#hopefully i get some more non-revenge in before the months over

[jesterwaves]

 art fight: round 5!!!!

characters:

Herica for @nayiitopia

Beacon for Candle_Pastries on art fight

Cam for Cambionical on art fight

Asari for pokifoko on twitter

[sly-merlin]

S A C R I F I C E

SACRIFICE - A STORY OF LOVE, BETRAYAL, REVENGE AND BARGAINING

CHARACTERS : prince jaehyun x princess y/n

GENRE : fluff, angst.

WORD COUNT : 7k

TIME PERIOD : OF SHY GLANCES AND BLOOD BATHS. WHERE LOVE IS FORBIDDEN AND HATRED NOT.

WARNINGS : Includes dirt play, revenge. Major character deaths like MAJOR, mentions of blood, murder, killing, assassination and an explicit scene of killing.  Cw : food mentions  SMUT WARNING : kissing! mentions of undressing.

DISCLAIMER : THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FICTION. FICTION. NO DESCRIPTION REPRESENTS OR GIVE ANY HINTS TO JAEHYUN'S REAL LIFE CHARACTER. 

a/n : part of heartbreakhotel monthly event by precious network @nct-writers

SUMMARY : heart in one hand, a blade in another. Which one goes down under the weight of other? Who is brave enough to sacrifice the other?

The shimmering, colourful, geometrical patterns of the bronze kaleidoscope motivated your heels to exultant jumps, simply sending tingles to your friend's mind who quietly stood beside you wondering what new pattern had caught your eye this time. She was equally excited yet waited for you to be absolutely gratified. After all, a pattern viewed once could never be seen twice or remembered long enough to be claimed to have hit our eyes.

The light hues of the unreachable sun coloured the small market in its natural glow making terrible winter evening walks a little more bearable .You loved it. You loved the scenery, all the more so because it was deemed to be yours. Every corner of this small kingdom had your father's crown engraved on it yet you weren't permitted to move around in a place you dared to call your own. Hence the poorly patched long cotton skirt and lazily stitched full sleeved shirt covered you like you were a fugitive in disguise or maybe belonged to some impoverished village. Same was the case with your pretty friend who, once averse to your youthful shenanigans, found the silver jewellery most fascinating in the whole market and not to omit the street food that turned the palace food to be flavourless.

 You had never been very keen on lying to your parents, popularly called the rulers of the kingdom and your poor attendants who thought you were busy with your evening naps that you had suddenly taken upon a liking towards since the past month. But it was a necessity for you. Roaming in the same humongous rooms no more satiated your travelling mind. You wanted to be out, to be free, to just breach all the restrictions you were placed under as a princess to satisfy the hollow rules. As much as your morals and conscience despised hiding truth, this little game you played harmed no soul. Your safety was their priority and you were safe and secure as long as you didn’t leave her side. And this excuse inadvertently spiralled you in this endless circle of hide and seek taking control over your better judgement, throwing the need to pause this rendezvous in the background. What once done out of curiosity and to experience the fanatic lives of your subjects, was now a sine qua non. From patiently performing and learning new tasks suiting your position to skillfully diverting your maids, you indeed had all the prerequisites to be the best queen of your future kingdom. Even though the praise of achievement always resided only in your head, you found yourself to be impressively regal.

"Let me have a look too, y/n" zara, your dear friend pleaded not so politely.

Reluctantly removing the device from your eyes, you pushed it onto her hands, backing away slightly, allowing her in the space.

"Why don't you go and look at some silver jewellery instead?" Huffing, you suggested to lure her.

“The new ones arrive next monday!” Not paying heed to your tender, she kept smiling, enthralled by the beauty captured between the pieces of mirrors.

You nudged her playfully, the action meant to drive her to the end of her patience but she dogged your efforts with continuous giggles. Relentless you were too and she was always reminded of that in a hard way. What your elbow failed to do, your fingers completed. As soon as your fingers in her ears, she bitterly pulled herself away to face you.

“This is unfair y/n. This hour of freedom is not for your pleasure only” puckering her lips, she said while her eyes squinted at you. 

Suddenly, her forehead was smeared with thoughtful lines, “y/n! It’s been twenty minutes already. Where is your lover?” surprise rained over her whole face, “Do you think he got caught?”

You were almost ready to refute her former statement that he certainly wasn’t your lover yet but her latter question of suspicion appalled you and there was no need for her to ask you any further as she noticed your face shrinking, distorting your pretty lips into a worrisome pout. She immediately left the metal device, focusing on you.

“hey! I am not serious. I was just trying to distract you” as she cupped your face, a pout of her own greeted you.

Her words were not reassuring at all. There was no unlikelihood of what she said. Jaehyun was, without any doubt, illustrious in the fouled game you both played but neither his family resided here nor was he allowed to enter the premises of your kingdom. The said man was corrupted by his youthful glow that granted him enough courage of frisking around the walls of the forbidden territory.

Inhaling sharply, you uncloaked your worry,

“do you think he real-

“no no absolutely not love. He’s too clever for that and he’s been doing since months, way longer than me and you! Let’s wait for a few more minutes.” Cupping your chin, she jested and cooed, “Also won't he perish without seeing your beautiful face. He would be here any minute!”

 Just when you responded to her with a grim nod, a well acquainted shoulder bumped into you, mitigating your distress with a familiar touch. eyes closed in relief, you looked at zara for approval which was given right away with a playful wink.

Giggling like a little child, you skipped to the back of the market where jaehyun waited for you every evening. Hiding your face in the silk grey scarf, you sneaked away avoiding everyone’s sight and waiting for your arrival, Jaehyun stood there with the lower half of his face concealed with a black cotton headcover. 

As soon as he saw you, the hand glueing the cloth to his face fell down and his face lit up with a smile worthy of putting stars to shame if compared. The wrinkles on his face and the dips in the cheeks had you wanting to hide in those spaces, away from everyone who had heralded this union to be forbidden.

 There you stood, staring into his dark eyes like he wasn't someone you were supposed to keep a good distance from. 

But the light in his eyes diminished on seeing your excited face.

"You did that again! Why don’t you follow anything I say to you? At least, look back and confirm my presence. What if someone had followed me?” deeply whispering, he frowned at you.

And fondly, you smiled at him, something that he never found fascinating but it still left him flustered.

"Don't smile at me like that. I won't melt this ti-

"I apologise?"

You blurted out taking him by surprise. His mouth opened and closed several times, body slightly rocking in confusion. Finally, he spoke, 

"I didn't mean it like that." His voice softened, "i just can't - 

Cleaning his muddy hands on his pajamas, he placed them on your cheeks, engulfing your whole face with his long fingers.

"I just can't see you in danger. If any of my uncle’s spies came wandering and recognised you at this hour, they'd not hesitate to slit your throat y/n" the way his face contorted as he recited the known truth,  it was evident how just the mention of it was painful to him. "Don't follow unless you see my face. I know there's no one harming you in your own country but you never know when odds might defeat you" 

"Do you-

You began but his questioning eyes stopped you. His eyes talked only in worry and love. Both for you. But even if you were content with what he showered you with, greed for little more was something you never deemed unnecessary.

"I what?" 

You wanted to continue but the perpetual worry planted on his face disturbed you as well.

"Jaehyun-'' your fingers brushed away the strand of hair on his face, “I mean don’t you find it tedious? Giving me the same instructions every other day, wasting the ten minutes of the limited time we get.”

He left your face and focused on cleaning the remaining dirt from his hand. To avoid suspicions and blend into the environment, he always covered his hands in mud, giving an impression of a forlorn daily worker. Nobody questioned a person who looked homeless and unhappy, even if he meandered near the barbed wires.

“I got in trouble.”

You hadn’t even sat down on the bench and he was already bombarding you apprehensions.

“how?” inaudibly, you asked.

He broke his eyes away before responding,

“they saw me leaving the palace yesterday. From tomorrow, I shall be accompanying my cousin to verify the supplies in the production department.” his chuckle forced you to let out one as well. his irresponsible behaviour had fables of its own, as jaehyun had told you once. the little penalties he was subjected to weren’t discomforting either but this time it involved you as well.

“for how long?”

 “my family’s care agenda would hopefully end within two weeks and then I shall be free again. but we might need a new place and new time too.”

His words were muffled in the back as your eyes remained transfixed on his hand sheepishly rubbing his neck. Under your inappropriate scrutiny, he found himself tinting and your strong gaze posed more problems for his already thumping heart.

He coughed you out of your daze, eyes wavering everywhere. Picking your lip, you suppressed your giggles.

Finger under your chin, you pretended contemplation. Your comical stance earned a groan from him,

“how about you get serious for once and I’ll buy you steamed food.”

Smiling widely, your greedy stomach took the offer immediately.

“not everyone lacks intelligence, prince jaehyun.”

He huffed and crossed his arms, feigning offence at your statement. “Now what are you implying princess y/n.”

“that I might already have a place decided. So hurry up now and feed me food while telling me about your day.”

“You are impressive, my lady! How am I going to live with your notorious self?”

“you plan on living with this notorious princess?” you clowned even though his question showed you more than just a hope.

“the inquiry hour is closed princess and so would be the shops if you choose to delay more. Soooo, shall we leave?”

Responding to your sharp gaze, he took your hand and pressed his plump lips onto them, disrupting the chain of your rational thoughts.

As the atmosphere tuned cooler and he bid adieu, you went back with a new assurance, ready to put your life on hold for the next few weeks.

lying on your back, you let out muffled giggles to celebrate another successful classified evening. clothes were changed, chess was out. You were prepared for any intrusion.

Zara's laughter soon died down, happy and heavy breaths replacing them. Seated on your bed, she faced you,

"So my courageous y/n, did you confess today?"

Abruptly you raised yourself, looking at her in bewilderment,

“Of course not!”

“What? Why not? What are you waiting for? Time is slipping away love.”

“I know. I just want to be a little more sure before taking this a step further. I do not want to misjudge his momentary affection for a promised future.The detestation our families share for each other has always proven to be deadly. Unless I’m sure that jaehyun’s feelings are indisputable, I shall not be proceeding." Mumbling out the last part, you began playing with the hem of your deep blue skirt to hide the disappointment that settled in within your heart. 

"Okay. I can't force you but do know that saving your heart from misery is better. Oh and does the poor boy have any hint about me." Zara advised lacing her words with a chuckle in the end. 

"Don't worry. You are just a maid friend whom I love and trust the most. He believes each of my pretty lies you know.”

"Oh my love. He truly fancies you. I wish your brother wasn't so incapable of harbouring feelings. How delightful life could have been only if he was like you." She wistfully spoke just like other times. Your heart hurt for her. She never got the love she was capable of giving yet the kindness never withered away. She was just like that. 

Soon your peace was interrupted and you were escorted to the dinner table. 

There sat your parents with their favourite child. You weren't loved any less yet it weakened your heart, watching them walking past your capabilities to applaud his undistinguished skills. His gender screamed for power when his capabilities barely had any knowledge of whispering about them. You abhorred it. Not your brother for he was raised with a rode in his neck but the stars that never aligned in your favour crushing your dream of wearing the crown for your own kingdom, under the grime rules made by those who were dead. Only god and zara knew how much hatred you held for your ruthless ancestors who never favoured women.

Sans any relish, you bit on the food which definitely tasted better for something you were not very fond of. but the almost good meal was ridden of all the salt as you felt conscious of their eyes on your face.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" you asked with a reluctantly polite voice.

That's when you noticed how their attention was divided to both you and zara.  Your brother Donghae’s serious eyes bored into her face as she tried to avoid him while sitting right across him on the dining table.

Finally your mother spoke.

“Donghae was looking for you throughout the whole evening, zara.”

Zara lowered her head, look on her face screaming help which only you understood so you took the charge on her behalf,

“We were in my room.”

“And what is so important in your room that you both chose to ignore constant calls from your maids?”

“After an exhausting and unentertaining day, we both play chess, share all the amusing stories of our respective days, details of which can be given to you if asked with some enthusiasm and then we sleep for an hour, in peace without anyone spitting orders on our faces and since when have my brother changed so much that he actually got some time to look for his wife?”

“May I know from where this disrespectful flow of words is coming through? Is this a way to talk to your elders?”

“I mean no disrespect, mother.”

“This ends today. From tomorrow you shall be spending those two hours with our bakery chef.”

Instead of your mother, you directed your next plead to your father, who was an expert in nodding at household matters

“No! This is the only time I get with zara. within a year or two i’ll be married off to some rude man who won’t even let me put my feet outside the threshold of his palace.” pouting, you said.

Waving his hand, he dismissed the matter that meant whoever got the last sentence was the conqueror of the discussion.

"Why are you here?" Counting and aligning the stars to form another shape, he interestingly asked.

"I wanted to explore this dead garden. What about you? What brings you here in the enemy land?" You jested.

"to meet a very beautiful enemy."

"a woman?"

"Yes yes. She's a woman. A very pretty one I must say but very feisty and dangerous to be around."

"Oh how so?" You asked now genuinely interested in his description of yours.

"I've heard she has a heart of stone."

"Huh? Have you seen her heart to be so sure of your accusation?"

"I've enough instances to prove that."

"Like?"

"She meets a handsome prince, spends an hour staring at his eyes with all but love and still chooses to stay silent. It's a dangerous game she's playing with him. It almost - it hurts him."his fatalistic expression left you stunned. The ancillary confession beleaguered your heart instead of calming the storm.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you tried your best to focus on the constellations instead. you pulled the poor blade of grass harder in a futile attempt of breaking it apart but it was snatched from you.

“answer me.” He demanded the answer that was resting on the tip of your tongue.

"I love you."

He blurted out and you felt his fingers finding home in yours as he interlocked them. the moisture of the grass swamped your hands and you finally found your warmth within each other.

“the whole palace is under your charm y/n” you stopped the stirring at zara’s words.

“how so?”

“they haven’t seen your wrath in the past few weeks. You didn’t shout at minji for throwing your burnt cake either.”

Swatting her hand away from the pot, you replied, “let them enjoy their peace days.”

“may god bless jaehyun! The whole palace is saved until you are happy.” Bumping her shoulders into yours, she took the charge from you. “what about the haunted garden y/n. aren’t you afraid of going there. it’s been weeks and I haven’t heard you screaming about any ghost.”

You scoffed at her naive self, “the only ghost that haunts the garden is in ME!” dragging the last part, you successfully scared her into dropping the ladle in the hot pot. Resultantly, she chases you off in the whole kitchen until you agree to turn the muddle of vegetables into something edible.

Jaehyun’s presence generated so much happiness within your soul that you were afraid one unfortunate day would snatch him from you yet you never fought against the urge to drown in the love he poured on you. He mirrored the boy you met in your books, just as dreamy, if not more. His princely chiselled face was a sight to die for. He was a typical example of a lotus, a beautiful flower born in mud where it lived and died and you wanted to change that for him.

“What do you fear the most?”

Nestling your face in his neck, you couldn’t help but ask the question. He snuggled you closer to him, the sheet beneath you crumpling making the leaves and the grass it covered rustling under you. He shifted his head only to face your hair. Removing his one hand from your waist, he moved your chin to inspect you. He never understood how you came up with most bizzare and inquiring questions. But he was always more than happy to speak or in this case, express.

“that I will forever remain indebted to you.”

grasping his hand that held your chin, you saw him gulp down the words he hesitated to utter. 

"Love is not a debt jae. Just keep loving me like this, make me hap-

Abruptly your view of him changed as he floated over your figure. Resting your head on the sheet, his fingers traced the path along your face, feeling every inch of the skin he had learned to admire from afar. With adoration filled eyes, he drew nearer.

His lips were delicate against yours. Moving gently, he comforted your vulnerable ones, winning a pleased and dry whine from your throat. Hands dropping to your neck, his lips travelled down to your jaw where he sucked lightly at a candied spot and the little tickle kisses he gave you reaching your collarbones left you squealing in its wake. He hovered over your face again, this time to taste the bliss you felt and courageously, you pulled him closer and like it was designed, Mist of delight clouded your minds as  you forgot your fingers in his nape. If finding stars in his eyes was your expression of love then dancing against your pulsating lips, he perfectly found his interpretation as well. 

He drew back when he was done with bruising your skin. Staring into your eyes, he asked for something. With a blink of the same, you conveyed it. 

Curving your back, you allowed him to unzip the lavender dress you were wearing. As he uncovered your skin, he greeted it with beautiful, praiseworthy kisses, covering you with his undying love.

That night he resuscitated you, sending you into an oblivion. 

The reason being the incantations that he served you with.

I wish to give you a ring!

And the simple words resonated the promise that you could hardly wait for him to fulfill.

Sympathy combining some unknown feeling washed over you as you heard your father talking about the neighbouring kingdoms and the pitiful state they were in. you had always known about the lack of resources those people lived with but that was the end. It was just a topic of discussion and theory to learn about the blunders of their ancestors and the brutal history of their treason to an old ally, your father and grandfather.

With a contempt laced tongue, once again, your father recited the story of betrayal of the lees and the jungs. The story was religiously told to every child once they were old enough to understand the terms like loyalty, allegiance, infidelity and betrayal.

You had vowed to change that. a seed of hatred planted in a younger mind would only yield a crop of vengeance. you aspired to end it. Jaehyun, too, wanted to wash the stains of treachery from his family name.  

 To your dismay, the army was out to roam the small towns and villages, looking for trespasser enemies. 

One day, you were resting in jaehyun's arms and the next day, you were left to sulk as the guards had suddenly decided to reaffirm the reliability of all the hinges. The doors were smacked, locked and unlocked, leaving you with million suspicions and a heavy heart. 

The only assurance you had, was in Jaehyun's capability of fooling the security forces. Proud as you were, the unsettling feeling of a blurred future did not let you sleep. For three nights.

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly from behind.

“easy jaehyun! it tickles!” you exclaimed while controlling your giggling.

“i thought you won’t be here tonight but yo-

“but i managed to sneak!” you finished, turning in his arms to see his beautiful face glistening in the moonlight. “and i don’t know for how much longer i can fool my attendants, what if one day they got in trouble for negligence. The security is doubled outside all the chambers. If I pulled anything, father would not hesitate to behead them.” your face dimmed with the mere thought of the fate of your precious maids and if anything happened to them, your soul would be forever encumbered with the guilt. 

your worried eyes didn’t escape jaehyun as he leaned forward to give you a small kiss, soothing your nerves. the small peck left you wanting for more as you bit your lower lip in anticipation of his further actions.

“nothing would happen. it’s been 2 months and nobody in the whole kingdom knows where and with whom their gorgeous princess spends her nights! and besides i’m here to ease the worries of your forever wandering mind. "

"Why do you always have to talk in riddles jae!"

He laughed through your smacks before circling your figure twice, leaving you staggered and dumbfounded.

"What are yo-

"I'm serious. I’m just here to fulfil my promise love.” he caught and pulled you again, keeping just a little distance between you both

“what promise? i don’t remember anything!” you asked genuinely perplexed by his words. as far as your memory too you, the only promise he made was-

your eyes widened at the realisation! jaehyun removed his one hand from your waist, putting it inside the pocket of his pants.

at this point, you could hear your own thumping heart whilst looking at him expectantly.

“let’s relieve you of a huge burden my princess!” he said with a smiling face but as you tried to mirror his expression, a sharp pain coursed through your abdomen.

you wobbled as he left your waist, the pain doubling when he pulled the small knife out of your body, a smirk adorning his features instead.

your body felt hotter than ever as the blood slowly oozed out of your abdomen. no scream left your lips as you pressed the wounded area in a try to lessen the ache.

The solemn tears falling down the cheeks were not for the physical damage but for the broken promise Jaehyun had bestowed upon you with.

“wh-why?” was the only word you could form before your other hand went to grab his arm but was only met with air.

jaehyun loomed closer and his knife met your stomach once again, this time a grievous shriek filled the silent garden. 

Your legs lost life, your body finding it harder to withstand the twist of the knife as you fell on the grass, darkness consuming your soul.

“because i couldn’t be on the throne as long as the heir of this kingdom was alive. but your death won’t be worthless love. I shall wear the crown of your sacrifice and reclaim all the lost honour.”

Instead of a deep breath as you had expected, a choked sob left your lips and the whole body convulsed with the painful effort.

Your eyes remained glued to him as he rubbed his face with this sleeve regarding you with the cruelty you never knew he was capable of.

contempt in his orbs served as his last offering towards you as he exited your sight, calling for someone.

After what felt like years, you heard a human voice again but your body gave up before you could comprehend anything. 

“you did it my boy!”

Jinyoung broke his hateful glare from the throne and patted a demented jaehyun on the back, congratulating his prime pawn for the successful acquisition. The so called disqualified heirs were now the rulers, a dream that was once broken by their backstabbing friend, the now murdered king of this kingdom.

“and you shall be rewarded for you have made your deceased father proud.” Hand caressing Jaehyun's shoulder, he pretended to wipe the few tears that escaped due to the bitter memory. Cleaning his eyes with the sleeve of his dusted robe, he took the gold crown from his younger brother, jinseok and ran his eyes from jaehyun to the majestic chair on the silver podium.

With pride clotted blood, Jaehyun bowed to him before taking his seat.

The crown was set atop his head, fitting him without any doubt.

It weighed more than he thought.

With a sinister smile, his uncle ordered the assassination of all the loyal members of court.

Guards were beheaded and bodies were counted.

The palace was foraged, to find and kill all the runaways.

A manhunt was announced for the one who wasn’t found.

Nobody knew there were more to be found.

The triumphant smile lit Jaehyun's face for he lost nothing.

Three weeks later.  

Donghae’s hands lost all the strength, the plastic bag filled with potatoes now rolling down the uneven and mud washed floor of the hut.

The day he had been anticipating with broken hope and glistening eyes was not a dream anymore.

Your fingers finally trembled against the hard, rugged and rough mattress.

You had decided to open your eyes after three weeks.

Finally he allowed himself to cry.

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me

Crown hanging between his fingers, his gaze pierced the ground.

You were lying there three weeks ago.

Were you taken away?

Were you no more?

There was no probability of inhaling after how perfectly he had spun his knife.

No man had ever survived his knife, not even his own teacher. There was no way you could have. All the odds were in his favour for all the cards being played with accuracy.

Did he hope for your life?

You were an enemy, just a play. Then why the thought of never beholding you again hurt him so much. 

why the weight of the crown crumbled on him with such intensity.

Why did he choose your chamber to stay in?

Yet Why was he unable to sleep?

He grew up seeking answers and  taking orders and this time there was no one to respond to his cries.

Neither did anyone care enough to ask him the reason for his quotidian visits to the garden.

I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug

It wasn’t home. But the eyes looking back at you undeniably reminded you of it. A day has passed since you saw the light of the world again but all you did was listen to the gut-wrenching fate your family had met with. Half of the family!

Your parents were murdered in the coup premeditated  by none other than the neighbouring jungs. What was equally agonising was the fact that your brother never got to give your parents a respectable farewell. The troops had charged upon their sleepy selves and the mere hanging crown on the naked and bloodied sword of jin young was enough of a proof of the successful attack. Their escape hadn't been easy either but with a little help from the general, they had managed to flee. Zara had led them to you. 

 Unknown fear consumed you as you read your surroundings. But it was time you admitted to your mistakes and faced the consequences. If there were any brutal ones left. There was nothing you would be unable to endure. So you began with the unanswered questions.

“what is this place?” you asked with a sore throat.

“this is jung’s territory. They are too blinded by their victory that this barren land is the last place they would send their troops to.” donghae replied, feeding you spoonfuls of the soup.

“But how did we reach here?"

"Through the underground war doors. They once joined both of our territories before the jungs were disqualified from trading. This end was opened by our general when we lost too much blood. Their bloody nephew is sitting on the throne, uniting this useless kingdome with ours." He seethed. 

You bit your lip to compose yourself. you knew you had to tell them about jaehyun and a broken trust was the last thing you wanted to inject in him but necessity clawed on your heart to reveal everything.

Caressing your face, he acidly began, 

"We'll take back everything. No one shall be spared. We are contacting our alliances. By next month, our kingdom would be in the state of siege. Every drop of blood shall be avenged. Jaehyun would pay for what he did."

At his mention, you withdrew your sight from him. Guilt crept up within you as you tried to affiliate every past event with the current one. It was clear as day you were a mere instrument to find a place for the entry of their troops. You were just a puppet. Unknowingly, you had allowed them to enter your parent's bedroom too. You had blood on your hands. Of countless people.

A single tear slipped and the lack of his expression on your face scared zara. She ran to occupy the other side of the bed and caught your head before you broke down in her arms. Jaehyun's lies and betrayal of your love was left somewhere in an old rusted chest of your mind and the pure anguish shattered you into millions of pieces.

You wailed yourself to sleep. 

Jaehyun visited you that night. In the form of dust. And he continued breaching your peace as if killing you once wasn't enough.

Now the day bleeds, into nightfall and you are not here, to get me through it all.

Jaehyun woke up in cold sweat. When was the last time he slept with an easy mind? 

Maybe the week before he was ordered to finish off what he had started. 

He changed rooms. 

He changed floors.

But his eyes never closed for even the minor chances of meeting you in the dreamland scared him to death. 

With a trembling hand, he picked up the crown and threw it away.

Amusingly, you were still dead.

Were you really that foolish?

Perhaps you resembled every other weak hearted person for whom a pinch of affection was a desperate call to sell their soul and rationality.

You had just wanted to walk down the markets without any constraints pulling you back in. Skipping in the shadows while hiding from the sun was the only desire you had. 

Why had he bumped his shoulder into yours? Why had he repeated it again and again until had grown to recognise his touch even through the thick layers of clothing and masked faces?

It's amusing how we end up finding each other in the same place at same time everyday

He had said with a sugary tone when you had questioned him sternly. 

You had believed him.

I'm prince Jaehyun, from the other side. I just came here to see the beauty that our place doesn't possess. It's all barren and discarded. No healthy vegetables. No dry fruits. I just enjoy myself every evening and buy some good food for some poor kids. You won't mention this to anyone right? I’ll leave right away if you want though!

How righteous had he sounded!

We'll propose unification and then everything will come to life again. No bloodshed. No backstabbing. No spy plays. We’ll never let history blemish our future.

How had he managed to contradict each and every word he had spoken. 

he just changed like the patterns in the kaleidoscope as if you had never reflected in the mirrors of his heart. 

Perhaps you never did.

You despised his way of fulfilling his Imperishable love for you! 

You were relieved Zara had been the one to inform your brother of this leading cause.

How ruthless he could have been!

You wanted to give his whole kingdom a new life and all he could give you in return was a knife. 

I was getting kinda used to being the someone you loved

Jaehyun's fingers turned green for how harshly he picked at the grass. Picking at those innocent blades didn't bring you back. 

His cries thundered in the air. He begged for the time to turn itself. He yearned for the love you had shown him. He missed your warmth. He missed your careless laughs. His heart shrieked for you. The only person he had ever loved. The only being who had ever loved him.

 Why he couldn't have saved himself from being the traitor of the heart he could've ruled!

You stared at the heavy corset that was made to safeguard you.

You were no expert with a blade but still one was handed over to you as precaution. 

The general read you the instructions, mainly focusing on the need to remain hidden underground until the war was over. You and Zara were to be kept away from the weapons. 

That was what the commandments directed you to follow.

Today, the wind blew harsher. Maybe he was the only one to feel the strange stillness in the disorder. Everything had been imprudently loud for him lately. Even the riots that shook the doors of the palace. How long could they have held onto something that never belonged to them! 

As he dismissed the servant who called him to take charge against your brother, his mind pressed upon bolting all the heavy doors to ignore the murderous stream. He had led one army before but now lacked the courage to pick up his knife and sword, the ones he buried right in the garden where you once laid.

You.

The broken look on your face was the image he wanted to delete from the depths of his mind so desperately yet your presence never left him alone. Maybe it was the sanction of the heavens that you were always there with him. In his days and in his dreams. He got all of your portraits removed yet here you were, standing in front of him with a smile on your face. A quiet rare sight. The radiant face, if not impossible to find, was still very infrequent even in his dreams. The air smelled of you. The atmosphere was enticing. Suddenly, he wanted to chase his dream, to go after you. 

So he followed his heart. 

Your illusion stayed still, with curved lips making you look ethereal. Even in the darkness, your face illuminated the way for him.

His hand rose, hoping to touch you even though the rational part of his head screamed that it was a lie created by him to save himself from another night of misery but he failed to listen and caved in. Like each time, he expected his hand to pass through you, breaking the charm of his fabrication of you. 

But here he was. 

Instead of passing through the smoke that you were supposed to be, his hand rested upon the gentle skin that your face had. Retracting his fingers immediately, he fell back in fear, eyes widening and chest heaving. 

You were anything but an illusion. 

His hand grazed against your cheek before he fell down, stumbling upon his own feet. The crown that decorated his head too withdrew its support, lying on the floor like it had recognised its lawful owner.

"My king." Solemnly, you addressed him. "I hope you are enjoying your new home and title."

As you talked, you watched him collecting himself. As he unclogged the blocks of his mind, awe transformed his face momentarily shaping itself into trepidation. To your disbelief, he brightened up once again. Had he not been liable for the ghastly crimes, you’d have sympathised with the deranged state of the always self possessed jaehyun. Alas! You had nothing to offer him.

Shuffling on his knees, with his head bowed lowly, he spoke with dead voice,

"Forgive me, please." He cried into his joined hands.

"Get up jaehyun. A mighty and worthy king like you doesn't look very honourable bowing to a mere woman like me." Your dangerously honeyed voice resembled the ominous dark clouds brooding atop his head. 

But you admired his valor for he kept apologising, burning himself with the false hope of undoing the indelible smudge he had left on you.

"I thought i never loved you y/n but i was utterly wron-

"You are a deceiver King jaehyun. Do not expect me to believe you." 

"Don't call me that please!" 

"Get up jaehyun." you barked. 

"I hate myself for doing that to you y/n." Getting up slowly, he repeated twice. You were yet to see his face and when he rose to his full height, you were met with his bloodshot eyes that could've ached you if your heart hadn't been damaged to the core.

"Don't hate yourself please. You made your family proud. That is what we kids should be aiming for right. I truly admire you for that King jaehyun." The emotionless stress on the end made him close his eyes in pain as he choked out another heart wrenching sob. 

"I'm truly sorry y/n, please. I can't take your hatred. I don't want this crown nor do i want to live here anymore."

Your stomach churned at his cries. You had truly underestimated his capability to surprise you but it only made you grip harder on the knife that was tucked in your waistband.

“How naive of you to think that I'll fall for your lies again, jaehyun.”

Rubbing his face with his palms, he looked heavenward,

"No no. I love you. I really really love you.I never realised this until now. I just can’t live without you” and continued as his glistened eyes met yours, “Why are you not listening to me?"

