#i loved opening every little drawer and then my brother scaring his own self saying that it must have been a priest's house

[lostintheparsec]

cute corners of our barcelona airbnb that i can't get over

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s 2020 Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

[ CHAPTER ONE - Birthday ]

“Ding ling ling...”

Hearing the phone ring, Gavin, in the middle of drying the sheets, hops off the small bench and runs towards the telephone.

“Hello? Is this Little Gav?” Wardia’s gentle voice comes from the receiver.

“Mom!” Gavin grips the phone, eyes squinting into a smile. “How’s Grandma? When are you coming back?”

On the other end of the line, Wardia sighs. “Little Gav, I’m sorry.”

“Even though Grandma’s condition is much better, the doctor says more observation is needed. Which is why Mom may not be able to come back today.”

The light shining in Gavin’s eyes dims. After a while, he blinks, his little hands pinching the telephone cord tightly. He speaks into the transmitter in a serious voice.

“It’s all right.”

This time, it’s the gentle voice which grows quiet. 

“Mom will definitely be back soon and make up for Little Gav’s birthday, okay?”

“Mm.”

“That’s good... hold on, grandma wants to say a few words to you.”

After a short silence, Gavin hears his grandmother’s slightly weak yet kindly voice. She wishes him a happy birthday, and even sings him a stanza of the birthday song.

“Little Gav...”

Hearing his mother’s voice again, Gavin unconsciously leans into the receiver.

“Our Little Gav is really sensible and is a very obedient child.”

“...mm.” Gavin thinks for a moment, but is unable to hold himself back. He adds on a sentence. “Mom, once Grandma is well, you must definitely come back quickly.”

“All right. Mom promises you. I’ll come back quickly.”

After the phone call ends, Gavin hears the “du- du-” of the dial tone coming from the receiver. A long time passes before Gavin remembers that he has yet to complete something.

He returns to the balcony, pulling on the sheets to dry. The sheets are crooked and twisted - it doesn’t look the same as how his mother does it. Considering how he didn’t just spread them on the ground, he considers it a task completed smoothly.

Gavin sits at the one-person dining table. He opens the takeaway box and tries a bite of the cake.

The cake is a little too sweet. It isn’t as delicious as the one his mother bakes by hand.

The candles have been thrown into the drawer by Gavin. The cake, which he only had one bite of, is stuffed into the refrigerator.

At night, he plays games for a little longer than usual. He brushes his teeth and washes his face, then crawls into bed to sleep.

🎐

[ CHAPTER TWO - Interlude ]

The weather forecast is very accurate. There is a light rain in the afternoon, and it seems to be getting heavier. 

Right after school dismissal, Gavin trots while holding an umbrella, hoping to reach home before the rain enters the balcony and drenches the sheets.

As soon as he enters the cluster of buildings, he sees a few older boys not far off, surrounding a little child. 

“Hand it over quickly. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“Just look at who our Brother Qian is. Quit dawdling.”

"Hurry and hand over the newest game console!”

Sentences and noises enter Gavin’s ears. After thinking about it, he turns around the corner and strides over.

Mom has said it before - be willing to help others. 

Seeing Gavin, the leader of the boys gives him a look of disdain and waves his hand. “Small child, this has nothing to do with you. Go away!”

Gavin ignores him, pulling the crying boy to his feet. 

“Hey. What are you doing?” the leader of the boys, who is bigger sized than Gavin, presses him onto the ground.

Unexpectedly, Gavin follows the flow of the movement and rolls on the ground, breaking free. He takes a few steps back and stares at them coldly.

“You!”

“Wait... wait wait, Brother Qian, this guy seems to be Gavin...”

“Gav...” hearing this, the expression of the person called “Brother Qian” changes in an instant.

“He’s the one who beat up dozens of people! He’s incredibly strong - a monster no one can stop!” 

Even though his voice is lowered, every word from the small gangster floats into Gavin’s ears.

Hearing the unpleasant title, Gavin furrows his eyebrows.

“What did you say?”

“I... I have some urgent things to settle, so I’ll let you off! T-there won’t be a next time!” 

Reluctant to admit their mistake, the domineering kids run away in a hurry.

Gavin looks at the escaping children, and lets out a small “tch”. Picking up the game console they left behind in their haste, he stuffs it into the little boy’s hand.

“Hey, this is for you.”

The little boy, who has been sobbing quietly all this time, finally wails in a loud voice.

The noise hurts Gavin’s ears, so he turns around to leave. Thinking about how the little boy doesn’t have an umbrella, Gavin folds his own and places it beside the boy. 

🎐

[ CHAPTER THREE - Excuses ] 

Staring at the crying boy, Gavin wonders where the sheer volume of tears even comes from, and how he can howl so loudly. After a moment of hesitation, Gavin tries to comfort the boy.

“They’re gone. You should go home soon.”

“Little dear, what’s the matter with you? Which family do you belong to?” an auntie comes over in the middle of her run after hearing the crying sounds.

“Oh, aren’t you the one who beat up a kid last time? Why are you bullying people again?” Seeing Gavin, the aunt immediately pulls the squatting boy behind her.

Gavin looks at her, baffled. 

“He... ooo... game console... knocked down!! Oo...! I’m scared...oo!”

The little boy cries loudly, his words incoherent. Even though he tries his best to explain, his excuses only lead to the aunt deciding that Gavin was bullying him.

At this point, more adults have gathered. The father of the little boy hurriedly rushes over, and holds the boy in his arms.

“This bad kid beat someone up again!” the aunt self-righteously tells the boy’s father, with a stern look.

“I did not.”

The man has a slightly unhappy expression on his face. He picks up the boy and looks at Gavin persuasively. “Just apologise, and turn over a new leaf. You’re still young, so it’s okay if you make mistakes. The important thing is to admit your wrongs and change.”

“I did not bully him,” Gavin repeats himself, increasing his volume.

A busybody in the crowd pipes up, “It’s because his father is busy at work, and is away most of the year.”

Gavin freezes. 

Seeing that Gavin is quiet, the other party continues coldly, “It’s understandable if your mother can’t teach you well since she’s alone. Because of you, my children were...”

“You’re not allowed to say that!”

Red-faced, Gavin clenches his fists, and even his body starts trembling slightly.

“I did not beat anyone! I didn’t do anything wrong. Someone was bullying him, and those people already ran away!”

The person didn’t expect such a fierce reaction from Gavin. While he originally wanted to share more preachy advice, he meets Gavin’s dark eyes, which are now lit with anger. 

He’s left stunned, the words he prepared lodged in his throat, not knowing why he feels sudden guilt. In the end, he says a few more words and leaves.

The rain continues to patter.

The people who were gathered gradually leave, and only a drenched Gavin remains, along with a red umbrella at the side. 

🎐

[ CHAPTER FOUR - Bandages ]

Gavin picks up the umbrella and shakes off the water. He happens to see Wardia stepping through the entrance of the cluster of building, coincidentally meeting the father of the little boy from just now.

“Are you Gavin’s mother? Well, you don’t know it yet, but something happened today...”

The man’s voice continuously enters Gavin’s ears, and Wardia has a shocked expression.

“...I’m not saying that the child is bad, but...”

Gavin only feels a stuffiness in his chest, as though his heart has been gripped by an invisible hand, squeezing it tightly.

He takes a few steps towards his home, but unconsciously pauses. He doesn’t feel like going home that much.

Gavin wanders aimlessly among the cluster of buildings for a while, and finally chooses to sit down in a small, secluded corner.

Because of the earlier fight and the push, his elbows and knees have sustained slight injuries, and are now starting to sting fiercely.

He skilfully retrieves band-aids and cotton swabs from his schoolbag, and cleans his wounds carelessly before sticking band-aids on.

Now that he has bandaged himself, what should he do next? 

Gavin thinks for a bit. Logically speaking, he should be waiting for his mother to come home, tell her that he has been doing fine over the past few days, then show concern for his grandmother’s condition. However, he has no idea how to talk to his mother now, nor how to face her.

Gavin is afraid that his mother would be worried when she sees his new injuries. He’s even more afraid that she would really think of him as a bad child.

Gavin remembers that he hasn’t brought in the sheets yet. 

A few days ago, he was the one who patted his chest and decided that since his mother usually does the housework and is likely tired, he would help her wash the sheets. By now, they would have been completely drenched by the rain. 

With this thought in mind, hot tears fill his eyes, and his vision starts to blur.

He grits his teeth, hurriedly wiping his face, wanting to take back the tears. Unfortunately, the results aren’t very good.

He learns to do what his mother would do when he’s upset. He raises his hand to pat his own head.

“Everything will be resolved.”

He learns to do what the textbook says, and speaks to himself softly.

“Little Gav?”

Hearing this sound, Gavin lifts his head sharply. His mother is slightly breathless when she appears before him. Perhaps she had been running.

“Mom, I...”

Without waiting for Gavin to finish, Wardia squats down, reaching out to hug Gavin in her arms tightly.

The tender touch descends on his head, which is damp from the rain.

“Mom knows that Gavin didn’t do anything wrong.”

She says this confidently.

🎐

[ CHAPTER FIVE - Warm wind ]

Wardia rubs Gavin’s head gently, her tone filled with resoluteness and love. “Everything has been clarified. The boy you helped explained everything to us after he calmed down.”

“His father also wants to convey an apology to you. They were too anxious, and misunderstood you.”

“Does Mom believe that I’m not a bad child?”

Gavin asks in a low and muffled voice, burying his head into Wardia’s shoulder.

“Silly child,” Wardia pulls away slightly. Looking into his eyes, she speaks in a serious and solemn voice. “I don’t just believe it.”

“Mom has always known that my Little Gav has a strong sense of justice, a sense of responsibility, and is a very kind child.”

“Even if other people don’t understand you, how could Mom not understand you?”

Gavin feels his eyes welling up in hot tears again, and a sour sensation surfaces in his nose. He turns his head away, not wanting Wardia to see his wet eyes. 

“Mm.” After a while, he nods.

“Come, let’s go home. We’re going to make up for your birthday today.”

Wardia stands up, holds Gavin under her umbrella, and walks in the direction of their home together.

By the time Gavin changes into a fresh set of clothes and is shaking off water from his head as he steps out, the weather has cleared up.

Sunlight passes through the wind chimes near the windowsill, casting beautiful colours into the living room. 

Wardia has tidied up the dried sheets, and is sitting on a soft cushion. Seeing that Gavin’s hair is still wet, she waves a hand towards him.

Although Gavin is stunned for a while, he quickly understands his mother’s intentions.

“My hair will dry by itself soon. I’m not a small child...” Gavin feels like running away while he says this, but his mother catches him and pulls him over.

“It’s not good if you don’t blow it dry properly. You're going to have a basketball match soon.” While Wardia says this, a breeze rises from her palm, warming Gavin’s surroundings and blowing away the water.

On this clear late afternoon after the rain, sunlight streams lazily into the living room, in which every crevice is filled with warmth.

Even though he feels slightly embarrassed to be in his mother’s arms, Gavin has always liked his mother’s wind.

Gentle, warm, making him feel as though he can float along with the wind.

“What does Little Gav want to eat tonight? Mom will cook it for you.”

He considers it carefully, holding up his fingers to count a few homely dishes.

The sheets on the balcony flutter, and the wind chimes ring. In the oven, the cake baked by his mother releases a sweet aroma. 

Being held by his mother, Gavin feels a peace of mind. 

It’s as if this moment is the happiest moment of his life. 

🎐

[ CHAPTER SIX - Blessings ]

“Little Gav, happy birthday!”

After Gavin blows the candles out in one breath, Wardia smiles and hands him an exquisitely-wrapped gift.

“Open it and have a look?

Gavin’s eyes shift back and forth from the cake to the present for a long while. In the end, he excitedly chooses to accept the present and tears it open.

“You like playing outdoors and basketball. These can protect you from injuries.” Wardia looks at Gavin, her eyes filled with pride and a smile. 

It’s a pair of hand-stitched knee pads.

Gavin holds up the knee pads, flipping them over to study them carefully. The colour of the knee pads is simple, and suits Gavin’s tastes. His name and a small plane are embroidered along the edge.

“I’ll wear this to the next basketball competition, and will definitely win!”

Wardia looks at the boy, whose eyes are full of light. She smiles and uses her chopsticks to clip vegetables into his bowl.

“In that case, you have to eat more to grow even taller. Grandma specially let me bring back these dandelions. Do you remember the dandelions in grandma’s courtyard?”

Gavin nods. He remembers that grandma’s house has a large patch of dandelions. Mom can create a small gust of wind and carry the fluffy dandelions to a faraway place. 

“Once you’re on vacation, we can visit grandma again. She misses you.”

Gavin grins widely and nods.

Before going to bed at night, Gavin shifts his thick astronomy encyclopaedias away. He pulls out the small items that have been stuffed into his cabinet, and retrieves a small box that has been carefully kept. 

Inside, there are pinballs, a small plane, and all sorts of things that he considers treasures.

He places the knee pads inside, closes the lid tightly, and returns it to its original spot.

The quilt and sheets were just collected, and he seems to be able to smell the warmth from the sun.

While he drifts in and out of sleep, he thinks about the wish he made, and thinks about everything that happened today. 

He vaguely knows that someone will definitely believe him, and will stand on his side. 

Sharing a birthday cake together, seeing the dandelions together, and listening to the wind chimes together.

🎐

Gavin’s Birthday Collection:

Old Haunt Date

Moments and Texts

Phone call

Video call

[spritewrites]

curiosity

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Luther & Diego

Word Count: 1047

Sometimes it’s the little things in life, Luther thinks to himself. Well, sometimes the big things matter too. The ones you love. Saving the world. Family connections. Those things matter a lot. But also, sometimes the little things are more than enough. Like, sometimes it’s nice to open your window in summer. Or eat corn on the cob. Or fold warm laundry in your childhood bedroom, sorting the clothes into neat stacks for easy drawer storage. Drawerage. Heh.

“Hey Luther – oh.”

Luther turned away from his piles to see Diego leaning against the doorframe. Yep, he definitely turned away and didn’t jump out of his skin at all.

“What?”

“Nothing, just got sent up here to let you know that Allison and Klaus are going to the mall. Allison wanted me to ask you if you wanted to go too.”

There was a pause.

“…Do you want to go too?”

Luther chuckled, tucking the sleeves of a knit sweater into a tight square and adding it to the pile on the bed. He still almost never left the house (didn’t like the looks he got), but it was nice to be asked. “No, tell them I’m alright.”

“Can do,” Diego said, then, without turning away or missing a beat, shouted as loudly as he could, “LUTHER DOESN’T WANT TO GO.”

“OKAY,” came Allison’s muffled reply from somewhere in the mansion.

Luther gave his brother a hard look. “Asshole.”

Diego grinned, kicking off of the doorframe and strolling into the room like he owned the place, running his fingers over surfaces and peering into corners. Luther watched him roam, only half paying attention to his laundry, until Diego finally picked up one of the unfolded sweaters and held it up in front of him.

“Shit, these things are huge.”

“Mom makes them.”

The sweater slipped over Diego’s head with ease, and Luther couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“You look like Five when he tried to put on real clothes.”

“Fuck off,” Diego replied automatically, but there was no real venom in his words. There never really was, not since the 60s. Instead, he was eyeing Luther curiously. “You really are huge.”

Luther rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean…” Diego took off the sweater, turning it over in his hands. “I dunno. I’m sorry. About that.”

Luther froze for a second, mid-fold on a scarf. Oh. Nobody had ever said that before. “It’s not your fault. Dad should be the one saying sorry.”

There was a scoff from Diego, a little glimpse of his old vigilante self. “Yeah, like the old man would ever say sorry.” Luther felt his brother’s gaze turn back to him, but it wasn’t judgmental or rude. “How does it work?”

“How does what work?”

“Your… gorilla thing.”

Another folded sweater was added to the pile. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” Diego dropped the sweater and picked up a glove. “Does it affect your powers? Like, are you stronger?”

It felt weird to talk to Diego like this. If he hadn’t known better, Luther would have called this ‘bonding.’ “Not really, not… not any more than I was before. Just kinda… bulkier.”

“Does your skin feel any different?”

Luther fixed him with a look. “More hair, dumbass.”

In typical fashion, Diego rolled his eyes and reached out to touch his arm, the upper part where his short sleeve met his bicep. “You know what I mean, Diddy Kong. Like the texture and stuff. Does it – oh, you feel like Pogo.”

Luther yanked his arm away, flushing. “Shut up.”

“No, it’s…” Diego’s face also looked kind of red. Maybe it was the light. “It’s nice. Is that everywhere?”

Slowly, but somehow still much faster than Luther could process, another curious prod was in his waist. He flinched slightly, glaring at his brother. “Alright, Sherlock Holmes, fuck off with your detective work.”

“Aw, come on, big boy, I’m just trying to –” Another poke landed somewhere in the vicinity of Luther’s side, and he snatched Diego’s wrist out of the air, his eyes a careful warning.

“Don’t.”

“I won’t.”

But there was something in Diego’s expression, something Luther couldn’t quite place. It was somewhere between mischief and excitement, and Luther wasn’t scared, exactly, Number One didn’t get scared. Didn’t get nervous either. Maybe… cautious? Yeah, he was cautious about what his brother was planning (because Diego was always planning, even if those plans don’t always go as… well, planned), and –

“You overthink,” Diego said, and then suddenly Luther was on his back on the bed and there were fingers everywhere, poking ruthlessly, and oh my God, he hadn’t laughed like this since they were kids.

“D-Diego,” he choked, trying to say more, but then his brother was digging into his underarms and Luther maybe blacked out for a second. He was dimly aware of Diego saying something, but his limbs felt like melting Jell-O and his nerves were fried and his brain was on a loop of that tickles that tickles that tickles. “Please!”

Eventually, finally, the torture subsided, and Luther could physically feel the air filling his lungs again. A smirking Diego came into focus: hovered over him, arms crossed.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?” The last of Luther’s giggles were still slipping out without his permission.

“That you were still ticklish, obviously. That’s the only way we could ever win a fight against you as kids, remember? Cause you go all…” He flopped his arms around to illustrate his point. “Wobbly.”

Luther fought back his smile, hugging his arms around himself. “I tried to forget.”

“I thought the serum might’ve, I dunno, fixed that for you.”

“I thought so too,” Luther said ruefully, which made Diego laugh. Huh. Luther didn’t think he’d ever made Diego laugh before.

“Well, at least we know we can still overpower you in a pinch, big boy,” his brother teased, reaching for his side again, but his wrist was in Luther’s big fist before he could even blink.

“Hey, what –”

Luther raised an eyebrow. “Payback.”

It took Vanya coming to check out the screams in Luther’s room for them to fully call a truce, but the look on Luther’s face when he realized that Diego’s kicking had knocked over his neat laundry piles was worth every second.

[remys-lucky-franc]

Yes hello hi, I would like to have A, E, F, H, and L for Remy please and Daisy please and thanks!

Hello and hi my friend - and thank you for your request!!

Fluffy ABC’s

Ahhhhh! 

Remy & Daisy - my wee OTP - I am going to really enjoy writing this request!!  

I’m go do these like little head-canons, some of which are actual canon - hope that’s ok with you friend, and that you enjoy!

A

Anger:  What was their first fight about?  Any big or recurring arguments?

While both of them are passionate and can be fiery at times, it’s rarely that they’ll explode at one another in anger.  The first serious fight they had was when Daisy discovered that Remy had got himself arrested from Parker Vos’s yacht and thrown in jail on purpose.  She was hurt and embarrassed that he’d made such a scene of his goodbye when it was all a charade and she wasn’t scared to tell him that once they’d burst him out of jail!

Remy and Daisy don’t have big arguments very often, but they do bicker now and then.  Usually about silly things like what movie to watch or where to eat.  Usually Remy will let Daisy have her own way because he likes to see her smile, but on those occasions when he’s got his mind set on something he can be pretty stubborn.  

When Remy does get annoyed with Daisy, he’ll mutter to himself in French, which drives her insane because he does it too low and too quickly for her to pick up.  This usually only serves to put her into a strop where she’ll throw a cushion (or something equally harmless) at his head. 

They made an agreement early in their relationship never to go to bed angry at each other.  No matter the disagreement, they still say ‘I love you’ before they go to sleep.

E 

Early:  What was their first month of dating like?

Because of Nikolai’s decision that it’d be a good idea to test the strength of their relationship with a double marriage con, their first month together was really hard.  They should have been on top of the world, but instead of proper dates and PDA’s, it was stolen moments while having to watch each other flirt with other people.  It almost broke Daisy the night she had to watch Remy’s proposal to Ivy - even thought she knew it was fake.  

Remy being a practiced conman, put on a the image of the perfect fiance for Ivy, but inside there was only ever one person that he thought of, that he dreamed of.  He would lie in bed at night in her parents house during the first weeks of his relationship with Daisy thinking of her as he tried to fall asleep - she was completely ingrained in his mind and his heart.  Sometimes he conjured her image so well that he could almost reach out and touch her.

One of Daisy’s favourite moments during the early part of their relationship was the night that Remy sneaked back from Ivy’s family estate.  The sudden delight of finding he was there in his bedroom at the penthouse with her is something she will never forget.  The way his lips crashed into hers, his hands clutching her tightly, the passion that coursed through them both:  realising exactly how much she’d missed her beautiful Remy and everything about him…    

F

Friends:  How is their relationship with each others group of friends?

Remy’s true friends are all in the Poppy so Daisy was already familiar with all of them, although her blossoming relationship with Remy somewhat strained her friendship with Nikolai.  Although things are fine between them now, and she appreciated that he had Remy and the Poppy’s best interests at heart, she still thinks he was a jerk for springing the Ivy con on them when they’d been together for less than a day…

Daisy got a secure cell phone and was able to get in touch with her best friend Claudia after running off with the Poppy…  Daisy obviously couldn’t divulge that she was performing heists with a gang of internationally-wanted criminals, but with a couple of white lies and lies of omission, she was able to bring her friend up to speed with much of what had been happening during her travels.  Claudia realised pretty quickly that Daisy was head over heels with some French dude, and was concerned that he really wasn’t into Daisy the way that she was into him…  She was pretty skeptical and warned Daisy not to get herself 'involved with some smooth talking bastard, even if he is French and has gorgeous hair…’   When she finally flew into Paris and met Daisy and Remy, Claudia couldn’t help but blush as Remy greeted her by pressing his lips to the back of her hand.  She raised her eyes at Daisy, suddenly starting to “get’ exactly whey Daisy was so besotted…  By the end of her weekend in Paris, Remy and Daisy had received Claudia’s seal of approval and Remy had been asked if he had a single brother…

H

Hugs: All things involving hugs

Remy gives the best hugs ever - the entire Gilded Poppy agrees.  Regardless of the situation.  If someone is sad, his hug is tender and warm enough to make them feel a little brighter.  If there’s a cause for celebration, Remy will throw his whole body and every ounce of his enthusiasm into the hug resulting in cries of 'ooof!’ and peals of laughter.

Daisy’s favourite of Remy’s hugs is when he moves close to her in bed, wrapping his arms around her from behind, tucking her hair behind her ear and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.  The heat from his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat relaxes Daisy and make her heart happy; she snuggles closer to him and drifts off to sleep in his embrace.  

Remy loves to receive a hug.  Probably even more than a kiss.  He’s a very tactile person so he appreciates and enjoys that Daisy is the same way.  His favourite hug is a leisurely, unhurried one when she wraps her arms around his neck, smiling as she meets his eyes, fingers sliding through his hair. When he stands there smiling back at his girl, his heart feels full knowing that he is loved.

L

Love:  How do they first say those three words

When Daisy first expressed how she felt to Remy and he rejected her advances, saying that it was all because of their con - that she was confused, that it wasn’t real - she felt heart-broken.  She knew it wasn’t all because of their fake marriage: the way he looked at her when no one was watching, the way his guard would slip and he would impart little pieces of his true self, how right it felt when they kissed…  She wasn’t prepared to just let this slip away.

After being so in love with Remy for so long, when he finally gave into his feelings, Daisy couldn’t quite believe it.  That night in a bedroom full of flowers, when they finally fell into each other’s arms, it felt like a wonderful dream that she never wanted to wake up from.  Her heart fit to burst, she felt like she was floating on air as he finally stopped fighting, the words echoing in her ears - "I’ve always loved you.”

To admit that he was in love with Daisy, knowing it deep within himself, but not knowing what to do with the feeling or how to express it, was so difficult for Remy.  He was so afraid of being in love, of being loved;  it just seemed like it would be too good to be true.  He couldn’t believe that anyone could truly love him for himself, and to be open and vulnerable, and potentially abandoned, terrified him…  So he swallowed his feelings, hid behind a hundred masks and almost drove himself crazy in the process.

