#i wish i could do a more polished drawing but unfortunately i have something i need to do in the morning

[tianhai03]

oh hey look it's april 1st again. happy trans day of visibility 💙💗🤍

[hecksupremechips]

Derby is for colts and fillies alike so long as they’re 3 year old thoroughbreds. 3 fillies have won the derby, though the race is historically dominated by colts due to speed qualifications. The oaks race is for fillies yes, but the derby is not just for colts like your post implies. Please stop trying to spread false information. Yes people who attend derby are mostly rich white folk but behind the scenes are poc workers and people who genuinely have a love for horses and the sport alike

That feels a bit better to know. For some reason idk people around here just label one race as the girl one and the other as the boy one and it’s like why are you being misogynistic about horses. So it’s nice its not like that in reality but now it’s like weird cuz whyyyy have people around me just been spreading horse misogyny my whole life 🤔

And yeah I didn’t intend to spread misinformation but hm I definitely don’t know derby lore very well I just know some fan culture that I’ve grown up around so that’s definitely not gonna give me a very clear picture so idk what I was thinking. I’m mostly just fed up with some of the ways people have treated the derby in my area and really just fed up with family rn so I was being bitter but I shouldn’t have made any like. Statements about the actual derby when I don’t really know what I’m talking about at all and also most things in Kentucky culture and history have a really interesting background and there’s always gonna be passionate people and poc involved that don’t really get shown on the surface cuz. Racism. I do have my big grudges against these rich people from out of state or from the rich neighborhoods of Louisville who treat the derby like some big spectacle but then scoff at the rest of the state and clutch their pearls in fear when they have to park in a closed off parking lot where they gotta pay a black man for parking and then walk through neighborhoods they deem filthy just to get to the derby but eh fuck them. Let’s be here for horses and kentucky history and culture and just celebrate the amazing shit that we have going on

[kozachenko]

A Retrospective Analysis on Touhou 17

So it's finally here, and even though I know for a fact that I am not going to be able to get the Keiki drawing done by this time (I'm having trouble with the eyes, for some reason it's always that aspect of drawing her that's difficult for me, I can never really capture the essence of her character no matter what I do) I still wanted to post something about this game today since it's the game's 5 year anniversary. I have a lot of thoughts on it, and my views on the game have changed quite a lot throughout my time being a Touhou fan. This is going to be very long so I'll put the rest under the keep reading tag.

So for some background, Touhou 17 was the first Touhou game I ever played, I got into the series during 2021 shortly after my Hunter X Hunter phase ended (since the manga was still on hiatus at the time) and I remember playing 17 during that time as well. I'm pretty sure that the reason I played it was because of that one nitirushh animation where Keiki disses the animal spirits so hard that they die (still my favourite fan-depection of Keiki tbh, it's just really funny to me) and that set my interest in the game itself. It was also the newest Touhou game at the time and none of the other games interested me as much. Then I actually played the game and at the time I found it insanely fun. I remember feeling so excited playing the stage 1 of the game and thinking to myself "Holy shit I'm actually playing a Touhou game" and having a lot of fun with it. Even though the game itself is the easiest out of all the Touhou games, it was still a challenge for me at the time since I had never played a bullet Hell before. For this reason, the game as a whole struck a chord with me. Funny Touhou animation aside, I don't know if it was because I had only recently gotten out of my Hunter X Hunter phase after finishing the whole 2011 version of the anime and had caught up with the manga during 2020, but maybe some aspect of 17 kinda scratched a similar itch in my brain and it really stuck with me IDK.

As for what I think of the game itself now.... gameplay wise, it could be better, it's still fun but there was so much potential for the game to tell it's story through the medium it chose to present itself in. Why did we not have more similarities between Eika and Keiki's danmaku styles to show their connection? Why did we not have a moment similar to what happened in TD during the final boss fight where Mayumi comes back in to take over during the fight in a last ditch effort to protect Keiki? It's the final boss so go all out! The animal spirits could also be balanced a lot better as well, especially with Youmu becoming incredibly overpowered with the wolf spirit, and visibility is a bit of a problem in this game. Some of the tracks could use a bit more polish too, I commend ZUN for being experimental with his newer tracks but the stage 3 theme and staff roll theme are both kinda eh, and while the boss themes have a lot of good punch to them and can be really good, it still feels like some extra spice could've been added to really make them stand out (which is why I love the theme remixes Saki and Yachie got in Touhou 19). I also wish the Animal Realm got explained better within the lore of the series, mainly because it raises a lot of questions about how Hell was founded and it kinda needlessly complicates things. I would've rather it be introduced as it's own region of Hell rather than being a separate thing entirely that just so happens to be located next to it. I also wish that we got more stuff with this setting that explains how it connects to the rest of the worldbuilding a lot more, I definitely feel like actually having it explained more in the mangas would definitely help to make it feel less convuluted, but unfortunately the closest we're getting are cameos in Lotus Eaters and very brief mentions of the games themselves. I still like the game though, as I've mentioned I do love a lot of the music and I love all the characters we got introduced to in this game. I've been appreciating Eika a lot more recently, I do like Urumi but she's neat and I like her design a lot, Kutaka is a fucking shithead who kept FUCKING UP MY 1CCS IN BOTH 17 AND 17.5 THE FUCKING BITCH- who is very funny and I love seeing more insight into Hell's management. Yachie's great and I find her relationships to the other characters in this game very interesting, Mayumi is awesome and the more I think about her the more I like her, and I love how Saki contrasts Yachie in her strategies. That being she has no strategy and just goes "fuck it, we ball" with no hesitation lmao.

I'm pretty sure you all noticed the absence of one character in particular, that being Keiki. I've made it no secret on this blog that Keiki is my favourite Touhou character, and a lot of that is because of her role as an antagonist in Touhou 17. I always found it really fascinating how ZUN created her as an allegory for AI (I don't know if Apollo just randomly blessed him with the gift of prophecy because MAN does that statement hit harder now more than ever) and the fact that she's portrayed as a very morally grey character in the game itself and Reimu's reaction to her, stating that she can see an "evil aura" in Keiki. I've already talked a lot about Keiki on this blog and I don't know what there is that I haven't said, but I wanted to start off with her because it ties into a big part of why I still find this game's story interesting. That main aspect being it's parallels to Gensokyo and Touhou's overarching them of humanity's relationship with nature.

So to step back from 17 for a second, I feel like we should look at what the Youkai represent in the story. Youkai in Touhou are created from humanity's fear, and back before science was able to properly explain anything, this fear very often manifested into a fear of nature. Natural disasters would end up wiping out villages, dangerous animals would often lurk in forests and end up killing anyone who would go in them. Overall nature isn't very kind to humanity, and humanity knows this. This is why humanity would often try and find reasons as to why these things would happen. This brings us back to the Youkai in Touhou who are the embodiment of the unexplainable. In manga like Forbidden Scrollery and Lotus Eaters, we often see how the humans in the human village are at the mercy of these Youkai, the only reason that they aren't being slaughtered is entirely for their own benefit so they don't run out of resources. The only hope the humans in the village really have is to turn to the gods, another product of man's desire to explain the unexplainable, to potentially save them. The survival of the people in the human village will always be in the hands of beings beyond their comprehension. No matter what, humanity will always be at the mercy of nature.

Coming back to Touhou 17, we can see that the relationship between the human and beast spirits isn't exactly.... pleasant. The beast spirits all see the human spirits as slaves essentially and they gain strength from their torment. The only way that the human spirits are even able to stand a chance against them is to submit themselves to a god and pray for their protection. And even then there's no way in Hell that they're getting out of this situation since the god they're praying to views them the same way as the animal spirits (whether they are aware of it or not).

So if you haven't noticed by my word choice, there are quite a lot of similarities here with the dynamics of the Animal realm and Gensokyo. That's not even mentioning the fact that in both places we have at least 3 different parties fighting over control of the humans, whether it be animal spirits or Youkai. Hell, this race for power in Gensokyo is a plot point in Lotus Eaters and Forbidden Scrollery, so it's not like this is a new concept for the series to explore either.

There's also something to be said about how Keiki and the technology she brings with her are seen as a threat to the order of the animal realm. Throughout human history, humanity's creativity and ingenuity have always been major factors in our survival as a species. We created tools to use the nature around us and make it work to our advantage, we created weapons to more efficiently hunt and find food to survive, and we created art and literature to document our histories and make sense of the world. Going back to 17, Keiki is the epitome of humanity's evolution and creativity and she is the one who responded to the human's cries for salvation. Another thing to think about is that in Gensokyo, the best the villagers are going to get in terms of technology are old computers that are very limited in their use, and even then barely anyone will have any idea how to use them. The reason that Gensokyo even exists in the first place is to preserve the Youkai and Gods that would become forgotten by humanity's technological advancement. In both of these places, technological advancement is seen as a threat to the natural order and must be suppressed at all costs.

Of course in Gensokyo it isn't as extreme as the animal realm. The Kappa, the Tengu, and even gods like Kanako are all quite technologically advanced and/or are introducing new technologies to Gensokyo (those are just the ones I could list off the top of my head, but please tell me if there are more that I forgot). But here's the interesting thing, notice how none of the examples I listed there were humans. The only way for the humans of Gensokyo to have these technologies introduced to them is if the powers that be, nature, let them have those technologies. Going back to the animal realm, even after Keiki is defeated we can see that the beast spirits are still using the technologies she (most likely) introduced, i.e. that one chapter in Lotus Eaters where one of the otter spirits introduced what is essentially a GameBoy to the Kappa and Nitori saying stuff like, "oh yeah the animal realm is actually pretty technologically advanced nowadays" as well as that one story in CoLA where Ran and Yachie deal with the AI Sumireko made. Once again, the only times when the use of technology goes unprotested in this series are when it's kept out of the hands of humans and back into the hands of nature. Even when humans are able to fight back and create their own technology, nature will always win in the end, no matter how hard humanity tries to defeat it. The way Touhou 17 ends is indicative of this, with Keiki being defeated and the Animal Realm returning to it's status quo.

However, Gensokyo has never had this kind of issue before.... or so it may seem. Yes there's never been any technological uprising by the human villagers and with the way things are there most likely never will be, but when you take away the potential for technological advancement from humans then the next best thing would be magic. And when humans in Gensokyo use magic to find a way to gain power and be more than just fodder for the Youkai, they end up being punished. This is most prevalent in Forbidden Scrollery when Reimu kills the fortune teller. I don't think I need to go too in depth about this moment since I already did so in my Forbidden Scrollery review but this once again shows a parallel between Gensokyo and the Animal Realm.

So what am I trying to say with all of this? I've been bringing up a lot of the similarities that these two places have but similarities can just be chalked up to coincidences that don't mean anything. What I've been trying to say with this whole thing is that the Animal Realm represents an extreme version of Gensokyo, one where every ugly aspect of it is dialed up to 11 and the law of the strong eating the weak rules all. It's a Gensokyo without a spell card system to level the playing field. I do want to say that I don't believe Gensokyo is a grimdark setting, sure some parts about it are bleaker than others, but there are also many good aspects of Gensokyo that I feel like I should bring up. It's a safe-haven for the forgotten, and if we continue viewing the Youkai and Gods from the lens of both of them being allegories for nature, Gensokyo is a place where nature can fluorish outside of humanity's hands. Unlike the Animal Realm, Gensokyo was never established with the intentions of harming people. Nature is both beautiful and terrifying, and where Gensokyo displays the beautiful sides of nature, the Animal Realm displays all the ugly sides of it. Even then, there is some overlap between the two, Gensokyo does have a nastier side to it and the Animal Realm is a place where nature can exist unrestrained by humanity (even if the place is still a shitshow overall). Now that I think about it, this sort of duality between the two realms is kinda fitting for Touhou, and I can't stress enough that when I say that Gensokyo and the Animal Realm have some parallels I am not trying to say Gensokyo is a grimdark dystopia. Hell even going back into the Lotus Eaters manga, the otter spirit that escaped from the Animal Realm even said that Gensokyo was a better place to live.

So yeah, I don't really have any good way to end this aside from saying happy 5 year anniversary Touhou 17. You are a flawed game but god do I still love you. Oh yeah, and if there's anything I missed or any mistakes I made, please correct me/let me know.

[skinzchoerim]

OnlyOneOf's dOpamine concert in Warsaw - my experience (+sentimental musings about the lore and its messages)

The first thing I need to get out of the way is that their crowd interaction game is 1000/10. They went on stage already knowing at least two greetings in Polish, and then Kyubin and Nine did a whole pantomime to explain their understanding of them. They presented "elo" as being very casual, best done with a bro chest bump, and they were correct about that. The funniest thing was when Nine showed "siema" (a greeting that's basically just as casual as "elo") as being very polite and official with a bow of the head. And hey, if he thinks that's the most official greeting in Polish, who are we to argue?

The translator wasn't very good so a lot of the context got lost, but they said that while sightseeing they met an elderly lady who was a lyOn. Then they met an elderly man from Busan who they hoped to turn into a lyOn, but he wasn't interested, and Nine said that's just how people from Busan are lol. Junji talked about how much he loved the view and that it made him feel really sentimental, which somehow turned into JunRie doing a couple dance with a spin. I really wish I had a video of it, I also can't find any taken by other people 😔

When the time for seOul drift came they asked about a Polish car brand, and of course everyone yelled "MALUCH!!!", so it was hilarious when they asked us to do a Warsaw drift in a maluch with them.

At some point the audience started chanting "zajebiście" which basically means "fucking awesome", and they were very keen to learn how to pronounce it. I really hope they remember it cause that would be iconic.

Now let's do a time leap and go back to what happened before the concert.

I watched the fanchat from afar and had the best view of Yoojung who looked really invested in everyone he talked to. I was surprised to see how wide and baby-like Rie's face is, it's really cute. Everyone says they look even better in real life, and personally I don't find that to be true. I think they're exactly as beautiful as they appear on screen. I'll explain it in more detail later.

Now for the fansign, which... my god. My worst fear when I saw how little time was reserved for it came true, because it really went by at the speed of light. I'm really glad I brought the prints to give them, because there was no way they would have noticed the shirt. For reference, here is what I gave them (Yoojung got two):

Junji was first, he smiled and said a cheerful "Hi!", I handed him the album and then quickly gave him the print before having to move on to Rie who was already making eye contact. I don't remember his exact reaction to the print, but he seemed positively surprised. Yoojung was the one who had the biggest reaction, his mouth did the '0' he often does and he either gasped or said "wow", it was all genuinely too fast for me to process and file away every detail. I don't remember Nine's reaction well because I was still reeling from Yoojung's (also I was distracted by his scar makeup, cause damn, it looked realistic). I think he said "thank you", although I'm not sure if he even looked down at the print. Mill also seemed positively surprised. Kyubin was last, and thanks to that I got to watch his reaction for the longest, although it was still barely a second. He looked at the print and then made eye contact with me while he was handing me the signed album. There was something about the look on his face that made me wish I had a moment longer to ask what was going through his head, but unfortunately all I could do was smile, give him an awkward nod goodbye and walk off. Did he recognize that he's seen the drawing before? Was he just surprised? Did he like it? I have no idea.

The hi-touch went by even faster since the staff told us to run. The pictures were taken with about 10-13 lyOns each. After the whole thing was done, I knew that for the next concert (fingers crossed 🤞) I'll have to buy the VVIP+ benefits. To be fair to myself, there was already a lot going on in the days leading up to the concert and preparing for the fanchat would've only added unimaginable levels of stress, but I think that the second time around, I'd be able to approach it with more ease. More on that later as well.

While waiting for the concert to start, some of their songs were playing in the background. The volume was fairly low and the amount of noise in the hall made it impossible to hear anything beyond the bassline and percussion, but that just made me wish that they'd release their entire discography with only those two elements cause let me tell you, it sounded SICK.

I started to really regret not getting the VVIP+ benefit once the concert began and the people in front of me covered the view with not just their heads, but also phones and lightsticks. I was only in the third/fourth row, but everyone in front of me was taller so I couldn't see everything that was going on, and seeing the videos others shared on Twitter it does seem like I missed a lot. Still, it was the perfect spot to get sprayed with water which happened more times than I could count (mostly Kyubin's deed, thanks bro I needed it).

The performances were absolutely top tier, but did anyone expect otherwise? I need them to release the dOpamine remix, I'd listen to it way more than the original. I couldn't see Yoojung during begin at all because he performed a little further back, so I'm really glad that once the medley was done they all sang the choruses of the solos again with the audience. Did I cry? No, but very fucking nearly, especially when we all sang begin together. Another moment that nearly brought me to tears was when Nine finished performing beyOnd and the music cut one line into the second verse. Obviously part of the reason why it sounded so heartbreaking was how unexpected the ending was and how much I wanted it to go on for longer, but it also sounded like someone suddenly took away his voice, so it fit the theme of Things I Can't Say LOve perfectly.

Speaking of having his voice taken away, I'm happy to report mine wasn't. The concert experiences I ruined for myself by freezing up and not joining everyone else in having fun outnumber the ones I approached with ease and made great memories during. I was especially worried since the previous concert I've been to, Odd Eye Circle's, unfortunately fell into the former category. The English version of Loonatic was my skinz before skinz existed, and when they performed it, anxiety got the better of me. I couldn't even open my mouth to attempt to sing along, and I still have regrets about it, because I know it would have been a liberating experience.

But none of that happened this time. I sang every song along with them (was I feeling smug that I knew almost all of the lyrics when the people around me only knew the English bits? yes, sue me). I put my whole fucking soul into my favorite songs, especially mirage, seOul drift and skinz. I can't even begin to describe how special it felt. Yelling the lyrics to skinz with lyOns all around me and OnlyOneOf a few meters away felt like a full circle moment. skinz was the beginning of so many things for me, and it's such a therapeutic song that's been helping me express myself unapologetically slowly, bit by bit over the past two and a half years. It doesn't matter that I don't have as many vivid memories of the concert as I wish I had, because I know that those two hours on June 12th 2024 have been euphoric and liberating, and I will carry that feeling with me every day, getting a little taste of it each time I listen to these songs again.

While after the fact I do wish the concert had gone on for longer, at the time it felt like the perfect length. The amount of songs in the encore was a genuinely nice gesture, because they were slowly getting people prepared for the end while constantly whipping out another performance, which is a really smart way to leave the audience in high spirits. I think they ended up performing four songs for the encore - OOO yOu, angel, lOve me and dOpamine (without choreo this time), and then the first verse and chorus of time leap right before they left the stage.

The acoustics in Progresja aren't the best, but it was an amazing experience to hear them sing live. I feel like in a lot of recordings it's kind of hard to tell if they're singing live or if it's playback because the vocal and music layers sort of merge into one. I might share the videos that my mom took with her phone, because hers actually captured that live quality of their singing.

