#i told her about the last time i saw a dr for one particular health issue and he told me if i were older he'd investigate for cancer

[dogbunni]

I was telling my mother about some interesting Symptoms™ I've been having and putting them all together like that. maybe I'm stressed because my body is falling apart. that might be a cause. like

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR. PURE FLUFF AHEAD!!!

Masterlist

Chapter 24

The doorbell rang Friday night as you were popping popcorn in the microwave for family movie night.

“I’ll get it,” you called out, walking to the front door.

You opened it to see Penelope standing there. She immediately grabbed your hand and started tugging.

“You’re coming with me, soon-to-be Mrs. Reid,” she tried to drag you out of the house.

“Spencer! Code pink! Code pink!” you yelled.

You heard Spencer dashing towards the front door.

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist.

“It’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other the day of the wedding,” Penelope stomped her high heel in protest.

“Yes, we knew you would say that so we bought these,” you and Spencer held up sleep masks, “Me and Spence will put these on before we go to bed. I’ll set my alarm 15 minutes before his so I will be up and out of the room, headed to Rossi’s before he even sees me. No bad luck and I still get to sleep with my fiancé, everyone’s happy!”

“I should have known you guys would find a loophole. You even had a whole code name,” Penelope huffed.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you laughed, “I will see you in the morning.”

You gave her a big hug before she returned to her car.

“A brilliant idea if I do say so myself, Dr. Reid,” you grinned.

He leaned down to kiss you as Jo shouted “you’re missing Nemo.”

-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You fumbled to swipe your phone alarm off without actually being able to see it.

Once you got it off, you felt Spencer’s arms tighten around you.

“Keep that blindfold on, mister,” you demanded.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“Do you not want us to get married today?” you teased.

You felt Spencer’s arms slowly retract from around you after giving you one final squeeze.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you giggled.

“Bye, love you,” he tried to kiss you but ended up kissing your nose.

You put your hand flat on his face to find his lips and then guided yourself to them.

“I can not wait to marry you,” you whispered after pulling away.

“10 hours,” he whispered back and you could feel his smile as you went in for another kiss.

You slowly got out of bed and crawled towards the door to avoid hitting anything. However, you slammed your head right into the door.

“Ouch!” you rubbed the top of your head.

Spencer sat up in bed, still with his blindfold on, “Love, are you okay?”

“Yep, I found the door,” you laughed, “I will see you at the aisle.”

“I can not wait to be reduced to a blubbering, crying mess in front of my closest friends and family,” Spencer smiled.

You felt around for the door knob and opened it, taking off your blindfold once you were out of the room. You picked up your bag that you had set outside your door with all of your skincare and makeup before heading out the door to Rossi’s.

By the time you had gotten there, the driveway was full of trucks and vans dropping off decorations and setting up the canopy and tables.

The second you rang the doorbell, you were pulled inside by JJ and Emily who were already in their dresses.

“You both look gorgeous!” you exclaimed as they dragged you up the stairs.

“Here’s a muffin,” JJ said as she sat you down.

Emily was already assessing your hair and combing it out.

“Penelope told us what you did last night,” Emily smiled, “I think it was extremely adorable.”

JJ nodded in agreement as she pulled the makeup products out of your bag.

“I would just feel weird if I was away from him for a night now since we are so used to being right next to each other. Speaking of Pen, where is she?” you asked.

“She needed to make sure they put the lattice trellis in the right place so the sun would set directly behind it,” JJ informed you.

You and Spencer would be getting married in front of a lattice trellis covered in vines and an assortment of flowers right at sunset.

“What would I do without her and you guys?” you laughed.

-

Spencer groggily answered the door to see Derek standing there, holding both of their tuxes.

“Ready to get married, Pretty Boy?” he grinned.

“Yes,” Spencer rubbed his eyes to wipe away the tiredness, “Let me wake Jo up.”

Spencer walked back up the stairs and opened Jo’s door, sitting at the edge of her bed.

“Time to get up, Princess,” he whispered, “You get to wear your new dress today.”

Jo’s eyes shot open and she got out from underneath the covers, revealing she was already in fact in her dress.

“You got up already?” Spencer laughed, picking her up.

“I tricked you, Daddy,” she giggled.

“Yes, you did,” Spencer smiled, “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Uncle Derek!” Jo exclaimed.

“Jo!” Derek shouted, accepting the little girl into his arms, “Well, don’t you look nice. Auntie Penelope was telling me how excited she is to do your hair later.”

Jo nodded enthusiastically.

“You get ready,” Derek pushed the tux into Spencer’s arms, “I’ll get Jo breakfast.”

-

You stood at the back of the line in front of the glass double doors leading out to Rossi’s backyard.

As the violins and piano began to softly play, you heard Penelope say, “Jo, go see your Dad.”

The doors opened to let Jo out, holding her basket of white rose petals.

You sneakily watched from a nearby window as Jo took her job very seriously, throwing a handful of petals every other step and then taking a seat in the front row next to Henry and Will.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope all proceeded down the aisle one by one, standing on the opposite side of Derek and Rossi who were standing next to Spencer.

You ran back from the window to in front of the doors, grabbing your bouquet from the table. You had decided to walk down the aisle alone. Your parents were in the audience here to support you but you were your own woman, you didn’t need to be “given away” to Spencer.

The doors opened for the final time and you stepped out. Spencer turned to face you and you could see the tears already glistening in his eyes.

You smiled and mouthed ‘I love you’ as you walked down the aisle and he mouthed ‘I love you too’ as the tears quickly began to form in your eyes as well.

You took your spot in front of Spencer and Jo waved to you both which elicited a small chuckle from the crowd.

“Hi, baby,” you waved back.

You don’t even think Spencer noticed because his eyes were laser-focused on you.

“Shall we begin?” Hotch asked and you both nodded.

“I would like to thank everyone for being here to help Y/N and Spencer celebrate this special day in which they attest to their love for one another. Spencer, would you like to read your vows first?”

Spencer nodded, “I have never admitted this to her until now but the first time I spoke to Y/N is because I offered her a sweatshirt. I actually brought that sweatshirt to the library with me that day, hoping the pretty girl who was always shivering would finally have a reason to acknowledge me. That was the single best decision of my life. Unfortunately, a little over a year later, I made the single worst decision of my life by letting you go,” Spencer started to get choked up, “I honestly think my ‘genius’ title should be taken away for that alone. Somehow, I was graced with the opportunity to come back into your life even though I didn’t deserve it. And your life now revolved around one particular little girl that I grew to love more than I thought was ever possible. So, I just wanted to say scientists learn from their mistakes so while I can’t promise I won’t make any more in the future, I can tell you for sure that I will never let go again.”

“Oh wow,” you sniffled, taking a kleenex and your little journal from Penelope, “How am I supposed to top that?”

“I really don’t care what you have to say, you marrying me is more than enough,” he whispered.

“Oh my god, you’re still coming up with better vows than me on the spot,” you whispered back.

“Much like Spencer, I also wrote about our first encounters in college. Spencer and I quickly formed an unspoken agreement that we would always meet at the same table in the library. One night, when he was taking the time to repeatedly explain to me a calculus concept I just wasn’t getting even though I knew he had a paper due tonight, I thought to myself ‘this one is too good to let get away’. So at our next meeting, I ordered takeout from his favorite restaurant and set up a little dinner for us. It was all worth it when I saw him walk in with his textbooks only to be soon lost for words when I asked him if he would go on a date with me. I never really dated anyone in the time we were apart, I just had this feeling that our story was far from over and I’m so so glad that feeling was right. I promise I will never stop loving you, no matter what, because I don’t think I could even if I tried” you stated.

“Spencer, with this ring, do you take Y/N to love and to hold, to cherish and respect her in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward?” Hotch asked.

“I do,” Spencer smiled as you slipped the band on to his ring finger.

“Y/N, with this ring, do you take Spencer to love and to hold, to cherish and respect him in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward?” Hotch repeated.

“Absolutely I do.”

Spencer slipped the ring on your finger.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride,” Hotch smiled.

Spencer cupped your cheeks, pulling you as close as he could and kissing you deeply. Everyone cheered as you both interlocked your hands and headed down the aisle.

As soon as you were inside, Spencer pulled you in for a more passionate, sloppy kiss.

“I didn’t want an audience for that,” he grinned, pulling you back in.

“Bleh,” you heard Derek say, who had Penelope on his arm, “Do you guys need to go home already?”

“No, we can wait a few more hours,” you giggled but Spencer whined.

JJ and Will had offered to take Jo for the night so you and Spencer had the house to yourself. You had opted for just spending one night away from Jo rather than a long honeymoon. You were going to take a family vacation all together instead.

A few minutes later, you heard Penelope and Derek announce on the microphone, “Now introducing for the first time ever, Dr. and Mrs. Reid!”

You exited the glass doors once again, holding you and Spencer's interlocked hands up in the air as everyone cheered under the big white canopy with fairy lights.

“Please clear the dance floor for their first dance together as husband and wife,” Penelope smiled.

Bloom by The Paper Kites faded in as Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist. You rested your head against his chest and wrapped your hands around the back of his neck.

You felt him rubbing small circles on your side with his thumb as he planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you so much, my husband,” you whispered.

“I love you more, my wife,” he smiled.

You swayed gently back and forth until the music faded out. Spencer leaned down and kissed you as you stopped swaying. You completely forgot you were in front of an audience until you pulled away from Spencer and the crowd erupted into a cheer.

You looked into the audience to see Diana twirling Jo around in a circle. Luckily, an aid was able to bring her on such short notice.

After everyone had enjoyed the banquet, Hotch and Emily took the microphone this time.

“Time for the cutting of the cake!” they cheered.

You and Spencer both stood from the main table to go get the first pieces. You both held the knife together, cutting out two pieces.

You grabbed the plate that your slice was on and gently shoved it into Spencer’s nose, laughing as he pulled the plate away, his face covered in white frosting.

“You think that’s funny?” he grinned, grabbing his piece and pressing it into your face.

You continued your giggling fit as he cut another piece.

“Princess, come here!” he called out.

Jo ran up, eager to get a first taste of the cake and you and Spencer pressed another piece right into her face.

Jo stuck her tongue out and licked some off her face, “It tastes good,” she smiled as you and Spencer continued to laugh.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Sunday 8 July 1832

9 20

up at seven quarter hour on the pot   one good large motion  got rid of several knobs  then small shortish rolls like a childs motion  very little loose and watery as if I had taken medicine but do not feel so much pain or a sensation of weakness or fullness as I did the last time I took physic got into bed again and slumbered or slept – I think will send for Dr. Kenny about this now too habitual costiveness – Washington wanted to see me just before I was up – will call again – rainy morning – F65° now at 9 40 – note from Mr. Parker dated last night to say there would be a ‘Godley Lane Road meeting’ at H-x tomorrow at 11 a.m. and one of ‘the Leeds and Whitehall Road’ at Birstall, on Wednesday next – ‘In Miss Listers’ case there will not be any occasion for any particular form of notice to the commissioners of the Leeds and Whitehall Road, as that is only requisite when the parties cannot agree’ (respecting the stone they have got for the Lower brea branch road   out of John Pearsons’ land, - Breakfast at 10 ½ - at 12 in ¾ hour read the morning service – felt my voice not strong – somehow taking medicine always weakens me a good deal – so did not read a sermon – came to my room soon after one – wrote rough draft of note to Mr. Parker till near three Began to rain soon after 12 and continued more or less till after 3 – from then to near 5 looking over papers etc. then had Washington – desired him to attend the meeting of the commissioners of the Godley Lane road at 11 tomorrow morning at H-x to settle about the land taken from Pickersgills’ late Benjamin Bottomleys’ field explained what I wanted (vid. note to Messrs. Parker and Adam p. 27 vol. 2 Business Letter book) and desired him to mention to the commissioners my wish to plant the east side of the great embankment of the Godley Lane road with oaks so as eventually to form an oakcopse – In casually speaking to Washington of a road thro’ Trough of Bolland wood to the house, taking it at 600 yards thro’ the wood and ten feet wide bur walling – would cost 2/6 a yard and W- durst engage to make the road for less than £500 – tho’ my father says it will cost £5,000 – Marian called me out

SH:7/ML/E/15/0089

to say Cordingley was just taken very ill with cramp at her stomach – sent off John immediately for Mr. Sunderland, or, if he was not at home, Dr. Kenny, or, if not at home, Mr. Jubb – Mr. S- got here about 6 ½ - saw him – told him it began like cholera – he said he hoped she would be better but if the symptoms got worse, it might, would turn to cholera – if she was worse, to replenish ‘the stomach mattress’ (water tin) with hot water on her stomach – to give her medicine in warm gruel with brandy in it, put hot water bottles to her feet, and rub her legs with warm flannels – said that in that case, we should certainly send for him tonight – dinner at 6 ½ - read my father my note to ‘Messrs. Parker and Adam’ (vid. p. 27 vol. 2 Business Letter book) ‘Solicitors Halifax’ and sent it by John at 9 ½ - then downstairs and came up again at 10 – wrote out from the rough copy my note to Messrs. P- and A- and wrote the last 16 ½ lines of today – read a little of the courier, and read my letter 3 pages and ends (very kind letter) from Lady Stuart Richmond Park - Miss H-‘s wedding say not yet fixed, but will probably be the end of this month. ‘It would give us both great pleasure if your business does not oblige you to remain, that you dear Miss Lister was present at the marriage - the day is not yet fixed but I think it will be the end of this month and when fixed I will acquaint you, if you feel disposed to come’ - no no Miss H- she would as like to have me present as it would suit me to be so no no she will not see me again in a hurry poor Lady S- is wretched at the thought of being left so soon health is the plea but she lady S- thanks god Vere is quite well I can easily believe Miss H- delighted to be off and shewing no heart no  real feeling for Lady S-  I know her well enough  passion will harm her towards her husband but even he may not always find her temper angelic she has made no great match of it but may she be happy I wonder when and what she will write to me rainy day till after 3 p.m. and afterwards showers and damp evening – F66 ½° now at 11 25 p.m. Cordingley better when I came up to bed

[official-weasley]

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of alcohol, struggling with self-love, emotional self-destructive behavior, and mentions of mental health problems, mentions of death and loss

Chapter 20

Rhylee

“Are you ready for this?” Lyla looked deep into my eyes, gripping my shoulders tight.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly.

“Okay, let’s go through it again before you leave.” I nodded to let her know I was ready.

“What did Dr. Whitmoore say?” She asked.

“I have to forgive myself.” I answered.

“And?”

“Stop tormenting myself.”

“And?” She tilted her head.

“Let the past stay in the past.” I closed my eyes.

“And what do you have to be?”

“More positive.”

“And what do you deserve?” She raised her eyebrows.

“To be happy.” A smile twitched at the end of my lip as I realized that I finally believed the words that came out of my mouth.

They weren’t empty anymore. They had meaning and they were finally true.

“And you…”

“I love myself.” I swallowed hard.

“Good girl.” Lyla grinned proudly at me. “I think you’re ready.” She scanned me from head to toe. “Turn around.” She reached for my hand and twirled me. “Now go and redeem yourself.” She winked at me and smacked my arse so I let out a surprised gasp.

I checked myself out in the mirror one more time and apparated. I know I was a bit late and I was hoping that most people would already be there so that I won’t have to talk to anybody. To be honest, I was just trying to avoid Charlie. The closer I got to the tent the more nervous I got.

There was a moment where I actually thought I will never see him again and here I was about to watch his brother get married. I took a deep breath and entered the tent. It seemed I was just in time as everybody sat down and Bill made his way to the center of the room. He looked dashing and I couldn’t stop the smile spread over my lips as I saw how nervous but excited he was at the same time.

I couldn’t be happier for him. As much as I couldn’t believe he invited me to the wedding. We still kept in touch and wrote a few letters per month to one another but we haven’t seen each other for over 5 months. Not since we bumped into each other in Diagon Alley.

Since he was on my list of people to apologize to, I invited him for coffee and told him everything. His reaction was pretty much the same as that of Lyla’s. It warmed my heart to see him looking at me so understandingly. It made me feel great and bad at the same time. I was finally out of my loophole but that made me realize just how foolish I was to even fall into it.

A few seconds after Bill took his place ready to get married, Charlie has positioned himself next to him. I was looking at him as if I have just seen the most beautiful creature on the entire planet. As I caught myself staring at him with my mouth slightly open I knew it was pointless denying the fact that I was still madly in love with him.

He was the man of my dreams and he was everything I could ever wish for in a person. Realizing all that shook my nerves even more. I snapped out of it just as Fleur started walking down the aisle. I have to keep it together and I have to keep myself from running away. He was the last one I needed to talk to. The last one I needed to apologize to for my stupid mistakes.

—

I sat down after dancing with yet another of the Weasley family members. I have no idea who the man was, I just knew he had to be a Weasley because of his fiery hair. I scanned the table to find my glass.

“Good evening.” I lifted my head to follow the voice.

“Hi, Bill.” I grinned at him. “Congratulations again.”

“Thank you.” He sat down next to me, his smile bigger than ever. “What are you sitting here all alone for?”

“Well, I danced with half of your relatives, your mum, and your dad and I think all of your brothers.” I laughed wholeheartedly.

“Most of my brothers.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head at the table where Charlie was sitting.

“I don't think he'd want to dance with me.” I swallowed hard. I felt my palms getting sweaty. I have been avoiding looking at that table for the last 2 hours. “He probably hates me.”

“Oh, I bet he wishes he could.” Bill murmured so fast that I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.

“What?” I asked bluntly.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.” Bill pressed his lips together, trying hard not to smirk. “Come on, invite him to dance.”

“What would his girlfriend think?” I tilted my head, waiting for the answer.

“Girlfriend?” Bill asked puzzled.

“I saw them dancing before, Bill.” I rolled my eyes playfully.

“The girl with pink hair?”

I hummed in response.

“That's one of his best friends, Tonks. They went to school together. She's married to Remus, who is sitting...” He scanned the room, looking for someone. “…right over there.” He pointed at a man with a lot of scars painting his face and a mustache.

“Oh.” Was all I could manage and rubbed my lips together.

“You didn't hear it from me but he's single.” He winked with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Thank you for the tip.” All I could manage was a nervous smile.

“Now are we just going to pretend that you attended my wedding just because of me or are you going to do something about you and him?” His eyes moving from me to where Charlie was sitting again.

“He is clearly having fun with his friends, I don't want to bother him.” At this point, I was just searching for excuses.

“Yeah, drinking and singing with the Hogwarts Game Keeper.” He chuckled. “Come with me.” He indicated with his hands that I should stand up and I followed him outside the tent.

I was getting more nervous by the minute. I had no idea where he was taking me until we suddenly stopped in the garden behind the Weasley home and he offered me to sit on the wooden bench, which I almost didn’t notice as it was mostly covered with vines and flowers. Without a single word, he started walking back to the tent.

I sat down slowly, swallowing my nerves. I didn’t like the expression on his face before he left. He looked as if he was up to something and I wasn’t big on surprises. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. My legs were shaking, my heels making sounds as they tapped against the ground.

I lifted my head as I heard someone coming my way.

“What is so important Bill and why are we going to the gard...” My heart clenched when I heard Charlie’s voice. “Oh, hi.” Was all he managed to say when he saw me.

His expression reminded me of the one he had on his face when he saw me at the gate in the Sanctuary.

“Hi.” My voice was barely audible.

“Oh, would you look at that, I think my wife is calling me.” Bill giggled and before either of us could say anything to him, he disappeared.

Charlie slowly made his way to me, the surprised expression still on his face. He sat down next to me, leaving a gap between us that was too big no matter how small it was.

An awkward silence fell upon us, both searching for words. This was my chance. I came here to talk to him, to apologize. I have to do it now.

“Charlie, listen...” I put my hands on my knees to stop my legs from shaking.

“How are you?” He interrupted me, staring at nothing in particular in front of him.

“I-I'm good. How are you?” I wanted him to look at me so I didn’t take my eyes off him.

“Not bad. Was a nice wedding.” He nodded towards the tent.

I calmed down as I felt that he was just as nervous as I was.

“Yeah.” I let out a hollow laugh.

Why was this so hard?

“I'm sorry I didn't say hello to you before.” He turned his head to me and our eyes finally met. “I know I passed you a few times.” He scratched the top of his head, embarrassed.

“It's okay.” I smiled slightly. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to bestow him with a smile. I had no idea how mad he was at me. “I understand. You probably hate me.”

“I don't hate you, Rhy.” I closed my eyes when he said my name like that. He was the only one who called me Rhy and I never wanted to forget how it sounded. “I just wish I understood what was going through your head.”

“Trust me, I wish things went differently.”

This was a good start, right? He just said he wanted to understand and I was here to explain everything.

“Yeah.” His lips curved just a little before returning to their original state.

We fell silent again. We always had so much to talk about and it was never hard. He was always the easiest person to talk to. I felt as if I could tell him anything.

“So where do you work now?” He broke the silence.

“I'm kind of in-between jobs right now.” I pursed my lips.

I didn’t want to talk about me not having a job.

“You know, you can always come back to the Sanctuary. We didn't ban you from it and everybody misses you.”

Including you?

I wanted to ask but let the question die in my mouth instead. It warmed my heart so much that he offered me to return to Romania.

“You look better.” He scanned me with his eyes and I felt my heart beating hard against my ribcage.

I knew exactly what he meant. The last time he saw me I looked like shit. I let myself go completely.

“Thank you.” I gave out a soft smile. “I feel better too. Lyla got me into therapy.”

“Into what?” His face screwed in confusion.

“It's something Muggles do when they have…well mental issues.” I explained.

“You had mental issues?” I liked the concern in his voice a bit too much.

“You couldn't tell?” I asked sarcastically.

“I knew something was up but you didn't want to talk about it so I thought it was because of Nick.” He answered honestly.

“Nick was the least of my problems.” I said quickly.

Nick was the last person I wanted to talk to him about.

“Oh.” The word escaped from his mouth as if I caught him off guard. “That's...yeah...good for you.” He nodded, pressing his lips together and I knew what I said hurt him.

“Charlie, I hope you know that everything that happened between us...”

“Don't.” He lifted his hand at me. “You don't need to explain yourself to me.”

If it was any other time I would stop talking then and there but this was it. It was time for him to know the truth.

“Yes, I do.” I said, determined. “You were right that day in front of the Ministry. You deserve answers. As I said, everything that happened between us was as real for me as it was for you.” My legs started shaking again.

Did I say too much too quickly?

“Okay.” I could see his cheeks turn scarlet and I wanted to kiss him so badly at moment.

I wanted to kiss the hell out of him.

“I just...” I inhaled sharply.

This was it. No turning back now. Here’s my story, Charlie, and please don’t run away when I’m done talking.

“I was in a really bad place. In my Seventh year at Beauxbatons, I didn't read the instructions properly and made a poison instead of a Calming Draught. My boyfriend at the time drank it and he died.” I was staring into nothingness.

I could see with the corner of my eye that he turned to me slightly as I said the last few words and I could feel his eyes on me.

“I wasn't charged for murder even though I begged them to lock me up because I couldn't see how I could forgive myself. It was marked as an accident. I barely finished school and got the job at Gringotts and gladly took it just to get away from everything.” I shook my head.

I was doing better. It got easier to talk about it every time I said it out loud.

“I was fine for 3 years, I thought I was over it. I promised myself that I will never brew another potion and that I will never be with anyone ever again.” I bowed my head. Saying all of this used to make me cry but I forgave myself. I had to. “I thought I didn't deserve it after what I did. And then Bill brought me home and I met you.”

