#later when the dust has settled they claim that they can’t lose him cause they promised his mother

[agentplutonium]

Hear me out—Redacted Supernatural(-ish) AU [Milo/Sweetheart Edition]

Listen listen i’m trying to finish supernatural (for the like tenth time over the last five years) and this idea would not leave me alone. Hear me out:

Sweetheart, who comes from a line of hunters, mother died when they were young, father taught them the ropes until he went missing. Milo, who is the son of a hunter, but he was raised normally. his dad died as well. Sweetheart is on a vendetta to get their dad back. He wasn’t always the best to them, but he’s all they got. they’re in town hunting something else, and decide to stop at Milo’s dad’s place to ask for help. they’re met with a woefully ignorant Milo and his aging mother. Marie explains what happened, which also reveals the truth to Milo. Milo doesn’t believe it at first, he throws the equivalent of a temper tantrum, which is understandable. He storms off, much to Sweetheart’s chagrin because it wasn’t safe out there. Marie tips them off that when Milo gets upset he usually ends up at the old park. They go out looking for him, worried that the thing they were hunting was going to beat them to it. They find him where his mother said he would be. They were relieved for about three seconds. the spirit got ahold of Milo. Sweetheart’s instincts kick in, and with Milo being a distraction they finally got the upper hand. When the thing was finally dealt with, they were able to tend to Milo, who got a few nasty gashes and was reasonably spooked, but was overall fine. the spirit got ahold of Milo. Sweetheart’s instincts kick in, and with Milo being a distraction they finally got the upper hand. When the thing was finally dealt with, they were able to tend to Milo, who got a few nasty gashes and was reasonably spooked, but was overall fine. He gets patched up, things get explained in broad strokes, they go back to his place, the events get explained to his mom. Sweetheart is urged to rest for a bit, stay the night, but they refuse. When they were getting ready to leave Milo stopped them. He wants to go with. He lost his dad young, didn’t really know the guy, and he could tell that this meant a lot to them. He wasn’t taking no for an answer, even after Sweetheart pointed out he’d be dead weight knowing nothing ab what they do. He promised he could learn. Marie wasn’t thrilled, but she knew it was inevitable. She made Sweetheart promise that they’d look after Milo if he went. Sweetheart still wasn’t convinced, and Milo basically had to strong arm his way into their car. They finally stopped fighting, figured he’d probably get scared off after a few hunts. They’d bring him back, leave him to live out his life, just a bit more aware of the nightmares. They’d be rid of him soon enough, they just had to wait. This doesn’t happen. No matter what, Milo still sticks by them. Sweetheart had given Milo information as they went, letting him look through their dad’s journal when they were staying in motels. They’d answer the questions, the inquiries, the what if situations. The two get closer over the months. Sweetheart is afraid they’re catching real feelings for this guy. They couldn’t love in a profession like theirs, not really. It was too dangerous. It’s why their dad never let them get too attached. But, something about Milo was… different. of course this story goes on, they fall in love, learn how to keep loving each other, trials and tribulations and near death experiences, the two find Sweetheart’s dad, he goes off on his own, Milo and Sweetheart probably keep hunting together but this time unabashedly in love, blah blah.

thats… that’s all i have. BUT i do really like this, i’m keeping it close to my heart.

[orsuliya]

Dear General, just talk to your wife!

Let it be said: any male hero who interferes in his partner’s reproductive ability without her permission and/or knowledge is usually immediately cancelled in my eyes. That is certainly the case for any piece of media set in modern times. Fantasy/historical heroes get a bit of leeway depending on the cultural context, although not always. But the thing is, just as there are no blanket excuses, there are also no blanket condemnations. And you know what?

I do have to give Xiao Qi a get-out-of-immediate-cancellation card in this case! But not before examining his motivations and all mitigating circumstances. To be clear, I’m up to episode 37 at the moment.

So prepare yourself for Five Reasons Xiao Qi Is Very Much Not Cancelled (But He Certainly Deserves A Very Stern Talking To And Then Maybe A Hug).

To recap: Xiao Qi was told that Awu’s health is fragile and while she is able to get pregnant, any pregnancy is very risky and a considerable danger to her life. Upon hearing this he is visibly moved; three months later, when Awu comes back from the temple, there is a re-do wedding at the Yuzhang Manor, during which Xiao Qi announces that Wang Xuan is going to be the only woman in his life. At some point – either at the temple or after the wedding – Awu starts taking medicine prescribed by the Imperial Physician. The medicine, as Auntie Xu later discovers, is actually a tonic, which can be used to prevent conception. Eventually, though, after a year or two of continuous use, it will render a woman infertile for life. As of episode 37 (41 if I choose to trust the raws) Awu does not know what is going on.

And now onto the list!

1. The man is probably the most panicked he has ever been in his life and his mental state is not that great at the moment.

The first thing to remember is that this whole ‘let’s make Awu infertile’ decision is not taken in a void. It is not a case of an isolated event; the choice comes at an end of a veritable Trauma Conga Line. The exact timeline is very muddled, but in the last few months (up to a year) Awu has been: kidnapped, rescued, attacked by assasins, forced to deal with a rebelling city and then a siege, sent straight into a murderous conspiracy and then recruited to deal with a coup… and only then she was put in the very centre of a second coup courtesy of Daddy Wang. Which caused her to lose her child and her mother on the same day. And let’s not forget all the broken illusions about her family and her first love. That’s a lot to deal with and she is pure steel with a spine of titanium, there is no doubt as to that. But she is not the only one who’s had a really hard year.

From the kidnapping onwards Xiao Qi has been with Awu on this road; more often that not away from her physically, true, but from the moment he declared her his wife who will share his life and death…? He’s been in 100%. And being the strong, dependable, ride or die guy has taken its toll, one way or another.

It is quite noticeable that with every Big Damn Heroes moment he pulls off he gets more and more affected. The bridge rescue and its aftermath? Cool as a cucumber; the guilt and responsibility is certainly there, no fear though. Breaking of Huizhou siege? He’s proud as hell of her accomplishments, but he really came at the very last moment – she was getting ready to be killed rather than taken hostage. And there is this noticeable undertone of relief there. The Red Wedding? By then he is panicking. Hard. Which he readily admits, so it’s not pure conjecture. This man, who has never been afraid of attacking armies and not really afraid of death either, is scared as f***. Mind you, it’s not like he’s ever had anyone to be really scared for before; his soldiers are a different case altogether. And this time he was late, which makes for a really fertile soil for various ‘what-ifs’ during those two days when Awu is unconscious. He was late despite basically pulling off a miracle and risking entering the capital with only 10 000 troops.

And then and only then Daddy Wang pulls out all the stops. Two days of watching his unconscious wife is nothing compared to what happens then. First she runs into the middle of opposing forces, completely disregarding any danger to herself. For him (and her father, but that is beside the point)! I am sure that Song Huaien relayed her words to Xiao Qi once the dust settled. Then... Princess Jinmin dies and Awu starts bleeding.

After… After he claims responsibility for Princess Jinmin’s death. There is no doubt he is feeling doubly, triply responsible for the miscarriage. He can’t really help his wife. And he is grieving for their child. Not only for Awu’s sake, but for his own too.

It all culminates with the Imperial Physician telling Xiao Qi that there is another battle to be fought, one which Awu will probably enter with minimal hesitation and in which he is not going to be able to pull a Big Damn Heroes rescue. So in that moment he clutches at his heart… And – at least I think that’s the moment - takes a split-second decision: NOT AGAIN. Everything after that? He’s only holding to a chosen course.

2. He is feeling guilty as all hell and is overcompensating hard.

Xiao Qi is the epitome of a hyper-responsible hero. And not in the ‘Woe is me, everything is my fault!’ way that brooding heroes tend to veer to. No empty anguish or dramatic self-flagellation there! He is very matter of fact about both his responsibility and perceived guilt. Soldiers die under his command? He will honour their memory and take care of their families. Awu gets kidnapped by his personal enemy? He will admit his guilt without any excuses and offer recompense. Princess Jinmin becomes a victim of a stand-off that he did not even provoke? He will take the blame and then redeem himself by swearing an oath that he will not fail to protect Awu. And he takes his oaths very, very seriously, otherwise the Ma family would have a Really Big Problem.

All that responsibility comes from both his own character and the force of habit. Nobody ever worries about me, he says. To his soldiers he is the strong, infallible one and so he keeps this facade intact despite knowing it’s a load of bull.

So this hyper-responsible man has unwittingly sent his wife into danger, into battle (!) three times already (kidnapping, rebellion in Huizhou, Zilu’s coup) and was part of the reason she entered the fourth one. And while she has acquitted herself brilliantly every time, she paid a very steep price for saving him/the Empire. In his mind, he owes it to her and to Princess Jinmin for it to never ever happen again. And so he is not going to send her into the battle of childbirth for anything under the sun! The thing is, Awu is brave as hell and would enter it willingly in a blink of an eye. So he is arranging things so that she can never do that in the first place.

3. Xiao Qi is trying to spare Awu from mental and emotional anguish. It’s a pattern and one wildly spiraling out of control.

It’s really, really starting to show that Xiao Qi is used to being regarded as the infallible one, the one who must always find a solution and save as many people as he can. And while it is not a problem in Ningshuo, when he needs to tell Awu the truth about her father (and still he hesitates!), it tends to come through quite strongly in moments of stress and/or danger. Which is understandable, I think. In Ningshuo the stakes are not as high, everybody is safe and they are in the middle of Xiao Qi’s fortress, the very centre of his power. If there is any place he feels safe and at home, it’s right there. The capital is a wholly different kettle of fish; even on his first visit Xiao Qi is – quite reasonably – wary and on guard. For him the capital is behind enemy lines. So he reverts to his Infallible General mindset more and more: he keeps telling Awu things, but not all of them (money) and not always immediately (Hulans asking for a bride). Which is really stupid of him since Awu is in many areas just as smart - if not smarter - than him.

It’s not only the Infallible General mindset, though. In fact, that is the least of the problems there. By this point the panic is really setting in and so is the guilt. There is one more thing, though. Xiao Qi has this tendency towards self-deprecation. He does not wallow in it, but the undercurrent of his perceived social inferiority emerges from time to time, moreso in the capital. And it does factor in his behaviour; I sense that he has this need to keep deserving her. Coupled with devotion, it pushes him into a very touching, but also potentially dangerous single-mindedness.

Saving Daddy Wang by kneeling all night long clearly shows that Xiao Qi will stop at nothing to spare Awu’s heart, life and health. Personal pride? Enmity towards Daddy Wang? Political expedience? Disregarded completely. So what’s a year or two of lying if it means Awu lives? He’s set himself a Goal: protect Awu, just as he promised before Princess Jinmin’s grave. And it’s really been blinding him since.

Notice that he did not tell her about saving Daddy Wang either. She had to find out from His Imperial Spudness! True, it all worked out fine then, but whatever his reasons, he still did not tell her. And yes, I get that his reasons were really noble, but! But it is still a pattern, one that I hope she will break him out of rather sooner than later.

4. He is making a great sacrifice too; hear me out! And he does not leave himself an out.

This is the kind of argument that launches a flaming discussion, so please, be gentle. Anyway, we are not going to speak of whether any man has the right to make unilateral decisions about his wife’s body, that’s neither here nor there in this case, since it does not really enter into consideration in the drama itself.

What is clearly very important in the drama is the idea of family lines. The Wang and Xie families are all about this idea of legacy and bloodlines. Bloodlines are Important: propagating the bloodline is Wang Su’s main duty and both families fight over whose blood will sit on the throne. This clan mentality is clearly a Very Serious Business. Admittedly, Xiao Qi is an outsider to the clan-based society of upper classes. But even though his primary social group consists of his brothers-in-arms, he is very acutely attuned to the idea of family being the most important thing. It shows in many aspects of his life: in the care he gives to his soldiers’ families, in the consideration he gives Awu when she encounters another heartbreaking truth about her relatives and in the way he seems to take for granted that she will not stop caring for Daddy Wang no matter what. Also, he clearly likes kids, the mysterious shadow child gave us this much.

So it is not out of the realm of possibility that he would really like to have a child of his own. And why wouldn’t he? Awu may have trouble bearing him children, but there is nothing stopping him from taking a concubine or a dozen for this very purpose. Any other man in this drama would have (maybe except Zilu…?). And the society would not judge him, especially if the truth about Awu’s condition came out. It really is not a monogamistic society. Moreover, since Daddy Wang is not in the picture any more, nobody can even try to force Xiao Qi to keep to one bed (or poison his concubine…), not with his current position and power.

And what is the very first thing he does after Awu comes home? He declares – in public and with great pomp! - that Awu will be his only woman, thus staking his honor and reputation on all his children being hers. Which with the tonic in play means that there will be no children. It is a decision he takes very deliberately and in direct response to the previous events and the Wangs’ fall from grace. In fact, I wager this whole monogamy clause is a way not only to quell the rumours and stop any scheming families in their tracks, but also to keep things fair as much as it is even possible. Awu will not have children, well, neither will he.  

5. He is setting himself up and preemptively hogging all the guilt and blame.

The short yet very poignant exchange with Pang Gui in episode 37 makes it clear that Xiao Qi knows quite well he is going to be found out sooner or later. Sure, he would rather that Pang Gui kept mum about everything, but in reality he leaves it wholly up to his judgment. Which tells me that Xiao Qi is not willing to ‘kill’ for this secret. In fact, it might suit his plans if it were to come out… though not at the moment. Maybe after the requisite year or two, once Awu is no longer in any danger. Relying on what we know about his character, I think he is wholly prepared for the truth to eventually come out and then to take all the blame. And I mean ALL the blame. As in: Awu will have no reason to blame herself for her fragile health and thus inability to bear children, if it’s actually Xiao Qi’s fault. He will have gotten her infertile, so her actual ability to give birth safely will be immaterial. She will put all her anger on him and not on herself, and anger he can take, it’s her getting quiet that he can’t cope with. And to hell with what it does to their marriage, she will be alive. Is it stupid, stupid thinking? Sure. But quite probable when you’re dealing with a man this hyper-responsible and clearly unused to family dynamics.

And that’s that. Do I think he is being a single-minded fool? Sure. The man is not perfect after all! Does he need to talk to Awu? Of course, but I get where his unwillingness to do just that comes from. Is it going to bite him in the ass really, really hard? Oooooh, is it! But Xiao Qi is not cancelled and if Awu forgives him, then so should we all.

[redstainedsocks]

Let You Down

Warnings: torture, injuries and wound cleaning, panic attack, crying, guilt, self depreciating thoughts, survival mode, detached feelings, long term captivity, sadistic whumper, intimate whumper, lady whumper

Part three of the result of Alex’s escape attempt, Jasper’s POV, sorry for the wait, this one fought me all the way.

[Previous]

Jasper lays on the floor for a long time. As the screams start he covers his head with his arms, cowering on the flagstones as Alex’s pain echoes down the corridor and around the cavern. He lays there until the screams crack, and Alex’s voice dies out to something quieter. 

He crawls to the kitchen eventually and gets something to drink, and then he curls up beside the cupboards and traces patterns on the wood. His heart beats in fits and bursts as adrenaline keeps trying to make him get up and run, or hide, or help. His heart breaks over and over again as the memories go round and around.

The now memories, from this morning; Alex holding him at knife point, Mistress reminding him how disposable he is, the wounds inflicted so thoughtlessly. 

The then memories; his own pitiful cries and gut wrenching screams echoing through the halls in his early days. His deal with Mistress, his slide into life as her pet, losing pieces of himself as she kept him in line so easily with the promise of freedom later. All the things he’s done to keep her happy, all the ways he’s been used, and hurt, and terrified, and all the ways it is not over—the ways it will happen again.

He lays there and he cries for himself, and how unwanted he feels, and then he cries over the guilt of being glad he’s not the one being punished, and then he cries for Alex. Alex who he hoped he could befriend, Alex who would gladly hurt him just to get away. Mistress, who only likes him for his usefulness, but would gladly dispose of him if it suited her. 

No matter how much he kids himself, he knows she doesn’t love him. He wants her to, in his weak moments, wants to believe that his time here has made her fond, affectionate. He wants to be wanted. He needs it. He needs someone to care what happens, and how he feels, and look out for him. And the only people he can see in all the world…. don’t. Or can’t. Or won’t. He is alone. He is trapped with them and they are all cursed to suffer alone, together. Alex is not a friend, he’s just a fellow prisoner; Mistress is not a lover, she just uses his body for her own ends. And the other… he… he isn’t anything but a phantom that comes knocking every time Jasper thinks his world can’t get any worse.

He realises belatedly that he’s mumbling along to himself in Czech, and stuffs his fist in his mouth to stop it. Mistress hates him talking in a language she hasn’t bothered to learn and he can’t anger her any more today. It’s been so long since he spoke it regularly, it comes out now with unconscious thought, or in his dreams, or not at all. 

His wounds have closed but there’s blood dried on his skin, he shakily gets up to clean off. Scrubbing too harshly until he’s red and irritated all over again. His hair is sweaty, his blond streaks sticking to his forehead, and he’s shivering half naked and tired.

Alex’s screams have died down to almost nothing, and Jasper can hear Mistress talking, and he knows that means Alex is likely to be left alone soon. Which means he is about to face her and he knows how wretched he must look. Even so, he can’t make himself move, can’t bring himself to leave the kitchen where always feels a little safer. 

So there she finds him, sitting on the floor, floppy limbed and glassy eyed. She tilts his head up with careful fingers and he lets himself be moved. She kisses his forehead, and his lips, and tightens her fingers into his hair.

“Sweet boy.”

“Mistress?”

“You did well today, a perfect demonstration. I’m sorry your friend tried to hurt you,” she says it while gripping his hair so hard it tugs painfully. 

“I don’t think he’s my friend,” Jasper whispers.

“Nonsense. I brought him here for you, just because he hasn’t learned to play nicely yet, he will. I’ve softened him up, and he’d like to apologise to you, but I think a little time alone first will do him good.”

Jasper leans into her touch, wanting to feel like there’s a point of steadiness--even if it hurts. “I don’t need him,” he offers. “I can be okay without him.” and he hopes that he could go back to the lonely life he had before, and finally be glad for it, now that he knows it can be worse.

“I think we both know that’s a lie. I got him for us, to fill a gap in our arrangement. To fulfill a need that you can’t sate yourself. He’ll learn his place, and you’ll help him.”

“But, but I can be enough. I could be enough for you. You could send him back.” Mistress releases him and he falls forward, on his hands and knees before her. “Please let me be enough, like I was before.” If Alex were gone, he’d have so much less to worry about. It would be easier without someone else’s pain to measure against the aching cracks inside himself.

“Get up pet.”

He does, of course he does. She dusts off his hands and smooths her palm across the claiming mark on his chest. “I have never kept anyone for as long as I plan to keep you, or for as long as your predecessor.”

“I know,” he whispers, trying not to flinch from her burning fingertips.

“I made such a deal with you because I was tired of breaking in new people, tired of training them to my needs and desires. Of teaching them how to be good.”

He nods, swallows. Closes his eyes and wills away images of torture and terror.

“It’s been good, you’re good for me, we’ve had our fun and I made you as near to perfect as was possible, and it’s been years since I had to worry about what I would come home to. Years since I got to do what I’m doing now.”

He looks up, his mind trying to grasp what she’s saying, and she grins as she idly traces the mark of her curse.

“I find I’m rather enjoying it again, the challenge, the drama.” she presses down with her thumb until Jasper wails, hunching over while her skin makes contact and doesn’t stop. “Alex is a different kind of fun, it’s invigorating.”

A lone tear drips from Jasper’s nose. Not wanted, not enough, not even good enough to hurt the way that she likes. He is boring, and dull, and hardly useful, easily discarded. He’s hardly even been able to work for the other purpose he’s here for since Alex arrived. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“So no,” she grabs his chin and turns his face. “We won’t be letting him go. You need the company, and I relish the fight, knowing I’ll crush him bit by little bit, just like I always have before.”

“Why--why him?” Jasper croaks. He wants to know if there’s anything else that could absolve him of this guilt. If Alex is here for a reason Jasper would be less to blame, if his loneliness wasn’t the only cause for her choosing a friend for him. Maybe it will hurt less, if he knows why Alex is so interesting to her.

Mistress shrugs. “He was just there, alone, pretty. Feisty. I watched him and he cared and he worried for his friends, and he laughed so beautifully. I thought of you side by side, and it seemed pleasing, so I chose him.”

So, it could have been anyone. Jasper sighs, as the guilt doesn’t go away, as it drags him a little bit deeper beneath waves of pain.

She hauls Jasper upright, steadying him when his knees wobble and his legs want to give out. “Make us something to eat, we both need our strength. You can put some aside for Alex for later.”

He doesn’t question it, doesn’t complain, he fumbles his way through making a noodle soup, and eats woodenly as Adria gobbles up the food, praising him all the while. 

He’s good because he’s useful, he’s wanted because he is a willing and ready body for her to use. He’s here because she wants him to be, and nothing else matters. He is nothing else. She’ll put him to work again before long, and he’ll learn to be good at that again too, because it pleases her.

He can do that. He can be what she wants, and he can let himself be hurt, and he can learn to forgive Alex because it’s what she expects. What Mistress wants keeps him safe. What she wants is the sun, and he will orbit it until she releases him, and everything else... he can bury. He is a sacrifice and a sacrament, her blank canvas and her tool. He will be whatever she wants; he will survive, just as he always has.

——-

She takes the rest of his clothes and wraps him naked in satin sheets to rest. He sleeps like the dead, gone to the world for a couple of hours, letting the pain settle like sediment in the bottom of a lake. It sinks down into black depths, lost under the weight of everything that waits for him in the waking world. He’s still and silent and calm when he opens his eyes, and she finally tells him he can go to Alex.

“Mistress, what—what am I allowed to tell him?”

“Whatever you like pet, this is your life too.” She barely looks up from the jewellery she is examining with her looking glass.

“I can tell him about… about the agreement we have?” If he was wearing anything, Jasper would be twisting his hands in his clothes now.

“You haven’t already?” She laughs, delighted. “Well, that explains why he’s being quite so unreasonable. If you would like him to know, you can my Treasure.”

“And… and, about my… what it means to be part of the curse. Because that applies to Alex too, doesn’t it? Now that he’s here?”

Adria comes over to him, lifts his aching, tired hands, and kisses them. “That is the only free gift he gets just for being here. The gift of time. So yes, you may tell him.”

She dresses him in nothing but underwear and fresh red hand marks, and sends him off with a plate of food to the room he never, ever wants to go to. 

What he finds inside is both expected and horrifying. He shudders as he steps over the threshold into the bare, dungeon room. There are two square pillars and Alex is strung up between them, each arm stretched out and manacled to either side. He is limp, his head hanging down to his chest, his clothes torn and bloody, while fresh splatters decorate the pillars and the floor around him. The whip, cane, and hot poker that she must have used are dumped in a heap at Alex’s feet. Jasper guesses he’ll be in charge of cleaning those, too.

He pushes them aside with his foot, out of sight, and places the tray of food and medical supplies down instead. He hates it in here; the memories that crowd, the things the room dredges up. His emotions churn beneath his calm exterior.

“Alex?” He doesn’t want to touch Alex without warning, and he’s not sure where he could touch that wouldn’t hurt.

Alex raises his head, shifting slowly. It must hurt, he must be exhausted. He flinches when he sees Jasper, pulls away and is jerked back in place by the chains. There are tears tracks down his cheeks between caked on blood but his eyes are dry now. “Please, no more. Please.”

“I’m here to look after you,” Jasper says woodenly. “She finally said I could.”

“Are you going to let me down?” Alex rasps, his words a little slurred.

Jasper shakes his head. “Haven’t been told to do that.”

Alex moans, lets his head swing back and loll on his neck, staring at the ceiling. “‘M gonna die, gonna die here.”

Jasper closes his eyes and pushes down the swell of annoyance. Alex was happy to kill him earlier and he thought he wasn’t bothered by it, but it rears an ugly head now. Alex fearing for his life sets something inside Jasper on edge, like his teeth hurt or his blood itches, some distant part of him vindictive about it after having a knife held over his heart—even if he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be hurt in a way that lasted, Alex hadn’t known that.

“You’re not going to die, Mistress doesn't want you to.”

“It hurts, so much. Can’t do this much longer, Jasper, won’t be able to breathe if my legs give out.”

Jasper looks at his strained shoulders and pulled taut chest and very simply says: “So don’t fall.”

Alex nods, as Jasper submerges a cloth and wrings it out, before starting to clean and sterilise the wounds littering Alex’s torso. Alex winces, hisses in pain, but doesn’t complain. In fact he says thank you, and that makes Jasper pause.

“I’m just doing what I’m told,” he replies as he gets back to work.

“I know, I see why, I get it. I… I get it. I thought the stuff she had out there was torturous, all those restraints and the… other things she’s used.”

“Shh,” Jasper says, seeing the effort it takes Alex to speak.

“No, no, I’m tired of being alone. Need—talking helps. To focus on other things?”

“Okay?” Jasper continues his work, eyes flicking up to check Alex’s face for signs he’s pressing too hard.

“I see now, those things out there are the humane things.” Alex laughs, a bitter, strained sort of chuckle. “These are the torture implements.” He twists his wrist in one of the heavy metal shackles and Jasper nods.

“I’m going to bandage these now, okay?” He asks.

Alex moans, something that sounds like yes, and Jasper quickly covers the worst of the whip marks with gauze and sticks it all down over sweat streaked skin. Then he lifts up the bowl of soup, and Alex’s eyes track it warily.

“I can feed you, if you’ll let me.”

“Why?”

Jasper shrugs. “You’ve suffered enough, this will keep your strength up until she decides you’ve... atoned.”

Alex struggles to swallow, wincing with each mouthful. Jasper is patient, feeding him in small increments, staring at the bowl in between so he doesn’t have to think about where they are. This whole room triggers his need to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, to say he’s sorry. His eyes flicker across the other wall—the one he knows hides more awful truths. He almost gags on his own saliva.

