#like thirteen escapes but she is still going to die alone

[realbeefman]

it really fucks me up how often house md has this message of “the love was there. just not enough.” because of COURSE chase and cameron loved each other. of course house and cuddy were in love and foreman and thirteen were in love and wilson and sam were and cuddy and lucas and house and lydia and house and stacy and taub and rachel but. it just wasn’t enough. the love was there and it matters that it was there. but it saves no one. it fixes nothing. they still move on. they still leave. somebody is always left alone in the end. EXCEPT house wilson who broke this pattern For Yaoi rasones.

[anna-scribbles]

do you think émilie agreste knew, on the day she became too weak to leave that house, that she never would again

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xiii, ao3)

(Chapter thirteen: Ahead of the human queens’ visit, both Nesta and the Inner Circle descend on the Archeron manor.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

Do you like to read?

As the moon began to dip towards the horizon, the night beyond deep and quiet and still, Nesta Archeron lay alone in her marriage bed, dreaming of another man as she turned the pages of her borrowed book.

Cassian had asked her the question days before, standing in a shaft of sunlight, surrounded by crumbling stone walls and the scent of hay and leather. It’s the only escape I have these days, she had answered. She had thought nothing of it, thought her words idle and innocuous right up until he’d turned up yesterday—watching her from the stable doorway, bearing a book in his hands. So much more than a bundle of pages and fabric and words— it was an escape of his own devising, a reprieve given in the only way he could, one heart to another. 

And oh, it worked.

With the whisper of turning pages the only thing breaking the silence, Nesta thought of dark hair tousled by the wind, and hazel eyes shining gold and green and brown in the afternoon sun. She almost forgot that the mattress on her husband’s side of the bed was cold, untouched despite the lateness of the hour. The candle on her bedside table burned low, flickering as the wax dwindled, and Tomas had yet to return from the tavern. But Nesta was barely thinking of him at all, finding herself caught somewhere between the pages of her book and the memory of that one brief, exquisite, kiss. 

She breathed a sigh, trailing a finger over the slim stack of pages she had yet to read. Barely thirty left, the story all but done. She wondered, as she tipped her head back to rest against the worn oak headboard, what would come after. What book would Cassian bring next? Another romance, or something new entirely? And— would he kiss her again? When he returned in a few days… Would he kiss her again?

A warm, gentle kind of hope blossomed in her chest, a blush rising to her cheeks as she wondered if he would let his hands trace that same path over her spine again, over her waist. Something inside her began to tighten, a pressure building, mounting in her blood. His kiss had stolen her breath yesterday, left her gasping and desperate and aching all over, and she cursed that door for slamming, for forcing her to pull away before she’d taken her fill of him.

Would he let her go, next time?

Would he let her pull back, pull away? Or would he keep kissing her until destruction found them both— until the world fell apart?

Turning her gaze to the window, Nesta rather hoped it would be the latter.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two until dawn, and as the wax of the candle began to overflow from the pan at the base of the holder - dripping, molten, onto the surface of her bedside table - Nesta heard, at last, the door downstairs open and close, ancient hinges creaking.

The memory of that kiss had coaxed her heart to warmth, but she felt the heat die as stumbling footsteps sounded on the groaning staircase. Voices, slowed and slurred by drink, ruptured the silence, the good-night Tomas called to his brother echoing in the bareness of the hallway beyond the closed bedroom door. Nesta set her book aside, feeling the memory of Cassian’s kiss slip through her fingers like water. 

And then— there he was, the candlelight falling on the face of the man she had married. The low light cast shadows over his brow as he pushed the door open, the hallway at his back a yawning, dark void. For a minute, he lingered. Pupils blown wide, the smile on his face devolved into a grimace as his eyes met hers, as though returning to find his wife still awake dulled the edge of his high.

“No need to look so pleased to see me,” Tomas said, kicking the door shut behind him, causing it to rattle in the frame. His voice was hoarse from shouting over the noise of the tavern, his words honed by hours of drinking, and his lips— tinged with red, Nesta noted. A smear of lipstick he’d wiped away but failed to erase entirely, leaving his mouth stained by his infidelity. 

“Well,” she answered flatly, revulsion spreading through her core as he slipped his jacket from his shoulders. “At this point I didn’t expect you back before sunrise.”

Tomas’ eyes flicked up, the shadows beneath his brow more pronounced now, darkening as the candle flame wavered, flickered, threatened to gutter.

“Considering the kind of welcome I get in this bed…” His lip curled as he dragged his gaze over her, lingering on her arms folded tight across her chest. “Who would blame me for going elsewhere?”

Something vicious sparked in his eyes, a sneer parting his lips as he remained standing by the bottom of the bed, half hidden in the shadows the candlelight couldn’t quite reach. Nesta felt her blood grow chilled, sluggish in her veins as she watched his hands rise to his shirt, his fingers steady despite the drink. From his breast pocket, he pulled free a small envelope and even in the dim light, Nesta could see her name inscribed upon it in an elegant, flowing hand. 

Elain’s hand.

“Intercepted this on our way to the tavern,” he said, an acidic laugh slipping from the cruel slant of his mouth. Nesta lurched forward, her hands reaching, grasping, and yet failing to even come close to touching that little square of paper as Tomas took a step backwards, the footboard of the bed a barrier between them. “The boy that carried it was all too happy to leave it with me and save himself a journey, once I’d promised to give it to you.”

Nesta sat back on her heels, fisting her hands in the sheets. Her eyes focused on the letter he withheld, and finally she noted the seal. Cracked— the red wax was broken and split and her anger spiked, drowning her in currents and tides of raging animosity, almost too much to breathe against.

“That’s mine,” she ground out, her words slipping through a tightly clenched jaw.

He shrugged. “I promised to give it to you. I never promised I wouldn’t read it.”

His smirk turned vindictive as he took another step back, lifting the letter into the air as Nesta’s hand reached up. The movement set the candle flame shuddering, the shadows on the wall flickering, trembling violently, and suddenly Nesta was thinking of how Cassian had done the same. Reaching for another letter in another home, he had lifted it higher too, just beyond the reach of her fingers. And yet it had been so vastly different— it had been lighthearted, almost playful. Just another step in the game between them, the push and pull that had her so often warring to keep her heartbeat steady. 

This was borne of spite, forged by contempt. 

“You’re my wife,” Tomas said, dull eyes swallowing the light of the candle. “All of your belongings are mine by default— that’s how marriage works, darling.”

Darling.

Every part of her stiffened, cringed. The word fell from his lips without an ounce of affection— a term of endearment that morphed into something sharp enough to wound. It was patronising and almost mocking, a caricature of feeling, and Nesta longed to tear out his tongue if only to ensure she’d never have to hear him call her darling ever again. Abhorrent— it was abhorrent, the way he looked at her, the way he thought he owned her, and she wondered how she had ever endured it before, in the days before she knew what it was to be touched with tenderness, to be kissed with devotion rather than disdain. To be called sweetheart in a voice swollen with longing, heavy with feeling.

“Give me the letter,” she demanded.

Tomas only tsked, slipping a finger beneath the broken seal. He cleared his throat, sliding the paper from its sheath and unfolding it.

“A pathetic little thing really,” he shrugged. “I expected more from your sister, but alas, she only thought to spare you a few lines. Shall I read them to you?” 

Nesta burned, felt the force of her anger tearing her apart from the inside out, so potent she could barely speak. Her tongue felt heavy, her throat felt tight, and she could only look darkly up at her husband, waiting for her sister’s letter to be read aloud. 

“Nesta,” Tomas read. “The letter we’ve been waiting for has arrived at last. Feyre will arrive tomorrow, and I am determined to make an occasion of it, like a royal visit. Come tomorrow and stay the night. We can spend the day after making plans. It will be just like old times.”

He snorted, letting out a huff filled with scorn as he tossed the letter onto the bed, letting it lie on the rumpled sheets. Nesta grabbed it, letting out the breath she had been holding as she scanned the page. Her furious heart began to slow, her blood beginning to warm again. Slowly, Nesta blinked, holding Elain’s letter between her fingers.

It was as though she had known, somehow, that someone other than Nesta would read that letter. Elain had hidden the real message beneath and between the words she used, and Nesta understood. With a breathless laugh brewing in her gut, Nesta understood. Rhysand’s letters had been answered at last, and Feyre was coming tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Nesta bit her lip, forced down the bubble of elation that bloomed as she realised that Feyre was coming tomorrow, and with her…

She dipped her head to hide her smile.

With her would be Cassian, with his hazel eyes and messy hair, and that disarming smile and deep, rich laugh that made her ache. She thought of his warmth, his teasing and his flirting. Thought of the way he called her sweetheart— her husband’s darling utterly eclipsed, forgotten, as her heart steadied, bolstered by the thought of arms wound tight with muscle. Of hands that had ended lives and wielded blades, yet touched her with a softness that beggared belief.

Nesta tucked Elain’s letter under her pillow, her fingers drifting across it as her husband readied himself for bed. She marvelled at how that tiny piece of paper, those few brief lines, had made her feel so suddenly at peace in the wake of such devastating fury.

“I’ll be at my sister’s tomorrow then,” she announced as Tomas pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. She didn’t bother to wait for a response— didn’t care enough to hear his huff of acknowledgement. Before he had even set his head on the pillow, Nesta blew out the dwindling candle, plunging the room into darkness.

Only then, concealed by shadows, did she let herself smile. Let it spread, unfettered, where none could see. She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander north, as far north as she could imagine, as that single question begun to resound inside her once more.

Would he kiss her again?

***

One by one, Elain lit the candles in the gilded candelabras.

The dining table was soon bathed in a golden glow, warm and soft and buttery, turning the silverware a muted, burnished gold as Nesta laid out four more crystal glasses, four more porcelain plates. Three already sat, polished and shining, at one end of the great cherrywood table, set out by the maids before they had departed. As far as the staff were concerned, Feyre was visiting to spend time with her sisters, alone and uninterrupted, before Elain moved to the Nolan estate. 

And so as Elain extinguished her match, the smoke mingling with the sweet smell of the beeswax candles, Nesta set about making that table for three accommodate seven.

“Won’t the staff notice the extra food is gone?” she asked, straightening a heavy silver knife beside one of the plates, her gaze catching on the covered silver trays in the middle. The maids had set them over a row of small candles to keep warm, but Nesta had taken one look at those two trays and doubted they would stretch to feed four more mouths, especially since two of those belonged to fully grown fae warriors. Finding some cold cuts of beef in the larder, she and Elain had set those out too, along with some hastily peeled and boiled carrots. 

Elain shrugged now, shaking the trailing smoke from her match with a flick of her wrist.

“I already ordered more. It’s being delivered tomorrow, before the queens arrive. The staff aren’t due back until the day after, so when they return, they’ll find the stores exactly as they were when they left.”

Nesta’s hands stilled as she folded a napkin over a dinner plate. “When did you get to be so cunning?”

Elain smiled in response, her brown eyes glinting, turning russet in the golden light. “I suppose this is what happens when you invite fae into your home.”

Nesta hummed dryly, glancing down again at the table set for seven. On the other side of that heavily laden table, Elain dragged a finger over the top of a dining chair. The candlelight brought the carved grooves and patterns into stark relief, and even when standing the high back reached Elain’s shoulders. Nesta tilted her head as she studied the vines picked out in the cherrywood— decoration that was as solid and unwieldy as the table itself, uncomfortable for even mortal spines to lean against. The arm rests were solid wood too, rising high and carved with the same curling patterns, ostentatious and ornate. Beautiful, and yet brutally uncomfortable too. Suddenly, something occurred to her— a flash of understanding as she remembered how Cassian had looked that first night, the first time he had crossed her father’s threshold. 

“Does father still have those Ravennian chairs in his parlour?”

Elain frowned. “Yes. They’re at his poker table. Why?”

“Two of them have wings, don’t they? These chairs can’t be comfortable.”

Both Cassian and Azriel had shifted in their seats that first night, adjusting their wings as though comfort was impossible. She hadn’t cared back then, had been too overcome by the sight of fae at her father’s table to notice that the arm rests were too high for wings to settle around, the back too high to allow for much movement. But the chairs their father had imported from Ravennia…

Low backed— extremely low backed, with velvet covering the equally low arm rests, practically made for wings to drape over them, to sit comfortably over the top. 

Elain merely blinked, glancing down at the chair beneath her hand. 

“No,” she said slowly, her lips parting in mild surprise as she looked at her elder sister over the spread of silver and crystal and porcelain. Her head tilted, some unknown expression crossing her face as she pressed her lips together to hide a smile. “No, they can’t be comfortable.”

“I won’t have it said that the Archerons are bad hosts,” Nesta insisted, clearing her throat and keeping her face blank as though that was all it was— just a matter of reputation. “That’s all.”

Elain pulled away from the table with a soft little hum, drifting past Nesta and towards the door in a cloud of rose-scented perfume and pale-pink chiffon. 

“Of course,” she repeated breezily, a lightness in her step and a wry smile on her face as she looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Of course that’s all it is.”

Nesta blinked, and as Elain reached the dining room door and turned the gilded handle, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t convinced her at all. 

***

It felt like hours before the knock at the door sounded.

It was barely half an hour, and yet it felt like an unholy amount of time. Every second stretched the limits of Nesta’s patience, her heartbeat growing wild and untameable and she waited and waited and waited for the knock to come. 

It echoed through the marble hallway when it arrived at last, a sharp rap that Nesta felt reverberate right down to her toes. Standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, she watched as Elain pulled the emerald door open, fighting the urge to rush forward. Some unruly part of her, governed by her racing heart, searched over Feyre’s shoulder as her sister stepped inside, tried desperately to see beyond the shape of Rhysand as he followed on her heels. 

Feyre stepped inside, wearing a dress of deep, dark blue— the shade of the night sky just before midnight. Diamonds glittered at her neck, and though there was no crown today, the glittering extravagance of it all reflected still in her brown eyes, like starlight caught in amber.  She kissed Elain on the cheek before taking a step towards Nesta, tucking her hair behind one of her pointed ears.

“Nesta,” she said, holding out a hand and pulling Nesta’s attention away from the door and the figures still on the steps outside, waiting to cross the threshold. “It’s good to see you.”

Nesta hummed. Nodded, and took Feyre’s hand in her own. A polite greeting fell, almost unconsciously from her lips, but she couldn’t keep her eyes on Feyre— couldn’t stop them sliding to the door over her sister’s shoulder. Patience had never been Nesta’s strong suit, and she felt her restlessness grow frenetic now, thickening her blood, causing the world to slow. Rhysand stepped through the door next, and behind him, Nesta caught a glimpse of red. Her heart lurched, but— 

“This is Mor,” Feyre said brightly. “Rhys’ cousin.”

Crimson, bright— not the deep and blazing garnet of Cassian’s siphons. 

Nesta’s eyes widened as the blonde moved further into the hall. Her dress was plunging, a bright red that matched her painted lips, and her hair hung in long, shining curls. Her face split into a dazzling smile as she stepped forwards, but Nesta couldn’t bring herself to smile back. She could only blink, only grasp for composure as Mor’s movement finally cleared a path to the door.

Her mother would have given her hell for her rudeness, and from her periphery she watched Mor’s smile falter, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking at the blonde or her dress or listening to Feyre’s detailed introduction. All of that faded, dulled to a hazy background noise as her traitorous heart finally won out— beating with abandon as Cassian finally crossed the threshold. 

The air between them grew tight, taught enough that she half thought it might crackle and snap. Those endless seconds she had waited for him to step through the door suddenly fell away like the shedding of a cloak, the breath leaving her lungs as she watched him stand in her father’s marble hall, gilded by the light of the chandelier. Azriel followed in his wake, siphons like freshly cut sapphires, but Nesta couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the warrior before her. 

“Hello, Nesta,” Cassian said and oh— Nesta could have sworn the hall fell silent for a moment. For just one heartbeat there was nothing but a ringing in her ears, a frantic pulsing as she heard him say her name. From across the small distance, she felt Azriel watching them— Rhysand, too. 

And yet she could almost have convinced herself that they weren’t there at all, that they were entirely alone as she watched something flicker in Cassian’s eyes, some kind of ecstatic emotion that made her chest grow warm, her heartbeat humming as she took him in, from his windswept hair to his single ruby earring, from the smooth shine of his leathers to the dagger at his hip. She took in every inch of him, drinking him in as though she’d been starving without him in the two days they’d been apart.

Two days— just two days, and yet it felt like longer. Felt like a lifetime as she stood there, her gaze dropping to his hands, remembering how it felt to have his palms cradle her face.

A greeting of her own lingered on her tongue, but she didn’t have chance to voice it. Elain was shutting the door and drawing the bolts before turning on her heel and heading down the hallway, leading their guests to the dining room. Rhys and Feyre were following her, Mor and Azriel a step behind, but… Cassian didn’t move, barely even glanced at Elain and the others as they began to walk away.

Neither did Nesta.

Only Azriel looked back, glancing over his shoulder as he took a single step down that hallway. Shadows gathered at his neck as he turned, giving Cassian a pointed look that Nesta couldn’t decipher. A moment later, the spymaster raised his voice, asking Feyre about the paintings lining the hall, forcing their pace to slow as Feyre’s voice echoed on the marble, telling tales of the paintings that had decorated the walls of their childhood home— the ones that had been sold, lost, and bought back. 

A distraction if ever there was one.

Cassian huffed a laugh, running a hand through his tangled hair. He looked almost sheepish, almost nervous.

“I…” he began, looking for all the world like he wanted to tell her something. Nesta felt the humming in her chest grow louder, tighter, and Cassian glanced at her ribs, as though he could feel it too. He almost looked like he was going to mention it, like the words were dancing on the edge of his tongue, but at length he swallowed. He grinned, an easy kind of confidence spreading over his face as the words he’d been about to say dissipated. 

“I missed you,” he said instead. “How’s the book?”

Nesta bit back a smile, glancing down the hallway and finding Azriel pointing at one of the paintings, heard Feyre still talking.

“I hope you brought me another,” she said, feeling a warmth kindle in her blood, as though his presence alone were enough to chase away every chill she’d ever felt, enough to make her forget what it was to be cold. 

“Naturally.” Cassian paused, his ruby earring catching the light and winking as he tilted his head. “Does that mean you’ve finished it already?”

“It was a very good book,” Nesta answered blandly as he fixed her with a stare that was tender and soft and entirely disarming, his eyes sparking as a smile curved those lips— the lips Nesta had spent days dreaming of, longing to feel against her own.

“Huh,” he murmured, those damned lips pressing together, driving her to madness as he looked her over, assessing. “At this rate, one book a week won’t nearly be enough for you.”

Nesta hummed. “No,” she agreed, her voice dropping. “Perhaps you’ll have to visit more frequently.”

Cassian dipped his head, tilting towards her, close enough to touch. A rakish smile graced his face as his hazel eyes darkened, his pupils widening, swallowing the myriad hues of gold and green and brown that reminded Nesta so much of a forest on the cusp of Autumn. Beautiful— he was beautiful, more beautiful than she’d ever care to admit. Raising her hand slowly, Nesta reached up to trace her fingers across the siphon over the centre of his chest, watching it flare the moment she touched its surface.

“Perhaps I will,” he answered, a hum of his own reverberating in his throat as that smile turned mischievous, turned scheming and Nesta knew, somehow, that his thoughts had turned to secret meetings, words spoken in whispers, kisses stolen behind turned backs. 

Down the hall, Azriel cleared his throat loudly. The sound echoed, an unwelcome tether to the reality that lay beyond that little circle of candle-warmed marble and gold. Cassian swore under his breath, glaring as he turned his head to that hallway, to the spectre of Azriel standing at the end. 

“We should go,” Nesta whispered, even though leaving was the very last thing in the world she wanted to do.

Cassian nodded, but before she could pull away, he placed his hand over hers— the one that still rested atop his glimmering, flickering siphon. His fingers threaded seamlessly through hers, his palm warm against her knuckles as he fitted their hands together. The tightness within her eased, as though she had spent her entire life with a weight on her chest— one that vanished when he touched her. Linked, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers, and Nesta could have sworn it was a precursor, that kiss.

A promise for later.

***

Cassian didn’t know how he was going to get through this.

How was he supposed to be in the same room as her, breathe the same air as her, and not touch her? Not tease her and rile her and bring out that godsdamned smile that almost sent him under every time it crossed her face?

She was his mate.

His mate— and he could have sworn she’d felt it, as he stepped into that entrance hall. He’d felt the bond between them, felt it tremble like a plucked harp string, and Cauldron damn him, Nesta had faltered as though she’d felt it too. Her heartbeat had stuttered, and he’d felt it, as though it were beating inside his own chest— like it was keeping him alive too, keeping him afloat.

Oh, he wanted to tell her.

Longed to say it out loud, to have her know the truth. He just needed to find the right moment, the right time… but he couldn’t think straight, not as he walked beside her, following the others into the dining room. He could barely fucking breathe as he watched her steps overtake his, pulling her forwards and leaving him a beat behind. She pulled away, and it was like the bond was snapping all over again, cracking his chest apart as the distance between them stretched and strained.

Mor gave Elain a dazzling smile as she ran her finger along the edge of the dining table, her eyes lingering on the fine details— the gilded candelabras, the fine place settings. The silk wallpaper and the wide sash windows, the heavy brocade curtains and the finely moulded plaster ceiling that housed two crystal chandeliers. It was elegant and refined, extravagant and excessive, the shine on the gold and silver almost enough to give him a headache.

Silent, he watched as Elain lowered herself into the seat at the head of the table, Nesta pulling out the chair to her left. Utterly entranced by the curve of her neck, by the way the candlelight danced across her cheekbones, he could do nothing but stare at the woman who was his mate, practically numb as she lowered herself into her seat without sparing him a single glance. 

As Feyre took the seat opposite Nesta on Elain’s right, Rhys the one beside her, Cassian hesitated still, wondering whether it would be his undoing, to sit beside her at dinner. He wondered if he should take a seat on the other side of the table— wondered if he might choke, if he might lose his mind entirely if he had to go another moment without touching her.

