#i wish i could just crawl into a hole and die and nobody would be sad

[kulvefaggoth]

.

[midnightduel]

darkness and light

Leo had never liked the myth of Icarus.

He had never liked the story of the boy who had tried to fly too close to the sun; who had felt the wax melt off his back and perished deep within the dark waters, where nobody ever saw him again. It had always made something crawl under his skin – it always made him feel like something was stuck up his throat.

He supposed he knew why, now, he never liked the myth.

Leo falls in darkness, with his own wax melting off his back and floating into darkness, leaving behind long red gashes up his arms and his shoulders – and an emotional wound so deep he could barely feel himself breathe. He can barely hear himself think through all of it; all he hears is the screaming through the darkness, the colors dancing behind his eyes if he closes them for too long. Some of this screaming is familiar… and the other? Chilling to the bone.

He hopes the water comes soon. That would be nice – there would at least be comfort in knowing something cool and soothing would at least come quickly. There would be comfort in knowing he wouldn’t suffer too long, after trying to hold the sun in the palm of his hands.

But until then – the terror pounds in his veins, and it tears him apart. His heart screams at him to wish to fall slower so someone might catch him; his brain tells him they are the canon ball when weighed against the feather – no matter how much they might wish to fall slower, gravity was doing its job too well to know any other possibility. 

…

He should have listened. He should have listened.

Raph – Raph I’m sorry, Raph. I’m sorry. I should have done better, I should have been better. Would the ending been different had I listened? I didn’t want to fight you. I didn’t want to make you turn into a monster. I never asked you to sacrifice yourself for me.

I never wanted to hurt any of you.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Can you hear me now?

…

The darkness does not bear his brother’s voice. It does nothing but gape, and he hears the static in his ears and the large puncture hole in his chest grow wider. There is no one there to hold his hand, there is no one there to say I hear you.

He misses them. He missed his brothers already. The water was getting closer by the second, he could feel it, and he missed his brothers. He didn’t want to die alone. He didn’t want to be gone and forgotten like a bad memory. He wanted them to know that he had tried to reach the sun for them, he wanted them to know that he never meant to leave them behind to burn – he wanted them to know. Know and know like he never let them in before.

Would Donnie be okay? Would he fall in his lab and disappear? Would he mourn the twin he had and live in between planes, with one soul lost to a dimension meant to be a cold Prison?

Would Mikey try to fix everything? Would he be consumed by his own fire, would he try to fill a hole in his shape that he never was meant to fit into anyway?

Would April know how to lean on others? Would his father know how to walk by himself?

Leo feels it when he crashes against the waves of the water – and he feels it when a claw against his chest holds him down and whispers nobody will ever find him again. That nobody cared enough to open up this Prison again. He and the warlord holding him down and making him sink deeper into the cold arms of the waiting death were the only ones left here forever and ever until Time disintegrated and the timelines collapsed upon themselves.

And Leo believes it. He believes this truth – this sentence he gave to himself the moment his wings started to melt.

Maybe he didn’t mean much of anything, anymore – maybe he was just a boy sinking deep into the waters – but at least he knows his story will be a grain of sand onto a beach, long buried by the others that will take their place alongside his.

Let him be Icarus.

[rickscxlt]

The Bridge

The blood pooled in my hands as I lay under the burning Virginian sun. Could this be the end of it all? It feels like it is. Walkers closed quickly on my position from where that horse bucked me. I screamed out in agony, but nobody would come to save me. I had to save myself. Nobody was coming. If I die here, that herd will run through the communities. Get up. Come on get up!

I pulled off my belt and used it to hook a piece of rebar above my head. I held onto the belt as tight as possible, and I pulled.

The screaming that came out of my lungs was intense. Keep pulling, keep pulling! I lunged forward onto one knee. I did it. Now I need to keep moving.

My legs failed me when I tried to stand up as I stumbled forward, so I began crawling to the horse. Struggling to pull myself up, the thoughts of my family raced through my mind. Michonne, Judith. My mind went to the events that lead to this. Maggie and Daryl rebel, trying to distract me from their goal, killing Negan.

“Hyah!”

 I shouted and kicked the horse into a trot. Once I got far ahead I slowed down into a canter. My eyes felt heavy, too heavy.

‘Stay awake asshole.’ I thought to myself. If this didn’t work, all would be lost. The bridge keeping trade open would fall, the communities would fall. There was nothing more I could do. I had to make it to the bridge. My mind went fuzzy, then blank.

I was suddenly thrown back into the hospital where it all started. 2 guys were reported in that runaway car. There was a 3rd man that changed everything. Sometimes I prayed that I would just magically wake back up from all of this. That maybe the horror, the nightmare of a life we all lived now wasn’t real. That maybe each person I met were just doctors and nurses that I was dreaming of. 

I made my way out into the empty hospital hallway. It felt the same as it did that day, desolate, abandoned, left to be taken by the dead. Loose electrical cords were falling out of the ceilings. Some still sparked. Bits of electricity sparking then falling to the floor and dying out. The door that I saw holding at least a dozen of walkers awaited me at the end of the hallway. It once read, “Don’t open Dead inside” now it read “Don't open, dead inside.” 

My hands grasped the cold hospital door handle and pulled it open with whatever strength I had left in my body. Immediately, my eyes were blinded by a bright white light, then the hospital was gone. I was standing on top of all the people I had lost, even people I hadn’t lost were there. Andrea, Tyreese, Sasha, Maggie, Daryl, Carol, Carl, plus hundreds more. 

“Hey dumbass.”

A familiar voice came from behind me. I turned to find it. Glenn.

My eyes immediately began to water.

“How- Glenn..I’m so sorry what happened to you. You saved me and- I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry.”

My voice was low, on the verge of breaking down.

“You did what you had to do. You kept my wife alive, one of the only people I ever truly loved like I did. You kept my unborn child alive. He gets to have a future. I wish I could have met him. How is he?”

Glenn asked.

“He’s- he’s good. That boy is loved. He reminds me of you already.”

I showed a weak smile, the blood still soaking through my shirt. Glenn got closer to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“I saved you for this moment, everything that’s happened, everything that could happen. That doesn’t matter. You need to Wake up.”

Like coming out from the water, I rose to my feet gasping for air. My lungs seemed to not be able to grab the oxygen required to kickstart my body. The hole through my ribs burned like a fire crying to life. Like the fires that burned through the forests after a bad Thunderstorm. The moans and cries from the dead rang within my ears. I fought and clawed my way forward. My legs barely moved, but to me I was running for my life.

As I turned the corner, my horse was gone, I realized there was no way I’d survive this. My thoughts were cloudy, did Daryl mean for this? Of course he didn’t, he begged for me not to go. Will I see him again? I don’t think I will. Hopefully everybody is safe. The only priority I had now was making sure they all were safe. Most people when they die nowadays they have no idea what happens after, if everybody survived..Glenn didn’t. Within a second my legs failed me and I hit face first into the hot concrete.

“Rick? You’re here, come look at this view.”

Hershel’s voice was as warming as anything I’d heard in years. My eyes wandered around the old hayloft of the barn that I’d burnt down years ago. It was in pristine shape, the wind kissed my skin gently. It burned the hole behind my hand. I made my way over to Hershel slowly. The older man placed his hand on my shoulder in a fatherly way.

“Isn't it just beautiful?”

“It is. It’s perfect. H-Hershel..I’m looking for my family. M-Maybe I can find them here?”

My voice wavered with each word spoken. My throat was drier than the driest day in the hottest desert. Hershel’s eyes grew softer.

“Rick..no. You already found your family. I trusted you with my family, not because you were a friend. Not because I knew you were a strong leader. I trusted them because I knew you’d love them and protect them like they were your own family. You found your family Rick. They are out there.”

Hershel pointed at the beauty that laid ahead of them. Hills seemed to roll on for miles. I nodded, a tear rolled down my rough cheeks that they’d made canyons in.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to you..” I started to say.

Hershel turned his body toward me now placing both hands on my tired shoulders.

“The day that I left my farm, I put not only my life in your hands, but my daughters too. I didn;t do that because I liked you, or because I felt like I had to. I did it because I could see the kind of man you were. I knew that you were our best chance at surviving this thing. I believed in you Rick, and I still do. You did right by my family, but Rick..you need to wake up”

My eyes fluttered open just in the knick of time. A walker had caught up to me and was nibbling on my boots.

“Shit..”

I weakly exclaimed as my hands flew to my holster drawing my axe and plunging it into its decayed skull. I pulled the axe back out and put it away. Once again, pushing myself back to my feet I headed off into the woods to try and get some more distance between me and the herd. That was the only way this worked. I couldn’t keep up this pace. Thankfully there was an old rundown cabin awaiting me like a child waiting for his father to get home from work. I stumbled and clashed into the front door with all of my weight. The door caved in and crashed to the floor. The wood must have decayed so bad, it was bound to happen soon. My eyes fluttered open and closed, then they didn’t open again.

I woke up inside the house I used to live in, in King County Georgia. It was quiet, I could hear birds chirping outside and the sound of distant laughter. My mouth slowly formed into a grin at the sight and smells filling my sensories. The smell of Lori’s shitty Sunday morning pancakes tickled my nose from the kitchen. I closed my eyes, my brain felt like the classic cartoon character that would float in midair toward the delicious smell of a pie as the steam from the food filled their nose. This was who I used to be. The pictures of my family covered the walls all around me. A picture of me getting ready to take my son, Carl, on a ride along for work. Another of Carl petting a goat at a petting zoo. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and entering the living room.

“Dad?”

My ears perked at that word, my eyes filled with tears and one slipped out. It had been so long since I last heard my first born voice. My head turned to face the voice and it was my boy, of course it was. It was Carl.

“Oh my god..Carl. Carl..”

The shock on my face was hard to hide as I moved as fast as I could to him pulling Carl into the tightest hug I’d probably ever given anybody in my whole life.

“Dad, you did it. You let your mercy prevail over everything, just like I knew you could. You found your peace, like you deserved. This is the closest you’ve been to having your life back how it once was. How we all wish it could go back to. You worked so hard for it all, letting Negan live was the right step. I know it is.”

My eyes filled with sadness looked back at Carl’s which were filled with hope and dreams for my own future. Something I used to have for his own, that was drained out of my body. I’d never be able to see how he would grow up, because I was too caught up in the war. I didn't have the time to show him the ways of the world like a father would. 

“I did it all for you..Carl. It was always for you. Everything. Everything I ever did, every breath I took was for you. You brought us all here. I didn’t show you the new world, that was never how it was going to go. You showed me the new world. You brought us here. You did that.”

Carl smiled a little bit then shook his head.

“No dad, you did all of it. You kept us safe, made the right calls in the worst of situations, you always found a way to make me feel safe. Dad, you need to wa-”

I cut him off quickly as the next words would send me back to the hell waiting for me. The end that I knew was coming for me. 

“Maybe I could stay here..please. I miss you so much, Carl. I miss my son. I’ll never get to watch you grow up..maybe I could here.”

Carl clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No dad. They need you. Our family needs you. Now, wake up.”

The dead were beginning to surround the small cabin I had collapsed inside, I reached my hand up and grabbed the edge of a table to lift myself up. I moved to the back wall and began to kick out loose 2x4 wood pallets. I made enough room for me to squeeze through. I quickly made it out and back to the road. The bridge was now in sight. The blood from my wound oozed out and dripped onto my worn out boots. Surprisingly, these boots had held up pretty well over the years. Boots always had the best durability, I could imagine the advertising for this pair after the fall. ‘Boots that can survive even the end of the world.’ Near death delirium was seeping into my brain.

I reached the beginning of the bridge and fell to my knees, my eyes looked up and saw my friends running toward me led by a scared Andrea. They all charged past and Andrea jumped to my side, pulling my face towards her own. 

“Rick! Rick! Are you okay? Holy shit what happened? You’re okay now, we are all here for you. We are going to get you help, you’ll be okay.”

“I-is this real?”

I hesitantly asked.

Andrea looked me in my eyes and nodded.

“You’re real. I’m real. We are all real. We are here. We all are. You found your family. Do you ever wonder why I fell in love with you? Its because you're a fighter. You don’t give up especially when it would be better to do so. You never quit, never run away when things get really shitty..and they’ve gotten really shitty. I want you to look at me, and look at them..”

Her voice trailed off as I followed her gaze to the rest of our people, they’d killed the walkers. It is over now. Andrea continued to speak, my eyes focused back on her own. 

“We are the ones who live. We are the ones who get shit done. Now get this done. Nobody else but you can do this..wake up my love.”

I thrashed back to life and was quick to my feet. Seeing Andrea again made me find another way forward, it gave me the strength I needed to get this done. My feet drug across the freshly installed wood on the bridge that was so important to be rebuilt. It won't get done for some time now. Especially after what was going to take place next.

My feet carried me all the way to the other end of the bridge. I turned around to watch the walkers fall into the water and get swept away in the current, but that never happened. 

“No..no it's going to hold. It's going to hold.”

I stammered, out of breath and clearly out of time. Walkers near me, but I couldn't find the energy to kill it. I was done. It was all over. Seconds before it bit me, an arrow pierced the back of its decayed head and it dropped dead. My eyes met Daryl’s who was down by the river bank. I saw all of my people down there, including Andrea. The fear in her eyes was painfully obvious even from the distance I was at.

As this all took place, walkers on the bridge knocked a box of dynamite over and a dozen sticks fell to the floor of the bridge. Andrea, Maggie and others began to devise a plan to save me. 

“No, stop please. Don’t do this, not for me.” 

They couldn't hear me, there was nothing I could do to stop what they were attempting to do. I drew my axe and fought back the few walkers close to me. I stuck the blade deep into one's skull, struggling to pull it out. I sunk it into the skin of another then let it fall to the floor. Time seemed to stand still in this very moment, I knew what I had to do. Taking a deep breath, I drew my Colt Python for the very last time. I took aim at the dynamite that was being stepped all over by the dead. 

“I found them.”

I muttered in my final moments. I squeezed the trigger, just like that. The bridge went up in flames, and so did my dreams.

[a-hazbin-spider]

At first he was thinking he was asking for too much for something that would take under two hours. Maybe Vox was still powerful enough to be stingy? It wasn’t until he starts questioning the decision that Angel understands it was lowballing it. It isn’t like he usually gets to ask for anything. Even then, if Vox wanted it so secretive, maybe it was better, he can’t imagine Val wouldn’t notice an added sum for himself, or whatever else might’ve been on the table. Perhaps it could be pushed off that he thought of that- but it was before Vox had ever said a word of it being secret. He hopes under the scrutinizing red light of those eyes that he can’t see what must be a pink starting to color his cheeks. It sure feels like they’re burning. Vox is going to guess quite easily that he’s acting like some sad stray animal, wanting what he asked for over anything.

A silent breath is taken through his nose, the only indication that he’s trying to collect himself and stay cool being the slightly larger puff of his chest. He’s got this. He’s an actor! Nobody can tell the difference between his pain and pleasure on screen, naturally he can make someone think he doesn’t want to crawl in a hole and die twice. “Yeh, I don’t think ya understand how rare it is I get to do any wining or dining. I’m not askin’ for a date, don’t get me wrong, it just sounds nice. Thought two hours oughta pay for that.”

Can he pass that off as expensive taste? Maybe. Truth was he was grossly underestimating how much two hours was. Or- how big this task was as far as weight. Took it like maybe helping his brother with a car at the dead of night, and being offered to share a sandwich after the fact. What the two men had in common- each were able to make Angel feel very simple. For now, Vox isn’t making him feel berated or stupid, but Vox was always so smart and advanced. At least when simple solutions were all they needed, he was the right guy for the job!

“Take-backsies, he says.” An amused murmur is let out under his breath while he leans in closely. “I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” All eight eyes hold a focus, and he is just as grateful for the sort of nostalgic familiarity with an admittedly strange task, as he is to have the embarrassment banished to the back of his mind. His claws are careful, but, in the mess of overlapped and otherwise displaced wiring, they glide into the underside, feeling for any give while he stares intently, searching for any open ports in the meantime.

Softly into his focus, a near inaudible chittering can be heard while the task is at hand, and wires are combed through as one might over hair, or pages of an old book. And with just as much tender care, too. These were, after all, rather important, or so one would think.

“I ain’t know a whole lot about computers.” He starts, yep that’s so reassuring isn’t it? “But I’m guessing these match their port in some way, right? I’m just gonna need to pair them up..?” Wishful thinking? Probably. What are the chances that a body fucking labels itself? It isn’t like the hand bones show their order, and make a handy matching color or number by each fragment and joint. This probably was like rearranging hands and feet. Half the bones- and nerves- are in there. That’s why so much torture involves breaking them! Only… wait this was literally his head. This is his brain isn’t it? That is… so much worse. At least thoughts like that keep him from messing up. Neurosurgeons must have balls of solid titanium.

One good thing about Angel’s body, it had so many fingers, that allowed him to start and keep holding any finds while he continues to hunt down the rest. Each area can be bookmarked essentially. Makes the time hunting less painstaking than it already was. “A’right… that oughta do it… Er. What’s next?”

[ alone ] for one muse to find the other trying to treat themselves /and or

[ drugged ] for one muse to take care of the other while they’re delirious

@a-hazbin-spider ?

[ alone ] from the injury/hurt prompts list!

~

Vox usually likes to be alone after a fight; to lick his wounds in private, so to speak. He has a habit of walling himself off in his sanctum, free to keep tabs on everyone while secure in the knowledge that no one could see him. The solemn darkness of the space was the next best thing to real reassurance that things were going to be okay, and much easier to get ahold of.

He's careless, perhaps. Maybe too injured to think as he stumbles inside, a prominent trail of black oil and bright blue coolant marking his path from the nearest CCTV camera to the door. He forgets to lock the door on the way in.

So it's a nasty shock some time later when the door slides open in the middle of his work. The bright glare of the hallway floods in, illuminating both his headless form and his TV on the table in front of him, its case pulled open and innards exposed for repairs. In lieu of his normal vision, each of the many screens around all swivel to look at the intruder, all displaying a single, familiar red eye.

Vox snarls as he recognizes the silhouette, sinking claws into the table. His speakers blow out and warp his voice as his audio processors fail to keep up.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Angel Dust?"

[bokutoslittlebird]

Family Vacation

Bokuto x reader x Akaashi

Author’s Note : no incest, I promise ; the request included some slight BokuAka interaction, however I made it more than slightly ; the hot springs resort is loosely based on three different locations under the Kinosaki Onsen in northern Hyogo [Mikuniya Ryokan, Yutouya Ryokan, Nishimuraya Ryokan]. Each one offers different things, but they all have some common aspects that I liked: seafood served during winter months [November - March], traditional ryokan, and options for the hot springs [indoor, outdoor, and family] ; holy fuck is this wrong.. but holy hell is it erotic

Warnings: introduction of the Bokuto family, best friends to lovers au, playful teasing [about reader’s virginity], some mlm [Bokuto x Akaashi] interaction, fingering, face-sitting, handjob, blowjob, cum eating, spit exchanges and mentions, no penetrative sex, virgin!reader, virgin!Bokuto

“Oh, [Y/N]! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Thank you for having me, Bokuto-san,”

“Oh, dear, call me Fuyumi! You’re practically family, anyways,” she smiles, eyes crinkling as she does. Her smile makes you smile, bowing in respect as if you haven’t known her for years.

The Bokuto family always spent their winter vacation before New Years at an Onsen in Hyogo. Yasurai-fukurou was well known for their hot springs throughout the year, but their meals included seafood in the winter. Kōtarō and Shinjiro both love seafood, especially crab, so it made sense the Bokuto family would come to this place specifically. Winter meant snow, and snow meant the garden view from the spring was gorgeous, having the silver lining the green foliage as the pebbles along the ground glistened with melted snow, cold and slippery. It was Kōtarō’s and Machiko’s favorite season, so it was an added bonus. The family had the money to spend, treating the members to a relaxing trip. Even Keiji, Kōtarō’s friend, joined them his first year at Fukurodani.

You didn’t usually attend, yet you always wanted to. Your family celebrated holidays differently, so you often found yourself swamped with family activities around December, only getting free to hang out by the time school started back up. Always wishing to go, you finally got your wish this year. With the stress from school this past semester, your family decided to let you choose what to do, so you declined spending the holidays with your family. Instead, you were free to spend that quality time with the Bokuto family. Fuyumi practically begged Kōtarō to invite you, knowing you’d be alone, so you didn’t have to worry about inviting yourself. There was one problem, however.

“[Y/N] should room with us!” Machiko points out. “She can’t board with boys!”

“What do you take us for? We’re her best friends,” Kōtarō waves off his sister. “I worry Amaya might try to wrestle her,”

“She could use the practice!” She pipes up, only to be shut back down. “I wouldn’t hurt her,”

“Why not let the girl choose herself? It is where she will stay, in the end,” Shinjiro said. Although he was right, you suddenly felt your heart tugging in two different directions. Machiko and Kōtarō gave you the puppy dog eyes, begging to choose them. A heavy sigh came from you as you weigh the options presented in front of you.

“I trust Keiji and Kōtarō, I’ll room with them,”

“No!” The two girls dramatically shout, falling to their knees. Fuyumi laughs, patting your back.

“Good choice, dear,” she compliments. You know why. Her daughters may be considered mature and adults, but they are both hectic and chaotic in their own way. At least with Kōtarō, he has Keiji with him. There’s no reason to mull over the decision, you know full well that Keiji and Kōtarō wouldn’t hurt you.

Once settled into each room, your bedding laid between the two of them, the trip to relax in the ryokan was in order. The two genders were separated, of course, so you sat in the spring with Machiko, Amaya, and Fuyumi. It wasn’t a bad thing, being with the three, but you knew Machiko and Amaya like to tease you.

“Gosh, [Y/N], you’re so innocent! You’ve never done anything?” Amaya’s face made it seem like she was much more malicious than on the surface. “Even I had a couple boyfriends that I had special adventures with before your age,”

“Excuse me? Amaya!” Fuyumi scolds her daughter. “You never told us this,”

“Why would I? You and dad never allowed me to have a boyfriend until I graduated. Kōtarō even had a girlfriend in his second year,” she pouts, puffy cheeks making her less malicious and much more adorable. Though unintentional, her words make your mood sour, Kōtarō’s slipping from her lips. Machiko notices this, however.

“Well, Kōtarō is a boy and I told your father to make sure he doesn’t do any of that dating stuff, but it seems like he did,”

“You know, I’m kind of tired. I’m really relaxed,” you mention, moving to exit the water. “I should lay down and take a nap,”

“Oh, are you sure? Dinner will be served soon,” Machiko holds out her hand, as if to stop you. You’re quick about getting out, rinsing yourself off before wrapping a robe around your naked body.

“I’m sure. Wake me when dinner’s ready,” you cheerfully smile, waving to them as you leave the setting. Your smile falls, an artificial thing as you continue to pad towards the room. Passing the window leading to the garden, you notice the cascading of the white snowflakes, shimmering in the light from the outdoor lamps. It’s peaceful, the way it floats down to the ground until it rapidly melts, joining the slush forming on the pathway. A sigh leaves you, heart aching from the words Amaya let spill.

