#i haven’t drawn any close ups like this in forever so it’s kind of. ugly

[sandwichsapphic]

mr jeeves is exploding him with his mind

[youryanderedaddy]

♡100 followers special♡

Guys, I would like to thank all of you for all the support since I started this blog, you are the best <3 Btw this is the fic Elon Musk doesn’t want you to see lol, jk jk 

Title: Humanity

Words: 3.6k 

Summary: When you get sold to an odd looking robot after the last failure of a rebellion, things go better than you had expected. Until they don’t. 

tw: robot/AI apocalypse au, dystopia au, slavery, slight non - sexual public nudity, discrimination, vulgar language, mention of death and child abuse (in the past), obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, angst 

              AD 3061y., 14 September

 Your hometown was in ruins, shattered by the Forces and left without any source of food, clean water or reliable manpower. The rebellion had failed just like the first ten attempts and as much as you had wanted to believe this time would be different, your dreams stayed nothing more than a way to cope with the harsh reality. Any intelligent individual had either managed to flee before the prosecution or died in agony while trying. You could still hear their pained screams ringing in your ear, the desperate look in their pupils sealed forever in your mind along with the sound of heavy breathing slowly fading into the background like your own hopes for a better future.

 The ones who decided to play meek and close their eyes to the inhuman torture happening in the area were spared, but what awaited them could potentially be worse than death itself. You were part of the flock of pitiful weak humans who had surrendered to the heartless machines wanting nothing more than to see mankind squirm and kneel underneath their mechanic heel like a bug. And now you would face the hour of judgment – tired and exhausted, heavy rusty chains around your bruised ankles making every next step a little harder than the last one. But you were certain that the most painful humiliating event hadn’t taken place yet and the thought made your blood run cold. You could recall the countless stories you used to hear on the streets from your friends about androids stealing kids and selling them like cattle to the most powerful leaders of society. Back then you would laugh at them, finding the ideas ridiculous, better fit for a conspiracy theory or a legend rather than an actual threat. But during that time life was easier – the robots were still your friends, just your average citizens, equal to the humans in every manner. It wasn’t until ten years later that some of them realized just how much better, stronger and smarter than the people they really were. That’s how the apocalypse started and that’s how it was going to end. These days the mortals were becoming extinct with the population cut down to one million. You didn’t have names or rights to any possession. Your mere survival had one purpose only – to entertain the machines so they could feel human again. And right now you were being dragged to Soraq, also known as the biggest slave market in the country.

----

 It was just as terrifying as you had imagined it to be. The Capital was supposed to express wealth, luxury and maybe even happiness but your old human views were easily opposed when faced with the mud  covering what was left of the pavement and the pale exhausted bodies of the mortals wandering the streets searching for a hot meal and a little bit of kindness it was clear no one wanted to provide. You reached out to help a young girl sobbing all by herself on the ground but the Officer roughly yanked your shoulder back and ordered you to keep going – his cold hard touch was enough to bruise your skin.

 After a few long minutes of uncertainty your keeper finally stopped, pulling you up some black stairs leading to a small stage and if you weren’t too busy looking around for the others who were captured, you might have noticed the crowd gathered inches away from you. Soon enough you were forced to redirect your attention as you heard the approving screams and cheering below. There were hundreds of robots staring at you, smirking maliciously, pinning you with their cold calculating gazes. You finally realized that this wasn’t just a bad dream or a nightmare, something unreal you could easily run away from by opening your eyes. You were about to become property and the worst part was the way the cruel machines perfectly resembled people – they looked the same except for the dark red pupils each possessed which glowed when going into a fight mode. But unlike humans the androids had gotten rid of their most intimate emotions and fears, turning themselves into empty shells, shiny and murderous with no way to experience anything properly, be it pleasure or pain.

 “Ladies and gentlemen!” The Officers started off with a low chuckle, his heavy hand wrapped tightly around your arm. His voice should have been programmed to be monotone but now it had a playful edge to it. “Today our dear subjects have decided to be feisty yet again. They still haven’t learned their lesson it seems.” He grinned eerily, quickly followed by the mocking laugher of the crowd. Some even shouted slurs and insults but you tried to focus on controlling your feelings. You needed to stay calm if you wanted to survive. “We really can’t expect more from the mankind. They are primal after all, they just can’t learn from their mistakes.” The male robot paused for a second to fix his microphone. “It’s in their DNA code to be foolish and pathetic. That’s why we need to take better care of them.” He whispered the last line down your neck and despite knowing that the machines didn’t have actual lungs, you could swear you felt his cold breath on your sensitive skin.

 “The woman is in her early twenties. Her background is unknown, but she certainly looks like someone you would want in your collection.” The android continued talking as if you weren’t there, his hands all over your tinier frame. The mass was yelling, but you only made out the words „down”, „strip” and „human”. Your eyes watered involuntarily and you let the tears stream down your cheeks in spite of the weakness they showed. It didn’t matter – it couldn’t get any worse so you could at least let yourself experience such little bits of comfort. In the next moment the Officer ripped your old ragged t-shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold autumn air. The hot red humiliation washed over you as the degrading whistles pierced trough your heart. It was such a cruel unfair punishment and you couldn’t even keep your composure long enough to not break down ugly – crying right there.

 “The bidding starts at one thousand eros!” The robot’s evil voice echoed through the area, reaching the market borders. Suddenly all the attention was on your scared vulnerable half-naked self. More than ten androids raised their hands, making your stomach turn in terror. Most of them had unpleasant appearances, resembling old people, usually men. “Do we have two thousand eros?” The officer added quickly afterwards having seen the shown interest. This time there were only five bots willing to buy you for so much money – but the show was far from over. “Am I seeing three thousand eros?” Your keeper kept going, determined to drain your bidders off their wealth, but to his utmost surprise now there were only two robots with their hands in the air – one seemingly younger and the other looking all wrinkled and bitter at the world. You silently prayed that fate would work in your favor only this time and hand you over to the man who would treat you more like a living being and less like an object.

 “Ten thousand eros.” Suddenly the android with a kinder appearance declared out loud, his cold stern gaze fixed onto you. The other male hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether or not you were worth so much money, but at the end he cursed under his breath and slowly put his hand down with a sour expression. “Sold to K-010 for ten thousand eros!” The automatic voice of the Officer was ringing in your ear like an alarm while the crowd was shouting and cussing, some going as far as to criticize your new owner for giving up his monthly salary for a “cheap human whore”. Next he was invited on the stage to sign off all the needed documents leading to your freedom being ripped away forever and you were injected with a tiny chip which would make your location visible to your buyer at any given time. The android looked at you soon after and in one swift move he managed to place his leather coat on your shoulders, muttering at you to cover up. You obeyed, embarrassed by the reminder that your upper half was still fully exposed to all the hungry prying immortals. When the chains were finally removed, the robot took you by the hand and led you to a small white flying car with a yellow lily drawn on top – the brand was popular among the most powerful members of the Forces.

 “Don’t even think about running away.” K-010 growled when he noticed the way your attention drifted to the nearby road before finally taking your seat. You knew it was pointless now that the tracking device was deep into your skin but deep down you still couldn’t kill the last bit of hope screaming at you to do something before you were too far away to find home again, wherever it was. “If you so much as look outside while we drive, I will use my lasers to turn you into ash. Okay?” You nodded meekly and sank into the soft comfortable seat, wishing that your body would stop shaking in fear but to no avail.

---

 The journey was long and silent but it made you remember the days when music was still allowed and you used to turn the radio all the way up in your mother’s car. You would sing loudly until your throat hurt and your friends would ask you to just shut up and focus on the road. Everything was so normal and happy back then. The stinging nostalgia threatened to overcome so you tried to focus on something else. You finally faced your owner in an attempt to study his appearance. He was probably in his late twenties, his hair white with some black locks here and there, a fashion trend you usually didn’t care much for. You couldn’t afford to bother with your hairstyle when you were constantly running for your life after all. The robotic male had sun-kissed brown skin, he was taller than most human men and his lips seemed softer than most robots’. But the biggest mystery laid in his deep dark eyes, they looked scarlet at first but the more you stared, the easier it was to realize the color was actually brown.

 “Are you a cyborg, K-010?” You asked in a small voice out of the blue, breaking the peace and quiet in the air. The android didn’t spare you much attention with his gaze fixed onto the open sky serving as a road, still he opened his mouth slightly to respond. “My name is Kyle, the numbers are just a formality.” He inhaled sharply as if he was reminiscing a bad memory. “And yes, I am biologically human – just with a few practical upgrades.” You had heard of such people before, the ones willing to become an experiment so they could join the high society oppressing their own neighbors, friends and relatives, setting the lands on fire and destroying the dying environment but you had never met one until today. Honestly, you felt betrayed. It was one thing to be some unfeeling machine’s plaything and entirely another to be owned by someone with a functioning heart even though they weren’t too keen on using it properly.

 “Why would you do that?” You couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips in the next moment. “You should know what humans have to go through just to stay alive. Today hundreds of us were crushed and sold like some animals! Yet you changed yourself to appeal to their disgusting standards.” You raised your voice, the hot tears already spilling down your cheeks yet again, your fists clenched in pure anger at the foolish greedy man. He simply shook his head and leaned back. “I had my reasons, sweetheart. You don’t know anything.” With that the conversation had ended, you could try and argue or even blame him for being a selfish bastard but it wouldn’t have done you any good so you decided against it. It didn’t matter much anymore.

----

 A few months went by slowly even though time meant little to someone in your position. Living with Kyle wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be – his mansion was big and spacious, luxurious even. You had your own room and you were allowed to explore the house in your free time. You didn’t have many duties to attend to, your work mostly revolved around cooking, cleaning and keeping company with your owner when he was too tired to keep the robotic mask on and just wanted something sweet, something weak, something more human around. He didn’t want much out of you so you tried to do your best and stay on his good side – there was always a warm meal waiting at the table at night, every window was carefully wiped from the previous dust and the glass was now shining brightly, and you would listen for hours on end to the cyborg’s ramblings no matter how dreadful it could be sometimes.

 But it couldn’t be denied that the man had some odd habits, even if you were to overlook him buying a living being instead of simply hiring a maid. For example, you knew how thin the walls actually were because you could hear him cry almost every night. The half-robot would hold you close any time the news were too loud or a bottle of beer had fallen and shattered on the ground. Still you weren’t allowed to leave his home so all the doors leading to the outside world were locked while he was away or at work. And there were these weird long cuts on his shoulders you had managed to take notice of the first time your master had asked you to bathe him. You hadn’t meant to prey upon his naked form, but the task had been so awkward you needed something to focus on to drive the unpleasant thoughts away. The injuries looked deep and the man would close his eyes any time the soap made contact with them. Finally one day you gathered the courage to ask him what had caused the raw scratches. You were messaging his scalp gently, applying jasmine in his roots, trying to soothe his nerves and get to the information.

 “ ’S not important. ” K-010 answered lazily while arching his back into your touch. More often than not the male would melt under your care and you couldn’t help but wonder just how lonely it was to be neither a human nor a machine. “She is dead now.” He whispered darkly, secretly hoping it wouldn’t reach your ear, yet it did. “Who is dead?” You questioned him after a while, stroking his wet locks until you heard him moan. You were getting better and better at provoking a reaction from the cyborg and despite knowing it was manipulative and a little devious, he was still the ruthless owner who held your one and only life in his palms. You needed to be sneaky if you wanted a safe, comfortable life.

 “My mother.” Kyle added quickly before looking at the blue ceiling, the glossy material copying both of your reflections. The mention of the woman made the sensitive skin of his nape crawl but he kept talking. “The crazy bitch used to beat me every. She even tried to kill me a couple of times.” A slight smile appeared on his full red lips. “It didn’t work out in the end, unfortunately.” So that’s where the cuts were from – he had been violated in his childhood by no other than the person supposed to look after him. You had always hated abusive parents taking advantage of their authority and even now your own imagination made your heart ache at the picture it painted. A small boy being hit over and over until there his whole body was bruised and bloodied. A child with no one to turn to. It didn’t excuse your master’s evil doing but it certainly explained a lot. “Don’t make such a sad face, darling.” He cooed at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. “I will always be grateful to the Forces since they gave me the power I needed to finally free myself from her grasp. I even buried her myself after everything was said and done.” Kyle grinned from side to side like a little kid waiting to be praised for the picture they had drawn, except now the man was speaking of the way he had murdered his mother. You were at a total loss of words, suddenly too frightened to respond.

 “What’s so special about being a human anyways?” The cyborg grumbled, sounding almost offended of the words you still haven’t said but were definitely thinking deep down. You were staring forward unable to draw away from that one crack in the wall, his words flying above your head. Your confusion was interrupted by the man quickly raising to his knees and catching both of your hands with his strong robotized ones. The cold touch of the metal combined with the camouflage of a soft skin was enough to mess your mind even further into the maze that was his dark gaze. Next thing you knew the male had you pinned on the hard ground, spotlessly clean and reeking of abstergent. You tried to squirm away but the hold of your wrists was too tight and strong to even make your struggling worth the trouble. “Just look at how weak you humans are.” K-010 taunted you, smirking teasingly, cruelly, yet there was something desperate in his eyes, something hidden. “You are so fragile I could probably break you if I were to press harder on your flesh.” He whispered into your ear, breathing down your neck as he dug his icy fingers into your collarbone and made you whimper pathetically at the dull pain. “People are foolish creatures, illogical by nature. They try to fight authority yet the moment they are left with a free choice, they find a way to run from their responsibilities.” The cyborg chuckled maliciously while digging his nails further into your skin.

 “We might be doomed forever because of our emotions but there is something you fail to consider.” You finally spoke out despite your rapid heartbeat and fear so great it could defeat death herself. The predator already had you in his sharp claws and there was no pointing in playing coy anymore. The worst had come to worst. Your words caught the attention of the half-robot and he licked his lips in anticipation to hear what you had to say. “Unlike the androids we can still experience love. And at the end a life without love is a life wasted in the big picture. We might be mortal but you are the ones waiting to die instead of living.” You spat at the man fiercely, ready to face any punishment he would bestow upon your weak tired body for the sheer honesty. Instead he started laughed maniacally, the sound so loud it hit the ceiling and echoed through the house like a pained scream and so violent his shoulders shook to the sides. For the first time his eyes were glowing in a bright red color so saturated and vivid you couldn’t stand to look at them.

 “This is really funny, my little human.” Kyle pronounced carefully, having calmed down. He lowered his head so that his lips were ghosting over yours, just brushing against them. “I belong with neither humans nor robots so why does my chest ache every time I look at you? Tell me, darling, am I in love?” His voice was harsh, husky – as if he was purposely trying to sound evil but the tears in his eyes pointed at another feeling. A raw painful feeling.

 You couldn’t reply not only because you had no idea what to say after the confession but also because you couldn’t breathe properly with his pretty, wicked face so close to yours. Your silence only managed to stir the cyborg up further into his madness and he kissed you roughly, hungrily lapping and biting at your lips until they were sore and bruised, the robotic man more than happy to lick the small drops of blood off. For a moment you considered kicking or shouting for help but there wasn’t anyone willing to in the radius of kilometers. No one of significance cared much about the few remaining mortals. “I could never love you.” You uttered weakly, half – heartedly pushing the man away. You were all alone in this and there wasn’t really a point in fighting someone so much bigger and stronger, yet a sad little part of you hoped that Kyle would leave you alone if you made it clear enough just how much his actions were hurting you.

  “It’s fine if you don’t love me by choice.” Your master replied calmly in a cold piercing voice. His hands were wandering through your form stopping at your hips to draw them into his. The pretty dress you used to like so much was now crumpled and reeking of him, torn apart from your shivering body and thrown away. You wished you could cry but all the adrenaline had left you too uneasy to process the pain and fear. Kyle whispered in your ear while stroking your hair gently and it made you feel like a trembling sheep before a starved butcher. “I own you, little human.” He placed a small kiss on your hot sensitive neck. “And I have enough love for both of us.”

[vogueinnie]

✍︎︎ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

       ━ WARNINGS ;  fem!reader, age gap (reader is 20 and seungmin is 27), mention of cigarettes, smut (focused on the reader’s pleasure), oral (f.), everything is just fluffy and awkward, kinda love at first sight      ━ WORD COUNT ; 2.2k      ━ NOTE ; feedback are so welcomed!!

“At your brother’s work ?!” You clear your throat and apologize for being loud, giving Yeji, your bestfriend, a death glare.

You were supposed to go at her house but, as clumsy as she is, she forgots the keys… in the house. You had two options ; go back to your own, which means procrastinating and giving zero fucks about your homeworks, or go to her brother’s work to take back the keys.

“Hum, yeah… But, there’s a little something… He needs his keys to close the shop, so… we have to work there…” Second death glare. “But you know him, he don’t give a fuck as long as we’re not noisy ! And his co-worker is cool too, I promise.”

You were friend with Yeji since you were a child. Of course you knew her old brother, Hyunjin was such a nice guy. He may seems cold on the outside but he has the warmest personality and had always made you feel like his own little sister even tho you haven’t seen him in a while, due to school.

You sighed at Yeji’s puppy eyes, nodding, knowing that you’ve already lost the battle. She was the best negociator.

That’s how you ended up in front of one of the most famous tattoo shop in your city. Indeed, Hyunjin was the owner of it with his long-time friend. They both were tattoo artists since more or less 2 years. According to Yeji, he was drawing before learning how to talk so it seems pretty logical for him to work in something artistic.

Without knowing why you felt a little bit uneasy, asking the blonde girl if she’s totally sure that it won’t bother Hyunjin and his friend to have you there. You were just students and for adults aged 27-28 years it could be annoying to hear you talk about your lessons. But she was quick to reassure you, even showing you her texts with her brother through her phone.

“Hyunjin ! We’re here !”

As soon as you entered the shop Yeji screamed at his brother and you clap your hand to her forehead.

“Shush ! What if he’s wor- “

“Hello to the prettiest girl heeeeere. No, Yeji, I’m not talking about you, you ugly rat.”

Your smile was immediate after the blond-haired and obviously tattooed boy puts you into a warm hug, patting your head while poking his tongue to his young sister, like the very 28 years old matured adult he is. He had no customers at the moment, and he was just working on some new design, but you can still hear some little machine noises so you guess his friend was tattoing someone in the practice room.

“It’s been a really long time Y/N, how are you ? C’mon, have a sit. Y’all need to work on your classes ? You can sit there, I’m just here, he shows you the sofa right beside the table with his index, if you need anything. You’re at home, here. Seungmin will be over in maybe fourteen minutes so you have time to work.”

You both nod in unision, sitting on the chairs to starts working on an unfinished cases while Hyunjin was giving you two glasses of water to finally go back to focus on his drawings. Yeji and you were sharing ideas, writing and making some researches on your respective laptops. No breaks were allowed unless you’ve finished what you’ve started.

“Maybe we should add the fact that... Hey, Seungmin !” Yeji’s smile was wide and she greets someone behind you, shaking her hands.

Politely, you turn around to face the one you’re supposed to be Hyunjin’s co-worker, Seungmin. You hold back your jaw from dropping on the ground the moment your eyes met his.

He was, honestly, the most beautiful human being you have ever seen. His dark purple hair where falling onto his forehead in a delicate way, covering half of his dark brown and absolutely magnetic eyes. His pretty nose was pierced with a silver ring and his lips were as pink as your burning cheeks. His broad shoulders were hidden in a large black t-shirt and at this right moment your eyes were glued to his inked forearms. Of course you’ve already seen inked people, Hyunjin was one of them, but him…There was something special about him.

“Hello ? Is anybody here ? Youhou, are you alive ?” You heard Hyunjin while he was moving his hands in front of Seungmin’s eyes causing you to cut the contact between the two of us.

Apparently, he was gazing in your eyes too.

“Yeah… yeah, sorry I was just thinking about... you know... stuffs. Hey, Yeji, you good?“ Even his voice was soft and smooth, almost honey-like. He comes closer to the desk you were working on so you immediately stand up, bowing down respectfully and you realized how taller he was compared to you. “Who are you ?”

You frowned your eyebrows, almost agape by his suddenly cold voice and distant attitude. Your eyes can’t no longer detach from each other, and you open slowly your mouth. Everything about him was fascinating, from his lack of expression to the way he was nervously playing with his fingers. Well, you supposed it was nervosity.

“I... I’m Y/N. I’m Yeji’s friend, I’m sorry if we’ve disturb you.”

He hums and nods, leaning over you to take his cigarettes pack and you gulp silently at your sudden proximity. His strong and wooded scent was all around you, making you melt. You had the perfect view on the two black eyes drawn on his throat and you almost felt judged by them from acting like a teenager. It felt like they were staring into your soul, knowing your deepest secrets.

But the most humiliating part was probably the Hwang’s suggestive look on you.

—————————————✰ —————————————

You were so stupid. Nobody could be dumber than you. You were at the highest rank of stupidity. Idiot was your second name.

You sigh, dry throat and shaking hands. You were at the front door of Hyunjin and Seungmin’s tattoo shop. Alone. Indeed, yesterday your brain wasn’t working like usual, thanks to one particular man, and you forgot your phone there. Yes, your phone. You were that distracted. It was 2pm and Yeji couldn’t come with you cause she had classes, but you didn’t. And you really needed your phone after almost a day without it.

You came into the shop, looking all around you to realize that Hyunjin wasn’t here. Seungmin was staring at you from across the room, coming closer to you with your treasure in his hand, and you had forget for a moment how much his inked hands looks like. You stare at the pretty heart drawn on his thumb, the long black line on his major digit and the word “ LOVE “ on his wrist. You were so focused that you almost forgot about your phone.

“You like them ?” You jump at his slow voice and you can feel your cheeks burning instantly. Were you really that dumb to fix your eyes on his hands ? “You can touch them, if you want.”

He puts your phone on the table near you, holding out his two hands in front of you. It was almost sureal. Two adults, standing in front of each other awkardly. You can’t hide the excited smile to grows on your lips and with softness you touch his tattoos with the tip of your index finger, retracing them as if it was a pen. You were surprised by the softness of his pretty skin.

“They are so pretty... You points at a cute little smiley on his other hand. This one is my favorite ! You hear him chuckles, looking at you with such fondly eyes you were so destabilized. You back off him when you realize the situation, biting your lips. I’m sorry... I... I was just... I mean, you know, my phone...”

“You can stay. He said quickly. Hyunjin isn’t here and I have no appointment. I’ve heard you were working on some juridic cases yesterday and I... Well, I have a master in law, so I was wondering maybe I can help you ?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, first cause he was offering you to stay with him, alone, and second cause he has done the same studies as you, something you wouldn't have thought of.

The both of you were then sitting in the sofa, casually talking as if you knew each other since forever. You’ve discovered that he didn’t wants to be a lawyer but his parents had always put some pressure on him to have what they liked to call a good job. And it wasn’t his way of thinking, he wanted to feel free, to love his job and not to feel any pressure from anyone. He was so kind to you, making you more feel comfortable than yesterday. Shy, sweet, talkative and curious about anything you’re saying. A 28 years old man, mature, understanding and independant.

Needless to say that you didn’t talk about your school lessons, but just about the two of you. Also needless to say that you were fascinated. There was just something about his eyes scanning you everytime you were talking, and it felt so good to be the center of his attention. Your conversations were so fluids, you couldn’t hold back yourself to talk and to look at his beautiful features.

“Mind if I draw on you?” He cuts you off when you were talking, grabbing his colorful pens that was near him. He looks at you with his still hypnotic dark eyes and you nod your head with a shy smile. He kneels down infront of you on the ground as you were still sitting on the sofa. You internally thank the beautiful days for allowing you to put on a skirt. “Can I draw on your thighs? I mean, I have a big idea! But I want you to discover it, but if it makes you uncomfortable I-”

“No, no! It’s ok! You can, of course, do it Seungmin. I trust you.”

He smiles timidly, probably knowing that he got a little carried away. He was so passionnate about art that you couldn’t refrein him to do what he has to.

Seungmin then starts drawing on one of your legs, starting from your ankle to your knee. He draws pretty colorful flowers on your skin, it was so soft and beautiful you can’t stop staring at his work on you. He quickly reaches the level of your thigh and he was so close to you that you felt his hot breath against your shivering skin. You felt you mind dizzy for a moment, as his lips were also close to you. Unconsciously you tighten your legs between them, which makes him raise his face to look at you. His pupils were now totally black and this view of him between your legs was all you needed to lose your mind.

You softly grab his hair, making him smirk and immediatly starts to kiss your two thighs. He was so soft, taking his time to discover all of your sensitive spots. And you ? You were already lost, spreading your legs slowly so he can be placed correctly between them. Your inner thighs was his target, he sucks your flesh and you whines at the feeling.

“Please...” You see him smile, licking everywhere but your heat spot. Even your pubic area was drowned in sweet kisses. “Please, I... Do something I can’t...”

Seungmin hums, gripping your legs so they can rest against his shoulders. He lifts your skirt up, moving your pantie on the side and take his time to look at your intimate parts with hungry eyes. You clear your throat, embarassed that he looks at you like that and he gives your clit a kiss.

“So fucking pretty... Fuck, Y/N you’re so pretty, look at that pretty flower...” You chuckles at the surname he gaves to your womanhood. 

He doesn’t waste any more time and starts kissing your wet folds at a slow pace, taking his time to taste your wetness. His tongue was heaven like against you, he was so precise and slow, you couldn’t contain your moans escaping your mouth. His plump lips surround your bud, sucking on it and circling his wet muscle all around your swollen one. 

Your legs tighten against his head as you feel the heat waves crashing against your lower abdom like a delicious torment.

Two of his fingers join his tongue and he finally insert them in your clenching wetness. Your eyes rolls back the moment you feel yourself kinda full, but you lost it the moment he curls his fingers inside of you to stroke your sweetest no-return point.

You moan his name, biting your lips, moving your hips against his magical mouth as he helps you rode your orgasm, pumping his two fingers in you while licking tirelessly your folds and clit the fastest as he can.

Your breath was cut, and you can feel him gives butterflies kisses on you, replacing correctly your clothes on you. He stands up, cleaning his own fingers by licking them which make you blush at the view. He strokes your messy hair, kissing your forehead with a reassuring smile.

“I think I’ve found my muse.” 