He was still looking at me. I wanted to turn and look into his beautiful eyes that were always so full of compassion and love but I couldn’t. I didn’t dare. I didn’t know what he thought about everything I just said. I didn’t know if he was judging me or not and I wasn’t ready to find out just yet. He didn’t say anything either so I continued talking.

“I know what you felt that day, Charlie.” I said in a whisper. I wanted to talk about us, about what that night meant to me for such a long time. “You think I didn't? I know that what happened between us that night was so far away from a one-night stand. I have never felt such a strong connection to a person before and my curiosity got the better of me.”

I shook my head. I always said it was a mistake but I have to forgive myself for that too.

“I had to see if there was something between us and it killed me when I was right. As much as something was pulling me toward you that much did I want to run away because all that guilt came right back.”

“All this drama between us happened because of something you did at school?” He failed to comprehend and I didn’t blame him.

“I killed a person, Charlie.” I said through my teeth.

“It was an accident.” His voice was so soft, so full of understanding of my situation.

“How would you feel if something you did killed Emma back then?” I finally looked at him.

He told me about his first love Emma one morning when we were looking at the sunrise together. It was a tragedy that they had to break up because of long-distance. He seemed really happy with her.

He didn’t reply to my question but I could see it in his eyes that he was trying to put himself in my shoes.

“See? Now you know how I felt. You felt so guilty about what you did to Bill when we slept together now imagine how it would be if someone lost their life because of a stupid mistake you've made.” I tried to explain further.

“Okay, I'm sorry.” He said gently and placed his hand on the bench, filling the gap between us. “I understand. Continue.”

“What I felt with you that night Charlie, was what I imagined every time someone asked me what do I want in a person. It was just as I imagined it would be with someone I would want to spend the rest of my life with.” I slowly removed my hand from my knees and placed it next to his on the bench, our fingers almost touching. “It was even better than that.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me this before?” He breathed.

“Because I couldn't. I know what I did to you was wrong. I know I was playing with your feelings but I was just so drawn to you I couldn't help myself.” I was telling the truth.

There was no point in hiding it anymore.

“I guess.” He bowed his head, turning it to look straight ahead of him.

“After that, I couldn't stop thinking about you. It came so far that I applied to work in Romania.” I continued.

“That was because of me?” He turned back to me with an incredulous expression.

“Of course, it was because of you.” I gave out a faint smile, our eyes locked again.

“But you also applied for the American Sanctuary.” He frowned.

“To make myself think that I was doing it to switch jobs.”

“And I thought I had battles in my head.” His lip twitched as he moved his hand slightly closer to mine.

“I decided to go to Romania anyways but I knew what I was doing was wrong so to stop myself from doing anything stupid I started dating Nick.” I gave out a deep sigh.

“So you knew he was a prick?” I wanted to laugh at the nickname he gave him but stopped myself just in time, placing a hand over my mouth.

“Of course, I knew!”

“Then why in the bloody hell did you go out with him?” He failed to understand.

“I wanted to punish myself.” I admitted.

Saying it out loud sounded insane.

“What?”

“Look, he wasn't all that bad but he did have a big ego and he only cared for himself.” I wasn’t trying to defend him but I had to make him see why I did what I did.

“So, you thought that being with him was better than being with me?”

I felt something break in me. How could he even think that? How could he even compare himself to Nick? Did he think so low of himself? Did I make him think that way?

“No.” I shook my head hard. “Nothing can compare to being with you in any way, Charlie.” I looked him deep in the eyes and moved my hand closer to his, our fingers finally meeting. “But I thought that if I'll be with Nick then I will stop feeling guilty. I couldn't forgive myself for what I've done.”

“I'm trying to understand you, Rhy, but fuck, do you know what you put yourself through here?” He scratched the top of his head. “What you put me through because of your past?”

“I know. I'm sorry.” I felt tears burning my eyes.

My past didn’t make me cry anymore. I was over it and I was proud of that. The way he said what I put him through. The pain in his voice even though he tried to understand what I was telling him. That’s what brought tears to my eyes.

“Please, continue your story. You're telling me everything.” It made my heart beat faster just knowing that he was still willing to listen.

“When I got to Romania and saw you, all those feelings came back and I hated myself for it. I saw the way you were looking at me, I'm not blind. I just didn't dare to do anything about it. I was falling for you as fast as Bean eats his dinner and it was killing me because I didn't allow myself to tell you.” His lips curved into a smile when I compared my feelings to a dragon.

“But why didn't you? What did you think would happen? That you'd poison me too?”

“I thought I didn't deserve you!” I blurted.

“Rubbish!” He scoffed. “You made a mistake. You are allowed to be forgiven.” He entwined our fingers and I wanted to melt at his touch.

Fuck, I missed him so much.

“I didn't think that.” I said slowly, my eyes on our hands. “I thought that you were too good for me, I still do.”

“Rhy...” He tilted his head, bringing his shoulder closer to mine.

“I know. I said I'm better I didn't say I'm all there yet.” I bestowed him with a smile.

“So why did you sleep with me after the party in the Sanctuary if you felt like you weren't good enough for me?” He continued.

“I was just drunk enough. It was the same as at the Burrow. I wasn't brave enough to do anything about it while sober. The booze got me just enough courage to bury all the bad feelings and just give in.” I closed my eyes, reminiscing on it.

“That you did.” He chuckled.

He actually chuckled!

I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest by hearing that noise. His laugh was always my favorite. He never gave you more than a smile if he didn’t find something worth laughing for.

“Charlie, that night...” I bit my lip and locked my eyes with his.

“I know. It was amazing.” He bent his lips inwards and I could see the night rolling in front of his eyes.

“It was so much more than that.” I couldn’t find the words to describe it.

No one could. But I know we both knew exactly what it meant.

“Then why did you tell Nick? Why didn't you just stop all the madness then and there if it meant so much to you?” He squinted his eyes.

“Don't you get it?” I chortled. “I did it because it meant so much to me. I felt too happy. I couldn't allow myself to feel that. I was terrified of how good it was, Charlie. What I feel for you is something that people describe in romance novels, I didn't even know it was real.”

“So you went back to your boyfriend to torture yourself.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. But not a judgmental one.

“Yes. Trust me I know how it sounds. I thought I deserved to be in pain. I constantly searched for something that would hurt me so that I could redeem myself for what I did at Beauxbatons. I thought that by telling Nick I will make you see that I'm hurting you. I wanted you to get over me, to be with someone better. With someone who won't hurt you.”

And in the process, I hurt him more instead of setting him free.

“There is no one better for me, Rhylee.” He said with a soft voice that woke up all the butterflies in my stomach again. “Don't you get it? Ever since we slept together at the Burrow there was nobody that could compare to you. And you only hurt me because of the things you were doing to yourself. If I knew the reason behind all your actions I would've done things differently myself.” He pressed my fingers together with his, his eyes full of understanding.

“I know. I'm sorry.” I shook my head. “You have no idea how sorry I am about it. I thought I was doing you a favor but I didn't put myself in your shoes. I didn't...” I choked.

“You didn't love yourself enough to be with me.” He finished my sentence.

“You sound like my therapist.” I chuckled.

“So, I am finally understanding what you're saying?”

I replied to his question with a hum.

“And what does your therapist think about your relationship with Nick?” Something in his eyes shifted.

They weren’t soft anymore, they were angry.

“Nick and I broke up in February.” I said.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” He murmured.

“I know you don't mean that. It was for the best.” I assured him.

“So, is Lyla helping you with the baby then?” I turned to him abruptly, blinking.

“I...I lost the baby.” I said with a husky voice.

“What?” Charlie jumped in his seat.

I don’t know why I thought that Bill told him.

“Yeah...” I tried to smile but failed. “The healers said there was nothing they could do. Sometimes it just happens.”

I tried to act strong but this was one of the few things I wasn’t over yet. Yes, it was Nick’s baby, and being pregnant at the time wasn’t something I planned or wished for but something changes when you’re pregnant and it still hurt that I lost the baby. I felt my eyes water again.

“I am so sorry, Rhy.” I could hear how sorry he was in his voice.

Without saying anything else he pulled me into a hug. How I missed his hugs and his smell. He always smelled so nice. Like how I would describe a summer breeze if it had a smell.

“Thank you. It's the reason Nick and I broke up. He blamed me for losing the baby.” I mumbled into his shoulder.

“He what?!” Charlie barked, pulling away from me.

“It's okay, Charlie. I brought this on myself and I had to deal with it. Losing the baby was my breaking point. I knew I had to get out of it. I hit rock bottom. That's why Lyla got me into therapy. I was in my bed for days and she lost it.” I tried calming him down.

“I would too. She did the right thing and since you look better I assume it helped you.”

“It did wonders.” An appreciative smile painted my face. Getting into therapy was the best decision I have made in years. “I’m not done with therapy but I am making progress.”

“So did you put yourself through enough shit now or do you still have a wish to torment yourself?” He asked in a serious voice.

“No, I'm done. I wouldn't be at this wedding otherwise.” I got shy all of a sudden.

I told him everything he needed to know and this was it. It was time to see if he can forgive me. I know what a bombshell I dropped on him and I know it’s a lot to process and I wouldn’t want to rush him. I just wanted us to be on speaking terms again. I knew I would never get more than that.

“I don't understand.” His brows got closer together.

“I came here to apologize to you besides being here for Bill and being happy for him being so much in love.” I said truthfully.

“Is that the only reason you're here – to apologize?” He gently bumped into my shoulder and leaned closer to me.

Was he going for a kiss?

“Are you sure?” I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t dare to dream about us ever being anything more than friends again.

“I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” He placed his hand on my cheek and I trembled under his touch.

“But I hurt you so much, Charlie. Can you really forgive me for everything I put you through so fast?” I had to know that he was sure.

I had to know that he forgave me for all the pain I caused him.

“I'm still in love with you, Rhy.” He brushed his nose against mine and rested his forehead on mine.

We never said the words. We didn’t have the chance to but then again we never had to. We both knew how we felt about each other.

“If Bill could forgive me for sleeping with you without even thinking twice about it, then you have to know you are already forgiven. I was never mad at you I just felt sorry for you because you were ruining yourself when you could have everything you ever wanted with me.”

That was it. That’s what I needed to hear. I pressed my lips hard against his and I felt my body melting when he returned the kiss. It was just as I remembered. His lips were soft and he tasted like Fire Whiskey which made my lips curve.

“Damn, it feels nice to kiss you and know nobody's getting hurt for it.” He said after pulling away.

“Tell me about it.” I kissed him again.

I finally don’t have to feel guilty for kissing him. He doesn’t have to feel guilty. I could feel the happiness and the realization, that we can finally be together, without the drama without thinking of anyone else, vibrate through my body.

“We needed a long time to get here, didn't we?” I giggled. “Only a few years, give or take.” I joked and kissed him again.

I will never get enough of this.

“Give or take, yeah.” He laughed and kissed my forehead.

“It took us a while but at least we're here now and it feels right.” I couldn’t stop smiling.

This was the best feeling in the world.

“I thought we would never get the chance to be together. There were so many obstacles in our way. Always a reason why we can't be with each other.”

“Is it bad if I say I wouldn't have it any other way?” I cupped his face and searched for the answer in his eyes.

“No.” He shook his head lightly. “It's kind of nice if you think about it. You have to go through hell sometimes to get to the good stuff.”

“Yeah.” He was right. We’ve been through so much. I made us go through so much but in the end, we still ended up together. “Makes you think that perhaps, we were meant to be.”

His lips curved as I said that and I knew he was thinking the same as he leaned in for another kiss.

THE END

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this story. ❤️ I know it's shorter and it didn't have that much fluff in it and some of you thought I was cruel to Charlie for breaking his heart so many times. I know - my brain comes up with weird stories and I promise in the next one our bean will be nothing but happy. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! ❤️

I know this story isn't as long as the last one but this is how I pictured it. The wedding still gets disturbed by the death eaters. Peter gives Rhylee her job back and she moves back to Romania. Rhylee helps with the Order and she fights in the Battle of Hogwarts. Because of everything that went down and with all of the war trauma she and Charlie move to Britain for a little while to be closer to family and friends and they both go to therapy. After a few years, they move back to Romania and they move in together.

For all of you, that ship Theodore and Gerta (I got a few messages about them and it amused me so much because I love them together) - after Theo never giving up and asking her out all the time, Gerta finally gives in saying yes to a date. She can't believe how sweet Theo is and what a romantic he is. They were dating for 6 months when Theodore popped the question and when they got married all his teammates were his best men.

And as I said yesterday: I know that what Rhylee went through can't be solved with 6 months worth of therapy as is stated in the story. I needed to fit it in the timeline to align everything with Bill's wedding and is the only reason why I picked 6 months. One of my best friends has a Ph.D. in psychotherapy and she told me that with Rhylee's situation of feeling so guilty and wanting to torment herself it is very unrealistic that she would be as fine as I wrote her to be - I am fully aware of that. I apologize if I made anyone uncomfortable with it or if anyone finds it offensive in any way.

[purple-dahlias]

recovering- chapter 2

word count: 1742

trigger warnings: eating disorders, disordered eating, mental health

hello! this is the second chapter of recovering. it’s taken a while (oops) but i hope you enjoy <3

(also chapter 1 can be found here)

The days bleed by, agonisingly slow. Sarah goes about her last days in the emergency department almost completely on autopilot, in a daze. If she had to describe it, it was as though there was a wall separating her from everyone else, everything just felt far-off and somehow muffled. Perhaps it was an overreaction, but things just feel different somehow, ever since match day. Even the way the others behaved towards her.

How Natalie had reacted when Sarah had told her. Polite with her congratulations, but somehow different. Maybe even apologetic, as though she herself had been hoping to be told something different. And maybe Sarah was overanalysing, picking things apart too closely, reading into them when there was nothing to be found. But still. It only contributed towards making her doubts more pronounced, every part of her screaming out: you’ve made a mistake. And how was she supposed to tell anyone that? Especially when she had seemed so dead set on pathology. How was she supposed to turn it around? There was only herself to blame.

None of Sarah’s thoughts do any good for her, and she wishes, oh how she wishes she could turn back time. That feeling, that unhappiness, seeps into every part of her, taking a vice-like hold over her, rooting deep within. This is supposed to be her future, the rest of her life. And already, she’s completely messed things up. So she does what she always does. Retreats into herself.

But it’s on her last day, incidentally the night of her graduation, that things take a turn. Even then, she just can’t let it go. Can’t shake the feeling that she had walked into something so very completely wrong. And where does that land her? The nurses’ station in the PICU, waiting for little Michael’s test results to come back from the labs. Dr Manning had already told her to go, she had a graduation to attend after all, but Sarah couldn’t. She can’t leave now. Not until she knows Michael, lying a few feet away from her in a cot fighting for his life, is going to pull through.

It means she misses her graduation, but what does it matter? Her mother’s not coming. There’s no one else to see her. It’s of no real importance to her, she tells herself. It’s only a ceremony, a formality. She’ll still be a doctor without going. And in any case, it was worth it, because now, now she knew, Michael was going to be okay. The hug she gets, the smile from Doctor Manning, the way she gets be the bearer of good news: there was a happy ending to this story. It was worth it. All of it.

Apart, she remembers, from the fact that this wouldn’t be her life anymore. Today marked the day it was all over.

What should be a momentous occasion almost feels like a cruel joke, opening the box to find her lab coat emblazoned with pathology across the chest. She’d made it, she was Dr Reese now. But it was all just more than a little bittersweet. Even with Ethan, for all his kindness and congratulatory remarks, she can’t find it in her to be completely happy, as she knows she should.

The guilt wells up inside of her, until she can’t quite bare it any longer. Until there’s nothing else for her to do.

It’s a rash decision, one she’s sure will send the others in the ED reeling when they find out. But it’s her only option now, she doesn’t quite know what else to do. And Dr Shore telling her she won’t have a job anymore, well… it’s not like she hadn’t already thought of that.

For the first time in a very long while, Sarah Reese has no plans, no direction. Nothing. And yes, whilst it was a completely self-made problem, it was still more than a little daunting. To have your whole future, which had only moments ago been filled, now completely empty, stark and uninviting. A perfect blank canvas stretching out for miles ahead. No prospects.

One conversation and she’s gone. One conversation and it’s all over. No residency, no reason to stay: as far as she’s aware, there are no other residency posts open at Gaffney. But nowhere to go, either. It’s completely ludicrous, what she’s gone and done. Even if Dr Charles tells her she’s going to be “just fine,” it doesn’t feel that way. Not one bit. In many ways, it’s more like the world has ended for her. And for her, maybe it has.

–

There were not many things that remained constant in Sarah Reese’s life. But one that was, was the only thing that she had left now. And it’s all too easy to collapse into herself, let it fill up the gaping, empty spaces inside of her.

Her apartment seems darker, colder, lonelier these days. Which she knows seems irrational, because physically, nothing had changed inside of it. But it still all just all felt wrong. Like she had stepped into the twilight zone, was living someone else’s life.

She was alone now, completely alone. She knew it was only a matter of time before Joey stopped calling, stopped texting, stopped trying to go and get her to meet him. That was the way. Sarah always pushed everyone away, that was just how it went. Yes, she had been alone before. In grade school, at college, in med school. But this was different. Then, she had been alone but alongside other people, even if it was on the outskirts of their lives, it wasn’t total isolation. This, however: she was an island. A shell of her former self. A shadow, an outline of a person. And it’s an awful thought, but it crosses her mind, more than she’d care to admit. If she died, if anything were to happen to her, would anyone notice; who would care?

“You have nothing,” she says aloud to no one in particular, glancing at her reflection in the mirror, the morning of the fourth day after she had quit pathology. It was all true. What was she to do now? There had always been a goal to work towards. Finish high school. Get into med school. Graduate. Secure a residency post. And now? What was there for her?

Time slips by. Hours, days, and somehow, strangely, weeks, without Sarah quite noticing. What she does with that time, if asked, she would never be able to say. And not for lack of trying—it all just passes in a haze. Her lab coat remains crumpled at the bottom of her bag, stethoscope discarded in a drawer in the living room to gather dust. She won’t be needing either of them. Laundry begins to pile up, but Sarah doesn’t care. All she needs is the blue cotton sweatshirt she’s been wearing for days on end, the fabric softer against her skin, hanging far looser from her frame than it had ever done before. Groceries go neglected, not that she needs much. She finds she can hardly stomach anything much these days, apart from wafer crackers with peanut butter, the occasional bowl of cereal (without milk, of course).

The isolation doesn’t help; it makes everything a thousand times worse, she doesn’t know where to begin. Now there’s completely no one to hide from, no one to pretend for. Things are bad, and Sarah sinks into it. It’s like second skin. There again, there when she was absolutely alone.

When she finally manages to drag herself out from her apartment, summer is well and truly in full swing. She’s taken up long walks, through the parks and the streets of Chicago. Sometimes aimless, sometimes with purpose. Slowly she gets round to groceries, though never quite buying enough. But it’s not as though she uses it all up, anyway. Better to undercut, she thinks. Things seem to last longer these days, anyhow.

By the fourth week, Sarah knows this can’t go on. Her doing nothing. As much as she feels she has no energy, still no direction. Something has to change. In any case, with no job now, she needs to find a way to pay her rent at least.

She must be the most overly qualified barista in all of Chicago, with an MD attached to her name. Not that anyone knows that. Not that any of them would care in the slightest. She’s not so sure she deserves that title anyway, what with the way things turned out. But it feels at least a little better, having something to do, a little more routine, a little more structure to her days. It’s not ideal. No newly graduated doctor wants to be manning a till and serving coffee, but this was her life now. Small, quiet, trimmed down to almost zero people. The only person she still saw from her life Before was Joey. She’s pretty sure he’ll stop coming soon. And she’s right.

The upside, if there is an upside to any of this, is that Sarah Reese has always been good at working with what she had. She was used to getting things done alone, used to her own company, her own thoughts, however awful they might get. Just like in college. And medical school. She had been alone. Been there for herself. Pulled herself along. Her own champion and cheerleader in one. And maybe it hadn’t quite worked out perfectly; she hadn’t quite escaped without the scars, but still. She was here. And that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Sometimes, she thinks that when Will had asked her, she should have said something. What exactly, she doesn’t quite know. But maybe something. Because now, no one notices it happening this time. How groceries stretch further and further. How the gaps between her meals increase and the portion sizes decrease. How the dark circles under her eyes only grow. How she’s now a little more shaky, a little more unsteady. The dogs at the shelter she volunteers at on Saturdays don’t notice. The others on her shift at the coffee shop don’t notice. No one does. And it’s fine, it’s really all fine. Because there’s nothing wrong and Sarah’s never had a problem. Never.

And this is her life now, anyway. Just her, her apartment, the coffee shop a few blocks over and the dog shelter on Saturdays. That was her lot.  

[rainydaysofspring]

“Why are you lying to me?” - Part 2

Hi again! Here's part 2 to "Why are you lying to me?" !

Link to Part 1:  “Why are you lying to me?”

Oh, and there's a Naveen Cameo, even though it’s short, I miss him in OH3.

Words: 1.931

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsyex x Dr. Liliana Summers (OC)

Warnings: Death, Crying, Nightmares. If I forgot any, feel free to reach out!

Tag-List:  @ethandaddyramseyx @maurine07 @openheartfanfics

The following days, Ethan and Liliana spent at home, at his apartment. Ethan was concerned, to say the least. Lili barely ate. She slept only short amounts of time and sat at one spot for most of the day: The floor, near the huge windows in the living room. Her gaze was distant, not directed to anything particular. Liliana just let her eyes wander over the city so alive below her.

That night, Ethan woke up at 3 in the morning. When he reached beside him, he only felt cold bedsheets. Ethan looked up and saw the Liliana never came to bed. Her blanket was neatly folded. Ethan got out of bed, walking out of the bedroom, through the hallway, into the living area. Everything was dark and quiet. He continued to walk through the apartment, where another hallway led to more rooms. His office, the bathroom, the guest room, that was barely used.A dim light shone through a gap between the door and the wall of the bathroom. Ethan lightly knocked. "Lili, are you okay in there?" He then heard Liliana clearing her throat. "Um yeah, sure. I'm okay." Ethan didn't believe her. His guts told him something was wrong. And so far, his guts rarely failed him.

Can I come in?" "If you want to." Liliana's voice sounded monotone to him. He entered the bathroom, and his eyes scanned the room. There she was, sitting in the shower cabin, without having the shower turned on. "What's going on, Lili?" Ethan kneeled in front of his girlfriend, not sure if she tolerated his touch. "Why aren't you in bed?"" Liliana sniffled and let her head fall back to hit the wall.

"It's too soft." She watched as Ethan's brows furrowed in confusion. "I can't explain it. It's just too soft. Too comfortable. ""But you have to sleep." Ethan was concerned about her health. "I know. It's just that every time I close my eyes, I am seeing his face, and if I fall asleep, my dreams eventually turn into nightmares." Liliana's voice was hoarse from all the crying she had done.

Now, she was just staring at Ethan's eyes as he sat across her. "What are you doing?" she asked. "If you're not going to sleep, I'm not going to sleep either." With scorn Liliana let her head fall back. "You should go back to bed. Just because I feel like shit doesn't mean you have to."Liliana hoped that would convince him, but Ethan was stubborn. "So you're not okay," Ethan said quietly. Tears came up in Liliana's Eyes again, but she didn't want to cry again. The woman was sick of crying. After taking a few deep breaths, she looked Ethan in the eyes again.