It wasn’t her fault, you tell yourself that as you continue to the room. Amaya doesn’t know, but Machiko does. Machiko has always had the older sister intuition, knowing when her younger siblings had something to hide or something embarrassing. Whether it was from her years of travel around the world, or just a trait of hers, she could pinpoint things that made you want to crawl in a hole. What does Machiko know, exactly? Your big, fat crush on her little brother.

Kōtarō has been your crush as long as you’ve known him, aka since you guys were waddling around with chubby legs. Your family and his family live near each other, so it made sense for you two to play a lot as children. As the years passed, your admiration for him evolved into a crushing thing, yet your young mind wouldn’t allow such a horrid thing to be spoken. No, it festered until you broke down one day in high school and confessed to the dark of the night, the only witness of your confession was the moon. You confessed that you loved him, you were in love with him, nobody else could compare. It hurt even more now, knowing you were falling in love with him while he was loving someone else. Even Keiji probably loved Kōtarō, knowing how close they were. You wouldn’t put it past them to be in a relationship, either. Each thought accompanied a step you took, each one bringing tears to prickle your eyes as you finally shut the door to the room, and your problems.

With the dark encompassing the room, you found yourself easily situating yourself on the ground to cry, curling up in a ball as you did so. A pathetic scene, you knew it was, yet you couldn’t help yourself.

After you left the ryokan, Shinjiro happened to be talking to the boys in front of him, both of them flushed red from the warmth of the bath and the topic at hand.

“I knew something was off in the way your mother encouraged you to invite her! I never thought it’d be that, however,” his guffaw had Kōtarō sinking into the water, bubbles coming from his nose as he huffs. Keiji looks at him pitifully, but doesn’t do much of anything else.

“She doesn’t even like me like that. This trip was a mistake,” Kōtarō mumbles, his mouth going back under the water. Keiji sighs, looking into the water where his distorted hands lie. Before he can speak, Kōtarō beats him to it. “I have to go to the bathroom. I think I’ll leave early,”

“You sure it’s just that?” Shinjiro teases. “Or are you going to wait for your lovely friend?”

“Okay, maybe it’s a bit of both,” he huffs, cheeks puffed out. Keiji lets the words die on his tongue, letting Kōtarō leave the spring without any reason to look back.

Shinjiro sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks into the water. “Maybe I went too far. I shouldn’t tease him about his crush, it seems like it’s important to him. I don’t think she sees him in that light, anyways,”

“She does, actually. I think she’s been in love with him for a while,” he confesses. Shinjiro’s eyebrows rise as the words sink in. However, he is quick to understand. No longer laughing and joking, his smile is more bitter and sad. A pity smile.

“And you’ve been in love with her, haven’t you?”

Keiji turns his head to the side, yet he nods. The red dusting his cheeks is no longer just the warmth of the water. Shinjiro moves closer to Keiji, putting his hand on the younger man’s back.

“Then tell her. You both need to confess, not let this fester and turn into something ugly. Don’t let this ruin your friendship with Kōtarō, either. It’s not worth it,”

“I know. I know, Bokuto-san,”

“When you gonna call me Shinjiro? Or even dad? You need to let loose, Keiji!” He laughs again, getting Keiji to crack a smile.

While Keiji ponders how he should go about this, Kōtarō trudges up to his room for the week, unaware you’ve also turned in early. His mood has taken a turn for the worse, hair deflating as he pouts. No matter what, he’s always found himself finding your validation to be the most important. Throughout the years, he’s reached out to both you and Keiji for validation, finding them both to be important to him. While he knows Keiji partially does it just to make him happy, which he is thankful for, he knows yours is genuine. Even when he forced himself to move on, knowing you didn’t see him in that light, he found it hard. You followed him into his dreams, gleeful chimes of your laughter as the future he aims for bloomed into an obtainable goal. Yet, he’d wake up to see the empty space beside him, a brutal reminder that his dreamt future would stay in his head, playing on loop until he could do something about it in the real world.

When his door comes into view, he sighs, relief flooding through him. As he gets closer, he hears a soft voice from inside. Leaning his ear against the shut door, he hears you — a squeak of his name, accompanying a soft mewl, most likely held back due to the thin walls. Even he understands what you’re doing, it’s not like he’s never thought of you that way, finding himself wishing you could relieve his stress in the best way possible. As to respect your privacy, and settle his nerves, he quietly creeps away, to his parent’s booked room. He decides to use the toilet in there, giving you a few moments to finish your own business.

Leaning against the door once more, he doesn’t hear your heavy breaths or your moans and mewls, so he slides open the door to see you under the covers, laptop shining in your face as a movie plays. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“Huh?” You jump, turning to see Kōtarō’s large frame at the entrance of the room. It’s scary, the way he seems to have popped up after you finished, or attempted, getting off on thinking of him. “Oh, Kō. It’s just you. No more hot springs for you?”

“Oh, no, I found it to be getting too hot,” he lies, rubbing his neck. The robe you’re wearing is the one you put on after exiting the spring, so his perverted little mind knows you’re completely naked underneath. Not only that, you’re probably nice and slick from thinking about him—

He stops himself, hearing your voice. “Did you hear me? I asked if you wanted to watch the movie with me,”

“Oh, sorry, off in my own world. Uh, sure, what is it?”

“Crown for Christmas. A sappy romance Christmas movie, from America. It’s very predictable, but it’s cute. My mom loves it, so I brought it to watch,”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” he hums, lying on his own bedding. He didn’t move closer to you, giving you some space, but he finds himself panicking when you move closer.

“Can’t see if you’re all the way over there, dummy,” you giggle, pressing play. He can’t find it in himself to focus, the movie being background noise to his thoughts. The hot springs help to add a special glow to your skin, making it seem smoother than before, and you smell so nice, not to mention he can feel his cock throbbing at your soft voice calling out his name. What would it be like if he used his own fingers, would you be able to hold back? Or would you come completely undone as you came on his fingers— even better, his cock? Just the thought has him groaning, head shoved into his pillow as you pause the movie, probably confused.

He looks up, seeing your dazed expression — yep, totally confused. He sighs and shrugs, apologizing. “Are you okay? You seem.. tense,”

“Tense?” That’s one way to describe it, he supposes. “I’m just.. dad was teasing me earlier. That’s why I left. I’m.. remembering what he said,”

“Oh, I get that. Amaya kept teasing me about girl stuff, so I left. Machiko tried to stop me, but I was already out of the water,” you admit. It’s not the full truth, but that’s okay.

“Girl stuff? Like what?” Kōtarō never shied from girly stuff, including the weird stuff that happened to girls like puberty and the menstrual cycle. You chalked it up to his older sisters being shameless, never making it seem gross. Even when you started your period in class, Kōtarō was there to help you, a knight in shining armor.

You wish they were less shameless.

“Oh, um, you know, the romantic stuff,”

“Like? Boyfriends?”

“Yeah, I’ve.. never had one. No experience on my end. Amaya was teasing me because she had a couple of boyfriends before my age, so it.. it didn’t hurt my feelings, but it made me feel some kind of way, you know?” Your attempted explanation was kind of butchered, trying to explain it without giving too much detail. Kōtarō wouldn’t judge you, of course not, it wasn’t something to judge you about.

He knows the feeling, being inexperienced.

“W-Well, if you want any experience before going into the dating scene, I could.. always help you,” he whispers. His words hang in the air, settling into both of your minds. He’s berating himself for using such a lame line to try and get in your pants, but you’re trying to find a way to say yes without seeming desperate. However, “I mean! I have experience, so I could help you! I’d say I’m pretty good at doing stuff. Oh! It could be like.. any advice or something.. hands on,” he whispers the last part again, his confidence melting like snow on a summer’s day when your face falls.

It isn’t you don’t want it, you just would prefer him to not word it like that. It reminds you of Amaya’s words and the pain in your chest, the churn in your stomach. “If you’re gonna be like that, maybe I should ask Keiji,” you huff, turning your body away from his. Focusing on forcing your stomach to stop twisting in knots, you don’t even notice when Kōtarō closes the laptop and presses himself against you. Well, not until you feel something pressing into your back. “Kō—”

“Don’t be like that. I’ve never actually gone all the way, I’ve been saving that for someone special. I can help, though, if you’d let me,” his breath fans over your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His arm snakes under you, pulling you into his stomach while he lays on his back.

“Kōtarō!”

“You’re stressed, gotta loosen up a bit. I’m helping,” he just says, making sure your legs are hooked over his. With the lack of clothing under the robe, your nether region is spread open towards the door, sending your adrenaline skyrocketing. Kōtarō is quick to ease that, his thick fingers spreading open your folds while his middle finger rubs against your sensitive clit. “You’re absolutely soaked, do I turn you on that much?” He’s grinning, you know he is. Gritting your teeth, you keep your mouth closed as you focus on the feeling of his fingers, now sliding up and down and collecting your slick.

Kōtarō doesn’t want to tease you for too long, slipping his middle finger into your cunt as you mewl, hand coming to cover your mouth. “What a reaction. I wonder..” he trails off, pulling his finger out, only to add in three fingers. You’re arching, legs tending against his as he fingers you, lips pressing themselves to your hair and ear. When his tongue flicks out against your ear, you squirm and he grunts, his left arm keeping you firm against him. “Sensitive, are you?”

He doesn’t get any vocal confirmation from you, but the way you’re clenching around his fingers tells him all he needs to know. He makes sure to keep his thumb bumping against your clit, adding pressure. You can feel the familiar feeling, the beginning of an orgasm as he pumps his fingers into you. With a squeal of his name, your nails dig into the meat of his arm, liquids spilling out of you and all over Kōtarō’s fingers. The squishing sound enters your ears, legs tensing as you mewl, his fingers rubbing themselves against you some more.

“You’re so wet.. I bet it’d be easy to slip my cock in there, wouldn’t it?” His voice is low, a rumble in his chest as your cunt clenches at the thought, your wildest fantasies so close to coming to fruition when someone clears their throat. You pop up, Kōtarō jolting and keeping you on his chest as he moves.

Keiji is looking at the both of you, a heavy blush adorning his cheeks. The room is dim, only the lights from outside the inn illuminating him. He’s right at the door, right in front of where Kōtarō was just fingering you. Kōtarō’s hand finally leaves from between your legs, glistening wetness shown in the lamplight. “If you want to give her experience, you need to go over everything involved in foreplay, Kōtarō. There’s more to prep,”

“M-More?” your voice is small, barely a whisper as you find more slick oozing from you, Keiji entering the room. He kneels down in front of you, still held against Kōtarō’s chest.

“Has he even kissed you, yet? Or did he go headfirst into fingering you?” When you shake your head, Kōtarō himself sucking in a breath, Keiji knows he was right. With the elegance he always exudes, Keiji tilts your chin up towards him. “Then, allow me,”

The kiss is gentle, yet not simple. His lips are firmly against yours, molding perfectly as he keeps your chin tilted. As he deepens the kiss, you find your hands grasping at his own robe, feeling yourself lighter than you were when you had entered the room. Keiji moves to pull away, a brisk kiss on your lips once more before swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, sending heat all over your body.

“Akaashi..” Kōtarō whines, his grip on you tightening. “This is supposed to be my time with her,”

“Well, you’re going too fast. Why not elongate the time spent together, hm?” His voice sends tingles down your spine, his hands removing you from Kōtarō’s grasp. “Lay back, Bokuto-san. You’ll get your turn,”

Your brain is going haywire as he speaks, undoing Kōtarō’s robe with unconscious grace. He’s not doing it on purpose, you know he isn’t, it’s just how he is. Once Kōtarō has been disrobed, you find more heat springing to your cheeks as his muscles ripple and flex. The lack of light prevents you from seeing everything, but you’ve always found yourself insatiable when thinking of his broad frame and what hides under his clothes.

“Give me your hand, [Y/N],” Keiji’s voice has you coming back down to earth, yet you find yourself once more shy with Kōtarō’s legs spread, his cock heavy and so large in Keiji’s hand. You comply, though, your much smaller hand joining Keiji’s around Kōtarō’s girth. It’s so much, the way it feels and the heat of the skin under your fingertips. A soft groan comes from Kōtarō as Keiji moves his hand, his other hand shuffling you between his legs.

“This is called a handjob, [Y/N],” Keiji says. You nod in understanding, realizing he’s teaching you. “Moving your hand up and down the shaft is the basic function of it, but you can also use your fingers to tease the slit, like so,” he demonstrates, swiping his thumb over the small slit, puffy and red where Kōtarō’s cum is dripping from. The simple act has Kōtarō throwing his head back, moaning as his hand covers his mouth. The walls are thin and if his family is back, they probably have a good idea of what’s going on.

“I see,” you hum, continuing to move your hand up and down the shaft. Keiji nods, seeing you’re understanding.

“Or tease his balls, like cupping them or massaging. Don’t squeeze them hard, though. It won’t feel very nice,” his hand moves to cup and tease Kōtarō’s balls, the man himself laying on his back as his face turns red, the ministrations getting to be too much. “There’s also a blowjob, but we can teach you that next time,”

“N-Next time??” You squeak, jumping a bit. Whether it was a one time thing or the beginning of a relationship didn’t cross your mind. His words, however, seem to please you more than imaginable.

“Of course, darling. We’re not done here, either. Why don’t you let Bokuto-san show you what other kinds of pleasure he can give you?” At Keiji’s words, Kōtarō pops up with a bright smile on his face.

“Sit on my face, baby,”

“Oh, woah, wow, uh..” you stop, unsure how to politely decline. His mouth and nose, down there? Not to mention your weight on his head? You were sure he’d regret his decision. “I don’t think”

“I’ll be fine. C’mon, I gotta show you what else my mouth can do besides dirty talk,” he winks, sending more heat to your cheeks, making you feel rather hot for a winter’s day, clad in only a robe. Keiji seems to read your mind, taking your robe from your shoulders, the belt falling undone easily from the previous activities. Once you’re down to your birthday suit, Keiji presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, a whisper to go that sends you crawling closer to Kōtarō’s face. He grins, eagerly taking your thigh and placing it on the other side, keeping your drenched cunt close to his face. He says something, but only a muffled noise comes out, his tongue swiping along your folds.

With your back to him, Keiji wishes he told you to face him and watch, yet he finds the scene of you erotic. He may have a bit more expertise than you and Kōtarō, it seems that’s all that’s needed. He smiles, gaze catching on the way Kōtarō’s fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, making indents. Completely forgotten, Keiji spits a glob onto Kōtarō’s cock, him jumping at the feeling. With a few more pumps of his hand, he flicks his tongue against the head.

Kōtarō’s moan has you mewling, the sound acting as a vibration as your fingers tug harshly on the silver and black strands. Though not as long as they were in high school, there’s enough to grasp and pull on. The wet sounds from behind you has your head turning, eyes falling on Keiji’s mouth wrapped around Kōtarō’s cock. It’s an erotic scene, his head moving up as more of the length is revealed, his blue eyes settling on your own as you feel a nip down below. So focused on Keiji, Kōtarō wants your attention all on him. Keiji chuckles, almost like a hum, that vibrates around the cock in his mouth that has Kōtarō moaning.

The tongue that flicks against your clit has you squirming, restrained mewls and moans leaving your lips as hands tug on his locks. Kōtarō licks and suckles on your clit occasionally, then moves down to prod and swipe over your entrance. The position makes it easy for him to breathe, but he moves down further. New position has you squealing, hands flying to your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure. Another moan from Kōtarō that sends shivers down your spine, heat to your core, accompanying the obscene noises of Keiji sucking Kōtarō off.

With Kōtarō’s nose bumping against your clit, his tongue’s only focus is on your pretty little cunt, sucking and swirling his tongue. The sensitivity from earlier makes quick work of you, hunching over as your thighs tighten around Kōtarō’s head, his strong hands keeping you from hurting him as you gush all over his face. A moan comes from him as he laps at your juices spilling over his face, his own orgasm coming as Keiji takes him down as far as he can. Globs of white cum spurt from the side of Keiji’s mouth, a gagging sound as he struggles to swallow it.

A hand on your shoulder has you leaning back, falling against Keiji’s chest with his cheeks puffy. Kōtarō manages to look up at the scene, gaze fuzzy as he watches Keiji kiss you once more, cum seeping from where his lips meet yours. When Keiji pulls away, his tongue is out, pushing the dripping cum into your mouth where the rest lies. It’s enough to have Kōtarō hard once more, a dark and heavy blush settling across his cheeks and nose.

The thick appendage pressing into your back once more has you gasping and jumping, some cum spilling out your mouth and down your chest. As it travels between the valley of your breasts and over the perk nipples, Keiji takes it upon himself to lap at the milky droplets. You gulp down the rest in your mouth, making a show of it by tilting your head up, throat contracting as you swallow it all. Kōtarō finds himself unable to look away from the scene.

“Ah, seems like someone’s still raring to go,” Keiji breaks the silence, eyes glancing back to look at Kōtarō’s cock, once more standing tall and proud. He then looks to you. “Shall I let you handle this one alone?”

[wellhellotragic]

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal  3/4

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: Guy, I suck so hard core. I don't even know how I let so much time lapse between chapter 2 and now, and then to really top off my suck-o-meter, I realized that there's going to have to be a chapter 4 because I can't fix what I've done so easily. Not realistically at least. I promise, and happy ending is coming though, and it won't take me another 8 months to get it up. I hope to have it up and finished by the weekend.

The AO3 version

It’s been a hell of a night. She’s not sure where exactly it falls on her list of worst days ever, but it’s in her top five. It has to be. It’s not the worst, that honor is saved for the night she almost lost Killian, but it’s still up there. She’s spent hours now going through all of the details over and over again with Graham and Lance, her story never changing. Getting poked and prodded by EMTs, despite telling everyone that she’s fine.

She’s not, but they can’t stitch up her insides.

David, her partner, on the other hand has a bullet hole in his leg. Better than his head though.

She’s not even sure if she can fully reconcile everything that happened. She and David were investigating the death of a low profile importer, a nobody, interviewing some dock workers that had found the body. Some gruff looking men who easily blended in with the usual fishmongers and cargo sorters.

But they weren’t. She realized it just a second too late, right before a bag was pulled over her head. She fought like hell, but she was at a disadvantage. From what she heard, David had put up a fight as well, but in the end, it was useless, and she lost consciousness with a sharp blow to the head.

She woke up strapped down to a chair with David the same a few feet beside her. She shouldn’t have been surprised, Jefferson had always given her a bad feeling, but she never actually thought he’d go dirty. She certainly never expected to be facing the wrong side of his department issued sidearm.

Even now, everything is still a blur. Graham assured her it’s the shock, that it’ll fade once the adrenaline wears off; that everything will clear up after a good night's rest. She’s not sure about that though. It’s four in the morning now and the adrenaline seems to be hanging on for dear life still and she knows she's not going to rest any time soon. Humbert offered to drive her home but she declined, choosing to wait for August to finish wrapping up his report.

She’s not sure what time it is when they finally arrive at her apartment. The battery in her cell phone died ages ago. Neither of them even make a move for the fridge, choosing to bypass the beer she keeps stocked for the hard nights. Instead, the two of them move in silence to her room. She plugs in her cell before crawling in bed next to him, like when they were kids in Ingrid’s foster house. She’s not sure who’s comforting who at this point, but she knows that she just needs to be with family.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t, but she knows she needs to or it’ll eat her alive. She’s tried that once already and it ended up with her almost having a complete nervous breakdown and a three week leave of absence with daily Archie sessions.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

It’s true. So much has happened in the last twelve hours, there’s no one easy to pinpoint place to begin. So August goes first. He fills in the blanks that he can, so that she might be able to piece together the rest. He tells her about Killian sending him undercover, about Jefferson and missing drugs and money. How Jefferson was helping to conceal evidence that would link Walsh and the Nikko empire to a wide distribution of pixie dust.

Some of it is just speculation, that Jefferson must have figured out they were closing in on him and that’s why he went for Emma, and David was probably just collateral damage. How he most likely picked Emma because he knew how much she meant to him , and while he didn’t say Killian’s name specifically, the implication hung over her like a heavy cloud.

“Before you got there, he told Killian to choose. Between me and David I mean. To pick which one of us would live and which one would die. And then he just started laughing and screaming in this crazed voice that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

It was the single most terrifying thing she’d ever heard. The mania that accompanied it. She already knew that it was going to haunt her for months to come, if not longer.

It’s a real Gracie’s choice. Gracie’s choice Killian. GRACIE’s CHOICE!!!

She felt August shift next to her.

“Gracie was his daughter. She died while he was undercover with a Southie Gang. Killian was undercover with Cruella at the time. It was a freak accident, a gas leak and the house went up in flames, but he was convinced that she was killed by one of the De Vil boys. He told me once that he knew Killian had given him up as a snitch to prove his worth. The De Vil’s had nothing to do with the Southie boys, but he’d twisted it up in his mind. I never thought he’d do anything about it though. It was just crazy drunk venting one night.”

She knows August. Knows that he’s blaming himself for what happened tonight, but she ignores it. Nothing she says will stop him from tormenting himself, and she’s not done.

“I told him to choose David. He has this whole perfect life, you know. An adoring wife and a new baby, all of these people that would miss him if he were gone. I told Killian to save David, and I-” She hates how small she feels when she cries, but she can’t hold back the tears. “He gave me this look. He’s been cold, but this was something different. There was just so much anger in his eyes.”

And that’s when she breaks. Knowing that hated her was one thing, but watching him train his gun on her. Seeing the pure darkness in his eyes. She doesn’t know how to voice it to August, but she knows that if August hadn’t arrived when he did, she knows he would have done as she asked. That he wouldn’t have had to think twice about it. And it’s that knowledge that sliced open the last piece of her heart that had been hanging on by a thread, even after all that time.

August holds her through the tears, until she finally exhausts herself enough to sleep. And so she drifts off, completely unaware of the new voicemail alert waiting for her.

________________________________

The February air is cooler on the water and he kicks himself for not bringing a heavier jacket. It’s been ages since he’s been out on this boat, and time has helped him to forget everything except for the things he wishes he could. Liam always used to tease him, so much so that Killian would reject any offers of warmth from his brother just to prove a point. He wasn’t some silly kid that needed to be minded anymore. He was capable of doing everything on his own, except for bringing an extra coat. He forgot everytime, and today was no exception.

Luckily for Killian, the spare that Liam kept on the boat just for him is still in its place, folded neatly in a small storage locker below deck. It hits him in the gut a little, that Liam could be so right about some things and incredibly wrong about others.

It’s eating Killian alive, not talking to his brother. Not being able to express himself because despite everything Emma has done for him, Liam still doesn’t approve of her. Liam often still thinks of him as the teenage boy, awkward and desperate for approval from anyone that will give it to him, even if it means getting taken advantage of.

He’s not that kid anymore though. He isn’t letting his crush steal his essays and letting her claim this as her own. He isn’t using all of his hard earned money to buy her jewelry that she’s just going to pawn for cash later. He isn’t following after Emma like a lost puppy dog.