“I get it, I do get it, now. More than before—but I got it then too,” Alex says, interrupting his train of thought.

“Get what?” Jasper replies, whispering like it's a secret. Dirty, bad, wrong. No misbehaving.

Alex shifts in the chains holding him upright, swinging forward slightly onto his toes before he settles back and tries to keep his head up and look Jasper in the eye. “Why you do what she says, why it helps to make it hurt less. I—I’m just bad at that I guess, don’t know when to stop. I just thought we had a chance, you know?” 

Everything in Jasper comes to a sudden halt. His heart pauses and then beats faster and harder. “We?”

Alex nods, slowly, painfully. “Could’ve got out, if—I thought I could make her let us go. Dumb, really. Should've guessed why you never tried it.”

“Us?” Jasper repeats, the almost empty bowl trembling in his hands. He puts it down so not to drop it.

“Well, yeah. Was gonna take you with me. Couldn’t leave you here in this hell.”

“But you said—”

“I only needed her to think that, and I didn’t think you’d play along if you knew. ‘M’sorry I scared you though. I know we’re not friends, not like she says, but, but I didn’t want it to go that far. I’m sorry.”

“Y-you, it wasn’t real? The things you said? Didn’t want to hurt me?” Something in Jasper swirls upwards, heading for the surface. 

“Feel bad that I did, when I cut her. Please don’t hate me, I didn’t know.” Alex’s eyes are wide, his face twitching with held back pain. Jasper’s heart clenches.

“I don’t hate—I just, I thought you…”

“I know, I know. I fucked up. This is all so fucked up.” Alex sobs, his eyes watering and it looks like he can barely breathe like this.

Whatever Jasper had forced to the bottom of the depths inside himself surges upward. Sediment in a lake that drifts up into the light, up where it’s warm again. He’s not alone. He doesn’t have to face them both alone. Alex cares.

“Shh, shh,” he rests a soothing hand on Alex’s twisted shoulder and for the first time it isn’t shrugged away. Alex leans his face toward it and Jasper hesitantly wipes at a stray tear.

“I think I owe you some explanations. I... I think you’re ready to know why I’m here, like this?”

“Will it help? I just want to--for things to make sense.”

Jasper looks at his feet, curling his toes against the cold floor. He is warmed by Alex’s confession, and chilled to the bone with the confessions that live in his own past, and the truths he’s about to share. “I can try to explain.”

Alex nods, half-smiles. Jasper likes the smile, mirrors it even as his lips wobble. “Don’t have anything else to do right now…” Alex says, huffing what sounds like a laugh, but is tinged with pain.

Jasper wraps his arms around his own waist. “The-the first thing you should know, if you want to understand everything about her, and me and...and this place, is that she isn’t the only of her kind.”

Alex’s breath pauses, stutters, his eyes grow wider.

“She’s just the one who made it out of her prison first.”

Alex looks around, like something—someone—might materialise out of the walls. And he’s not far wrong about how that goes, and it’s enough to twist Jasper’s mouth into a wry smile. He feels a sob building in his throat and swallows to smother it.

“She is both our best hope of getting out of here unscathed and whole, and the worst danger we could possibly be in, at the same time.”

“I don’t…?” Alex mutters, taking pained breaths and frowning at Jasper. He looks so tired, and it reminds Jasper of his worst time in this room in a way that makes him want to bolt. But he doesn’t, he stays, and he tries to explain.

“If we stay on her good side, she’ll let us be. And-and we’ll have her protection, too.”

“Wait, wait. I’m lost, I’m too tired for this.” Alex groans.

But Jasper can’t stop, even if he has to explain it all again to Alex when he’s recovered and can take it in. He hasn’t had anyone to talk to beside Adria for far too long and the deep waters he has sunken into have been disturbed now, and everything is swirling towards the surface. His life, his story, his reason for being here so long, he wants someone else to know so that he isn’t carrying it alone.

“I tried to, tried not to be what she wanted… but she won and, and I made a deal with her...” he begins.

[Taglist: @lonesome--hunter, @whumpthisway, @slaintetowhump @untilthepainstarts @sneeze-queen @muddy-swamp-princess @i-contain-multitud-s @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @yet-another-heathen let me know if you would like to be added or removed]

[kneamet]

Delusion (5/5)

Trigger Warning: alcohol, obsession

Summary: she was the only girl in his band whose singing he loved so much. She was the person he truly respected. Andy Miles was someone Hank Williams had an unrelenting obsession with.

Chapter five: Lovesick Blues

POV Hank

He was glad to breathe a sigh of relief in his free chest, feeling as if he were the freest man in the world. Hank was finally able to remove this unpleasant burden that weighed on him in the bonds of an unloved marriage. A marriage that literally drowned him down.

He was glad that he was able to go through everything in court through the proceedings and slander in his direction, written and claimed from Audrey. As if she knew anything about him and understood him at all. And now, Hank, being completely free, can do whatever he wants and can show the love of the girl he loves.

The guy smiled, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds and stopping moving. The beloved girl who will soon become his wife. She would be someone he would cherish and protect beyond measure. Andy will be everything to him, after he finally gets the recognition from the public.

"Why are you frozen, Hank?" There was a sneer from his right, and he turned his head in the direction of the intended speech, realizing that he could have listened to that voice for years without interrupting. He wouldn't care what she said. The main thing is the sound.

Williams was sure that once he and Andy were finally a couple, exchanging light formalities and vows to keep, he would definitely have her humming to him and reading aloud, just enjoying herself.

It was a joy to Hank to hear her voice, soft but slightly hoarse and tired, after a lot of rehearsals, from which he was very tired, but always enjoyed it. He was always so soothing. So gentle and, you might even say, caring, unlike Audrey, a voice that always made him mad.

He knew that he had invited her to the studio just so that she wouldn't yell and make him lose his temper, or else he might have flared up like a match and wouldn't have stopped in his anger, which would have continued to eat at him from the inside out.

Audrey's voice was really terrible. Unpleasant, eating into the brain and piercing it into a million small particles.

Blinking a couple of times, Hank turned his attention to his beloved, who was sitting a foot away from him, looking at him with a puzzled look, slightly raising an eyebrow, which caused small, barely noticeable wrinkles to form on the bridge of her nose. It was very cute.

"It's fine," he says, grabbing the ketchup and quickly unscrewing the white cap. His gaze reluctantly shifts to Don, who just grins. "Here's what, I'm not buying," the guy finally says, pressing down on the middle of the plastic bottle with his fingers.

"A ketchup burger?" Helms asks, adjusting the gold-plated watch on his left hand and nodding at his friend's food.

"Ha, ha, yeah," Hank smiles, tossing the top of the bun on top of the rest and thinking that he probably wouldn't be able to eat the burger without the extra extra. It was sad that no one shared his taste in this kind of food. Although in his opinion, it was deliciously delicious.

"Sammy," he calls out to the guy who was sitting at the opposite table, carefully reading the list of songs listed in the ratings. "Well, have you finished reading?"

"No, I didn't start from the end," he doesn't miss the opportunity to mock, grinning slightly, to which Hank just smiles and continues the banter, in which they measure their sense of humor and ability to tease the other person.

"So they still teach you to read at school," Williams doesn't even look at him, watching out of the corner of his eye as Andy tries to choose where to start eating. The smile on the guy's face does not come off, but only becomes more noticeable.

There's nothing to be heard from the side, and Hank just raises an eyebrow. Just gave up? This is not like him and their usual conversations.

"Funny, Hank," Sammy nods and turns to face his friend, still clutching the small magazine that is important to the musician's fate. "You're not much older than me."

"I was older than you when I was born," Hank says, taking a sip of the scalding coffee, setting the cup down next to him. His attention is completely focused on saying something ironic to Pruett.

However, instead of continuing, the latter gets up from his chair and pushes it back to the table, going over to the others and tossing the publication with the open page, on which the latter has found something that will really attract the attention of the group.

"Look at this," Hank dusts off the small crumbs on his palm and picks up the magazine he's offered. "Take a look," everyone looks at Williams.

The guy's eyes widen. He can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. It seems that this is just a hoax. A lie that will be revealed later. No, it's not possible.

His palms trembled and began to sweat. His mouth fell open. My breath was knocked out, and my heart began to give a loud rhythm, interrupting any sounds and actions from the environment.

First place in popular. First place in sales. His song. His.

He covers his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his smile and the naive look that doubts what he sees. It's too much for him. It's not real and he's sure of it, handing the magazine to Andy, who accepts it happily and with some suspicion.

Hank finally got what he wanted. He was finally able to get at least something that he had worked so hard for for so long. His dream to get into the charts came true.

It remains to implement another one...

"Hank, this... God, congratulations, " Andy says, putting his left arm around him and hitting him on the shoulder with his right, trying to show support. Hank only sends a grateful smile to his beloved, but his gaze is still detached from what is happening.

"I'll tell you what," interrupting his thoughts and disbelief, he leans closer to the table, in the middle of which Miles has placed the magazine. Everyone moves towards him, starting to listen carefully. "And it's not all bullshit. If, after that, I don't get to the Opry," he points a finger at the publication and turns his head towards the girl, starting to laugh. "I'll give up the music," there's laughter, at which Hank slams his hand on the table and rocks back in his chair. "Honestly. Let them then look for me then for me and beg me to sing for them. And they'll have to beg me."

And he wasn't lying. Lying wasn't his style, especially when it came to something he'd devoted his entire adult life to. He can really give up music, even though he will have to listen to his mother's loud talk about how she spent a lot of time driving him around the states in his youth and showing his talent. He'll quit the music. The truth will leave if he does not achieve what he wants, but with him will be his beloved wife, whom he has been trying to get for so long.

***

It's raining. The gray ground seems to droop, and small puddles form on the old black asphalt. Countless splashes of raindrops can be heard in the muddy puddles. Steady noise. The impact of raindrops on the window pane causes unpleasant thoughts.

Andy exhales cigarette smoke, enjoying the weather. Its cloudy mood and the state of nature. She dusts off a bittersweet cheap cigarette and the weightless ash falls on her starched white shirt, which she rarely changes.

Taking another long drag, wanting to enjoy the bright aftertaste. Hank knows this feeling, and he often does it, even though he knows how disgusting it is sometimes. However, this taste of cheap tobacco was always poetic, which he certainly liked. But the guy himself preferred more expensive cigarettes and at some points did not quite understand how Miles even smokes them. The throat after them hurts, and they do not last long, because after the taste disappears altogether, forcing people to think about buying more expensive.

Williams was sure that as soon as he and the girl finally lived together, he would forbid her to buy cheap tobacco.

"You know, Andy..." Pausing for a moment and taking a deep drag on his own cigarette, he waited for her to look at him. "I just realized that inspiration is literally chasing me," he heard a small grin from the side, to which he only smiled, shaking his head and lowering it down, pursing his lips. A small habit that he couldn't get rid of and that showed up in moments of doubt or embarrassment.

"Has the muse finally visited?" Miles joked, and the tobacco smoke filled the small space around them again.

He liked to be near the girl he loved, to whom, if he could, he would dedicate all the odes and songs of the world. He liked to stand with her under the awning of the cafe, smoking the cheap cigarettes he smoked just for her, and watch the restless rain, wishing it would never end and they would enjoy each other's company.

"Yes..." sighed Hank, biting his lower lip with his front teeth and lowering his hand to brush off the ash.

The Muse he was talking about was literally everything to him, and he didn't know why Andy didn't take the hint. He was torn between telling his beloved what he had wanted for so long and remaining silent until the right time came. I didn't want to ruin the established idyll between them, but I didn't want to be silent either. Doubts tormented him for quite a long time and he simply could not properly settle his obsessive thoughts.

***

Hank wandered through the little-known streets, trying to calm down and come to his senses. In his relationship with Audrey, he was always disturbed by quarrels, which he literally hated. They were terrible and very annoying, literally infuriating. What difference does it make if she sings well or poorly? They would have achieved nothing anyway, knowing her not-so-simple nature, expressing defiance and defiance.

His head was down, and his hands were in his pockets, pulling down the trousers that were held at the old belt. His thoughts were currently occupied only with obsessions.

The light wind didn't bother him. Her hair was already disheveled, so there was nothing wrong with it becoming even more messy.

"...I got a feeling called the blues, oh Lord... " a young female voice was heard nearby. Hank raised his head, trying to catch the pleasant and melodious sound coming from. This aroused a genuine interest in him.

He liked that unusual voice. It clearly belonged to a woman, although no, most likely a girl, and a very young one at that. He sounded a little hoarse and tired. As if the person doing this was just trying to calm down and avoid boredom.

"...Since my baby said goodbye.. " came again, and Hank tried to find out where it was coming from. He had never heard a better voice in his life than this girl's.

Williams quickened his pace, straining his ears. It wasn't that far away, so it was safe to say that he wasn't far from the unknown with the amazing voice.

Hank's eyes widened and his lips parted slightly. He looked at her with awe and admiration. She was beautiful. But no, not even that, because she was so damn beautiful.

He had never seen anyone more beautiful than her. Even Audrey, his beloved wife, was terrible compared to this songbird. God, she was beautiful.

He knew that at this moment, in this second of his life, he didn't give a damn about anyone around him. He doesn't care about the problems, the world in general. All that matters is that he has seen the most beautiful stranger.

Her melodious voice caressed his ears. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and took a few sharp breaths, saying flattering words to the girl who was sitting on the bench right in front of him.

"Do you want to join my group?"

***

June 11, 1949

Grand Ole Opry, Nashville

He hadn't felt this kind of excitement in a very long time. This jitters that literally enveloped him from head to toe. A sense of fear, uncertainty, and nervousness filled his mind, making it difficult to think rationally.

His hands were sweating, and he began to shake in a slight tremor. He pressed his lips together, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

The only thing that gave him hope and comfort was the belief in what their celebration with Andy would be like today. He thought for a long time and finally realized in his life that the most important step in his life was to marry the girl he loved, which aroused in him the most beautiful and wonderful feelings on earth, expressing love and care. He would protect her.

He took a few sharp breaths, giving his heart time to calm down and stop pounding in his head. On his chest, on the suit, was sewn a small pocket, which at the moment was the most intimate and most sensual thing in the world. Ring. A ring that men give when they get engaged.

The guy exhaled sharply, turning to face his beloved, who was looking at him with an encouraging and encouraging look, as if calling for him to calm down and begin to cope with his difficult feelings. Squeezing his shoulder tightly, as if to show support, Andy smiled at him, and he just nodded at her.

"Hank, Andy!" A gruff voice is suddenly heard calling out to Williams. It doesn't take him long to realize that it's Fred. Smiling a tight smile, showing that he is supposedly not afraid of anything, the guy shifts the guitar case to the other hand and shakes the producer's offered hand. "How are you?"

"Not bad," Andy replies with a shrug, to which Hank is surprised, not understanding why she remains calm and not overwhelmed by excitement. Rose just chuckles at the comment.

"Don't worry, they may kill you, but they won't eat you," the man tries to defuse the tension by straightening his dark tie.

"It's comforting," Hank smiles, looking toward the stage. The stage on which he will perform. The stage on which his whole future uncertain fate will be decided.

"I'm very proud of you, Hank. I'm saying this as your friend, " Fred looks at his friend again, trying to express his support. Hank just looks at Miles, who is looking around the backstage area with a certain calmness and intensity. However, there is also a small, barely noticeable difference in her gaze... was it contempt?

"You can handle it, Hank," Andy looks around at the ceiling and turns his attention back to his dear friend with a slight grin. Williams pursed his lip again, feeling his palms begin to shake again with a slight tremor. She supports him. He exhaled. How nice to hear the support and dear words from a loved one.

"Thank you."

Everything that was happening was a blur to him. His brain still could not accept the information that he was worthy of and finally in his life got what he so ardently and long desired. He will finally get the recognition that he was striving for and then he will have one desire, or more correctly, it will be called a goal that he will need to achieve.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a guest of honor today and this is his first appearance on the Grand Ole Opry show," were the words of the announcer introducing Hank, and he knew that a lump had settled in his throat. He was afraid to sing. It was scary to get censured by people. It was scary to hear their arguments and opinions that he was a bad singer. "Let's welcome the guy who performed Lovesick Blues-Mr. Hank Williams!" He was not impressed by the joyful intonation of his voice and at the moment when he went on stage with a guitar that his mother gave him for his birthday, he was only interested in seeing Andy.

It was important for him to see her and understand that there was no need to worry. That she would be happy to support him and reassure him. That she would just be there to warm and protect his thoughts.

The applause was unexpected.

Williams was aware of the fact that the greeting of a new member of the show was always accompanied by applause, but it was still very pleasant and made him fall into confusion and let his head think that he was worth something.

The instant light blinded him. His lips trembled, and his knees buckled. Williams ' gaze darted to Andy, who only nodded at him, giving him a hopeful look at his moment of doubt in front of an audience that expected a great performance from him.

He gave her a soft smile of gratitude.

"Hi, I'm Hank Williams," he mumbled into the microphone that reverberated through the room, and he reached down to his guitar, running his fingers over it, caressing the strings, and wanting to draw the audience's attention to him. "Guys, turn it on," referring to the band with whom he had previously played the song.

His forehead was sweating and a drop of sweat ran down it. He swallowed and took a rare breath, touched the string again, and closed his eyes, hoping only that he would be received appropriately.

"I got a feelin' called the blues, oh Lords,

Since my baby said goodbye."

The only thing that warmed him with hope and calmed him down was his beloved, who was always ready to show support.

***

He just couldn't believe it. His brain couldn't process everything that had happened a few minutes ago. People took it well and were really inspired and enthusiastic. It was so unreal that he didn't want to think of it as real. It was probably just a dream that wouldn't happen again, but that he would remember for the rest of his life.

Hank couldn't stop smiling. He was so impressed that he felt over the moon when he heard the audience applauding and shouting the words he wanted.

Standing in the backstage area, which was lit by small lights, he just kept his eyes closed, arriving in voluptuous bliss.

"You were amazing, Hank," said a voice he'd known and loved for a long time. He glanced at Andy, who was standing next to him, watching him with a smile that was very often seen on her face.

Williams took a deep breath, grabbing the girl's hand and squeezing it lightly. He looked straight into her eyes, feeling that this was the moment that should have been years ago. The moment when they finally admit to each other in immeasurable love and live "happily ever after". No quarrels, no bickering, no problems. They will be a real family.

His free hand reached into his sewn-on pocket, taking out the small ring he had been searching for for a long time, but which at the moment was the most secret for him and his future wife.

He didn't care that people were looking at them. I don't give a damn. The main thing is that they will finally be reunited.

"You..." He really didn't know what to say, even apart from the fact that he had been preparing for this event for a long time, constantly rehearsing how he would confess. He wanted to express his love in an unimaginable confession, but words just weren't enough. My heart began to beat even faster. "Will you share the burden of life with me? Will you let me be your legal husband by putting this ring on your finger?"

His eyes full of hope were reflected in her eyes, which were full of incomprehension and fear.

[jalapeno-princess]

Give It a Try

Mark Tuan X Male Reader

Word Count: 3.2K

Genre: Fluffy with a tiny bit of angst

Summary: You and Mark have been tip toeing around each other’s feelings for the last few months but that’s because you’re afraid to give him your all. However, after coming to the conclusion that he genuinely cares for you and wants to take things further between the two of you, you no longer see the point in preventing things to blossom in to something beautiful.

A/N: This was requested by @xavi-in-kpopland​ this is actually my first time writing a male x male story so I hope you enjoy it! I’m sorry if it doesn’t reach your expectations :( but thank you again for requesting! (Based on the song Fire by the Pointer Sisters)

I'm ridin' in your car You turn on the radio You're pullin' me close I just say no I say I don't like it But you know I'm a liar 'Cause when we kiss, ooh FireLate at night You're takin' me home You say you want to stay I say I want to be alone I say I don't love you But you know I'm a liar 'Cause when we kiss, ooh Fire

“I can feel you looking at me. You’re not exactly discreet about it Mark. Stop that. You’re supposed to keep your eyes on the road. If we die tonight because you can’t keep your eyes off of me, I’ll kill you.” His adorable high pitch laughter that you loved yet hated so much because of the effect it had on you echoed throughout his car and overpowered the playlist of songs he claimed reminded him of you. 

The two of you had just finished watching the new Keanu Reeves movie that recently came out and Mark’s been begging you to go and see it with him as soon as he saw the movie poster posted up at the mall. At first, you rejected him just to play around with him but deep down you knew you were going to give in to him. You’d do anything for the beautiful boy behind the wheel; he meant a lot to you. More than you wanted to admit out loud to him and even to yourself. 

You enjoyed playing hard to get; something about knowing that the most admired and desired guy on campus having eyes for nobody else but you sent fire to your bones. You knew you had Mark hooked, but you wanted to make sure he was in it for the long run and that his intentions were pure. The last thing you needed was for the most popular guy in school to dump you like you were nothing and leave you in the dust, making you look like the biggest loser at your university. 

To your dismay, the more time you spent with him, the faster you began losing your resolve; but it was inevitable. You and Mark have been fooling around with one another for almost four months now. There was a little voice in the back of your head telling you that he would’ve left a long time ago if he didn’t have at least some kind of romantic feelings for you and you were well aware that Mark was where you kept your heart. It took you a while to accept your feelings for him, but you loved Mark. 

Although some people may consider it too early to really know how far your feelings went for him, when it’s love you just know. There was a warm feeling in your chest every time you’d spend time with him and once he would drop you back to your apartment, you were left feeling empty and counted down the hours until you got to see him again. You wanted to wait it out a little bit more to see that he was worth risking your heart for. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. No; in the last four months, he’s shown you nothing but kindness, support, patience and generosity. 

He helped you learn to love who you were and to embrace your sexuality. It’s just that you’ve been hurt a few times in the past by assholes who thought it would be funny to pretend that they too were interested in guys knowing that you were one of the only people who genuinely did not care if everyone knew your gender preference when it came to your significant other. Knowing who he was and who his friends were, you were afraid to let Mark in your life the day he approached you in your religion class asking you for help. 

All the girls in your class were extremely obvious about their attraction for him and you couldn’t blame them; he was indescribably good looking and quite the charmer. But from what you heard through the grapevine, Mark had no interest in girls. There were days where you found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like getting to date him, hold hands with him, go on cute little dates with him and to kiss those plump lips of his; but that’s all you had thought would happen. 

If someone were to tell you months ago that you’d be in a complicated relationship with Mark, you’d laugh in their face. You didn’t know when your tutoring sessions turned in to meeting up with him to get food at two in the morning, or cuddling with him while he played video games over at your apartment, but it was in those moments where you’d find yourself questioning the status of your relationship with the older boy. The two of you were more than friends but less than lovers and you knew it was because you weren’t ready to take things further just yet. 

If you were to put a title on what you and Mark were, you had a feeling things would only go downhill from there and you didn’t want to lose him before you could really enjoy being with him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him hesitantly moving his hand towards your lap; something he always did whenever you’d go on drives together. Most of the time, you’d swat his hand away even if you wanted nothing more than to intertwine your hands together. There were days where you allowed him to hold your hand or to even pull you in to his embrace, but for the most part you would always push him away the second you felt his touch. 

Whenever you’d see him flush in embarrassment from the rejection, you felt a pain in your chest and you hated being so rash towards him. Especially because he treated you as if you were the most delicate flower. Sooner or later, you were going to have to give in to him before he finally gave up on this frustrating game of car and mouse. You had a huge feeling he was probably getting tired of how cold you would act towards him but not once did he complain or force you to do something you didn’t want to which was what you admired about him the most. 

Unfortunately, for the last few days your mind has been all over the place. You couldn’t help but overthink that the longer you kept pushing Mark away and prevented things from blossoming between the two of you, that he would soon grow tired and find someone who was willing to treat him the way he deserved. Mark could get anybody he wanted; this you knew was true and you didn’t know why he settled for someone like you, but you weren’t going to continue to push him away. Tonight, you planned on allowing whatever it was going between you and Mark; a fling of some sorts turn in to whatever it is that he wanted for the two of you.

 Since he didn’t seem like he was going to initiate anything, you reached over the console and pulled his hand on to your lap before intertwining your fingers together. Seeing his breath hit at your sudden movement made you smile softly to yourself. Was this man really going to be twenty-seven years old in a couple of months? Sometimes you’d forget how old Mark really was because of how childlike he’d act around you. 

“Are you—is everything okay?” His question caused you to look at him in curiosity. 

“I’m fine. Oh—are you not okay with this?” As you were about to pull your hand away, he tugged on it all but gently and brought yours hands up to his lips before placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. Your heart rate began increasing as soon as you felt his lips on your skin; in the few moments that he’d kiss you, whether they were chaste kisses against your cheek or passionate, steamy make out sessions, any moment spent with his lips on any one of your body parts sent your body in flames. 

“No no—I’m okay with this—more than okay. Trust me. I just—I’m not used to you initiating things like this. You’re always so quick to push me away, so it’s taking a little longer for me to get used to your clingy side—ow! When did you become so strong? Just wait till we park y/n, you’re going to regret that.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes and squeezed his hands as you turned your attention back to the road. “Ooooh, I’m so scared.” His little giggle at your sarcasm made you blush. God, this man was going to be the death of you. 

“Hey y/n do you—would it be okay if—ah, never mind.” When it was just the two of you, Mark would always be so shy and soft spoken sometimes. It wasn’t something you were used to, even after months of getting to know the real him. The Mark that nobody else got to see. To the world; his friends, your professors and fellow classmates, Mark was an extremely outgoing, talkative and an all-around guy. He had this aura about him; a kind of confidence that made people gravitate toward him. 

He portrayed himself to be such a dominant and superior individual but when it was just the two of you, he could turn in to the biggest ball of fluff. Although he didn’t say it, he never had to. It was obvious that Mark was whipped for you, and you were hoping by the end of tonight you’d prove to him that you felt the same exact way. 