"Of course I'm not okay, Ethan. My brother is dead. I'll go to his funeral in a few days. He is going to be six feet under the earth, buried..." She didn't come further, as her voice broke again, and sobs made her shoulders move up and down. Ethan quickly sat next to his girlfriend, hugging her close. He took her head and propped it against his chest, kissing it and holding her close. His girlfriend just hugged one of his arms, tights, as if it was her lifeline.After some time, Liliana just mumbled: "I just want to scream."

Ethan heard her, even though her voice was so quiet, and said back: "Then scream. Scream as loud as you want." "I can't. It's three in the night, and I'll wake up the neighbors." Ethan cupped Liliana's Face with his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Lili, you are grieving. It's okay to wake up the neighbors. It's okay." Liliana just shook her head, resorting to crying. Ethan held her as long as she wanted him to be there with her.

After a few more days, Liliana had come out of her state a millimeter more. She showered again, now opting for a place on the sofa or bed to spent the day on, eating a little more. His girlfriend still was crying a lot, sleeping little, and barely speaking. Ethan gave her the time she needed. He knew no rush would make it better. On the other hand, his girlfriend didn't get out of his apartment since they went home together the day it happened. She still told him she wanted to scream it all out but couldn't.

So, he had an idea. He knew Naveen had a cabin outside of the city, in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he could convince her to go there with him. Perhaps it would help. He called his mentor, waiting for him to answer his phone. "Ethan? I'm surprised to hear from you. I thought you were home with Liliana?" Ethan was glad he picked up. "Yes, I am. I need a favor. She said she wants to scream but can't. I don't know why exactly she can't, but maybe she doesn't want to disturb anyone in the house. At least, that's what she said last night. I thought of that cabin you own. Maybe we could go there..."

Naveen cut him off at that point. "Good thinking, maybe it'll help her. You know where I hide the spare keys. You can take as long as you need."They talked for a while before Naveen had to hang up, and Ethan planned everything. He walked into the bathroom and took Liliana's favorite shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel, putting it in the shower. Ethan then convinced her to actually take a shower. While he got himself ready, he thought about the best way to approach the next step: Getting her out of his apartment, into the car, and to Naveen's Cabin, located by a beautiful lake, with access to the water.

Liliana enjoyed her shower, taking her time and savoring the peaceful moment. When she stepped out of the shower, she looked at herself in the mirror, noticing her red, puffy eyes. Her eyes wandered over her face before she grabbed some of her makeup. Maybe looking a bit prettier and hiding the dark circles under her eyes would make her feel better somehow. Liliana put on a bit of concealer just to make her look less worn out. She then grabbed the hairdryer and made her hair look more like hers and less than Hagrids. No offense to Hagrid, but she still liked her natural waves better than the eagle's nest that she had created over the last days.

Liliana stepped out of the bathroom, walking across the hall and living area to the room she had spent several days in. Ethans Bedroom. On her side of the bed, Ethan had placed a black pair of leggings, a cardigan, and one of his plain, white shirts. "I thought you wouldn't like to wear jeans now, so I just took those. Are you up for a little trip?" At first, his voice startled her a bit, Liliana didn't hear him coming in. "Ethan, I don't know. Where to?" A smirk played around his lips. "A surprise. You'll like it there." Liliana sat down on the bed, contemplating going with him in her mind. Even though her motivation left her as soon as Ethan found her that day, she didn't know how she could say no to him.

The look in his eyes was hopeful for the first time in a few days. So, she got dressed at her own pace, but eventually, she stood in the living area, fully clothed.They both went downstairs and got in his Sedan, driving out of Boston. They left the busy streets behind them, skyscrapers turning into an open landscape. Soon enough, they rolled up to the Cottage.

Much to Ethan's surprise, another car was parked in front of the cabin, and he quickly realized that it was Naveen. He must have gotten there to check everything, he guessed. Liliana perked up from the passenger seat as the car came to a stop. She looked around and took in her surroundings. "Where are we?" she asked. Ethan pointed to the cabin, a few meters down the way.

"It's Naveens Cabin. He gave it to us, as long as we need it. You said you needed to scream but couldn't. If you want to scream here, just scream. There's not a single soul out here. Just the two of us." Liliana got out of the car and took in her surroundings. The air was cleaner as it was in the city. She heard birds chirping and felt a soft breeze blowing through her hair. It made her feel one thing, she didn't feel a lot in the last weeks. She felt alive.Liliana looked down the way as a familiar man walked up the path. Ethan and Liliana walked up to the gates, meeting the older doctor there. Liliana forced a smile when Naveen gently laid a hand on her shoulder as they talked for a bit. Naveen asked how she was feeling and if she was doing any better. "Thanks, Naveen, for letting us stay here," Ethan said as Liliana walked further down the path towards the lake. "Don't mention it, Ethan. I hope it helps Liliana." Ethan nodded while saying. "Me too, Naveen. She hasn't been herself since it happened. Most of the time, she's just staring at nothing in particular- She seems lost. Like she doesn't know how to be alive now, that her brother is gone. "

Naveen listened. He knew what his protegee was feeling for the young doctor. He knew, even before Ethan finally broke his facade. Naveen usually liked seeing him like this, caring for another human being that wasn't a patient. "She will be herself again. Maybe some time here will help. I have to get going now. The hospital waits for me." Ethan said goodbye to his mentor, walking closer to Liliana.

She was standing near the water, observing the lake and the forest behind it. The cardigan she wore was wrapped tightly around her body. Ethan wrapped his arms around Liliana, engulfing her in a big hug. "Good surprise?" Liliana took his Arms and mumbled in agreement. They spent the day mostly sitting on the front porch. Ethan went inside from time to time, mostly to cook or to make Liliana a new cup of tea.

They sat there together, observing the nature evolving around them. At dawn, they experienced a beautiful sunset before it slowly got dark. Liliana sat there, a blanket over her legs, taking in everything around her. She stood up, feeling like she needed to do something she wanted to do for days. While walking down the path towards the water, Ethan got up behind her. He was wondering what she was up to. Given her straight aiming for the lake, he suspected nothing good. She walked down the path.

"Lili?" No answer. "Liliana?" Still, she didn't answer but stopped walking. She stood at the little strip of sand that divided the meadow from the lake. Her arms fell to her sides as she breathlessly looked out at the lake. Ethan stopped a few meters behind her, observing her. Her shoulders were heaving again. He assumed tears were streaming down her face again. Then suddenly, she took a deep breath in and let it out in an agonizing scream. She screamed out all the pain she felt over the last few weeks before she collapsed to her knees. Ethan quickly paced to her form, hugging her from behind. "It's okay, Lili. It's okay."

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. XCVI

It was a love story from the very beginning.

And You are not here... (Part IV)

(13x05)

Hello my friends! How are you? We arrived to the episode in which Castiel comes back. Yay!

Okay, Dean will be particularly suicidal in this one, and we will have a lot of foreshadows for the incoming possesion.

So, let's talk about this...

Dr. Meadows and The Open Door

The ghost of Dr. Meadows was a blatant foreshadow of AU!Michael. They wore the same apron, experimented with people and monsters and also, the doctor made lobectomies and literally, git inside the patients' heads. Is a symbolism for what Michael will do with Dean.

Look at the doctor...

(gif credit @aborddelimpala)

Yep, the same apron and he burns... Just like Michael will do.

Also this scene...

(gif credit @celestialsonata7 )

The masks, different mask the crazy doc wore, are a symbolism of the different faces Michael will take through season 14.

Another clue of how the season 14 will go, is this tiny dialogue between the two boys at the beginning of the episode, before trying to get inside the Dr. A Meadows Mental Health Center.

Evan: I told you it’d be unlocked.

Shawn: Why would they leave it open?

Leaving the door open, will be seen again in episode 14x02, and it plays a symbolic foreshadow for what will happen with Dean, Michael will leave him but then, he will possesse him again in 14x09. "Leaving the open door for the second possession."

So, if we follow this same statement, we can say Shawn is Dean here. He represents Dean after being possesed, the PTSD.

Penny: Shawn, he….won’t talk. He can’t.

Sam: What do you mean?

Penny: The doctors say…he’s okay physically, that it’s psychological. You know, trauma, like he…he…saw some – saw something so…awful. God I don’t even know what he was doing out that late.

This is a representation of how Dean will be trying to face all the whirlwind of feelings and trauma after Michael leaves him. The kid is muted, just like Dean will avoid talking about the possession. And Shawn draws obssesively, the doc's masks, as Dean will be obssesed in kill Michael after being possesed. (14x03).

Then...

Penny: And, uh, Evan, he’s still missing. Uh… He, Shawn, and their friend Mike Ramos, they’re inseparable.

This is how TFW will be separated because of Michael.

We have another visual narrative clue in Shawn's room, when his mother gets in because he was having a nightmare.

There's a pic on his wall, and is a foreshadow of this scene from 14x04...

The picture shows a red background and a terrifying silhouette of a person. The entire room is Dean's mind. The red color talks about his toxicity. The monster is Michael/John Winchester and his own fears, guilts and toxic behavior, like violence.

The mother is wearing green, as a reminder of Dean Winchester's innocence, usually Scooby Doo represents that too.

The monster doc appears inside of his dreams (head) and also in his own room, as a foreshadow of Michael looking though Dean's eyes, and his possesion.

Dr. Meadows appears in his room, literally possesse the kid, he grabs the mask and put it on his face! Is a blatant symbolism of AUMichael!Dean! and they leave the house. Just like Michael will do with Dean at the end of the season. And also, the meaning of Shawn that escapes the first time but not the second one, is talking about the dynamics of season 14: Michael will leave, Dean will be free just for a few days, before being possesed again, more strongly than before, in season 9.

Suicidal Dean and Sam trying to cheer him up.

If we recall the previous episode, Sam was very shocked because his brother confessed to him he didn't have faith anymore.

At the beginning of the episode we had this dialogue between Sam and Dean...

Sam: Hey

Dean: Hey

Sam: PB&J for breakfast? Strong work.

Dean: Yep.

Well, we all know who was the one telling us that PB&J sandwich was his favorite, right? So... This is not a new observation, but that little clue over there is screaming DEAN MISSES CAS.

So we will have a very cheerful Sammy, giving Dean beer in the morning, pushing him to go to a strip house, and literally, trying to give his brother every usual item he runs into when he is depressed for losing people. He even let Dean being under the number of Agent Page. Their fav.

When Dean sees this, he faves his brother, asking him why he's been so nice to him.

Dean: Okay. Look, I-I’ve been down this road before and I fought my way back. I will fight my way back again.

Sam: How?

Dean: Same way I always do – bullets, bacon, and booze. [Rings front desk bell] A lotta booze.

This is very important, because Billie will refute it in this same episode...

So Dean eats a lot of bacon and stuffs, he drinks a lot, and he even goes to the strip house. But all is fake.

They had their first encout er with Dr. Meadows... And this alarming scene is showed to us...

(Gif credit @smartiespn )

Dean wanted to die here. He wasn't fighting back. He was accepting his death. Why? Is he so affected by Castiel's death and Mary that he wants to die? But why because of Mary, he had lost parents before, John, Bobby, and his convo of bullets, booze and sex worked back then. But why isn't working now? Because the variable her is CASTIEL. He lost the love of his life and nothing will be fine again. SO DEAN WANTS TO DIE BECAUSE CAS DIED. The convo would work with Mary but not with Castiel.

Then, Dean plans a suicidal way out to save the ghosts. He does it so quick, Sam can't react to it. Dean literally kills himself in front of Sam.

The dialogue between Billie and Dean shows again that Dean is in so bad shape, he doesn't want to live, he changed after Castiel's dead. He won't recover of losing the love of his life, his faith. He knows Sam can move on from him. He is able to keep going. But Dean wants to stop. Because Castiel is dead.

Dean: So… am I dead?

Billie: You killed yourself.

Billie is pointing at Dean's suicidal behavior with that plan, because this time is different.

Dean: No. Are you keeping me dead?

Billie: Now that depends on you.

Billie is saying this because she is supecting Dean is different. Dean wanted this. So she tastes waters.

After this there's a negotiation, because Billie wants to know about the AU, because is very important to balance. And the Winchesters just keep bringing chaos.

But Dean exchanges the freedom of the ghosts from the Meadows House for information, the ghosts are released but the deal caught Billie's attention that when she asked for WHAT DEAN REALLY WANTED, Dean choose the ghost and not come back to life.

Billie: Because I do. Because…this whole multi-versal quantum construct we live in, it’s like a house of cards. And the last thing I need is some big, dumb Winchester knocking it all down.

This is important because we do know now Billie hated Dean for this.

Then, the truth is revealed...

Billie: You’ve changed. When you bargained with me just now, you could’ve asked to go back, to live.

Dean: Well, I figured with you in charge, there’s no getting back for me.

Billies faces him with her suspicions, but Dean lies.

Billie: That doesn’t sound like the Dean Winchester I know and love. The man who has been dead so many times but it never seems to stick. Maybe you’re not that guy anymore, they guy who saves the world, the guy who always thinks he’ll win no matter what. You have changed. And you tell people it’s not a big deal. You tell people you’ll work through it but you know you won’t, you can’t and that scares the hell out of you. Or… am I wrong?

(Gif set credit @justjensenanddean )

Dean's silence confirms Billies suspicions. Dean's silence is affirming she just read his mind. He won't be okay, never again. Because this time is different, this time Castiel is dead, forever dead, and he really believe Cas won't come back. Life lost its meaning to him.

Dean: What do you want me to say? Doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.

Billie: Don’t you?

Dean really want to stay dead. He is so sad and lost, he doesn't want to live anymore. Nothing matters if Castiel is gone.

Dean: I couldn’t save Mom. I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I’m not going to beg. Okay, if it’s my time, it’s my time.

Dean even is feeling guilty because Sam had lost his faith in the previous episode, and because now he is very worried about him.

Billie: You really believe that. [Dean shakes his head yes] You wanna die. Dean…every notebook on this particular shelf tells a version of how you die. You specifically, heart attack, burned by a red-haired witch, stabbed by a ghoul in a graveyard, and on and on. But which one’s right? That depends on you, on the choices you make.

Dean: Well, I guess I made my choice.

Here people, here! Billie makes the diagnosis and confirms his suspicious. Dean wants to be dead. And then she gave a him again the opportunity of come back to life, but Dean doesn't want to come back. He wants to remain dead! He's sure about it! He confirms it again when he says I GUESS I MADE MY CHOICE.

Billie: But…unfortunately none of these books say you die today.

The word unfortunately is not just for her but for him too. Because Dean really wants to be dead.

After this revealing and scaring dialogue, we were shown how deep Dean was into his depression for losing Castiel.

Then, another sad dialogue with his brother...

Sam: You okay?

Dean: No. Sam, I’m not okay. I’m pretty far from okay. You know, my whole life, I always believed that what we do was important. No matter what the cost, no matter who we lost, whether it was Dad or – or Bobby or –. And I would take the hit. But I kept on fighting because I believed that we were making the world a better place. And now Mom and Cas… And I – I don’t know. I don’t know.

Sam: So now you don’t believe anymore.

Dean: I just need a win. I just need a damn win.

Dean is tired, and now he has to live, without Cas, in the real world, and he's tired.

But then... And because "Cas wanted to come back to him with a win" and Dean had just asked for win, Castiel comes back to him. Castiel is his win.

The face Dean puts when he receives Castiel's call is priceless. He is in shock, he can't reply, he can't talk. Is a mix of feelings. He can't believe Cas is alive.

Then the encounter, adorned as if it was a wedding, or how some people described, a parallel to Romeo and Juliet encounter, with the Sam cross as the witness, and the song playing in the background, exhaustively analyzed, "It's not too late to start all over again."

(Gif set credit @codestielckles )

To Conclude:

This episode was magnificently written by Yockey, it was full of symbolism that pointed out to foreshadows to season 14, Michael and Dean's possesion.

But it also showed us how deep was Dean's depression, and which was the real cause of it: CASTIEL PERMANENT DEAD, the idea of not getting him back made Dean's life to lose its meaning. He didn't want to be alive in a world where Cas wasn't there.

Hope you like this meta. See you in the next one!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weird-dorky-little-d @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@destielle @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @2musiclover2 @madronasky @anon-non2 @cea1996 @lisafu02 @asphodelesauvage @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh

If you want to be added or removed from this list just let me know.

If you wanna read my previous metas from season 13 here you have the links:

Vol. XCIII, XCIV, XCV

Buenos Aires, January 10th 2021 1:03 PM

[tsrookie]

Illicit Affairs

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Alyssa Brooks)

A/N: Hey everyone! So this is my first time writing a fic and... I’m pretty nervous😅 Massive thanks to @kaavyaethanramsey and @ohramsey for pre-reading this fic. Thanks so much for your support you guys!

Song Inspiration: Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 2463, so yeah, I went a lil overboard😬

Warnings: One curse word. Pretty tame besides that.

Summary: My version of what might’ve went on in MC’s head after the kiss in Chapter 8. And uh, excuse the Taylor Swift references😁

——————————————

Make sure nobody sees you leave

Hood over your head, keep your eyes down

Tell your friends you’re out for a run

You’ll be flushed when you return

She watched the lights of Boston city pass in a blur as her head reeled from what had just happened. Ethan Ramsey had kissed her. Not the other way around like it had been for a very long time. She was still flushed from the encounter and had no idea what to make of it.

She got out of the cab and walked to her apartment in a haze. “God I hope no one’s still awake.”, she thought to herself as she was about to open the door. But as fate would have it, Jackie was curled up on the couch with her phone. “Where on earth have you been?”, she asked, as Alyssa’s mind struggled to give a proper answer. She’d told Sienna about her whereabouts and had hoped that she would’ve given the others an explanation. “Just went for a walk. Needed to clear my head after that match.”, she finally said. Jackie skeptically raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t ask anything else. She was grateful for that, as she had enough on her mind already.

Take the road less traveled by

Tell yourself you can always stop

What started in beautiful rooms

Ends with meetings in parking lots

She flopped down on her bed as her heart raced. “Why? Of all the 7 billion people on the planet I could’ve fallen for, why did it have to be my boss? Anyone, just about anyone else would’ve been great.” She hated herself for this reason ever since they first kissed in Miami. Her heart always aspired to rise higher, but the more she had to lose along with it. Be it in her career, or a relationship.

She knew that it would be hard for her family to see her leave for Boston, since her brother had also left a couple of years ago to London and could barely get enough time to make a call once in three months. She didn’t blame him though, he was her big brother and she loved him no matter what. But it broke her heart to see the looks on her parents’ faces when they found out that she was going to leave Cedar Cove too. They’d always been a tight-knit family and her parents had hoped that she would find a good job somewhere close by. But getting matched to Edenbrook was her dream come true and they didn’t want her to give up on it as they’d supported her from the moment she’d decided that she wanted to become a doctor.

She didn’t want to lose them. She was scared that she wouldn’t be able to stay in touch with them if she left, but thankfully, she managed to squeeze in some time every weekend to make a FaceTime call.

Then came Ethan Ramsey. Her medical hero, her inspiration for becoming a doctor, the reason she applied to Edenbrook. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she would spend the second year of her residency working under him in one of the most prestigious diagnostics teams in the country, and possibly, even the world.

But ever since she first saw him for just Ethan, and not the world famous Dr. Ramsey, her heart longed to fill that missing void in him. She saw past his name and saw him with all his flaws and imperfections. The real Ethan Ramsey was nothing like the man she’d idolized throughout med school. He was an utter mess. But he was the mess that she wanted. She could’ve let go and focused only on her life anytime she wished. But she didn’t. The path of dating a superior was always avoided and forbidden, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be there for him, whether he liked it or not.

And that’s the thing about illicit affairs

And clandestine meetings and longing stares

It’s born from just one single glance

But it dies and it dies and it dies

A million little times

Her mind wandered back to the night Ethan returned from the Amazon.

One look into his ocean-blue eyes and she was a goner. Two months of trying to bury her feelings, all wasted in one moment. And she knew he felt the same way too.

She’d mentally cursed herself for staying past last call with him as she walked with him into the beer garden. She knew that he’d missed her like hell from the longing glance he’d given her when she had run her fingers through his new beard. “I know I’m getting rejected, so why the fuck am I trying to have a conversation with him?!”, she’d reprimanded herself while she tried to get him to say why he hadn’t stayed in touch with her for two whole months. “How am I supposed to push you to be everything you can be if I...” Those words broke her heart all over again. He’d trailed off like this in the exact same way back in Miami. Her heart shattered for the millionth time since that first kiss, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She put on a brave face as she walked away from him, having no idea how she was supposed to ever look at him again without longing and pain evident in her eyes.

Leave the perfume on the shelf

That you picked out just for him

So you leave no trace behind

Like you don’t even exist

The day after the board had decided to solicit high-profile patients was one of the worst days of her life. He hadn’t said a single word to her since he came out of the boardroom. She was consumed by guilt. Not because she’d found a way to save the team and the hospital, but the fact that she had hurt Ethan and broken his trust in her in the process.

The next few days were hard. June and Baz were being as supportive of her as they could, but even they just barely skirted around Ethan, as no one wanted to face his wrath. He was an absolute monster to the poor interns, and she felt terrible knowing that it was all because of her. Sothy in particular, had only asked Ethan as to whether he had seen Dr. Rosario, and was chewed out in the atrium in front of everybody for it. Needless to say, Elijah was pretty upset for the rest of the day and it took a lot of convincing to get him to go on his planned date with Phoebe that evening. Alyssa felt horrible that everyone around her had to suffer Ethan’s harsh behaviour ten times fold because of her.

She had to, quite literally, run out of the office once a team meeting got over so that she didn’t have to be alone with him. And she only did her paperwork at home and in the doctors lounge, since she didn’t want to hurt him by leaving any traces of her work in his office. Ethan pretended as though they were never something special. He never treated her in any way less than any of his other colleagues, but his blue eyes that once filled her with warmth, now reserved a coldness that was meant just for her. Quite a few days passed with him not even acknowledging her. She felt like she didn’t even truly exist to him anymore.

Take the words for what they are

A dwindling, mercurial high

A drug that only worked

The first few hundred times

Leland Bloom’s case was something she personally loathed. Ethan had almost reverted back to his normal self when this case was assigned to the team. Then it was back to square one. But she wasn’t afraid of facing him anymore. The look of his face when she called him out for being a spoiled child would forever be etched in her mind. She was proud of herself for it, and deep down she knew that he was too.

His mood constantly changed whenever the team discussed Leland’s case. But he at least didn’t look at her like a criminal anymore, and that lightened her heart a little.

She would be forever grateful for Leland’s work ethic though, as it finally gave her a chance to openly talk to Ethan on the yacht, a task they’d both been avoiding for weeks. He’d tried to maintain an indifferent facade, but of course she’d made sure that he miserably failed. When he’d told her that she made it incredibly difficult to stay focused, she had almost laughed out loud in joy. That was a clear indicator that his walls were coming down, and that they were back to their old banter. He had made hundreds of reasons and excuses to push her away in the past, and he was slowly running out of them. “You can only run away so many times Ethan.”, she’d thought to herself as she looked at him fondly, glad that he wasn’t angry at her anymore.

