding.

And Tanner shrugs helplessly, lifting a hand and pinching the middle of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I have no words, man. I mean I don’t really wanna Ghostbunk anymore,” he admits, “Cole doesn’t want to either.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna Ghostbunk,” Cole says, nodding again.

Although it is of no particular interest to you, you discover Cole is different on his own; once he is paired with Tanner, he seems devoid of personality and reliant on the more confident and boisterous Tanner.

“Anyway. We’ll let you know how we get on,” Tanner finishes.

“Sure. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you too. Here, uh…this is our number, if you ever need our help.”

“I doubt it,” Jace whispers, only for you to hear, but you elbow him and smile politely at Tanner.

“Thank you.”

Without anything else to say, Tanner and Cole apologise once again...for almost everything - for making fun of you, for mauling your arm etcetera; you accept their heartfelt apology and they leave your room silently.

"Wow, they were so sorry." Jace says and you nod. "Damn, I should've recorded it."

“Jace-"

"I'm kidding!"

"Well...I’m sorry too,” you mutter.

“Huh? What...? No, no, what are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong, chuck.”

“It was too dangerous. I should’ve known. You got hurt because of me.”

“Oh c'mon, look at me. I’m fine!!! I'll always be fine,” he says, before he plops his hand atop your head and ruffles your hair; you muster a weak smile as he punches you in the elbow and shoulders playfully, “So...Leon saved you…?”

“Yeah. I’ve told him to stay away from me.”

Jace crosses his arms and nods to himself. “Good, he’s partially responsible for this.”

“I didn’t have to take the case; it was my decision.”

“Yeah, but if you didn’t, you would’ve made Leon look bad.”

You sigh gently. “It’s not like that at all, Jace. Look, it’s happened and no-one’s to blame. Magnolia and Graves don’t want me to work on these cases anymore and I'm going to listen to them. I’m going to go on a break. Well, there's still Spiritomb to catch but from now on, I'm just going to take it easy.”

Jace seems surprised with your resolution. “…I see."

“So, let's not dwell on this anymore. What’re you going to do now?”

“Oh, uh, I've been told I can go home," Jace utters, rubbing the back of his head, "and my friend from Sinnoh is actually coming to visit Galar, he's gonna be a guest judge for the Beauty Pageant, he's got some kind of exhibition match, he wants to try and see a Galarian Zapdos. Oh, and he's also here to inspect the Energy Plant."

"He sounds like a really busy guy."

"He is! Did I mention that he's a gym leader too? And he’s gonna stay at my place so I gotta clean up my flat and-"

You wait for Jace to finish only to see that he is staring limply into space before he whips his head to you and you stare at him in confusion. "What’s wrong?”

“By Jove, I’ve got it!” he exclaims loudly, his jaw hanging open, “Duckie, now that you're not gonna take on any cases, I take it you're pretty much free for the next couple of days???”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you a call, alright?”

“…Uh, sure.”

“Right, I gotta go. Will you be okay on your own? Anyone picking you up?”

“Yeah. Graves.”

Jace hesitates, then says, "Arceus help you."

"Thanks," you reply, with an all-knowing nod.

After exchanging goodbyes, Jace dashes off and you’re on your own again; glancing at Runerigus’ capsule, you will deal with him at another time. Apparently he's a chill guy.

You’ve still to finish your drawing of Mimikyu and she’s been sitting quietly and very patiently beside you on the bed, occupying herself by playing with some loose threads of your blanket so you resume your sketch of her before colouring it with the crayons and once you’re done, you lift the paper high in the air with a grin and show Mimikyu who looks up and she hops onto your shoulder again to peer at your drawing, pleased with your efforts.

“Mi mi,” she croons, “Me look good.”

You giggle as she squeaks with delight. “Come on, let’s go hang this up,” you say with a grin, and Mimikyu nods.

Leaving your room for the second time, you make your way to the children’s ward and find the same room where you had asked to borrow the paper and crayons, and with the box in hands, you swiftly return the items where the little girl from before is now sticking crayons into her ears and a nurse is trying to stop her.

Returning to the main corridor, you locate the wall with the drawings and scour for an empty spot and once you’ve pinpointed an empty space, you use some blu-tack from another portrait, splitting some of it up, and use it for your own drawing. You proceed to stick Mimikyu’s picture on the wall, pressing hard on the corners to ensure it’s sticking well and Mimikyu nods with happiness and claps using two tendrils.

“Thank you, mi mi,” she says, nodding vigorously with gratitude.

“You’re very welcome, but it would be nice if I could see what’s under your disguise and draw the real you.”

Mimikyu blinks at you, then shakes her head vigorously, “...If you see mi, me will kill you and me....me don’t want that. Me actually like you.”

You stare at your Pokemon in surprise then giggle lightly.

It’s time to return to your ward but Mimikyu tears off several of the children's drawings of Pikachu along the way, prompting you to run and escape the ward as quickly as you can and before you're spotted although you're certain there might be CCTV around. It's too late to reprimand her anyway and as you pass the communal area where you see the door that leads to the yard, you remember last night’s events where Leon had tried to kiss you and your cheeks flare up.

You had almost kissed if Oleana didn’t interrupt.

“I wonder what Leon is doing...” you forlornly utter under your breath before you could help yourself.

You miss him, and you hope he's doing well and you’re brought out of your reverie when you hear someone ‘pssst psst psst’-ing at your direction and glancing over, an old man in a robe seated at a chess table by the window is beckoning you over. You look left and right, then point to yourself.