“What is it?” Once he got to a stoplight, he turned and looked at you with an unidentifiable look on his face before shrugging indifferently. “Is it alright if I come over tonight? I kinda don’t want to let you go just yet.” You could tell it took him a lot of courage to ask you something he knew you’d probably say no to. Hearing that he wanted to spend more time with you sent warmth to your cheeks. How could you say no to him knowing that he wanted to stay with you just a little while longer? Especially because you had an idea of what was going to happen as soon as you both reached your place. “Hmm, I don’t know. I’m actually kinda tired. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Oh—uh—yeah, sure. That’s fine.” His nose sullen demeanor pulled at your heartstrings and you found yourself reaching over to humorously pinch his cheek. 

“I’m fucking with you Mark. Of course you can come over. You can even stay the night if you’re too tired to drive home. I washed your clothes from the last few times.” He nodded in agreement and the small grin that was slowly growing on his face from the change in your tone caused you to mirror his expression. Just a couple of minutes later, he was pulling up to your apartment and ran over to your side to open the door for you. It was his actions that proved to you that he harbored romantic feelings for you and it always made you feel almost childlike. 

You couldn’t explain the way Mark made you feel. But all you knew, was that nobody else has ever made you feel so important, so needed; wanted—loved and it scared you because you were sure nobody ever could. He helped you out of the passenger seat and grabbed at your hand; not giving you any time to process anything before pulling you towards the lobby. 

Out of all the skin ship the two of you shared, holding hands with Mark had to be your favorite. He had such pretty fingers; they were so long and skinny and his hand practically swallowed your tiny ones whole. You always felt so safe with him and you could feel the confession of love for him at the tip of your tongue. When he saw you walking towards the elevators, he let out a snicker and you rolled your eyes; you knew exactly what he was laughing at from past experiences and you weren’t having it. 

“What now Tuan?”

“Nothing—it’s nothing—you live on the second floor yet you always take the elevator. You are the definition of lazy—what the hell do you do in your free time? Bench press your television? Your biceps are getting bigger and your punches are harder—okay I’ll stop. I just thought it was cute but fine—be an asshole.” 

The bickering stopped right as you reached your apartment and you made your way in with Mark trailing right behind you. He’s been over to your place a few times, so he knew where everything was and he even had a few of his things scattered throughout your apartment. A couple of his jackets were in your closet, he had a pair of shoes on the shoe rack and there was his shampoo and body wash in your shower. You knew he wouldn’t leave all his things over at your place if you were just someone he was messing around with. 

“Thirsty?” He shook his head in disagreement before throwing himself on your couch and turning on the television. You on the other hand wanted to give yourself some time to prepare what you were going to tell him. 

Mark, I love you. You mean a lot to me. I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time these last few months but thank you for not giving up on me—us these last few months. I’m ready now. I’m yours if you’ll have me. 

You wanted to say it all, but you felt as if you were going to throw up just thinking about it. “Hurry up over there, I’m lonely.” You took in a deep breath before making your way back in to the living room. 

It was now or never y/n, whatever happens, happens. 

If he didn’t end up feeling the same way, then you could just kick him out and pretend as if none of this happened but deep down you knew there was no way you could ever forget this; forget him. There was no way. Mark was tattooed on your heart and etched in to parts of your soul that you were so scared of what would happen to you if he were to end your relationship. You took a seat at the end of the couch, giving yourself some space away from him but he wasn’t having it. He got up from his spot on the couch to reach out for you and pulled you on top of his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as he placed his chin on top of your shoulder. 

No matter how many times you’d find yourself in this position with him, you could never stop the blush that always seemed to grow on your cheeks at the close proximity. 

“Mark.” He hummed in curiosity against your neck and waited for your response before saying anything. “Can I ask you something?” The nod against your cheek made you giggle; his stubble tickled as it rubbed against your recently shaved skin. 

“What are we? Better yet, what am I to you. Like—what do I mean to you?” Feeling him pull away as soon as those words fell from your lips worried you. You knew it was too good to be true. There was no way Mark could ever look at you in the way that he wanted to. Tears were brimming at your eyelids and you were so upset with yourself from ruining things. Right as you were about to try and take back what you had just asked, you were being thrown on to the couch as he roughly brought his lips to yours. He brought his hands up to your face and cupped both of your cheeks; his mouth felt hot on yours as he molded your lips together perfectly. 

His kisses never failed to send your body to flames and it felt as if electricity was running through your veins. Mark deepens the kiss; his lips were chapped but tasted like fried chicken and beer; a combination you were used to seeing how that was his favorite food and alcoholic beverage pairing. He licked and sucked on both your top and bottom lips before he brought your tongue in between his teeth. To your dismay, he pulled away to catch his breath and placed his forehead against yours while plopping himself on top of you. 

“Mark, get off of me! You’re so heavy you ass—“

“You’ve never complained about being a bottom before—will you stop hitting me? Why aren’t you this physical in bed? Anyways, before you ruin the mood with your brash commentary, if it wasn’t already obvious, I have feelings for you and to sum it all up, I love you. I know why you’re afraid of love and I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, but you can trust me. I hope you know that and I hope you do or at least plan on learning how to. My feelings for you are sincere. I don’t know exactly when my little crush on you turned in to this beautiful thing called love, but I love the effect it has on me. I love the effect you have on me. You mean so much to me y/n and if you give me the chance, I’d love to be yours. I’ll take good care of you. I promise.” 

He brought his pinky out to yours and you looked up at him to make sure his expressions matched his words. You stole a kiss from the corner of his mouth and twisted your pinkies together. 

“Okay. Let’s do this.” You tried to push him off of you but he gave you a knowing look and made it even harder for you to try and escape.

“Mark—“

“You didn’t tell me how you feel yet. You’re not going anywhere baby. I know you love me too, you just have to say it.” Hearing the term of endearment was going to take some getting used to, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like how it sounded coming from his pretty lips.

“Wow, cocky aren’t we? Bold of you to assume that I love you. Where’d you get that idea?”

“I don’t know if you are aware of this, but when you doze off sometimes you murmur things. Maybe it’s your conscience but I swear I heard you confessing what I’m assuming is your feelings for me, how thankful you are for me and how you’d love to be mine—“ you covered his mouth to prevent anything else from coming out and hid your face in the crook of his neck to prevent him from seeing how crazy he was driving you. 

“Whatever! I love you! There? You happy? Oh, and I just—before I say anything this is going to be the only time I’m ever going to say sappy shit so listen closely. Thank you for not giving up on us. Thank you for being so patient with me and not running away no matter how much of a dick I was. You mean the world to me Mark and I really don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I hope that getting to love you every day is enough to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me in the last few months. You’re amazing, and I love you.” He grinned down at you and you could feel butterflies growing in your tummy the longer he looked at you with so much love and adoration. 

“I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that. Now kiss me.”

You had a hold on me right from the start A grip so tight I couldn't tear it apart My nerves all jumpin', actin' like a fool Well, your kisses they burn, but my heart stays cool

Well, Romeo and Juliet Samson and Delilah Baby you can bet A love they couldn't deny My words say split But my words they lie 'Cause when we kiss, ooh Fire

Ooh fire Hot kisses like fire Burn me up with fire I like what you're doin' now, Fire Touchin' me with fire Touchin' me, burnin me with fire Take me home Fire Kisses like fire

[vesuviannights]

76 & 89 for some Werewolf!Muriel? Picking was hard af

Werewolf Muriel/You. Female or afab reader.

You go to Muriel’s house during his rut, and things proceed as you would expect: you getting absolutely rawed and fucked by a restless and possessive werewolf who just wants to taste and claim and devour his mate.

Featuring: werewolf Muriel, knotting, breeding, rough sex, possessive Muriel.

**

Muriel was always moody during his rut, a turn for the worst from his usual gentle and slightly withdrawn demeanour. 

You had only known him long enough to have seen him go through it one other time, right after you had started seeing each other, and you hadn’t known him well enough to try and stick around—and just in case you had been thinking about it, he had hidden himself away in the woods, a dark cave he told you about days after when he had settled and returned to almost normal. 

You had gone to see it a few days later, in the early hours of the morning when he was busy working. It had been lightless, lifeless, wet, with a small corner for him to curl up in. Nothing to destroy. Nothing to comfort him. 

In his own words: the furthest he could be from civilisation. From you.

This time, you had convinced him not to go to the cave. Not to hide himself in the woods. That he, despite the nature he was still working to come to terms with every single day, did not deserve to be punished for what came along with it.

You watch him through the window of his home, a single candle flickering in the far corner, almost burned down to a stub. Inanna is nowhere in sight, safe and curled up by the fireplace, exactly where you had left her with Asra in the shop.

Muriel is pacing, growling, scratching at the skin on his arms like it’s a nervous tick, or as though he is trying to scratch out some part of him he can’t quite get to, a curse coursing through his veins that is unsettling and wicked. The shadows on his body seem to be darker than those around the room, swirling around his limbs and head, concentrated most around his torso, ebbing a little darker with each growl he lets roll from its depths.

You know he has seen you. Heard you. Scented you. He might have been struggling before your arrival—restless, shifting his form to try and relieve some of his irritation—but this show is all for you, because of you. 

His pacing, his growling, his scratching, all because he is fighting not to come out to you, to push your face down into the dirt ground and fuck you from behind without mercy or reprieve, to breed you like every instinct running rampant in his mind is screaming at him to do. 

And you know that if he always ignores those instincts, if he pushes this side of himself down, that it will eat away at him, gnaw at his insides like a vicious disease until there is nothing left, only what he believes himself to be—terrifying, dangerous, unworthy. A monster.

So you make the choice for him. Inhaling, swallowing, you step away from the window—watch the corner of your eye as he freezes mid-step, feel the tightness in your chest as he disappears from view—and to the door. Your palm rests flat against it, right alongside your forehead, and you exhale before stepping through.

—and before you have even stepped completely out of the crisp night air, he has you by the wrist and thrown up against the wall, your cheek pressed into the wooden slats as he pushes his weight into you.

A snarl rolls through his entire body, starting deep in his chest and reverberating with every shallow breath he takes. He kicks your feet apart and presses a thigh in between them, the hard muscles rolling and twitching beneath you, and in turn you roll and press down onto them with a whimper as he nuzzles into your neck, as he nips and licks and bites his way across your shoulders and then begins down your back.

You place your hands flat against the wall, push your hips back as he drops to his knees, wasting no time in ripping through every layer of clothing you have there, leaving the shreds and scraps of fabric hanging as he licks a single clean line with the flat of his tongue, right from your clit to your asshole.

He whines at the taste, and you shiver and catch your tongue between your teeth, already tasting the promise of blood as you roll down onto him. He wastes no time, absolutely careless and callous and carnal as he devours you with his lips and tongue, so much longer than it normally is. 

The room is filled with the feral noise of him lapping at and devouring your sopping cunt, of your whimpers matched by each of his own as his tongue fucks you and his teeth scrape against you and his lips suckle your clit.  

And then your knees buckle, and he slams you against the wall by your waist, his movements never ceasing as he holds you there with his raw, inhumane strength while he eats you out like a dying man.

It is there that you scream, and you crash, and you shake and sob into the wall, clawing at it to try and get purchase to both pull yourself away from the heady sensations and push yourself further down onto his mouth, his lips, his sharp little canines.

And he is already up and pushing his cock—normally almost too much, now impossibly wide and throbbing and dripping with his pre-come—into you before the last waves of your orgasm have even thought about clearing.

And he’s fucking you like he hates you, like he is desperate to consume every inch of you, stretching and abusing and pounding into you while he growls and shivers and keens, a single-word mantra spilling from somewhere deep in his chest on repeat.

“Mine mine mine mine mine mine—”

You nod, you sob, you take everything he is giving you. You try to tuck your arms in between your chest and the wall, try to become smaller and let him overshadow you because it’s what he wants, what he needs, what he craves. He wants to consume you, devour you whole.

But he catches your movement and snatches your wrists, slamming them into the wall, jarring your bones, whining as he nuzzles into you. All of his movements suddenly become so much more frantic, as though the idea of you pulling away from him is terrifying, or has caused whatever part of him is still human, that still realises who you are other than a scent and a set of holes and his, to panic and latch on even tighter.

As he fucks you, as he thrusts into you with fast and long strokes that drag against your walls and cause the head of him to bump uncomfortably close to your cervix, you feel his knot growing at the base of his cock, pushing at you, waiting to stretch and fill you and hold you to him for hours to come.

You wriggle your hips toward it, and your knees give a little more. The action seems to quiet his rolling snarls for just a moment, though his brutal pace shows no signs of doing the same, and when he speaks, his voice is an echoing growl that seems to wrap itself like silken shadows around your body, your soul, your mind.

“Are you ready to take my knot?” He asks. His sharp little teeth drag along your bare shoulder, and you shiver in anticipation. “Are you ready to be mine? To be so full of my seed that your stomach swells?”

You sob at his words, nod, keen as he releases your wrists and slams his hands into the wall, his entire body shivering behind you as debris and dust floats down around you.

And then he is picking you up, turning you, putting you on your hands and knees with a care that belies the almost violent movements of his hips and teeth just moments before. You swallow and whimper eagerly at the new position. He has not moved from inside of you, but he hasn’t pushed his knot in, and so you are stuck—all shaking limbs and quivering thighs—at the edge of something you know will be both so glorious and so terrifying.

When you push back toward it, you hear him chuckle, and it’s that same dark, rolling voice that seems to scrape against your mind like black talons. He pushes at your head, his elongated nails pressing into your temples as he forces your chest to the ground so that your hips are tilted up to him, presenting you to him.

And then he begins thrusting once more, that same brutal pace that hits every part of your aching cunt. You whimper and plead beneath him, fists bunching and grabbing at thin air as they attempt to find purchase to hold you steady against his movements.

“Please!” You gasp, a whine that’s almost startlingly close to his own. “Please, give me your knot, please please please—”

He growls, howls, before dropping forward with his hands either side of you and thrusting himself all the way into you, yielding to your pleas. You yelp as his knot swells you, stretches you almost painfully, making you feel so full, so wonderful, so needed.

“Yes, yes—”

“Shut up.” He snarls, his teeth catching on the skin of your neck. He begins thrusting once more, a barely-detectable whine intermingled with his rolling growls as he fucks you into submission. “Shut up. Shut up. Mine. Mine. Mate. Mine.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m yours, your mate—”

“Mate. Mine. I’m going to fill you, breed you, make sure everyone knows you’re mine—”

And then with a sharp, crying howl that pierces through the still night around you, he spills inside of you, his white-hot seed coating your insides, making you swell and groan and shiver from the sheer force and amount of it.

And he is thrusting still, hovering on all fours above you while his claws leave deep gouges in the floorboards, tearing the rug to shreds mere inches from your face as he claims you.

“Oh gods—”

You groan, your entire body shuddering as you milk his cock, as your muscles squeeze to keep it and all of his seed inside of you, as though the idea of losing even a drop of it was abhorrent.

He lets out a final, quiet whine, and then his thrusts slow to a stop. He nuzzles into the back of your head, shadows seeming to swirl around the two of you, keeping you cloaked from the world, as he murmurs the same word to you, over and over and over and over.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You nod, barely managing to whisper back to him, “Yours. I’m yours.”

And he sounds so delighted at your admission, a content little murmur as he curls around you and tucks you into his chest so that he can lay you both on your side. Your cunt is still locked onto him, his knot still swollen inside of you; you won’t be apart for hours now that it is, he will keep you tucked into him and locked to him until the swelling has gone, and then still.

You turn your face into the floor, shaking your head in a silent plea as he reaches down with his hand and pats your stomach—rounder, fuller than before—the feel of it causing his cock to twitch and shudder inside of you.

“I’m so full…” You whisper. “I can f-feel it…there’s so much…”

“So beautiful,” he murmurs into your neck. His canines, now only a little sharper than normal, brush against your pulse, but his voice has lost only some of its rolling echo. “So full. Mine. Always mine.”

You nod. “Always yours.”

He growls, and his body seems to lock tighter around you. He is satiated for now, with you there locked onto him, the anxiety and the restlessness and the need to dominate fucked out of him while he rests his head on yours.

But you know that the moment his cock settles, the moment he is able to pull out of you and fuck you again, he will not be gentle, and he will not hold back, and you will not be free until his rut passes.

**

🍑 Requesting | Masterlist | My Ao3

[blightarts]

Blades of Order & Chaos

Chapter Title: 8 - Rival

Previous Chapter: Lion VS Bear

Word Count: 5239

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Pixelberry. This is my version for the upcoming sequel of Blades of Light & Shadow. I am not claiming this to be the canon story of the book. This is only written to increase the hype for the actual sequel.

MC/Pairing: Kite (Blue Elf Male MC) / Kite x Nia

Taglist: @princessstellaris​ @mechaspirit​ @brightningstar​ @cal-north​ @lxdy-starfury​ @tyrils-star​ @imturaxamara​ @kelseaaa​

In the middle of the Vishanti Kingdom market square, Kade comes face to face with the former prince of Morella, Aerin Valleros. While Threep glares along with Kade, Kite and Bella are left confused.

Kite: Kade, is this person a danger to us?

Aerin scoffs.

Aerin: I’m hurt, Kite. After a year of not seeing each other, you’ve forgotten all about me?

Kade: Kite lost his memories.

The prince raises his eyebrow.

Aerin: Oh? That’s quite unfortunate.

Bella steps up.

Bella: Hold on. Is there some romantic tension that I’m not gettin’ here?

Threep: This young man is Aerin Valleros, prince of Morella, who betrayed his people and aided the Shadow Court in their return.

Bella tenses up upon hearing the words, “Shadow Court”, but composes herself before walking up to Aerin and grabbing his collar.

Bella: So, this li’l fella is a problem to you guys then? Should we throw him off the mountain?

Aerin chuckles and sarcastically raises his hands in defeat.

Aerin: Easy, easy. I’m not even showing any hostility towards any of you… yet.

Kade: What are you doing here? How’d you even survive the Empire’s attack on Whitetower, let alone escaped your prison cell? Did they let you out and got you a spot in their ranks?

Aerin: What’s in it for me if I tell you?

Bella: We don’t let gravity decide your fate.

Aerin rolls his eyes and shrugs.

Aerin: Alright, fair enough.

Bella lets go of Aerin as he dusts himself off.

Aerin: A year ago, after you lot had your first encounter with that coward, Laundsellyn, he took me from my cell and dragged me into the Shadow Realm.

The prince then turns around for a stroll, signaling the party to follow him.

Aerin: After that, I thought I was done serving jail time, but no, they threw me into another cell for my failures in defeating you.

Kade: Well, it serves you right for joining the wrong side.

Aerin ignores Kade’s rude comment.

Aerin: I stayed in that cell for about three months and during that time, I’ve heard from one of the Shadow Guards that once served under me, mocking me and laughing about the news that Laundsellyn killed my father.

Kite notices Aerin clenching his fists in anger.

Aerin: Upon hearing my father’s name, visions began to clutter my mind, visions of the past that I cannot even recall, visions of me… and my brother, Baldur… actually getting along during our childhood…

Threep: I thought you two were at odds with each other until you plunged the Blade of Shadows unto him.

Aerin: That’s what I thought as well. For years, I believed that my brother had always been a condescending jerk who treats people who are beneath him as insects. But no, my memories proved that to be wrong as when we were young, he offered me to be his right-hand man, his closest advisor once he becomes king.

Kade: So, what you’re saying is that the Dreadlord somehow manipulated your memories, as well as Baldur’s in order to tear yourselves apart and use one of you as a puppet?

As the party nears the kingdom’s gates, Aerin stops walking.

Aerin: I don’t know. That’s what I intend to find out.

The prince moves forward once more.

Aerin: I spent my three months in solitary, recalling my memories and struggling from countless headaches, but I could not make any progress whatsoever. And then… he came along, Ignis…

Shivers run up everyone’s spines while Aerin clutches his chest.

Aerin: He visited my cell and “offered” me to join his ranks in exchange for my freedom.

Kade: Well, seeing you here right now means that you’ve obviously said yes.

Aerin turns to Kade with rage.

Aerin: I was not even able to give an answer!

Kade flinches as Kite gets between him and Aerin. Citizens begin to stare at the party.

Aerin: I was dragged out of my cell before that accursed devil casted a spell…

Aerin then tears open his shirt, revealing a Nerada Stone still etched onto its chest while small purple sparks surge through it.

Aerin: …on this damned thing, making sure that I get in line and follow the orders of the elf that killed my father, else I get electrocuted to death!

The prince then grips his hair as he starts to lose it.

Aerin: After that I was worked to the bone, slaughtering innocent people who refused to bend to the Empire and conquering peaceful lands across Morella, all while suffering from the headaches caused by those visions and the shocking pain that this stupid stone keeps bringing unto me!

Aerin then grabs Kite by the collar. Bella grabs onto one of Aerin’s arms.

Bella: Hey! No bright ideas, royal boy!

Aerin: How do you even live while you’re suffering like this, Kite?! After everything you’ve been through, being betrayed, being separated from those you love, being beaten to a pulp, and having your memories lost! How are you still moving forward?!

Kite is speechless while Aerin keeps rambling in tears.

Aerin: I’ve thrown it all away… I’ve surrendered myself to darkness… I’ve betrayed the people who once saw me as their friend… I’ve let my own father die under the hands of the elf I now work for… I’ve killed my own brother all because a dark entity severed our bonds and manipulated our memories…

Threep leans in on Kite’s ears and whispers.

Threep: We should leave quickly. Everyone has their eyes on us.

Aerin: The nesper is right.

Aerin sniffs and wipes his tears before letting Kite go.

Aerin: This should not be settled by just words.

He turns away.

Aerin: Meet me outside of town.

Aerin then walks off while buttoning up his shirt. The crowd avert their eyes from the group as the tension dies down.

Bella: Jeez, that was one helluva ride.

Kade: We can’t let him get away.

Threep: I believe that he wants to settle things with Kite through combat.

Kite watches as Aerin disappears into the crowd.

Kite: I’ll do it.

The party look at Kite with surprise.

Kade: What?! You do know it’s a trap!

Bella: Yeah, he’s with the bad guys, whether he likes it or not.

Kite: I don’t care. I can tell from how Aerin looked at me earlier. It’s like… he’s asking someone to save him.

Kite runs ahead to chase after Aerin while the party hesitates for a second before following suit. Threep gets on Kite’s shoulder.

Threep: I hope you know what you’re doing.

Kite: I am. You guys have to trust me.

Minutes later, in the outskirts of the Vishanti Kingdom, Aerin sits on the snow, gazing at the sky. His head begins to pain as a vision flashes in his eyes.

Aerin: Tch! Not again!

In his vision, he sees his young self being bullied by three kids in the town square of Whitetower.

Bully 1: Go back to your lush life in the castle, Valleros!

Bully 2: Yeah, no one wants you here!

Bully 3: Weakling!

Suddenly, Baldur appears, pushing the bullies away, and gets in between them and Aerin while holding a stick.

Baldur: Hey! Get away from my brother! He may be not as strong as any of us here, but he is sure as heck smarter than the three of you combined!

The bullies approach Baldur, cracking their knuckles.

Bully 1: Now, you’re asking for it, Baldur.

Baldur turns to Aerin.

Past Baldur: Stand up, Aerin. We can take them on together.

Past Aerin: O-Okay…

Aerin stands up and shyly raises his hands in self-defense.

The vision fast-forwards, minutes after the two brothers faced off against the bullies. They have a few bruises scattered around them, but they were victorious in the fight. Baldur is giving Aerin a piggyback ride.

Past Baldur: Good job handling yourself out there.

Past Aerin: You did most of the work…

Past Baldur: Nonsense. It was smart of you to poke their eyes, giving me time to whoop their butts. I’m proud of you.

Baldur grins while Aerin becomes flustered.

Past Aerin: T-Thank you…

The vision ends as Aerin is snapped back to reality and his headache fades away.

Aerin: How…? Where did it all go wrong…?

The prince turns around to see Kite and his friends standing behind him.

Aerin: You’re here.

He stands up and cracks his knuckles.

Kite: I’m guessing you wanna settle this in a fight?

Aerin: Yeah. Once I defeat you, the Hero chosen to defeat the Empire, right here, I will go back to Shadow Realm and claim vengeance!

Aerin puts his hand forward, materializing a polearm surging with Shadow magic. Kade grits his teeth.

Kade: A new weapon from Ignis, I presume?

Aerin: More or less. It’s called the Blackcliff Polearm.

Kade, Bella and Threep steps back.

Kade: Is it really okay for us to let this fight happen while not worrying about an avalanche?

Bella: It’s alright. The Vishanti placed wards around the mountain to prevent avalanches from occurring, guaranteeing the safety of their kingdom.

Threep: That’s a relief.

Kite unsheathes the Mirror Claymore, piquing the interest of Aerin.

Aerin: So, that’s the Mirror Claymore of the Vishanti. Quite the Sacred Treasure.

Aerin begins the fight by charging towards Kite and performs a few swings and thrusts with the Blackcliff Polearm, but the latter uses his elven senses to avoid all of them.

Aerin: Tch! Alright, how about this?!

Aerin leaps up and attempts to plunge the polearm on Kite, but again, the latter hops back, evading the attack.

Aerin: Got you now!

Aerin lets go of the polearm while it is planted on the ground before kicking it.

The polearm spins vertically towards Kite who blocks it with the Mirror Claymore.

Kite: Damn!

As the polearm begins to slow down in spinning, Aerin suddenly lunges forward and grabs it, surprising Kite.

Kite: What the—

Aerin then uses Shadow magic, transforming himself into a purple bolt of lightning, before traveling upwards. Kite and the party look up in awe.

Kade: What the hell is that?!

Threep: He has become stronger since we last saw him!