And that’s the thing about illicit affairs

And clandestine meetings and stolen stares

They show their truth one single time

But they lie and they lie and they lie

A million little times

Her mind came back to the present as she remembered the kiss they’d shared a few hours ago. The kiss he’d initiated. A few weeks ago if someone had told her that this would happen, she would’ve probably told them to go for a mental health checkup. But it had actually happened. “Ethan Ramsey took the initiative to kiss me.” She let those words finally sink in.

She was supposed to be ecstatic. She was supposed to be jumping like a maniac in her room. “So why am I not?”, she thought to herself.

The answer was simple: she was scared. Scared of being pushed away again. Scared of Ethan lying to himself and to her by saying that it didn’t mean anything.

She was done with the whole “stolen stares” and “painful glances” thing. They’d both shown their true feelings tonight, and she was not going to go back to the start again. “I only hope that he feels the same way and doesn’t run again.”, she sighed as she thought back to her first day at Edenbrook...

And you wanna scream

Don’t call me “kid,” don’t call me “baby”

Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

You showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else

“You. Rookie. Get in here.” Those were the first words he’d ever spoken to her. She was feeling a little insulted at being called a rookie at that moment. She never thought she would miss that nickname so terribly ever since her second year started. Sure, it was undermining her in the beginning, but she knew that it became a term of endearment for both of them as time passed.

She’d realized how much it actually meant to her the night she visited his apartment after her suspension. She knew that he was trying to being distant as soon as he called her ‘Brooks’.

There were plenty of guys who had hit on her in the past. Heck, Bryce and Rafael had pretty obvious crushes on her too back in her intern year. But none of that mattered to her after Miami. She just couldn’t look into anyone else’s eyes other than Ethan’s clear blue. Those eyes made her feel like she was flying miles above the ground. They made her feel like she was at home. Sure, to everyone else, those eyes would only show harshness. But ever since she’d gone with him to follow his mother, she’d seen nothing but an uncharacteristic tender look in his eyes that he had last given her when she’d won her ethics hearing. She definitely wasn’t complaining about it.

Don’t call me “kid,” don’t call me “baby”

Look at this idiotic fool that you made me

You taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else

Her eyes filled with tears as she recalled the day she’d found out that Ethan had left, or rather, fled, to the Amazon forest. She was beside herself, sick with worry in hopes that he would be alright, and hurt beyond measure that he didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

She’d felt like an absolute fool. An idiot, who believed that they would be alright, as long as they just focused on their patients. She was broken, to find out that he had taken such an extreme measure to put distance between them.

“I am so so sorry Alyssa. I told him not to go, but he was very insistent.”, Naveen had tried to console her when she had marched up to his office as soon as the announcement of Ethan’s departure had been made in the atrium. She didn’t blame Naveen though. Ethan was as stubborn as a mule, and there was nothing that could’ve been changed even if she had known beforehand about his decision.

Sienna had tried, in vain, to set her up with some cute guys, but her heart just said no to every single one of them. Whenever she tried to give them a chance, her heart just kept telling her, “He isn’t Ethan.” No one could ever have even a small part of her heart since it completely belonged to him.

And you know damn well

For you, I would ruin myself

A million little times

Her heart hurt worse than ever. But surprisingly, she liked the pain. She wasn’t the kind of person who liked an easy answer. That was why she admired Ethan. He loved the challenges of being a doctor. He loved the puzzle. And so did she.

She pondered over her thoughts as a query struck her mind: “Do I love him?” She always knew that her feelings for him were strong and something special. But she’d never thought of the L-word before.

She thought about why she came to Edenbrook. She wanted to become the best doctor she could be. She wanted to make a difference for the people who had nowhere to go. But now, she was stuck in a situation where she was willing to risk it all for her boss. “I think I do love him...”, she thought. “No, I know I love him. He’s worth the risk. I’m not going to ruin my career by being with him. I will fight for this. For us.”, she said to herself with a determined mindset. She loved Ethan Ramsey with all her heart, and she was not gonna lose him no matter what. As exhaustion finally overtook her, she closed her eyes with the knowledge of her promise. She was going to fight for them, she definitely was.

———————————

Hope you guys liked it!😊 Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist. And any constructive criticism is much appreciated! I have an idea of making this into a series, so do let me know if you wanna see more song-inspired fics🎶

Taglist: @kaavyaethanramsey @ohramsey @aylamwrites @caseyvalentineramsey @starrystarrytrouble @dxnicaramsey @decadentwinnerjudgedream @nithya @mrsmatsuo @choicesolivia @rookiefromedenbrook

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter Two

“We parted on difficult terms. He had some ideas that… challenged my sense of professional integrity. I told him I was out and, well, men like that don't tend to handle rejection too gracefully.

All I know of him after that point is that he ran into some health problems and was forced to step down from his position. It may seem cruel but I think the world is better off for it. Rappaccini is no more qualified to treat the human body than I am to teach a dance class.”

Students filed into the corridor, too busy rushing to their next destination to take note of the visitor as she slipped into the lecture hall. Branching off from the main room itself was a small office, and inside, a lone professor plugging attendance data and homework grades into a blocky desktop computer. Gianna waited until the last lingering students dispersed before announcing herself with a knock on the doorframe.

The professor looked up. “Well look who it is.” She adjusted her glasses and squinted at the figure before her, taking all of her in from the spots of dribbled varnish on her shoes upward. “And who is it who stands before me? Not Virgil’s little girl.”

“I actually go by Gianna these days. Or Ms Alexander if you’re feeling formal,” she said wryly, though not without affection. 

Her face broke out in a grin that deepened the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She unhooked her cane from the arm of her chair and stood. “The last time I saw you, Gianna, you were half-- no, a quarter of your height and missing your front teeth. Time is a funny thing, isn’t it.”

“You’re telling me, Dr Bagnol.”

“Call me Petra. Or Professor if you’re feeling formal.” She winked and patted her arm. “We are colleagues of a kind now, aren’t we? I think you’ve earned the privilege.”

“I don’t know about that. You’re a biochemistry teacher and I fuss around with cotton swabs.”

“Technicalities! Don’t sell yourself short. You know, your father called just recently and when he told me you were going to be working here, I thought he was going to burst a lung the way he wouldn’t stop singing your praises.”

Gianna blushed at that.

“Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t set your sights higher than our humble university. I heard you were studying in Naples for a while.”

“I guess I was feeling homesick. Then I moved back in with my parents for a while and soon it was the opposite feeling.”

“Sick of home,” she supplied. “I know the feeling. I remember being your age, never wanting to be still for a moment. I was only surprised to hear you weren’t seduced away by foreign shores.”

She shrugged. “It was never about distance, I just needed to find a place where I felt like my life could really begin. And for right now I think that’s here.” Wanting to move the subject away from herself she added, “Dad says hi, by the way. He also says you need to start answering your email more than once a year.”

“Email. A man of literature like your father should give more respect to the written word. You tell him I won’t settle for less than a hand-scribed letter, like they did in the old days. I want to smell that clean valley air he goes on about etched into the paper.”

Gianna laughed. It was reassuring to find some things never changed. Although the silver in her hair had grown more prominent, Dr Bagnol was in many ways just the same as she remembered her. She never knew exactly how she and her father had met, only that it was while they were both still students, and that Petra had been a firecracker from the start, determined to surpass the role that had been imposed on her as a disabled woman in a field that was often unwelcoming to her. Though Gianna couldn’t say she knew her very well personally, the mythos that had been handed down to her had definitely played a part in her decision to become more independent. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Petra said. “Virgil dropped some hints that I should track you down once you started working here but I told him I wouldn’t have that kind of attitude. You’re a grown woman and you don’t need nannying. However,” She picked up a tote from her desk and slung it around her shoulder. “Since you came to me, I’m free to invite you to lunch.”

“Dad wanted you to check up on me?”

“Don’t take it for a lack of faith in you. Parents worry. It’s what they do. I’m sure he just wanted you to have a familiar face to turn to, should you need it. Come to lunch with me, Gianna. We’ll catch up.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to--”

“I’m just going to keep asking until you give in. You know that, right?”

She felt herself soften under her insistence. It wasn’t as if she had other plans anyway. “Yeah, alright. That sounds nice.”

Petra led the way to a little sandwich shop not far off campus and, despite Gianna’s protests, insisted on treating her. The weather was kind to them that day so they took their lunch on the patio watching the cars crawl by to the rhythm of the neverending traffic. They sat and ate and spoke of nothing in particular until, without warning, Dr Bagnol’s gaze caught on something in the distance that put a troubled frown on her face.

“What is it?” She started to turn in her seat.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice had taken on a sharp quality that startled the young woman, but she caught herself and when she spoke again her voice was even and deliberate. “I thought I saw someone I knew. That’s all.”

Not satisfied with her answer, Gianna glanced over her shoulder. Across the street, standing motionless in front of the crosswalk, was the withered old man she had seen in the garden that first day: Beatrice’s father.

Ever since she had met her that one evening on the fire escape, Gianna had come into the habit of chatting with her almost every day. She couldn’t always guarantee she’d be home from work when Beatrice went out to tend the garden, but on the days she spied her from her window she never hesitated to climb down and visit. 

Their chats together weren’t anything especially profound; she got the impression Beatrice really just wanted a friend to keep her company while she worked and Gianna was happy to provide. Often they kept the conversation light and simple. One would ask about the other’s day, or an interesting book they read, or something they heard in the news. Then Beatrice would eventually be summoned by her father or the memory of some other chore she had to attend to inside, and they would part ways.

On the occasions Beatrice wasn’t in such a pleasant mood however, no matter the initial topic the conversation would eventually find its way back to her father. Apparently he was, as Gianna had predicted, in a bad state and sick more often than not, and while Beatrice wasn’t his sole caretaker he trusted her more than the average nurse. The old man had been a doctor before being reduced to the role of patient, and a somewhat renowned one at that. He had homeschooled his daughter and taught her everything he knew. Now she was expected to apply that knowledge by taking on the bulk of responsibility for his care.

He was frail, she said, and the state of his health could be unpredictable, so she was on constant vigil. The only time she really had to herself was when he was asleep or on a rare errand, and she spent that time for the most part in the garden, the place that gave her the greatest sense of peace. It must have been hard on her, Gianna often thought, to be in the prime of her life and chained to his bedside. She understood though. If it had been either of her parents she was sure she would have done the same. 

Knowing this also gave her some more sympathy for the old man. It painted him in a more human light, and she berated herself for ever being afraid of him in the first place. But seeing him here now, staring at her again with those scrutinous sunken eyes, resurfaced some of that initial dread. Dr Bagnol seemed to sense it too.

At the moment Beatrice’s father was wearing an unseasonal gray overcoat and carrying an old-fashioned black carpet bag. He lifted his free hand and slowly waved at Gianna, his stony features cracking with the barest attempt at a smile, which did nothing to soften his appearance. In fact, the more she looked at him the more leering the grin appeared to be.

“Don’t acknowledge him, Gianna,” said Dr Bagnol coldly.

“No, no, it’s fine. That’s just my neighbor.” She forced herself to give a friendly wave in return. 

Petra reached across the table and grabbed her hand back. “What do you mean he’s your neighbor?”

“His building is next to mine. Why?” 

She sighed shakily and gave another glance across the street. The man was beginning to shuffle away now, the retreating shape of him becoming swallowed up by the crowd of fellow pedestrians. Petra released her hand and drew in a tense breath. She steepled her fingers together over the table.

“His name is Giacoma Rappaccini. He was… I knew him, for a time. Not well. He came to me for some insight on a project of his years ago.”

“I heard he was a doctor,��� Gianna offered. “You worked together?”

The professor chose her next words carefully. “Officially, he was a 'doctor of holistic and alternative medicines', before he retired that is. But he liked to dabble. Botany, chemistry, anthropology, philosophy. I knew when I met him that he was the sort of man who could spend a hundred years studying and still feel he hadn't learned enough.” She smiled ruefully. “It was a quality we shared, so I agreed to assist him.”

“Doesn't seem like you like the guy much.”

“We parted on difficult terms. He had some ideas that… challenged my sense of professional integrity. I told him I was out and, well, men like that don't tend to handle rejection too gracefully. All I know of him after that point is that he ran into some health problems and was forced to step down from his position. It may seem cruel but I think the world is better off for it. Rappaccini is no more qualified to treat the human body than I am to teach a dance class. 

"He's a brilliant intellectual, sure, but he lacks any compassion, any consideration for the value of human life outside of points of data on a chart. He never cared about helping people with his medicine; he only ever cared about pushing his own limits. I think, in the end, he must have pushed himself too far."

Gianna sat and processed that. The man did give her the creeps but in the scant few times she’d witnessed him he’d never come across as malevolent, and Beatrice clearly loved him. Even on the bad days, she only ever spoke well of him, and it was hard to believe a girl like Beatrice could exist without having had a loving upbringing. Whoever her mother was or had been surely was loved by him as well. That was enough evidence for Gianna that he couldn’t be everything Petra claimed him to be.

“You said he’s your neighbor. Has he ever spoken to you? Invited you over?”

She shook her head. “Rumor has it he’s a pretty private person, and I’m not exactly going over to borrow a cup of sugar or anything.”

Gianna opted not to mention her afternoons with his daughter.

She relaxed at that reassurance. “Good. Take my advice and stay far away from Rappaccini. Nothing good ever came from getting too chummy with that man. Now, where were we?”

They changed topics and the conversation gradually returned to safer, more pleasant territory, but Gianna couldn't stop thinking about what she had said, about the old man and about the sweet but melancholy girl who was left alone with him.

-----

Against the professor’s advice, Gianna did continue meeting with Beatrice. It hadn’t even been a question in her mind whether she would. If anything, knowing about Petra’s history with Dr Rappaccini made her all the more curious about the young woman. 

She reasoned that she was still technically acting in line with Dr Bagnol’s wishes; she hadn’t so much as glimpsed the shadow of the man since their lunch outing, and the more she spoke with Beatrice the more certain she felt that the daughter was nothing like the boogieman father Petra had described to her, however much of her telling was even accurate.

Beatrice was a sweetheart, bookish and reserved. She smothered laughs behind her hand and averted her eyes when she found herself caught in Gianna’s warm gaze. She was smart, happily listing off the latin genuses of her favorite plants and reciting lessons on phytochemicals she suddenly remembered (she might as well have been speaking latin here too, for as much as Gianna understood her) but at the same time strangely naive. 

She had a boundless love for the world, yet Gianna got the impression she’d seen very little of it. Her eyes always went wide with interest when Gianna spoke of the traveling she’d done. Gianna never thought it was all that impressive but she would gladly talk about it, would say just about anything in fact, if it would get her to pay more attention to her than her flowers for a moment. 

One time, Gianna playfully inserted a flirtatious Italian phrase into their conversation and was flustered to find Beatrice spoke it near fluently, as well as Spanish, Portuguese, Romanian…

“How many languages do you know?” she asked, stunned.

“Six,” she replied. “Not counting English. I’m thinking about trying Mandarin next, and I can read Arabic but can’t speak it. Honestly, I’m not great with the conversational stuff. I’m just good at memorizing new vocabulary and being able to understand multiple languages gives me a much wider variety of reading material.”

She spoke about her talent with words like it was a card trick she’d picked up in her spare time.

“What do you like to read about?”

That got her excited. When Beatrice got excited she found it harder to play coy or smother her emotions under a layer of cool composure, so of course Gianna tried to get her excited as often as possible.

“Everything. Anything. Father’s library is huge but it’s mostly textbooks and old scientific journals and stuff like that. Which is fine,” she added hurriedly. “I like to read those too, but what I really like to read is… romance novels.”

She confessed it like it was some deep dark secret, grinning and turning berry red beneath the brown of her skin. It occurred to Gianna quite suddenly that she was falling in love with her. 

The panic set in right away. She had been happy to have Beatrice as a friend, tamping down her attraction in order to keep spending time with her, but now it was becoming clear that the dam wouldn’t hold forever. She needed to say something, if only to keep from leading her on, if only to keep her from getting the wrong idea or, heaven forbid, the right one. 

What if she was straight? Did gay girls read romance too? Did gay girls wear their dresses long and their hair short like her? Gianna had crushed on butches, on femmes, on lipstick, chapstick, snapback, every kind of sapphic on the vast spectrum of preference and presentation, and she still couldn’t get a read on her. Beatrice seemed to be from another world, another time, somehow out of step with the rest of humanity. If she started dropping hints, she couldn’t predict if she would follow her lead or recoil in disgust and never speak to her again.

That night, Gianna had a strange dream. She might have expected she would, given how wound up she’d felt since their last discussion. The ghost of her had followed her up, back through the window of her apartment, and as she tossed and turned in bed that night she was dizzy with it.

In her dream, she found herself walking in a cathedral. As was the way with dreams, her sight was blurry and visions danced and flickered in front of her eyes before vanishing in the same instant. However even as the edges of her surroundings blurred like a bad photograph, she heard the echoing of her footsteps clearly, and felt the largeness of the air around her. There wasn’t another way to describe it, she thought, just a strange sensation of vast emptiness surrounding her, rendering her infinitely smaller by comparison. 

She was a child now, and she was at a wedding. Or could it have been a funeral? There were flowers everywhere, but dark ones with big thorns and a smell that clung to the back of her throat and watered her eyes. She reached out to touch one and.

--

next chapter

[amethystiridescence]

I debated a lot about whether to post this as I'm worried about it being misconstrued but I feel there's a lot of points that merit discussion. I'd definitely be open for people's thoughts on it.

tl;dr: society has an unhealthy deeply interwoven obsession with sex/romance as a be all and end all, and I think it's a large contributor to sexual violence against women.

Regarding the discussions that Sarah Everad’s case has reawoken, there are few voices trying to invalidate the most common argument by saying “there’s no point telling men not to rape/murder because the messed up men will do it anyway”. But this is an extreme simplification of the matter at hand. The issue lies with the perpetrators of course and NEVER the victims. But we need to explore what breeds the mentality of the perpetrators as SO many women have recounted their experiences, so it’s obvious that the problem is widespread at varying levels. The levels range from the simplest catcaller to cases like Elliot Rodger and Sarah Everad’s killer.

My belief is that a lot of the mentality surrounding the violence and aggression towards women stems from male entitlement. That phrase alone is a buzzword, and again its often used with a simple-cut phrase with “women don’t owe men anything” which is entirely true, but whilst unlearning entitlement is a step further than telling men “don’t rape”, its still not tackling the problem at its roots.

Men in our society have been exposed to lifelong conditioning through mass media and social-engineering. We are more than familiar with movies/tv series where romantic/sexual attention from a woman is often a reward/end goal for the male protagonists. Sometimes there are men pitted against each other vying for the affections of a woman like it’s a coveted prize, and it’s normalised with humorous portrayal. Or sometimes sexual/romantic interest is not a reward, it’s a given, no matter what kind of person the male character is; see any series where a conventionally unattractive/unpleasant man always keeps his devoted, conventionally attractive wife despite his obvious flaws (Peter Griffin, Homer Simpson, Fred Flintstone). Then of course there’s the normalising of not taking no for an answer and constantly persisting and being rewarded eventually for it; for example The Notebook is considered a very romantic film but the male character literally threatens to kill himself to make her agree to date him. And of course there’s very damaging concepts presented by films like the 40 Year Old Virgin, but we’ll come to the negative sex-shaming in a tick.

Luckily thanks in huge part to movements like #MeToo, the idea of consent and ‘no means no’ is being more consistently normalised in modern mass media. Netflix’s Sex Education explores this but it’s still guilty of making the female love interest the end prize goal for the male protagonist.

Now it’s not just in media that this environment of coveting sexual/romantic affection as the ultimate goal is encouraged. Its a socially-engineered thing. A lot of us are aware of the double standard in which men are revered/congratulated by their peers for being sexually/romantically popular with women whereas women are shamed, but we often don’t talk about the poisonous culture in which men who aren’t sexually/romantically active or “successful” are shamed and humiliated. How many times have we witnessed people shaming or embarrassing their mates for not having a romantic partner or ‘not getting some’ or even worse, for being a virgin? The culture surrounding virginity is disgusting, it’s both shamed and coveted. This also ties into insults surrounding size/functionality of genitalia and how men are taught that’s one of the worst kind of insult they can receive. Same goes for insults surrounding “haha you can’t get laid/get any”. Plus some men deliberately pass down this mentality and on top they encourage younger male peers/family members to “keep at it” and “don’t take no for an answer” as if teaching younger men how to ‘get women’ is an important lesson that must be passed on.

One thing that’s also alarming is that this taught drive for sexual/romantic attraction is so inbuilt that men are taught to bypass a lot of principles for the chance of it, such as lying about their interests or faking a personality to keep a woman interested. I’ve also seen men forgiven for tardiness because they ‘got lucky the night before’ (that expression itself feeds into this ‘covet/reward’ culture). Only last week I was watching a video about how women were sexually harassed with deeply unpleasant/objectifying comments online whilst doing Twitch streams and I saw a man reply “Women complain all the time about getting attention, they have no idea how lucky they are, I’d kill for a woman to desire me like that”. Men are inherently taught by both peers and media that their entire self-worth is largely determined by whether they receive romantic/sexual attention, no matter how insincere/damaging it is. Hell, even when discussions about men who’ve committed atrocities against women come up, instead of sympathising with the women who have been hurt and those whose are more scared as a result, men instead tend to lament “men like this guy ruin it for other men, they spoil my chances with other women because women assume I’m like him”. A lot of this is a large part of why incel culture is more dangerously rife than it should ever be. The mere words ‘involuntarily celibate’ are all that’s wrong with what I’m discussing.

Lets be clear, society’s inbuilt social hierarchy around sexual/romantic frequency is poisonous to everyone, especially women and the way so many shape their lives around how ‘attractive’ they’re perceived as, and of course the damage it does to the barely-fledged self esteems and images of teenage girls.

Plus both genders suffer in nearly equal ways under some lenses. People who choose to live without a romantic partner are assumed to be “unable to find love” or “unfortunately lonely” (although its worth noting the semantic sexism of bachelor vs spinster). People who are virgins beyond their teens, hell even just beyond legal age, are pitied/shamed. And people stay in abusive relationships because society's taught us that being unhappy is better than being alone. It’s impossible for people to pass through life without being subject to the social perception of how ‘successful they are in love/sex’.

But in particular with men, it’s incredibly dangerous as it destroys how men perceive themselves, teaching them that women are a given or a prize and if they don’t receive, they’re shamed. Combine that with social engineering of which in general, men are taught to express their anger/frustration with physical exertion or violence. This lays groundwork for male entitlement at its most damaging and dangerous, because not only does it wreck the mental health of men who constantly wonder why they’re not getting what the world taught them they should receive, it also sows the seeds of violent thinking in some. How many times have we as women (as is our basic right) refused the advances of men in public and they’ve responded angrily, and sometimes they’ve been laughed at by their peers as it happens. Humiliation is a degrading and powerful thing and for those who’ve been taught to react aggressively to situations, those with weaker self-esteems (thanks to a myriad of sexist reasons eg 'man up') and those with lack of proper mental health help (again, a huge male-centric problem eg;'boys don't cry'), it can lead to breeding resentment, self-loathing, sometimes suicidal tendencies but more crucially, the anger/vengeance/entitlement that resides in would-be stalkers, rapists and murderers. Elliot Rodger called his murderous rampage a “Day of Retribution” as he lamented “having been at college and still being a virgin” and said he had “no choice to exact revenge on the society that had “denied” him sex and love. He targeted a sorority whose members he had deemed the “hottest” at his college, “the kind of girls I’ve always desired but was never able to have”.

