#it may not be stated but I like to believe he's oddly particular about appearances is -some- cases

[fatedroses]

Head Rest/Back Rest

[lubdubsworld]

Akrasia.

Happy Birthday To the Golden Maknae.

Here’s a little treat in lieu of Jungkook’s 24th Birthday!!!

Canon Compliant. 

Jungkook x OC

Word Count : 10K. 

Genre : Mild Angst. ( Happy'Ending) Jungkook X OC

Akrasia (noun) 

PHILOSOPHY    the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgement through weakness of will.

 Getting involved with someone like Jungkook is a bad idea. Do you even realize who he is? How much he’s worth? He’s easily one of the richest men in the country . He’s loved by everyone.

I wrapped the coat around myself, tighter. Everything that Lee Jiae had said was true. She was a popular idol . Someone who would actually make a good match for the Jeon Jungkook.

But even Jiae balked at the idea of going anywhere near someone like him.

Career suicide, she had said firmly. That would be career suicide, Areum. He has fangirls from all over the world. Billions of them. They will dig so deep into my past, find the most innocent of things and twist and turn it and the next thing I know, I’m being kicked out of my band, out of the company and on the streets. I don’t want that. And neither should you.

I shivered a bit. No, I thought honestly. I didn’t want that either. I was far from successful, just an up and coming soloist , with a very very niche fanbase. I did sell a lot of records and I made enough money to live comfortably but I was not a mainstream celebrity. I didn’t register on people’s radar because I stayed far away from the spotlight.

There was something about social media that made it a terrifying thing to me. It was so abstract and unreal and yet…it seemed almost like a sentient being.

A powerful sentient being that could potentially destroy my whole life.

It scared me.

And while Jungkook and BTS had conquered that particular monster, had leashed and saddled the beast and made it their own personal pet…. I didn’t want anything to do with that.

I don’t want that, I told myself firmly. I really don’t want that. I want to stay this way… make music I love… read the few dozen fan handwritten fan letters I received everyday, make the occasional appearance on a magazine cover and then just quietly retreat into my studio. I want this. And if I go anywhere near Jeon Jungkook, I’ll lose this. I’ll lose all of this.

My phone buzzed and I jumped, glancing around nervously. The late October wind was cold but not biting. Winter would come but not for a while. And yet my skin chilled in apprehension. I always felt guilty, picking up one of his calls in public. It felt like I was being watched, like everyone could hear me, on the phone …Could hear who I was talking to.

“Hello.” I whispered nervously, eyes flitting around to find a secluded spot in the park. It was early in the morning, still an hour away from sunrise and I quickly hopped over a small hedgerow and moved into a wooded area, away from the main path that had the occasional cyclist or jogger.

“You didn’t come.” His voice was honey, the way it dripped into my senses and made my breath catch. And yet it was the undercurrent of disappointment that tugged at my heart. Made guilt churn inside me in rapid little currents.

“Yes. Sorry.” I said quietly, picking my way past a few bushes to a bench a little way into the woods. It was rusty and damp because no one came here , and the darkness was absolute, only faintly broken by the dim glow of the streetlights hundred yards away. I settled into the bench nonetheless.

“Areum…. Don’t do this to me.” Jungkook said brokenly and I exhaled.

“I’m not doing anything. I’m being smart. And you should be too. You’re romanticizing something that was just…it was just a conversation. We had a conversation . That’s all that happened.” I said desperately. It was something I’d told myself over an over, these past few weeks. Weeks of avoiding his texts, of ignoring his calls.

Calls from his hyungdeul.

That had given me a whole heart attack.

“You’re just going to ignore me then? Toss my feelings away like they don’t matter?” He asked quietly and my heart clenched.

“You …” I shook my head.” You need to understand something. I’m not going to do this. I can’t afford to. I told you already Jungkook…we spent one evening talking..that’s it…we’re not dating..we don’t know each other well enough for you to be saying that you have feelings for me-“

“And I told you I don’t fucking care. “ He said sharply. “ One day… One hour…who cares? I believe in soulmates. Call me foolish and dumb but I do and when I saw you I felt that. And I know you felt it too.”

My mind flashed back to that evening. It was a private birthday party for a mutual friend. Barely a dozen of us had attended and Jungkook had been sneaking glances at me all evening, completely oblivious to the ay every woman in the room had their gaze glued on him. The party hadn’t been my thing at all and I’d sneaked away to the private terrace, accessible only through a rickety old fire escape and to my utter shock he had followed me up there.

The stars had been exceptionally bright that night,  but with Jungkook sitting on the tiled roof next to me, gazing at me with all that adoration, his doe  eyes had seemed to hold more of them than the night sky.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” I asked quietly.

“I want you. I know you want me. We …we understand each other. I want the same things you do. Do you even fucking realize how rare that is? To find someone who shares the same thoughts, the same dreams as you do? Who looks at the world the way you do… I… I am not foolish enough to think that there’s another girl out there who could connect to me the way you do. You call that a conversation…just a conversation…. Did you forget what kind of a conversation it was?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks ago  

The party had barely started and I was already itching to run home. There was a particular song lyric , stuck in my head like a loop and I wanted to put it on paper as soon as possible. I had this thing where seeing something on print helped me to elaborate on an idea. Directed my train of thought in that particular direction if you willed.

Mingyu was walking around, talking to his friends and making them laugh with his witty banter but I didn’t miss the way he shot me little glances. I gave him a quick thumbs up though, to let him know I was okay. He was a childhood friend, one of the few people I’d stayed in touch with through the years. And of course, being in the same industry meant a lot of shared interests.

I moved to the side bar with the drinks and appetizers, ordering myself a diet coke before hopping onto one of the stools. I watched the dozen or so people here….His bandmates, some other idols. I recognized Yugyeom from GOT7. They were all dressed in dressy casuals : flashy shirts and tight jeans and racy little dresses and I felt out of place in my long jean skirt and tasseled leather jacket.

Sighing, I turned back to my drink when a commotion near the door made me look up.

I felt my eyes widen when I saw who it was.

The Jeon Jungkook. From BTS.

I stared at him as did pretty much every person in the room.  Jungkook was easily one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen in my life, tall and just…big. I stared at the broad shoulders, the huge arms and the taut line of his abdomen, tapering into a narrow waist and long, long legs with muscular thighs. He was wearing a black shirt, unbuttoned all the way to his chest and skinny blue jeans with black boots.

I smiled, genuinely awed. Jungkook looked every bit like the untouchable superstar he was and I considered that the party hadn’t been a waste after all. The chances of me running into someone like that in person were pretty slim.

Almost at once he was surrounded and I watched as his ears turned red, gaze shifting away and an almost soft shyness in the way he bowed politely . A hesitation to be put on the spot but also a need to stay polite , probably. Laughing a bit , I watched him some more and then his gaze lifted to mine. To my surprise, his eyes went wide in what was clearly recognition.

What.

I watched as he quickly bowed and said something to the people around him before picking his way to me. My entire body went taut with surprise.

“Lee Areum ssi…” He stuttered, eyes wide and I could only gape. “ I’m a huge fan.”

I blinked.

What.

What.

“You know who I am?” I asked , mildly horrified and he laughed nervously, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his palm across his nose before laughing a little.

“Your voice is just… something about your songs…they help me sleep when I’m too exhausted to relax.” He said softly and I felt warmth pool inside me.

“Too exhausted too sleep. That doesn’t sounf good...”

Jungkook chuckled.

“Its not. It usually happens when we’re preparing for a comeback. It different with concerts you know…we’re exhausted because we’ve been running around …singing…its all physical…mostly. And that’s easy to brush aside and sleep. But comebacks…there’s that nervousness. The worry that things may not be as good as they were. Constantly having to keep up to standards. “ He shook his head. “ it can get exhausting.”

It was something deep and oddly tragic and I was stunned that he’d shared something so… personal. To a literal stranger. But the urge to soothe..to comfort and reassure him in some way was over powering.

Instinctively, I leaned closer and lightly touched his forearm .

“But you are the standard, now, Jungkook ssi. What BTS has done, others can only dream of reaching. You’ve brought this….utopian idea that you can love yourself just the way you are… and that’s amazing. I understand the need to meet expectation but I think you’ve earned the right to sleep without being burdened by them.”

Jungkook didn’t reply, staring into my eyes and I felt my pulse kick up a notch, my eyes taking in the beautiful features and my throat went dry when his gaze dropped to where my fingers lightly brushed the soft fabric of his shirt sleeve.  

“Oppa��Let’s dance.” A shrill voice behind him made us both jump and I quickly pulled my hand away. Panicking, I turned away from him fully, ducking my head so my hair could cover my face. There was a dull roaring in my head, making it hard to hear what he was saying but a second later he moved away from the bar and I exhaled sharply.

Shaking I turned back to my drink.

Another twenty minutes of trying to avoid looking at Jungkook, I gave up. This wasn’t my kind of place at all and after a quick word with Mingyu, I moved to the small balcony in the side, desperate for some fresh air. But the moment I stepped out, my eyes fell on the rickety ladder like stairs, rusty and clearly a death trap. I quickly moved to the ledge and peered up at the roof. It was a little inclined but nothing dangerous. And there was a barricade that would break my fall, just in case I slipped.

Thrilled at the prospect of doing something that was both foolish and fancy free, I quickly, climbed on to the ladder, climbing all the way over to the top and throwing my legs over the iron railing before carefully walking overt to the center of the roof. Grinning to myself, I settled on the slightly damp tiles.

“You’re lucky the ladder didn’t break .” Jungkook’s voice made me yelp and I stared as he quickly jumped over the railing himself, grinning and wiping his hands on his thighs.

“Oh my god, people are going to find us here!” I hissed, terrified and he laughed.

“Don’t worry. I told them I’m going home.”

“You lied?” I shook my head in disbelief and Jungkook hummed.

“Did I?” He pretended to think. “ Doesn’t feel like I did.”

It took me a few seconds for the implication to sink in.

I looked away, blushing a bit.

“Did I come on too strong?” He moved to sit next to me, just a foot away.

I shook my head.

“No. I’m just.. I didn’t expect you to know me. We don’t exactly run in the same circles.”

“There’s a very cliché line in my head about how you’ve been running in circles in my head for a long time but I’ll save that for our first date.” He said with a laugh and I blushed deeper.

“Date?” I shook my head, “ That’s not funny.”

“Good. Because it wasn’t a joke. Let me take you out to dinner sometime.”

I stared at him, trying to look for the punchline because even if he denied it, it was still laughable. The mere idea of it.

“Don’t turn me down Areum ssi.” He said softly and I swallowed.

“I won’t if you take it back.” I said quietly.

He sighed.

“Then…when you sang about wanting to give love a chance…wanting to free fall for once without worrying about the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, wanting to soar into the sky without thinking of the ropes trying to tether you to the ground….were you joking?”

I gaped at him.

“that’s.. those are… Those are lines from before my debut.” I said shakily.

“Like I said… I’ve been a fan for a long time.” Jungkook whispered.

The night was magical. Cool and refreshing and the night sky was resplendent, the lack of clouds offering a stellar view of the stars and yet, I found myself drawn to the galaxies swirling in his doe eyes. The strong nose and the cherry red lips, now being worried between slightly large front teeth as he stared at me with all the nervousness of a young boy.

But he wasn’t a boy. He was a man.

And this wasn’t a love song.

This was real life.

“Free falling is fun when you don’t know what you’re falling into. But when you do know that there’s a lot of pain at the end of the fall, its not something you want to experience.”

“Areum…”

“I’m flattered.” I said quickly. “ Beyond flattered…really. But… I can’t.”

“Okay. But don’t leave. Stay here with me.. for a while. Let’s talk.” He said quickly.

Jungkook was handsome and the night was still young. This maybe the last time I would ever see him and I was honest. It was flattering, receiving attention from someone like that.

I hesitated before sighing and nodding.

“Okay…let’s talk.” I smiled, throwing caution to the winds.

And talk we did. About everything and nothing. As the night grew darker, Jungkook relaxed next to me, laughing as he shared anecdotes about his members, about his family, about his brother. And then naturally about how successful they were these days and Jungkook told me that there was always a downside to fame but he enjoyed the love he received. That he loved his fans for how they treated him and his brothers.

“Fame comes with a price but it’s a small price to pay…being loved for what I do..being accepted the way I am…it feels good.” He said quietly.

“It’s not always that way though.” I pointed out honestly. “ You guys are … I won’t say lucky because you’ve definitely worked hard but you’ve been more fortunate than the rest. Sometimes the spotlight can be a terrifying place to be.”

“you forget that we were once one of the most hated idols in the country..” He laughed. “ Trust me I know.”

“I didn’t know about you guys till you got on the Billboard. And you’re an amazing singer as well.” I said softly.

He grinned , playing with the bracelets on his wrist.

“Thank you.” He said sweetly.

We stayed quiet for a few seconds, staring up at the sky.

“I’ve never been attracted to fame.” I told him honestly.” Of course it holds its charms I suppose but I’ve always preferred the quiet of being obscure, you know. Like this secret that only a few get to learn in their lifetime.” I laughed. “ A hidden treasure maybe? Its why I started a Youtube channel instead of auditioning. Because only people who genuinely liked my music would get more of me. ” I smiled.

Jungkook hummed.

“When you first started singing your own songs on your YouTube channel? It was kind of around the same time we won our first daesang…” He smiled. “ In the MMA.”

“Oh…Really?” I asked surprised. That was nearly five years ago.

“Yeah. And till then..it was just your voice that I got to hear. You talked a bit but mostly it was just you covering someone else’s songs. And well, after we won the daesang I felt …lonely? Kind of? Scared maybe. And then you sang, ‘ White Dove’ a couple of days later and the lyrics…they just resonated with me you know. It made me feel like I knew you… Like you were a friend.”

I swallowed.

“I..thank you.” I whispered quietly, staring at my hands.

“And when you refused to sign with SM or YG. You also refused to monetize your videos on Youtube. You said your voice was your gift and you didn’t want to make money from something you’d received for free yourself. That …I loved that.”

“You’re like that too. You post your covers and songs on soundcloud for free as well.” I said quietly and he smiled.

“Like I said…we have a lot in common.” He smiled.

I smiled, shaking my head.

“I envy you.” He said quietly and I glanced at him.

“Hmm?”

“You’re just… You’re so untouched by all this. By me. It may sound incredibly narcissistic but people swoon when they see me for the first time but…you’re just you…. And that just makes me remember that you’re amazing and beautiful and you have such beautiful mind and you’re just… you’re so far out of my league. You’re so content with what you have and I wish I could be that way….But I …I can’t help but be greedy.”

“Greedy?”

“To do more. To want more. I know I should be happy that I even got to meet you . I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in these two hours , sitting here talking to you. But I’m still greedy for more.” He stared at me with an intensity that was electric.

“More what?” I laughed.

“More of this. More of you. More of you and me together. More of us.”

“Us?” I laughed, shaking my head. “ There’s no us , Mr. Jungkook . you need to forget about that.”

“ I don’t think I can.” He said suddenly.

I felt the smile fade from my face.

“Jungkook.”

“Your song … Utopia… where you write about your idea of the perfect world. I… I loved it.” He said shakily.

“Jungkook , wait…”

“All of these days, when I listened to your songs, I would make it personal.. It would be about how those words applied to my life but with Utopia… that world you talk about …where you can be yourself, where you can sing whatever you want, be whoever you want…. When I heard that song…it became about you. About us.. I… that world you dream of.. I want to give that to you.”

My jaw dropped and I exhaled in disbelief.

“Do you realize how ridiculous that is? Your fans…our companies… Everyone will lose their minds.” I whispered, horrified.

He nodded.

“I know. I know I shouldn’t ask you this. Because it goes against my better judgement. But I can’t help. I still want to choose this. Choose you. So if there’s a word for that.. That is how I feel.”

“I.. I should go.” I said nervously, making to move but he reached out an gently gripped my wrist.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” He asked quietly and I shook my head.

“No.. I don’t.” I said quietly.

“Good. Because neither do I. But I do believe in people who can understand you better than anyone else can. Just give me a chance. One date.”

I stayed quiet staring at my feet. There was so much to consider but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him and say no. He looked so hopeful.

“I’m busy for a couple of weeks. But there’s a beautiful terrace restaurant in Itaewon that I know. We’ll have complete privacy . I’ll get my chauffeur to pick you up. No one ill know. I just want to spend some time with you over dinner and if you have a good time….. we can meet again.”

And then what?

“I…I’ll try. But I can’t promise anything.“ I said honestly.

“That’s good enough for me. Can I have your number at least?” He asked finally.

I nodded and quietly put it into his phone.

“I’ll make the reservation and send you the details. And Areum?”

I glanced up at him.

“I’ve been free falling since I met you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

“I do.” I said quietly. “ I do remember.”

“I haven’t stopped falling. I keep listening to your songs on loop… Because I can’t bear the thought of being away from you , of not being connected to you in some way…”

“You’re so .. you’re so intense.” I whispered shakily and he laughed.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. It’s just the way I am… I’m here you know. The restaurant I told you about. And my chauffeur is at your home. But he told me he couldn’t find you. It’s the middle of the night . where are you?”

I sighed.

“In the park opposite my house.”

Jungkook didn’t respond for a second.

“Do you want me to ask him to leave?” He asked quietly.

I took a deep breath.

“ Akrasia. “ I breathed out nervously.

“What…”

“its when someone makes a decision…against their better judgement.” I laughed nervously. “When we had that conversation , you asked me if there was a word for it. For acting against your better judgement. Akrasia is the word you’re looking for .”

He stayed quiet on the other end.

“Okay.” He said finally. “ Well, are you going to be akratic with me?” he said finally.

“Ask your driver to leave for now. And come meet me in my apartment tomorrow. I’ll make you dinner.”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

“That way we’ll have more privacy.” I said softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dating Jungkook was a lot of pain. Just as I’d anticipated. It was sitting by and watching him work himself down to the bone. It was watching people throw themselves at him and not being able to say a word. To the world he was single. And the number of women who called and hounded him was unnatural.

And he worked so hard that my heart ached for him.

One night, he missed dinner and I couldn’t reach him on the phone. I stayed up , sitting on my bed, waiting.

He came back at exactly at three in the morning. He didn't turn on the light but the moonlight through the window was sufficient to let me know that he looked terrible. i watched him shrug out of his jacket, leaning against the table , long legs crossed and crisp white shirt unbuttoned. He tugged at his tie with a sort of tired , half hearted gesture and i smiled.

i watched him for sometime, seeing him shrug out of his shirt and change into a simple white t shirt. He moved with a sort of graceful strength. Like every single cell of his body had the same confidence that he did. 

It was like a dream, i realized as another dull ache of pain twisted my heart. It was like i'd slept and woken up in someone else's dream. A dream where it was okay for me to look at him and feel things for him , without fighting to convince herself that it was dangerous. That it was going to end in heartbreak.  

As i watched him prepare for bed, i wondered when I had started falling so hard.  

The sound of the door closing, made me look up , shaken out of my thoughts. Jungkook was locking the door behind him. 

When he moved to the bed, i decided to let him know that i was awake. 

"You're back?" i said softly. 

He hesitated, clearly startled , before smiling at me. It was a weak smile, one that practically screamed exhaustion and i sat up straighter,  watching as he moved to me side and gently stroked me hair. 

"Why aren't you asleep?" He smiled. 

"I was waiting for you." i said honestly holding my hand out and he took it, kissing it obediently. 

"you'll have to wait longer, I'm afraid. I have a meeting tomorrow morning with PDnim and I still haven't prepped for it. I need to get an hour's sleep and get back to work. " Up close he looked so tired that i felt my heart clench in panic. 

"You don't look good." i said, alarmed as i realized that his skin had a distinctively grayish tinge to it.

"Comeback times are always that way. Never good for my health." He said teasingly. He checked his phone messages before turning to me and smiling.  

"I see you've been cutting back on the pain killers... are you feeling better than?" He asked. I’d been down with some menstrual cramps earlier and I was touched that he remembered, even in the mess of his schedule.

"I wish you wouldn't change the topic everytime I try to show concern for you."  i said , a little bit annoyed. He grinned and touched my cheek with his forefinger. 

"Just the fact that you are concerned is enough for me . anything more and I might die of happiness. you don't want that do you?" He winked. 

Deciding that it was impossible to talk with the man, i asked him if he wanted something to drink. 

He shook his head and climbed in next to me but before laying down, he turned to me. 

He hesitated. 

"Will you lend me your shoulder for the night?" He said softly , placing his hand there. 

i sighed as he leaned against me . His skin felt warm against me, his hair lightly tickling me cheekbones and i threaded me finger through the silky strands. 

In just a few seconds, he was fast asleep. 

I stayed awake, watching the room grow steadily brighter, the weak winter sun gently finding its way into the room , much like the way the man in my arms was gently finding his way into my heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"We should get a house, don't you think?" i said two months later, sitting up in bed , eating dinner while i watched him work on his files. He'd placed the desk in the far corner of the room, giving me the perfect view. And i was beginning to enjoy it a lot more than the one i could see out the window. 

" A house? " Jungkook stopped and looked up. " You want to live with me ? Just the two of us?" He smiled.

Well, when he put it that way. I balked and ducked my head. 

"It's too soon isn't it..I'm sorry I don't know why I..."

"What kind of a house would you prefer? Flat? Penthouse? Apartment? Duplex? Tell me....I'll get you the listings and you can pick out the ones you like . When you get better we can go pick one out." He grinned at me and i relaxed against the pillows , while he went back to his files. 

"I read something online…” i said casually . He didn't look up, merely humming to acknowledge that he'd heard me. 

"Did you date Lee Hyeri ?" i finally said. He stopped and looked at me. 

"Yes. Many months ago. I broke up with her because I wasn’t feeling anything serious and I didn’t want to lead her one. She didn’t take it very well. ." He said softly, moving towards the bed and sitting on the edge. As was his habit, he reached for my hand, holding it in his and tracing circles with his thumb.

“She called me.” I said quietly and he stiffened.

“Shit.”

I laughed.

“She wanted to meet me . Wanted to talk about something although I have an idea what. I’m not going to indulge her though.”

“If she calls again, you should tell her that her obsession is bordering on stalking and I’m on the verge of getting a restraining order. She turned up at my studio too. Went on an on about how I broke her heart and cheated on her . ”

 i hesitated , looking away from him and smiling. 

"I don't know . Should I?" i shook my head. i hesitated, pulling my hand away from him.��"What else did she say?" i said suddenly, remembering how angry she had sounded on the phone.

"Nothing, you need to worry about. Are you done with this? Shall I clean it up?" He reached for my dinner tray and i grabbed his wrist. 

"where are you going?  You should tell me what she said." i protested, but he gently pried my fingers off before dropping a kiss on me forehead .

"And You should tell me when you're going to start staying over at my apartment.. It's going to snow in a few days. Or so they say. I thought you might like to enjoy the first snow with me..." He smiled . 

I took the subtle hint to drop the subject.

"You're being too wonderful. It makes my heart ache." i snuggled into my bed and pouted at him. He laughed at that. 

"Take rest. I have a meeting right now. I'll be back late so you should sleep." 

I watched him leave, feeling oddly bereft. I was growing to love him deeply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As with every couple in the world, our fights were often over the silliest things.

"You're still angry." I said casually, watching him work on his documents, the low burning desk light setting his features in sharp relief. He looked at me for a second and shook his head.

"I'm not angry , Areum. I'm busy. There is a difference." He said with a sigh, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye. I watched the gesture and sat up straighter in bed, leaning over the side to stare at the clock there. It read 1.15 Am.

"It's snowing." I said softly, getting one my knees and peering out the windows. Through the haze of moonlight, I watched the small flakes drift down over the neatly cut hedgerows, making each segment of the garden look like neat cut slices of cake with vanilla cream frosting. I grinned at the little wisps of cotton white snow, clinging to each little branch on the trees and felt my heart swell with joy. 

"I suppose you're too busy to make good on your promise." I said naughtily, peering over my shoulder to glance at him. 

"Promise?"

"That you'll walk with me , in the first snow." I said, turning around and getting out of bed, slipping my feet into my fur slippers. I watched him fight with himself , the emotions warring across his handsome face and held my breath.

finally he sighed and stood up. I tried to keep the triumphant grin off my face and failed miserably. I felt awful, because deep down I had known that no matter how angry or upset he was, Jungkook would never break a promise. And I'd worded my request that way, just to take advantage of that little chink of honor that he always lived by. 

"Alright then. Let's go take a walk in the first snow." He said softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You love snow."

"How did you know that?" I said surprised, lightly grabbing the low lying branch till it showered both of us with soft white flakes. 

"You make these little sounds , everytime you see  snow. I've noticed it from the time we met." Jungkook grinned . 

I laughed and turned away. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a fairytale, the white landscape making me feel like some exotic Ice Queen. I walked ahead of him, running a few steps till I was about ten feet ahead of him. I turned around, facing him as I walked backwards. He laughed at that. 

"Be careful. The snow looks soft but the fall will hurt." He warned me, putting his hands in his pockets and narrowing his shoulders to fight the chill. I smiled and shook my head.

"I want to look at you and make sure that you're not angry with me anymore." I said, enjoying the way he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm not angry. I told you that."

"Yes. You did. But i didn't tell you I'm sorry, did I?" I said softly, stopping in my tracks and watching as he drew closer. Jungkook gave me a curious glance, walking slowly till he was just in front of me.

"I'm sorry I said I'll leave you." I said honestly. He looked surprised but smiled nonetheless.

"Duly noted." He bowed his head, tipping an imaginary hat at me. Smiling, I turned around I ran a few more steps and instinctively knelt on the ground

"Don't ." He said suddenly. 

I  looked up from where I was gathering a handful of snow. I gave him an innocent smile. 

"What?" 

"I know what you're thinking. don't do it." He said, taking a step back. I felt a thrill of anticipation shoot through me, realizing that the big bad wolf was actually scared of being hit by a snowball. 

"You should know why I like snow so much.." I grinned with mischief and he gave me a look of disbelief.

"I don't think you can hit me. You're forgetting that i'm an expert at taekwondo.”

I held my hand up and threw , cursing when he casually stepped out of the way, laughing at the look on my face. 

"You have to concentrate on what you're doing. Anticipate my next move and react accordingly." He advised, bending down to get some snow for himself. 

"React to this!!" I grabbed two handfuls of snow and ran straight at him, grinning as I leapt on him.

We landed on the snow, Jungkook  on his back and I right on top of him, laughing as I smeared the snow on his face. He spluttered in disbelief and swiftly, threw his weight over, pinning me to the ground and straddling me, fingers swiftly grabbing my wrists and pushing my hands over my head, leaving me vulnerable and helpless, as he shook his head , showering me with ice cold flakes. 

I squeaked in surprise and he laughed hard.

Watching him laugh, full and open , I realized that I'd never watched him laugh that way before.

He looked exhilarated. 

Yanking my hand out of his grasp, I grabbed his collar, pulling him down for a kiss. 

the first touch of his lips to mine, felt like the sweetest, coolest sip of crystal waters after a lifelong thirst . 

I sank into the snow, sighing into the sweetness and the gentle pressure of his lips against me, the first touch of his tongue, making heat seep through my body, despite the cold. I curled my fingers into the fur near his neck, smiling into the kiss as he slipped one hand into my hair, gently tilting my head for better access. 

He kissed me softly. He kissed me deeply.

He kissed me like that was what he'd been put on the earth to do. 

But mostly he kissed me like that was all he wanted .

It was so absurdly romantic that I wanted to laugh .

I could catch whiffs of his scent, even though my eyes were watering and mey nose felt like it was running. Some elusive cologne mixed with the scent of  clean male skin . It made me heat up in ways that curled my toes in my fur boots. Each little kiss lasted a little longer than the one before, till I was certain that I was going to melt into the snow. And each little breath felt like a little wisp of my soul leaving my body and mingling with his. 

We kissed and kissed and kissed, while the snow fell in white flakes around us .

First Snow. first kiss, I thought happily. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After our little episode in the garden, I found that I felt something akin to desperation everytime I came in contact with Jungkook.

It's not that I woke up one day and realized that something had changed in the way I watched Jungkook.

. That my eyes lingered, not just on his face but on the curve of his lips, the edge of his jaw, the exposed skin of his neck. My fingers wanted to reach out and  grip, not just the strength of his shoulders and the slender digits of his hand but also his lean waist.

I began losing my mind, slowly and painfully. Suffocating when Jungkook got too close , choking when he went away too far.

As they spent time together, Jungkook began touching me.

. Not too often and never in an intrusive way , but every time his fingers traced the back of my palm or brushed back my hair, my  throat went dry and my heart stopped pumping blood and I felt like like a fool because I had no idea if Jungkook felt half of what I was feeling.

In fact I was certain that Jungkook didn’t feel anything at all.

What I was feeling was painful and confusing and if Jungkook felt any of it, he would be running as far away from me as possible, not moving closer and closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you so nervous?” Jungkook laughed and I bit my nails nervously, glancing around the reception hesitantly. The workers were all busy, no one spared us so much as a glance but I couldn’t help but feel terrified.

“It’s only us here? For the whole weekend? No one else?” I asked again for the hundredth time.

Jungkook groaned, shaking his head and ignoring me, holding his hand out for the keys to our cottage. I yelped a bit when he began walking away without waiting for me, running to keep up with his long strides.

“Sorry…I just don’t want you to get in trouble.” I said quietly, slipping my hand into his, linking our fingers together and smiling a little.

He squeezed my hand gently before pulling away to wrap me in a one armed huge, pressing a kiss to my neck.

“I booked the entire resort for the weekend. The staff have all signed a confidentiality agreement. No one is going to know we’re here. You can be as loud as you want.” He whispered and I yelped, hitting his chest,” let me finish….” He laughed. “ When you yell at me. You can be as loud as you want when you yell at me.”

“You’re a terrible person.” I whispered , burying my face into his arm in mortification.

Jungkook merely laughed .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You seem tense." He said that evening, as the pair of us sat on the back deck , glasses of bubble tea in hand , watching the waves break out on the rocks. Slow but persistent , gradually breaking the rock's resistance and carving its way into its heart.

"Can we ever …truly be relaxed ?" I asked , a little bit of desperation in my tone. Jungkook didn’t turn to look at me . Instead he took a picture of the rocks and the sea with his phone.

"That's a pretty loaded question. With a lot of answers."

I stared  at him, wondering why I was more confused now than before.

"Sometimes I can't understand you at all." I said quietly, shaking my head.

“Do you understand that I love you?” He said softly.

I hesitated before nodding.

“That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boys dropped by for a visit the next day.

I sat down on the open deck, opposite Namjoon for a game of chess. Jungkook slid into the armchair next to me.

"Are you winning?" Jungkook asked quietly and I shot  him a glare, which gets a smile in return promptly. It was like he always knew what to say , how to manipulate my thoughts and emotions, how to make me look and feel a certain way , just so he could steal that part of mr away.

How evil.

At first I didn’t  notice that he was sitting a bit too close for comfort, because as such, we've lived on top of each other for quite a while now. But after a while I became  aware of the warmth of his thigh, solid and strong against my own, evident even through the layers of jean separating them.

I  tried to move away, surreptitiously, but Jungkook only moved closer.

"Try this."

His fingers fluttered over my thigh, intentionally or not I would never know, reaching for my queen and I tried not to jump out of my skin, gritting my teeth as my muscles stiffened, my nerves tingling like electric.

I licked my lips and Jungkook’s  eyes flickered up at the movement, a gentle smile tugging at his lips and my gut clenched in embarrassment. But the brunette moved even closer, his bare arm now brushing against mine  and I had to swallow the desperate urge to get up and just run.

"Well, this is entertaining." Namjoon said suddenly and i looks at my opponent for the first time since Jungkook’s  arrival. Namjoon was leaning back in his armchair, amusement shining out of his eyes .

I scrambled  in a bid to put space between Jungkook and I and failed miserably.

"He's just helping me with chess." I said desperately.

"Oh, is that what they call it these days?" Namjoon leaned forward looking very intrigued.

Jungkook reached out and clonked him on the head but his eyes were laughing and I wondered how this was going to end. I wanted it. Wanted to take that final step with Jungkook but I was also so , so scared.

Would it change things. For the better? For worse?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook, I soon realized, took the way I was shying away from him , as some sort of a twisted challenge to get closer than ever. The more I moved away, the closer Jungkook gets , touching me in gentle intimate little touches and every time he did,  a slow simmering fire started at the pit of my stomach, reaching out in gentle upward licks , drying my throat and turning my insides into molten goo.

She's almost tempted to ask Jungkook if he feels the same way but she's saved the trouble later that week.

"I want you."

I froze on the spot, fingers stopping in mid air, inches from picking up a slice of apple, neatly placed on the tray. We were in the dining room,  Jungkook sitting with a set of files spread out in front of him and me with a knife and a few uncut apples in a basket.

"You..what?" I squeaked.

" I'm attracted to you and I really want to have sex with you." Jungkook said  , almost carefully.

Like he was announcing the weather. Like his words weren’t carefully calculated to turn my world upside down.

"Alright. " I whispered, not even sure what else I could say to that.

I stole a glance at Jungkook who was grinning from ear to ear. I felt blush rushing up my body, the blood flooding my face so quick it made me dizzy..

"Don't .. Don't look at me like that." I whispered, mortified to sound like a sixteen year old girl.

"Do you want me to leave now?" Jungkook reached out , placing a soft hand on my palm and it took all my  willpower not to grab Jungkook and hug him. Instead I managed a weak smile. My mind was a few seconds away from collapsing in on itself and I was too stunnedto think straight.

So I answered the question at face value.

"No, I don't want you to leave now. "

"Okay. Go ahead, eat your fruit. It's good for you."

Jungkook smiled again, serene and perfectly at peace with the world.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At eleven thirty on Saturday night, both Jungkook and I sneaked out of the hotel, arms laden with our picnic basket and coats draped over our shoulders. Once we reached  large pond in the outer edge of the property, Jungkook made quick work of the blanket, spreading it out on the artificial lawn that surrounded it.

I settled down on it, reaching out and dipping my legs in the water. It's a bit chilly but only for a second. I wriggled my toes playfully and Jungkook slipped a bit closer to me, letting his foot sink in next to mine.

We played around for a while, splashing water on each other and then I pulled my legs out.

"You okay?" Jungkook asked softly and I turned around to stare at him , a little apprehensive. There are so many things wrong with this , a part of me screams. But there's a part of me that longs, so badly , for this simplicity. Longs and has longed, all my life. Just this, the chance to relax and be myself and play around with water in the moonlight.

