#if i ever die (probably from this wrist injury) this is the book that they will find on my person in order to identify me

[frivolette]

My eyes were dazed by you for a little, and that was all.

Thomas Hardy, Tess of the d'Urbervilles (1891)

[dameronology]

never doubt me {cassian andor}

summary: after falling into the hands of the empire, a situation of life and death forces you and cassian to finally talk about your feelings {for @megmeg-chan and i am sO sorry it’s taken me so long to do this}

summary: language, mentions of injury, talks ab death/loss in a canon kinda way 

enjoy!! i haven’t written for cassian in so long and i forgot how much i loved him, so expect more of him in the future😌

- jazz

Cassian Andor was a filthy liar. 

No, deep breath. He wasn't that bad. 

The situation was just really fucking irritating and, in all likelihood, making your anger towards him a little more irrational. It wasn't really even his fault either. He'd told you incessantly that the mission was going to go well, and that you both going to be fine. Like, totally fiiiine, and that you would both get into the base without trouble and reunite in the middle, near the Imperial comms system. It was just that neither of you had planned for or expected stormtroopers to be present -- he'd gotten away in one piece, but you hadn't been so lucky. 

That brings us to now: a cell, with two stormtroopers parked outside and quite literally no sign of Cassian anywhere. You knew he'd be looking for you; in fact, you didn't doubt it once. There was a sort of unspoken pact between you that you would always rescue one another; always have each other's backs and never leave the other behind. It was born from the fact that friendships were hard to forge in your line of work, and what you and Cassian had was rare. Not even just in the Rebellion, but rather life in general. On the surface, you teased and ripped into one another to no end. The chemistry was almost suffocating for the people around you, because they could never get a word in edge ways. Then, if you dug a little deeper, there was something more. Something sweeter, something more supportive. You knew him better than he knew himself and in return, he could read you like his favourite novel (though, admittedly, it did sometimes feel like you were missing a few pages. Human complexity and all that).

‘Do you feel like speaking now?’ The modulated voice of one of the stormtroopers came from the other side of your cell door.

‘I’ll die before telling you jackshit.’ You muttered. Hopefully that was more of a statement and less of a prophecy.

The trooper snorted. ‘Okay, sweetheart-’

‘- call me that again and I will shove that blaster sideways up your ass.’ You spat.

‘The only thing you’re doing is rotting here.’ 

With that, he turned his back to you again. 

You slumped further down the wall, ignoring the feeling of the cold concrete etching through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was cold in here. Really, really fucking cold, and Cassian had said you wouldn’t need a jacket. Then again, he’d said a lot of things. And again, none of it was his fault, but you cursed yourself for so blindly listening to him. It was nice that you took everything the other said as gospel, even if it came back to bite you in the ass every so often. 

‘A word of advice-’

‘- I don’t want any advice.’ You turned away from the trooper, pulling you knees to your chest. 

‘The sooner you talk, the less painful it’ll be.’ He ignored your refusal. 

You didn’t need to ask what he meant by it. You’d been part of the Rebellion long enough to have heard stories -- stories of torture, stories of war and the the kind of horrors that people often took to the grave.  You had a fair few of your own, and so did Cassian. That was probably why he’d become so important to you. He was one of the only people in the galaxy who truly understood the downfalls of being a Rebel spy. Your cause was more important to you than anything (well, almost anything) and you wouldn’t have changed it for the world, but there were times like this where you wondered if it was all worth it. Would there ever come a day where the Empire truly fell, once and for all? And would you even be around to see it? Would Cassian? 

Speaking of the devil, where the fuck was he? He never usually took this long. A few hours at most, but you’d long surpassed that. You could only very barely see the sky through the tiny window, but the sky had faded from powder blue to a dark navy, signalling it had been well over half a day. That was bad for multiple reasons -- the first being that the longer you were here, the more likely Cassian was to assume the worst and stop searching. Secondly, and perhaps most hauntingly, was that each passing second brought you closer to the Imps dragging you out the cell and taking you for questioning. And questioning, in their books, didn’t involve much talking. Go figure.

The injuries you sustained in your capture were bad enough; a bust lip, bruised eye and twisted ankle never made for much comfort. Even less so when you couldn’t get medical attention. The fact you knew it would be the least of your problems in a few hours made it all that much worst. 

You’d never doubted Cassian Andor before. Not once. Couldn’t even fathom it, truth be told. He always came through for you; always saved your ass, whether it be from yourself or from Imps. He was your person. That’s the only way you could have put it.

But, above all, he was a human being. Not a super hero, or a miracle worker. He could only do so much and you knew he would. He would follow every lead and every clue to try and get to you, but that’s all he could do. If he couldn’t find you, that wasn’t him on him. You doubted that he would think the same, and when you heard the lock to your cell open, you could only hope and pray that he knew that. That you weren’t going to blame him for what was about to happen, or hold it against him. 

‘It’s time.’ The stormtrooper announced. ‘Hope you can handle a bit of pain.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I can handle anything.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ He guffawed. ‘Hands out.’

‘C’mon, man.’ You murmured. ‘My legs gone, my lips bust and my head feels someone’s dropped an iron anvil on it. You don’t need to cuff  - ouch!’

You let out a squeak as he grabbed your wrists, tugging them forward and shoving a pair of metal cuffs on them. Was this really it? The end? Was your name gonna be the next one on the list of people lost in the Rebellion? That was if anybody even noticed. 

Cassian would. Of course, Cassian would. It hurt your heart to think that you wouldn’t see him again, or get to say a proper goodbye. The last time you’d seen him, you’d been dragged away from him kicking and screaming. He’d been so close, and if he’d been just a little nearer when they’d got you, he might have been able to save you, to stop you from falling into the hands of the Empire. You always figured that if you were gonna die in the field, he’d be by your side. The dumbassery you so often found yourselves in usually happened together. 

The walls of the Imperial base were dark - as if you’d expected anything else. It was hardly like the place was going to look like a bright, airy Ikea showroom. The only light came from the thousands of tiny red and blue buttons flickering on the wall, illuminating the hallways in what would have been a pretty glow if the circumstances weren’t so fucking miserable. Talk about a high way to hell.

You took another left, the trooper’s grip on you tightening as you neared some double towards the end. Yep, here it was. This is where you met your maker.  And from what you’d heard, the six-foot-something guy in a black mask did not take prisoners. Not that he was the one you were thinking of. No, that was Cassian. Completely and entirely Cassian; just his face and his presence and his everything at the back of your mind, the last thing you could think of before you were about to die for your cause-

-you let out an oof! as the stormtrooper suddenly pulled you to the ground, practically using you as a human shield against the blaster fire and smoke grenade that had just come from behind you. You tried to use your elbows to push him off, but with the cuffs and your already existing injuries, he easily overpowered you. Also, you were too busy coughing from the smoke to even think about making a getaway.

Tumbling forward, you fell onto your hands and knees. The trooper’s gun clattered to the ground, and you used your good leg to kick it further out the way, eyes not moving from the cloud of smoke that come out of the grenade. The red and blue lights were beating down on it, casting a purple glow over the shadow of whoever had thrown it, acting as a guide as they finally emerged. With a blaster in one hand and the other curled into a fist, your best friend had never quite looked so handsome, especially under the violet illuminations.

‘Cassian!’ Despite everything, you couldn’t help but grin. 

‘Duck.’ He demanded. 

You did as he said, flopping back to the floor. Squeezing your eyes shut and covering your head, you stayed there for a moment. There was another blast, and then the trooper’s body fell beside yours with a dull thud! 

Then, in what must have been two of most contrasting feelings ever, a warm pair of hands found yours. Cassian’s, undoubtedly. You would have known them anywhere. He pulled you up from the cold ground, warm palms finding your face as they ghosted over your cheeks.

‘It’s okay.’ His voice was soft. ‘You can open your eyes.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I know. Thank you.’

‘How badly are you hurt?’ He asked. ‘Because we need to move fast.’

‘My foot’s pretty wrangled.’ You said. 

Without another word, Cassian threw an arm over your shoulders, tucking it under your arms to support you. 

‘Lean against me.’ He instructed. ‘The exit isn’t too far-’

‘- what about the other troopers?’ You asked.

‘I dealt with them on my way in.’

And dealt with them, he certainly had. The men were practically laying in unconscious piles (he only ever intended to maim, but never kill), working as some kind of fucked up map out of a twisted and horrible maze.  The pain in your leg only grew worst as you moved, your good leg beginning to ache from carrying all the weight. With all your attention focused ahead of you for potential enemies, you didn’t even notice how close you were to stumbling over -- not until you fell back onto the cold lino floors. 

‘Hey.’ Cassian dropped beside you. ‘Look at me, okay, just...look at me.’

You glanced up, tired eyes meeting his warm, brown ones. ‘It really hurts, Cass.’

‘We’re really close now.’ He said. ‘Two more minutes. Can you do that? For me?’

‘Yeah.’ You took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I can.’

(Because really, for him, you’d do anything.) 

Cassian helped you back up, pressing one of his blasters into your hand. His arm returned to hold you by the waist, gripping you a little tighter this time. Your leg was practically screaming in pain, a dull ache shooting from your ankle up to your knee. You had to remind yourself that in a few minutes, it would all be over - and not in the way you thought it was going to be over an hour ago. Over, as in this whole ordeal would simply be something to report back to your bosses at base, and not your final moments. The fact you ever let yourself accept that fate and think that Cassian wouldn’t come for you was something else entirely in itself. 

You almost cried with relief when you saw his battered old ship docked outside the base. You normally cried for other reasons when you saw it - usually ones to do with the rusty old engines and creaking sound it insisted on making whenever it flew - but right then, you had never been happier to see it. Even if the insides smelt weirdly of petrol and oil, and the seats in the cockpit were made of uncomfortable cracked leather, you practically threw yourself on board. 

Neither you nor Cassian said anything for a while. His attention was completely on getting away from the base and avoiding TIE fighters - something he did without ever moving his hand from your thigh - and yours was on steadying your breathing and heartbeat. It had been a rough twelve hours to say the least. 

Once the ship had lurched into hyperspace, he turned in his chair to face you. He held your gaze for a moment, before opening his arms out and letting you flop from your own seat and into his chest. They tightly wrapped around you, one hand softly your head to his body and the other gently rubbing up and down your back. You had to squeeze your eyes shut to stop your tears from spilling. 

‘I’m sorry.’ He murmured.

‘For what?’ You peered up at him with a frown. 

‘Not finding you sooner.’ He replied. ‘Or for even letting you get caught in the first place-’

‘- Cassian, stop.’ You pulled back and tangled his hands in yours. ‘Once I get some bactaspray, I’ll be totally fine.’

‘But you almost weren’t.’ He shot back. ‘If I was just a few minutes later and you could have been a thousand times worst, or even...gone completely.’

‘That’s beside the point.’ You softly sighed. ‘It’s doesn’t matter would have beens or could have beens. I am here and I will be okay.’

‘You’re right.’ He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I just...I want to protect you, you know? And I failed.’

‘You don’t need to protect me, Cass.’ You shook your head with a soft smile. ‘Actually, no, today I did but you pulled through.’

‘I don’t need to, but I want to.’ Cassian murmured. 

He’d done a pretty good job at sitting on his feelings for the last few years. Pushed them down when he felt the urge to tell you, and ignored them entirely when they got really intense. But that had been when the threat of completely losing you was just that: a threat. A distant possibility, and one that you were both too busy living your lives to fully consider. Now, however, you’d come close. Too close. Cassian had come face-to-face with a reality where you were gone, and one where he’d never actually told you how he felt. 

‘You know I love you, right?’ He quietly said. 

‘Yeah, I know.’ You nodded. 

‘No, I mean I love you.’ 

You peered up at him, realising what he was getting at. You did know. In fact, it had very much been an unspoken thing between you for a very, very long time. It was really just a matter of saying it - but that was always the hardest part, right? 

‘I know.’ You repeated. ‘I love you too.’

‘You do?’

You softly laughed. ‘Of course I do.’ 

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and pulled you back against his chest, chin resting atop your ahead. ‘Good.’

You stayed like that for a few minutes; it was undoubtedly a deeper conversation you were going to have later on, but it felt good to have it out in the open. So good, in fact, that it momentarily made you forget the last day entirely. Instead of pondering on it, you let yourself get lost entirely in Cassian’s presence, and the feeling of his body against yours and and his arms holding you. If you could have it your way, you would have stayed like this forever. The rest of the galaxy could wait. 

‘I’m sorry if you thought I was going to make in time.’ He said quietly. 

‘I didn’t.’ Your voice was slightly muffled by his chest. ‘Not once.’

‘I love you.’ Cassian said it more firmly this time. It still completely felt weird to say, and even more so to see you smile and say it back.

‘I love you too.’

He dipped his head down, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. The feeling of your lips against his was familiar and foreign all at once; it was something he’d gone over in his head a thousand times, but it was nothing like either of you had imagined. It was better. Sweeter, in the kind of way that gave you butterflies in your tummy and made you feel giddy. It was worlds away from the usual dread and bloodshed that came with being in the Rebellion. 

But that was quintessentially Cassian. He was everything that the war wasn’t: sweet and constant and warm. Somebody as beautiful and as caring as him both did and didn’t belong in the Rebellion. Did, because he was a good man who wanted to fight for the right thing. Didn’t, because he constantly risked his life for the greater good and you couldn’t quite stomach that idea. 

‘I’ll always come back for you.’ He lightly brushed his hand against your cheek. ‘Never doubt me.’

‘I won’t.’ You promised. ‘Not ever.’ 

tags: @megmeg-chan @karasong @bb8sworld @marvelinsanity @poestardust @etherealsanakin @bo-kryze​ @punkbach​ @phoenixhalliwell​

[ghostadventuresstuff]

Zak Bagans (Vampire) x Reader

Y/N

You never did have the best track record when it came to being safe, it was as if danger and near-death followed you everywhere you went but your boyfriend Zak was mysteriously always there to save you. He'd make you drink some homemade medicine which would have you feeling brand new in a day or two. It cut down on hospital bills.

You and Zak were returning back from a date when your car was smashed into by a large truck, running you off the road and with enough force you're ejected from the car. You can hear Zak shouting your name as your vision starts to blur, he sounds fine but that's impossible because the two of you had just been in a car crash.

Sleep overcomes you and closing your eyes seems like a good idea, however before the darkness takes over you feel something wet on your lips. It was probably blood from a head injury but something inside you told you to part your lips slightly and swallow. It was as if you could hear Zak's voice in your head. Then the darkness overcame you.

*2 DAYS LATER*

You slowly start to open your eyes, you remember very little from the accident but you were adamant your injuries should have killed you. You sit up in bed, yours and Zak's bed to be precise and notice there's no sign of injury on your body.

On the bedside table is a glass of Zak's homemade medicine, you drink it without hesitation as you always did. Though this time you taste something metallic, you bring the glass up to your nose and sniff. Blood, that's what you can smell. But why would there be blood in the juice you just drank?

You needed to find Zak and get some answers because you were seriously starting to freak out. Carefully you climb out of bed only then noticing that Zak had put you in one of his shirts which reached your knees. What exactly happened after the crash? Zak should have been injured just like you.

Walking down the staircase you get to the bottom step where a patch of sunlight seeps through the front door window. The second the sun makes contact with your skin your foot starts to hiss and you jump back as you feel the skin on your foot blister. What was wrong with you? sunlight didn't normally burn people like that.

'Zak,' you call out.

You get no reply. Carefully you edge your way around the patch of sunlight on the stairs and edge your way into the living room. The curtains are wide open and sunlight floods the room, you instinctively cover your eyes with your hand which is odd because you're never normally sensitive to light like this. A stray beam hits your hand and you hiss in pain before jumping back into a patch of shadow by the bookcase.

You started to freak out, what was going on with your body? You'd never felt this weak before, back in bed you felt fine because the curtains were closed but now you felt the energy leaving your body. You begin to sob silently and sink to the floor clutching your hands over your knees. Maybe Zak can offer an explanation.

*EVENING*

Zak hadn't returned home all day leaving you trapped in the small shadow in the living room. You were unable to reach your phone, by now you had cried all the tears out of your body and had begun shaking uncontrollably. Then suddenly you hear the front door open and Zak casually drops his keys into the pot, he was whistling.

'y/n are you up?'

You try to stand up but your body is weak and you collapse back to the floor. You manage to knock over a book which causes Zak to run into the living room, his eyes scan the room frantically before they latch onto you. His face drops as he darts beside you in a second.

'What are you doing down here?' he speaks frantically.

You gasp, fighting for breath 'I woke up and you were gone. I came downstairs but the sunlight hurt me, I've been trapped here all day because the sun kept coming through the windows. Why did the sun hurt me?'

Zak glances over at the open curtains and curses under his breath. He examines your hand and foot which still has slight burn marks on them.

'I'll explain everything to you, babe, after you drink this.'

Next thing you know his eyes have turned black and his canines have extended and he's biting into his wrist. Your eyes bulge at the sight of blood trickling from the wound. You believed in the supernatural world, but Zak couldn't possibly be a vampire as he showed no signs. He was obsessed with Dracula but you simply thought it was a quirk.

'I never should have left you, I thought you'd take more time to heal. Come on drink up, it will make you stronger,' he says with urgency in his voice.

He brings his wrist up to your mouth and as much as you find the idea of drinking his blood repulsive, something inside you stirs and suddenly you're craving the crimson liquid.

You pull away after a minute or so and already you feel strength returning to your body. Zak stands up and brushes the dust off his trousers before bending down and scooping you up bridal style. You should have been more scared by the monster holding you in his arms, but he still looked and acted like the man you fell in love with.

'Let's get you back upstairs love,' he speaks softly.

Before you know it you're back in the bedroom and Zak is placing you back in bed, however, he doesn't leave this time. Instead, he climbs onto the bed next to you and rests your head on his chest as he starts to play with your hair.

'If you haven't already guessed it by now y/n I'm a vampire.'

You nod in understanding, 'yeah I kind of conned onto the whole black eyes, extended canines and blood. How old are you? And why did you lie to me? Oh yeah, and what the hell happened last night?'

Zak chuckles, 'I'm 150 give or take a few years, after a while vampires stop counting birthdays. Now the reason I lied to you is that I didn't want to lose you. That night when we met in the club I was at one of my lowest points where I craved blood and would kill anything with a pulse. I saw you sitting at the bar and as much as I wanted to drink your blood, I couldn't bring myself to physically harm you. When that creep was hitting on you I was jealous and protective, I did kill him by the way. But once I got to know you I knew I'd found the reason to switch my humanity back on.'

He sounded genuine, and it made you feel warm inside that he was jealous of another guy hitting on you.

'I'd just lost my job that day and was looking for a little adventure. Then you came along and I got to have my adventure, give or take a few times you talked me out of things for fear of my own safety,' you joke.

Zak sighs, 'It takes a lot to kill a vampire y/n, whereas humans are easy to break.'

It was your turn to chuckle, it felt like you were having a normal conversation with your boyfriend who just happened to be a 150-year-old vampire, 'we were in a pretty bad crash last night. What happened? Because my mind is drawing blanks after I passed out.'

'We were hit by an oil tanker, the driver was over the limit and unfortunately didn't die but chose to do a runner. You were thrown from the car and I fed you my blood to heal you, however, if a human dies with vampire blood in his system then they start the transition into becoming a vampire.'

That explained the weakness to sunlight and the weak body, Zak had turned you into a vampire because he didn't want to watch you die. However, you were curious about the transition and what happened to the driver.

'What happens during the transition?' You ask, genuinely interested and a little scared.

'You have to drink blood from a human. That glass I left you earlier which you drank contained the blood of the driver. He had no regard for your life and chose to run instead of calling an ambulance so I took his life to save yours.'

Okay so that explained what happened to the driver, his blood was in your system and that was turning you into a vampire. But you had so many more questions. Zak seemed relatively calm and willing to answer, after all, he had made you immortal without your consent.

'How can you walk in sunlight whereas it burned me?' you question.

Zak shifts himself from under you and pulls something out of his jacket pocket. It's a small black box, 'vampires can only walk in sunlight if they have a ring made by a witch, luckily I know a friendly witch who made mine. Here give me your hand y/n.'

You lazily lift your hand up while Zak pops open the little black box, inside is the prettiest ring you've ever seen. You can tell it was handcrafted and looks like it's been through the ages.

'Zak the ring is gorgeous,' you gasp.

Zak smirks and slips the ring out of the box, 'this was crafted by my father 170 years ago, he gave it to my mother and then my mum handed it to me and told me to only put it on the finger of the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my days with. I had the witch spell it so you'll be able to walk in sunlight, will you do the honours of marrying me y/n?'

Your mouth drops open, those were the last words you expected to come out of his mouth. Was this why he was out all day? You should have been flattered that he'd waited 150 years to find the right person, and you couldn't believe that person was you.

Ever since you were a little girl you'd always planned how you were going to get married. Maybe to a vampire wasn't the initial plan but things change, you were both vampires and that meant he'd be stuck with you for a very long time.

'Yes, Zak I will marry you.'

You've never seen a bigger smile on Zak's face than right now, he slides the ring onto your finger before pulling you in for a kiss. You smirk against his lips and pull away slightly.

'You do know you're now stuck with me, Zak.'

He chuckles, 'I think I can handle you y/n.'

[oneshot-wxnderland]

Prince’s Kiss | Jason Grace

Summary: While on a mission, Y/n gets hurt and there’s only one way for Jason to save her.

Category: fluff

_____________________

          You and Jason had found yourselves in many situations like this before: back to back, weapons drawn, and fighting off a hoard of monsters. The rhythm and coordination you two had crafted over the course of hundreds of hours in battle and in training together proved to be a formidable force against opponents. You covered each other’s blind spots and moved as one. Which was necessary in the cramped alleyway.

          Soon enough your attackers had diminished in number until just a few were left and one big ugly came charging at you. You swung at it but your sword got stuck half-way through its wood club and wouldn’t come when you pulled.

          “Jay-.” Ducking under the monster’s swing, you continued to try and pry your sword free.

          “On it.” Jason replied and finished off his opponent with a quick and calculated strike before he spun around to help. You ducked beneath his arm as it arched over you and cut into the monster, turning it to dust before he reached around you and wrapped his hands around your own on the hilt of your sword. It came free with a strong pull from your combined strength and you both let out a heavy breath now that it was over.

          “Thanks,” you huffed, out of breath.

          “Don’t mention it,” he nodded, equally fatigued.

          “You know,” you kicked the wood club out of your way as you started to leave. “You’d think that with how often this happens, we’d be less winded.”

          “I’m fine, I think it’s just you,” he nudged your shoulder with his and you laughed.

          “Oh really? Bet I could beat you back to the motel.” 

          “You sure you wanna do this?” 

          “I think you’re scared, Jay-.” 

          A sharp sting to your side cut off your words. You looked down to see a scorpion-looking monster crouching behind the dumpster next to you and it reared its tail for another attack. Your limbs were sluggish as you tried pathetically to raise your sword and fight.

          “You’re on, Y/n.” Jason looked back at you, a challenging smile on his face that fell immediately when he saw the blood coming from your side and the monster about to swing. “Y/n!”

          His sword found its mark and the monster was finished before it could strike again and he spun to face you, worry creasing his brow.

          “Are you alright?” He reached out his hand towards your wound and caught you in his arms as you collapsed. “Hold on, Y/n.”

          The motel room you had rented for your mission wasn’t far and Jason made record time carrying you back to it. He laid you on one of the beds and gently lifted your shirt up over your stomach so that he could see the wound. It didn’t look too deep once he cleaned it up but you still hadn’t woken up. That’s when he knew something was wrong. You were one of the toughest people Jason knew and he had seen you walk off wounds far worse than this. 