"Don't you think you are a bit late for a true confession."

"Yours was true right. Your love was conditionless. I swear on your love! Forgive me once please. Love is the strongest, you told me this right. I just need you y/n. not this crown. Not anyone else. Just you, Please." 

A mean scoff left your lips, "Yes, i was the one who told you about love being the most powerful but that was until you taught me the strength of hatred, jaehyun. You knifed me out of the fairytales i dreamt with you and i don't think i can ever thank you enough for that. The love you are so profoundly swearing to is lying under the debris of the hollow pride and the abhorrence you sheltered for my family. You never once heard my pleas of affection and now you expect me to listen to yours?how can you stoop so low?"

You watched him screaming into the air and crumbling down. You saw him going through the pain you would never recover from yourself and you wanted to end it. For him. It was rather painful to watch him so you mumbled his name. 

With newfound belief, he loomed closer with open arms, anticipating a change of heart from you. Maybe you weren't really as unconcerned to him as he had been with you. 

but the long blade mutilated his lungs and silent gasps of pain escaped his throat. His miserable eyes ruined the shield you wore and you screamed at him while repeating the thrusts of the sharp blade. Droplets of vengeance imbued the chilled air, drizzling down your neck in the form of sweat.

Somehow the hall was lit and you were forced to see what you had done to him. His grip on the ground faltered and the blade slipped through your fingers, the clink dangerously reverberating in the hall. 

Before your hand could reach for him, something pointed grazed your shoulder. You wanted to turn around but more and more spikes pierced through you; the heaviness and the pain that seeped through your back launched you forward and you fell down on another body that had been hosted by the marble a few moments ago. The ache of the arrows left you breathless. Once again, you struggled with your eyelids. within a few seconds, relief padded your back and you discontinued your wrestling. 

and perhaps your dead heart was finally at peace.

[ejzah]

Thank you so much for all the fanfiction stories you've been writing they all are amazing. I'd like to ask if it's not much of trouble to write a fiction where Kessler take his revenge on Deeks to hurt Kensi more after he sees how nuch she loves him

A/N: Hi anon, thank you so much! I’ve written similar stories on this theme before, so hopefully this isn’t too similar to any of those. Features a little bit of everyone.

***

Where It Hurts Most

“Good morning,” Kensi whispered, kissing Deeks’ cheek. He had his eyes closed, but she was 90% sure he was awake too. She made a path from the soft hair of his beard straight down to the smooth skin of his neck. When she sucked just beneath his jaw, he finally moved, settling his hands on her hips, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Mm, best wake up call ever,” he murmured, gently nudging her closer. “So much better than an alarm.”

Kensi dipped her head again, capturing her lips, as Deeks pulled her completely on top of him. Their alarms went off at the same time a few minutes later and Deeks groaned, sneaking one more kiss before he reluctantly slid away.

“I want to squeeze in a run before work,” he explained, stripping off his boxers in exchange for a pair of running shorts and a tank. Kensi lay back down, enjoying the view. “I’ll meet you at the mission, ok?”

“Alright. Enjoy your run.” Flashing her a quick grin, Deeks kissed her one more time, and grabbed his running shoes. She lay in bed for a few more minutes before finally convincing herself to get up.

Deeks still hadn’t returned by the time she was finished showering and eating breakfast, which wasn’t unusual for him. His quick runs often turned into mini-marathons. Or he ended up talking with one of many casual friends he’d made since they moved. At another point in her life she might have felt jealous that he wasn’t with her, but now she was grateful that he had so many people in his life.

Figuring he wouldn’t be back before she left, Kensi put his half of the breakfast wrap she made in the fridge, and left a note for him on the kitchen table.

***

“No, I want to keep it simple,” Callen was saying when Kensi walked into the bullpen half an hour later. “Just a nice, relaxing dinner.”

“And that’s exactly why your wrong. A woman wants to be wooed on her anniversary, not the same treatment she gets every day,” Sam disagreed.

Kensi quietly sat down, enjoying watching them debate. She could see Sam’s annoyance rising as Callen stubbornly maintained his position on the matter.

“Anna’s not that kind of woman, though. I think I know her better than you.”

“G thinks it’s a good idea to take Anna out for pizza for their anniversary. What do you think?” Sam asked, abruptly turning to Kensi.

“I think you should do whatever makes you and Anna the happiest,” she answered diplomatically.

“See, she agrees with me,” Callen said, smirking in a self-satisfied way.

“No, that’s not what I said at all!”

“We need a third opinion. Where’s Deeks?”

“He had a few errands to run. Somehow I don’t think he’ll be on your side though,” Kensi said, patting Sam’s arm. “You know he prefers things that are more simplistic now.”

“You all are a disappointment,” Sam commented, shaking his head. Fatima appeared in the doorway before he could admonish them any further, her expression apprehensive.

“Guys, I just got an email addressed to Kensi,” she said, hesitating for a moment as she caught Kensi’s eye. “It says it’s from Kessler.”

Kensi’s stomach clenched briefly at his name before she gained control and managed to affect indifference.

“Damn it,” Callen sighed, dropping his feet from his desk and standing. “I will not miss this guy once we finally get him back in jail.”

“Any idea where the email originated from?” she asked Fatima as they walked upstairs together.

“I’m working on tracking it, but so far I’m not getting anywhere,” Fatima answered apologetically. “I’ll keep working on it though.”

“I know you will.”

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing Deeks isn’t here,” Sam commented darkly. “At least this way you can soften the blow before he finds out.”

Logically Kensi agreed, but she couldn’t deny that she wanted him by her side. Kessler managed to get under her skin despite her determination to ignore his taunts and threats.

“Alright, let’s see what garbage he’s spouting today,” she said with false bravado as they faced the big screen. Fatima pulled up the email, which bore the subject “It’s Been Too Long”.

“My Dear Kensi,

“I’ve thought of you often in the last few months. I figured it was time for another visit,” Kensi read, licking her lips to cover her anxiety. “I see Marty likes to keep in shape too. Don’t worry I’m not jealous. I know there’s no competition.”

“This guy’s unbelievable,” Sam muttered. A sickening sensation was growing in Kensi’s stomach and she didn’t respond as Fatima scrolled to the bottom of the message.

“You should have joined your hubby on his run, Agent Blye. I don’t think he’s going to make it home for breakfast or anything else you promised.

P.S. He put up a good fight.”

“Oh my god,” Kensi whispered, blindly reaching for the closest thing to hold as her knees trembled. “Deeks went for a run this morning.” She felt someone touch her shoulder, but it felt as if it was from far away. “He didn’t come back, but I just thought he took a longer route. Oh my god.”

“Kensi, it’s going to be alright,” Sam assured her, moving in front of her, blocking out the entire screen.

“Kessler has him.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed harshly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “I left Deeks a note this morning about breakfast. Kessler couldn’t know that unless he was there.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Callen insisted. “This could be another bluff. Fatima, did he send anything else?”

“Yes, there’s an attachment,” she said quietly. Kensi clung to Sam’s shirt, fingers digging in as he moved to the side, revealing a picture of Deeks.

He was caught mid-stride, his gaze focused somewhere off-screen as he waved to someone. A hint of a smile played at his lips, confirming that he was unaware he was being watched. Her eyes traveled over him, overwhelming rage mixing with sickening rage.

“They ambushed him,” she murmured softly.

“We’ll get him back, Kens,” Sam told her, still supporting her. She drew back, pulling on non-existent strength to ignore her terror.

“Good. Because I’m going to make him regret ever laying a hand on Deeks,” she promised.

[carry-on-wayward-daughter]

I Love You (Poe dameron x reader)

It wasn't that you weren't important. You were, to the very being of your core. You were smart, politically sound, motivational, and adequately skilled in just about everything, even though you fell short when it came to flying. You were also quite shy and awkward, so you didn't have much in the way of friends, besides Poe. It was just that, at the time, there were not enough resources to mount a rescue mission on Starkiller Base. It was too risky at the time of your capture. Poe was the most angry about it. Everyone at the base knew how he felt about you, and never tried to start an argument with him every time that you were mentioned. Poe was fuming and brimming with anger through all of the negotiations that had been about your liberation. It was at least two months before General Organa finally greenlit a stealthy rescue mission. Poe, obviously, was the first to volunteer. You could have been dead, but even with the slim chance of you being alive, Poe took that chance without thought. When Poe and his team finally located you, they were quick to get you out. It was in and out of the base, no questions asked, and thankfully no tripped alarms. You were passed out, bloody, beaten, and possibly half dead. Once one of the teammates check your pulse, Poe sighed in relief. Poe was thankful that they had gotten to you when they did. It was obvious you had been tortured in order for either the map to Skywalker or for the Resistance's base. There had been no attacks on the Resistance, so you hadn't given in. When the small squadron returned to the base and Poe brought you down from the ship in his arms, you were immediately taken to the mediroom. Poe was told there wouldn't be any visitors for at least a week, but, every day without fail Poe would stand sit by the door of your room and talk as if you were listening. Poe's comfort was knowing that you were here, alive and recovering. Even if he couldn't see you, Poe knew that one day you would return to your normal self - shy, but optimistic and honestly quite adorable. Some days he wasn't even allowed to sit at his spot by the door, as you often woke up screaming and were still going through delusions that you were still in captivity. Poe felt guilty for not going in sooner, and loathed himself for obeying orders. Poe did his best to never regret anything that he had done in his life, but he regretted not saving you. One day, in the dark of night, Poe had snuck into the mediroom while the nurses were in the midst of changing shifts. He quickly sifted through every member's file until he reached yours. Quickly taking one of the copies of your medical report from your folder, he folded it up and stuck it in his pocket. After returning to his bunk Poe read the report with a flashlight. What he saw was horrifying. Broken ribs, partial (but healable) brain damage, fractured right wrist, broken cheekbone, dislocated jaw, burn wounds, abdominal bruising, ruptured liver, welts caused by metal, choking sensations (ongoing), delusions (ongoing), and clear signs of consistent sexual assault. After which, he stopped reading. He would surely get revenge on anyone who even had the thought of doing this to you. Poe didn't sleep one wink that night, going back and forth with the decision to carry out destroying Starkiller Base by himself. ~~ Two weeks later, visitation was finally greenlit. Even though you were constantly asleep due to your medication, Poe visited you anyway. He held your hand and told you stories, even the cheesy ones he always told you during dinner breaks. He told you that he finally learned how to make flower crowns, (you made tons of them for him on any free days you had, but he never seemed to be able to make one himself), and how dull the whole base was without you there. He told you that he still couldn't remember parts of that one song you always used to sing; the one you he always caught you singing when you thought you were alone. Nurses would often find Poe asleep with his head resting on the edge of your cot, still holding your hand. Even though visitation hours had ended a long time ago, they let this be an exception. Everyone thought your relationship was so cute and charming, even General Organa had her hand in meddling. Poe was head over heels for you, and you were completely oblivious to it. Every morning, when Poe awoke, he always seemed to think that he felt your hand run through his hair. He remembered when you used to ruffle his hair and mess it up, even though he never really knew your motivations behind it. Poe had come to love when you ruffled his hair; even if people laughed at him for having a messy visage. Today especially was a day when Poe was certain he felt it again; you gently running your fingers through his hair for nearly hours on end. Poe felt a pang of disappointment in his chest as he rose from slumber only to see that your eyes were still shut. "It's been a couple weeks, and... I know you might still be asleep, but I think I remember most of that song I always hear you sing. I have it written down, but I think I can hum the parts that I haven't caught on to yet." "(Humming the tune to Skidamarink" (AN: Link is in the description to the song)) "I love you... I love you in the morning and in the afternoon.... I love you in the evening underneath the moon... (Humming) I love you in the morning I love you in the night, I love you in the evening when the stars are shining bright..." "You should sing it more... it just sounds cheesy when I do it. Y/N... if only you were awake. I can already imagine you laughing at me. Which I really have no problem with..." For seemingly the fourth day in a row, Poe spent nearly his entire day with you, falling asleep with his head on the cot once again. On the fifth day, Poe woke up to humming. It was the same tune he thought was cheesy but charming, and immediately smiled. Your hand was tangled in his hair, gently curling strands of his hair with your fingers. When Poe lifted his head, your beautiful eyes met his. You had finally awoken, much to Poe's delight. "You're awake..." he said, almost in awe. "Thank you for coming back for me..." you say, resting your hand back on the cot. "I also heard you'd been visiting non-stop... am I really that much of a good friend to you?" you ask, smiling brightly. Poe shook his head. "No... not a friend. Y/N, I love you. I always have, and I'll be forever thankful that you're here and alive. You're the light of my life, and you're the reason why I get into that X-Wing. You're the reason I fight." Poe took you hand, eying you hopefully. You returned the smile with your own grin. "I love you too, Poe. You were what kept me going through....." you pause for a moment, gulping at the thought. "All I wanted was for you to be safe. I couldn't wait to hear your voice again, to laugh at your jokes and to hear those crazy stories I swear you make up. You're everything to me. You always have been. Poe Dameron... I love you."

[doorsclosingslowly]

They've Made of Our Bodies a Bleeding Stair

Jesper and Kaz try to retrieve Inej from Ketterdam without being recognized and murdered—and without Kaz getting ransomed back to Ravka as the the wayward Sun Summoner.

11k | Sun Summoner Kaz AU pt. 2 | Jesper/Kaz, Inej, past Kaz/Darkling content note: non-linear narrative, explicit sex, roleplay of past rape

“I want you to be him.”

“Of course,” Jesper replies. Then, articulately, once his brain’s caught up, “Uh. What?”

“The Darkling.” Kaz has turned his face away. He’s looking at the ramshackle marriage bed that takes up the bulk of this room he’s lured Jesper into. He unerringly picked the right closed door, too; he skipped the squeaky floorboards, as if he knew the exact layout of this—but it’s Kaz. He knows everything, even some dilapidated house in the Kerch countryside. The bed was probably a masterpiece of craftsmanship, when it was carved from some dark wood, a thousand years ago or whatever. The way it looks, it must’ve been old already when the previous owners of this farmhouse got it, and from the state of the house, they abandoned this place decades ago. Quite a lot of the furniture’s missing, either sold off when the place was left or stolen afterwards, but that bed was too worthless already.

The mattress is still there too. Probably fucking teeming with moth larvae and maggots and their combined accumulated shit, so it doesn’t bode too well for Jesper, how forcefully Kaz is staring at it.

“Please say it doesn’t involve the bed.”

“You said yes,” Kaz rasps, which is all the information Jesper needs to start gagging. Fake-gagging, for now, but if he sees even one wriggly little worm he’ll…

Bed. Darkling. That still doesn’t really… Want you to be him—oh—

“Yes, Jesper.” And how the hell with his ramrod tense back still turned towards Jesper—Jesper, who’s done nothing at all, hasn’t said anything except to register his displeasure at the idea of bathing in insect faeces and their squirming little manufacturers!—how the hell Kaz has realized that Jesper’s figured out what he probably means—it must be a confidence trick. Kaz likes those. But how—yeah, it’s not the point, but trying to understand whatever magic Kaz is using on him right now is much, much better for Jesper’s sanity than dwelling on the fact that Kaz might just have insinuated that he wants Jesper to pretend to be the Darkling, specifically the Darkling from that time he told Jesper about back in the Little Palace, the time he threw up after. The time he thought he could suppress his discomfort with touch long enough to seduce the Darkling into a partnership—seduce seduce, which means he wants—to flirt with Jesper? To sleep with Jesper? Is he actually saying he—

Oh. There’s a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. That’s how Kaz saw his face.

Jesper would chalk the hallucination up to a hangover, but he’s not even drunk. Neither is Kaz, unless this old ruin of a farmhouse they broke into this morning is hiding barrels of wine the local youth haven’t made off with yet. Also, if he was hallucinating Kaz propositioning him he would—well, Jesper at least hopes he’d have enough self-respect not to make himself a stand-in for the man who bought and imprisoned Kaz for two years, controlled him by using his fears and modifying his body and cutting him off from every other person in the whole court, taking every single object he could have used to protect himself, and whatever those weird spines in Kaz’ chest are he’s probably responsible for them too. Jesper would not, actually, like the first and probably only time he’s allowed to kiss Kaz to be some kind of revenge-by-proxy thing where he recites the Darkling’s lines while Kaz swallows back bile, and then Kaz beats him up. Or murders him. It’s pathetic, but Jesper always imagined that kiss a little sweeter. Kissing over Haskell’s corpse. Kissing over the Darkling’s corpse. Kissing over the corpse of some other piece of shit who’s stupid enough to try using Kaz as their possession.

“Just warning you, I don’t have the costume or the script, so don’t expect something worthy of the Komedie Brute,” is what Jesper says instead.

Kaz’ eyebrow quirks. “You’re acted before, haven’t you? Improvised. You can flirt your way into anything. That was the main reason I kept you around.”

“You kept me around because I’m gorgeous, funny, and an incredible shot. I just play myself, if it’s seduction! Why would I improve upon perfection?”

“This isn’t seduction. He’s already locked me in the Little Palace for months at this point. Two escape attempts have failed. This is… speeding up the process,” Kaz says, nonchalantly enough it makes Jesper want to puke.

Which won’t help anything. He’s already agreed. And Kaz doesn’t care about moral objections, only practical ones. “I need more info. I haven’t actually met the Darkling.”

“You’ve met powerful men. You’ve met men who believe their righteous cause entitles them. You’ve met men mired in greed and vengeance—you’ve met me.”

“I like you.”

“Pretend you don’t, then. You used to complain about me in the Slat—of course I know, I knew everything that went on in the Dregs. You hated the way I seemed to know everything, and held it over you—so does he. You disliked my single-minded focus, the way you all seemed like pawns to me, my mockery. The way I held myself as something far superior to you. That’s a start.” Kaz limps a slow quarter circle around Jesper, and his dark eyes are burning with loathing. Jesper would hold him if he could. “You’re not asking why?”

“Uh, now that you mention—”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jesper sighs. Of course. He’s never expected anything else. Then he stands up straight, assuming his best the stick in my ass is so long it’s knocked the word fun from my brain pose that hopefully may pass for authoritative and slimes out, “What business, Mr Brekker?”

“Sun Summoner. Or Sunshine. He figured out Brekker’s a fake name on the first day.”

“Kaz Brekker’s a fake name?!” Jesper should have seen that coming, really… what does he even know about Kaz Brekker, truly? Except—

“It’s a name. It’s real enough. It’s feared. It’s mine.” Kaz’s eyes travel over the cobwebbed wall of the farmhouse bedroom, as if he was searching for the next lie to spin. Except that isn’t one of Kaz’ tells—Jesper’s seen him bamboozle and convince marks of the most stupid tales, and when Kaz wants them to believe him, he looks earnest. Young, depending on the role he plays, old, eager, stupid or wise. He doesn’t bother lying to Dregs, or rather: he doesn’t bother convincing them, usually. All his words are backed by the brutality of his cane. Who could be stupid enough to question even his weirdest utterances. “It just happens not to be one I was born with.”

“So what you’re saying is, the Darkling’s just not Kerch enough to get you?” Jesper grins. “Ketterdam, really—you know, I always really liked that about the Barrel, that healthy dose of ‘You are who you want and we don’t give a fuck to correct you.’ Anyway. Got it. You’re Kaz Brekker, but he’s a dick. Mr Sunbeam, what brings you into my office this evening?”

“The fete, Aleks.” Kaz shrugs off his coat, and then the purple kefta, too. He holds out the kefta in front of him, like he’s expecting Jesper to put it on. Well. That’s as good a start as any, and so Jesper turns and lets Kaz dress him into the robe he never wanted to wear.

“Then he says, ‘You must be nervous. After all, there are few gatherings in the Ketterdam slums that involve such spectacle.’” Kaz has sanded down his rasp somewhat, sounding almost smooth and seductive. He goes into a spiel of the Ravkan court and the inferiority of the Barrel that thankfully, he carries all by himself. Jesper wouldn’t even know what to say, except ‘Stop talking shit about the Barrel, you prick’ and that’s not exactly in character.

Kaz’ eyes periodically dart down to Jesper’s hands, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with the hem of the kefta’s sleeves. He stops.

“I am ready,” Kas says in his normal voice. His normal talking to a mark voice. “I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.” He stands up straight. Equally on both his legs. He winces. He’s not holding his cane, Jesper realizes. He’s not wearing his gloves. “I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.”

“Uh… great. We’ll be great together. Do great things. Better partners than enemies. Some of those rumours even freaked me out, you know—that kid with the wind-up toy in his throat—”

“Think before you speak, Jesper,” Kaz hisses. “Never let me lead. Never give me control. Every word is a cue to corral your prey where you want it—whether a compliment or a barely-there hidden threat.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes.” Kaz meets Jesper’s eyes. The tense mask of his face breaks into a smirk. “To be honest, I find the subtle craft of manipulation is wasted on you. You’ll obey anyway. Let’s go back to the start, and focus.”

Jesper shrugs off the kefta again and then lets Kaz dress him, again. He does his best imitation of Kaz, of that early Kaz before Jesper learned how he takes his coffee and before he saw the brutal twist of his face, that one time when the Dime Lions had Jesper on his knees and shoved a gun in his mouth. He plays the imperious tactician in his office who told his goons to drag Jesper up four flights of stairs with a bag over his head, ready to be shot for his debts, and then sold him on the one thing that gave his life meaning.

He insults Dirtyhands’ father and mother to his face, and gets really into it, too: Ketterdam’s full of idiots who’d miss the love of their life because they were busy trying to pry cobblestones off the streets to sell for half a sausage, and the harbour’s so filthy even the fish won’t fuck in it—keeping the brothels in good fish-ness, haha. Because the fish rent rooms so they don’t get fishy sex diseases from the water. Do fish get diseases from sex?

“Kill me now,” Kaz moans, and that one’s probably deserved.

“Anyway, my Sun Summoner, I’m sure you’ll perform well,” Jesper says with just the tiniest hint of slime.

“I am ready. I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.”

Jesper moves slowly, idly: not caging him in against the bed yet but definitely implying he can and will.

“I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.” Kaz swallows. “‘That means a lot to me. You mean a lot,’ is what you say now.”

How come the Darkling’s not constantly slipping on his own slimy slime trail?

“That means a lot to me.” Jesper gives Kaz a deep, smouldering look. The pockmarks on his cheeks. The jumping muscle in his jaw. The hint of a pained grimace from standing unaided. The boyish grin when he’s totally fucked over another gang boss and gets to gloat. The vicious hatred when someone touches his Crows. Licking powdered sugar off his gloves. “You mean a lot.”

And that’s it. The way Kaz looks at him—this is when the Darkling makes his move.

“I have been waiting for you for so long,” Jesper purrs smarmily, closing his eyes, moving in for the kiss, and—Kaz isn’t there anymore.

It was a single step backwards, because Kaz has hit the edge of the bed already, face blotched with humiliation, and the way he looks at Jesper is—angry is the least terrible interpretation. If he backs out now, Kaz is going to kill him for pitying him or catering to a weakness that honestly—how is not wanting this weak? But Kaz is Kaz, and Jesper’s just Jesper, and—

“Focus,” Kaz hisses. “You own Ravka. You will own the Sun, too. You have waited for this triumph—take it.”

“Why don’t we take this to the—” fuck you, Brekker, for making me say this— “bed, then? Take off your clothes. Don’t be scared.”

That’s a good dig. The kind of insult that looks super caring, unless you know Kaz enough to understand he sees any crack in his image as a dangerous failure. Jesper’s getting the hang of this malicious flirting thing, finally. When this is over, he’ll need to scrub the slime off himself twice.

Kaz looks at Jesper while he disrobes. At him, Jesper hopes against hope, at the real person he’s roped into his worst scheme yet with a goal that’s still totally obscure; at Jesper and not the asshole he’s imagining in his place. Kaz’ eyes trace his cheeks, dance over his shaved head, catch on the lips.

Jesper takes off his boots and gun belt, and the kefta. He undoes the fly of his trousers, pulls his dick out, and stops. He glares at Kaz, daring him to object to the attempt at making this slightly less miserable—Jesper’s the Darkling, he’s in charge, so Kaz can fuck off with his masochism. He’s done undressing. He’s not taking off his shirt or trousers. That layer of cloth stays on.

But Kaz doesn’t object. He stands up straight, naked, brittle, wincing, and then glancing away he mutters, “Ignore the antlers. He hadn’t done that yet.”

Fucking Darkling.

The antlers stick out of Kaz’ collarbones, uneven tines of—possession, mutilation, and Jesper’s eyes catch on a tiny set of grooves on the left one. The scabbed-over cuts underneath. The bruise from the gunshot. And even despite that horror, Kaz has a nice chest. Serious muscle, a street map of scars and a smattering of dark hairs—it feels weirdly improper to stare at him, so Jesper’s eyes dance down to his knobbly left knee and the softly twisted right thigh with its knots of scars, up to the face where he’s biting his harsh pretty mouth, and down again. His dick is nice, fat but not too long, rooted in a tangle of dark curls.

It’s utterly limp.

It’s pathetic, how much that hurts. Of course he isn’t into this. Of course he doesn’t find Jesper remotely attractive. Of course this is just some weird masochistic proxy powerplay for him, some attempt to prove he’s stronger now and can bear it or whatever the fuck, and Jesper’s just the sad stupid body he’s using to enact it.

And of course not even that is enough to make Jesper bow out. Kaz asked.

“Do you want me to suck you off first? Get you in the mood, even a little?” It’s not just for Kaz, that offer, though the whole thing will probably be less painful and awkward if he manages to coax out some arousal. It’s not for younger Jesper, who fantasized about being ordered to blow his boss as penance more often than he likes to admit. No, this is so Jesper can bury his face in Kaz’ pubic hair for a minute. And cry.

Kaz raises an eyebrow. He sounds arch and ice cold when he asks, “Jesper, do you think the Darkling would suck my dick?”

“He should have. Saints, what an asshole,” Jesper shoots back before he can think. “You need a better class of lovers.”

“By which you’re of course implying that you are much better than Aleksander Morozova, the General Kirigan, the Black Heretic, eternal Conqueror and crowned Emperor of Greater Ravka, Salvation to Grishadom, Master of the Fold and He who chained the Sun, et cetera and so fucking on and so fucking forth the Darkling himself?”

“Given I just offered you a blowjob without bringing useless power shit into it, yes.”

“Wrong data, incoherent formula. Correct answer.” Kaz’ grin is crooked. Inordinately fond, and Jesper would have settled for no longer desperately hiding terror but this is—

Yeah.

“I’m going to try to make this roleplay as realistic as I can, but I don’t know if I can forget enough about how to have sex to sink to the Darkling’s level. Also, you don’t happen to have the address of that Grisha Tailor who mutilated you back there? I need them to make my dick look weird. Corkscrew, maybe. Some warts. It’s probably green. I’d peg him for advanced neurological syphilis but I am about to sleep with you, so— ”

“Did you know, Jesper, that the Darkling always wears a gag when he has sex?”

“Shutting up now, boss.”

“Don’t shut up,” Kaz replies instantly. Very, very instantly. “Just keep your disparagements somewhat plausible. And… rare.”

Only to jolt me back, he’s asking. “Got it. So I guess I’m supposed to loom over you a little? How close do you want me?”

“I’ll need to—” Kaz turns around and bends over to root around in the pockets of his coat, and it’s even weirder, worse, looking at his ass when Jesper knows Kaz doesn’t like him back. Kaz tosses over a tiny bottle. Oil. “Give that to me. Tell me to prepare myself.”

“Just saying it once more, boss. You don’t have to go through with—”

“Stop thinking about the Kaz Brekker you know,” Kaz hisses. “Stop anticipating my reactions. Stop caring. You are the Darkling. You have been waiting for the Sun Summoner for decades. You’ve formed your picture of them. This delinquent flinching little rat you bought doesn’t quite fit, not his limp, not his fear of touch, not his pathetic need to assert himself, but, well… you have time. He’ll learn how to make himself fit into the space you provide him. He’ll become your Sun Summoner.”

“Have I told you yet that I’m going to kill that piece of shit?”

“You’ve mentioned it, once or twice. In the last hour.”

Jesper bares his teeth: a grin, but not. A promise. “Good. I’ll hold his mouth open while you stuff him full of black powder and set him on fire.”

“Stop stalling, Jesper. That won’t make it any easier.”

That won’t make it not have happened.

“If you’re sure this will help.”

Kaz nods.

“Lie down on the bed, then. Is there a—no, no pillows here, roll up the coat and slide it under your hips.” Jesper turns his face away, listening to the timid, stuttering squelches of Kaz stretching his asshole. Jesper doesn’t know what would be worse: if, after everything, he can’t get it up… or if he can.

Well. He’ll have to. His dick will just have to obey the dictates of the situation, just as Kaz’ body was made into the Sun Summoner. He’s young. He’s still looking at Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, naked, who asked Jesper to sleep with him, and that’ll have to be enough. They’ve gotten this far. They’ll force their way through. That’s how you do it. That’s how you gamble. How you lose big. Kaz might have once tried to explain to him something about sunk costs and throwing good money after bad, but Jesper ignored him that night and lost a hundred and twenty kruge to Specht, and he’s never looked back.

“Okay, Mr Sunshine. Let’s consummate our fucking partnership,” he grinds out when Kaz has gone quiet, takes the bottle to slick up his own uncooperative dick, and carefully, he climbs on top of Kaz. The clothes were a good decision: Kaz barely flinches when he kneels in-between his legs and pulls the sleeve over his hand to carefully guide his right knee to rest on Jesper’s thigh.

Kaz is staring up at his face, breathing, just breathing. The antlers in his collarbone frame his bright face—brighter than the candles should allow, like maybe—and his focus is rigid and he’s breathing, breathing quickly—

“Is this teaching you anything yet?”

“Not really,” Kaz rasps, after too long. “Or—I think—maybe it was—” he glances at Jesper’s pathetic, unhappy limp dick. His face twists. “I thought you were into me.”

This is— “I love you. Kaz Brekker, whoever you are. I don’t give a fuck about this Sun Summoner bullshit. I love you. I love you,” because this is—Jesper can’t do this. He can’t. His elbows are locked: he can’t drop his body any lower. He can't go lower than this. “I love you,” until it’s finally over. “I love you. I love you.”

☼

“And I’m telling you again, I don’t know what he does Tuesday evenings,” Jesper hisses.

“You were still with the Dregs, three months ago!” Kaz is wiping his cane clean. It didn’t even really get dirty—they mostly used kitchen knives to do the deed, and in the case of a maidservant who unwisely came to work in the middle of the night, a bullet that Jesper’s already collected and reshaped into something functional, because he might not get to buy new ones. Desperation. Frugality. The Kerch are rubbing off on him. It’s good, though. The fact he’s cleaning the wood is all the confirmation Jesper will likely ever get that Kaz does like the new cane Jesper made him from a cute straight rowan sapling, reinforced with the metal scavenged from all but the most essential buttons on their hodgepodge of clothes. At least there’s one thing of Jesper’s he values. “How can you not know the behavioural patterns of your boss? Are you that brainless?”

