#my life - and frankly i could do everything right and still end up a wretched human being. thats just how it is.

[versicolour]

happily childfree (after a lot of self-reflection) but man i cannot jive with antinatalists. that's just a bizarre take to have, in my opinion.

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Chapter Fourteen: Mr. Pinstripe Suit Pt. 3

 Envy sputtered a bit as they got a face full of a horrified Freddy who scrambled to get back up to give chase since the eldritch family member was being kidnapped. What horrified Freddy most was the fact Dolly couldn’t teleport due to being held onto like so and the fact if Dolly were to do so, that’d be ANOTHER faction wanting Dolly other than the homunculi. There was a lot of profanity dripping from Envy’s mouth as they got up, pissed off and full of anger that slowly was giving way to panic. A blankness overtook Envy’s face as they entered that same sensation back when Greed broke into the apartment. This bastard of a father who abandoned them to the mercy of a monstrous mother just took the one person that Envy ever felt close to. Blood was going to be shed now and it’d be a miracle if Hohenheim’s body was recognizable by the end of it. Grabbing Freddy firmly by the upper arm, Envy started dragging him along to the apartment. Gluttony was going to be needed for tracking and frankly was also going to be needed for body disposal. Hohenheim was going to be doomed to become red stones to eat was strong in Envy’s angered mind. Freddy froze up at the fact he was being dragged along and the fact Envy was angry like that, he wasn’t going to prod the wasp nest. As Envy marched Freddy off to fetch Gluttony, Hohenheim had made his way to the garden tunnel as he kept a tight hold on Dolly for a conversation.

 “You realize that you just committed an act of kidnapping, right?” Dolly asked, remaining calm at the situation as she thought carefully on how to escape.

 “For the greater good I suppose. Now, you’re going to tell me everything about what exactly is going on with Envy. If this is a new disease that creature made, I promise you, it will not end well for anyone.” Hohenheim ran a hand over his face as he kept a dead, calm face about the kidnapping. “It isn’t a disease, Envy has been passing or spacing out a lot, but no diseases.” Dolly answered as she carefully lowered her backpack to the ground. “It can’t be possible, I gave that monster all the memories I had of my beloved son..why would that thing be having memories now?” Hohenheim’s expression started to darken a bit as he ran through any possibilities that could cause it. “Stop calling Envy a monster or a thing, Envy is a person. No wonder Envy has a hard time getting along with people, with a father like you that denies them of being their own offspring, it's no wonder why they behave like that.” Dolly scolded having had enough of the casual cruelty coming from the middle aged man as she made sure that Dorian could go find help.

 “What would you know about the loss I went through!? I held my son when he died from mercury poisoning, I sacrificed my first body just to revive him with alchemy and all I got was this vicious mockery of flesh that spoke with his voice! I left because I couldn’t bear to look at the monster I made and the wretched wife that made everything so much worse. Now tell me, what exactly would you know about how I should act after all that!?” Hohenheim burst out after having long held up the pent up anger and grief from the past centuries and let Dolly go.

 “I knew Envy when they used to be called ‘William’. I knew how they felt about you, how touch deprived they were, how alone they felt, and I remember the look they had when asked about their home life. How dare you even call them your ‘beloved son’ when you barely protected them from that mother, how you just ignored them after passing the toddler phase, and now when they did need you, you called them a monster before the abandonment. Envy wasn’t the problem, it was all on you and how terrible of a parent you were.” Dolly was done entertaining this wretch as she opened the brooch to show that specific eye portrait that was gifted all those centuries ago.

 “You were that girl my son mentioned that night, aren’t you? How are you still around…” Hohenheim was startled to say the least upon encountering an actual immortal being that wasn’t rotting away horrifically. “I have always been that way, I don’t know why, but I have been on this planet for a very long time. To answer your first question, I am the one Envy had likely mentioned about. I know they had only returned to your estate to collect some books before cutting ties with both you and the monster Mom.” Dolly was growing rather annoyed at this point as she got ready to attempt an escape when Dorian arrived.

 “Then why are you not rotting like Dante or myself? I don’t understand how that is even possible, entropy should have happened by now..” Hohenheim was puzzled at the realization immortality was possible. “I don’t know, maybe the universe felt like there were too many assholes for its liking and decided to revoke both of your immortality tokens. Besides, immortality is fucking overrated and depressing.” Dolly snidely remarked, still enraged on Envy’s behalf.

 “No you don’t understand! If I had known about this, I wouldn’t have left my second wife and two younger sons when the rotting started!” Hohenheim tried to explain which only earned him a look of horror from Dolly. “....Sir, if I had known about the fact that not only did you abandon your eldest child, but also your second wife and two youngest sons, I would’ve neutered you at once. How could you be such a reckless parent!? Do you even comprehend the trauma you’ve likely inflicted on two young kids!?” Dolly felt disgust fully and truly for the first time in her long existence, not even Great Uncle Oscar could top this can of worms. “I’m rotting away! I couldn’t bear having them watch me rot away!” Hohenheim pleaded as this was the first time for him to encounter someone else almost like him. “...Are you worried the kids would’ve been like ‘ewww gross you’re all rotted and smelly, you’re no longer our daddy’? No seriously, that is a terrible excuse and you’re clearly having a slower rotting rate as I couldn’t even smell it. You just make excuses to get out of situations you don’t like and blame it all on something else when that doesn’t work. Moment you saw a small sign of decay, you flipped out and left. How fucking selfish are you? No really, just how fucking selfish of a human being are you?” Dolly was just fully mortified at this point as she went to pick up Dorian for comfort.

 “You’re not a human either, how could you even ask me that?” Hohenheim scrambled a bit from the scathing words of an infuriated Dolly. “Sir, I might not be human, but I choose to behave and act as one. Being human isn’t just belonging to that species, it's how you act and treat others.” Dolly shifted a bit as an odd, softly muffled buzzing sound could be heard from Dorian.

 “....What the hell is wrong with your green dog?” Hohenheim glanced at Dorian, seemingly ignoring the message Dolly just gave.

 “He’s a lion and I’m not sure. Dorian, you alright there buddy?” Dolly asked as she noticed that Dorian’s clay muzzle looked rather swollen for some reason.

 Dorian gave no answer as he simply gestured to be lowered to the ground as if nothing was wrong regardless of the kidnapping and being held for questioning. Unsure why Dorian was just gesturing instead of speaking, Dolly lowered Dorian carefully to the ground. Wasting no time to stand about, Dorian made rather good time walking over to Hohenheim on his two awful clay legs of corpse green. An unease filled Hohenheim’s gut as the little green monster motioned for him to lower himself down, somehow this small creature surpassed the homunculi as a purely alchemical abomination. Dorian narrowed his little golden eye orbs as he waited for Hohenheim to do as instructed, doing a bit of a brisk jump in place to get his point across. Reluctantly and full of dread, Hohenheim lowered himself to be at eye level with the horrible little corpse green lion. Dolly started to get a sense of unease at the demeanor Dorian was displaying, unsure what her well adored little clay lion was up to. A swollen smirk played on Dorian’s face as he slowly opened his mouth wide, the angry sound of buzzing echoing from inside. As quickly as the horrified expression on Hohenheim’s face became apparent, an odd oblong object with the color and texture of a brown paper bag flew out of Dorian’s mouth.

[feminaferitas]

"I don't know, Tai. It's not exactly like I've got a super handy little ghost calendar and I sit around just waiting for you all to have enough of a mental break to bring me up again," she said frankly, crossing her arms over her chest. Jackie shrugged her shoulders, adding, "I'm pretty sure I might just be made of your guilt and memories. So this could just be your fault, y'know."

Like so many things were. Taissa had every opportunity to reach out and help Jackie -- they all did -- but for some reason everything became a competition with them. Well, at least the dead girl was pretty sure she'd still win in the Misery Olympics, though Tai was doing a fabulous job putting herself through the paces of being absolutely wretched.

"Of course I do," Jackie said, releasing her hands and throwing them in the air. As if this was some big surprise to anyone. "It's not like there's much else left for me to ask about. That team was my entire life. I literally don't remember a time when I wasn't friends with her -- even that night..." She laughed bitterly. Shauna had been right about high school being the best she'd ever have, the best she'd ever get.

"It doesn't make me happy to hear that, you know it doesn't," she said, sighing. "But trying to get her to be honest with me is like trying to get water from a rock... Tai, why is anyone letting her do that to herself? I mean you... you all got to live, and this is how you end up?"

she wasn't going to admit that jackie was right. seeing the other woman again was obviously a bit of gut punch. taissa didn't remember a lot from the woods - she had pushed so many of the memories away. but even just the image and voice of someone she had tried so hard (and failed) to forget, it was painful. she does remember the first time she realized that they ate someone, though. it was hard to forget. "i'm only speaking for myself - but how the fuck did you think we would react to seeing you? after all of that ... and it's been how many years?"

it was a more harsh thing to say but taissa didn't know how else to react. in all honestly, she did miss her. she's sure they all did. jackie's words cut deeper then they probably should, in a way taissa thought she was over so much of this. the fact that a ghost jackie taylor is speaking to her after she just found herself sleepwalking again feels like it should be a sign - but she doesn't want it to be. "nothing does last forever, i'm sure of that." she mumbles, relieved once jackie changes the topic. "thought this would be over, though."

"you want to ask me about shauna?" she laughs, honestly amused that even now as a ghost, the conversation always went back to the two of them. it tickles her even more that jackie had already spoken to her, she just needed a second opinion on how the other woman was. "i mean you're seen her. it's not exactly .. her dream life." which was an understatement and she knew that. "what do you want me to say? that you're in everything she does, even now?"

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Extra 6

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths (3)

The first person to leave a door could gain a hint about the next door. This was preferential treatment and leniency that the door awarded the victor. This was also an affirmation of strength.

But what many people didn't know was that when only one person was left in a door, that person, upon leaving the door, would earn a very special sort of hint. The person who possessed this hint gained not only detailed insight into the next door, but also a chance to save their own life.

For reasons, Ruan Nanzhu had never told Cheng Yixie about this. Cheng Yixie only learned about it by accident.

And Cheng Yixie, after just barely scraping his way out of the seventh door, had also come to a realization. He'd realized that he couldn't protect Cheng Qianli. The world of the doors was treacherous and ever-changing; no matter how smart he was, he was just a mortal in the end, and all mortals made mistakes. Mistakes in daily life may be utterly unimportant, but mistakes made inside the doors could cost you your life.

Cheng Yixie returned to the mansion, saw Cheng Qianli's brilliant grin embracing Toast, and made a silent decision.

Everything that followed became so reasonable.

Cheng Yixie was clever, and when clever people did bad things, they were naturally adept.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing, Cheng Yixie." Ruan Nanzhu very quickly figured out Cheng Yixie's deviancy, and he and Cheng Yixie had their very first explosive argument. "You're going to get Cheng Qianli killed, as well as yourself!"

Against Ruan Nanzhu's accusations, Cheng Yixie chose silence.

"Stop this, while you still can," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Don't wait until it's too late to turn back…"

Cheng Yixie gave Ruan Nanzhu an answer. He said, "Cheng Qianli's not even eighteen yet."

He held onto the railings, looking out over the lush green yard where Cheng Qianli and Toast were chasing each other around in play.

"If only one of us can survive, I hope it to be him."

Ruan Nanzhu, "but there are other ways. You're choosing the stupidest method—"

"But it's the most lucrative." Cheng Yixie was no older than fourteen, but there wasn’t any trace of a child's innocence to be found in his eyes. His pupils were deep lakes, in which were hidden things even Ruan Nanzhu couldn't comprehend. "Sorry, Ruan-ge, I really can't just watch Qianli die."

Ruan Nanzhu knew he had no chance of convincing Cheng Yixie. He said no more, and walked away.

At this point, the worst that Cheng Yixie had done was let people go to their deaths. But after…Cheng Yixie closed his eyes. He never wanted to talk about what happened after anymore.

Once someone broke their bottom line, it was like plunging into a quagmire; you could only keep sinking.

Had it been anybody else, Ruan Nanzhu would likely have already kicked Cheng Yixie out of Obsidian. But Cheng Yixie was just a kid. He was like a fresh-grown sapling that, before it could even grow up straight, got snapped at the waist by the battering rains and winds.

Cheng Yixie began to sink deeper and deeper in to the abyss, until he had no way of ever getting out.

Everybody said what went around would always come back around; Cheng Yixie thought that he would be the one to pay for the things he did. Once people do wrong, they had to pay a price. Cheng Yixie was willing to pay for his sins with his life.

But on the day retribution truly came, Cheng Yixie finally learned that some things didn't happen as easily as he's imagined.

The tenth door was hellishly difficult.

Even with the special hint slip, Cheng Yixie was running on the last of nine lives inside.

Just as he had Cheng Qianli, and the two were stumbling their way to the door, they discovered that where the door should have been was instead a giant green bronze statue. The statue was beastly and looked like a demon, and the green bronze encasing it was beginning to crack, revealing hard skin as black as lava rock underneath.

Seeing such a scene, Cheng Yixie knew the monster before him was about to wake. Though the door was right behind it, they still couldn't make their way through.

"Gege," Cheng Yixie spoke quietly, standing behind Cheng Yixie. "I'm scared." The hand he held Cheng Yixie's with was covered in sweat, and there was a helpless tremor in his voice.

"Don't be scared, I'm right here," Cheng Yixie comforted Cheng Qianli quietly. He took a deep breath, and then stuck a hand in his pants pocket, settling on the sharp dagger folded inside. "Just listen to me, and it'll be fine."

Cheng Qianli scooted closer. He seemed to have sensed something, and wrapped Cheng Yixie up in a tight embrace. They were twins, after all; they felt everything together. Through the thin clothing between them, Cheng Yixie could feel the heat of Cheng Qianli's body as well as the anxiety in Cheng Qianli's heart.

"Gege." Cheng Qianli's voice was filled with woe, and even sounded a bit choked. "Is it about to come to life?"

The monster behind them had already exposed the blood red of its eyes. The giant jaw packed full of fangs began to savagely snap. It looked ready to pounce at any moment.

"Mh," Cheng Yixie said. "But it won't be able to hurt you."

"Why am I so stupid?" Cheng Qianli said. "If only I were smarter." His tone of voice was agonized. "If only I were smarter, then Gege wouldn't have to work so hard…"

Cheng Qianli's arms around Cheng Yixie slowly began to loosen, and his voice too grew faint.

"But no matter how stupid I am, I still know what Gege wants to do…"

Cheng Yixie felt that something had gone wrong. His voice froze for a moment, and he slowly turned his head.

"Qianli…"

"Hey, I brought one too," Cheng Qianli said. "I hid it in my pants pocket, just like you."

He was smiling, but was likely also in agony—this smile was particularly hideous.

Cheng Yixie’s head inched down, and he saw a dagger stuck in Cheng Qianli’s chest. Bright red blood was flowing like a babbling brook down his chest, soaking his clothes and puddling on the ground.

Cheng Yixie saw that dagger, and felt himself reeling. He opened his mouth to say something, but the image before him appeared to have utterly stolen his ability to talk. He couldn't say anything, and his body slowly slumped forward.

"Ge…it hurts…" Cheng Qianli collapsed in Cheng Yixie's arms, black eyes big and staring. His pupils reflected Cheng Yixie's figure. He called, "Ge…"

"Aah…Aaaah!!" A wretched scream came out of his mouth, and Cheng Yixie could only watch as Cheng Qianli's breaths grew fainter. The roar of the monster behind him came from a spot directly over Cheng Yixie's head, but Cheng Yixie didn't turn around. The monster lunged at him and—

A black shadow enveloped Cheng Yixie. He ought to have been torn to pieces by the monster, but a faint sheen of light was emanating from his body. It partitioned the monster's attack directly away from him.

In Cheng Yixie's arms, Cheng Qianli's chest had stopped moving. With a numb expression Cheng Yixie turned around, spotting that huge black door behind the monster. He saw that door and stumbled to his feet with Cheng Qianli in his arms. He made a run for that door, unlocking it with the key drenched in blood. He still wanted to see Cheng Qianli again. There were still so many things he hadn't said to him.

Cheng Yixie sprinted out that tunnel like he had gone crazy, grabbing the Cheng Qianli outside in an embrace. The moment Cheng Qianli offered him a smile, mouthful after mouthful of blood began pouring out of Cheng Qianli's mouth. Cheng Qianli touched his face, called him Ge, told him not be sad.

Cheng Yixie was wailing. His Qianli, this was his Qianli—the kid he loved the most still hadn't been able to grow up. Hadn't even passed his eighteenth birthday. Certainly hadn't gotten to see all the beautiful sceneries of the world like he'd hoped.

What came afterwards, Cheng Yixie didn't really remember. He didn't really remember how he got through that time. By the time he came back to himself, he'd already left Obsidian, and was crossing doors with Zhuo Feiquan.

Zhuo Feiquan, like him, was a person left behind at the end of the world. Zhuo Feiquan no longer had a sister, and Cheng Yixie no longer had a brother. Zhuo Feiquan's luck was just a lot better than Cheng Yixie's, that's all—he had a pendant that his sister's soul laid in.

"Hey, you're not planning on getting me killed inside the doors and stealing my pendant, are you?" Zhuo Feiquan spoke frankly. "I'm telling you, I'm hardy as hell."

Cheng Yixie looked at him, answering faintly, "forget it. I thought about it, but it's better not to do it."

"Why not?" Zhuo Feiquan asked.

"I'm afraid he'll have to pay for the bad things I do again." Cheng Yixie's tone was cold. "Look, isn't that the case now?"

He didn't even dare to die, because his life had been traded in for Qianli's. That little fool had to be smart just this once, but this one time was all it took to torture him to death and back.

Zhuo Feiquan threw back his head and laughed.

To have experienced the same pain of losing family, the two actually had an odd resonance. Only those days didn't last. Zhuo Feiquan died in his own tenth door, and before dying, he placed his pendant in Cheng Yixie's hand. He didn't say anything, because both of them already knew.

Cheng Yixie clutched the pendant that Zhuo Feiquan gave him and managed a smile, meaning he had accepted Zhuo Feiquan's good will.

Once he had the pendant, Cheng Yixie wondered if he should use it to summon Cheng Qianli. But after thinking about it, he didn't do it. Because he remembered that Cheng Qianli was scared of ghosts.

If he wasn't there, Cheng Qianli could only wait around inside the doors. That was probably another kind of torture.

Cheng Yixie wouldn't do that to him.

The days went on one at a time. So Cheng Yixie thought that this would be the end of his and Cheng Qianli's story. He still went through doors in a state of numbness. He might die inside one of these days, but to the him right now, death seemed more like a merciful blessing and escape.

This continued on like this until Cheng Yixie went into his own eleventh door.

In his eleventh door, when he saw Tan Zaozao on television, Cheng Yixie became conscious of something. He left the hospital that he'd entered the door through in a hurry. He went back to his house and knocked on that familiar door.

Moments later, the door opened to reveal a face completely identical to his. And when he saw Cheng Yixie, he looked on with a stunned expression.

Cheng Yixie began to laugh, ignoring Cheng Qianli's shock completely and wrapping him up in a hug. He said, "idiot, Gege's been looking for you for such a long time." I thought that once I'd lost you, I would never get you back.

Good thing that now, he was finally found.

And since he was found, staying in this illusory world of the door seemed to be…not all that bad.

The once-split soul merged back together then, from two to one, just like the moment they were birthed from their mother's body. A satisfied smile appeared on Cheng Yixie's face. He dried the tears at the corners of his eyes and watched as the sun outside the window slowly descended beneath the horizon.

Translator’s Note:

Look, I need those of you who have even a passing understanding of Chinese to suffer this passage with me: 程一榭嚎啕大哭，他的千里，他的千里啊——他心愛的小孩還是沒能長大. The original is simply “HIs Qianli, his Qianli ah...” Just a fucking WAIL. Like me. Just fucking head back, sobbing at the ceiling.

[Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths(2)] | [Extra: Bai Ming and Zhang Yiqing]

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Emotion (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: Kakashi again...can't get enough of this mans tbh. U r an empath due to your kekkei genkai and Kakashi has always been difficult to read. Friend to lovers. Sharing one bed folks, we got some steamyyy shit here. Angst warning as well.

Word count: 6000

He was always alone. Ever since his childhood, he walked the world completely alone with only a few people there to support him. No mother, no father, no mentor, no teammates. He was at the mercy of fate his entire life, things being stolen from him time and time again. 

He just prayed that he could keep her. Y/N L/N, the only woman to have wormed her way into his heart and made a home there.

When they first met, Kakashi and Y/N, she cursed him for being such a weirdo. Apparently his mind was empty and his heart was seemingly full of sand. He was conditioned that way, and that is how he lived for the longest time. It wasn't a surprise for him to hear that.

But she thought it was stranger than anything she'd ever seen, and so she followed him. She would figure him out, bring him back down to Earth from his supposed high horse. That woman was determined, and frankly he didn't mind her being around. She was quiet enough that it didn't matter. Not to mention on the missions they had together, she was quite the partner.

Over time, she'd learned to read him like a book. It was part of her clan's kekkei genkai. The ultimate empath, I suppose. The ability to read a persons every single emotion and then turn that, if they so choose, into power. 

She was never the greatest fighter, but her negotiation skills were the best they could possibly be. She would dive into the emotions of another and manipulate them backwards and forwards to get what she wanted. 

It was overwhelming, walking into a room of people and immediately being bombarded with so many feelings coming at her all at once. Occasionally, if the situation was bad enough she'd have to take a seat and clear her mind, organizing each person in her mind like a filing cabinet of empathy.

But damn, did she try to weasel out every bit of feeling she could. It was just something that came so naturally, she couldn’t help but instigate whatever was brewing up inside him.

"Kakashi, if you're happy, you know you're allowed to express it. You don't have to hide it away," she told him, staring at the masked man sitting across from her at the table. He was watching as she sharpened her kunai, and she could feel the content running off his body in small bursts. He was feeling better. Better than he had in a little while. Of course she picked up on it.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. She was always reading him, he knew that. He just preferred when she refrained from mentioning it. It did, most times, feel like a bit of an invasion of privacy, how she could deep dive into the corners of his mind. There were things no one else could ever possibly know that she did. It was strange, but he was used to it.

"What? Want me to smile or something?"

"No, but you should let yourself go. Just drop the facade."

"Stop doing that. Getting into my head."

Quietly, she set down her blade and picked up the next one, taking a cloth and softly wiping away any dirt. Her eyes slide up to his for a moment, her all knowing gaze filling his vision. "It's basically impossible. Especially if you're the only one around. There's nothing else to focus on except you." He knew that. It wasn't like she had an on or off switch. That was the downside of this dojutsu. Unlike sharingan and byakugan users, hers was always pulling the strings of her brain.

"You've got that mission next week. With Naruto and a few of the other kids, right?"

"Yes."

"It's A rank, isn't it?"

She hummed in agreement. He had a habit of knowing about all her missions, more importantly being the dangerous ones. He wasn't necessarily scared for her, probably not. He was more cautious than anything. There was this nagging feeling in his head that he shouldn't let her go on these missions alone. That it was too dangerous for her to handle. 

But he was wrong. She was stronger than he thought, and could hold her own in battle. He was just a worrier. He'd just lost too many, seen too many bodies in front of his eyes to trust. God, he wanted to trust her, but he couldn't. She was too vulnerable. His friend, one of the only ones who hadn't died yet. For all he knew, her days numbered, that's how paranoid he was about everything.

"You'll be careful?"