Three duplicates of the Blackcliff polearm rain down from the sky and plant themselves around Kite. Sparks then begin to appear on their tips. Kite attempts to block the incoming attack with the Mirror Claymore, but Aerin proves to be quicker as his lightning form comes crashing down onto the duplicate polearms acting as lightning rods. Kite gets electrocuted and hurled from the point of the attack, where Aerin is seen crouching down and holding his weapon, plunged onto the ground.

Bella: Sheesh, remind me not to mess with him when he’s this worked up.

Kite gets up while still recovering from Aerin’s attack. The prince stands up and pulls out his weapon from the ground, boasting about his successful attack.

Aerin: How was that?!

Kite: Tch! Not bad.

Kite gets up and dusts off his shoulder.

Kade: Wait, why was the Mirror Claymore not able to absorb the magic attack?

Threep: I believe that Kite was expecting Aerin to strike from above, even though there were duplicates of the polearm around him. However, when Aerin dropped and struck Kite’s guard, it wasn’t a magical attack, it was instead a physical attack. So, it didn’t count to the magic absorption power of the Claymore.

Bella: Then what caused the electric surge?

Threep: Electricity ran from the tip of Aerin’s weapon towards its duplicates while avoiding the Mirror Claymore, overloading them with magical energy to the point where they would explode.

Kade: That was… actually clever.

Bella: He managed to bypass the insane power of the Mirror Claymore.

Aerin rushes towards Kite once more, but the latter stays composed.

Kite: Aerin, you’re not the only one that has grown.

Kite raises the Mirror Claymore and slams it on the ground in front of him, scattering the snow and obscuring himself from Aerin’s sights. The elf then quickly casts a spell.

Kite: Chaos Magic: Moonlight Circle – Mirror Mirage.

Aerin: You can’t hide from me!

Aerin slashes the thin snow wall between him and Kite in half. As the snow parts, the prince comes face to face with multiple duplicates of his opponent, each holding the Bow of Gal’dariel in hand.

Aerin: Wha—

Kade: He used Mirror Mirage!

Threep: An excellent strategy. This should buy the real Kite some time to strike back.

Aerin stops in his tracks.

Aerin: So, this is the spell you used to escape the clutches of the Empire.

Kite and his duplicates draw their bows and arrows while aiming at Aerin.

Aerin: I know that most of those arrows are not real, but one of them can still pierce my body.

The arrows are let loose as they fly towards their target.

Aerin: So, as long as I find the real you…

Aerin does a forward flip, avoiding all the arrows, before slamming his polearm on the ground, unleashing arcs of lightning towards Kite and his duplicates. The arcs pierce through each duplicate as, one by one, they fade from existence, however, as the last duplicate fades away, the real Kite is nowhere to be seen.

Aerin: What?! Then… where is he?!

Aerin looks around, searching for the real Kite, when suddenly, the snow beneath him begins to move. He looks down.

Aerin: Can it be…?

Kite leaps up from under the snow, equipping the Gauntlet of Pain, and sucker punches Aerin, launching him far away.

Bella: Oof, that’s gotta hurt!

Aerin gets on his feet and wipes off the blood, dripping from his lips.

Aerin: But still not enough to make me concede.

He rushes to Kite, who unsheathes the Mirror Claymore.

Aerin: I will...!

Kite swings the Claymore like a baseball bat, but Aerin leaps to avoid it, ready to plunge his polearm.

Kite: Damn!

Aerin: …surpass you!!

Kite swiftly grabs the sharp end of the polearm using the Gauntlet of Pain, stopping Aerin’s attack, before hurling it behind him. Aerin ends up plunging his weapon on the snow.

Aerin: Tch!

He flips away, giving himself some distance from Kite. The two stare down at each other, waiting to strike.

Aerin: Why don’t we both bring out everything we’ve got?

Kite deeply inhales before casting Lion’s Pride, raising his physical attributes. Meanwhile, Aerin channels his Shadow magic, causing purple electricity to surge throughout his body, increasing his speed and agility. Bella steps in front of Kade and Threep.

Bella: We gotta stay back. When their attacks clash, it could be dangerous for us.

The party steps back a few feet and as soon as they did, Kite and Aerin charge at each other. They both swing their weapons, causing a strong shockwave upon collision. The two keep clashing, trading minimal blows and parrying each other’s attacks. While Aerin has the speed to strike before Kite could defend himself, the latter has enough endurance to not flinch from the attack and strike back.

Aerin leaps up, transforming into a bolt of purple lightning once more. This time, more than three duplicates of his polearm drop from the sky and surround Kite.

Kite: Tch!

Kite hops back, trying to get out of the field of polearms, but Aerin quickly descends from the sky, releasing magical energy to the polearms, causing them to burst with electricity before Kite could escape the area of effect.

Aerin: I’m impressed that you were able to survive that.

The light from the electrical surge fades, revealing Kite shielding himself with the Mirror Claymore as it is filled with magical energy that came from Aerin’s attack. However, the elf is left with burns across his body.

Kade: Kite!

Unconcerned with his own well-being, Kite swings his weapon, unleashing a magical projectile, shaped like a crescent and filled with Shadow Magic, towards Aerin.

Bella: Again, with that recklessness. Has he always been like this?

Threep: Sadly, yes, but it’s what got him this far.

Aerin imbues his polearm with Shadow Magic and uses it to cut the crescent in half, avoiding the attack, but as the crescent parts, Kite comes up right in front of Aerin, catching him by surprise.

Aerin: When did you…?!

Aerin then notices Kite conjuring a ball of Cleansing Fire from his hand. Kite swings his hand down, attempting to slam the fireball onto Aerin’s head, but the latter leaps back, evading the attack.

Aerin: It takes a lot more than a ball of fire to knock me down, Kite.

Kite looks at Aerin with a smirk.

Kite; What makes you think that it was going for you?

Aerin: Huh?

Kite slams the fireball onto the Mirror Claymore as it absorbs the magical energy, imbuing it with flames. He then charges forward while Aerin is still in mid-air, in the midst of avoiding the fireball.

Aerin’s Thoughts: Shit! I can’t dodge it! I have to block it!

Aerin holds his polearm up to block the incoming attack, but…

CLANG!!

…Kite disarms Aerin and sends the Blackcliff Polearm flying through the air, startling the latter.

Aerin: No!

The party starts cheering.

Kade: He did it!

Threep: Kite has the advantage now!

Bella: Nice!

As Aerin lands on the snow, Kite kicks his leg, forcing him to kneel in pain.

Aerin: Aah!!

Kite: Aerin… if you let only your emotions fuel your false resolve…

The elf then pulls his weapon back, ready to swing it.

Kite: …then you do not deserve to win this fight.

Aerin stares in disbelief before slowly lowering his head in defeat, accepting his demise.

Kade: Wait… is he gonna…?

Kite grips the hilt of the Mirror Claymore tight before swinging rapidly, aiming for Aerin’s neck, as if he’s trying to behead him.

Threep: Kite!

Fortunately, Kite stops short, with the blade of the Mirror Claymore almost touching Aerin’s neck. The prince’s heart momentarily pauses as he just looks at Kite, with an expression of pity on his face.

Aerin: W… Why’d you stop…?

Kite sheathes the Mirror Claymore before turning away and rejoining his friends. Aerin grits his teeth and stands in anger.

Aerin: Hey! Don’t walk away from me, Kite! Why didn’t you kill me?!

Kite stops in his tracks.

Kite: Because I cannot kill a man who is just asking for a death wish.

Aerin: What do you mean…?

Kite turns to Aerin, who was speechless.

Kite: Defeating me or the Empire? Can you even do that? Or are you just looking for an excuse to get yourself killed to end your suffering, even though it doesn’t work that way? You weren’t even giving your all during our fight.

Aerin: I…

Aerin trembles, slowly realizing how correct Kite is.

Kite: The fact that you can’t even take it upon yourself to end your own life and instead relying on others to do it, means that there’s still a part of you that wants to live on.

Kite turns back to his friends.

Kite: Once you’ve found your real self, the Aerin before the Empire of Ash, before the Shadow Court, before all of this, then come find me.

Kite continues to walk towards his friends.

Kite: I’ll be sure to fight you again… to settle this properly.

The party gathers around Kite, making sure he’s okay, while they all walk away from Aerin.

Kade: Are you hurt?

Kite: I’m fine.

Threep: Did you really intend to kill him?

Kite: I wasn’t trying to.

Bella: Are you sure you wanna face him again?

Kite: As much as I need to until he’s saved.

As the party disappears from Aerin’s sights, he grabs his weapon, before walking the other direction and wandering to himself.

Aerin: My… real self…

As the party and Aerin part ways, Laundsellyn watches from the sky, laying down on a hovering Blade of Shadows.

Sir Laundsellyn: Hehe, that was fun.

He squints and smirks at the party.

Sir Laundsellyn: Now… where could that Priestess be?

————— END OF CHAPTER —————

[missmarquin]

A Love That Burns Like the Sun

Their love burns like the sun, seemingly forever until it blinks out. The moments before a star's death are always the strongest though and the older they get, the more they love and love and love.It’s been a long time since Sylvain has drowned in the darkness that was space. Sylvix, Oneshot, Modern AU.  Read on A03 for better quality! ---

A Love That Burns Like the Sun

Sylvain’s waiting for his coffee to cool as he watches Felix flit back and forth, his chaotic energy filling the room as he readies for the morning. There’s a piece of toast in one hand and one leg in his trousers as the other tries to pull them over his hips. He trips in his haste, barely catching himself on the kitchen table. Sylvain doesn’t laugh, but he watches the familiar scene fondly, lips quirking into an amused smile as he settles into the hard wooden chair. 

The kitchen set is the only thing he’d taken from his parent’s and not because it was theirs; no, his grandmother had left it for them in her will-- them, not him-- as one final fuck you to his father and the way that he deals with gay sons. 

Of course, the words his father had used so many years ago had been far more colorful-- so colorful in fact that Sylvain’s grandmother had slapped his father across the back of the head before kicking him out. 

“Felix,” Sylvain finally says, “Sit down for a moment. Have some coffee with me.”

Felix pauses. He’s finally shimmied his pants over his hips and there’s a bite out of his toast, his cheeks reddened with his haste. He snatches the food from his mouth to reply with, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m already going to be late for work.” 

“So be late then,” Sylvain tells him with a shrug. 

“I can’t--”

“You’re the boss. You can do whatever you want.”

“My students, Sylvain,” Felix bites out. The words aren’t harsh, just punctuated and so very Felix in their tone. He puts a lot of stock into the fencing school and Sylvain loves that about him, he loves how much Felix loves his students. 

There’s a but though, as there is with many things. 

“How often do we get mornings together, Fe? Just the two of us?” Perhaps it’s a low blow, but Sylvain’s never claimed to be a good person, and judging by the way Felix pauses, it’s worked. 

Felix drags a hand down his face, pulling at his skin tiredly. “Syl,” he sighs, eyeing the empty chair across from Sylvain. 

“We never had a moment alone, darling.” Sylvain’s lips practically curl around the endearment and he sees the tremble of Felix’s lips. He’s got a retort ready to throw at him, but to Sylvain’s surprise, he drops into the chair instead. 

“What’s another ten minutes?”

“Only ten?” Sylvain pouts at that, finally taking a sip of his coffee. 

“You’re pushing it,” Felix warns, but it’s all bark and no bite. He reaches for a mug and pours his own coffee, wrapping his fingers around it to warm them. I only drink it black, like my soul, he’d once joked, years and years ago. 

Felix had been wrong of course. If anyone had a soul as black as the night, it’d be Sylvain. He only showed his good parts to people, so practiced at wearing a false smile that fooled so easily. And even if it’s gotten better, even if it’s changed over the years, Felix was the only one who’d really ever seen him at his worst and maybe that’s why Sylvain loved him so, so much. He’d seen him amidst those dark moments, pulled him from them without judgement and he’d never left. He was still there, face still cranky and annoyed as ever, but he was still there.

“What?” Felix asks, vexed, and Sylvain realizes that he’d been staring. He’s always staring, really; was Felix just now noticing?

“It’s nothing,” Sylvain promises, flashing him a thin smile and Felix narrows his eyes at him. 

“What’s wrong?” There’s a tinge of concern in his voice, just the tiniest bit and it makes Sylvain’s heart practically ache. 

“Fe, it’s-- No really, there’s nothing wrong.”

“You were staring,” Felix tells him, concern bleeding into prickliness and as soon as it had come, the man’s worry is seemingly gone.

“Since when have I not stared at you?” Sylvain replies smoothly. Honestly and earnestly, and Felix’s eyes widen slightly as he sputters before turning away to hide the pink dusting across his cheeks. “Flustered even now,” he continues to tease. “Fe, we’ve been married for nearly fifteen years.”

Fifteen years, Sylvain thinks. Incredible and astounding, everyday better than the one before because he gets to wake up with Felix by his side. Their love burns like the sun, seemingly forever until it blinks out. The moments before a star's death are always the strongest though and the older they get, the more they love and love and love. 

It’s been a long time since Sylvain has drowned in the darkness that was space. 

“Idiot,” Felix mutters, sipping at his mug to stop himself from saying anything else. 

“Forever and always.”

There’s a long moment before Felix speaks. “I know you Sylvain. What were you thinking about?” The question is quiet and probing in its approach, but Felix isn’t trying to back him into a corner. He always allows Sylvain to bolt if he wishes. 

“Us,” Sylvain answers immediately. Felix blinks, opening his mouth to reply, but Sylvain raises a hand. “Goddess Fe, nothing bad. Just…” His words fail him as he fingers his mug, the warm ceramic a balm across his cold skin. “It hasn’t been easy for us,” he finally says, “But look at us now. I get to wake up with the morning and watch you trip over yourself as you get ready, every day.”

“How mundane,” Felix snorts, dropping his mug back to the table. “What a silly thing to enjoy.”

Waking up every morning next to the love of his life wasn’t something that Sylvain would have thought he’d have, twenty years ago, so he’ll take pleasure in the most mundane of things. Even if it’s as simple as watching Felix trip into his pants, while shoveling breakfast into his mouth. 

“I enjoy you,” Sylvain tells him instead, reaching out to grasp at his hand. Felix doesn’t pull away and Sylvain rubs his thumb along the back of his hand. “Stay home today,” he asks. “Call in on your students. Cancel class and laze away the day with me. We can do nothing if you’d like, stuffing ourselves full of snack food and watching shitty romantic comedies. 

“Or we could go out, have a picnic or go to a museum. Whatever you want to do.”

“Insatiable,” Felix tells him, but it’s in jest, the closest to telling a joke that he ever comes to. 

“You say that like it’s a problem,” Sylvain counters, narrowing his eyes slightly and Felix returns the expression, his own amber eyes practically glowing at the implication. Impulsively, Sylvain places his mug down and reaches forward, grabbing Felix’s chair. He pulls him impossibly close, pressing his fingers into his shirt and pulling tightly-- 

“Sylvain, you’ll crinkle it--”

He yanks Felix close but doesn’t kiss him, only rubbing their noses in a childish show of affection that has Felix grumbling in response. 

“Childish oaf,” Felix chastises, but Sylvain can tell by the hiccup in his breath that he’s not unaffected and resists the urge to further tease him about it. The annoyed tone and burning peach across his nose is plenty enough.

“Have you forgotten what day it is?” Sylvain asks him quietly. 

Felix blinks, pulling back slightly to cock his head to the side. It’s not the first time that Sylvain’s remembered something small and silly, holding onto it until he can bring it up later. And really, he doesn’t expect Felix to remember, not really, because Sylvain is the one that’s overly sentimental. 

Felix hasn’t put his hair up yet, so Sylvain reaches up and tugs at one of the locks. “It’s the day you said yes.”

Felix looks confused, just like Sylvain knew he’d be. “I said yes in the middle of December,” Felix says seriously, as though he were concerned that Sylvain was losing his damn mind. It’s a tone that he uses more often than Sylvain would like to admit. “I remember because you thought a midnight picnic would be romantic and all I got out of it was a boot full of snow.”

Sylvain frowns at that. “You got a husband out of it.”

“No, I got a husband later on. I remember that because you insisted on a private ceremony at the beach and I spent the entire day with sand in my--” 

“It’s the day that you said yes,” Sylvain repeats, pressing his lips to Felix’s cheek in a chaste peck. 

“That’s what you said earlier--”

“I’m not talking about the proposal.” Sylvain is quiet when he leans back a little, moving his hand to cup Felix’s cheek instead, thumbing the soft skin and the hard line of his jaw. “I’m talking about--”

“Oh,” Felix breathes. “Oh.” 

The night that they never mention, the one where Sylvain spiraled into a drunken panic full of self loathing and regret. The one where an ex-girlfriend dumped a drink all over his lap at the mere sight of him at a club, causing Sylvain to bolt like a coltish fawn before anyone could see the tears of hatred for himself. The night where Sylvain cried and cried and cried, screaming that there was no one, that he’d be forever alone because the one person he actually loved wouldn’t give him the light of day. 

The one where Felix grabbed him harshly by the face, pressing their foreheads together and calling him a fool. Where Felix said fucking yes and it was the beginning of the end, but a good change, the best change.

Felix doesn’t like to talk about the night. He’s always been one part embarrassed, one part ashamed about his actions years prior to it, but Sylvain loves that night. He loves that night almost as much as he loves the man before him. 

Felix reaches out to grasp Sylvain’s hand gently, squeezing it as he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together like that night so long ago. Sylvain closes his eyes, willing himself to take deep breaths, feeling Felix’s presence before him and soaking it in, taking in the fresh clean soap scent his face. It anchors him, Felix anchors him, he’s always been Sylvain’s roots, ever since they were literally children. 

It’s a love that was born with their meeting, carefully crafted over their lifetime until it’s flared into this, into whatever they were, and Sylvain wouldn’t trade the world for Felix. 

“I still wonder if you’ll ever settle down,” Sylvain finally. “Every morning is a whirlwind for you.”

“Buffoon,” Felix breathes against him. “Dim-witted fool. I’m here, aren’t I? If that’s not settling down, then I don’t know what is, because only a moron would settle for you.” Sylvain hums at that, smiling into Felix’s hold. 

Sylvain pulls back and Felix kisses him, slow and calculated, intent on pulling everything from Sylvain that he can. It’s not like Felix, but Sylvain likes it, he’s into it, he pulls him closer and responds in kind. 

“I guess I can play hooky,” Felix murmurs against Sylvain’s lips, fingers reaching up to thread through his hair and scratching at his scalp lightly. “Whatever you want to do,” he finishes. 

“I just want to enjoy breakfast with you everyday, forever.”

Felix’s face hardens into annoyance and Sylvain laughs. “Sap,” Felix complains. “Sentimental dolt.” But he doesn’t let go of Sylvain either, fingers still laced together as he reaches for his coffee. The sip he takes is a clear distraction. 

Sylvain smiles at him, watching Felix like he’s the sun, squeezing his hand lightly once and then twice. Felix glances back, mug held close to his face as his lips contort into a near snarl. All bark, never any bite; not with Sylvain at least. 

But Felix squeezes back and Sylvain files it away, for a rainy day. 

Not that he’ll ever need it. 

[osleyakomwonkru]

Octavia as The 100′s Jesus Figure, Part 3: Planet Alpha and the Second Passion of Octavia Blake

Now we come to the culmination of Octavia’s Jesus story. You can read the first two parts here (“Origin Story and the Meeting of Two Saviours”) and here (“Saving Humanity and the First Passion of Octavia Blake”).

As I said in the last post, Octavia’s first Passion narrative, after the bunker was opened, was incomplete, and thus she did not die on her cross - her mission continued. The opening of season 6 made this very evident.

Trial and Judgment

One thing lacking from Octavia’s first Passion narrative was a trial where she was judged by the people and by Pontius Pilate - now here in the cafeteria on Eligius IV, that aspect is fulfilled. Octavia reminds Wonkru of what she did for them, yet they beat her for it (“Then they spit in his face and struck him with their fists.” Matthew 26:67). While the crowd wants her death, Abby as Pontius Pilate steps in. Pilate did not see a reason to charge Jesus - paralleling the fact that Abby is one of the only people who knows that Octavia is not guilty the way people believe her to be - and tries to wash his hands of the situation. Abby gets the crowd to spare Octavia, but only by telling them that living with herself was a worse punishment. With this final unloading of her own guilt onto Octavia, Abby washes her hands of her.

When they get to the ground, Bellamy steps into his role as Peter once more, denying Octavia three times - “What the hell is she doing here?” (end of 6x02), “What are you even doing here?” (beginning of 6x03) and “My sister died a long time ago” (end of 6x03). This last one is significant, because this was also the moment when Bellamy cast his final judgment on her and sentenced her to death in the forest - for what would follow would then be the road to Golgotha, the place of her crucifixion.

The path that Jesus takes to his crucifixion is known as the “Via Dolorosa” (Way of Suffering), and Christian tradition has determined a number of Stations of the Cross that are represented along this way where Jesus carried his cross. The main features on this route are the Falls (where Jesus physically faltered in carrying the cross) and the Encounters (where Jesus met people along the way).

Octavia has her experience of both of these on her way to the Anomaly. She is beaten and held captive by the Children of Gabriel, trapped in the Crucible and aged by the temporal flare, and as its effects spread, she begins to lose her mind. She meets others in her journey, including Rose, Jade, Diyoza and Gabriel. This whole experience in the wilderness finally leads to the Anomaly - Octavia’s Golgotha.

Crucifixion and Resurrection

Octavia’s crucifixion begins with her dash into the Anomaly - which she again does to save her people (Diyoza, the last she has of them). She runs back out what appears to be only a few seconds later (though we know it was much longer than that), but she hasn’t been resurrected yet - her suffering on the Cross has happened off-screen (with a story and experience yet to be revealed). She returns from the Anomaly in a state of limbo, as it were, unsure of what she experienced and unsure of what is to come. To complete her resurrection, she needs to go into her mindspace and face her demons - which she does successfully, and returns to life with her mission clear.

In the following episodes, Octavia meets those she’d lost before, and they don’t know quite what to make of her. Her commitment to do better and bring light to the world clear, she convinces Bellamy to go along with the peaceful plan to save their people. She convinces everyone to join her and Gabriel to save all of the people, not just their own. She dives through fire to stop the Sanctum priestess from using her self-immolation to set the tavern on fire.

In so doing, her status as a messenger is revealed to everyone - Gabriel sees the Anomaly Stone tattoo on her back, and it confirms to him - and tells the others - what should have been clear from the beginning of this story: Octavia is special in a way few others of this narrative are.

Ascension

After the dust settles in Sanctum, Octavia, Gabriel, Bellamy and Echo head back towards the Anomaly to solve the mystery of the Anomaly Stone, using the key that is tattooed on Octavia’s back. She presses the octonion, last symbol of the code - the first letter of her name, a sign that her coming was prophesied centuries before (“Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel.” Isaiah 9:14).

As the Anomaly rushes out to engulf more of the moon, Octavia remembers what happened in there (though we’re not yet privy to the details) and knows what is to come. Hope enters the tent, and to the shock of everyone except Octavia, drives a knife into her belly. Octavia’s acceptance of her fate and her whisper of “be brave, tell him it’s done” into Hope’s ear takes us back to the crucifixion narrative that we have yet to get the details on (“Jesus said, ‘It is finished.’ With that he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” John 19:30).

Bellamy catches Octavia in another image reminiscent of that of Mary holding Jesus’ body, and Octavia’s ascension follows immediately after, as the Anomaly claims her as its own again, and she vanishes from Bellamy’s arms in a swirl of green mist.

On This Rock I Will Build My Church

So what does this mean for season 7? Has Octavia vanished from the present narrative for all time, or will she return in her Second Coming?

Right now that’s unclear, and I know I’ll have many speculative posts to come over this hiatus. But the end scene does make clear that whatever happens, Bellamy is going to have a key role in it. In 6x11, Octavia reaffirms Bellamy’s status as Peter by calling him her rock (“And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church” Matthew 16:18), despite his earlier denials of her. When Octavia vanishes, her blood remains on his hands, a reminder that it was him casting her out that set her on this path to begin with. The finale closes out with him falling to his knees in the forest and screaming her name.

This should mean that Bellamy will take up the cause of learning his sister’s story - both the missing crucifixion narrative in the Anomaly and the story of her mission in the bunker that so far he only has bits and pieces of, likely told by people who did not understand her true narrative role. Once he knows her story, he’ll make his amends to her (which he’s neglected over the past two seasons), be that personally upon her Second Coming, or in her memory as he works to do better, fighting for the unity that she always championed.

The finales of The 100 always close out with a new mystery, but this is the first time one has ended with such an abrupt cliffhanger. While some finales have left some people’s fates unclear, such as season 1, this is the first one where not only is a fate unclear, but the circumstances surrounding it. We didn’t know at the end of season 1 if Bellamy and Finn survived the ring of fire, but had they not, there wouldn’t have been a mystery to it. Here, there is a very big mystery.

Why? Why end on a cliffhanger like this? Simply put - because Octavia is special. Her storyline can’t be resolved in a few short minutes, and after relegating her to the C plot for most of the season, that’s all they would have been left with. But by closing out like this, the show reminds us that she is an important - possibly the most important - part of this show’s mythos, and we need a whole new season to be able to properly tell that story.

Remembering also that this will be the final season - as decreed by JRoth, for the sake of the story he wants to tell, not the network - that further reinforces her importance, because if he wants to build to a final message with the show that isn’t the grimdark “no heroes, just survivors” motto the show has otherwise operated on (which is the rumour), there’s no better way to do that than by revealing the truth of Octavia’s Saviour narrative and making it clear to the other characters.

Octavia is special. It has been a long time coming, but it seems that the other characters are finally beginning to realize just how special she is.

[believerindaydreams]

bread and roses

Angel’s POV. followup to the prior Lenten scene. 

I find myself thinking, it's a pity they'll be waking up soon. 