“No-one knew what he was up to! He barely came by the Slat. He wasn’t that interested in us.”

“You worked for Per Haskell, Jesper; you worked for that man for years—for nearly as many as I did, when you ran off to Ravka—and now you attempt to convince me you barely know his name?” Kaz still doesn’t look quite as harsh as he used to, or maybe that’s just Jesper hankering for their past. Well, he didn’t used to explain his plans to Jesper as if he was an imbecile—but then, he didn’t used to need Jesper. He had more stooges back then. Now, he only has one. Ally. Friend.

If it’s as weird for him, though, as it is for Jesper being back in Ketterdam after he didn’t die on his revenge suicide plot and the city didn’t, either—well, he might still get murdered for stealing the Sun Summoner or skipping out on debts or something completely unrelated, and Ketterdam’s… well, she’s weathering having her ruling class torn apart twice in short order, once by the Darkling’s conquest and now, by the slow collapse of the Darkling’s overstretched realm after he’s lost his saint/weapon/doll.

The Barrel’s fine—as glary and miserable as it ever was, anyway, but though Kaz would probably insist most of the Mercher’s Council had their hands in gang business one way or the other, their reach was indirect, mediated and secretive enough for the chaos tearing up the Geldstraat not to trickle down as quickly into the slums. And anyway, the involvement of the merchers only ever made life worse for most people. The plight of the rich can only be a blessing.

Right now, they’re inside a nice place in the Zelver district. Close enough to power to feel the death throes, and even disregarding the political manoeuvring and debris and panic everywhere, just looking at the house from the outside made Kaz twitchy, somehow.

His energy almost matched Jesper’s trigger finger.

It’s Haskell’s house, so that unease makes sense.

Haskell’s expensive secret new house far outside the Barrel that they’re despoiling now. They looked as out of place in the beautiful Zelver district as any Barrel rats, with their heads shorn close to the bone so they’ll look different enough to not get recognized and faces wiped with dirt, dressed in a melange of Ravkan clothes they haven’t found a chance to replace yet and tawdry Barrel flash for everything else.

Kaz was wearing two coats when he entered the house, an old rose and amber paisley trench that even Jesper admitted is hideous, though now it’s splattered with blood that actually really ties the colour scheme together. Still gross though, and luckily slung over the chair. Along with the purple kefta Kaz hid underneath, the one he still hasn’t given back. Or burned, which is what they did to the other Ravkan overcoats. On the streets his two coats bulked up his frame so much he looked like a kid that Jesper’s never met, dressed up to play a gangster’s role. He looked nothing like the Sun Summoner anymore, and only somewhat like Jesper’s imagined baby Dirtyhands crawling out straight from the harbour, fifty kilos sopping wet and ready to kill a man and feast on his entrails.

Now, he’s stripped down to a ruffled red shirt over a green undershirt—he conspicuously shunned the yellow one next to it on the washing line—and light blue pinstripe trousers. The shirt is a little large in the shoulders, and he’s cuffed the trousers. They stole everything from a cottage on the edge of Ketterdam. Not quite Barrel flash, but almost—alike in style but with better fabric, something a town edge kid probably bought to look like a cool gangster. Or something Jesper would have bought to look special for a very special date. If he squints, he can almost imagine—it’s the morning after, and—

Ever since the Little Palace the idea of Kaz naked has totally lost its lustre. The idea of his muscular but scrawny, scarred chest, his wiry tattooed arms, his ambiguously demonic hands—it’s all overlaid now with a flimsy ugly sleeveless yellow paper taffeta gown. With normal hands, kept bare as humiliation.

But maybe—maybe they sat together, not on a log in a forest but on a sofa this time, and then in the morning Kaz was cold and he stole all of Jesper’s clothes to wear over his own. That’s much better. (Maybe he just wanted Jesper naked all day…)

Jesper won’t let the Darkling steal his fantasies, too. They’re—

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Jesper really shouldn’t have added tiny spiky worms to the side of the cane, but Kaz’ indignation was just too funny.

“Let me make this clear—” Kaz rasps, once he’s regained Jesper’s full attention. Half-full. ‘Like he’s plundered Jesper’s wardrobe’ is still such a good look on him. “We are both hunted. Neither of us can afford to be caught outside on the streets of Ketterdam and let whoever saw us live. If we’re going to make Haskell’s house our temporary base of operations, we need to make his death as inconspicuous as possible. We cannot safely anticipate which of his visitors to eliminate and which to fool unless we know whether they, in turn, may be missed.”

“Well,” Jesper mutters. “Mitki might come by. If the neighbours don’t chase him off.”

Kaz raises a single, dirt-encrusted eyebrow.

“Mitki’s the newest lieutenant. Might have made it this—”

“Not Anika? I can understand why a flake like you didn’t rise in the Dregs ranks, but she—”

“Ambush. Dime Lions, five weeks after you disappeared.”

“Rotty?”

“Slit throat. Still no clue who did it.”

“Specht? Pim? Neeta? Big Bol?”

“Razorgulls, knife, last year. Bullet to the head, same day. Hellgate. Hellgate.”

“Muzzen? Ruk? Keeg?”

“Another ‘Gull stabbing, just before I left. Hellgate, again. Keeg just disappeared, though. Might still be alive somewhere over the True Sea, if he’s clever. Not that he was, he’s probably floating, poor sod.” Jesper shrugs. After a while, it just gets too much: the beginning of the Dregs’ end is seared into his brain, but there aren’t enough synapses for the tenth—or fiftieth—dead friend to hurt as much. “There’s a reason why I didn’t think twice about running when I lost those fifty thousand. Like I said, boss, it’s been a shitshow since you left. Haskell never wanted for new ones, since he got his kids fresh off the street, but he just stopped giving any shit whatsoever, and since you weren’t there to pick up the slack… well, I can see why he didn’t care, now.”

Jesper spares a bitter look for the mountain of kruge next to Haskell’s foot, the mountain he offered Kaz as soon as he saw him, long before Kaz even tried to hack off both his hands and feet with a dull meat cleaver. Long before Kaz had to settle for cutting down to the bone and then wrenching Haskell’s extremities from their sockets by sheer force of hatred, while Jesper puked into the kitchen sink. The mountain he’d never have amassed as the boss of a gang as shambolic as the last years of the Dregs.

The mountain that’s going to pay off Inej’s indenture tomorrow.

Haskell allowed her to rot there. It’s only fair he pays for her freedom with his life.

“Everyone we could use is gone. And you…” Kaz tips Jesper’s chin up with his cane. The world shimmies a little. “You, of all the old Dregs, survived.”

Jesper shrugs again. This is too much to confess to Kaz, of all cruel bastards, probably far too much, but—they’re sitting in the living room of Jesper’s former boss, the man who sold Kaz out to the Darkling and used the prize money to live in luxury, while letting his gang die on increasingly pointless ill-planned errands. The other end of the table is still flecked and puddled with slow-drying blood—not to mention the corpse, or corpse-pieces, laying there—but over here, they have a bottle of expensive whisky they found in a cabinet and they’re trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.

“I didn’t take it too well, when you and Inej just disappeared, and then my friends kept dying. Might have gone on a couple of benders. Might have lost some games. Might have lost some fights. Might have had some sexual encounters with people who turned out to be massive creeps. Consequently, I may not have been technically around to be asked to go on some of these errands, or perhaps I just didn’t notice because I was drunk.”

“Jesper.” Kaz doesn’t even sound surprised. Wow. Thanks for having faith in me, boss.

It’s not really that humiliating, though, now he’s said it out loud. He spent two years making bad decisions and occasionally braiding Inej’s hair. Kaz spent that time getting turned into a doll. Who can say what’s worse? He takes another deep gulp and grins. “You know me, boss. I need some external structure in life. I really need a commandeering asshole dragging me into his schemes to be my best self.”

“And yet, you outwitted the Darkling.”

“That wasn’t difficult, to be fair. Tell them I’m Grisha, search the Little Palace, shoot Kaz Brekker in the head, get executed…” Jesper trails off. When the silence grows teeth, he takes a pull of whisky that’s so desperate it makes him cough, but Kaz is still letting him stew.

They don’t really need to talk about it, though. No value in going over what happened in the Little Palace. No value in discussing anything. Everything is fine now. Yes, Jesper did want to kill Kaz. Yes, he’ll die for Kaz.

And they both know why.

Kaz steals the bottle. It’s incredible, actually, Jesper was just holding it—well, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, but Kaz would probably like being complimented on his pickpocketing. “I didn’t even see you steal that bottle,” Jesper says.

“I’d be angry you’re drunk,” Kaz rasps. “But you’ve been completely useless at all stages of the current plan so far. And the previous one, by your planning—I always forget, in my amazement at what you accomplished, that you failed.”

He says that, but his cheeks are flushed pink with alcohol. His pupils are wide when he looks at Jesper. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing what should have easily been ten more swigs of whisky. Thieving bastard.

☼

When Jesper awakes on Haskell’s second softest chaise longue in the receiving room—neither of them was particularly eager to climb into Haskell’s bed, and, in Jesper’s case, not particularly still able to walk up the stairs either—his mouth is dry, his bladder full and the light is poking his brain even through closed curtains and eyelids. And Kaz—he searches the whole house after finishing his business, but yes, it’s true—Kaz is gone.

So are his cane and his current Barrel flash coat and the kefta, which means Kaz is probably safe. Well. As safe as the escaped Sun Summoner can be. Not kidnapped, at least. More alive than anyone stupid enough to cross Kaz’ path.

He’s taken Haskell’s kruge, and left a note.

In Kaz’ sharp hand, the note reads, “STAY.”

It’s underlined three times, and on the back side Kaz has written, “or you will die,” which to be fair is pretty ambiguous.

‘Die’ as in, ‘I mistrust your competence and assume you’ll get yourself killed if you move a finger?’ Or as in, ‘I’m warning you I won’t go out of my way to save you?’ Perhaps it’s a straightforward ‘Disobey and I am going to personally murder you and piss on your corpse?’ All are very real possibilities, knowing Kaz.

To really understand the message, Jesper needs to get into Kaz’ mood when he woke up—hungover, but how much? Enough he hates the entire world, or so much he hates Jesper more? Also, his current way of thinking. Jesper’s usefulness. A point in favour is the fact that Jesper saved him from a fate worse than death, but on the other hand, Jesper forgot to extract a deal from him and Kaz is so Kerch it hurts, which means he’s pared down solidarity and reciprocity and love into exchange, into deals, and all Jesper’s offering are the first three. They shared a bottle of whisky next to the corpse of their old boss, though, and in general Kaz looked like he was having fun more than once on their dirty, miserable long trek out of Ravka. Way more fun than he had in the majestic Little Palace. Also, Jesper’s incredibly likeable. He’s beautiful and funny and stupidly in love with Kaz without asking anything in return, so really it only makes sense that Kaz has finally succumbed to his charm.

(He dug his hand into Jesper’s hair, that night on the fallen tree and twice afterwards, but—maybe that was only to make Jesper squirm.)

Well, he enjoyed Jesper’s company while they fled from Ravka to Ketterdam, at least. That’s the crux of it.

So why would Kaz anticipate that Jesper might want to run anywhere? There’s a well-stocked kitchen here. A far more sensible assumption would be that Jesper might want to make some waffles or go on a morning jog. No, not that one. Enjoy a lavish breakfast. Have a bath, perhaps, after spending two weeks crawling through the Ravkan forest and the Shu countryside and stowed in the belly of a wine cargo ship and then countryside again, this time Kerch. Jesper’s feet hurt just thinking about it, and that Kaz managed to get here, even at the half-speed they settled on, speaks to—well, the same bull-headed masochism as always, but the fact he still refused to even consider stealing a cart or horse or approach any larger settlement before Ketterdam means he must be even more terrified of the Darkling than Jesper can imagine. He refused to leave any trace whatsoever. (And yet he’s back in Ketterdam, the one city in the world he was connected to before the Little Palace, because…?)

Ketterdam is the only city, village, collection of buildings and people they’ve been to for weeks, which means it’s the first chance Jesper has to gamble, but—even he knows not to stake anything on the possibility there’s someone left in the Barrel who doesn’t know about Jesper Fahey, he who owes Pekka Rollins fifty thousand kruge and just skipped town, kill immediately with extreme prejudice.

Well, Rollins is dead now—the only gang boss courageous or aggrieved or hungry enough to try and covertly resist the Darkling, go figure—but whoever’s head Lion now probably won’t even let Jesper try to spin an argument about how he really owes that money to ‘Pekka Rollins’ Dime Lions’, not any successor organizations. No such luck, and anyway, people stupid enough to bounce on their debts are fair game to any gang in the Barrel. They don’t cooperate on much, not even for mutual benefit, but murdering dishonest gamblers? That’s a team sport.

Jesper’s last recklessly suicidal plan worked out fantastic, so maybe he should find a card table. His luck’s turned. He could win millions.

Which Kaz definitely would anticipate, and warn him away from. Kaz is a buzzkill. Just because Jesper’s going to get murdered on sight in the Barrel…

Because Jesper’s gonna get murdered on sight in the Barrel.

If Kaz wants to rebuild his status in the Barrel, there’s no bigger liability than Jesper. And Kaz wants to, surely. He worked his way up inside the Dregs carefully and diligently, spent more time than anyone sane would inside a tiny attic office adding up numbers, and sucked up to an utter piece of shit like Haskell, just so he could one day become a Barrel boss. And now, to rise again, he has to cut off the dead weight.

Which means Jesper.

That’s why he left.

It’s not even a betrayal. They don’t have an agreement for life after reaching Ketterdam, let alone one that says Jesper can follow him forever and ever just like in the good old days. Inej—but Inej’s actually useful to a new Barrel boss, as soon as her indenture’s paid. Jesper’s the weak link here. Jesper’s screwed.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. He knows the way to the Menagerie—the quickest way, the scenic route, the paths least commonly trafficked by Pigeons and the ones usually avoided by staadwatch or gangsters. He knows Kaz well enough to guess which one he’s taken. If he hasn’t woken too late—and by the sun’s position, it’s still early in the morning—then he has a chance to pass Kaz off and… insult him? Beg? Cry? Sell his father’s soul for a position in the new Dregs? Maybe he’ll just have to wear a Komedie Brute mask for the rest of his life and it’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out later.

Jesper draws his shoulders up to his ears while he scurries through empty alleyways, the collar of his fancy pseudo-Barrel flash coat turned up. He’s almost glad that Kaz made him go hatless and shaved bald—thoroughly unstylish and un-Jesper enough he might survive the morning—but there are drawbacks to the disguise in the damp chill.

Also, the disguise isn’t good enough. After some minutes, Jesper notices that some clusters of metal stay at roughly the same distance to him. Eight clusters of—round, small, definitely mostly kruge with a few Ravkan coins thrown in. Thirteen guns. A rifle. Two of the coin clusters are fairly close together and move in unison. Jesper’s dealing with seven shadows, then.

That’s—a lot.

Jesper’s had a little more training being a Durast now, but what he could really use now is combat training. He hasn’t even been in a battle in over a month, unless you count handing Kaz knives while he carves up Per Haskell, and since Jesper had to puke right after, you probably shouldn’t. He’s fought rabbits. Jesper’s sure fought some rabbits in Ravka. Two deer, too.

He could probably escape his pursuers. It would take time, though, time Jesper doesn’t have when Kaz is leaving him behind without a word. He’ll just have to kill them quickly.

At least there’s one of his favourite surveillance detection routes nearby. One of the rare aboveground tunnels in Ketterdam, not used by Pigeons for obvious reasons of creepiness and also because it just leads to a big courtyard behind a factory: a courtyard that’s easy to escape, when you know the gate’s lock is broken. Kaz showed it to him, just weeks after Jesper got recruited, after the second time the ‘Gulls got the drop on him and beat him to a pulp. In the courtyard, he made Jesper shoot some sparrows and some pigeons to prove his worth. Not crows, though, and for a year Jesper believed that detail was just thrown in to test whether Jesper would obey nonsensical orders. It’s still a plausible explanation.

He’ll just have to ask Kaz, after he begs him for a role in the new Dregs. After he kills these seven pursuers.

If.

He catches the first man off-guard and blows his head off when he exits the tunnel, but after that, it’s a stand-off. Jesper, hiding behind a massive wood barrel for cover, against six men ducked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Jesper manages to pick off another man by firing into the tunnel and blindly redirecting the bullet into the first nook, but the second attempt at using that trick doesn’t hit anything, and neither does the third. He has eight bullets left now, and five enemies. Even Jesper can tell that’s bad odds.

Retreating across the courtyard, though—the first few meters are fine, there are enough wine barrels and he can just dash from one to another, slightly nudging bullets off their course so none hit him.

Those guys have far too many bullets left, though, by the time Jesper’s forty meters away from the gate. Forty meters without cover. His pursuers aren’t bad shots either—likely Dime Lions, because there’s no way a Liddy would ever get so close that Jesper has to redirect their bullet—and they’re cautious enough that only two of them are crouched behind that barrel next to the tunnel, now, while the rest are still hidden inside.

This might get a little tough—but if Jesper starts manipulating bullets more obviously, will that information travel to the Little Palace? They know the Sun Summoner escaped with a Fabrikator. Is he painting a target on Kaz’ back?

Is he—

Bloodcurdling screams and groans, and Jesper’s too far away to hear any thwacks but his senses have expanded and he knows that metal coating intimately. Knows that cane.

Kaz emerges from the tunnel opening, Inej behind him, and—

Boom.

The Dime Lion’s shot him.

Right in the chest, and Kaz stumbles, falls to his knees.

Keels over.

Jesper shoots wildly while he runs over, whirling the bullets around the barrel that the Dime Lions are hiding behind—two left, Kaz wouldn’t have let any of the ones in the tunnel escape—desperate to hit something or at least keep them distracted and scared long enough to get there, or for—Inej’s pulling Kaz back by his coat, and she’s still wearing a sheer Menagerie dress, she probably doesn’t have any knives to protect—nothing’s hit yet, nothing’s hit, and all Jesper’s bullets are in the air whizzing around but he’s not hitting anything and Kaz is down and Kaz—

Kaz pushes himself to his knees, and then he stands up.

He’s breathing hard, and in the ugly rose/amber/bloodstain trench there’s a hole above his heart, sooty and burnt, but he’s still alive, Kaz is alive, he’s—

“What are you?” a Dime Lion gasps. Jesper’s finally got a bead on her. He sinks three bullets into her head.

“I just killed…” The other one is less lucky, and Jesper only manages to hit his stomach before he runs out of airborne bullets. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.

“I crawled out of the harbour before. I’ll do it again,” Kaz rasps, and before the Dime Lion manages more than “Dirty—” a wet squelch informs Jesper of his demise.

That’s all of them.

“Kaz, you—” Inej’s much quicker at Kaz’ side, but he moves away before she can touch him to check his injury. Moves quickly enough he’s probably not on death’s door. He is a good actor, though. She looks at Jesper, and he’s about to join her in begging Kaz to get some medical aid, at least, but then Kaz shrugs off the ruined trench coat.

“Those kefta aren’t entirely useless,” Kaz rasps, grinning like an amused fucking asshole who almost gave Jesper a heart attack.

And then, Inej wraps herself around Jesper.

“You’re alive! I was terrified,” she shouts against his chest, slapping his back and grabbing as if she can’t decide whether to kill Jesper or never let go. “I thought you got yourself killed! You just disappeared, no word, I thought—”

“I may have lost a game where the stake was fifty thousand kruge?”

“You—Jes—” Inej squeezes him harder. “I told you to stop. I’d rather have you, with me, than have you die trying to pay me off.”

“I almost won! But there was no chance I’d get out of it, without indenturing myself, and—it all worked out, didn’t it? You’re free! Which reminds me…” Jesper takes off his own coat—blue and green and purple wave patterns, very fancy, a bit on the small side for him—and lays it onto Inej’s shoulders. It suits her, too—it drowns her a little, sure, but the way the coat reaches down to her ankles looks regal, and anyway, Kaz is a good sewer. He’ll fix this. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Before she can reply—tell him again she wasn’t worth risking his life and freedom in every card game he could for two years, when she definitely is, she’s Inej, he’ll do anything for her—he runs away and searches the dead Dime Lions for a new coat for himself, all their money, the rifle, and picks up the used bullets too. Knowing Kaz, he’ll want them to leave this place soon, and Jesper can’t very well try to convince his boss he needs to keep his sharpshooter around when he has no bullets left.

Speaking of—Jesper saunters over to Kaz when he’s done. With his most careless grin, he says, “I want my goodbye kiss before you ditch me.”

“I left you a note,” Kaz rasps. “I should have remembered you can’t read.”

Which as good as counts as a promise that Kaz didn’t intend to leave him behind: that, and the adrenaline of an easy gunfight has Jesper grinning widely. This is the life he wanted. The life he yearned for during the last two miserable years. The Crows are back, baby. He asks, “What now, boss?”

“We leave. Before anyone comes to investigate those gunshots.”

“Novyi Zem?”

“No,” Kaz rasps, just as Inej says, “They’ll let us drown.”

“They what?”

“Move.” Kaz starts limping past the factory, and then doubles back one street over—in the general direction away from the sea. Jesper and Inej quickly flank him. “I went to the Fifth Harbour before I paid off Inej’s indenture. It’s near empty. Old man there said no boats go to Novyi Zem or Eames Chin right now, and no boats come back. Because nothing gets unloaded. Kerch ships can’t dock there. They all get stranded at sea.”

“People started running when Ravka cut us off from the continent,” Inej mutters. “Before the invasion. And now the Darkling’s gone, the Kerch Grisha are either running or dead.”

“Too many refugees, apparently. Something about culture and scroungers and economic migrants. Novya Zem’s closed its ports to Kerch.”

“But I’m Zemeni—”

“You’re just a person. Those borders don’t exist to help you. The harbour watch don’t exist for you, the government doesn’t exist for you—if there’s a choice between cementing their power and your life, every bureaucrat worth their salt will choose the former.”

Jesper wants to argue, but actually, he’d trust Kaz over Novyi Zem a million times. Kaz saved his life when Ketterdam and Kerch would have swallowed him whole. Novyi Zem isn’t any different. “So we’re stuck in Ketterdam, then, where I’ll get shot on sight and you’ll easily get tracked by the Darkling. I only remember one safehouse that’s still uncompromised, as of last month anyway, unless you think we should go back to Haskell’s, boss?”

“Inej,” Kaz rasps. “That shop over there. Buy us a cart. We’re going to Lij.”

“What’s in Lij, boss? Why Lij? Where is Lij, anyway?”

But Kaz doesn’t answer him. Even aboard the cart, directing their new donkey with a seemingly perfect grasp of the roads leading to a small southern Kerch town none of them have ever been to, he refuses to elaborate. He looks tense, though. Jesper reshapes his many new bullets while he walks alongside. If there’s a fight waiting for them in Lij, they’re going to win.

☼

Kaz paces the length of the room. Window, door, window, door—there’s not much space beside the marriage bed, and the air draft of his passing caresses Jesper’s shorn head.

He’s put back together now, dressed in his socks and his boots and his underpants and his trousers and his gloves, though his torso’s only covered by the open purple kefta. Despite the cane, he limps more heavily than before he trekked for weeks through the Ravkan forest. He’s not fully recovered yet, if he’ll ever be.

Jesper’s on the floor. He climbed off the bed—off Kaz, after he ruined Kaz’ stupid get proxy-raped by the proxy-Darkling again plan. He said what he said, and the silence that followed was all the answer he’ll get, and then he sat down on the floor. It’s as good a place to wait as any. Probably more hygienic than the bed, anyway. He watched Kaz dress, until he almost looked like the Barrel lieutenant they both wish he was still allowed to be, and now he’s watching Kaz Brekker Dirtyhands the Sun Summoner pace holes in the old dusty floor of an abandoned farmhouse an hour’s walk outside of the small Kerch town of Lij.

He’s not getting murdered, though. Not for what he almost did. Not for what he said. That’s as good as this was ever going to go.

“It was worse this time.” Kaz directs his rasp towards the floor. He doesn’t stop moving. “I froze. Why was it—it was you. I knew you were—you’d never—with you it should have been more tolerable. Not worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.” Jesper still can’t decide whether he should be ashamed that he was too squeamish to go through with it. Kaz doesn’t seem as angry as he could be, that Jesper totally fucked up this whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Not the mocking disappointment he doles out at Jesper’s predictable failures—gambling, distractibility, lateness, no impulse control and so on—and not the seething hatred when Jesper does something he hasn’t anticipated.

“I turned it over and over in my mind. For a year. What I did wrong. How I could have turned this to my advantage. How to excise this weakness. I thought I’d found—but there’s nothing.”

Jesper would offer to brutally desecrate the Darkling’s corpse again, but it clearly doesn’t help. Kaz won’t let this go. Never mind that he was a teenage thief imprisoned in a palace. Never mind it was him against the whole entourage of the most powerful Grisha. The man who crowned himself Emperor.

Sometimes you’re just fucked. And there’s nothing you can do. Life isn’t fair.

“There is a way to beat him,” Kaz hisses. “And I will find it.”

“You did. Sort of.”

“What—”

Jesper grins a shark-grin. “You’re not in Ravka now, are you?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it? No, boss, listen—he didn’t beat you alone, either, right? He had his Tailor making you into a doll. His Fabrikators locking your cage. His soldiers. Hell, Haskell selling you out—so really, it’s your victory that I found you.” Now that Jesper’s trying to explain his gut reaction, it just seems more and more logical. “Why can’t you have your own gang? You practically rescued yourself. You took a look at a boy who’d have gotten shot in a few weeks because he couldn’t pay is debts and he couldn’t stop fucking gambling—you had me dragged up to your office. You took that chance. You saved my life so I could save yours. That’s… planning ahead. Planning years ahead. Well done.”

Kaz finally, finally stops pacing. He sinks into the mattress just slightly to the right of Jesper, so he can sprawl out his legs without making contact. He looks at Jesper, but he’s silent, and his face isn’t giving anything away.

At first, that makes it feel like he’s actually listening. Actually considering what Jesper told him, and agreeing. Kaz is a quick thinker, though. He doesn’t need this long to realize that Jesper’s correct, which means he’s coming up with counterarguments—arguments why actually, he’s still weak or whatever and needs to force himself—and Jesper really, really can’t watch him do this to himself again. Why this, anyway? Why is this the weakness he fixated on?

“Why is that creep so obsessed with making you touch people, anyway?”

“Because it’s easy. Necessary. Even a child does it. Touch is what makes us human, and the Sun Summoner is human, whatever lies he tells himself,” Kaz recites. His eyes are bright. Wet.

“Bullshit. You terrorized the Barrel for years and it didn’t matter at all that you never touched anyone. It was just you. It didn’t even really sink in for me, that you don’t touch people, until I saw the way he dressed you up, how miserable you were.” That’s probably a good place to leave it, but Jesper’s livid. Jesper could mince and mangle fifty Darklings with the pure force of his loathing, and there’s not even a single one around here. That energy has to go somewhere. “You’re trying to tell me the Ravkan fucking palace couldn’t change protocol a little and adapt? If it never mattered in the Barrel, it never mattered at all. He just picked something. If you’d been allergic to shellfish, that’s the only food he would have served you, and he would have said you’re weak for your windpipe swelling up. He wasn’t able control you because touch made you weak. When you’re in control, it doesn’t matter. Because you fucking kill whoever touches you. You don’t bow to them. They bow to you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Jesper, though. He just stares down at him, with his eyes still wide and still wet. He mutters, “You’ve turned quite opinionated in my absence, Jesper.”

“In your presence. I’m quoting your words back to you—sort of, it was about the cane, and I’ve forgotten half of it. But you were right. You were always right.” Jesper laughs. “See? Now you’re teaching yourself through time and space! Your masterplan is incredibly fucking elaborate!”

“My—I’m not falling for it.” Kaz is grinning, though. “If I agree now—by this time tomorrow you’ll have done something incredibly stupid and you’ll throw the whole Everything I do is your triumph because you saved me thing in my face. I’m not responsible for your awful jokes!”

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jesper wails, “My plan! My ingenious plan! Foiled by the dastardly Dirtyhands, oh no!”

Kaz laughs at him. Kaz laughs, and laughs, and Jesper joins him.

It takes a while before Kaz stops, gasping for breath. No-one in Ravka’s ever told a good joke, Jesper decides, because he’s made way funnier jokes before that Kaz didn’t even chuckle at, but gift horses and mouths and so on. Colour’s returned to Kaz’ face: his cheeks are blotchy and red, even after his breathing’s evened out. Kaz mumbles, “You know, that’s exactly how I imagined it.”

What? Oh. Jesper’s sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, his shirt pulled out of his trousers—his trousers, which are open, and he still hasn’t tucked away his dick. He forgot. There were more far important things to do, and now… well, he probably looks more debauched than Kaz in his purple kefta, with just his prick exposed to the chilly night-time Kerch air while he lounges on the ground. He ghosts a finger over it.

“Do you want me to—do you want to watch, boss?”

“I’d—” Kaz swallows. “Saints.”

Jesper turns a little, so Kaz can get a better view. He doesn’t undress, in case that’s an integral part of the fantasy, just gently trails his fingers down his still-limp dick—though it’s definitely waking up now—and looks up at Kaz.

Kaz doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, but that’s fine: more than fine, when he’s alternately looking at Jesper’s cock and at Jesper’s lips. Jesper darts out his tongue, and Kaz’ pupils blow even wider. Jesper licks down his palm and starts jerking off in earnest. “Hey, boss,” Jesper mutters, and when the head jerks up Jesper blows him a tiny kiss.

“What do you think about?” Kaz rasps.

“I just look at you. That’s enough. I like your face.” The tiny quirk of his lips, the way his eyes dart back down. “What are you thinking about, boss?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this as much.”

“Seriously, boss, I know you’re not that stupid. How many times—”

“Not me,” Kaz mumbles. He gestures obscurely at the room. Jesper. The wall. The floor. The floor again. “This. It’s—not proper. Demeaning.”

“I wasn’t feeling demeaned until you started talking—”

“I was going to make you my right hand, once I took over the Dregs. Not my whore—”

“You were?” slips out, small and breathless, before Jesper remembers that this is for Kaz. This for him to enjoy. The warmth expanding in Jesper’s ribcage can wait. “There’s nothing bad about this. You like it. I like it. I don’t see anyone else in this room, and even if—a very clever guy once told me that you don’t bow to the world. You make the world bow to you.”