[thgreatestblue]

seven

➜ pairing: genya shinazugawa x gn!reader ➜ warnings: fluff, manga spoilers ➜ words: 2.1k ➜ a/n: i was listening to seven while writing this, and guess who’s birthday is today, january 7th? that’s right, genya’s! tell me if this wasn't meant to be. happy birthday to my boy who definitely deserved better! ➜ ao3

summary: You run your thumb over his hand, feeling the rough texture of calluses, small cuts and bumps. If that meant sticking with him even if death was at your door; so be it.

I.

“Ouch!”

“Stop moving or I'll never get it clean, Y/N.”

Genya gently rubs the damp cloth on your left eye, the clean water enters your open wound like a knife and you have to hold yourself still to not flinch again. Now that the adrenaline had unfortunately left your body, you felt like trash. Pain takes over your body as you clench your fists over your thighs; the cloth rubbing on your skin is like rubbing salt on an open wound. It was still a miracle that the cut didn't need stitches — you hate feeling pain, so you were more than fine having to bandage it instead.

Sanemi’s punch managed to make a really ugly damage on your left eye, and even though you haven't take a look at it, you knew it was an awful shade of purple and very swollen — and by the way Genya glanced at the injury every time the cloth came out red, you didn't want to see the bruise just yet.

It stings really bad, but you could endure the pain if it meant having Genya taking care of you with such tender touch. Even though your face was going to be a mess for the next couple of days, at least you had the attention of the boy who was always so timid around you. It was rare the times he really talked to you, however, you enjoyed his presence nonetheless. You close your eyes as the cloth wipes the last spot of blood.

“As if Tanjirou getting involved wasn't enough…” Genya sighs, putting the cloth aside. He holds your face in the light, taking another look at the cut, a shade of pink coloring his cheeks as he continues to speak, “Honestly, Y/N, why did you get involved?”

His fingers are rough, but his touch carries kindness and tender care, tracing a path from your eyebrow along your cheek. It’s enough for you to forget the pain; and with that, all of your surroundings as well, because his face is so close that you can see the texture of his scar, his dark eyes with hints of purple depending on how the light hits his iris. If he noticed the way your eyes traveled around his face — absorbing every little detail — he didn't comment on it.

However, Genya’s face wasn't the best either. Not because of any injury, though. If rejection was a physical wound, then he would've been totally wrecked  — and you didn't like that look on his face, at all. It twisted something in your stomach that would make you want to punch the Wind Pillar until he accepted his brother back. Or, would make you want to just wrap your arms around him in a tight hug — two contrasting states of mind that often thinking which one was most likely to happen.

The worst part was that you wished you were there from the beginning, so you could say one thing or two to the Wind Pillar. Instead, you arrived a little bit too late, being able only to shield one of his punches that were meant to Tanjirou. You can’t even remember the chaos that followed after, only that there were too many hands and feet. Tanjirou was still receiving a long scolding from the higher-ups, and you highly suspect you and Genya were going to be receiving one as well.

“Well maybe if your brother wasn't such an asshole, then we wouldn't feel the need to get involved in the first place!” You shout frustrated, “Ouch!”

Genya’s finger hovered over the cut, slightly pinching the skin a bit rougher than it was necessary. You shoot him an accusatory glance, but he doesn't look guilty. You grunt at his boldness; sometimes he would act as the shyest person you’ve met, but would act totally different when it came to his brother; always protecting his name and honor.

He picks the adhesive tape and starts to cut in small portions, concentrating on his task to cover the cut on your face. You watch his skilled hands arranging the gauze; probably used to take care of others because of his brothers and sisters. Used to take care of himself, since he grew up quite alone.

It pains you to remember that Sanemi was the only one left in Genya's life. And as much as you would tell yourself that you didn't understand his actions towards his older brother, the truth was that you did — you really did. It was his only family left, after all.

“Nemi is just… He is dealing with a lot right now, has always been.” He says, voice weak as the words come out of his mouth. His shoulders are curved and you can practically feel the weight of his guilty bringing him down, “It was my fault since the beginning, and it's still my fault for not being strong enough…”

“I swear Genya, If you start that bullshit again I'm going to stick this cloth down your throat.”

The boy stops his work, fingers still holding the half-finished bandage, there’s pain in his eyes as his lips tremble a little. Your words come out harsher than you intended to, and now you feel like you actually did deserve the punch. All you wanted to say was that he was wrong; that he didn't deserve the treatment he got, that he was enough.

But of course you could never find the right words.

Genya was haunted by his past, by a mistake that was still fresh like the open wound in your face. Even after years, it still hasn't healed — not even a little — and you suspect that everytime he thought about his brother the wound would get bigger and bigger, until he was bleeding all over himself. And no matter what, only Sanemi held the keys to his recovery.

Tanjirou once said that Sanemi didn't hate Genya, it was far from that. And even though it made things slightly better, planting a seed of hope inside his heart, it didn't make it any easier to accept that Genya still got rejected. But if the boy was okay with that, not letting the cold and harsh behavior of his brother get to him, you would have to do the same.

“Look, I know you want to get back to your brother, and i really hope you do but…” You trail off, thinking about how Genya talks about his brother compared to the reality; the contrasting behavior still made your head and heart ache, “I just can’t stand the way he treats you. It’s so mean.”

“Y/N, please don’t talk bad about my brother.” He says with no heat on his voice, going back to his work.

You loundly sigh, rolling your eyes. No one truly knew about the Wind Pillar; no one was close enough, nor anyone ever tried — not that he would have given the chance nonetheless. He was a short-tempered guy with violence running in his veins instead of blood.

You just couldn't understand his reasons, if he didn't hate Genya, then why push him away so harshly? You and Tanjirou once sat down analyzing everything, trying to come up with a solution for this disagreement, but as much as you two thought about it, nothing came up, and eventually you let it go — only Genya and Sanemi could resolve this.

Though, It must be lonely living like that, always angry and ready to snap at everything, not having anyone at your side, not even a friend. Who held him close when the world became too dark to even dream? At some point, your heart not only ached for Genya, but for Sanemi as well.

It remind you of the past; how Genya had the same behavior at the beginning of your relationship. You two used to pick up a lot of fights over silly things, he was so insufferably angry at everything. Himejima once had to intervene in a fight because it was getting out of hand — you, with your eyebrow bleeding, Genya with a deep cut on his lips.

But like the rain, a storm always comes to an end, it never lasts forever. The shore brought you back to him after his fight against the Upper-Moon Four and Five. And as much as you two fought, you still cared about the boy — not knowing exactly what made you feel so drawn to him in the first place.

After receiving the news, you went to see him, against your better judgment. You expected to be received with the same harsh and angry behavior, but to your surprise, he was another person; more mature. Pelling a new skin and showing his true colors, and they were quite beautiful.

The bangade is finished quickly, he fixes the adhesive tape on the edges and motions for you to come closer. You stay still, watching him with only one eye open as he puts the bandage over the wound. It covers your entire eye, but it’s necessary to prevent an infection since you didn't want to get stitches.

“I… care about you, Genya.” You suddenly confess.

Genya’s hands freezes on your face that were still fixing the bandage. He doesn't look you in the eye but his face is a shade redder since the last time you glanced at him. You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your neck and face warm up with the confession. It definitely wasn't the right moment for something like that, however, the words just flew out of your mouth; and you wouldn't take it back. Because they were the bare truth.

The silence eats you away, making your heart beat faster in your chest. You try to read his expression but the only thing you can see is how the redness scalleted to his ears, and now he looked like a tomato and it would have been funny if you weren't in the same state.

“A-And that’s why I’m going to fight your brother as many times as needed if it means you not getting hurt.” You finally say, trying to remedy the situation.

Maybe mentioning that you would hurt his brother — even if it was impossible — would take him out of this flustered state and make him say something? It doesn't work. Genya retreats his hands from your face, holding them on his lap. He looks away, watching the birds flying in the yard as the day passes by. You would appreciate their singing if the beating of your heart wasn't all you could hear.

“That’s what family does...” Genya whispers, still gazing through the window. He looks to be far away from the moment, lost in some memories from the past that you knew so little, but enough to understand his feelings, his actions.

“I can be your family.” You say without thinking.

If Genya was quiet before, now he went totally still. He was still looking away but his flushed face was still very visible under the light coming from the window. It seemed like the filter you always had when talking about emotions suddenly decided to not work anymore — spilling your thoughts out in the open with no type of restrain.

“I mean…” You clean your throat, running a hand through your hair. How many times are you going to embarrass yourself today? Maybe the Wind Pillar did give you a concussion after all, “I will look after you, and you will look after me, just like a family does.”  

It wasn't as if you weren't already doing that; if those years growing up with him under Himejima care taught you something, it was that you cared about him, a little bit too much. It took you long enough to finally come to terms with your feelings — and even though you decided to do it right in front of him, they were still strong as ever. Genya finally shifts his gaze to look at you, a ghost of a smile decorating his lips, and it’s enough to put you out of your misery.

“We’ll stick together,” You confirm, grabbing his hand in a rush and squeezing slightly.

“No matter what?” Genya whispers, squeezing your hand in return, making your stomach flip with the touch.

You run your thumb over his hand, feeling the rough texture of calluses, small cuts and bumps. If that meant sticking with him even if death was at your door; so be it.

“No matter what,” You promise.

“I-I would like that.” Genya smiles, and it’s the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen.

You move closer without a second thought, placing a hand on his cheek and gently kissing it — his face was so hot you could feel through the sensitive skin of your lips. Then, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face on his neck. It takes quite a few minutes for him to finally relax, returning the hug.

It takes even longer for you two to separate from the warmth of each other's embrace.

[hakutaichou]

[TC] Kiss Day

🦋🎹 This one-shot novel was created by @nachi_neko4 [ 那智♘🦋] (Nachi) on Twitter. Nachi-san, thank you for giving me a permission to translate your wonderful novels. 🎹🦋

Source: here

Illustrations by @hasu_koipro [ はすの ] based on this one-shot novel: here.

⛔️PLEASE DON’T REPOST! ⛔️

Warning Letter from Captain Gavin: “Suggestive!”🚨

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“It’s pretty crowded...”

I heard there’s a new bar which has a good reputation, so I came to try it out, but the inside of the bar was more eye-catching than I expected. While being a little overwhelmed, by the people who enjoyed drinking all over the area, I looked around.

Blue lights dropped on the white-based counter with stools, as if you were in the deep sea, not surprising that I can feel a mysterious and cozy atmosphere here.

When looking further, there’s a wide open floor in the back there, on the contrary, the lighting was dimmed, and changed the color-based of the table seat to black.

In the space reminiscent of the deep sea, the dartboard mounted on the wall gives off a faint light and looks like a moonlight that illuminates the sea at night.

 “Indeed, it’s a neat bar”

I sit down at the counter for the time being, and ask for a low-frequency cocktail. It's almost time for the appointment with Lucien.

The moment I took a sip of the beautiful purple liquid that shines in the atmosphere of the bar, a smartphone that I put on the table trembled.

Lucien's name shows on the screen. It may not be heard clearly in a lively atmosphere like this. I should go outside once..., I stood up without looking behind me, which was my fault.

“Ahh!”

“Eh!?”

I didn't think that there was someone right behind me.

The liquor from the glass that belonged to that person who tried to avoid me was spilled, and wet his clothes.

“I’m sorry!”

I hurriedly pulled out a handkerchief from my bag and tried to wipe his wet pants, but...

“Huh..., seriously?”

I think I've heard that certain voice from somewhere.

It can’t be... . And I try to raise my head.

“Shaw!?”

“You’re too noisy, I can hear you even if you don’t make such a loud voice like that”

He is in a bad mood with a big face. I can clearly tell it.

“Why are you here?...rather than that, your clothes!”

The amount was less than I expected, and it didn't get soaked so much. But I'm the one who's wrong here, and when I tried to wipe it, he suddenly grabbed my wrist.

“Eh, hey, let me go”

“What should I do with, this. I have an important business talk after this”

“That’s why I’m trying to wipe it! I can’t wipe if you don’t let my hand go”

“Do you really think it’s your fault?”

“It is!” 

“Hmm...In that so, you should take responsibility properly”

“I’ll take it!...huh?”

Tit for tat.

No, it may be a little different. However, I regretted it a little bit because I said it with force.

“I’ve heard it well. you’ll listen to what I say, won’t you?”

“How come? I didn’t say that I’ll listen to you, and I have a promise…”

“What if I have a promise too?”

If it came out, it would be lost for words.

“Okay. What should I do?”

“I want you to say this. You’re pretty ugly”

“Huh!?”

I didn’t know since when he was in a good mood, as if he was enjoying it, Shaw smirked and looked into me.

“Wait, first of all, let go of my arm...”

Shaw tried to shake off my grabbed arm and pulled it hard, as taking advantage of my reaction, he narrowed our distance.

“Besides, you’re surprisingly bold”

“It was…!”

“You can leave that aside, right?”

Suddenly, a familiar voice fell overhead, and I was strongly drawn to the back.

“Lucien!”

His large chest catches my back, and a warmth slowly relaxes my body.

“I’m sorry, but. She has an appointment with me”

In front of Lucien who lives casually, Shaw bluntly says “The trouble has come”, but he still happily raised his eyebrows, and put his hands which had lost their place into his pocket.

“Or, did she do something?”

“I think you've seen it all, don’t you?”

“So?”

“Of course, she’ll take the responsibility and go out with me after this, don't you mind?”

“If I said I refuse?”

“Don’t answer the question with a question. It’s so annoying”

“You’re the one who returned it first”

“Hmm--- damn. If so, that. Let’s compete using that”

Shaw pointed to the darts, on the back of the floor with his chin.

“Hurry up”

Shaw, who didn’t hear our answer, started walking away. Lucien said nothing and walked along while holding my waist.

“Lucien...”

“It’s okay, don't worry about anything.”

“But, you don’t have to do this competition”

“What are you babbling about?”

Shaw is already standing in front of the dartboard, pretending to throw his soft-tip dart.

“Even though I know, but if I win, you have to go out with me today”

The tip of the dart caught me, and I took a deep breath.

“Hey, even if you didn’t do this thing, I’ll pay your cleaning fee...”

When I said that, Lucien’s hand was stretched out in front of me, which made me unable to continue my words.

“I’m pretty impatient without coke”

“You, are a veteran, aren’t you? I can see it. I won’t be kind to a guy like you”

“What a coincidence, me too. In that case, what rules do we use to compete? Count Up?, or Zero One?”

“We won’t do such a troublesome thing like that. The one who can lands on the triple 20 is the winner"

“That rule is simple. Alright, I don’t want to spend my time for doing this thing either”

“It helps me that you’re a fast learner”

“I’m honored by your kind words”

Shaw laughed at Lucien’s irony, he held the tip dart diagonally and threw it with a clean, lean movement towards the dartboard.

One-throw, two-throw with an alternative throw, both of them got their specific target without difficulty.

Meanwhile, I can only stare at the battle between two people without knowing it. Seemingly I was unconsciously clenching my hands, but suddenly I thought that Lucien’s gaze stopped at me, he approached me, grabbed my hand, and gently dropped his lips onto it.

“Lucien…”

“Don’t be so nervous. Leave it to me”

When I was dozing off by his words, he laughed softly and this time he kissed my forehead.

“Wha, damn. I missed it.”

When I raised my head towards Shaw’s voice, the tip of the third throw was slightly misaligned and stuck near the border of the next area.

“When someone is throw dart, you’re flirting with her, you don’t have any manner huh”

“For someone who doesn't understand common sense, need something like that?”

As Lucien said that, he threw a tip in a flowing form and brought it down accurately.

“I win”

“Huh, okay-okay, I got it”

“Ah, wait, your cleaning fee…”

“I don’t need it, it’s already dry. But...I’ll take you away seriously next time.”

The moment we passed each other, there were whispered words that only I could hear. My heart, which should have calmed down a little, is pounding again.

“Wha...what was that…”

“He, didn’t seem to be serious about the competition”

While I’m stunned, Lucien sits down and sits me on the table’s sofa.

“It was my fault for getting his clothes dirty, even Lucien got involved...I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t have to worry about it anymore. Instead, my throat is dry so maybe we should drink something”

Lucien stocked my head and called out to a waiter who passed by.

“Even so, it turns out that Lucien is also good at darts”

“A little bit. I haven’t done it that much, but I knew it as knowledge.”

“Eh? That’s why you took that competition!?”

“Yes, I didn’t mean to lose. Of course, darts needs skill, but psychological tactics are more important. Especially for amateurs.”

When he smiled, he pretended to think for a moment.

“That’s right. Would you like, to bet with me?

“Huh, a bet?”

Suddenly, the dark lighting is further darkened.

When I raised my face, I met his face at a close distance in front of me.

I couldn’t find his gentle eyes until a while ago, and his gaze pierced me.

A long, manly hand rests on the back of the sofa, and I can’t move because I’m surrounded. No, maybe even without it I can’t move either.

“Lu, cien...”

“If I brought it down in the middle at once, you are mine forever. ...okay?”

A slightly lower voice echoes near my ear, and flows into my brain.

“What, what if, you miss it?”

“It won’t”

He went to the front of the darts, he held it up and threw a tip without hesitation in the blink of an eye.

A tip dart that makes a rattle noise.

As he said that he won’t miss, the tip pierced the center as if it was sucked in.

“With this, you are mine forever”

He put his hand on the sofa again, his other hand entwined my back hair. Even though I said we’re still in the bar, Lucien kissed me and entangled his tongue deeply.

“Hghnnn…, Lu…”

“Did you think I wasn’t jealous? I might look envious, but I'm actually greedy, didn’t I already say that before?

His finger traces my wet lips. A slightly stiff fingertip followed his chin and slowly slipped down to my neck, involuntarily leaking a small moan. 

"Tell me, who do you belong to?"

"I’m, Lucien's..."

Answering with trembled lips, Lucien squints with full satisfaction, and his faintly illuminated, lustrous lips draw an arc.

"Good, you did it well"

A kiss dropped again.

I saw a waiter behind him who brought a drink, I hurriedly pushed his chest, but he didn't intend to stop kissing me.

[Extra]

"What a shame, are you shaken?"

When Shaw leaves the bar, someone calls him out from the darkness.

It's the same voice he heard in the bar before, but he knew that the owner of this voice was different without looking at it.

"No matter you or her, have a bad personality huh" 

"We're not same each other"

She fluttered her black one-piece dress, and when she lined up before he knew it, she enlace her thin arms as if she were always doing it.

"What are you going to do?"

"Hm, pretend to be a lover?"

"Go ask somewhere else"

"Uhuh, you're so cold"

While saying that with her mouth, her arm can't be unraveled. Her slippery, delicate hand slowly lowered, overlapping Shaw's hand and clenched it tightly. 

"Give it to me normally"

"Why not. Sometimes this kind of thing is fresh, isn't it?"

"I don't need that"

"Oh, mannerism isn't that good, you know?"

When Shaw tried to let go, she was drawn and stretched, closing her eyes and waiting.

"Where's the reward?"

Saying that happily, there's no sign of movement.

Another girl passed by in Shaw's mind for a moment, irritated and drowned out, he dropped a kiss.

With a rough bite, Shaw squeezes a piece of paper in his hand and push it into his pocket.

"...Satisfied?"

"Yeah, because I saw your suffered face"

"Who is suffering? you got it wrong"

Shaw, turns his back while waving his hand when he is done with it.

"...You weren't, the one who tried to break your promise first"

That woman in one-piece black dress' voice, didn't reach him.

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🧾Permission Note🧾

Nachi-san: Hello, good evening 😊 Thank you for your love! Translation! It’s so amazing ∑ (๑ºдº๑)!! It's okay if you include the source 😊👌

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Hasuno-san: Hello, Thank you for the message😊If you post it so that you can understand it as the work I drew, that’s no problem. However, the works published on the R18 list are not allowed. I’m sorry💦 I’m glad you translated this! Thank you😊

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[yeojaa]

called a thousand times.

prompt:  “did you miss me enough to drink or did you drink enough to miss me?”   (orig.)

this drabble is more an exercise in catharsis and serves as my first (!!!) jin piece.  i dedicate this to my loves @jinsearthh​ and @seokjinssi​ lmao.  enjoy!

pairing.  ksj x reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  angst.  but like, not really terrible angst.  just semi-bad angst.  wc.  1.8k.

The call comes in the dead of night while you’re curled up in linen sheets and comfortably drooling into an unbelievably worn white plush.  It buzzes loudly in your ears, vibrating obnoxiously against your pillow.  Sleeping with your phone in bed is a bad habit you’ve never really been able to break.  

You’re barely awake - caught in that strange in-between land of lucidity - when you hazard a glance at the time and number.  2:47 AM.  Far too late for you to be receiving calls - especially from contact you don’t have saved. 

“Hello?”

“Hi.”  It’s a voice you’d never expected to hear.  A voice you haven’t heard in forever, clear as bells through the phone line.  “It’s Jin.”

You’re wide awake now. 

“Hello?”  It’s terribly jarring.  It jolts you straight up in the bed that hasn’t felt his warmth in close to three years, every notch of your spine electrified by the simple sound.  It rings, bouncing around in your ears.  

You should reply.  You don’t know how.  

“Are you there?”  Uncertainty and something else - something heavy and medicinal - coats syllables and turns them into molasses.  It drips off each vowel, rounding each consonant.  Your entire world feels like it’s spinning, tilted on its axis by this strange happening. 

“Jin?”  It doesn’t sound how it should - wishful and more than a little surprised.  It trips heavy off your tongue, splitting the darkness with the radiance of your hope.  

He laughs on the other end.  You realise now why he sounds different, the familiar squeak of his amusement dulled by liquor.  He’s drunk or at least, on his way to it.  The telltale signs are there:  the faintest hiccough after every second inhale, the vaguely nasally first syllable, the dulling of his rain-streaked laughter. 

“It’s me,”  he confirms, far more comfortable than he should be.  The relief practically radiates through the phone, further severing the strings that bid you back to bed.  “I didn’t know if you’d pick up or if you even had the same number still.”

At least he’s honest, you think. 

The conversation is carried on like there’s nothing at all strange, as if he - Kim Seokjin - hasn’t just called up his ex-girlfriend at quarter to three in the morning. 

“How are you?  Did I wake you up?”

You know your silence is rude.  It’s stifling in a way that even he can’t combat, sitting stony between you two as you try to wrap your mind around the current situation.  

“Hello?”  He repeats, vaguely uncertain but not otherwise bothered.  That bothers you. 

“Why did you call?”  You can’t help the question.  It pierces the quiet before you can catch it, disappearing into the night like a thief.  It takes with it all of your turmoil, tucking years of hurt in its pockets to wear on its sleeves. 

That seems to catch him off guard.  He inhales once - a sharp thing, right through his front teeth.  

“Ah, yeah.  I—“  You wonder whether he’s even given this any thought or if he’s just been driven to it by the beguiling hand of liquor.  You wouldn’t put it past him, though he’s never been one to drink himself into bad ideas.  He was smarter than that. 

He pauses.  It’s long, drawn out, punctuated by city sounds you assume come from 27 floors below his apartment.  They’re muffled and unrecognisable, the din of Yongsan-gu too faraway.  

“I… was thinking of you.” 

There’s a strange confidence to his response, a self-assured calm that feels like moments before a storm.  It eases uncertainty over your limbs, still wrought with sleep and sluggish.  He shouldn’t sound this way after so long, as if he’d never left.  A part of it feels nice, warm and welcomed into the cavity behind your ribs, tucked neatly alongside the organ that stutters because of him;  the other feels like a knife to the heart, slotted right between the vulnerable spaces you’d shown him.

You echo him in uncertainty.  “Thinking of me?”  

“I wanted to apologise.”

Now that’s the last thing you’d expected.  

“Apologise for what?”  Not that there aren’t so many things Jin owes you - so many I’m sorrys that would never make up for the rivers you’d wept, the nights you hadn’t slept.  

“How I left things.  How we left things.”  Something not quite a laugh comes, dresses his words up prettily like a sinner in his Sunday best, eager to learn and repent and do better.  “I know I can’t undo the past but I’m sorry for the ways I hurt you.”

It’s so vague even you aren’t sure what he’s referring to.  The brief but blinding relationship you’d had with him?  The heartbreaking, determined way in which he’d broken up with you?  The months thereafter when he’d still warmed your bed, where the strange in-between was no longer between awake and dreams, but love and not-love?  The pieces he’d left you to pick up yourself when he’d disappeared, seemingly out of the blue? 

“I still think about you a lot.  I miss you.  I wanted to make it right.”  When he backtracks, you realise he’s far smarter than you give him credit for.  “—Try to make it right, that is.”

“Why?”  You should demand more.  You know you should.  Yet this is the only thing that comes, dripping like the tears that line your lashes, glittering jewels that you’d trade for even an ounce of understanding. 

He hesitates.  There’s a clinking glass, ice, and then a thick swallow you can hear quite clearly.  “Why?  Why what?”

“Why did you leave?”  You’re really trying - holding onto composure with a white-knuckled grip that leaves your hands bleeding - but it’s futile.  The grief is too much - a thousand pound weight that splits the frayed edge of your composure in a clean line.  “Things were…”  Weird, strange, undoubtedly a bad idea, as messing with your ex tended to be.  “Things were okay, I thought.  And then out of nowhere, you were gone.  You stopped calling.”

For three long weeks, you’d jolted awake at 3 AM, waiting for the dedicated ringtone to alert you of his call.  It never came.  You’d waited even longer after that, though you’d learnt to turn your phone to silent.

Months turned to years and then one day, nearly four months later - there he was, displayed as a missed call at just after midnight.

You’d blocked him then, for your own sanity.  And then another six months after that, you’d unblocked him.  A moment of weakness you’d all but forgotten about until now.  You’d figured it wouldn’t matter - that there was no way he’d contact you again.  So much time had passed and he was Kim Seokjin;  you were nothing but a small blip on his radar - a tiny ink splatter on the story of his life.

“You blocked me.”  Or not.  

You tuck this knowledge - his knowledge - away into the manila folder you keep stored away in a dusty cabinet, covered in yellow tape that reads Do Not Open.

“Before that.  Three years ago.”  

“I honestly… don’t remember.”  The answer stings, candour a struck match to your already miserable nerves.  “It was bad timing, I think.  We were on the phone one night.  I was heading back from filming and I just remember being so mad.”  That doesn’t surprise you.  Jin’s temper rages like a wildfire before burning out like a match.  Intense but short-lived.  “You were having a bad day, too.  You’d started your new job and you were stressed out about something not working.”