Studying the table like it was a battlefield, Cassian suddenly noticed that not all of those seats were the same.

Laughable, really.

He was a general renowned, a warrior born. A strategist, through and through, and yet it had taken him a solid minute to even notice that the chair beside Rhys and the chair beside Nesta were different to the rest. Instead of the high, carved backs of the other chairs, these two were designed to rise no higher than the small of the back, the wood curved and planed, smooth. Perfect for a set of Illyrian wings.

Even Azriel blinked in surprise as he pulled out the seat beside Rhys, his shadows skittering along the low back, nestling along the arm rest as though content, comfortable. Cassian rested a hand on the other, his siphons glowing as he wondered whose idea this was— who had thought of his and Azriel’s comfort. As Nesta’s gaze alighted briefly on the chair Cassian sank into, he knew without her saying that it was her idea.

Of course it was.

His mate— his beautiful, brilliantly observant mate.

Gods, he wanted to kiss her.

Kiss her and kiss her and kiss her until the breath left his lungs, until he had nothing left— until he had handed over everything he was, everything he had ever been, to her, to let her take him over, body and soul until there wasn’t a part of him that she hadn’t laid claim to. He wanted to sit with her in his arms— to kiss a path of languid, lazy kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her jaw— right here, right now. Dryly, he figured that might break one or two human rules of etiquette, and resolved to ask her about it later.

Later.

There would be a later, when the house was dark and quiet and the rest of them slept… Yes, there would be a later.

So, for now, he settled for, “Thank you.”

He kept his voice low, so only Nesta could hear his murmured words of gratitude, and dipped his head to let his hair fall across his face, masking the movement of his lips. His wings settled around the low back of the chair, and it didn’t feel enough— thank you didn’t do enough to convey the pounding that was in his chest, the warmth spreading through him that threatened to bring him to his knees. It was only a chair— and yet, he had spent so long in the cold, desperate for even the barest crumbs of affection, that it made him feel suddenly raw and fragile, like freshly spun glass. That she had thought of his comfort, that she had bothered at all… He didn’t think he was more than half a moment from shattering entirely. 

Nesta said nothing, but he caught the slight stumble of her heart, noted the infinitesimal colour that rose to her cheeks. And as the conversation around the table sparked, Cassian felt a featherlight touch drift across his thigh beneath the table, hidden from view. Nesta’s hand came to rest lightly atop his leathers, and as his wings spread, extending an inch or so behind her shoulders as if longing to pull her nearer, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw the briefest, the smallest, of smiles pull at her lips— a smile that was his alone, one that only he would notice or recognise or remember. He dropped his own hand beneath that table, bringing it to rest with hers and weaving their fingers together once more, hidden where none could see.

And with the presence of his family and hers preventing him from doing anything else, Cassian only plucked up his wine glass and drank deep, feeling it linger on his tongue as he relaxed further into the chair his mate had found for him. As Elain began to speak animatedly about her wedding - the flowers she’d ordered and the colours she’d picked - Cassian stopped listening, lost when she began to delve into the finer details and hidden meanings of the blooms in her bouquet. Instead, he felt that light touch against his thigh, found himself in the press of Nesta’s fingers. Feyre pulled the silver lid from a tray of roasted potatoes, setting steam, fragrant and sweet, rising in curls towards the moulded plaster ceiling, and all Cassian could think was: later.

***

“How is Tomas?”

Dinner done, Elain plucked a freshly-washed plate from the draining rack and dragged a cotton towel over its surface. With her hands buried in the warm water of the kitchen sink - washing whilst Elain dried - Nesta didn’t answer her sister’s question right away. She let it linger between them, let it drift. It had been voiced lightly, almost curiously, but Elain’s fingers twitched as she buried them in the dishtowel and when she reached for another plate to dry, she avoided Nesta’s eye completely.

Nesta frowned. “Why?”

Colour rose to Elain’s cheeks, a pale blush spreading across her cheekbones as her eyes remained downward.

“Just curious, that’s all.” Elain forced a smile. “Can I not ask about my brother-in-law?”

Nesta snorted. Elain had always been polite, but she never exactly made a habit of asking after Nesta’s husband. She didn’t think Elain had ever really spoken with Tomas, not even at their damned wedding. Her eyes narrowed as Elain sniffed, setting the dried plate down atop the other, stacking them neatly— the golden, cursive A’s that decorated the centre of the plates all aligned. When she bit her lip, Nesta’s frown deepened.

It had always been her most obvious tell, her biggest give away when something bothered her. 

“What?” she asked, her fingers slackening in the sink, the water suddenly feeling chilled as she watched Elain shift uneasily on her feet. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Elain shrugged. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“No,” Nesta pressed. “Clearly it isn’t. Tell me.”

Elain only swallowed. “I just— I heard one of the maids talking, that’s all.”

“About?” Nesta asked archly, turning her attention back to the plates in the sink, to the water and the bubbles that reached her wrists.

“She said she saw him at the tavern the other night,” Elain whispered, as though afraid of being overheard even here, in the kitchens buried below the rest of the house. “He was with one of the barmaids. She was… sitting in his lap.”

Beneath the water, a heavy silver fork slipped between Nesta’s fingers, giving a muted clatter as it hit the bottom of the ceramic sink. Elain shook her head, as though wishing she hadn’t spoken, her brown eyes widened with some mixture of reluctance and regret.

“What do you want me to say, Elain?” Nesta asked flatly, taking a handful of silver cutlery and scrubbing— harder than she needed too, her nails screaming in protest. “He doesn’t exactly come home and tell me all about his affairs.”

Elain sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, I just— I heard them talking about how he had his hands all over some girl in the village and...” She trailed off, dipped her head until it was eclipsed by shadow, concealing her face. “You have a right to be upset and… Well, I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Nesta didn’t even blink. “You think I didn’t know?”

Elain lifted her head. Her eyes grew wide, filled to the brim with surprise and a thousand different shades of sympathy— more than a flicker of pity as her lips parted, a breath of anguish slipping free. 

“Oh, Nesta.”

Nesta watched Elain’s mouth tug downwards, her eyebrows raise in an expression of despondency and despair. It was unbearable, incendiary, and Nesta felt her heart crack in the wake of Elain’s pity, split open like a crevice in a rock face. 

“No,” Nesta bit, her hands rising suddenly from the sink, ribbons of dishwater falling, scattering, dripping onto the counter and soaking the sleeves of her dress. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

Elain pressed a hand to her heart, still clutching her dishtowel, creased by her grip.

“It’s not pity,” she insisted, but Nesta didn’t believe her, couldn’t, not when her head was tilted to the side and her words had grown soft, as though Nesta were breakable, a tiny bird too fragile to lift its own wings. “I’m sorry,” Elain continued. “Sorry that you have to endure it, that he—”

“Gods, Elain,” Nesta interjected, her raised voice echoing on the tiles as she felt her last thread of patience snap. Her last bit of restraint, her last piece of control broken. “Did you really think I married him because I loved him?”

Unravelling— she felt herself unravelling, unspooling until there was nothing left. Her lip curled as she thought of her wedding day and all of the lies between then and now, all of them like brambles on a forest path, treacherous and snarled and just waiting to trip her up, bring her to her knees.

Elain stilled. 

“What?” She dropped her towel at last, letting it flutter to the floor and lie there. “What do you mean?”

Nesta plunged her hands back into the water. “I did it for you. For Feyre. Pointless really, wasn’t it.”

“You lied to me,” Elain said, her voice slow and somewhat numbed by surprise. She took a step back, bracing her palm on the counter as her fingers clenched, as fury flitted across her face. “All this time… All this time you lied to me.”

“And what else was I to do?” Nesta countered sharply, her heart echoing inside her chest as it ratcheted. “We were starving, you were starving—”

Elain shook her head. “You should have told me!”

Her face cracked as her fury melted, devolved into something much more sorrowful, much more pained.

“For months, you’ve lied to me with every breath when I… I thought we told each other everything.”

“We did,” Nesta answered, feeling the weight of tears unshed lining her eyes, burning. “But if you knew— if Feyre knew— You’d have put a stop to it and it was all I could do to help, to ease the burden in that cottage since Father wasn’t about to do anything and—”

“And after?” Elain challenged, her voice hard. “Why didn’t you tell me after?”

“Because,” Nesta bristled. “Because I didn’t want to see the pity in your face. I can’t bear it. It was easier to let you think I wanted this, that I was happy.” She sighed, exasperated as every bone in her body suddenly felt tired, suddenly ached, as though they had been relieved of some great burden and now longed to rest. “There’s no point arguing over it. It’s done, there’s no changing it now.”

Elain let out a breath too, one that rasped in her throat. She swallowed as she leaned against the counter, biting her lip as the fight left her. Her cheeks were flushed as indignation faded, replaced by regret and sorrow. She bent to retrieve her fallen dishtowel, shaking her head as her curls tumbled free of her hairpin, and as she rose Nesta saw unshed tears threatening to spill. Elain sighed again, a soft sound slipping between her lips as one hand darted into the sink, grasping Nesta’s fingers beneath the water.

“Let me help. Let me do something.”

“Like what?” Nesta asked wryly. “You can’t help.” She shook her head again, gave her sister a small smile, clutching her hand in the bubbles. “I only ever wanted you to be happy, anyway.”

“What about you?” Elain asked, eyes wide, voice fraught. “You deserve to be happy too, Nesta.”

She only shrugged, letting the silence grow heavy as words failed her. She didn’t know what to say— it was as though every lie she had ever told had just been burned away, like some kind of trial by fire, leaving her standing in ashes. But there was no wreckage, no destruction— only air that felt clearer as the truth settled between them.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to the door, her mind wandering to the hallway beyond and the floor above, to wings and hazel eyes and glowing red siphons. Elain followed her gaze, a watery smile pushing at her lips as the last pieces of her anger dissolved entirely.

“There’s nobody?” she asked wryly, nudging Nesta with her shoulder. “Nobody you… care for?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Nesta answered tartly, lifting her chin in an expression of determined nonchalance, entirely manufactured ignorance.

“Nobody under this roof?”

Nesta couldn’t hold back the laugh that left her then— one that was incredulous and breathless, light.

“Nobody but you, Elain,” she insisted.

Elain raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless took up her towel and began to dry the dishes that remained dripping on the rack. She hummed lightly and cut a sideways glance to Nesta as she polished another porcelain plate, her smile turning tart. 

“I don’t believe you,” she said simply, and Nesta could only roll her eyes. She pressed her lips together, keeping the truth trapped inside— a truth she wasn’t yet ready to voice aloud. Not fully, anyway. She wouldn’t speak his name, wouldn’t share that much, but Nesta looked to Elain, back to the door, and smiled.

Lifting her hands from the water, Nesta sent soapy water splashing across Elain’s apron with a flick of her fingers. Her sister squeaked before descending into laughter, the sound echoing as Elain wiped the bubbles away. And as a smile bloomed on Elain’s face, Nesta shrugged again and whispered,

“There might be a someone.”

***

That night, Cassian let the bedroom door close silently behind him.

In bare feet, he crossed the hallway of the Archeron manor, keeping his tread light, inaudible even to fae ears. Only the moonlight kept the darkness at bay, glancing off the gilded portrait frames and crystal vases scattered along the hallway. Cassian hadn’t dared light a candle, and so, illumined only by the moon, he slipped along that corridor like a ghost.

His ears strained for any sound— any sign of awakening from Mor’s bedroom, or Rhys and Feyre’s. There was nothing, the silence almost crushing as he looked at the long expanse of doors that trailed ahead, a seemingly endless line of white wood and gold handles stretching all the way to the landing, to the top of the grand, curving staircase. There was a second hallway beyond that, a second wing, and it was there that Cassian knew Elain slept. He’d put every penny he owned on Nesta’s room being on that side of the house, too.

So, tucking his wings in tight so as not to knock over something priceless, Cassian made his way to the east wing, hoping with each step that Nesta was still awake.

He needn’t have bothered.

He’d barely taken five steps down that hallway when he saw a flicker in the darkness, a shadow moving ahead of him. As she stepped into a patch of moonlight, Cassian felt a grin spread easily over his face, splitting his lips as he drank her in.

Even dressed in a nightgown and a velvet robe, Nesta took his breath away.

Her hair was down, flowing past her shoulders, and in the silver light she almost appeared to be a spectre— a dream Cassian wasn’t certain was real. The colour in her cheeks was rosy, her eyes more silver than blue in the shining grey light, and she seemed almost ethereal, liminal, a graceful beauty illuminating the dead of the night.

“What are you doing?” she whispered as she neared him.

Cassian grinned. “Coming to find you, of course.”

Nesta gave him a wry smile, a slow blink. In her hands, she held Emerie’s book, and Cassian almost bit out a laugh that he knew would echo as he lifted up the book he carried in his own hand. 

He’d gone to Illyria right after training Feyre the other day. Whilst the others had been making preparations to go below the wall, he’d been flying like the hounds of hell were on his heels, making the trip to Illyria and back in record time. His wings had ached for hours after, and it had taken more than a little bit of begging to get Emerie to hand over a second book, but it was worth it to see that smile on Nesta’s face, soft and secret, lit by the light of the moon alone.

“Great minds think alike,” he whispered.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. 

“Is that what you call the thing between those bat ears? A mind?”

Cassian let out a huff, a breath of a laugh swallowed by the darkness. The bond between them seemed to thrum, to vibrate with every smirk, every look shared in that silvered hallway. The single siphon he wore began to glow, scattering crimson across the plush carpet, bathing the painted faces of Nesta’s long-dead relatives in Illyrian light, casting shadows on the gilded frames. Nesta gave him a look of practiced indifference, the kind of haughty expression he suspected she knew damn well undid him, and as she turned and walked away, drifting down that hallway, Cassian flipped the book in hand— a casual gesture as she lead him through the dark. 

“Do you want this book or not, princess?” he asked as Nesta reached the landing. His voice was smooth on the marble of the stairs, a taunting whisper that didn’t exactly echo, but rather hung in the air between them.

Nesta’s hand curled around the banister, looking over her shoulder. Imperiously, she raised an eyebrow, and Cassian felt his grin grow manic even as his knees threatened to buckle.

“Of course I do,” she shrugged. “But not if you’re going to be cocky about it.”

“You like me cocky,” he countered. “Admit it.”

He let his wings flare behind him, let the moonlight shine through the membrane. Silhouetted in silver, the starlight glimmered at the edges of his wings, and Nesta’s eyes widened. Her hand tightened around the bannister as she swallowed, and when her eyes moved from his wings to his arms, corded with muscle, over his chest, broad and lean and firm to touch… Cassian swore he glimpsed hunger. The same kind of breathless desire that he felt pounding through his own veins was mirrored in Nesta’s face, and even though an effortless, easy smirk curved his lips… His heart was beating so fast he was surprised she couldn’t hear it.

A moment— a beat, and then Nesta sniffed and turned back to the stairs, descending smoothly and leaving Cassian to follow, helpless, in her wake.

Down another darkened hallway, to another closed door, she led him and when she turned the handle… Cassian was greeted by the smell of leather and ink, books and whiskey. In the dim, he could make out shelves lining the room, a large desk, and two armchairs before an empty hearth. They were in an office, and he felt his eyebrows knit together as he glanced around, confusion flitting across his face. Even in the darkness, Nesta saw it, rolling her eyes as she closed the door behind them.

“It’s the room furthest away from any of the occupied bedrooms,” she explained, her voice no longer a whisper, but still kept low.

Cassian let out a gentle ah, watching as Nesta found a candle and reached for a match. The wick caught, crackling softly as it began to burn, flickering as she set it down on a nearby table. All of his senses grew dull, muffled as he took a step closer, letting the scent of her soothe his ragged breathing. He reached out, and with deft hands slipped the book Nesta carried from her grip. Placing it atop his own, he set both down next to the candle and with his hands empty, with hers unoccupied—

Before he could think twice, before he could take a breath, his lips were on hers. At last, his lips were on hers, as though it had been months since they last kissed— years. As though he had been half a man with half a soul, half a heart, in the days they’d been parted and only now, only with the distance between them nought, was he made whole. 

In the dark, Cassian kissed her. 

His mate.

***

Nesta didn’t know who had moved first— she knew only that his hands were in her unbound hair, and hers were grasping at his shoulders, skating over the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath her fingers tense as his hands moved to her waist, rounding her middle and pulling her against his chest. She didn’t know if he’d started it or her, all she knew was that he was kissing her, and she couldn’t breathe, and his chest was heaving, and he was warm and firm against her and, and, and…

She stumbled backwards, hitting the back of her father’s desk. She could feel the heat of Cassian’s hands through the velvet of her robe, through the thin fabric of her nightgown, could feel it burning right down to her bones as his palms skirted the contour of her waist, curved around it, holding her as though this was where she was always meant to be, always meant to fit, right in his hands, in his arms.

He let out a breath against her lips, a soft groan slipping free of him as he pushed her back more firmly against the desk, as he lifted her up until she was sitting on top of it. One of his hands braced against the wooden surface, the other tilting her face up with a finger curled beneath her chin, granting him better access, letting him deepen the kiss until Nesta wasn’t certain which way was up anymore, until she barely knew anything except that he was kissing her as though the world was ending, as though nothing else mattered.

Her hands wandered across his shoulders as his lips moved, dropping to her neck. She felt the muscles beneath her hands shift, moving as he leaned down further, trailing kisses along her collarbone, atop her nightgown as though the fabric were no barrier. Up— up her neck, his lips moving to her ear.

“Bat ears?” he whispered, and the low kick of his voice, the dark edge to it, was almost enough to make her dizzy. His teeth grazed her, nipping her earlobe as he braced both hands on the desk now, pushing forwards, leaning into her even more fully. 

Dazed, Nesta nodded.

“I don’t think bats have ears like mine, sweetheart,” he murmured, his laugh skittering over her neck, making her shiver. His teeth grazed the shell of her ear now, a low hum resounding in his chest. 

“In fact,” he continued, moving one hand back to her waist, his thumb moving in patterns over her middle. “My ears are almost identical to yours.” He pressed a kiss to the rounded tip of her ear. “So if I have bat ears, then so do you.”

Nesta could only turn her head, forcing his next kiss to land on her cheekbone instead. She felt him smile against her, felt the curve of his lips against her skin. She let her hands wander, let her fingers move across his shoulders, burying themselves in his hair, the waves of it soft and thick beneath her hands. He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers as her fingers moved to the nape of his neck, his eyes closing in something like contentment as he swallowed.

“Gods, I missed you,” he whispered.

“It’s been two days,” Nesta countered.

Cassian cracked one eye open, grinned. “What, you didn’t miss me too?”

Nesta blinked. Oh, she’d missed him too. Missed him like she’d never missed anything before in her life, but she wouldn’t admit it. Instead she cleared her throat, blinked away the haze that had settled over her when he kissed her, and straightened on her father’s desk.

She wouldn’t admit that she’d thought of kissing him for days now. Wouldn’t tell him how much she had dreamed of his touch. Instead, she only shrugged coyly and said,

“Maybe.”

He laughed, the sound of it fluttering against her senses, making her lightheaded. He stepped back, and the cold air was sharp against her skin, the absence of his warmth jarring. He reached for the books on the table, plucking up the one she had already finished. He flicked through the pages, and Nesta couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks as she watched him pause.

Her blush grew deeper, and Cassian lifted an eyebrow. He looked pointedly down at the pages, clearing his throat.

“I didn’t know I’d brought you smut,” he laughed.

Nesta scowled, folding her arms over her chest. She had almost slammed the book shut at first. The first time the lord dipped his hand under the skirts of the main female character… she’d been convinced it had been some joke, some trick to give her something so scandalous. She’d resolved to hit Cassian over the head with the book the next time she saw him, but then she’d begun to read, and she’d been drawn in, and she’d pictured him doing those things, pictured his hands doing that kind of touching, and—

He laughed again, continuing to rifle through, letting out a soft huh, contemplative, as though he were taking it all in, saving the information for later. 

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“What, the story or the smut?” she asked tartly.

“Either,” he shrugged. “Both.”

“It was very good,” Nesta answered with a shrug of her own.

Cassian smirked, keeping the book in hand as he stepped forwards again. He held the pages splayed open with his thumb, his eyes dancing as he hummed again, tilting his head and leaning forwards, enough for his lips to brush her cheeks as he said, in a voice that was dark and devilish and made her shiver,

“Shall we see then, the kinds of things you’ve been reading?”

Nesta began to burn. 

Her cheeks grew hot, her blood pounding, a punishing rhythm beating through her veins as her toes curled, as she began to ache all over. Mutely, she shook her head but Cassian’s grin only widened, his head turning from her cheek to glance at the book held open in his hand.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said with a laugh trapped in his throat, his voice practically dripping with promise. “This is filthy.”

“You’re the one that brought it to me,” she answered curtly, gripping the edge of the desk tight, her fingers digging into the bevelled edge hard enough to bruise. 

“Mhm, but I had no idea what was in these pages. It’s enough to make a sailor blush, princess, and yet you read it till the end.” His smirk turned devious, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Look at this, for example. With expert hands she reached for Sol’s laces - the High Lord of Day and they’ve named him Sol? How predictable - and pulled him free, her hand slipping down the considerable length of his—”

His last words were muffled, swallowed as Nesta hauled him to her, cutting him off with a kiss that was furious in its intensity, ravenous and frantic. The book dropped from his grip, hitting her father’s desk with a dull thud as both of his hands came to her waist, gripping her tight as one hand skated up her spine, reached the nape of her neck and held her there, firm against him and oh, Nesta never wanted to leave the warmth of his embrace, never again wanted to feel the absence of him by her side. He kissed her until she was breathless, and only when her lungs were heaving, protesting, did she turn her head and gasp, feeling the air rush down her throat as her head spun.