☼

It’s scratching that wakes Jesper. Scratching like the sharpening of a knife, quick, impatient, desperate—but it’s Kaz who’s on watch right now, Kaz who found this shallow cave they’re spending the night in, and Kaz wouldn’t let any danger come this close unnoticed. Unfought. Kaz wouldn’t just leave Jesper to his fate—would he?

He wouldn’t. At least not yet.

Kaz is sitting at the mouth of the cave. The moon drenches his matted dirty hair in its white glory, his handmade trousers, his naked wiry chest. His chest which he hasn’t bared for a second since Jesper gave him the kefta, even pulling off the Sun Summoner chemise that they tore into threads while still wrapped up in both of his coats: but now he’s half-naked, head bending down to look at those tines sticking out of his clavicle. Those antlers, those keratinized tumours, those bone cancers. Whatever those mutations are, he wants them gone.

In the right hand, he’s holding the knife that Jesper made from buttons so they could cut the blanket into trouser-shapes. In the left hand, he’s holding one of the protrusions growing from his body.

And then, he starts hacking again.

Viciously, helplessly, like a sick rabbit mutated into its own trap. He misses, once, and the knife sinks into his collarbone: but silently he tears it out again and cuts at the cancerous bone, and the knife’s sharp but the only dents that Jesper can see are tiny, glowing, lighting up the knife that’s flecked with his own blood.

☼

Jesper stirs the potato chunks. Thankfully, the old hearth still works, at least after he and Inej fed it with firewood they brought from the market, and so he’s cooking potatoes in butter and water. He mashes them up with some heavy wooden implement he found in a cabinet, once they’re soft enough—he washed it of course; he doesn’t want to eat moth shit—and then Inej passes him a wooden board of carrots in neat small identical pieces. Show-off. Jesper loves her so fucking much.

“Careful, don’t let it burn,” she says, twirling her knife, and Jesper—well, he meant to stir the pot of what’s apparently becoming stamppot. He did. He didn’t mean to think of how he’ll get Inej and Kaz out of Ravka—

And that’s when Kaz limps into the kitchen. He wasn’t still asleep when Inej and Jesper went into town to get some food—as if the Bastard of the Barrel ever sleeps in, even when he’s far from his titular Barrel—but he begged off the trip. He told them to say they’re working for Johannus Rietveld, if they’re asked, who’s apparently inherited this farm, but—they weren’t asked a thing, anyway, and who knows what Kaz did in the meantime. Who knows what weird cover identity he’s cooked up that they haven’t yet had to invoke. And whether it’s weirder than the one Jesper just created.

Jesper gives him a tender little smile. “Had a good morning?”

“No.”

“Because of last—”

But Kaz can read Jesper at least as well as he can read himself. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he rasps. “You’re the least terrifying person I’ve ever met.” Which probably means Yes, I’m rattled, but I won’t take it out on you. Too much.

“Thanks, darling.” And obeying Inej’s sharp elbow, he goes back to stirring the potato mash, and the slices of rookworst smoked sausage she’s dumped into another pan as well. “We decided Inej needs a proper homecooked meal, now she’s free, and we both haven’t eaten anything worth eating for ages, either.”

“You cook?”

“I grew up with my Da. It was either him or me. We traded off, if you want to know, and I’m pretty good apart from when it mysteriously turns into charcoal. And we didn’t find any Zemeni spices in the Lij market—this isn’t Ketterdam, and this old trader I talked to, she said it’s because maritime traffic to Novyi Zem is down to trickles at this point there’s a real dearth of spices, she couldn’t get them at any reasonable price—”

“Don’t burn the stamppot,” Inej orders.

“Anyway, we found a recipe tacked to the wall behind the oven, so that’s what I’m making now. Something super Kerch. Stamppot—you’ve ever eaten it?”

Kaz makes a sound that’s deeply indecipherable. Jesper can’t even tell whether it’s mournful or happy.

“Anyway, we’re almost done. Spinach now, please—Inej made me stick to the recipe, you know—and then the fried sausage and some salt and… you’ll stay with us for lunch, right, even if it isn’t royal Little Palace fare?”

“We ate unseasoned burnt rabbits in the forest,” Kaz replies curtly. He’s gotten over whatever strange emotion took hold of him, then.

“Yeowtch, they were awful. Why didn’t you remind me to take them off the fire. I know how to smuggle us into Novyi Zem,” Jesper says, carrying the deep pot over to their chosen clean bit of floor. Next to the windowsill, so Kaz can sit down with a little less discomfort—the house has been cleaned out apart from the marriage bed, really, and making Kaz go in there now… Making Inej go in there now, when it’s where last night he and Kaz had sex… And it’s not like they were loud, but who knows what Inej read into them pacing around each other for an hour. This is much less awkward. Besides, Jesper’s recently had some great experiences with floors.

Inej doesn’t stop playing with her knife, even after she balances her stamppot served on woodboard on her knees and digs in with her slightly bent spoon. She hasn’t set it down all morning, even carried it into town when they went looking for something to eat, and while she’s been supervising Jesper’s cooking—making sure he’s reading the recipe, keeping him on-track, bickering with him over unclear or illegible instructions—she’s been twirling it around her fingers. A truly remarkable feat, given that it’s the piece of shit knife that Jesper cobbled together from coat buttons, and he didn’t know what he was doing at all except that it should probably be sharp. Inej really needs to talk him through the finer points of balance if she wants him to overhaul the thing.

“They’re not letting in any more refugees from Kerch, you said,” Jesper starts setting up the explanation for his ingenious plan, while he passes over Kaz’ portion and another spoon he dug out from the bottom of a cabinet and small-scienced back into shape.

“The rich Kerch started running first, when the Darkling advanced. Anyone who’d ever had a Grisha indenture… They probably got in. They had the money. As for the rest… well, we’ve all heard of what happened in Fjerda, unless we’re Jesper and too busy drinking and playing Makker’s Wheel—”

“Hey! I was trying to pay off your indenture,” Jesper complains, while nibbling on his surprisingly decent if underspiced potato mash. “I’m Zemeni. They’ll let me in.”

Kaz still hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t put it away either though, hand cradling the board instead of throwing it at Jesper. Maybe it’s because he’s too curious about the plan. Jesper should have waited, but he was too excited, and now Kaz is frowning as he replies, “So you keep saying. How does that help us? I assume you wouldn’t leave the two of us behind, after all that trouble you took.”

It feels good, to hear him say that. Almost good enough to forgive that Kaz doesn’t like his lunch. “That’s where my plan comes in. I’ve finally figured it out. If we’re married—”

“We can’t marry each other,” Kaz rasps. Before Jesper gets too sad about that, he continues, “In case you haven’t yet learned to count, we’re three people now.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking it over for so long. But divorce exists, you know so I was thinking that our story should be—and I’ll write to Da, but I thought you should probably agree first—I married one of you and then fell in love with the other but I still loved both, so I was trying to—”

Inej coughs. Laughs. Yeah, she’s definitely laughing at him, and then she says, “You’re going to tell your father about your marriage in a letter—your multiple marriages, because not only did you get married without inviting him, you already traded in your wife for a younger, prettier model. You lothario!”

“If you think that Kaz—actually, are you younger than Inej?”

Kaz, spoon in mouth, glares down at him.

“I’m trying to save our lives here. I’d appreciate some cooperation! And Da will forgive me, when he sees how happy I am with my new bonebreaking gangster wife and my old knife-twirling gangster wife who I had to divorce for petty bureaucratic reasons. Do you like it?”

Another spoonful of stamppot disappears into Kaz’ mouth. His eyes are closed while he chews, and then he looks away. His voice is hoarser than normal when he mumbles, “It tastes exactly the way I—it’s good.”

“Better than unseasoned rabbit charcoal. Anyway, it might throw the Darkling off our scent some more, if we disguise Kaz as a woman—and don’t be sexist. Women come in all shapes and sizes, no-one’s going to suspect a thing. Also we’re from Ketterdam. If any woman like Kaz can marry anywhere, it’s here. It’ll be a scandal, if they refuse to honour our marriage. Letting a few poors drown outside Zemeni borders, sure, but breaking the mutual recognition of administrative documents?”

Jesper is actually pretty proud of his reasoning here. That makes it even more annoying when Kaz rasps, “No-one will ever believe I’m your wife. I can’t even touch you.”

“No-one’s going to believe I love you? Are you sure?” Jesper flutters his eyes up at Kaz.

“He has a point, Jesper. You won’t be the first desperate refugee forging a marriage to leave.” Inej twirls her knife again. “You’ll need to act the part.”

“We’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to be touched, and if they have a follow-up question, they’d better direct it to the barrel of my gun. I’m not letting anybody non-consensually grope my beloved Kerch wife. Never again. Not over my dead body.”

“Won’t they think it’s weird if Kaz—sorry, your beautiful Kerch wife doesn’t let you touch him?”

“I don’t care. I told you. Let the world bow to us. I love my ingenious, vicious Kerch wife, completely independent of any physical contact we may or may not ever have. I respect my stubborn loyal deadpan Kerch wife far too much to cross those boundaries just for social custom. Also, my sweet murderous Kerch wife has a mean right hook.”

“Thankyou for the demonstration of your acting skills,” Kaz rasps drily, scratching his spoon on his serving board for the last flecks of stamppot. “We’re not going to Novyi Zem, though. There are more amplifiers than just the Stag he forced into me, and we’re going to find the rest. I’m going to tear apart every miserable molecule in the Darkling’s body, cell by fucking cell.”

“And you just let me keep talking?”

“It was entertaining.” Kaz licks his spoon, and then the board. Any second now, Jesper will tell him there’s more left in the pot. “Write your Da. We’ll keep your plan as a backup, in case everything goes horribly wrong. You’ll need a ring, though, to make it official,” and Kaz starts rooting through the kefta pockets.

Jesper can’t breathe. Is Kaz really…? He can’t breathe until he looks at Kaz’ stretched-out, gloved hand, and—

“How the fuck did you steal that one?! I was just wearing it!”

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

SuperChat 3- Fake Dating

Masterlist

Adiren through the trapdoor to Marinette’s room open angrily as he climbed the ladder, calling out for Marinette. The woman in question; broke off her kiss with her boyfriend and groaned loudly letting her arms go limp and dropped on him hiding her face in his chest.  Damian looked down at her amused tightening his hold around her waist, before looking over at said girlfriend’s brother. “Hello to you to Adrien. Thank you terribly for interrupting us, it's not like we were enjoying ourselves.” Adrien ignored Damian as he collapsed on Marinette’s chaise.

“Not the time Wayne.” Adrien huffed glaring at the ceiling. “I have a serious problem. Father is trying to force me into dating Lila. He is convinced that I am just confused! He wants me to take her to the Gala next weekend, and I don’t know what to do.” Marinette sighed before sitting up; she kissed Damian softly before climbing off him and her bed.

“We’ll have to think of something, maybe you could go with someone else. Tell him that you’d already asked.” Marinette said sitting down at her vanity and brushing her hair out then fixing her makeup. “No that won’t help much. He’ll just try to force you on dates with her in public so that the media sees.” She said after a moment, Adrien shifted slightly thinking to himself.

“There is something that might work, but you’re going to be upset.” Marinette turned to him, her eyes narrowed, both ignoring Damian’s amused snort. Adrien refused to meet her eyes as he thought about how to word this. “Just hear me out okay, I know it sounds silly but I think it’ll work. What if I go with someone close, but we pretend we’ve been dating for a while in secret.” Marinette groaned, shaking her head glaring at the ceiling.

“Adrien, are you serious? Damian did you hear him?” MArinette questioned, not really expecting an answer.

“Yes Beloved I did, and it just may work.” Damian said a smirk slowly covering his face as he formed a plan.

“See Adrien even-what?” Marinette said, turning to her boyfriend in shock. Adrien looked at him hopefully.

“It could work, and I know the perfect person.” He said smirk confidently in place, amusement in his eyes for having shocked his beloved.

“I’ll bite.” Marinette said after a moment crossing her arms giving him a slight glare. “Who?” Damian’s smirk grew as he let her stare him down, he knew this would work in their favor.

“Jon.” He said, Marinette raised an eyebrow thinking about it while Adrien blushed brightly stuttering out Jon’s name.

“Why Jon?” He asked shyly, causing Damian, who still hadn’t removed his eyes from MArinette, to chuckle. Marinette nodded after a second.

“Oh it could definitely work. I’ll need Jon’s measurements, I’ll have a suit ready for him in no time.” Damian nodded before turning to Adrien eyes softening slightly at the upset kitten look Adrien was sporting.

“You’ll find out why late Adrien. Meanwhile I have to go tell Jon, I WILL see you later Beloved.” He stood up and walked over to Marinette kissing her deeply and causing Adrien to fake gag at the sight. Marinette pulled back with a sigh shaking her head.

“Annoying little brothers, goodbye mon amour.” Marinette moved over to her desk flipping open her sketchbook and began working on Jon’s suit. She smirked when not a second later she received a text from the man in question’s measurements. “Stupid superhearing..” She muttered snorting when she received an emoji with its tongue out.

His father almost combusted when Adrien told him he already had a date. Lila looked ready to scream as she glared at him for daring to not listen. Adrien refused to budge and wouldn’t even acknowledge his father whenever it was brought up. He also avoided Lila as much as possible, to the point where he was missing photoshoots with her, and nothing his father did managed to stop him. Anytime he tried to force Adrien to spend private time with him lila would have unfortunate and embarrassing clothing malfunctions. Though that was all thanks to Plagg, by the time the Gala rolled around it looked as if Lila was going insane. His father finally broke and asked who he was taking. Adrien gained all his confidence before turning to his father. “Jonathan Kent, my boyfriend.” Adrien paused a shy smile covering his face, he really liked calling Jon his boyfriend, but he knew better than to get his hopes up. There was no way Jon would like him like that. Unknown to himself miles away in the States, one Jonathan Kent was currently being teased by both his father and older brother. Over how brightly he blushed when Adrien called him boyfriend. It was safe to say neither boy could wait for the Gala. Jon was determined to ask Adrien to be his actual boyfriend that night. Nerves be damned, Damian was almost never wrong. So if he said Adrien liked him, then Adrien really liked him.

The night of the Gala Jon was at Marinette’s house with her and Damian. Marinette was adjusting his tux for him when she received the text from Adrien.

Kitten- Father is forcing me to give Lila a ride. I’m sorry guys, he used the ‘it’s my limo’ bullshit.

She groaned, rolling her eyes before telling him not to worry about it. “Agreste is forcing us to ride with Lila. Alright Jon remember you two have to act like you’ve been dating for months. When you get in, sit directly next to him, grab his hand and kiss his cheek. Understood.” Jon nodded, smiling brightly placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry Marinette, I plan to make this night perfect for him.” Marinette smirked amused at him before shaking her head and glaring at Jon.

“Hurt him and I will show you exactly why I am the Guardian of the Miraculous, understand.” Jon’s eyes widened and he gulped nodding nervously.

“Understood.” He said weakly, causing Damian to laugh as he wrapped his arm around Marinette’s waist, kissing her temple.

“God, I love you.” Marinette smiled sweetly before kissing him.

“I love you too.”

Jon fakes gagging causing Damian to glare and Marinette to sigh, hiding her face in Damian’s neck.

“I hate them. I hate them.” She said causing both to snort, though Jon was the one that burst into laughter. Sabine smiled at the trio in the living room as she walked up the stairs.

“Hate to break this up, but your ride is outside. Oh darling, you look beautiful.” Sabine said, pulling Marinette into a hug. Marinette smiles hugging her back tightly.

“We all know where I get it from, right boys!” Marinette said, turning to the two who nodded.

“It’s definitely from me. I mean look at me, definition of beauty.” Tom said as he kissed the top of Marinette’s head. “Kidding, kidding I’d never hold a flame to my wife, daughter l, and son-in-everything-that-matters beauty.” This caused Sabine, Jon, and Marinette to laugh. Marinette kissed her father’s cheek before taking Damian’s arm, allowing him to lead her out. Jon smiles following after them to the limo, the couple paused allowing Jon to climb into the limo first. His eyes immediately met Adrien’s and neither could hide their smile. He immediately took the seat next to him, ignoring Lila, who glaring at him. Adrien greeted him with a soft hello and Jon took his head kissing Adrien’s knuckles softly.

“Hello, I’ve missed you.” Adrien blushes softly, noting taking his eyes off Jon, much to the amusement of Marinette and Damian. Lila hated that attention was not on her, so she automatically began rattling out lies. Jon simply spared her an unimpressed look before turning back to Adrien. He leaned Jon whispering softly into Adrien’s ear.

“So that’s Lila. Honestly, I’m not impressed.” Adrien laughed softly tilting his head up to whisper back, but his eyes remained on their still locked hands. He squeezed Jon’s hand smiling more when he received a squeeze back in response. 

“Five bucks, if you start talking about majoring in Journalism, she will name drop your mother. Only my father knows your name, and he didn’t even make the connection.” He snorted softly leaning against Jon when Lila looked over, glaring at them again. “So you’ve decided on Journalism for sure? That’s amazing Jon.” Jon gave Adrien a mischievous look, one that promised he’d get revenge. Adrien simply smirked back at him, his eyes filled with amusement.”

“Journalism? Really? Well everyone always says, reach for your dreams, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up too much. Some people just aren’t made out to be a reporter though, maybe you’ll be a lucky one. Like my dear friend Lois! She worked so hard to get her position, and even now she still struggles! I’ve had to help her out occasionally, oh sorry! By Lois I meant my old family friend Lois Lane! Although, if I remember correctly she did get married a few years back, yet never changed her name! Can you believe that? I could never, it would be like slightling my husband’s family name!” Jon tightened his hold on Adrien’s hand while he starred at Lila. It was hard to ignore Marinette and Adrien’s stifled giggles, especially with his super hearing.

“Wow you know Lois Lane? Then you must know her two sons as well?” Jon said, pretending that he was all excited, everyone noticed Lila’s attempt at a subtle smirk.

“Well of course! Jonathan and his younger brother Con are sweethearts! Jonathan is pretty taken with my, but with my standing in the media, we’d simply never work! After all, my fans would tear him apart, and expose all his flaws! You know they do it so often to celebrities, non celebrity partners. I’m surprised Adrien didn’t warn you about it, but I’m sure you’ll be fine!” Jon chuckled turning to Adrien, their eyes meeting.

“Well they can give me their worst, after all I won't ever let Adrien go unless he himself tells me to.” Jon brought his hand up again kissing it, their eyes not breaking. “You see I am quite taken with him. He holds my heart and hopefully he’ll allow me to hold his and cherish it forever.” Adrien’s eyes widened at the comment, a blush taking over his cheeks when he noticed the determination in Jon’s eyes.

“I’d be happy to let you hold it forever.” He replied before leaning forward and kissing Jon softly. It was unspoken but both knew. Both knew that there was something more than fake dating going on.”

“How sweet.” Lila gritted out her glare increasing ten fold, though both couples were happy because Lila didn’t utter a single word for the rest of the ride. No, she spent the entire time texting Gabriel about getting his son back in line. Together they developed a plan to completely humiliate the nobody, that thought he could interact with high society. When they arrived at the Gala Lila schooled her expression into that of a bubbly and lively woman. Marinette and Damian were the first ones out of the limo, causing the camera’s to flash wildly. As they walked down the carpet they paused at certain points allowing pictures to be taken. However when Adrien and Jon stepped out, the flashes were accompanied by the yells of his fans. Adiren laughed, waving to them before turning to Jon with a bright smile. Jon returned the smile before offering his arm to Adrien who gladly took it. No one noticed Lila when she stepped out, not until she was glaring and the four others. In her eyes they stole her spotlight. They paused for pictures as well but unlike Marinette and Damian, they stopped so Adrien could sign autographs. During one of those times Wayhem popped up asking for a picture.

“Wayhem!” Adrien exclaimed leaning over the divider and hugging his friend. “A picture, with you of course!” They posed together smiling brightly as Jon watched them. “Oh! Jon, this is my friend and fan Wayhem. Wayhem this is my boyfriend Jon!” Wayhem’s eyes widened before he smiled brightly holding his hand out to Jon. He took the hand shaking it, as he said hello.

“Congratulations Adrien! Jon is one lucky man!” He teased causing Adrien to laugh, and Jon to nod looking at Adrien.

“Yes I am very lucky.” Jon kissed Adrien’s temple and soon after they said goodbye to Wayhem, heading into the Gala. Jon spotted his dad and mom right away, both were standing with Bruce and Selina, talking happily. They surveyed the room together, noting where their friends and family were in the room. Marinette and Damian had joined Dick and Kori, his brother was with Tim, his boyfriend. JAson stood by Barabra’s side, the two of them clearly making fun of others together, though their poker faces didn’t waver. Chloe was with her mother chatting happily about business deals, Kagami and Luka were standing with Jagged, Penny, and Tomoe. They finally spotted Gabriel and Nathalie standing together talking with others. Adrien was quick to turn his back on them facing Jon completely.

“Ready to face my father, Jon?” Adrien squeezed his hand gently staring up into his eyes. Jon smiled and leaned down kissing Adrien softly.

“He could never scare me away. After all, some day he’ll be my father-in-law, even if I don’t like the man” He rested his forehead against Adrien’s smiling gently. “I’d follow you to hell and back, I’ll be by your side for as long as you’ll have me.” Adrien stared at him shocked for a while before smiling and shaking his head.

“Honestly Jon, jumping the gun a little here. We’re fake dating right now, so until you ask me, we are still friends.” Adrien said teasingly before leaning up and kissing Jon’s cheek. “Now, let's go show my father that I am definitely not confused, and will never be interested in Lila.”

@superchat-september2k20

[luxshine]

The Great Supernatural Rewatch Project - Salvation

I started writting this in the middle of season 13 but RL and work and some mental health issues made me take a step back from fandom in general and well, I was also fearing this would be an unending job since the series JUST.KEPT. GOING.

However, now that the series is done (And omg, what a clusterfuck that was. My tallies are going to go insane if I get there) and thus there’s an ending in sight, I will do my best to finish season 1, and try and get the rest of the seasons in a more timely manner. Say, before they do the inevitable reunion and ignore the last episode completely.

(I’m going to be honest, part of the problem was that Supernatural used to be SO good back then, and when I see the new episodes I weep a bit inside. I can’t believe they were so much better at creating story arcs when they weren’t TRYING to create story arcs)

Of course, now we all know that Dean’s plots in general will not have a happy ending no matter what, and that makes that particular tally bittersweet. But there are STILL people who claim that nope, Dean was never mistreated by the writers and well, Jack damn it, I am not going to let that claim go without bringing numbers to the table. Hopefully, it won’t take me 15 years to finish (Because by then, I would be the only one caring I guess)

In any case, last lap for Season 1 and we begin with Salvation.

General stuff

A specific reason for me having rage quitted this episode in particular for so long: For some stupid copyright thing with Netflix, they don’t have Carry On My Wayward Son as the song for the final recap –at least in Netflix Latam. And Supernatural without Carry On My Wayward Son is no Supernatural. So I had to hunt my DVDs. Then my computer DVD player died. Then I decided to make 5 webcomics at the same time. THEN I decided to start doing illustration works, and three other projects and let’s just say I am a bit of a workaholic and leave it like that as the rest is not SPN-related.

Ahem.

Funny thing about the Road so Far –you know, besides being a LOT shorter than the ones we’re getting now- is that it focuses a lot more on DEAN at the beginning, while if you watch the show, well, we know most of those Dean scenes come from MoW episodes and not the actual mytharc. Another interesting thing is that if one believes those things to be chronological, it makes it as if the Colt had been with the brothers for a lot longer than half an episode, and that Sam’s issue with the visions is not that recent. Edition Magic everyone! Also, omg, they were babies when the series started, and how WEIRD is to see John looking at them with pride and smiling at Dean at some points.

Anyway, the recap and the epicness that is Carry On my Wayward Son ends and we start the actual plot.

Hello Pastor Jim. Goodbye Pastor Jim. And here Supernatural begins the long, long tradition of killing characters who could’ve been useful later on, and more importantly, that could’ve been the boys’s support system later on. While here it’s understandable since we need to show how dangerous and vicious Meg is –ah, irony that in about 8 seasons people will be rooting for her Redemption- it also makes the Hunters kind of useless. I mean, he has all that weaponry and only uses a knife? Sigh. Really, a waste. Pastor Jim as a concept was really intriguing –and I don’t think we’ve heard of any other hunter who was also a priest. Funny, when we have so many demons free now. There’s also the fact that when Pastor Jim claims that she can’t be in the church because it’s hallowed ground, she replies that “That might work with the minor leagues, but not with her” and I wonder… did we ever got a demon that couldn’t enter a church? Because right now out of the top of my head I can’t remember, and yet Pastor Jim was surprised but later no one seems to think it weird there were signs of demonic activity around his body. Another sign that, as engaging as the series was, once we start digging the world building, things fall apart very quickly.

Actually, if I may digress for a bit, here we have the very first look at Supernatural´s second biggest problem: killing support characters that may have been useful lately. Here it is because Kirkpe had this weird idea that Hunting would never be glamorized by the show/fandom and it would be a completely miserable and lonely existence. He also didn’t think that the series would survive past season 2. So, ok, killing the guy we only knew by throw away lines didn’t seem so bad. By season 13 every single recurring character had died at least once –and there were petitions to bring back I think every one of those who haven’t come back- it’s a big problem.

As I restarted writing, I also realized that the mere existence of Pastor Jim and his room of awesome research and weapons creates a problem in the future about the Men of Letters because… ok, so ONE member of the clerigy knew enough about demons and stuff to be a hunter and have THE Hunter as his main contact (John Winchester was sort of a legend back then. And he had also fell out of contact with many others so the fact that he and Pastor Jim were still friendly? Kind of interesting), but what about the rest? Did the Vatican have any contact with the British men of Letters or the American ones? And if so, what the hell did they think when suddenly ALL the Men of Letters disappeared? Ok, so that’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t matter right now as it won’t actually exist until much, much, MUCH latter, but see what I mean when I say that they didn’t plan anything and the lack of a series bible hurts the show more than it helped it thrive? I am realizing right now I could write a whole treaty on the Men of Letters and their non-relationship with hunters ONLY using this cold beginning and the Henry Winchester episode.

But this is not the time for that, so we get our title card and a very, VERY young Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

We move to John who is explaining off camera everything he knows about Yellow Eye´s plan. We can tell it´s not much as he thinks it came out of hibernation and that the whole attacking families is part of a cycle, but back then it was impressive how much he had managed to find out about this demon. We also know that it attacks exactly when the baby in the house is six months old, which brings us to this little jewel:

JOHN It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us.

SAM Families with infants?

JOHN Yeah. The night of the kid's six-month birthday. 

SAM I was six months old that night?

JOHN Exactly six months.

SAM So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me? So Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?

DEAN We don't know that Sam.

SAM Oh really? Cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure Dean.

DEAN For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault. 

SAM Right. It's not my fault but it's my problem.

DEAN No it's not your problem it's our problem!

 Now, in the following seasons we will know that yes, it was ALL about Sam. But right now, the characters and the viewers don´t know that. We know that a lot of families were killed by the demon (That at this point was still “The demon” and wouldn´t become Azazael until later), and that he doesn´t take the children. So… how did Sam leap from “this demon attacks families with 6 month old children” to “It´s all about ME!”? He even ignores that Dean and John lost Mary for his last line, when he decides it´s his problem and not their problem. Also, and this is important for the “Dean is the most awful person to Sam” crowd… Dean immediately tells Sam that no, it´s not his fault. While he could harbor some ill feelings against Sam –and demon Dean, 8 seasons later, will voice them- at this point he is 100% on Sam´s side. There’s also a sideway glance from John to DEAN when Sam claims that everything is about him, and then I wonder exactly why, if John knew all about the fact that the demon chased six month old children specifically, he never resented Sam over it. One would think that given John’s love for Mary and deep desire to revenge, Sam would really be the outcast and the one only treated like a soldier (as he claims he was, but not really as we’ve seen), instead of Dean who was completely blameless in the whole thing.

(Also, this is the first time we see that Azazael´s plan didn´t make much sense IF we believed that Kirkpe had everything planned. But that´s a discussion for another time)

Anyway, John interrupts the argument to explain that while he has no idea what the demon is after (Another thing that later would be contradicted as he knew Sam had powers), but that he has managed to figure out his pattern of attack to the point that it even repeated it for Jessica’s killing (Even if much, much later, we’ll learn that it wasn’t Azazael the one who killed her, and Demons would completely forego the signs when attacking. Have I mentioned I miss the times when the myths made sense?) and the three of them pack up for their first real hunt together as they decide they will save the next baby on the demon’s list, in a town named Salvation.

Important thing to note: when John recites the demon signs, Dean immediately replies “that happened in Lawerence”. He remembers, quite clearly, what happened a week before his mother died even if logistically, at his age? He wouldn’t care nor notice. Sure, he remembers his mom’s death because that was traumatic. But random cow deaths before that? Weird show.

If Sam noticed or not the signs before Jessica died, we don’t know. John is the one who points out they happened.

After two gorgeous road shots where we see John’s truck being followed by Baby (yet another thing we lost, John’s truck. I know we needed to have the guys together all the time, but man, if Sam had inherited it, they would’ve been able to cover more terrain at times, have double the arsenal and maybe not being identified by everyone and their leviathan in season 7, but I digress), and just entering Salvation John stops, obviously spooked by something. As Dean stops behind him, they find out that Pastor Jim is dead, and John got a call from another hunter named Caleb to tell him. They assume it may be the demon they’re chasing, or maybe another demon that was looking for Pastor Jim specifically but that last theory is not very probable.

Here I have to pause to applaud Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s acting, as you can practically FEEL John’s despair at knowing an old friend of him died, and that HE was probably the cause for that death. A Winchester trait, of course, blaming themselves for everything bad that happens in their world, but unlike Sam’s early outburst, here it seems far more desperate. Of course, JDM had a lot more experience than Jared at that point, but I really wanted to make a note of it because we lost a LOT of that characterization for John, where he actually WORRIED about people and not just the hunt. Even as he decides the plan for finding out what baby the demon will take in a week, we can see him broken and confused. So much that while Sam calls him “sir” when receiving orders, Dean continues the conversation by calling him “Dad”.

John then declares that this ends now, obviously feeling responsible for what happened to his friend. A long shot from the flanderized man we’d hear about in future seasons who was infamous for letting his hunting partners die without so much as a second glance.

Also, and not to be mean to the writers, but in their endless accidentally making Sam unsympathetic, they made him say that there were too many children in the county that could be a victim and that it would take forever to check all of them. While I KNOW the intent was to make clear that they had a deadline of one week, it comes out weirdly as “I don’t want to do the footwork.” Seriously, writers should be careful with that.

Actually, let’s dissect that. Because I just thought of two ways they could’ve fixed it AND give us more info.

JOHN Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health centre in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week.