You recall it clearly - can call to mind exactly what brief you’d been working and how that night had felt awful.  You’d hardly slept, almost pushed to tears by the frustration you’d felt.  For the life of you, though, you can’t recall an argument.  You’d been happy to hear from him - found solace in the sound of his voice, even as you’d worked through pages that made you want to tear your hair out. 

“I remember you were dismissive and it just…”  You imagine he shrugs, those impossibly wide shoulders of his rolling beneath something soft and sleep-appropriate.  His brow’s probably knit, little dent forming between them as always happens when he’s faced with discomfort.  “I didn’t want to deal with it.”

It’s an honest answer, which you’re grateful for.  It sheds light where there was one.

But it also hurts far more than you’d expected, stirring to life an ugly aching sob in your chest.  One night.  One night was all it’d taken.  The realisation is sobering in its pain.

“And… now you want to apologise for that?”  It doesn’t make sense.  Not to you, at least, who holds three long years of unrequited love for a man who’d thrown you away over nothing.

“I want to apologise for a lot of stuff.”  Things he doesn’t seem ready to articulate just yet, either due to his inebriation or contrition.  “I didn’t think you’d pick up, so I’m kind of still working through it in my head.”  You can hear his smile, turned playful by alcohol.

It’s like waging war when you speak - your heart against your head.  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“But… I miss you.” 

I miss you too, you almost say.  

“Did you miss me enough to drink or did you drink enough to miss me?”  Comes hushed instead.

Jin isn’t ready for the conversation.  You know he isn’t - can tell by how he inhales shakily, knocks back another drink that rattles ice noisily.  “That’s not fair.”

“You’re not fair,”  you return in a voice that’s meant to be scathing but seems to have found itself at the bottom of his glass, wet and diluted.  “You’re calling me because you feel bad and for whatever reason, you think I’m going to make that go away.”  

He’s not wrong - you would, in a heartbeat.  But there’s a very big difference between would and should and you’re doing your best to learn what that is, even if it hurts.  

“What do you think’s going to happen after I forgive you?  Are we just going to go back to our lives like nothing happened?”

“If you want.”

You laugh, a sound that’s brutalised by your own sadness and barely sounds like anything at all.  “And what if I don’t want that?  What if I want you in my life?”  

Another pause, another drink.  There’s a part of you that worries for him.  

“You know that’s not an option.  Not right now.  We’ve got so much happening right with our comeback and then enlistment and…”  It’s a cop out.  You can see it from a mile away, a red flag raised to mock you as Jin speaks.  “I can’t give you what you want.”

“Then neither can I.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​

[damejudyhench]

Many thanks to @captastra @strangefable @jumpship90 and @kourumi for your writing prompts from the “touch” meme! They went together really nicely, so I’ve combined them into one fic. I hope you enjoy 😊

the prompts were:

2. Running fingers through hair

16. Massaging them

17. Holding the other’s chin up

32. Caressing the other’s back

34. Washing the other’s body

this is so indulgent to me, it’s sfw but I’m still sitting here like 😳😳😳

tags: canon-typical injury, blood, mention of corporal punishment, bathing kink, lying

Max took forever in the shower. It was a fact of life, a law of nature, as inevitable as gravity. Whether it was a trauma reaction to his time in Tartarus, his determination to prove that if cleanliness was next to Lawfulness then he was the most Lawful person on board, or simple vanity; once he was in there, it was almost impossible to get him out. Nyoka, the newest member of their crew, could pound on the door all she wanted; she might as well be cussing out gravity itself.

So Pearl let him be for longer than she might have, but eventually concern started to nag at her. Max was hurt; a larger than average mantis had caught them unawares while they were scavenging the canyon that lay outside of Stellar Bay. They’d all been left worse for wear, but Max had taken the brunt of it, and he’d staggered back to the Unreliable with his face pale, swearing through gritted teeth as he clutched his arm to his chest in the position of maximal stability that signified a fracture or worse. He might need her help. After a few cautious knocks on the bulkhead, followed by a few less cautious, Pearl used her Captain’s override and pushed inside.

Max rounded on her like a wounded animal cornered in its lair. Shirtless, his injured arm strapped against his chest, his other hand held his razor. His jaw was still more than half covered in shaving foam, and she could see a fine thread of bright red blood trickling down the skin of his throat.

“Yes, I am still using the bathroom! Architect forfend someone on this ship might actually possess any standards of decency…”

Screw him.

“Mind you don’t cut yourself,” she snarled back, and left him to his own devices.

Around five minutes later, as she lay on her bunk scanning through an old data pad, there was a knock at the door. Max stood in the gangway, his towel draped around his neck, a sheepish expression on his face.

“I apologise… and I would appreciate your assistance, Pearl. If you’re not too busy, of course.” His tone was courteous, but his face was tight and drawn, and she knew he must be in pain despite the strapping.

“Any time, Max.”

In the shower, she took the towel and the razor gently from his hand and set them on the sink, then turned to face him. His shoulder was bruised an ugly purple and red, fading to deep brown beneath his collarbone where it was dented and distorted. It looked sore as hell, and Pearl sucked her breath through her teeth in sympathy.

She pushed him gently back until he was sitting on the toilet, then took his canidfeather brush and applied a new coat of lather to his face. She shaved him with slow, even strokes, pausing occasionally to grasp his chin and tilt his head from side to side and then back so that she could check her progress. Max looked throughout as though he wanted to say something, but as in love with the sound of his own voice as he was, he kept still to avoid injury.

When she was done, she wiped his face clean with his towel and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Max got to his feet and shuffled toward the shower

“Of all the damned bones one might break, this has to be the worst… I can scarcely do anything by myself,” he grumbled.

“It’s the most commonly broken bone in the body,” Pearl replied mildly. Max had hang ups about injury, about physical weakness. He took it as a sign that he was straying from the path; or worse, that his path lead to destruction. Pearl knew because she’d been raised that way herself. Those who were meant to survive, survived.

That was how her job had worked. She’d treated those whose benefit to their corporation had outweighed the cost of their treatment. Of course, ultimately it was down to the Plan who survived and who didn’t, the corps were kind of a middleman, but the OSI said that was ok because the corps being in charge was down to the Plan too. It was a whole system based on a lie so obvious she couldn’t understand how she’d once believed it, or how so many people still did. Including the man in front of her, who was self conscious about asking for help when he’d broken his collarbone.

She locked the door, unfastened his pants and eased them down over his hips along with his shorts. She made a neat pile of his clothing, then reached for the sling that held his arm.

“You want to take this off or keep it?”

“I’d rather it remain dry.”

“Ok… you ready?”

She let Max brace himself, with his good arm supporting the other, then gently released the sling and added it to the pile. Max flinched, but nodded when she glanced at him. Pearl activated the shower, sending warm water streaming down over his body. She smiled at the sight of him. His hair fell forward into his eyes, and he gave a deep sigh of pleasure.

Pearl stepped back and frowned. It was going to be tough to wash him properly without getting herself soaked in the process. And Max hadn’t been able to shower for a few days, which would have been a torment to him. If she was going to do it, she ought to do it right. Besides, it wasn’t as though they hadn’t seen each other naked before. She undressed quickly, adding her clothing to his own, then bent to pick up the soap and the washcloth. Max’s eyes were wide, and whatever he’d wanted to say before seemed to have gone from his mind entirely. He saw that she was watching him, and hurriedly looked away.

The air was warm and steamy; the water pleasant on her skin. She soaped Max’s shoulders, his chest, carefully avoiding the injured area, then worked her way down his arms. His muscles were tight beneath his skin, and she dug in a little and squeezed, working out the knots in his body. He had thick, strong fingers that were just long enough to be elegant, she thought as she washed his hands. She went to her knees to do his legs, and noticed that his cock twitched a little, but when she looked up at him his eyes were closed, and he seemed quite lost in the moment.

“Spin around,” she said, getting back to her feet. Max frowned, and he once again avoided meeting her gaze.

“I’ll be fine now. Thank you.”

“What? You’re kidding. There’s no way you can use that fancy stick with the sponge on it… I’ll do your back, I don’t mind.”

Max gave a pointed sigh and turned, but she noticed the droop in his neck, the way he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Strangely, he looked frightened.

His broad back was a lattice of scars, and Pearl brought her hand up to her mouth to avoid gasping or otherwise making a sound.

“I haven’t seen it in a while… is it still as bad as I remember?” Max said bitterly.

“They did this to you? In prison?”

“Where else? I can’t remember what I did to earn it. I was hardly a model prisoner, not at first anyway.”

“It’s just scars, Max. You’ve got those grazes on your chest, some on your legs… it’s not that different.”

“It is different,” he hissed. “Because they broke me.”

“They… broke you?”

Max looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You were in prison for heresy, right? And look what you did as soon as you got out. You went straight after the journal, just as heretical as you were before. They didn’t break you.”

On impulse, she hugged him. Her arms around his waist and her chest against his back, both of them slippery with soap.

“You’re stubborn, Max. They could drop Groundbreaker on your head and you’d get up and keep right on going after the Equation.”

He laughed, a sound that was rare and delightful in its rarity, and relaxed beneath her touch as she ran the cloth over his back.

“You have a way with words, Pearl. And you may have a point. Nevertheless, I must ask that you don’t tell the rest of the crew.”

“Your secret’s safe with me… now sit down for this last part.”

Max settled himself on the tiled floor, bracing with his good arm. He leaned back against her legs, a pleasant sensation with his warm wet skin and the solid weight of him. She ran her fingers through his hair, rinsing out the worst of the sweat and the dust, then reached for the elegant glass bottle she’d had her eye on ever since the first time she’d set foot in his cabin.

Max’s voice carried a tone of warning. “That one’s  expensive, you only need a purpleberry sized amount - a fucking purpleberry sized amount, good Law!” Pearl laughed and ignored him, pouring the rich, sweet smelling shampoo into her palm. She lathered his hair, breathing in the scent of lavender and nearmint and Max. His hair was thick and soft, and he groaned in pleasure as she alternated between running her fingers through it and massaging his scalp.

When he was clean from tip to tail she helped him to his feet, let the water rinse over him. Finally, with a nod that mixed pleasure and regret, he was done. She towelled him off and helped him dress and reapply his sling, ran a comb through his hair. She doubted it was to his usual standard, but it kept it out of his eyes.

“Good as new, Max. So listen… our field guide, Nyoka, she’s got something she wants to do that she needs a crew for. If we help her out, she’s gonna give us a big discount in return. So I figure we do her thing, let you rest up, then once you’re all healed we can head out. I’ll find my broker, you can find your… scholar.”

“My scholar,” Max murmured. He took her hand, and for a moment Pearl was again convinced that he was going to say something, but instead he squeezed her tightly. “Thank you, Captain.”

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 55: Movie Night

Lots of quotes from the movie Lilo & Stitch ahead! Fewer quotes, but some, from Trolls and Frozen.

Bold italics are trollish, ~tildes~ indicate goblin.

Content warnings for this chapter: Swearing. Here we reach the story's first F-bomb.

Also, there is some talk between characters about the harshness of life in the Darklands, how Changelings are treated by the Gumm-Gumms, and mentions of cannibalism.

This was supposed to be a light-happy chapter that got feels-y at the end, but then it went and got all dark on me.

Oh, also-also, (Not) Enrique finds out Claire flirted with Jim a while ago and misinterprets what exactly happened between them, but that gets cleared up fast.

Becoming The Mask

Once again, Javier and Ophelia Nuñez were out for the evening, leaving Claire in charge of Enrique. Claire had gotten permission to invite "some friends" over to watch movies. Jim and Toby arrived to find Mary and Darci already there – Jim suspected, like the time he'd 'babysat', that Claire had purposefully asked him to arrive after she knew her parents would be gone.

They set up piles of cushions and blankets on the floor between the couch and the TV. Jim propped the Amulet up on the coffee table they'd pushed to one side. Maybe some of the ghost Trollhunters would be interested in human movies.

"Finally get your fill of the touchy-feelies?" Enrique teased Jim, seeing how they were all seated separately. Jim snorted.

"Not hardly." He pulled the smaller Changeling in for a hug. "Humans just have different rules about casual touching, is all. Freezing to death's not really a concern in this climate."

"Wait, what?" said Toby, dropping the pillow he'd been holding. Jim looked up to see all the humans staring at him.

"Darklands thing," said Enrique easily. "Gets cold there."

"We'd sleep in piles," Jim explained. "I had a bit of a reputation for being … clingy."

"If you weren't good at finding food and soft stuff, we'd never've put up with ya." Enrique proved himself a liar by climbing onto Jim's shoulders instead of jumping back to the floor. He fluffed the hair on Jim's scalp. "Jimmy-boy got his first nickname for that."

"Shut up," said Jim playfully. "Anyway, humans get weird about touching around puberty. I can still hug Mom whenever I want, but Toby gets embarrassed if I hug him around other people, and Claire, Mary, and Darci haven't given me permission to touch them casually yet."

"… Did you … want permission?" asked Claire. "You, kinda, said you were uncomfortable with that, I thought."

"No, it was more wondering if you were flirting with me that felt weird," Jim assured her. "After that conversation I felt like it'd be awkward to bring up that I was open to hugging and such."

Jim thought he felt Enrique growl, to quietly to properly hear. His hand, still in Jim's hair, changed position so the tips of Enrique's claws were on Jim's scalp.

"When exactly did this happen?" Enrique asked.

"Claire kissed Jim on the cheek on his birthday and then Jim said he wasn't interested in dating her," said Mary.

"Also that I realized she might not have meant it in a flirty way and if I was misinterpreting things she could ignore what I was saying," Jim added. The claws retreated.

Claire looked away. "So what movie did we want to start with?"

"Lilo & Stitch!" exclaimed Darci, looking through the shelves. "I haven't watched this in forever!"

"That's a good one." Jim tilted his head to get Enrique back in his peripheral vision. "Enrique, have you seen it yet?"

"… Yeah."

"Isn't that the one that always makes you cry?" asked Toby.

"It's beautiful. Of course I cry."

Stitch was a constructed 'abomination', who shapeshifted to blend in, and his adopted family found out what he truly was and still wanted him. How could Jim be expected to keep his composure in the face of that?

"So, quick question," said Jim. "Is talking during the movie a crime, or is commentary what makes it a group activity?"

"Commentary," said all three girls together.

"Okay, good." Jim and Toby usually talked during movies, unless one or both of them were seeing it for the first time. Sometimes even then.

+=+

"Not guilty! My experiments are only theoretical, and completely within legal boundaries."

"We believe you actually created something."

"Created something? Ha! But that would be irresponsible, and, unethical. I would never, ever – make more than one."

"What is that monstrosity?"

"Monstrosity?! What you see before you is the first of a new species!"

"You have to wonder if she and Merlin ever had a talk like this," Enrique muttered in Jim's ear. Jim snickered.

"And as for that abomination … it is the flawed product of a deranged mind. It has no place among us."

Jim stopped laughing and cringed. He loved this movie a lot, but some of it stung.

+=+

"A quiet capture would require an understanding of 626 that we do not possess! Who, then, Mr Pleakley, would you send for his extraction?"

"… Does he have a brother? Close grandmother, perhaps?"

"Fun fact," said Darci, "in early drafts Stitch was a career criminal and Jumba was an old accomplice."

"Friendly cousin? Neighbour with a beard?"

+=+

"Surely the teacher won't notice I was late if he doesn't see me come in!" Claire narrated sarcastically.

+=+

"I'm sorry, Scrump!" Mary wailed, as Lilo ran back to retrieve the doll she'd angrily thrown aside.

+=+

"Let me illuminate to you the precarious situation in which you have found yourself. I am the one they call when things go wrong. And things have indeed gone wrong."

"As a cook, that kitchen horrifies me," said Jim.

+=+

"If you promise not to fight anymore, I promise not to yell at you – except on special occasions."

"Tuesdays and bank holidays would be good."

The entire group cracked up.

"How does kid Lilo's age even know what a bank holiday is?" said Claire. "I don't even know what a bank holiday is!"

"Maybe she saw it printed on a calendar?" said Toby.

+=+

A raindrop fell on Stitch's head. He fired his ray gun into the sky. It started raining, hard.

"Oh, no, I broke the sky!" Darci cried.

+=+

"Does it have to be this dog?"

"He survived getting hit by a truck, how much more sturdy and not-gonna-die do you want?" asked Jim.

"Yes. He's good. I can tell."

+=+

"I'm sorry I bit you. And pulled your hair. And punched you in the face."

Mary nudged Claire. "Remind you of anyone?"

Like sunflowers, everyone else popped up and turned towards them.

Claire blushed. "We got into a fight in first grade and for like two days we decided we didn't want to be friends anymore, then our moms made us say sorry."

"He will be irresistibly drawn to large cities, where he will back up sewers, reverse street signs, and steal everyone's left shoe."

"It's weird they get in trouble for everything but this," commented Enrique. "Human grown ups might not believe a dog stole a trike, but wouldn't they think Lilo did it? She's fought the other kid before."

"It's nice to live on an island with no large cities."

+=+

"It's not an angel, Lilo, I don't even think it's a dog!"

"Isn't that the rolling thing Draal can do?" said Toby.

"Yeah, more or less," said Jim. "I mean, I don't think Draal bites his feet – but maybe that's the trick."

"At least with those stick legs you've got," said Enrique. He curled into a ball and rolled in a circle around the group. "Face it, you're out of proportion for this move."

+=+

"626 was designed to be a monster. But now, there is nothing to destroy. You see, I never gave him a greater purpose. What must it be like, to have nothing? Not even memories to visit, in the middle of the night?"

"Now, this next bit I don't care for," said Jim. "The Ugly Duckling is a messed-up story."

"What've you got against The Ugly Duckling?" asked Mary.

"The blatant segregationist propaganda? 'A swan will never fit in with ducks and everyone is better off sticking with their own kind'. You don't even have to read it as a race metaphor. Between that and The Little Mermaid, I thought for while that Hans Christian Anderson was a Changeling writing cautionary tales about why we shouldn't get attached to humans."

"… Was he?" asked Claire.

"Probably not. I couldn't find any real evidence and the rest of his work doesn't match the pattern."

"Counterpoint," said Darci. "The Ugly Duckling is pro-integration. Everyone thought he was an ugly duckling because they didn't know what swans look like. If he'd grown up with ducks and swans around, they could've judged him for what he was instead of what he couldn't measure up to, and he might've had a happy childhood instead of only finding a community that accepted him as an adult."

Jim considered this, and nodded. "I guess I can see that, too."

+=+

"Heard you lost your job."

"Well, uh, actually, I just quit. That job. Because, you know, the hours are just not conducive to the challenges of raising a child –"

"Nani, no!" Jim begged. "I know almost nothing about Social Services but I'm pretty sure choosing to leave your only source of income looks worse to them than just losing it!"

"Thus far you have been adrift in the sheltered harbour of my patience; but I cannot ignore you being jobless. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly."

"And next time I see this dog, I expect it to be a model citizen. Capiche?"

"Uh … yes?"

"New job. Model citizen. Good day."

+=+

"So, we saw Cobra on the beach after all the tourists got scared off … D'you think he was just standing there watching them the whole time?" Mary wondered out loud after the surfing sequence.

+=+

"Until we meet again …"

Lilo was about to tell Stitch about her parents. Without thinking, Jim grabbed the remote – on the coffee table, next to the amulet – to fast forward.

"What are you doing?" Darci cried. "This is one of the big emotional turning points of the film!"

Jim paused it. "Sorry. Uh … Tobes and I usually skip this scene."

"I think I can handle it," Toby assured Jim. To the girls and Enrique, he explained, "My parents died in a storm when I was two. A cruise ship, not a car accident. I got kind of upset the first time we watched this as kids, and, we got in the habit fast forwarding this part. I think I'm okay with it now."

"You're sure?" asked Jim.

"I'm sure."

"Okay …" He rewound to the point where he'd started fast forwarding.

"That's us before. It was rainy, and they went for a drive. What happened to yours?"

Jim watched Toby more than the movie for the next few minutes.

"I'll remember you, though. I remember everyone that leaves."

"Do you remember them?" Claire asked quietly.

"Only the stuff Nana tells me." Toby shrugged, and readjusted the cushions he'd propped up his arms on. "I've seen lots of pictures. A couple home movies."

+=+

"Don't run. Don't make me shoot you. You were expensive. Yes, yes, that's it, come quietly."

"I'm … waiting."

"For what?"

"Family."

"Ah. You don't have one. I made you."

"Maybe … I could –"

"You were built to destroy. You can never belong."

Jim blinked fast to keep the tears back. He sniffed, and pulled the blankets more tightly around him.

+=+

"Okay, talk! I know you had something to do with this, now where's Lilo? Talk! I know you can."

"Claire?" said Mary. "You okay?"

Jim looked over. Claire's jaw was clenched, and her hands were tight on the blanket, and her eyes were huge and fixed on the screen, and she was shaking.

"Ah … maybe the little sib getting snatched by otherworldly forces wasn't the best movie choice," Enrique said. He reached out like he was about to go to Claire, then pulled back his hand and hunkered down where he was.

"LILO! She's a little girl this big, she has black hair and brown eyes, and she hangs around with that THING!"

"I'm. Fine," Claire insisted.

"You're sure?"

"We can just fast forward."

"I said I'm fine!"

"Okay …"

Mary and Darci each scooted their blanket and cushion piles closer to Claire's, bracketing her on either side. Jim tactfully retreated to the Nuñezes kitchen to microwave a few more bags of popcorn. Enrique went with him. They could still hear the TV.

"What? After all you put me through, you expect me to help you just like that? Just like that?!"

"Ih."

"Fine."

"Fine? You're doing what he says?"

"Ah, he is very persuasive."

"Is it normal to feel bad for her?" Enrique asked.

"I think so? It's an awkward situation for both of you." Jim selected the white cheddar flavour. "But it's not like there's an alternative. You're not a polymorph. And really, the only reason she's upset is because she found out."

The Nuñezes had the same microwave as the Lakes. Jim didn't find the popcorn setting especially useful for this brand of popcorn – it tended to burn a third of the kernels– so he used the timer instead.

"I never apologized to you for that, did I?" Jim asked.

"It wasn't all your fault."

"Still, I'm sorry for my part in getting you caught."

The Changelings got back to the living room in time to see the unfortunate tourist lose his ice cream for the third time.

+=+

"Does Stitch have to go in the ship?"

"Yes."

"Can Stitch say goodbye?"

"… Yes."

Like he always did during this scene, Jim cried. He let himself do it this time.

+=+

"Wait, how is Little Mermaid a cautionary tale?" asked Enrique during the credits. The camera panned over a photo of Stitch reading to a flock of ducklings. "For getting attached, I mean. I thought the moral of that one was to control yer temper and be careful who you made deals with?"

"Sure, the Disney version," said Jim. "They adapted it to make a more dramatic, less depressing story. And give the characters names. In the older version, the sea witch is actually a neutral character. The terms of the mermaid's transformation are that she's traded her tongue for legs, but walking on land hurts, and she'll become fully human if the prince marries her, but if he marries anybody else, she'll die."

"That doesn't sound neutral."

"Wait for it. The prince gets engaged to a human princess, so the mermaid's older sisters trade their hair to the sea witch for a magic knife and a loophole; if the little mermaid kills the prince before the wedding, she can turn back into a mermaid and survive."

"Kay, I see it now."

"Except she doesn't go through with the kill, so she dies, and because she wasn't really human, she doesn't have a proper soul, so her spirit's not allowed to go to Heaven."

"… Whoa."

"I know, right?"

"I mean," Mary commented, "not murdering somebody is kind of a low bar for moral decency. It's not as if the prince owed her anything just because she was attracted to him."

"No, no, whether the prince deserved to die or not is irrelevant," said Jim. "The point is that the mermaid had a chance to, objectively, trade one life for another, and because she was attached to the particular person she'd have to kill, she didn't prioritize her own survival, and therefore suffered."

"Wouldn't the guilt of murder have caused suffering anyway?" Toby pointed out.

"Not if she wasn't attached," Jim insisted. How were they not getting this? "If she could've just cut the throat of any random human, she'd've been fine. The moral of the story is that caring about people causes pain. That's what makes it depressing."

"Do you like any fairy tales?" asked Darci.

"Sure. Just not most of Anderson's work."

"What should we watch next?" said Claire hospitably. "If we're on a 'sister movies' theme, I've got Frozen."

"Isn't that one also based on an Anderson fairy tale?" said Mary.

"Not really," said Jim. "The Snow Queen was more 'inspiration' than 'source material'. Elsa never kidnaps anyone, and they left out the broken enchanted mirror. Plus it's fun to see all the different ways humans think trolls are like."

"We also have the Trolls movie," said Claire. "I haven't watched it yet. My dad got it for Mom's birthday because she used to collect the dolls."

"I haven't seen that one yet, either," Darci commented.

"Should we?" said Mary. "Any other votes?"

"I'm game for whatever," said Toby. "This one's a musical, right? Those are always fun."

Jim squirmed.

He hadn't watched this movie despite his curiosity, after an online clip of the opening had explained the premise. Getting eaten alive was his greatest fear. Did he want to watch a movie about trolls narrowly avoiding being eaten? Did he want to explain why he didn't want to watch it?

While he debated, the movie got put in.

"Once upon a time, in a happy forest, in the happiest tree, lived the happiest creatures the world has ever known: the trolls. They loved nothing more than to sing, and dance, and hug, and dance and hug and sing and dance and sing and hug –"

Enrique started laughing.

Oh, shit, Jim hadn't warned him.

"Uh, Enrique –"

"Ssh! This is ridiculous. I mean, the huggy bit's kind of like you, but the rest of it – ha!"

"But then one day, the trolls were discovered by – a Bergen!"

"The trolls are gonna –"

"Ji-im! Spoilers!" Toby hissed.

"They were the most miserable creatures in all the land."

Jim grabbed Enrique and covered his eyes. The smaller Changeling yelped and squirmed. Jim switched forms so his fingers wouldn't bleed from the clawing.

Enrique got his eyes uncovered just in time to see the Bergen flick a troll into its mouth.

The onscreen troll's exclamation of "Oh my god!" was drowned out by Enrique's much more lurid cursing.

"What the –?" The girls and Toby all turned to stare. Claire pointed at Enrique accusingly. "I knew that didn't mean 'I'm sorry'!"

"The hell kinda movie is this?! Why would you watch this?!" He twisted to look at Jim, who let go of him rather than risk yanking his scruff by accident. "You knew?!"

"I saw a bit of it on the internet when it first came out. That's why I froze up when Claire suggested it."

