#maybe after chess au if i ever figure out how to start it

[daisychainsandbowties]

https://www.tumblr.com/halleluland/726400786988449792?source=share

oooo this is giving the avatrice cryptozoology au

[vasito-de-leche]

Hi! I read about your super cool Self Aware R1999 AU and it got me thinking about what Sonetto would be like, since I have a 100% bond with her in the suitcase.

Would she try to keep normalcy? Have a brand new idle line? Perhaps pull a Monika DDLC and start writing poetry where she tries to grapple with the fact that there’s an eldritch being puppeteering her best friend?

;R1999 SONETTO - Self-Aware AU

Headcanons about how Sonetto would act upon becoming self-aware. Related to this Self-Aware AU post.

glad you like the AU! this was a nice chance to explore Sonetto's character more <3

To organize my thoughts better, I gotta talk about Sonetto first for a bit.

I definitely talked about this with a few friends, but Sonetto is a wonderful character to me because I both dislike and feel for her a lot - especially in the new 1.4 Main Story update. The emphasis the game puts into her role as a military dog (raised to follow orders and die for a cause she doesn't truly understand) and a lost puppy (a curious and dependant child believing her caretakers have the best of intentions) really lives up to the way she portrays these same traits. Yes, it's awful to see her continue to perpetuate the harmful ideas the Foundation taught her, but it makes sense. Yes, it's lovely to see her slowly break away from everything she's ever known, and yet revert back to her habits because change is difficult. The way she works perfectly as a foil to Vertin, it's so good!

To me, Sonetto is a character that resists change, while yearning for it at the same time. That's why her Medium is curiosity, after all. It's so lovely and ironic to see THE perfect example of a Foundation martyr being set up for failure in something that they couldn't have even foreseen, her own Medium, her own innate curiosity.

So with this in mind, I think that within the Self-Aware AU ... I think she would be able to deal with this sudden awareness of everything being fake, because her first reaction would be to assume there's something wrong with herself for thinking something so outlandish, so beyond what she was taught. Sonetto would still resist this change - if this is a game, then she's not meant to be aware of it, therefore she's the one at fault and perhaps, broken in a way.

Maybe "broken" is too heavy of a word, I imagine it's more like she believes she broke the rules by gaining this level of sentience. That it' wasn't supposed to happen in the first place.

How would she act overall?

I feel like Sonetto would be relatively fine upon becoming sentient because of this, she'd be shaken but would continue to do as expected and follow the script like a proper little chess piece, one of the many cogs needed in the machine - her reasoning is simple: if everyone who is self-aware began to act out, there wouldn't be a game to play. And what would happen to her friends, then? If this stability that the plot and script brings is suddenly gone?

There would be times where she might slip up, but they'd be very subtle changes in the her dialogue - perhaps the inflection of her voice, rather than the words - she might pause for longer to think, to consider whether to do anything outside of what she's expected to. But that's about it.

The problem begins when she finds out (or is told) that the Foundation had known this truth about the world they live in for longer than she's been alive. Sonetto remains docile entirely to keep that order and harmony she's been raised to maintain, but to find out that the very people who taught her that have known and done nothing but lie to everyone - that would be the catalyst for her.

Personally, I like to think that this is something she figures out on her own, rather than being told. A truth she must face on her own instead of just accepting someone else's words.

Her behaviour would still largely remain the same whenever she knows she has a part to play, but in those moments when she knows there's no "camera" looking at her, Sonetto would... sit there. WIth the way I've interpreted Sonetto, she's a character that struggles to actually have an identity outside of the Foundation's training, so now that this is something she can't rely on, she's at a loss as to what to do with this newfound freedom.

I imagine this is when other arcanists who were self-aware before her would start reaching out to Sonetto and slowly give her that stability she needs.

On the subject of Sonetto's relationship with Vertin.

The way I interpreted Sonetto and Vertin's dynamic, I don't see them as best friends!

From reading back some scenes and transcribing most of CH 03 of the Main Story, it feels like both Sonetto and Vertin have always found themselves in a one-sided relationship: when they were kids, Sonetto rejected Vertin's attempts at becoming friends because of their differences, even if they were both curious about each other. They never striked me as close. Now that years have passed, Vertin treats Sonetto similar to how she treats everyone else, while Sonetto explicitly wants to be closer to Vertin due to what happened when they were kids.

To me, Vertin has shown more emotion to Schneider and Madam Z than to Sonetto. There's this one-sided dynamic again.

In the context of the AU, I think Sonetto finding out about what Vertin goes through with this entity and this role that the game forced upon her, she would double down on her feelings to protect Vertin. There's a lot of guilt involved, since - once again - that's what the Foundation teaches to all orphan arcanists, to repent for their unruly and destructive existence.

I think Sonetto would feel guilty for not gaining sentience sooner, while Vertin has been struggling with this heavy weight for God knows how long. She would recontextualize everything about Vertin, her actions and the differences that constantly got her into trouble as a child, her desire to escape - attributing all of it to this entity that follows her. Because I do think that Sonetto idolizes Vertin to a degree that fuels this one-sided dynamic between them, not out of malice of course, just like a puppy.

So in the end, Sonetto would resent the Player and worry even more for Vertin, now using this as a justification for acting out of line and out of script, as Vertin's self-imposed protector.

It would take Sonetto a looooooong time to do anything with her sentience and freedom, beyond continuing to support Vertin. Her poems and her art would reflect this progress slowly, but yeah, not a lot of noticeable changes.

Reaching 100% Bond with Sonetto.

This is a very conflicting event for Sonetto, I'd say.

The more attention you pay to her, the more aware she becomes of your influence - and now she has to come to terms with the fact that there is no way of separating you from Vertin. She can't free Vertin from this fate, and it doesn't look like she wants that to happen either, but it eats Sonetto from inside out. Because she doesn't understand, and she wants to know why this is the way things are meant to be.

When it comes to reaching 100% Bond with her, or levelling her up and so on, I don't think she'd pay much attention to the mechanical aspect of it all. She's a skilled arcanist, she's the first important character the game gives to you during the tutorial stages, she knows just how important her Disarm ability can be to win a battle - of course you would want her on your team.

But as she slowly spends more time with Vertin and the Player, I think Sonetto would start to wonder about the outside world. They're small, little and impulsive thoughts in the back of her mind, like wondering if you too have someone in this fictional little world that you care about enough to see the story through the end. Are you capable of loving someone that can't reach out to you nor acknowledge your presence? Isn't it cruel, for those who remain blind to the truth, to be so loved and cherished by you?

Do you read the newspaper the same way Vertin does? Do you care about her? About her goals and dreams and thoughts?

This is the only way Sonetto can reconcile this resentment she has for you: through Vertin. I think Vertin would eventually notice all these subtle changes, the way Sonetto never looks truly happy whenever she looks at Vertin, looking above as if she could catch a glimpse of the Player. And Vertin would help through the whole process, easing up to sentience as a whole, to accepting the Player's existence as just something that is there, neither good or bad.

While she's one of the very few who has no trouble differentiating your actions and influence from Vertin's own free will, she would eventually come to respect your choices. Doing her best and beyond whenever you choose her to battle, because now the stakes are higher - now, she's choosing to fight for something she fully understands and cares about.

I like to think that Sonetto can't hear you, but she might be able to see you. Little glimpses here and there, when she happens to look up at the sky, and she sees you cheering after beating that one level that's been giving you a headache. I like to think that she would share these details about you with Vertin, if only to ease her own mind about the complex dynamic you have with THE Timekeeper.

But at the end of the day, this is progress and these are many changes that happen out of your field of vision. Perhaps, one day, Sonetto will gather the courage to thank you for taking care of Vertin when no one else would.

[genolover]

So I read @aughtpunk 's cotl forgiveness au in like 2 days and now I'm hyperfocusing on it. I just keep thinking of cute little things. Particularly between Shaun and kallamar. Aughtpunk probably shouldn't read this.

Like they have regular are-we-still-engaged chess matches. The first time kallamar wins, they regretfully tell the others the engagement is off. Most everyone is like, you were engaged?? How?? Since when?????? The next day they're engaged again. It great and not at all confusing. Pretty soon no one is sure if the engagement is even real or not. Don't ask kallamar, he's not 100% sure either. Like they play games to see who's responsible for the flowers or menu decisions but is it real? Half the group is sure it isn't until it's the night before the wedding and Holy shit this is actually happening wtf and Shaun is just so disappointed in them. Kallamar is too, right my love? Kallamar is like, yeah, I can't believe they doubted the seriousness of this situation. Internally he's screaming. Shaun also didn't think it was that serious but over time he got sick of people shit talking kallamar to his face so he was like, now I gotta marry him in the biggest most amazing wedding ever. I just gotta.

I also just like the idea that they would use games to settle most disagreements. They watch eachothers strategies and moods to figure out how serious they need to be. If it's a lighthearted thing then they joke the whole time and whoever wins, wins. Gg. If it's something more important to one than the other then they give a good game but let that person win since clearly this is a significant matter. If it's an important matter to both, they use the game as something of a distraction. I can't kill you for not understanding exactly where I'm coming from by magically reading my mind if I'm too busy trying to figure out if the move you just made is even legal. By the end of the match, whomever wins, it comes out as more of a compromise.

They do have this problem where if they don't have a clear goal for a game, it can escalate into terrible ends. Like Shaun makes a flirty double entendre about calamari, kallamar says something gross about cannibalism, suddenly its 3 am, they're in the kitchen with heket who is waaaay too happy about cooking some of her brother's flesh with the intention of giving it to his ex-fiancee to eat (shaun being grossed out by cannibalism made him lose), and questioning all of their life choices.

Oh and after wedding thought. Shaun asks narinder for a life flower (that what I've been calling them in my head). Narinder is grossed out but Shaun gives this whole speech about how they aren't gonna use it now, he just wants to show kallamar that he did notice that he wasnt sure how serious he was about the wedding but he is very serious about wanting to have this life together with him and growing their family together. Narinder does reluctantly give him a flower. Little while later kallamar asks for the same thing. His explanation is a little more based in logic. They've talked about children before and he's probably gonna be the one carrying them so it just makes sense for him to have the flower. Everyone is like aww they're gonna present these flowers to eachother and it's gonna be cute or something. Meanwhile kallamar is confirming that he and his husband aren't needed for anything else tonight and maybe the flower might work if brewed into a tea but eh it's better to not chance it and just. Fucking. Eats it. Right there. Infront of God (poor jake) and everybody. Did his husband see that? No, of course not. That would prevent any miscommunication drama. It's like, dude, did you guys plan on that or...? And kallamar is like, we've had some of the most important discussions about this already, I fail to see why we can't start trying now. And then he leaves to go spend his wedding with Shaun in private and now the whole family has no idea what to do with themselves. They did not need this information.

I also have thoughts for their kids. First set is twins. They are cute. They look like normal lambs just tinted blue. At first. They actually have tendrils they hide amongst their wool. They're also good at team hunting. If you see the both of them, it's safe. If you only see one, it's a distraction, turn around, you are being ambushed.

These are just fun little thoughts I had. Feel free to ignore me.

[theshippirate22]

i know not a single one of y’all cares about my Eddie In Wonderland au but it’s all I ever think about so you get to hear more about it anyway

So the premise is that Eddie finds himself falling and he doesn’t really know how he got there, he thinks maybe he’s found a gate to the Upside Down but when he finally lands he finds himself in. Wonderland. Stereotypical, mystical wonderland.

There’s a bit of a struggle with the Eat Me/Drink Me bit, but once he gets it figured out and gets through the door, he starts out through this weird ass forest, looking for some sort of sense in what must be a really, really bad trip

Instead, he finds Argyle in a blue and green tracksuit on a giant mushroom with a hookah, the entirety of the younger party at a massive table playing TnT (tea and treacle, obviously) lead by a perfectly nonsensical Dustin who traded in his ballcap for a top hat, and eventually, the towering and ominous Castle belonging to the King of Broken Hearts, one Steve Harrington.

In Steve’s court, he quickly learns that the Deck kingdom is in a cold war with the Chess kingdom. Apparently a few months earlier, King Steve was meant to marry the Queen of Hearts, Miss Nancy Wheeler, but the night before the wedding she told him she didn’t love him and the whole thing was bullshit.

Furious and heartbroken, Steve banished her from Deck, saying she could seek refuge in Chess or go beyond the Wonderland forest. She made it to Chess and was taken in, and Steve, the once lovely and gracious ruler, was left coldhearted and cruel.

Robin and Chrissy, the red and white queens of Chess respectively, fled shortly after this whole affair, because they were locked into marriages of benefit but were actually in love with each other, and sought asylum in Steve’s court. However, they did not tell him of their affections in fear that his unhappiness would lead him to deny them of their own. Instead they act usually as like his second in commands, and they’re the ones that fill Eddie in on everything that’s happening

Anyway so Deck and Chess really don’t like each other because Chess thinks Steve stole their heirs and because Steve thinks Chess has Nancy and he’s pissed about it.

But there have been all these prophecies about the coming of the Jabberwocky (ahem kind of mind flayed shaped) and Wonderland needs to be preparing for it to come because the fated White Knight hasn’t been seen in years and everyone is like 98% sure he’s dead so he’s not coming to save them, and the signs of its arrival are all happening and everyone is begging Steve to offer a truce to Chess because there’s no way Deck alone can defeat the Jabberwocky but he has no interest in doing that.

Until of course, Eddie shows up and knocks his whole life on its head because he’s… well, he’s falling in love with him and it’s making him realize maybe him and Nancy weren’t the best pairing and maybe it’s good they never got married actually? and Eddie is realizing that Steve is just so…. sad. and that’s what makes him so angry. but when they’re together, Steve is so much less of a tyrant and so much more of a man that just wants to be important to somebody.

And he’s important to Eddie.

[drunkewok]

Tiger Inside

Chapter Two

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 2k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Please do not copy or repost my work

My fingers trembled as they traced the words on the paper. Y/n. They knew my name. My pulse began to race, breathing increased significantly. My eyes flicked between my front door and my sliding door out to the patio, ensuring both were securely locked. Panic began to sink in as I scurried across the floor and drew the curtains, shutting out any light from the outside world. My brain was functioning at a million miles a second, processing every interaction I’ve had with Hyunjin and Felix at the lounge, trying to piece together any information they might have trickled out to me.

I should have known.

I should have known by their demeanor, the way they carried themselves, the fact that they were the only customers who never revealed what they did for work. The conversations always stayed pointed on me. On me. Oh god what information have I revealed? Deep down I knew I had kept my answers to them always vague, never truly giving them any details, but still I tried to hold myself back from panic. They obviously knew where I lived, had I led them directly to me? I rain my fingers through my hair as I paced the apartment, trying to formulate my next moves in this game of chess that has now been laid before me.

How could I have been so stupid?

10 years. 10 years away and I’ve allowed myself to get too comfortable, too relaxed. Lulled into a false sense of security with nothing ever happening. I had convinced myself that I had slipped into the shadows, left nothing but a memory in the mind of my secondary world. I dropped onto the couch, letting the letter fall onto the coffee table. I rested my head back against the wall as my eyes scanned the textured ceiling.

I’ve been reckless.

I quickly accepted that my errands needing to be run today were going to be put on hold, I’d only be leaving my apartment for work. Work. Oh god they’ll be there, I felt like nowhere I went would be safe. At least I had tonight, I had a whole day to figure out what I was going to do. In terms of today, I needed to start packing. Maybe I could head to Busan, start fresh there. Granted, if these two had already found me here so after so many years, clearly they’d be able to find me in Busan. I couldn’t flee with reckless abandon, I had to be strategic. If I left tonight I might at least be able to get a head start, choose a small fishing village to hunker down in until this all blows over.

No, Seongho, I needed to at least say goodbye. The poor guy would have a heart attack if I vanished into thin air. One last shift. I have to survive one last shift then I’ll leave from work, leaving what I’ve built here behind. I slid my small suitcase out from under my bed, laying it out over the sheets as I began to carefully curate the few clothes that I could fit inside. I knew that bringing anything other than my suitcase would raise suspicions, I had to pack light as to not weigh me down.

I contemplated trying to get in touch with my brother, curious if he had any information on the two following me, at the very least to warn him of the impending danger at my doorstep. My finger hesitated over the call button, weighing the options and possibilities of further issues that might rise from getting into contact with the family. At the same time, the itch for some sort of familiarity in this situation pulled me closer, until my thumb finally pressed, triggering the call.

Straight to voicemail. The prompt leading me to the recording stalled my thoughts, only the beep bringing me back to awareness and frantically ending the call before the recording started. Dead end.

I knew I couldn’t meet with Hyunjin and Felix, that was a dangerous situation just waiting to happen. I just had to ride this out for a little bit longer and I’ll be able to put Gangnam behind me. I started from scratch once, I could do it again.

Time passed painfully slow, sleep was nonexistent last night. Hours spent tossing and turning, fixated on the ceiling, mind racing. I knew staying a bit longer was a risky choice, but I just had to avoid the men tonight then get out of there. I sat in the back room at work before clocking in, fidgeting with the hem of my dress in an attempt to calm my nerves.

Stepping out onto the floor, I avoiding looking to the back corner, worried that the two would already be there. Seongho smiled as I approached the bar, grin quickly fading the moment my sunken features became evident.

“Damn, you look like shit tonight, you alright?” Seongho’s eyes drooped in worry, the sleepless night clearly manifesting in deep dark circles under my eyes.

“You sure know how to flatter a woman.” I reached across the bar, grabbing a shot glass and gesturing toward the bottles of tequila on the shelf. “Hand one to me, would ya? I need a pick me up tonight.” With a solemn sigh, he filled the glass before me and watched as I downed it, placing it into the sink across the counter. “Didn’t get any sleep last night, and haven’t really been able to eat anything, but I’ll be fine. Just got to get through tonight.” Seongho hesitated before filling a glass of whisky and placing it in front of me with a water, my face scrunched in confusion as I looked back to him in silence.

“Only the one is here tonight, not sure where the other one is.” My stomach dropped as I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, Felix was alone at the booth. But I knew better, I knew how they worked. Just because you could only see one, the second was still close by, simply hiding in the shadows somewhere. I quickly scanned the lounge, hoping to see some glint of bleach blonde hair peaking out from the crowd, but alas, Hyunjin was nowhere in sight. I spun around, grabbing Yeongja by the sleeve as she passed by me.

“Hey, my stomach isn’t sitting too well with me, could you run this to table six for me?” Yeongja glanced over to Felix before nodding and taking the tray from me, settling it atop her hand.

“You alright? I got some tums in my purse if you need some”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be alright, just need to slip off the floor for a second.” Yeongja gave soft smile before turning and making her way to Felix. I quickly slipped away, but instead of b-lining for the bathroom I left through the front door, breathing deeply the moment my face was hit with the crisp night air. I scanned the alley, checking for anyone nearby before deeming it safe and leaning my back against the wall. Digging into my apron, I dug out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between my lips. Flicking my lighter on, I set the tip of the cigarette alight and rested my head back on the wall with an exhale, closing my eyes and trying to relax my tense muscles.

“Never really took you for a smoker.” I’m jolted alert at the deep voice beside me, Felix seemingly have snuck out the door in silence, now taking place next to me leaning against the wall. He didn’t look toward me, instead finding more visual interest on the worn brick wall standing across from us.

“I’m… I’m not really” I glanced down at the cigarette sitting between my fingers, my heart now racing with the close proximity of someone who very well might be here to kill me. “Use it as an excuse when I need out of the bar for a little bit.”

“An excuse, eh? When the stress is too much?” I chewed the inside of my cheek, staring down at my feet as I shuffled my toes side to side, giving a weak nod in an attempt to answer. We sat it silence for a bit, both just staring into nothingness, before his voice cuts the silence.

“We missed you last night.” My chest seizes, breath caught sharply. I avoid his gaze as I take another drag of my cigarette to buy time to formulate how I was going to go about this.

“I’m sorry, can’t say I know what you’re talking about.” I fawned ignorance as I looked back at him, trying to keep my face slack, sometimes a resting bitch face can actually come in handy.

“No need to play dumb, y/n.” Our eyes met, silence falling over the both of us again. My jaw tensing as I tried to read his expression. “Listen, I don’t blame you. I probably wouldn’t have come either.” Our exchange of a sharp, cold stare is broken as I looked away, finding my eyes meeting anything but him. I chewed my cheek as I studied the quiet night around me. The distant sound of a siren, the water dripping onto concrete, the muffled sounds of a city night.

“Your Father sent us.” My head snaps his way immediately, scanning his face for any sign of dishonesty. “We do really need to talk though. About him. But here isn’t the place, I know you get off late, but we’ll be at the bridge. Please do meet us there.” Before I even have a moment to respond he stands and gives a soft salute as he made his way down the alley. My gaze followed him as he reached further away, Hyunjin stepping out from the darkness behind a building and falling in step with him.

“Fucking knew you were hiding somewhere.” I grumbled as I threw my cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, before throwing it in the trash and returning to work.

I tried to keep my mind on what is probably my last shift at Blossom, a place that’s felt like home for so many years, working alongside Seongho and Yeongja, and making friends with so many of the patrons. Still though, every moment I finally let my mind focus on my current moment, it was quickly pulled back to Felix outside.

Your Father sent us.

I reminded myself that this could still be a ploy to get me alone. I wrestled with my options, if they were truly targeting me, they definitely already had ample opportunities to get me. The thought of connection with my Father after so long still pulled me, but why would he need me now? Why send his goons to collect me?

I fumbled multiple drinks throughout the night, mistakenly spilling them across tables, guests, floors. Seongho beckoned me over to the bar after the most recent spill, eyeing me as I came forward.

“What has gotten into you tonight? You come in looking like you haven’t slept in a week and now you’re spilling stuff? This isn’t like you.” I tripped over my words, struggling to come up with an excuse quickly for him. “Why don’t you take the rest of the night, it’s chill enough in here tonight, we’ll survive.” I opened my mouth to protest but he simply pointed to the door. My lips met in a tight line, I stared at him for a moment, processing that this may be my last time seeing him. I gave him a solemn smile before nodding with a soft okay.

I went and gathered my purse and jacket from the back room, stopping once more at the bar before my exit.

“Treat yourself well Seongho.” I avoid looking at him as I leave, missing whatever confused look was now plastered across his face. Reaching the end of the alley, I glanced down the road to my left, the direction I normally would travel on my way home, the comfortable, familiar walk. My feet wanted to take me home, to return to the time before Hyunjin and Felix arrived. I wanted back my ability to function like a civilian, simply working day to day and keeping a plain life. Instead I turned to the right, taking a deep breath before beginning my trek to Tancheon Bridge.

I needed to know that my family was okay.

Next Chapter

[jamiesfootball]

more Leverage au nonsense-

after messaging back and forth with @izzyspussy and noodling on it a bit, I've figured out how to slot Nate (Ted Lasso) into the Leverage AU.

He is this universe's Sterling. Sort of.

Nate, gifted fucking Nate, had a plan when he was younger. He wanted to do something with football. Not play - he was never any good - but he could... manage, maybe? There was something there, something in the intricacies of the play and the people and the rules of the game that called to him.

Football was always his chess; chess never had enough moving pieces to keep him interested.

Then life happened. He went to university, and under pressure and wanting his father's approval, he studied finance. Which was fine, since he figured he could always pivot into one of the football clubs from there, and he'd still be near the sport he loved, but then life happened again and again and again and before he knew it he was working for the IYS London Branch under the financial auditing department. It was nothing he ever wanted as a job, but it supported his love for his actual passion for football and puzzles and whatever niche interests he curated that month.

Not to mention, a lot of the club owners worked with IYS, so occasionally he'd get comped seats! He even got assigned to work on the accounts of Rupert Mannion - the Rupert Mannion.

And then Rupert Mannion got divorced and shortly thereafter his ex-wife disappeared.

After that things got a bit... odd.

See Nate wasn't just an audit specialist - he was the audit specialist. He's who you turned to when things got funky. He had a mind for patterns, and for understanding the people who made them.

Rupert Mannion got divorced, and then suddenly people he knew - people Nate had worked with regularly for years - started having...strange things happen to them. So Nate did what Nate does - Nate followed the money.

Nate found Ted.

No one was more surprised than Nate when he found Ted Lasso, the ex-IYS investigator who disappeared a while ago. The one Nate had worked with a handful of times when one of Ted's American clients had business 'across the pond.' The one who always sent him Christmas cards, the printed kind with a photo of himself, his wife, and his growing family. Nate didn't get a card last year. Nate heard rumors of what happened with his son, how Ted disappeared off the map after all of that, but those are just rumors, and Nate never put any stock in those.

Nate goes to Ted to hear it from the man himself.

Ted trusts Nate. He likes this bright kid who was always so nice when he had occasion to visit, who showed him around to all his favorite restaurants and indulged Ted when he wanted to catch a museum that 'had nothing to do with what anything that'd been stolen.' Nate was always a good egg.

Ted tells Nate everything. He tells him about how he's been helping people that don't have anywhere else to go, and how he's teamed up with some of the people they used to chase, and how they're aiming to put a little good in the world.

But that's not what Nate hears. Nate hears that Ted, a good man, has changed sides. He's the one directly responsible for Nate's clients' misery. He's responsible for why IYS has had such a bad quarter, that four of Nate's coworkers have been let go just in the past few weeks.

"Roy Kent," he tells Ted, hoping to wake some sense in him. "You're working with Roy Kent. Do you have any idea what that man has done? What he's capable of?"

Ted gives him a sad, knowing smile, "I know enough."

"He's a bad person, Ted."

"Well on that I'll have to disagree."

Nate doesn't understand it. He doesn't understand why Ted would throw everything away - and for these people. And he knows these people. Ted was not as clever as he thought he was when he covered his tracks. Rupert Mannion's ex-wife, who got an astronomical amount of money in the divorce and somehow still wants more? The thief Keeley, who's stolen millions of dollars in art and statues - pieces of history that civilization will likely never get back? Roy Kent, who even the mafia considers a liability to have walking around breathing? Jamie Tartt - this new kid with a reputation that isn't nearly as bad as Roy Kent's was back in the day, but it was getting there. Even though he bafflingly seems tied to cyber crime these days--

--Nate cuts himself off mid sentence.