"I'm not sure." I admitted, honestly.

"Tell me. " Jungkook said and for once his voice isn't relaxed. Instead it's a bit urgent and anxious.

"We're not... I’m so scared that we'll never make it, you know." I sighed, dipping my legs back into the water, just as Jungkook pulled his out.

"Why? Because of the media ?" There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice and I hated myself for bringing this up. We were supposed to be spending time together, enjoying each other’s company. I wasn’t sup[posed to be ruining the mood like this.

"It's nothing. I just.. I don't want you to get hurt." I said honestly.

"Because of you? Because I'm with you?" Jungkook's voice was lot softer now, the bitterness replaced by concern.

"I.. Yes.. I mean... I'm.."

"You're a gorgeous young woman who is intelligent and charming. Why would I ever give you up?" Jungkook asked, reaching out and wrapping an arm around my shoulder but I couldn’t help but sigh.

"That's.. that's not what everyone else thinks." I reminded him. “ And that not what they’ll say, if you ever tell them the truth about us.”

"No it isn't. And I won't say something stupid like , it doesn't matter what others think. Because it does, I know it does. And it's going to hurt. In fact I think it would hurt you a lot more than it would hurt me. But if I don't... If I don't take a chance with us... that's going to hurt me too. So its a choice. I can either  choose to get hurt by people I don't give a damn about , and in return I get... get to be with someone I really...like…..

"Or, I give up the woman I love and get hurt by my own decision. " Jungkook finished.

"We hurt either way." I smiled bitterly, Jungkook's words making a lot of sense.

"Yes. All you need to choose is , what's worth the hurt? Being with me, or society's approval?" Jungkook leaned forward slightly and I blinked.

We stayed that way staring at each other for a second and then he pulled away and sighed deeply.

"I've already chosen, I. I'm not pushing you, but I hope you'll pick me." He said quietly.

I stared into the night, thoughtfully. So easy, I told myself. So easy to turn around right now and kiss Jungkook, tell him that I didn’t deserve so much happiness. That my heart was so light, I wanted to spout wings and fly.

So easy but so frightening.

The wind picked up somewhere and somehow a draught found its way inside and I shivered a little, only to have a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulder. Jungkook snuggled in with me and we huddled together

My thoughts tripped over each other  and I wanted to run away but I stayed still, letting the gentle lap of the water against my toe, calm my inner turmoil.

"It's just you and me." Jungkook whispered, " Right now. Just you and me. Let's pretend we're the only ones on the planet."

I turned around to the brunette in surprise but Jungkook's looking out into the water, lit by a full moon from the skylight.

"Just you and me. " He said absently and I nodded, looping my fingers with Jungkook's. We sat in silence, pressed against each other and I waited till the moon slipped behind a cloud before turning around, slightly, and pressing my lips against Jungkook's.

It's soft and very short, over before it even begins and Jungkook smiled into the kiss.

  Explicit Content : 

       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook teasingly pushes her back and Areum falls back against the soft mattress, like she's been shoved. She melts into the kiss and then Jungkook’s lips move away, dragging his teeth and tongue over the exposed expanse of her neck, lightly sucking and biting and then soothing with his tongue. Areum gasps and struggles and fights for air, before dragging their lips together again.

Jungkook kisses her until she's splayed flat against the bed, eyes wide and lost and lips parted, blush staining her cheeks and then Jungkook's reaching out to the table and pulling his camera , snapping a picture.

"You're such a weirdo!" Areum laughs , too turned on to be annoyed.

"No, just a man. A man in love." Jungkook leans down, pushing his hips down into hers and she gasps at the friction. They make quick work of their jeans and suddenly its skin on skin and she's not sure if she's doing this right.

"Jungkook.. I..I.."

"Hey, relax. I got you." Jungkook holds her close, just holding her, cradling her almost and the familiar words smooth away her apprehensions and he's moving closer, trying to pull more sounds out of her, his lips tracing the line of her chest, tongue swirling around one nipple before moving down and down, dipping lightly into her belly button.

And then the camera is tossed to the side, Jungkook flipping them over with ease , his lips moving down , tongue dipping into the curve of her waist down and then further down , lightly licking at the sensitive bundle of nerves near her center and Areum's pretty certain she loses her mind at that point.

"You're amazing." He whispers, and she nearly flies off the bed when Jungkook slides a single digit in, slowly , so slowly. She’s wet and ready but her body is still stuck in auto pilot and she wants to close her legs instinctively.

"Relax for me." Jungkook whispers, lips close to her ear, licking and teasing .

"I'll make it good. Just relax for me." Jungkook says again,  gently, lapping at her neck and Areum unclenches her thighs letting him work his way in, sighing when the slide becomes a little more easy and a little more familiar.

"So beautiful." Jungkook whispers and Areum laughs, shaking her head.

"It's dark, you can't even see-"

"I can’t see but I can feel you. i can feel you and you’re so fucking gorgeous." He slips another finger in and curls his fingers against the walls of her insides and the gentle press of the pad of his finger is too much and not enough , all at once. Her head falls back into the pillow, all coherency leaving her body in a single whoosh of breath.

"Look at me. Only me." She whispers when Jungkook thrusts into her for the first time and Jungkook nods shakily and he pushes in, leaving her trembling at the ache and the pain and wanting to cry out, but she swallows it all down because she knows it’s going to get better .

"Don't wander off. " Areum whispers, pulling him down for a kiss and Jungkook pushes in deeper, earning a gasp. He wishes he could explain, that he can't ever think of anything but her because she is the perfect dream.

“I love this. I love you. “ she whispered and he had to physically restrain himself from burying himself to the hilt inside her. Her body was still getting used to him. He didn’t want to hurt her but God, she felt so amazing around him. the heat and wetness driving him crazy in a way that couldn’t be explained.

“Hold me tight.”

And she did.

With her arms and her legs and her body and her.....everything.

When she clenched around him, his mind went blissfully blank, her orgasm hitting him like an earth shattering, bone melting , heart stopping explosion of bliss.  

He fell against her, careful not to crush her with his weight and rolled to the side gathering her close.

Someday he would hurt her, he was sure of it. He was an idiot after all and he knew he would find a way to muck this up and ruin it for them but for now, he wasn’t going to think about any of that.

For now, he was going to enjoy the intimacy of making love to the woman he loved.

 Author’s Note : Hope you guys liked it! it was supposed to be very angsty but its really not lol....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[caffeinatedseri]

Dead Apple Light Novel

Recently, I decided to buy LN 5, Dead Apple, purely because I’m a sucker for all of BSD’s light novels, so this post will revolve around what I took away from this novel. 

Dead Apple is Canon

Since the story jumps around in the timeline a lot, I had originally thought that Dead Apple took place outside of canon (especially with Atsushi’s flashback). 

However, a particular part of Asagiri’s afterword stuck out to me:

Now, allow me a moment to discuss some of the particulars of Dead Apple. Chronologically, the story takes place after the second season of the anime — in other words, after the war with the Guild, which puts Dead Apple somewhere between the ninth and tenth volumes of the manga. 

The novel also ended up affecting the main story in numerous ways, and I’m sure this new experience will continue to influence my future work as well.

It’s not unusual for a light novel to insert itself into the main timeline (see 55 Minutes which takes place in the 10th volume), but it’s nice to have confirmation that the same applies to Dead Apple. 

Of course, just because a work isn’t canon compliant (see BEAST), doesn’t mean that it has no potential for further analysis or it doesn’t bring any added complexity to the main plot. Regardless, this post serves as somewhat of a precursor to my other posts concerning Dead Apple since I have a tendency to talk about it a lot, and I’d like to establish a basis for a lot of my posts. 

Differences between the Movie and Light Novel

In the afterword of the light novel, Hiro Iwahata (the author of this LN) said:

“Furthermore, I worked on this book under Asagiri’s supervision, meaning there are several lines in certain scenes that differ from the movie. It might even be fun comparing the two!  Nothing would make me happier than the fans enjoying this novel alongside the movie.”

As per Iwahata’s request, I went into the light novel, looking for differences between it and the movie. However, the novel is surprisingly, almost identical to the movie (maybe not surprising considering it is a “movie novelization”).

Because the differences are so miniscule, I believe they hold an even greater significance, since Asagiri must have wanted to change these specific details for a certain reason. 

Some of the differences I talk about might be unimportant, but I did my best to catch everything that was changed from the movie.

1. The movie doesn’t mention SKK as a part of the Dragon’s Head Conflict, but the novel says, “Some fought under the alias Twin Dark.” 

This probably means that SKK became a pair either before the Dragon’s Head Conflict or during (although I’m pretty sure that the “organization” they destroyed over night was Shibusawa’s organization).

2. When Dazai says that he would’ve continued killing people in the mafia if it weren’t for Oda, Atsushi has little to no reaction in the movie; I would describe it as maybe a hesitant or concerned feeling.

In the novel, Atsushi has a more outward reaction.

““Huh...?!” Atsushi was baffled. He had no idea whether that was true. What did Dazai mean by that? (...) The melancholy Atsushi felt from Dazai had disappeared, and Dazai continued to speak in his usual lighthearted manner.”

Not only does he react verbally, but the novel also adds an inner monologue (mainly for Atsushi) that can’t be portrayed as well in movie format. 

To me, this change highlights how Atsushi sees Dazai purely as a good person; he reacts in such a startled manner because he believes that Dazai is too good of a person to be in the mafia killing people (which we know Atsushi hates). This trend reoccurs throughout the story, of Atsushi turning a blind eye to Dazai’s “bad side.”

3. This one isn’t at all the movie’s fault, but the novel gives a lot more clues as to what the “dead apple” and the dagger in the apple motif represents.

The first time it appears is when Kunikida and Tanizaki meet the Special Division’s agent, but they find out that he’s already dead.

“It [the apple] was, without a doubt, a simple fruit... save for the fact that there was a knife sticking out of it as if to condemn the taste of sin. A blade had been driven into the symbol of original sin. A dreary, ominous aura, oozed from the ripe fruit like venom. 

Throughout the novel, it seems to associate the “dead apple” motif with Fyodor pretty strongly, especially since this paragraph ties in Fyodor’s ideals nicely with the symbolism of the apple and dagger.

The apple represents sin, the very first sin — which you could interpret as sin at its purest — while the dagger represents the condemning of such sin. However, the apple can also potentially symbolize life, while the dagger stabbing into life can mean death. 

Fyodor’s ideals revolve around “removing the sin” of ability users (represented by an apple in this case) but he does so through manipulation. The dagger is associated with stealth and deception, which is fitting with what Fyodor does to “remove the sin” of ability users.

However, he’s also taking the lives of ability users in this process, hence stabbing the apple, coincidentally committing another sin in his attempt to relinquish all sin.

4. In the “Snow White” Oda and Dazai flashback, everything is identical to the movie (word for word), but there is some additional narration.

“It was an alarming sight — Dazai sounded like he was in a trance. It was as if he was ignoring all this world had to offer while in pursuit of something else.”

I’ve talked about this particular scene before here, but the gist is that Dazai was discreetly talking about himself while referring to Snow White. 

Dazai joined the mafia because he believed that the violence (or true human nature) would give him a reason to live, but we already know that this kind of thinking was flawed.  Thus, this line most likely means that Dazai was ignoring all of the “good” qualities of the world while pursuing a reason to live, which inevitably wouldn’t work. 

5. Right after the flashback, when Dazai takes the pill, the novel really sells the act of “Dazai walking towards his death and going to the evil side.” 

Personally, this scene in the movie felt more open to interpretation after you’ve seen the ending. You could say that Dazai took the antidote and said “Being on the side that saves people is more beautiful,” because his plan is to continue living to save more people. 

However, the novel throws away any possible double meaning with this paragraph:

“Dazai then reached for the pill with his bandaged hand, neatly picked it up, and slowly brought it to his lips — just like Snow White and the sweet, poisoned apple. The venomous red-and-pure-white-pill disappeared inside his mouth.”

After Dazai’s tangent on how Snow White could’ve committed suicide out of despair, the narration compares him directly to Snow White. With the added venomous pill stated outright, it only further cements the idea that Dazai’s actually committing suicide here.

I don’t particularly like this change, because it feels like this moment was set up entirely just to divert the audience’s expectations, rather than it be a standalone scene that makes sense when considering the rest of the story. (It might not necessarily be a change, possibly just a rough translation from movie to novel). 

6. When Atsushi wakes up from his nightmare, there’s some additional inner monologue:

Everything’s okay. I’m not the same person I was when I lived at the orphanage. I have friends. I have a place where I belong — the Armed Detective Agency. Things are different now.

The anime (and in turn the movie) tends to downplay the effects of Atsushi’s trauma — probably due to the limitations of anime — but regardless the novel portrays it much better with how Atsushi’s trauma affects practically every aspect of his life. 

7. I thought Fukuzawa’s ability only gave his subordinates control over their abilities, but the novel says:

“Yukichi Fukuzawa and his skill, All Men are Equal, a peculiar ability that allowed him to suppress and control his subordinates’ skills.”

Does this mean that Fukuzawa could control and suppress all of the agency’s abilities? It could be a weird translation, but it seems oddly specific.

8. This detail isn’t actually a novel exclusive, but it is an extremely small detail that I missed while watching the movie, so I figured I would add it here too.

“the phantom’s notebook had the word Compromise written on the cover. A copy of himself that didn’t follow ideals but made compromises was an abomination to Kunikida.”

Considering how abilities act as the shadow to every character in this story, this is a nice detail that shows how Kunikida’s inner desire is to compromise, because carrying such heavy ideals is undoubtedly a burden. However, because he holds onto his ideals so strongly, it becomes his biggest weakness AND his biggest strength.

9. There’s a super small detail added to this scene with Dazai, Fyodor, and Shibusawa. When Dazai suggests that Shibusawa could be saved by an angel or a demon, the following exchange occurs:

“Hmm... Maybe an angel?” Dazai picked up the skull on the table. “Or maybe a demon?” “It’s obvious what both of your true intentions are, if you ask me.” The third man mirthfully cackled and took the skull from Dazai’s hand.

In the movie, Dazai doesn’t pick up anything, so as a result Fyodor doesn’t take anything from Dazai either. 

Because Fyodor walked into the scene after Dazai suggested that an angel or demon would save Shibusawa, I strongly suspect that this was foreshadowing future events in which Fyodor does “save” Shibusawa by giving him his memories back.

The novel adds more to this foreshadowing by having Dazai pick up the skull before it’s taken by Fyodor — essentially having Fyodor take the cards out of Dazai’s hands and put them in his favor. 

It’s also worth pointing out that the skull is also the object that Fyodor uses to revive Shibusawa into a supernatural ghost of some sorts at the end of the story.

10. This may be just a difference in translations but in the movie, Shibusawa refers to Fyodor as “Demon Fyodor-kun”, whereas in the novel Fyodor is called “Fyodor the Conjurer.” (Ango uses the Conjurer title as well).

In western esotericism, a conjurer is a person who summons supernatural beings, like spirits, demons, or God.

This slightly changes the connotation of Fyodor’s title from a inhuman being of pure malicious intent to just a human who summons these otherworldly beings. This idea also aligns with Shibusawa’s revival, since he’s some sort of supernatural ghost that was “summoned” by Fyodor. 

11. Skipping past the parts where Kyouka and Akutagawa regain their abilities, and Chuuya talks to Ango in the government facility, (since they have little to no changes between the movie and the novel) there is a somewhat significant detail changed in Draconia once again with Dazai and Fyodor.

In the novel, this glowing ball of energy from the movie is actually described as an apple: 

The two lights melted into one and spun until they formed a juicy sphere. They had produced a single apple — a juicy, poisoned apple red as blood.

It birthed a skill — and an extremely powerful one at that — the ability to absorb. Every last crystal adorning Draconia’s walls was sucked into the apple with intense force. Ten — a hundred — a thousand — two thousand — every last one was greedily devoured by the apple...

The apple swelled as it absorbed the numerous crystals until the red light became hotter than the surface of hell.

Since the “dead apple” motif aligns with Fyodor’s character, we can assume that the apple is representative of sin, and sin is associated with abilities, as Fyodor believes.

This strange poisoned apple is made of abilities and has an ability (the ability to absorb), and it commits a sin (greed) in its devouring of other abilities; it’s also hotter than “hell”, which is a very specific connection that leads me to this idea:

My theory is that a normal apple represents life, while a poisoned apple (or dead apple), indicative of a stained, impure life, represents sin. Fyodor believes abilities are akin to sin (what a clever rhyme), therefore all of their lives are sinful.

12. This is arguably the most insignificant change of this entire post, but I feel obligated to put it here regardless since it was different from the movie. When the Special Division detects the singularity of Shibusawa’s dragon form in the novel, it says:

“Abnormal values for singularity are increasing! They’re twice — no, 2.5 times higher than they were six years ago.”

In the movie, the number is five times higher instead.

Why did this number change? Is it significant? I honestly have no idea (I’m surprised I even caught this), but it’s there and I had to document it anyways. 

13. The novel adds this narration for Shibusawa when he gets his memories back and he’s in the orphanage’s room with Atsushi:

“Shibusawa clearly recalled the events from six years ago. Fyodor had enticed him to go to the orphanage where he tortured a young Atsushi... until Atsushi fought back and killed him.”

There’s two things to take away from this: Fyodor had known Shibusawa for at least six years, and Fyodor had been planning the events of Dead Apple since at least six years ago. 

I find it hard to believe that Fyodor’s plan was thwarted by Dazai, because of how Fyodor demonstrated his ability to plan ahead in the main series, but I’m not sure what the long term effects of this plan could be. If Shibusawa succeeded, then it could’ve aligned with the DOA’s goals, but once again I don’t think Fyodor’s plan was actually foiled.

14. Super minor once again, but right after Shibusawa gets revived, the last sentence of chapter 5 is,

“Nobody would ever see the smile on Fyodor’s face.” 

Honestly, I think this was just added to create an ominous tone, but it’s a nice detail regardless.

15. As the red fog spreads across Yokohama, there’s a good part of exposition that connects the “dead apple” motif to Fyodor once again:

“After the red fog devoured the earth, the planet would undoubtedly look like a floating red apple from space. There would be no humans left on its surface, nor any signs they ever existed. It would be a true paradise, and with that, the Dead Apple would finally be complete. A dead planet covered in red fog — that was what Fyodor had planned and sought out.

Nothing other than death could wash away the original sin of man, so it was only fitting for the sin, which started with a fruit, to end with one as well. 

It’s pretty long, but I like the way this passage is written, more specifically the last part since it fits well with the sinful poisoned apple idea.

It also aligns with Fyodor’s ideals of creating a true paradise, free of ability users. However, if Fyodor had planned to have the Earth covered in fog, that could mean that his plan was actually stopped by Dazai and Atsushi in the end.

16. Shibusawa has a few additional lines of dialogue when he talks to Atsushi in their final fight.

“The dragon and tiger... I see now why they are called rivals.”

The dragon and tiger have their roots in Chinese Buddhism, but to go further into that topic would make this already lengthy post even longer.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, though. I’m not blaming you for what happened.”

This line is a brief moment of weakness for Shibusawa, which is interesting in contrast to his strong will to kill Atsushi. Just as Atsushi learned to accept the past and the tiger’s ferocity, Shibusawa shares the same attitude by separating the blame from himself to just simply accepting the past for what happened.

17. In the aftermath of the last fight against Shibusawa, Atsushi and Kyouka meet up with Dazai.

Kyouka asks, “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” which prompts two different responses in the movie and novel respectively.

In the movie, Atsushi says, “Just as Shibusawa was able to forget that he’d been killed before, I think Dazai can put his past behind him again. But this is fine.”

In the novel, Atsushi says:

“... I could probably seal away this memory just like how I’d forgotten I’d killed him before. But... I’m okay with this.”

I interpreted Kyouka’s question in the movie to be questioning Dazai’s loyalties, as he did betray everyone, and Atsushi responded in Dazai’s defense because he trusts him.

However, the novel does change Atsushi’s response to focus on himself rather than Dazai, which in turn changes the implications of Kyouka’s question. 

Kyouka seems to be asking Atsushi whether he was okay with killing Shibusawa, and Atsushi responds by acknowledging that he did kill Shibusawa, and that’s okay. (a very clear development from the beginning of the story when he believed it was unnecessary to kill anyone, and he didn’t want to kill anyone)

18. In the epilogue, Ango talks about the underlying motivations behind the “Dead Apple” case. This change could be attributed to translation differences (like many others in this post), but the connotation does slightly differ from movie to novel. 

In the movie, Ango says, “How is a man like Shibusawa, so intelligent that others look like alien creatures to him, to act, to be destroyed, or to be saved?”

In the novel, Ango says:

“Perhaps the two of them [Dazai and Fyodor] just wanted to get a glimpse of someone like them... Perhaps they wanted to see what he would do and how he would meet his demise... or perhaps how he would be saved.”

The movie simply poses a broad question of what would happen to Shibusawa, a person alienated from the rest of society. 

The novel changes this to focus on Dazai and Fyodor’s perspective — two irredeemable aliens from society just like Shibusawa — executing this grand scheme out of curiosity to see what would happen to someone of the likes of them, and if there’s a possibility for redemption.

19. This is the final difference on this list, and it’s quite a large change. In Fyodor’s monologue at the very end of the story, he has a completely different tone from the movie to novel.

In the movie, Fyodor says, “But in order to end this world, rife with crime and punishment, I do need that book.”

The novel says: 

Glittering high-rises and stately brick buildings stood side by side in this port city with its countless citizens who struggled against crime and punishment. “I think I’ve taken a liking to this city myself..”  Fyodor took a bite of the apple in his hand, and the juicy nectar ran down his delicate fingers. “You’d all better be on your best behavior until next time.”

The reference to the book may have been removed for consistency with the main series, as the book is a part of the DOA’s plan (or more specifically Fukuchi). 

It also seems like Fyodor has grown fond of the city, and no longer wants Yokohama to be destroyed, so it’s still possible that his plan deterred from what he had originally intended.

Beyond that, I’m not entirely sure why crime and punishment was mentioned, or why there’s such an ominous tone to his ending statement, but that’s up to personal interpretation. 

That concludes the long list of extremely specific and minor differences between the Dead Apple movie and light novel! 

Overall, I would say it’s worth checking out the light novel if you don’t have a strong grasp of the Dead Apple story, because it definitely presents the small intricacies of the plot in a more comprehensible way. 

On a side note, the manga adaptation has a lot of noticeable differences from the movie and light novel, mostly with the addition of entirely new scenes (which you can read @buraihatranslations​ — what a shameless self plug). I would highly recommend reading it as those extra scenes are very amusing, to say the least without giving any spoilers.

Honestly, this post was a lot longer than I intended, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Thank you for reading!

[shazos]

Rouxls is Hiding Something Big: A Deltarune Theory

FORENOTE- For some needed context, it may help reading my previous Deltarune theory here for important details that I will cover in this post. (My previous theory provides notable evidence on why Gaster is indeed the “Knight” figure talked about by multiple characters in Deltarune.)

Now, this is going to sound crazy. But after much time of poring over and analyzing Deltarune, I have come to a conclusion. One that I’ve been convinced of for awhile now. Something that’s been lying right under all of our noses without many of us even realizing it. We have all been bamboozled. Hoodwinked. Tricked. Why, you may ask?

Because the comically stupid and inept Duke of Puzzles is actually... not an idiot. No, he’s the complete opposite. He is a downright mastermind.

As collective players, we are all falling into the same trap once again. Putting faith into a character’s preconceived personality !

When their true personality turns out the complete opposite of what we expected...

It is here, my evidence for this claim begins���and we delve into the true identity of Rouxls Kaard. Buckle up everyone, cause this one’s gonna be a fun ride. 👀

So, to spill the beans up front, and get it over with. I believe Rouxls Kaards identity... is none other than W.D. Gaster in disguise.

Now. I didn’t immediately become invested in this theory—I was skeptical at first like everyone else. But, once I began examining Deltarune and all of its characters a bit closer...things weren’t exactly adding up about the Duke of Puzzles.

Point #1: Anagrams

I initially began to become suspicious of Rouxls Kaard because of his odd name. Sure, it is a play on the words of the term, “Rules card”. But it is spelt in such a peculiar way. If it were just simply a play on words, I think that there would be a much better way of going about spelling it rather than just jumbling a bunch of random letters together. There is a very intriguing reddit post found here that goes more into depth about his name that ties well into my theory. The thing that stood out to me in particular, is that Rouxls’s name is actually also an anagram for “A Dark Soul RX”, (with the left over RX typically being used in terms relating to doctors/medicine.) Not only is Gaster a Doctor, but he’s also always associated with darkness and the research of souls. Toby loves his anagrams—so I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if this was intentional. But it doesn’t end there.

I’ve noticed that Toby Fox has a tendency to tease certain things about his games through merch. And wouldn’t you know it—he has in fact, a particular item on fangamer of a “dark heart.” One which description describes the Angel’s Prophecy. Hm...

But let’s back on track onto my second observation, shall we?

Point #2: The Physical Resemblance to Gaster

Now, there seems to be some interesting foreshadowing related to inverted colors in Deltarune. Before Ralsei takes his hat off, he appears black. But once he takes his hat off, voila, his colors are inverted, and he is revealed to actually be a white goat highly resembling Asriel.

In addition, the entire Dark World is literally just. An inverted version of a normal world.

The Dark World could have hypothetically been the created world/experiment that Gaster had fallen into in the first place. After all, his experiment had to do with “darkness”, and “negative” photons--AKA the Dark Fountains, and the negatively/inverted landscapes of the Dark World.

And how does Rouxls Kaard appear inverted anyways? Well, he looks like THIS.

He even has the strange dangling lip thing—which another character said to directly resemble Gaster, Seam, has as well:

In addition, if you look at Rouxls’ text-box profile very closely, his eye colors are actually mismatched which is a rather interesting detail!

Point # 3: His Accent is Extremely put on.

I think anybody that has read any sort of Shakespearean/Old English writing, can instantly realize that Rouxls is as bad as imitating an Old English accent as a high-schooler reading Hamlet for the first time. Rouxls absolutely butchers it. He practically adds eth, and est at the end of any word he chooses, and calls the job done. What is even more interesting though, is when he gets nervous or panicked, he drops the act all together and talks normally.

Point #4: He is Pretending to be Dumb; His Puzzles are Actually Impressive!

I found it intriguing how there are countless puzzle traps in all the forest areas and in the Card Castle prison that were actually very well done. You have to flip the spades, diamonds, hearts, etc to unlock doors, and open secret chests. They require a decent amount of thinking skills, and are actually competent. But who made them?? Oddly enough if you observe one of them in the forest areas, it appears that Rouxls Kaard vandalized one of the puzzles to make it harder for the player to beat it—which further implies that he actually indeed made those puzzles himself. This shows that Rouxls is much more competent than only being able to make a single box shove puzzle that is comically easy. Where else do we see a place full of plenty of rather well made puzzles + traps seen? All throughout the Core in Undertale—a place which Gaster himself created!

Point #5: Rouxls IS Aware the World is a Game--AKA DON’T FORGET TO READ NPC DIALOGUE FOLKS!

I think it is well aware by now that Rouxls likely wants us as the players to underestimate him--and deem him a fool so we wouldn’t bat an eye at what he’s actually up to. But the most biggest give away to this is something that I have surprisingly seen no one mention at all. And oh boy, it is the most damning evidence that Rouxls is no idiot to be trifled with.

To the left of Seam’s shop, there can be found a little group of former puzzle-makers that used to live at Card Castle, until they were fired and replaced with Rouxls Kaard. They are now all out of a job, and are just barely scraping by since the Spade King didn’t give them any severance pay. However, Rouxls Kaard offered them a way to get money--by selling the tutorials he made.

These tutorials go over TP, stats, information about Susie, Ralsei,  and Kris. Rouxls Kaard has never once met any of the players yet--and he knows everything about them. He knows about stats. He knows the world is a game.

HOW??

In addition, when you talk to Rouxls in his shop, he calls you three the Heroes of Legend. He is well aware of the Angel’s Prophecy. He knows.

Whenever any character in the world of Undertale & Deltarune knows that the world is a game, it is an instant red-flag. It goes to show that they know much more than they let on. Flowey and Sans are big examples of this in Undertale. Pure hearted, dorky idiots that we trust earlier in the game--but wind up seeing the real side of them later on.

...So why should we treat Rouxls any differently?

Point #6: The “Control Crown”

Something that I immediately thought was kind of weird, was the fact that Rouxls Kaard was able to control the K. Round with a “Control Crown” device. If he is so stupid, how was he able to create a full on mechanical device that can brainwash a life-form into being violent/cause it to triple in size?! That is genius material right there!

But things start to take on a much darker side when you begin to look at the subtext of this realization, which I will get to in a moment...

First of all, Seam claimed these exact words.

The remaining king was the Spade King-- as the King of Hearts, Diamonds, and Clubs are seen to be locked up in the Dungeon. Therefore, the Spade King put the Knight, and his strange son into power. IF it were the Spade King in power, the dialogue box WOULD have said “himself”. Therefore, the Knight, and his strange son were put in place to control the kingdom. And who are they?

Gaster/Rouxls Kaard, and Lancer.

Evidence to back this up:

Lancer calls Rouxls his “Lesser Dad”. And Rouxls calls Lancer, his Strange little darling/son.

The Spade King is not in charge. During his boss-fight, he states that he obeys the word of the Knight.

If you observe more of Lancer’s dialogue in the scene right before the gang enters Card Castle, he states that his dad, (Spade King), recently forced his troops to listen to Lancer instead. Therefore, Lancer is by all respects actually second in command to the Knight.

One of Rouxls main interests is...Lawmaking. Even though he is just supposedly an innocent Duke of Puzzles.

Another one of Rouxls main interests is...Cages, and long strolls in the dungeon... 

There are innocent puzzle-makers locked up in the Prison who are terrified--they were arrested for the simple act of making a puzzle without a license. HM, I wonder who could have possibly locked them up? *Wink wink nudge nudge*

And what ties this all together, is perhaps the most obscure, tiniest detail that no one would have likely observed on a first play-through. If you go to the first floor of Card Castle and click the description tablet next to the elevator to the Prison, it claims that the Prison used to just be a Basement Which Just Happened to Have a Lot of Cages. This is backed up by the caged animals in the basement, who say that they miss the “good old days” when they used to be the only ones there in cages, and not a bunch of people behind bars.

In summary, Rouxls is locking up a bunch of innocent people, and playing nice to our faces. He IS the knight. And he is not to be underestimated.

Point #7: Rouxls’ Plan is Already Set in Place

The part where this theory gets a little dark, ties back to my mentioning of the control crown earlier.

If you observe the throne room, it looks like it was recently torn apart in a sort of...conflict.

Why was the Spade King the only king left un-caged to begin with? Why wasn’t he locked up too?

Well...Rouxls Kaard needed someone to put him in charge. But not only that—he needed a scapegoat. Someone to blame. Someone to be “The Bad Guy” for the Heroes to fight.

The Spade King...is actually innocent. He is obeying the Knight, because he is being controlled by a Control Crown. The throne room is in ruins because the Spade King likely fought against this at first, but Rouxls won and successfully put the Spade King under his command. I thought it was strange how the King was so...violent. So irredeemably evil, and even murderous toward his own son Lancer. Yes, it could be argued that this is indeed his true personality, that he is a complete, abusive jerk. But, the whole ending battle of Deltarune chapter 1 feels so...set up in a way? It feels so starkly good vs evil, black and white. Almost like a play.

And oh boy. I think I was onto something.

If you pay close attention to the fight with the Spade King, there is a brief moment at the beginning where he is completely shrouded in shadow. Except. For. His. Crown. It glows stark white in comparison to himself. Like a Chekov’s Gun if you will.

And even more interesting, in the supposed good/pacifist ending, the Spade King is locked up in Prison, the other three kings are still locked up in cages, everyone else is freed, and Rouxls and Lancer now have full control of the kingdom...

Guys. We just played right into Gaster’s hands.

Point #8: Seam Knows that Rouxls is the Knight...

The final observation that genuinely makes me convinced in this theory, is a small detail I noticed at the end of the Pacifist run of Deltarune. Once you have beaten the game, and all of the prisoners are freed, everyone comes to celebrate at Card Castle for your victory. Everyone, except for Seam. That is because Seam knows what the “Strange Knight” did to Jevil. He knows who the Strange Knight is. And he knows what the Knight’s true intentions are.

Point #9: Extra Tidbits I noticed:

When compared to the other denizens of card castle, Rouxls seems out of place. He is the one vaguely humanoid character among a bunch of card and chess themed Darkners. 

His puzzle is... too easy.

Rouxls is oddly excited about overthrowing the king/taking his place. 

Rouxls is well versed in calligraphy of all things. (Relation to fonts + letters.)

Rouxls “sparkles” have an odd resemblance to the shining save states...?

He makes pop culture references, such as ones seen here and here. Could just be random throwaway jokes, but often times more “aware” characters such as Sans and Papyrus are keen on breaking the fourth wall at times/making references to relate with the audience.

His hair looks strangely out of place. Especially the hairline which is really receded to an unnatural degree on the left side. It’s a wig guys...

He gets a suspiciously new position for no reason at all. In any normal situation, he would be extremely unqualified for it if he were as stupid as he makes himself out to be.

Rouxls is literally wearing armor, akin to a medieval knights.

If you pay close attention, Rouxls has a few very subtle similar speech patterns to Gaster. They both occasionally repeat words twice. They both use the words wonderful and truly a lot, etc.

When Kris and the gang beat the K. Round, Rouxls said it was just to test their abilities.

Rouxls theme has leitmotifs from Gaster’s theme.