I know me writing this here won't change anything, but I have to put I out there - these kinds of stages weren't made for K-pop acts. I can't imagine anyone aside from the people in the first row or someone very tall was able to see the elements of choreography that took part on the floor or the subtitles on videos (which come on, they at least could have had the foresight to place them on the upper part of the screen, not the bottom). K-pop groups - or anyone who doesn't just stand there holding a mic but has a visual side to their performance - should perform in buildings that are constructed like theaters, with the floor gradually rising so everyone can see the stage comfortably. It seems that the Madrid venue was exactly like that, so if anyone reading this was there or at a different concert in a similar venue I'd love to hear about your experience!

Now something that might cheer up anyone who hasn't seen them perform live - this concert made me very grateful that cameras exist and allow us to watch their performances filmed professionally. It's obvious that they're amazing performers from a distance, but only when a camera gets up close and captures the way they express every song and choreography with their faces does it actually hit. I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, Yoojung is such an impressive and expressive performer, both in his body and face, and having close ups of his facial expressions is a gift from heaven.

As I laid down in bed and my emotions were cooling off, it dawned on me how many good things in my life I owe to them and how special it is to have this one artist I can point to and say "the time I spent with them changed me for the better". I think seeing them live isn't even the pinnacle of my experience as a fan, but everything I carry with me every day that I have thanks to them. That being said, I really want to see them again. Most of what I've written down here was right after the concert, but now I don't feel like I remember as much as I want to. Nonetheless, this was my favorite concert among the ones I've attended and the most special experience of my life so far. Next time I'm getting VVIP+ and getting closer to that stage so I can finally enjoy the view in peace. I'm not even taking the option that they won't return here into account. They will last forever and they will have an infinite number of world tours.

This is where this post stops being a concert review and becomes sentimental musings of an unhinged person, so strap in. I did my best to structure this section in a way that would clearly communicate my thoughts to someone who isn't the owner of my brain and therefore doesn't have the exact mind map of interpretations of the various elements of OnlyOneOf's lore. The things I say here might be something most of us have thought or felt at some point, so what I hope to achieve here is simply it put into words, because I don't think anyone else has done that in the context of OOO.

I have to start by defining what exactly I mean whenever I say “the lore” (please don't make a drinking game out of every time I say "lore" in this post, you will die). Just like with any other K-pop group who has a deeply thought out concept, “the lore” encapsulates everything related to their conceptual work - songs, music videos, lyrics, teasers, MV descriptions, symbolism, references etc. What makes my definition of OOO’s lore deviate from how I'd define other K-pop groups' lore is the elements that make OOO's lore itself different from any other. K-pop storylines are known to be complex, but the ones I’m familiar with can all be described in the form of a story with specific characters played by the members, various events, superpowers and plot twists. OOO’s lore is more focused on emotions - loneliness, desire, love, fear. Because of that, the facts of what happens in the work itself can take second place to the emotional value of it. Their story can't be analyzed like a book with a beginning, middle and end, because it's too ambiguous and multifaceted for that. We can instead discuss the themes and observe the emotional progression happening within the lore. I like to compare analyzing their lore to untangling the chord of your earphones, because when you start getting frustrated at yet another impossible knot, you can just give it a rest, put the earphones in and enjoy how their art makes you feel.

I think it was the youtuber LOU who first viewed something OOO had made through the lens of cubism in her video about dOra maar, but I'd take it a step further and say that OOO's art makes the most sense if you look at everything from a cubist perspective, i.e. there isn't a single perspective on anything, but multiple viewpoints that all work together to create what we could call "the lore". It becomes easier to take a look at the whole picture the lore paints if you keep that in mind.

We observe an internal journey across various songs that connect to each other in smaller or bigger ways. We can, but we don't have to view all of them as being one person's story. The lore contains a collection of themes that create an ambiguous, unnamed protagonist whom we see represented by the bOy wearing cOmme des garçOns or the characters in the be series. None of them are THE protagonist, but they all make up the protagonist, because they all offer different perspectives on the themes that drive OOO's art and have been building up the group's identity over the past five years.

All of what I've mentioned thus far is just creative fiction. There is another perspective on their art that has real life implications, because there are real people whose job it is to express the inner world of the protagonist through songs and performances. OOO's music videos acknowledge their status as idols in the same way other K-pop groups with a fictional narrative do - they break the fourth wall by showing snippets of choreo and lipsyncing in between storytelling. OOO could be written off as nothing more than actors in entirely fictional roles if it wasn't for how intertwined they are with the themes in their art, in no small part thanks to how active they are in the creative process, but even beyond that. Their job as idols is acknowledged within the narrative (skinz MV, beyOnd description, the name of undergrOund idOl). So, their life as idols with a fandom is yet another perspective through which we can view their themes.

Here is where our role as spectators becomes important, because this aspect of the lore couldn't exist without our input. The way we respond to it and the conversation we create around it is what gives it meaning.

One side of the lore is the human side - the intimate and natural imagery of the libidO MV, the cozy warmth of cOy, the fun of blOssOm's choreography. On the other side, there are parts of the lore that feel emotionless and cold - MVs like sage, time leap, asOiaf, dOpamine, or graphics for Off angel and dOra maar. This dichotomy is something that can be used to discuss a lot of themes, like emotional distance in romantic relationships or a feeling of being ostracized by society. For the benefit of this post, I'll focus only on parasocial relationships between artists and fans.

Being a fan is both an experience of intense connection and distance that goes way beyond just oceans and borders. The one-sided nature of a parasocial relationship can be difficult to navigate for some people, but it seems to be something a lot of us need. It's comforting to know that you can develop a strong emotional bond with someone you're completely detached from and don't have to do any of the work a real interpersonal relationship needs; you just get to enjoy yourself as you receive art and entertainment. But that comfortable distance distorts the way we perceive the artist's personhood. We know and understand that they're a fellow human being, but we can't help that we never have an opportunity to experience them as such. They’re not people to us in the sense that they have no physical presence in our lives, they're just a series of recorded images projected onto a screen, filtered and airbrushed. We can watch them act like regular people on and off the stage, but whether we want to or not, we perceive them as more glamorous than anyone we meet on a daily basis. How could we not when part of their job is to tower over us while looking like a perfectly crafted illustration every time they get on stage?

This is where another theme present in OnlyOneOf’s art comes in, which is putting someone on a pedestal. In their songs, it's discussed in the context of romantic, artist/muse or God/follower relationships, but the part of the lore I'm talking about here is something that exists in the way we as spectators perceive them and their work.

Idols are human - I'm aware I'm not making an interesting point by acknowledging that. The reason I've been inspired to write about this in the first place is that I realized how being in physical proximity to someone you have a parasocial relationship with can shift your perception of their humanity.

I didn't buy the VVIP+ benefit because I knew I would be way too nervous about those six minutes and I'd probably spend most of that time awkwardly pretending I can hear what they're saying through the noise all around. Never meet your heroes, because you might make an idiot out of yourself, or however the saying goes. I thought I was in the vast minority who felt this way due to my anxiety while other lyOns would be ecstatic to get to meet them face to face. However, while I was standing in the queue I overheard a lot of people talking about how nervous they were, which is funny, because why the hell would any of us be nervous? They're the ones who are about to have a crowd of strangers observing their every move and recording every little mistake, they should be feeling the most nervous of us all! This got me thinking about why anyone would be nervous to meet their favorite artist, and the conclusion I came to is that it's intimidation. We're not wrong to feel intimidated; I think it's perfectly normal and natural in this scenario. I'd say it’s also quite healthy, because you’re not able to get too familiar with someone who intimidates you, which ensures the emotional distance required within a parasocial relationship is kept. As with everything, it's about balance. The problem appears when the emotional distance between a regular audience member and an idol grows so large that it becomes dehumanizing. Unfortunately, seeing how Korean netizens and international fans alike latch onto tiny things to criticize about what idols do and say, this is still a very relevant topic. A pedestal that's too high can result in an approach that's entitled, cold, and often cruel. An idol becomes an imitation of a person, someone untouchable and unshakeable. Any words thrown their way, especially online, feel insignificant in comparison to their towering presence. For the people with an especially cruel streak, finding out their actions have a psychological impact on a public figure probably makes them feel like they regained some power in this uneven relationship. To them, it's nearly impossible to perceive an idol as someone with a right to receive empathy, because in their mind, the idol is too far removed from the humanity they observe in people who exist around them.

What's important here is that the lore shows us the full spectrum of who OOO are - they're idols, singers, performers, actors; they're people with fears, desires, intimate stories and hidden sides; people who have dopamine running through their bodies, people who need connection with others and people who have things they can't say. These things can't be separated from the members, because they make sure to take this message beyond the art itself. They don't filter themselves nearly as much as most idols have to - they swear, make dirty jokes, write songs about sex, casually talk about kissing men and offhandedly mention having a romantic life without apologizing for it. They're underground idols, and they intentionally distance themselves from the unforgiving audience members who would have a heart attack if their faves acted one tenth as relaxed as OOO do on a daily basis.

What I'm trying to get at here is that OnlyOneOf's art is created with the intention to create more empathy - for queer people, for mistreated lovers, for discarded muses, for people reconciling their faith with their sexuality, for one's own self despite having a lot of internalized issues. Through doing that, they override the loneliness inherent to the stories their songs tell and create possibilities for connection. They give us art that makes us feel less lonely by being a reflection of our messiest, most intimate feelings and experiences, and in turn they ask us to recognize them as a reflection of us and to not isolate them from the full human experience just because of the job they chose and its restrictions. When Jaden Jeong said they're the future of boy groups, I think he hoped they could influence audiences to humanize the figure of the idol.

I watched them between the professionally executed performances as they riffed off of each other, laughed and zoned out while looking at the audience. There were no cuts to a different, more flattering angle, no hand in the editing room controlling what footage sees the light of day. They look more beautiful in real life not because anything about their features looks different, but because the reality of being in the same space with them and finally getting to experience them just as any other human being, even with some distance still present, is a very special experience that holds beauty of its own. At that moment, I couldn’t remember why I was nervous before, and I began to wish I had sat down with them and shared a short conversation about any random thing. It would have been imperfect, but there was no reason to be afraid of that. They're just six guys of flesh and blood who clearly love what they do and whose work has given me happiness and purpose over the past two and a half years, and I would have cherished those six minutes of interaction.

On the train home, I discovered a more sentimental feeling while listening to them, especially the songs they performed, but not exclusively. There was something more personal and artistic I heard in their voices that made each song feel like more than just a recording, but a special moment in time shared by people who created something they wanted to share with others. This feeling fades the more the time distance grows between the current me and the me that attended the concert. Two hours weren’t enough.

I don't know how to end this post other than to say how fascinating it is that including imagery of fan/idol culture and technology within the lore so it mixes with all these deeply intimate stories makes everything OOO do a living piece of art. Simply existing as idols and people fuels the reason for the existence of their concept in the way that it currently exists, and I just think it's incredible.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Watcher and Apprentice, Part 2

(The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 1 Scene 2)

WoW Birthday Whump Day 15: "I'm Sorry."

Whumpril Day 14 (Urgent Care)(kind of), Day 19 ("I need you")

WoW Birthday Whump Event Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

part 1

TW: stitches mention, wounds mention, blood mention, anger

Context: Hector has gotten Luc back to the blockade. Now he waits outside the medical tent, wondering if his apprentice will survive.

Aaaaand that's a wrap for this whump event! Thank you so much to @whumperofworlds for all the prompts! I will continue to participate in Whumpril, so stay tuned for more of that.

-----

“You’re going to kill the grass if you keep pacing like that.”

Hector paused mid-step and glared at the nearby elf, who sat cross-legged outside the medical tent, polishing his silver daggers. “By the depths, de Silv, he just got attacked by a magician, of all things!”

“True,” the elf replied. His hands were busied with the daggers, but his eyes, sharp as the blades, were fixed on Hector. “And I’m as concerned about that as you are concerned about your apprentice.”

“Then excuse me if I’m a little restless!” Hector snapped. He began pacing again, hands clasped firmly together behind his back. They'd gotten back to the blockade in record time. Luc’s heart was still beating when he’d set the boy on the table inside the medical tent. Unfortunately, the healers, Silas and Ven, immediately kicked Hector out so they could treat him in peace.

Assholes.

Octavian sighed, sliding his daggers into their sheathes. “From what I had glimpsed of your apprentice’s injuries, I am certain that, despite the blood loss, he should make a full recovery.”

“I’ll be sure to keep your professional opinion in mind.”

A series of shrill whistles echoed throughout the camp. One short whistle, one long whistle, pause. Two long whistles, one short whistle. Hector froze, mentally translating the code. A-G. It wasn’t the alert for a sang attack, three short whistles in quick succession. So what did A-G mean?

Octavian rose to his feet, the ghost of a smile on his face. “My presence is requested. I wish your apprentice a swift recovery.” The elf bowed his head to Hector and departed.

Ah. Ag was the alchemical abbreviation for silver. De Silv. It was a clever, if strange, bit of code. Why did de Silv have a signal to himself?

Before Hector could dwell on it further, one of the healers, Ven, emerged from the medical tent. “Watcher, you may enter. We have something we must discuss.”

Hector raised an eyebrow but did what he was told, following Ven inside. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when he saw Luc conscious, sitting on the table as Silas finished wrapping bandages around his torso. The healer nodded to Hector as he entered. “Watcher.”

“Silas. You need to talk?”

Both healers glanced at each other for a brief second. Silas gave a slight nod, and Ven turned back to Hector, her expression grim. “His injuries are superficial. We should have been able to close them without stitches. But even with stitches, the skin refuses to heal itself. The blood won’t even clot. We’ve never seen anything like it, even from runes.”

Hector gritted his teeth, eyes on his apprentice. Luc’s face still hadn’t regained its color, but he seemed alert enough. “What are you saying?”

“The wound is cursed,” Silas said softly, “the runes make it so his body can’t heal itself.” He pointed to a bandage wrapped around Luc’s arm. “And it’s not just the runes she carved into his skin that won’t close.”

“Our methods accelerate the body’s natural healing process,” Ven clarified, eyes downcast, “but we can’t do anything if the blood won’t clot. I’m sorry, Watcher.”

Hector stared at them for a long moment as he tried to process their words. His wounds won’t heal? A rune could do that? The full implications hit him like an arrow fired at full draw, and he swore vehemently, slamming his fist into the table.

The healers flinched back at his outburst. “It… it is possible that the rune is only slowing his healing,” Silas ventured, “given time, he might recover.”

“Might? Might?!” Hector barked a harsh laugh, trying to stomp his rising fury before he lashed out further. “You just told me he’s going to slowly bleed out! If infection doesn’t get him first!” He ran his hands through his hair. “Luc, your mother is going to kill me when she finds out about… about how….”

He trailed off. No need to say the last part of that sentence.

“May we speak alone, please?” Luc asked softly. Ven and Silas glanced at each other before quickly leaving the tent. Hector and Luc were left in silence for several moments.

“It’s not your fault,” Luc said. Hector opened his mouth, but Luc held up a hand. “No. You couldn’t have known this would happen. No one could.”

Hector sighed. Unfortunately, he was right. “I just… is there really nothing more they can do for you? Are we just supposed to wait and see if your wounds close on their own?”

“I don’t plan on it. They’re planning on sending me back to Caenum to recover. Apparently they’re sending a messenger to the Draigo, to get someone to track down the magician.”

“Good,” Hector muttered, “she deserves to be brought to justice. Shame I couldn’t do it myself.” As he finished speaking, the first part of Luc’s response registered. “Wait, what do you mean ‘you don’t plan on it’?”

His apprentice inhaled slowly, steeling himself for what he was about to say. That was never a good sign, coming from Luc. He only did that when he was about to suggest something completely—

“I’m going to find a magician to reverse the curse.”

There it was.

Hector took a few deep breaths and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I want you to repeat that, except this time actually pay attention to what comes out of your mouth.”

“It’s not going to be the same magician!” Luc retorted as if that made the idea any better. “One of the wandering magicians from around Zariya or Valdove, one who we know for a fact isn’t a sang-hunting serial killer.”

“Do I have to spell out for you just how bad of an idea this is?” Hector started pacing the length of the tent. His apprentice was already responsible for several gray hairs on his head and seemed intent on giving him more. “No. Absolutely not. We’re going back to Caenum—”

“Where I can slowly bleed out? Or let my wounds get infected?”

Hector paused and glared at Luc, but the boy continued talking. “If we go back to Caenum, I will die. We haven’t seen a magician there in years! But if we seek out someone like… I don’t know… Qila Scoria? She might be able to undo the runes.”

“You’re insane.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Hector sighed. “No.”

“So it’s viable?”

Hector fixed his apprentice with a flat stare. “It’s viable… but if your wounds get worse, we’re going back to Caenum. Are we clear?”

Luc grinned. “Clear as glass.”

@fourwingedsnake @whumpril @pigeonwhumps

[phantom-fleetways]

oh for your cotl au

do you have info on any other characters?

im really interested! especially about what kind of peole he gets to join

I'm so sorry it took so long for me to answer this. Originally I was gonna respond with some nice and well polished digital art. But seeing as I can't seem to find a sense of motivation to draw but I CAN to write, I shall explain more below the cut!

I know I know, I answer a lot of stuff below a cut. This is for my sake frankly. Especially since no answer I give will be short.

So: Silver's Cult!

Frankly speaking, the building of his cult is hard. Especially when his very first crusade (and escape from Infinite's Domain) is sort of a bust when it comes to finding sacrifices.

Infinite's Domain, Rubyharth, is a vast desert torn to sunder by war. The Bishop who rules over is our funky little jackal man. And while he sends his Phantoms to hunt and kill off Silver who just... Resurrected himself (or at least appeared to). Silver stumbles onto his VERY first friend in all of this mess.

Mighty!

(look I know the art doesn't look great, just bare with me. This is the best you're getting for some of them.)

Mighty the Armadillo is a kind soul and former bearer of the Red Crown. He helps direct Silver out of Rubyharth and into the safety of a mysterious portal inside of a patchwork of temple ruins. On their way to this way out, Silver stumbles (a bit literally unfortunately) onto a young bee child.

Charmy!

Now... I'm not going to lie. Silver's original reaction to finding Charmy was to... Avoid. Not because the child was secretly a phantom or something stupid. Merely... Silver (reasonably so) felt a bit off about indoctrinating a literal child. But, Mighty urged him to bring the young child with them so that Silver could have an easy ticket for more suitable followers.

And this... Is how it is for a few weeks once they escape Rubyharth. Ending up in a nice grove seemingly leagues away from the harsh desert sun, yet not too far away from a nearby river. It's just Silver, Mighty, and Charmy.

Despite Charmy's age, Silver does task him with "chores" around the commune. Mostly on making simple and safe meals or keeping his sleeping quarters safe. Mighty helps with the more labor intensive stuff. Despite being blinded in one eye and lacking depth Perception, Mighty is *very* handy with an axe.

Later on though, when Silver starts to actually crusade and gather more followers. He learns to be picky. Only taking in those he seems fit to follow him and learn of his god.

Outside of Charmy, Silver only takes in full-fledged adults. Gathering about 6 people before Mighty decides to take his leave.

