#my mind is connecting dots that are not even on the same piece of paper

[oh-men-of-dark-and-dismal-fate]

Since Billy Bibbit and Charles Lee Ray were both played by the same actor, I propose an AU where Billy did not die in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, but dissociated with his real personality and crafted a new one. When he finally signed himself out of the ward, he left Billy behind and walked out as a new man. He walked out as Charles Lee Ray. He traded one prison for another.

[qwertyprophecy]

hi !! i recently played storyseeker and really loved it !! i was curious about how you went about designing the story for it ?? was it hard to keep track of all the moving narrative parts ?? how did you decide where to reveal what info ?? hope you dont mind me asking -- i really love your art !! have a great day !!

I'm glad you enjoyed Storyseeker! Old as it may be, out of everything I've made it's still the game I'd most like to make a spiritual successor to.

Answers to narrative design questions after the cut:

It's funny, Storyseeker's design process was so organic that realistically it should've turned into a right mess. But just as organically it lead into design principles that made organising the story a breeze, honestly.

What I mean by organic: As touched upon in this reply regarding worldbuilding, the story kept writing itself as long as I kept asking it questions, so I just let it do its thing. The player is meant to experience the narrative in much the same way, with me imposing as little control over them as possible while they travel as they please and narrate to themselves the story of what they see.

It sounds freeform and terribly unstructured, but I established a principle of design that aims to help the player connect the dots instead of feeling lost in a cacophony of random details. While making the game I called them "paths": routes the player is likely to take or subtly guided to take, that connect together related parts of the narrative. Visually some are literal paths or roads, but they could be anything that the player might follow. Footprints, streams of bubbles, the line of sight of an NPC, the sight of something irregular peeking at the edge of the screen...

A path presents both a question and a direction to go look for the answer. Oftentimes, the exact questions I was asking myself when building the world piece by piece. Where does this road lead? Where are these weasels swimming to (or, approaching from the opposite direction, where did they come from)? What dislodged itself from this hole in the ice and where did it go? What kind of a body are these giant toes connected to? Ie., to answer your question of when to reveal information: when the player asks for the information by moving towards where it's revealed, whether on purpose or unknowingly.

If the player follows the direction they must end up on another path because good answers beget more questions. The single most important design document I had was a piece of scrap paper with a rough sketch of the map and a whole lot of coloured lines flowing across it to mark the paths I was prepping for the player. (Lines, not arrows, since I couldn't predict which direction they'd be traveled in.) By visualising them I tried to make sure none of them stopped abruptly or looped in a circle, and that all the places of interest were covered.

(The biggest exception to this design is of course the dead end of a room that is the game's final area: the temple interior that can only be found by completionists. That's why it "completes" the game by being a narrative dead end, too.)

I genuinely didn't even plan it this way on purpose, but it turns out that it really helps keep track of a narrative when you make a game where webs of cause and consequence are all visually illustrated on a literal map. :D If you're the type of person who benefits from visually organising things, I don't see why you couldn't draw abstracted maps of your narrative even if it's not so visual in nature.

I know I definitely need to do more of that! Just last week I rescued my current project's dialogue rewrite with visualisation and arrow doodles. It had grown into an overwhelming mess of unplanned splitting and rejoining branches and microreactivity, so to have any chance of looking at it without inviting a migraine, I closed the document and instead mapped the whole script into a single page outline of what each conversation is supposed to convey to the player. It's so much easier for me to think about the shape of the story when I can see it in one glance!

[bitterbutblue]

a sunday and robin story

two birds on a wire ☆ robin and sunday alt universe story

~ my friend loves sibling angst so im giving them some sibling angst so they'll be sad

sunday is working to find his sister's killer ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

He had been sitting in the same spot for so long, he may as well be a statue frozen in time. The only sound that echoes through the room is the sound of his fingernails tapping against the whiskey glass. Clink, clink, clink. He swallows dryly, scanning at all the papers that lay out in front of him- the photos, notes, testaments. Everythnig is laid out in front of him and the dots should have connected by now but it's not. None of it is connected. It's like puzzle pieces that each just have a slight edge to them that makes them unable to be pieced together properly.

"Robin..."

It had been fifty three days since he found her body in the bathtub, a massive wound through her chest. Every time he closes his eyes he remembers that scene in front of him. She looked at peace, as if she was asleep. As if the world around her had halted, as if everything had finally decided to come to a rest for just a bit. Sunday remembers screaming, crying at somebody- anybody- to call the cops. He held her body tight in his arms, sobbing into her shoulders. He grips her so tight, he's worried he might break her already fragile body. The cops pried her away from his grasp, leaving him on the ground. His white jacket stained in her blood as he sits and stares. He stares and stares at that spot on the ground where he first found her. In his anger his own vision went white as he teared up everything in his bedroom. He threw his glasses at the wall, smashing each cup and bottle he saw. He tore his bedsheets wide open, he ripped his books in half. The exhaustion in his bones and muscles are nothing compared to the ache he felt throughout his entire body and all he can do is scream. He was not one to let out emotions yet now he can't help himself His own sister was dead.

The police eventually came to a dead end, of all things. They stated that there were no suspects in mind yet he himself could list out at least ten right off the top of his head. So he decided take matters into his own hands and here is he is now.

With each passing day, the possibility of finding the real suspect lowers and lowers.

"Sunday."

Gallagher enters the room, sighing as he catches the stench of alcohol once again.

"That's enough."

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH."

Gallagher doesn't even flinch anymore at Sunday's outburst. He just straightens his tie as he stands by the door.

"You- You know nothing. NOTHING."

Sunday's voice is so hoarse he can barely recognise it himself. His words slurred but his anger still evident.

"I wanted you to give up."

His words hit him like nothing. Sunday just lets out an empty laugh.

"Why? Why do I need to give up? Haven't they done that already."

A file is flung onto his table, inside it only containing a single USB.

"What the fuck is this?" He snarls

"What I've been protecting from you."

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE!"

He couldn't stand seeing Gallagher's face. Gallagher had been trying to tell him to give up ever since he started his own investigation and he hated Gallagher for that. He watches as Gallagher begins to give up. Gallagher stopped coming in every day to check up on himas Sunday grew more and more restless and irrational. A part of Sunday is sure that he has scared off the one person who has persisted in caring for him over the past month and more and he's been pushing him away. But he couldn't stop himself.

"Fuck you. Fuck you, Gallagher."

He couldn't bear to look at Gallagher in the eyes because he knew that Gallagher would have the same look. The same look every time where he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to hide the pain that can be evidently seen. His face will be stone cold, but behind that Sunday can always tell there is lingering pain that is trying to fight its way out. Sunday grabs at the letter opener that sits near him, pointing it at gallagher and gesturing with it wildly. He is sure that his eyes has the most frantic look, like a madman on the verge of breaking into pieces and crumbling into dust.

"Get the FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE."

He leaves. He doesn't even want to say anything this time. He doesn't even open his mouth and he walks out of the room, slamming the door.

Sunday stares at the USB that lies on the table. His fingers itch to to grab it and plug it into the nearest computer but a part of him is scared. He's scared to find the truth of what happened to his sister because what will drive him after? Perhaps nothing- perhaps he won't have a drive anymore. and then what?

Yet his body moves without him really thinking about it. He grabs at the USB and plugs it into the computer, clicking into the drive that pops up. Inside was a video file, the name being the date Robin's body was found. Sunday can feel his blood go cold as he hovers his cursor over the video. The room was now dead silent, and he can feel himself trembling so hard his teeth are practically chattering. He takes a deep breath in, but it's shaky. His palms are sweating through his gloves as his free hand grips at the armrest of the chair. His stomach churns uncomfortably, swallowing back his fear as he sighs.

"Fuck."

He clicks onto the video.

The next three minutes were the slowest of his life. He watches in horror as it all is unfolded right in front of him. Hours upon hours of collecting evidence- evidence that he nows sees is completely useless and was never on the right track to begin with.

He watches as Robin greets the person with a smile, before her face shifts into one of panic and horror as the other person lunges with a knife, stabbing into her over and over as she cries.

She cries. She cries out his name in her last dying breath and he wants to throw up.

She cries. She cries out his name in her last dying breath because the figure was him.

He doubles over- unable to even get out of his chair before he throws up on the ground, coughing and gagging as he fears the familiar burn in his throat. His eyes sting with tears as he wipes at his mouth, hearing her wheezes and pleas through the computer from the video he hasn't stopped. He picks up the computer, hurling it across the room as he lets out a horrified scream.

Gallagher must've lied. Gallagher must've made things up- could he have used some form of artificial intelligence? Could he have done this just to get under his skin? No- no that look on Robin's face was far too sincere and far too real for her liking.

"Robin.."

He moves himself off the chair, gripping the letter opener tightly.

"Robin-"

He cries. He cries out her name.