Before he leaves he tells Ted, sincerely, that he's glad to see he's doing okay. Really he is. But he does not condone what Ted is doing.

The team is understandably livid to hear that Ted met with an IYS agent and told him everything. Ted's only defense was, "I didn't think it would go so bad. Nate's always been a straight-shooter. Not a blind-spot to be found in that guy. Still, I think it'll work out. He's a good person who's had a shock. Maybe just give him some time."

Nate has a mind for patterns, but also for names, and he'd seen one of those names before, or something like it, in a place it shouldn't have been.

James Tartt. Paid a tidy little sum by Rupert Mannion for security work. It's neither a common or uncommon name, and it takes very little work for Nate to run background on the guy. He's not the young hitter Nate was thinking of, but he's older and he's got a kid who'd be the right age.

The plan is in motion before Nate recognizes he's made one.

Because from Nate's perspective, these people aren't solving anything. These people are part of the problem. No one made them choose to be thieves, no one made them decide to hurt people and call it justice. No, there's a right way and a wrong way to do things, and if Ted's chosen the wrong way then Nate has to stop him.

It's not until he's watching on the TV as the Crown and Anchor goes up in a loud fiery explosion that his knees give out.

His supervisors applaud him for bringing down Ted Lasso.

Interpol hires him, offers him a better job. Field work. No more sitting at a desk and crunching numbers. It's bittersweet, how well it suits him to be in the thick of things, to be chasing down the people who are actually bad people. To be putting some good in the world.

Maybe if he puts enough good into the world, he can make up for the good he took out of it.

It's not all sunshine and roses. The longer he's at Interpol, the more he realizes how complicated things really are. How there are agents who work alongside him who don't really play by the rules - or any rules. How there are just as many shady backroom deals being done at the top as the bottom.

Everyone at Interpol knows Roy Kent, by reputation if not by experience, and they tell Nate stories that make his gut churn. The more he learns, the sorrier he feels for the man he never knew -- he never stood a chance.

Nate does his job, what's always been his job: he studies the patterns and the people.

Nate learns that in one of the web of lies is a pit of vipers, and that the leader of that web is Rupert Mannion. The man who put a hit on his ex-wife shortly after she divorced him. The man Nate tried to help when he took Ted down. The man Nate sold Ted's life for.

Nate has changed. Nate is not on the good side he thought he was. A good man died, and there was never, ever going to be a price for that that Nate could live with. Nate is irredeemable, now, in his own eyes.

He could really use some advice, but there was only ever one man who answered his calls.

Numb, he goes home to his apartment. On the wall is a framed print of Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night that he got with Ted on one of their museum jaunts. On his table is a takeout menu for A Taste of Athens, a place he hasn't been back to since after the funeral, when he realized baklava would forever taste like ashes in his mouth.

On his counter, neatly stacked with the rest of his mail, is a Christmas card he's never seen before.

It looks like the kind of thing you'd find at a gift shop in an airport. Bright pink graffiti letters spelling out 'Happy Christmas' over the image of a local pub. A familiar local pub. It's the pub around the corner from his flat.

Nate grabs his coat.

[jellyboy-arts]

wheel of fate day: red light au

rbs appreciated!! rambles under the caption i have so many thoughts oh mg god

edo period AU: judar as an oiran and hakuryuu the shogun's son

oiran were high-class courtesans / entertainers that were incredibly expensive, only the wealthy could afford them. while they did engage in sex work, it was only one aspect of their job (amongst singing, playing instruments/chess, good conversation, etc)

they were indentured, and worked to pay off their debts to their ..iirc it's called "room-owner" / owner of the establishment they work at. but basically pimp.

also they were women. my concept for this is judar is crossdressing, it'd add a little flair and controversy to his career

a LOT of canon plot points can translate over really well here. gyokuen marrying into the shogunate family to do nefarious things // eventually briefly becoming shogun herself like she was the empress of kou

shogun era is samurai warlord era, judar's parents die because of gyokuen in some way or the other when he's young and in a fit of rage and despair he figures the only thing he can do is infiltrate the higher classes by becoming a prostitute and eventually get close enough to gyokuen to take revenge

[this requires a little more awareness of himself/his past than in canon on his part, but i think he could forget his original objective now and then & indulge in his work and that'd work fine]

eventually he gets at Hakuryuu who, as the shogun's son, could be very useful to his plot for revenge

(in my mind this is a juhaku centric AU but there's nothing stopping him from getting with most/all the ren dungeon capturers from canon in this au at least once or twice. in fact i think that's a really good idea.)

(like in canon tho hakuryuu ends up being the one he spends the most time with)

originally doesn't mean to become too attached to him but he realizes hakuryuu hates his mom as much as he does .. bonding moment

hakuryuu probably ends up with judar on accident the first time around. got a little too wasted & wound up in his company unintentionally but had a surprisingly enjoyable time

btw usually oiran and client dont fuck on the first meeting iirc theyre just hanging out

so then they start seeing each other regularly...and they catch feelings......

omg they catch feelings............................

anyway so. i think the gyokuen fight could happen very similarly in this au. maybe a little smaller & less Civil War + more assassination

but thats just my personal preference. either way

gyokuen/hakuryuu fight (samurai edition) in some room in the palace

gyokuen staggers outside thinking she's won but on her way out she runs into the courtesan Judar (probably watching the moon serenely waiting for her. i am not immune to tropes)

i feel like.. the scene where gyokuen kisses hakuryuu mid-battle could be reversed here, potentially. judar kisses gyokuen as he stabs her with a hairpin

or maybe just pulls her close enough to stab idk. but im fond of the hairpin stab.

curses at her for how he's lived his life as she falls to the ground etc

hakuryuu gets the honors of beheading her still.

diversity win!

from there i think...hakuryuu could go on to become the shogun (and use the family's wealth to buy Judar's freedom) like he becomes the emperor of kou

or we could skip that part and have him decide he's done with hatred after gyokuen is dead and he and judar run away to the small village judar is from happily ever after

i love this au so much can you tell

somebody join me in this brainrot please

[earnestly-endlessly]

hi! hope you're doing well :) do you have any domestic!cherik fics? or established relationship ones?

Hi anon, thanks for the ask. I'm doing very well, been super busy because I'm currently moving but it's all good. I have plenty of great domestic/established relationship cherik fics for you. I hope you enjoy!!

Domestic/Established Relationship cherik

Daycare ‘Verse’ – orphan_account, pocky_slash

Summary: A modern AU in which Charles runs a mutant daycare and Erik is his long-suffering engineer boyfriend.

Runs in the Family – Anonysquirrel (chibirisuchan)

Summary: Alex knew his own reputation. Hell, he'd started some of his own reputation, because it kept some of the smarter thugs off his back. Everyone knew Alex's reputation. There was no way Hank didn't know his reputation, but he'd brought Alex into a house with some really expensive things and a lot of innocent little kids and his too-friendly, too-harmless dad.

But clearly Hank hadn't told his family anything about Alex, just like he hadn't told Alex anything about his family. At least, not about the brain-breaking parts of his family.

"I didn't know where to start," Hank said, for the dozenth time.

Gift of the Magi, But Screw it Up – librata

Summary: He doesn't know if he's buying too much, too little, or even the right things at all, because he's never entertained a guest as important as Edie Lehnsherr.

Making perfect – aesc

Summary: As is the case with most trials in Erik's life, this one starts with Charles gazing beseechingly at him and asking him for a favor. Not that their going-on-three years relationship is a trial, even though it started with Charles giving Erik the full benefit of sad blue eyes and asking him if he wouldn't mind opening his car door since he'd locked his keys inside, but still.

Continue firm and constant – aesc

Summary: Moira hasn't seen her old partner in saving the world from threats human and intergalactic, Erik Lehnsherr, for a few years. When she finally does see him again, she finds a man different from the one who's been with her down in the dark and the dirt and the blood... or maybe he isn't so different after all.

After School Special – listerinezero

Summary: Charles was barely seventeen and Erik was his social studies teacher. But after almost fifteen years together, does it really matter how they met?

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Trying is Half the Battle – Pookaseraph

Summary: Post-Cuba, no divorce, Charles and Erik are in an established relationship and when Charles gets sick with a random flu bug, they discover that Charles can get pregnant. They then try to get pregnant, and try, and try.

We’ll all be gone for the summer – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles and Erik's usual family beach vacation gets a little bigger when they agree to watch Erik's teenaged twins for the summer. Charles is looking forward to a chance to bond with his step-children. Erik is terrified of screwing them up even more.

A Summer Day So Late in Coming – helens78

Summary: Fifty years after they fell in love, Erik comes to Charles with a proposal that rocks Charles's world.

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

Before You Attempt Me (Fair Warning) – kianspo

Summary: Charles helps Raven get ready for the prom. Surprisingly, that part goes well. The prom itself not so much. Erik cooks a lot of unhealthy comfort foods and is incredibly patient. Charles mostly frets about everything, until Erik does something neither he, nor Raven see coming.

And now you will not be alone any more – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik gives driving, sewing, and cooking lessons, soothes nightmares, bolsters self-esteem, and still can't figure out why Charles keeps smiling at him like that.

Some sense of touch and a melody – pocky_slash

Summary: On a day when Charles, for once, finds himself saying the right thing to everyone he sees, he allows himself to be talked into a field trip to a local orchard.

It’s kind of our whole thing – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Indulgence – grim_lupine

Summary: “The children are still asleep,” Charles murmurs groggily, flinging an arm out as if searching for Erik beside him. “The house is still standing, this is a ghastly hour, and more importantly, I’m still here. Why do you insist on doing this every morning?”

Your Father’s Daughter – ConsultingWriter

Summary: Wanda proves just how much she takes after Erik.

Pietro reeled back before leaning back in "They didn't tell you what happened? Wanda got in a fist fight and totally wailed on this guy, I mean, on one hand I feel kinda embarrassed for him, but it was so epic."

Erik's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Wanda got in a fight? That was....surprising, to say the least. Wanda tended to take after Charles in temperament and preferred talking to violence.

This Crazy Game Called Life – chiasmus

Summary: Raven declares game night in the mansion. Sean finds an elephant, Erik inherits one hundred unwanted cats, and Charles scars Hank for life with misdirected dirty thinking. This is five thousand-something words of crack with a dose of schmoop. I'm not sorry. Written for this kink meme prompt: Raven is tired of the boys going off to play chess (if they're even playing chess!) and pulls out a load of board games from one of the closets in the mansion. Madness ensues.

To my roomba with love – sareyen

Summary: There are a lot of things that Erik loves about Charles. He loves all of the obvious things; Charles’s kindness, his intelligence, his laughter, his eyes. He also loves the little private things; the way Charles sneaks Erik his unwanted tomatoes, his warbled opera singing in the shower, that sensitive spot on his hip.

And he loves the silly things about Charles, especially the way the man has a habit of talking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Charles has conversations with the kettle, the washing machine, and their roomba – and every time Erik eavesdrops on him, he falls in love with the man a little bit more.

Everything About it is a Love Song – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's spent fifty years being a figurehead and he's ready to leave that behind. Luckily, so is Charles.

(aka Old Retired Dudes in Love)

A Very Xavier-Lehnsherr Christmas – zamwessell

Summary: Erik is discovering new things about Charles Xavier all the time. Charles sometimes talks in his sleep. Often about food. Occasionally in Latin. Charles has a scar on his left thigh from attempting to demonstrate relativity to a girl by sitting on a hot stove. Charles doesn’t mean to be so loud when they make love, but sometimes Charles can’t help himself.

Charles is a voracious reader. Charles has an unspeakably filthy imagination. Charles will try anything in bed twice to make sure he wasn’t wrong the first time.

Charles is unexpectedly fond of Christmas. Perhaps that is not the phrase. “Unhealthily obsessed” might be better.

The fluffiest holiday fluff you ever read in your dang life.

Of Crabs and Castles – flightinflame 

Summary: Charles and Erik take their children to the beach. Wanda builds a sandcastle, Nina makes some friends, and Pietro gets some exercise. Some family fun in the sunshine.

Bring Your Daughter To Work Day – listerinezero

Summary: Charles brings three year old Lorna to class with him.

Glasses – grim_lupine

Summary: Charles blinks at him bemusedly, but Erik barely notices because Charles is wearing glasses— wire-rimmed, and Erik can feel the metal humming, traces without touch the way they follow the curve of Charles’s nose and rest behind his ears.

Genetics Isn’t Sexy – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles lectures. The kids aren't very responsive. Erik, on the other hand....

Peanut Butter and Honey (The Fairytale Remix) – pocky_slash

Summary: Once upon a time there was a Princess named Anya who lived in a house with her Daddy and her wicked stepmother Charles. (A wicked stepmother is the person who comes and lives with princesses and their daddies after their mommies go away.) She had a best friend named Leroy, and one day he was lost.

The Bystander (The Consultant (aka A Westchester Telepath in the Avengers Tower) Remix) – Nanimok

Summary: When it comes to Professor Charles Xavier, telepath, SHIELD consultant and compulsive flirt, no one is safe.

Not even the Big Three.

[jimlingss]

Moirai [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 6.2k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

You turn the corner and dart down the hall.   “My lady!”   There’s a parade of maids chasing after you, Joan included in the bunch, and a frightened guard whose metal armour clanks with each movement. You grin, swinging your wooden sword around at them with a ‘huzzah!’. Pretending you’re a champion, you twirl around the pillar with one arm. But even with your theatrics, they’re still meters away and out of reach.   “Please! Come back! You have your dance lessons!”   You stick out your tongue. “Then catch me!”   It’s been one full year since you’ve started learning swordsmanship and admittedly, it’s become one of your most favourite times of the day. It beats sitting at a desk with the old fart droning on and on about dumb things you already know or having your posture criticized over and over again during dance lessons.    You’re frankly getting tired of having information and insults shoved down your throat.    Sword lessons are the only time you can be out in the sun and do whatever you want. You can tell that you’re improving too. It’s a pain in the ass to get the guards to take you seriously, but sometimes the tips and tricks they give are pretty helpful.   It’s fun.   Especially when there are people desperately chasing you.   “P-Please!” one of the girls cries out, running out of breath.   One of the best perks about being a five-year old is having endless energy in your body. And you’ll happily take advantage of that while you still can. “Pirates never give up! Argh, matey!”   But your play time is unfortunately interrupted by a deadpanning voice—   “What are you doing?”    The familiar sharp voice sends shivers up your spine and you freeze.   Your parade halts on their heels as well, immediately dropping their heads to the ground and placing one hand over the other reverently. “Your grace.”   “What is going on here?” Your mother’s footsteps echo through the marble hall, ball gown dragged behind her as her scrutinizing eyes lay on the help, the knight and then to you.   “I’m so sorry,” Joan is quick to confess, “The lady refuses to attend her dance practices.”   And she’s quick to throw you under the bus.   If you could, you’d stick up your middle finger at her.   Your mother turns, her glare laid upon you. You brace yourself.   “This is not how the future Devereux head should act.” Her voice is above a slight murmur, yet chilling and heavy. Her narrowed eyes have dimmed as they look upon you. She doesn’t need to yell to be frightening. “The Chevalier household has their youngest daughter playing piano and they recently went to the castle to show her talent. How will you compete, Anastasia?”   “I—”   “Or will you continue to tarnish our family’s name by being a child?”   You are a child. Technically.    The woman looms over you, her demeanour imposing and the burden of the household’s name lays upon your shoulders. You can’t help but feel small. It’s no wonder Anastasia took the Prince’s kindness as love and fell for him so quickly. Moments with him were her moments of freedom.   You stay quiet, solemn, knowing it’s not worth arguing. Your eyes instead focus on a younger maid who’s silently snickering to herself and before you can make note for later, your vision blurs.   “From now on, your swordsmanship lessons will be retracted until you’ve caught up with the rest of your lessons,” she says while looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance. “The only places you are to be permitted in for the next month is your room and the study—”   It’s unfair. A punishment that doesn’t fit the crime.   But your voice doesn’t come out of your mouth.   The world tilts on an axis. It swirls. Your head is lightweight.    And before you could figure out what’s happening, there’s a shrill cry for you — “my lady!” — and you feel yourself falling back before the universe becomes pitch black. An abyss of nothing.   //   “Why did she faint?!”   When you come to, your first thought is that you’ve died. Again.   Illness. Heart attack. Maybe from the plague.    Fuck.   It’s frightening and you feel an urge to cry, knowing that you yet again didn’t complete your goal of living a long and fruitful life. That the years spent fighting for your survival were ultimately useless. But then you hear far away voices and realize your fingers can twitch. The soft mattress underneath you registers soon after and it sinks in that you’re in your room, bedridden.   “Well….your grace…”   “On with it! I didn’t bring you here to waste my time!”   “Herrick…”   Oh right. It’s the Eve of the Solar Festival, isn’t it? A day where commoners celebrate the empire and wish for its everlasting prosperity. You remember since you’ve never gone before. Around this same time last year and the year before that, you fell ill in the exact same way — cold, chest aching, dizzy spells.    It’s odd. Usually you aren’t so weak and yet somehow, you always get better in the morning once the festival is over. You don’t remember this ever being mentioned in the original game either. Or at least Anastasia never said anything about it and she would’ve totally milked it for the Prince’s attention if she could’ve. But maybe it’s an outside detail. Something the game developers were going to include in a future DLC.   “We don’t know what’s happening to the lady, your grace,” the healer says.   Your father bellows from his stomach, “Excuse me?!”   “H-Her pulse reads well and she has no fever either. I-It’s a very unusual case.”   In your half-consciousness, you perceive the bitter silence.    “Heal her at all costs.” Your father’s footsteps fade and your mother sighs.   You wish you couldn’t hear. Otherwise, it would be easy to demonize the pair as unsympathetic, psychopathic parents who only consider their daughter a chess piece. You’re sure the only reason they’re expressing so much concern is because you are the only heir after all. They really have no future if Anastasia dies.    But it’s still hard to quell the hope that they actually care for your wellbeing.    Still, you wish you couldn’t hear their desperation. It wouldn’t have to be so conflicting. Or bittersweet. The only time they show an ounce of their affection is when you’re on your deathbed.   You muster the strength to open your eyes once everyone’s left the room.    Most likely, you’ll live through this. You still have yet to have any of the game’s encounters or even start. Anastasia was alive for most of it, enough to terrorize the main character, so you’ll live too.   Shit. When does the game start again?   The opening scene was right before the debutante ball was held for all the girls in the empire.   You count on your fingers — give or take, there’s twelve or thirteen years left….   But you remember from the wiki fan page that Anastasia became engaged to the Crown Prince when they were kids.    Oh god. If you weren’t so weak, you’d roll over and scream into your pillow.   There’s an unsettling feeling boiling in the pit of your stomach.   No matter how much effort you put forth, you don’t know how you’re going to avoid that arrangement.