"That's a silly question." He gave her a look that said he was more serious than anything, and she sighed. "Of course I'll be careful. I have people that would miss me if I wasn't." He was one of them. She could sense his fear whenever she said goodbye and his relief when she returned. He really tried to remain objective, but his heart said otherwise. 

And she would be a liar to say that she did not experience the same relief seeing him come home from missions, even if he was beaten and bruised to the bone, she was just happy he made it back. So many never got to come home. It was a sick world, they lived in, but she could relish in the little comforts.

"Don't worry about me. I'll always turn out fine. It's you and your dumb students we have to worry about."

"I hear you. Those kids are enough to drive a person mad." He rested his chin in his palm, the mere thought of those kids causing his blood pressure to rise.

"Thankfully my students never gave me any trouble. Sweet little things."

"Well, aren't you just lucky, Y/N?"

"What can I say? Kurenai and I got the luck of the draw with our students. You men had it rough, I have to admit," she laughed. It was funny that he was so unfortunate to have gotten assigned the Uchiha and the Uzumaki, two completely opposite but persistent forces. "Despite your perverted tendencies and your perpetual lateness, you still did a great job teaching them."

"Thanks. But do you really have to call me a pervert? I'm really not."

"Yeah? That explains why you read porn in public. Admit you're a pervert, you dumb old man."

"We're the same age-" he began to argue, but she just cut him off with her harsh words.

"Creep," she muttered, running the sharpening stone along her blade. He narrowed his eyes. She was being awfully annoying, and he knew she could sense his irritation building up. Yet she continued just to be a pain in the ass.

 He warned, "Hey. Watch it, L/N."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop...Pervert." She ducked her head when his hand reached out to wring her around the neck for being so frustrating, and she continued to laugh. It was nice, having a friend she could joke with and be around without having to worry about what she said. He might pretend to be mad, but she could feel the happiness still rolling off his body thickly under all that fake neutrality. 

He was happier than he'd been in a long while, and she found herself swelling with pride knowing that she might have helped make that happen. Her lips curled into the gentlest of smiles as she peered back up at him, and he found himself smiling back even if it was just through the mask. 

He swore in that moment, he'd make sure Y/N didn't end up like all the others. She would live. He'd break this wretched curse just for her. He was sure of it.

______

"How could you be so reckless?! Do you want to die?" Kakashi shouted at his friend who could only stand there angrily, arms crossed over her chest and one foot in the other direction. She didn't need to be lectured by someone who took just as many risks every single mission as she did.

"Kakashi, I really don't want to hear it. You have no idea how it went."

"Yeah but Naruto does, and we were just talking."

She placed her free hand over her chest and exclaimed even angrier than before, "You're going to trust a kid over me? Naruto even?" It was just low to trust Naruto when she was right there to explain herself. Just let her speak for once, she wanted to say but he of course, had something else to say.

He waved his arm toward the ramen shop, eyes glaring. "Don’t be rude. He's right there. What is wrong with you?"

Indeed, Naruto was sitting inside Ichiraku with Jiraiya at his side, munching on pork ramen while the pair fought outside. Kakashi was eating with them, taking a break from his work to just relax with his master and student when out of the corner of his eye he noticed Y/N stumbling down the street on her crutch. 

He heard when she got back home that she was in the infirmary for a couple days. He had no idea for what reason until Naruto explained to him what happened. She was being needlessly reckless on the battlefield, relying too much on her kekkei genkai and not enough on her brain. She threw herself right in the way of an enemy, for what reason, he didn't know. All he knew was that she could have died and she didn't seem to care one bit.

Rightfully so, he was mad. Normally he preferred not to make a scene in the open like this, but there wasn't anyone else around and he was red-hot.

She huffed. "He knows I don't mean anything bad by that. How could he not? I'm also his sensei, you know."

"Doesn't matter," Kakashi brushed off her words. "What you did was dangerous and you don't seem to care. Next time what are you gonna do? Run right into the arms of the enemy?"

"No, I would never. Kakashi, you're just being a jerk right now. I'm literally injured from the hip down and you have to yell at me? Jeez, just be grateful I'm alive, okay? Things happen," she tried to reason with him, but he didn't acknowledge it. He wasn't exactly feeling all that rational.

"Things don't just happen like that."

She groaned, "Well apparently they do, because it happened to me."

His eye narrowed and she noticed the way he clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times by his sides. Clearly he was just trying to channel his anger, but he really had no reason to be so upset. She hadn't done anything to him. He really needed to relax. "This is so like you L/N's. Always so emotional. Always thinking you're stronger than you actually are."

"Excuse you-"

"Get a grip, you aren't going to live forever."

"First off, don't interrupt me. Second, don't talk about my clan ever again, you hear me, Hatake? We don't live to please your dumbass," she cursed, how dare he say shit about her clan. That asshole. He was just being so...so unlike himself. She had no idea what had gotten into him, but she hated it and just wanted to continue on her way before he said something else stupid. 

Normally, she didn't expect to be bombarded in the street nearly the second she leaves the hospital, but Kakashi never fails to surprise her.

"I've got to go. Don't bother following me." With that, she took off past him, rushing as fast as she could on her crutch, which was pathetically slow. Silently, she cringed at how ridiculous she must look waddling around like this in a fit of rage. Nevermind that. She had better things to do.

He huffed out the breath he had been holding to walk back into the ramen shop, taking his seat beside Naruto and slouching down into the stool. Immediately, Master Jiraiya met his eyes, wisdom about to drip from his tongue once again. "You need to go apologize."

"Why? She clearly doesn't want that right now."

"Well, to start, you insulted her clan which is a big no-no. Imagine saying that to an Uchiha. You're lucky she let you off so easily."

"Yeah, Kakashi. You kinda just attacked her out there in the street," Naruto added.

Jiraiya continued, "Mainly though, the longer you let her stay angry, the worse it'll be for you in the end. Trust me."

"She said don't follow her."

"And you're actually going to listen?" The older man laughed. "You and her fighting reminded me a lot of young Tsunade and I. And let me tell you, you don't just let a woman like that go. I sure did. It’s not a fun time."

"Yeah, Kakashi sensei, go find Y/N."

The jounin stood from his stool and slapped a ramen voucher onto the counter top to pay for his meal. This really didn't seem like a good idea, he had to admit. But he would trust the process. This was the author of his favorite romance series, after all. How could he get something like this wrong? To put blind faith into Jiraiya on realistic romantic matters was probably the not the wisest thing to do, but it was the only thing he had to go on. "I'll go, but this doesn't sound like good advice."

"If you let this go, she's might run into the arms of another man for comfort. Do you want that?"

Tch, there was no way she was gonna do that. She barely had any friends. If anything she would go see Kurenai. Still, he pulled back the cloth at the entrance and muttered, "I gotta catch up to her."

"'Atta boy," Jiraiya cheered, waving off the copy nin. "Another bowl, Naruto?"

"Yes, please!"

Kakashi walked down the streets, looking for the woman he was sent on a mission to find and apologize to. He searched through the shops and the stands for her, walked by her apartment no sign of her. It wasn't until he stumbled by the bookstore that he found her eyeing down the display out front, leaning comfortably on her crutch.

"Y/N," he called to her, and he watched as she tensed up without a second. He caught up to her, walking to stand beside her in front of the store windows. "I need to talk to you."

"What do you want?" She questioned, peering over at him with a quirked brow. He seemed calmed down by now. Thankfully. "Also, didn't I tell you not to follow me?"

"You did, but Jiraiya told me to apologize."

"So this isn't even on your own accord, you're doing it because Jiraiya told you so." He groaned. Of course she would twist his words and find some way to make things bad on his end. She was angry with him, what did he expect to happen? Her to accept him with open arms?

"Listen, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I was just overwhelmed."

"With what? I wasn't paying attention to anything but the anger." She picked at her finger nails in an attempt to remain casual, but really she was just itching to hear what he had to say. She was willing to give him a second chance, only because he was normally so sweet. This was just out of character for him.

He replied, "I was scared for you. Naruto told me about how you nearly died, and I was upset that you did that. I was upset because I could only think about what if you had been overpowered and the enemy killed you." His explanation was weak, but he hoped she would accept it as truth. He really wasn't lying. When he heard she was in the hospital indefinitely, he nearly had a heart attack himself. He worried for her every time she left on a mission without him. It just meant that if she failed, he wasn't there to protect her himself. He couldn't handle that thought.

"So you were worried?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's sweet of you, isn't it?"

"I'd miss you, you know. If you died."

She froze. That wasn't what she expected him to say. When she looked over at him, he was just staring into the storefront window, but she could feel the sadness in waves running off his body. She wobbled around on her crutch to face him, a hand getting coming up to rest on his shoulder. "It's okay."

"I don't want you going on missions without me because every time it scares the shit out of me thinking they'll bring you back dead. Every time. I don't know why."

"It's normal to worry for your teammates."

"It's not the same, and you know it."

"Ah." And she felt it. Even if it was just a little hint of something, she felt his infatuation roll off his body and she took it in like a drink of cold water. So refreshing. Was he attracted to her? She had no idea before this that he cared so much but from the sound of it, he had some strong feelings attached. She wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it was going to be okay, but that felt too personal. Instead, she leant back and muttered, "You know, Kakashi, I worry about you too."

"It's good we both have someone who cares, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I should be on my way, but, uh, if you need some help getting up to your apartment-"

"I should be fine."

"Okay, good."

"Yeah, so uh, see you," she turned on her heel and started heading in the other direction toward her home when suddenly, his hand reached out to stop her. 

"Wait, Y/N. I think..."

"What is it?"

"It's just that I need you. Please be careful from now on."

She stopped, turning around just enough to get a good look at his face. He only watched her, a glimmer of something she didn't recognize in his eye. 

"As long as you take care of yourself too, Mister."

"Y/N, I…"

All she could feel was a rough fabric rubbing against her face for a second before the full picture came into view. 

Mask to lips. I repeat, mask to lips.

She stared at him, as he kissed her right there in front of their favorite bookstore. When he pulled away after a second, he seemed just as shocked as she was. She pressed a hand to her forehead and struggled to find the right words to say. 

Kakashi Hatake just kissed her. 

And she definitely liked it. More than any other kiss she’d ever had before. She loved it. Mask or not, that was one of the best surprises of her entire life, and she honestly had no idea how to react. She settled for the easiest possible thing, running in the opposite direction, give herself time to think over what that meant for the two of them if anything at all. Kakashi wasn’t the type to have a girlfriend, he was always single. There just wasn’t room in his life for her.

There was plenty room in her life to fit him in comfortably. And there was more than enough room in her bed as well. 

Flustered, with heat coming to sit in her cheeks and run up her neck, she turned and motioned in the direction of her home. She just had too many thoughts to sit here and pretend she wasn’t dying inside from the tension.

"I've got to run home now," she managed to say. "Well, not run, with these crutches and all, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I should be going too. I'll see you around,” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. 

"See you."

And into separate directions they went, just as confused as ever.

______

"Kakashi, I swear to God, if you don't stay on your side of the bed, I'm gonna-

"You'll what? Hit me? Go ahead. You're the one that keeps snoring."

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, rolling over in the bed and planting her fist directly in the middle of his chest. He didn't even flinch, she hadn't meant to hurt him anyway. She was just so annoyed. You would think that the stoic Hatake would be easy to sleep beside but no, he was a pain in the ass. He was rude. He was way too hot under the sheets. He still smelled like dog even after taking a bath. Just overall a bad experience, definitely 0 out of 10.

"What? It's the truth."

She groaned, throwing one of her arms over her eyes, burying her nose in the crook of her elbow. "Whatever. Don't ever mention my snoring again. It’s embarrassing me." She was self-conscious. She was usually so good at maintaining a cool and calm presence and now Kakashi was seeing that all crumble. Great. 

"Fine."

"Can't you just stay on your side so we can both sleep comfortably?"

"Can't you just stop snoring so I can sleep comfortably?" 

What a bastard. She could practically feel him snickering beneath his mask, and she felt frustration bubbling up in her chest. He was annoying. The audacity of this man, laughing and causing trouble in the night when they clearly had a mission to continue tomorrow. She could actually feel the delight radiating off his form.

She jumped up from her spot and threw herself onto the man beside her, attempting to make a vicious grab for the throat so she could maybe shut him up for just a few seconds. He dodged easily, taking her wrists in his calloused hand and lowering them to rest on his chest. Still, he continued to laugh at her. She felt like an utter joke sitting there on his stomach, looking at him through loose strands of her hair. 

She grumbled under her breath, her cheeks puffing out full of embarrassment, "Stupid."

"Me? Stupid? Look at you."

She replied swiftly, "What about me? You're the one with that ugly grin on your face." Quickly, she snatched her hands out from under his to cross her arms over her chest. She rocked back a bit on her knees to get a better look at his indeed ugly face. 

Except he definitely wasn't ugly, and that grin was more devilishly handsome than anything else. And honestly, she felt herself starting to get flustered in the position she'd put herself in. Of course she didn't hate Kakashi. He was one of her friends and coworkers. It was just that sometimes he could be casually attractive and she found herself falling under his spell. 

He just looked so fucking good lying there, staring up at her with a glimmer in his dark eyes. She could see the smile outlined under his mask. His hands had felt warm and firm around her own fingers. She missed his touch, there she said it, any touch on her body from Kakashi Hatake felt like heaven. He was far too cute, and the soft contact between them drove her crazy.

She wanted to punch herself for thinking such silly things. This was Kakashi, one of her frenemies. Not boyfriend material. Stupid. Silly. 

If only he didn't look so good, Jesus christ. Get your brain out of the gutter, Y/N.

Little did she know, his mind was already waist deep in those damn gutters and he was loving it.

"You really think that?"

"What? That you're ugly?" She asked, tilting her head to the side just a bit as if to think about it. Only a second later, another mischievous smile crossed her lips. "Of course."

He lifted his fingers to slid along her waist and down to her hips, fingers curling ever so slightly around her curves. She shuddered as his hands slid down to hold the sides of her bare thighs in his hands, his warm, strong hands with the softest fingertips. She wanted to die.

Had they kissed before? Yes. We're they somewhat romantically involved? Maybe. Did that give him any good reason to rest his rough hands on her thighs like that? Probably, and her thoughts were running a mile a minute at this point. 

"Kakashi...stop that," she said softly, her voice lowering from how it was before. She suddenly felt a lot smaller, scared even. Hooking up with Kakashi wasn't something she planned on doing anytime in the near future, if at all. He was her friend, and she felt strange sitting in his lap with his hands all over her. It felt so right but wrong at the same time, like she was breaking the law. Well, laws of friendship that is.

She cared about Kakashi, more than she wanted to admit. He wasn't just a friend, he was something weirdly in between and she couldn't exactly put her finger on how she felt about him. All she knew was that if she was going to have sex with this man, it would be the right way. They would have to date first. She wasn't just gonna sleep around this time. He was different. 

She wanted to impress him, to make him smile and laugh, to take him out to dinner and hold hands on their way home, to kiss at her doorstep. She wanted all of that before any of this.

His hands dropped from her sides and she crawled away from him, grabbing her blanket and cradling herself in it. "Listen, Y/N, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I know, it's not your fault. Don't worry about it."

It was quiet. Just the sounds of both their breaths filling the air and the crickets chirping in the darkness outside. She shifted in her blanket to rest her head on the wall, leaning against it with her shoulder. He remained on his back, staring up at the empty ceiling tiles. 

It was now so terribly awkward. Thanks, Y/N.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You, uh, don't snore all that much. I was just teasing you."

"Thanks," she exhaled. "You're not as ugly as I said."

"I know."

Wow, Kakashi. So modest.

Her words fell right into place as she spoke, emotions slipping out with each breath. She looked at his profile in the dark, the way his bedhead stood on end, his nose pointed upward and his lips sat calmly, the curve of his chin under the edge of his mask, the way his eyes just sat there unmoving and gentle, brows soft above the eye. She took in all of him as she confessed, "I just don't want it to be like this. I don't want to fall for you this way."

"I get it."

"I just think that you and I could be something different. You're not like the other guys to me, at least, I don't think of you that way," she took a deep breath. He still stared deep in the ceiling, and somehow it made her comfortable enough to confess everything she'd been feeling. It was as if he could just lay there and listen without words forever. "I don't want you to just fuck me before we really...well I don't know, we've never even been on a date. I...I think I'm ready to fall in love with you."

"Then let's do it."

She peered over at him, lips agape with surprise. She hadn't expected much at all, but certainly not that. "What?"

"When we get back to the village, I'll take you on a date, more if things go well. We can take it as slow as you want," he told her, turning to lay on his side, facing her. He watched as she cuddled further into the comforter, only a peek of her face in his view. She was actually kinda cute through all those worn and torn layers. "I don't think I can let you go this time."

"Really?"

"Anything for you."

She ducked her head down to stare at the hardwood beneath her feet. She was overwhelmed by how nice he was being. Normally, it didn't go like this. Things normally got sexual so quick there wasn't even a chance for these sorts of conversations. It was just different with Kakashi. She could say no to him and expect better, because she knew he could deliver. "No one has ever treated me like this before."

He smiled. "Well, it's about time someone did."

"Can you hold me?"

"Come on." He lifted his arm up with the covers attached so she could crawl over and burrow herself next him, tucked right against his side. He rested his arm around her shoulders and held her close to his chest. Things were looking good for the both of them. Better than they had in a long time.

He wished this kind of thing could last forever. The beating of her heart, the laughter in her voice, the shine in her eyes. He just wished he could have bottled it all up and held it close to him for the rest of his life. 

But he waited too long, and the opportunity slipped from his grasp.

______

The pair fought hard. Kakashi was better than her, everyone knew that. The enemy targeted her for that reason. It was clear as day that she was important to Kakashi, and the enemy quickly caught onto that. He was quick to bring the knife to her neck, pressing the woman’s back tightly to his chest. The blade stung her skin, already piercing the flesh from the bit of pressure he applied.

She cried out, feeling a trail of blood begin running down her neck. Her nails clawed at his arm, desperate to get him to release her from his clutches, but he persisted. One hand held onto her chin tightly, keeping her face from thrashing, and the other continued to apply more and more pressure into the blade. 

For the first time in a long time, she found herself feeling unrestricted fear. She was scared. Scared for her life. She’d never been in this situation before, feeling so completely and utterly helpless like a deer caught in the headlights. Kakashi was right there, she should have known everything was going to be okay. After all, she had the village’s strongest veteran on her side.

It wasn’t the pain that caused the tears to bubble up in the corners of her eyes, no, it was Kakashi. The way his eyes darted over to the them, and she could feel his heart beginning to race, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and the fear creeping up into his heart. He never wore his heart on his sleeve. He was so closed off, sometimes she could only get a wisp of emotion from him, especially the ones that showed such vulnerability. 

Now it all seemed to come tumbling out like a landslide. She was drowning in fear, his and her own. 

“Let her go,” he called out, practically pleading with the man across from him, but it was in vain. 

“Like I’d listen to some filthy leaf shinobi,” the spy replied angrily. He felt so hot, burning up with so much anger she wanted to throw up. What had they done to upset him this badly? Her jaw was starting to ache from being held so tightly, and she swore she could taste blood running down her throat. This was bad. This was so terribly, miserably bad. 

Kakashi stood there, his hands hovering at his sides, unknowing of what to do. She was already bleeding out all over the collar of her shirt. If he made a single move, the man could easily finish the job with one fatal swipe. The copy nin felt cornered. Hopeless. What was there left to do? He’d let the love of his life fall in the hands of some petty criminal. 

Come on, think of something. Anything. Just think of something.

“What? You upset I’ve got your little girlfriend here?”

God, he was so desperate. The man taunting him didn’t help at all. He just felt himself spiralling deeper into hopelessness. He bargained, “Please, just let her go. I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

It wouldn’t work though. This man was set in his ways, and there was no changing that. He came into this fight knowing exactly what he wanted to do. And he was going to finish the job. 

“This is for what you shinobi have done to my people,” he sneered before she felt the knife dip further into her neck, sliding painfully across her throat. He dropped her head from his grasp, and as soon as he had, her body crumbled down to the ground. She collapsed in a bleeding heap on the dirt. 

The criminal quickly ran into the forest behind them, getting lost among the trees and the bushes within seconds. None of that mattered though. Kakashi could only run over to her limp body lying there on the ground, sputtering and coughing on thick blood filling her throat and lungs. Her cheeks and lips painted red now from spitting so much up. He fell to his knees beside her body, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a tear drip down his face.

She cried, hot tears running down her cheeks into the dirt on either side of her head. She cried for her pathetic self, having been attacked and injured in this way. She cried for Kakashi, feeling the pain and sadness, the panic, radiating off his form. She took in every emotion he was feeling, wanting to savor being with him for as long as she had, to fully take him in one last time. 

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, his hands running over her hair and cheek, smearing blood on her skin and his fingers. “We’ll bring you back to the village. The Hokage can fix you.” His words were so soft into the air, like if he spoke any louder he would hurt her.

They both knew that none of what he was saying was true. She was as good as dead.

She lifted her hand weakly to sit on his other hand. “I…” The woman took a labored breath.. “Love you, Kashi.”

“No, no, no. Don’t say that,” he hushed her, feeling his heart grow heavier in his chest with every second that passed, every look at her bloody neck and face, her laboring chest as she took hopeless breaths. He was falling apart in this moment, desperate for fate to change, for her to magically be better. He choked, “You can’t die, Y/N.”

“It’s okay.” Her words were slurred and hard to hear, liquid bubbling up in her throat to the point she was almost incomprehensible. “I love you,” she confessed once again. She wanted those to be her last ever words to him, the words he would remember for the rest of his life. To know someone out there loved him more than anything else.

He had to know that he was her everything. He was the best thing that ever happened to her, and she was going to miss him so terribly wherever her soul went after this. She just wished there was more time to tell him everything she felt. Yet, time was passing faster than she thought, and all those words felt impossible.

“I love you, too. You have to live for me. Just keep breathing, it's going to be okay.”

“It...hurts.”

More misery erupted his chest, and he found himself wanting to scream. Tears dripped steadily down both his cheeks now as he watched this woman die in front of him, one of the only people he truly needed in his life. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry I let this happen to you.”

She nodded faintly, her eyes beginning to close. He was starting to panic. Was this his last moment to say goodbye? Their time together was so short, how was this fair? He’d already lost everyone he ever cared about, and now this? He felt like the gods were laughing down at him and his misfortune. 

“You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know how I’ll do this without you.”

She didn’t respond, but she was still breathing. 

“Y/N, please.”

And he watched as her chest fell still and her labored breaths were silent on his ears. He found himself gathering her form up against his chest, her head cradled in the crook of his neck, just sobbing into her hair, weeping for a long lasting love gone in an instant. 

 He carried her body home that day himself. Something he never anticipated happening, but should have prepared for. He always thought he was going to watch as someone else carried her home to him, death long gone before he had the chance to see. He never thought it would be right in front of him. He thought he could protect her, save her from the clutches of fate. He was so wrong.

Kakashi was alone once again.

[booksforevermore13]

Marry Me?

Summary: It's been a few years since the Wizarding War and Harry and Ginny are still very much in love with each other. Harry proposes to Ginny, who doesn't take it very well. Little does he know that Ginny's still troubled by her monsters.

Read it on Fanfiction if you prefer!

...

Snow rested upon the park bench as if it were a feather cushion, soft and warm. It covered the rich deep wood in perfect white, and the newly clothed trees rose as wintry fairytale beings in that pristine landscape.

Ginny shivered, gently brushing the snow off from the bench, beckoning Harry to join her.

Harry shook his head and chuckled nervously. He'd been doing that quite often today, Ginny had observed, and while she had been curious at first, she had later ruled it out as simply Harry being Harry.