He nods. “Do you know how to play chess?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh lovely. Would you like to play against me? None of these bozos can.”

Graves won’t be coming for another three hours.

“Sure,” you say, with nothing to lose and tonnes of time to spare.

Thus you head over and sit down on the drab-looking chair, staring at the worn pieces before you pick them up one by one and begin fixing them into their appropriate positions on the board. The old man helps, setting up his own pieces on his side.

The old man looks familiar and he too seems to recognize you. He says, “Aren’t you Leon’s girlfriend?”

“Uh, no, we're not...we're not together.”

"Yet," he says.

You cringe.

“I remember you were together though,” he adds.

"Yeah, I was visiting him when he was in hospital.”

“And now it’s your turn.”

You nod as he snorts with laughter; he asks you what happened but you tell him it’s a long story, to which he tells you he has all the time in the world, so you recount the tale of Rose and the haunted art gallery as the game begins.

“Uh-huh, I see, then what happened?” he asks; he moves his pawn to forward to which you counter.

You tell him about Runerigus, Tanner, Cole, the possession. Everything.

“What other cases have you worked on?” he asks. You're surprised he's listening and not questioning your sanity as most do.

You tell him about the ghost of South Miloch as your game progresses and you're taking the lead and soon, your story has caught the attention of a passing old lady using a walking frame.

“Did you just say the ghost of South Miloch?” she says with a slight, nasally pitch to her voice, and she turns to you and the old man questioningly before she adds, “I saw it with me own eyes!”

“Sally, this young lady solved the case and broke the curse,” the old man says, and the woman subjects you to an incredulous look.

“Oooh, did you, sweetheart?” and old Sally hobbles to the closest seat nearest to your chess table and plops herself down. “Molly, come here! This is the girl who solved the Miloch case! I told you I wasn’t seeing things! I told you I saw a ghost!”

She’s addressing another elderly woman who’s seated near the telly on a plushy couch with today’s newspapers propped up in her withered hands. Upon being called, Molly looks away from her paper behind her spectacles and glances over; Sally excitedly beckons her over to join with a little wave and a toothy grin and she sighs and gets up slowly, then shuffles over and joins her on the couch.

Glancing at the OAPs, it seems you have gathered an audience who are interested in listening and learning about all your exploits.

“Well? Go on then, dear, tell us more,” Sally says with a gummy smile, and you blink wide-eyed at them.

“Oh, um…well, it was to do with a will and a massive family inheritance..."

And so you share with them the details about the case, from the very beginning of the investigation, through to the middle and to the very end though you do omit names for privacy; the chess game seems to have become forgotten and before you know it, you’ve attracted a small crowd so you move to one of the sofas near the television which grants you a full view of the entire communal area so your small group can listen and gather around you properly. They nestle themselves on the couches, listening keenly as you eagerly recount your tales of hidden treasures, lost loves and spooky phantoms.

Suddenly, a nurse enters the room and calls your name loudly.

Pausing in mid-sentence, you glance over and see Graves standing beside her. He takes one look at you, then at the elderly patients who have gathered around you and raises a brow.

“We’re going now,” he barks.

Time had flown by so quickly.

“Okay,” you rise and leave your seat and your crowd of elderly patients begin to whine but they’re quickly dispersed by the nurses. You tell them your online blog contains more details though you’re aware that they probably don’t really know how to work the internet and they should ask their tech-savvy grandchildren.

Checking the clock on the wall, it's then you realise Leon hadn’t come to visit you after all.

...

Leon has been trying to visit you but is always prevented to do so at the very last minute. He's had a photoshoot that's taken up his entire morning and afternoon, then once he's finished and he thinks he has time to go to the hospital, if it isn’t a fan asking for a photo and autograph, it’s Rose asking him to head over to a route to help sort something out before he's directed to a city or another route for something else.

He’s keen to visit you and checking the clock on his phone, he sees the hours trickle one by one yet the moment he thinks he has a minute to spare, he is lulled into a false sense of security as something else crops up and he’s forcibly whisked away.

You got him a gift last time and so he is set in his mind to get you a gift too; he’s already got Vulpix but she isn't available to be collected yet so he's keen to get you something else.

Aware that you’re going to be discharged soon, if not now, he quickly finishes up his task and uses this opportunity to venture to the hospital before he's missed. He sends you a quick message to let you know that he is coming.

On his way, he enters a gift shop on the outskirts filled with quaint décor and with Charizard, he commences some casual browsing where he eventually settles to purchase a bouquet of multicoloured flowers which he is quite certain you will like. The florist has reassured him on this, too.

Without further ado, Leon heads to the hospital.

And as you’re packing your bag in your room, Graves knocks on the door, enters and asks, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you say, as you sling the bag over your shoulder and you make sure you have Runerigus and Mimikyu’s capsule whilst Gengar lingers in your shadow.

You try one more time to message Leon but your reception suddenly decides to go kaput and you have been unable to get through to him or receive messages for the past hour or so.

Graves waits outside as you spare one more glance to your now-empty room, at the pristine bed, the empty table and chair. The blinds are pulled up and the sun’s setting, casting a beautiful orangey glow within and your face falls when you check the clock again and throw your glance to the door as though you’re expecting a certain purple-haired someone to come rushing in, panting and looking adorably sweaty and breathless whilst unnecessarily and continuously apologising for being late and you will smile and tell him it’s fine and –

“Alright then, let’s go.” Graves says, swinging a set of car keys with one finger.