Turns out, it’s unavoidable.   It begins two years later at seven years old, the D-day that you were dreading, the first domino that begins all the others.   “No! Please!” The entire household is stunned at how you’ve grabbed onto the Duke’s leg and wrapped your limbs around his appendage, practically dead weight and not allowing him to move a single step.    All your life, you’ve kept a good amount of distance between your parents — never daring to overstep your boundaries or sass them back no matter how much you wanted to. It’s more trouble than it’s worth anyway and it’s better to play on their good side.   But you’ve thrown in the towel. This is your last desperate attempt.   “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll go to all my dance lessons and all my history lessons and all my math lessons. Please, papa! Please!” You’re practically crying aloud. You wish someone would help you. “I don’t want to go to the Royal Palace!”   Edith is shaking her head while Joan is mortified at the sidelines.   Your mother’s expression is twisted in disgust while your dad is wholly aghast. Hey — it’s not like you wanted to do this either, alright?!   But your pleas fall on deaf ears. To them, it’s merely the whining of a child. A temper tantrum.   “My lady, please stop this,” Joan harshly whispers and rushes to pry your grip off of the Duke’s leg. Several others come too, maids and kitchen staff alike. Your strength is no match for theirs.   “My stomach hurts!”   Your father has no sympathy. “We’ve delayed enough times, Anastasia. If we postpone the meeting with the King again, it would be shameful to our house. Now get up.”   He’s done hearing the excuses — and while you’d usually internally call him out for being an ass, the moment you heard he wanted to take you to the palace, you did claim you have a fever.    Then you claimed diarrhea. A cough. Hid for several hours.   You’re actually surprised you managed to delay it for this long.   “There’s no choice, my lady,” Joan mutters quickly as she fixes the ribbons in your pretty hairdo. “You must go with the Duke today.”   Deep down, you know it’s true. You’ll be pulled along anyhow.    But you wish they would understand that this is a matter of life and death for you.   Your silence is a sign of raising the white flag and Joan retracts back to her place as your dad turns to leave the manor. He adjusts his hat as he’s escorted to the carriage and you’re about to trail after him, but your mother stops you.   You expect her to reprimand you, give an earful of what you should and shouldn’t do. But you’re surprised when she lowers herself down to your eye level.    She catches you off guard when she reaches out to button up your pea coat, attentive and careful in each swift movement. “This is a really important meeting, Anastasia. Do you understand?”    Her voice is soft, quiet enough that no one else aside from you can hear. You nod.   “You must be on your best behaviour. Your father, me, all the workers here, and the whole House of Devereux will be relying on you.” Wow. Way to not pressure a seven year old. “Today is the day that might change our lives for the better.”   As she finishes buttoning, her hands stroke your shoulders down your arms. The Duchess smiles gingerly, tiredly. For a moment, you feel guilty for being so selfish — for prioritizing your own survival and desires when everyone else was quite literally relying on you for their livelihood.   You find yourself swallowing hard before nodding again.    You get into the carriage without another word.    Well fuck. What now?   A part of you wishes you ran away when you had the opportunity — even though there was a good chance you would’ve been kidnapped and sold at an underground market or gone hungry or be shipped back right to your parents. Ashea, like any other place, doesn’t take kindly to wandering children.   But at least then you would’ve had more control and choice.    You know this isn’t just a fun field trip to the palace. The only reason the Duke and the King would meet like this is to seek an engagement. Your engagement with the Prince’s.    Half an hour later, you peek out the carriage windows to see the castle at the horizon.   Stone walls, seven towers, lookouts, the empire’s flag fluttering in the breeze — it’s a beautiful place with rolling green hills and beds of flowers that wind up the path. It’s a hundred times more grand than the Devereux estate and ten times the size too, stretching across for miles. But it’s also the location where all of it happens.    The beginning. The climax. The end.   “Anastasia.”   Your attention is taken when your father steps off the carriage. You take the servant's hand and hop down onto the cobblestone, following your father closely. He greets an important person or two and you lower your head to them in greeting as they complement how mannerly you are.   The two of you are led through open, lavish halls full of life-sized portraits and marble statues, and then through the garden. Even in both your lifetimes, you’ve never seen so many different kinds of flowers and vivid hues in one place.    Pansies. Orchids. Marigold.    Magenta. Lavender. Marmalade.   But you don't get to admire it for long. Not when the gazebo comes into sight.    A man with straight posture, dark hair streaked with gray to show his age and deep set eyes sits at the rounded table. Even with the absence of his crown, his status is shown through his navy cape ornate with golden swirls held together by an emerald jewel embellished with the royal crest. Wrinkles around his mouth, he has a fiercely stern expression until he cordially smiles as your father approaches.    Beside him is a spitting image, a smaller boy slumped in the white chair, visibly bored.   “Herrick! Good to see you, my old friend.”   “Your Majesty.” Your father bows and you follow suit, giving a curtsy and lowering your head. But at the same time, you can’t help peeking at the boy. His eyes meet yours and you look away.   Oh fuck.   It’s the first meeting between the Prince and Anastasia.    You’re sure for her it was impactful, nerve wracking, life changing. And it’s like that for you as well, but not so much on the positive side.   “Please, the formalities. Is this the daughter you've been speaking so highly about?”   “Yes, this is my only child, Anastasia.”   You plaster on a perfect, little smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”   The King hums. “A very lovely child indeed. The Devereux House is blessed.”   The Duke smiles. “Thank you.”   “Please sit and make yourselves welcome.” The King gestures and the servants nearby scurry over, pulling out your chairs, pouring tea and placing plates of biscuits on their table. In a blink, they’ve finished and you can’t help but muse how much better they are than the servants back at home. The King smiles and looks at his son. “Jungkook, don’t you have anything to say?”   “Nice to meet you,” he deadpans before his doe eyes wander out to the gardens.    Jungkook is wholly disinterested in you and this entire affair — you don’t blame him. You bet any seven year old would be itching to get out of their seat. But looking at him, you can’t believe you liked him so much in the game. You even had him as your phone wallpaper for a few months.   But from the perspective of Anastasia and knowing your outcome and your impending demise, he’s not even cute as a kid.   If anything, sitting across from him stresses you the fuck out.   You weren’t supposed to even meet him. This was the exact opposite of your battle plans. And yet the engagement is going to happen whether you like it or not. The greatest irony of all is that you know he’ll end up falling in love with the main character anyway instead of you. Aka. the orphaned girl who ends up adopted by a baron.   This whole ordeal only serves to make you suffer.   The only way you could sabotage this meeting now is by slamming the teapot over Prince Jungkook’s head. And that would either get you thrown in jail for treason and executed or sent back to the Devereux estate on house arrest where your mother would kill you.   Oh god. It’s death either way.   “Are the sweets not to your liking?”   It takes a second for you to register that the King is looking at you. That he’s speaking to you.   You go wide-eyed, realizing you haven’t had a bite of the cakes, the biscuits or sipped on any tea. You’ve completely tuned out their conversation. But he’s been watching you and Jungkook from the corner of his eye, assessing your interactions closely.    Your palms go clammy as you open your mouth before closing it.    “She’s just shy,” your dad swiftly informs with a polite smile. It’s a complete lie, but one the royal monarch believes.   “Ah. We shouldn’t bore them with adult talk then.” The man turns to his son. “Jungkook, why don’t you go off and play with Anastasia here?”   “Okay,” he mumbles and slides off his chair.   You follow suit, a bit relieved that you were dismissed from the overly formal atmosphere.   The two of you go deeper into the gardens until the gazes of your father and the King’s fade from view. Jungkook is wearing a white ensemble with a cape which he dirties with the way he’s kicking rocks in his path. He seems burdened that you’re beside him.   “What do you like playing?” he asks.   You’re perplexed on how to answer. You’re not sure how you should play with an actual seven year old. Then again, you like to run away from the maids and swing your sword around on your down time. But that’s just because you like their reactions.   “Sword fighting.”   Jungkook blanches as if he just bit into a lemon. “What kind of girl plays with swords?”   Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to kick the royal prince right in his shin.    But as the annoyance floods you, an epiphany comes along with it — if you can’t avoid Jungkook, maybe it’s time to switch strategies. Maybe you can start sowing the seeds of your future survival right here, right now. If one day, he’ll be condemning you of countless crimes and looking down at you as an evil villain, maybe you can turn his perception in the opposite direction.   Harmless. Overbearingly nice. Arrows that practically point ‘I’M NOT A THREAT WHATSOEVER!’.    You’re a genius.   You force the highest pitched giggle you can. “Really?”   Jungkook kicks another rock. “Girls have flimsy arms and trip every time you touch them.”   Ah. The ancient version of: girls have cooties and so you should stay away from them. Alright, alright. You can work with this.   “What do you like playing, Your Highness?”   “Anything that’s not with girls.”   You pause and laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too stiff.   Jungkook suddenly lifts his head and turns to you with the swivel of his heel. You stop as well and his index finger juts right in your face. “Since I’m the prince, I’ll have mercy on you. We can play servant and king.”   “What’s servant and king?”   “I’m the king.” His thumb pokes himself and then he’s back to pointing right between your eyes again. “You’re the servant. You have to follow me and all my orders or off with your head!”   What a little shit.   How is this going to be any fun for you?!   But you draw an enormous grin on your face, left eye twitching in the process. “Sounds like fun, Your Highness!”   He strolls off. “Let’s go, dumb dumb.”   Your teeth grit and you inhale a deep breath. It hurts your pride to be insulted by a literal seven year old, but you can handle it. When it comes to life or death, you’ll easily befriend the hero.   “Fetch that stick, peasant!”   The prince points at the distance and looks at you expectedly.   Your teeth grit. But you muster a smile and dash forward.   When it comes to life or death, you’ll befriend the hero……….probably.   “Here you go, Your Highness.”   You present the stick to him with both hands and the brat smirks. A rush of air leaves his nose and then he takes the stick. You’re not sure what to expect, but your entire body freezes when he hurls it as far as his arms can go. He points between your brows a second later. “Go get it!”   Motherfucker. “Yes!”    Once Jungkook’s tired of having you fetch like a dog, you trail after him closely. The green hedges are triple your size, acting like corridors of the garden before they open up to certain areas filled with beds of flowers or a fountain. Some paths are unpaved, so you listen to the crunch of rocks underneath his shoes amidst the quiet.    When you’re not out of breath and running at his command, it finally sinks in that it’s the first time you’re with a main character of the game. For the seven years of this lifetime thus far, there was only really you. Your parents were supporting characters at best who just took the opportunity to slyly diss the main heroine a few times at royal gatherings. But other than that, you’re currently facing the backside of someone you know a lot about.   Who he will become. What his future holds. What his desires are.   You pipe up, “Prince Jungkook—”   “That’s Your Highness, peasant!”   You clench your jaw. “Your Highness…”   “What?”   You quicken your steps until you’re beside him and he turns his head. “I’ll support you forever if you want to fall in love with anyone! I don’t care about being the crown princess or the queen!”    For good measure, you flash a wink and a thumbs up.   “What?” His boyish face is twisted up in disgust. “Why would a peasant be a queen?”   You hold in your sigh. “I’m just saying. If we ever get engaged or something, it can always be annulled when we’re older. So feel free to love on, Your Highness. Make love, not war!”   Your words completely fly over Jungkook’s head.   His face reads that he has no clue what you’re talking about.   And he turns away from you. “You’re weird.”   You scoff.    You’re not sure how you can become friendly with a seven year old when you’re internally twenty years older than he is. If you had chocolate on you, you’d use that as a bargaining chip. But clearly, you only have your body, brain and the surroundings at the moment….   What do seven year old boys like?   What do they like?   As you scan your surroundings, your eye catches something in the bushes. You stop and get closer.   At the same time, Jungkook realizes you’re not following him anymore and turns around. “What are you doing, peasa—” His words are cut short by a shrill shriek of absolute terror.   Your brows furrow and you thrust your hand closer to him. “It’s a ladybug.”   The tiny red and black polka dotted bug is crawling in your hand. Jungkook screams again.   He’s stumbling back, nearly tripping onto his butt, doe eyes reflected with complete horror as if you just chopped off his mom’s head. “Get that thing away from me!” his voice cracks up and down two different octaves and realizing his weakness, you grin.   You know your plan was to seem as harmless as possible, but it’s just too much fun teasing him.   “What thing, Your Highness? Your servant is merely showing you a small forest creature.”   “No! Stop!”   He scrambles and starts running away.   You chase after him while giggling manically. “Prince Jungkook! Where are you going!”   “Get the bug away from me!”   He turns over his shoulder with eyeballs nearly falling out of their sockets, face bright red, and you take the opportunity to toss the ladybug at him. Jungkook’s shrieks echo, pitched and earsplitting.   You’re forced to stop with how hard you’re laughing and by then, he’s ran for the hills, completely gone from sight.   Oh god. You can’t believe he’s so scared.    You can’t believe you were so scared — he’s just a kid.   Your giggles taper off as you wander the gardens by yourself. It’s freeing to stroll at your own pace without a brat demanding you to fetch sticks or barking at you to do this and that. It’s a chance to finally admire the surroundings.   You’re sure the first time Anastasia saw the castle, it became her dream home. The place is similar to the aesthetic background graphics of the game and it was always described as beautiful by all the characters. And it really is that way.   But this is also the place of her demise and possibly yours.    You’re sure the only time you’ll be able to enjoy the palace and be this carefree is right now.   You’re admiring the blooming carnations, peony and roses as you turn the corner. The figure standing by the sprouting fountain doesn’t register until after a delayed moment and your eyes lift to see a woman — mysterious in her gray dress. It’s simple attire, but the fabrics are layered on top of one another, light enough that they drape down and flow to the breeze. Her brunette hair is tied into a bun and as if she feels the pressure of your eyes, her bright irises turn towards you.   You realize you’re staring and you blink several times, approaching her politely.    She pulls her charcoal shawl closer to her and smiles. The light wrinkles around her kind eyes crease. “Are you lost, child?”   You shake your head. “No. I’m just looking.”   She crouches down to match your height, gazing at you tenderly. “Where are your parents?”   “My dad’s talking to the King.” You point off in the distance as curiosity eats at you. She doesn’t look like an ordinary worker but not a visitor of the castle either. “I’m Anastasia.”   She searches your expression as if she’s endeared by you. “That’s a beautiful name.”   “Thanks! Who’re you?”   She’s soft-spoken, voice above a quiet murmur, “My name is Erena Robane.”   You frown. The name rings a bell. “Lady Robane?”   “No.” Her laugh tinkles. “I’m no lady.”    Before you can press your mind any further and pick apart your brain at why her name sounds so familiar, she reaches into the small pouch she was carrying and hands you a wrapped piece of candy. “Would you like one?”   Your eyes light up at the pink square. “Yes, please!”    You know better, as an internal twenty seven year old, than to take candy from strangers, but the Duke and Duchess never give you any sweets. So you’ll happily take what you can.   Erena smiles and drops the treat into your outstretched palm.   Not wanting to risk getting it confiscated by Edith, Joan or your mother if you brought it home, you quickly unwrap it and throw it into your mouth. It’s peppermint and it’s pretty damn good.   The woman looks at you patiently, waiting for a reaction, so you give her a thumbs up and a “Yummy!”   She laughs faintly. “Do you like candy?”   “Yep!” You hold out both hands as if you’re trick-or-treating. “Can I have another one, please?”   Might as well seize the chance while you can. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.    “You have very good manners.” She smiles, taking another out of her endless pouch and dropping it in your hand. Oh man, you’re starting to really like this lady. “My son likes chocolate, but I only managed to get candy for today.”   You chew the hard candy in your cheek, crunching down on it. You hope it rots your teeth and makes Edith’s life a living nightmare when she has to deal with it. “Your son?”   Her lips part to speak. But she’s interrupted—   “Mom?”   By sheer coincidence and coincidence itself, a boy with floppy, brown hair turns the corner of the garden. Thin lips, but chubby cheeks and bright eyes of deep mocha. You’ve known him the second your eyes have laid on him. A younger form of the person you fear most.   Taehyung.   You gasp and immediately spin around, hoping he didn’t see you, pretending you didn’t see him.   “I have to go now!”    Before Taehyung’s mom can utter another word, you run away. You don’t notice how Taehyung slows as well, brows furrowed at your receding form.   To see Jungkook is one thing. But to see Taehyung, the one who will use, coerce and lead you to your doom, is another. Jungkook handed down your judgment, but Taehyung is the one who led you there.   He’s the villain.   //   “You did decently,” your mother informs a few days after the whole affair. “We might have to go to the palace more often from now on.”   You nod, unable to dwell in her approval, mind still lost in a daze.    Taehyung — a half prince born a year before Jungkook. He has the blood of a royal with his father as the King, but his mother is merely a palace maid. You remember that he seeks revenge for her death after she’s poisoned by the jealous Queen.   But if she’s still alive, that means it’ll happen soon.   This year.    Springtime.    You’re slowly recalling the details of the event, the catalyst that begins Taehyung’s descent into madness, how he became the game’s villain. But you can’t involve yourself. You just can’t.   You shouldn’t have met any of them in the first place.   You shouldn’t get entangled in their story, in their lives. If you want to live, if you want to survive, you have to avoid Taehyung at all costs. So you can’t. You can’t. Can’t.   A day passes as you focus on your studies.   You can’t.   Another two days goes by, six meals eaten.   Can’t—   On the seventh, your silver spoon clanks noisily against the porcelain bowl, slipping from your grasps, dropping downwards in your deep trance that throbs your temples. Joan turns at the ruckus and you look at her, already standing up.   “I have to go to the castle.”   The guilt eating at you has won its battle.    “Pardon me?”   “Today. Right now.” You rush out of the room and down the hall, determination set in your strides. Maybe you can avoid this. Maybe if you do, he won’t become the game’s villain. Then he won’t be a threat to you, and you won’t be a threat to anyone. You’ll live and so will his mom who’s done nothing wrong.   The maid struggles to catch up to you. “My lady! Please! Wait! What do you mean?”   “I forgot something really important!”   “Y-You can’t just go. My lady! You must ask permission from the Duke and Duchess!”   “There’s no time to.” You’ve never been more serious and somber. There isn’t an inch of mischief, no childish selfishness. Twenty seven years has amounted to this very moment. And you use your status as the Duke’s daughter to command the girl. “Come with me. If the Duke or Duchess gets mad, I’ll take the blame.”   Joan sighs, annoyed as she looks around as if someone else could reason with you. But as you turn to her, looking her dead in the eye, she shifts on her feet and hesitantly calls for a carriage.   You’re in it before you can blink again.   There must be time. There hasn’t been any news yet. No reports of a death in the castle.   You can warn him. You can avoid this tragedy.    “We’re here, my lady,” Joan informs, peering out the window at the enormous stone walls and towers looming high above the clouds. The carriage doors open and she guides you out.    Your feet land onto the cobblestone.    But there isn’t any welcome. No guards that ask what your business here is. No servant passing by.   Instead, there’s chaos in the distance.    Your head whips to the noise and Joan shouts as you dash off towards it. Yet no one notices you in the midst of the pandemonium. No one would pay mind to a small child. You’re left to linger in the open halls, butlers that quickly walk past, maids whispering amongst themselves—   “Did you hear?”   Your head turns towards two girls.   “The King’s mistress just died!”   You came a moment too late.

No one cries.   The arrangement is short and unluxurious, the bare minimum of what would be acceptable for a royal family. A priestess in front drones on impassively about the afterlife, but as you look around, no one grieves. After all, they wouldn’t shed tears for a mere maid.    This is merely a charade to quell away scandalous rumors and to give nobles an excuse to come to the castle and be acknowledged.   You’re overwhelmed in black, a tulle skirt and puffed sleeves. Your parents stand on either side of you, your father in a jacket with the house’s emblem and your mother with a veil covering the right side of her face. Like many others, your family has come for appearance sakes.   But for you, it’s different.   The woman inside the closed casket has shown you a kindness that you so seldom receive.   And because of your hesitation, because of your self-preservation and selfishness, this happened.   Once the burial ceremony is over, your parents mingle amongst the nobles, laughing cordially behind gloved hands as you follow after them and cutesy. It feels like you’re a show pony, brought around to show what the future of the Devereux looks like.   But after a while, you manage to slip away from the scrutiny.    And by sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you find him.   At first it’s the noise of heart wrenching sobs. It’s unrestrained wails and choked hiccups in between that attracts your attention. You twist through the familiar hedge corridors and the moment you turn the corner, your eyes lift to a small figure underneath an oak tree.    He sits alone. He cries to himself.    The boy with floppy, brown hair has his knees pulled together. He incessantly rubs at his eyes as if that alone could stop the tears that well and pour. He cries enough for the tens of people at the funeral, substituting their apathy with his anguish. His entire body wracks and the moment he whimpers “m-mom” in-between, it’s shaking to your core.    This is the beginning. The start of his path of destruction.   In this entire castle that stretches across the horizon, only his mother ever loved him. The half-prince. The Forgotten Prince. The one dirtied by regular red blood, not blue enough for the golden crown.   Taehyung mourns, vision blurred by his grief.   But as he rubs his eyes with his small fists, black shoes appear between the gaps of his hands.   He looks up. Your arm is extended in front of him.    Taehyung looks down to your folded, pink handkerchief. He looks stunned for a moment, as if he’s surprised that there was someone here. That someone actually heard him. That someone came.   He takes your handkerchief and sniffles.   “I’m sorry,” you murmur.    Sorry that she passed away, that he has to endure this, that you didn’t save her when you could’ve.   This isn’t just a game you’re playing anymore. All these people aren’t just characters.   You’re living a new life. And all these people have emotions, desires, thoughts of their own.   You’re not sure how you can comfort Taehyung. What you can say to make it better. “Your mother loved you a lot. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to be crying so much by yourself.”   He hiccups, snivelling uncontrollably. “B-But if I don’t cry for her, who will?”   You don’t know what to say.   Tears continue to slip down his cheeks and as you linger awkwardly, you decide there isn’t much that you can say. So you sit beside him. You sit underneath the canopy of the tree and branches of rustling leaves, on the soft bed of grass, looking out at the garden.    This is all you can do.   You don’t notice the way Taehyung looks up in-between his mourning, glossy eyes pinpointed on the profile of your face.    The pair of you sit next to one another in the silence of his sniffles until it levels. Until he can breathe again—   “Anastasia!”   There’s a sharp call of your name, one that can only belong to your mother. You immediately come to your feet again as if a dog whistle has been blown. But as you hurry away, you turn over your shoulder. Your eyes connect with Taehyung’s brown ones, and for a moment you slow.   You leave a second later.   You twist down the hedges and turn the corner, nearly bumping straight into her. She looks down at you with her brows furrowed. “Where did you go?”   You smile. “I got lost.”   It’s futile. You know it now.   Trying to avoid the three that will lead you to your demise is like trying to wish you’d suddenly vanish off these lands. You know it won’t be the last time that you see Taehyung. It won’t be the last of Jungkook either. Or whoever the heroine will be. It seems like the more you try to run, the more you inadvertently become involved. But you’ll hold your head up high and face whatever is to come head on.

[megthemewlingquim]

This Is Your Wilderness

Summary: You learn new things about the world you have entered, both the easy way and the harder way.

Pairing: Adam x Reader

Warnings: foul language (it’s a given for Adam), violence, angst

A/N: This is for @just-the-hiddles 's 3500 Follower Writing Challenge! The prompt was Bliss: A shot of pure, self-indulgent euphoria! A scent that is very, very wicked in its own way: the serotonin-slathered scent of pure milk chocolate. This turned out to be much more angsty than I expected, and you can thank @empower-bi-women​ for that little nudge. This is also an AU where Ian never died.

“Adam, don’t be so paranoid. No one has come around for ages.”

The tall, dark figure at the window sighs. His fingers had only moved the curtain for a second, and he had peeked out and looked down, but now he shifts, lets the curtain fall again. His eyes glint in the dim lighting, and they seem black. “Yeah, but I’m still worried,” he mumbles.

“I could try and get them to stay away,” you say lightly, a suggestion you know will fail tremendously. “Say it’s all fake, what with you and your reclusiveness.” You fiddle with a chess piece, a white rook, in your right hand, glancing back up at Adam. “It’s no trouble.”

“You’re the only zombie I trust now, you know that.” Adam moves back over to where you sit cross-legged on the floor. “You’re all I have. I’ll be damned if I let you go out there alone.”

He sits back down across from you, eyeing his own black chess pieces. Currently, he is down two pawns. “Besides, if the Others find out about you, they’ll… fuck, they’ll kill you. They’d kill you and leave me alone. Because they’d want me to suffer.”

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches. Adam never speaks about the “Others” — at least, never more than a mention of the name.

“Why?” you ask. “Why would they want that?”

“Because I don’t care about their fucking wars. The zombies cause enough trouble as it is. When the vampires and werewolves started their clans, I was not there to join them. I was... I was actually trying to settle down with someone.”

“That’s why you’re in hiding? Because you love?”

“I love, yes. I love and I care and I don’t just survive. This isn’t the goddamn 14th century anymore. I don’t just drink someone and throw their body in a ditch. I get my blood from hospitals. That is if it isn’t fucking... contaminated.” Adam winces. “That’s how Marlowe died.”

“Wait, who’s Marlowe?” you ask. “Was he a friend of yours? Another vampire like yourself?”

He smiles, an amused hum leaving him. “Yeah, he was a friend. Eve knew him longer than I did but we were friends. He was a visionary, an absolute genius. He wrote most of Shakespeare’s plays, y’know.”

You have to take a second to process this, and another to make the timeline match up. “You don’t mean the Christopher Marlowe?”

“He was one of Shakespeare’s biggest influences... and one of Shakespeare's real writers.” Adam smiles. “He really died a couple of years ago. Blood poisoning from a French hospital.”

“Is that why you only use me for your blood?” you ask softly. He nods. You look down, realizing the severity of it all. “So no drugs, huh?” you ask jokingly.

He laughs, a small amused chuckle. “Yeah, no. Drugs... if you’re still helping me out, are off limits. The occasional coffee is okay.”

“‘S okay with me.” You shrug. “As long as you stay safe.”

“And I can say the same to you,” Adam says, coming back over to sit beside you. He brings you close, resting his chin on your head and cuddling you from behind. “All I’d ever want is for you to be safe. Which is why I can’t have you talking to the Others... or anyone who might know them. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”

After a long pause, you perk up.

“We should go to the store.” You glance at the electric clock, which reads 1:43 AM. “I’m sure some convenience stores are open. Do you need anything?”

“You ask me that every time we go,” Adam mumbles amiably. “I don’t need anything, no, but I’ll go with you if you want.”

And so you go.

All you get at the end of the trip is a loaf of bread, a gallon of milk, and some milk chocolate bars (an essential in your opinion). 

“I’ll go for my actual shopping tomorrow,” you say, getting the gallon out of the freezer. 

The air is cold all through the tiny store, and the surprisingly satisfying scent of beer cooler is all around you. Adam wears his sunglasses and gloves, and looks around the shelves. He has nothing in his hands.

He glances at you. “Okay,” he says hesitantly, standing quite rigidly.

When you step up to the counter, the cashier looks suspiciously at Adam, who stands behind you, looking at a beer bottle: it has a tiny little Dracula on it. He is reading the flavor: blood orange.

It seems like the cashier had not heard the two of you talking, but had only seen you look at each other.

“Is this man here, uh, bothering you, miss?” he whispers.

You do not see it, but Adam’s head lifts, just a little.

“N-no,” you say, trying to make your voice as firm as possible. “No, I’m with him, actually.”

The cashier nods. “Uh huh,” he had said, not sounding convinced at all.

Adam comes up to accompany you at the register. Even through his glasses, you can see that his gaze is piercing. “She’s with me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to leave.”

Maybe it’s something about Adam’s gaze or his dark tone: the cashier looks slightly worried, but he does what he was told. In a few seconds, you are out, Adam following closely behind you.

“Don’t want anyone coming close to my girl,” he mutters, his breath steaming in the crisp air. “Even if he means well. We’re out in the open now. And I can’t take any chances.”

Without saying anything in response, you both make it into Adam’s car, your little plastic bag sitting peacefully near your legs. Adam turns the key and the car rumbles to a start, and he is just about to shift into drive when he looks up.

He freezes, nostrils flaring in anger. His grip on the shift tightens, and your eyes go from his gloved hand to the dashboard, to see what he sees.

As if on cue...

There are three middle aged men in front of the car, almost completely shrouded by the darkness. The sides of their faces are lit up from the left by the white light of the store’s inside.

Their eyes seem black, and their faces are deathly pale.

“Stay in the car,” Adam hisses, his voice dark and angry.

“Adam—” you try to protest.

“Stay. In. The fucking. Car.” Adam’s teeth are gritted, and his voice gets even angrier, if that’s possible, but he never takes his eyes off of the three men in front of you.

“Wh-what are they going to do? Wh-wh-who are they?” you ask, stammering.

“Lock the doors,” is all he says.

He takes the key out of the ignition. The car stops its rumbling. He opens his driver door and steps out, placing the key in his back jean pocket. He shuts the door behind him.

“Adam!” you whisper, knowing he can still hear you. “Adam, get back here! We can just drive away.”

You see him mouth something: No.

You lock the doors.

Your ears are unable to pick up what they all say: but I will fill in the details.

One of the men steps forward, his white teeth showing in a sickly sweet smile. “Adam,” he says, welcoming in tone. “It’s been a while. When was it we last saw each other, hmm? 1805?”

“Walter… Henry… Jesse,” Adam says quietly, nodding at each of the men. “It has been a while, yes.”

The first man — Walter — glances toward you, and winks. “We've come to talk to you about enlisting. But... this is much more interesting. What’cha got there, huh? A little mouse?”

The name is not positive, nor is it cute. With Adam, it would be. But, right now…

You’re already petrified. From a wink, and a bittersweet smile. 

Your heart pounds.

You know, then, that they can hear it. All of them. They can hear your heart racing, the blood rushing through it. They can probably see you shaking, hear the breath leaving your mouth in trembling whispers.

Adam. Adam, run.

“She’s no one,” Adam says darkly. “She...found out about me. I have to kill her. She can’t know about me. About us.”

“How did she find out?” asks another man. Quite tall, nice looking, with light brown hair and stubble at the jaw and cheeks. A gold chain is around his neck, and he wears a brown jacket and white t-shirt. He is also pale, extremely pale, just like his friends, and his eyes seem black.

“There was a friend of mine who broke the confidentiality agreement. That friend is dead now. I killed him, too. But she also has to go.”

“Did she tell anyone?”

“No, Jesse, she didn’t.”

“Good,” the third man — Henry — says. He looks nice, too. Black hair, olive skin. He looks a little older than Jesse or Walter, though. “We can’t let that happen, now, can we?”

“Hey…” Walter says, getting an idea. His smile is not a good one. “Why don’t we help you out? She’s gonna die anyway, isn’t she?”

Adam, by all means, should say yes. It would give him some more time to banter, to discuss horrible ways of torture and death. It would help to keep your cover. He should shrug, say yes, and let you out of the car. Then, he should rip the other three vampires to shreds.

But he doesn’t.

Adam growls — and though you are not able to hear it, you can see his expression. It is hunger, it is defiance, and it is anger. “You are not to touch her. She’s mine: mine to kill, mine to torture — ”

“Yours to marry, yours to love?” Walter asks, mockingly. “Yours to fuck?”

Adam freezes.

“Nobody we know — you least of all — would ever get that protective of a fuckin’ zombie. What are you not telling us, Adam?”

“Get the fuck away from us,” Adam snarls, suddenly furious. “I don’t want any part in your little wars — and neither does she.”

“So you’re admitting it,” Jesse says, almost excitedly. “You love her, don’t you? That's what this is about?”

“That, and the fact that that he hasn't joined a clan in his entire existence,” Walter murmurs over to Jesse. “We discussed that already.”

“I told you once, I’ve told you a million times: I don’t want to be involved with you,” Adam groans.

“You know it’s frowned upon. Both things,” Jesse says.

“A vampire hasn’t mated with a zombie in centuries. And you remember how that went, don’t you?” Walter takes a singular step forward.

Adam’s eyes narrow. “Don’t,” he growls, his voice practically dropping a whole octave with anger.

“It’s only for the good of our survival, Adam. You mustn’t blame us,” Henry says, a mad glint in his eye.

The next five seconds happen with lightning speed. You only recognize the sound and feel of broken glass when it hits you, and a bloodied hand unlocks the door. You blink, it seems, and you’re suddenly pulled roughly out of the car and onto the cold pavement below. Then, you’re hoisted up into someone’s grasp, and into standing position. They still hold you tightly and roughly, and their grip is harsh. A cold hand is slapped onto your mouth.

You scream through it, though, your voice muffled and frantic.

In an instant, Adam’s alert, animalistic, beastly. He growls again, and spits out, “You will not harm her!”

“Adam, what are they doing?” you pant frantically through the hand covering your mouth, knowing that he can hear it loud and clear.

“We’re gonna fuckin’ skin you alive,” the one holding you whispers, gripping you even tighter when you flail and whimper in fear.

“No, you won’t,” Adam murmurs. “Let her go.”

“How do you think this’ll go, Adam?” Henry asks. “You think you’re gonna come out on top? You think you’re gonna stay away from our destiny? You need to help us, Adam. You need to be a good soldier and join us in the wars.”

“I’ll die first!” spits Adam.

“No. You won’t. But she will... whether you say yes or no. Because you’ve gone against our code anyway. Being with... and mating with... a mortal. Now, Adam, you’re better than this.” Henry’s tone becomes condescending. 

Adam’s eyes glint with offense and anger. “If you say one more word, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Not if we kill her first.”

You hear something, then. The breathy sigh of someone holding you... it sounds like a grin. A hungry grin.