She shivered again rubbing her hands as she tried to get some warmth back to her body. True, she had a sweater and a coat on but in the chilly winters of Scotland, a two flimsy layers were not enough. If she had known they were coming there, then she would have worn more. Or better yet, not come at all.

Ginny blew on her fingers, trying to warm them up as Harry wordlessly shrugged off his jacket and stepped forward, wrapping it around her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, taking the jacket off. "You'll be cold."

"No, I won't. You've nothing on, Gin."

"I'm wearing a sweater and a coat. Don't be an idiot, Harry, take the damn jacket," she urged.

But Harry had that stubborn glint in his eyes, so Ginny huffed in defeat, though she was secretly grateful for another thing to wear.

"Why Scotland?" she asked, a few seconds later. "And why aren't you sitting?"

Harry chuckled again, that same nervous chuckle and Ginny's heart clenched in suspicion.

"Are you breaking it off with me?" she asked, her voice stronger than she felt. If he'd brought her all the way to Scotland to simply tell her that they were over, then frankly she'd … well she'd probably yell.

Harry frowned, and then hid eyebrows contorted in confusion.

"What? No!" he exclaimed. "That's not the reason. Why would I…" He shook his head then reached into his pocket, slowly bringing out a small box.

Ginny breath caught in her throat as a humourless chuckle left her lips.

This couldn't be happening.

She hastily got up, Harry's jacket falling off her shoulders. Her heart hammered against her chest, leaving her breathless.

Harry scrabbled, bending down before stumbling as he almost fell face-first into the snow.

"Heh," he chuckled, "This-I-I'll just stand up."

In other circumstances she'd have laughed but her throat constricted as Harry got up on his feet and smiled at her, before opening the box.

Inside, there was a small silver ring, resting upon blue leather, and engraved with vines running across its length. It was beautiful. It was utterly and completely beautiful. If Ginny had seen it in a shop window, she'd have stopped and marveled at it. Now, however, the ring brought dread, and she could feel the panic threaten to overcome her.

She looked at Harry and spotted the hopeful glint in his eyes as he smiled brightly.

"I think you know where this is going," he said. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, you are my love," his voice broke, "my life, the one person who has been by my side through times, good and bad. You are, frankly speaking, my everything and I am so lucky to call you... mine. Will you-will you marry me?"

Ginny felt her eyes tearing up. Her throat closed and she panicked, stepping backwards as her mind floated most involuntarily to what he had said.

Ginny struggled to catch her breath as she saw Harry smile fall, concern replacing his smile.

The world was getting abnormally blurry.

It was closing up, it was suffocating and Ginny felt her mind wander over to the first place she could think of, willing all her strength to Apparate.

Home.

...

She landed in a small clearing near her house, her feet buckling as her knees collided with the muddy ground. Her hands reached forward to support herself, and she retched violently, tears of exertion leaking out of her eyes.

A few acres away, she could see the smoke coming out of the chimneys. Her mother's burgundy dress had been hung out to dry and was just clinging to the line, as the chilly winter wind blew through their garden.

Ginny coughed, brushing away the dirt on her fingers. All she could think about was Harry's expectant face, and his huge smile, and all she could register was how badly she had disappointed him.

The thought made her want to heave again, but she refrained, instead choosing to turn away from her house. Even the Burrow seemed to stir dread in her, because all it suddenly reminded her of was the days she had spent locked in her room thinking about him.

"You were foolish to think I'd ever be a friend to the likes of you," he had said, while Ginny whimpered at his feet.

"Pathetic," he had spat then and she had winced at the menacing snarl on her face.

Ginny closed her eyes, bile rising up her throat at the memory of her lying on the cold, wet floor of the Chamber.

"I trusted you, you monster!" she had cried out, "I thought you were my friend. That you understood me. I told you everything!"

"Which only confirmed that you were a despicable wretch," he had laughed cruelly, and forced her chin upwards, as his nails dug into her skin. "Fancying Harry Potter, as if! Even he has standards enough to never bow down to scum like you!"

He had smirked and watched in evident glee as Ginny sobbed, utterly ashamed of what she had done.

"I wouldn't be so sure though," he had added as an afterthought. "Him being the fool he is, there's no guarantee he won't start inclining towards you."

A few tears fell, and Ginny rubbed at them furiously, her mud-caked fingers leaving streaks of dirt on her cheeks.

"But it would all be temporary."

"Ginny?"

Her eyes snapped open as she whirled around, the voice foreign to the one from her memory. Her eyes widened as she saw her youngest brother standing opposite her, concern etched on his face.

"Ron?" she questioned, as she wiped the dirt off of her face with the sleeve of her coat.

"What happened, why are you crying?"

"I'm not," she said hurriedly. "What-what are you doing here?"

"I saw you standing out here alone," he answered, "and don't give me that bull, why have you been crying?"

"I was not," Ginny said fiercely.

A smirk passed on Ron's face, which slowly grew into an impish grin. "Did he ask?" he said, a knowing expression on his face.

"How'd you know?"

"I'm his best friend, of course I know. What did you say?" he asked excitedly, almost jumping from one foot to another.

She stared at Ron for a few minutes, before bursting out crying.

Ron looked at her in alarm before stepping forward. "Ginny, bloody hell!" he exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. "What-wh-did he do something? What's wrong?:

"Nothing," Ginny managed between sobs. "I ran away."

"What?" Ron yelled, "You ran—what, why the bloody hell did you do that?"

Ginny's sobs grew louder as she clutched at Ron's shirt, and his grip around her grew stronger.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, panicked. "Ginny, talk to me, please. What happened?"

"I panicked, and I-I... I didn't know what to do, so I Apparated here."

She could feel Ron frowning, and knew it was a shock for him, seeing her cry like this. She knew he'd expected something more joyous.

"Gin," he urged. "Ginny, why'd you run?" he asked, keeping his voice level as best he could. Ginny knew he was at his wit's end, for after years and years of her being the one he had turned to in times of distress, the roles had reversed and he was helpless.

She looked up at him hesitantly, through watery eyes, half-expecting a confused look she so fondly identified with him. Ron wouldn't understand; this was not his forte.

What was not expecting was gentle eyes and as she looked up at him, she realized, not for the first time that somewhere along the way, he had grown up too.

But she just couldn't get herself to say it.

"I don't want to marry him," she choked out finally. "I can't."

Ron frowned, hiding his confusion extremely well. "You don't want to marry Harry Potter," he repeated, more as if convincing himself. "Why?"

"I," she sighed. "I just can't. I... don't want to."

"You don't want to marry him?" he asked incredulously. "Ginny, you do realize that this is the same man you've been in love with for years?"

"I just don't know, Ron," Ginny groaned. "I panicked, and I overreacted, and I-I just fled from the scene."

Ron stared at her for a few minutes, his brows creased in a frown before he hugged her again. Hugging always worked, Ginny had told him herself. Most of the time. She didn't think he'd take her advice so seriously.

"You're... allowed to overreact," he said, carefully choosing his words. "This is a decision that can affect your entire life, so if anything, you can cry a bit more. Anything that will help."

He winced as Ginny let out a watery sob, and more tears flooded her cheeks.

"You're, you're-you've grown up," he continued, his voice becoming softer, "And I never realized it, I think. But you were always wiser than me, always the one more practical, and somewhere along the way, I realized I looked unto you more than you or I will ever admit."

"Whatever you decide, believe that it is right, for I'll be standing beside you."

Ginny tensed, his words setting in her.

What she was deciding now was not right, she knew that but Ginny would not tell him that.

She couldn't.

...

They had gone inside after her talk with Ron, and her mum had almost cried seeing her. It had been two months since she had last visited, and her mum had immediately bombarded her with questions, just barely held back by her dad.

She had held on quite well before she saw Harry at the door.

Everything had gone downhill since.

While her mum amicably chatted with Harry, his gaze never left her, his green eyes piercing into her face. It was not long before she cracked and immediately excused herself, choosing to go into the fields instead of the recluse of her old room.

She couldn't handle the memories her room brought up. None of them were good enough, at least, none of them were good enough to overlook the bad ones.

She heard the small pattering of footsteps behind her and felt her throat closing in panic. There was only one person who would come after her right now, and it was the last person she wanted to see.

"You ran away," Harry said, his voice barely audible over the whistling of the wind.

Ginny turned around and stared at him, her face devoid of emotion for the first time that day.

"Why?" his voice cracked, but there was a touch of desperation in his voice.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"That's not a good enough answer," he said angrily. "Why did you run away, Gin?"

Ginny stayed quiet, her red hair whipping in the wind. It slashed across her face, pricking against her eyes, but she couldn't get herself to care.

"Is it too early?" Harry spoke over the wind. "Did I do something wrong?"

No, she wanted to yell. He had done everything right. She was the problem and she couldn't be more disgusted with herself. It was impossible to measure how much she loved him, yet now that the time had come to express her feelings, she was coming up with nothing.

Ginny felt the seconds ticking away as she looked at the ground, the white of the snow contrasting against the brown of her boots. She heard footsteps coming over to her and felt a hand resting against her own as Harry lifted her chin and forced her eyes to meet his.

Ginny gasped at the anger-laden sorrow in his eyes, and she pulled back, trying to get away from his piercing gaze.

"Don't run," Harry warned, as Ginny continued pulling. "For Merlin's sake, don't run!" he yelled.

She stopped in her tracks, a tear spilling from her eye.

"I deserve an answer, Gin, please," he begged. "Why?"

A choked sob broke through, and Ginny pushed Harry with all her strength, making him let go of her.

"This won't last," she choked out. "This is temporary, this is not permanent, he told me this wouldn't last!"

The whistle of the wind had become more pronounced, and it whipped around them, numbing the tips of her fingers.

"Who told you?" Harry pressed on. "Goddamnit, Gin, who told you that?"

"Him."

It was her voice that sent Harry recoiling, but in that briefest second possible, he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"Riddle," he whispered. "Shit, Gin—"

"There's nothing to talk about," Ginny said. "I can't do this, Harry."

The anger was back now. Harry stepped forward, his fingers wrapping around her forearm to keep her in place.

"Do you realize we've never talked about him, Gin? Never talked about that year?" he said, his voice dangerously low.

"We have, of course we have."

"Once," Harry's voice cracked, "when you yelled at me in my fifth year for not asking you how it felt like to get possessed by Voldemort. But that doesn't even…." he broke off, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Ginny couldn't bear to look at him. So she didn't, instead gazing away at the leafless trees, whose boughs weighed down due to the weight of the snow.

"For two years after, you listened to everything I had to vent about. But not once did you ever talk about him."

"Riddle has nothing to do with this, Harry!" Ginny cried out. "It doesn't matter what he said to me, it's what I choose to believe—"

"Doesn't matter?" Harry bellowed, grabbing her arm. "It matters, Gin, because after all these years, it's still influencing what you do!"

"Riddle has nothing to do with anything in my life!" Ginny yelled, pulling her hand away.

Harry let go of it, his green eyes, following her erratic breathing and her frenzied steps. "Do you know what he said to me in the Chamber?" he said quietly. "He told me how you poured your heart out to him. He bloody quoted you. That's right, he recited word to word whatever you had written in that damn diary."

"No," Ginny said. "No."

"Have you ever wondered why you're so scared of things lasting? How you always run away when it comes to me?"

"Stop, Harry, please," Ginny begged. "Please, just stop."

"Because I've let you in. I've let you solve all my problems, but when it comes to you, I'm helpless."

The wind whipped around, cold and unrelenting, blowing up billows of snow. Ginny closed her eyes, the cold of the wind creeping along her bones as she shivered, her hands wrapping around her stomach.

After a while, that seemed like ages, Ginny found herself being pushed gently towards the shed, Harry's hand on the small of her back as she stepped inside the building, welcoming the warmth of the place.

It was another few minutes before Ginny let herself look at Harry, her heart tugging as she saw his pained expression. His green eyes were still stuck on her, unmoving, and as brown met green, she realized just how torn he was over this.

"I'm sorry," she found herself whispering. "I'm so sorry."

Harry reached forward, his arms wrapping around hers and bringing her closer, until her head was under the crook of his neck and she was safely enveloped in his embrace.

"I'm just scared," she continued, in that same small voice she'd be ashamed to use in front of anyone else. But with Harry, it seemed, her guards melted away until she was her vulnerable self, her heart completely belonging to him.

"When I woke up in the Chamber and saw you," she said, "part of me was relieved and part of me was just vying the time until I'd become just Ron's little sister again. Stupid, I know."

"No," Harry said. "Don't ever say that."

Ginny looked up at him and braced herself for the words she'd say next. She'd never admitted it to anyone before, in fear she'd be shunned away for being too petty.

"The first time, I entered Hogwarts, I was known as the Weasleys' little sister, second time I entered, I was the helpless girl taken into the Chamber. The years after that," Ginny's voice broke, "I did everything I could to prove them wrong but I think-I think that part of me has always been scared that I'll become that small eleven-year-old kid again, who believed in something temporary. And I found myself applying that to everything."

Ginny choked on her words, as she felt the dam break and the tears start cascading down her cheeks. She'd said one of her worst fears out loud, and it just showed how controlled she still was by that… monster.

She felt Harry's rough fingers brush away the tears as he kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin.

"I don't think you know exactly how much I love you, Ginevra Weasley," he said, cupping her chin and looking directly into her eyes.

Green to Brown.

"And-and if I didn't have you in my life, I wouldn't know what to do," he said. "You, this," he pointed at each of them, "is the most solid thing I have, and it is not going away anytime soon. I won't let it."

She was still looking at him, her brown eyes streaked with red. It pained him to see her this way, but he needed to get his point across.

And after a long silence, Ginny whispered, her voice raspy from all that crying.

"Okay."

...

...

...

Spring had come with a gentle spirit, as one who realises that warming up slowly brings the best results to the heart.

Harry's head was on her lap, the ghost of a smile on his lips as Ginny played with the ends of his hair. It had grown out in the last two months, and he hadn't bothered to cut it, so that it now rested just above his neck.

Ginny, needless to say, was not impressed.

"You look like Tarzan," she complained. "Just with black hair."

"You know Tarzan?"

"I have a Muggle-obsessed father," Ginny quipped. "I literally grew up around Tarzan and Her-Hercel—"

"Hercules."

"Yes that."

Harry laughed and Ginny bent forward, her lips lingering on his scar. For a moment, she hesitated, her smile off her face in a short second as she nudged Harry to get up. Her hands left his hair and brought out a box from behind her, prying it open to reveal a silver ring, with vines running across its length, identical to the ones she had seen two months earlier.

"I know this is overdue and I know last time didn't go out as you'd have wished it to," Ginny scrambled, "But will you... marry me, Harry?"

"Huh?" Harry's eyes widened and he shot up, gaping at Ginny in disbelief.

"Will you marry me, Harry?"

Disbelief turned to delight as his face broke out in a smile in mere seconds and he kissed Ginny, one hand wrapped around her waist. The other slipped into his jacket pocket, and he brought out a small box that had been lying untouched for the past two months.

"Only if you marry me, Gin," he said, as he took out the ring.

Ginny's eyes widened and she laughed giddily. "Have you been carrying that ring all this time?"

Harry nodded, smiling at the look of incredulity on Ginny's face.

"Then yes."

[chalkrevelations]

WELL. Episode 3 of Word of Honor.

First of all: If you are NEW or JUST VISITING, this is a re-watch, so there are SPOILERS not just for this ep, but for the ENTIRE SHOW. A lot of them, actually. Scroll away and come back later if you haven’t seen all 36.5 eps and want to watch it unspoiled.

So, this ep feels a little disjointed. I don’t think it actually is, not in the way the back nine are a speedrun where the writing starts to feel like it’s thisclose to coming off the rails, but it feels like it, in that we’re now getting a double handful of threads thrust at us that are only just starting to be woven together into a plot, and it’s the kind of hot mess that any fiberwork looks like before the pattern starts to show itself, particularly when you’re using 15 different color threads from jump. There’s generally a major theme or issue or overriding concept that stands out to me in each ep that, you may have noticed, gets primacy of place in these reactions, but honestly, y’all, I really struggled to figure out what that might be for this episode, because a lot of this, on re-watch, strikes me as groundwork for later developments. Wen Kexing gives us an “as you know, Bob” speech about the Amory and the Glazed Armor, we meet approx. 3.2K new characters, and I feel sort of like I should start keeping a chart of who’s supposed to have a piece of the Glazed Armor and who actually does have a piece of the Glazed Armor, but it’s already so confusing that it might be too late.*

ANYWAY, on re-watch, I can absolutely see the value of spending Eps 1 & 2 on introducing us to Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing and getting us pulled into their orbit, because then we have scenes we’re already invested in to maintain our interest as the background politics begin to frustratingly play out with a bunch of people we don’t know or have any investment in yet. I mean, y’all. I forgot just what an ill-tempered gremlin ZZS was in these early eps. He is so fk’n put out that these people will not let him drink himself to death in the gutter in peace! Or, you know, in occasional Nightly Nails Torment. And the exasperation from both ZZS and Chengling over WKX’s antics – both of their faces are priceless in the scene when they discover he’s the one who’s bought out all the rooms at the inn. I literally lol’d. Again. Even knowing it was coming. All of this interaction is so delightful. This is actually the ep that provoked my very first WoH keysmash flailing Tumblr post and inaugurated the “wen kexing’s thirst is practically a third character” tag. I guess the biggest throughline for this ep is that we can continue to see how everything changes when we know about their previous relationship – things like WKX’s insistence that they have a “deep bond through fate” take on additional layers of meaning rather than just sounding like some dude who’s trying to pick you up at last call. Interesting that ZZS describes WKX at one point during their push-pull conversational dance as “like a wretched soul that keeps haunting around.” You mean, like a GHOST? Like a Ghost Valley ghost? Like the almost forgotten memory of a past life ghost? ZZS wants to know why WKX keeps following him around, and it would be nice if WKX would just come clean, but that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

ZZS, re: Chengling: I do my best to ensure what was entrusted to me.

WKX: :makes (already! in ep 3!) yet another in a series of bad decisions not to say anything about the fact that he, himself, was in fact entrusted to ZZS:

Show: Here’s the first of many helpings of heartache to come. EAT IT. EAT IT ALL.

(Me: Well, here’s another AU idea: What would the course of this relationship be like if WKX flat-out asked ZZS what ZZS’s relationship to Four Seasons Manor was, and bare-faced claimed sanctuary as long-lost shidi Zhen Yan at this point? Because I bet there are plenty of ways that could actually go wrong. Not to mention the deliciousness of just watching them navigate a relationship shift that sudden. I feel like, at this point, WKX would have to be actively confrontational about it, would have to throw it in ZZS’s face – it would need to be something he did in the heat of anger, in order to have this pushed out past all of his fears. Like, you say that, but where were you when I needed you? Also, you think so, well what if your responsibility actually turned out to be the TERRIFYING GHOST VALLEY MASTER, what then, huh? And ZZS, still pretty actively suicidal over all of his failures, having to deal with what’s now being presented as YET ANOTHER FAILURE.)

Also, the theme of “knowing” (zhiji, the one I know) is starting to slide in sideways – we’re seeing a lot of back and forth between them asking about seeing the other’s “true face.” WKX says that he’ll tell ZZS what he (WKX) wants from him once he gets to see ZZS’s true face (LIES, it’s going to take a lot longer than that). ZZS asks to see WKX’s figurative true face, and WKX looks kind of sad and contemplative as he warns that it may be unappealing or terrifying. So, you know, we’re starting to poke at all the softest, most tender places and the issues that are going to stab me repeatedly in the heart for the rest of the show. We’re also already seeing the way Xiao Chu just layered in references throughout the script when she wrote it that call back to each other – it’s like almost any line of dialogue references three other lines of dialogue (and that’s without even getting into all of the literary references that I’m missing because I don’t have cultural context). You get things like WKX’s little speech right at the end that it’s hard to tell a ghost from a human, which on its face might be referring to the two “ghosts” that were coming for Chengling that he took care of and act as an admonishment to ZZS not to be so quick to assume they’re actually from Ghost Valley, but it also refers to WKX, himself, and specifically lays the groundwork (“someone wearing a ghost mask is not necessarily a ghost”) for his conversation in a later ep with ZZS when he asks if ZZS thinks he’s a good person, and also calls back (“someone who looks human may not be human”) to the line from earlier in this ep, itself, when WKX tells ZZS that perhaps WKX’s true face is terrifying. And so we get a nicely little wrapped package of the dichotomy of WKX and his issues. (As a somewhat related aside, A-Xiang’s little face when Zhou Zishu says all of the ghosts of Ghost Valley are full of evil (at 6:55). D: This reaction is obviously for herself, but also may be the first time she acts as proxy for Wen Kexing, as well.)

What else, what else?

So, nobody has a good opinion of the jianghu. WKX is going to be constantly all, “You killed my father, jianghu, prepare to die,” but ZZS also goes off about how it’s just about greed, hatred and ignorance, and yeah, I guess he’d have a pretty bad impression of it, when Prince Jin and Tian Chuang seemed like a better option than the pressure he was facing, trying to keep Siji Manor Sect alive back in the day. We talk a lot about WKX’s childhood trauma, because it’s so awful and right in our faces, but I don’t know how much we actually talk about the fact that ZZS was a teenager not much older than Chengling when he inherited a sect and tried desperately to keep it from being torn apart by the rest of the jianghu. I think we see some bitterness come out in the first few episodes – frankly, in this ep, he doesn’t seem to make much of a distinction between Ghost Valley and the rest of the jianghu. Also interesting that the metaphor he uses about the jianghu’s and Ghost Valley’s greed for the treasures of the Armory is “reaping without sowing,” given what we find out is actually in there in Ep 36.

We see our metaphor of light get pulled out again – this throughline strikes me as more like beads on a string than a thread, at this point, but maybe I’ll notice it more on this second time through … Anyway, WKX’s comment at 9:11 that it’s almost dawn is notable. Indeed, but is it because your plan is beginning to work and you can see the destruction of Ghost Valley and the jianghu coming down the pike, or is it because you’ve found your shixiong?

I notice WKX has color-coordinated ZZS and Chengling in the robes he bought for them, has already grouped them together, marked them as belonging to each other – he’s already subtly treating them as each other’s family. The show, with a particular lack of subtlety, also will have ZZS there to wake up Chengling from nightmares later in the end of the ep, as Chengling calls out for his dad in his sleep.

OK, Deng Kuan is the guy in charge of the Yueyang sect contingent that arrived in time to see the Mirror Lake chaos in Ep 2 and has taken charge of cleaning up the bodies in this ep. I actually overlooked him, pretty much, the first time around, but here, he’s already got Shen Shen yelling at him (in a completely ridiculous fashion) for not getting there in time to save the Mirror Lake Sect, so he’s just going to be a punching bag through the whole show, apparently. Shen Shen is wu-di, fifth (little) brother, and he refers to Chengling’s dad as si-ge, fourth (older) brother, so Shen Shen appears to be the youngest of the Five Lakes sworn brothers, leading me to believe that some of what makes him so insufferable through a lot of the show is baby brother syndrome. Also, Shen Shen and his group find the Soul Winding Threads of the Hanged Ghost … supposedly. I mean, the Hanged Ghost was the guy who we saw get got in Ep 1, soooooo …. (remember these Soul Winding Threads, btw).

