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violettelueur · 4 years ago

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— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE TWENTY ONE || JUJUTSU KOSHIEN

↳ featuring : basically everyone at this point from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of violence + mention of injuries + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 20 april

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 4.4k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : nonstandard

↳ next episode : jamais vu

↳ barista’s notes : let me admit, i ain’t confident in this chapter since i started school again, but i hope you enjoy this episode and thank you for being so patient with me as i try to fit tumblr into my schedule with school ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only.

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter.

2.5. for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique : hopefully this video is slightly better...

Destructive Curse Spell Number Thirty-Three : Sokatsui (6:00-6:07) (blue lighting explosion - Itadori Yuji)

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing.

this is Y/N outfit when she came into the baseball game (blame twitter)

“How much longer are you going to stare at her? It’s creepy”

Snapping out of his daze, Gojo quickly looked up from your sleeping figure to find his stoic student (who was now sitting up) looking at him with a deadpan expression before he turned to look at your sleeping figure as well with somewhat of a worried expression, wondering what caused you to be knocked out since what Fushiguro could recall was that the last time he saw you, it seemed like you were well and confident before he was carried away by Panda.

“Is it bad to worry about my daughter?” Gojo questioned with a hint of a teasing tone before looking back down at you with his small smiling turning into a straight line.

“Student to be exact, but I guess not after what the curses were after,” Fushiguro quietly mentioned causing Gojo to once again, look up to view Fushiguro with a confused expression painted on his face, trying to convey that he didn’t have a clue on what his student was trying to say. “The special-grade was after L/N...but I don’t know why,” Fushiguro instantly declared as if he was answering to his teacher’s perplexed expression leading to Gojo sighing in frustration before taking one of his hands out of his pocket to stroke your hair as if it would bring you some comfort in your dreamless slumber as he then processed to remove his other hand from his other pocket to reveal a carton of orange juice before placing it on the bedside table.

“Is that so?” Gojo asked rhetorically, before making his way towards the door since he was informed that there was going to be a meeting with the Jujutsu Tech principles and sorcerers that were involved with the whole Exchange Event incident.

However, before he was able to grab onto the handle, the wooden door violently flew open showcasing his other students Itadori and Kugisaki on the other side with a box of pizza in hand leading Gojo to smile at them both.

“Oh Gojo-sensei! What are you doing here?” Itadori asked once he comprehended that it was his teacher blocking the way to see his two other classmates.

“Ah~ I was just visiting Megumi and Y/N before I go, make sure to not make too much noise, I’m sure Y/n would really appreciate it,” Gojo answered with a cheerful tone, leading Kugisaki to tilt her head to the side to realise that you were sleeping - much to her disappointment.

“She’s still recovering?” Kugisaki then questioned, leading her teacher to look at her before explaining that you were knocked out due to using an excessive amount of cursed energy within a short amount of time causing Kugisaki to nod to his little lie since he didn’t even know why you were extremely distraught when he came to collect you.

“I’ll be going now, so see you later~ don’t wake up my precious daughter!” Gojo states with a playful tone, before waving his hand to all of the first-years leaving them to themselves with a warm box of pizza in hand.

ꕥ

“Next up are the casualties: three second-grade sorcerers, one semi first-grade sorcerer, five assistant supervisors, and two cursed storehouse guards. They’re all sorcerers who were standing by at Jujutsu High and working separately from Gojo-san and Principal Yaga. We’re waiting on the report from Ieiri-san, but we’re nearly certain it was the work of the cursed spirit that Nanami-san encountered before,” Ijichi explained as he was looking down at the document sheets he had in hand to inform all the sorcerer that was in front of him about the situation at hand.

“Tsk,” Gojo tutted in annoyance while leaning against the door with his lower face tucked into the collar of his sorcerer uniform.

“Do you think we should share this information with the students and the other sorcerers?” Utahime asked as she turned to her colleagues.

“No,” the Kyoto principal: Gakuganji quickly answered, as the fellow principal from Tokyo: Yaga explained that it was better for this information to be among the higher-ups as he didn’t want to cause anymore panic to the students residing in the area right now as well as not wanting any of the curse users in their captivity to know that a few special-grade objects that been stolen from the school premises.

“Has the curse user we captured spilled anything?” principal Yaga queried, leading Ijichi to explain that it wasn’t hard to get the certain curse user to talk at all since he was quite cooperative but all they managed to receive was irrelevant information that was deemed somewhat unhelpful to them.

“However, he claims that he only participated in the attack because he was ordered to as part of a deal,” Ijicji added, before informing everyone about the monk that the curse user was talking about when he was interrogated.

“An androgynous monk kid with a bob cut? That ring any bells?” MeiMei asked, as she turned her head slightly to peer at Gojo, who was right behind her.

“Nope! We sure he’s not spouting bullshit? Is there any sorcerer skilled at getting confessions?” Gojo answered before asking his questions since he knew he couldn’t be too sure if the curse user was even telling the truth in the first place.

“How did a cursed spirit and outsiders get through Tengen-sama’s barriers in the first place?” Utahime questioned, as she was still confused on how so many people were able to get in without any problems and alerts.

“That was probably the work of the special-grade cursed spirit the students fought, that one has a unique presence. Even though it’s a cursed spirit, it’s incredibly close to a natural spirit. According to Aoi, it was able to hide among plants and was quite burnt from a few techniques like wood would be, and Tengen-sama’s barrier doesn’t function against plants. Tengen-sama’s barrier puts all its power into hiding, not protecting, so once you get in, it’s kind of weak,” Gojo answered his colleague with an explanation that led the whole room to turn completely silent for quite some time.

‘Are they worried about Sukuna’s Finger enhancing Yuji’s potential? Or are they trying to enhance themselves? Why would they need Y/N then? Something isn’t sitting right’

“For now, let’s be glad our students are safe,” Utahime mentioned with a calm smile presented on her face as there was one calm and good news that they would celebrate on.

‘Safe? How long until Y/N is going to stay safe? For how long?’

“But it goes without saying that the exchange event is now cancelled,” principal Yaga informed everyone as he turned to look at the fellow Kyoto principal, who was sitting right near him.

“Hold on, that’s not for us to decide, is it?” Gojo asked in a light tone, causing everyone in the room to look at him in confusion since they didn’t know what they meant by it not being their decision.

ꕥ

“When did you start getting along with that gorilla?”

At this moment, Itadori and Kugisaki were sitting next to each side of Fushiguro’s bed, as they were visiting both you and him, while all of them were munching on the pizza (which only had a few slices left) that was currently sitting on top of Fushiguro’s legs.

“Well, we got along, but like...I remember what happened, but I wasn’t exactly myself then…” Itadori answered in complete uncertainty as he didn’t even know the answer himself, causing him to scratch his head in confusion.

“What, were you drunk?” Kugisaki questioned in confusion since she was expecting a confident answer from her classmates.

“You believe I could’ve been drinking liquor in this situation? I’m shocked,” Itadori mentioned before looking down with somewhat of a disappointed look that his owl friend thought of him like that. “But I’m glad you and Y/N weren’t seriously hurt, Fushiguro. You’re able to eat pizza now, too” Itadori stated with a smile on his face as he turned to look at the shikigami user before turning his head to see your still sleeping figure on the bed behind Kugisaki causing her to turn around to check if you had woken up yet.

“Come on, bring me something easier to digest,” Fushiguro replied since he was still recovering but nonetheless, took the food that was given to him.

“No complaining,” Kugisaki answered back before taking another bite of her pizza slice before snatching the box away from Itadori, who was about to grab another slice, due to her wanting to save the last remaining two slices of the cheesy food for you.

“Apparently, I got off easier because my cursed energy was all dried up, Ieiri-san was still able to fix me up as soon as the roots were removed, but I didn’t know Gojo used up so much cursed energy as well, Gojo seemed really worried when he went to Ieiri-san,” Fushiguro explained before turning his head to glance at you.

“Huh, so that’s a thing that can happen?” Itadori questioned.

“You fought against them, didn’t you? Also, did you see the flowers right above us when we were in the veil? They were so pretty!” Kugisaki commented, before looking up as if she was going to answer who was the person was that released the technique.

“Flowers? Oh, you mean the pink ones?! Kugisaki, those were so dangerous, didn’t you see the blue lighting explosion that happened right after?! It literally gave the curse a whole gash across its body!” Itadori exclaimed in shock causing Fushiguro to remember the array of flowers that were hanging in the sky when Panda was carrying him just before he crossed the veil.

“It was so beautiful though, I hope to see them again, I wonder who it was?” Kugisaki questioned before finishing off the last piece of pizza.

“Itadori, you’ve grown stronger. Back then, we both said our convictions were proper ones, I still think that’s true. Or, put another way, we’re both wrong,” Fushiguro mentioned with a low tone, causing both Itadori and Kugisaki to look at him as he was talking.

“Huh?” Itadori uttered in a confused tone, while Kugisaki processed to rest her face on the palm of her hand with a small pout.

“Some questions don’t have answers, you know. You’re thinking too hard, you’ll go bald,” Kugisaki mentioned.

“That’s right. There is no answer, it’s just whether or not you can accept it. But there’s no accepting anything if you can’t have it your way. Weak sorcerers can’t do that,” Fushigurp replied back causing the whole room to go silent as they were beginning to process what Fushiguro had said in his mind.

“So I’m going to become strong, too. I’ll surpass you in no time,” Fushiguro declared as he turned to face Itadori with a look of determination.

“You never change,” Itadori responded with a small light giggle.

“Don’t just move the conversation forward without me, we need to catch up with him and Gojo,” Kugisaki mentioned with annoyance painted on her face.

“That’s my brother’s friends for you!”

Suddenly, the first-year trio rapidly turned their heads forwards to suddenly discover Todo sitting down right in front of Fushiguro’s bed with a smile on his face as he nodded proudly of the conversation that he had interrupted.

Unexpectedly, Itadori rushed towards the glass sliding door next to your bed and opened it with a loud bang before swiftly sprinting away from Fushiguro’s room as fast as a cheetah, only for Todo to follow behind him yelling out where his brother was going.

“I’m grateful to you, but give me a break!” Itadori screamed, causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to look at the scene with deadpan shocked faces. However, what they didn’t seem to notice was you softly groaning at the loud noise that was happening right now leading your eyes to slowly open but quickly close due to the bright lighting in the room right now.

Hesitantly, you slower opened your eyes again to see a maroon coloured ceiling before blinking a few times to focus your sight, causing you to gradually sit up on the bed you were laying in as your looked down onto your lap leading your hair to cover your face away from your classmates, who now finally noticed that you had awakened from your slumber.

“Gojo, you’re awake!” Kugisaki announced with a smile on her face, yet that smile slowly disappeared once she noticed how you weren’t answering her at all, but rather you kept silent as your hand began to bring itself to your forehead as if you had a headache.

‘So loud…’

After sitting in silence for a while, you noticed that you were wearing a long white button-up with some black Adidas shorts leading you to wonder who changed you since Kugisaki was the only one to ever see you in your undergarments since she was always the one barging into your changing room to throw more clothing pieces for you to try. However, that was one minor inconvenience to think about right now.

Slowly, you turned your body around (so your back was facing Fushiguro and Kugisaki) before placing your feet down onto the wooden flooring, leading Fushiguro to worry about you falling since you had been asleep for quite some time, yet for some reason, you couldn’t hear him at all.

Steadily, you began to stand up with your hand on the mattress to keep some stability in case you did stumble back before you began to make your way towards the gap of the glass door that Itadori and Todo left through before gently lifting your head up to admire the clear sky from above.

‘It’s warm…’

Casually, your body began to lean on the side of the door to give yourself some support as you began to brisk in some of the light warmth the sun was giving you as if that was enough to bring you the comfort that you wanted right now before noticing how the wind was slowly picking up.

“Gojo, you would really get back in bed, you’re still in the healing process and it’s quite cold,” Kugisaki mentioned as she stood up to come to collect you and guide you back to back. However, for some reason, something was telling her to stop as she noticed how you were not listening to anyone at all - or, you just didn’t hear them as it seemed like your hearing was blocked for any human to human communication.

Instantly, the wind that was picking up suddenly blew out a large gush causing some of the leaves from the trees to violently ruffle from its branches while your hair was now messily blowing in the wind as you leaned against the side closer to maintain your footing before you steadily noticed a few pink petals making their way towards you from your right side causing your eyes to widen in shock.

‘There’s still some more?’

Slowly lifting your hand to the sky, you lightly felt the petal grazed your fingers ever so slightly before they slowly become disintegrated to a flow of cursed energy they were made out of causing Kugisaki to look at them in amazement as she stood by your side, as she realised that more was coming towards you both as if you were a magnet to them leading her to come to an assumption that you were the one that cast the flowers back when she was in the veil with the other students and teachers as she remembered that Gojo mentioned that you had used a lot of cursed energy.

“Pretty…” you softly muttered with a small but disheartened smile, trying to hide the emptiness that your heart now had to endure.

“Right,” Kugisaki answered back as she leaned her body on your side while continuing to admire the small flower show that was happening right now causing you both to not realise that the person behind you had his eyes widened as if he had just remembered something that he had completely forgotten about.

ꕥ

“So anyways, a lot happened and some people died, but how about it? Want to continue with the exchange event?” Gojo asked all the students who were in the room right now...well all of them minus one.

“Where is Gojo though? Shouldn’t she be here?” Fushiguro asked while standing here the staircase as Kugisaki and Maki began to look around the room to see if you really weren’t here with them causing him to look at Fushiguro, scared about his perspective skills.

“Ah~ about that, she’s moving her stuff from her dorm to my clan’s estate for her safety!” Gojo announced before clapping his hands to the side like he did when you first came into Jujutsu Tech leading everyone in the room to widen their eyes at the news since it was quite unexpected since you seemed like the type to reject the idea since Tengen’s barrier was helping you to be protected - but for you, it was easier for you to hide your family heritage if you weren’t in the dorms much to your dismay.

“I don’t know what to say about it…” Itadori muttered as he was thinking of an answer for both the continuation of the Kyoto Sister Exchange Event as well as your sudden move away from the Jujutsu Tech student dorms.

“Obviously...we continuing it, of course,” Todo declared, causing Itadori to suddenly tense up as he steadily backed up near Gojo to have some coverage and security.

“Your reasons?” Gojo asked as he turned to look at the Kyoto student.

“First, only those with a connection to the dead have the right to mourn them, it’s not our place to butt in there and second, if people have died, that’s all the more reason we need to become stronger, besides if it weren’t for the flower technique back then, we wouldn’t have been able to cause more crucial damage to those cursed spirits. Acquired strength comes from the accumulation of results. Tasting defeat and savouring victory is what leads up to grow, the most important part is for those results to exist,” Todo explained as he became to recall the blue lightning that damaged the special-grade curse to a massive degree which was enough for him to gain the upper ground during his fight leading Gojo to internally smile at the information.

“Todo-senpai’s surprisingly reliable,” Miwa whispered to her classmate Mai.

“Reliably crazy,” Mai answered as she rested her head on her knuckles.

“Third, when a student feels like they weren’t able to bring out their best, it hangs over them until they die,” Todo mentioned with a confident smile.

“How old are you?” Gojo suddenly questioned, as Todo wasn’t even as old as he was and the Kyoto student was already talking about ‘hangs over then until they die’.

“I’m fine with that,” Fushiguro mentioned.

“We’ll win anyway,” Kugisaki stated with confidence.

“It sounds stupid, but he has a point,” Kamo replied with calmness.

“Why don’t you rest, Kamo-kun?” Nishimiya mentioned as she stared at her classmate with a fed-up expression due to the bandages wrapped around his face.

“No objections here,” Panda declared as he was answering for the second years in the Tokyo side.

“Salmon~” Inumaki replied back.

“Will we draw lots for the individual battle pair-ups? I want to see Gojo beat Todo’s ass again,” Maki asked before mentioning you since she wanted to see you in a proper fight rather than the million of practice rounds you had with her causing Kugisaki to smile at the thought as well.

“Huh? There are no individual battles this year,” Gojo unexpectedly announced, causing all of the students from both Tokyo and Kyoto to become extremely perplexed.

“I hate routines, you know. Every year, we put the competition methods in this box and open it on the day of,” Gojo explained before tossing the wooden box to Itadori, who looked up for his permission to take out whatever was in the box which he was granted when the teacher nodded at him.

Reaching into the wooden box, Itadori’s fingers felt one single piece of paper within the box before he carefully took it out to see what was written on it, only for him to blink that the wording in pure confusion.

“Baseball?!” Principal Yaga exclaimed in confusion leading Itadori to suddenly discover that both principals from the Jujutsu Tech schools were peering over his shoulders, causing Gojo to walk out of the building with a pleasant smile on his face.

Once outside, he could hear the commotion from behind as he stretched his arms happily before placing his hands in his pocket as he noticed you were standing in front of him with some distance, while one hand on your hips and the other holding a familiar carton of orange juice that he remembered leaving on the bedside table when you were recovering.

“Going home?” he asked before making his way towards you.

ꕥ

Currently, you were walking towards a certain baseball field after finishing some moving your items to the Gojo clan’s estate with an outfit consisting of a simple white button-up shirt tucked into a long black skirt paired with black heeled ankle boots that you decided to wear for the first time since they had been sitting in the box for quite some time after you had brought them on your last shopping trip with Kugisaki.

From what you could hear from the distance, there seemed to be a lot of shouting going on meaning someone didn’t know the rules of the game or they just been called out and the player wasn’t having it at all.

Opening the metal gate, a few people began to notice you coming into the field leading some of your Tokyo classmates to greet you while a certain black divine dog decided to leave it’s owners side to rush to yours before sitting down in front of you with what seemed to be a happy look on its face causing a small smile tp quickly appear on your face as you began to pat its head.

“Hi there,” you greeted it, causing the dog to bark back at you while its tail continuously thumped the ground as if to express the happiness it had when it saw you.

“Shouldn’t you go back to Fushiguro to play the game?” you questioned it causing it to whine slightly before listening to you as it got up and turned back around to head towards Fushiguro, leading you to look at the side to see if there were any seats for you to sit on.

“Ah, Gojo! Are you going to play baseball with us?” Itadori asked cheerfully, causing you to smile back at him before rejecting the offer.

“You guys already started, so there is no point in my playing, but thank you for the invite,” you stated before quickly taking a seat on the bench behind you as you patted your skirt to stop any creases that were going to appear before spectating the game that was happening in front of you right now.

After a while, you had to admit that watching everyone from Jujutus Tech play baseball was certainly more interesting than the actual official game themselves on the TV screen you see from time to time, while Kugisaki throwing her helmet to the ground after the whole pitching machine incident to everyone being shocked at Momo catching the ball on her broom leading Itadori and Inumaki to shout to Todo being hit by Maki’s pitch leading everyone to encourage her further.

‘What a mess’ you thought with a grateful expression on your face that you weren’t playing in his game for the second day of the Exchange Event.

“Are you okay?” someone suddenly asked, causing you to snap out of your thoughts to look to your right to find Fushiguro looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

Unable to say your answer, you nodded at him before turning back to face yourself forwards as you gradually began to recall some of the events that had happened for the past few days before your head steadily placed itself on the middle of your chest as the empty feeling was somewhat still lingering - like as if something was dragged out of your soul.

‘1000 years ago…’

“Yeah...I’m fine,” you answered slowly as more information began to recall in your mind. From how you were sealed a thousand years ago only for the same sealed to be opened fifteen years ago leading to where you were now...surrounded by people that could potentially either keep you safe or do something that had many outcomes, especially with Sukuna residing within Itadori - with relief he didn’t know anything about your real birth.

‘Should I tell Gojo?’

“Gojo...I wanted to ask...have we met before? Like before we met in Sendai?” Fushiguro questioned you with a stutter causing your eyebrow to crook up in confusion leading Kugisaki, who was next to you to look at you with the same confusion.

“No, we never met before, you drag,” you answered, still perplexed on how he came up with a question with such an obvious answer leading you to lift your hand to flick his forehead for such a stupid question.

“Is that so?” Fushiguro muttered under his breath before looking up in the sky with amazement at how far Itadori had hit the ball with his bat while you and Kugisaki did the same.

‘Tiger of the West Middle...still lives up to that name’

Unexpectedly, you heard a childish giggle leading you to turn your head to find Gojo passing the school principals while using his infinity to keep the ants below his feet safe to which caused you to scoff in amazement at how lacked he was to use his technique all the time.

“Let’s go home Y/N!” Gojo shouted, causing you to look at him with a crooked eyebrow before scoffing once again at his playful behaviour.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered under your breath before everyone in the first year stood by your side and followed you out of the field to have a conversation with you before you left to go back to the Gojo estate.

‘Home huh?’

634 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Merlin becomes a little obsessed with time, and how it’s running out:

Merlin struggles with a massive workload, and doesn’t understand how to ask for help, even with the simplest tasks, because people are relying on him. For small things, and large. He can’t let anyone down. He can’t.

REQUESTED

TW: not eating or sleeping properly, a little blood

Merlin is tired.

No one really notices the exhaustion, not at first anyway, what they do notice, is how much busier he seems to be.

He’s rushing around the castle so quickly, fetching and carrying things for Gaius, completing various chores for King Arthur, and trying to fix any problem he comes across (both the mundane, and the... less so), that no one sees him for long enough to notice the bags under his eyes. No one notices the way he sways on his feet if he stands still long enough. And if they do notice? Well, he’s rushing off to complete the next task on the list before they can say anything.

The few times he’s stopped to chat, he’s been quiet; polite but not really friendly.

His friends brush it off at first, he’s always been the type to rush places, and they figure he’s just got a lot of things to organise with the Yule celebrations coming up.

It had never really occurred to Merlin, but being the King’s Personal Manservant actually made him one of the most highly ranked servants in the castle. And that meant, everyone asking him for help, all the time.

Anything in the castle that could possibly concern The King, even briefly, was run by Merlin first. Everything from flower arrangements, to the week’s dinner menu, to which chambers to house guests in, to when exactly The King would like this paperwork completed.

It wasn’t too bad at first, Merlin had managed to stay on top of things for years, even during busier times such as these.

But this winter was different somehow.

Merlin was a fully trained physician by this point, and he didn’t like to think about it much, but Gaius was getting older, quicker and quicker it seemed.

This just meant that more and more of the excursions that Gaius used to take outside the Physician’s chambers, were now being passed on to Merlin.

He valued the trust that Gaius placed in him, but a trip to the lower town to treat this year’s strain of flu took him away for almost a week.

Long nights consoling young children who were in pain, followed by long days making it to as many houses as possible, to treat as many people as possible, meant he lost out on a lot of sleep. Especially since his mind was thinking about a million other things at the same time.

After finally getting the outbreak under control, he made quick work of the journey back to the castle, only to find a list of various speeches that needed writing and chores to catch up on, and a long line of panicking servants who needed whatever duties they had double checked.

Merlin had barely caught up on all of that work, staying up late through the night, when a second outbreak occurred in a different section of the city.

Gaius had made it clear to The King that the people’s health, and therefore Merlin’s position as Secondary Physician, should come first; Arthur whole heartedly agreed, and gave Merlin the time off to deal with it happily enough, but that didn’t erase the huge list of things he still had to get done when he returned.

He was only gone for three days this time, but with Yule getting closer and closer and foreign nobles arriving for the celebrations, Merlin had a ridiculous number of things to do when he got back.

The headache that had been coming and going over the last month soon became permanent, and the shaking in his hands became something he had to actively account for any time he carried something heavier than a plate.

Merlin was rushing from the kitchens to the stables after dropping off Arthur’s empty breakfast tray when he heard it.

He paused in the corridor, leaning his weight against the cold stone of the wall as he strained his ears.

Just as he was about to write it off as him hearing things due to the lack of sleep, he heard it again, clearer this time, like someone was crying just on the other side of the stone.

He backtracked down the corridor a few metres, and slowly pushed open the door to a storage room, only to see Annabeth, the castle’s youngest serving girl, having a cut on her cheek being cleaned by George.

The both of them look up in shock at the intrusion, and Merlin clenches his fists as he sees the tears on Annabeth’s cheeks. He is especially worried when he sees the concern, painted clear as day on George’s face. George who was well know for being the least reactionary, most expressionless servant in the castle.

He shuts the door behind him, and walks forward, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She immediately launches herself forward, and begins crying once again into Merlin’s chest.

He almost falls back, barely able to carry his own weight right now, let alone the weight of a distraught young girl, but thankfully George notices his imbalance and catches him with a firm hand on his back.

Merlin gives him a grateful, but bleary smile, as he strokes a comforting hand up and down Annabeth’s back.

He nods to the bloody cloth in George’s other hand, and raises a questioning eyebrow.

George catches his meaning quickly, and replies in a quiet, but harsh voice:

“Lord Anselm reported that his manservant had taken ill, and requested that Annabeth take over. He was... displeased, with a dropped pillow.”

Merlin frowns in worry, as the girl, barely even fourteen summers, looks up at him with red eyes:

“I didn’t even drop it, it fell off his bed when I had my back turned. But he started yelling and he... he threw an empty goblet at me and then got even angrier at that mess. He wouldn’t let me leave for ages he was just standing over me and screaming.”

Merlin can see George tense in anger out the corner of his eye, and he calmly shushes the girl, wiping away her tears and giving her a small smile:

“He shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t your fault. George is going to take you to Gaius, to get that looked at properly, and I’ll deal with Anselm until his manservant gets better, ok?”

George frowns slightly, but Annabeth speaks up before he can say anything:

“You won’t get in trouble, will you Merlin?”

Merlin gives her a cheeky wink and ruffles her hair:

“I’m always in trouble.” She giggles slightly, and Merlin counts that as a win.

She steps back, and George takes her hand, but he looks at Merlin, speaking quietly once again:

“Are you sure? I know you’ve got a lot of work at the moment, you can drop her off at Gaius’ and I can serve Lord Anselm, if you like.”

Merlin shakes his head, but realises quickly that was a bad idea as his vision starts swimming. He closes his eyes tightly for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, before looking back at an obviously concerned George and replying:

“No, it’s fine, I can deal with him. All those bloody quests Arthur drags me on means I’m well equipped to deal with people like Lord Anselm. Though I would appreciate it if you could pass by the stables and let them know to have Arthur’s horse prepared for noon, tomorrow.”

The fact that George’s lip twitches only slightly at Merlin’s address of the King, tells Merlin that the man is truly worried about Annabeth, and now probably Merlin’s safety as well.

He nods his head slightly, with a quiet “Of course.” and with that, the three of them leave the storage room.

They head in opposite directions, but after moving only a few feet, George looks back and calls to Merlin over his shoulder.

Merlin turns, slowly this time now that dizziness has become a problem, as George asks with a frown:

“Are you sure you’re alright, Merlin?”

Merlin gives him a small nod and smile, before waving him off:

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired. I’ll see you later.”

George’s frown deepens, but he nods slightly, and turns back around again, leading Annabeth in the direction of the Physician’s chambers.

Merlin took a deep breath and rubbed harshly at his eyes as he watched them turn the corner, before turning in the opposite direction, and making his way to the guest chambers.

Lord Anselm was a visitor from a neighbouring kingdom, known for his harsh treatment of anyone he deemed below him (which... to be honest... was everyone, as far as he was concerned). He was here for the Yule celebrations, and to suck up to the King no doubt.

Merlin paused outside the room, taking another deep breath and trying to not look so exhausted, before knocking politely on the door.

A voice grumbles from the other side, calling for him to enter.

Merlin entered slowly, and shut the door behind him, immediately spying the Lord eating his breakfast at the table. He was an intimidating man, tall, even taller than Merlin, with a heavy gait, a thick beard, and a permanent scowl.

He looks harshly at Merlin, and roughly asks:

“Who the hell are you? Where’s my girl?”

Merlin clenches his hands behind his back, but replies neutrally, looking somewhere over the Lord’s shoulder:

“I’m afraid she has succumbed to an injury, and won’t be serving you anymore. I’m The King’s personal manservant, meaning I won’t be able to serve you full time. We’re a little understaffed at the moment, My Lord. Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”

The man growls and stands up, stalking quickly towards the manservant.

Merlin was especially glad that he was made aware of his balance and dizziness issues earlier, because if he hadn’t, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to hold himself upright when Lord Anselm swung a harsh fist to the side of his face.

He smirked horribly as he said:

“Insolent little thing, aren’t you? Are all of King Arthur’s servants so pretty?”

Merlin’s head rocked violently to the side, and he took a step back, before righting himself. He took a subtle deep breath as he winced in pain, but schooled his face back into indifference as he returned his gaze to just over The Lord’s shoulder:

“Would you like me to return your tray to the kitchen, My Lord?”

Anselm growled once more, obviously unhappy with the lack of reaction, and brought down a heavy hand on Merlin’s shoulder, leaning in close and snarling:

“You do that, pretty boy.”

Merlin waits impassively for him to release the bruising grip he had on his shoulder, before stepping around him and clearing away the tray.

Lord Anselm stared at him distastefully, but Merlin dutifully ignored it, and headed to the chamber door with the tray of leftovers and dirty plates. Anselm turns quickly towards him:

“Hurry back. I have things that need doing.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Merlin looks him straight in the eyes before saying:

“Like I said My Lord, we’re incredibly understaffed at the moment. I’m afraid no one will be able to serve you until your own manservant recovers from his illness.”

The shocked look on the Lord’s face gives Merlin just enough time to leave the room and hurry half way down the corridor, before Anselm followed him out.

Merlin heard the door bang off the wall as Anselm ripped it open, ready to shout, enraged, but the sight of the guards patrolling the corridor stopped him, and he slammed the door shut again with a huff.

Merlin let out a relieved breath. He had hoped that the sight of the guards would stop him from making a scene, and he was glad he was right.

One of the guards, an older man named Gavin who had always been kind to Merlin, stopped him with a hand on his (unbruised) shoulder:

“You alright Merlin? I though Annabeth was serving him?” He nodded at the other guard to continue on, mumbling that he would catch up in a minute, before looking back at Merlin, who blearily nodded:

“He threw a tantrum, hurt her. George took her to Gaius and I said I would deal with him.”

The guard frowned and muttered “bastard” under his breath, but widened his eyes as he saw the bruise blooming on Merlin’s cheek:

“Bloody hell, Merlin, do you always take over for the violent ones? You should get that checked out.”

Merlin sighs and shakes his head, only slightly:

“It’s fine, I’ve got too much else to deal with at the moment. The manservant he brought with him is sick, and Annabeth is certainly not serving him again, so I told him he would have to deal with minimal serving, until his servant gets better.”

Gavin let out a breath, and chuckled slightly:

“Pfft. Balls of steel, Merlin. Go on, you look in a hurry, I won’t keep you.”

With that, Merlin gives him a brief smile, before rushing towards the kitchens once again, trying not to feint the whole way.

The whole ordeal only pushed him twenty minutes behind, but twenty minutes was a problem when he was already three days behind on Arthur’s laundry, two days behind on stocking up on ingredients for Gaius, and two weeks overdue for a lunch with Gwen.

Plus he still had one speech left to proof read, and considering Arthur wrote it himself, it’s more likely to end up being a full re-write, rather than a proof read.

OH, and that leak that he’d promised the stablehands he would help fix.

Ah shit. He also had to collect Gwaine’s spare sword from the blacksmith at some point, before he forgot again.

AND there was a huge delivery of flowers today, no doubt there would be some sort of problem with that.

All of that, on top of the fact that no one has tried to kill Arthur in recent weeks, and it was starting to unnerve him.

His journey to the kitchens went much like that. Task upon chore upon promise upon paranoid intrusive thought piling up in his head with every step.

He finally got to the kitchen doors, and paused outside. He took a deep, shaky breath, and shut his eyes tight, before forcing his mind to calm, and pushing through the door.