He’s in love with her, and he has a sneaking suspicion that she feels the same way. But at this rate, he’s never going to get Liam’s blessing, the only approval he needs anymore.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. He really shouldn’t. Not when he and Liam are sitting in a rented dilapidated loft across from an abandoned fabric warehouse waiting for the Canal Street Cutter to emerge. There had been a lot of chatter that morning about where he might be hiding and Liam assembled teams throughout South Boston hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Emma and August were stationed about eight blocks over. Lance and Arthur were on the edge of South Boston and Waterfront. Other teams were scattered, but too far away to get to if they needed assistance.

Killian had tried to tell Liam that it was a bad idea to spread everyone so thin, but the elder Jones brother had been instant and headstrong as ever. It would have been a career making arrest, and Liam, ever aspiring to be more just wouldn’t let that chance pass him by.

“I just think that you have other obligations that require your attention right now.”

“If this is the bros before hoes speech you can just save it.”

“Killian,” The exasperation evident in his brother's tone, “you know I detest such vile language. It's crude and you are better than that little brother.”

“What obligations?” He has to quash his desire to correct his brother’s description of him.

“I just think that you are meant for so much more in this life and I worry that you gave up so much when you left the narcotics division to follow her into homicide. You were a rising star there and now you’re having to cut your teeth all over again.”

“It’s not as if I’m starting all over. For God’s sake Liam, I just made Lieutenant. But there’s more to life than a job.”

His brother takes his gaze away from the binoculars to turn to Killian.

“Look at father and all of his vices. It strayed him from the path. But you, Killian, you persevered and now everything you've wanted is in your grasp.”

“This isn't the same thing and you know it. Emma isn't some pathetic man’s addiction. Liam, I'm in love with her.”

“Killian,” Liam pauses, taking a deep breath. “She's a distraction. Think of all that you’ve accomplished in the year that you were undercover. You brought down an entire crime syndicate. You did that without her taking your attention away.”

“I didn't bring the De Vil family down because ‘we’ were apart. I did it because we were ‘apart’ and I knew the only way I'd be able to see her again without putting her in harm's way would be to find the evidence and make the arrest.”

“Fine, if you need another reason, have you thought about working directly with her, or even over her in a supervisory position? Have you considered how your personal relationship with a subordinate could affect your judgment?”

“It’s not-”

Liams sees movement in the distance, cutting off Killian’s rebuttal, but his view is obscured so he motions for Killian to follow him, to leave the safety of their little room. They stay silent as they walk downstairs and head out a propped-open door leading to an alleyway. They had to wind through hallways to get from the loft outside and now they’re further away from the warehouse with no cover.

Killian even tries pointing out how visible they are, but Liam shuts him down, determined to close the case. He’s halfway sure that Liam’s trying to prove a point about how Killian can’t be successful and be in a relationship with Emma. He’s seen it before, the way professional jealousy destroys couples. But Emma’s not like that. She wouldn’t see his success as her failure.

They try to skirt the perimeter and he knows he should keep his mouth shut, this just isn’t the time, but he’s just so frustrated that he can’t keep holding it in.

“Please don’t make me choose between you.” It’s an angry whisper, more to himself than anything, and even though he did his best to keep his volume low it’s still enough that Liam’s heard and turns back to him, missing sight of the empty beer bottle at his feet.

The glass battering against the gravel echoes through the night as they both stay silent, waiting to see if they’ve been heard. The air is still around them, and Killian thinks they just might have lucked out.

And then he hears the gunshots ring out.

Liam is on the ground before Killian has time to register what’s happened. He runs to Liam, but gets knocked to the ground before he can get to him. His body hurts and he can see blood covering his hand from where he just touched his abdomen. He’s always heard people say that the shock blocks out the pain, but they must all be liars, because the longer he lays there, the more the pain intensifies.

It takes everything he has to pull himself behind a dumpster, half crawling, half slithering like a snake.

The shock eventually did kick in though, because even to this day he has no memory of radioing in for help. Just the vague memories of Emma leaning over him. The look in her eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears.

The same tears he fought back the night he left Boston, like the coward he was. But Archie was right. He needed to get his head on straight, to distance and center himself. He had to leave, for her.

He’s still wrestling with the guilt. He talked about it with Archie, how she begged him to kill her and save David. And that he actually considered it for about two full seconds. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want her feeling the way he did. The burden of knowing that someone else was dead, and knowing that no matter how good you are, how hard you try, that you’ll never live up to them. He didn’t want her hating herself the way he did. Didn’t want her to destroy herself like he had.

But then something snapped inside of him and rage bubbled up. The audacity of her to beg him to kill her. For her to try and force that decision on him, with no regard to him or his feelings.

It was at that moment that he finally realized what he’d been doing to her ever since Liam had passed away. He finally understood the choice she’d been forced to make that night. And he knew - he knew that despite it all - he could never live with himself if he’d chosen anyone but her. That he couldn’t let her go just like she didn’t with him.

The only thing that saved him was Boothe. In the moments that passed after August arrived, while the two of them tried to wrestle the gun away from Jefferson, he felt the weight of Liam’s death wash over him. And then he heard a shot ring out and there was nothing but panic. Panic and guilt.

It felt as though ages had passed as he searched for Emma in the smoke filled room. The SWAT team had moved in at some point, but he’d been too focused on fighting off Jefferson to notice. He pushed through the sting in his eyes and the tightness of his chest as he looked for her, but all he saw through the haze were armored cops everywhere.

It wasn’t until he was forcibly escorted outside the building that he saw her, saw that she was safe, and then his stomach turned. He ran around a corner away from all of the prying eyes, and for the first time in his career, he gave in and let the night overcome him.

It’s been nearly a year since that night and he’s been running ever since. Some days are better than others. The anger is mostly behind him, but some nights he still wakes up in a sweat clutching his bed sheets, ready to fight. But there’s never anyone around to take a swing at, because he’s all alone. He’s pushed away anyone that ever mattered and isolated himself on that damn boat.

He thinks of Emma, wonders if she’s moved on or not. He’s too cowardly to call her, partly because he has no idea what he will say if she answers, but mostly because he’s terrified that she won’t answer. So he broods. He takes to the local bars as he sails the coastline and drinks a little too much before stumbling back to Liam’s boat alone. It’s a wonder nobody’s robbed him yet for what a careless sot he’s been.

Tonight is one of those nights. He’s made his way down to Florida and back, only a few hours away from Boston, and his demons are screaming again. He’s hoping against all hope that the rum in the tumbler across from him will help quiet them. Just holding the small glass in his fingertips helps a bit. A placebo of sorts. He doesn’t want to be this man anymore though. This pathetic lonely human. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Archie said that him realizing it was a good first step but he’s not sure if he agrees. He’s called Archie a lot over the last year. Somehow doing therapy over the phone as the boat sways back and forth under his feet has helped to ease his hesitancy. There’s something about knowing that he can hang up at any time if he wants, and that no one knows. No one will judge him.

They don’t talk about Emma, not in present tense at least. They’ve had conversations about the way he’s treated her in the past, about his complicated feelings for her, the way it’s all shaped him, but they never talk about her now. He’s not sure if it’s because Archie doesn’t know if he’s ready for that, or if Archie knows something that he’s absolutely not ready for.

Archie is here tonight though, the rum is.

He’s still twirling the amber in his hand as he hears the familiar scraping of a nearby barstool against a wooden floor. There’s a scent that follows, a floral perfume that doesn’t match with the musk of the dive bar. He doesn’t look at her directly, doesn’t need to when he can see her from the mirror behind the bar. Her top is low, flashing more skin that it’s covering. She’s closer than he thought.

“Is that for me?” She’s bold.

He’s reminded of those early days on the force, when he wouldn’t even have to talk to a woman. When he could just flash her a smile and she’d be on his arm heading out the door to her place. He’s not that guy though, he’s salty and cynical, and the look he flashes her is closer to a smirk.

“Excuse me?” “Well, you’ve been toying with it for almost twenty minutes. I just thought maybe you were waiting for me to walk into your life.”

Was he this bad at picking up women?

“Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m not in the mood for woman.” “So you’re gay?”

It’s a good thing he hasn’t started drinking yet because he damn well might have chocked otherwise. He doesn’t get a chance to respond though. The bubbly blonde that served him his rum has returned with a spray bottle in hand. “Mary of Mothers. Didn’t I already have you escorted out of here tonight, Teresa?”

“Bite me, Tinkerbelle.”

The girl behind the bar might be all of five foot tall but there’s a beast inside her that towers over any man in that bar and before he knows what’s happening the bartender is drowning the girl in what smells like stainless steel cleaner and the words coming out of her mouth would make any Navy man blush.

The girl ends up running away and Killian isn’t sure what to make of any of it. He’s broken up bar fights before, but he’s never seen anything quite like that.

“Sorry about that. I know this little bar might not seem like much, but it’s all I’ve got and I’ll be damned if I let the likes of her selling her body in here.” “Oh, she wasn’t-” “Trust me, where you had agreed upfront or not, you would have been light whatever cash you have left in that wallet before the night was up. And I’ll bet you dollars to pennies you would have had a lovely little itch or two down there.” She nods her head towards his crotch before switching the subject like she hadn’t just implied the poor woman from before was an STD ridden whore. “So, I haven’t seen you here before. Where you from?”

He’s not sure how she’s disarmed him so quickly, but he finds himself telling her all about himself over the next hour. Business has slowed down and her other barmate seems to be more than capable of handling the few strays still walking in.

She makes him laugh too with her feisty spirit. It’s been far too long since he’s felt at ease like this. They talk and talk. Not about much in particular, just random conversation. She bought the bar about six years ago, and tells him about how it’s let her build the family she always wanted and never really got. She’s carved out her own little place in the world and he envies her that. The way she can just lay her whole life bare to a complete stranger while he can’t even talk to the people that know him best.

The night rolls on and it’s time to close up. He half expects that she’s going to invite him upstairs, to the little apartment she mentioned earlier, but she surprises him. She’s done that a few times tonight, but this one hits him in the gut. “So, what’s her name?”

This time he actually does chock on the water she’s poured for him.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“Killian, in the last few hours, you’ve told me your entire life story, everything from your shitty father to your arrogant brother, your job, your leave of absence, but you haven’t mentioned a girl one single time. You’re holding back, which means there’s something to hold back.”

“You don’t know that. I could be gay.” “Um, ya, I saw you check out Teresa’s rack earlier, definitely not gay. So what’s the deal.” He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t want to be rude either. So he gives her as little as possible, but she sees through him. In fact, she actually asks him what the hell he’s waiting for as she pushes him out the door.

He doesn’t really know what he’s waiting for to be honest. He’s wanted to go back to Boston, but there’s just so many threads he left unravelled when he left.

[voiceless-terror]

I have been seeing those posts about ep 40 jon being injured and sleep deprived in the archives interviewing the others. Jon probably hasn’t come down from that getting wormed fear/adrenaline.. maybe he’s about to have a breakdown.. but tims there. Or martin or both. Also thank you for all the good content this year :)

Thank you for the lovely message! Had fun with this one, though I think I made it a tad more angsty than I planned to. Hope you enjoy otherwise, and happy holidays!

“...It’s just pain.”

Pain. That’s all. He can work through that, he’s done it before. The pills are wearing off, his entire body throbbing and wrestling with the feeling of hundreds of frantic, wriggling worms burrowing in and feasting- no, best not to think about that. He’s got to stay in control.

Control. Control is standing in his own office, leaning against his file cabinet surrounded by the corpses of worms with his boss sitting in front of him. His boss who is currently giving him an unimpressed stare, demanding that he go home. But it’s alright, he can do this.

It’s just pain.

Elias recounts what happened when Sasha came up to his office, alerting him to Prentiss’s attack. His voice is measured and controlled, but his face betrays a level of disgust that they all feel, the living reminder of which sits in front of him, bleeding and fidgeting as he tries to stay upright, squirming not unlike the-no. Stop.

He wishes he had the tape, but Sasha lost it in the confusion. This second-hand retelling is stale and hard to swallow. Elias sounds perfectly reasonable, as always, apologizing to Jon for taking too long with the CO2 to which Jon only replies “It’s fine. We’re alive.”

Just barely.

But then he talks about the scream. And Jon hears it all over again, that impossible sound of agony and rage that sung out as his world faded to black. And then Elias talks about how he stumbled upon them, compared them to fucking swiss cheese and he’s got to stop him, raising a trembling, still-bleeding hand. He doesn’t need to be reminded of that. No, Prentiss is gone. What he needs to focus on now is Gertrude- how she died, who killed her. If the person who did it was sitting in this very room. If he’s going to be next.

He imagines his body, lying forgotten in the tunnels as Gertrude’s did all those months. No one looking for him, no one caring. He’ll never get his answers, he’ll just lie there and rot like all those worms-

Elias gives no more useful information, repeating the story as if Jon’s being irrational and urges him to go home. You can barely stand. It’s true. But if he sits, he’ll have to look Elias in the eye instead of standing over him, grasping what little high ground he can. 

“Martin finding her body in the tunnels is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

Is it? 

He sighs, succumbing to exhaustion and sinking to his seat.

“Can you send in Tim?”

________

Tim’s voice is strange and detached. He sounds...traumatized, which is of course to be expected. 

He’s probably still high, too. 

It’s odd, how these things affect them. It’s sharpened all of Jon’s edges to an untenable degree, every movement a sharp agony of tangled nerves that sends his mind spiraling. But it dulled Tim, left him foggy and so unlike himself. He stares blankly somewhere to the left of Jon, as if meeting his eyes and seeing his own injuries laid out before him like a warped funhouse mirror would be too much, would undo this strange facsimile of a workday that Jon’s tried to conjure. Just the two of them in his office, discussing a case. Pay no mind to the dead worms or the blood coating the ground and the desk and his arm and his leg and-

“...I mean, I went full Gas-Rambo.” Tim. That sounds like Tim. His voice may be wrong but the words are there, teasing and familiar. He comes back, clears his throat and nods. But then Tim keeps going, slides back into his memories and makes them lucid for Jon.

“You know that worm smell? That earthy, rotten smell?”

Oh, yes. 

It’s still there, cloying and wretched reminder that it is. Elias told him to leave the basement, told him that he and Tim needed fresh air. But Jon wouldn’t listen, he never listens. And that’s why they’re in this mess.

But the why is bigger than that, too. He needs to know why Gertrude was in the tunnels, why she was killed, why these statements disturb him so and why the Archives feel wrong, like an intruder’s in their midst. He thinks he knows where he can find the answers. 

“Could you...describe the tunnels?” Tim sighs, but Jon presses on. Perhaps through someone else’s eyes he’ll find the one detail he missed, the one thing that explains it all and gives him peace of mind.

It’s quite the opposite. 

Because the worms down there, in that room Tim found, weren’t trying to attack anyone. They were crawling, wrapping around each other to form a ring- no, a doorway. Jon’s mind fixates on the word and Tim stares resolutely ahead, looking weary and drained. He has to hold it together, just two more interviews and he can go home and rest (and think and weep and scream). He clears his throat, lowers his voice to the register he finds most authoritative and tells Tim to go home and get some sleep. Tim rolls his eyes at the action, but gets to his feet, slow and pained.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He starts to shuffle towards the door but something twitches out of the corner of Jon’s eye, a tiny, jumping movement like...like a worm. He lets out a whimper as his mind shuts down, starts tearing at his arms, ripping at the bandages because something’s still there, burrowing deeper into his skin and soon it’s going to hit bone and where’s the corkscrew, where’s Martin’s steady hands and strong grip, he needs help-

“Whoa, there!” Tim’s coming back but he shouldn’t be, not when there’s worms all over his desk, crawling and jumping and devouring.

“She’s- she’s still here, can’t you see?” Jon’s tripping over words, stumbling out of his seat as he tries to avoid the writhing mass he sees below him. “Get h-help, we need- Martin! Martin, are you there?” It’s hard to walk, hard to move but he does it anyway, grabbing at the wall for balance as Tim backs away- good, go, get out, get help-

 Rapid footsteps sound and Martin appears in the doorway, his eyebrows knit in concern. “What’s- oh Jon, you’ve ripped your bandages, let me-”

Jon doesn’t care about that right now. Not when he can hear their song, not when Gertrude was rotting in the walls for so long and he didn’t know, he didn’t know. She became a mystery and he will too, it’s just a matter of time. He grabs onto Martin’s arm, clawing at his jumper with desperate hands.

“She’s-she’s-”

“There’s no one here, Jon. She’s gone. The ECDC took care of it,” Martin’s just trying to placate him, he can see the pity in his eyes. Maybe he needs it. But if Prentiss is gone, that doesn’t mean the danger is. Even if he can tell himself there are no worms, it’s all in his mind, there’s still that nagging voice in the back of his head- you’re next. 

So he holds on tighter, dragging Martin down to his level with a movement that makes him flush. “You- you saw her, Martin. Gertrude. How did she die?”

“Jon, please, just sit down-”

He pulls harder, raises his voice. “How did she die?”

“Jon-”

“How?” 

“She was shot! Three times to the chest. Th-That’s what I saw.” Martin’s eyes widen, as if the words were torn from him involuntarily.

Shot. Shot. The words echo somehow in this small, cluttered room and Jon can’t wrap his mind around them. She wasn’t attacked by Prentiss, killed by some unknowable enemy. She was shot. With a gun. A gun wielded by someone who had a reason to take the Archivist out. Someone who might still have that reason. 

He staggers back, releasing Martin and collapsing with what might be a sigh or a wail- he can’t hear what’s coming out of his mouth. He dimly registers a hand on his shoulder, gentle and warm but it feels like a threat because something’s wrong here, something’s after him and maybe it’s Martin, who found the corpse. Maybe it’s Tim, collapsed silently in the chair. Maybe it’s Elias, telling him to go home where he’s alone and vulnerable and easy to get. So he scrambles back against his desk, breathing heavily with his arms thrown out in front of him.

Martin was right, there are no worms here. Prentiss is gone. And something worse, and perhaps much more human is waiting in the shadows.

“..just needs sleep and some painkillers. I can take him back, call us a cab-”

“-both full of holes, for Christ’s sake. Jon’s scratching at himself! I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

“This isn’t some fun archives sleepover, Martin, you aren’t missing out on anything, I promise-”

“Shut up!” Martin’s voice breaks through the fog, loud and commanding in a way it usually isn’t. Jon hazards a glance up to see him standing at full height and even Tim looks shocked, leaning back in his chair as much as it allows. Martin goes red, taking a deep breath and lowering his voice. “That’s not what this is about, just...just let me do this. Let me make sure you’re alright. Please.”

Tim pauses, but gives in with a sigh. “Fine. I drove in, bad day for it. You fine with driving us back, or should we take a cab? I need to sleep.”

Jon raises his voice, tired of being talked about as if he weren’t in the room and can’t make decisions for himself. “N-No. I’m not going back with either of you-”

“Quit it, Jon.” Tim gingerly rises to his feet, shooting a tired look at his hunched form. “Nobody’s out to get you, you just need to get some fucking sleep and you’ll feel better. Now get up, or we’re leaving without you.” He clearly doesn’t mean it, because he pauses and waits for them in the doorway, watching as Martin bends down to offer his hand.

Jon’s hand automatically reaches out to grab his, but he stops himself. Maybe it’s his best shot- if it’s one of them, they may not make a move if the other one’s present. If it’s someone outside of their group, their odds are better for fighting them off. But if it’s Tim and Martin, well.

Jon takes his hand. because what other choice does he have? Only bad ones, it would seem. Martin helps him to his feet. “Are you sure you can walk? I can-”

“I’m fine.” If he’s going to die, he’d rather do it on his two feet and spare himself the indignity of holding onto his killer. He lets Martin keep a hand on his back, though- he can’t walk without it.

Every slow step is agony; he ignores Sasha smirk on the way out and eventually finds himself bundled in the backseat of Tim’s beat up silver sedan. He considers asking for the passenger seat as his nausea might get the best of him back here, but thinks better of it. Better to be back here and alone.

But then he isn’t alone, because Tim hesitates and moves to the back, wincing as he sits beside him. Why would he do that? What does he want? Jon wraps his arms around himself and scoots as far as he can to the side, trying to focus on Martin fiddling with the car and not the presence beside him. The radio blasts as soon as the engine roars to life and Jon flinches back, fingers burrowing deeper into his arms.

Martin begins to drive, not saying a word as he pulls out into traffic; he knows where they’re going, but Jon doesn’t. Tim must see his confusion.

“Were you not listening? We’re going back to mine.”

Jon casts his eyes to the floor. “I-I don’t want to-”

“Do you have unexpired food at your flat, Jon?” His face heats up- he’d been living on leftovers in the Archives, so that’s a no. “Will you actually rest if you go back on your own? Will you-” There’s a hand on Jon’s own, gentle but firm as Tim pulls it away from his arm and forces it down to the seat. “-stop picking.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, but Tim doesn’t let go, just holds his hand in his and leans his head against the window, staring out at the road. Jon doesn’t pull back, no matter how much he wants to. He just looks down, staring at the larger hand on his own and wonders how easy it would be for Tim to break it. Just one good, hard squeeze and a crush of bone but no, Tim just absentmindedly runs his thumb over Jon’s knuckles and somehow this hurts more.

They must make an odd couple, he and Tim bandaged like mummies staggering up the steps with Martin at the helm. He’s been here a few times and he has to fight against the instinctive ease he feels upon walking through the threshold. Martin’s talking and Tim’s barking out short answers, dropping his belongings as he limps towards the bedroom and makes a dismissive gesture at Martin. Jon feels strangely outside of his body, looking in on a bastardized scene of domesticity through a foggy haze of pain and unreality. With a start he comes back to himself, and suddenly he’s on Tim’s couch; time must have passed for he’s wrapped in a blanket with a steaming cup of tea in his hands and a lump in his throat. And he’s talking, watching as Martin fixes his bandage with a careful hand. 

“...tapes are gone, Martin. Sasha said she lost them but I don’t understand-”

“Prentiss practically destroyed the Archives, Jon, I’m surprised more aren’t missing. Look, Tim’s already asleep, you should do the same-”

Sleep? How can I sleep when- “Someone killed Gertrude,” he whispers and his hands shake, tea dripping down the side of his mug and scalding his skin. “And they’re going to get me next. Can’t you see?”

Two hands wrap around his own- big, like Tim’s but softer and unscarred. Kind, but still capable. Of what, Jon doesn’t know. He lifts his eyes towards Martin and sees it- Martin’s scared too, doesn’t know what to do with Jon’s ramblings and doesn’t know how to comfort him or make it better.

“Drink your tea.” There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice, a naked plea that Jon finds unnerving. “And I’ll keep watch. You’ve- you’ve got us, Jon.” It’s so sincere. 

Jon wants to believe it. “I do?”

“Yes.”

He drinks his tea and feels the fogginess from painkillers he doesn’t remember taking slip over him, quieting the voice in his head to a barely audible whisper. The pain’s gone but the memory of it doesn’t fade; he stifles a manic giggle as a childish tune pops into his head. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out!

His eyes drift shut as the cup is pried out of his grip, a gentle hand pushing him to lay down on the sofa. He hears the dull murmur of comforting words and a sniffle- he’s going to go to sleep soon, Martin will be the only one awake, and Jon doesn’t know what he’ll do or what he’s capable of. But he’s so, so tired. And he may not trust Martin, but he wants him to stay.