[technotalksnimien]

Techno Conclusion

My fifth blog to comply, but I hope this is not to make. I still want to continue writing my blog that reflects my everyday learnings. As promised, I will have a double update today. Last Wednesday, it was concluded that technopreneurship course for this semester is about to end. I am feeling mixed emotions, happy because it's over and at the same time, sad because it's over. I didn't paid that much attention to our entrep subject in Grade 11. And I must say, I didn't learned a lot as well because it was in modular, and I don't even read modules. I am beyond grateful to encounter technopreneurship as it taught me many things.

1. Small idea makes great good things

Why are we encouraged to pitch our ideas? Is it merely to comply and pass the subject? NO. I have learned that not matter how small, or silly and idea can be, an idea is still an idea. However, an idea itself won't bring you to success. You have to put effort. Like a seedling, it requires ample amount of sunlight, water and care to survive

If you start doubting yourself, you also doubt the things you might do. If you have something in mind, that you think will contribute to the society, work on it, tell others about it, tell them about your plans. Help and money will come along the way. The key to success is your perseverance.

SEED is an acronym for Self-Mastery, Environment Mastery, Enterprise Mastery and Development of Business Plan.

2. Think outside the box

I can still remember it. We had an activity wherein we were tasked to connect the 9 dots without ifting the pen. I wasn't able to do it because I am stressing out how. My classmate figured it out and later on, our professor explained. We must think about the box and do't limit our learnings. We do not only learn in school, but also to outside.

"Think outside the box" means approaching problems and situations in an innovative and non-traditional way, breaking free from conventional thinking patterns. It involves using creativity, exploring unconventional ideas, and challenging existing assumptions.

3. Follow instructions

following simple instruction is very important because if you are not doing it, you cannot run simple programs.

In that activity, we were told to bonly used blue pen, luckily, I have all colors of ballpens in my bag. Then he told us to write our name. I was hesitant at first and I was like, "are we gonna have a surprise quiz?". Then he gave us additional instructions. To write it in all capital letters. Some of my classmates frowned as they get another piece piece of paper and ignored the first one. Then I realized, I should wait for him to finish giving the instructions first before I write on mine. That's it guys, always follow instructions!

4. Trial and error

from my previous blog, I said that I first failed my techno pitch but got it the second time. I almost lost hope but of course, I have to think and try again. Just like what research taught us in junior and senior high school, trial and error. Just don't give up trying. You will only fail if you stop. Using the trial-and-error method is the only way we can truly learn. When we make a mistake or fail at something, we allow ourselves the chance to reflect, make changes, and try again.

5. Love what you do; do what you love

Syeve Jobs said, "Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle."

Love what you do - love it because you are doing it. Do what you love - Do it because you love it. These are two different things, you can be in either of it, or both. I have learned that if we put passion and love in the things that we do, we are bound to have great things ahead. Learning to appreciate yourself, your job, your family and friends is a great facctor in being happy.

I hope that you learned something from me. I am happy that finally, I finished my five blogs. If I have time, and I have something to share, I will surely remember technotalksnimien. Thank you so much!

[persephonescottage]

PONY | 15.

Pairing: Billy RussoxFem!Reader

Summary: You might get banned from a certain coffee shop.

Warning: References to sexual situations, swearing, obsessive thoughts. Although this chapter might not include it, this fic will include stalking, somnophilia, CNC (between two consenting adults), knife play, age gap, dub con, Stockholm syndrome, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+. If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.

A/N: Hi guys! Next two chapters are smutty chapters be ready (to judge me lol) only one more chapter for the gala wohoooo!!!!!

Also after this whole BB drama if I’m tagging you and you don’t wanna be tagged anymore let me know I completely understand :)

&

“Here’s your flat white and the brunette barista’s number, at least pretend to look at it this time, he gave me a free bagel as as bribe to give it to you.”

You look up from the table of the coffee shop where your gaze has been stuck for the past twenty minutes. Gianna asked you to come along  to the fitting of her dress for the gala and you hoped it would take your mind away from Blackbird’s call.

You glance back at the bar and there he is.

Green shinny eyes and dimples with a shy smile, you look at Gianna alarmed.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What?”

“Is he even eighteen?”

“He said he was in his twenties!”

“Gianna! That child lied to you, do you want to get me arrested? Throw that piece of paper away and you better put the value of that bagel in the tip jar! My god!”

“I’m sorry! Didn’t realize you were into older guys, since I’ve never seen your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Yeah you do. Murderous and psychopathic.”

The table was suddenly quiet as you debated on telling your friend what happened last night and this morning.

And this afternoon.

“He came back last night Gigi.”

“I know he did.” You look at her surprised and she smiles “Oh please honey I’m not and idiot! Out of the blue you start grinding on poor Henry, who by the way looked like he would pass out from disbelief.”

“We were drunk.”

“You were drunk, he was completely sober after he saw you pull your phone from your bra right in his face, not cool by the way.”

“Couldn’t help it I’m a horny drunk.”

“I know that’s why I thought you were finally gonna do it when you dragged him out of the club after dancing for like ten seconds. I thought you were gonna fuck Mr. Big Check and hopefully poke a hole in the condom and collect a check for the rest of your life-“

“Lower you voice Gigi!”

She’s practically yelling in the coffee shop and you’re afraid someone will connect the dots and you’ll embarrass yourself in deuxmoi next.

“But next thing I know he’s calling me at nine in the morning to see how you’re feeling and what kind of soup you like better when you get a cold. Poor thing I had to convince him I had already brought you food.”

“In my defense I did consider sleeping with Henry last night.” You admit mumbling to your friend before sipping on your warm paper cup of coffee. 

“But?”

“But then he fell asleep on the way to Brooklyn and he just looked so… so… so rich!”

“Oh you’re a snob!”

“No I don’t mean it like that! He just looked so clean, so pretty you know, so Brad Pitt. Just perfect.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Can we not talk about him in public? I’m getting paranoid?”

“Ok, let’s talk about Blackbird. No one knows him.” She finished with a mouth full after bitting her bagel “Not even you.”

You give her a mean look.

But she’s right.

“Did he say why he left?”

“No.”

“Did he say where he was?”

“No.”

“Did you meet him formally.”

“I was in the same room as him.”

“So you saw him.”

You’re silent and the loud conversations in the establishment suddenly feel like they’re drowning you. Gianna raises a quizzical brow at you and you know she’s waiting, judging you by how long your answer is taking.

Why wont you answer?

Because you don’t know how to.

“What happened last night babe?”

“He came over.”

“When you were still drunk?”

“Yeah.” You omit the cupcake detail, her judgement is making you feel two inches tall already, you don’t wanna fuel her. “We talked on the phone while I was still pretty drunk and I called him a coward and I asked him to come over and he did.”

“You’ve got a death wish. Did he wear the mask?”

“No, but he turned the lights off.”

Gianna laughs and you can’t help but laugh with her because your story sounds pretty stupid to yourself too. 

“Did you play hide and seek too?”

“He ate me out.”

The laughter stoped abruptly and you could hear the way your friend gulped loudly her coffee. Her eyes where big in surprise and you couldn’t read her expression. Maybe you finally crossed the line, maybe her traditional Italian upbringing would finally come through and she would stop being your friend.

“You fucked a man you’ve never seen?”

“No we didn’t fuck. He ate me out.”

“You sucked his dick?”

“No!”

“He ate you out and left? Just like that? Asked for nothing in return?”

“Took my panties. Left me a sweater, pretty sure it’s the one he was wearing last night and he fixed my AC, thank god cause I’m sure my landlord was never going to do it.”

“Did you come?” She was so serious.

“Gigi.” You face was serious too and you took your friend’s hand on top of the table. “That man ate the soul out of my body and I don’t think I got it back.”

“! fucking hate you!” She laughs. “I date and do everything right and you get a handy man that gives your orgasms and fucks off? That’s so unfair!”

“Listen, here’s the important part, I asked him if I could touch his face and he said yes and I felt a scar.”

“The one you saw on his neck at the dumpster.”

“Could be connected or could be two because this one was near and on, or around his nose too. Could that help us?”

“Oh so I get he isn’t gonna tell you who he is?”

You feel your shoulders sag. 

“I called him this morning to thank him for the AC.”

“And the orgasm” she smiles.

“And the orgasm.” You smile too “And I told him about Henry inviting me to the gala and he said he would prefer I wouldn’t go with him.” You put a little make up on the truth to make it sound nicer for your friend. “But then I waited for him to say he’d go with me and he said nothing.”

“Why didn’t you ask him to go with you?”

“It’s not lady like.”

“Oh so you can ride his face but you can’t ask him to a black tie event. Classy…”

“I didn’t ride his face…” you mumble. 