Cassian was heaving too, his breath coming in jagged pants as he swallowed, dropping his head to her collarbone. His wings quivered behind him, almost trembling as his breathing aligned with hers. Nesta dragged her fingers through his hair, trying to calm her heart and neither of them spoke— as though they could neither of them find words, had both forgotten how to speak.

She smiled wryly as his hair passed through her knuckles, his wings shuddering as he let out a soft breath that skittered along her skin. Her hand fell, came to rest on his shoulder.

“Elain knows,” she whispered in the darkness.

“About what?” Cassian asked, pulling back and lifting his head so that they were eye-to-eye. 

“About Tomas. She knows.”

He brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “And? Does it bother you?”

Nesta shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.” Her hand slipped from his shoulder, came to rest over his heart. She felt it beating beneath her fingers, felt it hammering. “We argued but it’s alright now. We’re alright.” She paused, bit her lip as she leaned into his touch. “I think she knows about you, too.”

He barked a laugh, one that echoed in the silence. “Of course she does.”

And then— his eyes grew soft, grew depthless. “Come away with me,” he breathed.

It was a question he’d asked before, but it seemed more urgent now, more desperate. His fingers ghosted against her cheek once more as he let his eyes drift closed, as if he were losing himself in some fantasy, a dream of what could be if she said yes, if she let him take her somewhere far away. Nesta almost did too— almost let herself think of long nights above the wall, in lands not governed by the seasons. She thought of an expanse of starry skies, stretching over the horizon and running forever, further than the eye could see. She thought of strong arms holding her as she scanned that horizon, a hand at her waist and a warmth at her back. But—

“No,” she said, her heart cracking as she opened her mouth.

Cassian frowned. “Give me one good reason why not.”

“I won’t leave, not before Elain’s wedding.”

“Haven’t you sacrificed your own happiness enough?” he said incredulously, pulling away an inch, his hand slipping from her waist. Her skin grew cold as his touch left her, gooseflesh erupting on her arms.

“I want to see my sister get married,” Nesta countered flatly, sliding from the edge of her father’s desk. “That’s not a sacrifice.”

His eyes drifted closed, and when he opened them again, Nesta saw depthless emotion burning in the hazel. Desperate— he looked desperate, as though he needed her more than he needed air. He swallowed, reaching out again and letting a hand brush the side of her ribs. Her heart keened, her centre of gravity seeming to be pulled forwards, to be tied to him somehow. His touch defied everything she thought she knew, her entire world reducing until it was contained in that space between his fingers, in the press of them against her skin. She felt that dream rearing again, the promise of days when they wouldn’t have to meet in secret, sequestered in the shadows. 

“Ask me again,” she breathed. “After her wedding— after the war. Ask me again.”

His hand rounded her middle, pulling her closer. He gathered her in his arms, let his wings encase them both. Nesta rested her cheek against the fabric of his shirt, a hand flat over his chest. Cassian pressed a kiss to her crown, his lips lingering on her hair.

“The minute the ring is on her finger. The second Hybern is dealt with,” he promised.

Nesta closed her eyes, felt his heart beat steady beneath her palm.

“The minute the ring is on her finger,” she echoed.

Tagging: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise

[samuraiko]

My CRITICAL ROLE-inspired NaNoWriMo novel’s playlist

Screw it, I’m going to share this. It doesn’t matter I’m terrified to do this because I think the Critter community will hate it (or me, or both). I’m doing it anyway.

Behold, the entirety of the playlist for my NaNoWriMo 2022 project, the Critical Role-inspired novel THE WIZARD AND THE WEAVER. 

(For those not in the know, NaNoWriMo = National Novel Writing Month (aka November), where you have to write a 50,000+ word novel in 30 days. By no means does this mean your novel is *DONE*, it just means you’ve banged out 50k+ words for it. This year, I hit 65k+ in 30 days!)

The prologue is set in 819 PD, the first third-ish of the novel taking place about six months after the end of C2 (not long after TM9:Reunited) in 837 PD, and the last two-thirds taking place five years after that in 842 PD. And as you can guess by the title, it’s a Caleb-centric novel.

Force of habit, I love writing ‘back cover blurbs.’

And I had art done for it, too, courtesy of the awesomesauce @cvleart​!

As well as this gorgeousness by @cynicalstith​...

Anyway, I promised myself that once I was done, I would post the full track list and a bit about each song (a la the official playlists).

(Full disclosure: as I get into editing this book in 2023, I will likely be adding to the playlist, moving tracks around, etc.)

---

Vault of Glass - Ursine Vulpine, Will Post One of what I call my ‘trailer’ songs, where my mind spins a trailer about one of my books, if I could actually animate it and have voiceover and all that. The clockwork beat and constant repeat of "Again... again... again..." emphasizes the nature of Caleb and Malastra’s journey.

Dust and Light - Twelve Titans Music Another of my "trailer" pieces... I used this for a RIFT trailer I made ages ago for the Nightmare Tide expansion, and Raelskye’s traumatic quest (and Cyril’s role in it) reminds me a bit of Malastra’s here.

Welcome to Wildemount - Critical Role, Colm R. McGuinness My primary researching music.

The Labyrinth - Poets of the Fall The song that was very much the inspiration for Malastra. And I absolutely love, love, LOVE Poets of the Fall.

Firedancer - Poets of the Fall This is Caleb’s theme song and NOTHING anyone says will ever convince me otherwise. THIS IS MY HILL AND I WILL DIE ON IT.

It's the Fear - Within Temptation Malastra has spent so much of her young life running from her fears, but it’s hard to escape them when she carries them within her, and what she fears most is herself.

Arsonist's Lullabye - Hozier Caleb. Full stop. A nod to dear Liam and the original playlists for Caleb.

Let Me Out - Hidden Citizens, Ranya Another of my absolutely favorite groups. In this case, this song has SO many layers of meaning for Malastra.

A New Machine, Pt. 1 - Pink Floyd Eleven lost years... and Caleb's own worst nightmare.

Damascus - Conjure One, Rhys Fulber The thirteenth of Cuersaar, the Night of Ascension, 819 PD - there is blood on the moon as flames leap into the sky in Blumenthal, and the doom of Sevnochiner is born.

I See Fire - Zyrah Kasian's vision, and the fate of Sevnochiner.

Lady of Worlds - Miracle of Sound “We all have a destiny. Whether we want one or not.”

Born In Flames - In This Moment Caleb's not the only one whose life was transformed and traumatized by fire...

Don't Let Me Go (Acoustic) - RAIGN This is Kasian's song.

Gone Away - Noctura Kasian is gone, but Malastra still remembers.

Throw Away - Blue Stahli Eleven years in an asylum for him. Thirteen years on the run for her. The song that sums up those lost, torturous years for both of them.

Unbroken - Really Slow Motion Another song that describes those painful years of self-searching for both Caleb and Malastra.

Once In My Life - The Decemberists Another nod to dearest Liam here, since it wouldn’t be a Caleb playlist without the Decemberists on it. And this is for both Caleb and Malastra.

Wait for Sleep - Dream Theater Exhausted, starving, alone, and afraid, Malastra dreads every sundown...

Whisper - Evanescence ... because when the sun goes down, the nightmares come out to play.

The Mystic's Dream - Loreena McKennitt From Issylra to Tal'Dorei to Wildemount, a glowing thread of destiny leads a girl onward to the flame that will light her future.

Love Theme from The Dark Crystal - Trevor Jones A half-mad, half-dead girl arrives on a wizard's doorstep... and their lives are forever changed.

Deliver Me - Sarah Brightman The very first meeting between Malastra and Caleb. Another scene I want to commission art for.

I Love the Way You Say My Name - Scarlet Dorn, Chris Harms "'Freundin'... Zemnian. It means 'friend.'"

Someone Like You - Jekyll & Hyde This is 100% Malastra’s feelings toward Caleb. Unfortunately, her feelings are a naïve tangled mess and not nearly as simple as she’d like to think they are. Never mind his feelings for her...

Jesus to a Child - George Michael Caleb’s feelings toward Malastra... sort of. I had also considered using "Father Figure" (also by George Michael), but that song takes their relationship a little TOO close to a line neither they nor I think they should cross. For Caleb, the problem is that he feels several different conflicting things.

Haunting Me - Stabbing Westward The dysfunctional side of Malastra and Caleb’s relationship. And it also works for how their pasts won’t leave them alone.

Lune - Notre-Dame de Paris This version’s in French, and I’m still not even sure I’ll keep this one, but this is the Essek song on the list. Here we have Essek singing about Caleb, but unlike in the original show where Gringoire is a neutral observer, I imagine Essek is painfully aware of what Caleb is going through because he cares for Caleb.

Towers Of The Void - Brian Reitzell The story behind a name.

When All is Lost - Timothy Robert Shortell The music behind several touching conversations between the Empire kids. The dynamic between Beauregard and Caleb was just pure pleasure to write, and seeing how their friendship has just deepened over the years.

Until It Sleeps - Metallica Considering that Malastra’s nightmares can KILL people, "It" in this song is Malastra herself.

A Sacrifice to Save You - Effsio Cross If I could set the montage of Caleb's research and study about Malastra and her magic to music, it'd be this. Day after day, night after night, chasing down the truth of what haunts this strange girl.

I Bleed for You - Peter Gundry The Wizard at work in the chamber of endless possibility atop the Tower.

Walking in the Air - Nightwish Caleb showing off his magic to Malastra, showing her just how beautiful the world can be when you let it.

As the World Falls Down - David Bowie The ballroom scene in LABYRINTH very much informed a certain aspect of Malastra and Caleb's perceptions of each other at one point...

Malleus Maleficarum - Hans Zimmer The crafting of the Pendant of Dreamless Rest.

Carry Me - Eurielle If the pendant that Caleb crafts for Malastra has a theme song, this is it.

Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel) - Billy Joel Caleb to Malastra as she sleeps, safe and truly at peace for the first time in her life. And yes, I want art for this too. I want art for a LOT of the scenes I imagine in this book, okay?

Of These Chains - Red Malastra as she's preparing to leave Caleb for the first time and go in search of her destiny.

Prayer - The Scarlet Pimpernel Caleb after Malastra leaves. He knows that her leaving is the right thing for her to do... but the human heart is a complicated thing.

Recover - Globus, Anneke Van Giersbergen Malastra’s journey during the five-year time skip.

Spell of the Heart - Isabella LeVan "Gute nacht, Caleb. I miss you." "Gute nacht, freundin. Ich vermisse dich auch." This song was a deliciously unexpected discovery (thanks to a friend of mine for pointing me at Isabella’s work), and was SUCH a perfect representation of the five-year time skip between Act 1 and Act 2 as far as Caleb and Malastra’s relationship was concerned.

Sleep Well, My Angel - We Are The Fallen Malastra and Caleb talking about each other, not realizing that they are both making the exact same mistake.

Hurt - Christina Aguilera Caleb and Malastra about their respective parents, and in a melancholic fashion, about each other during the time skip.

Witch Hunt - Abney Park Don't stop running, Malastra...

Only Us - Miracle of Sound Once lovers, then enemies, now uneasy allies - Astrid leads Caleb ever closer to temptation... all he has to do is hand over Malastra.

Back to the Blooming Grove - Critical Role, Steven Grove Reunited after five years, and in serious need of divinely-inspired insight, Caleb takes Malastra to the Savalirwood to consult with Caduceus.

The Rite of Destiny - Chance Thomas Malastra's musical offering at the Blooming Grove, and a blessing woven upon the temple.

Journey to the Abyss - Daniel Health Caleb, Beau, and Malastra journey to Vasselheim in search of answers.

Coda - Matt Uelmen "Once there was, and was not, in ancient Issylra..."

Raven - Melissa VanFleet Within the blood pool of communion of Raven's Crest, Malastra and Caleb each have their own soul-rending encounter with the Matron of Ravens, but not surprisingly, they are left with more questions than answers.

Helix - Soul Extract The darker, dysfunctional side of Malastra’s relationship with Caleb, while the latter half’s instrumental is very much Caleb, Malastra, et al bringing the fire.

Behind the mind - Zero-Project Searching for answers and guidance at the behest of the Raven Queen, Malastra's soul reaches beyond the veil and encounters the Champion of the Matron of Ravens... Vax'ildan.

Until Eternity (Orchestral Version) - Blackbriar Malastra sees through Vax'ildan's eyes, and learns of the doomed love that saved Tal'Dorei...

Taken by Storm - Christian Reindl Malastra's first experience with the Tapestry.

Eternal Flame - Randall Jermain, Alexa Ray, Atom Music Audio The anthem of the Mighty Nein.

The Volstruckers - Critical Role, Colm R. McGuinness The Empire will do anything to protect its secrets, and it trusts only a very, very few to safeguard those secrets at any cost.

Burn - I Will Never Be The Same When the Volstrucker get their hands on Caleb, hoping to lure in Malastra. Fick ihr alle.

Crimson Blaze - 2WEI I love 2WEI's music so much - and this was an immediate choice for the Volstrucker vs Caleb fight.

I Remember - Les Friction, Emily Valentine I love this band so much. This one is Caleb, and the bitter, broken, warped role that love has played in his life, courtesy of Trent, Astrid, and Eadwulf. Here is Caleb reaching out to Malastra and the Nein, his heart screaming for their help.

Destiny of Mankind (Choir) - Two Steps From Hell Malastra and the Nein arrive to take back their friend, and the gods help whoever stands in their way.

Magic Fortuna (New Version) - Highland Caleb being a badass.

Torsion - Mark Petrie “We’re not going to run, freundin... we’re going to fly.” It's Caleb and Malastra vs the Volstrucker in a desperate airborne battle over the towers of Rexxentrum.

Nightfall - J2, Elvor After fleeing Rexxentrum, Caleb and Malastra escape and hide in the Tower, but separated from the Nein, injured, and hunted, Caleb wonders how long they can evade the Volstrucker.

Requiem of the Night - Audiomachine The nine chambers of memory.

In Your Arms - Ryan Louder, Ashley Serena A theme that keeps showing up over and over is Caleb holding Malastra. For a girl who has never known kindness, it's small wonder that this is the safest place for her.

Kill Or Be Killed (No Vocals) - Epic Score Someone wants Malastra dead, but the Nein aren't going to just stand by and let that happen.

Freedom Fighters - Two Steps From Hell Another one of my 'trailer' pieces, this would absolutely be the montage of the Mighty Nein encouraging, training, and helping Malastra discover her true power, as well as her true self.

Wargirl - Sybrid, Tatiana Shishkova The paladin, the clerics, the wizard, the rogue, the monk, the blood hunter, and the barbarian team up to train the weaver.

Boat On The River - Styx Kingsley and Malastra sharing a moment as the tiefling takes her under his wing.

Peace Like a River - Dean Evenson A shared love of music leads to a tender moment of friendship and understanding between Yasha and Malastra.

The Grey Havens - Chance Thomas A bittersweet moment between Malastra and Marion, the Ruby of the Sea.

Tairitsu - Yuki Hayashi "By the light of the Luxon..." Malastra’s first glimpse of just how much damage was done to the Tapestry thanks to Essek’s actions, and a very hard, very painful conversation between Essek and Malastra.

Prime Directive - Mark Petrie First the Volstrucker, then the Lens - and it's dunamancy vs Weaving.

No One But You - Erutan While the song itself is so perfect for Malastra’s simplest, heartfelt feelings for Caleb, the music behind this one became the basis for the song "Oror, Oror" that Malastra sings while soul-weaving. It was heartbreaking to write a lullaby for Malastra, and I tear up every time I listen to it. (It’s also canon that Malastra cries every time she sings the last chorus.)

Influence - Elephant Music Until now, all of Malastra's nightmares have been reliving her past... but when that changes.,,

Darkness Falls - UNSECRET, Cece and the Dark Hearts The Nein are trapped in Malastra's nightmarish vision of the destruction of Exandria. GODS, I want so badly to commission art of this scene, but it’d cost me a FORTUNE. (And this song, by the way, was the one that absolutely crystallized the plot of THE WIZARD AND THE WEAVER.)

End of an Empire - Celldweller The Dwendalian Empire and the Kryn Dynasty. 'Nuff said.

Oblivion Awaits - Neal Acree With some help from Caduceus, the Nein and Malastra learn the dark secret about Sevnochiner.

Fade to Black - Les Friction The fate of the Weavers.

I'm Not Okay (I Promise) (cover) - Chase Holfelder, Tom Evans Malastra and Caleb - broken, stumbling, praying for deliverance. I hear this song and I imagine them dancing quietly together in the salon of Widogast’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower, almost afraid to even look at each other but still clinging to each other, and then at various times through the book, sobbing in the other’s arms.

Neo-Somnovem Incarnate - Critical Role, Colm R. McGuinness No plan survives contact with the enemy, but if anyone is at their best when everything goes wrong and the chips are down, it's the Mighty Nein.

Sanctity of Sorrow - Damned Anthem The Mighty Nein vs the Empire and the Dynasty.

Bound by Purpose - Twelve Titans Music Sometimes you have to take a stand, even knowing you're doomed to fail.

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (Epic Trailer Version) - Hidden Citizens If I could animate a video of Caleb pulling out ALL the stops with his magic, it'd be to this song.

Sonera - Thomas Bergersen The Weaver coming into her own at last, with the Wizard by her side.

Survivor - 2WEI, Edda Hayes A cover of the Destiny's Child song, this is absolutely the anthem for both Caleb and Malastra at the climax of the book. For all that their pasts have broken them, still they rise up from the ashes to emerge "bloodied, bold, and resolute." And for the second half, we have the Wizard and the Weaver REALLY bringing their powers to bear, fully in control and absolutely ready to WRECK someone’s shit.

Unusual Way - Linda Eder For all the heartache and confusion and pain they put each other through...

Let It Be Me (Epic Trailer Version) - J2, Miranda Dianne When you finally find someone worth fighting for... and living for.

Vengeance Is Mine 2.0 - Epica A new Hall of Destinies to build, a new Dzayny to serve it, and a new Weaver to guard it.

The Stars Are Out - Dexter Britain "Wilkommen zuhause, liebchen."

[jovilevine]

running from a boogyman that may be long since dead, a mind for working with her hands, the reflection of early morning sunlight against an empty bottle of whiskey, a heart that still beats but is held together by tape and superglue.

✦ RILEY KEOUGH, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER ✦ JOVI LEVINE the THIRTY year old has been in Hidehill for HER ENTIRE LIFE (FOUR YEARS SINCE HER RETURN) and was a ENEMY to Carter Thompson, one of the shadows. Whispers on the streets are that the MAINTENANCE AT QUICK STOP MOTEL, BARTENDER AT THE VANILLA UNICORN + MUSICIAN who lives in HADLEY PARK are said to be CHARMING and SHORT-FUSED but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves. 

TRIGGER WARNING: infidelity, abuse, death, corpses, drowning, alcoholism, drug use

 ⸻  𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

Jovi was dealt a bad hand from the very start. Born Josephine Penelope Levine, she was the product of an affair between a wealthy CEO and his secretary - leaving Jovi's mother to fend for herself after the inevitable happened. He wouldn't leave his wife.

Jovi and her mother were originally living in Augusta, Georgia before the end of her mother's affair. While Jovi considers herself from Hidehill, the southern twang that comes with her mother's Georgia hometown is kind of hard to miss.

From what she knows from her mother - Jovi is a dead ringer for her father. It was perhaps the biggest betrayal the young toddler could have mustered. Even if she was too young to understand.

To cope with the lack of support from the man Catherine Levine thought adored her, loved her.. she turned to the bottle. When Jovi was six, she began leaving her on a neighbors doorstep and a simple knock on the door, stumbling back home the next morning.

It was worse when she started drinking regularly at home. She hurled insult after insult at the young girl, tearing down her self worth until it was nothing.

When Jovi was thirteen - she found her mother in the bathtub having drank herself to death. There was no knowledge of how long she had been there, when she had died. What a death to die. Drowning yourself in the bathtub, too drunk to be saved.

Considering that Jovi didn't have any living relatives besides a father who would pay to get her to go away, Jovi was put into the foster care system, moved from several homes without a placement that really felt like home.

At eighteen, she was all alone again. This time, with no one to help her. No one to steady her. She had been used to being alone, but at least the homes she had lived in contained people who sometimes cared.

It was then when she started going by Jovi - a derivative of her name. With a new alias that made her feel powerful, Jovi left Hidehill behind for what she thought was for good.

In order to keep herself afloat, she began stripping. She had spent some time traveling running from her issues until her money ran out, leaving her to settle down for a while. That is, until she became restless again.

Somehow she couldn't stray too far from home and ended up in Nashville, where she would come face to face with Alex Kingsley for the very first time. The two began seeing each other casually, but the longer things went on the more serious things got... until Jovi ran. Like she always did.

While she's used to running away, she never wanted to leave Alex. And for her, perhaps that was the scariest part. She tried to rationalize it, tried to tell herself that they both had too many wounds that had not been addressed. But there was no escaping it. She was in love. And it terrified her.

She ended up back in Hidehill about four years ago, relocating to Hadley Park where she's been in the same run-down trailer ever since.

She got a job at the Motel fixing it's broken down pieces, mainly because she was good at it, but because there were so many of them there was so much she could do. Quiet her mind. She got a second job at The Vanilla Unicorn because she knew playing her music wouldn't be enough to pay her heating bill.

With the murders starting up again, considering Marcus Shaw was left as a warning sign in the park where she lived. However, something has been pulling her to stay. And things started to make more sense when Alex showed up in her hometown, at the bar where she worked.

Then suddenly, Alex shows up during her shift and walks into The Vanilla Unicorn. And begins setting up behind the bar. And suddenly -- Jovi doesn't know what is real and what is fake anymore. The passage of time no longer feels real.

⸻  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Identifies as queer, but the preference for women is strong with this one. Likely has only had one serious relationship with a man and that was probably back in high school.

Didn't really have major beef with Carter - just kinda always thought he was a piece of shit. Didn't want to feel vindicated when he was arrested, of course.

Kinda just tries to keep her head down and go about her life. Make her music. She's recently started playing gigs at the Cadillac every now and then and has actually begun getting some traction.