He wakes only once during the night to see the outline of Martin sitting in a chair, scribbling something in a notebook. It’s so innocuous he can’t help the tiny noise of relief that slips out of his mouth. 

Martin doesn’t even look over, just quietly tells him to go back to sleep as if he’s hushed him a few times already. Maybe he has. The normalcy of it is like a peek into some universe he’s not yet privy to; Jon knows he shouldn’t trust the comfort of it. And yet. 

He goes back to sleep.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28252950

[realcube]

Karasuno and their love languages headcanons

tw// cussing, sexual references

Shoyo Hinata

his love language is physical touch

after every one of his games, the first thing he does when he sees you is tackles you to the ground in a hug 

the day he walks beside you without holding your hand is the he is kidnapped and replaced with a clone 

and he’d always place a kiss on the tip of your nose and vice versa before you went your separate ways on the walk home 

and one time he caught a flu and (because he loved you so much) he wouldn’t go within 10 feet of you for like a week 

and that was the hardest week of his life

he almost had a meltdown on day 3 

HOW WAS HE SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE WITHOUT HIS GOODBYE KISSES?!

but don’t worry because as soon as his flu subsided, he gave you enough hugs and kisses to compensate for the whole week he missed

Tobio Kageyama

his love language is word of affirmation 

honestly, whenever you compliment his volleyball skills (even if it sounds really amateur) it makes his heart go 💖💞💕💓

not that he’d even admit it though

and recently, he’s been trying to compliment you more because some how he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t being nice enough to you and that you’d leave him for Oikawa if he didn’t step up his game 

so whenever you mention one of your slight achievements to him, he goes insane with the praise 

“Oh, Kags. Did I tell you about the English test?”

“No, you didn���t.” 

“Well, I got a pretty good mark so don’t stress about it. It was an easy test but you should probably still study though-”

“A good mark? (Y/N), that’s amazing.” He said in a monotonous voice, making you snicker slightly. 

Although his flattery didn’t seem genuine, you still appreciated his efforts

At least he tries

he just wants to make you feel the way he does when you compliment him 🥺

Kei Tsukishima 

his love language is acts of service

to him, nothing says ‘i love you’ like helping him fold the laundry 

he does acts of service for you too, like helping you with your homework

or sometimes you help him with his homework

honestly, it didn’t take long for you to figure out this man’s love language considering he’d describe all the other things as ‘shallow’

(other than quality time)

“Seriously? I mean, I’d hate to be in a relationship that was based off of compliments. That shit gets tiring, y’know?” he’d gush to you while you both were buying the groceries 

and don’t even get him started when you make his lunch hhhhhhh

one time he went downstairs to see that you had already made him lunch and at first he thought it was sweet but no big deal so he just texted you 

‘Thx for the lunch btw’

but when he actually got a bite of your god-tier onigiri

he deadass almost got up and said 🚶‍♂️✌

anyway when he got home you got railed so <3

and by railed, i mean you heart got railed because he gave you a kiss on the forehead :3

Tadashi Yamaguchi 

his love language is words of affirmation

again, his heart goes brrrrr whenever you compliment him 

but it’s different depending on what you compliment him on 

when it is on his volleyball skills, he feels chuffed and not absolutely worthless

if it is has something to do with his facial appearance, he gets that warm tingly feeling inside and gets the urge to cuddle you - which he usually acts on 

but if it is a comment on his body..the unholy thoughts-

like on one hand, he wants to crawl into a hole and die

but on the other hand, he is like ‘is that so?’

anyway, he doesn’t act on either of those thing so he usually ends up making a comment about your height in response 

also, you make sure to shower this boy in compliments because he deserves it 

and he does the exact same right back at you because you deserve it too

but he is shy so he either writes a note to you in class or, more commonly, he ends up texting you after a date like 

‘omg I AM SO STUPID AAAAAAA..! I wanted to say this so bad while I was with you but i just couldn’t >< anyway i think you look so beautiful and your hair was absolutely gorgeous in that style, goodnight <3′

Ryunosuke Tanaka

his love language is quality time 

this man has no chill

if you text him like ‘omg i wish you were here bb 🥺’

my mans would be RUNNING WKDHWESAK

his personal motto is ‘get that bread, get that head, get that love and affection, get that attention, get that movie, stay the night, THEN LEAVE! PEACE OUT!’

his home his your home and your home is his home 

then there was that one time that he studied so hard on his tests, just so he could pass and hopefully get moved up into your class 

mission unsuccessful but he did get good grades ^^

Yuu Nishinoya 

his love language is receiving/giving gifts

which is really hard coz y’all are poor lol 

jk jk 

but anyway, sometimes you find a cool rock on the ground and then give it to him like “this rock reminded me of you..”

and honestly, he thinks that his is the cutest thing ever

he has a display on his windowsill in his room of all the rocks you’ve given him ever

and sometimes he’ll catch an insect, put it in a container or a plastic bag and give it to you like “it reminded me of you!”

then he hands you a tub filled with worms lmao 

it’s the thought that counts

Asahi Azumane

his love language is physical touch

contrary to popular belief - it is not words of affirmation

he likes compliments and feeling worthy as much as the next person  but..

sometimes it makes him kinda flustered and self-conscious 

anyway, he thinks that actions speak louder than words

before a game, rather than verbally encouraging him, he prefers it when you play with his fingers or give him a massage 

that relaxes him ten times more than words ever could

 and he might not act like it in front of his friends - but he spends most of his day looking forward to 9 o’clock when y’all can both be together and cuddle in bed ^^

also, before a big game you make it your mission to wake up especially early , find Asahi and do his hair 

firstly, you do it better than he ever could 

secondly, the feeling of your fingers gently massaging his scalp and lacing his hair in between them just made him so calm

and in those moments he would just look up at you with admiration in his eyes and wonder what he ever did to deserve you

Koshi Sugawara 

his love language is quality time 

this man actually gets physical withdrawal symptoms when he is away from you for too long 

and his teammates know symptoms off by heart and the order they appear in so they can identify when Suga is going through YNWF (  Y/N withdrawal fever ):

The first sign of YNWF; excessive lip biting, lip dryness and generally poor lip condition - this is due to the fact that (Y/N) is the one that always reminds Suga to put on lip balm

The second sign of YNWF; becoming lenient and overly nice to the first years - since (Y/N) isn’t here, he has nobody to be nice to. So he is nice to the children.

The third phase of YNWF - and probably the most dangerous; mood swings. He goes from fanon to canon Suga real quick. 

The fourth and final phase of YNWF; denial. 

“No! I don’t miss (Y/N)! I am doing just fine without them.”

Then his teammates force him to facetime you and then he is cured.

Daichi Sawamura

his love language is physical touch 

every second he spends with you, he has his hands on you

not always in a sexual way, ofc

and he’ll immediately back off if you are even slightly uncomfortable with it 

but he just loves he feeling of having you close to him 

it makes him feel like he is protecting you (especially in front of Tanaka)

(’tanaka, nice kill!’)

and when he cuddles you to his chest, not only does it warm you up, but you also feel like you’re making him feel big and strong (which you are), so that makes you happy

also, Daichi will lend you ever single jumper/jersey/jacket he owns if you even shiver within a 10 metre radius of him

Chikara Ennoshita

his love language is quality time 

y’all don’t even need to be talking or even interacting 

as long as he is in the same room as you, he is chill

(Narita and Kinoshita are also quality time kinda guys because it is not like they get any quality time in the actual anime smh)

[retromotherfuckers]

Six Years (Part 1)

Pairing:

Past/Eventual Bellamy Blake x Fem!Reader, Platonic Octavia Blake x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Octavia knew who she was now, but you couldn’t figure out what the hell you had become.

Warnings:

Some mf ANGST, themes of mental illness and addiction

Word Count:

1.2k ~roughly~

A/N:

FUCK JASON || I will write a part two if requested

It was just supposed to be a few years. Five to be spent underground, escaping the radiation-soaked earth so Praimfaya could finish ravaging the planet.

The arrangement seemed good on paper, but as soon as those steel doors closed, chaos ensued. Clan leader after clan leader came after Skairipa; everyone wanted the bunker to themselves, despite the initial decision to unite. The youngest Blake held her own, taking each of them down, spouting the same phrase after each and every one of them.

“You are Wonkru or you are the enemy of Wonkru. Choose.”

At some point, they gave in, deciding that living under someone else’s reign was better than dying bloody. It was then that a new energy seeped into the bunker, red stained the walls and ghosts lurked the halls, their reminders to choose or die. No one dared to defy her again.

Now, it felt weird to call Octavia, Octavia. That woman - the one wearing her face - that wasn’t her. That was Bloodreina; a ruthless, unforgiving dictator doing what needed to be done to keep her people alive. You and Miller were the only surviving members of the Hundred in the bunker and there wasn’t a day she didn’t ask you for your council. Along with Kane, Indra and Abby.

All that being said, as she lost more and more of herself, so did you.

Everyone could see what you were doing, why it was you and the Red Queen being judge, jury and executioner. You had seen how things were going and decided to take a page from Clarke’s book. It forced Octavia to split the load, even if she didn’t want to.

We bear it so they don’t have to.

You were doing just that when you pulled the trigger that day; but, you couldn’t stop the guilt that filled your stomach, nor the bile the crawled up your throat at the view of the light leaving that blonde girl’s eyes. You held the sobs in, only letting a few silent tears fall as Kane’s begs echoed through your ears. His attempt to beg for the life of a girl with a target between her eyes, futile.

You had a job to do and only when Bloodreina gripped your arm in support, did the two of you raise your guns.

That’s when you remembered what Lexa used to say.

Love is weakness.

Bang!

Leksa kom Trikru was the last thought you let yourself have of before. If you thought of anything or anyone else, he would slip into your mind. You knew that if he was there with you, none of this would be happening - he would stop it at all costs. That simple fact was overwhelming, leading you to sneak into the infirmary and take the same things as the doctor. You saw the stashes; she was stealing things periodically - so you started pulling from the morphine stock.

The irony didn’t escape you, but it kept you breathing. Every kill, every beating, every memory, sucked the air from your lungs. Eventually, thousands of days bled into nights and not only would he not recognize you anymore, but nobody would. It started getting harder and harder to resemble that person staring at you in the mirror; just as difficult as it was to see whatever was left of Octavia.

Then, you got caught, and the confrontation with Bloodreina was exactly what you expected. However, she was anticipating a fight - a last string of hope that maybe you weren’t all lost, that maybe you still wanted to live. When you confessed at the immediate accusation, you saw a flash of a girl you used to know in her eyes.

A flash of the girl they found hidden under the floor. A flash of the girl you held when her first love was killed in front of her. A flash of the girl that is simply a little sister and a daughter, terrified of seeing what life wanted to throw at her. A flash of Octavia. But it was just that. A flash. For Bloodreina saw no trace of the girl her brother loved, all remnants of who you were, gone.

You broke the rules again and no one, no matter the status, was to be exempt from punishment. The Red Queen knew what she had to do and within two days, you were in the fighting pit being reckless. You had no strategy and relied entirely on how well you handled the axe you grabbed at the jump.

Somehow, at today’s reaping, you and Kane ended as the final two. He stared at the crimson liquid you bathed in, the way your shoulders heaved with each breath, and the tears pooling in your eyes. The only sign you were still in there.

You had forgotten Marcus Kane. You had forgotten that the man who raised you was the man standing in front of you. Your axe was at the ready, almost to his neck, but then your father’s eyes connected to yours and you froze. With a deafening screech, the sword in his hands fell to the ground. His mouth was opened to speak, voice low and comforting - words hitting you directly in the chest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. If this is what you want, it’s okay.”

Neither you nor Marcus noticed the commotion surrounding you, eyes locked on each other’s. It didn’t matter that a hole had opened up from the ceiling; all you could see was the absolute devastation that lived in his muddy orbs, disguised as reassurance.

It ruined you.

There was a sudden change, a ghost you had given up on ever seeing ever again stood in front of you - a torn type of resistance to his posture. He pushed himself between you and your father, your name spoken precisely and with caution. “What are you doing?”

All other thoughts of the current predicament were discarded, only one thing running through your mind. This cannot be real. Why your head decided to fuck with you now, after almost four full years of never letting him in, was what confused you. You couldn’t fathom why he looked different, he looked older. A beard adorned his face, his hair was longer and it looked like he spent the last decade exercising.

Unconsciously, your arm came down, moving the deadly weapon from play. This didn’t feel like a memory, it felt like a memory being created. You felt yourself be dumbfounded when he repeated the question from before, his voice deeper than you remember.

“Bellamy...”  The name left your lips in a breath, it tasted so foreign, one you hadn’t spoken in years; it didn’t even feel like you were the one that said it. Taking the smallest step towards him, you just wanted to feel him again. It was as if every time you had pushed him away was meaningless; your heart fluttered and the smallest bit of a wish blossomed in your chest.

But he immediately stepped away from you, something unrecognizable in his eyes - it was a look you had never seen someone wear towards you. You gazed at your father, not knowing if it was for support that you weren’t completely lost or confirmation that you had been gone for too long. You couldn’t read him anymore, and you guessed that was your answer.

It snapped you into the reality that you’ve tried to avoid at all costs.

They’re fucking scared of you.

[moss-sauce]

    HEY i really like northstars and, by default, this includes viper’s gal. so i wrote about him and her. this is pure angst :)

AO3 link

The Draconis collides with the ground in no gentle manner.

Metal screeches as it is rendered and wrenched out of position, bent in impossible ways. The sound of glass breaking. The hull collapses, letting out a groan as boulders and trees rip into it like paper. 

Viper does his best to hold on.

Holding on is hard to do with one arm and a damaged torso.

Finally, the Draconis rumbles to a stop. He’s thrown forward as inertia carries him, sliding off the ship’s top and landing hard and ungraciously onto the disturbed dirt below.

It takes him a moment to regain his senses. His feed is overwhelmed-- errors reporting his missing limb; multiple bullet wounds in his torso, shredding the delicate mechanics inside; severe trauma to his head. He tries to move, but his body refuses, at first. 

Viper is not going to lay here and die.

With renewed strength, he drags himself away from the fiery wreckage with his remaining arm. His legs, at least, seem to be intact, and he uses them to push himself forward as best he can. Once he deems himself safe a fair distance away from the downed ship, he rests.

The remnants of the Draconis remind him of a downed bird. No more wings to fly. Doomed to her end on the ground below. 

His mind snaps to his Titan.

He does not know where his Titan is. He hasn’t undergone the trauma of the Link breaking, so he knows his Northstar is still kicking in some manner. Like him, she is resilient. A force that will not be stopped so easily.

“Fang,” he coughs feebly. He hates how weak he sounds. “Fang, do you copy?”

Fang’s end of the comm link fizzes in his helmet. The HUD scrolls warnings and errors alike in an unending stream. TITAN - CRITICALLY DAMAGED. RECOMMEND STRATEGIC RETREAT. PROTOCOL 3.

“Fang!” he barks. “Report!”

Through the static, he vaguely hears her.

“-rror...critical d-damage…-ystems-s failing-g…”

She does not sound good, he decides.

“Protocol 3, Fang.” He hates to use the Protocol to force her into moving to find him, but it is necessary. “I am by the wreckage of the Draconis. Locate me.”

Trusting that the command had gone through, he slumps. The sudden weight of what has happened presses down on him. The other Apex Predators are dead. Any left alive probably think he’s dead. It’s a surprise he survived the landing. 

Nobody would come looking for a dead man.

Would he rather Blisk know he’s alive, after failing?

He decides against contacting the man.

All the fight ebbs out of his body. He wants to sleep for a decade. He wants Fang to be alright. He wants to forget today.

Would he have been better off dead?

He snaps his head, shaking the thought out. Viper is not one to give up. A bad day is nothing to lament over. There will be time to reunite and repair, then to go charging back in with the same prowess he knows he has.

And so, he waits.

The star illuminating Typhon starts to hide behind the horizon. The shadows grow longer, reaching and crawling across the landscape before him. The wreckage still crackles and pops, fires refusing to die out with such ample supply of fuel.

With the sinking of the star brings the rising of wildlife. He hears things in the forest behind him. Twigs breaking underfoot. The birds have gone eerily silent. His mind supplies him with an endless barrage of worst-case scenarios.

Maybe a Prowler finds you, and mauls you.

Perhaps a Flyer takes interest in you and carries you off.

He wishes he could quell it. It does no good to him to fret like this. 

He pointedly focuses on something else.

Something thumps on the other side of the wreckage. It startles him, making him jolt and whip his head around. Even through the cracked HUD, he can see things approaching on the radar. 

Viper would rather not be ultimately killed by wildlife. He deserves an honorable and proud death.

Slowly yet furiously, he drags himself back to the wreckage of the Draconis. Maybe the flames would startle off any curious eyes. If he hides, Prowlers surely wouldn’t expend the energy to dig him out. Flyers have to be afraid of fire, right? They wouldn’t attack an already-downed airship.

Whatever it may be, it lumbers closer. Heavy footsteps that rumble the ground as it nears. He tried to identify it as Fang, but her tracker systems have been shot offline. 

While he hopes it is Fang, he braces for the worst, hunkering back under twisted metal as the footsteps round the Draconis.

“Pilot?”

The relief slams through him harshly. It shuts down his thoughts. He stubbornly holds back a whimper.

“Fang,” he croaks. Her stark silhouette comes into view.

She is most certainly worse for wear.

She leans on one leg heavily. He can see the struts bent on the other. Her chassis is riddled with bullet holes from both the damned Pilot’s and their Titan’s guns. Her shoulders and optic spark erratically, spitting orange particles that hazily fall to the ground and die out. Her optic blinks, fritzing. Fang shakes her head to stop it, or to at least try. She is unarmed. 

“Oh, Fang…” he laments. 

“Pilot-t Viper. Sta-ate your c-condition.”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” he huffs. “I’ll be alright.”

“Protocol-col 3 demands th-that I ensure your s-safety, Pilot. That is-s my top priority r-right now.”

“Forget about the fuckin’ Protocol,” he spits.

“There is-s no Protocol-l for--”

“Fang!” he begs. “Take things seriously here. We’re both on our last legs.”

“Cor-r-rection,” she warbles. “I am techni-c-caly on both pedes.”

Viper lets out a delirious, frustrated sound. His Titan is barely standing and she is still quipping to him to keep him comforted.

“What do we do?” he mumbles quietly. “We’re left for dead. Nobody is going to come looking for us. We’re stranded. Abandoned.”

“Still, w-we are not hopeless-less, Pilot.”

Anger hits him like a punch. Would he rather Fang be as pessimistic as he? He holds back.

“Typhon is heav-vily populated by IMC b-bases,” Fang continues. “It is entirely-ly possible we c-could locate one.”

“Yeah? And what?” he says. “I highly doubt they’re going to take us in if we’ve already failed them.”

Fang is silent.

“What the everloving fuck can we possibly do, here?” he bellows. “We failed! We can’t even die when we’re supposed to! If Blisk finds out we didn’t die, he’s probably going to finish the job himself!”

“I have contacted-d Kuben Blisk-k, Pilot.”

His mind blanks. “You what?”

“I have acquired con-tact with th-the foreman of-f the Apex Predators-s.”

“Why?!” He can’t help but scream. “You gave him our location?”

“Af-f-firmativ-ve.”

He throws himself back against the jagged metal behind him in a fit of rage. His remaining fist balls up and slams into the dirt with a feeble, barely-audible thump. He kicks his legs angrily. “You fucker!” he snarls. “Protocol 3 includes not signaling the only motherfucker that would be the most enraged about our failure! And you’re leading him right to us!”

“Pilot,” Fang sounds reluctant, hurt. “I am doing-g what is b-best for you. Your survi-vial is my priority.”

“You just did the exact opposite of making sure I survive,” he growls. He rips the helmet off his head and throws it at the Northstar, missing by a great distance. Still, Fang flinches, accidentally leaning on the wrecked leg and nearly collapsing. “Leave.”

Fang recoils.

“Pilot--”

“You damn well heard me,” he says. He makes eye contact with her. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Hesitating, Fang shifts from foot to foot. She hangs her head sadly, optic locked on the ground in front of him. “That would-d be dis-disobeying Protocol 3.”

“You’ve already gone and done that,” he responds coldly. “You’ve basically killed us both. Go.”

Quietly, Fang gives him one last desperate glance, only to find that Viper is pointedly avoiding her gaze. He hears her vocalizer spit out some semblance of a whimper as she turns away. He listens as she stumbles to the other side of the ship’s wreckage, settling down as quietly as she can with a lame leg and off-kilter systems. 

Immediately, he deflates. His head thumps back against the metal. All the anger fizzles out and leaves him despaired and hopeless.

He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He should not have taken his anger and fear out on his Titan. As she said, she is acting in his best interest. She may not understand that Blisk would want him dead. To her, she is contacting an ally for rescue, even if it turns out to be the exact opposite.

Suddenly alone, he feels exposed, even hiding in the wreckage. He knows Fang’s coding would prevent her from going too far--she sounds like she stopped on the other side of the wreckage. 

The facade of bravado and skill falters, leaving behind a fearful, distraught husk of...something. 

He chooses to not name it.

    He has effectively clipped the wings of a once free-flying bird.

[today-only-happens-once]

and miles to go before I sleep

Title: and miles to go before I sleep

Word Count: 6,650

Chapter 1

Summary: Virgil came here to stop a curse and save his kingdom. But another Prince has the same goal in mind... and only one kingdom is supposed to come out on top. Slowburn Romantic Prinxiety. A Two Princes Podcast AU. 

Chapter Warnings: stealing; lying; Patton is kind of working in a gray area but he means well and is only trying his best; Janus does some light treason I guess?; violence; giant hornet; plant monster; killing monsters/violence; blood mention/description; threats; if you are a die-hard fan of the podcast please be warned that I do take a few creative liberties with stuff from the podcast at times. 

A/N: this idea has been knocking around my head for a while, and I finally started to write it. I thought I’d write it all before posting, but I’ve found that I’m starting to lose steam. So here’s the first part! If you like The Two Princes, I hope you’ll enjoy this Prinxiety twist to it! If you’ve never listened to it, I hope you’ll consider giving this a shot and then maybe going to check it out! <3 Editing done by yours truly. All mistakes are mine. 

...

“Stop! Thief!” 

Virgil takes a hard left turn down the Western Corridor of the castle, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. He sprints down the stone hallway, racing past the familiar stained-glass windows. The book in his hand is heavy and leather-bound, and Virgil tucks it tighter under his arm as he runs. The hood of his dark cloak nearly slips off his head in the process, and he uses his free hand to keep it from falling. 

“Halt!”

Ahead of him, three members of the Royal Guard appear from around the corner. Virgil skids to a stop, whirling around only to find two more guards running up behind him. He’s surrounded and cornered. Nowhere to go. Virgil huffs a breath, holding his hands up and kneeling on the floor in surrender. He lets the book thud to the ground. He’s grateful that the hood of his cloak swallows his head, and he keeps his head downcast to let it shadow his face from view even though he knows his anonymity is really only a matter of seconds.

There’s the scuff of boots against the stone floor approaching him, the clanking of armor as the guards move aside, and Virgil grimaces to himself. He has the sinking feeling it’s his older brother. 