The noise and smells immediately had him turn his head sideways, as if trying to escape the sudden onslaught, but the movement did nothing but force him to realise how much the side of his face had begun to throb.

He took another deep breath as the persistent noise, now in his mind, and out of it, made him want to scream. He resisted the urge, and dumped the tray next to the sink, before rushing out once again, ignoring the glares that the cook sent his way.

As he hurried down the corridor, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in an effort to stop the shaking, he decided that laundry was the priority right now. If he could just get at least one basket done, that would be enough for today at least; and he could read over the speech whilst he did it.

Ok. ok. This is fine.

He finally made it to Arthur’s chambers, bursting in without knocking, and walking straight to the pile of dirty clothes.

He doesn’t even have the energy to be annoyed at the fact that they were on the floor, instead of in the basket, and he certainly isn’t with it enough to notice the conversation between Arthur and George... wait... George??

Merlin is only lets his surprise distract him for a moment before he looks back to the laundry, bending over far too quickly, and having to hold himself up against the wall as his vision swims.

He vaguely hears George calling his name, but he waves his hand behind him absentmindedly and ignores him. He forces his eyes to focus again, as he picks up an armful of clothes.

He stumbles over to the desk, still not paying attention to the other two occupants of the room. He looks around blearily, once again beginning to clench and unclench his hands under the dirty clothes in his arms, just to stop himself from falling over.

He takes a deep breath, and interrupts whatever it is Arthur is saying:

“Speech.”

Arthur is clearly taken aback, having realised that Merlin hasn’t listened to anything either of them has said. George gives him a knowing look behind Merlin’s back, and Arthur frowns.

Merlin turns around, quick enough to make his vision blue once again, but not quick enough to make him fall over, and looks in Arthur’s vague direction:

“Speech. Where is it?”

Arthur gasps as he notices the now deep purple mark up the side of Merlin’s face and steps forward, George follows him, and takes the laundry from Merlin’s hands, and setting it on a chair before turning back to him.

He turns just in time to see Merlin almost tip backwards, and rushes forward, placing firm hand on his back once again.

Arthur slowly brings his hand up, concern written all over his face as his fingers hover just over the bruise:

“Merlin... what happened?”

Merlin rolls his eyes slightly as he turns back around to the desk, gently pushing George’s hand away and looking through the paperwork:

“Fell. Speech? I really do need it Arthur, I don’t have time.”

Arthur looks at George out the corner of his eyes, and George shakes his head, mouthing “Lord Anselm” .

Arthur frowns again, and picks up a piece of paper from his bedside table, going to hand it to Merlin, before snatching it back when he reaches for it:

“Not, until you tell me the truth, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs, and rolls his eyes again, before snapping:

“Fine, Lord Anselm punched me in the face because he’s a Lord and I’m a servant, and he can do whatever he wants to me and that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Speech. Please?”

In Arthur’s shock at Merlin’s bluntness, Merlin leans forward and grabs the piece of paper, before quickly turning away, ignoring the loss of vision at the sharp movement. He knew his way around Arthur’s chambers when he was asleep, he could manage a short black out.

He gathers up the laundry once again, and stumbles towards the door, interrupting Arthur’s:

“Merlin! Will you just-”

With:

“Don’t have time.”

And leaving the room before either of them can say anything more.

Arthur shakes himself free of the shock, and looks to George, bewildered:

“You really weren’t kidding were you? He’s completely out of it. Do you know what’s wrong?”

George frowns only slightly as he replies:

“It’s a busy time of the year My Lord, and we’re rather under staffed at the moment. Merlin has a habit of being unable to say no when people ask for help. That, on top of his normal duties to yourself and Gaius, and having to deal with the flu outbreak, I think- If I may speak freely, Sire?”

Arthur nods immediately:

“Of course, George, always.”

George nods gratefully before continuing:

“I think he’s just a little over-worked at the moment, My Lord. He’s never been good at asking for help.”

Arthur nods and hums thoughtfully. He thinks for a minute before looking back at the servant:

“Hmm. Keep an eye on him, won’t you George? I can’t have him keeling over, and make sure he gets some food in him.-”

George gives a firm nod:

“-Thank you, you’re dismissed, go back to your duties.”

With that, George turns and leaves the room, wiping the worried frown from his face and resetting it into his normal neutrality.

Merlin was unendingly grateful to find that the speech wasn’t actually that bad. By the time he finished hanging Arthur’s clothes to dry, he had a solid idea in his head of all the little bits he needed to tweak. He just needed to get a quill to it, and it’d be done and dusted.

He rushed as quickly as he was able without falling over, back to Arthur’s chambers, opening the door slowly this time; he really didn’t have the time to stop and chat, and if anyone was in there, he would just come back later.

Thankfully, the rooms were empty, and Merlin only had to spend around five minutes sat at the desk (where there was a small plate of food, labelled “For Merlin”, which of course went untouched. Deliberately ignored or just unnoticed, who knows), writing out his adjustments.

Five minutes however, was long enough for him to forget to not move too quickly, and the moment he tried to stand up, he immediately passed out. He fell back into the chair, and slumped forward onto the desk, his bruised cheek landing with a smack on the wood.

He woke again with a start, and jumped up quickly as he ran his hands through his hair roughly. He began to breath deeply, and tears came to his eyes as he brought his hands down roughly, gripping the edge of the table so hard he could feel his hands bruising.

Merlin, after managing to keep what he thought was a tight lid on it all day, was officially panicking.

His cheek was throbbing again, but he could barely feel it, only able to think about how much time he was wasting.

He can’t be taking naps now. He can’t. He doesn’t have the time. He’s still two days behind on laundry, two days behind shopping, two weeks since he’d last properly spoken to Gwen, he can feel a storm in the air so the leak HAS to be fixed now and Gwaine NEEDS his sword and where are those fucking flowers??

The more Merlin’s thoughts rush around his head, the more tasks he remembers that he needs to do, the more he panics. And the more he panics, the less he can breath, and the less he can breath, the more time, he is wasting.

When Merlin finally manages to open his eyes, which he hadn’t realised had been shut painfully tightly, he notices that the shadows on the walls have barely moved since he last checked.

Huh.

Ok.

He breaths slightly easier as he just about manages to drag himself over to a window, peering down into the courtyard below, to see that the castle was still busy.

He must’ve only been passed out for a few minutes at most.

It’s ok. There’s still time.

Merlin takes one last deep breath, pours himself a glass of water from Arthur’s jug and downs it all in one.

Ok. Too much to do, no more wasting time.

Merlin quickly straightens out the desk, leaving the speech in the middle for Arthur to see, and ignores the remaining fuzziness in his head as he stumbles out the door and down to the Physician’s chambers.

Merlin spends the next few hours down at the market.

He could feel his heart pounding louder in his ears with each second that he had to stand and wait in line, but it was no ones fault but his own that he had left the shopping too late.

He just had to be patient. Ignore the headache, ignore the pain in his cheek and shoulder, ignore the bruises on the palms of his hands from where he gripped the table, ignore the paranoid thoughts about assassins and poisoners and bandits.

By the time he made it back to Gaius’ chambers, it was dark. His hands shook violently, and he could barely see what he was unloading from his bags, but he kept pushing forward.

Without sparing a glance towards Gaius, he rushed out of the room again, now unhealthily used to the constant swimming in his vision, he dragged his hand along the stone walls of the castle corridor, and used that to navigate to the kitchen to pick up Arthur’s dinner.

The cook of course yelled at him about being late, but instead of brushing it off like he normally did, he internalised it.

He spent the whole journey up to Arthur’s chambers working himself up.

He was late. He was running out of time. He was so fucking tired. But that’s fine. That’s ok. One more job tonight, and he can rest. Just one.

He delivers Arthur’s food without a word, and if Arthur wasn’t worried before, he definitely was now.

Merlin lays out the meal, and quickly goes about lighting the fire for the night, and turning down The King’s bed. He turns to Arthur, not really bothering to focus his eyes and actually look at him, before saying:

“Anything else tonight, My Lord?”

The lack of sarcasm would be worrying enough to Arthur, but the way Merlin’s eyes stayed unfocussed, even as Arthur walked towards him, and the way his words slurred, almost sent him into a panic.

Merlin finally makes eye contact with him as Arthur grips his shoulders, but he quickly lets go when Merlin flinches in pain.

Fuck that hurt.

He’d forgotten about the bruised shoulder.

Arthur’s frown deepens:

“Merlin, are you alright? You look exhausted, you look sick. And you didn’t eat the food George left out.”

Merlin nods his head slowly, and moves towards the door, rolling his shoulder slightly to try and sooth the ache:

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine, and I’m not a dog Arthur. Just lots to do. Am I dismissed?”

Arthur nods slowly, but suddenly adds, as Merlin gets to the door:

“Yes, but only if you get something to eat and then go straight to bed. Get some sleep Merlin, whatever it is, can wait until morning.”

Merlin doesn’t look back at him, just waves his hand over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him.

Ok. One more job. Just one more and then sleep. Maybe. He did have some useful new spells he needed to memorise... having as little time as he does means he should probably get at least a few done tonight.

Ok. One more job, then he can sit in bed and memorise some of those spells, then maybe he can get an hour or two of sleep before sunrise bought tomorrow’s jobs.

He headed over to the stables, at this time of night no one should be around, he can wave his hand, make some sparks, and the leak would be gone.

He halts in his tracks and his eyes widen as he subconsciously begins clenching and unclenching his hands once again.

No.

The stablehands know he promised to fix it. If they see it’s been fixed with some sort of miracle, instead of patched up properly, they’ll know.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he’s also running on no food, no sleep, and a potential concussion. Trying to use magic right now was probably not his best idea.

He forces his hands to still, and continues his trek across the courtyard, towards the stables.

The next time he stops, it’s because he hears the distinct sound of an armoured guard falling to the floor (the fact that he recognises the sound immediately, should tell you all you need to know about how insane Merlin’s life is).

Merlin rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose briefly as he mumbles:

“For fucks sake, I knew it had been too long.”

Without wasting another second, Merlin turns back around, and sneaks carefully to where he’d heard the noise come from.

He finally spies the slumped guard by the main entrance to the castle, and after establishing that the attacker was long gone, he rushes over.

The growing puddle of blood, and lack of pulse, worries Merlin endlessly. Whoever did this was good, the guard never saw it coming, and now he was dead.

Merlin doesn’t want to leave him like this, but in all likelihood, the assassin was going to head straight to Arthur’s chambers, and Merlin had to catch up before he could do any damage.

The exhausted manservant rushes through the large doors, trying ever so hard to focus eyes, and not quite managing it, but powering through anyway. Thankfully he new the route to Arthur’s chambers by heart, he didn’t have to be able to see to know where he was going.

He’s already out of breath before he even reaches the staircase that leads up to the royal chambers, but he doesn’t have the time to stop and catch his breath. Arthur was in danger, and as per fucking normal, Merlin was the only one that seemed to know anything about it.

He forced himself up the steps, being mindful of his weak legs and using the wall to pull himself up as quick as he could.

He swore to himself as he turned the corner to see the vague outline of a man with a dagger slip unnoticed through the doors to Arthur’s chambers.

Where the fuck were the rest of the guards?? Merlin had expected to see a few more bodies on his way up but there had been none. Shift change over maybe? In which case, how did the assassin know?

He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind; something to worry about later, as he sprints down the corridor.

He almost falls several times, tripping over nothing but his own exhaustion, but he uses his own momentum to stop himself tipping over, forcing his feet to just keep moving forward.

He bursts into the room loudly, and the assassin, who had almost reached Arthur slumped over asleep on his desk, whips his head around to stare at him in shock.

The King mumbles from his spot on the desk:

“Merlin... I told you to get some sleep.”

That seems to snap the assassin out of his surprise, and he lurches towards Arthur, bringing the dagger up so he could swing it down viciously into his back, but Merlin rushes forward to meet him.

He shoves Arthur’s chair with as much force as he can muster, and steps into the space it had resided in as Arthur sprawls on the floor, cursing loudly.

It takes only a second for Arthur to be on his feet, a sword that was hidden under the desk gripped in his hand and any remaining sleepiness scrubbed from his face, but that second is all it takes for the dagger to sink with sickening force into Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin gasps and staggers back as Arthur steps forward, swinging the hilt of his sword down onto the attacker’s head, and with a loud thunk, the would-be assassin drops to the floor, unconscious.

Arthur turns quickly towards Merlin, who was leaning against the wall, dagger still planted deeply in his shoulder, and once again curses loudly. He rushes forward to catch his manservant just as he falls, widening his eyes as he notices the rapidly growing crimson stain on his tunic:

“GUARDS!!” he yells it towards the still open door, but looks to Merlin as he mumbles:

“Shift... change. No one there yet.” with a groan.

Arthur curses for a third time, as he pulls Merlin’s uninjured arm around his neck, and starts to stagger towards the door, dragging Merlin, who is basically a dead weight at this point.

The manservant groans, not sure if it’s the constant, background panic that’s seemed to plague him the last few weeks, or the pain of the newest stab wound that’s making him dizzy, but either way... ow.

Merlin finally manages to raise his gaze to realise that Arthur is currently dragging him past the closest exit to the stables (god knows how they’d gotten that far without Merlin noticing), and he half-heartedly pulls away.

Arthur almost stumbles with Merlin’s sudden movement, but says strongly:

“No not that way Merlin, gotta get to Gaius, you’re going to ok, alright?”

Merlin’s breath deepens in panic, and Arthur, mistaking it’s meaning, says:

“Almost there, Merls, don’t worry, Gaius will fix you right up, just hang on a little more for me.”

Merlin tries to pull away again, going so far as to softly thump Arthur on the chest to make him let go (it doesn’t work, he’s far too weak):

“No... no, you don’t.... understand. I can‘t, I don’t.... I don’t have time.”

Arthur frowns at him, but continues moving in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. He turns his concerned face away from Merlin, to see two guards turning into the corridor ahead of them:

“HEY!! One of you go to my chambers to collect the would-be assassin, and one of you run ahead to Gaius to warn him we’re coming; deep stab wound to the shoulder. Tell anyone you might see to be on high alert, an attempt on my life has been made.”

Arthur growls as they just stand in shock, obviously taken aback at the sight of the King near dragging an almost dead-looking servant down the corridor towards:

“NOW!”

With that they jump into action, one of them sprinting back the way Arthur and Merlin had come, the other sprinting ahead, to warn Gaius.

Arthur looks back down to Merlin, trying to pick up his pace as he notices him grow weaker and weaker:

“Come on, only a few more corridors Merlin, then Gaius will take care of you and you can sleep it off. I’ll even give you tomorrow off, how does that-”

Before Arthur can finish his question, Merlin moans, and tries to pull away again:

“No... time. Too many things to do... not... no time. Leak...”

Arthur stares at him in confusion as Merlin trails off, but blinks in surprise, as he gains a sudden burst of lucidity again:

“NO! Leak needs... sorting. Flowers and... Gwaine’s sword. Check on... Annabeth-”

He pulls away from Arthur far more violently this time, and the King drops him as he staggers from the force.

Arthur curses and kneels down, panicked as he tries to get his arms under Merlin’s weight again. Which Merlin is making very difficult.

The manservant can’t really feel the pain at this point. All he knows is that time is passing. Time that should be spent fixing things. Whatever stupid thing Arthur wants right now needs to wait.

Leak. Then spells. Then catch up on laundry through the night. Then check on the flowers in the morning. Hopefully lunch with Gwen. Sword next. Then. Then he can maybe think about whatever is happening right now.

Arthur finally gets his hands under Merlin’s arms and pulls him up, growing more and more worried as Merlin tries to wiggle away, like he doesn’t want to get treated.

Only one more corridor.

Arthur continues his journey through the halls, breathing deeply with the exertion.

Merlin had lost the last of his strength trying to escape, and the fall to the floor had knocked his other injuries slightly, so Arthur was forced to pick him up, carrying the limp man bridal style.

He finally made it to Gaius’ chambers, to see the guard holding open the door, and Gaius rushing around, gathering various ingredients and tools.

Arthur bolts through the door, not even looking at the guard as he spots the empty cot in the middle of the room, and carefully lays a clearly delirious Merlin down.

The dark haired boy continues to mumble, a frown etched deeply onto his features:

“No... time... too much else... to worry about...”

Arthur calms his own breathing before looking back to the guard:

“Make sure the alarm is sounded. Find out if the assassin was caught and report back to me as soon as you know anything. I’ll be here.”

The guard nods firmly before running out of the room, and Arthur turns his attention back to Merlin. He gasps as he notices blood dripping from the palms of his hands, and lurches forward, forcing Merlin’s fingers to uncurl.

Arthur realises with a numb horror, that something much more than the stab wound is wrong with his... friend. This isn’t even close to the worst injury he’s ever seen Merlin get, but still he lies here, panicking about something to such an extent that he drew blood with his own nails.

Gaius finally bustles over, and without even looking at him, forcefully tells Arthur:

“Hold him down, he’s in no sort of mental state for me to treat him awake, so I need to get this down him and he won’t... appreciate it.”

The King notices the vial of foul-smelling liquid in Gaius’ hands, and quickly moves around to stand behind Merlin’s shivering form.

He presses one hand down onto his uninjured shoulder, and bends over, leaning his other forearm across his chest, trying desperately to avoid aggravating the dagger still imbedded in his shoulder.

Once he’s secure, Gaius pinches Merlin’s nose, and pours the liquid into his mouth, quickly dropping the vial onto the table beside him, and massaging his throat to help it go down.

Merlin spasms for a few seconds and kicks out, but Arthur just about manages to hold him steady before he finally goes limp, his eyes rolling back, and his hands hanging off the side of the cot.

Arthur steps back, and collapses in a chair at Merlin’s side, before looking up at Gaius. The King watches the Physician bring over a pair of scissors and cut Merlin’s blood soaked tunic away, before examining the wound, and carefully removing the dagger.

Arthur tries to calm his heart rate, and takes deep breaths as he watches Gaius work, knowing that the injury, though bloody, was not life threatening.

At some point during the process of the wound being cleaned, stitched, and dressed, the guard from earlier had re-entered the chambers to say:

“The assassin was found and taken to the dungeons, sire. The castle is on high alert, and patrols are looking for any accomplices, though currently it appears the man was working alone. Two guards have been found dead, one at the castle gate, and one at the main entrance to the building.”

Arthur vaguely remembers nodding, and dismissing the guard; telling him to keep him updated, before focusing back on Merlin.

When Gaius finally slumps into the chair opposite Arthur, on Merlin’s other side, The King takes a deep breath, before asking quietly:

“What’s wrong with him, Gaius? I mean besides the obvious? George said-”

Before Arthur can finish, three thunderous pairs of feet burst through the door.

The King looks up to see Gwen, Gwaine, and Leon enter the room in a hurry. Gwen answers his questioning gaze with:

“The three of us were together when a guard told us what happened. Will he be alright?”

Gaius gives them a comforting, but strained smile, as they move towards the cot:

“He’ll be fine my dear, with time.”

Gwen moves quickly to stand by Arthur’s side, and takes one of Merlin’s limp hands in her own as she blinks away tears, her other hand covering her mouth. Gwaine rushes to the end of the cot, looking down at his best friend with a pained expression, and resting a hand on his leg. Leon steps into place above Merlin’s head, stroking a gentle hand through his hair, before focusing his concerned expression on Arthur in question.

Arthur huffs, but pays them no mind as he looks back at Gaius:

“Like I was saying, what’s wrong with him? George said he was acting oddly, and he seemed... almost sickly the last time I saw him. Then all the way here he was trying to get away from me, he just kept muttering about time, and saying he had things to do.”

Gwaine growls, and before Gaius can reply, he snarls out:

“You’ve been bloody overworking him, that’s what’s wrong. Look at him, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.”

Arthur looks up, annoyed:

“That’s exactly why I’ve been giving him fewer chores, Sir Gwaine. I didn’t give him anything specific to do today, and when I told him he would have some time off on the way here, he freaked. Pulled away, I dropped him, and he just began muttering about not having time, having too much to do.”

Gwen clears her throat before timidly saying:

“He has been acting a bit strange. He seemed a little stressed after the first outbreak, but I figured that was normal for this time of year and let him be. Then he got back so late last night, and every time I saw him today he just seemed... more and more panicked. I tried to stop him a few times but he ignored me, like his mind was completely elsewhere.”

Arthur frowns at that, and Leon speaks next, his hand still absentmindedly carding through Merlin’s hair:

“Hmm. He’s been looking unwell; swaying on his feet, leaning on walls. I saw him in the market earlier today and he looked about ready to feint, but I was pulled away by a few guards. When I looked back again, he was stumbling away in the opposite direction. He looked in a rush, so like Gwen, I let him be. Perhaps he hasn’t been sleeping well?”

Gaius looks grim, and nods:

“I heard him moving about all through last night. I got up to offer him a sleeping draught but he refused, saying he had things to do. I got the impression this morning that he didn’t sleep a wink. And I remember what the yearly flu excursions were like, I doubt he slept any better whilst he was treating people in the lower-town.”

The three of them look troubled. How had they let it get this far? Merlin was clearly some sort of sick, and no one had noticed until he was ignoring stab wounds and clawing at his own skin.

Leon tilted Merlin’s head, frown deepening as he spots the purple bruise over his cheek, now also stretching up into his temple and into his hairline. His voice came out a mumble, as if he were speaking to himself:

“What happened here?”

Arthur’s face darkened, and he replied lowly:

“Lord Anselm. I informed him to leave my kingdom and told him not to come back until he could refrain from beating my staff.”

Leon nodded, face angry, and Gwaine replied:

“Bet he didn’t like that, the bastard.”

Arthur looked up at Gaius, and cleared his throat before asking:

“What do you suggest, Gaius? He’s clearly not... ok.”

Gaius sighed once more, looking down at the man who had become his son, before saying quietly:

“I imagine all three of us are right, in a way. He’s overworked, stressed, and lacking sleep. That mixed with a punch hard enough to give him a mild concussion, and the fact he likely hasn’t eaten very well over the last few weeks, led to a... miniature break down, of sorts.-”

He looks up at Arthur, who is struggling to hide how distraught he is, with grim determination:

“-He will need time off to recover. More than a few days, likely. And support. He has learnt to rely on no one but himself in recent years. Dealing with a workload that multiple people would struggle with all on his own, was almost certainly what led to his obsession with time, time running out. You will need to reassure him that any tasks he is worried about are being completed just fine without him, otherwise he’ll panic.”

Arthur nods before replying, his voice thick:

“Of course. Whatever he needs. He mentioned... a leak? And flowers, Gwaine’s sword. He mumbled a few other things as well, but I couldn’t hear him. He said something about Annabeth?”

Gaius rubs his eyes as he nods slowly:

“Yes, George bought Annabeth by earlier. Lord Anselm had hurt her and Merlin sent the two of them here before he went to deal with the Lord.-”

He looked up to see Arthur sporting a vicious frown, and continues:

“-She’s fine now, just a little shaken, her injuries will heal in a week or so. The other things he mentioned to you though...”

Arthur sighs, but Gwen speaks up, still clutching Merlin’s hand, before he can say anything:

“I overheard some of the stable-hands worrying about a leak in the stable, knowing Merlin, he probably offered to help them. And the flowers... well there was supposed to be a delivery today, for the feast decorations, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

Arthur nods, and Gwaine swallows, looking a little guilty, before saying:

“He ran my spare sword to the blacksmith about a week ago, for repairs. I told him there was no rush, but he must’ve got in a panic about it.”

Arthur nods, but raises his eyes to Gwen in confusion:

“Ok, the sword and the leak I understand, but the flowers? Why would a castle delivery be any concern of his??”

Gwen widens her eyes in surprise, and Leon makes a disbelieving noise, before saying:

“Sire, with all due respect, Merlin is the King’s Personal Manservant. Of course it concerns him.”

At the growing confusion on Arthur’s face, Leon sighs. He drags a chair forward, and sits in his place behind Merlin’s head as he continues to absent-mindedly run his fingers through the man’s hair:

“My Lord, everything that has anything to do with you, gets run by Merlin first. Pretty much every non-political decision not directly made by you, is made by Merlin. I always thought it was rather hilarious that he didn’t seem to realise how much power he has within the castle.”

Arthur widens his eyes in realisation, and slumps back in his seat:

“I had no idea... no wonder he’s so exhausted all the time. He’s practically running the castle behind my back.”

Gwen nods sympathetically, but Gwaine still looks a little annoyed as he grinds out:

“Honestly princess. How did you think it was that the visitors you liked least were always housed in the chambers furthest away from yours? Or how the castle kitchen is always stocked up on your personal favourites? Or perhaps how council meetings always seem to be at a time most convenient for you, despite you never rearranging your own schedule? When we all joke about how you wouldn’t last a day without Merlin... we mean it. He doesn’t just dress you and feed you and sing you to sleep, he runs your whole life, mate.”

Leon and Gwen nod, and Arthur sighs, and the room goes silent for a few minutes, the only noise being Merlin’s ragged breathing.

Arthur finally straightens up, and nods to himself slightly:

“Right. Merlin gets every Monday off, no matter what, including his physician duties where possible. George is going to be reassigned as an... assistant of sorts; Merlin will hate it but I don’t care, he needs the help. He’s also going to get a bloody great big pay rise, and new chambers with a big desk. And that’s just to start with.”

Gaius raises his infamous eyebrow, but Arthur ignores it, he can see the hint of pride in his eyes. Gwen and Leon smile and nod, and Gwaine huffs before muttering:

“Yeah, that better be just to start with. Kid deserves the world.”

Arthur stands from his chair and begins pacing, before looking back to the others in a hurry:

“Ok, Gwen, can you go find the Housekeeper, inform her that I want a few more servants to be hired, on a permanent basis. The castle is obviously understaffed if Merlin is the only one fixing everyone else’s problems. Take Gwaine with you, a guard informed me the assassin had been caught and was likely working alone, but just in case.-”

With that, Gwen nods and leaves, closely followed by Gwaine, who stops only to give Arthur a short, assessing gaze, before giving him a nod and leaving.

“-Leon, find the Steward, and George if you can. Find a set of chambers that can be reassigned to Merlin, and tell them to begin the process immediately. Not too big, he’d complain and refuse to use them but... oh you know what he’s like, I trust you’ll pick something to his... tastes.”

Leon gives Arthur another smile, before heading towards the door. Just before he can leave, Arthur calls out for him again:

“And if you could have a plate of food sent here as soon as possible. I don’t think he’s eaten all day and we’ll need to get something down him when he wakes up.”

Leon nods, and leaves without another word. Arthur collapses back into his chair before looking at Gaius, and blushing at the fond smile on the older man’s face:

“What?”

Gaius just shakes his head as his smile grows:

“Nothing, my boy. I’m just glad you’re finally realising at least a little of what Merlin sacrifices for you.”

Arthur frowns and tilts his head:

“You mean there’s more he’s giving up than sleep, food, and any and all free time he has?”

Gaius drops his smile fractionally, but covers it quickly (not quick enough that Arthur didn’t notice however) :

“Hmm. Nothing that you need to worry yourself over, My Lord.”

Arthur’s frown deepens:

“Well now I’m just going to worry about it even more. What is it Gaius? If you won’t tell me what the problem is, at least tell me the solution.”

Gaius settles a heavy, pensive gaze on Arthur, and stays silent for a few moments before answering slowly and quietly:

“A long time a go, I gave Merlin some... difficult, advice, pertaining to which secrets he should keep to himself. Perhaps when he wakes I shall rescind said advice. But ultimately, whether he tells you the true extent of his... well, truth, or not, is up to him. I advise you not to push him.”

Arthur huffs:

“So he’s hiding something from me?”

Gaius gives The King a sympathetic smile:

“He’s hiding a multitude of things from a multitude of people. There are very few people who know Merlin fully. His life has been... difficult, from birth, to such an extent that not even I’m aware of what’s going through his mind, the pain he suffers, and I live with him.-”

Gaius stops hesitantly, but Arthur nods for him to continue. He looks deeply troubled, before saying:

“All I can request Sire, is that, if he does decide that he trusts you enough to reveal himself fully, let him finish the story in it’s entirety before you start forming conclusions, and remember, that everything he does, he does for Camelot, for you.”

Arthur’s face shows slight confusion, but he nods firmly. He may not fully understand what on earth Gaius is talking about, but he has a feeling he’ll know it when he sees it. Plus, Merlin means a great deal to him, and the man obviously does a lot for him, the least Arthur can do in return is sit patiently and wait for Merlin to come to him with whatever truth Gaius thinks is so worrying.

It was late in the night when Merlin started to stir, only a few hours until sunrise.

Arthur and Gaius had both fallen asleep after checking over Merlin’s bandages. Gaius had settled in a cot in the corner of the room, and Arthur was curled up in his seat, Merlin’s hand clutched in his.

Arthur woke slowly at first, and then all at once, when he realised that Merlin’s hand was twitching in his own. He leaned forward on his seat, frowning, as he stroked Merlin’s forehead gently with his other hand.

Merlin’s eyes blinked open, as he muttered Arthur’s name. The King smiled gently, placing a comforting hand in the centre of Merlin’s chest, and squeezing his hand slightly:

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Merlin frowns slightly, before he gasps with wide eyes and tries to sit up. Arthur pushes back gently against his chest, and Merlin is far too weak to do anything about it as Arthur speaks quietly:

“No no no, you stay right there. You need to get better before you start rushing around again.”

Merlin frowns and begins to breath deeply:

“No, I don’t have the time Arthur, there’s too much I gotta do.”

He tries to sit up again, but Arthur holds him down, struggling to think of what to say to calm his manservant down before he did more damage to himself:

“No there isn’t. You can’t do anything when you’re sick and injured, alright?-”

At Merlin’s panicked expression, Arthur hurries to continue:

“Don’t worry, Merlin. Gwen spoke to the housekeeper about hiring some new servants to help. I’m going to get Percival to fix the leak in the stable later, Gwaine doesn’t need his sword for at least a few days, and to be perfectly honest, he can get it himself. The housekeeper will deal with the flowers, and Annabeth is fine, Gaius saw her earlier and sent her home for the day. There’s nothing for you to worry about, ok?”

Merlin frowns, and blinks blearily, clearly beginning to lose his lucidity:

“Are you ok? The... assassin... looked pretty... pretty... serious...”

He trails off, but refuses to close his eyes, and lifts a shivering hand to loosely clasp Arthur’s wrist as Arthur replies:

“You haven’t slept or eaten properly in days, you’ve been smacked around and stabbed, and you’re asking me if I’m ok?”

At Merlin’s once again panicked expression, Arthur sighs:

“Yes Merlin, I am one hundred percent ok, and so is everyone else. The assassin was caught, everyone is safe, and there’s nothing that you need to think about right now. Let go, get some sleep.”

Merlin frowns indignantly, and murmurs:

“I’ve already... slept too... long... gotta-”

Arthur huffs before interrupting him:

“Being unconscious is not the same as being asleep. Go to sleep Merlin. I promise, I will wake you up if you are needed in any way... do... do you trust me?”

Merlin looks at him oddly, before his eyelids flutter shut and he goes limp. Arthur just about hears the muttered-

“More that anyone.”

-before Merlin passes out once again, and after waiting a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t faking it (definitely something Merlin would do), he collapses back in his chair.

Merlin really was sick.

Arthur huffs with annoyance at himself, how had he not noticed this sooner? Why hadn’t he pushed it when he came to collect the laundry? Why hadn’t he given Merlin a day off when he got back from the lower-town? Though, knowing Merlin, he probably would’ve spent all day working anyway, even if it wasn’t directly for Arthur.