Remy keeps the list that Daisy made, describing all the little things she loves about him, in the top drawer of his dresser.  Every time he looks at it, tears spring to his eyes again remembering the way it moved him to tears that night when she finally broke down the last of his defences…  It overwhelms him and takes him back to that night when his nostrils were filled with the scent of lily of the valley and his body ached as he savoured the sensation of Daisy pressed close to him after denying his feelings for so long.  

[raibebe]

Lifesaver

Genre: Fluffy horror Words: 1.777 Prompt: Vampire Hyungwon almost starved himself and really needs some blood For @im-a-special-bebe A/N: I think in my original example prompt the girlfriend didn’t know about Hyungwon being a vampire but I’m scratching that because it just worked out better like this and it’s also probably more intense than it had to be... Also this has been betaed by the lovely @kihyunsbabe 🖤 Warnings: blood, self-harm (somehow, kinda)

Vampire: A living corpse that drinks blood of the living by biting their necks with long, pointed canine teeth to quench their never ending thirst

A loud knock on your door disrupted the silence of your apartment which was draped in darkness only broken by the blue light of the screen of your laptop. You snapped out of your stupor and squinted at the clock on the wall. Groaning you dragged a hand through your hair. You had been staring at the blank page of your document for over an hour now but didn’t type anything besides your name and the course you were supposed to write the paper for which was due to the end of the week.

It’s not that you didn’t like the class or didn’t know what you should write about but you just couldn’t focus. You mind was wandering the second you weren’t distracted by your friends or the lectures you had to attend. Being worried about your boyfriend not contacting you for a little over a week may sound stupid but when he had left, he hadn’t said where he was going, just that he needed to attend to some family business with his extended family. You were always antsy when he mentioned his family, especially his extended family. For other people that meant meeting a creepy uncle or a noisy aunt asking you when you would finally get married or your cousin boasting about how many sales he had this week alone. But for Hyungwon it meant that he had to face his creator and his brothers and sisters. And judging by the urgency of the meeting, it seemed like one of his so called siblings - not by birth but by rebirth as he liked to call it -  might have either gone rouge or a newborn wasn’t able to control themselves.

Neither of the options seemed good and Hyungwon had often told you stories about his brothers and himself getting hurt whilst trying to hunt the other vampires down for the safety of their family and their race. He had told you that the government and the police knew very well that creatures like him existed but did everything to keep it hidden, so the general public wouldn’t panic but if a clan would decide to go rouge and reveal themselves there would be nothing to stop it. The way they were hunted down by special police forces was brutal enough, you didn’t dare to imagine how it would escalate if everyone knew of their existence.

Another harsh knock on your door ripped you from your thoughts. Shouting an affirmative noise, you got up from where you were seated on your work desk and padded over to the wooden door of your apartment.

When you opened the door, your heart dropped and stopped beating for a second. In the dark hallway before you was standing your boyfriend. His white hair was dishevelled, clothes torn and dried blood clung to his pale hands. He smiled weakly at you, showing his canine teeth but the smile wasn’t reaching his bright red eyes and he leaned heavily against the doorframe. Without saying anything, you grabbed his slender waist and threw one of his thin arms around your shoulder so you could support him on your way into your apartment. When you sat him down on your couch, he almost melted into the pillows, his head dangling over the back of the couch, eyes losing their focus.

Climbing into his lap, you grabbed his ice-cold face between your palms, forcing him to look at you. “What do you need, Won?” You asked, voice trembling with fear. You had never seen him in a state like this. His eyes would turn more and more red the more thirsty he got but it also made him more aggressive and eerie, not weak like this. He had fed just before he left, you knew that. So he shouldn’t be this starved. “Blood,” he said weakly, voice not more than a breath, sounding hoarse as if he had been screaming. Nodding you got up to go to your fridge to see if there were blood bags left, but his hands weakly wrapped around your arm. “That won’t do,” he breathed out, his head falling back again, his hand losing the grip he had on you.

Cursing you rolled the long sleeve of your sweater up, holding your wrist up for him to bite you. Ever since you had been together he had refused to feed from your neck. It was supposed to hurt way less than doing it from the wrist area but he didn’t like that you weren’t able to stop him like that, not confident in his ability to stop himself even though he was far from being a newborn who was new to feeding from a living being he didn’t want to kill. But even though he had his lips parted and his canines were shining in the low light of your computer screen, he didn’t bite you. Brushing the hair from his forehead, you gently pressed your wrist against his lips. “Drink, Won,” you urged him on, bracing yourself for the pain which was about to come, screwing your eyes shut. But it never came. Instead Hyungwon went limb in your hands, every tension leaving his body. “Won?” “Hyungwon?” “Chae Hyungwon?!” You called him, your voice climbing higher in pitch and getting louder with each call of his name.

Cursing you jumped off of him and the couch and raced to the kitchen to find a knife. Ripping open random drawers as well as crashing several kitchen utensils, you finally grabbed a large, sharp knife and dashed back into the living room. With trembling hands you brought the knife to the skin on your wrist. A whimper left your lips when you pulled the knife over your flesh, breaking the skin. The sound of the bloody knife falling to the ground echoed load in the room when you broad your wrist to Hyungwon’s lips again, the dark red fluid streaming past his lips, staining them and his face. Praying to whichever god might be listening, you stroked his hair when he still wasn’t moving, tears collecting on the corners of your eyes not only because of the pain in your wrist. Willing them back, you screwed your eyes shut and tried to stop your bleeding arm from trembling so you wouldn’t make even more of a mess.

When a sudden pain shot through your whole body, your eyes snapped back open and were met with the almost glowing blood red eyes of Hyungwon whose fangs had pierced through your skin to get even more of your blood flowing. Whimpering, tears of relief began flowing down your face when you saw how with every drop of blood leaving your body, Hyungwon’s strength seemed to come back to him. But while his strength came back to him, your head began to feel light. The exhaustion that came with letting a vampire feed from you washing over you faster than it had ever before which was no surprise when you considered the big wound on your wrist and the way his Adam’s apple was bobbing with every gulp of blood he swallowed.

“Hyungwon, stop. It’s enough,” you told your boyfriend through gritted teeth. But he didn’t seem to even hear the words or recognize your words; simply trailing his tongue over the cut to make more blood flowing into his mouth. For the first time you were thankful that Hyungwon would always refuse to feed from your neck, at least giving you some kind of chance to get him off of you even though he possessed unnatural strength. Gently caressing Hyungwon’s cheek with your free hand, you threaded your fingers through his hair before grabbing a handful of the shorter hair at his nape to yank at the strands.

This seemed to make him snap out of it: His glowing eyes snapped open and his lips left your wrist to curl back to expose his bloody teeth in an animalistic snarl. Shrieking in fear you yanked your injured hand from his grip, making you fall from the couch, blood droplets falling on the cushions and the carpet. But you didn’t have time to even acknowledge any of that, your vision turning black when your head connected to the couch table with an unpleasant sound.

~

When you regained your senses, your body felt unusually heavy like there were weights pulling your limps down into the soft material of the bed and keeping your eyes shut. You could make out faint noises, soft whispering, muffled through the door of your bedroom. Slowly and with much effort you managed to open your eyes. The heavy curtains of your room had been pulled close, so it was impossible to judge how long you had been unconscious. A soft whimper left your lips when you tried to lift yourself up to look at the time, a splitting pain shooting through your head.

Not even a second later, the door to your bedroom opened and Hyungwon poked his head through, smiling when he saw you were awake. Before you would express how worried you had been about him, he beat you to it. “I was so worried, you wouldn’t wake up. You have been out for almost twelve hours,” taking your bandaged hand from under the covers, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I thought I took too much. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come to you like this. I wasn’t in my right mind, if you hadn’t pulled me off, I didn’t know what would have happened. Please forgive me.” He sighed, toying with the bandages on your wrist, avoiding to look you right in the eye.

Smiling weakly, you intertwined your fingers with his. “What happened, Won? I thought you were dead for a second,” you asked him. “I am dead, sweetheart,” he answered bitterly. “You just went limb and wouldn’t even drink at first, Won. I’ve never seen you like this and it scared me.” He finally met your gaze, his own eyes dark and wide in confusion. “THAT scared you? Not how I couldn’t stop feeding off of you?” “Well, I got you off, didn’t I?” You asked shyly, hiding yourself beneath the fluffy blanket so Hyungwon wouldn’t see the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before he laid down next to you, placing his head on your chest so he could listen to your heartbeat.

“It’s not going to happen again, I promise”, he whispered softly.

“I love you,” you answered before closing your eyes again and drifted back to sleep.

[swimmingnewsie]

Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 7)

...You know I used to be patient and methodical with my upload schedule. But now I just want to share with the world my work <3 So enjoy two chapters in less than 24 hours.

Link to AO3

---

"I just don't understand why she can't tell me what's wrong. Obviously there's something, and maybe I could help if she would just let me in!" Maren said in frustration as Ryder drove.

It had been three days since Maren had walked out on Elsa in the cafe, and she hadn't heard from the woman since. What was so bad that Elsa couldn't bring herself to talk about? It wasn't like they hadn't had deep conversations before. They had talked about everything from miscarriages to the death of parents to mental health crises. What was so bad Elsa couldn't even name?

"Have you considered the chance that maybe she's still processing whatever it is? And that she wants some sort of grasp before she tries to talk about it with someone else?" Ryder suggested, eyes focused on the open road ahead of them. There was no destination today, but Maren had a feeling that Ryder was doing this so she would talk candidly. They had never been good at a direct face-to-face conversation. Driving provided an easy environment for them both.

"Maybe, but she's my girlfriend, Ry. I'm supposed to be there to help her with stuff," she exasperated. All she wanted was to be there for Elsa. Why was that so hard?

"You may be her girlfriend, but she's still her own person. She's allowed to keep her secrets if she wants. That's just something she does. Have you tried talking to her about it?"

Maren shook her head. "I told her to come back when she was ready to be mature about things. She needs to come to me first."

Ryder raised an eyebrow. "But is that fair? You're the one who walked out on her because she wasn't talking. Do you really think that's the best way to get what you want?"

Maren rolled her eyes. "No, but- but- I don't know!"

"Then put your stubbornness aside and apologize. She may have done things wrong, but so did you." Ryder said, looking at her. "You yelled at her for not opening up when you knew full well the shit show that the last week has been for her with Anna being so sick.

"Look I don't know Elsa as well as you do, obviously, but I do know this: she internalizes her feelings while you externalize your feelings. If you guys are gonna make this work, you’re gonna have to learn to deal with that."

Maren looked stunned at her brother. Where the hell had all that come from? Her brother had grown a lot from that flighty boy who wouldn't talk to anyone for anything. Maren laid her head back on the seat. "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm dating a self-proclaimed love expert who was raised by actual love expert marriage counselors. You pick up on this kind of shit," he said simply. Ryder sighed, turning the car back towards home.

Maren could hear the sadness in her brother's sigh. She was far more adept at her brother's emotions than anyone else's. "Well, I may not be able to pick at my girlfriend's mind right now, but I can pick at yours. What's running in that pretty little head of yours?"

Ryder gave a hint of a laugh. "Just trying to solve all the world's problems today, aren't you?"

She nudged her brother in the shoulder. "Maybe," she said with a slight smile.

"You're worse than Anna about meddling!" he teased.

"Am not!" Maren slapped her brother's shoulder.

"Hey! Hey! No hitting the driver!" Ryder called out laughing. "And answering your question would require whiskey, and considering we both have work tomorrow, that is not an option."

Maren rolled her eyes. "So you're not going to tell me? Even after everything I've gone through with Elsa?"

"Dramatic much?" he asked, mirroring her eye roll. "We'll talk about it Friday. I promise."

Ryder held out a pinky that Maren happily linked. "Friday," she agreed.

"And in the meantime, you are going to your girlfriend's and talking this out."

"As you command, Mr. Love Expert."

---

"Hi, Maren! I wasn't expecting to see you today." Maren was greeted at the door by a sleepy looking Anna. She looked much healthier than the last time she had been by. Her face had more color, and she seemed far perkier.

"Hi, Anna. How are you feeling?"

"Tired still," she admitted coughing in the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "But what can you expect when you get the flu and strep throat at the same time?"

"Oh, Anna, that's terrible," Maren frowned. "I'm sorry. Have they been able to give you anything to make you feel better?"

Anna nodded. "Antibiotics for the strep and cough syrup to help me sleep at night. Seems to be doing well enough. Elsa's in her room if you want to come in." Maren nodded in reply, entering the apartment. "She had headphones in earlier, so she might not hear you if you knock."

"Thanks, Anna," she said sincerely. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Honestly? Get my sister to go to bed," she said with tired eyes. "She won't say anything, but I heard her coughing all night and I'm worried."

Maren's eyes softened. Of course Elsa wouldn't say anything while Anna was still sick. "I'll do my best."

"Elsa?" she said as she entered the bedroom quietly. Her heart ached at the sight. Books and tissues were scattered on Elsa's bed while Elsa herself was passed out in the middle with her laptop open on a half finished word document and Marshmallow curled up at her side. Her face was much paler than usual- something Maren had thought was impossible- and she shivered violently on the bed clinging to the fluffy cat for warmth. Maren placed a gentle hand to get girlfriend's head; she was burning up. Their discussion could certainly wait, she thought.

Marshmallow meowed up at her. Maren didn't know cats could looked worried, but he certainly did. She gave him a comforting pet. "Don't worry, Marshie. We'll take care of her." He meowed in reply before rubbing up on his owner again, pleased with her words.

"Hey snowflake. Can you wake up for me?" she asked softly. Elsa couldn't be comfortable like that, and if she was hiding her illness like Maren suspected she was, then she was going to get her the rest and medicine she needed.

Elsa's eyes slowly opened to reveal glassy blue eyes. "Maren? What are you doing here? You were mad at me. I'm- I'm sorry," she managed before coughs overtook her chest, scaring Marshmallow off the bed. She sounded terrible.

Maren shook her head, patting Elsa's back to help with the cough. "That's not important right now. How long have you been feeling sick?"

"'m not sick," she said, sniffling as her runny nose betrayed her.

"While you make a very compelling argument, snowflake, do you think you could you tell me the truth?" Maren asked wrapping an arm around Elsa.

Elsa tried to recoil from the touch. "Don't want you to get sick," she said hazily.

"So you admit you're sick," she said with a small smirk. "Love, I teach middle schoolers. My fear of catching a cold is long gone. Now how long have you been feeling bad?"

"Monday."

Monday. Monday was when they fought. A wave of guilt passed over her. "And have you been going to school and work every day like a bad sick person?" Elsa nodded wearily. "Oh, love," she sighed.

Maren moved from the bed, beginning to pick her up her papers and books. "What are you doing?" Elsa asked, clutching at some of her books. "I still have work to do."

"That may be true. But if you have the same thing Anna does, you need to rest more than you need to work. Did you even tell your sister you weren't feeling well?"

Elsa shook her head. "I didn't want to worry her. She has enough to worry about."

"I think you failed that mission, snowflake. She told me she heard you coughing all night last night. Meaning you probably didn't sleep and that you definitely shouldn't have been teaching today." Maren turned to Elsa's drawers. "What pajamas do you want? You aren't resting in those clothes."

Elsa slowly relinquished control, allowing Maren to help her change, something the brunette was very happy about. How Elsa had still been pushing on stunned her. She was running a temperature of 103 and yet here she was still working away on research. But Maren had told her enough was enough, and Elsa was settled in bed with two quilts and a dose of nighttime cold medicine.

"I'm sorry," she said sleepily looking at Maren.

"What for, snowflake?"

"For not calling, not talking to you, not telling you. I know you just wanted to help," Elsa said teary eyed. The combined illnesses must have been making her more emotional than usual, Maren thought.

"I'm sorry too. For yelling and running away on you. But we can talk about those things when you're feeling better, okay?"

"But I was so mean to you," she said before being interrupted by a sneeze.

"Bless you. You were getting sick and under a lot of stress, sweetheart. I can't hold that against you. Especially when you're still so unwell."

"But I don't- but I don't want to sweep it under the rug like it never happened." Her voice cracked, clearly strained by all the talking.

"We won't. There's a difference between sweeping an argument under the rug and waiting until you're well enough to talk without your body interrupting." Maren brushed a hand against her girlfriend's hot forehead. "We will talk about all this another day."

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise. Now shush, don't strain your voice anymore." Elsa happily snuggled up against Maren, eyes shut. Soon enough, her wheezy breathing evened; and Elsa was fast asleep.

Maren was still just as confused as she was three days ago, but that didn't matter. Elsa was here with her, willing to talk. They would take it one step at a time, one breath at a time. They would figure this out. They would be fine.

[ellebabywrites]

Judas Kiss 9 - Mark Lee

Type : Series // Angst // Fluff // Smut // Gang!au

Warnings : Violence // Character Deaths // Cussing

Summary : There’s only one rule. You protect your own. None of you had chosen this life, but sticking together was the only way to survive it. When one of you dies and things start going wrong, the boy that saved you once on a whim, might be the only one who can keep you together.

Author Note : Oof we’re finally at the penultimate chapter of this series and we’re so CLOSE to having all the questions finally answered !! Let me know what you think of this chapter and what you think is going to happen next, I love hearing all your thoughts on JK !!

You wake up before him. Legs tangled together under the sheets of his bed, the feeling of his warm breath fanning your face as you look up at him from the space in crook of his neck. It takes all the self control you have not to reach out and trace the lines of his face with your fingertips - but you don’t want to risk waking him up and being taken out of this moment. Right now it’s quiet and peaceful and warm, lying here in Mark’s arms, safe and whole. You wish it could stay like this forever. That all the other stuff around you was just a bad dream and this, being here with Mark, is reality. But your fantasies are cut short soon enough by Rikky screaming for you from the other room.

“Wakey wakey lovebirds! We got something!”

The yelling causing Mark to stir awake beside you, blinking his eyes hard to adjust to the brightness of the room. “Good morning,” he whispers when he finally lands his gaze on your face. Pulling you closer into his chest and closing his eyes again. Mark seems just as determined as you to stay inside this little bubble of ‘home’ you’d created last night.

“Yah! Sexy times are over, this is important!” Rikky yells out again through the door.

“No I don’t want to move,” you whine, burying your face further into Mark’s chest, making him giggle at your cuteness.

“If we don’t get up, he’ll never stop,” he tries to reason, “Or he could come in here…”

At that horrifying thought, you shoot up immediately and look around for your discarded clothes. Mark chuckles at you again before doing the same.

By the time you both drag yourselves out into the main room, Rikky is standing at the kitchen island, staring at his computer screen with a type of frown you hardly ever see on his face.

“I thought you’d left us!” wrapping your arms around his neck, you lean into Rikky and hold on tight despite his reluctance to accept your outburst of emotion.

“Oh please, I just went to cool off!” He tries to sound as unbothered as possible but you can see the warmth spread across his cheeks from your affection. “Besides, by the time I came back you were both naked as two raw chickens in my room; so I didn’t want to disturb you and slept in Ty’s bed!”

Your face flushed knowing that Rikky had seen you two; he was your big brother and he’d seen you lying in bed, naked with a boy. You were never going to hear the end of this, and if it wasn’t for whatever pressing matter had made Rikky wake you up, you’re sure he would have continued to go on and on about it for the rest of the day.

“Anyways, I was online when I got this,” he turns the screen of his laptop to face the two of you, pointing out a new message from ‘ANONYMOUS’, “No one should have this address, and with everything that’s happening I thought....I didn’t want to open it without you guys.”

Hesitantly, Mark reaches over and clicks open the message :

“Thought you should know that we have your guy. He’s been a lot of fun but is starting to get boring. If you want him to stay alive, transfer all of your funds and resources over to us and leave N.City forever. You have 24 hours. If you don’t want to play then we’ll just have to keep playing with the toy we have till he breaks.… Love From, Bangtan xoxo”

Below the sickeningly sweet message, there was a photo attached. You were almost too scared to look but you just couldn’t look away. It was a picture of Ty, strapped down to a chair with what looked like old chains; one of his eyes was black and swollen shut; there was an open gash along his forehead and across his chest that looked like he’d been ripped open. He was bloody and bruised and broken.

You all stand there in silence, too shocked by the image on the screen. Rikky and Mark look at each other for a moment, something unspoken understood, before they both started moving.

“We need to start the plan, now!” Rikky says, grabbing a gun from one of the kitchen drawers and loading it with ammunition, “Mark go get the earbuds, Y/N...Hey, Y/N!”

You hadn’t moved. Feet planted in place as your eyes continued to burn the image of Ty into your brain. Tears filled your eyes but you couldn’t get yourself to cry them out, just letting them cloud your vision and drip down your cheeks.

“We’re going to get him back. But we need to go right now Y/N, can you do this?” Rikky turns your body away from the laptop and shuts it closed. Rikky is never serious, but now he’s the only one left and it’s his job to get things done. He squeezes your shoulders gently when you nod your head and seemingly click out of whatever haze you were in. “Good. Let’s get the stuff.”

You follow Rikky as he walks into his room, where Mark is crouched under the bed, pulling out boxes of supplies.

“I know we don’t want to say this,” he starts, looking between Mark and you hesitantly, “It’s just really fucking convenient that King disappears again just before we get a message from Bangtan. He wasn’t here when Ty went missing either… I’m sorry we just can’t keep pretending he isn’t behind this anymore.” Deep down you’d all known this was true already, but for some reason, now it feels all the more painful. Maybe it’s because of how he acted the night before, or maybe it’s after seeing that photo of Ty.

“Get your guns. Let’s go end this.”

Rikky leaves the room, presumably to get more supplies for the raid, but now you’re alone with Mark again, you feel safe enough to let the remaining tears spill from your eyes.

“Hey, hey it will be okay,” within a second Mark was by your side, holding your face between his hands and pressing his lips to your forehead, “I’m here with you, and Rikky is here and we’re going to get Ty back right now, it will be okay I promise!”

Nodding along dumbly, you let Mark push back some of your hair and slip on of the coms into your ear. Once it’s in place, he leans down to press a soft kiss on your lips, like he was sealing the promise that he will stay with you, “I promise.”

---

Getting into Bangtan’s base was a lot easier than the last time you were here; well you do have some help now. Across the street from Bangtan’s cluster of Warehouses they call a ‘base’; ‘such a shitty base, at least ours has a Batcave’ Johnny would always say - Rikky disarms the alarms on his phone and leads you all in through one of the side doors.

It’s eerily quiet inside. It’s empty, all of the lights turned off, nobody home. Something is wrong.

“Guys…” Mark whispers nervously, “this doesn’t feel right.” Just as the words left his lips, a flashbang appeared at your feet.

Time moved in slow motion. The force of the flashbang throwing you all off balance. Smoke filled the room and the sound of bullets being fired from all directions overwhelmed your senses. Looking up, you see Mark crouched behind some crates just to the side of you, he’s looking back at your fallen figure and waving you over to join him. Kneeling up, Mark shoots back at the faceless assailants through the smoke, covering you as you crawl your way over to him.

“Rikky!” You yell into the coms, unable to see where he is from where you are.

“I’m here! Just shoot back!” you hear him respond, so without hesitation, you do.

By now the smoke has started to clear, giving Mark and you a clear line of sight to the members of Bangtan from across the room. Namjoon, Taehyung, Jin and Jungkook. Finally being able to see your targets you both take aim. You managed to hit Taehyung in the chest, knocking him to the ground; while Mark made quick work of taking out Jin and Jungkook, shooting non-stop and only narrowly avoiding their return shots at him. Namjoon tried to retreat back further into the base when he saw his fallen members, but you were too quick, shooting him in the leg then chest, silencing the room.

“Rikky we got them, where are you?” Mark reports into his coms, but there’s no response. There’s nothing but static. It sends a rush of panic down your spine and you look all over for him. Stepping over the bodies of Bangtan, trying to find any trace of Rikky in the room. On the other side of the crate you had been hiding behind, there’s a pool of blood weeping into drag marks across the room that makes you want to empty your stomach. You couldn’t have lost Rikky too, you’d come so far, gotten so close.

As if reading your mind and sensing your rising panic, Mark grabs onto your hand and pulls you out of the room, “We have to keep going Y/N, we need to find Ty okay?” he says, making sure you’re okay as he leads you away from the bloody mess. “Let’s check the other warehouse and then get the hell out of here okay,” he squeezes your hand tightly, encouraging you to keep going.

The two of you make your way into the next warehouse quickly, keeping your guards up as there’s still 3 Bangtan members out there and you have no idea what you could be walking in to. When you pull open the stiff metal door to the second warehouse and take a few steps in, you feel every hair on the back of your neck stand up, all the air empties from your lungs and if Mark wasn’t having the exact same reaction you would have thought it wasn’t real.

---

It’s empty and cold. Bright white lights illuminate the empty warehouse, exposing the horror of the sight before you in full force.