*This got super long so I’m’a put this last bit under a cut, but I did try to start a running tally of who’s holding a piece of the Glazed Armor:

Each of the Five Lakes Alliance sects is supposed to have a piece of the Glazed Armor, yes? So, as of the end of Ep 3 (hierarchical bro-titles are from didi Shen Shen’s POV):

- Yueyang Sect, led by Gao Chong (da-ge) - presumably still has his

- Tai Hu Sect, led by Zhao Jing (er-ge) – presumably still has his

- Danyang Sect, led by Lu Taichong (san-ge, presumably) – apparently the sect has already been attacked off-screen (by “Ghost Valley?” and WHEN?), as we learn in Ep 3 that Lu-zongzhu has been killed and his remaining two tiny disciples have fled to the protection of Ao Laizi and Tai Shan Sect, one of the lesser sects, and are believed to have taken Danyang’s Glazed Armor with them. We learn this from Tao Hong, Lv Liu and Begger Gang Chief, but I notice that Gao Chong only mentions the Mirror Lake massacre as the precipitating event for the Hero’s Conference and total war on Ghost Valley – he doesn’t even mention Danyang Sect, so does Five Lakes not know about this yet?

- Mirror Lake Sect, led by Zhang Yusen (si-ge) – Zhang-zongzhu killed by “Ghost Valley” in Ep 2, Glazed Armor “missing” and speculated POST EP 2 to have been taken by Ghost Valley (but will turn up in a few eps, thanks to our little Goldbean)

- Dagu Shan Sect, led by Shen Shen (wu-di) – presumably still has his

And then we move to:

- Tai Shan Sect, led by Ao Laizi – in-world speculation is that he now has the Danyang Glazed Armor. We do see him near the end of the ep with the two tiny Danyang shidi, where he makes the intriguing comment that he’s going to follow their shifu’s last wishes and keep their Glazed Armor from falling into the hands of the Five Lakes Alliance, so what exactly was going on between San-ge and his sworn brothers at the time of his death? This group also is apparently being pursued by Shen Shen to get their Glazed Armor, and they make him sound awful. You need better PR, Shen Shen.

- Ghost Valley – POST EP 2, speculated to have taken the Mirror Lake Glazed Armor (FALSE)

NOTABLY, “Ghost Valley Master” set a lot of this chaos in motion in Ep 1 when he claimed that Hanged Ghost (who got got a scene earlier) had stolen HIS piece of the Glazed Armor, although he shouldn’t have a piece (supposedly) until after Ep 2, when he’s believed to have taken Mirror Lake’s. So, what piece would that be, exactly, Terrifying Ghost Valley Master? You wouldn’t be lying in pursuit of chaos would you? (Somewhere, WKX gasps theatrically behind his fan, and he doesn’t even know what motivated it, this time.)

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 11

<- Chapter 10

Summary: The end of a journey and the start of a new one

The world was beautiful—bright blue skies stretched overhead with a few lazy white cotton puffs drifting unhurriedly through and topping distant snow-covered peaks. Insects fluttered and chirped in the afternoon heat from the tall grass that lined the dirt road at the center of town, where tiny white and yellow flowers bloomed. Inside the gloomy church, you hadn't even noticed what was waiting just outside.

It was not a peaceful summer day, however. Word travels fast in a small village, though not always well or with accuracy, and a general chaos turns in the air—villagers carrying buckets of water clamor toward the smoke and others, still screaming, clamor to get away. It won’t be long before men with muskets come to hunt the great beast who had caused the calamity and abducted a bride from her wedding.

A large but fast warmblood waits, loosely tied to post just outside the church door. You could swear you’ve seen it somewhere before.

The creature sets you on its back side-saddle, before climbing on behind you and spurring the horse to a gallop. Behind you, a handful of villagers stare after you in shock.

“We shall be long gone before they recover enough to come after us,” he says, a laugh brightening the edges of his voice. You grin into the wind, fingers grasping at a handful of chestnut mane. You’re both exhilarated, and can hardly believe what just happened.

As you continue down the road, reality has to catch up sooner or later. Fear creeps back into your mind.

“Where are we going? What will we do?!”

“Are you not happy? You came with me of your own accord...”

“Of course I’m happy! “Of course I’m happy! You rescued me from that nightmare.” You’re not sure how to show your affection while trying not to fall off a galloping horse, so you nuzzle your face against the arm he has wrapped around you. “Only, we still have the same problem we had yesterday,” you frown.

“In truth, I may have wallowed and wasted away in self-pity, doubting if interference on my part was wanted, but I was encouraged to action. There is something that may assuage some of your apprehension.”

He slows the horse and turns its reins down a narrow path into the forest, barely visible from the road. You ride for several minutes, ducking sharp branches that tug at your dress, winding through the undergrowth until it opens up upon a small clearing at the edge of the river. The water is cool and clear, far calmer than the angry brown churning that overflowed the banks in the spring.

“This is where we first met, isn’t it?”

He slides himself off the saddle and lands softly in the tall grass. Taking the reins under the animal’s chin, he leads you toward a figure waiting at the far side of the meadow, under the dappled shade where the forest line hangs just over the riverbank. A smaller horse grazes idly beside them. He raises a large hand and waves to them. The figure waves back, mahogany curls bouncing with the movement, the light catching on their long, fussy sleeves.

It couldn’t be.

“Stop where you are!” she barks as the creature approaches too close. “Fifteen feet, remember our deal?” She holds up a hand in front of her eyes and squeezes them shut as if to erase him from her vision.

“Bess?” you stammer.

She looks up at you with big brown eyes and smiles. “Sorry for missing your wedding. I heard it sucked.”

You jump off the horse and nearly knock her her flat with the force of your hug. “What are you doing here? How did? What? And you didn’t—” your mouth is running at a million miles a minute yet you can’t quite manage to articulate words.

“Alright, alright,” she pats your back. “I am astonishing, I know.” She steps back and gestures to a large leather saddle bag next to her on the ground. “While everyone was distracted, I packed everything you’ll need to survive. Baked some hardtack special for you, so you shouldn’t starve for at least a month, though I recommend foraging something to supplement it.”

“This… this was your idea?” Your jaw hangs open. “But I… But you...” Your open jaw wobbles in disbelief, your last memory of Bess wide-eyed with terror and screaming.

She tucks a hand on her hip and looks aside. “I saw what I saw, and I was shocked. Frankly, it would have been a lot to process even without a damned—whatever you call him—involved. I didn’t say anything of course, but it was distressing. I didn’t know what to think. That you were cavorting with the legions of Hell after all? Then I recalled your strange behavior of late—your distraction, your mysterious smiles and contented sighs. Always hiding away in that barn yet refusing any aid with your chores. After I could breathe again it was not difficult to put together. I’m not a dummy, dummy,” she smiles.

“Suddenly they were forcing you to marry Ferdinand. I knew you would never do so willingly, but I had no power to stop their machinations. I didn't know what to do, so on a hunch, I checked your barn and found this brute curled on the floor with ten cats, weeping into one of your chemises. Thus I recruited him to my aid.”

The creature steps forward and gestures a large hand toward Bess in a friendly manner. “It was she who secured the horse and supplies, and who suggested—”

Bess waves him away sharply, clamping a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry, guy, I cannot even look at you.” She shudders deep and sickeningly to her core. “You are fucking crazy,” she says to you, “I don’t get it. But this fellow makes you happy, doesn’t he?” You nod. “Then I am happy for you. This town has been a prison for you ever since we were children; I watched it draining your life, your dreams. So take your scary boyfriend and get out of here!”

Tears sting the back of your eyes. The creature was right—all along, Bess would have understood. Instead of confiding in a friend, you let fear lead you by the nose into a trap from which the two of them busted you out just before the door could snap shut behind you forever.

“I should have told you.” You wipe your eyes, laughing softly. “I’m an idiot.”

“No…” she coos soothingly, with some hesitation. “Well, yes. A little. But we love you.” She makes a visor over her brow with her hand and points in the general direction the massive, ominously looming creature is standing. “He loves you quite a lot, you know.”

“I know,” you smile, blessing him with a gaze affectionately returned (though he keeps his distance from the flighty Bess, occupying himself by packing up the horse). “He’s wonderful.”

“It takes all types,” she shakes her head. “Alright then,” she clears her throat, steeling herself, “Ride as hard as you can until you reach the next town. Blake is our fastest, strongest horse and should be able to bear the weight for a sprint of that distance. That should be enough of a head start to then disappear on foot, especially if nobody knows your intended destination is Geneva. If you would be so kind as to return the horse to the livery stable there—it is run by my cousin, and he won’t ask any questions. When you reach your destination, I expect a letter or I’ll think you’re dead.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

Her eyes grow wet. “It isn’t my journey. This place is not so much a cage for me as it has been for you. Though one day, I hope, we shall meet again.”

“I will miss you.” Your lower lips quivers with unspoken sorrow. She hugs you fiercely and protectively one last time before pulling back with a sniffle.

“Now go on! You must hurry before they come looking for you.”

The creature reaches down a hand. You clasp it, warm and strong in its grip, and he pulls you up onto the back of the muscular horse. Bess waves, running after you on foot as he kicks the horse into a brisk canter. “Don’t forget that letter!”

Tears stream down your face as you turn in the saddle and watch Bess and the river grow smaller and smaller, and eventually be swallowed up by the forest. You inhale deeply and let out a long, shaking breath.

“Are you all right?” the creature’s question vibrates in his chest, pressed to your back.

“Yeah.”

He is silent for awhile. The wild exhilaration of your escape from the church has withered and been replaced by a mournful determination to move forward. To begin new lives. The reality is not so glamorous as you reminisce on all the things you are leaving behind—Bess, Edelweiss, your flock of chickens and barn cats, the moss-covered boulders that were your secret place since childhood—yet you are ready to build that new life, whatever challenges lie ahead. You’ll have the best help one can hope for.

You let your weight shift back so your head rests against the creature’s chest. His long black hair flutters around you in the wind. He leans down and presses gentle kisses on your hair and your shoulders, and a comforting warmth spreads beneath your skin. You feel safe and cared for.

“Do you hate me? You must hate me,” you murmur into the wind, but his sharp ears pick up every word.

“I love you,” his chest rumbles. “You are my life, as much as the air that fills my lungs. Why should I hate you?”

“I was useless. I gave up. I was so terrified, I gave up on us. How can you ever forgive me?”

“You saved my wretched life long ago, dear angel.” He holds the reins in one fist, and slides his other hand under your arm, caressing your side and splaying out his fingers over your belly, smoothing the fabric of the gown. The gesture is warm and possessive, and keeps you secure on the speeding horse as you melt into him, intoxicated by his touch. “You dragged me out of misery into the light—cared for me with patience and love I never believed myself deserving of. You stood beside me and tended my wounds of both flesh and of my soul. Your company alone is a gift of which I was made unworthy. I have always wanted to thank you for saving me.”

“Now we’re even, huh?” you laugh.

“No,” he replies softly and insistently. “I think I would like to continue paying you back.”

The hand he had rested on your belly glides up to tip your chin toward him, and he presses a precarious kiss to your lips. A small jolt of hooves over the terrain sends you clutching for mane, but his steady hand darts back around your waist to keep you balanced.

“I will have to exact more payment once we have arrived on solid ground yet again,” you promise sinfully, resting a hand over his and squeezing it. “I want to kiss all of the scars on your handsome face.”

His chest vibrates with an eager hum of anticipation.

As you ride away from your old life, you feel something changing deep in your bones. You are already farther from your home than you have ever been, and ahead of you is the wide horizon of blue skies speared by sharp mountain peaks. You look up at the closest mountain to the road. It is not one you think you have seen before, although its shape is hauntingly familiar, like the face of a childhood friend, after years of separation, as an adult.

“What mountain is that?” You point to it.

“It is the white-crested peak of the great mountain that overlooks your town. The one I greatly admired from the window of the hayloft. We face its west slope, now.”

A wave of excitement for the future surges through you like electricity. What will your life look like from a fresh angle?

[sxvxrxssnape]

Accio Sleep: The Wizard’s Guide To Battling Insomnia 

aka Snapetober 2020: Day 1

The Years Between Severus Snape & Minerva McGonagall 2424 words / gen / no content warnings apply

The pages of his book rustled softly. 

He wasn’t really reading, not in the way he usually did. He wasn’t paying careful attention to the words printed on parchment, wasn’t getting lost in the miniature infinities as the story came to life. He was only skimming, glancing through the text in hopes of tiring his eyes enough that they might finally choose to close.

It had been days since he had last been able to truly sleep, days since he could lay down without feeling his anxieties gnawing at him more than usual. It had been days of carrying this weight, this pit in his stomach.

The fire crackled.

Severus Snape sighed and put the book aside. He stared into the fireplace, watched the flames flicker and dance. He stood up, felt the chill of stone underneath bare feet, and padded into the kitchenette of his quarters.

He didn’t bother with more candlelight and made a cup of tea in the glow of the fireplace. He stared at the milky chamomile as if it held the answers to all the questions he couldn’t dare ask. He stared so long, that when he eventually took a sip, the tea had gone cold. 

He sighed again.

It only took a quick flick of his wand for gentle ribbons of steam to rise from the cup once more. He sipped slowly as he stared blankly at the walls of where he now called home, and willed sleep to come.

Perhaps it was futile.

Perhaps it was what he deserved.

He stared bitterly at the textbook sitting on the kitchen table. It was a different book from the one he had been paging through only moments ago; no, this book he had found in the library two nights before when the restlessness of the last week first began to take its toll. He twirled his wand between absentminded fingers and wondered briefly if Madame Pince would mind too much if he were to report the book as incinerated.

Accio Sleep; he scoffed at the title. 

He had tried everything the book suggested and nothing had helped. He was growing frustrated at his inability to do what his body needed. He’d tried laying in the silent darkness of his bedchamber for hours, turning this way and that, but no matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, tried to get comfortable and relax, sleep was determined to evade him. 

Or maybe you’re determined to evade sleep, his mind snarked at him.

He stood up abruptly and grabbed his cloak. Suddenly, he could see it very clearly in his mind - if he were to keep the useless book in his possession any longer, he would destroy it in his sleep-deprived anger. He pinned the black fabric in place, fingers lingering on the silver cloak pin Lucius Malfoy had gifted him when he had first joined...he shook his head. 

He was moving in a new direction now - a direction he should have gone since the beginning of it all, but dwelling on that was pointless and all he could do now was put one foot in front of the other and do what he could.

Right now, that entailed returning this wretched self-help book before he tossed it in the fireplace and got himself banned from the library. 

The castle was silent at night and a part of him found it comforting to wander about without the bustle of students and their inane chatter. He didn’t bother with wandlight - maybe he had been elsewhere the last three years, but the memory of walking these halls for seven was still ingrained in him, and with the dim light of occasional torches, the path  from the dungeons to the library was familiar. 

He was only two corridors away when he heard soft footfalls approaching. For a second, his heart stuttered and he looked around for a place to hide before he remembered he was no longer a student attending Hogwarts, but a professor. 

“Who’s there?”

“I-it’s me.” Severus winced at the stutter in his answer. How was he supposed to command respect from students who had once been classmates when he couldn’t even address the stern voice of Professor McGonagall without faltering? 

A wand light turned the corner and approached him, and soon enough, he could make out the scowling face of the deputy headmistress and Gryffindor Head of House. She was still dressed in the same blue robes she had been wearing earlier, but her greying brown hair was coming undone from her usual bun.

“Oh, Professor Snape,” she greeted and he tried not to react to the level of contempt she put into his title, “where are you headed at this hour?”

He could hear the accusation in her tone and frankly, he didn’t blame her. What reason did she have to trust him other than Dumbledore’s word? Still, it irked him deeply and he tried to keep the malice out of his voice as he replied, “The library.”

She arched an eyebrow and looked at the book in his hands. “Ah, having trouble sleeping are we?”

“Quite.”

They stood there for several minutes, neither willing to walk away first. McGonagall was studying him carefully and he wondered what it was she saw. Did she see the exhaustion that lined his face, the fear and guilt that weighed him down? Did she see his mistakes trailing him like ghosts? Or did she see the Death Eater his marked arm would never allow himself to forget he was, the deserving victim to her precious Gryffindor’s past endeavors?

He didn’t deserve her trust, her sympathy, her respect. 

He was a Death Eater, plain and simple.

He had denounced their ways, begged Dumbledore for help and forgiveness, taken up the mantle of double agent and spy, and now kept a foot on either side. He refused to acknowledge it because he knew what he had to do - there was no second choice - but at the end of the day, he had agency. He had both the leader of the Light and Dark thinking him loyal to their cause, could choose which side benefited him most, and McGonagall knew that. 

He wondered if she knew it was his fault.

“Severus?”

He blinked and focused his attention back on her. He would need to work on that; he couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that, not anymore.

“Pardon?”

“You’re the Potions Master, yes?” she asked, still scowling but he swore he could see something gentle in her eyes. “Brew a sleeping draught.”

He tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Quite right, Minerva. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get right on that. How silly of me, to forget the basis of what my job is.” 

A pause. "You don’t want to sleep.”

He didn’t know what it was that possessed him to answer. He wanted to sleep, there was no doubt in his mind of that, but he just couldn’t. No matter how dark, how quiet, how still the room, no matter if he tried to tire out his mind, his eyes, his body, sleep would just not come. And despite knowing all that to be true, the word that he spoke so softly into the near empty corridor was a singular, “No.”

“May I ask why?”

He blinked, unsure of her intentions. Her face had lost some of its severity, and the curious gentleness remained in her eyes, but there wasn’t enough to determine what her angle was just yet. He wondered if his unintentional honesty, the sliver of vulnerability, had lessened some of her defenses. 

What had she seen when he had been lost in thought?

“This book is overdue.” he snarked.

A faint smile, the barest pull on the corner of her lips. “How are your classes going?” she asked, rather unexpectedly. “Come, I still have patrol of the castle to do and perhaps the activity will tire you out.” She started to walk away, in the same direction she had come.

He watched her idly, contemplating his options before ultimately deciding to follow. “Classes are fine.” he struggled to get out. In reality, classes felt like a disaster but he didn’t want to say it aloud because that felt like admitting defeat.

“Are they?” Minerva asked, side-eyeing him. Her eyebrow was raised in disbelief and there was a glimmer of amusement mixed with the gentleness. “The students are listening to you, then?”

He sighed. “The first and second years are.”

Minerva smirked and gestured vaguely to the book return slot outside the library. He rid himself of the book and they continued their stroll of the castle.

“A Hogwarts professor at twenty-one.” Minerva mused. “I believe you might be the youngest one we’ve had to date.”

“Yes, well.”

“I’m not surprised the older students are being difficult. They don’t see you as an authority figure, they see you as their equal, Severus. You have to learn how to carry yourself better. Stand up straight, for one.”

He scowled, but did as told. 

“It’s barely been a month and a half of term - you’ll get better at this.” She stopped at the door that would lead them to the Astronomy Tower and looked him over. “Are you warm enough to go up?” she asked and he blanked at the sudden concern for his well-being. He wrapped the long cloak tighter around himself in response; how had he forgotten until this very moment that he had pulled the garment on over a nightshirt? He wasn’t even wearing shoes. How Dumbledore trusted him to lie to the Dark Lord was beyond him; the lack of sleep was turning his brain to soup. 

Minerva’s soft exhale of breath was the closest to a laugh he had heard anyone direct towards him since he’d arrived at the castle. It made something in him ache as the realization hit: she didn’t know it was his fault, that his eagerness to please and mean something, was what forced the Potters into hiding over a year ago.

He wondered now if he could keep that fact from her forever. 

Their conversation remained pleasant and Severus drank up the positive attention that eased the knot his stomach had become ever since he had returned from a Death Eater meeting days ago and reported his findings to Dumbledore. Nothing had really changed, except now the Dark Lord seemed giddy. He refused to think why that was.

For all he hated Sirius Black with every fiber of his being, the one thing he knew to be fact, was that Black would sooner die than give up James and Lily Potter. As long as he was Secret Keeper, they were safe. She was safe. 

Still, sleep did not come easily.

Ever since Lily’s name had fallen from the Dark Lord's lips, time had stopped. He wondered how the world kept turning when he was still frozen in that moment when the Dark Lord had confirmed Harry Potter’s birth and decided he was the prophesied one over the Longbottom boy, who had escaped that fate by only a handful of hours. 

He wondered if maybe he was meant to be a Death Eater. If not for him, they would have never learned the Dark Lord planned to target the Potters. Then again, if not for him...the prophecy may have never been relayed to (and he forced himself to say the name) Voldemort in the first place.

“Try a sleeping draught.” Minerva’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts once more and then she walked away. 

He looked around himself and realized they had returned to the corridor where his personal chambers were located. He surpassed the wards and took off his cloak, letting it fall to the ground as he stared into the fireplace once more.

The flames had died down and only fragile embers remained. 

He cast a tempus charm and sighed as he learned it was past three in the morning. He climbed into bed, fervently hoping the weariness he could feel down to his bones would finally, finally let him sleep. Still, the voice in his head mocked him. 

You cannot sleep because you are refusing to let it happen.

He groaned, because as much as he wished to deny it, that blasted voice in his head was right. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to forget existence for as long as the world granted him, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about Voldemort’s sudden giddiness. 

They were safe, he reminded himself.

She was safe. 

He knew how it would all end though, he knew someone had to die. 

There was no use denying the third thing of the night he knew to be absolutely true: the Dark Lord would never stop trying to kill the boy he saw as a threat. If somehow, and oh Merlin, how he hoped with everything within him that this never happened, the Dark Lord learned of the Potter’s whereabouts, he knew Lily Potter would not step aside and let her son be killed. 

He wouldn’t dare ask that of her.

If the Dark Lord found them, there would be three casualties that night. He couldn’t bear the thought of falling asleep and waking up to a world without Lily Potter. He couldn’t even stomach the idea of waking up to a world where James Potter no longer existed because he knew when that happened, it would have been his doing. 

If turned to when because he knew and accepted what everyone else refused to see: the Dark Lord would not be defeated, not when the bringer of his decimation was barely a toddler. They had already been in hiding for a year; how many more would there be before they decided they would hide no longer and take their chances?

He wondered how much longer he would have to suffer these restless nights before he could finally ease his thoughts enough to fall asleep or if he had to wait for his questions to be answered, for the future to be decided, for someone to die before he could rest. He wondered if he would still be alive to see it all play out or if the deprivation would kill him instead. Maybe the Dark Lord would discover his deceit and kill him first. He idly wondered which ending he preferred. 

He sighed and spent yet another hour for yet another night laying silently in the darkness.

--- A/N: insomnia? did you mean: overthinking? and day one is live! i wasn’t sure what direction i was going in when i started writing, but it chose itself. i also wasnt expecting to write more than 1k oh no, ive set expectations of myself

anyway, im so excited to see what everyone else has created!! ty so much for taking the time to read this!!

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Fated to Love You here reaffirming my long held conviction that no pure romance drama should be 20+ episodes.

This show is... really something. It is, in the fullest possible sense, A Lot. It starts out as an all-out screwball comedy wrapped around a troperiffic romance fluff plot. Wall to wall clichés, but not in a bad way; in a meta, self-aware, peak performance, finest Velveeta way. And if you’re not familiar with screwball comedy, think ‘light-hearted crack fic with slapstick and farce’. There is nothing believable or grounded about any aspect of it, it starts at Bonkers Level: Platinum and it only climbs higher as it goes on.

(On a side note, this results in the leading man being possibly the most memorable love interest in romcom history. His introduction scene is nothing short of batshit insane and you can't reliably predict how he will respond to anything. I have never seen a main character like this, he is all over the shop and utterly singular. Your first reaction to him is ‘wtf?’, your second and third reactions are ‘really?! this guy??’, your fourth reaction is ‘okay he do be mad hot tho’, your fifth and final reaction is ‘I cannot believe this performance exists, I have no idea what he is doing, but it is amazing.’