          Deciding he needed some professional help, Jason scrambled to get a golden drachma from his backpack and ran to the bathroom to turn on the shower.

          When the misty picture of Will Solace lit up the tiles, Jason called out to him frantically.

          “Jason!” Will jumped and spun around to see the Iris message. He took in the usually composed leader’s worry and then past the open bathroom door to where he could see Y/n unmoving on the bed and immediately snapped into business mode. “What’s wrong.”

          “I don’t know she got hit and passed out but the wound isn’t that bad and she can’t eat any ambrosia like this. What do I do?”

          “You said the wound isn’t bad?” Will asked and Jason held his hand up in an approximation of how big it is, not wanting to move you from the bed. “And she’s passed out? It must be something else then. Did you see what hit her?”

          “Yeah it was some kind of scorpion looking thing, I don’t know.” Jason ran his hand through his hair and walked back over to you, inspecting the wound and holding your hand that Will couldn’t see. 

          “Does she have a fever? It could be some kind of poison,” Will offered and Jason felt your forehead. 

          “She’s burning up.”

          “I don’t get it,” Will tore through his books looking for an answer. “There isn’t a kind of monster like that who’s sting produces these kinds of symptoms.”

          Jason walked back over to the bathroom and looked at Will’s surroundings.

          “Is Annabeth there? She would probably know.” 

          “She’s in New York City with Percy.” Jason’s budding hope shrank again and he looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin looked drained of color but at least the wound had stopped bleeding. “I’ll keep looking. Did the wound look discolored at all-?”

         Jason jumped from a cry of pain and rushed back to your side where you were thrashing around in your sleep. He grabbed your wrists and tried to hold you down so you wouldn’t hurt yourself, your eyes screwed shut and agonized noises like a  twisting knife in his gut. “Will!”

          “I’m looking! Try to keep her still!”

          Even unconscious, you were putting up a hell of a fight for Jason who was struggling to hold you down, especially since he was trying not to hurt you. 

          “Jason, you gotta hold her down.” 

          He jumped up and straddled your hips to keep your legs down and leaned the rest of his weight into keeping your wrists to the pillow. 

          “Wait, you guys were looking for monsters who stole stuff from Aphrodite, right?”

          “Yeah?” The entire point of the mission had left Jason’s mind since he saw you collapse and he was too anxious to follow Will’s thinking.

          “Then what if it was one of Aphrodite’s potions that the stinger was dipped in?” Will grabbed a new book and wildly searched through it. “This one must be it! Fainting, fever, convulsions… yeah it’s this one.”

          “What do I do?” The fight was being drained from you but Jason was hesitant to do more than ease on his grip a little in case you started up again.

          “It says that the only cure is a… wow, that is so like Aphrodite.”

          “Will.”

          “Okay it says that the only cure is a kiss from royalty, like a prince or something.”

          Jason’s hope was crushed once again seeing as how even if they weren’t in America, a prince would be exceptionally hard to acquire. 

          “Well I don’t think I’ll be able to find a prince in the middle of Wisconsin. Is there another option?” There had to be another way. No way in hell was Jason going to lose you. Especially not before you knew how he felt.

          You had completely stopped fighting against him and Jason wished you would keep doing so even if he was tired. He much preferred it to you lying there limp and lifeless. 

          “Wait, wait, wait. Zeus is the king of the gods,” Will started and expected Jason to catch on to his idea. “And you’re his son.”

          “Well, technically I’m the son of Jupiter, but what does that have to do with anything?” Jason removed himself from on top of you and walked over to Will.

         “I mean that technically makes you a prince, Jason.” 

          Jason frowned in concentration, weighing the legitimacy of that claim. Then he struggled to fight off a blush when he realized what Will was insinuating he has to do now.

          “Are you sure that counts? Like there’s not another way?” Jason looked back at you, now dealing with new emotions adding to his turmoil. 

          “Jason, you have to try it. And like now, she doesn’t have long. It says here that once the convulsions stop they don’t have much time left.” Will’s face was getting blurry as the Iris message was running out. 

          “What if it doesn’t work, what do I do?” Jason pleaded to the fading form of his friend. “Will, Will!” 

          The Iris message cut off and Jason hit the wall in frustration before he returned to your side.

          “This better work.” He didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t. As Jason knelt down and brushed some hair out of your face he couldn’t imagine having to live without you by his side. Even if you didn’t return his feelings, your friendship was too important to him. The thought of losing you made him forget any nerves he had and he leaned down and gingerly pressed his lips to yours. 

          The change was immediate as you breathed in life. Your eyes opened and the first thing they saw was Jason’s. 

          “Jay?” He broke out into the biggest smile you had ever seen on him and he pulled you into a hug. “What happened?”

          “You got kinda poisoned and almost died.” At this point you registered the dull pain emitting from your side and leaned back to look at your injury. “But you didn’t because I saved you. You’re welcome.”

          “Oh, so you’re my Prince Charming?” You asked him and he shrugged.

          “I mean, technically.” His voice sounded less confident than it had and you looked at him quizzically, which made him avoid your gaze by walking over to his backpack. “How do you feel?”

          “Fine…” you answered, still thinking about his sudden mood shift. “Except for whatever happened here.”

          “Giant scorpion thing,” he answered and walked back over, handing you a square of ambrosia. 

          “Cool.” The ambrosia soothed your side and you leaned against the headboard in relief.

          “Hardly,” Jason scoffed, sitting next to you but looking down at his lap. “You collapsed and went pale and I thought I was going to lose you.”

          He got quiet and you saw the stress and worry in his slumped shoulders.

          “The thought of you just… being gone. Before I could say goodbye or, or tell you how I feel. You were so pale…” His jaw clenched and he turned his face away from you.

          “Jason,” you placed your hand on his shoulder and made him look at you. His blue eyes teared up and you felt a physical tug on your heart. Your hands cradled his face and gently wiped away the tear that fell to his cheek. “I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

          His head hung and landed on your shoulder, your hand combed through his hair.

          “And Jason?” You asked as you remembered a sensation from when you woke up.

          “Mm-hm?” He responded from your shoulder, his voice steadier now.

          “Did you… kiss me?” 

          At that he burst upright and a blush was raging on his face. 

          “Okay, I had to do it or you would die. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to- I mean I did want to kiss you. For a while now, actually, but not like this and especially when I couldn’t tell if you wanted me to or not. Will just said that there was no other way so-.”

          “Shut up.” His eyes snapped to you failing to suppress your grin. “Don’t apologize. Just… do it again.”

          His lips parted in shock and then one side lifted up as he leaned into you. Your hands held his face as his mouth pressed into yours and your bodies sighed into each other. So many years of longing and second-guessing and finally getting an answer, you couldn’t believe this was really happening.

          Jason tilted his head further and deepened the kiss, his hand moving to your leg that was propped up on the bed, sliding from your knee down to your hip and squeezing.

          “Holy shit,” you mumbled against his lips before you could stop yourself and you felt his smirk.

          “Just wait.”

          His lips moved down to your neck and you could breathe again but your head didn’t get any clearer, until you looked into the bathroom.

          “Jason?” 

          “Hm?” His voice tickled the sensitive skin of your throat .

          “Why is the shower on?”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Already Gone

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 3477

Part One of Two

Summary: With a relationship interfering with your dangerous job, you force yourself to break things off with your boyfriend. Reid tries to maintain a professional relationship, but can’t deny his heart break. Inspired by Already Gone, a cover by Sleeping at Last. 

Notes: Welp. I can’t resist putting my boys through as much pain as possible and Spencer is no exception. I was actually inspired by a pair of imagines I did for Bellamy Blake a couple of years ago, so I recommend checking those out as well. As always, let me know what you think and what you look forward for in part two!

Warnings: Plenty of angst and violence

More Criminal Minds: HERE

-

It never would have worked out right

We were never meant for do or die

You had finally let it happen. You’d let your feelings cloud your judgement and nearly got a hostage killed. Throwing your badge down on your desk, you hunched over it, hands gripping the wooden edge and breathing heavily. You wanted to break something, anything, but most of all you wanted to punch the wall until your knuckles split. 

The rest of the team walked by your desk silently. They each knew you were beating yourself up, but they collectively decided it’d be best to let you cool off before anybody said anything. Even Hotch just gave you a reassuring nod and went to his office to fill out paperwork. While the group all moved on, one person remained. The one person you couldn’t look at right now. 

“Not now, Reid.” You snapped, jerking your head up to see his concerned eyes. You had hoped that your aggressive tone would make him steer clear, but he stood his ground. 

“You know what happened wasn’t your fault-”

“Don’t you start on me too.” You fell back into your chair, wanting to just disappear into the floor. 

“Can we at least talk?” Spencer’s quiet and hurt voice was breaking you and you just wanted to shut it out. You buried your face in your hands and felt his hand on your shoulder. You melted into his touch, your body giving in while your heart still ached over your mistake. You knew what you had to do. It was the only way to ensure nothing like today ever happened again. 

“Yeah, let’s go talk.” You said suddenly, heading to the elevator. Spencer followed you hesitantly, his face still painted with worry and confusion. As soon as the doors closed, he spoke. 

“I understand that you are upset about how things happened, but we still saved a young girl today.”

“No, Prentiss saved that girl. I almost let her die.” The elevator started its descent and you felt your body pulling you down with it. The weight on your chest was crushing you and while part of you knew that Spencer was the only one that could lift it off of you, you couldn’t afford to be that selfish anymore. 

“Y/N, that wasn’t your fault.” He reached out for you, but you pulled away. You kept your eyes forward, avoiding the wounded look in his eyes. 

“Yes. It was. Reid, the unsub got to me by using you.” 

“W-what do you mean?” His eyes widened. 

“He could tell that we’re together. Somehow, he knew and he used that against me. He told me everything he would do to you and I almost killed him.” You balled your fists at your sides, your mind running through everything that psycho had threatened to do to Spencer. “I almost killed him and lost that little girl because I couldn’t control myself. If Prentiss hadn’t found her in time…” 

“Y/N,” This time, when he grabbed your hands, you didn’t back away. He brought them up to his lips and gently kissed your knuckles- bruised from your struggle with the unsub, “it was one mistake. You hesitated. Agents hesitate all the time when they’re in a situation like that.”

“Not us, Reid. Not me.” You started to pull away, but his hands gripped yours. He wasn’t rough, but it was enough to keep you in place. 

“That’s another thing,” He started, his voice sounding more hurt than before, “why do you keep calling me Reid?” He was right. Like J.J., you always called him Spence, or Spencer, even before you’d started seeing each other. You never called him Reid like the rest of the team. Spencer let go of your hands so he could put a hand on your cheek. “Something else is wrong.”

“Yeah, Spence, it is.” You resisted the urge to lean into his touch. Instead, you stepped away from it. “We can’t do this anymore.” You kept your expression cold and collected, even if you were shattered within. Spencer’s face fell, eyes filling with even more confusion and pain. 

“What?”

“Come on, Reid. We were kidding ourselves into thinking this would work. There’s a reason team members aren’t supposed to hook up.”

“We aren’t just ‘hooking up’, Y/N. We understand each other and-and we make each other better at our job, not worse. We’ve made it work. That doesn’t have to change.” 

“You’re supposed to be the logical one, right?” You snapped. “Tell me the logic in us staying together.” He had tears in his eyes now and you had to fight to hold your guard up. 

“I love you.” He said softly. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. He just kept looking at you in that way that made you want to hold him and say you were sorry. But you couldn’t. Not this time. “Logic isn’t a part of it.” 

“That’s the problem.” You put as much anger into your words as you could. It was the final piece for him and a tear escaped onto his cheek. You tore your eyes away, looking down at the pavement. “I have paperwork to do.” 

You kept yourself from all out running until you got inside. You didn’t have the patients for the elevator, so you just sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time and tripping more than once. You kept a straight face until you closed the door to Garcia’s office. 

“Hey girl, what’s-” She started, but immediately stopped when you threw your arms around her and started to sob. 

-

I want you to know, that it doesn’t matter

Where we take this road

But someone’s gotta go

You were never sure if he was looking at you because you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You’d spent the weekend at Penelope’s house, bawling and convincing yourself that you did the right thing because you knew that even one moment of hesitation, and you would be at his apartment begging him to forgive you. 

Sensing the tension at the table, Morgan and Prentiss exchanged an uncomfortable look. Hotch had called you in on another case, but Rossi was stuck in traffic so you were forced to wait in a painfully awkward silence. 

“Jeez, kid, what’s going on with you?” Morgan looked at Reid, trying to get a read of what might be bothering him. 

“Nothing’s going on with me.” He replied coolly, keeping his gaze on the smooth surface of the desk. You felt Morgan’s inquiring stare turn to you, but you kept your eyes forward, desperately hoping Rossi would get there soon. 

“Sorry I’m late,” He entered the room with a scowl and took a seat with the rest of the team. “Damn roadwork.” 

“Alright, everyone,” J.J. began, passing out the files as she went around the table. Her hand briefly grazed your shoulder in a sign of sympathy. Somehow, she always knew. “Local authorities in Maine found the bodies of two women who had been reported missing two weeks ago. Their wrists showed signs of being bound, probably with duct tape, and they suffered multiple wounds to the chest. The M.E. thinks it was an arrow.”

“Bow hunting?” Prentiss suggested. 

“They said from the looks of the injuries, the arrow had to have been shot from a distance, so hunting is a possibility.” 

“Why shoot them more than once?” Morgan wondered, taking a look at the crime scene photos. 

“There’s one more thing.” J.J. sighed, clicking to a new picture on the screen. It was a smiling woman holding a child. “Rachel Bratton, 32, was reported missing a week after the first two victims. Police didn’t find her with the others so-”

“The unsubs might be holding her somewhere.” Hotch finished grimly. “Alright, everyone. Let’s move. Plane leaves in fifteen minutes.” 

Everyone hurried to grab their things from their desks. You just wanted to get out of that room. Before you grabbed your bag, however, you heard a quiet voice. 

“You aren’t even going to talk to me?” Spencer wondered, his voice sounded soft and broken. “I thought we could at least be friends.” 

“Reid, don’t do this now.” You begged. If he kept this up, you would break too and you couldn’t afford for that to happen. His jaw clenched and he reached into his jacket pocket. 

“Here.” He held out a closed fist, slowly opening his fingers to reveal a small golden star. It was your favorite hair pin. “You left this at my apartment. I thought you might want it back.” You picked up the small metal clip, running your fingers along the points. 

“Spence…”

“I’ll see you on the plane.” He snapped, snatching up his own bag and heading out. You cursed to yourself, shoving the pin into your pocket and following the team out to go to the airport. 

You found a seat to yourself and focused on looking over the case files despite the aching feeling in your chest. By the time the plane was ready to take off, everyone had found places and a blonde-framed face appeared in front of you. 

“Alright, spill.” J.J. ordered, crossing her arms over her chest. You sighed, keeping your eyes on the M.E.’s report. 

“I’m fine, Jen.” 

“Come on, don’t give me that. You’re lucky I convinced Morgan to back off. He was ready for a full on interrogation.” 

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y/N, everybody knows something happened between you and Spence. You’ve been distant from everyone. He has been burying his head in books every spare second when he isn’t painfully looking at you.” She was blunt because it made you listen. “We’re worried.” 

“There’s nothing to be worried about. We got into a little fight. Friends fight.” 

“Just friends?” She raised a brow. She always knew. You leaned back in your seat, defeated. 

“We dated for a while, but it got in the way of work so I broke things off.” You finally admitted, trying to read her face for a reaction. “Happy?” She frowned sympathetically. 

“How long were you together?” She asked. Just thinking about it still stung. 

“Almost a year.” 

“And you two didn’t tell anyone this whole time?” She gasped. You shook your head. 

“We knew that Hotch wouldn’t approve.” You turned to the team as they got ready to make a plan. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.” Just saying the words made the lump in your throat bigger. 

Hotch briefed everyone on their focus and where each member would be headed. You would be meeting with the missing woman’s fiancé. Along with Reid. 

“Shouldn’t I go with Morgan and Rossi to the dump sight? I feel like I can be more helpful there than talking to the distressed fiancé.” Reid said, his gaze slipping in your direction. Hotch just blinked in annoyance. 

“If we can understand Rachel’s routine, we can figure out how and where she was abducted. I need you to work on the geological profile.” He said sternly. He wasn’t oblivious to the awkwardness on the plane, but it wasn’t remotely on his list of problems. Reid didn’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. 

-

I didn’t come here to hurt you

Now I can’t stop

“I still feel like it’s my fault.” Brendon Nathonson sat with his head in his hands. “I was in a rush to get to work so I didn’t stop to see if she came back from her run that morning. I should have checked.”

“Does Rachel run every morning?” You asked, your tone sympathetic and soothing. You’d lost count of how many grieving or panicked loved-ones you’d spoken to over the years. It was one of the common parts of the job, but sitting next to Spencer made it feel different. Brendon nodded. 

“She was a track star in high school. Guess she never grew out of it, right?” He sniffed, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Do you have any idea where these psychos could be keeping her?”

“That’s actually what you might be able to help us with, Mr. Nathonson.” 

“What do you mean?”

“If we can figure out exactly where Rachel was taken, we can compare it to where the other two women were taken and found and possibly create a geological profile that could help us narrow down where the unsubs may operate out of.” Reid explained. The poor man still looked incredibly confused so you translated. 

“He means that these guys probably have an area that they’re comfortable working in, meaning both where they take their victims and where they may be keeping them.” 

“Oh god,” Brendon cried, covering his eyes with his hand. “You know, we kept pushing it back? The wedding. It was supposed to be in June, but then her sister couldn’t make it so we made it October, but then my best friend got sick. And now I might never get to marry her.” 

“We are going to do everything we can to bring Rachel home, Mr. Nathonson.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but the presence beside you was making your heart beat out of your chest. 

“She’s my everything, you know?” Brendon finally looked up again. “When you lose that… it’s like losing a part of yourself.” 

When the interview was over, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Everything that Brendon Nathonson said was searing itself into your brain, echoing around and around like a bad song on repeat. You slammed the door of the main office, making sure no one was already in there. You pressed your forehead against the cool wood of the door, trying to calm yourself down. This was why you wanted to end things to begin with. You couldn’t control your emotions around him. Even now, despite the case, all you could think about was him and how much he hated you. 

A quiet knock startled you. You jumped back from the door, and forced yourself to calm down. Spencer slowly stepped inside, closing the door again behind him. 

“I saw you run in here.” He started softly. 

“I didn’t run.” You scoffed, more frustrated with yourself than anything else. “You probably need some time to do the geological profile. I’ll call Hotch and tell him what Nathonson said-” You started to leave, but his hand gently grabbed your arm. 

“Wait.” He pleaded, those perfect eyes staring deeply into yours. “Can we just talk?” 

“Spence…” You trailed off. Frankly, it’s all you had wanted to do. He at least deserved that. You blew out a heavy sigh and sat down. “Honestly, I haven’t been able to focus on this case because of all of this.” You ran a hand down your face.

“Neither have I.” Spencer sat down across from you, placing his hand on top of yours. “All I can think about is you.” Before, whenever he was with you, he thought clearer, focused more, and noticed every little detail of a case. Now, all he could think about was how much he missed you. 

“Once we get through this case, I promise that we’ll talk, okay?” There was so much you wanted to say right there, but you couldn’t find the words. I still love you was all that came to mind. Spencer nodded. 

“Then let’s make sure we solve this.” His awkward, crooked smile made you laugh and the two of you got to work trying to find Rachel Bratton.

-

You know that I love you so

I love you enough to let you go

The team circled the building, ready to go in. You were with Reid and Rossi, guns drawn as you went in the back door. It was an old meat processing plant that was located right in the middle of both the abduction and dump sights. Without Reid, you wouldn’t have been able to find it. You checked the back warehouse before moving onto another room, but not before you noticed something. A big metal door was cracked open just enough for you to get a peek inside. 

“Guys, over here.” You signaled, seeing Rachel Bratton sitting on the far side of a cage just inside the room.

“Please help me.” She begged. You tried to pry the door open more, but it wouldn’t budge. The opening was just wide enough that you could barely slide through, but you would have to take off your vest to fit. Before Rossi or Reid could say anything, you had undone the straps and were sliding through the narrow gap. 

“Is anybody in there with you?” You asked, still keeping your gun ready. Rachel shook her head. 

“No.” She gulped back a sob. “No, they went out that hatch.” 

“Y/N, maybe you should wait-”

“I’m fine, Reid.” You glanced back at him as you finally slipped into the room. “She said that they went outside. Let Hotch know.” 

Reluctantly, Reid followed Rossi back outside in pursuit of the killers. You made quick work of the lock on the cage and helped Rachel stand up. She collapsed against you, sobbing and thanking you over and over again. 

“Can you walk?” You asked gently. She nodded and you approached the hatch on the floor. Sure enough, it led down to the forest floor. You helped her down and kept your weapon out in front of you, keeping Rachel close behind. 

“Y/N!” Reid shouted, joining you again. Rossi flanked Rachel’s other side, keeping his eyes on the trees. 

“Have they found them?” You asked, afraid of the answer. Rossi shook his head. “Alright, we need to get back to the car so we can get Rachel to the hospital. Let’s move.” 

The four of you moved cautiously towards the front of the warehouse. The trees surrounding you rustled and groaned in the midwestern winds. You thought it was a trick of light at first, but when you saw the shining tip of an arrow, you aimed your weapon and fired. Mikah Roman tumbled across the forest floor towards you. Rachel screamed and latched onto Spencer. 

“Mikah Roman, you’re under arrest for the murder of Abbie Stockwell and Bonnie Andrews and the kidnapping of Rachel Bratton.” You yanked Mikah’s arms behind his back, causing him to scream out. The shot in his arm was gushing blood as you cuffed his wrists. 

Rossi’s gaze jerked upwards suddenly and Reid pushed away from Rachel, calling out your name. You whirled around to see what they were looking at.

“No!” Spencer screamed, watching the arrow enter the center of your chest. You didn’t hear your own gasp over the sound of Rossi’s gun shot, taking out the second killer without hesitation. Funnily enough, you couldn’t hear Rachel’s screaming sobs. You just heard a small voice in your ear. Arms were holding you up off the ground, pulling you into their lap. When did you fall? Why was your shirt wet? 

“Spencer…” You started, but your words came out garbled and breathy. What was happening? Why was your chest so sore? 

“Shhh, don’t talk.” Spence put his hands on your wound. Why did he look so scared? 

“W-what’s going on?” You gasped, the pressure from his hands making you cry out. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He muttered, blood quickly coating his hands. Rossi was lifting Micah to his feet and speaking into the radio in a panicked voice. That’s when Spencer started yelling. “Somebody help! Help us! Agent down! Somebody help us! Please, she needs help!” You finally understood what was going on, the initial shock of your injury clearing from your mind. 

“Spencer…”

“Somebody help!”

“Spence.” You reached up and touched his cheek. “I-I’m okay.” 

“Help is on the way.” Through the sound of his heart pounding, he could hear footsteps approaching. The rest of the team gathered around, Prentiss stopping cold at the sight in front of her. Spencer smiled with delusional relief. “See, Hotch and Morgan and Prentiss are all here. They can help you-” He looked back down and stopped. 

Your head was tilted back, a small trail of blood trickled down from your mouth. Your eyes blankly staring up at the clouded, grey sky. His crimson stained hands reached for your face, smearing the blood on the skin of your cheek. He recoiled from the sight, instead wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him. 

Morgan made a step towards Reid, the younger agent’s quiet sobs growing louder and louder until they were unbearable. Hotch put a hand out to stop him. He knew that Reid needed this moment. He needed to say goodbye.

And I want you to know, you couldn’t have loved me better

But I want you to move on

So I’m already gone

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks; @kendahl0216

[reminisce05-20]

Dazai - The Book - Double Black

Dazai couldn't remember being a child, one of elementary age. He had only started to remember when he was around 14, which was when he first met Mori.