"Did you talk to Rose?"

"I did. I'll fill you in later. Let's grab something to eat first.”

"Okay."

You leave the room with Graves carrying your bag for you and promptly head down the corridor, arriving at the lift. Graves presses the button, whistling. He spots a nurse who smiles at him and he clears his throat.

“Good evening, ma’am.”

“Hello, Chief Inspector Graves. Is this your daughter?”

“Uh….sort of.”

The nurse passes sweeping looks between you and the much older Graves, and he appears to have also realised his mistake; whilst you roll your eyes, Graves splutters out an explanation but the nurse leaves with no further follow up.

“When’s this stupid lift coming,” Graves ends up complaining loudly. “Hurry up, damnit.”

There are two lifts but it seems they are exceptionally slow.

Downstairs and Leon with flowers anxiously waits for the lift to arrive, hoping he’s not too late.

People are actively staring and he will wave and smile but they appear to respect his privacy and so he's mostly left alone though the massive bouquet in his hands causes some brows to raise. Charizard helps preen him, licking his claws and tidying his hair, pinching loose strands together and flattening them over the sides of his head. Leon grins at his pokemon and Charizard attempts to give him a thumbs up.

The lift arrives and he steps in; the lift begins to ascend.

Upstairs and the lift doors open and Graves mutters, “Finally, took it long enough,” he grumbles and grunts but lets you enter first and then hops in himself, pressing the button for the basement where the carpark is.

And as the doors begin to close, you hear the sound of the lift opposite yours opening with a loud ‘ping’ and as you look up, the doors of your lift slide to a close, but through the tiny one inch gap, you think you see a familiar shade of purple -

-  and Leon steps out, just as the doors to the lift opposite his has closed and begins descending.

He rushes towards the direction of your room with flowers in hand but the door is open and the bed is neatly made and the room is empty.

Confused, he returns to the nurse’s desk and asks for your whereabouts.

“Oh, she just got in that lift,” the nurse says, pointing to the aforementioned elevator, “Literally one minute ago. You just missed her.”

For the first time in Leon’s life, he was devastated.

...

[championofsanghelios]

Personal AU Story - “Arrow”

So this was my first proper delving into the Breath of the Wild Universe, and was written during my first and second play-through of the game back in early 2019.

I want it to be clear from the outset that this was back when I didn’t have as intimate an understanding of the game and it’s settings as I do now...so I can only apologize, on my past-self’s behalf for any inconsistencies or mistakes.

(What’s that old tag on AO3? “no beta we die like men”? Yeah...this story has this in droves.) I hope you enjoy this...and remember this was written by me...so expect errors, typos and other word bugs (bzz.) --- Link lunges forwards with his broadsword, decapitating one of the seemingly unending Lizalfos that had surrounded the tree-line. They'd come in the middle of the night, whilst he and Zelda were settling down at their camp for some rest.

Truthfully he'd been ready for an attack, but not one of this scale. Lizalfos usually traveled in groups of 4 or 5...with some of the larger ones reaching 8 or 9, but so far he'd have to have put down 20 or so of them.

Just where the hell were they coming from? And just how many more were there? His limbs ached and he was dripping with sweat. His tunic and greaves clung to his skin and he'd lost some of the feeling of his toes in his boots...

...perhaps this was because of the amount of running around in the nearby waters he'd been doing, they were pleasantly refreshing during the day, but bone-chillingly cold during the night.

Still, a little bit of numbness in his extremities wasn't going to stop him. He stands firm on the spot, eyes darting all around him as one of the Lizalfos out of his line of sight blows their horn...

...there couldn't be more on the way...could there?  

Princess Zelda is currently crouched behind a boulder just a foot or so behind him. He'd moved her over behind it once he'd gotten an idea of where they were all coming from.

The Campfire she'd been nursing was still burning, the orange light from it casting all sorts of shadows throughout the surrounding trees. She knew Link was capable of identifying actual people and all manner of creatures from shapes, but she wasn't...and every so often she'd gasp or call out at something she thought was another one of the blasted reptiles coming out to attack.

Suddenly a loud hiss occurs from just behind her. She turns on the spot to see a pair of reptilian eyes peering at her through the dark. Immediately she scrambles back against, calling out. "Link! Help!"

The Lizalfos in question leaps forwards, his teeth and large bulbous tongue ready to strike, but it's halted as the tip end of a broadsword cuts it off half-way, slicing it in half.

It's eyes freeze as it comes to a stop, it's upper half falling off the bottom, blood spraying everywhere, some of it landing on the Princess' boots and greaves.

"Goddess!" she shouts, pulling herself up from the ground. Link takes a hold of her hand and pulls her away from the dead creature, moving her over behind an old fallen tree stump. "I thought it was going to end me for-"  

Link brings his index finger up to his mouth, hushing her gently. She looks into his brilliant blue eyes, immediately soothed by the gesture. Nodding slowly, he gestures with his hand and mouths the words. "Keep down."

His gaze darts to the right as movement occurs in the trees, another horn being blown. This time however the other reptiles positions are given away by the flurry of splashing water and hissing.

He stands upright, locking eyes with the one at the lead. It raises it's boomerang blade and with a loud shriek, scuttles out of the tree-line and charges him.

Link brings up his broadsword and uses it to block it's charge, their blades clashing, sparks flying off of the edge of them. He boots it back with his right foot and swipes across it's frontal plate, causing it's innards to flop out onto the ground. It crumples to the ground just as an arrow races into his left arm.