End of discussion. Deltarune’s finale is legit going to be Gaster getting his wig snatched.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Elland Road in Leeds, UK - May 29, 1982 (Part-2)

Fan Stories

“We got a coach from my home town (about 2 hours from memory) and drank an ocean of lager on the way, by the time we got there we needed the toilet so badly we could have exploded! We got into the stadium and waited for the first band of the day. Soon enough a not very well known (to me) American band came on called Heart. They weren't bad but did nothing for me. Then came The Teardrop Explodes who tried and who I reckoned did quite well despite the flying bottles of liquid being hurled at them from the crowd. After them was Joan Jett complete with Blackhearts who got the crowd going with "I Love Rock'n'Roll" mainly because Brian appeared at the side of the stage with his daughter to have a look. Eventually after a long wait the stage lights dimmed and a strange cranking sound started up and then you were suddenly aware of the drum beat to Flash thumping out and spotlights chasing around the stadium. This went on for a minute or so and the excitement was unbearable. All of a sudden in an explosion of smoke, lights, guitars, drums... Brian, John and Roger are there blasting out the opening part of The Hero. Seconds later in a gleaming white leather jacket out runs Freddie and it begins... A moment I will never forget along with many others from Queen shows since and before it. I can't say which show was my favourite as I loved them all but that moment WAS Queen, the sheer power, the anticipation, the fantastic musical ability and above all else the way they gave people what they crave more than anything... wonderful memories.” - whiteman

“29th May 1982 - a really nice warm day. We only lived a few miles away so walked down to Elland Road - I can't believe it - Queen live in my home town at the home of the greatest football team in the country (well maybe not now!). Got to the ground early and were allowed in by security, such a relaxed atmosphere. Saw band's soundcheck - great! So hot sun, never went behind stadium roofs. Got best suntan I have ever had! Heard Teardrop Explodes - not bad. Then you are aware of the beat of flash thumping out around the stadium, the smoke rises and bang - they are on! The greatest gig I have ever seen from the greatest live band in history. God bless you, Brian, Roger and John. Rest in peace, Freddie - we will never forget.” - Michael Quine

“This was my second ever gig, the first being Rory Gallagher the year before (I am sure I once read that Rory was one of Brian May's favourite guitarists). Anyway, being only 14 and not yet in the habit of getting off my face at gigs,I can remember that day very clearly. I am convinced I saw someone throw a hamburger at Julian Cope (Teardrop Explodes were going down like a lead balloon), and just as Julian was opening his gob to sing, he CAUGHT IT IN HIS MOUTH. A huge cheer went up, then they stomped off. Somebody, possibly Queen's manager, came on and told everbody to behave. I also remember a fan getting on stage and Freddie expertly rolling him off the stage. I didnt like the Hot Space album much but was chuffed they were still a hard rock band. I bought the next edition of Kerrang mag and the write up of the gig said STUNNING. Great memory.” - Edwin

“I was 15 years old in 1982 when I attended my first ever concert. Fortunately for me, it was QUEEN's show at Leeds AFC ground in the North of England. I remember when my ticket arrived in the post, possibly 2-3 months before the concert, as was often the case in those days. I stuck my ticket on a cork notice board in my bedroom and could barely contain my excitement over the coming weeks. Every morning, I would wake up and look at the yellow ticket, wishing the days away. I imagined everything that could go wrong would. Queen would cancel the gig, I would break my leg, the family pet would die on the morning of the concert and it would be too insensitive of me to go, the transport wouldn't turn up or would break down, there would be a pile up on the motorway, I'd lose my ticket en route, etc, etc. As it turned out, May 29th 1982 was a hot and sunny day, perfect weather for an outdoor gig. I was CRAZY about Queen and had been since the age of 9 but I really didn't know what to expect on that day. Myself and three friends took a coach organised by my Dad's company from Lancashire across the M62 motorway to Leeds. Our excitement began to really take a hold when we arrived at the football ground and we followed the droves of people towards the turnstiles. To me, this was something on a really big scale and I could already hear the hum of the crowd inside. Not really believing that we were actually about to witness a Queen concert, we found our seats on the West Stand, offering a great view of the stage. I remember marvelling at Queen's new lighting rig and the equipment that adorned the stage, shining in the afternoon sunshine. The ground was almost full at this point and the pitch was heaving with people. The atmosphere was relaxed as people bathed in the sunshine. I remember two guys climbing the fence from the stand and attempting to get a better spot by running into the crowd and losing themselves on the pitch. Their efforts were in vain however as they were quickly located and ejected back into the stand by two security guards. We bought some black Hot Space tour shirts (I wore mine with pride until it literally fell apart) and a programme from a vendor inside the ground and waited for the first band to take the stage. A guy near us shouted and punched his way through Heart's set and then left just as they vacated the stage. Obviously not a Queen fan! The Teardrop Explodes suffered at the hands of the Queen congregation and found themselves battling against a shower of bottles and assorted missiles. Other than that, I don't really remember much about the support bands. I think that Bow Wow Wow were billed to play (an odd choice) but I can't recall if they actually turned up. No matter, we were about to witness what is still one of the best gigs I have ever attended.

As the dusk descended upon us, the giant floodlights were extinguished one by one and the memory of the roar that followed still sends shivers down my spine. Dry ice drifted across the heads of the crowd on the pitch as the intro tape of Flash thumped out of the PA and the strange 'grating' noises added to the recording created a foreboding atmosphere. Two of our party were on the pitch and to this day remember their chests thumping in unison to the powerful rhythm. A sea of hands clapped in perfect time to the beat. To me, this was already an amazing experience. And then the big moment. Freddie, resplendent in dazzling white made his entrance to The Hero and the blaze of the lights. An apt number to start with. Before he had even sung a note, the audience were locked tightly in the palm of his hand. Such an entrance, such a showman. "You're a F***in amazing crowd", he exclaimed after the first rush. The beginning of the gig is, in truth, my strongest memory of the show itself. In particular, the "Flash!!!" vocals cutting through the night air with so much volume. I recall being shocked at the sheer power of Queen's performance and the clarity of the huge sound they harnessed. Morgan Fisher's keyboards during 'Action This Day' sounded bright and hypnotic. Freddie's intro to Fat Bottomed Girls caused quite a response too; "the bigger the t*t the better it is!". I also remember the follow spots darting wildly over the crowd during 'Tie Your Mother Down' and everybody going crazy. Oddly enough (and this is something I still swear by to this day), I was in a Maths lesson at school the following Monday and I swear I had a flashback of this and could actually 'hear' the music being re-played in my head. It was a weird moment and life was never quite the same again. We talked endlessly about our experience for months to come and one of my biggest regrets is not jumping on a train to attend the filmed Milton Keynes show a week later. Having been to so many gigs since, I can honestly say that there is nobody who has been able to top Queen live; I was lucky enough to see the band five times between 1982 and 1986, including Wembley Stadium and their last show at Knebworth. I think that my personal favourite was their performance at the NEC in Birmingham on 'The Works' tour in 1984. People were literally stood there with open mouths, unable to believe how good they were. Leeds is definitely up there too. I recall Brian May stating that he thought it was one of their best performances ever. I can't argue with that Mr May. I've often wondered if an audience shot cine film or even just photographs exist from the Leeds gig. It would be a dream come true to see my memories come to life again.” - Keith Lambert

“I can't believe it was 30 years ago that I attended my first ever gig at Elland Rd Leeds in 1982. I was 17 years old at the time, I was into Queen when I first heard seven seas of rhye, which was so different to all the other stuff around at the time. I'd heard them live on tv, and had Live Killers. Also I used to buy bootleg cassettes of all of their tours from 74 onwards. But nothing could prepare me for that day. They should have played this gig at Old Trafford Manchester, my home town, so I was gutted when the residents opposed it. Tickets were very easy to come by, believe it or not, cos Queen were not seen as a relevant band at that time. Also touring the Hot Space album didn't seem to excite anybody. So, Billy no mates had to go on his own, haha. My memory is a bit hazy, but I will try my best. I got to the ground about 1pm, and was lucky enough to have a pitch ticket. I got right to the front, well about 10 yards from the stage, slightly off centre and to the right. If I told you I never moved from that spot all day and never spoke to anyone, would you believe me? One of the reasons for this is the rivalry between Manchester and Leeds, also I was only a kid, haha. Not sure who was first on, probably Teardrop Explodes, Julian Cope, I remember while they were throwing bottles at him, picked one up and started hitting himself with it and stretching his arms out saying he was an Argentinian bomber or something. It was during the Falklands war, remember. Then Heart came on, not really my cup of tea, and I had a lie down on the tarpaulin and tried to go to sleep. Then Joan Jett, who was better than the rest, but not really exciting. During the band changes, I remember the roadies polishing Roger's drum kit and climbing up ropes and those threepronged lights, which before I saw them move I thought they were cameras. Queen took ages to come on. From my recollection and I might be wrong, they didn't come on until 10pm and went off around Midnight. I heard later that they got fined so much per minute for being late on stage but they wanted to wait until it was dark for the lighting rig to take effect. If you watch the Bowl DVD you will notice it was light when they came on stage there. But that was being filmed by Channel 4. But it was absolutely pitch black when they came on stage at Leeds. Then the floodlights went off, smoke started to appear and strange noises started, which I can't describe, sorry. Then Flash's Theme started, it was loud, very, very loud. I knew they were supposed to be loud and this was the part that scared me. The ground was thumping, the bass just pumping away. The these 'cameras' flicked into life, with men on them. The intro seemed to last for a very long time. Then BANG Brian appears with the first chord of The Hero and a flash of the biggest white light I've ever seen and will never forget and the absolute loudest noise I have ever heard just hit me. The intro was quite in comparrision to this. When I play Live at the Bowl, I tend to repeat the intro and The Hero, virtually every time, because it was definitely a life changing experience for me at that moment, just incredible. Then Freddie appeared in brilliant white again, I was that close, I swear His hair seemed blue because of the mass of white lights. His voice, so loud, so clear, honestly, I can't describe that moment properly. I heard Freddie swear, saw Roger spitting, quite a lot, over his drum kit and onto the stage, I was bewildered.

When they did Play The Game and also Somebody To Love, when Freddie was doing the intros for them and it will sound strange to those that weren't there, but I didn't know what the songs were. I thought they was new unreleased songs. The reason was they was so loud, It kind of deafened you and then kind of sunk in what they were about to play. Then the rest of the gig flew by and I was singing my head off. Everyone was, but you could only hear Queen. Again my memory may be wrong, but I read afterwards that Queen had paid for residents to move out of their homes for the day. These houses were monitored and they said that the sound was like Concorde flying 10 feet over your head... Yep I will buy that. For all that and for all the bad things said about it, The Works tour, which I went to all the 4 origional England gigs they had planned, was the best tour they ever did. The set list was fantastic and the lighting rig was incredible. Not as loud, I also add. I also saw them in Manchester, 86. They had to be off stage by 10pm and noise levels had to be adhered to. I was too far awy to see them and the screens didn't come on because it was too light. Also I couldn't here them properly. I've watched the mMagic Tour gigs on DVD etc, but for me, that was the poorest tour they ever did. So that's it, hopefully some of you can confirm my bad memory, or say I'm wrong. Hopefully not bored you all. But it was the greatest musical experience I ever witnessed and I am proud I was there.” - Paul Wakefield

Part-1

(x)

[daisylincs]

Soulmates can be romantic or platonic, met early on in life or well into the grey years, male or female, few or many - the only thing Skye has always known for sure is that she doesn't have any.

Most people have two, or even three or four or five, right from the moment of their birth; denoted as different-coloured lines shimmering on their wrists.

Skye might have had lines there when she was a baby, but by the time she's old enough to understand what their absence means, they're long gone.

(Soulmate lines, they say, can only fade for two reasons - one, if the person the bond represents passes away, or two, if they change so completely that the bond doesn't recognise them anymore.)

Skye doesn't know why her lines faded, and she doesn't really want to. What she does know, though? She desperately wants more.

There is no feeling more lonely than a bare wrist, than the knowledge that nobody cares enough about her to even think about loving her - because no matter how despairingly she wishes for it, none of her many foster parents or siblings show up as lines on her wrist.

Eventually, she starts thinking it's her fault - because how can't it be? Even some other orphans have lines on their wrists.

She starts to accept it, eventually. She's broken, unlovable. Nothing to be done about it.

So she runs away, joins a band of people who'll never see her face, and tells herself she believes in their mission.

(She even meets a boy there, and he's as broken and distanced as she is - more, even. Still, she can't help hoping that they might find something in each other...

When nothing shows up on either of their wrists, she persuades herself she isn't disappointed.)

She has all but given up hope on soulmate lines, whatsoever, when the door of her van is pulled open mid-speech, and her whole life is thrown upside-down.

Her first soulmate line appears not long after, when she rushes into the arms of the little British scientist who would have thrown herself off the plane to save them all - a slight burn on the inside of her wrist as she is hugging Jemma tight, and when she glances down a moment later, there is a single line there.

It's a warm hazel colour, like Jemma's eyes, and when Jemma feels the matching sting on her own arm, she glances up at Skye, her eyes crinkling in a smile.

Her line, she is shocked and deeply pleased to note, is a deep purple on her friend's skin.

A couple of weeks later, when she and Fitzsimmons are singing Moana at the tops of their voices one movie night, she feels another small burn on her wrist.

This line is light blue, like Fitz's eyes.

She receives her next line the first time she hugs Coulson - there are tears in her eyes, tears blurring her entire soul as he confirms her worst childhood fears.

But she doesn't miss the slight burn on the inside of her wrist.

When she looks down, the line is the same dark blue colour as his favourite suit.

The next soulmate line catches her completely by surprise, though, in retrospect, she doesn't know why.

Before she is shot, she has three lines on her wrist; blue blue hazel.

When she wakes up, there is another there, deep black and somehow steady and reassuring.

She doesn't have to look to know that there will be a purple line on Agent May's wrist.

She never receives Ward's line, though she tries, working to get as close to him as possible.

(Later, after the reveal, after the fall, she's glad about that, and disgusted at herself.

Ward's line, she thinks, would have been the same sickly grey as his prison suit.)

The months pass, and she is content with her life at SHIELD, with her four soulmate lines - four more than she ever thought she'd have.

Then one morning, she wakes up to another, bright and golden as daylight.

She knows immediately who it signifies - only Trip, after all, could be behind something that was so essentially sunshine personified.

(When that line fades, she spends many a cold night in her quarantine cell waking up and reaching for it, then breaking into wracking sobs when she inevitably found its comforting, warm tingle missing.)

She almost misses it when her next line burns itself onto her wrist - she is readying herself for her first jump (her first non-Lola jump, that is) and Hunter, bless his secretly sweet soul, is helping her with her parachute’s straps. 

When he steps away with one of his signature quippy remarks, there is another line on his wrist, this one a warm, rich amber. 

Skye wonders where that colour comes from, but that night, when Hunter toasts to their successful mission with a bottle of Bendeery’s, she realises. 

She’s amused, but also touched, oddly - because the little lighter flecks in the amber of the line are a very similar colour to Bobbi’s hair. 

(She thinks that everything about that line suits Hunter, really - sarcastic, standoffish and rebellious at first glance, but compassionate and deeply caring once you got to know him.) 

Bobbi’s line makes itself known at a much more dramatic time - Skye is terrified, her body shaking from the inside out, and holding onto the steadiness of May’s black line on her wrist for strength as she fights this not-her-SHIELD agent. 

There is a shot, Bobbi screams, Skye holds up her hands and somehow blocks it - but as she does, she feels a burn on the inside of her wrist, in time with the genuine no!! that flashes in Bobbi’s eyes. 

It is a long, long time before she gets to look at that line, but when she does, it is a deep emerald green - stately and beautiful, but with echoes of great power behind it. 

Much like Bobbi, she thinks.

(Later, in colder years when she can’t hear Bobbi and Hunter’s laughter and bickering anymore, she likes to sit down in the quiet of the common room and brush her fingers over their lines, side by side and still strong against her skin.

They’re still out there, she knows, and it is a comfort.) 

But before that, she is in Afterlife, and she wakes up to a deep red line on her wrist one day - red like the reddest roses, like love immediate and ever-persevering.

She thinks it’s her mother’s line, and her heart has never felt happier. 

(It is only later, hugging him in a cold SHIELD corridor before sending him off to be lost to her forever, that she realises it was her father’s line all along. 

The line fades when his memory does, but on particularly good days, she thinks she sees the faintest shimmer of a rose-coloured line there, as though just a hint of love was carried through despite the TAHITI program.

She loves him all the more for it.)

Mack’s line comes somewhere in those trying weeks, when both her parents are gone and she just needs a partner - he is there for her. 

And one night, so is his line, a gentle forest green. 

(She doesn’t get that particular cosmic joke until she meets Yo-Yo and Turtleman becomes a thing, and then she laughs so hard that she nearly splits her sides.) 

Lincoln is the first romantic soulmate she gets a line for - and she notices it, cliché as it is, right after their first kiss. 

It is apt, though, seeing as she’s trying to protect him, and he’s trying to protect her, and they’re full of grand announcements about how much they mean to each other and... yeah, it’s kind of a mess.

But when he’s with her again, and times are happier, she teases him mercilessly about the colour of his line - a crackly yellow-white, like lightning according to him, (according to her, it’s like popcorn, as an eternal cosmic punishment for that terrible popcorn joke he had to go and make when they first met.) 

She even gains a shiny silver line in the middle of a mission when Joey jumps in front of a stream of bullets for her. 

Things are good. Things are so, so good. 

Then, Hive. 

When Lincoln’s line fades from her wrist, in perfect time with the flicker of the little dot of the quinjet on her screen, it is like her entire world fades to grey. 

Everything she’s always believed? It’s still true, only worse than even she ever thought.

It’s not that she’s unloveable - it’s that she should be. 

(Just look at the deaths she’s caused, so shortly after their lines appeared on her wrist! Just look at all the danger she’s put her friends, her team, her family in -) 

She leaves. She leaves to protect them.

And as she crouches in her van, or in dark alleys, she screams at the lines on her wrist, “go away go away go away! Stop caring about me, I don’t deserve it.” 

But they never do, and slowly, slowly, she returns back to their source. 

Elena’s is the first new line she receives - as bold and bright an orange as that favourite striped sweater of hers she used to love wearing around base. 

Daisy hasn’t seen it in a while, but when the line appears on her wrist, it feels like a tangible reminder that she hasn’t lost everything. Not yet.

She returns, and though they are forced to live through the two living hells that are the Framework and the Kree-ruled future, they get through it. 

(They are a soul family, after all. They have to.

And whenever she fears for any of their safety, Daisy just has to touch the lines still standing out against her skin to know that they’re still okay out there.) 

Then Coulson’s line starts to fade.

She doesn’t notice it at first, since it’s just a slight blackening at the edges, but after he collapses on them, she does, and it's shattering. He won’t even let them try to save him! 

But she won’t accept that. She will not lose another soul line. 

Instead, she... gains another? 

She isn’t even sure when exactly it happened, when his stupid jokes started to become endearing instead of just dumb, when his ridiculous fascination with everyday things became almost sweet - but when they’re on a spaceship shooting up to meet the Kree together, she reaches for his hand.

And she feels the now-familiar burn of a line on the inside of her wrist.

To her amusement, his line is bright yellow - lemon yellow. He blushes furiously at that, but she laughs it off. 

Her laughter fades fast when not one, but two lines disappear within a few days of that.

Fitz’s is first, and her heart stops as she clutches onto her wrist. Yes, a lot has happened between them lately, but she never wanted him dead, and he... he was her second line -

Then his line reappears. 

It’s faint, and pulsing in and out, but it’s there. 

(She and Jemma both cling to that in the year that comes, searching through the dark, lonely depths of space in a desperate attempt to find him and steady that line.) 

When Coulson’s line fades, she thinks it might be the worst pain of her life - but she watches May’s line, and how it stays ever-steady, ever-strong on her wrist.

She draws her own strength from it.

And they get through it, until eventually, they are there: one final mission. 

She never does get a line for LMD Coulson, despite the hell of an emotional ride it was to see him again. 

It’s fitting that way, though. He agrees.

(That doesn’t stop her from signing her name in purple ink onto his wrist when they send him off on his world travels - because even if it isn’t quite the same, she will always care about him.

He stares at her name for a long, long time, then pulls her into a tight hug. And she understands.) 

The next line she gets surprises her almost more than its timing does - it’s a time loop, for crying out loud! 

But she wakes up after the umpteenth repeat, and it is there, solid and blue and so unbelievably Sousa that she could kiss him. 

(She does, actually.) 

The line that hurts the most of any she’s ever received is one that fades mere moments after she receives it, though. It is a regal, midnight blue, and it appears in a fierce burn when Jiaying steps in front of Malick for her. 

She watches the line fade as she cradles her mother’s hair, and through the tears that blur her world, she manages to be grateful that she got to see what her birth line would have looked like, at least. 

She knows that Jiaying did love her unconditionally now, at least. 

And eventually, eventually, a new line appears where Jiaying’s was once cradled - this one is orange and fiery, with all the force of its owner’s powers, and with all of her natural love for the nebulas she explores so keenly. 

It isn’t a replacement - it won’t ever be. 

But it’s a blessing of a different kind. 

And - the Daisy Johnson who watches the stars with her sister and her new love is a far cry from the one who believed she was unloveable all those years ago. She has a whole ream of soulmate lines now (including those three, lemon amber and green, that she still checks every night before they turn out the lights, just to make sure they’re still alive and well.

They are.)

Watching those stars, Daisy thinks that, ultimately, soulmates aren't born, they're made.

And she’s made herself the best soulmates she could ever have dreamed of.

(Daisy Johnson Soulmate AU headcanons for the @agentsofchallenges AoS March Madness challenge! <3)

[bloomvalyria]

I received a request for some sparxshipping, so I thought I’d give you some super old sparxshipping content! Since I’ve been getting so many questions about the whole “where did baltor go at the end of broken pieces?” debacle, I thought I’d share the idea I’d originally settled on back in 2016/2017 before scrapping it. It was a good idea in theory, but the deeper I explored it, everything very quickly fell apart. Nonetheless, please enjoy this scrapped rough draft material!

The room was oddly reminiscent of his pocket realm, slightly easing my tense muscles. It was enormous with a towering ceiling and tall walls lined with grand wooden bookcases. Dust coated the furniture and lightly lilted through the air. A great window overlooking the surrounding woods was perched on the other side of the room. The clear glass allowed an ample amount of moonlight to pour onto the hardwood floors. My gaze however was locked on a different light source flickering in my peripheral vision.

My Dragon Fire flared when I turned to look at the bright orange glow. Despite my distance, I could feel the intensity of the flames dancing in the fireplace. Its warmth combined with the pale moonlight gave the room an eerie yet annoyingly romantic vibe. Two stiff-looking arm chairs loomed before the fire, creating elongated shadows that stretched across the floor.

Easily able to sense the dark presence awaiting my arrival in the seat furthest away, I froze. My feet refused to take another step, petrified at the thought of approaching my host.

You can still turn back, my subconscious hastily whispered. He betrayed you. He lied to you. You owe him nothing.

That last statement prickled me. In spite of everything that had unfortunately transpired between the two of us, I owed everything to him. Without him, I never would have found Oritel and Miriam, nor would I have been able to revive Sparx. Even after our fight on Linphea, he’d still helped me achieve the one thing I’d wanted since discovering who I truly was. I may not have wanted to, but I owed it to him to at least hear him out.

Taking a silent, steadying breath I continued my approach to the ominous chair.

“No one would blame you.”

I nearly lost my footing as a familiar, deep voice echoed through the air. Coming to a halt, I felt the strength of the dark presence grow, fully announcing himself. A shadowy figure of a man lifted itself out of the furthest chair, startling me. He was shrouded in darkness until he stepped closer to the fireplace.

Baltor’s sharp features appeared more prominent in the harsh light of the flames. His piercing grey eyes stared deeply into the burning embers, and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if it was on purpose. It was an odd sight to see him without his signature coat. Then again, his entire ensemble was much more relaxed than I was used to seeing. His normally regal attire was replaced with a simple pair of dark trousers and boots, along with a half-buttoned up, white-collared shirt. I had to mentally chide myself in order to stop staring.

“To be frank, I half-expected you not to come.” Baltor continued. He moved his arm up to rest against the mantle, attempting to look nonchalant.

I glowered at him. “I don’t remember inviting you to snoop through my thoughts.”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. I hated that it nearly made me swoon. “I don’t need to use our connection to read your thoughts, Bloom. You remember what I told you about your eyes.”

An annoyed frown instantly crossed my face as I fought the shiver that arose from hearing him say my name. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, my fingernails dug into my palms. Resisting the urge to throw a punch at him, I decided saying nothing was my only good option. I considered testing my luck, but the dull throbbing that had suddenly emerged in the back of my skull greatly discouraged it.

“I’m more than aware that I’m the last person you want to speak with.” he said, redirecting the conversation. “All I ask is that we sit down and discuss this.”

“I’m not sure what else needs to be discussed.” I replied, deadpan. The darkness took over much quicker than I’d anticipated. “You knowingly faked your own death. You didn’t contact me at all for months to let me know that you were really alive. Then, you magically reappeared wanting to pretend everything was okay. And, when I asked you why you waited so long to find me, you fed me nothing but a string of bullshit lies.” I paused, dramatically. “I don’t believe I missed anything.”

My response was enough to finally pull Baltor’s gaze away from the fire. The concern pooling in his eyes made my stomach twist with butterflies. However, the darkness worming its way deeper into my brain fought viciously to counteract it.

“Bloom,” he said, calmly, “I understand that you’re angry with me. You have every right to be.” To my amazement, he took a daring step in my direction. “But I know that’s not you.”

The throbbing slowly began to subside, to my shock. I wasn’t sure what made it retreat, but I wasn’t going to complain. Regardless of how truthful my outburst was, the guilt that followed was immense.

“Sorry,” I uttered. “It’s been a bit out of control lately, what with the move back here.”

He nodded. “Understandable. This is your home, and you want it to feel like your home. Living on Sparx is certainly going to be an adjustment for you.”

“An adjustment is one way to word it.” I mumbled, quickly growing exhausted. Running a hand through my tousled hair, I slumped into the seat next to the one he’d previously occupied. The leather fabric wasn’t particularly comfortable, but I needed a place to sit down. Baltor followed suit.

For a while, we merely sat there, glancing at each other. Neither of us seemed to know what to say. All of the snarky, clever remarks I’d conjured up in my head had vanished. Every emotion I’d felt over the last year was a swirling melting pot in my chest. I had a million questions for him. For so long I’d been deprived of the answers I so desperately desired, and now that my opportunity to receive them had finally arrived, I was speechless.

Baltor shifted forward in his chair, looking as if he was about to break the never-ending silence. My Dragon Fire sprung to life with adrenaline, warning me that I needed to speak before he did. My irrational fear of how well he could redirect a conversation was too strong.

“Where were you?” I blurted, cutting Baltor off.

A sad gleam sprouted in his eyes. Still, he didn’t answer. I could see the cogwheels turning in his mind, scrambling to muster up a convincing excuse to push my question off till another time.

“Where were you?” I asked again, fury dripping into my voice. My fingers dug into the leather of the arm chair, trying to still their shaking.

Baltor ran a hand down his face, immediately seeming more exhausted than before. Hearing the question aloud seemed to drain him. “Bloom, I know it’s not what you want to hear,” he began, hesitantly. “Nevertheless, I do believe that particular question is one we should wait on discussing.”

Steam poured from my ears. My cheeks burned red with pent up rage. “No!” I shouted, unable to contain myself. “We are not pushing this off anymore! I’m not asking you to do something outlandish, Baltor. I just want to know the truth!”

“I want to tell you, Bloom. Trust me, I do.” Baltor argued. “Considering how you almost crossed into dark territory only a few minutes ago, telling you would only be detrimental.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I could already begin to feel the pads of my fingertips rapidly heat up. “How would that be detrimental? That doesn’t make sense!”

“Bloom, I’m serious.” he warned. “You don’t need to know.”

“Oh, come on, Baltor! What is so difficult about being honest with me? Where could you have been that’s so bad that you’d have to lie to me about it?”

“The Under Realm.”

His interruption made my heart skip a beat. My rage instantly diffused, morphing into a state of shock.

The name sent a chill down my spine as it echoed through my head. Flashes of memories presented themselves front and center, reminding of my time spent there. As always, none of them were pleasant ones.

“What?”  

Baltor clearly didn’t want to continue the conversation; however we both knew I wasn’t just going to drop it after that revelation. “When I found out you were alive, I went to the Under Realm,” he affirmed, slowly dragging out his words.

The thoughts racing through my head were a jumbled, cluttered mess. I kept waiting for my instincts to kick in and react like they usually did. Yet, this time, the longer I sat there I only became more confused.

No logical reason for why he’d be in the Under Realm came to mind. I couldn’t think of any unfinished business he could possibly have there. Even if he did, that still didn’t explain why he’d suddenly decide to act on it when I was in recovery.

Maybe you’re overreacting, my hopeful conscience reasoned. He didn’t say which part of the Under Realm. He could’ve been in Downland for all you know.

I was doubtful. If he’d been in Downland, there was no reason for him to hide it from me. Baltor was well aware of my history with the Under Realm, and if he truly went there, he’d only avoid telling me about it if he went to one particular place. “You were in Shadow Haunt.”

A short sigh slipped past his lips, but no words followed.

White hot anger flashed in my chest. “Baltor, were you in Shadow Haunt?” I asked again, my fury slipping into my voice.

“Yes,” he said. “You broke my curse. I’d hoped to return the favor.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed as the complicated puzzle pieces began to finally make sense. “You went there to try and reverse the effects of Darkar’s curse?”

“It was a long shot,” he indirectly confirmed. “Shadow Haunt seemed the perfect place to, at the very least, begin to search for answers. Since that was where the curse originated, I figured there had to be some information lingering there; possibly somewhere in the wreckage of the palace.”

He suddenly went quiet, acting as if he was finished with his tale.  

“I’m guessing you didn’t find anything?” I inferred, feeling a wave of disappointment.

Baltor shook his head. “I searched for days. I didn’t leave a single stone unturned in that damned place, but there wasn’t a single trace that remained.”

My heart sank in my chest. I knew better than to hope for good news, yet something in me still grabbed onto it. I so desperately wanted to be free of her that I couldn’t help but hope.

“Although, I was able to sense someone else’s magic.”

My gaze flew over to him. A mix of fear and hope twisted my insides. “Who else could be there? It was abandoned. The authorities searched every inch of it to make sure no one was hiding.”

“Well, as it turns out, they didn’t do a particularly thorough job.” He hesitated, looking as if he was debating his next words. “One of Darkar’s minions managed to survive the attack.”

The entire universe came to a halt. Bile rose in my throat.

“I believe you called him Avalon.”

[ymiwritesstuff]

Decaying Promise

So I replayed Three Houses and fell in love with Dimitri once again so I wanted to write this piece. I haven’t been feeling well lately and the lack of sleep may affect this scenario, apologies for that, but I hope you enjoy.

Fire Emblem Three Houses

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Fem!Reader

Summary: A promise made years ago keeps Dimitri somewhat hopeful, despite the screams of his loved ones tormenting him internally.

Notes: Angst, SPOILERS FOR THE BLUE LIONS ROUTE!!

The greenhouse of the monastery bathed in the afternoon sun, the plants and flowers enjoying the blessing they received while surrounded by the light. You found yourself enjoying the warmth the sun provided as you kneeled in front of a certain flower, having just arrived in the greenhouse. Your (E/C) eyes lit up in sheer amazement as you notice that the beautiful white flower in front of you is blooming, having completed its growing process. 

You bring your fingers to the petals, desiring to feel the velvety surface and take in the flower’s delicacy. It practically glittered under the light of the sun and just like you had read, it had a stunning iridescent glow that made it look as if someone had put a spell on it.

“That’s quite beautiful.”

The voice beside you belonged to a person you didn’t even hear or notice coming, which caused you to quickly turn your head towards them, only to notice the Prince himself, carefully looking at the flower you had picked up.

“Dimitri!” You exclaim, placing a hand on your chest and standing up, slightly startled at his sudden appearance. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like this!” Despite your words being anything but rude in nature, the young Prince’s eyes still receive an apologetic glint as he humbly bows. Polite as always. “My apologies. It was not my intention. I simply saw you running here quite enthusiastically and curiosity got the best of me.”

You look at the flower in your and bring it up, desiring to show Dimitri its beauty. “Oh, I was just checking if this flower started to bloom. And as you can see,” You bring your hand closer to him, in order for him to witness the sight before him. “It’s blooming rather beautifully.” A gentle smile decorates your features and a sense of pride latches itself onto you. Usually, gardening was done by more capable people like Dedue and the Professor, and you didn’t have too much experience in the craft, so it was very rewarding to see this special flower bloom under the rays of the sun.

“I must agree, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a flower like this.” Dimitri’s blue eyes carefully examine the plant before him, intrigued by its abnormal appearance and seemingly otherworldly exterior qualities. Though he’d rather not hold flowers in his own hand, fearing they would just fall apart due to his inability to control his own strength, he appreciated their bloom and was more than happy to look at them.

“It’s called Sothis’s Lily. It is said that it was the first flower the Goddess created. Well, according to some legend I don’t know much about.” Stories about the Goddess didn’t grasp your interest too much, as to you they seemed quite silly at times. Still, you couldn’t deny the fact that the flower currently in your hand looked resplendent and special. 

“I see. Well, it certainly looks extraordinary. It wouldn’t surprise me too much if there was some divine power embedded in it,” He says, a slight hint of playfulness and rare sarcasm you didn’t often hear apparent in his pleasant voice. A small chuckle escapes your lips.

“Perhaps. All I can say for sure is that this particular flower is excruciatingly difficult to grow. It’s a miracle we’re even witnessing it in this state!” Having read about this rare flora, you knew the challenges of attempting to grow it the moment you placed the seeds beneath the dirt, and seeing it in front of you, in full bloom, made you happier than ever.

“However apparently, this flower can stay in this prime state for at least five years! Can you believe it?” Dimitri’s eyes widen slightly at your words, a mixture of shock and amazement hitting him. It was no surprise to anyone that flowers generally withered away in a matter of days, so if this supposed rumor was to be true, this lily was truly special.

“Is that so? That is quite impressive, (Name),” He states, gentle smile dancing across his lips. He found your enthusiasm quite amusing, yet oddly admirable. Due to the recent, some quite grim, events at the monastery, the atmosphere had been quite dull and colorless, so seeing someone with this much happiness in them was uplifting for the young Prince.

“Five years is a long time for a flower, but not so much for us. A lot of things can change in such a short amount of time.” With Dimitri’s words comes a breeze of uncertainty and mystery that hits both of you like the cold winds of Faerghus. It was true that no one but perhaps the Goddess herself knows what the future holds and admittedly the thought scared you. There were things that people assumed would happen naturally, like Dimitri becoming the King of the Holy Kingdom, but in the end, even those things weren’t certain.

“We might not see any of our classmates after we leave the Officer’s Academy.”

“You’re right.” Your gaze falls on the ground for a moment as the weight of the ambiguity slowly presses itself against you. You look at Dimitri, your dearest friend, and wonder what the flow of time brings and how it would affect your strong yet so easily breakable relationship. “However, we won’t change.” Dimitri blinks a couple of times, waiting for you to continue your words of determination.