Sometimes, he wondered if he should be searching for answers, of who his parents could've been or where he came from, but he had easily moved on. Perhaps too easily, but he had no regrets. After all, the past didn't define him. He could write his own story from the present.

Only after words started to be written on his pale skin did he start to wonder who he really was.

Long sleeves could suffice, but just in case, Dazai wrapped bandages around his arms. Then his torso. Then up to his neck and finally his eye to give the air of an injury. The words hadn't spread quite that much, but it made his stomach crawl whenever he saw the squiggly lines all over his body. It was simply a precaution in case more words suddenly appeared.

Dazai soon met Chuuya, who was loud and angry and short, which made it even funnier when Dazai riled him up. Chuuya insisted that he was still young and growing. For the first time, Dazai wanted to laugh at the words he had seen yesterday on his elbow. Chuuya will never grow.

Although the words brought occasional joy, when he was 18, he saw words on the back of his left arm that said, Sakunosuke Oda will die. Sakunosuke couldn't die. His ability allowed him to see things moments before they actually happened, and Sakunosuke wasn't dumb. He would be fine.

He never had allowed the words on his arms and body to ever affect him. Words, in general, had never affected him since Dazai believed actions could speak much more.

"Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but... saving others is something just a bit wonderful."

For once, he took the words to heart.

Once, long ago when he was still young, not in the Detective Agency nor even the Mafia, Dazai had written something on his arm, something that tattooed itself to his arm for just a second before it burned away with terrible pain.

Dazai experimented. His ability, "No Longer Human", obviously canceled out abilities with no exception. The words were things to happen, things that were happening, and things that had happened. The timing for when the events actually took place differed, from as small as a minute to as long as a year. Dazai couldn't change events that were going to happen or create an entirely new one. It was probably a strange mix of the words and his ability.

Dazai had considered going to the President to inform him of the words. He was fairly sure that everyone else in the agency believed the bandages to be a fashion choice, excluding Ranpo and the President. He walked in front of the office door for a few minutes, pacing, before walking back to his desk. Perhaps the talk could be moved to another time.

The words were often too ugly to be shown to others.

Dazai was good at planning things, which made it entirely his fault that he hadn't prepared ahead for this.

A few days ago words had appeared on his collarbone, ones that said, "Chuuya will unleash Arahabaki once more. Secrets will be revealed." If Chuuya was going to showcase his powers, Dazai would no doubt be sent along unless Chuuya had managed to somehow subdue his powers effectively. Sure enough, he was sent to settle a dispute that would benefit both the Mafia and the Agency. It was always nice, seeing the top of Chuuya's hat, showing that he had indeed not grown a single bit.

He had misinterpreted the "secrets" on his arm. Dazai had expected it to be Chuuya's secrets, of how he stayed so short all the time.

In Arahabaki form, Chuuya had never attacked Dazai, at least not to kill. He had to have some semblance of control to not kill the only person that could bring him back, even if Chuuya hated him. But this time, right after defeating the enemy, Chuuya turned on him in an instant, giving Dazai no time to nullify his ability.

It would have been fine. Dazai only took a few hard hits before he tapped Chuuya on the head, nullifying his ability. They both staggered for a moment before Dazai laughed.

"Well, that was awfully close wasn't it, Chuuya?"

Chuuya huffed, angry but too tired to anything about it.

"Only if you had touched me a little earlier maybe you - hey what's that on your arm?"

Dazai froze before he looked at his left arm, bandages slightly unraveled, revealing the inky text on his arm.

"Some tattoo shit? Or maybe weird scars..."

Chuuya took a step forward while Dazai hurriedly rebandaged his arm with a hopefully winning grin.

"How observant of you."

Chuuya scowled for a second before staring at Dazai.

"Seriously, was it just some weirdo tattoo? Show me what you have written there."

Dazai made a mental note to seriously work out and train with Kunikida. Then again, it probably wouldn't bring him near Chuuya's level for a long time. Even after using Arahabaki, Chuuya stomped forward, grabbing his arm and unwrapping the bandage with unreasonable strength and speed. His control must have actually been getting better. Or maybe they had just defeated the enemy faster today.

"What the - what the heck is this Dazai?"

He didn't have the strength to stand properly, staggering a little bit while unsuccessfully trying to get out of Chuuya's iron grip.

"An occult tattoo I got when I was 14. It says 'fuck off Chuuya'."

"It literally says 'Sakunosuke Oda will die'. I've heard of that name before... who was that again?"

Out of all the sentences Chuuya could have seen, it had to be that one. Why not the one about Atsushi dropping his ice cream, or maybe the one about Chuuya's height? They could have laughed over that.

"This actually happened didn't it Dazai? Like, a few years ago?"

At this point, Dazai simply didn't care enough to wrench his wrist away from Chuuya. He had wanted to tell someone about this for so long. Chuuya and he didn't have the best relationship, but they could certainly trust each other. After all, they had been partners, right?

"It tells me things that are going to happen. Well, at the time of course. This already happened a while ago."

Chuuya simply stared, unsure of what to believe.

"I tried changing history once. It hurt really bad, I think it's got something to do with my goddamn ability, I hate seeing the words every day and having to bandage them - "

"Um... Dazai, calm down."

He hadn't realized he was breathing so heavily. His chest felt like it was burning.

It felt like it was burning just like when he was young - why was it like this when he hadn't written anything down on his skin?

"Dazai, what's going on?"

Dazai turned away from Chuuya before throwing his jacket off, then his vest, then his shirt to reveal the mass of bandages covering every inch of his skin.

"What the fuck Dazai, stop stripping in front of me - "

Dazai for once ignored Chuuya instead of sending back an angry retort. He unwrapped the bandages, not caring if Chuuya saw the words or not since the pain was burning as if he was dying and he wanted it to just stop. Stop stop stop.

The bandages were off to show the mass of writing on his back and arms and stomach and even up to his neck. Chuuya's breathing became softer, more confused and curious.

Chuuya will never grow.

Dazai will trip and fall on the doormat before meeting Akutagawa for the first time.

Sakunosuke Oda will die.

Atsushi will drop the ice cream Dazai bought for him and will be horrified.

More evil will soon come in Yokohama.

Chuuya will unleash Arahabaki once more. Secrets will be revealed.

Chuuya simply stared, dumbfounded, trying to read everything written on Dazai's back. Dazai on the other hand, looked down at the center of his chest to see just a few words.

Yokohama's Page - By Osamu Dazai.

The words were a gleaming gold, burning his skin before suddenly cooling into the familiar black, only a small golden border on the edges of each letter. Chuuya had now walked in front of him, kneeling, reading the words that had just appeared.

"So. You're some special shit."

Dazai let out a flat laugh. Indeed he was.

"It says 'More evil will soon come in Yokohama'. Right, Dazai?"

Dazai nodded blindly. He couldn't remember that one, but maybe it was because it was on his back. It was hard to read from a mirror.

"You should tell your agency this. Have you told them?"

Dazai's silence was the same as a confirmation. Chuuya mumbled something about how he always had to make his life worse, although Dazai knew that it was halfhearted.

After Dazai put on every single one of his bandages, thoroughly covering every inch of skin along with his other clothes, Chuuya and he walked in silence for a little. Usually, they would've been arguing all the way back, making the silence feel even worse.

"Oy. Dazai."

Chuuya growled when Dazai didn't make any move to answer before sighing and backing down. Dazai blinked, seeing that for the first time, Chuuya had backed down from an argument.

"We were partners before. Are we still partners?"

Dazai smiled.

"If we're partners, I'll be annoying you all day! I think that'd be pretty nice ~ "

"Well fuck you too!"

It was nice, feeling the usual annoyance flowing through Chuuya, the same remarks they always passed forth to each other.

"So you're saying we are partners, Dazai."

Dazai's eyes narrowed. What was with Chuuya being overly... nice all of a sudden? Being so calm?

Chuuya, catching Dazai's eyes screeched again before kicking over a trash can.

"I'm saying I can help you with this goddamn book shit! Words! Partners! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Dazai stared as Chuuya knocked over a few more trash cans while screaming about how utterly dumb Dazai could be for someone that was supposed to be so smart, so crafty, and so manipulative.

The familiar tickle of more words caused Dazai to flinch, hand moving toward his neck where the words seemed to be. Chuuya, who was done with his little fit, stopped for a second before walking over, no doubt intrigued. Dazai tugged the bandages down a little bit while Chuuya read the words out loud.

"Fyodor Dostoevsky is looking for another part of the book in Yokohama."

Dazai's eyes widened when he heard the name, and Chuuya no doubt understood that this man was someone dangerous if they could elicit such a reaction from Dazai. They looked at each other, understanding passing through their eyes.

"Well, I guess we're partners again Chuuya!"

"Only because I fucking have to!"

Dazai supposed that he would also have to tell the Agency about this. And as more people knew, the news would inevitably spread to the Mafia too. He only had to make sure that Fyodor didn't receive the information, and that was if Fyodor didn't already know about him.

"Fucking Dazai."

Chuuya grabbed Dazai's hair and pulled, forcing Dazai to yelp while batting Chuuya's hands away.

"We're going to crush this bastard Fyodor."

Dazai laughed at the sheer amount of determination in Chuuya's name, laughing like he never had ever before.

Indeed, Double Black would crush the enemy like they always did.

___________________________

Kind of an abrupt end, but you get the idea :>

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [three] // daisy johnson

summary: when you're out chasing a story that leads you to the unanticipated hands of HYDRA, you certainly don't expect to be rescued by a girl you presumed dead for nine years.

warning/s: descriptions of violence, torture, injuries.

author’s note: here’s the next part, hope you all like it!

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six | masterlist | wattpad

Nine years later...

"I'm meeting with my contact now. He said he knows something about the weapons."

"Okay, just make sure you're safe, Y/N."

I smiled with amusement. "I always am, Taylor. I think this could be the source to break the story though. I'm gonna try and get them to speak on the record."

"Just be careful," he warned.

"Will do," I promised, before checking my watch for the time. "Okay, I gotta go. See ya."

"Good luck," he finished, and I hung up before putting my phone away.

Looking around, I saw the village was quiet seeing as it was pretty late and everyone was in their homes. It was the perfect place to meet with a source for my story on human trafficking.

I headed down the street and waited outside the apartment building for my source. I had no idea what he looked like, but nobody else would be out this late into the night, so he couldn't be hard to spot.

A few minutes passed before I saw a guy approaching me, holding some files in his hands. I straightened up and held his gaze as he stopped before me. He glanced around before looking me up and down.

"You are Y/N?" he asked with a Burmese accent.

I nodded, speaking fluent Burmese as I said, "Yes. You must be Ohnmar? We can speak Burmese if you prefer."

"Okay. We talked earlier, but it wasn't safe then. I have information on the missing residents," he answered in Burmese, before shaking the files. "It's all in here, but you mustn't open it until you get home."

I accepted the files and nodded, though was mildly confused. "Is it about the labour they're doing? I have a theory, but I have no proof. I... I think it might be HYDRA."

He pursed his lips and I figured he was confirming my thoughts, which concerned me.

"I'm right," I realised, before moving to open the file. "I need to–"

"You should've stayed away," he suddenly said in English, and I looked up in confusion.

Before I could question him, he pulled a gun from behind him and hit me on the head, knocking me to the ground. I tried to blink my eyes open, but my vision was blurred and I eventually blacked out, unable to stay awake any longer.

I woke up in a dark room with an aching head and confused mind. It took a moment for me to catch myself up, but I soon realised I'd been tricked by my contact. I was so easily fooled and I felt stupid as I hadn't seen it coming, instead too blindsided by my need for information.

Looking around, I realised I was tied to a chair. The only light in the room was from a single electric lamp plugged in the corner, shedding light on the damaged walls and, to my dismay, a HYRDA logo.

"Well, fuck," I mumbled, before shaking my wrists to try and get free, but they were tied pretty tightly with rope, making me shift uncomfortably at the chafing.

Panic started to set in when the door slammed open in front of me, flooding the room with light and making me close my eyes with discomfort. I heard another slam and opened my eyes when I saw the door closed behind whoever entered.

Two people were in the room and one of them turned the lamp, shining it in my direction and also revealing my assailants' faces. One of them was Ohnmar, my contact, which I guess wasn't his real name. The other wasn't anybody I recognised, and they were both wearing uniforms with the HYDRA logo on the pocket.

"I wouldn't try to escape if I were you," the fake Ohnmar said.

I clicked my tongue and looked between the both of them. "I'm guessing I got a little too close to the truth which is why I'm here. Right?"

"You've been putting your nose in where it doesn't belong," the other guy said. "Did you really think you would get away with this? That we'd let you write about this?!"

I flinched at his loud volume before clearing my throat. "I didn't think I needed your permission. And in case you didn't notice, it's my job to report on this."

Fake Ohnmar scoffed. "We don't care what your job is. Now tell us what you know and what you've told your superiors back home."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you really think this is the first time I've been captured? I've spent nine months in this village. If you think I'm going to throw that away for you, you better think again."

Fake Ohnmar's friend cracked his neck, pacing with discomfort, before pulling out a gun. I chewed on the inside of my mouth, nerves settling as I tried not to show it.

"We have someone going through your electronics as we speak," he told me, gripping his gun. "Your superiors will get their updates as expected, but you won't be giving them."

"Look, you're gonna kill me whether I tell you or no–"

I was cut off when he smacked me across the face with his gun, making me see stars momentarily. I felt something warm gush from my nose and realised I was bleeding.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," he muttered, his face inches from my face as he stared me down threateningly. "Now tell us what you know of the missing villagers."

I wiped my nose on my shirt the best I could and chose not to speak. They couldn't do much without knowing what I knew. Everything I'd learnt had been sent back home to the news organisation I worked for, and if I didn't get back to them or call them, they'd know what happened.

"Two things I despise," he mumbled with irritation. "Journalists and Americans." He waved to his friend dismissively. "She won't talk. You know what to do."

Fake Ohnmar nodded obediently before suddenly punching me in the face, once again, leaving me dazed. This went on for a while, him beating me up as an attempt at torture, before the two of them left me alone to 'think about' if I wanted to tell them.

I had been in this situation, surprisingly, two times before in my journalistic career. Both times I was able to get out either by escaping myself or managing to get found by the authorities. Of course, in this case, the latter seemed impossible, so my only hope was escaping myself.

I looked around, but realised I was in too much pain to hatch a plan right now. They'd done a good job on me, and I was sure my ribs were bruised pretty badly. Honestly, I didn't expect nine months of investigative journalism in Myanmar to lead to HYDRA of all places.

—

"You've beat me, starved me..." I coughed because of how dry my throat was. "I'm not talking."

Fake Ohnmar placed something rectangular on the table in front of me. I realised it was my laptop – they must have taken it from where I'd left it in the room I'd been renting downtown.

"You're clever, I'll give you that," he said, crossing his arms and shaking his gun impatiently. "Where did you learn such complicated encryptions?"

I couldn't help but smile when I knew he couldn't get into my laptop. At least not the parts that exposed what I'd learnt so far.

"You do what I do and you learn from past mistakes," I told him, making him clench his jaw.

It wasn't much, probably the only trick in the book I knew as I wasn't exactly an expert with computers. Clearly it was benefiting me today though.

He slammed his hand on the table suddenly, making me jump. "Tell me the password, now!"

I licked my dry lips, choosing to stay quiet. I began to wonder just how advanced these guys were if they couldn't even afford to get a hacker to break through.

"So it's gonna be like that," he said with a shrug, before pointing his gun at my face.

He flicked off the safety and I closed my eyes as calmly as I could, already saying my goodbyes in my head. A few days in a HYDRA cell was like weeks anywhere else. I'd accepted my fate.

I expected the shot to go off any minute now, wondering what things would be like afterwards. Would it hurt? Would it be an instant death?

I certainly didn't expect my left ear to be ringing as an excruciating pain shot up my neck from my shoulder. My eyes opened and I tried to breathe through the pain whilst hoping my ear would stop ringing. The man began to laugh, but I couldn't hear him, only see his evil smile.

When I looked down, I saw blood seeping from a bullet wound in my left shoulder. Despite my experience in this profession, I can't say I'd ever been shot before. It certainly hurt a lot more than I'd imagined.

"You talk and I get you patched up," he said when my hearing returned to normal. I looked up and saw him watching me with narrowed eyes. "You stay quiet and we see how long it takes for you to bleed out."

I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut to contain the pain, before opening them again.

"You're gonna move operations," I realised aloud. "You want to know whether you can. Because if I've told them about you, you know you can't stay here much longer. And if I haven't, you just get rid of me."

He squeezed his gun with irritation, watching as I spoke the truth.

"But either way I die," I repeated. "So why the hell would I want the last thing I do be to help you?"

He grabbed the laptop before kicking the table away with anger. "Call when you feel like talking. We can make your death quick and painless or long and painful."

I smiled bitterly as I watched him leave the room, slamming the door behind him. I released a deep breath as I looked down at my shoulder, trying to make out the damage. I didn't know much about first aid, but I was pretty sure there was no exit wound meaning the bullet was still in there. That was good, right? Or wasn't it...? I couldn't remember. I just knew it hurt like hell.

—

Hours had passed and I began to hallucinate. Silly things like cheeseburgers and dancing water bottles – lack of food and drink, the blood loss and the heat was making my head spin. I wasn't sure if this was where I wanted to die – in a small, dirty, hot room by myself. Was it worth it? Dying over a news story?

Of course it was. I pursued this story after some social media posts about disappearing villagers in Myanmar. I stayed here nine months with each day leading me closer and closer to the supposed human trafficking that was going on. I got to where I was because I wanted to get justice for those who suffered and stop anyone else from suffering. Yet the only people who knew were my editors back home, and I wasn't sure they'd ever know the full truth.

It was better than helping the enemy though.

Just when I thought cheeseburgers were the worst of my delusions, I saw a face I hadn't thought about in a long time. A person who I least expected my mind to drag up in a time like this.

The door opened and I was sure I was going to be questioned again, but in ran none other than Skye. The same Skye who had ran away all those years ago and wasn't to be found.

She looked a little older with her shorter hair, but otherwise she was just as I remembered.

"Hey, I'm gonna get you out of h– Y/N?" she started, before furrowing her eyebrows with confusion.

She even sounded the same, and if I could feel anything at that moment, I'm sure I would've felt my heart beating quickly at the sight of her.

"Can you hear me?"

I began to laugh with what little energy I had left. Is this what it was like to die? Seeing things that you'd pushed down for so long to stop your heart from hurting? It was strange. Why was my mind playing with me like this?

"Y/N, look at me, can you hear me?!" she asked quickly, grabbing my face and forcing me to meet her eyes.

I continued to laugh because it all felt so real. Her touch, her voice, her eyes that peered into me. I wished it was because maybe after all of these years I could have made things right.

—

"Miss, can you hear me? Y/N?"

I blinked the tiredness from my eyes and opened them, trying to remember what was happening. But I was confused and my body was numb and nothing made sense.

"Y/N, sweetie, can you hear me?"

I turned my head, realising I was laying in a bed. There was a woman beside my bed – a doctor, I presumed – staring down at me with a friendly smile on her face. I nodded slowly, my mouth dry.

I couldn't remember getting out of that cell, being rescued. Unless I wasn't rescued and this was still a trap.

At this thought, I widened my eyes and tried to move, panic setting in, but I was attached to a bunch of tubes and my body was still numb.

"Hey, it's okay, you're okay," the doctor tried to reassure, resting her hands on my arm, trying to keep me still. "You're safe here. You're on a S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet. That's like a plane...? We got you out of that HYDRA cell and I've bandaged your wounds. You don't need to be afraid anymore."

I wasn't sure whether to believe her, but something about the way she spoke and the kindness in her eyes made me relax.

"My name is Agent Simmons," she introduced as she grabbed something from beside me, "but you can call me Jemma."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. On cue, she held a glass of water towards me and helped me sit up enough to have some from the straw. It felt good to have actual water in my system after not being given anything the past two days.

"Not too quickly," she said gently. "Take your time."

I listened to her before laying back down. It took a few tries, but I managed to get out, "Thank you, Jemma. I'm Y/N."

"Y/N Y/L/N, investigative journalist for the New York Times," she stated before an apologetic expression crossed her face. "Sorry. Facial recognition an' all... I hope that doesn't freak you out."

I sighed, not the slightest bit surprised. I knew enough about S.H.I.E.L.D. to know they had the resources to know exactly who I was.

"I don't remember you getting me," I said with confusion. "How did you I know I was there?"

Jemma took a seat on the stool beside my bed. "Well, technically it was Quake who got you out. We had reports of HYDRA activity in that area for a while and we knew an American journalist had been taken, but we didn't know it was you."

I nodded, though I was still confused. "Who's Quake?"

Jemma chuckled, thinking I was joking. But when I met her eyes with confused ones, she lost her smile.

"You're serious? You don't know who Quake is?"

I shook my head. "I've been in Myanmar for nine months, and not in the most advanced areas. I haven't had much access to American news."

"Seriously?" she asked with disbelief, before putting her arms out and shaking them. "Earthquake-causing, vibration-manipulating, tremor-shaking superhero Quake?"

I raised an eyebrow judgementally, making Jemma lower her arms sheepishly.

"Oh, well, she's a hero that works for S.H.I.E.L.D.," she explained.

I nodded slowly, deciding that was something to ask more about later on. For now, I was more concerned about my story.

"You said S.H.I.E.L.D. had been watching that area for a while," I recalled. "Does that mean you found out what happened to the missing villagers? I got as far as working out HYDRA had been using them for some sort of forced labour, but never beyond that."

Jemma got up from her stool and busied herself with other things. "I, er, that's actually classified...? You see, it's not good if we tell you, especially as you're a journalist..."

"But it's my story," I countered with annoyance. "I've been trying to work this out for almost a year. I deserve to know the outcome. Did you save those villagers? Were they all alive? Did the local authorities know?"

Jemma seemed to be getting uncomfortable the more questions I asked and I forced myself to sit up, groaning at the ache in my shoulder.

"You can't hide this from me," I told her. "Please, just tell me."

She grimaced. "It's not my place. I'm not in charge–"

"Then tell me who is!" I shouted with frustration, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just– I've put a lot of work into this and it can't just be taken away. I need to know what happened."

She nodded, avoiding my eyes for fear I'd get angry again. "Look, I can talk to my superiors and find out what I can say. For now, you should really be resting."

I leaned back and breathed out slowly, already feeling my fatigue catching up to me.

"Okay," I said quietly, before asking, "You said we were on a plane. Where are we going?"

"That's actually classified as well," she said regretfully, making me sigh. "We're going to our headquarters. But after that, we'll be taking you home or wherever you want us to take you."

At the mention of home, I grew hopeful. It had been so long since I'd been back. I wasn't exactly in the right state to be living by myself, so I was glad that I had made the choice to leave my flat and move in with my parents before leaving for Myanmar. Plus, I had missed them dearly. To be back there was almost unimaginable.

"Can I ring my parents?" I asked hopefully. "Just to let them know I'm okay? And that I'm coming soon?"

Jemma nodded, offering a small smile. "Of course, Y/N. I'll go grab you a phone."

She left the room momentarily and I took that as my chance to get a good look around. It looked like a hospital room you'd find anywhere, except without windows and with card-activated doors that had tiny glass windows showing a narrow hallway. I didn't get to look around for too long as Jemma returned pretty quickly, handing me (what looked like) a normal mobile phone.

"I'll give you a moment of privacy, but please only call your parents," Jemma warned as politely as she could.

I cracked a small smile. "What – are you guys tracking the phone or something?"

She chewed on her lower lip as she looked down, making my smile fade as I realised that's exactly what they were doing. I wasn't surprised, I guess.

