#jokes aside you have no idea how grateful I am for my followers not judging me

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 6: Level-Headed

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

You meet Nightwolf. Turns out that he's a really good dude. Liu Kang is still having a tough time but he is seeming at least a bit more like himself. He's got a level-head but now you're the one who can't keep it together. And who could blame you?

A/N: I am just so happy that other people like reading the nonsense I write. I know it's not the best but I'm having fun writing it and it's even more fun getting to enjoy it with people <3 Sorry I'm so sentimental lately. Just feeling really loved and I want to spread that love~

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The next day was awkward but you weren’t biting each other’s heads off at least. You were both too tired, it seemed. Liu Kang had a big red comical handprint on his face that morning but it faded by the afternoon. You were both unhappy but you supposed this might have been progress since you weren’t snapping at each other. Either that or you’d taken ten steps backwards and said things you didn’t mean and had done irreparable damage to your friendship.

By the evening you were drawing close to the spot on the map, or at least you thought you were. “Look.” You gestured to a cabin in the distance. You could barely make it out between the trees. Then there was the howling of wolves and you heard their footfalls running toward you, the shadows of the hulking beasts flittering between the trees. It was only seconds before you were surrounded by wolves enveloped in green mist.

You drew closer to Liu Kang and summoned a sword with your ink. Liu stood at the ready but didn’t summon his fire yet. Neither one of you liked to hurt animals, even when they were aggressive. Besides, the floaty green mist made it seem like you were out of your league with these wolves.

They didn’t attack. Instead the voice of a man broke through their howling and the dogs silenced as he walked amongst them. Tall, with messy dark hair, dark eyes and tan skin, the man’s presence was commanding. This had to be Nightwolf or at least someone in close relation to him.

“What brings you to this place?”

Liu made to speak but you grabbed his arm to silence him. He’d caused more than enough trouble with his mouth the past week and you no longer trusted him. “We’ve come to talk.” You dug in your bag and one of the wolves growled. Intimidated, you felt Liu Kang step before you defensively. You reached into the bag and dug for the wolf charm you’d been given. Then you presented it to the man and the wolves disappeared. The man turned away from you.

“Come.”

You exchanged a nervous glance with Liu who remained tense after you’d interrupted him. He nodded to let you know he was okay and you followed the man into the cabin. “You’re Nightwolf.” Liu Kang wanted to make sure.

“Yes, that is what they call me now. You must be trusted to have been given this location and that trinket.” He addressed you and you offered a polite bow.

“I’m Y/N and this is Liu Kang. We’ve come a long way to talk to you.” For a while, the conversation went smoothly. Liu Kang explained the dragon marking and its significance, showing off his own and having you express that you had one too. He explained the nature of the realms, of Lord Raiden, of the war that was likely coming and that you needed him to speak with Lord Raiden and come train in his temple. You were grateful that Liu Kang had somehow managed to have a civil conversation with someone. One point in the win column against a thousand in the lose column. That was something.

But Nightwolf didn’t seem eager to join you and instead mulled over your information. You couldn’t blame him. This was a lot and some of it was beyond belief without proof. If you hadn’t been thrown into the whole mix against your will, then you would have struggled with it too. You’d had nowhere else to run at the time and had been in over your head with unruly arcana and visions from the past.

“I have a duty here in America. I’ll have to think about it.” At least he was honest.

And reasonable. Leaving everything that he’d ever known was a huge decision. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t return someday but there was also a chance that he would die. What you did was dangerous. Your lives tended to be short. You held your bag a little closer.

“I’m to bring you to Raiden’s Temple. I won’t leave without you.” Liu was sounding harsh again so you sighed. Maybe that was why Raiden had sent you together. Liu Kang was too grief stricken and angry to do his job on his own and you were too swept up in guilt to stay focused. You balanced each other in a horrible way.

“That decision is not yours to make, friend.” Nightwolf was incredibly respectful considering Liu Kang’s tone but the air became tense.

“I understand your hesitation, but would you give me a chance to try and convince you? You have a little time to think about it but we’re not sure how much. The longer you get to train the better off we’ll be. We have no idea how long before Outworld strikes again.” You tried to play mediator. Liu Kang’s hand grasped your arm and you nearly snarled in anger but somehow managed to get yourself together.

“We don’t have time for this, Y/N.” Liu scolded you.

“We do. You’re being impatient. Take a breath.” You narrowed your eyes at him dangerously.

“Excuse me, then.” He gritted his teeth and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. His temper was out of control. You winced at the sound of the door slamming. You missed him. You wanted him to be okay.

“I’m sorry. It’s been difficult. This war has taken a toll on us all.” You offered an excuse and a smile.

“He seems troubled.”

“He’s a good man, I promise. Just having a hard time right now.”

“You seem troubled.” Nightwolf added with a knowing glance. He was a good judge of character. He was calming and you were grateful for that because you had enough frustration from Liu’s attitude. If you snapped, it would have made Liu Kang’s poor attitude look like child’s play.

“And I’ll be okay too.”

“So, tell me, Miss Y/N. Why do you think that I should help you?”

“Well, it’s not me that you’re helping, that’s why. It’s not us. Earthrealm is our home, warts and all. If we have any strength then we have a responsibility to protect it in any way that we can, no matter what that means.”

“A wise answer.” He smiled and you were relieved. “Is that why you do this?”

“Ultimately, yes.” You had found, over the years, that honesty was the best policy. There were plenty of times where it didn’t work, but Nightwolf seemed to be looking for honesty. You had a feeling he would be able to tell if you lied. “I was sort of thrust into this at first. I had nowhere to go after my mark and so I was brought to Raiden’s Temple, which I fought, and then I was too sick to leave. I fought at first because I didn’t know what else to do. I was lost. But with time and understanding, I found that no matter what other reasons I had, I would fight to protect the place and people that I loved. This is my home, and I am willing to die to keep it safe.”

“But you weren’t at first?”

It felt like a test, and you hoped beyond hope that you were passing. You’d failed enough the last few months, you couldn’t risk another check in that column.

“I was overwhelmed with the scope of the danger and truth of all this. In the beginning, I treated it kind of like a joke because I didn’t understand. I knew, deep down, that it was the right thing to do but I had no other reason than that. That changed, of course. I think it’s normal to want to think it over. Liu Kang thinks it is too, he’s just not himself right now. I hope that you don’t judge him too harshly for his temper. It’s not like him.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Y/N.” He stood and walked to the counter, picking up a clear bottle filled with tan liquid. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“You have no idea.” You laughed and he joined you in having one. As long as you weren’t with Liu, there was no risk of you making another stupid mistake. And as long as one didn’t become ten, the risk of that was even lower.

Nightwolf turned out to be a kind and interesting man. He had struggled with his mark because the mark meant that he was special. You understood how that felt. Embracing the fate of something beyond your control had scared you too, but it had been worth it in the end. You listened to him as he shared his story and you shared a drink. You were a good listener. You always had been, and he seemed to appreciate the ear.

When your glasses were drained, he took them and set them aside which you were grateful for. “There are couches and some blankets that are open to you and your friend. I’ll make my decision as soon as I can, but I make no promises as to what that decision might be. You have been patient with me, and I appreciate that patience. I will do what I can.”

“This is a big decision but time is of the essence. Still, I want you to take that time.” You wouldn’t push him into giving up his life as he knew it to travel halfway across the world. You wouldn’t push anyone who didn’t deserve pushing. You also had the feeling that he was going to help. He seemed like a kind and powerful man whose motives were morally aligned with yours. You were grateful for that. So many with the dragon marking had wound up being scumbags.

“Thank you. Get some rest, Y/N.”

“I will. You too.” You watched him leave and then were left alone in the kitchen. You set your bag down on the smaller couch and walked outside. There was a firepit near the house and several overturned logs that served as benches. You sat on one of the logs and faced away from the firepit. The sky was overcast that night so you couldn’t see the stars but watching the clouds was soothing too.

Then Liu Kang sat next to you.

This was all too familiar now. You watched the clouds and were at peace for a short time.

“I’m apologizing again.”

“Oh. What for now?” You couldn’t help it. The sarcasm came out. He mulled it over as if to be thinking through the list of nonsense that he’d done in the last few days that he had to apologize for. Then he gestured back to the cabin.

“Being a jerk about this whole thing, for one.”

“That is just not specific enough, I’m afraid.” You turned to him.

“Being short with Nightwolf. He deserved time to mull it over.”

“I know he did. You know he did. You’ve got to figure out this temper that you’ve developed, Liu.”

“I don’t know where it came from. I always had such control.” He slumped his shoulders.

“You’re grieving.”

“Yeah, but so are you and you aren’t jumping down everyone’s throats for no reason.”

“Not when you’re looking, at least.” You were still angry with him even if he seemed willing to talk. He’d upset you. An apology wasn’t enough.

“I’ve got to get it together.” He held his head in his hands and pushed his hair back, disgusted with himself. The sound he made would have been funny if you hadn’t been a terrible mixture of mad at him and worried for him.

“Do you know what I keep thinking? What I keep wishing for?”

“Kung Lao to be back?” He said in a tired drone.

“No. I keep hoping that you find peace. I’m crushed by his death, Liu, but you’re broken.” You watched the clouds again. You wanted him to be okay, but you couldn’t be an emotional punching bag for him to figure it out with. He watched you and you could feel his eyes taking you in longer than they should have. He scooted closer. He probably didn’t believe you, and you couldn’t blame him.

“Your being here helps.”

Bullshit.

You laughed in disbelief. Liu Kang radiated with fire and you knew that feeling all too well and scooted a little away.

“Really? Because I feel like I’m actively making it worse.”

“Well, it’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“That’s a good word for it.”

“You remind me of him. You make it real. But also, you’re my friend. You were more than that.” He shrugged, clasping his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees. “We never really talked about it and it made things so hard.”

“We’re talking right now. We’ve talked and yelled a lot the last few days.” You were tired of talking about your grief in vague niceties. You were tired of being comforting. Of fighting.

“Not Kung Lao. Not grief.” He gestured between you and then returned his hands to his knees as if he had more control of them there. “About this.” You sighed heavily. Hadn’t you slapped him real hard about it the night before? “About what it was before you decided on Kung Lao.”

“I didn’t decide anything, remember? We did talk about it, Liu Kang. And you said that it wasn’t like it meant anything. That I didn’t owe you anything. A keep the change sort of comment. Remember?” You didn’t want to talk about it. You were so tired of fighting with him. It felt endless. How could Raiden do this to you? Why? Had you offended him in some way? Had your grief over Kung Lao not been loud and sad enough? “It doesn’t matter what you meant then, Liu, because that was what I was left with and so that was what I believed for years.”

“Except that I did that for Kung Lao. Do I not get to talk about it?”

“Sometimes it’s better to leave the past in the past and move on.”

“Except that it isn’t the past anymore, Y/N.” He grabbed your arm and urged you to look at him. You stiffened up. “I guess that you were hoping we’d just never talk about the other night. You keep running off. I tried to say something in the motel but you shut me down hard.”

“You can’t do this.” You struggled to speak without your voice trembling. His eyes were so dark and sad and full of fire, his lips twitching in a way where you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. “You can’t just bring it up whenever it’s convenient for you. You can’t just… wreck my emotions on repeat because you’re grieving. I’m grieving too.”

“Yeah, well you can’t just crawl into my bed and leave a bunch of scars down my back and then fuck off because it’s convenient for you.”

You were exasperated and threw your hands up in frustration. “We were drunk! Obliterated!”

“I wasn’t that drunk. I remember, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well I was. It was a mistake, Liu Kang. A grievous, drunken error that has only made things exponentially more difficult. I was sad and vulnerable and wasted. I made a mistake, okay? So maybe, just maybe, you can eat some of those lies you told me years ago. It’s not like it meant anything.” You spat with some venom and were surprised with yourself, covering your mouth after you’d said it. Oh, that hurt.

“I’m done lying, Y/N. I was never good at it. You’re not either.” He hadn’t yelled at you, which surprised you. In fact, he seemed to have a level head on more than you did. “It wasn’t a mistake for me. I knew what I was doing. I get that you’re trying to hurt me because you’re mad and grieving.” He said that in such an annoying way that you could have smacked him again. “But I’m saying now what I should have said all those years ago. It meant something. It meant something then and I knew what would happen if I went through with it the other night and I chose to anyway.” Liu was going to kill you at this rate. You were just going to drop dead. “Maybe I needed to feel something other than angry and sad. Maybe I thought I should try and undo something I regretted.”

Why was he so level-headed? Why, in this moment, had he managed to keep back his temper? If you could just yell at each other and hate each other it would be so much easier. But you didn’t hate him, you were torn between wanting to shake some sense into him and kiss him and it was so frustrating. Kissing him would only leave you more hurt but it seemed like the easier option too. You didn’t. You fought it, even if he seemed to be drawing closer. The tension of Liu Kang was so thick you could barely breathe.

“It was a mistake, Liu.” Your words were shaky but you tried to stand your ground. You’d beaten yourself up over this for too long and there he was, making it so much more complicated.

“Was it, Y/N? It didn’t feel like it was. It didn’t sound like it was.” His voice was low and serious and you felt your stomach twist into knots. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it was a mistake. That it was all a mistake. That it didn’t crush you when I said that all those years ago? That it had ever stopped being passionate between us even when we weren’t together. Tell me that. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s your truth and I will drop it.” He grasped your cheek and urged you to look him in the eyes.

You tried.

You couldn’t.

You were going to burst into tears at this rate and then he’d hold you and kiss you and you’d end up making this even more complicated and you couldn’t do that. Not right now. Not when he’d taken everything you’d known as truth and thrown it out the window. “I’m grieving Kung Lao and...” You couldn’t finish it. You couldn’t because it had never been a mistake to you back then. He was the one who had drawn the line in the sand. You’d just believed what he’d wanted you to believe for Kung Lao’s sake. And the other night was not something you remembered. There were only flashes of hot and sweaty lovemaking and all that version of you had felt was pleasure. Liu pulled his hand back and sighed.

“Figures that you would honor his memory more than think about yourself. He’d remind you that you were a terrible liar.”

You wiped your eyes as they betrayed you with tears and struggled to find words that didn’t involve crying or sobbing. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, damnit. You didn’t want to cry because of him. “This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair, Liu Kang. You can’t just… I can’t take much more.”

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, Y/N. I’m not trying to hurt you. You feel guilty but you don’t have any reason to. You think I don’t feel guilty? It’s eating me up. But we owe it to ourselves, don’t we? To figure it out?”

“Why are you being like this? Why now? Why?” You wiped furiously at your eyes. Stupid tears. You were so tired of your eyes being puffy and painful all the time. Stupid Liu Kang and his stupid emotions and his stupid whirlwind of honesty and misplaced anger. Stupid Kung Lao, dying and leaving you to deal with this. Stupid Raiden not sending you alone.

“I think that you turned down Kung Lao’s proposal because you were worried that maybe you still had feelings for me and had to figure that out first.”

That was the last straw. You broke.

You hated that it was partially true. You’d never stopped being attracted to him and that had become painfully obvious. What a selfish reason it had been to turn down the love of a man who had been dedicated to you and you alone. You swore that your heart was shutting down, it was beating so hard. He had you confused. Was that part of the reason? You didn’t know because you hadn’t been given the chance to figure it out. The truth was that you probably would have married Kung Lao. You would have talked about your plans for the future, what he saw of it, what you saw of it, and then accepted his proposal. You hadn’t turned it down because you didn’t love him. You had turned it down because you’d needed to talk. You were less spontaneous than Kung Lao had been. The only reason he’d needed was love and you’d needed to know more details. That was it. Liu Kang was making you overthink in ways you hadn’t in years.

“I can’t do this.” You stood and Liu grabbed your arm before you could leave. His fingers brushed down your wrist and to your hand and he gave you a look as if begging you to stay. It was killing you.

“We can’t avoid this forever.”

“I let you have your time to process this bullshit, Liu Kang and you are going to let me have mine.” He didn’t let you go. His grip tightened on your hand as if afraid to let you walk away, as if you would never come back. “Liu Kang?”

“Don’t go, Y/N.”

“You will let go of me right this instant.” You avoided his eyes. “You have ignored my feelings in favor of yours for long enough tonight. Let me go.”

Liu’s grip tightened but then he very suddenly let go and turned away with a bow of his head. “Of course, Y/N.”

The panic as you marched back inside the cabin and sat down on the couch was killing you. You held your head in your hands. What were you supposed to do with this? You had to calm down, first and foremost. Thankfully, Liu didn’t follow you inside and you had some peace and quiet but your thoughts weren’t much better than his argument had been.

You’d fucked up.

It would have been so much easier if neither one of you felt anything. It would have been easier if he had been as drunk as you had been. It would have been easier if you could continue believing that it really had meant nothing. It had never meant nothing to you. It had crushed you and taken you months to recover from that sadness with no one to talk to about it. You may not have remembered the other night but you remembered him from all those years ago.

The hot nights, the times you’d spent devoted to each other’s bodies, tangled up in his sheets or in yours. He’d made you feel sexy and forbidden, something beyond desire that no one else had ever made you feel. You hated those memories for so long that it was hard to feel any way other than that.

You loved Kung Lao.

But would you have even gotten the chance to if Liu Kang hadn’t said what he’d said? You had this connection, this fire that you couldn’t put out even after years of letting it simmer down. Even now when you’d fought, you had known that if you didn’t get out of there then you would have given into that passion, that instinct. What a mess of a human being you were. You curled up on the couch and this time you didn’t pull your bag close to you. You couldn’t think about Kung Lao when you were like this.

Next Chapter >>

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 35

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Final Waystation chapter, yay!

Or: In which Leo and Calypso both make some progress.

A/N: OK, first of all, within these 3 weeks we have hit 3 pretty big milestones! 1) It was this fic's first anniversary this friday so hooray for that! Can't believe this story has been in my life so long already. 2) We've reached 7000 hits on ao3! It's crazy to think so many of you are reading this even though not all that many seem to like Caleo! And 3) We have also reached 90k words with this chapter! No, when I started planning this fic I definitely did not plan to make it over 100k words but that really seems to be the direction it's going to :'D I /do/ however hope that once we finally get the flatmates back to their flat, we are (slowly) starting our journey towards the 'final arc'. But how many words will that take? Only Apollo knows, I guess.

Alright, enough rambling! Now, enjoy and please, please, please, let me know what you think of this chapter (and the previous one if you haven't) because I /really/ do want to know what you think. Was it about time? Are these two being too sappy? And all that stuff!

Words: 4287

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

After the whole ‘kitchen episode’ Leo and Calypso went back to spend some time with Leo’s family who were playing Monopoly in Waystation’s small library. Calypso had expected to be questioned about what had happened in the kitchen. To her surprise, though, Emmie just briefly asked if the flatmates had managed to resolve their issues, to which they answered a quick ‘yes’, and that was the end of that conversation. Even though Calypso was grateful that she or Jo hadn’t asked more, at the same time, one part of her did want to tell them.

Once a new round of Monopoly was finished (with Leo winning, even though the others kept whispering to him that he should let Georgina win), it was already pretty late and Leo and Calypso withdrew into their respective rooms. When it got quiet in the hallway, though, there was a knock on Calypso’s door.

“Who is it?” Calypso asked from her bed where she had been resting, thinking about the events of that day.

The voice from the other side of the door said: “Just me, Leo. Can I come in?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t do anything funny while in here,” Calypso replied, half joking, half serious.

“What, nothing funny? But Leo Valdez and fun go hand in hand,” he claimed through the door.

Calypso rolled her eyes at him even though he couldn’t see. “Ugh, you know what I mean. Listen, I know we are… um…” she stopped to taste the word in her mouth, “... dating now, but I have decided that I want to take it slowly. Too many bad experiences in the past. I hope you get that.”

“Alright, I understand,” Leo said to her relief. “Don’t worry, I won’t be trying anything ‘funny’ as you called it. I’m a man of my word!”

“In that case, you can come in here,” Calypso told him, sitting up on her bed.

Leo entered the room, still wearing the day clothes (surprisingly, jeans and a white shirt this time, and not his favorite overalls. While Calypso loved the overalls, she did have to admit that he looked pretty nice in the current outfit) even though it was already pretty late. Calypso herself had changed into her pajamas, a pink flannel shirt and pants that matched it. She followed Leo to a small couch opposite to her bed, sitting down next to him. At first she kept some space between them but after some hesitation and some encouraging looks from Leo, she finally snuggled up by his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her hand was laying on her pajama pants and he lowered his on it, tracing the outline with his thumb. Calypso was happy to notice he felt nicely warm on the cool winter night.

“I am glad we can do this now,” she said quietly, watching their hands.

“Me too. Although, we could probably have done it a whole lot earlier if we weren’t so damn stubborn,” Leo reminded her.

“Ouch. Yeah, that is probably true,” Calypso admitted, closing her eyes.

“So… it’s been a day,” Leo said when a silence fell between them. “It has…” Calypso agreed. “Weird how this morning seems to have happened like a year ago.” “Yeah…” Calypso shifted slightly on her spot by Leo’s side. “Can I ask you a question, though? How are you feeling now? You know… after… everything...”

“I… it’s hard to say,” Leo answered. “I’m not gonna claim that us kissing fixed all of my problems. Nah, it doesn’t work like that. Don’t get me wrong, it was awesome but - woah, am I really saying this? - I think the opening up part was more important. It clarified some things in my head. You know, like what I want to do and what I should do. And the fact that you have experienced something similar… This is probably gonna sound awful, but I was kinda relieved to hear that. Don’t get me wrong; I wish that you wouldn’t have had to go through any of that, but since you have… it means we understand each other. I can trust that you won’t judge me, which I honestly can’t say about all the people.”

“Yeah.” Calypso nodded slightly, not removing her head from his shoulder. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way.”

“And…” Leo continued, and Calypso imagined a grin spreading on his face, “Now I have some good memories to associate Christmas with. That definitely doesn’t hurt, right?”

“I’m glad I managed to give you something else to think about, then.” Calypso smiled.

“You certainly did. For real, I’ve had to pinch myself a couple of times this evening,” Leo confessed.

“Why?” Calypso frowned.

“Because it’s hard to believe it’s true. I mean this. Us.”

“And why is that?” Calypso wanted to know.

“Because you’re great in practically every possible way while I’m… me?”

Calypso raised her head from Leo’s shoulder and gave Leo her best ‘are you kidding me’ look. “Listen to me now. Aside from your guilt complex, you really should work on your self esteem some more. You’re a good person, Leo, even though you don’t always seem to think so. Of course you have your flaws just like I do, but I don’t love some superhuman version of you. Me from a few months ago is probably shaking her head so hard right now, but here’s what I think: you’re smart. And funny when you’re not trying to. And persistent. Hard-working. You make fixing things seem effortless. And you’re ready to put your loved ones’ happiness before yours. In fact, I think sometimes you care so much that it hurts you. But it only makes me care about you even more."

Leo was quiet for a while, probably still trying to swallow Calypso’s words.

“Woah, um… Thanks, Sunshine. I guess two people can really see the same thing very differently.”

“Yes, we can,” Calypso agreed. “I bet your view of me is also very different from how I see myself.”

“You’re probably right there.”

Calypso decided to change the topic when it got quiet. “Do you think that your family has any idea? About what happened between us?”

“I think we did our acting pretty well.” Leo grinned against her hair. “It’s pretty suspicious, though, that they didn’t ask us anything.”

“Well, better that way than trying to answer some awkward questions,” Calypso noted. “Um… I hope you know that I would really like to tell them about us, but… it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I know. You just want to protect me, right? I would also want to protect you if I was in your situation.”

“Mmmmh.”

A comfortable silence fell between the couple. Calypso was happy to notice that Leo was so relaxed in her company that he didn’t even swing his legs back and forth like he often did. Eventually he spoke:

“Hey… you asked me how I am doing but what about you? I know I haven’t made this day easy for you…”

“I appreciate you asking. To be honest? I’m doing pretty well now. This night has been… unexpected, to say the least. I didn’t think I would be brave enough to get over my worries, but here we finally are. It’s a bit scary…” Calypso noticed Leo’s hand twitching slightly on hers, so she was quick to add: “... but like you said, also relieving. Don’t worry, I will be sticking to my word. There are no take backs now,” Calypso reassured him.

“Good.” Leo nodded.

“Hey... “ Calypso said when she spotted something on the nearby desk. “I, uh, know that we both have been really testing our boundaries today, but there’s something I would still like to try. That is, if that’s OK with you.”

“Alright. What is it?” Leo asked curiously.

“My mum always used to light up some candles by the windowsill on Christmas night when I was a kid. She said she did that in memory of those who weren’t there to celebrate with us anymore. That’s a tradition that’s stuck with me until now. Emmie put some candles over there…” Calypso nodded towards a desk by the window, “... earlier today, but I didn’t know how you would feel about me using them, so I didn’t. But… What do you say? You could take it as a part of your training.”

Leo didn’t seem to love the idea at first but finally he gave in.

“Alright. But just one. And it needs to be far from all the other objects.”

“Yes. Don’t worry, we both will keep a watchful eye on it.”

Calypso felt Leo’s eyes on her the whole time as she rose from the sofa and lit up the candle. He was seemingly relieved when she sat back down next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “You know all about the fire’s dangerous sides…” Calypso started with a calming tone, “... but it can be very useful too when used right. It can ruin, but it can also help to build new things. A lot of your precious machines wouldn’t exist without fire, right? Have you ever stopped to consider that?”

Leo frowned at her, taking her words in. “Are you trying to say that fire has many different sides to it, just like us people? But if we only choose to see the negative, we will never understand the positive sides?”

“Yes, basically. We are both very judgemental towards ourselves, but today was a good example that not everyone sees us the same way.”

“Yeah… You’re not wrong there… I’ll try to remember that.”

“Me too.”

Calypso noticed Leo glanced at the candle briefly before his eyes returned to her. He was still a little stiff but a lot less so than when Calypso had lit up the candle.

“I was thinking…” he said suddenly. “Since we are official now and all that… Should we, you know, do something together… you know, outside our flat… sometime? When this vacation is over?”

“You mean like a date?” Calypso asked, surprised by the chance of the topic. But then again, she figured it might have been his way to try to distract himself. “Hmmm, let me think…” Leo already looked a bit worried for a moment before she finally started smiling at him. “Alright. I suppose we can do that.”

“And will we resume our movie nights? And cooking sessions?” His eyes lit up almost like the candle on the desk.

“Of course, you weirdo. I don’t think I have any reason to avoid you anymore, now that you know…”

“Know what?” Leo grinned. “That you think Leo Valdez is pretty damn hot?”

Calypso knew that Leo was most likely expecting her to lash at him, so she decided to use a different kind of tactic. She gave him a flirtiest smile she could muster, and replied:

“Sure. Let me tell you a little secret: when you are wearing those overalls you always do, my heart feels like it’s doing somersaults in my chest…”

Leo blinked at her a couple of times as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“Wait, what? What did you just say?”

Calypso snorted. “Just playing your own game, you know.”

“Oh, alright. I see now.” Leo’s ears went red, which amused Calypso a lot.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she chirped at him, poking his cheek playfully.

“Har har.”

Calypso pressed a kiss on his cheek.

“I hope you know I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t 100% comfortable around you. I had already decided that I would not… I would not allow myself to go through what I already did several times before, but you just had to make me break my promise to myself.”

“And you know what?” Leo turned his head so they were eye to eye. “I’m not sorry at all that I made you do that.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Calypso rolled her eyes at him. They kept gazing at each other for a moment before Calypso’s urge to kiss her fool of a boyfriend got too strong. It was a light and gentle kiss, one that she hoped told him that she was happy to be where she was and also proud of him for being able to handle the flame of the candle.

“Whoa, what was that for?” Leo asked once Calypso had pulled away.

“Just to shut you up for a moment,” Calypso lied.

“Nah. You wouldn’t want me to do that,” Leo grinned at her knowingly.

“Alright. Maybe I wouldn’t. So keep talking,” Calypso encouraged him.

“Okay,” Leo obliged. “About what?”

“Anything, really. Something silly and light, Leo Valdez style.”

Leo seemed to think about Calypso’s request for a moment.

“Hey, have you heard about the time when Jason had a party at his father’s house without him knowing and Piper…”

Leo continued telling her silly stories about his friends (even though a few involved also Percy, that didn’t ruin Calypso’s mood). From that they moved onto other things, such as what an ideal date would be for each of them (their opinions differed less than expected, to Calypso’s surprise), the favorite place they had ever visited (Calypso remembered Malta and the nearby islands quite fondly), and how fast Georgina would build her 1000-piece puzzle. The time flew by as they talked and Calypso was surprised to notice at some point that it was almost 3 AM and the candle had gone out a long time ago without either of them noticing. Leo snuck back into his room as quietly as possible, but not without giving Calypso one last good night kiss in the dark hallway before they separated.

…

The Christmas break was coming to an end and it was Leo and Calypso’s last full day at Waystation. Calypso felt a little bitter sweet about it; on one hand the vacation had been a bit of a rollercoaster emotionally, but on the other hand everything had ended better than she had dared to expect. She knew that she and Leo still had plenty of work to do when it came to their communication skills and of course she was also worried something would go wrong – specifically, regarding her father – but it still felt so freeing to be able to tell what she really thought and to be able to love and be loved.

She would of course miss the people of Waystation. Georgina was adorable and seemed to have basically adopted Calypso as her big sister at this point. She enjoyed teaching things to the girl; baking, gardening, sewing, even a little bit of singing… She was also pretty quick-witted for someone of her age and Calypso was quite certain that she did know that something was going on between her and Leo no matter how hard they were trying to deny it. Leo’s mothers were also great people and they had already told Calypso that she was welcome to Waystation any time she wanted. They also mentioned that they didn’t mind if she kicked Leo’s butt a bit sometimes when he deserved it. She had thanked them and told them that she’d keep their advice in mind.

The final day didn’t go entirely without surprises. Emmie had quickly mentioned that they would be getting more dinner guests that day, but Calypso hadn’t been prepared for the entire Hunters of Artemis crew to show up. They were old acquaintances of Jo and Emmie, the group’s former coaches, and the older women still asked them to drop by whenever they were nearby. To Calypso’s surprise, when she heard about the visit, her instinct to flee was not quite as strong anymore as it had been when she had last seen Thalia and Reyna.

“Are you OK with this?” Leo asked after Emmie had gone back to greet the visitors. “I remember that you weren’t eager to talk to them at the Halloween party and now I understand why… If you wanna, like, go out and check the foster animals or something like that, we can do that.”

“I think… I think it’s time for me to face my past,” Calypso replied. “I can’t do that if I hide every time I see someone who used to know Zoë…”

“That’s a fair point,” Leo agreed. “But still, don’t push yourself too hard.”

Soon the couple was in the hallway where everyone had gathered.

“Oh, there you two are!” Jo exclaimed when she saw them. “I was already starting to wonder if you had gone back to your flat earlier than planned.”

“Oh, nah,” Leo denied, waving his hand nonchalantly. “We just had some things we needed to discuss.”