“You know what?” You suddenly say and point at the flower still in your hand with your eyes. “I’m going to keep this flower. No matter what the future holds, we’ll see each other after we graduate. Think of this lily as me. So long as it blooms, I’ll be around and ready to meet you again. And remember, this beauty blooms for a very long time.” A reassuring smile widens the corners of your lips, a playful shimmer glistening in your eyes and fortunately, you notice Dimitri smiling as well.

Your words are rather silly, and you don’t expect him to take them to heart as you are more than certain you will see the man in front of you before the flower has time to even think about withering. However, by then, he is most likely the King of Faerghus and buried in royal duties.

“Sounds like you’re proposing we make a deal.” He chuckles briefly. “Very well then. Let’s promise to reunite after graduation.” Your smile widens at that and you nod, eyes brimming with determination and hope.

“It’s a deal.”

~

The aftermath of the battle was like any other. Enemy soldiers on the ground, laying on top of a pool of blood, the Kingdom troops exhausted but satisfied with the victory. Just like they had been told, (Surname) territory had been taken over by Imperial forces with no challenge. No one was defending the territory during the five years the war had been going on and with a fraction of the Imperial army vanished, the Kingdom Army had reclaimed yet another part of their nation. However, this victory meant little for the King.

When you weren’t present at the highly grim class reunion, Dimitri knew something was amiss. His already unhinged mental state sunk deeper into the dangerous abyss that was his mind and his new obsession, other than killing Edelgard, was finding the very person he had made a crucial deal with all those years ago. 

The (Surname) territory was undefended, empty, no signs of the members of the family anywhere; In the perfect state for an invasion and now that the Imperial soldiers had been disposed of, the atmosphere should have been better, but it wasn’t.

Dimitri searched and searched, looking for the one he cherished, desperately trying to find any evidence of your whereabouts, all the while the merciless demons within him screamed at him. He tried to ignore them, because finding you was the only thing that mattered in this very moment, however at the same time he was afraid. Afraid that he would suddenly hear your voice in his head.

“There’s no sign of her, Your Highness.” A kingdom knight said to him, having searched the entire area and returning to his King with a sorrowful look upon his face

“Keep searching!” He said, voice filled with anger, impatience, and underlying sadness and hopelessness. With heavy steps, he headed towards the manor where the noble family would spend most of their days in, a place Dimitri himself had been in many times before. Before his mind hungered for revenge.

He had to find you, his mind let go of his desire to avenge his family for this brief moment as his vision was clouded. The last bits of his sanity he didn’t notice were hanging onto him, dependent on your reunion. The broken man stepped into the manor, heading straight for his beloved’s room and ignoring the concerned Professor most likely following him.

Despite saying to himself he wanted to see your face once more, in reality, the thought scared him. Should he find you in this mansion of yours, you would most likely be but a decaying corpse, and even more than not finding you, he was terrified of seeing you in front of him with no life left in you. He tried to push the thought away, but it was stabbing him, burying its knife into him deeper than any other. He was in pain, and the screams were getting louder the closer he got to your room.

The door opened with hesitation, an overwhelming anxiety rampaging all around Dimitri and inside him as he stepped in, expecting and also secretly hoping to find an empty, lifeless room that was nothing but a decaying memory of his childhood. His mind was a mess, much like it had been for the past five years but the desperate desire to see you and you wonderful smile with his now dull blue eyes kept him partially sane. It gave him hope. But that hope was reduced to dust and blown away the moment he looked around the room. Because what he saw, was far worse than the sight of your corpse. Because what lied in front of him, on the cold floor, wasn’t a corpse at all.

The thing that completely broke him, surrounded by the grueling silence that was only broken by his desperate, painful sobs,

Was a certain, white lily, withered away.

[kmomof4]

Chosen, Protected, & Saved Ch. 3

We made it!!! It’s the final chapter of Chosen, Protected, & Saved for the @captainswanmoviemarathon​!!! Thank you all for the trust you placed in me after last weeks cliffhanger. Everything gets tied up in this chapter, happy ending ahoy, and I hope y'all enjoy it!!! Thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me!! I’d love to know what you think!!

All the love and hugs to @profdanglaisstuff​ and @hollyethecurious​ for their beta services, brainstorming sessions, and encouragement!! Thank you so much, ladies!!! This fic wouldn't be here without either of you!!! *MWAH* 😘

Summary: A little boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer. Demonic forces will stop at nothing to possess it. It’s up to Killian Jones, PI to find him and save him before it’s too late.

Rating: T

Words: 4253 of 18.4K

Tags: Inspired by The Golden Child, Kidnapping, Magic, Minor Character Death, Temporary Major Character Death, True Loves Kiss

ao3 fic link ch link Prologue on Tumblr Ch1 on Tumblr Ch2 on Tumblr

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Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 3

Killian finally came to a stop in front of a warehouse near Boston harbor in the early hours of the morning. Even traveling down state roads and the interstate in the middle of the night, he lost count of the number of frenzied honks he heard as Bubo flew only about fifteen feet above the road and about that same distance in front of him. It made it wonderfully convenient to not have to worry about losing him.

Now that he was here, he scanned the building in front of him, taking note of the surroundings. The large, imposing structure reminded him of the slasher flicks he used to watch as a teenager. The kind of places that the audience groaned or shouted at the hero to not go in. A chill tried to work its way down his spine. He put a firm lid on it reminding himself that he had to find Henry and bring him home. Going in with no foreknowledge of this particular building or backup, it was important for him to identify potential hiding places, entrances and exits, security cameras and the like. It was times like these that he thanked God for the experience he gained as a beat cop then detective with the Boston PD before he left the force and struck out on his own as a PI. That background would surely be useful in getting to Henry.

Not seeing anything that stood out, and making a mental note of where Bubo had flown up to the building and disappeared, he checked that his piece was ready to rock in case of trouble and got out of his car. Securing the Glock in the shoulder holster he wore, he crouched in the shadow of the vehicle before he ran the fifteen or so feet to the side of the structure. Turning toward the lone door, he could feel the dark magic covering it. He could almost see the magic, even in the darkness, a slightly shimmering cascade that he hesitated to touch. Pushing back his exhaustion and gathering his courage, he reached out to touch the door and was amazed when his hand passed right through the magical barrier. The dark magic chilled him to the bone, but he turned the knob and found it unlocked. He figured the Dark One must not be too concerned about anyone getting past his magic.

As he opened the door, something oddly familiar awoke just under his skin. A humming that was strangely comforting. He remembered feeling something like it in the split second before his magic saved Emma underneath the cathedral the night before. Could it be my magic? Closing the door behind him, he took care to stay in the shadows. The main space of the warehouse was completely empty, but he didn’t want to risk being seen by any cameras that might be hidden by the shadows near the top of the building. He stayed by the wall and made his way around to where the offices appeared to be on the other side. As he got closer, the humming became a full fledged vibration. A rustle from up above drew his attention as Bubo flew down. He held his arm out like he’d seen raptor trainers do and Bubo landed neatly on his offered limb. He wasn’t prepared for the sharp talons though, as they pierced the leather of his jacket. It was all he could do to limit the scream that wanted to emerge to a loud pain-filled hiss. His magic started to crackle at the ends of his fingers as he continued stealthily toward the offices. Bubo was not thrilled with the magic sparking so close to where he sat, so he took off again.

Killian finally came to the first office, but as he peered in through the open door, he saw nothing of interest. As he moved toward the second, lightning started to spark from his hands. Killian inhaled sharply as he saw that the door was closed and the sheen of more magic caught his eye. Henry was obviously being held inside. The disquiet he felt in his spirit only intensified as he got closer to the door. For someone who was so desperate to keep him away from Henry and this case, there was a disconcerting lack of trouble actually getting to the boy. Killian pulled his gun out. He wasn’t sure it’d be terribly effective against the Dark One, if he also happened to be in the office, but it certainly helped him feel better. Not quite so vulnerable. He may have his own magic, but he didn’t have the first idea of how to use it, especially not in a situation like this.

He looked in the window of the door to the office. On the other side of the room, he could see a small boy asleep on the floor, covered by nothing but his own clothing. Killian’s heart nearly broke before an anger he had never known completely overtook him. He held his left hand up to the door, and a surge of blue magic completely obliterated the magical shield and destroyed the door as well. The jarring racket was enough of a shock without the startled cry both from Henry and the other boy in the room. Killian hadn’t noticed the teenaged guard asleep on the plush sofa behind the desk when he looked through the window. Another surge of rage filled him at the mistreatment Henry had suffered at the hands of the Dark One and his teenaged cohorts. Before he could even think, another surge of magic pulsed from his open left hand toward the youth. He still held the Glock in his right, but in a corner of his mind, he was glad it was magic going off and not the gun. The teen was thrown back on the sofa and was completely frozen, rendered impotent in thwarting their escape.

Killian replaced the gun in his holster and approached Henry as Bubo flew in. “Bubo!” Henry cried. Bubo landed on the floor before him and turned his head to look at Killian. Henry looked up at the man standing in the doorway. Something about him seemed familiar, though he couldn’t tell what.

“Henry?” Killian asked. Henry nodded. “I’m Killian and I’m here to take you home. Will you come with me?”

Henry nodded and stood up. “I know,” he said.

Killian tilted his head, puzzled. “You know?”

“Yeah. Bubo told me.” He held his wrist out. “Can you take this off, please? It stops me from using my magic. I can’t remove it, but someone else can.”

“Sure,” Killian replied. He reached under the black cuff on the boy’s wrist and pulled it off. He held his hand out and Henry took it as they walked toward the door. Before they got there, however, a chill came over Killian that meant only one thing. He stopped and looked down at the little boy whose eyes shone with absolute trust as he looked back at him.

“We’ve got to get out of here quick, Henry,” Killian said. “He’s coming,” he looked back at the door, “if he’s not here already.”

At that moment, a purple cloud of smoke enveloped him and Henry and the next moment, they were back at Regina’s.

“Regina!” Henry cried, running into her outstretched arms.

“Henry!” she exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re safe!” She held him close and Killian’s eyes filled with tears at the sight.

Regina looked up at him and mouthed a silent “thank you” as she continued rocking the boy back and forth. She released him and held him away from her as she quickly scanned him for any signs of injury.

Henry’s eyes sparkled with happiness as he turned back to Killian. “Killian saved me.”

A watery smile split Regina’s face. “I know,” she exclaimed, “I was watching him. And you were right, Killian,” she continued, looking up at him. “The Dark One was there. He was just outside the office. I didn’t want to risk a confrontation with him, so I just brought you back myself.” She turned her eyes back upon Henry. “Henry,” she said, softly, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Killian suddenly remembered the events from earlier in the night and it was all he could do to remain on his feet instead of collapsing to his knees in despair. He’d been so focused on finding and getting Henry, that Emma’s death had been pushed to the back of his mind. Now it came back to the forefront and all he wanted to do was curl into a ball until his complete and utter heartbreak eased enough for him to go on. His jaw clenched and his eyes filled with fresh tears as Regina took Henry’s hand in her own and led him from the room.

They climbed the stairs to the bedroom he and Emma had shared the night before. She was laid out on the bed looking so peaceful he could almost believe she simply slept. Henry stared at his mother.

“Mama?” he said, in a trembling voice. He took a step toward her.

“The Dark One came last night to get the dagger, Henry. Before Killian came for you,” Regina whispered. “He and your mama fought hard, but the Dark One killed her before I could intervene. I’m so sorry, Henry.” Regina choked back a sob as Henry moved toward his mother. “But, there is a way to save her.”

Killian’s head turned sharply towards Regina. “What?”

“Killian,” she began, wiping away her own tears, “there is no doubt in my mind that you share a bond with Emma. A bond that I’ve never actually seen before, although I’ve heard tales...” She took a deep breath. “When you got back here last night, you were both so tired that there was no time to talk about what happened when you went after the dagger. But I could see the remnants of the magic you used while you were gone surrounding you. And as I said when we were talking about your magic, it would have only come to the surface in a moment of extreme emotional upheaval. Whether that was fear, love, joy, or sadness. Can you tell me what happened to trigger it?”

Killian’s agitation increased at her question. Why was she asking him this? What did his magic have to do with anything? Especially when there was a possibility that Emma could be saved. They were wasting time!

Regina’s eyes bored into his as she made a placating motion with her hand. “I know this seems random. But please believe me when I say, it truly isn’t. My question has everything to do with saving Emma.”

Killian swallowed hard and looked down at Henry’s face. The little boy nodded at him, encouraging him to trust Regina and answer the question.

“We were underneath the cathedral, but hadn’t made it yet to the chamber of the dagger under Stonehenge,” he whispered, haltingly. “A teenager… kind of gangly, blonde headed, thin as a scarecrow, came at us with a sword.” He shook his head as the details came back to him. “Some kind of black, thick substance coated the tip. I would have guessed it was tar. But why would someone put tar on a sword?” He shook his head again, cutting off his rambling. “Anyway, he was coming for her and I threw my arm out to try and push her back out of his way. I remember feeling a tingling just before my magic shot out and sent him flying across the chamber.” He bowed his head in shame. “His head cracked against a column.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never been responsible for the death of someone that young.”

“You’re sure he was dead?” Regina asked, her heart hurting for him.

“When it happened, we couldn’t stop. We had to keep going. But when we came back and he still hadn’t moved, I checked his pulse.” His eyes looked haunted, but his story confirmed her earlier thoughts. The manifestation of his magic at that time and under those circumstances told her that their bond was indeed True Love.

“You can save Emma, Killian,” she asserted.

Killian’s eyes widened. If the situation wasn’t so serious, she would almost laugh.

“How?”

“You saw how the Dark One removed Emma’s heart and crushed it.” He nodded. “Magic users can remove hearts. I can remove yours, split it, and put one half inside each of your chests. You have True Love for her, and that True Love should bring her back.”

“True Love,” Killian breathed, completely overwhelmed. He never knew that such a thing existed. But it would certainly explain the connection he felt with her and how and why he fell in love with her so quickly. Not to mention the way he felt about Henry, a little boy that he had met literally minutes ago. He shook his head again. He didn’t even have to think. “Do it,” he demanded.

Regina held her hand up and tilted her head to the side in warning. “There are risks that you should know about.”

“I don’t care about any risks,” he assured her, vehemently. “If it will save Emma, it’s worth it.” He looked down at the woman he loved on the bed. “She is worth everything,” he whispered.

The sun was rising and the bedroom was flooded with the morning light. Henry raised his hand to Killian’s heart. His palm glowed a vibrant gold color. A soothing warmth filled him. “You’ll save my mama, Killian.”

Killian nodded. “I will indeed, lad.” He looked at Regina again. “Do it.”

Regina placed her hand on his chest. She stared into his eyes, deadly serious before she pushed her hand into his chest cavity. The pain stole Killian’s breath, but he looked over at Emma on the bed and endured it as he felt Regina’s fingers close around his heart and pull it out. He caught his breath and beheld the glowing heart now in the palm of Regina’s hand. He looked back at Emma on the bed, and while he could still feel his love for her, it was muted. Regina looked back up at him.

“When your heart is no longer inside your body, all your emotions will be dulled. They’ll be restored as soon as it’s back where it belongs.”

Killian nodded. “This is going to hurt. Are you ready?” Regina asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied.

Regina placed her other hand over his heart and twisted. A pain far worse than being shot burst through him and his knees buckled. He landed on all fours on the floor and looked back up. Both of Regina’s hands now held a piece of his heart. She knelt before him and placed her right hand at his chest again. She pushed into his empty chest cavity and he took a deep cleansing breath as the agony subsided.

“Can’t say as that’s something I’d ever want to repeat, love,” he quipped.

Regina let out a small laugh. “I should hope not.” She rose with him and turned to Emma on the bed.

She moved quickly and pushed her other hand into Emma’s chest. Everyone held their breath as they waited. When about twenty seconds had passed with no movement from Emma, Regina’s brow furrowed and panic started to rear its ugly head in his mind. Henry turned to Regina.

“What’s wrong? Why isn’t she waking up?”

At that moment, the bone chilling cold of the same dark magic that he had encountered just a short time ago came over Killian. He turned wide, alarmed eyes at Regina who stared at him with equal apprehension.

“He’s here,” they stated, together.

Regina waved her hand and the dagger appeared in her hand. She handed it to Killian.

“This is the only thing that can destroy him.” Regina’s eyes were wide with dread as she gave him last minute instructions. “As the Chosen One, it falls to you. As long as you hold it, you are master of the dagger. He can’t summon it to himself. Don’t lose your grip on it, whatever you do!”

Killian nodded. Regina continued as they all ran downstairs. “You may be untrained in magic, Killian, but your love for Emma has made you powerful. Use it! Magic is emotion. Keep your love for Emma at the front of your mind, and you can defeat him. Stay inside, Henry,” Regina said, turning to the boy. Henry nodded and he and Regina ran onto the back lawn where the Dark One waited for them.

“Ahhh,” he gloated, “You’ve brought me my dagger! How considerate of you!” He waved his hand and they were both frozen in place. Terror filled him as the demon strolled toward him. When he was so close that he could smell the fire and brimstone emanating from him, he felt the same sensation that he had just experienced at Regina’s hand.

The Dark One stood before him with his half a heart glowing in his hand.

“Interesting,” the demon cooed. “Only half a heart. Where is the other half?” he asked, speculatively, “Could it possibly be in the chest of your Twue Wuv?” he singsonged. He looked back at Killian and cackled. “But where is she? She’s not here, is she?” He got right in Killian’s face with such a face of gloating triumph that Killian felt sick. “No True Love’s Kiss, then? Awww, and that’s the only thing that can save her, isn’t it? Since it’s your heart, only your True Love’s Kiss will do.” Killian’s eyes grew wide as the beast’s statement registered in his panic. “But if I crush your heart,” he squeezed slightly, the pain overwhelming Killian, stealing his breath, “you can’t very well share True Love’s Kiss with her, can you?”

Rage filled Killian and if he could have spit in the creature’s face, he would have. But at least he knew why Emma hadn’t come back when Regina placed his heart in her chest. The kiss, his kiss, was needed to bring her back to him.

“Fortunately for you,” the Dark One continued, “I can’t crush your heart as long as you hold my dagger. But I can hold your heart. For as long as necessary. I can leave you right here, frozen, until your death returns my dagger to me. But, I don’t want to wait that long.” He shrugged, in studied casualness. “So how about a trade? I give you back your heart so you can save your lady love, and you give me my dagger. The Dark One never breaks a deal, so you have nothing to fear and boy is obviously well protected, for now.” He sneered in Regina’s direction. “Do we have a deal?”

Killian’s brain worked furiously. It was an impossible choice. By releasing the dagger, the chances of being able to destroy him shrunk exponentially, plus, he was giving the monster exactly what he wanted, bringing him one step closer to being able to harm Henry. A very large step. But, he would be able to save Emma and surely, between the three of them, they could protect Henry. If he refused, the Dark One would simply hold his heart until his death returned the dagger to the demon and Emma would remain as she was, forever.

He cut his eyes toward Regina, her own eyes wide with realization. He tried to convey how sorry he was in his gaze before he turned his eyes back on the demon in front of him.

“I’m going to partially lift the freezing spell I’ve got on you now and you can give me your answer.”

Killian’s mouth and hand holding the dagger were suddenly free.

“Fine,” he gritted out. “You have a deal. My heart for your dagger.” He opened his hand and the dagger fell to the ground. The Dark One giggled and picked the dagger up from the ground. He looked back at Killian.

“A pleasure doing business with you, dearie,” he chortled as he all but punched his heart back into his chest. As soon as he had done so, he was enveloped in a cloud of grey smoke and disappeared.

The enchantment holding them frozen disappeared with him. Killian collapsed to the ground and Henry ran out of the house toward them.

“True Love’s Kiss, Killian,” he cried. “When you give Mama True Love’s Kiss, you’ll save her!” Regina ran over to him as he struggled back to his feet.

“Aye, lad,” he replied, somewhat out of breath from his ordeal, “Let’s go give it a try.”

At that moment, the Dark One again appeared in the yard, this time just behind Henry. He had not gone far and was simply waiting for Henry to leave the house so that he could strike. Regina screamed as Killian jumped in between the Dark One and Henry and tackled the demon. Regina grabbed Henry and ran for the safety of the house.

They crashed to the ground and the Dark One lost his grip on the dagger. As they rolled, each trying to gain the upper hand, Killian remembered what Regina had told him on the way down. That his love for Emma made him powerful and that if he kept his love for her at the front of his mind, he could defeat the monster.

Killian closed his eyes and let the love he had for Emma fill him completely. He pictured the dagger in his hand and the same moment, felt the instrument in his grip. His fist curled around it and he pulled the hilt toward his chest, the blade tilted slightly upward. The Dark One was on top of him now, their faces so close together that Killian could see the madness in his enemy’s eyes and then the grimace that crossed his lips as he felt the dagger pierce flesh.

The demon went limp on top of him. Killian pushed the dead weight off only to find the dagger buried in the Dark One’s chest. A dark swirling cloud poured out of the wound and coalesced around the dagger. After a few moments, the cloud, the dagger, and the Dark One, his unseeing eyes staring toward the rising sun, seemed to fold in on themselves, until with a pop, they were gone.

Killian got back to his feet and looked to where Regina and Henry had made it inside the house. He ran toward them as Henry barreled out the back door toward him. He caught him in his arms and spun him around, laughing at the little boy’s exuberance.

“You killed him,” Henry shouted.

“I did, indeed, my boy,” he said. “You’re safe now. He can’t ever hurt you again.”

“Thank God for that,” Regina agreed, hugging them both.

Killian held them both in his arms for a few moments, relishing the fact that they were all alive and safe. All except one. He looked back at Henry as he set him on the ground. “Let’s go save your Mama, shall we Henry?”

“Yeah!” Henry shouted, taking off for the house again. Killian and Regina followed him into the house and up to the bedroom where Emma still lay.

Killian entered the room after Regina and Henry. The morning light completely filled the room now and Emma seemed to be surrounded by a gold shroud spun from pure light. He had never beheld anything so breathtakingly beautiful. Everything faded from the periphery as he moved toward her. His heart raced in his chest and his breathing hitched as he beheld her. His True Love. He knelt beside the bed and took one of her hands in his own. His thumb rubbed over her knuckles as he leaned over her and pressed his lips to her own. It took only a moment before a rainbow burst fell over them and Emma took a breath and opened her eyes.

“Killian,” she breathed. Killian’s face split in the biggest smile he’d ever worn.

“Swan,” he exclaimed, gathering her in his arms, tears of joy filling his eyes.

She hugged him back just as fiercely before they were interrupted by Henry’s enthusiastic “Mama!” before he launched himself toward her from where Regina had held him near the door.

“Henry!” She caught him up in her arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re safe! I was so worried!”

“I know, Mama,” he exclaimed, “Killian saved me! And he saved you, too!” Emma looked back at him, pure love shining out of her eyes. He scratched behind his ear until he finally looked back at her. “He’s your True Love, Mama! He saved you with True Love’s Kiss! That means he’s gonna stay here with us!” Henry spoke a mile a minute in his unbridled enthusiasm. “Right, Killian?” Henry turned back toward him, expectantly.

“With your mother’s permission, lad, I’d like that very much.”

Emma beamed as she held out her hand for Killian to take. “I think we can handle that.”

Killian grinned widely as he took her proffered hand and bent over to kiss her again.

It didn’t take long for Killian to move his PI practice to Storybrooke where he courted Emma properly, much to the sheriff’s dismay. A year later, Killian and Emma were married, and a year after that, Henry had a baby sister to show off.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all for all your love for me and this fic!!! I’d love to know what you thought!!!

[p1nkwitch]

If I may one last director's cut: And the Nightmare Collapses? 👁️

Ask as many as you want i dont mind.

Oh my monster au, what to say? I had this in the backburner for a few months now. Originally i was going to make a series of one shots from different characters perspectives.

So first it was going to be Jon waking up from the coma and realizing that everyone were monsters but him sort of like a walking dead scenario. I had the clear picture of him seeing Georgie in her hald deaf state being like, what the fuck happened???

Now the entire idea came to mind with how pissed off i was at everyone in season four acting like Jon was the worst for no discernable reason. Like, Melanie, Basira and Georgie, all treated him in different levels rather cruely. Georgie wasnt so mean, but she was playing blind eye to the whole thing being fucked.

So Jon is the only one who remains human because he tries so hard to keep his humanity despite everything. While everyone else becomes more monstruos, Basira and Melanie in particularly were much more affected, i had a clear vision of a slaughter Mel. But had to keep it brief since Georgie wouldnt want to dwell on her becoming a monster, since now she had no way to deny it. Daisy gets a pass because while on the coffin she regains her humanity by her regret of what she became, its why her changes are minimal in the text.

The other one shots were supposed to be from Elias and Peter perspective with the last being them reuniting.

Now my original idea had no reasoning as to why they were monsters all out sudden. Its not until i realized the potential of the entities just dropping in a world similar enough where they already existed and they end up overcharging, while still carrying the vestigies of the apocalipse that i went like-

Hoy fuck.

Ultimately i am happy with the one shot the way it came out, with Elias being able to see, he was capable of tying up those little threads i wanted to make and make the reference to having an anchor. Anchors tie you to humanity, people are fundamentaly capable of good if they wish too, kindness even in the face of despair, destroys the horrors of the world.

The world wont fix itself, but you adapt and grown and try to make it better.

Now as for the story itself? I just wanted to go buck wild with the scenery of reality fracturing itself and Elias just losing it while perceiving the horrors and understanding far more than possible.

I like eldritch horror i just dont use it enough, or horror shorts in general, maybe i should put up the small ones i made in tumblr they are like a paragraph long each.

For realsies, I really like the idea of monster Elias for several reasons and i wanted to go with it. I have another different take on this verse of how things pan out too, but i will see eventually if i want to write it. There is... also the horny aspec of Peter being, as the fic implies, a monster fucker, not really he just loves Elias whatever shape he comes even if its some weird owl spider thing. If i ever feel brave enough to go thought it in an extra will shall see.

Anyways Jonah goes through life replacing people while manipulating them and toying with their sanity like he did to the ogElias in his interview. Despite being beholding, as per the soup theory, at this point he also represents the stranger, web and spiral fairly well. I have a soft soft for him losing the ability to recognize himself after a while. Because as i pointed out? He kept sort of a more or less stable life, sure, but it must be jarring having to go from one face to another, to have to pretend to be someone else, at least enough that its not glaringly obvious that something is wrong.

So he loses it. The fears overcharge and it all stacks up on him, causing his transformation to be so strong, it ends up consuming him. Not only that but he is vain too, so to be changed into something so horryifing it breaks something else in him, it gives him the idea that no one could want him now, he cant make people do as he says like this, he doesnt know himself and now no one would want to know him anyways. The more he changes the more he loses his sense of self, its not only him, he was so many people it feels weird to be just him, it doesnt fit anymore, so through the story he starts to use they until its what he mainly uses at the end, because he grows and its happy with it by the very end.

His body changes when he doubts himself, the more time it passes the more he forgets. Now the main reason he didnt become a puddle of ink and die, was because as i mentioned he thought about being alone, and it made him think of Peter, that was his last connection, the last thread to a humanity he wasnt sure he still had. When he thinks that he loves him, even if a little, its enough to let him move.

That small lifeline is what actually saved him and what kept him more or less stable for longer that he would have otherwise. Same goes to Peter whos last action before becoming one with his siblings was pick up the phone, the same though went through him, its why even if he was already at the brink of being melded he kept himself alive for longer.

Then there was the idea of copies.

Because, eyes? just the eyes?? I know it works with supernatural energy but, the doubt, the idea or posibility that Jonah Magnus actually died the moment he transplanted his eyes the first time and that Beholding merely put the copied memories of Jonah that it reatained into the new body was such a good concept, i have a special love for it, to not be sure if you are you, but ultimately chosing to live your life despite knowing that you may not be the real one.

I like to point out at the end that he does, that he is the original and that he is not a copy but... its not really proof, Jonah wants to believe it is. Wether is true or not? Thats up to anyone.

Also his monster concept, i toyed with a few options, and ended up adding it somewhat in the final product, originally he was going to be sort of an owl monster sort of mixed with a cat, no not for the joke, i saw really nice fanart of owlcats and i was in love. But as it is i went with something similar to his body in the afterlife beach party.

Instead of tar it was the ink of the letters he wrote, the static remains because he doesnt know his face anymore and he wont again. The fur... i just wanted something nice for later when Peter made his appearence, less sticky more fluffy. 8 arms like a spider, more eyes because of beholding- you get it.

Speaking of Peter!!

Here is the deal, i know or at least believe that the curruption? Is the oposite of the lonely and viceversa. Wanting to be alone vs being consumed by what you love? Perfect.

So the Lukases become amalgamations of fog trapped in a hive mind that they cant escape from. Forced to be together and then to be alone once someone manages to impose themselves like Nathaniel did. Peter could have theorically left his siblings become him, after Elias saw them, but in this, the closenes they shared was enought that he could not do it. <3<3

I wanted to play with the fact that being stuck with so many people, mainly his sisters while slowly melding into one, made him switch from pronouns feeling comfortable in all of them. Lydia, Judith and Clara were all nice and accidentaly he wanted to feel that nice, so he switches more often to her. It too, because at one point he was litreally nothing since the rest were rather happy being one.

Reality check comes and they all realize that, oh shit we fucked him up. Hence the road trip, unfortunately the melding was inevitable, either they became one or someone took charge. Still it gives them time to bond too, which adds to the decision to let them stay with him despite everything. Peter plays into a similar idea, but from a different perspective, you lose yoursef but become a different person. Luka is all of them being at peace with being one, being happy and wanting the same thing, but still mantaining some way to be apart. If i was being sappy i would liken it to a fusion in Steven Universe.

It wasnt as such at first, but later once Peter is the main body they can do it with less fear of dissapearing. It is also true that his feelings bleed out onto them and likewise to him. Its hard being a single being while simultaniously be 5 people in one.

They do love Elias, except for Clara who is mostly just enjoying the company while judging everyones tastes. It is also true that if this hadnt happened they would never have tried it. But life works oddly. Plus they are happy.

The world cant be fixed, but life sort of goes on and people adjust as they can.

Final note? I really, reeeeally wanted to have JME corpses just drop and have everyone freak out. There was a brief idea of having them alive and react to what they did to the world, but i did not want to deal with that many explanations. So yeah, they are dead.

AGAIN SORRY FOR GOING OFF!!! I NEED TO BE STOPPED.

D:

If you want to ask something in particular go ahead i have the ideas still fresh for this one in my head.

[gideongrace]

For @harringrovetrashh 😊😊😊💜💜💜😍😍😍

//

There's this tiny, little, oddly upscale pub a few blocks from the bakery that's got these dark red walls, deep, velvet lined booths and waiters that wear fancy all-black suits and ties. 

And it also has truly excellent food, which is why they go. 

And the drinks are cheap, which is why they stay. Often for hours and hours, just talking about nothing at all in particular and everything they can think of, often at the exact same time.

So one night, after hours of doing just exactly that with Billy, Nancy and Jonathan, Steve starts telling them the story of how Dustin met his girlfriend, Kali. He goes into extravagant detail on just how awkward Dustin was being and how hard he had to work to get him a date. 

Nancy and Jonathan both laugh but Billy gives him this funny, one eyebrow raised, Oh, really? kind of look. Then he says, "Like you've never been weird." 

"W-well, I… I never said I wasn't," Steve says less than gracefully. He would have loved to have sounded cool and unaffected, but he knows he missed that mark so bad it's three towns over, sleeping soundly, completely and utterly unaware of his existence entirely. It might as well be in the next state, hell, a whole other country, for how badly he's missed it. 

So with this in mind, because of this, really, Billy, of course, keeps going.

"First day we met, you were so awkward," Billy says, tone teasing but eyes bright like he's decided to dig in, and Steve means really dig in, like full stop.

"Sounds about right," Nancy says knowingly. 

Steve is stunned into silence. 

Nancy laughs and reaches a hand across the table to put her hand over Steve's. "After high school, once you stopped with all that cool kid King Steve bullshit, you became the loveable, awkward dork you were always meant to be." She pauses and almost winks at him. Almost, but not quite. "I like you much better this way."

Billy laughs. "Wait. Excuse me, what? Did people actually call you that?"

Steve can feel his face getting embarrassingly warm. "They… ummm… they might have." 

This time Jonathan speaks up. "Oh, they totally did. They called him 'King Steve' and Steve 'The Hair' Harrington—"

"Now that one I can believe," Billy interjects. 

"He was the most popular kid in school because of his hair and the fact that his parents were never home," Nancy says, continuing on for Jonathan like he'd never even stopped, like they just share one brain now after all this time together, like she just knows exactly what he's going to say anyway. 

But underneath the table Billy's knee knocks gently into Steve's and Steve knows without Billy having to say it in words that Billy gets how much it sucks that his parents were never around. He knows that Billy understands the kind of scars that leaves behind. He wishes Billy didn't, he wishes he were alone in this, that the scars he's got in all his dark and quiet, broken places weren't perfectly matched in all of Billy's dark and quiet, broken places, but… they are. And it's sweet, what Billy is doing right now. 

Billy isn't that sweet for long, though; in the next instant he's right back to it, giving Nancy this dagger sharp grin and saying, "He 'was', huh?" He even licks his lips expertly, readying himself for the next juicy tidbit of gossip he thinks he's about to uncover.

Steve, unfortunately, knows better. Steve, unfortunately, knows that what Billy's about to uncover is more trap than treat.

And he's powerless to stop him.

"What changed?" 

It's like watching a car accident a split-second before it even happens. Steve's insides brace for impact as Nancy's face twists like she's been hit, her lips turning down at the corners and her eyebrows pulling together. Steve can feel the way Jonathan's hands reach out and grab at his knees from across the table, can sense the way his whole body goes tense just by looking at him and the way his shoulders twitch.

Or, in a word, it's bad.

Nancy, without saying anything, looks away and takes a long, slow sip of her wine. 

Jonathan, rather bravely in Steve's opinion, clears his throat and picks up the thread of the conversation. "He started dating Nancy."

Billy's eyes go wide. "What?" He waves wildly between Nancy and then Steve. "You two?" He looks caught between laughing and choking before settling on just straight up gawking. "How?"

Steve shrugs and looks over at Nancy. She refuses to look at him, instead deciding to look down at her hand that's still covering his.