Thick chains hang down from the ceiling bars, wrapping around him like a serpent choking its prey, a technique that, if you had a clearer head you would have found vaguely familiar. Showcasing his broken and bloody figure to the room, as if it were the Louvre itself and he was a piece of art. Time stops as you stand there, frozen, taking in what’s in front of you, taking in the sight of Ty.

His skin painted with dark bruises that only just show through the veil of blood coating his body. Fish hooks ripping through his skin, locking him in place; his shoulders,arms,back,thighs,neck; mutilated by the pull of the rusty hooks, as he’d so clearly tried to fight back. A pool of blood gathers at his knees and you can’t stop the flashback of Johnny filling your mind. No. Not Ty. You can’t lose him too.

You almost let it destroy you, break you down, put down your weapons and give up right there and then. They had done it. Taken everything. You would rather let Bangtan do whatever the hell they wanted with you, than have to live with this. You almost let it destroy you, but then you saw him.

Next to Ty’s hanging, destroyed body; he stands there. Stoic as ever except for the look in his eyes when he turns to face you. Fear.

“K-King…” you stutter, taking another step forward before Mark holds you back, “W-what have you done…”

There’s a gun in his hand, finger pressed tentatively against the trigger. Before this all started, you knew with certainty that King would never hurt you, but now, you found yourself eyeing it cautiously as if at any second he would aim it right at your heart and pull the trigger.

“Oh my god…” Mark whispers behind you as he continues to looks at the mangled body of Ty next to King. Instinctively, he reaches out for your arm and pulls you behind him protectively.

“What have you done!” you scream, unable to keep it in. This is too much. He’s done too much. Yet still, he stands there completely still.

Only this time King doesn’t remain stoic, unbothered, calm. He looks at the two of you with such fear in his eyes, tears welling up and hands shaking; that it scares you. King. Your King, looks like he is about to break. Is this why he tried to get you to leave the city? So you wouldn’t have to see what he had done? So you wouldn’t see first hand the monster that has the entire city cowering before him?

He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. His eyes bore into your own with an unreadable expression that you’re too hurt to even attempt to decipher. Swallowing hard, he goes to speak again this time with more determination in his face, but he never gets to say a word. Before any last words can fall from King’s lips, he’s lying dead on the ground. A bullet hole in the centre of his forehead, blood pooling underneath like a halo, as if this was all some kind of cruel joke.

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 6/?)

In which Rayla’s life begins to get a whole lot more painful.

(Chapter length: 13k. Link to Ao3 version)

“How are we going to do this, Claudia? It’s been days! They could be anywhere!”

Claudia stood well back from the clanking commotion her brother’s pacing made in the hall, brows furrowed and fingers tapping a little nervously at her bag, hyper-aware of what she knew was in there. “Relax, Soren. It’s not that bad.”

“How is it ‘not that bad’?” he demanded, stopping to whirl and face her, crossing his arms with a metallic shhnk. “Dad says they took a boat! We can’t use tracking dogs on a boat!”

She rolled her eyes, and then waved her hand dismissively for good measure. “Psh. That’s not a problem. We just have to follow the river until we find where they left the boat, and then the dogs can do their jobs. Finding the trail won’t be a problem. What I’m worried about is catching up to them.” Her fingers stilled on the bag and its precious contents. “The scent trail won’t last if it rains, you know.”

He squinted at her, thinking it out. “So you’re saying…finding them is going to be easy…until it rains.”

She shot him a thumbs-up, grinning encouragingly, and after a moment, hesitantly opened her bag. In one corner were the new ingredients. The…emergency ingredients. One of which, even carefully wrapped, was nearly big enough to poke out of the bag. She ignored those, very carefully. She rooted through the rest of it, frowning thoughtfully, while Soren started pacing again. She eventually remembered to actually say something, rather than get entirely side-tracked by thoughts of spells, and affirmed “yes, Soren, that’s what I’m saying.”

He did not find this encouraging.

“It’s spring! It rains every week! Sometimes lots of times a week! And sometimes there’s even storms!” As a man who regularly went about wearing a full suit of metal armour, Soren had been suitably intimidated about the dangers of being out in the open during a thunderstorm, and as such had acquired in training a fear of lightning that he’d never had as a child.

“That’s true!” She agreed brightly, still rummaging. She…just…really didn’t have many of the necessary components, did she? And even if she did…

“Claudia, why aren’t you more worried?” He stopped in front of her again, foot tapping, face kind of hilariously screwed-up. He looked like one of those puppies with the really wrinkly faces. She kind of wanted to smoosh his cheeks up to increase the resemblance. Her fingers twitched towards him and he, well-accustomed to having her as a sister, gave her a dirty look and ducked away. “Claudia,” he complained, crossly. “This is serious!”

She eyed him, humour dimming for a second, and sighed.

Yes. Yes, it was serious. An elf assassin had somehow convinced Callum and Ez to go with her, and they had the egg of the most powerful creature in the world with them. Dad was scared about the loss of that egg. Genuinely, truly scared, enough that he’d told her outright that the egg was a higher priority than her brother’s life. That…was worrying.

But magic could ease a lot of ills. It was helpful like that. Claudia smiled mysteriously, and tapped the side of her nose. “If we lose the trail, there’s a tracking spell we can use, I think.” She conceded, eventually, and put a hand on his shoulder to shove him in the direction of the princes’ quarters. “We’ll need to pick up some ingredients, though. I don’t have most of what I need.”

He looked vaguely mollified, and started walking of his own accord beside her. “Okay. You’ve got a magic-tracking-thing to do. That’s…good. I think.” He allowed her to lead him along the halls, brow furrowed in thought. “So…can we just skip the ‘following them with dogs and horses for days’ thing? Just use the spell right away? That would be faster, wouldn’t it?”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Not…exactly. It’s a little complicated!”

Soren gave her his best unimpressed stare. It mostly just looked petulant, though, so she was unmoved. “Complicated, how?”

“Well…” Claudia smiled cheerfully. “Normally, this spell needs to be done at the top of Mount Kalik to work! Which, as you can imagine, complicates things a little.”

He stared, for a second, and then spluttered. “Mount Ka – complicates things? By the time we get up the mountain, they’ll be half-way to Xadia!” Not even really an exaggeration, she thought. Ascending Mount Kalik couldn’t be done in less than a week, even if you were desperate. If you wanted to avoid dying from exposure, or mountain-sickness, or both – well, it could take you much longer than just a week. And that wasn’t even counting the time needed to descend it afterwards.

“Yes, Soren, that is what I meant by ‘complicates things’.” She agreed. “And that’s why I need to adapt it. I think if I work at it, I can adapt the spell to just need a…really tall mountain, instead of the tallest mountain.” Well. Tallest mountain in the Pentarchy, anyway. She had no idea if the Xadians had taller mountains or not. At any rate, the original spell wanted to be cast on the tallest mountain within a certain distance. A certain very large distance. She could probably meddle with the boundaries of that, and make it accept the tallest mountain within, say, ten metres.

Soren made a suspicious noise at her. “But doesn’t that mean we still need to climb a mountain?”

Claudia waved dismissively at him, pulling him around the corner, just a short distance from their destination. “You like climbing, Soren. You love going up on the battlements, you know you do.”

“…I do like climbing.” He admitted, side-eying her with a little more interest. “But wouldn’t climbing a mountain still, like, mean the princes get more time to – walk places, and stuff?”

Claudia thought of the new things in the corner of her bag, and suppressed a shiver. She wasn’t sure whether she was excited or terrified at the prospect of it, but…it would certainly be something, wouldn’t it, to channel that sort of power? “Yes. Yes, it does. But you leave that to me, Soren.”

She stopped them before the door, back straightening and shoulders squaring. Soren finally seemed to realise where they were. “Hey, isn’t this the-“

She pushed open the door to Callum and Ezran’s rooms, and peered around, taking in the drawings, the books, the disarray the boys’ swift exit had left the place in. Though, that could well just be boys being messy. It’s not like she saw these rooms very often, after all.

“Why are we here?” Her brother asked, exasperated, as he followed her about the room, watching her go through the drawers with absolutely no idea of what she was doing. But that was okay. Claudia knew very well what she was looking for, and soon enough, she found it.

She held up the hairbrush she’d found near the bed, its bristles half-covered in useful spell material, and smiled. “That’s the first ingredient we need.” She said, satisfied, and plucked the hair from the brush. “The others…well, they’ll take a bit more work.” A smile stretched across her face, slowly.

Soren eyed her uncertainly. “You’re doing that voice again. The creepy-voice. The ‘I’m thinking about wasp butts’ voice.”

Psh. As if she’d ever be thinking about anything as useless as wasp butts. Claudia snorted, and tucked the clump of what looked like both princes’ hair into a secure pocket in her bag. “Come on, Sor-bear. Let’s go find your dogs.”

She led him, still-complaining, out of the room.

  The afternoon that Rayla finally admitted the truth about her wrist binding, the boys closed ranks around her in a way that was both bemusing and a little touching – at least at first. They stuck to her side like glue, hovering at her heels, anxiously taking every task out of her hands that they could…and while Rayla appreciated them doing their bit for the camp-stuff, the coddling got old pretty fast.

Eventually, when Calum tried to insist on carrying their bags all over to the tent himself, interposing himself between her and their stuff, she rolled her eyes and abruptly lost patience with it all. She stepped up to him, unceremoniously hauled him over her shoulder, and relished in his astonished squawk as she carried him like a very large sack of potatoes over to the tent and dumped him there. Carefully, mind, since she had no interest in hurting him, but the action was definitely best described as dumping.

Rayla straightened up, her lips twitching into a self-satisfied smile, and inspected his reaction. He was wide-eyed and open mouthed, staring at her with the most comically astonished expression she’d seen on him yet. It was great. “Buh – wha-“ He stammered, ineffectually, and she smirked wider.

“Let’s get this straight, sunshine.” She told him, feeling very pleased with herself as she squared her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. “My hand being messed up doesn’t make me fragile, and you and Ez don’t need to keep bending over backwards to try to do everything for me. Alright?”

Eyes still hilariously wide, he nodded dumbly as he stared up at her. “…Alright.” He agreed, in something of a squeak.

She nodded back, exceptionally satisfied with his reaction, and turned to see what Ez had thought of the whole thing. His eyes were wide too, but he looked more delighted than astounded.

“Rayla, that was so cool.” He declared, scampering up to her to beam at her from close range. “You picked up my entire brother.”

She snorted, and grinned at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Yep, that’s what happened. And it wasn’t even hard. He’s a skinny bugger, that one.” Ez giggled as his brother spluttered, though whether it was at her choice of words or the sentiment conveyed, she wasn’t sure. She observed the little prince for a second and then, on impulse, said “you want a go at being carried about, Ez?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes!” he blurted, almost incredulously, as if he were shocked she’d need to ask. She huffed at him, grinned, then bent down to scoop him up, throwing him over her shoulder like she had his brother. Naturally, he was considerably lighter than even Callum, so she felt perfectly able to haul him back and forth across the camp several times to convey each of their bags, one-by-one, to the front of the tent. Just to prove she could. Callum watched with eyes wide as saucers the whole time, wordlessly taking the bags from her to stow in the space between the outer and inner tent layers. Ezran laughed madly with delight throughout the whole thing, clearly having the time of his life.

She noticed, idly, that neither of them seemed to particularly react to her picking up Ez’s bag, even with the dragon egg in it. Just the other day they’d been side-eyeing her a little watchfully whenever she was especially close to it, but now there was no trace of that, which was interesting. Maybe they were just distracted?

Ignoring that track of thought for the most part, Rayla carried Ez around the camp one last time for good measure, then set him down next to Callum, laughing a little helplessly at the looks they both gave her once they were both sat there. Callum was looking very conspicuously impressed, and Ez looking like he thought she’d hung the moon, and both of them were very clearly absolved of any misconceptions about her fragility.

“The looks on your faces.” She said, shaking her head at them, and laughed again.

Callum chuckled, a little sheepish, and rubbed the back of his neck under the scarf. “Ahaha. Yeah, um, that was pretty impressive?” he offered, having apparently finally found his words. “I mean, I knew you were strong, but – wow. I don’t know if I could even pick up Ezran.”

“Want to try?” The prince in question suggested, nudging him in the side, eyes bright.

He huffed. “Nah, I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Rayla smiled with a little more warmth than she’d intended, genuinely gratified by their response. She knew, intellectually, that she was unusually strong and fast even for an assassin with her level of training…but, well, it had been a long time since that was something surprising or impressive to anyone, rather than just something that was expected of her. It was nice.

But that was enough ego-boosting for her for now, anyway. Time to get on with camp chores. She shook her head, as if to dispel some of the levity. “All that aside, we should make a start on dinner. Get that out of the way so we can relax a bit. Get the cooking things out of the bags for me, will you?” She said, and then turned on her foot to go arrange the already-collected campfire materials. The rocks had been lined up; she set to work putting in the wood and leaves and grasses they’d collected.

Ez arrived not long afterwards with the metal pot under one arm and the jar of leftover fish under the other. Callum followed with the other jar, laden with some remaining greenery she’d grabbed during the day, as well as, unsurprisingly, more fish. They had a fair bit of it to get through. “What are we eating tonight?”

“Thought we could warm up the fish and eat it with some greens.” She said, and inspected the jars. “Actually, have you got that little pot of jam I got from your lodge? We’ve not used that yet. Might make the fish a bit less boring.” As they would soon learn, cooking during travel was mainly a game of throwing weird flavours together and trying to create something vaguely not-bland. Even weird flavour combinations tended to be appealing after weeks of eating homogenised clumps of the same thing over and over again.

“The…jelly?” Ezran guessed, exchanging a glance with his brother.

“If that’s what you call it.”

“Huh. Fruit with fish.” He considered it. “That sounds weird. I’ll go get it!” He said, seemingly delighted, and ran back to the tent, little legs apparently not that tired from the day of walking.

Rayla smiled faintly after him as he went, then turned to Callum, reaching to the side to fish the sparkrocks out of the pot. “Want to try starting the fire yourself today?” She offered, holding them out with her bad hand. He eyed them for a second – or maybe he was eyeing the hand – and took them with a lopsided smile.

“I’ll give it a go, sure.” He said, and leaned forwards over the to-be fire. “So, what do I do?”

It took him a fair few tries and quite a lot of ineffectual sparking before he managed it, but he got it eventually, and that was another critical travel skill learned. Which was…good. Using sparkrocks like these required the use of two hands, after all. And no matter what the boys had said on the matter, Rayla was not in the least optimistic about her chances of keeping her left hand for long.

  They cooked, ate, and cleaned up after themselves with increasingly-efficient coordination, and in the end were left with still a couple of hours to kill before they should be getting to sleep.

“Hah, wow. Maybe I have time to draw while sitting down today.” Callum remarked when she told them that, brightening at the idea. “I mean, I do okay while I’m walking, but it’s not the same, you know?”

“You’re less likely to trip over things this way, too.” Rayla told him dryly, looking up as Ezran returned to join them near the campfire, egg held firmly in his arms. He sat down with it and shuffled up to his brother, who had already withdrawn his sketchbook.

“What are you going to draw?” he asked, watching as Callum turned the pages, settling cross-legged with the luminescent dragon egg resting comfortably in his lap.

“Not sure yet – oh, huh.” He made an interested noise as a piece of paper fell out. “Oh, I forgot about this. You were writing draconic words on here, right, Rayla?”

She blinked and looked over at her name. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” She said, and peered at the paper. “Don’t expect it’ll be anything useful though. I couldn’t think of any obvious sky magic words.”

His lips turned upwards. “Except for fulminis. And inpulsis.” He pointed out, with a smile, and opened the paper, eyes running over her handwriting with interest. “…Huh. Ancient Draconic has different names for months and days?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ancient Draconic is where the modern month and day names come from.” She corrected. “Well. Mostly.”

Ez poked his head over to look, clearly interested. “They do look kind of the same.” He commented. “So, in Draconic, my birthday would be in….” he squinted. “Martias? That one doesn’t sound that much like ‘March’.”

“Mine sounds similar, but also kind of like someone’s name.” Callum commented, with an interested stare at the page. “’Julius’. Huh.”

Rayla blinked at him, mildly surprised. “Huh.” She echoed, drawing his attention.

“What is it?”

She shrugged and offered a smile. “Looks like we’re both July birthdays.” She answered, and his eyes lit up a bit, pleased at this little coincidence. His mouth opened, and anticipating the question, she told him “thirty-first” before he could ask.

His mouth closed for a moment. “Fifteenth for me.” He added, after a second, observing her with an odd look on his face, as if he’d had a weird thought and didn’t know what to do with it. She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to say whatever was on his mind, but he didn’t. Just sort of scrutinised her, looking mildly uncomfortable.

“By the way,” She said, when she’d grown tired of seeing whether or not he’d say anything. “Julius was someone’s name. He was an ancient Dragon King. Named a month after himself.” She pointed at the next month on the list. “Agustus, too.” She wasn’t exactly interested in history, but even she knew that much. It was kind of interesting that these humans didn’t. They were princes, right? Which should mean they were, well, educated? She wondered what other things might be common knowledge to elves but completely unknown to humans.

There was a conspicuous, surprised pause as the two of them digested that. “Two of our months are named after dragons?” Ezran reacted first, looking down at the egg in his lap. “Cool,” he concluded, a second later.

Her lips quirked at his enthusiasm. “I guess it is.” She agreed, and was about to point out the weekdays named for the sun and moon when Callum apparently got whatever thought he’d been having into words.

“Uh, Rayla? Can I ask something?” He rested his hands at the edges of his sketchbook, as if to give them something to do. When she glanced across at him, he seemed a little hesitant. She eyed him, and nodded, gesturing for him to speak. He mulled his words over for a few seconds before saying “I heard that elves live a long time. Is that true?”

One of her eyebrows went up. Her first thought was to say depends on the type of elf. Instead, she answered “well, we don’t have the typical human sub-century life expectancy, if that’s what you’re asking.” She watched him, trying to discern what exactly had put that weird look on his face. Was he actually curious about elf lifespans, or-

“Does that mean you’re like, eighty years old or something?” he asked finally. “Like, do elves grow a lot slower than – hey!” He crossed his arms, an almost pouty frown settling over his face as she bent forwards and laughed, loudly, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she chortled into it. “It’s a reasonable question! How am I meant to know how fast elves grow?”

She held up a finger as if to shush him, shoulders shaking helplessly with now-silent laughter, hilarity bubbling in her chest at the question. Moon and stars, humans really didn’t know anything about elves, did they?

“I’m getting the idea that Rayla is not eighty years old.” Ezran announced, watching her with a little smile of his own as she managed to abate the laughs into a more restrained snickering.

“Yes, Ez, thanks for clearing that up.” Callum said grumpily, and she peered at him and his disgruntled expression and nearly started laughing all over again.

Well, it was at least still a much funnier cultural misunderstanding than the ‘blood-drinkers’ thing. “I’m only fifteen, you daft humans.” She informed them, finally, still chuckling under her breath. “We grow just as fast as you lot.” She paused, and frowned a little. “I mean, I think.” She eyed Callum, who seemed more or less of an age with her, by her standards. A bit shorter than an elf her age would usually be, but who knew if that was human-normal. Maybe he was younger than her?

Ezran hummed thoughtfully while Callum was, apparently, still processing. “So you’re a year older than Callum, I think.” He concluded, looking up at his brother for confirmation.

“Yeah, seems that way.” He agreed, after a moment, and inspected her. “…Do fifteen-year-olds usually get sent out as assassins, in Xadia?” His tone was dubious. “I mean, I know someone who was training as a Crownguard when he was our age, but that’s not exactly normal.”

Rayla processed the words, previous good humour dimming abruptly at the things they called to mind. She looked away. “…Not normal, no. I guess I’m a bit of prodigy…and, well, because of my parents – some people thought I deserved the chance to make up for what they did.” Some people, such as Runaan, the lead assassin. Quite possibly the one who’d killed these boys’ father. Coincidentally, the elf who was essentially a second father to her himself.

An elf who, very easily, might not even be alive now. You’ve killed us all, she remembered once again, and felt her shoulders stiffening.

She pushed the thoughts out her mind almost violently, refusing to think of it. It wasn’t relevant. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. But it wasn’t relevant. It didn’t change her mission. It didn’t change anything. She wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t. Her jaw clenched, and she fixed her eyes determinedly on the fire as if to distract herself.

The hand that settled on her shoulder a few moments later startled her, and she jumped a little, looking round to see Callum reaching out and Ezran looking, both of them concerned. “I’m sorry if I brought up something…difficult.” Callum said, expression vaguely guilty, and drew his hand back. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Rayla looked at him, and at the honest concern on his face, felt an awfully multi-faceted guilt clench at her gut. It was guilt for what she’d still not told them about their father, all tied up with her own sickening fear at the thought of what might have happened to Runaan. Her right hand tingled, as if somehow aware of the binding that had fallen from it days ago.

She had to tell them. They’d find out eventually. She had to tell them. But how could she? How could she possibly bring them with her into the reality where her family had killed theirs, and that was something they all had to live with?

She exhaled, shook her head a little, and forced a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.” She suggested, firmly, and pretended not to notice the glance that the brothers shared with each other.

Still, they humoured her, good-natured and clearly wanting to cheer her up again. “I was looking at this here.” Callum said, encouragingly, and shuffled over closer to her to point out two words on the page, near the start of where she’d written down most every idiom or phrase she could think of. Which, all told, was not many. “Is it a spell, or something?”

She inspected it, and despite her very recent dark thoughts, did huff a laugh at the example he’d chosen. “No, it’s a saying.” She informed him, lips twitching. “A popular one for Moonshadow elves, as a matter of fact.” Which was, incidentally, how she knew it.

“’Carpe noctem’?” He attempted, Ezran echoing him a second later, both becoming genuinely interested as they sank into their attempt to distract her. “What does it mean?”

“’Seize the night’.” Rayla said, with an ironic twist to her smile. “Sort of a way to say ‘make the best of your time’ or ‘live in the moment’.” Most other elves, being generally diurnal by nature, tended to use carpe diem instead, but, well. It was really not surprising that Moonshadow elves preferred the nocturnal equivalent.

“That sounds like a great saying for Moon elves.” Ezran decided, staring over at her with the innocent curiosity of a child. “I’m guessing you guys like the night, huh.”

She snorted. “Moonshadow elves feel most awake at night.” She informed him, and smiled at the way his eyes widened at that tidbit of knowledge. “Most elves prefer day-time, but not us.” In theory, Startouch elves also preferred the night – but, really, it wasn’t as if anyone actually really met a lot of Startouch elves these days, was it?

“Does that mean you’re sleepy in the day?” Ez prodded, an endless well of questions and childish fascination. Though, in fairness, his older brother was looking quite intrigued at the information, too.

Rayla eyed the brother in question a little as she answered, dryly, “It’s fine if I’ve had enough sleep.” He ducked his head and squirmed a bit, apparently recognising the gentle poke the words were at him. She wondered how much of a pain he’d be to share a tent with this night, and shook her head at him.

Ez, not blind to this exchange, giggled at his brother. “Callum, have you been talking in your sleep again?”

“I have not been-“ He broke off in the middle of a vaguely indignant denial, expression going decidedly nonplussed as he realised he didn’t know if he was speaking truth or not. He glanced warily at Rayla. “Er.”

“Not yet, he hasn’t.” Rayla confirmed honestly, with just the hint of a smirk. “He’s like you, though, Ez. Doesn’t know how to stay put when he sleeps.” She nudged Callum where he sat beside her, a little teasingly, to try to take any bite out of the teasing.

“I see.” The little prince said thoughtfully, ignoring the increasingly flustered look of his brother. “I am very sorry for your shins.”

“Eh, they’ll be alright.” Honestly, his arms were more prone to annoying space-invasion than his legs, anyway. “I’m tough.”

“Enough about Rayla’s shins.” Callum said, firmly, cheeks a little pink from all the discussion of his unconscious-self’s behaviour. “Can we please get back to the fascinating paper full of dragon-words, maybe?”

Rayla patted him on the arm and looked over. “Go on, then.” She agreed, obligingly, and allowed herself to be drawn into a demonstration of how exactly to pronounce all the months and days, and then-

“What’s all this? You’ve not written translations for any of it.”

She peered at it, and snorted. “Moonshadow elf curses.” She answered, dryly, and smirked at how quickly that elicited Ezran’s interest.

“Ooh,” he said, staring, only for Callum to determinedly fold that corner of the page so it couldn’t be read. “Hey.” He complained.

“The king will kill me if I bring you home cursing in Draconic.” He said, firmly, unwittingly making Rayla’s gut twist yet again. “Definitely not letting you learn those if I can help it.”

“Hmph. Well, I saw some of it already, so there.” Ezran declared proudly. After a moment, Rayla reached out to ruffle his hair.

“So? What did you see?” She asked, amused, determinedly ignoring her king-related troubles.