All 6 are just going to be a grab bag of whoever I want. So they aren't set in stone. But all the people Silver is inclined to bring into his fold are people who have these traits:

Naturally Obedient

Faithful

Zealous

Gullible

Industrious

Hedonist

Although, if a follower requests it, he will bring in those who lack any of these traits. (Silver dislikes this, but he'll do anything to keep Mephiles happy.)

Of course, a trait he hammers into his followers is belief in sacrifice and the belief that the good die young. Mostly since, Silver is just a bit weird and doesn't wish to send Mephiles any followers who are too old to serve him.

Over all! Silver's Cult is well behaved. Very obedient too! Oh and Charmy is definitely Silver's first disciple. When he's an adult of course, since it would be weird to make a kid a disciple.

[basiatlu]

Thanks for tagging me @lqtraintracks and @goblinmatriarch 🤭💖✨

-Three Ships-: ok so last time I avoided hp ships so let’s make them all hp-centric! I mean Drarry as an easy shot, then there’s Wolfstar (but it always makes me really sad so only little nibbles), and finally Ginny serves as my village bicycle where I enjoy her paired with almost anyone I deem compatible as I want to see her thriving in life and experiencing fun and safe partners and finding herself etc etc I adore her. How’s that for a run-on sentence?

-First Ship-: was totally SasuSaku which was then a gateway drug to shipping the angsty boy with Naruto because early internet image searches, man.

-Last Song-: “Blue Spotted Tail” by Fleet Foxes

-Last Movie-: Gunpowder Milkshake - so good about 8/10 for me!

-Currently Reading-: reading through my paired fics for the upcoming Big Bang fest

-Last Thing I Wrote Drew-: yesterday’s drawtober prompt

-Currently Writing Drawing-: today’s drawtober prompt (totally not even procrastinating - not even a little bit)

-Are you named after anyone?-: I am! There’s the Polish jazz singer, Basia Trzetrzelewska. My mom is a big fan hehehe

-Favorite Subject in School-: History! Ancient history specifically

-Do you have kids?-: No, but I do have a circus of cats. They’re currently on a diet and have made the last month a terrible time for my sleep health lolz

-When was the last time you cried?-: so I have overactive tear ducts? So if I laugh I cry and I usually hit a breaking point everyday where I laugh hysterically at something. Today it was a sticker order a customer at work had ordered of an ms paint tracing of a Scooby-Doo ai splice gen where Scooby is eating the Mystery Gang in a giant hoagie sandwich. Yeah. Me and my co workers printed it out to pin to the wall as I cry/laugh/sobbed at my desk.

-Do you use sarcasm a lot?-: Yes but also no but also I just make fun of myself constantly and intentionally act stupid. It’s a great ploy to get others to lower their defenses around you. Not out of malicious intent, just I don’t take myself too seriously in order to save that energy for when it matters. Like when I have to intensely support my friends and partner with very serious-mode love and affection. … this doesn’t make any sense.

-What sports do you play/have played?-: soccer, softball, and swim <— I hate competitive sports and never stuck with them long than a year or I just was a filthy casual doing summer seasons/clubs. I’m more of a hiker and leisure gal.

-What’s the first thing you notice about people?-: the way they hold their shoulders and hands, secondary is their eyebrows and nose. It’s all demeanor and posture for me.

-Any special talents?-: gosh um I can cook really well. Honestly I don’t like eating out and neither does my partner because we turn to each other after and go “Eh it was ok but…” and wish I had done it at home instead. I can fold and make odd shapes with my tongue, can crinkle my fingers in odd ways (double jointed, but they lock badly so no thank you), and I can do some fucking weird voices/imitations but I chicken out in front of others beyond like 3 people, unfortunately for those 3

-Where we’re you born?-: Canada

-What are your hobbies?-: video games, tarot card readings, cooking, drawingdrawingdrawing, and reading

-How tall are you?-: I hover somewhere between 5’6” and 5’7”

-Dream Job-: comic artist / self-employed artist with occasional contract work for publishing/movies. I think if I could completely support myself and have a savings with a Patreon or the like that would make me so accomplished and at ease.

Ok enough of that!! I tag people now, yeah? @mono-chromia @hihimissamericanbi @littlewinnow

[ramshacklestar]

@mostrohost sent || "Prefect." Azul smiles sweetly, one foot wedged in the doorway to prevent it from being closed and locked. There's a distinct gleam in his eye as he cocks his head, one hand slowly pushing the door open so that he could enter. "It's a rather lovely day, don't you think? It would be such a shame if the guest of honor weren't in attendance. And so rude too, making all those who wanted to celebrate wait."

This was almost assuredly payback for something as he took her hand, gently but firmly leading her out the door.

"We take birthdays very seriously here at NRC, as I'm sure you've noticed. Comparable to our preparations for Halloween, to put it bluntly. Now, let's get going - everyone is waiting at the venue." His tone remains light and cheerful, even as he keeps nudging her along the path towards the main campus building.

Its not until they're about to enter that he hums, pausing just long enough to reach into his pocket and draw out a heavy round gift wrapped up in starry blue paper and offers it for her to take with a gentler smile than before.

"Happy birthday, Yuu. No opening it until you've been properly celebrated, of course, but I do hope you enjoy it."

Underneath the wrapping, a snow globe depicting a miniature version of Sage's Isle could be found. Tipping it one way or the other would change the seasons, and holding it upside down for a few seconds would change the view to that of the ocean below.

(i rise from the dead to bully 💜)

Birthday Bullying 2023 || Accepting

The cool voice and sudden presence of a well polished shoe in the door made Yuu jump in surprise; she wasn’t any sort of match for Azul in the strength department and therefore pulling the door closed on him would be pointless. Also even if she had been strong enough the overwhelming guilt of knowing in pulling the door shut she could also wind up breaking his foot, left her stance completely stiff as she pondered what it was she could possibly do to convince him she was ill or something of the like and therefore incapable of going out anywhere. However, that chance of making some excuse was quickly abolished as Azul pushed through the door.

“Yeah, very nice the sun is out and that’s all a person could ever ask for.” Her chuckle that followed was awkward as she seemed to curl in on herself, as if the jacket she wore was somehow supposed to cause her to shrink and give her that chance to get away. “Ah so it’s a special day for someone is it? W-wow wonder who that could possibly be? I would like to have thought I kept track of all the birthday’s here and it’s much too soon to celebrate Lilia’s.” Why she’d thought she could somehow convince Azul she hadn’t known who he was talking about was in truth beyond her, Jade had access to all the students records and even if Yuu’s was for the most part empty her birthdate was still definitely on there. It’d be natural for Azul to know what Jade knew, and thinking back to when they had first met in Mostro Lounge it also wasn’t all that out there to assume he had tried to get all the information possible about her.

“Now Azul, sweet, benevolent, kindness personified Azul. You wouldn’t torment a good friend would you? I mean isn’t it the sea witches thing to take pity on the unfortunates? Surely I’m as unfortunate as they come and my only wish is to just be able to catch up on some sleep today. You like making deals, let’s…” She couldn’t believe she was about to say this. “Let’s make a deal right? Golden contract, I won’t even ask anyone else to go digging around your office to find it and get rid of it again.” What could she possibly haver that Azul would want though? Her time maybe, but even that was becoming more limited by the day.

It had seemed that bargaining wasn’t getting her anywhere however and the tone of his voice gave away that he was quite pleased about this turn of events, he was definitely getting back at her over something here and the prospect of running was completely out of the realm. With a hard sigh Yuu walked to where Azul continued nudging her the main campus building coming more and more into view as she marched as though she was being led to the gallows.

With a grumble at the sudden stop Yuu opens her mouth prepared to ask why they’d stopped her mind racing to all the possibilities, none admittedly all that good, but where she had half expected Azul blast confetti or something of the like at her she was pleasantly surprised. Taking the gift and looking at the sparkly paper before returning her gaze back up to him. “For me really?” The weight of it was somewhat unexpected but she had to admit it made her rather excited to know what was inside.

“Thank you Azul, I’m sure whatever it is I will love it.” She’d spoken softly holding the wrapped gift close to herself before once more looking at the doorway leading to her (doom) party. “Alright, I’m here I guess let’s go ahead then.” The faster this event was done the faster she could know what lied beneath the beautiful paper after all.

[sassyhobbits]

rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

[lepusrufus]

Wrong victim

Pure comedic self indulgence because we all need a funny break before shit starts to really go down in To bargain for immortality. Set quite a few years after the game events, around 2025, and is pure ridiculousness so enjoy.

////

Her response to being unceremoniously shoved in the back seat of a car that looked like it's seen far better days was merely an annoyed grunt. It turned into an eye roll when the man that climbed in after her pulled everything out of her pockets. 

"Wouldn't want you calling anyone," he said with a toothy grin while waving her phone in front of her. 

"Trust me, that won't be necessary," she replied in a deadpan voice. It's not like she would call the police, she wanted them involved even less than her kidnappers probably did. As for other people she could reach out to, a phone call would be redundant really. "Do be careful with it, I'd hate to lose the photos of Daniela sleeping upside down." 

After maybe ten minutes of driving down the barely illuminated outskirts of the city, and having her pockets emptied, dagger included, the burly man driving pulled up inside a parking lot. It was large and overgrown with weeds and vines reclaiming spaces that had been left without human activity for who knows how long. The lamp posts were nothing more than useless concrete pillars as they provided no illumination, resulting in her pitiful captors having to use flashlights as they made their way into the dilapidated factory. 

Nicole sneered at the sight of collapsed walls and rusty metal walkways, reminding her of the one particular Lord she couldn't stand the sight of. She decided a distraction was needed from unpleasant memories. 

"Abandoned factory?" She whistled. "How many cliche movies have you guys watched?" 

She let out a chuckle when the man that had previously taken her phone shoved her ahead. Hopefully they wouldn't tape her mouth shut, there was so much fun to be had by mockery alone. 

It didn't take long before all three of them entered a dimly lit room, numerous candles placed all around, either on desks or candle supports nailed to the walls. The three more people inside were wearing long black robes and white masks covering their faces. Nicole had to laugh. 

"Oh so you're that kinda crazy." 

"Shut the fuck up and stay put," the man holding her hands behind her back said while pushing her into a chair. 

He then moved to a table and Nicole couldn't help but scowl at how unceremoniously her beloved dagger had been thrown on the wooden surface. Afterwards, he put on a mask not unlike the others, except with red streaks going down from the eye holes, and started to prepare something in the middle of the room. The others joined in on the task, all but the one man that had been put in charge of making sure Nicole stayed put. Because of course she could easily escape five people much bigger than her at any given moment. 

She decided to take a look around, at the various dusty books opened on pages she couldn't quite make out from where she was sitting. A few pages were laying around, either with diagrams or with scribbled notes. Had she really stumbled upon a cult? She couldn't wait to have a laugh about it with her family. 

"So," she started, craning her neck a little so she could see her captor's face. "Who you gonna sacrifice me to huh? I wanna know before you slice up my throat or whatever you're planning on." 

A confused and suspicious look was thrown her way, surely due to the complete nonchalance she spoke with about what would surely be her untimely death. "The… the devil," was his unsure reply. 

Nicole let out a small laugh. "Oh trust me, you do not want to meet her. Though devil is not quite the word," she continued despite a few other pairs of eyes landing on her. "Maybe a pissy fungal overlord with an unhealthy obsession for crows. Yes that's more like it," she finished with another chuckle. 

The man with a slightly different mask, who seemed to be their self appointed leader, got up from where he was nailing something to the floor and walked up to her in a few long strides. His eyes were barely visible, but anger was clearly distinguishable. 

He pulled out a knife, old, rusty and with a black worn out handle so typical of a kitchen utensil, and so incredibly ugly compared to the beautifully ornate daggers that decorated her home. She had to laugh when the dull blade got pressed to her throat. 

"Will you shut up for one minute?!" He raised his voice slightly, as much as someone who was doing something they didn't wish to be caught doing would dare to. It didn't deter her though. 

"Oh sweetie this is just what foreplay looks to me," she started with a grin that made her wish she had fangs like the better part of her relatives. "But please do me a favor and stay quiet, there's no fun in hunting if my darling finds you within five seconds due to you screeching like a broken squeaky toy." 

The man blinked for a few seconds, taken aback both by the words and by the apparent passivity towards having a knife at her throat. He stayed like that until one person that was working with some ropes behind interjected. 

"Of all the people you could've taken, how did you find this unhinged bitch?!" 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Nicole said, bending slightly to the side so the person that had spoken up would have a clear view of her sickly sweet smile. 

After that exchange, her captors seemed happy to move things along quicker, working in silence and begrudgingly ignoring any remarks she would throw their way, including an observation on the downright dreadful quality of the rope they had. Quality that she regrettably got to experience when her wrist and ankles got tied to the nails in the floor, having her lay down in a starfish position. It kind of reminded her of sprawling on the bed she shared with Cassandra simply to annoy the brunette. 

After loudly reciting something in latin, the leader bent down, same rusty knife in hand, and tipped her chin upwards to expose the neck. She did let out a wince when the blade sunk deep in her flesh and got dragged downward, towards her chest, leaving behind a choking sensation and the taste of copper in her mouth. The knife however only made it to the base of her neck, before the sound of metal crashing caught everyone's attention. 

"What the fuck," the man whispered, thankfully pulling the blade out so her skin had the time to begin stitching itself back together. She still had to turn her head around and spit some blood that made its way into her mouth. 

Before anyone else had a chance to speak up, the door was kicked open, one of the rusty hinges breaking completely, to reveal a rather angry Cassandra with her sickle in hand, ready for bloodshed. 

There were a few seconds of stunned silence before the blade was unceremoniously thrown into the first person's skull, spinning through the air for only a few meters before getting embedded into the bone with a sloshing sound. Anyone else trying to escape through the one door was met with a similar fate. One person had their knees kicked inwards before a knife held at the same belt as the sickle came down to slash their throat. Another had their head smashed to bits against the nearest wall in the blink of an eye. And last, the burly man that had driven and kept an eye on Nicole, had his heart ripped through the bottom of his ribcage when Cassandra shoved him against one of the tables, scattering the books and papers that were by then stained crimson. 

The remaining man, the leader, got grabbed by the shoulders and forcefully shoved into the same chair she had been sitting in not too long ago. 

"Stay put and I'll let you live," Cassandra spoke, all the cruelty polished over decades upon decades of sporting the title of the family's most sadistic coming through those few words. 

He gulped and nodded, eyes glossed over by the pure human terror now so unfamiliar to both of them. 

She then turned around, expression softening like a switch had been turned behind golden eyes. "Nicole," she started, barely an edge of concern and irritation at the sight of her wife's bloody skin. 

"Hi babe." The self satisfied grin almost had the brunette chuckling while she retrieved her sickle and Nicole's things. 

The weapon was used to cut her free, a grimace pulling the corners of her black lips downward at the same quality observation her wife had priorly made, no doubt. A hand was offered to Nicole to pull herself up, while the other presented the familiar dagger that was gifted to her so many years ago. 

"Will you do the honors love," Cassandra asked, with that beautifully sadistic smile. 

"Of course," came Nicole's reply as her hand wrapped around the leather covered handle. 

With some of the wretched ropes gathered from the ground, Cassandra made quick work of the man's hands and legs, securely tied to the chair and voice frantic. 

"You said you would let me live!" 

Cassandra laughed, a low ominous sound, while grabbing the mask and throwing it on the floor. She did love to see the terror in her victims' faces after all. 

"Unfortunately my wife made no such promises," she finished with a forceful pull of hair that kept his head in one place as she moved to the back of the chair. 

Nicole approached with the dagger already out of its holster and tapped the blade's point against her lips in thought for a few moments. She could simply slice his throat and be done with it, or stab him and leave him to bleed out, choking on his own blood. A hum made its way past her lips. No, no that would not do. 

She grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, pulling it up almost to the neck. After a few mental measurements and approximations were made, the tip of the blade finally found its way into muscle, drawing thin trails of blood and pained screams. It took a good five minutes to carve all the intricate details she wanted to, the swirling patterns cutting cleanly through skin, courtesy of her wife keeping the blade sharp and in top condition. 

After she was content with the level of detail, and screams subsided to pathetic sobs, she took a step back and, with a hum, looked at Cassandra for a reaction. 

"Oh dearest," the brunette said, looking over the man's shoulder and down at the bloody cuts on his abdomen and chest, forming a crude yet not unfitting replica of the Dimitrescu crest. 

At the adoration that made its way past the cruelty in her wife's eyes, Nicole smiled and gingerly took a hold of her unoccupied hand, bringing it close to her lips and leaving a small kiss and a barely visible blood imprint on each knuckle. 

"I take it that you approve of my… design choice," she asked with another glance down at the jagged lines that formed their family's symbol. 

"It's wonderful," Cassandra replied, fangs shimmering slightly in the low light, exposed from the proud smile that tugged at her lips. 

A gorgeous smile, really, that made something swell inside Nicole's chest no matter how many times she saw it. Truth be told, her rendition of the crest was quite lacking, never having had the artistic skills to quite capture the intricate details that formed it. Nevertheless, if it brought a smile to her wife's lips, she was more than content with it. How unfortunate that it had to be ruined. 

She let out a sigh, still holding Cassandra's hand. "Too bad those pigs at the BSAA would quite disapprove of us leaving such things behind. Oh well," she shrugged, bringing the hand she was holding over to the man's abdomen. "Better it be ruined at your hands." 

The next second, claws dug deep into flesh, slicing the muscle and everything underneath all the way up to the throat. It left five deep gashes over the fine cuts of her dagger, but the satisfaction did not dwindle. On the contrary, when the gurgling sounds finally stopped and the body went limp, her smile was still there, turning into light laughter when Cassandra licked her fingers only to visibly cringe. 

"Say what you will about the dungeons, but at least we feed our livestock well," she spat, taking out a napkin from a pocket and wiping her fingers clean. "But with that disgusting thing out of the way, let me help you with that," she continued, grimace morphing into a sly smile when her eyes landed on Nicole's still bloody neck. 

She gave her no time to disagree, not that she would, before she pushed her backwards slightly into the edge of a table. Nicole wasted no time in lifting herself up on the wooden surface, bringing their faces just a tad closer to being on the same level. 

Cassandra dipped her head down, lips leaving teasing feather-like kisses on her jaw before lowering even further so she could drag her tongue up the length of her neck. It made a shiver run down Nicole's spine, that turned into an impatient tug of her wife's hair when the motion was repeated again and again, until no traces of blood could be seen on her neck, save for the crimson stains that made their way to the hem of her shirt. 

Their lips met in a hungry kiss, full of fangs and smeared lipstick and the taste of copper so familiar to the both of them, albeit for different reasons. When Nicole's hands went to the first buttons of Cassandra's blouse, their kiss was broken with a sly smirk. 

"This is such a dreadful place for such things, don't you think," the brunette said, all too amused by her wife's exasperated sigh. 