You can see I’ve been carefully trying to toe a line between not excusing the behaviour of men who treat women horribly as a result of all this and more, but also understanding the damaging conditioning in which society has woven. Teaching men “don’t rape” and “women don’t owe you anything” are basic steps, but we need to tackle issues deeper than that. We need to stop teaching everyone that being sexually/romantically desired is NOT the be all and end all of life, that being sexually/romantically desirable is not the sum of someone’s self-worth, and that there is NO shame in being without a partner or not being sexually active.

I understand that society’s obsession with sex/romance/attraction is deeply interwoven and its not going to be unlearned in a day, but can you imagine a world where teenagers are raised being told that their attractiveness/desire popularity doesn’t define their worth to others. Can you imagine a world where women don’t constantly make the majority of their concerns about how attractive people perceive them as before how kind/intelligent they’re perceived as? Can you imagine a world where people don’t feel pressured into sex as virgins, or pressured into relationships where they’re unhappy because it’s better than being alone? Where someone can be without a partner and be their own person without people assuming that its chosen solitude and not liberated independence.

I know romantic/sexual companionship is very central to how the majority of people operate. But consider this, a world where sex/romance isn’t a heavily pressurised must-do, but an opt-in and opt-out path where people can explore at their own pace and with their own limitations and boundaries without people constantly passing judgement on it. Its an idealistic idea, and seeing the way that asexuals are mistreated is another factor in just how society shames those who opt-out of sexual activity. But I believe a lot of this discussion can lead to more practical steps than saying “don’t rape”

How about;

Don’t shame anyone for being a virgin at any age.

Don’t shame anyone for not having a partner.

Don’t shame anyone for not being sexually active.

Unlearn phrases like “get lucky” and “winning the girl/heart”.

Don’t use insults aimed at size/functionality of genitalia.

Don’t insult people based on their appearance.

Just a few ideas to start undoing the entitlement culture that puts so many women in danger.

And of course, wearily I’ll state the disclaimers.

None of this behaviour discussed excuses even the most ‘harmless’ of catcalls, let alone the reprehensible behaviour of the worst offenders. I just think it’s important to understand the finer points of what breeds this consistent societally inbuilt violence and hatred against women. I really really cannot state this too much, this is not a victim-blame, women do not deserve a single infinitesimal part of anything they've gone through just because they insulted some dude's penis.

Being sexually/romantically active is never ever a bad thing of course provided it’s legal, safe and fully consensual. It just shouldn’t be the only path that people feel forced to take.

Briefly, someone might argue that its okay for me to promote that being sexually inactive is all peachy keen is hypocritical when I'm in a happy relationship, but if I was single, you could just as easily argue that I'd be trying to validate being without a partner for my own gratification.

And yes. We know. Not all men. I know plenty of people, not just men who see past a lot of the shaming and conditioning, and continue to liberate themselves from society’s warped expectations of what they should be doing with their lives. But try this, YES ALL MEN are subject to this sexual/romantic obsession that the world forces on them. When a director chooses to have a man portrayed as the butt of a joke because he’s rebuffed by a woman, he’s sending out a message to all men that some of their worth is determined on whether a woman accepts their affections. Whenever a man snidely jokes to his friends that someone he knows can’t get a woman, he teaches his friends that their lives are only validated on whether they can attain partners. Not all men may not be predatory. But all men are targeted by this conditioning. And as a result of all this, all women are afraid.

Followup: Men receiving non romantic affection is largely shamed as well and as a result its not nearly as common as it should be. Men receiving platonic affection doesn't happen nearly as much as it should, because men are taught that platonic affection is never platonic because if it comes from men it must be gay, and if it comes from women, it must come from a place of attraction. This can tie into the larger discussions already at hand regarding men's mental health and the lack of support it recieves.

[notapaladin]

burn your kingdom down

me: i wrote something with teomitl losing his shit when acatl was killed, let’s have it the other way around this time!

me, 10k words later: oops

tl;dr: Dealing with Tezcatlipoca a second time (see Obsidian Shards) is bad enough, but then...oh, then the Smoking Mirror decides to pay back His personal grudge, and Acatl gets to show him why you don’t ever mess with a High Priest for the Dead. And why you especially don’t do that by threatening Teomitl’s life in front of him. There’s some gore in this!

Also on AO3!

-

Acatl probably should have remained on his guard, but the Empire had finally seemed to be stabilizing itself. Of course he could still feel the boundaries straining around Tizoc’s existence, and of course there was still the terrible fallout of the plague to deal with—nobody in his order had been getting enough sleep, and Ichtaca had outright threatened to hand him over to Mihmatini if he didn’t take better care of himself—but aside from that, there had been no outstanding supernatural cases for him to concern himself with in months. He’d even had time for semi-regular meals at Neutemoc’s house.

And then, naturally, the first bodies started turning up outside the palace, and it all started going downhill from there.

One dead man was bad enough. Two was a pattern. By the time Acatl was summoned to examine the corpse of the third one, still without anything he was comfortable calling a lead, he was starting to get annoyed. In all three the circumstances had been the same—there would be a disused alley or an empty courtyard, clear one moment and hosting a fresh corpse the next. Each one had been left closer and closer to the palace walls, an obvious warning. No—an obvious threat.

At least nobody had disturbed this one yet. The setting sun bathed the courtyard in long shadows, forcing him to work by torchlight, but the magical traces were clear.

“Same as the rest?”

Teomitl stood in the entrance, arms folded across his chest. He’d found the first body and hadn’t stopped scowling since. It only softened slightly when their eyes met, which was something Acatl was not going to think about. Not with murders to solve, at any rate.

He’d long since dropped to both knees for a better look at the latest victim; now he stretched, rolling his shoulders back and wincing at the crack of cartilage. Maybe Teomitl’s on to something with the training regime. Or maybe I’m getting old. “Mm. Strangled, and the heart carved out. And the magic surrounding the corpse isn’t from the underworld.” Still, it felt horribly familiar, and he frowned down at the exposed chest cavity. The knife that had been used to open it had left a shard behind smaller than his littlest fingernail; as he plucked it out, a greasy shimmer caught the light. Not Mictlan’s green, but close.

Teomitl nodded, grimacing. “Tizoc is getting impatient.”

The mental image of Tizoc’s impatience pulled an instinctive growl from his throat as he rolled to his feet, gingerly holding the obsidian shard. While he and Acamapichtli still weren’t what he’d call friends—lately the man had taken to asking after Teomitl’s health in a distinctly insinuating way that made him want to hit something—he remembered Tlaloc’s slain clergy whenever they met, and every time it sent a hot spike of treasonous anger through him. “Hrmph.”

Judging by the look on his face, Teomitl was thinking along the same lines. “And we still don’t know enough to satisfy him. I’ll try to delay him as much as I can, but he’ll want answers.” Then he sighed, eyeing the dead man. “I think I would have preferred a beast of shadows. At least you could track those.”

“I’m not eager to fight another one of those things.” The memories of the last time were entirely too clear for comfort. “Bring that torch closer?”

Teomitl obligingly held the torch closer, frowning over Acatl’s shoulder as he prodded at the knife shard with his priest-senses. Definitely not underworld magic, but I’ve felt this before. I know I have. But where—

He fumbled it, and Teomitl slid a hand under his to catch it before it hit the ground. The reaction as it struck the web of Huitzilopochtli’s protection layered over his skin was immediate; Teomitl hissed through gritted teeth at the flareup of light, and Acatl snatched it back hastily. It had left a red mark behind.

All at once, Acatl remembered where he’d felt this particular magic before. No. Duality preserve us, not again. But Teomitl’s fingers were shaking, and that demanded his attention first. “Are you alright?”

Teomitl glared viciously at his own hand as though it had betrayed him. “I’m fine. What is that thing?”

“A knife shard.” Memories painted themselves across his mind—a bloodstained courtyard in Colhuacan, Ceyaxochitl nearly dying in front of him, striking down a god with the Wind of Knives at his back. “Covered in Tezcatlipoca’s magic.”

For a moment, Teomitl was silent. Acatl wondered what he was thinking; he’d told him and Mihmatini about that particular case once over dinner, but where Mihmatini had been upset at how close he’d come to death, Teomitl had just gone quiet. It was the same sort of quiet he saw in his face now. Then he took a slow breath and squared his shoulders, and Acatl watched as the youth he’d once mentored—the youth he’d once feared would be reckless and uncontrollable and a perfect mirror of Tizoc—became the Master of the House of Darts. “Right. You have our permission,”—he used the royal we, that marker of his status as the keeper of Tenochtitlan’s armory—”to do whatever you have to in order to catch the dog’s son who’s been doing this. I’ll see that you have every resource at our disposal. But you’re not to go off after him alone, understand?”

Acatl blinked, taken aback by the vehemence in his tone. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Teomitl studied the mark on his hand as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Good. I just...I don’t want you to forget you’re not just a simple priest anymore, Acatl. You shouldn’t be charging into things on your own.”

He’d heard Teomitl speak with that tone of angry concern before, but never with so much softness mixed in. And never while saying his name like that. His face burned, and he had to look away. “I won’t. I’ll—I’ll call for you before I make a move, alright?”

“See that you do.”

Acatl was spared from answering by the arrival of his clergy ready to take in the body for further examination, and by the time he looked up again Teomitl was gone.

Things moved very quickly after that.

Yes, the knife shard was definitely impregnated with Tezcatlipoca’s power. No, His priests had no idea where it could have come from and were downright insulted by the notion that it could have been one of them, suggesting it was a rogue sorcerer—which didn’t narrow it down in the slightest. No, nobody knew the dead man; like the others, he’d been a recent arrival to Tenochtitlan, a porter with no connections in the city or anyone who could have wished him harm. The merchant who’d most recently hired him barely even remembered his name.

Acatl did, though. He made sure of it. Quiahuitl, age around thirty-five, born in Tlacopan. No living relatives aside from an elderly aunt, also in Tlacopan, who would probably never know of her nephew’s murder. When he heard that, he thought of his own nieces and nephews and had to take a moment to breathe. I’ll give you justice. I swear. Calling up his soul for answers only gave them a vague direction within the city—south—and no further leads.

But Teomitl was as good as his word, and that helped immensely. In the days following his discovery of the shard, Acatl grew used to at least one seasoned warrior hovering around the gates of his temple; evidently Teomitl had ordered them to put themselves at his disposal, and though he was leery of pushing their loyalty too far he had to admit it was wonderful having extra sets of legs with which to cover ground. Teomitl himself showed up two days into their investigation to see how they were progressing.

...And also, apparently, to ensure Acatl remembered to eat food and catch more than three hours of sleep, which he snapped out in a huff and followed up with “Mihmatini worries about you.” It didn’t in any way detract from the way he was blushing. Acatl ate the meal he’d brought over and tried very, very hard not to think about that.

Mostly he succeeded. There was work to do, after all. Still, he had to sleep, and while his body was exhausted his mind began to race as soon as he laid down. Teomitl was fitting into his role as though it was made for him, arrogance polishing itself into steady authority and his usual impatience visibly kept in check. The more Acatl watched him with his warriors, the more he could hardly believe he’d had a hand in shaping him into the man he’d become. There’d been a moment, backlit by the sun, where he’d looked at him and nearly been bowled over by the depth of his pride.

But it wasn’t pride that kept him awake. He stared up at the dark ceiling without seeing it, because his mind’s eye was full of the long line of Teomitl’s spine, the rippling muscles of his arms and shoulders, the radiance of his smile. His fingers twitched with the remembrance of how badly he’d wanted to take Teomitl’s hand in his. Ah. I still love him.

Looking back, he couldn’t tell when it had begun; it seemed he’d simply woken up one day with the knowledge sitting in his heart like a hot cinder. The sky was blue. Water was wet. He, High Priest for the Dead, was in love with Teomitl. As much as he intended to go on ignoring it—Teomitl was not his to want for so many different reasons, not to mention that there was surely no way under the heavens the man would want him in return—it had a terrible tendency to resurface at the worst moments.

He closed his eyes. It didn’t help. We have a sorcerer to catch. I have murders to stop. This...I cannot be distracted by my feelings. It’s not as though I can ever tell him—gods, he’d probably never speak to me again. I have to forget about this.

Eventually, mind still full, he drifted off to sleep.

&

Of all people, it was Ezamahual who followed the traces of magic to a merchant’s warehouse in Zoquipan. The trail was old—whatever spells had been wrought there had begun to fade—but there was enough for a connection, and after a long night of questioning the people living around it, preparations begun. Its neighbors were all ordinary people with no magical training, but they were entirely forthcoming with what little they’d noticed. There had been tendrils of dark smoke in the air, a chill breeze coming from odd angles, men in plain cloaks slipping into the building in the dead of night when they all knew that the merchant who owned it had been away on business for nearly a year.

Acatl had made a promise to Teomitl, and he didn’t intend to break it. He sent word to the palace.

“We’re ready.”

Since you’re so determined to worry over me, he didn’t say. More and more, he was starting to wonder if the stories he’d shared of his cases before becoming High Priest had actually upset the man. It didn’t seem possible. Teomitl was a seasoned warrior who took enough risks with his own life; surely the idea of Acatl wading into danger wouldn’t affect him so.

He didn’t have much time to ponder it, though, because Teomitl arrived at the head of a small group of warriors barely an hour later. He looked just as resplendent in an ordinary warrior’s padded cotton tunic as he did in the full regalia of the Frightful Specter, and Acatl had a hard time tearing his eyes away. It was worse when he looked over Acatl’s assembled priests and flashed a thin blade of a smile. “Let’s go.”

They went.

Boats might have been faster, but the risk of alerting their quarry wasn’t one Acatl was willing to take. They strode through the city at a measured pace, and he found his gaze lingering on Teomitl’s back. The last time he’d been in Zoquipan…

“He’s mine. Aren’t you, Acatl-tzin?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering at that memory. He’d forgiven Teomitl, but it was impossible for him to ever forget the sick anger and the fear that had nearly choked him that day. He sent a brief prayer of thanks to the Duality that Chalchiuhnenetl had been effectively banished; Teomitl had informed him in a carefully neutral tone that she was living in Coyoacan now, about as far as you could get from anything and still be technically within city limits. She wouldn’t be breathing any more poison into Teomitl’s ear, and Teomitl had grown past any urges to listen to it. That, at least, would no longer be a problem.

But it was still a distraction, one he didn’t need. He grit his teeth and banished it from his mind. No. I have to focus. The warehouse should be around here.

The buildings grew smaller and more densely packed as they walked, their frescoes less and less elaborate until they finally started to fade out entirely. There was something unsettling about all that blank white adobe, bare of even the shadow of paint. He tried not to let his gaze linger on it for too long. The people, too, seemed faded—not precisely shabby, for this wasn’t a poor part of town, but worn-out and too careful. Old, beaten dogs, he thought. He wondered what else their quarry might have done.

“Hm.” Teomitl had fallen back to walk next to him, and was eyeing the area critically. He’d accepted a sword crafted of proper magical obsidian for this mission; now he rested a hand on its hilt as though contemplating when to lift it. “Does this place feel odd to you?”

Since he’d been trying to get his shoulders to unhunch themselves from up around his ears for the past quarter-hour—despite knowing that he’d dealt with Tezcatlipoca’s creatures before, his body was having other ideas and seemed determined to ring the alarum bells—he grimaced at the question. “It does. What are you thinking?”

“...That this area shouldn’t be this…” He waved a frustrated hand. “Dark. It feels dark. I don’t like it.”

He nodded. “How does your magic feel?”

Teomitl closed his eyes on a slow exhale. When he opened them again, jade reflections swam in his pupils for an instant before vanishing. “It doesn’t feel as though there’s been a curse or anything cast recently, but…”

Just to be sure, Acatl cut his own earlobes and whispered the words of a spell. Nothing. They were still walking down the same quiet street with warriors and priests surrounding them in a tight formation, Teomitl all jade-green brilliance by his side. “I don’t see anything. Stay on your guard.”

Teomitl snorted. “As though I’ve been off it since we got here?”

“You’re not the only one who worries,” he snapped without thinking. He regretted it almost immediately; an argument at this stage would be the farthest thing from helpful, and there was little Teomitl hated more than being an object of concern.

But Teomitl—for once—wasn’t arguing. He turned his face away, but not before Acatl caught the faint tinge of red in his cheeks. “Hrmph.”

He pinched his ears to stop the flow of blood. It was that or give into the sudden, absurd desire to swipe a thumb across one of those high cheekbones and see just how hard that made Teomitl blush. Sternly, he banished the thoughts from his mind. He’d probably take my hand off for the insolence, and I’d deserve it. I don’t have the right.

After a long moment, Teomitl spoke again. “...It wasn’t like this before. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh?”

Teomitl’s gaze slid over the entrances of houses and his warriors’ faces with the same coldness. He didn’t look in Acatl’s direction. “Chalchiuhnenetl wouldn’t have tolerated a thing like this in her domain. Her departure must have created a space for these bastards to flourish.”

He took a breath. “...Do you regret—“

“No.” It came out in a near-snarl. “I only wish I could have removed her from the Fifth World altogether.”

Then he did turn his face back towards Acatl, and Acatl’s breath caught at the look in his eye. He’d seen Teomitl furious, of course, but not like this. Not accompanied by so much self-recriminating guilt, as though by failing his own high standards he’d failed Acatl too. It made something twinge hard in his chest. “...Teomitl…”

Teomitl stiffened, shaking his head. “Never mind. We need to keep moving. You said it’s not far?” At Acatl’s nod, he switched to his usual impatient stride.

Acatl kept pace, unable to stop himself from glancing at Teomitl out of the corner of his eye. Teomitl’s spine was rigid and his muscles tense; he wanted, desperately, to take his hand. He settled for brushing against his arm as they walked, resolutely closing his mind to all acknowledgment of the way Teomitl shivered at the touch. It meant nothing. For his own sanity, he had to believe it meant nothing.

Then another two warriors slipped out of a side street with a nod at Teomitl, falling into step with them as they turned a corner. He knew they were close. As they continued, a ripple of alertness ran through his priests; he felt his own blood turn to ice as a yawning cavern opened in his gut.

“Acatl-tzin?” One of his newer priests drew close, biting his lip.

He set his hands on his knives, feeling the staccato beat of wrong wrong wrong pulse through him. Even his previous encounter with Tezcatlipoca hadn’t made him feel quite this ill, and he willed himself not to retch. The raw emptiness of Mictlan didn’t help much. “We move in. Quietly.” Gods, I hope we’re not too late. The previous murders had all been roughly two weeks apart, but it wasn’t impossible that the perpetrator had decided to speed things up, especially if they felt threatened. And it had taken only four deaths last time for Tezcatlipoca to be summoned into the world.

It’s not the same. He breathed out slowly, seeking calm. All the victims last time had obsidian mirror shards in their hearts, and it looked from the outside as though their hearts had simply given out. These men were strangled, their hearts torn out—it’s not an overreaching god trying to meddle in the Fifth World. No, these deaths were by mortal hands, and mortal hands will avenge them.

They made it within sight of the building—small and nondescript, no windows, exactly the same as every other building on the street—when he felt the tension in the air snap.

He reeled. Around him he was vaguely aware of his priests crying out, heard the confused mutters of Teomitl’s warriors, but he couldn’t respond. All within him was a howling abyss, a screaming tempest that filled his nose with the stench of a thousand funeral pyres and scorched his lungs when he tried to breathe. He dropped to his knees and felt pain radiate up his legs from the impact with the packed earth, but the choked-off scream that gurgled out of his throat had nothing to do with any bodily injury.  

Chaos. This is— He blinked frantically, but his eyes refused to focus. Black spots danced at the edges of his blurry vision, and for a terrible moment he thought he was going to faint.

“Acatl?!”

Teomitl, frantic. He dimly registered strong, calloused hands on his shoulders, but he couldn’t make his own hands work long enough to do anything about them.

“Something’s happened,” he gasped.

Teomitl’s hands left him. He didn’t shout, but the clear authority in his voice must have gotten everyone’s attention anyway, because the noise around them abated. “Stop.”

“Acatl-tzin, are you—“

He forced himself upright on shaky legs, breathing hard. Slowly his vision cleared, and he became aware that his priests, though shaken, hadn’t been affected nearly as badly as he had. There was the occasional magical downside to being a High Priest. “I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”

Teomitl hadn’t gone far, and now he studied him thoughtfully for a long moment. Finally, he nodded and turned to address his warriors. “You heard Acatl-tzin. Be ready for anything.”

They advanced as a loose unit. Acatl saw hands resting on sword hilts, noticed the way a few of the other priests were nervously hefting their knives.

As they drew closer to the building, he could taste the magic; it hung thick and acrid on his tongue. Pyres. The smoke of an erupting volcano. The blood of jaguars. Obsidian, heated until it melts and then reshaped into—into—gods, no—

He broke into a run.

Of course, the warriors all outpaced him immediately, but he and his priests formed a tight knot hard on their heels. They burst into the warehouse nearly at the same time; he almost ran right into Teomitl’s back when the man stopped suddenly, staring into the dark room beyond. “Southern Hummingbird blind me.”

Then he stepped aside so the rest of them could enter, and Acatl was hard-pressed not to echo him. We’re too late. Duality strike me down for a fool, we’re too late.

The warehouse itself was empty; whatever had been stored there had long since been moved out. In its place, someone had traced a quincunx and glyphs that covered nearly the entire floor, fresh blood covering the old ones until Acatl couldn’t tell what they’d been originally. Sloppy, mused the analytical part of his brain. Or else each ritual was only intended for a single use. He couldn’t tell immediately if all the blood used had been human; if so, it represented far more than the three dead men they’d found.

No, he corrected himself. The four dead men they’d found.

The last one was on the opposite end of the room outside of the array; he had been laid on a curved stone, the better to pull out his heart. Acatl skirted the edges of the room carefully to take a closer look, aware all the time of Teomitl behind him.

The dead man’s blood was still steaming. He knew what he would feel when he touched the skin, but he did it anyway. He needed only a brief moment to confirm his suspicions. “He’s still warm. This happened a few minutes ago, at most.”

One of the priests tilted his head back to glare up at the opening in the roof as though it would provide answers. “Nobody’s here. Surely we should have seen it if they’d climbed out?”

A burly warrior swore and snarled, “We’ve been watching the area all day; nobody’s left!”

Teomitl raised his voice. “Search everywhere—“

Something covered the skylight, and they were plunged into darkness so absolute that Acatl couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face.

No. Oh, no.

He didn’t dare move. From the noises around him, the rest of their forces weren’t following suit; he heard thuds and curses and a distinct grumble of “That was my foot, Chimalli!” He wondered how they were even finding the words to complain. His own tongue seemed to have been frozen to the roof of his mouth, and he could no more have spoken than he could have sprouted wings.

The air stung his eyes. He blinked, breathed in, and tasted smoke again. Slowly, he regained control of his tongue. “Move towards the entrance. Whatever’s coming, we don’t want to be trapped in here with i—“

A frigid tide of magic knocked him off his feet and sent him crashing hard, back-first, into a rough adobe wall. He curled instinctively to protect his head, but it still rattled him; when he could think again, he registered the burn of scraped skin and a distinct throbbing ache that would no doubt be a spectacular bruise tomorrow. Teomitl. He was next to me. Where…?

He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The dead man was sitting up. The smoke and darkness that had filled the room had been wrapped around his limbs; Acatl saw the shadows of a jaguar headdress, the crumbling remains of a shinbone and foot wrapped in something like the ghost of obsidian, and felt his insides turn to ice. Around him, the warriors and priests they’d gathered had been flattened to the ground in groaning agony; those who had been furthest from the epicenter were staggering painfully to their feet. None of them had been able to reach their weapons yet. Teomitl had been flung into the opposite wall, and from the way he was favoring one hand Acatl prayed he hadn’t injured something.