Arthur’s thoughts are racing so much that he knows he isn’t going to get back to sleep, but it was far too early in the day for anything official to get done; the city was asleep. And besides, even if there was something to be done, Arthur found himself exceedingly unwilling to let go of Merlin’s hand.

So sitting here and thinking was his only option it seemed.

Gwen, Gwaine, and Leon had come back around an hour after he had sent them away, and he was more than pleased with what they had to report.

The housekeeper had drafted up notices asking for permanent, paid, help in the castle, to be distributed in the lower-town tomorrow (or... later today).

Leon and the Steward had found a suitable set of chambers for Merlin, about halfway between Arthur’s and Gaius’, small compared to Arthur’s rooms, but still bigger than the footprint of Merlin’s house back in Ealdor.

Arthur hadn’t managed to get any food in Merlin when he briefly woke up, but the plate that Leon had sent up still sat their waiting, and it would be ready when Merlin was lucid enough to eat.

Arthur was still very worried about the man he had grown to trust more than even himself, but he also trusted Gaius, and if Gaius wasn’t freaking out, then neither would Arthur.

The next few days were... difficult, to say the least.

It took a lot of persuading to convince Merlin to stay in bed, and even a few sleeping draughts slipped into his tea, courtesy of Gaius.

Merlin was also getting increasingly annoyed at all of his friends visiting him, and treating him like he was made of glass.

He was getting desperate to leave the Physician’s chambers and get some work done, and Gaius was not best pleased when he caught the man trying to sneak out.

Gaius sternly told him to sit down and shut up for a minute whilst he explained why exactly he can’t get out of bed yet, and Merlin reluctantly sat back down, nodding at Gaius to start talking:

“Merlin, you hadn’t slept at all in at least seventy-two hours. You hadn’t slept well for the several weeks before that. You hadn’t eaten all day, and I imagine that you hadn’t eaten properly, again, for the several weeks before. You had a mild concussion and fractured collarbone, courtesy of Lord Anselm. Bruises on your hands from gods know what. Balance and dizziness issues caused by being medically exhausted. You are stressed far beyond levels that are even vaguely healthy. All of this, before you sustained a serious stab wound. Merlin, you had a panic attack, yesterday, over not being able to fix a leak. You can not keep working like this, or you will burn yourself out again, and then where will we be? You are of no use to anyone if you drop dead. So will you please, just trust that Arthur has things handled just fine without you.”

Merlin had the decency to look a little ashamed at first, but rolls his eyes when Gaius mentions Arthur:

“That man never has anything handled. Gods know how he’s even managed to get dressed the last few days.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, an obvious “I dare you to argue with me right now” look if Merlin has ever seen one.

Merlin huffs before climbing fully back into his bed (still in the Physician’s chambers. Gaius advised against telling Merlin of all the changes that were happening until after he was better, otherwise he would... simply put, he would freak) and looking to his lap, frowning.

Gaius sighs, and puts a gentle hand on Merlin’s least-injured shoulder:

“Be patient, Merlin. You fail to realise how many people care about you, and how much. We would be devastated to lose you, it’s hard enough to see you suffer like this. So let yourself heal fully, if not for yourself, then for us.”

Merlin looks up at him tiredly (everything seems to tire him out at the moment) with tears in his eyes and Gaius leans forward to gather the boy in a hug.

Merlin falls into it easily, and buries his head in the crook of Gaius’ neck as the older man runs a hand through his hair. He sniffles slightly, before mumbling:

“I’m sorry.”

Gaius smiles sadly, not that Merlin can see it, before replying quietly:

“No need to apologise my boy, just get some sleep. I believe that Guinevere will be joining us for dinner later.”

Merlin nods before removing himself from Gaius’ arms, and settling back under the covers. He shifts until he’s comfortable, and whispers a soft goodnight (I mean... it’s the middle of the afternoon but he’s sleeping the nights and days away at the moment), before drifting off.

Gaius sighs once more, before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

They had a long way to go. Physically, Merlin was well on his way to healing, but emotionally... well. He had a father-figure physician, a fellow servant, five boisterous but loving knights, and a King who may or may not be in love with him.

He’d get there. He just needed a little more time.

THE END

Thank you so much for requesting this anon, I had fun writing it! It kept getting longer and longer and I almost split it into two, but I just decided to go for it in the end.

I hope y’all enjoy! Same as always, you wanna write it up with proper paragraphs and extend it and everything, go for it, credit and tag me :)

Let me know if y’all want my thoughts on anything in particular!

512 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

Now I want the story where NMJ is half war god and NHS is half fox spirit, thank you so much xD

based on this tumblr post and Lao Nie’s decision to refer to WRH as A-Han in this one ficlet

on ao3

Nie Zonghui had long ago suspected that his Sect Leader was a madman, but he didn’t really know it for certain until the first time he lost the man while on a bodyguarding mission – his first, and a great honor.

Supposedly.

“It’s all right,” his father said, looking long-suffering, when he reported back in distress. “He’s an adult, our sect leader, and this is a small city with no major threats in the middle of some idiosyncratic festival celebration for some goddess or another. How much damage can he really do before he sobers up?”

Nie Zonghui stared at his father, then turned to his mother, who was also staring at her husband with an expression of sincere incredulity.

“Lots,” she supplied. “Lots and lots and lots, and that’s assuming he doesn’t get himself killed in the meantime. Why would you even say that?”

“He’s our sect leader, have some respect.”

“I respect the boss bull of the herd, too, but it doesn’t mean I let it go wandering around the fields wherever it pleases!” She shook her head, snorting in a manner not entirely unlike a bull herself. “Well, if we’re very lucky, maybe our cousin will knock up a cow while he’s out and about rather than just breaking things. We could use a direct heir already; he’s not getting any younger.”

“We could use him being properly married is what we could use. I don’t understand why he’s so resistant – ah, Zonghui, you’re still here? Go gather some cultivators and go look for him, but don’t kick up any fuss, and worry too much if you can’t find him at once. He’ll be back to business soon enough.”

He was, if by “soon enough” one meant “after nearly ten days” and by “back to business” one meant “still drunk off his ass and waxing rhapsodic about some girl he met and possibly married”.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the sun shines out of her ass,” Nie Zonghui’s father said, his face stormy. “You still could’ve told us where you went. Look what you did to poor Zonghui, he’s been wearing down his heels pacing in worry over you!”

“Oh, heels, yes, did I mention that my gorgeous goddess had amazing legs, too?” their sect leader asked with a soppy smile and stars in his eyes, totally uninterested in any of their petty complaints. “She could kill a man with them – oh, but I would die a happy man between those thighs…!”

“Zonghui, go guard the outside door,” his mother told him. “Also, tell his younger sister that she might need to be sect leader sooner than she’d hoped, because I’m going to murder this fucking –”

Nie Zonghui was there, too, when ten months later his new little baby cousin was (metaphorically) ditched on their doorstep.

The entire thing was entirely too dramatic for his taste, and yes, he was aware that as a person who chose to dual wield sabers he had very little room to criticize others for being overly dramatic, however correct he might be.

They had been fighting bandits – barely disguised mercenaries, really, probably paid off by the Wen sect to harass them – in what had turned into a particularly bad situation. Three separate regiments had joined together to take advantage of a terrible thunderstorm and ambush them at all once and them with their backs against a raging river, swollen with rain to the precipice of flooding, with no way to retreat except by fleeing on their sabers, abandoning the common people they were protecting and losing all face.

The sect leader had been raging on the battlefield, saber in hand, but even he had seen that they would need to shortly choose between death and dishonor; Nie Zonghui, close by his side, had seen how his face was split with a terrible scowl as he wracked his brain for more options.

Then there had been a terrible roar of thunder, and then a flash of light that had blinded them all.

Nie Zonghui had immediately noted the anomality of it, thunder first and lightning second, and wondered it if it was some sort of array working against them, especially when the light had not faded away but grown brighter, causing searing pain in his eyes that made him fall and clutch at his face. But he was a good soldier, loyal and true, and he forced his eyes open to squint into the night, looking to see he did not know what.

Through his sun-blindness, he vaguely thought he could see a silhouette not unlike that of a woman, ten feet tall and radiant as the sun, wearing a dress of nine colors and carrying a guandao in her hand that seemed to reach the clouds, but when he blinked again he saw nothing at all.

Or, well, he did see something: all of their enemies were headless, no matter where on the battlefield they were, their bodies dropping like a loosened string of coins where they had been standing and splattering anyone they were fighting with blood as they gawped at the sudden corpses.

Also, the sect leader was suddenly holding something in his arms when he hadn’t been before.

“What’s that?” Nie Zonghui asked, and the sect leader turned towards him. Nie Zonghui squinted, and suddenly wondered if this entire battle had been a very bad dream. “…is that a baby?”

“Yes,” the sect leader said, grinning broadly. “He’s my son!”

“He’s your what,” Nie Zonghui said.

“My son! I didn’t know about him, of course – apparently he came as something of a surprise to her as well – but anyway she thought that it would be more appropriate for me to raise him, all things considered. A baby doesn’t quite fit her lifestyle. What do you think of ‘Mingjue’ as a courtesy name? Good, yes?”

Nie Zonghui suddenly understood why his parents were always cursing all the time.

“I don’t see why I need another wife,” the sect leader said. “I already have a son.”

“Don’t you want to give said son a mother?” Nie Zonghui’s mother asked, her arms crossed. “One that isn’t the Dark Lady of the Nine Heavens, the war goddess you somehow managed to knock up without getting killed?”

“She never specified that she was –”

“Someone needs to be Nie-furen,” the sect leader’s younger sister interrupted, “because I am sick and tired of doing the job, and it’s a little difficult to ask a goddess to do it. So you are going to find yourself another one that’s a little closer to the ground this time, you understand me?”

The sect leader nodded and agreed, which was universally agreed upon to be the only appropriate reaction when his beloved meimei said something in that particular tone of voice.

(He did, after a suitable period of time, state that he wanted to make clear that there was no actual evidence that he had knocked up Jiutian Xuannü and that it was quite plausible that the mother of his heir was nothing more than a rogue cultivator of particular strength and possibility even immortality. If Baosan Sanren had managed it, why not someone else?)

At any rate, they brought him several pictures of women that might fit the bill and who would not be too offended at being asked to be a secondary wife – their sect leader swore up and down that he had performed bows with the mother of his first son, rendering him legitimate, and anyway no one was in the mood to see if the maybe-a-goddess would take offense to someone calling her child a bastard – but none seemed to catch their sect leader’s interest.

“Consider visiting a few brothels,” Nie Zonghui’s great-uncle suggested. “Anything to get you back in the habit of thinking about women of a less divine nature – though of course we’d prefer that she be literate.”

The sect leader scowled and stalked off to go night-hunting instead.

“I don’t like brothels,” he said to Nie Zonghui as they made their way through an especially deserted mountain valley in search of something that had murdered all the local mensfolk in the surrounding villages with especial viciousness. “Surely there’s an option in between.”

Nie Zonghui preferred his sabers to either men or women, but he obediently wracked his brain to think of where people in stories and famous songs found their wives. “Innkeeper’s daughters?” he finally suggested.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the sect leader scoffed, but the very next day, he decided to break his usual habit of staying out in the wild no matter the weather in favor of taking shelter from the encroaching storm in a small inn right at the base of an especially lonesome and nasty-looking cliff.

“We’re always happy to have guests,” the innkeeper said with a somewhat sinister smile – he was pale as a ghost in the guttering candlelight, and his lips looked very red. “My daughter will show you to your rooms.”

The daughter in question was inhumanly beautiful: small and graceful, with a fox’s face and dark hair that fell to her knees.

“Wow,” the sect leader said, staring at her. “You know, I think you could kill me with those nails of yours.”

Nie Zonghui took a look and agreed with the sentiment, seeing that her nails were as long as claws and looked just as sharp, but apparently he and the sect leader had somewhat different interpretations of this sequence of events and plans on how to address it.

Namely, Nie Zonghui pointed out that the lady was obviously some sort of yao or maybe a gui and that she was probably the one seducing the local mensfolk, draining their yang energy and then slaughtering them, and therefore that it was undoubtedly their duty as cultivators – and cultivators of the Nie sect in particular – to put an end to her vile deeds through the swift application of their sabers. Furthermore, he explained, they should take care never to allow themselves to be alone with her in the process, lest she seek to entrance them with her seductive magics and lure them to their undoubtedly violent deaths.

The sect leader’s rebuttal to this line of logic was limited to “I’m the sect leader and if I want to bang the probably-a-ghost, I’m going to bang the ghost and there’s nothing you can do to stop me”.

Amazingly enough, the sect leader did not end up dead the next day – the innkeeper looked just as surprised as Nie Zonghui felt – and instead announced, very happily, that he was planning on marrying her.

“You what,” the innkeeper said, staring at his very smug-looking ‘daughter’. In light of dawn, she was wearing a dress of many colors with a foxfur ruff, and her beauty was almost painful to behold.

“You why,” Nie Zonghui moaned.

“You shut up,” the sect leader told him. “I’ll have you know that my lady here is very clever, literate and well-learned, and she doesn’t at all mind being the second wife. Weren’t you one of the ones on my case about getting a Nie-furen to help managing things back home?”

“I didn’t think we needed to specify that the person in question didn’t murder a lot of people!”

“Isn’t his first wife supposedly a war goddess?” the lady inquired, her clever eyes dancing in amusement.

“Well…yes…”

“Also, all those men deserved it,” she said. After a brief pause, she added, “In my opinion as a totally unrelated observer, of course.”

“See?” the sect leader said, putting his arm around her waist. “No problem. Anyway, she’ll stick to killing bad people from now on, it’s fine.”

The lady smiled. There were many teeth in that smile, and they were very sharp.

“If she doesn’t, I’ll have my first wife discipline her,” the sect leader added and her smile abruptly disappeared.

Nie Zonghui coughed into his hand, but reluctantly admitted that maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as all that.

“Huaisang is a lovely name,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, being the best of them at diplomacy when she put her mind to it, although admittedly it was something she did only very rarely. “I think we were just expecting something a little different, that’s all.”

“Possibly something a little more fox related,” Nie Zonghui’s father said.

“Please,” the sect leader’s second wife said. “That would be gauche.”

They looked at her.

“…all of my suggestions along those lines got rejected,” she admitted, and glared at the small shrine in the corner as if it had personally wronged her. In this context, it very well might have.

“Is there anything we should keep an eye out for?” Nie Zonghui said, watching his little cousin carry around his even littler cousin under his arm as if he were a sack of potatoes and not a baby that hadn’t yet had its first month celebration. He would have interfered but for the fact that little Nie Huaisang seemed to be notably more in control of his various limbs than the usual infant. “A tail, for instance?”

“Oh, no,” the second lady said. “Nothing like that.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“It’s very rare for fox children to achieve a grand plot worthy of a tail in their first lifetime.” A pause. “From what I understand, that is.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “…great.”

“You’ll take good care of him when I’m gone, won’t you?” she asked, and when they all looked at her, smiled. “Not for another year or two, don’t worry, but I really can’t stay here that long. Sometimes, a girl’s got urges she has to take care of.”

“The sort of urges where we’d need to hunt down a mysteriously appearing fox yao for having murdered a lot of people?”

“I already promised to stop killing people,” she said sulkily. “Although I do think I made some plausible arguments in favor of a little bit of entirely justified murder in connection with the Jin sect and maybe the Lan sect and, oh, the Jiang sect –”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s not my fault your Great Sects are all headed by men who wrong women.”

“You’re not wrong,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, and Nie Zonghui’s father looked alarmed. “But still, don’t.”

“You’re such spoilsports. But no, as it happens, it’s getting to that time when I need to return home for a while to pay my respects to the older generation.”

“How often does that happen?” Nie Zonghui’s father asked. “Once a century?”

“A gentleman shouldn’t ask a lady her age,” she sniffed. “At any rate, my family home is rather far away and they’re fairly insular, so I’ll probably be gone for at least a decade or so. I’d take the baby with me, but, well, you know, long travel and all. He’s better off sticking with his father.”

“All right,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said. “We understand, and we’ll help take care of him as best we can.”

“I’m glad.”

“We have only one thing to ask of you in return.”

Their second lady arched her delicate eyebrows.

Nie Zonghui’s mother smiled. “You be the one to tell your sister-in-law that you’re leaving your post.”

“…you know, on second thought, maybe I can push my departure out a few more years…”

“Before you say anything, I want to be clear right now that I don’t need a third wife,” their sect leader said. “I’m fine.”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, not unaffectionately. “You’re not allowed a third wife.”

“And therefore – wait, really?” he asked, a little skeptically. “You’re not concerned about me?”

“Oh, we’re very concerned about you,” Nie Zonghui’s father said. “But not in that specific respect. Some celibacy would probably be good for you, at least in terms of increasing your life expectancy.”

“…my sister is lying in wait with a cleaver to make sure she doesn’t have to take on the duties of Nie-furen again, isn’t she.”

“I’m not discounting that possibility, but don’t worry about it, it’s fine, we’ll talk to her. The Lan sect haven’t had a proper hostess in years either, we can just say we’re following their example.”

The sect leader eyed his cousins beadily. “They haven’t had a proper sect leader in years, either.”

“No, you don’t say,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said dryly. “What a coincidence -”

“You have two fine sons,” Nie Zonghui’s father said hastily. “That seems like enough, really.”

“You don’t think they need a mother…?”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui interjected politely. “While we admit that it may be within your capabilities to be able to find a mother willing to deal with one step-son who has been waiving around a saber taller than he is since he learned to walk and has a penchant for the unyielding, unmerciful and very violent application of the norms of divine justice –”

Nie Mingjue’s presence bolstered the spirit of good men, while his gaze seemed to make evildoers itch. He was the most earnestly good person Nie Zonghui had ever met, and also one of the most stiff and unbending in respect to what he believed should and should not be done.

Unfortunate that his standards didn’t seem to match up to the needs of either human law or diplomacy…

“– as well as another who can scheme circles around anyone and persuade them of anything as long as he puts his mind to it and only doesn’t because he’s too busy lazing around in the sun to bother –”

Nie Huaisang liked to file his nails down to something that looked quite normal, but they grew sharp quickly enough if he wasn’t paying attention, and he had a penchant for pranks. There was nothing quite as unnerving as running into a sudden and unexpected ambush and then suddenly hearing the shrill peal of a fox’s laughter, hidden behind a scholarly fan.

“– but all things considered, we’d really rather you - didn’t.”

His mother and father nodded fervently.

“Good,” the sect leader said, though he still looked suspiciously at them as if he thought they were hiding something. “Good. As long as we’re agreed.”

Nie Zonghui walked in on his sect leader pinning the Wen sect leader to a wall, murmuring something in a low voice with a very particular smile on his face, and then he turned around and walked right back out again.

The sect leader of the Wen sect might appear beautiful and young, but he was at least a generation older than the Nie sect leader. Not that that had stopped the latter from relying on their respective positions to refer to him in startlingly intimate terms – my dear A-Han, the sect leader would say with a touch of wickedness that reminded one of his second son and the tiger gall bravery of his first – and while at first the Wen sect leader had taken it as a challenge to his authority, an act of brash insolence, it appeared that they had progressed beyond that.

That the Wen sect leader already had three wives and two concubines apparently didn’t present any obstacles either – except perhaps in what those poor women might have to endure from their husband when he returned from the wretched teasing he was enduring. Nie Zonghui felt a bit of pity for them.

Shortly thereafter, he felt a bit of pity for himself. The Wen sect had long dreamed of dominating the cultivation world and sought to increase their influence with the other sects through underhanded means, with the Nie sect opposing them at every turn. Even if war was not on the immediate horizon, the wise could smell its distant approach in the air - the best estimates said that it would take another decade or two to arrive, unless the Nie sect leader took an especially hard stance.

It appeared, however, that the Nie sect leader had chosen to take a different sort of…hard stance.

Ugh.

Maybe Nie Zonghui could conspire to throw his sect leader into a cage with a live tiger in heat next time he felt in the mood. It’d probably be less dangerous.

Nie Zonghui had assumed that the first person to talk to him about what he had seen would be his sect leader, even if it was only to remind him of the general rule that the sect leader had ultimate power and therefore could exercise his own bad judgment in deciding to fuck whoever he wished, but instead it was the Wen sect leader that found him later that afternoon.

A flush had yet to fully fade from his cheeks, and Nie Zonghui raised his eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking directly at the man in front of him.

He did not want to know. Others might, given that no one had ever complained about the looks of either party, but he himself had realized long ago that he had no interest in matters of the flesh under any circumstances; he was very content with that conclusion.

“Is there some service this one can provide to Sect Leader Wen?” he asked politely, and it was only when the sect leader flushed again that he realized belatedly that his words could be misconstrued. After all, his own sect leader had probably already made a similar offer regarding the provision of services…

“Your sect leader has a sister, doesn’t he?” the other man asked, his voice tight and his hands in even tighter fists. “I’m not misremembering that?”

“He does,” Nie Zonghui responded honestly, and not without sympathy for the Wen sect leader’s position. He was given to understand that making certain belated discoveries regarding one’s own preferences could be highly disconcerting, particularly later in life. “But she’s rather different in kind than what you may be thinking, so it won’t work out that way. It wouldn’t work even if she wasn’t already married, which she is.”

After a moment of thought, he added, “Also, consider your predecessors.”

The Wen sect leader’s eyes narrowed.

Really, it was the sect leader’s own damn fault that he got himself murdered.

#mdzs #lao nie #nie zonghui #madame nie 1 and 2 #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #the alternate name of this fic was #a goddess a yao and a tyrant walk into a bar to bitch about their boyfriend #but I refrained #atwitchofthewrist

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acnelli · 3 years ago

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First Time Falling

This is my entry for the @hpqueerfest 2021. Thanks to the mods who hosted this! And a big thank you to my great beta-readers @nagemeikenu and @static-abyss who put up with my phone-writery (writing time is hard to come by these days).

This story was inspired by Prelude and Fugue by shes_gone, and it’s set in a world where Harry didn’t go to Hogwarts, but had been prepared for his destiny.

Pairing: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley Rating: T TW: strong language, mentions of war time, mentions of drug and alcohol consume Prompt: Falling in love for the first time as an adult (late 20’s-early 30’s) Summary: Harry Potter –Head-Auror and Savior of the Wizarding World– spontaneously asked out a cute redhead and it turned to so much more than he could have ever hoped for.

You can also read this on AO3 and FFN.

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

Not bothering to knock, Ron Weasley marched into Hermione Granger’s office. The heavy mahogany door slammed against the wall, making Hermione jump up from her chair.

“Ron,” she shrieked as a bunch of paper fell off her desk. “What happened?”

Instead of providing his best friend with an explanation for his sudden intrusion, Ron paced back and forth. The panicked look in his eyes made Hermione assume the worst.

With one swift motion, Hermione stepped in front of the redhead, forcing him to stop his frantic pacing. “Ron, please talk to me,” she pleaded, taking his hand into hers. “What’s going on? Is someone hurt? Is your family okay?”

Hermione’s worried expression and the panic in her voice finally brought Ron to his senses. “No, don’t worry, Hermione,” he sighed as he closed her office door. “I’m sorry! But...do you have time for a quick cup of tea in the cafeteria?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. This report is giving me a headache and I need a break.”

Hermione grabbed her purse and gestured for Ron to lead the way.

“I swear, Ron, if you almost gave me a heart attack over something Quidditch related, I’ll hex you into next week and make your new Firebolt disappear forever,” Hermione added as they made their way down to the Ministry cafeteria.

Ron glanced over at the bushy-haired witch, suppressing a grin as he told her his distress was indeed about Quidditch. They grabbed their beverages and headed towards a free table. Gracing him with a dark look, Hermione gestured for Ron to finally tell her what’s going on.

“Harry Potter asked me out on a date!”

This statement caused Hermione’s drink to go down the wrong way, resulting in a violent coughing fit and her spitting out the tea.

“What?” she wheezed out between coughs, as Ron cleaned his face and shirt with his wand.

He waited patiently until Hermione recovered, both from the coughing fit and the shock. “See, even you don’t believe me,” Ron sighed, harshly rubbing his hands over his face, “I don’t blame you, though. I can’t believe it myself, after all.”

Finally being able to speak again, Hermione put her elbows on the small table and leaned forward, determined to not miss a single thing about this story. “Spill! How? When? Where? And don’t you dare to leave out even the smallest detail.”

Ron shook his head, still in disbelief about what had happened to him just twenty minutes ago. Not being able to wrap his head around it, he decided to tell Hermione today’s events from beginning to end.

“Today, Robertson sent me a memo to come to his office to discuss the ridiculous complaints about the Tornados/Harpies game last week,” Ron started and couldn’t help rolling his eyes about the things he had to put up with at work sometimes. “So, I went there, gave him my report about the match and a brief overview. Thank Merlin, he only asked his usual useless questions about referee bribery claims. I was ready to launch into a whole speech but he suddenly dismissed me and told me to write up a statement for the press.

“I was just on my way back to my office when I met Seamus. The fucking wanker had the nerve to claim the next Cannons match for himself. I know he did that just to spite me so, naturally, I gave him an ear full about it as we waited for the lift. We only noticed Harry Potter standing right behind us when we got inside the lift. I probably sounded like an idiot but Seamus and I kept the conversation up because I always get second-hand embarrassment when people stop talking if Potter walks by or joins the lift.”

Hermione patiently listened to his ramblings, restraining herself from telling him to get to the point already.

Ron sipped on his tea and shook his head. “You know what? I read too much into this. Just realised that I’m acting exactly as everyone else does. What’s the big deal? Just a bloke who wants to have a pint after work.”

Hermione stared at Ron, expecting him to go on with his story, but he just kept sipping his tea.

“Ron!”

“What?”

“How did he ask you out?” She accidentally raised her voice but Hermione was finally losing her patience with him.

“I told you, he most likely-”

“Just tell me the damn story, already!” Hermione snapped, blushing a little when she noticed the people on the other tables giving her funny looks.

“Alright,” Ron said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Calm down, barmy woman.”

“You're the one marching into my office like a lunatic. Spill it! Now!”

With a heavy sigh, Ron continued with his story, curling his hands around the tea mug to keep from fidgeting.

“Seamus had already gotten off at another level, so it was just me and Potter in there. I tried to avoid the awkward silence, so I asked him if he followed Quidditch and was going to listen to or even watch the Tornados match tonight. He said that he does follow Quidditch and that he intended to listen to the match at home but if I'd be up to it, we could listen to it at this new pub that just opened in Diagon. He totally caught me by surprise, but I must've agreed because he told me he'll meet me at the fireplaces at 5. Then he left the lift. Then I freaked out and came to your office.”

Ron marked the end of his story by taking another sip of his tea before he defiantly crossed his arms in front of him.

“Jesus, Harry Potter actually asked you out! Oh my God!” Hermione almost squealed, grasping one of Ron's arms.

“Nah! I don't think so anymore. I bet he just wanted to have a pint and was only being polite when he asked me to come along,” Ron said. “Who'd ask someone out like that anyway?”

“Someone looking for a partner?”

“Yeah, but think about it, Hermione. Why would he ask me out? The guy is not only fucking famous, he's also devilishly handsome. He could have anyone he wanted.”

“So?”

Ron looked at Hermione as though she'd just declared the desire to live as a chicken.

“So? So, why would someone ask me out while on a random stroll through the Ministry? Who'd think ‘Oh, that freakishly tall ginger with more freckles than skin looks kinda awkwardly cute. Let's try to get a leg over?'"

“I dated you,” Hermione interjected.

“You don't count.”

“Well, thank you!” Her sarcasm was all but ignored by Ron.

“I just know I'll embarrass myself tonight,” Ron insisted, looking quite unhappy. “Let's go back to work. I still have to write that useless report.”

“Devilishly handsome, hm?”

“Shut up!”

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

Harry didn't know what had possessed him to ask the cute ginger out for a pint.

Maybe it had been the Prophet article speculating for the umpteenth time about when the Savior of the Wizarding World would finally settle down and make some black-haired, green-eyed babies. Rita Skeeter had many ideas about what worthy witch could conquer the heart of Harry Potter. All things considered, the article had probably not been the worst thing written about him so far.

Sometimes he wondered if he should've taken Sirius’ advice to feed the press and public meaningless details of his life. It wouldn't stop the constant speculations and made-up affairs, but it probably would reduce the paparazzi following him around, the crazy fans sending him love letters and maybe, they would find something more newsworthy than where Harry Potter bought his toilet paper.

But he hated the fact that people demanded this from him. He was 29 now, and while the great hype about him was over, he still seemed to be interesting enough to write about, even over a decade after his defeat of Voldemort.

He knew the majority of the Wizarding World was sincerely grateful for what he'd done. There were so many parents thanking him for the simple fact that they're still alive and able to see their children grow up.

It reminded him that it was all worth it. The sacrifices, the nearly friendless childhood, his secret life away from the public, the growing up with the knowledge that he might not live long enough to celebrate his 17th birthday. All of that had resulted in ending Voldemort once and for all.

When he'd destroyed the Dark Lord and his Horcruxes though, Harry’s hope of finally living a normal life got crushed soon after. In the post-war world, it had been next to impossible to lead a life like everyone else. Because of his childhood and his training by Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody himself, he learned not to trust easily. And since occasions to make friends or interact with strangers had been few and far between, he never really learned what to look for in a friend.

He was well aware that he was complaining about a comfortable life. His parents had left him a respectable amount of gold, and Sirius bought him a flat in London after he graduated from Auror Academy. Maybe he'd gotten this job because of his fame and reputation, but he knew he deserved the position as Head Auror. There was hardly anyone with the same amount of training and experience he brought to the table, and he was under the impression the people working for him did genuinely like him as a boss. Two of them he even considered friends after all these years.

Aside from the two friends at work he also had his family. He had Sirius, Remus, Andromeda, Tonks and his godson, Teddy. He wasn't alone by any means, but he'd never met someone he could possibly fall in love with. Hell, aside from one of Tonks’ old friends from school and her father's attempts to set him up with several of his countless nieces—and later nephews when Harry told his family girls didn't do it for him—he'd never even dated. Toby—a fellow student from elementary school and the only friend his age—dragged him to Muggle pubs and clubs, resulting in the occasional snog or even a shag with a stranger. Needless to say, his first time hadn't exactly been romance novel material and it sure wasn't something he liked to think about. Sometimes, Harry feared that he would never fall in love, that he wasn't capable of developing those feelings for another person.

Those unpleasant thoughts combined with the Rita Skeeter article may have been the result of his sudden impulse to just go for it and ask the redhead out. But it also could have been the brilliant blue eyes, the kind, shy smile and the lean shoulders. Harry was sure, though, that the main reason for it had been the fact that this man hadn't treated him like a Messiah. It had just been an easy conversation, even if it had been only two minutes.

Harry hoped it would remain that way when they watched the game later. In fact, he could just brush it off as a friendly meeting with a fellow Ministry worker if Cute Ginger wasn't interested in anything more.

But when he thought about the redhead’s lopsided grin, Harry felt a foreign flutter in his stomach and he couldn't help but hope for more, even if it was just another visit to the pub.

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

In the 30 years of Ron Weasley’s existence, he'd never been on time for something not work-related. Today, though, he was almost ten minutes early as he waited by the fireplaces for Harry Potter.

Again, he felt rather pathetic. For a hot second, he considered waiting in a nearby bathroom to pass the time, pretending to get to their meeting place just in time. But then he reminded himself that he wasn’t a petty teenager anymore, and even if Potter found it pathetic, Ron didn’t expect a repeat of tonight, anyway.

He decided to just treat this like a meet-up with Dean and Seamus every other Thursday after work. Just two guys, enjoying a couple of pints together, talking about Quidditch. Nothing special. Nothing to freak out over.