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards from behind him greets the newcomer, confirming Virgil’s suspicions. “We caught this person attempting to steal the Forbidden Book.” 

Virgil keeps his face hidden in the hood of his cloak, but he sees his brother’s boots step into his vision. “What’s your name?” his brother asks with that familiar soft friendliness. 

Virgil knows that he can’t hide much longer--someone is going to pull the hood off his head at any moment--but he really doesn’t want to deal with the look of disappointment in his older brother’s eyes that he knows awaits him. He’ll push it off as long as he can manage. So Virgil stays resolutely silent. 

He feels a slight tug on the hood of his cloak and the silky material causes it to fall to his shoulder blades effortlessly. 

“Virgil?” 

Virgil looks up sheepishly. “Hey, Patton.”

His brother was twelve years older than him but only a couple of inches taller. His hair wasn’t much lighter than Virgil’s, and their eyes were the same shade of brown that their mother’s had been. But Patton had seemed every bit older than him. Virgil couldn’t explain why--if maybe it was the weight in his eyes that would show only when he thought nobody was looking or if maybe it was the way he’d mastered the ‘I’m not angry I’m just disappointed’ stare years ago--but there were times when Patton seemed even older than twenty-nine. 

“What the heck were you doing?” Patton swoops down and snatches the book from where Virgil had placed it on the floor in front of him. Virgil tries not to grimace. His brother hands it off to one of the guards who immediately rushes to take it back to the vault. 

Virgil sighs and accepts the hand that Patton extends to him to pull him up to his feet. Patton waves a hand and the guards only hesitate for a moment before they turn abruptly to head back to their post. Virgil waits until they’re alone in the corridor before he answers.

“Patton, come on. You know exactly what I was doing.” 

Patton frowns, his brow pinching together. “Virgil,” he starts, and Virgil has to stop himself from rolling his eyes because he knows that tone, “I already told you that book is no good for anybody.” 

“No, I know you keep saying that. But our kingdom is under siege, and--”

“Siege?” Patton repeats. “I think that’s a bit of an overstatement there, kiddo. I should start calling you just ‘Anxiety’ with as much as you worry.”

“How else would you describe the forest that is overrunning our kingdom and has been for years? It’s nearly at our palace walls.” Virgil gestures out the stained glass window. “You can’t go anywhere in town without having to step over and around roots and vines. It’s been choking our food supply, it’s overrun our farming villages… That’s not normal. And nobody in this godforsaken castle will talk to me about it.”

Virgil sees that flicker of something he can’t identify pass through Patton’s eyes. It was the same look he got any time Virgil tried to mention the Forest or the Curse. But it was always too fast for Virgil to be able to identify it. 

“Have you ever thought that’s because there’s nothing to talk about?” Patton tries. 

“When was the last time you looked outside, Patton? That Forest is going to destroy our kingdom,” Virgil snaps. “I know it’s the Curse and I know that book has answers. I just don’t know why you don’t want me to know them!” 

Patton presses a hand to his temple. “Virgil, will you just drop it? Please?”

“All I’ve done is drop it. From what I’ve been able to piece together from books that you will let me read, two kings from rival kingdoms held a grudge against each other a thousand years ago, and that grudge started some kind of curse. But I need more if I’m going to do anything to fix this.”

“Nobody is asking you to fix it--”

“Somebody has to!” 

“Virgil…” Patton looks at him then. He looks tired, Virgil thinks. And… afraid. “Please. I… you’re my baby brother. I’m just trying to look out for you, okay?”

Virgil wants to argue. He’s seventeen. He doesn’t need his older brother protecting him like he did when they were little kids. He sometimes wonders if Patton still sees him as that six-year-old kid that would run to his room when he had a bad dream. He wasn’t. But he doesn’t know how to get Patton to understand that. Besides, a part of him falters at the tinge of desperation that colors Patton’s words. 

“Okay,” Virgil agrees with a sigh, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Fine.”

There’s a grateful twitch to the corner of Patton’s mouth. Then, his expression brightens with a sudden idea and Virgil has the feeling he’s not going to like it.

“Hey,” Patton says. “Your birthday is almost here. What do you say we throw an early birthday party for tomorrow?”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. “My birthday isn’t for another four days.”

“I know, but I think we all could use a little something to boost the kingdom spirit, y’know?” 

Virgil hesitates. “Patton, you can’t just use parties to distract yourself from problems.” It’s a conversation they’d had before, so he knows what Patton is going to say even before the words leave his brother’s mouth. 

“I’m not, Virgil,” Patton replies, right on cue. “But I think focusing on something good and happy is better than wallowing in the negative. Right?”

“Right,” Virgil says hollowly. 

…

Virgil hates parties. They’re crowded and loud and the repetition of forced, awkward small talk reminds Virgil of everything he doesn’t like about being a prince. Nobles and dignitaries mill around the ballroom, talking to one another without talking about anything that Virgil thinks ought to be discussed. He nods his appreciation and mutters a quick “thank you” as people wish him a happy birthday, and he tries to ignore the increasing desire to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Virgil snags a piece of bread off the snack table and clings to the edge of the growing crowd in the ballroom. 

“You look like you’re having a positively terrific time, Your Highness,” a familiar voice says to Virgil’s left. When he looks, Virgil feels a twinge of relief at the familiar face of Lord Janus: his brother’s closest political adviser. 

Virgil snorts. “Yeah, well. This was hardly my idea. You know how my brother is.” 

“Hm,” Janus hums, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Indeed.” Virgil stifles a yawn. Janus arcs an eyebrow at him. “Tired, Your Highness?”

“Sorry,” Virgil replies. “Just… didn’t sleep well.”

He thinks about the dream he’d had last night. He’d been cold, in the dark, surrounded by looming shadows that looked almost like trees. There’d been a deep, echoing, vaguely familiar voice calling his name. Virgil. Then a tugging sensation around his waist so strong it yanked his feet out from under him, and the falling sensation had jolted him from his sleep. He’d woken up in his room, trying to catch his breath, the echo of his name still reverberating in his head. 

“I see,” Janus replies, his gaze narrowing slightly.

Virgil avoids his eyes, instead letting his gaze flit over the crowd of people. Some of them he recognizes from various meetings and prior parties that Patton had thrown over the years. He watches as a tall man he recognizes as Sloane--a long time family friend--lean over to whisper something into the ear of Corbin, one of the royal scribes. Corbin suppresses a smile. 

“Are they… together?” Virgil wonders aloud. He couldn’t describe it, but there was something about the way they seemed to gravitate near each other, even while Sloane turns to talk to someone else, that makes him wonder.

Janus follows his gaze. “Yes,” he confirms. “To my knowledge, there’s an expected engagement to occur soon.”

There’s a part of Virgil that’s surprised. He wouldn’t describe himself as particularly close with either one of them, but they seemed like near opposites. His gaze lingers a bit longer on the two of them, catching the way Corbin deftly slips his hand into Sloane’s and squeezes. Virgil tears his gaze away, feeling oddly like he’s intruding on something intimate even though they’re in the middle of the ballroom. 

He finds Remy weaving through the crowd, seemingly at ease in the sea of people. Remy is another of his brother’s advisers, though he doesn’t work as closely with Patton as Janus does. Virgil knows that Remy’s area of expertise is primarily in trade and commerce. Most of that had stopped around a year ago, as the growing Forest cut off most trade routes into and out of the kingdom.

“How does he still have a job?” Virgil wonders aloud, watching as Remy laughs politely at a joke a dignitary that Virgil doesn’t recognize makes. 

Janus hums. “Your brother ensured that Remy’s original conception as an economic adviser would not be limited to inter-kingdom trade. Exchanges occurring within the kingdom and city walls fall under his domain of expertise as well.” 

“Won’t be long before he’s out of a job anyway,” Virgil mutters.

“There are few things that the king cares about more than the well-being of his kingdom.”

“And I’m one of those things.” Virgil looks at Janus, challenging him to disagree. Janus merely returns Virgil’s stare with a steady, silent one of his own. Virgil has known the adviser long enough to recognize it as silent agreement. 

Virgil releases a frustrated breath. “I’m not a child anymore, Janus. He doesn’t need to protect me.”

“I assure you that Your Majesty doesn’t view it that way.”

“I don’t even know what he’s trying to protect me from,” Virgil continues. Realization dawns suddenly, and Virgil narrows a glare on Janus. “But you do, don’t you?”

It makes sense to Virgil. There is little that Janus doesn’t know--he’s often said it’s his business to know things as the chief political adviser--and though Virgil may not understand how Janus gathers his information, he has no doubt that Janus knows exactly whatever it is that Patton has been hiding from him. The suspicion is only confirmed when he sees Janus’s lips press into a thin line. 

Virgil shakes his head. “Unbelievable. I don’t understand.”

Janus arcs an eyebrow. “I think Your Highness does.”

“No, no I don’t,” Virgil hisses back in a low, frustrated voice. “What is my brother hiding from me?”

Janus grimaces, his gaze flitting over to Patton across the ballroom. Patton doesn’t seem to notice, too engaged with a conversation with the Lady Valerie to pay them much mind. Janus sighs, then turns back to the prince.

“Your Highness--”

Janus cuts off as the floor beneath them rumbles. The dining ware on the table clatters loudly from the tremor, and the ballroom falls silent with uncertainty. Virgil braces a hand against the nearby wall to keep balance. 

“Uh, what is that?” he asks, too late.

With the sound of shattering stone, sections of the marble floor splinter open. Virgil watches, horrified, as green vines rise from the fissures almost like tendrils of an awakening monster. Cracking wood snaps sharply in the hall as what Virgil can only describe as tree roots thicker than his own body push their way up through the cracks in the floor. 

Screams and shouts of alarm fill the ballroom, ricocheting off the stone pillars. Virgil watches as a vine curls around the ankle of a dignitary, yanking her off her feet. One of the guards, sword already drawn, rushes forward. They slash at it, slicing through the vine and helping the young woman back to her feet.

“The Forest is invading!” the guard shouts. “Everyone take cover! Guards, attack!” 

The clamor of battle swells, and Virgil presses flatter against the wall. His gaze sweeps over the crowd, trying to locate his brother. Virgil sees a tree root snake around Corbin’s torso with a speed that isn’t natural for a plant. Sloane shouts for him, but a vine snaps around his wrist and he yanks a knife out of his boot to cut himself free. 

Virgil goes to move to help--he may not be athletic exactly, but he can’t just stand around and do nothing when people are in danger--but something yanks him back to the wall like he’s attached to it. He glances over his shoulder and sees the vine twisting in the jacket of his suit. Virgil desperately wrestles out of the garment, but another has already begun wrapping around his chest. 

“Hey!” Virgil yelps, trying to wrestle it off him. He sees a sudden flash of metal in the corner of his eye and the vine around his chest goes suddenly slack. Virgil shoves it off, looking over and realizing it was Janus, wielding the sword that had been at his hip, who cut him free.  

“Janus,” Virgil says. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Here, take this.” Janus pulls out a piece of paper from his breast pocket and shoves it into Virgil’s chest. 

Virgil stumbles back a step from the force, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s this?”

“A map,” Janus answers, quick and urgent. “It will take you straight to the Hollow. You have to leave immediately.”

“What? What Hollow?”

“Here.” Janus shoves the hilt of his sword into Virgil’s hand. “Take my sword.”

“Wh--No! I can’t leave you all in the middle of a battle!”

“You have to!” Janus snaps, and Virgil falters under the intensity in the adviser’s eyes. “The real battle--the one that will decide the fate of everyone in this kingdom--can only be fought in the Hollow, and only by you.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Janus grabs both of Virgil’s shoulders. “There’s a prophecy your brother has been hiding from you. You have to go to the Hollow. Once you get there--”

“Look out!” a voice barks.

Janus’s head snaps to the side before he gives Virgil a hard shove, sending the prince staggering back. A tree root slams into the wall, precisely where Virgil had just been standing.

“Janus!”

“Go!” Janus shouts sharply over the clamor of the raging battle around them. “Get to the Hollow!”

Virgil runs, not noticing the vegetation shrinking back into the cracks in the floor as he races towards the Forest. 

…

Hours later, Virgil is beginning to think that the Forest must hate him personally. If it’s true, the feeling is very much mutual. The Forest is dense with trees that leave long, lurking shadows on the damp floor. Virgil climbs over a particularly large tree root, hissing in pain as a thorn catches his shoulder.

“Great,” he snaps sarcastically. “You know, you go through all this trouble of getting me to come to you what with the weird dreams and then attacking during my birthday party--which, between you and me, I didn’t really mind the interruption, though I could have done without the violence--so you’d think maybe you could extend a little hospitality.” Virgil waits as if the Forest might actually respond to him. The chirp of insects and distant song of birds is the only answer the Forest offers. 

“Of course not,” Virgil mutters. “I don’t know what I expected. You’re a monster-infested forest.”

Or in the very least, that’s what the rumors had always said. Virgil wonders if that might have been an old wives’ tale, passed on through the thousand or so years since the Curse first started to convince children to steer clear. Just because Virgil had heard his whole life that monsters lurked in the Forest’s shadows didn’t mean it was actually true, right?

Right.

Virgil sighs and yanks the map Janus had shoved at him out of his pocket. If the skull on the map was referencing the tree ahead of him whose branches vaguely resembled a skull, then--

A twig snaps behind him. 

Virgil freezes, his head snapping up. “Hello?” he calls, shoving the map back into his pocket and yanking his sword out of the scabbard. 

Nothing answers him. Wind rustles the leaves in the canopy above him. Virgil studies the trees and shadows around him. He can’t shake the vague feeling that he is being watched…

A distant buzzing interrupts his thoughts, and Virgil sees a dark blur rush towards him. He yelps, ducking his head and slashing blindly with the sword. When he looks, Virgil chokes. In front of him, buzzing loudly as it hovers a couple of feet in the air, is a giant hornet--nearly Virgil’s size. 

“Look,” Virgil says to it. “My brother always says to avoid violence, but the last few hours has been the culminating impact of years of frustrations, so my patience really isn’t up for--”

The hornet dives for him, and Virgil slashes at it, clipping its side. He narrowly dodges its stinger, slashing again. Virgil’s arms are suddenly coated in a dark, viscous spray of black blood. The giant hornet falls to the ground at Virgil’s feet.

He releases a breath, grimacing against the acrid smell of monster blood that stings his nostrils. His heartbeat is still thudding in his ears, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He just slayed his first monster. A relieved smile tugs at the corner of Virgil’s mouth. He wonders briefly if Patton would be proud of him or horrified. He tries not to think too long about it.

“Not too bad for a--whoa!” Virgil steps back and immediately finds himself falling through the forest floor. 

He lands hard and takes a moment to blink stars from his spinning vision. With a grunt of effort, Virgil pushes himself up into a sitting position. The air around him smells… sweet and oddly familiar. On the ground beneath him is loose dirt and a carpet of white and pink mushrooms. A few bright green vines helped to cushion Virgil’s fall. A quick glance around also tells Virgil that he didn’t just fall into a hole--he fell into some sort of underground tunnel that continued on to his left.

He takes in another breath and feels the tension bleed out of his shoulders. It smells like… like Patton’s fresh-baked cookies on a rainy day and… was that his mother’s perfume? Virgil had never really been able to remember his mother’s face, but he remembers the scent the instant he inhales. He suddenly has the near overwhelming desire to curl up and sleep as the syrupy feeling of warm comfort spreads through his chest.

Maybe Virgil could just live here instead of… of… how did he get here again?

“Oh darling!” calls a soft, honey voice and for the briefest moment, Virgil wonders if it’s his mother. He dismisses the idea almost immediately. That isn’t possible.

“Wh--” Virgil’s tongue feels slow, his thoughts shifting through a molasses-sweet haze. “Who said that?”

“I did,” the voice echoes back, melodic and sweet. “Are you my darling?”

“I mean, maybe,” Virgil slurs, blinking owlishly at his surroundings. “I could be someone’s darling.”

“Where are you, darling?”

Virgil squints up at the hole he’d fallen through. “I’m at the bottom of a pit. Where are you?”

“I’m here too, just a bit further in. Come find me, darling.”

Virgil glances over to his left and sees a prick of light down the dark tunnel. Something in his chest tugs, urging, towards it. Virgil pushes himself to his feet, sliding his sword into the scabbard at his hip (why did he have it out to begin with?) and rushes down the tunnel, tripping over stray roots and the increasingly thick network of green vines. As he grows closer to the light, the smell of cookies and his mother’s perfume grows thicker and heavier. He can feel the way it clings to his thoughts in his mind, sticky like melted candy.

The tunnel opens up into a small cavern overrun with moss and flowers. Vines wrap up dirt walls, sprouting flowers of different sizes and colors so bright Virgil squints against the sudden onslaught on his vision. At the center of the clearing is a feminine figure--green skin and green hair that look almost like vines themselves. She turns towards Virgil as he steps into the clearing, her face brightening so much that Virgil almost doesn’t notice that her eyes are bright red like the flowers that dot her arms. 

“There you are, my darling. I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Virgil frowns, his brow creasing. “I’m sorry.”

She giggles, light and delighted. “Oh, that’s all right. What’s important is that you are here now. What’s your name?”

He… can’t remember. It starts with a V, doesn’t it? “V-V...Virgil. Yeah, that’s it. My name is Virgil. What’s your name?”

The woman floats closer. “My name is Flora. I’m the goddess of love.”

Her voice sounds like a music box, soft and lilting. Virgil wants to curl up and use her voice as a blanket. “Where… where am I?”

“This? Why this is the Garden of Delight. You needn’t worry about anything ever again.”

A soft, warm feeling squeezes around Virgil’s chest and it reminds him, distantly, of Patton’s hugs. “That… that sounds nice…” 

The woman hums, stepping closer. The dress she wears seems to shimmer, like it had been spun from spider silk and dripped with dew. It did feel rather humid in here, now that Virgil thinks about it. Virgil feels an unusual draw to her, but as he goes to take another step, he finds his feet don’t move. Confused, he glances down. Green vines have snaked around his ankles, locking him in place.

“What--”

“My darling,” the woman purrs, moving closer. “Virgil is a beautiful name. You’ll stay here with me, won’t you? Forever?”

Something about that sounds extremely tempting, and Virgil had the vague sense that it had something to do with the lingering sweetness in the air that reminded Virgil of when he was a child. When things felt easier. Simpler. But he… couldn’t stay, right? He… he was supposed to be going somewhere…

“I… I can’t,” Virgil says, beginning to wonder why it’s so hard to just think right now… “I’m supposed to… um… there’s something I’m… I gotta get to the, uh… I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” He can feel the vines snaking up his legs, wrapping around his waist and anchoring his wrists to his hips.

He feels like his brain is fighting through gelatin. 

“If you could uh, let me go?” he asks.

The woman smiles again, but Virgil swears it’s a row of sharp, pointed fangs that he hadn’t seemed to notice a moment ago. “But you only just got here.”

Virgil tries to wrestle his arms out of the net of vines but they only constrict tighter. He wheezes a cough as the vice-like grip forces some air from his lungs. “Yeah, I know, but--”

“Nobody leaves the Garden of Delight, darling.”

“I just really--”

“They stay here forever.”

“I really gotta--”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the woman growls, with something that definitely isn’t human edged sharply within the words. 

Virgil jerks away. “You’re not a goddess.”

“No,” she agrees, grinning wickedly. “And it’s been ages since I’ve had a meal as large and scrumptious as you.”

Virgil thrashes, but he’s held fast by the vines that are only getting tighter. “Let me go!” This is how he’s going to die, isn’t it? He’s such an idiot. “Don’t!” he shouts, though he knows it’s fruitless. There’s nobody around to hear him. Not for miles. How could he have been so stupid--

“That’s enough, fiend!” A new voice, a rich baritone, shouts from the cavern entrance. Virgil tries to crane his neck to look behind him but he only gets a flash of red, white, and gold before the monster in front of him hisses with a flash of pointed teeth.

Through his haze of muddied thoughts, it’s hard for Virgil to follow exactly what happens next. But there’s a glint of silver out of the corner of his eye and the creature before him shrieks in pain and anger. The constricting grip around him slackens suddenly and Virgil shrugs out of the plant cocoon that had been ensnaring him. 

He whirls around and sees a boy in a dirtied white prince suit jacket and a red sash across his chest. His dark brown hair falls across his forehead, and his dark eyes are intense with urgency. 

“Who are you?” Virgil asks.

“Go back the way you came,” he says instead of answering the question. “You’ll find a rope that you can climb to the surface. I’m going to take care of this overgrown fly-trap.” 

“Wait--”

The monster shrieks, her enraged scream echoing in the room. “I’m going to destroy you, you filthy, egotistical human!”

“Funny,” the boy shoots back, “because I was about to say the same thing about you.”

The monster lunges, and Virgil instinctively throws up an arm in front of his face to protect himself. The other boy snarls and slashes with the sword in his hands with expert precision. Virgil can’t help but be impressed. He’s certain that he never has looked that comfortable with a sword in his hands in his entire life. 

The scream from the monster cuts out abruptly as the other boy lodges the blade inside of her. She falls, disintegrating into a pile of dirt and vines. The boy wipes the back of his hand across his brow and arcs an eyebrow at Virgil. 

He motions to the cavern entrance. “After you.”

….

Virgil sighs as he pulls himself up over the ledge and back onto the forest floor. He never thought he’d be happy to see the Forest again, but he can’t deny the odd rush of relief. Anything was better than sharp fangs flashing in front of his face. 

“That… was intense,” he says as he hears the boy behind him pull himself up and start untying the rope from around the nearby tree he’d used as an anchor. “What was that thing?”

The boy pauses thoughtfully. Sunlight filters in through the leaves of the canopy above them and they make the boy’s dark eyes sparkle a bit. “I don’t know what they’re called, but the Forest is full of them.”

“Huh. Well, it’s a good thing you came along, I guess.” Virgil rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Thank you for rescuing me, and for being so beautiful.” Virgil freezes.

So does the other boy, his gaze flashing over and his brow furrowing. “What?”

“Brave!” Virgil blurts and has to stop himself from cringing at his own lack of a filter. He wasn’t usually this clumsy. “Thank you for being so brave. Not beautiful. Wow.” He laughs awkwardly. “I don’t know why I said that. I think some of the toxins must still be messing with my head, y’know? Making me say crazy things. It’s not like I think you’re beautiful.”

The boy’s frown deepens and Virgil holds up his hands. “Not that I think you’re ugly! I mean, obviously you’re not ugly. Like, if you put a sword to my head and said are you attractive or ugly, obviously I’d have to go with attractive because objectively that’s just a fact--” Oh my God, Virgil, stop talking--“but it’s not like you’re so attractive I can’t stop looking at you or anything. Am I talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot.”

“You are,” the boy replies absently, his gaze narrowing at something off in the distance. Virgil is oddly relieved to get the sense that he stopped listening a while ago. 

“Right. So uh, I’m trying to say thank you.” Virgil takes a deep breath, trying to slow his still-racing thoughts and pounding heart. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve been following you.” It’s only then that Virgil realizes the boy hadn’t been untying the rope from the tree--he’d been securing it more firmly. 

“What? You’ve been following me?” He watches as the other boy loops the rope over the tree branch, then makes a lasso with the loose end in his hands. “Um, what’s the lasso for?”