It seemed to take an eternity for him to stand and draw his knives. By the time he managed it, Tezcatlipoca had swung His legs down off the sacrifice stone and was looking over the assembled warriors with the air of a nobleman inspecting a merchant’s stall and finding only shoddy goods. “So this is how I am greeted?”

“No.” It was too soft, and he lifted his voice. He couldn’t draw enough breath to scream. “No.”

The god turned slowly, head tilted. The empty space where His heart had been shone green and horrible. “Oh,” Tezcatlipoca said with a rictus grin. “Little Acatl. I remember you.”

It hurt to breathe. He sucked in air anyway. “Then you remember what happened last time, my lord. Let the man go, and return to your place in the heavens.”

“...Hmmm.” Tezcatlipoca’s grin didn’t budge. “I don’t think so. This world deserves a new order.”

Then he opened his arms, and the array flared to life.

The surge of magic brought Acatl to his knees, but that probably saved his life; when the first ashen jaguar leapt from the quincunx, its spots black voids, he was able to dodge its first swipe and slice sideways at its paw, pinning it to the ground and buying himself just enough time to scramble out of range.

Some of his priests weren’t so lucky. He heard screaming, felt the bursts of magical protections activating and living blood hitting the edges of obsidian knives, but he didn’t have time to look. The jaguar still had a second front paw and a set of enormous fangs, and it was doing its best to rip itself free for another try at him.

An arm landed nearly at his feet. One of the screaming voices cut off with a horribly final gurgle. He dropped to one knee again, discovered to his considerable relief that Tezcatlipoca’s jaguars did die when they were stabbed in the throat with magical obsidian, and risked the briefest of glances to see how the battle was going.

It was chaos.

All around him men were fighting for their lives; the jaguars outnumbered them two to one, and though they died like any animal they seemed to get stronger as more blood was spilled. With a spike of horror, he saw one flow around a sword-strike, rippling like water, and savage the warrior holding it. The last time any of his priests had been in battle like this had been when Tlaloc had made his bid for the Fifth World, but the same tactics that had served them well against Tlaloc’s creatures weren’t working nearly as well here. The air was full of a choking miasma that weighed on the limbs, making it hard even for Acatl to breathe; he wasn’t sure how the rest of them were managing.

Teomitl, at least, had had the presence of mind to summon his ahuizotls. He fought surrounded by them, jade-carved and glorious, adding algae and deep water to the stench in the air, and for a moment Acatl had hope. It lasted until a jaguar bit one of his ahuizotl’s heads off, and the magical backlash dropped Teomitl to a knee just in time to grapple with it.

I have to fight. I have to… But there wasn’t enough clear space anywhere for a quincunx, and some effect of Tezcatlipoca’s incarnation seemed to be slowing his thoughts. The god himself was lounging on His sacrificial stone as though it were a throne, watching the battle with undisguised glee, and Acatl hated Him. With effort, he rose and took a step forward.

The wind blowing through his soul rose to a mourning wail, and he gasped at the chill that seized his bones—but when a lament sounded in his mind, he could have wept in relief.

Acatl. I am coming.

He didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to hear the Wind of Knives. We took Him down once. We can do it again.

He flung himself into the fray. All else faded but the need to keep moving, to keep his allies safe. Lord Death’s protection flowed over him like a veil—meager in the face of so many jaguars, but the cold pit of despair under his ribs kept him alert and went some way towards clearing his mind of Tezcatlipoca’s smoke. It, and his knives, would have to be enough to hold them until the Wind of Knives arrived from His cenote. He slit the throat of one jaguar, narrowly dodged the grasping claws of another, and nearly collided with a priest clutching the stump of his arm as the life faded from his eyes.

We’re losing ground. A coil of intestines wrapped around his ankle, and he nearly stumbled before catching himself and turning it into a swipe along the ribcage of a jaguar trying to maul one of Teomitl’s warriors. The man barely had a moment to catch his breath before he was screaming, choked and awful, as another one latched its jaws around his neck.

Another scream cut off behind him. He whirled to meet a jaguar, its jaws bloody, only to recoil as an ahuizotl literally dragged it backwards and went for its eyes. Thank you, Teomitl. But there was another to replace it, and as he fought for his life he heard—felt—a warrior die. A priest was next. Another warrior, this one collapsing in front of him with his face gone.

He sucked in a breath and clamped it behind his teeth before it could escape in a scream of pure rage. No.

He forced himself towards Tezcatlipoca, shutting his ears to the sounds of men dying around him. If I kill him, this ends. He could feel the Wind of Knives drawing ever closer, and when He arrived the tables would turn. They could hold out until then. He was sure of it. He lost a knife in a jaguar’s ribs, picked up a sword from a fallen warrior’s hands and swung blindly, savagely, at anything in his way until it splintered—and he didn’t look behind him or around him, because if he let himself be distracted then all was lost. He just had to get into position for when the Wind of Knives arrived...

It was growing horribly silent. The god was watching the carnage avidly, giggling to Himself as blood splattered the floor—but then His gaze fell on Acatl, and He frowned thoughtfully.

“Hmm...I think not.”

A jaguar bore him to the ground, and he screamed as its claws raked his back. Pinned on his stomach, he couldn’t even twist out of its hold. This is it. He couldn’t breathe. He knew, with distant clarity, that a rib had been broken. Cold, stinging smoke blew over the back of his neck. This is where I die.

“Acatl!”

Jade Skirt’s magic like a flood washing over him. A crunch—the jaguar went limp, heavy dead weight for a moment before dissipating into smoke—and then, before he could even rise, a scream. Teomitl’s scream, raw with pain. A wet thud.

He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving, utterly blind to the searing agony radiating from his ribs through every limb. All the men they’d brought with them were dead or dying, and Teomitl was crumpled on the ground with a jaguar’s bloody claws in his chest. His tunic had been ripped apart, loose fabric dyed crimson with his blood; Acatl couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

“Teomitl.” It came out in a flayed whisper.

Teomitl made a sound. It was more of a gurgle than anything else, but it meant he was alive. Barely. Acatl could see the dull gleam of exposed bone and knew that they were out of time. That they wouldn’t be able to stall until the Wind of Knives arrived, because unless Teomitl saw a healer—and gods, he was trying to move, he’d only bleed out faster—he was going to die. That he’d cared for him in a thousand small ways, had made a home for himself in his heart, had just saved his life, and he was bleeding out in front of Acatl’s eyes.

Red rage descended over him, and he lunged for Tezcatlipoca.

The likelihood of his own death, any possible strategy—it all vanished from his mind. All he could think about, all that mattered, was sending Tezcatlipoca back to His place in the heavens as swiftly and as violently as possible. You hurt him. You dared—you dared lay your hands upon—

The raw scream that burst from his throat was cut short when Tezcatlipoca grabbed his arm, His touch like being flayed with dull knives, and tossed him aside like a ragdoll. Acatl hit the ground and rolled, landing hard on his side; all he could do was lay there, stunned, and watch as Tezcatlipoca strolled over to where Teomitl had fallen. “...No...”

Negligently, the god waved his jaguar away. “Oh, stupid mortal. This isn’t like the last time.” His voice was a thing of unholy glee.

Acatl couldn’t move. Everything hurt, and he was sure his arm was broken. Each breath scorched his lungs and sent a nauseous spike of agony through his chest. He could barely even feel his fingers wrapped around the handle of his knife. If he’d had enough breath, he was sure he’d be weeping.

And the god was still talking. “You see, this time, little Acatl...I don’t have a heart for you to stab.” He knelt over Teomitl’s prone form and grabbed his jaw, cruelly forcing his head up so Acatl could see his face. “So I’m going to take the man who holds yours. I think that’s a fair trade.”

No.

No.

It beat in his head like a heartbeat, and he couldn’t think past the enormity of it. “You can’t.” Somehow he got his feet under him and pushed himself up with his good arm. He nearly slipped in a puddle of blood; though he caught himself on one knee, it winded him, and he had to take a moment to breathe. “I—will not—allow it.”

Tezcatlipoca laughed, high and cruel. “You can’t stop me.”

Acatl closed his eyes. He didn’t have time for a long ritual; he could barely focus on the words of even the simplest spells. The Wind of Knives would never arrive in time. All he had was a single knife and raw determination.

And he was High Priest for the Dead facing an inhabited corpse, a transgressor of the boundaries he kept, in a room full of men whose living blood was still dripping from the walls to soak into the floor.

Yes. I can.

His fingers tightened on his knife hilt, feeling the ridges of the leather cord wrapping for an instant before he opened himself up to the power stored within the underworld obsidian, that direct connection to Mictlan he’d only ever called on once before. It didn’t get easier the second time. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, rage draining out in favor of a deep, hollow emptiness. He felt dry dust under his fingers, felt the way his bones ached and shifted under his skin. In his mind rose the lament of lost souls carried on a chilling, biting wind. We go down into the dust, into the darkness. We go down, Lord of the Place of Death, to stand before Your throne.

There was a ritual he’d been taught when he ascended to his place as High Priest, one that had almost never been used in the history of the Empire. There was fresh, wet blood on his hands.

His eyes snapped open. The skin of his hands was smoke and translucent obsidian, gray dust like clouds where the fibers of muscle should be. He could make out his own bones underneath it all, glowing like distant torches or the last shimmers of moonlight at the bottom of the lake. The faintest breeze in the air brought the dying whispers of a ghostly lament to his ears, stirring the loose ends of his hair.

Tezcatlipoca was still smirking, gently amused. “Good, you’ve decided to watch while I kill him. I knew you were no coward.”

The blood splattering the floor pulsed like a heartbeat. In, out. In, out. The blood of a dozen men slain in battle, their souls not yet delivered to the Sun’s Heaven. One living High Priest with a blade of underworld obsidian to direct the flow of magic.

“O Lord,” he breathed, “I deliver this transgressor to You.”

He saw the exact moment Tezcatlipoca realized what he was going to do; the god’s eyes widened, and then He was flowing towards him like a jaguar Himself, all smoke and teeth and fury. In a moment He’d be on him, and then they would stand no chance.

Acatl slashed open the back of his hand, tracing a quincunx in his own blood, and slammed it down onto the nearest dead man’s face.

The man’s spirit erupted from his cooling skin. His comrades’ souls joined his, flowing out of open mouths and open wounds like smoke. Those who had lost limbs were limbless now; those whose heads had been torn off were headless. Gaping wounds bled gray, powdery dust into the air. They formed a wall around Acatl, but he could still see through them—could see Tezcatlipoca stop midstride, could see Him slowly and instinctively take a step backwards as though freezing in place would protect Him.

The ghosts descended, and the god screamed.

There were words in that scream—something about how he was going to reign, how they had no right to stop him—but Acatl was past caring about it. All he could do was hold onto the magic running through him, the underworld flowing in a torrent through his veins. While he focused, the ghosts would maintain their forms and their connection to the Fifth World, and he couldn’t let them go until it ended. Until the sliver of Smoking Mirror’s power was fully severed from the body He’d borrowed, banished back to the Heavens.

His lungs burned. His heart beat slow and sluggish in his chest. He rose and took a step forward, and it felt like he was moving through tar.

He spoke, and the syllables lay on his tongue like the finality of the grave. “Your time is not yet come.”

He felt it when Tezcatlipoca’s presence in the Fifth World vanished; the smoke and ash in the air dissipated, and the heavy mist that had hung over his mind began to clear. When he breathed, he smelled only blood and fresh death. As the body dropped—now only so much meat—he took another breath, filling his lungs, and ran the flat of his knife over his bloody hand until his connection to the underworld was severed.

The ghosts left gratefully, voices like the rustling of dry leaves. Thank you. Thank you, priest.

He wobbled on his feet, drained down to the marrow of his bones. He felt halfway to being a ghost himself; for an instant it was hard to remember who he was or what still had to be done.

Then it came back to him in a flash and he ran, stumbling through gore and fatigue, to Teomitl’s side.

Teomitl was still laying where he’d fallen, one hand pressed to the ruin of his torso. Up close, the extent of his injuries took Acatl’s breath away. He’d been mauled; a drawing swipe of razor-sharp claws had opened his chest to the bone and continued all the way to his stomach, deep enough to slice through the muscles of his abdomen. As Acatl approached, he turned and blinked blindly in his direction. “Ah...Acatl…”

Acatl dropped to his knees next to him, tearing off his cloak with shaking hands. His abused arm screamed, but he ignored the pain. He had to stop the bleeding before he could do anything else—but Duality, there was so much blood. “Don’t try to talk.”

He pressed the cloth directly on his wounds, and Teomitl didn’t even flinch. He’d lost a lot of blood already; the heartbeat under Acatl’s fingers was distressingly weak. “Mm.” He tried to raise his head, but flopped bonelessly down a moment later. His voice was so soft that Acatl almost missed it. “I love you.”

He loves me. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible that he was hearing this now, of all times, with the man dying in his arms. He was, for a moment, absolutely sure that no air was making it to his lungs. “Teomitl.” It came out in a rasp. “By all the gods, shut up.”

Teomitl’s smile was red and horrible, blood staining his teeth. Acatl could have wept. “Wanted...to make sure you knew.”

“I love you too—“ Teomitl coughed wetly, and Acatl felt his pulse stutter. Before he knew it, he was grabbing his hand and squeezing it like a lifeline, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Teomitl, Teomitl, I love you so much but you have to stay with me, please!”

There was a strangled, awful attempt at a laugh. “I know what a mortal wound looks like, Acatl.”

No. No, gods, no. “It’s not mortal—it’s not, you’ll be fine, you just have to lay still! Help is coming, I promise, just—“ He cut himself off with a sob. I can’t lose you. Not you.

A shaking, bloodstained hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb gently stroking away his tears. “...Should have told you sooner.”

The hand fell.

Grief and terror surged through his veins with a ferocity that nearly sickened him, and for a moment all he could do was curl around Teomitl and fight back tears. He wanted to weep. He wanted to break something. He wanted to carry Teomitl in his arms and run to safety, but his arm was broken and Teomitl’s injuries were so severe that moving him unwisely would only deal further damage. Duality—gods, please. Please don’t take him from me.

He felt the Wind of Knives’ arrival, but didn’t bother turning around. Keeping pressure on Teomitl’s wounds was more important. His pulse was fluttering like a trapped bird, and Acatl really didn’t like the way he was breathing. Gods, let him not have punctured a lung too.

The minor god’s voice echoing through his mind at this distance was enough to send a chill down his spine. I see you didn’t need my help. He sounded almost amused. If the circumstances had been different, Acatl would have punched Him.

“Teomitl does.” His voice cracked on the words. “Find someone—”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, the knife-points of the obsidian shards barely even tickling. Rest. Do not weep. You have been a valiant comrade, Acatl, and for that I will grant you this favor.

The Wind of Knives swept out the door, and he took a slow, shuddering breath. Another. Another.

By the time a half-dozen civilians burst into the room with the announcement that the High Priest of Patecatl had been sent for, he’d stopped crying. Teomitl’s heartbeat had remained steady under his hand, and he drew strength from that.

He’ll be alright, he thought. He has to be.

&

It still took entirely too long for Acatl’s liking. The black-robed High Priest of Patecatl was an older man, hard-eyed and serious and not at all appreciative of being dragged halfway across the city with his entourage, but he took one look at Teomitl’s injuries and sucked in his breath before swearing softly and ordering Acatl to leave.

“But—“ he began.

“This is a very delicate process, Acatl. Move.” Judging by his narrowed eyes and the set of his shoulders, he was prepared to shove Acatl out of the room himself if he was too slow.

Acatl moved. That this meant he could have his injuries looked at by one of the other priests was immaterial; even the grinding, nauseating pain of having a definitely-broken bone wedged into place and splinted before they began casting spells to speed its healing wasn’t enough to distract him from the increasingly frantic chanting going on inside. Heavens, do not take him. Not yet. Please.

When Ichtaca arrived to relieve him of the task of dealing with their slain comrades, he had to take a moment to remember that he was, indeed, still the High Priest for the Dead. His tongue didn’t seem to want to work properly. His mind didn’t seem to want to work properly. Teomitl said he loves me. “It was...Tezcatlipoca was summoned into the Fifth World. I banished Him, but...“

“Acatl-tzin.” His second was looking at him in something like pity. “You can tell us what happened later. Get some rest.”

“Our priests...the warriors...“

“We will handle their bodies.” He’d brought Palli and Ezamahual with him, and both men were eyeing Acatl as though they expected him to collapse any minute.

The priests of Patecatl were carrying Teomitl out on a stretcher, and his eyes followed the motion helplessly. From this distance, he could just make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Ichtaca didn’t smile, but his demeanor softened. “Rest, Acatl-tzin.”

He started walking. He could rest at the Duality House, once he was sure Teomitl was safe.

The sun was low in the sky, tinting the light gold, and the realization took him aback. Gods, was it really only this morning that we set out? It felt like it had been an eternity ago that he and his priests and Teomitl’s warriors had left his temple; his bones ached as though he’d been awake for years. He still couldn’t believe that he was alone, that Tezcatlipoca’s creatures had cut through the trained fighters he’d brought with him like a knife through wet paper. He drew a long, slow breath. I only lived because He was toying with me. Because—Tlaloc’s lightning strike me, because He holds grudges. I’ll have to be very careful around Him from now on.

Fatigue made his head swim, but he forced himself onwards. Patecatl’s priests moved in a seamless knot, eating up the ground in a similar purposeful stride to the one he’d come to associate with Teomitl—but where Teomitl’s pace seemed to suggest he held some sort of grudge against the ground, the healing priests’ antipathy extended to everyone in their way. He had absolutely no chance of catching up to them, but he could settle for keeping them in sight.

After Teomitl’s words, he refused to do anything else. He loves me. He loves me, and he might yet die. He lost so much blood, and the Duality only knows what effects the Smoking Mirror’s touch might have had on him…

By the time he staggered into the Duality House, it resembled nothing so much as a freshly-disturbed anthill. Priests of the Duality were clustered with Patecatl’s healers, and the courtyards seemed to host far more confused and dismayed warriors than they normally did—the normal number, after how Mihmatini had reacted to Teomitl’s attempt at a coup, being zero. He couldn’t see his sister in the crowds.

Just as he determined he should ask around, she strode out of a small receiving room with a face like thunder. The thread of magic that connected her to Teomitl was a line of fire around one ankle, and by the shaking of her hands she’d already been well informed of her husband’s state. Her husband. Acatl felt briefly sick. Things between them may not be as they were, but he told me—gods. It will break her heart if she finds out.

Mihmatini took one look at him and her expression of barely-contained fury twisted; for a moment he was sure she was going to scream at him, but then she took a long breath and closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was steady. “I heard it was the Smoking Mirror. Come in; the healers are still with Teomitl.”

He followed her in. The room held only a fresco of flowering trees for decoration, but there was a table and two mats, and he collapsed onto one with relief. His legs felt like jelly. The next room had to hold Teomitl and the healers; though the entrance curtain was drawn, he could make out quiet chanting and the grassy smell of Patecatl’s magic. A slave must have been waiting for his arrival, because he was served water and a dish of frogs with tomatoes nearly as soon as he’d sat down.

She waited until he’d drank before addressing him. “So.”

“So,” he repeated. The food smelled wonderful, but he wasn’t tempted. He wasn’t sure he could keep anything down.

When she met his gaze, her eyes were hard as flint. “Tezcatlipoca.”

He took a deep breath and told her everything starting from the moment they’d reached the warehouse. By the end his hands were shaking, and he had to clench them into fists in a futile effort to keep his composure. We thought we were going off to face a simple sorcerer. A dozen men are dead because we were wrong.

She covered his hand with her own. For a long while, they didn’t speak.

The first healing priest exiting the sickroom broke their strained silence. His voice was rough and low, as though he’d worn himself out chanting. “Teomitl-tzin will live. You can see him now.”

Mihmatini nearly rushed past him, all dignity as the Guardian forgotten. Acatl waited until all the healers had left, ignoring their sidelong glances, before testing whether his legs would even still support his weight. They did, but barely; he had to catch his breath, leaning on the table, before he could rise fully. The noble thing, the right thing, would be to give Mihmatini space with her husband. As damaged as their relationship had been after the attempted coup, he was sure her love for him hadn’t disappeared. He’d just be an interloper. Unwanted. Intruding.

But Teomitl had told him he loved him, so he followed Mihmatini in.

Teomitl had been laid on a thick mat, his chest and stomach heavily bandaged and his right wrist splinted. His normally-dark skin was distressingly ashen; when Mihmatini clasped his good hand, he didn’t so much as twitch. She made an awful hitching gasp, and Acatl braced himself for her tears—but then she shuddered, inhaled deeply, and looked up at him with glimmering eyes. “Sit down, Acatl.”

Acatl sat, staring at Teomitl’s face. He’d never seen him so still, not even when the plague had struck him down. The bandages were very white against his skin. If he hadn’t been so drained—so empty, after all the events of the day and the magical backlash of using his own body as the rallying standard for a dozen angry ghosts—he thought he might have joined Mihmatini in almost weeping. I was the one who should have told you sooner, Teomitl.

“He’ll be alright,” Mihmatini murmured. She was stroking his hand now, so gently that it broke his heart.

She loves him. She loves him, and I’m a selfish monster for wishing she didn’t. His voice felt like it was coming from very far away. “I know.”

“He’ll wake, and smile like he always does, and he’ll be back to driving me mad with his,“—she made a noise, and it took Acatl a moment to realize it was a twisted snort of amusement—“his awful clinging in his sleep, and all the rolling around he does, and it will be fine. I won’t even want to strangle him over it. Much.”

“...Mm.” He hoped it sounded agreeable, and not as though the mental image was making something clench painfully in his gut. He had no right to be jealous over what he’d never have. When Teomitl woke, he would simply...never mention what the man had told him. Yes. That was a fine idea. His fingers twitched restlessly, and he wished he could wrap them around Teomitl’s hand instead.

She was silent for a long while. When she lifted her head to lock eyes with him, her tone was as matter-of-fact as though she was discussing the weather. “He’s really not that annoying, most of the time. I can see why you’re in love with him.”

Acatl froze, the breath knocked out of him. The yawning pit opening in his stomach had nothing to do with Mictlan. He couldn’t think past the blood roaring in his ears, never mind meet Mihmatini’s gaze—but he couldn’t look away, either, and so he stared blankly through her without seeing her.

Her voice was soft and understanding, and that made it so much worse. “Does he know?”

He thought, briefly and shamefully, of lying. In the next minute he dismissed the idea; he wouldn’t do that to anyone over a matter like this, never mind his own blood. “...I told him. During—I thought he was going to die in my arms.” His throat was so dry and tight he could barely force the words out. “But—Mihmatini—“ I was never going to let it grieve you. I would never step between you two, I know it’s not my place, you’re his lawful wife and my favorite sister and I know how much you still care for him...

She heaved a sigh of pure relief. “Thank the Duality, I was getting sick of him sighing over you.”

“He—I’m sorry, what?!”

His brain seemed to have stopped working. Or perhaps there was something wrong with his ears. There was no way she’d just said what he thought she said. He opened and shut his mouth, but no words came out.

And now the sigh was exasperated, and she was looking at him as though he was the stupidest man alive. While this was hardly unprecedented for her, he couldn’t help feeling it was—for once—undeserved. “You heard me.”