The atrium was busy as ever but he spotted Potter right away when the Head-Auror stepped out of the lift and made his way towards the fireplaces. He still wore his magenta work robes and Ron couldn't help but notice how sexy they looked on him.

“Hi!” Potter greeted Ron, smiling somewhat shyly. “Ready for some beer and Quidditch?”

“Sure! But I forgot to introduce myself earlier, so I figured I'd do that now,” Ron said, giving the dark haired man a smile in return, as he offered his hand for a proper introduction. “I'm Ron. Ron Weasley.”

“I'm Harry.”

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

“No way! How did he get out of there?”

Harry barked out a laugh at Ron's tale of a night out with Seamus and Dean. His outburst was loud enough for the other guests of the pub to look in their direction. Ron found it amusing how a simple change into Muggle clothes, different glasses, and a slightly lighter hair colour resulted in no one recognizing the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Since it was a Muggle police station, Seamus had to spend the night there. Statute of Secrecy, and all. We picked him up the next morning and filled him in on what he'd done the night before, including showing everyone his pale arse.” Ron grinned deviously at the memory. “I invented some things for good measure. Unfortunately, Dean is too good for this world and told him a few hours later that I was taking the mickey.”

Harry shook his head, chuckling. “That reminds me of Remus searching the whole of London for Sirius, only to find him several hours later in a hidden spot on the roof. He was gazing at the stars and totally stoned. Combined with Firewhiskey, he didn't remember a single thing from that night.”

“Sirius?” Ron looked quite interested at the mention of his Godfather’s name. “Sirius, as in Sirius Black?”

“Yes. He was my Dad’s best friend. And he's my Godfather.”

“I'm just asking because I'm related to the Blacks. My grandfather married Cedrella Black.”

“Yes, I recognize the name. Her face got blasted off the family tree,” Harry said, and at Ron's raised eyebrow quickly added, “Sirius’ mother blasted everyone off that tree who didn't uphold the Black family's motto ‘Toujours pur’. So, Cedrella must have gone against the high and mighty Black Pureblood tradition.”

“Well,” Ron said, taking a swig of his beer, “she married a Weasley. I'm sure that alone was reason enough to disown her. The Weasleys have been notorious blood traitors since forever.”

“Sounds like your grandmother had good taste in men if you ask me.”

Harry winked at Ron, and the redhead felt the burning blush creeping up his neck.

Ron was once again amazed at how little time it had taken him to lose his nervousness. But Harry Potter made it very easy for him. Harry was confident, yet humble and polite. His humor didn't have Ron's sarcastic edge, but the redhead found Harry delightfully witty with a good amount of sass.

Ron didn't know what he expected but it was undeniable how easy it was to talk to Harry. He could only hope the raven-haired man enjoyed this just as much as he did. Harry laughed at his jokes and seemed genuinely interested in Ron's more-than-mundane life.

As much as Ron tried to see this as a meeting with a good friend, he couldn't help the warm feeling in his chest every time Harry smiled at him or his leg accidentally bumped against Ron's. And if the alcohol hadn't gone to his head already, making him imagine things, Harry's eyes kept flitting down to Ron's lips.

When the woman behind the bar announced the final round, they decided to call it a night since it was one of Harry's work Saturdays tomorrow.

As they ventured out of the crowded pub and into the cool night air, Ron was disappointed about the evening coming to an end. Time had flown and he was sure they could've talked for several more hours.

“Would you mind if I walk you home?” Harry asked just as Ron wanted to wish him a good night.

Ron nodded, not being able to suppress his smile as Harry obviously remembered him mentioning that he only lived a few blocks away.

They kept their pace slow and walked a little closer to each other than necessary, their hands bumping against one another. Every touch sent a jolt through Ron's body and he wanted nothing more than to take Harry's hand.

Eventually, they reached their destination. During the entire walk home Ron had gathered all of his Gryffindor courage to ask Harry out, this time for an official date.

“I- um,” Ron started, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck to ease his nerves. “I really enjoyed this evening and I was wondering...Maybe I got this all wrong, but you seem interested, and well, I'm interested too. And if you're not, that's totally fine. But...caniseeyouagain?”

And before Ron's face had the time to go completely crimson, he got his answer as Harry took his hand to pull him close, leaned up and kissed him.

Harry pulled back from Ron's lips, his stunning, green eyes slightly darker than usual and holding a hopeful glint.

Ron didn't give himself the chance to overthink as he put his hand on the back of Harry's neck and kissed him again. A deep groan escaped him when Harry licked at Ron's bottom lip and Harry took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside.

Ron was positive that he'd never experienced something more incredible than kissing Harry Potter. The only things he was capable of paying attention to were Harry and the wild thumping of his heart. And while it was exhilarating and new and positively made him weak in the knees, it also felt a lot like coming home.

Having lost all sense of time, Ron couldn't tell if they'd kissed for a minute or several hours when they broke apart. Harry's hands still gripped his shirt and Ron let his own hands glide from Harry's dark hair down over strong, well-defined shoulders to finally rest at his hips.

Both of them tried to catch their breath and Harry, who finally let go of Ron's shirt to put his arms around him, smiled up at Ron almost shyly.

“Yes, you can see me again,” Harry said, grinning.”What are your plans for tomorrow night?”

“Well,” Ron pretended to think about it for a second, “I thought I'd do this.”

And with that, he leaned in to kiss Harry again.

“I think that's a brilliant idea.”

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

Just as he turned off the radio and grabbed his coat from the rag beside the door, a loud knock sounded through Harry's now quiet flat.

“Ten minutes early. Eager, aren't we?” Harry said as he opened the door for a tall ginger with a picnic basket in one hand and a broom in the other.

“Says the one waiting right beside the door like a good dog.”

Ron shoved his way inside, putting down the basket and broom before pulling Harry into his arms.

“Happy Birthday,” Ron murmured against the other man's lips. “And I thought I was supposed to give you a present, not the other way around?”

Harry pulled back a little, apparently confused. Ron grinned at him and squeezed Harry's arse. “Thanks for wearing my favourite pants today.”

Chuckling, Harry pointed at the broom Ron had brought with him. “No way I'll fly on a broom in these. Good thing I also packed my joggers.”

Ron hadn't told him where they were going for Harry's Birthday. He'd just instructed Harry to be ready at 9 in the morning, so they'd be back in time for dinner at Grimmauld Place with Harry's family.

Only two months had passed since their first kiss, but Harry already felt as though he'd known Ron for much longer. Every kiss, every touch, all the teasing and banter, and late night talks felt so completely natural, yet blissfully exciting.

“Come on, grab your broom. We're on a tight schedule.”

Ron winked at him and before Harry knew it, they were standing in the middle of a giant Quidditch pitch.

There wasn't a single soul besides them, but Harry immediately recognized the giant Hogwarts House banners from his family's keepsakes of their school years. Aside from that fateful day when he'd fought Voldemort on those grounds, he'd never visited the school. Not before, not after.

Harry tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. The surprise must be the result of one of their late night talks, when Harry confessed that his deepest desire while growing up had been to go to Hogwarts.

“Are we allowed to be here or do I need to arrest you for breaking into school grounds?”

Arms wrapped around him from behind and Harry could feel Ron smiling against the back of his head. “I wouldn't be opposed to playing the big bad Auror and the naughty Suspect later, but this is actually 100% legal. Having contacts with important Quidditch officials has its perks sometimes. And my annual chess game against McGonagall helped too, I suppose.”

“Okay then,” Harry said, lifting one of Ron's hands to his mouth to brush his lips against his knuckles. “Fill me in on that plan of yours.”

Ron let go of him and reached for their brooms, tossing one of them at Harry. “I thought we'd fly over the grounds first, so I can show you everything from above. The castle looks fucking amazing from up there and the Great Lake is a sight to die for when the water reflects the sun.”

Ron mounted his broom and flew in slow circles around Harry as he continued to talk. “I hope you don't mind that I invited your family for dinner. But I thought we could all show you the castle, introduce you to our favourite spots and secret places. Andromeda can show us the Slytherin common room. I've never been there myself. I'll show you the kitchen first. That's where I'll cook dinner later while the others show you around.”

Jumping down from his broom, Ron looked at Harry with a mixture of excitement and reluctance as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was a telltale sign of the redhead being nervous, Harry had learned in the last weeks.

“So, I thought this to be fitting for a 30th Birthday. I wasn't sure what to get you that you don't already have, and I reckoned this might be fun.”

Harry didn't know what to say and his silence only made Ron doubt his plan more. It always baffled Harry how Ron didn't realize how wonderful he was. He wished Ron could see himself through Harry's eyes.

Right at that moment, as Harry looked into Ron's blue eyes, it hit him. In fact, he knew he'd been harbouring these feelings inside him for weeks now, but only now he could see it with shining clarity.

He was falling in love.

The feeling was new, something he'd never experienced, but still he recognized it for what it was.

Love.

***

#hpqueerfest #mine #my stories #my fanfics #rarry #rarry fanfic #rarry fanfiction #hp #hp fanfic #harron #ronarry #harry potter #ron weasley #harry x ron #ron x harry #ron and harry #harry and ron #ron/harry #harry/ron

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cinnamonrusts · 4 years ago

Text

together, we can make it out alive - 1

[a/n: originally posted on my Ao3 and I decided to revamp my series some with my updated writing techniques. Hope you enjoy.]

⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

*BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP*

The electronic chimes from your alarm clock blared loudly in your ear. Groans escaped your dry throat as the clock stirred you from your slumber, "Not yet--," your hand fished for the large snooze button on the top of the clock. Five more minutes, that is all you would need. Well, five minutes came and once again the alarm beeped in your ear. Your eyelids slowly lifted as you read the blurry red digits that stared in your face. "3:45 PM", it read. "Shit..." you cursed as you knew that you needed to get up and get around for your nightshift turn.

Your legs swung around the edge of your bed as you stretched with a loud yawn. Daylight peaked in through your blinds and shined directly into your eyes, "I really need some black out curtains," you mumbled to yourself as you made a mental note. This was just your daily routine now. You slept in the morning after getting off work from the Raccoon City Police Department and woke up around 3:00 PM. Ate, exercised, showered, and relaxed all before you pushed pencils on the clock at your desk.

Don't get it wrong. It was a job and you were thankful, but your duties weren't exactly what you expected them to be after the headache that was the police academy. You didn't hate your job, you just didn't -- like it. Also, you really fucking hated Raccoon City. It was not the same place that you remembered as a kid, not to mention all the weird things that had been going on lately. You just really wanted out of there. Maybe go to a warmer city... like Los Angeles or something.

You pushed yourself to a stand and turned around on the balls of your feet to head to the bathroom. When you reached the shower, you turned on the faucet and ran your fingers under the warm water. Just as it reached the perfect temperature, your phone rang. You ignored it and waited for the voicemail to pick up. But it just rang again.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" you yelled at the telephone as you stomped through your apartment to the device on the wall. "Hello?" you answered.

A familiar, yet unwelcomed voice barked from the other end of the line. "[L/N]! Where the hell are you?!" It was Lt. Branagh. "Home. My shift doesn't start until 10." your eyes rolled as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Get your ass over to the station! We've had reports all day of violent attacks all over the damn city!" He couldn't be serious -- it was 6 hours now until your shift! "I don't come in until--," Branagh cut you off, "I expect to see you soon, [L/N]." the call ended.

You kicked the open moving box that sat in front of you in anger. It flipped onto its side and the contents spilled out onto the floor. It was a bunch of papers that you failed to file away and as you picked them up, you noted a familiar picture on top of the mess. The photo displayed two very recognizable faces that had smiles displayed happily.

You and Leon S. Kennedy.

He was your partner in crime during the police academy. Leon was the only one who didn't see you being a woman as a weakness. The two of you hit it off immediately after he introduced himself and complimented your skills.

On top of your heads were colorful party hats that seemed to be a bit too small. Both of your arms were slinked around his shoulders as you pulled him in for a close hug. His right hand was rested on your waist and the left held up a large mug of beer that was about to spill out onto the floor. Your thumb caressed the image of his handsome face and a smirk spread across your lips. You flipped the picture over and in faded pen was your handwriting: "Graduation Celebration! JULY '98"

Leon crossed your mind often. The two of you lost contact with one another after something happened between the two of you. It was as if that party happened yesterday -- the night that he kissed you. Your eyes closed and you could picture Leon's face perfectly - the way that his lips puckered and the way that they felt.

The two of you stood outside of the bar on that warm summer night. Leon was leaned against his shitty blue car that was wrapped in faded paint and rust. You stood in front of him with your arms crossed and your eyes focused on the clear sky that hovered above. Then the sensation of fingers over your skin drew your attention from the sky, to the man. Your gazes locked and his lids were half shut but a smile was on his lips. "Leon, you're drunk, aren't you?" you chuckled. His fingers wrapped around your bicep, "Maybe," he cooed as he brought you close to him. You could feel and smell his breath, it was warm and stunk heavy of booze.

With his free hand, he moved it to your cheek and tickled it lightly with his knuckle. Your [E/C] eyes stared deep into his moonstone ones, Leon's pupils dilated before they closed. His lips met yours. They were smooth but a bit chapped - he must be an avid user of Chapstick, you thought. The kiss was quick but meaningful. When he pulled away, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another. When the two of you broke apart, you noted the way those moonstone pools in his head looked at you -- you could get lost in them -- forever.

The fond memories brought warmth to your heart that you lost the track of time. Pounds from beneath you interrupted your reminiscence. Your neighbor below screamed through the floorboards. "Hey, you fucking idiot! Stop using all the hot water! You're not the only one who fucking lives here!" he continued to pound and yell. "Shut up, you fuck!" you screamed back as you scrambled to your feet. Your clothing was stripped from your body as you dashed to the shower, and jumped directly into the lukewarm stream.

You knew that Branagh was most likely boiled over in anger because of how late you were already. Once you finished your shower, you pulled on your police uniform, styled your hair into a neat bun, grabbed a bagel, and ran out the door. Your car was parked pretty far down the road and rain began to fall from the sky. What a perfect start to the day. You shoved the bagel into your mouth and dashed for your car. The key slipped in your hands as you fiddled with them to get the door unlocked. Just as you grabbed the correct one, they fell onto the ground and so did your bagel.

"I've already had enough of today," you cursed and sighed to yourself as you bent over to pick them up. When you stood back up, a woman came from nowhere and threw herself onto you. She cried in panic and spoke incoherently. You noted the large wound on her shoulder and blood was seeped heavily into her shirt. "P-Please! Help me!" she grabbed onto your shirt with blood stained hands. "Ma'am!" you yelled and pushed her off of you for your own safety. She stumbled back and fell to her knee, "Let me call an ambulance!" you started to run to a nearby pay phone but she stopped you with a stutter that it was too late. "There's more of them!" her head turned in the direction of an alley to the left, then she took off from the ground in a haste. "Ma'am, wait!" you yelled as you watched her run away around the corner and into the city.

"Who's coming?" you whispered. With curiosity, you walked toward the alley that the woman had looked down but saw no one. Maybe she was one of the crazy people that were noted to be around the city and around the Arklays... If you saw her again, you'd probably call in some backup... the crazy look in her eyes... it unsettled you. You managed to shake the image of them from your mind and focused on getting out of the rain.

As you walked back to your car, you noticed the red stains that were now stained into your uniform. Whatever. You would worry about it after you made it to work. Once you got into your car, the radio started talking about more and more unrest that had spread more and more through the streets. Your finger pressed the power off, "Enough of that." the news was just the same and you just knew that you had to deal with it first hand once you arrived at the station, it just made it worse.

In front of the parking garage for the RPD were several cars that seemed to have been in an accident. Your car couldn't go any further than where you were at, so you hopped out of the vehicle to walk the rest of the way. People dashed around the streets in a panic and it seemed as if it were the apocalypse. You tried to flag people down to stop them but they all ignored you. What the hell is going on?! When you entered the station, there was even more chaos. Officers ran around like wild and some seemed to be injured as well. You felt anxious and confused by everything that was going on. What had gone on in your brief time away?

Phones rang, people yelled, doors slammed, and everything soon overwhelmed you, you could feel yourself going into an overload. But a strong hand on your shoulder was a saving grace. "There you are, [L/N]!" it was Branagh and a brief look of relief washed across his face. "I left a stack of paperwork on your desk. Sort through it and then you're going out on patrol. Some crazy shit is going down..." he gave you a light push in the direction of your desk.

As you walked to the back of the office, you noticed the banner that was spread across the ceiling in blue and yellow.

"WELCOME LEON"

Your heart pumped in your chest and you could feel your skin begin to turn clammy. There was only one Leon that you know of that was a cop. The man that you shared a kiss with and so many more feelings... Leon -- Kennedy? Was he actually on his way here? He always told you that after the academy he would eventually come find you in the city and be your partner again. You thought that it was just a joke -- but now, it didn't seem that way. How could he come here without saying anything to you? No call? No email? Nothing?

Your eyes remained on the banner and you asked your co-worker who sat on the desk beneath it, "Hey, Rita. Who's this, Leon?" She didn't look up from her desk, "I dunno. Some new guy from out of town. Last name starts with a K or something like that. Ask Neil, I'm sure he knows." You could feel a knot in your stomach and you darted to your chair. The desk that was across from you was normally piled high with boxes of paperwork, but now it was cleared off. You leaned over the divider and snatched the piece of paper on the desk. Your eyes darted across the text:

"Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is to... unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names."

The note confirmed it. It was indeed that Leon. You plopped back into your seat and gnawed on the nail of your thumb. Your thoughts were now consumed as to how both Leon and yourself would react when he arrived. You could see it now...

He would laugh with the other officers as they shot the shit with him. He would be in the center of the group, they would slap him on the back and tell him how happy they were to have him on the force. His gaze would eventually land on you and he would excuse himself from them. Leon would smile and show off his perfect teeth. He'd saunter over and slowly shake his head, "I didn't expect to see you here, [F/N]."

You swallowed hard but your thoughts were interrupted when the sounds of glass shattered right outside of the office's door.

The chatter and hubbub in the office halted as everyone's attention turned toward the door. An officer who wasn't much older than you rushed toward the noise, he couldn't make out exactly what it was from behind the glass of the door but drew his gun in preparation. He looked back at the office filled with you and your co-workers before opening the door slowly. "Hello?" he called out. His gun was pointed out into the hallway but found that there was nothing there. Then a sound of something you had never heard before or ever would forget echoed loudly in the empty hall.

It sounded like a monster, there was no other way to explain it. It pierced through your ears and then the sounds of the officer's shrieks shook your core. A loud gurgle erupted from his throat as he was tackled by a person onto the floor. This - person, dug their teeth deeply into his throat and proceeded to rip it out. Bright, red liquid sprayed from the wound across the floor. Two male officers threw themselves onto the assailant and tried their hardest to pull him off but soon were attacked as well. Gunshots blasted off in the office which then were accompanied by more sounds of broken glass. The assailant dropped dead beside the officers on the floor and everyone exchanged glances of pure terror.

"More are out there!" yelled Branagh as he held his weight against the door to stop any more of these "people" from killing everyone his subordinates. "Pistols aren't going to keep us alive for much longer," Rita cried out. "But Irons insisted we hide everything else away, remember!?" your fellow officers shouted at each other as tension rose - fear and panic began to set in.

"I know where some are," you piped up. "I have the keycard for the weapons locker," you reached into your shirt pocket and pulled out a white, plastic card. "Perks of being the newbie, I guess. I'll go." you walked toward the back door but stopped when Branagh barked at you, "You can't go alone!" You shook your head, "I will be right back, I promise." you disregarded his arguments and with a deep breath, opened the door and took off on your mission.

The hall was dark and quiet, the electricity must had been cut out in this section of town. You swallowed hard and with your pistol in on hand with the flashlight in the other, you took quiet yet brisk strides down the long stretch of hallway. All you could hear was the sounds of your bootsteps and the groans of those things that lurked just outside of the fences that kept the building somewhat safe. You needed these guns, no matter what. Or you and your co-workers would end up just like those officers - dead. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced which could be felt in your skull, "Easy girl," you spoke out, "Just a few doors and you'll be there."

Time was not on your side, so you took off in a sprint. The feeling of being so vulnerable next to a stretch of windows worried you as you could fall victim to whatever those things were at any time. They weren't exactly "things" they looked human and most likely were but maybe they were deranged with some sort of illness. But nonetheless, they were dangerous and deadly... Just as you feared, one of them crashed through the window. Their greedy palms reached for you over the broken glass and managed to snag you by your hair. You screamed in pain and terror as their strength pulled you in but when you pulled away, you only pulled them closer. Your pistol flew from your hands and slid across the floor, too far for you to reach.

Their bloody jaws snapped as they tried their hardest to sink their teeth into your soft flesh. You could feel their breath on your skin and you struggled but could feel your strength giving way to theirs. There was only one thing you could do and it was to grab the knife that was attached to the side of your right leg. Your fingertips were just barely able to reach the handle but with one quick lunge of your body, you grabbed hold of the weapon. The desire to survive charged your strength and you began to saw through the strands of your hair that were gripped tight in the clutches of the creature. Tears poured down the sides of your face as you sawed through the strands that were the barrier between you and certain death.

The creature was now halfway over the window and their hand still had your [h/c] hair in between their fingers, jaws still snapped at you as they begged to taste your flesh. You scrambled on all fours as you attempted to gather yourself so that you could press on. Your foot slipped on a large piece of broken glass which sent you across the floor, you then landed onto a large chunk of broken glass. The sharp piece embedded itself deep into your knee and you cried in pain as you held your leg close to your chest. The creature dug its nails into the tile floor and started to crawl toward you with dead eyes, and bloody teeth. You took several deep breaths as you prepared to yank the glass from your leg and with one last deep inhale, you yanked it out. You cried in pain but knew that you had to keep going, your muscle burned as it now was exposed to the air. You made sure to grab your pistol from the floor before you continued on.

Your sprint was now resorted to a quick limp but you managed to make it to the locker room. To your dismay, it was mostly empty besides a couple of shotguns and some ammunition. "Fuck! Fuck! This isn't enough!" you screamed as you pounded your fist against one of the lockers. Inside one of the open lockers was a weapons bag which you were able to fill with the lackluster amount of supplies. As you zipped up the bag, the metal door to the room opened and the sound drew your attention. Your pistol was ready and you limped around the corner to hide behind a row of lockers to hide from who or whatever it was. The room was dark but a flashlight flipped around the room, whoever it was, they were there to look for those guns or you. Your thumb slowly pulled the hammer back on the weapon and rounded the corner, "Stop right there!" you yelled.

It was a man and he seemed to be normal for the most part. He complied and raised his arms in the air. "Turn around!" Again, he complied and did a slow 180. Through the faint glow of his flashlight, your eyes caught a glimpse of a set of familiar moonstone pools.

"[Y/N]?!" his voice raised in shock. The entire city was faced with an apocalypse scenario or even the whole world for all you knew and the one person you run into is Leon -- Leon Kennedy.

He dropped his arms and grabbed hold of your, then pulled you into a tight hug. Leon smelled of sweat and cologne, the very cologne that you bought for him as a graduation gift. You breathed him in as it registered to you that this was real, he was really here. But you pulled away, "Leon, we have no time for chit chat. We gotta get moving, people need these guns!" you pointed to the bag that sat on the floor by your feet. As you tried to throw it over your shoulder, you winced in pain. "Here, let me get it." Leon attempted to take it from your hand but you paused before you surrendered the precious cargo, "I can trust you with this, right?" your grip was tight on the strap, "When have you ever doubted me?" he asked with a smile, "You don't want to know that..." your grip released as you responded but also pointed the fact that your leg was injured.

"Sorry to be a liability," you apologized, but Leon pulled you to his side, "Nonsense. I got this and you, just keep an eye out for zombies."

You led Leon down the hallway that you had your close brush with death in, the zombie, as Leon called it, was now gone. But when the two of you reached the door to the office, it was eerily quiet. Not a good sign. You pushed the door open to find the office void of any life, nothing but blood. Lots and lots of blood. Your heart hurt as you felt a pain in your chest, was everyone dead? The lifeless body of Rita laid on the floor with her eyes opened, her brown orbs were absent of the vibrant life she once had.

Tears welled in your eyes but as you turned to flee, you bumped into Leon's chest. A look of horror on Leon's face matched yours, "I-I left them not even an hour ago..." you cried into his shirt for a moment as he held you lightly with one arm. When you pulled away, you wiped your eyes and Leon took your hand from your face.

"I'm happy you're alive, [Y/N]," you examined your matured features and you did his. His hair grew a little longer than when you had seen him last and he examined your frazzled locks. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a door behind Leon opened and shut. A man walked out from the shadows and into the light, it was Branagh. He held onto his side and you could see he was injured with his shirt heavily stained with what was most likely his blood.

Leon pulled his pistol out and pointed it at your superior while he had a protective hand on your arm. Branagh coughed a wheezed laugh and shooed his gun out of his face. He looked over to you and smiled, "Good to see you're still breathing, [Y/N]." The Lieutenant approached your male companion and placed a bloody hand on his shoulder,

"You must be Leon Kennedy -- well, son, welcome to Raccoon City."

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil x reader #ao3 original

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yandere-society · 4 years ago

Text

The Devil in the ICU

Pairing:

Synopsis: You’ve rarely spoken to your neighbor Jimin, but he’s always been kind to you. When you get into an accident that lands you in the ER, you’re grateful to see who’s taking such good care of you. It isn’t until later that you start to wonder… will you ever be leaving the hospital?

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Blood, murder/death, yandere themes, stalking themes, needles/IVs

Admin: @psycho-slytherin

Request:

How did you wind up here?

As you slump back into your bed, with him lying on the floor next to you, a hazy thought informs you that it must look like a scene straight out of Romeo and Juliet.

Although, you think ruefully, glancing down at the sharp shard of glass clenched in your fist, I don’t think Juliet would have done this.

“Merry fucking Christmas.”

~Three weeks earlier~

Taehyung, leaning against the doorframe with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, looks as handsome as the day you married him. “Have a good day at work!”

You give him a quick kiss, shivering in the brisk morning air. “You too. Remember that we have that dinner tonight!”

Tae laughs. “Is that what we’re calling the awards ceremony? You know you’ve earned bragging rights.”

“Shush!” You boop him on the nose before turning and making for your car. On the other side of the fence, you can see your neighbor Jimin step out onto his porch. He catches your eye and, as Taehyung goes back inside, you smile amicably and nod at Jimin before getting into your car. You see him at his front door every morning, and he’s always friendly.

On your drive to the university campus, you think about tonight’s dinner. You’ll be presented with an awards for Arts Education despite being one of the youngest professors in the university’s faculty. You were thrilled when the dean of the school contacted you for the honor.

Once you park, you speedwalk to your first class of the day and burst through the door. You soon find yourself looking at twenty students, some bright-eyed, some more zombie-like.

“I’d apologize for being late,” you say, “But at this point I don’t think anyone is surprised.” The more awake students laugh, and you sling your bag onto your desk at the front of the room. “Let’s get started. Yoongi, you’re up first for workshop. Why don’t you stand up and read?”

Of all of your students, you think Yoongi is the most likely to pursue his career in creative writing.

He nods and stands. You can see his hands trembling as he clutches the paper.

When he sits back down after reading his poem, there’s a smattering of applause. “Very nice,” you say. “Now, who’d like to offer their feedback?”

~~~

Hours later, you dismiss your last class. You can’t wait to go home and tell Taehyung all about your day.

“So this one kid really decided the best move, instead of asking for an extension, was to plagiarize Twilight. Fucking Twilight!”

Taehyung laughs as he buttons up his shirt. “What did you tell her?”

“Ugh, I hate to report anyone for plagiarism, I told her to write something new and turn it in for half credit.”

“No wonder your students love you. I think you’re personally responsible for all of the creative writing majors on campus.”

You finish zipping up your dress. “Probably. Let’s get going, yeah?”

“Your wish, my command,” Taehyung says, gallantly bowing you out the door. You giggle as he opens the passenger side door for you. “For real, Y/n, want to get away for a weekend to celebrate? This is a nationally recognized award!”

“Hm…” you pretend to think. “Maybe we could go somewhere warm and sunny, with lots of beaches.”

Taehyung interlaces his fingers with yours, lifts your hand to his mouth, and kisses your palm. “Whatever you want. Christmas is coming up, maybe we can travel somewhere for the winter.”

You smile and look out of the window as Taehyung begins the drive. The ceremony is being held at a hotel twenty minutes away. And in a few weeks, you’ll be spending Christmas with the love of your life somewhere warm.

Under the twinkling night sky, everything feels so peaceful. Suddenly, you see a flash of light overhead. “Tae! A shooting star! Look-”

BANG. You hear the sound of crunching metal, feel a violent jerk, and everything goes dark.

~~~

“When she wakes up, start her on 20 milligrams of morphine. If her blood pressure is still low, go ahead and add saline to the IV. She shouldn’t need a transfusion unless anything opens up again.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Doctor. Are you in the hospital, then? Was there an accident? “Ugh…” You blink hard in the blinding light. You’re woozy, and your mouth tastes like copper.

“Y/n! Doctor, she’s awake!” You hear a familiar voice, and feel a hand grip your own.

“M-Mom?”

“Y/n. Thank heavens, you’re awake.” Your mom’s voice is strained and thick, as though she’s been crying. When your eyes finally focus on her, she’s sniffling, and her eyes are bloodshot. She’s wearing a formal black dress – did she come straight from the ceremony?

“What happened?” You croak.

“You were in an accident,” your mom says, her voice breaking. “A bad one. We weren’t sure if you would make it.”

You wince. That doesn’t make sense, and the cost of a hospital stay isn’t in your budget. “Where’s Taehyung?”

Your mother is silent for a moment too long, and you feel your chest grow tight. “Mom, where is Taehyung? He was in the car with me!”

“He… he didn’t make it. I’m so sorry,” your mom whispers. “The doctors did everything they could.”

No. “You’re lying.” Of course she is, she has to be, he’s your husband, he can’t be gone. “Don’t lie. He’s fine.”

“Y/n, baby…”

“No!” You weakly pull your hand from her grip. Angry tears form and begin to spill down your swollen, tender cheeks. “You’re lying!” Please, you beg inside your head, please be lying. Not Taehyung. He’s healthy, strong, smart, he has to be fine.

You can see unshed tears shining in your mother’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“We weren’t going that fast,” you say desperately. “It can’t have been bad.”

“You broke a leg and a rib, fractured your collarbone, and punctured your lung,” Your mother says quietly. “They said you were lucky to have no brain damage.”

You sit back, stunned. It’s true, you’re wrapped in bandages and the parts of your skin that you can see are black and blue. When you lift the blanket, you can see a small clear tube protruding from your chest. Still, it’s impossible. You had only been driving for a few minutes. “What happened? The accident?”

“I-It was a hit-and-run,” your mother responds shakily. “They T-boned your car and drove away. There were witnesses, but no cameras and nobody got a license plate. They put out a notice for the car.”

You swallow. Despite your injuries, it seems like you’re unable to feel anything at all. Please, no…

There’s a soft knock at the door. “Y/n?” You look up and through the dark fog in your head you feel a tinge of shock.

Standing in front of you, wearing blue scrubs and a mask, is… your neighbor.

“Jimin?”

Jimin nods. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I just need to adjust your IV – are you in pain?”

“No- yes.” As soon as the word escapes your mouth, feeling spills back into your body. Fuck. Suddenly you can’t breathe, your chest feels like it’s on fire, and your leg… “It hurts really badly.”

“Let me increase the morphine dosage.” He steps towards the machines and IV to which you’re hooked up and fiddles with some buttons.

Your heart feels as though it’s stopped on Taehyung. You refuse to believe it, and so you refuse to grieve. “I didn’t know you were a doctor,” you say to Jimin. Your voice sounds like a robotic copy of itself. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your mother glancing at you with worry.