Jo looked at him suspiciously, probably wondering what exactly they had discussed. “Hmm. Well, it’s good that you seem to be on speaking terms again. Anyway, Calypso, I believe you haven’t met these people before, so say hello to the Hunters of Artemis. Thalia Grace…” She pointed at a young woman with dark, spiky hair, whom Calypso remembered from the Halloween party. “Reyna Ramírez-Arellano…” Another dark haired girl, with a long braid, however, nodded at Calypso. “And here’s…” Jo continued her introductions but the names simply went through her brain and didn’t stay there. Maybe it was the Leo influence, she wondered; she didn’t remember having issues with focusing earlier.

“Hi, all.” She tried to sound confident but she didn’t think she succeeded very well. Surely Reyna and Thalia remembered how she had spent a whole night trying to avoid talking to them, getting drunk and throwing up in Piper’s bathroom in the end. “Hello,” Reyna spoke first. “I believe I’ve seen you once before. At Jason’s place last month, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Calypso had to admit reluctantly. Well, at least she wasn’t drunk in a mythology themed costume right now, she thought, so she had a chance to give them a bit better picture of herself than earlier.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you properly now,” Reyna said and shook her hand.

“Likewise,” Calypso told her, although she still felt like she was not living up to the meaning of her name, ‘she who conceals’.

“And you probably saw Thalia at that party too. Jason’s sister. My… friend.” Reyna glanced at the other girl quickly when she said the word ‘friend’.

Calypso noticed the slight hesitation and remembered Leo and some others as well mention that the two girls most likely had something going on even though they had to hide it because of their status on their archery team. She knew better than to bring that up, though.

“Hello, Thalia. Yes, I remember seeing you there,” she replied, mainly to be polite.

Before anyone had time to say anything else, Jo told the group that the guests were free to explore the house or do anything they wanted while she and Emmie were finishing the dinner and setting the tables. Many of the Hunters headed back out to the yard to see the animals or do a little bit of exercising before the meal, but Reyna and Thalia had apparently spent their afternoon practicing so they needed a little down time. Leo asked Calypso if she would have preferred to go to help Emmie and Jo but she remained stubborn. If she couldn’t do this now, she didn’t know she would be able to do it, so she guided Leo to the living room where Reyna and Thalia had gone.

When Thalia heard they had entered the room, she turned towards them.

“We didn’t really get a chance to talk the last time I saw you,” she noted bluntly.

“Sorry about that; I was having a bit of a rough day back then, to be honest,” Calypso replied vaguely.

“To me it looked like you were having the most fun out of all of us,” Thalia said, but Reyna elbowed her in the ribs. “Hey!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Calypso sighed. “I wasn’t acting like myself that evening.”

“We all have those days…” Reyna reassured her.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Calypso shrugged.

“Someone mentioned that your last name is Astal,” Thalia noted when it got quiet again. “Is that true?”

“Yes, unfortunately it is,” Calypso replied, getting a bit anxious because she knew where this conversation was heading to. “Why do you ask?”

Her hand quickly reached for Leo’s, who was still standing next to her, and even though she couldn’t hold it in front of the others, feeling his fingers right next to hers felt reassuring.

“Because it’s probably not a very common last name, right?” Thalia inquired, “and we used to have someone on our team whose last name was Astal before she took her mother’s last name. Zoë Nightshade, does that ring any bells?”

“Yes. She was my older sister,” Calypso confirmed, feeling herself stiffen a bit.

“Oh… I’m so sorry… I mean, I heard what happened to her… Just horrible.” Thalia shook her head.

Calypso was struggling to find the right words, but Leo quickly tapped on her back with his fingers when the others didn't notice and that helped her to root herself. “I don’t think there are any words to describe it,” she mumbled. “Um, did you know my sister well?”

“Not as well as some others on our team, to be honest. I had only been on the team for a few months before we heard the news about the accident…” Thalia said. “But she seemed like such a great person. One of our most talented archers for sure, and really determined. She was always the first on the field and the last to leave.”

“That… that does sound like her,” Calypso smiled a bit sadly. “Did she… did she ever talk about her home life to you?”

“Not much.” Thalia shrugged. “A bit.”

“Oh… What did she say?” Calypso wanted to know.

“I did get the impression that she really hated her father. And her mother lived somewhere far, apparently? But she did mention her sisters every once in a while. Did she have any other younger siblings besides you?” Thalia asked.

“No, she didn’t. She was the second youngest and I am the youngest of the group. Big family… But is there a reason why you ask that?”

“You see, she did sometimes talk about her baby sister. I remember that she always wished she could do more for her because she thought her sister deserved better than what she… Wait, what’s wrong?” she stopped when she noticed Calypso’s reaction.

Even though Calypso had tried her best to stay calm, once she heard what Zoë had said about her, she couldn’t stop the tears anymore. Leo quickly stepped in front of her while she tried to recover and glared at Thalia angrily.

“Calypso was there when the accident happened,” he blurted. “Do you think she really wants to talk about her the whole time?”

“I thought she would be happy to hear that her sister respected her a lot,” Thalia attempted to defend herself.

“But…” Leo wanted to continue the debate but Calypso stopped him.

“No, Leo, it’s OK.” She put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not OK!” Leo exclaimed.

She took a deep breath and withdrew herself from Leo’s arms. “It is. I mean… It's not easy for me to talk about her, but it’s like I said earlier. I need to learn to live with this. Does it hurt? Yeah. But I’m also thankful for hearing her say that about me. She wished I could experience a better life than she did prior to her joining the Hunters. I hope that if she’s watching me right now… from wherever she is… she’s happy for me. Well… I’m not out of the woods yet, as you can surely see right now," she chuckled ironically, referring to her teary face, "but… you know. I’m getting there. I’m feeling better than I have in a long while. And that’s what counts.”

“I don’t know what your source of happiness is, but whatever it is, I’m sure she would be happy for you.” Thalia nodded approvingly.

“Some things are better kept secrets,” Calypso replied mysteriously, turning to Reyna. “Did you know my sister?”

“No, unfortunately not,” Reyna replied. “I joined this group only a couple of years ago. Thalia’s been on it way longer. But I’ve heard a lot of stories about her from some of our older teammates, and it sounded like she was someone everyone looked up to. Even our coach complimented her sometimes and she never compliments anyone unless for a very good reason.”

“It sounds like she was really enjoying her life and had great people around her before… you know. It’s… great. I saw how hard she fought to get out of our father’s grip and do what she really wanted. She was happy with you guys.” The evil side of Calypso’s brain wanted to add that ‘she was happy until I messed it up for her’. She considered the fact that she managed to call herself out before she said that sentence aloud as some kind of progress.

“Yeah. I really think she was,” Thalia reassured her.

Calypso gave her a small, sad smile. “Good.”

After that the group started talking about other things. Thalia told Calypso some stories about Jason. Reyna explained why she had decided to join the Hunters even though she had already been doing well on another team before that. Leo also contributed to the stories sometimes and at some point, Calypso noticed that she was feeling quite at ease with this group. Even though Zoë was still briefly mentioned on a few occasions, it didn’t bother her as much anymore. Some kind of lock had opened inside her and she didn’t plan to close it anymore.

[ieattaperecorders]

Notes on Causality - Chapter 2: Georgie and Elias

An addendum to Something's Different About You Lately. Small scenes of Jon attempting to change the future that I didn't want to put in the larger fanfic.

The events of this chapter take place around the end of Chapter 8, Stranger.

(Incidentally, the main fic will be updated very soon. I'm mainly just holding off till the finale drops, in case whatever happens makes me want to tweak anything mood-wise in what I have planned.)

Read on Ao3

- - -

One ring. Another. Then another. Maybe she wouldn't pick up, Jon thought, drumming his fingers on the desk. Maybe it would go to voicemail . . . he could hang up, try again later. Take a little time to mentally rehearse what he would say.

A click, and her voice asked, "hello?"

"Georgie . . . it's Jon Sims, from Oxford?"

"Jon? Hey, been a while! How've you been?"

"Ah – good? I've been good," he lied. "Yourself?"

"Oh, not bad. Got a new roommate since you last saw me . . . he lays around the apartment all day and won't share the rent, but he's cute so I let it slide."

"Good to hear that your landlord is cat-friendly."

"You should hear him, he has the loudest little meow. Hang on, I'll if he'll say hello . . . ."

For a moment and he heard some vague coaxing noises, distant as if she was holding her phone away from herself. They were followed by a close-up, disinterested sniff, then Georgie's voice returned.

"Ah, never mind. Not in the mood, I guess."

"I've heard the Admiral's color commentary before," he smiled. "He's in all your mailbag episodes."

"Didn't know you were a listener."

"Well, I need something for the commute . . . it might as well be the UK's most onomatopoeic source of paranormal research."

"Ha. Knew you'd hate the sound effects."

"I don't hate them. Anyway, they're . . . distinctive," he leaned back in his office chair, the nerves he'd built up slowly dissipating as they fell into the rhythm of conversation. "They're very you."

"Classic Barker." There was movement in the background, and a few soft thuds. Likely the Admiral jumping to the floor. "Well from what I hear, we're in the same field. Aren't you working for the Magnus Institute now? You must hear plenty of ghost stories there."

"That's actually sort of why I called. I think we might have a mutual colleague . . . Melanie King?"

"Yeah, she's the one who told me you were there," she said knowingly. "Sounded like you left a hell of an impression on her."

". . . Not a good one, I imagine."

Georgie made a non-committal sound, being decent enough not to rub it in by overtly agreeing with him.

"I was trying to be helpful, but I think I just came off as dismissive. Ended up arguing with her over nothing," he sighed. ". . . Classic Sims."

"Accept no substitutes," Georgie said fondly. "So, what's the call about? If you want me to try smoothing things over with her –"

"It isn't that. Did she tell you about her experience?"

"Not really. Asked a lot about Sarah – she's a sound tech I recommended to her? Got the impression she'd been unreliable. She was nice about it, Melanie that is, but really evasive. I just assumed she's caught onto something interesting and wants to be the first to report on it. The risks of being friends with competition, I suppose."

"Ah. . . ."

"Not that she has anything to worry about. Climbing fences and squatting in abandoned churches is her thing. I'm all about doing research from my computer desk with a cup of tea, personally," she paused, and he heard a distant clink of ceramic. "Hey, are we even allowed to talk about this? Isn't there some sort of confidentially thing?"

"As it turns out, privacy isn't really something this place values," he muttered, "I don't suppose she's talked to you recently?"

"No . . . not for a couple of months."

"I'm concerned. Her experience left a powerful impact on her. Now she's chasing after anything that might bring her closer to what she encountered, and I'm afraid she doesn't care about the cost. She's going into some dangerous territory. And, well . . . it's not my place to judge her emotional state. But I am worried."

"Yeah . . . I saw the memes," he heard a frown enter Georgie's voice.

"I've tried to talk to her about it, a bit. But she and I always seem to push each other's buttons somehow. I'd be grateful if you looked in on her. I think that she could use a friend right now, and –" he smirked. "I happen to know you're good with obsessive types too stubborn for their own well-being."

"Ha. You trying to set me up or something?"

"Wh–" he started, taken aback. "I mean, well, that's really your business, not mine."

". . . Wait. I was joking, but are you really?" There was utter incredulity in her voice. "Jonathan Sims, did you call me out of the blue to set me up with someone I knew before you did?"

"Of – Georgie I don't even know if you're single, don't be ridiculous," he sputtered, feeling blood rise to his face. She laughed, and the uncomfortable heat spread.

"Okay, okay," she said. "I'm just giving you a hard time."

"I just . . . " he spoke slowly, trying to be precise. "I think that Melanie needs someone else around her right now. Someone grounding. If you're not looking to take that on, I understand, of course. But for whatever it might be worth, I would be grateful if you checked in."

"I'll give her a ring," something in Georgie's voice was familiar, and profoundly comforting. "See if she wants to get coffee and talk spooky-shop."

"I think that might do her a world of good," he said with relief

"Also? We should get coffee sometime too, catch up! I want to hear all the creepy stories you're apparently so free to talk about."

"Really, it's mostly drug experiences and conspiracy theories . . . ."

"Even better, I'll get to hear you complain. Then I'll be entitled gripe to you about all the weird emails I get. It'll be perfect."

Jon wanted to say yes. He really, really did. The thought of sitting down for a few hours with Georgie and talking about nothing particularly dire was a nice one. But he could only bring trouble to her door.

"I'd . . . like that," he said, "But I don't have much time to myself right now . . . maybe after everything calms down."

". . . Sure," she sounded a little disappointed. Georgie could always tell when he was brushing her off. "Some other time. Hope you can get some rest, then."

"I'll do my best."

"And thanks for the heads-up about Melanie. Really," the smile in her voice was back. "Don't be a stranger, huh?"

"Right," he smiled back, hoping she could hear it. "Ah. Goodbye, then."

"Bye."

He stared at the screen of his phone, not sure what to name the feeling in his chest. In his mind's eye, he saw her form vanishing down a long white corridor, and he knew she would have made this choice herself, eventually. He was just respecting that. Speeding things along.

"Trying to set her up . . . honestly," he muttered.

What he'd said about Melanie needing someone to talk to had been true. He was hoping Georgie's influence could nudge her away from the path she was on, one that had its natural end in blood and pain and the drumming of war. It was hardly his fault if he knew that particular matchmaking arrangement had already worked out once.

The call had barely ended for a minute before his phone vibrated with an email notification. He opened it, frowning when he saw who it was from.

Jon,

See me in my office at your earliest convenience.

Also, in the future please remember not to make personal calls during work hours.

- Elias

It was the most direct contact he'd had with Elias in months. Aside from a few institute-wide emails, there had been nothing since their conversation about the recordings. Jon hadn't even run into him in the hall. At least on the surface, he'd stuck to his promise to involve himself less directly. Not that Jon imagined Elias was truly keeping his distance, but he had begun to get comfortable with not having to see or talk to him. He dreaded the idea of going up there and actually breaking the silence.

That comment about personal calls irked him, too. He was taunting him. Going right up to the edge of admitting he'd been watching while giving himself just a little deniability.

He could ignore it, of course. Why should he do anything Elias asked him to, however small? Why should he make any part of his life easier? But that wasn't a smart attitude, he knew. Elias was keeping his distance for now, but if he saw Jon as too troublesome things would escalate. It would be foolish to bring that moment any closer by antagonizing him over nothing.

Jon still remembered the comment he'd made when they last spoke – I'm sure one of your assistants would be up to the task. If it came down to it, Elias knew exactly whose throats to hold the knife against.

With a distinct lack of pleasure, he climbed the stairs out of the archive.

Despite his mood he smiled at Rosie, tried to seem friendly as he greeted her. The words insecure and aggressive had a tendency to turn over in his mind when he saw her lately. He was earnestly hoping to be easier to talk to, but fairly sure he just came off as awkward. At least she was friendly with him. But then, she'd always been.

She said he was expected and should go right inside.

Elias was at his desk, writing on something hidden inside a folder. He glanced up and nodded as he entered.

"Ah, Jon. Sit down, I'll just be a moment."

As he took a seat and waited, Jon couldn't quite banish the idea that the folder was just a prop. A way to make whoever he'd called in wait, to make it absolutely clear how much more valuable his time was than theirs. Or perhaps to give them time to stew, to sit in anxiety and worry. Then again, maybe Elias really did have paperwork that needed doing, and the fact that it was absolutely, positively maddening to sit there in silence and watch him was only a bonus to it all. Eventually, he finished.

"It's been a while since we've checked in, hasn't it?" he paused just long enough for Jon to wonder if he was supposed to respond, then continued. "I'd like to hear your version of how the last few months have gone. What sort of progress you feel you've made, etcetera."

Oh, God. Was he actually expecting Jon to keep up the pretense of doing actual archival work? He hadn't been prepared for that at all, and felt preemptively exhausted at the thought of coming up with some nonsense progress report.

"Well. . . as you know, Gertrude left the archives in a state of serious disorganization, so progress has been hindered by that," he tried to remember what projects he'd put the others on to keep them all going with a token show of work. "I've set aside a section for discredited statements, which has been steadily growing. I imagine . . . it will make things more efficient for researchers in the future? And, uh . . . ."

"Let me stop you there," Elias said, holding up a hand.

Please do, Jon thought, relieved he wouldn't be subjecting them both to several minutes of this. Elias leaned forward and looked at him seriously.

"Have I done something to offend you, Jon?"

The question took him by surprise, to the point where he had to bite back a sarcastic laugh. What hadn't he done? "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Really. Because it seems to me that I've be extremely generous to you," that familiar tone of disapproval, of bland impatience. "I've given you a unique opportunity, allowed you free reign in setting your own priorities, and you still seem determined to resent me."

Fleetingly, Jon wondered if the elaborately decorated letter opener on the desk between them was sturdy enough to sink into Elias's chest without snapping. Not worth it, either way. Not with what it would cost.

"I . . . apologize if I've created that impression," he said evenly. "I've been told that I can be standoffish in my manner."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Elias smirked. "Though ‘standoffish' is a great deal more polite than the words people actually favor. Isn't it?"

Jon tried not to look away, tried and failed to meet Elias's eyes. Perhaps his inability to maintain eye contact with a conduit of the Beholding spoke well for his remaining humanity, but it still twisted in him. Made him feel weak.

"Are we done here?" he asked, voice tight.

Elias sighed, as if all of this was such a burden to him, as if he wasn't basking in the anxiety that Jon knew must be radiating off of him like heat.

"What was it you said to Martin . . . about discarding the facade once it stopped being useful?" That startled Jon enough to look back, to see the condescending smile on Elias's face as he continued. "Maybe you ought to do the same."

He stared, suddenly voiceless, heart pounding. This was it . . . should he be relieved or terrified?

"I've been where you are now, Jon." Elias continued. His voice was stern, with only the barest concession to false sympathy. "Trapped in a world that no longer makes sense, surrounded by malevolent forces, seeing enemies everywhere. And I can tell you that the only way to survive in this world is to recognize what resources you have."

". . . Resources."

"Yes, if you could just get past this irrational distrust you seem to have of me. I can't hold your hand through everything. But if you have questions . . . I might be able to give you some answers."

Answers? That would make a change from before, Jon thought bitterly. The Elias he remembered used misdirection, contempt and sometimes flat refusal to avoid giving Jon any information he could hope to use. Unfortunately there was only one question Jon really had for him anymore, and it was one he couldn't ask: how much do you know?

. . . Did Elias have that same question for him? It would explain why he was directly inviting him to ask about his situation.

Jon paused. He had to be smart about this. If Elias had sat him down like this before, he'd have wanted to know everything. If he didn't seem curious, it might point to how much he already knew, and that would be disastrous. But he also couldn't look too naive . . . he'd made his suspicion clear, already warned the others, he couldn't pretend to know nothing about the Institute's nature.

He tried to think back to when he was only just getting a sense of the way things truly were. What would he have most wanted to understand then?

". . . What happens to me," he asked quietly. "When I read statements? The real ones. You know what I mean. I can feel something happening, I know it's not just reading."

"The answer to that is rather complicated . . . ."

"Are you going to give it to me?"

"It would help if I understood what you already knew. How much did Gertrude tell you about the nature of this place? The Institute?"

"Enough to know I can't trust it," he glared across the desk. "And maybe the reason I don't trust you is because you're constantly peering over my shoulder."

"You must have some sense by now of the dangers the Institute attracts," Elias raised his eyebrows. "Can you really blame me for wanting to keep tabs on everything?"

"Because you ‘keeping tabs' was so helpful when I was pulled into those hallways for weeks."

"You opened the door of your own free will. I do what I can but I can hardly be expected to protect you from yourself."

"You're the reason I'm here in the first place! You've been--"

Jon cut himself off, he could feel himself beginning to shout, losing control of himself and it was stupid, so stupid. What was the point in arguing with him? Jonah Magnus knew exactly what he was doing, he wasn't going to be shamed about it.

"It doesn't matter," he said, trying to gather himself back to a neutral tone. "Can't change the past."

". . . For what it's worth, Jon, I do sympathize," Elias said, folding his hands. "Someone has to be the Archivist. You were just the best option available."

Why had he thought he could play along with this? As if he'd really be able to sit there, feign ignorance and draw information out of a man who'd been doing that exact thing to others for centuries. He wasn't going to beat him at his own game . . . far more likely he'd let something slip out of anger that would get somebody killed.

He pushed his chair back and stood, turning towards the door.

"I'll find my own answers," he said.

* * *

The door slammed shut, loud enough to echo. Jonah supposed he was going to have to get used to outbursts like these.

"I expect that you will," he muttered to the closed door.

Blind spots. He didn't like blind spots. Sometimes they were unavoidable, but having one so near to him was profoundly irritating. It was like knowing he'd forgotten something important, but being unable to dredge up any details.

He could watch Jon as easily as anyone else. Though there were moments his gaze would unfocus, and he suspected Gertrude might have taught him a few of her tricks, overall it wasn't hard to keep an eye on him. But lately, that was all he could do. No matter how he tried, he couldn't Know anything deeper than what appeared on the surface. He might as well have been following the Archivist around with a camera crew rather than channeling the overwhelming power of an Eternal and Unblinking Gaze From Which No Secrets Can Be Kept, for all the good it was doing him.

It was as if the knowledge was all there, but had been shifted somehow. Nudged just outside his field of vision.

A part of him was tempted to start over with another Archivist, one he could See more clearly. But the Web mark was hard to find, and he couldn't even be sure this anomaly was unique to Jon – that it would go away with his death instead of attaching itself to his successor. Despite its frustrating obscurity, something about it that felt like an aspect of the Beholding, though he couldn't say why.

So he'd tolerate the blind spot for now. At least Jon was easy enough to read without the Eye's assistance – the man wore his heart on his sleeve, was helpless in that way. Jonah liked that about him.

What he needed was encouragement. Something to get him out of his comfort zone – four marks was progress, but not fast enough, not with the Unknowing looming closer every day. Jonah wrote a quick note on a post-it and stuck it to the folder in front of him, then pressed a button on his intercom.

"Rosie?" he said, "I need you to run something down to the archive for me. Just drop it on Tim's desk, he'll know what it's for."

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #26

Devil May Cry - #26 - Blindness

I didn’t have enough time to proofread tonight, so I apologize for any errors!

*

“Do these things ever stop coming?” Nero said as he sliced through yet another smaller demon.

“Stop complaining,” Vergil said.

“It was a question, not a complaint,” Nero pointed out. “Besides, we should be trying to get to the source of where these things are coming from rather than wasting time cutting them up.”

“Kid’s got a point,” Dante said, shooting a demon dead and trying to catch his breath. “Whatever is sending these things at us is just trying to wear us down. Might as well charge in and finish this up.”

“You two are impatient,” Vergil said.

“You’re welcome to stay here and keep swinging away at the cannon fodder. Dante and I will go actually be useful,” Nero said.

Vergil’s expression darkened in irritation, and Dante had to hide a laugh. Nero sure knew how to get to his father. 

Sure enough, Vergil moved towards the large hole in the ground that the demons kept pouring out of. “Let’s hurry this up. I can’t tolerate being around the two of you for much longer.”

Nero flashed Dante a thumbs-up, and Dante grinned in return. The two followed after Vergil, and they jumped down into the hole.

“The hell is that?” Nero as they finally spotted the source of this mess.

There stood a large demon, swarmed by what appeared to be hundreds, if not thousands, of the smaller demons. It let out a grating scream that had all three men wincing at the volume.

“Think we pissed her off,” Dante said, and dove to the side as it whipped a sharp tendril at him.

“Don’t let the tendrils hit you. They’re coated in some kind of substance,” Vergil said, readying his sword. “Could be deadly.” 

“I dare you to touch the tendril,” Dante said, nudging Nero.

“I should’ve done this job alone,” Vergil said with a long sigh.

“But instead, you’re graced by us,” Nero said, and ran at the demon.

“Reckless,” Vergil hissed. “That boy is so damn reckless.”

“He knows what he’s doing. I think,” Dante said, and took off after Nero.

Vergil moved more carefully, taking precise strikes against the demon’s legs to stagger it. Dante and Nero climbed its back and began to slash away at it, dodging its thrashing tendrils as it screeched and tried to shake them off.

Nero narrowly avoided a tendril in an attempt to get the demon to stab itself. But it was immune to whatever coated its tendril, so Nero instead tried slashing at the tendril itself.

“Nero! Stop playing around! You have no idea what that’ll do to you if it hits you,” Vergil said.

“Careful, he might ground you,” Dante teased.

“It won’t do shit to me if I can cut it off,” Nero said, striking the tendril again and shifting his body so that it flailed past him harmlessly. “This thing is damn hard to cut through. And why does it have so many?”

“You can study them once the demon is dead,” Vergil said, slicing the Yamato across the demon’s leg.

It screeched again, sending a tendril flying at Vergil. Vergil easily moved out of the way, but Nero’s eyes widened as he saw a smaller tendril streaking towards Vergil’s back.

“Vergil!” he cried, leaping off the demon’s back.

He crashed into Vergil just in time to knock him out of the way. Vergil stumbled off balance and hit the ground, looking up just as the tendril stabbed into Nero’s chest and sent him flying back.

Nero hit the ground hard, fingers grasping at his chest, trying to yank the tendril free. Dante and Vergil both sprang into action, trying to cut the tendril off the demon.

Dante grasped it and yanked it free, Nero crying out at the sensation. He grabbed his sword, but dropped it a moment later, gripping his head as panic flashed across his face.

“Nero?” Vergil demanded, fending off another tendril before it could get the vulnerable boy.

“I can’t see!” Nero said in alarm. 

Nero swung his head around side to side, but his vision remained pitch black. His chest tingled, but his limbs still worked just fine. He could hear and smell everything fine. 

But his vision was gone.

He reached out blindly for his sword, grasping it. He got to his feet, trying to listen hard. He was used to fighting one armed, but not blind. He’d never had to fight blind before.

“Down!”

Someone grabbed him and yanked him to the ground. Something whipped over his head, and he abandoned his sword, grabbing his gun instead and firing at the sound.

“Stop, before you hit one of us,” Dante said, thumping him in the head. “Let me see you.”

“Bastard,” Nero said, trying to kick him.

“Ow! That wasn’t a joke! I really am trying to look you over. Vergil, cover us.” Dante gripped Nero’s shoulders. After a moment, Nero felt Dante’s hand on his chest.

“There’s some sort of film over your eyes,” Dante said at last. “Shit. My dumbass brother talks so big and can’t even watch his own back.”

Nero tightened his hold on his gun, refusing to give into his fear. The darkness reminded him of being sucked into the Savior back in Fortuna. But this time, he would not be weak. He would not be helpless and useless.

“Tell me where to shoot,” he said.

“You should-”

“Tell me where to shoot,” he repeated impatiently.

Dante sighed, and put a hand back on his shoulder. “Someone’s got to keep you covered. Alright, kid, let’s do this. We’ll shoot the thing, and Vergil can carve it up. On your right.” 

Dante directed Nero where to shoot, and pulled him out of the way of harm. Nero focused hard on the sounds around him, trying to determine where Vergil was so he didn’t accidentally shoot him. What a waste to save him from the tendril just to accidentally shoot him. 

Still, it might be a good excuse to get revenge for his arm…

No, no. Another time, maybe. Right now, he had a demon to kill, eyesight or no eyesight.

“Oh fu- on your left!” Dante cried, gripping Nero’s arm to yank him aside.

But Nero could hear the sound of the tendril whipping through the air towards them. He fired twice at it before Dante pulled him aside.

There was an awful shrieking sound, and then a heavy thump that shook the ground. Nero lowered his gun.

“Vergil?” he guessed.

“Killed it,” Vergil said.

“He’s taking all the credit, but that thing has quite a few bullet holes in it,” Dante said, clapping Nero on the back. “Nice shooting, kid.”

“His eyes,” Vergil said, his voice close to Nero now. “What the hell is this substance?”

“No clue,” Dante said, and Nero heard the slightest strain in his voice. He was worried.

“Is it permanent?” Nero asked, forcing his voice to remain steady. Still, he tightened his grip on his gun to keep his hand from shaking.

“Let’s get you back home so we can look into this,” Dante said, evading the question. “Vergil, cut off a few of those tendrils.”

Nero listened to Vergil do just that. After a few moments, a hand fell on his arm and began guiding him forward.

“We’ll need to carry him out of here,” Dante said, and Nero was surprised to find that his voice was too far back to be the one guiding him.

“I can walk just fine,” Nero said.

“It’ll be too much of a hassle to guide you out,” Vergil said, voice right next to Nero. “Here, just- stay still.”

Nero let out an indignant noise as he was lifted. Wind whipped against his face as Vergil made his way up and out of the hole they jumped into, and it was a few moments before he was set back down. Vergil put a hand on his arm to guide him again.

Nero wanted to shove Vergil’s hand away, but he was well aware he’d end up tripping if he tried to walk alone. There were too many corpses of those smaller demons scattered about.

So he reluctantly allowed himself to be led back to the van. He could hear the engine as they approached.

“What happened to his eyes?” Nico said.

“Unsure. Get us back to his house,” Vergil said.

“I’m sorry, what was that? It sounded like you were trying to give me orders,” Nico said.

“Alright, alright. Nero came in here with his eyesight and now he’s suddenly blind. Maybe fight when we fix that?” Dante said. 

Nico grumbled out curse words, but the van jerked into motion. Nero, familiar with the layout, shrugged Vergil’s hand off and got up.

He kept a hand out in front of him as he cautiously made his way to where they kept the water bottles. He managed to grab one and twist the cap off, pouring some into his cupped hand and splashing it into his eyes.

“Stop,” Vergil said, taking the water bottle from him. “We have no idea what that substance is. You could be making things worse.”

“I’m blind!” Nero snapped. “How much worse could I possibly make it?”

“You could make it permanent,” Vergil snapped right back.

Nero swung his head in the direction he thought Dante was in. “You can’t take me home like this. Kyrie will worry.”

“Over here, kid,” Dante said from the opposite direction. “I’ll take you back to my office for now. I already messaged Trish a description of the demon to look into.”

“Are there any other symptoms?” Vergil said.

“A headache, but that might just be because I’m sick of dealing with you,” Nero said. He slumped back against the side of the van, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. “My chest is tingling and my eyes burn. Want to hear about how that makes me feel since you’re playing doctor?”

“Fine, then we’ll stop trying to help and you can suffer,” Vergil said. “If that’s how you want to be.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nero said, slamming his fist against the wall. “Sorry if I’m not exactly in the best mood right now, but I kind of just went blind, and it might be fucking permanent.”

“And you’re mad because it should’ve been me,” Vergil said.

Nero let out a disbelieving laugh. “You think I’m that shallow? If I wanted it to be you, I wouldn’t have pushed you out of the way. Maybe you wouldn’t have done it for me, but I don’t regret doing it for you, even if this is permanent.”

Vergil fell silent. Nero turned away from him and made his way back to a seat. He didn’t want to let his fear grow too much, so he busied himself feeling his chest injury and trying to judge how badly it had torn his clothes.

When the van finally stopped, he got up and made his way off it without help. But then someone caught his arm and guided him along.

“Dante, I know my way around your office,” Nero said impatiently. “I don’t need a guide.”

“I know that,” Dante said from far ahead of him. “Tell it to your old man.”

“I- oh.” Nero turned his head towards the hand on his arm, though he could see nothing. 

“It’s a mess in there. Knowing your way around won’t help,” Vergil said without taking his hand away.