You’ve heard that noise before. It happens whenever Adam drinks blood... yours included.

Your stomach drops to your feet.

A childish, delusional part of you wants to say something. Hey, ya want some chocolate? We got some in the car, it smells really good! Really sweet! Sweeter than blood!

You go mad, flailing and screaming, trying desperately to escape, but the one holding you keeps you in his grasp.

“It’s dinnertime,” Henry says, and his voice is a growl.

The next ten seconds happen in a blur. You hear several whooshing noises, feel light brushes of wind all around you, and see blurs of black, white, and gray all around you. You also hear growling — feral, ferocious, angry growls.

You land on the pavement, scraping your knees. Not enough to draw blood, but they sting all the same. In a frantic rush, you scramble as far away from the fight as possible. And that is what it is — a fight. A fight between four —

Three vampires. One of them has dropped to the ground in a heap. You fight the urge to vomit when you notice his head is at an extremely abnormal angle. It is not Adam, however.

Adam was the one, you realize, that has broken the vampire you don’t know to be Jesse’s neck. Adam is lunging, swiping, roaring at the other vampires, who are doing the same. They dodge each other’s grasping hands and punches. You can see flashes of white in the middle of this: fangs.

“Go!” Adam screams, and the breath leaves your lungs. You’ve never heard Adam shout. His voice has never risen above an indoor voice or a menacing mutter.

“Not without you!” you cry desperately. “Adam, they’ll kill you!”

“RUN!” 

This time, you know there’s no argument to be had. You run as fast as you can away from the scene, tears stinging your eyes and your legs burning with the effort.

Eventually, you have to stop your running and settle for walking on the cracked sidewalks. Something howls as the night grows deeper and darker. Fortunately, you know the way home, and you also know that whatever is out there, howling at the moon, will not hurt you. Adam made sure of that one.

You’re a lone figure, shrouded in darkness, walking back to safety with cold arms and stinging knees. Occasionally, you glance behind your shoulder, but you don’t see anything.

After a long while, you start to hear the rumble of a car’s engine driving up behind you. You look behind you and see that this car is driving quite close to the sidewalk. Moving further to your right, you avoid it — that is, until it slows to your walking pace and stays beside you. Keeping your head down, you try to walk a little faster. The car, you notice, looks a bit like Adam’s, but it is not. Your heart pounds, and you almost start to run when a car window is rolled down, and —

“Hey — what’re you doin’ out here?” A soft voice. He sounds like he’d be a surfer in another life.

You recognize it. “I-I-Ian?” you stammer, your eyes widening. You turn to the car and exhale a sob of complete relief. It is Ian, driving slowly beside you and looking at you with the utmost concern.

Ian has known you for a long while, ever since you started dating Adam. He has always been sweet, kind, and considerate, and has always been a good friend to the both of you.

“Y-yeah,” Ian says softly, “what... what’s the matter, sweetheart? You ok?”

You shake your head. “No,” you mutter. “A-Adam got into some trouble. We were attacked in the parking lot of some shitty convenience store. He t-t-told me to run, and I did. R-Reluctantly.” 

“Holy shit...that’s fucked up,” Ian says incredulously. He leans “Is Adam still there?”

You feel tears rising to your eyes again and you sniff. “I don’t know where he is... or if he’s ok, and — and — I don’t wanna go home and wait and find out that —” Your voice is dangerously close to cracking.

“Hey,” Ian says, his voice a little firmer now. It still keeps its compassion. “Y’want me to take you home?”

“Would you?” you ask desperately.

“Of course, sweetheart, come on in.” He leans over and, with a little grimace of exertion, unlocks and opens the door. You can't get into the car fast enough. You slam the door beside you and slump against the seat.

“We're gonna get you home, ok? It's not far from here. Want me to turn the heater on?”

You drive in silence for most of the trip. Ian must know you don't want to talk too much.

Ian's head comes into your peripheral vision. You're looking down at your feet.

“Hey... Adam's gonna be fine,” he says softly. “He can take care of himself. Something about him just tells me that. My guess is that he's driving home now, actually. He probably fucking destroyed whoever did this to you.”

You nod. You know it's true.

“He cares about you a lot. He loves you. I've... I've never seen Adam look at someone the way he looks at you. Well, maybe except his wife. But... that was some time ago. And she—”

He stops himself. You can both feel the tension there, and you shuffle nervously in your seat.

“Anyway,” Ian continues hesitantly, “he — he cares about you. He'll come back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

You get to the house, Ian driving slowly up to the curb. The house, as always, is dark.

“Check the back?” you ask. Ian drives further, and you crane your neck to eye the garden. There's an empty spot where the car normally would be.

Your heart sinks.

“Hey, sweetheart...” Ian says. “It's alright... I'm sure he's just...” But he trails off. “A fight wouldn't take this long,” he mutters under his breath. You can still hear it.

There's a pause in which none of you move. You're hesitant to get out of the car and into the house. Ian watches you, waits for you. The rumble of the car is quiet and hypnotic.

“I don't... I don't wanna go in alone,” you say, and you inwardly scoff at your own childishness.

“I can stay with you if you want,” Ian says. “Adam mostly leaves his doors unlocked, doesn't he?”

“Yeah.”

“Why is that?”

You hesitate. “I don't know.”

But you do know. Regular people are pretty much out of the question — they wouldn't come in, because they think the house is abandoned. If they do come in, Adam could play it off as nothing suspicious and get them to leave as soon as possible. The werewolves wouldn't hurt you, and vampires suffer awfully bad luck if they enter a threshold uninvited. If the Others did come in, well... Adam could take care of them, couldn't he?

“Maybe it's because he's all reclusive. He probably doesn't think anyone will actually come in. Those rock 'n roll kids are exactly that. Kids. They won't do anything.”

You nod. “Er... could you stay with me, Ian? Please?”

He smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”

Ian parks the car on the edge of the road, and shuts off the engine. The cold seeps in your skin again and reaches your bones.

You both get out of the car and walk up to the door. It opens without any struggle.

The house itself is completely dark, and there's no sign of Adam anywhere. The room upstairs — Adam's studio — is completely silent and dark, and he's not in his bed.

Without any words, you two go into his studio again and turn on some lights. Together, you sit on his couch and wait.

After some time, Ian sits up suddenly.

“Oh, shit! We should've called the cops!” Ian cries.

You shake your head. “No,” you say.

Ian looks at you, baffled.

“Ian, Adam's... not one for the police. And, like we said before, Adam can take care of himself. He's strong like that. I'm sure he's...” you trail off. “I'm sure he's fine.”

“Did they have any weapons on them?”

“I don't think so,” you say, remembering the flashes of pointy white teeth.

“Then, what the hell happened afterward? Why isn't Adam back yet? If they didn't have any weapons, and you know Adam can throw a punch and take care of himself, then why the hell isn't he back yet?”

“I don't know,” you say miserably. A part of you thinks Ian is somehow mad at you, but the rational part of you takes over, and decides that he is not.

Ian pauses.

“Fuck it, I'm calling the cops.”

“No,” says a voice behind you. It is sharp and commanding, but you recognize it in a heartbeat.

You turn to look. Standing in the doorway, all battered, bruised, bloodied, is Adam. His sunglasses are nowhere to be found, and neither are his gloves.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper, rushing toward him. Immediately, you're engulfed in his scent, his warmth, his comforting embrace. It's a rush of relief. “You're — you're okay,” you whisper, sniffing as tears of relief come to your eyes.

“Baby, it's alright,” Adam murmurs, “I'm here. I'm here and I'm okay. It's all OK. We're fine.” He rubs your back with a hand.

“Adam, what the fuck happened, man?” Ian asks. “We were worried sick.”

“I'm sorry,” Adam says. “That took way longer than expected. I was also questioned by the authorities. They're looking for the kids now.”

Something tells you that this is not what happened.

Ian looks at Adam skeptically. But, after a few seconds, he shrugs. “I mean... I'm just glad you're alright, man. And I'm glad she's safe, too.” He gestures toward you with a small smile.

“Thank you, Ian,” Adam says gratefully. “Thank you for keeping my love safe. Thank you for staying with her. Now... I think it's time for you to go... Do you need anything before you take off? You can piss in the garden if you need.”

“You sure you don't need anything? You wanna take a look at those bruises?”

“We'll be fine, thank you,” Adam says.

Ian blinks. “You never fail to amaze me, Adam.” He stands up, and rubs your shoulder. “G'night, sweetheart. You're in very good hands now.”

“Thanks, Ian. See you soon, ok?” you say.

“Alright.” He starts to walk down the stairs. “If you guys need anything at all, just hit me up. Later.”

You and Adam don't speak until you both hear his car driving away from the house.

“What did they do to you?” you ask immediately, suddenly frantic and worried, stepping away to get a good look at Adam.

You blink, it seems, and Adam's bruises, cuts, and overall tired appearance are gone. He looks perfectly normal now.

“They did that,” Adam says. “I killed two of 'em. One of them got away.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“No, thank God for that.”

But there's something... off... about the way Adam looks. He seems sad, worried.

“Adam... what is it?” you ask slowly.

“One of the Others got away. He's bound to have talked to his clan by now. I'm still not gonna join them. And I'm sure as hell not gonna give you away and leave you.”

“So... what's gonna happen?”

Adam takes a deep breath. “How do you feel about Tangier, Morocco?”

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 04

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Action-y in that there is offscreen violence and peril, injuries, talk of surgery and symptoms/effects of medical grade narcotics (morphine), more on that big ol’ age difference. Side notes: Agent Anderson of the L.A. field office has no relation to Agent Anderson of Quantico, VA, because Agent Anderson of the BAU is a national treasure. (I’m considering going back and renaming the OC, but as of right now this is the last we hear of him for a while). And I know no one really pays attention to them, but the time stamps on the texts match the time zone of the scene setting. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 8893

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

--

Chapter 04

--

Late September 2010

--

Spencer Reid wakes up to the early grey morning two weeks later, a perpetual haze shrouding his room long before his alarm was supposed to rouse him. He reaches blindly, blearing eyed and checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time, only to find no messages waiting for him. A terrible, horrid feeling has been clawing at his chest and throat the longer it gets -- the more time that passes -- and he still hasn’t heard from Hotch. 

They’ve been messaging each other near constantly for months now, and it only seemed to get more intense after that fateful talk at the beginning of September. Where Hotch finally revealed he’d thought Spencer was much older than him, and not the other way around. Spencer had set him straight, as much as he could, and even that had been nerve-wracking to say the least. The two men were crossing into a territory neither really wanted to put a label on, and Spencer was both afraid of it and excited by it. Of what it could mean, and how long it could last, but he’d thought he’d had time to figure out a solution to his inadvertent secrecy.

Then, Hotch began working a case in Delaware two days ago. 

It seemed like a textbook unsub; maybe a little aggressive with anti-establishment overtones, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing the BAU hasn’t seen before. They’d been closing in on the suspect, no location yet but some prospects that needed checking out, and the last Spencer had heard from Hotch…

It had been lunchtime for him, and midafternoon for the older man. The exchange hadn’t been anything of consequence, just their usual, easy correspondence. Hotch was going to check out that lead they’d spoken of, Spencer had a budget meeting as soon as he was done eating in the middle of his office hours, and they had a plan to play chess online that night. Hotch is still terrible at it, but he keeps coming back no matter how thoroughly Spencer wipes the floor with him. Now, sometimes they just forget about the game entirely after the first few minutes. It makes him smile each and every time, soft and fond and lighting a warmth inside him Spencer has… never felt before. 

Then Hotch hadn’t messaged him the rest of the night.

Hadn’t shown up online to play chess.

Hadn’t texted him goodnight, or even sent him an update on the case. 

Nothing in their conversations warranted such ostracization, and although Spencer has been ‘ghosted’ before (as his doctoral students would say) he knows Hotch would never do that. Not after everything, the history they’ve built the past months -- leaving nothing but the dread to sink in and spread like a stain.

All night, he imagines the worst.

By morning, he all but expects it.

--

[]9/22, 18:59[] Are you alright? Did something happen with the case?

[]9/22, 19:10[] If you were that scared of losing at chess, I can also beat you at online poker instead.

[]9/22, 19:30[] I’d suggest scrabble but that’s honestly not fair to you.

[]9/22, 21:55[] Hotch? 

[]9/22, 22:30[] I’m assuming that lead panned out, and you caught your unsub and are neck deep in interrogation.

[]9/22, 22:36[] I don’t want to imagine anything else, so that’s what I will picture.

[]9/23, 00:06[] Hotch please answer me. 

[]9/23, 05:32[] Please be okay.

--

Spencer arrives at Caltech looking a little more of a mess than usual. More than most are used to seeing him, at least, and it causes a few second glances from students he passes and other faculty -- but he really can’t find it in himself to care, this morning. His unruly curls, getting longer again, falling into his face and over his ears, are frizzy in their unkemptness. Bags under his eyes, normal, but he’s settled for glasses instead of his contacts. He has a spare pair in his desk, he’ll have to change them before class. His glasses somehow always make him look even younger. A mystery that boggles the mind, because once he had grown into his face a few years ago (around 26 or 27, close enough he had worried he would forever be cursed with a ‘baby face’) Spencer had thought he would finally be getting away from that. 

And yet, square jaw and ‘grandpa’ glasses and thin frame towering just over six feet did nothing in the slightest to aid him. Certainly not stopping a man outside the campus coffee shop from shouting “Watch where you’re going, kid!” as he near barrels over him on the sidewalk. Not his sweater vest or half suits, attire straight out of a 1940’s noir film (he’d even sported a vintage inspired undercut with his waves combed over for a while there, too. Way too much upkeep, as nice as it looked). Nothing makes him any more grown up in the eyes of the unsuspecting world, than he’d been without his five doctorates and board of director’s seat. No matter what he tried, it seems.

This has been a subliminal thing for years, something Spencer always said didn’t bother him in the slightest. And for a long time he didn’t care one way or the other, he just kept getting more degrees. All his life Spencer has been ‘too young’, always been ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’, even when running quantum physics equations in his head. And it didn’t matter. Not with his credentials and accomplishments and everything he now has to his name.

Until Hotch.

Now, Spencer cares.

Notices, even through his haze of worry and sleeplessness, how on the street it’s “Watch it, kid!” and fifteen yards later it’s “Good morning, Dr. Reid” as he steps into the Physics building where everyone knows him on sight. Knows him, and what he’s capable of. 

What if when Hotch met him all he saw was… another kid? 

If they ever met.

“Whoa, rough night Dr. Reid?” 

“Yes, you could say that,” he mumbles out as he signs in and scans his ID card, taking the stack of mail that the desk attendant hands him. But stops before he gets too far from the desk, backtracking. “Hey, have you watched the news this morning? Did anything show up about New England or Delaware?”

“Not that I saw, Dr. Reid,” she says in confusion, looking up from where she had been texting on her phone. “Just a whole lot of coverage on the shitshow at capital hill, as usual. Oh, and more depressing reports about the earthquake clean-up in New Zealand.” 

Of course, why would there be a news story about a killer in Delaware here in California. He’d have to look up everything online himself. 

“Thanks anyway, Carla.”

“No problem, Dr. Reid.”

-

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch and his team are working. He usually prefers paper copies of news media, at first barely knowing where to begin, but he falls into a wormhole of news outlets and local Delaware station websites, reading the thousands of webpages faster than he can scroll and click through them. But he can’t find anything pointing to a disturbance related to the case. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be a part of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. Spencer gives up after an hour, and diverts to other resources. Ones with a direct line to Hotch. 

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]8/21, 15:36[] You're going to get me in trouble.

[]8/21, 15:38[] You didn’t laugh in front of your team, did you? The scandal.

[]8/21, 15:42[] I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[]8/21, 15:43[] Then why are you checking your phone?

[]8/21, 15:45[] You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague. 

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules, the unspoken ones that always kept this friendship easy and free-flowing and evolving into something more.

But this feels like the closest to an emergency they’ve ever encountered before.  

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Listed in bullet points behind his eyes. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is. He still didn’t have a plan for that, wracking his overworked brain day and night for a way to incorporate the information into a conversation that wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks. 

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath. 

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes fail him as he realizes far too late that he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time, anyway. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by like water through his fingers and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, relief a flash flood on his nerves that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call. 

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it. 

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

.

Please let me know of his well-being.

.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s. 

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, for now, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

--

His morning routine progresses as usual, as if nothing at all is wrong with the world. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well. 

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. The juxtaposition of his daily routine and this unfounded worry throws him entirely off kilter, and all of his students seem to know right away. 

Then, his distraction reaches its peak when his email pings, right in the middle of his department announcements. A response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls. 

.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

.

Surgery.

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is in surgery, Hotch is hurt, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt. 

She doesn’t know when he will be--

If he will be --

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a fraction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted. 

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Teetering on the edge of panic. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

.

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

.

The reply is almost immediate.

.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room for any immediate actions.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time. 

.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. Utilizing anything and everything he can do to aid the BAU team, and whatever Hotch has gotten himself into. But then, his mind sticks on something from the email. Boy Wonder. It stalls his hands mid-movement.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch? Wouldn’t she send the files to him directly? Had Hotch really known, all along?

Or did she do it on her own, and not tell him? Assuming her boss already knew everything about him. It’s too many questions and possibilities and they are interfering with what’s most important right now. Best to get it out of the way, no time to be indirect about it.

.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

.

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what   I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

.

Spencer hadn’t meant for it to be a secret at all, it just happened that way. 

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, like he and Hotch had discussed the previous day, aiming for specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or labels as official. 

It’s easy to see, now, why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders when the unsub still hesitated -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean. 

Except, every victim’s hospital records show elevated potassium rates. Spencer’s hands, skimming down each and every page quick as they can, stop on a dime as his gaze zero in on the information. 

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “--Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr.  Reid?” 

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?” 

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “...Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.” 

There’s more typing going on and Ms. Garcia’s breathing has gone a little labored.

“Alright, alright I’m getting patched through. What else can you tell me?”

“I think he’s been dosed with something called an XG Compound, either Eastman or Zhao I have to look up the specific components and chemist. But they are a series of banned, experimental military-grade drugs that suffer effects of thinning the blood, that’s why they can’t stop the bleeding around his stab wounds and old scar tissue.” Hotch’s old wounds from Foyet would only exacerbate the condition, once it reached the kidney failure stage, but up until then the intrusions of hardened tissue is the only reason his abdominal cavity hasn’t been flooded with blood and drowned out his other organs. 

“Okay, okay I’m through, I’m keeping you on the line. Stand by-- ” then she clicks over and he’s left with a pulsating silence. Nothing remaining but continuing his work, and hoping he’d called in time. Hoping that Hotch will be alright.

--

Spencer is digging through his floor to ceiling bookshelves for the biology book on airborne pathogens given to him by a visiting Professor two years ago and he is hating himself for never cracking it in that moment. It’s nearly the last book he gets a hand on, because of course it is, and he makes it a third of the way through the book before Garcia is back on the line. The phone on the floor beside him and just barely within reach. 

“You literal genius, I could kiss you,” Garcia tells him in what can only be overstated relief, and Spencer snatches up his phone with a very undignified scramble. “They’ve had to do two transfusions on him and are prepping a third, but you were right he’s been dosed with that XG compound.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Spencer asks, still cross-legged on his office floor surrounded by books and holding his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Yes, yes my dear he’s going to be alright. They think. He’s not out of the woods yet and the surgery is still going on, but he -- he would have died within the next hour if you hadn’t found out what was wrong.”

Spencer’s heart is in his throat, her words doing the exact opposite of reassuring him. Hotch had been that close to dying, to being forever out of reach, because Spencer had been too scared to pick up the phone. 

“I should have called sooner,” he says, so quiet even someone in the room wouldn’t have heard him correctly. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh no, sugar don’t think like that. You just saved his life,” she pauses, like she wants to say something else, but diverts to an adjacent topic. “How did you know?”

“Autopsy reports. There wasn’t enough blood left in the bodies, they bled out too quickly. Then I saw the elevated Potassium,” he murmurs it all, rattled off without really thinking about it.

“And you just… knew all of that, without looking anything up?”

“That’s basically what I do. The only reason anyone calls me,” Spencer laughs but it holds no humor. “I know too much, make connections, and drink too much coffee.” 

“You drink and know things, oh God I hope you get that reference because you’re getting a coffee mug.”

Spencer laughs a little, despite the situation, and feels… lighter, somehow, even with the worry still plaguing him. Caught up in his chest like a bad cold. 

“I’m reading this textbook on airborne pathogens, I have a hunch, and I’ll send you anything I find that can help with the case,” Spencer continues, his voice not so heavy for a moment. “Just… tell me when he’s out of surgery? Keep me posted?”

“Of course, honey, you’ll be my first message,” Ms. Garcia assures him, but then she pauses again -- and he almost hangs up because it feels too anticipatory. “You should tell him, B.T.Dubs.”

Spencer hesitates more than is probably necessary.

“... I don’t know what good that will do,” he admits, quiet and unsure. “I’m not -- I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“You’re not that young, honey. Does he know you like him?”

“Mmhmm,” Spencer makes a nervous, affirmative sound. “And… he likes me, or who he thinks I am.”

“Don’t write him off just yet, Doc, let him speak for himself when he wakes up,”  Ms. Garcia all but scolds him, in as gentle a way as possible and Spencer appreciates that, at least. 

“--I’ll think about it.” 

--

Not long after Spencer finds what he’s looking for: military grade poisons that were banned for causing adverse effects, listed and categorized by chemist and agency. It is the Eastman compound, originated during the first invasion of Afghanistan. Their unsub has prolonged exposure, Spencer is sure, and that will narrow down the suspect pool immensely.

After he sends the information to Ms. Garcia, Spencer looks to his phone once more, where there is a block of text all from him himself in his correspondence with Hotch. Begging him to be alright, to answer him, and now that he knows that the man has a fighting chance -- or as much of one as he will be able to have, with where advanced medicine resides in the current conjecture of time -- there really isn’t much he can do now. But hope. And wait. And pray.

Except Spencer doesn’t believe in prayer, or God, or anything that might hear him. The only thing he really believes in is science, and facts, and none of that is very helpful to him right now. Except maybe the coincidental balance of the universe, in a theoretical physics sense, and unexplained phenomenon that have an equal and spatial balance to it. Anything with the descriptor ‘unexplained’ always draws him in like a moth to flame, and he knows he can typically find a semblance of comfort in the way his brain constantly connects dots and far off specks of information that not everyone can see at first glance. Constellations in the sky. But only when he has someone to tell it to, that even pretends to listen for a moment, and for a long while now… Hotch has been that someone. Hotch always listens to him.

Before he knows it, he’s typing into the text box once more --

[]9/23, 11:10[] You’re in surgery still, but Ms. Garcia has confirmed the treatments are working and they are able to actually repair the damage instead of treading water like they have been the past ten hours. I’ve had her personally in contact with the doctors and surgical staff, and all they’ve been able to tell us is to let them work and just pray for you.

[]9/23, 11:13[] Which is such an odd thing; men of science telling people to pray like the outcome of a surgery isn’t in their hands, but some theoretical astronomical entity. I know it’s probably just a ‘bedside-manner’ tactic, but it doesn’t help me in the slightest so it just irks me instead.

[]9/23, 11:15[] I don’t believe in prayer -- a shock, I’m sure -- but I do believe in the phenomenon of universal affirmation. It’s an interesting trend in history and spans cultures where if someone has something awaiting them, to live for, even if they are unaware of it… they will fight harder to cling to life. 

[]9/23, 11:18[] But I also know you will fight tooth and nail for Jack, and for your team that you treat like family, and maybe even me. I’d like to hope I’m included in that, and no amount of books or IQ points can make me think of something to contribute to help you keep fighting.

[]9/23, 11:19[] Just please keep fighting. Come back. And if I come up with something to entice you… I’ll let you know.

It eases a lot of the tension in his chest, talking to Hotch like this -- even if he’s just talking at him, in a place where he might never know what Spencer has had to say. But he can hope. Hope that Hotch will wake up and have thirty missed messages and see they are all from Spencer and it will make him smile. 

Spencer would give anything to see him smile, and he allows himself to hope that one day... he might get to. 

He might as well, while he’s sitting there hopelessly hoping for things beyond his control. 

Come back to me.

Spencer almost types it out, can see it in the text window though he hasn’t pressed a single letter, and closes his phone before he can. Pressing it to his mouth and closing his eyes and just… 

Hoping.

--

The hours roll over into the afternoon, and there’s still no word. 

Spencer has spent the majority of the day messaging Ms. Garcia, who has had no information beyond trivial updates here and there and Spencer has read more about surgical procedures and practices than he has in his entire life. Even raided the biology department’s library, surrounding himself with the comfort of books and files and filled his head with the soothing monotony of medical terms and safety protocols. 

But once noon has come and gone he finds himself staring into the bookshelves across from where he sits on the floor, among stacks of textbooks, with an epiphany trying to make itself known to him. Despite his every attempt to ignore it. 

His phone is back in his hand, there’s an email correspondence from Ms. Garcia that only briefly says Still nothing. And that makes up Spencer’s mind. 

[]9/23, 12:49[] I’ve thought of something.

What he types next makes it hard to breathe, his heart lodged in his throat, and it all comes flowing out of him much like before. His fingers keep moving, his emotional part of his brain steam-rolls over the rational one, and then he’s done and he’s tacked on six extra messages and Spencer has to put his phone away before he rereads it beyond what is deemed healthy or sane. 

Because he’s done what he could, and all he can do is believe that will be enough to… subliminally keep Hotch fighting. The day is only half over, and Spencer feels like he hasn’t slept in a week. 

It would be hours before he got the message that would send relief through his spine like a shot of Novocain. Just three words from Ms. Garcia, sent in haste in a text instead of an email.

{}9/23, 14:58{} He’s in recovery.

--

Hotch wakes up just barely the first time, the room spinning and hit with that familiar smell of anesthesia he can always taste as it fills his senses, before he slips back under. 

The second time is to a small pencil light being flashed in his eyes, staccato movements meant to test his pupil reactions, and an older woman in nurse’s scrubs saying his name and calling to him. He hums an affirmative, even though he isn’t fully returned to a working state of mind. Instinct, more than clarity.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner.”