"Right, okay, no other calls, got it," I agreed with a nod.

She left me to it as I dialled my mum's mobile number and eventually spoke to both her and my dad. It was emotional to say the least, as I tried not to worry them too much without withholding the truth. They knew when I was lying so it was better to just be honest. Of course, they were happy to have me stay at theirs until I was back on my feet and the call ended with my mum scolding me for not resting as the doctor recommended.

Finally succumbing to the tiredness I was feeling, I fell asleep for God knows how long, but when I woke up, I felt more refreshed. Similar to before, Jemma was in the room, checking some charts. She caught my eye when I woke up and smiled reassuringly.

"Feeling better?" she asked, setting down the chart and rounding the bed.

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks... how long was I asleep for?"

"About six hours," she guessed, waving her hand. "We've landed at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ and our agents are debriefing. Once everything is sorted here, we can take you home to New York and arrange a driver to take you to wherever you want."

"My parents' house," I clarified.

She smiled and nodded. "Right. Your parents' house. How are you feeling?"

I tried to sit up and she helped me as I smiled gratefully in return.

"I'm not gonna lie, being shot hurts like a bitch," I admitted, grimacing as I glanced at my shoulder and arm in a sling.

"First time?"

"And hopefully the last," I retorted, before looking to her. "How long will this take to, y'know, get better?"

"Well, I'll need to keep you here for observation over the next few days," she explained. "When I'm happy with the outcome, I'll send you home and you'll need fortnightly checkups at the hospital. Overall I'd say a month? Maybe more if there's no... er... other issues."

"I know you mean PTSD," I told her bluntly, before frowning. "Doing what I do requires knowledge of that."

"There's going to be support available for you, both here and back home," Jemma reassured, resting a hand on mine and offering a small smile. "You're not alone, Y/N."

I nodded, clearing my throat. "I know... I know. Thanks."

She nodded and moved to the other side of the room to grab something, before wheeling a tray of food over to me.

"Hope you're hungry," she joked. "It's nothing fancy, but it's pretty good."

I smiled and accepted the food. "Means a lot, thanks."

I took a bite out of my sandwich as I remembered something. When I finished chewing, I wiped my face with the napkin before looking to Jemma who was at her desk.

"Er, Jemma," I called, making her look up. "Did you find out what happened to the villagers?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "I've spoken to my superiors. I know you've been working on this and I'm only permitted to tell you so much."

I waited patiently, not wanting to snap at her like last time.

"The missing villagers were in fact taken by HYDRA, like you predicted," she explained. "They were forced into labour at a facility that was under the guise of a food warehouse."

"What was the labour?" I asked curiously.

She ran a hand through her hair. "I can't tell you much, but I can say that it was a nuclear weapon that could've hurt a lot of people. S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to stop it before they could finish it, which is when we found out that a journalist had been taken. That was when we came for you."

I released a deep breath, definitely not expecting that. At least they had been stopped.

"Did the missing people return to their families? Were they okay?" I asked hesitantly, remembering the many families I spoke to of the missing. I'd grown attached and I don't think I could have taken more bad news.

"Most of them, yes!" she exclaimed hopefully, but I could tell the following news wouldn't be good. "But not all of them were okay. There's some psychological damage and unfortunately physical damage, too. HYDRA did a number on them."

I massaged my head with my right hand, trying not to get upset, but the guilt in the pit of my stomach wasn't helping. I had one job, literally, and I couldn't even do it right.

"Y/N–"

"Do you have a list?" I asked, cutting her off. "A list of who made it?"

"Y/N, I don't think–"

"Please," I pleaded. "I spoke to the families of those who were missing. I got to know them. I need to know who's not getting their loved ones back."

She frowned, but nodded slowly. "I'm sure I can do something."

I sighed and my shoulders sunk with disappointment. Just another day on the job.

—

It had been a few days since being rescued by S.H.I.E.L.D. and I was itching to get home, but Jemma insisted I be observed for at least another day.

Under different circumstances, I would have been eager to explore the quinjet and get more information out of Jemma about her place of work, but I was too exhausted to care. Instead, I revelled in being taken care of and having a break from work.

I was laying in bed, reading a book, when Jemma walked in and caught my attention. I tried not to bother her as she was clearly working on other stuff, but it got pretty boring sitting in a room by yourself all day.

"Hey," I greeted with a smile, lowering my book.

"Hello," she returned as she took a seat at her desk, going on her computer. "You doing alright?"

"As alright as I can be, considering," I said, shrugging with my right shoulder. "Just a bit bored."

"The book not good?" she asked, nodding to my hand.

"I've read it," I admitted. "I just didn't wanna be a bother and ask for another one."

She chuckled. "You could have said something."

"It's okay," I assured her, before leaning back. "So, up to anything fun?"

She gave me a knowing look. "Are you seriously that bored?"

I nodded, pursing my lips, making her laugh. Eventually, she stared at me curiously.

"There's actually something I wanted to ask you," she admitted, crossing her arms and leaning back on her chair. "If you don't mind."

Wanting any distraction from my boredom, I nodded. "Go for it. I'm all ears."

"I've been reading some of your work," she shared. "You're really talented and you've been through your fair share of tough scrapes."

I chuckled. "I guess, yeah. And thank you. What's the question exactly?"

She looked at me like it was obvious. "What made you want to do this as a job? Investigative journalism?"

I played with the corner of the book as I answered thoughtfully, "Well, I guess I've always enjoyed writing and delving deep into stuff. The important stuff, y'know?" I looked down at my hands as I remembered Skye. "There was actually this girl I knew back in school. She was a friend and she, er... she was always wanting to find and expose truths. About herself, the world... I guess she kind of influenced me in a way."

I chewed on the inside of my mouth as I remembered my hallucination. Skye seemed to be coming up a lot more in my life lately, more than I was prepared for.

"I'm guessing she isn't with you anymore," Jemma realised, expression softening. "I'm sorry."

I forced a small smile, looking up and shaking my head reassuringly. "It's okay, it doesn't matter."

Jemma smiled in return, but I could see the pity present in her eyes. "I'm sure whoever she was, she'd be proud of you now. For everything you've done."

"Thank you, Jemma, but I... I'm not too sure about that."

"I am."

I froze at the sound of a familiar voice. Was I hallucinating again? No, that couldn't be. I was getting better. But that sounded so real...

"Proud of you, that is," the voice continued, and I risked looking towards the door where I saw none other than Skye standing there with a nervous smile on her lips.

When I met her gaze, I knew she wasn't a figment of my imagination. Those piercing brown eyes couldn't be fake.

"Hey," she got out, barely a whisper.

I licked my lips and tried to look away, but my heart was suddenly racing in my chest. She was just how I saw her last, but I guess that had been real now.

"I should give you guys a moment," Jemma said, pulling me from my reverie and making me look away.

She walked out, past Skye, leaving us both alone. I was still in shock though, too startled to say anything.

"How are you?" she asked gently, and I still couldn't believe I was hearing her voice after all these years. When I didn't say anything, she continued, "I know this is strange, but–"

"Strange?" I finally found my words, eyebrows raised. "What exactly is strange? The part where I'm sure I'm seeing a ghost right now as I you presumed you were dead after not being able to find you for years after you left, or the part where you've probably been at S.H.I.E.L.D. the whole time and didn't bother to tell me you were okay? Which part is strange exactly?"

She frowned guiltily, eyes falling to her shoes. "When I left–"

"Ran away," I corrected her, bitterness slashing through like a sharp knife, surprising the both of us.

She glanced at me, nodding. "Right... when I ran away, I left you a message."

I almost laughed, a sarcastic smile on my lips. "Don't even get me started on the excuse veiled as a message you left me. The cowardly way out you took because you couldn't face me."

She met my gaze nervously. "I didn't think you'd be this angry after all this time. It happened so long ago."

"Of course I'm angry!" I shouted with frustration, making me grimace at the pain in my shoulder, but I didn't stop. "You left without a single trace of Skye or Mary left behind! You left me with nothing but concern for your wellbeing! I thought you were dead!"

I hadn't realised how I angry I was after all this time, but it made sense. When she first left, I always imagined what I would say to her when I found her again, what our reunion would be like. But when the years went on and I accepted she was truly gone, all of that worry turned into bitterness and resentment. And now, seeing her here... I was furious.

"Y/N, I know you're upset, but–"

"Just get out," I told her with a glare. "I appreciate you saving me and all, but get out."

"Y/N," she pleaded, but I looked away and pressed the button on the side of my bed.

Jemma soon returned and looked between Skye and I with confusion and reluctance.

"Everything okay here?" she asked.

I looked up and met Skye's guilt-filled gaze. "My shoulder hurts."

Skye seemed to get the hint and nodded once more before finally leaving the room. I breathed out a shaky breath, before swallowing the lump in my throat and letting Jemma help me.

I couldn't believe she was back.

[just-jordie-things]

Maybe 11 and 73 w Sokka please🥺

prompt 11: “i almost lost you” kiss prompt 73: height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes ___

Well, this isn’t how I thought I was going to die today.

Although the actions you took that led you to this consequence were... instinctual and probably idiotic- oh, and life threatening- it was for the best, you decided.

Because had you not leapt at Toph and yanked her behind you with all your might, she probably would have fallen to her death.  The metal beneath her was giving out, and there was no time to do anything else.

You saw a friend in trouble, and you did what you had to in order to save them.  In your book, that was the right thing, the good thing.

But it only took an instant for your course of life to change.

You lunged for Toph, gripping her wrist so tight that she would have a bruise in the shape of your hand there later, and all but threw her behind you.  Hard enough and fast enough that she flew back and rolled against the ground, her head hitting the metal railings of the walkway pretty roughly.  

There was only a second for you to process that she’d gotten hurt, but the more pressing issue was you hadn’t calculated what to do once you’d gotten Toph away from the danger, which you were now smack in the middle in.

But there was no time for you to race back to safety, because you were already stumbling, and you couldn’t even scream as you felt your foot give out beneath you, sending you backwards through the opening of the ship.

Just as you desperately tried to claw at the rledge, a hand grabbed onto yours, and your body was dangling in the air, with only Sokka’s grip keeping you from falling to your death.

“Hang on!” He shouted to you, grunting as he struggled to hold your weight with just one hand.

You looked up at him wildly, in shock that he’d caught you in time, in fear that if you were to fall now, he’d blame himself forever.

“Okay” You said, voice cracking from the burning in your throat.

You reached your other hand out to grab onto his, hoping that if you anchored yourself better he’d be able to use his own weight to pull you back up.

But his other hand was gripping onto the ship, keeping himself from going over the edge with you.  That left him no room to move to pull you up, and you realized this pretty quickly.

But as Sokka struggled to figure out a plan, you could tell the gears in his head were turning too fast to allow him to see this problem.  He was facing a wave of denial, and neither of you had the time to deal with it.

“Sokka-” You called, and by the drop in your voice alone, he knew what you were going to say.

“No,” He replied before you could start, his tone gravely serious, but you could see the tears glossing over his eyes.  “No, don’t do that, just- just hold on, I’ll figure something-” 

“Sokka,” You said again, your voice cracking, and your hands squeezing his arm.  “It’s okay” 

“No-”

“I mean it,” You cried out.  “It’s okay” 

“Don’t- don’t talk like that! Just give me a second- Toph!” He turned to look over his shoulder, shrieking at the unconscious girl.  “Toph, help me!” 

You tried to blink away your tears, but they had already fallen.  They streaked down your cheeks, and plummeted to the ground a thousand feet below.

“Sokka, just let me go, it’s okay, you can’t-”

“Yes, I can!” 

“You’ll kill yourself!” You argued, your shriek echoing throughout the chasm below.  “You have to do this- you have to let me do this!” 

Your crying was making it hard not to slur your words, but you tried your best, because Sokka was growing weak from holding on so long.

“Just... let go” 

“I can’t,” Sokka cried, shaking his head, the first tear falling. “I can’t, I can’t, (y/n)-” 

“Then let me let go” You murmured, only making Sokka tighten his grip as much as he could.  His fingers dug so deep into your skin that you worried he’d snap your wrist before he’d let you go.

“No, no I can’t do it, I’m not losing you!” 

Fuck, you love him, you think, as you begin to sob, you love him so much that you’d die for him.

And here you are.

“I know,” You said softly, nodding at him, your body shaking from your crying and the all-consuming fear of death.  “I know, Sokka” 

For a moment he’s comforted.  He feels calm and centered, because you’re so soothing, and the way you look at him makes him feel like there’s all the time in the world, that everything will be fine, and you’ll be okay.

But then he snaps back to reality, and he’s shaking his head at you, unable to form any more words.

Deep down, he knows there’s nothing he can say to convince you not to do what you’re about to do.

He just can’t accept it.

“(y/n), please,” His words are strangled, and he’s got nothing left.  “Please” 

"I’m sorry, Sokka,”

You take in a deep breath.

“Forgive me” 

The world goes to slow motion then, you’re sure of it.

As you launch your legs up so you can kick yourself out of Sokka’s hold, he screams something awful, the sound heartbreaking, and just as your hands break free from his, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

But you’re already falling, regrets be damned.

You think the last thing you see will be the pained look on Sokka’s face as he still struggles to try and reach for you.

This isn’t how I thought I was going to die today, you thought, and you close your eyes so you don’t have to look at Sokka like that anymore.

Just as you think you’re about to be embraced by a painful death, you crash.

That definitely wasn’t a thousand foot plummet into rocks, you thought as you groan, and peek your eyes open.

“(y/n)!” 

Suki is standing above you, a shocked but excited look on her face.

“Suki-?” You whimper in pain.

“Spirits, did you just jump off that ship?” The Kyoshi Warrior asked, and helped you to your feet, before signaling up to Sokka, who stood thirty feet up on the platform, holding a half-knocked out Toph on his back.

“I- I-” You struggled with your words as you rubbed your head.

“Good thing I came when I did!” Suki said, checking you over to make sure you didn’t have any serious injuries.  “You could have died!” 

You scoffed at the irony, holding your head in both hands as you tried to still your spinning brain.

“Holy shit, (y/n)!” 

Sokka was before you in an instant, only dizzying your vision more.  You barely registered him helping Toph over to Suki, before he was waving his hand in front of your face.

“Hey, stay with me, you alright?” He asked softly, one hand steadying your shoulder as the other held a couple fingers in front of your face.  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three?”

“Good guess,” He grumbled, knowing you were making up an answer.  “Spirits, don’t you ever do something like that again, okay? Ever” 

“Sorry” You whine, your eyes screwing shut as you press your hands harder against your skull.

You couldn’t tell if your headache was from your harsh fall, or from the adrenaline washing over you too late.

“Sorry’s not good enough,” Sokka muttered.

He was angry, but he was also incredibly worried about you.  So while he grumbled a string of curses and scoldings, his hands were cupping your cheeks and pushing your loose hair out of your face.  You only heard a handful of the things he was saying, but you heard enough to get the gist.

“Yeah yeah,” You mumbled, opening your eyes in hope you could see clearly.

To your delight, you were met with his bright blue eyes in your face, and you were convinced that alone straightened your vision.

“No self sacrifices,” The rest of your sarcastic remark comes out in a mumble.  “Got it” 

Sokka shakes his head at you, and he wants to scold you some more, but he can’t help himself but lean down and kiss you.

You almost died for fuck’s sake.  He needs to have said he kissed you at least once.

He’s bending over and you find yourself shooting up to the tips of your toes to meet him in a kiss.  It’s quick and a little rough because you don’t have all the time in the world, but it’s everything.

In the four seconds it lasted, you just needed to convey every pent up emotion you’ve felt for each other in the last four months.  Maybe even longer.  And somehow in such a short span of time, you both managed to do so.

“Seriously,” Sokka whispers, his eyes locking on yours so you knew he meant business.  “You ever try to die again, I’ll kill you, got it?” 

All you can do is shakily nod back at him, now reeling from the near-death experience and the hot kiss he’d just laid on you.

“I’m not losing you, and you’re stuck with me” He tells you, and you nod again, a smile spreading on your lips this time.

“I can work with that” 

“Good,” He nods back, and takes your hand.  “Now let’s go make sure this war ends right, so I can take you out” 

You’re back in the action all too soon, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting even better than before.  Your coordination and swiftness as you take down the rest of the Fire Nation fleet better than they’ve ever been before.

You must really want to live to make it to that date.

[thevioletcaptain]

Coals Aglow

11.4k | Explicit | DeanCas 

A years-delayed 13.21 coda, in which Cas uses his grace in ways that it is probably not supposed to be used, and gentle-doms Dean into asking for what he wants.

{i}

It’s been several hours since the rebels split off into groups—half retiring to their sleeping quarters while the others walked with purpose to keep sentry around the camp’s perimeter—and Castiel has made a point to visit every one, speaking with each of them until he understands as much of this place as he possibly can. Just in case.

Castiel supposes that he could have just asked Jack, but despite Sam’s unexpected return he’s been quiet all evening. Almost withdrawn. It makes sense, considering how Sam came to be here and who he’d been forced to bring with him, but it still makes Castiel uneasy. Even after all these years, after his slip-slide into feeling, the emotional discomfort is something he’s not quite accustomed to.

Close to one in the morning, he spots Dean sitting on a log by the remains of a fire at the center of camp, picking idly at the bag of Skittles he’d packed for the trip and referred to as “trail mix” to irritate his brother. Sam is nowhere to be seen now. Dean appears to be doing little more than quietly passing the time.

After what happened this afternoon, Sam’s absence from Dean’s side is noteworthy enough to make Castiel apprehensive about joining him, but he pushes past his reservations and powers ahead. He’d rather sit with Dean in silence than go anywhere else, and though Dean has never said so, he knows that he’s not alone in his preference for spending what little downtime they have together.

Up close, he can see that the fire has burned down to little more than coals and ash. Dean prods at the sole remaining log with a stick, disrupting sparks and dark plumes of smoke that curl up into the night.

As Castiel sits beside him, the log shifts, pressing down into the loamy earth. Dean glances over to look at him. The weak light of the embers casts him in its deep orange glow, reflecting in his eyes, bright as the long-gone sunset. Something in Castiel’s chest settles at the sight.

“You doing okay?” Dean asks, offering the bag of Skittles. Castiel can only shrug as he takes a few and pops them into his mouth.

Almost as soon as he starts chewing, they dissolve into their component parts—citric acid splitting into carbon and hydrogen and oxygen; sucrose molecules breaking down into fructose and glucose. With effort, he focuses on all of them at once and captures a glimpse of the intended taste, just for a moment, before an unfathomable number of branched chain starch molecules unravel on his tongue, overwhelming the bright flavor he’d briefly enjoyed.

He’s been working on this. Testing things, training himself to taste the sum and not the parts. It’s a work in progress, but it’s one that he’s resolved to see through until it’s an automatic process.

“Relatively,” he says, and swallows the candy before he has to taste it any longer. “How are you?”

“Relatively,” Dean parrots, folding the bag up and poking it into his jacket pocket. “What a day, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“With Mom and Jack. Sleeping. Don’t think he wanted to be alone while he’s in the camp.”

Dean doesn’t gesture toward the place they designated to hold Lucifer overnight, but Castiel looks toward it anyway. He imagines he can feel his brother’s cold, prickling energy down to the tips of his fingers. Like frostbite. He frowns and turns back to Dean; tries to soak in his warmth instead.

“You should get some rest, too,” he says.

“Yeah, probably. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch.”

“Even by our standards,” Castiel agrees.

Dean huffs, his mouth ticking up to the right, and scuffs his heel in the dirt. Castiel watches as he picks idly at the log they sit upon; the twitch in his cheek as he hisses and inspects his index finger before raising it to his mouth. The shape of his lips as he tries to suck a splinter loose from where it's buried itself beneath his fingernail.

“Damnit,” Dean mutters, pulling his hand back to look at it with a frown.

“Here.”

Reaching out, Castiel catches Dean’s wrist in one hand and his fingers in the other, expending a shimmering wisp of grace to work the splinter free. He’s not sure what compels him to make such a show of it — he could have healed the minuscule injury from where he’s sitting without touching Dean at all — but he can’t help himself.

At some point, years ago, his duty to help Dean and his desire to be close to him got all tangled up. He can no longer recall when he’d started healing him through unnecessary touch, but it’s the singular selfish thing that he does, and he’s not planning on stopping unless Dean tells him to.

The splinter falls silently to the dirt at their feet. Castiel curls the tip of his index finger against the tiny puncture in Dean’s skin, directing his grace as it knits back together.

Beside him, Dean lets out an unsteady breath, and a pulse of love stretches out from his soul to brush against Castiel’s true form. If he’s being truly honest with himself, this is another major reason why Castiel allows himself to touch him in moments like this; he knows that Dean enjoys it as much as he does.

Despite all his half-hearted blustering about personal space, Dean is a tactile person, and the moments when Castiel heals him are the moments when his heart is the most open. When he lets himself feel the way he feels without holding back, just for a breath or two. It’s enough. It’s always been enough.

But now—the feeling draws out longer than usual, shifting to something closer to hunger, to desire, and Dean’s fingers flex a little in Castiel’s hand. When Castiel starts to pull away they turn to gently grip him back. And this…

This is new.

Not the feeling—that has been there for years, poorly concealed and just below the surface—but the action that echoes it. Dean has never done something like this, and Castiel has never been brave enough to try it himself. He’s still not, he realizes as he looks down at their hands tangled together and tries to strategize a safe response.

He’s got no ideas, so he doesn’t move. Couldn’t move if he tried.

“Y’know,” Dean says, interrupting his thoughts with his voice pitched low, and Castiel glances back up to see that his pupils are blown wide. Apprehensive. Tense. Aroused, Castiel’s mind supplies, and he pushes the thought away just in time for Dean to make him wonder if he’d been too hasty in rejecting it. “I don’t think I can stand to be alone tonight, either.”

There’s a clear, deliberate weight to Dean’s words, and although Castiel recognizes it for what it is almost immediately, he hasn’t got the slightest clue how he’s expected to address it. How could he? They’ve kept such a delicate balance for so long that even this one sentence feels monumental. It’s as though Dean has casually dropped an anchor onto a scale that would have been thrown off kilter by a feather, and now he’s just sitting here, acting as though he hasn’t just thrown out the entire rule book of their relationship.

Castiel is afraid to respond at all. He wishes he wasn’t, but fear compounded by habit is hard to shake.

“I could watch over you,” he offers eventually, hating himself for taking the easy way out even as he says it, and waiting for the inevitable refusal. Dean exhales as he slowly pulls his hand away and shifts his gaze back to the glowing embers.

“Aren’t you tired, Cas?”

“I’m running a little low on grace, but—”

“No, I mean—aren’t you tired of… of this.” He waves between them with an open hand, the movement far too casual to be anything but calculated, and glances back to meet Castiel’s eyes. “We could die tomorrow.”

“You could say that about every day, for us.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean huffs. “Look, can we just—”

Pushing to his feet, Dean takes a few steps away before turning back to look at Castiel, his hands tense at his sides, clenching into fists and releasing, over and over as though he needs the movement to keep from… something. Castiel isn’t sure what. But his eyes are pleading. Begging Castiel to meet him halfway.

Castiel wants to. He’s just trying to figure out how.

“Can we skip this part?” Dean asks.

“What do you—”

“The—” Dean briefly lifts his hands, then lets them fall helplessly back to his sides. “The… I don’t know, man. The freakin’ confessions. The discussion. The… the whole what now thing. All that bullshit.” He looks up at Castiel. “Can we just skip it?”

Castiel blinks, slow.

“You mean—”

“I mean I’ve had enough, Cas. I’m tired, and I don’t— I don’t see the point in ignoring this anymore. I haven’t really seen the point in a while. Didn’t want to rock the boat, I guess, but now…”

“But now you’re tired.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re rocking the boat.”