“I...I did, but…” But it didn’t make sense. Gods strike him for a fool, it didn’t make sense. “You knew?”

“I suspected while we were courting, but eventually...he told me himself. After the incident with his sister.” She huffed out a breath, brow furrowing at the memory, and he fought the urge to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s the only reason I didn’t divorce him then and there. I would have, you know, if he’d said anything foolish like that he was trying to kill Tizoc-tzin for insulting me, or that he was only trying to remove a corrupt, useless Revered Speaker. And that was part of it, but do you know what he told me first made him want Tizoc-tzin’s head on a spike?”

He shook his head mutely. He couldn’t imagine it.

She dropped her gaze to Teomitl’s bandaged chest, watching for each steady breath. “It was when he and Quenami tried to have you executed for treason.” There was a wry quirk of a smile. “I couldn’t blame Teomitl for that. Murder is an appropriate response in that case, you know!”

“...Oh.” It was all he could say. The memories of that time hadn’t faded in the least, and Teomitl’s seething anger back then suddenly made a terrible amount of sense. It was for me. It was—because he loves me. He’d even want to...gods.

Mihmatini shrugged as though she wasn’t upending his entire view of how the world worked. “I always knew I’d have to share his heart; I’m just glad it’s with you and not some concubine. I know you’ll treat each other well.”

“I…” He swallowed past the lump in his throat and made himself meet her eyes. “I’ll try.” I don’t know how, but for him—I’ll try.

She reached across Teomitl to squeeze his good arm, and her smile warmed his heart. “Take joy where you find it, and with my blessing.”

He had to close his eyes as her words settled. She knows. She knows, and she approves, and I...Duality, I don’t deserve such a sister. Her husband loves me, and I—I am allowed, encouraged, to love him back. When he wakes...we can figure out where to go from there.

“...So long as I never have to hear details.”

He choked, feeling his face catch fire. “Mihmatini!”

&

It took three days for Teomitl to open his eyes.

Acatl had foolishly thought that he would have the luxury of fretting over him. He quickly discovered he wasn’t so lucky; he barely had time to breathe. Funeral vigils for the slain warriors and his own dead priests had to be arranged, their families notified. The entire plot turned out to have been masterminded by the Smoking Mirror’s host himself, a sorcerer who’d declared himself a member of a group called the Sixth Sun Burning; further questioning of his friends and relations revealed that he was the only member, supposedly making Tizoc froth with impotent rage at not having anyone to execute for it. Acatl was apparently still beneath the Revered Speaker’s notice no matter how many gods he banished, which he couldn’t help but be thankful for. By the time the merchant whose warehouse had been coopted for the scheme arrived, furious in his demand for answers, he was hard-pressed to keep his own temper.

Of course, as soon as he dismissed the merchant, an offering-priest burst into his receiving room. “Acatl-tzin—“ He had to stop and suck in a deep breath before continuing. “Teomitl-tzin has awoken—Mihmatini-tzin said you’d want to be informed—“

He was abruptly no longer tired. He couldn’t remember ever having been tired. “Ichtaca. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the Duality House.”

Ichtaca exchanged a long-suffering glance with the offering-priest. “Of course, sir.”

He ran.

Mihmatini met him at the gates to the Duality House. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her smile was soft and radiant. “He’s still weak, but he’s recovering well. He’ll be glad to see you.”

He had to stop and take a deep breath, willing himself to be calm. He knew he was blushing, but that couldn’t be helped. “...Thank you.”

Teomitl had been moved to the chambers he was sharing with Mihmatini at some point, the brilliant murals at odds with the stark furnishings. He looked exhausted, still ashen-faced and fragile around the edges, but he was sitting up with only a faint grimace of pain and picking carefully at a dish of flatbread with roasted peppers. When Acatl pushed the entrance curtain aside, he set his plate down and stared up at him. “Oh. Acatl.”

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly. For a moment he couldn’t make his legs work, and then he took the three steps necessary to bring him to Teomitl’s side and sat down hard.

Teomitl was still staring at him as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight. Acatl saw the way his fists clenched in his lap, the little wrinkle of concern between his brows, and ached to soothe him. “You’re alright.”

Truthfully, he didn’t feel alright. The priests of Patecatl had only been able to do so much with what they’d had on hand, and he’d still had very little sleep. But none of that mattered now, because Teomitl was fidgeting and averting his gaze and he couldn’t forget what he’d came here for. “Look, about earlier—I don’t know how much you remember, but…” I love you. I need to tell you properly.

Teomitl went rigid, gaze fixed on a point somewhere on the opposite wall. His voice lashed out like a whip. “I won’t apologize.”

What. He found himself temporarily speechless before managing to get his tongue back in working order. “Apolo—did you not hear me?”

“I.” Teomitl blinked at him. Acatl watched as he slowly turned red, jaw going slack until he shut it with an audible gulp. “Oh. Fuck. That’s what Mihmatini meant.”

“...You didn’t.”

Teomitl let out an annoyed huff, making an impatient stabbing motion with his hand. “I was bleeding out! You picked a terrible time to confess.”

Well, now, that couldn’t be borne. He sucked in a breath. “Says the man who told me he loved me with a hole in his guts—“ But the sensation of hot blood flowing over his hands was still too fresh, and he had to cut himself off with a shudder.

“I thought I was going to die. I didn’t think I’d be around for you to reject me.”

“Well.” He swallowed hard, suddenly and unaccountably nervous. “I’m not.”

“...You’re not.” Teomitl’s blush was back with a vengeance, and he still wasn’t looking directly at him. But he patted the mat next to him, a clear invitation. “...Come here?”

Oh.

Acatl shifted over to sit next to him. For the span of a few heartbeats they still didn’t touch, and he wondered if he was brave enough to make the first move—but then Teomitl’s hand shot out and latched onto his, and he made an entirely involuntary noise that definitely was not a squeak. His heart was beating so hard it was a wonder it stayed in his chest; from the heat in his face, he knew he had to be at least as red as Teomitl was. When their fingers laced together, he found he had no words to describe it.

After a long moment, Teomitl broke the silence between them. “...I truly do love you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it.”

There was a shy, soft smile on his face, and Acatl had to smile back. “There’s no need for apologies between us.” Not for this. Not ever for this. You have my heart, no matter what.

Teomitl turned towards him, and he went breathless at the look in his eyes. He knew an instant before it happened that he was going to be kissed, and it was the easiest thing in the world to tilt his head and lean in. He’d imagined it before—gods, had he imagined it, in the kind of detail that had left him frankly humiliated by his own lust afterwards—but nothing could compare to the reality of Teomitl’s mouth on his. He hadn’t expected it to be gentle, hadn’t expected the soft noise Teomitl made when he separated their joined hands to turn into an eager moan when Acatl dared to put an arm around him and pull him closer.

Even when they broke apart, Teomitl was smiling. Their noses brushed as he murmured, “I saw you avenging me, you know. You were magnificent.”

He averted his eyes, feeling something twist unpleasantly in his chest. It wasn’t enough. You still nearly died. “Hmph. Shameless flattery.”

“Acatl.” Warm fingers brushed his cheek. “Duality curse you, take the compliment for once.”

When he parted his lips to protest, Teomitl kissed him again. He decided not to argue.

There were better things he could do with his mouth.

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Blood, tears and sea breeze

Warnings: ANGST, mental health issues, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sex, substance abuse.

Summary: The not so peaceful town of Broadchurch face dead again, while Alec Hardy continues his journey to redemption will this school teacher be the key to solve the mystery or just another victim of the ever watching evilness that seems to reside in the town.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 4: Him, really?

Harford exited the interrogation room to meet Ellie, after a hard she wanted to believe she finally was getting somewhere in earning back her trust, and that's why she had questioned so hard this suspect, she needed to prove she was not soft nor naive anymore.

"Did she said anything interesting?" Ellie asked offering her a cup of tea.

"Her name is Ashley Langford, 34 apparently they have been friends since they were little, they lived next to each other from 5 to 18, and then together for a couple years when Langford quit school, Y/L/N leaned her money to start her restaurant and basically she loves her" She said reading her notes, frowning since there was something off in her story but she couldn't figure out just what, or maybe she was being paranoid, overanalyzing everything trying to be a little more like their mentors.

"Did she say anything about the victim?" Ellie asked looking from the window in the door, the woman was gorgeous, long brown hair and well kept figure, and was dressed as a business woman, didn't look like a Deli owner for her.

"Yes, she started crying when I told her he was dead, she said she last saw him last Monday, the night before he left for London, she and her brother have dinner at Y/L/N's house and she went to pick her up the next morning because he wouldn't be able to do it. But since he was asleep she didn't saw him, but he texted her on Thursday night" She show her a phone in a plastic bag that she had taken from the woman.

She is going to get hurt, please don't do that and just take her home.

"Apparently he didn't like her taking his fiance drinking and going out" Miller said remembering what Y/N had said about that night.

"Apparently not, and then she said she was supposed to drive her to the train station last afternoon but she wasn't at work, she doesn't seem to know anything more, but then again is not a lot to question her yet." She didn't mention how she haven't like the woman and simply take Miller's praise on her job.

"Well done Katie, send her home, we will be in touch if something else come out" she said and Harford nod and leave. Ellie started pacing around the office for half an hour until finally collapsing on her desk, trying to get some sleep. Then around 5:00 am her phone went off and she took the call from the coroner and after a couple minutes she was rushing back to Hardy's office to wake him up from his couch.

"What the hell Miller?" He said grumpy standing up and searching for his glasses to look st the computer where she was looking at the report. "He died strangled, is he sure?" He was shock to see the report but didn't actually doubt of the doctor's opinion.

"I just talk to him, he puts the time of the dead at some point between 10:00 and 2:00 am on Friday, and he also said the cuts were made after he was killed" she stated thinking how that technically doesn't exonerated Y/N since she leave the bar with Ashley at 1:30 am.

"What is that, traces of latex in the genitals and evidence of sexual activity pre morten, so he was cheating on her?" He said with some disgust in his voice, he was also thinking she was innocent and for some reason the idea of this guy cheating on her sick fiance didn't sit well on him.

"That's possible, also he found partial finger prints around the neck, so whoever did this was big enough to subdue Jonathan and strong enough to strangle him" She said, and for some reason she couldn't help to think about the crushed ring.

Since they couldn't keep Y/N there for much longer without an actual cause they chose to split to corroborate her alibi as soon as possible, so Miller went to talk to Paul and Hardy make his way into the city to find Dr. Florence as soon as the sun started rising.

"Alec, your appointment is at 1:00, what are you doing here?" Said the woman once he knocked on her door at 8:00 am. "I mean I'm glad you choose to come back, please come in"

"This is a work visit" He said simply, entering her home office and finding a place to sit, he had been seeing her since Daze left for college, and his problems to sleep and coping with Miller dating Brian started getting between his job, it was relaxing talking to her, even when like the previous week she stepped out of line saying things like he hold on too much to his past, or that he had a fear of intimacy. "I need to ask you about one of your patients, Y/N Y/L/N"

"Oh dear, you know I can't tell you or anyone about my patients treatment or condition, if I could I would have a long talk with detective and Miller ages ago" She said smiling, and then stood up to bring him a cup of tea "Unless of course I would be concerned about their being a risk to themselves or others, but in the particular case of Y/N that's not the case, she has a clinical condition that makes her vulnerable under stress but as far as I'm concerned she has not violent or criminal tendencies." She said calmly avoiding sound condescending since he heated it.

"Do you know her fiance?" He said, taking one of the biscuits she had put on her coffee table.

"Of him I can talk" She said rolling her eyes, an expression Hardy have never seen. "He tends to be completely out of place, always tries to make me tell him about what she says in therapy and since he insisted in increasing her visits he even wanted to be present on every session, I tried to make him understand that his attitude doesn't help a perso with anxiety, and even when he means well he could be smoldering with her at times, but before I keep talking, why exactly are you asking about her?" She said casually, like she always did when she tried to make him talk about uncomfortable subjects.

"We found Jonathan Norbury's body last night and I need to rule her out as a suspect, I'm tracking back her steps, I'm telling you this hoping you would be discreet about it" He said and she couldn't hide her surprise with the information and immediately stood up to look for something in her desk.

"Thanks for trusting me, here since is such a delicate situation I think I can give you this, they are obviously not useful in a trial and are for your eyes only" She said giving her a set of printed pages dated from the last two weeks. "This is a very detailed journal I ask Y/N to do after her last absence two weeks ago in order to force her to avoid her missing details about her life and being able to identify every possible mental lagoon, she send me a copy every night and I print them"

He left the office not without promising her he wouldn't show those pages to anyone, not even Ellie, and he could understand, it was no prove of anything unless he assumed everything Y/N said was the truth and he was under no circumstances doing that, but might as well help him understand what kind of person she was.

A ring from Ellie got him out of his thoughts, she had spoken to Paul and her story check out, and if there was anyone in Broadchurch that he was inclined to believe was the priest.

"He told me something curious" Ellie's voice said from the speaker "Apparently they were a couple at some point"

"Him, really?" He said out of impulse

"What, you found funny someone would date Paul?" Ellie laughed, and he let it slide because they were both tired.

"No is just, is strange, when was this?" He asked putting his mind back in the case.

"A few years before she even met her fiance, and he keep being a good friend of hers, so not much on this end, what about there? Did the doctor said if she is violent?" She didn't knew he was seeing her and he was not interesting in letting her know yet.

"Not really, no. Just what Y/N told us, we are going to have to let her go" He said looking guilty at the diaries. "I'll tell her, you go home and rest, I will pick you up at noon to check on the victim house and see if Brian can tell us more about the crime scene."

He hung up, and went back to the station to set the woman free, but first he wanted to read her thoughts, just in case he would find something else, but in reality what he was thinking was that someone took an awful lot of trouble trying to frame her, but for some reason he actually believed in her innocence, that was dangerous place to be and he was trying his best to get her sad eyes of his mind.

[prorevenge]

Revenge with a cherry on top.

It's a looong read. TL;DR at the end.

I used to be a therapist. I trained hard not only in my masters degree, which I managed to get at one of the best programs available in the States after working my ass off in undergrad, but also afterwards in seeking out opportunities to get EVIDENCED-BASED training. I emphasize that point because in the world of mental health there is an internal struggle between people like myself who believe you should have proof that what you are doing for that specific person's issue actually works, and those who want to stick to "theoretical" models that sound good, but don't necessarily have any research to back them up. The town where I live is like a ground zero for this problem. I regularly saw unlicensed therapists who had failed the licensure exam multiple times get promoted to supervisor positions, just because they were good at making their companies money. I eventually got out because I couldn't stand the focus on profit over people, which is literally impossible to avoid unless you say fuck everyone and go into business by yourself. By the time I got to a point where I could have made that move financially, I didn't want to be a therapist anymore and moved on. But before that happened, I managed to slam dunk one of the unprofessional people I had to deal with in a very satisfying way.

This case was about a year before I got out. I was doing trauma therapy with several children from one family, meeting with each of them individually and sometimes together per their request. It was easily one of the most fucked up cases I ever dealt with in my career, and that is saying something. You see, I worked for an agency that contracted with Juvenile Justice and Child Protective Services. All of my clients were mandated offenders or kids who had been removed from abusive homes. In this particular case, the abuse was beyond egregious and I remember after the first session where the kids really opened up and told me what happened, I had nightmares all night. It was so bad. But the CPS case manager (referred to from now on as CM) had specifically requested me because of my success with difficult cases. I had a reputation in my county for being good with kids and someone who could handle tough parents. Even though I knew it was going to be rough, I stuck with it.

My first clue this wasn't going to go well was at the initial family team meeting. These happen monthly with the family, CPS, and all their service providers to discuss goals and progress, etc. You're ultimately working towards closing their case when they have done all their treatment and, most importantly, the kids are safe; have received all the care they need; and the caregivers have demonstrated their ability to provide an appropriate home and parenting. The caregivers, let's call them A and B, were selfish, unhinged fuckers. They denied the abuse, lied for one another, and regularly said horrible things about these kids, insisting they were little liars who deserved punishment for causing all this trouble (by speaking up). The thing that was even worse was this team of fifteen or so providers would not fucking stand up to A or B. I got into this work because I had trauma as a kid and wanted to pay forward what my therapist had done for me when I recovered. I also knew what it was like to not be protected by adults in your life who should have been there for you. So, I did not give one shit what A or B thought of me and stood up to their crap when no one else would, saying it was the responsibility of every adult in that room to put the well-being of these children first since they are the children and we are the grown-ups. A and B were pissed as hell, and everyone else who had thus far allowed their ranting without so much as a squeak actually applauded. But that support for sanity did not last.

Months went by and these poor kids couldn't make headway because their insane parents were not only not compliant, they were actively causing trouble for everyone on the case. You can't do trauma work if you don't feel safe, and for these children they were personally living weekly drama that reminds me of Americans enduring Trump now. It was that chaotic. A and B made wild accusations against most of the people on the case (they were a secret drug dealer, they were trying to molest their kids in visits, they spat at them during a visit). One of the other clinicians got into a car wreck one day during work hours and when A and B found out they demanded she take a drug test. Until she did, they refused to comply further with services. Thankfully, her agency stood with her and defended her (she DEFINITELY was not on drugs, I can assure you, it was absurd). But the CM allowed all of this crap to go unchallenged. She was afraid of both A and B, and one by one she fired the people they targeted or made them so disgusted with her lack of spine that they left, until I was the only original team member left. Up until this point, these assholes wouldn't come near me because my reputation was impeccable. I knew a lot of people in the county and their kids loved me. I was the only adult in their life refusing to back down against A and B and, try as she might, CM couldn't get the kids to say what she wanted: that everything was "much better" and she could close the case. This is where the revenge comes in.

So, months have gone by, almost a year, and I am getting burned the fuck out but I am hanging on until I can successfully close this case and one other. Around this time, CM brings on a new therapist for B (the primary offender), who we'll call SmugFace. SmugFace was unexpectedly announced and introduced at one of our monthly meetings and immediately made it clear she did not like me. Not by being rude in an aggressive way, but by being condescending. For the next three months, CM would try every meeting to close the case and, because NOTHING was better, I fought her every time. Before, I had at least one or two people agree with me, but was now met with silence. It soon became clear CM and SmugFace were friends and SmugFace had been brought on to squish me out. She tried every meeting to imply I wasn't qualified, that I was stupid and had clearly misunderstood the children's wishes, that I was taking on a personal crusade against the parents. And she'd do it with a shit-eating grin on her face each time. I was tired and it did make me mad, but I tried not to lose my cool and give her what she wanted. Because of the shitshows caused by A, B and CM's spinelessness, no one stood with me at all anymore. I was on my own.

For cases mandated by the court, you usually have to attend court dates to testify to progress and make recommendations on whether it should remain open or close. The tension was building before our next court date, and CM was laying groundwork through team meetings, emails, and her reports to discredit me and close the case. In private, I felt like I was losing my mind, but I stayed in touch with everyone I had known on the case; kept my documentation like it was going to be examined by the FBI, and bit my tongue. I did everything I could to reassure the children I would fight for them to stay in their safer placement with relatives, and waited for court day. When it came, SmugFace was there with A and B, looking fat with satisfaction (and, well, just fat). She smirked at me every few seconds, tossing her hair over one shoulder and chuckling. I pretended she didn't exist and waited patiently to be admitted to the court room. When our case number was called, I filed in with her, A, B and CM. Service providers sit in the back at this court house, with members of the family, their lawyers and CPS in front. As we a took our seats, the doors behind me opened and every service provider who had ever been on the case came strolling in. One after the other, until there were no seats left and people were standing. SmugFace's eyes just kept getting wider and wider, until she was not so smug anymore.

After the judge called everyone to order, the lawyers spoke for the family and then CPS got to give a report and their recommendations. Then the judge asked service providers if they have anything to say. CM, of course, recommended we close the case (weak, selfish wretch). Then the judge called on me and I deferred to SmugFace, saying that since the case hinged on B's progress, we should hear her thoughts first. SmugFace stammered and sweated under the collective gaze of all these other professionals glaring at her (it was dead silent but had the tension of many buzzing bees) and said B was doing well and the case should close. She tried to throw in some more professional-sounding jargon at the end, jutting out her chin and collecting herself a bit after seeing my deadpan stare. Then the judge turned to me. I stuck to my guns and expressed all my doubts in full, then reported on the kids and my recommendations. The judge, who was one of the toughest in juvenile court, actually stated to the room that she had respect for my views because of the good work she knew I had done with other children. I was really surprised by this, but the best part came next. The judge asked if anyone else wanted to speak and every. Single. Other. Person agreed with my recommendations. They called out all of A and B's bullshit, one after the other, giving so many documented examples it was dizzying. All the while, SmugFace is getting stonier and CM is just shrinking in her chair. The final blow came from the children's court-appointed advocate, who had never once betrayed any agreement with me in meetings. She said she completely agreed with my and others' assessment and could not see how CPS could justify closing the case. The judge calmly declared the case would remain open, told off CM for her being out of touch with the case, and sent us on our way. On the way out, I looked at SmugFace and she refused to acknowledge me.

I smiled all the way to my car, but the best was yet to come. The good news is the kids were fine in the end, A got caught in too many lies and finally went to prison, and I was able to move on to a new career. But before it was all over, we had another monthly team meeting to attend. And that's when it got a little cherry on top. I love to listen to music, and since I drove around a lot for my work I had an extensive playlist to keep me occupied all those hours. I have eclectic tastes and will often put it on shuffle. The day of the last meeting, I showed up early, parked and unplugged my AUX cable from my phone to go inside. This automatically shut off the music, but sometimes it would start to play again when I wasn't expecting it. Not thinking of that, I just went inside and signed in with the CPS receptionist. The lobby was deserted, except for one person - you guessed it, SmugFace. When she saw me turn around, she looked furious. Before, she'd make a point of greeting me and acting syrupy and overly polite. Now, she resolutely turned her back and stayed silent. So of course I went over to say hello. Only I didn't get to. Just as I sat down across from her, my music app came to life and the first lines of "Dirt off your shoulder" by Jay-Z reverberated around the room "BOW DOWN TO THE MOTHERFUCKING GREATEST". And then, as though satisfied it had expressed itself, the app paused again. Without missing a beat, I shrugged and said, "Sorry!" Then smirked. Her fury at the implied double meaning (sorry for the noise but really sorry I kicked your ass) was priceless.

(source) (story by hrowaway42422819)

[twohearts-hs]

‘A Small Phone Call ( lV ) - Harry Styles Divorce Series

Words: 2,029

Pairing: Harry Styles & (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Warnings: swearing, slight mention of abortion and stillbirth

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

She looked down, anxiety creeping on her. He found out. Harry found out and here he is, angry and mad at her. She didn’t need this, not now, not ever. Y/N recently just got herself together, got her shit together, got her life together, and he decided to show up all beautiful, and angry and fuck everything up.

“Who told you?” she said, the first thing that came out of those pretty lips.

“We don’t keep secrets, Y/N.” Harry told her, pacing the hallway and ignoring her question, “We’re a team. We may be divorced, but we know one another. We understand each other. We. Don’t. Keep. Secrets.” he said, spitting each word out at her. She stood, holding the door open still, watching him having a mental breakdown in her hallway. 

“Can you come in, and yell inside my flat? I have neighbours.” Harry mumbled a ‘fine’ and walked in.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked quietly, he couldn’t even look her in the eyes.