A major commitment-phobe. Maybe because she's so used to everyone she grows to care about in her life being only temporary.

Can absolutely haul ass and sometimes subs with Max when extra hands are needed for security.

MORE TO COME.

⸻ 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

Friends: OPEN

Exes ( any gender - 1/3 ): Alex Kingsley, OPEN

Hookups/FWB ( former or current ): OPEN

Love Interest: Alex Kingsley

Coworkers: Lakeyn McCray, Adriana Martinez, Dallas Parker, Danny Alexander, Jocelyn Hayes, Maximo Aguilar, OPEN

These are just ideas, I'm here and ready for all the plots!

[lovelastart]

Mercenary/Albus Headcanon (Grimoire of Zero)

What if, when Albus was imprisoned by Thirteen, she was beaten up by the guards who hated witches.

It is late and Albus is restless. Tomorrow will be her public execution, the one that took her grandma's life away, and people would be cheering. Ugh, how absurd that people were actually cheering on another people that were burned alive. Albus never understood the joy that made their eyes sparkle, to see other poor people screaming in pain.

Albus knew that the death caused by fire would be painful. In fact, it was the most cruel death penalty ever received, because you would feel pain soaring through your whole skin, but you couldn't escape. You only could scream while praying that the death would take your life quickly. It was cruel to make someone suffer at their last moment.

But, she knew that it was just another fate of being a witch. Loathed by mere humans, hunted by beastfallens. Sometimes, Albus felt tremendous loneliness, both when she was a witch in the safe house with other witches, and when she acted human in her town, playing with the dog and receiving food from the kind-hearted aunt. She has purposes, she has visions, she wouldn't budge from what she believed.

Then again, she didn't feel safe.

She was, once. When her world was so peaceful with her grandma and Holdem. When she didn't have to worry about tomorrow and she didn't have to disguise herself.

Now, she had enough. She didn't want another victim, she didn't want another war and people burned on the stakes and the despair of losing the loved ones.

That steel motivation would stop her from crying in the dark corner alone, and instead, she would move her feet and go forward.

She had to be strong, with all the rejections she received, she still had to be strong.

Even when she found out that she was never considered as a friend by her new friends. That time, another hole appeared in her heart.

But she wouldn't back down. She wouldn't bend her values just because death awaited her. She preferred to die carrying her will than to abandon what she came for.

So, here she is, crouching inside a damp, dark cell, just waiting for her death tomorrow.

Someone, several people, came into the dungeon.

"Ah! Here is the pathetic ugly witch!!"

"Wow, how pitiful!! She would die just like her grandma!"

"What a loser!"

Here they bashes her and her grandma, again. Normally, Albus would lose her temper and shout back at them. But, tonight, she doesn't feel like fighting them. It is useless, they're probably drunk.

Then, a clank sound, and the cage door is opened.

"Hey!! Do you hear us??!!" one of the drunk guards approached the crouching little witch. Albus doesn't have to answer to them.

Instantly, Albus sees blur around her, and she feels her arm is pulled roughly. She falls on the stone floor because that guard forcefully pulled her away and threw her off.

"Hey!!" Albus shouts back at them.

"She will die tomorrow, right?!"

"So we can avenge our dead families that the witches murdered, right?!!"

"You evil witch!! You deserve to suffer and die!!"

"Go to hell and rot!! AHAHAHAHA!!"

The way those drunk guards swear on Albus makes her scared. She couldn't say anything regarding to their families that were massacred by the witches. It was something out of her control.

"That's why!! I'll fight for peace! Humans will live together peacefully with witches!! I have to--"

A hit land on her right cheek, she was thrown back and her head hit the tiles hard.

"Cut the bullshit, witch!!" Another kick on her stomach.

"'Live peacefully', as if!!" Another kick on her right leg.

"Witches deserve to die!!" Another kick on her head. Albus was thrown back again that she rolled and hit the stone wall.

Albus was too busy coughing blood and breathing heavily. She groans when someone pulls her short hair.

The guards didn't stop badmouthing her while bashing her head on the wall several times. Albus screams in pain and wants to call for help, but she remembers that she is alone.

So, she just accepts her fate, being their punching bag for the night. No one will save her, though.

---------------------------------------------------

"That brat!!!" Mercenary runs through the crowd and climb the highest building around, hoping to any deity that it's not the brat being executed today.

He arrives late, because the stake is raised, the fire is already burning and the smoke is so thick that the punished witch is covered in white. Mercenary can't hear the weak coughs inside the smoke because the crowd cheers loudly.

"That's the young lady!! Mercenary, the one they're burning is the young lady!!!" Holdem suddenly freaks out beside him, "please save her!!!"

---------------------------------------------------

They manage to escape.

They manage to hide from the guards. Mercenary is cooking a soup and Holdem is tending his young lady.

The white tiger is calmly stirring his soup while suddenly a large rock splits in two and Holdem screams his lung out.

"Holdem!! What happens?! You slashed the rock in a sudden!!"

"I will find them and kill whoever did this to young lady!!" A streak of tears glints in the moonlight.

Mercenary is stunned. He crouches beside the sleeping little witch, and his eyes widened.

In front of him, there are a lot of large bruises covering the small body. Some of them are clear marks of boots soles and large hands. Around her neck, on her stomach, waist, back, thighs. There is dried blood stain on her hair, too.

Mercenary gently stroke the young girl's swollen bruised cheek. She has a black eye.

He didn't notice her wounds because they were too busy running.

Now, Mercenary has never felt this much hatred towards those lowly humans and the desire to massacre them.

But, for tonight, he will let Albus sleep on his lap.

[mycharacterdump]

WHEN YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE LEFT DANCIN' WHILE THEY'RE ON THE FLOOR, TIME TO GO.

children's laughter  ,  spinning around without a care in the world  ,  wildly curly hair  , morning dew in the garden   , passing on wisdom  ,   the sound of a faraway brook  ,  an abba song   ,  holding up peace signs in every photo  ,  make love not war   , denim dresses over white tees  ,  flowers decorating intricate braids  ,  perfectly warm tea on a cold night  ,  cardigans draped over chairs  ,  speaking up for the voiceless , socks with sandals  ,  lilies of the valley  , talking to plants to help them grow   ,  a mother's love.

SEPTEMBER 1978.

— two healthy identical twin girls are born in manhattan, nyc to amihan rivera and walter wozniak. they name the little one elaine dalisay, after her maternal grandmother. it's classy. timeless. the other... hm. she's difficult to pin. but her father pitches in, nearly crying out in the white confines of the hospital room: rainbow! and so... rainbow she was. rainbow lualhati.

JANUARY 1980.

— amihan is tired. she isn't certain she was ever meant for this life - mothering two children she can't recognize as her own. but she knows that she can't leave them both behind if she wants the support of her family. so she makes an impossible choice between the two. scooping elaine out of her crib, she escapes in the dead of night, and walter and rainbow are left alone.

APRIL 1983.

— it's been over three years and new york city is unrelenting. rainbow seems to like the shiny buildings and her classmates, but walter is restless. he's begrudged that amihan made her own way to leave it all behind. so he does the same. he hears about a place upstate where they could belong, more so than they do in the city. he packs up the few books he knows he can't live without, makes rainbow do the same. by morning their apartment in the upper east side is empty.

JUNE 1983.

— sunrise village. that's what they call it. rainbow has always liked plants and the outdoors, spending much of her time begging walter to be taken to central park, so this is paradise for her. she likes to think it is for her father, too. she spends her time reading on the front porch, eating fresh fruit their neighbors bring, listening to the birds chirp and the brook behind their house wash over the stones. she's never felt more free. she doesn't even have to wear shoes if she doesn't want to! but her father makes her wear socks. they're still a little civilized.

AUGUST 1985.

— rainbow befriends the other children in the village. even some younger ones as well, who she's taken under her wing and cares for whenever their mothers or fathers aren't around. they all have names just like hers: there's basil, cloud, dream, bodhi, feather, harmony, light, meadow, moonbeam, hawk, petal, twig, serenity, wolf, tulip, venus and true. she reads to them and teaches them piano. everything is peace and love, man. for a long, long time.

DECEMBER 1991.

— it's the dead of winter in new york state. all that's growing in their garden are the snowdrops that twig planted for her. thirteen - year - old rainbow has her work cut out for her with all these kids, but she thinks they're worth it in the end. this may be what she's meant for, she realizes. but walter says she's still too young to really know. she disregards him at first, leading her little ducklings out for a day of ice skating at the pond. on her tail are dream, harmony, moonbeam, twig and tulip. half an hour later, after a distant scream alerts some other villagers, they discover rainbow collapsed on the shore alongside twig. one of them is breathing. the other isn't.

JANUARY 1992.

— it is time to go, walter has decided before rainbow regains color in her cheeks. they can't stay in a place where she was once responsible for the children and let one of them die under her care. she doesn't get any say in it. he packs her things for her. as she's dragged from the only home she's known since she was five years old, she sees twig's mother in the distance and she wants to say i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, but no words can escape before she's out of sight forever.

SEPTEMBER 1994.

— rainbow doesn't think the hurt will ever go away, even as she lays a hundred miles away in a full-sized bed in a manhattan apartment. she dreams every night of bright blue eyes that drain to gray; plump and colorful skin that deteriorates beneath her touch; soft blond ringlets that she's run her fingers through countless times now wetted down and dripping with pond water. time passes, but she is still there. she will always be there. it's her sixteenth birthday, and her father chooses not to remember.

FEBRUARY 1997.

— there's a boy in her government and civics class that she finds herself fixating on when she tunes out of the lesson. he's a little dorky, though seemingly not on purpose, but he has the most contagious smile she's ever seen. she thinks sometimes when she sees him attempt to woo other girls that they would get along, somehow. i understand you, she thinks quietly, from a distance. i want to be loved, too.

[writing-fanics]

i didn’t run this time (Prolouge)

- eddie munson x powered!reader

Next Chapter

« warning: spoilers for volume 2 (later chapters) . angst . blood . gore . slight smut in the future . cute interaction between young y/n and Eddie .

note: decided I’m going to split this up into different chapters probs two or three

Hawkins 1979 11:15PM

She stared blankly at her surroundings, making her way through the forest barefoot. The bottom of her feet covered in cuts in bruises. Tiny shards of glass cutting deeper into her skin each step she took.

Her entire body covered in a mixture of blood and mud. The rain barely washing it away as she stumbled through the forest. Never looking back at the lab she was forced to call home. Not wanting to remember the horror she barely escaped from.

Even when her eyes adjusted to the dark. She could barely see. The blood running down the side of her eyes obscuring her vision. Causing her to trip on a uprooted tree, falling over a small ledge and falling onto the ground hard.

A small scream escaped her mouth, as she sat up feeling the burning sensation in her leg. She sprained her ankle. Trying to stand to her feet, to only fall over and land on her stomach. Covering the front of her dress in dirt, as she struggled to stand up.

Placing a hand over her mouth as she screamed in pain. Do to the weight being added to her sprained ankle. She started walking well more like limping. Her way through the forest. She was cold,wet,and hungry. Her stomach grumbling at the thought of food.

“achoo!” She sneezed. Sniffling as she made her way through the forest, passing trees taller than her and bushes. “achoo! achoo!” She sniffled, her body feeling both warm and cold at the same time. Her head starting to ache and her legs feeling like jelly.

It’s already been two hours, 1:15AM. She’s still in the forest. Limping her way through foliage. Tired, hungry, on the verge of passing out. This couldn’t be the end for her she’d just escaped. To only die alone in the forest.

Black spots appeared in her vision just as it appeared in her view. She saw someone in their bedroom still awake, despite the early hours in the morning. His hair looked just liked hers but a bit darker, he had a buzz cut.

“H-Hel.” She couldn’t speak, her voice too weak. She collapsed on the ground with a thud, black spots appearing in her vision, her body to weak to continuing moving, to tired to continue.

Inside the bedroom the thirteen year old boy, with a buzz cut was practicing playing his guitar. He didn’t care that it was 1:30AM, he wanted to practice playing his guitar.

His room covered in heavy metal band poster plastered, on his wall. This boy name is, Eddie Munson. The local metal head of Hawkins Middle School. He was known as the ‘freak’ just because of his love for metal.

His non-conformist attitude towards the world. He had a rough upbringing his father is in jail, his mother out of the picture. The only person who understood him was his uncle Wayne, who worked at the plant so he wouldn’t be home till the early hours of the morning.

Eddie bopping his head to the music, as he did. He caught a glimpse of something outside his window on the ground.

“What the-?” He says. As he squints his eyes and then widened when he realizes it’s a person, “Shit!” He cursed. Placing his guitar on the bed and grabbing his jacket and running outside in the rain.

Towards the unconscious girl, lying on the dirt ground. “Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed. Stopping as he looked down at the girl in the hospital gown, his heart sank. Seeing her body covered in blood and her feet covered in cuts.

“Hey? Hey? Are you okay?!” He asked, shaking her limp body. Her head lulled to the side, “Shit!” He cursed, wrapping their arms underneath their chest and pulling them towards his trailer.

‘This can’t be happening’

Once inside he set her on the couch, taking off his jacket and placing it over the unconscious girl. She groaned, opening her eyes and looking around the room.

“H-Hey, your awake.” He said. Causing her to look towards him and jump, body shaking as she stared at him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not going to hurt you okay.” He said, and she just looked at him terrified.

Her stomach then grumbled loudly. As she noticed the half eaten PB&J, on the table. “You hungry?” He asked. She nodded in response. He smiles, walking into the kitchen to make her a PB&J sandwich.

He walked towards her holding a plate, with a freshly made PB&J. With some pretzels on the side. “Here you go,” he said, handing her the food. She snatched the plate immediately eating the food.

“Wow, you must’ve been really hungry.” He said. Watching as she stuffed her face with the PB&J sandwich. “Where’d you come from?” He asked, looking at her.

She looked down as the memories flooded back, “Bad place.” She said. Sitting across from her on the floor, “Um, what’s your name?” He asked, and she looked down.

Reaching out her arm and showing her the tattoo, 002. He looked at her curiously, “Your name is Two?” He asked. She nodded in response. Shaking his head, “That’s not much of a name,” He says, pursing his lips.

‘Y/n!’

‘My baby! Give her back!’

‘Y/n!’

‘Mama!’

“Y/n.” She whispers, and he looks up at her, “What?” He asked. She looks up at him, “Y/n,” she says, once more and he smiles.

“Y/n. Y/n. That’s a pretty name.” He says, smiling. She didn’t know why when he said that she felt butterflies in her stomach her cheeks turning a soft red.

“Well, my name is Eddie. Eddie Munson and I’m pleased to meet you m’lady.” He says, bowing and a smile forms on her lips. The two smile at each other.

“Let me fetch you a towel.” He says, walking towards his bathroom. As he reached towards the towel he can’t stop thinking about the terrified look on her face, like she’s seen and been through so many horrors in his life. Horror’s he couldn’t even bare to imagine.

Getting the towel and damping it with some water, he walks out back towards the living room. Handing her the towel, “Here you can wipe your face off,” He says. She takes it and begins too wipe off her face.

Getting all the mud and blood off, once down. Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. Seeing her face for what it looked like underneath, all the dirt and blood off. She looked like an angel.

That night was the most peaceful night for her, she quickly made a new friend, Eddie Munson. The first person on the outside world to ever be kind to her, to treat her like she’s normal. Despite the fact that she isn’t normal, she was born with special powers.

002, she was expected to be great show immense strength. But she lacked. The others called her weak, told her she’ll never be Papa’s favorite like 011. That she’ll never live up to his expectations.

She knew that was true. Even with training she always fell behind. Getting berated. Yelled at. Punished. Tortured. Just because she wasn’t up to everyone’s standards.

(Y/n) looked curiously at the Judas Priest shirt, “They’re a heavy metal band. Have you heard of heavy metal?” He asked. She shook her head and his eyes widened.

“Oh, hear listen.”

She started listening and watching as Eddie bopped his head, she started doing the same. Bopping her head along with him the two smiling as they jammed out to heavy metal. They started laughing, she’s never smiled before.

“This is fun.” She said. Looking up at him and he smiled, looking towards her sitting down on the couch beside her placing a blanket on her shoulders. She placed her head on his shoulder feeling a sense of security with him, “Safe.” She said, and he smiled.

“Yea, your safe. Safe with me.” He said, rubbing her arm. As she slowly drifted off to sleep. If only Eddie knew that this girl would become the girl of his dreams.

[just-jordie-things]

The Crown - Steve Harrington

word count: 4462 warnings: dedicated to @high-functioning-fangirl02 <3

You’d give your life to protect these kids.  

These kids you’ve known since you started babysitting them in the sixth grade.  Back when Mrs Henderson hired you to watch Dustin.  Which essentially meant that you’d watch all of them.  But that was alright, over the past seven years of being their designated babysitter, you’d grown to love them all.

Mike Wheeler, the snarky little love-struck shit that you spent grieving with since losing Eleven.  Lucas Sinclair, the sweet boy with the occasional attitude whom you helped construct his Ghostbusters costume. Will Byers, the full time sweetheart that made you cookies for Valentine’s Day after hearing you complain about being dateless.  And of course Dustin, cute little button nosed Dusty with a trash mouthing tendency, whom looked up to you like a role model.

Hell, you were their role model.  Driving them to and from school, covering for them on late nights so they could finish their D&D tournaments.  Fiercely protecting them a year ago when Hawkins was Demogorgon infested.  Standing up for them when you’d see some upperclassmen picking on them.

Those who dared glance the wrong way towards The Party in your presence, were rumored to run home crying with a bleeding nose and terrified shriek.  You never put down the rumors… because maybe it had happened once or twice…

Over time The Party was no longer just a band of middle schoolers.  It had opened up to their babysitter, being you, a senior girl who had not many other friends.  Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, which the boys always claimed was strictly because of family relations.  Not because Dustin was still harbouring a crush for Mike’s older sister.  The town Sheriff, Jim Hopper, who’d proved himself not to be an asshole, and turned out an alright guy.  Joyce Byers, whom you loved like a mother and whom treated you like her own daughter.  You’d frequently been titled ‘the daughter she wished to have had’ which always raised a snarky response from her sons.  Maxine (just Max.  Never Maxine) Hargrove, a high spirited and not your typical girl that you grew fond of easily.  Especially since she was nothing like her big brother.

And then there was Steve Harrington.  Who… really just was at the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up getting roped into the mess that Hawkins Lab had created.  King Steve, as you’d known him before you’d officially met last year by fluke accident, was always the popular boy that had a pretty girl hanging off his arm.  You weren’t sure why that changed so quickly, why he didn’t put himself out there as much as he used to, didn’t party hard anymore, wasn’t bragging about the new girl he was with that week like he was known for.  Maybe that day, when he walked into the Wheeler’s house right as you Nancy and Jonathan were awaiting the Demogorgon’s arrival, maybe he changed then.

Or maybe it was after he’d been sucked into… whatever this all was… and he changed to keep the secret.  Or maybe it was after Nancy had broken up with him, around the same time he started growing closer to Dustin.

But right now as you watched him directing the kids, you were more aware that he wasn’t King Steve anymore, that you had been before.  Sure, you’d realized somewhere along the way he was different.  But it wasn’t until now that you noticed it completely as it was.

“No listen you little shits, no one, is going anywhere” Steve ordered, holding a wash rag in his hand and pointing it between each of the boys, and girl, that stood in front of him.

“Friggin’ pointless just staying here” Dustin grumbled, walking out of the room whilst still muttering.  Mike groaned loudly, dramatically, and left to the living room with Max and Lucas.  You knew that he was still plotting you get out there tonight.  Consequences and dangers be damned.

You looked to Steve with a sigh, a lazy smile on your lips as you walked past him to go after Dustin.  He watched you go, letting out a breath as well as he put his hands on his hips and standing alone in the hall with his thoughts.

He’d give his life to protect these kids.

“Dusty?” You called gently as you walked into the kitchen, seeing Dustin sitting on the floor against the dishwasher.  Your brows furrowed as you sat across from him by the cabinets.  “You alright kiddo?”

“Would I be sitting in here brooding if I was?” He quipped, though you knew he meant well.

“Sweetheart you’re too adorable to be a brooder” You laughed softly, pulling your knees up slightly.  “A pouter maybe, but not a brooder”

“Thanks y/n” He responded dryly.  You rolled your eyes in response to his sarcasm.

“Come on kid, open up a little.  It’s me” Your words were soft, which did prompt Dustin to consider explaining to you his thoughts.  “Please? If we make it out of this alive I’ll take you to the arcade.  I’ve got a big jar full of quarters I’ve saved up-”

“Okay okay I’ll take the bribe” Dustin caved with a laugh that made your mood lighten.  “Look it’s gonna sound lame and cheesy but… everyone else is helping.  Jonathan and Nance and Mrs Byers and Hopper and Elle, but what am I doing?”

“You’re staying safe” Your answer came out instantly, but it didn’t seem to be the one the boy was looking for.

“No I’m not, I’m sitting on the sidelines, watching everyone else go be heroes and getting hurt.  I’m not doing a damn thing!”

“Hey” You hummed softly, and scooted over closer to put your head on his shoulder.  “You’re a hero Dustin.  Don’t tell yourself any differently.  All of you are, Mike too, and Lucas, and Max, and-”

“Steve?” Dustin offered, and you nodded, looking at him confusedly by the strange tone of voice he used.

“Of course, why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason” Dustin shrugged nonchalantly, brushing off the uncomfortable air between you both.

“Alright well, you should believe me” You continued.  “Even if you don’t think so, you’re all my heroes, got it Henderson?” The boy smiled and nodded, prompting you to push the cap of his hat down playfully before he could get up and leave the room.

“Mike’s probably still planning his attack” He told you, but you shrugged and waved a hand.

“Let him plot and brood” You said, and Dustin’s mouth fell open.

“How come Mike can brood but I can’t?” You rolled your eyes, still waving your hand for him to get out of here.