Dean doesn’t respond to the question directly; just looks at Castiel with a determination in his eyes that leaves no room for misunderstanding, and says, “I’m going to bed. You should come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Doesn’t even pause to see if his assumption that Castiel understands his meaning is correct.

Castiel is surprised at his confidence. Not because he’s wrong to have it, but because even though this thing that’s been growing between them for near on a decade has been more difficult to deny with every passing year, even though Castiel has been able to feel Dean’s longing for him as sharply as he’s been able to feel his own, Dean has still never acknowledged it in any concrete way.

For his own part, Castiel has given him more openings than his pride would like him to admit, but Dean’s played things so close to his chest the entire time that Castiel has always assumed he didn’t want to deal with it at all.

He just didn’t think they’d ever get here.

There’s always been something in the way. An apocalypse, a near death, an actual death. Something. When he came back from the Empty, miraculously alive again against all odds, he’d thought to himself, it’s now or never, and Dean had barreled into him, fingers pressed to the back of his neck as they’d embraced in a dimly lit alleyway, and Castiel had felt love radiating from him like light from a star, and still nothing had changed.

So, never, he’d thought. He’d made his peace with it. Being near Dean was enough, if being with Dean was not an option.

But now—

Dean is already nearing the dilapidated mess hall he’s been set up in for the night—the camp only has so much space for sleeping quarters—and Castiel hurries to catch up. He slips through the door behind him and into the dark.

Inside, the main room is cluttered and overfull with folding tables.

A dozen or so chairs are stacked along the walls, and the faint scent of instant coffee lingers in the air. Ahead, Dean maneuvers through a tight gap between tables toward a dark red door. When they make their way inside, it’s to find a cramped storeroom, where a thin bedroll and blanket has been set out for Dean on the floor alongside several unlabelled boxes and a shelf of cleaning supplies. His backpack sits at one end like a makeshift pillow.

Near the ceiling, there’s a single narrow window, and the moonlight that filters through its dusty pane catches on the buttons on Dean’s jacket, reflects bright in his eyes as he turns to look back at Castiel.

Years ago, in a similarly cramped storeroom in the Rexford Gas n Sip, Castiel had knelt on the floor to gather his things while Dean waited outside in the Impala, and wondered if perhaps one of them would be brave enough to ask for a single room at the motel they were headed toward.

He’d known already, even then, that what they felt for each other was far beyond the limits of friendship. Had felt it for a long time before that night, too, though it had taken an abrupt fall from Heaven and a brand new soul grown under the worst possible circumstances for him to truly understand what it meant.

But just for a few minutes, kneeling in that storeroom, he’d thought that perhaps this was the night. That Dean would make his move. That he’d summon the courage to make a move himself.

The way Dean had looked at him earlier that night had him feeling recklessly hopeful, and he’d been halfway convinced that they’d arrive at the Rexford Motor Inn, and their hands would touch as they walked to the room, and some understanding would pass between them.

That they’d fall into one another before they even managed to get through the door.

He’d thought about it in sharp detail. Imagined confessing to Dean, telling him how the first thing he’d felt when the angels stopped falling was the overwhelming desire to hear Dean’s voice. To see him. To hold him. To breathe him in.

How his fledgling soul ached every day that they’d been apart; how he’d realized, finally, that this thing between them was love.

He’d imagined it countless different ways as he pushed to his feet with a plastic bag in his hand, as he left the building and locked the door behind him, as he’d gripped the cool metal of the Impala’s door handle. As Dean’s hand had settled on the back of his seat while they reversed out of the parking space, fingers brushing carelessly against the back of Castiel’s neck.

He’s lost in the memory, still trying to wrap his head around what they’re doing here when Dean laughs aloud. Castiel meets his eyes, and feels the soul tangled up with his grace sing at the sight.

“Sorry,” Dean says, and there’s a touch of wild hysteria in his voice. “Just…” He gestures loosely around them. “Kinda hilarious that this is… we’re basically in a goddamn closet.”

Castiel can’t help but huff out a laugh himself, and Dean’s gaze drops to his mouth. It’s not the first time that’s happened. It’s not even the first time Castiel has noticed. It’s different now, though.

Because this time, Dean doesn’t immediately look away. He doesn’t step back or crack a joke or lash out or deflect. He looks at Castiel’s mouth, and he keeps on looking. And looking. And looking. Castiel feels as though he might buzz right out of his body if he doesn’t just—

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes lift to meet Castiel’s, and there’s a shade of reckless humor in them. Something devious and endlessly irritating that makes Castiel want to throttle him for making him wait, even now, when they’re supposedly not doing that anymore.

“Yeah?”

“What are you waiting for?”

The answer, as it turns out, is nothing. Dean grins, and crowds into his space, and kisses him. Just like that.

As though it’s always been this easy. Maybe it has been.

Raising one palm to rest against Castiel’s chest, Dean slides the other into his hair, thumb dragging soft against the back of his ear as he moves him into place, and Castiel lets himself be directed. Lets Dean push him back until he’s pressed firmly against the door. Lets Dean tilt his chin just so, and deepen their kiss.

The memory of Dean’s fingers accidentally brushing against his neck that night in the Impala comes rushing back full force now that Dean is holding him there so purposefully. Kissing him with a hunger that Castiel had resigned himself to thinking would never be sated.

Even now, he’s still not sure it will be. Dean is kissing him, but Castiel still longs for him as though they aren’t pressed flush together.

Castiel isn’t sure if his perception is skewed by love, but as Dean’s lips part, he decides that despite the molecules, Skittles taste better on Dean’s tongue, and it suddenly feels incredibly important that Dean knows. Not about the Skittles, but the rest. Everything.

Can we skip it? Dean had asked, but now that they’re here, Castiel realizes that doesn’t want to.

They’ve avoided talking for years, and as Dean put it—Castiel is tired.

With his hands on Dean’s waist, working under his jacket to pull him closer still even as he breaks their kiss, Castiel does what he hadn’t been brave enough to do in Rexford. He tells Dean the truth.

[keep reading on ao3]

[what-the--curtains]

Not a Piece of Art

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

Part 5 - Revelations in the Moonlight

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Summary: Will Javier reach you in time? That is if he’s coming at all.

Notes: sorry this keeps getting longer and longer! This is the second to last part I hope y’all enjoy it (if not let me know how to improve!) 💕🌻✨

Tw: 18+ (NO MINORS ALLOWED) Violence, blood, language, nudity.

Tagged: @agingerindenial @diogodxlot @trash-dino-5000

Words: 3.7k

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Your eyes flutter open as you feel flecks of cold water bounce off your cheek. Your pupils dilate into the fluorescent lighting bearing down on you, and a dull throb begins at the base of your skull. You go to rub the ache, but your hands are tugged backwards at the movement causing your shoulders to stretch around the pillar you were currently being tied to. Your eyes scan the area landing on the two men from earlier who stand guard at the doors of what you assume must be the mansion's basement.

“Carlos...What the fuck is going on?” you rasp out, miraculously remembering to maintain your accent.

“I could ask you the same question?” he snarls. Feeling his meaning you hold your tongue, waiting to see what he knows. “You know why you’re here?” He asks, taking a sinister step towards you.

“Carlos I can honestly say, I don’t have the foggiest,” you respond, the metallic taste in your mouth worsening the growing nausea caused by the lights.

“The painting, the one you gave me, was stopped at the border yesterday. The first time it’s happened in years. Some of my best men were taken, they're dead now of course. Loose ends have to be tied up. The painting, and its components were taken by the DEA. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?” he snarls. You do your best to maintain your facade, though a panic has set in. “Still not getting it?” he queries, taking your face between his hands forcing your eyes up to him. “Maybe you are as dumb as you look. Let's try a different approach, shall we? Why would this painting be stopped? After years without issue, then you show up and in one day, our program has been compromised.” he continues, letting go of your cheeks and swinging your head out to the side as he walks back over to his desk.

“Statistics dictate…. “ you start, not turning back to face.

“Shut up!” he shouts, slamming his hand down onto the desk, causing your body to flinch into the stone pillar.

“Carlos let me go, I do not know what happened or what was with those paintings, I thought they were for your friend. Why were they taken?” You try and reason frantically.

“See I do not know that, my wifes convinced you're too convenient, and after today I’d have to agree. Ohhh…” he tuts in mocking sympathy, noticing the waiver in your voice “Don't worry cariño, all shall be revealed soon, I wouldn’t dare keep you in suspense. I had a man deliver a message to your supposed husband. He has 15 minutes to show up here alone or we kill you.” he states flatly, pulling a small pistol out of his desk, checking the barrel.

You swallow, leaning your head back against the pillar, 15 minutes, that's how long it was from the DEA’s main office to the house. That's how long it would take for a SWAT team to get here and catch Carlos, but not to save you. A cleverly crafted plan, no doubt administered by Helena, heavens knows Carlos wasn't capable. You can’t help but let out a tiny laugh, as you blink back tears, making your peace as you prepared to meet your maker. If there was one thing you knew about Peña it was that he would do anything to catch Escobar.

“Five minutes left darling, any last minute confessions?” He says now inches away, staring down at you.

“Carlos, please, I didn't do this.” you beg, playing your final hand.

“We shall see. A shame to waste such beauty, but ….” He brushes your cheekbone with the gun and you close your eyes. They open as the sound of doors swinging open echoes throughout the basement. Looking towards the sound you see a sweaty and enraged Peña emerging. You’d never more happy to be seeing his stupid face. You exhale shakily cursing yourself for nearly bursting into tears when his eyes meet yours. Immediately he starts towards you, one of the men places a hand on his chest, but a swift uppercut breaks the guys nose and the other two henchmen retract allowing him to make his way behind you.

“Are you hurt, my love?” he asks, frantically untying your wrists that were rubbed raw from where you had worked to free them. You shake your head no. He unties your hands and you feel yourself unravel with the cord, as your entire system begins to shut down. “I’ve got you” he whispers, as you fall into his arms.

“Now, friend, come let us chat for a moment,” Carlos says, almost as surprised as you that Javi had shown up.

“No, I don't talk with people who kidnap the only thing in my life that matters” he spits, hooking his arm under yours and starting slowly towards the door. You're almost out when you hear the unmistakable sound of the safety being turned off. You both turn to see Carlos aiming the gun at you.

“You passed information?” he sneers more of a question than a statement.

“Think Carlos,” he snarls through gritted teeth, “You never gave me any information,you asked for a painting and we provided, you never told me more.” After a few minutes you hear Carlos click the safety back into place as he lowers his weapon.

“You’re right. We thought perhaps we had been infiltrated but it seems like someone else has been leaking information. My wife was wrong for the last time.” he mutters, tossing the gun back into its drawer.

“We’re free to go then?” Javi fumes, the rage he felt towards Carlos seeping out of every pore. With a curt nod, the two men clear the door and Javi scoops you up and carries you out the house and down across the beach where the moon had risen high. You look over his shoulder, and back towards the house. You make out Helena's outline on the balcony watching you as you leave.

“I should have gone with you” he whispers as he places you down onto your feet at the front step so he can open the door. You waiver for a moment, but you're quickly steadied by Peñas hand supporting your waist as you lean into him. He hadn’t had time to assess the damage but the moonlight illuminated the blood coming from your lip and forehead. Wounds caused by his incompetence, by his failure to assess the situation.

“Then we'd both be dead” you respond walking into the kitchen and stupidly lifting yourself up onto the counter, the movement causing every ounce of your body to exude with pain, eyes watering as a result. Despite your attempt to mask your pain, it did not go unnoticed by Javi. Based on everything he knew about you, he figured you’d try and play down your injuries, but based on your expressions he knew the visible blood wasn’t the only damage done.

‘Hey, don't strain yourself,” he says, watching you grimace when you lean over to take off your shoes. You go to shift off the counter. “No, don't move now, you're already up there,” he continues, bending down and taking off the shoes for you, tossing them to the side before rummaging through the cabinet for the first aid kit. He passes you the bottle of tequila that was blocking the kit. You bring it to your lips, hoping it would help mask some of your pain.

“We have to get you to a hospital” he says, as he tilts your head gently from side to side seeing darkening areas around your forehead. Dried blood covered your hairline and your mouth.

“No then the mission will be ruined, beside i'm still breathing and no blood’s been coughed up, so nothing’s punctured” you murmur, your breathing was fine as well, albeit painful, but no wheezing. There was nothing that needed immediate care.

“What?” he says, glancing down to your side, increasingly concerned with each passing comment. Your eyes dart up to the ceiling, not wanting to burden him anymore than you already had “Show me.” he demands softly.

“It's fine Javi,” you try and reason, not wanting to put any additional stress on the man, knowing he’d already be blaming himself for your injuries.

“Show me,” he repeats, firm this time, but his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, “that's an order” he muses, causing you to roll your eyes.

“It hurts to lift my arms” you admit, he nods and slowly removes the straps of the dress pulling it down to your waist immediately identifying a concerning dark patch covering your entire left side. You didn't look down, you knew it was probably internal bleeding but, you didn't want that information to get back to Javi.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he whispers, amazed that you were still conscious let alone rolling your eyes at him. He pulls out a bag of ice from the freezer wrapping it in a tea towel and placing it gently on your side.

“Hold that there for a second,” he says, turning back to the freezer for more ice.

“He's going to kill Helena, we should try and get her out” you reason, shifting the ice around.

“How hard do you hit your head querida?” He laughs “She's the one who ratted us out and you're worried about her?” He continues, bringing the ice up to your forehead. You shrug wincing as your side is inadvertently pulled on by the motion. “For someone with such an ability to hold a grudge you're certainly very forgiving when you want to be”

“C’mon Peña, you know she's doing it to survive, she doesn't deserve to die. Besides she may have information she's willing to trade ” you offer, Helena was no angel, but she was definitely useful.

“After what they did to you? They don’t deserve to live, not in my book,.” he says, placing the ice back down on the counter as he takes a damp cloth and begins to wipe some of the blood off your face. You laugh, presuming he’s kidding, but when you look at him, he's not laughing, there's no trace of humour on his face. His head’s down as he wipes your face. He looks... vulnerable, visibly upset by what's happened to you, almost like he cared about you. Had he this whole time and you were too busy being angry at him to notice? Angry about something so stupid in the grand scheme of things. His eyes meet yours and you find your answer, their softness only confirming your current feeling.

“What wrong querida?” he asks, his free hand caressing your cheek. Your hearts beating out of your chest. How can he not hear it? You're sure everyone within a 50 mile radius could. You bring your hand up to his pressing it against your cheek hoping to convey the sudden onslaught of feelings you were having. He stares back into your eyes, not willing to try anything without your full permission, a hand hold wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the proof he needed to kiss you like he'd been wanting to for the past four weeks, hell, the past year.

You drop your hands and run them along his shoulders encouraging him forward. He doesn't drop the ice he's holding to your side, and using his free hand he pulls you closer to him. Your faces now centimeters apart and each of your breaths shallower than the next.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

“What about the contract?” he says, making sure this was what you wanted.

“Fuck the contract,” you say and with that you press a gentle kiss to his lips, pulling away when you don’t feel him kiss back. You keep your eyes closed wondering if you had misread his meaning? His thumb traces over your split lip gently pulling your chin towards him for a deeper kiss, warm . You smile into it and he goes to close the gap between. Lost in the moment, his grip becomes rougher than intended and he feels you flinch away from him.

“Fuck, i'm sorry,” he says, pulling back and placing a kiss on the area before reapplying the ice

“We should get you to bed, before I do any serious damage” he says, and you nod your head in agreement, allowing him to carry you back to the room bridal style. He places you on the bed, but noticing the blood stuck in your hair he makes you an offer you can't refuse.

“You wanna wash that blood out of your hair? Might make you feel better,” he says. You nod silently, too tired to speak, and Javi leaves to run you a bath. He helps you lower yourself into the tub and begins to rinse the blood out your hair, hands slowly massaging your scalp and running down from roots to end the runoff staining the water a light pink. He glances down and sees your eyes staring up at him, your lips pursed slightly, silently hoping he’d read your mind and kiss you again.

“Gotta stop looking at me like that” he chuckles, and you let out a small grunt.

“You want something darling?” he asks, and you extend your neck out, parting your lips expectedly causing him to smile “you want more kisses cariño? From me? They gonna make you feel better?” He asks.

You nod causing him to grin as he washes the last of the blood out of your hair before leaning down to pepper your lips with light kisses pulling back and chuckling at the small humph you make in his absence.

“What?” you murmur sleepily

“Last thing I thought i'd get to do was kiss you” he admits, turning off the shower head.

“You thought about it a lot, Peña?” you tease, feeling better now you weren't plastered in your own blood.

“Every day,” he confesses “every time I’d walk into your lab and you’d ignore me,” He continues lifting you up out of the tub and toweling you off.

“You want pyjamas?” he asks.

“Just want to sleep” you murmur, shaking off the towel and crawling under the linen sheets.

“Okay i'll get the lights, call me if you need anything, i'll just be next door,” he says, preparing to sleep on the couch.

“Javi…” you whisper, as the lights go out.

“Yes” he responds, turning around, overjoyed at the sound of his first name coming from your lips.

“Stay with me” you plead,

“As long as you want,” he says, crawling in under the sheets with you allowing you to settle around him comfortably, not closing his own eyes until the faint sound of your snoring starts up.

You shoot up in bed as the sound of gunshots ring out through the night. You turn quickly and see the imprint of where Javi had been before you fell asleep. Stumbling out the bed, you grab a nearby lamp, the pain from your side dulled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you descend the stairs.

“Javi” you whisper-yell frantically, wielding the lamp as you turn the corner. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see his figure on the balcony, placing the lamp down on the counter. The sound causes Javi to turn around and he rushes towards you grabbing you by the shoulder.

“What was the gunshot? Are you okay?” you ask running your hands over him scanning for an entry wound.

“Im fine dulzura, im fine. Go back to bed,” he whispers, with a tone indicating that everything was not fine.

“Helena?” you ask eyes wide.

“I don’t know” he lies, “We'll figure it out tomorrow.” he continues trying to sooth you, despite knowing exactly who was at the other end of that bullet.

“Tomorrow?” you whisper.

“If we go over there now, he’ll kill us both, if he's not already on his way to do it now. Go back into the bedroom, lock the door, do not open it for anyone. I'll keep watch” he says, more serious than you’d ever heard him.

“Stay with me.” you plead, not willing to lose Javi now that you had him.

“No, they put me with you to keep you safe, that’s what I'm going to do, that's what you're going to let me do.” he says, escorting your back up the stairs to the bedroom, not leaving until he hears the lock click into place.

Your eyes open as the mid morning sun seeps in through the cracks of the curtains reminding you of the events from the night prior. Quietly, but quickly, you get out of bed and unlock the door, holding your breath as you tip-toe down the stairs, turning the corner you exhale upon seeing Peña sitting on a chair gun in hand facing the door. He glances at you once, then again, he was over tired and on edge from being up all night.

“You should get some sleep, I'll keep an eye out,” you offer, going over to him and taking the gun from his hand, placing it down on the coffee table.

“How are the ribs?” he asks, reaching back for the gun.

“Broken, but fine,” you say, grabbing his hand in yours to stop it.

“That’s an oxymoron, you need to see a doctor,” he responds rubbing his thumb over your knuckles

“And you need to sleep, If he hasn’t killed us yet I think we're in the clear,'' you say, beginning to pull him up. He gives in and gets up himself, knowing you're only making your ribs worse. He lifts your chin and sleepily kisses you before heading off into the bedroom, leaving you with a gun that you didn't know how to use. You begin to cook breakfast leaving a plate in the fridge for Javi when he wakes up, you hoped the DEA would be extracting you soon. The situation was already volatile, you didn't want it to become explosive when the second painting was stopped. As you're cleaning up the dishes you hear a faint knock at the door. Your heart drops, and you look over to the door, letting out a shaky breath as you place the pan down in the sink. You open the door to Carlos who's standing before you looking charismatic as ever. You want to call out for Peña but you know it'll only make the situation more suspicious.

“Carlos,” you say taking a step back, crossing your arms over your chest

“You did not go to the hospital?” he asks, eyes scanning over your body as he speaks

“We don’t trust hospitals,” you offer up.

“Or the police? Kidnapping is a very serious crime after all.” he muses, smiling down at you.

“If we don’t trust hospitals, why would we go to the police? They’re a bunch of incompetent fuckers. Besides, they don’t need to know about the counterfeit work I've been doing on the side,” you offer, as you hear the sound of Javi descending the stairs. It had only been a moment but it felt like forever when Javi finally showed up at your side, quickly putting distance between you and Carlos.

“Get out. You may have built this house but we bought it, leave.” he spits

“Listen…” Carlos chides.

“You think you can break my wifes ribs and I will welcome you back with open arms? That I would listen to you, no, no, no….” he laughs.

“Darling... '' you say, trying to get his attention, but he's not done.

“Get out, do not come back, we’ll be moving shortly. As I said before we like to keep decent company and it seems we’ve run out of it here.”

“Darling.. that’s quite enough, Carlos apologies please do go on.” You interject. You can practically see the steam coming off Javi when you say it, his eyes wide as he turns back to face you.

“Thank you querida, I came to offer my sincerest apologies, I was mistaken in my belief that you were federal, misinformation is like a disease. It festers, rots your brain, I let Helena rot mine. As a result we will be moving for a time, we suggest you two do the same, police will be sniffing around here soon enough”

“Wait” you say, exiting into your art room returning shortly after with the portrait “here. The last counterfeit you had asked for, it rough but passable. Think of it as a farewell gift” He takes it and just like that he was gone, out of your lives for good.

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

The two of you sit in the uncomfortable blue plastic chairs in the ER’s waiting room, you'd been there for a few hours now, mainly sitting in silence, still trying to process what was going on.

“She's dead because of us,” you finally whisper out, Helena hadn’t left your mind since the gunshots had sung out last night, “We could have tried to get her out, she could have had information,”

“Then the whole operation would be gone, and this all would have been for nothing,” Javi responds in an attempt to unburden you of your guilt. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and pull you into him, to kiss your pain away, but you were back to the real world and the rules were different here, less clear to him.

“She was telling the truth and she still died. Do you realize how fucked up that is,” you state, emotionlessly staring off into space unable to process how you were feeling, or not wanting to, knowing it could result in everything flooding out of you.

“It’s just part of the job, they think the paintings can be linked to Escobar which is the only thing that matters.The only thing good that came out of all this pain is that were one step closer to catching the bastard” he reassures, not realizing the meaning of the words he was speaking.

“The only thing Javi?”, you question, unable to believe that everything between you had meant nothing to him.

“Ya, the only thing, in the end,” he says, turning just in time to catch the look on your face, only then realizing what he was implying. He opens his mouth to explain that what he had just said was not what he meant, but the doctor calls your name and you stand up quickly, walking ahead leaving him in the dust. He looks from the chair then to the exit, weighing his options.

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 8

Catch up here >> AHBS Masterlist

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1739

Notes: This chapter is slightly graphic on the physical abuse. It's only like two lines, but I wanted to make it known.

Chapter 8 - Sorry for Now

After a while you may forget

But just in case the memories cross your mind

You couldn't know this when I left

Under the fire of your angry eyes

I never wanted to say goodbye

Four months, thirteen days, and ten hours, not that he was counting, since he left. Since the dark haired boy had walked away, leaving Rowan standing on the sidewalk. Since his mind spiraled out of control, and it felt like part of him died.

Rowan had been seeing a therapist for the last three months. It had helped, somewhat. At least he could function as a relatively normal human being again, when he was around people anyway. Most of the time. He almost didn't graduate. Thankfully, his mom, his friend group, and his therapist had helped him get through it.