Nero allowed it, if only because of Vergil’s tone. He sounded...almost reluctant. Like he’d finally realized that Nero had saved him for no other reason than that he hadn’t wanted to see Vergil get hurt. No ulterior motive, no “you owe me”; just an instinctive desire to save him.

“Good news,” Trish said as they got Nero seated. “The effects would be permanent on a human, but it’s only temporary on a demon.”

“How is that good news? Nero is more human than demon,” Vergil said, that cold anger back.

“He’s demon enough,” Trish said. “It should wear off in a few hours.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Vergil said.

“It will,” Dante said.

But Nero knew what he’d see if he hadn’t been blinded. He’d see Dante and Trish shooting Vergil that “shut up or you’ll scare him” look. They sounded confident, but Vergil was right. Nero was mixed, with more human in him than his father or uncle. They might be fine if it was them, but it was Nero.

“Reckless,” Vergil grumbled, because he’d evidently reached the same conclusion Nero just had. If Vergil had been stabbed by the tendril, this wouldn’t be an issue. But it had been his son, and now they’d just have to wait and hope. “You’re so reckless.”

“Runs in the family,” Nero said.

That fear was coming back, though. He couldn’t fight if he was blind. It would take him years to learn how to do it with any competency. Years in which the people he cared about wouldn’t have him there to protect them or watch their backs. Years of being weak and vulnerable.

“Stop,” Vergil said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. For once, Nero took a strange comfort in it. “They are right. You’re not human. You’ll be fine in a few hours, and then you’ll go right back to doing something stupid and reckless and put yourself in another bad situation.”

“We’re working on his pep talks,” Dante said.

“Both of you, shut up,” Nero said. But he didn’t want silence, not really. 

Vergil and Dante seemed to pick up on it, for which Nero was grateful. He felt the slightest pressure on his shoulder, as if Vergil had tightened his hold.

“Hey, Nero, since we’ve got the time, why don’t I tell you about the time I kicked your old man’s ass in a sword fight when we were kids?” Dante said.

“They were toy swords, and you cheated,” Vergil said. 

Nero was grateful for the distraction as the brothers began to bicker and argue about what had happened all those years ago in their fake sword fight. Nero listened to them, focusing on their words so that he wouldn’t have to worry about what would happen if this never wore off.

But he knew what would happen. Vergil and Dante would look after him and help him adjust. Because for as irritating as the twins could be, they would never abandon Nero to fight alone in the dark.

[lilyharvord]

The Chain (Part 9)

Thank you to everyone for being so patient with my update for this fic. I’m officially done with my first semester of graduate school and since I’m on break, I want to try and post as many chapters as possible to get as close to finishing this as possible. We’re time jumping after this by the way everyone. It’s about time we kicked it up a few notches and got to the meat and bones of this fic. 

Tag list: @delilahlbard, @king-maven-calore, @thatoddgirl777, @elliekratzzz, @evangelineartemiasamos, @evangeline-of-montfort, @scxrletguardsdawn, @freaky-freiday, @petergrantkavinsky, @kuwei, @whatsup-gorls, @katiemoore,  @redqueenetwork, @tranquil-dusk (I’m trying to add you but for some reason it wont @... the same problem happens with @thatoddgirl777 and I have no idea how to fix it)

Find the rest of the fic here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 

Enjoy everyone (: 

(/Mare/)

When I run from my lesson with Julian, it feels fake and I wonder if he even buys into it. I have far too much control over my ability now, and it is hard to fake going out of control. Still, the rain feels good on my face when I finally find a balcony. I couldn’t care less about the paint that is most likely being washed away. I tilt my head back and inhale, letting the rain drench my hair. Today is just a bad day, and it is only set to get worse. 

The rain is warm as if washes over my face. I wish it were cold. I’ve felt too much lately. I want to be numb for a few minutes. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance. A moment later, the air changes as another bolt of lightning prepares to races across the sky. The storm is right overhead. I miss the electricons more than anything as the pressure escalates around me. 

We’d go storm chasing on a day like today to hunt down the elusive bolts of lightning so that we could harness them ourselves. Harnessing natural storms is like wrestling with my brothers when I was little. It’s pulling against an impossible force, but the power that roars through my veins when I manage to get what I want out of it is exhilarating. 

Gripping the banister, I inhale the smell of ozone and open my eyes to watch the flash of white as it shoots across the sky. Change, lightning is change. Storms come and wash away the old to bring new, brighter things behind it. Tyton had taught me that. Ella taught me it could be elegant. Rafe taught me it was beauty. I taught them it could bend but never break.

A hand closes around my arm and I almost yelp at the freezing touch. Two Sentinels stand over me. They must have followed me out here and given me a careful berth until they were certain I wouldn’t electrocute them. 

“My lady,” One of them growls, his grey eyes like dirty snow. Probably a Gillican judging by his touch. He’s twice my size, but nowhere near as powerful. I still hate the sight of them. 

“Let go.” I insist as I tug my arm. But he grips me tighter and steel panic laces through my bones. They had found me before, but who knows why they have come looking for me now. Has Elara decided to make a move? Has she found something out? 

Tugging against him, I bring my other hand up to grab his wrist and shock him into letting me go. I never get the chance though. 

“You heard my bride.” Maven. My blood runs cold as he steps onto the balcony, looking over the two guards like they are common dirt. “Let her go.”

The relief I should feel is replaced by cold fear. I’ll take the Sentinels over him any day. I’m not in the mood to play games with him. 

“Apologies your Highness, but we must keep Lady Titanos to her schedule.” The one holding me speaks in a baritone that makes Maven’s lips pull down in a frown. His grip is already loosening though. I can’t believe I never realized how in pocket Maven and Elara had the Sentinels. These soldiers stopped serving the king a long time ago. “It’s orders, sir.” 

“Then you have new orders,” Maven’s voice is colder than ice. It reminds me of the freezing nights in Paradise Valley when the wolves would howl at the moon and the wind would answer back. “I will accompany Mareena back to her lessons.” 

I’d sooner let him walk me off a cliff. But the Sentinels drop my arm none the less and leave us on the balcony. The buffer they put between me and Maven leaves with them, and then I am alone with the man who destroyed me. 

“We have working showers inside, you know.” 

I push my wet hair out of my face before turning away from him. Jokes aside, I don’t want to see him. My nightmares have returned in all their supernatural fury. Every night I dream of chasing him down a hallway, the burn of the knife as it cuts my side, and feeling of dying in a Silent Stone room. I wake gasping and on the verge of screaming, but no sound comes out. I’m grateful for that at least. Still, I miss Cal’s warmth, and being able to curl against him to tether myself to reality when the dreams refuse to leave. 

“I want to be alone.” I murmur, setting my head in my hand. My patience is holding, but not for long. 

“I understand that.” 

Oh, I know you do. I keep my lips from curling into a sneer by sheer will alone. Lightning flares across the sky again. The storm is creeping beyond us, but I could still pull a bolt down and hit him if I wanted. My aim is perfect. I could cook him to a crisp like I did Elara. 

I grip the banister again to settle my thoughts. I can almost feel the char of her hair between my fingers and the weight of her head if I close my eyes. I can hear the hum of the cameras as I hold up the head of a she-wolf and promise to come for the pup. 

“I understand how difficult it is.” He continues as he steps up next to me, bolder than he ever was. My eyes snap to him, but I’m more curious now than wary. What has made him so certain? Before, he had still been wary around me. It wasn’t until we joined the Guard together that he truly pretended to open up to me.  

His eyes are cold as he stares out over the palace grounds. “These people. They make it impossible. I can’t say what I want, do what I want—with my mother around I can barely even think what I want. And my brother—!” 

“What about him?” My blood runs cold. What has Cal done now? He promised he would stop prying—

The words stick in his mouth, and he pales with a blush. He’s not the perfect statesman that locked me in a cage yet. He’s not the boy listening to a ghost in his head yet. There is still a part of him that is Maven, and not the thing his mother created. “He’s strong, he’s talented, he’s powerful—and I’m his shadow. The shadow of the flame.” 

The part of me that always understood that part of him, and even loved it quakes. I step out of Gisa’s shadow because of him, but he never does leave Cal’s. He never gives himself the chance. He keeps chasing the edge of Cal’s shadow like there is one. Maven casts his own shadows though. They haunts me and they haunts Cal in the future. If only he knew that. 

When the words come to me, they are true and that is what makes me feel sick. “Then maybe you should try to be more than that.” 

His eyes widen at my words, and I find myself unable to stop. “You could be more. I think you could. Stop chasing the edges of shadows, you’ll never find them. Find a way to be alone with your own heart, and be happy with it.” 

His entire face folds in on itself, pinching in places I never saw before. I’ve never seen this emotion from him, and I have no idea what to call it. For a moment I wonder if I’ve said the wrong things, and done exactly what I told Cal not to do. But a part of me still wants to save the boy that I thought was trying to save me. Even if its hopeless, and he is too far gone to save. Monsters aren’t born, they’re made. Julian told me that once. Well if monsters can be made, they can be unmade too.  

“That’s something you should know about us Silvers. We’re always alone. In here, and here.” He gives me a tired smile as he touches his head and then his heart. The line sends a shiver down my spine though. He’d said the same thing last time too. It only reminds me that perhaps we’re on a track, and there is no getting off. There are no other exits, only the ones that I know are coming. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“You better learn to hide that heart of yours, Lady Titanos. It won’t lead you anywhere you want to go.” 

My heart aches more than he could ever know. This is the boy, this is the truth. There is nothing to save. I am trying to fix a shattered mirror and cutting my hands on the pieces to spill my blood for nothing. I turn my eyes back to the sky, closing them as lightning strikes again, and thunder roars above us. Battle lines were drawn before; I have to redraw them now. 

“I think I can help with your problem.” 

I turn my eyes back down to him, and instantly he is the Maven I dreamed about. The mask is so perfect. I forget there are cracks that the darkness slips through. 

“What problem?”

“You’re homesick.” Holding out his hand to me, he nods down to it when I don’t take it. His skin is like ice when I slide my palm into his. I thought I remember him being warm by this point. Instead, he’s a corpse before I make him one. “I can fix that.” (/////)

The wind cuts through my hair, ripping it from its braid as Cal and I race toward the Stilts. I’ve ridden a cycle with him numerous times since this night. Nothing takes away the rush or competes with the feeling of flying that this generates though. Usually we tear down mountains roads and I close my eyes, trusting him to keep me safe as he cuts around turns. He’s taken Gisa once too. I had to peel her off of him when they returned because she was gripping his body so tightly. 

Right now, his body is warm in my arms, warm and real. It reminds me that I’m safe with him. Even if I’m terrified of the situation we’re in. 

When we finally reach the branch in the road that will bring us into the Stilts he brings the cycle to a stop, and cuts the engine. I’m the first off, and I peel away from him like a second skin. He pushes it into the trees, his eyes dancing to me every so often as he does so. I know that look he is throwing over his shoulder. I’ve seen the worry that creases his brows and the concern that flares like a light show in his eyes many times when he’s uncertain what’s going through my mind.

“Do you want to talk?” He eventually asks after throwing a few leafy branches over the cycle to hide it. I tuck my hands into the pocket of my coat to hide the shake in them. 

“There really was nothing to save.” It’s a thought that’s been going through my mind since Maven confronted me on the balcony. 

His expression melts into true concern faster than I can swallow my words. But he swaps that for a different mask of emotion. There’s no jealousy in his eyes, but I can see the beginning flares of his panic. His one true fear before we started this was that I would choose Maven this time around; that maybe he really was the consolation prize all along and I only chose to try again because I lost my chance to be with Maven. 

“He’s still a ghost.” I whisper to him before reaching out for his hand. He lets my fingers interlace with his. I squeeze them tightly, trying to get him to understand. “That doesn’t mean I won’t mourn a chance lost.” 

He nods tightly, his jaw squeezing until a muscle in it feathers. I cup the spot with my other hand, caressing it to soothe him. “I love you, you know that. Even if you drive me up a wall sometimes.” 

With a light laugh, his worry melts away, and I’m glad for it. We can’t be questioning each other right now. There’s too much at stake. There can be no edges. We filed them down after the war so we could fit together after all. That is where the real truth lies though. 

Maven carved himself to fit with me. But Cal and I smoothed down together, cutting off the edges that mattered so we could fit. I didn’t need to change for Maven because he melted what he needed to make the perfect mask. It had been a lie from the beginning. A beautiful, wonderful lie. Cal had been real though, had never bothered to hide what he was, even when those parts hurt. He made me better, and I made him better. Nothing about Maven had made me better. He made me strong sure, but a brittle kind of strong that hurt anyone that got too close. 

Reaching out, he pushes my hair away from my face, his smile falling fast. “I wish you didn’t have to go through this.” 

He could be talking about anything. Shade. Maven. All the New Bloods. Losing myself. Losing people I love. Even losing him for a bit. 

“I don’t.” I insist, even though the words cut up my insides like glass as I speak them. The truth cuts sometimes. I’m used to the sting. (////////)

The meeting with my family still stabs like a knife. Kilorn’s rage burns like a brand. Gisa’s wish rings in my ears.  I feel like I’m drowning, being swallowed up by the old emotions. It’s like reading a book where I know the ending and hesitate to turn every page. I hate every second. Even as I make my way straight of Will’s wagon. 

Cal trails me, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows so Kilorn doesn’t see him, and so Will’s spies don’t notice him ether. Kilorn knows who Cal is, I know he does. He had known from the moment he first saw him. I couldn’t be more grateful for my friend keeping his fat mouth shut around my family though. I think my dad would have found a way to stand and kill Cal where he stood if he knew he was the Crown Prince. 

I hold my hand out, telling him to stay back silently, while I take the final ten meters to the wagon on my own. He melts into the shadows, playing the part of a shadow so expertly I have to do a double take. But even his eyes are gone. Maybe he turned and went back to the cycle. I hope he did. When I step into the wagon, it’s to see Will smiling, already waiting for what I have to say. I tell him everything. And just like he did last time, he admits to knowing everything.

Tristan waits behind the curtain, ready to pounce. I can see the toes of his boots before he announces his presence. He’s more arrogant than I remember. I still see the pole Ptolemus shoots through him though, and the mental image makes me shudder. 

“The royal monkeys have chosen a queen this past week.” Tristan’s smile is cold as he looks me over. “You’ve been all over the screens Lady Titanos.” 

I hate that name, and all the implications of it. “They aren’t all monkeys.” I insist, and the fire that lights in his eyes makes me wish I hadn’t said anything. 

“Are you talking about the prince you’re engaged to or the one waiting outside in the shadows?” Will asks as he leans back and rests his hands on his stomach. 

My heart does a jump and a skip, and I’m sure all the blood drains from my face. I thought we’d been careful and I had been incredibly impressed with how Cal disappeared. Still, I should have known, Will is a spy in the Guard for a reason. 

Tristan erupts though, and takes two quick steps for the door, his hand flying to his pistol. I leap and grab his wrist though, twisting it expertly and spinning to put myself between him and the door. And ultimately between him and Cal. 

“You brought a Silver here?” he hisses down at me, even though my hands are already lighting with sparks. “The Crown Prince? Do you know what we could do if we took him in? What we could bargain for?”

Relax, I want sneer, you get him eventually. And he will do far more this time than he did last time. My words when I do speak are low, like thunder in the distance as I glare him down. “You leave him alone.” 

Tristan’s lip curls in disgust. “A few weeks in the lap of luxury and your blood is as silver as theirs,” he spits, looking like he wants to curl his fingers around my throat and throttle me. “Do they take turns?”

“What?” I gasp in surprise. That’s not in the script. 

“Do they take turns rolling in the sheets with you?” His lips curl at the surprise on my face. “Or do you pick one over the other? I’m going to guess the one hiding out there gets the most time.” 

Fury like nothing before sears through me. I bring a hand up that sparks as I sneer. “You idiot. I’m protecting you from him. He’s a trained soldier that would turn you inside out like a shirt if he wanted. And he’d burn this place down if you so much as tried to go after him.” 

You’re only alive because I haven’t burned the oxygen from this room. A real threat, one I believed when Cal said it the first time, and one I believe now. I have to keep Tristan away from Cal. I can’t have a stray bullet finding its way into his chest or his head. 

Tristan deflates, his anger melting away as I slowly lower my hand and disburse the sparks. Will lays a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, calming him further. “That’s enough,” he whispers. “What did you come here for, Mare? Kilron is safe and so are you siblings.” 

This is what I came here for. To put the pieces in motion finally. To start the game for my side. “Shade was a member of the Guard, and they killed him for it.” The only fact I can trace. “I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me.” 

“You’re dead if you don’t.” Will reasons. 

“I know. I’ll say what they want. But I’m in the palace, the center of the royal family. I’m quick, and quiet. And I will help the cause.”  

Tristan sucks in a ragged breath. His eyes light with a new fire, this one vastly different from his anger. He rises to his full height, beaming at my words. “You want to join up.” 

“I do.” My words are final, and I don’t bother to look at Will, only Tristan. 

“I hope you know what you’re committing to. This isn’t just my war, or Farley’s or the Scarlet Guards—it’s yours. Until the very end. And not to avenge your brother but to avenge us all. To fight for the ones before and the ones to come.”  

The ones to come. My chest squeezes as I picture Clare’s toothless grin at the same time that her laugh rings through my ears. My own hand curls into a fist on my stomach. There are plenty to come. I swore myself to the Guard to protect them before I even knew about them, and now more than ever my heart pounds for that future. I will fight tooth and nail for it. I will spill my blood and others so that someday, someday I can sit on my porch and watch a little dark haired boy run rampant in the backyard. So my brother’s name can live on in his daughter. So that someday my family never has to be hungry. So that someday, I never have to be afraid. 

I slip my hand into Will’s gnarled one. Cal warned me of war once, of what it brings. We both know the cost now, but I know what waits for us on the other side. There is a light, there is hope, there is good. I will do whatever it takes to get back there. Even if it means mucking my way through blood and mud once again. 

“I am with you.” 

“We will rise,” Will breathes in unison with Tristan. The words are like hope burning in my chest, lighting up the room around us as I speak them too. “Red as the dawn.”

(////////)

Cal is quiet as we walk through the halls of the palace. And I am too. My silence is contemplative though, his is patient while he waits for what I have to say. He’s always waiting, waiting for me to cross the bridge. He waited for me to say yes too. He asked seven times before I said yes to him in the dead of night wrapped up in cool sheets and half delirious with sleep. I’d pressed a kiss to the space between his brows and said yes without him asking. He waited almost two years for me to say that word after he asked the first time. Now he waits without asking. He knows I will talk eventually. 

“I have to tell you something.” I eventually whisper, and grab his wrist. The cameras whisper around us, and I turn my eyes in their direction before saying, “Your rooms are safe.” 

When Maven brought me there, I made sure to do a sweep. There are no cameras in Cal’s room. I wonder why, but I don’t bother to question it too much. It’s a silent blessing, the perfect meeting place. I don’t have to wait until the guards change to speak with him. 

He nods and takes me a back way. For a moment, I fear we’re lost, until we turn a corner and he brings us to his door. He glances over his shoulder at the same time that I swipe my hand to surge electricity through the camera’s wires, shorting it long enough for me to slide in the room and him to follow me without us being seen. 

In the dark of his rooms, I feel like a ghost. He goes to turn the lights on but I catch his hand. And for the first time in a long time, almost shock him. The hairs on his arms rise as my sparks threaten to explode out from under my skin. I haven’t been this nervous in so long. It makes him jumpy. 

“What happened?” He asks quickly, spinning to face me and grabbing my shoulders. His shadow looks different in the dark, smaller and less imposing. Strange how that is what made him most human to me the first time as well. 

I slip out of his grip only to dive into his chest, wrapping my arms around his middle and burying my nose in his shirt. He smells just a hint like the river as spending a couple of hours in the Stilts, but underneath it, that scent of burning wood clings to him. It relaxes every muscle in my body as I inhale. 

He wraps is arms around my shoulders in response. For a moment, I think he’ll repeat his question. Instead he just reaches up to threads his fingers through my hair that I pulled out of the braid long ago, tangling them in the slightly wavy locks. I can’t hold the secret in any longer, not now that I’ve signed up for this, and he will someday too. I should have told him the moment I found out, but I wanted it be a surprise, a little secret that I could tell him with a laugh. Instead, I feel like I’m telling him before we walk to the gallows. It taints the joy, the happiness of what is to come. 

“I wasn’t completely honest with you before all this.” 

His shoulders stiffen as I bring my hands up to close them in fists on his back. I’m never good at starting conversations like this and I immediately regret the words I spoke. He’s already on edge, and I made I worse. Squeezing the fabric of his shirt softly, I murmur, “before we got here.” 

He relaxes again, and disengages from our embrace to lift my chin. He needs to know, deserves to know. 

“I didn’t want to go after Giselle that night. I told you I was tired, but there was another reason.” It has never been so hard to put something into words. I wish I had just told him in the first place, maybe this whole mess could have been avoided if I had. 

His brows furrow and his face twists as he tries to think back to that strange night and morning. I grab his hands and squeeze tight, willing him to pay attention to my words, more than the memory of what I said. 

“I was going to tell you we had to call off the wedding—”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he opens his mouth to speak. I press my finger to his lips to keep him from doing just that. “For just a little while. Something came up.”

He sits with baited breath, his expression confused and fearful. A mix that’s dangerous for a soldier, especially one like Cal that is used to knowing everything. My lips curl into a weak smile as I say, “We have to get back because something’s waiting for us. Or it may have come with us. I’m not sure. If it did, I have to be more careful than I thought.” 

His eyes dart around the room like someone might be listening, and he slowly takes my hand to pull me into his closet where our voices will be furthered muffled. Has he grasped what I’m about tell him? Cal’s observant, even with all his bullheaded tendencies, and he’s not stupid. He knows me well enough to notice when my habits change. And they had been changing, little by little. I’m a subtle creature, but he’s very good at reading me now. 

In the safety of his closet, I can smile bright. I can let the warmth of my news pulse out of me like sunlight. It had terrified me the moment I knew what was happening, but slowly that panic had been replaced by a strange joy, a strange curiosity. And now, it was longing. 

“You can talk freely now.” He whispers. 

The words die. They won’t come. Like stones, they sit in my throat and choke me. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. Is it cruel to get his hopes up about something we may never be able to return to? And yet, this is not just my burden to bear. This is our future. I am in this to get back to my family. He is in this to get back to what we had in Montfort. He may need something else, something to fight for that isn’t just me. Even if it’s not as tangible as it is for me. 

I’ll just have to say it, push the words out one by one. “I was pregnant.” 

They come easier than I thought, and honestly come out more like a garbled rush than the wonderful phrase they should be. As soon as I speak those words into existence though, the joy leaves, only to be replaced by trepidation and the air around us is leeched of its warmth. 

“What?” Cal’s question is a wheeze, a word not quite formed. 

“Three or four months, I wasn’t sure.” I grab his hand and squeeze as his eyes widen in the dark to the side of moons. “I told you we had so much waiting for us. That’s what is waiting for us. We have to follow everything to the line because of that future.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He whispers, his eyes darting as he thinks back over everything, every action I committed before that night, every word I spoke. 

“I was going to tell you that night, but then we got called to deal with Giselle.” I shake my head, laughing quietly. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I am not the only one privy to this secret knowledge. 

His eyes darken though. Storm clouds gather in his irises as he leans down to whisper.  “You said you didn’t know if it came with us.” 

“All my knowledge and memories came with me… and I’m in the same body theoretically just--just five or six years younger. It might have come with me.” It’s a long shot, but if I’m right, we have far bigger problems than we originally thought. 

“You don’t look like—”

“I didn’t look like it in Montfort either.” I reason dryly. He would have noticed if I did. His lips twist and he nods. 

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m going to wait and see if anything happens.”  

He pales at the prospect, but I grip his fingers tightly again, forcing his gaze back down to me. “This is what we are fighting to get back to. Why we have to be so careful.”  

“I wish you’d told me sooner.” He murmurs before reaching down to circle one of his arms around my waist. In the dark I’m not quite sure if he’s smiling or grimacing. Not until he cups my jaw and presses his lips to mine. He pours every ounce of the joy that is about to explode out of him into that kiss. It mixes with mine until I’m certain we are glowing like a small sun. 

And in that closet, nestled in a nest of snakes and wolves, I finally let myself breathe.

[greyhavensking]

100 Followers Celebration!

God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.

I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!

Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.

you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

“Buck, you awake?”

It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.

Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—

Tonight’s a bad night.

But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.

As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.

“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV. 

Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”

“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.

“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”

Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.

Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.

“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining. 

“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—

“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”

Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?” 

His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light. 

Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.

“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I’m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”

“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”

“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”

Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”

“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”

“What? You loved that movie!”

“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”

“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”

“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”

Hold on— 

“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”

Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”

“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”

And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.

“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”

Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.

“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”

“Buck…”

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”

“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”

Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.

“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”

Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”

It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.

In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now. 

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart. 

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together. 

Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas. 

It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.

“Love you too, Buck.”

Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation. 

He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.

“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.

“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”

He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”

“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”

“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”

He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.

And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.

Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all. 

[lupizora]

Show Me How Life Could Be

This is my extremely late gift for Jenny (@/froochette) for the @knbsecretsanta . I haven't written for this pairing or concept before and wanted to challenge myself with it. Well, the joke's on me that (once) again the fic went out of hand. This feels more platonic than romantic to me, but I'll let you guys be the judge.

Hope you like it anyway! ♥

P.S. Of course, I'd make it about basketball in one way or another, what are you talking about?

Genre: Humour

Pairing: (platonic) MidoMura 

Rating: G

Word Count: 4,191

Summary: Midorima only wanted to do his job properly. Not get into a fight with their most loyal customer and have his life decisions questioned by everyone. Even if maybe, deep down, he was regretting some of them.

Humans show their true colors when faced with someone weaker than themselves.

Midorima Shintarou hadn’t considered himself weak in any regard. On the contrary, he had lived most of his life in moderate privilege: well-off parents, good grades, and boundless athletic ability. This didn’t stop him from always striving with his own two hands for the best humanly possible outcome though. Thus, above all, he fancied himself as a humble person. Acquaintances--friends, depending on who one asked--would often disagree with that statement. But Midorima wanted to believe he had never been as condescending as some of his customers.

The coffee shop he worked part-time was a small cozy place. Located next to the university’s library and lacking any big brand name attached to its identity, it exclusively attracted students who wanted a break from studying or to spend some time between classes. The relaxed pace and the versatile schedule were the biggest reasons Midorima had applied for the position--even if the pay wasn’t anything stellar. As an undergraduate medical student, he didn’t have a lot of free time but he couldn’t impose on his parents forever either. They were already paying for his tuition and half of his rent. It was only fair of him to handle the rest and his day-to-day expenses to the best of his abilities.

For the most part, work was uneventful. Except for the moments when Midorima had to wonder if it was indeed worth the trouble. From demanding customers to people skipping the line and making a fuss over nothing to his personal worst nightmare: customers that seemed to have lost their ability to read written instructions and signs. The redundancy of having to explain simple things annoyed him to no end, as well as the fact they were distracting him from his duties for these trivial issues. Instead of wallowing in despair, Midorima had settled for the next best thing: seething in rage silently. With no other outlet to alleviate this frustration, he’d often picture himself offering retribution to such customers. For example, jumping over the counter to land a solid dropkick to their chest, or throwing the tips jar to their head as they were about to leave. He could make that shot easily from behind the counter and none would be the wiser. The perks of being a former shooting guard known for his ridiculous three-pointers--distance was irrelevant.

Not all customers were irredeemable fools though. Some regulars could be considered at least tolerable, like one Murasakibara Atsushi. The only reason Midorima knew the guy’s name was because of Takao’s snooping. His old teammate/friend kept tabs for all the regulars, more so if they had been involved with high school basketball. Apparently, Murasakibara had been a formidable center in some powerhouse team. It baffled Midorima how such a player had escaped his attention during the championships he had participated in. It shouldn’t have been hard to recognize someone who loomed over the general public like some giant out of an old wive’s tale.

No one seemed to know what Murasakibara was majoring in, but it allowed him to visit the coffee shop every other day. After trying the entire dessert menu in the span of two weeks, he settled on a particular combo. It didn’t matter when he decided to appear, he’d always order the same thing. It saved Midorima a lot of time for which he was somewhat grateful; even if this person’s consumption of sugar worried him as a future medical professional, and cleaning the table after him could become quite a hassle.

Midorima valued rules and order. As painfully hard as it might be to accept, not everyone felt the same way. He was just a glorified waiter in a low-end establishment. He’d do his job, regardless if it was aggravating or not. Keeping his temper in check when faced with personal offenses included, but sometimes there was a limit for even the most patient individuals.

The first term’s midterms had just ended the previous day. Most students seized the opportunity to catch up with their friends over a cup of coffee and some sweets on the side. Suffice to say, the shop was relatively crowded for a regular Wednesday.

Midorima was on cash register duty. Passing all his classes should had left him in a good mood. His horoscope was a bit cloudy that morning though, placing Cancer in 5th place. Nothing too worrisome but he didn’t want to test his luck with handling beverages. So he pushed the responsibility to Takao--who, accustomed to his quirks, only mildly complained--and settled for taking the customer’s orders. Most of the shift went without any incident, but one thing was certain. 

Oha Asa was never wrong about his fate.

Midorima didn’t notice the bell chime of the front door above the ruckus of voices. Neither the footsteps approaching heavily. It wasn’t until the lights overhead were partly obscured that he realized Murasakibara had arrived.

With a glance to ascertain the customer’s identity, Midorima began inputting his order. “Would it be the usual?” he asked.

“Actually,” Murasakibara said. “Muro-chin is going to order this time.”

Midorima’s fingers froze and looked once again, properly this time.

There was another student next to his regular customer. He was slightly shorter than Midorima; dark-haired with several locks of hair falling over his left eye. While he appeared like a polite individual, there was too much-concealed amusement in that eye for Midorima’s liking.

“My name is Himuro Tatsuya,” he said with a wave. “I’m sorry if I’m breaking your routine or something. Atsushi wasn’t really planning on coming today--”

“Because today is no good,” Murasakibara muttered under his breath.

“--I kinda dragged him along because I didn’t know where is this. You see, I’ve heard so many good things about this place, I had to see it for myself.”

Takao was wheezing in the back, the coffee machine’s whirling barely overshadowing his laughter.

Midorima ignored him. “What would you like to order then, sir?”

“Nothing extravagant. Just black coffee,” Himuro said. “I am curious about the desserts you have though. They look delicious, but it's hard to choose. Is there something you’d suggest I try?”

On most days, Midorima would stare blankly at such questions until someone came to rescue him from the embarrassment. Instead, this time, he had the fortune of having a dessert in mind. If only because he waited every week to keep a piece of it for himself.

“Today’s specialty is the red bean cheesecake,” he said. “It may sound peculiar but I assure you--”

“It’s stale,” Murasakibara interrupted him. He was examining the display, bored. “Let’s just leave. I told you there is nothing good today.”

“As I was saying.” Midorima adjusted his glasses, annoyance bubbling in his chest. “It tastes perfectly fine. It’s not too sweet so I’d recommend it if you are looking for something to enjoy along with your coffee.”

“This is worse than those in the convenience store,” he cut him off yet again.

“I assure you, sir, that all our desserts are freshly baked.”

“C’mon, Muro-chin. I can make something a lot better and you know it.”

“Why don’t you make it then?”