She doesn't move it.

"I dunno," Steve says. He puts his other hand on top of hers. "There was just something about her." 

The tension breaks as Nancy smiles at this and it's shy at first but as she starts to lift her head, it grows into something bright, something warm. "He was sweet. Even though he pretended to be this cool jock, I knew he was a good person. A good man."

Billy just looks confused. "So…" he starts but trails off and Steve can tell he's trying to find a nice way to ask why they ever broke up if they loved each other so much.

Rather than wait out another live and in person car crash, Steve decides to just answer his unasked question and skip that part. "We broke up for a couple of reasons," he says and as he does so, he pulls his hand away from Nancy's, but he keeps his eyes on her.

She continues the story, picking it up like they're weaving a freaking friendship bracelet or something. 

"First," she says, her voice still cracking, even after all this time, "my best friend Barb died. She, uh—" The crack becomes a break and her hand slinks off of Steve's to rest with Jonathan's on the other side of the table, where it belongs. 

"Drowned," Steve says. "In my pool. At a party."

Next to him Billy goes tense and Steve's not a mind reader but he knows exactly what Billy is thinking. He's thinking, Shit, I should never have asked. He's thinking, Shit, this is my fault. Billy breathes out once and it leaves Steve with this ice cold feeling, this worry over what Billy's about to do, but then, surprisingly, maybe even to Billy himself, Billy melts. He wraps an arm around Steve's shoulder and draws him close, switches from ice to fire in an instant and starts pouring warmth into Steve just by gently touching him. 

Steve still feels cold, feels, sees, smells cold and imagines chlorine and bright, neon blue water but he stays quiet, letting someone else pick up the story. 

Nancy carries it on. "We…" She bites her lip and the hand holding the stem of her wine glass tightens until it's gripping hard enough Steve thinks he's about to hear the glass start cracking. "We were distracted. We weren't paying attention. She hadn't even been drinking, she just slipped and hit her head and fell in and…" Her hand drops from the glass and she shrinks in on herself. Jonathan wraps around her without even consciously seeming to decide to do so, it's just an instinct buried somewhere at the core of him to be protective and kind. And especially over Nancy, especially now.

And Billy, Billy's just as protective but he's ten times more wary. Billy's whole body goes tight again, goes rigid and under the table, next to Steve's thigh, Billy's hand clenches into a fist like he's just waiting for something to fight, for a monster to appear out of the table roaring and screaming, with its long, sharp claws brandished and teeth gnashing viciously. Or like he's expecting a man with a shotgun to come barrelling in through the front door and demanding everybody get down and make real good friends with the floor and they better do it real quick.

It's like he needs something, or someone, to fight. Like he's useless in this situation as it is. 

"So how did… when did… I mean, how did that lead to..." Billy stammers. His face is carefully blank or at least it's trying to be, but Steve can see the confusion and the panic peeling at the edges. He knows Billy too well not to, at this point.

Not that he's about to mention it, of course. Billy hates getting accused of having emotions in public, even if that 'public' is only a small bar filled only with two other very drunk patrons and a bored-looking bartender who seems much more invested in whatever's happening on her phone's screen than in anything that's happening in the bar. 

"Well, we didn't exactly… handle it well as a couple," Steve says, which is the kindest understatement he thinks may have ever been spoken in the English language. Maybe in any language. 

"And I was kind of in love with someone else…" Nancy says. 

"Yeah," Steve says. He feels frozen in time, feels glued to his seat, until he looks up and sees the way Nancy is staring at Jonathan and the way Jonathan is staring back at her, like they're the only two people who exist for each other in the whole entire universe and he feels himself settle back down into his bones. He can't be upset when they look at each other like that, he just can't. 

He can admit, however, he is big enough to admit, that sometimes it still stings a little, what happened between them, no matter how old the hurt might be. He is big enough to admit that there have been a few times, on his worst days, when Nancy's voice in his head chimes in with his father's and he hears her calling him 'bullshit'. He hears her asking him, begging him, pleading with him to just tell her why she wasn't good enough, why after sex with her just one time, he lost all interest. He didn't have a word for it then, didn't know what 'asexual' meant, then. And he didn't know how to be honest, then, either. With her or with himself.

But sometimes he's still just a little mad about it, internally (and only ever just internally) but then he sees them looking at each other like that and he can't be mad. He sees them looking at each other like that and he knows that everything the three of them went through together after Barb died was worth it. Because he's not really ever been mad at her, anyway, but at himself. For not having the right words. For not being honest. For not knowing. 

But he knows now. He's honest now. And she has Jonathan. And he has Billy. 

So he unclenches, a little. 

And then a lot.  

At his side, Billy's fist loosens up until it's just his hand and his hand starts stroking a long, soothing line along the seam of Steve's jeans like he can burn into Steve's skin through the fabric and Steve leans into the touch, pretends he can feel Billy's strong, sure fingers against his skin and he feels himself breathe, well and truly breathe properly for the first time in a while. 

He leans into Billy with his whole body and allows himself a moment to just enjoy it—Billy's warmth and the sure certainty he brings to every moment he's not looking for something to fight—before tuning back in to some conversation that seems to have progressed without him to hear Nancy saying, "I will never doubt again," in this soft and dream-like way that sounds like she's quoting something Steve is sure he's heard at least a hundred times before and yet is still having trouble placing. 

Jonathan clearly knows exactly what it's from, though because on hearing it he smiles at her, his expression just as soft, just as dream-like, and he says, "There will never be a need," like this is some commonly repeated joke the two of them share. 

And who knows, maybe it is?

Billy, for his part, snorts. "Really? The Princess Bride? You guys were watching The Princess Bride when you first said 'I love you' to each other?"

Nancy scowls at this but she's still all wrapped up in Jonathan so the look goes nowhere fast. "And what's wrong with The Princess Bride, huh?"

"Nothing," Billy says with this smile Steve just knows means trouble. "It's just a much nicer story than ours and I'm jealous, that's all." 

And Steve knows he's not going to be able to stop Billy from telling it, either, so he doesn't even bother. Doesn't even say a word. 

"The first time we said 'I love you' to each other was after a fight in a grocery store that started with Steve throwing—" Billy stops short to giggle like a freaking five year old. "That started with Steve throwing down an avocado and shouting"—again, more giggling— "'Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!'"

This time it's Nancy's eyes that go wide and Jonathan that says, "Wait. What?"

And then Steve and Billy have to explain that story.

[mcgrillzdumpinc]

They May Yet Know Who We Were

Summary: Some relationships never known to the public. But the memory of them will not be left to die. Written for SangCheng Month day 15 - immortality!

ao3 link

Pairing: Sangcheng Rating: G Warnings: None apply Word count: 1328

09-June-20XX

Hello Readers, welcome back to the blog!  As I stated last week, we are dedicating the entirety of Pride Month to stories of historical cultivators who were known to be homosexual.  Quick disclaimer, the following will not be a comprehensive understanding of the historical or cultural context in which these cultivators lived.  I’m writing a blog post, not a history textbook. Moreover, there are still debates about the cultivators I will be covering today, so much of what you will be reading will be coming from my own beliefs and understandings of these people. However, I will be citing my resources at the bottom of the page.

Anyway, with that out of the way, today I will be talking about one of the more controversial cultivators known to history – Nie HuaiSang!  Now, hold your booing, I know not everyone likes him, but there is a lot of evidence that he was queer.  Even more interesting is who his gay paramour may have been – read on to find out.

Nie HuaiSang’s affect on the cultivation world is still felt today, in a time where cultivation has fallen out of practice. Outside of being one of the most influential Chief Cultivators, he contributed greatly to China’s art scene, with some of his pieces costing well into the millions of dollars today.  Some historical evidence also points to dealings between the Emperor and Nie HuaiSang, although nothing has been confirmed as of yet.  On top of all that, he also had an extensive bird collection, many of whom were trained as spies.  In his life, he proved to be easily one of the most dangerous men in history and, as we all know, he did not hesitate to maintain this status, especially in the later half of his reign as Chief Cultivator.  It should be noted, however, that heavy debate remains on how responsible he actually was for all those deaths.

But enough about that!  What we’re here for is the gay.  And oh boy do I have a story for you.  Drumroll please for who we believe was his partner!

Jiang WanYin!

That’s right!  Notorious grump and Wei WuXian’s shidi, Jiang WanYin!  He was a war hero in the Sunshot Campaign and leader of the Yunmeng Jiang sect.  Famously, he never married and passed on his title to a distant cousin.  The most commonly accepted theory on his bachelor status is that his requirements for a wife were…exacting, to put it lightly. He was not well-liked by women-kind in his time.  But what if the real reason for his bachelorhood was that he shared his shixiong’s procilivity for men?

I’m sure you’re shouting for the evidence now! Well, let’s start with the artwork which inspired historians’ inquiries into the nature of Jiang WanYin and Nie HuaiSang’s relationship.

[Image Attached] ID: A painted drawing of Jiang WanYin. He is depicted on Lotus Pier, looking out on the lake water with several lotuses blooming.  His hair is down with some strands falling over his shoulders and his bare feet are dipped into the lake.  His robes are detailed with floral trim and he appears to be reading a scroll in his lap.  In the background, floating on the lake, are two mandarin ducks, one male and the other female.  At the bottom right corner is Nie HuaiSang’s signature.  End ID.

This particular piece of art was found around fifty years ago when archaeologists explored Hejian for any forgotten relics from the days Qinghe Nie reigned in the area.  To the explorer’s great surprise, they found a burial site several kilometers from The Unclean Realm.  At the site were a great multitude of items belonging to Nie HuaiSang, his brother Nie MingJue, and their father.  Among these items was a large collection of Nie HuaiSang’s art, all holding his signature.  From what art historians have been able to find, none of these pieces were ever put into circulation.  In this collection were many portraits of his family and friends, including the above picture.

Now let’s dissect this painting of Jiang WanYin. It’s the not only one of him that existed in this secret collection, but this is arguably the most romantic.  Not only is Jiang WanYin depicted at his home, he is shown at his most comfortable – his hair is down and his feet are in the water.  Surely this is not a sight anyone besides family would manage to see of him.  To make matters more surprising, there is the ducks.  If you’re unfamiliar with Chinese symbolism, the mandarin duck is a symbol of romantic love. These ducks were long-believed to have mated for life, although this has since been disproven.  Moreover, the male and female ducks are very dissimilar in appearance, so their name, yuanyang, is sometimes used to refer to an unexpected couple.  And what an odd couple they could have been, Jiang WanYin and Nie HuaiSang!

Some scholars have argued the painting would have been a gift to Jiang WanYin’s future spouse, which is why it never saw public view since the man in question remained a bachelor.  But many other scholars, myself included, believe this is an artwork meant to represent Nie HuaiSang’s feelings for Jiang WanYin.  He wanted to immortalize his partner in a loving way, since their relationship was otherwise not public.

There is further evidence to back our claims. In Wei WuXian’s well-maintained diary, he made several notes on Jiang WanYin’s close relationship to Nie HuaiSang. In one of these entries, he refers to them as an odd couple, yuanyang.  It is difficult to further discern if he was being serious when he wrote these words, since any historian worth their salt knows not to take Wei WuXian’s recollections at face value.  Aside from him, there are also diary entries from Jin RuLan, who maintained a close uncle-nephew relation with Jiang WanYin until the latter’s passing.  In several of his entries, he mentions Nie HuaiSang arriving with Jiang WanYin for personal gatherings and weddings. Although Nie HuaiSang later married a woman and had several children with her, he does not stop this oddly close relationship with Jiang WanYin.  In fact, in two entries, Jin RuLan remarks on how strange it is to see Jiang WanYin, Nie HuaiSang, and Nie HuaiSang’s wife chatting in friendly terms.  He even goes so far as to accidentally(?) refer to Nie HuaiSang’s third child as his own cousin.

Although the evidence is scarce, I personally believe it speaks volumes.  There were many happy stories of homosexual couples in the cultivation world, the most famous of which being Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian, but there are twice as many stories of same-sex couples ending tragically.  I am of the opinion that Nie HuaiSang and Jiang WanYin sadly fell into this second category.  They were duty-bound to foster families and run their individual sects.  Any romance between them would have been at great risk if it was revealed to the public.  However, I am also of the opinion that they managed to their love in private, even to the point of eventually including Nie HuaiSang’s wife, if Jin RuLan’s mistake is to be believed.  I believe they loved each other until the bitter end.  As evidence and to close this blog post out, I present to you one of the last paintings in the buried collection.  We have managed to date it as occurring within the same year as Nie HuaiSang’s famous fall.

[Image Attached] ID: Depicted is Jiang Wanyin in his later years.  There are noticeable wrinkles around his mouth and eyes.  He is dressed in heavy brocade robes.  His belt displays the Nie’s motif – the head of a bull-like beast. His belt is also decorated with a Jiang purity bell and a case for writing talismans.  His hair has been done in a series of complicated braids. His right hand displays Zidian in its ring form.  He is smiling as he stares out a window.  End ID.

[littleeyesofpallas]

Bleach - Name Games

I know I already threw together the master list for these posts, but I realized another set of characters I could still bundle together.  Although they aren’t quite as interesting and loaded as a lot of the shinigami names had been.  Here’s the Fullbringers!

Ginjou [銀城] Kuugo[空吾]

“Silver Castle” is his family name, which seems dignified, and in retrospect almost feels like an accidental point toward the Quincy.  And his personal name is written “Void/Sky/Heavens”+“My/Our” I can’t tell which of the two readings feels like it makes more sense; “Our Heaven” or “My/Our Void” either of which position him as the leader of Xcution, but “My Void” also feels like it describes some of his personal conflict.

Interestingly his name is also a kind of wordplay on Ichigo’s name.  The “Silver Castle” is a kind of opposed image to Kurosaki[黒崎] “Black Cape” and like Ichigo’s own wordplay with numbers, “Kuugo” reads similarly to [九五] “Nine + Five.”  In a lot of numerological systems, which frequently disregard zero, 1 and 9 are opposed terminals in a sequence.  It’s a little hard to tell if Kubo meant for it, but it does kind of scan as if Kuugo is just named like a sort of bizarro Ichigo.

His Fullbring Cross of Scaffold is a dumb name with no meaning, and I only bring it up now because I’ll be mentioning the others’ Fullbrings while I’m at it.

Tsukishima[月島] Shuukurou[秀九郎]

“Moon Island“ and “Excellent Nine(th) Son.“  Curiously it piggybacks off Kuugo’s subtle Nine pun, and I really can’t help but want to draw ties between the “Moon” and Ichigo’s sword, as well as the “Island” and Ichigo’s “Cape/Peninsula.”  Without taking these two characters into consideration, the name really doesn’t seem to have any implicit meaning in relation to Tsukishima himself.

Tsukishima is also an actual place in the Chuou ward of Tokyo.  It’s the product of a reclamation project centered around what was the namesake island.  But I don’t think the name is supposed to reference that, because for one you wouldn’t normally have someone’s family named after a place based on its modern state, and also because it’s not like the small district has any particular features linked to Tsukishima’s character.

Book of the End I feel like was meant to be an attempt at double meaning with Book End, but I don’t think Kubo understood that even though “of” and “the” aren’t really present in Japanese and have to be added in when translating into English, it doesn’t mean you can just take or add them into English in the same way. 

Dokugamine[毒ヶ峰] Riruka[リルカ]

The Ga[ヶ] here reads as a possessive, as part of a place name, making her surname “Poison’s Peak“ and the given name, Riruka is just in katakana, so there’s no meaning to read; It is an actual Japanese name, and so there are a few conventional readings it would normally have, but I don’t think Kubo intended for any of those meanings to apply to Riruka.  Actually, I think he wrote her name in kana specifically to make her a kind of parallel to Rukia, like Kuugo is a parallel to Ichigo.  Also the pigtails, a bit of the attitude, and the poison shtick feels like it was salvaged off Loly Aivirrne’s general design.

Her Fullbring, Dollhouse was, I believe, a reference to the Priscilla album.  It’s a little too generic a name to say for certain, but given the time frame and that fact that Kubo went all Jojo and named most of the other Fullbrings after music albums, it lines up.

Kutsuzawa[沓沢] Giriko[ギリコ]

Weirdly his surname translates as “Boots”+”Swamp” which seems almost tailor made for Jackie Tristan’s character, and has no apparent meaning in relation to Giriko... (I won’t actually be covering Jackie in this considering her name has no Kanji at all)  And the name Giriko, as you can see above, is another kana only name.  The sound girigiri[ぎりぎり] is the sound of grinding, which might actually be part of what Kubo was going for here. i.e. the grinding of gears (of a clock).

(A kind of random sidenote is that the name Giriko was used in Soul Eater for a character who is a living weapon; his weapon form of choice being a chainsaw, so the name evokes the sounds of a grinding chainsaw blade.)

Unrelated to name though, what was up with Giriko originally having what definitely appears to be a riding crop that just never showed back up??  I get this weird BDSM dom vibe from his first appearance, although they pretty quickly resolve the formal wear into his bar tender aesthetic.  That may have had its own implications related to “grinding” sounds.

His Fullbring, Time Tells No Lies, is a Praying Mantis album.  Between that and the eyepatch he almost feels like a rehash of Nnoitra Gilga’s character notes...

Also, since there’s not going to be any other place to put it: Jackie Tristan’s Fullbring, Dirty Boots is an album by Sonic Youth.  And the more I think about this, I wonder if Giriko wasn’t supposed to have Dirty Boots at first, because honestly it would kind of play into that initial BDSM vibe he had, and Jackie’s little leather biker cap feels like a leather daddy kink thing more than just a biker boots thing.  And even after her powered up form gave her the little engine and exhaust pipe pauldron thing to kind of pull it together, her boots aren’t even particularly in the American biker style.  This isn’t really going anywhere, just something to think about...

Yukio[雪绪] Hans Vorarlberna[ハンス･フォラルルベルナ]

Yukio’s given name reads as “Snow Thread,” although the kanji used for “Thread” here is a weird archaic form that isn’t really used, but it is closely related to a more modern kanji that reads as “chord” or “thread.” Hans Vorarlberna is not a real name, but Vorarlberg is a state of Austria; I have no idea what the name means though, and I just assume Kubo picked it just because it sounded cool...

It feels like there was supposed to be some kind of parallel or theme in him getting paired off to fight Hitsugaya; Both kids, both light hair and ice/cold themed names and demeanor. (I almost get the feeling Kubo wanted him to have white hair until he remembered/was reminded that he already has like 5 other white haired characters running around.)  We knew by that point that Kubo had a penchant for clever thematic fights like the Ants and Dragons fights during the Arrancar Arc.  Yet there’s not really anything it this one?

His Fullbring, Invaders Must Die, is an album by The Prodigy.

Shishigawara[獅子河原] Moe[萌笑]

Family name is “Lion River-Beach” with Shishi referring to the animal itself but also the mythical lion dogs often depicted as guardian statues outside shinto shrines.  The given name Moe[萌笑] reads like “Bud(ding) Laughter” as in the start of a laugh.  The same “Budding” phrase can refer to showing symptoms of something like an illness.

I don’t actually know what to make of this name either; his general disposition as a bit of a goofball seems pretty aptly reflected in the given name, but the surname feels oddly specifically chosen for one that doesn’t seem to impart much meaning...  I’m wondering if there’s not a more subtle or even just superficial form of wordplay that I’m missing here by not being fluent or more familiar with casual conversational phrases in Japanese.

Like Ginjou and Tsukishima, his Fullbring falls outside the album theme.  Lucky Knuckles are just an actual thing: Gold plated knuckle dusters with slot machine lucky 777s on them.

[cela-astral-projection]

Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me. 'Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see. I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe. There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me.

So young and full of running, all the way to the edge of desire Steady my breathing, silently screaming, "I have to have you now"

18+; Cut for length and content. 

Celeste sat in Julian's nearly finished office at the makeshift desk, a board bridging two sawhorses, making a list for their contractor.

She was in a bit of a time crunch. They were leaving tomorrow. Of course, her bags had been packed for days. It was more the prospect of actually going that made her feel harried.  

She had been milling around the shop for days, making sure that everything was ready for Asra. And, when she wasn't fussing there, she was worried about the clinic's progress. But it was all nerves.

The past few years had been a test, to put it mildly.

Now that all the fires were put out, she didn't quite know what to do with herself.  

Going away with Julian seemed like as good a plan as any. To get out of her head. To get some perspective. There were no more Devils left to fight. No more ghosts were lurking in the dark night. She was as free as she would ever be again.

She had only left Vesuvia a few times. To Nopal, with Asra. To the south, with Muriel. One, painfully short. The other, agonizingly long. The prospect of leaving a was daunting. But the way Julian framed it, even knowing that he had a particular way with words, seemed appealing.

Her note finished, she looked around the room. Light streamed through the window. Fine dust covered every surface. But, even in an unfinished state, there was so much potential here. A place of healing. Where she could get back to who she was meant to be.

Julian stepped into the door frame, leaning against it, grinning broadly. He had been positively giddy for days. She knew that if he could have left days ago, he would have done.

"Are you almost ready, Lovely? Goodbye dinner with Nadia in about an hour. You're going to want to change..."

Celeste gave him a quizzical look, eyebrow raised. "Goodbye...oh. Oh!" she exclaimed, remembering. "Oh, Julian. I'm sorry. I completely forgot. I have some loose ends I need to tie up before tomorrow morning. Give them my regards."

The wind appeared to go out of his sails a bit, tilting his head. "Are you sure, Lovely? Nadia will be disappointed. Portia, too."

She sighed, nodding, sorry to have let him down. "I...Yes, I'm sorry. I promised Asra and Muriel..."

"We can be late if you like. Nadia may even appreciate a spot of fashionable tardiness." Julian pressed. "I can come with you, and then we can go together."

"No, this is something I need to do alone. You go. I will see Nadia when we set off tomorrow." She stood, dusting herself off. She crossed the room to him. Julian straightened. Celeste slipped her arms around his waist, inclining her head to him. He straightened and gathered her in, long arms draped over her shoulders. "Nervous, Doc?"

He shook his head. "I have been waiting years for this, Lovely. I'm beyond ready."

Celeste smiled up at him. "Me too," she replied. "Ready for our next adventure."  And she hoped she sounded sincere. Though, in his reverie, she doubted he would catch her apprehension.

She went up on her tiptoes, and Julian bent to kiss her. It was soft and sweet. She could feel his mouth fixed in a perpetual smile—the happiest she had seen him in their entire relationship. For all her apprehension, this was worth it. Seeing him so delighted.

When their lips parted, his forehead rested against hers, his grey eye heavy-lidded. "Thank you for coming with me. There's no one else I'd rather go with."

Celeste felt her cheeks go rosy. She could never resist this look. It melted her. "I love you, Julian," she whispered.

"I love you, Celeste.." he murmured in reply, voice going husky.

She sighed, sobering at his tone.  "Let's wait for your desk to get here before we christen the office? I don't much relish the idea of splinters in my backside before we get on the boat."

Julian laughed, still heady. "Whatever you say, love. I have other ideas for your backside, anyway."

----

Celeste stood in front of the mirror, desperately trying to get her hair to behave.  Any other day, she would have been happy to throw it up in a bun and go. But, tonight was different. She wanted to look memorable.

Just now, she knew she'd make an impression. Though, it would likely be more of a nightmare than a daydream. She had fussed the waves into frizz.

She tapped her nails impatiently on the counter, tongue pressed into her cheek. She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath.

Every moment that ticked by added to her nerves. Her trepidation. She had fought to keep herself placid. Convince her self that she was ready. Keep a brave face.

She did want to try. To see something new. Be something...else. See what she could be outside of this city.  

She had fought against herself for weeks. Her anxiety was getting the better of her on more occasions than she cared to count. Despite Asra's encouragement. Despite Julian's joy.  She couldn't shake the dread.

She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. "Nine years, Celeste. You can do a few months away. You can. No Lucio. No Morga. No demons. No devils. You can do this." she scolded herself. "Pull it together." she spat, steeling herself.

She was shaken from her pep-talk by a heavy knock coming from downstairs.

"The hell?" she said, confused and irritated. The shop had closed early. The sign was clearly posted.  Asra had gone to the hut, and Celeste had planned on meeting him and Muriel there. To say their private goodbyes.

She shook her head and moved her hands back to her hair, deciding to ignore the knock. But, another hard rap came. She called out a warning, hoping that her voice would carry.

She had quiet for a moment, but then another loud bang came. She groaned and tied her dressing gown, harried. She turned and moved quickly from the bathroom, down the stairs, swearing viciously.

She rounded the front counter, yelling. "Hey, motherfucker! We're closed! Read the goddamn sign!"

But, the knocking persisted. So, in her thin white slip of a dressing gown, she cast down the protective wards and flicked the bolt open, throwing the door open in one fell swoop, still swearing. "Listen, you feeble-minded son of a...Oh."

Muriel stood in the doorframe, looking amused. "Yeah, you're closed. Loud and clear."

Celeste blinked up at him. He was...dressed. Muriel was dressed. And well-dressed, to boot. It was no masquerade outfit (a look she had taken no real pleasure in if she was honest. Much too frilly and fussy. Not at all her Muriel.), but it was clean, and it fit him well. A buttoned-down white shirt. Black pants. Boots. Hair braided back. He was impossibly handsome. But that was just Muriel. Impossible.

Celeste was shocked. And Muriel's blush was growing with each moment she spent staring at him.

"I...Asra, he...helped."  he stammered, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

Celeste nodded, still stunned.  "...he did a hell of a job."

"Can I..." he jerked his chin, begging for entry.

"Oh, yes! I'm sorry!" Celeste stepped aside, shaking her head to break the spell. "I just...I'm astonished. This is a surprise."

Muriel ducked his head in the entryway as he stepped in. It was then that Celeste noticed the bouquet in the crook of his arm. Wildflowers. She pressed a hand to her chest, her mouth falling open anew. "Muriel...did you bring me flowers?"

He grunted his confirmation, extending the bouquet to her. They were wrapped in odd, blue paper. She took the bundle from him, bringing a finger to stroke the delicate petals of a coneflower.

"Thank you, sweetheart. They're gorgeous."

"They're flowers. You're gorgeous."  Muriel replied. Though, her hair did appear as if she'd had a struggle with a raccoon. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. She barefoot, wearing just a white silk dressing gown. Hastily tied and barely covering anything of substance.

Celeste blushed at the compliment, her eyes falling back on Muriel. "Flatterer."

She stepped to him, and he stooped, bowing to kiss her. His fingers under her chin, drawing her up. For a moment, all her dread fell away. Rough fingers, the scent of myrrh, slightly chapped lips. Home. Muriel felt like home. Peace and safety and love.

When they broke away, her eyes fluttered open. He was smiling down at her. A full, genuine smile. It was disarming. More superb than any flower this world could conceive.

She drew a breath, trying to sober herself. "So, are you here to escort me to the forest? Is Asra joining us here?"

He shook his head. "No, I thought I would...try something else. Just us."

"Oh? What...did you have in mind?" she said, eyebrow raised.

"...Just go get dressed," he said, not wanting to reveal too much.

Was Muriel acting playful? Coy? Was Muriel...flirting? She lifted her hand to his forehead, pressing her palm against the skin. He pulled back a bit, confused.

"Just checking for a fever." she teased.  "You don't feel sick. But you are behaving...oddly."

Muriel snorted. "Go, get dressed, please."

Celeste raised her hand, relenting. "Okay, I'm going. Let me put these in water..."

He reached out and took the flowers back, almost looking panicked. "I'll take care of that. Please, go get dressed."

'Ah, yes. There he is.' Celeste thought, laughing to herself, shaking her head.

---

Celeste had wrestled her hair into compliance and dressed. A simple black dress buttoned up the front with wide lapels and a flared skirt. She was shuffling through her jewelry box while Muriel watched, reclined on the bed.

She found a pair of simple seed pearl earrings and held them in her palm, appraising them. Good enough. She slipped them into place, then went back to the jewelry box, trying to find the matching necklace.

She heard Muriel shift behind her as she shuffled through the box.

"Try this."

Celeste gave a "Hm?" as she turned to face him.

A small, wooden box in his hand.

She immediately felt her knees go weak, and she stumbled back, bracing herself on the dresser, her eyes wide. Heart thudding in her ears. "Muriel?!"

Muriel, for his part, looked genuinely bewildered. "Wha--are you okay?"

"Is that...are you...are you pro--" she stammered, eyes locked on the box in his hand, torn between panic and elation.

"Pr--Oh. Oh!" he barked, his panicked expression matching hers when he realized what she thought was happening. "No! I'm not...I mean..." He opened the box, presenting it to her.

It was an herb locket. It was meant for holding charms. Golden. Swirling metal tendrils in an orb shape, held with a tiny clasp. She could see the tiny chips of myrrh held inside. It was elegant. So much more sophisticated than the bundles she carried, even now that the curse was broken.  Celeste straightened, catching her breath, reaching her hand out to touch it.

"Oh, darling," she whispered. "It's lovely. Thank you."

"You're not disappointed that it's not a ring?" he asked, watching her expression.

"That feels like a trick question, and I decline to answer." She said, meeting his eyes. "I love this. It's perfect."

Muriel nodded. He couldn't disagree with her assessment. It was, in fact, a loaded question. And, he was lying to himself if he said he hadn't considered it.

"Will you put it on for me?" she asked, turning around, lifting her hair from the nape of her neck.  

He lifted the necklace from the box, reaching past her to lay the container on the dresser. He brought the delicate chain around her throat. He fumbled with the tiny clasp. Big fingers not quite adept with such diminutive closures. But, he fastened it.

Celeste ran her fingers over the charm and turned to look up at him.

Her eyes were soft. They were reflecting devotion and love.

"It suits you," Muriel stated plainly, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek, running his thumb along the soft flesh.

"All these gifts. I feel...utterly bereft. I feel like I should give something to you."

He shook his head. "Stay with me. That's all the gift I need."

Celeste was satisfied with her self that she didn't flinch at his answer. Though, it stung badly.

"I'm always with you, Muriel. Always." She responded voice sweet, and placid.

Muriel knew her well enough to know when she wasn't engaging. That was alright. He had all night to drive the point home.

"Are you ready?" He asked, breaking the tension.

Celeste nodded. "Lead the way."

----

Celeste knew precisely where they were. She had made this journey many times. Never with Muriel. It made no sense to her.

Her arm was linked with Muriel's. She could feel the tension radiating off of him. He was better in public, but he wasn't exactly great. Curse or no curse, he would, by and large, prefer to go unseen. He was staring straight ahead and ignoring the onlookers' stares.

"Em...Sweetheart? Angel? Light of my life?" Celeste said, growing more concerned as they forged forward. "Why exactly are we going to the South End?"

"Going on a date." He replied. Succinct.

"In the South End?"

He nodded, eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

"Muriel, darling? Are we going to The Raven?" she ventured.

He grunted his confirmation, and Celeste's eyes went wide, turning her attention back to the road ahead, blinking slowly.

Celeste wasn't sure what to say. She wanted to ask him if he had lost his goddamn mind. But, when it came to Muriel and trying new things, she was always cautious about redirecting him. It was important to her that he did try something.

But this seemed like a lot. Especially when she had fully anticipated spending the night in bed.

She had spent her fair share of evenings in the Rowdy Fucking Raven. Things were rarely, if ever, calm. Hence the name. She could pray for a quiet evening. But, she could easily see this becoming a nightmare for Muriel.

When they finally came to the tavern, Muriel paused outside the door—steeling himself.

"Muriel," Celeste said, bringing her free hand up to his bicep, giving a gentle squeeze. "Vesuvia is a big city. There are a lot of places that aren't The Rowdy Raven. We can even just...walk around. Go back to the shop. Go to the hut..."

"No. I can do this. You come here, don't you?" he asked, but his tone was a bit shaky.

"Yes, and I've ended up having to patch up more idiots after barfights than I care to recall. It's what pays for most of my drinks. I'm practically on the payroll." She replied.

"If you can do this, so can I," he said, seemingly finding his resolve and moving to the door.

Celeste shook her head and followed behind, bracing herself for impact.

It was, thankfully, still relatively calm. There was a band playing. Not a particularly good one, but serviceable. Quite a few patrons, but nobody actively bleeding that she could see. Blessing enough.

Barth looked up from drawing a drink, and his eyes fell on Muriel. The liquid flowing into the tankard continued to rise, spilling over the rim of the container. Utterly shocked at the man who had entered. Several other heads turned as well, eyes going wide. One of the musician's timing went wildly off as he was distracted by the newcomer.

Celeste waved and called out the barkeeps' name, trying to break his reverie. "Barth! Any way we can get a corner booth?"

The man blinked and shook his head, swearing at the spilled ale and righting the tap. "Oh! Cela, love! You've got the run of the place! Your usual?"

She nodded. "Dark and stormy. And Mead for him?"

"You got it, Angelface."

She pulled Muriel along after her to the back corner. She found the booth occupied by a regular. Quite drunk. Quite asleep. "Randall?" she said, sweet, tapping the man on the leg. "Gotta get up for me, darling. Barth has something for you up at the bar."

The man stirred. He was groaning loudly in protest.

"Randy," she said, a bit more authoritative. "Move your ass."

The man made another heinous groan but lurched up. He was blearily shifting out of the booth, muttering something under his breath. Celeste shook her head.

"Tell Barth to get you a black coffee. On me." She said, patting the man on the back as he stumbled away, waving her off.

Muriel watched her, shocked to see how easily she navigated the chaos.

She slid into one side of the booth, and Muriel took the opposite side, looking her over.

"Oh, you thought I was joking about being on the payroll, didn't you?" she said, lifting an eyebrow, teasing.

He nodded, not quite sure what to make of it. He had seen the woman drink. After one glass, her cheeks and nose went red.  Usually, after her second glass of wine, she required someone to hold her hand so she could walk. Not precisely standard barroom fare.

Barth personally delivered their drinks, smiling broadly. "So, Angelface. Tomorrow is the big day, isn't it? Come for some liquid courage?"

"It is. You coming down to the docks to see your best customer off?" She smiled back.

"You or Doc? He's the best, but you're my favorite." The man winked. "Will he be joining us this evening?"

Celeste pulled a face. "Doubtful, unless he comes down for last call. But, I have a feeling he's getting the top-shelf stuff tonight—dinner with the Countess."

Barth nodded, looking impressed. "Well, I don't know if I can get away. But I'm glad to see you tonight. And, the Big One, too." He said, turning to Muriel, who had been watching the exchange, rapt. Barth extended his hand. "Good to meet you..."