That … that was the wrong thing to say. Enrique rounded on Claire. A techno-rock cover of In The Hall Of The Mountain King boomed from the movie soundtrack.

"Why in FUCK'S NAME would you think we'd WANT to watch trolls get EATEN? Is this some kind of threat?"

"How the fuck would it be a threat?" Claire shot back, stealing some cushions from Mary to prop herself up taller without getting out of her blanket cocoon.

"Most Changelings –" Jim started to say.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I'VE ALMOST BEEN EATEN?" Enrique roared. "I DON'T! CAUSE IT'S A LOT!"

"We've all had close calls," Jim finished. "Nyarlagroths, Hellheetis, goblins if you catch them in the wrong mood, Gruesomes if you're already hurt, Stalklings, and it's a … popular threat from Gumm-Gumms."

"You forgot the sloorbeasts," said Enrique bitterly.

"Nobody's gotten lichen patches that bad." At least, they hadn't when Jim got out. "Have they?"

"Still counts."

"Uh, excuse me." Toby raised his hand. "I think I speak for us all when I say, what?"

"The Darklands are a hostile environment with predators and scavengers," explained Jim. "That's the other reason we slept in groups."

"Bigger targets, but we could have lookouts."

"Okay, that's its own kind of horrifying, but I was more reacting to the cannibalism?"

"Changelings don't count as real trolls," Enrique said sarcastically. "We're Impure."

He left out the part where they'd eaten their own dead. Jim didn't add it.

(It wasn't like they'd hunted each other for food. Sometimes a Changeling just died, somehow, in a way that didn't get them eaten by something else, and … well, food was scarce in the Darklands. They couldn't afford to be picky.

It also paid to keep watch over the sentry posts. Gunmar occasionally used the Decimaar Blade to post a sentry and then forgot to order them to rest and eat. Once they died, the average adult Gumm-Gumm was a meal for twenty Changelings, easily, if they could get to the body before the Gruesomes did.)

"Okay, we're switching to Frozen." Mary made the executive decision. "Wait," she said, while exchanging the disks. "If Changelings aren't trolls, how does Jim's adoption work?"

Because of course this was the perfect moment to tell Enrique about that, right in the middle of a squabble with his adopted sister.

"For one thing, most of Trollmarket still thinks I'm human." Jim switched back to human shape to illustrate the point.

"You got adopted?"

"AAARRRGGHH and Blinky thought I should have legal standing in Trollmarket outside of my job."

Enrique stared at him. Green diamond-shaped ears were pinned back. Buggy, slit-pupil eyes were wide and hurt.

"You get everything," he grumbled. "Two nicknames, and the goblins liked you, and you could always find food, and here you're the boss's favourite even when you're a traitor, and your human family still likes you, and now you get a troll family too? S'not fair."

"Hey, the goblins liked you, too." Jim was fully aware that wasn't much comfort compared to all the rest of it. "They gave you your nickname, remember?"

"They gave you one, too."

"Yeah, but you got yours first."

They probably weren't supposed to hear Darci when she muttered, "I feel like we're missing a lot of context."

"Shit," Claire muttered back. "Not Enrique told me a bit of the name part. They don't remember their names from before they were Changelings, and they don't get real names until they have Familiars, so they use nicknames instead. From each other or from goblins, he said."

"They don't get names?" Darci's voice went squeaky at the end of that.

"We're trying to come up with something other than 'Enrique' for him."

"You're trying," Enrique corrected. Darci squeaked again.

"Can we maybe circle back to the cannibalism thing?" said Toby. "That feels like the kind of trauma that should get unpacked at some point."

"I would rather leave it packed," said Jim.

"The way you blurted it out like that feels like you need to talk about it."

"Not all psychology is Freudian, Tobes."

"Do your parents still have baby name books from when they were picking Enrique's name?" Mary asked Claire. "Real Enrique, I mean."

"They didn't use one. He was named after our abuelo."

"Okay, so what about your other grandfather? What was his name?"

"Jose María." Defensively, "It's gender neutral in Spanish."

On the television screen, the movie menu finished another loop and started again.

"I tried spelling my name like it sounds, en are ee kay, but Claire said it spelled 'Nrek'. You get why I couldn't use that."

Jim laughed.

"What's funny?" asked Toby. "Is that an insult or something?"

"No, it's goblin, in English it means 'bottle'," Jim translated. "Or possibly 'container of food'." The only bottles he's seen them use held formula for the Familiars, and the word hadn't come up on the surface, so the distinction was unclear. "It's either a silly name or a really morbid one."

"Aaand we're back to the cannibalism."

"No we are not!"

"Na na na heyana, Hahiyaha naha …"

Either somebody had decided to start the movie, or the DVD had that feature where it automatically began playing if nothing was selected after a few loops of the menu.

The conversation went in circles a couple more times, then faded out.

+=+

"And who's the funky-looking donkey over there?"

"That's Sven."

"Uh-huh; and who's the reindeer?"

"… Sven."

"Oh, they're – ? Oh! Okay! Makes things easier for me."

"~Riot~," said Enrique.

"Huh?"

"My nickname. Before. It meant 'riot'."

What are you doing? Jim wanted to demand. Was Enrique just – just giving up on a real name?

"You can call me that for now. Till we work out a for-real one. Better than 'Not Enrique'."

Jim stuffed some burnt popcorn kernels into his mouth to keep from protesting. He couldn't undermine Enrique's – Riot's – chosen name, right in front of a bunch of humans, when he'd been arguing with them about how rude that was for weeks now.

"Oh. Okay." Claire half-smiled. "Riot."

Jim shut his eyes to hide the flaring glow.

+=+

Previous Chapter (Angor Rot gets treated much better, and more sensibly, than in canon, and is correspondingly less vengeful)

Table of Contents 

Next Chapter (Featuring either Otto or Gatto)

A quick thank you to Taycin on AO3 for providing some name-gender context when this chapter first went up.

[papercinders]

survivor

PART IV OF ENIGMA

PAIRING: obi-wan/reader RATING: PG WORD COUNT: 3.0k SUMMARY: he tells you he has no fear. you’re sure that’s false, but he’s never lied to you. or: the fourth time you ask obi-wan who he is. A/N: no warnings (except mentions of injuries and getting attacked by raiders). this is the fourth installment of enigma, a six-part series. updates every saturday. let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

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He treats your wounds, but you don’t want them to heal.

Before, you were drawn to him as a concept ― an outsider, a newcomer, the idea of something other than sand and spice smugglers and raiders. To you, Ben’s arrival meant something to break the monotony of the desert, a traveler who had not been on Tatooine long enough to grow as ruthless as the rest of the planet. He was a concept you were chasing after.

But now, you can’t pretend it’s just that. It’s him you’re drawn to, not what he stands for. Him.

You don’t want to admit it, but as one day drags into two and two into three ― as your wounds begin to heal ― you don’t want to leave. It’s not that his house is nice; it’s just another synstone hut, falling apart at the corners, dustier than yours. It’s not that you’re afraid of the raiders. It’s Ben that you don’t want to leave.

You sit at his table and take the food he offers you, even if it isn’t much. You don’t mind. You watch him across from you as you take a bite of the meal ― dustcrepe and nausage ― and in the waning light spilling through the windows of the hut, the edge of Ben’s silhouette is lined in amber. He looks up to find you watching him.

“Is everything alright?” he says, brow furrowing as his eyes meet yours.

“Everything’s alright,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Ben pauses for a moment, head tilting in the slightest, as if trying to discern your thoughts. “You don’t have to thank me.”

He’s said so multiple times, but it doesn’t change how he replaces the bandage on your hand every day and gives you the only bed in his house. How can you not thank him when it’s his food and his bandages and his help that enables your body to piece itself back together?

“You’re on the way to recovery,” Ben says, and your attention snaps back to the present.

Again, your thoughts rebel against the notion of lacing your boots back on and setting out over the desert, back to your own house, back to your own silence and your own desert. But you remind yourself that you’re just a guest, and you have been imposing on Ben’s kindness for more than a few days.

“I’ll be on my way soon,” you say, all while failing to convince yourself that it’ll be better alone. “As soon as I can make the journey.”

Ben looks as if he is about to say something more, but he stops himself, eyes unreadable as he nods. “When you are able to.”

When you are able to. When the cracks in your ribs begin to fuse, when the cut in your hand begins to close, when the bruises that litter your arms and your stomach begin to fade. They are ugly marks dealt to you by the Tusken Raiders, but they are what has bound you to Ben and kept you here. You do not want them to heal if it means you can stay for longer.

But that’s not how Tatooine works, you remind yourself. Ben will leave once he understands this. There is no kindness here. No warmth; just burning, blistering heat.

After every supper, he takes your dishes back to the kitchen, refuses your help, and returns with bandages. He apologizes for not having bacta, and you wonder where he came from if bacta is considered a necessity and not a luxury. But you don’t ask. If his home was abundant enough to have bacta, he must miss it dearly in comparison to the dusty, bleak landscape of Tatooine.

You set your hand on the table, palm up, for it has become a routine. Ben slowly unwinds the bandage from around your palm, fingertips barely grazing your skin. When the old bandage is gone, you pause to look at the red line carved from the base of your index finger and through the flesh of your palm, stopping before your wrist. It stings, uncovered, but you hold your fingers still. The cut hasn’t completely scabbed over, but it’s slowly healing.

“Good,” Ben says softly. “Not infected.”

The air is still between the two of you, the house silent, and as he works to wrap your hand again, there is nothing to think about but the faint warmth of his fingertips as they skim over your palm. You think his hands are callused but you can’t tell if it’s just friction.

Ben is careful, each move deliberate and measured, and he always bandages your hand slowly, as if he is afraid to cause you pain or tear open the wound. You’re not sure how a soldier can be so gentle or how rough hands can have such a delicate touch, but his do. He has shown you all kinds of impossibilities: oceans in deserts, kindness in mourning, peace in silence.

His hands leave yours, and he is done with the cut on your palm. You pull your hand back toward yourself, examining the bandage for a moment, carefully flexing your fingers. You’re about to say something about the cut feeling better, so you turn to Ben.

But the words die as his eyes pin you there, and your brow furrows as your thoughts turn to why he looks at you with something tantamount to perhaps concern or frustration.

You open your mouth again to push away the silence, but the words die in your throat as Ben reaches over with one hand to brush against your cheek. It’s just the pad of his thumb, tracing along the edge of the scratch on your cheek, but his touch is gentle and unexpected, and you forget what you were about to say. His touch is gone all too soon, but the traces of it linger, as if there is a second scratch carved into the skin of your cheek. You don’t want it to heal, either.

“I was wrong,” Ben says softly. His hand drops back to his side. “Maybe the cut on your cheek will scar, too.” There’s a pause. “I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t apologize. But you can’t find the words to say so, not when you know it will shatter the tentative vulnerability that extends between you and him.

“It’s not your fault,” you settle on. “I don’t mind.”

And you don’t. Really. No one on Tatooine would care about a scar on your face. And Ben, you think, carries scars of his own, both old and new, and you think you are beginning to understand how they interfere with the skin of his soul, even if he hides them.

Ben holds your gaze for a moment longer, and his eyes are forever deep in the falling twilight. There’s something else in his eyes that make you pause, but you can’t figure out what it is. You have yet to figure out who he is, after all, or the answer to his riddle.

You don’t want to leave, not when you haven’t yet figured out how the pieces he has given you fit together. You’re certain that once you piece the puzzle together, it will be quite beautiful.

//

Night comes all too soon, and the lights in the hut are dimmed. It’s quieter, even though there’s hardly any sound during the day. It’s silent as you ease yourself onto the thin mattress of the house’s only bed. Ben is in another room, washing up, perhaps, or taking inventory. You don’t know where he sleeps, and you’re beginning to wonder if he sleeps at all. But you never comment on it.

In the darkness, you find sleep easily. You dream of worlds that have come and gone long ago: planets of ice, and cities with skyscrapers, and oceans ― you’re always thinking about oceans. You’ve cursed your misfortune to be stranded on a planet of deserts and hot suns. You don’t think you could get sick of oceans, not even if you were stranded on a planet covered entirely in water.

And then your dream turns, almost inevitably, to the raiders.

In your distorted memories, their masks are bleeding from the sockets, their clubs pointed instead of smooth. They never attack you in your dreams. They only heft their clubs and scream death because it’s not the pain that you remember vividly, but the fear. That’s what you have immortalized for yourself ― a kind of fear that holds you like a vice and does not let go, a kind of fear that slows the pace of time and squeezes your stomach until you see black.

You remember that.

The universe is cruel for keeping you conscious for the length of your fear and then yanking you away from the waking world once you were safe and rescued. But you dream of what you remember, and though it is distorted, your fear is not. It is a snaking, suffocating thing that closes your vision and expands and contracts your lungs painfully fast. Fear is supposed to keep you alive, but now you think you’re about to die, and it extends, wrapping you whole, pulling you into some darkness that screams ―

No, it does not scream.

The voice is not quiet, but it is not frantic. It says your name, and you think you’ve heard this melody before. The darkness dissolves, slowly and then rapidly, and in the fog of retreating sleep, you’re aware that you’re awake and it is still night.

Someone is saying your name, and you latch onto whatever certainties you can find. The dream begins to fade, and reality clicks back into place. Ben. He’s saying your name. He says it again, and this time, his voice is more gentle.

“Ben?” It’s dark, and you cannot see more than a vague silhouette hovering over you. He’s touching your shoulder, you realize, and you think that maybe he was shaking you to wake up.

“It’s just me,” he says.

When the world is blanketed in night, his voice is the only thing to latch onto. You still haven’t asked him if his accent is Coruscanti. Part of you doesn’t want to know ― to know where his voice comes from would be to contain him to some part of the galaxy when you so desperately want him to be more than what it can offer. To label the music of his voice would be to attempt to define something which is better left alone, better left a mystery.

His hand is still on your shoulder, warm, and though the back of your shirt clings to your skin with sweat and hair is matted to your forehead, his warmth is welcome. You don’t understand how you can still distinguish between levels of warmth when you have lived under the Tatooine sun for so long, but with Ben, you can.

“It was a nightmare,” he says. “It’s alright now.”

His touch leaves your shoulder and a lantern clicks on, and he settles the light source at the foot of the bed. It illuminates the planes of his face in soft golden light.

You’re not sure how to respond. If it was anyone else, you’d thank them for waking you up and then try to fall back asleep. But Ben will reject your gratitude. He has saved your life and still does not accept anything from you.

“I get them too,” Ben says, after a moment of silence. He seems to understand that you don’t want to go back to sleep, not yet. “Nightmares, I mean.”

You know that already, but you don’t mention the night he stayed in your house or the exhaustion that hangs over him every day. There are things both of you notice but never mention.

“I haven’t had a nightmare like this in awhile,” you say, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to sit up, kicking off the blankets because it’s hot. “Not even immediately after the raiders.”

Ben studies you for a moment in the soft light. “You’re afraid,” he says, after a moment. “It’s fear.”

It always is, isn’t it? But the word fear means something else to Ben by the way he says it carefully. You can’t discern what it is to him from his face alone.

“How do you know it’s fear?” you say.

He blinks at you once, mouth pressed into a firm line, and then he lets his gaze fall, not meeting yours. “I had a friend who dealt with nightmares,” he said quietly. “He was afraid of losing the woman he loved.”

You can’t help but ask. “Did he?”

“Did he what?” Ben says.

You pause for a moment, unsure of venturing into Ben’s past. You know there’s pain somewhere in the folds of why he came to Tatooine. He still does not meet your eyes, so you forge on, though your voice drops in volume, as if you’re afraid to hear the answer. “Did he lose her?”

Ben looks up at you then, blue eyes still blue in the warm light, and where his gaze was soft, it is now piercing. He searches your face, and not out of concern, but out of some strange defensive mechanism. You wonder if you can take back your words, take back the hurt that you have just caused him, pretend you’re not afraid of losing what you have come to love.

Slowly, his eyes dim again. “Yes,” Ben says. His voice is soft, the music dampened. “He lost everything.”

The words offer no comfort to you, but you asked for the truth. He has given you a piece of his nebulous past, and you hold onto it. Perhaps you’ve caused him pain by asking. Or perhaps he has offered to endure it, since it was him who brought up his past in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, but the words are hollow, even to you.

He watches you with a furrow in his brow. For a moment, he leans forward, and he’s on the verge of saying something, and then he stops himself and pulls back again, looking down at the lantern.

“Do you want it on?” he says. “You should go back to sleep.”

You recognize it as a dismissal ― he has ended the conversation, if it could be called one ― and you should play your part, too: tell him that it’s alright, that he can turn off the light, that you’ll go back to sleep. Pretend nothing happened in the morning.

But you’re tired of these stolen glances and nearly spoken words and decisions that always seem to end in silence and disappointment.

“You’re afraid, too,” you say, instead.

Ben hesitates for a moment, eyes trained on the floor before rising to meet yours. “No,” he says softly. “I have no fear. Only regret.”

You could ask him what he regrets, but you know that regret is inherently riddled with hurt, and you will not ask until he offers. “Who are you, if you have no fear?”

He pauses, eyes still trained on yours, and then he says, slowly, “A survivor.”

He has picked a new word every time you ask him who he is, but they aren’t so different. He has defined himself, again and again, by the separation between what was and what is. You want to ask him who he was before he came to Tatooine, or even before the war, but you don’t know if he will tell you. A soldier, he said once, and you suppose that is the most accurate name he has given himself, even if it seems like he fights more of a war now than before.

“Do you want the light on?” he says quietly.

You are silent for a moment. Is this how everything is supposed to end? You thought it was better to be alone ― to keep your house empty and your heart closed ― but if you don’t want to be alone, is it really better?

“Wait,” you say, when Ben turns to retreat. He pauses, looking back, questioning. Your heart hammers in your chest, and it’s fear, but a different kind than you’re used to. “Don’t leave.” Not yet, you’d add, but you don’t want him to leave at all.

His lips part, as if he’s about to say something more. He decides against it once, and then, after an agonizing moment, speaks. “You want me to stay?”

You pull your knees to your chest, suddenly vulnerable in the light of Ben’s gaze. It feels like he finally sees you, and not just his friend who lost everything or a victim of the Tusken Raiders. You know that’s not entirely true ― he hasn’t replaced your worth with something else ― but something changes when he asks if you want him to stay.

“Yes,” you say, simply. “Stay.”

You could explain; tell him that you can’t sleep and you don’t want to be alone and you enjoy his company, but you don’t think you need to explain. He knows you are afraid. He sees past your words.

Slowly, perhaps because he wants to preserve the quiet, Ben crosses the distance between you and him, perching on the edge of the mattress past your feet. He pulls his own knees up, crosses his legs, and lets out a breath.

“Are you alright?” he says quietly, leaning against the wall of the alcove to look at you.

You nod. “I will be.” You’d ask in return, but you know what the answer is already.

It’s silent, even while Ben sits against the far end of the bed and you curl your chest into your knees on the other side. He seems to know that you don’t want to be alone but you don’t need to talk. You just need the knowledge that someone ― Ben ― is there.

Eventually, you fall asleep again, and this time, your dreams are empty. When morning comes, you find that Ben is still leaning against the wall, legs still folded in front of him. His eyes are closed, though, and his breathing steady. It’s the first time you know of that he’s slept.

//

taglist (i tagged you if you reblogged or commented on the last part. please let me know if you want to be removed or added!): @coraxaviary @princessxkenobi @amberthefiredemon @livsbaby @ravenoushela @holdurhuxbby @fortunately-golden​

[mail-me-a-snail]

House Keys

chase…oh chase i love you so but you’re in for it now. chase brody, the former bro average superstar, comes home for the first time in a year.

part 1 part 2 part 3 Even if Chase Brody had moved out the year prior, he still has the keys to his brothers’ house. He stands now on the crisp, green lawn and swings the key-chain around. He cards a hand through his hair and rubs his eyes—he doesn’t get much sleep these days. Three years before he moved into his brothers’ house, he was sleeping in the back of his car. He’s been conditioned to fall asleep on the hard leather of the car seat, not in his own bed. He didn’t have a bed those weeks. Stacy and him still don’t talk.

He shoots Marvin a text.