"Huh?" Slamming his hand on the counter, Murasakibara leaned over the register to level his gaze with Midorima. “Is that a challenge?”

Two things happened simultaneously: Midorima realized he had said that aloud and someone tried to separate them.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Takao said with a nervous chuckle.

His intervention only deepened Murasakibara’s glare.

Midorima remained unfazed in front of this attitude. He wasn’t one to get intimidated, even in the rare occurrence the other person was a head taller than him.

“I said what I said.” Keeping his tone even, he returned the glare with equal force. “Now, if you aren’t planning on ordering anything, I’d advise you to step aside. Other customers are waiting.”

On his side, Takao facepalmed with a groan, and he could certainly swear Himuro stifled a snicker.

They remained locked in their stare-off until Murasakibara pulled back. Turning on his heels, he stormed out without another word.

Himuro apologized for the trouble and followed him, leaving the rest of the customers to glance between them in awkward silence.

“Now what?” Takao asked.

For once, Midorima didn’t have the slightest idea.

Several days passed and Murasakibara was still absent.

Midorima went about his shifts, as usual, trying to ignore both Takao's whining and his internal monologue about the whole affair. Their manager had been furious. But no one was more disappointed than Midorima for losing his temper over something this mundane. Personal feelings aside, he should have kept his professionalism as he had always done. 

Of course, he wasn’t planning on apologizing if they met each other again. While it had been inappropriate to get into a fight with a customer, Murasakibara had started it with his rude unprompted commentary. The shop had other regulars so one's disappearance wouldn’t have any impact on their earnings. It was going to be alright.

“Pretty boy alert at ten o’clock,” one of the girls announced. All three of them had gathered behind the desserts and snacks display, giggling among themselves. 

Midorima seldom participated in such idle gossip. It seemed pointless and distracting. Maybe if his colleagues found something else to pass the time, they wouldn’t need to stay overtime that often.

Unlike him though, Takao seemed to enjoy the social aspect of it. So after taking a peek, he slid into Midorima’s personal space with a conspiratory air about him. “Shin-chan, you might wanna take this,” he whispered, pointing at the spot of interest.

It was one of the tables next to the shop’s glass facade. Himuro Tatsuya was sitting all alone there.

“Why don’t you go?” Midorima asked, shelving the washed cups from the sink.

“Don’t be silly,” Takao said with a laugh. “We, average guys, have our pride you know.”

That was the most absurd thing Midorima had heard in a while. Takao was by no means average-looking, considering the amount of attention he got from both men and women. But he kept this thought to himself.

“Ask someone else.”

“Don’t be like that. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Minami and the others.” He grabbed him by the shoulders. “Fighting over a guy is an ugly thing. They might break apart! Think of their friendship! Their friendship, Shin-chan!”

There was zero proof of something like that happening. Even for a reserved person like Midorima, it was plain as day those girls were joined at the hip. But whenever Takao resorted to dramatics, he could only oblige to make him stop bothering him.

He sighed. “Alright.”

Taking his notepad along, he approached the table in question. Hushed whispers followed him, making wonder with half a mind if this was some kind of ploy. His horoscope hadn’t heeded any important warnings for that day. He had been prepared with the appropriate lucky item regardless.

Himuro noticed him only when he reached him. “Hello again.”

“Hello,” Midorima replied politely, still a bit uncertain from his joyful greeting. “What can I bring you?”

“There must be a misunderstanding?” He pointed at the cup on his table “I’ve already ordered. Your colleague there brought it to me.”

From behind the counter, everyone gave Midorima a thumbs up. It dawned on him then and there. This had been a set up from the start. Forcing him to interact with Murasakibara’s friend in hopes of learning about his whereabouts.

He resisted the urge to snap his pencil in half. Even his good looks wouldn’t save Takao from his wrath when he returned to the register.

“It’s alright. I can order once more,” Himuro said, appeasingly. “I didn’t have the chance to try your famed sweets last time after all.”

Swallowing his anger, Midorima returned to his work mode. “Is there something, in particular, you’d like?”

“Some of your macarons perhaps.”

“Excellent choice. We’ve got a new batch just today. These are made from this university’s Culinary Arts Department.”

“I know. One of Atsushi’s upperclassmen is responsible for them.”

Midorima looked at him as if he had grown another head. “Pastry chef is his major?”

“I’m surprised you hadn’t figured it out already, given how often he visits this place.” Himuro’s visible eye twinkled with hidden amusement. “He eats too many sweets and snacks for his wallet to handle. This hasn’t changed since our high school days, to be honest. The only difference is that now he started making his own, so we don’t have something to bribe him with anymore,” he said with a sigh. “It’s an uphill battle to bring him to practice lately.”

“Both of you are still playing, I presume?”

“Yes, with the varsity team.” Resting his chin against his knuckles, Himuro assessed him. ”I see you’re very informed, Mr. Midorima Shintarou of Impossible Threes.”

“I’m simply acquainted with an extremely nosy person,” Midorima said. It didn’t take long for Takao to learn about the rest of Murasakibara’s teammates after meeting Himuro. “Where you aware of me from the beginning?”

“I had my suspicions since you’re quite the urban legend around here. FYI, your taped fingers gave you away,” he said with a wry smile. “As someone playing in the same position, I was surprised to learn that such a high-profile player as yourself wasn’t playing anymore.”

“Such is life. Different priorities call for different measures.”

“That is true, I suppose. Do you miss it?”

The sun reflecting on his glasses erased the current view from Midorima’s eyes. He was on the court. Everything was silent; no shoes squelching against the wooden boards; no desperate cries for victory. He was holding the rough leather ball, preparing to shoot. The motion effortless and practiced to the finest tuning possible. He always exhaled when the ball left his hands as if spelling a prayer. It went in with barely a sway of the net. It always did.

“My time is limited for the effort the sport requires,” he said.

“That’s too bad.” Himuro returned to his coffee. “I wonder if Atsushi would be more motivated if he had someone of your caliber to compete against.”

"It must be nice being so simple-minded."

"Simple-minded, huh?" He looked wistfully outside. "That's not a word I'd use to describe him."

Midorima stopped scribbling in his notepad. "Meaning?"

"Sure, to an outsider, Atsushi might appear as such. He seems to go with the flow of his surroundings because that's the easiest thing to do. It might be partly true. It's rare to see him get truly passionate about something that doesn't involve his specific interests." He stirred his coffee. "But you managed to light that fire in him, even if for a single moment. That must amount to something, don’t you think?"

This is preposterous, Midorima thought.

Not everyone had the freedom to just do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Usually, another obligation or circumstance would force someone to go against their wishes and that's how their society worked. One couldn't bend the rules as they pleased. No one had such total control over their life. Midorima definitely didn't and it made him no different than the next person. That's another fact he had accepted without a second thought. There was no way a boring person like him could influence someone's life to any degree, more so a person he had barely held an entire conversation with.

Shaking his head, he focused on the task at hand. "Will that be all?"

"Yes." Himuro smiled. “That’d be all.

The Friday afternoon shift was the quietest of the week. Students preferred to visit the nearest bar or karaoke box rather than the café. It was only natural. No one wanted to follow the same routine, more so during the start of summer vacation. Midorima simply enjoyed the opportunity to avoid interacting with any customers for once.

A storm had been brewing over the horizon for most of that day. So, after a while, Midorima told Minami to return home; criminally unprepared that girl, she never carried an umbrella. Her assistance wouldn’t have been necessary anyway. The shop was empty, allowing him to do some deep cleaning of the place with everyone gone. Halfway through polishing the tables, the rain started to fall outside; a gentle pitter-pattering on the glass ceiling at first, before the heavens opened up and unleashed their fury to the ground. This downpour accompanied Midorima for the rest of his tasks--a white noise lulling him into some peaceful trance. Nothing else mattered; not his gossip-loving coworkers nagging him; not that Murasakibara hadn’t appeared for over a week.

He had finished mopping near the entrance when the double doors rattled. The sun wasn’t bound to set for a couple more hours. Yet, the scenery outside was as dark as if night had fallen. Midorima couldn’t figure out who was out there, knocking at the door with such urgency. Leaving the cleaning supplies aside, he unlocked the door. 

Humidity hanged in the air, pressing against his face like a wet blanket. “Is there something I can help--”

Midorima noticed the jacket, draped over a light-colored package the person was holding in their hands. Allowing his gaze to travel upwards, he took in their bulky torso which was clad in a drenched t-shirt. Locks of hair were glued on their cheeks and forehead like jungle vines.

Despite all that, Murasakibara appeared only mildly annoyed and maybe a bit out of breath. “Took you long enough,” he drawled.

“What are you doing?” Midorima asked.

“I came as soon as it was ready.”

Annoyance spread hot in his chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining right now!”

“That’s why I covered it with my jacket.” He had the nerve to sigh. “For someone wearing glasses, you sure are blind.”

“Excuse me?” Still processing what just happened, Midorima had lost his usual eloquence. “You...it’s been days...and the first thing that comes out of your mouth--”

“Do we have to talk about it here? It’s gonna melt if it stays outside any longer.”

You should have thought of it earlier! He cried in his mind, allowing the other inside in the process.

His sandals squelched against the tiles as Murasakibara beelined for the counter, paying no attention to the watery footprints he was living behind.

Conjuring all his remaining patience, Midorima took the dripping jacket from his hands. “I’ll get you a towel,” he said and disappeared into the backroom.

When he re-emerged, the other had made himself comfortable on a stool. Miffed by his nonchalant attitude, Midorima threw the towel on Murasakibara’s head and took a seat as well. The package was left on the counter between them. Similar to the ones their sweets tended to arrive in, the unassuming beige carton box was definitely from the Culinary Arts department.

Murasakibara peeked from under the towel. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You look mad.”

“I simply want to know what your issue is, coming here in such a manner.” He pointed at the box. “What is this thing too.”

“Open it.” Shrugging, he proceeded to dry his hair. “It’s for you, anyway.”

Midorima quirked an eyebrow, more baffled by this development. Since he didn’t receive any further clarification, he warily opened the box. It was a cheesecake; specifically, a red bean cheesecake like the one their dispute had been about. Perhaps it was the sentiment getting to him, but he was oddly touched.

“You made this?” He asked softly.

Murasakibara hummed in agreement.

“I can't possibly eat the whole thing alone.”

"You can share it or sell it. I don't really care as long as you have the first bite."

"We aren't allowed to put unregistered or unordered sweets for sale,” Midorima said absentmindedly. “Since you went through the trouble anyway, I suppose it’s only fair I give it a chance. I can leave the rest for the others to try. Do you want a piece too?" Seeing him hesitating, he stood up and put the machines to work. “I’ll make you something warm to drink. Summer colds are horrible to catch, especially this time of the year.”

“Yeah, sure.” 

It didn’t take long for the hot chocolate to get ready. Meanwhile, Midorima found something else for Murasakibara to change into and leave his shirt to dry. As a future doctor, it’d be criminal to let someone get sick in his presence. He also dealt with the dessert, cutting two slices for them and putting the rest of it aside in the freezer. All the while, Murasakibara followed him with his gaze as he moved about like a busy bee. Midorima would prefer to renounce his lucky item of the day than admit he had missed the comfortable silence between them. In a world where everyone seemed eager to involve him in things, this moment was an oasis of tranquility.

“Alright,” he said placing the cup in front of Murasakibara.

“You won’t drink anything?”

Midorima returned to his seat. “I’m not one for sweets.”

“I thought you might have one of your canned red bean soups along with this.” He blew at his cup with an indifferent expression. But his eyes seemed to search for a reaction. “Why red and not green beans, by the way? Considering your hair.”

“I don’t mix those two.” Cutting his fork into the slice, he brought a decent-sized portion to his lips. “It’s unsightly.”

Whatever he might have wanted to add, drifted from his mind after taking that bite. It was leagues better than anything Midorima had eaten so far. Compared to this, his regular Wednesday slice might as well be from the lowest shelf of the bottom-ranked convenience store’s fridge.

“You liked it,” Murasakibara said.

It wasn’t a question, and for once Midorima didn’t feel like arguing.

“I accept my defeat,” he said with grave seriousness. “Why did you have to go through such lengths, though?”

“To prove you wrong.”

On second thought, pettiness was an acceptable reason. “I work here. There was no need to get personal.”

“Yeah, but you did.” Draping the towel around his neck, he tied his hair into a low ponytail again. “It was the first time Mido-chin reacted so strongly about anything.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced to make nicknames for me.”

“I read your tag,” he said as if it was obvious.

“You’d be surprised how many people can’t do so. But that’s beside the point,” he said with a wave. “Emotions aren’t needed to do my job. In fact, this whole situation brought me a lot of trouble.”

“But you don’t look so dead inside anymore.”

Taken aback, Midorima was speechless.

“It’s true,” Murasakibara continued. “I know you don’t have to talk a lot and I didn’t mind. It made things easier for me too. I didn’t have to think about what to say back like with the others. But with nothing else to do, I watched you from my table. The only time I ever saw you enjoying yourself were in your breaks, sipping canned red bean soup in the corner, or whenever the others tried to pull you into their shenanigans.”

“I certainly don’t appreciate them making a fool of themselves in front of the customers.”

“You’re lying.” He leaned closer. “And when it’s not those moments, you’re like a beast. Pacing in the cage you made for yourself. Like you’re waiting for something. Why are you still tapping your finger if aren’t playing basket anymore?”

Clenching his fist, Midorima didn’t back down. “Let’s say you are right, and that’s purely hypothetical. What’s in for you?”

“Passionate but talentless players annoy me. But talented players choosing to give up annoys me even more.” Murasakibara sat down, his expression turning solemn. “They remind me of something I’d rather forget.”

This statement echoed personal and all too familiar. Midorima wasn’t someone that poked into other people’s business, not actively at least. Still, he could understand the sentiment. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he’d ponder over his current course in life and get mad at himself; for not pushing through harder; for leaving something he loved aside without much thought. Maybe this was finally the chance he’d been waiting to come.

“Say,” he said; his throat dry and his words timid, “if I challenged you into a match, would you accept?”

“You’re deaf as much as you’re blind.” The jab had not actual heat behind it though. “Yes, without a doubt.”

“With that settled, I hope you won’t hold back. Otherwise, I’ll obliterate you.” His ever-bored eyes widening, just a smudge, got Midorima a bit self-conscious. “Is something the matter?” he added.

“You surprised me,” Murasakibara said, rubbing his neck. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, I think.”

“I simply enjoy a decent challenge.” He took another bite off his slice of the cheesecake. “Don't you?”

The other considered it for a moment. "Only when I know I'll win."

It roused another round of pointless bickering. But, truth be told, Midorima hadn’t felt more alive in while.

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 8

Douxie receives a much needed reprieve.

A/N: Happy holidays, everyone. I hope you have all had an enjoyable time catching up with family/friends as you are able and that you are all staying safe.

This particular chapter had no less than six different versions. Not different edits, six entirely different 2,000-3,000 word scenes that I went back and forth between like a ping pong ball before deciding we needed a low-action option and using the original. Hopefully the rest of that stuff will be worked in somewhere else, or it's just 10,000 words or so of change that can sit in the drafts portion and stare at me accusingly as it never sees the light of day.

I also just want to give everyone a heads up that I am on vacation for the next few weeks. That will either mean I get extra chapters done in my newfound free time, or I will be swallowed by the void that is catching up on everything you can't do when working and there will be no writing done at all. Just in case I disappear off the planet for a few weeks. ;-)

Chapter 8

And After the Apocalypse, it's Nap Time

Douxie awoke and immediately regretted doing so. He had apparently offended every single muscle in his body before tumbling into bed the night before, and there was not an inch of him that did not hurt with a vengeance. He hadn’t felt this terrible since… well,  the last time he died, he supposed, which was really not something one should be making a habit out of. At least he’d found somewhere decent to sleep. If he hurt this much after lying on a soft mattress all night, he could only imagine how painful today would have been with a couch spring or three digging into his back.

“Douxie?” A careful weight settled on his stomach. “Are you awake?”

“No.” He croaked and winced. Even his throat was sore. “That seems like a terrible idea right now.”

Archie chuckled softly, settling more firmly into place. “At least your sense of humour is intact.”

“I wasn’t joking.” Squinting his eyes open, he glared half-heartedly into Archie’s inescapable gaze. There was something there that made him pause, the intimate knowledge of centuries spent together, and he swallowed painfully before asking. “How long?”

“About a day,” the dragon’s response was subdued, thick with concern. “You’ve been drifting in and out. I think you had the old man worried.”

For a terrifying moment, that sentence was entirely incomprehensible to the young wizard. The memories reasserted themselves with a vengeance before he could blankly ask his familiar what he was talking about, and he felt his blood run cold as his hand crept unwittingly to rest against his chest, breath escaping him in a soft ‘oh’.

“How do you feel?” Archie moved his paws to rest atop his wizard’s hand. “Any pain at all?”

“No, I...” His body hurt, yes, like he’d gone three rounds with the enchanted broom and then tripped down the stairs. That wasn’t what Archie meant, though. “I’m alright. A little shaky maybe, but then I guess I haven’t eaten, so—”

“Please, don’t.” He stopped abruptly at hearing the reproach in those words, Archie’s round eyes looking at him with a wounded expression. “Don’t make light. You scared me, Douxie. I didn’t know what was happening or how to help.”

“I’m sorry.” An apology probably wasn’t what Archie was looking for. The words were habitual enough he said them anyway, reaching to lay both hands against the dragon’s back in way of comfort. “I really am alright, though, I promise.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Master!” In retrospect, sitting bolt upright in response to Merlin’s entrance into the room probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. Not the stupidest, either, but it definitely ranked up there. “Oooh, buckets.”

Hands, not paws, grabbed a hold of him before he could join the room in its wild spinning, and he spent a good few seconds being absurdly grateful he hadn’t eaten anything. He very much doubted Merlin would have appreciated his stomach’s reaction to the movement otherwise.

“Careful, Hisirdoux!” the Master Wizard admonished, easing him back to rest against the wall in a semi-upright position. Archie had taken the opportunity to stack pillows behind him, and settled in his lap again as soon as he was stable. Merlin’s hands lingered a little longer than they needed to, the fleeting touch of gentle magic preceding his withdrawal.

“You never do things the easy way, do you?” He turned away before Douxie could figure out whether he was supposed to be apologising for the trouble, returning almost immediately with a chalice that was pressed firmly into his unsteady hands. “Sip this. Slowly. We’ll talk when you’re done.”

For once, it seemed easier to simply do as he was told. Under Archie’s watchful eye, he took a mouthful of the cup’s contents, realising as soon as it passed his lips that it was more than just water. There was a sweet aftertaste, followed almost at once by the easing of the more immediate aches and pains. Unable to hold back a sigh of relief, he settled a little further into the pillows, finishing the rest of the potion whilst watching his master rifle through the various tomes spread across his desk.

The Master Wizard was mumbling discontentedly to himself, a sure sign of his agitation. Cringing inwardly at the thought of the lecture that was surely brewing, he was almost tempted to pretend he was still drinking. Unfortunately, Merlin’s gaze landed on him again as soon as he’d taken the last sip, his master bustling back to the bedside to loom in judgement. 

Archie must have felt him tensing, for he glanced up at Merlin in irritation. “Must you?” 

Rolling his eyes, Merlin liberated the empty cup from Douxie’s lax fingers, setting it aside before pulling up a chair that made his presence a little less intimidating. Douxie caught himself fidgeting with his empty hands, a bad habit he really should have broken after all this time, and swiftly moved to stroke Archie’s back instead.

“So…” Best to get it over and done with. This wasn’t the Merlin who had learned to trust him, for better or for worse. “How much trouble am I in, then?”

“Trouble?” Merlin gave him an incredulous look. “You just spent two days on your deathbed, and another completely unresponsive as your own magic tried to piece you back together. Given the circumstances, I hardly think a lecture from me is going to help.”

“It might.” He probably shouldn’t have said that. Too late to take it back now. “You never know.”

“I will keep that in mind.” The words were so dry you could have used them as tinder. “How are you feeling? And don’t spin me the same story you just did your dragon friend. It may have been nine hundred years for you, but you are still as terrible a liar as you ever were.”

“Yes, well, some people might consider that a good thing.”

“Hisirdoux.”

He hadn’t realised until now how much he had missed his old master. They had had their disagreements, polarising views that had only grown worse after Merlin’s slumber and all those years on his own to fend for himself. The old wizard was still the closest thing he had to a father, and his absence had been felt in every successive catastrophe that had followed his death.

“I feel like I let you down.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he didn’t really have any choice from there but to continue. “You trusted me to protect Nari, but she’s the one who ended up saving me. I don’t even know if the rest of my friends made it out alive. Skrael and Bellroc have probably already opened the Seals in the future, and by the time I figure out how to get back there everyone I know will already be gone.” 

“Hmm.” That was all he got for a long moment, which was neither particularly helpful nor reassuring. “Given up already, have you?”

“What? No! I mean, of course I want to fix it, I just don’t see how.”

“Good.” Merlin nodded as though a decision had been reached. “Once we have exhausted all possible avenues of action and find we cannot undo this calamity of yours, then, and only then, will we talk about your failures. For now, I suggest you focus on regaining your strength.”

“Really?” Zoe would have slapped him upside the head if she’d found him fishing for criticism, but he was finding it hard to believe Merlin had nothing to say on the matter. Merlin always had something to say. “That’s it?”

“Hisirdoux...” Merlin sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. It dawned on his apprentice that the Master Wizard actually looked tired. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that before, battles with Morgana and centuries of slumber notwithstanding. Before he could open his mouth to express his concern, Merlin had reached out in a rare display to lay a hand on his shoulder. “What has happened has happened. After what you went through to end up here, I hardly think there is anything I can add that you haven’t already figured out for yourself. The important thing is to decide what we are going to do next. For that, we need to get you back on your feet.”

The urge was there to close the distance between them. It had been a terrible last few days, on top of a terrible last few months, and the worn down, exhausted part of him just wanted to reclaim the comfort of that brief embrace they had shared whilst lingering on the edge of the afterlife. But this wasn’t that Merlin; No matter how much Douxie might have wished otherwise, his master was gone. He was just borrowing the body and the life of his younger self, ruining his own childhood in new and exciting ways. He really hoped he didn’t remember any of this later. At the rate he was going, he’d be lucky if he wasn’t a raving lunatic by the time he made it back to the future.

“Alright.” Realising Merlin was still awaiting a verbal response, he stuffed that urge and the distracting lump in his throat back down as far as they would go. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Rest.” Merlin squeezed his shoulder before moving his hand away. “Recover. The damage the Arcane Order caused has been halted in its tracks for now, but the cracks remain. You will need to be careful not to overexert yourself, and extremely cautious in how you use your magic. Morgana has already managed one miracle; I will not risk needing another.”

“Where is Morgana?” He was almost afraid to ask. In hindsight, telling the pair of them as much as he had about the future was probably not the wisest thing he could have done in his situation. He was humble enough to admit that. At the time — shock thrumming through his veins and fresh from the adrenaline of being torn apart and put back together — he hadn’t really been in a good frame of mind for rational decision making. That was no excuse for dropping the sorceress in the deep end, though. Not when he knew how Merlin could be. “I owe her a ‘thank you’ for saving my life.”

“She has not been cast into the dungeon, if that is what you are afraid of.” Merlin gave him a knowing look. “Seeing the future is a dangerous business, and anyone who acts on that knowledge without proper forethought is a fool. I will admit you caught me off guard — the time map has never so much as hinted at Morgana’s fate — but she has nothing to fear from me until she chooses to make herself a threat.”

“Good.” It was a weight off his shoulders, if only one of the smallest burdens resting there. “Because I have a feeling we are going to need her help.”

“As do I,” Merlin agreed. “We will discuss it further when I return. I have a meeting with Arthur I have already delayed too long. The servants will bring you up something to eat in a little while. Do not leave the tower without either myself or Morgana accompanying you. Do you understand?”

“But, Master—”

“Don’t, Hisirdoux.” It was not the customary response, stern and reinforced by the expression on the elder wizard’s face. He flinched slightly in spite of himself; Merlin was not yet done. “Arthur is still furious over what happened. It is best you stay well out of sight until things have calmed down. We also have no way of knowing if any of the Arcane Order accompanied you on your little trip through time. If that conglomeration of magic sent you back, they might have followed, and they will be hunting you. Stay in the tower. That is an order.”

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement before making his exit, closing the door firmly behind him and plunging the room into a brief silence.

Archie broke it with a sigh. “I suspect he didn’t mean that to sound quite as angry as it did. You gave us all a fright.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” At least Archie had never minded being used as a living, breathing teddy bear. He let himself indulge in that weakness for a moment, closing his eyes as he held the familiar as tightly as was comfortable for them both. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

He was expecting the usual, quick response. What he got instead was a subdued, “Douxie…”

Surprised, he opened his eyes to meet his familiar’s gaze. He knew that look, and he wasn’t standing for it. “It wasn’t your fault, Arch.”

“I saw what happened.” Archie shook his head. “You were holding your own until I went and got careless. I’m your familiar, I’m supposed to help you, not nearly get you killed.”

“We’re supposed to help each other, Arch. If that’s the way we’re measuring it, I let you down first.”

“Douxie—”

“No. It wasn’t your fault. You’re not allowed to think that it is.”

The dragon huffed at him, not looking wholly convinced, but at least a little less guilty. That transformed into alarm a moment later when Douxie started peeling back the blanket.

“What are you doing?”

Freezing halfway through the motion, he blinked at his familiar. “Um... Getting out of bed?” 

“Merlin said—”

“Not to leave the tower. And I’m not. I just want to get up.”

“The last time you did that you destroyed Merlin’s stock of potions,” Archie moved aside to let him rise, but not without comment. “And the time before you nearly cracked your skull open whilst rearranging all the furniture in our room.”

He touched his head on instinct, frowning when his fingers brushed against the healing lump there. He had been hoping Archie was exaggerating. “Extenuating circumstances?”

“Such as your soul being scattered across time?” Archie dropped to the floor as Douxie sat up on his own, watching him warily as he rested a hand against the bedpost and eased himself slowly to his feet. “I suppose I can allow it. You’re going to have to come up with a better excuse than that for all the other messes you caused, though.”

“Fuzzbuckets. What else did I do?” His legs were slightly wobbly, but they held. He transferred his hand from the bed to the wall before cautiously taking a step, Archie shadowing him.

“I’m not sure you really want to know.”

He managed another three steps without falling on his face, though it was taking more effort than he felt it should. “That sounds bad.”

“Somewhat.” Satisfied he was steady enough to remain upright, Archie took to the air so he could open the door into the workshop, saving Douxie the effort of juggling himself and the latch. “At least you didn’t accidentally turn anyone into a toad, I suppose.”

Belatedly catching on to the teasing note in his familiar’s voice, Douxie cast the smug dragon a dark glare. “You’re an ass, Arch.”

Archie chuckled quietly, and Douxie finished his unsteady march across the bedchamber in silence, slipping into the workshop and sitting on the nearest pile of books he could find.

“I told you you should have stayed in bed,” Archie grumbled, settling at his feet. “It’s not like we have anywhere we need to be.”

That was true, technically. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that sitting still was a mistake. That he should be doing something, anything besides lazing about his master’s quarters all day. Unfortunately, Merlin wasn’t likely to set him loose when he couldn’t even make it across a room without feeling like he needed another nap, so whatever it was would have to wait for now.

Glancing about the workshop in an effort to look more alert than he really was, he froze as he caught sight of the worn lute propped in the corner. Archie followed his gaze, not needing an uttered word to dart across the room and retrieve it for him. His voice only wobbled slightly as he thanked his familiar, waiting for Archie to shift forms and settle into place on his lap before positioning the instrument and letting his fingers wander across the strings.

He was a little rusty; It was a long time since he’d owned a lute, more familiar now with the instruments of the 21st Century than the 12th, but the weight was comforting nonetheless, and it only took a few minutes for his fingers to remember the old patterns. The melody filled the otherwise quiet space of Merlin’s workshop, Archie adding a gentle rumble to what was a softer tune than he would normally have chosen. It seemed right for this moment; A much needed chance to pause and regain his breath before diving back into the fray.  

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (1/5)

summary; you own Rockfield Farm and your bf Mary Austin asks you if you can help her friends with an enormous favour that will lead to a much bigger unprecedented change into your life. Thanks to a cute guy specifically.

word count; 6 126

disclaimers, PLEASE read them; don’t forget this is fiction. i’m using queen‘s 70s era as a base for the story but it won’t be historically accurate. the song mentioned towards the end of the chapter is from Taylor Swift, i don’t claim those lyrics as mine. sorry in advance if u find a f*cked up grammar mistake or whatever. feedback would mean everything, it’s the first time i’m posting something i’ve written it feels like i’m giving birth looool

warnings; minor violence at some point and mention of abuse

********

Mary didn’t stop until she convinced you to give green light to her proposal.

She called it like that, but it seemed more like an order. Both of you knew she wouldn’t let it pass until you agreed to.

Taken aback, you refused at first.

The idea of four strangers living in your house, coexisting with you in the only safe space you knew, wasn’t appealing whatsoever.

Even though all they needed was a studio to record, they’d have to stay until the album was finished. They could afford to rent a proper one, but Mary made it quite clear that getting out of town was crucial to avoid possible distractions.

You’d been fired from your job because the restaurant bankrupted, so the money they were going to pay for rent was welcomed.

Your grandfather passed Rockfield Farm on to you when he died.

It was a lovely place full of good memories, mainly concerning hours on end together in the studio he built in the attic throughout the years. The relationship you had with him had always been special, but ever since your nana passed away at the age of 70, your bond became stronger.

He also wasn’t there anymore, and you tried not to think too much about it, just were glad that you met someone like him. He was the main reason you loved making music so much.

Sadly, as you grew up, although your talent for writing songs and producing music was undeniable, you realized you needed to be realistic and pursue a more down-to-earth career.

Medicine was another thing you were slightly attracted to, it wasn’t your passion but it would have to do.

The music business was too complex and difficult to get in, and wasting your time wasn’t on your plans. It’s not like you were a prodigy or a diamond in the rough, anyway. That was your honest opinion.

But now and then you’d succumb and compose. It was an effective way to forget about the rest of the world and vent whenever something would make you sad, grumpy, anxious, angry… Rarely did you write about happy feelings.

What’s the fun in claiming how fulfilled you are with your life? Which you weren’t, but still.

Ballads and songs that’d leave you with your heart aching on the floor were your daily bread.

Mary was the only one allowed to hear your little creations. She’d try to get you to show them to the world, to step out of the comfort zone and perform them in public, to rush out of those same four walls.

You were quick to brush her comments off every time, content with her and your dog being the only ones to get to listen to your babies.

“How long they’re going to take?” you asked using a fake uninterested tone, pretending not to care whether they needed weeks, months or a year.

The truth was that you wished for the album to be done quite fast.

“Who knows,” Mary said. “When the album’s finished I’m the first to know, but in the meantime Freddie won’t give me any clues”

You nodded, unsatisfied with the answer.

“Thanks for agreeing to this. I owe you big” her eyes found yours and yours softened.

“If anything it’s them who do, don’t you think?”

Mary grinned and offered to cook something for tonight’s dinner.

She left you alone with your molecular pathology notes resting on your lap.