Muriel lifted his hand to shake Barth's but did not respond. Barth's eyes fell back on Celeste.

"This is my Muriel," she answered for him.

"It's good to put a name to the legend, Muriel. Welcome to the Raven." Barth finished, clapping his other hand over the top of their joined hands, giving an affectionate pat. "Well, I'll let you get back to it. Whistle if you need me." He finished, releasing Muriel. He moved to the other side of the booth and leaned in, kissing Celeste's cheek. "Take care of yourself, Love. Gonna miss you something fierce."

Celeste turned to kiss Barth's other cheek, reaching down to squeeze his hand. "Keep the place standing. I'll be back soon."

When Barth had departed, Celeste extended her hand across the table to Muriel. He took her hand, stroking his thumb across her knuckles.

"So, do you want to tell me why we're here?" She asked, searching his face.

"Because I want to go on a date with the woman I love."

Celeste made a noise of understanding. "So how long did you and Asra sit around prepare this for me?"

Muriel's brow furrowed. He knew it wasn't precisely opaque, but he had hoped she'd be somewhat more receptive to the attempts.

"Don't blame Asra. I...wanted you to see me..." he trailed off, trying to find the words. "See me try. Do the things that you do with--"

"Julian." she finished for him, eyebrow raised.

He nodded. She sighed.

As the pieces started clicking into place, she picked up her drink and took a long sip, eyes closed.

The past few weeks had been a strain, to put it mildly. Muriel had taken the initial announcement badly. He had been tolerant of her relationship with Julian. But leaving Vesuvia, together, for months was more than Muriel was prepared to deal with. So, he hadn't. He had all but refused to speak about it.

Muriel made more trips to the city to see her. When she stayed at the hut, he kept her as long as he possibly could—holding her tighter—fucking her longer and harder. Silent but desperate pleas.

He had lost her twice. Death. And that should have been the end of it. But, she had come back to him. Only to be ripped away by his curse all over again. He finally had her. He wanted to respect that she was learning to navigate the world with the new knowledge of her own past. But, he also wanted her. And he had her. And he did not want to let her go.

Asra was part of the deal. That was how it was meant to be. Julian was not. And now he was stealing her away.

"Muriel, I am coming home. This isn't forever."

It was his turn to drink. He didn't drop her gaze as he imbibed.

When he was sated, he sat the tankard down and took a sharp breath.

"That's something else I wanted to discuss with you...Home. Whose home are you coming back to?"

Celeste narrowed her eyes, trying to parse what he was asking.

"I'm coming home to Vesuvia," she unsure of how to answer.

"Are you coming home to the shop? Home to Julian's apartment? Or home...to me?"

"I always come home to you, Muriel. I also live at the shop, and I stay with Julian," she said, shaking her head. "What are you asking?"

"I want to give you a home. Our home. I want you home with me. I am asking you to stay with me."

Celeste had emotional whiplash already. First, from what she thought was a proposal. And now, this, which also felt like a proposition.

"So, you're asking me to move into the hut permanently?"

"Not exactly."

Celeste pressed her tongue into her cheek, baffled, her irritation growing.

"Why today, Muriel?"

"Last-ditch effort," he responded, more quickly than either of them anticipated.

Celeste released his hand and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Elaborate, please," she said tersely.

"I don't feel like I need to. I want you to stay with me. I want to have a home with you. It seems simple."

"When I'm with you, I'm home."

Muriel drew a deep breath. "I want more than that. I want you to choose to stay with me. I want to build a life with you. I want to give you a home. I love you. I want you to stay."

Celeste softened, deflating a bit from her incredulity. "I want to stay. I do. But... I need to do this. It's a few days in the grand scheme of things. I will come home to you."

Muriel closed his eyes, considering his words. "What...do you need to do that I can't be with you for? Why do you have to leave me?"

"Would you come with me if I asked you to?"  Celeste retorted before taking another drink.

Muriel blinked at her, reeling a bit.  That was a response he hadn't considered. Going with her? With Julian?

When he didn't respond, she made a vague gesture of dismissal. "I guess we're at an impasse, then."

They sat quietly for a long moment, drinking. Muriel extended his hand again, searching for hers. Celeste relented, giving his fingers a squeeze.

"I don't want to argue with you. Not today." He said, low, his eyes downcast.

The music shifted. A slow song. There was a shuffle of chairs and barstools as the dance floor occupants adjusted. Some joining with their partners, others falling away to make room.

Celeste sighed and moved to stand, hand still connected to Muriel's. He eyed her warily.

"It's not the Masquerade. Everyone is drunk. Come on." she said, coaxing him out.

Muriel narrowed his eyes but followed. When he stood, Celeste took both his hands, pulling him backward toward the dance floor.

She pulled his hands to her waist and moved her arms around his torso, finding her favorite spot. Head on his chest. She heard a familiar wolf-whistle from the bar and gave a laugh. Barth, cheering them on.

Celeste took the "lead." Whatever that looked like. They simply stood in the circle of each other's embrace, swaying to the music. No attempts at dipping one another. No spins or twirls. No fancy footwork. Just nearness.

Muriel's hands were firm at her waist, looking down at her as they rocked. The way her eyes fluttered shut, and she breathed him in. As if there were no one else in the world watching. He could feel the eyes, but just now, he could push their stares away. The lantern light playing in her hair. Her skin glowing. Cheek just the slightest bit flushed from drink.

His Celeste. The great love of his life. In front of all these people, completely at ease in his hands. Never afraid of him.

When the music subsided, there was a smattering of laughter. For the musicians, Muriel thought and turned to the stage. When he found all the eyes on them, he blushed wildly. Celeste laughed, shaking her head.

"Why are they...?" he asked, bewildered.

"It's not every day they get a folk hero in their bar."

"Hero?" His tone was incredulous.

"The imprisoned Gladiator that defeated the devil himself? It's a favorite story around here." She said, giving his hand a squeeze.

"You know it wasn't quite that simple," he said, looking down at her.

"Smile and wave, Darling. Your public adores you." she teased.

"Give us a kiss, Love!" Barth called out from behind the bar, and there was a swell of other voices, cheering them on. Some glasses and tankers banging on various table tops. A low chant of "Kiss, Kiss, Kiss."

Muriel blinked, caught off guard. Celeste smiled up at him. "Should we--"

She was suddenly off her feet, swept up in his arms and dipped low for a kiss. Celeste scrambled blindly, hands trying to find purchase on him. His lips were heavy and hot against hers. His hand at the back of her head, his other arm around her back, holding her aloft and horizontal to the ground.

After a long moment, he released her. She was breathless, heart pounding. The din of the crowd was deafening. He carefully lowered her back to the ground. His face looked positively mischevious.

"I'd like to take you back to the shop now." Muriel said, husky.

Celeste nodded rapidly.

He had her by the hand and moved swiftly for the door, Celeste had the presence of mind to look back at Barth, who waved her on. "On me!"

---

They practically fell into the shop once Celeste managed to wrestle the door open. Muriel kicked it shut with a bang. Muriel hoisted her up onto the countertop and was immediately on his knees in front of her.

He was thwarted by her crinoline and groaned, frustrated. Celeste was fumbling with buttons, not quite able to manage them. "Fuck the dress," she said breathlessly.  And Muriel nodded, his hands coming to her lapels and yanking roughly. The fabric rended like paper under his hands, leaving her exposed. She shed the sleeves, and he tugged the crinoline away, tossing it aside in a heap.

His mouth was on her in an instant, and her legs were over his shoulders. Muriel could feel her boot heels pressing into his shoulders, drawing him into her. He brought his hands up to her waist, holding her in place, so she didn't slip off the counter.

His tongue parted the outer lips of her sex, and darted out to find her clit. She was already soaking wet, her fluids drenching his mouth. Celeste hissed above him, her hands in his hair, the braids falling loose from the various stops they had made en route to the shop, unable to suppress their need.

His lips closed around the bud, and he sucked gently. She was calling out his name above him, held securely in place, but still tensing and writhing, back arching. He ventured a hand upwards, finding her breast and cupping it, thumb finding her nipple, brushing his calloused thumb across.

He could feel his cock straining against the trousers, painfully. He fucking hated these clothes. All these buttons and fastenings. He pulled away from Celeste's cunt, and she whined. "Just-- just a second," he said, releasing her breast and reaching down to find the buttons at the fly. He managed to undo the top fastenings and slide them down far enough to allow his member to spring free. He gave a satisfied sigh when he could take himself in hand, stroking.

He returned to his ministrations, tongue seeking out her canal. Dripping with desire. He lapped away the slick with long strokes, thrusting in and out of the hole, drinking her in. She was so warm and wet, and the smell saturated his senses, overwhelming him.

"Muriel..." Celeste hissed, trying to draw him up. He pulled back and stared up at her, mouth slightly agape, eyes heavy-lidded. She didn't need to ask. He knew.

He pushed himself up off the floor. Celeste's legs were still on his shoulders, but she shifted herself so she could lay back on the counter, head falling over the edge.

The counter put her at the perfect height for him. He moved his hand along the planes of her stomach, feeling the way she fluttered under his touch with anticipation. He slid his fingers through her curls, noticing, for the first time, that she had groomed her pubic hair. The smattering of dark curls on her stomach shaved away and the shape altered. Refined.

He clenched his jaw, staring down at the smooth skin, running his fingertips over the bare spaces.

He felt something inside him snap, and he grabbed his cock in hand, finding her entrance and thrusting roughly. Celeste made to cry out from shock, but her breath was caught in a cough. The violent contraction of her body sending her cunt into a spasm around him.

Muriel rocked into her with long, slow strokes to accommodate for his initial roughness. But, his hand stayed firm on her stomach, not allowing her to rise, keeping her down. He could feel himself moving within her.

Celeste was pressed against him, barely able to move, legs straight up. Muriel was deep inside her from the first stroke. She was still trying to catch her breath, but the shock was giving way to pleasure. The exquisite stretch of being filled by his cock. She felt each inch as he withdrew. The ridges and veins, the swell of the head. Moving fluidly inside her, coated in her slick.

Muriel's movements became more frenzied, with each keen and gasp that came from Celeste's lips. The wet sounds that came from between her legs. The thud of his hips against the backs of her thighs.

She came for him, wetness surging from her, her walls clenching as he continued fucking her, hitting her deepest and most sensitive places.

When he was close, he withdrew from her and took his cock in hand, stroking himself to completion. Hot, thick spurts of come on her belly, on her mons. He groaned with each spasm, head falling back.

When he was spent, he took a deep breath, bracing himself on the countertop. He looked down at Celeste, covered in his seed. He released his cock and reached up to take her by the wrist, bringing her hand to the sticky mess, drawing her fingers through the substance, making her spread it across the bare places that she had shaved.

Celeste was still in a haze from her orgasm. But she realized, even in her daze, his point. She should have known he wouldn't have been pleased. She sighed to herself, allowing him to move her hands.

When he was satisfied, he pulled her up, sliding his hand under her back and drawing her up. He brought her fingers to his lips, drawing them into his mouth, sucking away the remaining come. One finger at a time. Celeste watched the display. Soft lips wrapping around the digits. Tasting himself on her skin.

When her fingers were cleaned, he drew her hand up to his neck and leaned in to kiss her. It was positively chaste compared to his previous actions. Soft and tender. When they parted, he pressed his forehead against hers, staring intensely into her eyes.

Celeste stroked her fingers across the nape of his neck, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Mine." Muriel whispered. Not a question. An assertion.

"Yours. Always yours."  Celeste replied.

Momentarily satisfied, Muriel pulled back, hitching his pants again, situating his softened member. When he was settled, he moved to sweep Celeste into his arms. Bridal style. Celeste laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Bath," he said shortly, moving towards the back of the shop to the staircase.

---

Celeste had always been a big fan of the bath in the shop. It was ridiculously large. Now that she knew Muriel, she assumed it was an accommodation Asra had made just in case. It wasn't nearly the size of the baths in the palace, of course. But she didn't need a swimming pool. She liked being pressed up against Muriel, between his thighs.

He was stroking a soapy cloth over her body. Lazy, languid circles. She was melted against him, eyes closed.

"Cela?"

"Hm?"

Muriel sat the cloth aside and brought his hand to the necklace, rolling the orb between his fingers thoughtfully.

"If it had been a ring..."

"...I would have said yes."

Muriel sighed.

"Then, I'm asking."

Celeste tensed, and her eyes shot open.  

"Why?" she asked, dubious.

"Because I love you. Because I want you..."

Celeste stared up at the ceiling, measuring her response carefully. "Okay. I will marry you...but I'm leaving tomorrow. We can plan the wedding when I get back."

Muriel swore. "God damn it, Celeste."

Celeste made a noise of confirmation and planted her hands on the sides of the tub, pushing herself out of the water, stepping out. He caught her wrist, but she wrenched out of his slippery grip.

"I'm not doing this, Muriel," she said, beyond exasperated. She was offended. She grabbed a bath towel and wrapped herself in it. "I'm having a hard enough time, I do not need this from you. I am going, and you'll either be here waiting, or you won't."

Muriel was up and after her, watching as she swept out of the bathroom while he fumbled with a towel. "Celeste, we love each other. Why do you insist on leaving me over and over again? I'm so...tired of being left."

"You don't think I know that? Don't you know how selfish I feel? But I have to do this for myself. I am going. I have to go--"

"You don't." Muriel bit out. "Once you wept to leave me. You fought against death to get back to me. And I have been patient. I have given up everything for us. And I have been tolerant. But, there was always supposed to be an end to this...you were my promise, Celeste. We're supposed to be together."

"I didn't make any fucking deals, Muriel. I had nothing to do with any of this," she shouted back. "What you and Asra did I am grateful for, but I am not indebted to either of you. I made no deals.  I stood by your side. I fought alongside you. I went through hell. You made deals. Not me. And if I want to get on a fucking boat and go be something else for a couple months, I'm going to do it."

Muriel stood to his full height, eyes hard, jaw set. Then, in an instant, he was going down the stairs, sending Celeste reeling.

"Where are you going?" She called after him, following after.

When she caught up to him, he had the bouquet in his hand, unwrapping the flowers from the blue paper. Celeste watched him, eyebrow raised. He thrust the paper at her.

"What is..."

"Fucking look at it." he spat.

Celeste laid the paper out on the countertop, squinting at it.

They were plans. Blueprints.

She clutched the towel to her chest with one hand and stroked the lines on the page with the fingertips of the other. It was a house. A cabin.

She looked up at Muriel, who was scowling.

"I want you to stay. I want to make a home with you. I love you." He growled.

"Oh...Muriel." Celeste said, righting herself. "This is for us? This is our home?"

"Stay," he stated, his tone still biting.

"You're building this for us?"  Celeste asked, her lip trembling.

"Stay," he repeated, his harshness fading. "I need you to stay."

"We can still have this. I am coming home." Celeste felt the first tear fall. "I want this, I want the same thing you do..."

Muriel drew a shuddering breath. "Why do I keep losing you? What am I doing wrong? Why do you keep leaving me?"

"I don't know how else to explain the distinction between going on a trip from which I will return and leaving you," she said, trying to keep her composure. "I love you. I don't ever want to leave you."

"But you don't love me enough to stay." he retorted. "Not enough to realize that I want you. I will give everything in the world away for you. I want to give you my whole heart for my whole life."

"You have had a decade to love me. I didn't know...I need to leave for a little bit and see the world with clear eyes. I just...please. Understand."

"I'm trying. I am. But I'm tired. I'm ready for you. I'm ready now." Muriel pleaded. "Please don't leave, Celeste."

"Come with me," she said, crossing the room to him, looking up into his eyes. "You're free, too. Nothing is holding you here. Come with me. See the world with me."

"I will go anywhere with you. With you. I will not go with Julian."

"I made a commitment."

"You made a promise. To me. Long before Julian."

"I will keep my promise. I will."

"When? After he takes you halfway around the world where I can't get to you? Gets you pregnant? He decides that he doesn't want to come home? That he wants you to stay with him?"

"Why don't you trust me? I am coming back."

"I trust you. I don't trust Julian. And I do not trust him with you in the slightest. He will try to keep you. And I won't be able to get you back."

Celeste shook her head. "I don't know how to make this better for you. I love Julian. I love Asra. But...you have to know that I choose you. I choose us," she paused, wiping tears away. "But, I deserve your respect. I deserve to take my time."

Muriel nodded, defeated. "Then, I guess you're going. There's nothing left to say." He stepped past her, back to the staircase.

Celeste was frozen in place, watching him go.

After a long while He descended the stairs, dressed. He stopped in front of her, silent tears falling.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, fixing his eyes on hers. "Stay with me, Celeste. Stay."

She was shivering, trembling. "I can't." she forced out. Her tone all regret.

Muriel nodded, his heart broken. "Fine." He spoke, his tone cold.

And then, he was gone, across the shop and out the door in an instant.

---

Celeste stood, side by side with Julian at the docks. The ship behind them.

Portia and Nadia to one side, hands clasped. Portia nearly in tears as Nadia repeated all the ways in which she would be missed.

Asra stood in front of Celeste. He had been apprised of the rudiments from the previous evening's activities. First by Muriel, then by Celeste. His eyes were sad. Because she was leaving, of course. But, because he had hoped that it would work.

Asra would never be the one to hold Celeste. He felt it would be hypocritical to do so, after all she had put up with. And now, all she was contending with regarding her new-found knowledge. He knew the peace that came with being away from the strains and stresses of daily life. To retreat. To be free.

But it still hurt to see her go.

"You're going to come home to me, right?" Asra said, trying to force a lilt into his voice.

Celeste nodded. "Always, Asra. My Heart." She placed her hand on her chest. "I'm always just a heartbeat away."

Asra leaned in to kiss her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, fighting back the urge to break down in tears all over again.

This was supposed to be a happy day. A fresh start.

Asra's grip was tight, holding her to him, his kiss feverish.  His mind calling out to make her stay. Find a way. Do whatever it takes.

But, he had already done that. He had found a way to keep her.

Celeste was his.

But, most wonderfully, she belonged entirely to herself. Free to choose. To live her life. And how lucky they all were to have her. That she chose all of them. Loved all of them.

His heart had been a gift. It wasn’t a life sentence. 

When their kiss ended, their foreheads were pressed together. Hearts beating in sync.

"I love you, Asra," she whispered.

"I love you, Celeste. Oh, how I love you." Asra replied, his voice wavering.

From above them, there was a sharp whistle. Mazelinka, looking equally amused and irritated. "Alright, Lovebirds! We're pushing off!"

Celeste's eyes went wide with panic, pulling back from Asra, looking over his shoulder. Asra caught her gaze and turned to follow it.

There was nothing. A line of well-wishers, offering similar sentiments to their loved ones before they boarded.

No Muriel.

She sighed. Asra felt his heart skip a beat. He turned back to her, giving a sympathetic look. "He...hates the docks." He offered.

Celeste gave a rueful laugh. "Well...he hates...something, that's for sure."

"Sweetheart...no. He...doesn't hate you. He could never hate you."

Julian's hand fell on her shoulder, giving an affectionate squeeze. "If you want, I can tell Maz to hold off a little longer."

Celeste drew a sharp breath and shook her head. "No...It's time." She said relenting. Turning to smile up at Julian. "We're free, Julian. As free as we'll ever be again."

He grinned broadly. "Oh, you lovely, lovely woman."

Asra caught her free hand and gave it a squeeze, tears threatening to fall. "Be safe. If you need me..."

Celeste laughed and nodded. "I'll be surrounded by water. I know where to find you."

She leaned in to give him one last kiss. Delicate and short.

Asra released her hand and looked up to Julian. "Take care of my Heart, Ilya," he said, his tone a warning.

"You have my word, Asra," Julian said, sincere.

Maz whistled again, less amused this time, staring down at Julian with a hard look. He smiled back, unphased, but when he turned to look at Celeste, she could see the slight dread on his features.

"Time to go?" she asked sarcastically.

Julian nodded. "Before she finds things to throw."

---

Celeste stood with Julian at the side of the boat. His arm was around her waist. Julian eagerly waving at the remaining wellwishers.

Asra and Nadia stood side by side after vowing to watch them over the Horizon line.

When the boat finally began moving away from the dock, she rested her hand over her heart, and Asra mirrored her.

Then, Asra felt his heart drop and saw Celeste's face shift.

Muriel stood at the top of the docks, watching as the boat was unmoored and began to move away.

Julian, to his credit, did rush to the captain to try to convince him to stop and was met with a firm, hearty "Fuck you. No."

Asra rushed up the docks to Muriel, who met him halfway.

"You didn't stop her?" Muriel asked, eyes wide.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that you were coming?" Asra retorted, looking back at the boat that was well away from the dock now. He whirled back to Muriel. "What is...do you have a bag?" Asra's mouth fell open, looking at the satchel that Muriel was carrying. "Oh, fuck."

"Can I get to her?" he asked, trying to figure out what to do.

"I...don't...Nadia?" Asra said, looking for a solution.

Nadia shook her head. "I'm afraid not. They generally won't turn back." She said, her tone compassionate. "We might be able to send another boat after them? Meet them at their next port?"

Muriel sighed, shaking his head. "I thought I had time."

"Muriel, we can figure this out," Asra said, reaching out to rest his hand on Muriel's arm. "We can get you to her."

"No." he said, setting his jaw, eyes going dark.

"Muriel.." Asra began, but Muriel turned and walked away, eyes cast down.

Asra looked back at the boat, then to Muriel. He swore, and chase after him, calling his name.

---

Celeste stood, shocked. Cold all over. Portia stood at her side, a hand on her back, trying to settle her down.

"Can...can I get off?" Celeste asked, her voice shaky.

"No, I'm sorry, sweetie! But, I'm sure Nadia will figure something out." Portia offered sweetly.

"I can swim. Can I jump?"

Julian came back from the captain and his eye went wide. "No, you may absolutely not jump."

"Julian...he came. He won't understand. I have to go back." She broke away from Portia, rounding on Julian.

"I know, I know." He said, catching her by her upper arms. "Nadia will figure something out. We've got Malak. We can send word back. It will be fine."

"He won't understand..."

Julian's sympathetic expression shifted, eye narrowing. "He's a grown man, Celeste. He made a choice. You asked him to come, and he waited until the last possible moment to make a decision. He'll be here when we get back, or he'll figure it out."

Celeste sobered a bit. She couldn't argue with that. She sighed, looking back over her shoulder. The docks further away with each second.

And Muriel, followed by Asra, retreating.

[dat-fandom-losertown]

The Drift Between Us

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Chapter 8: The Search

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor, Gavin x RK900 (Ritch)

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: Inaccurate/Unfair representation of a therapist (for only 1 paragraph), A physical fight, and I think that’s all?

Word Count: 12,273

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Hey guys, I normally don’t like putting notes before a fic, but I just wanted to apologize for this update taking literal months, and I wanted to thank anyone who’s still around and is still wanting to read this. On with the long-awaited chapter!

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    After Ritch hesitantly peeks through Connor’s journal (which turns out to be admittedly helpful, if not surprising because of the specific note that Ritch is more compatible with Gavin despite the fact Ritch had always made sure Connor wasn’t in the area when they started picking at each other, the one exception being during the Alex fiasco) and adds his own information to it, he goes to lunch.

    He ends up spending most of his meal time talking with the Jericho Squad (and he doubts he’ll ever not internally cringe whenever they unironically call themselves that) about therapy and what generally makes a good therapist and a bad one. It’s actually quite helpful. Helpful enough, in fact, that after he and Connor take two written evaluations directly after lunch– with the second one having significantly harder and oddly specific questions that he’s sure they both got some wrong– he initiates a relatively unstressful talk with his brother about general types of therapists.

    They end up agreeing that they absolutely don’t trust strangers with anything personal, which will make this entire endeavor harder than it probably should be since the therapist will be a stranger. They also surprisingly agree on what type of therapist they think they’d prefer to have, despite their very different personalities. Neither twin mention that this may be because the warm, casual nature of the person they’re both hoping for is nearly the opposite of how Amanda always treated them, but it does vaguely show up in Ritch’s unsettling dreams that night.

    The next morning, on his way to breakfast, Ritch almost predictably runs into Gavin. However, instead of immediately getting into another round of gibes, Gavin is so wrapped up in whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t acknowledge Ritch at all. He supposes that even the pilots with shorter tempers have actual work to be done, so the trainee doesn’t question it and moves on. Ritch refuses to believe that the negative emotion he feels because of the lack of attention from Reed is disappointment. Just another thing to shove away and forcibly forget about for the preferably indefinite future.

    The strength tests after breakfast definitely help with keeping him distracted from therapists and Gavin and anything else he’s shoved away from his mind so well that he can no longer recall what they are (but he knows they’re there. He can feel them trying to cause him more stress and uncertainty, but all he has to do is pointedly not think about that vague feeling and they can’t bother him). Chloe doesn’t show a reaction or share their results during the strength evaluations, so he doesn’t know if they’re just average or if they scored close enough to what they had before that no input is needed. Yet another thing to add to the “don’t think or worry about it right now” pile.

    Thankfully, or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, he forgets about everything in that mental pile except for one thing after he finishes dinner. The therapist search. He and Connor have separate people they’re going to check out, since Marshal Fowler said it would be better for them to not have the same therapist. Both he and Connor readily agreed.

    When Ritch arrives at his appointment, the older man only greets him and introduces himself as Dr. Johnson before getting right down to business. That isn’t anything more than a rub in the wrong direction, but when Ritch gives an honest but simple request, “I’d rather not give any personal information before I know you’re right for me,” the man starts assuming possible situations that could be the reason why Ritch is here without letting him properly speak. Again, Ritch doesn’t have a particular problem with this– he certainly won’t be choosing this man– but Mr. Johnson then ignores Ritch when he requests that they get back on topic and instead takes that as a “clue” that he is “getting close” to the “real reason” and starts spewing even more ridiculous bullshit.

    (As if he, of all people, would have had any time or desire at all for a romantic relationship growing up, and that he would’ve been be vengeful, of all emotions, if “she” died in what would be considered a freak accident. As if he even knows if he’s interested in women exclusively or at all. It’s not like he’s had the time or desire to experiment with relationships or even the idea of them.)

    Ritch ends up so tense with frustration that he gets up and leaves long before the session is supposed to end, ignoring the calls behind him. He will not put up with someone who won’t listen to him, not again. Not if he has any control over it, and Marshal Fowler and Chloe had guaranteed that he does.

    After those short 15 minutes, he reluctantly decides to get some outside help, and there’s only one person he can think of that would have both the information he’s looking for and the potential willingness to help– even if it’s only for Connor’s sake.

    He’s surprised to see the man he planned on looking for during breakfast. After a beat of hesitation, he figures that the sooner he asks the better, and heads over to a table with only one, familiar figure sitting at it.

    “Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

    The ex-pilot doesn’t turn around to face Ritch or sit up from being hunched over his food, and huffs in lieu of a greeting. That isn’t unexpected, though, since it is a well-known fact that Mr. Anderson normally doesn’t get out of bed until lunch is already being served. It would almost make Ritch feel guilty for bothering the exhausted man if he weren’t also concerned about himself and Connor being eaten alive by strangers who claim they want to help.

    Mr. Anderson suddenly turns his head towards Ritch, as if just realizing something. “I thought I told you to call me–”

    Ritch sees the shock on his face when he registers his blue eyes instead of Connor’s brown ones. He probably should have waited to call out to him until he was seen and couldn’t be mistaken for his twin, but he didn’t want to spook the older man by appearing in front of him without warning. There’s nothing to do about it now, though, so Ritch tries his best to offer what could be an apologetic smile, but could also very well look like an awkward grimace.

    He’s not well versed in showing proper emotions yet since he’s only had a day or so of practice. Simon and Josh are trying their best to teach him so he doesn’t look angry at the press if/when he’s announced as a new jaeger pilot, but so far it’s been an uphill battle.

    He doesn’t voice any of those thoughts when he addresses Mr. Anderson again. He is not like his twin, who gets nervous and overshares and rambles as a result. He has more self-control.

    “I apologize for interrupting your meal, but may I ask you for a favor? Or rather, offer to owe you one in exchange?”

    Something curious yet cautious glints in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. “What kind of favors?”

    “The kind of equivalent exchange. I may be out of line to ask this, but you do have experience with the therapists and such here, yes?”

    “Why the hell do you want to know.” Mr. Anderson snaps and sits up defensively, but it doesn’t bother Ritch. He was expecting this and more to come.

    “I would like to know which ones Connor and I should avoid.” Seeing Mr. Anderson’s blatant confusion, Ritch figures Connor hadn’t mentioned these trial meetings to him and explains further. “We started mandatory therapist jumping yesterday and the one I started with was pushy, impatient…” He purses his lips and looks to the side. “I generally try to avoid using words like “unpleasant” when describing people, but that’s the most accurate word I can use for him.” Ritch pauses long enough to look him in the eye. “Of course, if you do trust me enough to tell me these things, then I’ll let you cash in a single favor from me whenever you’d like.”

    Mr. Anderson snorts and turns to his food again, trying and failing to not let his surprise show. Is he surprised because Ritch wants his help, even though he can count their interactions on one hand? He can’t imagine it being anything else, especially since he knows of some of their issues from Connor apparently mentioning and/or actually talking about them with the older man. Maybe his twin downplayed their experiences again despite being much more anxious than usual recently?

    God, this is way too much thinking for someone who’s been actively trying to not think for the past several weeks, years even.

    “Lemme guess, a favor within reason, right?” Mr. Anderson jokes sarcastically after a few moments.

    “I am not my brother or your old partner.” Ritch states.

    Mr.Anderson looks up at him at that, very still with slightly raised eyebrows, probably asking “Does that mean what I think it does?” silently. Ritch answers the assumed question with a slight upwards tilt of his head, “Yes.”

    Ritch has far less of an issue than Connor does with doing things that don’t exactly follow the rules. Not that his brother has any particular issue with breaking the rules, he just doesn’t like to anger people because he seems to have trouble making them not angry anymore. Ritch, on the other hand, usually knows exactly how to placate and bargain with most types of people, and thus he has very little apprehension of doing things against the rules.

    Mr. Anderson hesitates for a moment before nodding his head to the chair in front of him, saying, “Go and sit down. Should I wait for Connor before I start or–”

    “Wait for me to start what?” Ritch’s shoulders stiffen in surprise, but he quickly relaxes them again. He didn’t hear Connor behind him over the white noise of the food court. ”If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

    Ritch turns to his twin. “Mr. Anderson has agreed to tell us about some of the therapists here so we can narrow our search. Did you have a pleasant experience with yours yesterday evening, Connor?”

    He knows Connor catches the silent apology in his tone for ignoring him yesterday when his brother wanted to “compare results”, as he called it. Ritch needed to focus on how to get the tight-lipped Anderson to talk about something he likely would rather not. This is all rather straightforward and easy compared to what Ritch thought he was going to have to do.

    Connor answers as he sits down in the chair to the left of Ritch and places a steaming cup near Mr. Anderson’s tray, “I wouldn’t call it pleasant, but I wouldn’t call it unpleasant either. I believe Dr. Amelia Johan would be suitable enough if there were few or no other options. What about yours?”

    Ritch feels his expression darken slightly and has to stop himself before he clears it, then he ignores how vulnerable and awkward he feels in order to exaggerate the emotion. According to Josh and Simon, not immediately returning his face back to neutral makes him seem more human, as mildly insulting as it was to insinuate that he wasn’t human for keeping his thoughts more private. It’s one of the things they insisted he work on, though.

    “Avoid appointments with Mr. Johnson.” Ritch states plainly, pretending he doesn’t see Connor’s concerned look and body language out of the corner of his eye.

    Hank snorts in agreement. “You were right to call that man pushy. Pushy and he never lets the conversation be turned to himself or give you a break for even a second. It’s like talking to a wall that always insists you got mental work to be doin’.” He shakes his head, “I guess it works for some people… From what I heard, the roughest appointment with him is the first one, especially if you don’t work with him, but I wouldn’t know.” he finishes with a shrug.

    Connor frowns. “That’s pretty much the opposite of what we’re looking for.”

    That visibly grabs Mr. Anderson’s attention. “You’re both wantin’ the same kind of shrink?”

    Connor nods with what looks like amusement in his eyes, “It was a surprise to us as well.”

    “We’d prefer someone who is kind and more casual rather than always controlling where the conversation goes.” Ritch finishes.

    “You’d probably like Alicia Steinfield or Alexander White, then,” the older man informs immediately. “If they even still work here, that is. And avoid Johnson–” he gestures to Ritch “–obviously, and Dustin Payne and Felix Antúnez. They’re pretty strict and prefer to follow the ‘therapy is only about work’ policy. I didn’t like them much, either.”

    The ex-pilot takes a slower, almost exaggerated bite of what’s left of his breakfast. Ritch wonders if that’s a normal thing for him and Connor, because his brother, without seemingly realizing it, starts eating his own previously ignored breakfast. Interesting.

    “Dr. Steinfield and Dr. White.” Ritch forces himself to nod as he commits the names to memory because that’s apparently a normal, human thing to do according to Markus.

    Connor turns to face Ritch. “Do you think we could request to change our schedules so we can meet them this afternoon instead of the ones we had previously?”

    “I’m willing to try. After we finish breakfast.” Ritch adds as Connor moves to get up. “I’m sure they’ll at least let us skip anyone with a similar... technique as Dr. Johnson.”

    Connor nods, settles back in his seat, and starts shoveling food in his mouth in a way that Amanda would definitely disapprove of. Ritch simply sighs and turns to finish his own food in a more respectable-sized bites. He and Mr. Anderson end up making eye contact for a moment, just long enough for the older man to nod at him, and for him to return it.

    Getting this information was much easier than he thought it would have been, indeed.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Once Ritch finishes his own food and leaves with the message that he’ll be going to the training room after requesting a meeting with whoever’s in charge of setting up their appointments, Connor quickly swallows his large bite of food. Speaking with a full mouth isn’t a habit he particularly cares about if other people do it (he’s had to sit through too many meals with too many “important” people who do that to truly care anymore), but he hates doing it to others. Besides, Hank may put up with his weird eating habits (some days, like today, he’ll shovel his food in his mouth because he can’t get enough, and other days he’s barely able to force down several nibbles), but he's pretty positive the ex-pilot draws the line at seeing what he’s chewing.

    “Thank you.” Connor says, not hiding any of his sincerity or gratitude.

    Hank harrumphs and looks away. “I did that for more selfish reasons than you think, Connor. You don’t need to thank me.”