“I’m not, I’m a nurse,” he replies.

“You take good care of her, you hear?” Your mom says to Jimin, clearly understanding your silent signal not to bring up Taehyung. She was lying – he has to be fine.

Jimin nods firmly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Yes, ma’am. She’ll be up and about soon, but for now she needs rest.”

As your mom rises slowly from her chair beside your bed, she grasps Jimin’s hand in hers. “Make sure she’s okay.”

“I will.”

Once your mom leaves, your eyelids feel heavy. Your brain is foggy with distorted thoughts of Taehyung. Why can’t you remember anything? “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning,” Jimin supplies.

That surprises you. “It’s been hours.”

“It has.” “Do you know what happened to the awards ceremony?”

“The… what?”

Of course he doesn’t. Why should he? You sink as far as you can into your pillow, wishing only that it would suffocate you. It feels like there’s an all-consuming black hole in your chest, clawing at every part of you. Taehyung. Taehyung. Taehyung.

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Jimin says gravely. “I met him several times. He was a very kind man.”

“He’s not gone,” you reply stubbornly. He can’t be. “I just need to get better and get home.” Tae will be there.

Jimin pauses. “We’ll do our best.”

“Thank you.”

“The doctor will be back in soon,” Jimin adds. “I can give you something to help you sleep after.”

“Oh, you’re an angel.” After everything that’s happened, you don’t think you can ever sleep again. At least, not until you’re with Taehyung. Surely, the doctor will be able to tell you the truth.

The doctor comes in, a middle-aged Black woman who introduces herself as Dr. Greene. She walks you through your injuries and the path to recovery. “Luckily, they could have been a lot worse,” she says, eyeing your chart appreciatively. “You should be discharged in two weeks, give or take. After that, it’ll be a while still with your leg in a cast. You’ll have to come back for more check-ups. And as soon as your lung heals, we want you to start physical therapy to counteract all the bed rest. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Where is my husband?” You ask desperately. Behind Dr. Greene, you see Jimin’s face has turned stony. “He was in the car with me, his name is Kim Taehyung–”

“Your husband has passed away,” the doctor says simply, quietly. “I’m sorry.”

At last, with this authority figure having sealed his fate, you allow yourself to cry for Taehyung. Loud, animalistic sobs tear from your chest until your abused ribs and lungs can’t support you anymore and you collapse, screaming silently into hands that hurt to lift.

“Y/n…”

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair! It should have been me.” The two of you were only on your way to the dinner because of you. It’s your fault. Your fault. Your fault. “It should have been me!”

You feel fingertips lightly touch your aching shoulder. From his earlier position near the doorway, Jimin is suddenly right next to you. “No, it shouldn’t have. And it’s not your fault, Y/n,” he says.

“Grief is natural and necessary, really, for the healing process,” Dr. Greene adds. “But Nurse Jimin is right, you shouldn’t blame yourself.” She looked back at her chart. “Jimin, you’re on call for the night, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Keep an eye on her pain levels. Y/n, if you’re uncomfortable or need anything during the night, press this button and Jimin will come check in on you, alright?”

You nod numbly. You don’t care. You hope you do die during the night, so you can at least be with Taehyung.

Jimin leaves and returns in what feels like both an hour and two seconds, holding a clear bag full of liquid and a bottle of pills.

“Take one of these to help you sleep. This is for your blood pressure – it’s still low – and we’ve added more morphine.”

You simply hold out your hand for the bottle, shake out a pill, and swallow it down without water. Why would you need water when the love of your life is gone?

“Remember, press the button if you need anything,” Jimin says. “I’ll be right here for you.”

“Mm.” You turn over as much as you comfortably can and almost immediately fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

If only you were so lucky.

The crash. The moment of the shooting star. Over and over and over again.

“Y/n! Come on, baby, wake up!” You can’t see anything, but you can hear his voice. “They’ll be here soon, you have to hang on for me, okay?”

“Help! Somebody help! No, she’s worse than me, hurry up!”

“Miss? Can you hear me?”

“Shit, he’s coding!”

“Y/n?” You feel yourself being gently shaken, and still half-dreaming, your body gives a great shudder from the accident. “I’m sorry to wake you. I just need to take your vitals.”

“Blue,” you reply, barely able to form the word. You saw it. “The car was blue.”

When you look up, you realize that it’s not Jimin, but a nurse you’ve never seen before. She pauses for a moment, clearly perplexed, before she blinks.

“Oh! You were in a car accident?”

“The car was blue,” you continue, scared to lose the thought. You’re a professor of writing at a top university, you should be able to express yourself more fluently. But your words seem to escape you before you can capture them. “License 7-H-L.”

“Oh, my… the nurse looks around before grabbing a pen clipped to her scrubs and scribbling the numbers onto a notepad beside you. “You’re a regular detective!”

“Where’s Jimin?” You ask. You don’t know this new nurse, but at least you trust Jimin.

“Oh, his shift ended,” she replies. “He’ll be back tonight! In the meantime, can you tell me how you feel?”

“I’m… dizzy. My heart…” You can hear it pounding hard in your ears, far too quickly, and leaving you lightheaded. Your whole body hurts, centralized in your leg and chest, far worse than last night.

“Your blood pressure must have gone back to normal, let me get that saline off for you. How’s the pain? Your morphine should have worn off by now.”

You wince. “Bad.”

“Okay, I’ll adjust that.” The nurse fiddles with your IV before turning back to you. “I think your mother will be here soon. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Actually… can you tell her not to come?” A wave of guilt tries to wash over you, but it’s overpowered by the darkness already inside. “I just want to sleep today. She shouldn’t bother.” You pause. “I don’t want any visitors.” “Ah- sure thing, whatever you’d like,” the nurse chirps hesitantly. “Oh, and… what happened to your hair?”

“What do you mean?”

The nurse points. “You’re missing a chunk of hair, I’m guessing from the accident. Hey, maybe when you get out you can try a new style!”

“Yeah, maybe.” You lay back down and stare at the ceiling, wishing only that it would fall apart and crush you. What’s the point of anything without Taehyung? But… what about your students, your classes?

The day passes in a blur, and your intermittent napping keeps you barely aware of your surroundings. You don’t dream of the crash again – it’s a blessing, but at the same time you wish you could remember the rest of the license plate. You finally awaken for real once dusk has settled on the hospital.

You press the button, and immediately Jimin is in your room. “What can I do for you, Y/n?”

You take a deep breath. “Can you please bring me a pad of paper and a pencil?” You were a teenager when your father passed away, and writing was the only thing that saved you then. Perhaps it will be your healing salve now.

“Sure, there’s paper right-” Jimin pauses beside your bed before handing you the pad of paper. “Here, sorry. And you can use one of my pens. How are you feeling?”

“Groggy,” you reply. You’re surprised by how weak your grip on the pencil feels. “Numb. It hurts, but…”

“I’ll make a note for the doctor. Don’t worry, I promised your mom that I’d help you get better. Your lung should be healing soon,” Jimin says. “But I need to change the bandages on your chest tube, if that’s okay?” “Yeah.” You forgot it was there, the clear tube coming out of your chest. It’s held in place with bandages, which Jimin carefully removes before cleaning off your skin and placing new ones down. He’s wearing a silver locket that you’ve never noticed before. It suits him, shining against his skin.

“Thank you,” you say as he finishes taking your vitals.

“I’m happy to help.”

The next week passes in a blur; between crying fits for Taehyung, assuring your mother that you’re alright, scribbling down everything on your mind, and forcing yourself to sleep simply to avoid the reality of waking hours, you barely have a second to consider your own healing process.

It isn’t until Dr. Greene beams at you that you register: physically, you’re feeling a lot better, and after a week of bed rest and god awful depression, you’re ready to try hobbling around.

“Looks like you might actually get out a few days early,” Dr. Greene says. “We’ll be able to remove that chest tube tonight.” Beside you, your mother begins crying with relief.

“Wonderful.” It’s still hard to smile, but you manage a weak attempt. Later that day, you hear a bit of commotion in the hallway, and soon the nurse brings in a huge basket of cards, flowers, and stuffed animals.

“Woah… what’s all this?” With effort, you sit up and take the offered basket. The sweet smell of the flowers is a welcome change to the cold sanitation of the hospital.

“From your students!” The nurse says happily. “Some even sent you books!”

“Aww, they’re sweet.” You flip through one of the books and notice that all your advisees have signed the title page and scribbled well-wishes in the margins of the chapters. Their kindness and love sparks your first real smile since the accident.

You spend the day reading, counting down the hours until your chest tube is removed. When you’re finally wheeled to the OR and numbed up so they can sew the hole in your chest shut, you feel relief. Your leg is still in a cast, but at least your body is fighting for you.

That night, you’re drifting off to sleep when you feel a painful tugging on your chest, right where your stitches are. “Mm?” You blink sleepily and see Jimin’s silhouette standing over you.

“Ah, Y/n. I’m sanitizing your wound so it heals well, don’t mind me. How are you feeling?”

“I’m a little sore,” you reply honestly. “It’s not too bad, though.” “Let me fix that for you.” You can see Jimin’s dark figure change something on your IV. “That’ll help you feel better.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, feeling sleep begin to overtake you.

“It’s my pleasure, Y/n.” That night, your dreams are choppy and chaotic. At one point, you dream that your body is on fire; at another, you’re back in the accident but instead of Taehyung, it’s Jimin. The sun has barely risen before you bolt upwards. “Gah!” Your throat is burning, dry, painful – it feels like you’ve swallowed sand.

It must be extra early, because Jimin is still there. He rushes to your bedside. “Y/n? What’s wrong?”

“I- who are you? I need… water…” you croak, your vision swimming before you. You don’t know who this man is, and you don’t know where you are. You can vaguely feel yourself falling backwards.

“Okay, let me get you some- wait, Y/n!”

~~~

You awaken with Jimin, Dr. Greene, and another nurse standing over you. Packed in bed beside you are several ice packs. Even so, you feel your body sweating.

“What… happened?” You manage. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.

“You woke up with a bad fever. It’s lucky Jimin thought fast and worked to cool you down.” Dr. Greene said. “We’ll have to keep you monitored for longer than we anticipated.”

“W-Why do I have a fever?”

Dr. Greene’s brows knit together. “I… I��m not sure. We’ll keep an eye on you for the next couple of days and see if anything changes.”

Your fever goes up and down throughout the day, occasionally spiking dangerously enough that the monitors around you begin to beep in alarm. Around noon, Jimin comes in with water and a bottle of pills. He’s wearing a lopsided Santa hat along with his scrubs.

“Merry almost-Christmas. Here, take two for the fever.”

“What are you doing here?” You ask weakly. Even in your fever-addled mind, you remember he only comes at night.

“My shift changed. You need more urgent care anyways, and I volunteered.”

You swallow down the pills and nod. “Thanks.”

“Your bruises have improved,” Jimin observes, lightly touching your face.

“I guess. Fuck.” You feel the sudden urge to douse yourself in cold water. “I just want to get out of here.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment. “Have they found the car that hit you?”

“How would I know?” You feel a wave of dizziness hit you, likely brought on by a heartbeat that never seems to slow down. “Jimin, please…” Save me.

“We’ll see how you’re doing tomorrow,” Jimin says. “For now, you should stay awake. What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh, green.”

“Favorite food?” You can barely think. “Sushi.”

Jimin grins. “Favorite neighbor?”

You try to summon a chuckle. “Whichever one is saving my life.”

“Fantastic. I’ll see you later tonight. Your mother should be in here soon – let me adjust your pain meds, we kept you off of them from the fever but they might just help.”

The night feels eternal; you can’t sleep a wink, and your mother stays with you the whole night. Your fever continues to climb and although at first your breathing is rapid to cool you down, by the time the sun rises it feels as though your lungs have stopped working entirely. You don’t know if that’s normal for a fever.

“Doctor!” Your mother calls for what feels like the thousandth time.

Dr. Greene hurries into the room, Jimin right behind her. “Is it her fever?”

“No, it’s…” Your mother points wordlessly at your hands. You can’t see what she’s talking about, but when you raise your hands you see your fingertips are blue. You can’t think. You can’t breathe. You don’t care. Everything is fuzzy, so fuzzy… the monitors are beeping again, but you can barely hear them. You’re gasping for air now, choking on nothing. You can’t breathe.

“Doctor Greene,” Jimin says loudly, “I think she’s overdosing.”

“Lord, you may be right. Get the Narcan!”

Jimin darts out of the room and returns just as your eyes begin to flutter closed. Taehyung…

~~~

There’s a cliff. Taehyung is there, you know it. You just need to jump. The moment you start walking, though, it’s almost as if you’re being pulled away from the edge. No! You open your eyes. Has it been minutes? Days?

“Dear god,” your mother says breathlessly. “She’s awake.”

“How on earth…?” Dr. Greene wonders, wiping her forehead. “Jimin, props to you for your quick thinking. But an overdose? How?”

“Doctor, it’s possible that with her weakness and weight loss, plus the fact that we held off the morphine for several days, an average dose might have caused her to OD.” Jimin suggests. His voice seems to carry more authority than even Dr. Greene’s.

“Yes, perhaps… but the fever?”

“Hm…” Jimin reaches forward and prods at the stitches on your chest. You immediately flinch, your raspy voice yelping in pain. “An infection. Possibly blood poisoning.”

“You know, you really might be right,” Dr. Greene says thoughtfully. “It’s not impossible. Okay, we’ll start you on an antibacterial and switch to lower-grade painkillers.” With this note, Dr. Greene and Jimin file out, leaving you with your mother.

“Momma, did you ever find the car?” You ask, gripping her hand urgently. The owner of that car killed your husband; you want them brought to justice.

“No, sweetie, I’m sorry.”

“What about the license plate?”

“Well, none of the witnesses saw it-”

“No,” you shake your head. “I- the nurse wrote it down. On…” you point to the notepad beside you. “The first page.”

Your mother picks up the abused pad of paper, filled with random journal entries and doodles, and flips to the front. “Y/n, there’s nothing here. It’s blank. Maybe you dreamed it?”

“What? No.” You’re sure that the nurse wrote it down for you. “Check on the floor.”

After a brief but thorough search, the paper doesn’t turn up. What had happened? You can’t possibly remember the partial plate now. Shit. And even so, it was a literal fever dream – you could have made the numbers up.

“Y/n, I’m going to go for an early Christmas dinner at Aunt Ella’s, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Sure, mom.” She’s barely slept, after all.

The next several days pass and you gradually begin to recover. The lab tests confirmed your blood poisoning, and you feel more grateful than ever that Jimin managed to catch it early – it could have killed you. It’s now been more than two weeks since the accident, and finally the doctor tells you that you’ll be ready to go home soon. As Christmas approaches, you’ve heard holiday music float through the air and bows and wreaths appear in your hospital room and down the hall. Even with the holiday cheer, the loss of the license plate weighs heavy on your mind.

“Merry Christmas Eve! Time to get up and try walking around!” The afternoon nurse says cheerfully as she helps you out of bed. With your heavy green cast making your leg feel detached, you clunk around while holding the nurse’s arm. You near the window, which overlooks a parking lot decorated with dirty snow, and gaze down onto the cars. Can you ever feel safe in a car again?

“Which one’s yours?” You ask the nurse absentmindedly, suddenly struck by another bolt of grief. Her life is normal. She has a car and goes to work.

“That white one right there next to the blue Prius,” she replies, pointing. You mindlessly follow her finger, when suddenly –

Blue. You clutch at your chest and stumble backwards, nearly falling if she hadn’t caught you. “That’s…” No, it can’t be. But in your heart and deep, deep in your memory… “Can you read the plate number on that blue car next to yours?”

“Uh, it’s a little too far away,” she replies, squinting. “I think it’s Jimin,’s though, I always see him pulling in just as my shift is over.”

Jimin. “Does it look dented at all?” You manage. “His car?”

“Ah… a little? I’m not sure.”

Jimin does have a blue Prius, you know that from seeing it in his driveway every day. So why, today, did the thought strike you so violently?

“You know, I think I’m tired. I’m going to lay down.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want some water or to go to the bathroom?”

“No. I just want to be alone.”

“Okay.” The nurse looks worried, but leaves you settled back in your bed. Night falls quickly and you hear a knock on the door. Jimin lets himself in, a bottle of pills in his hand.

“Hey, I heard you’ll be getting discharged soon,” he says cheerfully. He’s still wearing the Santa hat.

Blue. “Yeah, hopefully.”

“Awesome. Well, you need to take these,” he says, shaking two pills from the bottle in his hand and handing them to you.”

“What are they for?”

“They’ll help you sleep and let your blood vessels dilate to regulate your blood pressure.”

“Mm.” You wash them down with his offered water. Almost as soon as you swallow, you feel your body rebel against you – you lean over and vomit onto the floor. The smell makes you gag and you feel everything you’ve eaten come up a second time, the stomach acid burning your throat.

“What- what did you give-” you can’t finish your sentence as your stomach convulses again. Jimin rushes over to you with a bucket and you lean into it, retching. You continue dry heaving long after your body is completely emptied, while Jimin rubs your back reassuringly. “G-get the doctor,” you croak.

“Are you going to be okay alone-?” “Yes. Please, just…” your body shivers as he gets up and leaves. What did he give you? You’re doubtless that those pills caused your vomiting. Just the thought sends you back to your bucket, although you’ve no more left to give.

“What on earth happened?” Dr. Greene says, rushing in. Jimin is close behind her.

“He gave me pills…” you gasp as your body tries to vomit again. The muscle contractions leave you feeling boneless. “They made me throw up.”

“You’ve got no known allergies on file…” Dr. Greene says, consulting a chart by your bed. “Jimin, what did you give her?”

Jimin produces a bottle clearly labelled DOXEPINE. “Just to help her sleep, she was asking for something earlier.”

Your heart drops. “That’s not-” you’re interrupted by another gagging fit. You want to scream at your body that there’s nothing left, but you can barely speak. “Not the same-” fuck.

“She must have a sensitivity to the Doxepine,” Dr. Greene says thoughtfully. “Jimin, make sure she stays hydrated. If she keeps throwing up we’ll need to keep her longer for observation.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Ngh… no…” Dr. Greene leaves before you can tell her that that wasn’t the same pill bottle.

“Here, drink this,” Jimin says, offering you a bottle of water.

“What did you give to me?” You ask, panting. As soon as the water touches your tongue you reach for the bucket, your body rejecting it immediately.

Jimin blinks innocently. “Sleeping pills.”

“Fuck off, that wasn’t the… same bottle.”

“Y/n, you’re sick and grieving, it’s understandable that your eyes are playing tricks on you-”

“No. You… poisoned me!” You summon what strength you have left and swipe at the nurse, who’s now leaning over you. Your fingers catch the silver chain around his neck, and the motion knocks the locket open.

Fluttering out of the locket and onto your bandaged chest is… hair?

No, not hair. Your hair. The color, and texture… it’s exactly the same.

You’re missing a chunk of hair, I’m guessing from the accident, the nurse had said.

Not from the accident. Almost in slow motion, your eyes travel up to meet Jimin’s.

“Y/n, you’re acting erratic.” As if nothing happened, he plucks your hair from the bed, tucks it back into the locket, and straightens his Santa hat. “I’ll have to tell the doctor to consider sedatives. Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

“No-” Your stomach contracts once more and by the time you look up, gasping for breath, he’s gone.

You spend another sleepless night in the hospital, growing more paranoid by the minute. You refuse to eat or drink anything you’re given – you’re still nauseous, and what if it’s full of sedatives?

When dawn breaks on Christmas Day, you’ve never felt less cheer. You’re concerned about Jimin; the car is surely a coincidence, but the hair? And the pills?

“Y/n?” Dr. Greene knocks on the door. “Merry Christmas. How are you feeling?”

“I want to get out of here,” you respond immediately.

Dr. Greene smiles. “We’ll see how you do moving around today. How’s your nausea?”

“Better,” you lie. Anything to leave. You can handle nausea at home.

“Wonderful. Well, Nurse Jimin will be taking care of you today, since your other nurses are off duty. Press the button if you need anything.”

You nod, shivering. Should you tell Dr. Greene? Before you can consider it, though, she’s left the room.

Hours later, Jimin pops his head in, his Santa hat crooked. The locket is still swinging from his neck.

“Hey! Dr. Greene said if you’re doing well by the end of the day, you might be discharged for tomorrow!”

You stare at him. Can he really pretend nothing is wrong? “Great.”

“Let’s get you up and walking around.” Jimin offers you his arm. At first you don’t want to take it, but your legs are too weak on your own. He slowly leads you out of your room and down the hall before circling back. You pass another window overlooking the parking lot and there, in the same spot, is the blue car. From this window, you can see much better.

“Which car’s yours?” you ask quietly.

“That blue Prius next to the white one,” he says cheerfully, pointing.

Finally, when you squint you can read the license plate: 7HLC946.

7HL. Your body stiffens. It’s the same car. Then, that means… you swivel slowly until you’re staring at Jimin, who’s still looking out of the window. He killed your husband.

He leads you back to your room. You feel frozen, and not from the wintertime. When you go inside, you hear a soft click. Your eyes widen. He locked the door.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly from behind you.

“F-fine. Perfect,” you reply, your voice shaking.

“You know, you really have to stop getting yourself in trouble,” he says, strolling to the bed and smoothing down your sheets. Your eyes dart to the locked door. If you made a break for it with your cast, he could still beat you to it. “Every time you’re supposed to get discharged, something happens, and then who has to save you?”

“I’ve recovered,” you say firmly. Is it an ego thing? He wants credit for doing his job?

“Before, you always had your husband to save you,” Jimin says, standing. His eyes are drilling holes into you. “Do you know why he’d always see you off at the door?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” “It’s so I couldn’t even look at you. He was always around, but not this time. And this time it was me that saved your life.” Jimin is advancing now, still smiling serenely. Your heart pounding, you back away, your cast clunking against the floor.

“It was you,” you whisper when your back hits the window. “Your car. You hit us.”

“Almost gave me a heart attack when I saw you remembered my plate,” he says now, examining his nails. “Lucky I saw it before your mother did. How is she, by the way?”

“You… you killed my husband!” Your scream is more animal than human when it rips from your throat. You’re fully prepared to leap at Jimin and take the life he took from Taehyung when he pulls out a syringe.

“Shhh…” he says, stepping forward. “What did I say about sedation?”

Your blood runs cold. You don’t want to know what’s in the syringe, or what he’d do to you if he injected you with it.

Caught between him and the window, you freeze. You have to get away from him. You turn around and swing your heavy cast at the window.

With a painful CRASH, the glass shatters. Shards fly everywhere, several of them catching and slicing your skin. You hear commotion outside and below as you shoot for the window and try to grab onto the windowsill. You nearly sob when the glass in your grip breaks off the windowsill. Almost… just like your dream of the cliff, though, you’re dragged back from the escape. Jimin locks one arm around your neck and pulls you away from the window.

You feel a sharp prick in your arm and, seconds later, your muscles seem to melt. If Jimin weren’t supporting your weight you would have fallen. Shit. What did he do to you?

“It’s for your own good, my love,” he says, carrying you to the bed and tucking the blankets in around you. Your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth; you can’t speak, and you can barely move your arms.

There’s a loud banging on the door. “Y/n! Are you alright?”

“One second,”Jimin says to you before striding to the door and opening it.

“Jimin! What happened?” The voice belongs to a doctor you don’t recognize.

“Hey, Dr. Kim. Y/n started being combative and went for the window. Luckily, I got her calmed down and back into bed.”

Help. Your vocal chords won’t respond to you. “Hhe…”

“Goodness. We should get her moved out while the window is being repaired.” “I agree, but she did just fall asleep and she hasn’t slept in a while. I suggest giving her an hour.”

“Alright, well, please keep an eye on her.”

“Sure thing, Doctor.” Jimin shuts the door and locks eyes with you.

“I’ve waited for you for a while, you know,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. His position pins down your left arm, but your right is still free. If only you could move it. “You never got sick, or hurt. I checked. You never even came to visit.” Jimin continues smiling, but his eyes are cold. “That wasn’t very nice. It’s your fault that I had to make you come visit.”

“Stuh… you,” you gasp, forcing your head to clear. “Psy…” Let me go, you want to scream. You’re straining with the effort just to lift your head.

“I know, I know, why didn’t I just talk to you at your house? Well, your guardian was always there. But here, I’m in control. And I’m the one that can save you.”

You can sense feeling returning to your arms. If he keeps talking, it might give you more time to recover from your paralysis. Luckily, Jimin seems so relieved that he can finally tell you everything that he doesn’t seem close to shutting up.

“Do you know how many times your mother has thanked me for saving your life? How Dr. Greene said I was her favorite nurse?” Jimin caresses your cheek, becoming more animated as he speaks. “Even you, Y/n, you called me your angel.”

You try to bite him when his hand gets close, but your jaw muscles are slack. C’mon…

“And you’re right, I am your angel. I’m your guardian angel, and I’ll always keep you safe.” You can almost lift your hand. At his words, he leans in to kiss your forehead and with enormous effort, you use the same moment to lift and swipe your bloody hand, still gripping the jagged glass from the window, at him. The glass catches Jimin right in the neck and he gasps and sputters, pressing a hand to his throat as bright red blood gushes from the wound, spattering you and staining the bed. Meanwhile, you collapse, your strength entirely spent.

Jimin staggers upright, hand outstretched towards you. When he tries to speak, his voice is a mere gurgle.

“Y/n- you… no…” with that, he falls to the floor. You see him try and fail to rise again before Jimin sighs and is still at last.

How did you wind up here?

As you slump back into your bed, with him lying on the floor next to you, a hazy thought informs you that it must look like a scene straight out of Romeo and Juliet.

Although, you think ruefully, glancing down at the sharp shard of glass clenched in your fits, I don’t think Juliet would have done this.

“Merry fucking Christmas.”

#yandere society #yandere jimin #jimin #bts #bangtan #nurse!jimin #jimin x reader #park jimin #yandere jimin fic #yandere!bts #yandere!jimin

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ryqoshay · 2 years ago

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UW - A Perfect World: Fireworks?

Flagship: YohaRiko Vanguard Ship: RubyMaru Rating: T Words: 518 AU: A Perfect Dimension (?) Time Frame: ??? Event: Promptober 2022 Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord Prompt: Fireworks Content Warning: Descriptions of violent resistance efforts against an oppressive regime, as well as implied off-screen shenanigans

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Author’s Note: Primary entry for Oct 17th

Summary: Yohane thinks about last night’s fireworks, sorta

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“In other news,” the anchor was saying “in regard to the explosions many reported last night, authorities have concluded it they were caused by fireworks set off by juveniles as a prank.”

Yoshiko nearly spat out her coffee.

The hell?! She glared at the screen.

Fireworks?! A prank?! That’s what they’re calling the leveling of an entire research facility?

“The juveniles in question have been apprehended and will be punished accordingly.”

Apprehended? We most certainly were not! And we’re not juveniles. Hell, I’m… eh?

The screen went black.

“Hey, Zuramaru, I was watching that!” Yoshiko complained.

“And it was making you mad enough you were about to launch your own fireworks from your head.” Hanamaru replied.

Yoshiko growled.

“Case in point, zura.”

“Is it really a surprise that they’re covering it up?” Riko inquired.

“No, I guess not…” Yoshiko sighed. “That’s what they always do. And we did target a military facility to avoid civilian casualties, but that also makes their coverup easier because they can say whatever they want and nobody is going to be allowed access to prove otherwise.”

“They’re already delegitimizing what we’ve released or simply scrubbing it from the net.” Hanamaru pointed out.

“Yeah…” Yoshiko sighed again.

And that’s not all the government covers up. Yoshiko thought to herself. Not only do they cover up our resistance activities, they cover up the fact that they’re pillaging other dimensions to provide the resources for everyone here to achieve Perfection.

Heh… Perfection… But only what they approve of as Perfection…

This wasn’t to say there wasn’t a vast variety of ways to improve oneself in this world. Magic, psionics, alchemy, biochemical, tech of all manner, and whatever else the military was able to find in other dimensions. And release to the public of course. Yoshiko had seen images of some of the more… outlandish stuff the military kept for itself.

And some of the best… or at least most powerful, was currently being used against a particularly stubborn dimension that had been fending off the invasion for… what was it? Yoshiko tried to remember the files she had read. Something like a century and a half?

Part of Yoshiko wished she could travel to that dimension to help fight the noble fight of defending one’s home. Instead of being stuck on the invader’s side sabotaging what she could and trying desperately to call public attention to the atrocities being committed by those in power. At least in that other dimension, there was a more collective cause among the populace; there had to be for them to have lasted so long.

But… if Yoshiko left this dimension, who would keep up the fight on this side? Well, the others in the resistance group of course.

Would she want to leave as well? Yoshiko glanced over at Riko and knew she couldn’t leave her, even if the opportunity to leave this dimension presented itself.

The door opened.

“Ruby-chan!” Hanamaru greeted happily.

“I just got news from Chika-chan.” Ruby said. “A plan is being made to take out a dimensional gate facility.”

Yoshiko perked up. Now that sounded interesting.

“But it's going to take a few days to get everything in order.” Ruby continued. “In the meantime, Chika-chan suggested we relax, regain our strength and motivation, and celebrate our victory from last night.”

“Celebrate…” Riko repeated in a strange tone.

Relax? That sounded like a good idea too. Now that Yoshiko thought about it, she hadn't really had any good quality time with Riko as of late…

Hanamaru got up and headed toward the door.

“You’re leaving?” Yoshiko asked.

“I’m just going to get some fresh air with Ruby-chan. We’ll come back after the your fireworks have had their finale.”

“What does that…” Yoshiko was cut off as she noticed Riko’s expression.

The door closed.

Riko launched herself at Yoshiko.

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Author’s Note Continued: Time to start worldbuilding the Paragon side of UW. Time to start figuring out Perfect versions of this dimension’s LL girls. I’m pretty sure I have an idea for Yohane. Maybe Riko. I just wrote Maki’s, which I will post soon’ish.

Fair warning, if my backstories for PoH and UW got dark a time or two, APW’s may possibly beat them out. Maybe. Grim and dark and whatnot aren’t exactly my specialty. And while I’ve historically found myself unable to put the LL girls through the wringer, so to speak, in canon compliant works, I’m slowly finding it easier to do with AU variants of them.

#YohaRiko #YoshiRiko #Sakurauchi Riko #Tsushima Yohane #A Perfect World #Love Live Sunshine #Promptober 2022 #fanfic #Tsushima Yoshiko #YohaRiri

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years ago

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Ghosts Still Have Souls

Pairings: Luke x Reader, mentions of Willex

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none?

Summary: For his whole life Luke Patterson had anxiously awaited the day he’d meet his soulmate, and then he died. 25 years later he and his bandmates are mysteriously resurrected and Luke’s hopes return. Could he find his soulmate in death? After all, Willie says ghosts still have souls.

A/N: it took me all day but here is my submission for Day 2 - AU for @jatp-week JATP appreciation celebration. I’m such a sucker for soulmate aus and I haven’t written any in the JATP universe yet so this was the perfect opportunity! Send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged in any future works and as always, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

___

Luke Patterson had always loved the idea of soulmates. When he was a little boy his parents would regale him with the story of how they met. They ran into each other on the quad at their university, his mom knocked to the ground and his dad dropping his books. In her flustered state Emily had combined “Hey, watch where you’re going!” with “Are you okay?” and ended up crying out “Hey, watch where you’re okay!” while his dad had cursed “Shitfuck, are you okay?” When Mitch offered his hand to help her up they noticed each others’ tattoos and the rest was history.