“Let’s go. They’re waiting for us at the fitting.” You see your friend pick up her bag and stand from her chair. “I can’t believe i have to get this dress altered because Mr. Russo wants me to specifically work the door, he’s like obsessed with me or something.” 

“Well maybe his hot friend Frank Castle did talk about you…” 

“Don’t get my hopes up.” She laughed “Call Blackbird and ask him, you’re one of the lucky ones Billy Russo doesn’t have in a ridiculous position at the gala, who knows, maybe he can get the full pussy experience at the after party.”

Jesus, you were never going back to this coffee shop.

Tag list: @bxtchopolis | @wheresthesunshinesblog | @adriennebarnes | @restingbitchsblog | @sm2324 |@fruityfucker | @ruleroftides | @lilacs-lavender | @dragon-of-winterfell | @virginsvicide | | @spear-bearing-bi-witch | @iiirhiane-g | @simpforbuckyb | @snowkestrel

[oh-holy-slut]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, blood sharing, mentions of death, oral sex

Word Count: 2,6k

Summary: Stefan forced Damon to try his animal diet. Damon hated it, but didn't had a choice... until Reader makes a suggestion. Suddenly things get steamy.

Being with Damon was complicated. Him and Y/N have seen each other a lot in the past weeks. The two of them had a lot of fun; saw a lot of movies. Actually, Y/N was sure Damon secretly hated many of those. However, anytime Y/N suggested another dramatic, romantic cliché movie like "Last Song" - the vampire groaned, put his arm around her shoulder, let her head rest on his chest and endured every single second of the movie of her choice.

Damon even flirted and teased Y/N here and there, but didn't lead to anything more intimate so far.

Today was another of those days. Y/N stuck around at the Salvatore boarding house, brought a few of Damon's favorite groceries and a bunch of movies, of which she thought that they will suit his taste. Even if they were a little to bloody and brutal in her opinion.

"Pick one!", she demanded, holding all three Blu-ray sleeves in front of him. Damon just shrugged, not bothering to even look.

"Don't be a killjoy, Damon Salvatore!" Y/N sighed.

"Tell me what's wrong or pick a movie. You've got no choice. And besides that... Which number of drink is this?" Y/N frowned, pointing at the liquor in her friends hand. Damon usually consumed his beloved bourbon with pleasure.

But the man on the couch didn't seem pleasured at all. His facial features totally hardened and a look in his eyes like he was ready to rip someone's heart out.

You put the disc's back in your handbag, closing the zipper and put the bag on the floor.

"Fine. No movie night today. Who are we going to kill?"

A small smirk appeared on Damon's lips, finally looking towards Y/N.

"Stefan and his hero hair. He made me go vegetarian... well, for a vampire... and I can't get myself to eat one of those chipmunks, bunnies or bambis." He shook himself with disgust.

"And why did he count you in? You clearly aren't excited about the changing... So, why did you agree?"

"He said, he would kill me, which is kinda funny. But-" Damon made a wide gesture "he stole my daylight ring. And he wouldn't give it back until I stop feeding on innocent people - and kill them."

"So, you truly let your younger brother blackmail you like that?! Wow... I don't know how to feel about your dieting or your new path. Or whatever this is supposed to be."

"You don't like me killing people either", Damon maintained, while taking another sip of bourbon.

"Well, I don't", Y/N agreed, took a step forward, stole the glass from the vampires hand and put it on a small table nearby. "But I don't believe in forcing as a method to get people to change their minds. I believe that change for the better must be an intrinsic motivation," she added quickly, giving the vampire an innocent smile.

Damon's lineaments suddenly turned from annoyed to curious. "Any suggestions, little one?" The vampire raised an eyebrow and a little smirk showed up on his lips. On the one hand, Y/N blushed over the nickname, Damon called her.  On the other hand she felt skittish looking forward to making a deal with him. Not only a deal. It's far more than a simple agreement.

It's Y/N, actually giving Damon a part of her. The red elixir of life. She was about to give him total control of her body and she not even for a heartbeat doubt that Damon will use it against her.

"Actually... Yeah. There's something on my mind." Y/N said chewing on your lip. "I could open up a vein for you. I mean, you could feed on me. And since you have my permission, there's nothing for anybody to have objection about."

Damon frowned and gave her an incredulous look. "You would do that for me?" The vampire couldn't believe, he understood correctly. Why would Y/N want to get involved with him feeding on her? What's in it for her? Damon tried hard to connect the dots, but he wasn't able to. It all seemed to make no sense. Y/N wouldn't have an advantage of that. The vampire hesitated, pinning his dangerously blue eyes on the girl in front of him.

"Is it so suspicious of me, that I'm trying to help my closest friend?" It pierced Y/N's heart, realizing, Damon's trust in her was rather fragile. "Never mind", she waved the pain away and forced herself to keep her composure. "I only had a hasty idea; you really don't need to fee-"

Suddenly Damon appeared behind Y/N, using his vampirism. "Shhhh", he whispered softly. "I never said, that I don't want your blood. I'm thinking about if we are going to cross a line? Blood sharing can be very personal..."

"It can be? It is personal already. Believe it or not - I'm not gonna offer my veins to all the vampires of Mystic Falls." Y/N rolled her eyes, her arms folded on her chest to point out the indignation she felt right now.

"Kinda sensitive today, huh?" Damon gently stroke a strand of hair behind her ear, Y/N could hear this smug smirk through his words. It was a true 'Damon thing' to do. "I didn't mean it like that, princess." He sighed; unsure if he should agree or not. Damon didn't want to act selfish towards Y/N. He compelled a lot of girls for the purpose of drinking blood in the past. He literally used them as long as they weren't too annoying - and then he acted like they have never met. Damon Salvatore couldn't imagine this scenario with Y/N. They've been so close, the vampire couldn't stand loosing her. The offer was risky, but it also could bring each other even closer.

Damon tried hard to avoid any serious attraction between Y/N and him, afraid of messing up. Indeed, he found himself thinking, and even dreaming, about Y/N more than he wanted to admit. She was smart and had this special sense of humor, the vampire adored so much. She was the only one, who could make him feel good no matter what. Needless to say she had that glimmer in her eyes, when she did something she truly loved. In these moments she was even more pretty. Y/N was hard to resist.

And maybe now he could have her like nobody else. At least the vampire gave in. He wanted her blood. He wanted her.

Y/N flinched by the feeling of Damon brushing her neck with his lips.  "Oh, Damon", she gasped. "Bite me." Y/N almost begged for the vampire's teeth breaking through her skin. Damon loved the sound of her husky voice. In less than a heartbeat he turned into his vampire shape. "If you insist", he grinned devilishly, ready to place his teeth on to her skin.

Suddenly Y/N made a slight move forward with the intention to interrupt her friend. "Did you change your mind?" Damon was close to switching back to human, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. Mostly a lack of understanding, but also a little of disappointment and even anger. Was Y/N playing games on him? While Damon Salvatore was sorting feelings, Y/N turned around, standing now in front of him.

She was so close, not even a piece of paper would fit between them.

Y/N slightly exhaled breath, her eyes darting between the vampires eyes and lips. It was the first time Y/N saw him like this. The icy blue of his eyes, she loved so much, has turned darker. Purple veins appeared under his eyes; Y/N couldn't help herself. Damon's appearance fully intoxicated every fibre of her being. Her fingertips found their way gently brushing over his dark purple veins. She felt heat and softness, while tracing one of them.  It took her a few seconds to get out of trance, realizing what she had done. "Sorry", she murmured with a voice barely audible. "Don't apologize, little one." Damon tilted his head, his lips curled up in a self-assured grin, exposing a perfectly white vampire fang. "I never saw you like this before, you loo-"

"... look like a monster?"

Y/N shook her head. It was nothing like that. Yes, he did look unfamiliar. And she should be scared under normal conditions. Instead, his look hit her in an unexpected way. He looked hotter as a vampire, if it was even possible. 

Y/N cleared her throat, looking up at Damon. "I feel... attracted to you."

"So nothing's changed", Damon teased, raising his eyebrows. The girl in front of him softly slapped him on his shoulder; which was only possible because the vampire permitted. "You are always so full of yourself." She smirked, feeling more confident being to something, they have had been so many times before. Granted, he was terrifying accurate, but she wouldn't serve her feelings on a silver platter.

"I'm still into it. You can bite me; feed on me. I only needed to see you before..." 

A shockwave of electricity flowed through her body the second Damon took her hand and pulled her close.

"I'll be careful", he promised, nuzzling his head into the nap of her neck. Damon once again placed his lips on her soft skin. 

Suddenly a harsh pain made Y/N feel like in a kind of haze. She flinched and let out a groan at the same time, unintentionally biting her lower lip. 

During Damon embedded his fang deeper and deeper, she started feeling dizzy. Her hands searched for the vampires upper body, finally wrapped around his neck. She needed him to lean on. A narrow trickle of blood flowed down her neck. Let Damon feed on her felt like flames licking up every fiber of her body. 