“Er.” He deflated. “Mostly I just saw the word ‘noviluna’ a lot.” Callum folded his arms, looking distinctly put out.

She huffed. “Well, on its own that one isn’t that rude. Just means ‘new moon’.” She patted him consolingly. “So you’re out of luck.”

He pouted. “Aww.”

“’New moon’ is rude for Moonshadow elves?” Callum asked, after a moment. “Why?”

Rayla looked up at the sky, where the sun was nearly set, and she could feel the moon preparing to rise. Waning gibbous; still a fair while from its most unpleasant state. “…Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll find out.” She said, a little dryly, and directed their attention to the next things on the list. There wasn’t a great deal left, maybe, but it was a way to pass time.

When they were done, Callum set the paper aside, and started a new drawing. For lack of anything better to do, Rayla sat by and watched, listening as idle conversation passed between the two princes.

It didn’t take long for the shapes on the page to become distinctly recognisable. “You’re drawing my blades?” She said, intrigued, and leaned in.

He smiled at her, a little bashful, and nodded. “They’re pretty cool. I’ve been wanting to draw them since I used one for the fish the other day.”

“Huh.” She pronounced, after a second, newly fascinated by the process of watching him draw. It was oddly satisfying to watch the lines resolving into something recognisable, and she found herself quite interested to see how it turned out. “…Want me to get one out as a reference?”

“Thanks, but I got a pretty good look before. I’m probably fine.” He demurred, charcoal moving in quick lines over the page. It was a little baffling how he managed to draw clean lines like that with a blunt-looking stick of charcoal. When she’d written her list, the lines of her handwriting had been considerably more smudged and indistinct.

She recalled his apparent extremely good memory, and nodded, tilting her head. “Yeah, but have you seen the hook-form yet?” She inquired, unable to remember whether or not she’d used them as hooks within his eyesight or not.

He looked up from his sketchbook, flummoxed. “The what-now?”

Rayla grinned, and withdrew one of the sheathed blades. Flicked it out, then shifted it.

The reactions were exactly as appreciative as she could have hoped for. It was, she was discovering, pretty fun to travel with humans who found everything Xadian a novelty.

  That night, Rayla made the unpleasant discovery that her bound hand had grown sore enough that she could no longer sleep on her left side at all. She transitioned, uncomfortably, to sleeping flat on her back, and thereafter actually had a surprisingly uninterrupted night of sleep. Her hand and wrist ached ever more badly and woke her several times in the night, so it wasn’t perfect, but for once her tent-mates weren’t being an annoyance. Not a single time was she disturbed by an errant arm or leg. When she woke at dawn and looked over, she concluded that this was probably due to the way Callum seemed to have latched onto Ez in the night and lodged there, clinging to his brother as if he were a cuddly-toy.

It was pretty cute, actually. Especially as Ez himself was hugging the egg again, the two human princes illuminated in a soft blue by its glow between them. They made endearing enough a picture that Rayla almost felt bad that she had to wake them up.

She did it anyway.

Callum dragged himself out of the tent ten minutes later, when Rayla had sat cross-legged by the burnt-out campfire to inspect her hand, slowly flexing it back and forth and grimacing at the pain. She looked up at his approach, finding him as-expected looking pretty much dead on his feet, though a flicker of alertness came into his eyes at the sight of her hand.

“How’s it doing?” He asked, groggy, voice still rough from sleep, and settled heavily next to her, eyes still resting on her hand.

“…Not great.” She admitted, after a moment, still flexing it. “It’s pretty messed up. I can still move it if I have to, but…” It was stiff. Stiff, harder to move than it ought to be, and painful to move. She remembered her thought from the other day, and tried to massage along the digits a little, tried to get some semblance of circulation into the tissues. She left white trails across the dark skin where her fingers moved, every touch painful, like pressing on a bruise.

He watched her for a few long moments, very evidently fighting his way to proper alertness, and shuffled a little closer. “Can I…?” He raised his hands slightly, nodding towards the one she was nursing, and she blinked.

A little perplexed, she turned to hold it out to him, the motion somewhat hesitant. “Sure?” She offered, and looked down to watch her hand slip into his. His skin was warm. Warmer than she expected. But then, her bound hand was colder than it should be. It was oddly nice, even so.

He inspected it, almost analytically, pressing gently against the bruise-dark skin to see it blanche and then go dark again. He looked up watchfully, every other second, as if to check in with her. “It reminds me of tourniquets. You know, for when you’ve a really badly bleeding injury.” He said, abruptly, turning her hand over to better see her wrist where the binding held. “Field-healers get warned not to leave them on long, otherwise the limb doesn’t get enough blood, and then…well.”

“Then you end up losing it.” She said, dryly, and watched him flinch at the bluntness.

“Well, yeah.” He admitted, and inspected the binding itself. “This isn’t as tight as a tourniquet, so you’re doing better, but…it’s getting tighter, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead grimacing at how high the discolouration went up her arm. Almost to her elbow, really. “Shouldn’t you take this – arm guard thing – off? It’s got to be restricting your blood flow a bit, right? Maybe not much, but…” He shrugged, a little helplessly.

She stared at him as if with new eyes for a moment, a little surprised, and looked at her gauntlet with a frown. “I didn’t think of that.” She admitted. She hadn’t thought about intentionally trying to promote blood flow, though she should have. Stars, before last night, she’d even been mostly sleeping on her left. That probably hadn’t helped matters at all.

“You could put it back on over the binding, maybe, a bit looser?” He suggested, inspecting where the binding was tied over the guards. “I just feel like – this thing is putting pressure on way more of your arm than it should be, because it’s squeezing your whole arm-guard down, you know?”

Rayla considered it, flexing her hand again, and tried to decide whether she thought he was right. He…might have a point. It was constricting her gauntlet, which was constricting her arm… “If I take the guard off, won’t it just squeeze my wrist tighter in that one spot?” She said, honestly curious, and joined his hands with her right to press around the binding, testing for where the pressure was.

He grimaced. “Maybe.” He admitted. “I think…it’s kind of spread out now, so it’s affecting your arm as well as your hand, and maybe it’ll be worse for your hand if it’s less spread out, but…” He shifted uneasily. “If it gets tighter, though…” He trailed off.

“If it gets tighter I might not actually be able to get my gauntlet off?” She guessed, and he nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He hesitated, and then let her hand go, admitting “I’m not sure what would be better to do.” His hands settled into his lap as he slumped, watching her for her response.

She hummed, thoughtfully, and kept her hand there, suspended between them, her fingers against the binding. In the worst-case that she thought most likely, having her gauntlet under the binding would be a huge complication. If she needed to amputate the hand herself – well. Having to cut through the guard as well as the flesh and bone wouldn’t only make it astronomically harder, but it would be a horrible infection risk too.

“…I think I should take it off.” She said, and hesitated with her fingers over the fabric edge of the guard, extending to the start of her hand. “…But it might be tricky to do.” She tried, gingerly, to pull at the guard from the other side of the binding, but it didn’t budge. She pulled a little harder and then hissed at the pain, fingers flinching back reflexively.

Callum twitched beside her, and she raised her eyes to see him watching with a frown, hands ever-so-slightly raised from his lap, as if drawn out by her pain. “Is it stuck?” He asked, worriedly, and she considered it.

The gauntlet itself was semi-flexible light armour, a type of magically-woven fabric that was intensely resistant to cutting or piercing, and distributed blunt force across a fairly wide area. It could stretch, a little, to fit the wearer – but it was generally pretty stiff. It would be hard to pull out from under the binding…but maybe not impossible.

It would be painful, though. That was certain. “Yeah, kinda.” She hedged, eyeing the binding apprehensively as she positioned her fingers for another attempt. She exhaled, steeled herself, and pulled.

The next few seconds passed strangely and not entirely coherently. She was aware of gasping with the pain – aware of dropping her fingers from the gauntlet and pulling her hand reflexively to her chest – aware of Callum’s alarmed response, the call of her name, the anxious hand resting on her arm.

“That,” She said, tightly, once her perception of time had returned to normal, “was not nice.”

“Yeah, I guessed.” He said, a little wide-eyed, and stared worriedly at her hand. “Can you get it off? Or-“ he hesitated, and left the question hanging.

“I have to. Or it’ll just get worse.” She closed her eyes to exhale through the aftershocks of pain, lingering in tender flesh and aching in her arm. “I should have thought of this earlier.” She made a disgusted noise at herself, shuffling restlessly on the damp morning-grass.

“…I realise this suggestion might be sort of in poor taste, but…do you think it would be easier in water?”

She eyed him, unimpressed. The suggestion made sense. That almost made it more annoying. “…Ugh.” She said, instead of actually answering the question. “We’ll have to try to stop near a proper water source today.”

He looked back at her, concerned and just a little wary. “Does that mean ‘yes’?”

“It means ‘you have a point, but I wish you didn’t’.” She answered, dryly, and rose to her feet. “Help me pack up the camp?”

“Sure.” Callum answered automatically, but then jerked his head towards the tent. “I think I need to go wake Ez up again, though. He should have been out by now.”

She listened for a few seconds, focusing, and snorted. “Yeah, he fell back asleep.”

He tilted his head and considered her. “…You have really good hearing, huh?”

Rayla reached out and lightly flicked one of his ears, grinning as he yelped. “Better than yours.” She said, a little impishly, and helped him to his feet. “Go on, then. Go wake your brother. We’ve got a long way to go today.”

“Seems we’ve got a long way to go every day.” He sighed. She patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

“Pretty much, yeah. Get going, you.”

He saluted solemnly, hand over his chest. “Yes, ma’am.” He said, amused, and turned to go crawl back into the tent.

  It had been a week since she bound herself to Ezran’s death. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that her hand was getting so much worse – she should have expected it. But she hadn’t, and that day, the pain was so much harder to ignore. It hurt when she moved it and hurt worse when she didn’t; if she let it lay idle for long enough, a numb ache built in it that grew more insistent and distracting with every minute.

In the end, she flexed the stiff fingers and massaged the painful limb as much as she could tolerate. It hurt too, but less than leaving it alone did. Or, at least, it hurt in a slightly more bearable way.

The boys didn’t miss the signs of it, either. Even with her demonstration of strength yesterday, they hovered a little, anxious and concerned for her. It was sweet, but it was also tiring, and made it even harder to stop thinking about the pain than it should have been. She was on the verge of growing ill-tempered with it all, and wishing fervently for something to distract herself as well as the boys, when an opportunity presented itself to her.

It was a few hours in, coming up to lunch-time, when she spotted the first cluster of a familiar plant in the undergrowth. It was cheerfully prolific in its spring growth, and a quick glance revealed more patches of it everywhere, calling to mind a few old memories that chased a smile onto her face. She recalled the practical use of the plant, and considered halting the boys to gather some. She recalled the entertaining use of the plant, and kept quiet. She eyed it, speculatively, and felt a spark of mischief settle in her gut.

Well. She had wanted a distraction.

Nonchalantly, she allowed herself to slowly fall behind the other two, who were in the middle of discussing the various secret passages Ezran had found in Katolis over the years. She snatched up a large handful of plant, familiarly-textured, and snuck up behind Callum with her lightest, stealthiest stride to affix it carefully to his back. As expected, the minutely-hooked texture of the plant’s surface stuck immediately to the fabric of his jacket, clinging there easily. She managed to stick three more stalks of leafy greenery to his back before Ezran noticed her, catching her eye over his shoulder, step faltering as he looked between her and the plants in her hand and Callum’s back.

Then he giggled. Callum stopped to glance at him, and Rayla neatly side-stepped out of the way to avoid running into his back, grinning a little as she held a finger up to her lips to shush Ezran…and reached out to attach another cluster of sticky leaves to Callum’s jacket, this time more on his right-hand side than his back.

“What?” Callum asked, perplexed, and then – perhaps clued in by where Ezran was looking – twisted to look over his shoulder and see her on his opposite side. He jumped a little, startled to find her there, in yet more evidence that his situational awareness needed work. “Er. Rayla? What are you-“ Finally, he noticed the plant in her hands and the smirk on her lips, and slowly raised his hand to his back. He found the cluster on his side, first, and peeled a leaf away. He turned to stare at her, utterly bemused. “Stickyweed? Really?”

With that tiny bit of subterfuge revealed, Ezran collapsed into giggles. Rayla watched as Callum’s lips twitched upwards, automatically responding to the humour, before he schooled his features into an unconvincing facsimile of seriousness.

“Why not?” She quipped, feeling impish, and reached out to affix another piece to his collar. “It’s traditional.”

“It’s traditional to stick plants to your travelling companions?” He asked, clearly trying very hard to appear unamused, and not really succeeding. His lips kept twitching.

“It’s traditional to stick stickyweed to people’s backs without them noticing.” She corrected…and backed away, brandishing her last handful. “…And also, to throw it at each other.” Realisation dawned on his face a second too late; she lobbed the plant at him and absconded just as he started ducking out of the way, finally abandoning his pretences and laughing helplessly. The sound of it prompted a little thrill of delight in her gut as she fled for the underbrush, a grin stretching on her face.

Ezran got the idea, and dove for the nearest cluster of the prolific weed, snatching it up in chunks to arm himself. Rayla had already re-supplied, and jumped into the nearest tree to assail both of her travelling companions from higher ground, pelting them with handfuls of her ammunition.

“That’s no fair!” Ez shrieked, plainly delighted, as greenery landed in his hair. With a slightly alarmed grumbling, Bait hopped for cover under a nearby bush. “We can’t reach you up there!” He gathered up a larger armful of stickyweed and stared up at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Yes, we can.” It took her a moment to process the voice as Callum’s – she wasn’t sure she’d heard that sort of voice from him before. Confident, a little secretive, a little excited. She looked over at him. She saw the mischievous spark in the green of his eyes…and what he had in his hand.

He was holding the primal stone.

She understood his intent at the exact second Ez did. “Oh no you don’t-“ She started, just before Callum drew a familiar rune in the air. “Ah.” She said, eloquently, and jumped for the next tree, laughing as she went.

“Get ready, Ez!” Callum’s voice followed, full of anticipation-

“Ready!” The littlest prince reported, just as eager-

“Aspiro!”

Rayla landed on the next tree’s branches, anchored herself to it with a hook-blade to weather the coming wind-storm, and resigned herself to her fate.

  “Well, that was fun.” Callum said, ten minutes later, when Rayla still hadn’t finished peeling the stickyweed from her armour and hair. “If unexpected. And kinda silly.”

“Eh, we were due for a lunch break anyway. And besides, it served a purpose. Sort of.” She flashed a grin at the two princes, brandishing the large bundle of somewhat bruised stickyweed at them. “This stuff? Is edible.”

Ezran did a double-take at the plant pile she’d amassed at her side. “What, really?” Bait made a dubious noise, and shot out his tongue to imbibe one of the plant stalks. He turned a mild shade of green thereafter, croaking discontentedly.

“It’s kind of nasty to eat raw, but yeah.” She agreed, planting herself by a nearby cluster of the stuff to pick some more. “We’ll cook it to make it a bit nicer. Since we’ve run out of fish, we’ve got to stock up on something for tonight.”

Callum caught her eye, then; a meaningful sort of look that she assumed was related to their previous discussion about hunting. She nodded slightly – they’d have to talk about it soon. Maybe not now, though.

“…Do we have anything for lunch?” Ez asked, oblivious to this exchange as he looked at the stickyweed. “I didn’t even realise we finished the fish this morning.”

Rayla looked at him for a second, reminded anew of how vastly different his upbringing had been from hers. Of course he hadn’t noticed them running out. He was so used to having food provided for him, he probably didn’t even realise that keeping yourselves fed was actually a bit of a task out in the wilderness. He probably hadn’t even considered the idea that they might need to hunt to give their diet some substance.

Well. She’d leave Callum to figure out how to bring that up, she supposed. “I can go look for some fruit, if you like.” She offered, setting the bundle of weeds aside. “Might take me a while, though. You don’t get as many fruiting plants in this sort of forest.” Soon, there would be almost no fruiting plants at all, and probably no useful fruiting trees. Already, pretty much every tree around them was a conifer or a pine or a fir.

The two boys blinked and looked about them, bemused. Callum spoke, this time. “…There’s different sorts of forest?”

She groaned, and let her head fall back, perhaps a little over-dramatically. “Yes, Callum, there’s different sorts of forest.” She said, exasperated. Then, since she was already leaning over backwards, she engaged in a slightly unnecessary backflip to get to her feet, stretching out. “And in this one, there’s not as much fruit.” She pointed at the primal stone, still out of its bag from recent use. “Keep that handy, alright? I might be a while.” She pulled her bag up to extract one of the large jars from it.

“…Alright.” Callum said, and apparently anticipating her next action, opened his bag to pull out a jar. He offered it out to her and watched as she stacked it under her arm with the other one.

Without further ado, she set off at a run amongst the trunks of the trees – because these trees almost exclusively had needles, not leaves, and those were kind of prickly to climb in. Especially with one hand increasingly out-of-commission.

As she’d expected, it took her a while to find anything that was not only the sort of plant that had useful fruit, but that actually had ripe fruit on it. She raided a small moonberry bush with very little on it, found a weedy young apple tree with a few ripe-looking fruits, and in general had to make a pretty wide and extensive circuit of the area to find enough to fill the jars.

She also found clusters of two useful medicinal plants, and made certain to pocket those, too.

In the end, it took her an uncomfortably long time – the better part of an hour, in fact – to find enough fruit, but she headed back with plenty to share. She found the princes looking over Callum’s sketchbook, talking over it while Callum’s charcoal hovered over the page. When she drew a little closer, she saw that they were looking at the map.

As was admittedly becoming habit for her, she approached smoothly and quietly to see if they’d notice her. She wasn’t exactly hiding herself – she was walking up to them from their left – but somewhat predictably, they didn’t notice her until she was practically on top of them.

“Oh, hi Rayla!” Ez chirped, as he saw her, and Callum looked up as well. “You’re back!”

“However did you notice?” She said, tone dry, and sat down beside them, planting the jars there. “What are you up to, anyway?”

Callum’s eyes brightened at the question, and he tilted the map towards her. “Ez and I were talking – you know, about how we’re going to help your hand.”

Her lips turned down. “Oh.” She said, uneasily.

As if hastened by this mild expression of disapproval, he practically hurried to point out a spot on the map to her. “We’re heading into the mountains this way, right? Well, along the way is this town called Verdorn? It’s big enough that it should have a healer. We don’t have to detour or anything to go there, and we’ll probably get there sometime tomorrow, so…” he trailed off, shuffling with what looked like an awkward mix of nervousness and excitement. “Well, what do you think?” He asked, after a few seconds.

She stared at the map a little inscrutably, keeping the best grip on her reactions she could. “…I don’t know, Callum.” She said, eventually, and her gut churned as his face fell. She sighed, settling her good hand over the painful one to massage the sore, prickling flesh. She attempted a smile, but it came out feeling more like a grimace. “I…appreciate what you’re doing. But how do you think you’ll get a healer to look at me, even if there is one?”

He perked up a little at that, Ezran mirroring the response beside him. “Well, actually, we were thinking – what if we don’t get a healer to look at you?”

Her brow furrowed at him. “Well yeah, that makes sense.” She said, with plain sarcasm, and waited for an explanation to be forthcoming.

“No, I mean – what if me and Ez go to talk to a healer without you?” He pressed, increasingly earnest, Ez nodding hopefully by his side. “We can just say you’re a friend of ours and that you think there’s no point in seeing a healer – which, can I say, is actually true! – but that we wanted to get some advice anyway. That way we can find out if there’s anything a normal human non-magic healer could do for your hand.”

She folded her arms, eyeing the two of them with a sort of reluctant interest as Callum spoke. “…And if there is? What do we do then?” She ruthlessly clamped down on any part of her that felt inclined to start appreciating that ‘if’, to actually consider that fleeting avenue of hope.

“Well, maybe there’s some sort of medicine we can bring back without a healer having to see you at all.” He pointed out, reasonably. “If there isn’t…I guess we figure that out when we get there. But it’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

“You said you’d let us try.” Ezran reminded her, a little anxiously, as if worried she was going to back out of the agreement.

She stared at them, maintaining her rigid control over the churning of emotions in her gut, eyes flickering between two sets of expressions. Both worried, a little nervous, a little determined. Hopeful, even. How could they be so hopeful about something like this? There was no way, none whatsoever, that her hand would last long enough for them to get to Xadia. She’d be lucky to have another week, at the rate it was going, and every day of it would be painful.

Part of her wanted to put her foot down. Put a stop to this, get them past this fruitless, pointless hope of theirs before it hurt them too much.

“You said.” Ez repeated, as her silence persisted, eyes wide and worried.

She exhaled, quietly.

She had agreed to let them try.

And this town was on the way.

“Fine.” She said, voice carefully neutral, and watched as the tension in the two boys practically fled them with their breath as they exhaled. “We’ll stop by this human town. But we’re not stayin’ there any longer than we have to, alright? We can’t waste time.”

“Of course. Thanks, Rayla.” Callum said, sounding absurdly grateful for what was an acquiescence to let them try to find some help for her hand. It was a little ridiculous, in all honesty. They’d only known her for what, five days? Why in Xadia’s name did they care so much?

She sighed, and shook her head a little. “Get some lunch in you. If we’re going to a town tomorrow, I’d prefer not to get there too late.” She told them, and went to extract some fruit from one of the jars. The apples turned out to be too sour to eat raw, so she put those aside to use in cooking.

Rayla ate, then bundled up the stickyweed into their bags and waited impatiently for the boys to finish their share. As soon as she could, she urged them on again.

She could just tell that the human-town-thing was going to waste time. Best get as much ground covered today as possible, to make up for it.

  About an hour after resuming travel, Rayla heard the tell-tale sounds of some sort of running water nearby, and begrudgingly altered their course in its direction. It turned out to be a reasonably-sized brook – too wide and deep to qualify as a stream, but not big enough for her to really call it a river. The sound and sight of the running water put her on edge regardless, but given she needed access to a decent water source at camp today, she gritted her teeth and resolved to put up with it.

She directed the boys up-stream for a while, following their correct course of travel, and eventually selected a serviceable campsite a couple of hours after lunch. Here, in the coniferous forest, the ground was loose and loamy, mainly composed of many years’ worth of fallen needle-leaves, as was typical in this sort of forest. There was a lot less ground-level plant cover even than there had been a few hours ago, testament to the increasingly boreal nature of the landscape. There were clusters of rich green ferns here and there, and some patches of nettles, and a good few mosses here and there, but…

“We’re starting to gain altitude, I think.” She estimated, after a careful glance over the surroundings. “It’s already a little colder.”

“Well, there were an uncomfortable number of uphill parts today, so makes sense.” Said Callum, who was lingering awkwardly at her back. After a moment she realised she hadn’t actually announced they were stopping, and set the tent pack down as a more overt sign that they were done for the day. “I hope tomorrow will be a little flatter.”

Rayla, who had found the day’s walk mostly very easy aside from the part where her hand was increasingly painful, said nothing for several conspicuous moments. Given the next leg of their journey was pretty much entirely uphill, she was increasingly certain that the boys were going to have a very unpleasant time of things soon. But, she supposed, she’d be having a very unpleasant time of things with her binding, so at least their misery would have company. “…Sure.” She agreed, unconvincingly, and did not mention that the day would probably come soon where they’d need to ascend most of a kilometre in a single day’s walking.

“We’re camping here, right?” Ezran checked, after glancing at where she’d put the tent-pack. He waited for her nod before sighing with relief. “Oh good.” He said, setting his own bag down. Callum quickly followed suit, glancing around. The forest was relatively sparse here, consisting mainly of tall conifers that towered far, far over their heads. A little way to their left was a secluded hollow where the brook ran to and pooled, a pretty ideal location for washing things or collecting water. All the tall trees would make for a terrible campsite in a storm, but luckily, the weather was perfectly clement today.

Rayla’s hand ached at her, as if to remind her what she had to get done soon. She flexed it, casting a glance about the camp, and sighed. “We’d best get set up quickly.” She said, a little grimly.

Ez perked up. “Tent first?”

“Tent first,” She agreed, and set them about the tasks with increasing familiarity and ease. Callum had to handle the difficult part of getting the tent up, since she was increasingly hampered by the lack of a properly-usable hand. When that was done, she and Ezran went to get firewood while Callum sorted out the inner-tent, and their camp was pretty much complete.

“We’re getting pretty quick at this.” Ezran declared, not long after, when she’d set all the cooking things and food jars next to the area marked out for the fire. “It’s only been a few times but we’re already way better.”

Rayla’s lips twitched upwards, and she reached over to ruffle his hair. “You are picking things up nicely.” She agreed, amused. “Now I just need to teach you how to cook, I suppose.”

“Can I try starting the fire this time?” He asked eagerly, and Callum shot him a slightly wide-eyed look.