SAM Dad that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?

JOHN We check em all that's how. You got any better ideas?

SAM No sir.

So, first way to make Sam not look that bad: Give the line to Dean. I wouldn’t like it specially, but hey, he’s the sidekick, not the hero, and so far he has only wanted to bail on ONE hunt because he wasn’t sure it was a supernatural hunt so he’d be better standing than Sam in that regard.

Second way: Make Sam say that YES, he has a better idea. Because the brothers ALREADY faced Max, so he could say they could look for a baby that was a bit “strange”, like, with poltergeist stuff going around. John could not believe him, but at least Sam would be being proactive.

In any case, they separate as John planned and we see each of them get into the hospital records. We get a glimpse of John’s collection of fake IDs, that include one for a Morgue forensic doctor, then Sam getting a homely nurse giving him files and him taking notes, and Dean… getting flirty with a very hot nurse.

And I make a point of the “Oh, look, Dean is an irresponsible womanizer” trope because once again the writers shoot themselves in the foot by showing the opposite of what they were telling (And no, this time I can’t blame it on Jensen’s acting and refusal to look at his female co-stars without respect).

WOMAN Hi. Is there anything I can do for you?

DEAN (smiling) Oh God yes.

She smiles and looks down.

DEAN (Holding up his ID) Only I'm uh....working right now, so...

The writers here make us remember that a) Dean is AMAZINGLY charismatic, as the woman IS flattered and seems interested, and b) That he will NOT dump his work for a quickie. We don’t even get a “maybe later” that could make him look as if he was really into her. It’s just that he flirts naturally, or at least, this is what we can infer now, as so far he hasn’t had any one night stand fling. The one time we saw him have a sexual encounter in the middle of a hunt was with an ex-girlfriend.

And again I have to wonder what was Sera Gamble’s intention with those scenes as yes, this was written by the same team as Faith, another episode where Sam’s good intentions tend to have a darker side, and gave Dean some amazingly cool scenes.

We don’t know what Dean says to the woman, as we cut back to Sam, coming out of the hospital just in time to have a very convenient vision of a woman, a nursery and a fire. Thankfully, the vision also comes with the useful audio hint of a train passing by, so Sam gets out his map and starts checking where that could be, which leads him to the house in his vision.

And by this point, we know we’re in the right track and this is an important Myth Arc episode, because Sam only has multiple visions in Myth Arc episodes, and he has one the moment he steps in front of the house in said vision. The gods of convenience smile upon him as right then and there a woman pushing a pram comes by, and he manages to talk to her, all friendly like by pretending to having just moved. Then Sam learns the woman’s name is Monica, her baby is Rosie, and Rosie is just six months old, exactly to the day.

Also, that she’s a very quiet baby and that it sometimes seems as if she was reading your mind. Oh, and that Monica really is blind to suspicious men asking her about her family with a face that reads “Oh shit, this is bad”.

Now, HERE is where the whole “five year myth arc” story falls completely. I mean, we already knew it was pretty unlikely it was real, given Kirkpe’s original interviews, but the mere existence of Rosie contradicts every single future story beat. Because if SHE has powers before Azazael goes into her house, then it means that the babies he was hunting didn’t get powers because of him, just that his blood either connected them (hence Sam’s very specific visions), made said powers far more powerful (quite likely), or made them a little bit more prone to violence/prideful behavior. All of those possibilities match with the plan of “raising” a new King or Queen of Hell, that would be faithful to Azazael, but are a bit iffy on the “finding Lucifer’s vessel” thing. Especially since we later learn that the Angels were also helping, and all Hell knew that Lucifer’s vessel HAD to come from the Winchester/Campbell bloodline due to Cain and Abel being the roots of said bloodline, and later pretty much everyone knew Sam was Lucifer’s vessel so the whole targeting a ton of kids, in particular after Mary’s death, is kinda weird.

Oh, Lux, you will say, it is because he wanted to hide his true intentions! No one knew that Sam had been feed demon blood!

Except that the important parties, namely Heaven and Hell, did. Michael had Heaven convinced of his orders, so even if a rogue angel found out that they were speed running the Apocalypse, said angel could be killed. And any demon who was against getting Lucifer back on top would be smart enough to keep quiet so, why the secrecy?

And again, ok, I buy the original demon blood kids being important to “hide” Lucifer’s vessel but… Rosie? What good would it do to Azazael’s plan to have a psychic 4 year old when Lucifer rose? Was “little four year old girl” a good match against a grown up hunter? What was Azazel thinking, if that was the plan all the time?

Now, I want to make clear this doesn’t make THIS episode or the Season-myth arc bad. This original “Boy King of Hell” storyline WAS good. It had a lot of potential, made sense for Sam and since it was before the days of the eternal “What is wrong with Sam?” seasons, there was no boredom of a repeat. It also set a very good question of what made a monster a monster, which would be explored a bit more in Season 2. And it was long before we realized Dean having a myth arc was a pipe dream, so there was no issue there either. It made sense.

But the fact that the writers kind of forgot about everything I just pointed out with Rosie’s scene to try and weld this to the “Heaven vs. Hell” storyline in season 4, and then just promptly forgot because Sam’s powers were then firmly connected to Azazael’s blood so they never came up again and even worse, we never find another psychic kid that could’ve been feed blood by Azazael THIS year that John was chasing him? (Since we know there were no other survivors from Sam’s generation, and later we have a scene that proves that there were no previous generations to Sam’s), it's kind of weird. Personally, I dunno about you, but maybe a return to this storyline in season 6 would’ve been a lot better than we got. Maybe.

By the way, I am not counting the Boy King of Hell story arc as a dropped plot for Sam yet, as we’re going to keep with this at least until season 3. Yes, now we know it didn’t go anywhere, but at the time, and for these episodes in particular, it was THE myth arc of Supernatural. So it can’t be counted as dropped plot yet.

In any case, Sam goes and tells John and Dean about his vision and… oh, boy do we have to move John’s reaction to Emotional Violence.

It’s not good.

But before he can do more damage to Dean’s psyche, Sam gets a call from our favorite demon, Meg. Even if he doesn’t recognize her voice immediately which is weird because a) he did throw her off a window and one would think that makes a girl memorable, and b) it’s not as he knows that many girls who would call him, despite Dean’s best efforts to get him a new girl.

Meg dismisses Sam and asks for John. She makes clear that she is not playing, that she knows he has the Colt and that he will kill every single person who has ever helped John unless he gives it to her that same day at midnight. And to the brothers’ surprise, John accepts those terms (Unfortunately not before we loss Caleb too. I have a lot less interest in Caleb as a character given that he has exactly half a line in the whole show, but it’s still it’s sad to see a guy so defiant even in the face of death go so soon).

Meg also points out that John having the Colt is a “declaration of war” which is interesting as it sort of implies that if he hadn’t gotten it, then the demons would leave him and the brothers alone. And I find that incredibly funny since… no they won’t. And Azazael would’ve been ok if Sam kept the gun anyway, given why they really wanted and once again I am putting holes on the idea that this was planned from the start, aren’t I?

In any case, John declares that Meg is a demon “or is possessed by one” which… ok? First and only time we get the possibility of a demon not using a meat suit. I don’t think this is a mistake, because after all, this is back before the guys faced demons in a normal basis so they could believe that they had their own bodies besides the ones they possessed (And, more importantly, before there was a retcon that made the brothers face and know about demons since pretty much ever). To be completely fair, as much as I love Jimmy and the whole Lucifer arc once it started to make sense… I would’ve been ok if vessels weren’t needed. It added a lot of complications and ended up making the brothers actual serial killers.

Ahem.

After that little gem of wisdom that will be ignored forever, John declares that he will be taking the gun to Meg to avoid more killing and we get another questionable line for Sam. And I am curious as to how to tally it as it’s the opposite of him wanting to leave the hunt, but it’s not that nice either:

DEAN What do we do?

JOHN I'm going to Lincoln. DEAN What? JOHN It doesn't look lilke we have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our friends die.

SAM Dad, the demon is coming tonight. For Monica and her family. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over.

I mean, yes, it is true that the demon is coming for Monica (Well, actually, he’s coming for Rosie, the baby, but I will let that slip pass. Sam is not interested in married ladies), and that with the gun they can kill the demon but it’s not all they’ve got. By this time, Sam has already had his big hero moment when he exorcised a plane in free fall so they could do that, then chase the demon again and then kill it.

But what is jarring is how he hears “a lot of people die, OUR FRIENDS die” and he goes “yeah, whatever, we have a mission to fulfill”.

Which is precisely what later episodes will tell us John used to do, and was the reason why John was not exactly liked by the general hunter population. And at the same time, it’s an eerie reminder of Wendigo, where Sam is willing to let innocents die (his family friends, in this particular case, just as he heard Caleb choke on his own blood) in order to get his way (revenge on the demon that killed Jess. NOT revenge on the demon that killed his mom, since at this point, Sam is still on the “I never knew that woman” train of thought).

Sure, his mind is in the hunt, and that’s commendable because yes, in the long run, killing Azazael would save more innocents (And probably stop the Apocalypse, not that Sam or the writers at that time know it), but it is still strange to see our nominal hero simply not care for his friends’ lives. I mean, at this point WE don’t know about Bobby, so the closest to a parental figure that is not John that Sam had was Pastor Jim and he just DIED.

Worst part is, this could be solved really easy: Just have DEAN be the one who voices the complaint, and have “empathic” Sam mumble that there has to be a way to save everyone (Which, of course, John will mention in a second). It would make Dean look bad, sure, but we’ve been told once and again that Dean never, EVER goes against John plans. Which… not true, ut we will talk about that later. The scene continues, and John declares that he will go to Meg alone, with a fake Colt and while Dean thinks that that won’t work, Sam has a different complaint:

DEAN Yeah but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?

JOHN I just...I just need to buy a few hours, that's all.

SAM You mean for Dean and me. You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?

JOHN No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want....I want Mary alive. It's just....I just want this to be over.

And oh, boy. Do this four lines again hold so much weight.

First, once again, Dean seems to be worried for John (logically, he’s their dad), while Sam is making the weirdest line in the universe sort of work because he’s complaining that John is trusting them to kill the demon, something HE wants to do and not four seconds ago was saying they had to do, as if it was John shifting HIS job to Sam. Seriously, I don’t want to think the worst of Sam but when you take out Jared’s acting, the text doesn’t do the younger Winchester’s any favors.

And finally… John’s lines that encompass pretty much Dean’s philosophy in the following seasons. “I want to stop losing people we love” is pretty telling, but what comes next? He actually WANTS Sam to go back to college and not worry about the Supernatural. He actively agrees that Dean doesn’t have a home, and WANTS Dean to have one. It’s as close as love as we’ll see from John to Dean in Season 1, and it hurts. It hurts because we can tell he knows he won’t be there to see it… and now, in hindsight with the finale having aired, we also know Dean didn’t get that. (And to be fair, this is the John who did deserve Heaven. Not the flanderized version we’d get in the future)

Although, ironically, Mary got to be alive again, so… One out of three?

(No, seriously, it’s obvious the writers didn’t even remember this speech when Season 12 hit, much less Season 15)

Ahem.

Dean is sent to get a fake Colt, while Sam and John wait for him. If they talked about anything, we don’t know, but when they exchange guns, Dean voices what we all know is true:

DEAN You know this is a trap don't you. That's why Meg wants you to come alone?

JOHN I can handle her. I got a whole arsenal loaded. Holy water, Mandaic, amulets...

DEAN Dad... JOHN What? DEAN Promise me something. JOHN What's that. DEAN This thing goes south just...get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed all right, you're no good to us dead. JOHN Same goes for you. (There is a long pause) All right listen to me. They made the bullets special for this colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count.

SAM Yes sir.

JOHN Been waiting a long time for this fight. Now it's here I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you boys now. It's your fight, you finish this. You finish what I started. Understand?

 Again, I wish they remembered all they had to get rid of demons before, you know, killing everyone willy-nilly. I mean, I don’t even think I know what Mandalac IS but hey, John says it works, it works. And once more, Dean gets a line that makes clear he is the empathic, loving brother, when it wouldn’t have hurt Sam to say it. In fact, it would make clear that no matter what, he doesn’t hate John. But nope, Sam only acts like the soldier we’re TOLD Dean is, while Dean makes clear that for him, family is more important than revenge (And boy will that come to bite him in the ass later, not in the series, but in this same episode).

Also, I have to admit. When I started this rewatch, John’s final line was just a good moment for John to start letting go of his anger. Now? After that horrid finale? It hurts so, so much. But it hurts more because I KNOW that there’s no way it was intentional. Obviously, Kirkpe didn’t know the series would last 15 years, and I highly doubt Dabb remembered this scene when writing 15x20. But even so, it ends up being Dean’s epitaph. OUCH.

In any case, the Winchester separate again, and we go into act three. Get ready for the feels.

John Winchester hunting alone is a thing of beauty. Seeing him scope the place, check the water tank and immediately think of a plan? Makes me wish Jeffrey Dean Morgan had stayed longer on the show. Sure, John became an asshole, but in this episode he’s still not that bad, we still have no episodes that make clear he didn’t care for Dean, and wasn’t textually abusive. And I am willing to bet that if JDM had stayed, John would’ve evolved more to be a Bobby-like character. But well, What ifs is not why you came to this meta for.

As John is hunting, the brothers are staking out the house were they know Azazael will attack. And while they talk and decide that they have no way to get the family out (In a nice callback to how none of their excuses ever work) we get to this little gem of an exchange:

SAM I wonder how Dad's doing.

DEAN I'd feel a lot better if we were there backing him up.

SAM I'd feel a lot better if he were here backing us up.

Where once again we see where the brother’s priorities lie, and I wonder why the hell the writers ever thought they were writing Sam as an empathic character.

Because yes, Dean is wishing he could be out there helping his Dad, proving that for him, it has always been about the family. Not the hunting, but the protecting. But Sam doesn’t want to protect John. He wants John protecting Them. And helping them in the revenge hunt, not trying to save others.

Sure, we know the brothers are there to save an innocent mother, but John is also saving a ton of hunters and people who, in the past, were nice and open to the family. And it would’ve been so much easier to make Sam look better if he instead had said “I’d feel a lot better if we hadn’t had to separate” or something like that, that proved he saw BOTH missions were important.

Seriously, I do wonder why the writers made these choices, and I wish someone had asked this at cons.

We go back to John, who, really, Is an amazing hunter even if he is a horrible father. Also, I wonder if he got ordained at a web church, in order to be able to sanctify water. That would be such a John Winchester thing to do, and I do wonder why the boys never did it too. ANYWAY, he hands the gun to Meg, and to her ally that came so that we could have a scene to prove the Colt is fake as the ally shoots Meg.

As John says, Meg was lucky the gun was fake. And once again, I do wonder what the plan was if it WAS the Colt. I mean, Meg was Azazael’s second in command. Why would nameless demon risk killing her? Or did he kinow the gun was fake?

In any case, this makes the moment where we can be 100% sure that Meg’s meat suit 1.0 was dead. I mean, she could’ve survived the fall in Shadow, but a bullet to the chest? No way.

We go back to the brothers, and Sam breaks every single law of a procedural show by giving this great speech about how thankful he is to Dean for everything, and how he needs to say that “in case” something happened.

Dean is definitely not impressed and reminds him that the only one dying today is Azazael.

As we see John temporarily escape from Meg and her muscle boy, we go back to the brothers who see the demon omens start up so they get ready for the final fight.

The brothers manage to save Monica and her baby, despite the very understandable interference from Hubbard, the husband (I mean, you would not react nicely to two strangers intruding in your house and yelling to your wife to not go into the nursery room), however, before Sam can shoot Azazel, he disappears into smoke (A really interesting question here is, WHY did Sam wait to shoot and then wasted a bullet, but I digress).

Going completely against M.O, Azazael makes the CRIB burst into flames, but fortunately Dean has already gotten Rosie out of it so the brothers escape the flaming house. While Monica cries her thanks, Sam notices that Azazael is still inside, and tries to go after him, but Dean stops him because he is not going to lose his brother to the fire. By the way, I am not counting “Dean stopping Sam from going into a burning building” as “Dean forcing Sam to do something” since, uh, he was saving Sam’s life and it’s something anyone in Dean’s place would’ve done.

At the same time, we see John getting captured by Meg and her muscle boy because he didn’t think about getting a third escape route (But honestly? That was pretty much a plot necessity. John was HEAVILY prepared for that fight)

Back in the hotel, Dean is worried that John is not answering his calls, while Sam is furious that Dean didn’t let him kill himself by running into a burning house. They have a nasty fight that mirrors the one they had back in the pilot, but since it IS a fight between the brothers, you know the drill. We’re examining it under Violence.

Once Sam calms down, he tells Dean to try calling John again. Unfortunately, it’s Meg who answers and she tells Dean that they’re never seeing their dad again.

And we get the first “To be continued” for the series (Which to be honest, despite all the little continuity mistakes I mentioned here? Is still pretty epic)

Violence

Well, we had to run out of episodes where the brothers don’t fight each other at some point, didn’t we?

This fight, over Sam wanting to kill himself in his search for revenge, is a very neat parallel to the fight they had back in the Pilot, over Sam NOT wanting to even involve himself in the family’s search for revenge. Which I know it’s supposed to be ironic and a show of character growth since now Dean is the one saying that revenge is not worth their lives but… it falls a little bit flat because the reason why Sam is so gung-ho in killing Azazael is, once again, a very selfish one and the way in he expresses it makes it quite clear. (Again, I do wonder if the writers stopped to think about the implications of Sam only getting really into hunting when it was about him or his losses?)

But let’s start at the beginning:

SAM If you had just let me go in there, I coulda ended all this.

DEAN Sam, the only thing you would have ended was your life.

SAM You don't know that.

DEAN So what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?

SAM Yeah. Yeah you're damn right I am.

DEAN Well that's not going to happen, not as long as I'm around.

This right here? Is a nice summary of the relationship of the brothers for the whole series. Sam wants to do something stupid, like, say, running into a burning building, Dean is there to stop him before he hurts himself.

Also, let’s make clear the use of first person by Sam. It’s not “We coulda ended this”, as in the family ending the hunt, but “I coulda ended this”. Again, at this point, not something that is a problem, but considering hindsight, we can see how the writers are completely invested in SAM as a sole main character, and write him as such, while Dean is more of the sidekick.

In any case, the argument continues, still not escalating to violence.

SAM What the hell are you talking about Dean, we've been searching for this demon our whole lives. It's the only thing we've ever cared about.

DEAN Sam I wanna waste it. I do. Okay? But it's not worth dying over.

SAM What?

DEAN I mean it. If hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing.

Important thing how Sam apparently forgot he left for four (two) years and wanted out of the family business, now that he is angry and into the revenge thing. It’s not “You’ve been searching for this demon your whole life”, which would’ve been correct AND a logical counterargument against Dean. Before this episode, Sam was supposedly the brother who understood that revenge was a way of living, while Dean is the one who was Daddy’s little soldier. But here, when it actually would matter to the narrative, it is as if Sam’s wishes for a normal life are completely forgotten and it’s Dean the one who understands that there’s more to living than revenge (Which, btw, is consistent through the season despite everyone claiming that Dean needs Sam to keep hunting. All season, Dean has been giving Sam outs, telling him it’s ok to quit)

And of course, Dean here proves that Sam is more important to him than revenge for his mother, as he is willing to never get to kill the demon as long as his family, his brother in particular, survives.

Poor Dean.

SAM That thing killed Jess. That thing killed Mom.

DEAN You said yourself once, that no matter what we do, they're gone, and they're never coming back.

SAM Don't you say that, not you! Not after all this don't you say that.

DEAN Sam look. The three of us...that's all we have...and it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together man...and without you or Dad....

Unfortunately, script doesn’t quiet convey the scene as there’s a LONG pause between “That thing killed Jess” and “That thing killed Mom”. Enough so that we can believe that Sam is using that second phrase not because he cares (in the Pilot he made clear he didn’t), but to make Dean get on board with the whole “I can kill myself if it means getting revenge” plan. In other words, once again, Sam is weaponizing Mary against Dean, and that is a really nasty habit the younger Winchester never quite shakes out of. Instead, Dean shows how he LISTENED to Sam back in the Pilot and repeats Sam’s words to him on the bridge.

Which is when Sam loses it and pushes Dean against a wall, Dean not defending himself at all, and yells that Dean has no right to say what Sam told Dean the very first hunt they had together after years of separation.

And of course, once Dean mentions their father, Sam starts calming down. NOT when Dean says that he’s barely holding it together, or that he only has them.   Just when he mentions their father who is, in Sam’s mind, the one who can help him get revenge.

The fight ends, but Sam never once apologizes for what he said to Dean, nor for the fight. Which, by the way, contradicts his claim that Dean “always has his back”.

Emotional Violence

Whenever we have John on an episode, we’re going to have to talk about emotional violence and I kind of hate that because on one hand, I get how John could’ve been a very tragic figure that loved his sons but still wanted to avenge his wife, and not being the abusive bastard we know and don’t love that much.

When Sam and Dean explain about Sam’s visions, and how they started as nightmares but have grown in intensity, his reaction is quite subdued, but clear. He is not happy, but the problem isn’t the visions –for a man obsessed with the supernatural, his outward reaction to his younger son being a psychic is quite calm- but that they didn’t inform him of what was going on:

JOHN All right. When were you going to tell me about this?

DEAN We didn't know what it meant.

JOHN All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me.

DEAN dumps the coffee jug and cup back on the counter and strides toward JOHN.

DEAN Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad I called you from Lawrence all right? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.

JOHN You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.

And let’s be clear, John’s anger is not directed at Sam, it’s directed at Dean. “Something like this starts happening to your brother” is not “Something like this starts happening to either of you”. Which is also a show of how good an actor JOHN is in universe because WE know that he knew. Missouri TOLD him point blank that Sam was powerful and that he could have known that John was around during the Home episode. But here, he acts as if this was news to him when he could ALSO have told them what to expect if that happened. (Mind you, I am assuming that Sera Gamble knew or remembered about Home’s script when writing this and didn’t just forget or was unaware that John was supposed to know)

Now, all season, Sam has been complaining and yelling about how John doesn’t answer their calls, doesn’t seem to care what’s going on with them. So it’d be logical and in character for Sam to say something here. But instead is DEAN, Dad’s little soldier, the one we’ve SEEN obeying John without question finally have enough and talk back to his father with some truths. And it’s VERY interesting that his first complain is not that John didn’t care that Dean almost died, but that he didn’t reply when Dean called from Lawrence. One could almost infer that Dean expected John not to care if Dean died, but was honestly hurt that he didn’t care about a case that could’ve involved MARY.

John, surprisingly, sort of agrees. He does say “I’m sorry”, which makes him the Winchester who is quicker to say those words… but he still manages to make a threat against Dean “I am not too crazy about this NEW tone of yours”.

Making it clear that before? Dean never talked back. And John doesn’t like it when his soldiers talk back.

It makes it hard to believe John ever thought of Dean as his son and makes it very clear why Dean never understood Sam’s confidence that Dean was the favored one.

Speeches and Apologies

I considered not including this particular speech, but then I remembered that Supernatural is ALSO famous for their big emotional speeches, and this is Sam’s first, and also, Dean’s first time listening to someone he cares about give him the “I am saying goodbye because I am going kamikaze” speech and after all the drama in season 15, I guess it’s necessary to do some dissection.

It is important that despite all the things that Sam has done to Dean, the words “I’m sorry” are never uttered here.

SAM Dean...ah...I wanna thank you. DEAN For what? SAM For everything. You've always had my back you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone I could always count on you. And ah...I don't know I just wanted to let you know, Just in case DEAN Whoa whoa whoa, are you kidding me? SAM What? DEAN Don't say just in case something happens to you. I don't wanna hear that freaking speech man. Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody. Except that demon. That evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?

 This is not a bad “freaking speech”. I understand why Dean didn’t want to hear it, because it is like jinxing the mission (And, let’s be honest, it did), but it’s not a bad speech.

Except that, reading it again, it lacks one important part. Sure, Sam thanks Dean for always being there (Forgetting that, at least three times this season alone, he has accused Dean of not having his back and being unreliable. Which will ALSO be a constant theme in the series’s long run), but he never mentions the times HE did things that would be hard to back up. Which, again, I am not counting as a bad thing against him in this precise moment in time, since he is young, in his roaring roadtrip of revenge, and we’ve only know the brothers for a year, but it is the beginning of a series’ long crutch to make us forgive all of Sam’s sins without him actually doing the work to be forgiven.

On the other hand, it all goes to waste a bit later when Sam starts hitting Dean for the horrible sin of not letting him run into a burning building and kill himself so… it’s not really a “thank you for having my back” speech but a “You better remember, you never fight me and my choices are the best” speech in hindsight. Which… not good on Sam, no.

Double narrative standards

This episode is kind of balanced, except for that little moment where we’re supposed to think Dean is wrong for telling Sam that revenge is not worth their lives. So there’s not much to write in this particular segment.

Final Tally

Ok, back in the saddle. And after all that, I decided not to tally Sam’s little slip about not caring if their loved ones die as long as he gets to kill Azazael. Let me know if you disagree.

The count is still not good on Sam’s side, but as always, you are free to disagree with me, and dm me if you think I missed a tally or I should change one. If your argument is solid and canon based, I will listen to it and may change the numbers.

Numbers (or the TL;DR summary)

(Episode/Total so far)

Times Dean has lied to Sam or to a loved one: 0 / 0

Times Sam has lied to Dean or to a loved one: 0 / 3

Times Dean has been caught in a lie: 0 / 0

Times Sam has been caught in a lie: 0 / 1

Times Dean has hit Sam in anger: 0 / 1

Times Sam has hit Dean in anger: 1 / 4

Times Dean's lies or secrets have caused someone's death: 0 / 0

Times Sam's lies or secrets have caused someone's death: 0 / 1

Times Dean has abandoned (Or wanted to abandon) a hunt in the middle for his own needs: 0 / 0

Times Sam has abandoned (Or wanted to abandon) a hunt in the middle for his own needs: 0 / 7

Times Dean forced Sam to do something: 0 / 0

Times Sam forced Dean to do something: 0 / 7

Secrets kept by Dean: 0 / 1

Secrets kept by Sam: 0 / 2

Times Dean has blamed Sam for something: 0 / 0

Times Sam has blamed Dean for something: 1 / 4

Times Dean has apologized with words to Sam: 0 / 3

Times Sam has apologized with words to Dean: 0 / 2

Times Dean has respected Sam's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 7

Times Sam has respected Dean's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 0

Times Dean hasn't respected Sam's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 0

Times Sam hasn't respected Dean's boundaries and / or rules: 0 / 13

Times Dean has made fun of something Sam does or has: 0 / 6

Times Sam has made fun of something Dean does or has: 0 / 31

Times we focus on Dean's needs: 0 / 1

Times we focus on Sam's needs: 1 / 6

Arc episodes dedicated to Sam: 1 / 7

Filler episodes dedicated to Sam: 0 / 6

Arc episodes dedicated to Dean: 0 / 0

Filler episodes dedicated to Dean: 0 / 4

Arc episodes dedicated to both brothers (or to none): 0 / 2

Filler episodes dedicated to both brothers (or to none): 0 / 2

Dean's Dropped Plotlines: 0 / 1

Sam's Dropped Plotlines: 0 / 2

[readerbookclub]

Before introducing our newest book list, I want to say sorry about this month. It’s been underwhelming to say the least. So far this year was very chaotic (packing up to move countries, having the plane tickets cancelled, and getting into Oxford?!). Between everything that happened, I neglected this club. But I’m very excited and well-prepared for next month, so it won’t happen again at least in the foreseeable future. We also have several enthusiastic new members who’ve messaged me, so hopefully our discussion will be even more lively this time!

Now back to our newest book list. Not to brag, but I think this is the best one yet. Time Warp is a collection of books that bend and play with time. It’s such an interesting topic that includes books from many different genres. Several of your recommendations also fit in perfectly. So let’s jump right in!

Typically stories play out over the span of weeks, months, or even years. But what if a writer were to shrink that timeline? Not to days or hours, but the mere seconds it takes to ride an elevator? Well, that’s what Jason Reynolds did in our first book, a story that lasts for a single elevator ride:

Long Way Down, Jason Reynolds:

A cannon. A strap. A piece. A biscuit. A burner. A heater. A chopper. A gat. A hammer A tool for RULE Or, you can call it a gun. That’s what fifteen-year-old Will has shoved in the back waistband of his jeans. See, his brother Shawn was just murdered. And Will knows the rules. No crying. No snitching. Revenge. That’s where Will’s now heading, with that gun shoved in the back waistband of his jeans, the gun that was his brother’s gun. He gets on the elevator, seventh floor, stoked. He knows who he’s after. Or does he? As the elevator stops on the sixth floor, on comes Buck. Buck, Will finds out, is who gave Shawn the gun before Will took the gun. Buck tells Will to check that the gun is even loaded. And that’s when Will sees that one bullet is missing. And the only one who could have fired Shawn’s gun was Shawn. Huh. Will didn’t know that Shawn had ever actually USED his gun. Bigger huh. BUCK IS DEAD. But Buck’s in the elevator? Just as Will’s trying to think this through, the door to the next floor opens. A teenage girl gets on, waves away the smoke from Dead Buck’s cigarette. Will doesn’t know her, but she knew him. Knew. When they were eight. And stray bullets had cut through the playground, and Will had tried to cover her, but she was hit anyway, and so what she wants to know, on that fifth floor elevator stop, is, what if Will, Will with the gun shoved in the back waistband of his jeans, MISSES. And so it goes, the whole long way down, as the elevator stops on each floor, and at each stop someone connected to his brother gets on to give Will a piece to a bigger story than the one he thinks he knows. A story that might never know an END…if WILL gets off that elevator.

***

Our next book warps time in a slightly different way. What if every time you woke up, you found yourself in the same day (a sort-of Groundhog Day situation)? But unlike Groundhog Day, you wake up in different bodies. This thrilling book was suggested to me by one of you, and I absolutely loved the premise:

The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, by Stuart Turton:

Aiden Bishop knows the rules. Evelyn Hardcastle will die every day until he can identify her killer and break the cycle. But every time the day begins again, Aiden wakes up in the body of a different guest at Blackheath Manor. And some of his hosts are more helpful than others. With a locked room mystery that Agatha Christie would envy, Stuart Turton unfurls a breakneck novel of intrigue and suspense. For fans of Claire North, and Kate Atkinson, The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle is a breathlessly addictive mystery that follows one man's race against time to find a killer, with an astonishing time-turning twist that means nothing and no one are quite what they seem.