With every passing second Y/N could feel her control slip away. Her body was now firmly pressed against Damon's, like she would want to merge them into one.

Damon noticed her staggering, wrapped his arms around her waist, supporting her.

Bloodlust already messed up the vampires mind, so he continued feeding on Y/N.

A tempting moan escaped her lips, but she didn't care to cover up. Y/N's heart was racing, her eyes flattering. It was almost as if he was about to push her over the edge, but in a different way. "Mmm, this...this… feels soo weird... and so good...", she whispered under a shallow breath.

As soon as Damon heard her fading voice, he abruptly

quitted drinking from her.

"Fuck!" He rapidly laid her on his lap and checked Y/N's vital signs, to make sure she was okay. Instinctively he bit his wrist, pressed it against Y/N's mouth. He knew his blood would heal her, but it wasn't going fast enough. A few seconds passed through, to him they felt like centuries. Y/N finally blinked and Damon was relieved. He cupped her cheeks, his gaze never leaving hers. "I thought, I'd gone-" Damon cleaned his throat. "I'm so glad, you are doing well", he whispered, while trailing her lips with his fingertips. "So, fuckin' glad..." The vampire exhaled a deep breath. 

"It... You made me feel good. Strange, but good", Y/N appeased and flushed over the memory. "Maybe you got a little carried away, but I don't mind. I wouldn't trade the feeling for anything."

Y/N quickly interrupted herself, before she could reveal too much.

However, Damon used his vampire skills, noticing that Y/N was hiding something from him. "Isn't there anything else you want me to know?", Damon asked without taking his eyes off her. Y/N shifted and flushed even more. "It's unfair. You use your vampirism to get everything out of me."

"Well, if that were the case, I could easily compel you." Damon shrugged and found back to his smugly self. "Tell me, what you are hiding". He said in a seductive voice.

"I wanted to get lost in you."

Her confession sent shivers all over the vampires body. At first he could not decide, how to handle this. "Are you sure that's what you want? I could really hurt you..." Y/N hummed.

In the next split second, Damon pinned Y/N against a wall, smashing his lips on hers, kissing her with all the passion he had to give. The vampire devoured Y/N with a new kind of hunger. He didn't know he could crave someone so much.

"Fuck me, Damon..."

The vampire felt him getting hard, only by hearing those little three words out of her mouth.

"Say it louder. Tell me, what you want me to do."

Y/N pulled him closer, gently biting his earlobe.

"Fuck... me, Damon." It took her a second to focus and forming the words again. After she was near to climax earlier, it wasn't a long way getting to the edge once more. "Make me cum... You almost had me there..."

A deep moan got over the vampires lips, once he understood, what Y/N was trying to tell him.

With the next blink Y/N found herself in Damon's bedroom, lying on his bed.

From now on there weren't many words needed. Damon's hand's found their way under her shirt, cupping her breasts and make her moan over and over again.

He closely listened to the rhythm of her heart, making sure he would be able to delay her climax to the point he needed her to.

"Don't cum yet... I want to taste your little pussy first."

Y/N grabbed the vampires head, running her fingers through his dark hair - pushing him down, since she was unable to form a single word.

As Damon got down, he didn't take his eyes off Y/N.

He used a hand pushing up her skirt and lightly stroking over her panties with his fingertips.

"My girl is so wet", he praised in a low husky voice."-and I barely touched you."

His dirty words in combination with his touch lead to another moan, almost turned into a scream.

Damon pushed the fabric aside, leaving sloppy kisses on the inside of her thighs.

Y/N's eyes fluttered, when his soft lips reached her middle.

Damon's tongue licking around her entrance was driving her nuts.

"...so delicious..." were the only words she was able to catch up. Damon knew, he couldn't thrill her forever, so he got back to her. He spit on his palms, stroking his hand over his crotch. In under a second Y/N finally felt this releasing pressure of his cock. It was like a switch went off in her brain and she braced herself for the hard thrusts that would follow.

Damon dimmed the whining noises Y/N made with a passionate, hungry kiss.

He cheated with his vampirism to give it to her deeper and faster, knocking out all the air of her lungs while Y/N screamed out Damon's name. Her walls clenched around him and made him twitch. It was like her pussy massaged his dick the best way possible.

Every time he hit her harder and rougher he was making sure he hit her spot with every thrust.

Damon gathered speed one last time and pushed her over the edge until she was a moaning whimpering mess.

With her last contraction around his shaft, Damon was cumming inside her.

"You are so tight, little one", he whispered under his breath. "We should make arrangements more often."

Please like or/and reblog if you enjoyed reading or/and want me to write more stories about Damon.

Thanks guys ❤️

[mctreeleth]

Here it is! The instructions to make a pieced and quilted plague doctor mask!

Just as a heads up, this pattern is not really recommended for beginners. There is not a whole lot of explanation of the basic techniques, and it requires a fair bit of precision, two types of fusible interfacing, and an assumption that you can keep a consistent seam allowance and do some hand sewing and know when to sew things right sides together and such.

I am not promising anything, different methods will yield different results, I have never made a pattern exactly as it was written and neither should you. If you want something the same as the next person, go to the shops.

Actually, nevermind, this is a quarantine craft, stay home.

There are two ways to do the piecing for this project. The first is a quilting technique called English Paper Piecing, there are plenty of tutorials online, but it is done by hand and I do not have the patience for it. Still, if you have the time but not the machinery, it is probably your best option for a very good finish. Cut the pattern net out of card, glue the bits onto your fabric, sew them up, pull them out and add interfacing after. I sewed three hexies together once and got bored and gave up.

The method I actually used involves my favourite cheat for sewing: you can use an inkjet printer to print on non-woven fusible interfacing! There are ridiculously overpriced pre-cut packs available, but also you can just cut up some midweight to the right size. I just have a boring old Epson printer, and I can get away with just putting some scotch tape along the edge that feeds in for a bit of stability. Alternatively, depending on the brand, you can “fuse” it onto some non-stick baking paper, cut it to size, and then peel it off without losing too much adhesive. (My pictures look a little different because my original A4 version fits on the page differently than the shared version)

Printing onto interfacing means I know my dimensions are perfect, and I have the markings on the pieces so I know what joins to what. If you only have a laser printer, or your inkjet hates you and wont let you print on interfacing, I still recommend using fusible interfacing for structure and precision piecing. You will just need to keep a lot better track of what is what, because the pieces are all slightly different and they only go together one way.

The actual “pattern” for this project is a geometric net. I highly recommend making one in paper or cardstock first, because we all have different sized heads.  As with most quilting projects, it will generally get to be a little bit smaller again once it is all sewn together, so keep that in mind.

This is a link to the PDF on Google Drive. It is a 4 page document, for printing on US letter size. There is enough space around the pieces that it can also print onto A4 paper: the one inch square should measure 2.5cm. Similarly, the extra space means it can be scaled up a bit before any gets cut off, if you have a particularly large face.

(Edited to add: if you were going to make this in a single fabric rather than pieced together patchwork pieces, I have uploaded a simplified version of the pattern, which has more curved seams which are easier to match. The technique is otherwise the same, but note that these patterns do not have seam allowances - you will need to add them when you cut your fabric so that the pieces match.)

The body of the mask is made up of two mirrored (four total) pieced together bits, plus some circles to go around the lenses. There are two mirrored top pieces, and two mirrored bottom pieces. The top pieces are numbered 1-14, and are split over two pages and need to be joined together. The bottom pieces are lettered A-H. On one side of the pattern the numbers and letters are circled, so you know which side you are working on. There are also small dashes in the corners of the pieces; single dashes connect to single dashes, double dashes connect to double dashes. At the parts that become the edges of the eye holes, there are little dots at the end of the dashes.

Even if you are printing onto interfacing, you will also need to do a paper printout, as it will be used later as a pattern to cut the batting and the lining. The paper printout can also be used to work out your fabric placement, if you are going for a certain look (again, this one was printed as an all in one A4 sheet, but it works the same).

Cutting the Patchworked Outer

If you have managed to print onto fusible interfacing, all you need to do is cut the pieces. Otherwise, do what you need to trace the pieces onto interfacing, making notes of where they go and which sides align to what.

Once you have your interfacing pieces cut and organized, fuse them to your fabrics with at least enough room between and around them for seam allowances on each side.

I use a 1cm seam allowance, but feel free to use a quarter or half inch if that is what you are used to.

Trim all the pieces to have a consistent seam allowance.

Lay the trimmed pieces out on the paper printouts. This will let you know if there are any pieces missing, or any parts where fabric duplicates might share a seam.