"Link!" Zelda calls out, popping her head out of cover.

The Lizalfos who had fired sed arrow hears her cry and turns his bow to her, all the while another charges Link from the tree-line whilst his defence is broken.

It leaps upon him, all claws and teeth. He let's out a pained cry as it bites onto his right arm, tearing through the tough fabric of his tunic and sinking into his skin.

Zelda ducks as the other reptile fires an arrow at her, only narrowly missing her head. She drops to the ground, her stomach against the floor and heart firmly in her throat.

It's now that she sees something glinting in the fire-light. Something that was amongst Link's belongings. A small Soldiers Dagger that he often used when cooking or fishing.

Acting on instinct, she leaps up and makes a run for it. Just as Link puts his knee into the Lizalfos atop him, causing it to reel back in shock. He kicks it in the chest and leaps up onto his feet, grabbing his broadsword.

He blocks the incoming tongue attack midway, cutting it clean off then driving the blade into it's chest. It cries out, before dropping to the ground and writhing about for a moment before laying still.

Zelda had grabbed the dagger, and only had a fraction of a second to unsheathe it before the other Lizalfos got to her. It had dropped it's bow and was now charging her with it's claws at the ready.

She turns and holds it outwards with both hands, driving it into the reptiles neck as it leaps at her. It immediately recoils and scuttles back, tripping over her rucksack and landing on the fire.

It immediately catches fire, screaming out in agony before going limp and starting to cook...

...and with that, everything goes quiet. She looks at the slowly burning beast in horror before casting her gaze about the clearing. She sees Link standing over the other reptiles body, leaning on his sword like it was a walking cane.

He looked absolutely exhausted, sweating pouring from him and blood oozing from the wound on his arm, staining the white under fabric of his tunic a dark red.

The arrow sticking out of his left arm looks just as bad as it must feel, he yelps snapping the shaft of it off and throwing it to the side. He leaves his sword wedged in the ground as he just about stumbles all the way over to her.

He grabs a hold of her as he reaches where she's standing, dropping to his knees and taking her down with him. "...Are you okay?"  

"Are you?" she immediately replies, her hand coming up to the side of his face. He was pouring with sweat and his eyes were bloodshot. She takes a hold of his arm next, inspecting the damage. "Oh No, that doesn't look good at all...Do you have any potions?"  

"In my rucksack." Link says, sitting back against the boulder she'd been behind moments before. He looks up at the night-sky, taking in as deep breathes and allowing the cold breeze that blows to cool the sweat on his forehead. "...the-...the red one."

Zelda quickly goes about searching his rucksack for the relevant potion, pushing his Shiekah Slate and several other items to the side. She pulls out the small bottle of red liquid, and moves back over to him.

"Are you sure..." Link coughs a couple of times, his voice was raspy and weak. "...You're alright?"

"I'm fine." Zelda says. "Shaken, but very much okay."

She tilts her head as she uncorks the bottle and hands it to him. When he doesn't drink it right away, she takes a hold of his hand and helps him to draw it back and drink.

She was concerned when he came stumbling back over to her, but now she was getting scared. He was so weak all of a sudden, a complete contrast to what he was moment before.

It's now that her attention shifts to the arrow-head still stuck in his left arm. She takes a gentle hold of his forearm, the mere movement causing him to groan.

"Sorry..." she says, parting the hole in the fabric of his tunic, and getting a closer look at the wound itself. As she expects, it's gone a dark red and purple from the potion he'd just drank, but something else was there, something that was wrong.

The veins around where he'd been shot had gone a darker colour, almost brown. With a gasp she sits back. "It's poisoned!"

"Mmmm." Link replies with a grunt, his eyes heavy. "I tho...thought as much."  

She quickly returns to his rucksack, looking for any cures or elixirs that could help, but he has none. This only causes her to panic, she practically jumps back over to him. "You don't have any anti-poisons amongst your things..."

Checking the wound again, she sees that the darkening of the veins in his arms was spreading rapidly. To her horror it had already spread up to his shoulder and lower neck.

"Ca-" Link coughs a few more times, his breath becoming shallower and raspier by the second. "...an't breathe..."  

"No." Zelda brings her hands up to his face as he seems to loose consciousness for a brief moment. "No! Link! You have to keep your eyes open!"  

No response from him, his head drops downward, and in that moment she panics. She grabs a hold of him, shaking him gently, then firmly. "Link? Link!? Can you hear me!? Link!"  

Just then a sound occurs from behind her, the sound of footsteps and the cluttering of metallic armour. She looks about, her eyes wide and filled with tears. "Who-!"

A Zora, one in Royal Guards armour approaches, a lantern in his left hand. He stops in his tracks as he realises who he's looking at. "Princess Zelda?..."  

"Help me!" the Princess pleads, holding her Champion in her arms. "Please!"

...

"...I need assistance!" the Zora Guard shouts as he approaches the Domain, an unconscious and gravely ill Hylian Champion held over his shoulders. "Someone fetch the healers!"

Zelda is following closely behind him, the look of worry and terror written all over her face. Almost instantly the Domain is a hive of activity. Someone who had seen their approach immediately turns about and rushes off to find the help requested.

Others stop in their tracks, watching as the Guard lays the wounded Link down on the ground gently, checking him for a pulse. "Goddess, he's freezing! We need to hurry."  

"What's happening out here?" a voice calls from the upper platform.