“….We’ll see.” Rayla said, after seeing that expression on the older prince’s face, and resolved to ask later. “For now, I’ve got something I need to take care of.” She eyed her hand, exhaled slowly, and had a look through her bag. She made a disapproving noise. “Callum, I think you’re carrying the soap. Find that for me, would you?”

He blinked. “Uh, sure?” He agreed automatically, and then pulled his bag over to look. He passed over the soap and then the towel for good measure, eyes flickering between her face and her hand. “Are you going to – I mean-“

“I need to try to get this gauntlet off.” She said, grim, and took both proffered items with her better hand. “I’ll be back in a while.” She stood, and stalked off towards the small, steep slope overlooking the watery hollow. She heard the scuffling of the others following after her and sighed, skidding down the modest slope and crouching beside the brook as she waited for them to catch up.

She fixed them both with a grimace when they arrived, worried faces staring at her. “Er.” Said Callum, uncertainly. “Can we help, or…?”

“Probably not.” She said, shortly, and eyed them. The binding had been painful and tender enough to test this morning, and she had absolutely no reason to believe it would be any gentler on her this afternoon. She wasn’t entirely pleased at the prospect of having them both here for this, when she knew it was going to hurt. She particularly was not happy about having Ezran there – he was a kid, and a highly empathetic kid at that. There was no way this wouldn’t upset him. “Look. There’s really no reason for you two to stick around watching me hurt myself, alright? Just…go back to the camp and get the fire going.”

Ezran actually glared at her for that, putting his little hands on his hips as if she’d offended him with the very suggestion. “No way.” He said, indignantly. “Even if I can’t help, I’m not gonna just leave you here alone if you’ll be in pain.” Stubbornly, he planted himself beside her, on the side of her good arm. He folded his arms, as if to cement his immovability.

Rayla huffed at him, not sure whether to be touched or annoyed, only to have Callum kneel down at her left, looking less bull-headed about things than his brother, but fairly resolute in and of himself. He wasn’t going to be any more sensible about this than Ezran, it seemed.

He presented her with a somewhat strained smile, the lines of his face creasing with worry. “We can be moral support, if nothing else.” He offered, and looked down at her hands. “…What are you going to do?”

She exhaled, slowly, and looked out into the burbling water of the brook. For once, the dread of the coming pain was almost more insistent than her dread of the water. “Soap and water should make the binding and guard more slippery.” She said, after a moment, and leaned over to douse her left hand and wrist in the chilly water.

It almost felt pleasant – cool and soothing. The cold ached at the already-aching limb, intensified the burning sensation in some of the skin and intensified the numbness in other places, but…the chill of it was still something of a relief. She closed her eyes, briefly, and then withdrew her hand to start slathering it with the soap. It would be murder on the soap itself – she’d likely run through a lot of the bar with this, but it was sort of unavoidable, really. A waste, she couldn’t help but think, even if she really did need to use it.

Why couldn’t she have thought about her stupid arm-guard days ago? It would have saved her so much trouble. And so much soap.

Eventually, her hand and that which bound it were about as soap-slippery as they would ever get, and she put the bar aside to hesitate. The boys watched her all the while, quietly anxious in a way that couldn’t help but grate at her a little. She’d have really preferred to handle this alone, without anyone else there to watch her in pain. The vulnerability of it nagged at her, persistent, as she stared at her hand and tried to muster the will to do something about it. Moon help her, if she found it this hard to get herself to pull a bloody gauntlet off, how would she ever make herself cut her hand off when she needed to?

She breathed in, then out, reaching out to pinch the edge of the guard, where it sat not too far from the darkened skin of her knuckles. She braced herself, then pulled.

The pain was immediate, and viciously intense. She clamped her teeth shut along with her eyes and strangled the shriek that wanted to escape from her throat. The pitiful edges of it emerged regardless, in an agonised wheeze that hissed between her teeth and set Callum and Ezran to fluttering with concern. She was aware of their clamouring more by the sounds of them moving than from anything else; she inhaled and exhaled in short bursts for the next few seconds, then opened her eyes.

The bloody gauntlet had barely budged. She quashed the pang of hopelessness it provoked, and tried to regain her focus. She exhaled, steeled herself, and then pulled again.

This time she was a little more ready for the pain – she kept her eyes open, and kept at it, tugging and yanking at the cursed thing with all the bloody-minded determination she could muster, the pain of every movement seething up her arm like sun-fire and building into a sickening agony intense enough she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d last. She pulled her gauntlet something like a centimetre past the binding and then couldn’t manage anymore – she collapsed in on herself, clutching her hand to her chest and panting heavily, a cold sweat building on her brow. She’d ground her teeth together so hard it was beginning to hurt.

“…You got it to move a bit that time.” Ezran offered, in a very small voice, from beside her. She cracked open an eye to peer at him, her body trembling from the after-shocks of the pain. Her gut clenched at the expression on his face; he’d paled a bit, and his eyes were wide and near-frightened, his whole bearing painted with pain – almost as if he were acting as a mirror to some vestige of her own suffering. His distress was awfully obvious – and didn’t he see this was why she hadn’t wanted him to watch?

“…A little.” She agreed, quiet, unclenching her jaw just enough to let words escape past her teeth. Her jaw ached, a small and meaningless pain compared with the one that pulsed hotly in her arm with every passing heartbeat. She almost wanted to avoid looking at Callum, not quite wanting to see how he was reacting to this, but she looked anyway. That was hard to endure, too. His expression was tight with concern, fists clenched white-knuckled in his lap, eyes glued to her hand as if unable to look away.

She lowered her gaze again, breath shuddering, and closed her eyes. Held her fingers tight in the armour-weave, and started her ordeal once more.

Every millimetre of progress cost her dearly. The binding clung fiercely to the gauntlet and did not want to let it go – she pulled, and hurt, and felt sweat bead on her brow and drip down her face from the sheer agony of it, again and again. She forced herself back every time, gritting her teeth to try to keep quiet, but it got so much harder to keep doing it.

The boys sat in near-silence, their own faces pale and getting paler every time they saw her have to stop to catch her breath, every time she strangled the shrieks in her throat, every time she couldn’t quite stop the hisses and gasps of pain at the barrier of her teeth. Callum started fidgeting, in sharp and jittery movements, agitated into restlessness by her pain.

She forced three pitiful centimetres of the gauntlet past the binding before her will eroded completely. Her hands wavered, trembling horribly in front of her, healthy fingers shaking around their grip of the fabric. She hunched forwards and panted, every inch of her feeling cold and clammy and damp, the pain in her hand burning long after she stopped actively agitating it. She tried to muster the will to pull the thing again, but couldn’t quite seem to do it. Her fingers twitched on the fabric, but that was all.

Frustrated, and still in the grips of likely the worst pain of her life, Rayla’s breath shuddered, and she closed her eyes.

She couldn’t do it. She’d overestimated her tolerance for pain. She was too weak to see it through.

Maybe…maybe she’d be able to do more after a break? And then she could try again? But…no. That would just draw it out longer. And she didn’t want to waste the soap that had gone into this pursuit, or this whole thing would be wasteful as well as agonising, and she’d come this far – why couldn’t she just – just do a little more. Just a bit. She stared at her fingers, weak and shaking on the fabric, and tried to will herself to pull. Tried to be as strong as she was meant to be. As she had to be.

But she couldn’t.

She exhaled, heavy, and let her head fall forwards as she let her fingers fall from the gauntlet. Bitter, helpless frustration burned in her throat like acid, like gall.

A voice. “…Rayla?” It was Callum. Worried, uncertain. She couldn’t quite muster the strength to straighten enough to look at him.

“…Are you okay?” Ez’s voice was very small. “You’re in a lot of pain.”

“I’m just peachy.” She managed, after a few seconds. The fact that she couldn’t quite muster the vehemence to make the words sound sarcastic, rather than just exhausted, was testament enough to how off-balance she was. She breathed in, breathed out. Tried to use Runaan’s meditation tricks to find some part of herself that didn’t exist adrift in pain, that could be calm and steady and stable in the midst of it. “…I’ll keep going in a second. Just need…” She exhaled, shaky. “Just need to catch my breath a little.”

She could practically feel the glance the princes exchanged over her head. She heard Callum shuffle at her left. “Rayla,” he said again, this time quietly insistent. Gentle, but determined. She mustered the forbearance to look up at him…and found the same calm, concerned resolve on his face as she’d heard in his voice. He lifted his hands, just a little, in her direction. “Let me help. Please.”

Rayla stared at him, a little blearily, as she tried to comprehend what exactly he intended to help. The pain left so little room in her mind for thought. “…How?” She asked, and couldn’t quite keep all of the helplessness from her voice. “It’s just…stuck.”

“Maybe. But it’ll be easier for me to do it than for you to try pulling something off your own hand, considering it hurts this much.” He hesitated a little, then moved his hands towards hers, gently moving her fingers aside to put his own in her place. She didn’t try to resist, or pull away, only watched with a strange exhausted passivity as he lodged the nails of one hand carefully around the edges of the binding. It made sense, maybe. If he could stop the gauntlet from tugging on the binding itself by holding the binding back, it might be easier.

She exhaled, and let her arm go limp, renouncing her bound hand into Callum’s care. He adjusted automatically to support it over his knee as he shifted closer, glancing between her face and her hand with obvious reluctance. He didn’t want to hurt her. “…Do it.” She ordered him, before she could say ‘no, leave it’; before she could let her impulses make a coward of her.

His eyes met hers, for a second. He nodded, almost more to himself than to her, and set the fingers of his other hand at the arm-guard. He took a deep breath, easily audible at this close range, and pulled.

She hissed, clacking her teeth together to stifle any greater sound. Callum’s effort wavered and hesitated for a second, like he might call it off on account of causing her pain, so she turned her eyes to glare at him until he kept going. And he did.

It hurt. It hurt horribly. The area where the binding sat was now so tender that the slightest pressure was painful, and this was well beyond a light pressure. It felt like – like digging fingers into a raw bruise, like poking at an open wound, like squeezing around the site of a broken bone; it sent shocks of agony shooting up her arm and overflowed quickly to the rest of her body. She clamped her eyes shut and curled forwards, suddenly grateful beyond words that she didn’t have to endure the pain and perpetuate it at the same time. She clenched the fingers of her other hand into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palms.

She lost track of time for a while, then. Intermittently, she was aware of things. Once, she gasped with the pain, unable to entirely stifle it. At some point, Ezran’s little hand curled around the one she had at her side, and held it faithfully while she huffed and panted like a wounded animal. She heard Callum speaking, from time to time, soothing innocuous things, like “easy,” and “hang in there, it’s almost done.” If she’d had the presence of mind to actually process speech properly, that last one might have brought her considerable relief.

As it was, she was half out of her mind with pain and entirely uncomprehending when it suddenly stopped. Of course, it wasn’t like the pain actually went away; the shocks of it kept travelling up along her body, the site of the binding seethed with heat and agony, and she doubted any of that would pass away soon. But the pulling stopped, and so did the new waves of pain.

She cracked her eyes open, almost bewildered, and didn’t quite comprehend what she saw.

“There. It’s done. It’s finished.” Callum was saying, voice low and soothing and oddly comforting. She heard the words, but like the sight in front of her, it took much longer than it ought for her to understand.

Her hand was dark and awful, sat in Callum’s hands. The skin around the binding looked angry and swollen, as horribly tender as it felt. But…it was the skin. Just the skin. The accursed gauntlet was on the ground by her knee.

She stared, and breathed out, shaky. “…Oh.” She said, lamely, and kept staring.

“How are you doing?” He asked her, still in that quiet, reassuring tone.

Rayla breathed in, and out, and in again. Her final exhalation was gusty and trembled along every second. Her heartbeat felt thin and thready against the skin of her neck. She swore she could feel it in her horns, even. “…I’m not sure?” She managed, voice oddly crackly, and tried to clear her throat. Her mind was oddly blank and sluggish. Her skin was cold. She shook her head, in some unsuccessful attempt to dislodge its haze, and exhaled again. “Fuck, that was horrible,” She added finally, finding the capacity to be emphatic about it, and didn’t even notice she’d sworn aloud for several seconds.

She thought even Runaan would forgive her it in this situation, though. The boys certainly didn’t flinch at it.

“You had a hard time.” Ezran said to her, voice just a little distressed, and she realised he was still holding her hand. “You did really good.”

Rayla might have felt patronised by words like that, under ordinary circumstances. She couldn’t quite object to it now. It had really been an ordeal to get that thing off. In the end, she said nothing, and kept staring down at her discoloured skin, so starkly contrasted against Callum’s own hands.

“…I think it might help the pain a little if you run it in the water for a while.” Callum said to her, a moment later. “Bring the inflammation down a bit, maybe.”

“…A’ight.” She acquiesced, a little numbly, too off-balance to even have much objection to the water. She let him lower her hand forwards into the brook like a marionette, and felt the cold of the water as a shocking relief against the heated pain around the binding. It was cold enough that it hurt, too, aching in her skin and the joints of her fingers in a chill so pronounced it was almost a burn, but it was still an unbelievable relief. She shuddered, and kept her hand in the water as Callum’s hands drew back.

“Stay there for a while, alright?” He murmured to her, gentle, and leaned back. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder for a few seconds, solid and warm against the cold sweat that had built on every inch of her skin. “Let the cold water help, and rest for a bit. I’ll go get the fire started so you can just sit here.” He waited a few moments, perhaps to see if she’d say anything, but words were hard to summon right now. He nodded, withdrew his hand, and stood. “Stay with her, Ez?”

“Duh.” Said Ezran, little hand resting persistently over hers.

Callum hesitated, just for a second, and then walked away. She felt his absence more keenly than she ought, and shivered with her hand in the cold water. “…I should really be doing something.” She mumbled, almost more to herself than to Ezran. It felt strange to sit here, still and useless, while others were off being productive.

“No you really shouldn’t.” Ez refuted, firmly, and shuffled against her side. “You’re still hurting. You need to rest for a while.”

Her limbs still felt shaky. Her whole body felt wrung-out and exhausted, and probably not fit for anything especially strenuous. The stink of the stress-sweat was starting to set in, acrid and harsh, as if to remind her what she’d endured, and her skin was still clammy with it.

She shivered, increasingly cold, and sighed. “….Alright.” She agreed, quietly. “But once he gets that fire going, I’m going to want to go sit next to it for a while. ‘s a bit chilly.”

With each passing second, the chilly brook exorcised more and more sensation from her hand, leaving nothing except a cold ache. It was comfortingly uniform. None of the prickling, or burning, or other flavours of pain she’d been growing familiar with. It would almost be pleasant, if not for the fact that it was water, and that it was making her so cold.

Ezran’s hand on hers remained, a spot of warmth in the afternoon. “Sounds good to me.” He said, and didn’t budge an inch.

Rayla stared out at the flow of the water, as numb to its fear as she was to the ache of her hand, and found herself feeling begrudgingly grateful for water for perhaps the first time in her life. Who knew – maybe this experience would make her hate water a little less? She snorted, softly, at the notion. As if, she thought, a little derisively, and watched the brook as it burbled gently over the rocks and debris in its path.

Soon. Soon she’d have to get up and make herself useful, or get dinner going, or in general stop wallowing uselessly beside the littlest Prince of Katolis. Soon…but not now.

Rayla exhaled, slow, and settled into a tired slump at the water’s edge, allowing it to chase away the ills the day had wrought.

  End chapter.

Timeline: Occurs on 16.05 (day 6) and 17.05 (day 7). Subtract two days to determine time since leaving Katolis. Please note that 17th of May is canonically Runaan’s birthday and he’s spending it in a dark magic dungeon, poor guy. Who knows, we might even get a look at him, soon! (soon means chapter 8, according to current arrangement).

Canon Divergences: Mount Kalik is absolutely immense, and Claudia and Soren absolutely cannot scale that in enough time for it to be worth it. If they want to – very, very eventually – catch the kids, they’ll need a…creative solution. Possibly several creative solutions.

On Worldbuilding: Carpe Noctem and Carpe Diem taken directly from Latin.

And, for anyone interested, the calendar months: Januaris, Februaris, Martias, Avrilas, Maius, Iunias, Julius, Agustus, Septevis, Octovis, Novevis, Decevis. These are derived from the Roman month names or the old/middle English names as I preferred, but still modified. Note: I’m pronouncing ‘Decevis’ like de-che-vis.

The weekdays, derived from Latin and modified: Lunadis, Martedis, Mercuridis, Jovidis, Veneridis, Saturnidis, Soladis.

Some Moonshadow elf curses (and other elf curses) still use Draconic, and generally they centre around the New Moon or general absences of the Moon or moonlight. The New Moon is a bit of a bitch for Moonshadow elves, for multiple reasons. (The first New Moon of piaj is scheduled for Day 17, and will elaborate on this.)  The most commonly used elf-specific curses are not in Draconic, and the use of Draconic curses makes one seem vaguely old-fashioned and/or dramatic – except on the New Moon, where everyone does it.

Of the Draconic curses, the most commonly used one is futtanovil, an adaptation of a longer curse that originally meant ‘fuck the new moon and everything even vaguely related to it’. In its colloquial abbreviated state it still evokes the same meaning. Of non-Draconic curses, ‘Moonless’ is most used, a common modifier to any number of curses or insults. Example: that ruddy moonless bastard. Example 2: it was a cursed, moonless bitch of a day.

All completely made up by me, because as previously discussed, I can’t not worldbuild.

Other notes: Rayla uses pretty much a one-armed fireman’s carry on Callum and Ez this chapter. Do I believe her capable of carrying someone her own body weight or heavier? I absolutely do. And I wanted Callum and Ez to know it, too.

Stickyweed: more properly known as gooseweed, or about ten other names, this plant is found basically everywhere, and is covered in tiny hooks that make it stick very readily to things. Its seeds are spherical, also sticky, and are commonly found in the fur of animals. I walk past about ten patches of this stuff every time I walk into town. It is, in fact, edible by humans. However, the use of it I remember most fondly as a child is the one enacted in this chapter. And, might I add, I feel that Moonshadow elf children probably have a great time playing games that involve sneaking up on people to hang plants on their backs. Who knows, maybe it’s even encouraged as fun training for the assassin kids.

This chapter, specifically the gauntlet scene, contains a reference to a relatively famous episode of a classic sci-fi! We’re talking 60s sci-fi. I’m interested to see if any of you get it.

Total written content for piaj now exceeds 130k. Chapter 7 is complete, and around 10k long. Chapter 8 is currently about 6k long, and is probably going to exceed 10k

If you enjoyed this chapter, please take the time to enrich my story stats in some way. It is no exaggeration to say that I check them several times a day.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Ladybird, Ladybird

[Ficlet set during The Beginning, more or less canon-compliant.  Title from the children’s rhyme.]

For the first time after the war, Jean has a good dream about Tom.  Nothing special or particular, just a dream of lying in out on the sun-soaked lawn on a Saturday morning with her chubby six-year-old pushed up against her body, wiggly and snuggly.  No day in particular, she doesn’t think.  Just an aggregate: memory, imagination, longing.

“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home...” he sings in her dream, pulling petals from a flower one by one.  Jean doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s doing it wrong.

For a long time the dreams were of him crying out somewhere Jean couldn’t reach to help.  It wasn’t hard to figure out what those dreams meant.  They started too late, but they warn her anyway.  That her little boy was hurt.  That he was in pain.  That even as he sat across the kitchen table with the corners of his mouth pulled into a smile, he was begging her for help so loudly that the black thing inside him had to hurt him just to shut him up.

Mommy, I’m hurt.  Mommy, I’m scared.  Help me, Mommy.

And Jean didn’t hear, back then.  She didn’t know.  She couldn’t fling herself halfway out of bed the way she did the other night.  Half-asleep, half-frantic, murmuring to Steve, “Just gotta check on the boys—”  Before she remembers.  That Tom is dead.  That Jake...

Jake doesn’t need her help anymore.

Anyway, Jean wakes gently this time.  And she thinks maybe this is the first sign of healing.  That maybe she’s crested to that place where the memories become treasures rather than shards.  She’s heard that can happen, from her counseling group.

The dream was still sad, of course.  The memory of it, slanting gold sun over Tom’s tiny fists and dark curls, awakes an emptiness inside her.  It probably always will.

Because that’s what grief is: a thousand shades of regret.  Sometimes even regret for the regret.  “I just want to stop feeling this way,” Jean told her therapist once, before slamming her hand over her mouth too late to keep the words inside.

It’s been almost two years.  Maybe it’s time for it to start to hurt less.

“Jeannie?  You all right?”  Steve sits up next to her now, fumbles to slide his glasses on so that he can make out her expression.

“Sure.”  She presses a hand to her face, unsurprised to find last night’s salt tracks painted on her cheeks.  “Sure, honey.  I’ll get breakfast going, yeah?  You get Jake up this time.”

****************

There are four chairs at their kitchen table, still.  Again, Jean reaches down four plates before breakfast.  Again, she finds she lacks the strength to lift and put the extra one back.

It sits there on the counter, more often than not, a silent testimony throughout their meals.

“Thanks, Mom,” her son’s murderer says.  He smiles up at her, mouth still full of pancake.  “These are really good.”

****************

It was a mercy kill, according to the newspapers.  Or else, it was self-defense.  When feeling charitable, Jean thinks defense of an innocent life might apply.  But then, who’s innocent?  Tom was, when Rachel’s blow cut through his spine.

“That’s great, sweetheart,” Jean says, no inflection to her voice.

Jake sets the scrap of gilded aluminum on the mantelpiece and walks away.  It’s a Medal of Honor.

Apparently that’s the going price for fratricide, these days.

****************

“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home,” Tom recites in her dreams.  He crouches over a blade of grass with the kind of intensity only a four-year-old can muster.  “Your house is on fire, your children all gone.  All but the little one, asleep in his bed.  Fly away now, before he is dead.”

I know, Jean thinks, when she wakes.  Baby, I know now.  It’s not enough, it’s too late.  But at least now she knows that all along her home did burn.

****************

The rabbi speaks of the deaths of the firstborn.  How the Angel of Mercy came through Egypt, and took the eldest son from every home.  How that was what it took to be free.  How the Israelis had to learn to cling tight to what they had left, even when flung from their homes.

Jean doesn’t think of Passover, when she looks at Jake.  She doesn’t think of Teshuva.  She thinks of God asking after Abel: Where has your brother gone?  Thinks of how Cain had one last chance to repent and confess, and of how pride made him refuse.

Eve cast him out, after that happened.  She had no choice, really, with her baby’s blood crying out from the land.

****************

There’s footage of her son’s death.  Footage, and everyone has seen it.  Jean only knows because her sister-in-law called to tell her.

Rage choked Naomi’s voice through the tears, that whole conversation.  “How dare they,” Naomi said.  “How dare those bastards think they can... they can...”

It was a mercy kill, CNN says, or it was love, or at least he tried.

Anyway, she’s not surprised that they dare.  That her coworkers, her greengrocer, her next-door neighbors have all watched her son die, somewhere between the weather and the six o’clock news.  It fits, given the way they look at her and then look away.

****************

Jake gives her things all the time, these days.  He custom-orders a new lawn mower.  Slides million-dollar checks across the kitchen counter.  Sets a twenty-carat diamond gifted by the Queen of England into the hand-carved bowl for Jean’s car keys.

(Jean snatched the diamond out, the instant he left the room.  It’d felt like blasphemy; the letters T-O-M-M-Y carved on the underside of the bowl made it no place for such blood money.  She dropped the jewel in the trash, not knowing what else to do.)

Today it’s something new.  Today, Jake presses an envelope onto the table between her and Steve.  “It’s upstate a little ways,” he says.  “Santa Barbara.  You don’t have to move if you don’t want, but I paid it off in full, and I figured...”

Figured what, Jean would like to know.  Figured that they’d abandon their home, abandon its memories of Tom, in exchange for this latest guilt gift?

“Thanks, kiddo.”  Steve sounds like he means it, which hurts.  “This means a lot.”

****************

Jean is running up the stairs before she consciously registers why.  It is daytime, and there was a noise from Tom’s room.  She’s awake.  But she heard the half-muffled sob, and it came from the empty bedroom at the end of the hall.

It’s the middle of the afternoon.  She’s not dreaming.  Her baby is calling out to her, and she can reach him.

When she wrenches the door open, she freezes.

Jake stands amidst the wreckage of Tom’s things.  A box sits at his feet, half filled with t-shirts and basketball trophies.  The tears on his face are fresh-flowing, badly muffled.

“What are you doing in here.”  Jean’s voice comes out hard-edged and cold.  And also: how dare you.  How dare you.

It was all arranged, exactly how it should be.  Clothes in the closet.  Gameboy in the desk drawer.  Bed made.  All his things where they belonged.

Jake moved it all.  Jake touched it.  Defiled it.  Ruined it.