hey bro im outside. will come in with the keys. jackie okay? are you all okay? There’s no response. Chase shrugs and tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans. He’s a little hurt, but it’s fine. It’s Chase’s first visit since he’s moved out. It’s exactly as he remembers it. The lawn is in immaculate condition, with the hedges trimmed neatly and flowers springing up all over the place—Jameson was always in charge of that. He has an eye for lawn care. He takes after Jack. The door and porch are dark mahogany, though it’s washed in orange now as the sun is starting to set. The house itself is painted an egg white. The tiles of the roof are black. Potted plants litter the porch, some new, some old, but all beautiful and trimmed to perfection. No doubt it’s Marvin’s work. The sidewalk he stands on is decorated with faded chalk drawings. Robbie. Of course. Chase is standing on his own face drawn in chalk. It’s a wonderful likeness and Chase can’t help but smile. Robbie even got the faded green in his hair. He steps off. He doesn’t want to ruin a masterpiece. The light in the wide upper story window—Henrik’s room—is off. The doctor’s probably getting his much needed and deserved forty winks. The only light on is in the living room. He takes a deep breath, the kind that pulls his shoulders up like he’s shrugging, and walks towards the door. Anxiety wriggles in his belly. He clutches the keys tightly in his hand—they bite into the skin and leave an impression with their teeth. He remembers the call with Marvin the night before. He had been in his apartment putting together some videos when his phone had rung. Marvin had explained everything to him; finding Jackie bleeding out in the city, teleporting him home, the surgeries…all of it. Jackie was okay, Marvin had assured him, and that he would heal. But the fact that it was…was you-know-who’s work… It hadn’t stop his hands from shaking as soon as he said goodbye and dropped the call nor did it let him breathe. His panic attacks were always bad, but he managed the one he had that night fine. And the one in the bathroom this morning. On the drive here, too. He doesn’t have everything under control yet. Being here again reminds him of all the times you-know-who had been there. He had been there, for Jack and Henrik. It went the same way; a phone call. A panic attack. The fear. Now it’s happening all over again. Why can’t he ever escape the demon? Why can’t any of them? Even a year after…he still looks over his shoulder and tosses and turns at night. When will he stop being afraid? The keys bite into his palm like his old dog had lovingly done. He misses him. Stacy had to take that away from him, too. The sting and the thought of Bulls-eye grounds Chase and he lets go, letting it hang by the key-chain instead. Deep breaths. He slides the key into the lock and turns. The door opens. Chase looks around as he steps into the hall. It’s just the same. The walls are orange. The umbrella stand to the right of the door filled with Marvin’s props, the coat hanger opposite, and the stairs upwards at the very front. To his immediate left is the closed door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic. To his right is the doorway to the living room. There’s a movie on, though Chase can’t identify it as the volume is set way down low. He doesn’t know where to go first as he stands awkwardly in the middle space. “Hello?” He says to the seemingly empty house. “Is anyone home? Marv? Schneep?” “Chase,” His heart skips a beat when he hears the raspy call from the living room, but he brightens when he recognizes the voice. “In here.” Chase has to stop himself from running into the living room. Brown couch, flat screen TV (playing Die Hard, of course), wide windows, and white curtains that blow softly. The coffee table has coffee mug rings on it and abandoned medical supplies like gauze, cotton balls, and antibiotics. Henrik’s neatly folded coat, too. Jackie sits on the couch in a black t-shirt with the brightly coloured graphic of a cartoon dog on a bicycle. He wears the flamingo shorts to accompany it. It’s the first time Chase has seen the hero out of his supersuit; it almost feels wrong. His hair is the neon green Chase remembers it to be. He’s wearing his mask. The only sign he’s been hurt at all are the bandages around his neck and forehead. He’s hardly watching the movie. He has a big smile on his face, the toothy kind of sunshine Chase missed so much. “Jackie,” he breathes. Chase wants to cry with relief. He settles with hugging Jackie as tightly as he can. “I missed you, Jackie,” he says, muffled as he buries his head into the hero’s chest. “I was so worried about you!” “O-ow, ow,” the other hacks out a laugh and winces, patting Chase’s back. “I missed you, too, bud, but…stab wound.” “Shit, right, sorry.” Chase lets go, albeit reluctantly. “Dude, how are you? It’s, I mean—I’ve never been stabbed before.” “I don’t recommend it,” Jackie grimaces. There’s humour in his voice but he also sounds exhausted. “You get here okay?” “Parked out front,” he says, “Came in with the keys. Still have ‘em.” He holds them up to confirm that. He drops them in his lap. “How’re you holding up?” “This thing—” Jackie pats his stomach, presumably where the wound is. “—is a bitch and a half of pain. The neck thing I can handle. It just hurts to talk.” He coughs. It sounds like shaking a dead bush. “Really hurts.” “Oh, I can do the talking, if you want.” “No, it’s okay, Chase. Marvin did something to me, I think, when I was out. Makes my mouth and throat taste like mint. Pretty soothing, actually. Besides, I haven’t seen you in forever! I want to talk.” How can he be so chipper even after he almost died? Chase doesn’t understand it. He really is a comic book superhero. Always getting back up again. “Aw, it hasn’t been that long,” Chase ducks his head, sheepish, but straightens right away. “Can I ask, though? What…what happened?” The silence is thick with tension. Chase bounces his leg, the sole of his sneaker squeaking against the hardwood floor, and pulls at the rubber bracelet around his right wrist under his hoodie sleeve. He picks at the multicoloured bandages on his fingers and arms. Jackie turns the TV off just as John McClain launches himself through a window. He turns to Chase. Their knees touch. “This is what I remember,” Jackie says, and begins. He had met Anti during one of his day patrols, but it wasn’t the song and dance number they usually did; it was in the back-alleys where no one could see them. Maybe that’s what Anti wanted. Maybe it wasn’t. “Anti had…had said something to me,” he mumbles, “that I’m not the hero I think I am. That all of what we do, this hero versus villain thing, is just a show. I-I don’t know why he’s been pretending this long, or…or what he hopes to gain, but…” Chase watches him closely. Jackie stops, shakes his head, and moves on. That’s how the hero has always been. Hit a wall? Just go around. Forget about the wall and keep going. He remembers the fight—and the pinning stab through the gut. The words Anti whispered into his ear. Chase is trembling with raw anger as he sees the large dark bruise marks wrapped around Jackie’s neck where Anti’s hands had been. “But after that,” he growls in frustration, “I can’t remember anything else. By my wound here, I can guess what finished me off.” He taps his neck. “Everything else is beyond me.” “Fuck him” Chase breathes, voice quivering with fury, “You’re a hero to me, to everyone. To Jack.” Jackie flinches when he hears those words. “I don’t have any powers,” Jackie mutters. “What? Yeah, you do! That—that super strength of yours!” “Anti can manipulate objects,” Jackie shoots back, “Time and space, just like Marvin can. How do I know he hasn’t been doing it for me this whole time?” “I…I don’t know.” The anger evaporates as quickly as it came. “I-I don’t want to talk about this.” Jackie throws his hands up. “Please, Chase, let’s…let’s talk about you, okay? I want to hear about where you’ve been—what you’ve done.” Chase bites his lip, trying to find a way to stop the subject from changing. The one frustrating thing about superheroes? They build walls around them, shutting the people they love out hoping to save them from whatever inner turmoil they’re wrangling with. …Chase isn’t stupid or in denial. Even he can admit the similarities between them. But that’s just it. Chase knows he does it—Jackie doesn’t. He’d rather not push further and get into an argument, spoiling the whole visit, so Chase drops it. It’ll sit in the back of his mind, though. He tells Jackie about the new apartment; it’s spacious and less of a dump than the last one. Modest kitchen, shower instead of a tub. “I miss the tub here,” he says forlornly, gesturing to the stairs. “And my little rubber ducky. Shower’s okay, though.” He earns Jackie’s laugh. The apartment is far into the city, maybe ten blocks away from the alley Marvin had found Jackie in, and just across a coffee shop. Having cleaner, more colorful walls than ugly white granite that popcorned helps a lot to take his mind off more…painful things. He hung up posters, bought a flatscreen, had a whole new gaming rig up for himself—he’s doing okay for himself, he thinks. The therapy, the talking, has brought him out of the hole he was in three years before. He tells him about new friends. Baristas at the coffee shop who’ve recognized him as a regular. YouTube is more fun than anything for him right now. The Bro Average brand was dissolved, but he couldn’t care less. It had been time for a fresh start. His channel is up and running and he’s been invited to panels, talks, and conventions. Some people from AA said they had watched his videos. He tells Jackie about how good it is to just. Work. To produce content for others to consume, to make people happy, but not at the cost of his own happiness. He notices he’s rambling when Jackie says nothing and keeps beaming at him. He falters and lets his words trail off into silence. “What?” Chase says. “I’m so proud of you,” Jackie replies, and the pride is trembling in his voice. “Chase, you’ve gotten so far without us. You’ve got a job, a new house—you’re practically shining!” “You’re…you’re proud of me? You mean it?” Chase feels himself smile, too. “Yes. I’m proud.” Jackie puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my bro. You’re the bravest damn person I know and you’ve come out of this so strong, so…it’s…Jack would be proud too.” Chase understands why he starts crying. That’s all he ever wanted. To hear those words come out of Jackie’s mouth. It means he’s done it. He’s gotten better. Maybe not recovered fully, not just yet, but better. Even in his joy, he hates himself for crying because whenever he cries he bawls like a big baby. He buries his face into Jackie’s chest, shoulders shaking. He’s staring at the cartoon dog through blurry, teary eyes. The dog says, in a neon bubble, “RADICAL!” The other rubs his back in soothing circles. “That’s it, buddy,” Jackie whispers, “I’ve got you, bro.” Chase swallows thickly, sniffles, and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Jackie hands him a tissue and he blows. His eyes are stuffy. He looks up into Jackie’s eyes, milky white, hidden behind the film in the mask, but he can tell they’re full of soft, unspoken love. The hero holds his cheek. “Chase Brody Mcloughlin,” Jackie declares, “I, your loving bro, will never stop being proud of you. Don’t forget that.” “Thanks, Jackie,” he sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Thank you. It’s…i-it’s nice to hear that what I’m doing is finally right.” “We’re all proud of you.” Jackie’s hand drops but gives Chase’s shoulder one last firm pat. “S-speaking of,” Chase clears his throat. “Speaking of…where is everyone?” Jackie blanks. “Uh,” he says, unsure. “Good question, actually! No idea. I woke up, like, ten minutes before you came in. I kind of assumed Henrik went to work, and who knows where Marvin is at any given time? JJ and Robbie are out on vacation or something. It’s just Henrik, Marvin, and I.” “Huh,” Chase frowns and stands. “You wait here, Jackie. Henrik can’t have gone to work; he’d never leave you here alone.” “Marvin would be watching over me!” He argues. “This is Marvin we’re talking about!” He shoots back as he leaves the room. He considers going upstairs but stops before he can do it. He notices, to his surprise, that across the hall the clinic’s lights are on. How did he not notice that coming in? The harsh white fluorescents bounce off the tiles and under the door. Chase knocks. “Doc? Marv?” He says, “Yoo-hoo. Anyone in there?” Of course, unsettling silence follows. Great. Chase has played enough horror games to know that whatever’s on the other side is bad. He flinches as glass shatters behind the door. A shadow moves under the door. “Henrik?” “Schiesse!” comes a muffled curse to answer. Angry German swearing? Yeah. That’s Henrik. “What the hell was that?!” Jackie says from the couch, halfway to standing. Chase notices he’s wobbling like a newborn deer. “Jackie, get back on the couch,” Chase scolds the hero, “You’re in no condition to walk!” He turns back to the door. “Doc, I’m coming in.” He takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob, and turns. What he finds on the other side isn’t horrible, so he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Henrik, hair messy and eye bags seemingly darker, clutching his head, is kneeling among shattered glass. From the way the metal table beside the hospital bed is on its side, Chase surmises that Henrik knocked it and the beakers that were on it to the ground when he tried to stand. “Doc!” He exclaims, rushing over to Henrik. He takes the doctor by the arm, helping him up, and looping the arm around his shoulders. “Danke,” Henrik grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “Chase, is that you?” “A-are you blind, Henrik?” Panic momentarily flares up in him. “Oh, jeez, I can get something for your eyes. Maybe ice—” “No,” Henrik sighs, but in the most affectionate way possible. He opens his eyes halfway, tired grey-blues looking up at him. “Chase, relax. I’m not blind. It’s these damn fluorescents—they could make me go blind. I don’t know why I thought they were a good idea. This nausea…it’s like someone took a hammer to my skull. Might as well have… I see enough of those lights in the hospital. Is it any wonder I wear glasses…” Henrik reaches into his pocket for something. He swears again as he brings out the bent and cracked frames of his glasses. “Oh, that is just great,” he hisses under his breath, “They must’ve gotten smashed in the fight.” “T…the what?” This is plenty strange already, but of course, he just has to notice only now that Marvin is crumpled in a desk chair, long, flowy hair messy and tangled, falling behind him as his head leans back, showing his neck. “Oh my God—Marvin!” “He’s okay,” Henrik straightens, though he’s still too weak to stand. Chase helps him into another chair. The doctor sits down with a sigh of relief, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “What the hell happened here?” Chase gestures vaguely to the entire room. “To Marvin? Actually, to you? Was it…was it you-know-who?” “Anti,” the doctor spits. Chase winces at the name. “It’s not right to fear his name. He and I had an…encounter last night. I thought I was going to die.” He briefly touches his neck. Chase sees all the scars crisscrossed there; it’s why the doctor wears turtlenecks to work. He’s always been insecure about them. “I thought it was all over but…but I woke up here. My head hurts like a bitch but I’ve got no other wounds. My neck, my concussion—they’re healed, like they were never there. "So, I have reason to believe,” he continues, “Marvin used the full extent of his magic to save me. It’s probably why he’s passed out.” “He’s always been shit at restoration magic,” Chase jokes, but turns serious right away. “Jesus, doc. Are you really okay? Why the fuck did you-know-wh—I mean,—A…Anti go after you?” “Teach me a lesson? Finish me off?” Henrik raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. God, I’m sorry, Chase, that this is the scene you’ve returned to. You’ve had enough of this…this Anti business, and now we’re dragging you back into it. Forgive me.” “No, doc, don’t say that,” Chase waves him off, “it’s not your fault. Besides, the guy’s messing with my brothers. That’s not gonna fly with me.” His voice shakes. He knows how unconvincing his moxie is. He swallows the stone in his throat and turns away before Henrik can call him out on it. The man crosses the room and takes a trauma blanket from the cabinet—he practically knows the clinic as well as Henrik does—and drapes it over Marvin. The magician barely stirs. He’s completely out. “CHASE? IS EVERYONE OKAY?” Jackie shouts from the living room. Chase startles and nearly knocks some important doodad over. Henrik’s blue eyes crackle to life at the sound of the hero’s voice. “He’s okay,” he says more to himself than Chase, “Oh, God, he’s okay.” To Chase, he says, “Chase, help me up—I must see Jackie.” “But what about Marv?” “He’ll need rest. Neither of us are strong enough to move him upstairs. Please, Chase, let’s go.” Henrik is almost begging. The tone unnerves and stirs Chase into action. He helps the doctor, slowly and surely, into the living room. “Henrik?” Jackie breaths, “What happened to you? Why are you limping? Is Marvin o—” Henrik launches himself from Chase’s arms and onto Jackie, nearly tackling the hero into the sofa. Jackie grunts in pain. “You idiot,” Henrik growls, though with utmost love. “You had me so worried! You could’ve died.” He hugs Jackie tight, despite his weak state. “Don’t ever do that again.” “What, get stabbed?” When Henrik glares up at him, he sobers. “Okay, okay. I won’t. I promise. Chase, where’s Marvin?” “Getting some rest,” Chase explains, “He used a whole bunch of his magic to heal Henrik. A-Anti attacked the doc last night.” “He…what?” Jackie’s tone is dangerously quiet. His shoulders are tense—he looks like an apex predator. It takes everything in Chase not to back away. “Calm yourself,” Henrik cautions, “I’m okay now. Marvin made sure of it. It is true; I had a fight with Anti and…I did not emerge the victor. But it’s alright. I’m alright.” Jackie deflates and hugs Henrik back. “I’m glad you’re okay, doc.” “You too, Jackie.” Chase bites his lip and leaves the room. He knows what he said about Anti, that he’d be ready to fight the demon again, given the chance. It’s one big lie, because he is fucking terrified of Anti, terrified of the fact that this is all very real, and that it had gotten all too real very fast. He wants to run away in that stupid little way of his, where he drives and drives until he can’t or locks himself up in his room, anywhere where Anti can’t reach him. He’s managed not to see the demon for a full year. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not again. Not again. – Chase goes up to his room and finds the hatch to the roof still unlocked. He goes out and sits there, on the uncomfortable tiles, and stares up at the stars. It’s somewhere around 11:30, maybe midnight. He doesn’t check his phone. Henrik’s gone to sleep. Jackie had helped Chase move Marvin to the couch. The both of them weren’t nearly strong enough to bring him up to his bedroom. Some part of Chase is telling him to relapse. To drink. He snaps the rubber bracelet against his wrist over and over instead. It makes an angry red mark. It’s a distraction. It makes him all the more ashamed of how fast he crumbles in the face of all this. He’s hasn’t gotten better. Even in the darkness, he knows what the bracelet says. He’s seen it, worn it ever since the last time Anti had tormented him. Alcoholics Anonymous, in white letters against a garish neon green. His mouth tastes of smoke. His eyes are heavy. He is tired and deflated. His brothers nearly dead—what a sight to come home to. At least now, he’s here for them. He is so tired, he doesn’t turn around when the hatch opens and Jackie sits beside him. He’s changed out of that cartoon dog shirt—he sports one of Henrik’s striped shirts. “Hey,” Jackie greets him softly. Chase can see the hero watching the bracelet snap repeatedly against his wrist, which he doesn’t stop. “Hey.” Silence. Cicadas. Snap. Snap. Snap. “How long have you been sober?” Chase knows how much Jackie wants to say more, but he doesn’t. It’s a simple question. “A year.” An exact year from the last time Anti hurt him. He and Jackie match in scars now. Not on the neck, though. “Dude, that’s awesome. I’m proud of you.” The words are hollow. He doesn’t deserve them. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Chase?” Snap. Snap. Snap. “Welcome home.” Chase breaths shakily. His wrist stings. He cries, the fourth time that day, and bites back the urge to scream. “He’s g-going to f-find me again,” he says through quick breaths, “I’m n-next.” “Chase…” The man shakes his head furiously. “I-I’m not leaving. If he think he can fucking s-scare me,” Chase hiccups, “he’s w-wrong. I’m tired of r-running away. I’m going to fight.” Nothing, for a moment. Then, Jackie says, “It’s what Jack would’ve wanted.” Chase cries harder at that. He wants to toss his house keys off this damn roof and never see them again, because they remind him too much of the doors he’s just opened up. He’s not afraid. Shaking and sobbing, he is not afraid. He is furious.

[whogirl42]

Episode 8. Oh wowee, episode 8.

Warning: I have a lot of thoughts and feelings because Marisa and Asriel finally interacted onscreen and it was glorious.

Let’s begin.

We all know Marisa has a... let's say, complicated relationship with her daemon. At his point, it’s no surprise to see Marisa abusing him in one form or the other. But we’ve never seen it like this before. Earlier times it was as a warning to behave or a slap as a form of punishment. This? This is something new. Marisa is gripping her daemon’s skin to the point of pain, a point so painful that she is closing her eyes and wincing. There’s no pretending it doesn’t hurt her too. This is self ham at its most explicit. 

What has he done to deserve such treatment? What could have driven her to this? What did we see Marisa doing in the scene we saw her last?

Marisa is bracing herself for having to kill Asriel, one of the only two people in the world she cares about. Her entire self is rebelling at the very thought.

"What did he do to you?" Macphail asks, and it might have been her asking herself that question. "What power he still exerts. I knew you. An ambitious young woman with a good marriage well on her way to quite some position, and then that man came along and you melted."

That won’t happen again. Marisa is far from that stupid girl who made the worst mistake of her life over a crush. She steels herself for what she needs to do. She is sure in her convictions and no one, least not that man, will stop her.

Below, armoured bears are readying for an attack.

Lyra is probably still with the Gyptions. There's no reason to think Lyra would be down there below. Maybe the possibility of Lyra being there doesn't even cross her mind. Except Iofer is dead. After an armoured bear helped Lyra escape Bolvanger. And now there are armoured bears readying for an attack against the Magisterium. Lyra could be down there. 

"Open fire," Marisa says. It's chaos down there, it's hard to see anything. But maybe she spots one bear running away. Maybe she spots a familiar red hat on its rider and sighs in relief. Maybe she berates herself for almost hurting her daughter again.

Or maybe Lyra isn't even on her radar, too consumed with thoughts of Asriel.

Marisa knew Asriel was doing something was Dust. She understands from his work that it has something to do with an energy discharge. The penny drops, and fear takes hold of Marisa. 

He wouldn't. Would he? But the numbers all add up. Marisa isn't beyond hurting children and they're the same, Asriel and her, they always have been. He'd enjoy besting Marisa at something, succeeding where she couldn't. He couldn't. But who was to say how far his convictions went? Lyra shouldn't be anywhere near there. There's no reason for her to be there. 

Still, Marisa is on edge. She demands Thorold tell her what Asriel is planning, even as she seems to have grasped the basics. She tries frightening him, appealing to the faith I'm surprised he'd even have after years of working for Asriel. Thorold lowers the gun but still doesn't say anything. Marisa tries a different tactic. 

"Thorold, I should throw you to the wolves. But I won't. I’ll tell them that Father Macphail is staying here to analyse what we’ve found, and then I’ll take the troops to pursue Asriel and you will leave. He’s always been so reckless. He’s never treated any of us well, you included."

Did Thorold tell her anything off-screen? We don't know. There's nothing to suggest that they talk any more after this scene. Which means that Marisa - always in control - Coulter let her guard down, let herself seem vulnerable about Asriel, without any clear gain. This isn't a ploy to get something. This isn't her being emotional because Lyra's there. This is just her being emotional. For the first time in god knows how long, she's going to see Asriel again. And Thorold has been working with Asriel for years. He probably knew about the affair as it happened, one of the only people in the know. Both Thorold and Marisa know Asriel intimately, and there's a camaraderie to that.

I can't not mention Marisa's remarks about Asriel throughout the season.

"He's a failure of a man and a failure of a father." (1x02)

"He thought he could protect you. Another one of his ridiculous ideas. Couldn't protect a painting if it was drawn on the wall." (1x02)

"[About giving up Lyra] And Asriel had ideas on what was best." (1x06)

“And if there's one thing that man doesn't need, it's more toys to do damage with.” (1x06)

“He’s always been so reckless. He’s never treated any of us well.” (1x08) 

And that’s probably barely scracthig the surface. We have no way of knowing how long it’s been since they last saw each other? Marisa told Lyra that she sometimes bumps into Asriel in the Arctic Institute, but there’s nothing to suggest that actually happened. For all we know, this could be the first time they speak since Asriel’s trial 12 years ago.

Marisa approaches him. He's sprouting out heresy like he always did, but she can't ignore it or roll her eyes or find better uses for his mouth. He's shattering her world, promising the end of everything she's worked for, everything she believes in.

Damn him, he has the audacity to smile.

This is the end of the Magisterium, that's what he said. The sun of another world.  "Come,” he says.

She doesn't want to, but she can't help it. Whether it’s a miracle, an abomination; she is first and foremost a scholar, and this is extraordinary.

Something like peace settles between them, but Asriel is still saying things she does not want to hear. "Marisa, come with me," he says, like it's that easy.

Marisa's religious beliefs haven't been given much attention until now. She's played with the Magisterium, manipulating them to get what she wants and not giving a damn to what they say if when doesn't suit her. In the previous episode, she told Father Macphail the Magisterium has her devotion, but that didn't ring true. She cares about her experiments. That's her priority. Everything else is background noise.

Marisa fully believes that Dust in sin. She said it herself to Lyra in the Daemon Cages. 

“Dust is not a good thing. Grown-ups are infected so deeply that it's too late for them. Condemned to a life of sin, guilt and regret. This is for a better future, a better life. [...] At the age that we call puberty, an age you'll come into very soon, darling, daemons bring all sorts of troublesome thoughts and feelings.” 

She's trying to create a better world, one where humans aren't plagued with temptation and guilt. It's easy to blame this on the consequences of her affair with Asriel, and I do believe that fuels some of it. But to solely credit him for her motivations does her character a disservice. It took three-quarters of the season to touch on what drives her to these extremes, and I very much hope that they continue to delve into it in season 2.

Okay. This moment. This moment this moment this moment. This moment. Sorry, my brain loops and glitches whenever I see or think of this moment, because this moment.

This moment.

It's best with audio because then you can hear the way Ruth Wilson says Marisa’s faint protests. She's breathless, confused, torn, unsure. Everything she hasn't been up till now. Ruth Wilson is out queen our lord and saviour.

And Asriel, our favourite slut, is so thirsty for her, leaning in as she pulls away. It's been years and finally, he can kiss her again and he doesn't want to ever stop. His experiment just changed things forever, could change them forever. He and Marisa are the same, and he loved her years ago and he still loves her now, and if everything is changing then maybe finally they can get their happy ending.

Marisa was able to convince Macphail to let her come along because she knows Asriel better than anyone else. The same is true vice versa.

“Lie about whatever you want. Lie about the Oblation Board. The Magisterium. Lie about the girl. But do not lie about your ambition your work or who you truly are. You used to want to change the world. Then leave the Magisterium. Come with me, and we will change them all.”

He talks between small kisses, tempting her, teasing her, seducing her. Despite her snapping remark at Macphail, Marisa does in fact melt. This will work, they can be together again.

But there's the one thing Asriel didn't expect. The one thing that Marisa herself hadn't expected.

But I love Lyra. Where did this love come from? I don't know; it came to me like a thief in the night, and now I love her so much my heart is bursting with it. 

Rewatching the scene, you can see the moment she makes her decision. She leans her head back just enough so she can look at Asriel.

Then leans back in and closes her eyes. Lets herself bask in the moment, lets herself feel the love and safety and rightness of being with him envelop her. When she opens her eyes, when she pulls away and speaks the words that will put them on separate paths, her resolution is clear. She's resigned to her decision and its consequences.

And Asriel could have debated theology and politics until the end of time, if that's what it took to have her again. He can't argue this. 

And so she leaves. And he lets her. And the two of them are just so unexpectedly soft with each other my heart can't take it.

Where's the furious fight? The cutting remarks? The bitter resentment pushed down all these years finally showing its ugly face? Where's the dysfunctional madness?

"Ah, those two. In a fight they're lethal. Around each other, they melt." - Richelle Mead, The Golden Lily.

Part of me is disappointed we missed out on that beautiful angst, the kind we'd probably see if they spent longer together, but another part of me loves it. Because they cut through the bullshit. With others maybe they'd put on an act, but it's just them. And they know each other. They'd see through the other's presences in a heartbeat. The whole scene is so intimate, so honest, they almost convince me they could be healthy. And that's the tragedy of them, I think. They're so alike, two sides of the same coin. They understand each other on such a deep level no amount of time apart makes a difference. In another life, they would work. They should work. But this is the reality they live in.

Confession time.

I have not read the books. I have no intention of reading the books, at least not the parts I haven't seen onscreen yet. The reason is that after episode 3, I picked up the first book, caught up to where I was on the show, and realised I enjoyed the show better. I'd rather experience the twists and turns first on the platform that I prefer, without having them spoiled first on a platform that just doesn't evoke the same emotional response. Please don't pelt tomatoes at me!

I vaguely knew the plot of the Golden Compass from the movie I half saw years ago, and from general knowledge. Going forth, I'm mostly blind. I know bits and pieces from Tumblr that I can't quite escape, (I.e: the quote from the books I used above that I've seen in multiple gifsets), and unfortunately, I already know Masriel's fate. The journey getting there? No clue.

Which is exciting.

I've understood that the show is delving much more into Maria's psyche than the books, and that her revelation that she loves Lyra has come earlier. I don't know what it means going forth, if there will be changes from the books or if it will stay the same for the most part. What I do know, is that I can't wait to see what happens next.

Marisa refused Asriel because of Lyra, but Lyra left their world. Next season, I'm sure Marisa will be just as ruthless and determined to get her back, that will probably result with her aligning with the Magisterium once more. 

I'd love to see her find a way to once again place the blame on Asriel, but as we've seen, her bitterness and resentment tend to fade away when faced with the man himself. Maybe it'll be easier to cling onto now the novelty of seeing him again after so long has worn off. But I honestly don't know how it will go when they next see each other. The softness of this scene took me by surprise, just as each of them always does individually. One thing's for sure, their connection isn't going anywhere.

But neither is the reality they live in. The Magisterium. It'll be interesting to see just how deep her loyalties go because the show did a great job in showing me that she'll choose Lyra over practically anything, but like I said, it hasn't talked much about her religious convictions.

See, that isn't what I'd expect to hear from the truly devout. It's part of her power-play with Macphail, yes, but it doesn't scream religious fanatic. 

I want next season to explore that side of her. Ruth is a fantastic actress and would portray the inner turmoil perfectly. But I need to believe there's a chance she won't choose Lyra. I need to be convinced in her conviction, to honesty fear that she's gone off the ledge. I love that Lyra is her weak spot, I love that in her own twisted way she believes she's putting Lyra first. But she's not just a mother. She's not just a scorned lover. She is Marisa fucking Coulter, cesspit of moral filth, mother of all evil, and I need to see her go dark.

Yes, darker than smiling as she attacks the daughter she loves, darker than killing a boy with her bare hands, darker than kidnapping and experimenting on children even as they continue to die. I want her to repulse me with her actions. I want her to cross every line imaginable. I want her completely unredeemable. And then have her love for her child override all those convictions.

I have high demands. I have high expectations. I have full confidence Ruth Wilson can deliver. I'm really hoping the writers and producers do too. 

[vitanes]

say it’s okay when it’s not

chapter 7: i’ve got you

When Lucas thinks all hope is lost, his friends come through.

Okay, so maybe he isn’t completely fine. Lucas has no idea where to go from here. His hand is shaking, he’s cold and scared of the darkness surrounding him. He’s been aimlessly wandering the streets after he calmed down slightly. Every shadow and noise gives him chills. He’s not sure where he actually is, everything looks the same.

He knows the city, but it seems foreign after the sun sets. And he’s just a frightened kid, mostly running on adrenaline now. If not for it, he’d have collapsed a couple of hours ago.

His knees are wobbly and when he can’t take this any longer, he plops down on a bench he stumbles across. With a heavy sigh, he reaches for his phone with his uninjured hand. Lucas needs to squint at the bright screen once it’s unlocked.

There are a lot of notifications, much more than he expected. Missed calls from everyone from Mika to, surprisingly, even Emma. Everyone asking him where he is and to come back. The group chat with the guys is flooded as are his private chats with them. Manon texted him saying they’ll figure it out. Will they?

He feels his throat closing up when he gets to messages from Yann.

Mika called and said you ran off

What happened?

Please call me we are all worried

Then he tried calling Lucas instead. Lucas snorts through his stuffed nose. It’s making him lightheaded, to be honest. He didn’t mean to cause trouble, to concern anyone.

Was the situation reversed, he’d want Yann to contact him as soon as possible. Lucas only hesitates for a moment. He presses the call button despite the fact it’s the middle of the night and waits. Yann picks up after two signals.

“Lucas?”

“Hey,” Lucas says, his voice hoarse.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” Yann sounds shaken up. He shouldn’t. After all, nothing bad has happened to Lucas and it hasn’t been that long since he left.

“Mika hasn’t told you?”

“He only said you left the flat and that he can’t reach you.”

Lucas appreciates that Mika didn’t go around telling everyone Lucas is too broke to pay for his room.

“I’m being kicked out,” Lucas admits bitterly.

“What?”

“I can’t pay rent. They can’t keep there for free.” He shrugs one of his shoulders. Feigning nonchalance is better in that situation.

“Where are you now?”

Lucas looks around but still can’t recognize the area. Something clenches at his chest. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice breaking halfway through.

He hears Yann sigh. “Okay. Can you turn on your GPS and use it to come here? If you aren’t too far away?”

“Are you sure? It’s the middle of the night. I don’t want to… bother.”

“Come on, stop talking dumb things and just come home,” he says and Lucas believes him when he says ‘home’.