Appropriately(?) the actor who plays him is an uncanny Korean doppelgänger of Johnny Depp and- between the resemblance, the mannerisms, and the fearless total commitment to a bold as fuck acting choice with the very serious chops to back it up- I’m not convinced they aren’t half brothers separated at birth.

They do sabotage my happiness several times by starting to randomly style his (long, beautiful) hair very weird, fixing it right when the plot is rapidly circling the drain so he looks his hottest just as the show becomes briefly unwatchable, and then ruining him for the entire second half of the series by shearing it all off. WHY, my anguished cry goes up. Why do you do this?! Why does he have like seven hairstyles over the course of the show? Much later they even briefly give him that ubiquitous Kdrama Second Lead haircut with weirdly forward combed fringe in a solid straight line across the brow all the way back from the crown. It looks terrible on everyone and I hate it so much. This version was less bad than most but it is still bad. Anyway.)

So it’s an incredibly fun time to start but there are some problems with the tone and plot even in the first 9 episodes, including when the lovers start getting along really well right away and they’re both thoroughly decent people so there’s nothing keeping them from having a lovely time together making the best of the circumstances (forced/fake marriage). And, instead of introducing new conflict or advancing one of the dozen conflicts previously established and actually moving forward, there is a painfully contrived rehash of something they already dealt with which is then just never resolved. They make the hero leap to a conclusion his wife is nefarious after he’d already decided once that she isn’t (though it was completely reasonable for him to think she was- the fact that he decided to trust her so quickly just speaks to what kind of person he is), never try to find out more or talk to anyone about it, start pushing her away because of it, and have all this come to absolutely nothing. It only exists so he’ll stop being so incredibly nice to her and they won’t fall in love too fast.

You’d think they would have to eventually clear the air before the romance advances right? No. It wasn’t a real plot point, it was just a reset button to get them estranged and hostile again after they connect over their kindred spirits and we’ve spent a bunch of time showing how profoundly supportive and honourable our hero is. He’s being beautifully mature and selfless because he’s a really good dude (unusual for a romcom drama, right? for the main guy to be nice and considerate? to accept responsibility even if he doesn’t have to? Gun’s weird but he’s wonderful), but the writers need him to be cold and standoffish, so they just make him act like an unreasonable idiot for a while. He’s been thus far hugely proactive and direct and honest about everything, it’s one of his most prominent character traits, but suddenly he’s going to avoid confrontation in favour of being super passive aggressive?? Then the writers never solve it. Never! It just goes away. He got over it, I guess? He decided he doesn’t care if she’s a gold digger who deliberately trapped him? God forbid we have motivations that make sense and organic character drama, right? It's not like he didn't have totally valid reasons to be suspicious that could have led to legitimate conflict our heroine would struggle to vindicate herself from.

But anyway, apart from that kind of lazy bullshit, it’s a fine romance plot with extremely endearing characters who have great chemistry. They are fun and well-rounded and incredibly human despite all the silliness and OTT antics. Their relationship is hugely, hugely engaging and the dynamic is perfect, they really complement each other as characters and organically drive each other's arcs. There's the genuine depth and warmth and quiet pathos so often lacking from this kind of show. Things progress at a semi-reasonable pace. They work up to confessing their mutual feelings and get into some cute shenanigans before making out. It happens soon enough that you are not frustrated, but there's still plenty of build-up. Then- uh oh! We’re only 9 eps in and we have another 11 hours to fill with this fluffy plot!

Time for a bunch of absolute fucking nonsense. Time for our show, which has been so goofy and removed from reality it occasionally resembles a Monty Python skit, which has been so light it asks you to ignore the frankly incredibly fucked up implications of its premise for the sake of comedy (they were both drugged and proxy raped resulting in a pregnancy- the FL was a virgin prior to this and Gun had a girlfriend he wanted to propose to- and it was the FL’s family who did this to them: SUPER FUCKED UP), so farcical that it makes Some Like it Hot look like a gritty crime drama, that show to cover a bunch of serious heavy shit.

First, the rankest of melodrama. The families and the world all turn on our couple, but their love is true and will conquer all- UNTIL, he randomly collapses and gets convenient Soap Opera Amnesia. He’s forgotten their entire relationship and a series of coincidental pieces of misconstrued evidence, the machinations of his scheming ex girlfriend, the Soap Opera Doctor’s advice, and his closest confidants all going along with this conspire to make him believe (AGAIN) that his wife just wants his money.

This whole terrible episode is mercifully brief, but it just gets worse after his memory returns. This is where we get into the Noble Idiocy. The ‘pretend you don’t love them to “save them” from getting hurt by hurting them and making their important life decisions for them as if they don’t have a basic fucking right to decide that themselves’ kind. Which goes on for three FUCK years in the show. He wastes three years of their lives they could have spent together because he’s worried he might die young (in a terrible way) and doesn’t want to put her through that. And, of course, they inevitably get together later, so all he did was make it infinitely worse for her either way. To say nothing of how he thus couldn’t be there for her through the loss of their child. Possibly my most hated fucking trope of all time when done this way.

And, yep, you read that right. This show that has the single most batshit bonkers over the top slapstick I have ever seen in a kdrama, this show has a storyline where the fluffy romcom trope accidental pregnancy ends in massive trauma. Because she was standing around in the street after realising he does remember her (he continued to pretend he had amnesia after his memories came back, it’s all part of the stupid noble idiocy so I glossed over it) and gets hit by a car in the middle of their angst staring.

It is nearly Meet Joe Black levels of hilariously abrupt and incongruous.

so, blah blah, they lose their baby (there’s a very stupid whole thing about her telling everyone to save the baby instead of her- the baby is not far enough along for this to have been remotely viable. She is like 3 months pregnant. They all act like there’s a choice to be made between them and she’s mad at her husband for choosing to save her, but there was NO CHOICE. Either she lives or they both die! ffs I’m so irritated about this) and then he dumps her ~for her own good~~ because he loves her too much to make her go through losing him? So she loses him sooner?? right after their baby died???

Why do people in these stories always think being betrayed and abandoned for no reason and being incredibly angry at someone you love while also not getting to be with them is somehow less painful than making the best of your life together and then losing them against their will? ‘I will make her hate me and then she won’t be sad we broke up/I died!!!!’ is such a fucking galaxy brain take and I despise it with the heat of ten thousand suns. Fuck you, Spider-Man. You aren’t protecting anyone, the villains still know you love MJ and will still use her against you, you clod. Emotionally torturing the person you love is not going to make them not a target because the villains are not as fucking stupid as you two. Anyway.

Amnesia was right where I started fast-forwarding and skipping around (because I couldn’t bear it), but it only goes downhill from there. Maybe I would have toughed out more of the wretched middle part plot twist if they hadn’t cut all the hot guy’s hair off. If I’m going to watch total nonsense tedious melodrama, I need it to at least be pretty. I understand it was a Symbolic Haircut but damnit! Let me have this!

And it ultimately does the thing that kdramas seem obsessed with and which makes me want to claw out my own eyeballs with frustration. There’s a giant time skip, the female lead gets a personality transplant, all narrative momentum is lost, and the characters who eventually (at ENORMOUS length) get together permanently are essentially completely different characters with a completely different dynamic than the couple you were shipping for 90% of the story. It is so FUCKING unsatisfying and it is EVERYWHERE.

Not so much with this one because this one still had a lot of very romantic scenes late in the game, but most that do this, it’s also like all the romance is sucked out of the post-time skip episodes and the ending is a consolation prize instead of a triumphant culmination. Inevitably, the heroine abruptly cools off and is suddenly wary of the hero and wants this Important New Career she never mentioned until the penultimate episode but is now her one true life’s dream. What the apparently irresistible appeal is of these contrived separations and demure conclusions is I CANNOT FATHOM. I’m here for the fucking romance guys, you have not made Citizen Kane, please just indulge me with a big schmoopy finale.

And if not that, it’s frequently that there’s been so many random mood swings and so much shitty behaviour by the end that the relationship doesn’t make sense and you don’t know why they even bother to get back together.

I’m not inherently against all misunderstandings (they are the bread and butter of low stakes romance let’s be real) or attempts at noble idiocy from misguided characters, but the duration and seriousness of the drama these generate needs to be in proportion to how ridiculous they are. If your entire plot can be solved by a thirty second conversation there is NO REASON not to have and the continuation of the misunderstanding is a result of someone just NOT SPEAKING UP when any functional human being would have spoken up seven times by now IT’S BAD.

Do little cliff-hangers, whatever, but don’t draaaaagg out silly misconceptions into Shakespearean tragedy, it’s just wearying. It makes me hate the characters for acting like emotionally constipated toddlers with terminal stupidity. If there is so little trust, so little understanding, and so little basic patience between these people, they probably shouldn’t be dating, so try fucking harder, writers. And noble idiocy that is more than an impulse they fairly quickly see the error of is just insulting. You are not helping the other person, you are being domineering and selfish. I have a whole complex about wasting time and seeing endless parades of characters flushing years down the toilet for literally no reason gives me hives. Especially when the whole issue is about time!

(And, btw, so much of the plot is about how desperately the family needs an heir and everyone still wanting them to have kids the second time they get together- while the ~dilemma used to keep them apart is a GENETIC DISEASE which could STRIKE AT ANY TIME. Do you SEE THE PROBLEM WITH THIS WRITERS????? NO, I KNOW YOU DON’T. ommmmmmmmggggg that’s awful! So they’re just dooming more kids to Soap Opera Brain Disease? And maybe growing up without a father just as Gun did? And no one even considers suggesting adoption??? He never considers that he shouldn’t have biological children despite thinking he shouldn’t have a wife?)

ANYWAY. Please do watch the first nine episodes and the last three, it’s bananas. They are cute as fuck, Gun is The Best, and the tropey romance scenes are top quality. You don't get those things executed so well, it doesn't happen, so you need this in your life. The acting is of a calibre you never usually see in modern romcoms; these are people at the top of their game committing utterly and taking these characters completely seriously. In that way it is pure wish fulfilment for me as someone who loves romance and is almost always disappointed by popular romance media, and thus the show is incalculably special. But skip the middle. Just skip it. It's not worth the suffering. I find the tone whiplash honestly just this side of crass.

I’ve been thinking about it for over a week and I truly love the main characters so it did plenty right, but I just cannot with wedding the two things this show is trying to be together, especially when it goes so hard in two mutually exclusive directions. but also the Meet Joe Black sudden car accident device is not redeemable under any circumstances. Can we never do that again, please.

[maiolica-admirer]

✈️?

Things mentioned in this drabble are direct references to @strickjagger​ and stuff from last April which is a horrifying amount of time ago.

✈ - An eye-opening memory

Yesterday had been surprisingly exciting in ways that didn’t involve anybody suffering bodily harm which was rather refreshing given the events of previous months, after all who could say no to kicking a door in and giving your former superior a heart attack without a single sword being drawn? She certainly would not and it felt like a just reward earned after everything particularly with the shriek, oh now that is something she will be treasuring for a very long time like a party trick waiting for it’s prime moment to be brought out. With part one of her self-declared mission now completed, the next step was dragging his sorry ass back to Arcadia where he can do something more useful than moping around for weeks on end poking around Facebook for his lost lady love akin to a widow and dumped teenager rolled into one wretched mess of depression. The display was utterly revolting and truly she was doing both him and the world at large a grand favour here by intervening.

At first there were a few delays before anything could get moving partly because she decided before anything was settled on he had to go get himself scrubbed up and free of his stubbly wares while she would abuse the opportunity to enjoy the quaint scenery with a spot of tea in peace. A standard had been set after all having made sure to freshen up a bit with proper food, a shower, clean clothes and enough make up to hide the wretched state that was her condition underneath so quite frankly he should have the basic decency to do the same before setting foot outside. Of course there was a bit of enjoyment at bossing him around like this and with being unlikely to get an opportunity she would never get again, well why not? The next hold up was the particulars of transportation which needed to both balance getting there the fastest while remaining lighter on the wallet thanks to limited funds. These are narrowed down to a road trip causing dramatic groan at the idea of having to spend hours in his company while in close confines for an extended period just to make very clear her dislike at the idea. After that all that was left to do was getting hold of a suitable car that could be conveniently ditched afterwards without giving any wrong ideas to any who found it. She only got more annoyed when her suggestion of hotwiring something was shot down and ceremoniously flipped him off out of petty spite.

With supplies belatedly gathered, coffee to go, something to drive that was a disgusting aqua coloured thing and through flagrant complaining about her (Formerly) broken fetlock they came to a deal that he would take the day shifts and her the nights. There was some gleeful snarking about his habit of vehicles and cliffs which earned a look over the steering wheel and she merely grinned right back while toasting with the disposable cup. So it went on like that with loose banter fired between about innocent topics, a slightly annotated version of recent events now there was no risk of being heard, some reminiscing of older times interspersed with more than a few choice words for bad driving by other parties. The white lines are not optional you idiotic fleshbags stay in your damn lane!

On day two by midday it featured a rather bored Nomura which a very dangerous prospect because basic decency and social decorum tends to go out the window if she has no way to vent her frustrations and had lost interest in talking for the time. The silence becomes a rather ominous thing for the driver who has acquired a crease in his brow because if she is not resting, certain from how she keeps grumbling something, it means she must be plotting something and it is quickly confirmed when there is the unmistakable feeling of the closest pocket being rummaged in.

“Do you mind?” He utters taking his eye off the road a second to glare.

“Not at all,” is the innocent answer while she sits comfortably back in her seat with her prize swiftly being broken into with a few taps because pin codes mean nothing. Getting an annoyed scoff back, he knows trying to take it back will only make it more tempting to hoard thus he is left only to secretly hope she will only stick to the photos and video collection and not find anything potentially compromising or worse, blackmail material.

For a time at least his passenger in question seems content enough to only poke around at what could fall under the first category from how the expressions vary from smirks to mildly grossed out (Not hard to guess what the cause was there) to an aww and even the sound of pure mocking laughter which was something to be grateful for even if there is little doubt she is sending a few to herself to enjoy later. Sadly, all good things come to an end and always far too soon, the loud humming suggests investigations have begun for anything else that could catch her wavering interest while a finger flickers this way and that. Suspicions are quickly confirmed with the following remark.

“When was the last time you bothered to clear out your damn voicemail?”

“Not recently enough apparently, if you insist on looking please don’t delete anything.”

“A tempting idea but sure, there is a disgusting amount of your precious lady love in here anyway.”

“… Shut up, Nomura.”

She flashes a vicious grin his way without any shame whatsoever then proceeds to hold the phone close to that side of her face after pitching the volume a touch lower for that ironic privacy vibe while checking what tempting things that have been left ready to be found. The dates are as erratic as the time sent with the more mundane often during the day from who she presumes are his former school colleagues, one from her even which comes as a surprise given it is bragging about getting a gift through customs (A sword if she recalls correctly) and a few coded ones she had little interest in deciphering. Then there was a few with the good Doctor that skirted just close enough to flirty they were stopped pretty quickly with a near shriek and another finger shown his direction for the chuckle her undue suffering caused. It was strange how the newer ones still marked with her name simply mentioning coffee? Hm, something to prod about given they’d been left for listening to over and over while being depressive.

Then there was one sitting there right at the top that hadn’t been listened to once that just screamed click me.  

“Awww did you and our favourite German asshole have a little spat?”

“A falling out you could say yes, he tried to throw me to the wolves but as you can tell none of them managed to bite.”

“Shame, probably most excitement you had in ages after we were down a troll tantrum thrower. Alright let’s see what our mystery message is because you’re too chicken shit to find out yourself.”

The final message opens with the sounds of heavy breathing of somebody had been running hard but had to keep going, the bangs and clatters of metal being hit or something large being thrown around. Sometimes the faint echoes of what sounded like screaming muffled by a doorway interrupted by a familiar voice sounding utterly defeated yet comforted by the knowing a last testament will be heard.

“You were right, Stricklander. Does knowing that make you happy? Ah well, it turns out we were as disposable to him as we were to one another it seems no matter our plans or great feats we have overcome for a moment of glory none of it meant a thing in the end. Some of us tried to buy as much time as we could what little it was but I can’t say for sure how many managed to make it out… I won’t but I’ve chosen my grave and I think you’d like it-” There is a pause with the sound of movement, of someone yelling in their own tongue before being cut off mid-sentence by a Reaper carved of stone.

“You were truly one of the best of us, mein freund. If you never believed a single thing I’ve said in our long years together please accept that I… I don’t have very much time left. Ah listen to me of all changelings being sentimental on my very own deathbed! Alas I cannot quite pull the same tricks as you being her favourite while we were the abandoned children of the night. If we truly have souls may we meet in the next life and know you still owe me a good bottle of r----”

The message cuts out into static before petering out into nothingness. Silence overcomes the car.

[lonicompound]

113 Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812-Themed Dialogue Prompts

this probably has been done before but is that gonna stop me? no... *laughs nervously*

for real though, dave malloy’s music is so good. listen to all of it. there’s so much writing insp to be found in his music.

“There’s a war going on out there, somewhere.”

“Everyone’s got nine different names.”

“Look it up in your program, we’d appreciate it, thanks a lot.”

“I never thought I’d end up like this, I used to be better.”

“Right now, my friend fights and bleeds.”

“I’m different from you, I still want to do something.”

“Bring in their things! What are you dawdling for?”

“My darling, you’ve grown plumper and prettier.”

“How beautiful you looked in the snow.”

“I can’t bear this waiting.”

“I want him now, at once, to embrace him and cling to him.” 

“You’ve hooked a fine fellow!”

“I can hurt you.”  

“But I never ever ever ever would.”

“I know they’ll like me, everyone has always liked me!”

“Come back here, let an old man have his fun.”

“But she’s using you, Papa!” 

“To take advantage of your weakness like that, it’s disgusting!”

“It’s my money and I’ll throw it where I want!” 

“I must take my leave.” “Please wait-”

“Is that the truth?”

“I saw your smile and the world opened wide.”

“You are so good for me.”

“I’ll never be this happy again.”

“We’ve done this all before.”

“We were angels once, don’t you remember?”

“Maybe he’ll come today.”

“They are looking at me.”

“No, I am enjoying myself at home this evening.”

“So beautiful, what a charming young girl.”

“There’s a woman one should stay far away from.”

“Every time I look at him, he’s looking at me.”

“You ought to come, please come!” “Oh I-”

“No one else is here, no one else can see us.”

“We’re off to the club. Will you come, old man?”

“Drink with me, my love.”

“Either way, my soul will die.”

“Keep drinking, old man.”

“Just as a duck is made to swim in water, God has made me as I am.”

“I used to love, I used to be better.”

“God, to think, I married a man like you.”

“How dare you touch her.” “You can’t love her.”

“So I shall be killed, what is it to you?”

“Oh, this is horribly stupid.”

“Well, sweet sister, you certainly bring out the beast in men.” “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“Is this how I die?”

“Was I kind enough and good enough?”

“Life and love I don’t deserve.”

“Nothing’s left, I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Oh God, was there something I missed?”

“I want to wake up, don’t let me die like this.”

“Everyone sees a man.”

“Sunday morning! Time for church!”

“The rudeness of that man I’ll straighten him out.”

“You are such a lovely thing, oh where have you been?”

“Now, a woman with a dress is a frightening and powerful thing.”

“He is quite madly in love with you, my dear.”

“She knows that I am engaged and still she talks so frankly.”

“Don’t lower your eyes, I love you.”

“Don’t say such things. I am betrothed, I love another.” “Is it my fault that you’re enchanting?”

“You’re hurting my hands!”

“It means that you are kind, noble, and splendid. And I could not help loving you.”

“And I could not help loving you.”

“He’s no great man. None of us are great men.”

“Oh, if only I could not see it.”

“Nothing matters, everything matters, it’s all the same.”

“If you love me, say yes and I will come and steal you away.”

“You’ve read the letter?” "Yes..." “Oh, I’m glad I can’t hide it any longer! Now you know we love one another.”

“If only you knew how happy I am, you don’t know what love is.”

“But I can’t believe it, I don’t understand.”

“You’ve only known him three days, you’re joking!” “Three days? It seems to me I’ve loved him a hundred years.”

“Why can’t you understand? I love him.”

“You want me to be miserable. You want to tear us apart.”

“I’m afraid for you! Afraid you are going to your ruin!”

“I hate you, I hate you! You’re my enemy forever!”

“I know you are capable of anything.”

“What am I to do? Who do I ask for help?”

“Is it all on me?”

“I will stand here right outside your door.”

“I won’t see you disgraced, I will protect your name and your heart.”

“Because I miss my friend.”

“I know you might just throw yourself over, but I won’t let you.”

“Tonight I go away, on an adventure. You won’t be seeing me for some time.”

“I’ll send you a letter from Poland.”

“You better just give it up now, while there’s still time!”

“I am not joking, I am talking sense. This is serious business.”

“Why would I joke about it? Me of all people.”

“Who’s that madman flying at full gallop down the street?”

“Well, comrades, we’ve had our fun.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait! Where’s the fur cloak?”

“You will not enter my house, scoundrel!”

“It’s lucky for him he escaped, but I’ll find him.”

“I have no betrothed, I have refused him!”

“He’s a scoundrel, he’s a wretch! That’s a fact.”

“He is better than any of you I say.”

“Who are you to tell me anything?!”

“Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!”

“We need your help. There’s ruin at the door.”

“That stupid child, they’ll lock him up for years.”

“Did you promise to marry her?”

“I shan’t be violent, don’t be afraid.”

“Is it satisfaction you want?” “You could at least take your words back, eh? If you want me to do as you wish.”

“She woke me in the middle of the night.”

“She has been at death’s door.”

“You told me once, a fallen woman should be forgiven.” “But I didn’t say that I could forgive.”

“If you wish to be my friend, never speak of that again.”

“I thought that she would give me her hand, but instead she stopped.”

“He once told me that I should turn to you.”

“Still I’m tormented by the wrongs I’ve done him. Forgive me for everything.” “Yes, I will tell him, tell him everything.”

“Did you love-Did you love that bad man?” “Don’t call him bad! ...But I don’t know, I don’t know at all.”

“If you ever need help, or simply to open your heart to someone, think of me-” “Don’t speak to me like that. I am not worthy.”

“If I were not myself, but the brightest, handsomest, best man on earth, and if I were free- I would get down on my knees this minute, and ask you for your hand. And for your love.”

“Where to now? Where can I go now?”

[janeofcakes]

KYFC..: Chapter 16

Thank you! Thank you, everyone for your support and kind words. It’s been a rough week for a variety of reasons and just when stress was the highest, I got another curve ball. Gotta love that, not to mention your very own Cakey Jane using baseball metaphors. Haha. Anyway, I’m hoping things get better and that you all like the chapter. It has also been a source of anxiety for me and I’m a little hesitant to post it. Thanks to MyBAB, who keeps me on my toes and sometimes adds to my stress.

Here we go. John is on his way back to Detroit to hand in his resignation. No good can come of this. 

---

You didn’t have to cut me off. Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing and I don’t even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger and it feels so rough.                                                                                           --Gotye, Somebody That I Used to Know

Sherlock’s toes tap anxiously on the floor of his office. He can barely keep still, with no practice or even a team workout day, there is little to occupy his mind. Strategy, analysis and new plays usually fill his entire being on post-bout rest days. He certainly has enough work to do, but all he can think about is John. John, navigating the airport with Janine, getting onto the plane that will bring them home. Transporting her to the hospital after they land and settling her into their usual wing. He should soon be in the stadium where Sherlock can see him and make sure with his own eyes that John is well and truly safe. God, it will take everything in his power not to throw his arms around John or leap into the doctor’s arms and wrap his legs around the shorter man’s waist and never let go. Sherlock has spent a shameful amount of time thinking about such a scenario and has complete confidence in John’s ability to bear his weight.