“I was just...”  Jake swallows hard.  Rubs a hand over both cheeks.  He’s still got one of Tom’s sweatshirts in hand; how dare he.  “Just figured we could sort through all this, see what makes sense to keep when we move and what...”

“Get out.”  Jean doesn’t recognize the woman speaking with her voice.  All she knows is this: she’s giving it all up.  Motherhood has brought her nothing but pain.  It’s high time she relinquished it.  She will box up Tom’s things to donate or destroy.  She will make the call about what stays, and she will get rid of the things that need to go.

Starting with Tom’s killer.

“Get out,” she says again.

“Yeah.”  Jake takes a breath.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Sorry, I’ll let you finish up.”

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, she screams inside, when she realizes he doesn’t understand.  GET OUT OF MY LIFE.  “You’re eighteen,” she forces herself to say.  “It’s high time you found your own place.  And goodness knows you can afford it.  Your father and I will take the house in Santa Barbara.  You can find your own place.”

Something happens on Jake’s face then.  Something vulnerable breaks.  Stops being wounded, because now it is dead.

She’s ready, now.  To stop being Mom, to anyone or anything.  To box up her sons and throw them away.  To learn, all over, what it is to be Jean.  Jean with the potted plant on her desk.  Jean who leaves little presents for the sanitation workers.  Jean the writer.  Jean the wife.  Jean, herself and nothing else.  She’s done with pain.  Done with love.  Done with Mommy, help me.

It takes Jake less than a day to pack up and leave.  Neither of them explains it to Steve.

****************

Fool, fool.  Your house is on fire.

It’s Steve who answers the door, when the cops’ hard knock shatters the quiet of their new kitchen.  Steve whose voice wavers as he says, “What do you mean, missing and presumed?”  Steve who whispers, “Thank you for taking the time.”

Steve who holds her, when the air leaves her body as a senseless scream of disbelief and pain.  When she rocks on the floor, moaning, whimpering, like a wounded animal.

Jean, you fool.  Fool, to think she could cut him out of her heart.  What a fool, to think she could ever not care.

Jake.  Jake.  Her baby boy.  Her clumsy, solemn, second child.  Her only son.

Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home, Steve once recorded Tom saying, his little voice lisping, the tape hissing.  All but the little one, asleep in his bed.  Fly away now—

But she never dreams about it again.  The warning only lasted while there was still time to warn her.

Instead she sleeps, and hears both their voices crying in the night.

[violadiaries]

Surviving in this dark world Ch. 1

Pursuing a lead

-.-.-.-.-

“Gah! Please, n-no more, please! They snuck someone in, please just stop!!”

The recording rang through the room, screams of terror and pain, mixed with words. Takumi sat at his desk looking at the little device placed before him while Isami leaned against it next to his brother. Cries for mercy where most of the things heard through the recording, but some rather useful information slipped out in between. The older Aldini’s eyes where focused on the recorder, lips drawing a thin line, arms popped up in his elbows, hands together. His head rested on his hands, listening to the recording until the end. After the recording went dead with a chuckle being heard from Isami, the blonde leaned back looking at his brother. Isami smiled at Takumi, knowing his brother was not really focused on him. His eyes were too distant, not focused on anything in particular.

Then after a moment they focused on Isami’s for a short while before going up to the ceiling of the room.

‘What do you think?’

Unspoken but clear hung the question in the room.

“I don’t really know, but I have a…speculation. Something not really adding up. I could be wrong, though,” the brunette said.

‘I just need your yes.’

He looked out of the window behind his brother, could practically hear the other think. He would give him a minute or two.

It was late already, he must have been longer going over the recording than anticipated. Well and of course he had let his thoughts roam for a while. The sun was already going down, tinting the room in a beautiful orange, and the sky in a blood red. Some would say it is romantic, for Isami though it was when his sensed would awaken even more. He loved the night, the darkness, where he could hide and strike from the shadows.

“We should wait, I think.”

Takumi’s voice rang cold through the room. A slight strain was to it, and it dipped a little bit lower than usual. Isami’s eyes were drawn to his twin again.

‘Did you test it?’

The brunette’s smiled got a bit more genuine as he nodded. “Well if you think so. I do as you say, brother.”

‘He fell for it.’

Takumi’s eyes locked with his as a small smile formed on his lips.

“Don’t talk like that, little brother. It’s not like I command over you. Both of us are equals and you know it,” he said.

‘Do it then. I trust you.’

The sound was a bit lighter, a bit higher, more like his normal self.

Isami nodded slightly and chuckled. “But I work so much better with your instruction.”

Takumi’s smile grew a bit wider, fonder as he rolled his eyes. He punched his brother’s arm lightly and got up from the chair he was sitting in. Takumi stretched himself a bit and turned around to look at the sundown.

“Mio dio, I’m sore…,” he sighed.

Isami nudged his brother grinning. “Well let’s hope you don’t grow onto your chair. Would be a shame.”

Again the older one rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless not saying anything. He was content with watching the sun vanishing for a moment. A peaceful moment. Both of them quiet, next to each other, just how Takumi always wants it. They came to Japan to clear up the murder on their father, uncle and grandmother. Information had led them here, so they pursued it. Peace was something that wasn’t common for neither of the brothers anymore. Spring was nearing its end, the air growing warmer each day. Trapped in their suits it would get really uncomfortable soon, but it couldn’t be helped. They had to keep up appearances.

To the outside the Aldini family was part of the business world, Isami was hardly known to anyone which made his job easier to carry out. Takumi was on the front, making sure their men remained loyal and their foes stayed away. Isami’s job was it to get whatever information his brother needed out of whoever might have it, deliver it to him and make sure that no-one ever lays a hand on the blonde. Isami was trained to protect Takumi with his life and would never stop doing so.

“Looking at the world like this is so…peaceful…beautiful,” Takumi said.

His voice was slightly breathy and Isami looked at him concerned. The was a longing in his eyes, sadness. The brunette leaned slightly against him placing his arms around the shorter male.

“It is…and we should be grateful that there are moments, when we can indulge in it.”

The blonde ruffled his hair slightly and nudged him again.

“Come on let’s get something to eat.”

Isami nodded and pulled his arms back, going over to the door. Takumi joined him at the door as Isami looked back.

“Hey, Nii-chan. You go already, I’m catching up to you in a second, ok?” he said sweetly smiling.

The blonde just nodded slightly confused and left the room, making his way to the kitchen of the big mansion. Isami went back to the window looking outside, opening it. His eyes were locked into the tree nearest the window. Slowly he took out the gun he always stored in Takumi’s desk drawer. A simple Colt M1911. He had stored some of these everywhere in secret hiding spots around the mansion, should for whatever reason he one time be taken by surprise. Still smiling the half-Italian aimed at the tree waiting for a bit.

The shot was loud and clearly audible. Takumi would be worried now, would ask him later what was wrong. Isami saw some birds flying out of the tree, scared by the bullet he fired. Sighing he put the gun away and closed the window. His smile grew darker as he looked at the tree for one more time before leaving the room. Slowly he strolled down the corridor to join his brother.

It had stricken him weird first when a new face stood before him, but that wasn’t enough reason for suspicion. Maybe he had been to wrapped up in other things to be informed. This was obviously not a real reason, but the possibility was there. But sometimes when you play a part you are too engulfed in it to notice possible mistakes. Sometimes you just want play your role too perfect, not seeing your own mistakes. Every Japanese he had encountered so far had eyed him confused when he had held out his hand in greeting. At home it was pretty much normal, here not, he knew that. Normally he would soon after pretend to see his mistake, apologize and bow slightly like it was custom in Japan. He had reached for his hand immediately and shaken it. The held eye contact had been interesting to watch for him as well. It was like he wanted to tip him off and at the same time didn’t even notice that he was doing it. Now he just needed to wait, to draw him out. He seemed like he wanted to get his work done fast.

Arriving at the dining room Takumi already eyed him worried. His foot was tapping on the ground, his body in constant motion. His arms were crossed in front of his chest his mouth drawn to a frown. Isami shook his head slightly. He shouldn’t do that with Takumi. Takumi is his brother. Isami would know him from an imposter even without looking.

“What did you shoot at? You startled everyone.”

The blonde had moved to stand in front of his younger brother. He was disapproving

“Nothing really, I thought there was something, but my eyes must have played a trick on me,” Isami said.

Takumi raised an eyebrow, his frown deepening.

“Isami…”

His voice was low, demanding. Isami wanted to flinch, draw back, get out of his way, as his smiled stiffened. While he may have the higher count, Takumi was always good at making clear that he indeed was the older one, that he was in charge. Normally everyone regarded Isami as the creepy one, always smiling, always happy and laughing or chuckling at something, even while pointing a gun at someone of torturing them into submission. Everyone knew that something was seriously wrong when the brunette didn’t carry his signature smile on his lips, just like everyone knew when to avoid Takumi.

When his voice dipped low, and his lips where either drawn into a thin line or a scowl. Whenever he became quiet, and serious. When his eyes where trained on you only, locking you in place.

Isami knew himself not to make his brother angry, wouldn’t say he feared him, but whenever his brother looked at him like that it sent a shiver down his spine. At the same time, it reminded him of his childhood, when their mama would scold him for doing something wrong or not listening to her.

The brunette sighed in defeat and looked away. “I guess whatever it was now knows I’m aware of it…and is either dead or scared shitless.”

Takumi sighed and shook his head.

“By the way when did we get new soldiers?” Isami tried to change the subject.

The feeling in the air got lighter again, making it easier for Isami to breath. While it didn’t show often his brother sure knew how to be scary himself. The blonde retreated a bit and leaned against the table, eyes still trained on his younger brother. Isami’s smile relaxed as he looked back at him. He was more confused now before looking away.

“A while back. I thought you were informed?”

The younger one just shook his and sitting down at the table, stretching his legs underneath it.

“I met one of them, the one you send to get me. Uh…Mimasaka? Yeah I think his name was Mimasaka,” he added.

So he was indeed not informed about it, even though Takumi had given the order. Something intervened with it, to make him unaware. He was already here for a while, had already made his plans and wanted to execute them now. It was inevitable go not be noticed by Takumi, he knew that much, but Isami was often out collection information, doing the very same job their guest was doing now. He had managed to avoid Isami until it became completely necessary to meet him. He had been aware of the younger Aldini the whole time, but just how much did he know? Another question was, what was his end goal? Just information or more. And who was his target? Takumi, most likely. That didn’t mean he could drop his guard, quiet to contrary. He had to be more on his guard. The younger one hated it when he had to shadow his older brother, but now it would become a necessity.

“Isami.”

The brunette looked up and blinked at Takumi who was now seated in front of him, a find smile on his lips.

“You’re thinking too much again. Snitch or whatever, don’t forget I can take care of myself,” he said.

A proud expression stood on his face. Isami sighed looking down again.

“But you shouldn’t have to. I have been trained to lay my life on the line for you, to protect you with everything and to not let anyone- “– “Isami! Could you for once stop talking like you are beneath me?”

The blonde’s expression had changed in an instant to serious again.

“For the last time today, we are equals! I know how we were raised but I don’t care. Just because I’m a few minutes older than you, I am not better than you. Understood?”

Isami nodded avoiding his brother’s gaze. It was a reoccurring argument between them and Isami didn’t feel like arguing right now. For him it was clear as a day that Takumi was the more important one and if he had to choose he would die for his brother without hesitation. Takumi had always been softer on him, worrying whether he would be alright on his own or not. He still remembered the look in his brother’s eyes when he first saw him murder someone. His whole life, until that day, he was trained to protect Takumi, was trained that he was lower than Takumi and he always believed it, never doubted that and will never doubt it. His brother had more charisma then him and was a better leader than he could ever dream to be. Still he treated him as an equal and made sure everyone else did, too.

“By the way, I’ve been informed that you seem to frequent at a certain coffee shop more and more these days. Is there something going on?”

Isami looked back to his brother who had again placed his head on his hands, a curious expression in his eyes. A sheepish smile made its way onto the younger one’s lips and he leaned back in his chair.

“Not really I guess…I just like the coffee there,” he calmly said.

That the girl making the coffee was pretty cute as well, he wouldn’t mention. He didn’t need to give his brother a reason to either worry, or tease him.

[harleyquilt]

Through The Years

Summary: A trip through the many years of the Kaneki family at snapshots of their lives whilst Touken watch their family mature. 

Words: 4144

Notes: So this is for my really wonderful and perfect friend @beneybunny. I actually wrote this as thanks to a favour, but since I’m a lazy and terrible friend, this is now her late birthday present. The fic itself is just really fluffy and silly and I hope you enjoy it! 

It was a quiet morning, as tranquil and lazy as any morning could be really. Kaneki opened his eyes slowly to find himself alone in his bed and sitting up, rubbing his eyes, he heard Touka’s soft whisperings from Ichika’s room. He smiled to himself and leaned back, eyes glancing to his opened window where he could see the wide and vast countryside field nearby. The almost picturesque scenery was nothing compared to the city, which was still in shambles from the attack almost a year ago. He visited there often, the image of the ruins and crumbled buildings and roads were engraved into his mind as a reminder of his actions and despite the pain it brought to remind him of the damage he afflicted, it also reminded him of what he had now; a chance to start again and redeem himself with a beautiful family to support him whenever. Whether he deserved it or not he wasn’t sure, he just knew he couldn’t let this opportunity pass because he was busy wallowing in self-pity.

“Oh, you’re awake, sleepyhead.” Touka smiled and she leaned against the doorframe to their room, cradling their small baby girl in her arms. “I was just feeding our little sleepyhead here, I’ll make you some coffee in a minute.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” He insisted as he got up, heading over to her side where he gave her a quick peck on her cheek and leaned down to do the same to Ichika. He caressed Touka’s cheek and she smiled warmly, their eyes on each others. He then looked down, feeling Ichika tug at his shirt and carefully taking her from Touka’s arms, he lifted her up, watching her give him a wide toothless smile.

“What a beautiful smile our princess has!” Kaneki beamed and lowering her, she pinched his cheeks, giggling. “It’s as beautiful as the queens’.”

Touka slapped his shoulder lightly, heading off to make his coffee as he continued to play with Ichika. She was so perfect, a mix of both him and Touka in her features: she had Touka’s eyes and his grey colour, Touka’s face with those chubby cheeks and his...hair? Actually, the hair left him baffled more than anything. He knew Haise was his own person in a sense, but this simply didn’t make sense. Touka seemed completely fine, if anything more amused, at the ‘sesame pudding’ hair she ended up having, yet Kaneki couldn’t help but consider this as Haise’s last act of revenge for disposing him back into the tormenting depths of his own mind. Nonetheless, he loved her regardless of her looks - she’d be perfect no matter the appearance.

At the minute, she was only a few months old, and Kaneki was always chuffed at how tiny she turned out to be. He never held a baby before - never had the opportunity to - and when he held Ichika for the first time...He almost squealed at the sight of her. Everything about her was so tiny, especially her hands that’d barely wrap around his pinkie finger. She was so warm too and he felt completely at peace when he simply sat and held her in his arms, talking to her softly about how much he loved her and of all the things he’d do for her once she grew up some more. She watched him with wide eyes as he headed over to Touka, showering his child with kisses as he smelled the sweet fragrance of the coffee Touka made for him.

“She’s such a happy baby.” Touka commented, taking a sip of her own coffee and she leaned against the counter. “She especially loves that apple mush Yoriko told me to feed her. She threw it all over me yesterday.” She shuddered at the memory. “I can still smell that disgusting scent of it even now.”

“Hey, you eat apples too.” Kaneki chuckled as he set down Ichika onto her cushioned seat nearby, giving her a toy to chew on. He gathered Touka into his arms and embraced her tightly, pressing his lip to the top of her head. “If you want I can give you more of that cake again. Kimi did say we had to adapt our palates if we want to change our diets. I’ll do it with you if you want.”

“Please, it’s enough just smelling the stuff as it if. Give me a break.” They stayed still for a brief moment, Touka letting out a low sigh as she listened to his slow heartbeat. After a quiet moment like this, she looked up to watch the scar that went down from his eyes, like black tears had stained his cheeks. “Hm, they’re not fading it seems. Or at least not completely.” His smile dropped then and her fingers lightly traced the marks, her eyes wide and curious. “Not that I’m complaining, they look pretty cool. They don’t hurt, do they?”

He shook his head and turned to kiss each finger tip. He knew she’d have no issues with his appearance. As she said, she’d love him even if his hands were covered in scales or if he had no arms at all. Still, he wanted to be proud to stand by someone as elegant and beautiful as her, even if his insecurities were simply silly concerns. Ah, but no matter; her words always gave him the comfort he needed and he took a deep breath, his smile returning as he allowed himself to take in those words.

“I wonder how I'll explain it to Ichika.” They both looked back at their daughter, who was banging her toy against her seat with some annoyance. “Don't worry so much about it.” Touka reassured, pulling away and patting his head. “She'll think they're cool too.”

“You really think so?” Kaneki chuckled, grabbing his drink.

“I know so.”

. . .

Ichika stuck her tongue out as she concentrated on her reflection. Her mother's makeup bag was tipped over and all the different brushes and ‘clippy boxes’ (as she liked to call them) were scattered across the dresser table. She held the black pencil in her hand, turning it this way and that. She really didn't understand how this wasn't used for colouring, but considering how she saw her mama draw with it under her eyes, it must be to draw pictures on skin instead of paper. With a confirmed nod and smile, she silently christened this pencil as the ‘body drawer thingy.’

Touka sat besides Kaneki at the dining table as they looked through different holiday locations through the travel magazine they held between them. They were in the midst of arguing whether to go with Kaneki's suggestion and go to Rome for a romantic getaway or to go with Touka's choice of Disney World.

“Look, maybe we can go to both.” Touka suggested with some mild frustration. “We're getting Tsukiyama to pay anyway.”

“Touka-chan, we can't make him pay for us for the sixth time.” Touka raised a brow in confusion as to why they couldn't. He sighed and was and was about to protest once again before they heard a loud tumble in their room. “Ichika! What are you doing?”

She came running in quickly, a slight skip in her step and a beaming smile. There were dark streaks of black pencil across her cheek under her ghoul eye, mimicking Kaneki's scars. She also drew a nice flower on her other cheek and head with lipstick, her artist skills apparent.

“I'm just like papa! I'm just like papa!” She jumped onto his lap, knocking the air out of him and both he and Touka looked at one another - they didn't know whether to feel heartwarmed or angry at their child. Touka was now growing more concerned at the noise she heard in her room just before.

“Don't I look just like him?” Ichika asked her mum with bright eyes, shaking her dad by the shoulders. “Don't I look cool?”

Kaneki felt his eyes water with tears and he lifted her up, a sappy smile on his quivering lips. She giggled as he hugged her tightly, all anger vanished with his pride and relief. Cool! She called him cool! She was truly the most perfect daughter.

“Don't coddle her! Do you even realise-”

“You, my beautiful princess, are getting cookies today.” Kaneki declared, Ichika and him cheering loudly whilst he stood up. Touka only stared in disgust. “And the queen gets cookies too!”

“We all get cookies!”

Kaneki, despite the joy he had felt in that moment, had not considered the lecture he would receive that night as his wife punished him by making him clean up all the mess in their room. And no, she didn't forgive him even after the cookies.

. . .

“He's so small.” Ichika cocked her head to one side as she stared perplexed at her baby brother her mother held in her arms. His face scrunched up every now and again, his tiny pouty lips opening and closing with quiet whimpers. “Is he even alive?”

“Of course he is, silly.” Kaneki sat besides Touka, admiring their newly born child with his daughter. He couldn't seem to stop hugging his wife, kissing her all over with his head leaned against hers.

Ichika, with her eyes narrowing, leaned forward to examine her brother's face. He wasn't quite exactly how she imagined him to be. After all, she did write that letter to the baby factory with specific instructions on how to design him. However, when she felt her brother squeeze her finger, which seemed so much larger compared to his whole hand, her lips parted and she smiled a gappy smile. Kissing his head, she commented how he would make an ‘adeequit’ brother for her, Touka and Kaneki offering her warm smiles.

“What's his name?” Ichika asked, knowing how her parents were still indecisive, even as they were going out the door to the hospital, otherwise known as the baby factory.

Touka smiled smugly at her husband, who nudged her playfully, knowing she was all too proud at being the one to pick the name.

“Well, it's-

. . .

Asuka!” Ichika stormed down the hallway to his room, slamming her fist against her brother's door. “Get the hell out of there, you rat! I know you're the one who broke my ant farm. Open up!”

“I didn't mean to, they just scared me and I panicked!” His usually small and timid voice yelled back, his back against the door. He knew she could, and probably would, easily break it down though. “It's not my fault you're a weirdo!”

“You shouldn't have even went into my room.” She hissed, slamming his door again. “You won't know fear until I get my hands on-”

Touka cleared her throat behind Ichika, who froze with her body now tensed up. Slowly, the girl turned around with an apologetic smile and her hands raised in hopes that her surrender would elicit mercy. Her mother had this cold stare that chilled Ichika to the bone and her arms remained crossed, an unnerved frown on her face. Asuka started to chuckle when he heard her silence, but continued to keep his door locked.

Touka took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. “Now.” Ichika almost flinched, her lips pressed together. “What's happening here?”

“W-Well, you see, mama-”

“She threatened to kill me. Her own flesh and blood!” Asuka yelled from behind his door, Ichika’s head turning back with an appalled scowl at her snitch of a brother. “He broke my ant farm!” Ichika quickly added, pointing accusingly at his door.

And just like that, they broke out into another argument. Touka sighed as she rubbed her temples, Kaneki soon joining her. He stared for a moment, feeling a sense of deja vu from seeing this sceme from only a few hours ago.

“Alright!” Touka yelled, making them all jump. “Asuka, you better get your ass out here and apologise to your sister and Ichika!” Ichika flinched, silently pleading for her father's aid. But he was already whistling and walking off, minding his own business. “You're fifteen now, there's no need to act like this. You can always get another ant farm after you clean up the one that broke. And you!” She pointed straight at Kaneki, who was so close to retreating to their room. He stared, with wide, terrified eyes at her aggressive tone. “I'm not done with you either!”

She stormed over to his side and practically dragged him into their room, shutting the door behind her - though not before giving one last glare at her daughter. With Ichika sighing and moving back to her room, Touka she dumped herself onto their bed. Kaneki sat besides her, pulling her deadweight body onto her lap.

“I'm guessing you want me to continue the massage now.” Kaneki chuckled, kissing her neck lightly as his hands moved up to her shoulders. She made a noise of confirmation and nodded slowly, leaning into his touch.

She glanced over to the picture that stood on their bedside table; it was a family photo, with a slightly younger Ichika and Asuka stood besides her and Kaneki, along with Yomo, Ayato and Hinami, with her and Ayato’s baby in her arms. It's been a year or two since that picture was taken and it always brought warm memories whenever Touka set her eyes on it. Their family has grown so much after the tension from the Dragon War cooled down. Ichika stood proudly, clinging to her dad's arm. Her hair was tied up in a cute messy bun, her clothes a lot like Touka's when she was younger - baggy and boyish, though she did like her bright colours. Asuka was hiding partially behind Touka's leg, his wavy, thick dark hair partially hiding his big blue eyes, his face still a little chubby and body slim and petite. He didn't have the brash boldness his sister had; he was much more tame like his father, though he was surprisingly hot headed like...well, it doesn't matter who he got that from.

“Hm, they really have grown.” Kaneki said quietly when he caught her staring at the picture. He pulled her against him, squeezing her tightly and rested his head on her shoulder. “In more ways than I'm comfortable with.” He chuckled afterwards.

“It's weird.” Touka added, turning her head to face Kaneki. “Every now and again, it just strikes me that all of this is actually happening. It's...overwhelming.”

He smiled, understanding her completely. It still felt like a dream sometimes and even if it was, they never wanted to let it go. Even with the squabbles and petty fights, even with the glum and moody days, all of it just seemed too perfect to be true. Kaneki pushed Touka's hair to one shoulder, trailing kisses from her bite mark to her ear, where he nuzzled her and pulled her down onto the bed. She giggled as he started to her kiss her softly, whispering her name as he did so, until another loud yell interrupted their moment.

“THERESANTSINMYBED-” Asuka shrieked, along with Ichika laughing loudly. “ICHIKA, YOU DID THIS, DIDN'T YOU-”

“Kaneki, hold this.” She tossed him the cardigan she was wearing. “I don't want my kagune to ruin it.”

“Touka-chan, no!”

. . .

There were butterflies in her stomach and she clutched the hem of her shirt, staring nervously at her reflection. Ichika was dressed in her best casual outfit, with her white shirt that hung off her shoulders and light blue jeans, her hair in a side bun with a white flower clip on one side. She kept the makeup simple, even though that was the only way she knew how to do it, and looked over to the clock to check the time. That was when she heard the doorbell.