In truth, Yann’s house has been Lucas’ safe place for many years. When his parents kept fighting that’s where he’d find himself seeking comfort. Yann’s mom always would take him in, no questions asked. When Lucas’ mom was getting worse and father decided to move out, Lucas spent at Yann’s most of his time. He hasn’t been there as often recently, maybe because he thought he finally found his own place or the current turmoil he’s been going through was something he couldn’t tell Yann about. And he always told Yann everything. Confided in him when they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on Yann’s worn out bed. It felt like safety and Yann’s offering it again. It’d be foolish of Lucas to turn it down.

Thankfully, he finds out he isn’t that far away. Can make it in thirty minutes if he tries hard enough. The matter of whether he’s still capable of it should be concerning, but with a loud groan he stands up from the bench and lets his phone guide him

 ***

 It’s half past two when he reaches Yann’s house. Lucas briefly wonders if Yann has possibly fallen asleep, if he shouldn’t have come but then he gets an are you close? right before he rounds the corner and finds himself in front of the building.

Once he’s facing the all too familiar door to Yann’s flat, Lucas tucks his phone in and tries to hide his right hand before quietly knocking. A whole minute passes and then it’s Yann pulling him inside and towards his room.

“Everyone’s asleep,” he explains in a hushed tone when he locks the door behind them and sits down on his bed, expectantly looking up at Lucas.

Lucas doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels out of place, like an intruder. His throat is dry.

Yann’s eyes widen for some reason. “Lucas, whose blood is it?” he asks.

Lucas looks down at where Yann’s eyes are glued. Indeed, there are traces of blood all over his jacket. He hasn’t thought about it when he was clutching his hand to his chest when his knuckles kept bleeding out.

“It’s mine. I… lashed out.” He reluctantly takes his damaged hand from his pocket and flinches when his fingers move. “It was a wall, don’t worry,” he mumbles, not meeting Yann’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment he knows is there.

“Man, what’s going on with you?” Yann says, his voice panicked and Lucas gulps. “Sit down. I’ll look over it.”

Lucas does as he’s told all the while Yann leaves the room. Lucas’ heart is beating loud for some reason, completely unrelated to his throbbing fingers. He never wanted Yann to see him like this. But if not Yann, then who? They’ve both seen each other at their lowest. And not once have they rejected one another. But what if there’s a limit and Lucas is going to finally reach it?

Yann comes back after a few minutes, two bags of frozen cauliflower in one hand and first aid kit in the other. He sits down next to Lucas and starts gently disinfecting Lucas’ wounds. It hurts, hurts like a bitch, but Lucas clenches his jaw and takes it. Up until all of the dried blood is gone. Only then does he notice how some of his knuckles are crooked and his skin bruised. It looks really ugly.

Yann cradles Lucas’ fingers between his own, avoiding touching the open wounds. “Can you move them?”

Lucas tries to flex his fingers and hisses. “Hardly.”

“We’ll take you to a doctor tomorrow, ‘kay?” he asks, his big brown eyes boring into Lucas’. Lucas can’t do anything else but nod. “Tell me what’s up, now.” Yann puts Lucas’ hand between the cauliflower. Lucas welcomes the cold with a loud exhale. It almost kills the pain.

Yann pokes him in the side and looks at him meaningfully. Right, talking.

“Well, my father doesn’t want to give me money and I haven’t paid for two rents as of now. The owner wants me gone.” Lucas shrugs.

Yann visibly deflates.

“What a fucking piece of shit. He has to give you money, though. Right?” Yann asks, frowning.

“Apparently he doesn’t have to do anything.”

There are a few beats of silence, both of them looking down. Then, Yann puts his hand on Lucas’ shoulder and squeezes.

“I’m so sorry for not noticing earlier. You’ve been going through this whole shit completely alone. I’m a shitty best friend. And sorry for how I acted last week. Telling you to stop worrying everyone, fuck.”

Lucas casts him a glance. “It’s okay, I’d snap, too. You’ve caught up on something being wrong with me. Don’t blame yourself for me sitting quiet,” Lucas says, trying to send Yann a smile but failing miserably. He still hasn’t told Yann everything. He’s not sure he can bring himself to do it. “It’s not all,” he whispers and sees Yann perking up out of the corner of his eye. “There’s one more thing that’s been fucking with me.” He threads his fingers through his hair in irritation. He sighs and looks at Yann. “Someone’s been blackmailing me. That’s why… that’s why I ran out of money so quickly.”

Yann looks baffled. “What? How?”

Lucas stands up suddenly and walks over to the other part of the room, unable to stay in close proximity to Yann. He’s barely keeping it together. He’s been holding it all in for so long he can’t even imagine talking about it out loud. But… he owes as much to Yann, doesn’t he? Yann’s been nothing but patient and supportive, wanting Lucas to come to him with his troubles. He’s offering Lucas shelter despite his unawareness. And it’s not like Lucas thinks he’s ought to come out to Yann because of that, but he needs to explain himself and that’s the only way.

On the other hand, this secret has been his to bear for such a long time, sharing it with someone feels almost like betrayal in some twisted way. Lucas has been the only one to be drowning and it’s become a part of who he is. He’s built a whole persona around it, has been so damn protective of securing it safely. Lucas doesn’t even remember the time in his life when he didn’t have to hide. And now, giving that piece of information to Yann? It’s like losing something he’s been desperately clutching on. Being stripped of his own identity.

And there’s also fear. Fear of rejection. He wouldn’t be able to handle Yann not wanting him in his life anymore. Years ago, they decided to be best friends and it’s been the most precious thing for Lucas. He can’t imagine losing it.

But it’s Yann. The kind-hearted guy who notices something is wrong in an instant. Someone that’s been Lucas’ person, his anchor. His first love. Lucas needs to trust him.  

He takes a deep breath, both of his hands trembling. His tongue feels like cotton and it’s hard to look at the photographs standing on the shelves, some of them showing him and Yann together.

Lucas opens his lips, looking directly at a stain on the wall he remembers Yann leaving. His shoulders are nearly drawn to his ears when he says, “Someone took pictures of me. Kissing someone. Another boy. And I’ve been paying them so they wouldn’t leak them. And out me,” he says, his voice cracking every few words. He feels sweaty and cold. And the longer Yann doesn’t reply, the faster his heart is beating.

“So that’s what you meant by saying I wouldn’t understand,” Yann says thoughtfully after what feels like forever. Lucas hums in agreement, not trusting his own voice at the moment. “You were right.” Something sinks down in Lucas’ stomach and he feels sick. That’s what he was scared of the most. He wishes he could take it back. “I couldn’t possibly understand how you must feel. I wouldn’t know what to do in your situation, but I’m with you, okay? No matter what. I’ve got your back, Lucas.”

Then, Yann proceeds to come up to Lucas and with no ounce of hesitation, envelop him in a hug.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed it the most. But I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you,” he whispers reassuringly into Lucas’ hair, holding him so tight it feels like he may never let go.

Lucas shakily exhales. He’s home.

 ***

 Lucas spends the night at Yann’s, sleeping quite well after he swallows some painkillers for his hand. Yann’s family doesn’t have anything against him being here, which he appreciates. If the looks of pity they send him is anything to go by, they’re probably thinking he’s having troubles with parents again. He doesn’t mind it, though, if it means he has a place to sleep in.

He doesn’t contact anyone else, but Lucas figures out that Yann does since his phone stopped being flooded with more notifications. He enjoys the quiet, it’s not as overwhelming.

Yann, true to his word, drags Lucas to the doctor to check his hand. It’s awful and embarrassing, especially when Lucas has to dodge the questions about the reason his hand is in this state. He keeps things vague and the doctor doesn’t push. Lucas gets prescribed painkillers(which he can’t buy, so sucks for him), the doctor tells him how to treat the two fingers that are broken(that’s why he couldn’t move them, huh) and shows him how to properly wrap the gaze so everything is secured.

Yann insists on buying them something to eat on their way to his home. Once they have their orders and begin eating, Yann speaks.

“We need to figure out what to do with the room issue and this blackmail.”

Yann’s ‘we’ makes Lucas nearly trip over himself. It’s been only ‘I’ for such a long time.

Lucas’ phone buzzes at this moment and he checks what it is. “Speak of the devil,” he mumbles. The blackmailer hasn’t contacted him in weeks.

“Huh?” Yann lets out and Lucas shows him the screen. They are a team now, so he’s allowed. “You haven’t sent the money for the last week. I won’t remind you again,” Yann reads aloud, his tone growing angrier with each second. “What an entitled asshole.”

Lucas hums, typing out a response.

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth. That I don’t have money,” he says, taking a bite of his hamburger. He may appear calm, but he’s feeling far from it. Just grasping the concept of being outed makes him want to scream. But what good would it do?

Lucas gets another message and he gulps. “They want one hundred euro as soon as possible or the photos are out,” he says. Where can he get this much from? Especially if he has to focus on rent first. “What do I do?” he says weakly.  

“Lucas, hey, Lucas.” Yann shakes him slightly. “We’ll get through this,” he assures Lucas, grabbing his shaking hands.

 ***

 Lucas knows he can’t stay at Yann’s forever, but when he gets offered yet another night, he can’t say no. He can’t go back to the flat he shares with Mika, Lisa, and Manon. There’s also no other place for him. He’s aware he’ll have to figure out the solution, but at the moment all he can do is try to fall asleep.

Of course, he can’t. There are so many thoughts invading his mind, all of them attacking him at once.

Yann knows about his struggles. Lucas hasn’t told him about sleeping with Chloé or about how much he hates himself, he decided to spare him. Especially since Yann seems to feel guilty about not being enough as a best friend. Nevertheless, he’s found out Lucas’ biggest secret. And despite the still paralysing fear of everyone else knowing, Lucas feels lighter. That doesn’t change the fact he doesn’t particularly love how the things are.

He’s gay no matter what he does. And he can’t just accept himself overnight simply because he came out to his best friend. No, he is still too scared to call himself gay out loud, still too scared to acknowledge his sexuality. He can’t not feel gross about himself. Lucas keeps thinking Yann will find him disgusting sooner or later. Or worse, he’ll realise Lucas used to have feelings for him and will put distance between them and their friendship will change forever. He doesn’t want this.

What would other people think if they knew? Lucas doesn’t feel like finding out any time soon. But it may happen. He’s not going to magically find a couple hundred euros to pay off the blackmailer and for the bills. He can’t even fathom to think about where he can end up in a few days. Logically, he knows he should start thinking about what’s next, but every time he tries his brain stops working altogether. Becoming homeless is huge and Lucas’ chest feels like expanding each time even a mere thought about it crosses his mind.  

Lucas should be looking for some shelters that could possibly take him in. He’s still a minor and what if the authorities find out he’s homeless and neglected by his parents? Will they put him in an orphanage or a foster home? He’s got no idea how it works and his head aches from all the possibilities.  

Is his father really going to abandon him completely? Should he let his mom know? Would she even be present enough? Last time they talked was months ago and Lucas has completely erased the memory, that’s how bad it was. But maybe she’s better now, she’s been getting treatment. But what can she do, honestly? She’s got no money to give him, relying on his father at the moment. And him telling her all of that could just cause unnecessary stress that would result in her condition getting worse. He can’t do it to her.

Lucas is so fucking lost right now.

 ***

 He stays with Yann throughout most of the Sunday, waiting for the other shoe to drop, checking whether the blackmailer has contacted him yet and hoping he isn’t as much of a disturbance as he feels.

They are currently playing a video game, courtesy of Yann. It’s his way of distracting Lucas.

“I did a thing,” Yann tells him halfway through the round and Lucas frowns.

He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, not losing focus on the game. “Yeah?”

“Please, don’t be mad,” he pleads in a small voice and Lucas’ throat goes dry.

“Why would I?” he asks, chuckling nervously.

“I’ve been thinking about how to help you. And then I reached to the guys and girls. I told them you’ve got no money and we started brainstorming. It was Daphne who suggested the idea, though. That each one of us could give some money and eventually we would get the whole amount for your rent.” Lucas pauses the game, his hands too clammy to keep pushing the buttons. “It was on short notice, but we’ve got enough. Everyone contributed as much as they could and yeah.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Lucas whispers, hanging his head low. Yann clasps him on the shoulder.

“Thank you would be enough,” he says, a smile audible in his voice.

“I– I can’t take it, though,” he cracks out.

“We all figured out you’d be too noble or some other shit so the money has been already transferred. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I don’t deserve that,” Lucas conquers. He shouldn’t be given money, shouldn’t be their charity case and a burden. He feels guilty. He should have handled it alone.

“Hey, I told you I’ve got your back. And I mean it. No one forced anyone to give money, everyone wanted to. Because we all care about you. You’re not alone, Lucas. Let us help,” Yann says, tugging Lucas closer. Lucas shudders but doesn’t say anything more. He’ll pay them back, he doesn’t know how, but he will. After all, they’ve saved him from losing a place to live for at least another month.

 ***

 Lucas gets back to the flat on Sunday afternoon, expecting things to be stiff and awkward. He’s scared to cross the doorstep, he doesn’t feel like he’s allowed inside. Especially after how he’s rushed out of here in the first place. Lucas is first and foremost, embarrassed.

When he hangs his jacket, he lingers by the door for a long moment, not knowing what is appropriate in this situation. He can’t simply go to his bedroom, but facing his flatmates seems like the last thing he wants to do in this circumstance.

“You’re back.” Lucas hears behind himself and turns around. Mika is looking at him, through him, frowning. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest. Lucas swallows loudly. Mika’s eyes briefly jump to Lucas’ right hand before they move back to his face.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas mutters, his pulse speeding up.

“You should be. Do you have any idea how worried we were? We were about to call the police before Yann let us know you came to him. And your hand? What happened?” Mika lets out a loud exhales and scrubs a hand down his face. “Never do something like that again,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m too old for this,” he adds under his breath.

“Is it okay if I stay?” Lucas asks quietly and Mika lets out an indignant noise.

“Of course! Lucas, I know I kind of handled it badly when I told you the news but I never wanted to scare you off. I’m not good with words when it comes to situations like that. The point is, it’s your place and we’re with you. No more running away,” Mika says solemnly and Lucas nods reluctantly.

“Okay.”

He gets a grin in return and before he knows it, he’s being dragged to the living room where Lisa and Manon are occupying the couch. They both smile at him when he enters and Manon points to the spare space on the couch next to her. Lucas sits down and is immediately pulled into a hug. Seconds later he’s being suffocated by all three of his flatmates wrapping their arms around him.

Man, that’s definitely an unexpected turn of events.

 ***

 Once Lucas is totally exhausted, he excuses himself to his room. The moment he locks the door behind himself, he lets out a loud breath and his knees buckle under him. Lucas slides down to the floor and closes his eyes.

The fact he’s back in the flat is so surreal to him. Lucas was sure it was the end for him, that he’s lost a place to stay. He can’t believe he’s gotten a second chance thanks to his friends. Lucas has already sent them messages to express how thankful he is and they mostly told him not to mention it or never hesitate to reach out for help. As if it was really not a big deal. But for him it is and he’s going to owe them for a very long time. Also the fact people he doesn’t know that well like Alexia or Daphne have helped, or Emma that he wronged in the past. He can’t wrap his head around it.

His phone buzzing with a new message stops his train of thought. Lucas looks down and sees it’s Eliott who’s texted him. He has given money as well despite all the weeks Lucas was hostile towards him.

Just writing to ask if everything is fine. Would it be okay if I called you?

Lucas raises one of his eyebrows, surprised, but writes a yeah. They’ve never called each other so that’s new.

Less than a minute passes and Eliott calls Lucas.

“Hello,” Lucas says.

“Hi. How are you?”

Good question.

Lucas moves a hand over his face and sighs. “I’m spent. Also once again, thank you a lot.”

“You’ve thanked enough. I’m glad I could help you out. Things are settled now, right?”

“At the moment. Ugh, it’s embarrassing that all of my friends know about how I don’t have money,” he mutters. He’d even consider it humiliating. It was really one of the things Lucas tried to handle himself and not have everyone finding out. “I don’t want you all pitying me,” he admits.

“I don’t pity you. And I’m sure the others aren’t either. You have a difficult situation, it happens,” Eliott says, his tone gentle. Lucas almost believes him.

“Can’t help feeling like a failure.” Lucas’ head thumps against the door. “For the record, I’m not letting you do this again.”

“Fucking watch us,” Eliott teases and they both chuckle. “Are you coming to school tomorrow?”

Lucas hums. “Can’t miss much of it anymore.”

“But hey, it has some pros,” Eliott notices cheerfully which brings a small smile to Lucas’ face.

“Which are?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Wow, so full of yourself, aren’t you?” Lucas bites down on his lower lip. Talking so lightly with Eliott feels good and only now does he realise how much he needed it.

“When you’re me, you can’t help it,” Eliott retorts.

“Oh, a furry that loves dubstep? I can’t imagine getting on your level.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Eliott says but there’s no real malice in his voice.

“Said what? The truth? I always do.” Except when he doesn’t, but that’s not the point.

They talk more, about nothing in particular, throwing into it playful insults. It lets Lucas relax and forget about his problems at least for a short while. Eliott has this weird something that activates whenever they are together. It creates a bubble, their own world and Lucas relishes in it as long as he can. They don’t touch any serious topics and Lucas thinks that Eliott knows. He could sense that all Lucas could handle as of now was some senseless blabbering. It’s comforting, being understood in such a way.

At some point, Lucas yawns into the receiver through a smile and hears a snort on the other end.

“My voice is putting you to sleep, huh? So I’m that boring,” Eliott says thoughtfully.

“That’s not it,” Lucas replies, his voice a bit slurred. “It’s just been a lot.”

“Yeah, I know. You should go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Lucas hums and soon after that Eliott hangs up. Lucas has barely any energy but somehow he makes it to the bed.

 ***

 Waiting for everyone to show up the next day, Lucas is a bundle of nerves. He isn’t sure what to expect from his friends and at this point, he’d rather not find out. Of course, they helped him out, but should he be prepared for an investigation? Looks full of pity? It’s the exact reason he wanted to avoid anyone finding out about his financial problems.

His leg keeps jiggling and Yann sends his way confused looks, but he doesn’t comment on Lucas’ behaviour. Lucas supposes it’s good, he’d sound ridiculous if he were to explain himself.

“Hello everyone!” Arthur says, plopping down next to Lucas on the bench. Lucas ends up squeezed between him and Yann. “Man, I stayed up all night watching this new TV show and I’m exhausted,” Arthur whines, placing his head on Lucas’ shoulder and yawns.

“That’s why you shouldn’t binge anything on a Sunday night,” Yann says cockily and Arthur snorts.

“I had to,” Arthur replies, sitting up straight. “I have history today so I’ll nap.”

Yann shakes his head, scrolling through his phone. “Good luck,” he says just as Basile and Eliott approach them.

Eliott sends Lucas a private smile and Lucas ducks his head.

“Guys, did you know Eliott is like, an adult? I had no idea,” Basile says excitedly, instead of a greeting.

Arthur scoffs at him. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, how could I know he was repeating?”

And Lucas sees the exact moment discomfort appears on Eliott’s face. There’s a reason he hasn’t talked about why he moved schools and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to start now.

Lucas stands up from the bench and swiftly shoves Basile in the place he was occupying before.

There are three pairs of eyes looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I need to stretch my legs a little, you know?” He chuckles. “What’s that TV show you watched about, by the way?” he asks, looking directly at Arthur who immediately perks up at it and starts rambling about the show with people that have superpowers but it’s not your typical superhero bullshit(Arthur’s words, not Lucas’). There’s time travelling, seven kids and apocalypse. Lucas gets lost by the time Arthur mentions a chimpanzee butler.

Eliott nudges him in the side gently and Lucas casts him a glance. There’s gratitude in Eliott’s eyes accompanied by warmth. The corners of Lucas’ lips twitch up. It’s the least he could do. Eliott’s been the one offering him some sort of protection and comfort ever since they started being buddies. Lucas doesn’t think of their friendship as something where they do things in exchange for others, no, but he wants to be the source of solace for Eliott the same way he is to Lucas. There’s that pull he feels that wants to be there for Eliott in situations like that. Or really, in any kind of situation.

“What happened to your hand?” Eliott whispers into Lucas’ ear when the others aren’t paying attention and it’s then that Lucas realises he’s taken his hand out of his pocket.

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” he jokes but it falls flat when he sees concern painted all over Eliott’s face. There’s a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows that Lucas itches to smooth out. But he keeps his left hand to himself.

“You got into a fight?”

Lucas looks at Eliott sheepishly, checks whether the guys are still in deep discussion about Arthur’s TV show and turns towards Eliott again. “It was a wall. I– uh, I was angry and I hit it a couple of times. It’s nothing.” He blushes in embarrassment.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Eliott mutters under his nose and his knuckles brush over Lucas’ bandaged fingers. He can only feel the pressure of Eliott’s touch but it’s enough for him to look away.

“Don’t worry, I had it checked,” he murmurs, for some reason knocking his hand into Eliott’s, seeking out his touch again. He realises what he’s doing is silly, especially when he feels Eliott’s eyes on the side of his face and he tucks his palm back into his pocket, restraining a hiss when one of his broken fingers accidentally catches on the material.

Eliott lets it go and Lucas sighs with relief, ignoring the tingly sensation dancing all over the place where their hands touched.

No one says anything about what happened over the weekend up until the first bell rings and they have to go to classes. It’s not mentioned during the lunch either and Lucas wonders whether he should simply let it go. But there’s an inkling in him that makes him feel like he hasn’t thanked enough, like he hasn’t shown them how much it meant for him. It’s not easy to brush off. They literally rescued him from being homeless. They and the girls, which Lucas would love to say thank you to as well.

He hasn’t thought of himself as important. He knew the guys care about him, that Yann is his best friend, but he’d never think they’d gather their own money to help him. Lucas is overwhelmed by this grand gesture and he can’t even give them anything in return since his bank account is as empty as it was a few days ago.

 ***

 He asks his father whether he’s going to stop supporting Lucas altogether, but he gets no response. Maybe that should tell him where he stands.

He messages the blackmailer asking them if he could get some more time, promising to figure something out. But this time he’s also left on read.

And Lucas thinks, how oddly construed this world is, where some dismiss him without a second  thought, toy with his life, while other people are there for him when he least expects it.

 ***

 “I was thinking… maybe we could invite both the boys and girls on Friday?” Lucas suggests, looking at Manon who’s reading her book. They’re both sprawled on the opposite ends of the couch, quietly chilling together when Lucas gets this idea. He’s been trying to figure out a way to get everyone in one place and let them know how grateful he is. And yeah, he knows inviting them over isn’t exactly the most brilliant idea, especially since he can’t buy drinks for them and entertain them in a way a party could, but it counts for something.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Manon says, folding the corner of her book and closing it to move her eyes towards Lucas. “I could cook something, I’ve been trying out new recipes and they could tell me if it’s any good.” She grins at him. Lucas noticed, there’s barely a moment when Manon isn’t in the kitchen, cooking or baking. He’s actually surprised she decided to read a book now, instead of making yet another dinner she’ll have to share with the rest of the flat because it’s always too much for her.

“That would be pretty nice. I could help you?” he offers uncertainly. He’s not good when it comes to cooking, but it would be unfair if Manon was the one doing something for the gathering he proposed.

She only waves him off. “Nah, I like to work alone. Smaller chance to get distracted,” she explains with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

Lucas sighs, frowning. “I just want to say thank you for all you’ve done for me,” he says in a small voice and shrugs.

“Oh, Lucas. But you don’t have to.” She reaches out one of her hands and covers Lucas’ uninjured palm. She squeezes for emphasis.

“I want to,” he says, his tone meaningful and she tilts her head to the side.

“You’re organising a party when I’m not here?” Mika walks into the room, interrupting the moment and Manon retreats to her end of the couch again.

“It’s not a party,” Lucas says. Damn, he actually wanted to thank Mika as well. Despite him saying he couldn’t help Lucas anymore after he and Lisa covered his rent last month, Yann told Lucas that the both of them were way too eager to add something to the sum. Even though they didn’t have to. “Where are you going to be?”

“I have a date,” Mika says, wiggling his eyebrows, and throws himself between Lucas and Manon. Their legs miraculously move out of his way before they could get trapped under him. “So behave, kids. I can’t be here to supervise you.”

“Oh, yeah. Since you’re always on guard,” Manon teases, one of her eyebrows raised and Mika splutters.

“Of course I am. I’m the one keeping this whole flat in check,” he says solemnly just as Lisa enters the room.

“Like shit you are,” she says, squeezing herself between Manon and Mika.

 ***

 Despite initial hesitance, Lucas reaches out to everyone and tells them to come over on Friday. None of them decline and additionally, Yann and Eliott promise to bring something to drink, which is like another thing Lucas has to thank them for.

When it comes to it, Lucas is preparing the flat for nine people(because he counts Manon even if she’s currently locked in the kitchen, cooking ever since she finished school today). Both Mika and Lisa can’t be here – one has a date and the other is working the evening shift. That’s okay, Lucas will pay them back eventually in one way or another.

He cleans up the living room and his room in case someone wants to stay the night. Then he panics upon thinking that Eliott has never been over and it’ll be the first time he’ll be seeing the whole place. What if he’s the one who wants to stay the night and goes to Lucas’ room, concludes it’s a disaster and decides they can’t be friends anymore? Oh, geez. As an afterthought, maybe he should lock his room.

Once Lucas is done with the flat, he tries to go and help Manon. Tries being the keyword. The moment he enters the kitchen, she shoots him a look from the place she’s mixing something in the pot and he immediately steps back.

There’s still some time left so he goes back to the living room and plops down on the couch.

 ***

 In the end, Manon really outdoes herself. She prepared mini sandwiches, cooked a stew, made pasta with some fancy sauce and baked an apple pie and cinnamon cupcakes. Lucas isn’t sure if the stress cooking after breaking up with Charles will change into a real passion, but at the moment she’s milking it in the best way possible.

It’s around 7 pm when everyone comes around. It’s not only Eliott and Yann who bring something to drink. Emma has a six pack with herself and Daphne hands him a bottle of wine when she kisses his cheeks in greeting.

It’s a little crowded in the end when they all settle in the living room. Lucas is seated next to Yann and Manon on the couch with Eliott propped up on the armrest next to Lucas, Imane is sitting on one of the chairs while Daphne takes up the other one and Alexia, Arthur, and Basile sit on the pillows placed on the floor. No one seems bothered by the arrangement, though. Quite the opposite. They all eat, drink, laugh and talk. It feels great and Lucas is choked up with an emotion he can’t find a name for. All he knows is that he needs to say something or he’ll explode.