Zelda looks up to see Prince Sidon standing there, looking down at the scene. "What's with all the commotion-"  

He freezes mid-sentence as he catches the sight of Link, his face going from mild curiosity to horror in an instant. "Goddess above!"

He is quick to descend the stairs and join both Zelda and the Guard who'd brought Link back. Dropping to his knees, he looks over the Hylian's wounds. "What happened?"

"We were attacked." Zelda says, kneeling on the other-side from him. "...Lizalfos, a whole group of them...more than we'd ever seen..."  

Sidon glances up at her. Her face was streaked with the remnants of tears, and she had some of her Champion's blood smeared on her cheek, dried to her skin. She looks at him, fresh tears forming and rolling down her face.  

"Please, Sidon...you must help him."

"He's barely alive as it is, Sir." the Guard says. "I got him back as quickly as I could on land."

Just then one of the healers appears, they too are shocked at what they come upon. Immediately they go about checking his condition and soon ask for him to be move to a more suitable location.

"Look after the Princess." Sidon instructs a couple of the guards. "I shall see to this."

They both nod and go to escort her away, but she immediately protests.

"No!" she shouts. "I am not leaving him!"

"He has been poisoned." the Healer says, respectful but plain. "Even if he does survive this, you don't want to see what happens next."

Sidon reaches out with his left hand, taking her right gently. "I know you are scared...and desperate to see him recover...but right now you must let our healers do their job."  

She just shakes her head at that, defiant. "No! I am not leaving his side!"  

The Healer ushers one of her helpers along, they both lift the half-dead Hylian from the ground and pull him away, the crowds of Zora observing, parting to let them through.

"No! Link!" she shouts, trying to move after them. Sidon however stops her. "I'm not leaving him! Let go of me!"

She tries with all her might to break free of his hold, but is unsuccessful. When her strength falls her, she collapses into his arms, sobbing.

He puts his arms around her, consoling her. "You will see him again...just not now. Right now your needs are paramount to us."  

"I don't want to loose him..." she breathes into his chest. "I can't- Not again."  

"I know..." the Prince says quietly.

...

"...and when exactly were you planning on telling him about that?" a familiar voice says out of the silence, one Link immediately identifies as Zelda's. She sounded at ease, relaxed, relieved. A nice change to the night before.  

"I...uh..." Prince Sidon's voice was what he heard next, he'd recognize that voice anywhere, one of his favourites, not that he'd ever tell him that in fear of loosing the ability to breathe from the hugs he'd receive. "...was intending to speak with him the next time I saw him. But given what's happened, I think it can wait, don't you?"

"He never stops talking about his travels with you." Zelda says next. Link feels her hand, her soft and warm hand, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Some of the stuff you've gotten up to, I wonder what your Father must think."

"He's...blissfully unaware of some details." Sidon says with a chuckle. "That's probably for the best too, he does worry about so much already."

Link takes in a deep breath, turning his head slightly to the right. He feels the Princess' hand come away from his forehead, accompanied by an audible gasp. "...Link?"  

With a light groan, he blinks his eyes open, her face being the first thing he sees. Clearly she'd been holding back as the moment she sees he's awake, she let's out a laugh and reaches forwards, grabbing him and pulling him into a gentle hug.

She doesn't say anything, though there's no need too. When she let's of him he sits up fully, his eyes adjusting to the light of the room. It was dark, but not entirely. Things were bright outside...a stark contrast to how it was the first time he came to the Domain.

"Welcome back, my friend." Sidon ways, approaching from the other-side of the room. As ever he was all smiles. "I'm so glad to see you're awake, you gave us all quite the scare yesterday."

"What..." Link rubs at his forehead with his left hand, only now aware of the dull pain in his arms and legs. Come to think of it, he was stiff all over. His upper left arm had wraps around it, as did his right forearm. "...What happened? When did we end up here?"  

"You don't remember?" Zelda asks, pulling back from him.

"I've been making a habit of that recently." Link sighs heavily. "Remind me."  

"We were attacked by a group of Lizalfos last night..." Zelda says thoughtfully. "We were setting up camp for the night on the border with Lanayru...and they descended upon us in great numbers."  

"Are you alright?" Link asks next. "Did they hurt you?"  

"No." Zelda shakes her head with a small, but sad smile. "But they did hurt you gravely...and I'll admit, I was scared I'd loose you again."

"We all were." Sidon adds. "When I came down those steps and saw you in that state...I feared the worst."

"What state was I in, exactly?"

"You'd been shot by a poison arrow." Zelda shivers some as she remembers the moment she saw him take the hit, and the subsequent panic when he lost consciousness. "...it paralyzed you, restricting your ability to move, talk or... breathe...."  

"One of the blasted reptiles also bit you too." Sidon says. "Thankfully it wasn't infected, but you'll need to take it easy with the sword swinging for a while."

"That's okay." Link shrugs. "I've been meaning to touch up on my archery anyway."  

"Link..." Zelda breathes, her eyes closing and a hand coming up to her forehead, a literal face-palm if ever he saw one.

"I'm sorry." he says, deflating some. If what she said was true, it must have been terrifying for them. "Both of you..."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Link." Sidon immediately replies. "We are just thankful you are alive...and very much with us."

He looks him over for a moment before the obvious occurs to him. "Oh! You must be freezing. You're gear has been retrieved, cleaned and repaired. It's over here."  

He gestures across the room, at the pile of clothing and his rucksack. "I had Bazz and the others go out and find it before looters got their hands on them."