"You started it," Nicole complained, but before the words were fully out of her mouth, she was tugged off the table and on the way out, ready to get back home and have a laugh about the irony of her capture. They would have to pick up where they left off at a later time. 

[paralleledmediaexperience]

right before my birthday back in May someone made a post about Jack needing more love and hugs, and I had this idea in the tags and then went and wrote about a thousand words of this and then. forgot it existed!! anyway I’ve mostly polished it up now. enjoy Jack telling one of his dads he loves him and then not only being hugged but also hearing it back!! it’s what our boy deserves!!!!!

Now with part two!!!!!

-

Jack hadn’t meant to fix everything, in his defense. Yes, they’d defeated god with his powers, which had unintentionally released Amara, who had agreed to take her brother’s powers from Jack and then let the world mostly be as long as she got the chance to see him every once in a while. She’d returned the universe to normal, with a few additions for their happiness, as Amara had said. Dean had choked out Cas’ name, and Amara had frowned before replying that it might take a bit more time. 

They had gone back to the bunker and then the bunker had been thoroughly overrun the whole next week by- it seemed- everyone the Winchesters knew, including a few faces who were apparently as back from the dead by Amara’s hand as Mary was last time she owed a Winchester a favor. Through it all- old friends and odd allies and more- Jack knows Dean isn’t doing well. Isn’t sleeping well. There’s only been one night- well, Jack hadn’t seen Dean drinking but he’d heard Sam’s arguing and Dean’s short, choppy answers, and it was familiar enough.

He’d googled “what to do when my dad misses someone and we can’t talk to them yet,” and wikihow had good suggestions- he’d read through the sections for both short-term separations, and managing the death of a loved one. He hadn’t really been able to figure out which would be more helpful. It had turned out to be the death of a loved one, which… shouldn’t be surprising, no matter that Cas would be back. Soon. 

He couldn’t make Dean do any of the things on the list, but it had suggested that the person would like to feel loved during their time of grieving.

And when he’d searched “how to make someone feel loved,” the first article had said the easiest way was simply to tell them. So when Dean hands him a plate of pancakes with the bacon cooked just how Jack likes it, Jack thinks it’s such a small thing to make his heart feel so big and warm. And he smiles and says, “Thanks Dean. I love you.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn’t actually grabbed the plate when he says this, and Dean’s hands drop it. The sound of the plate shattering on the tile is only half as upsetting as the wounded look in Dean’s eyes as he looks back at Jack. And Jack isn’t sure why it went so wrong but he looks away immediately, the shame of causing that hurt somehow and the slow horror of realizing he’d ruined the breakfast that Dean had made him turning his stomach into knots. He steps back almost unconsciously before remembering the plate had just broken, and in just his socks, a piece of ceramic jabs into his heel and slices him open, and he actually can’t help the small cry of surprise and pain that slips out.

“Jeez, kid,” Dean breathes out, and Jack gets pushed into the nearest chair. “Get that out of your foot while I clean this up.”

The warm feeling in his chest was gone, pressed into something cold and tight in Jack’s throat. He’d just- the article had said it makes people happy to hear they are loved in times of grief. 

He watches, silent as Dean turns off the stove and sweeps up the wasted food and plate pieces, soundly dumping it in the trash before digging under the sink for a second and coming out with a clean dishrag and a box of bandaids. It’s only when he sees Dean stop and take a quiet, private shuddering breath to forcibly relax his tensed shoulders that he lowers his gaze again. He picks the sharp sliver of plate out of his skin through the sock before peeling it off to examine the cut it left. Very shallow, but it still stretches two inches along on the inside of his heel, the blood sluggishly dripping out. 

It’s not bad, but very inconvenient, so he almost heals it before remembering that Amara had said not to use his powers after she took Chuck’s powers. Not until she returned and okayed it, at least. He sighs, pinching it together with his fingers, half heartedly wishing it had been more awkward and antagonistic between his aunt and his dads, so he could have maybe convinced Dean that they shouldn’t listen to what Amara told him to do. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

He hears Dean turn the water on to damp the cloth, but he can’t make himself look back up again. His gaze goes back down to the floor as Dean starts to turn back toward him, focusing on the small smear of red on the floor, where Dean had dragged the broom through the spots of blood he’d left.

He raises his hands as Dean approaches, ready to be handed the stuff to bandage himself up, but Dean just beats them away as he sits down next to Jack, hunching in as he grabs the injured foot. Jack still feels unbearably small in the silence between them, both him and Dean leaning in and feeling small and unwilling to speak as he wipes away the blood and then dries the skin around it. Jack grabs two of the bandaids and opens them, and Dean wraps them around the cut before patting it and drawing away, and Jack doesn’t know what else to do.

“Sorry,” He says softly, because he isn’t sure what he did wrong but it hurt Dean. And he wasn’t even angry, Jack could tell, cause his shoulders hadn’t tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to lash out- they’d tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to fall apart. Jack’s felt like he had to know the difference for a while now.

“Jack,” Dean says, and it’s so sharp that Jack jerks up to look at him. Had he read that wrong? Was Dean angry? But when he meets Dean’s eyes it’s still that hurting, the one that Jack could remember all the way from back when he was a newborn, or something close to it. “No, you don’t-” Dean lifted a hand to his face and dragged it down with a rough breath, and Jack wasn’t expecting him to look back at him but he did, eyes burning into Jack’s. “You don’t have to be sorry. That was on me- I dropped the plate.”

Jack tries not to squirm, because it’s not about the plate, is it? The food had been thrown away and the plate had hurt him, but he’d said he loved Dean and that had made him drop it. “I’m sorry that I-”

“Jack,” Dean cuts across again, and this time his brows are drawing together the way they do when he’s angry. But he looks away from Jack again, and he can tell somehow that it’s not anger at him. Dean doesn’t even want Jack to be looking at this anger. “You say whatever you want, okay? I’m not upset that you said it.”

It isn't that he thinks Dean doesn’t mean the words, but Jack’s also not sure Dean believes them either. “I am, though,” he says, petulant, crossing his arms and letting his foot fall back down to the ground, ignoring the bite of pain from treating the cut so roughly. “If it hurt you, I shouldn’t have-”

Dean cuts him off again. “No. Jack, that’s-” He struggles for a second, but Jack just wants to understand. Unbidden, he holds his breath and Dean draws his in, trying to find the words.

“You get to love me if you want to,” Dean grinds out, and Jack realizes there are tears gathering along his lower lashes. “And you get to tell me if you want to. This hurt ain’t about you.”

That does clear it up, somehow, and Jack nods and looks back down at his hands, realizing there’s still blood on his fingers, too. Dean turns away enough that they can almost pretend he’s not rubbing the tears out of his eyes. “I won’t say it if you don’t want me to either, though,” he says, and he grabs the cloth from the table where Dean had left it, finding a clean spot on the damp corner and using it.

“That ain’t how it works, kid.” He doesn’t elaborate. He just grabs the box of bandaids and closes it before gathering up the paper wrapping. It gets thrown out, and the box stowed back under the sink, and then Jack is just staring at Dean.

“How does it work?” 

They both stop. Jack didn’t expect to actually let the question out, but it’s off of his lips before he can seal them. 

Dean is frozen, staring at him.

“Not like that,” Dean says eventually, weariness dripping from each word. “Jack, do you… do you want us to say…”

He doesn’t say it, the kitchen fan blowing white noise into the quiet air between them. Jack knows that he could ask and Dean would say it right now. Dean always gives the people he loves what they want, what they need, and this would just be the next thing he could offer. Something he could give.

“I don’t need you to.” Jack says, honestly. “I know. I just wanted you to hear it, because I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to say it to you.”

Dean squints at him. “You... “ His eyes are wet again. Without warning, Dean grabs him and pulls him up, into a hug, and Jack grabs back as tight as he can, feeling lost. But it’s good, it’s good just like every time Dean hugs him. He squeezes his eyes shut tight as if he can’t feel the tears welling up in his own eyes, hot and stinging. “I love you too, Jack. I don’t get- you and-” Dean sputters off, still holding him. “If you want to hear it, you let me know. I’ll get better at it.”

“Maybe every once in a while,” Jack says, trying not to let his voice sound like he’s crying. It does anyway.

“Alright then,” Dean says, and he squeezes him one more time before letting go, turning away abruptly and bustling back to the stove. Jack wipes his eyes on his sleeve, his whole chest feeling empty and full all at once. The rag had fallen out of his hands sometime in their conversation, and he leans down to grab it, pausing to wipe up the blood on the floor. Dean comes back a minute later and pulls it out of his hand before passing him another plate. “Here, since the last one humpty-dumpty’d.”

They don’t continue the conversation. Jack eats his breakfast as Dean fixes himself another cup of coffee, and they sit quietly, waiting for Cas to come home.

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt. 1

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut 

↳ (3.7k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread. 

➟ Warnings: This series will involve themes of graphic violence, depictions of blood, major character death and hints of trauma. 18+ rating. Reader discretion is highly advised. 

gif credit. 

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, December 22 

Love is a strange thing. 

It pulls individuals together, sparking fireworks and blissful rays of euphoria within seconds. It renders people affectionate, words dripped with honey and caresses full of tenderness transcending  without a means of stopping. To be frank, it’s majestic through the eyes of the beholder. 

But love is indeed a strange thing. 

It’s history has been plagued with moments of weakness and hesitation, moments that rip away layers to reveal raw, vulnerable selves from every individual. It’s inability to forget and move on clutches onto the minds of those that chose to associate with it, invading their memories and never granting them a single second to run free. Love is a strange thing, but it’s most putrid use has always been the necessity to use it like a tool. 

A deep breath escapes your tinted red lips, cold hands clutching onto the delicate bouquet that’s been thrust into them. The petal pink and lilac purple flowers rest against the chaste white of your dress, the awaited arrival of yours long passed as you raise your head and sneak a peek at the person standing in front of you behind your veil. 

Clad in a special tailored suit for the occasion, his dark brown hair has been brushed back and neatly tucked into the corners of his hair. He stands tall and confident, seemingly captivated by the words the priest mumbles through as he drags on through every dull phase written in his book. As if he can tell your eyes are on him, he suddenly looks in your direction and you return your gaze back to the ground, clutching onto the array of petals in your hands. 

The priest goes on to dutifully declare the responsibilities you must carry, including the very ones that tie you to each other. 

For better, for worse. Rich, poor. Sickness, health. 

Love. Cherish. 

“Until death do you part?” The priest peers up with fatigued eyes, glancing in between you. You suck in a shaky breath, eyes fixating on everything except for the man standing on the opposing side.  

“I-I do.” You hastily mutter, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat. Patiently waiting for his answer, you try not to focus on the collection of eyes gawking at you from the altar. 

“I do.” He states, firm and resolute with his answer. It shakes you to your core, eyes immediately flickering up to meet his warm ones. 

You’re perplexed for a moment, but you’re not given time to dwell any longer once the priest shuts his book, content with your answers. Relief floods you in an instant, yet it’s short-lived and has your stomach churning instead. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest steps back as if you needed room for the grandiose gesture, eagerly awaiting the showcase with the rest of the people seated in front of the altar. Nevertheless, your hands begin to quiver despite your best wishes and you remain planted in place. 

Before you even know it, the delicate veil resting against your forehead is being pulled up and tucked away, projecting your dolled up features on full display. You can only fidget when he draws near, preparing for the worse until he pauses. 

Glancing up in surprise, you’re caught off guard from the lines crossing his forehead and the dismay clouding his eyes. For a second, you could have sworn that you were gazing into a mirror, an image of your combined concerns being painted right in front of you. 

You’re caught in between a daze and bewilderment when he advances again, however all you feel is a soft peck against your skin before your veil is placed back into place. Your audience seems to be at loss with the action, but once he turns around to face them in the midst of holding your hand, loud cheers and roars flood the room as congratulatory confetti bursts into the room. 

Unconsciously, your hand drifts over to your cheek with furrowed brows and you steal another glance at the man you will be bound to for eternity. 

***

The L/N Family. 

Tactical and resourceful, known for their skillful strategies and trade explorations, a business they would go on to proudly pronounce in the arms industry. Others would look to them for support and reassurance, and they would in return cohesively make protective deals that would ensure no harm. Yonghwa, their head, would go on to make a legacy out of his family name. 

The Kim Family. 

Discreet and powerful, known for their relentless determination and invokable hunger, characteristics that would eventually seep into their weapon manufacturing business. They know how and with whom to pick their fights, vigorously acquiring a steady position in the industry within a flash before everyone’s eyes. Namjung, their head, carved the Kim name into a status no one would have ever imagined. 

Trade and manufacturing, two able sides of the same coin. They seeked to forge an union that would unite their two sectors, to create a harmonious flow of success within their collective industries. 

But not all deals, go as planned. 

On the fateful day, Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood while Namjung was left visibly shaken. Catastrophe seemed to only follow the event there on after, with both families seeking revenge on the other. Their union seemed to be the last thing on either mind, but after the years passed and stained relations had been fully dragged out, there only seemed to be one solution that could bring peace to the two of them. 

*** 

The wheels of the large suitcase hit the polished ground. 

It’s lavish and grand, crystals littering the high held ceiling and lilies spread over the handles of the spiraling staircase. It ends right at the large chandelier, with more crystals dangling down opposite the shining marble that your slippers find purchase in. 

You remain in place, staring with wide eyes and an agape jaw the scenery before you. 

“Please,” A girl bows before you, dressed in a simple pale blouse and skirt that’s paired with an apron. There’s a small twinkle in her pleasant eyes paired with natural pouting lips; the delicate features drawing out the sheer youth the girl embodies. “Follow me.” 

You snap out of your daze once she advances forward, her hands careful weaving through yours to clutch onto your packed luggage. At first, you’re a bit unsure as to if you should let her carry the heavy load up the stairs, but you’re pleasantly surprised when she manages to hall it all the way up.

She roughly pushes herself against a large wooden door, revealing the grand room behind it. It’s decorated similarly to the main portion of the house, however the sheer size of it has your jaw dropping again, eyebrows furrowed as its appearance. 

Your suspicions are confirmed right away, “This will be your room, Miss Y/N.” 

“I-I…” You can’t help but hesitate, “Are you sure?”

She nods, placing your luggage now. “Of course, Master Kim asked us to prepare it for you.” 

You instinctively flinch at the sudden mention of your husband, but the girl tilts her head to the side, curiosity peeking through her. 

“Don’t they have such rooms in the L/N residence?” Her eyes suddenly widen, and she slaps a hand against her mouth, “Oh no, I-I didn’t mean it that way!” 

A smile curls on the corners of your lips, “What’s your name?” 

She gazes at you with surprise, like she had been expecting a scolding fit for her lifetime. Nonetheless, she hastily answers your question with a bow. 

“I am Eunjoo, one of Master Kim’s most faithful servants.” 

“Little flower.” You decipher, “Sounds like a fitting name.” 

“It could have been summer’s grace.” Eunjoo offers with a shrug, “Though I don’t really like summer, so I’ve tried my best to ignore that meaning.” 

You let out a genuine chuckle from that, something that has Eunjoo instantly beam. The news of her own Master getting married to someone from the L/N family was initially difficult for her to digest, but it appears that she was too early to judge. 

A lopped smile etching onto your features, “And to answer your previous question, unfortunately the L/N’s don’t have such a residence. We’ve lost much of our wealth after‒…” You pause, biting back your words, “...after, you know.” 

You wave your hand away in the air and Eunjoo understandably nods, no need to delve into the long-lived history of your families that is known to all. She hurriedly aids in you in unpacking much to your reassured protests, following and assisting you around like a little fairy. Her company ends up being both interesting and comfortable, especially since the two of you discovered the other wasn’t well in adapting the titles you carry. 

A knock resounds against the door, drawing out your attention. Immediately Eunjoo drops the clothes in her hands, right before she straightens up and takes a graceful bow. 

Her reaction is telling of who's at the door, so with pinched lips and a creased forehead, you turn around. 

He remains glued to the door frame, still adorned in his tailored black suit. Aside from the similarity in his put together appearance though, his shoulders are no longer hiked up in a noble stance, nor is there any remaining amount of warmth spreading through his eyes. Instead, he appears akin to how he was in the split-second before your ultimate union was official, the memory causing the skin of your cheek to slightly burn. 

Swaying from side to side, he hesitates to step into the room. 

“I see you’ve met Eunjoo.” He mentions. On cue, the servant straightens up, a huge smile on her lips. 

“I was just helping Miss Y/N unpack!” 

“Oh that’s nice, perhaps I can assist to‒” He isn’t able to finish his sentence, because the next thing you know you jolt at the sound of a loud crash that echoes through the room. 

“Master Kim!” Eunjoo immediately rushes forward, scurrying to help the fallen man. He instantly rises up to his feet and dusts off his suit jacket, but remains of glass are scattered all over the ground. 

He lets out a groan and Eunjoo sighs, “Master, you know you have to be careful.” She begins to quickly pluck up the shards of the vase, raising one up to eye level with a pout, “I especially picked this one out for your newly wedded wife.” 

At the mention of you, Namjoon instantly glances up, pupils shaking. “I-I can get you a new one soon, it might take around a week but if I put in a request now‒” He scrambles around for a moment, before checking the inner pockets of his jacket for something to write on in a haste. 

Unconsciously, a small smile cracks through the seam of your lips, increasing as he tries to intervene with Eunjoo to pick the shards, and she protests that he shouldn’t get his hands soiled with her errands. He eventually has to sheepishly stand to the side, staring at her defeated like a child that had just gotten scolded for misbehaving. 

Eunjoo eventually collects all the pieces and ushers herself out, reminding you of the pending family dinner you’ll need to attend in the evening. She leaves the room and you decide to resume unpacking, until you come across the realization that you’re not alone. 

“Do you need help?” He peers at your suitcase behind you, “I’m usually more capable with things that aren’t easy to break.” 

The abrupt proximity catches you by surprise, but you merely shake your head at his kind offer, “I should be fine, thank you.” 

He nods and you assume he’ll excuse himself after a moment, but he lingers and that’s when you crane your head over at him. 

Appearing to be in between a deep ponder, he snaps back into reality once your questioning eyes fall onto him. “Uh I‒” A lengthy sigh leaves his lips, “I know this is strange.”

You wonder what he's referring to until you notice him gesturing to the gap between you, “It’s strange for me, and it’s strange for you. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” 

He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, a deep crease forming between his brows. You’re frozen in place, at a complete loss for words. 

He suddenly sucks in a breath, looking up to gaze into your eyes, “But I’d like to get to know you better….a-as my future wife.” 

Your eyes round and his declaration only receives dead silence in its awake. Flabbergasted, he attempts to correct himself amidst your prolonged response. 

“T-That doesn’t mean right away! We can take our time and I’m not expecting anything from you, so you don’t need to worry and‒” 

“I’d like that.” 

He freezes, “Wait, really?” 

You hum, a corner of your mouth lifting, “You’re right, it’s strange. But I’d like to get to know my husband better as well.” 