“Just go plot with him, I know you’re itching to” You said, and he grinned wide at you, glad you were letting him go plan their escape and attack.

“Thanks y/n!” He called, already racing out of the room.  “You’re the best!” You laughed, shaking your head as you stood back up and dusted off the pants of your overalls.  Steve came in a few moments later, watching you almost suspiciously.

“What?” You questioned, and he shrugged, shaking his head.

“Nothing.  Just wondering why you’re permitting them to conspire against us” He said.

“They’re not conspiring, they’re just discussing.  No harm in that”

“Um, every harm in that.  As in all of us, being harmed, because of that” He said, but you didn’t really seem to care what he thought about it.

“They’re fine, we’re all fine, don’t freak out so much mom” You said, walking out towards the kids and seeing them all circled up and discussing their big plan.

“I’m not a mom” Steve argued, and you chuckled, turning to see him, his dish rag on his shoulder, hands on hips.  It only made you laugh more.

“Mhm, alright.  Well then what would you call yourself?” You replied sarcastically, nodding towards his own stance, and making Steve second guess himself.

“This- you-! Alright whatever just stay away from the windows and go be safe somewhere” He muttered, walking into the living room where the kids were.  You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the smile on your lips.

Perhaps, you thought, King Steve was the king of something else now.

You watched as he was waving his rag at the kids again, yelling at them for plotting behind his back, and reminding them that no one was going anywhere.  But even as Dustin pouted, Steve was rubbing his hand over the thirteen year old’s head.  Almost soothingly, like he felt bad for ending their little meeting.

“What a mom” You mumbled, and headed back into the kitchen for something to eat.

You used to resent Steve, back when he was the king of school and didn’t care about anything more than he cared about his popularity and his hair.  Back when he didn’t give a shit about pretty much anything.  And looking at him now and seeing him watch over these kids, you could physically feel your heart swelling.  If that isn’t character development, you weren’t sure what was.

You weren’t sure why it made you feel so bubbly either.

“Listen runts, we’re staying here, we’re staying safe, and we’re not dying!” Steve said, for what felt like the fifth time.  But Mike kept arguing back at him.

“Everyone else is out there!”

“Everyone else knows how to fight all that shit!” Steve retorted.  “We are staying, here” He repeated slowly, waving his rag between each word.  “You got that?”

“You’re just saying that cause y/n’s here.  If she wasn’t here, we’d all be getting in your car and going!” Lucas spoke up.  Your brows furrowed at that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, ignoring your search for food and now strutting into the room where everyone else was.  “Am I dragging you down?” You asked, almost sarcastic, but wondering what he’d actually meant by his announcement.  Were you dragging them down?

“No, Steve would just protect your ass over our asses” Max shrugged, and the others nodded.

“What the hell? Everyone here is protecting their own asses, I’m not getting killed for a bunch of kids!” Steve said, making flustered and jerky movements.  You brushed off their newly sprung argument over where Steve’s bat is swinging and who it’s swinging for.

Apparently, The Party was certain that he’d die for you, rather die for them.  But you didn’t care much about what they thought.  They’d always thought that you and Steve were meant to be some power couple, but you supposed it was just cause you were the same age and the kids only ever saw you two together.  There was no real evidence (as far as they showed) towards the ‘chemistry’ you and Steve supposedly had.

You wandered to the window, curiously looking out it with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Will you just shut up?” Mike’s yelling made you jump a little, and you turned to see your friends all still arguing with each other.  You smiled slightly, meeting Steve’s eyes as he gave you a bored look.  You just laughed a little bit back at him.  Steve’s expression softened into a small smile.  Your face flushed with heat, and you nervously turned away from him to look back out the window again.

A light blinded you almost instantly, making you squint your eyes and put a hand over them to try and clear your vision.

“What the hell?” You muttered, leaning closer to the glass to see what was going on.  Headlights, there was a car here.  Someone was here.  “Steve?” You called, not turning away from the window.  He came over right away, looking outside to see a familiar Camaro parked in the driveway.

“Shit” He grumbled, walking towards the front door.

“What- where are you going? Who is it?” You asked, following quickly after him, but Steve quickly turned to make you stay back.

“Just stay in here-”

“Sinclair!” A voice hollered from outside, and you jumped, eyes widening as you recognized it.  “I know you’re in there!”

“Billy?” You whispered to Steve, who nodded.  You stepped backwards, eyes never leaving Steve’s.  “What’s he doing here?” Your voice was quiet.

Billy Hargrove, was the most vile, horrible person you’d ever met.  And his wicked ways of bending people to his will, shook you intensely to your core.  It was no secret to the others that Billy not only terrified you, but would seductively torture you every day.  Sure, you’d been picked on before, but this was different.  Every day he’d come to you, hoping to get something out of you, just to mess with you.

“Come on babe, a little kiss, just a little one, we can discuss the rest later”

“You don’t want to get a ride home with me and have some fun?”

“When’re you finally gonna give this up and just put out?”

You shuddered slightly, practically feeling his hot breath against your skin just thinking about the things he’s said to you.  Stopping you in the hallways, finding you at your locker, approaching you while you waited at Steve’s car for a ride home.

“I know you’re in there you little pig! Come out here or I’ll have to go in!” His voice was dangerous, threatening.  And you felt a legitimate fear for your life, and the kids’.

“It’s fine, you’re fine, I promise” Steve said quietly, out of earshot of the others.  “All of you stay here, stay away from the windows” He ordered, giving you one last look before you turned and went to The Party.  They needed you right now, all huddled around Lucas and Max to make sure if Billy were to look inside, he wouldn’t see them.

“Come on guys” You said softly, ushering them as far away from the window as you could.  Steve, on the other hand, opened the door and stepped outside.

Instead of hiding in a room, completely out of sight of the maniac, you all ducked under the windowsill to see what was happening.

“Am I dreaming or is that really you Harrington?” You felt your entire body quivering upon hearing Billy’s voice.  Dustin, who was crouched next to you, turned and gave you a worried look, but your eyes were dead set on the outside.

“Yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants” Steve responded, walking out towards him as he pulled off his leather jacket.

“What’re you doing here amigo?” Billy asked, the cigarette hanging off his lips moving as he spoke.

“I could ask you the same thing” Steve responded, void of emotion.  “Amigo”

“Lookin’ for my step sister.  Little birdie told me she was here”

“Huh, that’s weird I don’t know her” Steve lied easily, and convincingly.  You prayed to God that Billy believed him.

“Small? Redhead?” Billy replied disbelievingly.  “Bit of a bitch?”

“Ashole” Max muttered to herself inside.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry buddy” Steve replied, still not sounding like he cared even an inkling.  Billy nodded, taking out his cigarette.

“You know… I don’t how this, this whole situation Harrington is um.., it’s giving me the heebie jeebies” Billy said, looking at Steve a little more threateningly.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“My thirteen year old sister goes missing all day, and then I find her with you” Billy pointed accusatory hands towards Steve, giving him a disgusted look.  “In a strangers house” He continued.  “And you lie to me about it” Steve chuckled bitterly, shaking his head and looking away for a moment.

“Yeah, maybe you were dropped too much as a child or what” Steve said snarkily.  But Billy just grinned his twisted grin and licked his tongue over the front of his teeth.  “I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said”

You felt a chill go down your spine as Steve’s protectiveness took over his tone.  Dustin beside you mumbling a quiet, “Holy shit”

“She’s not here” Steve said carefully.  Billy nodded, looking pointedly towards the window where you and The Party were all huddled and looking out of.

“Then who’s that?” He asked, pointing his cigarette towards his sister.

“Down!” You hissed, and the five of you dropped to the floor so fast you all groaned from the impact of the floor.

“Shit!” Dustin cursed.  “Did he see us?”

“Oh shit” Steve grumbled.  “Okay listen-” Billy pushed him to the ground before he could explain anything.  The boy kicked him, before storming up into the house.

“Well well well” Billy smirked, seeing you and The Party standing there together, you in front of all of them.  “y/n l/n, what a lovely little surprise” You grimaced, but he didn’t seem to care.  “And Lucas Sinclair, not so much a surprise at all” You moved over more in front of Lucas, who’s hands grabbed onto your arm out of fear.  “I thought I told you to stay away from him Max”

“Billy, go away” Max retorted, but her voice wavered.

“You disobeyed me” Billy leaned over his step sister tauntingly.  “And you know what happens when you disobey me” He added in a hushed, volatile voice.

“Billy-”

“I break things” He uttered, before pushing you aside, crashing your body into the wall.  Before slamming Lucas up against the cupboards.

“Billy stop!” Max and the others began to yell, Dustin rushing over to help you up, but you were already standing up on your own.

“Get off of me!” Lucas cried.

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will” Billy muttered.  “You stay away from her.  Stay-! Away from her” He yelled awkwardly.  “Do you hear me?”

“I said get off me!” Lucas screamed again, followed by a knee between Billy’s legs.  You gasped, feeling a moment of pride as Billy stumbled back and released him.

“You are so dead Sinclair!” Billy hollered.  “You’re dead-”

“No” Steve grabbed Billy by the shoulder, spinning him around roughly.  “You are” And with that he swung his fist and planted it hard enough against Billy’s jaw to make him topple over.

“Steve!” You yelped out of surprise.  He looked at you for a moment, nodding in reassurance as he shook out his hand.  It’d been a while since he’d hit anybody.  Billy stood back up, laughing menacingly.  “You’re a fucking psycho!” You screeched before you could stop yourself.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all huh!?” He yelled at Steve.  “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about” He stepped closer to Steve, glaring at him.

“Get out” Steve muttered, pushing Billy’s chest lightly to move him away from him.  Billy stepped back and stood there for a moment.  And after a few seconds passed you were certain that he was going to stay back.

Until he swung swiftly at Steve, but missed as Steve ducked just in time.  You gasped, clapping your hands over your mouth in terror.  Steve stood back up and swung his fist again, hitting Billy and making him stumble again.

“Yes! Get him Steve!” Dustin cheered, and the others began to as well.  You couldn’t find yourself to say anything, just wince every time a punch was made.  Steve hit him two more times, and Billy ran into the kitchen sink.  Leaning back and wincing in pain.

“Kill him! Kill him!” Mike was yelling.  But Billy grabbed a plate of the counter, smashing it over Steve’s head, and making him fall to the ground.

“Steve!” You screamed now, taking long strides to get over to him, only to be pushed away by Billy.  Who hit Steve as soon as he stood up again.  He grabbed Steve by the shoulders, staring him down.

“No one.  Tells me what to do” He muttered angrily, and threw his head forward hard into Steve’s knocking him down again.

“Fucking hell” You mumbled, tears beginning to prick your eyes in fear that Billy was actually going to kill Steve.  The mullet wearing psycho leapt onto Steve, pinning him down and swinging punch after punch against his face.

“Stop it!” Mike yelled at the top of his lungs, but it did nothing to end Billy’s attack.

“Steve!” Dustin hollered.

You stood frozen, every scene in front of you soundless, and moving slowly.  You could only feel your heart in your chest, sending you into an anxiety attack, you were sure.  But it barely mattered to you in that moment.  You turned away, and your eyes landed on something.

The syringe used on Will earlier.

Sleep… put him to sleep… your thoughts were broken as you reached for it, looking at it in your hands for a few seconds, before stepping forward and slamming the needle into Billy’s neck without a hesitation.  Mike and Dustin gasped, standing back.  Everyone’s eyes stuck on the syringe hanging out of BIlly’s neck now.  A disgust filling them up at the sight.

“Shit y/n” Dustin mumbled, his hand covering his mouth to stop vomit from flowing.

Billy stood up, wobbling slightly as he turned to look at you.  He pulled the needle out of his neck, vision beginning to fail.  “The hell is this?” He asked, trying to step towards you threateningly, but he was wobbling so much you didn’t even move.  No longer afraid of him.

“You’re fucking done Hargrove” You muttered, and before thinking twice to second guess yourself, punching him across the jaw, and sending him back on his ass.  Billy groaned, staying down where he’d fallen against the couch.

“Shit what did you do” He mumbled, growing dizzy from the mix of drug and pain.

A few moments later he completely passed out.

“Fuck” You hissed in pain, putting your bruising knuckles against your mouth.  You didn’t think punching someone would hurt so damn much.

“y/n holy shit”

“Are you okay?”

“That was badass!”

The Party was fussing and cheering for you, but you didn’t respond, kneeling down by Steve next and counting up all the cuts and bruises he was beginning to sport.  He was unconscious, that was for sure.  But he’d be in for a world of hurt when he woke up.

“Come on, help me get him back to Jon’s bed” You called to the kids.

It was difficult moving him, but after ten minutes you’d managed to get him into Jonathan’s room to lie on the bed there.  You were sat next to him, a cold wet rag in your hand, and the open first aid kit on the ground.  It took you awhile to clean off all the blood and apply bandages where you thought they were necessary.  There was a frozen bag of peas you’d put over one of his eyes to stop the swelling, but so far it still looked pretty bad.

The Party had sat with you for what felt like a long time before you told them to go back to the living room and wait for the others to return home.  Dustin put up a small fight about it, but eventually gave in and listened to your order.  And now it was just you kneeling on the ground by Steve, watching over him carefully.  Making sure he was breathing okay, and that nothing would begin to bleed again.

“Well King Steve, you got quite the ass kicking” You mumbled, just to yourself.  Your fingers placed a few stray hairs on his forehead back into place.  “But your crown is still there” You smiled to yourself, fingertips gently brushing his hair.

“y/n?” Your eyes looked back at him as he mumbled, almost incoherently.  “What happened?” The poor boy’s eyes weren’t even open.

“You put up a really good fight” You told him softly.  He winced, the pain probably beginning to settle in.

“Did I win?” He groaned, eyes clenching shut momentarily.  You bit down on your lip and shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.

“You put up a really good fight” You repeated yourself, playing with his hair again.  Steve sighed, knowing the answer.

“Is he gone?” He asked, eyes finally beginning to flutter open.

“Yeah… yeah he won’t be back any time soon, I’m sure” You answered.  Steve looked up at you, smiling down gently at him.  He smiled back instantly, and moved his arm to push your hair back, but even at it’s slight movement you winced in pain.  “You’re in pretty bad shape” You told him quietly.  “But you’ll heal up alright”

“Are you okay?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine” You shrugged slightly.  “We’re all really worried about you.  Dustin thought you were dead” Steve chuckled painfully, shaking his head a little bit.

“Are they alright? Max and Lucas?”

“Yeah, we’re all good Steve” You hummed with a slight nod.  You leaned forward, a little closer to him to check on the eye swelled under the bag of peas.  You frowned, seeing the black and blue bruise that only seemed to be spreading.

“I’m alright, don’t fuss so much” Steve said, putting his hand over the bag and pushing it back against his face.  Your eyes met his for a moment.

“You’re pretty bruised up Harrington” You sighed, taking the wet rag in your hand and dabbing it gently on his bruised cheek.  “There’s not an inch of your face spared”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll heal up”

“Years from now, maybe” You replied sarcastically, and he smiled at you while you carefully pressed the cold cloth to his face.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He murmured, and you looked at him for the briefest of seconds before going back to work.  Now is not the time to talk about feelings, you thought to yourself.

“Yeah? Go play hero some more and you’ll never see anything again” You told him, and he shrugged slightly, not having a response to that.

“I just wanted to remind you.  In case you haven’t been told in a while” He said.  You bit on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too much.  You looked down at him, your eyes softening slightly.

You leaned over closer to him, pausing for a moment before pressing your lips lightly against his.  It was a chaste kiss, only lasting a few seconds as you didn’t want to hurt him anymore than he already was.  When you pulled back, you smiled nervously at him, and he only smiled back at you.

“You’re lucky you didn’t die Harrington” You said, and got right back to work on pressing the rag to his wounds.

“That I am” He replied cheekily.

You giggled softly, smiling down at him and wondering just when he’d changed so much.

You knew he’d give his life for these kids too, just like you would.

love me some babysitter steve

xoxo ~ jordie

[lovinpages]

SPOILERS FOR THRONE OF GLASS (and Crescent City a bit too)!

I finished KOA. How do I even move on from this series now 😭

I absolutely can’t stop thinking about it! Rowan and Fenrys omg but all the men are amazing in this series. Yes, even Chaol in the last two books. But Rowan my goodness a new bookboyfriend for sure 😂

So here comes a dump of my thoughts on the last book.

- The first part of the book was the most intens for me. And the best part of the book too.

- I can’t stop thinking about how Fenrys and Aelin had this communication blinking thing I absolutely loved that! How she escaped and the first thing she did was go to Fenrys. But my god he couldn’t do anything for Aelin in there and still they found a way to be together, even though the pain they both had to go through. How he cried when he had to take the glass out of her legs… 😭

- I loved how she couldn’t really talk or touch Rowan after the escape. But when she had the chance, she went looking for wedding rings. It was such a beautiful moment.

- Rowan did everything he could for Aelin. How broken he was when she was with Maeve. Just how his pov was about her, it was all so amazing. His pov was my absolute favorite thing of the entire series. He would do anything to get to her, even if it would hurt him. Like cutting himself in his shoulder to get that piece of iron out, to get to her. It blew my mind. Not even sure how to describe it all. He is amazing in every way possible.

- Also it kinda bothered me how Aelin wouldn’t let Dorian help her. She never planned doing it together, she would safe him at that Lock even though they decided to do it together. She would just do everything alone, only sacrifice herself. It got irritating at some point. Aelin didn’t even think about what Rowan would have to go through if she actually died. Yes she would safe the world. But it felt like she only cared about that, about wanting the war to end. Rowan lost a ‘mate’ before. And if she would die, like she planned several times, he would have to live without her. He would do anything to solve it, so she wouldn’t have to die, but she only thought about ‘it was her fate’. Come on Aelin, think about the pain Rowan would have to go through?! It broke my heart when she just went in that Lock and Rowan could do nothing but just stand there and watch. HE HAD TO WATCH. How could she do it to him, just sacrificing herself and if it wasn’t for the Lock, it would be to kill Maeve. She knew she would die, and I can’t believe the pain Rowan would have to go through. She didn’t even let him talk or try to solve it so she wouldn’t have to. I don’t know what it was, but it irritated me.

- I never thought it would hurt so much that the thirteen died. What it did to Manon. 😭

- And how hard it was for Aedion that his father died. He would’t really talk to him, didn’t even want to be near him at first. But in the end he cared about him so so so much. I still don’t really get why SJM needed to kill him…?! It happened so fast and it wasn’t like he needed to sacrifice himself at that point?! The thirteen, they had no choice, if they didn’t sacrifice, everyone would die. But Gavriel, he just went through the gate, it closed, and he killed a bunch of Valg. But there were so much more Valg left, what was the point of going through that gate?! It felt as such an easy way to kill him, not needed at all. 😭

- And Connall. I wish we learned more about him. What happened in that throne room with Maeve, who Connall was to Fenrys (except his twin brother, that was clear).

- With this many pov’s, it would’ve been so much better for me if it was devided into two books. I wish we got more time with each couple. Elide and Lorcan, Aedion and Lysandra. I wanted to learn so much more about them together. I read that they’re both mates. But I didn’t really read that in the books. Not only do I want to know what Lorcan did with Elide OMG. But also Lysandra and Aedion. It was detailed at some points, but in the end it felt rushed and absolutely not complete, even though they got married. Talking about getting married. WHY DID SJM WRITE ALMOST NONE OF THE WEDDING SCENES. I wanted to read those sooo bad!

- It also felt so rushed when Aedion did the blood oath. It was so important to him and yes he was crying through the entire process (omg 😭) but still I wish they would talk about it so much more, make it much bigger than it was now.

- I just wished the book would’ve had more moments of calm with the characters. Not even sexy times. Of course I wouldn’t mind though 😏 but just talking with each other. Not talking about the war, but personal talks. Getting to know each other and telling secrets, spending time together. Sometimes it felt like we were going from one battlefield to the other. And planning, planning and even more planning. It got frustrating at some point which is sad because all SJM books are absolutely 5+ stars to me. And some books feel like they deserve like 18 stars but this one… I did rate it with 5 stars. But that was mostly for the first part of the book. Even though we get most answers, for such a complicated story, with so many pov’s and details, it’s still incomplete. Please please pleaaase let there be more. Crescent City 3 please?! With Rowan pov as well please?!?!

- Crescent city must be a book of at least 2000 pages my goodness how is she gonna bring everything together with so many amazing stories?!

- But okay about tog: I still don’t really get what Maeve wanted. Yes she wanted the keys but why? And what does it mean that she’s a Valg queen? Was she possessed by a Valg? Was there a person before the Valg? Where did she come from, who was she? Or was she and Erawan and his brothers a Valg in the other worlds, and was there never a person to begin with? I still don’t get it. And the gods too, I don’t understand it all. It was such a complicated story. Amazing, but complicated. And how that all ended… it just didn’t feel as strong as the rest of the story.

- Also. If that Lock was made to lock Erawan. Why didn’t they lock them in there. Why did he had to be killed, what was so important that someone from Mala’s family had to die, and in the end not even locking Erawan with it, but needed to kill him? The gods had to be locked… but the story was about Erawan who was locked when Evalin (or what was her name?) made that mistake. That also was a bit weird to me. Only because of a mistake, the whole world was in danger, only to safe her mate? And now Aelin can’t be safed for her mate? That whole Lock part was so confusing in this last book. I still don’t really get it, and it feels incomplete somehow. What happened exactly, why were Erawan and Maeve in this world, why did they create the Valg, who were they, where did they come from, why did they need to be locked, where did that portal came from in the first place, how did they get in this world? What are their exact powers? What did the gods do, where did they come from, why couldn’t they help and safe them? I do believe I just missed some things in the book, I mean it’s so complex and so much. But still, I missed something in this entire story.