It was Luke’s favorite story in the whole world and he grew up daydreaming about the day he’d meet his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to see what words would appear on his skin when he or she said their first words to him. He wondered if he’d feel the tingle that some reported feeling when the mark formed on their skin, or what the handwriting of his soulmate would look like permanently inked onto this skin. No matter what he knew he’d cherish the mark, it would be from his soulmate, after all, his other half, the person he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.

Dying before he could hear the words that would change his life forever kinda threw a wrench in his plans.

The thought of his soulmate out there, having grown up without him, never to meet each other because of his untimely death had plagued him for days after Julie “resurrected” them. Then Alex had met Willie. The skater ghost had died more nearly a decade before they had and yet he and Alex were soulmates, “You dinged my board.” proudly displayed on the blond’s wrist.

The knowledge that soulmates existed even in death had brought hope back into his life and he started spending his free time daydreaming about them again.

He’d been channeling his daydreams into songwriting one afternoon when Julie had walked into the garage with Flynn and another friend. He assumed you hadn’t been informed about the ghosts as neither Flynn nor Julie made any remarks towards the guitarist despite typically doing so. He wished that wasn’t the case as you were quite cute. You were absolutely the type of girl Luke would’ve crushed on hard back when he was alive, soulmates or not.

“Oh, and who is this?” Luke asked, employing his teasing tone as he spoke to the newcomer as you set down your backpack though he knew only Julie could hear him.

He had expected a quiet laugh or at the very least a dramatic eye roll from the girl but when he turned to look at her she was staring at her friend’s wrist. Luke turned to look as well and his stomach immediately sank.

There inked on your wrist in his chicken-scratch handwriting were the words he had just spoken to you.

“Oh my gosh,” Julie gasped aloud, drawing everyone’s attention as she opened her mouth to announce what she had just observed.

Before he even had time to think about it, he was stopping her. “No! Julie don’t!”

She stared at him puzzled for a moment but closed her mouth anyway.

“What?” Her friend asked, looking at her perplexed.

“I just… forgot to tell my dad you guys were coming over,” Julie saved. “I’ll just text him real quick.”

You and Flynn nodded, unfazed by the excuse, and plopped down onto the available seating. Luke sighed, pulling his eyes away from you and poofing out of the garage.

He reappeared at his parent’s house. He had hoped to vent to his mom but she wasn’t home so he plopped down on his old bed. His parents hadn’t done much to the room since his death and as he laid there in silence it almost felt like it was still ’95. That pit that had started to form in his stomach continued to grow as he laid there, his thoughts swirling as his hopes thrashed around him once more.

He’d finally found his soulmate but she was- what had Alex called them?- a lifer. She couldn’t even see him. How were they supposed to meet and fall in love and build a life together when she couldn’t even see him and he couldn’t even touch her? How were they supposed to pass their story on to their future kids when she hadn’t even been able to hear the words that were now permanently etched into her skin? As he thought more about it he realized that he hadn’t received a mark of his own. His heart sank as he ran his thumb over the bare skin of his wrist. He’d stopped Julie before she could tell her he was even there so she’d never had a chance to say her first words to him.

It was worth it, he decided after a while. It was worth never hearing the words, never having the tattoo and knowing for certain that his perfect match was out there. It was worth it if he could spare you from the pain of knowing that your soulmate was there but he was dead and invisible.

___

Luke was almost grateful for the distraction of the Hollywood Ghost Club. The last few weeks had been torture, him constantly trying to avoid being in the same room with you and Julie. She had told you about them being ghosts not long after the appearance of your soulmark and had even invited you to meet the band which you had readily accepted. Luke, however, had run away before you could come that day. It killed him that you had met Alex and Reggie and not him, but he figured it would kill him more to have your first words to him appear on his wrist.

They talked about you sometimes, about how funny and adorable you were. It made his blood boil but he had to restrain himself, what right did he have to be jealous when he refused to even meet you.

Still, the rush to book the Orpheum was a welcome distraction from his internal turmoil. It was even enough to distract him from the fact that no matter what happened at the end of the night, he’d never see you again.

He’d miss you. That much was obvious. He’d miss hiding in the loft when you came over to work on homework with Julie, just out of sight so Julie wouldn’t see him but he could still watch you. He’d learned a lot about you that way, how your smile could light up a room, how gorgeous your laugh was but he could tell you hated it by the way you covered your mouth when you did it, how you fidgeted with the hair ties on your wrist whenever you were thinking (he noticed you always had at least two), and that you were almost always cold. He wished he could give you his flannels, you’d look so cute wrapped up in them and they’d certainly keep you warm.

He was thinking of you as he and the guys gathered around the piano in the studio. Julie had just left to head to the Orpheum with her dad and the mood in the garage had immediately grown somber. Their heads filled with worries of what would come next, what was on the other side? Luke’s only comfort was the thought that maybe if he crossed over you’d get a second chance at a soulmate, one who was alive. You’d never even spoken to him and yet he’d do anything for you.

It was that dedication to you that had pulled him out of the Hollywood Ghost Club and onto the Orpheum stage.

It was that dedication that kept him from running straight to Caleb to save his soul when they didn’t cross over. He’d let his soul be destroyed if it meant your happiness.

He never could’ve anticipated what had happened that night nor the repercussions.

He’d spent the next day journaling, writing down all his thoughts- and there were a lot seeing as he had expected to die yesterday, again. He was alone in the studio, Alex out celebrating with Willie and Reggie was who knows where (probably showing Ray like usual), then you walked in.

He sighed, getting ready to poof up to his hiding spot in the loft before Julie showed up when he was stopped.

“Am I dead?” You asked, staring at him in alarm.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked warily, not understanding the premise of your question.

“Well, you’re dead, and with the exception of Julie, you’re only visible to other dead people and I can see you,” you explained carefully, eyes wide.

Luke nodded at your train of thought before it hit him.

“Wait, you can see me?” He gasped, and you nodded. “You can see me! You talked to me!”

His head snapped down to stare at his wrist, sure enough, “Am I Dead?” was scrawled across his skin in the most beautiful handwriting he’d ever seen. Sure, some might say it was a little messy but to him it was perfect.

Before he could even think about his actions, he was rushing towards you and pulling you into his chest. You stiffened, shocked by the sudden action.

“What’re you-“ started to ask but you were cut off by him violently throwing himself away from you.

“I just touched you,” he gasped, once again stating the obvious. “Why can I touch you? Are you dead?”

“No! At least… I didn’t think I was but now I’m really not sure.” You shook your hands anxiously before reaching for one of your hair ties as you started pacing.

“Sorry for taking so long Y/N, I got caught up with Reggie in the house- what on earth is going on in here?” Julie paused in the doorway as she observed your pacing and Luke’s panicked look.

“Oh thank god, you can see me,” You breathe out before turning to Luke, “Julie can see me, so I must not be dead.”

“What?”

“Y/N and I thought maybe she was dead since she can see me and I could touch her,” Luke explained and you nodded.

“What?!” Julie repeated, more shocked than the last time. “You can see him? And you, you can touch her?”

“Yeah, look!” Luke exclaimed, reaching his arm out to tap your arm but it just went right through you. “Huh, why…?”

“Maybe the first time was a fluke?” You supplied before something caught your eye.

You reached out to grab his arm as it fell back to his side. This time it worked, and you pulled his limb closer to you, turning it over to examine what you had seen.

“Woah, see?” Luke said pointedly to Julie, though you weren’t listening.

“That’s- how? You’re-“ you sputtered as you stared at the mark on his wrist. “Soulmates.” You whispered finally.

“Um, I’m gonna give you guys some time,” Julie said, eyes wide as she walked backward out of the garage.

You didn’t let go of his wrist, your eyes flitting between your words and his eyes.

“That’s why I didn’t hear them,” you muttered, bringing your own wrist next to his.

It had been puzzling you for weeks, how you couldn’t remember hearing the words the day they had appeared on your wrist. It made sense now, you couldn’t hear them because Luke had said them.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, dropping his wrist from your grasp. “I thought maybe if you didn’t know you could find happiness somewhere else. With someone who wasn’t invisible and intangible.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him, his face was tilted down, unable to look you in the eye. You sighed, taking a deep breath before reaching your hand up to cup the side of his face. It took a couple of tries but you were finally able to place your hand on his cheek, tilting his face to look up at you.

“Luke,” you said softly, “How could I want anyone else?”

He shook his head at your words, though his hand came up to rest over your own. “How could you know that? This is the first time we’ve ever spoken.”

“Because the universe put us together,” you answered surely, bringing your wrists together again in the space between you. “I have no idea how this is going to work but I know it’ll be worth it because these mean we’re meant for each other.”

“You are better than I could ever imagine,” Luke confessed softly, and you smiled shyly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Well you’re stuck with me now,” you joked lightly, before pulling him to the couch. “Now c’mon soulmate, we’ve got some catching up to do.”

#jatpweek #jatp fic #jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #luke jatp #jatp luke #luke patterson fic #willex #willie jatp #alex mercer #reggie peters #julie molina #sunset curve #soulmate au

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

Text

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 5 (Nessian)

Damnation Series

Parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

____________________________________________________________

~Cassian~

A week later, I’m exceptionally proud to say I haven’t given in yet. No matter how much I want to.

Tensions the past seven days have been... high, to say the least.

Both of us are doing our absolute best to drive the other insane.

She’s doing it so I either sign the deed and give in or turn to someone else, both which would give her Sera back.

I’m doing it because if I have to suffer, she can bet her pretty ass she does, too.

Ironically, tonight’s our engagement party. A celebration of our undying love and an announcement to the world the Russians and Italians of New York should no longer hate and murder each other.

They’re allowed to be sexually frustrated as hell, but no, they can’t kill each other.

I’m waiting for the little minx who’s spent the week making me regret ever even asking for the club, drinking bourbon so I’m too drunk to even be tempted by her--which is likely enough to kill me--when she finally deigns to grace me with her presence.

I take one look at her, starting at the high blonde ponytail that would wrap around my fist at least twice and ending at the very high, very red shoes I immediately want by my shoulders.

“Fuck.”

Obviously the reaction she was looking for, she smiles.

Her dress is a cream color thing that clings to her curves and is short enough to showcase her long legs. It’s somehow classy, while low enough to draw my eyes to her breasts as she comes down the stairs towards me.

Nesta stops right before me, close enough I smell the jasmine and vanilla of her skin, and looks at me through her lashes.

I turn my gaze to the ceiling, vowing to keep it there until I trust myself to not do something stupid like tell her she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’m so fucked,” I mutter hopelessly.

If possible, she comes closer, sliding all the interesting, female parts of her against me. “You would be if you just gave me back my shit.”

I glare down at her. “I don’t like to lose.”

“Would you really be losing?”

I keep my mouth shut, because the answer to that question is a big fat no. God, she’s good.

“Tell me again why you refuse to put us out of our misery?” I ask in return, trying to remind myself who the fuck I am.

Even though I wonder if it is our misery. I can’t read her, can’t tell if this is affecting her like it is me.

She gives me a cold look. “What do you see happening after we get married, exactly? You think you’ll work a few hours at the club I spent three years building from the ground up, come home and eat a home cooked meal, then fuck your complacent little wife however you want?”

I have no idea what to say, because when she puts it like that, I sound like the biggest douche in the world.

Nesta sees the hesitation in my eyes and rolls hers. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I allow you to disrespect me like that, stronzo.”

“I respect you,” I say immediately, meaning the words.

“Just not enough to value my career.”

“Nesta-”

“Deal with it. If you somehow keep the board from voting you out in the next two weeks and manage to not sleep with me--which is unlikely, considering the way you look at me--the club will be yours.” She takes a step back, steeling her spin. “But I will not.”

I’m conflicted as hell, torn between wondering if she’s just playing me or being sincere.

Apparently done with the verbal smackdown, Nesta spins towards the door.

Hand on the handle, she turns back around and cocks her head. And then she answers the questions I hadn’t realized I’d been too scared to ask.

“No and yes.”

My brows raise. “What?”

“No, it hasn’t all been just me trying to mess with you. Yes, I want you as much as you want me. But I respect myself too much to allow someone who blazes into my life and steals something from me without a care or even a real negotiation to have my body, too.”

She walks out the door, leaving me standing in the living room stunned.

I eventually follower her down to the garage and we leave for the party Rhys is hosting for us downtown. But even though I go through the motions once we arrive, my mind is on the woman next to me the entire night.

I hate admitting it, but she’s right.

I took something that belonged to her, didn’t even question talking to her first, then acted like she was in the wrong for doing whatever she could to get it back.

I’ve said I like how strong and independent she is, but I tried to take that independence and turn her into something else. I bulldozed my way into her life, then acted like I was the one inconvenienced by it.

And seriously, why am I even fighting for this place? Yeah, I like it and think it’s unique, but the place is above board. Which to me translates as boring.

The past two weeks, I’ve had to go to investment meetings, deal with sending out the nightly invitations for entrance, and plan events for upcoming holidays. Things I never do with my other properties.

I hate managing things--I hire people to do that kind of thing for me. But I know I can’t hire someone, because who the hell besides my fiancé would do the job right?

No one.

I realize that on the drive home, and it gets me thinking. By the time we’re inside the apartment, I’m already mentally finalizing the details.

I tell her I have to take care of something, go to my office, and close the door.

Then I pull up the marriage contract, along with the deed to Sera, and hit print.

~Nesta~

A week after our engagement party, I realized I’ve started to lose hope.

Cassian’s managed to wrangle or bribe or threaten the board into not voting him out, and the employees have stopped calling me to ask when I’m coming back. He hasn’t touched me or tried to seduce me in six days--probably a record for him--and I start to feel like I’ve lost.

My club will be his in a week, and after we’re married, only him signing the deed over will get it back. Something that will never happen, considering it’d be a serious hit to his pride to do something as weak as give me what’s rightfully mine.

My club will be his, but like I said, I won’t.

Which honestly is just as upsetting.

Even though he’s a stubborn, boneheaded stronzo with a big enough ego for us both, it’s hard for me to overlook the moments of the past three weeks that haven’t revolved around Sera.

Little moments that have made it harder for me to pull away from him.

He’s made me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met, whether with his foul sense of humor or stories about his violent, wild childhood. He stopped leaving the toilet seat up when I pointed it out. He hasn’t said a word about me ordering take-out all the time or working in bed while he tries to sleep.

He even dealt with one of Alexei’s buyers for me when they tried to renegotiate the price originally agreed upon.

And he hasn’t really pressed the celibacy thing. Sure, he’s complained about it enough for me to want to smack him, but I don’t know any other Made Men, Russian or Italian, that would’ve respected my wish after how much I’ve teased him.

If he would just-

I cut that train of thought off and focus on the report in front of me, because at this point, it’s obvious he won’t.

I sip my wine, which is starting to grow on me, and look over shipment records from one of Alexei’s yards, flagging crates that need to be smuggled instead of brought in through the main channels. Repressing a groan at the thought, I realize I’ll have to go down one night this week and make sure they arrive without problem.

I take another long pull from my glass.

“Drinking to forget?” Cassian asks, leaning in the doorway of the bedroom and looking me over.

I shrug, not much in the mood for banter.

“I got you something.”

Sighing, I reply, “Yeah, me too. It’s on the nightstand.”

His brow furrows as he walks over and picks up the ring box, opening it to look at the titanium band inside.

Just another symbol of our lifelong, happy, sexless marriage.

He puts the ring back in the box and extends a hand. “It isn’t a ring.”

“What is it?”

“Get your ass out of bed and find out.”

I would, except I don’t want to. And I don’t really want whatever stupid, materialistic thing he’s bought me-

He closes my laptop and pulls the cover back, ducking when I swing a fist towards his head. “Violent little wolf,” he teases.

“Stop calling me that,” I demand, trying in vain to keep the blanket on me so he can’t tell I’m not wearing anything underneath the t-shirt I stole from him.

He pauses, sighs, and scoops me up, blanket and all. “I love watching you fight how much you love me calling you that.”

“I don’t have to fight anything except he overwhelming urge to smack you.”

Cassian just huffs, walking us out of the room, through the living room, and into his office. Then he puts me down, smacks my butt to get me moving, and grunts when I elbow him in the ribs.

“Maybe this will fix your bad mood,” he mutters, flipping the light switch on and bathing the office in golden light.

I take an involuntary step forward, eyebrows going high on my forehead.

I’ve only been in here once before, just long enough to notice the obnoxiously big desk and wall of windows behind it. I’d taken in the black leather couch and wing-backed chairs, determined it was a typical male office for a typical male, and vowed to work somewhere else.

But that was a while ago, and it’s obvious he’s done some home improvement.

There are decidedly now two desks in the corners near the windows, angled in to the middle of the room where two cream-colored leather chairs sit. The desks are identical, mahogany and classic without being ostentatious.

A rug covers the hardwood floors, a deep maroon color that matches small details throughout the room.

It’s beautiful.

Cassian leads me with his hands on my shoulders to one of the desks, and I let him guide me around to the chair and push me down in the soft leather.

I look up to ask him what this is about, but he jerks his chin to the desk where to two papers lie.

One is the deed to Sera.

A rush of surprise goes through me as I see he’s transferred the building back over to me, even going so far as to deem the process irreversible. It’s signed and dated a week ago, the night of our engagement party.

My eyes are shiny as I look at the other document and read through it.

“What is this?”

“A partnership, of sorts,” Cassian explains, leaning a hip on the- my desk like he did in his Capo’s office. “You’re now a partner at my businesses, and if you sign, I’ll be yours.”

My eyes find his, and I see that he’s serious but still choke out, “What?”

He smiles and shrugs, like signing over half of your life’s work is easy. “You had me pegged when you first saw me and figured out I’m a fighter. I hate everything about running a business except the in-person negotiating and knitty gritty shit. It’s boring to me, and while I can do it, I’m not nearly as good at it as you are.”

“Cassian-”

“So run them both. I’ll do the day to day shit I know you hate, and you’ll do the rest.”

I can’t hardly process what he’s saying.

“What if we disagree?” It’s a valid question, considering we’ve basically been fighting the entire time we’ve been engaged.

“We talk about it and try to figure it out. And if we can’t, the original owner has the final call and veto power in all situations.” His eyes say he knows how important it is to me as he says, “You’ll still be in control of your property, and I’ll still be in control of mine.”

I don’t know why I’m still asking questions, because it sounds great, but there’s one more thing I want to know.

“Why?”

He sighs, sitting on the desk fully and looking down at me with open, honest eyes. “Because I’m tired of doing this shit alone. I’m tired of going to work and dealing with every single thing and then coming home and having no one who understands.”

He looks out the window, shoulders tight. “I thought you’d be like my friends’ wives, which is why I was such an ass. I thought you’d be just another thing for me to take care of, and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to realize you could be my partner, not just my wife.”

His eyes are back on mine, the heat in them making my heart pound. “I’m sorry, Nesta. I’m sorry I stole Sera in the first place, then refused to hear you out and give it back. I have a tendency to be a little stubborn.”

My lips twitch, and his eyes soften at the sight.

“But what you said about respecting yourself stuck. I don’t want you to feel like I don’t respect you, because I do. You’re smarter than me, cool when I’m rash, and have the mind for business I never have.” He smiles softly. “I know you’re just as alone as me, and just as tired of it. So say yes.”

I feel a smile on my face as I get to my feet, moving to stand between his thighs. “Are you just doing this so I’ll sleep with you?”

He sighs, dropping his head in shame to rest against my chest. “You caught me.”

My arms wrap around his shoulders, his going around my waist, and I use the opportunity to play in his hair. It’s so soft and curly, and he makes a content sound as I run my hands through it.

“Are you saying yes, little wolf?” he murmurs against my collarbone, dropping his head to rub his face across my breasts.

I roll and tug his hair to keep the randy bastard away. “Yes, pervert, I’m saying yes.”

Cassian smiles a big, goofy smile so ridiculously charming I lean in and kiss him.

His hands lock at my waist, resting on the curve of my back, and for a moment, he just lets me kiss him.

It isn’t our first kiss by any means, but it’s the first one where neither of us have ulterior motives, so I take my time.

I kiss his top lip, his bottom lip. Find I like them both equally.

My hands work across his shoulders, the thick muscles contracting under my hands, and I sigh his name.

Cassian’s hands fist in the fabric of my pajamas--which happen to still be his shirt--and draws me closer. He kisses my neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell so fucking good,” he mutters, biting down softly and making me gasp. “It drives me crazy.”

His hands slip to the back of my thighs, then I’m on his lap, knees on the desk next to his hips. “You drive me crazy,” he clarifies.

He kisses me again, hands sliding up my thighs to my ass to grind me against him. Callouses scrape against my skin as he sweeps the shirt off and tosses it behind me.

“Shit,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to take me in.

The fact that he’s still fully dressed while I’m in nothing but my underwear makes me feel even more exposed, doing strange things to my mind. I start unbuttoning his shirt while he kisses down my chest.

He teases one with his hand while he takes the other in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak. I squirm, pressing my hips more fully against is, but he holds me still, kissing and teasing me until I can’t take it anymore.

“Cassian,” I murmur, tugging his hair to pull his gaze to mine. “Thank you for the desk. I love it.”

His brows furrow, and I can see him start to think about how much I’ve teased him, but before he can worry that’s what I’m doing, I whisper, “Now fuck me on it. Please.”

A muscle in his jaw flickers, and his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips.

Before I can say another word, he stands and spins us around, sliding me on the desk. He holds my thighs around his hips, and then an idea seems to dawn.

“Wait right here.”

“Seriously?” I ask, even though he’s already half-way out of the room.

“Don’t you dare fucking move!” is the shouted response.

I roll my eyes, but he’s back quickly, holding the red stilettos I wore to our engagement party. I howl with laughter, and a faint blush colors his cheeks, but he stays firm in his desire and puts them on the floor beside my feet.

Then he leans against the window and watches while I slip them on.

His golden eyes blaze as I lean back on my elbows and slowly spread my thighs, in nothing but lace panties and heels.

“I’ll buy you all the desks you want, if you sit on them like that.”

Laughter bubbles out of me, and he’s suddenly on me, leaning over me to kiss me in a frenzy.

I rip his shirt open, and he doesn’t even break the kiss as he throws it to the floor. I hear the telltale clink of a belt, and then he stands up to slide my panties down, grab my legs, and guide them up.

I feel him brush over the center of me, instinctively lifting my hips to give him a better angle.

But he doesn’t give me what I want.

Cassian just stands there, gaze gliding from the hells on his shoulders to the apex of my thighs.

“Hold that thought,” he mutters, dropping to his knees and putting his mouth on me before I can even blink.

My back leaves the desk, a gasp escaping me.

“Cassian.”

“I want you to come on my tongue, then you get to come on my cock.”

“Cassian.”

He hums, the sensation sending shivers down my spin. He kisses me like he’s doing it for him, not me, mouth on every part of me it can reach.

I can see the lines of his tattoos on his shoulders, the top of his curly hair. It’s too much to handle, so I just lay back down on the desk and throw my hands above my head to hold on to the edge of the desk.

The only time he stops is to tell me things that apparently can’t wait five minutes, but I don’t even care because every word out of that sinful mouth makes me burn hotter.

“Come for me,” he demands breathlessly a few minutes later.

“Don’t boss me around,” I groan, even as I do exactly what he wants.

He lets me ride it out, dropping kisses to my thighs and stomach and hips.

As soon as I catch my breath, he’s on his feet, putting me in the exact position I was in earlier.

And then he’s pushing inside me, and I honestly almost come again from the feel alone. “Thank God,” I groan, the past three reminding me of the misery teasing him put me through.

“Fucking hell, you’re perfect.”

Hands on my thighs, he holds me in place as he starts to move. But as he picks up speed, going harder with each thrust, his hands have to slip to my thighs to keep me still.

I say his name, sounding like I’m begging him for something, and he groans. His head’s thrown back, bare skin shining and making him look likesome sort of beautiful devil.

“Hurry up, little wolf,” he almost pleads.

The sound of that stupid fucking nickname does me in, and I come with a loud moan. I would’ve kicked him in the head if he hadn’t immediately dropped down on top of me to kiss me without abandon.

His hips still but he keeps kissing me until he has to break for air.

I’m boneless and limp beneath him, and he looks me over with male satisfaction.

Then his mouth drops open, betrayal in his eyes, and he says, “I just realized you didn’t speak even French! All these weeks of me fucking fantasizing about that... well, I guess we’ll just have to do it again.”

“Accorde moi un instant,” I pant in French, asking for a moment.

He grins down at me. “Take your time. We have a lifetime.”

My lips twitch, and I don’t stifle the urge to smile.

I’m about to say something, but then his expression turns serious. “You realize I have to fuck you on my desk now. Equality and whatnot.”

I laugh and pull his mouth to mine. “As long as you know I’m still not giving you my side of the bed.”

He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth. “We can share.”

We get married seven days later, surrounded by a crowd of family, dirty politicians, thieves, drug and arms dealers, and friends.

In the past week, we’ve solidified our business model to a thing of perfection. I handle public relations, real estate and development, and negotiations for the shipping business. Cassian handles both the Bratva and Cosa Nostra soldiers in New York, training new recruits, drug distribution, and negotiations for the arms business.

Basically, I do what I’m good at, and he does what he’s good at.

I know it’s ridiculous to trust someone with half my business after only a month of knowing them, but like Cassian said, I was tired of doing this shit alone.

I’d been dreading the future, dreading taking over and doing everything myself. And now I don’t have to.

I have him to lean on, him to trust.

Looking up, I notice him watching me as we dance, not at all paying attention to the crowd. “What are you thinking about, little wolf?”

“I’m thinking how I thought of this marriage as nothing but an alliance at first. I guess it still is that, but... it’s also more.” He spins us around to the music, watching me with a knowing expression. “You’re more to me than that. And I’m... I’m happy. Working with you and the thought of our future makes me happy.”

He smiles.

“You love me,” he states with quiet confidence.

My heart starts pounding, because I’ve never told a living person that before.

But it’s never been true before, and it is now, so I respond steadily, “I do.”

“I love you, too, Nesta Orlov. Have since the moment I saw you.” He sounds so relaxed about it, the words falling from his lips so easily.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” I ask, not understanding how he’s the calm one all of a sudden.

“Anything you love something, there’s the risk you could lose it or it could hurt you.” Cassian brushes a thumb over my cheek. “But I could never be scared to love you.”

I shake my head and start to say something, but he cuts me off.

“Every morning, when you wake up, there’s this little moment where you look around, confused. And then you look at me, and that hesitation in your eyes just... melts.” He dips me, wrapping his arms tight around me. “You look at me like you trust me, and love me, and want me.”

He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “That look is worth every risk and hardship and whatever else loving someone entails.”

I kiss him back as he brings us to standing. “Italians are such saps.”

He shows off the smile I’ve realized he only gives me, and I say the words I know he needs to hear just as badly as I did. “I love you, Cassian. You’re worth the risk, too.”

______________________________________________________

THANK U FOR READINGGG soft ending for the win

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acotar #acosf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #nessian archeron

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potteresque-ire · 4 years ago

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Here’s my response to @pussyibo, who tagged me on a post about Gg’s Li-Ning brand endorsement.

First of all, I’d like everyone to please read @accio-victuuri‘s wonderfully written, detailedly researched post on the Li-Ning brand, the Xinjiang cotton support rally on Weibo, and the narrative the state has spun on the issue. I would’ve provided similar information in my response as well—although no way I could’ve laid it out as clearly, as to-the-point as @accio-victuuri did—because this background is critical in explaining my thoughts on this issue.

I haven’t reblogged the Li-Ning ads, but I must confess that the decision had little to do with politics. I’ve always leaned towards re-blogging art than real people.

That said, however, Gg’s Li-Ning ads have, of course, crossed my dash. And I’d be honest and say this as well: I haven’t really found them—or by extension, the idea that Gg was endorsing the brand—offensive, precisely for the reasons @accio-victuuri laid out. Li-Ning is a legend in China; a highly decorated olympic gymnast, he was the national pride chosen to be the final torch-bearer and torch-lighter for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. His company, established in 1990, was among the first Chinese brands with name-recognition overseas and has won high-profile international sponsorships—rare achievements among Chinese-owned enterprises, even to this day.

Based on Li Ning’s identity and his company being a National Brand, I’d be more surprise if the Li-Ning brand doesn’t use homegrown, “patriotic” cotton, before even considering the practical reasons—Xinjiang cotton being a domestic product that eliminates the costs of shipping, tariffs etc; that it’s of such superior quality that international brands touted its use—a reversal of the usual downplaying of their products’ Chinese origin, due to the common associations of “Made in China”=“Bootleg”,“awful quality”; that makes up ~20% of worldwide cotton production—ie. most Chinese families are probably already using products with cotton from the region (blankets, for example).

From that perspective, therefore, I’ve viewed the endorsement as little more than a case of a high-profile Chinese celebrity endorsing a high-profile Chinese brand, named after a national hero and targeted towards the local market. I breathed a little sigh of relief for Gg, admittedly—imagine if his new endorsement over those same few days had been for a brand under the Better Cotton Initiative; he would’ve been flayed alive, if the antis’ words were knives.

(And who said they aren’t?)

As such, I also haven’t considered the Li-Ning brand as “morally inferior” to Gg or Dd, or, the other way around, that Gg or Dd are “morally superior” to the Li-Ning brand. I haven’t considered drawing a moral ruler along this axis. I either believe they’re all doing what their sociopolitical environment has taught them, guided them, demanded them to do, or I don’t. Li Ning (the person and the brand), Gg, and Dd all have a celebrity status attached to them. They’ve all flourished in that one sociopolitical environment—that one they also call home.

Ultimately, Gg and Dd belong to China. They’re the product of the country, its all powerful, all controlling regime. No one can be isolated from their backgrounds—my background colours every word I say here; likewise, there’s no place I can draw a line and separate Gg and Dd from the Communist Red behind them. I wouldn’t have posted about China’s sociopolitical environment, researched on it as a GgDd fan otherwise.

I either walk away from them all, or I don’t. I either stay a fan, or I don’t. The latter is my choice. Every minute.

Have there been instances in which news about Gg and Dd make me especially uncomfortable? Yes. Photos of Gg in PLA (People’s Liberation Army; Chinese army) uniform for AT, or Dd in police uniform for BAH, for TTXS still give me stomach churns every time I see them. A violent squeeze of the heart.

Visceral reactions that come from, I suppose, the amyglada. More organic, primitive than thought.

I’ve seen those uniforms in RL action—uniforms worn by those who’re truly responsible for the labor camps and mass surveillance, the torture, the unreported deaths, the disappearances; uniforms Gg and Dd have expressed support outside their drama, their host roles:

Translation: #I support Hong Kong Police too# (On red banner) “I support HK police. You can beat me up now.” What a shame for Hong Kong.

(Dd reblogged the same post originated from People’s Daily, the State-Controlled Newspaper).

I’m going to go on a quick detour and provide the backstory of this red little box, this piece of propaganda that is much more blatant than a clothing ad. I’ll explain why in a bit.

Here’s an article that explained the incident from which the quote was drawn, that occurred on 8/13/2019 during the Hong Kong Protest and the airing of The Untamed. Essentially, a Chinese state media reporter was suspected to be a spy among the protestors after taking photos, refusing to show his press pass (he was found to have one but not his own), and possessing a “I love HK Police” shirt; he was tied to the luggage cart and beaten up. The reporter said the quote in the red little box; he suffered mild injuries and was soon discharged by the hospital. What was the background of this story, however? Why did the protestors beat up someone who could be from the press—who, regardless of their affiliation, protestors know should be protected? The protests began in June, 2019. Hong Kong had had another large scale protest in between September to November, 2014 (aka the “Umbrella Revolution”). Spies had always been an issue. Why didn’t a spy beating happen earlier?