It was your last year in University, thank the Lord. One last effort and you would be a doctor.

After memorizing various concepts you found yourself staring at the horizon wondering how was Freddie Mercury like.

Obviously because of Mary you sort of formed this idea of him, but hadn’t had a face to face yet. About the other Queen members… yeah, Mary mentioned them sometimes, vaguely: she described John as a nice fella to have around, Brian as the only one with common sense, and last but not least, when it came to Roger’s personality, she told you hesitantly to judge him yourself.

You thanked her when she handed you the pen you forgot inside.

Mary gave you an encouraging smile, placing her hand on your shoulder and squeezing it.

As soon as she turned around to go back inside, you called her name, squinting your eyes to try and get a better sight of the vehicle that kept getting closer to your property.

“What?”

When she spotted the van she sighed happily.

“Finally”

Mary ran to wait for them in the parking area. She was over the moon, clapping and waving effusively to welcome them.

“Are you coming or not?” Mary shouted, gesturing you to go and stand next to her.

You took your time to get up from sitting upon the grass and do just that.

Not a single second since they pulled over went by and Mary was already imprisoning Freddie in her arms.

You chuckled, completely sure he would be dead in a matter of seconds if she wouldn’t loose her grip.

He lovingly wrapped her in his and stroked her hair.

All of a sudden, running from the backyard where he usually played in the mud (this time was no different), your dog appeared on scene. You asked him to remain quiet and by your side, which to your dismay he did not obey.

He went and greeted Queen, who pushed him away with no bad intentions, they just didn’t want to get dirt on their trousers.

John, nevertheless, got on his knees and began patting him. It did not take long for him to regret it when Sherlock seemed to be captivated by his face, licking it non-stop.

You cleared your throat. It would be nice of Mary to introduce you, being the one who organized this whole of a mess in the first place.

Apparently she read your mind. The next thing she did was link arms with you.

“This is (Y/N)” she spoke. “Freddie, come here”

“You have no idea how happy I am to finally meet you”

Freddie gave you two sweet kisses, one on each cheek.

“Same here” you nodded and mirrored his smile when you saw it reached his eyes.

In a heartbeat you were fascinated by him.

There was this intriguing strong aura he projected that made you feel like you were in the presence of someone from the royalty, someone important.

Freddie examined you from head to toe and fell in love immediately with your outfit, a pastel blue dress with tiny sunflowers printed all over it. He did spot your exposed feet and smiled pleasedly at your choice of painting your toenails with the colours of the rainbow.

“Boys, don’t be rude and come say hi” he gestured his bandmates, who were taking a rapid glimpse of their new temporary home, and stepped aside.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Brian”

“Nice to meet you too” you kindly responded, shaking his hand.

“Thank you very much for allowing us to record our album here. If we win a Grammy expect you to be the first one we address in the speech” he joked, face beaming with a heavenly smile.

Damn, you were so soft for him already. And you wanted to touch his curls.

“You’re welcome, Brian”

“Yes, we’re endlessly grateful” another gentle voice joined the conversation.

John stood now in front of you.

“Hi, I’m John Deacon”

“I know” you laughed, tilting your head to the side. “I hope your stay here is… productive”

“I hope so too” he smiled big, and it made your heart melt. He was so cute.

Roger was next.

He was wearing a black leather jacket that fit him like a glove. One silver bracelet hugging his right wrist, matching the necklace around the neck. What caught your attention the most was the glittery rosy shoes, though. He had long blond messy hair (like the others, except the colour part), and prominent sideburns.

They looked ridiculous, you thought, although every second you spent contemplating his face the less they bothered you.

He was gorgeous, what the hell?

You got somehow a little nervous.

“Productive it shall be. I’m Roger” he spoke, referring your words from before. He took your hand and held it to his lips. “We’ve come to the right place, guys. With such a pretty face like hers we’ll never run out of inspiration” he snorted when he heard John face-palming himself.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Sure Roger didn’t mean that at all, it was just his constant flirty mood Mary warned you about taking over him, you reasoned.

“Don’t get it started, Rog. We don’t want her to kick us out the very first day” Brian scolded him like a father would his children.

Roger laughed, his silly expression never fading away, and soon he was again observing you.

“I was joking, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he said, taking some of the heat out.

“It didn’t,” you said back, confident.

You followed the others when they headed to the house carrying their respective suitcases with Mary as the leader.

Roger was fast to grab his and catch up with you.

“You live alone?”

“I have Sherlock”

He was still in ecstasy, trying to get everyone’s attention.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it” you shrugged. “It’s not as tragic as it sounds. I enjoy my own company”

“Oh. Anyway. This is a farm, right? You do all the, huh… you know, farm work on your own?” he looked around, scanning a bit the surroundings. He pointed with his chin at one big rooster. “The guardian of the house, eh?”

You let out a vague chuckle that made Roger proud, already eager to make you like him.

The reason was obvious: you were so eyecatching he almost tripped when he missed one of Sherlock’s toys on one of the porch steps, too engrossed in how the sun made the freckles in your face stand out.

“My grandfather baptized this piece of land as Rockfield Farm, but it hasn’t been a proper farm for years. Now it’s just… my house”

“You know,” he began, digging deep around his mind to come up with something so the conversation wouldn’t end, “years ago I had this summer job in a much more immense place than this. I had to watch over 200 sheep every day”

“Was it as entertaining as it sounds?”

“Clearly not”

Roger extended his hand to stop the door from closing after John came in. He motioned you to go first and winked, but you didn’t notice the last part, which slightly bothered him.

“(Y/N), this place is precious!” you heard Freddie praise.

Mary interrupted you before you could thank him.

“Then you sure are going to love the studio even more! C’mon”

//

“How did your grandfather manage to get this studio together? It’s pretty impressive” Brian enthusiastically asked, taking a small sip of tea.

The six of you were now chilling in the living room. It was the perfect time for them to rest since the road trip had been long.

Moments before they finished unpacking and settling down, Mary and you gossiped in the kitchen. She remarked how attentive Roger acted towards you, and asked if you were into him.

“Are you stupid?” you couldn’t believe her. “We’ve known each other for what, ten minutes?”

“I was just wondering whether there was desire at first sight or something”

“Desire at first sight?” you repeated slowly, taking in every word.

“It was a softer way to ask if you’d give him a ride or not” she laughed watching you gesture her to lower it down. “I’m just asking because I can tell he would”

Before answering Brian, you looked over at Roger.

He’d taken off his jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of the white tee he wore underneath.

Your lips parted, finding that mundane action quite amusing and sexy on him.

You looked away, guilt taking over you for having stared too keenly. There was nothing wrong about it, and you couldn’t explain why you felt agitated. Maybe you were self-conscious about whether the others noticed.

Forcing yourself to remember Brian’s words and with a sense of pride, you smirked behind your cup, gazing at the wooden floor.

Your grandfather poured his soul into this studio, which he also referred to as a sanctuary. It made you happy to hear Brian acknowledging its value.

There were several electric and acoustic guitars, a generous collection of microphones your grandmother enjoyed saving, two trumpets, a synthesizer -to which Freddie and Roger scoffed loudly at-, a drumkit, one saxophone, and a bass.

Not to mention the tape machine that still worked perfectly plus the recording booth.

Mary told you that John Reid, who was looking after Queen at the moment, managed to convince the label to provide them with a significant amount of money. You assumed they’d brought enough tapes to record on, therefore yours would remain intact.

“He bought half of the instruments”

“The other half?” John inquired.

“He stole them” you answered, not much of a fan about it.

“Whew!” Roger whistled.

You took a short sip of the tea and turned slightly towards the window, presencing a flash of light.

“A piano?”

Freddie dropped the question with no high hopes.

“Pardon?” you turned your head and looked at him over your shoulder with your body still facing towards the window.

The head movement was so fast that a clip you wore to hold a fraction of hair in place loosened a bit, letting the lock to fell down your face.

Roger stared at you in awe.

The light illuminating the room had a warm cosy tone, which surely helped to make your skin look softer and smooth. He wasn’t aware of the heart eyes he was giving you, but Brian, John and Mary were.

When you batted your lashes, he looked away and saw Brian try and fail to hide a smile when they locked eyes. He’d been caught.

“Do you have a piano?” Freddie questioned again, eyebrows raised a little.

A tiny playful smile made its way to your lips.

“Of course I have a piano” you cockily answered.

When you saw Fred’s satisfied grin appear you instantly knew he liked you as much as you liked him. It wasn’t in the attic; you’d show it to him later.

To be honest, the piano was your favourite instrument to play. So delicate, so powerful and majestic.

“Excuse me for a second” you got up from your seat, everyone confused by your sudden urge to leave, but not alarmed.

That light from before wasn’t a bolt of lightning, you came to realize, it was a car that parked outside.

A little voice popped in your head guessing it could be him, but it couldn’t… right? There were approximately two hours from Cardiff to get there.

It sure was someone lost, or maybe they were stopping by to beg to use your bathroom because they couldn’t hold it in anymore. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“How about we start dinner? I’m starving” Mary added.

Their voices kept getting lower and lower as you crossed the corridor, oblivious to Roger’s eyes following your every move.

You stepped outside and closed the heavy door behind you, but not completely.

The silhouette of the last person you’d want to see in the entire world was leaning against a red car, one you did know very well because you lost your virginity in the backseat. He was humming to a tune you didn’t recognize, head facing downwards.

Picking at the fabric of the sweater you put on to forbid the cool air of the night from touching your skin, you opened your mouth.

“Leonardo!” you whisper shouted.

He definitely heard you, although he turned a deaf ear.

“Leo, what the fuck!”

“You’re a stupid whore”

Shit. He’s drunk? You prayed he wouldn’t make a scene, not now, with Mary and the guys around. The shame to have them complicit of whatever could possibly happen would be unbearable.

“You’re miserable” he went on with his speech, voice thick, which made it difficult for you to understand him.

You called it quits three months ago. Apparently he wasn’t any close to getting over the fact you ended it.

“Leave”

After what felt forever, he abruptly raised his head.

“What?” the expression on his face revealed he wasn’t happy.

What his eyes showed freaked the hell out of you: they revealed an intense desire, either with words or physically, to hurt you. He wasn’t sober, and you were aware that he had struggled with alcoholism when he was a teenager. It was fair to say Leonardo never put a finger on you in that way before, but alcohol was the push he needed to do it and his body was full of it now.

A lump formed in your throat.

“Get out of here”

“I just want to talk” lifting his hands up in an attempt to seem harmless, losing balance doing so, he took a few steps forward trying his best to sound convincing so you wouldn’t move and listen to him.

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say”

“How do you think I felt? Huh? When I saw you making out with that moron? You’re so selfish. A fucking slut, (Y/N). You disgust me”

That was the final straw. You promised you wouldn’t give in and start an argument, but he fucking did have to bring that up. He had the nerve to blame you for moving on and having some fun with a guy a few days ago at a party.

“Are you serious right now, Leo? How dare you?! We’re not together!” funny enough, this time it was you walking up to him not giving a damn anymore about the consequences.

When you raised your fist to punch him, even in his state, he managed to catch your wrist on time.

“How wrong you’ve done me” he hissed, tightening the grip. That’d leave marks for sure.

He pushed you against the car, causing your back to crack roughly. The situation was so tense not even the tears were brave to roll down your face, your vision blurry and unclear.

“Please, Leo!”

Mary’s voice never felt so good in your ears.

You totally forgot about them, that you could’ve screamed for help instead of dealing with Leo on your own, too absorbed in rage to be able to think things through.

“Do something, help her!” she pleaded the boys.

Four arms were fast to catch him and throw him to the ground.

Everything was happening so fast, almost as fast as your crazy heartbeats.

Brian came to you and held you by the shoulders, checking you out entirely, looking for bruises. He was asking repeatedly if you were alright, if that man dared to touch you. You could hear him, but it felt like he were miles away from you, his words echoing in the back of your mind.

Mary grabbed your arm and the two guided you, treating you like you had some kind of disability.

Before letting them drag you inside, you quickly turned your head to see what was going on, and saw a fuming Roger threatening Leo to disappear and never come back.

Freddie and John remained behind him in case he’d lose his temper. They looked at each other in astonishment; it was the first time they saw Roger like that.

“(Y/N)” Mary called you, once in the common room. “Fancy a glass of water?”

“I’ll be right back with it,” Brian said, his long legs taking him to the kitchen.

“Sit down, babe”

“I don’t want to. I’m fine”

She could perfectly see the tension in your shoulders.

“You’re not. But it’s fine, it’ll be fine” she sympathized, caressing your hair.

At this point you were lost for words. You were confused, angry, stunned.

“Here, take it. It’ll do you good, (Y/N). Is there anything else you n—” Brian began, offering you freshwater to maybe comfort you and make the knot you felt in your throat go away.

“For fuck’s sake!” you felt choleric. Maybe you were about to pass out.

Freddie, John and Roger came in and stopped dead in their tracks when they heard you complain.

Brian blinked a few times.

You were desperate for some time alone to process the last couple of minutes, but that wasn’t any excuse for you to take it out on Brian when all he wanted was for you to get better.

“I’m sorry” you lamented, ashamed at your behaviour, and took the glass not looking at anyone in the eye. That’s when you saw you were indeed shaking a little bit.

He smiled comprehensively, not giving too much attention to your outburst.

“Who the fuck was that?” Freddie wondered.

John elbowed him and mouthed “not now”.

“I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry you had to witness that” you sighed, choking back the agony.

“Don’t apologize. That piece of shit shouldn’t have treated you like that. He looked mad” Freddie condemned.

Another heavy sigh escaped your mouth when you saw everyone staring intently at you, hating the feeling of their unasked pity.

Roger hadn’t said a word. His muscles were tense, mind way too far from the scene recalling something from the past.

//

It’d been several weeks since Queen came to stay.

To your surprise you had no complaints. They helped you without hesitation with the housework and kept their rooms tidy. More or less. The only thing you could protest about was that after the sessions it seemed like the studio had been the target of a fateful hurricane.

However, they were too cute to stay mad at for more than ten seconds.

Coming out of your shell was easy because of them. It didn’t take you long to feel comfortable enough to show your true self instead of hiding in your room like you did the first three days.

Reading a book easily kept your mind busy, except now; it was unbearably hot outdoors and indoors. Without taking your eyes off the page, you held the Coca-Cola can against your neck seeking a refreshing sensation.

“Mind if I join?”

You lowered the sunglasses until they were fitted a little bit below the bridge of your nose. The sun was hiding behind a cloud now, making it easier to adjust your vision and get it focused on whoever that was.

A shirtless Roger stood before you, with a towel around his neck that he rushed to spread on the hammock next to yours.

His skin glowing due to the sweat made him look rather tempting.

Your brain lent a helping hand forcing you to smile and nod because you wouldn’t, couldn’t do that yourself.

A small grin tugged at his lips when he noticed your eyes on him longer than usual.

“You’re always studying, angel” he pointed out, lying down and crossing his arms above his head.

You let out a loud sigh you’d been holding in, cheeks red at the pet name he chose. Anytime he’d call you something sweet rather than by your name, it was always how you tended to react.

There was no denying that you’d sort of developed a small crush on him.

Nobody could blame you, though; the same thing would happen to any human being with feelings.

He always treated you as one of them, making sure you didn’t feel left out. His sense of humour was similar to yours, and you appreciated it when he included you in their plans even if he knew you were occupied with Uni and probably wouldn’t be able to join.

Also, he was hot as fuck. You swore you’d never seen a man so beautiful in your life so far.

“I have to if I want to pass my exams”

“Sure, but you’re always studying” he emphasized. “It cannot be healthy”

It couldn’t, but everything was so difficult and you were so lost at some points you thought the world as you knew it could end if you took the smallest break.

“(Y/N)”

“Tell me”

“Seeing you stressed out stresses me” he sat straight, took the book from you and shoved it away. “Fuck this. I suggest you have some fun before the pressure ages you”

“And what do you recommend, ay?” you questioned, crossing your arms across your chest.

“We could play Frisbee”

“Frisbee? Really?”

“Why not? I’m sure you’re not that bad” he teased, getting to his feet.

You faked a laugh and stood up.

“Don’t underestimate my skills”

He used his hand to mimic a mouth talking nonsense, and approached the pool since the frisbee was floating in the water. But he stopped when he felt he stepped on something, proceeding to lift his foot to see what it was.

Roger knelt down and picked a piece of paper up, which said in messy handwriting together with scribbles here and there: You tell me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me.

His brows cocked in surprise and your eyes widened. You grabbed it out of his hand and held it close to your heart reflexively, as if protecting it. It must have flown out from within the pages of the book when he first threw it away.

Roger watched you curiously, crouched down still, as you breathed slow and deep avoiding eye contact. You could feel your face getting hotter.

He got up with an unnoticeable smile.

“That’s yours? It’s decent”

You waited for something to get out of your mouth, but this time your brain didn’t find a way to help you out, speechless at the fact that he liked it.

“Do you have more? I’d love to hear” he continued, glancing at you.

“Oh, n-no” you forced a laughter. “I don’t”

“I’m glad you’re not as bad as a lyricist as you are as a liar”

You gave him a dirty look and the corners of his eyes crinkled at that. He puppy-eyed you.

“Please?”

“No, Roger”

“We don’t protest when you’re in our recording sessions, you could return the favour”

“Excuse me? You’re in my goddamn house. Watch your tone”

He giggled, fascinated by how cute you turned out to be when poked at.

“What do I have to do for you to say yes?”

“Nothing. It’s not happening”

“(Y/N)!” he pleaded. “I want to hear you sing”

You shook your head.

“And I want to own all the dogs on the planet. Guess we’re both stuck”

Roger groaned in defeat and turned around to get his hands on the frisbee.

For some odd reason, it made your heart dance in your chest knowing he was willing to sit down with you and listen.

A sense of enthusiasm and confidence moved you and shockingly enough you found yourself considering the idea.

Roger gave you a quick head nod.

“Ready?”

You didn’t know what the hell you were doing but you whispered a small “okay”. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Take a few steps back first, you’re too close”

You pulled a face at him but quickly shook your head.

“I said I’ll do it”

Roger wasn’t getting it.

“Do w—“ he stopped mid-sentence, his sapphire eyes widening in understanding this wasn’t about playing Frisbee anymore. “Yes!” he took you in his arms and spun you around.

Since he was shirtless you could feel how well built he was. Although he wasn’t the most athletic man out there, apparently drumming on and on was enough to keep him fit.

“Rog, Rog! Enough! I’m feeling dizzy”

You were wearing a mini skirt that had a tiny slit on one of the sides. Seeing it rolled itself up a little you adjusted its length, avoiding any extra space to anyone’s imagination. Too late for Roger though.

When satisfied with how your skirt fitted, you looked up and saw a subtle wink roaming his lips.

“I’m ready when you are” he announced, bending over to grab his shirt and put it on.

At first your legs wouldn’t cooperate.

Roger followed you closely.

He saw you toy with your hair, questioning yourself why you agreed to do this when you weren’t a hundred per cent sure about it. He placed his hands on your shoulders and slowly massaged the back of your neck with his thumbs, relieving some of the pressure.

Every single hair of your body stood on ends.

“Don’t be nervous, love. We can drop it whenever you want” he conceded, tossing an arm around your shoulders.

Opening the door to the studio you felt sick, already regretting your decision.

Roger took a sit on the couch, watching you like you were about to do a mind-blowing performance that’d change the meaning of his life forever.

Feeling like a rat in a laboratory with the doctors waiting to see if the experiment was successful or not, you shifted weight from one foot to the other, discomfort intensifying.

The piercing electric blue of his eyes triggered something in you when they met yours. You didn’t know how but it seemed like he was speaking to you through them, encouraging and imploring you to open up to him.

“Take it easy, (Y/N). It’s not a big deal”

“It is for me”

You sank down on one of the chairs next to the control room, poorly trying to hide how intimidated you were.

“You’re singing, then? Or reading the lyrics out loud?”

“Singing” you muttered. God knows if you went downstairs to pick up your notebook you wouldn’t come back.

A very cheeky expression overtook his face.

“Okay, go ahead” he gestured, rubbing his chin.

You clenched your jaw and snapped your eyes shut. It was easier to do it if you weren’t looking. You’d just imagine it was your grandfather in the room with you instead.

“Time won’t fly, it’s like I’m paralyzed by it I’d like to be my old self again But I’m still trying to find it

After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone”

Roger’s fingers fidgeted at the sight of you tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, silently wishing it was him doing it.

He saw how your angelic features relaxed along to every word you sang. When it comes to your voice... He had to remind himself he didn’t die nor was leaving a dream, because it felt like he were in the very gates of heaven.

His breathing quickened, well aware he was witnessing something intimate.

Leaning closer, elbows resting on his knees, he allowed your voice to transport him to the place and time you were describing.

“But you keep my old scarf From that very first week 'Cause it reminds you of innocence And it smells like me You can’t get rid of it

'Cause you remember it all too well”

You swallowed before opening your eyes and speaking.

“There’s more but that’s the part I’m most proud of”

Roger’d fallen silent, his brain on fire.

He seemed to be absent, daydreaming probably.

Your heartbeat could make you go deaf any second, partly because you allowed him to have a peek at your heart partly because you were dying to know if he was any positive about it.

“You sounded like an angel” he stated in the softest voice, working on coming back to his senses.

There was nothing you could do apart from blushing and awkwardly shaking your head, yet on the inside you were saturated with a strong feeling that filled you completely: his opinion was relevant to you and the reaction he had was more than enough.

“You’re exaggerating. Thank you though, for your words. You’re very kind” you said, entwining ankles.

“Is it…” Roger was afraid this would ruin the mood. He decided to give it a shot and solve any doubt. More importantly, he wanted to make sure you were alright.

You weren’t stupid and knew where he was going.

“About Leonardo? Yes. Next question” you explained bitterly cutting him off, and pressed your lips together making an effort to not roll your eyes and appear rude.

He did ruin the mood.

Roger felt bad now.

“I’m sorry. Forget it”

“It’s fine” the flat tone you used before switched to a more delicate one.

It was overwhelming that he cared. He didn’t have to but he cared.

“I experienced something similar. I know how fucked up domestic abuse is” Roger confessed, bowing his head.

Wait, what? He what?

“Rog…” you got up and carefully sat next to him.

It shocked you how quick the atmosphere changed.

“It’s nothing, dear, it was a long time ago. She was… she was crazy” he laughed drily and cleared his throat. “You know what I mean”

“I do not. What you saw when Leonardo showed up was a one-time thing. He was drunk and barely himself, but I’m so terribly sorry you had to go through that”

“Ah, good for you then” he tapped you on the knee with a small smile on his face.

It broke your heart. How could anyone be so goddamn evil? You just couldn’t understand why they were people like that out there, willing to harm others deliberately.

Your mind drifted to Leonardo, did he become one of them?

Glancing at Roger, you hesitantly got closer to rest your cheek against his shoulder, letting him know mutely you were there in case he needed to vent more often. You intended to cuddle for just a few seconds before it turned out weird. That was until he wrapped an arm around you to keep you in position.

“Thank you” he whispered.

It sent shivers down your spine hearing for the first time his voice discreetly cracking up. You weren’t entirely sure about what he was thanking you for, though.

Roger didn’t quite understand why such information slipped out his mouth. Maybe he thought it was appropriate to share it since he contemplated you went through the same thing after what he saw. He just wanted to make sure you knew you could count on him as well.

The boys knew about the matter, obviously, but there was this thing about you he hadn’t figured out just yet that pushed him to speak to you about it.

That’s what his mind was saying, his heart on the other hand defended the idea that he felt comfortable with you and that since he presenced the incident with Leonardo he remembered his experience. Hence the fit of anger he had.

The thought alone of that scumbag hurting you made his head collapse. He was very sensitive about the subject.

“Better?” you wondered out loud after a while of snuggling, yet you didn’t move, finding the proximity significantly pleasant.

“Yeah, uh, sorry” he cleared his throat and released you.

“It’s more than okay”

He nodded, not really looking at you yet.

You tried to think of something that could distract him from those undeserved and heartrending memories.

There was no point of comparison to what Roger had struggled with, but every time you argued with Leo during the year your relationship lasted, you were grateful that your friends organized sporadic plans to help you forget about the fights.

You had to do that for Roger. You had to entertain him. To keep his mind occupied.

“Freddie explained to me drums are much more complicated than what they seem”

Roger glanced over the drumkit.

He was suspicious at first about the topic change, and looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“It can be very ambitious if you don’t do try for real, instead of goofing around. There’s too much going on. People believe it’s just hitting the drums and you’re good. Wankers”

It was unmissable how his face lit up, talking about his passion.

Crossing an ankle over your knee, you bent forward to get a better sight of his much more eased features.

“I’m sure it requires a lot of hard work, the coordination on hands and feet and all that stuff. Singing along as well must be tiring”

Roger’s eyes bored into yours, as if studying and reflecting upon your words. A corner of his mouth lifted.

“Yeah,” he replied amused, “physically it can be tough”

He knew what you were doing.

Just when he was about to ask you if you wanted him to teach you some basics, John came flying through the door.

“For God’s sake, there you are. Roger, I need you. Freddie and Brian are arguing again. Help me out spreading some peace before Freddie slaps him”

****

end of part one, lemme know what you think ! ♡

[chiimmchiimm]

❝𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒 ❞

CHAPTERS “  01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 -  11  - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “  

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of ​​going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair) 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒:  smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 3.8 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔:  +18   𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔:   abuse, violence, , sadness, psychological abuse, dirty lenjuage, half-naked, impressive backs, muscles. 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒:  Well, I am very grateful for the love you are giving him. I’ll upload the next one later. Delicate scenes and some morbid ones that will increase the tension are coming.

I didn’t keep an eye on the whole night because of the weary thoughts that gathered in my conscience. Akame would not sit idly by and I was sure that my boldness would pay her sooner or later, however, a hope had stuck in my chest from the bathroom scene. That stranger had been so kind. It had saved me from the atrocities that Akame had surely thought for me.

I didn’t even know who I was but I felt indebted to him. 

In all the years I had been living in Los Angeles at any time I could see someone the same. I did not speak only for the physique so suffocating that it had left me petrified when I navigated it, but for the direct look I had. As if his dark eyes will only focus on one thing downplaying the rest of the world. Without hesitation, her beauty had left me without valid descriptions.

Currently, I was sitting in the large leisure space under the stairs. My legs in Indian position while I leaned forward to hold my head with one hand. Solé was in front of me with a wad of letters. I was thinking of the best strategy to end the smile so triumphant that Dallas scrubbed with superiority. Then, as if all his neural connections had agreed to get the best idea, he threw a letter to his opponent and immediately undid his smile.

“Shit. He cursed under his breath as he threw the cards on the table. “Old lady, who taught you how to play like that?“ 

“When you live with a Ludopata whore for thirty five years, you teach yourself to play even if you don’t want to,” he muttered completely calmly as he ordered his wad of cards. But as I managed to emphasize earlier, Solé was a person who could not hide his pain. That is what I saw in his eyes. One so big and dangerous that he got his positive attitude to vanish as fast as lightning strikes. Dallas watched her for a moment. Finally, she sighed resigned to living with her unhealthy memories and looked at both of us with a half-done smile. “Never let someone humiliate you and denigrate you as people.” Don’t make the same mistake as me, girls.

Sole rose from his seat and climbed the stairs in silence. Dallas lost her gaze among the pile of cards on the table while I kept looking at her until the metal of the stairs completely prevented me from following her.

“She burned her husband and her lover’s whore.” She commented between dramatic pauses. With his voice mired in his thoughts as he sighs and lifts his head to bump into my surprised reaction. Then he smiled. “I threw them three liters of gasoline and set them on fire.”

“Fuck, you don’t know how much I admire her for that. She had the ovaries to kill that son of a bitch who was mistreating her for so many years. That’s what it’s worth, Barbie.”

I put aside my annoyance for that stupid nickname to give way to my curiosity about the subject. Everything that had to do with Solé mattered to me.

“To burn someone?” I asked confused by his last sentence.

“No.” I denote the adverb with a short chuckle. “To have the courage and do what you want.”

In that aspect I was a little short. Throughout my short and boring existence I had done nothing but follow the absurd norms of society. I had never been allowed to go crazy because immediately the scandal would close around my family. Thanks Dad. In short, towards everything that was known as “politically correct” from not cursing in front of people to not saying what they thought. A young lady had to keep her composure and show submission to those of greater age range. If I thought about it, the true and only time I had done what I wanted had ended up being threatened by a crazy Asian girl and saved by a penetrating stranger.

“Do you know thirteen?” The question came from my lips without thinking of the consequences it would have. Dallas between opened her lips when she heard me. His red nails were embedded in the leftover fabric of his jacket to calm his tremor. I was really surprised how the simple pronouncement of a name could cause him so much fear. And of course, curiosity increased a hundred percent.

“Don’t go near him if you know what’s right for you.” In the depths of his tone there was a warning. He had leaned forward and raised his eyebrows in compass with the grin of his mouth. Between I closed my eyes trying to understand his attitude so evasiba. Then Dallas analyzed my face with a rather alarming curiosity for me. “Why do you ask me about him?”

“Because everyone talks about him and was curious, nothing more.” I answered with my great ability to really hide what I wanted to say. I was good at lying as long as the person in front of me didn’t intimidate me. Dallas made my homework quite easy since her attitude was far from the outgoing girl I met the first day. “Hey … I didn’t sympathize with Julia.” I didn’t know her but I’m really sorry.

Dallas’s ironic smile left me speechless.

“Dallas was not my friend.” He replied, raising his tone compared to the lazy voice he had used with the previous talk. His safety was something I did not understand. When he saw the confusion reflected in the wrinkles of my face as he frowned, he took a more relaxed sigh and curved his back as before. “We don’t have friends here, Barbie.” We only have partners to tell our shits to someone and not feel completely alone. I will not deny that his death has impressed me but from there to fuck my humor for an aunt I knew just a year ago, well no.

His lack of sensitivity did not surprise me being honest. That quality seems not to be around here much. Those who did not shout and beat stayed in corros watching as the others did. Practically this place was the jungle where the animals most likely to survive either by their strength or power ruled over the weakest others. The problem was that I didn’t know where it fit because my character was strong and considered me, as humanly possible, brave and decided only that the physicist was never on my side. I was not short but I was not tall and my thin body is not that it will help much in the fight for survival. In clearer terms, I was in shit.

My talk with Dallas didn’t last long after that. Now I was inhaled the suffocating vapors of the showers while I waited patiently for one to leave. I picked up my towel and soap. Afterwards, I got into a ucha and opened the water that was not very hot but at an almost pleasant temperature. Clean all the dirt that had accumulated when matching the library shelves. When I thought I was clean enough to finish my shower session I turned to the hanger to pick up my towel, the problem? That had disappeared. I was no longer hooked on the small hook, I even looked on the floor in the hope that it would only have fallen but for me bad luck I realized soon after. Someone had taken my towel. So, taking a long breath to calm down I left the marble plate and walked towards the white where my things were. What looked like a fucking high school girl joke became something more serious when I realized that my clothes were also not where I had left her.