***

Now we move on to an exciting genre: time travel! This next book was recommended to me by @earphonesandquills​​ and I just had to put it on the list. A sci-fi love story between two people on opposite sides of a war:

This is How You Lose the Time War, Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone:

Among the ashes of a dying world, an agent of the Commandant finds a letter. It reads: Burn before reading. Thus begins an unlikely correspondence between two rival agents hellbent on securing the best possible future for their warring factions. Now, what began as a taunt, a battlefield boast, grows into something more. Something epic. Something romantic. Something that could change the past and the future. Except the discovery of their bond would mean death for each of them. There's still a war going on, after all. And someone has to win that war.

***

Typically, the protagonists of time-travel books are very intelligent people. But what would happen if someone wasn’t so competent? What if they fucked it up? That’s exactly what the protagonist in our next book does. Coming from a perfect reality, he messes up and finds himself in a horrifying dystopia (aka our world):

All Our Wrong Todays, Elan Mastai:

You know the future that people in the 1950s imagined we'd have? Well, it happened. In Tom Barren's 2016, humanity thrives in a techno-utopian paradise of flying cars, moving sidewalks, and moon bases, where avocados never go bad and punk rock never existed . . . because it wasn't necessary. Except Tom just can't seem to find his place in this dazzling, idealistic world, and that's before his life gets turned upside down. Utterly blindsided by an accident of fate, Tom makes a rash decision that drastically changes not only his own life but the very fabric of the universe itself. In a time-travel mishap, Tom finds himself stranded in our 2016, what we think of as the real world. For Tom, our normal reality seems like a dystopian wasteland. But when he discovers wonderfully unexpected versions of his family, his career, and—maybe, just maybe—his soul mate, Tom has a decision to make. Does he fix the flow of history, bringing his utopian universe back into existence, or does he try to forge a new life in our messy, unpredictable reality? Tom’s search for the answer takes him across countries, continents, and timelines in a quest to figure out, finally, who he really is and what his future—our future—is supposed to be.

***

Our final book is something I never knew I needed until I found it. I have spent way too much time day dreaming about a scenario where I find myself in the distant past. I imagine myself telling people about electricity and planes and modern medicine. But if they asked me to actually make something, I wouldn’t be able to. And that bothers me. This book is the solution. It’s a non-fiction guide on what to do if you were to find yourself in such a scenario (as unlikely as it may seem):

How to Invent Everything: A Guide for the Stranded Time Traveler, by Ryan North:

What would you do if a time machine hurled you thousands of years into the past. . . and then broke? How would you survive? Could you improve on humanity's original timeline? And how hard would it be to domesticate a giant wombat? With this book as your guide, you'll survive--and thrive--in any period in Earth's history. Bestselling author and time-travel enthusiast Ryan North shows you how to invent all the modern conveniences we take for granted--from first principles. This illustrated manual contains all the science, engineering, art, philosophy, facts, and figures required for even the most clueless time traveler to build a civilization from the ground up. Deeply researched, irreverent, and significantly more fun than being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger, How to Invent Everything will make you smarter, more competent, and completely prepared to become the most important and influential person ever.

***

That’s it for this month’s list. Hope you like these books as much as I do! As always, please vote here.

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[liss-99]

I'm sorry I had to : 93 × no body no crime

I'm so excited what you do for this :))

I cannot even tell you the reaction I had when I saw this prompt. This might be my favorite one yet. I hid it below the line because I love it that much!

TW: murder and violence, obviously

It was a secret she would take with her to the grave. 

Kate Sharma and Sophie Beckett became best friends during their first year of college. They were both averse to popularity and the social scene, electing instead to carve their own paths in life. Kate wished to become a social worker while Sophie had dreams of being an elementary school teacher. Their first meeting was in a freshman child psychology course, and the rest, as people often said, was history. 

They were there for each other through all of the life moments; their undergraduate and graduate programs, getting that first job, boyfriends, drunken nights, vacations, weekend hikes, vintage clothing shopping on rainy days, living together, everything. 

Sophie met a man eventually, Phillip Cavender. They married after only six months together, Sophie had been completely captured by him. He was from old money and he knew it, and while Kate didn’t particularly like him, she loved her friend, so she did her best to be supportive. Cavender never seemed to realize how great of a person Sophie was, and the veneer of their marriage quickly cracked. 

Both having busy lives and full-time jobs, the women didn’t get to see each other as often as they both would have liked. But, they did have a ritual, ensuring they got to catch up with each other. 

Every Tuesday, they would meet up at the local Olive Garden, their favorite chain restaurant since college, for dinner and a glass of wine, Chardonnay for Kate and Pinot Noir for Sophie. They usually chatted about work, romance, the latest news, whatever was on their minds. But this night, when Sophie arrived she looked more stressed out than Kate had ever seen her. Their wine had already arrived, the staff had come to learn the routine, so Sophie took a huge sip of hers and sighed as she sat down. 

“What’s the matter?” Kate asked, concerned about her best friend. Sophie looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping. 

“It’s Phil,” Sophie sighed. “He’s been acting different, and I don’t have any proof, but it smells like infidelity to me.”

“You think he’s cheating on you?” 

“All I know is he tastes like merlot whenever we kiss,” Sophie replied, “and we don’t drink merlot.”

Kate crossed her arms, waiting for more. 

“I was going through our joint account yesterday, you know, just for maintenance, to make sure everything was in order.”

“And?”

“There was a $1200 charge for Tiffany’s from three weeks ago. He hasn’t given me any jewelry since he proposed.”

“That bastard,” Kate exclaimed. “He’s absolutely cheating.”

“No there ain’t no doubt about it. I want to call him out.”

Sophie’s jaw clenched, which didn’t go unnoticed by Kate. 

“I think he did it but I just can’t prove it. A few undiscussed charges and the taste of wine aren’t enough to accuse my husband of cheating. 

“Ah, corpus delicti,” Kate sighed, sitting back in her chair. “No body, no crime.”

“Exactly. Without any proof, I don’t have grounds for divorce or he’ll ruin me. I think he did it, but I need proof. Even if it takes me until the day I die, I won’t let up.”

Kate raised her glass to cheers with Sophie, silently celebrating that her best friend would hopefully soon be rid of her scummy husband. 

~

Sophie wasn’t there Tuesday night at Olive Garden, at her job, or anywhere. It had been a few weeks since her revelation to Kate that she wanted to leave her husband. 

They’d canceled the previous week, with Sophie texting 

“Sorry, talking to Phil tn. Can’t make it to dinner. See you next week?”

And that was the last time Kate had heard from Sophie. It was unlike Sophie to be non-communicative, especially with her. When Cavender reported Sophie as missing the next day, Kate immediately grew suspicious. The police launched a full investigation, but Sophie was nowhere to be found. They deemed her a missing person. 

Kate drove by Sophie’s house one night, and in the driveway, she noticed something peculiar. Cavender’s truck had some brand new tires. Sophie had always been complaining that he wouldn’t get new ones even though the truck desperately needed them. Cavender always complained it was a rip-off, which was rich coming from someone as wealthy as he was. But now, all Kate could see were the shiny new tires. Also of interest was the way in which one Cressida Cowper had begun taking residence in Cavender’s house. It made a lot of sense when Kate thought about it, of course Cressida was his mistress. Kate had no doubts that Cressida probably slept in Sophie’s bed and everything as if Sophie had never even existed. 

Like a lightning bolt, it all clicked for Kate. The Cavender family was proud of their name, and nothing would ruin them more than a divorce less than a year after marriage. Sophie had told Kate the morning of her last text that she finally felt like she had enough evidence to confront Cavender about the cheating. Putting 2 and 2 together, Kate determined Cavender had done something to Sophie. 

He was a cruel man, and Kate was almost positive he abused Sophie throughout their marriage. But Sophie had been careful to hide any signs of mistreatment, so Kate had never been sure. But, without a doubt, Kate was positive Cavender had murdered Sophie, most likely because she accused him of an affair. 

The police, lousy pigs that they were, had quickly given up searching for Sophie, and without a body, there was no crime. Kate wouldn’t be able to prove that Cavender had murdered his wife, but she could enact revenge. 

It really was quite an easy decision. The world would be a better place without Phillip Cavender, and if justice wasn’t going to be given for Sophie’s death, Kate would take it herself. 

On the night she decided it would happen, Kate pulled her old handgun, dusty, covered in cobwebs, and placed it in her bag. She drove out of town, to Cavender’s mansion nestled on the edge of the woods, near a big lake. Kate knew Cressida was gone; the woman was a pharmaceutical sales rep and she was often on ‘business trips.’ 

Kate knocked on the door, and the look of surprise on Cavender’s face when he answered was almost retribution enough. 

“Kate, how can I help you?” He was cold to her, suspicious. 

“I just wanted to check in, see how you are doing with Sophie’s disappearance.” 

“Oh, of course, come in,” he turned, and Kate knew he wanted nothing less than for her to come in. 

With his back turned, she pulled the gun out of her bag and aimed it directly at his head. When he turned back around to feign conversation with her, his breath immediately hitched. 

“Kate, what the hell are you doing?”

“I know Sophie is dead, and that you’re the one who killed her.” 

“You have no proof,” he laughed smugly. 

“I don’t care. It’s the only explanation.”

“Okay? So you’re going to shoot me? That’s going to go over really well for you, if anything, it’ll just make it look like you’re the one who killed Sophie, even though, yeah, of course I was the one who did it. You really think I was about to let her accuse me of cheating and ruin my family? Think carefully about what you do next, Kate.”

Kate was stone-cold, unflinching, and she could see the terror behind his smirk. 

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said smoothly before she fired the gun. 

The look on Cavender’s face as he slumped over was one of complete disbelief as if it was the first time he would face consequences for his actions. 

When she was 15, Kate’s dad had made her and her younger sister Edwina get boating licenses. He believed it was important to know how to operate all kinds of moving vehicles, ‘just in case.’ 

Kate was grateful for her father’s thinking as she dragged Cavender, wrapped up in a plastic bag, out back to his dock. She heaved his body into the boat, before boating out to the middle of the slimly inhabited lake. It was pitch black outside, and she’d cut the lights on the boat; no one would ever know she was there. With carefully gloved hands, a trick she knew from her crime podcasts and tv shows, she pushed Cavender over the side of the boat, and listened to the glorious sound of him sinking. 

Later, she meticulously cleaned the house, removing any signs of a murder. She cleaned enough houses throughout her life to know how to cover up a scene. 

The next morning, she sent Posy, Sophie’s stepsister, a text. 

“If anyone asks, swear you were with me last night?”

“I swear it.”

Kate wasn’t the only one who disliked Cavender; Kate knew Posy would say whatever to protect her. 

Several days later, when it became public knowledge that Phillip Cavender was missing, news quickly spread of the big life insurance policy Cressida Cowper had taken out just a week prior. Kate hadn’t known this prior to the act, but it made things all the better for her. 

Everyone assumed Cressida had axed Cavender, in hopes of a large sum of money, but with no body, there was no crime, and they just couldn’t prove it. 

Kate was pretty sure Cressida knew what she had done, the way they locked eyes on each other in the town center. Cressida had flames in her eyes when she looked at Kate, but she would never be able to prove it. 

So, the disappearances of Sophie Beckett and Phillip Cavender were never solved; Kate Sharma was the only one to ever know the truth. 

It was a secret she would take with her to the grave.

Taylor Swift Bridgerton One-Shots

[fandomn00blr]

What does Marian’s household look like physically and what is the vibe? How are Fenris and Anders getting along, being married to the same woman? Do the kiddos look obviously like/take after one of them or the other? How do the 3 of them divide parental duties? -Your secret Palentine!

Thank you, Secret Palentine! 

Ah, domestic fenhanders

Under a cut, because it ended up being super long…

“We have enough elfroot to heal an entire army, Anders. Why do you keep planting more?”

Hawke hated harvesting the stuff and unlike Anders, she preferred not to think about all the situations they could possibly find themselves in which might require such a quantity of the healing herb. 

Fenris, on the other hand, had come to appreciate the work of tending to their family herb and vegetable gardens…it was like meditation to him, so long as Hawke was far enough away that her cursing could be tuned out, or the children, working and playing alongside him, weren’t intent on asking too many questions. Or Anders wasn’t chattering incessantly at him about Maker-knows-what. Luckily, Anders often managed to get out of the majority of the harvesting by keeping the children occupied. So there was usually just the matter of Hawke to worry about.

Anders laughed. “I like to plant it so that Fenris has something to do. Plus, elf…root. Geddit? Huh?”

“No.” Fenris deadpanned as he squatted back down to begin harvesting another row. “Please…explain.”

Anders stuck his tongue out at him before turning back to Hawke. “But seriously, though, there’s no such thing as too much elfroot.”

“I could probably harvest it alone much more efficiently…” Fenris drawled.

“I’m helping…aren’t I?” Hawke held up a plant she’d ripped out of the ground and waved it at them before hissing and dropping it. “Maker’s balls! Why does a healing herb have such evil little pickers on it?!”

Before either of them could answer her, Leandera came running toward them from the other side of the cottage, out of breath.

“Papa! Malcolm was just practicing his magic without adult supervision!” she gasped.

“Is anything on fire or frozen or stuck in the Fade?” Fenris asked, wearily.

“Umm…no. He was just shooting sparkly things into the air. It was really pretty actually, but, but…he was using MAGIC!”

Even though she was normally very obviously Anders’ daughter, with her unruly strawberry-blonde hair and her freckles and his nose, she actually looked a lot like Fenris in this moment.

“And then when I asked him to keep doing it, he stopped.”

Ah, yes. There it was. So this was merely a revenge tattle.

Fenris sighed with a little bit of relief, eyeing Anders. This was his area of expertise, after all.

Anders leaned down, beaming close to Leandera’s face. “What kind of magic was it?” 

He didn’t even try to hide his excitement, even though he was the one who had suggested the rule for their son in the first place as an attempt to demonstrate to Hawke and Fenris that he could be responsible. He was, unsurprisingly, also the least likely to enforce any consequences when the curious young mage broke it.

“I dunno. It was…bluish? Greenish? A little pink at the end? Really sparkly, though!”

“So long as there was no blood involved or reanimated corpses, it’s probably fine…right?” Hawke shrugged.

Fenris grumbled something to himself and then resumed his work with the elfroot.

“But Daddy,” Leandera whined. “You told Malcolm he wasn’t allowed to do any magic without you or another adult…”

“You’re right, of course, Lele…” Anders nodded, trying to look very serious. “I’ll go speak with him at once. And then…” he whispered, just to her, “Maybe we can make more sparkly things together for you?”

“Okay!” Leandera went skipping ahead.

Anders turned back and shrugged at Hawke and Fenris.

“Why did we ever decide to let him get involved in raising our children?” Fenris muttered.

Hawke laughed. “It was your idea! You pulled him out of the Fade! I just wanted to stay mad at him forever…”

“Oh…right. Perhaps it’s not too late to send him back.”

“I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU KNOW?!” Anders called out from the other side of the cottage.

“WE MEAN WE LOVE YOU AND HAVE NO REGRETS WHATSOEVER ABOUT THE COURSE OF EVENTS THAT HAS LED US TO THIS LIFE WITH YOU!”

“I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT I HEARD YOU SAY…”

Hawke smiled and shook her head fondly. “You just had to go and be in love with him, too, huh?”

“I truly do not regret a thing.” Fenris stood up determinedly and kissed her.

Hawke pulled slowly away, a satisfied grin across her lips as she let the familiar taste of him – citrus and metal and faint floral notes – linger. “Mmm…it hasn’t been easy, though, has it?”

“Nothing worth doing ever is.”

“Did you read that cliche bullshit in one of Varric’s books?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I believe it’s something you once said…”

“Oh shit, yeah.” She winced. “I was drunk, though, so it doesn’t really count, does it?”

“Well, I still appreciate the sentiment.”

“Ok, but like, be honest, now that Anders is out of earshot…this is excessive, right? The elfroot I mean?” She gestured out across the expansive herb garden.

There were a few stalks of embrium, and a small patch of deathroot, but their overflowing herb garden was almost entirely planted with elfroot. Their pantry and cellars were already full of it in its various dried and preserved forms, and they had enough potions to supply the entire Denerim City Guard for a month.

Fenris took a deep breath. “He worries. About you, about the children, about me. About the unsettled state of the world. And if hoarding elfroot gives him some relief or comfort in that, then I will gladly indulge him. It’s harmless, at least. Helpful, even, to have an overzealous healer for a husband…and I really don’t mind harvesting it.”

“Why are you such a better person than me?” Hawke groaned.

“I’ve lost both of you before. I won’t take either of you for granted again.”

“I don’t take you…or him…for granted!”

“I know. But you two, this family…” Fenris’ voice had gone hoarse. He tried to clear his throat, but the words wouldn’t come, only the glistening of tears in his eyes.

“I know.” Hawke pulled him into her arms before they could escape. “I love you. You make me want to be a better person. Even if I fall short of the ridiculous standards you and Anders set by example for our children.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

Anders had come back around after his ‘intervention’ with Malcolm had ended in a combined fireworks display that had Leandera shrieking with glee and Malcolm smiling mischievously at him…a parenting win, he was certain.

He watched Fenris and Hawke, a warm smile on his face, not wanting to interrupt whatever tender moment they’d been having just between the two of them. He loved the quiet, steadfast way they loved each other, and he even enjoyed admiring it from a distance sometimes, as something unique and different from the ways they each loved him.

“Come here,” Hawke waved him over.

“I didn’t know if this was meant to be a group hug or if you two were having a ‘moment.’”

“We were,” Fenris huffed. “But when has that ever stopped you before?”

Anders grinned and wrapped his long lanky arms around them both. Fenris was nearly smothered between the two of them, and he feigned an obligatory amount of protest but nuzzled in against Anders’ chest far too quickly to convince anyone that he actually minded. 

“Did you convince her not to kill me again?” Anders asked.

Hawke kissed Anders’ cheek as he drew in closer, a wordless ‘thank you for dealing with the children’ before her smile became more menacing. “No, but he managed to make me feel just shitty enough about myself to hold off a bit longer.”

“Ah, good.” 

The three of them stood in their huddle for awhile, savoring the brief moment of peace and comfort that had settled over their often-chaotic, messy lives.

Anders finally pulled away with a sheepish grin. “I told Malcolm he could do magic tricks to entertain his sister, but that he was not allowed to aim anything directly at her and he wasn’t allowed to make any fireballs or ice blasts or Fade fists or…well, he seemed to get the idea, anyway, that he wasn’t to use any kind of combat magic or anything without one of us present.”

“Oh, well, that sounds like an easy policy to enforce with a four-year-old,” Fenris muttered, trying not to laugh.

“He’s a very precocious four-year-old!” Anders exclaimed.

“Exactly…”

“Well, at least Leandera will be sure to let us know if he violates any of these new rules,” Hawke offered as reassurance.

…

[nekojitachan]

OK, last of the owed fics from the @aftgremix challenge - this one is for @nikothespoonklepto who guessed which fic was mine and wanted soft jeaneil. Hopefully I got the request somewhat right - this is a prequel to Qui N’avance Pas, Recule    (mind the warnings for the fic, some brief, not too explicit non-con in the first section which you can probably skip, just know that Neil and Jean escape from the Nest where they’re Ravens).

Think the only warnings for this fic are that it has vague references for canon events at the Nest - nothing explicit, nothing detailed, just that Neil (Nat/Nathaniel here) and Jean are very happy to not be there anymore. That and references to Neil’s past in Baltimore.

*******

Trickle

*******

“It’s not much, but it’s safe,” Chesare told them as he placed the keys he’d used to enter the small apartment on the kitchen counter. “There’s enough food for a couple days, linens in the closet, and we guessed about the clothes based on the information your family sent.” That was directed to Nat, who stood there with a too-blank expression on his face and still dressed in the ‘borrowed’ sweatshirt he’d taken from Howard. “They’ll check in on you soon enough once it’s safe, so try to stay inside as much as possible.” While he spoke, the man (Hatford associate?) reached into his denim jacket for his wallet, out of which he took a very impressive stack of euros. “This neighborhood is safe, too, but no point in creating trouble, yes? Only go out when necessary.”

Nat gave a slight nod. “We understand. My family’s helped us out a lot, we’re not about to be ungrateful after everything they’ve done.”

“Good,” Chesare grunted. “Then I’m done here.” His tone was curt, but he gave them a friendly grin before he turned to leave; Jean followed so he could lock and bolt the door behind the man, relieved to be alone with Nat at last. The past day was a blur to him, a domino effect of events with each one more implausible than the last – the practice session where he and Nat bested Riko and Kevin, Riko showing up in their room at the Nest to exact his revenge, Nat defending Jean with such violence and Jean daring to strike down Riko for his partner, them fleeing the Nest, Nat’s family helping them to leave the States and sneaking them into Marseilles of all places….

Jean couldn’t believe that he was back in France, that he was home, even if he was a wanted fugitive from a criminal syndicate.  He was home, and his partner was at his side.

Literally.

He jumped in surprise when he turned to find Nat gazing up at him, beautiful pale blue eyes surrounded by dark circles since the little imp hadn’t slept at all in at least a day, not since… it had to be at least a day, since they’d gotten up for practice back at the Nest. Jean rubbed his eyes as he tried to factor in the different time zones for a moment then gave up. “Yes?”

“Let’s check out the place,” Nat said, his voice faint with exhaustion yet his French perfect as always, just like his Japanese and German and the Russian he’d begun to learn in the last few months. It was one of the many things that Jean adored about his partner (lover), that gift with languages, just like Nat’s (Nathaniel’s) passion and loyalty.

He could have left Jean behind in the Nest, could have run to his family on his own, which would have been safer, yet he’d kept Jean at his side the entire time, had stayed awake while Jean had eventually crashed from the stress of… of everything, and hadn’t been upset when told that they weren’t going to London but Marseilles instead.

Nat didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t reuniting with his family as long as they didn’t try to separate him from Jean.

“It’s bigger than our old room,” Jean teased as they looked around the small, one bedroom apartment; it was in an older part of Marseilles, so there were hot water radiators for heat, worn wooden floors, and lots of windows (they had a corner unit, thankfully, and were six floors up) to help cool it in the warmer months.

“Almost anything would be bigger than our old room,” Nat shot back as he yanked off the oversized blue hoodie he’d worn since leaving Edgar Allan and dropped it to the floor. “Let’s hope that the shower is decent because all I want right now is to scrub myself clean then go to bed.”

Jean was in agreement with that; he wanted to wash away the remainder of the Nest from his body, of the States and all the bad things which had happened there (as if it would ever be that easy), and pray that when they woke up that they could begin a new life together.

A little more searching revealed the linens and clothes which Chesare had mentioned; Jean placed a clean set of sheets and a duvet on the queen-sized bed which took up a good bit of the bedroom while Nat grabbed some towels and clothes.

Nat then took care to set aside the phone which Cindrich had given him before they'd left the States, which Stuart had used a time or two to call him, but otherwise they shed the outfits they'd been wearing with the intent of getting rid of them for good before they stepped into the old claw-foot bathtub together. Jean felt a stab in his chest upon sight of the numerous scars littering his partner's lithe body, along with the bruises which Riko and Tetsuji had inflicted over the last few days - injuries which he swore to himself they'd never get a chance to do so again.

It took a minute or two for the water to warm, the pipes noisy the first few seconds, but Nat pressed against Jean's side and smiled, the expression tired but true, as they huddled together in a bathroom which was all their own, a bathroom with a locked door and a shower curtain and a tub in which they could soak if they wanted.

A bathroom and an apartment which was all their own, if Nat's family could be trusted.

(A family which had gotten them out of the States, had gotten them away from the Moriyamas - the monsters to which Jean's family had sold him without a care, so he'd wait and see about these Hatfords.)

As exhausted and stressed as he was, Nat actually laughed when Jean insisted on washing his hair, and joked that Jean just wanted to drown him in the water so he could have the entire bed to himself.

"Don't give me any ideas," Jean chided as he carefully tilted his partner's head back to rinse out the rosemary-scented shampoo. "Besides, an imp like you would just come back to haunt me."

"Hmm, so true." Nat closed his eyes and slumped a little more against him with a bone-deep weariness. "I'd return the favor, but I can't reach the head of a tall bastard like you, my star."

"Me? I'm perfect," Jean sneered, and felt his heart race when Nat smiled at the familiar joke.

They probably should eat something, but they were so tired after the shower that once dried they pulled on the clean sweatpants and t-shirts (Nat's comically large) and after finishing the bed (more Jean than Nat), all but collapsed onto it. Something settled inside of Jean when he could pull his partner against his chest and wrap his left arm around Nat's waist, while Nat clutched the sheathed knife that Cindrich had also given him in his hands. "Get some rest," Jean ordered, not that he believed Nat could remain awake much longer.

"So bossy," Nat murmured, already well on his way to unconsciousness.

Jean wasn't sure how long they'd slept, just that he felt better - was starving but felt better - when they were jolted awake by the ringing of a phone. It took him a moment to realize it was the one given to Nat, that it wasn't one of their 'official' Raven phones (that Tetsuji monitored and they’d left behind), and by then Nat had sat up so he could answer it.

"Hello?" He was quiet a moment then set the knife in his other hand aside. "Hi, Uncle Stuart," he said as he switched to English. "Yeah, but it's okay, I get the feeling we'll have lots of time to catch up on our rest in the next few days, right?" He smiled, the expression a bit wry, as he scooted back on the bed so he could lean against Jean. "And thank you," he offered as he hit the 'speaker' button so Jean could hear Stuart.

"Again, it's nothing, kiddo," Stuart’s voice was deep and rough as if he was a smoker. "It's long overdue, getting you out of that hellhole." There was a bit of anger in his tone as he referenced the Nest. "Is everything all right with the flat?"

"Uhm, yeah." Nat glanced back at Jean then shrugged. "The bed's wonderful, and everything seems nice. It's quiet." They really hadn't been there that long and had spent most of the time asleep, but they'd been left alone and that was all that mattered to Jean and he suspected to Nat as well.

"It's nothing fancy, but it's safe, you won't be touched while you're there," Stuart assured them, then cleared his throat. "Look, I wanted you to come here, and it's not like Will doesn't want you with the family, either. But we've already had Moriyama people all over the place looking for you, so he was right about if you come to London, it'll be trouble."

"That's fine, I don't want to cause the family any problems," Nat said in a rush, a hint of guilt on his lovely face. "It's enough that you got us out of the States. That's all we could ask, really."

"Bullshit," Stuart spat out, "you're family, it's the least that's owed. But it does look as if you're safer away from us right now, someplace those bastards won't expect you to be." He was quiet while Jean wrapped his arms around his smaller partner in a vain effort to keep him safe. "Also... you come here, I don't think you're going to be able to remain apart from the family, Abram. People are going to see us fighting for you and they're going to make assumptions."

Nat didn't say anything for a few seconds before he nodded once then spoke. "I understand."

"Just... think about what you want, okay? I'll be there in a couple of days and we'll figure things out. Until then, be careful and stay out of trouble."

"I will," Nat promised. "Be careful yourself."

He was quiet after he ended the call, until Jean gave him a slight hug; he tilted his head to look up and smile, then patted Jean's arms in a signal to 'let go'. Once Jean did that, he got off the bed, put the phone aside and went to the bathroom. After he came out, hands running through his hair and bangs which were slightly damp from when he'd washed his face, Jean entered the room so he could use it.

When finished, he found Nat searching through their kitchen, all of the cupboards left opened while his partner checked the drawers. "You French have no appreciation for a proper tea," Nat grumbled, an adorable frown on his face as he motioned to a box of black tea on the counter - a box of tea yet no kettle.

"At least there is black tea," Jean pointed out with a slight chuckle; he'd heard so many complaints about that over the last several years, while Nat 'suffered' with the green tea available to all Ravens.

"Oh, shut up," Nat muttered while he started a pot of coffee (of course there was coffee, Jean was smug to notice), then made do with boiling water in a pot. "I'll text Stuart about the tea."

"Hmm." Jean held up some eggs, to which Nat nodded; there was oatmeal in the cupboards, but they were starving so it would be best to go with something quick - eggs, some of the ham in the fridge, and toast.

It had been years since either of them had to cook, but they'd (more Jean than Nat) had experience from before they'd been sold off to the Moriyamas and it wasn't a complex meal. After a few minutes, they sat down at the tiny table in the kitchen with pleased grins on their faces to eat, Jean with his coffee and Nat with his tea, and it didn't take long after that before the food was gone.

It was... it was one of the best meals in Jean's life, at least that he could remember.

Once the plates were left to soak in the sink, they refilled their mugs and sat at the table to talk. "So, Marseilles," Nat said with a slight smile. "You must be happy."

"It feels like a dream," Jean admitted. "As if any moment now, I'll wake up and it'll be time to start our morning practice."

Nat grimaced as he held his mug between the palms of his hands as if to savor its warmth. "More like a nightmare. You know we can't ever be Ravens again, it would be better to stick our heads in that oven right now than to let that happen."

No, Riko would never forgive them for daring to fight back, let alone to run, while Tetsuji would never allow a slight to his authority. The only question would be, just how long would they suffer before the Moriyamas (most likely Tetsuji) would finally put them out of their misery? "I agree, so what now?"

It was quiet while Nat sipped his tea and considered the question. "Well, as far as I can figure, we stay here or we go to London and officially join the Hatford organization."

"But your uncle didn't seem pleased about that," Jean pointed out - Nat didn't seem happy about it. "Why is that, when he went through the trouble to bring us here?"

"Because... because my mother didn't want that life for me, as far as I could tell," Nat confessed in a faint voice as he gazed into his mug. "Or else she would have left my father after I was born." He glanced up and gave Jean a wan smile. "I heard her argue on the phone with my uncle about it, once. If she went back... well, she’d have to a Hartford again, we both would.”

“And being a Hartford means what?” Jean asked as he reached out to wrap his larger hands around Nat’s – everything about his partner was smaller, was finer-boned, yet Neil wasn’t made of anything breakable, wasn’t fragile. No, after being raised by the Butcher and sold to Tetsuji (after being handed over to Tetsuji’s psychotic nephew), he was… he was like one of those Japanese blades which hung in Tetsuji’s office back in the Nest – was something finely crafted out of iron until it was beyond worth. Nat (Nathaniel, a name which Jean knew he disliked because it was too like his father’s) used his fragile appearance to his advantage, to fool people with an improbable image until he tore them to pieces.

“And what about you?” Jean asked. “What do you want?” Because Nat often used that unbreakable will of his to protect him, to taunt Riko and bear the madman’s abuse so Jean didn’t suffer, had killed three people so Jean… Nat bore too much because of Jean, so whatever Nat wanted was important.

It was quiet while Nat nibbled on his full bottom lip, the lip which Jean adored kissing gently because of such abuse. “Uhm… I doubt it would be too bad, working for my uncles, but I want to stand on my own – on our own,” he said in a quiet voice. “If we join them, we’ll be tied to them forever. I’d rather avoid that if we can. I think that’s why my mom didn’t run to her brothers when she had the chance.”