Piecing the Patchworked Outer

First, piece together the nets of the bottom pieces. Put a straight pin straight through at the corners of the interfacings of two neighboring pieces, so they are perfectly aligned. Then angle the pin on the right hand side so it comes back up along where the seam will go, and angle the one on the left so that it is going across.

Sew along the edge of the interfacing, aiming for just alongside of it, not on it.

Finger press the seams open, then repeat until all the pieces are together.

The technique for the top pieces is the same, but at any join which ends at an eyehole (marked on the pattern with a black dot on the ends of the dash), backstitch at the end of the interfacing, so that it won’t pull apart at the edge. The seam allowance at this part will be cut off, so it needs to be secured before that point to prevent it from pulling apart.

Batting and Quilting

Properly press all the pieces, with the seams open.

Using the paper pattern, cut out two mirrored top and bottom pieces from fusible batting.

Iron these onto the inside of the pieced parts, so that their edges line up with the interfacings. In my experience, the best way to iron on fusible batting is from the right side, so I pin them in place and flip them over, iron a little bit so they barely stick, pull out the pins, and fuse properly.

Do some quilting. I just went 5mm to the side of every seam, because the next lot of seams need to be topstitched in the same way, and I like the consistency.

Assembly of the Patchworked Outer

Join together the gap in the top pieces. The batting was aligned to the interfacing, so the technique is the same.

Press the seams apart and topstitch the seams to either side.

Trim off the excess seam allowance around the eye holes to the edge of the batting and interfacing. this was why we needed to backstitch earlier.

The next step joins the top and bottom pieces together. The bottom piece attaches to the more curved edge of the top piece - that last seam that was joined after adding the batting will meet these side seams, angled towards the tip of the beak. Sewing the sides is the trickiest bit to do on the machine, so, while I would normally say basting is for cowards, if you want the points to match perfectly, this is a time when pinning will not really cut it. I just hand sew through each point where the seams join, go back through a couple of threads over, and tie it off. 

Then I put pins through the longer seams.

When sewing it with the machine, try to keep the lines as straight as possible, making turns only at the seams where you put a basting stitch.

Once both sides are sewn, press the seams open and topstitch to either side.

Repeat this step for the top centre seam. You can just pin baste this one if you would rather, because the angles match, but it is literally right there in the middle where everyone can see it, so if you are not confident in matching points, baste it.

Press the seams open and topstitch.

The technique is the same for the bottom centre seam, but topstitching all the way to the tip of the beak is not possible, so you will have to do the last bit of top stitching by hand.

It doesn’t matter so much if it is a bit messy, because it is not in a place where it can really be seen, but spitting the seam will help it hold its shape more nicely.

That is the pretty outside bit done.

Making and Attaching the Lining

To make the lining, use the paper pattern to cut two mirrored pieces of the top and bottom pieces, with whatever seam allowance you prefer.

The gap on the top piece will have a maximum possible seam allowance of about a quarter inch, but this is enough for a secure internal seam. The eye holes do not need a seam allowance.

Sew together the gaps in the top pieces, then sew the top seam of the top pieces and the centre seam of the bottom pieces together.

Open up both pieces and sew the sides together. You should have a lining piece that is a floppy, boring version of the outside piece.

I have not included a step for how to make a strap, because everyone has their own preferred methods, and there are plenty of alternative options. If you don’t want to worry about making strapping you can use ribbon or elastic, or put a small loop there to thread something through afterwards. Whatever the choice, pin to the centre of the back edges of pattern pieces #10, facing towards the eye holes.

Put the lining piece, facing right side in, over the pieced outer and the strap pieces and pin around the edges, lining up the four seams of the lining with the seams on the outer.

Sew around the edge.

Turn the piece right side out through one of the lining’s eye holes. You just sort of pull the pieced outer (which is currently inside) back a bit, until the tip of the beak can come through an eye hole, and then try to pull it through as gently as possible so that the raw edge of the eye hole doesn’t get too stretched and frayed.

Then push the lining back into the pieced outer body of the mask.

Pin around the edge, so that the lining is all tucked neatly inside.

Top stitch over the edge.

Eye hole time!

Pin the outer and lining together in the eye holes, and top stitch about 4mm (1/6th of an inch) from the edges. Trim any fraying bits.

Hand stitch 1 inch wide bias binding to the inner edge of the eye hole, just over the top stitch.

Flip the bias binding through the eye hole to the outer, fold the raw edge of the bias binding under itself, and hand stitch it down to the outside. Repeat for the other eye.

This next step is the worst bit, and if you have another method, go for it. Theoretically you could use something thicker that wouldn’t fray, like a felt or leather, so that you didn’t have to worry about lining the eye holes, but it depends on the look you are going for.

Cut out four circles from fabric, two of the biggest size, two of the medium size. Draw the smallest size circle in the middle of the back of the medium sized circle, and stack it on top of the centre of the big one, right sides together. From the fusible batting, cut two donut shapes of the medium size with the smallest circle cut out of the centre.

Using very small stitches, sew around the small circle drawn on the medium sized circles. Fuse the donut of batting to the back of the large circle, with the inside of the donut matching the sewn line. Cut an even smaller hole out of the middle, so that the seam allowance that remains is a slightly smaller width than the batting. Clip this into at least 12 pieces.

Press the smaller circle towards the centre, so that it can be turned in though the hole. 

This will take a lot of careful ironing and pinning. Let it sit for a bit, so that it learns to be there.

Then unpin it, but hopefully the little clipped bits will stay there. Fold the bigger circle down over them – you will need a lot of little tiny pleats – making the outer edge as round as possible.

Then press that smaller circle back down over the pleats, so that it is level with the folded outer edge. If it sticks over in any places, trim it back, but only just.

Pin this donut shape over the eye piece. The inside edge of the donut should be level with the inside of the bias binding, the raw edge up against the outer fabric.

Hand sew around the outer edge of the donut to the pieced fabric. Make sure that the raw edge from the smaller circle is under the donut, but do not let it flip out through the middle. On the machine, top stitch about a quarter inch from the outer edge.

This should catch the raw edge inside, and leave a ridge between the outer eye donut and the bias bound eye hole. From the inside, it should be possible to pop in a round lens from a pair of sunglasses, or an improvised lens such as a circle of clear plastic cut from the lid of an old takeaway container, or some transparent holographic vinyl, such as this stuff on amazon. Repeat for the other eye hole.

Hooray! You are all done!

I am really not sure on the efficacy of this as an actual viable mask. On the one hand, there are a lot of seams through which germs could pass, but on the other hand, the fact that the lining is a bit loose and baggy inside the beak might cancel that out.

Depending on your materials, it should be machine washable, although it will almost certainly look a lot less crisp.

I had a lot of issues with my lenses fogging up after a couple of minutes of me wearing it, but who knows, maybe I am just a very wet breather.

I am not going to charge anything for this pattern, nor am I going to place restrictions on what you do with the items you make. I do not control your right to profit from your work. All art is derivative, and you making your own version transforms this pattern. Don’t let assertions of intellectual property rights be another way you are alienated from your labour. If you decide to sell your work, demand fair remuneration for your time and skills. Someone offering to pay for the materials is not enough. If you have decided to take an activity you love and turn it into work, make it worthwhile.

On the flip side, please don’t try to sell this bit of writing or the PDF of the pattern net or these photographs. They are free for you and for everyone else. Resist society’s message that you should try to profit from your every action, and especially resist the notion that true success is achieved by profiting from anyone else’s labour.

If you want to discuss this stuff further, I would love that! I am researching the commodification of creative knowledge for my PhD, focusing on quilt patterns and designs. Message me @mctreeleth on tumblr and instagram or @sarasewsstuff on twitter for my uni email.

Edit: I have added in a link to a simplified version if you are going to make this with a single fabric rather than patchwork piecing. 

[letarasstuff]

Doesn't she love me anymore?

(A/N): This was requested by an anon, I hope you like it as much as I do!

Summary: Spencer's daughter starts to question why her mother left the small family early on

Warnings: Mentions/undertones of bullying, an absent parent and descreptions of the concequences for the child, So. Much. Angsty. Feelings.

Wordcount: 2.5k

✨Masterlist✨ _________________________________

“Daddy?” Spencer turns around from the frying pan to look at his daughter. Against common belief, he is quite the cook. But this only started when he became a father, after he realized a child won’t be able to live off of a diet consisting of coffee and anxiety, just like he did at the time. “Yes, Sweetheart?”

She looks down to the piece of paper on the kitchen counter in front of her. “Why did Mommy leave us?”

The spatula falls to the ground. It’s a question the father did not expect on a Tuesday morning before school. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? She saw me the first time and didn’t want me anymore. It’s my fault Mommy left us, left you, just like Linda said.” Tears begin to stream down her face.

“No no no”, her father is quick to turn off the heat and walks around the island to hug his daughter. “None of this is your fault. I don’t know what this Linda said, but it is not true. Your mother had her own reasons to stay out of our lives, but it has nothing to do with you.”