He glances at the wall clock and eyes the red seconds hand as it drifts smoothly around the twelve, ticking off another minute. It is nearly 6:30 in the evening and Mike had sent a text when John left the hospital around 5. He should have been here long ago. The tapping of his toes increases as he continues to think through the day. He had texted John regularly in search of status updates and if he’s honest, because he simply wanted to hear from him, but had received precious few responses from the doctor and every one was brief. It might concern Sherlock if he did not know John more than had his hands full.

Even so, it does concern him. Why is John being so distant? Has he reconsidered what happened between them in Baltimore? Sherlock’s heart sinks as he plummets into the dark hole of doubt he keeps hidden deep inside his mind palace. John has had the time and space to regret it. He probably did go back to the Poe House for the scarf and their tour guide greeted him with it. She would flirt with him and he would respond in kind. Under the impression that John was interested, she had only come on to Sherlock so shamelessly to get John’s attention. A very odd strategy to Sherlock’s way of thinking.

He stops here to consider whether or not John was actually interested. He didn’t seem so inclined, but she was precisely his type, so it was possible. She clearly enjoyed sport. Anyone could see that from the scuffs on her shoes. Her deep love for baggy sweaters, something Sherlock has never understood, would draw them together as well. Add to that her bubbly personality and John couldn’t help but notice her a second time around. John probably went back for the scarf, wearing that absurd oatmeal-colored sweater he likes so much that does absolutely nothing for his figure, and she complimented him on it. They started talking and went to dinner, spent the evening together. Maybe John invited her back to the hotel for drinks and…

Sherlock stops again, closing his eyes and shaking his head like it will shake the thoughts free from his mind. He claws at the walls of doubt, trying to climb back up and escape, but the dirt crumbles in his fingers and he slides down again. He climbs desperately for what feels like hours and grasps at anything he can to pull himself free when he reaches the top. He opens his eyes to see he is still in his office, his laptop still open in front of him and the clock quietly ticking away more time. His gaze shifts around the room as if searching for something to settle on while he tries to think more rationally once again. Practically, John will go back to his own apartment, but there is no reason to believe he is out of danger. The lack of further attempts on his life means nothing. 

Sherlock does not want him to leave regardless. 

He buries his face in his hands and yawns wearily. Sherlock absolutely cannot think about that again. He sighs and opens his eyes, looking at the clock again. He couldn’t even begin to think about sleep the night before and never bothered going to his bedroom. The condo felt cold and lonely without John. Instead of doing anything productive, Sherlock sat in front of MST3K until he fell asleep on the couch somewhere in the middle of Catalina Caper. He awoke hours later, stiff and grumpy until he realized a text from John had been what woke him.

*In the cab heading for the airport. Things are looking good. Janine is not in pain.*

That was at 6:45am, since then there had only been infrequent updates. John would not even engage in conversation when they were on a god awful layover in Chicago. Honestly, why everything has to go through O’Hare is beyond all logic. Still, it is only a day of travel and should not worry Sherlock in the least, but it does. He looks at the clock again and stands to pace, stopping only when his phone suddenly rings. He grabs it quickly and raises it to his ear. The three seconds it takes him to glance at the caller ID and see it is not John slow into minutes, the very air around him crushing the hope right out of his chest. 

“Greg,” he answers gruffly, resting one hand on the desk as he leans against it. 

“John’s on his way to your office,” Greg replies without bothering to greet him. “He’s re…”

Sherlock doesn’t even let Greg finish as he abruptly ends the call when his door is pushed open without warning and John is suddenly standing before him. 

“Sorry. Can I come in?” John’s voice is rough and uncertain.

“Of course,” comes an equally soft reply from Sherlock.

Sherlock watches him move deliberately toward the desk that separates them, only just keeping his own eyes from widening in surprise. John does not look tired from the day of travel and stress. He looks beyond tired. He looks wrecked. There is a stutter in his step and a look in his eyes that can only mean one thing: What transpired between them in Baltimore weighs heavily upon him. Sherlock’s heart sinks for the second time in mere minutes.

“We need to talk,” John avoids looking at him directly. His gaze darts around Sherlock’s desk almost frantically before settling on the stapler. 

Those dreaded words. Sherlock said them to Victor once years ago.

“Yes,” Sherlock rasps, barely able to speak. He is glad Greg phoned him before John walked in so he could face the doctor from behind his desk. He could never make it through this conversation otherwise, his knees already threatening to buckle. He rests both hands on its surface and leans forward. “Greg mentioned it,” he says as evenly as he can.

“He told you?” John looks at him in shock. Trying to appear as normal as possible, Sherlock clears his throat and stands up straight to face him fully.

“He said you were on your way to my office,” Sherlock answers, frustrated that his voice is not his own. Wobbling at the most inopportune time imaginable when he would rather it be steady and reveal nothing. Sherlock takes a breath and tries to use the frustration to his own advantage, trying to compose himself for John’s next words. Trying and failing.

“Oh. Right,” John bites his lower lip and clearly steels himself. Every part of his body says regret. Sherlock closes his eyes slowly. He does not even try to stop himself from doing it, from showing his own emotions. He is too unguarded around John, too comfortable. He never should have let it get to this point or any point. Sentiment. He is such a fool.

“I’ve resigned,” John’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“What?” Sherlock wheezes, his eyes snapping open wide in shock.

“It’s for the best,” John states firmly, looking directly into his unabashed stare.

“No,” Sherlock’s voice sounds strange even to his own ears. He blinks as if trying to focus and closes his mouth with a pop. He feels like he is going to wretch. Staggering backwards, he nearly trips over his chair, but catches himself on the armrests and pushes himself back up. John’s hands reach out instinctively to stop his fall, but stop when he rights himself. They look at one another for a moment with searching, uncertain eyes.

What is going on?

But John doesn’t answer this time. Instead, his blue eyes turn to ice.

“You just have to trust me,” his voice hardens with his eyes.

“You can’t leave,” Sherlock’s words are coming faster and he doesn’t try to slow them down.  He doesn’t care that it lays all his cards on the table or that his body language shows every bit of how he is falling apart.

“I’ll do what I want, Sherlock,” John nearly hisses, slamming his hands flat on the desk in anger. A plain, wooden pen holder falls to the floor and pencils roll under the desk.

“No,” Sherlock insists, tone bordering on desperation. He must stay calm. He cannot let his panic or frustration get the better of him. John is not going to listen if he flies into some kind of crazed, emotional outburst. Sherlock squares his shoulders and takes another deep breath. “You are an excellent physician. The team needs you. I know you haven’t been here long, but you have done so much. All the ladies trust you implicitly. And, frankly, so do I.”

He almost flinches. He sees something in John’s eyes, a glimmer of happiness that says what words cannot. When something means so much there is nothing to say. It fades right before his eyes. John’s shoulders fall as if under a crushing weight and Sherlock’s mind is awash with thoughts and feelings. 

I trust you. I need you. I don’t let anyone in, not like this, but you opened the gates as if you always had the key. What happened, John? Tell me, please.

“John, I…” he can’t say it. He can’t risk it.

“Sherlock, I can’t. I just can’t,” John sighs, shaking his head. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“No, wait,” he rushes around the desk, but stops abruptly before reaching John, trying to gather himself. He must stay in control. He casts his gaze sidelong and curses his own feelings before looking back at John. “However you feel about me, about...what happened between us, don’t let it hurt the team. Please, John.”

He tries to keep his voice even, but it shakes slightly on the last two words. John stares at him with a startled expression on his face. Sherlock’s sturdy posture wavers as he watches John.

“How I feel about you,” John repeats in dismay, but goes quiet before saying more. He presses his lips into a thin line, affecting a grim countenance and shaking his head. “I have resigned. I’ve told Greg and now you. I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson tomorrow, put it in writing tonight. It’s done.”

Sherlock’s mouth opens, but no words come out. He takes a sharp breath, his eyes on John. How can he make him stay?

“I’ll start cleaning out my office after I speak with Martha,” John continues and then sighs heavily. He touches his own temples in a pained gesture that makes him look more exhausted than when he walked in. “I’m going back to my place tonight. I’ll get my things out of your flat tomorrow evening. I’ll ring you, so you can leave while I’m there.”

“John, no!” Sherlock truly is desperate now and doesn’t give a shit about hiding it or anything else. Fuck staying in control. God, how has everything gone so terribly wrong so quickly? “In Baltimore, what we did, what happened. We can forget it. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he pleads with the man in front of him. If John wants him to, he can lock away all those memories and never touch them again. He has done it before. It will rip him apart this time, but he can do it. They can go back to being friends like before and maybe John would stay in the condo. They could be roommates, just roommates.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” John bites out the words vehemently.

Sherlock can’t stop a quick gasp and silence settles in around them. He can feel his face starting to crumble, his heart starting to fall apart, but just manages to hold his composure so he reveals nothing. All he allows is a mighty crease of his brow and the twitch of an eye. They are not together. They were never together, never a couple. His heart should not be shattered, but it is. It should not feel like his life is ending. John had warned him about this exact scenario. He said he could not love anyone romantically and, even if he could, why would he give his heart away after so little time had passed? He isn’t a complete idiot like Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” the name whispered between them catches his attention, even when he would rather look anywhere but at the man before him. 

Sherlock’s grey eyes, filling with tears he will have to blink back, shoot straight to John’s face. The doctor is clearly beside himself, but trying to hide how undone he is. Somewhere in the background of his mind Sherlock knows that does not make any sense. The evidence does not fit the situation. John should be emotionless or even angry about Sherlock’s display, not anguished.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course it means something. It means…” he shuts his mouth and swallows hard. “It’s Moriarty. He wants to win it all and he’ll do whatever he has to.”

“What?” Sherlock squints in confusion at this sudden outburst of seemingly unrelated information.

“You are right, Sherlock,” he tells him emphatically, stepping forward and placing his hands on the coach’s shoulders. “Keep looking for evidence and watch out for...others.”

“Others?” Sherlock shakes his head slowly. This is not at all what he expected, not by a long shot. He finds his mind shifting from his own panic and sadness toward this new mystery. Part of him tries to stop it, knowing he should stay focused on John, but he cannot. John’s words begin running through his mind over and over again, trying to piece it all together and it takes only seconds for it to fall into place. Something happened while John was in Baltimore alone. It scared him. Moriarty got to him. 

“What did he do?” Sherlock hisses.

The words are out before Sherlock even has the chance to think. His voice is quiet and deadly serious, demanding an answer, but John continues as though he did not hear him.

“It’s Janine. She…” John is warring with himself and if Sherlock was not so distracted with his own thoughts, he would already know exactly what John is trying so hard not to tell him. “Watch everyone! Don’t trust anyone,” John insists again. Suddenly his hands are off Sherlock’s shoulders and he is heading for the door. Sherlock cannot process what just happened or what John said and didn’t say because John is leaving and he can’t. He can’t!

“John, don’t go! Don’t go!” Sherlock lunges forward and wraps his fingers around John’s wrist, holding it with unrelenting strength. “Please, I can’t do it on my own.”

“You’ll be fine, Sherlock,” John says into the space between them, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yes. Fine, but I don’t want to be fine. I don’t want to be anywhere without you,” Sherlock’s words are coming fast, faster than he can think and he has to think faster. John can’t go. He can’t let him go. 

“I need you,” Sherlock whispers, unshed tears obvious in his voice. 

Sherlock does not know if he said that out loud or in his head. He doesn’t care, doesn’t care what he says or reveals. John has to stay. He can’t lose John.

“I love you! I love you,” he blurts in a ragged tone.

They stare at one another. Sherlock is breathing hard, chest heaving. He does not take his eyes off John, his shoulders bobbing up and down less and less as his breathing returns to normal. His mind finally catches up with his traitorous panic and instantly rebukes. Idiot! But he ignores it and repeats quietly. 

“I love you,” his voice is clearer now. Calmer and more collected as his overactive mind comes to rest. He is stating the truth and has never felt more free. 

***

“You...you...you can’t,” John’s voice rasps, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief. He shifts his weight and furrows his brow, a little frown of lines appearing between his eyebrows. Pressing his lips together, he studies Sherlock intently, searching his eyes. “What? You, what? No. No, Sherlock, just no.”

John shakes his head harder with every word that leaves his lips. He tries taking a step toward the door, but the long fingers already wrapped around his wrist tighten. He looks down at those fingers and then back to the coach, seeing a determination that tries to hide pain.

Fuck. Fuck! 

He’s hurting Sherlock. He hadn’t meant those words to sound the way they did. He’s fucking up the whole thing.

“That’s not what I meant,” he begins, but flails. “You… You haven’t known me five minutes. These things take time, feelings take time to form, don’t they? Sherlock, you don’t know me,” he pleads.

“I have not known you long, true,” Sherlock licks his lips, looking at John like he is a spooked deer, “but can we agree that I know you well?”

John does not answer, too shocked to speak, but he nods in affirmation.

“Good. That’s good,” Sherlock inches closer. 

John keeps his gaze on those grey eyes. He could get lost in them, swim in them for hours. He will never tire of them, or of this man. It is all too much and not something his brain is used to handling. His feelings for Sherlock are so strong and he has no idea how to feel about that or what to call them. John does not feel this way about people. It is not that he doesn’t care, he just…

‘I do believe he cares for you.’

“Is there anything in particular that you are hiding from me?” Sherlock asks over Moriarty’s voice in John’s mind. His eyes focus in again.

“Well,” John swallows, “no. I mean, apart from the not falling in love thing and I told you about that. ’Course I would have thought that’d send anyone running.”

“It hasn’t,” Sherlock’s voice is soft, but steady and his grip loosens slightly. He takes another small step closer.

“So I see,” John replies slowly, full of hesitation.

They stare at one another for a long time, each one willing the other to understand what words cannot say. Finally, Sherlock breaks the silence.

“I know I’m not qualified to explain this. Molly has always been far better at it than I,” Sherlock puffs out a breath, a wrinkle of concentration appearing between his eyebrows. John bites his lip and watches the man search for the right words, marveling at how adorable he is and trying not to show it. “She tells me to follow my heart. It’s not a precise science.”

Sherlock stops suddenly, his face full of doubt.

“Look, what I said, it doesn’t have to mean anything. We can forget it,” Sherlock shakes his head, trying for nonchalance and failing.

“No,” John interrupts, taking his own step toward the taller man. They are very close now. He watches Sherlock with a steady gaze, finally feeling the befuddlement lift. It is like stepping from a thick fog and he can finally see the man more clearly. “We can’t. It means too much. It means...everything.”

Sherlock blinks his eyes wide. They sparkle and shine, and John cannot take his own off of them. He wants this man like nothing else in his life. It is not just sexual desire and is not like caring for a friend. John most certainly does care, but it is so much more than that. It is confusing. He still has no idea what to call these feelings or how to handle them. What should he do? What is he supposed to think? It is completely and utterly baffling.

John swallows and lets his lips part, his gaze locked on Sherlock’s face. It falls quickly to the soft, full lips that John felt against his own only two nights ago. They dropped kisses on his neck and body, hot and wanting. He is sure his eyes must be dilated, his face and neck flushing. John shuffles closer and takes Sherlock’s free hand in his own. He can feel Sherlock’s breath on his face, warm and welcoming. John wets his lips and tilts up on his toes as Sherlock bends his neck down and their lips meet.

The kiss is gentle and sweet. John still does not know what this baffling feeling is, but he tries to put every ounce of it into this perfect kiss. It flows through every part of his body and into Sherlock and back. This kiss, it has to be perfect...because it has to be their last.

“I’m sorry,” John pulls away. “I can’t. I can’t stay. I can’t do this.”

“John,” Sherlock’s eyes snap open, his face rife with despair.

“I can’t,“ he pushes Sherlock away with enough force to knock him back two steps. John feels it in his chest suddenly and winces. The pain of his heart clenching and then trying to defenestrate from his body through any window it can find only to thunk into his chest cavity and fall lifeless and defeated. Resisting the urge to clutch at the nearly unbearable pain, John shakes his head and tries to concentrate. He avoids Sherlock’s eyes.

“I don’t know what it means, Sherlock,” he declares in frustration, not even aware of what he is saying until his mind catches up. “I don’t understand it or how I feel about it, but it’s all… It’s exactly why I have to go.”

“To protect me,” Sherlock ventures as if he already knows exactly what Moriarty said to John and only needs confirmation. 

“Yes. No!” John looks at him in growing panic. He can’t say anymore, shouldn’t say anymore. He risks Sherlock’s life with every word. He needs to leave. He never should have come. He should have gone to his flat and phoned Sherlock to tell him all this.

John turns for the door, but Sherlock grabs hold of his arm and yanks him backwards. John twists to free himself, but just gives the lanky-armed bastard more to lock claws on.

“Let me go,” John glares at Sherlock’s hand and then meets his gaze again. He repeats himself in a low, dark voice. “Let. Me. Go.”

Sherlock does not obey the command and the part of his brain works through every strategy, every bout, seems to have kicked into overdrive.

“You’re afraid of Moriarty,” Sherlock is saying now and goddammit, John has already killed him.

“No, Sherlock! Let go,” John lurches forward, taking the coach with him. He has wrapped his long limbs around John like a snake and any attempt to escape results in tightening coils.

John lurches again and they slam against the door. Rolling them against the wall, John pins Sherlock with his body and tries to wiggle free. When he succeeds in getting an arm out, Sherlock pushes off the wall and sends them tumbling to the floor. John comes down with a crack, the coach atop his body. Sherlock takes advantage of the split-second pause John needs to get his bearings, quickly straddling his hips and pushing his wrists to the floor with his hands. Though the two men are very similar in strength, the force of his weight and the fulcrum created by his height play in Sherlock’s favor.

“Sherlock, get the fuck off of me!” John shouts, thrashing this way and that.

“Talk to me, John! Tell me what’s wrong,” Sherlock insists, struggling to hold him still. “Please don’t shut me out.”

“Get off!” John huffs angrily.

“We can do this together,” Sherlock implores.

“No!” John shouts.

“Tell me why you’re doing this because this isn’t you,” Sherlock is begging now and it is tearing at John’s heart.

“It’s too dangerous!” John blurts, already hating himself. He wrenches his arms from Sherlock’s grip and twists his body into a roll. Unfortunately, the bastard just uses the momentum to roll John onto his back again. He looks down at the doctor and grumbles in frustration. John can feel it rumble through his chest. He tries to continue the struggle, but his heart is severed and bleeding out. John is exhausted. He wants to stay with Sherlock forever, but protecting him means leaving. He squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t try to stop the moisture in them from slipping out.

“Tell me, John. Please,” Sherlock’s voice is low and gentle. It pleads and also demands. It is that voice that makes John stop trying to free himself. That soothing voice coupled with gentle hands tracing a path down his chest.

He raises his gaze to look at Sherlock, beautiful and panting. John’s hands come to rest on Sherlock’s thighs and another tear slips from his eye. He lets his body relax as he loses himself in those eyes, swirling and deep. Greens and blues merging with grey, all focused on John. They can see into John’s mind and pull free the worry and fear. 

John tilts his head to the left and looks at Sherlock thoughtfully. Warm fingers cup his cheek, a thumb wiping away a tear that slowly trickles down. John closes his eyes again and leans into the touch. He can still see Sherlock’s face in his mind’s eye, smiling like he has a secret only the two of them know. His lips part as he bends forward to whisper in John’s ear:

“He threatened you...forcing you to resign...we’ll do it together...you’re not alone...never alone…”

“Sherlock,” John gasps, opening his eyes and seeing that the two of them are now side by side facing one another on the floor. When the hell did that happen? His eyes were only closed for a moment. Sherlock is looking at him, searching. Had he asked a question? And then it hits John with the force of a truck. 

Alone.

John had felt it deep down in his bones when Bill died, the crushing sense of being truly alone. It took a long time, but he had moved on. At least, he thought he had worked through it and left those feelings behind. Now John can see that he only hid it from himself. Somehow, over the years, especially since his parents died, he convinced himself that alone was better. Alone is what I have. Alone protects me. No real relationships, no love, or close friends. Nothing to tie him to anyone and then coming here turned his life upside down. He likes the skaters, genuinely. And Greg and Martha and Sherlock. He likes Sherlock? No, it’s more. So much more and something he can’t even begin to understand.

“He threatened you,” John finally says in a soft, breathless tone. He meets Sherlock’s eyes and cups the man’s face with both hands. “He will kill you. If I stay, if I tell you anything about why I’m leaving, if I do anything but resign and go, he’ll kill you. You’re too important to me, Sherlock. You’re...I…”

John trails off as his voice gives out. He has no idea what to say anyway, and no idea what he even wants to say. He wants Sherlock to know, to understand how he feels, but he is not sure himself. What he does know is that he has put Sherlock in grave danger. He has killed him with his words.

“God, what have I done?” John mumbles as he releases Sherlock’s face and covers his own eyes.

“He’s lying,” Sherlock’s voice books no argument.

“What?” utter confusion showing on John’s expressive face as he uncovers it.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Sherlock sits up and offers his hand to John, who takes it and pulls up to sit with him. “If I was a target, he would have made it known by now.”

“And you’re willing to risk your life on the strength of that?” John asks incredulously. 

“Yes,” Sherlock answers simply. “He wants me to witness his victory. To feel the defeat knowing I have done everything possible to stop him and failed. That is what Moriarty wants.”

He leans close to John and covers his hand where it rests on the floor between them. 

“He won’t hurt me,” he smiles softly at John.

“I wish I could believe that,” John says, resigned. 

“It’s true, John. I’d stake my life on it,” Sherlock promises. 

“You are,” John snaps louder. Incredulous disbelief racks his body, making it restless and twitchy. He wants to put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders or around his arms, but sort of gestures aimlessly between the two of them instead. “I can’t believe you’re being so blase about this. We’re talking about your life!”

“And Molly’s and yours,” Sherlock finishes, watching John with razor sharp eyes. With this one look Sherlock makes it clear just how seriously he takes it. “And every skater on our track. You help keep us all safe and alive when we are all at risk. Think, John, think!”

He grasps John’s arms hard, his eyes intense and completely focused on the doctor. John knows exactly what Sherlock is going to say and it is a sound argument. Can he really step away from the team knowing the danger they are in?

“Molly would be dead without you! No one else would have seen what you did in time to save her. That’s why Moriarty wants you to walk away,” Sherlock sounds so sure.

A thought unbidden pops into John’s mind and it sets every gear turning in the opposite direction. How likely is Moriarty to honor their agreement? Rock City and its coach with no doctor…not likely.

“You are a complication, John. An unknown variable. He will tell you whatever he needs to to make you go. He. Is. Lying,” Sherlock pauses to really look at John and, for the first time since Baltimore, John opens himself to the man - mind, body and soul. Sherlock’s mouth falls open at the sudden contrast and John almost wants to giggle, in spite of himself. The quippy coach, brilliant and ever unruffled in post-bout interviews, is speechless. John wants to kiss him. He wants to pull him to his body and kiss those ridiculous cheekbones, his forehead and nose, cheeks and eyelids. God, this man. John has no idea how to understand the depth of his feeling for this man.

“You’re right,” John nearly gasps, the air heavy with emotion. He swallows hard. Swallows down the desire to forget it all and just be with Sherlock. “Whether you’re on the list or not, he’ll keep to his plan. My leaving just increases the danger.”

John nods as he speaks, more to himself, but agreeing with Sherlock nonetheless.