His eyes immediately sparkle, like you’ve said the very words he’s been aching to hear, “That’s great!” A breathtaking smile overtakes his features, “I guess I’ll see you at dinner then?” 

You nod with a smile,  and he departs, the euphoria never once leaving his lips. 

***

Evening draws near and long gone is the dilatory white piece of garment that’s forever confined you to your fate. Instead, it’s replaced with a delicate fabric of rose gold, perhaps to represent the luxury you have of being present in such a place or in the new beginnings that will soon follow you. 

Regardless, you prepare yourself. Although you’re simply arriving to dinner, there’s a family waiting at the table that you don’t know of yet. 

Eunjoo brings you down with her after putting your hair up and presenting a pair of matching heels your way. You’re wary as you walk down the spiraling staircase, barely balancing yourself on the elevated shoes. Luckily, Eunjoo notices and helps you down, but the split moment of relief is met with a jolt of surprise when you notice someone waiting at the bottom.

“I’ll take it from here, Eunjoo.” The women amiably bids. Eunjoo swiftly bows, mumbling something along the lines of Mistress Kim, before heading into the dinner room. 

You immediately whirl around, eyes on alert like a deer in headlights. She mirthfully smiles at you, carrying a warm tone in her eyes that feels familiar. 

“You don’t have to look so worried,” She reprimands, “I’m not going to bite your head off.” 

Your eyes widen even more, “I-I’m sorry?” 

She bursts out into laughter, concealing her ruby red lips with a hand that is glittering in assorted jewels. 

“Nothing, dear. I’m just teasing you.” You nervously laugh at that, and she places a hand against your back, guiding you forward. “Come, I’m eager to know what my son’s wife is like.” 

Politely nodding, you follow behind her and nearly freeze. If you had expected your bedroom to be astonishing, then you weren’t prepared for the enormous buffet that waits for you ahead. 

Pieces of food are scattered all over the decorated table, ranging from freshly cooked to foods you would have never imagined yourself eating. It reminds you of times your family could barely manage to have a decent meal for one night, lost scavenging for food that wouldn’t make your empty pockets hurt. 

You’re so lost in the thought that you don’t feel someone brush by you. There’s suddenly a warm hand planting onto your shoulder, drawing your attention with a smile full of dimples. 

“Do you want to sit down first?” He gestures to the table, where his mother sits next to his father and opposite to his sister. Embarrassed that you’ve been just gawking at the table, you hurriedly take a seat and so does Namjoon. 

Even though you’re only just sitting at the table, it seems like all eyes are on you, burning into your skin and tracing every move. The impending silence eventually does crack though, and it’s done by a person you would have least expected. 

“Is that chicken?” Namjoon’s father blurts out, his eyes following a tray one of the servants brings by. His wife immediately interjects, dismayed by his reaction. 

“Indeed,” She points a demanding finger at him, “But none for you, there’s a reason why your health hasn’t been the greatest as of lately.” 

He pouts at her response, longley staring at the dish once it arrives. The childlike display catches you a bit off guard, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s unreasonable though.” He suddenly looks in your direction, “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t she being unreasonable?” 

The abrupt inquiry leaves you speechless, no coherent words manifesting at the tip of your tongue. His wife whirls around, cocking up a brow in his direction. 

“Why are you dragging her into this?” She faces you with a smile, “Y/N is the newest addition to our family so we should make her feel welcome, not bring her into such trivial matters.” 

The pleasant response astonishes you, but more so the mention of your inclusion. He lets out a sigh, acknowledging his wife’s sentiments. 

“You’re right.” He turns to you, “Y/N, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” 

His mother hums, “I’d like to hear about where you grew up, Y/N.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing really special,” You grow bashful, “I was raised in the outskirts of the country by my parents.” 

The two of them nod, intently listening to you, “Before coming here, I studied in the imperial academy for a while.” 

“Ah, involved in the industry I see.” He praises, “You must know a lot about how our businesses are conducted, right?” 

“Not quite.” There’s a strained smile on your lips, “I didn’t want to actively participate in it.” 

Although your answer seems to have taken both of them by surprise, his wife hums in approval. “So I’m assuming that was your personal choice?” 

When you nod, a giant smile stretches onto her lips, and she elbows her husband, “A gutsy one, don’t you think?” 

He smiles in retaliation, “Just like you.” 

She blushes at his sudden compliment, but a voice from afar breaks the two out of their daze. 

“Gross - we’re eating here.” 

Appalled at the feminine voice, you notice the young girl seated across from Namjoon, a deep frown etched onto her stern features. 

“Leave them be, Geongmin.” Namjoon coaxes his sister, but she lets out a grunt of disapproval in the midst of eating soup.

The corners of his mother’s lips turn up and his father faces you again, looking as if he had a million questions up his sleeve lined up just for you. 

Much to your surprise, the rest of the evening is spent exchanging pleasantries with them and keeping conversation light. There even comes a moment when both you and Namjoon end up reaching out for the bread basket, only to pull away once you discover your hands had ended up meeting halfway. As you grow bashful, you notice his mother smiling tenderly and his father chuckling at the abrupt affiliation. 

Once the evening begins to come to an end, you excuse yourself through the use of your own fatigue and request to head to bed first. They waste no time in understanding, with Namjoon’s father even wrapping a hand around his son and expressing that he needed to discuss some things with him anyway. 

You leave the room as he heads off with his family, granting you with some much-needed time and space. 

***

Treading back, you pause at the large wooden door that leads into your room. Your eyes briefly skim over the fine carvings on the wood, instead choosing to scrutinize the direction of your right and left side. A shadow casts over your pupils and your hand presses against the door, letting it slowly creak wide open. 

Step by step, you stroll inside and let the light fade out, replacing itself with only darkness. 

The moment the source of luminescence disappears, you move within a flash. The handle is locked, tugged at for a confirmation. There’s a speck of radiance coming from the small lamp you’ve turned on, enough to see the large suitcase you’ve brought get yanked out. 

Zippers are flying and the cover is ripped off. Clothes are frantically thrown astray, dumped into a careless heep without much of a second look. Your hands are weaving through the material and running rampant, eyes flickering with something akin to desire and alloyed with increasing unease. 

Once your hands meet with metal, a twinkle emerges within your orbs. The spindle of ore is unwound; detangling the material in a quickened manner. It looks distinctly similar to what one would use for electrical purposes, set with the intention of providing light in grim areas. 

Right. The intention. 

Unraveled, you cautiously drift over to the large window by the bedside and crank it open. Peering outside, there’s no glimmer or streak of luminescence meeting your eyes, only a dark, simple gray sky. 

Unconsciously a breath of relief leaves your lips and you reach out, reclining your body just enough to reach above and then below the window’s hilt. The instrument effortlessly blends in, appearing like a simple cable that’s been tightly strung around. 

You lean back and rummage through the luggage on the ground, pulling out a small plastic box that doesn’t appear to be much, but more or less, is the sole thing you couldn’t have departed without. With a small hinged click, it connects to the thin barbed string you just unraveled and right when a quiet buzz resonates through, does a smile tugs on the corner of your lips. 

A knock resonates through the box. Followed by another, and then another. It’s succeeded with a prolonged silence on your part, your entire body remaining in a frozen state. 

Static echoes and you let out the air you didn’t realize you were holding from your lungs. 

Within seconds, you are nimbly knocking against the box in repetitive notions. Your actions range from different types of knocks; heavy, light, twice the sound. 

More static echoes and your eyes immediately widen, hands balling up into tighter fists. 

A heavier one. 

“I have….” 

Lighter. 

“...successfully infiltrated….” 

One last firm knock. 

“....the enemy household.”

[flowesona]

Visitation of a Lover - Yandere! Ghost Taehyung x reader

Happy Halloween! i hope everyone has a great evening and i hope you will enjoy this oneshot 🖤

Life never ceased to pass by. People were born and grew old, created their own families, earned themselves a legacy. Meanwhile, all that Kim Taehyung could do was watch. For hundreds of years he wandered around his estate, because he had nowhere else to go. No one that lived in his house even cared to acknowledge his life or history - he hadn’t heard his name leave the lips of his family in decades, and the portrait he’d commissioned of himself when the house was first built remained tucked away in the attic.

At the very least, he was thankful that he never had to see anything distasteful. The current occupant of his house - a very distant family member - was a mild mannered widower who only ever ventured into half of the rooms of the house, leaving plenty of space for Taehyung to live. The ghost had even been so bold as to start leaving a physical presence - in the dusty studio where he had spent many afternoons writing his diary when he was alive, he’d taken up painting landscape views. There was the slight risk that the old man could walk in and have a heart attack upon seeing a floating paintbrush but considering that he could barely make the trek to the kitchen for a cup of tea, Taehyung was more than happy to take that risk.

“Oh really? Good golly, you have to send me a picture?” Taehyung had been enjoying a light novel in the lounge when he heard the elderly man cheering loudly in his study. Curious, he folded the corner of the page and tucked the book away, phasing into the next room to see what was so exciting.

“A baby boy! Just like I wanted!”

He peered over the shoulder of his kin, seeing his open laptop on the polished maplewood desk. What the old man was so delighted by was an email showing a picture of a small newborn baby being cradled in a woman's arms. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this was a new member of the family, but what piqued Taehyung’s interest more was the woman holding the child. Even with her forehead drenched in sweat and her body covered by a not-so-flattering hospital gown, there was something ethereal about her. For the first time in ages Taehyung felt some yearning in his heart.

He wanted… no, he needed to meet her. Maybe this angel could be the salvation he needed, the key to him escaping his mundane existence in purgatory.

It just so happened that through death that they would be brought together.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The elderly resident passed away a week after his great-grandson was born. Unfortunate timing, as he never even got to see the infant. Taehyung, however, was more fortunate, as the wake was held at his manor as per family tradition.

It was at this somber occasion he was able to see the woman who had piqued his interest up close. Maternity had had its toll on her body with her breasts sagging slightly and her figure still slightly bloated but the black funeral dress still looked quite beautiful, Taehyung noted. Interesting, how she lacked the figure most men would desire yet her husband still looked at her as if she was Helen of Troy reincarnate.

He found himself tailing her for the most of the occasion, still keeping a safe distance out of fear one of his fingers could brush against hers and scare her away for good. It was through this stalking he learnt of the young woman’s name - (Y/N).

She was quiet and respectful - as to be expected at a wake - but a bright smile lit up her face when she showed pictures of her newborn child to anyone who asked. It was way more intriguing watching her interact with everyone at the wake than to read one of the romantic books he’d poured over so many times.

“We’ve been reading through the will. And it seems Grandpa Kim left you his estate, rather than the money.” (Y/N)’s father-in-law was speaking to the couple in a hushed voice, drawing the ghost’s attention instantly.

“Really?”

“Well, it was updated quite recently with the birth of your son. I guess he thought by giving it to you, it would make sure the property stays in the family.”

“How do you feel about moving here, darling?” (Y/N)’s partner Seokjin - Taehyung had also learned his name through eavesdropping - asked, cradling her hand within his own.

“I would love to. But what about the dust? Won’t that be bad for the baby?” On god, her voice was as sweet as a nightingale song. How Taehyung longed to hear it for hours on end.

“I’ll clean it for you, silly. But do you think we could live here for the rest of our lives?”

The nod of (Y/N)’s head sealed their fate.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Initially the change in ownership had been a nightmare. Between the seemingly none-stop arrival of moving trucks, the buzz of people helping to put things away and the loud whining of the month-old baby, it was hard to relax. Taehyung felt almost as on edge as the new owners of the house, Yet after many arguments and sleepless nights the couple were settled in.

They seemed to have more appreciation for the house than it’s former occupant, with many of the dusty spaces becoming clean and decorated again. Even Taehyung’s writing room - he’d watched with apprehension at first when they entered the room, but a warm feeling bubbled in his non-existent stomach when he saw (Y/N) taking his paintings and hanging them on the wall. Did she appreciate art just as much as him?

Even if the couple had settled properly, the one person who was still restless was their infant. The baby boy would often wake up in the middle of the night and wail loudly, leading one of the parents to climb out of bed and hush him back to sleep. This routine nearly drove Taehyung up the wall, as his peaceful naps were often disturbed by the cry of a hungry infant. It had been a while since there had been an infant living at the manor and Taehyung still had yet to adjust to the noise level.

“There’s milk in the fridge if he wakes up, and nappies are in the second drawer down in the nursery. Feel free to help yourself to anything in there, except the Sauvignon of course. We’ll be back at about 11PM, thank you so much for helping us!”

Taehyung was too distracted by the sight of (Y/N) dressed up so elegantly in a sleek black dress to process what she was saying to the spotty-faced teenager standing before her as Seokjin slipped on his shoes.

“No worries Mrs Kim.” The teen responded. With one last fret about the child, the couple left to get in the taxi, and the house felt like it had lost all of its life.

Taehyung wished he could trail after (Y/N) as he usually did, but being confined to the manor meant he had to seek out the next best thing.

The nursery had been fully made over by (Y/N) and Seokjin within a week or so of moving in. Gone was the Georgian wallpaper, replaced by a coat of blue paint and decorated with twinkling moons and stars. Taehyung approached the coat, his fingers brushing the plush mobile over the cot and watching it spin.

He heard the gurgle of the baby below him, glancing down to see the blinking brown eyes gazing back up at him. Perhaps not directly at him, but it was enough to make Taehyung double back in shock. He reached down into the cot and placed one of his cold hands on the baby’s face. Its response was a delighted giggle, as if his touch was ticklish. Taehyung chuckled, poking at the child’s ribs to see him scrunch up his tiny legs. Suddenly, gazing into the little boy’s eyes Taehyung knew what he’d been missing in both his alive and undead life. A real family, someone he could speak to and someone he could love.

He wished he could pick up this child and coo over its chubby cheeks with his wife. He wanted to write poems about his love for life, he wanted to fall asleep holding someone at night.

But not just anyone would do. He knew, he just knew, it had to be (Y/N). She would be his, and he would be hers.

However, whilst Taehyung was pondering this, the child was growing uncomfortable and it startled the ghost back into reality with a loud cry for attention. He glanced down at the child, panicking at the sight of tears running down its cheeks. Luckily, it seemed that the young boy was only hungry, as the room still smelt like fresh linen.

‘It’s okay. The babysitter will sort him out.’ He told himself.

However, after several painful minutes of waiting there was no sight of the teenager leading Taehyung to search the house for him. He found the babysitter lying on the couch fast asleep, a movie playing on the TV and an abandoned bottle of beer on the coffee table.

‘Pathetic’. Taehyung scoffed to himself. ‘I’ll do it myself.’

He found the bottle filled with breast milk that (Y/N) had left in the fridge, the teat already attached. With one last glance at the passed out teenager, he picked up the bottle and made his way back to the nursery.

It must surely be a jarring sight to see a floating bottle of milk, and furthermore to be picked up and fed by an invisible person. However, the baby didn’t seem too disturbed, happily drinking the milk and burping without a care in the world.

After the infant was fed he started to nod off the sleep again, and Taehyung gently laid him down in the cot. He gently traced over the warm cheek of the child before leaving, the most happy he’d been in his life.

He spent the rest of the evening waiting on the sofa for (Y/N) to return. Whilst the TV was showing some action movie, Taehyung couldn’t find it in himself to become interested in it. Not when he had much more pressing issues on his mind. His mind was flurried with the realisation of how he felt. How could he love someone when he’s dead? How could he win the heart of (Y/N) when she couldn’t see him?

Luckily he wasn’t left to stew in his thoughts for too long - as the clock crept around to ten o’clock the front door opened and shut as (Y/N) and Seokjin returned home. Her face was creased with worry as she crept up to the nursery to check on her darling child, whilst Seokjin stayed to pay their now conscious babysitter who had hidden all traces of delinquency and was happily accepting his payment for doing nothing.

Taehyung, as always, chose to join (Y/N) in the nursery. He stood by the doorway, watching as (Y/N) bent down to press a kiss to her beautiful sleeping child. Then, unable to resist he approached her and rested his arms on her waist. He felt her shiver slightly at the cold touch of his hands and for a second the melancholy of his situation hit him like a truck. But Taehyung couldn’t let it haunt him, not when the warmth of her skin under his hands made him more at peace than he had been for years.

She stumbled slightly as she left the nursery, the evening’s drink hit her harder than it usually would, but Taehyung’s hands steadied her. Whilst he secretly savoured the feeling of her body in his hold, he was more concerned about how unstable she was - most likely due to having not drank alcohol in over a year.

Seokjin still hadn’t returned to his wife’s side, and for that Taehyung was both grateful and condemning of the man - he despised how the man could be married to such an ethereal woman and not spend every waking moment by her side, but he was grateful to be able to fill that role. He gently guided her towards her bed, scared that she could fall, and once she had flopped onto the bed lay down next to her, admiring every one of her features as she fell asleep still in her fancy clothes and makeup.

Taehyung had waited hundreds of years to find his purpose in life, and now that he’d found her he knew he would do anything to make her happy.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

(Y/N) had become increasingly stressed since she returned to doing work, Taehyung noticed. Sure, it was only part-time and luckily they were happy for her to work from home meaning she didn’t need to get a new job. However, the incessant demand for attention from the young infant meant she rarely had a moment to rest her feet.

Taehyung wasn’t going to stand for it. Occasionally on the nights that his loneliness got to him, he would press his hand to her forehead only to find it hot and drenched with sweat. She was working herself to death, no doubt about it. And whilst Taehyung secretly longed for her to join the land of the dead with him, it wasn’t her time.

Thus, to take some of the stress off her back, he started to help out around the house. At first, it was minor things that (Y/N) wouldn’t think twice about. Putting dirty laundry in the basket, washing the dirty breakfast bowls, retrieving the toys that precious little Si-woo had thrown across the room, turning off the stove when she accidentally left it on. Seeing the positive effect these had on (Y/N), he started to get bolder in his actions - making her lunches (and letting her assume that it was Seokjin making them in the morning), taking out the garbage, shushing Si-woo when he started crying. All things Seokjin couldn’t do, that Taehyung would do everyday for her if she could only love him.

Spending time with her son was a new favourite hobby of Taehyung. He could stare at those twinkling eyes that inherited from (Y/N)’s for hours. He found that as the son grew he became more playful, and Taehyung was more than happy to keep the little tyke entertained. It was a risky game - if (Y/N) walked in and saw her son’s toys moving by themselves she would no doubt call an exorcist but with the delighted giggles that Si-woo made it was more than worth it.

However, with the increasing time he spent with (Y/N) Taehyung had a first hand seat to watching her relationship with Seokjin deteriorate. At first, it was just the lack of intimacy - Seokjin would often get home late, and by that time both (Y/N) and the baby were asleep leaving him to heat up whatever (Y/N) had made for dinner. When Seokjin woke up in the morning, (Y/N) had already been awake for hours caring for Si-woo. Seokjin missed everything, from Si-woo’s first teetering steps to the adorable way that he had said his first word: ‘dada’.

Then there was the argument.