“Have you seen my clothes?” She looked crazy asking something like that in the midst of so many deranged women but they had given me no choice. Fortunately the tone did not shake me and I could pronounce the words quite firmly. I was upset and my face was a vivid image of it. I adjusted my hands more to my feminine attributes when a girl passed by me and I whistle like a dog. The maniacal laughter soon drilled my head. Getting more nervous at times I decided to hurry into the bathroom cubicle. I clenched my fist and hit the wall with rage. Then, when I had my forehead on the cold plastic of the wall, I could see that a towel stood out from the upper edge of the bathroom. I didn’t even take the time to know if I had or didn’t own it, I caught it quickly, I got involved with it and ran out of there.

The bruised smiles of those women was the last thing I saw before going out the door of the locker room.

With the hand firmly holding the ends of the towel so that it does not go down a centimeter. The main plot seemed crazy. I met two guards in my race to the bedrooms, each one more stupid for his sexist comments that shouted in howls of dogs in heat. My misfortune had a name and it was Akame’s. I had no proof of my accusation but that is, wasn’t it obvious? What surprises me is that it has been lowered to make this kind of funky and childish jokes.

“London!” What does he do for god’s sake?

The governor shouted at me when I raised myself in front of the closed door of my module. And far from looking like a woman who had intentions to help me, I kept seeing my outfit as something scandalous that to judge with her annoyed grimace I would not hesitate to say that I thought I was spoiled. And of course it wasn’t at all.

“Dress up!” His insistence made me roll my eyes.

“That’s what I’m going.” I commented without grace at his repetitively tired attitude.My comment seemed to dislike him too much since he immediately closed his annoying eyes. “My clothes and towel have been stolen.” This one you see here is not mine and I have no idea who it is. Believe me, I don’t want to be that way either, but I don’t lie to him when I tell him that I have nothing else to cover myself with. Can you help me please?”

The governor cabildo a couple of seconds the answer until he turned to the guard and took a good look to open it. I gave the woman a forced smile to feel my gratitude. He approached me and touched my shoulder before entering the module. I followed her behind without expecting that each and every one of the prisoners would find themselves in their leisure time and that they would end up impacting on one’s chest by mistake.

“But what is this little thing we have here?”

A disgusting whisper made him take a small leap backwards. I squeezed the ends of the towel at the moment two men stood in front of me. I toured their tattooed bodies with some disgust but my act only caused them grace. There was a pale redhead who played with his mouth piercing while running through my bare legs. The other, a pretty intense blond who didn’t take his eyes off my scared eyes.

“Hey you bastards!” If you want to make a straw go to the bathroom like everyone else does! ”Out of nowhere a voice that I recognized instantly came between us when he placed himself in front of me covering his disgusting glances. Dallas lifted her chin and with an unfriendly look persuaded them there among more insults that I would not dare to repeat. Then, he turned around and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You want to die, right?”

A grotesque whistle intervened in my reply.

“Pigs!” Dallas turned to the upper railing and extended her middle finger. The man shook his head at us as he laughed with his companions. Dallas took my arm and dragged me up the stairs to our shared cell. He pressed the button to close the door with his fist clenched. I ran to my bed to put the shed under the pillow. “What did you want to do a model step? Those bastards wouldn’t have hesitated to rape you if there were no cameras …”

“I know, fuck!” exhale exasperating me at times. Shaking my hair in a nervous act. The asphyxiating pressure of my chest did not end until I completely covered my body with the uniform. A rather perverse shiver went through my body when I recreated his eyes on my bare skin. Disgusted, it was the feeling that perfectly described how I felt about those depraved. “But Akame was in charge of reminding me that I owe him a favor with this shit …”

“What?” My answer seemed to surprise him. He opened his eyes erratically when he heard that he pronounced the name of the Asian psychopath. His fingers clenched my forearm madly making me groan at his impromptu act. “You can’t owe anything to Shanghai, for your sake. Solve it.”

Without saying anything else he left me confused. Was he afraid of that woman so much that he began to hyperventilate just by hearing her name? I had no more than a cheap copy of the typical high school thug. I had encountered several throughout my life and the only thing they transmitted to me was a huge shame. They always followed the same pattern were so predictable. First, they were looking for the weak prey to strengthen their security against other people. Second, they believed themselves with sufficient will to rule over others that were not up to it. I had already become accustomed to fear living with my father. So, that woman did not transmit anything to me except a chill session.

The patio sun was falling on my eyes causing what will close them to protect my retinas from light overstimulation. I was breathing the little oxygen that came with the air. I had to calm down if I didn’t want to commit any madness.

He watched with boredom as a pile of ants clustered in a hole in the basketball court, and as they subsequently entered it and disappeared. What envy I had at once, as I would also like to disappear and that the earth swallowed me. Not even Dallas’s whining attitude seemed funny to me when Sole won her hand skillfully.

“Are you Barbie?” A sharp voice startled me instantly. I lifted my head from the ground and watched the girl in front of me. Between I closed my eyes annoyed, not because of the poor girl who had done nothing to me, but because of the stupid nickname with which she had called me. My mother gave me a name for something and not for two brains to come up with a nickname as ridiculous as the nickname of a doll. And by the way, I still don’t understand its origin. “Take this is for you.”

I leave a folded paper on top of my legs and disappeared in a small race. I frowned confused by her shy girl attitude. He was younger than me but not too much. I saw her blond hair disappear when she got inside the building. I grabbed the paper note with my fingers and watched it as if it were an archway that was totally unknown to me. Unfold the note with care not to crack it and read its contents:

Cell 345. At 18 hours.

“What is it?” Dallas’s sudden voice scared me. I closed the note when I noticed that his eyes were directed towards her with curiosity. His body bent so much towards me that his arm was attached to mine. I didn’t understand your attitude, why now

did she behave as if we were friends? I have not forgotten his first day teasing yet. Keep the note in my jacket pocket and get up. Dallas followed me with her gaze.

“Nothing.” Raise your eyebrows in unison so that you drop the subject.

Suddenly, my neck suffered a recreated puncture to alarm me. Then, I looked away at the benches that were hiding at a corner of the great courtyard. I immediately found a feline look that had not stopped looking at me even when I realized that it was. I wrinkled my lips inertia.

His look flooded with hatred didn’t make me turn away from mine. As I said before she didn’t scare me.

Akame got up from the bank slowly. Activate my survival instinct and consequently I took a step towards his direction. However, the brunette turned her gaze a few seconds towards another direction, undid her step and entered the building.

But what?

I followed the direction of his gaze. Dark orbs cut my breath when they noticed my attention to their person. There he was. Giving me a half smile to perceive the redness of my cheeks. I talked to a blond shorter than him, however, he didn’t look away from my agitated body. The intensity of his gaze was so penetrating that incalculable cramps squeezed the mouth of my stomach. He looked in a relaxed position while resting half a body on the wall. The sleeves of his jacket were rolled up leaving his tattoos in sight of any curious who stopped to admire them. And I was. Because my gaze could not stop only on his features. The light reflected on his face and I could better appreciate its appeal compared to the few bathroom lights. It was beautiful. With the perfect proportions to make anyone rave.

His lips gleamed hypnotizingly when his tongue slipped slowly over his handsome ones. I could perceive a glow of mischief in the depth of his dark pupils.In short, he was the man who had most aroused my curiosity, not even the stupid of my ex boyfriend had made me tremble as he did.

Why was everyone afraid of him? Who was? Why do you help me? Millions of questions gathered in my head producing an exciting headache that would end up disappearing when I met them. Was he the one with the mysterious note? I wasn’t crazy, I thought that because the last thing he told me before he disappeared was exactly that, that we would see each other tomorrow.

I don’t know if it was curiosity that controlled my actions or whether Thirteen really demanded my presence. For some strange reason I couldn’t deprive myself of seeing him again. So, I climbed the stairs of the male module while holding my breath for a long time. Clenching the little note into a fist inside my jacket pocket every time I met a couple of nasty looks that surely hadn’t forgotten the incident this morning.

A few minutes later, I reached the corresponding cell, however, when I went to knock on the door, it swung open, leaving me with my hand hanging. A brown boy with his hair down welcomed me. His square jaw moved slightly to the side when he saw me. Its height prevented me from feeling small. Why were Asians so tall? Fuck, it barely reached the middle of my city. Then, I began to suggest with my restless eyes that he will turn away observing in a short period of time what he would find behind him.

“I’m leaving, Thirteen. See you later,” he announced in a soothing tone. He raised his lips to recreate an impromptu smile that resulted in the sweetening of his manly features. At first glance you could see that it was not so intimidating if you took the time to analyze their gestures. Without much more to say, I turn aside to leave the cell. Then, I dare to enter and …

“Oh my god!” I cover my eyes immediately when I visualize the impressive muscles of his back. “P-sorry!” I stutter between abnormal sighs from the scene that deprive my little hands. I hear a hoarse laugh in the background which causes my hands to start to sweat. I should have knocked on the door or just asked if it was available for a talk.

“You know? Many women would pay to see what you now cover with your hands.” I’m not even sure if what I heard was a low moan or simply that her voice is too provocative. The only thing I was aware of was the annoying cramps that accumulated in the lower area of ​​my belly. His fucking voice was such an appealing melody that he would lose his sanity if he lowered his tone that way again. “I know you want to look and it doesn’t bother me.”

How can it not bother you to look at a stranger? And how can he have the nerve to propose something like this if we have barely met only twice? Only something could make it clear and it was the little shame this man had. In addition, the great security he had for his physique, and it was not for less, if I had his, I would also be proud.

“Can you put something on, please?”

My vision was still covered but I could materialize a smile under his glossy lips.

“Do you feel uncomfortable?” He asked through a mischievous attitude. I was not aware of his closeness until I noticed how his breathing warmed my ear. Listen to the wet sound of your lips as you wet them with your tongue. Swallow sharply. By now I should have noticed everything that caused his intimidating attitude in me. Then, his lower lip moistened the shell of my ear when he leaned in to whisper. “Where are you uncomfortable, Blair? Down there maybe?”

My face began to burn under the surface of my palms. My irregular breathing to take a distant rhythm to healthy. God, what a shame. I held a gasp when his big hands slid around my waist, pulling my body toward his. Touching with my knuckles the compaction of his warm and soft chest. The laugh that landed on my fingers was completely disastrous for me, unfortunate tremor. Then, he confidently inhaled my hair just before puffing into my ear.

"It’s time for you to return the favor.”

                                                            ✞

NEXT 

[alsbesluit]

guy talk

  It had been five days since they were freed from the underground bunker, but that wasn’t what Theo called it in his head anymore. No, instead it was five days since they heard that Gellert had been arrested. Five days spent in a cell. Theo had tried imagining what the rebels were doing to him. Were they torturing him? Were they trying to get information out of him? Was he locked up in a real prison cell with bars, like the ones they saw on television that the Peacekeepers used to lock rebels in? Did they limit his food intake to water and bread? Would he have someone to defend him during his trial? He knew he wouldn’t get any answers. It was probably better that way. A man like Gellert Grindelwald was undeserving of compassion and mercy.  A man like Gellert Grindelwald deserved to die a horrible death. 

  “Theo, stop turning, some of us are trying to sleep here.”  It was evening, or perhaps night, and Theo couldn’t sleep. That inevitably ended up in him trying to get more comfortable in the bed he shared with Draco. He would be pulling the blankets, kicking them out from underneath the mattress, turning his pillow around and back again, and trying different positions to lie in. In the meantime, he could sense that Draco was growing more impatient with it, but tried to stay kind. He didn’t ask to share a bed with the restless version of Theo, either. In fact, he hadn’t asked to share a bed with Theo at all. He got told.   “Sorry.” In a response, Theo turned on his back slowly and softly. He put his hands underneath his head and stared up at the ceiling. He tried to even his breathing. Immediately as Draco was off his mind, however, it went straight back to Gellert. His supposedly charming smile. The reassuring way he could come across. How he laughed, when someone told him something really funny. The way he’d wink at Theo before discreetly looking away at the few times per year they had pizza and there was one last slice left. 

  Gellert really did a number on him if he was actually considering the idea that somewhere deep down inside he could have been a good person. Theo sighed and squeezed his eyes so shut that they started to water. He needed to think about something else.   He turned on his side softly, careful not to pull the blankets, lowered his arms underneath the blankets and forced himself to think of Daphne. Beautiful, gentle Daphne, who held his hand and told him she could be sure for the two of them. Daphne with her shoulder-length blond hair that he’d very carefully braided that midday, her soft laugh when he made a joke that really hadn’t been very funny, the sparkle in her eyes when she interacted with Laura and Emma. 

  He was in over his head badly and he knew it. He cleared his throat, and when he felt Draco move beside him, he spoke. “Daphne held my hand today,” he offered tentatively. “She let me braid her hair. It felt really nice to touch a girl’s hair - a girl not our siblings.”   As soon as he’d spoken, he heard Draco move. He got up, propped his pillow up between the headboard and his back and reached past Theo to turn on the night lamp. The lamp on the nightstand had been a gift for Theo’s twenty-second birthday, from Gellert of course. He said that Theo should have the possibility to read on his bed in some quiet instead of in one of the shared spaces where his siblings constantly disturbed. They’d never used it like this because they weren’t allowed to be up at night, so Theo tensed at the very idea of it.    Draco could see him do it, he was sure, since the light was on, but he didn’t comment on it. “She’s the girl,” he said. “Isn’t she?”   Theo smiled as he turned to lay on his back again. He judged Draco wouldn’t mind the turning overly much now. “Yes,” he said. “She’s the girl. It’s not one-sided. She said -” He was taking too fast and stumbling over his own words, so he took a deep breath and tried again. “She said that she wanted me to come back home when I was reaped. She said that we had now, and that she could be sure about it for the two of us.” He took another deep breath. “Draco, Drake, I -” He looked aside at Draco, who merely raised his eyebrows, and waited patiently for him to finish his sentence. “I don’t know how to do this.”   Draco shrugged his shoulders. He reached out for the glasses on his own nightstand and put them on before pushing his hair back. Theo always found he looked much older than twenty-two like that, even while just wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. He suspected Draco was intending to grow his hair out, like Gellert would never let them do, and there was some stubble visible on his chin and cheekbones indicating he hadn’t shaved since before the bunker, another thing Gellert would never let them do.    Draco was the kind of person, the kind of man, that Theo could easily understand why others would fall in love with him. Draco had some sort of easy confidence over him and was a natural leader. He was also more obviously handsome than Theo was. Theo had been a scrawny teenager, tall and uncomfortable in his skin, whereas Draco was smaller than him and while lean, he had broader shoulders and was more muscular. It wasn’t until Gellert had both of them on a specific regime in the gym with similar exercises every morning that Theo’s body slowly started to feel like it fit him more. Obviously, scrawny and awkward couldn’t make a good Peacekeeper. They hadn’t been in the home gym for over a week now.    “I don’t think there’s a right or a wrong way to go about it,” Draco offered. Theo pulled a face at him for where he was laying, something that made Draco grin momentarily. “Of course you can do it wrong. That’s not what I meant to say. I meant that there’s not really a rule book. There should be, really. They should name it How to deal with girls, a guide or Fifty ways to get a girl to like you back.”   Theo laughed softly. He wanted to bet books like that existed, but Gellert would never let them read it. After all, Peacekeepers weren’t supposed to have any romantic relationships, and inside their wing they only really talked to their siblings. There was no one they could potentially have to get to like them back. Besides, he could hardly ask Astoria (who had taken care of getting whatever they needed so far, something that Theo was forever thankful for) for a book like that. She’d know immediately that Theo had an awkward crush on her sister.     After laughing, he sighed. “I need a book, or a pamphlet, or maybe just to accept that Daphne and me is never going to happen because I don’t have it in me to be close to her because I am so afraid I’ll do something wrong.”   “Don’t say that,” Draco said, briefly studying Theo over the rim of his glasses. What was the point of the glasses if he was looking over them? “You’ve never even been close to her. Look, Daphne said that she was sure. That she wanted to be with you, right? There’s no reason to doubt that. She let you hold your hand and braid her hair. That’s not a girl that’s afraid.”  Theo considered that briefly before smirking a little. “You’re good at this,” he told Draco dryly. “You’ve had girlfriends before, right?” Draco nodded, so Theo continued. “But you’ve never -?”   Draco shook his head. “Never,” he said. “So if you’re ever looking for advice on that, I’m afraid that I’m not your guy. Unless you actually want to find books? I reckon I could use a read as well.” He laughed at those words briefly, clearly not at all bothered by the subject. “I am just forever grateful that none of the younger ones ever asked me about feelings.” He mock-shuddered. “Can you imagine.”   Theo could imagine, and the thought made him want to bury his head against his pillow. He settled with shaking his head about the matter and hoping he would never think about it again, which was probably wishful thinking. Draco was remarkably good at putting thoughts in his head, good and bad both, probably because Theo always trusted his judgement.    After a short silence, Draco spoke again. “Astoria has nice hair,” he said. “It’s dark and it complements her eyes and it really fits her.” Theo looked aside at his best friend and frowned a little. “I know,” Draco was fast to react, undertone indicating he didn’t want to get into it. “But I’m not holding anyone’s hand anytime soon. I’m happy for you. Really.”   “Thanks,” Theo said, desperately wishing that he knew what to say to make Draco feel better about his remarks about Astoria. It wasn’t a bad thing to like a girl, of course, but perhaps he’d made Draco feel just like that. “Maybe you should try to hold Astoria’s hand,” he offered.   Draco seemed to consider that. “Maybe,” he said, only to look aside at Theo again. “I don’t want to hold her hand, though. Or rather, I don’t want to just hold her hand.”   Theo got that. When he held Daphne’s hand, he had wanted to hug her and hold onto her. He’d wanted to tell her how relieved he was that she remembered and that someone other than his siblings - who admittedly got stuck with him - cared about him. He wanted to run his hands through her hair when it wasn’t braided yet and hold her in his arms and feel like everything was going to be okay because he had her.    Perhaps that wasn’t what Draco meant, Theo realized belatedly. He shot a look aside at his best friend, rumbled blond hair, stubble and glasses, and rolled over to his side then, in hindsight quite dramatically. He heard Draco chuckle. Theo wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and rested against the side of his stomach that he knew didn’t hold the scar from the Games against his skin. When Draco wrapped an arm around him in return, he smiled briefly.   Looking up at Draco, Theo realized something else. The first night after Gellert had been arrested, when Draco followed him into their bedroom, Draco told him in no unclear terms that whatever happened next, Draco would stay with him. They were a package deal, Draco said, and he wasn’t leaving Theo. Not as long as Theo didn’t want him to. The hug after that lasted at least  a minute, and Theo couldn’t possibly express how grateful he was. He still couldn’t. But he did know he didn’t need Gellert any more. Gellert didn’t need to tell him what to do, when to do it and how to be better. He had Draco, now. Draco wouldn’t tell him anything. He’d merely try to make him feel better, just like Theo would for Draco.  It meant made a decision and spoke up. “Astoria told me that Gellert was going to be given a trial and get executed,” he said. He’d asked about Gellert, and Astoria looked at him as though unsure whether she should tell him at all before answering. “I understand that they don’t need any more evidence to execute him as it is. But I want to give it to them. I want to testify. I want our story out there so people understand how bad he was. But not unless you don’t want to.” And not unless the others agreed, either, but Draco was always the first person Theo checked in with.   Draco was quiet for a moment, and judging by the wrinkles in his forehead he was thinking deeply. Theo closed his eyes and waited for a response, which came after another ten seconds. “If you do it, I’ll do it with you,” was all he said.    Theo could kiss Draco. That was exactly what he did; he pushed himself up on his hands and pressed a kiss on his best friend’s cheek before laying back down. “Thank you.”   Draco smiled briefly. “It’s about time you and I took that bastard down,” he said. “To hell with what the rest of Panem thinks. This story matters. You and I, we matter. We should be holding hands with girls, reading books about whatever subject we want, going to every part of the palace and choosing our breakfast tea and cereal without thinking too hard.” He looked down at Theo. “I got your back.”   “I got yours.” The words followed without any trace of hesitation. Afterwards, Theo chuckled. “Hm. ’Thought you didn’t want to hold hands with Astoria.”

  Draco scoffed. “I guessed I should start somewhere.”

[killthebxy]

i have so many mixed feelings about the season finale.

so.

many.

mixed.

feelings.

and i don’t really know where to start... so i think i’ll start at the end. and i’ll start by making a separation in my analysis.

1. if we look at s08 ep6 on its own

          i’ve been writing Jon Snow since January 24th, 2017. s07 happened during April-May 2017, if i remember well? which means, some of you who’ve been with me from the start of my blog have watched me watching s07; have watched my reactions and my opinions and my rants. ever since then, i have been very open and very vocal about how much i loathed the idea of Jon as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and Jon eventually sitting this throne as king --- those of you who’ve followed me for less time also likely know this very well, because gods know i never shut up about it. so, considering the finale that Jon had... someone might tell me: you must be very happy! and, well... i am very happy. i was not made to see Jon sitting the throne. i was not made to see everyone call him Agony and hail him and glorify him. i got to see him wearing his black cloak again and returned to where he belongs --- away from thrones and kings and queens, away from the ungrateful northern lords, making peace with the free folk. hell, i even got to see him hugging Ghost, imagine. who would have thought, Jon Snow loves his soulmate more than his own life. sarcasm aside... yesterday, i told a couple of you that i had two final, very little requests of ep6: i wanted to see Jon crying (because i had read the leaks, and thus i knew what to expect) and i wanted to see those beautiful curls freed from the bun. and i got this. i got to see, FINALLY, after weeks, Jon Snow and not Agony Targaryen. loyal to the end, struggling with the cruel decision he had to make, quoting master Aemon, accepting his fate, doing his duty no matter the cost --- as he once did with Ygritte. if we look at this episode only, i got everything i ever hoped for, and for this i am grateful. and yet...

2. we cannot look at s08 ep6 on its own

          and this is where it all begins and ends. because ep6 does not exist on its own. does not exist in a void. nothing of what happened came out of spontaneous generation. Dany wasn’t suddenly the mad queen. Tyrion wasn’t suddenly clever again. Grey Worm wasn’t suddenly thirsty for blood and revenge. Jon Snow wasn’t suddenly Jon Snow and not Agony Targaryen. and this is why everything in this season is irredeemable to me, no matter how much i loved Jon’s finale if we look at it objectively and pragmatically.

          do you know why i love George’s writing so much? it’s not for the prose --- very honestly, 90% of the persons i roleplay with write better than him. it’s not completely for the storyline, either, though it is amazing --- very honestly, some of the book chapters are boring and long and fillers and with descriptions and details that no one cares about. i love George’s writing, however, for his absolutely brilliant talent to manage such a vast universe. he’s got so many major characters, thrice as many minor characters, even more characters that only appear at the end of the books, listed as part of the great houses and such. the experience of reading A Song of Ice and Fire, and least for me, was that --- you get to a point you lose track of what’s going on, exactly because there is SO MUCH going on. so many characters, so many stories, so many destinies. and i remember myself often asking: how the hell will some of this make sense in the end, this is huge and so complex. and then... then you get to A Dance with Dragons... and, fuck, it does make sense. ALL of it starts tying together. all the details, all the little plot twists, all the symbolism, all the foreshadowing --- it all comes around and ties together, it all makes sense. all these many, many parts come together in a whole --- and this is why i praise George so much. this is why i admire his writing so much. because, even if i am upset with some choices, it all makes sense. it all is fluid, coherent, so pleasing to read and to follow and so goddamn captivating.

          and then you look at s07 and especially s08... and you find nothing of this. where George does kill a lot of characters, he keeps the bulk of them and considers all of them --- and D&D simply kill them all off for not having any better use for them. where George writes intricate, complex, layered characters and 99% of them are purely made of grey areas and grey morals and so very few are completely good or completely evil --- and D&D turned them completely flat, shallow, predictable, cliché, borderline boring if not downright so. where George named this the world of ice and fire and makes it so that the big, overarching theme is flawed, very different humans trying to gather together to survive the common, legendary foe --- D&D were done with the Long Night in like 40 minutes, and the only thing dark about it was the terrible lighting that makes iconing ep3 a nightmare. and i could go on, but i think i’ve made my point. D&D haven’t the 10th of George’s talent --- and, hey, i can accept this. -i- don’t have the 10th of George’s talent for sure, and very few people in this world have the 10th of George’s talent when it comes to tying together such a huge, deep, complex plot. and i can live with this. i could live with predictable, cliché writing in s07, and still be able to enjoy it at least half the time. i wasn’t happy, but i was content.

          but s08? well. s08, the way i see it, was simply two things: 1) D&D trying to be George and trying to go for plot twists and trying to make a bittersweet ending of some sort... and then 2) D&D realizing they are as far from George as the Earth is from Pluto, and going fuck it we’ll resolve everything based on shock value. and i wish i was joking or exaggerating or being sarcastic --- but they have stated this themselves and are proud of it, apparently. you only have to google it and you’ll easily find it. these two gentlemen looked at, say, Daenerys, and asked themselves: we want her to be the mad queen in the end, what can we do to lead to this outcome? and they did it. it’s as simple and as linear as this. and literally everything and everyone, logic and common sense included, gets thrown under the rubble for the sake of making this happen. and this is why i have zero respect and zero credits for them, at the end of all things, even if i did love Jon’s finale when i look at it isolated from everything else.

because.

          yes, Jon Snow, the honorable man with a good, kind, merciful heart who does whatever needs to be done for the sake of his people, no matter the toll it takes on himself. check, this is the Jon i know and love. Jon Snow, not a glorified savior who succeeds where everyone else fails, not Azor Ahai reborn, but a tool, an instrument used to bring salvation --- Lightbringer itself. check, this is the Jon i know and love. Jon Snow, who was never destined for a happy ending, carrying the guilt and suffering the consequences of his decisions. check, this is the Jon i know and love. but what happened before this? what about everything that led him to this? 

          book!Jon and show!Jon were always different, this isn’t a new thing. even during seasons 1-5, where the show followed the book canon for the most part (at least in Jon’s case), they were already different. show!Jon has a lot more personal agency, in that he chooses to do a lot of the things he does --- while book!Jon tends to get sucked into the whole ordeal, and he tries to navigate it as well as he can. for an example: show!Jon offered himself to go with Qhorin Halfhand, book!Jon was chosen by Qhorin and caught by surprise and even lord commander Mormont was like ????. another example: show!Jon sends Grenn to hold the gate against Mag the Mighty and brings on himself the responsibility of commanding the Wall during the attack, book!Jon gets command imposed on him by Donal Noye and then again in the morning by master Aemon. again, i could go on and on, but i have made my point. regarding all this, while i do prefer book!Jon, i never hated show!Jon. some parts, even, like the battle at Hardhome, i honestly loved and i wish i could get that POV in the books.

          now, s06... post-revival. this is where the books-show rift happens for good, as they ran out of source material. very sincerely, i did not watch s06 as a whole --- i only watched Jon’s scenes. so if you ask me what was going on otherwise, i don’t know and i don’t really regret this choice. s06 Jon is a sort of limbo for me, because i cannot say if his portrayal was good or bad. clearly, this is when he starts making stupid decisions and being far more reckless, but... as mentioned, this is post-revival. this is a man who was stabbed in the heart by his own sworn brothers, who got wrenched back out of the grave, who immediately got told: hey you gotta keep fighting and you gotta start by going and reclaiming Winterfell and saving your little brother. given this context, can i judge him for not being himself? i can’t and i never did, which is why i accepted s06 (again, re: Jon Snow only) for what it was. and i was content with it, even if the revelation of his parentage for show!canon did not impress me.

          s07. this coincided with the birth and infancy of my blog, and honestly i was so excited to get to share this experience with everyone --- and this much was absolutely amazing. i was writing my Master’s thesis back then and i had a lot more free time, so i was able to stay up late and watch it live... and, boy, was that a ride. i had so much fun back then, and all of it thanks to my beautiful followers and friends who were there to live through this with me. but as far as the season itself went... yeah, that was the beginning of the end. because, unlike s06, Jon didn’t have excuses anymore to be stupid and reckless. and yet he still was. he still just grabbed a bunch of sturdy men and ventured into the fucking Frostfangs in the middle of winter without even bringing 1 (one) horse, just to name the most blatant of stupid examples. and the whole glorified superhero savior vibe? my good beans, i wrote a meta with 4000+ words to justify why that frozen lake scene was total bullshit and why Jon did die his second death there --- exactly out of spite for how much i hated it. how much i hated that D&D were turning the boy i love into a commercial protagonist who does the impossible and suffers no consequences and gets to have everyone else’s portrayal tossed under the wreck for the sake of glorifying him further. Rickon was already a plot device, Benjen Stark was a plot device, and i had the sinking feeling it would not stop there. s07 had bad and lazy writing, was terribly rushed and with very little character development, was pointing towards a very obvious and very cliché ending: Jon & Dany, the power couple, sitting the throne, having a baby, living happily ever after.

          and today... today i ask myself: how can you fuck up a plot so much, to the point where i wish i was made to see this cliché, predictable ending instead? i spent a year and a half whining about how much i did not want to see Jon sitting the throne... only to now look at the finale and be like --- sweet summer child, what did you know of fear. because, hey, yes, Jon was reborn from his ashes and Agony was cast aside and he got exactly the endgame i prayed for --- but at what cost? to get here, i had to see ALL the northern lords and half his family spitting on him for his decision to bend the knee. to get here, i had to see him literally say: it’s true, my name is Aegon Targayen. to get here, i had to see him avoiding Dany and not having the balls to talk to her about it until the very last moment. i had to see him plan the defenses of Winterfell like a complete stupid idiot who has no clue what he is doing. i had to see him forgetting Ghost is his soulmate. i was even deprived of the thing i love more in Kit’s acting, which is fighting on the ground --- for the sake of an epic dragon battle, yes, but that by rights he should not have survived. i was denied a one-on-one battle with the Night King, no matter who’d win and no matter who’d get to destroy the NK in the end. i got an epic moment of him roaring back at an undead dragon, yes, but what came in the next episodes got me to the point of headcanoning that he died during that moment. i had to see him not even mourn Edd’s death and going for Lyanna Mormont gods know why, who openly questioned and defied him. i had to see him being the by-the-book definition of a douchebag who sits drinking with friends and completely ignoring his girl who’d just lost one of her closest loved ones and was so clearly dissociating throughout that entire feast. i had to see him being described as so stupid that he obviously bent the knee for love and Dany was going to play him like a fiddle. i had to see him practically being made to choose between his family and the girl he loves. I HAD TO SEE HIM ABANDONING GHOST. i had to see him, again, pull away from Dany when she needed him most --- and, yes, in show!canon it is incest and all that, but you don’t have to fuck or kiss the girl you love to be there for her. i was denied, again, 1 (one) decent fighting scene on the ground because all he did at KL was to cut down a few soldiers with a few basic slashes.

          and, very frankly, what bothers and disgusts me the most out of all of this hellhole... i had to see character after character ruined, completely ruined in their essence, for the sake of stating: hey Jon Snow is a good guy! Rhaegal, who had to be butchered for the sake of triggering Dany and also because Dany and Jon and Tyrion were too stupid to remember Euron’s fleet still existed.  Missandei, who had to be butchered in chains for the sake of triggering Dany. Grey Worm, who had to be metaphorically butchered and turned into a blood-thirsty savage longing for blind revenge for the sake of Agony Targaryen, our lord and savior, being the merciful savior who claims pity for unarmed men. the women of King’s Landing, who had to be raped by northern soldiers, again for the sake of Agony being the good guy who saves one of them. and at the end of the day... Daenerys Targaryen. the little girl who wanted to go home and return to her house with a red door. who was exiled and sold and raped and harassed and humiliated and abused and betrayed and used and objectified. who made terrible choices more than once, yes and i erase none of them, but who made them with a good intention and who paid the price of said choices --- like Jon himself did, like we all, flawed human beings, do. the strong, willful, kind woman who heard Jon’s plea for help and went to save him and his men beyond the Wall and who lost one of her children for it. the queen who wanted to break the wheel and to make this world a better place. the breaker of shackles. Mhysa. she, who was never her father. reduced to this, for the sake of making Jon Snow the good honorable man who does his duty even at expense of his own interest and his own happiness.

          dear Mr. Daniel B. Weiss and dear Mr. David Benioff: do you know since when Jon Snow is a good honorable man who does his duty even at expense of his own interest and his own happiness? since always. since 283 AC. since far, far before you got your incompetent, untalented hands on him. and he never needed to be shown as one --- he was one. without the need to sacrifice 90% of the plot and the characters to make him seem so. he IS so. and this is why i’ll never forgive you, even if you did give me exactly the finale i wanted. because what you did to him, in order to bring him here? honestly, you deserve no redemption. ever. and if there is one thing that makes me extremely, utterly, earnestly happy today, it is that never again you will touch him. Jon Snow belongs to George, and he belongs to me, and he belongs to every beautiful talented roleplayer who writes him, and he belongs to every beautiful talented roleplayer who writes muses who interact with him. never to you, again. and for this i thank the old gods of the forest. today, Jon Snow is finally at rest. and, as of today, i can finally stop writing out of spite --- and return to writing because i love this boy.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

FINALLY birthed this thing. I’m officially a disaster with writing anything that involves conflict. Just like irl. :”) Anyway, yeah, there were 3 reasons why I did not finish this immediately about a month ago.