“Then we find another way,” Jean agreed; after escaping one life of servitude, he was with Nat in that it would be foolish to throw away their newly found freedom so quickly.

Their future decided for the time being, they washed the dishes then spent more time exploring the apartment and rearranging things since it appeared that they would be staying for the immediate future. Jean threw out the clothes they'd worn yesterday, wanting to keep nothing from their time at Edgar Allan other than their shoes (they would need to go out and buy new ones) while Nat made up a shopping list. Once that was done, they turned on the small television and sat down to watch what was available, something they never were allowed to do at the Nest.

They avoided anything to do with sports in unspoken agreement, and scanned through the available channels with interest, only to stop when they reached a news channel. They watched since they were out in the 'world' again, a world which went beyond the walls of an Exy court and the gossip of the Class I division, and needed to be caught up as quickly as possible. They watched on with rapt attention until the banner at the bottom of the page announced that there had been an accident near the Edgar Allan campus which had cost the lives of several Exy team players, including two of the Perfect Court, and that Riko Moriyama had sustained injuries which would prevent him from participating in several upcoming games.

Jean changed the channel to one showing some asinine variety show after that, his fingers numb and a strange ache in his chest. "They've officially announced us as dead."

"It's not a surprise, Tetsuji probably doesn't want to explain to the main branch that we've run away. This way he can cover for Riko, as always," Nat spat with bitterness as he tugged at his bangs. "He probably hopes that he can track us down quickly and make the story real before Kengo figures out the truth."

"Which is why he's harassing the Hatfords." It really was for the best, them standing on their own, to avoid a fight between the two families.

"Yeah." A mulish expression came over Nat's pixyish face as he stared at the screen in front of them, yet there was a distant look in his pale blue eyes. "I think... I think it's best that we make ourselves valuable enough that it's more effort than it's worth for the Moriyamas to try to pry us out of here and that the Hatfords aren't continuously having to fight for us."

That... Jean shook his head as he got up for more coffee. "I'm not sure I'm following you. How do we do that? We're two kids, not two criminals." He thought about that for a moment as he regarded his partner, who sat there with a knife tucked beneath his left thigh, who had killed three people for him yesterday. "Nat... I'll do anything for you," he confessed as he held an empty mug in his hands, "but I'm confused right now."

The look his dear friend gave him was one of understanding instead of contempt. "I know, my star," Nat told him with overwhelming affection, the pet name making Jean's chest ache in the best of ways. "It's... I remember hearing my... hearing him complain one day." Judging from the amount of venom in Nat's tenor voice, he referred to his father, the Butcher, just then. "About a guy who crossed one of his people, but he wouldn't let Romero take him out - he needed someone who wasn't known to associate with him to handle things so the police couldn't trace it back to them." He gave Jean a lopsided smile. "That's what we need to be, the guys with no obvious ties to anyone who get things done."

For a moment, Jean wanted to say 'no', to ask why did Nat - crazy, impulsive Nat who never backed down even when he should, when it would spare him so much pain - think that they could be those people... and then he thought about the last few years. He thought about how they'd endured so much, had dealt with everything Riko and Tetsuji had dealt out, had commanded and carved into their skins, and wondered if there was anything out there in Marseilles which could be worse than what they'd suffered in the Nest.

(Technically, yes, but he knew there were some lines which Nat would never cross, not after what Riko had done to them, would never ask Jean to do, so it would be all right.)

"If it means that I don't have to live on British soil, then it's fine," Jean sneered before he poured the last of the coffee in his mug.

That led Nat to complain that he would adore being British, just adore it, and come over to hug him from behind while Jean brewed more coffee. Jean sniffed and insisted that the wonderfulness of France had clearly overwhelmed the fool, and when Nat doubled over in laughter (a truly rare occasion), slung the impudent imp over his shoulder to carry him back to the small couch where they occupied themselves by watching movies for most the day (another impossibly rare occasion) save for when they made something to eat or napped.

It was… if anything brought home the fact that they weren’t Ravens anymore (as well as the fact that they hadn’t been abused in the past twenty-four hours or so), it was that they were able to rest, to do nothing but sit down and be near each other without having to go out on court, to practice and practice and practice, to wear themselves into exhaustion at Tetsuji’s command (the Master’s command). Jean felt it when Nat’s body would twitch against his from time to time as if to jump from the couch and go, to run to the court or the exercise room or somewhere, when his fingers would flex as if to grab a racquet, but there was no court, was no schedule anymore.

Not for them, not when they were no longer Ravens.

(At least not officially – Jean suspected there were some things that weren’t so easily discarded.)

Despite them leaving the Nest, it had left its mark on them, or at least its schedule had, and they soon found themselves growing tired early in the evening; it wasn’t so much the change in time zones as them struggling to adjust to a twenty-four hour day once again. They took turns in the bathroom to prepare for the ‘night’ and then once more curled up together in bed.

That ‘night’, they didn’t sleep without interruption; Jean woke three times to find Nat tense in his arms and whispered his name until his partner’s fingers unclenched from the knife and his heartrate stopped thundering in his narrow chest.

It wasn’t unusual for one of them to have nightmares, not with everything they’d endured at the Nest, with what Nat had endured at his father’s hands. Yet Jean wondered if part of what caused them that night was what had happened right before they’d fled the Nest, was what Nat had done to protect him.

He held his partner (his love) tighter to his chest as his hands soothed along Nat’s trembling body.

The next two days were spent much like the first, with them sleeping when they were tired and cooking when they were hungry, with them watching whatever they found interesting on the television to while away the time. Jean could tell that Nat grew anxious from being ‘trapped’ in the apartment – not even the hours of sit-ups and pushups he did on the floor could burn off the excess energy. Yet when they ran low on food at last, Jean insisted that he be the one to leave the safety of the apartment to go shopping: he was less recognizable with his black hair, could blend in the crowd better than gorgeous, fiery Nat.

Nat… Nathaniel with his auburn curls and pale blue eyes, with his striking features and short, lean body always drew attention, and that was before he opened his mouth, before he unleashed his sharp tongue and sharper wit. No, Jean knew how to be quiet, to blend in and keep his head down so he’d slip out, find the nearest store and be back as quickly as possible.

All it took was a polite question or two and he found a small store down the block, where he was able to purchase enough food to last them a couple more days with the cash that Chesare had left. He was halfway through the alley leading back to their apartment when an older man stepped out of a doorway and in his path.

“Moreau.”

Jean stilled at mention of his name spoken with a British accent, especially since it sounded familiar. He was about to swing a bag of groceries at the man when he caught sight of a gun pointed at him, right before he was motioned toward the doorway. “Ah, best to behave right now,” the man said in English.

“You’re… your Nat’s uncle,” Jean realized as he followed instructions. Why was Stuart Hatford threatening him?

“Clever boy.” Stuart nodded once and, after a long look, put away the gun in a holster he wore beneath the jacket of a finely made grey suit. “I wanted a chance to talk to you alone before I saw Abram.” His fine blond brows drew together in obvious displeasure. “Why are you out of the flat, eh?”

“We need more food, and I thought it best that I fetch it instead of Nat.” Jean scowled at the man while he held up a bag; Stuart was a few inches shorter than him but taller than Nat (who wasn’t?), and had blond hair cut close to the scalp and pale grey eyes – he resembled Nat’s mother, who Jean had seen in a picture Nat cherished (which had been abandoned at the Nest).

“At least you know that much,” the man muttered as he folded his arms over his chest. “Still, anything could happen to you out here.”

“We didn’t know when you were coming, were we to starve while waiting?” Jean shot back.

“Hmm, awful lippy for a man asking for help.” Stuart gave him a cold look for a moment before clicking his tongue. “I’m not here for a bitch session, though. The main branch has found out that Tetsuji’s lost the two of you and Kengo’s not pleased.”

Jean nearly dropped the bags upon hearing that. “What happens now?” Did they have to go to London and join the Hatfords after all?

Stuart continued to stare at him in an intent manner. “What if I told you that they’re never going to stop trying for you and Abram, hmm? That the only way I can see this ending is if we give them something to appease them.”

“And that is?” Jean asked as he slumped against the stone wall framing the door.

“Well… Abram is a Hatford, and Kengo understands family ties. You? You’re not family.” Stuart gave him a cold look. “If we send you back and take Abram in? That might work.”

Jean closed his eyes and thought about it, thought about going back to the States and what the Moriyamas would do to him for daring to run, for harming one of their own… but if Nat would be safe then? As long as his partner (lover) could have a life?

It would be worth it.

“All right,” he said, his voice quiet and not free of a faint quiver, then opened his eyes. “I’ll go. Just… just don’t tell Nathaniel, okay? Not the truth. Tell him some gang got to me or… just not the truth or he’ll never stop until the Moriyamas are destroyed.” The foolish, loyal imp never knew when to let go, he thought with fond amusement despite having just signed his death sentence.

Stuart continued to study him for a couple more seconds before he rubbed at his face as if tired. “Fuck, but you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Eh? Aren’t you?” Jean was confused, especially when the man shook his head.

“I just… I wanted to see how serious you are,” Stuart said as he motioned down the alley, toward the apartment, “about Abram. We might not have been able to do much about him, but we know him, he’s blood, whereas you?” He gave Jean another intent look. “All we know about you is that you play that damn sport well, that Abram wouldn’t leave you behind, and that… well, that you’re with him. So I wanted to see if you’re worth the trouble.”

Heat suffused Jean’s face as the meaning behind those words sunk in. “But… we’re partners,” he tried to argue as he set the bags down on the ground so he could rub at his own face (hide it behind his hands).

“Don’t lie to a liar,” Stuart muttered as he shifted about; Jean lowered his hands to watch the man light a cigarette then blow out a plume of smoke. “Like I said, Abram’s family so we kept tabs on him in the Nest, we know things.” He gave Jean a narrow look while he lowered the lighter as if slightly displeased. “At least he seems to have better taste than Mary so far, but mess with the kid? You’ll wish I had sent you back to the Moriyamas.”

“It won’t happen,” Jean swore as he picked up the bags of groceries. “Now are you done? Much longer and Nat’s going to tear the city apart looking for me.” The suffering he’d endured the last few minutes was almost worth it when an expression of panic flickered across Hatford’s face and he mumbled something about his sister.

Nat clearly had been ready to search Marseilles for Jean when they reached the apartment (he had his shoes and a jacket on, and knife in hand), and only the arrival of his uncle kept him from interrogating Jean on what had taken him so long to fetch the groceries. Jean allowed the two a few minutes for a private reunion (a bit uncomfortable on his partner’s part since he wasn’t used to grown men who obviously cared about him touching him without harm), and then the three of them settled in to talk about Nat and Jean’s future.

Stuart appeared a bit taken back when Nat argued for them to stay in Marseilles and why, and how they could help out the family as ‘independents’ – taken back but pleased in the end. He appeared to understand Nat’s logic, though he offered suggestions which Nat considered and eventually accepted. For his part, Jean was quiet and as long as Nat felt that it would work out well for them, he went along with his partner’s decisions since all he really knew was Exy and that Nat wouldn’t betray him. He caught Stuart giving him those intent looks again during the discussion from time to time, and noticed an approving gleam in the man’s grey eyes when he would defer to Nat.

“It won’t be easy for you,” Stuart confessed before he left (with the shopping list from Nat in hand), “but to be honest? I think this is more along the lines of what your mother would have wanted for you.” That appeared to be directed at Nat. “She always wanted to stand on her own, it’s why she went to the States.” Grief washed over the man’s expressive face for a moment before he shook his head. “If you’re willing to do some hard work, I’ve some people I think who’ll only be too happy to keep you busy, people who’ll also give those Moriyama bastards pause about causing any trouble.”

Nat glanced at Jean, who nodded at the proposal, before he smiled at his uncle. “It can’t be any worse than Exy practice for ten hours a day – sixteen-hour days at that, so tell them we’re in business.”

“Definitely a Hatford,” Stuart said with obvious pride. “Give me a few days to set up the new identities for you two and to gather everything on the list, though it might be Henry or Jamie who stops by with the stuff.” He grinned as he held up the list. “The family’s eager to see you and I got an earful about being the one to come this time.” The grin turned a bit sharp when Stuart glanced at Jean; years of dealing with Riko set off warning bells in Jean’s head at the thought of him meeting the rest of the ‘family’.

He had some dark thoughts about his partner and all the trouble the damn imp had dragged him into (and out of) over the years, until Stuart left the apartment. Nat was quiet as he stood by the door (locked and bolted), his eyes hooded and full lower lip caught between his teeth, until Jean tucked back a stray lock of his unruly (lovely) hair. “That went well?”

The troubled expression was quickly replaced with a smile as Nat nodded. “Yes, it did,” he assured as he caught at Jean’s hand to lead him back to the kitchen. “He won’t have agreed if he didn’t think it would work, nor would he risk any contacts to help us out. The family also can’t risk us falling back into the Moriyamas’ hands because it’ll make them look bad, so he must think it’ll work.”

Jean didn’t particularly like Stuart after the little ‘trick’ he’d pulled earlier, but he had to admit that Nat was right about the man having reasons to want to keep them safe, to keep Nat safe. He shook his head while he watched his partner (his love and reason for being) wash the dirty mugs. “Of course it’ll work, all of your insane plans do even as they leave chaos and mass destruction in their wake.” He sighed deeply while he glanced heavenwards. “I need to find the nearest church so I can light a candle,” he paused to think about that, “make that a few dozen candles.”

“Ha, there’s that wonderful sense of optimism of yours which I adore,” Nat grumbled as he set the last mug on the dish rack then reached for a towel to dry his wet hands. “I’m surprised you’re not adding ‘check out burial plots’ to the list.”

“Hmm, what a wonderful suggestion.” Jean gave the imp a blank look when Nat growled beneath his breath and came over to smack his fists (with little force) against his chest. “All right, check out my burial plot, you insane demon,” he clarified as he wrapped his arms around his beloved tormentor to hug him close.

“You know I’d never let something like that happen to you,” Nat murmured as he gazed at Jean’s chest, eyes downcast and a slight frown on his lips.

No, Nat (Nathaniel, the Butcher of Baltimore’s son and a Hatford, the Perfect Court’s number Three and the one Raven whom the Moriyamas could never break) never would, no matter how much pain and abuse Riko heaped upon him (the beatings and cuts and handing him over to- no, no more). “I know,” Jean breathed out as he hugged the most precious person in the world tighter against him.

Nat’s smile blossomed even as it took on a sad note. “I won’t. So if you want to walk away, to find your sister and live somewhere quiet together, somewhere away from all the-“

Jean didn’t give the fool a chance to finish such an improbable, generous, Nat-like offer (sacrifice); he lifted his love into a passionate kiss which served as his answer. Yet in case that wasn’t definite enough, once a certain spawn from hell was left gasping for air and clutching at his neck, Jean broke it off to speak (after he drew in a deep breath). “There’s no way I’m going to allow you to run around my beloved country unsupervised, you destructive little imp. There’ll be nothing left standing within a week.”

That earned him a pleased smile. “You underestimate me.”

Jean closed his eyes and offered up a prayer for patience even as he rubbed his partner’s back, then sighed again when Nat wiggled free.

“Come on! We’ve a lot to do before Stuart or whoever comes by with the stuff,” Nat insisted as he tugged Jean to the living room. “I should be able to teach you how to pick pockets and some basic fighting skills by then.” He seemed to consider something as he began to push the small coffee table out of the way, his lower lip once more caught between his teeth. “Maybe if it’s Henry or Jamie, they can help with the fighting.”

Jean had a feeling that he’d be running out to the store again very soon, that time to buy wine; he rubbed his forehead at the thought of what Nat and the Hatfords would soon teach him, of what his new life would be like, and sighed in intense weariness.

Still, Nat was at his side and he was free of the Moriyamas (mostly), could look forward to the day when the two of them held no obligation to anyone but each other. The thought of that future in mind, he pushed any doubts aside and taunted his partner to do his worst.

*******

Okay, so there’s that. Now I have to get to work on the Reverse Big Bang fic, last of my owed fics, and then... we’ll see?

[nenestansunsthings]

Incident 239-A, Excerpt Four

wow this one took a while. there's an iris here, though, so i feel like it's okay!

.

The walls of the site were wooden.

Some sort of anomalous effect, Iceberg deduced, scanning the dark material. Not touching it. He would not make that mistake. It was likely caused by SCP-4231's anomalous capabilities, specifically a typical stress response. So Wojciechowski had not managed to sedate it, then. The failure would be noted.

The fact that the bullet shells scattered across the floor were non-lethal was noted as well. That was likely not an anomalous effect. So the attempts to stop this termination were non-lethal as well? He hadn't expected differently of Wojciechowski, really. Gears would not appreciate that his hypothesis had been correct.

Gears. His assistant would prefer that he come back unharmed, wouldn't he? Objectives clicked into place in Iceberg's mind. Personal safety would have to be a concern, then. Not a priority, exactly, but a concern nonetheless.

Protecting 239, on the other hand, was a priority. Subduing 4231 was a priority. So he would take whatever measures were necessary.

The comm in Iceberg's ear buzzed, receiving an incoming signal. He allowed it through. "Status?"

"Iceberg? Oh, thank fuck." Wojciechowski's voice came through in a nearly inaudible crackle. It was strained, Iceberg noted. Injuries, then, were likely. "You have to stop Arlens. He's going for-"

"239. I'm aware." Iceberg's eye twitched slightly. "Status, Wojciechowski."

"Alive. Beat-up. Did you know Lens liked locking people into empty containment cells? Or breaking their ribs?" Wojciechowski coughed. "I sure fucking do. He tracked me down and shoved me into a room with no shadows. Fuck knows where James Talloran is. God, when I find him--"

"We'll address your revenge later. Where is 4231?"

"Jesus." Wojciechowski swore. "Don't call him that!"

"I'll call him what I like, director. Where is it?"

"He is going for the butterfly chamber." The other man laughed. "Not that he's getting in. I made sure of that. He'd have to cause a CK-Class scenario to get in, and... well. He likes his being 4231 about as much as I do."

"Do you really think we can rely on its discomfort with a number? It blew up your doors, Wojciechowski. It deserves to be an SCP right now." Iceberg's expression was almost cold enough to be called a scowl. Almost. "Evacuate your personnel. I will handle your breach myself."

The comm was silent.

"... you're going to kill him?"

"If it's necessary." And it almost certainly was. "Evacuate your men, Francis."

Iceberg could practically hear the silent fury on the other end.

Finally, finally, Wojciechowski answered.

"No."

"Then neutralize it yourself," Iceberg ordered. "I don't have time for your sexual tension. Get it under control and make sure it doesn't cause a goddamn breach. I will handle 239 myself."

"... Fine." Wojciechowski growled on the other end. "Don't get in my way. You're a very replaceable man, Doctor Gilles. That assistant of yours deserves a promotion anyway."

"I'd be happy to sign one for him," he responded. "Get your pet project under control."

There was the sound of a comm being crushed under rubber soles.

Iceberg sighed, turning his own comm off. The dramatics. Honestly. If he didn't want his pet SCP terminated he shouldn't have let it try to kill a little girl.

Especially not that little girl.

Iceberg stepped through the halls with a purpose, a hand on the grenades hanging from his belt.

"Damn it!" Butterfly slammed a fist against the closed door to 408's containment cell, anger burning bright inside him. He could feel the flickering life of his butterflies inside, the familiar feel of it only fuelling his fury. "G-d damn it, Clef. You and your g-ddamned lockdowns."

The 408s couldn't get out. Not with those protections. Butterfly had a feeling what was in place had been set up a long time ago, and it hadn't been meant to keep them in.

No. It had been to keep him out.

Damn Clef. Damn his director, planning and planning and lying his way through questions, through explaining what protections were on what. Damn the fact that terrifying competence had been turned to...

To what? To the whims of a little girl high on her own power, not even knowing what she had turned him into?

Fuck her. Fuck 239. Fuck this whole mess. When he found that girl, he was going to rip her to shreds.

Butterfly's hand slipped down the reinforced metal of the door, going down, down with his hope.

Hopeless. This was hopeless. He'd never get to her. Was he already too late? The alarm had probably alerted other sites, too, so he almost definitely had Iceberg on his trail. And even if not Iceberg, even if it was someone he could subdue without issue and get past to kill 239-- could he even do it? Could her powers overtake his? Could she look at him, twist him, turn him into something beyond his worst nightmares because he made her think of a monster?

Could he even do this?

... Not without help. Not without allies. And without the 408s... did he even have any?

The room was silent around him. Cursing him. Mocking him. He didn't. He didn't have anyone. The SCPs would have been evacuated and fucking Francis was against him and- and--

"... You look like you need a little help."

Butterfly jerked, spinning swiftly to find a young woman standing in front of him. She didn't so much as blink when he leveled his sword to her throat.

"... Iris Thompson."

"In the flesh," she responded, deadpan. "Lower the sword, Benjamin Kondraki. We need to talk."

"Don't call me that!" Benjamin Kondraki was a dead man. He'd died with his wife and he'd died with the thought that his son was a monster to be contained. "Don't you ever say that name again."

"Sorry." Thompson smiled. At least, it looked like a smile. His depth perception was shot to hell, of course, and his third eye stung with heat, but he swore even past that it looked more like a snarl than a grin. "This isn't the right world to be calling you that. But, well, with that name or not... I'm offering you an out."

"An out?" As if he'd trust her. 239 had never seen her, yes, but Thompson was personnel. Dating Francis's own daughter. Why she'd side with him over her site and her girlfriend he hadn't the slightest idea. "Spare me the bullshit, Thompson. What do you want?"

"It's obvious, Doctor Butterfly," she said, enough surety in her voice that he strained to hear anything inhuman past that. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing but the dregs of a dead god inside her. "I want you to win."

That made him pause. "What?"

"There are tunnels the director doesn't know about. Meant for Factotum use. O5 use," she explained. Something in her voice tired as she did. "How did you think I stayed hidden while they evacuated? The Council thinks it hides its things well, really. But it's easy to find them when you have all the time in the world. And we both know how much time I had."

"... Damn. 3999 really did a number on you, didn't it?" He remembered back when she had first come to the site, when she was still nervous and kind of snappy and excited. Now... well. "Where are they?"

"Right here." Thompson reached out, taking him by the wrist and tugging him past a corner to find a large door where there once had been wall. It hung open to reveal a tunnel, leading down, down, down. "And turn off the voice, Butterfly. No-one here's scared of you. Except maybe you."

"... Asshole." His voice, past the anomaly echoing it, was weak. Raspy. "How the hell did you find this?"

"I killed O5-6 in it a month ago. How else?" She pulled him in. "Do your best, Doctor Butterfly. Leave me a corpse to burn."

And didn't that send chills down his spine.

"Wait," Butterfly called, stopping Thompson as she walked away. "Why are you doing this?"

It took her a few moments to answer. The tunnels loomed empty around him.

"I like watching reality benders die," she answered simply. The door closed before him.

... Ominous. But helpful. Butterfly shook his head, descending into the dark of the tunnels. Hopefully she only wanted 239 dead. Hopefully it didn't extend to him.

But if it did...

Butterfly shook his head, looking through the tunnels. They seemed to match the halls of Site 17 enough, didn't they?

He wasn't exactly a stupid man. He knew his enemies-- friends?-- were dangerous. He knew it'd be risky to fight them without help.

And, well... 408 wasn't the only group of butterflies on-site.

Butterfly turned left, headed for the enclosure storing SCP-3209.

Iris Thompson travelled the halls with barely a sound. She knew well how to avoid making a sound on these floors, covered in wood or not. In her pocket, a six-sided die sat wrapped in her handkerchief, familiar and unturning.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" she heard Francis Wojciechowski demand in front of her. Iris did not look up. Instead, she shrugged, her fingers playing idly on that die.

"I'm with Butterfly on this one," she said softly, pulling the die out of its cloth. "That girl did something, that's for sure. The only thing to do now is stop it."

Francis scowled. He was hurt, Iris noted, with badly burned hands and broken gear, and he walked with a limp that screamed of a broken leg. "Iris. She's only a kid."

"And you're only a man." Iris met his eyes. "I could kill you without flinching."

"You wouldn't."

She shrugged. "Get out of the way and I won't."

Stubbornly, Francis stayed. Iris sighed. "Fine. Make your choice."

The die landed on three. And the hallway flooded with water.

[starl1ght-child]

Enthralled

Rezyl Azzir x F!Non-Guardian OC

Chapter 13 : Promises [ WC 2.1K ]

masterlist

Rilea was in the hospital for another three months following Twilight Gap.  The broken vertebrae were taking the longest to heal and she was bedridden until they did.  For a long while, she barely spoke.  Temporary paralysis had taken everything from her:  her life, her happiness, her faith.  She wouldn’t be able to go back to work afterwards, she wasn’t even sure if she was going to walk.  When the vertebrae did finally heal, she remained inpatient for weeks of physical therapy and rehabilitation.  She had to relearn how to walk and regain strength in her back and legs.  

Rezyl took some temporary leave from the Vanguard.  He told them that after Twilight Gap, he had to rethink some of his priorities, and they did as well.  But eventually, he started to get antsy.  There was rage towards the Fallen that fueled his fire for revenge.  Rilea would still have a life if not for the Fallen.  She would still be able to walk.  He spent much of the first month keeping her company in the hospital, but he wasn’t made for staying in place.  And the longer he stayed out of the field, the longer his anger simmered.

Rilea knew that he was growing anxious staying in one place, so she assured Rezyl that she was fine.  She was in good hands with the doctors here.  He didn’t have to spend every waking moment with her.  Just come visit every couple of days.  And though he said he would, that was another empty promise.  She realized that they were both alike in the sense of being workaholics.  He only came to visit when he was home, and that was about once every five or six days.

And when he did visit, she started to notice small changes in his personality.  He smiled less.  He talked less.  He seemed to be avoiding sleep, no matter how tired he was.  Only a few times he had passed out, his head on her bed, clutching her hand.  He started to become a little more physical, but not in a violent sense.  He touched her more, caressed her more, he seemed to find comfort in the warmth of her skin.  

But there was one thing she noticed the most.

He had stopped calling her “paramour.”

He came looking for her one day while she was in therapy, so he was shown to the rehab gym where she was working on walking.  She had spent two weeks getting the strength in her legs back up.  She was with a physical therapist on a straight track with two railings on the side for support.  Adorned in loose pants and a tank top and sweating her ass off, short hair sticking to her neck and forehead, she caught sight of Rezyl standing by the door.  There was a small smile on his lips as he started over to her.  For a moment she was so excited to see him and tried to rush over to him; that she took her hands off the railing and she forgot she didn’t have the strength in her back to fully support herself yet.  She sank down onto her knees, with a small groan of pain.  Both he and the doc were at her side, but she brushed them both off.  She grabbed onto the railings and pulled herself back onto her feet.  She looked over at the doc and tilted her head, wordlessly asking for a few minutes alone.  When the doctor walked away, Rezyl walked onto the ramp with her.

“You’re getting stronger,” Rezyl remarked.  “Good.”

“Yeah, well, they won’t let me leave here until I can walk on my own again, so…”  She gave him a strained smile.  “I’m trying.”

He extended his hands.  “Well, don’t let me stop you.  Let’s keep going.”

Rilea looked at him with raised browns and half a smile.  She took his hands and grasped onto them tightly while she tried to support herself.  He slowly started walking backwards and she took some unsteady steps forwards, following his path.  

“You know…” she started.  “You’ve seemed a little distracted lately.”

He didn’t even bat an eye.  “There’s a lot of work to be done, Rilea.”

She sighed softly.  “I know.  There’s always work.”  She took a few more shaky steps.  “Hopefully I’ll be walking on my own and out of here in a couple of weeks.”

“You shouldn’t rush your body, Ri,”  he sighed.  He looked down at her and tilted his .  “I understand you want out of here, but you need to give yourself time.”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. And took a few more steps.  Her legs were shaking badly.  “I-I need a break.”  

He nodded and closed the gap between them, pulled her hand up to his shoulder then slid his arm around her back.  He walked her over to the chair at the end of the ramp, supporting most of her weight until she was sitting down.  She leaned back in the chair and the doctor came back over to give her a glass of water.  She looked over at Rezyl to see a resigned look on his face.  She leaned her head into his view and he met her gaze.  She reached up and cupped his cheek; Rezyl’s hand came up and placed on top of hers.

“Hey… don’t look at me like that.  I’m going to be alright.”

He sighed then reached up and ruffled a hand through her hair.  “I know.  You’re just as stubborn as I am.”

— — — — — 

Five months to the day of her admission, Rilea was discharged from the hospital.  She could walk on her own just fine, though she had a small limp now that was only noticeable when you were looking for it.  She carried a pack over her shoulder of her belongings and let out a small sigh of delight when a light, late summer breeze brushed over her face and ruffled her short hair.  When she got home, Rezyl wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but as she shut the door and set down her pack, she could hear the shower running.  She smiled to herself as she snuck into the bedroom and changed out of the clothes she had been loaned from the hospital and into some of her own, something familiar for him.  She quietly walked back out into the living area and sat down on the couch.

She heard the bedroom door open and she looked over her shoulder with a smile.  Rezyl’s eyes widened when he realized that she was there.  His Ghost immediately materialized out of thin air and circled around her head.

“Welcome home!” Amit chirped happily. 

Rilea laughed as she stood.  “Yes, I’m home.”  She looked over at Rezyl and he still stood there, shocked.  She walked over to him and took his hands.  His hair was still wet from his shower.

“You’re home…”  He murmured softly, his head tilting to take in her radiance.  One of his hands lifted and cupped her cheek, thumb tracing over the old scar on her skin, index finger brushing over the new one in her hairline.  “I saw you two weeks ago and you were still struggling.”  She closed her eyes and sighed with delight as his fingers pushed through her hair until he held the back of her head.  “You’re so strong…”

Rilea opened her eyes and gazed at him lovingly.  “Rezyl…”  She sighed softly.  “We need to—”

He shushed her and leaned down, pressing his forehead on hers.  “No… please, sweet girl, you’ve just come home.  I haven’t been able to hold you in ages.  Please… just let me have you… I just want to touch you…”

She wanted to open her mouth to protest, that she really needed to talk to him about how much he’s been changing.  She just wanted to make sure he was alright.  His hand slipped around her waist and gently pressed on her back, over the scar where the incision from her surgery was.  The scar itself was still sensitive, but when his fingers touched it ever so gently, she nearly sank against him with the thrill that electrified her neurons.  “You’ll always have me,” she murmured quietly.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

As his hands slid down her sides to her hips and he effortlessly lifted her off her feet, Rilea pressed her lips against his and wrapped her arms around his neck loosely.  He kissed her with a sense of urgency and desperation, but she could feel his desire emanating off of him.  His skin felt like it was on fire, his grip on her bottom was firm as he carried her into the privacy of their bedroom, his kiss was hot and fervent, his touch like sparks on her skin when he finally sat down on the bed with her in his lap.