"Yeah..." Link breathes a sigh. "Thanks...there's quite a few items of importance in there that this one would never forgive me for loosing."

He let's out a chuckle as Zelda taps him, albeit gently, on the arm. "What do you take me for? Do you think my Champion's wellbeing isn't more important than my research?"  

"Sometimes I have trouble with that conundrum." he says cheekily.

"I'll have you know you are very important to me." she says like it needs stating, though she's pretty sure that he already knows that. "I do really care about what happens to you."

"What so that time I nearly fell to my death in that ravine..."

"-Goddess, this again...I told you I couldn't hear you over the wind." Zelda shakes her head, placing her hands on her hips. "And besides, you'd have screamed if anything had gone seriously wrong."

"You should have seen her face when I hauled myself up off that ledge." Link points to her, looking at Sidon. "She looked at me like I'd deliberately done it to waste time."

"I was just disappointed you'd gotten yourself into that situation." Zelda holds her head up, eyes closing in fake offence. "And I'm offended you'd think otherwise, Champion."

Sidon looks between the two of them, unable to hide his smile. The two of them were like a pair of siblings, bouncing off each other, full of banter and patter. It reminded him of Mipha and himself, what little he could remember of his early childhood.

He'd observed these two's familial bond the last time they were both at the Domain. Although the Princess was clearly on diplomatic/royal duties, something that she needed to take seriously. That didn't stop Link from being himself around her when it was warranted, and making her laugh at the most inopportune times.

"I shall..." he catches himself staring at them both after a moment of pause. "...leave you both to it. If you need anything at all, just shout, I won't be far."  

He turns about to make his leave, but the Princess clears her throat, stopping him in his tracks. "Sidon?"  

He looks back at her. "Yes?"

"I thought you had something you wanted to tell Link." she says knowingly. "You said so yourself just a moment ago."  

"Right." Sidon turns fully to face them again. If Link didn't know any better, he was certain his scales had gone a darker shade of red. "Yes, I do have something I wish to discuss with you-"  

When Link is about to speak, he gestures with his hands. "-But it can wait for now! I'd rather we spoke when you were fully on the mend, it's a slightly...delicate and personal matter."  

"Alright." Link nods slowly. "I'll find you later when she finally decides to let me go."  

"Not happening again." Zelda puts her arm around him suddenly, pulling him closer to her. "You are not going anywhere I can't see you for the foreseeable future."  

"Help me." Link pleads to the Prince who just chuckles and heads out of the room. The Hylian calls after him. "Traitor!"

After a moment of pause, he sighs and looks at Zelda. "What was he wanting to talk to me about?"  

"Oh just a little matter of a personal nature." the Princess says, smiling. "Just like he told you."  

"I gathered that, but what was it?" Link asks, she knew full well what it was, he could tell. With a snort, he shakes his head. "Come on, I know you know. Tell me."  

"Not this time." she says. "You'll have to be patient and wait."  

"Terrific." Link's ears droop slightly. "Well then, I better get to it."  

He immediately leaps up off the bed he was laying on and onto his feet. Zelda let's out a near squeal when his legs turn to jelly instantly and he falls to the ground. "Oh No!" --- This one was pretty long, and sort of cuts off abruptly...sorry about that. I’m hoping I’ll be able to expand more on these stories, allot of them sort of go nowhere, or end up at dead-ends where I’m unable to keep writing... I guess that’s the point of keeping them though, just occasionally an idea for them pops up, or they help to inspire me when I hit writers block.

[bibliocratic]

TMA jonmartin fics

Organising these, mostly so I can keep track to be honest. All some flavour of jonmartin, predominantly fluff or angst. cws in original tags. 

Updated as of June 2020

If you'd like to send any prompts, feel free!  All of these are also bundled together on A03.

Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias, post-160

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, but, look. Look at him, Martin. Isn’t my Archive magnificent?

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

Martin feels the pull of the Lonely. Jon draws a bath.

“Come on,” Jon says, enfolding their hands together.  His voice is kind, and that’s never died, no matter how the world bricked it up and starved it of sunlight. Jon’s kind to his bones, and it wells up from the deep down of him.

Jon pulls the way, and Martin follows behind.

Even after Jon stops being the Archivist, they aren’t safe. (parent!AU)

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin’s knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I’ll at least listen.”

Martin's nightmares never quite leave him

Martin feels the question form there, at the centre, the tentative journey it traverses before he hears 'Can I…. I mean, do you want to…?’

The question isn’t fully born before he’s heaving great waves of sobs into the chest he’s pillowed on. Like clockwork, the arms come round, always an inch too tight a grip, and somehow that makes this easier to bear.

Things were always going to catch up with them eventually

He’s a light sleeper, and they knew he would be. Didn’t want him to wake too soon, to be denied a proper welcome. Jon shifts and stretches and burrows as he slips dazedly into consciousness, nestling tighter against the body next to him still fast-asleep before the thick weight of sleep is dropped and he jolt up, a punched out breath of shock escaping them.

And finally they are witnessed. They watch his expressions free-fall from understanding to despair.

Local Man cheats at card games, Local Avatar is smitten

Martin likes playing, not necessarily competitively, but where he does excel is in cheating. Jon catches him swapping out a three for a queen out of the corner of his eye – well, Martin wants him to catch him – and his smile is wide and shocked and gleeful in his own way –you cheat! How could you?!

soulmate-identifying marks, or: fuck yeah tattoos

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly. Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

Something is wrong. Martin just can't put his finger on it.