I loved the entire series. It was such a strong story. But the ending of it all, it wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t a bad ending, it was written well, and I can’t really tell why it feels incomplete, rushed, as if it’s missing information. I love everything that Sarah writes. Absolutely everything. But a complex and strong story like this one needs an incredible ending, which it just wasn’t to me. This book was the least of the entire series somehow. And that makes me a little sad. I loved that series so much. I started caring about everything so much.

I have to mention that I read KOA in two days though 😂 which is a LOT of information in two days hahahah so yeah I definitely need to reread them and see what I missed the first time. Sometimes I just read stuff online and I’m like omg was that even said in the book?!

Okay for now this is it. Applause to everyone who made it to the end of my ToG feelings dump 😂 I’m sure there will be more soon 🤣

[daryldaddydixon]

Second Father

Hi guys 😄 I’m back again with another 3am crack fic!

Summary: Daryl and the reader begin to develop a father/daughter relationship and after giving Daryl a scare she surprises him even more.

Warnings: Daryl x Daughter/Teen!reader, gunshot wound, twd type violence, cuteness and fluff

*not my gif*

You were only thirteen when the apocalypse began. You and your parents had been lucky enough to stumble upon a camp of survivors in an abandoned quarry after escaping the city. At first, the group of survivors that had taken you in were wary of your family and you all understood why, but they soon warmed up to you. One member of the group was especially fond of you. Daryl Dixon. Initially, he wanted nothing to do with you, thinking you were just some helpless, scared kid. You finally started to grow on the hot-head after asking him to teach you how to hunt. You saw how he provided for the camp and you wanted to learn so you could help provide for the camp too. He rudely declined your first few requests but you hit him back with your own sarcasm and didn’t let his rudeness get to you. You persisted in asking him to teach you until he finally caved. With the consent of your parents, he promised you one hour, no more and you happily accepted.

Within that one hour you shocked him with how easily you picked up tracking skills. You even helped him track a deer and then caught your own squirrel with Daryl’s crossbow. Of course he helped you hold it up to aim since it was heavy but you still took all the credit and he gladly let you. After that day you became Daryl’s protégée and he started taking you out on lessons regularly. Your parents were very fond of the archer and grew to trust him with their only daughter’s life. At first Merle thought Daryl was stupid for getting attached to some random kid but eventually you even grew on the older Dixon. Eventually you had earned the nickname Mini Dixon, having managed to gain the affection of both brothers. Though you mainly stuck by Daryl’s side as Merle was still a bigger ass than Daryl ever was. Between your parents and the Daryl you managed to find happiness even in the middle of the end of the world.

When the new guy, Rick, arrived and you found out Merle was left behind in the city you were sad. Despite you always being closer to Daryl and Merle being an ass you knew that Merle had cared for you to some capacity and you didn’t wish for him to die. You went to find Daryl to see if he was okay but when you found him he had yelled at you for the first time since before he took you on your first hunting lesson. Being the little fire cracker you were, you yelled back before walking off so you could both cool down. Daryl had felt terrible about yelling at you and went to apologize before going back to Atlanta to look for Merle. You wanted to go with him and the other guys but he quickly shut that idea down and instead made you promise to keep your parents and the camp safe. You pinky promised him. And when the walkers invaded the camp you fought with everything you had to keep that promise but you couldn’t. You couldn’t protect your parents, let alone the rest of camp.

Once Daryl and rest of the group returned from Atlanta he immediately ran to find you, fighting his way through walkers. When he finally found you his heart broke for you. He had found you crying over the corpses that were your parents. The archer couldn’t find any words so he just knelt down and hugged you while you cried. Ever since that night Daryl had unofficially taken over the role of your guardian.

Without Merle, you were the one person Daryl cared about more than anything. He’d never admit it but over time he started to view you as his own daughter.

Daryl was beyond relieved when they group found the prison. He was glad that you would have a safe place to live and grow up in. During your time at the prison you and Daryl grew closer than ever. He showed you new tracking and hunting techniques and even managed to find you your own crossbow while he was out on a run. Now that you were slightly older and bigger you were able to hold it up on your own. He even taught you how to make you own arrows like he did.

Since you had your own crossbow and were older you finally convinced Daryl to take you on a run.

That’s where you were now, rummaging through an abandoned drug store. After deeming the store clear you, Daryl and Glenn agreed to split up to cover more ground.

“Be careful, kid. Weapon up, got it?” Daryl warned.

“Got it,” you said and Daryl smiled at you before going down his aisle.

Unfortunately, the store wasn’t completely cleared. When you crossed over into your next aisle you came face to face with a burly man who had his gun drawn. Before you could act he pulled the trigger.

Daryl heard the gunshot from a few aisles down and sprinted towards the source of the shot.

“Y/N!” He called out.

When he found your body unconscious on the ground the man who shot you didn’t have to time to finish reloading his gun before Daryl tackled him.

“What did you do!” He screamed, punching the man before grabbing his knife and the stabbing it through the shooter’s face.

“No, no, no, no,” he mumbled crawling over to your body, “Glenn!” He screamed.

“Daryl? Y/N,” Glenn called, rounding the corner to find Daryl frantically tying his belt around your torso to stop the bleeding.

“Get the car! Now!” Daryl said. He didn’t bother looking up as Glenn made a run for the car. He focused on tying his belt around you as tight as he could before lifting you up and running to the car.

“Drive! Now!” Daryl called from the backseat. “You’re gonna be okay. Ya hear kid? You’re gonna be just fine. You’re gonna be okay,” he kept repeating this until you reached the gates of the prison where you were taken by Hershel and Maggie. Daryl wanted to follow you and sit while they worked on you in your cell but Rick held him back. “Give them room to help her,” Rick had said. Now Daryl was just pacing back and forth in the hall right out side your cell. Rick and Carol both tried to get the archer to sit down and rest or eat but he refused.

Daryl couldn’t focus on anything but his thoughts. You had to be okay. You had to, Daryl couldn’t bear to loose you. Over the past year you had become the daughter Daryl never got to have and you couldn’t leave him now. Not like this. You couldn’t die like this you were only a kid.

It was nearly sunset by the time Hershel pulled back the curtain and walked out of your cell.

“Is she okay?” Daryl asked immediately, his voice slightly cracking.

“She’ll be okay,” Hershel nodded, “the bullet went clean through, it’ll be some time but eventually the Mini Dixon will be good as new,” Hershel smiled, “she’s still sleeping but you can see her now. She won’t be awake for a while.”

“Thank you,” Daryl gasped out as his system flooded with relief. Hershel nodded in response.

Daryl took a deep breath before entering your cell. Even though he had just heard that you would be okay the sight of you pale and unconscious broke his heart. He pulled a chair up next to your bed and took one of your hands in his.

“Hey, kid,” he whispered, “gave me a scare back there. It’s okay though, Hershel says ya gonna be fine. So I just need ya to rest up and then open up them pretty eyes. Okay, kid?” Daryl swallowed his tears as he watched you lay there, helpless.

Hours passed and different people came in to check on you but Daryl couldn’t keep track of who. He was too focused on you. After a while, your eyelids fluttered open and you woke up feeling severely disoriented.

“Y/N,” you heard someone call your name. The voice was echoey but familiar though you couldn’t quite place a face to the voice. That’s when you felt the weight in your hand and looked over the side of your bed though your vision was clouded with black blots. Bits and pieces of what happened slowly started to com back to you. The drug store, the man, the feeling of hitting the tiled floor when he pulled the trigger.

“Hey, kid. There’s them pretty eyes. You’re okay, ya need rest. Sleep, kid.” You heard the voice say. It sounded like a man.

“M’kay dad,” you slurred, “love you,” and you passed out again.

Daryl stared at you in shock as you fell back into a deep sleep. Sure, he had always thought of you as his daughter but hearing you call him “dad” made it so real. Letting a tear slip, he squeezed your hand and placed a kiss on your forehead.

You didn’t wake up again for a few hours and this time you remembered everything. Even calling Daryl “dad”. You mentally smacked yourself. Sure, you had thought of Daryl as a second father since your biological dad died but you knew he wasn’t one for emotions so you kept that to yourself.

Finally coming out of your thoughts you noticed the cell was empty and a sob escaped your mouth followed by a wince as you remembered your wound. Daryl was gone. Did you scare him away by calling him dad? What if he thought you were crazy?

In reality Daryl just had to use the bathroom and he was on his way back to your cell when he heard your sob. He ripped the curtain open and saw you awake and crying.

“Y/N,” he knelt down next to your bed, “what’s wrong, kid?” He gave you a moment to catch your breath before responding. “I thought you left me,” you said tearfully, breaking Daryl’s heart for the hundredth time in twenty four hours.

“Why would ya think that, kid?” Daryl was confused, he’d never abandon you and he thought you knew that. You hesitated before responding.

“Last night, I, uh, I called you dad. Thought I freaked you out and that you decided to leave me.” You admitted. Daryl was silent for a moment.

“I didn’t mind it,” he confessed. And it was true, he always saw you as his daughter and hearing you call him dad just felt right even if I was shocking.

“Really?” You questioned with wide eyes. He nodded at you. “So,” you hesitated, “would it be okay if I, uh, called you that from now on? I kinda of, um, seen you as a father since, uh ya know,” you trailed off. Daryl knew what you were referring to, the night your parents died.

“If you want ta,” he said, “I, um, I don’t mind it, kid.” You smiled at him.

“So then that makes you my Dad,” you smirked up at the man as he smiled down at you.

“Sure do, kid. Sure do. Now get some rest and heal up,” he patted your head and kissed your temple.

Looking at you smile at him before closing your eyes to sleep, Daryl silently promised to be the best father possible. He vowed to be nothing like his own father. You were his daughter, biological or not, and Daryl would protect you with everything he had.

[engagemachine]

"You're so gentle," she tells me. They all say it. I hear it from my patients every time I take their arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it, or when I place my stethoscope on their belly, or when I rub circles into their back when I've helped them sit up on the side of the bed for the first time in three days. Sometimes they cry, because it's the first tender touch they've felt since they've been in the hospital. It's very humbling and at the same time very concerning -- why has no one else offered this tenderness to you? Why am I always the first?

But I don't feel gentle. Not when a pair of ribs are cracking beneath my hands as I'm doing chest compressions on a Covid patient who's stopped breathing--the second time I've administered CPR on a Covid patient in two days. I don't feel gentle when I'm wrestling with a patient and begging for them to keep their oxygen mask on. When I have to hold them down and hold them still so my coworker can draw a blood sample. I don't feel gentle when I'm inserting a nasogastric tube down someone's nose, then throat, and into their belly while they're gagging around the tube and their arms are flailing. And I don't feel gentle when I'm washing a sacral wound with bleach and they're crying because it hurts. I don't feel gentle when I have to shout, beg, and plead for patients to listen, when I tell patients they're going to die if they don't keep their oxygen mask on. I don't feel gentle when I have to place a patient in restraints, or when I call a family member and tell them that their loved one's condition hasn't improved. I don't feel gentle when a patient tells me they can't breathe, they can't breathe, I can't breathe, and I'm yelling for coworkers to call the doctor while I'm cycling through different oxygen masks and trying to administer medication to slow their respirations and calm their anxiety.

I'm writing this because I feel like I've been living a little bit behind a veneer on here, although I know deep down that's not really true; I have always wanted my blog to feel like a positive space for anyone and everyone, including myself. I come here to have fun and destress and that's why you usually don't see me reblogging content having to do with politics or global news. I think it's possible to create a healthy space where one does talk about those things and spreads awareness for important causes, but for me, Tumblr is where I come when I need to escape the harsh realities of real life. This is my platform where I can indulge in my fictional proclivities and interests, where I can appreciate art, photography, beautiful writing, my favorite films, music, and cute animals. That's what this space is about. I also have loved meeting new people and getting to know my readers and making new friends and chatting about my stories. That's why I'm here and I thank you all so, so much for indulging me in my passions and for encouraging my writing the way that you have: it has helped me weather the current storm of stress I am feeling in more ways than I could possibly convey.

But I have to be very honest with you all about how much I've been struggling lately, as I feel like I'm reaching a breaking point and I'm somewhat at a loss for how to handle it.

Since September of last year, I've been on an accelerated track to finish the degree I'm working towards, which is a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. I've been a nurse for four years, but I graduated from a two-year nursing program versus a four-year program because I wanted to get into the field earlier than some of my peers, which has been great. Anyway, my school counselor/mentor and I agreed that I could obtain my BSN in a year if I really pushed myself. The program I'm in is self-paced, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Most of my classes I have finished in about three to four weeks. Other classes, like biochemistry, took substantially longer, about seven or eight weeks, if I remember correctly. All of the classes have relied on my ability to self-teach, as there are no scheduled lectures to attend, only assigned readings and videos to watch, if you choose to do so. Fast forward to the end of May, when I went to visit some family, and, upon my return home, really started to lose some of my motivation to complete my classes. I was meant to finish my program in August (this month) but agreed with my mentor that I would take a short break and put my last three classes on hold so that I could resume the program in September. I've enjoyed approximately a month off from school, but "enjoyed" is a term I use loosely here as I was also picking up extra shifts at work because we've been so short staffed and losing nurses left and right.

Which brings me to the main cause of my stress. This pandemic has completely changed the landscape for how I administer care to my patients, and the stress of the care itself has been so utterly overwhelming at times I can hardly bear it. I broke down in tears at work on Sunday morning, shortly after 4:30 am, right there at the the nurse's station, and was sobbing so hard that my supervisor had to pull me away so that I could have some privacy. I wish I could tell you that I sobbed harder than I have in a long time--but I had sobbed at work with that same intensity just four weeks prior, only, I had been alone at the time. It's becoming a trend--I either cry at work or I cry at home--because the stress of this job has become unbearable.

I wish--I desperately wish--I could convey to you the seriousness of Covid. I think so much of the world has already decided to move on from it because they're so tired of having to deal with it and, quite simply, are ready to return to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore and when--or if--we'll ever be able to return to it. And that has caused me a fair amount of stress and anxiety in and of itself. I miss traveling so much and I don't know when I'll be able to do it again. I haven't seen one of my best friends since the fall of 2018 for this reason, which kills me.

I've seen so much death. Transferred so many patients to the PCU and ICU. Frantically chased patients' oxygen saturation, trying to keep them from circling the drain. Being responsible for six or seven human lives at one time is a stress you cannot fathom unless you have done it yourself. I have cried with a patient, a young woman, who had lost her husband to Covid only hours before in the ER, a young woman who was now faced with battling Covid herself but also planning the funeral of her high school sweetheart from her hospital bed. I have wheeled a patient to the ICU so that he could say one final goodbye to his wife--married for over 50 years--before they pulled the plug and removed her from the ventilator. I have raced down the hallway with my patient on BIPAP, pushing his bed to the ICU and praying that he doesn't stop breathing on the way there. I've had to console crying family members over the phone who are worried about their loved ones, not to mention my crying coworkers who are as overwhelmed as I am. These are just a handful of experiences from the past month alone. There are so many more.

The discomfort of my job has become secondary. I expect, now, to be wearing an N95 for a full twelve or thirteen-hour shift because there isn't time to take it off. Not having a chance to pee or go to the bathroom during that time. Not drinking any water until I'm in my car and taking off my mask and finally taking a deep breath.

On a more personal note, I am continuing to lose weight and it's so discouraging. In high school I used to wear a size 2 or 4. Now, depending on the brand, I wear a double 00. My hair is falling out because of my stress. I haven't slept during the night in... I don't even know how long. I'm constantly tired. Exhaustion hits me like a great tidal wave and I am powerless to stop it. I expect now to crash during the middle of the day on my couch, only to wake up at 11pm and be wide awake for the rest of the night, and, if not wide awake, then in an out of nightmares and sleep paralysis. I have thought about leaving my job, but the idea of job hunting during a pandemic, and while I'm in school... it just makes me feel even more stressed.

I need a break, but it feels like there's nowhere to go to escape. I fantasize about some great adventure, going somewhere I've never been, but I also really miss my family and I'm scared to go home to visit.

This post doesn't really have a conclusive ending. I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed. Any prayers/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

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[goddessofmischief]

Blue Monday, Chapter Thirteen - Loki x Reader

TW: Mention of the word ‘suicide.’ Not discussed in graphic terms.

Author’s Note: It’s been a long journey! There is still so much more story to tell, so please send me questions or feedback if you liked this chapter!

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

...

The last day of Amora Freyadottir’s life had begun like... well, almost any other.

Loki had woken up next to you. His Amora.

The pair had risen in synchronization, methodically buckling up armor after armor, sword after shield.

And when you were both ready, you’d descended down the stairs together, one perfect unit, marched down to the castle courtyard, where Odin and several other highly-trained soldiers were assembled. He’d instructed you on the mission-

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to escape the flood of memories that had suddenly fallen into your mind.

"I’m... I’m what?”

“You,” said Mobius. “You’re Amora. You always have been.”

“Loki, I don’t... I don’t understand,” you stammered. “You lied to me, you swore you knew I wasn't her, you swore it-”

“I didn’t,” Loki promises. “You aren’t. These lies are simply a diversion to distract us from Mobius’ misdeeds.”

“Oh, Loki,” said Mobius. “Poor, poor Loki - if only that were true.”

He gestures, and a T.V.A. guard rushes in, restraining you both.

“Our story begins in Asgard, I think,” Mobius spoke, sipping from a tumbler of whiskey that had magically appeared. “Yes, that’s the one. Asgard. You and Loki had just marched off to the battle of Vanaheim... a terrible, terrible battle. Oh, they found you in pieces, Y/N. You died a warrior’s death.”

“Not me,” you said, stubbornly. “Amora did.”

“Yes, well... Loki got kinda despondent after that... not all that surprising, since he obviously loved ya-”

You glanced at Loki. He paled.

“And, well, Loki usually gets what he wants... and he decides he wants you back. Only problem is, he wasn’t sure how to do it. You were about as dead as it gets, sweetheart. So he studies, right? He studies for months and weeks, until he finds the plan that works best for him... that he’s going to reincarnate you.”

“No,” you argue, stubbornly. “No. No, that’s not true, it’s not true, it can’t be-”

“Crazy, right? I thought so, too. But I saw potential, in his failures, cause, the thing was... I’d started to see where things were going, even then.

The Earth was on the verge of nuclear war. The stars, divided by piracy and battle. In the middle of all of it... the two of you. I’d been trying to leave this universe for a long, long time - only problem is, the Watchers have kept me here. Something truly cataclysmic would have had to happen in order to let me destroy it - and, well... this little Romeo and Juliet story was a pretty good disaster-in-the-making, if I do say so myself. I knew if I stoked the fires of it, Loki would find a way to make the universe burn.

Soon enough, our friend Loki here uses a considerable amount of dark magic to reincarnate your soul into that of a mortal. He’d thought... well, I imagined he thought that once you reached a suitable age, about the age you are now, he’d give you your old memories, and find a way to make you immortal again. But you just couldn’t stay away, could you, Loki?”

“What does he mean?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” Loki stammers, and Mobius snaps his fingers - and suddenly, Loki’s eyes glow bright green, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

“I visited you,” Loki whispers, slowly. “In your dreams, I -”

He paused, removing his glove and resting his palm on your forehead. You couldn’t see everything, not just yet - so many of your memories were still blocked out.

But you saw him. You saw him... throughout your life. Long walks, chess games, dives into swimming pools. He’d appear in your dreams, even. You were never alone.

Never.

“You didn’t have any friends,” Loki said. “And... I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“But if you were there, for everything... why can’t I remember any of it? Why can’t you?”

“Well, you can’t remember much of anything, can you?” said Mobius. “Only... the moments without him. The moments with your father. And, of course... your would-be death. But you never could remember what drove you to make that choice, could you? Only that you did, that cold Monday morning, and that I saved you, and swept you away to a life with us. You have wondered, haven’t you?”

You had.

“That was my work. I needed you to get to a point of desperation, so that the T.V.A. would seem the perfect option for you, so that you’d feel you had nothing else left. The thing was, when I made Loki forget... I kinda altered his memory two years before yours. So I doomed you, you see. I left you for two years, without him. He abandoned you... or, so you thought. And without your protector, well, you were a mess, weren't you?”

You had been.

“And without him to stop you, you made the rashest decision you could. You made an attempt upon your own life - and thus, my plan fell into place.”

“So it’s my fault,” said Loki. “If I’d never visited you... none of it would have happened. You’d never have thought I left you. Mobius never would’ve been able to manipulate us. It’s my fault you... died. Or, almost did.”

This was almost too much for you to comprehend. You were Amora? Loki had known you all your life? His leaving caused your depression, and set Mobius’ plan into motion?

But something more important stood out, too -

You loved Loki.

And he loved you.

Somehow, that had to mean something.

With a growl, you kicked Mobius across the room.

Loki turned to you, and without wasting a moment -

The two of you ran.

“Loki!” you found yourself shouting, tempted to shake him and make him listen to you.

“We can’t just run!”

“Why ever not? I’ve used this strategy - it’s worked for me, many times.”

“Because your last enemy didn’t have access to every timeline in existence! We can’t hide - he’s just gonna follow us there!”

He considered this.

“Fine,” Loki said. “How about this - we’ll fetch some back-up.”

You had to admit, your heart began to pound a little faster about the idea, just imagining the heroes you and Loki could recruit.

Alternate Iron Man. Alternate Black Widow. Perhaps even Thor himself-

“I’m sure me, being me, would be more than willing to help.”

Just like that, all those hopes came crashing down, all at once.

“Uh... what?”

"Well, in this scenario, I can really only trust myself, darling. You of course can understand. We’ll simply locate a variant of me... and enlist their assistance.”

You shrugged, helplessly.

“I... I guess.”

By this point, you figured you were going to die, anyway. You may as well just give in to his flawed logic and see where it would lead you.

“But I’m not dealing with another Lady Loki,” you insist, as Loki started to focus his energy on programming the tesseract with coordinates. “Not again.”

“No, no, of course not... then again, we would have gotten along, had I not possessed something she wanted. So, it seems to me... all I have to do is find a ‘me’ that hasn’t yet lost his Amora.”

“Okay, how do we do that?”