“Hey, guys,” he speaks out, raising his voice a little to be heard over the noise. He succeeds when everyone turns towards him and he clears his throat. “I wanted to get you here together, to thank you all for what you did for me. I know I didn’t deserve it and I’ll find a way to pay you back, but I want you to know that you literally saved my life. It’s… it’s hard for me to talk about,” he looks down on his bandaged hand, “and I’m glad none of you tried to get it out of me. You’ve been so patient with me and so many of you said not to mention it, but it means a lot to me and I can’t stress it enough. I–“

“Lucas, we know. And you’d do the same for us. Don’t kill yourself over thinking how you can pay us back or that you aren’t grateful enough. We did it because we wanted to. We’re your friends, no matter what,” Imane says, smiling gently at him.

“I hope you know I’m your friend no matter what, too,” he says. Just like with Eliott, he doesn’t want his relationships with either of these people to be one-sided, where he’s the one leeching off of them. Most importantly, he doesn’t want to be a burden.

“We know,” Basile says, extending his fist towards Lucas. Lucas huffs but fist bumps him. He looks over them, smiling and sees that they mean it. Even the people he’s never been as close with.

Soon enough the topic changes, people start talking and tiny groups form. Lucas is content enough listening, only providing a comment from time to time. He’s pleasantly buzzed from the beer he’s drunk so far, full from Manon’s cooking and surrounded by people that care about him and that he cares about in return. In this moment, he doesn’t need anything more.

His phone buzzes and distantly he hears other people’s phones going off with notifications at the same time. He unlocks the screen and sees that he’s been tagged in a post on Instagram. Lucas frowns and clicks on the notification. What he sees makes him unable to breathe and he hears ringing in his ears. He looks up from his phone, his eyes skimming over everyone in the room. They are all in the process of taking their phones out or already looking at the screen.

His grip on the phone tightens.

“Lucas?” He hears Yann through the thick fog in his mind. But he can’t speak.

[badwolfwrites-sometimes]

Chapter 4

Hopefully this time it let’s me post.

He messed up.

Well, not too horribly but enough to make him give up and regret even trying.

Feliciano flopped back on his bed and turned his attention to the ceiling, hoping to forget his mistake. The canvas was still standing there at the very centre of his room. This time an ugly brownish blue running horizontally across it. Feliciano accidentally dipped his new paintbrush into a can containing brown instead of deep blue and realized too late.

He could fix this. He could turn the brown into a large branch, maybe even a boat. Or Loch Ness monster. He could tell everyone he was painting the lake when Nessie appeared before him, curious to see what exactly this man was up to. No one would believe him, naturally, but he could at least entertain the children. Right now, however, painting some more was the last thing he wanted to do.

Feliciano looked at the book sitting peacefully on his nighttable, a lovely bookmark he made sticking slightly out of it, waiting for Feliciano to pull it out and continue reading. Normally, he would be too lazy to finish it, but not today. Not with this book. He was drawn to it. And he obeyed it's wishes.

'The green dress she was wearing started getting teared.

Of course, Otto was the first to notice, likely after her. The question as to why she hadn't changed into a new one was quite obvious to him. She didn't have any other dresses. Elizabeta once told him that she had almost zero belongings when she arrived, only the green dress she wore and a small box. Back when she told him, he didn't have much time to spare, but now he made his decision final.

They needed to go shopping for new dresses.

"Alice! Come quickly!" He called for her as she was cleaning the hallway to the kitchen.

"Yes, Prince Otto? Do you need anything?" She asked cheerfully, earning a bit of a blush from the young prince.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I need you," Otto's brain added forever to this, but he didn't voice it out. It would seem a bit creepy. "I would like for you to accompany me to the town square today. There's some buisness I need to attend to. You don't have to worry about cleaning, Rod won't be in the castle today." He continued.

"Yes! I shall go with you right away, My Prince!" She nodded and excused herself to place her push broom back into the supply closet.

Otto, on the other hand, ran to his room as quickly as possible under the excuse of getting ready. He did not expect that from Alice. He did not expect her to call him her prince at all. Just those two words were enough for his heart to try it's best to leave his body. Just two words were enough for him to question if she might return his feelings. If that was the case, he would be the happiest person to walk this Earth.

His wave of thoughts was interrupted by knocking. Was Alice ready already?

"Come in." He said.

He was met with disappointment for before him was not his beloved Alice, but his mother, the Queen. He bowed like he had been thaught to do, although he would much rather be hugging a certian red headed girl.

"I hear you're going to the town square. With who and for what purpose?" The Queen asked, her voice clearly echoing against the walls of his bedroom.

"I've selected a maid to accompany me. There's something I would like to buy to help me with my studies. If I may, Mother?" He flinched at his own formality. He could barely hide the angry sound of his voice as he called Alice a maid. It wasn't an appropriate word for someone he would make the stars rain for.

"Very well then, you may go. On the condition head maid accompanies you as well. I don't want you getting lost with some random maid." Spinning on her heel, she exited his room.

Otto appreciated his mother's concern. He appreciated the fact she even showed up in his room and had a five minute conversation with him. He loved his mother despite her never actually being around him or his brothers. But in this moment, as her footsteps echoed across the hall, making her way away from his room, he wanted nothing more than to yell at her. He wanted to scream his feelings out. Everything. From Alice, to being a prince, to the empire, to her absence. He wanted to scream it all out at her. But he didn't.

He had to take the head maid as well. Luckily for him, the head maid happened to be Elizabeta. A woman who he had every right to call 'mother' as she had been in his life longer than his own. He had a feeling she knew. He asked her about Alice too many times to count. He could trust her. Right?

Otto wasn't sure what to make of it. And he hadn't really had the opportunity to do so for a rugged dirty green dress was standing at the doorway and the wearer smiled widely at him. He gulped and nearly fainted, but returned the smile nevertheless.

"I see you're ready. I just have to collect some money. Can you please go find Betty? Mother made it clear to me we have to take her as well." He managed to babble out some sentances before turning away to blush madly.

Alice only nodded, putting a finger to her lips to keep the giggle from leaving her mouth. His blushing face and reactions made her day like nothing else. He was cute. And she was crushing hard.

"Right away, My Prince." This time she did giggle. Leaving the doorway quickly to find Betty, a soft pink adorned her cheeks. She was hoping Otto didn't know how much he made her weak in her knees. She hoped that, at the same time, he returned and didn't return her feelings. If he were to return them, that meant separation from each other was unavoidable.

Alice wished for them to stay close forever. Unaware of each other's feelings.'

Feliciano sighed. Hoping that what he was predicting to happen would turn out not to be the case, he flipped the page.

Before they knew it, they were in the carriage making their way to the town. It was a small carriage so while Otto could sit rather comfortably, Elizabeta and Alice sat squished together like sardines in a can. Watching them like that made Otto feel guilty, but he didn't want to raise any questions by offering Alice to sit next to him. Just in case Elizabeta didn't know.

"Prince Otto?" Elizabeta broke the silence.

Otto's eyes shot up straight at her. If she saw right through him-

"May I sit outside? I don't feel very good in small spaces." She continued, breaking his train of thought.

"Ah... Yes, you may. Alonso, stop the carriage!" He turned in direction of the driver, where a small window sat behind an equally small curtain. Alonso obeyed his orders and Elizabeta exited, winking at Otto in the process. That wink was enough for Otto to confirm everything.

As soon as Elizabeta left, Alice breathed out and made herself comfortable, smiling at the prince. He was trying so hard not to stare at her rose lips as they spread across her face, but he failed miserably at it.

"This is my first time leaving the castle grounds since I came here. It's so lovely and green." She started the conversation.

"Really? You haven't been to the town since you arrived? But that was months ago." Otto acted surprised. He knew the exact date Alice arrived at the castle. He also knew every single one of the reasons why she never had time for visiting the town. That's precisely why he invited her.

"Yes. That was nearly a year ago. In a year I couldn't find time to spare to go. I'm really grateful to you for inviting me, Prince Otto." There was that smile again. Otto would travel across the entire world just to see that smile forever.

"If you want to, you can accompany me on these trips every time. It's nice to have a company on these fine days." He returned the smile.

"Really?! You'd take me?!" She almost jumped from overexcitement. To think she could get to see this wonderful view whenever Otto goes to the town was magical to her.

Otto, as it's his nature, blushed as red as the interior of his carriage. The royal color adorning his face perfectly. "Yes. If you really want to go. However, I'd like for you to do something for me in return."

"Anything, My Prince." Those two words again. Otto hoped to not get any redder than he already was.

"I'd like for you to tell me more about Venice."

The silence filled the carriage like air. Alice's smile slowly disappeared as her eyes lowered to stare at her feet. Watching her like that, Otto regretted asking this question. "Hey-"

"It's breathtaking. My Venice." She interrupted. Her honey brown eyes turning back to stare at his sea blue ones, radiating honesty and nostalgia. "There's a strict but kind air to it. We have a large navy and we're really good at trading and visitors offten fear us. When they see us, they picture mean people who are only after money and nothing else. But then they get to know us. Then they find out that we can easily befriend everyone, no matter how poor or how rich they are. They are all welcome in Venice."

She smiled fondly and continued: "People are always smiling and laughing. And family is number one to them. Like it should be. But it's not just their own family that's important to them, it's everyone's family. I remember one time when me and my brother were playing and I fell into the chanal. Neither of us knew how to swim yet so he couldn't get me out. Then an older lady showed up right next to me and carried me out of the water. She drained my as dry as she could and comforted us until we stopped crying. She even gave us some of her sweet bread and took us home. I can never forget her face."

Otto stared at Alice with pure anticipation. He knew she loved her hometown, but hearing her talk about it, he realized just how passionate she was about it.

She continued to talk about it all the way to the town square. Otto only made a few passing comments and continued listening, the two growing closer with every word Alice uttered. However, their small conversation was interrupted by the carriage coming to a stop.

Elizabeta opened the door for them, stepping aside. Otto exited first, but turned back to the door and offered his hand. Alice politely accepted it and, as soon as she was out, her mouth fell open.

The town square resembling her home Venice almost to a point. Naturally, it wasn't the same town, this one being smaller with different achitecture. No, they were two different towns, but the life on the streets, the atmosphere, the small chats, they all reminded Alice of her home.

Otto stared at her, waiting for a reaction of sorts. One that wasn't her mouth almost touching the floor. That's when he noticed Alice's eyes were slowly filling with tears. In a split second, his own expression changed from a soft smile to a disappointing frown.

"Are you alright?" He asked as softly as he could.

Alice smiled and nodded. "I'm alright. It just reminds me of home so much. It's beautiful."

Otto sighed in relief. "Come now. We'll take a tour across the town later. First we need to go to Madame Belez's shop."

Tearing her eyes from the baker and butcher, who were having a sort of conversation while secretly brushing their fingers together as they walked, Alice went with Otto and Elizabeta to a small street.

Some time passed before they made it to Madame Belez's shop. Like any shop it was hidden amongst the buildings with the only indication of it's location being a small wooden sign above the doorframe. The sign itself wasn't very decorated, but the inside screamed early baroque.'

Feliciano paused and laughed. He took Art History back in High School and he knew that, if his teacher had read that, she would flip the tables and burn the book. Nevertheless, he continued.

'"Good day, Madame Belez." Elizabeta opened the door for the prince and greeted.

"Good day to you, Your Highness. What brings you here today?" A middle aged, short woman asked. Brushing away her blonde hair from her face, she stepped foward to greet Otto.

"I have a request for you. I'd like you to sew my friend here-", Otto pointed to Alice, "a new dress. As you can see, her's is getting more and more ragged every day."

Alice looked at Otto in disbelief. A new dress? For her? She can't even pay for it.

"Prince Otto, I can't afford a new dress." She spoke.

Otto turned to her with a smile. "I'll be paying for it."

Now, Alice was purely shocked. A prince paying for maid's clothes? Where in the world was that a normal thing?

"No, Prince. I can't let you do that. That's too much. I'm already more than grateful to have food to survive and a shelter from rain. I can't ask for luxuries like this." Alice said, determination filling the air as she spoke it out.

"Alice, consider this a present. You've been with us for nearly a year, we should celebrate that. Besides, as I said before, you're my friend. I'm more than obliged to buy my friends something nice once in a while." Otto's own determination rivaled that of Alice's.

"Prince-"

"Let me do this, Alice." Although his stance showed no signs of  submission, his eyes were begging for Alice to accept.

He took her hands into his own to assure her she had nothing to worry about, assure her money wasn't a problem. "Let me buy you a nice dress. You deserve it." He said.

All it took for Alice was one look. One look into his deep blue eyes, asking for her permission. She wanted to keep saying no, but she couldn't find it in her after looking into Otto's blue eyes. They were swallowing her up like a beast. There was a shark in them and it was devouring her in those few moments of silence. "If you promise me not to do this again. At least not without asking me first. I quite like this dress, you know." She accepted.

Elizabeta, meanwhile, was attempting to hide her chuckles at how obvious these two were, but she shouldn't comment anything if she wanted to keep her position and head.

Madame Belez, on the other hand, was utterly terrified. Not for her own life, but for Alice and Otto. She knew it well how the queen would disapprove. She knew well what happens when someone disobeys her wishes. She knew it all thanks to her dead husband. Nevertheless, Madame Belez put on a polite smile, hoping the best for these two oblivious lovebirds.

"Shall I take your measurements, darling?" She asked and Alice nodded, letting go of Otto's hands despite her heart protesting.

Madame Belez motioned towards a doorframe with pink curtain draped over to symbolise a door. She moved it to the side and let Alice go in first, leaving Otto and Elizabeta waiting.

"Your Highness?" Elizabeta started.

"What is it, Betty?" He asked.

"It's not really my buisness to poke into, but the way you're treating Alice is quite...specific." She explained, a small grin forming on her face. She couldn't resist asking in the end.

"It is what you're thinking of, however I ask you not to talk about it. Especially in front of Alice and my mother. I will tell Alice myself, but who knows what my mother might do. And please stop smirking." He blushed, his eyes firm on the pink curtain door, hoping Alice couldn't hear them.

"Your secret is safe with me. You have good taste, might I add."

"Thank you, Betty. Also, promise to tell me when my behaviour becomes too obvious. So I know to supress it."

"In my opinion, love shouldn't be supressed. That just makes it painful when it should be happy. You love a person because you love their happiness, even when love isn't returned." Elizabeta said, even when she knew she shouldn't voice out her opinions. It wasn't ladylike.

"You've always been different, Betty. Don't ever change. Thank you for the advice." He said and smiled at her. This was a woman who raised him. No one's opinion mattered more to him than her's. And Alice's.

Speaking of Alice, it was right around the time their conversation ended that she stepped out with Madame Belez. Otto had expected a happier reaction, but instead he was met with a frown on Alice's face and a serious expression on Madame Belez's face.

"We have a few dresses ready for her already. Would you like to see them?" Madame Belez asked.

"That was quick. Yes, let's see them." Otto commented.

"Yes, she's the typical young lady size and I always have a few extras just in case. I shall bring them right away." And she left the room once again, this time going to the top floor.

"Are you alright?" Otto asked as Alice got near his side.

Alice looked up from the floor into his blue eyes once again. This time they weren't swallowing her up, but gently grazing her like a loving mother. This time they were breaking her. "Yes, I just got reminded of my family. I'm alright now."

Otto broke their gazing contest to look at Elizabeta, wondering if it was appropriate to comfort her. Elizabeta looked up at where Madame Belez exited and, once convinced she wasn't coming back, nodded at Otto.

Elizabeta's approval led to a shocked look in Alice's hazel eyes. Otto's arms wrapped around her like a tight blanket, her head could fit in his neck like a glass of wine in a hand, their hearts beating closely together like drums calling for war.

"I know you must miss them a lot, so I'll let you in on a secret. There's a ball coming up and I invited the family your brother was staying with. That's also why we're here. You need to pick out a ball dress." Otto whispered loud enough for Alice to hear, but not loud enough for Elizabeta.

Alice couldn't hold it in herself anymore. Tears that hadn't come out in a while began to spill down her cheeks, marking Otto's shoulder. She wasn't even upset because of her family, but because of something Madame Belez said about Otto. Now, however, she was truly crying for her family. Mostly because she could finally see her brother after too long. "Tha...than...thank you...u..." was all she could mutter out.

"I'd do anything for you, Alice." And he meant it. Every word of it.

They broke their hug in the right moment because Madame Belez returned, holding about five dresses in her arms. Two beautiful baby blue gowns, two green summer dresses and a golden one decorated with pink flowers.

They ended up leaving with all five of them. But most importantly, they ended up leaving even happier than before. That was all that mattered anyway.'

[aweebwrites]

Diamond Heart

Warning: sad, toxic themes

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(Shout out to my lovely friend and beta @thelucariosfish!)

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Jay blamed himself for this mess. He should have known. It was karma really. Now, looking at Nya after Pixal revealed her better match was Cole, seeing the guilt in her eyes… He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He loves her so much. But that’s not where the irony lay.

“Ha, it’s so quiet in here. What did I miss? Another signature Jay Walker gut buster?” Cole says as he walked in and Jay’s heart ached at the sight of him.

This was all karma. Maybe even his fault. Who told him to go falling for them both? He walked out of the caravan, ignoring Nya and his parents calling after him and Cole’s worried expression. He ran. As far and as fast as he could. Until he had to stop to catch his breath. The tears spilled then and he slumped into the hot sand, choking on his own sobs, despite trying to hide them with his hands. Who was he kidding? He was never enough for Nya. Never enough for Cole either. He was happy with her but he couldn’t help but also being drawn to Cole. Nya was self sufficient, smart, beautiful and firm. Cole was selfless, thoughtful, handsome and near painfully sweet. There was no need for wishful thinking. What he and Nya had was over and done with. He saw it in her eyes. He saw it in both of their eyes while they were on that circus train.

He knew they had been holding hands, had been sharing a moment more tender than anything he and Nya had before, He knew. But he was foolish to think denial could fix things. Could keep him with one of the loves of his life and keep admiring the other from afar. He laughed. An ugly, broken sound before gripping his chest, looking down at the sand damped with his tears. He was a fool to think that he could keep this. He was even more of a fool to hope, in the depths of the night, that he could just maybe have both. The world didn’t work that way. Nothing is certain. He tightened the tear dampened hand over his heart, a vain attempt to keep his heart from breaking. He knew that more than anything now…

_______________________

He didn’t go back to the junkyard. The others found him instead, sitting with his arms wrapped tight around his knees as he stared out at the sunset. He felt hollow. But they couldn’t know that. He glanced back once he heard the Earth Driller approach. Nya and Cole were the first ones to jump out.

“Took you guys long enough.” He says with a smirk, his usual mask fitting on seamlessly.

Nya paused, sharing a look with Cole.

“The perfect match doesn’t have to change anything if we don’t want it to.” Nya says quietly and Jay wanted to laugh.

It already has changed everything. He wasn’t blinded by choice any more. He knew it was only a matter of time before…

“You knew I wouldn’t, right?” Cole says with a small frown and Jay wanted that guilty, concerned expression away from his face.

He should always smile. Jay stood up.

“I know you wouldn’t.” He says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a jerk but not that big of a jerk.” He joked and Cole laughed in relief, gently pushing his shoulder.

“I was thinking the same thing.” He says, turning to Nya then gave a sheepish grin. “I ah… I actually got lost.” He says, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

That pulled a laugh out of everyone. Funny how quickly they bought that after knowing he lived out here his entire life.

“Come on. Let’s head back to the Monastery.” Lloyd says from the Earth Driller and they nodded before hopping in.

Jay sat next to Nya as they began the journey back. He kept a smile on his face, widening it when Nya held his hand. It was only a matter of time… So maybe he can enjoy it, enjoy this while he still had it. He glanced back at Cole who was staring at the back of Nya’s head with a thoughtful frown. He was surprised to realise Jay was looking at him then have him a sheepish grin. Jay just gave him an oblivious smile before looking ahead. The time may be sooner than he first thought…

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Nya and Cole avoided each other for a few days, especially when Jay was around. Every time they accidentally cross paths, it lead to awkward greetings. But soon, things settled down and Jay held his breath.

“Hey, Cole.” Nya called and Jay paused outside the hallway he was walking through to get some fresh air. “Could you lift this for me?”

“Oh. Sure.” Cole says and the sound of him grunting as he lifted something echoed.

He should go. He really should. He doesn’t have to stay to hear any of this...

“Hey, there’s this awesome bakery that just opened in New Ninjago City. Do you wanna check it out sometime?” She sounded a little nervous.

“Bakery?! Ah. Sure!” Cole agreed and Jay turned away, heading back to his assigned room in Garmadon’s Monastery.

He sat down on his bed, his back against the wall as he stared up at the ceiling. He felt both numb and raw like a live wire. He didn’t think his heart could break any more than it already had but here he was, being proved wrong. Silent tears slipped from his eyes. If there was ever a time he wished he had another power, it was now. He wish he had Cole’s Earth powers. He wished that his heart was made of stone. Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel like this. Like his world had ended. Like he was about to fall apart with just the sight of them. He wanted… He wanted…. It was his wanting that got him in this situation. He glanced out the window at his shoulder. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he should be the bigger person and just let go.

He looked down at his hands as he turned them into fists. He had never been the bigger person. He was in too deep to just let go. He loved too deeply, too completely to just let go. He was too tangled up. He couldn’t let go on his own. Not that he want to. He knew his chances were shot but he wanted to keep going. Knowing that Nya was falling for Cole, knowing Cole was falling for her. It was unhealthy but he couldn’t change that about him. He wished that he wasn’t always so vulnerable, wished he was more solid, confident. He’d even have the strength, the courage to profess his love to Cole, to bring them all together, to make them something better. If only he were different. If only he was better. But he wasn’t. Here he was, wallowing in his misery.

He looked up once he heard footsteps approach, swiping his tears away and masking his misery with exhaustion.

“Hey Jay, you up for- woah. Did you sleep at all?” Kai asked him, holding the door open.

“I had a few ideas last night, about this invention I could make and use a ultra blue fingle hopper in and-”

“That… Totally doesn't sound made up at all and I’m sure it’s all very interesting.” Kai says, cutting Jay off. “Just get some sleep. I’ll let the others know not to bother you.” He says with a concerned look then closed his door.

Jay laid down and curled in on himself. He really does feel tired…

_________________

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle.” Nya says with a smirk as she watched Cole single handedly roll the water wheel back onto the Monastery grounds.

“Don’t sweat anything for me Ny, I’ve got this.” Cole says with a grin then kept it in place so she could reattach it.

“Aren’t you two a little too friendly?” Zane questions, raising a brow.

“There’s such a thing as too friendly?” Cole questions curiously.

“I was just teasing. It’s no different from Kai calling you metal head.” Nya shrugged then continued hammering.

Zane frowned. The undertones suggested otherwise. He walked over to Jay who was sitting next to Kai, watching them.

“Jay, are you truly alright with their flirting?” He asked and Kai bore an insulted look.

“You’re reading too much into it Zane. Nya would never flirt with anyone, especially not with Cole when she’s with Jay.” Kai defended.

“Kai’s right Zane. Nya isn’t that kind of person.” Jay says with a carefree grin and Zane frowned.

Perhaps he was over analyzing things…

Jay kept a smile on his face, even as his blue eyes darkened. He was a coward, masochistic even. He and Cole hardly spend time together. It wasn’t for lack of trying either. They would usually goof around, play video games, an impromptu wrestling match he would start just to feel him against him… Nya was the same. She always had something to do. Never a moment for them, what they no longer had. You would think after everything these past few weeks, he would distance himself but he couldn’t. He had such little time left before he had no choice but to stay away. He couldn't stop himself. Just another moment pretending this was ok. Just another second seeing them smile at him… Just another sweet heartbreak, another moment of beautiful agony.

“Are you ok Jay?” Zane's voice snapped him out of it.

“Yeah. Sorry. I'm just a little tired.” Jay says, rubbing his eye.

“Still haven't been sleeping?” Kai questioned.

“I have! I just probably need to sleep longer.” Jay huffed, crossing his arms.

He really did want to sleep longer. He wanted to dream forever, to dream of a place where he could have them both. It was selfish of him but he wanted it. It wasn't Nya and Cole falling for each other that was ripping his heart out. It was the fact that they were falling for each other without him.

“I'm gonna take a nap.” He says as he got up and walked away.

The moment he was out of sighed, he deflated. This was unhealthy. He was obsessed and he knew it. He wanted them both more than anything and he couldn't stop himself from thinking this way. His head has been filled with nothing but toxicity. He knew all of this. But…

“Jay. Are you alright?” He jolted his head up to see Garmadon walking towards him.

“Fine. I just need a nap is all. I've been feeling a little tired lately.” Jay says and it wasn't a lie.

No matter how much he slept, he kept feeling exhausted. A sign of depression but one he could do nothing about.

“I see. Oversleeping won't help but a nap might be good for you.” Garmadon nods.

“I'm gonna do that now. See you Sensei G!” Jay says then headed up the stairs to his room.

He closed the door behind him, then flopped onto his bed, staring ahead blankly. One of the worst thing about being self aware… Is watching yourself do and think toxic things all the same.

________________

“We can't.” Cole whispered, both he and Nya less than an inch apart. “Jay's my friend. My best friend. I can't hurt him like this.” He says, stepping back.

“What am I thinking?” Nya whispered to herself, stepping back as well. “I'm with Jay! But… Lately he's been off. A lot quieter… He spends more time in his room than anywhere else… I don't know…” She sighed, taking a seat.

“... Maybe you should talk to him about that.” Cole says after a moment.

“I would but Jay… He gets hurt easily. It's hard to be straight with him sometimes.” Nya says with a frown then remained quiet for a moment. “Not like I can be with you.” She says, across at Cole.

“The truth is, I love Jay. I really do but… I don't feel that spark we had. I… I love him but I'm not… IN love with him.” She whispered and Cole frowned.

“What are you trying to say? You're going to break up with Jay?” Cole asked, surprised.

“... It would be the best thing to do.” She says, looking down. “I fell in love with someone else anyway…” She whispered then looked up at him.

“You.”

Cole hated how that confession had his heart speeding up. He somehow developed feelings for her too, despite him trying not to, despite him reminding himself that Nya was Jay's.

“We can't-”

“Not right now, no. But once I break up with him, we could try, couldn't we?” Nya asked as she got up and walked over to where he was. “It'll hurt him but I know he will understand with time. I just… I can't keep lying to myself anymore.” She says, placing a hand on Cole's chest.