“Sorry,” Jon says, without sounding sorry in the slightest, almost cheeky. He bestows another kiss that is not a kiss to Martin’s neck, scraping a little with his teeth.

“Sleep,” Martin repeats, groggy but firm, and traps the soft, unblemished skin of Jon’s hands in his own.

Martin has certain standards

Jon feels a wide smile begin on his face (still so rare, still hard-won, but Martin teases them out of him with the smallest things these days).

“You hipster!” he says with delight, secretly pleased he’s found something he can tease Martin about. “Have you thrown out my teabags just to make a point?”

Jon wakes up and finds Martin gone

– Something is absent from us. –

Jon opens his blinking, feeble human eyes. Feels around with his finger tips, feels the cool sheet next to him, the unoccupied imprint on the pillow.

Martin is not next to him.

Jon strikes a bargain to save Martin

Martin is blinking away the sediment build-up of unshed tears and they roll down his face, shrivelling in the strict grip of the cold.

“I thought,” he says thinly, “I thought I was going to die alone.”

“You aren’t going to die,” Jon bites out, and it only has the ghost of a furious intensity but the sentiment soaks in it. He feels the Loneliness recede, with a slowness that’s impartially mocking. “You aren’t going to die. I won’t let you.”

Martin showing normal, genuine human anger, feat. Blackwood Snr.

“Right,” comes the short response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin’s voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

MLM solidarity front, or: Tim and Martin go drinking

“I mean – I – I’d like to. If you – if you still want.”

Tim grins, and his cocksure manner is on display like a theatre curtain lifted. He stands up, doing a stupid little bow like he’s trying to make Martin laugh.

“t'would be my honour to lead you astray, Master Blackwood.”

Back-and-forth early morning teasing

“It’s a bit late to tell me you’re a dog person,” Jon chides instead. “I’m afraid I might have to call this whole thing off, if that’s the case.”

Martin looks up at him with his face squashed into his ‘you are not, and have never been funny, Jonathan’ face.

Martin hides an injury. Jon is freaking out in his own way.

He can taste grit and dirt in his mouth and there’s a stinging dampness on his upper lip. He blinks, coming to terms slowly, and it’s then that he realises, just from a brief glance, that Jon is absolutely fuming.

Jon is getting better at expressing what he wants

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

How to proposal to your boyfriend during an apocalypse, and definitely how not to.

Jon tries to write vows.

Domesticity and  going on holiday, post Watcher's Crown

“Jon!” Martin is shouting with his head shoved in the under-stairs closet. “You got your raincoat?”

“I won’t need it,” comes the low response from the kitchen.

“The weather said it might rain.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jon replies, only half listening really, with a willfully misplaced confidence in the weather.

“I’ll pack it anyway,” Martin calls back, kicking something else with his foot that sounds like the hoover. “In case.”

Jon does not react well to ending the world. Martin puts together the pieces.

Under the watch of that terrible sky, Jon crumples like something demolished.

Martin catches him. He always will, he remembers thinking.

In the Lonely, Jon hugs Martin (set mid-159)

Jon’s arms go around him, and there is nothing tentative, soft-shoed, there is no awkward displacement holding him slightly at a distance. Jon’s arms go around him, and he – his body unfolds against Martin’s. There is much too much of him, a surge of all-at-once motion and Martin feels like splintering.

Martin's not the only one susceptible to the Lonely

He hears the wash of mile-distant waves, as though behind the shelves to the front of the shop, and thinks not here, not here.

He tries to shake his head loose of the fog beginning to bind it like cobwebbing wisps. But the world has such terrors in it, and the Archive keeps record of them all. And that’s what Jon is, in the end.

The day-to-day ramifications of being a record of ceaseless terror

In the dark, under the covers, the sound is the shift of grave soil, of pressing earth, but it is also Martin, ensconced in warm empty dreams, Jon trying to breath through his nose and not wake him up, and it can be all of these things at once.

Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

'I'll stay right here, ok?”

“The ambulance will be here s – ” Martin starts, trying to be gentle, but Jon tightens his grip ever so kindly, shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’ll be waiting around for that,” he says, and it’s almost light-hearted in the face of what they both know is now inevitable.

Patron swap, Lonely!Jon, Beholding!Martin

It is a surprise to no one that upon taking over the Institute, Peter Lukas turns his hand at trying to steer Jonathan Sims to the Lonely.

In the days after the end of the world, Jon finds Martin a gift

“Woss, what’s wrong?” Martin starts, but Jon’s pressing something into his hands firmly, so self-satisfied, joyous and smug with a mysterious success, and he feels his own grin start to blossom in kind, wanting to take part in the same delight. “What is it?”

sleep doesn't look pleasant, spoilers for 161

Martin won’t wake up. Eyes clenched closed, breathing laboured, and for a long while, Jon’s world gets quieter as his own immediate louder fear rises like gall in his throat. He tries compelling him even.

Jon doesn’t know that this will happen every time Martin dreams.

Jon is admitted to hospital. Martin frets.

Jon nearly died today, his brain keeps reminding him. You nearly lost him, you nearly weren’t fast enough.

Trans!Jon, Trans!Martin, intimate rituals

Jon’s hair is getting long.

Morning rituals, Jon admiring the view.

But he much prefers this slow and lazy unwinding of a day because he gets to study Martin. He puts his elbows on the wooden table off to the side of their pokey kitchen, and enjoys watching an artless, intimate one-man performance just for him, as he acclimatises to the day.