“I have some questions,” he answers, his gaze narrowing. “And since I don’t know you nor do I trust you, I thought you might be more inclined to answer them if you’re dangling from a tree.” 

“Oh,” Virgil says before it sinks in. “Wait, what--Hey!” Before he can stop it, the boy lasso’s Virgil’s waist and pulls, and Virgil sees the world spin violently before he’s staring dizzily at the boy upside down. “Let me down!”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest. “Now then. Who are you and what are you doing in this Forest?”

Virgil’s fingers twitch for his sword, but he figures he’d be about as likely to poke his own eye out than cut himself down. And even then, what would happen? He’d seen the boy face off with the forest monster and he’d sliced her like it was nothing with barely a flick of his wrist. Virgil couldn’t very well fight this boy. And besides, he doesn’t really want to. 

“Me? Just--I’m nobody. I’m just walking through.”

The boy scoffs and shakes his head. He waves a hand at him. “Your clothes are filthy but clearly Western from the design and fabric choices. And your sword carries the insignia of the royal family.” His gaze darkens then, and he takes a step closer. Virgil watches the way his grip on the sword flexes in preparation. “Do you work for them?”

“No!” he says immediately. “No, I--I don’t. No royal family for me.” 

“You’re alone then? You aren’t traveling with any member of the royal family?”

“No, definitely not.”

The boy studies him for a moment before he seems satisfied with the answer. “My apologies. You can never be too careful. Especially in this Forest.”

Virgil finds himself nodding despite the wave of confusion the comment brings. He just wants to get out of this in one piece. “No, of course.” 

The boy slides his sword into the scabbard at his hip. “My name is Roman. Prince of the East. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Uh, not really?”

“The younger brother of King Thomas? Heir to the Polished Throne. Defender of the Perished Realm.”

Virgil sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry.”

“Vanquisher of the Dragon Witch. Protector of the Sacred Flame. Champion of the Hero’s Forge.”

This is ridiculous, Virgil thinks. He arcs an eyebrow. “What was that last one?”

Something sparks in Roman’s eyes, and he places his hands on his hips as if posing for a portrait. “Champion of the Hero’s Forge?”

Virgil does take a second to wrack his memory, wondering if maybe he had read something about any of the ridiculous titles Roman had just rattled off, but nothing rings a bell. “Champion of the--no, sorry.”

Roman seems to deflate, his hands falling from his hips. “Really?”

He knows he shouldn’t--the boy is dangling him from a tree for crying out loud--but Virgil does feel a little bad for him. His ridiculous batch of titles notwithstanding. “We just don’t hear much about you guys in the West. Honestly, we weren’t even sure there was anyone left in the East. We’d sort of assumed the Forest had finished you all off.”

Which, now that Virgil thought about it, he honestly wasn’t sure if that was simply a misguided belief or another intentional deception to further obscure the truth about this Forest and the Curse from Virgil. Then again, Virgil thinks, Patton may have made a lot of mistakes, but he didn’t think willful deception like that was really Patton’s preferred method. He tended to just avoid things.

The most Virgil had heard about the East Kingdom had been in history books, scribbled in the margins of notebooks. From what Virgil’s been able to gather, the two kingdoms had gone to war ages ago. Virgil couldn’t figure out why, exactly, or even a direct timeline. He assumed it must have been thousands of years ago; so long that the true reason for the feud had been lost to history.

“Hm,” Roman says, his brows pinching together.

“But,” Virgil adds, “it’s nice to meet you, I guess. I’ve never met anyone from the East before. Honestly, I don’t even really know why we were at war with you. So like, maybe you could cut me down now?”

Roman’s careful, scrutinizing gaze sweeps over Virgil. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword. “You still haven’t told me who you are or what you’re doing in this Forest.”

Virgil’s thoughts trip over each other. He can’t very well give his real name--not when the boy had looked almost murderous when he asked about the royal family. He wracks his head for some kind of alternative. “My name is, um, Anxiety.” 

Roman blinks at him. “Anxiety?”

Virgil could kick himself. Of course that was a stupid answer. “Uh, yeah. That’s--that’s what everyone calls me, anyway. Not that I know a lot of people. I, um, live here. In the Forest. Alone.”

“You live in the Forbidden Forest?” Roman arcs a skeptical eyebrow. 

Virgil silently curses to himself. He’s really not that well-practiced in lying. He didn’t like it, generally. In his experience, it tended to just make things worse. But he could almost hear Janus’s voice in his head, telling him that lying to preserve his safety was preferred to getting hurt. 

“Yeah. I’m uh, on the run. From the royal family in the West.” That was… at least somewhat true?

“Why?”

The memories from yesterday morning flash through his mind. “I’m a thief.” Also kind of true.

“A thief.”

“Yes,” Virgil confirms. “How else do you think I got this sword with the royal insignia on it?” Virgil hopes silently and fervently that Roman’s unexplained contempt for the royal family would work in his favor here.

Roman scoffs. “Great,” he mutters, mostly to himself though loud enough for Virgil to hear, “Just what I need. A vagabond with no sense of honor. Fine. The Forest can deal with you.” He turns his back and starts walking away.

“Wait!” Virgil calls out. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.”

Roman turns back to him, crossing back the short distance. “What I can’t do is have a confessed criminal traipsing around the Forest.” He waves a hand to gesture around them. 

So apparently his contempt did not outweigh his morals. Virgil has the vague thought that Patton would approve of that, if nothing else. “You misunderstood,” Virgil stammers hurriedly. “When I said thief, I meant like a… a…” What was that story Patton used to read to him when they were kids? “Robin Hood kind of deal. You know, steal from the rich, feed the poor. That’s why the royal family hates me. I’m like a, um, hero.”

Roman’s brows shoot up in surprise. “A hero?”

“In a looser sense of the word--”

“How long have you been hiding in this forest?”

“Wh--oh. Years. Like… forever.” Virgil is starting to get a headache from the blood still rushing to his head. 

Roman looks unimpressed. “Yet you nearly got killed by a talking plant moments ago because you stumbled blindly into her lair.”

“Yes,” Virgil says, unable to disagree with that point when they both had been there and Roman had been following him, apparently. “But that’s the first time that’s ever happened.” True. “Which, if you think about it, is sort of a point in my favor, right?”

“Hm.” Roman purses his lips before yanking the sword out of his scabbard. Virgil flinches as it flashes in the sunlight, but there’s the sound of snapping rope and Virgil lands clumsily on the forest floor. The sudden headrush makes spots dance across his vision and Virgil blinks to clear them away.

“Warn a dude, next time?” Virgil grumbles.

“I’ll make you a deal, Robin Brood,” Roman announces, ignoring the comment. 

“You can call me Anxiety.”

“My first night in the Forest,” Roman presses on, “my horse got spooked and ran off with my map. Since then, I’ve been--”

“Completely lost?”

“In need of direction.” He points his sword towards Virgil with ease, like it’s an extension of his arm. “If you can take me where I need to go, I promise to spare your life and let you go at the end of our journey.”

That… seems fair to Virgil. He’d take this prince guy on a little side quest, and then he’d be able to rush to the Hollow shortly thereafter. A little detour should be fine, right? “Uh, sure. Yeah. I guess. Where do you need to go?”

“The Hollow of the Kings,” Roman answers as Virgil pushes himself to his feet. 

Virgil freezes, his brow furrowing. “Uh, sure. Yeah. But why do you need to go there?”

“That is none of your business. Do we have a deal or should I get my rope?”

Virgil holds his hands up in surrender. “No, sure. Yeah. I’ll take you to the Hollow.”

Roman crosses over to a heavy-looking bag and picks it up. “Now that you work for me, you’ll carry my things.” He shoves the bag into Virgil’s arms. Virgil staggers under the sudden weight, cursing under his breath.

“Yeah, no problem, buddy,” he quips sarcastically, adjusting his hold on the bag to more easily manage the weight. 

“Don’t call me buddy.”

“You got it, boss.” Virgil tries to hide a smirk. He couldn’t explain why, but there was something a little fun about teasing the other prince. 

“Your Royal Highness is fine,” Roman replies without a shred of irony.

Virgil snorts. “All right, Princey.”

Roman scowls. “Also, please only speak when spoken to. You talk a lot, and it’s beginning to give me a headache.”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. His ears are still ringing from the headrush. “I’m giving you a headache?”

“Yes. Also--”

“Oh my God, how many rules do you have?”

Roman whirls around and Virgil finds the tip of his sword poised just below his chin. Roman’s expression darkens. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me about anything, I will feed you to the nearest plant. Got it?”

Virgil swallows. “Got it.”

“Great!” he says brightly, sheathing his sword once more. “Then onward we travel. Lead me to the Hollow, Robin Mood.”

“Same joke.”

“It was a variation.”

...

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[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 4: THE DAY I LOST EVERYTHING

We have to loose them Loose who? He'll take them. Who? We can't save them now. But I want to save them. "Y/N! Focus on running!" My dad yelled who was right behind us. I stopped in the middle of my tracks everyone turned to me. D/N was barking loudly, as if telling me to move. Everyone was telling me to move "I will save you don't worry." I said looking at my parents. "What---" As on cue lightning struck them. They aren't gone They aren't gone We will save them someday We will save them Now run My heart felt empty. I knew I was supposed to be sad, but I wasn't. It was like someone was directing me what I should do. Finally getting in on the car they all looked at me worried D/N nuzzled to my lap, Percy and Grover looked at me emphatically. Mrs Jackson was driving but occasionally glancing at the mirror. We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Percy sitting next to me and I wondered why I chose to be with him and not feel the weight of loosing my parents. I pulled D/N closer and hugged him. I didn't know what to do. Percy then broke the silence, "So, you and my mom... know each other?" Graver's eyes flitted to the rear view mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you." "Watching me?" "Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend." "Urn ... what are you, exactly?" "That doesn't matter right now." "It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—" Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!" and cried, "Goat!" "What?" "I'm a goat from the waist down." "You just said it didn't matter." "Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!" "Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?" "Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?" "So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!" "Of course." "Then why—" "The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are. And not to mention there turns out to be two of you which is worse than what I thought!" "Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?" The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail. "Percy," my mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety. You and Y/N." "Safety from what? Who's after me?" "Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions." "Grover!" "Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?" Don't worry. They won't hurt us. Have you thought of who you want to be your parent? We have plenty of options, I'd prefer if it was either Zeus or Hades but I wouldn't mind to be Ares's or Hephaestus's. I guess Athena isn't so bad as well. Who was your Father and mother's favorite? I want my mom and dad... to remain the same... Don't change them. As you wish. We have to leave soon. The moment you go get in the borders, we will loose connection. Who are we? I lied, we're not you. We're only messengers. We don't know when you'll contact yourself. But it's not anytime soon for sure. Only half of the prophecy has been fulfilled after all. But... you came and... told me to stay with Percy. Maybe you did try to make a connection. I only came to ask who you want parent to be. "Y/N!" "Huh?" "Do you know who your parent is? Do you know what's going on?" "What?" "You were talking about Greek gods..." Percy said. "I-I... was?" I asked looking at D/N as if he'd know the answer. "Where are we going?" Percy asked. "The summer camp I told you about." Percy mother's voice was tight. "The place your father wanted to send you." "The place you didn't want me to go." "Please, dear," his mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger." "Because some old ladies cut yarn." "Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die." "Whoa. You said 'you.'" "No I didn't. I said 'someone.'" "You meant 'you.' As in me." "I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you." "Boys!" Mrs Jackson said. She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm. "What was that?" I asked. "We're almost there," Percy's mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please." I didn't know where there was, but I found myself anxious to arrive. I gripped Percy's hand as he leaned forward. Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded. I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time. I don't know how but I wasn't hurt... or didn't know until I saw D/N had grown... bigger. Big enough to hide someone. He had cushioned my fall. "I'm okay boy, thanks." He shrunk and barked. He had a confused look as well as I did. "Percy!" I heard someone shouted. "I'm okay..." I tried to check on Percy. "You sure?" "Yeah..." He replied. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in. Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to Percy in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!" He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Percy shook his furry hip. Then he groaned "Food," and Percy sighed in relief. "Percy," his mother called, "we have to ..." Her voice faltered. I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns. I swallowed hard. "Who is—" "Percy, Y/N," his mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car." Mrs Jackson threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking. D/N must've read the situation and jumped out through the roof. "D/N!" He started digging on the mud occasionally barking. "There! Climb out the passenger's side!" Percy's mother told us. "Y/.N, Percy—you two have to run. Do you see that big tree?" "What?" Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill. "That's the property line," Percy's mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door." "Mom, you're coming too." Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean. "No!" Percy shouted. "You are coming with me and Y/N. Help me carry Grover." "Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder. The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... was his head. And the points that looked like horns ... "He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line." "But..." "We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please." Percy helped me climbed across Grover and I pushed the door open into the rain. "We're all going together. Come on, Mrs Jackson." "I told you—" "Mom! We are not leaving you. Help me with Grover." He didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, Percy was dragging Grover from the car. Together, with Mrs Jackson they draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass. I followed carrying D/N in my arms. Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except underwear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders. His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener. I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories my parents talked about. But he couldn't be real. I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's—" "Pasiphae's son," Percy's mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you." "But he's the Min—" "Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power." The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least. I glanced behind me again. The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away. "Food?" Grover moaned. "Shhh," Percy told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?" "His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough." As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded. "Percy, Y/N," his mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?" "How do you know all this?" "I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me. I'm not like (Father's Name) or (Mother's Name), I can't hide you for good." "Keeping me near you? Hide me? But—" Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill. He'd smelled us. The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker. I could tell the Jackson's were having a hard time with Grover. The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us. Mrs Jackson must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Y/N! Separate! Remember what I said." I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, Percy went the other way, we turned, and saw the creature bearing down on Percy. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat. He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at his chest. The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, and help Percy but I knew that wouldn't work. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, he jumped to the side. The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward Percy this time, toward Mrs Jackson, who was setting Grover down in the grass. Thankfully its like they never saw me. We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as Percy's mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it. The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing Mrs Jackson, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover. "Run, Percy! Y/N" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!" But Percy just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air. "Mom!" I ran towards Percy to try and hold him back. She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!" Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around Mrs Jackson's neck, D/N ran to bite the Minotaur's arm but they both dissolved before our eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if they were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and they was simply ... gone. Both Mrs Jackson and D/N... "No!" The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling him, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too. Percy stripped off his red rain jacket. "Hey!" I screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!" "Percy what are you doing?!" He shot a glance at me, "Trust me?" "Yes?" "Bad choice." "Raaaarrrrr!" The monster turned toward us, shaking his meaty fists. "I hagve an idea—a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all." He pushed my back to the big pine tree and waved his red jacket in front of the bull-man, "I'm thinking we jump out of the way at the last moment." But it didn't happen like that. The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way we tried to dodge. Time slowed down. My legs tensed. I couldn't jump sideways, only thought running in my mind was Percy's safety. Taking his hand which seemed to surprise him, I leaped straight up carrying his weight lighter than I had thought, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck with Percy in front of me. How did I do that? I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out. The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake us. I locked my arms around Percy while he went for the horn, to keep us from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils. The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward. Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd bite my own tongue off. "Food!" Grover moaned. The bull-man wheeled toward him, pawed the ground again, and got ready to charge. Percy had hit my shoulder with his head and pulled at the horn. Easing up to a more comfortable position to hold on, I got both hands around one horn and we pulled backward with all our might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap! The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock. When I sat up, my vision was blurry. Percy was on the other side, with the horn in his hand. The monster charged. Percy rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, he drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage. The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart. The monster was gone. The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I'd just lost everyone. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover and Percy, needing my help. "Percy..." He looked at me weakly and took my hand. "Let's get out of here..." His voice was hoarse. This is where I say goodbye... Don't leave. I need you most now. I am always with you. And you have successfully brought yourself to another world. We will talk once you leave camp. I'm scared. You have Percy Jackson. Hold onto him. And you shall meet another hero. Save Percy. Save Luke. Save all of them. And you won't ever be scared again. Looking down at our linked hand I nodded. Stay with him. Save them all. You've hidden well, but its time for you to show who you are. I will declare who your parent is. I hope they claim us. Okay. We managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying and so was Percy, calling for his mother, so I held on to him—I wasn't going to let him go. "I'll be here... I won't leave you..." Successfully reaching the top, I could see eyes on us. Percy had lost his consciousness. I was tasked to carry the weight of these two. Seeing two people approach us, I didn't have time to process who, I cried, "Help them. Please." Before collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, "It's one of them. They must be." "Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "The girl's still conscious. Bring them inside." "Percy..."

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[nonbinaryhomu]

kyomami week day iii: very, very angst

oneshot, 1040 words

sorry for any grammar mistakes, english isn’t my native language

i’m very disappointed nobody are talking about that one scene where kyoko was close to becoming a witch and i always thinked about au where mami didn’t save her because she was late, so. here we are

and yeah that’s all additional memory references in there

      “I-Is it… the end…?”

       Redhead fourteen-year-old girl fell down into a ground, feeling the blood flowing from the corner of her lips. Still not wanting to die here, gathered all her strengths and crawled out from Witch’s Barrier, coughing up red liquid and stretching her hand forward, as if expecting help. This obviously isn’t true, she was all alone, nobody would help her.

      This is like her life in this moment showed the end credits. All is over, the audience may diverge, only the main actor still stuck in this end, don’t know what will she do. Her career is over, these are her last moment in this place. She want to scream Please, let me still be there! Don’t leave me, you all! but this doesn’t work, all she can do is cry, because she can’t dry her tears anymore.

      Her life lantern flickered and barely smoldered, rotating weakly around its axis. Red flames burned out, leaving only meaningless sediment behind. Darkness fell and through the ever darker lantern it was impossible to see anything; there were only empty holes glowing with despair, which she did not manage to fill during her life. There were so many unfinished things behind her, but maybe it’s even better – her life was so meaningless. All she could do was watch as an impenetrable curtain covers all her dreams.

      “You can’t use your magic anymore, didn’t you?” cat-like creature smiled innocently and jumped on her chest. “It really looks like it’s the end for you. You’re useless.”

      “But… Why…?” girl choked out hard, looking at creature from under half-closed lids. “It’s not that I just forgot how to use my magic, right…? You must joking, Kyubey…”

      “You said you don’t need her anymore, Kyoko” smiled Kyubey and wagged his tail. “Didn’t you see? Your words worked.  And, all your magic was to help your beloved family, but they all died, because of you. Isn’t that alright? Object of your wish died, your magic is useless. You are useless.”

      “Why… Did you say this to me?” asked Kyoko, transforming from her magical girl outfit to her usual clothes and closing her eyes. “I always though… You aren’t type who help his innocent victims…”

      “I’m not helping you” announced Incubator, still with him smile in him face. “I just want to inform you that you die in a moment. All of your magical energy disappeared, and you haven’t any Grief Seeds anymore. This is the situation without exit.”

      “What will happen to me?” red-eyed asked again, feeling, how her body starts to get colder, like her heart and even Soul Gem. “This… It will not the painless death, right…?”

      “You’ll just turn into a Witch. That’s all, the fate of all magical girls. Although, to be honest, I didn’t think you ever turn into this, but even I can be wrong. Like humans.”

      Teen girl sighed deeply, feeling, how her heart was ripped off. She turns into the monster that her dad called her, isn't that fair? She led her family to death, she deserved this fate, she deserved everything, what will happen to her.

      But deep in her dying heart one thought flashed out: Let me hug her. Let me hug her once more…

–––

      The sun was slowly going down.

      Mami sighed heavy, when the winter wind pierced her body. She was so alone in evenings like this. Kyoko didn’t come today too and looks like even Kyubey didn’t want to be with her. When her classmates invited her to walk together, she refused, but now regretted it.

      Sun started bounced back on the fountain she passed, what made her remembered times, when she passed this way with her only one magical girl friend. Those times were singing to the accompaniment of an orange sky and trying to stop the sun from switching places with the moon. Those times made her laugh, made her happy. But now, when she was left alone again, from unknown reason, her thoughts were going in one direction: what if she wasn't so afraid to do what she always wanted? When sun was going down and she was focused her eyes on younger girl, saying Let’s go home, so we don’t lose our way, choosing the wrong road, she always wanted to just grab her kouhai’s hand, but was too scared to do this. When their hands were meeting by accident she started apologizing, saying, she didn’t want to this happen. But all of her words were lies. All of her words concealed within themselves tears, what she couldn’t dry anymore.

       She didn’t want to be “just friends”, staying just friends wouldn't please her, all of her words were love, what she can’t confess. All the goodbyes, all the “See you tomorrow”, this all made her hoping one day in answer she would hear “Goodbye, I love you”. Of course, she was so wrong and so naive, but she want to be so wrong and so naive, this was the only hope she has left. Sky refused to accept her tears anymore, the evening words sparkled with lonely regret, oh God, she couldn’t bear this feeling. Kyoko will never can hear her thoughts, but if only… If only…

      “I can’t take this anymore” escaped from her lips, when she started running to place in town near Mitakihara, only to see that person she wanted to see the most. “I’m sorry, I love you.”

–––

     Grief Seed bloomed at the sky above dying Kyoko, making her sure it’s the end. Her life lantern disappeared and even those regretful words didn’t want to cover her heart. She can’t just go back, she can’t go to home and forget about everything. All that is left are tears she can’t dry, the whole world around her turned upside down. Nothing left to her, but…

      “W-Wait, please, no!” the gentle and as if from a distance voice what she knew perfectly well started screaming, but she can’t open her eyes, covered with shedding tears. “Sakura-san, don’t say you…!”

      This still was the end, no matter how she didn’t want to die in that moment.

      The curtain finally fell.

      ”Sorry and hey, I loved you so much” was her only answer, until world ended to her.

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- Convoluted

This chapter is a compilation of every insane plot hole of this book and others explained in my own insane way.

 I can send anyone who asks the full seven books if you send me an email!

HPHPHPHP

Lily watched James pace anxiously, as she took the book from Remus, but didn't continue on. She knew he needed a release, they all needed to vent about what they'd heard before they had to hear something worse yet. So she excused herself to make sure Harry's playpen still had the silencing charm activated on it, and by the time she came back Sirius was certainly being chatty enough.

"-best guess is she would have gone to whomever her nearest bloodline was. Elves have a shorter life expectancy than us so it's usually not a problem, but if the Crouch's didn't have any immediate family than she would have most likely gone crawling to whomever she felt should be her next master by bloodline."

Harry looked up from watching him curiously to explain to his mother's confused look, "I was just asking what would have happened to Winky if she hadn't been sacked? With both of her master's gone now." He finished with a faraway gaze in his eyes, Harry seemed quite sure this was an important enough question. He shook his head though and smiled at her, then Sirius before continuing, "wouldn't Crouch have ever mentioned where she'd go? If like he'd been on his deathbed, wouldn't he get to decide?"

"Well sure," Sirius shrugged, "you can make a will to decide where it goes along with the rest of your property, and Crouch was definitely organized enough to have thought of doing that, but this is all hypothetical anyways."

Harry nodded his agreement, and glanced at his dad, but their inane chatter had not lessened his hasty steps one bit.