Here’s an English-subbed documentary (warning: violence) that offers insight of the background—the fear and fury of the protestors. The subject is what is now known as 721 Yuen Long incident, or the evening Hong Kongers—even those who had not been involved, who had been unsure about the protests—lost their trust of the Hong Kong Police, once known as “Asia’s finest”.

That evening went like this. On 7/21/2019, the local mafia violently attacked the passengers of a late night train in Yuen Long station—passengers who weren‘t protestors (who wore black)—while the police ignored the multiple emergency calls from locals who’d spotted something suspicious, and didn’t show up on the scene while the beatings occurred. Evidences, which the documentary detailed, pointed to the Hong Kong Police, and the government that backed it, endorsing the beatings, therefore working with the local mafia to deal with the protests.

By 8/13/2019, therefore, protestors were convinced that their opposition wasn’t beyond using very low blows to get their way. One could argue that they overreacted to the spy-reporter; the Western media, who had long trusted HKers to know what they were doing, expressed its disappointment, and the protestors soon apologised. The Chinese propaganda machine, of course, jumped at the chance of casting the protestors as bad people, and the online rally on Weibo ensued (It lasted for at least three days; Gg and Dd reblogged post about HK between 8/14/2019-8/16/2019).

That was, briefly, the story behind Gg and Dd’s Weibo reblog.

Why did I make a detour and write up this story? Because I’ve actually posted blatant propaganda on my blog—the Weibo post, with its red little box. However, does it still feel like propaganda with the story?

Therefore, I haven’t, and don’t plan on pressuring anyone to stop posting and re-blogging specific pieces of GgDd information—be it an ad as in this scenario, or propaganda material from films, series, government/state-controlled media announcements etc. That I believe everyone should set their own boundaries, be their own judge of what they’d like to share on their own blog aside, I think—and this is where my opinion may deviate from many—“canceling” falsehoods often isn’t the best way to deal with them.

This opinion is likely, again, coloured by my background.

My observations have been this: “cancelling” is effective only if the cancelling force is, overall, significantly stronger than the force being cancelled. In the scenario that prompted this post, making Gg’s Li-Ning ads disappear from the dash is only possible if there are more fans who ignore the ads than those who post and reblog them. “Canceling” is therefore a competition of headcount, with tactics for sidekick—the side with more people, and people who are good at disseminating information, decides the outcome: whether the intended-to-be-cancelled material go viral within the fandom, or whether they die out.

I’d like to highlight this word: headcount.

This isn’t the most favourable kind of competition to participate in, therefore, if the potential opposition belongs to the populous country in the world, its members, people who may have participated in fan circles, which are essentially fan armies who’ve been used to organising, battling on social media for their idols. I’ve previously set up a hypothetical scenario, in which Dd’s supertopic members were encouraged by their government to scale the Great Firewall to Twitter, spread their support of Xinjiang cotton—a scenario that is not totally unrealistic, given that the Chinese government has previously mobilised fans for propaganda purpose.

We’ll use this thought experiment again ~ please bear in mind, once more, that this is SJD; a figment of our imagination.

Since we’re talking about Li-Ning brand, let’s add Gg’s supertopic members to the mix. The total supertopics member count is 6.11 + 8.34 = 14.45 million, as of today (2021/04/04).

Let’s say, only a tiny, tiny percent—0.01% of them are mobilised; that’s 1,400 people.

Is it possible to cancel the voices, the retweets of 1,400 in Gg and Dd’s i-fandom? Cut down another 90%, reduce the opposition headcount to 140. Is it possible?

There are also overseas Chinese who do not intend to spread propaganda, but believe in the story and have no qualms disseminating the information. There are also fans who wish to remove politics from fandom and pass all information along.

Here lies the frustration of those who’ve tried to raise their voice of concerns re: the policies and practices of the Chinese government on social media; and this is why I mentioned that my background informed my opinion. On social media, where headcount and whoever shouts the loudest, retweet etc the most wins the exposure game, it’s nearly impossible to win against the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)’s propaganda machine, if the party chooses to have the machine running.

Their side has so many people.

One more RL example: here’s a scholarly article detailing how Diba (帝吧), an old, popular online forum in China with 20 million members, mobilised, collectively scaled the Firewall and engaged in a cyberattack of the Facebook page of Taiwanese President Tsai Ing-Wen on January 20, 2016 — the day of President Tsai Ing-wen’s first inauguration; they left a total of 26,000 comments against Taiwan independence, using Simplified Chinese (which China uses) for their font instead of Traditional Chinese (which Taiwan and Hong Kong uses)—ie, the commenters didn’t even pretend to be not from China. They were proud and open about their "Expedition”.

(China’s state-controlled tabloid Global Times—yes, the same one involved in the Hong Kong airport incident above—”concluded the campaign was a “fun normal incident” that showcased young people’s passion for politics”)

Is it possible to try to cancel something of that scale? Is it realistic?

Personally, therefore, I’ve always advocated for “immunisation”: rather than protecting a fact by wiping out its associated lies—the idea behind “cancelling” a message, not having it show up on the dash—I prefer to do so by allowing it to be visibly challenged, until observers are no longer easily swayed by falsehoods. I used Gg and Dd’s Weibo reblog re: Hong Kong police as an example—is the red little box propaganda, a challenge to the protests? Yes. Is it information that I deeply disagree with, something I wish I’ll never see again? Also yes. But by providing context to it, I’m hoping to turn it into a vaccine—something mimicking the virus, the potentially viral piece of information, but doesn’t function the same way anymore.

Hopefully, this vaccine will also encourage stop-and-think moments that boost future immunity; hopefully, with a few more boosters, questions will come automatically with such red little boxes reappear— questions about the context, the purpose, the message.

Questions like these, for this incident: why did the State media make this incident the “Gotcha” moment in the Hong Kong Protests, important enough for People’s Daily to make a rally-starting meme? Why was the reporter, Fu Guohao hailed as a hero, when he’d just got ... beaten up?

What did People’s Daily, and the government behind it, want people to find when the red little box popped up everywhere on Weibo, including the Weibo of the fastest rising stars from the hit summer TV series? What belief could be expected to be instilled into the audience with this photo, published by China’s state TV station (CGTN), of the reporter tied up to a luggage cart and surrounded by black-cladded protestors?

Who looked like the strong, evil side? The meek, good side? Why, finally, was the tag about the Hong Kong Police, when the conflict was between the protestors and an alleged Chinese state media reporter?

By then, Hong Kongers were already suspicious that the Hong Kong Police had been infiltrated by China’s law enforcement arm, from hints from the different dialects the police used, how they handled the protestors etc. It was the start the final break down of Hong Kong’s autonomy. Their suspicions were not wrong. Now, with the National Security Law having taken effect since July 2020, Hong Kong’s transformation into a police state is well under way.

What does the tag #I support Hong Kong Police too# mean now?

[Please excuse my using many examples from HK because 1) I’m familiar with the details; and 2) it’s the only instance in recent history in which the outside world can see, with relative clarity, a large-scale protest against the Chinese government and its outcome.]

Here’s my humble wish: next time, when a government-sponsored memes like this get translated and posted, be it originally reblogged by Gg, Dd, or other c-ent stars, be it on Twitter or Tumblr, the vaccinated, immunised will pause and wonder: What’s the story? What’s being told inside the Great Firewall, and outside?

If this happens, red little boxes on my blog, unpleasant as they are, are 100% worth it.

The Li-Ning ads are therefore worth it too, IMO, if they spark a conversation, a dissemination of facts and perspectives. To me, the latter is especially precious in this fandom, where significant language and cultural barriers exist. Fans who move Gg and Dd’s news and candies from Weibo are the pillars of this fandom. Sieving through that website is hard, translations harder; it’s unfair and unrealistic to ask them to also be the background knowledge deliverers.

I’ve tried to do a small part, but I’m ... slow. Very, very slow. However, even if the background isn’t available, I’ve found being careful, skeptical about the information is already a very good thing. At heart, this is no different from the lessons from media literacy here, except there are even more falsehoods and half-truths to wade through given the country of origin of Gg and Dd’s material, and trustworthy sources are not always available. Li-Ning brand is an example that things do not need to be blatant propaganda to carry a pro-CCP message.

What can i-fans do then about the Xinjiang cotton situation, if competing against the Chinese government propaganda machine on social media appears to be a losing game?

My thoughts are these, at the moment. First, please consider not dwelling on the competition, especially within fandom. Remember: getting several fewer fans to buy Li-Ning brand isn’t going to change the big picture.

Instead, if this is an area of activism you choose to participate in—please consider channeling your effort to watching the companies in your country. Put pressure on sustainability & good practice certification companies like Better Cotton Initiative, make sure they don’t, can’t have it both ways. Xinjiang cotton is either certified or it isn’t. There’re suspicions of forced labor on its production or there aren’t. The answer should be a simple yes or no, not whether the office is in Geneva or in Shanghai.

This is an answer that we, as consumers, have the right to know. Transparency in China isn’t for us to demand; we can, however, demand transparency in our own country. Remember too: it makes a far, far greater difference for one international company to re-consider its cotton source, than for one fandom to do the same.

Meanwhile, and again, this is my humble opinion—please do whatever you’re comfortable with, that is within your ability, to fortify your stance. Should you choose to speak out online, you’ll likely meet opposition. Responses on current events from the Chinese Foreign Ministry (you can also find the spokespeople on Twitter) can offer a glimpse of the counterarguments you may meet. How will you answer them? Here’s a clip of one of the spokespeople arguing that the US used to use black slavery to pick cotton in the past. If you’re American and this is presented to you—what would you say? (Does mistakes by one country in the past mean mistakes by another country in the present is automatically acceptable?) The opposition may also use vicious words, the most extreme of which is probably “racist”. If someone call you racist—if many Twitter users scream racist!!!!!!!! at you at the same time for your critique—can you stand firm?

[The pro-CCP camp has been taking advantage of the West’s effort to move forward from its racist past to stop any criticism of the Chinese government. It already knows the easiest way to silence the criticisms is to call whoever makes them racist.]

[If everyone fears the racist allegation, allows the conflation of Chinese government and Chinese people to take root, will there be more or less anti-Asian sentiments in the long run?]

[I’ve been called racist by writing these metas.]

The last thing I’d like to say is this: please be kind to your fellow fans who’ve kept mum, or been hesitant about making their stance known. Some may be closely connected to China, others may not be in a psychological / health space to deal with the politics. Also, and here’s my default way of looking at this: I disagree with the idea that anyone owes anyone else a declaration of their political beliefs. I can’t imagine this issue to be an easy thing to think about for many Gg and Dd fans, myself most definitely included ~ as a (former) Hong Konger, a uniformed Gg or Dd gives me an unpleasant visceral response, but at the same time, it also means I’m used to accepting, even genuinely liking people on the other side of this political ... Grand Canyon. I can imagine the conflict, the pain this issue may have caused some fans who’re not accustomed to the latter, as being a fan, IMO, is never purely logical ~ and I mean that in the best of ways.

Passion is the magic ingredient that separates a fan and a consumer. It’s also what makes choices difficult, when conclusions from logic, political stance included, conflict with it. Some make the hard choices quickly; some, slowly. Some make them in one go; some, piece by piece. Some never make them, let time be the decision maker.

As Dd said so famously and wisely, about the conflict between passion and logic: 愛就是這樣，沒有辦法 Love is like that. Nothing can be done.

The only common denominator is this: we’re all made to love.

❤️.💛.💚.

#pie metas #yizhan #bjyx

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xoxo-ren-xoxo · 4 years ago

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Tommy’s (and Tubbo’s) Character /rp /dSMP

This is a bit of a rant so like be warned. I have nothing against any CCs mentioned in this, this is all roleplay, lighthearted, and just a bit of fun analysis. Mostly this is a ramble about how I see certain people analysing Tommy’s character on tumblr and twt, and why I think they’re wrong. This isn’t directed at anyone specific, just a trend I’ve been seeing that kinda irks me. I don’t dislike the fandom, just a few ‘takes’ have been really weird for me.

TW for everything below: analysing the effects of trauma, abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, and lack of therapy.

I’m not really liking how victim-blamey everyone is getting currently in the dSMP, both in fandom and canon. In canon with certain characters but especially in fan analysis posts and especially about Tommy and Tubbo. People legitimately celebrating that Tommy might start ‘apologising’ for his actions more and 'growing as a person' somehow don’t realise that hes been made this way through a tonne of negative reinforcement. abuse, and gaslighting. And people blaming Tubbo for actions he had no choice in, rather than the actions he did choose.

Currently, as I see it, Tommy is so scared that anyone would find a reason to be pissed off at him that his fighting spirit has been completely crushed. He was exiled and abused when he should have been helped and given an understanding figure to guide him and teach him how to deal with things non-violently. In everyone’s eyes, the problem was that Tommy was creating violence with no real reason, acting recklessly and commiting crimes. Tubbo, having made him a part of his cabinet, knew that this would only harm the country. So instead of talking to him reasonably, he got angry, put him on trial, and punished him with the logbook (humiliating him by making him report back to Fundy, which he obviously hated). Tommy’s actions were, of course, bad, but did he deserve everyone ganging up on him? No. Especially when Tubbo was supposed to be in his corner, helping him out like he always said he would (”It’s me and you vs Dream” etc). This is the first betrayal of trust from Tommy’s POV. He doesn’t understand what he did wrong to its full extent, and no one can explain it to him.

However, Tubbo was under a lot of pressure from Dream and George, and he’s a literal child President, so his ‘safety over friendship’ actions are understandable. I don’t believe Tubbo is solely to blame for anything he’s done in season 2, but it can’t all be excused. If you are to blame Tommy for his recklessness, you have to blame Tubbo, at least partially, for his disregard for Tommy’s feelings and mental state. There were other ways to go about the entire thing, including the trial, which was just horrible to watch, and agreeing to give Dream the disc, something Tommy gave him in pure confidence that it would be safe with Tubbo. Yikes moment.

At that time, Tubbo knew a lot of things about Tommy. In fact, he probably knew the most about Tommy out of anyone on the server. He knew the discs were incredibly important and a comfort item for Tommy. He knew Tommy had trauma from being exiled in the past. He knew Tommy was abused, or at least manipulated by Wilbur, in addition to growing up in war. Wilbur once told Tommy to stop being reckless, and Tommy listened, changing his attitude because he looked up to Wilbur so much. Then Wilbur said ‘let’s be the bad guys’ and stopped trying to mentor Tommy. There’s a conflict here, because Tommy was told by Wilbur that he wasn’t good enough to be President (links to the idea of ‘not being strong enough’) but he knows that Wilbur was a bad person. But Tommy is never given the chance to reconsile his feelings surrounding Wilbur, both because of Ghostbur and because of the conflict he starts with George. So he is harbouring a mixture of emotions about his mentor and brother, not understanding how to untangle the ‘real Tommy’ from the manipulated boy he became.

What was going through his head when he stole from George and griefed him? Perhaps the thought that he needed to show he was still the same old Tommy. Maybe the need to ‘prove himself’ as a strong person? It could have just been an outlet for his trauma. He’s grown up in a world where everyone is either a friend or an enemy. George isn’t a friend. How was he supposed to know that hurting him was bad?

Tubbo was pressured into the actions he took against Tommy, but he was pressured far too easily. There is no moment where Tubbo turns to Tommy and makes sure he’s okay, he views him as ‘selfish’ and overdramatic, and sees his actions that way. This makes sense from Tubbo’s POV, he’s struggling to be President in ways that Wilbur *knew* he would, but in Tommy’s eyes this is the worst betrayal he’s ever known. The moment Tubbo (rightfully, but poorly executed) defies Tommy’s plan to hire Technoblade (ahem, seeing Techno as a weapon again) and exiles Tommy is the moment their friendship shatters. They’re two people who don’t understand each other anymore. Two people who are technically in the right, but only hurt each other.

What Tommy needed was a therapist, instead he had Dream, who put out the fire of rebellion that made him so strong, and Techno, who was trying to help but doing it in the wrong way.

People see tommy's change post-exile as a good thing because he's not as rebellious anymore and he’s thinking things through a lot before he does them, but they will soon realise that his rebellion was one of his best traits and the fact that no one saw it as anything but a problem really shows. He now second-guesses himself so much and is so scared of being wrong that everything seems too difficult and too dangerous. Every trait can have a positive and negative side. Tommy's defiant nature would have made him the perfect negotiator with a little practise. In fact, he had plenty of good ideas before he was exiled (using spirit against Dream, though it didnt work in the end, for example). The negative side of this was recklessness and the desire to cause problems on purpose, but what he needed was a friend (looking at you Tubbo) who understood that hes been through several wars, was manipulated by Wilbur, and hasnt known a time of peace where everyone who wasnt on his side was out to kill him. Now that ‘fight’ is gone he's just become easier to manipulate.

He may be getting better (see: telling Dream to go fuck himself) but there hasn't been any long-term growth because he was never told what kind of rebellion was good and what was bad. He was just told it was all bad. By Dream (and by Tubbo). Who he doesn't trust. So he's just going to revert back to his old ways because no one told him what was bad in a way that didn't make him feel like everyone was against him. Dream is the enemy (though Tommy’s feelings towards him are complicated, they make his brain go all ‘flippy floppy’) and Dream told him that rebellion was bad, so rebellion must be good always, right?

And then there's Techno. Techno did nothing wrong except for when he did. Techno is 100% right except for when he isn’t. He doesn't understand Tommy because Tommy was never fully open about what Dream had done and how it affected him. That's not Tommys fault though, because who the fuck openly talks about their trauma? So neither of them are to blame for pretty much anything up until the confrontation at the community house.

However, Techno's methods and ideology were not what Tommy needed. He was thrown from one extreme to another over and over again, from complete subservience to total rebellion. Neither of these inforce good attitudes in Tommy. One, as stated before, makes it so that he will regain his negative traits again. The other reinforces those violent traits as good, just like Wilbur did. The only difference is that Techno had good intentions, he wasnt trying to use Tommy, which is why he feels so used when Tommy 'betrays' him (Techno doesnt realise that he himself betrayed Tommy by teaming with Dream, he sees it more as a transaction than a personal thing). Techno feels so hurt by Tommy ‘viewing him as a weapon’ that he goes on with his no-mercy attack, completely dropping Tommy at his lowest point.

Tommy says he doesn't want to be like everyone he's hated. In fact, he say's he is 'worse' than all the villains. This is very obviously untrue, though he was clearly going down a dangerous path with Techno's influence (see: bullying Fundy, spawning wither, kidnapping Connor, and saying that the discs are more important than Tubbo, more on that later). He's not a villain but who exactly has said he's not a villain. Dream? Techno? Neither of them can be trusted in his eyes. They say he's a good guy, Wilbur wanted to be the bad guy, who's right? He doesn't know. He has a crisis of morality.

And? Some people want to point at that and say 'aha! Character development! He's finally realising his actions have a negative affect on others!' OH GOD NO??? He's a *child* who thinks that he is worse than his abuser. Does that sound like positive character growth to you?

Lastly, the discs. We know theyre a comfort item blahblahblah. He hates himself for valuing them more than he values Tubbo. He's literally innocent in this. He’s been horribly manipulated by Dream to believe that the discs are worth anything. Theyre really not worth anything if they are being used as tools rather than, yknow, discs. My poor boy. He doesnt trust people, so what can he trust? The discs. But then he says it out loud and realises he misses Tubbo and he wants to be with his best friend again and and and WAHHHH. This also isnt really character growth its just fucking sad leave me alone.

Anyways what the fuck guys. @ Niki and Jack what the fuck. Yeah we get it it’s miscommunication but wtf. Kinda worried that the actual lore will make Niki and Jack’s hatred of Tommy justified in some way and take on a big victim-blamey vibe, but I’m hoping that everyone is smart enough to not do that. I cannot praise Tommy enough for how he’s portrayed his character. I’m currently hoping that he himself understands the true complexity of it all. I’m sure he does.

Mostly though im actually pissed off at all the people praising tommy's character for 'maturing' when hes literally just got trauma. Nice one, tumblr and twt users. Thanks. Great job. He hasnt 'learnt his lesson', he’s traumatised. What the fuck.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk, leave your responses in the reblogs and comments.

#dreamsmp #dream smp #character analysis #dreamsmp analysis #analysis #critical #tommyinnit #tubbo #dream #technoblade #wilbur soot #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw gaslighting #tw manipulation

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yelenasdog · 4 years ago

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it was a pleasure to burn (spencer reid x fem bau!reader)

genre: fluff i think even though the name is v angsty LOL it’s a literal screenplay with the amout of dialogue i wrote LMAO so idk

summary: a particularly rough and disturbing case gets to reader, and spencer and reader are brought together by this.

words: just about 6k (my longest fic ahhHH)

warnings: typical criminal minds gore and violence just up a notch, they get on a plane at the end, somebody gets ~shot~, somebody gets ~bonked~, cursing, mentions of reid’s addiction, and i think that’s it. also the reader wears reading glasses but that’s the only predetermined factor of appearance. btw i don’t think i used any pronouns in this but i apologize if i’m wrong.

a/n: LMFAO i was outside awhile ago celebrating litha with a nice lil hike and i saw a butterfly and i had just started watching cm and was like hMMm... killer who’s obsessed with symmetry??!1??!? y Es. enjoy 😼 EDIT: THERE IS SO MANY PLOT HOLES OMG FBREHJBFHEJFRE IM RBFBRE

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

Present Day, Central Park, New York

“Aren’t they just stunning?” The unsub spoke, keeping her eyes trained on the butterfly sitting happily on her finger. The brightly colored creature fluttered off her hand that was dripping scarlet, flying around her curly head of brown hair. Her, formerly white, blood-stained dress flowed around her as she followed it, watching in awe as it soared about. She giggled, plopping down on the grass in the middle of a circle of her victim’s pale, lifeless bodies, all of them with ironically morbid butterflies resting upon the frail skin of the corpses.

“Aren’t they, agents?”

She slanted her green eyes, gripping the grass a little harder. I flicked my tongue over my lips nervously, looking over to the lanky man on my left. He simply shrugged, just about as sure of how to handle the situation just as much as I was.

“If I knew you all were coming, I would have cleaned up, I really would have, I promise.”

We slowly walked towards her, twigs and leaves crunching under our feet. It could have been comparable to a hunter stalking its prey, but it unfortunately was quite the opposite.

6 days earlier, Quantico, Virginia

“3 bodies, all found within the last 48 hours in rural New York. So far, the first body has revealed that although it was dumped upstate, the victim was murdered in the city, and the same most likely goes for the other bodies as well. Nails well manicured, no drugs in the system. They aren't junkies, we’re dealing with upper class citizens.”

My face contorted as I took the photos from Reid’s hands, his large and tanned one surprising me by how soft it felt as it accidentally brushed against mine. I blushed like a madman, looking to see him doing the same thing. I cleared my throat getting Rossi’s attention.

“Why are we only now hearing of this?” I questioned, flipping through the images as I did so, my confusion only growing. I didn’t recieve an answer, leaving my curiosity to bloom.

“Wait, how did you say they were killed again?”

Morgan looked up, taking the photos from me. “He didn’t.”

I sighed, pushing my glasses up on my nose.

“Is there at least any correlation between the bodies and the butterflies?”

Our attention was shifted to JJ, the resident expert on the insects.

“Actually, the ones being found with the bodies are from the Amarynthis family, all native to Latin America. They weren’t there by accident so yes, they’re somehow related.”

Rossi stood up, grabbing his coat.

“Well, none of this is nearly enough for a profile, so pack your bags and tell the others, wheels up in an hour. We’re headed to New York.”

4 days earlier, F.B.I. Field Office, New York, New York

“The final report from the latest victim is in, all the autopsies are clean. They show no signs of struggles, no marks, no blood, no anything. The eyes weren’t bloodshot, so suffocation is ruled out, and that was our best bet.”

I sighed, sliding the case file across the glass table to Spence as I took my seat, sinking into it and allowing myself to be consumed by its warmth.

“So what your saying is that we’re back at square one.”

I looked up at Hotch from where I sat, running my hand through my ponytail.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

Just then, the young Doctor spoke up as he flipped through the pages.

“The eyes weren’t just not bloodshot, there was barely any blood left in any of the victims bodies, only about 3% of the volume left. The killer drained them.”

Morgan gave me a shocked expression, silently asking for an explanation.

“Which you failed to mention, Y/n.” Aaron spoke, agitation once again present in his voice.

I looked at the ceiling, crossing my arms in front of me before turning to face Hotch once more.

“Yeah, well, I thought it was obvious when I said no blood.” I stuttered out cautiously.

“On the bodies! Not in the bodies!” Morgan exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in what was in my opinion, very childish. Everyone else in the room aside from Spencer was either shaking their heads or pinching the bridge of their noses, and reasonably so.

“Look, I’m sorry I just didn’t see it in the report, plus, In the scheme of things, it just doesn’t seem to matter.”

I soon regretted my words, realizing how ill-fit they were for the current conversation I was having. Spencer looked up, tilting his head.

“Doesn’t seem to matter? How? There’s an endless amount of possibilities now that we know this. If we had known it sooner we probably could have figured out the pattern and caught the one doing this!” He harshly spewed, his voice acting like a crescendo of sorts, quiet and calm and moving towards a loud and violent tone. Tears began to prick at the corners of my eyes and I was starting to feel guilty, not to mention absolutely stupid as could be.

“I’m- I really am sorry guys, truly.”

Hotch locked eyes with me, taking a stern tone that one would usually take with a disobedient child, perhaps even Jack.

“I hope that’s a comfort to you when another body shows up. That’s their blood on your hands.”

I was frozen, the gravity of the situation taking its toll.

In the background I heard him say something to Morgan about a new profile having to be made as there were many new things to be known from this revelation. But it all went in one ear and out the other, just unpleasant white noise.

As I clumsily stumbled out of the room, I felt Reid’s eyes burning holes into the back of my brain. I was quick to turn my head to meet his glance, causing him to look down. I felt bad, the weight on my chest growing heavier from the interaction.

I sat down at my desk, turning on my computer and immediately going to google. I typed in “hypnosis” and let the info trickle in.

About 30 minutes later, I still felt absolutely horrible, but I had also put together a valuable profile in the time that had passed. I shut the newly finished file, blowing an abandoned strand of hair out from my eyes. I had to do a double take when I saw Spencer staring once more, his deep hazel eyes meeting my own. I gave him a small smile before standing up and walking to Hotch’s makeshift New York office. I pushed open the heavy door, placing the folder on his too-clean desk.

“What’s this?” He asked, taking it in his hands.

“My theory about the unsub. I think I know what she’s been doing. You can tell the team if you want, I’m not sure if they would wanna hear it from me. ”

He gave a small smile, pushing the file back over to me.

“You get the team together and I’ll get the local PD caught up. You tell them yourself.”

A few minutes later, everyone except for Reid had gathered in the meeting room. I peeked through the half closed blinds that allowed a line of vision to his desk in an attempt to locate him. He was positioned there, staring blankly at his laptop that appeared to have nothing on the screen. I knocked on the window lightly to catch his attention, his glazed over eyes looking in my direction. I tilted my head at him, silently beckoning him to join me. He only shook his in response, shaggy brown locks swaying back and forth. I sighed, frowning at his action. I turned to the group, clasping my hands in front of me.

“Everyone, this will just be a second if you’ll excuse me.”

With a raised eyebrow from Hotchner and a jab in the direction of Spencer’s workspace, I swiftly walked out of the crowded room.

“Spence, care to join us?” I asked, resting one of my hands against my hip, the other on his orderly desk.

“No, I don’t think I will. I need to try to figure this out before she finds her next victim.”

“What makes you think the unsub is a she?” I searched his eyes that had seemingly become brighter at my piqued interest in his hypothesis.

“Well, the unsub seems to be obsessed with symmetry, all the bodies being found in obscure yet symmetrical positions. This could suggest she had some sort of deep rooted insecurity, possibly from some sort of bullying from growing up in a small town where she was looked at as a superior for subpar looks. She moved to the big city, expecting a big break. Instead she was shunned for being less than average. She grew frustrated and as a result, she began her killing spree. The stresser could have been one too many insults that made her snap. Plus, that would account for the butterflies left on the scenes that are used in modern examples of both femininity and symmetry.”

I smiled widely at his words.

“What- why are you smiling, what are you smiling at?”

I tapped his desk, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth. I headed back towards the conference room, looking over my shoulder.

“Because, I’m glad we’re on the same page, Dr.”

——————

“So, our girl, as Dr. Reid has explained to us, is obsessed with her appearance. She’s an organized killer, no mistakes and no signs of blood or anything of the sort on scene. She has practice, she does this sort of thing every day. She is most likely in the age group of 23-30, and has a job in the cosmetic industry, our guess is in plastic surgery. She probably volunteers weekends at local butterfly sanctuaries or zoos, finding comfort in their perfection that those in her life, or formerly in her life, cannot and could not provide.”

“Which would explain to her easy access to non-native species of the insects. She has an absolute infatuation with symmetry, which yet again, links the butterflies on the crime scene to her MO.”

Spencer and I were vividly explaining our shared theory to the team, as well as local law enforcement. He was excited by his discovery and the lead on the killer, and his energy was contagious.

“She kills without remorse and out of jealousy, picking victims who all have one thing in common.”

Spence pointed to all of the images pasted on the board in the center of the room, all of them split in half and reflected, creating a perfect mirrored portrait.

“They all have perfectly symmetrical faces, as well as strong jawlines and high cheekbones. As most of these victims are models or those searching to start a modeling career, we believe she is luring them in with a photographer trope, promising to make their dreams come true.”

I nodded, taking a moment to study Reid’s own sharp yet somehow soft features. I allowed my eyes to wander over his sunken in, kind, and curious eyes; his pillowy pink lips that are in dire need of some chapstick.

“Agent?”

I turned my head, snapped back to reality by Rossi calling my name.

I gave a tight and quick smile, returning to the topic at hand and tactics to catch the unsub. But of course not before Emily gave me a crooked smile, resulting in me rolling my eyes.

“Physically, she’s nothing special, most likely a mundane appearance or one with quite obvious surgical changes. No in between. Check all of the plastic surgeon offices in the area for both employees who fit our description, as well as a patient who has gotten any serious facial mod operations. Do the same for any weekend volunteers at local zoos and animal sanctuaries, specifically working with any insects.”

It was an NYPD officer then that spoke up this time, raising her hand briefly.

“But, you still haven’t mentioned how she’s killing them?”

“Hypnosis.” Reid and I both spoke at the same time. He looked to his black Converse, sliding his hands into his pockets. I observed the room and all of the skeptical faces filling it.

“Even if it may sound far fetched, we saw no signs of anything that indicated a struggle or even any marks or wounds. This led us to believe that some form of hypnosis was used to allow her an easy kill. This means extra caution will have to be taken when actually handling the unsub. Even though we’re positive she’s using hypnosis, which method she is using to actually kill them after the fact is what we’re unsure of.”

I turned to Spencer, handing off the explanation to him.

“We think that because of her whole thing with symmetry, she wouldn’t want to disturb the natural state of the victims and their faces, even if she would do the same to her own.”

“Which means?” JJ asked, her blue eyes slanted and glossed lips left ajar.

“It means that the unsub wouldn’t want to leave any large marks like stab or gunshot wounds.” I nodded at Prentiss, who had made the assumption, confirming she was correct.

“With her presumed background in plastic surgery, we believe she was able to make small incisions that made no visible scars. We’re having the coroner look back over the bodies as we speak.”

“She drains the body’s blood 97% of the way before closing the holes up. What she does with the blood, we don’t know. Another Eddie Mays, perhaps.”

I looked over to Spencer, raising my brows at his comparison. He was quick to defend himself, shaking his hands left to right and mouthing “No” while simultaneously shaking his head the same way, something he seemed to be doing often as of late.