“Exactly,” Sherlock says sensibly. His expression is a bit smug and smacks of ‘There is no other way to view it, John’.

This time the doctor almost does smile, but holds it at bay. There is one more very important thing he must say to the infuriating man before him. John reaches for him quickly, cupping his face in between his hands. Sherlock’s cheeks are warm and soft and perfect on John’s palms. His thumb strokes a cheekbone of its own volition. John looks deeply into those grey eyes. Flecks of green and blue sparkle back, telling him everything, every secret of a man normally so guarded.

“So help me, Sherlock, if you are wrong, I don’t know what…” John’s voice hitches and the words are gone. His tone was a raspy whisper said all in a rush and he thought he could make it through, but welling emotion got the better of him. He swallows hard and tries again.

“I don’t know what I would do,” he drops his head.

It’s true. It may be ridiculous, but it’s true. John has never needed anyone, not since Bill and his parents were gone, and that was fine. He built up his walls and did his job, lived his life and then in walked Sherlock Holmes and it was just....fate.

Words suddenly fill John’s mind, reverberating off the walls of his skull. A song he has not heard in years. Not since he watched a certain movie with his mother. It was the last one they saw together.

I’ve grown accustomed to his face. He almost makes the day begin.

How many times has he felt that way as he walked into Sherlock’s kitchen to see him standing by the stove, making those special eggs?

“Oh god, Sherlock,” he breathes, a tear streaking down his cheek. “I want you in my life. I want you forev…”

John bites his lip. Keeps in the word.

Sherlock watches him with soft and shining eyes. He sighs and tilts his head in John’s hands as he closes the gap between them. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, Sherlock breathes against John’s mouth and then tips his chin down to rest their foreheads together. 

“I will always be by your side, John. Always,” he promises and for the first time in a long time, John believes those words wholeheartedly.

---

Yay!! Yay, Jane, you have taken mercy upon us! John tried, he did, but lying to Sherlock was too much for him AND he’s that much closer to seeing his true feelings for Sherlock. How great is the moment when Sherlock just  blurts it out? “I love you!” and he doesn’t try to take it back. He just lets it be. John’s reaction is the greatest too. “You...you can’t. You haven’t known me five minutes.” Hahaha! I love it! I mean, I’m clearly biased so please let me know what you think. I don’t want to beg, but I’m not above it and it has been a bad week. Any encouragement is more than welcome and VERY appreciated. You all mean so much to me. I’m going to be honest. The next couple weeks could be hard and I may not get the next two chapters out on Sundays, but I’ll do my best. Please be with me in spirit. I will definitely be with you. Until next time, my friends. I love you. Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa  @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @one-thousand-splendid-stars @irina12maria

[volantisand]

this just in - MARIANA “ MARI ” REYES has been in wickway for ( MORE THAN, BY NOW ) A MONTH. apparently SHE is a DANCER AT DRIFTWOOD and a CIVILIAN or so HER passport says. so far it’s known that SHE favors JOE AND GO, and resides at WEST PORT. SHE is also said to be LOYAL & CLEVER, but also CALCULATING & GUARDED. at the end of the day, SHE can be described as RED STAINED LIPS, DELICATE HANDS WIPING BLOOD OFF OF DAGGERS AND MISCHIEVOUS SMIRKS FOLLOWING UNDERESTIMATION.

hello again, loves !!! i bring you all the devil reincarnated herself, my baby mariana <33 her pinterest can be found anywhere here !! but it’s kinda messy

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ▸

FULL NAME: MARIANA MERCEDES REYES

NICKNAME(S): MARI

NAME MEANING / PRONUNCIATION: MARIANA MEANING OF THE SEA  OR  BITTER. MERCEDES MEANING MERCIES. REYES MEANING KINGS. ( MA-REE-AH-NAH MER-SEH-DEHS RAY-YES  )

AGE: TWENTY FIVE

DATE OF BIRTH: APRIL 18TH

RANK / TITLE: CIVILIAN, EX-LEADER OF OUTSIDE GANG FROM HER HOMETOWN

OCCUPATION: DANCER AT DRIFTWOOD

HAIR COLOR:  DARK BROWN NEARLY BLACK

EYE COLOR: HAZEL  

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ▸

POSITIVE: ATTENTIVE, ARTICULATE, CLEVER, CULTURED, DETERMINED, DRIVEN, INSIGHTFUL, LOYAL, PASSIONATE, PERCEPTIVE, PERFECTIONISTIC, PERSONABLE, SCRUPULOUS, WHIMSICAL

NEGATIVE: BLUNT, DISTRUSTING, HOT HEADED, SOMETIMES IMPULSIVE, GUARDED, METICULOUS, SARCASTIC, STOIC, STUBBORN

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 ▸

FATHER: VICTOR REYES ( alive )

MOTHER: LUCIA REYES CASTILLO ( alive )

SIBLINGS: TWO OLDER BROTHERS, AN OLDER SISTER AND A YOUNGER SISTER

CHILDREN: NONE

𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ▸

GANG(S): ANARCHY OF ROSEWICK ( formerly, it remains active ), CURRENTLY NOT AFFILIATED.

MARK: TATTOOED BIRD ON HER RIB CAGE, IT’S ACTUALLY SMALL BUT PIC ANYWHERE HERE and a few smaller little birds, much less detailed, surrounding it

POSITION / RANK: LEADER ( formerly )

WEAPON OF CHOICE: DAGGERS RARELY HAS A GUN.

YEARS AFFILIATED: EIGHT YEARS

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 / 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒 ▸

born and raised in a fictional town called rosewick, she’s one of my past muses that has been adapted to come into wickway <33

she was named after her paternal grandmother. and had a very good relationship with both of her parents. growing up, she was always very in touch with her hispanic culture, adoring everything about her roots and then some. she began dancing before she could even walk properly and fell in love with it instantly. 

she’s also not very tall bc frankly, i’m not either so my muses suffer with me, 5′2 at best.. however, she wears heels nearly twenty four seven. unless, y’know at home, at the beach or... idk working out. 

having been born on the 18th of april, she is an aries. 

“ Fun, free-spirited, and fiercely independent, the Aries woman is a breath of fresh air – a brightly burning candle in human form. Fire is her element, igniting all that she touches with the living spark of life. The Aries personality is creative, passionate, energetic and – at times – domineering and short-tempered. A cardinal sign ruled by the planet Mars, the Ram is great at getting things going, initiating endeavors, and infusing her enthusiasm into everything she does ”

true to herself, and her zodiac sign, mariana is a vixen. a total coquette but dangerous. we’ll get there, though !! first... lil fun fact: dance was a major part of her life, she often won competitions with flying colors and excelled in every routine taught to her.

she was seventeen when she met jacob day, captain of the college’s baseball team. their star pitcher. and eventually, her boyfriend. he was older than her, two years. but he was sweet and romantic. at least, at first. jacob day would prove to be the absolute worst thing to ever happen to her. 

a few months later, he’d become a junkie, paying other kids to take the athletic drug tests for him and eventually - he got abusive. she stuck around because he had never gotten physical, only verbal. and most days he was still the same boy she thought she’d fallen in love with. most days.

he was twenty the night he died and she was eighteen the night she killed him. he’d laid a hand on her a few weeks prior to that wretched night. they were at a party, not unlike high schoolers their age who think they’re grown when they’re absolutely not. they’d gone up to the second floor of the lake house so she could find a bathroom. he grew irritated with the young girl in the bathroom and laid hands on her once again. only this time, her temper got the best of her. he was drunk, rendered a bit slower and a lot taller than her. she was quick and agile and while she tells herself that she hadn’t meant for him to die. deep down, she knows that she did. he had laid lifeless in a pool of his own blood and she had stared, her own once pristine hands stained with the crimson of the very same blood. 

she had acted fast after having realized he was very much dead and washed the blood off of her hands. moments later, she was calling her late uncle’s wife, her lawful aunt and the woman who had taken over the gang her uncle once led. she showed up a while later and the two left the lake house, leaving behind a spotless bathroom and absolutely no evidence of mariana’s crimes.   

she took her under her wing, agreed to protect her under the promise of her joining the gang. mariana sat a few hours later, on eliana’s couch with a fresh small tattoo on her ribcage linking her to the gang. 

it didn’t take long for the leader and her to actually get to know each other, having not had any solid relationship when her uncle was alive. one year later, eliana named mariana her second in command. of course, no one understood why on earth, a girl who had just barely turned nineteen could be given such a high power. not even mariana herself understood it.

two years later, she rose to the throne following eliana’s death. by then, she had been completely molded by the late leader and had been taught everything she could possibly need. and then some. mariana was trained in combat, gang ties, suppliers and how to keep them happy as well as game plans to ensure that anarchy remain at the top. 

the gang loved her, she was an intelligent girl that had lost a lot at a young age. it toughened her up. and the suppliers loved her because... she was never late on a payment.   

when mariana became the leader, she shifted blake dietrich’s position to second in command. it only seemed fair, he was her best friend. her partner in crime and the sole person she absolutely trusted with her life as well as secrets. though, they’ve known each other for a lot longer than before she made him her right hand man. 

they kept the gang upright together. matter of fact, anarchy had never been better since they were in charge. she was young and pretty, looked anything but what she really was. it gave anarchy the upper hand because everyone else knew exactly who their leader was but did not believe it. she was hidden in plain sight without having to hide at all. 

underestimation, often drove her to do better. those who dared to be verbal with their doubts, died. she, herself, was lethal and absolutely ruthless. her middle name, mercedes meaning mercies, was the most ironic thing to have ever happened. she finds it funny and throws it in the faces of others. 

“ the only merciful thing about me is in my name. ”

she and blake have spent a few months maybe even a year, on the run, after having been walking on eggshells in rosewick. as powerful as a gang can be... it’s only as powerful as its weakest member. and because of a slip up on their end, blake and mariana were compromised. of course, she would rather die than snitch on her own kind - though had they snitched, they probably wouldn’t have had to leave their home. mariana packed her bags and even blake’s before grabbing him and all but dragging him out of rosewick.

they spent some time traveling around the states, living their best lives before mari mentioned the island and now... here they are. 

though, with power like mariana’s and blake’s, they’ve fallen under the santoro gang’s radar. they’re being watched with interest, the main goal being that they join them.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ▸

honestly, anything !!

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, VICTORIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of BERTRAM. Admin Julie: Ring ring, Vic, it’s me, the bringer of good news -- albeit, a little late! Your application for Beau was literally everything I wanted and more. From the not-so-subtle allusions to pop culture and media which Beau would likely be obsessed with, to how Beau’s world revolves around Beau, you hit the nail on the head. I’m especially interested to see how he will grow, change, fail, and adjust to the world around him as it spins on its axis, especially with the Capulets and Montagues ready to go at each others’ throats. I was overjoyed to see your app in the inbox, and I’m just as overjoyed to have this fool of a man on the dashboard. Thank you! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Victoria

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’m always available on mobile, and I try to knock out a few replies every other day unless I manage to queue.

Timezone | EST

Triggers | none that aren’t already listed

How did you find the rp?  | Rosey

Current/Past RP Accounts | I currently write Katarina Du Pont !

IN CHARACTER

Character | Your desired character’s alias -

Beau Renaud, Bertram. // with a faceclaim change to Zane Holtz and if I could age him up to 32, I’d appreciate it! It gives me the time to have Beau attend university in Paris and ‘build’ a career that would make it plausible for him to have bought his way to the top, ruined it for himself, and then crawled back to his mothers to have ‘earned’ his position at L’Arena.

What drew you to this character? | We’d love to hear what about this character’s bio caught your attention! Make this as long or as short as you desire!

On Beau Renaud–

What drew me to Beau Renaud the most was how fun he is– how shallow, and perfectly flawed this dastardly human being is who jumps out from his biography and reeks of Creed Aventus during the week and Bleu de Chanel on the weekends with a voice as sickly sweet as a macaron. Quite frankly, he’s the type of person I’d want to punch in the face, but my god after reading his biography I was dumbfounded by how much I adored him. Maybe it’s because of how light he feels, in comparison to some of the other characters here in DiVerona. Maybe it’s his blissful ignorance towards his own flaws while he attempts to navigate the flawed lives within Verona. Maybe I just love the idea of writing someone so garishly grand and loves themselves for it. Or, maybe it’s because there’s something terribly alluring about writing a man who really is in it for himself: without the violence, with only a love for the beautiful things in life.

Beau Renaud is a man adored, but not a man loved. And there’s something terribly lonely about this. There’s something haunting in the lack of genuine connection he has with people. There is something… Lonely about being an only child, but one that is seen not as himself, but as the living failed embodiment of his parents ambitions. It’s about the glitter and gold, it’s all about an opulent party and the adrenaline rush of the interactions. But, it’s not about heart. Strangely enough, terribly enough, it’s not about Beau’s heart. He’s not nearly ruined enough to be hailed a Dorian Gray for his sins, but… It’s quite something to realise that he’s as clueless as Dorian was at the beginning of Oscar Wilde’s novel.

At the end of the day, he is simply a man born in the wrong era. Beau Renaud would not have been found at fault if he’d been born in the Edwardian era or sooner. And it’s almost laughable, that his engagement to Daphne Allard is nearly exactly that of every American millionaire’s daughter who had gone to Europe in hopes to marry a man who had what they lacked: lineage and rank. It’s a call back to Downton Abbey, it’s Consuelo Vanderbilt marrying the 9th Duke of Marlborough, it’s the Gilded Age of British aristocracy (who were quietly growing too poor to maintain their grand estates) marrying commoners for their considerable dowries. Beau Renaud would have fit right in. He comes from a sumptuous bloodline after all, and the man does need his funding to fit the lifestyle he loves.

I almost hate admitting it, how alluring this man is. But, that’s Beau for you. You adore him, but you don’t love him. There’s something terribly ugly about how beautiful this man is, how handsomely grotesque he manages to be in his vanity and near blindness. You love the parties, the escapism, the way he is accessible and a self-proclaimed neutral. Yet, you hate him for the same exact reasons. Friend or foe is a game to be played in Verona. Is he bright enough, at least, to play it to survival? Animals do whatever it takes to survive, and Beau will do whatever it takes to make sure he does. But, will he survive in Verona? I want to write him because I’d like to be the first to find out.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

Everywhere and nowhere, down the rabbit hole and to Hadestown we go. This is where we find Beau Renaud. This is where we find parts of his story and where his life might lead– but you won’t find his ending written anywhere. At least, not yet.

Dorian Gray – a moment in literature

It’s almost laughable how comparable Beau Renaud is to the Dorian Gray we are introduced to at the beginning of Oscar Wilde’s only novel. They both know nothing but of the grandeur their lifestyles have afforded them, they know their childish selfishness– they have some grasp at the desire to please others and fit in. But while Dorian’s greatest catalysts are, arguably, an unnamed book and Lord Henry Wotton, our dear Bertram has spent a year in Verona remaining the same neutral, same untainted and self-centered man that had arrived from Paris. He’s a modern Dorian, who knows the spoils of narcotics and what money can buy. But in the case of Dorian’s descent into debauchery and extremes of unforgivable sin, Beau has yet to descend from his harmless (though blind) perch beside his beautiful fiancee. I won’t define the catalyst, because this is dependent on many factors in Beau’s life: who he makes friends or enemies with, the decisions he makes in terms of his position at L’Arena, the information he may or may not learn. But it is a precarious place where he sits. He is determined to survive, determined to live in his lighthearted merriment as a socialite. This greed for himself was known to him in France, but Verona has a way of bringing out the darkest and most wretched desires of its occupants. His priority is himself– How far down into sin is he willing to go to ensure it? Can he be brought to violence? He’s already sinful enough, witty enough to buy people off to secure his safety– to one extreme, can his sly tongue and position at L’Arena buy his safety within a mob? If his descent to Hell is to follow that of Dorian Gray, Beau is destined to utter doom. Years and years of debauchery and unholy acts are to follow him, plague him. Anything to survive, anything to enjoy still his beauty and his life. Whatever it takes to win. At least, until his guilt eventually catches up to him. But, will it?

Scarlett O’Hara, Prince Charming – a moment in film

His own survival is his greatest priority. His marriage guarantees him this– just like Scarlett O’Hara’s second marriage to Frank Kennedy and following marriage to Rhett Butler, and not unlike Shrek 2’s Prince Charming and his betrothal to the unfortunately, unknowingly already married Princess Fiona. Beau, Scarlett, and Prince Charming are all characterized by their greed and ignorance. Scarlett wants to survive and is willing to marry whoever it might be that will allow her to continue to live in comfort. However, as she pines for another, she is ignorant to the love that has been in front of her since before the Civil War. In the end, she’s too late to realise it. Prince Charming, on the other hand, had been promised the hand of Princess Fiona and the kingdom to follow. He shows that he’s willing to resort to manipulation and violence to achieve what he so ardently desires, having grown up promised he would have it all. Beau is engaged to the beautiful Daphne Allard: he’s been promised riches and the lifetime of a socialite as her husband. But, is that all this is? Is he Scarlett, marrying only for money? Prince Charming had wanted love, but what does Beau want? The chill to the air when the two are alone in a room is practically suffocating, freezing him from the inside out, unnerving the charming, rogue-ish grin that dances along his expression. Though this is certainly a business arrangement, Beau cannot help but wish for, at least, friendship between himself with his soon to be wife. His charm, his grace had failed him with her in the months that had followed his arrival in Verona. And though as of late he’s not thought much of his fiancee, there is still some deeper part of him (whether or not he would be open to admitting it, or Daphne would be receptive enough to hear it and believe him is certainly a question) that wishes to try. She sees him as Hades. But, wasn’t Hades the most loyal, most benevolent of his brothers?

The Confession, Sir Francis Dicksee – a moment in art

Would he be the confessor one day? Or, would she? Daphne, he wishes to know as his future wife, Lillian he wishes to know as… What? Both women are brilliant and sparkling jewels in Verona, revered as they are for their money and poise. But, what would it take for him to open up? What would he have to do, or say, to make one, or both of them allow their truths to tumble from their lips? Words, beautiful words can and do shine as luminously as they do on their own. Truth can be uncovered no matter how prettily laced they can be, and he is no stranger to the wit and charm required to undo such beautiful wrappings. Or, would their truths dim their light? Would it marr their facades of utter perfection? He’s so very curious about Lillian. How is it possible for one to be so good? He can practically feel Daphne slipping further and further away from him. But, when it comes to both women, could their truths hurt him, damage him in some way? When it comes to his fears and deepest desires, and even his unaddressed shame at having his mothers both so cuttingly tell him he was never meant for greatness and lacked the proper ambition and intelligence that they’d wished for him, when will it come to light? Who would he ever confess it to? It’s true, he’s shrouded in darkness, in a mystery of ignorance and laughter, but there is a hollowness to it. A year in Verona has brought a sense of desperation to the frenzy of weekly galas and parties that offer an escape from the harsh realities of each day, each week spent in this city. Perhaps, one day he will confess. Maybe, one day he will uncover a darker world of hurt and pain and truth within himself. But, after confession comes repentance. Does he have it in himself to ever do such a thing?

Versailles, Gossip Girl – a moment in television

As far as story arcs go, no matter how much he might try to remain neutral, Beau Renaud is a socialite that’s had his hands in ruin of his own name in the past. Was this ruin nearly anything as terrible as what goes on in Verona? No. In the glimmering world of being of a good name and household, being the son of the right parents is everything. He is their legacy, their smiles and laughter, their triumphs. The upper class would be nothing without a healthy dose of nepotism. For Beau, Verona is nothing like Paris. In fact, it’s nearly as though he’s been thrown into some bizarre amalgamation of Gossip Girl meets Versailles. There is intrigue and drama, there is murder and poison, there are vile things lurking beneath the surface of every sparkling thing that Verona has to offer and violence at every turn, paranoia running rampant as he looks over his shoulder every day. In the past months it’s finally sunk in that he’s in the middle of a mob war, with one side choking him and the other with a dagger in his side daring him to publish anything that leans more to one side or another. He’s privy to many secrets, yes, but he is nowhere near powerful nor as connected here in Verona. Either he develops towards a path where he stakes his claim and stands his ground as a keeper of secrets to harness his own power, he remains a neutral puppet dancing merrily on strings like a marionette doll, or he joins a mob. Whichever direction he goes in, however he develops as a character has yet to be seen. But, it will not be without struggle. It will be filled with anguish and strife, hardship that he has never known: because this is Verona, and he is not immune to his environment; because in order to survive, he must choose and he will suffer no matter which path he should set himself onto. Versailles’ court would have been simpler to navigate. Perhaps, though, Beau Renaud would end up in a ditch before he can decide. Maybe, he’ll be responsible for a death or two– either by his own hand, or as a result of news published to L’Arena. The possibilities are endless for this pretty bird with clipped wings. And, to think: he only thought he’d be moving to Verona to marry a rich, pretty girl and a new career that he could slack off on easily.

Welcome to year 2 in Verona, darling. Xoxo Gossip Girl

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | End him. But make it pretty.

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“How could I ever choose?” He leans back in his seat, eyes dancing with merriment as he grins. “This place–” Beau’s hand comes up to gesture towards the view beyond the patio where they sit, fingers sweeping towards the view of Verona before it resettles again in his lap. “Is so beautiful.” His chin turns next, blue eyes focusing on the city in the distance, chiseled jaw emphasized by the light as the curve of his mouth softens to the practiced look of fondness. “Verona is no Paris,” This, he admits as though it were a secret, louder than a murmur so that the other can hear him, but soft enough that he nearly seems embarrassed to admit it. “But, it is something else.” His brow quirks slightly at the interviewer’s direction, ever so dynamic, ever so engaging. “But, I suppose if I have to pick a place, it would have to be The Twelfth Night.” The artwork reminds him of the museums he used to stroll around, and The Tempest reminds him of the nightlife he had been so accustomed to in Paris. This isn’t home, but it needs to be. It will be, after he marries Daphne in November. “There’s a certain charm to this city, and it is… Beautiful. There’s nothing quite like it.”

What does your typical day look like?