But all in all, Rowan felt empty. Somehow his heart was broken. He hadn't realized someone could get so attached to someone so fast even though they never really talked or hung out. Maybe it was because they shared such vulnerabilities with each other that day in the park or there really was such a thing as a soulmate and his just left him. Either way, he was broken inside. Yet, he still went to parties with his friends, hung out, but he wasn't always present. Everyone noticed the vacant stares, but they usually left it alone. They all knew the general gist of what happened that day, but they could never understand the emotional gravity well that that day had caused. No one knew that Rowan had fallen for the other boy.

Except the ever observant Elide. She noticed everything. The way Rowan spoke about Lorcan, the way his eyes lit up when he saw the other boy walking down the hall, and the small looks they both shared on cast signing day.

But nobody had seen Lorcan after he had walked away. He never came back to school. No one knew what to think. Most assumed they moved again and they left it at that. Rowan assumed the worst after seeing Lorcan's bruises and him basically saying this was a usual occurrence.

Rowan was brought back to the present when a beach ball hit him in the head. He was sitting on the edge of Aelin's pool, sulking, feet dangling in the water. Aelin was throwing one of her parties, it was nearly the end of summer and soon most of them would head off to college. The noises from his friends finally filtering back into his head, it was suddenly too loud, too bright, and too hot. He ran a hand down his face.

Fenrys had been the beach ball throwing culprit, Rowan just glared at him.

"Come on, Ro. Try and have some fun?" Fen had swam over to Rowan and crossed his arms over the edge of the pool. The roguish blond just wanted him to be happy.

“I’m sorry.” He said that a lot now. Fenrys just raised an eyebrow at the boy… man.

He was eighteen now and he wasn't that scrawny, nerdy looking boy anymore. Rowan supposed that was one good thing that came out of Lorcan leaving, he got addicted to working out. There was a punching bag set up in the garage with some weights. He was fit now, muscles defined, but not bulky.

Elide walked up and mussed up his hair. "Come help me get some drinks." She didn't leave any room for argument.

In the kitchen, Elide just leaned forward on the island and looked at Rowan.

"I thought we were getting drinks."

"Yeah, we will. But-"

"But what?" He really didn't mean to say that with such an attitude, but he was hot and emotionally exhausted. Honestly, he just wanted to go home.

Elide was on her phone, waiting for him to chill. Taking a deep breath he said, "I'm sorry. What did you want to talk about?" Rowan was trying, he really was. She just slid her phone over the counter towards him. He furrowed his brows as he looked at the article on the screen.

Consultants for Erawan Enterprises arrested on counts of fraud, child abuse, human trafficking, and other illicit activities

"What's this?" He had no idea what this was about. Why would he care about Erawan Enterprises?

He picked up the phone and kept reading since Elide clearly wasn’t going to answer. It was short and there was a photo of a devastatingly beautiful woman with dark as night hair, that reminded him of Lorcan, and alabaster skin in handcuffs being pushed into a cop car and a very angry man shoved against the hood of the same car.

Maeve Valgerian and James Perrington were arrested Wednesday night. After some anonymous tips to the Morath Police.

"Who are these people?" Rowan didn't understand.

"Pretty sure she's Lorcan's aunt."

Oh.

Rowan had searched for Lorcan online after he disappeared, but there was literally nothing. Absolutely zero results. It was like he was a ghost.

They were consultants for Erawan Enterprises and moved all over the world for the very powerful man. Erawan Enterprises is under investigation for fraud, money laundering, and human trafficking.

After Valgerian and Perrington were arrested, MPD searched their residence and found incriminating evidence against them.

There was also a teenager held captive in the basement. They were taken to the nearest hospital with severely critical injuries. The name and gender of this individual will not be released for their safety.

The article was published nearly two months ago.

Human trafficking…

Held captive...

Severely critical injuries...

"Please, don't break my phone." He was squeezing the device and didn't realize it. Quickly handing it back to her, his hand went straight to his hair.

“Are you sure this is his aunt?”

“Well, not 100%, but they have physical similarities and their hair…” she trailed off. “And Lorcan had mentioned his aunt’s boyfriend living with them one day in class.”

"Fuck!" He felt like he wanted to rip his hair out.

"Ro." Elide's voice was quiet.

"FUCK!"

After a couple deep breaths, he ran his hands down his face, and then turned to face his friend. "Is he dead?" His voice cracked.

"I don't know. All of the other articles I could find are just about them and Erawan Enterprises. No mentions of Lorcan. Anywhere. It's like he doesn't exist."

Elide pulled him into a hug and he broke.

---

Lorcan had been through shit show after shit show since he left the Whitethorn house. As soon as he returned to the apartment, it was packed up into a moving van and they were gone.

They were in Fenharrow for a couple months. Maeve didn't enroll him in school. He was locked in the basement of the small house they rented, it felt like he had gone crazy. He hadn't seen the sun until they moved again. His skin turned a sickly gray. By the time they moved again, he could feel every one of his ribs, and his hips stuck out, his fingers overlapping when wrapped around his wrist.

Next move was to Morath. Lorcan didn't know if he would survive. He didn’t have a good feeling about this place. The basement became his home yet again. It was filthy. There were thick iron hooks in opposite walls and chains hanging from them. This was where he was going to die. He closed his eyes as Perrington latched the shackles around his wrists.

---

One day, Lorcan heard sirens intermittently. He kept passing out. He wasn't even sure he was hearing sirens or if it was just a ringing in his ears. They were always ringing nowadays. A punch to his face made his vision flicker. Blood and saliva leaked from his mouth as his head rolled down to his chest.

The ringing in his ears got louder. There definitely weren't sirens. No one was going to save him. He was going to die here. He knew it. It was what he deserved. The bastard born half-breed that no one cared about, left to die in his own filth in a disgusting basement. The world slowly faded to black.

---

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He was in Hel. He had to be.

Beep.

The incessant beeping was there to drive him insane. And the smell of bleach was there to make him sick.

Beep.

---

Lorcan startled awake. How could he be awake? He was supposed to be dead. Right?

The nightmare he was having felt so real. Probably because he had lived it before. He assumed that was just what Hel was supposed to be, reliving the worst parts of your life.

But instead, he was in a bed, a hospital bed. Why did they save him? Lorcan wasn't worth saving. Yet, here he was covered in wires, tubes, a needle stuck in his hand, a device on his finger. It was dark outside and the lights were dim in the room.

Deciding he wasn’t actually dead, he took stock of his body, he was certain he had some broken ribs, but nothing else seemed to be broken which was surprising. He was definitely sore and stiff. And exhausted. So exhausted.

---

After… Lorcan didn't know how long he was discharged. He had put on some weight, though not a lot. The staff made sure he ate. They were all nice and cared for him. But now, he stood outside the main entrance of the hospital in some scrubs they gave him. Now, he had nothing. Nobody. He may as well have been lost at sea.

Why had they saved him? He still couldn’t figure that out.

Somehow, he managed to find the small house that he had been stuck in for who knows how long. There was police tape over the door. The door was open.

He pushed through the tape. The house was a mess. It seemed the cops had ransacked the place. But he finally found his things, they were strewn about the floor. Thank Hellas, his journal was still there. After changing, he packed up his books and journal, some clothes, and a few other other necessities.

He needed money or something he could sell. Maeve's jewelry would help. He could pawn it.

Lorcan asked the pawnshop owner for directions to the bus station, and then he set out to see if there was still one person who cared about him. Hopefully this wasn’t a bad idea.

____

Thanks for reading. Things will get better, I promise! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

Edit- oops! I forgot to actually put in tags... My bad. Sorry!

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire

[thewatermelloncat]

Blank Canvas

Summary: Five struggles to deal with life in a timeline that he doesn’t think he belongs in. Not wanting to confide in his siblings enjoying their newfound lives, he turns to self-destructive methods.

Warnings: Self harm

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Five was low. Last night he’d slept in his cupboard, the small space enveloping protectively around him. Anything just to make the world around him feel smaller. The wooden floor didn’t bother him, instead it felt familiar after spending nights upon nights on the ground in the apocalypse. The increased darkness didn’t bother him either, it made him feel like he was somewhere else. Somewhere far away, where for the moment nothing mattered, that nothing needed to matter.

The strange thing about it all was that he could spend nights like that then go down stairs to his siblings in the morning like nothing unusual happened. And he wanted to keep it that way. They were so happy having their old lives back in their rightful timeline. Who was he to disturb them with the fact that he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there?

He wasn’t there the first time the timeline rolled around this point. He was out of place, like a game piece put back in the wrong set. Matching some of the other pieces but not meant to be there all the same.

But he couldn’t tell them how he felt about any of it, that would involve a lot of explaining and sharing of things he didn’t want his siblings to know. Both things that he couldn’t be bothered with. And deep down he knew that in the end he was the only person who would understand what he was going through. So, he shut it all in on himself and threw away the key.

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He’d been fundamentally invisible all day, going down in the morning for breakfast before retreating to his room where he stared at the walls for hours on end. Though it was doubtful that anyone else noticed, they all had their own stuff to do, and he was sure no one was keeping tabs on him.

Eventually he’d fallen asleep and woke up curled sideways on his bed, shaking. He didn’t have the powers of Klaus to see the dead, but he knew the spirits of the people he killed followed him everywhere. Plaguing him in his sleep even through to the moments when he is awake. Somehow, they never leave his mind.

He knows his job had never been personal and it was what he had to do to get beck to his family, but the memories of killing stayed with him. For the most part the people deserved to die, but the owners of the flower cart and the child minding their own business playing in the park were exceptions. They stuck with him.

The people who screamed and begged for mercy before the life in their eyes faded out stuck with him. After returning from an assignment he would often hear agents bragging about how long they tortured their targets before their bodies gave out, how loudly they screamed, how they pleaded with them. Five always left the room. He may have been the best in the business, but he was the one who hated it the most.

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He can’t remember when the scars started appearing on his arms. He thinks one day he had gotten low in the apocalypse and it had happened on accident, moving past something that had split his skin. The pain had made him take his mind off of things but it hadn’t lasted.

Delores was always critical when he began to do it intentionally, pleading and trying to reason with him that they would become infected. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t. It didn’t matter either way, the pain was good and there were many more ways he could die quicker than by infection.

It was in his later days in the Commission that he started to stop. He guessed it was the prospect of his final calculations finally settling into place, the fact that he would be able to see his family soon. Or what he refused to admit – that he was becoming acclimatised to the frequent killing of people.

When he’d travelled back through time to his siblings, the scars on his arms rewound leaving blank, smooth skin. A blank canvas. Though the deaths still haunted him, he hadn’t had the time to think about punishing himself with the threat of the apocalypse looming closer and closer. But now with two apocalypses having been averted, he had all the time in the world.

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

There is a knife that he keeps in the draw of his desk. He doesn’t really know why but it sits there under a small stack of books. It had been there since he was a child and he’d never had a thought about using it. Though after waking up to the memories of the child in the park, he brings it out.

Sitting on his bed, both his hands resting on his knees, he hesitates. He knows this isn’t logical and he isn’t afraid to admit to himself that he knows it never has been. But part of him wants to indulge in the old pastime. Just to remember what it feels like.

He’s already punished himself for the child in the park and the owners of the flower cart, and looking down at his unmarked arm he debates whether he really wants to do it again. Then he remembers the conference. The blood dripping from his axe and splattering against the walls and his clothes, marking him as their murderer. He hadn’t punished himself for those.

The fading sunlight shining through his window glints off the knife like it’s trying to hypnotise him into doing something stupid, and he gives in bringing the blade against his forearm.

He inhales at the stinging of his skin. He’d forgotten how satisfying it could be to have some of the pain he inflicted on someone else reflected back at him – no doubt to a much smaller scale, but a reminder of it nonetheless.

Looking down he sees the reddening mark standing out in stark contrast to the fair skin on the rest of his arm. Alike to Öga for Öga written in blood on the pale-tiled floor.

He hadn’t punished himself for Elliot’s death. Unlike the others, he hadn’t caused it but he certainly could have prevented it. Bring the knife back to his arm he blames himself for not having been careful enough.

“Shit!” he whispers out a curse as the blade cuts deeper than he intended for it to. Dropping the knife to the floor a small amount of blood splatters off it onto the wood, camouflaging in with the drops from his arm. With is hand now free he clasps it over the cut.

It isn’t too bad, but it is certainly deeper than intended and he knows he will have to patch it up because the bleeding won’t stop on its own. Luckily, he has a few medical supplies around his room and he gets up to grab them from the box in the cupboard, saving him from wondering through the hallways with a reason he doesn’t want to explain.

Back on his bed he lifts up his hand, ignoring the stick of blood, assessing the damage done. He’s had his fair share of injuries and decides that this one doesn’t need stitches. So, he begins by cleaning up the smeared mess around the wound, wiping the blood off his other hand as well.

With a well-aimed throw, the used cloth lands in the rubbish bin next to the desk, as Luther’s voice rings out from behind his door. “Five, dinner!”

Five bites back a curse at the poor timing but is thankful that his brother doesn’t open the door. “Okay, coming” he calls back hoping that his voice sounds even.

Whether it did or not, he’s relieved when he hears the heavy footsteps fading away. Though he still can’t afford to take much time getting down stairs, or it will raise suspicion.

Quickly he pulls a bandage out of the box and hastily wraps it around his wrist in probably the worst job he’s ever done. Though in fairness, he’s never been this short on time and he can redo it later. After tying it off and tucking the end underneath, he stands from his bed and makes his way down to the kitchen.

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

It’s not long into dinner that he feels the bandage beginning to slip around his wrist. Maybe he should have spared another minute to wrap it more efficiently, but it’s too late now. So, he deals with it, resting his arm on the table and turning his wrist up against gravity. No need to hide it away just yet and raise suspicion.

So, dinner continues, seeming to be going fine until Five realises he can feel the bandage soaking through. Now taking the opportunity he shifts his arm under the table to rest it against his leg. Thankful that the dark fabric of his blazer should hide the worst of the staining if it were to bleed completely through.

No matter how careful he was being, he shouldn’t have gotten complacent as he reached up to put his knife and fork on his plate after he’d finished eating.

“Is that blood?” Vanya’s voice startles him.

Five freezes but doesn’t dare look down to asses the damage. Quickly suppressing any expression that he knows what she is referring to he stares at her blankly.

“Five, show me your hand.”

As a play of deception, he raises his unharmed left hand to her.

“The other one” Vanya demands.

Biting the bullet Five raises his right hand above the table. Quickly flicking it back to front and hiding it back under before she can get much of a look at it. By this time the rest of their siblings have abandoned all other conversation and are staring at them intently. He doesn’t dare look at any of them, he doesn’t want to be there.

“Give me your hand, Five. I know what I saw” Vanya lowers her gaze at him, her voice turning into a warning tone.

“I’m fine” he says through loosely gritted teeth, trying his best to suppress his anger. Knowing it would only raise more suspicion like an animal acting out when cornered.

“If it’s fine you should have no problem letting her have a look at it” Diego says.

Five rolls his eyes. Figures that Diego would say something as predictable as that to try and prove he is smarter than he actually is.

He was hoping that his siblings would drop the conversation at his lack of response, though after a painstaking silence he realises they are willing to keep waiting until he says something. “S’just a stupid mistake” he mumbles.

To be fair, he isn’t lying. He hadn’t meant to cut himself that deep, and it had also been outright and inexplicably stupid.

After glancing once at all of his siblings staring at him with varying looks of concern, none of which he wanted, he was hit by the realisation that not only did he not want to be there, but he couldn’t be there. So, he decided he wouldn’t be. There was no way he could deal with this now.

He hits his fist down on the table as he pushes his chair out, for no other reason than as a warning for them all to back off, before making for the door.

“Five, it’s okay. Accidents happen” Luther’s voice calls out to him and he wonders why he didn’t just blink out to avoid this situation.

Nonetheless, the words stop him in his tracks and he swallows convulsively.

“It wasn’t an accident” Klaus says weakly as he realises. Staring at Five with more understanding than sympathy.

“Oh my God!” Allison gasps as it all clicks for her. Clasping a hand to her mouth and pushing her chair away from the table in shock. She’d known Five had been through a lot but somehow it had never crossed her mind that he would use self-harm as an outlet.

“Five?” Luther’s voice sounds strained. “Talk to us.”

Something in Five shifts and he realises that no matter what he does or says now his siblings will look at him differently. His time for keeping secrets is over. They will no longer sit by not being able to understand him, to not know what he had gone through.

For once in his life he wishes he could act like the thirteen-year-old that he looks like, to be able to storm out of the room and hide away. But he isn’t thirteen and he knows he owes his family an explanation.

“I can’t have this conversation now” he begins, “and I’m going to be honest and say that it’s because I don’t know what to tell you because I never planned to have it.”

He swallows deeply as the cracks in his armour open.

“But I understand that there are things that you want to know which I have been keeping from you, and in time I will let you know them. I just can’t tell them all to you at once.”

For a long time Five stands in uncomfortable silence, feeling all eyes on him and a trail of blood running down his hand, curling between his fingers to drop on the floor.

None of his siblings know what to say. Never having heard him be so honest, they don’t know how far they can push him. Somehow, they know that there is really only one thing that they can bring up without Five changing his mind and disappearing.

“How long?” Allison asks smally once she finds her voice again. Her eyes not leaving the slow trail of blood tracing down Five’s hand.

“I don’t know” Five begins, his voice sounding tight with his whole mind telling him not to speak. “Sometime in the apocalypse, I guess. On accident.”

Clear that his brother won’t elaborate any further Luther shifts in his chair before asking the most obvious question in the book. “Why?”

Five sighs shakily, closing his eyes.

There are so many reasons why, but then again is there a reason at all? Does something justify marking your body in such a way if everything is temporary? There are so many answers.

Five can’t pick one and his body turns to leave before his loyalty to his family commands him to stay and he reluctantly turns back.

His siblings can see that the conversation is hard for him, and they shift uncomfortably in their seats wanting more than anything to bring him over to them. Though they know if they move toward him, they’ll spook him and he’ll disappear.

“I take it back, that was badly worded” Luther backtracks before rephrasing. “What makes you think about doing it?”

Five feels a shiver run down his body. Regardless of his family already knowing about his stint as an assassin, he doesn’t want to explain it in more detail just yet and he shakes his head.

“Okay” Luther nods to him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain now.”

Five’s shoulders relax a little and he shifts further around to face his siblings directly.

“How often?” Vanya asks, her voice small like she doesn’t want to know the answer.

“I can’t remember… but I stopped nearing the end of my time at the Commission. This is the first time in a while” Five’s siblings seem to relax slightly as he is able to give them more of a detailed answer.

“What can we do?” Allison leans forward in her chair and for a second Five is scared that she’s going to move toward him.

“Nothing” he says. It should have been expected that they would all look at him with varying levels of disparity, but it still irritates him. “Look, I know it’s stupid and I know I shouldn’t do it! But it’s not as simple as that” Five lowers his voice in a sigh, his arms tensing then relaxing at his sides.

“No one said it was simple, buddy” Klaus murmurs quietly.

“I thought I was over it” Five’s voice cracks as a single tear rolls down his cheek and he immediately brushes it away. He sniffs frustratedly as he drops his hand, looking away from everyone. “And I never meant to go that deep… like I said, it was a stupid mistake.”

There is a long silence but this time it isn’t painful. It’s clear that Five isn’t able to handle more interrogation so they decide to shelve it for another day.

“Do you want one of us to have a look at it?” Allison asks.

Five shakes his head.

“But if you said it went deeper than” – Five cuts her off.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t need stitches.”

“Okay” she says quietly as she gives in.

Sensing the conversation drawing to a close Five shuffles impatiently on his feet.

“Just – Five” Vanya calls out to him before he can disappear, breathing out a sigh of relief when he stays. “If you ever get low like that, can you promise that you’ll come to one of us instead.”

Her words take on a tone of pleading and he knows the sentiment is reflected on behalf of everyone. He swallows thickly and looks away, unable to meet their eyes as he tells them, “I can’t.”

[depressedkakashihatake-fics]

Be More Careful

Haruno Sakura/Rock Lee

1593 words

For: @spacebabe51​ and @bazmultifandom (cuz you seemed interested)

One patient left and then Sakura would officially be free from her shifty at the hospital. Able to go out and enjoy the rest of her day.

Perhaps if Ino was finished training with her team for the day, Sakura would be able to convince her to go out for some sushi with her. A treat for a hard days work.

They deserved it.

Stopping in front of the room she had been directed to, she reached out and rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Come in,” the voice that called out from the other side of the door sounded familiar. “I just, uh…”

She doesn’t wait for whatever is supposed to follow those words. Grabbing the door handle, she pulled the door open swiftly and stepped into the room to see Rock Lee in the process of trying to pull his green jumpsuit back on.

“S-Sakura-Chan!” His eyes go wide when he meets her gaze, his face turning a deep shade of red while he moved the jumpsuit in front of his body to block her view. As if he wasn’t wearing boxers or she hadn’t seen worse since she started working at the hospital. “I didn’t- I thought…”

“That you would be getting someone else as your Doctor?” a shy nod is the only response she gets. “Well, too bad. You’re stuck with me.”

Not that she thought Lee had any real problems with that aside from a bit of embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean to waste your time, Sakura-Chan.” Ignoring his rambling for a moment, Sakura started to do a visual check. Though, it didn’t take her long to figure out why Lee was there when she saw a huge bloody bandage on his arm. Likely put on by one of the nurses to stem the flow of blood before she was able to get there.

“What did you do to yourself this time, Lee-kun?” Making her way over to his side, she took hold of his wrist and pulled his arm up. “Hold.”

Releasing her grip on his wrist, she started to carefully undo the bandages so that she could see the full extent of the damage.

Judging by the bruises that littered his arms, abdomen and face she assumed it had something to do with training.

              Unsurprising, given the amount of times Sakura had seen Lee’s name in Hospital records for training related injuries.

“Six new bruises and an injury on your ar. You’re pushing yourself too hard again,” Removing the last bit of bandage, she sighed when she saw a deep, bloody gash there on his arm. “Let me guess. One of Tenten’s weapons?”

“She wanted to try out one of her new moves,” Lee defended his teammate. “She asked Neji to train with her, but he had already promised to train with Hinata today so…”

So you thought that you could fill in for him?” another nod of his head, this time with an ashamed look on his face. “Do you know why Tenten would ask Neji to train with her when she wants to test out a new move?”

Well Lee tried to think of an answer, Sakura examined his wound. The gash was deep, but not deep enough that his humerus was hit. That meant she had one less thing to worry about.

“Neji can deflect her attacks, including her weapons, with his eight trigrams palms revolving heaven,” There’s pride in Lee’s voice when he gives her his answer. Something that is no less surprising that all of the bruises on his body. “Had Neji been available he would have been perfect for Tenten to train with in order to perfect her new attack. But since he wasn’t…”

“You volunteered yourself instead, even knowing you could be more seriously injured even with your speed,” She expects this of Lee, but that doesn’t mean she’s any less disappointed that he got himself injured when he could have avoided it. “You know, everyone is always talking about how you’re so much like Gai-Sensei. I don’t think any of them realize that you have the same stupid blind dedication to people as Kakashi-Sensei.”

That’s the only way she can explain it. Kakashi-sensei and Lee-kun were the only people that she knew who were willing to train with others even knowing that they could be seriously injured.

Just last week she had watched Shizune patch up her Sensei after taking a kick to the ribs from Gai-Sensei that had left him with two broken ribs and a week off from missions. All so that Gai-Sensei could try out a new move he had come up with.

“I think in Kakashi-Sensei’s case it’s love making him do dumb things,” Lee’s laugh rang in her ears. Easily the most beautiful laugh she had ever heard. So full of love and joy. “That’s what Neji is always saying.”