Scottish honeymoon, soft get-together

Martin wonders why Jon didn’t go upstairs. Take the bed. The cottage is an old crofter’s place, two small and utilitarian bedrooms where they discarded their meagre belongings on arrival.

Martin looks at the tea. Feels the scarf under his head, the heavy coats weighing him down.

Thinks he might know why.

Monster!Jon, AU S5

“What the fuck are you?” she says. She does not lower her weapon. The guard to her left has raised her own.

All of its eyes blink out of rhythm as its unseen mouth moves with that croaking, piteous whisper. “He’s, he’s human, he’s hurt and he needs – he’ll die, please.” The man it is carrying looks human. Painted with dirt and filth, the slick of insects broken over his skin. His breathing is starting to rattle.

Tim is mildly cursed, S1 shenanigans 

Whoever is closest, but usually Sasha, will give a sarcastic cheer. To which Tim – cradling his injury,  glowering with a fire-starter expression at whatever file or paper or fragment dealt the blow – will reply: “Piss off, right, it’s not funny, I’m cursed. This is a curse.”

OG Archive crew sad hours

There could have been a day, when they’d all just talked.

Martin struggles to readjust to the world, post 159

Some days though, when the tempest around has dropped from squalling, Martin feels brave enough to look over at Jon.

Jon and Martin’s post-s5 wish list

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“After all this, after we’ve – what do you want to do? If we manage to – ”

“When we manage to.”

“Fine, when all this goes back to the way it was, what do you want to do?”

Safehouse drabble

Jon doesn’t sleep but this rest is as close to peace as this world allows him. 

AU S3, Breekon and Hope take Martin, not Jon.

Tim always thought Martin was reliable. Unshakeable.

That he was always going to be there.

Martin’s daemon is a spider. People have mixed feelings about this.

“Aron,” Martin says slowly. He keeps his hands folded on his lap but his fingers twitch to reach out. “This is – we’ve settled, haven’t we?”

Aron can’t nod. His form can’t allow for such an expression. But he brings his legs in closer, pebbles up and won’t look at Martin, and that’s answer enough.

Aspec Martin Week - Daemon!AU

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon’s head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It’s rude.”

Aspec Martin Week - Martin’s first Pride

Restored from their dramatic hangovers, Monday comes. Martin arrives huffing and delayed from the Tube to see Tim’s stuck his flag so it stands battered and proud over the lid of his laptop. Sasha’s made her small desk teddy bear hold hers. And it’s the memory of the day, the sun and the heat and the wild dizzying lack of expectations of it all, that gives him the courage to bring the flags he carefully preserved in on Tuesday, to put them jutting out of the mug on his desk that holds his stationery.

Honestly, he doesn’t expect anyone to comment on them. It’s not like anyone else comes down to their offices anyway.

Aspec Martin Week - Martin comes out (with help)

You surge against his lips again so he can’t see your nerves, you stupid, unfounded, calcifying anxieties, the barriers you keep putting up yourself because you are so terrified of being happy.

“Maybe… not tonight?” you mumble into your shared air. If he pushed, if he asked again, you would. He dragged you from the shoreline, out of the fog, this is the least you can give him. You’d lie on your back, or you’d cover him with your shape, and you’d try so hard to make him happy so he wouldn’t notice you not sharing the same. “’m a bit tired.”

Tricky, is what you are. Perjurious. Prevaricating. Two-faced.

Martin is a massive fan of Jon’s multitude of eyes

“I just want to see,” Martin mimics petulance and Jon huffs a smirk.

“They are my eyeballs,” he responds primly, putting down a dry mug and picking up a plate to towel off.

“What’s the point of having horror-bestowed physical improvements if you don’t show them off?”

Martin worries about being a father

That’s not – ” Martin says, stops. Pulls his hands away from his face, his eyes puffy.

He takes Jon’s hand, still perched on his knee, laces their fingers together. Over the baby monitor, Jon can hear the soft untroubled in-and-out of their son breathing.

“I sounded like my dad,” Martin confesses finally. Fat tears well up and stagger down his tear-prickled cheeks. “I sounded exactly like him.”

Martin and Jon get wine drunk 

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before  he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don’t want to.”

There’s nothing sexier than open and honest communication (post-166)

“I fucking hate the Buried,” Jon says into Martin’s shoulder.

“It sucks,” Martin agrees. “You er – you have any more poetry this time?”

Martin feels Jon’s ‘no’ like an earth tremor over his breastbone.

“Worms,” comes the reply muffled shapeless into his coat.

“Like…normal worms?”

“People worms.”

“Rrright. Less fun then.”

Martin has some thoughts about the Web

Martin does not think about spiders. 

(Except he does.) 

Did you feel, Jon had proposed delicately, like she was influencing your mind at all? 

Jon’s world has no certainties. No maps, boundaries, no promises that can remain unquestioned. 

Martin has the edges of his world now. He has to be able to trust in them. 

Jon gets hurt and doesn’t tell Martin

Jon burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won’t wake, not for Martin’s calls and shakes, not for anything. When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Martin still struggles with his mental health

It was easier, Martin thinks sometimes, when he could blame it on the Lonely.

Episode 170 could have gone so many different ways

This is your house, we whisper to him.

You have always been here alone, we promise.

We recite to our beloved that he has never been loved, and our winds, our walls, our winding mists tell him so often that eventually he believes us.