This doesn’t calm her down. “What are her reasons? Why did she leave us? Why did leave me?” Frantically she tries to keep her sobs down in order to speak. Spencer never has seen her this upset.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you are in the right state to talk about it now? Why don’t we calm down and get something for breakfast on our way to school and talk about it after I pick you up this afternoon?” He suggests, hoping the thought of a cup of hot chocolate from their favorite bakery would help her.

(Y/N) looks up at him with bloodshot and glassy eyes. Snot runs down from her nose. Spencer is quick to get her a tissue and make her blow into it, cringing internally about all those germs. “Do you promise to tell me more after school?” Big eyes look up at him and the father hurts. It hurts him, because there are so many things in her future that will break her and all that because of her mother. He can’t shield her from all of it, as much as he wants to he isn’t able. Because there always will be people, people like this Linda, who will make the girl conscious of her absent mother.

“I promise”, he tells her and holds his little finger out for her. (Y/N) smiles while linking hers with his, knowing her father will keep this promise just like any other of his. “Good, and now pack up we got a bakery to visit!” Quickly the girl grabs the piece of paper in front of her only to shove it into her backpack.

A little later she sits at her desk and looks at her teacher expectantly, just like her fellow classmates. “Ok children, today we won’t work further on our addition and subtraction worksheets-” The teacher’s sentence is cut short by the eruption of cheerful shouts. Just (Y/N) looks at the multiplication sheet in front of her.

The teacher is quick to quiet the class again. “Instead we will continue our work on the mother’s card you started doing yesterday. Linda was so kind to tell me that you don’t have the chance to finish them at home, because your moms are there. That is why you do it here and your worksheets at home.”

With a frown on her face (Y/N) pulls out the blank piece of paper that made her feel bad ever since her teacher handed it out to her yesterday. While everybody around her chatters happily with other classmates, she just stares at the paper. It is a reminder of something she doesn’t have, something she lacks and will never get: A real mother. A hug from her mother. Not even the motherly reassurance one gets after a nightmare. Nothing.

“Hey orphan. Ya realizing your mom doesn’t love you and that’s why she left you?” Linda, someone (Y/N) later learns to call a Mean Girl, struts up to the younger one’s desk. A sigh leaves her lips before answering. “You do know for an orphan I need to have neither a mommy nor a daddy. And I do for a fact have a dad, a loving one actually.”

A more light than hard slap on the back of her head makes the girl’s body jolt. “I don’t care, but I know that your mom hates you enough just after looking at you to know she doesn’t want anything to do with you.” After that Linda goes back to her table, leaving (Y/N) feeling more miserable than before.

Some starring on the paper later her teacher passes her table. “Is there something you want to talk about, Sweetheart? You seem very sad.” That is an obvious fact. Finally the girl is able to lift her gaze. “Miss Ramirez, I don’t know what to do.” This is probably the first time ever she said this sentence in school.

“Mother’s day is in a few days, Sweetie, and this is why we all make these cards. It’s a thank you to your mom and a way to show her how much you love her. You love your mom, don’t you?” The shake of her head shocks the teacher. Immediately an alarming signal rings through her head, because this is a red flag. “Why? Did she do something?”

“Miss Ramirez, I don’t have a mommy. She- she left Daddy and me.” Tears fill (Y/N)’s eyes. Her teacher is quick to hug and sush her. “Oh Sweetie, this is not a bad thing. I’m sure your mom loves you very much, even if she is not there with you. Do you wanna go out for a bit to calm down?” Meanwhile she connects the obvious signs of a single dad in her mind. Missed parent teacher conferences, unnecessary hovering over the child and the tendency to be categorized as a helicopter parent. Yes, Dr. Reid ticks all of those boxes.

It’s the second time of the day that an adult asked (Y/N) to calm down, and frankly it doesn’t really help with the situation at hand. “Can I do my homework outside? It’s too loud in here”, she asks between sniffles. Both of them know that the class’ volume is not the real reason for the request. “Of course, Sweetheart. If you need something, just come in and ask me. Alright?” (Y/N) nods and gets her multiplication sheet and a pencil before leaving the classroom.

At the end of the school day, Spencer is there to pick up his daughter. For days like these, where are no cases, Hotch gave him a free pass on (Y/N)’s very first day at school to leave the office earlier to be able to pick her up himself. As a father and someone who works the same high demanding job as him, he knows that little things like these are often the most important. And even if there were a case today, Spencer would have stayed back. He promised his daughter the truth and this is what he is going to tell her.

“Hey Dr. Reid. Do you have a moment?” Her teacher greets him at the classroom door. Concerned about his child’s wellbeing he nods and follows her back out of the room. “I gave the children the assignment of creating a card for their mothers, because mother’s day is rolling around. Today (Y/N) told me her mother left you, is that right?” This is the moment Spencer connects the dots. This is the kick off that made her question her mother’s motives about leaving all of the sudden.

The young doctor clears his throat. “Uhm yes, that is right. Actually, I’m going to talk to her about it right after school on her demand.” Miss Ramirez nods with an understanding nod. “Thank you for your honesty, Dr. Reid. I also want to warn you, in two days we will hold a celebration in honor of mother’s day with the kids’ mothers. You are invited as a father, because this is a special situation. But I also give (Y/N) a free pass for this event. It can be very traumatic for her.”

The dad thanks her, but his thoughts are somewhere else. He is mad. He is mad for his daughter, because she will always be the one with a “special situation”. The odd one, because yeah, it isn’t uncommon for fathers to leave (which isn’t anything less sad and traumatic), but an absent mother hits differently.

But Spencer is also hurt. Hurt, because for her young age, there is already the word “traumatic” thrown around. No, it isn’t enough that her dad works a job with the risk of him not coming home from a case again, or being the target of an enemy. No, she also has to go through the experience of missing a parent, never knowing how her life would be if it wasn’t for someone like her mother.

Even with Spencer trying to fill that role, there will be a time where (Y/N) will ask herself all of the “what ifs”. He can’t stop it from happening, and that is his biggest pain right there. Because he can’t shield her from her own thoughts. At the age of six she already is a bright, brilliant and talented mind. Now in a few years or maybe just months, she will start to think about her mother being the root of her pain, bad experiences and hurt. Her thoughts will lead to a downward spiral of how a person can do something like her mother, who acted like that with the knowledge of which consequences will follow. And Spencer can’t stop this from happening.

“Daddy!” A small thud comes from (Y/N) colliding with his leg. Just by the way she squeezes it he knows that she hasn’t had a good day at school. “Hey Baby. Do you want to go to the office for a bit? I think your Auntie Penelope told me something about a new science set she got for you. Or do you want to go straight home?” Spencer asks after lifting her into his arms. Immediately she hides her face into the crook of his neck. “Home”, she murmurs. Home it is then.

“Aaaaaand here comes the little missy’s hot chocolate!” The father says in a funny voice while carefully putting the cup into his daughter’s hands. She sits covered in a blanket on the sofa, looking expectantly at her father.

Spencer sighs at the lack of reaction. “Are you sure you want to hear it?” (Y/N) nods adamantly. “Ok, but I got to go a bit back for this story

“It was about eight years ago, I worked on a case with your Aunties and Uncles back then. I was the one who had to get the last round of coffee for the night at a small 24/7 diner. As I walked in I thought I died, because I was sure an angel stood right in front of me. Well not-” “Is that Mommy?!” (Y/N) cuts him off excitedly. Spencer smiles slightly. “You need to listen to the story!” The girl shifts in her seat. “Right, sorry.”

As I was saying: well in front, because she sat at the bar waiting for her order. I nervously ordered the coffees and had to begin three times, because I kept messing up, mesmerized by her sole atmosphere. As the waiter went to put the coffee pot on, the woman turned towards me and introduced herself. After that she asked me what I was doing late at night in a small town like that and we somehow forgot everything around us by just talking. After that we stayed in touch. Six months later we became a couple, she moved to DC in order for me to still be able to do my job here.

“Two years later your Mom got pregnant with you, and it was quite a surprise to us. But we felt ready at that time and so she moved in with me and we had you. The first few months were great, we couldn’t be happier. BUt then you continuously became ill. At first just a cold, then the pocks and so on. I think it was the third night in a row where you held us up all night. I took a year off from work to care for you with your Mom. I carried you through our apartment the whole night, giving you a bottle, singing, reading, doing anything.

“Then I saw her standing in the doorway. Even though there was baby vomit on her sweatpants and I had never seen her eye bags being this dark, she was the most beautiful woman to me. I approached her with a smile, but her frown only deepened. I thought it was because she worried about you and your health. Instead she told me she can’t do it. She can’t be a mother, that she wasn’t cut for this job.” Her exact words still resonate in Spencer’s ears to this day. He knows exactly what she said, word for word, and they never stopped to sting any less.