“Have you seen my copy of ‘Eileen’?” In fact, Taehyung had borrowed it. Not only did he find the modern fiction way more interesting than his old romantic novels, he found it comforting to thumb the pages where (Y/N), much like he did, would fold the corners to save her progress.

“No. Where was the last place you left it?” Seokjin replied, not seeming nearly as interested in the issue as (Y/N) wanted him to be.

“I swear I left it on the dresser. Can you help me look for it?” She sighed in reply. Seokjin didn’t move.

“Is it such a big deal?”

Taehyung decided to leave his cozy chair in the corner to join (Y/N)’s side. He wasn’t sure, but he hoped she could feel his presence, to know that he was there for her even when her husband wasn’t.

“I just wanted to read it today. I was at a really good point.” His lover’s voice had a defeated tone to it, as if the book was her last hope in life.

“I’ll get you another copy. Come back to bed, (Y/N).” Seokjin purred, but (Y/N) shook her head.

“Why are you so selfish?” She suddenly snapped. “I feel like I do everything around here. I do all of the housework, I look after Si-woo all day long and I still find time to do my job! When was the last time you let your precious hands touch something domestic?”

“You think that I want to be away from home so much? I wish I could spend more time with my family but in case you forgot being in charge of a firm is actually quite demanding!” Seokjin stood up, his tone matching her aggression in a second.

(Y/N) paused, her eyes scrunching up as if she was going to cry.

“What happened? What happened to us that has made us this way? Why… why don’t I feel like you love me anymore?”

The sadistic side of Taehyung wished he could frame the scene and hang it up on the wall forever. The look of horror on Seokjin's face was simply priceless.

“You don’t mean that.” He said, trying to be firm only to have his voice shake with every word. “(Y/N), you can’t doubt my love for one second. Please.”

His wife just breathed out, rubbing at her eyes.

“I need a break.” She finally said. “I need to leave for a few days. Please.”

Seokjin looked hurt, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Take as much time as you need. I’ll look after Si-woo. You just need to look after yourself.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Taehyung was fuming. Half an hour after the Kims had argued (Y/N) had packed a small bag and left to stay with “some family”, allowing her husband to give her a small peck on the cheek before she left.

It was torturous for Taehyung, thinking of how much time he would have to spend away from his (Y/N). Although he was glad that she was going to have a break, the entire situation could have been entirely avoided if she had never married Kim Seokjin. If only she could have married Taehyung instead, he would’ve made sure she would never had to lift a finger and her every wish would be his command. Instead he could only have an invisible presence in her life, whilst she was stuck with a deadbeat husband who seemingly left all of the parenting to her.

Taehyung felt sick to his stomach seeing as he watched Seokjin act on his words, taking the next few days off work to look after his son. It just wasn’t fair, how he could talk to the toddler and get a babbled response or how he could hold out his arms and Si-woo would stumble towards him. Seokjin didn’t deserve fatherhood, Taehyung concluded. (Y/N) deserved a loving husband and father to her child and no matter how many hours Taehyung spent over the three days watching the broken family whilst (Y/N) was gone, nothing could convince him that Seokjin was the right match.

Seokjin had had a call from (Y/N), telling him that she was going to return home in a few hours. The giddy smile on Seokjin’s face as he told Si-woo that Mommy would be home today and they were going to help make her a special meal was just disgusting to Taehyung. No way did this pathetic excuse for a husband deserve to have (Y/N) back.

Taehyung sat at the table plotting what he should do as he watched Seokjin cook a meal to welcome (Y/N) back, as his adorable son sat on the counter and watched. He didn’t want to do anything in front of Si-woo, that would be too cruel. But he had to stop Seokjin in some way, and all his plans ended in the same result - killing him.

He could pour bleach down his throat. Or he could spill some oil onto him and set him alight. Or he could strange him with one of the curtain cords. All valid solutions to the problem.

“Daddy just has to go pee. Are you happy sitting in your playpen for a few minutes, hmm?” Taehyung’s murderous lines of thought were broken by the sound of Seokjin’s cheerful voice cooing to his son.

Finally, an opportunity. He could end Seokjin’s life in the bathroom, and Si-woo would be none the wiser as to where ‘Daddy’ was.

He waited until the scoundrel had placed his son in the playpen and left the kitchen before approaching the magnetic knife rail and plucking a decently sized blade from it. Taehyung then trailed a few metres behind Seokjin as he made a beeline for the bathroom - he couldn’t get too close, no doubt Seokjin would be immediately alarmed and his plan for subtly would be ruined.

When he finally reached the bathroom he cursed when it was closed (although luckily enough not locked) - whilst he could easily float through the door, his knife would not be able to and thus to enact the plan he swung open the door.

Seokjin turned around, slightly concerned at how the door was open when he was so sure that he’d closed it. Disregarding it as a draft he zipped up his trousers and was just checking his hair in the mirror when suddenly there was a force gripping his throat. His eyes darted side to side trying to find some answer but all he found was air. He wasn’t left in the dark for long, however - Taehyung would love to make the scumbag suffer but he didn’t want to risk (Y/N) walking in on the unfinished scene.

Thus, in one swift move he slit Seokjin’s throat and pushed him towards the bathtub, his victim’s body hitting the rim of the tub with a satisfying ‘thunk’. (Y/N)’s pathetic excuse for a husband’s last moments were agonising, his eyes wide with shock and confusion as he choked on his own blood. But before Taehyung had fully gotten to enjoy the pain of his rival’s death, life had drained from Seokjin’s eyes and his body slumped over. Taehyung drifted over to place the bloody blade in the corpse’s right hand, and as a final touch he wiped up the drops of blood that had fallen onto the ground just a little too far away to be believable.

Content with what he’d done, Taehyung left to visit Si-woo. The toddler seemed happy enough playing with his toy alpaca to even notice his biological father’s disappearance. Rather, he was delighted when he felt an invisible presence pinching at his cheek, letting out a hearty giggle. Taehyung managed to keep him occupied for the next hour, until (Y/N) returned.

Taehyung's non-existent heart thumped at a thousand beats a second when he heard a car drawing up on the gravel drive, and the car door slamming home announced that she was finally back.

“I’m home!” She called out, the only response she got being some babbled nonsense from Si-woo. She walked into the living room to see her son, smiling at first but the smile dropping off her face when she couldn’t see anyone else.

“Hey precious!” She cooed, scooping the toddler into her arms. “Where’s daddy?”

She didn’t hear the normal witty response from Seokjin nearby, leading her to click her tongue in annoyance.

“Did daddy really leave you all alone? That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” Taehyung quirked back, scowling at how she seemed to have completely forgotten how neglectful of a father Seokjin really was compared to himself.

Evidently having not heard Taehyung’s comment, (Y/N) started to search for Seokjin, finding his abandoned cooking (although thankfully the bastard had turned off the stove). Taehyung just trailed behind her as usual, holding his breath as if she would be able to hear him.

After calling out for her ‘husband’ a few more times, (Y/N) gave up.

“I guess he got called into work. So much for spending time with his family.”

She made her way up to the nursery, placing Si-woo back down on the floor.

“Mommy just had a long journey, so she’s going to go to the toilet and then she’ll get you some dinner, okay?” (Y/N) said softly to the child, as if she expected a response. Si-woo just looked up at her innocently, completely oblivious to all that was going on except his own hunger.

Taehyung realised, as (Y/N) was walking away, that she was headed in the direction of the bathroom Seokjin had used and she was about to find his body. Upon that thought he followed her, hoping to support her when she found the grisly scene.

However, the shrill scream he heard when he was mere metres away from the room told him he was too late.

(Y/N) fell to her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks as she surveyed the situation. She was frozen still, unable to stop screaming until her voice was hoarse. Taehyung took the initiative to kneel beside her and rub his hand on her back. (Y/N) didn’t even seem to notice, not flinching from the cold as she usually did. All she could do was bury her face in her hands and weep at the sight before her eyes. And as much as it hurt Taehyung to see his (Y/N) in pain, his heart was telling him he’d done the right thing.

Now, (Y/N) needed him. She couldn’t survive as a single mother, not when she was struggling already when Seokjin was alive. But Taehyung believed with all his heart that he was more than fit to take on Seokjin’s role, as a father, as a husband, as the only one in the world who could truly love her.

[blueprint-han]

on top of the world ↠ hhj.

genre: royal au; fluff inspired by a fucking barbie movie leave me alone okay

⇥ warnings: if having a ballroom dance with hyunjin is a warning, then <3, district names are randomly chosen, not meant in reference to SKZ !!

wc: 1.5 K

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not aim to represent the activities of the real Hwang Hyunjin, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: drabble.

taglist: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz​ @sunoo-luvs 

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @tpwkjerii​ (requests for this are closed now!)

↯ note: dghwey i had literally no idea what to write for your url, so i searched up the full form of “tpwk” and ended up with “treat people with kindness”. I developed it into an idea i already had. Tell me if you like it <33 ⇥ dawn.☀️

↯ note 2: oh... i cannot... write fantasy for the life in me. ⇥ dawn.☀️

“Ladies, all in line.” The instructor clapped her hand, signaling all the princess and lady royals to line up in front of her. You quickly scrambled out of where you were seated, almost doubling over your heels as you tried to wobble your way to the line. 

Oh curse those heels. They were gonna be the reason you crashed headfirst into the floor one day, you were sure. They were those typical pointy, magenta colored pumps that only an expert in poise could pull of properly. Your uniform didn’t help either, layers and layers of clothing — topped of with a jacket, which meant you would be sweating buckets if it weren’t for the air conditioning.

Gosh, you hated being the princess and heir to the next throne. Why couldn’t you just lounge in the courtroom in your sweats and sneakers? They were more fashionable anyway. When your mom had told you that you were gonna attend “Royal Training School”, you’d pictured horse riding in the lush green stables, elegant dinners with rich silverware, and most of all — just having some time away from the royal castle, just having some time for yourself and having fun in that time.

Well, you were in for a huge mess.

It’d been only a week since you attended this place, and you hated it. The place woke you up at 5 a.m., shoved breakfast (which was mostly a piece of “high gluten” bread) to your hands and then took you ballroom dancing. So your day was terrible from the beginning already. There was no horseback riding, no sword fighting, because according to your parents — “princesses didn’t do fights”. Seemed superstitious to you, someone with a forward thinking mind, but what could you do?

Too dazed in your thoughts, your foot slipped and you lurched forward. You yelped loudly, but before you could catch the attention of the class or feel the polished marble against your face, a hand wrapped around your waist, ceasing your fall and holding you mid-air.

“You okay, princess?”

You snapped back into attention, eyes meeting with your classmates, all of them having a shocked look on their faces, and some of them anger. Turning around, you were surprised to gaze into hazel brown eyes that seemed to draw you in without reserve.

“Um..., princess?”

“Ah, yes!” You snapped out of it once again, straightening up as you smoothened the fabric of your shirt. “T-Thank you.” You took once glance at his face, and... wow. He was absolutely ethereal. His golden locks of hair fell perfectly over his temples, he adorned a majestic black suit and by just looking at him, he exuded confidence.

He giggled. “It’s alright, princess. Glad you aren’t hurt.”

“Oh, that-”

“Ahem!” The both of you looked to the side, noticing now how the entire class, along with the instructor were giving you snobby glares. “If you’re done chit chatting, can we start out class, Princess Y/N and Prince Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin. That was a pretty name.

You noticed that there was another line of men, wearing similar attire like Hyunjin, lined up in front of the princesses. “They must be from another academy,” Silent thoughts flooded your mind as you took your place, and your eyes went wide when you found yourself face to face with the Hyunjin guy again, though there was a reasonable distance between the both of you.

“Now, royals.” The instructor chimed, clacking her heels against the surface as she waltzed to the edge of the room. “You’ve been practicing ballroom dancing with yourselves for a while now, so The Head and me decided that it would be a good idea for you to get a little peek of what the actual thing looks like.” She said uninterestedly, picking at the underside of the nails as she started the music.

Immediately, slow, melodious music flooded through the speakers as you looked at one another. and then at the guy in front of you... err, Hyunjin. “You’ve already been partnered up, so get started.”

Your mouth dropped open a bit when you realised what the instructor’s statement meant, almost panicking when all the girls next to you bowed down gracefully, coaxing you to follow the same. Hyunjin did the signature “bow down and lend a hand” pose like his other classmates, and you hesitantly straightened up, lending a hand to him.

Immediately, just like how confident he looked, he pulled you close to himself, settling his hands on your hips as a smirk graced his features.

Ah... so he’d noticed you blushing.

You didn’t know why you were blushing in the first place. You’d never met this person before, but something about him just made the giddy schoolgirl in you bubble up to the surface. You shyly settled your hands on his shoulders, moving along to the beat with his motions... and silently praying your ant’s worth of dancing knowledge would not fuck this up.

“So, should we do the introductions?”

“What?” You asked, almost stumbling on your feet once again. You made a mental reminder to burn the current pair of heels you were sporting.

“Don’t you introduce yourself to the person you’re dancing with?” he heaved a laugh, almost melting at how adorably bashful you were getting in his hold. You were about to mumble a response, but then stopped, gathered your confidence, and smiled sweetly.

“Oh well then, I’m Princess Y/N from District 8; honor to meet you.” You said in a sing song voice, muffling a laugh as Hyunjin twirled you around in his hold and pulled you back. The velvet coat was soft under your touch, and for some odd reason, you wondered how his soft-lookin hair would feel under your palm.

“I’m Prince Hyunjin from District 10; equally honored to meet you,” He tilted his head to the side and you noticed him bite his lip for a second. Brushing it off, you continued swaying to the music, feeling slightly more at ease now.

“How’s school here, princess Y/N? You enjoying?” His tone was respectful, almost like he was talking to a friend he met after many years,

“Nah,” You rolled your eyes, making Hyunjin look at you like a confused puppy, waiting for you to explain. Hyunjin wasn’t used to someone hearing they disliked royal training, especially when he’d found it nothing but enjoying.

“It’s just the same old. “Oh go to ballroom, learn to balance books on your head, walk with grace, eat your food elegantly, dance again. sleep early!” Your voice was a hushed whisper, yet mocking. “You’d think that’s what I should’ve expected, but I wanted to learn sword fighting, horse riding, that kind of stuff. They barely let us outdoors here.” You tsked, watching as Hyunjin bit his lip again.

“What?” You asked, figuring that Hyunjin knew you’d noticed his action.

He chuckled. “Your stepping on my toes.”

“Oh crap I am?” You looed down, pulling your feet farther away from his as an apology crawled up your tongue, but before you could shoot it out, Hyunjin stopped you. “It’s okay.”

“Maybe I’ll step on yours and we’ll get even?” He winked, a smug look on is face as he waited for your reply. The music was basically forgotten at his point, both f you lost in a world where nobody else existed, just you, your thoughts, your words, and your giggles. You mirrored his playful expression. “I’d like to see you try.”

Hyunjin didn’t break eye contact, and you felt a small flutter in your chest when he did so. He lifted his foot, but you were too quick, you moved your foot away the moment he settled his own down, and then for revenge, you stepped on his foot once again.

“Ouch!” Hyunjin shrieked, and thanks to the loud music. no one could hear him. You hadn’t stomped too hard thankfully, but Hyunjin’s cute expression when he crinkled his nose sent you into a spiral of giggles.

“Hey! You’re supposed to treat people with kindness” He pouted, twirling you around once again as he led you to the next spot in the ballroom. Your feet basically slid around at this point, and you didn’t even mind your heels.

“Yeah? That’s what you get for trying to step on a princess’ toes.” You rested your head against his shoulder, muffling your giggles as well as calming your heart at the sudden sprut of confidence.

Hyunjin’s grip on your waist tightened, making you straighten up, faint heat dusting your cheeks. The dance was almost coming to an end, and you wished it could go on forever. You hadn’t had such fun in a while, but unfortunately, Hyunjin didn’t belong to this academy. Sadly, the dance would come to an end.

“Maybe I can teach you horse riding?” Hyunjin inquired, a curious glint in his eyes as he watched your reaction. You gasped in shock.

“Y-you’d be willing to do that?”

“Of course, if you’re up for it.”

“How will we even do that?”

“I mean, you can’t tell me you haven’t sneaked out of the premises at night.”

You remained silent.

“Thought so.” Hyunjin winked again. “So, what do you say?”

You twirled around one more time, moving slightly closer to him when you came back this time. The next moment, the music stopped, and you murmured to him with a smirk pulled at your lips.

“I’d be on top of the world.”

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor atleast this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

[specialagentsergio]

now i’m getting colder || part two

summary: Emily’s been dating you for nearly a year and she’s never been happier—until her past comes to call. Then she’s gone, and Spencer’s left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: (faked) major character death, mentions of / implied sex, swearing, grieving, mentions of drug abuse & addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms

word count: 5.1k

series masterlist || masterlist

The morning after Emily dies, Spencer wakes up to the smell of cooking bacon. He feels groggy and disoriented as he sits up in an unfamiliar bed. It’s not really a new feeling—it happens often enough with the amount of hotels he’s stayed at through work. This bed, though, feels way too nice to be a hotel bed.

He feels around for his glasses, eventually locating them buried under one of the spare pillows. I’ve got to stop falling asleep with these on. Once he can see clearly, he realizes where he is: one of the guest room’s at Rossi’s house.

It had been nearly four in the morning when the jet got back to Quantico. JJ and Hotch had gone home to their families, and Rossi had insisted that everyone else stay with him. “None of us should be alone right now,” he’d said in a voice thick with emotion.

Spencer tries to ignore the migraine he can feel building behind his eyes as he pulls himself out of bed. He doesn’t know how long he was asleep, only that it wasn’t long enough. He follows the smell of cooking food out of his room and downstairs to the kitchen. Morgan and Seaver are already awake, chatting quietly at the island while Rossi cooks.

“Pretty boy,” Morgan says, noticing his arrival. He pulls out the chair next to him.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Seaver answers.

Morgan puts a hand on his shoulder when he sits down. “How are you feeling, kid?”

Spencer shrugs. “Okay, I guess. Where’s Garcia and (Y/N)?”

“Garcia was dead asleep when I got up,” he replies. “I’d guess (Y/N)’s sleeping, too.”

“Food’s going to be ready shortly,” Rossi announces.

Seaver looks to Morgan. “Should we wake them up?”

“I think we should at least check on them.” Morgan stands and pats Spencer’s arm. “Come on, kid.”

He trudges back up the stairs after Derek. He nods towards the door to the room you’re staying in before going into the one he’d shared with Garcia.

Spencer opens the door quietly. You’re barely visible from the doorway, huddled under the covers, but from what he can see, he thinks you’re still asleep. He really doesn’t want to wake you—he wishes he was still asleep himself—so he just closes the door again and waits in the hall for Morgan.

Garcia is with him he returns, her sparkly sleep mask pushed up onto her forehead. She hugs him immediately. “Where’s (Y/N)? Is she okay?” she asks when she pulls back.