“About damn time,” he hears Prentiss say from somewhere across the room. Probably leaning the wall, if that faux drone is anything to go by. The nurse gives her a look but his agent isn’t even fazed by it, as far as Hotch can see. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust that far. But he knows the look well enough he doesn’t actually have to see it. 

“Where is everyone? Is anyone else hurt?” Hotch can feel the words form on his tongue, droned out in a haze, his mind slowly coming back to him. 

“Good to see you, too, boss,” Prentiss says in mild exacerbation, coming up to the side of his bed but not taking a seat. She must have been waiting a long time, her whole stance jittery just like after long flights on cases. “Everyone is fine, you’re the only one that got into a knife fight with an unsub who’s into biological warfare.” Hotch blinks at her, trying to make her words make sense without asking it of her. He remembers going to a warehouse to follow a lead, but not much else after that. It’s coming back too slowly to keep up with her. Prentiss just sighs, and repeats herself. “Everyone is fine.” 

She regales him with a play by play, his own memories appearing like raindrops on a windshield to accompany her commentary. Slowly beginning to form a picture of what had happened. He’d been stabbed before, more than he cares to think about, and he’s been dosed with military-grade drugs before as well -- but never both at the same time. No wonder he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You’re lucky to be alive, honestly,” she points out, hip resting against the plastic side panels of his hospital bed. 

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

“And your phone has been blowing up like crazy.” 

Hotch is finally able to sit up enough and see straight without his vision swimming, to find that his agent does indeed have his cell phone in her hands. 

“What?”

“Yeah, eight missed calls and three voicemails, and--” she squints at the screen before looking at him in astonished confusion, “eighty-seven missed text messages, from a whole bunch of people. I’m not reading through all of them. I didn’t know you were that popular.” 

“I’m the Unit Chief, popularity has nothing to do with it,” Hotch deadpans, more himself. Wanting to reach for his phone but his arms are still dealing with pins and needles sensations, sluggish to lift and his fingers uncooperative. “Who called me eight times?”

“Let’s see,” she unlocks his phone -- somehow, god damn it Prentiss -- and scrolls through his notifications. “Two calls from Jessica, one from me, three from Strauss (Jesus), one from Dr. Reid, and one from Garcia. It doesn’t say who the voicemails are from.”

Hotch suddenly feels much more alert, his heart rate monitor picking up but he does his best not to draw attention to it, instead looking up at Prentiss as carefully guarded as he ever is. 

“Dr. Reid called?” he tries to keep his voice even, and unaffected, but the aftereffects of the drugs in his system leave a little more hitch in his voice than he would have liked. 

“Yeah, he’s been talking to Garcia,” Prentiss says without much comment, still scrolling through his phone and making Hotch a little more than nervous. “Busted the case wide open, and saved your life while he was at it. We never would have known you were dosed with something if he hadn’t figured it out. Think you owe that old man a fruit basket.”

“Can I have my phone back?” 

“Don’t think you’re supposed to have it,” she says without looking up, still scrolling through his notifications. “Lots of junk e-mail…”

“One of those voicemails is probably Jack, I should call and let them know I’m alright,” Hotch tries to reason with her.

“He and Jess are already on their way up, they’ll land in an hour,” Prentiss tells him, but looks over her shoulder for that nurse as she makes to hand Hotch his phone anyway. Still hesitant despite her predilections to breaking every rule she can get away with.

“I still want it back,” Hotch insists, regretting saying it as soon as he does.

It catches Prentiss’ attention a little too sharply. “...why?” But at Hotch’s steady stare and solid silence, unwavering like he hadn’t just been in surgery for hours on end, she finally relents and hands it over, still giving him a suspicious look. 

“It’s important,” he finally admits, when she doesn’t stop staring for a good couple of minutes. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows raise near to her hairline, the profiler in her connecting more dots than should be humanly possible. 

A small smile teases her lips, though not fully forming there. “Now I wish I’d read them.” 

Hotch just gives her a reprimanding look of his own, but it’s short lived.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Prentiss assures him, her smile going softer. “I’ll leave you to your mystery woman.” A beat, another raised eyebrow. “Person.” A knowing look, but then she exits and Hotch is able to look at his phone at his own discretion. 

- 

Hotch goes through the text messages with a brief glance; there’s so many of them. Other agents and agencies, his team in a group chat Garcia had started, Jessica left fifteen before someone got a hold of her, and Jack’s school sending reminders about soccer and parent teacher conferences. 

But 39 are from Spencer, and his heart constricts in his chest at the worry he must have caused the man. Aches next to the scars on his chest and the blood that doesn’t belong to him in his veins. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it’s coupled with a torturous feeling of longing. Even subtle jealousy, because even half drugged out of his mind Hotch hadn’t missed the precise word choices Prentiss used. Garcia has been talking to Spencer -- talking. 

Garcia got to hear him.

She talked to Spencer, when he still hadn’t, because of some unspoken rule Hotch isn’t even sure when they decided upon. He still knew so little about the man, and Spencer’s voice could tell him so much with just a few words. He could fill volumes with what he would learn from just a single message --

Without much further thought, Hotch pulls up his voice mail. Listens to the automated voices and the three messages there. None are from Spencer, although his heart had beat a little harder in anticipation -- enough his heart monitor beeped audibly next to him. Embarrassing as that was, like a lovestruck teenager. He’d glared at it and centered his breathing until his heart rate slowed back down, not wanting to alert the nurses station. Two of the voicemails are from Jessica’s phone, one of her worried out of her mind, and the other of Jack telling him they are coming to see him and he hopes he feels better soon. Just listening to his son speak more strongly than his aunt had or anyone else should in his situation, telling his daddy he loves him while the sounds of a commercial airline filter through the background, makes Hotch want to smile and sob all at once.

The last voicemail is from Garcia, telling him a similar story to what Prentiss had earlier, but with a bit more detail on her end. How ‘Dr. Reid’ called her out of the blue, because there had been no time for his usual emails, and gave them the information that saved his life. He’d been working the case diligently, ever since, and was checking up on him a lot. More than a lot. ‘Let him know you’re okay, when you wake up and get this. The poor guy is worried sick, and my updates only give him so much comfort.’

Spencer had actually called Garcia, when he hasn’t physically spoken to anyone in Quantico the entire time he’s consulted for them, just to save a few precious seconds to relay what he’d found. He’d even broken their rule, probably before hand, and called Hotch -- just to make sure he was okay. Hadn’t stopped working to help, the moment he found out he wasn’t.

It’s a strange thought, that if not for Spencer -- Hotch would be dead. That Jack would be flying up here for a very different reason. 

Hotch switches over to the text messages with a lump in his throat. Not at all prepared, emotionally, but needing to know.

The 39 messages start from the night before, when they were supposed to have had their usual online chess date. They range from playful banter, teasing edged in worry, and escalate to panic as the night wears on. Anxious worry bleeding through the single sentences, building and building until that lump in his throat feels like it might block off all air soon. 

Please be okay.

God, that alone starts to set a tone -- and reveals something Hotch hadn’t expected to find. Those three words give way to his speech pathology training, and all indicate that Spencer is… very likely younger than he’d originally thought. Some of Hotch’s assumptions might be close, even the teasing ones he’d only said because he’d been sure they were wrong. The other man is obviously beyond worried about him, as well. Petrified, despite knowing the risks of his job. They had become so close the past few months, were most definitely past the flirting stage and into something so tentative and wonderful Hotch can barely believe it some days. But they had never talked about this, about the possibility that Hotch might walk into a situation one day and not walk back out of it. 

Spencer’s messages soon give way to him just… talking at Hotch. Relaying what was happening, philosophical rants meant to ease his own mind and Hotch finds himself smiling softly at the man’s constant stream of thought, lectures at genius levels that he still feels so compelled to share with Hotch. Because they are that close. They really, truly, are -- and it brightens the fluttering feeling in his chest all the more. How Spencer is trying, subliminally, to draw Hotch back to the light. Three thousand miles away.

Please come back.

Hotch hears it loud and clear, the come back to me. Even unwritten. And it makes his heart skip a beat, aching as it does.

Then…

[]9/23, 15:49[] I’ve thought of something.

[]9/23, 15:52[] I’m 29.

Hotch doesn’t understand, at first. But then it hits him.

Years.  

29 years. 

Spencer is 29 years old. Proven, further, by the following messages sent after that.

[]9/23, 15:56[] I’m a certified child prodigy, on a registry and everything. I graduated high school at just twelve years old, and had my first Ph.D. by 15. Youngest in CalTech history.

29.

Jesus Christ, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Hotch his age. 29 is… far younger than he expected. 

When Spencer was born, Hotch was getting his driver’s license. 16 years difference in age…

He keeps reading, despite the numb aftermath of a bomb going off inside his head, trying to process it and also hear the younger man out.

Younger. Spencer is 16 years younger than Hotch, and he finds himself scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up further as he reads what Spencer sent.

[]9/23, 15:57[] I turn 30 at the end of October, and I was trying to wait until then to tell you. 

[]9/23, 16:00[] I’ve noticed a prominent dynamic shift in perception, between listing my age as in my 20’s and ‘almost 30’. It’s a numerical allusion our brains can’t help. You hear 29, you think 21. It happens with decades, too, once someone is outside the familial range of 10 years. +/- either side.

[]9/23, 16:02[] An age gap doesn’t sound as bad when I’m 30. That’s why I wanted to wait, just a little while longer, but if that universal affirmation phenomenon actually works for us -- I don’t mind dealing with the consequences.

[]9/23, 16:03[] Just please come back. 

[]9/23, 16:07[] Please be okay.

[]9/23, 16:10[] I miss you.

His heart is about to be ripped to shreds. 

Hotch feels terrible, because Spencer is right. 29 sounds so young, and it keeps repeating in his head over and over. But 29 isn’t the same as 21, he isn’t some college student still stumbling around trying to figure out his life. He has five Ph.D.’s, runs three departments at one of the best universities in the country, is consulted by the FBI and Homeland Security and very obviously has a reputation he upholds to the highest regard. Hotch had guessed Spencer was 32 not so long ago, what was the big difference between that and his actual age? From what little Spencer just shared of his life story, he’s never gotten to be a kid, so who was Hotch to consider him one? What gave him the right to be floored by this, did it actually change what he thought of Spencer? How he felt about him only moments prior to reading that?

I miss you.   Come back.   Please be okay.

I’m 29.

It could be the recent flirtation with death, the anesthesia or the morphine, even the gratitude that Hotch will get to see his son again and not leave him without both his parents -- there’s so many reasons for him to take pause as he considers the messages in front of him. 

But it feels a lot like the months of talking, and the countless late nights spent together, that pile up and up in his chest. A rising pressure that reminds Hotch that he and Spencer have something, and it’s not a normal, regular situation for either of them. Something that precedent, and everything Hotch has ever been told to hold to standard, doesn’t seem to fit. He and Spencer don’t seem to fit, when looked at afar or even on paper -- but they do. They really do. It was never supposed to be something that could be this easy, or normal in any capacity.

But what about their lives ever was?

[]9/23, 18:26[] I’m so sorry I worried you.

[]9/23, 18:26[] I miss you, too.

[]9/23, 18:27[] If I stop answering you, the nurse took my phone away. I hate hospitals.

[]9/23, 18:29[] Hotch, you scared me to death.

[]9/23, 18:30[] I know, I’m sorry.

[]9/23, 18:31[] From what I heard, you saved my life.

[]9/23, 18:33[] I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.

[]9/23, 18:36[] Just get better.

[]9/23, 18:38[] Which means resting, don’t glare at your nurses too much. They’re there to help you.

There’s a long stretch of a pause in their correspondence, which picks up so smooth and easy it’s as if they had never stopped. Like the last few days hadn’t happened at all. But they had, they were both looking at the messages to prove that. He does take pause, maybe more than he should, and Hotch knows miles away Spencer is just as nervous. Staring at his phone.

-

Hotch isn’t wrong. Spencer let out such an exclamation of relief at Hotch’s name on his notifications he about sobbed with it. He never cries, hasn’t in years -- but his eyes sting with relief and worry and… an emotion he doesn’t want to name.

[]9/23, 18:44[] What day is your birthday?

[]9/23, 18:45[] October 28th.

[]9/23, 18:45[] Same week as mine. November 2nd.

Hotch pauses, again, considers his next response… and 3,000 miles away Spencer can barely blink as he stares at his phone with mounting dread. 

[]9/23, 18:49[] I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s alright.

[]9/23, 18:51[] Am I correct in assuming you’ve never been in a relationship with this much of an age gap?

It takes Hotch a moment to even gather the courage to type that out and send it. Knows it sounds almost too formal, for them, but Hotch also knows that he and Spencer are balanced on the edge of a knife, here, and… no matter what the outcome, everything is about to change between them.

Spencer licks his lips in nervousness, reading the line over and over although he has no need to. It feels like a tipping point, and he’s still… terrified this will be his last conversation with Hotch outside of case work. Ever. 

[]9/23, 18:55[] Never. 

[]9/23, 18:57[] I haven’t had many relationships at all. My peer groups have always been older than me, and people my own age never understood me enough to be interested. So it’s just something I was used to, going without.

[]9/23, 18:59[] This has been… the closest thing to what I’ve been told is normal that I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never had the chance to have something like this with someone, or connect in this way. I gave up, for a long while there.

[]9/23, 19:01[] I’ve been in a similar situation before, on an intellectual spectrum.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never--

Hotch pauses, again, putting his thoughts in order. Weighing it all, before taking that final leap. Spencer waiting with baited breath, all the more. 

But Hotch doesn’t regret what he sends. Not one bit.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never dated anyone younger than me like this, before, so we’ll both be on a learning curve.

[]9/23, 19:03[] But we will figure it out. Together.

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to release it again. He can’t believe what he’s reading. What Hotch has sent him. 

He said ‘dated’.

He thought they were dating. Spencer isn’t quite sure he can trust his own eyes, despite the words being there in stark black and white on his phone screen.

[]9/23, 19:06[] Dating?

Hotch smiles, because he just knows -- from that single word text -- that Spencer has sent it not in admonishment or anything negative of the sort. But in hope. Confident that he recognizes the nuance in Spencer's voice even without ever having heard it, Hotch just knows, and it makes warmth blossom anew in his chest. Sends his heart rate monitor skittering across the machine all over again.

[]9/23, 19:08[] Hate to be the one to tell you, but all of those late nights where we talked for hours instead of playing chess? Those were dates.

Spencer has his hand over his mouth, still in disbelief that he hadn’t… fucked this up beyond repair. That his age hadn’t been the deal breaker he’d feared so vehemently for months now. That everything is still as it was, age difference and life-threatening situation, aside.

They were dating. All this time.

[]9/23, 19:10[] I should have worn nicer clothes.

Hotch laughs at his phone at the same time Spencer laughs at his own, having reread what he’d sent. 

3,000 miles away, and their quiet laughter coincides perfectly. 

[]9/23, 19:11[] Our next one I’m sure I’ll be in a hospital gown, so I think you’re in the clear.

[]9/23, 19:12[] Sounds like you’re making plans, already. 

[]9/23, 19:12[] You still need rest.

[]9/23, 19:14[] Well, I have to thank you somehow. And, I saw something about poker instead of chess? I’m actually not bad at poker.

[]9/23, 19:15[] … you remember I’m from Vegas, right?

[]9/23, 19:16[] We’ll play for fake money.

[]9/23, 19:18[] No such thing.

[]9/23, 19:19[] I do play for favors, though.

[]9/23, 19:19[] Oh? 

Hotch feels a wild, youthful thing unfurl in his chest as he types away. Mischievous, almost, in a way he only gets when he and Spencer are hours deep into conversations in the middle of the night. But it’s broad daylight, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. Getting lost in the thrill of it all. In the officiality of it, now, and another curtain unveiled between them.

[]9/23, 19:20[] Did you have something in mind?

Spencer has to be blushing seven shades of red, right about now, and he hides his face from his phone for a moment before he realizes how ridiculous that is -- Hotch can’t see him. He can stop messaging the man any time he wants to.

Except he doesn’t want to.

[]9/23, 19:24[] I’ll get back to you.

Hotch can’t help it as he grins at his phone. A wry, suggestive thing, but he manages to school it before a passing nurse can see him -- how his eyes are alight with possibility. With elation, just from talking to the younger man that had seemed to capture a part of him he thought wasn’t available to anyone any more, and types out one last -- slightly more flirtatious subtext to put a cap on their conversation. To indicate he’s awaiting more, always wanting a little more of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He can blame it on the morphine, later. 

[]9/23, 19:25[] Looking forward to it.

--

(tbc...)

--

Tagged List:  @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[breitzbachbea]

📒💖

Emi, I'm kissing you on the mouth right now, you're so sexy. In general but also for taking the bait.

Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about.

The Constantinople AU

This AU is from 2017 and came about because I watched a TED-ED video about Constantinople's walls, relistened to the Aladdin soundtrack and because I had earlier talked with a friend about how I had not really seen people make a genie a woman. I came back years later to explain it to my friend Jonah and add new stuff and this year I showed it to @amber-isnt-a-precious-stone to add even more things. It's one of my favourite AUs for sure.

Dramatis Personae:

- Herakles Karpuzi (APH Greece) as Son of the Roman emperor and heir to the throne - Sadık Adnan (APH Turkey) as Soldier in the Ottoman army and Imposter Prince - Dilan Taş (Human OC) as Jinn and Sadık's unsuccessful wingwoman - Athanasios Karpuzi (Human OC) as the Roman emperor and serial skirtchaser - Salvatore Vento (Human OC) as Advisor to the emperor and Fuckface McBadDad - Michele Vento (APH Sicily) as Herakles' childhood friend

The Happenings™:

- It's set in Constantinople in an alternate Universe, close to ours. It’s the late High Middle Age/Early Late Middle Age (depending on how you want to periodize. I am working with how the German Middle Ages are divided, which is arguably a very bad method for classifying Byzantine. But this is my silly Hetalia AU, not my term paper). Around 1300, I’d say.

- Athansios Karpuzi is the current Roman Emperor, which makes Herakles the heir to the throne. Athanasios is desperately trying to wed his son off to any available suitors to form new alliances, but two things keep getting into the way: 1. Herakles is thoroughly uninterested in playing along with Athanasios’ plans. He’s not a chess piece on his father’s board if he's got anything to say about it. 2. Salvatore Vento is Athanasios’ closest consultant and protests any marriage for whatever reason he can find. For the sole reason that he has been eyeing the throne for himself the entire time and wants to marry his own son, Michele, to Herakles.

- Like in my Hetalia AU "Like Father Like Son", Salvatore and Athanasios trust each other as far as they can throw one another. There is no genuine trust here at all, no sympathy, really, they just stick together because they know the other is useful. Have some assorted banter as result of this:

Salvatore: "Immortal what a name! What a title to bear! Although immoral would have fit you much better." [Athanasios’ etymology is “immortal”]

S: "Maybe you wouldn't have to struggle to find a suitable bride for your son if you stopped dragging every young woman within and from outside Constantinople to bed." Athanasios: "He's into guys too, problem solved." S: "Oh, yeah, me dumbass thought you needed stop whoring around, how silly of me."

A: "If he is into anything at all. But if I have another child, they might keep this empire going." S: "No legitimation to the lineage's claim to power like a gay loner and a bastard child." A: "Ah yes, I hired the man whose wife ran away with his son so he could berate me about family life. How I value your opinion, Salvatore." S: "She didn't run away." A: "No, she just hides and sends you people until she can get her divorce. I'm very inclined to give it to her."

S: "They're childhood friends! They'd make a great couple!" A: "All I can hear is what a great emperor you'd make, ruling on my corpse."

- So. Herakles is staunchly resisting any marriage to anyone and minding his business one day, walking along the great walls of Constantinople. He stops to look out into the surrounding area and suddenly, hears a noise. Confused, he looks down and sees someone scaling the wall. Sadık looks up and sees the most beautiful man he has ever seen … spotting him trying to get into the city.

- Sadık is part of the Ottoman Turks, who’re conquering the area around Constantinople these days. He’s some nobody in the army and thought he’d give it a shot and get into the city by himself to earn some fame (and money).

- Herakles is seriously impressed Sadık managed to actually almost scale the famously impenetrable walls of the city. Not impressed enough to actually let him in. So these two banter a bit, Sadık now distracted by this hunk in front of his nose. Herakles correctly assesses that he’s a Turk and says of himself that he’s the emperor’s son. Sadık: “Hey, hot stuff, if that’s true and it’s so impressive, why don’t you let me in as a reward?” Herakles: “Yes, of course. And then I’ll open the gates for the rest of your people, so that you can just walk in and take the city. What impossible thing do you want to happen next, a kiss on the mouth?” Sadık: “What’s so impossible about that?”

- Either way, Herakles threatens to sick the guards on him, which leads to a “Oh no you wouldn’t” - Herakles grins and definitely would, so Sadık has to retreat. (#Don’tSickTheGuardsOnMyAssYou’reSoSexyAhaha).

- He goes back to camp, having gained nothing but a crush. He gets in real trouble for rummaging around the booty, where he finds an oil lamp and WOULDN’T YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. Dilan, a Jinn, pops out and Sadık uses his first wish to get out of trouble. Once that is done and the two have a moment of peace, he's thinking about what to do next and his mind circles back to Herakles.

- Dilan: "Ah yes, they always want something with love ... so who struck you and what's the problem?" Sadık: "Well ... I don't really know if it's true but he said he was the son of the emperor. He certainly looked the part! And I didn't really want to wait for him to call the guards to confirm it." Dilan: "Wait ... so you want to get with the son of the Roman emperor?" Sadık: "If that handsome little shit didn't lie to me, then yes." Dilan: "Isn't that a little out of your ballpark?" Sadık: "What, is it out of yours? Can't help me in that case, magic lady?" Dilan: "Psht, don't make me laugh! I can make the impossible happen, just tell me what you need." Sadık: "I dunno ... I guess getting inside the city?" Dilan: "That's it? That's all you need? That's less than a no-brainer -" Sadık: "Oh yeah, if it's so easy then, save that second wish for later. I got past one of the walls already once, I'll figure that out without your magic." Dilan: "Alright, alright ... and what about the wooing of your sweetheart?" Sadık: "That we'll see to once we're there ..."

- Dilan and Sadık chitchat while they make it to Constantinople. Dilan spends some time in the lamp, because walking is boring, but she does tell him that she's pretty sick of being in there. So that's where Sadık learns about her wishing to be free. Dilan in turn learns that Sadık doesn't have such a rosy life either (especially because now he can't return to the army, after he basically deserted).

- So they get to Constantinople and decide to actually factcheck if they got the right guy - and if yes, some general information about the emperor's son. Luckily enough, a friendly trader/tradesman tells them a bit about the city and the imperial family. Dilan: "So, did you by any chance ever see the emperor's son?" Trader: "Oh, well, that's an odd question, isn't it? But since you don't seem to be from here, I can understand the curiosity. Well, let me think ... You often see him only from afar ... during a triumph where he had accompanied his father during the campaign I got to see him up close. What a regal figure there at the head of the troops!" Sadık is too lost in the vision of his crush all decked out in military gear on a horse. And then taking all that gear off and being a regal figure while he fucks Sadık into the sheets … Dilan: "Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda, we need something more concrete. Height, hairstyle, haircolour, what does the dude look like?" The trader/tradesman is a little baffled but does provide a description that lines up with who Sadık saw. So with that information, they start to wonder how to woo a future emperor.

- Luckily, now that the trader/tradesman thinks they're here for imperial gossip, he actually mentions the fact that Emperor Athanasios hopes for his son to follow his footsteps and is currently looking for a suitable match, so that Herakles can be of political use even while he's still in charge. So Dilan and Sadık get an idea how to get into the city and Herakles heart. Or his pants. Milestones are still up for negotiation.

- After the grand entrance happened, where Herakles definitely took offense at either "Heard your prince was a sight lovely to see" or "Heard your prince was hot, where is he?" because either question was accompanied by Sadık's flirty looks, Athanasios actually lets Sadık and Dilan into the palace. There he and Salvatore discuss the entire thing, aka if whoever Sadık pretends to be is a good match.

- While they talk political stuff and snark, because of course Salvatore is against it, Sadık continues to feel very smug in his new princely identity and makes flirty eyes at Herakles. Herakles is just like "ugh" and much more happily plays with his cats. Which tbh sounds like they're 16 or something, but they're not that much younger than in canon (I think they'd be 22 and 24 here).

- Hijinks ensue. Herakles tells his dad that he’s a Turkish soldier that tried to sneak into the city and Athanasios doesn’t believe him, thinking Herakles is now lying badly to not get married. Dilan and Sadık are developing a friendship that is best described as hoes being bros.

- Dilan: "Look, you like cats. Cats are furry. Hairy, if you will. You know who else is hairy? Sadık. He's juuust as hairy as a cat - shhhht, I'm wingmanning for you and it's working great, you can thank me later."

- At first, Dilan mostly employs her magic for some silly little things with Sadık to woo Herakles. It doesn't work very well. Herakles: "I know it's magic, that's not impressing me - Okay, it is kinda cool, but you're still a dick." Dilan: "But a dick with a cool sidekick, come ON! What else do you want me to do to make the nerd viable?!" Sadık: "You call that wingmanning?!"

- Once Dilan realizes dickbags Athanasios and Salvatore are, she also uses little magic tricks to continously make their lives worse. Ironically, this may be what finally endears her and Sadık to Herakles. (If you haven't noticed, he doesn't like his father very much and Athanasios doesn't care for him aside from being a political pawn).

- At one point, Michele shows up at court! Herakles is overjoyed to see his childhood friend, which he hadn’t seen in years! Sadık is absolutely not, because it looks like just when he and Herakles almost had something, this twat shows up and steals the show!

- Dilan: "Well, I can't make him not love this dude, but I could beat the dude up." Sadık: " ... keep that in mind."

- However, when Dilan goes to investigate what Michele is doing here (and wingwomanning again), this ensues: Dilan: "Hey brah, what's up, why so blue looking? Is it because your boo just told you you ain't his number one anymore?" Michele: "I, eh ... no ... May I ask who you are?" Dilan: "Just one of the servants of the insanely charming and powerful - and hairy - Prince who's here to marry the Prince. Yep, he's sooo gonna marry that guy." Dilan: "There was a whole musical number about it, you should have seen it, I was on top of my game." Michele: "Sure heard about it, you stirred up trouble here. Hope it helps ... I'm not saying that Herakles should marry someone his dad set in front of him, but it'd be nice if he found someone at last. He told me he was very lonely the last years ... I don't want to leave him behind just as lonely again." Dilan: "Yeah, it'd be - Leave him behind?"