“Nya…” He whispered, wanting to walk away from this, to keep his best friend but the truth of his feelings kept him planted firmly in place.

“You feel it too, right Cole?” She whispered, leaning up.

Cole's head screamed stop her but his heart screamed don't. He didn't have a chance to choose a side. Nya chose for him. Her soft lips pressed against his and Cole was too weak. He kissed her back, his heart soaring.

I'm sorry Jay…

Funny how Jay always seem to be there to witness these things. He finally convinced himself to spend an entire day outside, only to come across this. He wasn't close enough to hear their discussion but at the mouth of the small jungle, he had a perfect window view. He looked away, walking further into the greenery, feeling even more hollow than ever, his eyes blurred with tears. So that's it. His time is up. They had each other now. There was no space for him. He stopped to look up at the evening sky. No use either.

He missed the bright flare of electricity in his chest but he didn't miss the exhaustion that washed over him. He stumbled, his vision blurring beyond his tears before the whole world tilted. He landed on the ground with a thud, his eyelids heavy.

What was…

_______________________

When Jay came to, birds were chirping overhead and he felt cold. He slowly pushed himself up, his arms trembling with the effort. What… What happened? Why did he feel so exhausted? He managed to get to his feet then looked around. Why was he outside again? He used the trees for support and made his way back towards the Monastery.

“There he is!” He looked up once he heard Cole's voice, seeing the others rushed over.

Cole? His heart throbbed painfully. Nya? Another painful throb. It all came back to him in a rush. That's right. He saw them kiss. Saw them cement him out of their love then passed out. A fresh wave of exhaustion hit him but he was determined not to show it.

“Where have you been?!”

“We were worried sick!”

“Are you alright?”

“What happened?”

“Did you get lost?” They all asked him suddenly and he gave his signature sheepish grin.

“Sorry for worrying you all. I took a walk last night and fell asleep in the woods.” He lied, and they groaned.

“We're just glad nothing bad has happened to you.” Wu says and Misako nodded.

“How about you get yourself cleaned up. It appears you may have rolled into a mud puddle in your sleep.” Garmadon says, gesturing to his gi that was completely muddy.

“Uh… Oopsie?”

__________

Jay came out of the shower fresh and clean but the shower couldn't wash away the exhaustion he felt. He was changing into comfortable clothes when he spotted something in the mirror, something over his chest. It… looked like a crack. It had a low glow too. That's… Strange. Before he could examine it further, there was a knock on the door. He pulled a t-shirt on, taking a look to see if it showed but nothing did. He then headed out and opened the door. He looked at an anxious Nya and knew immediately what was to come.

“Nya! Hey! Come on in.” He says with a smile as he stepped aside. “Sorry, I haven't had much time to clean up…” he says, looking at the clothes dumped all around his room.

“That's ok. I um… How are you feeling?” She asked, watching as he began to pick up his clothes.

“Pretty good actually.” Jay says, glancing back at her with a grin that fell the moment he looked away to pick up his dirty gi. “Who would have known sleeping in the woods would be so relaxing?” He says, keeping his voice cheery.

“Oh? Really?” Nya says and he nods, throwing the hand full of clothes in the basket, not caring that most of them were actually clean.

“Yeah. Sorry if I worried you though.” He says, turning to her with a sorry expression that was true.

She shouldn't have to worry for him. None of them did. He wanted them to be happy, even if that's without him. Even if he gets left behind...

“You’re ok, that's all that matters.” She says with a strained dig before she sighed. “I'm sorry but we need to talk Jay.” She says quietly and Jay blinked, acting surprised.

“What about?” He asked, looking at her curiously.

“Us…” Nya says, fiddling with her hands and Jay held his breath, waiting for the blow. “I… Maybe it's best we go our separate ways and… Break up.” She says, squeezing her eyes shut as she waited for his reaction.

She missed the flare of light in Jay's chest as the weight of her words hit him. He held his hand over his chest, his eyes having a faint glow in them as he struggled to not collapse with the wave of exhaustion that hit him. He felt… Weak.

“Oh…” He says quietly, not hiding his devastated expression and Nya looked up at him, expecting a much worse reaction.

“I'm sorry Jay. I love you, really I do… But I'm not in love with you.” She whispered, wanting to be thorough. “We can still be friends but we've drifted apart… I… I fell for someone else…” She says, glancing back at the door.

“Is it someone I know?” Jay whispered and Nay felt bad but she knew it was necessary.

“Yeah actually… Please don't hate him. It was sudden and I know he wouldn't if he had a choice.” She defended as Jay went over to sit on the bed, the threat of collapsing from the bone deep exhaustion too real.

Not to mention the jolts of pain with each pounding of his heart, right where he was sure he saw that odd looking crack on his chest.

“It's… Cole.” She whispered, expecting the worst.

“Oh…” Jay says again, surprising her yet again.

This was going nothing like she expected… It made her feel worse than she already is.

“Before you says anything.” Both of them turned to Cole who walked in.

“Cole! I told you to-”

“It's ok.” Jay says, cutting her off and they both looked at him surprised.

“Wait- what?” Cole says hesitantly, not sure he heard correctly.

“I said it's ok. I do love you Nya but Cole obviously makes you happier. I can't be mad. As long as you're happy. As long as you're both happy.” He spoke honestly with a sort of wistful-hurt expression on his face.

“Jay…” Nya whispered, taking a step closer.

“You're both happy, right?” Jay whispered, wanting them to be.

He may not have a chance but… But he wants them to be happy. It's eating him alive that he will never be with either of them but as long… Tears fell down his cheeks, despite how hard he tried to hold them back.

As long as they're happy…

“Jay…” Cole whispered, heart broken at his tears.

He was letting Nya go and he wasn't so sure he wanted to take her anymore. Not when it hurt his best friend this much. He thought he couldn't handle it. He expected yelling, name calling, malicious energy… Not… Not this self-sacrificing bullshit!

“You're happy, right?” Jay asked again, needed the confirmation, hoping it will be enough for him to let go.

Nya and Cole looked at each other.

“Yeah… We are.” Nya whispered and Jay nodded before smiling.

“Then… I wish you both the best.” He says, his voice breaking a bit but he still smiled.

Nya brushed her tears away, feeling guilt weigh her down. They had what they wanted. All but Jay. But she still loves Cole… It's… For the best.

“I… Thank you Jay.” Nya whispered then took Cole's hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.

Cole nodded, too choked up to speak but he did squeeze Nya's hand back.

“Don't worry about it.” He says, brushing his tears away. “I should ah. I should get my room cleaned up.” He says, gesturing to clothes in a corner.

“We'll- we'll leave you to it then.” Nya says then lead Cole out of the room by the hand, not even waiting until the door was fully closed before kissing him.

Jay clutched over his chest, a visible glow starting up. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But… They were happy… They were happy without him.

___________

A lot of things changed after that day. Nya and Cole informed the others of their relationship. They weren't very happy to hear about it, thinking of Jay but once they and Jay himself confirmed he was ok with it, they reluctantly eased up. Kai loved his sister. He really does. But that was a pretty suckish thing to do. While they were all best friends, they all had one friend they held at a slightly higher level than everyone else. Cole was it for Jay. The same was for Cole. Which was another reason they had a bad reaction at first. Cole was Jay's best friend. He knew more than everyone else how he felt about Nya… So why go falling for her?

By the advice of their Senseis, they respected their decision but the new relationship was a thing to adjust to. It threw off their dynamic a bit. Everyone else was more worried about Jay. Naturally, he wasn't seen as often but he looked pretty awful. They try to reach out to them but he kept them all at arm's length.

Jay did that so they didn't see him in this condition. He thought letting them be together, knowing they were happy would give him some relief from the breathtaking misery he felt but it only worsened everything. All he could think of was how he should have been satisfied with just Nya, that he should have gathered the courage to ask Cole out in training and be satisfied with just him. He was too greedy. This was just karma. He wanted both so now he had none. There was no need for him. There was never any need for him.

The spiral of thoughts evoked another wave of crippling exhaustion and searing pain from his chest. He breathed heavily, clutching his chest. That was another thing. He gingerly lifted his shirt, looking down at the widening hole in his chest. It went from a crack to a hole almost the size of his fist and it was widening. It was filled with his lightning, buzzing and crackling whenever it widened. It got so much worse overnight. He hid it from everyone. He didn't want them to worry about him. He didn't deserve their worry. He didn't deserve a lot of things. He coughed, his throat feeling as if it was about to close up, the pain in his chest intensifying.

He was dying. Whatever this hole is, whatever caused it, it was killing him. He knew it. He couldn't get up anymore. Just the action of lifting his shirt made him breathless. He was sleepy. Always so tired, always so sleepy. The storm outside pelting the Monastery was like a lullaby, luring him to sleep. He thought of his confession letter he wrote to Cole, and the apology letters he wrote to his parents and the others. They'd understand, right? He was replaceable. His powers would move onto someone stronger, someone more capable. Someone they could rely on. Someone who wasn't a coward.

He stared at the ceiling, knowing he wouldn't make it past today. Was he really going to let himself die because of a sick obsession? Over not getting what he wanted like a spoilt child? He gave a shaky huff. Being self aware sucks. He knew this wasn't something worth dying over deep inside. But he just didn't want keep going without them. Him being gone should help them not feel guilty even. He'd finally get to rest, not just sleep. Maybe death isn't so bad. He grunted as another flare of pain ripped through him, the hole widening. He felt it. Felt his own powers eating away at his life force. His eyelids drooped as a tear ran from the corner of his eye.

I'm sorry…

___________

“Where are you going?” Kai asked Zane who suddenly stood.

“To check on Jay. I have a bad feeling.” Zane says, walking still, not sure where this feeling came from but it was urging him to go.

“We'll come with you.” Lloyd says as he and Kai followed.

“Me too. I've been wanting to talk to him.” Cole says, going after them, climbing the stairs behind them.

“Not to be mean but I don't think Jay's feeling well enough-” Lloyd was cut off by a huge clap of thunder followed by a blinding flash of light.

“Watch out!” Kai yelled, yanking an overwhelmed Zane back out of the way of a door flying in his direction at the top of the stairs.

The door crashed into the wall then flopped down.

“What happened?” They looked down to see Wu, Garmadon and Misako there, looking up at them worried.

“That came from Jay's room.” Cole whispered and they all shared a horrified look before rushing up the stairs.

“Jay-!” Zane cut himself off with a gasp at what laid before him.

“What? What is it?!” Lloyd asked, trying to see past Zane, Cole and Kai who were blocking the doorway.

“What has happened?” Garmadon asked, pushing past them.

He gasped at the sight before him. Almost all of the roof and outer wall of the room was completely gone, leaving rain and wind to blow in at wind. But that wasn't what had him covering his mouth in shock. On the bed, Jay laid there, looking awfully pale but peacefully asleep. His chest revealed the truth of his 'sleep’ however. The front of his shirt was seated off completely, revealing the gaping hole in his chest that took up most of his chest. The inside was seared and black, revealing the slightly burnt sheets below.

A small, horrified gasp caught Garmadon's attention and he looked back to see Lloyd staring at his departed friend with horror.

“Misako. Take Lloyd downstairs.” He spoke, voice barely a whisper.

“Come with me Lloyd.” Misako says quietly, taking him by the shoulders then lead him back and away, Lloyd's eyes still staring into the room, at Jay where he laid still, even as tears poured down his face.

“I- I don't understand… How?” Wu whispered to his brother as they walked into the room, not caring that they were getting wet, looking at the young life lost.

“I heard a noi-” Nya cut herself odd once she arrived on scene, walking right into the room. “No…” She whispered, taking a step back.

“Nya.” Cole got out, his voice choked up.

She looked at him, breathing heavily from panic before her eyes rolled back. He moved quickly, catching her before she hit the ground.

“I… I do not understand…” Zane spoke quietly, unable to cry but very much able to feel the painfully hollow feeling of loss.

“How could this happen?! There was no warning or- or anything!” Kai yelled, unable to quiet accept or even understand that his teammate was…

Dead.

Garmadon looked to his brother as he placed a hand on Jay's hair, droplets that wasn't rain falling on his student's pale, wet face.

Today, they were reminded that life was a fickle thing. Here one day and gone the next.

_______________

It was almost a year after Jay's death before Cole finally had the courage to re-enter the room he found his best friend dead in. Sensei Wu had found his letters and had read the ones addressed to them. It pained them all that he had been suffering as long as he had but he was grateful for the knowledge he left behind. Elemental powers corresponds with its wielder's state of mind it seems. If the thoughts of the user is toxic, their powers will also become toxic.

Cole sat at the edge of the very same bed and looked at the letter addressed to him with a sigh.

“Are you finally going to open it?” He looked up to see Nya standing there, fiddling with her Yang pendant on her gi.

“Yeah.” Cole sighed, looking at Jay's messy scrawl of a hand writing on the envelope.

He then took a breath before opening it and pulling out the letter. Nya walked in and sat next to him, taking his hand in hers then gave it a squeeze. They shared a look before they turned to the letter.

‘Dear Cole and Nya

I figured you’d both end up reading this so I hope I’m right. I have to make this short or else I’d chicken out and never get to the point. The truth is, I thought I could be happy and ok if you were both happy together- and I was, don’t get me wrong. It’s just…

The truth is Nya, you weren’t the only one to fall for Cole. I’ve had a thing for him since training days and well, somewhere along the line, I fell in love with him. Don’t get me wrong, I loved you too. Like, love at first sight. I was selfish ‘till the end. I was always happy with you but I wanted Cole too. I was content with being with you and loving Cole from afar but then Pixal brought up the Perfect Match thing and I knew that would be it for us.

I knew when you asked Cole out, I knew you were flirting while fixing Sensei G’s wheel. I knew when you first kissed. Wrong time, wrong place I suppose. By then, I won’t lie, I became obsessed. I wanted it all. I wanted to be apart of you two, for us all to be together. But I knew it was all wishful thinking. I just tried to spend as much time as I could with you both before It was my time to step back and fade into the background. I didn’t get to but at least you guys are happy.

When you broke up with me, I spiraled. This thing in my chest is getting bigger the more miserable I feel. I wish I was stronger. I wish I was more confident to tell you I love you in person, Cole. Not in some stupid letter. It’s too late for me so don’t feel bad. I just want you two to do something for me though.

Be happy. Please.

Goodbye. I love you both.’

Both Nya and Cole were openly sobbing before they were even halfway through.

“That- that idiot! He should have told me! Told us! We could have worked something out!” Cole growled, hands shaking as he glared at the letter with tears streaming down his face.

“Did you… Did you love him back?” Nya asked with a sniffle.

Cole looked at his messy scrawl before nodding.

“But he had you. I thought I had no choice. I forced myself to move on…” Cole whispered to himself then hung his head. “If I knew…” He whispered, voice wavering as tears dripped off his nose.

“If we had known, things would have been different.” Nya says, placing a hand on his back. “But we didn’t know. There’s nothing we can do but honor his wishes.” She whispered and Cole knew she was right.

It didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“Don’t worry Jay. We’ll be happy, for you.” Cole whispered, looking at the paper once more before setting it aside, hugging Nya close. “We’ll be happy…”

____________________________________

(Edit: You know that huge lightning bolt that destroyed Jay's room? It was actually his powers leaving his body to find a new host. No-one really knows how the process works so the next lightning elemental will be struck by that big ass bolt of lightning. >:3

I almost made myself cry several times writing this but eyyy Jay angst! I wanna see if I can give Lloyd a break by traumatizing the other ninja but nope. Lloyd still got traumatized. I hope you guys like it!)

[veliseraptor]

when the act is in the balance, 1k, maeglin, direct sequel to this and this, cw for more suicidal ideation and maeglin continuing to downward spiral because when I love a character I make them sad

For the next week, Maeglin kept his distance from everyone he knew.

He woke early and went to sleep late. Ate his meals alone and at a distance. He avoided all those of his own house, and even more so all those of his family: Idril, Tuor, Earendil.

Turgon.

His mother’s brother, who had taken him in, and cared for him, and raised him up, and he had repaid him with betrayal. Ill-gotten. He had the feeling that Turgon was avoiding him as well.

When he slept it was poorly, muddled and ugly, and sometimes he woke with tears streaming down his face.

They moved closer to the Grey Havens. The sky behind them had cleared, the fires gone out. The beautiful white city he’d gaped at on first seeing, awestruck, would be a despoiled ruin now.

Would Morgoth know that Maeglin had confessed? He supposed it didn’t much matter. He would slit his own throat before being taken to Angband again. As he should have the first time.

**

It had been five days when he returned to his tent to find Idril waiting outside. He froze when he saw her, and did not manage to flee before she turned and saw him.

“Cousin,” she said, unsmiling. “May I join you?”

He gathered himself. “Of course,” Maeglin said. “You are welcome.” She stepped aside to let him enter first, and he did so. Her expression was difficult for him to read, but her grey eyes were bright.

“I’ve seen little of you the past few days,” she said.

“I have been busy,” Maeglin said carefully. “Itarille - why are you here?”

She examined him with her piercing gaze that had always seemed to see through him. He’d loved her. Still did, deep in his heart where he could still feel things properly. Had, maybe, since she’d drawn him up from where he’d been kneeling at his mother’s bedside and holding her cooling hand. Come, cousin, she’d said, with so much kindness. Let me take you away from here.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “All of us. My father, too.” Maeglin saw no point in denying it, and held his tongue. “You cannot hide away forever,” she said, some sharpness sliding into her voice.

“I don’t need to,” Maeglin said. “Just long enough.”

“You still intend to leave,” she said.

I intend to die. “Not now.”

Her lips twisted, but a moment later her shoulders slumped and she just looked tired. “Lomion,” she said, and he startled a little at his Quenya name in her mouth. “You are still my cousin.”

As Eol will always be my father. “I know,” he said heavily.

“I do not want you dead.”

Perhaps that ought to have comforted him, but it just felt heavy. Another weight on his shoulders. After all, she had made clear to him that she wanted him alive because he didn’t deserve the peace of Mandos’ Halls. “What are you asking me?” he said bluntly. Idril regarded him.

“Dine with us,” she said.

He cringed from the idea of sitting with her and Tuor and their child for a meal, and turned away to toy with some of his belongings. “My apologies,” he said. “I cannot.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“Will not.”

There was a silence, and then Idril said calmly, “Why?”

Maeglin gave her a weary look. “Is it not obvious?”

“Say it isn’t.”

“Cousin,” Maeglin said, “I am weary. And I have no interest in an invitation given out of pity. Or to make a point.” She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t dispute his assessment, and he turned away again. “If it was meant as a kindness - thank you. But I will not come.”

Again he thought, it would have been better if I’d never come back.

“If I am making a point,” she said at length, “it is only that it is by your will that you stand outside, not ours.”

“I am aware.”

He could feel her frustration, but it seemed like a distant thing. She drew near and Maeglin tensed, but all she did was lay a hand lightly on his shoulder. He tried not to shudder. “I am angry,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I am going to be angry forever.”

You should be. He said nothing.

“We didn’t save your life for you to throw it away,” she said.

Then why did you? He didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know.

“Earendil is curious about his uncle.”

“How?” Maeglin blurted out. “How can you forgive me? Any of you?”

“I haven’t,” Idril said bluntly, and he couldn’t stop his flinch. “Not yet. But I certainly won’t if you die. And I won’t get the chance if you never put in the effort to show me why I should.”

He pressed his lips together until he thought he could control his voice, and then said, “I don’t think you should.”

“Isn’t that up to me?”

“What about your husband?” Maeglin said, almost desperately. “What does he think?”

“He was the one who went back for you, wasn’t he?”

Maeglin shook his head. His chest was tight and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I don’t want this,” he said, and it was thin and plaintive, pathetic. He remembered weeping in the caverns of Angband, afraid and alone and spiraling ever downwards. He’d broken there. What was left now? What was left?

Idril sighed. “I know.”

“Will you not have a little mercy?”

Her hand fell away from his shoulder. “No,” she said, her voice hard again. “Not the kind you’re asking for.”

He closed his eyes and took shallow breaths. “Please.”

“No,” she said again, but this time he heard a faint tremor in her voice, wavering. “Never.”

“Then go,” he said, despairing. “Allow me that choice, at least.”

He expected her to refuse that, too. But a moment later he heard her leave. Maeglin stood carefully still, trying to catch his breath. Trying to remember how to breathe. Every inhale seemed to choke him.

Oh, mother, he thought. You gave your life for this?

His eyes fell on Anguirel, gleaming darkly. He sat studying its edge and trying to think of nothing at all.

[williamvapespeare]

77 for exr, OR 18 with whatever ship you prefer :D have a safe trip!!

77. “There is nothingwrong with you.”

i’m sorry this took me forever!! i’ve written a bunch of hardcore angst recently so i tried to write some - hopefully successful - canon era flirting. i hope you like it! (and i did have a safe trip, thanks lol)

-

The sun is low in thesky, sitting softly on the horizon as if it’s waiting for some cue to vanishcompletely. There’s laughter in the air around him, an early spring breeze, andjust enough alcohol in his system to take the edge off living. It’s the kind oflate afternoon-turned evening that makes most people notice they’re alive againfor the first time in months, but Grantaire has never been most people.

He’s spent the afternoon outside, wandering.He’s finally stopped at a café for the evening and taken up residence at one ofthe tables outside, watching as people in the streets stop and look up at the fadingblue of the sky between buildings, look around at each other and smile withsomething like surprise. He’s leaning back in his chair, one foot proppedagainst a leg of the table in front of him, a half full glass in hand.

He looks, to all theworld, like he is simply out, enjoying the last of the unexpected sun, a fronthe is happy to put up, in an attempt to hide the way his mind is running incircles. He is so consumed with the façade, in fact, that he almost doesn’t noticewhen someone peels off from the anonymous lull of people around him andapproaches his table.  

“Grantaire, do you have amoment?” He tries not to let his surprise show on his face as he leans forward andinclines his head slightly.

“Enjolras.” Enjolras soundsso formal, stiff and slightly awkward as he hovers at Grantaire’s shoulder,that Grantaire can’t help but mimic his tone. “I was just,” he glances at thehalf empty bottle in front of him, “I’m sure it’s perfectly clear what I wasdoing. Have you come to join me?”

He half intends it to bea joke. He expects Enjolras to roll his eyes or for the lines of his foreheadto show some small sign of exasperation, but instead he nods.

Never quite one to bedrawn in by fashion, Enjolras has taken off his jacket in the day’s unexpectedheat. It’s draped over his arm, covering a stack of papers and he deposits bothcarefully onto the table as he pulls out an empty chair and sits down.

His sleeves are rolled upto the elbows and as his hands come to rest on the arms of his chair, Grantairenotices flecks of ink on his fingers. Up close, his arms look stronger thanthey should, for someone who spends so much of his time reading and writing. Thoughthat’s not the only thing he does, Grantaire knows. For a moment, he imaginesblood running through those ink stained fingers, up his arms to stain the whiteof his sleeves, pooling crimson around blond curls.

He blinks the thoughtaway, lifts his glass in Enjolras’s direction in a sort of salute, unsure howto proceed.

“Was there something youwanted?”

Enjolras glances at him.

“I haven’t seen much ofyou lately. At meetings or,” He pauses, his expression hesitant, “anywhereelse.”

“Were you worried aboutme?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow in something like disbelief.

“Despite myself, I findthat I do miss your contributions.”

Grantaire takes a drink, hopeshis surprise isn’t as evident on his face as he feels. He means to backtrack,knows that at any other time, he would say something that made Enjolras shakehis head, make him back away from the possibility of anything resemblingintimacy between them.

Intimacy, he knows, requiresa degree of sincerity that he tries his best to stay clear of. On Enjolras, itis beautiful, alight with all his passion, all the depth of his love. But onGrantaire, sincerity is ugly and raw, a bit too much like despair for him to domuch of anything but drown it in the bottom of a bottle, which is why hisresponse catches even himself off-guard.  

“This time of year alwaysworries me. It feels wrong.” Grantaire laughs, struck by a bitterness that hasnothing to do with the wine. “I don’t know how you stand me, Enjolras. Thechanging of seasons is nothing compared to the changing of my moods.” He looksaway. “I suppose the answer is that you don’t stand me at all. Not that I blameyou.”

And Enjolras hasn’t, itseems, until now.

He feels Enjolras’s eyeson him, burning with a quiet intensity that he knows well enough to imagine inalmost perfect detail.

“There is nothing wrongwith you.” Enjolras says finally, unexpectedly. Grantaire looks back at him insurprise. “To be weary of change, of seasons, it’s natural I think. They play abigger role than any of us can know. The faster time passes, the less of it wehave.” Enjolras’s hand lands lightly on his shoulder, perhaps in an attempt toput him at ease, but if anything, it makes his heart race even faster. He says,almost matter-of-factly, as if it explains away any further uncertainty on thesubject: “It’s almost summer.”

“I’ve never known you towax poetical about the philosophies of time.” Grantaire says, coking his headsideways in confusion, or whatever the name is for the vague but insistentfeeling of desperateness that comes over him whenever Enjolras is close, thetightening in his chest at the mention of summer.

Enjolras blushes, light colorsoftening the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

He’s never seen Enjolrasblush before, doesn’t think he’s ever been comfortable enough around him to lethis guard down like this, and he bites back a smile when he sees it.

“I wouldn’t be too sureof that,” his tone light and teasing in a way he hopes Enjolras won’t misconstrueor take offense with, “Spend enough time around me and I’ll make a philosopherout of you yet. After all, even Diogenes had an Plato to balance out hiswoes.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, “Youthink too little of yourself,” he says. “You may not believe in the plights ofmen, but at least you can distinguish them from birds.”

Grantaire laughs then, genuineand amused. Enjolras laughs too, quietly, as if it is an amusement meant for justthe two of them. His hand has left its place on Grantaire’s shoulder,and for a moment, it comes back to rest lightly against his wrist, a thumbbrushing over Grantaire’s heavy pulse.

And Grantaire thinks thatthe warmth spreading in his chest has nothing to do with the spring day or thefuzziness of wine beginning to steep into his brain. Enjolras is still talkingto him, his attention fixed on Grantaire, one hand gesturing into the air inthe approximation of some grand indefinable ideal.

As the last light of theafternoon fades, someone comes by and lights a candle at their table and the flickeringlight turns Enjolras’s hair a shade closer to gold, a flame in the darknessthat, despite all his fears, has yet to be extinguished.

Grantaire thinks that perhaps, spring is not so bad after all.