“Still asleep,” Spencer says. “I didn’t want to wake her because I don’t think she’s been asleep for very long. The pillowcase was still damp.”

“Oh, poor girl,” she whispers. “I can’t imagine how awful this must be for her.”

Morgan puts his arm around her shoulders. “Me either, baby girl. Let’s just let her sleep for now.”

They make their way back downstairs, where Seaver is helping Rossi dish the finished food onto plates. When Spencer tells him you’re still sleeping, Rossi loads one up with everything and puts it to the side for you to eat later.

It’s quiet as everyone eats. The food tastes fantastic, and under different circumstances, Spencer would be delighted to be eating it. But as it is, he can’t even finish his plate.

“Somebody please say something,” Garcia says suddenly. “I can’t take this silence anymore.”

Awkward glances are exchanged across the table until Seaver offers up, “Um, I’m almost done with the academy training. The written test is just a few weeks from now.”

“Yes, good,” Garcia says. “Your test. Tell me all about the test.”

Spencer rubs one of his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. He’s hit the point where he can’t ignore the pain anymore. “I’m gonna go lie down,” he mutters to no one in particular.

Morgan looks up at him when he stands. “You alright, Reid?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” he lies. “Uh, thanks for the food, Rossi.”

Rossi nods in acknowledgement before focusing back on Seaver and Garcia’s conversation, and Spencer shuffles off towards the stairs.

Squinting against the light coming through all the windows, he nearly runs into you in the upstairs hallway. “Oh! You’re awake.”

You look smaller than normal, standing with your arms wrapped around yourself. It’s like you’re trying hide from the world. “Unfortunately,” you murmur.

“Are... are you okay?” he asks hesitantly.

Your laugh is humorless. “Of course I’m not.”

“Yeah, me... me either,” Spencer admits quietly. You don’t reply, so he keeps talking. “Rossi made breakfast. Well, I guess it’s more like brunch now. He saved a plate for you.”

“Alright.” You start to move past him, but he puts his hand on your arm. “What?”

“Could I hug you?”

You think over it for a bit, then nod.

Spencer doesn’t know if he’s hugging you for your comfort or his own, just that it feels nice. But then he puts a hand on the back of your neck and you draw in a sharp breath, pulling away abruptly.

“Don’t,” you mutter. “Em always did that. Don’t—don’t do that.”

“Sorry, I—I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I won’t do it again.”

You take in a deep breath and brush away the tears that have slipped down your face. “I’m gonna go eat.”

Spencer watches you until you’re out of sight, then returns to his room. He can’t stop himself from rubbing his eyes again. The curtains are already closed, but the room still feels too bright. He deliberately puts his glasses on the bedside table before crawling back under the covers. He pulls one of the pillows over his head to try and block out as much light as possible.

The insides of his elbows itch, and he wonders how he’s supposed to get through this.

---

The funeral is hard.

It’s a nice service, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Each member of the team places a rose on the coffin. You kiss your fingertips before putting yours down, pressing them to the polished wood and barely holding back a sob.

JJ drives you home, and Spencer tags along, not wanting to leave you alone in an empty apartment right after burying your girlfriend. But it turns out to be something he doesn’t have to worry about, because when you open your front door, you’re greeted with a meow.

“Sergio!” you gasp. You immediately drop your bag on the floor and pick him up. “How did you get here, buddy?”

“You know how Penelope and I have been feeding him? We both thought he’d be happier here,” JJ says. “I brought him by this morning, but you had already left. I hope this is okay; I just didn’t want you to have to go to Emily’s apartment if you weren’t ready.”

“It’s more than okay. It’s...” There are tears in your eyes. “Thank you, JJ.”

She smiles softly. “His things are by the kitchen table. I wasn’t sure where you would want them.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure we can find good spots for everything, huh, Sergio?” you coo, turning and heading in that direction.

Spencer exchanges a glance with JJ as they both follow. You’ve barely said anything for the past few days, so hearing you chatter away to a cat in a baby voice is a little disconcerting.

“Um, do you need any help?” he asks. “With Sergio, or with, um, anything?”

“Hm? No, I’m okay.”

Sergio has settled himself over your shoulder and is now staring at him and JJ. He shifts on his feet, feeling oddly unnerved by it. “Why’s he staring at us?” he whispers to her.

“I don’t know, Spence. He’s a cat,” she replies. “That’s just what they do.”

You press the side of your face against Sergio’s body and close your eyes. It’s the most content Spencer’s seen you since he noticed you worrying over Emily a month ago.

“You can go,” you say. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” JJ asks. “I don’t mind staying.”

“I’m sure.” But neither of them move, so you open your eyes to look at them. “Guys, I really appreciate all the support. It means a lot. But I also need space. I’ll be fine with Sergio here, I promise.”

“Just as long as you’re sure.” JJ gives you a tight hug. “We’re only a phone call away.”

You nod. “I know. Thank you.”

Spencer hesitates, though. He understands that you need space and privacy to grieve, but he doesn’t know that he should be alone right now.

Your expression softens when you look at him. You gently slide Sergio off your shoulder and onto the table so you can hug him properly. He all but clings to you, turning his head into your neck. It seems to clue JJ into his dilemma, because when you pull away from him, she says, “Why don’t you come visit Henry, Spence? He’d love to see you.”

He sniffles, trying to stop himself from crying. “Yeah, okay.”

He lets JJ lead him out into the hallway. You give him a small smile and a wave before closing the door.

---

Spencer’s never been one to frequent bars. They’re loud and often overcrowded. He doesn’t like the concept of drinking out of a glass that some stranger used the day before. And more often than not, the surfaces—be it a table or the bar itself—feel sticky. It’s just not his scene. But that’s where he’s found himself tonight, two weeks after the funeral. He’s staring down at amber liquid in a glass while his brain is fixated on an entirely different one.

He hasn’t had cravings this bad since Gideon left, and he ended up relapsing that time. He doesn’t want that to happen again. He swirls the glass, watching the ice clink against the sides as he silently debates with himself. Technically, drinking would be considered relapsing, but it’s better than using, right? If it’s between the two....

It’s the guilt that’s driven him here tonight. Guilt over Emily being dead because they didn’t get to her in time. Guilt over not seeing the obvious question, why families, right in front of him, the answer to which would have gotten them to her sooner. But most of all, guilt that he can’t stop craving companionship with his dead friend’s partner. Every time those thoughts come into his head, he feels like he’s betraying Emily.

Spencer feels himself slipping dangerously close to the ledge. So when a stranger sits down next to him, strikes up a conversation, and eventually asks if he’d like to get out of here, Spencer says yes.

It’s not the best decision he’s ever made, but it’s better than the alternative.

An hour later, he’s lying in an unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling in the awkward silence that follows a hook-up. The stranger’s name is Ryan, he learned as he slid into the car’s passenger seat. And it was nice—god knows he’s touch-starved—but it was a risky choice. He knows all too well what getting into a stranger’s car can lead to. But he just hadn’t cared. Emily’s dead. They’re supposed to be the best, but they weren’t able to save her. So what’s the point of anything?

When his phone goes off, Spencer quickly scrambles out from under the thin sheet and sorts through the clothes on the floor to find his pants. The display identifies the caller as you. “Hello?”

“Spencer.” Your voice is so quiet, he can barely hear it; he has to turn up the volume on his phone.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He starts to gather the rest of his clothing from the bedroom floor.

“I...” Your breath catches, and it’s a while before you speak again. “I can’t sleep. Could you come over?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he answers immediately. “It’ll just—it’ll just take me a little longer than usual to get there. I’m, uh... I’m not at home.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Just use your key when you get here.”

He ends the call and looks through the clothes in his arms, making sure he’s got everything.

“Was that them?” Ryan asks from behind him, and Spencer jumps. He’d nearly forgotten about him.

“Um, I’m not sure what you mean,” Spencer says, turning. He has a strange urge to cover himself, and nearly does before reminding himself that he wouldn’t be covering anything the man hasn’t seen already.

“When we were having sex, you were thinking of someone else,” Ryan says. “Was that them on the phone?”

Spencer opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure what to say. Eventually, he mutters, “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan says easily. “I only noticed because I was thinking of someone else, too.”

“Oh.”

“Mine’s straight,” he says. “How about yours?”

“Um, she loves someone else.” Spencer’s not sure why he’s telling a stranger this, but it feels good to get it out. So good that if you weren’t waiting on him, he could see himself oversharing and telling Ryan everything. But you are, so he says, “I, uh, have to go. Would you happen to know where the closest Metro station is?”

“Yeah, it’s a few blocks north of here. Just turn left when you leave the building and keep going straight.”

“Thanks.”

Spencer gets dressed quickly, double checks that he has everything he came here with, then leaves with an awkward little wave goodbye. He finds the metro easily; it’s right where Ryan said it was. He stops by his apartment to take a quick shower, then decides to drive his car to your place to get there faster.

At your door, he flips through his keyring to find the right one. As he unlocks and opens it, he knocks lightly on the doorframe in the pattern you’d set ages ago, a signal to let you know that it’s him coming in. The alarm beeps and he silences it by punching in the code, another thing he’s known for years.

After shutting and locking the door behind him, he calls your name softly. There’s no response, so he ventures in, eventually finding you on one of the couches, curled up on your side with Sergio in your arms. You’re staring blankly across the room, but you must be vaguely aware of his presence, because when he touches your leg, it doesn’t startle you. There’s a small trash can full of crumpled up tissues on the floor in front of you, and your eyes are red and puffy.

There’s a bit of space on the end of the couch near your feet, and Spencer takes it. He waits a while, but you don’t say anything, so he speaks first. “Why can’t you sleep?”

The breath you take in wavers with unshed tears. “The bed’s too empty,” you whisper.

Sighing, Spencer runs a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Do you?” you ask. “You weren’t at home when I called you, and instead of coming straight here, you stopped at your apartment to shower. You were with someone.”

He doesn’t have a response for that. He didn’t think you would notice, but of course you did. Whether it’s because you’re a profiler, or because you know him too well, he isn’t sure. Either way, it makes him anxious, and he starts worrying the edges of his cardigan between his fingers. “I... I don’t know what to tell you,” he admits.

You finally look at him properly. “Look, I don’t care about you sleeping with someone,” you say. “Just... just don’t say you know what I mean when you actually don’t. It won’t make me feel any better.”

“Okay,” he says quietly.

You squeeze Sergio closer to your chest; surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to mind. “It’s not the same as wishing you had someone. Emily is the love of my life. You don’t know what it’s like to have that, and then have it snatched away.”

Spencer bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything else. He wants to explain, to tell you that even while someone had their lips on his tonight, he’d felt incredibly lonely, and that it had only gotten worse afterward. And he absolutely should not tell you that he thinks he does know what you mean. He thinks he’s felt something similar to what you’ve just described, watching you with Emily the past few months. But you buried her. To compare that to him loving someone who doesn’t reciprocate is insensitive, to say the very least.

So he does what he always did before you came along and helped him open up: he bottles it up and shoves it down inside.

You look away from him, and after a few more silent moments, he hears your breath catch in your throat. “Was,” you say, voice cracking.

“What?”

“Emily... Emily was the love of my life,” you correct quietly.

“Don’t do that,” he says sharply, without thinking.

Your eyes fly back to him and hurt crosses your face. “Spence.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I just meant, you don’t have to do that. Not with me, at least.”

You don’t respond, just look back at the wall again, and god damn it, he can’t stand to watch you stare blankly at it anymore. “What do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe we could watch a movie,” he suggests.

“I don’t care.”

Spencer grimaces. Loss of interest or pleasure in most or all normal activities. A sign of depression. Of course, you’re grieving the loss of your partner. This type of depression is to be expected; it isn’t clinical. But he still feels uneasy seeing you like this.

“Well, I’m going to put something on,” he says, if only to keep the apartment from being silent.

“Knock yourself out,” you mutter. Then you tilt your head down, pressing your forehead into Sergio’s fur.

He takes the remote off the coffee table and flips through the channels until he lands on Discovery. Right now it looks like they’re showing Mythbusters reruns. He’d probably like it more if he knew less about physics and chemistry, but it’s interesting enough to keep him occupied.

You surprise him when the next episode starts by quietly asking what he thinks the outcome of the planned experiments are going to be. Eager to have something to do, he launches into an explanation. You murmur an occasional, “uh-huh”, but he doesn’t think you’re actually listening. You’ve still got that blank look on your face, but at least it’s focused on the TV instead of the wall. He suspects you just want to hear someone talk, to break the silence that’s been permeating your apartment since the funeral.

The affirmations stop after a while, and he looks over to see that you’ve finally fallen asleep. He stands up and Sergio lifts his head, blinking up at him with wide eyes. “Stay there,” Spencer whispers as firmly as he can, afraid that the cat leaving will wake you.

He looks around until he finds a blanket to put over you, then settles down on the other couch with a second one. Neither the couch or the blanket are anywhere near long enough for him to sleep comfortably, but he doesn’t want you to wake up alone.

---

They had to practically drag you out to the movie tonight.

Things have been up and down since you came back to work, a week after everyone else did. You have good days and bad days. Today has been a bad day. You’d tried to just go home, but seeing that you were in a dark place, Spencer had insisted you come out with them.

“It’s unnecessary,” Garcia says as the five of you trail out of the theater. “There was too much blood and gore and ew.”

“Garcia, it’s a slasher film,” Spencer says, amused. “How do you do a slasher film without violence?”

“You imply it.”

“Baby, the movie is called Slice 6,” Morgan says. “What were you expecting?”

“A refreshing beverage with a twist of comedy. I’m gonna have nightmares for a week,” she complains.

“With everything that we do and see on a daily basis, that got to you?” Seaver asks.

“Listen, newb, you may be all Sigourney Weaver ass-kicking tough, which is awesome, but the mystical mavens of innocence like myself jump at things that go bump in the night.”

“Why are you worried? I’m sure that Morgan will protect you. As long as he’s not jumping out of his chair like a prepubescent schoolgirl,” Spencer says, making no effort to hide his laugh.

Morgan rolls his eyes. “The only reason I jumped is ‘cause you guys woke me up.”

Garcia puts her arm through his. “How could you sleep during that?”

“Easy. You drag me out after a twelve hour workday, for what? You’re telling me that girl didn’t know that the unsub was waiting for her upstairs? Come on, now.”

“Villain,” Spencer corrects.

“What?”

“In movies, unsubs are called villains.”

Morgan barely holds back a snort. “My bad.”

Spencer looks to his other side. You haven’t said anything at all; you’re just staring at the ground as you walk. In an effort to bring you into the conversation, he asks, “D’you wanna know why horror movies are so successful?”

You glance at him, but Morgan’s the one who answers. “Why’s that, genius?”

“They prey on our instinctual need to survive. In tribal days, a woman’s scream would signal danger, and the men would return from hunting to protect their pack. That’s why it’s always the women and not the men who fall victim to the bogeyman,” he explains.

“Well, that’s not the only reason,” you say quietly. “It’s no secret the film industry is sexist.”

“That, too,” he agrees, just happy you’ve said something.

Garcia smiles affectionately. “Count on you, Reid, to break a movie down to science.”

“My favorite thing about horror movies is the suspense factor,” Seaver says, playfully shifting her voice to sound intense.

“Ah, the ticking clock,” Spencer replies.

“The helpless victim walks through the dark, shadows reaching out to get her,” she continues.

He’s got a smile on his face now as he plays along. “A sudden noise draws her attention. Is someone there, or is it just in her head?”

“Still, it’s totally unrealistic,” Garcia interrupts. “No one should be walking through a dark alley by themselves at night.”

Derek clears his throat, feigning offense. “Hello?”

“Ah. No one should be walking through a dark alley without a Derek Morgan by their side,” she corrects. Morgan chuckles in approval.

“But the best part of a horror movie?” Spencer asks, not done with the conversation. “You never know when the end is gonna come.”

Everyone splits up when they reach the parking lot, heading to their own cars. Morgan is driving Garcia, and you offer to drive Spencer home. But before you start the car, you ask, “Will you stay over tonight?”

It’s not really unexpected. He knows you’ve been struggling to sleep alone since the first night he stayed on your couch. He’s done it a few more times since then, and you’ve slept on his couch every now and then as well, when you reach the point where you’re absolutely exhausted and can’t take it anymore. You’re understandably lonely, but he suspects you’re also scared of Doyle returning, if the way you double check your front door, windows and alarm before bed is anything to go by.

“Of course,” he answers quietly.

You stop by his place on the way so he can pick up some clothes and a toothbrush. When he walks into your apartment, he starts to put his things down on the couch, but you take his wrist in your hand and pull him towards the bedroom.

His heart skips a beat. “Wh—what are you doing?”

“You’ve woken up with back and knee pain every time you’ve stayed on the couch. It’s too small for you. This bed is easily big enough for both of us. We’re adults; we can share it.”

“Uh, alright. Th—thanks,” he stutters.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you say. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

The bathroom door clicks shut softly behind you, leaving Spencer alone to take in his surroundings. He’s been in your bedroom before, of course, but it feels different this time. He can tell what side of the bed you sleep on by the personal effects on one of the bedside tables; he sets down his things on the opposite one. Once the shower has started and he’s sure you won’t be coming back in, he gets changed into his pajamas.

As he pulls back the bedcovers, he tries not to think about how Emily was the one doing this just a few months ago. And he especially tries not the think about what the two of you undoubtedly got up to in this bed, and what your face must look like when you—

Stop that right now, he scolds himself. And there’s that guilt and betrayal again, making his chest feel hollow. He leaves the room to brush his teeth at the kitchen sink (he doesn’t want to bother you or rush your shower), and splashes some cold water on his face after to try and pull himself together.

He’s settled down with a book by the time you come out of the bathroom, your hair wet and the scent of your bath products clinging to your skin. “Uh, how was your shower?” he asks awkwardly, feeling out of place in your bed.

“It was fine.” You plug in your phone to charge and get into bed. You turn off your bedside lamp and lay down on your side facing him, apparently ready to sleep right away. Spencer doesn’t want to keep you up, so he marks his place in the book and turns off the lamp on his side. As soon as he’s adjusted to a comfortable position, you speak.

“Would it be okay if I slept close to you?” you ask in a whisper. Your voice wavers when you continue, “I miss being close to someone.”

Spencer couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. He nods before realizing you can’t see him in the dark. “Yeah, sure.”

You scoot towards him and curl up next to his body, your forehead touching his shoulder and legs pressed against his side. He tries not to tense up so you won’t think he’s uncomfortable with it, because it’s very much the opposite. He’s always liked your touch, and right now your skin is still warm from the shower and you smell so nice.

You fall asleep quickly, your breathing becoming slow and even. It’s the fastest you’ve fallen asleep in weeks. He’s just about drifted off himself when you shift, startling him back awake by moving closer in your sleep. One of your hands settles on his chest and your legs straighten out, one of them slipping between his.

Slowly, hesitantly, he moves the arm closest to you, putting it around your shoulders and resting his hand on your back. You don’t stir, so he closes his eyes again. And if he lets go of the guilt for just a little while and allows himself to pretend that you’ve moved in your sleep to hold onto him because you love him back? Well. You don’t need to know that.