After we had finished consulting with any officers who had remaining questions, we branched off to conduct our own routine investigations. We found that the only thing they all had in common apart from the symmetrical faces, is that they all had visited the Central Park Zoo in the 24 hours before they were killed. We received a phone call from Garcia not long after we put together those pieces, being alerted that there was one girl who had, in her words, “Hit every mark there was to hit, sunshine.”

“Her name is Alessia Copelas, she works weekdays as a surgeon's assistant at Premier Cosmetic, and weekends at Central Park Zoo from 4-8 p.m.”

I smiled at the new info from the blonde bombshell known as Penelope, turning to Reid who was still looking at me quizzically.

“Alright, thanks babes, you’re the best.” I spoke into the phone, a comical “Mwah!” made from either side as we hung up.

He shook his head, keeping the odd look on his face.

“I swear, you guys have a weirder relationship than her and Morgan.”

I laughed, sliding my phone into my back pocket.

“Oh, please, Spence.” I gingerly placed a hand on his cheek, patting it twice.

“You’re just jealous.” I made a pouty face, letting my hand linger before walking off. “Come on, we’re going on a field trip.”

“Where to?” He asked, gripping the door frame, using it as leverage to swing himself closer to me. He took long and quick strides, catching up to me in no time.

“You like animals, right?”

———————

4 Days Earlier, Central Park Zoo, New York

As soon as we entered the zoo, our ears were filled with the sounds of the loud screeches of birds and monkeys alike. Reid covered his ears, cringing and making his displeasure known with an “Ahh!”

I smiled at his geeky behavior, admiring the animals in the enclosures. I paid special attention to a particularly impressive species of tarantula, leaning down to admire them. A few moments later I looked to my left and saw Spencer doing the same thing.

“Did you know that arachnids have asthma which is why they don’t run for extended periods of time, similarly to cheetahs?”

“Yes I did.”

His face scrunched up in an adorable manner, causing an involuntary giggle to fall past my lips.

“Well did you know that-“

“Ma’am?”

I turned to see a young woman with flaming red hair and a freckled face smiling at me, her green collared uniform top complimenting her eyes of a different shade wonderfully.

“Oh, hi, I’m Agent Y/l/n and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.”

Her expression shifted to a more confused one, her smile not leaving her face.

“What can I do for you two?”

“Is there an Alessia Copelas that works here, maybe volunteers on the weekends?” Spencer asked, his puppy dog eyes immediately warranting a response.

“Yeah, she volunteers here, she seems nice. Is she helping with an investigation?”

“Well we think that she may have some part in a series of murders.”

Her smile disappeared this time, turning into a cement frown as panic flooded her body.

“Oh God, was she- Is she a killer? Have I been working with a killer for all this time? I mean, I never had any shifts with her but from what I heard I thought she was so sweet-“

“Look,”

Reid glanced down to her name tag that read “Lillian” before meeting her eyes. His tongue darted out, licking his lips, a nervous habit of his I’d picked up on.

“Lillian, we aren’t sure if she’s the killer we just needed to get a feel on her and get some information regarding her personal life.”

She started frantically nodding her head, more trying to convince herself she was okay rather than ourselves. I looked over her shoulder at some exhibits, thinking to myself how this would end up being a waste of our time if this poor girl couldn’t get a grip on herself.

I was soon proven wrong when I looked over to see a young girl wearing an identical uniform to Lillian, probably somewhere between 23 and 24. She had untamed chocolate locks with bangs that stopped just above the shoulder, blemishes covering her T-Zone, and a rounded face to go with it.

The cherry on top? Under her arm she carried a small enclosure with what appeared to be amarynthis meneria, the same butterflies found on the victims.

I tapped Reid on the shoulder once as discreetly as possible, catching his attention. I heard him mutter a small “Oh God” before he told Lillian to walk away calmly and quickly. She ignored his request, turning to look at Alessia, letting out a blood curdling scream and sprinting the other direction.

“Shit.” I cursed, beginning to walk towards Alessia, Spencer by my side. I smiled at her, trying to appear friendly. Reid spoke up as we got closer.

“Hello, do you by any chance-“

wham!

“Spence!” I exclaimed, reaching down to help him up from where he had fallen from being whacked by the 4’2 pyscho that was Alessia Copelas.

“Did she get away?”

I turned to see her gone, the only sign she was even here being the forming bruise on the Dr’s face.

“Yeah. She did. I’m sorry, Reid, that was really stupid of me.” He shook his head, running his own hand over the raw skin.

“It’s fine, I would have done the same for you.” He looked up, and I wasn’t sure if it was my school-girl esque crush on him or the fact I just had another experience with a serial killer, but my heart was racing nonetheless.

————————

F.B.I. Field Office, New York, New York, 1 Day Earlier

The stress levels in the room were high.

Despite our best efforts, several more bodies had been found, New York’s narcissists were in a state of panic, and the spirits of the BAU were down to say the least.

“What? Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, looking at Hotch in disbelief.

He rolled his chocolate eyes, fanning the folder containing the new information we had gathered on Alessia.

“I wish I was, Y/n. She’s off the grid completely, her apartment is empty, phone and credit cards have been deactivated, and the surgeon’s office hasn’t heard from her for 5 days. And the media has decided to give her the name ‘Butterfly Baron’, so she’s probably been fueled even further. We need a new lead before she strikes again.”

I scoffed, standing up and pushing my chair away.

“This is unbelievable. How many times do we have to reinforce the idea to local PD! Especially when the unsub is a self absorbed psycho, do not give them a name! God, I really cannot fathom this.”

I reached up, letting my hair down from where I had messily thrown it up upon my arrival to work that morning.

I stormed out of the room, my heels clicking behind me. I ignored Hotch’s calling of my name, making my way to the closest restroom.

I went in, locking the door behind him. I ran my hands through my roots, tugging just enough to where it hurt.

Turning the water to the left all the way, I splashed it from the stream leaving the faucet on to my face. I scratched my fingernails against the skin, wiping away the tears that had escaped.

“This is all your fault, y/n.” I whispered at myself in the mirror, doing my absolute best to engrain the message in my brain. I had my head hung in shame when a knock rang out.

“Y/n?”

It was Spencer. My mind started going a million miles a minute, thinking about why he could be there. With my voice raised a few octaves, I tried to scrape up a response.

“I’ll be out in a few, Spence.”

It was quiet for a split second, leaving me to foolishly dance around the idea that he had left me to wallow in my sorrowful thoughts.

“Y/n, Hotch wanted me to check on you. Are you ok?”

My heart slightly sank at the idea that he might’ve just come to check on me because he himself was worried. I discarded the thought, bringing myself back.

“Y/n can you please answer me? If you don’t open the door I’m gonna send in JJ or Emily.”

I sighed, wiping under my eyes where my mascara had smudged, begrudgingly walking over to the door. Just as my hand landed on the silver handle, his voice that was constantly playing in my head echoed out once more.

“Y/n, please? I need to know you’re okay. I’ll come in there myself.”

A soft smirk graced my face as I turned the handle to reveal a worried looking Spencer.

“Y/n, oh God, you had me worried.”

He was quiet when he spoke and his hair looked messy, like he had been running his slender fingers through it in a stress filled state.

I sniffled, attempting to still keep back tears that were still threatening to spill.

“I’m alright, Spencer. Really, I’m fine.”

He gave me a small smile, his eyes meeting my own.

“I know, it’s just that when I had my Diludad problem,” he hesitated.

“I would lock myself in bathrooms to shoot up, and I know you aren’t having a problem like that but I just was worried about you- what are you doing?”

I cut off his rambling by throwing my arms around his middle. He tensed, but quickly melted. He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and my waist, laying his head on mine.

“Y/n, I promise you, you’re doing your absolute best to stop Alessia. We wouldn’t even be where we are right now if you hadn’t made the connections. Those deaths are not your fault.”

My tears finally began to cascade like a waterfall, staining his shirt.

“I know, but it’s just like it is all my fault! I could have paid closer attention, or-or, I could have went after her at the zoo, it’s all my fucking fault, Reid.”

I sobbed into his shirt, my hand gripping his shirt like my life depended on it. Like if I let go I would fall into a deep, deep, endless hole.

His hand on my waist moved up to cradle my head.

“It’s not, I promise you-“

He was cut off mid sentence by the ringing of his phone.

“I am so, so sorry-”

I pulled away, breifly touching under my nose with my wrist, then moving a hair behind my ear.

“Nope, it’s fine, don’t worry.” Our words almost had overlapped each other as we clambered to fight the tension that had risen. I closed my eyes, tilting my head up, thinking about how unprofessional yet intimate our previous position had been. How wrong, yet how right it felt.

I kept running the moment through my head, the feeling of his warm figure encasing mine on replay.

His phone call played as background noise to the film playing in my brain, his voice calming me to an extent.

“Yeah, we’re on our way. Thanks, Morgan.”

He closed the phone with a snap, also snapping me out of my trance, putting the movie on pause.

“They’ve got a hit. Copelas was seen dropping by her old apartment.”

And for the first time since that Goddamn case had started, I smiled genuinely.

“Let’s go get her.”

————————

15 Minutes Prior, Central Park, New York

“Hotch?”

“Yes?” He looked back from where he was driving, following our lead in a rushed manner.

“What will we do if she...” I trailed off.

“Hypnotizes one of us?” He finished for me. I nodded solemnly.

The look on his face was conflicted and it took him a moment to come up with a response.

“We kill her before we have to kill one of our team members.”

He saw a look of uncertainty on my face and spoke up once more.

“And that’s an order.”

I nodded again, making eye contact with him through the rear view mirror. I fell back into my seat, closing my eyes briefly.

After a few more minutes on the road, we had arrived.

The doors all slammed to the SUVs, one after the other as we stepped out.

“The letter said that she would be here, somewhere here.”

The voice of Morgan was channeling through my earpiece, referring to the letter found at her apartment that she had left just for us.

“We ordered evac on citizens, correct?”

The unsure voice of JJ was also heard through the earpiece, her uncertainty quite unusual to hear.

“Yes, it was the first thing we did, Jayj.”

I whispered, a sly smirk from Spencer forming at my behavior.

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

snap!

Our senses adapted, becoming dialed to 11 at the sound of a twig snapping under someone's feet.

“Was that you?” I mouthed to Spencer. He shook his head no and I silently cursed to whatever force was listening.

I nodded, which he then reciprocated, the pair of us slowly walking towards the source of the sound after he did.

“They’re going to remember me, I’ll go down in history.”

The voice was sing-songy and quiet, floating through the air. I took a shaky breath, continuing my steady pace.

My breathing momentarily halted soon after.

Different variations of “Oh my God”s, and loud gasps from almost everyone on the team flooded my ear canal at the horrifying sight in front of us.

Red. So much of it.

“Guys, I think we know what she’s been doing with the bodies’ blood.”

“No shit.” I muttered under my breath.

She was bathed in the blood, it looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

“Alright everyone, I want you to approach her as quietly as possible, Morgan, if you get the chance, corner her.”

Hotch’s voice was a stark contrast to her own, Derek’s response all the same.

—————————

Present Day, Central Park, New York

“But Agents, you still haven’t answered my question. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Alessia Copeleas, FBI, come on, get up, lets go.”

Derek’s voice was stern, not asking, but demanding that Alessia come with us.

“I’m afraid I just can’t do that, Agents.”

She stood up abruptly, causing all of our weapons to rise. The sun reflected off of the silver metal of Reid’s gun, sparkling in a stunning way that caught me off guard.

We all were trying to act as if we were in total control of the situation, but we could tell that us nor Copelas really believed that. Her words were her weapon, and this was the one time where words could hurt, but sticks and stones had virtually no power.

“Take another step and we will have no hesitation to fire.”

She smirked, rolling her eyes.

“If you do, will I be famous you think? You think they’ll hear about me back home?”

Her curls softly blew in the wind, making her appear almost harmless, maybe even endearing, if it wasn’t for the hardening coat of human blood soaking her clothes and seeping from her skin.

“Is that what you want? The kids back home and everyone here to hear about you? You want ‘Butterfly Baron’ written on every billboard in Times Square, your picture painted in museums, films to be made in your honor?” Reid was the one who spoke up this time, his voice remaining strong. Her eyes shone with a sickening excitement at what he said.

“You want to be famous?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Too bad.”

My eyes widened, surprised at the detour the conversation had taken.

“What-what do you mean?”

“Please, the only thing people will hear about is a sad, boring little girl from a small town who killed to feel better about herself. They’ll forget about you in a week, who knows, maybe they’ll even grow an infatuation with your town, someone you went to school with may get as lucky as to catch their big break!” He laughed, while Alessia looked absolutely devastated.

“You? You’ll be a nobody.”

“That’s not true! I’ll go down in history, and they won’t! I’m the fucking butterfly baron for hells sake! All these people?” She gestured towards her field of bodies.

“You won’t remember their names, maybe not even their pretty faces, but me? I’ll live forever.”

Her nostrils flared and she strode over to Reid with purpose. The safety on my glock clicked off, but Spencer motioned for me to wait. So I did.

“You know, Agent-“

“It’s Doctor.”

This visibly agitated her even more as she started her sentence over again.

“Doctor, you have a beautiful bone structure. Absolutely perfect. Symmetrical, not to mention just flat out stunning.”

A glaze formed over Spencer’s honey eyes at her words. He lowered his gun momentarily before turning towards me, Copelas doing the same.

“And you, Agent. Wow. I feel like I’m in an art exhibit, you’re gorgeous. I think the Doctor man here would agree.”

As he lifted his revolver at me, the situation became all too real as I understood what was happening.

I either had to shoot the man that I was struggling to admit I was beginning to love, or died at the hands of the very same man.

Tears flooded my eyes, all safeties were turned down, and all guns were pointed at Reid.

“Spence, please.”

My voice was weak, something that seemed to bring Alessia lots of joy.

She laughed before talking again, commanding Spencer.

“Pathetic, really! Spence”, she mocked,“shoot her.”

“No!”

bang!

whack!

---------------------

Present Day, Somewhere In The Sky, The Jet

I opened my eyes from where I had been tackled to the ground by Hotch, surveying my surroundings to see Alessia laying on the grass, the source of her gunshot wound non-distinguishable from the previous blood on her body.

I looked to the right to see where Spencer had crumpled to, his frame bent in a discombobulated position.

“Spencer!” I cried out, crawling over to him like some sort of dog,

“What happened to him?”

“Y/n, he was going to shoot you-“

“I don’t care you should have let him!”

I cradled his head in my lap, allowing my pent up tears to fall.

“Y/n?”

My eyes snapped open for real this time, my mind calmed at the sight of Spencer sitting next to me on the couch, gently shaking my shoulder in an attempt to wake me from my nightmare.

“Spencer! Sorry, was I too loud?”

He chuckled, gesturing to the rest of the sleeping plane around us.

“You’re fine, I wasn’t sleeping, I decided to reread ‘Fahrenheit 451’ for nostalgia purposes. And you weren’t that loud, you just looked like you were having a bad dream.”

I chuckled at the not-so outlandish idea in an attempt to diminish it from his mind and move on.

“I’m fine. But fun fact, I did have nightmares after reading ‘The Veldt’. Seriously, I don’t get how you can just reread Bradbury’s stuff all the time.”

The genius scoffed, starting a rant on how Ray Bradbury’s storytelling was just classic literature and deserved to be reread, thus successfully changing the topic as I hoped my statement would. Although soon after, he caught on much quicker than I would have liked him to.

“And not to mention, The Veldt alone could be seen as a forewarning to the 21st century and beyond, even Bradbury himself supported that interpretation-‘

I gave him a tired smile, enjoying his rambling like I always did.

“-and you totally just got me to change the subject.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna catch up.”

“Hey!”

He laughed as I rested my head on my hand, trying to fall back asleep.

“Really, I can tell those nightmares are bad. What’s going on?” He questioned, his tone empathetic and compassionate.

“It’s nothing, Reid. I just keep seeing in the park, when Alessia got shot and you-you got hurt but instead of getting up like you did in real life, you just…”

I trailed off, not wanting to relive the negative dream any longer for fear of the tears that were pricking my eyes escaping.

“It’s okay, that didn’t happen, I’m right here.”

He pulled me into a hug, allowing me to bury my head in the crook of his neck, his warmth consuming me once more, a sequel to the film from earlier.

“I know, but what if it hadn’t?” I asked as I pulled away.

He shook his head, reaching for his wallet.

“In this job, this course of work, we can’t focus on ‘what if’s’. In this job, we also get nightmares, all of us. It happens.”

He slid a picture over to me, it was of a happy family. The edges were worn from years of being carried, but the picture seemed loved.

“Gideon gave me that when my nightmares started. He told me about how those families we save everyday, and how that’s what makes what we do worth it. And I know you didn’t know Gideon personally, or the work on the specific case with that family, but I want you to have it anyway-“

I cut him off by throwing my arms around his neck, attempting to speak despite being muffled by his fluffy sweater.

“Thank you, Spence. Truly.”

I smiled, and I imagined he was doing the same.

“No problem y/n. Anytime.”

I moved my legs over to be tucked underneath my arms, leaning into Reid. He wrapped his arm around me, also leaning in. We both managed to fall asleep for the remainder of the ride in our state of content, but not before he managed to sleepily call out my name.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“When we land do you wanna go on a date or somethin’?”

I smiled at him, separating from his form just long enough to see that beautiful face of his.

“Without a doubt.”

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

AHAHAHHAHAHAHA I’M WAY TOO HAPPY WITH THAT LMAOOO but anyway chile-

i don’t have some long ass paragraph to write this time omg wig, i’m just proud asf of my work for once (except for the zoo part ngl kinda didn’t like it😳)

😛✨vibes✨ love u, xx hj

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Along for the Ride

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3007

Summary: When you first started hunting with Dean Winchester, you hadn’t expected it to last this long. Together, you face all kinds of ghouls and basically become the ultimate badass couple. But when you start to think you’re just another fling for him, he has no trouble correcting you.

Notes: This is meant to be a fluffier Dean piece, but you know me, I have to have a bit of angst. I am trying to break up Dean’s darker imagines with fluff, so be prepared for Friday.

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

You swung your knife hard into the blood-sucker’s neck, his head rolling across the warehouse floor. You turned to see Dean saw off another one himself, blood covering both of your clothes.

“That’s the last of them.” He groaned, lifting up his shirt to examine the bruises and cuts. “That son of a bitch really put up a fight.” You wiped your stained blade off on your jeans and opened the warehouse door, basking in the autumn sun. Dean shook the dust and dirt off of his jacket and wrapped his arm around you as you both walked to the Impala.

“I think this calls for a beer,” you noted and he nodded in agreement. The two of you just took out an entire nest of vamps, a little celebration was deserved. And after a few bottles of beer, Dean texted Sam and told him that you would be a while and the two of you had an entirely different kind of celebration back at the motel.

The two of you laid together in a comforting silence, your arms wrapped around Dean as he stared up at the ceiling. This was pretty routine for your relationship. You had each other’s backs during a hunt and you were there to help each other unwind afterwards. Poor Sam usually just went and got something to eat by himself. You wrapped your arms around Dean a little tighter, that part of you close to your heart wishing that this was more than it was. But you could never tell Dean that you loved him. That wasn’t part of the deal.

“What’s on your mind?” Dean asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

“Pie.” You lied, laughing as he leaned over you, chuckling deeply in your ear. His green eyes- god, those eyes- stared at you intensely.

“I’m serious. What’s up?”

“Nothing, Dean.” You were usually a great liar. It was a skill that was required in your particular profession. When it came to Dean, however, you were totally transparent. You decided to change the subject to hopefully get him off your case. “Do you want some coffee? I’m dying for some caffeine.” You slid into your jeans and stole his flannel before he could grab it.

“That’s my shirt.” He huffed, finding his pants.

“I like you better like this.” You grinned, tracing a hand over his bare chest. “Besides, I look better in it.” Dean pulled you in for a rough kiss, nearly falling back on to the bed. You laughed as you pushed away. “Easy, tiger. We should go meet up with Sam. He’s probably been sitting in a diner somewhere all alone.”

“Yeah, yeah, poor Sammy.” You ruffled Dean’s hair and grabbed his keys with a devilish grin.

“First one to the car gets to drive.”

“Oh hell no.” Dean practically lunged at you and you squealed as you jumped out of the way, sprinting out the door.

“I would ask what took you two so long, but I really don’t want to know.” Sam took note of your change in clothes and put the pieces together. He had been typing away on his laptop looking for a possible new case for the past couple of hours. Luckily, most of the patrons of the diner just thought he was writing a horror novel.

“Find anything good?” Dean asked, motioning to the waitress for two cups of coffee. You couldn’t help but notice the way she leaned over the counter just so, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Did you want any sugar, sugar?” You rolled your eyes, but Dean, being Dean, smiled at her.

“No thanks.” She winked and strut off, her hips swaying more than you thought was humanly possible. Your eyes fell to the counter. Sam, having noticed your reaction to the encounter, started to list possible cases to distract you. He knew that Dean wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. But he also knew that Dean didn’t always realize when his harmless flirting wasn’t harmless anymore.

“There’s a group of campers that disappeared in the Rockies, all that was left in their camp was a couple of demonic symbols carved into the trees.”

“Sounds a little more like a prank than our kind of thing.” You noted, looking at the screen over his shoulder. “What about this one?” You pointed to a possible poltergeist case in Tulsa. “Four women over the last ten years, each found in their locked apartments with the words “Not Enough” carved into their chests.” The three of you collectively grimaced.

“Hell hath no fury.” You muttered and the boys voiced their agreement.

Sam was driving, so you flipped a coin to figure out who got shot-gun. A string of curses came from Dean as he climbed into the back seat. You smirked with victory and blew him a sarcastic kiss.

“Real cute.” He barked and you and Sam shared a laugh. You started to scour records from the town to see if you could find any strange or violent deaths. One in particular fit the bill. You motioned for Dean to look and his fingers grazed your shoulder as he pulled himself forward.

“Look at this. Martha Greenburg; 25. Ten years ago, she threw herself off of a bridge and wrote in her suicide note that she wasn’t enough for him. The police concluded that she was talking about her fiance, Haris, who broke her heart the previous day.”

“Not enough.” Dean repeated, grabbing your phone to get a better look at the story. Your eyes lingered on him with a sad expression. Something about the words hit you harder than you would admit. You didn’t see Sam’s eyes dart over towards you, a deep frown appearing on his face. Dean returned your phone. “So, heart broken Martha kills herself and now she wants other women to feel the pain she felt?”

“That makes some kind of sick, sad sense.” You sighed, resigning to looking out your window for the rest of the trip.

When you got to another motel, Sam suggested that Dean go in and get a room while the two of you bounced some more theories back and forth. As soon as Dean was gone, Sam turned to you with a serious, empathetic expression.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” His hand found yours in that classic Comfort Mode Sam way.

“Of course.” You faked a laugh, but it didn’t work. “Look, I’ve just had a few stupid ideas running through my head lately, but I’m sure they’ll pass.”

“What ideas?”

“Seriously Sam, it’s nothing.”

“Seriously Y/N, it clearly isn’t.” You accepted defeat and took a deep breath.

“I’ve just started to wish that it all meant more, you know? To him.”

“Did something happen between you and Dean?” Sam actually looked ready to smack his big brother upside the head.

“No, no, not exactly. I forgot what we were, that’s all.” You watched Dean come back out of the motel with a heavy heart and a sad smile. “But hey, I’m just happy I get to be along for the ride.”

Dean got back to the car before Sam could respond. He just looked at you with a sympathetic sadness that made you feel even worse. You should have just kept your mouth shut. You rolled down your window so Dean could talk.

“You two ready to change and head to the coroner’s office?” He noticed the change of tone in the car and scoffed. “Man, you two make ghouls look excited. Let’s go.” You gave Sam a pleading glance before grabbing your bag from the back and going in to change into your pantsuit. Sam and Dean found their bags and Sam punched Dean’s shoulder.

“What did you say to her?” He asked angrily.

“What are you talking about?” Dean snapped back, rubbing the now sore spot.

“To Y/N? What did you do?”

“Sammy,” Dean’s mouth formed a suggestive smirk. “I think we all know what Y/N and I did.”

“God, Dean that’s not what I meant.” Sam shook his head and slammed the trunk shut.

There was an odd tension between the three of you as you left the coroner’s office. Every bodies’ insides were basically mush, as if they’d hit a wall at 100 miles per hour. A strange burn marked their hands. Their lungs were also filled with water. Oh, and sure enough, every single one had the words ‘Not Enough’ deeply carved across their chest. Every woman was engaged, and from the reports, they were happy. Martha’s distorted jealousy took that from them. It made your skin crawl.

“Hey,” Dean said suddenly, pulling you to the side. “Are you okay?” You tried to hide all of the turning in your stomach.

“Are we really going to do this again?” You laughed, but this time, it wasn’t as convincing. “Dean, I’m fine.” His stupid green eyes were doing that thing they did when he was trying to get you to tell him something. So instead, you kissed him very, very convincingly. Sam cleared his throat and you pulled away.

“Martha was cremated. So salting and burning the bones is out.” He informed, giving you a strange look. Dean composed himself, still a little stunned. “We’re back to square one.”

You all wracked your brains to figure out what the spirit could be latching onto. You remembered something about the crime scene photos. Something about their hands.

“I know what it is.” You marched back into the morgue and pulled back the tarp covering the woman’s body. “Look at her left hand.” A band was burned around her finger- where her engagement ring would have been. “All of the women had this burn. What if they all had the same ring?”

“It could be worth looking into.” Sam noted, still giving you that annoyingly concerned stare. You tried to shrug it off.

“Then what are we waiting for?” You brushed past Dean and rushed out to the impala.

“This is what I was talking about.” Sam hissed at his brother. “Dean, you need to talk to her. She…” His voice trailed off. You would kill him if you found out that he told Dean what you said.

“She what?” Dean really sounded worried. If something was wrong, he wanted to know.

“She thinks she’s just a fling to you, Dean.” He blurted, checking to make sure you were gone. “She said she wished that what you two have meant more.”

“Why would she think that?” Now he sounded hurt. Couldn’t you tell how much you meant to him? Sure, he wasn’t super vocal about his affections, but he always figured you knew.

“I don’t know but she said she’s just happy to be ‘along for the ride’.” Sam sighed, leaving to join Y/N in the car, but Dean stayed back. Along for the ride? What did that even mean? He thought what the two of you had was real, which was not something he was used to, but did you think this was all some prolonged one night stand? With all of his questions, he did know one thing. He loved you- as sappy-romance-movie as that sounded- and he was going to make damn sure that you knew it this time.

Dean did not like this plan. Looking down at the small box in his hand, he shuttered. He really really did not like this plan. You and Sam were waiting in the car in an uncomfortable silence.

“Did you get it?” Sam asked as Dean climbed into the driver’s seat. He gave his brother a scowl.

“I don’t like this.”

“Dean, everything is going to be fine.” You assured him. “I’ll be the bait and once Martha pops in to carve me up, you guys will burn the ring.”

“Why can’t we just burn it now?”

“Because if we summon her, we can be sure that we killed her.” You knew that it was dangerous, but it could be your only shot. Sure, you were scared, but you’d never let the boys know that.

The three of you drove to the spot where this all started; the old bridge that Martha took the dive off of. The bridge had been closed for years, so traffic wasn’t a problem. You got out of the impala, listening to the river flow beneath your feet. You kept a brave face, but Dean could see your nerves.

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean protested, holding the box in his hand. “We could just torch this thing right now and be done with it.”

“She only shows up when the ring has a hand, Dean.” You held up your left hand and held out your right for him to give you the box. Instead, he took the ring out himself.

“You…” He paused, looking for the right words. “You know that I care about you, right?” You stepped back.

“Of course, Dean.” You looked over at Sam, but he was too busy loading the rock salt to notice your frustration. He must have said something. “Look, we don’t have time for this. Let’s just gank the ghost and get out of here.” Dean saw through your toughness, of course, but he didn’t argue. He did, however, lean in for a kiss. It was a different kind of kiss than you usually shared. It wasn’t lusting or rushed. It was slow and sweet and perfect. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead rested against yours.

“Be careful.” He whispered and slipped the ring onto your finger. Immediately, he was thrown backwards, having to catch himself on the railing to keep from falling over the edge.

“Dean!” You screamed. Martha’s apparition appeared in front of you, her hair wet and matted and her face stained with eternal tears.

“He’ll never love you.” She croaked, water pouring out of her mouth as she spoke. You braced yourself. There was nothing she could say that you hadn’t already thought of a million times.

“Let’s dance, bitch.”

The ring on your hand started to burn and you cried out, trying to take it off. Her hand latched around your throat and dragged you to the side of the bridge, hanging you over the railing.

“Y/N!” Sam shouted, aiming the salt loaded rifle at Martha. She flicked her wrist and sent the weapon flying into the water.

“It isn’t real.” She groaned, tightening her grip on your throat. “He doesn’t care. He’d rather roam around with waitresses and bartenders than be shackled down with you.” You tried to block her out, but her words sunk into you. “Because you’re not enough. You will never be enough.” Yout felt a sharp pain scrape across your chest as she started to carve her words into you. Through the pain and your screaming, you were able to tear the ring off of your finger.

“Dean.” You choked out, tossing the ring to him as Sam started the fire in a trash can that you’d stolen from the motel. Dean threw the ring into the flames before sprinting across the bridge towards you.

Martha let out a blood curdling scream as her image slowly burned away, her hold on you releasing, sending you tumbling over the edge. Hands latched around your ankle as you swayed over the rushing waters, blood seeping through your t-shirt.

“A little help, Sam!” Dean grunted, your foot slipping slightly in his hand. Sam grabbed your other ankle and the two of them were able to get you back on the bridge. Dean didn’t even let your feet touch the ground before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you as close to him as he could. You winced when his chest pressed against your new wounds. “Oh, crap, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You pulled the collar of your shirt down enough to see that Martha had only gotten a few letters before she burned. “Great, now I’m just going to have ‘no’ scarred on my chest.” Dean let out an exasperated laugh, pulling you back to him.

You were packing up your things back at the motel when Dean asked Sam to give him a moment alone with you. You leaned against the hood of the impala, knowing exactly where this conversation was going to go.

“Do you believe what she said to you?” Okay, maybe you didn’t know where this conversation was going.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Y/N, we all heard what she was saying.” Dean ran his hand down his face. “She said that I’d rather be off with some waitress than be with you. That you’re not enough for me.”

“Dean, I’m sure she says that to every-”

“Do you believe her?” He repeated, this time he sounded more upset. When you didn’t answer, his face changed with hurt. “Do you really think that little of me? Of us?”

“I’m in love with you, Dean.” You blurted. “That wasn’t part of the plan, but there it is.” Dean stepped closer to you, cupping your cheek.

“You aren’t just a fling, Y/N. I love you.” Dean cradled the back of your head in his hand as he pulled you in for a kiss. A slow and sweet and perfect kiss. But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. He had to show you that he meant it. He broke the kiss, those green eyes melting your heart completely. “Let’s get married.” You froze.

“What?”

“Let’s get married.” His face broke into a nervous grin. “Come on, Y/N, we already fight like a married couple. Sam treats you like a sister. I love you more than any girl I’ve ever known. Let’s do it.” The shock of his words faded just enough for you to respond.

“Okay.” You said breathlessly. Dean scooped you up in his arms and you laughed.

“I’m glad you two figured it out.” Sam smiled, throwing the last of the bags in the trunk. Dean gave his brother a beaming grin, setting you back on your feet.

“Come on, Sammy, we’ve got to get a non-haunted ring this time,” He exclaimed, giving you one more kiss. “We’re going to Vegas.”

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto;

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #jensen ackles #sam swinchester #supernatural #supernatural imagine #saving people hunting things

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