  Lily sank into her seat, and watched him only for a moment before saying, "alright James, out with it."

Whether he'd been waiting for the opportunity or her cajoling finally burst him, he did indeed shout, "why Harry! Why the bloody hell was he involved in all of that!? I don't understand why he was so central to having to go through that!?"

Lily was flipping randomly through pages in the first chapter, that had been on her mind a lot during that Voldemort stuff, and she tried to calmly answer him without her voice shaking from the stress of constantly having to remember what all her baby went through. "That was actually mentioned already, because Voldemort wanted to use...well me as well as Harry."

Her hand started shaking too bad, and she steadied it by wrapping it around Harry again who curled into her touch.

"How did he even know that would work though," Remus shook his head in disbelief. "All he'd ever tried to do before that was strangle Harry, never cast a curse on him. Did he really understand the intricacies of you dying for him would protect him?"

"I suppose I can see it," Sirius said begrudgingly. "He'd have to wonder why Quirrell couldn't have done the deed, and sadly I won't deny he's got to be at least as smart as Dumbledore. If one can put it together, then it's safe to assume the other can as well."

Lily suddenly went ghastly pale as her hand tightened around Harry, only just able to hiss out the words, "so is Harry even safe at that bloody place anymore?"

"Lily?" Remus questioned in concern.

"The only reason Harry's at the Dursleys in the first place is because he's supposedly safe from Voldemort there, but if Voldemort can get past my magical protection, well then he shouldn't have to go back to that horrid place again."

This was such a good and bad thing at once no one was even sure how to process it for a second until Harry shook his head and sighed, "No, I'm quite sure I go back. Dumbledore said so long as I called that place home, and sadly I did still use it as my address even if I felt more at home at the Burrow that first day than all my years there."

"That shouldn't be how it works," Remus snapped. Logically he could see the magic existing on a technicality like that, but it didn't make his chest hurt any less thinking about it.

Sirius blinked as he realized what all he'd even said though, and began slowly, "how does Dumbledore even know about that blood magic? He wasn't there the night it happened, only heard about it second hand after the fact of, well we don't even know who the first person who saw that was and went around telling people. Dumbledore apparently never even went there himself, he had Hagrid deliver him, he even seemed to have set all that stuff up at the Dursleys even before all of this."

"There's no bleeding way this was a backup plan all along," Remus wrinkled his nose as he tried to guess where Sirius was going with this. "Dumbledore would never have expected something like this to be coming."*

Sirius had nothing more to add, but instead they all fell silent as they came to a stumped end on that. It was always a head scratcher how Dumbledore seemed to know everything, this was just one particular moment where they really wished they'd been in on it.

More so James could keep his mind on a subject he could still gripe about, he switched to, "fine, then why didn't anyone show up to help him! There was all kinds of magic being shot off in that Muggle cemetery! Unforgivable Curses at that! Harry's underage as well, yet no obliviators showed up just in case there were Muggles in the area who shouldn't have been watching."**

"Maybe there were some more Death Eaters in that department keeping it all hushed up," Harry offered.

"Only two knew of the plan," Remus reminded.

"But I'm sure when the Dark Mark burned, any of his other followers would have had to do some quick thinking," Harry insisted.

"If they were in the know enough to have a Mark, they would have either run or joined Voldemort, not stuck around an office doing paperwork," Lily shook her head.

"Actually that's kind of a good point all around," Sirius rubbed at his jaw, "even back during Frank's death, why wouldn't the Ministry have come calling? Merlin, during the first three Riddle deaths, who does the wizarding world think did that in a Muggle village, we never heard a bit about that."

"You think there are wizards in the area?" Harry suddenly brightened with understanding as he was sure that was somewhere close to the answer.

James was not going to be sidetracked so easily, clearly somehow, someway the Ministry hadn't shown up because of the magic, but still he persisted, "well what about the bloody portkey then? Those are registered!"

Harry wanted to interrupt to ask why the portkey had worked at all, the first one he'd used had been on a timer, this had just been the first person to touch it, but he instead worked it out in his head that perhaps you could indeed set it for both. It wasn't the most complex bit of magic he'd heard, and Sirius was already answering.

"You can make unregistered portkeys," Sirius reminded, "you just get into a crap ton of trouble if you get caught. Besides, there was already one on it, Dumbledore most likely put that portkey in place to bring the champion back to the front of the maze, so nobody would think of the second layer on."

"I've actually been wondering about that," Remus agreed. "Do you realize the amount of planning that had to go into this whole bloody thing for it to have gone off without a hitch? Jr. had to infiltrate the school, make it believable all year, and be the one to be allowed to place the Cup in the center of the maze to put that portkey on. Voldemort sure went through a lot of trouble for this to perfectly play out."

"Why did I have to go there exactly after the third task at all?" Harry sighed. "Was there some clause in the potion saying I had to be a triwizard champion?"

Lily gave a weak giggle at Harry's attempt at humor, but let Remus explain since she knew he was the only one who even had a vague idea about that potion.

"No, no, that was just the timing that the potion had to be brewed, at the certain lunar eclipse at that specific time of the year. That's another part of this plan that just seems to fall absolutely bloody perfectly into place, that the night the tournament ended was the night the potion was to be brewed."

"That could have been modified by an Imperiused Crouch," Sirius reminded. "Who says the final date of the last task couldn't have been switched for whatever crap reason he used to make this fall better into Voldemort's plan."

"They didn't make it sound that way in the beginning," James reminded tersely, his energy had only managed to increase with all of these not really answers. "It was said any person could be used for this, Voldemort just wanted Harry specifically."

"They would have just had them on standby until this moment," Remus shrugged.

Lily had still been thumbing through those first few pages as she came across an interesting part. "What did it mean one more was supposed to die? In the beginning when Voldemort was talking about how he had to have one more person murdered for all of this to work, but Frank, and Crouch were both killed unplanned. Who else was supposed to be dying exactly?"

"Most likely Crouch was going to be killed eventually when he ran out his usefulness," Sirius shrugged without remorse.

"Or me," Harry reminded, "blood of the enemy could have meant all my blood, I'm sure if those first few drops hadn't shown the results I'd have just been drained dry, that's why Moody never 'accidentally' got me in the nose one day and just saved my blood for the spell."

"Remember the unwillingly given part," Lily reminded, "you would have had to have full knowledge of knowing where the blood was going for that to have worked."

Harry was watching those green eyes steadily, something else of that night had been nagging in the back of his mind with a deep worry, but it wasn't one he'd even wanted to consider. Watching her baby though, Lily quietly whispered, "what is it love? May as well ask now instead of letting it fester."

"Just a stupid worry is all," he tried to shrug off. "If I'd done something wrong, if I hadn't been able to force those...beads or whatever into Voldemort's wand, but instead they'd gone into mine. I'd never have gotten to see you, you wouldn't have been able to save my life. What would have happened, it just would have shown the spells I'd been using, and I would have..." he trailed off by furiously rubbing at his forehead to stave away the pain of his brain telling him to shut up and quit poking at this topic. He still was absolutely positive that he would in fact run into this problem again, his and Voldemort's wands would cross again, but no one in here had even the slightest clue of what had happened on any level, so he swallowed his worry and nestled in closer to her.

James sighed, but seeing Harry beginning to fight with himself again, he went back over and flopped down next to him, even as one more grating question burst out. "What about that fake Moody then? I can barely buy that he got away all year tricking Dumbledore into not realizing, I mean they are friends. Jr. never did one thing odd enough Dumbledore tried to ask him a question?" He didn't give anyone a chance to say anything about that as he kept going, "Even then, how did he use magic through those mazes without anyone seeing him? How did he even get his magic through those maze walls? It took some effort for Harry to blast a small hole through one!"

Lily closed the book firmly and tucked it away so that she could keep one hand attached to Harry's, and reach the other around to rub at the back of James's neck. "I know dear, the whole thing's just bloody question after question, it's frustrating to have to guess and figure this all out on our own. Remember though, that Moody was standing in that circle when Harry and the other champions first approached. Most likely he Imperiod Krum right then, and had him shadowing Harry the whole time to make it easier on him, while coming across Fleur and dealing with her, etcetera."

"I was wondering about that though," Harry frowned. "How could Krum use the Avada Kedavra curse on someone under the Imperious?"

"You shouldn't take your unique reaction as the rule," Remus reminded with that old teacherly smile Harry had grown so used to during his time during third year whenever Professor Lupin had been asked a question. "For most people, it's far more like an out of body experience. Jr. has full control of them, and it's his magic that's being funneled through into Krum."

Sirius was still watching his best mate, and talk of the Imperius Curse certainly wasn't helping him to ease back into any good type of mood which would be needed to finish this book, so Sirius instead changed topics to, "I've been thinking more about why Winky was there in the first place, and I think it was Dumbledore's way of making sure everything that was said was proven."

"That doesn't make any sense," James disagreed, instantly engaged in anything he could practically argue with. "Not only did Dumbledore ask for the Veritaserum first, but as far as he knew Winky hadn't seen Jr. in years, he'd had no idea before it all got started her part in any of it."

"Still, she was his elf at one point," Remus reminded, "I'm sure if at any point Dumbledore didn't believe this wasn't Crouch's son, he could have forced him to give Winky an order, and if she didn't listen then there really was something else going on."

"That's convoluted," Lily rolled her eyes.

"That describes our whole day," James sighed.

HPHPHP

*Honestly though, I do wonder about this. Dumbledore knew Voldemort had heard that prophecy, and he knew the two boys who would be the targets. What if he had put those spells up on both Augusta, and Petunia's house months ago when he first heard the thing? He'd be banking on that family to take the boys in regardless of how they died, but the manner in which Lily did die just somehow made the blood magic all the better for it. I don't understand the exact spells he used, but I somehow feel like he would have forethought to encase these special boys before the attack.

**Question offered by Guest: That's actually a really good question. We do know Marvolo was blamed for the first three, but Morfin died well before Frank Bryce and really should have showed up on Ministry Magic radar...let me know some theories for this.

[hotcoffeecoldmornings]

(This shit is long so bear with me.)

Can’t Eat, Can’t Sleep, Reach for the Stars

I haven’t felt this way in awhile. This ‘can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, world series kind of love.’ 

It’s hard to describe. The last time I was all-consumed like this by a TV show and a ship, that TV show was The 100, that ship was Clexa, and my world was, quite honestly, turned upside down by it.

I used the first two seasons of The 100 as background noise as I wrote my Master’s Thesis in 2015. To be honest, I didn’t really know exactly what was happening until Bodyguard of Lies (an episode anyone reading this post probably remembers well) came on. And a passionate kiss between two world leaders left me speechless and shocked. I was blindsided by it, unaware that that kiss would be the beginning of not only finding myself, but also accepting myself, and then finding a chosen family I never knew that I needed because of it.

There’s been alot of (okay, not a lot, but more) f/f ships on TV since then. Maggie and Alex. Nicole and Waverly. Elena and Syd. Kat and Adena. Anissa and Grace. Stef and Lena. Karolina and Nico. And the list goes on… While each of these ships is equally important, and each one represents another push towards more inclusive storytelling, there was never a ship that hit me as hard as Clarke and Lexa did.

Until now.

Harold, They’re Lesbians

Gay. Witches.

Motherland: Fort Salem said the words. And I fucking came running.

Okay, so it took me a few weeks… Thank you, twitter timeline, for finally getting my ass on board. It’s not that I didn’t want to start the show. It’s that my anxiety-ridden brain had other plans for me in mid-March. Like spending the majority of my time researching a global pandemic and then crawling into a depression hole because of it… Or something like that.

But nonetheless, I’m here now. And I’m fucking staying.

I knew I’d love this show. The concept of witches peppered with the idea that sexuality is irrelevant is honestly my one and only weakness. So I went into episode one with high hopes. And I sure as hell was not disappointed.

Episode 1 gave me even more than I could’ve asked for. We meet three uniquely powerful individuals, who all come from three uniquely interesting backgrounds. Abigail Bellweather, born into a lineage of the most powerful and elite witches Fort Salem has ever seen. Tally Craven, the last one standing in her family’s long-line of service, selflessly choosing to say the oath when she didn’t technically have to. And Raelle Collar, who has an unparalleled set of powers, combining her mother’s Christo-Pagan ways with those of the seeds learned at Fort Salem.

Rounding out that already brilliant cast is Scylla Ramshorm, the ‘sexy weird’ Necro who may or may not be evil (but we love her all the same). General Sarah Alder, the original witch who signed the Salem Accord, selling out every future witch to the United States Army, and whose ego quite often gets the best of her. And Anacostia Quartermaine, the Bellweather Unit’s Drill Sergeant who has a peculiar fondness (and leniency) for Raelle Collar.

The fact that this television show is entirely female centered (like, we’re talking 60 seconds of male screen time in the pilot), is what separates this show from most. Men exist in the world of Fort Salem as characters to exclusively propel the female leads forward, which is a stark contrast to the majority of shows right now.  And not only is the entire main cast female, the main lead is gay. And honestly, the sexuality of every character on the show is questionably debatable as well. Except for Abigail, who quite clearly is into any and all men, and Tally, who grew up on a Matrifocal Compound and ended up in Fort Salem as a virgin. Which, of course, no shade to her, but it did strike me as odd when Abigail immediately assumed Tally’s virgin-ness when growing up in an all-female world was brought up.

So let’s start there, shall we?

 The Heteronormative Narrative (or not…)

Something I did find puzzling about Motherland: Fort Salem (and the only thing, really) is how they portray sexuality, relationships, and love. In regards to sexuality, Eliot Laurence, the creator and executive producer, has been incredibly forward in interviews with the narrative that ‘your sexual preference doesn’t matter in this world.’ Which I appreciate to the fullest, trust me. But pardon my slight hesitation when I hear that line, because I think we’ve all been burned by it once before.

Motherland: Fort Salem has done a tremendous job of this. They’ve allowed characters to own their sexuality without question. It was never a thing when Raelle started dating Scylla. At Beltane, everyone went off with whomever the dance paired them with - even if that meant the same gender, and even if that meant three or four or five of them. Sexuality, in regards to same-sex partners, is never a character arc in this show, and it’s never there to create a plot point. 

HowEVER, there were a few things I noticed that confused that fact. 

Like I said about Abigail in the very first episode, when the Bellweather Unit is meeting for the first time, why was Abigail so quick to question Tally’s virginity after learning she comes from a Matrifocal Compound? If there are no heteronorms in the world of Motherland: Fort Salem, then why is it assumed that losing your virginity is related to relations with a man? Even though Tally is (well… was) a virgin, why would that question be brought up? If roles were reversed and it was Raelle living on the Matrifocal Compound, the conversation would’ve gone strikingly different, and it would’ve supported this heteronormative narrative that I thought we were trying to avoid. I’m just going to blame this one line on how badly Abigail wants the D, so sleeping with a woman wouldn’t even cross her mind.

But then what about the idea of this ‘five-year marriage contract’? It’s simply about producing a child, so I assume a woman could never have that sort of thing with another woman, and that those women could never add to their lineage (unless they entered into a five-year marriage contract simply to reproduce). Doesn’t this, alone, signify a heteronormative world without even meaning to do so? While they accept LGBTQ+ relationships, how do they actually fit into the society and culture that this show has created? Wouldn’t the gay witches be seen as almost inadequate in carrying on the gene if they don’t have a child? (AmI just thinking too much into this...?)

But then again, the whole concept of ‘love’ in Fort Salem is rather insignificant itself. As Gerit mentions, no one is supposed to spend their life with just one person. Witches are committed to one another in five-year partnerships to reproduce, and then that’s it. So in a way, I understand that nobody, no matter what their sexuality is, really gets to experience this fairytale ending that we’re used to seeing in a (*cough* heterosexual) ship on TV. And in a way, I also think that’s what makes this show all the more fascinating. Eliot Laurence gave everyone a level playing field by just removing the idea of a happily ever after altogether. In Laurence’s world, witches are meant to train and fight and die for their country. Love is their weakness. But what’s so compelling about that is even though love is their weakness, he made sure that love also manifests into their greatest strength.

From what I’ve seen in interviews for Laurence, every single thing has a purpose. So I’m quick to let this go, and see where he takes us. He’s been building this world inside his head for nine years, so I know that there’s so much more to this story than what can be told in a 10-episode season.

 But Back to the Lesbians

Anyway, back to love. Specifically gay love. I wish I could put into simple words my obsession with Raelle and Scylla. 

From the incredible chemistry that Taylor Hickson and Amalia Holm share on-screen together to the directors and writers who’ve portrayed their love story so magically, Raelle and Scylla are truly something special. They’ve taken the place of a ship this queer fandom lost when Lexa was killed. It’s a ship that you want to hate, because every part of this story tells me to hate Scylla. She’s Spree. She’s vindictive. She’s dangerous. Yet every part of my brain tells me to love her. And to love them together.

I don’t like easy stories. I want stories that make the ending worth it. I want hardships and pain and hurt and work when it comes to love. Which is why I like the story of Raelle and Scylla. There was a spark between them in their very first scene together- a spark you could feel through the TV. It was believable and real. They come from similar backgrounds of loss and solitude, and that’s what originally bound them together. And over the next seven episodes, we watched their relationship grow. We saw their vulnerabilities, their growth, their passion. But now we’re going to see the hardship. The pain, the anger, the betrayal. 

I appreciate that they’re not skimping on telling any part of their story. The two are special together, and so far, this show has proved that.

 She’s Special

I want to break down Raelle Collar before bringing up anything else, because, well, obviously she’s the main character, but she’s also got a lot going on. The fact that Raelle channels her power through something other than the typical ‘seed’ is something that will be of importance to why she’s so powerful. Petra Bellweather, herself, claims that Raelle’s mom, Willa, used unconventional methods that delivered incredible results. “She was the fixer every unit wanted to deploy with.” 

While all witches in Basic Training are learning about utilizing their extra set of vocal cords to create magic songs, Raelle can do it in a way that’s reminiscent of where she grew up- Chippewa Cession. In the very first episode, she makes note that her family was there before it became a Cession. Aka, before the land was given to the Chippewa tribe in exchange for their magic.

Raelle comes from a line of witches that all have more unique abilities than what’s taught at Basic Training. She uses a combination of Native American spirituality/Christo-Paganism skills during her days at Fort Salem, which brings up questions (and judgment) from other witches. It seems as though that kind of magic was the way witches used to do things before Sarah Alder released her song into the world and created a vocalizing army with it. Raelle’s peers look disgusted when they see her still using the same ways witches once did. It’s particularly noticeable when she heals people, and recites Matthew 7:7, “Ask, and it shall be given to you; seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” The entire theme of the Book of Matthew, in regards to Christianity, is about prayer. Asking and receiving. That God will provide you with what’s needed, and nothing more. But when it comes to Paganism, it’s about the law of attraction and return in our universe. It outlines that there is no life without balance - that all prayers can be answered, but they’ll be answered with things that are taken from elsewhere. All prayers almost have a consequence. Just like all magic has a consequence. 

Raelle’s power, at least what she knows of it up until now, is based on a consensual balance, bringing the theme of Paganism’s Matthew 7:7 into the type of witchcraft she practices. She can heal someone, but what she heals them from will be transferred onto her. Balance. Consequence.

Bringing General Sarah Alder back into this, this is the same type of magic that she traded for back in the 1700’s when she granted the Chippewa Tribe the entire length of the Mississippi River. In exchange, she gained the magic that could keep her eternally young. But just like the magic that Raelle does, this age defying practice has consequences too, and requires balance. Every 50-60 additional years that General Alder adds on to her endless life, a young witch must be sacrificed to take on those years, and must stand by General Alder the rest of her short-lived life. 

But where does the balance go?

Adil is such a great addition to the cast because he sheds a light on something so crucially ignored on campus. All magic has balance. This is teased throughout the season, like when General Alder hits turbulence on her way to The Hague and jokes (but not really jokes), “I assume I have one of you to blame for that.” Or how Raelle soaks up her ‘patients’ illness. But it’s not truly smacked in our faces until Adil says it.

As Abigail is flaunting her ability to *one day* “grind iron into ore and mountains into dust,” Adil drops a truth bomb on her. “All that weather you fight with has a cost. Floods. Failing crops. Famine. Every war, people starve.” She’s quick to reply that the good they do far outweighs the bad. But to who? Certainly not to Adil and his people. Meeting him is going to give our recruits a serious insight into just how consequential their ‘work’ can be. He’s going to play a crucial role in realizing how manipulative and egotistical General Alder has been. 

Not only is weather an issue, but plagues. “Like the one attacking my sister.” Adil and Khalida come into the storyline because Khalida is sick with a deathly black webbing wrapped around her body. When they first make it to the Military Outpost (somewhere in the dessert between Russia and China?), the Soldier who meets them at the gate yells, “they’re here.” So were they expecting them? 

Raelle eventually is the one who heals Khalida, (by using her Christo-pagan means) but instead of taking up the illness like it usually does, instead, it infects the giant mushroom that Raelle touched earlier. 

The balance of Mother Mushroom.

I go back and forth between theories for the giant mushroom growing under Fort Salem. But today, I’m convinced the mushroom is attached to General Alder’s vitality. And consequently, the entire vitality of Fort Salem as well. In one episode, Berryessa reminds us that all life on campus is directly connected to Alder. And if what Scylla says in My Witches, that “life becomes death, which becomes life again,” is relative to the life on campus and how General Alder parallels that, then this theme of balance throughout the series is more prominent than we realize.

The giant mushroom living under campus is clearly important. It has hands and replicates faces and takes on diseases and Izadora is not a fan of  anyone touching it. So yes, you could say this fungi is a main character now.

But. Why?

“In the kingdom of plants, mushrooms occupy the underworld. Nothing ever really dies.” Mushrooms have an entire underground network of language to one another. And they are responsible for the breakdown and decomposition of death so that organic matter can become something else. Necros have an obvious connection to this ecological process too, so they must have a connection to the continuous process that General Alder goes through to support and sustain life on her campus. 

I think that the “Mother Mycelium” signifies each and every consequence that Fort Salem has accumulated. It holds the hurt and death and pain and regret of everything General Alder has created. And now that the Mushroom is infected with whatever plague Khalida had, I think it’s going to wreak havoc on Fort Salem. Magic is based on balance, and I think massive consequences are coming to make up for years of disparity. 

One last thing on my mushroom-thoughts, is when Helen Graves said “the dead make excellent eyes and ears.” An underground network of mushrooms all connected to recently dead organisms would certainly be a great way to gain insight too. Scylla mentions that she needs something recently dead to grow her deathcap, so does this Mushroom need to be constantly “fed” with death to continue the creation of life? 

Does Alder know about that? Are the mass-murders that the Spree are doing related to this? Killing hundreds of people at a time would definitely be a good way to keep the mushroom o’ death fed. Is Alder behind the Spree!?

 Sexy Weird 

Speaking of Spree... Can we talk Scylla now? First of all, what the hell is this girl’s timeline? When we first meet her, she’s a cadet (second year) in War College already, meaning she would’ve had to enlist on Conscription Day the year before Raelle. Yes? In Mother Mycelium, we see that she *might* (still don’t believe it) have been the person behind that first Spree attack on Conscription Day of this year (so when Raelle, Tally, and Abigail enlisted), so was she at Basic Training for an entire year before deciding to become Spree? Did she enlist knowing that she would eventually be Spree? Does this ever get addressed in the show?