She rushed out of the room in an attempt to stop anyone opening the door, but she knew it was too late when she saw her mum and dad already there, greeting their guest warmly. This was terrible! She heard the chipper voice of her date nervously respond to Ichika’s parents, her dad turning to wave over his nervous daughter to the door. With little success, she tried to put up her best smile and forced herself to her dad's side.

And there she was. Ichika’s date. She was beautiful, like she always was, with her long black hair and gentle face. She had these big, dark brown eyes that complimented her soft features and she stood nervously, dressed in a cute, light blue sundress and sandals.

“What a beautiful girl you are!” Touka complimented warmly, inviting the guest inside. “We've heard so much about you, Emi.”

She blushed and Ichika felt her own cheeks heat up, her dad nudging her with his own smile. He squeezed her hand, trying to calm her nerves he knew she had. Touka continued with her gushing compliments, which only embarrassed the two of them further, until Kaneki decided now was the time to save her.  

“Come now, Touka-chan.” He took his wife's hand, tugging her to his side. “You've had your fun, let them go and enjoy their date.” She mumbled that he was a killjoy with a smirk, but nodded with a sigh. Ichika kept her focus on Emi though.

“Hey, you should be careful.” Ichika’s teenaged brother warned as he passed by, playing a game in his hands. His hair was still as bad as it was in the morning, with it all ruffled and sticking out in odd places and he looked up with his dorky round glasses slipping down his nose. “The last boy she dated ran away crying when she nearly bit his tongue off-”

Ichika let out an odd noise that was half a shriek and half gibberish. He chuckled and with and disapproving look from his parents, he ran off to the next room, Touka mentioning how this was somehow Kaneki's fault.

“Ichika-chan, it's fine!” Emi grabbed her hand, making her freeze with her becoming all flustered. “Everyone knows that story.”

“H-How...is that supposed to make it any be-”

“Come on, you dunce, don't keep her waiting.” Touka started nudging her forward, prompting her to take the lead. “Don't be like your dad.”

“Hey, that's not fair.” Kaneki whined, but Ichika sighed and did as her mother told, finally smiling and bidding her goodbyes. Once the door shut, Kaneki took her hand into his and gave her a quick kiss.

“She reminds me of our first date.” He said, his voice low and soft. “Even though we were already married then.”

“Hm, maybe she'll learn from you then.” Touka teased and when he gave her that usual pout she was very familiar with. She pulled him in for another kiss. “But if she doesn't,” she continued, pulling away only slightly, “then everything would still turn out perfect.”

Asuka walked in and made a gagging sound at his parent's sap, hating, though always secretly admiring, how romantic they were to one another. They both amusingly turned to him with their own knowing smirks, Kaneki being the first to tease him.

“I don't know why you're reacting like that when we had to watch you get all cute with that Hitomu girl.” He then made his own high pitched protesting sound, his voice cracking, before he stormed off to his room, his face bright red.

. . .

Asuka checked his watch, half running to his parent's home in realisation of how late he was getting. With him now in Kamii, it was hard to keep track of time sometimes, but he did promise to meet with the family during his break. Besides, he missed his dad's apple pie he always baked for him and Ichika. Well, he'd be lying if he said that was the only reason - he loved his family after all.

Jogging down the street, he finally saw his old home, which was still the same as ever in his eyes. With a warm smile, he went up the small steps and rang the doorbell a few times. He was more than overjoyed to see his mum behind the door and immediately gave her a tight hug.

She was still the gorgeous woman she always was, along with the stray grey hair and crease beneath her eyes. Her hair was shorter again, but he always thought that suited her better. She welcomed him inside, where his dad stood with his pink frilly apron.

“You're too tall!” He exclaimed as he gave him a hug, Asuka almost suffocating. Pulling back, he saw his dad also kept his young looks, even with the few wrinkles around the eyes. “You were shorter than me when you left.”

“Damn, what have you been taking, Asuka-chan? Well, at least you cut off that fugly mullet you had before.” Ichika teased and Asuka smirked, staring at his sister. She has changed herself, though not entirely; her hair was longer, her black roots almost capping her head, and she was dressed quite professionally. She must've just returned from work. “Aren't you going to give me a hug too, brat?”

They share a brief hug and they all sit in the living room, catching up after the few months they last saw each other and sharing the news they’ve heard around Tokyo. It seemed the older members of the TLC were now making their retirements and picking their replacements from the new generation and Kaneki had seemingly no more duties to attend to with Tokyo now fully repaired. Hide had made his last rotation around the continents with his plans of peace and it held some effect with more countries opening their doors to ghouls, though some still saw them as a threat that needed to be eradicated.

They then moved on to their personal lives. Touka and Kaneki were thinking of their retirement themselves, with Kaneki tying loose ends and Touka thinking of handing the cafe to her neice and they hoped to move to a more peaceful and remote area afterwards before travelling to the different countries they had wanted to see. They also planned on spending more time with their friends whilst also taking care of Renji. Ichika seemed to be doing well in the labs, Kimi continuing to teach her as always and Nishiki kept her company every now and again with his son. Asuka always admired his sister for her intellect - he could never pass biology - and she was always so passionate about her being a half ghoul like him and their dad. Asuka never had much an opinion for such a thing and so he instead wanted to refine his writing skills, since his dad wrote such an inspiring book about his messy life. He hoped he could perhaps encourage peace between species through words, like Kaneki and Hide, since he couldn't do so with science.

“What happened to that Emi girl, Ichika-chan?” Kaneki asked with a bright smile, though Ichika could only offer a wry one.

“It didn't work out.” She admitted, all of them offering their own apologies. “It's fine though! It wasn't anything dramatic - it just sorta drifted apart. Besides, I have my work to distract me.” She laughed it off, but Asuka took her hand and squeezed it tightly, both him and their parents offering sympathetic looks.

“Well, it's a good thing I made us apple pie!” Kaneki got up, clapping his hands together. Ichika jumped up excitedly, asking if she could have a big piece like she always did and Asuka and Touka followed behind them to the dining room.

“I always love these moments.” Touka confessed, linking her arm through Asuka’s. He glanced over at her curiously, her gaze fondly watching her lovey dovey husband and enthusiastic daughter. “Isn't it amazing how everything turned out so perfectly.”

He laughed lightly at her comment, nodding. “Well, my hair is still fucked up. It's so thick and knotty.”

“You can blame your dad for that. Or...well...a part of him.”

“W-Wha-”

“It doesn't matter.” She reassured and reached up to kiss his cheek, pinching it. “You're still a handsome boy. Invite Hitomu next time too, you're always polite when she's here.”

As he let out loud protests, they sat around the table, all of them taking a slice of the delicious looking pie. Touka reached beneath the table and held Kaneki's hand. He glanced over at her, her cheeks bright and her eyes crinkled. Of course, that left him smiling all goofy too and neither had to utter a word for them to know the gratitude they both felt. With their children bickering with their own inside banter whilst they both joked with them, and with Kaneki still by her side just as he was twenty years ago, nothing could've felt better than this moment.

Nothing could've felt better with any of their moments.

[fantastical-birb]

Memories (And People Are Dumb)

In autumn of 2000, Char was no longer welcome in her family’s home.

“What did you think would happen?” Char screeched, slamming her hands down on the table, meeting her dad’s eyes unflinchingly, their eyes the same shade of dark, dark brown boring holes in one another. “I couldn’t talk to you guys! Obviously I still fucking can’t—”

“Charlaine, language—”

“All I’ve ever gotten from you and the fucking church is to keep my head down and listen to Father Dominic and not ask questions about anything because God forbid I not have perfect faith—”

“Charlaine Soria Espina, you will not speak to your father or about the Lord that way,” Char’s mother said, voice stern but not raised in the same way Char’s or her father’s was. “Or Father Dominic. He’s been nothing but understanding when it comes to your—transgressions against our community.”

Char rounded on her mom. “My transgressions!” her voice was slightly hysterical. “How many of God’s laws did I break this time? Did you count? If I go to Father Dominic and ask for penence, will he tell you what I say? How else would you know already? You can’t—how can you not give me answers and then expect me to not try to figure it out myself?”

“The church has rules for a reason, Charlaine. Haven’t you thought of that?” her mother asked, the smallest of creases appearing between her eyes. She didn’t respond to Char’s flung words about betrayed confidence. “You could marry the boy and it would be okay. We only want what’s best for you.”

Char’s heart was thundering. Her mother never rose to her challenges. It was both more and less infuriating than the fire and brimstone fights she got in with her father.

She gripped her hips so that her arms crossed over her stomach. “The boy. Marry Em. You guys know Em. And we’re too young.”

“I thought you loved him.” Her mother’s voice was still mild, her words thick with motherly concern. Char felt sick.

“I do love him!”

Char’s mom shrugged as if to say, then what’s the problem here?

“You’re a bad apple, Charlaine,” her father said, still spitting his words beside his wife’s calm. “I don’t know what we did wrong.”

“You would if you ever listened to me,” Char’s voice rising again. “The boys will turn out this way too if you don’t change something.”

“Yes,” her father said, eyes as blazing as her cheeks and heart and thoughts, all of her and him just fire fire fire, and Char hated that they were alike. It was a selfish and self-loathing thought all at once. “They certainly will, with you setting an example for them. That boy that you soiled yourself with can take care of you.”

Char was crying then, but they were tears of anger and indignation, not those of sadness.

“Are you kicking me out then, finally?” she asked.

“Finally indeed,” her dad said sharply. “You can take your clothing. Be out by the end of the week.”

“Dad,” she said, voice low and rough. “You know Em is already feeding half his family with his wages. I’ll just take care of myself.”

Fear vs. love. This was still it—just with an ominous tinge to them now that hadn’t been there two nights ago, with the fight shaking through her as she turned and left the room.

Fight.

When Char had been six years old, her family moved. Through some bizarre imperfection of engineering, or building, or fucks given, Char’s house and the house next to hers were smashed up against one another in such a way that the roof that descended from under the bathroom window was close enough to that of the neighboring house that she could almost touch it.

She didn’t think that the other window led to a bathroom. Sometimes she would sit on the roof and draw, and she’d peek in through the window because it was right there and it didn’t look like a bathroom to her. A bedroom, she thought. That looked like pillows, through the blind. Clothing.

When it got hot out, the window got opened and Char was pleased that it was a bedroom. The first time the boy that lived in it saw her drawing on her roof he dropped his glass of water, and Char had laughed and spent the rest of the day sketching his look of surprise while her shoulders blistered in the sun and the boy came onto his roof too and asked her to see every five minutes. Giggling, she did.

“You’re really good,” the boy said. “I look stupid but that’s because I was being stupid, not because you’re a bad drawer.”

“Visual artist,” Char corrected. “Drawer isn’t a word.”

“Oh. I’m Emmanuel. My family calls me Manny.”

Char wrinkled her nose. “Ew,” she said. “Emmanuel sounds nice but Manny doesn’t.”

The boy had laughed. “Okay, you can call me something different then.”

Char thought about it, and then said, “Em.”

“Em? Like short for Emma?”

“No, like short of Emmanuel.”

“Okay, okay. What’s your name?”

“Charlaine. My brothers call me Char.”

“Can I call you Char?”

“Are you my brother?”

“No.”

“Then not yet.”

“Fine,” the boy said, smiling mischeiviously. “It’ll be my mission, then.”

After that, they became friends. Rendez-vous: the roof. They went to the same school. They crashed each other’s places, and when they got older they leapt daringly from one roof to the others, and had sleepovers, with or without permission from their parents.

When they grew older still Char started to notice that Emmanuel had dimples, in his cheeks and on his back. She wondered what it would feel like to touch them, and would feel ashamed of herself for thinking it. By the time she was fourteen she stopped feeling ashamed, and later that year he kissed her.

He had been scared, but when she had only laughed and pulled him in for another kiss, he had laughed too, nervously, and his voice had cracked as he whispered, “Can I call you Char, yet?”

Char had been sharply aware of how lucky she was. Em was bold, supportive, kind. He was optimistic and sensitive. It complemented her emotional resilience and blunt realism well, even if both of them were a bit too willing to get into scraps for the sake of  pride that extended to each other as well as themselves. Char was more reckless when she was with him, more outgoing. She was less quiet. With her he accepted that his sensitivity didn’t have to be a bad thing, and could admit the pain behind some of the jokes he made and the laughter he caused.

When she was sixteen, and he seventeen, and they were both a little drunk, they’d ended up in one of the bedrooms upstairs at some fellow high school student’s house. It hadn’t been the first time it had happened, but neither of them had ever really been taught anything but abstinence. The result was this: Char was sixteen, and Char was pregnant with Em’s child.

They both cried when she told him. Fear was a powerful emotion, and it was made all the more powerful when it was emboldened by shock, and despite it all, sparked by happiness. “Charlaine,” Em had whispered, nuzzling into her neck. “Char.”

“What are we going to do?” Char was hiding herself in Em’s curls, her heart beating fast with that potent cocktail of emotions as she imagined she could feel the small life growing inside her. Something that was hers and Em’s and also something entirely its own. Something she might have the opportunity to protect, but never own.

“What are we going to do?” Em had repeated back, and his hands moved to gingerly skip over her stomach, as if he was afraid of hurting her or the potential that was inside of her. “What do you want to do, Char?”

Char choked on a sob at the impossibility of that question; the sheer enormity of life that hinged on it. It was her life, Em’s life, the child-this-could-be’s life. It was the life of her brothers and all of Em’s siblings. It was her mom when she looked at Char and told her that girls that didn’t keep themselves pure for their future husband were disgraces to their families, and to God. It was Em’s irritability when he’d had to go the night without food because his family couldn’t afford to feed them all.

“I want to keep—them,” Char managed to get out, her throat closing up in fear. Her voice had been louder than she’d meant it to, uncontrolled in her emotion, and she imagined her mom would hear. “But I’m—”

She cut herself off, breathing harsh as she tried to reign herself in.

“Afraid,” Em finished for her, hands spreading more fully over her belly.

“Yes,” she said, voice steadier.

Em kissed her neck, gently, and then down, unhurried, until he got to her stomach. There he just layed the side of his head on her, and Char’s hands went automatically to wind through his hair, weaving her fingers through the dark brown curls and rubbing along his scalp. She could see it in the set of his lips, in the tightness around his eyes: he was afraid, too. It resonated between them; their fear, and their love. Their fear, and their love.

“Fear vs love.” Char adopted a caricature of an announcer’s voice. “Fight!”

Em huffed a laugh, and his breath was warm against her hip and raised goosebumps. The sound bounced through him, and Char felt her lips turn up despite herself.

Char might have grown a lot since then, but she was deep down still the same person. She was fire and pride and she wanted to take care of herself and everyone around her. She wanted to paint the world with herself in it, and paint the world on herself. It had taken a lot of time after she had come home with Mimi and Queri for her to trust herself again, longer than it had taken them to start to trust her.

But she trusted herself now. She trusted herself, and she trusted the people around her—even Fay. She had a good heart, she was just often short-sighted when it came to sympathy. Char was angry as a hornet, and was glad that Fay went to her office to work instead of going to bed as Char tried to do.

Instead she lay in bed thinking about Sam and Em and Allen and herself and the choices she did and didn’t make.

[killswitchwrites]

Three Little Monkeys

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Beta’d (live and in person) by: @pinknerdpanda & @hannahindie - there were a lot of cackles and snorts. 

Also beta’d (and sadly, not in person) by: @trexrambling

Warnings: Language, some feels, mostly crack.

Summary: Speak no evil. See no evil. Hear no evil. Sure, it sounds simple enough, but try putting it into practice. Luckily, Rowena is around to help. Well... “help” is a relative term. 

“Dean! How many times do I have to tell you to pick up your wet towels? I nearly died a minute ago.” It’s not that you enjoy nagging your boyfriend’s older brother, it’s actually the contrary. But shit. Near death.

“I dunno, Y/n. How about you tell me, in an even more shrill voice, a few more times. Maybe, if you shatter my eardrums, the information will absorb faster.”

“Don’t tempt me, asshole.”

“Better an asshole than a whole ass!”

“What’s going on in here?” Sam interrupts Dean’s self-satisfied snorting.

“Oh, nothing. Your harpy of a girlfriend-”

 Whatever Dean’s about to say is cut off by the heavy thwack of a wet towel hitting him in the face.  

“Real mature, Y/n,” Dean grumbles.

 Sam tries to remove himself from the situation by slowly backing out of the room. He fails.

“Not so fast,” you warn. “Don’t you have anything to say about all of this?”

“Um…”

 It’s not like you don’t recognize the position you’ve put him in, asking him to choose you over his brother. But only one of you is sucking his dick on the regular; you expect some sort of advantage.

“I think I love you both, and I wish you’d find a way to get along.”

 Slippery bastard. Now you’re the asshole if you push the issue. Well played, Sam.

 Storming from the room, before Dean can, is about your only option for maintaining what’s left of your dignity. Unfortunately, Dean has the same idea as you. And, because you’re just that lucky, you end up wedging yourselves in the doorway.

 Dean grunts when you slam into him. His shoulder digs into your collarbone.

“Mother fuck. I think it’s time to cut back on the pie, Dean.”

“I think it’s time you get glasses. I was clearly here before you!”

 Dean mutters something else while he struggles to extricate himself from the doorway.

“What are you muttering about?” You struggle against him, still trying to be the first one to exit.

 Dean stops. “I said, maybe then your eyes wouldn’t look so beady!”

“Well, I never!” You throw an elbow into his ribs and he stumbles back, giving you the upper hand.

 Sam gapes from the hallway, at a complete loss for words, as you march past him.

 The door to your room is closed, and you bang it open before slamming it shut. Frustration seeps out of every pore and culminates with tears at the corners of your eyes.  

“Stupid, freckled-faced, beer chugging, pie scarfing-” you throw open the door and poke your head out, “whole ass!”

 Dean, who just happened to be walking past your door, jumps and flattens himself against the wall, dramatically clutching his chest. His eyes narrow when he zeros in on the tears streaking your cheeks. “Y/n, look I-”

“I don’t want to see your face, ever again!” The slamming door cuts him off.

 You watch until the shadow of his boots disappears from beneath the door before going to sit on your bed. Clutching your knees to your chest, you let out a sob. Words hurt. Especially, when it’s not the first time you’ve heard them. Something Dean’s not aware of. And not like you’d ever tell him, even if he’d listen.  

“Y/n?” Sam’s knock is soft before he cracks the door open. “Mind if I come in?”

“It’s your room, too,” you remind him, discreetly wiping the snot from your nose with the back of your hand.

“I know that, but if you want space…”  

“What I really want is a hug.”

 Sam slips into the room, kicking off his shoes before settling on the bed and pulling you to his chest. “I don’t understand why you guys are suddenly at each other’s throats.”

“I dunno, maybe it’s because Dean has been extra annoying lately.”

“Maybe,” Sam ponders, and you almost feel the gears turning.

“You’re not going to start looking for hex bags as soon as I fall asleep, are you?”

“No, that’d be ridiculous. The only people that have been in the bunker lately are Cas and-” Sam curses under his breath- “and Rowena.”

 Both of you sit up and stare at each other.

“She wouldn’t dare,” you scoff.

“She’s Rowena,” Sam shrugs.

 That’s all the explanation needed to get you off of the bed and digging through drawers. Within a few minutes, the room looks like it’s been on the receiving end of a burglary.

“The bunker is huge. A hex bag could be anywhere!” You push sweaty hair out of your eyes and rest your hands on your hips, feeling thoroughly defeated.

“Let’s just put the bed back together, and we’ll deal with it in the morning,” Sam suggests with a yawn.

“Fine,” you agree. “But first thing in the morning I’m summoning that hairy warted thorn in my side.”

“First thing in the morning?” Sam questions with a look that you’re all too familiar with. “Because I kinda had plans for us, first thing in the morning.”

“Oh yeah?” You sidle closer. “And what might they have been?”

“How about I give you a quick preview?”

 Sam grabs you by the hips and tosses you unto the bed. You land with a soft thump and a giggle. The laughter dies on your lips with the predatory gleam in Sam’s eyes.

 As he stalks up your body, dragging his frame to cover yours, you swallow around the lump in your throat. If this is the preview, we’re going to have one hell of a morning, is the last coherent thought you have for the next few hours that follow.

___

 Achy muscles greet you with your morning stretch. Not the “I’ve just fought a werewolf and nearly lost” kind of achy. This is the good kind. The worn out from complete, and utter bliss, kind.  

 In the dark, your hand goes in search of Sam, and you find him sprawled out beside you, somehow covered in sweat, regardless of the perpetually cool temperature of the bunker.

 You shuffle a little closer to steal his body heat. He stirs under your touch, and you place a kiss on his bare chest.

“You still up for those plans?” you purr.

 Sam doesn’t answer.

“Sam?”

 The click of the bedside light reaches your ears, but the light doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Sam?” This time your question is laced with panic.

 Sam grabs your hands and places them on his face. His morning scruff tickles your palms while your thumbs graze his soft lips. Lips that are moving, but not making a sound.

“What the hell is going on, Sam?!”

 Sam moves your hands again and signs into your palm. It’s been years since you studied ASL, and even then, you had your eyesight. You’re fairly certain he’s signed “wait”.

 The bed springs creak just before the door slams. Seconds stretch like hours until the door bangs against the wall and scares the life out of you.

“What the hell?!” Dean yells. The pitch of his tone is all over the place. Almost like he can’t hear himself.

After a few moments of processing, you burst out with, “You’re deaf!”

You practically feel the exasperated look Sam gives you.  

“What?!” Dean yells, again.

So this is what retirement with Dean will be like. Awesome.

Pointing in the direction of Dean’s voice you motion to your ears.

“I can’t hear you, Y/n!”

You wave your hand in front of your face and slowly blink your eyes.

“Oh,” Dean mumbles.

Sam’s hand lands on your shoulder, and you lean into his touch.

“Well, this is just peachy. I can’t see, Sam can’t speak, and Dean can’t hear.”

“What?!”

___

 After many tries and more than a few accidental insults, the three of you devise your own version of sign language.

 It takes even longer to figure out how you’re going to summon Rowena. Sam, the resident Latin expert being mute, is a setback. You, the second best, unable to see the words, is another. Which leaves Dean. On most days his Latin is passable. Today is not most days.

 Due to his inability to hear himself, his intonation is completely off. At this point, it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t summon a hellbeast from another dimension.

 Much stuttering and stammering later, and there’s still no red-headed wench to answer for her crimes. Tears of frustration and pain -the corners of the library tables are surprisingly sharp- slip down your cheeks.  

“It’ll be okay!” Dean tries to console you but ends up shouting so loud you wince.

“Sorry,” he mutters a little quieter.

 You give him a watery smile and he awkwardly pats your back before moving away.

A chair scuffs the floor beside you, and Sam’s heat radiates at your elbow.

“Did you find anything to help us?”

“I think so.” Siri’s voice reaches your ears, and you slap yourself in the forehead. Of course.

 It’s safe to say that Siri is no better at Latin than she is at English. Still, she’s a bit better than Dean at this point.

“Well, what have we here, dears?” Rowena’s Scottish lilt floats through the library.

 It’s quickly followed by a surprised squeak. “Och, hands off, ya great brute. This is vintage!”

“Ha!” You snort. “Just because you’re a crusty old lady, doesn’t mean your ratty clothes are vintage.”

“And just who do you think you are calling me crusty? Ya wee Bampot.”

“Ladies,” Siri Sam interrupts, “calling names won’t get us anywhere.”

“When did you get a robot voice, Sam? And a female one at that,” Rowena coos. “You know, I always thoug-”

“Enough, Rowena!” you interrupt, stepping in her general direction and swinging, only to connect with empty air.

“I’m over here, Lass. Can you not see me a’tall?”

“I don’t need to see to kick your ass,” you grumble.

“Not to argue, but apparently you do.”

“Fix us!” Dean rumble squeaks.

“It appears you’re all in a bit of a bind, now aren’t ya?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Siri Sam answers.

“Language, Samuel,” she chides. “Ya know… I’d love to help you. But I swore never to practice magic in the bunker. I’d hate to go against my word...”

“Evil skank!” You step in the direction of her voice, determined to wring the spell from her.

“Now, now, before you go pointing fingers and getting grabby, you should get your facts straight. If not, you might end up looking like a numpty.” She pauses. “I may be convinced to help. If I were properly motivated.”

“And there it is, the angle... I knew this was you!”

“Oh darling, it’s always about the angle,” Rowena giggles.  

“Just tell us what you want.” Even Siri Sam sounds exasperated with Rowena’s attempt at extortion.

“Och, it’s nothing. Just a wee book. You won’t even miss it.”

____

“I’m not saying it was me who cursed you, but drink this and everything should go back to normal. Well... as normal as you lot get.”

“How do we know it’s not poison?” you ask, sniffing the contents of the glass she’s placed in your hand.

“Because there’s no point in killing you. You’d just come back again,” she drawls.  

“You’re not wrong.” The way you say it sounds more like a warning than a statement.  