“Rezyl,” she gasped when his broke from her lips and trailed kisses along her throat.  He faltered for a moment, pausing his assault on her skin, his hands already halfway up her shirt.  Rilea giggled lightly as she leaned her head back and pushed her hands into his damp hair.  “Slow down… I’m staying right here…”

He let out a pent-up sigh and leaned his head on his shoulder, his lips pressing on her collarbone.  “Sorry…” he mumbled in embarrassment.  “I… I missed you… I think a lot more than I realized.”

She cupped his jaw with both her hands, lifted his face and smiled compassionately at him.  “Then come home more… I know you’re trying to keep me safe from out there… but I feel safer when you’re by my side.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into her hands, one of his lifting and closing around her wrist.  “All right…” he sighed.  “I’ll try to be home every night… whenever I can…” 

She smiled warmly and leaned forward, closed her eyes and pressed a kiss on his lips.  “Good…”

— — — — — 

They laid side by side, skin and hearts bared, cuddled in each other’s warmth, a tangled mess of limbs.  Rezyl’s fingers danced up and down her skin, tracing over every scar, from the new ones on her spine and stomach, to the older ones on her shoulder and cheek.  Rilea, exhausted from their make-up session and cuddled up with her back pressed against his chest, was nearly falling asleep against him.  His hands finally settled her abdomen, gently rubbing circles on her skin.  As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t rest.  There was one question on her mind that she wanted to ask.

“Hey, Rezyl?”  She said softly, and he hummed in response.  “Why’d you stop calling me ‘paramour’?”

He was silent for a moment, though he still continued to gently massage her skin.  “Because you are no longer my paramour,” he started, but his hand slid up and covered her heart before she could respond.  “You are my love.  My greatest love.  There’s nothing immoral about this love for me anymore.  Twilight Gap made me realize that.”

She shifted in his arms and turned onto her other side.  His hands aligned on her spine and pulled her close against his chest.  “How so?”

“In the years I’ve known you, love, I had never felt more fear and anxiety thinking that I had lost you.  I know…” He sighed and pressed his lips against the back of her neck.  “I know I will lose you one day.  But I wasn’t ready to lose you like that.  I love you too much to let you go.”

“My years in this world are finite,” she whispered.  “You and I have both known that from the moment we met, and yet you stayed with me.  Through everything.  Rezyl, I…” she looked up into his eyes, his beautiful emerald optics that had captured her from day one.  “I love you, too.”

He gave her a small smile, leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “Get some rest, sweet girl.”  She nestled against his chest while he ran his hand up and down her spine.  But while his lover slept, Rezyl stayed awake.  He was at war with himself.  The Vanguard was flawed; they only fortified the wall after Twilight Gap, when it should have happened after six fronts.  The Consensus was arrogant, especially the Speaker; who exiled Osiris because he was concerned about a Vex invasion, which the City was woefully unprepared for.  And to make matters worse, he sent Saint-14 after Osiris, and he has since gone missing.  His patience for the City’s “leaders” who sought “peace” was growing dangerously thin.

Tag List : @mail-me-a-snail

[m00nslippers]

Bizarro and Artemis are back, in RHATO Annual #3

I’m back with a review of the RHATO annual #3 and it is so good to see Biz and Artemis again. I think we’ve all missed them. Hopefully this issue heralds their triumphant return in the next arc (after the one this is previewing), but let’s get into this.

We get a preview of the upcoming arc that we know involves Lex Luthor recruiting Jason to teach a bunch of kids how to be villains...or something. I’m sure we’ll figure out more in the new issues coming up. I highly doubt that’s all there is to it. I think it’s pretty obvious that Jason isn’t on the side of villains or creating more villains even if he isn’t strictly a hero. So I’m guessing there is some subterfuge involved in his plan and possibly Lex is trying to influence him a bit, maybe holding the fact that he helped Bizarro over his head, something like that. I think it’s most likely that he’s investigating Lex while pretending to work for him and teach in his villain school while secretly teaching all the kids values and whatnot. That would be cute, anyway.

I have to point out this moment though, because I’m not sure how I feel about it. Basically this kid can sense/contact people who are dead but it’s mentally or physically painful, but Jason asks him to do it anyway. Yeah, he expects that it won’t work and therefore not hurt because he thinks Artemis and Bizarro aren’t dead, and also the pain might be minor and finding out if someone is dead or alive is pretty important, worth some mild discomfort even to a child, but I don’t really like the attitude he has when saying, “I’m not asking.” I think he must be playing up/pretending he’s villainous because otherwise that seems pretty out of character for him. He’s generally straight forward but kind to children, animals and non-normative people (like Biz). So I’m kind of assuming he’s acting this way because of circumstances we are going to find out more about in the next issue. Basically the take away from the interaction is that Biz and Artemis are not dead.

So it picks up 6 months before the events of Jason talking to the kid. What this means is that between issue #25 of RHATO and upcoming issue #37, 6 months have elapsed, which seems reasonable. I’ve head-canoned Jason’s current age at 22 and I think this time frame supports that idea (there is reason to believe he was 21 in the Eternal comics).

Also, Artemis and Bizarro are clearly alive and in an alternate dimension where the Hall of Justice has been defaced and renamed “the Hall of Punishment” and is a ‘museum’, with the Justice League dead and disrespected. Everyone, even Superman.

As it turns out, the world is like this because of some bomb which made regular humans metas and metas regular humans, so most of the Justice League immediately became helpless without their abilities to almost everyone around them who now had meta abilities. What this means for people like Jason and the bats in this world who didn’t have powers to begin with is a real question, but not one we get answered. Basically, humans who now had powers and felt resentful of heroes who had originally had powers, took it out on the former heroes, hunting them down and putting them into camps where they eventually died. Which...okay, people are jerks so it seems reasonable that once they had powers some people would find any and every excuse to beat up on people who made them feel weak before so this isn’t a completely stupid basis for an alternate dystopia.

After it’s established that Artemis doesn’t have access to Mistress (or presumably the Bow of Ra) because she can’t call her weapon across universes--which seems reasonable--we get introduced to a few one-off villains.

And like...the moment I saw these guys I shook my head because they are just classic Lobdell-type villains. Flat, corny, names are puny as hell, your stereotypical comic book villains. I’m not knocking it, they are fine for minor villains that only exist for a one shot, at least they are kind of memorable for being so ridiculous, I’m just mildly amused at their everything. One guy is some kind of discount horror-villain butcher character that you can’t understand called Butcher Block, another is a freaking Pop-Eye-esque Milk Man called DAIRY KING because of course he is, and there’s a pigish cop and a chick in a Carebear shirt who holds her hand like an air phone and goes by the name ‘Air Quote’. And the fiery butterfly chick who looks like the love-child of Firefly and Bumblebee. There are just...no words. I just can’t even, you guys.

Along the way on their adventures they meet a guy calling himself Jack Knife who is part of the resistance against the normal people with super powers who made the world all dystopian and messed-up and didn’t agree with people killing former heroes in camps. Also, he is very clearly this universe’s Joker. I haven’t seen anyone mention this, but I’m not crazy here, right? Like, this is as obvious as I think it is, isn’t it? The guy’s name is Jack Knife, so his name is Jack, like Jack Napier, the Joker’s identity in many iterations of him. He has this long, sharp face with a crazy chin and wide mouth, is a bit of a wise-cracker and he wears a purple waistcoat and a green tie and a yellow shirt and has a flower in his lapel--like the Joker-- and uses pistols and knives, like...this guy is clearly the freaking Joker over here!

I can only assume Jason has not filled Artemis or Biz in on his issues with the Joker--which would be pretty in-character for Jay--or at the very least they have never seen him and don’t recognize him because this team up would have been over before it started if they had. They might still have went along with him, since this is a different guy, but they would have been suspicious.

Also, Jack doesn’t seem to have any powers...meaning he had powers before ‘hero day’ when metas lost their powers and norms gained powers...meaning the Joker is a meta. So that’s a thing. The reason the Joker is so wily and weird and doesn’t seem to die or age is because he’s a meta, you guys. You heard it here.

So we get the ‘6 months later’ flash forward and Artemis and BIzarro are working as part of the resistance along with the Flutterby girl seems to have defected in the time skip. Arty and Biz have gone native with some awesome, in my opinion, costume changes. Biz has a beard and muscle shirt and like...latex pants or something, which I am super into for some reason, and Artemis has your stereotypical punk haircut with the shaved head. It’s kind of an overdone design but I can’t lie, I think it works for her, she rocks it.

But even more importantly there’s this awesome interaction between Biz and Flutterby where Biz shows just how much he listens and values and still remembers Jason even after all this time. Their bond is just so strong, even now. Biz stops the girl from killing someone, remembering Jason’s values, which just drives home the fallacy that Jason just kills all criminals. No, Jason thinks for some people, the cost of leaving them alive outweighs the moral price of killing them. It’s a thing you have to do sometimes, something you are sometimes morally obligated to do in his opinion, but not a first resort. That’s what he taught Biz and Bizarro is teaching Flutterby. But he also taught Biz that sometimes you gotta get even, so he lets her give the guy some revenge knocks too, heh. Oh Biz, you’re a chip off the old block. Jay would be proud.

As this is happening, Jack Knife and Artemis are being held ‘prisoner’ (turns out it’s all part of their plan) by...General Samuel Lane?! Yeah, Lois’s dad. I don’t know much about him, I haven’t read anything with him in it, but I guess he’s kind of an on-the-fence secret-service type usually, like Amanda Waller, but seeing him as an outright villain is a bit surprising to me. There is probably no relation, but Lane has also cropped up in the recent Leviathan Event where everyone, seems to think Jason is Leviathan (I don’t, but we’ll see I guess.) I just thought that was interesting. There’s not mention of Lois but there IS mention of...

Lex-fucking-Luthor. Who is apparently a big, nasty head-brain monster, like MODOK or something now. Apparently the meta bomb was his brain-child (heh) and he’s surprisingly okay with the outcome that he’s a giant head that gets around via fork-lift and the world is messed-up. In fact, he and Lane are itching to drop one on Artemis and BIz’s world too! Which they can do, because Luthor--or more likely some minion, I mean he doesn’t have hands anymore--went around collecting the splinters of the doorway which Bizarro and Artemis originally went through to get to this universe.

As the resistance springs their trap Bizarro calls everyone Outlaws which warms my heart. The Outlaws isn’t the same without Biz and Artemis (or Star and Roy), Red Hood is an outlaw, sure, but the team is what made it special, made it something other than Jason just trying to right the wrongs he thinks the other heroes are letting slide because they won’t get their hands dirty. They are better together.

And so in this comic we see an example of the Outlaws sparing some criminals and them outright killing one when Artemis straight-up murders Lex Luthor, hell yes. The guy was just a nasty psychic brain on a fork-lift anyway, it was probably a mercy kill. And then Biz and Artemis jump through the doorway and hopefully end up...home?

This issue was pretty straight forward, just a one-off side story to explain where Biz and Artemis have been, nothing revolutionary. The art was pretty good, though there are a few panels at the beginning where Artemis has really weird expressions. I really enjoyed Biz and Artemis’s costume change, I hope they stick with something like it when they do meet back up with Jason eventually. Two things stood out to me. One, that Biz and Artemis, despite probably only being with Jason a shorter amount of time than they actually ended up spending apart, clearly hold Jason and the Outlaws very dear and are keeping The Outlaws and everything it stood for alive. It’s so wonderful to see someone in the goddamn DC Universe loves and appreciates Jason like he deserves. They can’t return fast enough, IMO, but I don’t think they will drop back into the story until the very end or just after this upcoming arc with Lex Luthor.

The other thing that stood out to me...was the freaking alt-Joker on the Outlaws team! What?! Like I’m not mad or happy, I’m just...what!? I don’t know how to feel. I like this version of the Joker but that in no way makes me not want to perform intimate torture on the main world’s Joker and see him die a cruel, painful death. I still want that very much. Can’t wait until the next issue, happily we only have to wait about two weeks I think. I so here for it.

[lcgacyofages]

Hello, this is a multimuse RP blog for the Dragon Age franchise. I go by JB and I’m over 25 years old. This blog is filled with mature content, from violence to sexual situations and I would advise to follow at your own risk. I do try to tag things but sometimes it slips and Dragon Age is a mature game series.

Undercut is a list of muses by media as well as cut into primary, secondary, and request only. I have a female Mahariel rogue for my Warden, a Female warrior for my Hawke, and a male Lavellan mage for my Inquisitor. I also have a variety of companion and NPC muses as well. I am still working on setting up google docs and a few profiles yet.

Interest Tracker located here

Dragon Age: Origins

Primary

Eliana Mahariel - A bit spunky and mischievous, Eliana is headstrong and doesn’t take kindly to being talked down to. Naturally curious and friendly, though, she does try to do the right thing. Sometimes that right thing is revenge against Loghain.

Secondary

Arik Tabris - Companion non-HOF Tabris, who was recruited three months before the events of the game. He’s known as being severe and ruthless and not entirely diplomatic.

Zoria Amell - Amell Non-HOF Companion, where she leaves with the warden during Broken Circle after being put in isolation and the chaos enabling her sister, Aurora, to free her in order to protect both of them. Her phylactery was destroyed, she finds out, so she flees instead of returning to the Circle.

Request Only

Dimetrea Brosca - Brosca Non-HOF Companion. Instead of getting into the end of the Brosca origin, Dimetrea decides to leave and go to the surface for a better life and becomes a mercenary. She employs herself to the warden when she meets the group after dealing with a band of darkspawn.

Lir Cousland - The middle child of the Couslands (typically). He went off with Fergus to the Battle of Ostagar. The youngest Cousland managed to barely escape and was able to tell him of the betrayal at home before succumbing to their wounds. Lir managed to survive Ostagar and vowed revenge on Howe.

Dragon Age 2

Primary

Atena Hawke - Leans a bit towards red at times, Atena is a former soldier in Cailan’s army. Highly protective of those she’s close to, she wants to avoid confrontation but often her own patience and protectiveness makes that difficult. She sides with the mages.

Secondary

Dazbo Amell -  The older brother of Zoria and Aurora. Dazbo was at Kinloch Hold, helping his older brother, Sorin, with his plan of faking a study on magical families and how to curb it but actually plotting to get all of the Amell siblings out. When Uldred revolted, Dazbo managed to escape without his siblings after destroying his phylacter his templar handler had, and fled to Kirkwall. As far as any else is concerned, he was killed at Kinloch.

Request Only

Alric Hawke - A what if twin for my Hawke. He plays as her impulse control, often the more cautious of the siblings. He has a good heart, but being a mage, he knows he has to step lightly. He decides to be an instructor to the apostates of Kirkwall, in secret, feeling that is the best way to avoid abominations.

Katarina Anhalt - A templar transferred to Kirkwall who meets Hawke in Act 2. Transferred to Kirkwall to try to toughen her, she’s sympathetic and compassionate, having become a templar in an effort to protect people, mage and non-mage alike. She wants to follow her duties but she has questions about how things are run in Kirkwall.

Sasha Fitz - an elf blooded human raised by his elven mother in the alienage. His father is a Kirkwall nobleman and his mother’s former employer. Sasha has a strong contempt for the rich and well-to-do of Kirkwall, to the point he works as a thief known as The Hooded Figure (Hood for short). He steals from the elite and redistributes the wealth to the less fortunate.

Selena Porter - An Orlesian apostate mage who operates as a smuggler of a variety of finery to Kirkwall. She works independently and sometimes with other groups. She’s skilled at seeming to know when and were guards are going to be, in order to get her shipments in safely.

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Primary

Rajmahel Lavellan - A young elf sent to spy on the Conclave, due to his decent relations with humans and strong social skills, he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was it the right place at the right time? Far from home, his daughter, his family, Rajmahel now takes on the task of saving the world from what threatens it.

Secondary

Arik Tabris  - by the time of Inquisition, the Hero of Ferelden has gone seeking a cure for the Taint. Arik has stepped in as Commander for Ferelden. If the Inquisitor does not exile the wardens, Arik becomes a companion/advisor.

Aurora Amell - Aurora is the youngest of the Amells, having been at Kinloch with her sister. A gifted healer, Aurora worked as an assistant to Wynne before the Mage Rebellion. She joined the cause and was at Haven but not the Conclave. She joined the Inquisition to get justice for the friends she lost at the Conclave and works as a main healer.

Idrilla Lavellan - at the request of her brother, Rajmahel, Idrilla brought his daughter to Skyhold shortly after they found it. She works as Rajmahel’s most trusted agent, often times handling the more brutal jobs. She’s also knowledgeable in the arcane and has abilities gained from finding an artifact as a youth, which she utilizes in helping her brother.

Seigfried Trevelyan - The older brother of Maxwell Trevelyan, a templar who died at the Conclave (base setting). Seigfried was also meant to be there, at his father’s orders, but he was held up in Haven due to a personal matter. Angered at the death of his brother, Seigfried joined the Inquisition to get justice for his brother. His past military experience is useful in training the new recruits.

Request Only

Hildegard Cadash - Hildegard is the aunt by marriage of the Cadash killed at the Conclave. Hearing of their death, the major figure of the Carta decided to offer her contacts and skills to the Inquisition. Because no one messes with her family and gets away with it.

Inatar Adaar - Younger sister of the Adaar killed at the Conclave (base). She also works with the Valo-Kas but decided she would join the Inquisition to get revenge. She’s known to be brash and hot-headed, not the type to hold back. Twin to Shamut Adaar.

Sergio di Vasco - A former Antivan crow who decided instead of fulfilling a contract on the Herald’s life, he would warn them instead. Tired of being a pawn and wanting to make something of himself, he joins the Inquisition. He knows the Crows won’t take lightly to this and is always looking over his shoulder.

Shalelan Amalasis - A Dalish warrior from the Amalasis clan in Antiva. Shalelan is sent as an envoy to a Dalish Inquisitor, to work with the Inquisition and hopefully sway for some help with Clan Amalasis’ feud with the merchant princes of Antiva.

Shamut Adaar - a qunari mage, younger brother of the Adaar killed at the Conclave. He learned his magic from a tal-vashoth apostate and works with the Valo-Kas like his siblings. He goes with his sister to find out who killed their sibling.

Other - May be able to fit in with game timelines in some verses

Request only

Antoinette de Ghislain - formerly an Orlesian bard, Antoinette ended up marrying into the de Ghislain family with an arrangement with Laurent de Ghislain. After having two children, an heir and a spare, the couple don’t spend much time with each other and Antoinette decided to earn an income for herself by writing erotic fiction about the heroes of Thedas, a hot topic among the Orlesian nobles.

Emrys Moysten - A Fereldan mage and Isolationist, Emrys formerly worked with the Inquisition but once the threat of Corypheus was past, left to see about setting up a mage commune away from others who would be a hinderance and in danger from the magic. He finds himself in Tevinter and realizing the danger is not yet passed.

Etienne de Rousseau - a former Senior Enchanter for the White Spire. The legitimized bastard son of Maquis de Rousseau and his mage lover, Etienne has had some ease being a mage. Yet he joined the Mage Rebellion after the events of Asunder and knowing things were too far gone. He was sent by Fiona as the negotiator to the Conclave, where he was killed. He does have AU where he functions as an advisor in the Inquisition.

Falon’Din - the Evanuris and God of Death and Fortune. Vain and ambitious, Falon’Din has always sought for his own personal gain and power, often putting him at odds with Elgar’Nan. When the Breach occurred, Falon’Din managed to find his way out through a rift, but by cruel fate, vallaslin appeared on his face and worked as a seal, containing a fair amount of his powers. He now seeks to undo the seal so he can gain control of the world while the other Evanuris are locked away.

Fenvir - the what if child of Idrilla Lavellan and Solas. Fenvir is a gifted dreamer and mage, but often finds himself feeling as if he doesn’t fit much of anywhere. Deciding he needs to stop his father and persuade him to find a different path, at 18 years, Fenvir leaves home to find a better solution and a way to convince his father to stop his plans.

Mathras Myriani - A former priest and soothsayer of Mythal’s temple. Mathras, in his youth, made the mistake of trying to advise Falon’Din during one of his visits and was blinded by the enraged Evanuris. After the fall of Elvhenan, Mathras did what he could for a time to help the elves left with their destroyed world. Yet he soon found himself falling into Utherena. He was guarded for a time but was forgotten when the Imperium conquered. He awoke in 9:30 due to the stirrings in the Fade.

Vincentius Titus - the former apprentice of Magister Aurelian Titus, he is now magister in after his death. He was born to a Soporati family but abandoned them in his ambitions. He is a blood mage and feels the Chantry holds back the Imperium and desires to return to the old ways, but with better social movement for mages, no matter the class they were born into while non-mages have little rights.

[gh0stfacesho3]

Memories

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader

Word Count: 2,227 words

Warning: Mentions of rape and self harm.

Author’s note: This was a commission by a friend, please be warned. This is very dark stuff so read at your own risk. 

Quirk: Brain. You can remember things extremely well and have an incredible iq. The only draw back of this quirk, besides remembering things you wished you didn’t, you get horrific migraines after using your quirk too long.

“Come on Mika.” You spoke softly as you shook your child awake. “It’s time for breakfast.” You said with a smile.

“Otay!” The three year old spoke, wrapping her arms around your neck for you to pick her up.

You pick up your child and bring her to the dining room, buckling her in the booster seat at the table. You placed a plate that had different sections in front of her. She smiled, looking down at the rice with scrambled eggs, cut up sausage, and some strawberries.

—Flashback—

You were walking back home from the convenient store with a slushee in one hand while your phone resided in the other. The sun was setting but it didn’t bother you much, being that you always went for late night walks to get your mind off of things, and also to get a cherry slushee from your favorite 24 hour convenient store. While walking, you hear some shuffling down an alley way. You look to your left but shrugged it off, assuming it was a raccoon. You started to walk again but felt as if you couldn’t move. You stood still, looking around while your head stayed still before you started to non-conscientious turn towards the alleyway.

‘W-what is this?’ You thought to yourself. You tried to speak but couldn’t, it felt as if you were out of body or paralyzed. A figured showed up in your vision as you continued to walk.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. What a beauty.” The mystery man said as his face came into view. You remembered that voice, he was some random guy at the store. When he walked past you, he placed his hand on your shoulder before apologizing about passing by.

“Oh will I have fun with you.” He said, as he pushed you against the brick wall. You came to the conclusion that his quirk had to do with control but he needs to touch someone with all five fingertips in order for it to work.

“W-.....why!” You were finally able to speak. “What are you doing?” You said in discomfort as his hands revenged your body.

“Don’t worry darling.” He said as he placed his chapped lips against your cheek. You cringed at the sensation, trying to remove yourself from him.

“STOP PLEASE. SOMEONE HELP! FIRE! FIRE!” You yelled out.

“Keep yelling, it only gives me more pleasure. No one will hear you because my friend created a sound barrier. No one will hear you so keep going.” The man explained. It went on and on, the touching and groping. After everything was done, you were left in the alley, stripped of everything you had: your clothes, your pride, your confidence, everything.

“Help...someone...please.” You laid there, sobbing, coughing up blood from the amount of screaming you did. You laid there for about an hour before pulling on the remains of your clothing. You walked home slowly, crying softly before pulling yourself into the shower. Sitting on the floor of the shower, you sobbed into your knees. You were sick to your stomach, causing you to vomit in the toilet. This process happened for about a week before you went to the doctor to tell them what happened. You filed a police report and went through the entire process of telling them what happened, when, where, and taking DNA tests. The doctors made you take a pregnancy test and once you got the results, it said you were pregnant. You were about 5 months into the pregnancy by the time you told your parents. You wore a lot of over-sized hoodies, that’s how they never noticed your growing stomach. You told your parents you were pregnant but they didn’t allow you to explain yourself and immediately kicked out.

“You’re such a disappointment to this family. Get out of my house you whore!” Your mother yelled at you. 

“You have one month to get out of here...I’m sorry y/n.” Your father told you as you started to pack your things. Your father was always more caring towards you. He ended up helping you pack, allowing you to explain what happened. He ended up crying and holding you close.

“I wish I could change your mothers mind but you know how she is...I can maybe get you an extra month of time.” He said as he cupped your face, running his thumb over your cheek. You flinched lightly, pulling away from the contact.

“That’d help a lot dad, thank you.” You spoke softly, running a hand through your hair out of habit.

Two months went buy and this was happening during the summer but you were able to reach out to your teachers from UA, explaining the whole situation. They did a lot of talking but figured it be the safest to stay with Aizawa. You were going into your last year of school, so you weren’t going to be too much of a bother to them. By the time school had started back up, you had your child and were completely moved in at Aizawa’s place. The school year went on, allowing you to graduate and start a living. You became a teacher at UA. Aizawa wanted you to go into teaching because he didn’t want you to worry about finding a new place and taking care of your child alone. It was also easier for everyone, especially you.

—End of Flashback— 

“Mhm....morning.” Aizawa groaned as he trudged into the kitchen.

“I fixed you some coffee, it’s on the table.” You said quietly.

You’ve been at Aizawa’s place for three years now, meaning that it’s been two year since you graduated. Throughout your last year, people found out about your child but everyone let you explain and they all adored Mika. Mika loved Bakugo and Todoroki the most, her favorite part was their wild hair. She also loved Tokoyami because of his soft feathers. The students still visit you here and there and the girls were your saviors. They’d always babysit for you when you went to work.

“Thank you so much.” Aizawa said with a small smile. He sipped on the coffee, sitting down to Mika.

“Come on, eat up kiddo.” He said as he scooped some rice and eggs into her mouth. She smiled brightly, chewing her food before trying to give him a strawberry. You slide over to Mika and snatch the strawberry in your mouth before kissing her on the forehead.

“Moooommy!! That was for zawa!” She whined. You chuckled softly before sitting on the other side of her, across from Aizawa.

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t want strawberries with his coffee.” You explained as you continued to feed her, swallowing your strawberry as you did so.

She looked over at him with a pout before handing him another one. He rolled his eyes and went to take it from her to eat.

“Nooo zawa!” She said pulling it away from him before putting it closer to his face. Aizawa looked at you, rolling his eyes again as he took the strawberry in his mouth.

“Yep, she’s definitely your kid, a stubborn, caring, cute, little brat who always gets her way but always makes you smile.” Aizawa said with a small smile. You chuckled softly, blushing in the process.

“She took all of it didn’t she?” You rhetorically asked. “Also, you think I’m cute?” You asked, getting all red in the face.

“Mommy, you look like a strawberry!” She said holding up the fruit. This caused Aizawa to choke on his coffee as he laughed out. You covered your face, laughing along with Aizawa.

“Well of course I think your cute. You’re a beautiful women y/n.” Aizawa said, looking down into his coffee cup that was half empty. This only caused you to blush more before shaking it off.

“It’s not good to lie Aizawa.” You said standing up, looking down at your feet. You picked up Mika, bringing her empty plate to the sink, washing her hands before setting her down to walk before washing her dishes.

“Who says I’m lying?” Aizawa asked as he stood up, looking over at you.

“Facts. Now it’s 7:24:32.” You said to him, reminding him he should get ready for work.

“Why do you need to tell me the seconds?” He asked with a groan.

“Because it’s habit and also my quirk remembers them time better like that.” You explained as you headed to Mika’s room to get her ready for daycare.

Aizawa shrugged it off before going get ready for work. You smiled as you dressed your child into some cute clothes. She twirled in her dress with a giant smile on her face. You brought her to daycare, watching her run off to her friends, before heading back home. You saw Aizawa was ready so you nodded over to the door for you guys to walk to UA.

“Why do you want me to stay here with you?” You asked with your head tilted.

“It’s safe. Also you cook really well.” Aizawa said with a straight face. You nodded and chuckled. That entire process was a daily thing but the conversation was always different.

One day, you weren’t feeling to good, mentally that is, so you took a sick day. Shouta was nice enough to bring Mika to the daycare before he went to work.

You laid in your bed, pulling your sheets close to your face. Today made three years since the incident, making you remember everything. You put your headphones in, listening to some music to hopefully drown out those horrible thoughts. To no avail, tears streamed down your face; you shook with a horrible chill before pulling yourself to the bathroom. You started to run yourself a bath, slowly pulling off your clothes, tears falling down your face. You looked at your scar-littered legs, rubbing over them with your thumb. Your phone had died so you placed it on the bathroom counter. Pulling yourself into the tub, you sank down being engulfed in the hot water. You sat in the water, crying softly as you could see everything so vividly. 

“Stop...please stop.” You mumbled to yourself, pulling at your hair, wishing it would trigger something in your brain to shut up. 

All while this happened, Aizawa was sitting in class, watching the students take a pop quiz. His foot tapped anxiously as he never got a response from you. He stepped out the class, calling you but got sent straight to voicemail. He knew what day it was and was extremely worried. He walked into principle Nezu’s office, explaining the situation and asking if he could take the rest of the day off to go check on you. Understanding everything, Nezu excused Aizawa for the rest of the day.

Once Aizawa got home, he quickly walked to the bathroom, knocking softly, hopping for the best. This took you by surprise causing you to gasp and pull your knees to your chest to conceal your body.

“Its me, Shouta,” Aizawa said with a sign of relief. “Can I come in please?” He asked in a calm tone. While he knew you had depression and PTSD, he didn’t assume you had self harmed.

“Y-...yes” You said in defeat. He walked in with his eyes on the ground. He pulled out a towel, holding it out as he helped you out the tub. He wrapped you up, holding you close to him as you cried into his chest.

“Please don’t leave...” You cried out. Aizawa held you tighter shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He spoke softly, pulling you to your room. He sat you on your bed and helped you get dressed. He couldn’t help but notice the scars on your thighs from under the towel. Aizawa brushed his thumb over the scarred skin, looking up at you. You avoided his gaze at first before being reconnected with it when he gently turned your head to face him. You couldn’t explain it but he looked at you in a way that wasn’t pity but almost like admiration.

��You’re so strong Y/n...” he said softly, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through but whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone.” Aizawa explained, his hand resting at the nape of your neck.

You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten until your forehead made contact with his once you looked down. You looked up and nodded softly. You felt another tear fall before you felt Aizawa’s lips against yours. You kissed back and for once, you didn’t feel completely alone. Aizawa pulled away slowly, looking anywhere but your eye, ashamed that he kissed you without your consent. You noticed this, so you pulled him close, connecting your lips to his. The two of you then laid in your bed, cuddling as you listened to each other’s heart beat. 

A/N: I feel like I could have ended this better so if you want a part two, let me know. Also, REQUEST ARE OPEN! Feel free to request whatever you want( read the rules first please)