- Dilan: "Good news! His loverboy is not here to stay! He wants to go to the west, he's just here because of his terrible dad!" Sadık: "Oh, that's good! Wait ... isn't his father that asshole of an advisor?" Dilan: "Yeah. Why." Sadık: "The guy who wanted to marry his son to Herakles since apparently forever?" Dilan: "Yeah, but his son is not going to marry him." Sadık: "I smell a trap 10 miles against the wind."

- There is no trap however. Herakles realizes that the crush on Michele is nothing but a childhood crush and has to be left in the past … and that he wants to move forward with Sadık. When he wants a conversation one-on-one, Dilan wants to make it a one-on-two, but Herakles asks her if she doesn’t want to keep Michele company in the gardens, it’s not gonna take long, an hour or two at most. Then she can also fetch Michele when they’re done, so that Herakles can say goodbye before he leaves for Sicily.

- Dilan thinks about it, finds it’s not a trap (and if it was, nothing she and her fists couldn’t solve) and goes in the garden. There she talks with Michele and makes the mistake to either show off her magic powers, tell Michele of TurGre’s meetugly (#Don’tSickTheGuardsOnMyAssYou’reSoSexyAhaha) or to be like: “Hey, do you wanna know a cool secret? Sadık isn’t a Prince, all of this is my doing. Pretty cool, eh?”

- Unfortunately, they’re not alone. Salvatore was searching for Michele in the gardens, to get his “fucking rotten brat of a son” to play along after all instead of disappearing once again. So he overhears this. Salvatore: "Oh, so Prince Sadık is not a Prince? That's a funny joke indeed and I'll laugh my ass off the hardest in the end."

- So just when Herakles and Sadık had time to talk about their feelings and confess and, also, you know, make out and fumble for good measure, they get interrupted. Literally when Herakles was finally stripped down to his tunic and Sadık slid his hand underneath it.

- Athanasios: "This is gonna be the last wall you breached, you little rat." Herakles: "Dad! Stop it!" Athanasios: "This man nearly ruined our dynasty. Arrest him." Salvatore: "Arrest the man indeed. Go and get the ex-emperor." Athanasios: "Ex-Prince. It's not the right time for your snark." Salvatore: "I'm not talking about that small fish. Guards - arrest this careless idiot who nearly ruined our city by letting a scammer into its walls! Clearly the emperor's been in on this and can't be trusted!" Athanasios: "You've lost your mind." Salvatore: "You've lost yours and it's actually the thing you'll miss the least when syphilis is going to eat away the last of your rotten brain in the dungeons. So get him! And that ottoman faker, too, just get the trash out of here."

- The scene ends rather dramatically, because I love the thought of Michele and Dilan rushing to their help, but they get held back. Dilan maybe gets restrained by some anti-magic stuff. And Dilan begs Sadık to use his last wish to help him. To solve this problem. But Sadık refuses, because he promised to use it to set her free. So Dilan is just livid and upset, distraught, yelling at him to let her do something while he gets taken to the dungeons.

- So now Salvatore’s in charge and setting his plans into motion. PR is of course the first thing that needs to be done, so there’s a speech to Constantinople’s masses: "But, as you know, I respect and regard the royal family, the entire dynasty, more than any of you! So I am not going to assume power, it'd be a crime against God himself who granted us this emperor, if I had removed him for anything but his unstable condition and his tragic mistake of almost letting his lineage being tainted! Not to mention that this would have been the end of our beloved empire, our city, suddenly overrun and ruled by those barbarians! No, of course I'll give my power to the true heir who was merely a victim to his father's incompetence. To prove I really mean it, I'm even going to give up my son to the Prince, to forever bind my loyality to the throne!"

- Michele: "I hold no more respect for you as father as I did when we left. I'm not going to play along your perverted plan." Salvatore: "Well Michele, if you don't respect me as father, then maybe you'll respect me as the Roman Emperor!"

- Meanwhile, in the dungeons, Athanasios and Sadık have some great chitchat. Sadık: "Guess that's some quality father and son in law bonding time, eh?” S:“Though I'm pretty sure your son would rather call me daddy than you." A: "Once this entire drama is over, I'll have you decapitated. Or just kick you back to your people and let them handle this." S: "Ah, but when I came here as a fake prince, your arms and gates were wide open. Should've listened to your son when he told you so."

- Here’s also some Salvatore content: Athanasios: "And now you strut around in my clothes. I'm surprised they even fit you fatass!" Salvatore: "Oh, the entire imprisonment is really getting to you, ain't it, emperor tightlips? Ah, I meant - ex-emperor tight lips. Now you've sunk low enough to insult me with such details. Is it because you have nothing else left now that you're off your high horse?" Salvatore: "I thought so. At least you're enough of a sound mind to not threaten me with 'once I get out of here' hot air. Because we both know you're not getting out of here in a lifetime anymore. And yes, I’m wearing your rags, since I’ve got no time to waste.” Salvatore to Sadık: "Actually, it's sad that you aren't going to be there to watch it. Although, I think a public execution would just spice the entire wedding festivities up, if I think about it."

- Ah yes. The wedding. Herakles: "You look great today, my love. Like a polished jewel." Michele: "Thanks. I'd never seen a man more handsome than you though. Truly, a prince with all his qualities seen right away." Both: -sigh- Ft. Dilan, who’s just watching the kids sadly and is trying to reassure them she got this, she’s gonna find a way, it’ll be fine!!!

- Herakles and Michele wonder why Sadık didn't use that wish. To which Dilan replies he said he'd free her with it, but she didn't believe he'd actually uphold that promise. And he shouldn't have because now she's useless and he's in trouble. (And Hera only falls more in love with Sadık, because being a good person is HELLA swoony.)

- Dilan also tries to cheer them up and I believe she can still do small magic tricks, she just can't get out of whatever shackles/confinement she is in. So when she isn't despairing or raging, she tries to cheer Herakles and Michele up with some silly little tricks. She shapeshifts into their fathers to make fun of them. Which leads them to an idea ...

- I have no idea what it is though. I only know that the grand final and resolution involves shapeshifting. If anyone who's better at plots wants to give me ideas, please do.

- However they manage to stop Salvatore's machinations, this is what follows: Salvatore gets thrown into the dungeons. Herakles decides to not let his father out and instead take the crown himself. He becomes emperor and marries Sadık. Sadık uses his last wish to set Dilan free. Michele goes to travel to Sicily, promising he’ll write letters to them and come visit some day (Dilan promises the same).

- The end of Salvatore and Athanasios rotting in jail together is SO satisfying to me, bc now that they are useless to each other, there is nothing left to do but be a pain in each other’s ass. They hate each other and they DESERVE EACH OTHER.

Sequel Bait:

- Before we get to the sequel bait, let me give you some prequel bait for a change. Here's a little "what if one of the many suitable matches for Herakles had been one of the Beilschmidt brothers" scenario. Plus free medieval history lesson:

- Now for the actual sequel: Three years come and go. Herakles and Sadık settle in their new rules as emperor and ... emperor's husband. (I don't know if Byzantine empresses were "put into office" in the same way the Emperor was. If someone is more knowledgeable about this than me, correct me).

- Their marriage is going swell, however both struggle in their new official roles. Herakles faces all the administrative problems and tough decisionmaking that comes with being a ruler, while Sadık struggles to be accepted by the people of Constantinople. Where Herakles tends to take care of the court, Sadık tries his hand at being a military leader.

- One morning, Sadık wakes up with Herakles in the room. Which should not be surprising, if it wasn't for the fact that Herakles had left the city yesterday. He's oddly nonchalant about it when Sadık asks him and also ... weirdly chipper? Eager? Kitschy in his flirting? He's at first flattered, but soon very confused by everything and wonders if either he hit his head real hard in his sleep or if Herakles fell off his horse when he tried to make it out of the city.

- Turns out none of it, because after some more eyelash fluttering, his "husband" goes POOF! and turns out to be Dilan, who's on the floor laughing. "You should have seen your stupid face! Really! Wait, I'll show you!"

- After Dilan is done shapeshifting into Sadık, absolutely overacting his reaction and argueing with him about it, they finally get to catch up. Turns out that Dilan was bored by travelling around the world and wanted to check in on her old buddy.

- She couldn't have chosen a more opportune time to do so. Once Herakles returns, he ... at first has a weird reunion with his husband. Sadık is kind of wary around him and starts to list his attitude and general personality traits/ticks as proof for ... something. Takes a while for Herakles to get the news that Dilan is back, too.

- Herakles is very relieved to hear that! He wanted to confide something in Sadık, because after he had returned to the city, someone had taken him aside. Natasa Simonides, an old and trusted courtly advisor, needed help. Recently, her husband Ibrahim disappeared and she's worried.

- Natasa also told Herakles a secret: Ibrahim is a Jinn, which is why his disappearance worries her even more. Herakles informs Sadık and asks Dilan if she knows anything, but she sadly hasn't heard anything either. - Before she can zip off and see if she can find Ibrahim, Herakles asks another favour of her - to educate Natasa's twins, Timothea Farah and Omar Veniam instead. Natasa thinks they may be able to find their father, but they don't know they're half-Jinn, so they'd need some guidance. Dilan happily agrees to be their teacher!

- My only more in-depth infos on Jinn and their children with humans comes from this Monstrum video by PBS Storied. I don't think Thea & Omar would need to be taught by anyone to be seers and how to be in communication with non-human spheres, but it makes for a better story.

- So Dilan is off to teach the kids while Sadık volunteers to go and search for Ibrahim. Herakles resumes his imperial role in the city.

- It's not really fun and as the people become more and more agitated with the status quo, more and more people "remember" that the old emperor is still around. Enough people are going "What's that kid knowing anyways?! All those highfangled ideas and useless reforms, for what?" that a select few decide to stage a coup by releasing Athanasios from the dungeons.

- Now, I still haven't decided if Salvatore also gets let out. The problem is that I really would begrudge him his freedom ... but I also begrudge Athanasios his freedom! It doesn't feel fair that one bastard gets to walk free and the other doesn't!

- Out in the field, Sadık isn't having much more luck. No Jinn in sight and the trouble he has with a few of the men that accompany him keeps him thinking about the acceptance problems again. He really wishes at one point that Herakles wasn't emperor at all. You can imagine how terrible he feels for these thoughts when news of the coup catches up to them. Be careful what you wish for and all that jazz. On top of that, he gets into trouble as well - betrayed by some of the men he had taken along. He gets stuck in some place like a cave or an abandoned house he was investigating ...

- Sadık finds a large sealed bottle and thinks 'Well, what's the worst that could happen?' He is greeted by a GIANT cloud of smoke instead of anything edible/drinkable. By the time the cloud is human-shaped, he already has a giant grin on his face. Sadık: "Hah! I have a sixth sense for this kind of stuff!" Jinn: "Greetings, mor-" Sadık: "Yeah, yeah, quick question, is your name Ibrahim? Or do you know one of your kind called Ibrahim who's been passing through recently?" Jinn: "My name is Ibrahim - " Sadık: "Great! You know a Greek lady called Natasa? I take that look as a yes. Okay, so first wish is to get us out of here, second wish we'll see, third is like freeing you from the whole servitude bit - You do the three wishes thing, right? Anyways, your wife and kids are wishing for dad to come home, so get us out of here, you'll get explanations on the way back."

- In the meantime, Dilan and her protégés, along with Natasa and Herakles, have been trying to figure out how to solve the problem at court. It doesn't help that the news of Sadık's troubles also reached them (I know the speed of spreading information may be historically hella inaccurate, but I need it for the drama). So Dilan is torn between helping her best bud and helping the rest at court. The Greeks cook up a plan and assure her that she should go and help Sadık, they've got this.

- The plan is to get Athanasios to do something incredibly stupid that would immediately turn the people against him. They exploit the fact that Athanasios likes to listen to words that fall from pretty lady's mouths. So Timothea flatters her eyelashes and promises to tell him something of a vision she had ... that the divine has something to tell him through her. (Don't worry for her, she may have to endure his fingers under her chin, which is infuriating and nauseous enough, but no more skin contact than this). Thea gets backed by her brother to lend it more credibility once Athanasios considers with his head and not his dick.

- And we can all appreciate that Dilan has been sent away, otherwise the scene would have been like this: Thea: "The spirits are talking to me about you ... " Dilan: "Mhm, mhm, indeed, I can hear them to. They're saying that you're a bitch!"

- Dilan in the meantime reaches Sadık, Ibrahim and those of his troop that haven't betrayed and abandoned him as soon as they heard of the coup. A little happy reunion before she immediately fills them in on what's happening.

- They come up with a plan themselves to finally get rid of Athanasios and the Simonides and Herakles have begun to sweat a little back home, because Athanasios mistake of listening to the twins' advice has bought them time, but not really solved the problem yet. Which is when Dilan and Ibrahim sweep in, concocting an illusion powerful enough to wrap up everyone in Constantinople and make Athanasios seem like the literal devil. Some mass-hallucination miracle bullshit, truly, to assert that he doesn't deserve the throne.

- Maybe for good measure, Athanasios disappears after the illusion is over. Dilan and Ibrahim have no idea where he went, they say with a smile.

- Another grand finale! The four lovers are reunited, Thea and Omar are overjoyed to have their dad back and he is overjoyed to have his kids back. When Dilan tells the Simonides twins that they did a great job, she's a good teacher after all haha!, Ibrahim and Natasa invite her to stay. Dilan says that they don't need her, surely, now that Ibrahim can teach them, but Ibrahim says he could use some help. Herakles also encourages her, saying that he'd love to have her at court - and Sadık also bullies her into staying. "What do you wanna do, see the world again? Didn't do much for your peanut brain the first time around, maybe hit the books together with Hera so that you'll be a passable teacher some day."

- Dilan and Omar also have evolved a crush on one another during this entire mess. That's what I'll leave you with - all well that ends well.

Also hey you! Thanks for reading all of this! Here's a little bonus content if you made it this far!

A wonderful fanart of Michele and Salvatore by my beloved friend C0FFINATED over on twitter!

Here's an amazing commission of the Greeks and Turks by @captkirkland ! I'm not sure if I'm allowed to repost the pictures myself on tumblr & you shoud reblog it from him anyways. Show him and his amazing art some love! From left to right it's Timothea, Herakles, Omar, then Dilan, Sadık and Havva (who's not featured in this AU, rip. Things would have worked to well with their brainpower).

Thanks for reading this! Hope you have a wonderful day!

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Phantoms

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Two

A JSE Fanfic

Oh wow, second chapter already? :O Yeah I was really excited to keep writing this. Fantasy is my element; I’ve returned home. After wandering out into the woods for so long, Chase wakes up in an unfamiliar location. Where is he? Who are these strange masked people who have found him? And what happened back in his village? Answers will follow, as we meet new people...including a couple boys that us readers will know :D

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Chase woke up slowly, over the course of what had to be a few minutes. First, he was aware of weight, something pressing down on him. It was warm. And that felt really, really good. Because there was a coldness in his core that he couldn’t quite shake, sending chills across his skin. After the weight, sound came trickling in. There wasn’t much of it. Just some strange scratching sounds, and occasionally footsteps, which echoed. It was only after registering the echo that thoughts started to form. Where...where was he? How’d he get here? Last he remembered, he was...in the forest? It was dark. Was it nighttime? Chase found it hard to recall.

He finally opened his eyes. It was difficult; they felt weighed down. But he did it. And once his eyes were open, he saw...stone. Rough, natural stone, not stone bricks. The light was strong, but flickering. And completely unfamiliar.

Turning his head to the side was an effort, but he managed. He was on a bed, he recognized that much. With a few layers of blankets, including one made of fur on top. Again, completely unfamiliar. As was the rough stone room he found himself in. Some sort of cave...? But then why was there a bed in a cave? No, scratch that. There was a whole row of beds, he could see them extending to the side, along with a couple rickety wooden chairs. And, currently sitting down in one of those chairs, was a woman with a bird face.

“Wh...?” Chase tried to sit up, but the blankets were too heavy, and his body felt weak, so he gave up easily.

The bird-faced woman looked up, and—oh, no. It was a mask. Of course. With a long, curved beak that couldn’t be practical. The woman gasped, and put down the items she was holding—a stack of parchment and a long white feather—a quill—down on the nearest bed. “You’re awake. How do you feel?” She asked, standing up again and hurrying over. Her voice was...it sounded different. In a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

How did he feel? How did he...how...The simple question took Chase a full thirty seconds to answer. “...tired.”

“That’s to be expected,” the woman said, “when you catch the shivering like you did.”

The shivering? Chase groaned as he suddenly remembered the events of last night. Running through the forest, tripping and falling in the water, then continuing to walk until he couldn’t. How stupid. He knew about the shivering, how it could kill a man who stayed out in the cold for too long. Why had he kept going? Actually, why...why had he been out in the forest that late? It felt...important. But those memories still eluded him.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be alright,” the woman reassured him. “We found you just in time. You, ha...wandered pretty close to camp.” She gave a small smile. Though the mask only covered the upper half of her face, the beak still hid most of the smile. “What’s your name?”

“...Ch’se.” Chase mumbled. His eyelids were really, really heavy. Maybe if he just closed them for a moment...

“Chess? Odd na—no wait, don’t fall asleep!”

Too late. The moment his eyes closed, he drifted off.

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

He kept drifting for some time, bobbing on the sea of sleep, occasionally cresting a wave and catching a brief glimpse of that strange cave room again, before falling back asleep. He didn’t regain true awareness until he heard voices. And then, he opened his eyes and turned his head towards them.

This time, he’d rolled over to the other side of the bed. He could see the row of beds continuing, then ending at a large, dangling sheet of canvas. Like for a ship sail? Was he on a boat? No, silly him. A cave wouldn’t be on a boat. Maybe it was just blocking off the entrance. He also saw lanterns this time around, dangling from the distant rock ceiling on chains. There were a lot of them, actually, providing a bright light. Bright enough to see the two people talking to each other nearby. Chase concentrated, and soon the words started to make sense.

“It’s dangerous!” This voice was coming from a man with a fox face. No, wait. Again, it was a mask. The man was also wearing leather armor on his chest and arms. His hands were on his hips and he was staring down at the other figure he was talking to.

“Oh, really? He was already deep into the shivering by the time they found him,” the other voice said. Also a man, if Chase had to guess. He couldn’t quite tell, because this figure had its back to him. All he could see was a red cloak, down to the figure’s waist, with the hood pulled up. 

“That could’ve been...a mistake,” the fox-masked man said slowly. “After all, he was wet. If he tripped and fell, and out in the middle of the Dragon’s Greatwoods, there wouldn’t have been time to retreat to shelter. So he continued on his mission.”

“Mission?” The cloaked figure laughed. “Yea, the King sent a man without any jacket or cloak, only armed with a shortbow and five arrows, to find his current greatest threat’s lair. That makes perfect sense.”

The man folded his arms. “He could be a scout. There could be a greater force coming.”

“Look, Lukas, I admire your vigilance,” the figure said. “But there’s just too many holes. If he’s a scout, why doesn’t he have an insignia anywhere? And I know you’re going to say he had to have nothing in case he was caught, or that he could’ve been sent to infiltrate, but in that case? He should have had better gear. A dagger or knife, at least.” The man started to talk again, but the figure kept going. “And also, even if he is part of the King’s forces, shouldn’t we keep him around to ask questions? Instead of just throwing him out into the cold with the shivering like you’re suggesting.”

“Not with the shivering—”

“That doesn’t make your idea much better.” The figure snaps, and surprisingly, despite being at least a head taller, the man in the fox mask shrinks back. “Like I said, I appreciate your vigilance,” the figure continued in a softer tone. “But right now? Does this man look dangerous?” The figure turned around and gestured to Chase, then stopped. “Wait a moment. I think he’s awake.”

The fox-masked man gasped, and backed up. Chase tried to say something, or nod, or do anything, but...the depths of dreamland were already calling him back. He closed his eyes once more.

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

The third time Chase woke up, it was for good. He opened his eyes, and found he didn’t have the urge to close them again. When he turned his head, it was easier. And his mind was clear, able to take in the strange cave in more detail. Like the fact that it was large enough to put three cottages inside, and still have room to walk in between. Or that the end opposite the canvas was actually a pile of rocks, like there was a cave-in, but with a few stone bricks in the gaps, as if people came along and tried to reinforce the rocks into a solid wall.

He was really, really warm. Not hot, but just warm enough to be noticeable. So he tried to sit up. It was harder than expected, both because of the weakness that lingered in his limbs, and because the layered blankets were surprisingly heavy. But he managed to get upright.

“You’re awake again!”

Chase let out a startled cry, then turned to see the woman with the bird mask from before. She was standing near the rock-brick wall, a wooden chest open at her feet, which she quickly closed. Now, Chase took in more about her. The long, curved beak was still impractical, and Chase couldn’t recognize the type of bird the mask was modeled after. She wore a white apron over a tunic and a pair of trousers. Her black hair was pulled back in tight braids, and she had darker skin than anyone Chase had ever known. She hurried over. “Lay down, lay down. And keep the blankets on.”

“It’s a little hot, actually,” Chase mumbled an explanation.

The woman hummed, then leaned over and pressed her hand against Chase’s forehead. The touch was cool. “Well...I suppose your temperature is closer to normal,” she said, leaning back. “But don’t get up yet. How do you feel, Chess?”

“Um...well, my name is Chase, actually,” he corrected. “But anyway, I feel...still a little tired, but I’m not...not sleepy. Just kind of...weak, I guess.”

“Well. That’s good,” the woman said cheerfully. “One moment, do you mind holding this?” She reached into a pocket in her apron and took out a smooth, round stone the size of a fist.

“...sure?” Chase took the stone. For a moment, his hand dropped with the weight, but he kept it aloft.

The woman hummed again, watching his arm as his muscles trembled slightly. “I suppose that’s not enough to worry.” She took the stone back.

“Thank you, I guess,” Chase said. He glanced once more around the large cave—or, actually, a cavern. “Now, uh...if you don’t mind. Where am I? And who are you? And how did I get here?”

“You’re...well, that’s hard to say,” the woman said. It was then that Chase realized why her voice sounded different: she had an accent, one he couldn’t identify. “I’m not sure if I should tell you that yet, but you are safe. You are in a...place...full of good people, and you are currently in our infirmary.”

“In a cave?” Chase blurted out.

The woman laughed. “Oh believe me, they argued about where to put it for so long. They still do, actually. But we keep it clean. As for how you got here, you wandered right up to the edge of our...place. There was a whole group out nearby, talking to each other and spending time, and they saw you in the distance. So they picked you up and took you here. And for your question in the middle, you can call me Ibis.”

“Ibis,” Chase repeated. “Is that a type of bird?”

“Yes, it is!” Ibis beamed, and adjusted her white bird mask. “They live near rivers, in warm climates.”

“Oh. Interesting. I...hadn’t seen them before,” Chase said slowly.

“You are not the only one,” Ibis assured him. “It is cold in these mountains. But I have to ask you something. I hope you don’t mind. It is...What were you doing so far out in the woods, so late at night?”

“I, uh...I go out into the forest to hunt,” Chase said. “Every day, usually, except in the winter, unless it’s really necessary.”

“Really? Interesting,” Ibis said. She brushed some dirt off her apron. “Well, Chase, you are recovering from the shivering nicely. But I hope you don’t mind if I have someone else take a look at you. Not today, tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Oh. Um...alright,” Chase said, still a bit confused. “And...when are you going to tell me where I am? And who this group is? And why all of you are wearing masks?”

“Chase, I would really like to answer your questions, but I don’t know what we’ve decided,” Ibis said honestly.

“So keeping it a secret is important, huh?”

“I suppose you could say so. Now if you don’t mind.” Ibis walked around the bed. “I am going to get you some water. You must be very thirsty.”

He hadn’t actually noticed it, given the more pressing concerns of his situation, but the minute she mentioned it, Chase realized how dry his mouth was. “I am. Thank you.”

“I will be right back,” Ibis assured him, then headed towards the canvas. She pushed through a flap in the middle, not unlike that of a tent, and disappeared.

Chase stared after her for a few moments, then slumped back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, wondering. Who were these people? What did they want? And what was going to happen to him?

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

True to her word, Ibis reappeared the next day with someone else in tow. Chase heard the sound of the canvas flap open from the bed where he was laying, and rolled over to see her and another man walking in. They took a slight detour to the side, where they both put on a white apron, then headed over. “Hello again, Chase,” Ibis said cheerfully. “This is Owl.”

The other man nodded. “Hello.” As the name would have indicated, his white mask was shaped like an owl, though...Chase noticed that his mask was more...decorated. Ibis’s mask had a symbol in the center of the forehead drawn in black, a vertical line with two others twisting around it. The man’s owl mask had that, too, but it also had colorful details along the feathers, and a pattern of pale blue diamonds along the cheeks. Underneath the apron, the man wore a blue scarf and a white tunic with buckles in the front. He also had a belt with several pouches hanging off it. Brown hair framed the owl mask, cut short, and blue eyes looked at Chase through the wide eyeholes.

“Hello,” Chase said politely. “How’re you doing?”

“Oh, ah, I am well.” Owl sounded a bit surprised by the question, which confused Chase. People always said that when greeting each other. “But more importantly, how are you?” He continued, sitting down in a chair next to the bed.

“I’m tired.” Yes, tired of saying that.

“The fatigue is expected. How are your thoughts? Is your head clear, or is it more foggy?” Wait a moment...Owl also had an accent. But it was different from Ibis’s. While hers was smooth, mellowing out the vowels, his was sharp, especially on the S’s and TH’s. And it...sounded strangely familiar...which really stood out in contrast to all the strange new things Chase had been going through.

“No, it’s pretty clear,” Chase said slowly, silently wracking his memories. Where had he heard that accent? “And before you ask, I’m not cold, but I’m also not that warm, either. At least, not on my own. The blankets, though, they are making me warm.”

“That is what they were made for, yes,” Owl nodded. “Ibis says your temperature is not too bad, so if you would like, we can take away some of them.”