Not for several seconds does the potential irony of the statement occur to me, and then only in a roundabout manner. Imagining Tuco sliding out from beneath Blondie's protective grip, struggling to push away arms and robes and love, just so he can sit up and tell me off. "Eh. You think so?" 

Or- no doubt he'd be wittier. L'unica benedizione dell'inferno è che tutti sono colpevoli...a man so ready to admit his own weaknesses might fall in more easily with the kind I know. Target and assassin linked by our inescapable complicity, guilt woven into the pattern of our lives. Blondie's unappeased craving for my familiar milieu, that truth I'd known even in the face of all his lies. But I shouldn't wonder if Tuco insisted on remaining consummately himself, long after falling into our most fabled and illustrious pit of stars. 

(I make light of him. Weighed against lusty survival, even his unflagging humour ought to falter. Lose its way.)

(I don't. He'll never fall victim to it except in my absence; and I'll take better care than that.)

In truth, though: there’s a gentle idiocy about my charges just at present. Asleep with such a trusting air about them, not to be accounted for by padded walls and the patient sentinel. Tuco’s bundled his own shirt beneath him for pillow, slumbers beneath the dark blue spoils of his most recent theft. Blondie gains retribution in just fashion, claiming warmth from his despoiler. Pale skin and brown together, a study in chiaroscuro. 

Not the sleep of the innocent, to be sure; but those who have nothing worth losing except what they hold already. I don’t know how they do it. I might wish myself a folly. 

Too soon, though, they’ll be waking and their troubles will be back. Blondie’s increasingly unreadable these days, his eyes drained of colour, bleached light by the snow he’ll tramp through for hours. I know the signs of an approaching crisis, but its reach is hard to measure. 

After Easter, he says, an offer to me and a promise to himself. I’ve known my share of victims, so taken by a horoscope they’ll cut themselves to fit its narrow fancies. There’s so much in him that wants to play the martyr, yet shrinks from all its consequences. No snow-white robe survives that ordeal intact- blood and stench and ordure, how little he knew of that when we met. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked the question.

Tuco, now, he won’t ask anything. Well used to making a laugh do in lieu of anything or everything, when circumstance is against him- but I’m too familiar now with the way his desires run, quicksilver in his veins. Simple ones, mostly. Rather less so than him. 

This is what love does to an assassin; the same thought processes as ever, turned utterly banal. Willing to undergoing every risk most severe and lethal, for the sake of a cup of chocolate. Calculating my chances of dodging after an enemy sighted me, if I bore a full-laden pack to slow me down. So help me (now who’d answer that prayer?)- if Pablo hadn’t taken care to lock us in, I might be trying that door now. 

(I know who’d try to answer, if not for snoring into his own tie-dyed polo. My object of devotion has acquired a minor trinity, three round circles on his cheek imprinted by the collar buttons. Rarely have I felt so ludicrous.)

The door can’t be as impenetrable as that. My fingers itch to try it. 

Instead I turn, deliberately. Not much to look at in this room that doesn’t live and breathe. The white stone of the altar. An old stick of a cabinet in the corner, wide white flasks inside a stark contrast to its cracked and crazed glass door. Three wooden pews, carved plainly enough if in a curiously modular style- it’s enough to raise a blush, when I notice the fitted screws and matching brackets on the wall by the door. Amateur work still, but- considered. I’d have observed it before, if not too occupied peering out instead of in.

(Though Blondie might have noticed something, before Tuco settled on distraction as the better part of valour.)

A quarter of an hour later, we have another minor safeguard. My hands are sweating beneath black leather, but this isn’t the place or time to remove my gloves. Blondie, at least, knows full well how much I can accomplish with them on- unscrewing a bottle, for instance, is child’s play. 

You’d think holy water would taste sweet, or perhaps bitter as dust in my case. For Tuco’s sake I’m almost disappointed, having nothing more intriguing to report; but my thirst’s eased. Down at the gatehouse a salty fish chowder is boiling itself to ash in one of my best pots. 

A nuisance. Only a nuisance, I remind myself. Everything is replaceable, even Tuco’s best beloved pack. 

(I hope he’s forgiven me that piece of presumption. I’m sure that Blondie hasn’t; and in all honesty, he might very well have the right of it. My mentor would have chided me for an act so smugly congratulatory, so generally useless- not a gesture to even solve their problems, as she’d have accurately noted.) 

(Generally speaking, to be sure. But Tuco’s ear for specifics, that chimes better with my instincts than Blondie’s lofty generalities...I’d known it’d make him happy, that was all.)

“Oooh. Blondie’s not going to like it, you swigging the holy water like that.” I’ve missed seeing how Tuco managed himself. He’s already pulling his shirt back on, has tucked Blondie’s beneath his partner’s head. 

“It’s not communion wine.”

“No, but- still. Still, it isn’t right.”

I suppose it was the abundance of pagan froth at the old house, that led Tuco to the presumption I need tutoring on his faith from scratch. Do him justice, his reading of it is a far cry from the one I was raised to. 

“I won’t tell him if you won’t. Or about this sack of communion bread, for that matter.” 

“No jam to put on it?” Tuco jokes. “I’ll wait until I get hungry, I think. Though if you’re done with that flask, it’s not so holy now the water’s gone...Dios, necesito orinar.”

I hand it over, turn to admire my handiwork with the door; his relief is neat and copious. 

“Bread and water and somewhere to piss. My brother thinks of everything...though that idea was mine, I’ll tell you. Some cold nights, maybe you wouldn’t want to walk down the hall to the bathroom you’re sharing with two other families, maybe you just want to hide under the covers. But this is much better, the way these tops screw on so tightly. It can’t spill out like an old coke bottle.”

Poverty lies branded in him all the way to the bone, as surely as the subtle awareness of death creeps through my blood. The necessary confrontation of reality, truth too stark to softly ignore, that much we always had in common; and not at all with our thrice-named innamorato. His one great virtue- was it ever his only virtue? to live beside but not together with us, to live in our world, walk through our filth, and insist on retaining his fineness of spirit. To make us believe him, when he claimed it.

“I’ll let you explain this plan to Blondie, all the same.”

“You say that as though I haven’t. It doesn’t do to take him so seriously all the time, you know? Sometimes he just needs a good slap with a rubber chicken, that’s what.”

“...now where was that vital piece of advice, when I was all but begging you to tell me how to handle him?”

“Angel. Angel, come on. You thought I’d tell you enough about Blondie, that you’d be able to just throw me out into the cold?”

His smile’s shy and impish. My hustler, caught in the act at last. 

“Partners, you said.”

“That’s true enough,” Tuco protests, with something resembling a nascent dignity. “Don’t ever say it isn’t...”

“All right. I believe you.”

“Well, good...”

(I take it out of his hide instead, applying a lifetime’s delicacy of touch to the cause of arrant tickling; and he’s laughing too hard to even try and stop me.)

(Rather a shame really, that Blondie’s too fraught to join us.)

[themysteriouslou]

To the deep ends

I wrote this as part of an angst war between @elusetta @foofygoldfish and me. Another good motivation was noticing that there are few bunker ending fics where the deputy explores their grief following the death of their friends. So, my deputy is going to be the guinea pig of this little experiment of mine, hope you enjoy it!

The days in the bunker went on smoothly.

Or at least, she perceived them that way.

It was difficult to guess how much time had passed since the bunker's doors had closed to the outside world. Joseph had removed Dutch's body one day after she had woken up from her blackout, muttering about giving him eternal rest once and for all. The hours following it, though? They felt the same to her, without any change that would point out something anew.

One thing she could be sure of was that, if she was careless enough, she could lose the perception of time in that dark box that kept her safe from "God's wrath". She had to keep herself constantly alert to the sounds of the radio, to some errant paper that had flown from the desk where Dutch had kept his things, to the calendar that was too far away from her eyes to see. Leslie knew she could ask Joseph, and she could almost picture the scene in her mind's eye; him going and coming through the door, the rosary around his wrist tinkling with his footsteps, approaching her to give her to drink (or eat, or just to watch her without uttering a word). If she concentrated long enough, she could see herself looking at him and asking what day it was (how long have we been here?) But it wouldn't work.

She had already tried, step by step, but the words refused to come out of her mouth. Her lips were glued together, and the air in her lungs (wasted, of course it was) did nothing but remind her that she was no more than a doll whose strings had been torn apart: soundless, motionless, and useless.

What remained of those efforts was him leaving the room and her making a futile attempt to extend her hands, a plea on the tip of her tongue: stay. Because if Joseph stayed, her memory would give up the chance to torment her. Please, don't leave me. Don't go.

But he never saw her doing that gesture, and Leslie hadn't the strength to repeat it when she was in his presence. Both were tired and preferred, somehow, to coexist without really interacting with each other. A kind of symbiotic relationship, one that ensured their survival but prevented them from interacting with the person who had caused the most damage in their lives.

Isn't that right, Joseph? She thought, hearing his restless gait in the continuous room. I complied with everything you predicted, and even so, it's difficult for you to see day after day the sinner you swore to convert to the cost of your family.

The sinner that took everything from you, just as you took everything from her.

And she understood, she really did, and she didn't blame him for it.

After all, every time she made the slightest attempt to blame him, something inside immediately reared its head at her, compelling her to close her eyes, to hold her breath and wait. Wait for the surrounding sounds to die out, for the lights to flick down like a candle's flame—and then, stillness.

She had enough self-awareness to understand that her psyche’s silence wouldn’t last long. It never did. It creeped on the edges of her consciousness, reminding her of the words branded in her memory since she woke up in Dutch’s bunker.

The world is on fire and it’s your fault.

"Breathe," she whispered, the sound echoing through the empty room. Her throat felt hoarse when she took in a deep breath—when was the last time she swallowed?—and held it, allowing the lungs to expand and fill with the smell of ashes and humidity the bunker carried. It cleared her mind for a brief second, made it easy for her to listen to the pounding of her heart. She was alive, breathing and well. However, at what cost?

Joseph claimed that God was purging the earth for them, that He was making sure they received a new and blank start. A pure one, where they would replace the bad with the good. Where they could forget.

But how to start again if everything reminded her of what she had loved and lost?

She didn't even have to access her own mental space to remember it—the images assaulted her daily, regardless of whether she was awake or trying to sleep. She saw towers of fire rising from the forests. Saw the white church where everything had begun die out in a pile of dust before her eyes. Saw their faces, both known and not, frozen in time with the same widen-eyed, mouth-opened expression.

And yet, nothing could beat out the dreams.

...

Sharky was sitting next to her, roaring with laughter as they drove alongside the Henbane River, Johnny Cash blaring out of the speakers and a host of peggies following them closely from behind.

"C'mon, Les, you can't tell me you've never tried it!" She couldn't take her eyes off the road; hands firmly curled on the steering wheel, yet responded to his playful tone without missing a beat.

"Driving with music at full volume as I go through a horde of cultists? No, Sharky, I haven't had time to attempt it."

He laughed; the sound muffled by the wind as he leaned out the window and pulled his flamethrower with him. Looking through the rear-view mirror, Leslie saw the cultists trying to keep themselves out of the fire's range. It can't be helped, she mused, returning her vision to the road. I would've rather lost them the old way but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The outlaw patted her hands affectionately, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You are in good hands; Dep. Uncle Shark will teach you everything he knows."

“Only if you don’t call yourself uncle ever again.”

...

"Les, isn't it a little... too much?"

Leslie looked away from the landscape below them, raising her eyebrows in brief confusion. Looking at her through the rear-view mirror, Nick sighed deeply, releasing Carmina's controls to make a gesture with one of his hands.

"I mean that monstrosity of a bag you're carryin' in your hands."

"Pregnant women need protein, Nick," she beamed lightly, squeezing his shoulder to remind him to look forward, "I'd rather stuff your fridge to the brim than having Kim and the baby missing some delicacies to eat. That ain't to do, don't you think?"

He grinned, “You don’t have to go to all this trouble for us.”

"I want to. Now, keep your eyes on the front view—if we crash into a tree and die Kim's gonna revive us just for the sake of killing us again with her own bare hands and that's somehow an even more terrifying thought than the cultists doing it themselves."

...

It was in that moment she opened her eyes.

It wasn't the typical movie scene where someone jerks awake from a nightmare. She wasn't screaming her lungs out because of something her mind made her see. She wasn't sweating profusely, nor was she wondering if whether it was a dream or an actual incident.

She knew it was real. She knew it with the same certainty she felt when she saw those faces, mirages of a previous life where she didn't feel alone. (Where the world outside was bright and hope was just around the corner. Where she could do things right...)

It wasn't a nightmare, too. The images were too vivid, too precious to have been one. That much she did know.

Trembling, Leslie tested impulsively the shackles that had her bound to the bedpost, only to find her wrists free of the metallic cuffs. Joseph must have been sure she wasn't going to attack him as soon as he took the chains off. He must have known that she…

You’re weak, a voice uttered in her ear, a soft and deep cadence that made her think of red (the color of his hair, of his burns, of the lights in the trial rooms, of the blood dripping down on Eli's forehead). And you know what happens to the weak.

“I do.” Curled up in the bed, hands tightly drawn to her body in an attempt to stop her shallow breathing from taking ahold of her being, she darted her sight from the radio to the ceiling in quick succession until everything blurred out. “Believe me, I do.”

Morpheus didn’t look for her again, nor did he do it the following nights.

It was for the best.

Joseph was bound to notice it sooner or later.

And, in all honesty, Leslie was right to assume it would be the former option.

"You haven't been eating well," he said, as she put her meal's leftovers in a tupperware.

Her fingers twitched lightly, holding onto the food container as carefully as she could. His gaze burned the back of her head, making her want to face him. It's all on the eyes, she thought, they're called the windows of the soul for a reason.

And that was the exact reason for which she turned away every time he was near her. He would notice the slight frown in her mouth, the dark bags under her eye sockets, the tiredness of her features—she didn't doubt Joseph was a perceptive man, one who knows exactly what a person is going through just looking at them.

He would know.

And she couldn't let that happen. Not yet.

"It's just your imagination," Leslie assured him, looking at him over her shoulder. Yup, he's effectively burning holes through my skull. "I'm okay."

You've always been a terrible liar, but at least you can look like you've got yourself together.

"Now, if you excuse me..."

She didn't see the tight-lipped expression that settled on Joseph's face once she left the room, but it didn't matter.

She would get acquainted with it soon.

...

"No!"

"As you hear it! It's only a matter of time, Ladybug. The Monkey God has not forgotten me, we just have to wait." Hurk clapped his hands, visibly satisfied at his audience's stunned countenance.

The two were enjoying a pair of beers in the backyard of the Fort Drubman, taking a break from the fighting as soon as Drubman Senior’s truck Nancy —Leslie gripped the mouth of her bottle strongly, almost sneering at the thought of the traitor that sold her and her colleagues to a conflict neither of them wanted to happen. Fuckin' Nancy— was safely back in her owner’s hands. It was just her and Hurk chilling in the sun, listening to the chirps of the birds and the sound of wind through the leaves of the trees…. until Hurk deemed the silence to be boring and dreary, and started telling her stories about his exploits around the world, about being part of a Resistance group in the past and crucially helping the hero when they needed him.

She suspected Hurk embellished some parts of his story, but it truly didn't bother her. The places he went were exotic but dangerous and she wondered, in awe, how Hurk was still alive following that. Dumb luck or an actual Monkey God protecting him? No one will ever know.

"Are you still in contact with Ajay after what happened in Kyrat?"

"Sometimes, though I haven't heard of him since the county closed off to the outside world," Hurk opened his mouth, but then closed it and looked at her, furrowing his brows in contemplation. "Now that I think about it, you two are very similar. You're both bull-headed and fight like mad dogs when you see people getting threatened by others." He nodded to himself, in agreement with his own train of thought, "Yeah, you two would totally be each other's best friends, after me, of course."

Leslie shook her head slightly at his words, amusement still openly evident in her mien. "Should I take that as an insult or a compliment?”

"Whatever you wanna make of it, Ladybug." Hurk stood up, stretching up and sighing at the feel of his joints popping into place. "Now, what d'you think about going to blow some peggie stuff up?"

…

"Adjust the angle two inches to the right." Grace advised, watching her from the shadow of a tree.

Leslie nodded, closing her left eye and rotating her body slightly to the right, until she was aiming where she wanted it to be. Focus. She breathed in and pulled the trigger.

The thunderous noise of the shot made her grit her teeth and left a buzzing in her ears, but when she looked at the target, her hands tightened around her weapon’s handle in glee. Straight at the bullseye.

A calloused hand touched her shoulder. Grace was smiling at her, a proud smirk lighting her usual stoic face. “That was good, Les.”

Her lips quirked upwards, sighing deeply as she strapped her rifle to her back once more. “You’re a good teacher, Grace.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Opa used to take me to his and Dad’s hunting trips.” A wistful expression flickered in her mien. It’s a shame he’s not here anymore, her eyes wandered up to the sky, almost picturing in the clouds the solemn weathered face of a man who had been dutiful until the end, but then again, had he been alive Eden’s Gate would be shitting bricks and running to the next hill in fear, no doubt about that. “We had – have – a sniper rifle back at our house, but it was my Gramps’s and there were few occasions were we took it with us. Most of the time we used standard rifles with suppressors.”

“I see.” And Grace understood, she truly did.

The former Olympic champion gazed at her companion and observed her posture attentively. Having been in the Army made her knowledgeable of certain aspects of body language—how the behavior of her colleagues or targets changed at the drop of a hat in the face of adversity and weariness. The deputy could fool anyone else with her composed semblance, but she couldn’t fool Grace. She wouldn't let her.

“Come with me.”

Leslie looked at her, confusion briefly flashing across her face, but she followed Grace without a second thought. “Where are we going?”

“We are not far from Fall’s End. You need to eat and rest if you wanna take the cult down,” after a quick scrutiny, she nodded to herself, walking to the motorcycle stationed at the side of the road, “and perhaps a bit more practice at target shooting with that sniper rifle. I know a place for that—my Pop and I used to go there to practice our aim when we felt stressed. A change of air will do you good.”

“… Thank you”.

“Don’t mention it.”

...

Fool, you absolute fool!

Hands gripped onto the mattress underneath her body until her knuckles turned white, a way to keep herself from slipping away, to reminds herself she couldn't go back. She could still feel the wind playing with her hair as she and Grace rode through the highway, her hands placed firmly on the motorcycle's handlebar and the sight of Holland Valley's gorgeous landscape in front of her. The colors, the sounds, the warmth of the sunlight on her skin... Everything felt so utterly vivid that one might think it was reachable.

Oh, she wished it was. Please, let me return, she begged, shutting her eyes so tightly it almost hurt. Please, please, please... Tremors shook her body with the force of ocean waves, making her gasp and loosen her strong hold on the smooth textile to grasp at her neck. Count!

Uno, Due, Tre... She inhaled quickly, oxygen making its way to her lungs and brain. Quattro, Cinque, Sei... She sat up, holding her own head between her hands, giving into the structure she made to cope with the dreams. All she had to do was to breathe.

Had someone decided to seek her out, they would've found her in the darkness of Dutch Roosevelt's former bedroom, her face giving nothing away while she looked at the ground with a focused but blank stare.

She was there, but at the same time... she wasn't.

You will not hide any longer.

"I know," she muttered, digging her fingers through her hair. Flashes of people and places played like a movie inside her head.

Mary May's gleeful expression when she saw that she managed to get the Widowmaker back.

Pastor Jerome sitting next to her in his church's steps and giving her gentle encouragement to never doubt herself.

Boomer nearly barreling into her the second she returned to the town from the mountains.

Kim smiling at her from a wheelchair and putting her daughter in her hands, asking if she wanted to be the godmother.

Believe me, I know.

…

"Come on, dear, you can't tell me you haven't had any experience when it comes to hunting meat, if you know what I mean."

She sighed, pulling leisurely the line of her fishing rod back to her. "Addie..."

"Don't "Addie" me, young lady.” Adelaide chided her, and then quieted down. Perhaps she forgot what she was going to say? The hopeful tone of her thoughts was, nonetheless, swiftly stifled as the Chopper Queen looked at her once more and waggled her eyebrows, a lewd smile blooming in her face. “I worry about you, when was the last time you had a bit of the old in-out, in-out?"

That absolutely prompted the reaction she was looking for: the deputy turned to face her so quickly she nearly fell into the river. It’s a shame I don’t have a camera with me right now Adelaide thought gleefully, watching her companion making an effort to stare anywhere but at her. Of all the things that could’ve encouraged a response, this one’s the quickest yet.  

"Addie!” she spluttered, morphing into the true portrait of mortification. “Th—That’s private!”

The older woman threw her head back and guffawed, slapping her thighs as if she had heard the greatest joke ever told. “That’s a good one, honey! You can tell aunt Addie everything, y’know. And for your information, it’s a small county, no one is private here about their matters, so you don’t have to feel ashamed of it.”

"For your information, trying to fight a cult seriously lowers my opportunities to "hunt meat", as you say,” Leslie huffed, raising a hand up to her neck to rub it absently. It was warm and she didn’t doubt for a second it went red the moment she was caught off guard the way she had been.

"You're doing a lot for us, Lessie.” Adelaide touched her shoulder and squeezed, “and we’re grateful for it. I just want you to have some fun. It mustn’t be easy to be the figurehead of the Resistance and you’re so young—you shouldn’t be going through this,” her voice lowered in volume, gaze wandering to the rippling waters below them in contemplation, “any of this, if you ask me.”

They fell silent as they observed the sun melt into the horizon, both of them lost in thought—mulling over the war, their comrades and the people they had to fight to liberate their home from the cult.

“Addie?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I stay at the marina?” she cleared her throat. “Just for the night, if you…”

“Of course, sweetie,” Adelaide stood up and extended a hand to her, helping her get to her feet. “You don’t even have to ask.”

...

She should’ve known it was a bad idea from the start.

"Damn moose,” Jess cursed, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I swear they're everywhere.”

Finding a spot in the Whitetail Mountains where they could hunt wasn’t the hardest part of the day, the region being overflowing with wild animals of all kinds all the time of the year as it was. In fact, she guessed they should count themselves as fortunate: in one of the bags they had brought from the small market at the Baron Lumber Mill laid the skins of two deers and a coyote, in the other, their meat. A productive and calm day, indeed.

Or so they thought, until they heard the gunshots.

“Shit,” Les crouched down behind a bush, rummaging through her backpack till she found what she was searching: her binoculars. She felt Jess duck out by her side, waiting patiently for a report of their surroundings. “What do you see?”

“Cultists on their quads,” she pressed slightly to zoom in, furrowing her brow in concentration. “They… They’re leaving.”

“A shame, really,” Jess flexed her fingers around her arrows, as if conjuring up pulling them out and making of these peggies her own shooting targets. “Hopefully they’ll remember they forgot something and come back here.”

Leslie chuckled, standing up lest her legs went numb, and extended her hands to Jess, who accepted them right away. They were ready to part back to the mill to gather the rewards of their work.

That was the moment they noticed the mooses.

Two big, strong and shaggy mooses that looked pissed off and were looking right at them.

Fuck!

The deputy pulled her sniper rifle from her back as one of the mooses charged at her. Body tense and mind working at an alarmingly fast pace, she surrounded the hostile mammal, looking through the sight of the rifle and pulling the trigger.

The moose fell to the ground with a dull thud.

“Are they usually this aggressive?”

“Only when they’re startled by something." The huntress adjusted the angle of her arrow, squinting until her eyes became thin lines, cold blue peeking from behind her lashes.

She shot. And the beast was dead in an instant.

Leslie approached the dead carcasses, slowly and carefully.  God forbid they were still alive and decided to kick her in the face as their last act of revenge. Her hands were placed at the inside of the mooses’ elbows and waited.

Nothing. She sighed in relief, and then examined the carcasses intently: the bodies wouldn’t fit inside their bags. They were too heavy and huge for it, which meant they would have to call someone to help them carry it back at the mill. We have to skin them immediately, too. For one, it would cool the meat and prevent the sourness of the bone. For other, it’d be a lot easier to remove the hide while it was still warm. It had been years since she watched her father, uncles and Opa do it, but she would manage. She always did.

She was about to call Jess, to look over her shoulder and ask for rope, when her eyes fixed on the antlers. A little smile spread across her face, visible enough for Jess to notice it.

The younger woman tilted her head and squatted down beside her, furrowing her eyebrows in slight confusion. “Why are you smiling?”

"It's nothing; it's just that it reminds me of a joke my Opa used to tell me." Leslie smiled nervously, clearing her throat and trying to keep her face as straight as could. "Do you know why moose have such large antlers?"

Jess kept looking at her, waiting for the punchline that'd follow.

"To have better radio reception!"

Silence followed her awkward attempt to light up the mood. Way to go, Grünewald, way to go.

But then, she saw Jess’ lips quirking upwards and turning her gaze away from her, eyes crinkling in contained laughter.

Maybe the joke wasn’t as bad as she thought.

...

You were weak. The memory of a giggle ringed in her ears, a distant sound from world consumed by the flames, rising from the grave to taunt her. And you were selfish.

The dream morphed. Instead of a remote forest in the Whitetail Mountains by Jess’ side, she was standing in front of the closed doors of a church—a church she knew all too well. Eyes adjusting to the light the moon provided her with; she saw the Marshal and Sheriff Whitehorse prepared to enter the church, from where chants could be heard beyond the building’s walls. Amazing grace, how sweet a sound…

The night of the arrest. A shiver went down her spine, fear holding a tight grip on her heart.

Leslie looked at the marshal and the sheriff and the urge to grab them and pull them away from those doors was overpowering. She felt the words building inside her chest: the request to go back to the chopper, where Staci was waiting for her. You’re not going to come alive from this if you go through that door.

But her body refused to cooperate with her. She was a prisoner of her mind’s set-ups, reminders of the possible what-ifs that could have happened had she walked away. She gripped the cuffs in her hands tightly, hands trembling by the sheer force of her grasp, and went forward.

Except that, just before she entered the church, a hand touched her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. Joey Hudson gave her an encouraging smile and muttered, low enough for her to hear:

‘You’ll be fine.’