“So Mommy left us because I was too much trouble?” (Y/N)’s voice sounds even sadder than before. “No, it never was because of you. She knew exactly what it meant to have a child. Your mother knew what kind of work it takes and what the future brought. You have absolutely nothing to do with it. Some people are just not made to be parents and it’s better when they realize it themselves and leave the situation.”

(Y/N) nods, her mind running wild. All of that makes plenty of sense but at the same time not. “Sweetheart, that doesn’t change the fact that I love you and I will never leave you. You are my everything and I’m so happy to be a dad to such a wonderful little girl like you. I want you to remember that your Mom may not be here with us, but she still loves you. And I’m here for you, for anything you need, want or don’t want. Do you understand me?”

She nods again and curls up into her father’s lap. “Can we watch something?” She asks after a bit of silence, where both of them indulged their own thoughts. Quickly the TV turned on and some kids movie plays. The rest of the day the small family spends all the time cuddled on the couch, because at the moment they need to feel the other there with them.

The next two days Spencer calls (Y/N) in sick at school and himself at work, because together they fly to Vegas. Just because her own mother wasn’t ready for the job, doesn’t mean they can’t appreciate the work her grandmother did as a mother. That and you never know how much time you have left with the people who are dear to you.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

Spencer Reid x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[kaeyamonsoon]

IT'S ABOUT TIME I FINALLY HAVE THE MOTIVATION TO WRITE SMTH ABOUT KAEYA AND DILUC IN THE HIDDEN STRIFE EVENT (it's more of a summary and further explanation + my personal hcs/theory + kaeya character story + webtoon + minor discussion about Kaeya and Collei but it's just my usual nitpicking of connecting the dots—)

this includes spoilers of the hidden strife event with scattered interactables seen in the overworld after completing the last quest of the event

So if you interact with the shiny thing at the top of the KOF HQ, you'll see that Kaeya hid things that are of sentimental value to him.

So apparently Kaeya had the initiative to save this certain piece of paper where his “Father” helped him to improve his handwriting + snippets of Khaenri'ah lore that reveals their clan's purpose(?) and what they've done to serve the royals, stepping up as regents.

Since they're said as regents, then Kaeya isn't exactly royal blood but is able to step up as one to rule Khaenri'ah if the first line of royals aren't able to do so. Him being a prince or a ruler might still be a probable theory, as he's said as the “hope” of their homeland as well as being placed as a pawn in Mondstadt.

Now that it's revealed that he's actually a regent and have probably told that to Diluc the night they fought—

While Kaeya's Character Story — Vision, mentioned that he anticipated Diluc's anger, in the paper here he wrote— it seems like he didn't expect any conflict? Based on my understanding, he knew that he would be angry but not to the point where “violence” will be included. That's understandable as Kaeya and other people have always described and seen Diluc as a kind gentleman flawless etiquette, who's perfect in any way. With Alice revealing that she had been observing Diluc for awhile now, mentioning that Diluc had taken care of Klee well when she was out catching crystalflies in the vineyard, accompanying her bacm home and even replied to Alice's letter saying that they're most welcome to visit and the head maid shall provide them with sufficient snacks for them (🥺).

So Diluc actually pointing his sword at him might've been a bit unexpected but Kaeya seeing reason through everything and technically has a 4D mind (+ underlying guilt), he felt that he deserved it or unsurprised, quoting "he asked for it" considering he really chose the time where Diluc is in the moment of grieving.

Alright so here comes my word vomit:

I personally think Diluc did that as a means to see Kaeya's "true" self probably because he believes that "in the face of death, everyone's true self will be revealed" or to be a bit realistic, his anger might've blinded him to do so, an outlet perhaps.

In relation to that, Kaeya used that same method Diluc used "against" him to allow him to reveal Collei's true colors the time where he faces her off. (I've seen some discourse about how Kaeya is a bad guy for hurting a literal child, but can you really blame him when she herself is a threat, at first, due to the fact that she was the cause of the fire and the death of two Snezhnayan diplomats, with a person— no matter what age, who has the capability of becoming a threat to the lives of Mondstadt wouldn't go unnoticed or ignored by Kaeya imo :'()

I like nitpicking so I'll also headcanon that Diluc using that kind of method to Kaeya was also learned from his father, Crepus, as he used an unknown power that Diluc didnt know he possessed, meaning Diluc learned that people will use what they got no matter how reckless it is once faced with death. Maybe it's also a reason why Diluc uses violence against the Abyss Order (specifically the Abyss Mages) in order to spill the truth.

It's my personal views is all ^^

[misteria247]

Night Raven College was a lot different from what you'd remembered. Then again after six years of not seeing it, it was bound to change in some way. While the buildings remained the same it was quite clear that the Ramshackle Dorm had changed. Following closely behind Grimm with Elliott trailing behind you, you couldn't help but stare at your old dorm in awe. The once somewhat decrypted building was now somewhat restored, the grass area was kept clean and the garden by the graveyard in the back was in full bloom. As you looked at your old home in stunned silence, your beloved son Elliott peeked his face from behind you to get a better look. His bright green eyes seemed to sparkle as they landed on the graveyard and with it it's massive gargoyles that sat on display.

"What is this place mama.....?"

Elliott asked his tone curious and full of wonder. Grimm was the one who answered his question.

"This is Ramshackle, me and your mom's old dorm. Back in the day she was my minion, helping me become the greatest mage within our school!"

Grimm said with a large smirk. You rolled your eyes at the feline's words but didn't bother to correct him. Elliott's eyes seemed to widen even more, making your heart twist slightly as the expression made him look so much more like his father. Even though he had your luscious (H/C) locks, everything else was completely his father's. Grimm seemed to do a double take at Elliott his ears flickering.

"Wow.....he really does look like him doesn't he?"

Grimm asked sounding slightly dazed. You gave him a small smile feeling a sense of pride hit you.

"He definitely has his looks doesn't he?"

You mused much to your son's confusion. Grimm just gave you a small look and led the two of you into the dormitory. As soon as you stepped inside you were ambushed, three familiar ghostly figures coming at you, Grimm and Elliott. Your son let out a startled shout as he clung to you while you jumped before smiling brightly.

"Is that anyway to greet me?"

You asked somewhat teasingly. The ghosts froze before their faces broke out into large grins.

"(Y/N)!!"

They cried in joy quickly surrounding you to welcome you back. Elliott clung to you tightly obviously uneasy and you were quick to break it up. Three confused faces glanced at you before catching sight of your little one. Bringing Elliott gently in front of you, you gave them a smile.

"This is my son Elliott. Elliott these are the ghosts that me and Grimm roomed with while I stayed here."

You introduced them. Elliott shyly clung to your hand feeling suddenly put on display. The ghosts took a good look at your child their eyes widening.

"He looks like your one friend!"

The first ghost exclaimed in shock.

"Is he....?"

The second one asked tilting his head towards you. You gave him a nod to confirm his question and were met with startled looks. Before anymore questions could be asked Grimm stepped in.

"Speaking of Elliott, would you three keep an eye on him? I need to speak to my minion here."

Grimm said his tone surprisingly mature sounding. The ghosts were quick to agree and with an encouraging push from you for Elliott along with a thinly veiled threat to your old roommates regarding your son's safety, the trio left dragging Elliott along with them to show him around the Ramshackle Dorm. Once you were completely alone Grimm all but turned to you his gaze serious.

"(Y/N) how are you going to keep him a secret?? Just from one look alone anyone can tell that he's Tsunotarou's!"

The monster feline exclaimed startling you slightly. You couldn't help but feel a sudden sinking feeling hit you. You knew that in reality it wasn't possible to keep Elliott's existence a secret like you'd wanted to. It was nearly impossible to given that much like his father, Elliott had a tendency to disappear and explore different places. Anyone in Twisted Wonderland could see him and quickly connect the dots of who exactly his biological father was, given how famous Malleus was in this world what with him being the literal king of the Valley of Thorns. But the illogical side of you wanted to try. You wanted to keep Elliott's existence quiet, you wanted to keep him safe from the possible dangers that he could face should he be discovered. Not only that but you were afraid.

You had no idea how Malleus would react to the knowledge of having a son. While in your heart you wanted to believe that he'd love Elliott you knew that logically it might not be the case as much as the thought crushed you. What would he even say? Would he even accept Elliott as his son? What would those of his kingdom think? That their beloved king technically had a bastard child, who wasn't only part dragon fae but part human as well? What if......Malleus had already moved on? It'd been six years after all and a lot could happen in six years. For all you knew Malleus could already be married and have several children, having completely forgotten all about you and the feelings you both shared (the thought nearly made your heart shatter into pieces and your throat tighten). As if sensing your thoughts Grimm put a paw on your cheek. You blinked back the sudden sting in your eyes and sniffled.