“That would be good, thank you. And, um...slightly related question. Where are my clothes?” Chase gestured to the shirt he was wearing. It wasn’t his; this one was thick and woven. It hadn’t seemed important yesterday, but might as well ask now. “And all the rest of my things, too?”

“Ah, sorry about that. They were all wet, so we had to change you out of them. They would just make you colder. We have your things nearby, you can go get them later,” Owl explained. “Once we are sure you are not with the shivering anymore.”

That way of talking was just so familiar, it was distracting. Where would he have heard it before? Chase fell silent for a moment as he thought about it. Maybe in another similar environment? When he was sick? Well, he didn’t really get sick that often, but maybe when someone else was sick...like...

Owl paused, waiting for Chase to say something else. “...are you okay?”

The memory hit Chase in a flash, making him gasp out loud. “Henrik?!”

Owl looked shocked for a moment, but then he glanced at Ibis, who had an identical expression under her mask, and quickly turned the shock into confusion. “I am sorry?”

“That’s you, isn’t it? Henrik...I don’t remember your surname, but you had one. I thought that was strange. You’re a traveling doctor, you were in town last summer!”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Owl said slowly. “You might be mistaking me for someone else—”

“No no no, I couldn’t be mistaking you,” Chase insisted. “It’s embarrassing that I didn’t remember you until now, really. Maybe I am still foggy from the shivering. My son, Quentin, he caught a fever, we—we were really worried about him making it. But Michael told me there was a traveling doctor staying at his house—maybe you remember him, he’s a woodcutter? But I ran over and I explained everything to you, and you came back with me straight away to see to Quentin. You gave him some medicine, and...and you probably saved his life.” Chase went quiet. “I’d never forget that.”

Owl looked like he wanted to deny it at first, but the longer Chase talked, the more recognition sparked in his eyes. “Actually, you look...In a mountain village last summer? A little boy with a fever...Did he have dark curly hair? And a quiet sister?”

“Yes! That’s Quentin! And my daughter, Amabel, too.” Chase nodded fast enough to make his head dizzy. “That was you, right?”

A slight pause. “Well I suppose if you already guessed, there is no point in saying no.” The man reached up and took off his owl mask, revealing his full face for the first time. And now, there was no mistaking it.

“It is you!” Chase smiled wide. “Oh, elders. I never thanked you enough. We would have—Quentin’s only eight, you know, but he’s had trouble all his life—and that you agreed on such short notice—”

“You think I would say no to something so urgent?” Henrik scoffed, though it didn’t come across as harsh, more like a habit. His voice was actually quite soft as he continued, “And for a child, as well.”

“A lot of traveling doctors charge a lot—”

“They are selfish. Who would charge for a child?” Henrik shook his head. “But you recognized me. I am surprised. I have not done any traveling in nearly a year.”

“It was the accent,” Chase explained. “I think I remember you explaining why you have it? You’re from Al...Altir...Altherd...”

“Alterde,” Henrik finished. “It is across the sea, to the east of here.”

“Right.” Chase glanced over at Ibis, who was standing to the side while they talked, bouncing on her feet and waiting for them to finish. “Are...you two aren’t from the same place, are you?”

“Oh, no no, not at all,” Ibis said. “Though, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to get specific.”

“Oh. That has to do with the masks and the secrecy, doesn’t it? Well, that’s okay.”

Ibis smiled, then walked away a bit. “Henrik, if you do not mind, I am going to continue inventory.”

“No, no, go ahead,” Henrik said, nodding. Ibis nodded back, then walked towards the back of the cavern and bent over to open up a chest. She took out some parchment and a quill with ink, then proceeded to open another chest. “Ah, anyway.” Henrik turned back to Chase. “Where was your village? Is it nearby?”

“On the edge of the forest,” Chase confirmed. “They call it Hilltown.”

“Right, because of the slopes and steeps,” Henrik said. “And how is your son now? He has not had any more scares since I tended him?”

“No, nothing major. Though the other day, he fell into the trough for Rainer’s sheep.” Chase laughed. “He was fine, but we should keep an eye—” He suddenly stopped.

No. No, they couldn’t do that. Because the day after that incident, Chase had gone hunting and returned to find the village burning. His family—Stacia, Amabel, Quentin—they’d all disappeared. And now, as the memories came flooding back, he remembered why he’d gone into the forest so late at night, why he’d kept walking despite being so cold and tired. Because his family was missing. Because he’d run in to see his cottage alight, the orange flame searing his eyes, the scent of woodsmoke and ash all around, smoke filling his throat...then run into the forest, hoping maybe, maybe he would see them. Frantically searching, not caring about what happened, just as long as they were safe, please let them be safe. Please let them be safe, somehow, somewhere—

“Chase?” Henrik said slowly, eyes filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”

And with that simple question, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears filled his eyes and overflowed. Chase bent over and started sobbing, burying his face in his hands as his body shook. Henrik’s concern grew into worry, and he leaned in closer, putting a hand on Chase’s back. “What is wrong?” he asked quietly. “Is there—could I help?”

“I don’t—know what happened—to them,” Chase said in between gasps for air. “Town was—I went out hunting a-and town was—it was on fire—when I came back. A-a-and the cottage was on fire, a-and they were—my wife, my kids, they—I-I couldn’t find them. I thought I’d look for them, i-in the forest, but—but I couldn’t find them, and I—I—kept shouting, but I—I—”

“Oh.” Henrik’s expression slowly shifted to horrified realization. “Oh, no. Chase, I am so sorry.”

“They—they can’t be...gone,” Chase continued, a desperate edge to his voice. “I-I-I couldn’t see their—they could’ve gotten out and headed downhill, or to another village. But I do-don’t know. That—that chance that they could be—it’s j-j-just—” He gave up on forming words and just cried.

Henrik didn’t say anything. He sat with him, a comforting presence, letting Chase sob his eyes out. Which was appreciated. Chase didn’t want any words, any promises of false hope. He wanted to let the tears consume him. How could he have forgotten that was what happened to his family? That they were the reason he was even here in the first place? How could something like that have slipped his mind?

It was some time before Chase’s crying died down. Slowly, the wracking sobs petered out into quiet whimpers. Henrik reached into one of his belt pouches and took out a square of cloth, which he handed to Chase. “Thank you,” Chase mumbled as he took it, and wiped his eyes.

“It is no problem,” Henrik said. “Chase, that is...I am sorry.” He paused. Chase just nodded. So he continued. “How...how was the village on fire? If I remember, most of it was stone, except for the houses on the sloping parts.”

“It was...the oddest thing,” Chase said, recalling the sight. “The stone buildings were on fire, too.”

Henrik’s eyes seemed to sharpen. “Really?”

“Yes. I-I don’t know how, but I know what I saw.”

“No, no, I believe you. Ah...” Henrik cleared his throat. “You do not have to answer if you are uncomfortable, but...was anyone there who...was not supposed to be?”

“Oh. Oh. Yea, there were these strangers on horses,” Chase remembered. “Or at least, some of them were on horses. They were all dressed the same, or similarly. Dark tunics.”

“Did they have any sort of—of marking, or insignia?”

“I was too far away to see...no, wait.” Chase closed his eyes to remember. “Yes, some of them had the crest on the back of their tunics.”

“Crest?”

“The kingdom’s crest, Glasúil’s crest. The green field on the striped shield. Heh. That’s how my mom taught me to remember it in lessons.” Chase smiled for a moment, but it soon faded. “You know, I was...obviously more concerned at the time, but...why were strangers wearing the crest even there? They had to be working directly for the royal family. Maybe they were there to help?”

Henrik didn’t answer, though when Chase looked over at him, his face was dark and stony. “Chase. Ah, I think we could send someone to...look at the village...ruins. To see what happened. If you’d like, we could tell you...if we find...”

“That would be good,” Chase said softly. “Henrik, is...is something wrong?”

After a moment, Henrik put his owl mask back on. “Yes, something is wrong. And I will explain to you what it is, after you are completely better from the shivering. That should only take a few more days. Is that okay?”

“Yea, I guess that’s alright,” Chase agreed. Maybe it was just the fogginess from the shivering, but he felt really overwhelmed and more than a little confused. But he got the feeling he wouldn’t be getting any answers right away, so he had to wait. That was okay. He was patient, even if the distress for his family was eating a hole in his chest.

“Thank you.” Henrik stood up. “I can come see you later, if you wish, but I have to take care of something right now. Feel free to ask Ibis for anything.”

“Alright.” Ibis looked really busy with the chests at the back of the cavern, totally absorbed in her writing on her parchment. Chase doubted she’d heard any of their conversation. But okay. He’d ask her if he had to.

Henrik gave him a small smile. “I will be back.”

“Goodbye.” Chase waved as Henrik turned and left through the canvas flap at the front of the cavern, disappearing from sight. Then he sighed, and looked up at the rocky ceiling. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was sure he’d stumbled into something far bigger than he’d ever expected.

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

It took three more days for Chase to fully get over the effects of the shivering. During that time, Henrik and Ibis were frequent visitors, talking and helping him regain his strength. Occasionally, he’d see some other person in a mask enter the infirmary cavern. Usually someone wearing a bird-themed mask, but he saw other animals as well—he recognized a hedgehog, a badger, a couple mice, and a snake. And he noticed that the ones in bird masks would always put on an apron before entering. Given how Henrik and Ibis had bird masks and would do the same, he assumed that the birds were the doctors for...whoever these masked people were.

None of the masked people talked to him, so he didn’t talk to them. But more than once, he caught someone staring at him. No doubt he was an unusual sight. And probably some sort of security risk. He could still remember that conversation he’d overheard between the man in the fox mask and the figure in the red cloak. Talking about how he shouldn’t be there, how he could be...some sort of enemy, he guessed. So he didn’t blame them, though it did make him a bit uncomfortable at times.

Eventually, the fatigue disappeared, and Chase could walk around and pick up and hold things without his muscles trembling. Henrik had brought him his set of clothes back, and Chase had quickly changed into the familiar garb, which wasn’t nearly as warm as the clothes they’d given him. Though he couldn’t help but notice his bow and arrows were missing. More security risk, probably.

On the third day, at a time when Ibis had left the cavern and Chase was on his own, idly sitting on his bed, Henrik walked through the canvas flap and right up to him. “Chase?” He said. 

“Hello, Henrik,” Chase said. “How’re you doing?”

“I am well, thank you. And you?”

“Doing fine.” Chase stood up and stretched. “Except I’m completely bored.”

Henrik laughed a bit. “Well, it is not the most exciting thing to be stuck in here.”

Chase smiled. Honestly, he preferred being bored to being constantly worried about his family.

Henrik’s expression became serious. As if reading Chase’s thoughts, he said, “Well...do you remember what I said a few days ago? That we would go to check Hilltown and see if...there was anything left?”

Silently, Chase nodded.

“I have some good news, and some bad news, Chase. And the good news is that we could not find any signs of your family being dead.”

The wave of immense relief Chase felt was enough to make him physically stagger. “Really?” he whispered.

“Really,” Henrik confirmed.

“Oh, thank the elders.” Chase sighed. But then a wave of nervousness shot through his body. “What’s the bad news, then?”

Henrik sighed, reaching up and taking off his mask so he could rub his eyes. “Hilltown is...gone. There are the remains of buildings, but...no people in sight. Or at least, none alive.” He paused. “The bodies the group found, they...looked them over. And none of them are children, women, or elderly. All of them were adult men. Not killed by fire, but by...wounds that would be inflicted by people. Arrows, and blades.” And he paused again. “That is not all, though. The reason the group took so long to return was because they checked out the nearby mountain villages as well. And...things are exactly the same in the three they found. Burned, with bodies of men, but no one else.”

What color there was in Chase’s face completely drained, leaving him white as a sheet. “The...same thing happened in three other villages?” That was...it was too terrible for him to even put into words. He’d been to one nearby village a couple times before, called Pinetown, but the other two...though he might have known of them, their names escaped his mind. But they all had to be roughly the same size as Hilltown, with about three hundred to four hundred people living there. Altogether that was...as many as sixteen hundred people dead or missing.

“At least. They only checked nearby,” Henrik said tentatively. “We are going to go out farther, see if there are more...tragedies like this.”

“...oh.” Chase wasn’t sure what to say at first. But after a moment, he landed on a question. “Wh-who would do this? And why?”

“We are not so sure about the why. As for who...” Henrik hesitated. “This may be difficult to hear, but do you remember how you saw strangers wearing the Glasúil crest that night? They had to be working for the King.”

“I’ve figured that out by now, yes.” It was really the only logical explanation.

Henrik was clearly waiting for Chase to say more, but when he stayed quiet, he asked, “And...did you wonder what they were doing up in the mountains? Very far away from Suilthair, where they would most likely be?”

“I...yes, but...maybe they were some sort of group on patrol,” Chase suggested. “That happens sometimes. And they saw the fire, and came to help. Why are you shaking your head?”

“Chase,” Henrik sighed. “You do not want to hear this, I understand. But those soldiers had to be the ones to start the fire.”

“That’s absurd,” Chase said weakly. Really, it made sense. Because even though it was true that soldiers sometimes patrolled the kingdom, it was rare that they would go up into the mountains. The terrain was difficult if you weren’t familiar with it. In all his life, he’d only heard of nearby patrols only a few times, and it was too much of a coincidence that they’d be there when the fire happened. But...

“The bodies they found had injuries from blades and arrows,” Henrik reminded him. “The fire was not an accident, it was a cover for soldiers shooting down innocents. They probably took away all the townspeople they didn’t kill, so that they could not tell anyone what happened. And do you remember what you said, about how even the stone buildings were burning? That could only be caused by wizardry, and the King has many wizards working for him.”

“Whoa, wait, how do you know it was a wizard?” Chase asked. “There are other magic users. And how do you know that, even if a wizard did cause the fire, that they were working for the King?”

“You do not know that much about the branches of magic, do you?” Henrik asked, raising an eyebrow. “Only wizards and sorcerers would be able to conjure fire, and even then, only a very powerful sorcerer would be able to burn stone. And as for why the wizard was most likely allied with the King...well, that is a longer conversation, but suffice to say, they have good reason to be.”

“I can’t believe the Alterden knows more about politics in this kingdom than I do,” Chase muttered.

Henrik laughed. “Well, the Dragon’s Teeth Mountains are very far away, not many things affect you up here. Or at least...they didn’t used to.” His expression became serious once more. “Chase...the King is not a good man. I have lived here for fifteen years, I have seen things change. He was good once, but...he is different. He desires power, and control, and he will go to any lengths to have it. The villages burning it is the sort of thing he would do, even if we do not know why just yet.”

“I...I need a moment.” Chase sat down hard on the edge of the bed. His whole world had flipped upside down. There was no longer ground beneath his feet, and he was spinning through empty space. But, still, it made sense. The people praised the King and his actions when he took the crown after the previous royal couple, but over time, that praise had dried up. He’d assumed that people were just getting used to it, but hearing no news from the flatlands below regarding their leader? That was just...odd. Maybe deliberately odd. And of course, there was the evidence of his own eyes. Strangers working directly under the King, showing up the same day Hilltown burned...it just made sense. 

“This is a lot, I understand.” Henrik sat down next to him, setting his owl mask in his lap. “But...our group, the ones you have stumbled into, we—”

“You’re some sort of rebels, aren’t you?” Chase interrupted. “The other day—before everything went down—my wife, Stacia, heard rumors that there were masked people in the forest, and that they might be plotting against the King. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Henrik paused. Then hit his forehead with an open palm. “Well I suppose I should have some words with people about being seen! Rumors up here already, damn it all. We are trying to be subtle and invisible. Like spirits.”

“So I’m right,” Chase summarized, a small grin on his face.

“Yes, you are right,” Henrik sighed. “We are trying to fix everything. Protect people. Stop things like the villages burning.”

“Noble cause,” Chase said.

“Thank you. And...it is a cause you could help with.”

Chase blinked, unsure if he’d heard him right. “Sorry?”

“We could always use the numbers,” Henrik continued. “And as a hunter, you already have some skills. Of course, you do not have to. But...we cannot risk anyone hearing we are up here. Even though there are apparently rumors.” He scoffed for a moment. “So, I am giving you two offers, Chase. You can help us, or I will give you a tonic that will make you forget what you saw up here, and we will drop you off somewhere where you could move on with life.”

“A tonic? There’s something that could do that?” Chase asked, leaning away a bit.

“Oh yes, you would be surprised.”

“And...those are my only choices?”

“Unfortunately,” Henrik said apologetically. “I trust you, but many of our people are more paranoid. And we cannot have anyone knowing who we are.” He paused, then stood up. “I can give you some time to decide—”

“No, I’ve already decided.” Chase stood up as well, grabbing Henrik’s arm. “You said that these soldiers who burned down town...they probably took everyone away that they didn’t kill, right? That...that would include my family.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I—I need to find them. A-and it sounds like you could help me with that.” He tried for a weak smile. “Besides, if you made me forget everything that happened up here, I’d go looking for Stacia and the kids on my own. We might even run into each other again. So, really, it wouldn’t do much.”

Henrik smiled, relieved. “I am glad to hear that, Chase.” He put a hand on Chase’s shoulder. “And I give you my word that we will find your family. We will help you get them back.”

Chase nodded, stiffening his resolve. If he’d been there that night, he might have been able to get Stacia, Amabel, and Quentin to safety. But he hadn’t. So, now he’ll have to make up for that. He will find them. Whatever it took.

“Oh elders, finally!”

Chase gasped, and turned to the source of the strange voice. The tent flap had flown open, and in walked...a man in a waist-length red cloak, with the hood pulled up. The same man that Chase had overheard talking with the other man in the fox mask.

Henrik jumped, and spun around as well. “Schwestern, do not scare me like that, Jackie!” The moment the name escaped his voice, he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“Sorry, Hen. And don’t worry about the name, if he’s going to join, he’d find out eventually,” The other man—Jackie—waved off the concern. He had a mask as well, though this one was in the shape of a wolf. There was a different black symbol in the center of its forehead, a circle with two dots inside. But...his mask was also more colorfully decorated, including some red triangular markings along the edge. So far, his mask and Henrik’s were the only ones with color like that. Besides the mask, Jackie wore a blue tunic pulled over a chainmail shirt. The end of a dark ponytail stuck out from under the hood, and bright blue eyes looked at Chase with excitement. “It’s so good to have you on board!”

“On...board? On board what?” Chase asked, confused.

“It’s just a figure of speech, I mean that you’re part of the group now! Welcome to the Phantoms!” Jackie hurried over and stuck out his hand, in a blue glove. Chase took it, and Jackie shook his hand vigorously. “It’s been so hard to recruit people up in the mountains, every other location of ours is bringing in more people than ever, because the King keeps being a prick, he’s increasing his prickishness. But up here there aren’t even that many people to begin with, and everyone’s tight together in the villages, and nobody knows what’s going on down below. So you’re the first! It’s nice to meet you!”

“I—uh—Phantoms?” Chase latched on to the easiest part of that rambling to take in.

“Yea, that’s us, the Masked Phantoms,” Jackie confirmed. “Because we strike invisibly, and before anyone knows we’re there. And the mask part is obvious. You’re gonna get one, too! Well, eventually. Right now we just have a few backups, we’re waiting to get more plaster to make more. But when we get that, you can choose the animal and everything.”

“Jackie, please, you are overwhelming him.” Henrik stepped in and pushed Jackie back a bit. “Give him space, a lot has happened.”

“Sorry, I just get excited sometimes.”

“I know you do, it is okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Chase added. “I was, uh...surprised. Were you listening to our whole conversation?”

“No, just the part near the end where Hen was explaining your options,” Jackie said, tucking a lock of hair behind one of the ears of his wolf mask. “Anyway, if you’re ready, we could finally show you around where you’ve been staying all this time. I mean, the infirmary’s nice and everything, but it’s still a cave. We need more open air in here.”

“No, we do not,” Henrik said firmly. “Open air can bring wind, which can bring insects and other small, unclean things. Not to mention it could blow everything around and mess things up. Nemet works so hard on keeping everything organized.”

Jackie rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, you’re the doctor. Anyway, Chase, we can show you around now if you want.”

“Uh...you know what? Yea, I’d like that.” Chase nodded. “I’ve been here for, what, seven days?”

“Six,” Henrik corrected.

“A long time. I’m tired of it. So, yes, you can show me around now.”

Jackie beamed. “Alright! Come on, follow me. You’re going to love this place.” And he turned and headed towards the canvas at the front of the cave.

Henrik looked at Chase. “It will be a bit shocking,” he said.

“Okay,” Chase said, frowning uncertainly. What could be so shocking? Well, he was about to find out. He hurried after Jackie, with Henrik following him in turn, who was waiting for him, holding the flap partly open.

“Alright.” Jackie smiled at him, then disappeared through the flap, holding it open on the other side.

Chase walked through. At first, he blinked in the sunlight, partially hidden through a cloud but nonetheless bright after being stuck in the infirmary cave for so long. Then, when the afterglow faded, he looked around. The cave entrance was on the side of a steep slope of rock, almost vertical. Before them was a large, almost empty space, the ground cleared of any brush and packed down into dirt. There weren’t any trees nearby, but there was a line of large white...rocks? Curved rocks. They rose in size, and continued into the distance, the line curving gently. The gaps in the rocks were large enough for at least three people to walk through side-to-side, so that’s exactly what the three of them did.

Beyond the line of rocks was more space clear of brush. Though this area was filled with tents. And with people. Some of them wearing masks, many of them bare-faced but with a mask somewhere on their person. They bustled about, carrying weapons, equipment, or stacks of parchment. Or they stood and sat around, talking with each other. The air was cool, so they were all wearing cloaks or jackets, though Chase noticed that he was the only one wearing a hat. The line of rocks continued to curve around the tents, getting larger and larger to one side. Wait a second. What was that in the distance? Chase raised his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, eyes following the curve of the rocks.

No, they weren’t rocks.

They were bones.

Gigantic bones.

That thing he’d seen, a bit off to the side in the distance? That was a ribcage. He turned around, noticing the way the bones they’d walked between were similar, but got smaller and smaller. A tail? Yes, a tail. Probably of a reptile, judging by the shape. The skeleton curved around this massive area of space, big enough to fit half of Hilltown inside. And the area it circled was filled with tents and people.

“What the...?” Chase whispered.

“I told you,” Henrik said. “And you cannot even see the skull from here. Or the legs. Or the wings.”

“I’m sor—wings?!” Chase repeated. What animal was this big?! And had wings?! And was reptilian?! Oh...wait. He knew exactly one animal that fit all those qualifications. His eyes widened, and he looked back at the skeleton, mouth open as he gaped.

Jackie clapped his hands. “Welcome to Wyvernlair, Chase. Come on. There’s so much more to see.”

[pathofcomet]

my honey, my daisy, my only

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC

summary: “Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.Written for Isaac week, day 4. Prompt: AU. Hanahaki AU. (AO3)

“Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.

She places her trembling hands in her lap: scared and her heart still throbbing in her chest. This place and this time suddenly don’t really feel like a dream anymore, the fear too real. Love is a concept that doesn’t fit in this image that she’s building of the inhabitants of Saint-Germain’s mansion, so his warning is hollow, empty.

“Why?” she still asks, dumbly.

Sebastian stops – and then slowly, he undoes his necktie and the first two buttons at the top of his shirt. With the downwards pull, she can see the small scar sitting at the base of his throat, nothing but a faint line, whiter than the rest of his skin. His finger is just delicately following the path of where there has once been a cut.

“You know what this is, right?”

She nods. It’s not proper to ask more about it, because what’s there left to be said, when you have given up all memories of a loved one for the chance to keep on living? When the flowers start growing in your chest alongside your love, there are only two choices, really: you’re either having your feelings reciprocated, or have them disappear forever, alongside your memories of the person you fell for. Sebastian chuckles, a dry little thing.

“This does not exist here yet.”

And now the warning sinks in, with its whole finality and strength. If you love, and you are not loved back – here the only choice left is to eventually choke on all those feelings. She can feel her throat constricting in painful memory, the ghost of something she will never be able to recall. She nods again, and Sebastian, pleased that he got to her, resumes his work.

***

Love is pain. Love on its own is pure death – it goes as simple as that. But love kills slowly and beautifully, for it is not entirely unkind.

For vampires, the suffering is doubled. Because while sex is the food, love is the appetite.

And Isaac is stuck in the middle, thirst clawing at him, knowing the pain long before the love arrives.

***

Is there a reason for what humans do? Isaac doesn’t feel like he became a vampire a long time ago, but the separation still comes to him naturally. Even more so ever since she joined this place and turned his world upside down.

Isaac opens his door to her small figure in the frame and no matter how much he scrambles for a reason why she’s here, he can find none. By all laws of logic, she should be afraid and hateful. Instead, she smiles and doesn’t pour all the contents of the tray in his lap, which is more than he’d expected.

And Isaac finds himself smile back. Mistake no. 1.

***

Saint-Germain drinks his coffee, watching the exchange between Isaac and his newest visitor, and he calculates inside his mind several possibilities and probabilities. In time travel, just as in love, there are no real certainties, not even for the best out there.  But there are more or less twenty days left for their young visitors – certainly not enough to develop any severe forms of the sickness, even if she is to catch it.

Saint-Germain thinks her better than that. But twenty days are more than enough to have her fall in love with a city instead. Cities don’t break hearts. So he clears his throat, passing his cup over to Sebastian, and creates an excuse.

Mistake no. 2 – Isaac didn’t do anything directly about this one, but he still considers himself guilty for it.

***

“Smiling suits you,” Isaac says, and her cheeks bloom red, like flowers.

He is smiling as well, and the two of them are on the side of the road, looking at each other, suddenly transfixed. When not frowning, when not teased, when at ease – Isaac looks like a man entirely enjoying the spring of his life. Full of playfulness and boyish charm.

It is gone in a moment, but she trusts her eyes more than the slip of her mind.

She doubts she’ll make Isaac admit to such a thing, especially when he still seems to have problems keeping his blush at bay even when they brush shoulders accidentally, on the more crowded streets, but… she thinks this might be a date. Or at least that’s how dates in movies look like, since she cannot remember her own ones.

But they walk and talk. He takes her to his favourite café, and she has the best baguette of her life. The coffee sticks to her throat.