“He’s probably right,” it took her Sensei a while to relax around her, but as soon as he had he went from ‘Hard to read mystery’ to ‘open book’. One of the most obvious things about him was that he was completely, undeniably in love with Gai-Sensei. “But that’s not the case with you. You’re just reckless.”

Removing her hands from his wound, she reached into her left pouch and pulled out the suture kit that she always carried around on her.

“Well, I can’t do much about the bruises. Those will heal within a few days,” though by the time these one’s healed she had no doubt there would be brand new one’s to replace them. “But I should stitch up that wound to prevent infection.”

Lee doesn’t argue, but he also doesn’t move to sit down on the hospital bed directly behind him. Instead, he continues to stand there holding his jumper in front of his body like a shield.

“You know, it will be kind of hard stitching you up while you’re standing,” she frowned. “even after I give you the local anesthetic to dull the pain.”

Even the smallest amount of movement could screw up her work.

“O-oh!” Glancing back at the bed, Lee finally moved to take a seat. “Sorry. I’m not used to…”

She waited for him to finish his sentence, but no other words followed.

“You’re not embarrassed to talk to me, are you Lee-kun?” She gave him a playful smile as she took a step forward and set her suture kit down on the bed side table for easy access. “The boisterous, condiment Rock Lee too shy to finish a sentence. Are you sick?”

“No, that’s not it!” Lee insisted, shaking his head pretty violently for a man insisting that he wasn’t embarrassed. “It’s just…I never thought…”

“That I would be the one taking care of your wounds?” Sakura frowned. “Why not?”

“Well, you always seemed like someone who would, you know…” she leveled him with an unimpressed look. “No, that-I said that wrong!”

“I’ll give you one more change,” she offered. “Try that again.”

While Lee took a moment to rethink his words, Sakura dug into her pockets once more for the anesthetic.

“A powerhouse!” She jumped when Lee screamed his response suddenly. “You always seemed like more of a combative Kunoichi. Not that being a medical ninja is bad. Gai-Sensei told me it takes a lot of skill and studying to become one.”

That certainly wasn’t wrong. Some days she wondered if she would ever finish studying.

“You’re amazing Sakura-Chan,” Lee’s compliment caught her off guard, lighting up a fire in her chest that made her feel warm and…loved? Was that the word she was looking for? “You’re always pushing yourself to be better. You never give up no matter how hard things get.”

“You’re one to talk,” she laughed even as her heart pounded in her chest. “you faced down a surgery that could have killed you, all so you could keep being a shinobi.”

“Well, ya,” Lee responded as if it was no big deal. “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to let my dream of becoming one of the greatest shinobi ever die without a fight.”

Always so passionate and upbeat. Nothing seemed to ever get Lee down no matter how bad things got.

“Well, as admirable as it is, I do with you would be more careful while you’re training,” twisting the cup off of the anesthetic cream, she set it down on the table by her suture kit and dipped two fingers into the cool cream. “This will numb the area so I can work without causing you unnecessary pain.”

Nodding his head Lee watched Sakura take a step towards him and hissed when she started to apply the cold cream to the skin around his wound. For a moment a comfortable silence fell between them.

“I’ll try to be more careful,” his voice was tender, a promise lingering in his words. “If you promise me that you won’t over work yourself.”

Sakura’s hand stopped, her eyes locking on his eyes his words sank in.

Taking a step back, she slapped her clean hand over her mouth and laughed. She laughed so hard and long that her ribs were starting to hurt when Lee reached out and gripped her shoulders with a soft, worried look in his eyes.

“S-Sakura-chan are you alright?”

She could kiss him. He looked so adorable standing there panicking over her health because of a little laughed when he was the one who had gotten sliced by one of Tenten’s weapons.

“I’m perfect,” she closed her eyes and smiled at him instead. “Absolutely perfect.”

[eliesaidwhat]

red-handed

cross posted on ao3

!!trigger warning!! mentions of suicidal thoughts. this book contains death, murder, graphic descriptions of violence and other sensitive subjects. please read with caution.

1. thirteen suspects

Adrien walks through the clear doors, and she sits up straighter on the bed.

He makes a beeline for Marinette, immediately bending down to her height and wrapping her up in a tight hug. She’s sure she smells rather disgusting. The blood and dirt that once left not a single inch of her pale skin untouched was washed off as soon as she arrived at the hospital, but it’s been a few days since then and she’s sure her hair is starting to smell of sweat.

Still, if he’s bothered by it, he doesn’t show it and rests his cheek gently against the top of her head. She struggles to angle herself towards him, wrapping her arm that isn’t hooked up to the IV around him. The smell of him is familiar— like laundry detergent, expensive cologne and watermelon gum.

Her mind is foggy, and even though her wrist is still aching, it doesn’t reach her. All she can think about is the way her best friend uses way too much fabric softener, how maybe she can finally get some answers, and how she doesn’t have to be alone. God, she’s so tired of being alone.

Her parents were here, and she doesn’t know when they stepped out, but they didn’t tell her anything. The events that landed her in the hospital feel a bit cloudy, and though they’ve slowly started to sink in, she wishes someone would just tell her. All they would do is squeeze her hand while she pleaded for Kagami, for Adrien, for Alya, for anyone.

He drags a hand through her tresses. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Marinette,” He breathes. “I tried to get here as fast as I could. I’m sorry I took a few days.”

Without her phone to contact anyone, Marinette has been left to stir with her thoughts and questions. She assumed that perhaps Adrien and Kagami were occupied with their parents' expectations, trying to calm herself. Still, she stressed over the possibility that maybe something else had happened. It poked at the back of her brain. Now, seeing him in person, her relief is immeasurable.

She pushes her face into his chest. “I’m just happy you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. You know I’ll always be here for you.”

They stay like that. Adrien clings to her like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he lets go for even a second. He strokes her hair with one hand and rubs circles into her back with the other. He squeezes her softly enough to not hurt her but tight enough to make her feel completely safe and cared for.

It’s nice to feel the warmth of a hug. She feels cold, right down to the bone. Like the chill is coming from within her, instead of as a response to her surroundings. She isn’t sick, the hospital is warm, and yet still, she’s cold.

After a few moments of silence, she withdraws from him. She meets his gaze.

“Adrien, where’s Kagami?”

For the first time, she really pays attention to the way Adrien looks. She was so absorbed in worrying about how dirty she must be that she didn’t even take him in. He doesn’t look any less handsome than usual, but he doesn’t… look well.

For the first time, she notices the redness breaking up the usual brilliant green light shining from his eyes. He looks horribly pale, not unlike a porcelain doll, but on Adrien it looks almost sickly. Dark streaks crease his under eyes, the tiredness evident. Despite the paleness, the area beneath his eyes and along his cheekbones is splotchy with redness.

Marinette sits up straighter. The ECG grows louder and faster. She sees the faint streaks of dried tear tracks tainting the flawless skin of his cheeks. His waterline still seems flooded with unshed tears, as if he’s holding back tears.

“Adrien… where’s Kagami?” Her throat burns with dehydration, but she still pushes out the question with force.

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” His voice breaks. The cold intensifies.

No, she thinks.

But the evidence sits in front of her, too loud to be ignored. She swallows hard, and it pains her. Her heart hardens like a rock, and the weight of it drags it all the way down to her feet. The strings that once tied her to Kagami now wrap around her chest and squeeze, suffocatingly tight.

Denial itches her skin, and for a moment the temptation to fall into it is too strong. It can’t be, she thinks. That maybe, just maybe, Adrien is wrong, or lying, or playing some sick joke. Or maybe, it’s not what she thinks at all, and she’s just jumping to conclusions.

However, eye contact with the blonde boy is enough. Because in the depth of his pale green irises lies the undeniable, horrific truth she had feared.

She knows.

Without warning, a small cry is drawn out from her throat. Her hand rises to her mouth. She bites down on her knuckle, trying to stifle the despair passing through her dried lips. She didn’t cry when she got brought into the hospital— she was hurt, but she didn’t cry.

The implication of his words is more painful than any physical injury she could endure. God, she would break every bone in her body to have him take back those words.

The hospital bed creaks with her trembles. She feels the wetness slide down her cheeks, then drip onto her hands and the thin sheets. She can taste the saltiness of her anguish. Marinette reaches forward and clutches Adrien’s shirt tightly, drawing him closer.

“No! No. That— that can’t—!” Wide eyes and a raw throat from the shouts. “We made it! I… we got here! Why didn’t they—why didn’t they save her?!”

Bile sits at the back of the throat but never comes out. She’s in complete hysterics, and her wails echo through the room. She clutches Adrien tighter, and he only fights down his own tears, winding his arms around her.

Anger spikes in her, and she momentarily draws back her hands only to slam her fists back into his chest. Her pleas don’t die, and she keeps begging until her throat goes raw. Her nails dig into his shirt. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away. He keeps his arms around her, and he takes it.

“Please! Tell me—!” A sob swelled in her throat. “Tell me you’re lying! Please!” She goes slack in his arms, and soon her wails start to soften down to light hiccups and short cries. “Please,” she almost whispers.

Adrien’s chest shakes with his own cries. “I’m so sorry, Marinette. I...I wish I could.”

“They should have left me,” she sobs into his shirt. “They should have let me die there if they weren’t going to save Kagami. God, I wish they fucking let me die there.”

Adrien tightens his hold on her. She can tell it’s not what he wants to hear— and why would it be? He just had one of his closest friends die— but she means every word. She can’t bring herself to consider his feelings at the moment, or think about anything other than the fact the woman she loves more than anyone is gone.

And no one would fucking tell her.

Marinette is now fully slumped against Adrien, no longer able to support herself.

“I wish they would let me die.”

Marinette’s lips are pulled into a tight line.

She looks different than she did before, she notes as she admires herself in the mirror. She’s taller, for one. Her legs and arms have a definition they didn’t have before, and the lines on her abdomen are more defined than ever. Five years is a long time, and she worked hard to make sure that no one ever pulled a fast one on her ever again. She wouldn’t let her guard down.

She has the same small curved nose, the same hooded blue eyes, and the same plump pink lips. However, the newfound definition in her cheekbones and jaw did wonders for her face. She feels like she’s staring at a totally different person in the mirror. Her hair, once shoulder-length, now sways at her waist. Long bangs tickle her cheeks. She touches her ends. Maybe it’s time for a cut.

Kagami’s death was destructive. God, how that broke her. She holed herself up in her room for weeks. Adrien had to slide food under her door frame. When she finally did open up her room door, it was to pack her bags and leave Paris. She booked the first flight as far as she could go and never looked back.

Everywhere she turned, she could see her. The melody of her laugh when she walked through Trocadero Gardens, the faint feeling of her hair tickling the slope of Marinette’s neck and shoulder on her chaise, the smell of her perfect peppermint exhale in the living room. Worst of all, the only thing she could taste for months was Kagami’s familiar cherry-flavoured lips.

She never had a preference in any flavour. Her parents raised her in a bakery, so she got pretty used to sampling all sorts of flavours and loved them all the same. That was until she and Kagami had their first kiss. All she could taste was cherry. It was the only flavour she had ever craved. She could probably live in it.

Now, the thought of it makes her want to cry and vomit all at once.

Marinette closes her eyes and sucks in a sharp breath. Being back in Paris is awfully overwhelming. Every corner, every turn, every monument has a painful memory attached to it. She’s not ready to remember what it was like to love Kagami because she was never ready to lose her.

But, she came here for a reason. There isn’t anything she can do to bring back Kagami, but she can bring Hell on earth for her. And Marinette is more than ready to make Francois Dupont burn.

Adrien marches into her hotel room without knocking, clearly taking advantage of her spare key. Luckily, she’s already dressed. She clips her hair up and folds her arms across her chest in disapproval.

She’s always admired the way he dresses. His style has certainly evolved from his days of bright orange converse. He always dresses in a classy, clean way with an air of femininity around it. An academic feel with a preference for neutral colours. She loves it.

She’s glad their colours match. While she never voices it, she always tries to match their colours and even predict what he might choose so they can match. It makes them look more put together and planned, even if it mostly isn’t. Their colour palette of tan, khaki, and light pink eases any irritation she had with him for his intrusion. She’s still going to bug him about it, though.

“That key is for emergencies.”

“It is an emergency,” he lies.

She narrows her eyes. “Oh, really? What’s the emergency?”

“The emergency is that I needed to be in your room and I wasn’t.”

She looks at him like he’s stupid because he is. “It’s a mystery to me that you’ve made it this far.”

He bats his eyelashes at her. “I’m a mystery to the world, not just you, Princess. Some speculate it's because of my good looks and charm. Scientists hate me.”

She pats his chest. “Good to know your humour aged like milk.” She scowls as the realization just hits her. “And do not call me Princess.”

“My apologies, my lady. Shall we get down to business?” Adrien pushes down on the door knob, pulling the door open and holding it open for her.

She steps through the door. Their topic of discussion isn’t necessarily unpleasant to the two due to their unfortunate comfort with death, but it is still rather grim. “Thirteen are on my radar. I only have confirmation for four of them, and it’s because I saw them with my own two eyes. They can go first.”

He hums. “Names?”

“Mylène Haprèle, Ivan Bruel, Aurore Beaurèal and Sabrina Raincomprix.” She presses the button on the elevator door. “Mylène is the timid, follower type. I’m not surprised she got roped into this. Ivan is in love with her, so I assume he only went along with it for her.”

“I predict a quick death.”

She nods firmly as they step onto the lift. “No need to make it torturous. I’m not cruel. I can’t say the same for the other two, though. Aurore seemed far too content going along with it. She did the honors of breaking my ankle so I couldn’t run. As for Sabrina, she didn’t do much that day, but she was the one who pulled strings to get the case dismissed. It’s what forced us into a corner and made us accept a deal to make this all go away.”

Adrien chuckles darkly, leaning against the elevator wall. His arms are folded against his chest. “I’m guessing you’re planning on getting pretty creative with these ones? Shall I soundproof the cellar?”

Marinette knows he’s only teasing, but the sinister note in his tone sends shivers of anticipation and excitement up her spine. In a twisted way, she can hardly wait for what comes to follow. She doesn’t really know what to make of that. “That won’t be necessary, kitten. I’m sure I can make do with a nice, big, open field. Or a mouth gag. Whichever is more available to me.”

“And the others? The suspects?”

“Lila Rossi, naturally. Marc Anciel, Nathaniel Kurtzburg, Max Kante, Luka Couffaine, Juleka Couffaine, Rose Lavillant, Mirielle Caquet, and…” she hesitates on the last name. She doesn’t know how Adrien will feel about it.

He lifts a brow. “And…?”

She sighs, but stands her ground. “Chloé Bourgeois.”

Adrien’s gaze hardens and narrows into slits. “No.”

Adrien didn’t have many friends growing up, despite his charisma, as a result of his father. Though he fell out of touch with Chloé, his bias towards her because of their history is expected. Still, she expects him to understand that Chloé Bourgeois was most certainly not a saint and could have very well played a role. Especially considering she was Sabrina’s best friend.

She steps off the lift, turning her gaze in front of her. “Adrien, I get it, you guys were childhood friends. But, you can’t let that influence you. She could easily be guilty. She has every reason to hate Kagami, her father is the mayor, and she’s not exactly beneath something like that.”

“It’s a big jump from being a high school bully to murder.”

Rage bubbles beneath her skin. “Well, obviously not,” she snaps, serving as a reminder that whoever put Kagami six feet under is probably considered ‘just a high school bully.’

He winces, retracting his claws a bit. “Look, I just really don’t think Chloé would do something like this. I know you don’t get along, but I’ve known her for a long time. Trust me, she can be a bitch, but she wouldn’t do that.”

That’s an unfair card, she thinks. He knows she trusts him with her life, but that doesn’t mean she has to agree with him in every situation.

“I do trust you, but I’m not willing to rule out Chloé yet. I’m not saying she did it, but it’s still possible. I won’t rule it out until I know for sure.”

He opens his mouth to object, but she interjects.

“If she really wouldn’t do that, then you should have no reason to worry about me looking into her. Right?”

Adrien sighs. “Right.”

Marinette cares for Adrien dearly, she really does. However, he’s easily swayed by his emotions, and his natural gift of connecting to people mixed with his history of not having friends makes it harder for him to notice the red flags waving right in front of his face. Despite his willingness to follow Marinette’s rather gruesome plans, he has a softness for people he cares for.

While she appreciates this, and it’s one of the many reasons she loves Adrien, she has to crush it under her heel for the time being. She might care for Adrien, but not as much as she cares about getting justice for Kagami. If she has to force him out of his comfort zone a little to do so, or even if she has to slaughter his childhood friend, she will.

But…

The expression on his face makes her frown. She reaches forward and physically smooths out the crease in his brow with her thumb. “Look, we don’t know anything for sure, kitten. I’m not saying she’s guilty. I’m just saying we need to look into her.”

He relaxes, nodding softly and giving her a soft smile. He quickly switches the topic. “Not to doubt your abilities, Princess, but there’s only two of us. Not sure how you plan to pull off four, let alone thirteen… inconspicuous disappearances within the month we’re going to be here.”

Of course she had thought about that. If nothing else, Marinette is an over-planner to her core. When she plans, she numbers them rather than sticking to the usual a,b,c, etc. She doesn’t want to limit herself to only 26 plans. She thinks about every possible outcome, failure, and remedy.

“Firstly, I don’t plan on inconspicuous disappearances. I’m thinking maybe a few, and then some accidents, and by the time anything connected we can be out of Paris.” God, how she wants to get out of Paris.

He lifts a brow. “I still don’t see how just the two of us are going to manage to pull that off by ourselves.

Marinette slips her arm through his, and they start towards the exit. “What made you think I planned for us to do this all on our own?”

He looks confused, but when they step through the front doors of the hotel, the answer stands right before them.

Marinette watches his eyes focus on them. Her long, curly hair and figure-hugging orange dress that falls to the floor. Her foxy eyes, brown skin and smirking lips. His short hair, covered by a green hat, newly lithe and tall physique, and complexion that matches his companions.

One of the slyest duos in all of Paris— second only to Marinette and Adrien— Alya Césaire and Nino Lahiffe.

chapter two posted on ao3

previous | next

[bedrockbros-hell]

Ok so I couldn’t stop thinking about the epic confrontation between c!Tommy and c!Dream that’ll probably go down Thursday/Friday when Tommy breaks into the prison so I wrote it out :3

TW: blood, gore, PTSD, death, manipulation, swearing, graphic depictions of torture and violence

(Seriously this got kinda intense, make sure you stay safe ok?)

(Also I’m ignoring the whole Wilbur-gets-revived thing for now)

*DISCLAIMER* I do not condone or support torture or murder, nor do I condone or support any malicious action of c!Dream’s (e.g. manipulation, child abuse, etc.). All characters in the story are referencing the DSMP characters, not the content creators.

****

It was time. The plans had been made. The break-in had been executed. The TNT cannon had worked and Tubbo was off somewhere distracting the Warden. Tommy stood at the threshold of the cell, at the precipice. It was time.

Tommy recalled the last instance he had been at the prison, swearing that it would be the final visit. And he remembered how sourly things had gone: instead of healing, his visit had left him more broken than before. And now, being back there, staring at the wall of lava, things felt a little too familiar...

No, Tommy reminded himself. Things are different now. He pulled out his Axe of Peace, its dark netherite surface glowing with magic. Things were certainly different now. This time, it really would be the final visit. He stepped onto the platform and pushed the button.

Waves of heat rose up around Tommy as the moving platform brought him through the molten liquid, and he could feel himself sweating underneath his netherite armor. As he got closer to the cell, his heart began to pound from old fears and he worked to steady his breathing. Tommy gripped his axe tighter to stop his hands from shaking. The platform halted and Tommy stepped off, facing the wall of netherite blocks. As the platform receded, the curtain of lava closed behind him, trapping him inside. Tommy fought down his panic. He knew he could leave whenever he wished, but it didn’t stop himself feeling suffocated.

Suddenly a mechanical groan and whirr distracted him from his thoughts. The wall before Tommy split apart, the top receding into the ceiling and the bottom sinking into the floor. Inch by inch, the innards of the maximum security cell were revealed to him.

And there he was.

Dream sat cross-legged in shadow, directly in front of Tommy, his back against the cold obsidian wall. He wasn’t wearing his mask, though his unruly hair had grown long enough to cover his face. Looking around, Tommy found the mask a few feet away from him. It was cracked in half. Everything else in the cell, Tommy noticed, was pretty much the same as when he had last been there. The chest, sink, and small bookshelf were tucked in the same corner, wood moulding from the crying obsidian. An empty space by the sink showed where Dream’s clock had been. The low orange light cast from the lava gave the whole place an eerie glow. It was all too familiar. Tommy swallowed, reminding himself again, this is not the same. I am in control.

As Tommy stepped into the cell, Dream spoke, without lifting his head. “Welcome back. You’re earlier than usual.”

Tommy halted, surprised. “You’ve been expecting me?”

At the sound of Tommy’s voice, Dream whipped his head up. His eyes widened. “Tommy! It’s–I thought you were...” He paused. “Never mind.” Suddenly, Dream smiled. “You’re here! You’ve come back to visit me!” He stood and began walking towards Tommy, arms outstretched.

Tommy raised his axe. “Stay back! Stay the fuck away from me! I didn’t come here just to visit you.” Dream stopped, lowering his arms and eyeing the axe. Tommy took a few deep breaths, his heart racing in his chest. “Just shut up and listen to me ok? You have caused me so much pain, Dream. And not only me, but everyone on the server. I thought locking you away in here would put a stop to all that, but I was wrong. You are still ruining people.” Dream was silent, no longer smiling. He was still shadowed, and his eyes were unreadable. Tommy continued, “I am here to finally end your reign of terror, permanently.” The netherite axe glinted wickedly in the dim light.

Dream said nothing. Then, astoundingly, he burst into wild, humorless laughter. Tommy bristled, taken aback. “What the fuck is so funny?” he yelled over the cacophony of Dream’s cackling. “I’m here to kill you!”

All at once, Dream stopped laughing, though the crazed light hadn’t quite died from his eyes. “You’re here to kill me, Tommy?” he repeated softly, smirking. “Are you sure that even death can stop me from–as you put it–ruining people?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked roughly, his voice betraying the fear that bubbled in the pit of his stomach. “I know it will. You’ll be dead!”

“Tommy,” Dream said, as one speaking to a child struggling to understand, “death doesn’t have any power over me. I know this, and I know you do too.”

Memories cascaded over Tommy. The body-wrenching pain and the mind-shattering numbness. White light. The images were like hands tightening themselves around his wrists, his neck, his heart. His very soul ripped from his body. The void. Wilbur...

Tommy shook his head, forcing these thoughts out. “Stop it! This is different. There won’t be anyone to bring you back.”

“Won’t there?”

Tommy faltered.

Dream chuckled softly. “Ah, of course,” he said. “You don’t know.”

“Know what? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Dream said nothing. Then, slowly, he stepped into the light, and Tommy felt the axe slide out of his grip and hit the floor with a clang as he processed the full horror of what was before him.

Dream’s body was utterly broken. His face was black and blue and covered in gashes, and there were gashes on his arms and legs showing through the shreds of his prison jumpsuit. Some of them were still bleeding. His nose was crooked, and trails of dried blood ran down his lips. There was blood everywhere: on his hands, in his hair, stained on his clothes. He walked with a limp, which Tommy hadn’t noticed before, and looking down, he saw that one of Dream’s feet was bending the wrong way. Many of his fingers were also bent at unnatural angles, and in fact... Bile rose in Tommy’s throat as he realized that not all of Dream’s fingers were there.

Tommy dug his nails into his palms to stay alert. He had just enough presence of mind to pick up his axe. “What the fu...what–what the hell happened to you?” His voice was pitched with hysteria.

Dream grinned, revealing several missing teeth. “Let’s just say you haven’t been my only visitor.”