She wasn’t the Joey she remembered, the one who was filled by so much rage and pain against those who broke her.

No, she was the Joey who gave her advice about how to survive in the station without going crazy in the first try, the one who snarked at hers and Staci’s antics, the one who became her first female friend in the county.

The Joey from before.

No…

Another hurricane of colors surrounded her; the church’s doors slowly moving away as a new image replaced it.

She was running through a bunker, looking for… someone. Someone important to her. She had to find them before Jacob’s men noticed the trail of dead bodies left in her wake. She promised him she would come back for him. 

And she did.

A sheen of sweat covered her body, soaking darkly into her clothes along with the grime and blood from battling the Soldier on that mountain. Hurry! She walked into a room quickly, almost barreling into the figure strapped at the lone chair in the center of the room.

Staci Pratt opened his eyes with difficulty, the wounds in his face still leaking blood. When he looked at her, it was as if he was seeing a miracle, as if her presence were but just as dream.

‘Rook, are you real?’

Her throat tightened, swallowing down a sob as she inspected him. Oh, Staci… Sweet Staci Pratt, the first one after Whitehorse who welcomed her to the station. He had always been kind to her, even when he was teasing her at all times of the day, leaving a mug of coffee at her desk every single morning without fail. They broke him. He broke him. Oh God…

As she reached for her fellow deputy’s bonds, she was pulled away from the bunker, Staci’s hopeful face fading into black before her frantic eyes.

No, no, no!

As soon as the scene changed, Leslie found herself in the pilot seat of a truck. She saw the walls encircling the Hope County Jail coming into view, people pouring out of the structure to take care of their injured and dead.

Sound gradually started reaching her ears. She blinked once, twice, thrice—and turned on her seat to listen to the person speaking to her, hands leaving the steering wheel to rest on her lap.

Earl Whitehorse was sitting on the copilot seat of the truck, exhausted but alive, face reflecting the fondness and pride he felt for his junior deputy. His eyes wrinkled around the edges when he smiled at her, patting her hands as a proud father would to his daughter.

‘A lot of good people died, but everyone here, all of us, we’re alive because of you… and I’m damn proud of you.’

Tears gathered in her eyes at his words. She struggled with the invisible bindings that didn’t let her reach for the sheriff. There were so many things she wanted to tell him. So many, and the dream gave her the opportunity to do it. She just needed to try harder….

Just as she managed to raise her hands to him, everything dimmed out.

Until all she could see were a succession of images. Images she thought she forgot, except she hadn’t.

Cameron Burke was staring at her, a finger on the trigger of his gun. His hands were extended to his sides and his posture displayed an alarmingly openness that chilled her to the bone. ‘I told you I didn’t want to leave’; he spoke, voice carrying a dejected touch to it. She dared to glance to her right side, horror striking her chest at the sight of Virgil Minkler’s lifeless body beside the table where he and the marshal had been playing cards before.

Stop.

Tammy Barnes was giving her speech at Eli’s funeral, her voice trembling as she recalled how her dear friend helped her when she needed someone the most, the one who gave her a second chance to be useful. Once she finished, she looked straight at her and walked up until they were standing face-to-face, her eyes shining from unshed tears. ‘It wasn’t you. Eli knows that.’

I killed him, and he knew.

Tracey was looking at her through the window of the truck, a soft expression that she wasn’t used to see exposed in her mien. She didn’t think there was a more capable person to fight against the cult as Rook, not after everything she had done for them. ‘You saved a lot of people here today, Rook. Don’t forget that.’

In the shadow of a tree, in a meadow somewhere in the Holland Valley, Cheeseburger laid his head on her lap, purring happily when she scratched him behind his tiny ears. Leslie grinned down at him, placing a gentle kiss on his brow. ‘I know you’re tired, but I promise that soon all you’ll have to worry is how many salmons I’m going to bring you. You like that, don’t you?’

Peaches was running alongside her, sprinting past one of the forest trails she had accidentally found in her hunting trips. There hadn’t been calls over the radio for her, no one was in need of a rescue, and the cult had retreated briefly to rethink their strategy. Enjoying the warm rays of the sun as the autumn breeze played with her hair, the deputy halted her steps, closing her eyes and just breathing in the fresh air of the mountains. Life’s good.

You’ll be the one who decides what happens. You were the start, and you’ll be the end.

Hands reached out to her body from the dark, shaking it at a persistent rhythm. Deputy…

You did everything he said you would do. And you didn’t even know it. You had no fucking clue.

The movements intensified, trying to rouse her from her slumber.

May God have mercy on your soul.

…

She stirred awake and sat up, blinking to chase away the blurriness of her sight. Where was she?

Her hands flexed tentatively from one place to another, feeling the soft textile of the couch under the pads of her fingers. She didn’t remember falling asleep on it, but then again, neither she remembered walking away from her room to the bunker’s living room/kitchen mix.

So much for swearing sleep off.

“My child…”

Her muscles stiffened.

Oh, fuck.

“Deputy…” His voice was a whisper, but she heard him well. It was difficult to not do so, when he was at her side and blocked the bluish light of the aquarium, giving the shadow her sensible orbs needed to see. “Was it a nightmare?”

He saw her hesitate, close her hands strongly over her trousers and give out a shaky sigh.

The deputy had always tried to stay composed in his presence, to hide her emotion behind a strong and inscrutable mask she had created to give others the security they needed. The security she needed. He saw it in his church, that fateful night when the county’s sheriff department came to arrest him and pull him away from his faithful, and he saw it the night she refused to accept his peace offer.

But the grief had been consuming her for days—once he went through his own time to grieve for his siblings and his faithful, he noticed it, in every movement she did. He didn’t have to look at her face to know what was happening to her. He already did.

Joseph breathed in, and drew her in close, holding her against his heart so she could listen to the beating of his heart. Constant, even. He looked at her face and was almost startled to see her eyes welling up, figure slightly shaking in his arms. She was holding back.

He wouldn’t let her.                                                                                                 

“You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

The silence in the room was deafening for a second.

Then, brick by brick, her walls came tumbling down, leaving behind a rawness borne of an open wound that hadn’t been given the chance to heal.

As much as she tried to let it out little by little, as much as she tried to control it, the pain came out from her throat in the form of a silent howl, sobs wracking against her chest with such intensity that she clung to Joseph in an attempt to steady herself. She pressed her forehead against his skin and wept bitterly, her sight turning the world into a blur of color until all she could see was gray.

“I want to go back” she choked on through the tears. “Please, let me go back. They’re dead. They’re dead and I see them everywhere. I want to correct this, please, let me go back.”

Joseph’s arms tightened around her middle, before whispering in her ear.

“You can’t.” He stroked her hair, pulling it away from her face carefully, kindly. “They’re dead, but they aren’t suffering anymore. They’re with the Lord now, in a place where there’s no pain, where they will not lack anything. And one day,” his voice took on a fierce tone, “one day, we will meet them again. I promise you that.”

She nodded, blinking away the tears to look at the newspaper clippings and photos she had collected from Dutch’s former war room. Boomer, Sharky, Grace, Nick, Hurk, Jess and Adelaide stared at her over Joseph’s shoulder, smiling contentedly at her.

Someday, we’ll find each other for a second time. But until then… wait for me, guys.

I love you.

[likesugarandcyanide]

Invincible [Chapter 6] It Only Hurts [Katsuki Bakugou]

Chapter 1: Resolve

Chapter 2: Shatter Me

Chapter 3: Out of Body Thinking

Chapter 4: Game On

Chapter 5: Electro Heart

“Hold on just a second you two.”

Inko – Izuku’s mother – catches us at the door. We are running late, thanks to me; I forgot to charge my cell phone. However, both of us stop to pose in a quick picture together before rushing to catch the train.

Our timing is fortunate as Izuku manages to catch the door before it closes. It’s packed this morning, like most, but Izuku and I find a narrow corner near the front and move in close to free up space. We are lucky. A few seconds more and the two of us would have missed the train. I am out of breath, and looking at Izuku, I note that he is too. Suddenly, I can’t help but chuckle. This catches the green-eyed teen’s attention, inciting a cheery laugh from him as well.

“Sorry about that. My mother gets carried away sometimes,” he explains.

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Besides, it’s my fault we didn’t leave sooner. I asked you to wait on me, even though you were ready to leave.”

Izuku tells me not to worry about it, but I do. This morning I had plans to meet with and walk to school with Katsuki, but my alarm never went off. I imagine he went on without me. The blonde isn’t very patient, and after what happened between us, I doubt he wants the company.

The teen beside me deserves an apology. Katsuki chose to be rude to him once he found out that Izuku made it into U.A. High. I remember being in the middle of their argument and feeling helpless. I am with Katsuki, but I want to assure Izuku that everything will be fine. The two boys never allow me to speak, and by doing nothing, I feel like a bridge is being burned between us.

“Izuku,” I call to him. He leans closer to me as I continue. “I want to apologize for Katsuki, for what he said to you after school a while back. You don’t deserve that.”

His hand gently touches my arm. “Airi, please don’t worry.” Izuku says nothing on behalf of the blonde. I expect an explanation, but maybe this is his way of showing me how well he can handle Katsuki now that he is mature. I give him a nod, despite my feelings. I trust him wholly, and I hope he feels the same.

Minutes later, the train makes its stop. We get off and rush to the school. Not much is said between us as we navigate through the massive building towards our homeroom; class 1-A. This is the first time we’ve shared a class together and I wonder if Katsuki will be there too. Since the breakdown at his house, I never thought to ask him which homeroom he’d be in, or even if he passed the exam – I’m more than sure he did. And yet I hold my breath as Izuku opens the door. Just as I wanted, the blonde is here too. A wide smile pulls across my face.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell Izuku as I move around him and into the room. There seems to be a one-sided conversation going on between Katsuki and another student; the typical ‘two-bit extra’ insult he calls everyone he sees as a stepping stone in his way. I shake my head and walk over to them. Iida – he introduces himself as – looks appalled by the way Katsuki threatens him and turns his attention elsewhere. He quickly moves away and leaves me to speak with the blonde alone.

“I see you’re making new friends already,” I say with a laugh.

Katsuki grunts at this. “I won’t even remember his name later.” His arrogant smirk is replaced by a frown as he looks me over. “The hell are you wearing?”

I glance down at my clothes. Last I checked, I am in uniform, wearing the school’s colors of grey and green. “Is there a problem with how I’m dressed?” Nothing seems off to me.

The blonde slides out his leg from under the desk and kicks me hard in the shin. I yelp in surprise. It hurts, but I see what he means; I’m not wearing knee high socks this morning. The weather seems nice enough for me to go without, so I wore anklets instead.

“They’re within dress code, idiot. No need to be violent,” I sulk, while rubbing my leg.

Since when does Katsuki care about how I wear my uniform? He never seemed to mind before. Besides, I look no different than I did in middle school; with the exception of wearing my hair down. I playfully stick my tongue out at him, but catch myself staring at a familiar male seated beside us. Is it really him?

“I remember you,” I say loudly, pointing my finger to the blonde with the lightning-shaped strokes in his hair. “From the entrance exam, right? You finished off that 3 point robot I was up against.” The word I want to use is kill-steal, but in the exam I doubt such a thing is against the rules.

The male’s eyes light up. I see he recognizes me too. “That’s me,” he confirms. A light shade of pink dusts his cheeks. “I have to admit, I’m happy that such a pretty girl remembers me.”

I feel my face heat up at his words. Does he really think I’m pretty? I want to thank him, but another sudden whack to my shin makes me swear out in pain. The nerve of him. I give Katsuki an irritated glare, but he brushes it off like it means nothing to him and directs his attention to something across the room.

“Sorry about him,” I say with a nervous laugh, glancing at the other male. I have no clue what is wrong with Katsuki. He’s usually not this rude to me. “I’m Usui Airi by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure. I’m Kaminari Denki,” replies the blonde. He lifts out his hand for me to take, which I do.

For a second, I believe that Kaminari blanks out on me, because his eyes become unfocused even though he is looking directly at me. This feels sort of awkward, so I pull my hand from his and snap him out of it. I don’t think another person has ever looked at me so strangely before. While it seems flattering in a way, I don’t entirely know how to reply to it.

Thankfully the moment never comes, because a deep voice ends the chatter in the room by way of insult, claiming our class lacks the common sense to settle down. I follow suit and look to the doorway, where a lanky, washed-up man is standing; sleeping bag huddled at his knees. He introduces himself as Aizawa Shouta, our homeroom teacher. I realize he must be a pro hero, but I’m not sure who he is.

Aizawa reaches into his sleeping bag and pulls out a uniform. It’s bright blue with red strokes along the sleeves. The school’s initials are printed in bold, white letters down the front of the two-piece set. “Wear these, immediately,” he orders us. “And then shove off to the P.E. grounds.”

Each of us quickly take a uniform from him, and rush off to the locker rooms to get dressed. Once I am wearing mine, I pull my hair into a lose bun and follow behind a girl with pink skin to the massive pitch outside the school. I stand close to Katsuki, feeling more nervous than before. The urge to take his hand washes over me, but I cross my arms over my chest and reframe from touching him while on campus.

When the entire class is present, Aizawa informs us that the reason we are here, instead of the opening ceremony is because he plans to have us do an apprehension test. I remember doing one in middle school, but without the use of my quirk, since they are barred from use. I’m happy to see that the department of heroics plan to teach its students to their full potential.

“The softball pitch, standing long jump, 50 meter dash, endurance running, grip strength test, sustained sideways jumps, upper body exercises, seated toe-touch. These are all activities you know from middle school, naturally,” Aizawa explains. “Physical tests where you were barred from using your quirks.” He mentions that Mext – the ministry of education, culture, sports, science and technology – is responsible for not getting around to keeping track of average performance levels. It means without the use of a quirk, a person may have a lower record of performance. I assume Aizawa wants to test our quirks to see how strong we are.

“Bakugou,” Aizawa calls. “How far could you pitch a softball in middle school?”

“67 meters,” the blonde replies.

I remember this. Katsuki excels in all the things he does, especially when it comes to physical activities. If he is allowed to use his quirk during this, I can only imagine the score he is going to rack up.

Aizawa motions him over to a circle 2 meters in diameter and tosses him a softball. “Try using your quirk this time around. As long as you don’t exit the circle, anything you do is fine,” he explains.

Katsuki is given the approval not to hold back. He stretches his arm and curls it back, pitching the ball. His quirk causes a shockwave that sends the ball soaring into the air, nearly blowing me back with the effect it makes. A sharp beep is heard as Aizawa lifts a small metric reader up for us to see. It reads 705 meters.

I clap happily for the blonde. Our class seems excited and in awe of what is to come. Unfortunately for us, that all ends when Aizawa sees we are more thrilled to be able to use our quirks than worrying about the hero training.

“All right then,” he says menacingly. “In that case, new rule: the student who ranks last in total points will be judged hopeless, and instantly expelled.”

Is he serious? I think he may be. Looking around, my fellow classmates have determination set in their eyes. Some seem nervous, like Izuku and myself, but I know we can make it. I bite my bottom lip and clutch my fingers into a fist. I won’t come in last, and I will not fail.

The first trail Aizawa puts us through is the 50-meter dash. I am a little nervous about this one, since I know my water quirk will not be much help. However, I have years of track on my record, so by ending with 4.12 seconds, I manage to shave off a few minutes from my middle school record. I feel content with this, but I know at some point I need to show off how well I can use my quirk. My only problem is, when do I use it?

Trail 2 and 3 pass with ease, but I still don’t get the chance to put my quirk into action. On the 4th trail – the pitch – I decide to augment my distance a little. The diameter of the circle is within my range, so I surround the ball with water from the holster around my leg, and focus on holding the ball up with my mind. It keeps suspended at the tip of my finger, and with a push, I shoot the concentrated water out like a bullet. Once it leaves my range, the water falls, but the ball continues to spiral into the air. The reader in Aizawa’s hand goes off and reads 237 meters. Not too bad, but also not too good.

I return to Katsuki’s side, and Izuku is next to pitch. He looks nervous and I can understand why, he’s not doing so well. The last three trails nearly fail him. But I know he can do it.

“Midoriya’s not doing too well, is he?” Iida is the one who spoke. He, a girl with brown hair, and a flamboyant blonde are next to us.

Katsuki choses to answer. “Of course not. He’s a quirkless fucking guppy,” he answers while pointing his finger at the boy. I pull down his hand, telling him not to be rude. The blonde doesn’t listen.

Iida seems to reply something to his comment, but I don’t hear it. Instead, I keep my attention on Izuku as he curls his arm back to pitch. However, the moment he lets go of the ball, it soars a few meters and then falls to the ground with a thump. The reader spots him at 46 meters. My heart aches for him. While Aizawa pulls him aside to talk, I reach and grab Katsuki by the arm.

“Do you really think he’s going to get expelled?”

“No doubt about it,” he answers with a grunt. His hand pulls mine from the sleeve of his uniform. “The hell are you so worried about? You managed to stack some points in this last trail.”

He’s really terrible at this, but even so, I smile. Besides, I’m not worried about me at the moment. I’m worried about Izuku. I want him to pass. Aizawa seems to allow him a second chance to pitch. He winds back his arm again and throws, but before the ball leaves his hand, a shockwave sends it soaring at full speed into the air. I can’t believe this. What is this power? Could it have been a quirk?

“I – I don’t understand,” I whisper in alarm. Izuku didn’t have a quirk. But then how do I label this? It undeniably is a quirk of some kind.

All of a sudden, I feel extreme heat pouring off the blonde next to me. I am in awe at the horrified expression on his face and take a step back. This isn’t going to end well. No sooner than the words cross my mind, he flies into a rage. The effect of his quirk at close range is enough to knock me off my feet, but a pair of strong arms keep me upright.

“Careful now,” the calm voice of my savior says. I glance back and see a familiar face. It’s the spiky-haired male who saved me during the entrance exam.

“Hi again,” I stutter nervously.

He smiles and helps me to stand. I want to thank him, but I’m more worried about the events yet to come, once Katsuki gets his hands on the curly-haired teen. Thankfully, Aizawa stops him before then, capturing the blonde with his scarf – he explains that it’s a steel wire alloy woven with carbon nanofibers, a special capturing weapon.

“We’re wasting time.” Aizawa says, releasing Katsuki from his quirk. “Prepare for the next trail.”

I stand motionless as a statue and watch. Izuku seems fine, other than a swollen finger. He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he passes, but I do. He’s avoiding me. I don’t believe this. How could he do this to me? Tears threaten to pour from my eyes. Can he not trust me to tell me about this new found power? I hold back a sob and get in line for the endurance run.

It’s the end of the first day. School is finally out, and I am tired. The remaining 4 trails made me doubt my quirk, seeing as I didn’t use it as much, other than to hydrate myself and a few others. My determination helped keep me afloat, and despite the struggle, I end up ranking 9th out of the whole class. Izuku is dead last.

Fortunately for him, the whole expulsion thing happens to be a lie – round one goes to Aizawa. Class 1-A passes. For obvious reasons I don’t feel very happy about it.

I follow behind Katsuki off campus, tottering slowly without so much as a care. The day seems nice, but I can’t focus on anything but the events of the apprehension test. Izuku doesn’t trust me enough to tell me about his quirk. No, I need to let it go. But the more I think about it, the more I want to cry.  

I bite my bottom lip and stare at the back of my boyfriend’s head. He says nothing about earlier, but I know he is thinking about it too. Katsuki may be a hot-head, but most of the time he keeps his worries to himself. I’m not like him. I can’t seem to understand why Izuku would keep this from me – he has a quirk. Doesn’t he know that I will be happy for him?

My eyes burn with tears. I just don’t understand it. I can’t help myself; I begin to cry. My body shivers with sorrow. I stop to collect myself, but a hand takes mine and pulls me forward. I lean against the blonde’s chest and sob loudly.

“Stop being such a damn baby. People are starting to stare,” he insults me. His warm arms wrap around my back.

I try to speak, but all that comes out are my cries. I bury my fingers into the fabric of Katsuki’s blazer and hug him tightly. Would he lie to me too? Does he really care for me? It hurts to think about.

“Deku doesn’t need you as a friend. Do you understand me? He doesn’t deserve you.”

I agree with a nod. The sobs go silent the longer we stand here. But Katsuki never lets me go. Could it be true? Izuku and I are close, but maybe I don’t need him like I thought. Does he still consider me a friend? I don’t know the answers, but I do know how much I want Katsuki to never lie to me. I need him more than ever right now.

[hitchell-mope]

Villain ruled auradon

What would happen if the vks and aks were swapped

maleficent rules auradon

Belle and Adam ruled the isle but the curse was never broken so Ben is half beast

Mal said the isle kids can come to auradon to see how the better half lives

Ben Doug Lonnie and Jane get out of the carriage to see well nothing that wasn’t in the film except auradon prep is made of obsidian marble

Maleficent picks up on the spark between Mal and Ben and evil like me is done to counteract that weakness

The Sofia Carson version of rotten to the core is of course the national anthem of auradon

Audrey doesn’t exist because of course again the curse was never broken

Auroras lifeless body is suspended above the castle once every year so the heathens of the isle know what happens when you cross a fairy

Mal decides ben can be her consort so the cookie happens but of course the human sadness angle is lost because maleficent never thought to include it in her book

Did I mention doesn’t happen but instead an exceedingly creepy rendition of once upon a dream is sung between Mal and Ben

Ben is much better at being evil this time around

Mal decides to skip a dress fitting for her coronation as the head of the council of four to drag Ben to the enchanted lake

If only still happens but it’s her weighing her option of wether to go follow her mother and keep Ben under her thrall or release him and let the others go too

Then she falls under the ice …

Ben jumps in after her and does the love thing and she responds with not knowing what it is

Day of coronation arrives and Mal can’t find Ben her bodyguard Carlos deville say he’s with her mother turns out all that distilled goodness in the hero kids keep the villains young that’s why chad is just a head in Tremaines HairSalon (what? her daughters needed a dummy to practice on and with the 4 fairy godmothers Wanda the hair always grows back no matter how scalding the oil used is)

Maleficent plans to sacrifice Ben (her choice)

Lonnie (shan yus choice)

Doug (evil queens choice)

And Jane ( jafars choice)

In a ritual which will allow them to keep their youth for another century

Gothels idea she’s still mourning the loss of the flower after Rapunzel jumped out of the tower to get away from her and broke her neck on impact

Mal with Carlos goes to find jay the heir to the throne of agrabah (he wishes) and Evie the supposedly ugly offspring of the evil queen (like the villains give a shit about their kids emotional welfare)

Ways to be wicked then happens and the cryptic lines that didn’t pan out due to the fantasy mal was having are given more emphasis here

Mother always knows best - mockingly sang by mal as it what maleficent always said to her when she refused to to the line

Show her pass every test - again the supposedly ugly daughter was told she’s never good enough

Hear her voice in my head - Carlos barely remembers cruella because maleficent had some puppies she kidnapped maul her Horace and jasper to death (did you really expect a sadistic fashion designer from the twentieth century to survive a face off with the mistress of all evil) all Carlos remembers is her cackling voice and the faint but strong smell of nicotine he can never seem to wash out of his hair or off his skin he was taken in by maleficent to be a punching bag/body guard for mal and he sort of evolved from there

Evil is the only real way to win - jafar became sultan through conquest Aladdin never got out of the cave

Mal decides her mother has to be stopped because Ben is her claim and no one else’s and she deluded herself that she and her mother were always going to be a team no matter what happened

Maleficent has no idea what’s going thinking as always she has her daughter under her thumb

Mal plays along feigning excitement saying “it more then I ever thought it would be it’s not just a coronation anymore mother it’s a coup”

The penny drops

Maleficent backhands the girl which causes Carlos to lose it and go into attack dog mode and almost rips maleficent apart but one wave of her sceptre ensures hes crumpled against the wall

That sets mal off …

CUE THE DRAGON BATTLE

While this is happening Carlos cuts though the binds holding the captives and tells them to run Jane needs no prompting and hightails it Lonnie Doug and Ben stay and help fight

The fireworks Lonnie sets off finish Shan yu

Jafar is stabbed in the back with with his own staff wielded by jay

Evie manages to slash her mothers throat with a shard of the no longer working mirror

Ben talk mal down from her rage but it doesn’t work until he says he knows about the potion she used on him that it didn’t work and it didn’t have to frankly

This calms her down long enough for Carlos to hand Doug the vorpal sword and run maleficent through with it

When the dust settles and the bodies are cleared away

Mal says “our parents made their choice now we make ours”

And asks where they isle kids prefer to stay

Ben Lonnie and Doug prefer auradon not for what it is but for what it could be but poor Jane is traumatised by what she’s seen and rather would go home to her mother no matter how poor they are

This integrity is a foreign concept to mal but she accepts janes decision nonetheless and has Carlos and jay escort her to the carriage

She also asks Doug Lonnie and Ben if they’d like their parents to join them on auradon and they gladly accept and mal offers Ben and Adam the addition of trying to have the beasts curse lifted Adam accepts but Ben prefers his shall we say extra coverings he’s never had to shave and he’ll be damned if he starts now

Instead of set set it off the ending dance party song is wonderland by Natalia kills complete with table strutting because for some reason it’s a necessity to the fan base

Now you all may be wandering about the sea three and I’ll cover them later

[italicwatches]

My Hero Academia, season 2 - Episode 25

Okay, big E3 announcements over, now it’s time for more anime. It’s My Hero Academia, episode 25! Here we GO!

-PREVIOUSLY ON My Hero Academia, a rivalry between Katsuki and Shoto’s been brewing, mostly one-sided, since they got to this school…And now, it’s finally coming to a head.

-Opening!