***

She reaches out, too much and too willingly. Trusting too much, fearing too little – it drives Isaac a bit crazy. He doesn’t have the bloom to go by. He never experienced love in his past life, focused on his studies as he’s been, and vampires can judge only by their thirsts. But it feels like way more than anyone has tried to do for him in a while, ever since Napoleon, and suddenly Isaac isn’t sure if he wants to call her a friend.

Or something more.

Mistake no. 3. He spends two hours on the kitchen floor, Sebastian stepping gracefully around him, drinking bottle of rouge after bottle of rouge, his lips turning redder and redder, the clawing feeling at his throat not quite disappearing.

***

“Luv,” Arthur says, and she flutters her eyes open, slowly, to him pushing her hair behind her ear.

She went unfocused there for a bit.

“That expression doesn’t suit you,” he continues, sighing.

She tries to scold her features better and focus on the game of chess in-between the two of them in the library. Leonardo is napping on the floor in the corner, a blanket she brought from upstairs over his shoulders. It’s been harder to control the pain, flaring up at random times – and she’s sure it still shows on her face, no matter how much she wants to actually hide it. It’s nothing much but discomfort, thrumming from deep inside her chest, but only for now.

It’s a bit annoying that Arthur somehow already picked it up. She frowns at him, pushing her piece across the table. From his own expression, she can tell it was a bold but completely stupid move. It’s fine; she hasn’t played chess in a long time and she didn’t expect to win in the first place anyway.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“You know him better,” she closes her eyes again, turning her neck a bit – Arthur gets a bit distracted staring at the expanse of skin there. “What should I do?”

Arthur grins, his fangs sharp.

“I think you’ve been doing just fine.” He points a finger towards the clock on the wall, already several minutes past the time for Isaac’s meals.

She gets up, technically allowing him the win, leaving the room. Leonardo opens his eyes to peer up at the writer, and although they say nothing out loud, there’s some knowledge passing between the two of them regardless.

***

“Why did you stay until so late, then?” Sebastian asks, grateful that no matter how badly Isaac might need blood, he’s not just grabbing at his shirt and sinking his fangs in his skin, instead ripping from his hands a glass vial.

She’s away now, so his hunger is already slowly fading, as Isaac is trying to do calculus in his head, and more definitely not think about the time spent together, which just keeps adding up.

In the entrance hallway, she’s coughing, delicately trying to cover it up with her handkerchief. When Saint-Germain shows up, she gathers the two small flower buds that she coughed out in her handkerchief, and hides it in her pocket, smiling up at him instead.

The notion of having him as a dance partner staves off the pain, at least for a while, just a bit.

***

She gives and gives. Mistake no. 4: Isaac accepts. He doesn’t know how to say no, even when it hurts. He doesn’t know how to translate her own suffering, when he’s so happy to just have her near.

Isaac’s used with the thirst, nothing else he hasn’t experienced before. The trouble with love is that it feels fresh each and every time.

So while he thinks he has things under control, she most definitely doesn’t. When one chooses to pluck out the flowers growing in their chest, the memories disappear. The one who picks this path, will keep on making the same mistake, not recognizing the patterns, unable to grow with no roots grounding them in place.

So she falls, fast. When Isaac saves her, an upside down mirror of her first night here – not fear thrumming at her wrists this time around, but just the pleasure of having him near, she stumbles, and swears, and the words come out muffled.

She covers her mouth, looking up at Isaac like a deer caught by its hunter. He wants nothing else but – mistake no. 5. Isaac doesn’t stop: then and there, when the doubt starts coiling inside his stomach.

Instead, he offers himself as her company and gentlemanly ignores her when she asks for five minutes to freshen up. In the corner of the room in which she ducked to hide, Vincent pats her back, as petal after petal falls out from between her lips, until she’s left shivering.

And beautiful. Love is pain. Pain is beauty.

Maybe that’s why Isaac cannot look away, cannot keep away: because her cheeks blush with the prettiest of red each time he gets to close. He realizes he maybe pushed too hard simply because, in the fountain where before was only clear water, once he gets up – she’s surrounded by cherry blossoms.

The petals swim all around her, a child leans over to pick a few in her hands. An older lady tuts disappointingly at the two of them. Isaac reaches out a hand, fearful.

But what is he fearing? Why is he so afraid? If this is true –

No.

Mistake no. 6. Isaac cannot believe the obvious signs, because he doesn’t think he’s worthy of them. Men kill more hearts just by not trusting their own.

***

She shivers in the bathtub, the water getting colder, overflowing with flowers and petals. She’ll have to deal with that later – now she is busy counting up to 10, over and over again, trying to calm the thrumming of her heart, the desperate up and down of her chest: her hand pressed over the scar there.

She wonders: how long into these symptoms she got the removal done? How much did she think she could handle, before it all became too much?

Isaac, pushing at Napoleon’s shoulder, bites at his neck, fangs so painful that it makes the other man hiss.  The soldier grabs at Isaac’s hair, enough to make eye contact.

“Slowly,” he urges, and Isaac’s grip on him relaxes, though his gulps still ring too loud in his head.

It brings him no pleasure, but his friend calms: with the warmth of another person, the fresh blood, hunger easier to be sated. The tug turns into pets, and Isaac places a kiss where he pierced the skin, lapping at the blood spilling out.

Napoleon sighs. “You’re wet. Let’s change, shall we?”

***

“This room is getting stifling, Toshiko-san,” Dazai says, coming around to check on Isaac.

They’re vampires, they’re supposed to heal and recover fast. Dazai just wants the bragging rights, that he cares the most out of their friends group. And also, maybe, Dazai wants to check the one rumour he has heard, which proves itself quite true.

Isaac is still asleep. Around him, overflowing from his desk and shelves and windowsill: flowers upon flowers, fully bloomed. Dazai sighs. The smell is almost sickeningly sweet – and she looks quite pale.

“I figured I’d be bothering him more if I were to take them out each and every time…”

Each and every time she bends her body over and coughs out flowers in exchange for his love, is the sentence that she doesn’t finish. She is also quite right. And despite it all, she is still here, right next to him.

What a little fool, their Toshiko-san.

***

They dance together, in front of several pairs of eyes, carefully noting each and every small detail, change in them. Like how Isaac’s pupils get the slightest bit more dilated, his fangs sharper, grazing his lips even with his mouth closed. Like how she can’t quite keep her back straight, how she doesn’t really speak.

Sometimes what remains unsaid means more. It is unbearable to hold each other like this, would have been even more unbearable if they didn’t.

Isaac disappears as fast as he appeared, and she’s left on the spot, hands clawing at her throat. She hunches over, clasps her palms to her mouth as she’s trying her damn hardest to stop breathing, to stop feeling. To calm the wave of emotions threatening to spill over, past her lips and in her lap, like a sky decorated with cherry blossoms.

“I believe it is a bit late for that,” Saint-Germain says.

And then they’re out.

***

In the afternoon glow, filtering through the stained glass, she looks beautiful. And Isaac is filled with need: not for her blood, to be fed – but for her love, as a man. His touch against her cheek is tentative and tender and that of someone begging to be held and pushed away at the same time.

Isaac isn’t sure yet which scenario he’s wishing hardest for.

She meets his eyes, and something in him goes even softer. It melts away everything in her.

“W-what is-? Why are you crying…?”

And despite not being hurt, she keeps crying. The tears are just that, in the beginning, and Isaac’s thumb passes over her skin, catching each and every one. She finds she cannot stop, once the dam has been broken: the happiness is suddenly too much. Here he is: just him and her, and he is touching her, and he is caring for her.

Much more than she thought she deserved, much more than she thought she’d get. Way too little compared to how much she still wants. So the tears keep spilling, never stopping. Then they’re not just tears anymore, a petal falling as well each and every time.

Isaac’s hold gets just a bit gentler, and that’s how she knows something is not quite right, before the petals start falling in her lap. Against her cheek, he clenches and unclenches his hands. Slowly, awkwardly, searching her face all along, he reaches out… and pulls her into an embrace.

She sniffles in the material of his shirt, his arms closing around her. The petals are cascading now more rapidly, down his back, and her hands claw at him.

“It’s going to be all right… Please, don’t cry.”

Of course, he can say that because he’s not the one spilling his feelings from his guts, betrayed by his body to show his feelings. He can say that because he is not dying from loving. She trembles in his arms, knowing she doesn’t deserve the comforting, knowing he doesn’t want her.

“… I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her hold on him tightens, and her tears fall even more furiously, accompanied by her pained wailing.

Isaac holds her, gentle as ever, his palms soothingly rubbing down her back. If he were to count the bones he can feel through the thin material of her dress, the numbers would be higher than in a normal human body.

Love taking roots, love taking over.

If she were to see his expression, she would find it pained, his face buried at the crook of her neck. But even when they untangle, Isaac covers his face with his palm, the downward tug at his lips, making his fangs visible, hidden from her.

Mistake no. 7: Isaac cannot tell the truth. Even worse, Isaac hides the truth, even when he knows hers is so painfully obvious, even when that so obviously pains her.

“Do you intend to return home?”

***

“Don’t go back…” Isaac says, laid on his back, her just a bit further to the left.

And while she’s staring at the open night sky in front of her, he can’t stop looking at her.

She shifts, coming up, suddenly coughing up the now familiar flower petals. They’re falling in-between her fingers, overflowing her hold. Isaac’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“Does it bother you?” she asks, in-between gasps of breath.

He looks at her, taken aback.

“This,” she shakes her hands in the air, the pink flowers falling all around her. “Knowing it’s you.”

Isaac chokes on his next words, and changes the topic. He can hear her, trying to keep in a new wave of coughing. He has accidentally heard her complain to Sebastian about the chest pain, how her muscles are aching with how much she’s been heaving, how her insides don’t feel quite alright anymore.

Her body, so small and frail, holding the weight of her entire, spilling love.

***

Isaac doesn’t like the way he gets when he’s hungry – it’s been worse these days, what with the desperate need of her as well. Sometimes, something alike a fog washes over him.

When he comes back to himself, he’s in a bed made of blood and flowers: scene of an almost-crime. She’s still breathing, and that’s all that really matters, but his head is foggy and there’s nothing to do but wait and pray, and pray and wait – and hate himself for all of it.

Isaac has only words to rely on in this scenario, for his feelings. And words tend to fail him already, so much and so often. And he tends to fail words as well, so obliviously.

If he can hurt her even like this, why does she love him?

If he can hurt her even like this, how is he supposed to hold on to this last piece of his humanity while actually accepting that he loves her?

Mistake no. 8. Isaac pushes her away.

***

“Sebastian,” she whines, because it’s the fourth time he’s brought up to her rooms only a bowl of the blandest soup.

He pushes at her shoulder, gluing her back to the pillow again – as it should be. She’s paler now, weaker, and in the air all around her room, the sweetest of fragrance, the spring back in his home country. Bouquets of flowers sprang from place to place since his last visit, and… he is fearful she might not make it for the door.

“Sick patients don’t get to complain about the schedule of an overworked butler.”

She pouts, even as she picks up the spoon. It hangs in-between her fingers.

“Sebastian?”

A beat.

“Yes?”

“Just… why?”

He sighs. “I don’t think anyone knows, or remembers for that matter. I just think it’s just the heart thinking it doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“So you get a person or you get the flowers? They’re pretty, but they’re cruel.”

Sebastian eyes her cracked lips, the petals of her flowers – living and still image of each other.

“So is love.”

A beat.

“Did anyone tell you that you make a terrible emotional support?”

He grins at her, this time flicking her forehead.

“Might have heard it several times before.”

***

  “What do you think you’re doing, Newt?” Arthur asks, shoving his friend’s body against the wall, a bit too harshly, holding onto the collar of his shirt.

Isaac covers his hand in his, pushing. Arthur doesn’t let go, just lets out something that is between a growl and a sigh. Isaac, more or less, does the same.

“She’s bad,” Arthur says.

Isaac remains unfazed. “I know.”

“Worse, after all that blood loss.”

And only that – the guilt, makes Isaac actually realize that bad is not just the dull lull in her chest, but something more definite. Arthur would have never gone out of his way like this if that wasn’t the case. Only when the panic settles in, accompanied by a wave of anxiety so forceful Isaac almost feels like throwing up, does Arthur finally let go.

“You can lose her in two ways,” he says. “Pick the one you can live eternity with.”

***

She can’t really speak anymore – words too harsh on her throat, where buds are slowly crawling their way up. Someone comes by to prepare her a new cup of tea regularly, because it’s supposed to soothe the pain. She’s not sure it’s effective at all, but she also cannot complain much anymore, anyway.

Her coughing fits now can keep going for even half an hour at a time, and she cringes with each intake of air, because her muscles are aching so desperately for some kind of relief. She has nothing to give.

Theo comes and reads poetry to her, though she notices him skipping the love poems. Arthur plays chess with her again, though he’s not chiding her for taking too long this time around. Napoleon sits by her side, as they eat crepes together.

She misses a party, stuck in this waiting game, to see what comes first: her demise or her return. Isaac doesn’t – and in the span of a night, he makes a new friend in an old one and loses him too.

He doesn’t want to lose another person. Ever – if possible, or at least not in that way.

His hand trembles around the handle of the door, trying to gather his courage. The familiar scratching at his throat returns, stronger and stronger the longer he hovers.

He enters without knocking, and she looks up from a book she’s trying to read, startled. She immediately starts coughing at the sight of him; this time around, the petals fall freely all around her. Isaac shakes and trembles in the doorway.

“G-gods!” he says, and in two big steps, he’s closer to her bed. “You’re… this is… bad.”

She manages a weak smile at him.

“I know.”

His voice trembles. “How can you be so c-calm about this?”

She shrugs, though it’s just a tiny movement, barely there, so that she doesn’t trigger another coughing fit. She’s had so long to imagine herself at this point – just because it came faster than she expected, doesn’t mean she didn’t expect it at all.

He keeps his distance. Any closer and she’ll just explode in a bouquet of flowers.

“Y-you’ll soon get back and you can get help and-” Isaac is a blabbering mess and a stuttering fool, only for her.

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“Even if I return, I won’t.” She raises a hand to her chest, pressing it to a scar, that Isaac can notice from where her nightgown has slipped down her shoulder. “It would mean forgetting you.”

She raises her gaze, meets his. She’s begging, one last time. She’s telling him, in words this time. And Isaac stands there, stunned into silence, because if she is to have the same fate either way, what is he protecting her from in the first place?

“I love you,” he says, and for a long moment, there’s only silence stretching between them,

Then, he blushes, fidgeting on the spot, the words obviously out without having thought them. She struggles with her bedsheets, but is still fast enough, despite her weak body, to have gotten up on her own feet by the time Isaac is at her side, arms around her waist, to help her.

She licks her lips – chapped and pale things that they are, and looks up at him, exhausted and obviously pushing herself.

“Say it again. Say it and mean it,” her hands, fisted around the material of his shirt, eyes falling down with the request, too much and too late.

“I l-love you. I don’t…. Please don’t just disappear like that.”

His hold tightens around her body and she sighs.

“I love you too,” and she gets up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against him, nothing but a chase gesture.

Isaac closes his eyes, pulling her closer, opening his mouth, his tongue coaxing hers to follow suit. Which she does, so willingly and openly, and something in Isaac’s chest tightens, just the love he has for her. And something in her chest opens up, releasing, just the love she has for him.

When they part, all around them, branches of cherry blossoms surround them. It’s like her chest has been cut open, and everything fell over – and she is smiling, beautifully and honestly for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and Isaac buries his face at her neck, exhausted with the honesty, relieved at her health, so in love that it hurts – and maybe he understands her better than he wanted to admit, maybe he understood her all along.

[i-may-be]

Hi hi :) i came to request a genshin matchup <3

Can i get both platonic & romantic (its okay if you only do one!!)

My pronouns are she/her, bisexual and tbh I don't really have a gender lean but i do have a consistent "type"😂

I'm really quiet/socially anxious but once I'm comfortable I'm definitely a little crazy (the adhd starts to shine)

First impressions usually go along as "polite" or a "kind person" despite my numerous piercings and vibrant hair

If it helps any my mbti is INFP and my big 3 for my zodiac are capricorn/aries/gemini

hello! thank you for choosing this blog for your matchup <3

PLATONIC MATCHUP: Kamisato Ayaka

HOW YOU MET

You work under the Kamisato Clan, specifically in a general goods shop. You were well known locally for the job and Ayaka already knew your name.

But you both met when you were dropping off food that was specifically dropped off at your shop for the Kamisato's.

It was your job to deliver it, which wasn't much of a problem consider it was fairly light, though you weren't told what it was.

When you arrived, Ayaka was there to greet you, eager to meet another local to see how they were taking the recent acts and reactions around Inazuma.

You both had a nice conversation before she had to quickly leave to more official work. Ayaka made note to come a visit you and does so as much as she can now.

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

She definitely sends gifts to you when she finds something she thinks you'll like! Maybe it's a cute accessory or a painting of your favourite animal, but there's a package outside your door with it.

Please send her some of your writing!! She would love to see what goes on in that pretty mind of yours!! It makes her feel very connected to you as a friend <3

If you ever crochet or sew something for her she will melt right there. It's no secret that she lives a high class life, so she doesn't really have any hand me downs or home made things so she loves to wear what you give her whenever she has the chance!! It makes her feel so loved.

HANGING OUT

If she ever finds herself with free time, she'll invite you over to play a few games, maybe chess or other board games! I hear she loves to make up her own sometimes, a trick she learnt from a foreign buisness woman.

You guys have the sweetest conversations. Like I feel like your conversations would be the embodyment of ":]" /pos.

You guys don't get to hang out a lot but she frequently tries to atleast see you during the day, even for a quick "hello".

ROMANTIC MATCHUP: Thoma

HOW YOU MET

Similar to how you met Ayaka actually!

He was before Ayaka met you though, since Thoma often comes over for any basic requests of the Kamisato's and their needs.

Over time he's actually built the courage to compliment you a few times too!

It wasn't until a few years after you both met that he asked you out, and he had actually thought about it thoroughly.

It was really slow burn and cute really, think coffee shop au but like, with a general store instead.

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

It's super important to him that he makes sure your needs are met so he is most definitely asks you a lot of questions like "are you comfortable with this?" or "are you sure" he wants to make sure you have ultra comfort.

When you get more comfortable around him at the start he's like "??" and then he's like "!!". He's so happy you feel comfortable around him and it's all he ever wants <3

He has so much loyalty for you!! All he ever wants to do is be of service and his love languages are definitely words of affirmation and acts of service!!!!

HANGING OUT

I believe he loves sitting down a reading with you. I think anything domestic with you is just bliss for him!!! Be it cooking, talking about the weather, I don't know, but all of that is important to him.

To continue on from that, sewing and crochetting with you. Finding the matching colours and cute designs, even figuring out the sizings are all really fun to him when he does it with you!!!

He loves going out with you to look for inspiration for things. Walking around Inazuma and telling you what he remembers of Monstadt. It's refreshing really.

[krreader]

BTS scenario → you, an angel, being in love with them, a demon.

pairing: demon!bts x angel!reader fandom: bts warnings: non idol!au ; demon/angel!au ; mentions of murder ; language genre: angst ; fluff  word count: 1.6k+

a/n: hello my love! I really hope you like it!!!!! I had a blast writing it!

kim seokjin

“Well, well, well,” the three of you looked up from the dead body when a group of demons approached, your body tensing when you saw Seokjin being one of them, “You found our little gift for you.”

“Away with you, demons!”

“Now, now, that's rather rude of you, my dear,” he laughed, then turned his head to Seokjin, “What do you think, Seokjin? Should we get into a little fight today? Or should we just leave them with the corpse of their angel friend?”

You gulped down hard at those words. That meant he took part in the killing.

He must have sensed your disappointment, because his shoulders started slumping, “Let's just leave. We did enough already.”

“Shame, I would have liked a fight with this one,” when he wanted to boop the nose of your friend, she instantly pulled out her knife, making him stumble back, “Okay, okay.. we're off. Calm down.”

Seokjin stood there for a moment longer, opened his mouth as he looked at you like he wanted to apologize, but all you did was shake your head.

There was nothing left to say.

The man that tried so hard to convince you that he wasn't like the rest of them turned out to be just as bad. You fell in love with him and you hated yourself for it now. 

Because how could a demon ever change?

min yoongi

If anyone could see him right now, they'd throw him straight out of hell.

A demon, one that was so feared and respected, lying next to an angel in bed and he was.. giggling.

“It's ridiculous.”

“No, it's not,” you pushed yourself up on your elbow to properly look at him, “Hybrids exist!”

“But not demon and angel hybrids.”

“How would you know? You don't even have any demon friends who could tell you,” you snorted and laid back down.

“Why would I need friends when I have you?” he nuzzled his nose into your neck, making you squirm and then laugh.

“I'm your girlfriend, not your friend.”

At girlfriend, Yoongi looked up with so much love in his eyes and began to smile, “Yes. My girlfriend.”

And he was.. so proud of it.

jung hoseok

Demons had powers that you angels feared. For example, they could rip out your heart and make you suffer like never before if they wanted to.

And even though Hoseok didn't do that in a physical sense, he did it in a metaphorical one.

“Go.”

“Why are you doing this?” your eyes were full of tears as you stared at the man you've come to love, despite of who he was, “We can find a solution, Hoseok, we always have!”

And that was the issue. He knew that your love for him was so strong that you'd never leave him on your own, but he was a demon and he had already screwed you up too much. You were once the perfect model for your people.. but then they had found out what you were doing.. with him.. and ever since then, you were shunned.

To you, that didn't matter anymore, because you had him, but it mattered to him.

He hated that it was his fault that you were now an outcast, especially because your duties had once meant so much to you.

So in a way.. he was doing this for your own good.

“It's over, (Y/N). Go back to where you came from. I don't want you anymore,” he sneered and then turned around to walk away.

He thought you might follow him, but your legs weren't moving.

All you could do was stare after him in shock, anger, confusion and sadness, while the first tears finally escaped your eyes and then all you could do was press your hands against your face and cry.

kim namjoon

“Stop it, Namjoon!” you yelled angrily, turning around to look at the man that was following you, “I told you why I’m ending this!”

“No, your reasoning was stupid and you know it,” he grabbed your wrists, “This isn't what you want.”

“It never mattered what either of us wants,” you laughed humorlessly, “We're just chess pieces, don't you get that? We have no right to think for ourselves, we do what we're told to do!”

“You're your own person, stop thinking you're not!”

“And they say angels are the naive ones,” you shook your head and ripped your hand away, before you now started running from him.

Namjoon couldn't understand you.

Things had been going well between you two. Maybe even too well.

That's probably why you got scared and wanted to end this before you couldn't anymore.

But he wouldn't let you go so easily, not when he still thought there was a chance that he could convince you that this relationship was worth fighting for.

park jimin

“You're staring,” you stated as you got dressed again, your back facing him, but you could tell that his eyes were watching your every move.

“Can you blame me? You're beautiful.”

These words made your heart beat faster and a smile spread on your face, but then you reminded yourself that these feelings were not right. That, if he were anyone else, it would be okay, but he wasn't anyone else.

He was a demon and you were an angel and what you were doing with him.. that wasn't acceptable.

Jimin must have realized that you were thinking about this once again when you didn't answer and didn't continue getting dressed either, instead you just fiddled with the shirt in your hand. His arms sneaked around your middle and pulled you close, so close that you could feel his lips against your throat and then his hot breathing against your ear.

“Stop thinking so much, love.”

“Easy for you to say. You're not the perfect angel in this situation.”

“No, but if you think that my boss would be thrilled to hear what I'm doing here, you're wrong,” he turned you around and cupped your face in his hands, “Hey.. I know this makes you worry. But we'll figure it out together, okay? We just have to be careful.”

“I wish my people could see you right now. If they knew that you weren't like what they always told us you guys were.. maybe they'd change their mind.”

“Well, most of us are assholes,” he made you chuckle, but then became serious again, “I just found a reason not to be anymore.”

You smiled a little and closed your eyes when he placed a soft kiss against your forehead.

kim taehyung

It's been too long. He should have been back hours ago and at this point 'worried' wasn't the right word anymore, not when he went down to hell to.. well.. resign. Something that wasn't exactly common under demons.

“This isn't the place for you, angel,” one of the guards said when you wanted to go down.. way down.

“I need to. There is someone I need to find.”

“You go down there, you never come back up again. Not that we'd mind,” the other guard chuckled, “We could use some new, fresh meat down there if you ask me.”

“Enough,” Taehyung's voice made both of them straighten up, “You two disgust me,” he spit on the ground before them, then grabbed your hand and pulled you away from them, “Are you insane?! You can't just go into hell!” he sneered.

“You were gone for too long! I got worried!”

“That doesn't..-” Taehyung let out a sigh and once you were out of eye and earshot, his posture softening, “I'm fine and I can take care of myself.”

“Then.. things went.. well?”

“As well as can be expected,” he shrugged, “I got threats from every single person that got word of it, but.. it's a start.”

Swearing off of being a demon and an angel wasn't a decision that you had made lightly. But you were.. expecting, unexpectedly so. And you both knew that raising a child in this environment wasn't right. You needed to get away from all this, even if it wouldn't be easy. Taehyung's demon friends would probably always be a threat and your angel friends wouldn't even lift a finger to help you anymore.

You were on your own here.. but at least you had each other.

jeon jeongguk

“Are you.. blushing?” you wanted to be sexy, but now you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you when you saw Jeongguk sitting on the edge of the bed, his entire face now flushing red.

If anyone should blush, it's you. You were the angel in this situation that wasn't experienced with sex, he was the demon that was supposed to be insatiable and already has had countless of affairs in his lifetime.

But that wasn't Jeongguk.

And maybe that's why you liked him so much.

“You know I've not done this many times before,” he got up, his steps a little unsure, but when he grabbed your hands, his grip was firm, “But I'm glad I get to do it with you.”

This was not a situation that you ever saw yourself in.

Sleeping with a demon, losing your precious virginity to a demon.. but then again, he wasn't just a demon to you. He was more than that. His name was Jeon Jeongguk and he was a kind and loving man. The fact that his eyes were black didn't change anything for you.

He was still the same guy that you fell in love with and that you wanted to share this with.

“Me too,” you smiled happily, then wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.