    Connor simply raises an eyebrow. “If I know you as much as I’d like to think I know you, I know that if you didn’t really want to surrender that information, no amount of bribing from Ritch would have gotten you to tell us.” Hank’s head snaps up at that, but Connor pushes on. “And considering that I wasn’t far behind Ritch when coming to the food court, he didn’t have to barter with you very much to get you to agree.”

    He doesn’t explicitly say how he’s almost positive that means Hank actually care about people and things, even if he doesn’t realize or want to admit it himself. Hank hates even the mention of himself having any positive emotions for whatever reason. Connor doesn’t understand it, but he hopes to learn at some point in the future when Hank is ready. If he becomes ready.

    He almost expects Hank to get grumpy or irritated at him for even insinuating he may secretly be a caring person, but he just sits there and stares at Connor for a few moments. Connor decides against continuing the eye contact, since it usually make things more awkward for Hank when he snaps out of whatever it is that makes him zone out like this occasionally. He turns back to his food. Just as he raises his second bite to his mouth, Hank speaks up with a cautious tone.

    “How did you know he offered me something for the information?”

    Connor answers easily and nonchalantly, “That’s his tactic for getting something he wants.”

    “Huh?”

    Connor sets down his fork of food and looks up to study Hank’s confused– and concerned?– face. He figures the full truth of Ritch and Connor having to train themselves to be successful manipulators so they could get nice things while growing up would ruin everything he’s trying to do and be with Hank, will invalidate every single thing Connor has ever done or said to gain the fragile, unsteady trust he’s gotten from him, so he only tells a gross understatement.

    “When Ritch wants or needs something from someone he doesn’t know well but trusts enough to not be purposefully difficult or cruel, he offers a favor because he doesn’t know which specific thing that person may want. It’s nice to know that he trusts you enough to not purposefully send him into a situation that will get him hurt in huge trouble.” Connor smiles lightly and takes another bite of food, believing the conversation is over.

    “What about you?” Hank’s question pulls him out of his head.

    Connor snaps his head up in surprise. “Me? What about me?”

    Hank huffs in what sounds like amusement, and the assumption is proven right when Connor catches the slight uplift at the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.

    “How do you get what you want from people?”

    Connor only hesitates in his answer because he has a feeling that Hank will not like it.

    “I like to do most things on my own without needing to ask for anything because I like the sense of accomplishment, so I usually only needed to pull little tricks when Amanda needed sponsors for something and Ritch and I decided to split up. In those cases...” Connor glances away.

    “People like giving things to people and creatures that look innocent, helpless, and fragile, like small children or puppies or kittens. Even on a subconscious level, people like having something to temporarily protect, whether it’s because of the ego boost or just because they’re a nice person and like to help. Even if everyone knows that I am the opposite of fragile and I’m certainly not helpless or childish, I tend to appear so when in uncomfortable situations, so it helped me gain pity points when making the rounds for sponsors.”

    “Is that part of why you get anxious if people don’t like you? The sponsorship stuff?” Hank’s winces, like he didn’t mean to say it, probably knowing how quickly this question could make things go wrong, but did anyway.

    But Connor doesn’t feel the same suffocating pressure he knows he’d feel if anyone else– even Ritch– had asked this same question. He knows Hank hates people, and that he hates gossip even more. He knows Hank isn’t asking him this to judge him or anything of the sort. If anything, he’s asking out of curiosity that has mixed with the same protectiveness that he showed when he gave him the weighted blanket and the stress ball, that leaked in his voice when he asked how old Connor was that same day.

    As much as he has been subtly pushing to get closer to Hank, Connor is only now realizing how safe and calm he feels around him compared to how he feels around the people closer to his age. It’s not logical by any means for someone who is unstable (hopefully only temporarily) to get along with someone who is easy to anger and snap– Ritch has made that beyond clear since the very beginning– but for some reason, it’s working for them. He doesn’t know how or why, but it is, and he’d really rather not look a gift horse in the mouth.

    “Hey, Connor, you don’t have to–”

    “I don’t know.” Connor quickly says, needing to interrupt Hank’s obvious attempt to take back the question.

    After a short moment of pondering, though, he sets his elbow on the table and his head in his palm, continuing in a casual tone, “I don’t actually know, I’ve never thought about any of it before.” He huffs a laugh that lacks humor, lowering his hand and turning back to his food. “That’s probably why I have to find a mandatory shrink, huh? To get me to analyze this with this stuff?” He shakes his head. “Ritch is not going to like this one bit, and it’s going to get much worse before it gets any better.”

    “Yea.” Hank says with obvious discomfort. It snaps Connor’s attention back on him. “Yea, it probably will be. You uh, you even okay enough for the shit that’s about to pile on ya? Especially 'cause you’re apparently going straight into a jaeger once you’re declared ready for it. Skipping training and all.” he asks with false nonchalance. Connor has no clue why Hank is asking these questions when he usually avoids this kind of thing like the plague, but he answers anyway.

    “I know I’ve been a nervous wreck since we first got here, but that’s mainly because Ritch and I have never been anywhere near as busy and overwhelming as this place can be. And it certainly didn’t help that we were trying our best to blend in with the herd and not stand out when we’ve spent the last decade learning how to do the exact opposite. Now that we’re slowly getting used to this place and not having to worry about holding back anymore, we’ll be able to show everyone exactly why we were able to graduate from this program so young.” he finishes confidently, head up and back straight.

    Hank just looks at him for a moment. Right as it starts making Connor unsure about his answer and has him coming up with things to distract from his bold statement, Hank nods and starts clearing his area. The ex-pilot makes eye contact with him with a strange, earnest look he doesn’t think he’s seen from the older man before.

    “I hope you will, Connor. Show ‘em what ya got.”

    Hank turns and leaves, leaving Connor with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

    The first thought that comes to mind after his thoughts have slowed down enough is man, I wish I had someone to tell about this. Of course, he’s sure that Simon, Markus, and Josh would listen (not North, though), but they wouldn’t understand why this is a big deal, especially since they still don’t seem to like Hank very much. For that same reason, Connor certainly can’t go to Ritch about this either, even with the fact that Ritch now voluntarily owes Hank a favor. Owing something to someone is different than tolerating them enough to listen to a twin get excited over the tiniest bit of encouragement and support from them.

    Connor quickly finishes his meal and cleans up before heading to the training area. If he’s going to prove to everyone that he deserves to stay here even though he and Ritch have lied multiple times on things that definitely should have gotten them thrown out, then he’s going to need a good partner.

    Traci is a good choice– and Connor’s first on his list– but she and Ritch get along easier with one another than she does with Connor. He doesn’t know exactly why, but she’s very hesitant around him and the atmosphere between them is awkward more often than not, so that’s probably a no-go. Jeremy could possibly work too, but his combat skill is too far behind for Connor to feel comfortable approaching him with something like offering a partnership. Plus, he doesn’t know much about his personality beyond “quiet” and “reserved”, so that is a bit of an issue. He’ll have to start some conversations with the other people on his list before he can properly narrow down–

    “Connor! Hey!”

    Unbothered by the interruption, he spins to greet Markus, then waves to Simon, North, and Josh who are close behind him. He pauses to let the four of them catch up before continuing on or saying anything.

    “I don’t think we’ve actually talked since the morning after the party. How have you guys been holding up with the training regime?” Connor asks with a smile.

    “It’s been hell,” North immediately complains, “and I know we haven’t even started the hard-core stuff yet. We’re just getting into shape and learning basics.”

    Markus nods in agreement, “You and Ritch are lucky you get to skip this.”

    “Maybe not so lucky…” Simon interjects, “That just means they’ve done all of this at an earlier age.”

    Don’t panic, don’t panic. They mean nothing by it, just don’t panic and make things weird, Connor chants to himself as he forces himself to answer aloud calmly with a shrug.

    “It wasn’t too bad. We were children with lots of energy when we started doing what you guys are doing now.”

    North and Josh nod together. It’s the first time he’s ever seen the two agree on something before. It’s almost frightening.

    “Traci started her self-defense and karate lessons when she was young, so it makes sense.”

    There’s a silence that Connor would describe as calm or peaceful that lasts for a few moments. He counts it as a win that he has managed to not visibly freak out like he is internally. He messes with his hair for a second to give his hands something to do in the hopes that maybe they’ll stop shaking if he does. Markus must catch the nervous movement for what it is, though.

    “You alright, Connor?”

    “Yea, I’m fine.” He plans on stopping there, but then he realizes that these four people are probably the best people he can go to for advice on making friends and finding potential partners. “I’m just worried about finding a partner, I guess. As you could probably tell, I normally don’t do too well around people I don’t know well.” Connor chuckles softly, but even he can tell that it’s somewhat off.

    “Any chance we could help with that?”

    Connor mentally blesses Simon as he says, “If you don’t mind, that would be amazing.”

    Josh smiles and comes around to Connor’s other side. “So what do you need help with?”

    He barely stops himself from saying everything short of learning the English language.

    “How did you guys know you could be compatible with one another? Because Ritch and I are technically compatible, but in reality we aren’t.”

    “So the difference between working well with another person and being drift compatible, you mean?” Simon clarifies, and Connor nods graciously. “I guess you wouldn’t have to learn too much about that since you were supposed to pair up with Ritch all along, huh?

    When Connor nods once more– again very thankful that Simon is insightful enough to figure this out without having to make Connor struggle to get a proper explanation out– Markus begins the explanation.

    “Well, I guess one difference is how well you know a person. Obviously, people who have known each other for longer are naturally going to be more compatible because they can be more in sync, but what we’re learning now in class is that that alone just isn’t enough to become jaeger pilots. Skill and mindset play huge roles in it too.”

    “Like the Hallowitts.” North offers. “They get along great and are as close as siblings can realistically be, but they are, by far, the least compatible pair in that room. I’d be surprised if they last another week here.”

    “I’m inclined to agree.” North snorts and Markus smiles at Connor’s wording, but he forces himself to pay it no mind. “As much as I’d like to think that everyone has an equal chance here, they just don’t. There’s a reason passing rates of the jaeger training are so low, and even those who pass aren’t guaranteed to become pilots.”

    Josh nods, “Exactly. Now, that being said, there are rare cases of two people who have never met being perfectly compatible.”

    “I guess the difference is how you mentally click with a person,” Simon jumps in, “Like you and Ritch don’t dislike one another, but you also don’t really get along or understand each other, right? Maybe at one point you did, but not anymore. You guys aren’t drift compatible because your mentalities and coping mechanisms are just too different, even though you both grew up in the exact same circumstances and have complimenting skill sets.”

    “So I find someone who understands the crazy things I do in certain situations and why I do it?” Connor asks dubiously.

    “And someone that can keep up with you, because damn, Connor, you and Ritch whooped each other’s asses on that first day.”

    Connor sighs heavily. He still has the aches from a couple of the worse bruises left over when he touches them, even though there are no more marks, because there hasn’t been any other training or exercises that have given him new bruises and scrapes so he can ignore the old ones. Don’t get him wrong, it’s nice to not have something he needs to actively ignore, but it’s yet another difference from what he grew up with and more proof that he’s in a completely different world now.

    Connor sighs again, with this one coming out as more of a groan than a true sigh. Where the ever loving hell is he supposed to find someone who can not only keep up with him in skill and not drag him down constantly, but also understand him and his trauma (if what Dr. Johan was going on about in their meeting yesterday is actually true for him, anyway) enough to know when to leave Connor alone and let him to his thing and when to step in to help.

    Ritch is relatively good at doing so, mainly because Connor usually likes being left alone, and Ritch always leaves him alone, but he doesn’t seem to understand Connor at all or care to learn the intricacies of him. He also doesn’t seem interested in letting Connor see any side of him that isn’t practically programmed by Amanda (the level of shock he felt when he saw and heard Ritch actually bantering with none other than Gavin Reed during the “Alex knifing” almost hurt. Why did it take such a publicly known asshole to bring out any kind of personality in Ritch? Why couldn’t Connor after his years of trying?).

    If his own brother can’t understand, then how can he expect anyone else to understand when they won’t have a clue of what he’s been through until it’s too late. He already opens old wounds over and over again with god-awful memories whenever he gets into a mood dip, he doesn’t want to scar anyone else who wouldn't even know what to expect, or worse, they think they do know what to expect. Although, how can they when he can barely think about it in his own head without going into panic-and-shutdown mode?

    “Hey,” Markus brushes his hand against Connor’s arm, gently bringing him out of his thoughts. He gets too lost in them too often.

    He nudges Markus’ hand kindly and says in a tone much more tranquil than he feels, “I’m alright. Just thinking of possible candidates.”

    “And?” North smirks. Count on her to try to lighten dark or awkward moods.

    “I’ve got pretty much nothing.” Connor chuckles much more genuinely than last time. If it has a tad bit of hysteria mixed in like he feels like it might, then no one reacts to it.

    At the four’s light insistence, he agrees to tell them why he believes he won’t match with anyone. He can’t look up from the floor at all. He tries to for half a second, but that makes everything so much worse about this situation, so he stares at his boots. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can forget that trying to explain this exact thing just a few weeks ago is what left him self-bedridden for a couple of days; maybe if he ignores hard enough, he can pretend that he’s talking to himself and there are only his footsteps instead of five sets in total. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he stops so the other four have to stop too if they want to listen. No more footsteps, problem partially solved.

    He can’t procrastinate that answer anymore.

    “I don’t know if you’ve been told this already, or if it’s just common sense to people, but in the drift, you share every single memory with person you’re pairing with. Certain events get more attention than others, obviously, and there is no known way to control what they both see or for how long. You just live through the other person’s memories as if you’re looking back on your own, and then look back on your own while a presence hovers over your shoulder and someone else’s emotions and reactions to events flow through the drift.” He takes another deep breath; his heart rate is getting too fast and his head is feeling too light.

    “And with that being said, I’ve got some real bad memories. Bad enough that Amanda used to try and convince me that they were just vivid nightmares. I think Ritch believes it’s a dream for whatever reason– or maybe he’s still on her side or something?– I don’t know, but it doesn’t work for me. I still can’t talk about it, but thinking like that and trying too hard to bury it is what made me break and sent me in that mood dip a while ago.” 

    He finally gets the courage to look up at the others and struggles to force his breathing to stay deep and slow. It helps that they only look concerned and surprised, rather than literally any other emotion his head was coming up with– fear and disgust, to name a couple. Although, he doesn’t know if the shock is a reaction to the information about what the drift is like, or to the fact that he’s actually talking instead of running and hiding in his room like he so desperately wants to.

    “I don’t want to scare anyone. I can’t live through those memories– not now, anyway– so how can I expect someone else to?” Connor shakes his head, trying to ignore the nausea that’s slowly but steadily growing. “I don’t even know how Ritch is gonna do it. I mean, the only people besides us who really know about this are you guys and–”

    Hank.

    Hank, who let him sit at his table on Connor’s first day even though he had a reputation of eating anyone who came near him alive, and had nearly done so to Connor at first. Hank, who stepped in and helped make him eat after his mood dip even though they had barely known each other for a couple days at most; who, almost immediately after, lead him back to his bunker (a place no one has been to in a long, long time, supposedly) so he could give him a weighted blanket and stress ball. Hank, whom Connor told he lied on essential paperwork when Hank was giving him a snack from his stash (another unheard of thing) and decided to tell Marshal Fowler to give him and Ritch a second chance instead of to get rid of them. Hank, who, despite saying weeks earlier “You’re still a kid to me”, had asked Connor to call him by his first name and has always treated him like a proper adult even though he is quite literally the youngest person on this base.

    Hank, who apparently loves (or at least used to love) dogs and, if the laugh lines and obvious protective instincts are anything to go by, used to be a kind, giving fellow who would laugh and smile easily; who now has to drown his traumas with alcohol and alcohol-induced sleep, not unlike how Connor drowns his own haunting memories with mind-numbing sleep brought by high-grade sleeping oils.

    No one makes– has ever made Connor as comfortable as he does, for whatever reason. It’s been years since anyone has been able to break down Hank’s walls like Connor has been doing effortlessly these past few weeks. They both have their issues, but Connor thinks that could help if they were to ever enter the drift together. Hank wouldn’t be scarred by his memories, and Connor doubts the ex-pilot’s memories could affect him any more than his own traumas affect him now. Besides, Connor has a feeling that he won’t be declared ready-for-battle as quickly as Ritch will be, so that’s plenty of time to wear Hank down, right?

    It’s not like the ex-pilot needs to do too much to get back into shape, anyway. Years and years of doing something over and over again makes every single technique and maneuver pure muscle memory that can’t truly be forgotten. That mixed with the fact that Connor based a lot of his own combat style on Hank’s and Marshal Fowler’s from when they were still active, they might fight better together than people would think. Plus, and Connor doesn’t think anyone else has noticed this between them averting their eyes from him and the hoodies he normally wears, but Hank is still rather built under that beer gut. He could probably carry Connor across the base if he really wanted to.

    Scratch that, he absolutely could if he tried, easily. He almost wants to test that some day. Maybe. Possibly.

    “Uhh, Connor? You good?” Josh tentatively 

    Connor shakes his head in wonder. “Yea, actually. I…”

    He pays close attention to himself, how his breathing is back to normal, the nausea and lightheadedness are almost gone, and he only just now realizes that his hands were shaking again because they don’t feel that way anymore. Yea, his heart rate is still a little high, but give it a few minutes and even that’ll be back to normal.

    He doesn’t trust this.

    “I feel fine. Way calmer than a minute ago.” He adds doubtfully, scrutinizing his own steady hands as if they can give him the answers he wants. “I think I found someone I may be compatible with, but I don’t even know if he’ll want to pair with me to pilot a jaeger. But even that made me feel better.” He looks around at the small group with uncertainty. “I’ve rarely calmed down that fast in my life, and never outside of my own room where I can be left alone to think.”

    North steps forward and carefully places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Seems like you’re the plannin’ type of guy. You always feel better when you have a plan, and hate when you don’t, right?”

    Based on everyone’s light laughter and large smiles, he doesn’t hide his amazement and realization well enough. That makes sense, though, because he wasn’t trying very hard in the first place.

    “That… That makes a lot of sense. Perfect sense.” Connor smiles.

    He gestures forward, signaling that he’s ready to keep moving, and they all do happily. Connor doesn’t really stop thinking about how he could possibly get Hank to at least test their compatibility and get him warmed up to the idea of un-retiring.

    He doubts that Marshal Fowler would have a problem with helping him get Hank jaeger-ready if Connor can somehow prove their compatibility and Hank’s willingness to start piloting again. If he would have a problem with it, he doesn’t think Hank would be on the base anymore, let alone still bunking in the jaeger pilots’ hall. Marshal Fowler doesn’t seem to be the type to play favorites and put friends first, but Connor could always be wrong.

    As he slowly forms a plan in his head, he slowly becomes more at ease. It’ll take more in-depth thinking and several pages in his notebook, but where before he only had a vague hope, now he has a small chance, and that’s slowly becoming just enough for Connor.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Gavin is getting real tired of all this snooping around. He’s normally the type of guy to fling himself right into the thick of things and deal with the repercussions later; not because he doesn’t care about what kind of trouble he’ll get into later– at least not anymore– but because he doesn’t have enough patience to sit still and do nothing even though he knows there’s bad things going on.

    He tried to convince himself over the past couple of days to just do as Luther and Fowler said and not get involved in the “Alex Knife Supplier” case, as he’s been calling it in his head, but nothing has happened to his top suspects at all and he doesn’t want those assholes to get away scot free. It’s one thing to just be an asshole, it’s another to actively endanger the lives of coworkers and allies. Even he knows that.

    There’s still 20 minutes left of breakfast and he still hasn’t eaten or even entered the food court because he’s been too busy watching those assholes from afar in the hopes that he can catch anything that can bring up more of a case against them. He’d rather not tussle with them until he knows he can get into their bunker and confiscate whatever the fuck is in there, but right now it’s starting to look like he’ll have to tussle with them if he wants any evidence at all.

    “What are you doing, Reed?”

    Gavin instinctively spins around and throws a punch right at the man’s throat, but it’s expertly caught by none other than the Ritch Bitch. After a split moment of surprise from having his punch properly caught, rather than blocked or deflected (which other people have trouble doing sometimes), Gavin instantly scowls and rips his fist away from the other’s grip, silently hoping the goody-two-shoes decides against reporting him for assault or something like that.

    “Don’t fuckin’ sneak up behind me, asshole,” he sneers, “And it’s none of your god damned business. So fuck off.”

    Ritchie raises an unimpressed eyebrow– since when does this dude emote?– then tilts his head at him like a fucking dog. He shifts his gaze to the group Gavin’s been watching for the past hour.

    “Isn’t that the group Alex hung around before he was thrown out?” he asks in a weird tone, almost as if he was aiming for interest or teasing and fell flat.

    Gavin’s eyebrows rise in surprise for just a moment before settling back into a scowl. He hates how many times this prick has caught him off guard today.

    “M’ surprised you even know that. Thought you were too busy bein’ the top of your class to pay attention to what the others were up to.” he turns back to the group, watching them laugh about something Gavin would probably want to punch them over.

    Ritch steps closer to him, inviting himself into Gavin’s cover like an asshole, as he explains, “If anything, being the top of my class means I need to pay closer attention to the other trainees, since I’m somewhat a tutor and an example for them. But that’s besides the point, I know someone as impatient and conflict-hungry as you wouldn’t wait in the shadows without a good reason. What are you waiting for, hm?” the asshole taunts. At least he sounds more normal now. Gavin doesn’t know why, but it was really unsettling before.

    He huffs irritably, but doesn’t immediately taunt back. He may as well tell a part of it. If Ritch is right about being top of his class, then maybe he’ll have some new input, as much as Gavin hates the thought of needing someone else’s help. A mission completed with someone’s help is better than a mission failed with escaped villains, after all.

    “I think they had something to do with how Alex got his knives.”

    To his surprise, Ritch just nods in solemn agreement. “What’s stopping you from interrogating them?”

    Gavin huffs again, this time in irritation at the situation. “Fowler.”

    “Ah. You’re not supposed to get into it, but nothing has happened yet, yes?”

    Gavin whips his head around to glare at the human robot. He suddenly can’t be sure that that’s the expression his face actually makes, though, because the annoying asshole just nods like he’s confirming something to himself again.

    “Have you tried getting into their bunker to check for clues yourself?”

    When Gavin huffs, it comes out less irritable and more incredulous of how stupid this guy can be.

    “If I could do that I wouldn’t be fucking bothering with this, now would I?”

    The trainee just sighs and says, “Come on,” with a beckoning wave of his hand, then turns around and starts walking away. Gavin doesn’t move.

    “Where the hell do you think you’re going? And why the fuck should I follow your ugly ass?”

    “If you want to be caught and get us in some serious trouble, then sure, keep talking that loudly. Also, I’m almost interested in seeing the asses you’re used to looking at if you think mine is ugly.”

    Gavin barks a laugh that has very little amusement. What makes him think he can just start controlling the show out of nowhere like this?

    “You? Trouble? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the golden child of the current gaggle of recruits or something?”

    Ritch spins around and looks at Gavin with an obviously forced smug and mischievous smile. “If you honestly believe that, then you’re just like everyone else here and have no clue how wide my skill set actually is.” He turns back around and starts walking again. “Come or don’t come, I don’t care.”

    It takes a second for Gavin’s brain to reboot because it’s obvious Ritch is obviously trying something new here and holy mother of god is it making him uncomfortable. This is not the Dicky Ritchy (that name was more than a stretch, never again) he’s been messing with for the past week or so. Once his head does reboot, though, his curiosity of what the hell baby-face is going to do and the irritation that he thinks he can one-up Gavin again wins over standing by the entrance of the food court and watching a bunch of assholes laugh a ways away as if they don’t realize they’re the scum of the earth.

    He speed-walks to catch up to Ritch, because it’ll be a cold day in hell when he’s seen running or jogging anywhere that isn’t to a jaeger or a kaiju. Once he makes it to Ritch’s side, the other speaks in a soft tone.

    “I don’t actually know where their bunker is, so you need to lead the way, unfortunately.” Gavin groans, but still pulls ahead slightly to lead. “How much time do you think we have until they return to the room, and are there any cameras?”

    Everything about this encounter with Ritch is throwing him the hell off– not just how strange the man is being– but he plays along anyway, never one to turn down some scheming.

    “The cameras in the pilot’s hall has been broken for months, maybe years. And the fucksticks will be out of the way for at least an hour. They always stay in the food court until they’re kicked out after breakfast is over, then they go to the gym for a while.” It’s why he avoids the gym like the plague in the morning.

    “Perfect.” he smiles with that same forced smile as before. Gavin’s had enough.

    “Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re really startin’ to creep me the fuck out.”

    That rips the fake smile right off the robot’s face. Good, that was the main thing bothering him.

    “Am I?”

    “Yes.”

    “Oh.”

    There’s a silent pause, then Gavin’s starts talking partially because he fucking hates silences and partially because he needs to never see that kind of expression on Retch’s (he may actually use that one) face again.

    “So if I’m reading this right, you’re doin’ me a favor by apparently getting me into this dorm so I can raid their shit, right?” Ritch nods silently, so he continues, “Good. So I’m just gonna return the favor ahead of time and give you some advice because I hate being indebted to people. Got it, asstown?”

    Ritch turns his head to properly look at Gavin, then nods again, slower this time. There’s no smart ass comment to the insult, though, unfortunately.

    Gavin immediately launches into a half-taunting half-serious ramble, “Now I’m only gonna say this one time– so you better fuckin’ savor this, ‘cause I don’t do this shit for just anyone– but holy shit you need to stop making faces and using certain tones when you don’t actually want to. Like, you’re known for being a robot. You can’t feel emotions the way the rest of us can, or you just process them or show ‘em differently. That’s your thing, just like my thing’s being a fuckin’ dickwad all the time and Anderson’s is being a depressed drunkard.

    “Don’t try to go full human on everyone all of a sudden. Just stay fuckin’ blank if you wanna. Only cowards give in to peer pressure and shit.” Gavin huffs in exasperation. He’s is in a very huffy mood today, apparently. “I don’t like looking at your ugly-ass, baby-faced mug as it is, and it is so much worse when you try to smile or some shit like that when you’re obviously not feelin’ it. It’s fucking unatural is what it is.” He shivers and curls his lip in exaggerated disgust.

    Ritch just stares at him for a second, then states in his normal, flat tone, “The only unnatural thing here is how much you smell despite the fact you’ve been standing around and doing nothing for the past couple of days.”

    Gavin smiles evilly, secretly thankful that Ritch didn’t try to go down the genuine route and is instead continuing their normal interactions. Of all the nasty names under the sun he could call him, “unobservant” and “stupid” are two he can’t. “Emotionally oblivious” and “ignorant” or “naive”, however, are not off the table.

    “No, the unnatural thing here is that you’re a grown ass man and you use fruit-scented lotion.”

    Ritch gives him a weird look, but it’s at least genuine, thank god. “I do not use lotion, I simply shower everyday, unlike some people.” He pauses barely long enough to look Gavin up and down before continuing. “It’s not my fault you prefer what is obviously scentless men’s soap when women’s soap smells nicer and is less harsh on skin.” He faces front again.

    “Hold on,” Gavin wheezes, “You actually use women’s soap? Like, regularly?”

    “What of it? Are you not secure enough in your gender and sexual identity that using a soap with fruity smells that come in colorful bottles is too much for your poor masculine mind to handle? Poor baby.”

    Gavin wrinkles his nose. “Hell no. I’m gay as fuck but you still don’t see me using that girly shit. It’s a matter of preference, asshole. And I’m surprised you even know what gender identity even is, since you don’t seem to know much else about real humans.”

    Gavin doesn’t realize what he just blatantly admitted to until he’s done speaking. Of course he has to be enough of a dumb ass to officially come out to the one dude who was raised by an old woman. God damn it, he’s probably homophobic. At least it’ll give Gavin a reason to punch him the next time he gets irritated with him.

    Either oblivious to Gavin’s internal wariness or somehow reading his mind, Ritch explains in a condescending tone, “Amanda was insistent that we don’t treat people differently just because of how they identify, and one way of doing that was learning proper titles of people who aren’t ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ and other things your small brain would probably get bored with. But good for you for being just a normal ass and not a homophobic one. You’re slightly less likely to get punched now, anyway.”

    That… is actually pretty cool, the fact that Ritch apparently has no problem with anyone who isn’t cis-het. It’s a complete plot twist and surprise, but it’s cool to know that the dude would only hate him because he’s him and not because he’s gay. He’s been tired of the homophobic jokes and slurs since the 5th grade, so it’ll be refreshing to have someone that’ll skip right over that genre of insults with him, as refreshing as it can be when they’re ridiculing one another, that is (which can be damn refreshing, if you ask him).

    Gavin lets their talk end there as he slows down when they get close to the grease-heads’ bunker. He then silently checks the hall for anyone who could be watching or approaching, and quiets his voice down when he addresses Ritch, keeping a careful ear out for any footsteps or voices. He may be reckless half the time, but he’s not stupid enough to get caught breaking and entering someone’s private dorm.

    “Well, asshat, this is it. Work your robot magic and hack us in.”

    “It’s actually not hacking of any kind. I would ask if you want to learn how, but I doubt there’s enough room in your skull for a brain larger than a peanut with how huge your ego is.”

    An involuntary, offended squawk bursts out of Gavin’s throat, and after a short hesitation where he lets himself be embarrassed before moving on, he smacks Ritch on the arm. “Move over asshole. My ego ain’t that fuckin’ big, asshole, you’re mistaking me for yourself.”

    Gavin sees Ritch roll his eyes. “First, look at the keypad, you see the numbers that are more worn down than the others?”

    “2, 5, and 7? What about them?” Gavin replies in a more serious tone, suddenly a lot more invested in this than he thought he would be.

    “Those are the three numbers that are in the code. Basically, over time, as the same buttons get pushed over and over, the oils and pressure from fingers either wear down the ink of the numbers, or tint the glass over the buttons and give it a tan or brownish look compared to the other clear ones, depending on what kind of keypad it is.”

    “Okay then, genius, how do we know the order of the code, ‘cause–”

    “I wasn’t done,” Ritch interrupts, “The first button is usually the most worn down since the most oils rub off and degrade it more than the others, but in this case, since there are only three numbers worn down for a four code password, the most worn-down one is the one pressed twice, the next worn down is probably first. And when there are repeat numbers in a code as short as this, they’re rarely one directly after another.”

    “So the 2 is repeated, and the 5 is probably before the 7.”

    “Yes.”

    “What if the twos are actually right next to each other. What if they’re both first and last?”

    Ritch actually smirks this time. “I’ll be smart about it and we hope for the best.” Gavin gives him an incredulous look as he continues. “How many tries do we get to do this?”

    “Three. If you fuckin’ think you can–”

    “Watch and learn.” Ritch interrupts fuckin’ again as he gives his full attention to the keypad.

    He tries 5272 first and is denied, then immediately tries 2725 and the door unlocks with a small, green flash of light.

    Gavin doesn’t even know how to react. “What the fuck. I thought you said the 5 was first!”

    Ritch just nods and opens the door. “ I did, but there are other variables that I don’t feel like going over right now, we don’t have time to waste.” He nods to the door he’s holding open, “You go in and investigate and I’ll stand guard out here. I’ll knock if I think someone is coming so you can get out. Wouldn’t want you to get caught and rat me out to lessen your sentence, or have you get both of us caught in the first place.”

    “Ha ha. I’m glad you’re not coming in, anyway. You’d just get in my way, bitch.” He shoves past the trainee, purposely knocking his shoulder into his.

    “Close, but no cigar.” Gavin turns and looks at him in confusion. “My name is Ritch with an ‘R’, not a ‘B’. I can understand if you misread it, but mishearing it when you have no documented hearing problems is a different matter altogether.” He sighs dramatically while maintaining his straight face, which is kind of odd to witness, but not the same odd as before. “At least you’re learning, it was closer than ‘Dick’, anyway.” He finishes as he shuts the door.

    Gavin flips him off even though he won’t see it, then mumbles, “Fuck off, you prick.”

    Gavin quickly looks around the smelly, messy bunker. Time for the fun part.

    He knows better than to dig through places aimlessly and move things too much, so he goes to the tiny closets first. It’s crammed with useless stuff, but there’s nothing clearly illegal hiding in there and there doesn’t look like there’s a false back or bottom, so he closes it. The other personal closet is exactly the same– messy, but inconspicuous– so he moves on. He quickly checks under the bed (nothing) and on the top bunk towards the wall (again, nothing) before moving on to the bathroom.

    In the bathroom, the first thing that Gavin notices is that the mirror is slightly crooked, which shouldn’t be possible since the medicine cabinet behind it is welded to the wall. He opens it and it’s immediately apparent to Gavin that there is a false back; the cabinet is way thinner and more warped than his and Tina’s are, and all of these things are supposed to be basically identical. The fact that it’s empty only accentuates how wrong it looks because there’s nothing blocking the false back.

    He peels it back with ease and behind it is a stack of sheathed knives. Just judging by the handles of these weapons– and the fact that they were (poorly) hidden– they are definitely not pocket knives (the only knives permitted, since they’re mostly used for cutting wires and cables and are smaller, less harmful).

    Before he can do anything else about this new discovery, though, he hears the bunker’s door click open and shut again. Gavin’s in the middle of trying to figure out what to do when Ritch barges into the bathroom and grabs his arm.

    “Gavin, we need to get out of here!” Ritch hisses and grabs Gavin’s arm right above the wrist and yanks him out of the bathroom.

    He tries to yank and twist out of the trainee’s grip, but he isn’t successful. “Give me a second to grab–”

    “I don’t care! We need to go. Now!”

    Suddenly he’s being shoved further away from the bathroom. He hears the medicine cabinet slam closed, then the trainee tugs Gavin towards the bunker door with more strength than he expected. He tries again to pull his arm out of his grip, but Ritch moves his hand and presses his thumb into the sensitive part of the inside of his elbow. He’s yanked in a direction then hears the bunker door clicks shut behind them along with any possible evidence that he now knows for a fact is in there. He doesn’t even remember the code to the door anymore, all he knows is that the five isn’t first, so he can’t get back in.

    He takes a split second to look up and down the hall and sees that it’s completely empty. He could have easily grabbed at least one of those knives. Hell, even using his phone to snap a quick picture of the stack of them with the false back in view would be enough to warrant a search of their dorm– possibly even have them suspended immediately while the investigation starts– and this fucking prick pulled him out for no god damned reason.