“Toodle-loo, dears. Do ring again if you find yourself in need of saving. I’m sure there are more bargains to be struck.”  

 As soon as the door clangs shut, you down the liquid in one gulp. It tastes like ass.

“Do you feel anything?” Siri Sam asks.

“Not ye-” gut-wrenching pain doubles you over- “something is definitely happening!”

 The darkness begins to take shape, while bright lights spark at the edges of your vision. Slowly, Sam’s face floats into focus. His shoulders sag with relief when your eyes meet.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” you say with a wide smile.

“Hey yourself,” Sam replies with an even bigger smile.

“Does this mean I have to listen to you two going at it, again?”

 Instead of answering Dean, Sam grabs you by the hips and pulls you close. You go up on your tiptoes and seal your lips to his.

“Awesome. Now they’re the deaf ones...”

 Sam slides his hands down to your ass and you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“...it’s okay. I don’t mind talking to myself, at least that way I’ll get some intelligent conversation, for once.”

A wanton moan vibrates your lungs when Sam nips your bottom lip.

“Perfect. Just perfect. I think that stuff actually made my hearing better. Fucking witches.” Dean takes his mumbling down the hallway, and Sam continues to explore your curves.

 Things are just reaching the point of no return when the door bangs again, startling you and Sam.

Cas shuffles down the stairs, looking more perturbed than usual.

“Look who finally decided to show,” you grumble, slipping from Sam’s grip. “We could’ve used you a few hours ago. Instead, we got stuck dealing with Rowena.”

“I apologize. I was detained, dealing with a matter.”

“What matter?” you ask.

“I recovered a cursed object, but its container was damaged in the flight home. Delta assured me they would treat it with the utmost care.”

Sam clears his throat, “Do we need to be talking about this, right now?”

 One look at his heated gaze and you grab his hand and drag him from the library.

“Sorry, Cas. Gotta run! Important thi-” you skid to a halt. Sam, who was too busy staring at your ass to watch where he was going, bumps into you, nearly knocking you over.

 A book, waiting to be reshelved, has caught your eye. “Wait… was that object you found a statue of three monkeys, perchance?”

“That is a very accurate guess, Y/n.”

“Where is it now?”

“I have it stored in one of the vaults in the archives while I await to hear the results of my damage claim. I may have forgotten to fully close the door.”  

 With a groan, you realize that Rowena was right. Now there will be no living with her.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells from down the hallway. “I bet it was a cursed object!”  

You roll your eyes, shouting back. “It’s like there’s a slow echo in the bunker!”

“What?!”

Need more Sam? Click HERE

Sam not your jam? Click HERE for Dean. 

Want in on the crazy? Send me an ASK and become a peep. 

[sebvrnes]

The Bay Window - Part 1

Masterlist || Part 2

SUMMARY: Your bay window was never meant to seat just one.

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x reader (Modern AU)

WARNINGS: angst (ish?)

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

A/N: Hi, hello lovelies! This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction! This is gonna be a multipart one-shot typa thing. I’m really scared, but any and all feedback is really appreciated! This is loosely inspired by the scene in The Wedding Planner where Eddie tries to tell Mary he’s in love with her and “Still In Love” by Thirdstory. Hope you enjoy!

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

A small smile sat on your lips as you sat at your bay window. The lights of New York’s skyline danced along the East River as the breeze played a gentle song. A gentle hum waltzed into the wind as your fingertips traced the rim of your wine glass. Even a hard day was no match for Brooklyn’s sweet lullaby.

“I’m fine. Really, Wanda. You shouldn’t get so worked up about it. You know what they say, ‘Smooth sailing never made a skillful sailor.’”

“Yeah, well you don’t own a boat!” The aggravated sigh that escaped her lips made you chuckle. “I know you don’t mind a little bit of adversity, but doesn’t mean that Tony Stark should dish it out to you all the time!”

Her frustration echoed from your phone, making you slowly hold it further away as her voice began to raise. However in the midst of her anger, you still found it amusing. To most, Wanda was a sweet, little lily whose attention to detail made The New Yorker the most aesthetically pleasing local media outlet to date. Head of the design apartment, she lead with a firm, but nurturing authority, calm and patient towards her team knowing it took time to create the best layouts. It surprised them to discover that she was really a firecracker just waiting to burst, but to those she called family, they were amusing little bursts of energy since she would never hurt a fly. As her best friend, you knew she liked to consider herself more of a thorn protecting a rose.

“But then it’ll make for a better success story, Wand!” you exclaim right before a taking another sip of your wine. You hadn’t noticed that you were playing with the hem of your sweater until you lifted your head to see the shimmering East River once again. Its lullaby seemed to have grown quieter to give more room for Wanda’s exclamations.

“But a little bit of a break would be nice to hear about.” Another sigh left her lips, this one softer than the rest. Your gaze dropped to your hands at the statement.

Wanda wasn’t wrong. It would be nice to have a little bit of a break for once. The past year had been rather difficult. From your parents guilt tripping you for never visiting home to being kicked out of your old apartment, a win would be rather nice for a change. But after a downward spiral of constant self-loathing, you finally came to your senses and realized that moping wasn’t going to solve any of your problems. So you began your days with a jog on the Brooklyn bridge, the sun rising every day to greet you a good morning. On your way back you jogged over to the newest local coffee shop, where you became friends with the owners who offered the occasional chai-on-the-house. Then you poured yourself into your work, writing some of the best pieces of your career which led to your nomination for chief editor at The New Yorker.

But Tony Stark was a visionary and he wasn’t about to let just anyone dictate the voice of his beloved company. A few trials and tribulations in, he almost wrung you bone dry. However you saw the adversity as inspiration to work harder, proven by your latest article on the U.S.'s Middle Eastern involvement taking the internet by storm. It’ll be worth it, you kept reminding yourself, clouds of fatigue raining down on you more frequently in the recent weeks that have come to pass. But regardless of your sunny disposition, your best friend never failed to read your mind.

“Look… I know it’s been rough… And I hate seeing you exhausted to the bone, but I just want to let you know that I’m proud of you.” A short pause followed as you tried to blink away the reflection of the city’s skyline from your eyes.

“If I had it my way, Stark would have promoted you months ago, but he’s an idiot who can’t see past his own reflection.” Your lips turned up into a smile as Wanda’s chuckle came in tune with your own. “Just remember it’s okay to be tired. To have a day to yourself… You don’t always have to keep up the act AND don’t say you don’t have one. You and I both know you do.”

You swirled your wine in the glass before finishing off the red liquid. The small smile on your lips met with a hum of content. She was really the best friend you could ever ask for.

“Thanks, Wand. I really appreciate you.”

“No problem, b. I’m here whenever you need me.”

You slouched a little more against the window. “Ugh, I just wished my life was just like JLo’s in The Wedding Planner,” you sighed as your set your glass down and wrapped a blanket around yourself.

“You would hate having to plan weddings, and the story’s not even set in New York.”

“Yeah, but the flow of her career was pretty fantastic, and not to forget she got a Dr. Matthew McConaughey.”

Wanda chuckled at the fact. “You’re a loser, you know that right?”

Your phone vibrated with a new message, and the smile on your face turned to a full-fledged grin. “Would a loser be getting the best pizza in all of New York delivered to her door?”

“At this hour? It’s nearly one! How’d you pull that off?”

“I may or may not have texted the owner’s son before you called,” you taunted. Your belly was more than prepared to be filled with the pizza that was now on its way over to your apartment.

“My brother really is pathetic,” she laughed. “I told him ages ago to just ask you out. Now he’s going on what?… Three? Four years? Following you around like some lost puppy! Dad’s gonna kill him for cooking after closing.”

“I only asked for a caprese, that doesn’t take that much Wand.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting Y/N. This is my brother we’re talking about. He probably cooked you a five-course meal! And that’s probably why he’s only coming over now. We’ve been on the phone for awhile.”

You twisted your lips to the side. On one hand, you felt rather guilty for letting Pietro go through all that trouble just for your late night craving. But on the other, you were just excited to sit at your bay window with a slice of pizza and wine.

“I’ll bring your lunch tomorrow.”

Three firm knocks echoed from your door, causing you to finally notice Brooklyn’s lullaby had surprising nearly silenced since Wanda’s outburst. Unwrapping yourself from the comfort of your bay window, you walked over to record player where the smooth jazz of Glenn Miller’s trumpet swirled its way through the living room of your apartment. Closing your eyes while swaying with the triplets of the horn, you danced your way to your front door.

“Hey b, I’m gonna go. Your brother’s here.”

“Alright, go enjoy your pizza. Bring me a cannoli. And don’t be late tomorrow, we have that meeting with Maria at ten.”

“I won’t, now shut up. Go to bed. Love you.”

“You’re annoying. Love you, too.”

As you placed your phone down on the counter, you began to twist your hair into a bun. Three more swift knocks hit your door and you raced over to unlock the hinges. In the middle of your search for a hair tie, you swung the door wide open for Pietro to step through while you turned to stumble through your drawers.

“Hi, P! I’m so sorry for the mess, thank you so much again for the pizza! I really appreciate it, especially after the day I’ve had…” Finding a lone rubber band you, jumped in victory and swiftly wrapped you hair in place.

Pulling at the bun to loosen a few strands, you slowly spun around to face the door, ready to wrap him in an embrace. “You’re more than welcome to stay and shar-”

An ocean of blue crashed into you, still as vibrant as the day the waves pulled away.

“Hi.”

“Buck.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Could we get a kissing scene with Strife and Fury like you did with Azreal, War, and Death? You did so well with them, I love your writing.

“To HELL with em!” 

You jump violently at the sound of someone shouting loudly outside your kitchen door, dropping the glass you were holding. It shatters against the hard surface of the counter and you shriek when a stray shard lodges itself in the back of your hand. At the exact same time, the door flies open and bounces off the wall with a bang, making you jump yet again. 

In storms Strife, the sharp-shooting, wise-cracking, angst-ridden horseman. He looks livid, reaching up to tug his helm from his face and throwing it harshly against the wall before yanking a chair out from under the table and all but falling into it. 

You stand there in shock, the pain in your hand giving way to the incredulity you felt at having Strife barge into your home unannounced and unnecessarily brusquely. Frowning slightly, you know from experience that Strife’s temper could rival his younger brother’s at times, and perhaps confronting him in this state isn’t the best idea. 

Glancing down at your injured appendage, you grimace at the blood that oozes out of the open cut and drips onto the floor. With a deep breath, you toss the brooding horseman a wary glance before making your way to the sink. You wince as your hand is hit by the steady stream of cold water and the glass finally falls from it’s place in the flesh, clinking delicately into the bottom of the sink. You gasp when, all of a sudden, a cold, armour-clad hand grabs your wrist from behind and tugs it, albeit gently, up to the face of a suddenly morose-looking Strife. 

It’s a look that doesn’t suit him in the slightest.. .

“Ah, shit,” he mumbles, still perturbed by the sight of your blood, even after the umpteenth time he’s seen it, “The Hell happened to you?” 

You scowl, pulling your arm from his scrutinising gaze and tuck it delicately against your chest. 

“You mean what happened to you?” you counter, cocking a hip and gesturing vaguely to him and then to your kitchen door, the handle of which is embedded into the wall from the force with which it was swung open. 

Strife glares at your arm for a moment longer before he shrugs his enormous shoulders and suddenly avoids your stare. 

“….Council….” he growls, “apparently, they don’t think much of my…uh…”- The horseman scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly and sniffs -”’unsolicited attachment to a human’,” he concludes, his fingers waggling in the air as he states the quotation, no doubt something the Council had said…. 

You snort, “S’hardly unsolicited, Strife. I don’t mind you being attached.” 

He squints at you, a playful smirk shifting his grim features a little. “I know you don’t mind,” he gripes, “But those rock-heads sure as Hell do….” He goes unnaturally quiet for a time, now looking down at the hand you’re clutching. 

“That was me, wasn’t it?” he asks. Shaking your head, you decide to try and stop him from spiralling down into that dark pit of self-loathing he’s teetering towards. 

“It wasn’t you, Strife,” you smile reassuringly, “I just dropped a glass.” 

“Yeah, cos of me bargin’ like that,” he snarls, eyeing the blood still seeping out of the wound. You huff, attempting to steer the conversation away from your injury, even as you reach over to the side of your counter and tear a piece of kitchen roll off it’s stand and press it to the wound. 

“So, what exactly did the Council say to get you so riled up?” you ask curiously. 

The horseman hisses quietly, then sniffs dismissively. “Ah, just some crap about me getting ‘emotionally involved’,” he spits, “reckoned they were gonna persuade me to rethink my choice in friends. Screw em.” 

With a soft hum, you bite your lip. “Strife, if they’re giving you grief because of me-” 

“Don’t…” comes the low, threatening rumble in reply. Strife steps closer to you and holds your shoulders firmly with both hands. “Don’t you start sayin’ that crap, I don’t regret meeting you, Y/n,” he says, “despite what the Council might try to tell me.” The horseman moves a hand from your shoulder to gently wrap your injured one up in it. You briefly marvel at how tiny yours is compared to Strife’s. 

“I don’t regret you,” he murmurs, leaning down until his eyes are level with your own. Your breath catches in your throat at the proximity. It’s no secret that Strife is a huge flirt, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t indulged him a few of those times, returning his playful banter in full. It just came so easily with him, he made you feel so comfortable. So now, with his sudden closeness, closer than he’s ever been and with him gazing intensely but languidly into your wide, startled eyes, you can’t help but wonder if all those exchanges had actually meant something to the horseman. 

Had they meant anything to you? 

You suppose it didn’t really matter in the end, not when Strife suddenly pushes his head closer, forehead touching against yours and his lips bump into your mouth gently. The gasp this pulls from you allows him to slip his tongue gently past your teeth where it prods against your own, encouragingly. You’re almost too startled to move, or to speak, so Strife withdraws his tongue enough to whisper, “I don’t wanna scare you off, Bright Eyes…Just wanna know that I’m not crazy, that there is somethin’ here. The Council ain’t getting their hands on you,” he growls possessively, “I won’t let em.” 

He’s seeking your validation, you realise. This is the horseman with crazy abandonment issues, who had a tendency to get insanely attached to anything that gives him the time of day. The council threatened to separate you both, now here’s Strife wanting to cement some sort of relationship. Suffice it to say, you’d both considered each other to be best friends. Now?….

“You’re not crazy,” you finally reply, easing yourself back towards his mouth, “and I’m not scared.” 

Strife’s eyes flood with relief and with an eager grin, he nudges his lips back into yours, coaxing your hesitant mouth open with the tip of his tongue. It takes effort not to shy away, only out of bashfulness though. Your tiny crush on the large horseman is reciprocated and the influx of emotions makes you somewhat dizzy. With a mental shrug, you part your lips and make a small noise of surprise when that tongue pushes through them and once again finds yours. Strife works at your mouth energetically, but comfortingly. Somehow, your hands had found the top of his head and are tugging softly at the spiky wisps of dark hair that stick out haphazardly, ignoring the sting of the glass-cut.  Meanwhile, Strife’s hands have wondered around to the small of your back, pressing you deeper into him as he leads you blissfully through your first kiss. 

The need for air burns your lungs and you pull away from him, smiling when he frowns and chases your lips with an agitated whine. 

“Wasn’t finished,” he mumbles, rubbing the tip of his nose against the side of your head to make you laugh. 

“Well, sorry. But I need to breathe. And,” you grimace at your hand, “I really need to get this dressed….” Strife loses his dreamy expression in favour of adopting a guilty one. 

“Ah, shit..Sorry about that…” 

You smile sadly up at him, shaking your head scoldingly whilst turning away to find a bandage. “Don’t be sorry!” you call back to Strife. Tilting your head over your shoulder slightly, you throw him a lazy wink and smile, “Don’t be sorry for anything.” 

Strife catches on and mentally congratulates himself for not completely putting you off with his bold move. He’d wanted so badly to keep you, the threat of the Council had rattled him and he’d felt an overwhelming protectiveness when they insinuated that you be ‘separated’ from him. He’d have protected you until his dying breath even if you hadn’t reciprocated his feelings. 

But now that you had….

Strife smirks triumphantly, following you into the next room and watching as you rifle through drawers in search of some kind of healing aid. 

Now that he knew you felt the same way he did, Strife felt connected to you more than ever before. Something in his chest squeezes painfully when he notes that he’d unwittingly handed the Council a tool to destroy him, should they see fit to. He loves you. 

Every hero has their weakness.. .… 

[crying-saeyoung]

It may have already been requested but rfa v and saeran helping mc with a period of bad depression and like they like self harmed/ tried to kill themselves (totally not a self indulgent ask hides in the darkness) thank you so much for your work

oooh what a good time for me to write this, in the middle of my depression wave :0 this actually was a good rant for me, thank u for the request! -Green💚

Warning: Mentions of self harm/attempts of suicide 

Yoosung:

-it was just a normal day. that’s how they all start, right? 

-you and Yoosung had actually just came home from a date

-nothing bad actually happened. It really was a great day. 

-so why were you in the bathroom in the middle of the night, yoosung just in the other room, cradling yourself and sobbing your eyes out? 

-you don’t know. you dont know you dontknwo you do n t k n oww 

-god it all just hurt so bad. you don’t know what hurts, but it was throbbing 

-you feel like your whole body is struggling against you and you’re about to burst out of your own skin. 

-so you desperately get up and tug open drawers, not even aware of all the noise you were making

-you finally found some scissors at the bottom of one of the drawers. you cut yoosungs hair with this occasionally because hairstylists cost too much. 

-you’re able to dig the blade deep into your hip only once by the time the bathroom door slams open

-when that door open, so did all the realization and the buzzing pain in your side

-you don’t even look at yoosung, you drop to the floor, throwing the blade away from you and cry 

-there’s so much blood

-yoosung doesn’t really know how to act, because everything is happening so fast 

-but the two of you are in each others arms and crying so loudly you’re scared you’ll wake the neighbors 

-he’s petting your hair with shaking hands, telling you with a watery voice how he loves you and whatever you need he’ll get it, he’ll do it, anything for you, so don’t leave him.

Saeyoung:

-most likely the two of you are doing it together

-that was a horrible joke oh my god ANYWAYs

-Saeyoung was actually out on a mission for his agency let’s just pretend he didn’t quit yet

-and you’ve just grown numb without him around the house let’s also pretend saeran isn’t here okay 

-you miss him a lot. like. way too much. but there’s something else. 

-and you can’t even think straight as you’re walking out the bunker and out towards the road

-you doubt any cars will come but you lay down on the road and look at the sky. hopefully you’ll get hit while looking at the clouds change shape.

-happy thoughts :)

-your mind is cloudy and the world is hazy you really don’t notice the car coming towards you

-you jump when you hear the screech of breaks and you’re suddenly too aware of how close you were to dying

-and when you see your redhead come out of the car, you break and curl into yourself.

-more than anything, you’re ashamed. guilty. ashamed he saw you like this, in this state. 

-Saeyoung is more confused than anything because it hasn’t clicked in his head fast enough that you were there hoping someone would run you over, but when he’s hearing you sob saying how you were sorry and you just couldn’t take it anymore, it does click. and now he’s crying too. oh god he’s crying so much

-he brings you back in the bunker, and barely is able to get you into the bedroom before he collapses. 

-he’s holding his head in his hands and just crying all by himself, with you there infront of him. 

-he’s crying for you to never leave him, that he’s sorry, that he’ll be better, just don’t leave him

-don’t leave him

Jumin:

-committing suicide was too easy in his penthouse

-you were all alone all day. it was so easy. so so easy

-those pills were just mocking you, so you finally took action and downed the whole bottle

-ha. take that, pills. you finally beat them and their stupid game. you finally won

-but did you really?

-little did u kno,,, Jumin came home early that day! Hooray…!

-ahha..ha..

-you hear him call out for you and out of instinct you turn around, slam the bathroom door and lock it. 

-of course he hurries over and he asks what’s wrong

-and you kind of just

-look down at the empty bottle in your hands and you realize you’re going to die. 

- “Jumin… I think I’m going to die.”

-CUE JUMIN SCREAMING

- “What?! ___, princess, are you alright?! What happened?! Open the door-”

- “I took all the pills. I just… they’re all gone. I took all of them..”

- “____, honey, what pills?”

- “I-i don’t really know? The title is hard to read… it’s the ones the therapist gave me..”

-the knocks get louder and more desperate

-without really thinking about it you open the door and suddenly you’re being dragged through the halls of your home with Jumin ,,

-jumin crying

-jumin crying?

- “Honey, why are you crying?” 

- “___, you just tried to kill yourself. I don’t want that. I don’t want that ever, ___.”

- “oh.”

Jaehee:

-don’t DO THIS TO HER

-she walked in on you struggling to breathe while hanging in the air. your noose is the bed sheets

-she screams for what feels like the first time in her life. She’s never been more terrified then in that moment.

-Jaehee, if anything at all, is a quick thinker. She get’s up on the bed and quickly rips the sheets from the ceiling, making you drop down to the floor, gasping for air

-she tears the sheets off of your neck and shoves you into her, making you fall ontop of her and she doesn’t care

-her hands are gripping on your hair and back so tightly, and they’re moving all over you so fast like she’s trying to convince herself you’re still there 

-she’s sobbing so bad and eventually her hands make it to your face and she’s kissing you all over

Zen: 

-you have a low enough self-esteem as is

-being with zen really doesn’t raise it any higher

-he tries, he really does, but it makes you feel that much worse knowing that his efforts will never be enough for you. 

-the comments will always get to you. the looks will always burn you.

-so maybe you should just do him a favor for once and just leave?

-you’re mindlessly cutting yourself in the mirror, not really thinking about anything other than dying and how you should run the blade a little deeper this next cut

-when you hear Zen come through the front door, you don’t really know what to do. So you sit still, frozen on the tile of the kitchen of course you have a mirror in the kitchen there’s a mirror in every room 

-you don’t try to hide it. maybe when he sees you like this, he’ll finally get the idea that you aren’t worth it and you don’t deserve him. that he should leave you in the dust like you deserve. 

-you make eye contact with him in the mirror, and his smile immediately drops

-good. you don’t deserve that either, that beautiful smile. you don’t deserve to look at him.

-Zen basically glides to you and forces your hand into the kitchen sink, spraying cold water over your wrists. 

-you flinch at the feeling as he’s suddenly rubbing disinfectant over your cuts

-he hasn’t said a word, even as he’s began to bandage your arm. you don’t say anything either. 

-when you’re all patched up, that’s when Zen finally takes a big breath, and you prepare yourself for the heartache when he breaks up with you. why would he want someone so obviously broken?

- “____, I love you. I’m not a liar, don’t think I am. I haven’t lied to you once since I’ve met you. I love you. I love you way too much to let you go. So don’t. Don’t go, okay? We’ll…. we’ll work on this. Together. Because you’re not alone. I’m here. I’m always going to be here.”

V:

-this h u r t s 

-you could never be like Rika. V would always have her in his heart, and you thought you could accept it. But that feeling. that feeling you could never truly earn V’s full love just because you weren’t who he wanted you to be stung more harshly than the water running through your nose

-you were drowning yourself in yours’ bathtub. 

-it was ironic, no? didn’t V say that’s how Rika died? by drowning?

-ha. maybe this will make him love you more? 

-your vision finally starts to go hazy and black when all the sudden everything is white and cold

-you’re gasping for air suddenly, and you look around you

-but. no one is there.

-you curl into your naked body in the tub, and you sob

-you couldn’t do it. you couldn’t do anything.

-by the time V came home, you were still in the cold water, holding yourself and shivering. 

-he couldn’t really know anything was wrong, other than the fact you were horribly cold, and you needed to get out of the water and warm up, honey!!

- “V, I tried to kill myself.”

-..

- “…what..?”

- “I tried to drown myself in the tub and it never worked, I kept coming out last minute. I guess… I was hoping you would find me. But you didn’t.” 

Saeran:

-n nn ooo o oo my ba b ab yyyy y

-Saeran had been a tad bit more… difficult to handle, lately. 

-Saeyoung had noticed you struggling, so even he was trying to help a little more, even with the small amount of time he had. 

-it was actually Saeyoung that had found you bleeding out in the bathroom, and it was Saeyoung who brought you to the hospital for emergency treatment.

-and it was Saeran who was called by his brother to inform him of your state. 

-it was Saeran that punched the wall. Cried his eyes out and rushed over to the hospital 

-he couldn’t understand it at first. why? why would you do this to him? why would you try to leave him?

-he almost wanted to get angry at you. but he couldn’t. he couldn’t do that when he knew it wasn’t your fault. it was his.

-you were fast asleep in the hospital bed, and Saeran wasn’t surprised. Apparently you had a very exhausting day. 

-so he held your hand, and refused to leave your side until you woke up. And when you did, he had gotten his act together and greeted you with a smile.