-PRESENTLY ON My Hero Academia, Shoto’s waiting…Remembering so many things. His mother’s face, that day. Deku’s words in their fight. And the big question…When did he start holding back his left side? It’s been so long, he can barely remember how it started…

-And then Katsuki bursts in, having mistakenly gone to the wrong waiting room. But now he’s all mad and embarrassed and covering up his embarrassed with more mad. And when Shoto tries to focus on his own troubles, Katsuki gets even more mad, until he sets off a boom right in front of Shoto, because where are you even looking?!

-…Deku asked him the same question. …Hey. You two knew each other since you were kids, right? Was he like that back then, too?

-Ohhh shit. That was the one terrible thing Shoto could have asked. Now Katsuki’s got a fresh ball of complicated anger that sees him stomping off, intending to claim his place on the top…

-Episode 25: Todoroki Vs. Bakugo

-Then it’s down to the stage, for the big battle…And, uh, Katsuki’s looking like he’s about to crack, guys.

-Shoto starts the match with his classic ice spray…But Katsuki just starts whipping out explosions like mad in a machine-gun burst to hold himself stable! When the dust clears, and a huge wall is between him and Katsuki…Katsuki just starts exploding his way through it, until he comes out at full force! He claws his way out with an explosion…And when Shoto comes for him, he flips around with an air burst, grabbing onto Shoto from the guy’s left! He’s trying to force Shoto to use his flames!

-Shoto manages to catch himself on an ice wall, riding it around in classic ice-power fashion…When he catches Katsuki, and he’s about to kick on fire…Only to hear his father’s shouts to use his fire…And that clenches Shoto up. He just flings Katsuki across the arena, unwilling to yield to the man who caused him such suffering…

-Which only sends Katsuki past his big bold rage, and into letting out all of the complicated shit. His need for a victory where he knows he overcame his opponent’s best. His need to stand higher than Deku. His whole messy, unexamined issues with success as worth. There’s a lot of shit we could unpack about Katsuki, is what I’m saying.

-But instead Deku starts cheering for Shoto, and that flips the switch in Shoto’s head. All his doubt and fear collapses in on itself, as his fire comes to life! Katsuki comes in on an explosive cyclone of power, but Shoto holds…Until, his mind catches up in memories and flashbacks…

-HOWITZER IMPACT! Katsuki comes in hard, kicking his explosions FIERCE with all that spiraling…And when the dust clears…

-Shoto’s hesitance happened for a moment too long. He’s collapses against his far wall of ice, past the boundary. Katsuki’s on him in a flash, grabbing at the unconscious Shoto’s body…Because the only thing worse than losing, is winning because his opponent held back. It’s the one thing that can push Katsuki to the edge, can truly make him doubt himself, as the hatred and sorrow get mixed up into a huge horrible ball…

-Until that pink mist rolls in. And he collapses right next to Shoto, courtesy of Midnight’s Quirk. She calls the match in Katsuki’s favor, with him thus the winner of the first-year sports festival…

-And when everyone’s relatively recovered, it’s the award ceremony for the first-years. Katsuki’s had to be chained, bound and gagged at his first-place post, because he’s trying to get off of it and get a rematch. And if it wasn’t a spoiler, I’d have totally used that for the episode shot. Also, Tenya would have been here, but he had to leave for family reasons.

-Tenya only told Deku and Ochaco, and the officials…He didn’t know any details, as he got on the next train out…

-While at the arena, All Might appears to deliver the medals! And the audience goes wild, as he nobly doesn’t just place a medal on each one, he gives them advice.

-To Fumikage, you fought so well. All you need is to be able to hold your own against foes that can negate your Quirk, and you’ll be something great.

-To Shoto, what led to you not using your fire? And Shoto admits, he had a moment of self-doubt, of fear…He wants to be a hero, a symbol like you, All Might. But there’s something he has to settle inside himself, before he can get there…You’ll get there, Shoto. You’ll get there. Whatever it is you face, know you have dear and precious friends there for you.

-And finally, to Katsuki…Who gets un-gagged, and is really really mad about how this went. The most mad. But take the medal all the same, and remember this day…

-And to all of you, remember! This was just one possibility! You all showed you have amazing heart and skill! Any of you could have ended up on these podiums, had just a few moments played out differently! To reach the top is worthy of praise, but even the striving for it is proof of your courage! Fight on, master your Quirks, and next year you may well be the one standing here! Now, all together…

-He tries to thank everyone for their effort, but everyone else wants the school motto. And he loses the moment. Dork.

-Eventually, the festival is over, and the students get a few days off from school to rest and recover. If anyone sent in an application to request your internship, you’ll get it when you get back. Of course, there was one soul not there…

-Because Tenya made it to the hospital at last, so panicked that he broke the rules about not running in the halls. Tenya broke a rule, that’s how serious this is. He gets to see, and…

-Oh, god. His brother’s in bad shape. He’s alive, but only just…Had they gotten him here minutes later, it could have been too late…And all he can say, as he struggles to cling on, is that he lost…

-Next day. Shoto’s back home…And immediately heading out. Much to his sister’s panic at the ida of doing this without their father’s knowledge or permission…Because he’s not just going anywhere. He’s going to see mom.

-He walks through the town in silence, remembering their last encounter…The last words he heard his mother say…He stayed away for so long, because he thought his presence would hurt her…But…But now he has to. He can’t hold this off any longer. And so, for the first time, someone comes to visit Mrs. Todoroki…

-She’s there in her room, sitting and looking out the window…And stares, stunned, when he steps in…As Shoto, inside, makes a single decision. A vow. Whatever his father says. Whatever the rest of his family, whatever the rest of the world says. He’s setting this right. If he wants to be a hero…He can do nothing less.

-Credits.

-Aftercredits. Ochaco is back home at her little apartment in the city, when she discovers her door’s…Unlocked? What the hell—OH GOD THINGS COMING! Wait, it’s her parents. They came to throw her a big party for doing so well! And now that she’s got some separation from the events, she can actually enjoy it.

-Over at Deku’s place, he’s trying to make his left arm work good enough to eat food, while his mom says how she lost consciousness from shock five times, and twice more from dehydration…But also she has a lot of worry and concern, seeing just how dangerous that Quirk he now has is. His right hand’s still in a mess of bandages, as Deku quietly realizes how much he has to learn…Because he can’t keep making her worry like this. If not for himself, then for his mother, he has to bring One For All fully under control, and not unleash those limb-breaking overpower shots again…

-And at Katsuki’s place, he’s conducting a one-man war on plaque.

Damn, that back half. I’m glad we got that after credits stuff, because we needed it. I can only hope things go well for our young heroes…Everyone’s found themselves at a crossroads, at a new starting line for their hopes and dreams…

We’ll just have to see how that goes. Come back for it next time, in episode TWENTY SIX of My Hero Academia! Wait for it!

[illusinia]

Even The Strongest Can Fall

Summary: Poe Dameron has strong emotions. When he loses everything, those emotions consume him.

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

Bright light burned as he opened his eyes, so much so that he had to close them again. He tried again a moment later, opening his eyes far slower in anticipation of the light. The room swam as he glanced around, a small room with a bunk across from where he lay and little else. It was a room he didn't recognize, but when he tilted his head to try to glance around, he had to shut his eyes once more.

Everything felt unsteady and tilted. Unnatural. A grogginess he never experienced swarmed his mind and filled his senses. He blinked up once. Twice. Tried to clear his vision to no avail. Everything spun and he could have sworn the room tilted.

It took a second for him to realize it wasn't just in his head; the room had tilted. He wasn't on the ground, he was in a metal room he didn’t recognize. Panic filled his chest as the adrenaline from before hit, making his head spin worse. He shot up, every muscle in his body screaming at him to move, run, get to Finn.

Finn.

“Poe.” A voice called his name, hands gripping his shoulders. He tried to fight, tried to push free, but the grip was tight. Too tight to break. “Poe! Please, calm down.”

His eyes snapped up, brown meeting hazel. It took him a moment to recognize the person gripping his arms was Rey, his mind reeling as he tried to break through the fog that seemed to surround him.

Words hovered on his tongue, thick in his mouth. His lips wouldn't respond though; wouldn't form the shapes he needed to speak. It took a moment for him to swallow and successfully voice his thoughts. “Finn. Where's Finn?”

For a moment, Rey just stared at him sadly before her hands slid down to take his. “Poe, I'm sorry. He didn't make it.”

For a moment, his mind blanked. Finn was...dead? No, that couldn't-

An image flashed in his mind.

Rough stone caves, shaking ground. Pounding boots. The first order was coming and they had no way out. Snap, Jess, his squadron, they were all dead. Lost when the hanger exploded. His hand was in Finn’s, pulling the other man along as they tried to find a way out. The others are behind him, he can hear them running with them. There’s a few blaster shots, but he can’t tell if anyone has been hit.

Ahead, the vulptices swooped through the tunnels, bounding and dodging between the rocks that littered the floors. Then they hit the rock wall, a collapsed portion of the tunnel trapping them in place. The storm troopers were coming behind them; he could hear their boots getting louder and louder. He started reaching for his blaster, ready to push the others against the wall and start firing. There was no way he was going to go down without a fight.

Then light began to flicker into the tunnel, slowly filling it as the boulders lifted into the air and parting before them. He didn’t even think about it as he moved aside and started ushering people through the opening. They might need cover fire and he was not going to let anyone else die. Not if he could help it. He had tried to get Finn to move too, but Finn had hung back, pulled out his blaster to offer cover fire. The storm troopers had appeared as the last of the resistance leaders were coming into view. General Organa had been near the end. He’d seen a flash of light from behind them. Then she’d fallen.

In that moment, he’d frozen. He’d watched General Organa hit the ground, fear shooting through him like a punch to the gut. He'd never experienced anything like it and it had rooted him to the spot. It hadn't rooted Finn though. He'd run back to try to reach her. A second bolt of light, and he'd fallen, too.

For a second, he had only been able to stare at his fallen lover. Then the anger had hit. The blinding, crushing anger. He'd started towards them, but someone else had grabbed him and pulled him back. He'd fought hard against the hands trying to drag him away until he felt something stab into his shoulder. Dizziness had overtaken him and the hands holding him had started dragging him away. He'd fought and fought, but the darkness had been stronger. His last sight had been Finn and General Organa’s bodies as the stormtroopers had swarmed over them.

“Finn,” whispered Poe, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as tears sprang to the corners of his eyes. “And Leia. General Organa.”

“I’m sorry Poe,” whispered Rey, her hand coming to cover his hand. His head snapped up, meeting her own tear-filled eyes. Of course, Rey had been just as close to Finn as he had. Possibly closer. She would feel the loss just as much as he did. “I’m so sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” muttered Poe, releasing the sheets forcefully with one hand to wrap his arm around her in a half hug. He tried to press down on the anger and despair clawing at his insides, but the crawl of it didn’t dissipate. It pressed against his chest, his heart and his soul. “It was mine. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t alert enough.”

“Poe,” murmured Rey, shaking her head as she leaned backwards a little to meet his gaze. “No, it wasn’t your fault. It’s the First Order’s fault. They’re the ones who killed them.”

The truth of her words echoed in the anger and grief that seemed to fill him. It was true, it was their fault. And his. He didn’t protect them, but he wouldn’t have had to if it weren’t for the First Order. If it weren’t for Kylo Ren and his damn general, Hux. Their thirst for power.

One of Rey’s hands slid against his shoulder, gripping him tightly. “Poe.”

He blinked, eyes returning to hers, brown meeting hazel. He couldn’t form words though; he didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say in that moment? What could he say that wouldn’t come out hateful or angry?

“We’re going to get through this Poe,” promised Rey gently, her fingers squeezing his shoulder. “I’m still here. We’re both alive and we’ll defeat the First Order. I promise.”

He couldn’t do more than nod, his throat tightening as the grief settled further, threatening to overwhelm him. She must have seen it, because she kissed his forehead gently before standing. “Rest, Poe. I need to fly the Falcon. I’ll come back later to check on you.”

Then she was gone, the door to the bunk sliding shut behind her. Silence filled the room, broken only by the pounding of his blood in his ears.

Tears filled his eyes in the wake of her departure, the grief momentarily overtaking the anger. They ran down his cheeks, soaking the blanket as his shoulders shook with his silent sobs. Finn was gone, the man he loved so much, torn away in a second. And Leia, the woman he’d looked up to like a mother after his own had passed, was gone, too. They were both just… gone.

Anger crawled up his spine, replacing the grief in his chest. Anger at himself for not protecting Leia and Finn. Anger at Kylo Ren for causing all of this.

It flowed through his veins, burning everything else in its wake, and he latched onto it. Anger was better than the soul-crushing grief beneath it that threatened him. Anger he could use.

And he would use it. He would bring Kylo Ren to his knees, make the man beg for his life. It was the least that bastard deserved and Poe was just the man to deliver it.

Above, the light embedded in the ceiling flickered and cracked.

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

Smoke choked him. A metallic taste filled his mouth. His ears rang with the echo of a cry, a last shout before death had claimed the monster at his feet. The scent of dust and metal filled his nose, nearly choking him with the smoke as he attempted to regain his breath.

Blood pooled on the floor, slick and viscous. He thought it might be on his face, too, the smell and taste of it were so strong. It nearly choked him, probably would have if he weren't still so keyed up.

His heart was still pounding, breathing harsh and hands shaking as his eyes remained locked on the body scattered in pieces across ground before him. A man he'd cut down in rage with the lightsaber humming in his hand; a weapon he didn't know how to use. Black fabric clothed the body, now stained with blood and broken only by pale skin and an unruly mop of dark hair. Ren. Ben. His once friend turned monster, now dead by his hand. The thought struck a cord and he had to look away, his eyes trailing across the floor.

Once shiny and black, a mark of the heart of the First Order, the smooth onyx colored metal was dulled by dust and burn marks. Scorches covered the ground, a testament to the battle that had just occurred; short scorch marks from his blaster and long gashes courtesy of the two lightsabers in the room. One was shaped like a cross and lay by its Master's unmoving hand. The other rested in his hand, a blue blade casting light in a circle and catching the glint of blood where it pooled on the ground feet from Ren’s body..

Long strands of dark brown hair mixed with the red, breaks in the otherwise shiny surface. Long dark hair. Rey’s hair. Hair he could follow back to her pale face and lifeless eyes. Eyes he could no longer meet. Another loss, another blow, courtesy of the man who lay dead at his feet. Ren had cut Rey down, despite the fact she had done nothing but try to protect him. Rey, the only one left he could lean on. The one person holding him together.

Dings echoed around the room, small cracks as chunks of debris and metal flicked against remaining structures, made airborne by his rage. Ren lay dead at his feet, retribution for all he'd taken from him. Jessika. Snap. His squadron. His friends.

The General.

Finn.

Rey.

He'd taken them all from him. Taking Ren’s life didn't help though. The anger, the rage, still crawled beneath his skin. Something shattered nearby, like the light in the room had when he'd woken on the Falcon from the drugged sleep that had been forced on him.

Killing Ren hadn't taken away the pain. There was no sense of accomplishment, no relief. The darkness still hovered there, embracing him. Calling to him. Daring him to draw more blood. To make every member of the First Order suffer as he had been forced to.

It called to him as he stood surrounded by the blood of those he knew with a borrowed lightsaber in his hand, the blade flickering from blue to red.

[donewithjeon]

Downfall [19]

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 8,785

Genre: Assassin AU

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26

The week following the disappointing outcome of the Gimpo Airport mission passes by in a blur. The days elapse in a jumbled mess as if you’re watching scenery shoot by from within a speeding vehicle, but once the brakes are applied and the dust settles behind you, you’re able to organize your thoughts on the events that have occurred.

The first few days were utilized to their full potential as your team vigorously flushed out the rest of the points of interest that Taehyung had marked on the map. The locations were scoped out with the utmost speed since you only had a limited time frame to act. You knew it wouldn’t take long for the enemy to catch on, but you didn’t expect to have already exhausted your upper hand so early in the game.

To hit the remaining areas more efficiently, the organization deployed another available team in the vicinity to help with the endeavors, but their findings were just as good as yours. The enemies emptied out the places before you could get to them, leaving you to walk into an abandoned site each time. The traces of their rushed escape were evident in the scattered belongings that lingered on the floors of the motel rooms and storage facilities, but those scraps weren’t what you were there for.

The tension rose each time you returned to headquarters empty-handed with not even a tip to offer the officials, and you could detect the increasingly darkening expressions of your teammates, some being more ostensible than others. You guys were on a losing streak, and by the end of the scouting spree, you were left with nothing but frustration and an itching irritation from the enemies being one step ahead of you every time—so close, yet so far.

With no leads to further your search down that path, the organization was forced to focus on a different method of advancement.

The warehouse owner, Kang, was taken into the dungeon promptly after your run-in with his maroon-haired employer. Initially, you were hopeful to get at least some kind of direction out of the craven man, but that hope was crushed in the team meeting a few days ago.

“The note that Kang handed over to the unknown target had his bank account information on it,” Jin explained to the rest of you guys, relaying what Jimin was no doubt able to squeeze out of your underground tenant. “Apparently, the other party said that they would help him out with the situation and reimburse him for the trouble they caused, but when we checked his bank account earlier today, it was cleaned out.”

“They took all his money?” you questioned, making sure you were hearing correctly.

“It seems that way.”

Whoever hired Kang to store the weapons had only ever contacted him through physical notes in his mail box; that was where he received all of his instructions on where to go and what to do. He claimed to have never met any of the masterminds behind the operation and that the workers who had arrived at the scene to carry out the transportation of the goods had supposedly just been forgettable, part-time henchmen.

In the hours following the warehouse’s divulgence, Kang had received a sudden and unexpected call that had briskly filled him in on what had happened. They had asked for his bank account info at that time, promising to wire him some money so that he could evade the authorities who were most likely on their way to bust him. Scared out of his wits, he hadn’t dared to even think about selling out his employer—if he had, greeting the police at his front door would have probably been the best-case scenario. More important than his fear, though, was his greed, the trait that got him into this entire ordeal in the first place. He told his employer that the only way he would give them the numbers was in person—that way, he would get some sort of guarantee that they were going to take care of him, that he wasn’t disposable like the many provisional henchmen.

Needless to say, Kang was a tool through and through. Yes, he was blindly loyal, driven by cowardice more than reverence, but in your organization’s eyes, it was just a foolish trait—incompetence as its finest.

Even after the convoluted mess of confessions from your only lead, you’re left with a whole lot of nothing by the end of the week.

Still, not all is lost. The enemy is being cornered as each day passes, and as a result, they are becoming more and more careless. They were already fairly sloppy from the beginning, but just a few more slip-ups, and you’re sure that you’ll be able to crack down on them straightaway. With less places to hide and more eyes around the city on the look-out, they’ll need to come out sooner or later.

Mr. Shin is betting on the former.

“This is an important event not only for our business partner but for us as well.”

Your boss is seated behind his dark oak desk while you, along with your teammates, are lined up in two parallel rows in front of him; Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi take the front as Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, and you stand fixedly in the back. It almost feels like the equivalent of being called into the principal’s office to be reprimanded for deplorable behavior.

The past two decades have done a number on the older gentleman, and his wrinkles seem to have multiplied, each one becoming deeply set in his face with each new recruit he took under his wing. You can’t say for sure how old he is now, but if you have to make an estimate, you would guess that he is well into his 70s—in the least, he sure looks like it. His skin is leathery yet pasty, if that’s even a conceivable combination, and the ratio of gray hairs to black hairs has turned in overwhelming favor of the former, but his eyes still hold the intensity to them that makes him seem like the ever persisting stronghold he was in the past.

Mr. Shin seemed larger than life the first time you met him, but then again, everything and anything seems more colossal in size and presence when you’re a child. Even so, your current impression of him hasn’t changed much since then, and as you stand before him in his spacious but bare-bones office, you feel smaller than ever.

“I trust that I don’t need to repeat myself, but I will do it for the sake of posterity. We are currently at a heightened state of alert, so we cannot afford to take any risks.” He steadily scans the team with a scrutiny that seems to constrict your entire being whenever you make contact with his all-knowing pupils, but then he stops his gaze at a particular point. “Or make any mistakes.” It’s hard to tell whether he’s staring at Namjoon or Yoongi, but when you see Jungkook stiffen in your peripheral vision, you realize that the answer is neither.

“We understand, sir,” Jin replies with the utmost professionalism. It’s something that you yourself probably wouldn’t have been able to pull off, yet it flowed so easily past his lips.

“Good,” Mr. Shin commends in a very unimpressed manner. “You will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning, so I expect everyone to be on time. Do your best not to delay the rest of the team.”

With that austere message engrained in each of your minds, he dismisses everyone to turn in for the night. Wonderful pep talks like these from Mr. Shin are definitely rare, but what’s even rarer is the fact that the organization is in high alert at this moment.

The last time you remember this warning being issued was around four years ago when a drug kingpin was threatening to destroy Mr. Shin and everything he owns. Unlike the wanted man you are going after today, the head honcho of that association was anything but subtle about his plans. He was severely unhappy with the way your business was interfering with his—that is, you were killing off loyal customers and potential suppliers. Unlike the objective of your organization, his goals and intentions were purely harmful and nothing less than disgustingly seedy—you knew about all of them because he wouldn’t stop mouthing off about it to everyone he knew. The drug lord was a thorn in the side of the city, toxic waste that needed to be disposed of, and after a few arrangements and a very busy couple of weeks for you and the clean-up crew, he no longer posed a problem.

You never saw an empire fall so easily and violently, and it’s only a matter of time until your current enemy suffers the same fate.

The role you have been assigned for the mission tomorrow can basically be summed up as a glorified bodyguard. Mr. Shin is attending an important meeting being held at the Seoul City Hall, and with the enemy still at large with the looming likelihood of striking again, your job is to make sure no one even dares to come close to him.

You still have no idea who or what the threat is—you’re not even sure Mr. Shin does either—but he is definitely not leaving anything to chance. You guys are going to be at the forefront with another organized team from the Yongsan division. You’ve met this particular group a few times in the past—they’re also the ones who lent their hand in the previous scouring of the map locations—but you’re only at the point of recognition, not so much acquaintance. Still, you trust in their abilities, and along with the weapons you will be equipped with, you’re certain that the security of the perimeter is in good hands.

Being armed in a public setting, especially in daylight, is also a rare occurrence indeed, but it is a necessary precaution given the recent circumstances—at least, that’s what you were told. You have to admit, this major defensive maneuver seems like a bit much, and some of you are less than appreciative of being “mall cops” for the day, as Yoongi so aptly put it, but you would be wrong in thinking that this is all to protect one person.

The mayor of Seoul, Moon Seunghyun, will also be present—he is Mr. Shin’s aforementioned business partner, after all.

Mr. Shin has always been chummy with people in high positions, but it isn’t that big of a shock considering that he himself holds the title of the CEO of one of the most successful news outlets in all of Seoul. Building trust with a politician, as much of an oxymoron as it sounds, definitely has its perks for the company. Likewise, you aren’t surprised that Mayor Moon is keen on taking advantage of having a powerful media mogul on his side.

The incentive for amity is the highest for both parties, and judging by their meeting scheduled for tomorrow, the mutually beneficial relationship is going splendidly.

Now, it’s your job to keep that peace intact and stop anyone who attempts to destroy it.

Much to your delight and Jin’s relief, no one is late in the morning. In fact, most of your teammates arrived earlier than the set call time, efficiently walking through their own preparations before heading down to the elected van without having to be told what to do.

“It’s a busy morning,” Hoseok says to you in the armory as you’re securing the sheath for your knife onto the back of your waist.

“The commotion will die down once we leave,” you reply with a playful quirk of the lips. “Try not to miss us while we’re gone.”

He heartily scoffs at your comment. Since his services aren’t needed for this mission, Hoseok won’t be joining the rest of the team today, but you don’t think he’s taking the news too hard.

“The only thing I miss right now is the silence.”

Your smirk lightens up into a smile as you take a hold of your jacket to slip it on; in anticipation for the weather and mobility, you decided to grab one out of your closet with a thinner, more breathable fabric. You do a simple spin-around to make sure your knife is fully concealed and that everything else is in place.

“You’re good to go,” Hoseok assures you with a quick thumbs-up. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

You chuckle at the reciprocation of your joke before bidding him goodbye, knowing very well that what you have in store can probably be considered the polar opposite of fun. Short of any more distractions, you make your way down to the parking garage to locate your team’s vehicle for the day; it is a large, white van used by the news crews of the company, except this one remains unlabeled and unidentifiable from the exterior.

Jin is already in the driver’s seat when you arrive, dressed to the nines with what you imagine is the most casual suit he owns. It’s been a while since your supervising officer has accompanied you on a mission like this. He was originally the designated driver for group jobs in the past, with good reason, so this view of the back of his well-groomed head is one that’s exceedingly familiar to you. Along with being a chauffeur—some of the others like to revive this joke every so often—Jin was in charge of more or less leading the team when in the field, but ever since he got promoted into the office, another teammate has been doing well to fill in the shoes of keeping the team in check, probably even a little too well.

Speaking of your responsible brother, Namjoon has taken the liberty of occupying the one and only passenger’s seat beside Jin in the front of the van. That means that you and four other people have the pleasure of jumping in the back with all the equipment lining the walls. There’s still plenty of space in the hindmost section where the machinery ends, but it’s still a bumpy and uncomfortable ride sitting on the metal floor of the moving vehicle.

Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook are all settled in their own spot, each person donning a different but similar outfit for the mission that consist of jackets and hats to cover themselves up from wandering eyes, prying lenses, and last but not least, the sun’s rays. From what you can sense, sweat is already starting to form on your brow, and you know it’ll only get worse once it’s time for your mask to go on.

Anonymity is crucial for missions in extremely public areas such as this one, so the less of you that is revealed, the better. Face masks are a must, especially with helping to hide your lip movements when speaking into the comms. Frankly, they are also commonplace in the city, whether it be a disposable medical mask to filter the air you breathe or a washable cotton mask with an identical but more fashionable purpose. Although neither of those serve as the true reason for your team’s use of the accessories, onlookers will be none the wiser.