“–Well, I take Quaaludes 10-15 times a day for my “back pain”, Adderall to stay focused, Xanax to take the edge off, pot to mellow me out, cocaine to wake me back up again, and morphine… Well, because it’s awesome.” He’s since turned his face back to the interviewer in full, quoting The Wolf of Wall Street without so much a blink in hesitation. But then he snorts, and a playful expression comes over his handsome features. “I’m kidding. I saw it in a movie once, and I thought it was funny.” A chuckle tumbles from Beau’s lips as he crosses his legs in easy elegance. Though as burly as he is, it’s almost surprising someone like him is so smooth. He attributes this to the ballroom dancing lessons he’d begun as a child, and none of it to the swimming and boxing he does to stay fit now. “My typical day is like anyone’s that works an office job. Wake up to an alarm that’s too early for comfort, check my phone, have an espresso shot or two to get going before I get ready and am out the door. My work at L’Arena is blessedly streamlined by my personal assistant Sophie as I also have a hand in planning a few charity events a month.” When the interviewer looks surprised, Beau shrugs good-naturedly. “I was not so lucky to be in such a position in Paris. After all, I am my mother’s son, and she is quite the philanthropist herself.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

His brows furrow, mouth falling open before it partially shuts in an exhale of contemplative breath. This is a question he had not expected and later he’d have Sophie send a damning email to the head of this magazine for not sticking to the approved questions. The subtle pout to his lips makes it evident that he is less than pleased. “I suppose…” A blink, then another. Then a laugh as he shakes his head at the interviewer, bringing that charming smile back to his features. “Not learning Italian more quickly? I’d say I am quite passable now, but, perhaps if I had not studied English throughout my education, I could have learned Italian instead.” Reaching for the mimosa before him, Beau takes a sip before he continues. “No,” He teases with a faux contemplative look into his half-empty flute. “I think my biggest mistake was not proposing to Daphne in Paris. I think it would have been more picturesque, more romantic that way. But, she accepted, despite the location. That’s all that matters to me.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

This is both a question and answer he knows, and with a softening look in his eyes that he smiles once more, absentmindedly rolling the stem of his glass as he speaks. “Finalising the design of Daphne’s ring. I wanted it to be unique to her, to the jeweler and design house, and I wanted it to be like nothing anyone had ever seen before. So, we’d pulled from archives, looking for a way to better conceptualise what I was looking to create. And, in the end, we were able to accomplish it.” Beau nearly seems fond of the memory, but when the ring itself is a testament to him, why wouldn’t he be? His pride glows like something glimmering and warm, but deep down the most difficult task was abandoning Paris– abandoning the beautiful city he knew every inch of for the grotesque little city of Verona.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

He has half a mind to throw this interviewer out of his home. What sort of interview was this? But before his displeasure makes itself known, it is covered up by his sitting up and expression changing to one of surprise, brows raising once more as remnants of his smile still curve at his lips. “I’m not here to make a political statement, my friend. And– I do run a news outlet here in Verona that’s unbiased.” He nods towards today’s edition of L’Arena that sits artfully amongst the breakfast spread on the table between them, voice taking on a more wistful, more passionate tone than before: just like his mothers had taught him. Beau appears vulnerable, but only just so as a man that wants not to focus on what festers in Verona– one that clearly still clings to the beauty of the day to day. “There is so much violence and decay in the world–” He pauses to shake his head as if he can cast out the past few months from his head. “–So much darkness. But, I don’t think we should let ourselves be consumed by the ugliness of it in our day to day lives.” His hand gestures towards the food, then he grins wider as he raises his hand to gesture towards the view. “We should enjoy it: the beauty of the day. Now, please. Let’s not put this food to waste, hm?”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

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[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 43-49

This section is the seventh cluster of seven chapters a piece, and each of those has seven sections, and each of those has seven sentences. (I draw the line at seven words a sentence :P)

“I can’t say you look well, but you do look alive!” I smacked the side of Faren’s head. “What?” he said. “Alive is the thing, isn’t it?”

title: pro patria (43-49/?) stuff that happens: Deborah and Althea get a taste of normal life, and make plans for the future.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Deborah Fairchild, Logan Thackeray; Queen Jennah, Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Deborah, Althea & Logan chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42

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1 “Mother told me what happened at Shaemoor,” Deborah said slowly. “That’s why so many people just call you ‘hero’?” I wrinkled my nose. “Half of them don’t know my name. Even Logan didn’t until Faren got kidnapped and—” She burst out laughing. “Faren got what?” 2 As we walked on, I caught her up on Faren’s abduction, our discovery and defeat of the bandit ring, my consequent involvement in Anise and Logan’s investigation, and of course, Zamon’s trial. “I underestimated Faren,” she said, laughing again. “I think. But you, in trial by combat?” “It wasn’t as strange as it sounds,” I told her. “Logan all but begged me to let him help fight Zamon, so I mostly hid behind him and confused everyone with clones while he did the work.” “Somehow I don’t think that’s how he would describe it,” said Deborah. 3 “Probably not,” I admitted, but left it at that; I wasn’t sure I had leave to discuss Anise’s suspicion—now almost a certainty—about Minister Caudecus’s role in both plots. To my relief, Deborah immediately moved on to my discovery of Tervelan’s betrayal, her eyes narrowing when she heard that he was still alive. “Who can see him?” she pressed. “No one,” I said. Without hesitation, I added, “Logan’s orders.” Deborah looked disappointed, as well she might, but she settled back into her earlier interrogatory interest. “Well—I don’t imagine I’m going to get much past Captain Thackeray,” she replied, “and I do owe him.” 4 “We both do,” I said, believing it with all my heart. “For looking after you, I mean,” said Deborah, wrapping her arm the rest of the way around mine. “In his way.” “I wouldn’t say that.” “I imagine not,” she said, amused, or at least pretending to it. “But he’s had your back. I won’t forget it.” 5 “I won’t, either,” I assured her. “I always respected him for his service,” she went on. “It’s just a little different, knowing he took you under his wing when I couldn’t be there.” I almost denied it, but I couldn’t help but think of how, not that long ago, he and I had been nothing but the distantly heroic captain of Divinity’s Reach and a random noblewoman. Somehow in the months since, we’d gone from Captain Thackeray and the hero of Shaemoor, cooperating when our paths crossed once more, to Logan and Althea, to make our ancestors proud, little sister. “I don’t know if it’s that,” I said honestly, “but he didn’t have to trust me, and he did. Now everything’s different.” 6 Deborah nodded solemnly, but I didn’t see her earlier melancholy in it. “I did wonder how you ended up as his right hand,” she said. “Now I understand.” “I’m not—” Her head tilted. “No? Should I say personal agent?” 7 “Sidekick, maybe,” I said. Honestly, I had no idea how to describe what I did for Logan—and Anise, and the crown. In any case, Deborah let the matter pass with a tentative hope that she’d like her new commander as much as she did Logan, and from there, it was an easy step to discussing the Falcons and her own future; predictably, she had no intention of leaving the Seraph. She looked half-defiant, but I just smiled at her and said, “I wouldn’t expect anything else out of you, Debs.” She glanced away from me, then turned back so abruptly that I had barely a moment’s warning before she wrapped her arms tightly about me, her chin digging into my shoulder. It was uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. “I am proud of you,” said my sister. FORTY-FOUR 1 Deborah started to keep more normal hours after that, and I assumed the other Falcons did, as well. At any rate, Logan came by to see her the next day. “Sergeant Fairchild,” he said pleasantly. She scrambled up, disregarding the long skirts she always wore at home. “Captain Thackeray, sir.” It was a little odd to see him now—for one, under our own roof, and for another, without the heavy armour that almost always weighed down his frame. Even as he ordered Deborah at ease, he seemed practically like a normal person. 2 “Oh—hello, Althea,” he added, nodding casually in my direction. I didn’t bother getting up. “Hello.” Sitting down with evident discomfort, he redirected his attention to Deborah and said, “Sergeant, I hope you’re feeling better.” “As much as I can be,” said Deborah, honest as ever. “I’ll be upfront with you. I came to ask if you meant to stay with the Seraph, or wished for honourable discharge,” Logan said, clearly choosing his words with care. “It would be understandable if you—” 3 “No,” she broke in. “I joined the Seraph to fight for my people, and my people are still suffering and in danger. Kryta needs all her soldiers. When do I go back on duty, sir?” Even sitting down, even in her (frankly rather ugly) ruffled gown, she exuded dignity. I’d been tearful and honoured when she told me she was proud of me, but I couldn’t believe she was anywhere near so proud as I was of her. Logan gave an approving nod. 4 “It will be some time, I warn you,” he said. “Bringing back Falcon Company will take a certain amount of re-organization, and you’re all on medical leave until we’re satisfied with your health, in any case. But this helps direct our plans. Thank you, lieutenant.” Deborah stared at him. Without so much as a twitch in his expression, Logan turned to me, while I hid a smile. “Speaking of good health, you’ll be glad to hear that the queen’s continues to be excellent.” 5 “I am,” I said sincerely. I liked Jennah, and I liked her reign still more; nothing would happen to her if I could do anything about it. We passed over a few polite nothings, though only briefly, Logan being Logan. With a cordial farewell and brisk shake of our hands, he left in the best spirits I’d ever seen him in. Deborah slumped back onto her chair, her expression bemused. “I—” “Congratulations, lieutenant,” I told her. 6 Two days later, the Screaming Falcons put on full armour and marched through the upper courtyard to the palace, while heralds formally proclaimed their arrival to cheering crowds. In the palace, the queen rose from her throne to greet them, declaring them all heroes of Kryta, and delivering honours. I saw it all from the throne room, because Queen Jennah—Queen Jennah—insisted upon my presence there. “You’re the hero of Shaemoor,” Logan had reminded me the day before, giving a short laugh at the look on my face. “And you did bring them home.” “We did,” I grumbled, but in reality, I was flattered and proud to stand beside Anise in my finest gown, watching the queen praise my sister. Altogether, it was everything I could have wished for Deborah’s homecoming: all glory and pomp, and real feeling woven through. 7 Deborah herself received it with grace and dignity. I … well, despite myself, I was damp-eyed—even before the queen summoned Logan and me forwards. We exchanged an uneasy glance and knelt before her. “As we honour Falcon Company,” she said, “we must also honour those who liberated them—Captain Logan Thackeray of Divinity’s Reach and Lady Althea Fairchild, hero of Shaemoor!” Though I’d spent my life in the public eye, I scarcely knew where to look as we rose to our feet; the applause rang in my ears, my cheeks flushed, something seemed to flash before my eyes. It was not altogether agreeable. Yet it was lovely, all the same. FORTY-FIVE 1 After the queen’s reception, Deborah determinedly set about a full recovery. She went to bed and arose like clockwork, she ate heartier meals than ever before, and she joined me in my practice sessions, though I strictly limited her activities to the dictates of the Seraph physicians. Once they assured me that more strenuous exercise would be good for her, I gave into her demand for light duels—which, to our mutual dismay, I readily won. She wasn’t as easily fooled by the clones as most people, but somewhere along the line, I’d become faster and stronger, and my magic more precise. Deborah scowled and kept working at the utmost limits of the healers’ permissions, crowing the first time that she knocked me down; after that, I started putting up a real fight. All the while, the survival of the last few Falcons became widespread knowledge, and many of our old friends and acquaintances started showing up to see Deborah, driven by affection or curiosity or, most often, both. The first was almost inevitable. 2 “I can’t say you look well, but you do look alive!” I smacked the side of Faren’s head. “What?” he said. “Alive is the thing, isn’t it?” He turned to my sister. “I’m very glad you’re not dead, Deborah.” “Thank you,” said Deborah. 3 Her tone was dry, but she’d known Faren since he was six; when he reached his hand out, she shook it with the casual friendliness she’d always directed at him. He grinned, kissed her cheek, and flung himself into my chair. With great earnestness, he said, “I could give you the name of a really fine hairdresser, if—” “Faren,” I hissed. He tossed his own hair, glossy as ever. “I, uh, I was talking to you, obviously. Whatever you’re doing with yourself now, it’s left your hair in a wretched condition—that will never do!” 4 “She’s been solving mysteries and rescuing people,” said Deborah, but Faren dismissed the hint with a wave of his hand, just missing an antique Ascalonian vase beside him. “That is all fine and good,” he said as I moved the vase, “but there’s no need to do it unfashionably!” “I am a very fashionable adventurer, thank you,” I told him. “I’m just growing out my hair so it stops blocking my vision.” “How … practical,” said Faren, in a tone of deep disappointment. Debs laughed, the sound impossibly welcome. “One of you has to be.” 5 Faren did not look at all convinced. “And how have you been?” she asked. He lit up. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m still in absolutely splendid good looks and health. You did notice, didn’t you?” “Oh, yes,” Deborah assured him. “You haven’t changed at all.” 6 To Faren’s even greater joy, she asked him for the name of the hairdresser, after all—probably just to indulge him, though she claimed it was for her next public appearance. “You’re going to be personally received by the queen again?” he said, eyes rounding. “I never have been, and I’m her”—he counted—“third cousin.” “You didn’t get captured and enslaved in a plot to end her rule,” said Deborah. “Anyway, we need to get new uniforms and—” He squeaked. “New uniforms?” 7 “You’re staying with the Seraph?” “Of course,” said Deborah, as if she hadn’t put off telling our mother for two weeks. Well, Mother had been busy with the chaos at the Ministry, but now that Faren knew, Debs wouldn’t be able to avoid that particular conversation. “I suppose,” he sputtered, “but—but—surely you’ve done enough?” “No,” she said simply. “But—” She smiled, more than a little triumphant, and said, “You’re looking at Lieutenant Fairchild now.” FORTY-SIX 1 “That does have a nice ring to it,” Faren said thoughtfully. Of course he did. “We’re still on leave until we’re declared fit and the captains re-form the company,” Deborah told him, “but I’ll be back in uniform and on duty as soon as possible. There’s a lot to fight out there.” Faren frowned. The expression, combined with his fluffy cravat and bright blue cape, looked ludicrous, but he’d never crease his skin without cause. “You sound like Althea,” he said. 2 I started and opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, Faren sprang to his feet and declared, with a dramatic sweep of his cloak, that a certain young woman (I had no idea who) would be missing him. We had to cover our mouths for a second. I told him, “You’d better not keep her waiting.” “Indeed not!” he said, but surprised us both by sweeping Deborah into a hug. “Darling, I really am quite happy you’re alive.” He released her and fluttered his hand at us. “Until later, ladies!” 3 Once the servants closed the door behind him, I looked over at Debs. “He means well,” I said. “He’s a sweetheart,” said Deborah, laughing. “And he really fought a cave full of bandits with you?” Remembering his complaints about bandits dirtying his waistcoat, I said, “After a fashion.” 4 Setting Faren aside, I asked her when she’d tell Mother about the Seraph. Deborah winced, but to her credit, dropped a hint about her new uniform that evening. Mother set down her fork with a decided clink. “Your … uniform?” Deborah studied her goblet with intense interest. “Oh, right,” I said, putting on my best blank face, “the old one is gone, and you probably wouldn’t fit it now, anyway.” Mother, ignoring this, just stared at my sister. 5 After a long moment, she said, “You’re re-joining the Seraph?” “I never left,” said Deborah, lifting her eyes to look levelly at her. “After—when you—sweetheart, you’ve done enough, you—” “It’s not about enough,” Deborah interrupted. “It’s about what Kryta needs. Our family has what it has because our ancestors were willing to die for their people. Yours did die for them.” 6 “That was another time,” Mother said weakly. She looked as if she already knew she’d lost. “A time when Kryta was stronger,” retorted Deborah. “And we’re Fairchilds as well as Langmars—Papa’s family has been fighting in Ascalon for centuries. I can’t sit here in silk, doing nothing, while my cousins and my aunt face down Charr every day, and my sister fights at Logan Thackeray’s side.” Mother darted an almost panicked glance at me. “It doesn’t have to be nothing, Deborah.” 7 “I understand better than you think,” she went on. “I spent years facing down the Charr, because I couldn’t see how much more I could do for Kryta and Ebonhawke in Divinity’s Reach.” “Can you imagine me in the Ministry?” Deborah asked, and I stifled a laugh. Mother cried out, “I almost got you killed!” My sister and I looked at each other, biting our lips. Then Deborah said, “I don’t have children, and I don’t have a lover or a spouse. What I have is our family, and our duty.” FORTY-SEVEN 1 The argument, if not the disagreement, ended there. The three of us talked normally over the next few days—or what passed for normally at this point, avoiding any reference to Deborah’s return to the Seraph, except when one deputized me to speak to the other. I didn’t change either’s mind, and I didn’t really try. But my sister, at least, seemed to understand that our mother feared losing her all over again, all the more with me in danger as well, while Mother could see the ethic that drove Deborah so inexorably to military life. I couldn’t ask for more from them than that, and I didn’t think they could ask more from each other. Personally, I shared both Deborah’s convictions and Mother’s concerns, though I avoided speaking about either. Debs absolutely belonged with the Seraph—and I’d just have to return to developing my map of Kessex Hills as soon as she got posted there. 2 In the meanwhile, Deborah was welcomed by every old friend or near acquaintance in Divinity’s Reach. They came singly, they came in groups, they sent notes and presents; and by the time Lady Mashewe gasped and started crying into her shoulder, poor Debs looked entirely wrung-out. Whenever possible, I shepherded her towards my own childhood friends, who—though not her friends for good reason—could be trusted to confine themselves to ordinary courtesies. “It’s good to see you looking so well, Lady Deborah,” said Yolanda, wafting jasmine as she kissed Deborah’s cheek. “Thank you,” Deborah replied, eyeing her with caution. “And Althea, darling! I saw you at court with Captain Thackeray.” 3 “I’m often there,” I said. “I’ve become a sort of assistant to him and Countess Anise.” “Isn’t he dashing?” said Yolanda, fanning herself. “I’ve never thought about it,” I told her honestly. Corone, restored to his native good humour with the end of the robberies, heaved a disappointed sigh. “Never thought about it? Althea, Althea.” 4 Beside me, Deborah relaxed, and I silently blessed my friends, however distant our lives might be now. “Captain Thackeray has been very good to my sister,” she said. Yolanda and Corone exchanged a meaningful glance. “Is that so?” said Yolanda, and she seized my hands. “You must tell me everything.” Baffled, I blinked at her, and then at Corone. “Everything about what?” 5 “Thackeray, of course,” he said eagerly. Turning to Deborah, he added, “They fought together at Zamon’s trial, you know—it was thrilling to see, absolutely thrilling.” Deborah looked as puzzled as I felt; then, struck by some illumination that had entirely bypassed me, she grinned. “Oh, I’m sure it was.” “I don’t know what you want to hear,” I told them. “Everyone knows him.” “But not like you do, I’m certain,” said Yolanda. 6 She gave a light little giggle. “I suppose not,” I said. “But there’s not much I can say that’s not already public knowledge—he’s straightforward, loyal, very serious. Very devoted to Kryta.” “To Kryta, eh?” said Corone. I wasn’t about to mention Jennah. “Yes,” I told them firmly. 7 Inexplicably, both of them laughed; Deborah was still smiling. “Althea,” my traitorous sister said, her voice trembling, “I think you’re … ah, missing something.” No, really? “Well, I am absolutely delighted for you,” Yolanda told me. I stared at her. If I had no idea how a sighting of Logan at a place he often frequented had led to this particular burst of curiosity, then I had absolutely no clue why it should make anyone happy for me, except that I happened to have been there at the time, and was a close ally. Perhaps she meant my friendship with him more generally; his celebrity might make that worthy of gossip and congratulations—but it still seemed odd that they’d make such a point of it. FORTY-EIGHT 1 “Thank you,” I said in utter confusion. My friends looked all the more thrilled. Debs just snickered. “You’ve made quite the catch,” said Yolanda cheerfully. My thoughts scraped to a halt. They couldn’t mean—surely not— “Logan?” 2 “Is that what you call him?” Yolanda fanned herself again. “What a story, darling.” “It’s not everyone who wins a man’s heart over centaur carcasses,” said Corone, smiling. “I didn’t—we’re not—” I knew I sounded both inarticulate and unconvincing, but this was infinitely worse than the speculations about me and Faren. Logan Thackeray, of all people! 3 Deborah, at last, came to my rescue. “They’re not lovers,” she said succinctly, which she might have mentioned earlier. Yolanda and Corone both looked disappointed. “You’re not?” they said at once. “Gods, no,” I replied, and shuddered. “Logan’s a—an ally to me, a mentor. Nothing like that.” 4 Yolanda slanted me a sly glance. “Is that what Captain Thackeray thinks?” “Captain Thackeray,” I said, “thinks I’m a trustworthy protégée and a friend. I’m honoured, but that’s all I am.” “He’s been a sort of brother to her,” said Deborah, a stalwart defender when she chose to be. “And a good one. I’m very grateful.” 5 Yolanda gave a melancholy sigh. “Ah, I see,” said Corone. His expression cleared into sympathy. “Thackeray had the brother, I know, but I don’t think any sisters.” “He has one now, you mean,” said Yolanda, brightening up. “And in our Althea! How utterly charming, dear.�� 6 I opened my mouth to head this particular detour off, but after another glance at their faces, gave up. They were Yolanda and Corone; they’d always find something to chatter about, all the more when it concerned their own connections. Better this than the other. Hopefully that particular rumour was confined to Yolanda’s and Corone’s own hurried imaginations—but, considering the gossip that always swirled about Logan, that struck me as unlikely. Of course people would whisper about any woman he spent any significant amount of time with, which meant Jennah, Anise, and—me! Gods, what if Logan himself heard? I’d die. 7 “I—well—” “Something like that,” said Deborah. I almost squirmed under their fascinated regard. Yolanda, I quickly guessed, would expect nearly as good information from a surrogate sister as from a romantic partner. “Surely, then,” she said, “you’d know—” “We usually talk of Seraph matters,” I said, “most of it I can’t repeat without permission, he never speaks of the queen except in his professional capacity, and I’m pretty sure his only lover is Divinity’s Reach.” Deborah grinned, her grip on my arm loose and easy, her eyes crinkling up. In an instant, I forgave them everything. FORTY-NINE 1 Between the skill of the Seraph physicians, the power of the local priestesses and priests of Dwayna, and the Screaming Falcons’ own determination, Deborah and her fellow survivors were cleared for service within the fortnight. A few days more saw Falcon Company in full working order; the Seraph had been shuffling supplies and troops in the meanwhile to re-form the company. Privately, Logan told me that they’d had more Seraph volunteer for the transition than they could possibly assign to Falcon Company, despite the dangers of the post. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” I asked. “It’s raised morale,” said Logan. “Recruitment is up, too.” “That’s a yes, then.” 2 He replied, “Morale won’t save us from the dragons”—I nearly rolled my eyes—“but it’s good, yes.” “Centaurs first, dragons later,” I said lightly. Before he could lecture me, I hurried on, “What about Tervelan?” “He’ll have a proper trial,” said Logan, looking as disgusted as I felt, “but it doesn’t matter. The attack on us alone is enough to keep him behind bars for the rest of his godsforsaken life.” I nodded. “Deborah wanted to pay him a visit.” 3 “I’ll bet she did,” he said. “What did you do?” “Blamed you,” I replied promptly, leaning against the wall—we stood in one of the many labyrinthine halls of Seraph Headquarters, one currently locked on both sides—to peer up at him. “I love my sister, but I wasn’t about to set her loose on one of our only witnesses.” Logan looked unsurprised. “I don’t mind taking responsibility, then.” “I imagined you wouldn’t.” 4 “Speaking of Falcon Company,” he said, “now that they’re leaving, do you plan to remain in Divinity’s Reach? Or—” “No,” I replied, and suppressed the urge to look away. It was nothing to be ashamed of, for Kormir’s sake. “I’m going to Kessex Hills.” “Kessex!” exclaimed Logan. “What for?” 5 I hesitated, then forged ahead. “I make maps,” I told him. “Or refine them, depending on what there is to work with—but I personally travel to every place I have on a map, and make sure it’s as detailed and accurate as possible. Then I send each map off to the Tyrian Explorers Society: they’re trying to to put together a high-quality map of all Tyria, and I thought … well, I can do my part.” Logan blinked, seeming scarcely to know what to make of this. “You’re going to travel through the entirety of Kessex Hills to make a map?” “Well,” I admitted, “I thought I might keep an eye on the Falcons while I’m there.” 6 He gave a short laugh. “That sounds more like you. So, about these maps—do you make multiple copies? If you’re going that far afield, something like that might be useful to the Seraph.” “It wouldn’t be a problem,” I said, though of course duplicating something that large and that detailed would be a… not inconsiderable task. But it was small enough given everything the Seraph did for Kryta—and everything that Logan specifically had done. “I’ll pass them on as soon as I return to Divinity’s Reach.” 7 “Thank you.” He paused. “While you’re not a Seraph, so I can’t give you orders—” I laughed out loud. “Logan, you're almost the only person I do take orders from.” “All right,” said Logan, with one of his faint smiles, “then I’ll expect you to stay in contact, and return if summoned.” “I will,” I promised.

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1) the Tyrian Explorers’ Society: an organization that, in-game, sends you congratulations/thanks when you finish exploring a zone.