Loki focused on the tesseract.

“There,” he uttered, after a moment. “It’s... it’s programmed. It’ll take us somewhere, I know not where... to me. A me who has a version of Amora with him. That me will have no need for jealousy, and I’m sure I can reason some way to tempt them to aid us-”

“And... we’ll take her with us, too? The other Amora?”

“Jealous already, darling?”

“No,” you said, raising your gun to blast an approaching T.V.A. soldier. “Never.”

He grinned, and takes your hand.

And together, you both disappear into the icy-blue light of the Tesseract.

...

Taglist:

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[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 4)

We are at the turning point so things are about to get super fun! Pretty much everything we've gone over until now has been exposition and set-up for this arc.

More than ever there's a trigger warning here: we'll be discussing mental illness, depression, child abuse, and a genuine suicide attempt here so it will get quite heavy and dark.

Chapter Thirteen

We are approaching a significant turning point. This arc is heavy with things to analyze and important revelations about Natsume. Pretty much all the stuff I analyzed before now was just extended exposition, to be entirely honest. We were setting things up, establishing Natsume in every way we could and it will all come to a head right here. This is the arc we've been waiting for.

The chapter opens with Natsume, and from the start we can tell that we are in for a treat. We’ve never seen his perspective like this, only little snippets like “I know I used my alice on her”, or remembering Aoi’s hair-clip. Here, we have much more to work with, and we don’t have to do as much guesswork to make conclusions!

He’s having a nightmare, which is also what he calls it, much like the one he had in the anime. He’s running in darkness and there’s too many people’s voices. Being called a murderer, being told to obey or else… and all the while he’s telling them to shut up already. It’s enough to make anybody feel crowded. He just wants relief, to get out of the darkness, for the nightmare to end.

Even when he's all alone, he's bogged down by noise and taunts.

He wonders if he'll ever get real reprieve from the constant hell he's in. All he ever does is run, his life entirely enshrouded by darkness. He wants it to stop, and later we'll see how exactly he'll attempt to do so.

The fact that the arc begins with this scene despite the fact that Natsume does not feature heavily in this chapter or the next is foreshadowing that something must change by the end of it. He's despairing and hopeless now, and these points will all be brought up later as things come to a head, so something must shift by the end of the arc.

We later find out Natsume’s in the hospital, and then inevitably he gets kidnapped by Reo. He spends about two chapters unconscious, so we’ll be moving on to two of the most important chapters for Natsume’s development.

Chapter Fifteen

Natsume wakes up in the warehouse, but the way he wakes up is very interesting. He knows he’s in a strange place, not in a hospital bed. He thinks so much like a soldier or spy here, using his senses to observe his scary new surroundings and clinically filing away information until he opens his eyes and sees his classmates gnawing at each other’s binds. It’s fascinating to see inside his head, to see the dangerous ability training in action, that he doesn’t think like his peers would, or how any ten year old should.

He's intaking information, filing it, analyzing his situation, all before his eyes even open.

He is understandably irritated by the presence of his classmates, considering he’s been kidnapped, drugged, sick, and has to deal with an alice barrier on top of all that. He gets that he’s screwed, and, with Mikan and Sumire in the mix, his chances aren’t looking too great.

If you want to make yourself sad, it’s worth noting that Natsume doesn’t think he’s going to make it out of this situation alive. He’s processing his options and considering the best thing to do going forward, but he’s well aware that there’s also a good chance he might die tonight.

They manage to get into contact with Narumi, who instructs them to stall and keep quiet, also telling Natsume to use his alice. He’s strong enough to overpower the barrier, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but Natsume is sick. In order to get a small flame, he exhausts himself, and is even less of a state to run away than he already was. Their kidnappers realize the kids are awake because of the disturbance in the barrier, so they confront them to try and figure out their alices. Reo wants this information for nefarious purposes, planning on selling them. It’s already been said earlier in the story that alice children are more valuable in the human trafficking trade, so it’s in his best interest to know what exactly he’s selling.

Mikan has nullification, so the voice pheromone doesn’t work on her, but Sumire is affected, and about to reveal her alice when Natsume interferes. He’s exhausted, but he might have more or less already given up on himself. The most he can do now is try and protect his classmates who came to save him, even if it’s all he can do. So Reo does move on to confront him, taunting him by telling him all the plans they have for him. He’s to be assimilated into the organization, joining Z and becoming a child soldier for their ranks.

Reo brings up an excellent point: “What difference does it make if you start working for Z instead? Everyone there hates the academy like you do.” It’s true. Natsume might even prefer it slightly because it’s an anti-alice organization and he is by no means pro-academy (unlike in the anime where he becomes a poster boy for abuse apologism). At the academy, he’s surrounded by abusers and those subservient to the abusers, by bullies and kids who whisper behind his back, accusing him of murder and arson. Maybe at Z he could be around like-minded people (albeit people who are supportive of child trafficking).

But no.

Natsume doesn’t even consider it.

Maybe Reo should consider that Natsume doesn't want to be a child soldier at all, hmm?? Maybe he'd be better off just being a normal kid? Did that occur to him at all or...?

He immediately smacks Reo’s hand away. Even sick, even heavily under the effects of Reo’s alice, even despite being weak and drugged, he still resists. There’s not even a temptation or hesitation. His choice has been made for him.

Interestingly, Reo was also used by the academy. He knows how twisted the school can be, but he’s still confused and surprised by Natsume’s refusal. I’m assuming based on this that perhaps Natsume is a special case. It would be reasonable to assume most of the kids used in the dangerous ability class are threatened and cowed into obedience, their physical and mental safety in jeopardy if they rebel in any way. Natsume is a child, and we’ve seen him run from his own teacher in abject terror. He’s obviously not a fan of putting himself in physical and mental jeopardy. But the way to get to Natsume is not by threatening him; it’s by threatening Ruka, or Aoi, or Youichi, because Natsume doesn’t care about anything as much as he cares about them--not even his own life.

And that’s why Reo is surprised and confused that Natsume would say no to him and choose the academy over Z.

And it’s because Natsume is not actually choosing the academy over Z. He’s choosing Ruka and Aoi over Z, like he chooses them over everything. Natsume knows that resisting Z here is tantamount to suicide, but he’ll choose that, because he’ll choose his loved ones over his own life.

And then something surprising happens: Mikan gets in between Natsume and Reo, protecting Natsume.

This is new; Natsume is used to being the one doing the protecting. He was more than willing to take all Reo’s wrath to distract him from using his pheromones on Mikan and Sumire. He’s being protected now though, a little, but it’s really just a taste of what’s to come. Mikan stepping in is unexpected… and unwise.

Now Reo can conclude that she has the nullification alice. This is bad news in general, but a great opportunity. Reo and his goons are distracted and there’s enough time for Sumire to use her own alice and see where they are and what’s around.

Turns out there’s dynamite and other explosives a couple warehouses away. This instantly gets Natsume’s attention and he’s already formulating a plan.

He tells them to run for it, reassuring them that he can take care of himself. He says he’s only helping because he’d feel guilty otherwise, not because he actually cares much for what happens to them, because it’s their own fault they followed him.

We know this isn’t the truth. Since he woke up, Natsume has been prioritizing the girls over himself.

He can hardly stand up so the idea that he can escape on his own is a little ridiculous... but he knows that too and he's known it from the start.

The escape begins and the girls run for it, with Natsume distracting Reo and his goons by threatening to blow up the dynamite two warehouses away.

This is a genuine suicide attempt. Natsume has no intention to save himself. He considers himself a lost cause. He’s sick, exhausted, in no condition to run. He can stall long enough to let the girls escape, but he’s gonna blow up the dynamite, taking Reo and part of Z down with him. Reo’s kidnapping whim will prove fatal and catastrophic, and the Black Cat will be eliminated.

Chapter Sixteen

This arc turns so much darker.

Yes, Natsume seems to have no choice but to kill himself to protect his classmates and eliminate the Reo threat. The first page of Chapter Sixteen also establishes that this isn’t just Natsume’s own plan. He’s been commanded to commit suicide in this kind of situation by Persona. If he’s ever trapped and can’t escape, he’s to kill himself, so that he can’t be used against the academy. He’s too powerful. The academy would rather this child die than fall into Z’s hands. In fact, if Natsume were to rebel, in any way, even by not killing himself in such a situation, the academy will hurt the people he cares about.

This is a grown ass man telling a child that his life is only important if he can be a tool for the school and as soon as he can't be anymore, he ceases to have value and is better off dead.

I will once again mention that Natsume is ten years old. The academy is not just an abusive institution, it’s also a human rights violator, since child soldiers are prohibited by international law. A child soldier is any child under the age of 18 who is compelled to fight or otherwise service any state or non-state armed group (the academy counts as an armed group because it has a division of child soldiers with magical powers ready to kill and maim on command as well as teachers with magical powers willing to threaten these children into submission). Natsume is a child soldier and the fact that the dangerous ability class was never fully dissolved is an actual human rights violation.

Anyway, this arc is where we see Natsume clearly for the first time. Compared to all the fun and mischief of previous chapters, these chapters are dark and scary. There’s no exciting dodgeball game or howalon-related antics. This is life-or-death, suicide attempts, threats.

This marks the difference between the life the rest of the kids at the academy are living and the life Natsume has been struggling through. How do you live through missions like this, watching your life whittle away, being threatened on a regular basis, and then go back to school and pretend to care about math or about sports or friends? It makes perfect sense that Natsume would feel so isolated from everyone. His experiences are too different.

Of course, this whole thing is about to get a whole lot worse.

Reo asks why Natsume would even bother with this. Is there even a reason? He even gives a pretty good deal: If Natsume backs down, Sumire and Mikan will be spared.

But Natsume doesn’t bite. He’s ready to die, because the academy told him to, because he wants to protect his loved ones, because he wants to help Sumire and Mikan escape, and--most heart-breakingly--because he genuinely wants to die.

Now that Sumire and Mikan are gone, he doesn't have to lie about his plans anymore.

Natsume has been appearing in the last sixteen chapters, showing up to offer a sarcastic quip, set something on fire, and be generally unpleasant. But more than that, we’ve seen glimpses into what appears to be a horrible, miserable life. Natsume hates the academy, only has one friend, goes on life-threatening missions, frequently visits the hospital, despises his own alice, and he never smiles. All his appearances up to this point have been an explanation: this is why Natsume wants to kill himself.

Natsume isn’t just forced into a suicide attempt. There’s a reason he submits so easily to the idea of dying here. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time. He might have even been waiting for it; to get it over with because it’s bound to happen sooner or later.

He says he feels like he’s living his life cowering on his knees, like his head is constantly under a pool of shame. “I’m sick of the academy. I’m sick of you all. I’m sick of everything!”

Natsume is going to die in a few moments and he’s okay with it. He’s even happy about it, because there is really nothing worth living for. He doesn’t have a future, or hopes and dreams. This whole time he has been living for Ruka and his family, doing everything he can to keep them safe. Nothing he’s done in the past two years has been for himself. This may be the very first selfish thing he has done in all this time. He’s ready to die.

It’s not like he had something to look forward to anyway.

Natsume is about to die, until the wind is knocked out of him and he’s suddenly on the ground, with Mikan grabbing his shirt and screaming into his face that he’s an idiot. He’s lying on the floor because one of his stupid classmates--the one he hates the most, the stupid girl with the nullification alice and her head so full of rainbows and butterflies and happiness he could barf just thinking about her, the one that walked right into the worst thing that ever happened to him and smiled about it--tackled him and stopped his suicide attempt.

Just one split second changes everything and there's nothing he can do about it.

Yes, the previous chapters leading up to this explained why Natsume wants to die, and how miserable his life is, but they also mark another thing: the only fifteen and a half chapters where Natsume isn’t in love with Mikan.

In this moment, she saves his life. She risks her own safety on a whim to protect him, and she does. She didn’t come all this way for nothing! She’s willing to fight Reo and any henchmen to protect Natsume, who can’t even walk without help. Natsume was not expecting this.

He asks why she even came back, but she makes it clear it wasn’t a choice--they’re partners, after all! It’s her job to look after him.

The next few scenes are Mikan protecting Natsume, and it’s important to point out that nobody has ever done that before. Natsume is always the one doing the sacrificing and protecting, and he’s okay with that. He doesn’t want Ruka to be burdened by his hardships, or for Aoi to be held responsible for something she did under a dangerous fever. He will do the hard thing, will be the caretaker, because that’s who he’s always been.

It might be uncomfortable and strange for him, but Natsume is being taken care of here, led to hiding spots and being protected. When he tries again to convince her to leave him behind, he’s using all the insults he can think of. This is another way of protecting people: hurting them so that he can further distance himself from them and keep them safe.

But Mikan fights back, saying, “Who do you think I came back for?”

Here Natsume finally understands something. The girl he has hated ever since she voluntarily enrolled into the school that uses him as a human weapon is more than a bumbling idiot. Her sickening optimism and determination are the reason he’s still alive now. He gave up on himself, but she refuses to. She’s the kind of person who would risk her own life to save a boy who has caused her nothing but grief, because she can see value in his existence that he can’t.

Natsume's never thought of himself as even having a future before, let alone a happy one.

And she says, “Everyone is waiting for you.” Natsume used to look down on her optimism and rose-colored lenses, because how naive is it to think things will just work themselves out? That the future will be better? That there’s something worth working for, even if you aren’t sure what it is? It’s stupid. Natsume knows better: life sucks and then you die because you get kidnapped and you have to commit suicide or else your loved ones will get hurt. Relying on stupid things like positivity or hope is just a waste of time.

But not this time. This girl is saving him because there’s a bright future awaiting her, but more than that: she sees a bright future for him too. She thinks things will work out for him too, that he has moments to look forward to where he will laugh and cry and live--moments he hasn’t seen yet. There’s still so much life left for him to live, and he’s never thought of it that way.

For the first time in a long time, Natsume is thinking about his own future.

He doesn’t argue when Mikan stands up to protect him, or when she grabs his hand to try and lead him from danger. He trusts her now and even more, he wants to live.

And then Mikan gets overpowered by a goon, who slams her into the wall in order to get to Natsume.

And that pushes Natsume’s berserk button, because now he cares about Mikan, and he goes absolutely unhinged whenever someone he cares about is hurt.

Mikan has become precious to Natsume only a few minutes ago, but he's kinda ride-or-die so it's like going from 0 to 100.

Just a few chapters ago, a middle-schooler grabbed Mikan and threatened to hurt her if Natsume didn’t back down and Natsume just laughed. Now he’s detonating a whole shipyard because somebody shoved her.

Yes, he does set off the dynamite, because he’s no longer thinking rationally and how dare someone hurt Mikan?

We’re not really sure what consequences this had, if he ended up inadvertently hurting himself or Mikan in the process of getting revenge against this man for hurting a girl who he just started having feelings for like five minutes ago, but both of them end up hospitalized.

Conclusion

This whole arc is a fucking MASTERPIECE. We’ve met Natsume before, but that was the old Natsume. That Natsume was miserable and didn’t have anything to look forward to. We’ve just met a new Natsume; a Natsume who has hopes and desires and will do selfish things because of them. His life is still dark and dreary and miserable, but there’s a light coming in now, and he’s content now just to be in the sun for a little bit until his life comes to a complete end, which will still be sooner than later.

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[regenderate-fic]

The Healing Process

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan Rating: General Series: Fanzine Prompts Word Count: 5,603 Other Tags: Truth Serum, Prompt Week, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Polyamory Read on AO3

Summary: Trying to take down a conspiracy on a distant planet, the Doctor and Yaz are overtaken by a deadly gas. Fortunately, they're rescued-- but the medication that counteracts the gas has some interesting side effects. Also, Rose is there.

(Written for the @thirteenfanzine 2020-21 Prompt Week Day 1: Truth Serum)

NOTES: thanks for continuing to enable me, thirteen fanzine <3 anyway. i write a lot of rose and yaz as friends, and i write a lot of thirteen/rose and thasmin, especially in comparison, so my goal here was to write both ships at the same time. tell me how well i did! also please do not focus on any of the logistical details. we're working with vibes alone here. i did not intend for this to be so long but uh here it is

The Doctor and Yaz were running. They’d gone to a faraway city on an alien planet, just to sightsee, but when had anything with the Doctor been just sightseeing? There was a conspiracy within the government, the Doctor and Yaz had taken it down, but not before the conspirators had their last hurrah. Toxic gasses were leaking into the streets, and the only option was to evacuate. But of course in their attempt to stop the gasses from being released at all the Doctor and Yaz had waited until the last possible minute to leave, and now they were running through the city’s labyrinthine streets with fabric tied over their mouths, trying to outrun the gas’s expansion.

“It’s gaining on us!” Yaz yelled, looking back to see tendrils of yellow stretching closer.

“We’ll be all right!” the Doctor yelled back. “Come on, we’ve got to go faster!” She reached out for Yaz’s hand, tugging her along. They kept running, one foot in front of the other, through the twisting and turning streets, always making sure the gas was behind them— until they were running through an alleyway and realized the alley’s exit was fogged over with yellow.

“Doctor, what do we do?” Yaz asked, panting.

The Doctor looked around frantically. “Nothing we can do,” she said. She waved her sonic screwdriver. “That’ll put up a distress beacon. In case people find us.” She waved it again. “Maybe I can solidify it a bit, stop it from coming so fast…”

Yaz wasn’t listening. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her fear sliced through her like a knife: she risked death every day, traveling with the Doctor, but every time she managed to narrowly avoid it. But this… there was no way to escape this. She gulped down deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She thought of her sister— her sister, who wouldn’t know what had happened, who would assume all the wrong things, who would have to live with not knowing for sure for the rest of her life. And her parents, and Ryan and Graham, and— the gas was getting closer. It just looked like a dense fog; the yellowish tinge was the only sign of anything worse than a cloudy day.

The Doctor’s hand was on her shoulder.

“Yaz.”

Yaz looked up. The Doctor’s eyes were locked on hers, unwavering.

“ I’ve slowed the gas. We’ve got plenty of time to get a signal out of here. I won’t let you die, all right? I won’t have that happen to you.”

Yaz nodded. She was still struggling to breathe, her stomach churning, but the Doctor always made her feel just that little bit better. Even if she wasn’t totally convinced she wasn’t about to die. Another gulp of air, and she fell against the Doctor, wrapping her arms tightly around the Doctor’s torso and burying her face in the Doctor’s shoulder. There was a moment where the Doctor flailed, but once she had her bearings she returned the hug, her touch giving Yaz a sense of security.

And the gas came closer.

And closer.

And closer.

And then Yaz woke up.

For a moment, she couldn’t remember what had happened. She was lying in a bed, staring up at… it looked like canvas? She had a pounding headache, and her sleeve was rolled up, with an IV sticking out of her arm. She propped herself up on her elbows, wincing as her head throbbed, and looked around. She was in a massive tent, with rows of cots lined up next to each other: each cot had a person in it, some conscious, some not. A couple of nurses were making their way from cot to cot.

Yaz glanced to her right to see a mop of blonde hair on the pillow of the next bed over: definitely the Doctor, lying on her side, still asleep. Despite the worry that was still gnawing at her, Yaz smiled: there was something endearing about the way the Doctor’s hair went every which-way when she slept. It reminded her of nights spent camping out in the console room, the Doctor tinkering with something or other until she passed out on the mattress the TARDIS had conveniently placed right next to her. Now, like then, Yaz could see the rise and fall of the Doctor’s chest: she was breathing. Still alive.

With a sigh of relief, Yaz looked in the other direction. She was right up against the corner, with just one bed between her and the edge of the tent: this bed’s occupant was also blonde, with hair that went down to her shoulders. She was sitting up, scribbling in a notebook, and when she saw Yaz looking at her, she gave a little smile and a wave.

“Hello there!”

“Hi.” The words came out raspy. Yaz cleared her throat. “Where are we?”

“Temporary hospital,” the woman said. “Just outside the city.”

Yaz nodded. That made sense. “How long have I been here?”

“You were here when I woke up half an hour ago,” the woman said. “That’s all I know. Sorry.”

“That’s all right.” Yaz closed her eyes against her pounding headache. “Didn’t exactly expect to wind up in a field hospital today, but I suppose that’s what I get, running around like this.” She opened her eyes. “Sorry, did I say that out loud?”

The woman laughed. “Yeah.” She raised her arm with its IV tube sticking out. “It’s the medication they’re giving us. Something about the parts of the brain the gas targets. The medication can heal it, but it also does something to your language center. Forces you to tell the truth.” The woman glanced down at her IV. “As far as I can tell, anyway. The nurses wouldn’t answer my questions.” She smiled at Yaz again. “You’ll get used to it. Bit hard to filter yourself at first, but you’ll adjust.”

Yaz eyed the strange woman. There was something about her… and because Yaz had a headache and a medication with truth as a side effect running through her veins, she said it out loud. “You remind me of my friend.” Not in energy, really, but this woman had the same way of talking that the Doctor did, the same way of explaining things that didn’t quite make sense.

“Yeah?” The woman tilted her head to the side. “Who’s that, then?”

Yaz was about to answer, but she was interrupted by a clatter behind her: she turned to see the Doctor sitting up, looking around wildly.

“Yaz!” she exclaimed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Doctor, no!” Yaz sat straight up, her head pounding.

The Doctor stood up.

“Doctor?” the woman in the bed on Yaz’s other side repeated.

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible,” she said, her words slurring together. Yaz saw her collapse coming a second before it happened: she swayed again, and then crashed to the floor, the nurses running from across the room to maneuver her back onto the bed. It was everything Yaz could do not to muscle herself out of bed in response.

“Is she all right?” she demanded.

“She’ll be fine,” one of the nurses said. “Just needs some rest. We’ll keep an eye on her.” The Doctor settled back in her bed, the nurse turned to her colleague. “Stay close to this one. Don’t let her get out of bed again.”

Yaz settled back against her pillow, turning back to the woman sitting next to her. The woman was looking at the Doctor with a strange sort of tenderness. Yaz couldn’t quite interpret it.