---

It takes ten weeks, but the team finally has Doyle in custody. Morgan’s in the interrogation room with him, but is interrupted when everyone is told to gather at the roundtable. Spencer’s one of the first ones in, followed by Garcia and you. The rest of the team isn’t far behind.

“You get anywhere with Doyle?” he asks Morgan.

“Doyle doesn’t think Gerace has the guts to take him on.”

“But that’s definitely Gerace on the tape,” Garcia says.

Hotch enters the room, looking much different than the last time they saw him, sporting a beard and loose, casual clothing.

“Welcome back,” Morgan says, a bit of surprise coloring his tone.

“Thanks. Everybody have a seat,” Hotch instructs.

Morgan stays standing. “Why? What’s going on? Everything all right?”

Hotch crosses his arms and looks at the table as he begins to speak. “Several months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilize her. And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need-to-know. And she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

“She’s alive?” you choke out.

Spencer can’t process this; it doesn’t make any sense. “But we buried her.”

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision,” Hotch says. “If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.”

“Any issues?” Morgan asks, voice shaking with emotion. “Yeah, I got issues.”

“I’ll say,” you agree. But before either of you can continue, you’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind you.

---

Ten weeks. Seventy days. One thousand, six hundred and eighty hours. None of it went by without Emily thinking of you.

Ten weeks, seventy days, one thousand, six hundred and eighty hours had passed by painfully slowly as she waited for the call.  

Every time her phone had rung in Paris, she answered it with bated breath, hoping this was the one, the call that meant she could come back to her home, her team. Her family. You.

Unfortunately, it also comes with the news that Declan is in danger.

The glass doors to the BAU don’t feel the same as she walks through them. None of the building does. She had expected to it to feel the way it always had. Warm, full of life, where she belonged. But tonight, it just feels cold.

Through the blinds, she can see Hotch talking to the team, presumably revealing the truth about her death. As she gets closer, she can hear voices.

“... anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.” Hotch.

“Any issues? Yeah, I got issues.” Morgan.

“I’ll say.” You.

She stops in the doorway, and everyone turns to face her.

“Oh, my god,” Garcia whispers.

Everyone’s looking at her, but Emily only has eyes for you.

You’re staring back at her, mouth hanging open slightly, tears slipping out of your eyes and down your cheeks. There’s silence until you suddenly push back your chair and stand. Emily drops her bag to the floor just before you slam into her, nearly knocking her over. You cling to her, and she clings back.

Then she feels it. She feels the warmth and life, the sense of belonging.

Here, with you in her arms, she’s finally home.

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

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[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 12 - Hidden City

Summary: The turtles go off in search of a new rift in the Hidden City

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

Leo hated every part of this. The sun was up, so they should be down, and out of sight. He had known his counterparts long enough to know how loose they often played with the rules his family followed so diligently, but to take to the streets under the danger of daylight for something that could easily wait for the blanket of night was absurd! In his two decades of life, Leo could count the amount of daylight explorations he had taken on two hands; the risk was hardly ever worth it. Despite the prickling insecurities inside him, Leo pushed himself onward to follow Raphael’s lead. This city was so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. So easy to get lost in. Leo found himself picking out familiar buildings to assure that this place was still New York, even in this toony world so colorful that he could almost believe a pallet of paint had been spilled over it. This was New York and New York would always be home, even if home was a whole dimension away.

Raphael’s guidance brought the group of anxious turtles to an alleyway. They dropped down from above; Leo felt a shutter go through his body, a cold chill seizing his senses and stealing away his breath as he passed through something that seemed almost… green. The sudden shock made him stutter, his balance unsteady enough to knock over a trash can upon landing. With a clutter and a clang the silver bin fell and rolled, several more loud crashes sounding off each time it hit something. The eyes of Donnie and Raph turned to the shock-stricken Leo, who could only stare with his wide, cerulean eyes. The people walking past in the streets to either side, just feet away from what they’d see as monsters, didn’t stopped. Leo let himself breathe and the three brothers, muscles still tensed and ready to hide at the slightest sign of trouble, moved back into a tight formation around their younger counterparts.

“What are we doing here?” Leo couldn’t contain it anymore and he had to ask. His voice was a low whisper. “We could be seen!”

“Relax.” Leonardo laughed, and his voice wasn’t at all soft. He was met with three sets of shhhhh from the Splintersons, but laughed each of them off, “This alleyway has a mystic shimmer. We can see them.” He cleared his throat, “BUT THEY CAN’T SEE OR HEAR US!”

True to his word, the people in the street kept on their way as if the turtles didn't even exist. So that was what Leo felt! What had made him stumble!  The cautious tension in Donnie was immediately replaced by heart-fluttering curiosity. He couldn’t resist a high-pitched whistle, striding away from the group before Leo could say a word to stop him; he went as close as he dared to the end of the alleyway, waving and laughing and calling out to the streets with, to his utter joy, no response.

“This is so cool this is so cool this is so cool!” Donnie’s voice got higher with each repeat, flapping his wrists, “W-what is it, some type of four-lensed blind spot? O-or something using metamaterials or—?”

“Noooo, it’s mystic.” Leonardo said, and with a snap of his fingers Michelangelo perked up. He removed a small item that had been hidden in the rainbow pouch around his neck, the artifact attached to him by a slim golden collar; it was almost like a keychain he hung around his neck. “And so is this.”

Leo eyed the little trinket curiously; in shape, it was similar to Donatello’s gift, except with greens and golds instead of orange and reds. He could have mistaken it for an oddly colored compass with kanji if he hadn’t seen that familiar, lop-sided M in the middle. The compass itself was pointing directly at the wall, glowing the most vibrant neon and pulsing slightly. Leo could feel the energy radiating.

With a hand as steady as a seasoned artist, Michelangelo traced the trinket across the wall using the M as a guiding map. Before the astonished eyes of the Splinterson brothers, the compass left what looked almost like a trail of paint in its wake, except it didn't drip, and when Michelangelo had completed his work it began to glow. It was green at first, then shifted into a soft baby blue, and then into white as the faux paint finally started to drip and melt into a doorway. Leo felt an immediate draw toward it, like the force that would try to lasso them into Leonardo’s rift except not as strong. Raph gave a simple hiss in response, pulling back and shaking his head while Donnie did the exact opposite, reaching for the rift as if it were the most precious treasure. 

“I thought only your Leo could make rifts…” Leo said.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Leonardo asked, dancing over to stand proud at Leo’s side, “Portals are the only way into the Hidden City!”

“Hidden City?” Raph breathed through his teeth, eyes still fixed on the rift.

“Yeah!” Raphael said unhelpfully, “You three should stay close to us; the mystic types can be pretty jarring for first timers.”

Raph started to say, “I think I can handle them” before he felt a gentle tug at his hand. Raph looked to see Michelangelo holding his hand, resting his full weight against Raphael’s arm without the older mutant so much as flinching. Michelangelo’s eyes were wide, the colors flowing in them like a warm sunset as he beamed up at his friend.

“Don’t be scared, Raphie! You can hold my hand if you want to!”

“Uh…” Looking down at this tiny, vibrant young shinobi that barely came up to his stomach in height, Raph couldn’t say anything except, “Y-yeah, sure. Thanks kid…”

Michelangelo have a happy giggle and wiggled his joy. He snatched Donnie with his other hand before the tallest box turtle could get very far.

“You can hold my hand too, Donna!”

“Donna?” Raph breathed through his nose, then laughed, “Hell yeah. Down with the patriarchy.”

Donnie, upon being grabbed by Michelangelo, had much the same reaction as Raph. He didn't know what to do, and then he fell to soft adoration as he realized he would do anything for this kid.

“Thanks Mike.”

“Can I hold your hand too?” Leo asked brightly

Michelangelo’s expression flattened. “Only got two hands, Leon.”

Donatello cleared his throat and stepped forward to motion the first group through the rift. “Please keep your hands and feet inside the mystic rift until the ride has ended, keep all personals close as we will not be liable for any limbs or items that may turn up missing. Keep your shells on, your heads low, and watch out for portal jackers as we take this small voyage to Run-Of-The-Mill pizza.”

With that, Michelangelo and the two other box turtles that had to crouch to be able to hold his hand went through the rift without fear. Leo, his mouth still hanging open, turned to look at Raphael, who could only shrug before going through the rift himself. 

“Lady’s first~” Leonardo gave what could have resembled a polite bow if not for the mocking tone, motioning Leo through first.

Leo sucked in a breath, shaking the nervous jitters like water off a duck's back before he stepped through. The pull was very much so like the rift he and his family had taken to wind up in this world to begin with, except less painful. When he opened his eyes again he was standing in… a restaurant?

The smell of cumin and Chili filled the air. The feeling of the polished floor under Leo’s feet was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Like ice, except not cold; soft, but hard at the same time if that was possible. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the building and more details were quick to come to him; wooden booths with dark brown cushions and tables clean enough to shine under the candlelight that filled the restaurant; the candles, it seemed, were held up by nothing at all! They were shaped almost like they were living; Leo thought it nothing more than a cool design before he realized they actually were living! Living candles with curves and form almost like human women, their hair the flaming candle wicks and the bottom of their shafts flowing out like a ball gown! Closer still and Leo could even begin to make out tiny, detailed faces!

“You want your normal seats I presume?” 

Leo blinked and shook his head as the familiar voice brought him back down to earth. Though he hadn’t seen Hueso in just over two years, the skeleton man had hardly changed at all. The calaca’s white pupils danced across the group with a curious hum.

“And shall I double your usual then?” Hueso queried.

“Bone man!” Leonardo explained, scooping Hueso up in a hug before the older yokai could make his escape. “Good to see ya!”

“Wish I could say the same.” Hueso grumbled, then added bitterly, “Problem child…”

“And that’s why you love me!” Leonardo blew a kiss, “Now Hueso, you remember the other us’s, right?”

“Unfortunately, it’s a pleasure to remake your acquaintance.”

Hueso was met with three half-hearted mutters of greeting; none of the Splintersons were even looking at him! Why would they when there were so many different creatures to see? In most every booth and table and barstool were mutants out of a fantasy book; beings even Donnie couldn’t single out as anything familiar! Some of them had characteristics that could have been compared to more natural animals— tentacles and fangs and frills. Creatures as big as an elephant or small as a shrew, with varying table sizes to accommodate all in between.

“Hey, listen bone man.” Leonardo tried to whisk Hueso away for a private conversation, but Hueso ducked to avoid the fate. His eyes and Leonardo’s were locked until Leonardo backed down, “We need a favor.”

“Don’t you always?” Hueso asked, “Seems every time you come to pay a visit it is for your own gain.”

“What? Noooo! Me? Noo!” Leonardo scoffed, waving a dismissive hand and laughing before quickly giving up the ruse, “It’s important this time. We need to find a yokai who sells decent rifts at an affordable price, and we need it like yesterday if we want to get these boys home.”

Hueso hummed, bringing his fingers to his mouth as he considered. “Define affordable.”

“Somewhere in the price range of… eight hundred US dollars or nine thousand Japanese yen.” Donatello said.

Hueso hissed through his teeth. “You won’t get any that cheap. Cheapest I know of would be Monroe, but quality rifters at his place run upward to three million pesos.”

Donatello took out his phone and ran some quick calculations. “Okay guess we’re not eating this month.”

“Wish I could be of more help pepino.” Hueso said, turning to leave while he was still talking, “I’ll go get you directions to Monroe.”

~~~

“This looks like the place…” Donatello said, and he indicated a small sliver of alleyway squeezed between two tall buildings.

“Doesn’t look like much.” Raph huffed; Michelangelo still had a tight hold on his and Donnie’s hands for support.

“But it is discrete though.” Donnie pointed out; his mind was still wandering, trying its best to soak up the tangled stimuli from the buildings and the mutants that looked almost like something out of a cartoon! Like a child had drawn these characters and these structures and planted them together in a bright, yet disorienting, array of flashing colors. “I’d hate to be an epileptic in this place…”

“Are we… gonna be able to fit through there?” Leo asked, his question directed toward Leonardo.

Leonardo flashed Leo a warning glare before saying, “Raph, are you and the guys gonna be able to fit?”

Raphael gave a low whine. His beak crinkled in concentration as his first idea was to simply walk forward, which proved him too wide. Then he huffed and turned sideways, but was still too bulky. It seemed Raphael ran out of ideas, so Donatello cleared his throat.

“If I could direct everyone’s attention slightly upwaaaard~”

Following his motion, they found what could have resembled a bell hanging above the alleyway. It looked as if it were made of slime with little chunks of something floating inside. Raph cringed at the sight of it, but Raphael gave a far too curious ooo and reached to touch it. Leonardo quickly stepped between Raphael and the slime-bell.

“No no no no, no no. No.” Leonardo said, forcing Raphael back, “Bad Raph.”

“I wasn’t gonna eat it.” Raphael pouted.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes. Raphael stuck out his bottom lip and tapped his fingers. 

“Okay I was gonna eat it. You can ring it.”

“Eh… not sure if I want to…” Despite his words, Leonardo reached up and took the slimy rope of the bell, a texture not unlike a worm, and yanked on it. Instead of ringing, it gave off a sound like a foghorn blowing that made every turtle cover their ears, though Leonardo removed his hands from his head just as quickly when he realized it was still covered in slime. “Ew ew ew ew—“

There was a pop and they were swallowed by a slimy, green bubble. What followed was mixed reactions of terror and disgust as they moved into a tighter group, shell to shell with the bigger ones surrounding the smaller. The bubble lifted then off their feet and through the wall like they had no matter at all, carried past the narrow door and lowered to the ground on the other side before the slime bubble popped and left them confused and disgruntled.

“What is this place?” Donnie was the first to separate from the group to look around. The space around them was not unlike an auction house, filled with all sorts of items on display. They filled shelf after shelf after shelf, placed around with no true order. Looking up would reveal several more floors, all just as filled with artifacts and creatures for purchase, with a convenient opening through the middle of each floor.

“Looks like some sort of witchy auction place…” Raph commented. Not to be outdone by his younger brother, Raph separated and started to investigate the place for himself, “How does a grimy grifter get a place like this?”

“Wait a minute…” Leonardo frowned as he looked around, “Wait— I know this place.”

Raph picked up a gem-encrusted chalice, turning it around curiously. “Huh. Fancy.”

“Raph, don’t touch anything.” Leo groaned.

“What?” Raph scoffed, “Guess you don’t want me to do this either, huh?”

He began to juggle the chalice with surprising style.

“Raph, stop that!” Leo tried to intervene, but that only seemed to egg Raph on. He danced out of Leo’s reach, laughing as he pretended to drop the decor before catching it at the last second, “I’m serious!”

Raph only laughed. At least, he was laughing until he actually did drop it— right on the head of a small, purple yokai who had been observing the scene, as still as one of his statues. Raph swore, trying to recover the drop but it was too late. It sank into the yokai’s head as if he were made of pure gelatin, and they could still see the gold through the flesh and skin. The purple yokai blinked, and Raph screamed.

The purple yokai’s skin shifted into flowing rings of yellow and orange that forced the chalice up and out of his head, into his hand. He didn't look like much— something akin to a slug if anything— with a soft beak and a snaggle tooth like Raphael’s only smaller. He breathed onto the chalice and wiped it off with his sleeve before placing it back on the shelf.

“Please don’t touch.”

“YOU!” Leonardo pointed accusingly, “You’re that slug guy who sold me wallet-stealing hair! You’re Monroe?!”

“That’s a talking slug—” Raph withdrew back into the crowd of his brothers, eyes wide. 

Donnie gasped, pulling his goggles down over his eyes and advancing as quickly as Raph had retreated. The slug drew into himself, his entire body constricting like a squeezed stress ball. Leo visibly cringed, while Raphael and his brothers didn't seem all that bothered beyond a few yawns or comforting pats for Raph.

“This is incredible— there’s compounds in him that fail to be isolated or traced!” Donnie picked up one of the slugs arms to investigate every inch of him. “He doesn’t even seem to be carbon based at all; there’s elements I can’t even identify— what…?” Donnie pulled up his goggles as the astonishment gave way to a confused frown, “Is— is he a mutant?”

“No.” Donatello scoffed.

That was met with three very confused box turtles casting side glances. 

“Are… are any of them mutants?” Leo asked.

Leonardo laughed, “What? You though every yokai in the Hidden City was mutated by Draxum and his army of mutant mosquitoes? Ha! W-what dumb idiots would think that?” Leonardo was visibly sweating.

“Not these dumb idiots, that’s for sure.” Donatello tried to brush past, scratching his neck.

“W-wait, so none’a them guys we passed were mutants?” Raph asked, pointing back at the door.

“Well, some of them might have been, but the majority? No; they’re yokai and cryptids.”

“Yokai…” Donnie breathed, and that astonished look returned to his face as he continued to circle Monroe, “They exist in your world? Oh my kama this just keeps getting better—“

“Don.” Raph whistled as if Donnie was a dog, “Buy first, geek later.”

Monroe’s eyes lit up at that and he pulled himself away from Donnie to give a polite bow to the rest of the group. “If sales you wants, sales I’s gots! I gots artifacts from all around the world, from the tombs of Giza to the ancient Amazons. If you needs it, I gots it!”

“Great!” Raphael clapped. “Cause we need a high quality rifter.”

Monroe sank into himself. “Not that’s I don’t gots…”

A visible vein twitched in Leo. “What?”

“I solds out…” He frowned, tapping his nubby hands together.

“WHEN?”

“Like ten minutes ago, don’t yell at me.” The slug quivered, his eyes like saucers.

Leonardo sucked in a slow, deep breath, “Who bought them, Monroe?”

“Oh, an andoroido with a nice voice ands such manners. He’s having buying all my rifters. He’s very rich.”

“All of them?” Raphael whimpered, “Y-you don’t even got a… a small busted one in the back?”

Monroe shook his head. “Not one! He was be very insistent he gets alls of them. But I do has a very special hover pod with your name witten all over it if you—“

“Not interested.” Leonardo quickly dismissed, pulling on his face in his frustration, “Great. We— we’ll find somewhere else to look.”

“But I is to be assuring you that no other shop has rifters worth your while…” Monroe said.

“That's what every illegal rifter peddler would say!”

“Not this illegal rifter peddler, I swearing it to you!”

“And I swear I’ll bust your teeth in if you’re lying…” Leonardo seized Monroe by the collar and lifted him up.

“Leo.” Raphael was quick to correct. His eyes met Leonardo’s for just a moment. That was all it took for Leonardo to relent and release the Yokai. Raphael made a quick point to help Monroe fix his shirt. “Sorry ‘bout that. If you happen to find a rifter you missed, could you give us a call?”

Without having to be asked, Donatello had already written up his phone number and placed it in Monroe’s hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any more contacts, do you Don?”

Donatello took a long, slow breath. “I’ll see what I can find.”