Első: See above.

Második: I had no idea what I wanted the last drop for Hawks to be before writing the rest in advance anyway, whoopsie~

Harmadik: I was.... reeeeeally not sure whether I want to publish this during pride month, seeing as I’m cis, and what kind of shit I put in this. (..... ok I’ve been thinking about this, and somebody just tell me if I’m plain projecting shit here. I might as well. Like, I always am, but it has usually got to do with characters being heavily #relatable in some way in strictly canon, which goes for everyone I write scenarios for. But now I’m thinking about whether there is something more to this, bc me headcanoning Shiggy as genderfluid and starting that shitty LawxOC body swap fic came around the same time two years ago, and now here’s Hawks, too. I’m onto you, me. I’m so onto me...)

Anyway... if you want the usual fluff, you might wanna sit this one out. (There’s some of it, but beware of everything else... it got p long (~6.5k), too, so you might wanna read it on a proper platform for txt: AO3 )

Big, BIG thanks @cutiesableye @acidmatze @waxwingedhawks and @mistystarshine for basically proofreading it and slapping a big green GO into my nervous face. Or being at it rn; regardless, I am thankful. Sssh, only dreams now.

I hope y’all be as uncomfortable reading the meat of this as I was writing it, whoops.

For how much he's surrounded by people normally -which he enjoys most of the time, really- Hawks prefers the silent rooftop right now. It shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, he'd need a lot more alone time in the first place… but he's supposed to be working right now. Be in the thick of this spying shit, collecting intel from social and environmental clues like nobody's business.

Returning to the room is not something he wants right now, though. The topic and the awkward atmosphere it brought are weighing on him, and he'd rather get over this before moving on with the sleuthing business. He's been perching over the weed-ridden parking lot for like half an hour already, though. Judging by what he can pick up, the League is back to their time killing activities, and not very concerned about his absence. He noticed Spinner checking on him some time back from the doorway, and that's what it was. He's low-key grateful that they would let him breathe instead of poking around some more, or tailing him. If it's something he's allowed to do all the time, it'll be a luxury he's plain going to cherish for as long as it lasts.

Another plus is… that his reasons to join have become more than just believable. Even if this bit of information was not something he wanted to share. Like, at all. Ever. It was perhaps naive to think nobody will ever find out in the first place, that it would stay a secret of the select few who trained and took care of him. But the ones aware of it now being the members of Japan's most infamous terrorist organization… is not reassuring. 

Still… they are letting him be alone. It's… nice. Being seen as a person. It also hurts, though.

His feathers catch onto the vibrations of someone coming up the staircase again. The echoes tell of familiar size, weight and shapes… he knows who it will be. Being a wild card, he's probably coming on his own volition. The plastic smile is already in place, even though it has never worked on the guy- this was nice while it lasted.

The metal door opens with a lazy creak, then there's a soft thud, followed by slacking steps that stop right behind him. Dabi takes a swig from the beer can in his hand before speaking. "So… Peacock and Starling, huh."

"What about them, bacon face?" It's a funny feeling to hear someone say those… names, technically. It's equally funny to think that one of those is what he'd be known as if things go a little more his way. Even considered the title Phoenix for a moment, but that was too pretentious even for him, not to mention ill-fitting past being made of reds and yellows. As for the flashy Peacock… it's easy to see why the blatant joke got rejected off the bat. He'd look sick in iridescent blues and greens for sure, but that's all the reason he ever had to consider it. Those colors didn’t fit his basically pre-established brand… and nowadays he'd rather be invisible than catch even more eyes, anyway. And there's the almost, almost final Red Starling, which had the prototype of his current hero costume and everything…

He wanted to avoid predatory birds when given the task to choose a hero name, blatant secondary traits notwithstanding. They were beautiful creatures, yes… but hardly something reassuring and safe, killing for a living, full of pointy bits. Someone else probably wouldn't have batted an eye and had gone for the intimidation factor, but it was simply not what he had in mind.

A hawk… is a borderline case. It's among the smaller species and underwent some form of domestication, after all. They are not ideal for being kept as mere pets, though; they serve a purpose, instead.

They are used.

Used to hunt for sport or pest control, as he usually does. As he's supposed to right now.

So 'Hawks' was an afterthought, invoking the image of speed and danger. Which they insisted on, especially after… that. Smuggling the S at the end on the form was a last passive-aggressive jab after getting the okay, before letting go of who he used to, or wanted to be. It was fascinating to see the big shots make peace with it almost immediately, and regarding it as an improvement, even; 'makes it easier to associate with a swarm of feathers,' and 'more unique and identifiable,' they said. As if the original idea didn't accomplish both. It really was just… fascinating. The rest of these names, he banished to the stuffiest, darkest corners of his mind, as there were few good things, and even less pleasant memories attached to them. Until… today.

What has happened was simple and logical- the idea whether he'd choose another alias for underground activities came up. Mentioning them in the first place was an enormous mistake… and entertaining either as a viable option was even more so. Disturbing those relics reminded him of those buried memories and feelings, and all he can think of right now is the way Himiko's words rang in his ears barely half an hour ago.

Today, your smell reminds me of Big Sister.

Dabi lets out a sigh before getting to the meat of it. He spent the time Hawks had been gone on thinking himself, and there's a lot to unpack here. So he ought to take it step by step, lest he gets lost in the details. “Let me… get this story of yours straight."

… Great. This is exactly what he needs.

"It starts with… dirty, piss-poor little you getting caught up in a car accident and single handedly resolving it, right? Then, for doing something nice and selfless like that… you got sold off like a slab of fucking meat to the government.”

He blinks. "Hmm… not the most revolutionary take on it. I know you can do better." Claiming that the thought has never crossed his mind would be a lie. He just never let himself dwell on it. But now, this idiot is making him do exactly that. Or is trying to, at the very least. It certainly seems to be one of those convos. This… is turning out to be a major pain in the ass right away. Maybe he should reconsider provoking him this time around, it could backfire big time in the current mood of his.

“It is what happened, though, wasn’t it?” Dabi continues, slipping down to sit next to him, one leg dangling over the edge. “And once your apparently sub-par parents raked in the easy money, and washed their hands of you… you got stripped of everything.”

"Bold of you to assume that I had much to lose, bro. If you know about the accident, you also know where they picked me up from." Putting up a front aside, there was a rough edge to that 'everything' that makes Hawks want to run for the hills immediately. Nope, he is positively not in the mood for antagonistic banter at the moment. He wasn't really able to hide his upset and embarrassment over the situation, so Dabi must have found some twisted sense of enjoyment in pestering him about this specifically. Why can't this asshole just… shut up for once. He thought the villain incapable of it, but he does it so damn well with others around. Sticking with the lot might be a good idea, because solo Dabi is worse. He… he better filter out all the babbling before he starts thinking about bad shit or worse. It’s been a while since he had to take such measures, but he'll have to lull himself into a coma, and just… shut up. Inside out. And hope that Dabi gets bored of him.

“Doesn't change the point, does it, now. They started with any meaningful human contact you may have had… until they erased every last ounce of self," Comes the continuation while Hawks tries to block it out; "They denied you time, likes, attention, possibly even your basic fucking needs while moulding you into a perfect little cleanup machine that fears no death. Then tossed your dried-up skeleton into a roomy cage, filled with expensive junk to fill the void, as a semblance of compensation. Well thanks for fucking nothing, you sick fucks."

Hawks' eyes have locked onto a sunbathing lizard in the distance, but the idle animal is not quite enough of a distraction and his fingers twitch with the tightening grip over the wall's edge. Why does it sound as if Dabi was taking his side?

Shut up… don't pay attention.

He winces when Dabi pulls on the collar of his tracksuit to take a disgusted look at the label. "All the shit you wear was gifted from companies you played dress-up doll for, wasn't it… one fantastic billboard, you are. You own literally nothing else, do you? I'm sure that's the case, because, funny story… a newbie classmate of mine, some dump kid whose parents became new money, had always obscene amounts of cash on him…  but after an initial shopping spree, he never could bring himself to buy a fucking thing. So we asked him about it. Turns out he simply felt like utter shit for spending any of it unless he had a good reason. I laughed then, but apparently, getting a bag of chips is a gargantuan issue for most people who grew up in poverty." 

He leans closer, low words dripping like liquid venom in Hawks' ear. "You, too, feel like garbage every time you spend an ounce of money on something you can do without, don't you? Reminding yourself that there are dozens of that thing at home, lying untouched in your wardrobe that's the size of some families' entire house. Pray-tell Hawks, how many times did you sit over a full basket of online goods… the stuff of your dreams, probably some basic ass shit... only to back out at the last second, hmm?"

Shut up.

Dabi's eyes slide to the tense hands possibly attempting to tear the crumbling edge off the worn wall. A second later, he distances himself again, stirring the can with lazy, circular motions. "I don't even want to imagine what it feels like. Never spent a fucking dime on anything but charities, I fancy. And the odd bottle of booze, fuck or junk food… Are those chicken bits the only thing you're allowed to get? Tch.” 

“What a fucking luxury, being allowed to treat yourself to a bucket every other week, when your disgusting training diet has been set in stone three months in advance." It sounds like a personal addendum, but not a single word in that sentence escapes the overbearing sarcasm and condescension.

A still ticking cogwheel in the hero's head wonders why Dabi knows of the standard diet thing he has to undergo at least twice a year being three months long, and how he could possibly know that he's come to hate half of the dishes over the years. The overwhelming majority of said cogs have long come to a halt, however, screeching SHUT UP. He's not sure who or what that message is directed to anymore. Probably both of them.

Dabi’s waltzing wrist comes to a halt, soon followed by the whirling liquid in the can; it's a minute break, the kind that's just enough to make conversations awkward. In fact, the silence is too big for Hawks to handle- there’s no white noise to drown out and it makes not thinking, not paying attention unbearably hard. The lizard disappears under the cracked asphalt, leaving him with nothing.

“With how long it took you to respond to Shigaraki, they also stripped you of your name. And what I got from the exchange with Toga… is that the same goes for your body, too.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ back and wings over the addition, kicking the machine brain back in full order despite his best efforts. Dabi takes a big swig of beer and lets out a sigh, resulting in another ill-placed pause. It gives Hawks time to think, goddammit, and he thinks too fast, too hard, about everything.

“While you were moping up here, I've come to realize why you always seem to be so hilariously desperate to one-up me in any given way… it’s because you actually are grasping for straws. You have no control whatsoever, over anything. None." There’s a somber undertone to his voice. The can, along with the remaining sloshes of beer, are flung down to the concrete wasteland and land with a sad, high pitched clank. "My sister used to be like this… people like you don’t dare to ask why things happen. You will believe you’d done something wrong to deserve it all… maybe see yourselves as a necessary sacrifice. Did they ask you to be a martyr, or did you decide so yourself, bird brain? Not that it matters… because that’s exactly what your bosses want and they'd keep on twisting your arms until they get there… but I bet they did. They didn't ask whether you actually wanted it, though… or ask anyone else, about anything, for that matter." 

He reaches over Hawks' vaguely trembling shoulders for the jaw, forcing his face out of hiding. The grip turns gentler as the man's head turns in his general direction, though he's refusing to make eye contact. Dabi keeps him there like that for a while, dissecting him with icy, blue scalpels.

"Gentle like a dove… you'd have flipped the fuck out and been talking shit ever since I opened my mouth any other day. Is this the defense mechanism you developed for these situations?" There's some twitches to the corner of the mouth, but the other remains unresponsive. Heaving another, mildly annoyed sigh, he pries the hero off the crumbling wall with a disgruntled huff and turns to face him. Once there’s some space to work with, he tilts the head in his grasp to the left, to the right… no resistance. "To see you like this is creepy as all hell, birdie… do you even register what I'm saying anymore? Or is ignoring me the goal? Hmm?" 

He scoffs at the glazed eyes, then shakes his head. "I'd imagine you met some pigs high up on the food chain soon after the stunt… those monsters can do anything they want. Then buy silence from pocket change." He starts caressing the other's face as the trembling turns more and more into shaking. "Isolated, innocent eye candy kid at their mercy…… I can only imagine what they’d do to a sweet little plaything like you."

A visceral reaction makes Hawks' stomach convulse, threatening to empty itself, and the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit. Unwanted scraps of memories, all the blurred scenes, images and feelings he didn't quite manage to erase flare up in his mind. And even though his entire being is revolting against being reminded of hugs that felt off by a mere margin, of touches that were always, always distinctively soft and slimy, and things sometimes even worse, and much worse…  the sole thing that betrays his near perfect neutral expression is a pair of clenched jaws. What concerns him even more than any of this, however, is the fact that his tear ducts have been burning up for some unknown time, and...

… too late. There’s already a droplet of water sitting on the thumb Dabi lifted up a second ago.

The tear gets reduced to nothing between the pensive swipe of two fingers as he lets go of him. “Thought so…”

A sliver… a handful of cells, some unidentifiable part of Hawks is thankful that Dabi doesn’t elaborate on what he’s thinking right now, glaring somewhere distant both past the hero and his own damp hand.

The villain's eyes come back into focus soon enough. There's still… one more thing. "Then you started to grow… and they decided to focus on function over form, since your baby face would be just as marketable with a scruff. Becoming popular and following a strict schedule makes it near impossible for creeps to do as they please, with all the watchful eyes dissecting your every move… so you live on a leash instead. An accessory to show off to guests… and still shiny, new weapon to flashily beat up people with." He cocks his head. "And you loathe mindless violence."

On one hand comes the relief that the previous topic has been dropped as unceremoniously as possible, and he gets a moment to breathe and stop shaking like a leaf. On the other…

They are used. Used to hunt pests…

Having less than no time for himself, the daily drill of regular heroing and the overwhelming amount of paperwork the job comes with are things he can deal or cope with… It’s fighting, hurting and confronting other people he loathes the most, even if he'll ram heads with the bigger fish to ensure a more stable framework for everyone to live in. For… others to live in.

Forcing himself into a group of known murderers and the deception this comes with is just the icing on the rotten cake. God, all these fucking lies, he cannot look into the mirror anymore for being overcome with sheer disgust. And now he's stuck with it until the source of all Noumu can be located, too. Why can’t things be like a shitty cops and robbers chase and, just… easy? Simple? Is it really that much to ask for?

But what makes it unnerving is to know that Dabi’s right, always fucking right. About people, what a living nightmare being a hero is once one looks past the glitter covers, and pretty much everything else. But most importantly, he's right about him. He hates being predictable at all, not to mention being read with confidence, and right now he feels as naked as an open book with covers ripped clean off.

He can feel more tears break free, and his fingers scrape over the rough concrete, letting the bumps and glass shards cut a fingertip or two open. It's frustrating. Every single time they happen to make contact… Dabi either makes a good point or manages to get the upper hand in the most inane, little ways, and it’s so… frustrating.

He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, but what is he supposed to do about these feelings?

“What I'm not sure about… is what exactly they are thinking this time.” There’s a thoughtful pause before the continuation; every last tendon in the blonde’s body tenses up. “Are they actually this desperate to get us for good… or is it you they want to get rid of that bad?” 

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Hawks feels… absolutely nothing. Nothing but the piercing glare of the very sky above them, staring straight through the villain's eyes. “Psycho girl is right… you really have no idea how to say no.”

Why now… Hawks can't tell. But hearing the same shit he's thinking about for the millionth time makes something crack. Click. Snap. And next thing he knows, he’s already tackled Dabi to the ground and is clenching his fists into his coat; the man himself doesn’t look too surprised over the turn of events, which drives him even madder.

“Every,” his voice shakes with bubbling anger and is lower and gravelier than his normal, but it will do. Hawks pulls on the leather hard enough to lift the other before slamming him back onto the grey concrete--- “Every” --- over--- “single” --- and over--- “aspect” --- and over, “of you,” and over, “drives me up… the fucking wall,” and over… “any time you open your godforsaken MOUTH,” this time, he goes a little over the top, as the big yank is followed by a pointed knock upon Dabi’s head meeting the ground and his lungs flatten under the pressure of fists, but Hawks is not in the mindset to give a flying fuck about the minor inconveniences of the villain at the moment. Fucker has dug this grave himself, so he better lie in it. "how the everloving fuck... How…! How can you possibly know me more than I do?! TELL ME!!” He asks with an ever growing voice that borders screaming by now, all while shaking the man relentlessly.

He's about to pull and slam him down again when Dabi's hands grab onto his arms just below the wrist. Maybe it's that he did not expect it, but the grip definitely stings a little. As fragile as Dabi is, he thought those scrawny arms less powerful, but apparently what does he know? Still angry, he tears one hand free while shooting a glare at the villain.

There's a trail of blood flowing down his cheek around where Hawks' fist rubbed against at the time of the yank. Dabi blinks once, leaving his left eye with an odd pink texture as his lid smears the leaking red fluid all over it. Not too surprisingly, his face remains as unreadable as a mannequin's, and eyes as cold as that of a taxidermy specimen. Hawks hates looking at him when they are like this, which is most of the time. "Careful, little bird… you're tearing at the seams. Don't want to end up like this, do you?”

That calm voice works like just another taunt, making the hero want to beat him to a pulp, or at the very least, continue where he's just left off with flattening him into the concrete. At the same time… hesitation wedges his joints to a halt. No… No, he doesn’t want to end up ‘like this,’ whatever it may have been to drive Dabi into burning himself alive on a daily basis.

And he notices. Of course he does. Hawks could swear to see his lips curve, but it may just be the angle.

“Fucked-up kids know how to read others pretty well, don’t you think?”

Hawks’ still short breath hitches and he freezes upon feeling a hand, the very same he just shook off, slide over his hips, ice cold on his heated skin even through the fabric of a t-shirt. There's no real intent behind it; in fact, it feels like a doctor's indifferent, calculated touch. Somehow, that makes it even worse. "… didn't even have the decency to start stuffing you with testosterone from the get-go, huh?" 

Another statement that sounds more like a personal note than anything else, and it makes Hawks’ skin crawl.

“Well I can’t read you for shit! Congratulations!!!” He barks, slapping the intrusive limb away. “For starters, what was this supposed to be about, hell, why the fuck did you even come up here?! Just to gloat about it into my face? Or do you want to make fun of me for not being able to decide whether I’d rather be a cheeky bitch or the insufferable prick I am today?!” 

There’s tears streaming down his face again, but he couldn’t care less. It hurts like all hell… especially remembering full well how fucking much waking up from what was supposed to be nothing more than an open break surgery hurt- there was near nothing to remove, for fuck's sake. But claiming not to enjoy at least some aspects of what being a man brought would be just more lies on the throne built on them.

Mentioning his interest in IT and mechanics to strangers is not criticised or made fun of, not anymore. Neither is his tendency to run ahead of others in pretty much every situation. Instead of second guessing, people default to respecting and listening to what he says on any given topic in general, and he stopped doubting himself, too. The circumstances were a special kind of fucked-up for sure… but he also ended up having fewer weak spots than almost everyone else, which did come handy a couple of times. The hormones he received made him taller than he ever could have grown realistically, too. And rejecting fans is easier as most women- and most of them are women,- know basic fucking etiquette.

But he also wants cheesy tees with cats and birds and flowers that he never gets to sponsor. Cuter shoes that are still comfy. Some eyeshadow every now and then. Wear the prettiest blues and greens, and maybe… maybe a nice dress.

"… You are pissed for the same reason I am.”

By the time Hawks has processed the sentence, he is the one being pressed into the roof, with one wing stuck awkwardly underneath him. For a dreadful moment he breaks into cold sweat, because this also means that Dabi is between his legs, and--- fuck, this is the last fucking position he wants to find himself in, especially right fucking now. He doesn’t get to break out in panic, however, because the villain is busy strangling him against the lukewarm ground. It’s his turn to grab onto the other’s arms as he wheezes for some air. He needs to calm the fuck down somehow, otherwise he won’t be able to use his feathers---

“Looking at you… is like staring at a distorted mirror image at fucking funland.” Hawks cracks his eyes open, seeing Dabi stare right back at him. It's as if someone put goddamn transparency over the villain to make the blinding blue behind him visible. He’d blame cold eyes in general, but he doesn’t find Twice’s even lighter ones nearly this creepy when Dabi’s like this. His burn with intensity rivaling All Might and Endeavor, which have always made him uneasy.

“What a nice pair of custom-made patchwork monstrosities we are…” His voice delves into a hiss as the grip tightens over the hero’s neck. “… makes me sick to my stomach."

Hawks coughs under the weight on his throat. He manages to get some air in and think clearly enough to turn back to logical thinking; if Dabi wanted to go for the kill, he’d be toast by now. Motherfucker is just toying with him for the hell of it, isn’t he? He flexes his wings against the rough concrete and flips the two of them back over to where they started.

“Would you stop playing games, you *cough* sick fuck?!” he wheezes, all out of breath.

"Maybe you’re the one who should stop dicking around, bird brain!"

His next protest gets cut short when Dabi headbutts him in the temples. It feels half-hearted, but gets him to shut up for a moment nonetheless, which is all that the other needs.

"The fuck did you scrape us up from the floor for, HUH?! You had ONE JOB, and you could have been done with it just like that… but instead...!! INSTEAD you played nurse and started to GET ALL COMFORTABLE AND SHIT!” The villain’s voice is basically rolling like thunder over the forsaken plot.

Hawks’ angry and pained grimace twitches under his hand- he’s seen Dabi smug, and aloof, and crazed, but not… angry. Not to mention angry with him, specifically. And, once again, it’s one of those little, irritating, miniscule things that are… true. He didn’t get an order to stick around and follow the lead to the Noumu until like a week later, so it was all unnecessary and ended up being even more work and trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t have to help when he found all of them dying, bleeding and broken.

He also didn’t have to start talking to Compress and Twice and Giran, then all the rest as they warmed up to him and came to.

He wasn’t supposed to lie about their initial status, he didn’t have to keep covering for them after they were all walking and doing all right, after the decent person in him had already been satisfied.

And he definitely never meant to get… attached.

A pull on his tracksuit wakes him from the shock, just as Dabi continues screaming at him head-on. “And YET, there still isn't anything YOU want from us?! REALLY?!! Do you want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, idiot?!"

Well… Hawks had been called names before. He never thought that being called a ‘puppet’ would offend him this much, but that... that certainly just did it.

“NO, I DON’T!” He screams back at him, voice swaying all over the place.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, BITCH!!"

"I SAID I DON'T WANT 'o!!” Whatever air's still in Hawks' lungs gets stuck inside as a wave of what’s probably fear washes over him upon hearing his own, distorted voice crack and echo in the empty parking lot. Realizing just how much he's straining his voice, a sudden knot manifests in his stomach that folds his rage into a small, jittery, awkward package.

“Ah… I,” It takes so much effort to squeeze out a single thing, what--- why is he embarrassed? “I don’t---”

The next word gets stuck somewhere between his thoughts and throat when the same cold hand from before leaves a little pat on his head.

"See? Wasn't that fucking hard, was it now." It combs Hawks' hair back, staples getting stuck here and there on the fragile strands. There’s nothing methodical about it this time; the entire gesture is just… gentle. "Good job, chicken."

Just like that… all that rage, despair and helplessness, along with the last confusing bundle of emotions, evaporates out of the blue, leaving Hawks empty and tired, somewhat nervous, and maybe a little… relieved. It takes him a bit to be able to think of anything at all, god knows how much time passes while he blinks blankly in front of him. It takes a rugged sigh from Dabi underneath him to phase back into reality; the scarred hand has long disappeared, and is tucked behind the villain’s head along with the other as he’s gazing at the passing clouds. The first coherent thought that crosses Hawks’ head is a fully formed fact- what kind, and with what purpose, he doesn't know or begin to understand… but this was… a test, or rather, a lecture.

A very… very crudely executed lecture.

Hawks sniffs with a stuffy nose. Fucking… fucking fucker. “… you are an asshole through and though, aren’t you?” And now he’s hoarse, too. Wonderful.

There’s a shrug… well, as much of a shrug it can be from someone in Dabi’s position. “I don’t believe it’s ever been up for debate.”

He sounds so smug, it's just so… ugh. The hero squishes his face with a palm in frustration before crawling off him at last. The annoyed grunt in response is all he needs right now. "Are you done being a nuisance, or do you wanna egg me on some more?"

There's a rare chuckle. "Already making bird puns…? Nah, little bird. Getting hell-and-back pissed is exhausting as fuck. You won't be any more fun today." 

With that, Dabi scrambles onto his elbows, then sits back up. He gives a quick massage to his previously flattened nose before rubbing the back of his head; there’s a number of fully formed lumps already. Feathers isn’t very gentle when riled up… at least the spot’s not bleeding. He'll need to put some painkillers to work, though. "Still… the manic look suits you well. I'm getting giddy just thinking about your bosses' reactions upon seeing you like that." In a move that is more or less successful, he licks a finger to rub the trail of rust off his cheek.

Hawks wrinkles his nose upon seeing a rather genuine looking smile on the other’s face. “Please. Noone in their right mind is in my face like you are all the damn time… at least not with the intent of driving me batshit only to make me murder them. You’re a freak case and should not be accounted for.” He sighs, resting his head on an arm- there really is no willpower left in him to do anything for the rest of the day. There better be no trouble on his late evening patrol, or so help him. Or help it, because there's no guarantee he won't snap back to this awkward beat-to-a-pulp mode if confronted with a no-name villain.

After some fidgeting, Dabi produces something from a pocket… something that looks very suspiciously like a worn blunt. “It’s because they don’t have to, dumbass… you are edging towards a nervous breakdown at any given time. Anyway, look… you are no doubt seen as an invaluable asset… but are worth so much more still. Give yourself some credit." Hawks peers back at him just as the conspicuous thing is lit over a wrist which gets shaken after, much like one would put out a match. There’s a tentative draw, followed by another. 

“What I want to say is… they are terrified of you, birdie. If not for the danger of exposing their disgusting practices, it's because they fear that their blue ribbon pet won't return from a hunt… for one reason or another. And, just for the record,” He breathes, offering the roll to him; “I'll gladly hold you back for a good scare."

Following a vacant stare and a blink, he takes it. It’s not as if this quite tolerable, for-the-hell-of-it mood of Dabi’s was new, but… he was seriously considering to strangle the guy a minute ago. When exactly did they return to casual banter? Hell if he remembers, or has noticed at all. God… this whole thing has him rattled real good. Hopefully a nap will get him back into the usual pace of things.

“I sure hope not everyone blows their sugarbird pocket money on beer and weed like you do,” The blonde muses once he can feel a different kind of fatigue set in, reaching the blunt back to Dabi. Hypocritical? Maybe. Won't stop him from nagging others for the same shit, though. Comes with the job.

“Well, Compress replaced the crumpled hat… and Tomura decided to save up for a new handheld,” Dabi muses, placing the smoke into the corner of his mouth. "It'll go via Giran, of course. After seeing the taxes on that shit, I can't even blame him."

Can’t help but smile at that. “You are all fucking hopeless.”

A hum is all he gets as a reply.

After a while of comfortable silence, the remains of the roll get snuffed out on the ground. Blinking past Dabi, Hawks can see the sun is soon to set. Fucked like two hours just sitting out here, didn’t he. The Commission better not expect much from today’s endeavor… cannot exactly tell them that he was getting high on the rooftop with the flame villain for a good portion of it, the only villainous topic being creepy fat cats and their own shortcomings. Or that his possibly biggest secret slipped, although they wouldn't give a rat's ass about that. Yyyeah… it’s best to bullshit it.

“Humor me for another minute of real talk, will you, chicken?”

Dabi’s voice drags him back to reality again, only to realize that the light has already turned into a warm yellow. If his bones… or rather joins popped now, he’d feel like the embodiment of a nice little bonfire under the sun. Huh. Guess the stuff was of the better quality to make him think of weird similes and turn his sense of time whack. What was he--- oh, right. He should answer.

“… cannot promise I'll be able to pay attention or remember any of it, but do your best, crouton.” There’s a mild prickly sensation in his wings and his brain feels like marshmallows. If only he could always be so calm.

“Don’t bullshit me, you barely had a whiff." The dirty remains of weed are flung over the roof in annoyance.

He can feel a goofy smile creep onto his face- it's nice to be the source of frustration for once. Maybe all he needs to do is be honest more often. "Second hand smoking goes a long way, bruh."

The initial answer is an exasperated sigh. "Shut it… Anyway, you should cut the sweet chirping and tweeting, birdie. No matter what you do, people take advantage of your position. You know this better than anyone else. So squawk and screech to your heart's content, if that's what you need… and if barking won’t help, get down to biting.” Having said that, he stops surveying the cracked parking lot under the golden sky, and turns back to Hawks.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Good lord… those eyes glow as if they were illuminated by blue fire from inside, and the contrast with the sunset is just… well, literally breathtaking, he supposes. This is among the few times when they don’t creep him out- quite the contrary, in fact. They still feel like X-rays, though. “I guess it really doesn’t matter… by the way, real talk question: can you fucking read minds?”

Not that he expected anything else, but a smug grin appears on the villain’s face. “Maybe~”

“Careful, man. Your pants are sizzling.”

Lo and behold, another rare chuckle. Despite being under the influence of drugs, (or maybe because of that?) Hawks is on a fucking roll.