“You said I reminded you of a friend,” she said softly. “I should’ve known.”

“You know the Doctor?” Yaz asked, pushing herself into a sitting position. This wasn’t a lying-down kind of conversation, headache or no headache.

The woman was still staring across Yaz at the Doctor’s sleeping body. “Did know, once. We traveled together for a while. Thought it would be forever.”

“What happened?” The words came out before Yaz had the chance to think about them. This medication business was tricky.

“Got stuck in another universe,” the woman said. “Came back. Got stuck again. With a clone of her, no less.” The woman frowned. “Well, him, technically. And then it turned out he could die and I couldn’t, and I found a way back.” She leaned back, resting her weight on her arms. “Suppose it’s a long story.”

Something about it sounded familiar. Yaz frowned, pushing through the pain that permeated every corner of her brain and reaching for the connection. “Do you know a Jack Harkness?”

The woman’s gaze shifted abruptly to Yaz. “You know Jack?”

“Not well,” Yaz said. “Met him last year. New Year 2020, in my time. He said something about one of the Doctor’s friends making him immortal.” She frowned again, reaching for the name. “Rose. Is that you?”

The woman— Rose? —looked up at the canvas ceiling. “Yeah. Rose Tyler.”

“Yasmin Khan,” Yaz said. “Yaz.”

“And you two travel together?” Rose asked, nodding towards the Doctor.

“Yeah.” Yaz glanced back at the Doctor, who was still passed out. “She’s, like, the best person I know.” Another thing she might not have said in different circumstances.

Rose was looking carefully at Yaz. “D’you fancy her?”

What? No! Yaz usually said, when people asked about her and the Doctor.We’re friends. Just friends. But she couldn’t this time. She couldn’t lie. “‘Course I do.” Quickly, before Rose could respond, she changed the subject. “Anyway, what have you been doing since you got back to this universe?”

Rose gave her a knowing look. But mercifully, she didn’t push the issue. “Traveling,” she said. “Looking for the Doctor, at first. Couldn’t find him, so I thought I’d wander on my own for a bit.” She held up her wrist to reveal a black watch-like device. “I got this.”

“A vortex manipulator,” Yaz said. “Cheap and nasty time travel, the Doctor said.”

Rose laughed. “It’s no TARDIS, that’s for sure.” She angled her wrist one way, then the other. “Does the job, though. Gets me from place to place. Wound up here, chasing after some conspiracy. Should’ve known the Doctor would show up.”

“She does have an eye for trouble.”

There was a sudden yelp from the vicinity of the Doctor’s bed. Yaz turned to see the Doctor flailing, pushing herself into a sitting position, looking around wildly and asking, “What happened? Where am I? What happened to Yaz?” The nurse was at her side in an instant, pressing a hand to her chest so she couldn’t stand.

“I’m right here, Doctor,” Yaz said. She couldn’t see the Doctor: the nurse was in between the two of them. But the Doctor’s voice was coming through loud and clear.

“Yaz!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Brilliant. You know, Yaz, I had the weirdest dream.”

“Did it involve you trying to stand up and instantly collapsing?” Yaz asked, exchanging an amused look with Rose. “Because that wasn’t a dream.”

“It might’ve, yeah,” the Doctor said. Yaz couldn’t see her, but she was sure the Doctor’s face was all scrunched up. “Oi, I didn’t mean to say that. What happened? Why can’t I lie?”

“It’s a side effect of the medication you’re on, ma’am,” the nurse said. “To counteract the effects of the gas. It’ll wear off.”

“Well, that’s not ideal,” the Doctor said. “I like to have a little more control over myself than that, thank you very much. But I think I can work with it.” She paused. “I’m not going to try and get up again. You don’t have to hover over me like that.” But then she gasped. “Oh! My dream! Rose was in my dream! Rose isn’t here, though. Is she? She can’t be. It’s not possible. Physically not possible.”

“Hello, Doctor,” Rose said.

There was another clatter. Yaz could see the blanket over the Doctor’s legs moving: the Doctor clearly had rethought her promise to not try and get up again.

“Ma’am, you need to stay in bed,” the nurse said. “For the healing process.”

“My head hurts!” the Doctor said. There was a smacking sound that Yaz assumed was the Doctor hitting her forehead in frustration. “Augh, the lying! I want to say I’m fine, I’m healed, and I’m ready to go right back to my ship, but I can’t.”

“So you’re admitting that all the other times you’ve said that, it’s been a lie?” Yaz asked, suppressing laughter.

“Oi, it’s not funny!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Fine. I won’t try to get up again. Even if I really, really want to. Promise.”

The nurse sighed. “You’d better stick to that.” He stepped away from the space between Yaz and the Doctor, revealing the Doctor sitting up, still in her jacket, mouth hanging open, hair an absolute mess. Yaz smiled at the sight: the Doctor was well and truly out of her element. It didn’t happen often, but it was always entertaining when it did.

And then the Doctor turned her head, looking across Yaz’s bed at Rose. The second their eyes met, the Doctor’s energy changed: with a sharp inhale, in the space of a second, she went from frenetic to stunned. Yaz looked back at Rose, whose eyes were searching the Doctor’s face, and the realization hit her: there was history here. Whatever was between Rose and the Doctor, it ran deep. Yaz leaned back, trying not to feel like a third wheel.

“You’re here,” the Doctor breathed.

“Yeah,” Rose said, a tentative smile on her face. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“How long?”

“Few hundred years for me.” Rose tilted her head towards the Doctor. “You?”

“Two thousand, at a guess,” the Doctor said. She shook her head. “How did you even get here?”

“Turns out when you don’t have anything else to do for a few hundred years, the impossible doesn’t feel impossible anymore,” Rose said. “You know I was never the type to give up.”

“No, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor agreed. “You really, really weren’t. And because I’m ” Her eyes moved from Rose to Yaz. “You met Yaz, then?” She frowned. “You’re not fighting, are you?”

“Why would we fight?” Yaz asked. She looked between the Doctor and Rose. “I mean, Rose, I don’t even know you.”

“You’re a better person than I was at your age, then,” Rose said with a laugh. “I wasn’t nearly as nice to Sarah Jane.”

“Sarah Jane?” Yaz asked.

“Another old friend,” the Doctor said. “You sort of collect them, when you’re as old as I am. And sometimes they meet each other, and sometimes when they meet each other they don’t get along. Or they start swapping jokes at my expense.” She frowned. “I’m never sure which is worse. Although with Rose and Sarah Jane it was both, so I suppose I’d call that the worst case scenario.”

“Oh, you love us,” Rose teased.

“Suppose I do, then,” the Doctor said, a thoughtful note to her voice.

The energy shifted again. Rose froze, looking caught off guard for the first time since Yaz had started talking to her. And then the Doctor froze too, realizing what she’d said. Yaz tried to think whether she’d ever heard the Doctor say she loved anyone before: maybe Yaz’s mum, but that had all been very lighthearted. Yaz wasn’t exactly expecting the Doctor and her mum to shack up together or anything. And since then, the Doctor had only become more and more reluctant to share what she was thinking or feeling: Yaz could barely get an, “I’m fine,” out of her, much less any profession of love. That medication was doing a number on her, that was for sure.

“You never said that before,” Rose said softly.

“Wasn’t under medication before.” The Doctor turned away from Yaz and fell against her pillow, staring at the ceiling and looking distinctly grumpy.

“Hold on a second,” Yaz said. “I saw the way you two looked at each other just now. How come you’re so bothered by joking that you love her?” She would’ve stopped there, but her head still hurt, and the medication was still pushing her to tell the absolute truth. “Doctor, I knew you were horrible about sharing your feelings, but you’ve gone too far with this one.”

“You really haven’t changed!” Rose was laughing. “Doctor, you’ve got to start letting your friends in a bit.” To Yaz, she added, “She couldn’t even say it when she thought she was never going to see me again. Not even when I said it first. Not the greatest with emotions, our Doctor.”

Yaz felt something warm in her chest at the way Rose said “our” Doctor. “I’m glad we’re not fighting,” she said to Rose. She turned to the Doctor. “And Doctor, you need to get over yourself! We care about you, you know. You can’t just take all that and not give any of it back.” Anticipating the Doctor’s next point, she hurried on. “I don’t care that you lose us all eventually. We’re here now, and you’ve got to stop wallowing in your past and start focusing on what you have.”

The Doctor didn’t say anything. She was still staring up at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” Yaz said. “That was harsh.” She paused. “Maybe you need to hear it, though, if it took you two thousand years and a mind-altering medication to express your feelings for someone you clearly care about.”

“When can we leave?” the Doctor asked, still staring up at the ceiling. She sat up and waved a hand. “Nurse?”

One of the nurses came rushing towards her.

“When can we leave?” she repeated.

“You inhaled quite a lot of gas,” the nurse said. “It’ll at least be a few more hours before all the damage is repaired.”

“I heal faster than humans,” the Doctor countered. “And I have backup brains. I’ll be fine.”

The nurse looked at her for a long moment. “A few more hours,” she said. “And then you can leave, pending sufficient progress.”

He moved away from the Doctor’s bed, and the Doctor flopped backwards. “Argh! I just want to be somewhere else. Somewhere I can wait out this truth thing alone so that I don’t feel like I’m constantly on the brink of telling everyone all my deepest thoughts!” She flopped her head to the side. “Trust me, Yaz, you don’t want to know all my deepest thoughts. No matter how much you think you want to.”

“I don’t need to hear all your deepest thoughts,” Yaz protested. “I just need to hear the ones that affect me. But I think it’d be good for you to open up a little bit! You can’t keep everything all bottled up like that.”

“I can, and I will,” the Doctor said, turning to face away from Yaz. “My feelings are my problem.”

Yaz looked at Rose, who in turn was looking at the Doctor with that same strange tenderness Yaz had noticed before.

“Oh, Doctor,” Rose said softly. “What’s happened to you?”

The Doctor didn’t answer.

“She went back to Gallifrey,” Yaz said, hoping the words meant something to Rose. They did: Rose’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open.

“I thought Gallifrey was gone,” she breathed. “He used to always tell me about it— the orange fields, the twin suns. But he said he could never go back.”

“I got new information.” The Doctor’s voice was muffled: she was speaking into her pillow. “Not that it matters.”

“Everything was destroyed,” Yaz explained to Rose. “The whole planet.”

“Oh, Doctor,” Rose said again. She glanced around the room, then stood up: Yaz followed her glances to see that the nurses were both busy, their backs turned to Rose’s corner. Tugging the IV tower with her, Rose made her way slowly to the Doctor’s bed. She sat on the end, one hand still on her IV tower, and laid one hand on the Doctor’s arm. “You’ve gone through a lot, haven’t you?”

“You could say that,” the Doctor mumbled, her voice still muffled.

“Two thousand years,” Rose murmured. She was giving the Doctor a look so full of emotion that Yaz had to look away, feeling like she was intruding. She turned her head, ignoring the lump that was threatening to rise in her throat.

“I’ve been busy,” the Doctor said. “Made new friends. Lost them. Got married! A few times, technically. Only once on purpose. You’d like River. Both of you would, actually. Waited around a lot. Taught at a university. Found out my entire life was based on a lie. Went to space jail.”

“Your life was what?” Her own feelings forgotten, Yaz turned her head so fast it made her dizzy. Or— maybe that was just the effects of the gas-medication double feature taking up space in her brain.

“I told you, didn’t I?” The Doctor tried to push herself into a sitting position, but she mostly just succeeded at getting tangled in the blanket. Rose took her hand and pulled her up, and she swung her legs off the bed, leaning heavily against Rose. “That was what the Master told me. I’m not even a Time Lord. They lied to me. My whole life.”

“How do you mean, not a Time Lord?” Rose asked. Her face was turned towards the Doctor, her lips inches from touching the Doctor’s hair.

“Don’t know,” the Doctor said. “I don’t really understand it. I just know I’m not who I thought I was. I’m missing memories.”

“That’s horrible,” Yaz said. “You definitely did not tell me this.”

“Could’ve sworn I did.” The Doctor hesitated. “Unless it was Ryan I told. Might’ve been Ryan.”

Yaz shook her head. Of course Ryan had been too loyal to tell Yaz anything. Or maybe she just hadn’t spent enough time with him since he’d left the TARDIS. “Doctor,” she said. “I care about you. I want to know when there’s something wrong.”

The Doctor’s head drooped forward. “Yaz,” she said. “There’s something wrong.”

“See, how hard was that?” Yaz chided. Following Rose’s earlier lead, she glanced around to make sure the nurses weren’t nearby, and then stood and staggered the few steps to the Doctor’s bed. She sat down heavily: her legs were still waking up, and her headache had not subsided. “I don’t need to know everything. I just need to know something. We’re supposed to be partners, right? A flat team structure?”

“Suppose we are,” the Doctor said, dropping her head onto Yaz’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’ve worried you. I don’t want you to be worried about me.”

“I don’t think you can stop me,” Yaz countered with a smile. She looked over the Doctor’s head at Rose, who smiled back. “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” the Doctor asked. “I thought we could just have nice adventures. None of the hard stuff. Nothing complicated.”

“You of all people should know you don’t get to pick and choose,” Yaz said. “If you want the easy stuff, you’ve got to take the hard stuff too. And the complicated stuff. It all goes together.” She gently bumped her shoulder against the Doctor’s. “And you know I’m here for you, right? For the complicated stuff too.”

“You can’t say that,” the Doctor said. “Not when you don’t know what the complicated stuff is.”

“Well,” Rose said from the Doctor’s other side, “I know some of it, and I never ran screaming. Give your friends some credit, Doctor.”

“Still can’t believe you’re even here,” the Doctor mumbled.

“I can’t believe it either, really,” Rose admitted. “Took me long enough.”

“It really, really did,” the Doctor agreed. “I didn’t care for it.”

“You’ve done all right for yourself, though,” Rose said. “New new new Doctor.”

“Technically, I’d be the new new new new new Doctor, from your point of view,” the Doctor pointed out. “I said it was two thousand years, didn’t I? Went through a couple faces in there.”

“New new new new new Doctor, then,” Rose said. She nodded at Yaz. “And you’ve got a friend to travel with.”

“Yaz is brilliant,” the Doctor agreed. “It’s just, you know.” She looked up at the ceiling. Yaz could see her eyes shining with tears. “Everyone leaves, eventually.”

“I’m here now,” Yaz said again. “I don’t know what all you’ve been through, Doctor, but I like the person you are right now. Even if you’re stupid sometimes.”

That shifted the mood. “Oi! When have I ever been stupid?” The Doctor gave Yaz a light shove. “I’m brilliant, I am.”

“And the best part is, we know she really believes it, with the medication we’re on,” Rose laughed. “How’s the ego, Doctor?”

“Just fine, thank you.” The Doctor crossed her arms. She opened her mouth, clearly about to continue arguing, but her cry had alerted one of the nurses, who was hurrying over to the three of them.

“You need to get back in your own beds,” he was saying. “You need to heal.”

“I told you,” the Doctor said. “I heal fast. If my head didn’t hurt so much, I’d say I was about ready to go, actually.” She paused. “And anyway, being with my friends is bound to help, isn’t it?”

The nurse sighed. It was a sigh Yaz had heard many times, from many different people, when dealing with the Doctor: she’d sighed it herself from time to time, mostly when the Doctor absolutely refused to get any sleep or insisted on eating custard creams instead of a proper meal. Yaz didn’t know what the Doctor’s species was, but she was pretty sure custard creams were not the only component of a balanced diet.

“You can talk to your friends all you want, but you have to stay in your own beds. For the recovery process.”

The Doctor rolled her eyes. “Fine. Bye, Yaz. Bye, Rose.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Yaz said, pulling herself to her feet. The nurse reached out an arm to support her, but she waved him off. “I can get there on my own.” She was not, strictly speaking, up for walking all that far, but she could manage the few steps to her bed. She sat down heavily as Rose stood up much more gracefully, making her way to her bed with no trouble. The nurse glanced at her.

“You might be ready to go,” he said. “You got a lot less of the gas than these two. Give me a moment and I’ll take out your IV.”

“You can take it out if you like,” Rose said, sitting down on her bed and holding up her arm for the nurse to access. “But I won’t leave until they do.”

The nurse was already busying himself with her IV tower, closing off the flow of medicine. “You can stay as long as we have extra beds,” he said. “Your friends will be ready soon enough.”

“I should be ready now,” the Doctor griped.

“But you’re not, are you?” Yaz teased, lying back in her bed and turning her head to face the Doctor.

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide,” the Doctor said.

Yaz laughed. Her head was feeling heavy, all of a sudden: going over to the Doctor’s bed and sitting up for so long had taken more energy than she’d realized. She closed her eyes, letting the fog of gas and headache and medicine take her back to sleep.

When she woke up, it was to the sound of the Doctor’s and Rose’s quiet voices against the rest of the hospital noise. Yaz turned her head to see them sitting together on Rose’s bed, curled against each other.

“There’s Slitheen in the parallel universe,” Rose was saying. “Did you know that?”

“Ugh, who’d want two Raxacoricofallapatoriuses?” the Doctor replied. It all sounded a bit like gibberish to Yaz, but that was par for the course for most of what the Doctor said. She sat up, blinking. Her headache was mostly gone. The IV was out of her arm, too, replaced by a bandage. She rolled down her sleeve.

“Yaz, you’re up!” the Doctor exclaimed, leaping to her feat. “You were out a while. The nurse said we can go now, if you’re ready.”

“I think I’m ready.” Yaz swung her legs over the side of the bed and eased herself to her feet. She felt a little shaky, but not so much that she wouldn’t be able to make it back to the TARDIS— especially not when the Doctor immediately got next to her, acting as a support.

“Rose, are you coming with us?” she asked.

“‘Course I am,” Rose said. “If you’ll have me.”

“‘Course we’ll have you,” the Doctor said. “Right, Yaz?”

“No complaints from me,” Yaz agreed with a smile.

And so they left the field hospital together. They’d gotten lucky: the TARDIS wasn’t parked too far away. It was a short-if-slow walk, Yaz still leaning on the Doctor for support, before the telltale blue box appeared in the distance.

“The TARDIS!” Rose exclaimed. “Oh, I’ve missed her, Doctor.”

The Doctor grinned. “Oh, just a warning. She’s redecorated a bit. I think you’ll like it.”

Rose ran ahead, her hair streaming out behind her. The TARDIS doors opened at her touch, and she disappeared inside. The Doctor and Yaz kept their slow pace, and a few moments later Rose ran back out of the TARDIS, grinning.

“I love it,” she said. “It’s fantastic. I didn’t know it could redecorate like that!”

“Oh, you should see the one we escaped Gallifrey on,” Yaz said. “It was all white inside. Not nearly as interesting.”

Rose ran back inside. The Doctor and Yaz were almost to the door now: they stepped through, and Yaz immediately felt just a little bit more energized. The TARDIS always did that to her: there was something about the space that was just so… well, magical was probably the best word for it. Rose was standing at the console, inspecting the instruments, and as the Doctor and Yaz made their way forward, the Doctor said, “Try that lever,” pointing at the lever next to Rose’s right hand.

Rose pressed it, and a custard cream slid down and into its slot. Rose picked it up with a delighted laugh. “She’s upgraded, then.”

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” The Doctor grinned.

“It is,” Rose said, looking around the room with wide-eyed wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

“Your room is still around here somewhere,” the Doctor added. “You know the TARDIS. If you wander long enough, you find what you’re looking for.”

“Maybe I’ll go looking, then.” Rose pushed away from the console to approach the Doctor and pull her into a tight hug. Yaz stepped away, looking in the other direction as the Doctor hugged Rose back. She could feel the history the Doctor and Rose had again: everything that passed between them, completely unspoken, was overwhelming in its simplicity.

“I missed you,” Rose murmured, quiet enough that Yaz could barely hear it.

“I missed you too.” The Doctor’s voice was just as soft.

Yaz fidgeted with the zipper on her jacket. She didn’t know whether to leave, or stay, or what— but then when she looked back, Rose was stepping away.

“I’m going to find my old room,” she said. She glanced from the Doctor to Yaz before stepping in close to the Doctor again, leaning to say something in the Doctor’s ear. Yaz could’ve sworn she heard, “You’ve got to tell her how you feel,” but that didn’t make sense at all— what was there for the Doctor to tell?

But when Rose made her way up the stairs and out of the console room, the Doctor turned to Yaz and took a deep breath.

“Rose thinks I need to talk to you,” she said.

Yaz searched the Doctor’s face for a hint of what was going on. “Why’s that, then?”

“I think— she thinks I fancy you,” the Doctor said, her words disjointed.

Yaz froze. She could feel her heart hammering her ribcage, fear in the back of her throat in anticipation of what the Doctor might say next. “Do you?” she asked.

The Doctor closed her eyes. “Suppose I do,” she said.

Yaz felt a smile forming on her face, with next to no input from her conscious self. “Why are you telling me this now?” she asked. “I mean, I thought with Rose back—”

“I missed my chance, with Rose,” the Doctor said. “Not forever, apparently, but— I didn’t say what I needed to say in time. I think— she wants me to talk to you so I don’t make that mistake again.” She touched one side of her chest, then the other. “Two hearts, remember? Lots of room. Rose knows I’ve had people in my life since she’s been gone.” The Doctor looked Yaz right in the eyes, and Yaz’s breathing quickened. “I care about you, Yaz,” the Doctor said.

“I care about you,” Yaz repeated back. “What does this change?”

The Doctor shrugged. “It doesn’t have to change anything. I mean, besides Rose being around, I suppose. You’re sure you’re all right with Rose being around?”

“I like Rose,” Yaz said. “Plus, it’s another person around to bully you into going to sleep sometimes.”

The Doctor shook her head. “It’s possible I’ve made a grave mistake.”

Yaz laughed, throwing her arms around the Doctor. “I don’t think so.”

The Doctor wrapped her arms around Yaz, and Yaz smiled into her shoulder. It hadn’t been a bad day, then, after all, she thought. All things considered.