Tommy was at a loss for words. For all that time spent preparing for this final confrontation, running through a million scenarios in his mind, he had never, ever, expected something like this. He cursed himself. It was supposed to be simple, straightforward. Find Dream, kill him. But now, though he was disgusted with himself for being so, Tommy couldn’t help but feel sorry for Dream. The axe lowered slightly as Tommy wavered in indecision.

Dream tilted his head, shifting his hair, and Tommy saw that a chunk of his ear was gone. “So are you gonna kill me or not?” he asked innocently, though Tommy knew Dream could sense his hesitancy, and was enjoying every bit of it. “You know, at this point, death would probably be preferable to what I’ve had to endure here,” he said, almost nonchalantly.

“I–,” Tommy stammered, trying to collect his thoughts. “No, no wait. What did you mean before, when you said, ‘you don’t know’? What don’t I know?”

Dream barked out another dry laugh. “Oh, Tommy,” he said, “there’s so much you don’t know.” Tommy hated this, hated feeling like Dream was always two steps ahead of him. It made him feel powerless, despite his weapons and armor. “You wanna know the reason I look like this? Where I got these injuries from?” Dream asked, coming closer to him, and Tommy had to look upwards meet his eyes. “I was being tortured. Every day.”

Shock boiled inside Tommy. He was torn. One part of him was screaming in vindication, the other was absolutely sickened. Even Dream didn’t deserve this, did he?

“Know why I was being tortured?”

Tommy said nothing, his mouth completely dry. He didn’t want to know the answer, but his voice stuck in his throat.

“The revive book, Tommy,” Dream said. “Someone wanted to know how to use it.”

With great effort, Tommy managed to get his throat unstuck. “What–what the fuck does that have to do with anything?” His words were raspy and shaky.

“It has everything!” Dream screamed so loudly it reverberated off the obsidian walls. “Everything to do with this! Do you know how fucking long I endured what would have had you crawling and pleading in two minutes? You know how many days I spent with nothing more to look forward to than the destruction of my body and sanity? And I could have gone on longer,” he said, punctuating his words with hysterical laughter. “Oh I could have gone on until they chopped off all my arms and legs and I was nothing more than a half dead chunk of meat on the floor! But guess what?” Dream stepped closer, and Tommy could see the manic glint in his eyes. “Guess what? I chose to give in. I let them in on my powerful little ability. Know what that means?”

Tommy took a step back, revulsion rising up inside of him. This was too much. It was too much. This was not what was supposed to happen, everything was going wrong. Tommy hated feeling so out of control. A voice inside him was screaming at him to just put the fucking axe through Dream’s face, but Dream was so clever; he always knew exactly what to say to derail Tommy, make him doubt himself.

“Know what that means, Tommy?” Dream asked again. The light from the lava behind Tommy painted Dream’s face in an evil red glow. “It means there will be someone to bring me back if I die. I have a safety net. You can’t kill me!”

“No.” Tommy shook his head. “No, no, no, no! You’re lying! All you do is lie, Dream!”

Dream shrugged. “I mean, you can think that, if you want. And who knows, maybe they won’t want to bring me back. But the thing is, now there will always be a chance that I could come back. As long as one person knows how to revive the dead, the dead can’t be gone forever.” Tommy’s eyes widened with the horror of revelation. Deep down, he knew Dream was right. And just like that, his entire plan was all for naught.

“So go ahead, kill me,” Dream continued. “But I’ll never truly be gone. You will always live in fear that one day, I’ll come back. So you see? You can never escape me, no matter what you do.” Dream stepped even closer to Tommy, who was frozen in terror, and put a mangled hand on his shoulder. “Did you actually think,” he said, bending down, his beaten face inches away from Tommy’s, “that you would ever get closure from me?” Tommy’s skin crawled, and every part of him wanted to recoil at Dream’s touch, but he had been cornered against the lava. It burned the back of his neck. “You didn’t actually think I would ever let you be free of me, did you?” Dream’s voice was deathly soft, quiet but dangerous, like hidden poison. “No. You may think you’ve moved on, but I will always reel you back in. You may think you have me under control, but I will always have you right where I want you. You might be able to physically leave this prison, but really, we both know you will always be stuck in here with me.”

Something snapped in Tommy’s mind. Without thinking, without pausing to let his brain register what his arm was doing, Tommy swung his axe. He felt it connect with something solid with a sickening crunch. He pulled back and swung again. And again. And again, even after Dream’s lifeless body fell to the floor. It was as if he had been possessed by a hateful monster, avenging himself for all the suffering Dream had caused him. He didn’t even realize he was screaming until he was out of breath. Tommy continued hacking away until the violent energy seeped from his body, until he was utterly drained.

Tommy stepped back, breathing hard. It was over. It was done. Dream was dead. But was he truly gone? Tommy looked around him, as if Dream’s ghost might be in this very room. Stupid, he chided himself. Tommy wasn’t going to let Dream get the best of him anymore. He was done. Fuck whatever Dream said about there being a chance of him coming back. With new purpose, he cleaned off his axe, wiping away the stain Dream had left on it. Tommy would see to it that Dream stayed dead. This really would be the final visit. Now all he had to do was deal with the person that knew how to use the revive book. Tommy turned away and left the prison. For the last time.

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the February 2021 Edition

Most of my last month was spent on deadline and waiting for people to respond to my emails, which meant I did not have the time (or energy) to write much of anything, but had plenty of time to read, quite frankly, an absurd number of books. Some of which were very good, some of which were very cheesy, and some of which I have now told multiple people was quite possibly the worst book I have ever read. As always, though, what are my opinions if I am not sharing them with the internet? Ridiculous headlines, links, and those aforementioned opinions under the cut. As always, part two, feel free to send me any and all recommendations. It cannot possibly be worse than this one book. Seriously, you’ll understand in a second.

———

Quite Possibly the First Book I’ve Gone Out of My Way to Buy On Release Day Since Breaking Dawn, Which Says a lot About Me. As a Person.

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

Nesta Archeron has always been prickly-proud, swift to anger, and slow to forgive. And ever since being forced into the Cauldron and becoming High Fae against her will, she's struggled to find a place for herself within the strange, deadly world she inhabits. Worse, she can't seem to move past the horrors of the war with Hybern and all she lost in it.

The one person who ignites her temper more than any other is Cassian, the battle-scarred warrior whose position in Rhysand and Feyre's Night Court keeps him constantly in Nesta's orbit. But her temper isn't the only thing Cassian ignites. The fire between them is undeniable, and only burns hotter as they are forced into close quarters with each other.

Meanwhile, the treacherous human queens who returned to the Continent during the last war have forged a dangerous new alliance, threatening the fragile peace that has settled over the realms. And the key to halting them might very well rely on Cassian and Nesta facing their haunting pasts.

Against the sweeping backdrop of a world seared by war and plagued with uncertainty, Nesta and Cassian battle monsters from within and without as they search for acceptance-and healing-in each other's arms.

I’m not kidding when I tell you that I was counting the days until this came out. I was kind of indifferent to Nesta after the original ACOTAR books, but intrigued enough that I was like, I need to read this, and then I did read this and now I care quite a lot about Nesta. And how in love with Cassian she is. And vice versa. Because, let’s be honest, dude is in l o v e. There were some parts of the story I was not super into — namely, Ferye having to die in childbirth. Like, you’re telling me Cassian could have his guts hanging out at one point and we don’t know how to do a c-section? Nah, that ain’t it. Also, pregnancy as a storyline is not always my favorite thing, but more on that in a second. Also, also, here’s a bunch more words about ACOSF.

A “Huh, So That Happened” Sort of Ending. Which Was Disappointing.

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer

Emberfall is crumbling fast, torn between those who believe Rhen is the rightful prince and those who are eager to begin a new era under Grey, the true heir. Grey has agreed to wait two months before attacking Emberfall, and in that time, Rhen has turned away from everyone--even Harper, as she desperately tries to help him find a path to peace.

Fight the battle, save the kingdom. Meanwhile, Lia Mara struggles to rule Syhl Shallow with a gentler hand than her mother. But after enjoying decades of peace once magic was driven out of their lands, some of her subjects are angry Lia Mara has an enchanted prince and a magical scraver by her side. As Grey's deadline draws nearer, Lia Mara questions if she can be the queen her country needs.

As the two kingdoms come closer to conflict, loyalties are tested, love is threatened, and an old enemy resurfaces who could destroy them all, in this stunning conclusion to bestselling author Brigid Kemmerer's Cursebreaker series.

I loved the first book in this series. Absolutely adored it. So much so that I pretty quickly got the second one and read it. Enjoyed that on its own, but like I said in that one ask, I’m fairly certain A Curse So Dark and Lonely could have very easily been a standalone story. Should have been a standalone story? There was just SO MUCH going on here, and not nearly enough of it was resolved. Plot points just hung by the end of the trilogy, I was not ever entirely convinced Rhen and Harper were actually in love, let alone liked each other, and I thought Rhen got the very short end of an exceptionally cracked stick by the time the whole story wrapped up. Really, I think this  tried to do too much in not enough time and there should probably be another book. Also Lia Mara getting pregnant was dumb. There I said it.

Free Books On Amazon Unlimited That Were Better Than Expected, But Also Read Like Fic

The Bargainer Series by Laura Thalassa

Everyone knows that if you need a favor, you go to the Bargainer to make it happen. He’s a man who can get you anything you want … at a price. And everyone knows that sooner or later he always collects.

Callypso Lillis is a siren with a very big problem, one that stretches up her arm and far into her past. For the last seven years she’s been collecting a bracelet of black beads up her wrist, magical IOUs for favors she’s received. Only death or repayment will fulfill the obligations. Only then will the beads disappear.

But for one of his clients, he’s never asked for repayment. Not until now. When Callie finds the fae king of the night in her room, a grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, she knows things are about to change. At first it’s just a chaste kiss—a single bead’s worth—and a promise for more.

For the Bargainer, it’s more than just a matter of rekindling an old romance. Something is happening in the Otherworld. Fae warriors are going missing one by one. Only the women are returned, each in a glass casket, a child clutched to their breast. And then there are the whispers among the slaves, whispers of an evil that’s been awoken.

If the Bargainer has any hope to save his people, he’ll need the help of the siren he spurned long ago. Only, his foe has a taste for exotic creatures, and Callie just happens to be one.

No one is going to be able to convince me this wasn’t ACOTAR fan fic. I don’t care about timing or dates, or whatever. The similarities just...did not stop. In all three books, even. There were three books in this series, by the way. Most of which I really enjoyed. I read them all in like four days of email waiting, so they must have been doing something right. Des was a good love interest and I really liked the flashbacks in the first book. Also Callie didn’t super annoy me. That being said, whoever edited this book. Oof. Some of the prose was so goddamn cringe, I literally lol’ed. Right out loud. Every now and then it was like we had to be reminded that Des was a BAD GUY ™ but it felt very Edward “I’m a killer, Bella” Cullen, and Callie’s internal monologue was occasionally hysterical. Not in a good way. Also Temper was the worst. She was so annoying. Every time she talked, I was like, oh, her again. The first book was the best one.

HITTING ALL MY ROM COM BOXES! BASEBALL! ROMANCE! PINING! ONLY VAGUELY UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN THEY HAD SEX IN THE PORT JEFF DUGOUT BECAUSE I’VE BEEN IN THE PORT JEFF DUGOUT.

Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey

Georgette Castle’s family runs the best home renovation business in town, but she picked balloons instead of blueprints and they haven’t taken her seriously since. Frankly, she’s over it. Georgie loves planning children’s birthday parties and making people laugh, just not at her own expense. She’s determined to fix herself up into a Woman of the World... whatever that means.

Phase one: new framework for her business (a website from this decade, perhaps?)

Phase two: a gut-reno on her wardrobe (fyi, leggings are pants.)

Phase three: updates to her exterior (do people still wax?)

Phase four: put herself on the market (and stop crushing on Travis Ford!)

Travis Ford was major league baseball’s hottest rookie when an injury ended his career. Now he’s flipping houses to keep busy and trying to forget his glory days. But he can’t even cross the street without someone recapping his greatest hits. Or making a joke about his… bat. And then there's Georgie, his best friend’s sister, who is not a kid anymore. When she proposes a wild scheme—that they pretend to date, to shock her family and help him land a new job—he agrees. What’s the harm? It’s not like it’s real. But the girl Travis used to tease is now a funny, full-of-life woman and there’s nothing fake about how much he wants her...

Living her best life means facing the truth: Georgie hasn’t been on a date since, well, ever. Nobody’s asking the town clown out for a night of hot sex, that’s for sure. Maybe if people think she’s having a steamy love affair, they’ll acknowledge she’s not just the “little sister” who paints faces for a living. And who better to help demolish that image than the resident sports star and tabloid favorite.

Legit, I saw the description for this and I was like—did I write this? Kind of. (Shameless plug to read my own rom com, it also has baseball and pining) It didn’t matter, I loved it. Seriously, it hit all my rom com boxes: childhood friends, best friend’s sister, coming back home under duress, FAKE DATING and, let’s be honest, I am not immune to the use of “baby girl” as an endearment. Every time Travis called Georgie “baby girl” I was like, oh, ok, this is cool. It was cool! I only have two quips. One, that the fake dating didn’t last a little longer. The pacing of the story felt very quick, but that’s also this genre’s style. So I kind of get it. And two, that it happened in Port Jefferson, which is a town in Suffolk County that I have not only been to, but have spent significant time in. Meaning I could picture every single thing, knew exactly where they were and have used the exit on the Northern State Parkway that the final moments of the book took place at. The Port Jeff girls basketball team won a Long Island championship last weekend. In real life, not the book.

In Which Spinoffs Continue to be my Kryptonite. Especially Well-Written Ones

Mistletoe and Mr. Right by Sarah Morgenthaler

Lana Montgomery is everything the quirky small town of Moose Springs, Alaska can't stand: a rich socialite with dreams of changing things for the better. But Lana's determined to prove that she belongs...even if it means trading her stilettos for snow boots and tracking one of the town's hairiest Christmas mysteries: the Santa Moose, an antlered Grinch hell-bent on destroying every bit of holiday cheer (and tinsel) it can sink its teeth into.

And really...how hard could it be?

The last few years have been tough on Rick Harding, and it's not getting any easier now that his dream girl's back in town. When Lana accidentally tranquilizes him instead of the Santa Moose, it's clear she needs help, fast...and this could be his chance to finally catch her eye. It's an all-out Christmas war, but if they can nab that darn moose before it destroys the town, Rick and Lana might finally find a place where they both belong...together.

I mentioned The Tourist Attraction in my January list, and this is the second in the Moose Springs trio. And it’s so good! I wish people were all as nice to Lana as Rick was. It’s what she deserved! More small-town antics, more kissing, another moose. This one was just as cute as the original book, especially because it brought back original characters and Zoey and Graham were so goddamn adorable as a committed couple I genuinely feared for the state of my teeth.

Enjoy the View by Sarah Morgenthaler

Former Hollywood darling River Lane's acting career is tanking fast. Determined to start fresh behind the camera, she agrees to film a documentary about the picturesque small town of Moose Springs, Alaska. The assignment should have been easy, but the quirky locals want nothing to do with River. Well, too bad: River's going to make this film and prove herself, no matter what it takes.

Or what (literal) mountain she has to climb.

Easton Lockett may be a gentle giant, but he knows a thing or two about survival. If he can keep everyone in line, he should be able to get River and her crew up and down Mount Veil in one piece. Turns out that's a big if. The wildlife's wilder than usual, the camera crew's determined to wander off a cliff, and the gorgeous actress is fearless. Falling for River only makes Easton's job tougher, but there's only so long he can hold out against her brilliant smile. When bad weather strikes, putting everyone at risk, it'll take all of Easton's skill to get them back home safely...and convince River she should stay in his arms for good.

Wrapping up the Moose Springs trio, this one might have been my least favorite, but that’s not really saying much. Since I loved them all pretty equally. River and Easton’s banter was grade-A, top-notch, which is a one-way ticket to my reading-heart. Maybe part of the problem (I say problem like there really was one) was that most of the story took place on a mountain. I kind of wanted more small-town shenanigans, and updates on the condos and the state of the town and Graham being mayor. Still, this was very cute. I swooned multiple times. I’ll probably read anything Sarah Morgenthaler writes from here on out.

Seriously, What Is YA? Does Anyone Know?

The Beautiful by Renee Ahdieh

In 1872, New Orleans is a city ruled by the dead. But to   seventeen-year-old Celine Rousseau, New Orleans is a safe haven after   she's forced to flee her life as a dressmaker in Paris. Taken in by the sisters of the Ursuline convent in the middle of the carnival season,   Celine is quickly enraptured by the vibrant city, from its music to its fancy soirées and even its danger. She becomes embroiled in the city's glitzy underworld, known as La Cour des Lions, after catching the eye of  the group's enigmatic leader, Sébastien Saint Germain.

When the body of one of the girls from the convent is found in Sébastien's own lair--the second dead girl to turn up in recent weeks--Celine battles her attraction to Sébastien and suspicions about his guilt along with the shame of her own horrible secret.

After a third murder, New  Orleans becomes gripped by the terror of a serial killer on the  loose--one who has now set Celine in his sights. As the murderer stalks  her, Celine finally takes matters into her own hands, only to find  herself caught in the midst of an age-old feud between the darkest  creatures of the night, where the price of forbidden love is her life.

Like I said last month, I put a hold on pretty much everything Renee Ahdieh had written in my library. And this was just as good as the last series I read. Her world building is just—chef’s kiss, gorgeous. I dream of writing this airy, magical way, that makes you feel like you’re in New Orleans. That being said, I do not know what kid is reading this because apparently this is YA and I had to read every single word to figure out what was going on. Now, I know there are two more books in the series, but this one felt like a lot of set up and I spent most of it being like...will this make sense eventually? It did, but only during a very rushed climax of final few chapters. The sequel isn’t available on Kindle at the library, and I haven’t bought it yet. So, that’s probably kind of telling.

In Which You Cannot Always Depend On Old Favorites

No Judgments by Meg Cabot

When a massive hurricane severs all power and cell service to Little Bridge Island—as well as its connection to the mainland—twenty-five-year-old Bree Beckham isn’t worried . . . at first. She’s already escaped one storm—her emotionally abusive ex—so a hurricane seems like it will be a piece of cake.

But animal-loving Bree does become alarmed when she realizes how many islanders have been cut off from their beloved pets. Now it’s up to her to save as many of Little Bridge’s cats and dogs as she can . . . but to do so, she’s going to need help—help she has no choice but to accept from her boss’s sexy nephew, Drew Hartwell, the Mermaid Café’s most notorious heartbreaker.

But when Bree starts falling for Drew, just as Little Bridge’s power is restored and her penitent ex shows up, she has to ask herself if her island fling was only a result of the stormy weather, or if it could last during clear skies too.

I love Meg Cabot. That should be stated upfront and at the very beginning because for a very long time I have claimed that being Meg Cabot was my dream job. I’ve read pretty much every book Meg Cabot has ever written and was fairly certain I’d be into these once I did read them. Only I was...not. Not really. Everything in this book happened so quickly, I felt like I was the one in the hurricane. People were kissing and then they were having sex and there was a storm and pets and then—it was over? The pacing was all over the place, I had no idea why Drew and Bree liked each other, some guy kicked a dog at one point?? It was weird. Which leads us to—

No Offense by Meg Cabot

A broken engagement only gave Molly Montgomery additional incentive to follow her dream job from the Colorado Rockies to the Florida Keys. Now, as Little Bridge Island Public Library’s head of children’s services, Molly hopes the messiest thing in her life will be her sticky-note covered desk. But fate—in the form of a newborn left in the restroom—has other ideas. So does the sheriff who comes to investigate the “abandonment”.  When John Hartwell folds all six-feet-three of himself into a tiny chair and insists that whoever left the baby is a criminal, Molly begs to differ and asks what he’s doing about the Island’s real crime wave (if thefts of items from homes that have been left unlocked could be called that). Not the best of starts, but the man’s arrogance is almost as distracting as his blue eyes. Almost…

John would be pretty irritated if one of his deputies had a desk as disorderly as Molly’s. Good thing she doesn’t work for him, considering how attracted he is to her. Molly’s lilting librarian voice makes even the saltiest remarks go down sweeter, which is bad as long as she’s a witness but might be good once the case is solved—provided he hasn’t gotten on her last nerve by then. Recently divorced, John has been having trouble adjusting to single life as well as single parenthood. But something in Molly’s beautiful smile gives John hope that his old life on Little Bridge might suddenly hold new promise—if only they can get over their differences.

This isn’t a sequel SEQUEL, but another one of those “exists in the same universe,” or same town, as it were, and it was better than No Judgments. Molly and John actually had a few legitimate conversations before they started kissing. The conflict was still weird and sort of forced, this was not Meg’s usual banter (I fell like I can call her Meg at this point, y’know?) and, again, the ending just felt like it...happened. I don’t know guys, maybe I should just reread The Boy Is Back. Or that quasi Persephone-Hades series. It’s been awhile. On that one, at least. I read The Boy Is Back like six months ago.

ABSOLUTELY INFURIATING ROM COM THAT I CANNOT BELIEVE I FINISHED, SOMEONE GIVE ME A PRIZE FOR FINISHING THIS

Fight or Flight by Samantha Young

The universe is conspiring against Ava Breevort. As if flying back to   Phoenix to bury a childhood friend wasn't hell enough, a cloud of   volcanic ash traveling from overseas delayed her flight back home to   Boston. Her last ditch attempt to salvage the trip was thwarted by an   arrogant Scotsman, Caleb Scott, who steals a first class seat out from   under her. Then over the course of their journey home, their antagonism somehow lands them in bed for the steamiest layover Ava's ever had. And  that's all it was--until Caleb shows up on her doorstep. 

When pure chance pulls Ava back into Caleb's orbit, he proposes they enjoy their physical connection while he's stranded in Boston. Ava agrees, knowing her heart's in no danger since a) she barely likes Caleb and b) his existence in her life is temporary. Not long thereafter Ava realizes she's made a terrible error because as it turns out Caleb Scott isn't quite so unlikeable after all. When his stay in Boston becomes permanent, Ava must decide whether to fight her feelings for him or give into them. But even if she does decide to risk her heart on Caleb, there is no guarantee her stubborn Scot will want to risk his heart on her...

When I tell you guys that this was the worst book I have read in recent memory, I am not kidding. Might actually be the worst book I have ever read. Bar none. And that’s saying something because one time I had to read Ender’s Game in college and that, like, physically pained me. This was awful. Awful people. Awful plot. Awful resolution. AWFUL. Where to start? Well, I’m not going to apologize for spoilers, because God help us all, do not read this book. Ava has been through so many horrible things in her life it was like someone was trying to set a record. Bad parents, cheating ex-boyfriend, dead former best friend who was former because of the cheating ex-boyfriend. Naturally, this made her a control freak because—of course, or something. And Caleb! Oh my God, fucking Caleb Scott. The dickwad. I’ve never rooted for anyone to not get the girl more. When Ava “broke up” with him (they were never really together) I might have cheered. Shitty things does not give you an excuse to be a dick, and Caleb was a dick. Seriously, he started crying about how his ex-fiance KILLED THEIR BABY and I was like—this cannot possibly be a real book. It was! With lots of abortion opinions out of FUCKING nowhere, and weird possessive behavior from, like, every dude in it. Both Ava AND her best friend (not the dead one, a different one) got assaulted at one point. I kept reading solely because I was desperate to see how they rationalized Ava and Caleb getting back together at the end and they didn’t. He showed up on her flight when her boss came up with a fake work trip so he could sit next to her on the plane. What? WHAT?? It was so dumb. So bad. I can’t believe I read it.