He can't keep his eyes off those blue ones even once Dabi decides to stare back at him. “Jokes aside… suppose there really is an idiot like me out there, and they get up close and personal… put those clipped talons to work and gouge their fucking eyes out. You have all the means to tear them limb from limb… go all out, who gives a fuck. These are the same kind of people who shit on wild animals from beyond a cage, but watch them run with tail between legs upon realizing that the gates are wide open. And even if you weren't ready to dirty your hands or feathers like that…" 

He lifts a pointing finger and rests the tip on the hero’s nose. "One word of yours… and we'll make sure it's the last day they touched anyone. Understand?"

Really, all he can manage to that is a weak, sheepish smile. “… thanks,” he breathes, not knowing what else to say. He should be a thousand times more alarmed over basically being told that someone's ready to kill for him, and not… well, flattered? Touched? Especially since he knows Dabi means it, and so would the rest of them.

“Great,” the other grunts while getting on his feet, and leaning just a little bit on Hawks’ head while doing so. What a turd. Latter’s about to get his stiff legs working as well, but once the vague aching starts subduing, he can see Dabi stop in the doorway and put a hand on his hip. “… those filthy gremlins have been spying on us.”

Indeed… someone brought the hero’s scantily loaded bag to the top of the staircase and left it there.

“In that case,” turns Dabi around, flinging said bag over to Hawks in the same breath, “go straight the fuck home and get yourself presentable, you overgrown turkey. Might wanna decide on the new alias by the next time I call, too. You already know the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, dragging the strap over his head.

Between the echo of boots, there’s a distorted farewell: “See ya, little star.”

Hawks stops in his tracks. He looks over to the empty entrance, and the metal door wide open. The sound of footsteps has faded into barely more than creepy sounds in an abandoned building- if not for his feathers, he wouldn’t even know that six other people are under the roof he’s standing on. Spirits and shadows haunting an old convenience store like many others.

He's nothing more than another ghost out here, and yet… he's never felt so real.

---

No matter what he chooses, Dabi will just stick to 'fancy chicken.' Also, I’m so fucking proud of that Red Starling. Not only is it obscure astronomy bullshit (much like the title of this thing), but it would be a nifty alternative to Hawks; just hit up a video on a flock (or, as I just learned, murmuration) of starlings. Shit’s cray.

[rkxsungwoon-blog]

☆ mga5 callbacks; june 27; interview !

once the performances are over, the ceos retire to discuss the results of the day and, subsequently, the eliminations. letting out a sigh, sungwoon slumps forward in his seat and fiddles with the loose zipper on his keyboard’s cover. the day’s exhaustion slams into him in the span of a few seconds. after four odd hours stuck in these uncomfortable chairs, he thinks he might be ready to go home. but the most important part of this whole ordeal is yet to come: to see who actually makes it onto the show as an official contestant and who will have their journey cut short. the worried frown on sungwoon’s face is more for woojin, kenta, and minhyun than himself. they did amazingly well and deserve to make it through. just this round, he thinks, wringing his hands together. just let them get through this round. let us all get through this round.

he hasn’t really considered what he would do if he gets eliminated here and now. laugh at himself, maybe. go through another crisis of ability? sungwoon made it past this point last year, and he’s much better now than he was back then. he wants some sort of acknowledgement of his skills and his growth, but he knows just as well that the universe doesn’t owe him anything. with everything empty enigma has already accomplished, maybe he’s reaching for the stars. however, sungwoon has never been okay with just being content. if he can push forward for more, he’ll take it. so he wants to survive today, and next week, and the week after that. sungwoon refuses to let himself consider the alternatives. 

the staff call individuals out one by one while the ceos deliberate. he’s a little confused until someone lets it spill that they’re doing more interviews. frankly, it’s unexpected; sungwoon can only remember doing one interview last year, and it wasn’t until episode seven. this is a holdover from earlier seasons, apparently, so sungwoon is happy to just roll with it. interviews don’t phase him, and he certainly has a lot to say about the performances he’s watched so far. some of his friends are… not as forthcoming, and he is absolutely thinking about woojin here. god, he hopes woojin will be okay during the interview.

“ha sungwoon!” he’s deep in conversation when he hears his name and nearly jumps in surprise. after asking keta to watch over his keyboard, he follows the staff to get his hair and make-up retouched. in spite of his tiredness, he chats amicably, gently prodding them for any idea of what to expect during the interviews. one of the make up artists laughs at his attempts and says, “you’ll do just fine, sungwoon.” he takes her reassuring words to heart and heads into the room ready to get through this. all he has to do is remember to reign in a few of his more passionate opinions, but if there’s one thing sungwoon does feel confident in, it’s his ability to know what is appropriate and what isn’t. 

“welcome back, sungwoon. this isn’t your first time on the mgas, but we’re still curious to hear how you felt when you received news of the callback.” 

after greeting the interviewer and taking a seat, he ponders the first question. “honestly? i didn’t think very much of it when i first got the email. i was busy making kimchi, which is just about the most korean thing i could be doing.” the chuckle comes easily as sungwoon recalls the rest of the band bothering him to abandon his work and check his goddamn email. they’d been so excited to hear they were going through to the next stage of auditions… their reaction to the news sticks with him more than his own. “i think i was happier for my friends than i was for myself.” especially for kenta, minhyun, and woojin. “some of them are getting to experience all this for the first time and it’s fun to see them go through the whole spectrum of emotions, you know?” 

he didn’t get to experience it with the whole band last year, so get the opportunity to now means the world to him. “their enthusiasm is infectious, though, and they ended up getting me excited too.” especially daniel, whose been the whole group’s champion from the start. “i guess aside from that, i was a little relieved as well; i felt like i should be able to do this much.” especially after his showing last year, to not even make it to callbacks would’ve been awkward. not that he’d ever expressed his doubts to his friends—or to himself. “i wasn’t ready for my journey to be cut short, though, so i’m grateful i got a chance to perform today.” 

“were you surprised when the judges were revealed?” 

“yeah,” he says immediately. even amidst everything else going on, the arrival of the five ceos caught sungwoon off guard. he understands the reason behind their presence here; it makes sense that they’d want to be involved in the selection process for the show itself. and to see how potential contestants react to their sudden appearance—whether they can keep their composure or fall apart in a bundle of nerves—is equally important, in his opinion. the live shows aren’t easy; not everyone can handle the kind of pressure that comes with it. “i might’ve blacked out for a few seconds in shock,” sungwoon laughs. “they are a lot more impressive than i remember. i mean, their collective aura is no joke. did you see so jisub? and katie lee… wow.” the ceos radiate power and prestige. it would bowl a lesser person over. 

“i was looking forward to performing for them again,” he continues after a small pause. “but if i’d known they would be here today, i would’ve done something different.” it’s hard to imagine what else he might’ve performed off the top of his head, but sungwoon knows he probably would’ve taken a risk and showcased a skill they wouldn’t expect to see from him. “but hey, that just means i have to live to fight another day.” he scratches his neck. “regrets and i aren’t good friends. i don’t want to go home and think, i should’ve done this or what if i’d done that. hopefully i won’t have to. hopefully the universe will be kind enough to give me one more opportunity to perform for the judges.”

“so how do you think you did with the performance you prepared?”

“there’s always room for improvement.” no matter what he feels about his performance right now, sungwoon knows he’ll discover a million things he could’ve done better once he stops and really thinks things through. it’s not in his nature to be complacent; the nagging voice in the back of his head criticizes more easily than it compliments. “i’m never fully satisfied with anything i do, but i think that’s a good thing. it just means i’ll keep pushing myself and keep try harder next time.” rather than being a burden, he thinks the attitude is a healthy one to carry into a competition like this one. 

“that being said…” the corners of sungwoon’s lips curve up, his previous serious expression fading. “this performance was representative of who i am. i worked on the piano rearrangement myself, and i really wanted to showcase a combination of my vocal and instrument skills. and i sang from the heart—which might not count for much, but that might be the most authentic performance i’ve given in my life, so how can i not be happy with it?” he’d left it all out there, bled himself dry, and he hopes at least a fraction of that came across to the ceos and to his audience. “my answer might be different tomorrow, but for now, i think i did alright.” 

“what did you think of joohyun’s performance? she sang a song by your band, empty enigma.” 

ah. surprise briefly flickers across sungwoon’s face before he can cover it up with a smile. it makes sense for the staff to ask him about her performance out of the other ninety-nine, but he can’t say he’s prepared to answer. “i still can’t believe it,” he chuckles, fingers idly picking at the stray threads sticking out of his pants. “my brain stopped functioning for a while. like, i actually thought i might’ve died and entered nirvana. for someone to perform our song on a stage like this one is… unreal.” his jaw dropped when he recognized the familiar music, the lyrics he’s come to associate with daniel pouring out of joohyun’s mouth. 

sheer shock eventually gave way to gratitude and confusion—why empty enigma? they’re not exactly… mainstream. it has to be a big risk doing one of their songs. sungwoon wonders if she did for daniel’s sake. he’s not sure what to feel about that, but now isn’t the time to unpack it either. instead, he presses both hands to his warm, pink cheeks as he thinks about the viewers hearing empty enigma’s music. joohyun’s done more to promote them than any of the band members have. “i’m thankful joohyun liked our music enough to do our song, and i think she did it beautifully.” he turns to the camera and sinks into a small bow. “thank you, joohyun! i hope someday we’ll be able to perform this song together!” 

“and what were your thoughts on your band members’ performances?” 

his face splits into a wide grin. “i thought you’d never ask.” sungwoon can talk about his friends and their performances for hours, but he tries to keep it brief. “all of them did a great job. i know i sound biased, but i didn’t realize how good most of them are, so actually seeing them up on stage was a shock for me.” he dives into woojin’s performance first since it’d left the strongest impact. “woojin… i didn’t know he could dance like that. i mean, we live together, but he’s a private person—so seeing all that charisma and raw talent come out? i’m proud but also slightly offended he didn’t tell me he could do that.” similarly, he didn’t know the full extent of kenta’s dance skills, though they’d come as less of a surprise than woojin. “kenta was also amazing. doing a jun song isn’t easy, but he pulled it off with elegance and charm. he’s truly a talented performer.” 

talking about minhyun is a lot easier when sungwoon doesn’t have to do so in front of him. “i knew minhyun could sing, but his dancing skills were a bit of a mystery to me.” pausing, sungwoon bursts out laughing as a thought hits him. “i guess that’s how you can tell we’re in a band, huh? none of us knew the others could dance.” he takes a brief moment to collect himself before continuing. “anyway, i really applaud him for showcasing both his singing and dancing today, and i love bruno. minhyun really did him justice.” god, he hopes this doesn’t air; sungwoon isn’t sure how he’d explain gushing about minhyun on camera to the man himself. “i believe minhyun has the confidence and talent to be an idol, so he’s definitely one of my top picks out of today.” 

finally, he comes to daniel and his eyes light up. “daniel… he’s polarizing. i’ve heard a lot of people say he isn’t talented, but he did an original song today. that has to count for something.” he loved daniel’s performance, but he’d probably love anything daniel does. the faint pink from earlier is still in his cheeks, and he hopes it isn’t obvious just how much he cares. just in case, sungwoon cuts it short. “his singing and stage skills have improved immensely, so i hope people recognize that and support him a lot this year. he deserves it.” 

“were there any performances you liked?”

there were a few sungwoon paid attention to aside from empty enigma and joohyun’s. “eunji—she did boa’s woman. i thought her voice and her presence were both commanding. i’m a fan. i enjoyed jeonghan’s song choice and vocal color as well; he’s a potential contestant i would definitely keep an eye out for.” he should probably diversify and mention more than just vocalists, but as one himself, sungwoon tends to focus on the competition more than the rest. “i heard someone sing day6’s shoot me—sihyeon, i think? i thought her song choice was very bold. i liked it.” day6’s music is some of his favorite to listen to, and he almost wishes he’d done of their songs as well. “hyojin’s acoustic cover was really good too. i wasn’t familiar with the song, but i like how he performed it.” 

this is harder than sungwoon anticipated; a lot of the performances that came first have blurred together in his mind. “some of the mash ups were very clever. i can respect the skill that goes into making them.” there were a few others, but he can’t remember them off the top of his head. “oh!” sungwoon says suddenly, smacking his palm with his fist. “the guy who did the trot version of lc9? i kinda enjoyed that. though my grandfather loves trot so i might just have a soft spot for it.” the name of the performer slips his mind, but the song itself is stuck in his head. 

“were there any performances you didn’t like?” 

sungwoon wonders how many people have actually answered this question. nobody wants to be edited as the designated asshole, so he imagines the answers have been safe so far. sungwoon isn’t eager to shoot himself in the foot either, but truthfully, there were a few he didn’t care for. “i think there are some performers who could probably benefit from a few years of experience,” sungwoon says carefully, his expression controlled into one of bland interest. “but shows like this have ways of making you grow up fast, so i don’t know if it’s all that important.” 

he wonders if he should just list the performances he didn’t like—the kid on skates, for one, because this is an idol competition. the one who’d done the baby shark remix didn’t seem all that serious either. “i also hope more contestants take the competition seriously moving forward.” sungwoon could rip into a few vocal performances if he really wanted to, but he eventually shakes his head and flashes the interviewer a smile. “i don’t think my opinion matters much, so i’ll leave it there.” 

“is there anyone you are certain will move onto the next phase of the mgas?”

“mason,” he says bluntly. “but everyone can probably see that coming.” it’s wild to think a debuted idol is on this show, and such a high profile one. his sheer wealth of experience both terrifies and inflames sungwoon; he doesn’t want to just roll over and lose to someone like that. “he’s a former idol with a fanbase, with the skills and training, and with the prior experience to kill it in this competition. i believe he’ll make it to the finale.” is it unfair? maybe. if sungwoon’s worried about going up against him, he wonders how some of the green newbies feel. “i hear there are a few other debuted idols here too. junhee—he did jonas brothers? i heard he was an idol as well, so he’ll probably have an edge over the rest and make it through easily. you can’t deny that people who’ve experienced this lifestyle, whether as idols or trainees, have a distinct advantage in this competition.” 

other than that… “i think moonbok might move onto the next phase; he was on the mgas last year. i hope joohyun goes through since she deserves it the most, probably.” for fairness’ sake, he should mention people he hasn’t spoken about yet. “i’m confident minkyung will, and likely chan as well. i remember being impressed by him.” and last season didn’t have many rappers, so sungwoon is positive at least a few will go through now. “if any of these predictions come true, maybe i can see the future?” he breaks off and laughs at the thought. him, a psychic? “i hope that’s true! it’d be cool.”   

“some would say you also have an advantage over others as a member of a band.” 

some? sungwoon would like to meet them. “maybe? but performing as part of a band and as an idol are two different things.” he’s not sure how to explain this to someone who hasn’t experienced the energies for themselves, but you can’t compare the two. “the way you play to the crowd—and play off them—differs when you’re in a band. it’s a lot more casual and fun and intimate in some cases.” personally, he thinks it’s freeing; there are less rules and restrictions, no illusion of perfection to maintain. 

“as an idol, you need to be more poised and precise with everything you do. i mean, i can’t say for sure, but from what i experienced during the mgas last year, it was… nothing like i was used to. the expectations for idols are sky high.” sungwoon shrugs and claps his hands together. “i don’t think my band history gives me much of an edge over anyone.” his fellow competitors don’t have to agree, but at least sungwoon made an attempt to clear the air.  

“is there anyone you are certain will be eliminated today?”

he grins slowly and shakes his head. “that’s not for me to judge, is it?” no way is sungwoon getting caught out on that question. but privately, he thinks skater boy is probably a goner. 

“thank you for your time. you may now return to your seat.” 

“thanks for all your hard work.” exchanging farewells with the interviewer, he heads back to his seat, eager to discuss with his friends as they wait for the eliminations to take place. maybe the interview could’ve gone a bit better, but sungwoon is glad he didn’t say something dumb. it’ll have to do for now.

[rikki-lynn]

(via What It’s Like to Live A Day with ADHD)

Writing about a day in the life of someone with ADHD is a tricky thing. I don't think any two of my days look alike. Adventure and (somewhat) controlled chaos are my constant companions.

As someone who runs a YouTube channel called How to ADHD, who’s engaged to someone with ADHD, who has ADHD herself, and who talks to tens of thousands of ADHD brains, I can tell you this — if you’ve met one person with ADHD, you’ve met one person with ADHD. We’re vastly different creatures.

We do have a surprising amount in common though, especially when it comes to the stuff we experience on a daily basis. Most days, it’s:

a rollercoaster of successes and failures

some moments feeling like a genius, and others feeling stupid

both distractibility and hyperfocus

good intentions gone off the rails

little emotional wounds from being judged by the outside world — or ourselves!

the healing from being understood and accepted for who we are

I hope this peek into my experience of one day with ADHD helps with that understanding.

The morning scramble

I wake up suddenly, search for my phone — what time is it??

Oh, okay. Still early.

It takes me awhile to fall back asleep — restless legs — but as soon as I do, the alarm goes off. The snooze button and I trade punches until my fiancé turns it off.

I jolt awake — what time is it now??

I scramble for my phone. 11 am.

SHOOT. Totally missed my morning yoga class, and now there’s not even time to shower. I growl at my fiancé — “why did you turn off the alarm??” — and stumble toward the dryer for clean clothes … which are still in the washer. I start a new cycle, then dig through the hamper, literally sniffing for something to wear.

I throw on semi-decent clothes, deodorant, mascara, take my meds — I’m almost out, SHOOT, gotta make an appointment to get another prescription — grab a Fiber One bar on the way out the door …

And then I run back inside to grab my phone. 11:15. YES! I’ll still make it to my meeting!

With time to spare, I run upstairs to kiss my fiancé goodbye and apologize for my morning crankiness. And I’m out the door! Woot!

I run back inside to grab my keys. 11:19. STILL GOOD!

The part where I wish time machines were a thing

As I jump on the freeway, I remember to call my psychiatrist — also that I forgot to charge my phone last night. Gotta decide between my headphones or my charger (thanks, iPhone 7).

4 percent battery? Charger wins. I wish wireless headphones were an option, but I have a hard enough time not losing regular headphones. And technically, they’re on a leash.

I try using the speakerphone but it’s too noisy on the freeway, so I hold the phone up to my ear as I call. The receptionist says there’s only one appointment available before my meds run out — do I want it? “Um … let me check my calendar … ”

Shoot. It’s the same time as coffee with Anna. This would be the second time in a row I’ve canceled on her. Not much choice though.

I’ll make it up to her, I vow … somehow.

I bring the phone back to my ear and see police lights in my rearview mirror. I panic and wonder how long they’ve been following me. The receptionist is halfway through confirming my appointment — I hang up and pull over.

One policeman eyes the dirty plates on my passenger side floor — I call these my car dishes — as the other hands me a ticket. As soon as they turn away, I start bawling. But I’m very aware I deserved it and weirdly grateful for being called out. I’ll definitely drive safer from now on.

Wait, 11:45?!

I get back on the road and check Waze obsessively to see whether I can make up for lost time. I drive faster, but Waze is annoyingly accurate. Eight minutes late as predicted.

Well, not terrible … you don’t really need to call unless you’ll be more than 15 minutes late, right?

Except I still needed to park … and fix my mascara … and walk over.

12:17. Ugh, I should’ve called. “SO sorry I’m late!”

My friend is unfazed. I can’t decide if I’m grateful he isn’t annoyed, or depressed that he expected it.

I tell him that, half joking. But he takes me seriously and says, “I used to have trouble with that, too. So now I just leave early.”

But this is what I hear: “I can do it, why can’t you?”

I don’t know. I try. It never seems to work out. I don’t get it either.

He starts pitching an internet project he wants me to write and I’m having trouble focusing. I’m doing a good job of pretending, though. I’ve got the thoughtful nod down.

Plus, my meds should kick in soon … Seriously though, does he have to talk that slow?

I see a server hand someone a check and I wonder how much my ticket was for. When do I have to pay it by? Do I have to pay by check? Do I even HAVE checks anymore? Wait, did I set up autopay for my new credit card?

I’ve missed half of what he’s saying. Oops. I start playing with my spinner ring to ground my attention. Focusing gets easier, but this doesn’t look as good as the thoughtful nod. I can tell he’s wondering if I’m listening now. Ah, the irony.

Honestly, this project sounds cool. But something feels off — I don’t know what. I have good instincts, but I’m kinda new at this whole “success” thing. I failed pretty regularly the first decade of my adult life.

It’s weird being successful enough that other people want to work with you. It’s even weirder having to decide whether or not they get to.

I awkwardly end the meeting.

Back on schedule — let’s try to keep it that way

I check my bullet journal, the only planner I’ve ever been able to sort of stick to, to see what’s next. Research from 2 to 5pm, dinner 5 to 6pm, writing 6 to 9pm, relax 9 to 11:30pm, bed by midnight. Totally doable.

My meds are in full effect, my focus is good, so I decide to head back home and start early. I should maybe eat lunch, but I’m not hungry. The table next to me orders fries. Fries sound good.

I eat fries.

On my way home, my friend calls. I don’t answer. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to get another ticket, but I know it’s because I don’t want to disappoint him. Maybe I should do his project. It was a cool idea.

Back home, I cuddle up with a soft blanket, and start researching — and realize why I didn’t want to do the project. I reach for my phone and can’t find it. The hunt begins — and ends with me giving up and using the Find My iPhone feature. A loud beeping emerges from my blanket.

I call my friend. He answers. Does anyone else find that slightly weird? I almost never answer when people call. Especially if I might not like what they have to say. Call it phone anxiety, but a text to announce a phone call is the only way to get me to pick up — maybe.

But he answers, so I tell him why I don’t want to write his project: “Because YOU should write it!” I tell him what he said that made me realize it and walk him through how to get started. Now he’s excited. I know he’ll crush at this. I feel successful for the first time today.

Maybe I do know what I’m doing. Maybe I — I hang up and see what time it is. 3:45.

Oops. I’m supposed to be researching dyslexia for an episode.

I throw myself into the research until my alarm goes off at 5, reminding me to stop for dinner. But there’s stuff I still don’t understand yet. Ehhh, I’ll just keep going until 6.

It’s 7 and I’m starving. I grab way too much food — wait, wait.

I bring the food to my desk and begin typing furiously: “Turn ‘reading with dyslexia’ into a game …”

I write half the episode.

I get a better idea.

I start working on that one — WAIT — laundry! Not gonna beat me THIS time!

Switching the clothes to the dryer, I realize my workout clothes aren’t in there. Argh, I missed today so I have to go tomorrow or I’m not gonna feel good.

I grab my yoga pants and a bunch of other clothes off the floor of pretty much every room in the house and start a new load. I remember to set a timer!

I sit back down to write, but the idea doesn’t seem as great now.

Or maybe I don’t really remember it.

ADHD, the after hours

I can tell my meds are wearing off. It’s getting harder to hold all the thoughts in my brain while I work with them. The page in front of me is a random tangle of words. I’m getting frustrated.

The timer goes off. I gotta change the laundry — except the dryer’s still going.

I set the timer for another 10 minutes and head to the couch to hang upside down and try to get my brain to work.

Upside down, I remember I’m trying to get better about work-life balance and wonder if I should stop, even though I haven’t gotten much done. But tomorrow’s super busy, especially now that I have to work out, and — BZZZ.

I race back to the laundry room, take a corner too sharply and run into the wall, bounce off, grab the dry clothes, dump them on my bed, switch over the wet ones, and start the dryer. I race back and check the clock. 9:48.

Okay, I’ll keep working, but I’ll stop at 10:30. And fold the laundry. And relax.

10:30 comes and goes. I find a way back into that idea and I’m in a flow. I can’t stop. This is hyperfocus, and it can be both a blessing and a curse for those of us with ADHD. I write and write, and rewrite and rewrite, until my fiancé comes to check on me and finds me passed out in front of the computer.

He carries me upstairs, sees the pile of clothes on the bed, pushes them aside, and tucks me in. I promise to do better tomorrow, to make more time for us. And to fold the clothes.

He kisses me and tells me that clothes are just clothes, but the stuff we make lasts forever.

I hug him, hard. And see the time over his shoulder — it’s 3am. I’m gonna have to choose between sleep and yoga. Tomorrow’s gonna be another scramble.

Written by Jessica McCabe on July 27, 2017

[petyrbaealish]

What were Varys' thoughts when Petyr fell into the house and was discovered to be sick - and further being taken to the hospital? (Heart and Soul snippet)

Alright, I did my best. Sorry if the characterization is inconsistent, I’ve never written from Varys’ perspective before (and haven’t written too much dialogue yet for him either so I am not used to his voice) so this was a learning experience. He probably mainly just sounds like Petyr lol. Hope you like it!

Varys got into his car and turned the key in the ignition. He just sat there for a moment, listening to the engine purr to life, and letting the noise drown out the worry that was threatening to pull him under. It wasn’t enough, so he switched on the radio, finding his foremost rival’s show easily enough and letting the fool prattle on about topics that were sub-par at best in comparison to Varys’ content on the ‘Web.’ Normally this would have cheered him up but the lift in his spirits as he heard his rival spout off a fact that Varys knew with absolute certainty to be wrong was minimal. Sighing, and knowing he certainly didn’t want Olenna following through with her threat to take over the driver’s seat once he picked her up, he put the car in reverse and backed out of the space.He wasn’t sure why he was so bothered. So Petyr was sick, it probably wasn’t anything life-threatening. And yet….And yet he knew his brother. Petyr wasn’t one to make a big fuss about being sick. Normally he kept working and carrying on as normal, regardless of how he felt. Varys had even known Petyr to spend half the night sick from food poisoning and then head straight to work despite the fact that he couldn’t keep anything down and wound up vomiting in his office trashcan more than once (Varys didn’t envy the cleaning staff that day). Of course Petyr hadn’t told Varys this, but Varys had heard it through the grapevine anyway- he kept tabs on everyone, from family, to the hottest sources of gossip, to the seemingly mundane who offered him the juiciest tips due to their close proximity to VIPs. Though, of course, he never pried too far into his family’s lives, and never shared anything about them without their express permission. Nor did he share any gossip that might potentially harm someone who didn’t deserve it.Varys might have been the foremost gossip in the city, but even he had his limits. He wasn’t heartless, after all.Regardless, Varys didn’t think he’d ever seen Petyr so sick before (excepting the time Ned Stark had nearly killed Petyr, years ago). Not only had his brother struggled just to make it into the apartment, he’d seemed too feeble even to protest when Sansa began to worry over him, which wasn’t a good sign. Petyr never liked to admit he was sick, partly because he always had so much he planned to do, and partly because he hated going to the doctor. So Varys supposed he did have cause for worry after all. At least judging by what he’d seen thus far. But he hoped he was wrong. Perhaps it was all just some elaborate joke. And he’d pick up Olenna and come back only to find Petyr was perfectly fine.Somehow he didn’t think that would be the case though. For one thing, Olenna would probably tie Petyr to the chair and force him to watch her insufferable soap operas in retaliation. Varys shuddered at the thought. No, even Petyr wouldn’t risk that, and he’d always been slightly masochistic (for one thing, he’d clearly fallen in love with Sansa, who, while sweet, was the daughter of two of the people that had basically destroyed his life. For another, Varys considered all romantic entanglements slightly masochistic. The pain wasn’t worth it to him, even if he was interested in such pursuits, which he wasn’t). So it was highly likely that whatever was wrong with Petyr was genuine, and bad enough (Varys wasn’t a doctor, but a normally healthy man getting breathless just from walking a few steps was certainly cause for concern) that he might have to go to the hospital. Which meant that they were in for a long night. Even as sick as Petyr was, Varys was certain his brother wouldn’t go without a fight. They’d probably have to drag him kicking and screaming (at least until he ran out of breath and passed out).But it would be worth it, if they could get him checked out. Varys might have had his differences with his brother, but really, he wasn’t about to let the idiot die just because he stubbornly refused to admit that he was sick or that it was necessary to go to the doctor. 

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Varys awoke the next morning after a fairly sleepless night of which (he’d never admit this to anyone, not even himself) anxiety about Petyr’s illness had been the sole cause. His heart sank when Olenna stopped by his room and informed him that Petyr was worse and that they were taking him to the emergency room, but Varys cheered slightly that Petyr had at least agreed to go. Though it was short lived when he realized that, for Petyr to agree to go, he must have truly felt awful.Hastening to finish his morning routine, Varys put in a quick call to work to inform them that he might be late, then helped get Petyr into the car and drove everyone to the hospital. The ride over was tense but quiet, and Varys was grateful that, for awhile at least, he had no need to keep up the pretense and bicker with Petyr as they were usually wont to do. Anything he’d said so far had been halfhearted at best, and Varys misliked being so openly genuine with his brother- that simply wasn’t how they operated. Varys chose not to join Petyr when he was ready to be seen, though Olenna and Sansa tagged along, reluctant to leave him alone in such a pitiful state. They weren’t gone long before Olenna sought Varys out in the waiting room and beckoned him to follow her. He hastily set aside the magazine he’d been flipping through to distract himself (several years old and amusing to peruse, to say the least. My how much had changed for so many, in so little time) and stood, matching Olenna’s brisk pace.Obviously, she wasn’t there to impart good news….“He’s being admitted,” Olenna told him. “He’s in the lab right now, getting blood drawn, and then he’ll be getting an x-ray of his lungs. They think it’s pneumonia.”“In summer?” Varys asked. Of all the luck…. Likely, Petyr had gotten it from one of the Stark children, unknown carriers of the culprit. Kids, even teenagers, were almost always rife with bacteria, their daily habits not up to standards in terms of cleanliness. Particularly males. And Sansa had three brothers.Olenna didn’t answer, and Varys let them lapse into silence. Pneumonia wasn’t too bad. Not in this day and age anyway. Petyr was generally very healthy. In all likelihood he’d pull through this just fine.Varys kept telling himself this as Petyr went through all of the necessary steps for admittance to the hospital, then got settled in his newly assigned room. He’d almost begun to believe his silent mantra when Dr. Luwin arrived and informed them that it wasn’t, in fact, pneumonia, but Legionnaires’ Disease. Which had a record of one in ten cases leading to fatalities. Of all the maladies Petyr could have gotten, he had to go and get himself sick with a rare and deadly (even now, with modern medicine!) form of pneumonia. And now Varys didn’t even feel right about japing with Petyr, each time he ventured to speak a familiar pang warning him not to, just in case. Just in case Petyr was soon to be part of the ten percent who succumbed.Varys chose to leave earlier than he needed to, unable to take being in the room anymore. He felt stifled, like it was he who couldn’t breathe properly, and not his brother. It had been easier, when Petyr had been half asleep, to talk as if everything was fine, but Varys had felt guilt where usually none was present, whenever he tried to keep up his normal rapport with his brother. To poke fun at someone who might die, didn’t seem right.But Petyr wouldn’t die. Varys refused to entertain that idea, though it nagged at him all the same. Petyr had probably put the idea up to it, just to spite him. The prick had laughed earlier when Olenna had expressed her displeasure with her cane on Varys’ toe (it still smarted. Sometimes she used more force than she meant to. And anyway, he’d deserved it, for once). And Petyr had also done his best to rag on Varys when he could (rather pathetic attempts, but Varys appreciated the effort all the same). So, if he was capable, Petyr would certainly enjoying spiting Varys in such a manner. Oh yes, his brother was definitely a prick, but the one thing Varys would never forgive Petyr for was that which Varys feared most in that moment. His brother had been lucky, once. Varys only hoped that Petyr would be so lucky again.