Y/N stayed quiet, letting him yell and scream at her. This wasn’t the first time. This was actually one of the first red flags. Harry didn’t treat her with respect anymore. He saw her as his wife, that was it; as a sort of property. A tear fell down her cheek.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N, you’re crying! I should be the one crying, me!” she looked up, and instantly knew...he was drinking.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, wiping the tear off her cheek. Harry looked at her, and all of sudden felt a sort of guilt. 

“Come here,” he said, grabbing her and pulling her in a hug. She started to cry, and cry and cry.

“How far along are you?” Y/N pulled away, looking at Harry who placed his thumbs under her eyes and wiped the tears away. 

“Eighteen weeks,” Harry’s actions stopped for a moment, looking at her with wide eyes. 

“How long have you known?” 

“Morning of the signing of the papers.” Harry grabbed her by the cheeks and kissed her on the forehead. Y/N just broke down, fully and completely. 

Y/N was the first to pull away. She looked around the room, and began walking away; quickly moving the hair in her face.

“So, you now know the truth, and it’s late,” Harry nodded, standing awkwardly, “plus you’re drunk.” she looked down, noticing the very large space between them, “so, um, leave...please?” she asked in more of a question. 

She didn’t like Harry here, she didn’t. It didn’t feel good, but she needed to be strong for her baby. Harry nodded furiously, mumbling a ‘yeah’.

“Y/N, I want to go to the next appointment,” Harry asked standing by the door. She nodded, starting to walk around the room, looking for a particular item. 

“Here,” she gave him a piece of paper. Harry turned it over and almost choked on his sob. “It’s from a few weeks ago. I am really behind with all the tests, as I didn’t catch my pregnancy till sixteen weeks. But, my next appointment is in a few days.” Harry nodded.

“Can I keep this?” Y/N nodded, as she watched Harry pull out his phone, “When’s the date for the next appointment.” 

Y/N stood there awkwardly, “Tuesday.” Harry opened his calendar and looked up with a guilty look.

“I’m in L.A.” Y/N stood quiet, “Can you move it?” 

He was doing it again, job coming first, him coming first. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t, I’m already very behind with all the tests as I caught my pregnancy quite late.” 

“Please, Y/N. I need to be there.”

“Then come to the next appointment.” Harry started to grow angry.

“You don’t understand, Y/N. I need to be there, we don’t want to repeat what happened with—”

“Harry.” she snapped, “We won’t repeat what happened with Tate, with these tests, that I can’t miss.” Harry started to pacing, running his fingers through his hair, the alcohol still in his system, creating his temper to get higher. She knew about his temper, and after all these years, she still doesn’t know how to calm it down.

~~~~~

Tate. The name was written on her hip in cursive. But, she tried not to remember it. It was a year ago, it was simple times. She was happy, as was he. They were happy unlike now. But, soon that happiness faded and started causing problems for them.

Y/N got pregnant after a year of trying, and her and Harry were stoked to have a baby after so long. But, though she holds onto the painful times of the hospital and depression, she doesn’t remember how happy she was before that. The day she found out about the pregnancy, telling Harry, and the first appointment. Yet, through the love that they showed him, and the stellar health record she held, he was born through c-section at seven months, coming out as a stillbirth.

She blamed herself for months, and months, and it created a toll on the couple. Harry mourned with her for the first few months, but eventually decided to move on, but hold onto his remembrance day by day.

Y/N was a different story, she sat in the nursery, staring at the window. She did that for months, she stopped working and had no motivation. Therefore, accepting this pregnancy was hard to begin with. She didn’t want to replace Tate.

~~~~~

“I’ll cancel L.A.” he reasoned.

“You’ll regret that, and we will have a fight, blaming it all on me.” she leaned against the counter.

“Give me the clinics number and I’ll pull some strings,” he mumbled. He didn’t get it, he never gets it. Y/N took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts.

“I’m not your wife anymore, Harry. I am a fucking independent woman, who doesn’t need her ex-husband to say who he is and to flirt with the front desk lady to get what he wants. Grow up and accept things around you. Now, you can come on Tuesday or you can go to L.A. because I bet you that you have so many great ideas for songs after what I did to you, and what we’ve been through. So, for the love of baby Jesus, I will not ask you again. It is almost twelve a.m., I have work tomorrow, and I am eighteen weeks pregnant, so get out of my fucking house. And, take your drunk ass with you, because you drunk is a big no-no for me, as you’re a huge dick. The door welcomes you.” she said, walking to the door of her flat and opening it. 

“Bye!” she said with a grin on her face, and she closed the door, taking a deep breath. 

No matter how much effort she puts in to get rid of him and forget him is ridiculous, as he never leaves. She can’t have him around her for a long period of time, there is too much pain for her to bare. Too many bad memories. 

“He knows, and he’ll never leave,” she whispered, as a tear fell down her cheek.

~~~~~~

The clinic smelled like disinfectant, which was not very pleasing for her. It gave her a wave of nausea, and the constant ringing of the phone was giving her a headache. This was not her place. It wasn’t a safe place for her either. Her leg began bouncing up and down, and her hand began trembling. Last time Mylène came with her, this time she is by herself, as she was on a business trip. She watched the stream of people walking back and forth and the very pregnant ladies around her.

She looked to her left, seeing a teenager - roughly around seventeen - with her mother, and a boy around the girl’s age too. Y/N felt sorry for them, she knew what was about to happen, but she didn’t want to accept it. Especially someone who went through so much to have a baby.

Her leg kept bouncing and her hand shaking, until she felt a large hand on her leg, catching her attention.

“I know your fear of hospitals. Recite twelve different dog breeds, and take deep breaths.” he looked perfect. He always did. Always have been amazing at presenting himself, while she looked like a crazy person with anxiety. 

“I thought you were in L.A.” he nodded, looking at her.

“I moved L.A., you two come first,” he said, taking the courage to place his hand on her small swollen stomach; Y/N flinched a bit, not use to that level of intimacy. ‘Right’ she thought, ‘of course I come first...since when?’, she just smiled.

“I didn’t tell you what clinic I would be at. You know how stalker like that is, you just show up?” Harry laughed, she smiled a bit.

“I had to bribe Niall with a dozen bottles of beer and a really expensive whiskey to tell me.” she laughed but was caught off by the nurse.

“Y/L/N, Y/N?” she stood up, Harry following her. 

~~~~~

The door closed behind them, as Y/N stood in the room. Harry stood there, not knowing where to go. She has been here a few times, about to get an ultrasound, therefore she knows the Shazam. 

She sat on the bed, lying back down, and looking towards Harry; silently chuckling.

“You look so lost, H. Sit next to me.” Harry quickly nodded, heading to the chair to the right of her. 

“Hey, Y/N! So, how are you and Biscuit?” Dr Wilkinson came in. Harry looked confused.

“Hey, very good. I think we’re going pretty well.” Dr Wilkinson stopped in her tracks seeing Harry.

“That sounds great, and who is here today?” Dr Wilkinson was Y/N’s OBGYN when she was pregnant with her first pregnancy, yet Harry failed constantly to be at the appointments, as he was continuously away.

“Harry...he’s my baby daddy.” she laughed, handing out her hand. Harry took it and shook it.

“So, you declined last time to find out the gender,” she sat on the stool next to Y/N, as she wrote down something, “Are you ready?”

“It is up to Harry, but I am ok now. Biscuit is finally real to me. I’m having a baby, Dr Wilkinson.” she said the last part with a lace of excitement in her voice.

“Right you are, hun,” she said patting her shoulder.

“Y/N, can we wait till the baby is born to know the gender?” Harry asked, looking at her.

“There’s your answer, Wilkinson.” Y/N said.

Y/N pushed her t-shirt up her stomach, reviewing a bump. Harry took a short breath and just stared. 

Dr Wilkinson placed the gel on her stomach, as Y/N sucked in a breath. Harry quickly moved his hand to hold her hand, rubbing it.

“There’s your baby, and Biscuit is very healthy.”

“Why Biscuit?” Harry mumbled, pulling her hand to his mouth and kissing it.

“It was the first thing I craved...biscuits with pesto sauce, believe or not.” Harry smiled, his lips still attached to her hand. 

Y/N looked up at the scan and watched her baby. It was her baby. Something clicked within her, and she pulled her hand away from Harry, abruptly. She is going to do anything to keep this baby safe. She’ll protect them till the end of her days.

“Can you print some pictures?” Harry asked. 

This baby is hers, and she doesn’t want to share anymore. Maybe it’s time for World War ll with them, the first was the divorce, now its the second. Biscuit is her’s, and she was going to sign on it.

[writer-of-the-revolution]

Icarus Ch3 - Discovery

Hospitals suck. The first few weeks were all right, you know, being in pain in all, but at this point I think anyone would be stir crazy. The nightly trips to the gym and intermittent visits from Alex and co. became too little, far too soon for my liking. To make matters worse, I’m fine. Despite being given a near clean bill of health I’m still stuck here. The unwelcome truth is, the agency doesn’t know what to do with something like me. Can’t let the Angel of Death loose on the town.

My latest visit was one of the most surprising. I looked up from my daily staring into space i saw none other than the Mighty Captain Warshow. How sweet. Here I was thinking I was his least favorite agent.

“Boss!” I exclaim, oozing with excitement, “How’s it goin’?” He looks mildly uncomfortable under my cheerful smile,wringing his hands as he shuffles into the room. I continue, “So, when can I get out of this hell-hole? Nurses cleared me days ago! Even Alex says I’ve made a miraculous recovery, and she’s a mother hen.” He glances at the wings with thinly veiled disgust. How dare he.. “Don’t like what your assignment did to me?” He looks away.

“Agent Valerius, that's why I’m here. HQ has decided to board you in the compound until further arrangements are made. They will be prepared for your arrival by the end of the week.” Of course. Always and easy way out. Keep me on base and keep me secure, out of the public's vengeful eye. Those snakes.

After fulfilling the purpose of his visit, the burly man turns to leave and I let him reach the door before I call out, “When will I be cleared for duty?” He frowns and leaves without another word.

Alex was ecstatic when I told her the following afternoon. Being my primary visiter for duration of my stay in this hell-hole, she had heard enough of my frustrated ramblings to last a lifetime.

“You know what this means right?” She looked practically giddy with excitement. Her trademark tabled gripped tightly in her hands. “You can finally stop bothering me!”

“I take offence to that! I don't ‘bother’ you.” She looked at me disbelievingly before laughing. “Besides,” I roll my eyes, “I’m literally moving two building over.”

“It’s the thought that counts. Your own space and all.”

“Space regulated by B.O.A.”

“Well what do you want them to do? They can’t exactly send you off like you are. And I’m sure you’ll be out in the field before you know it!” Ouch.

I look away. The genius seemed to hit every nerve in one fell swoop. Managing to cover both my inability to ever live a normal life again, and my careers destined closure. My position had always seemed like the one thing I had. As a kid in a military family, always moving across the country, and never fitting in. Learning to blend in and evaluate people, a skill that later made him an asset in intel gathering. So much in fact, that even the higher ups were willing to deal with my recalcitrance. Kind of hard to fade into the crowd if the crown is running away screaming.

Alex, as painfully oblivious as she is realized her mistake swiftly. Torn between reaching out as comfort and not, her hand hovered between us unsure. With both of us reticent tension filled the atmosphere as thick as maple syrup. We looked away, each not meeting the others eyes.

The genius stood sharply and headed to the door. In her final glance back I caught her gaze. Pity. The quiet monster that seemed to follow my every step. A predator tracking its prey. Antagonising me. Look what you are. You will never be like us. You poor, poor thing. Eating me alive.

As Dr. Gray’s figure left the door, disappearing into shadowy confines of my thinly veiled prison cell. What she left unsaid lingered in the still air.

The next day crept by at an agonizingly slow pace like molasses flooding the streets. With no visitors to distract me time seemed to stand still. The need to escape crawled across my skin like a swarm of fire ants. In a last effort to ease the feeling I checked the bindings on the wings, swept on a large coat (okay, a trench coat), and made my way through the hallway to the gym.

The large room was fortunately near empty, it’s only inhabitant a 40ish agent asleep on the bench. I removed my coat and made my way to the punching bag to vent my frustrations. One hit turned to two, then twenty. It seemed so much easier to lose myself in a haze of adrenaline than it was to think. Sweat poured down my back soaking uncomfortably into feathers of the wings. My movement tearing the bandages loose, letting the limbs loose. Despite that I felt more alive since I woke up in a hospital room.

“Kai!?” Standing on the other side of the room was none other than Alex Gray.

The man slumbering in the corner woke at Alex’s yell. Panic fluttered in my chest. The agent’s eyes opened and he seemed to panic at the sight of me. I realized with a cold feeling of dread that my gut. I grabbed my coat and ran, not stopping till I reached my desolate room. Alex was right behind me.

“Kai I’m so sorry!” My response was vitriolic.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Alex!” A heavy weight settled on my chest, forcing he breath out of my lungs and leaving me gasping. My hands shook as I held them against my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Chills rushed down my spine.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone! I just needed to get out of here.” Alex’s hand rested on my shoulder but panic still flooded my senses.

“Kai, it’s gonna be alright.”

“No it’s not. I know i’m an abomination. Do you have any idea what it feels like to know that no matter what you do you can never get better. I’m going to spend the rest of my life either a lab rat or glorified prisoner being transferred from one facility to the next.” I fell to the floor and something warm wrapped around me.

“K-Kai!” Alex watched me, her eyes flooded with astonishment, “Your wings!”

That’s when I noticed. The feathered limbs that always dragged so uselessly behind me were not so now. Dull, dark feathers blocked my vision as the wings held themselves in front of me, almost as if to protect me.

Then, spasms of pain shot down my spine, burning like a wildfire. Black spots cloud my vision as my nerves scream in agony. Through my blurry vision I see Alex rush over to me. Tears streamed down my face as my body fell limp and I finally lost consciousness.

Waking up in a hospital bed in varying amounts of pain, with a certain genius perched at the foot, seems to be becoming a very unwelcome habit. Alex looked up from the device in her hand and smiled as she saw my bleary gaze.

“Valerius, you’re up! You have no idea how big this is!” The brunettes incessant energy was back in full swing. Completely disregarding my empty stare, she continued, “I've never seen anything like it. The sensory output from your wings has increased exponentially! The nerve endings knit together almost over night and your brain has managed to add another set of limbs to its control system. If we can replicate it, the applications to paralytics and amputees would be unparalleled.” Finally, she paused to take a breath. “You must be able to feel the difference?”

She was right, as always. I could feel the feathers bend awkwardly under my weight, and the way their barbs are rubbed the wrong way by the material. It was horrible. Feeling the wings so intimately just serve as another reminder that I’m just someone else’s experiment.

“Yeah it’s great… Who knows, maybe one day i'll fly like some kind of angel man!” Alex smiled and the lie felt worthwhile if it fueled her enthusiasm. It seemed as if my years of fake faces and fronts finally did some good. So, I let Alex babble on with a smile on my face.

The next day my move went on as planned despite the wing incident. I stood in my room taking one last look around the place that has been my home for the last 5 months. The plain space was especially empty with my few belonging laying in a duffel at my feet. I caught a glimpse of myself and I couldn’t look away. A gaunt face with prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes stared back at me, a reflection of my months of disappearance and recovery. I could almost see why people looked at me like i’m glass about to shatter.

I hear an eager knock at the door, quickly followed by Alex barging into my room. Back to her energetic self, she was practically vibrating with anticipation.

“It’s moving day!” she said in a sing-songy voice, grabbing my bag and pulling me away from the mirror. The wings were bound again but I almost regretted it. Aside from yesterday, the wings were still unable to hold themselves. Unfortunately, with the enhanced feeling, the setup was hot, restricting, and uncomfortable, leaving me unable to really focus on anything in particular. I followed the genius like a lost puppy.

As Alex and I walked out of the Med Wing, I couldn’t help but feel a hint of melancholy. I’m leaving behind the place where I healed, and all hopes of being fixed, resigning myself to a life of isolation.

My new building is the sumptuous housing for the higher ups, equipped with apartments more similar to those outside the compound than the cramped rooms we stayed in as trainees and agents. Most of the rooms contained kitchens and lounges, luxuries i've been without for far too long.

The moment we entered the building I could tell it was reserved for those of importance. Although not overly decorated, the plush carpet and gleaming chandeliers were impressive. Alex talked my ear off the duration of our ride in the elevator. Obviously I would be staying on the top floor, like a princess trapped in a tower.

“Agent, are you even listening?” Alex’s irritated voice broke me out of my thoughts. I smirked.

“Why would I need to listen to you?” We reached the door and she mock frowned as she opened the door with her set of keys. I walked in and turned of the lights before stumbling back.

“Surprise!” Inside were various friends and acquaintances I had come to know in my years in the agency. Various greetings were thrown my way and Alex watched my reaction with a smug grin.

“Welcome to the real world!”

“Good to have you back”

Then, someone had to say the word that started it all.

“Everyone give it up for Icarus.”

The world fell into madness.

[flamingo-writes]

Your Hands Only — Levi Ackerman x Reader

Multipart — [Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Summary:  Erwin, your most loyal patient brought another wave of wounded soldiers to the clinic you worked with. A particular patient refuses to be seen by any doctor who isn’t you, due to Erwin’s recommendations. 

Word Count: 1380

A/N:  If you’d like to be tagged in this story whenever there’s a new chapter, let me know.

Warnings: none

A regular day in your life included for the most part checking up kids for any sort of reasons. Every now and then an elder person. The twelve hours you spent in the clinic weren’t as tedious as they sounded, since Trost wasn’t particularly big, and there were another 6 doctors working there.

It wasn’t until you heard that the Survey Corps had returned, and that only meant one thing. Erwin was going to send all of his wounded soldiers to your clinic. It was the only clinic in Trost, and every doctor there was a good doctor. The next few hours were going to be filled with emergencies, rushing from one place to the other for meds, bandages, and all sorts of cleaning materials.

*

“Can I go home?” Levi asked Erwin, annoyed by the muttering of all the soldiers in pain, as his eyes wandered around, noticing the mess inside the clinic. “This place is filthy”

“Give the doctors a break, they’re going through all of the emergencies. They can’t worry about cleaning during emergencies”

“I can stitch myself up” Levi added ignoring Erwin.

“Hey, I’m not letting you go wounded. I know you’re not feeling precisely right, and I bet it’s because of that cut in your head” Erwin continued, looking at his friend straight in the eye.

“I have a headache, that’s all…”

“Look, there’s a pretty good doctor here, Y/N. She’s a clean freak like you. I can assure you she cleans after attending someone. Besides, she’s pretty skilled. I don’t know what she does, but my wounds heal perfectly when she’s the one attending them. There’s barely a scar left…” Erwin looked at his arm, where a very thin silver line was drawn on his skin. Said silver line was once a pretty deep and nasty cut, and now, it was barely visible unless you knew where to look.

“Fine. I get it. I’ll wait for her. I hope she’s as clean as you claim. Otherwise I’m not letting anyone in this place touch me” Levi threatened.

*

After the fifth soldier, you rushed and cleaned your examination room as quickly as you could as one of the doctors walked in without knocking, something that bothered you beyond measure. But couldn’t say anything because this doctor was your boss.

“Dr. Boston, there’s a patient who insists on seeing you. He’s been waiting a few hours for you to be free. He holds on to Erwin’s recommendation to see you in particular and refuses to be attended by anyone else”

“Really?” You giggled amused “Send them in” You chuckled, as you kept wiping dried blood from your work table.

You could see from the corner of your eye a man walk inside your checking room, and closing the door behind him. You looked up at him, and immediately noticed a small cut on his forehead with dried blood, a trail of blood on the side of his head. Out of routine, you grabbed some clean tools and set up everything to clean and stitch him up.

His blank expression changed in a split of a second. The stoic face he usually had was now gawking at your familiar face. You were the spitting image of your mother, the same woman who always stitched him up whenever he got wounded. Levi had grown fond of your mother for looking after his health like no one really did, and felt how all the flashbacks rushed into his skull like he’d just been hit with a hammer.

“Boston?” He whispered, as you looked up at him when he pronounced your surname. Your mother’s surname.

“That was my name last time I checked” You said pointing to your name tag on your white robe. “You have other cuts other than the ones in your head?”

Levi blinked a couple of times, going back to his usual expressionless face, as he nodded, keeping his wild train thoughts to himself.

“I have one on my back” He said, guilt clinging to his throat as he kept examining your familiar face.

“Feel any pain?” You questioned.

“Not really”

“Okay, I’ll wash my hands, put on some clean gloves and I’ll start working.Take a seat” He sat on the closest chair as you’d told him

He stared at you as you walked inside a bathroom within the examination room. You left the door open as you washed your hands, and put some gloves. The resemblance was creeping him out, and still managed to keep his face straight, as you walked towards him.

“Could you please move your hair to a side?” You asked politely as he swiped his hair to the opposite side revealing a wide cut on the left side of his head. “Well, it’s a bit big, but nothing I can fix in a minute” You hummed as you started cleaning the blood. “I never asked your name…”

“Levi”

“Does this hurt, Levi?”

“No, whatsoever” He answered looking around your consulting room, noticing how everything was in its place and how even the smallest of details withing your office was clean, something he rarely saw in other clinics. 

“Good” You continued. “I’m glad you have shorter hair in this area, but I’ll have to shave off the hair surrounding the wound. I hope you don’t mind. It will reduce the chances of the wound getting infected”

“Erwin recommended me to you because you’re clean freak and careful with your work. Do what you must” He sighed, as you finished cleaning the wound in his head.

“He said that?” You giggled. “Well, I am a clean freak. It’s important to keep everything as clean as possible when you work people’s health…”

You stitched up his head, and put on a couple of stitches on his forehead above his eyebrow. As you worked on the cut on his back, which was the biggest one, you told Levi further instructions to take care of his wounds.

“I’ll send some painkillers and antibiotics to keep them from getting infected” You announced. “Make sure you wash them at the very least once a day. Don’t wash them every few hours either, you’ll keep the skin from healing.Twice or three times a day will do...”

Levi knew all this too well. Your mother would recite the exact same instructions whenever she was taking care of his wounds.  

“...for the wound in your back, you can ask for help. Or you can come here, I’ll clean it up for ya. Also, make sure you eat well, it’ll help you heal faster and better”

“Thank you” He purred once you were finished and put on his shirt again. “The painkillers won’t be necessary”

“Aren’t you a tough one?” You remarked as you grabbed a folder with a few pages inside. “I need to start your medical record…”

Levi sat on the chair in front of a small desk you had in the corner of the revision room. He didn’t like being interviewed, but he knew he had to go through the medical record, not because of protocol, because it was important for you to know his medical history. He didn’t hesitate because Erwin had been right, you were a clean freak on top of being a doctor. After walking inside your clean workplace and see you work neatly, he decided that he wouldn’t let any other person lay their dirty hands on him while he was wounded. Your hands only.

Once you finished writing his medical record, and wrote his prescription with the instructions and doses, and gave him a small box with pills in them.

“I’ll see you in a week to see how are you healing” You smiled warmly at him.

That smile he’d seen in his past. Warm caring smile that made him thought maybe the world wasn’t as shitty as he always thought it was. People who cared were few, people who cared for him even less. But your mother was one of them, and he could never thank her enough. He felt in dept to her, and now seeing you in front of him made him wonder if he could repay your mother someday, even when she was gone. Maybe protecting these walls from the titans. Protecting you from any kind of danger.

[Next Chapter]