Since we’re here, I might as well say there’s no way Scylla did that. I’ll never believe it. And I’m using my one semester of Greek Mythology in college to tell you why (who knew that class would eventually come in handy)

In My Witches, when Tally, Abigail, and Glory first meet Scylla, Tally makes it clear that ‘Scylla’ is a Greek name. Okay. Greek. Cool. Mythology. Let’s go. I already knew that Eliot Laurence doesn’t waste any minute of screen time when it comes to plot development and storytelling, so my meta brain did a little digging.

In Greek Mythology, Scylla was a sea-monster who haunted the rocks of a very narrow strait, opposite of the whirlpool of Charybdis. The monster’s purpose was to lead ships and boats towards the whirlpool, which was lethal to all who attempted to pass. Scylla was used to lure boats towards Charybdis, but was never meant for actually destroying them. Scylla was a fear tactic, not a murderous monster. In poetry, it’s often said that Scylla isn’t a monster at all, just born into a monstrous family. In conclusion (from my 4 months of Freshman-level Greek Mythology and a little refreshment on Google) I think Scylla is simply being used to lure people to the Spree, but not actually doing the mass-murdering that is being shown in the episode. 

What I do know is that Scylla Ramshorn is absolutely Amalia Holm. Mainly because I refuse to accept that Raelle is falling for the red head (sorry, red head). But also because at the end of the Pilot, when Scylla (in red head disguise) looked into the mirror, the balloon was her reflection, and it followed everything that she did. But in other scenes, when Scylla’s face is the normal Scylla face, she can see her own reflection. So the redhead girl is unimportant. Plus, IMDB says she never appears again this season... 

We Are The Spree 

As much as I hate to believe that Raelle’s mom (or Aunt!) is alive and leading the Spree, the connections between the two entities do add up. Both (Spree and Collar’s) are against the authority and power that the Witch Army has over populations of witches. They’re both against General Sarah Alder. I believe they both use spoken word magic rather than just vocalized magic. When the Spree carry out their attacks, they’re whispering words under their breath, not singing any song. Which is reminiscent of how the Collar’s do magic. Additionally, it would make sense as to why the Spree would want Scylla to bring them Raelle. And I still can’t get over the conversation between Raelle and Tally when Raelle explains her family’s combat charm. “A bowerbird’s foot. They love anything blue.”

Blue? Why. WHY. 

Maybe Willa Collar was captured by the Spree? Or the Aunt was? Or the Spree needs Raelle to heal someone? 

One last weird very unthought out theory goes with the other Biblical verse Raelle recites - Isaiah 43:2. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” The fact that all Spree attacks have happened with something to do water- in the snow, at the pool, on a cruiseship. And the fact that the last line of that verse is literally, “you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” This type of witchcraft has to relate to how the Spree does magic. Right??

Now I’m re-talking myself into the fact that the Collar’s might be somehow leading Spree...

 But who’s ‘we’?

If the Collar’s are in charge of Spree then this next theory would actually check out. 

Anacostia has been a little more over-bearing with Raelle than any of the other girls. On multiple occasions, she’s said how Raelle is gifted. In fact, they all have. Even Abigail in Hail Beltane mentions that “Raelle didn’t go outside of canon, she’s naturally gifted.” They all know she’s gifted. It would make sense if the Collar’s were the ones running Spree, and that Anacostia, aka. General Alder’s head bitch, was sent to protect Raelle from ever joining them. Alder wants to capitalize on the powers that Raelle has, and keep them in the Witch Army. 

But I also think Anacostia could be playing General Alder. There have been too many times where she stares at Alder just a little bit too intently, and I can’t stop thinking that she might be in some sort of rebellious group too. Maybe a certain cell of Spree?

Because you can’t deny that Anacostia has also taken in interest in Scylla, particular to keep her away from Raelle. When Anacostia first caught them flying high on Salva, she told Scylla to stay away from Raelle, and it seemed as though she (tried) to use some sort of coercion magic while doing so. When Anacostia then saw them together at the Bellweather wedding, she almost sounded shocked, “I expressly told you to stay away from her.” Did Anacostia attempt coercion magic on Scylla and it didn’t work? And if she did, why didn’t it work?

That entire exchange felt odd yet familiar. Like the two have history. “Your name wouldn’t have been on the list. You’re not supposed to be here.” Particularly the “you’re not supposed to be here.” Did Anacostia know about the attack on the Bellweather’s? And did she think it would be threatened with Scylla there? Or did she know that Scylla was supposed to bring Raelle to the Spree at 6pm. And was sent to make sure Scylla never completed that task. 

I found it interesting that Anacostia was never seen fighting off the balloons like every other Witch was when they appeared. And her being at the actual wedding felt odd too. Especially if she’s General Alder’s right-hand (wo)man, because last time I checked, Alder and Petra Bellweather weren’t on the greatest terms. In fact, none of the General’s are on great terms with Alder. 

Since we’re now on Bellweather season...

Camarilla. No, not Carmilla.

There’s certainly a second threat in this show. And they were the ones behind the attack at the Bellweather’s. Not only has this already been proven by Jessica Sutton on Twitter (lols) but the clues were literally all there. They didn’t use any magic to fight. They had to use a mechanized sound machine to stop Abigail and Petra from using their powers. Then they covered themselves with gasoline and lit themselves on fire before the mother-daughter duo blew them away. It wasn’t Spree. But it was meant to look like Spree. And I think the balloons were simply a distraction, so all efforts and power would be outside fighting off the balloons while the civilian waiter’s could attack. 

But who is doing this?

It’s been brought up that there are alot of humans who don’t agree with the Witch Army that Alder leads. Even the President of the United States is hesitant about them. “You, too, are bound by rule of law to the will of the American people, who have elected me to represent their interests and protect them. Don’t you forget it. Or you may find yourself reminded.” Then Tally gets confronted later in that episode by a civilian who says, “It’s witches who are committing these attacks. It’s your kind of people .” And then even later in the series, there’s talk of a “growing debate in congress to revoke the Accord and disband the army.” So you could say there are definite opinions about this Army by civilians. 

In A Biddy’s Life, there’s a shot when Raelle and Scylla are in the room with weapons once used to kill witches. There’s an undeniably important shot of the Camarilla Scythe. Camarilla, itself, is defined as a small group of people acting as private advisers to a ruler or politician with a shared and nefarious purpose to carry out secret plots. 

Since civilians are the ones that are most opposed to the Witch Army, it makes sense that maybe the President, herself, is the one behind these attacks. She’s trying to take down the most Elite of the Witches (the Bellweather’s), hence inhibiting the Army from being as successful as it’s been in the past. And what better way than to kill the most elite witches of child-bearing age. 

While this theory checks out, I can’t help but to also think that Petra Bellweather could be behind the attacks. I know, it’s a stretch, (specifically because it’s her own family that’s being targeted) but I do love that ‘good powers, bad people’ trope. And what better way to make sure nobody questions your efforts if you’re the last one they’d suspect? Petra Bellweather has been itching to boot Alder from head witch honcho for awhile. Since killing Bellweather’s is the ultimate attack against witches, this would be a great strategy to showcase that Alder is inept in dealing with these enemies, creating a fall in power. And eventually, a rise in another. A Bellweather. 

Okay, I know what you’re all probably thinking. “So you’re saying that she wanted her own daughter killed!?” Not necessarily. When you watch Bellweather Season, and specifically the wedding scenes, they put an insane emphasis on timing. And I don’t believe that that’s just because of Scylla trying to get Raelle out of there by 6pm. When you watch the sequence back, the Bellweather Unit was supposed to be having their interview with the Dean of War College, starting at 5:30ish. If the interview took a good bit, say 30-45 minutes, this would strategically put Abigail not in the line of fire (aka Charvel’s room) at 6pm when they struck. 

But on the complete other hand, Abigail was supposed to be up with Charvel at that time helping her get ready. Meaning if it wasn’t Petra Bellweather, someone perfectly timed both Bellweather’s of childbearing age to conveniently be in the same place at the same time. 

Then the fact that Scylla was meant to leave with Raelle at 6pm (the exact moment the waiter’s and balloons struck), can’t go unnoticed. Did they want her to leave with Raelle at 6pm because the Spree knew about the attack? Did someone warn them? Does this explain why Anacostia was shocked to see Scyalla. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Why wasn’t she supposed to be there????

I’m just going to tap out of this theory now. 

But One More Thing

This might be a totally aggressive theory, and I have to credit the initial spark of this idea to my girlfriend, because during my 67th rewatch of this show, she brought up something I’d never thought of before. She asked me what Scylla’s purpose of attending the wedding was, and if the person she was supposed to bring to Penelope Road at 6pm really was Raelle? 

This got thinkING. What if it was someone else???

When you look back at all the times Scylla spends talking to her balloon mirror, they never actually say Raelle’s name. Sure, we’re meant to believe that Raelle is the obvious target. But what if that’s a cover?? What if she’s using Raelle to infiltrate something else and get to someone else??

It would make sense to use Raelle to target Abigail instead- an elite Bellweather. Like I said, this is a very unlikely theory but it would definitely be a shock to literally everyone (except my girlfriend apparently)...

Has the entirety of the show been leading us down a path to distract us from something else going on!? With every other ounce of brilliance here, I wouldn’t even doubt it.

In Conclusion

I went into this show expecting to be seen and represented as a queer woman, but what I actually got was so much more. What I got from this show is the realization that me being queer doesn’t have to have anything to do with me being a woman at all. My strength, and will, and mistakes, and growth, and grace, and support, and passion, are what make me a woman. Each of our stories are deserving enough to be told just because we are women.

I’ve struggled with that fact my entire life - my womanhood.

Femininity, feminism, and female empowerment are all things I’ve only recently connected with. I was raised in the culture of traditional gender roles. My dad went to work and my mom stayed home.  It’s not that I was necessarily taught that men and women must occupy those roles; it’s just that’s all I knew. To even further confuse my adolescent existentialism, not only was my mother a stay-at-home mom, she was also in the Marine Corps. And she never really understood the fact that not all women are as strong as she is.

My mom’s a badass, don’t get me wrong. She’s one of my hero’s. She came from a family who didn’t have much, and after realizing that she couldn’t afford to go to college, she enlisted instead. Six years later, she went to Penn State on a full-ride. She’s worked for every ounce of success that she’s seen, and she’s worked her ass off for it. But because of that, she struggles with the idea of feminism.

I can’t blame her too much. I understand the mindset she’s coming from. Growing up with that being instilled in my mind was hard though. Because it was expected that I, too, grow up to be a strong independent woman. 

I graduated in the predominantly male industry of agriculture (I want to be a farmer, okay!?). All through college, grad school, and post-grad school, I worked on farm after farm after farm. And it was there that I was introduced to the idea of toxic masculinity. I tolerated comments that I won’t even say out loud. I’ve “accidentally” been touched in more ways than I care to count. And what I hate the most about it all, is that I fucking tolerated it. I’d laugh it off, and then I’d walk away, mortified at what I’d actually just put up with. And while by no means do I blame my upbringing and home life on this, I do blame the upbringing and home life on the female characters I saw on television. If Brooke Davis was constantly and overly sexualized in high school then I guess I was supposed to, too. Right??

Sure, I still hear comments that I wish I didn’t. But I’m also surrounded by people and characters who taught me to never put up with the shit I once did. Female characters are portraying a storyline that people take more seriously now. They’re persevering. And that jumps off the screen in Motherland: Fort Salem. 

It’s taken me a while to realize how Raelle and Scylla have affected me as much as Clakre and Lexa did (two characters who literally awakened my sexuality). But I think I get it now. 

I love both Raelle and Scylla. Each one. Individually. As witches. As warriors. As females. As humans. As strong female characters. So, in a way, watching this show has awakened something else in me that I’ve also been suppressing all along. My femininity. My strength. My perseverance. 

Sure, Raelle and Scylla are my favorite ship right now, but it wasn’t them being together that made me fall in love with this show. Oddly enough, it was them being apart. It’s the fact that each one stands on her own as a unique and beautifully complicated story. And it’s the fact that I, too, am deserving of a beautifully complicated story.

Last Section, I Swear 

Motherland: Fort Salem is a magical mix of intense story building, relatable character development, and fascinating cinematography, all while being told through a gender and sexuality normative opposite of what we’re used to seeing. It’s a show that encompasses female strength unlike anything I’ve experienced before, where men are the background noise who aid in pushing the plot forward. It’s a show that deserves another season. And another and another and another and another. 

It’s a show I needed ten+ years ago, at 18 years old, freshly out of high school and wondering why the fuck I never had crushes on guys like everyone else my age did. It’s the show I needed so I didn’t always wonder why I was so obsessed with Peyton Sawyer and Summer Roberts and why I was the only one I knew who thought Torrance and Missy should’ve ended up together. It’s the show I needed to learn that my femininity doesn’t make me any less tough than my male counterparts. It’s the show I needed so I never put up with anyone’s shit. It’s the show I needed to teach me that I am storm and I am fury. 

It’s the show I needed then. But it’s also the show I’m so happy that I have now.

[mieczyhale]

you know what i could go for?? [late night ramble journey ahead // i did not re-read this so who knows!!]

an in-depth fic about klaus’s ten months in vietnam.. but with ben there. klaus getting pants and a gun shoved at him and ben is just as confused and freaked out. klaus finding out where they are, or ben finding out and telling him. klaus meeting dave and ben is sitting next to him, side eyeing dave because who is this soldier and why did he come all the way from the back of the bus to introduce himself. ben sees it / can tell when klaus shoves the briefcase under their seat right after and ben’s just like ‘are you fucking kidding me??’ and of course klaus would make stupid decisions because of an attractive man with a sweet smile. so he’s exasperated but also concerned because it’s 1968 and people like klaus are treated even worse now than they are in 2019, way worse, and all of these men are probably straight - dave included. and if any of them are gay they’re not gonna say anything let alone act on it. it wouldn’t be worth it. klaus could get himself hurt or killed just for being himself, if he acts too.. well.. himself after that he stays by klaus’s side more than he did in their own time, which is really saying something. offers advice and wisdom like he always has. he warns him about snipers and mines and bullets and in turn klaus warns his squad. ben can’t lie - it feels pretty fucking good to be responsible for saving lives without having to take any. he still wishes klaus would just try the briefcase, he has it, but at some point he stops pushing. because he does think klaus needs to go back and soon but everytime he brings it up klaus gets defensive and angry - he can do what he wants. he has friends here now. he has a family that actually likes him. that actually cares. he’s considered useful and important and he’s on drugs!! he can get high and none of them think any less of him for it. why can’t ben see that maybe this is where he belongs?? maybe the middle of the fucking vietnam war is where he fits?? and it’s not like he has anyone or anything back home. the only thing he could have missed is ben and ben’s with him in 1968 so there’s literally nothing. and ben wants to yell back, he wants to argue that there’s plenty for klaus to go back to, but he’s realizing that klaus.. might be right. and that hurts. and of course pisses ben off but it hurts because nobody should have to travel back in time and fight in a pointless war to find basic respect, especially not klaus. klaus who has been through enough - who deserves good things more than anyone ben knows. so after that conversation he doesn’t bring it up anymore. he looks at it sometimes, and thinks about their siblings, how they just gained their missing brother only to lose another, how are they doing? have they noticed klaus is missing yet? did they see the motel room?? did they know that all of that blood was klaus’s?? (shh patch didn’t die, hazel and cha cha escaped by knocking her out but she lives because i said so. diego shows up and finds her, freaks out at first but is relieved that she’s fine. he manages to get her to wake up and she tells him that klaus was there. he was hurt, very very hurt, but he got away. she doesn’t know where he went, he crawled through the vent, and he’s gone, diego. you need to find him - he needs a hospital. ahem anyway) ben thinks on these things and it never takes him long to get disgusted looking at it because it contains, in a way, their family. and he thinks he knows the answers. he gets to a point where he decides he wouldn’t be upset if they never had to see those jackasses again. his loyalties lie with klaus, after 13 years together there’s no way they wouldnt be. and if doing what’s best for klaus, doing what makes klaus happy, is staying right where they’ve found themselves than he can deal with it. that’s where he ends up anyway but its definitely not a quick or easy point to reach. he’s there for every battle, all the days of marching, watching klaus kill people and knowing how badly it’s affecting his brother and yet he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t pull back without orders, doesn’t put his gun down until he knows his squad is safe. and that fierceness grows as he gets closer to dave. ben doesn’t know what to think of dave at first, probably doesn’t trust him - knowing every man klaus has ever found attractive or had a “relationship” with before - but ben literally watches this - admittedly handsome - soldier boy fall in love with klaus, and klaus with him. ben witnesses the disco. the private conversation - from a distance, he’s doesn’t feel quite right listening in and he can still see them. the way they look at each other. how gently dave approaches every moment with klaus - the hand on his cheek, their first kiss (which he WILL tease klaus about later) when they head back to the hotel that was booked for all the guys for r&r, ben decides to wander saigon instead because he’s pretty sure he knows where things are going to go considering klaus and dave are roommates (oh my god they were roommates) by the time he gets back they’re both passed out (in the same bed. as he expected) from that day forward klaus is happy, genuinely happy in a way ben can’t remember him ever being, and dave has of course gained ben’s full approval (especially when klaus tells dave about the ghosts and dave believes him. even turns to where klaus is pointing at ben and tells ben that he’s happy that klaus has at least one good sibling, that he’s happy to know ben is there. when dave knows ben is there he always greets him. it’s not anything that grand really but it means a lot to ben. and when klaus finally tells him about the time travel, a little later on, dave believes him then too. said it made sense because he always thought there was no way someone as incredible as klaus could’ve come from the same place as he himself - let alone the same time. it never seemed to.. fit) SO ben is a fan. and he stays by both their sides - keeping them alive as best he can - along with a few other ghosts who are coherent, previous members of the 173rd, who pass things on to ben when klaus is too high. they talk, as long as no one but dave is around - dave who adapts pretty easily to klaus holding a whole conversation with someone he can’t see or hear. and ben.. stays ben. the only thing being in the war really changes is the way he views their siblings and he now has one other live person that he can “talk” to. eventually, almost 11 months in, they find out they’re getting sent to the frontlines. even closer to the danger. and klaus has a bad feeling. this is when ben brings up the briefcase again, hesitantly, and before klaus goes off reminds him that they could take dave with them. if he wanted to go. klaus can return to their time, to relative safety, and still have dave. it’s no longer a ‘one or the other’ situation. all they have to do is get dave to say ‘yes’. he says it very quickly of course (if you think i’d let dave die you’re out of your goddamn mind) he can be tough and feral when he needs to be, when pushed if klaus is in danger but he isn’t a killer, he doesn’t want to be a killer, he wants out. but he also wants a life with klaus and while they talked about going back to the states in.. well.. dave’s time and getting a little house and all that - doing that in 2019 sounds much better. especially after the night klaus told him softly about how things were different for lgbtq+ people, how they could hold hands and be as out as they wanted. get married. adopt. all things dave spent his whole life believing he’d never be allowed to have. so they do it - right then. klaus pulls out the briefcase and they gather the few things they wanted to keep and in a bright light they’re gone. (maybe they said something, or goodbye, to each squadmate before leaving. maybe they didnt and it hurt but if they waited around to get through everyone it would be too late to run) AND OH!! they take the ghost soldiers with them / the ghost soldiers find them in 2019, because i’m a slut for klaus having good ghosts, friend ghosts, who - even if they died horribly, are still the same person they were alive. and maybe sometimes they look like their deaths and sometimes they can look normal - ben teaching the soldiers how to be ghosts?? including how to appear as you were; whole, no holes or blood or missing limbs or chunks of head blown off. they’re all grateful and so is klaus. tho listen: he still gets high because i fucking said so - however, at least until the world is saved, he sticks to cigarettes and - for sleeping purposes - pot, dave does as well. because dave isnt a square. maybe he sticks to that path afterwards. maybe not. i for one support everything except 100% sobriety 100% of the time in this instance  anyway: later on when klaus can make ben corporeal for any amount of time he wants ben tells their siblings about the real life romantic drama he got to watch close up, from their first meeting all the way to the return to 2019. he also mentions a lot of things about the war, the sights and sounds of senseless murder - something their brother and his boyfriend were forced to take part in - the wounds they had to deal with, heal through. klaus and dave definitely have some scars. the fear. and that’s after telling them about hazel and cha cha and the almost two days they had klaus and nobody noticed. (maybe klaus lets his siblings meet the other soldiers, maybe not. maybe he lets them wander the mansion corporeal to scare the shit out of people. who knows) ben wants to make their siblings feel bad. he wants them to hurt and feel guilty. it’s the very least they deserve he thinks, when it’s all said and done. he hasn’t been able to say anything to them for 13 years and he’s got a lot of things built up - but gotta say, the last year (five-ish days?? starting at ep.1) have really taken the whole goddamn cake. klaus is embarrassed and shocked and actually quite touched that little benny is really going feral for the first time - though he keeps trying to tell him none of it is a big deal. he doesnt like confrontation. dave however is extremely pleased by the whole thing. klaus kept saying he and ben would get along if they ever got to meet and he was right. ben had, with a serious face, dubbed them the klaus hargreeves love & protection squad (bc dave doesnt know what the fuck even a ‘meem’ is yet) and that’s that. they make up a handshake and everything. klaus has never felt so loved. 

aaand eventually klaus and dave and ben (because of course he’s invited) do get that little house away from the city - someplace with few to no ghosts. someplace they can make their home. they make sure it has a room they can make up for ben even though he doesnt sleep (he still deserves his own space. a place to get away from them if he wants. somewhere to put his books and such. ben doesnt get emotional about that at all. absolutely not.) and they get pets and klaus gardens and ben reads books about gardening so he can help and dave works (mechanic is always a good time. or bookstore owner!! coffee shop?? listen. those may or may not be my favorite aus) and maybe the siblings get to visit and maybe they mend things and bond or whatever idk THE POINT IS:: Ben is a good brother and i think the idea of him going through vietnam with klaus is interesting and if someone with more ideas/thoughts ever wrote this i would be on that like cheese on broccoli honestly. THE SECOND POINT IS:: Klaus and Dave deserve to be happy and have the life they dreamed about together and if they shared their home with anyone it would be the Bentacles SO… OKAY…  that definitely did it’s own thing but i really really genuinely love thinking about what those months would have been like with ben there - what he would have thought or said or done about things yknow?? and how that would have affected klaus/changed things. i didnt give a lot of examples in this because my brain didn’t want to stay on track (as if it ever does) but it’s 1:30 in the morning and im so fucking tired lsdfd;lk if you actually read this.. first of all: im sorry. second of all: thank you. and literally if anyone ever wrote something about this topic (not like.. this post specifically, just the ben in vietnam plot) and nobody important dies i’ll love you and give you a lil smooch on the noggin  s m ooch. smooches. you know who likes smooches?? klaus. you know who deserves smooches?? klaus. you know who’s getting smooches?? THAT’S RIGHT. KLAUS. because dave has a degree in giving them and he can’t let that education go to waste amiright??

this post.. may or may not have been brought to you by wine as well.. 

ope