     Overcome with anger, he blindly kicks out where Ritch’s knee should be. It works. The asshole goes down for only a second before he rolls into a crouched position facing him, his expression angry and hard. He gets up to his feet smoothly, but Gavin isn’t stupid enough to believe that his muscles are actually as relaxed as they seem, they’re combat-ready, and this asshole is three seconds away from getting his fight.

    “Gavin, cut it out. We need to go–”

    “No! Let me back in you fucking asshole! There’s no one here!” he shouts, spinning with his arms spread out wide, showcasing the nothingness that is in the halls. “You’re just being fucking paranoid. We need those–”

    Ritch suddenly punches him in the jaw. Gavin takes two steps back, but quickly rights himself.

    “I said. Shut. Up.” Ritch snarls, but his attention is on something behind him, and Gavin uses that to his advantage.

    He quickly throws a punch towards Ritch’s collarbone and throat area, but the little devil twists just in time for Gavin to only catch the sensitive part where his shoulder meets his pec. 

    At least that should bruise real nicely. Get what you deserve, asshat.

    He doesn’t get much more time to think about it, though, because there’s suddenly a fist coming straight at his face again, and he ducks. Gavin throws a punch to his gut, but his opponent spins out of the way. He then aims a punch to Ritch’s face, but that gets caught and twisted. He aims a kick at the asshole’s knees before it can get too uncomfortable, and even though Ritch loosens his grip to dodge the attack and he’s able to get his fist free, the trainee doesn’t go down like he wanted.

    There’s a moment of hesitation from both of them. It’s only long enough for Gavin to see Ritch scowling and to get himself in the position to effectively whoop some ass. His partner-in-crime-turned-opponent doesn’t take his attention away from him again, and instead uses the moment to study Gavin’s stance. He has no doubt he has the same kind of attentive scowl on his own face right now.

    Gavin makes the first move, moving as if he’s going to punch with his right hand when he’s actually planning to go to the left. Disappointingly, Ritch doesn’t fall for it, and catches his arm. Gavin dodges his attempt at tripping him, then aims a blow at the stubborn asshole’s neck. He ends up letting go in order to dodge Gavin’s move, but is back quickly with a punch of his own. He ends up catching and tries to shove Ritch into a more vulnerable position, but he ends up letting go to dodge a kick to his gut.

    This guy definitely has more skill than the average trainee, especially for one this new, that’s for sure. Although, that won’t change the fact that he’ll mess up or tire before Gavin will, and he’ll be in a heap of trouble and pain for blowing up the plan.

    The only thing that Gavin is able to focus on after that is where the next punch or kick is coming from and where there’s an opening for him to punch or kick back. One one hand, he’s feeling confident because he hasn’t been hit a single time beyond that first jaw punch. He’s been catching, blocking, and dodging all of his kicks and punches. He’s pretty positive that the only injuries he’ll have from this fight are maybe sore hands and some bruises on his arms from the amount of blocking and deflecting he’s doing.

    On the other hand, however, Gavin’s really starting to get pissed off because Ritch is taking about as much damage as he is right now, which is none. The damn asshole doesn’t even look tired yet. Not that Gavin’s getting tired– he can keep this pace up for a while longer– but what kind of trainee as new as Ritch is able to keep up with a well-seasoned pilot and brawler? He already knew Ritch was good, but he wasn’t supposed to fucking match Gavin like this in a fight.

    Once Gavin accepts that this won’t go anywhere unless he switches things up and stops playing by sparring rules, he lunges forward with most of his weight to punch Ritch in the diaphragm with the hope to knock the wind out of him. It almost works, but Ritch dodges at the last moment and kicks him in the back of the knees as he passes, making Gavin collapse roughly onto his hands and knees. Just before Ritch can pin him down, he shoves himself up into a handstand and his heel narrowly misses the asshat’s jaw as he leans out of the way.

    He sees Ritch quickly swoop his leg out to knock his arms out from under him, but Gavin springs up and flips back onto his feet. He spins to face his opponent and aims yet another punch to his face, but it’s caught and isn’t immediately released like before. A hand comes flying towards Gavin’s neck, but he blocks it, grabbing the other’s wrist and twisting his arm down. Ritch suddenly spins himself so his back is facing him, then grabs Gavin’s wrist and yanks him closer. Before he can do anything to prevent it, Ritch shifts his balance and flips him over his shoulder.

    Gavin somehow manages to twist himself so he can land in a low crouch and wastes no time in jabbing an elbow back. It doesn’t hit anything, but Ritch does loosen his grip so he get free. Gavin rolls out of the way before he can get kicked down, then grabs Ritch’s ankle as it returns to the floor. He stands, bringing his opponent’s leg up by his shoulder, but instead of toppling over like he expected, Ritch quickly switches his weight to his hands and latches his free leg around Gavin’s middle, and when he lets go of his ankle to shove the menace off, Ritch latches that one around as well. Gavin knows what comes next before it happens, and lets himself be twisted and forced to the floor by Ritch’s weight, allowing him to sit on top of Gavin’s chest.

    He lets this happen because he was able to control how he landed, and made sure his feet were planted on the ground just as his back hits the floor. He immediately jerks his entire torso off the ground before Ritch can properly situate himself again, and thus makes him topple over for just a moment. A moment is all Gavin needs, though. He spins onto his stomach and tucks his legs under him at the same time, then rapidly sits up and shoves his head up and back. Ritch dodges the headbutt attempt, and Gavin watches him roll backwards into a standing position as he spins and stands to face him.

    In that split moment of stillness where they’re trying to predict each other’s next move, Gavin suddenly realizes that, for the first time in literal years, he’s having genuine fun sparring with someone. It would probably scare him if he weren’t so focused on the surprisingly competent trainee. He doesn’t even have enough room to think about or process why he would or should be scared. God damn Ritch and his god damned surprises at it again, the fucker.

    Before Gavin can gather his head long enough to make the first move, Ritch suddenly jumps on him, somehow spinning so his thighs are clamped around his neck and head. He uses his weight to try to topple Gavin over, but Tina tried to do this to him one too many times before, so he knows to go to a wall so he doesn’t immediately go down. He then reaches up to twist and pull Ritch’s knee out to the side with his fingers pressing against the nerve bundle on the inside of it. Judging by the surprised noise Ritch lets out, he wasn’t expecting that, and he starts to slip. He suddenly shoves off the wall, leaving Gavin scrambling to regain his footing while keeping that knee tight in his grasp. Just before Gavin can properly get his balance back, Ritch leans back and slightly to the left, bringing them both down. His plan is faulty, however, because all Gavin has to do is put his hands down and land in a handstand and Ritch’s legs slip past his head, leaving him free to back handspring back onto his feet just as his opponent sweeps his leg where his hands used to be.

    Jesus, this is a lot more flipping than Gavin is used to doing. He can’t exactly flip in a jaeger and it’s been years since his gymnastics class.

    Feeling that his back is literally to the wall and watching Ritch flip back on his feet, still relatively untouched, he pushes off of it for more momentum, hoping he can take him by surprise or something. Just as Gavin reaches him, the trainee drops on onto his back and twists and curls at the same time. He doesn’t understand why until a boot hits the backs of his ankles hard and forces him down. Just as Ritch pounces to pin him down, Gavin turns onto his back and tucks his legs in. His opponent barely stops himself in time before he springs his legs up, so Ritch doesn’t get launched away like he was hoping. Gavin instead uses that momentum to sloppily flip into a crouch.

    He dashes up and nails Ritch in the gut with his shoulder and lifts him off the ground, ready to slam him back down to disorient him. He doesn’t get to because he flips forward out of his grasp. Next thing he knows, there’s an arm in front of his throat and he’s being shoved down and backwards, so he twists so he’ll land on his stomach and breaks his fall. He instantly twists and kicks his leg out to get Ritch on the ground too, but the asshole jumps to his other side. No matter, because now Gavin can wrap both arms just below his knees and he forces the man down hard. 

    He jumps up to get on top of Ritch, who is already rolling onto his back, but is held back by another set of arms. He immediately lashes out and knocks whoever was holding him back in the head, but it was enough to get his mind out of the fight just enough to understand that they’ve gained an audience at some point. Ritch must not have realized yet, though– or maybe he doesn’t care– because he sets himself into a crouch and Gavin is already shifting his weight to dodge right to avoid getting rammed into–

    “GAVIN! RITCH!”

    They both instantly freeze and go tense. Ritch’s eyes are wide with alarm and are focused beyond his shoulder. Gavin has a feeling that he and Ritch are thinking the exact same thing.

    Oh Shit…

    Gavin slowly, cautiously, spins around to face a very angry Marshal Fowler. There are around 15 other people who have apparently been watching the show, if the way Chloe is shooing them away harshly is anything to go by. There’s one burly man who looks like his job is probably moving heavy materials around here who is clutching his bleeding nose.

    In an attempt to put off dealing with Fowler for as long as possible– and maybe a little bit because he’s kind of concerned because he didn’t hold back on that headbutt at all– Gavin takes a step towards him.

    “Oh. Shit. Your nose isn’t broken, is it–”

    “Reed. Stern. My office. Now.” That voice was the worst one. Fowler is usually yelling or “not mad, just disappointed”, but that was the calm angry voice. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t “Gavin” and “Ritch”, it was “Reed” and “Stern”.

    Wait, “Stern”? Why does that sound familiar?

    Ritch lightly brushes his shoulder, silently urging him to follow the marshal. With one quick glance back to the injured man, who Chloe is now hopefully leading to a nurse, he does. They silently walk side by side and keep close enough to Fowler that he can hear their footsteps following him, but never get closer than five feet, as if they’re afraid he’ll randomly snap and start laying it on them. Who knows, he might. Gavin has never been in a fight that big before.

    God damn it, they are so fucked.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: I want to thank everyone who read this again, and thank you all for being so patient with me. I’ve had this chapter almost done since the middle of January and it’s been killing me to not be able to finish it and have it posted. But it was a crazy few months, then some other crazy stuff happened, then quarantine kind of zapped all of my motivation to do anything.

  But anyway, I hope this long chapter was worth the disgustingly long wait. I’m going to really try to get an update out every Monday, but I can promise that you’ll never go longer than a month without an update from now on. Comments (even if they’re just as simple as “nice chapter”) do wonders to motivate me! And I also have oneshot requests open to help motivate me! Here’s a list of ships I’ll write for!

Thank you for reading (and powering through me super long note) and I hope you stay safe and have a wonderful day/night! 💕💖

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Twenty

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations. 

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Please enjoy the twentieth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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~~ Chapter 20 ~~

I barely make the post with my letter for Peeta. I squander several minutes ensuring Sir Robert and Delly are settled as well as introduced to my parents. My father greets the newcomers rather stiffly, a searching look in his eyes when he glances at me. I cannot remember how much I told him of Sir Robert but if his expressions are any indication, it was enough to make my father uneasy in Sir Robert’s presence.

Then I am forced to ruin what I had thought was a passingly affectionate letter to my husband with a hasty and rather impersonal post script that reads:

Your brother and his wife have come to visit. They have not stated how long they intend to stay.

I rush to seal it and burn my thumb on the hot wax, sucking on it and whining like a babe. I despise pain and I despise pain from burns most of all. Tears prick at my eyes and yet I refuse to cry, rushing back into the hall to add my letter to the small stack of outgoing post. A coin for the lad carrying the post and I accept the newly arrived missives. There are quite a few of them and I quickly sort them. 

After the morning that I have endured, one of Peeta’s letters is precisely what I need. I smile when I find one among the letters and slide it into my pocket for later. 

There is one for Haymitch, although he seems to have disappeared. When I ask Sae if she has seen him, she chortles.

“Last I saw him, he was slinking into the library like he didn’t want to be noticed. Had a bottle of your father’s brandy and a glass with him.” I scoff at this and take his letter to the library. 

At first, I think it empty but then I hear the distinct sound of glass striking glass, a drink being poured. I move on silent feet to the back of the sofa and lean over it.

“Ah!” Haymitch startles into a seated position and sloshes some of the brandy onto his waistcoat. He glares at me as I snatch the glass out of his hand and replace it with the letter.

“Your post. And might I suggest a better hiding place next time?”

“I am not hiding.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Your house has grown quite crowded,” Haymitch grumbles.

“Family is always welcome at Everdeen,” I mutter and he throws his head back with a chortle. He sets the bottle on the floor and brushes uselessly at the brandy stain on his clothing.

“Such excitement in your tone, sweetheart. Do not tell me you are agitated by the new arrivals.”

“I damn well am and you know damn well why,” I say and take a healthy swallow from his glass. He snatches the thing back, chuckling before turning to open his mail. I am stalling, rudely observing him as he reads. “I had better see about tea this afternoon since we have more guests.”

“Wait. You’ll want to hear this. It is from Mr. Burbank, my solicitor.” His words bring me to a halt and I spin with hope in my heart. “Yes. Yes you will certainly want to see this. But I warn you, sweetheart… there are not many more available rooms at Everdeen.”

“Let me see,” I insist and snatch the letter out of his hands.

“My belongings seem to be continually disappearing in this room. You may be right about another hiding spot.”

I ignore his sarcastic comment, scanning the words on the page and shouting with triumph. “What luck! How has she remained in the same orphanage all this time?”

“No one adopted her.”

“Can this…” my heart pounds and I feel cold, so very cold and faint as I continue reading the letter. “No. This cannot be true. They mean to send her to a workhouse?”

“When she turns eight, my dear. It is quite common among these institutions.”

“No. I will not stand for it.”

“Are you going to adopt every ragged urchin nearing their eighth birthday?”

“Would that I could,” I say and sniffle. Haymitch makes a noise of protest.

“You are not going to weep?”

“Of course I am going to weep! You should as well! An innocent child sent to those…beastly conditions! What sort of monster allows such a thing to continue?” In truth, I wish that I could adopt every one of them or find them decent homes, burn the workhouses to the ground and see the proprietors hung in the square.

“Here,” he hands me a handkerchief and I snivel into the thing. Haymitch opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. Again and a third time as I attempt to gain control of my tears with little success. When I try to hand it back, he pushes my hand away from him. “Keep it.”

“Thank you,” I say and he sighs, grumbling about losing yet another of his things in the library today.

“When will your husband return? You’ve a month before she’s sent away, but if you are truly determined to do this–”

“I am. She belongs here, with her family.” I do not know why I feel so strongly about this, yet I do. I know that it is the right thing to do, and although I have not yet told Peeta, I am certain that he will agree. “Peeta will be home in four days. I hate to ask him to turn around so soon for another journey, but time is critical.”

Haymitch grunts. “I can have Mr. Burbank begin inquiries and start any paperwork needed to assume custody of the child, arrange a meeting for you with him.”

“Yes, do that. Thank you, Haymitch.” I lean over to embrace him then and he pats my back awkwardly.

“There now, Sweetheart. No need for more tears. Marriage has made you terribly sentimental.”

“And it made you a hermit,” my father says as he strides into the room. “Effie is going on about how you are never about when she needs you. She has also gotten it in her head to have fresh blackberry jam and Maysilee is insistent on a berry hunting adventure after I mentioned that it will likely be the last opportunity before winter sets in. Haymitch, I am not certain your wife understands the rugged sort of adventure Maysilee has grown used to about here.” When he sees my face, my father frowns. “You truly have been crying. Is everything alright?”

“It will be,” I say and hand the letter back to Haymitch. “I think I may join them on their adventure. Perhaps then Effie’s dress will be spared the thorns and we will be spared her lamentations.”

Laughter follows me into the hall and I stop short as I come face to face with Sir Robert.

“Ah. Miss Ever— Mrs. Mellark,” he says with a slight bow. Heat rushes over me, my heart dances oddly in my chest. I ignore it.

“Tea will be served in the parlor soon,” I tell him and motion towards the library, “But I do believe fortifying refreshments are already being distributed in the library.”

“Why don’t you announce it to the entire village?” Haymitch protests.

“Then perhaps I should fetch a few more glasses.” Sir Robert looks to be saying more and so I give him a nod, a curt affirmative, and slide around him, making my escape to the kitchen.

Haymitch is quite right. My home grows crowded and it is most inconvenient to have so many guests underfoot right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tea is served and the niceties of society observed. Comments made on the weather, bits of news shared, excitement over the festival expressed.

“It is a shame my brother has not been here to enjoy it,” Sir Robert says. His words prick my ire for some reason.

“He was able to enjoy a few days before he left,” Madge soothes.

“I am certain he enjoyed it immensely. He was always fond of the Harvest festival when we were children. I did tell you not to worry so about him, Robert,” Delly says as she accepts a cup from Madge and turns her attentions to my friend. “Peeta has a talent for endearing himself to others wherever he goes, and you were all so kind in welcoming myself and my brother during the spring. I had no doubts he would be happy here.”

“Of course they were welcoming. You were handing out boots free of charge,” Robert says with a smile. My father makes a strange noise in his throat, something like a cough. My mother leans in to tend him, but his eyes meet mine. The look he gives me tells me that I must have indeed told him a great portion of the story involving Sir Robert. In that moment, I am glad that I gave my father so many of the particulars.

The sound he makes, however, has also drawn the notice of others. Sir Robert’s eyes drop to my father’s arm, then away. He seems discomfited around Father’s truncated limb and that makes little sense, given the close nature of his relation to Peeta. Surely Sir Robert is used to such a sight.

“How is Eljah?” Madge asks Delly and her smile brightens at the mention of her brother. She speaks about how Robert has agreed to see Elijah Cartwright educated, or at the very least apprenticed.

“How splendid,” Madge agrees. “An opportunity to study. Has he an idea what profession he may take?”

“Not as yet,” Delly says. “We are still determining the particulars.”

“Yes, well certain needs must be met first,” Robert says, an odd strain in his voice. I tilt my head and cannot help the examination of Sir Robert’s dress. On closer inspection, the boots do not shine as much as they ought. His coat seems wrinkled and there is a patch in one section – a poorly done patch. A stain on his waistcoat that has faded as though it happened some time ago and has withstood the siege of many washings yet still holds ground in the fabric.

My eyes lift to his face to find him watching me, and I realize they lack some of the carefree, foppish shine that I recall from earlier this year. Sir Robert, it would appear, has received a cold dose of reality in marrying his beloved shoemaker. Reality appears to disagree with him.

A sharp twinge of pity strikes before I can stifle it. This is Peeta’s brother and for that reason I should show him care, but he is also the man who so easily discarded me. My pride raises sabers to battle my empathy, and yet neither are perfectly right in this war.

“Katniss, won’t you sit?” My mother asks with clear concern in her eyes, but I cannot. I cannot sit still, a restless need having taken hold of me since ushering Peeta’s brother – my former fiancé – into our home. I sit anyways and refrain from partaking in the conversation as I sip my tea and barely taste it.

During the entire ordeal, Maysilee inches closer and closer to me until she is pressed into my side, despite her mother’s gentle admonitions to sit still to drink her tea and not crowd other people. I give Madge a smile and a shake of my head to let her know that Maysilee is not bothering me. In truth, I am glad for her nearness and bring her to sit on my lap.

“Darling girl, what troubles you?” I whisper and tuck back some of her hair. She turns to cup her hand over my ear, her sweet child’s breath tickling as she whispers to me.

“What’s wrong with Miss’er Pee’ah? His voice sounds strange.” My heart clenches as I follow her line of sight to Sir Robert as he accepts a biscuit from a plate that Delly holds out to him.

“That is not Mister Peeta. That is his brother,” I explain and her face crinkles in thought.

“Oh. Yes I suppose that makes more sense. So he is not cross with me?”

“Why would he be cross with you?” I ask, my ire rising as I prepare to defend Maysilee.

“I tried to give him a hug and he acted strange.”

“Oh darling, because he did not know you. Mister Peeta would be glad of your hugs, you know that.”

“Yes, yes he would,” she says solemnly and then takes another look at Sir Robert, eyes narrowing. “He stole Miss’er Pee’ah’s face.”

I cannot help it. I laugh. For one second, Maysilee appears crushed until I move close to whisper to her again.

“Indeed he has, and stealing is not right.”

“He should be punished. No biscuits with tea,” she suggests and I tickle her until she giggles.

“I’ll see that he gets no more biscuits for a week.” 

We manage to sober when I see that our antics have drawn some attention. Sir Robert watches me with the child, an unreadable expression on his face. I offer Maysilee a biscuit and a kiss on her temple, reaching around her to drink my tea and uncaring if I am rudely leaving my saucer on the table. My hands are full with child, I couldn’t possibly manage being a complete lady right now.

“Although, Maysee…you should know that some brothers and sisters are like that. They have faces almost identical.”

“If I ever have a sister, I hope she has her own face, like you and Miss Prim,” Maysilee says and I again chuckle, holding her close. “When will Miss’er Pee’ah come home?” Maysilee asks, and this time, the conversation has lulled enough that several of those present hear her. The stab it causes in my chest is more easily concealed.

“Soon, darling girl. Soon,” I assure her as she winds her arms around my neck. Then I whisper for only her to hear. “I miss him too, my sweet. I miss him too.”

After tea, we set out on our adventure. I see Maysilee and myself changed to breeches and shirts before we leave. I wear a coat and both of us wear wide gardening hats to protect our faces from the sun. Delly seems a bit shocked by our appearance as Sir Robert helps her into the cart. He himself seems distracted, acknowledging each of the ladies in our party yet unable to look me in the eyes. 

Effie protests my appearance mightily and continues to do so as I drive. Prim defends my dress as practical to our task, and I am grateful for her support. I bring the cart to a halt next to the patch of blackberry bushes and Effie silences her protests when she sees how muddy and rugged the trek will be. She laughs nervously and opens her parasol.

“Ah perhaps I shall sit here and enjoy the fine weather.”

“I will keep you company, Effie,” Madge offers with a smile before turning to admonish Maysilee. “Darling, be sure to listen to Miss Katniss.”

It strikes me then how different she looks now than when she first came to Everdeen. Still beautiful, always beautiful. I am convinced there is no situation in which Madge could appear ugly. Eight months ago her beauty was pale and ethereal, aloof and almost fragile. Now, her cheeks bear a rosy glow, her figure and features more plump and healthy, and her eyes shine with an open and happy brightness to them. Eight months ago, a Countess came to visit, and now it is a country beauty who lives with me.

I help Maysilee from the cart and hide my smile. Everdeen has been good for Madge, for Maysilee. I tickle Maysilee and she giggles, hurrying towards the bushes. “Mind the thorns!”

I take a deep, bracing gulp of the fresh air and survey the spread of bushes before me. We are on the hunt and our quarry shakes on the boughs, Maysilee fancies herself a skilled huntress, stalking her prey, gingerly shifting branches.

“Tremble with fear, oh berries! You shall make a tasty tart tonight!” She coos and I laugh. I catch the heat of the hunt, feel it warming my blood and increasing my pulse. A soft sound catches my ear and I turn towards it.

Delly has alighted from the carriage and stands, biting her lip and examining the muddy ground. She seems at odds with herself, glancing down at her dress. It may not be the silk gown of a duchess, but neither is it the rough homespun of a servant girl, a cobbler. 

My heart squeezes in inconvenient sympathy. For a moment, my hunting instincts surge upwards, smelling weakness in an adversary. It occurs to me that I should despise this girl, for she is half the reason for my humiliation and heartache earlier this year. Her weakness presents an opportunity to seize.

And yet I cannot. Because I was never in love with Robert. The heat of the pending kill wanes, presenting one last argument in the form of a delicious, suppressed memory.

The man in the mask.

I shake my head, attempting to do as I have done for months now. Ignore and discard the memory. Delly is simply a girl who fell in love with someone society claims she could never have. Yet she found both the courage and a way to have him, and while my pride was collateral damage in the transaction, I do not believe it was done to spite me, specifically. Delly has no reason to wish me harm. There is also the fact that long before she was Sir Robert’s wife, she was Peeta’s friend.

She is not my enemy.

I watch her struggle with the choice before her and allow the sympathy to rise up again. How difficult the changes must be for her. A country farm serving girl would think nothing of hurrying into the bushes to claim the tart berries. A city wife of the third son of a marquis would be more concerned with her dress. 

“There are some good groupings here, along the perimeter, where it is not so muddy,” I suggest and she looks up at me, a small smile curving up her lips.

“Yes,” Prim offers, looping her arm with Delly’s. “We shall hunt here. Maysilee and Katniss can hunt deep in the wilds.”

“Thank you,” Delly says softly to me as she and Prim set out.

It is a glorious day. A cool breeze nips the air and our cheeks, rustles through the leaves, providing a soothing sort of song. Maysilee and I lend our voices to the sounds. The sun shines warm and bright. Every now and then, Madge and Effie’s laughter will dance on the breeze towards our ears. The faint sounds of Delly and Prim speaking to one another. Maysilee offers a berry to me and I accept it with thanks, the tart juice bursting over my tongue.

“Oh these are quite good.” 

Maysilee eats one as well and nods in agreement. It feels as though we eat almost as many as we pick and yet we still manage a gallon of blackberries.

Most importantly, though, as we return to the cart, it is abundantly clear that Effie would not have fared well in the bushes. Sitting in the cart ensures that Effie’s dress remained intact. Delly’s was not so fortunate, her hem an inch soaked in mud, but her cheeks are bright and the damage appears perfectly repairable. 

Maysilee and I are an entirely different picture. Wisps of hair escape her hat and I am sure mine is in a similar state. We both have mud up to our knees, splattered across our shirts. My shirt clings to me beneath my coat, damp with perspiration. Small tears rent by thorns cover our sleeves. I shed my coat as we reach the cart. 

Maysilee’s lips are stained with berry juice and Madge giggles as I hand her daughter up to her. She does not even flinch at the mud transferred to her dress from Maysilee’s clothes, instead wiping at the berry stains on Maysilee’s lips with no luck.

“Margaret, darling your dress,” Effie frets.

“It will wash,” Madge says and then lifts a crown of ivy she must have woven as she sat waiting. Removing her daughter’s hat, Madge places the crown in its place upon Maysilee’s head. “Maysilee Charmaigne, Princess of the Blackberry Thatch.”

Maysilee giggles and insists that I wear one as well, as I am the queen of the blackberry thatch.

“Luckily, I made one for Miss Katniss as well,” she says and produces one from behind her back, handing it to Maysilee.

I am struck with a memory of Madge’s mother, weaving crowns of ivy and proclaiming us Princesses of the Rose garden. Two girls laughing and scampering through the flowers and ordering the bees about our pretend kingdom. My mother singing as she embroidered. Primrose napping peacefully beside her.

A sweet longing to hold on to this moment fills me and nearly blinds me with the tears of it. Until Maysilee turns to me with the crown, woven through with a few vibrant autumn leaves of yellow and orange.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, touching the leaves and sweeping my hat from my head.

“Your majesty,” Maysilee says and curtsies before coronating me. I lift my chin and haughtily survey my subjects.

“To the castle!” I declare to lively cheers.

We return to the house with laughter on our lips, and descend upon the kitchen in a mess. Mrs. Chilton protests our appearance and sends Maysilee and myself to wash. When we return, appropriately attired in simple dresses and our ivy crowns, Madge and the kitchen staff have already begun the process of turning some of the blackberries into jam. 

Johanna wanders through, her motions much less laboured now that she has truly begun to heal. She snatches a berry and Madge swats at her hand, missing as Jo pops the fruit into her mouth. Jo cackles gleefully and scampers from the room, chased by loud shouts of protest and laughter, epithets of scamp and rascal following her.

Maysilee and I toast thin slices of bread until they are golden and crisp, smearing it with goat cheese and topping the treat with a leaf of basil and fresh blackberries. We distribute them through the house, calling out to all who might hear to taste the fruits of our labours, bidding our subjects to enjoy themselves. Had we more berries, we might venture to the festival with more.

It warms my heart, watching Maysille smile so, spreading the comfort of home and family necessary to sustain us through the long, cold months of winter ahead as we go.

“We need to save one for Miss’er Pee’ah,” Maysilee insists and tears form unbidden on my eyes.

“Oh Maysee, it will not last quite that long. But we will be certain to save a jar of the jam especially for his breakfast.”

“Do you think he would like it if I drew him a picture? Or wrote him a letter about our adventure? Like you do, Miss Katniss?” she asks suddenly and I nod.

“I think he would like that very much.” The idea brings a smile to both our faces and in no time, she is running off to her rooms, with Sae in tow, intent on creating artistic masterpieces to send to Peeta.

“She is quite attached to my brother.”

I startle at the voice. I’d not even noticed him approaching, so distracted by Maysilee I was. “Indeed she is. It is not such a difficult thing to do.”

“No, I suppose not. Merely strange. They are not related by blood, yet she acts as though he is her father,” Sir Robert says and eyes my crown.

“Her own father died when she was a babe. Peeta has provided affection, protection, and caring for her. He is the only man she has known to act towards her as a father would. How is it strange then that she be attached to him?”

“Please, I mean no offense, Mrs. Mellark. I merely attempt to understand my brother’s life here, and how all the players fit. It seems to me that one day the countess would wish to remarry, make her own life. She could easily snare another eminently wealthy husband or even a paramour for herself, security and a home for her daughter, yet she lingers here. It is most curious.” 

I stare at him and hold my tongue. Of course it is possible that Madge would find another home, a husband for her and a father for Maysilee. My heart shouts in protest at the thought. As selfish as it may be, I wish them to stay here. 

“Or perhaps not. Perhaps she has found precisely what she needs here,” Robert suggests in my silence.

“She was in need when she came to us, widowed and cast out as many women unfortunately are. We welcomed her, and this is her home for as long as she wishes it. The countess is my friend since we were infants, of course I endeavor to meet every one of her needs.”

“And I am certain you do a marvelous job of it. I only wonder at…” He trails off as though uncertain he should speak it aloud.

“Do not stop there, Sir Robert. By all means, enlighten me on how my family functions.”

“I hate to be rude.”

“Indeed? I shall endeavor to not take offense,” I say and his eyes narrow at me. It’s a strange sight. I cannot recall Robert angry or perturbed. He always seemed unshakable in his jocularity.

“There must be some needs you cannot meet, either the Countess’ or perhaps…” He struggles with the words momentarily and I cling to the quickly fraying shreds of manners I have left. “My brother, I worry about him being an outcast. Delly thinks he fits in well wherever he goes, but it is not without some… turmoil that he accomplishes this, usually internal turmoil.”

“You think I neglect his feelings?”

“You were once honest with me, allow me to be honest with you. Yes, I fear that you may neglect his feelings and he will not ask you remedy that, as it is not his way to do so. He may turn elsewhere instead.” 

I cannot stop the stunned noise that I make. I could easily set Sir Robert’s misconceptions straight with simple confession yet I refuse to give it to him before I give it Peeta himself. They are my words to gift.

“It must be difficult for him here with so many lovely ladies about.” His words and their bitter tone draw the silence straight out of my lungs.

“You’ve known your brother for years and believe him capable of such perfidy?”

“You’ve no idea what he’s capable of, given enough desperation.” Robert’s words sink into my brain as I see flashes of nightmares painted in Peeta’s own words. Johanna’s words. No, I suppose I haven’t much idea what he is capable of in desperation.

“His choices in mistress are rather limited here. There isn’t a one I do not know,” I attempt to argue and he snorts. Indelicate and rude. 

“Oh Katniss, there you are!” Madge says, a bright smile wreathing her face, fading slightly as her eyes flick between myself and Sir Robert. “Are you ready to head over to the festival?”

“In a moment,” I assure her and lift the tray I still hold. “I need to return this to the kitchens first.”

“Of course. We will meet you in the hall.” Madge disappears and I grip tight to the tray.

“Are they so limited?” Sir Robert asks softly. “The Countess is uncommonly handsome. She has the look about her of a woman in love.”

I stare at him, aghast. “You know so much of women in love then?”

“Enough,” he says and smiles at me. “Enough to know when I see one.”

Stupid, traitorous, fickle pulse. It leaps and nearly chokes me in response to that smile, even as I dream of skewering him through the eye for his words.

“She is only recently out of mourning,” I murmur instead. He does not look impressed, and I know, as he clearly does too, that Madge never cared for her husband. I know, as he likely does not, that Madge is not afraid of engaging in an affair, of a touch of scandal.

My heart pounds in my breast as he reaches towards me.

“Then again… perhaps I am mistaken. My only concern is my brother’s happiness. May I?” Sir Robert indicates the last cheese and berry treat on my platter. I cannot help but think of how Maysilee wished to save this for Peeta. How I wish I could deny Sir Robert the treat with those words, the insistence that this last morsel is reserved for Peeta. Instead, I am forced to offer it up to his brother or let it go to waste. 

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” he says and eats the treat with relish. “Delicious.”

His voice is warm and almost tender. Sensual.

“If you will excuse me, Sir Robert. I have work to accomplish,” I tell him and scurry away, ashamed at my cowardice. Furious with his insinuations and the way they have wound into my brain, making sense where they should not. At his treatment of Delly in so blatantly flirting with me, me of all people. His discarded fiancé. His brother’s wife! Then his insinuations that there might be something between Madge and Peeta. 

I think of the pack of suitors who descended on Haymitch and Effie’s parlour, all clamoring for Madge’s notice. Sir Robert is correct in that regard at least. It would take little effort on Madge’s part to secure a second husband or a paramour. She could have her choosing of men and yet she shows no desire to do so, although she has expressed a desire for more children.

No. I cannot believe it. There are a thousand other explanations for Madge’s radiant appearance. The man is despicable and I cannot countenance Peeta’s love and defense of him one bit. Worse, I cannot explain my bodily reaction to him. It is unnerving and infuriating.

In desperation, I retreat to my room and tear into Peeta’s letter. It is short and blindingly distant compared to some of his previous letters, no flowery prose, no longing or love. Merely a reassurance that he is well and that while the work progresses satisfactorily, his plans remain as we discussed. The last few sentences warn that his brother Sir Robert has written, intending to visit.

I must apologise for his lack of consideration in giving so little notice. He may even be on your doorstep before this letter reaches you. If he is still there when I return, I shall take him to task for inconveniencing you so. There is no need to overexert yourself in entertaining him and Delly. As soon as I return, I shall assume the task of host.

Your husband, ~ Peeta ~

I send for Mary and ask her to inform the countess that I feel ill and will not be joining her tonight. Then I stretch out on our sofa, mine and Peeta’s, and hug a cushion to my chest. I need rest, I decide. I must be exhausted for surely that is the explanation for my tears as they leak from my eyes.

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To be continued… Chapter 21 will be posted to the @everlarkficexchange. My thanks to all who have read, shared, and left such lovely comments on this story.