While the other members are scattered on the spectrum of disliking the item and not minding it at all, Jungkook is usually the one to share in your annoyance with the necessity, but he hasn’t said a word or even spared you a glance all day. In fact, he put on his black mask well before getting in the van, and he even went as far as to put on a black beanie to match, letting his dark hair peek out from the front and rest messily above his eyes. You remember him preparing wordlessly, almost broodingly, this morning, making sure to tuck his handguns into their holsters before throwing his black denim jacket on and over the weapons to finish off his look. It’s not an ideal outfit for the tail-end of the summer, but it really doesn’t seem like he cares much—there are far greater things on his mind, and none of them include the weather.

Sometime during the less-than-stellar drive to the mission location is when you usually start to hear bickering amongst your teammates, but today, not one complaint is uttered between the five of you in the rear.

Mr. Shin is definitely on full defense mode these days, and as a result, the tension is pretty high throughout the rest of the organization. This serious atmosphere enveloping your team is an understandable sight to behold, expressly after the verbal beating you guys received last week for the mess of events that ultimately led to the maroon-haired mystery man getting away. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, and you know for a fact that Jungkook feels the strongest about the failure to grasp a decent lead. Even now, as you examine the solemn features on his face, you can tell from his unwavering gaze directed at the floor that he’s mentally going over all the ways in which he can redeem himself.

“Alright. Everyone out.” Jin’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, serving as the only indication that you have arrived at your destination, for there are no windows to glance out of in the back. Everyone starts shifting in place, putting on their masks and lifting themselves up from their haggard positions. Namjoon turns around from his seat to take a better, more thoughtful look at you guys before speaking up.

“Get in position, and keep your comms on at all times.” He emphasizes the second part of the order, eyeing Taehyung with some extra fervor before looking at you. You know better than to start an argument about how you’re only guilty by association, so instead, you take your mask and hook it over your ears to cover your grimace.

The back door is popped open, bathing everything in the morning sunshine, and you exit the van after the rest of the team. As soon as you shut the door behind you, Jin begins to drive off, no doubt going to find a good spot to implement his part of the job. He, along with Namjoon, is staying inside the vehicle to work out communications between the members of your team as well as the other. They are also in charge of surveillance, and this is all with the help of the technology that you were cozying up to on the way here. This way, they will be able to tap into the CCTV in the surrounding area and be able to provide better feedback to everyone on foot.

Exactly as you were ordered, the five of you start going your separate ways but all towards the same general direction. You were dropped off in a side street near the rear of the point of interest—it’s not too far of a walk, but you know that Jin and Namjoon need to get closer in order to be more effective. The roads are bustling with cars and motorbikes alike, but it’s a different kind of buzzing in the air that hooks your attention. All you can perceive at first is the back of a sleek, grand structure, but as you slowly follow the sidewalk around the building and into the clearing, you’re able to see the source of what you’ve been hearing.

“It’s so damn crowded,” you hear Yoongi say, his displeasure coming through your earpiece as clear as day.

“It’s the first day that the new City Hall is open to the public. It’s to be expected.” Namjoon replies indifferently.

“After four years, they finally finished the new building, huh?” Jimin responds back, making you wonder if it really has been that long since the development began. You’ve never been to this part of town before—there’s no need to, really—but you remember seeing all the potential designs for the structure during the early stages of planning. “It’s shorter than I thought it would be.”

The lack of a witty comment about Jimin’s observation is shocking; with an easy set-up like that, you expected Taehyung to swoop in like a hawk with a wisecrack or two, but there’s nothing but silence from the other end. Although, if you try really hard, you can probably hear him biting his tongue.

During this infrequent moment of truce within the comms, you take the time scan your environment and navigate your way to your post. You were shown the floor plan of the area beforehand when everyone was being assigned their own sectors to patrol, but seeing everything in person is a completely different story.

Seoul City Hall.

It resides at the heart of Seoul, as it should. It has its own trapezoidal plot that almost looks like a concrete island surrounded by streets on all four sides, but the vehicle lanes are the only thing isolating this assembly from the myriad of tall office buildings around it. There are actually two structures here, for the old City Hall stands just in front of the new one. Rather than being in a straight row, they are considerably offset from each other, so you are able to get a good view of them both from the front where you are currently passing by.

The old City Hall is an Imperial Crown Style building made from taupe stone. It is much wider than it is tall, appearing to have around four levels, and is adorned with a large analog clock that is posted onto the center of the topmost edge of the exterior wall, not including the protruding watchtower that extends up another level in the middle of the roof. It looks very much like an official governmental construction, but it makes sense since it was built in 1925 for that purpose, if your memory of childhood history class serves you correctly. While it has now shed its former title of City Hall, it has gone through some renovations to take on a different title: Seoul Metropolitan Library.

The new City Hall was raised in the back and a smidge to the right of the old one, becoming one of the most perfect juxtapositions of the past and present you have ever encountered. The modern structure looms over the hall-turned-library at thirteen stories high, and the majority of the exterior is made of transparent but reflective panels. The overall shape of the structure is hard to describe; it almost looks like a giant wave about to crash over the old building, and the glass is tinged a deep blue or green depending on the way the light hits the surface, much like the ocean itself.

It’s definitely architecturally intriguing and you wouldn’t mind admiring it for a while longer, but you’re nearing the end of your short walk to your designated division of the area, so you tear your eyes away to regard the opposite direction. When you were focused on something else, you were able to pay less attention to the large crowds you were winding your way through, but now as you go into the thick of it, it’s something that you can’t avoid, as with your tedious job.

In front of the two buildings lies Seoul Plaza; it’s an impressive expanse of open space, except today, you’re more impressed by the turnout that is populating the space. There is a sizeable oval range of grass in the middle where families and couples are having picnics and lazing around the makeshift park. On either side of the lively field there are rows of pop-up canopy tents of various colors that you assume are for the information booths and food stands for the event today. They all seem to be swamped with visitors of all ages who are either lining up or strolling along. It’s to the point where you can’t even see what some of the stalls are providing, but you don’t have time to even care about taking a peek.

Your job is to keep an eye on this enormous crowd.

It’s not an easy feat by a long shot, because with a gathering of this size, there’s a better chance of things slipping past you. It is because of this reason that your team, sans Hoseok, is here with your other buddies from the Yongsan division in order to cover more ground. The latter is dispersed closer to buildings and also within, whereas your team is taking up the rest of the outdoor region.

The objective is simple and one you’ve heard more times than you can count: be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. You were told explicitly not to make any obvious advances unless you are absolutely sure something is going wrong, and it was underlined that you are to retreat if things get out of hand. The way that your instructions contradict not just your presence but the presence of the guns and knives concealed on everyone’s bodies adds even more ammo to your ever-growing heap of unanswered questions. Even so, you understand the need for subtlety and restraint when it comes to being in the public eye, and since there will be several other press companies covering the opening of City Hall, that need is amplified tenfold.

After completing a number of your patrolling rounds consisting of casually dodging congested zones, pretending to be interested in the brochures you’re handed, and murmuring occasional updates to Jin and Namjoon, you’re beginning to sweat an indecent amount under your mask. The weather is milder than it has been this past week, but since you typically only work during the night, being out in this sun is still too warm for your tastes.

You wonder how Jungkook is faring in his getup, or any of the other members for that matter. You only spotted some of them in the sea of bodies once or twice, and you haven’t heard much from them the entire time other than an “all good” or a “same here” every thirty minutes or so. Surprisingly, you have to say that the mission seems more grueling without the regular back-and-forth between your teammates. Not to mention, you feel like your eyes are going to start spinning if you have to keep up your laser focus and visually dissect this mass of faces and bodies for any longer.

Stopping beside a tree to utilize some of the shade, you allow yourself a few moments of relief. You want nothing more than to free yourself from the shackles of your excessive layers and constricting setting, and even though a couple hours have passed already, you know you still have quite a bit more to go—the giant clock on top of the library reminds you of that each time you steal a glimpse of it.

The schedule you memorized and have to follow has to be dealt with meticulousness. You are to continue general guard duties until 2 P.M.; that’s when Mayor Moon is supposed to grace the citizens with his presence and begin the official welcoming ceremony. From what you’ve seen in the news, he has been traveling all over the country for his campaign tour these past few months, but since the opening of his new office is an important occasion that cannot be missed, he is taking a brief break from his itinerary to be here today. There’s still an hour or so until that event starts, which means that you have a little less than that until you all have to head on over to your second positions around the main stage where the mayor is going to step up onto.

Constantly going over the plans in your head is well and good, but it doesn’t help in making the hours go by faster. In fact, it probably causes each minute to feel longer, but before you can even finish your thought, the problem is erased from your mind in an instant.

And a greater problem replaces it.

From the corner of your eye, you detect a strange movement within the blur of moving figures, but you’re not given the chance to examine it. A loud bang rips through the air—it sounds like a single firework that has gone off, and you’re sure that the civilians around you will make that assumption, but you’ve heard it a million times before to know precisely what it is.

A gunshot.

There’s no doubt about it as you hear an equally jarring noise of the bullet whizzing by your ear as it barely misses you. Your reflexes immediately kick in as you duck down without another thought and leap forward to press up against a nearby metal trash bin as soon as you identify it as the best place for cover.

“What was that?”  Jimin abruptly snaps, echoing your thoughts.

You peer over your shoulder to the place you were just standing, and while it takes you a few moments to find it, you see the undeniable mark on the tree where a bullet has embedded itself into the bark.

“Someone just shot at me.”

Some of the pedestrians walking by are openly staring at you in confusion at your bizarre behavior and crouched position. People around you seem painfully slow at reacting to the noise, obviously not grasping what exactly the source was. They’ve probably never even heard a real gunshot in their lives, so coming to the conclusion that one just rang out in public is most likely unfathomable. To those feeble-minded folk, you’re just a strange girl with a strong fear of pyrotechnics.

“Where did it come from?” Namjoon asks with urgency.

Taking a chance since the offender missed you once already, you peek out into the scene from the side of the container. You can see and hear that there’s a rise in activity near one of the masses towards the left. It’s difficult to identify the shooter with all the movement, but just then, a familiar back comes into view that begs for your attention. Your eyes land on his nape, and you recognize the bit of burgundy hair that is exposed from under his black cap.

“It’s him—the guy we saw with Kang,” you hastily announce. “Black cap, army green jacket. He’s retreating from the northeast to the southwest, crossing through the center of the plaza.”

You’re just about to set off and pursue him, but you realize that the center of the plaza also means the center of the crowd. The man seems to have decided to flee rather than fight after the first shot, but if you jump out of your cover to chase after him, there’s a chance that he’ll feel provoked and open fire again. Seeing all the innocent bystanders in the area, that scenario would be the epitome of things getting “out of hand”.

“We have eyes on him. Everyone get back to the vehicle.” Jin’s orders are concise and steadfast, eradicating any stress for you to make a speedy decision for your next course of action. You’re on the opposite end of where you know the van is located and there isn’t much cover for you to duck under if the enemy has the gall to attack again, but you have confidence in your agility.

It’s now or never.

You rise to your feet and promptly begin dashing along the northern section of the plaza, avoiding any pedestrians and curious gazes you’re receiving from them. You don’t even make it ten strides before you hear more gunfire. Your heart drops with each crack that slices through the air and hits your eardrums, and your immediate reaction is to get down on the ground, but something is different about these shots. They’re distinctively louder than the first, but the absence of the bullets buzzing past you means that you aren’t the target this time.

“Jungkook, what the hell are you doing?!”

Your heart drops even further to a personal low as Yoongi’s alerting voice freezes you in your tracks. Could it be possible that Jungkook is stubbornly going after the man again? You spin around to face the source of the noise, wholly ready to jump in and help your teammate if he’s in trouble.

That’s when you realize that the gunshots aren’t coming from the enemy.

In the distance, Jungkook stands in the middle of the grass field, his arms extended out in front of him and a threatening pistol gripped in his hands. He must have sprinted up from his post at the southeast sector to intercept the absconding adversary, and it looks as though he has the man in his sights. You’re not able to tell whether or not he has landed a hit yet, but it doesn’t matter because he starts to open fire again—right into the crowd.

The plaza erupts in mayhem when the inhabitants finally understand what is going on. Confusion turns into panic like a flip of a switch, and the roar of screaming and the swarm of running figures bombards your senses as everyone desperately tries to get away from the scene.

Except, not all of them make it.

Jungkook is shooting mercilessly into the field of victims devoid of even taking a second to care for precision—it’s like he just needs to see the wanted man fall, and the rest is merely collateral damage. You watch in horror as bodies start to hit the ground, and you can only hope that all of them are doing it to avoid getting hit rather than the other unsettling possibility.

The black mask Jungkook had on since the morning is doing a good job of covering the majority of his face, but you are still able to see his eyes. There’s an intensity in them that sparks with a greater flame each time he pulls the trigger, and you’re almost afraid to imagine what sort of sinister expression he is holding under his mask that matches the feverous glower.

From what you can comprehend, he’s dead-set on taking out the enemy and enacting revenge for failing the previous mission, but the issue is, he is seeing everyone around him in this very moment as the enemy. To him, they are all rings of a target, and the wanted man is the bullseye he has to hit no matter what.

“Jungkook, stand down!” you hear Namjoon yell. “Put the gun away and fall back!”

There’s a frenzy in the comms that matches the one around you, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to be paying it any mind. Your heart is thumping in your chest at such an enormous rate, the pressure is actually starting to feel painful, and your breaths are cut shorter than usual, as if there isn’t enough oxygen to fill your lungs. You realize that it’s because your legs are impelling you forward, moving on their own into an improvised sprint, but this time, taking you straight into the fray.

Your other teammates are most likely already near or at the getaway vehicle at this point, but you can hear shouting through your earpiece that indicates that some of them are heading over here to try and sedate the situation. They’re going to take a while to get here, especially fighting through the wave of people fleeing in the opposite direction, so as the one closest to the scene, you know you need to do something.

Before you, all the civilians are putting forth their best effort to evacuate the area, although they’re not succeeding in doing it efficiently. You think you see someone running completely the wrong way, but when you take a closer look, it clicks in your mind that the man is deliberately rushing straight at Jungkook from behind. He looks to be an elderly man, which rescinds your suspicion of him being an accomplice to the enemy, and by the way he throws himself into the tackle with no inhibition nor technique whatsoever, you figure out that what you’re seeing is a selfless act to stop the aggressor. It’s too bad that his heroic deed is overturned in one fell swoop as Jungkook swings his torso around to deliver a solid blow with his elbow, knocking the older fellow onto the ground.

Everything Jungkook is doing must be by instinct, almost performed primitively, because he doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the unsuccessful hindrance. It’s like he’s shrugging off a fallen leaf that flew onto his back as he continues on his way like nothing happened—it’s as if he’s in a trance, unable to take his eyes off the objective.

“Stop him!”

You definitely don’t need to be told twice.

You don’t even slow down to contemplate your actions—there’s no time. Your footsteps are light and muffled by the soft grass as you approach Jungkook’s backside, and at the last second, you veer off to his left. Before he’s able to react to your sudden appearance, you take the momentum of your maneuver and swing your leg up and around to disarm him, knowing that this is probably the only way to do so, considering his tenacious grip. Thankfully, the impact causes him to release the weapon, and you watch as it goes flying over to the side, skipping off the ground once before coming to a complete halt in the greenery.

You managed to knock his gun out of his hands like you were hoping to, but in the few moments it takes you to regain your center of balance after the dash and strike, Jungkook makes a move with his right hand for something under his jacket. You’re about to talk some sense into him, but he doesn’t provide you with an opening to speak your piece.

His years of training must have kicked in like an impulse, because he promptly unsheathes a small dagger to replace his lost firearm in the shortest amount of time he can muster. Like a movement he has practiced several million times over the span of his training and missions, there’s no hitch or hesitancy in the reactive swipe he begins to take.

The moment you catch the glint of the knife, you do your best to dodge the unexpected attack as he slashes down at you. Unfortunately, his range is wider than you anticipated, and while you are able to escape the fatal zone, his dagger still finds purchase. You witness a sickening pop of the sharp point breaking skin, cutting through your thin clothing to sink into your flesh. You feel the edge of the blade trail down your back for a little longer before it breaks contact and you’re tumbling forward onto the ground and away from Jungkook.

Luckily, you think you were able to avoid the brunt of the attack, and after pulling yourself up and taking a knee to steady yourself, you try to register what just happened in the span of mere seconds. The only excuse you can come up with for the unwarranted aggression is that your mask may have caused you to be unrecognizable in the heat of the moment.

This would be a good explanation, if he even bothered to look at you.

The ringing of shots resumes as you lift your head to take another look at the person who is supposed to be your ally, not your foe. Jungkook has a 9mm in his hands, a backup pistol he carries regularly in case something happens to his main firearm, such as getting knocked away during a bout of close combat. He’s right back to where he was before your attempt to subdue him; his focus is solely on the wanted man, whereas the things happening around him are obstacles he just needs to push out of his way using one means or another. While you and the other man who tried to ambush him are left in his wake, he continues down his path to maintain the line of sight he has with his true target.

This is probably the worst case of tunnel vision you have ever seen. Jungkook moves further away from you with each passing second, but you remember the emotions etched into his eyes in that split moment before he removed you from his pathway. He knows better than to pull a stunt like this, but there is something terrible happening in his mind, like a broken record that is stuck on the command “kill”. He has gone off the deep end, and for the first time in your life, you feel that his presence is menacing.

At this rate, it looks like the only way he’s going to stand down is when everyone is dead—or when he is.

He needs to be stopped.

That’s the only sentence that’s playing in your mind as your eyes land on the Desert Eagle nearby that was chucked onto the grass when you kicked it from Jungkook’s grasp. Keeping low to the ground, you shuffle over to retrieve the weapon cautiously but swiftly. The metal object feels heavy in your hands, and when you lift it up in front of you, you make sure to have a tighter grip than usual—you don’t want this 50 caliber pistol flying out of your hands because of poor handling.

With each step Jungkook takes away from his trail of destruction, his guard is lowered. Almost all the civilians are avoiding the oval strip of grass like the plague, giving you an unobstructed view of his back. He isn’t paying attention to you or the countless curses that are being shouted in the comms.

If you want to take a shot, now’s the time to do it.

You take aim at Jungkook’s back and guide your hands toward his right shoulder before lowering your targeting even further. You’ll just clip his arm so that he snaps out of his killing frenzy—it’ll be no big deal. Not only is it the fastest solution, but it is necessary given the consequences of letting him go on any longer than he already has. He is putting the people around him in danger, but more importantly, he is putting the entire organization at risk—this is protocol.

You have to do this.

The exact moment you line up your shot, staring down the barrel of a gun that seems too big in your hands, your mind tells you to take it—but something deeper within you creeps up to try and make a compelling counter.

“No…”

The word echoes between your ears, and at first, you think it’s one of the members or even a bystander calling for you to stop what you’re about to do, but you’re horribly mistaken. The female voice rose from a dark and hidden corner of your memory, sounding as clear as the first time you heard it.

In the blink of an eye, the image of Jungkook’s back morphs into the shadow of a man you once aimed at almost two decades ago—your mother’s murderer.

You thought you had outgrown these flashes that used to haunt you in the past, but this one appears so vividly as if it’s replaying before your eyes, you feel yourself at a loss on how to deal with the abrupt and unsolicited trip down memory lane. Your whole body freezes as you’re transported against your will back to that fragment of time, but unlike a steady cruise down the road, you find yourself hydroplaning through all the emotions existing in that moment. Then, like a slingshot, you’re thrown forward through the developments since that fateful day—all the strength and courage you fought hard to build up, the rigorous training you endured to overcome your faults, the promise you made to yourself that you would not let something like that happen again.

All those years of regret.

Not letting another precious second pass you by, you immediately give the trigger a harsh tug. The gun jolts loudly in your hands, and the strong recoil from the shot blasts a gust of air into your face, releasing pressure from the bullet exiting the muzzle at a tremendous speed. Just like the trigger, you’re pulled back as well, your mind skidding back into the present to an abrupt halt—but you are too little, too late.

It is only after the deafening crack of the deed you just executed that the world becomes clear again, and as you regain focus on the scene before you, your eyes widen in realization that Jungkook is facing the wrong direction, having misaligned himself from your initial aim. His body is turning towards you, and you have no choice but to watch helplessly as the bullet soars through the air and lodges itself straight into the left side of his chest.

Instantaneously, he appears shocked by the impact, and as if thrown off balance by the powerful shot, he stumbles on his feet in the process of pivoting to face a different direction. He then sways backwards too far for comfort, and with an audible thud, he falls down onto the grass below him quicker than you would have ever expected, especially from him.

Just like that, the pounding of your heart stops. The screams and cries around you become white noise. All movement in your vision turns into an indistinguishable mosaic around your fallen teammate. You don’t even feel like you’re in your own body anymore. Your whole being is iced over, unmoving and unbelieving of the incident that just unraveled in front of you—because of you.

You just shot Jungkook. Not only that, but he’s lying on the ground.

And he isn’t moving.

Slowly, you start to lower your borrowed handgun, unable to bring yourself to get up or take your eyes off of his motionless body, even as familiar figures come rushing onto the scene with rapid-fire commands and responses. Jin is kneeling down next to Jungkook—he must have abandoned his post at the van in order to personally assess the situation—and judging by the way Jimin is helping to heave Jungkook onto Jin’s back, your supervisor must have deemed the body transportable. It’s not like you guys have much of a choice anyway; you aren’t just going to leave him there and let him potentially get into the wrong hands—or worse.

A gust of a shadow casts over you, blocking out the balmy rays of the afternoon sun that no longer have an effect on you and the chill rushing through your veins. You can detect the muddled words of a discomposed man, but you can’t understand the meaning of the drivel as your attention stays glued on the now empty spot on the field where a crimson blotch has stained the blades of green grass.

Suddenly, an incredibly strong grip clamps over your wrist, yanking you back into reality. Your peripheral vision is no longer a haze, and the noises of the disorder surrounding you pierce your eardrums with heightened affliction—specifically, a gruff and demanding voice.

“Come on.”

Yoongi’s tone is low and muffled behind his mask, but there’s no denying a hint of the order seeping out like a growl between his teeth. You lift your chin up to stare at his face, barely being able to locate his eyes under the bill of the white cap pulled tightly over them.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” you breathe out. “I just—”

Before you can continue with your pathetic monologue, Yoongi pulls your arm up with such force, you feel like your shoulder is going to pop out of its socket. Nonetheless, he successfully lifts you out of being a useless heap and onto your feet.

“We need to go—now.”

Yoongi begins to run in the direction that he came from, and you find yourself following briskly behind him as he basically drags you along, his vice grip unrelenting around your wrist. Soon, your team’s van comes into view, and the moment you get close enough to the rear, he wrenches the door open and practically shoves you into the vehicle.

You scramble to recover your composure as the rest of your teammates piles in after you. You press yourself all the way up against one of the machines and away from the back, trying to take up the minimum amount of space you can. Once everyone is in, the door doesn’t even have a chance to close all the way before the vehicle lurches forward and starts speeding away from the chaotic scene.

But there’s no escaping the utter chaos that is inside the van.

Jungkook is laid out on the metal floor, the bottom of his shoes grazing one side of the wall, and Jin is hovering over his body, busily doing what he does best. Your supervising officer is no doubt unmatched when it comes to treating wounds, and having seen it all from broken bones and punctured organs alike, he proves time and time again to be the unspoken team medic.

You can only see his back as he’s working, and due to the location of the injury, he prevents you from seeing anything that is happening above his current patient’s waist. Jimin is on the other side of Jungkook, propping his upper body up slightly so that the blood loss isn’t so severe. Although, you can’t tell if it’s working or not.

Shouts assault your hearing from behind you that consist of a storm of orders and profanities, the latter coming mostly from Yoongi in the sole passenger’s seat. That’s when you realize that Namjoon is the one driving, and as if proving your revelation, he proceeds to make a particularly sharp turn that has everyone inside holding on for dear life.

You see Jin’s body shift to the side as he’s thrown off balance, and in that split second it takes for him to return back to his original position, you are able to get a glimpse of Jungkook’s face. His mask is off now and his eyes are open, staring blankly up at the bare ceiling of the van.

Your mind is as empty as his expression as your view is obstructed again. You’re unable to go through the possibilities of what that means or what to think—your senses are on overdrive and heading to the brink of numbness.

Out of nowhere, a warm hand places itself onto yours, making you flinch from the startling contact. Diverting your attention away from the hectic trio in the back, you look beside you to see Taehyung’s soft eyes staring back at you, his mouth forming the syllables to gently call your name. He slowly lures you out of your daze with his kind and knowing gaze, and you finally understand what he is trying to tell you.

“You can let go.”

Your head drops down to stare at where his palm is draped over your hand, the hand that is still holding onto the Desert Eagle with whitened knuckles. You unfurl your fingers as you’re told, and they ache from the strained grip you were maintaining all this time. Almost immediately after the weapon is loosened from your grasp, Taehyung slips his palm under yours, intertwining your fingers together while removing the gun altogether with his other hand.

You’re aware that you are now squeezing the life out of his hand, but he stays resolute and unfaltering in a way that makes it seem like it’s serving the purpose he was planning. He’s trying to keep you stabilized, and in the back of this vehicle that feels more like a warzone than a news van, you couldn’t be more grateful.

Taehyung proceeds to mutter a few words to you with the intention of relaxing your frayed nerves. He’s speaking barely above a whisper, yet his proximity to your ear is enough for you to catch every single sentence. You stare straight forward as his voice swirls around your head like an entrancing lull meant to calm you down, but your world is starting to spin so much that it feels as if you’re about to spiral deeper than he intended for you to go. Even through this turmoil, you don’t dare let go of Taehyung’s hand, because with it and the reassuring words he soothingly repeats to you, he’s giving you the solid grounding you desperately need to anchor yourself.

“Don’t worry. Everything will be alright.”