"I.....I know I can't keep him a secret but Grimm it's.....it's been six years. What me and Malleus had.....is probably long gone. I can't just barge back into his life and tell him. It wouldn't be fair to him....."

You said sounding somewhat desperate. Grimm gave you a small saddened look before turning away, biting his lip.

"Well.....you may have to....and rather soon....."

Grimm said trailing off. You stiffened slightly at his tone, the sinking feeling you'd been feeling getting bigger.

"Grimm......what do you mean soon....?"

You asked nervous and slightly on edge. Your companion gave you a somewhat guilt filled expression.

"Well there's a reason why I'm here......the Headmaster Crowley has invited everyone from our old classes back for a reunion. So......Tsunotarou might be here sometime soon....."

Grimm mumbled ears flickering nervously. You on the other hand had seemed to stop functioning, barely able to process what Grimm just revealed to you.

'Malleus was coming back......Malleus was going to be here......he's going to see Elliott.....!'

The thought made you snap out of your terrified stupor and with an almost panicky response you grabbed Grimm and shook him slightly.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?!?! For hell's sake Grimm!!! I've got to get Elliott and we need to leave now-!"

You were cut off mid panicked rambling by one of the ghosts.

"(Y/N)!!! We're so sorry!!! We only turned around for a moment-!!!"

The ghost exclaimed sounding extremely upset. You turned towards him, the world seemingly tilting as you realized that Elliott wasn't with them.

"Where's Elliott....?!? Where's my son?!?"

You asked fear creeping into your voice. The ghost flinched guilty before finally answering your question.

"We....we lost him."

That one sentence threw your world into chaos.

~~~~~

Being a magical being had it's perks, especially when you wanted to go off and explore. For Elliott it'd been an easy task for the six year old. Now said child was currently walking around what was considered a courtyard, taking in the sights and sounds. Despite being nervous and on edge from this whole endeavor, the fae child couldn't help but want to explore the place. It was rather large and vast and had many things a young boy his age wanted to see. Walking past the fountain he caught a glimpse of a pathway that was lined with statues. Curious he changed his course to explore the pathway, taking in the strange statues that decorated the trail. The first statute was that of a woman. Her stature was short and somewhat stout, a large, strange dress covered her. The gown was covered in hearts and in her hand was a small wand with the same pattern. A strange dark spot covered one of its corners, almost as if it'd been burned at one point. The second statute was that of a lion, its fangs pulled up into a sinister grin and a lone eye was covered in a jagged scar.

The third statute was that of a woman whose lower half was of that of an octopus, a piece of paper held in her grip. The fourth statue was a man dressed in robes and a turban, a staff shaped in the likeness of a snake held in his boney grip. The fifth statute was of a beautiful woman who carried an apple in her hand. The sixth was of a man covered in robes and flames, a sharp toothed smile on his boney face. The last one was of that of a woman, a large staff held in her grasp. A long robe like gown covered her but there was something else about her that made Elliott stop in his tracks to look at her. With wide shocked eyes Elliott sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her head.

Horns.

She had horns, just like him. Without thinking about it Elliott removed his bangs from his face, revealing the small horns that grew from his forehead. Touching them he looked at the statue, a sudden feeling of confusion and awe hitting him. Elliott wasn't the only one who had horns. There was someone out there who had them too. It blew his mind, questions racing about in his head.

Was there anymore like her? What was she? Was she someone his mother knew? Did......did his father know her?

Elliott didn't know much about his father. His mother rarely talked about him, getting upset whenever the subject was brought up. All Elliott knew about his mysterious father was that he was someone who his mama loved more than anything in the world and that he could use magic just like him. Everything else was a mystery for the small child. Elliott felt his heart sink as he recalled all the nights he'd hear his mother's quiet sobs when she'd thought he was asleep. The lingering sorrow that always seemed to surround her no matter how hard she tried to hide it from him.

'And now mama's gonna be even more upset because you brought her back here. You don't even know if your papa is even here.'

The nasty thought made his chest hurt. He'd only wanted to make her smile, and while she'd been smiling quite a bit since they'd gotten here, his mother had also looked uneasy. Like she was expecting something bad to happen. Seeing his mother like that made him want to protect her even more, especially from this mysterious Tsunotarou the cat Grimm had mentioned. Getting lost in his thoughts the child hadn't noticed the sudden shadow that covered his form until a voice spoke up.

"Oi what's a kid doing here??"

The voice made him jump, the boy whirling around to see who had spoken. Having moved so fast he'd accidentally tripped over his own two feet causing him to fall into the statue and scrape his elbow against it. Pain shot through it and the scent of copper filled his nose. Elliott felt himself start to tear up and before he knew it he'd begun to sniffle. The owner of the voice, a young man quickly grew panicked at the sudden tears.

"O-oi! Are you alright?! I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you!"

He said panicked as he bent down to help Elliott up. As he reached out to grab him Elliott took notice of the man through his tears. The man looked to be at least a few years younger than his mother, large reddish brown eyes gazed at him with concern and guilt. Over one of his eyes was a heart that decorated his cheek, and his head was covered in unruly red hair. Elliott let out a loud hiccup as he tried to get his crying down, however given the stress and sudden injury he'd received it was rather difficult to. The man meanwhile watched him, uncomfortable and lost when another voice called out.

"Oi Ace! What are you doing-is that a kid!?! What did you do to him???!!"

The second man asked sounding instantly protective and scolding. The first man Ace sent a panicked look at the other man gesturing towards Elliott in an lost manner.

"I didn't mean to! I startled him and he got hurt and I have no idea what to do!"

Ace said panicked. The second man let out an exasperated sigh and with a practiced ease took over for Ace.

"It's okay little guy, we're not going to hurt you. My name is Deuce. Deuce Spades and this is Ace Trappola."

The man Deuce introduced himself. Elliott sniffled gazing at him before muttering back in a shaky manner.

"Elliott.....my name is Elliott."

Elliott said. Deuce gave him a small smile, helping him up the rest of the way to his feet.

"Elliott that's a cool name. Tell me Elliott are you lost? Do you know where your parents are?"

Deuce asked somewhat concerned. Elliott froze when he realized that he was indeed lost making him get upset again. At the small cry Deuce gave him a small hug, picking him up and holding him close.

"Hey, hey it's okay! No need to cry! It'll be alright we'll help you find your parents okay?"

Deuce said soothingly. Ace gave him a baffled look.

"We will???"

Ace asked only to be met with a dark teal gaze. Realizing that Deuce was serious he bit back his groan of frustration.

"Yes we will. Elliott do you know the name of your parents? Maybe me and Ace can help you find them quicker."

Deuce asked rubbing his back. Elliott gave a rattling breath and nodded.

"I.....I know my mama's name....."

He said in a watery way.

"That's great! Can you tell me her name?"

Deuce asked. The duo listened carefully as Elliott pulled himself together somewhat, unaware of the chaos that they'd be met with.

"Her name is (Y/N)."

*I know I'm supposed to be on hiatus but after doing the Thirteenth chapter for the Princess and her Dragon I was struck with inspiration for our lovely little family of two. I can't help but treasure my twst children sgdgdgdgg. Anyways sorry it's so short and crummy, but I hope it'll bring y'all some entertainment!! Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!!! Now back to my hiatus. But first!!! Tagging list!!!! @genshin-idiot @ditsy-anime-thot @ctannth @reaperfeels.*

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (13)

warning: illness, mild emetophobia, arguing, panic attack, dissociation, altered mental state, guilt 

-

They had very little time to process, after Puff-- Anxiety-- their rescuer collapsed limply to the ground.

Roman and Patton each burst into their own hysterics, but Logan was utterly silent. He was frozen, mind racing and connecting a thousand little dots, like realizing a constellation had been right in front of you, you’d just somehow missed the brightest star.

The form of Anxiety was sprawled out undeniably in front of them, struck down by the attack that had been levied against Puff, because he was Puff. He’d wondered why Anxiety wasn’t prone to their shrinking dilemma, but he’d been dealing with it the longest. Anxiety’s withdrawal and Puff’s strange behavior were causation and correlation.

Anxiety lay before them, but whatever he had done to change his form, to protect them against attack, it had changed him. Small purple scales curled over his cheekbones, two curved, deer-like ears lay limp on the sides of his head, and even a tail where there had been none before.

If there had ever been any way to refute his connection to Puff, his appearance now countered it single-handedly.

In the end, it was the doubts that snapped them all out of it.

Sinuous, shifting forms that changed with every blink, they crawled up from their blind spots, appearing in the corners of their vision.

Roman snapped his sword hand back up reflexively, frowning, but Logan could easily read the confusion scrawled across his posture. He’d complained at length about the creatures, their persistent aggression and the way that they always heralded Anxiety’s appearance in this realm, like the world’s creepiest minions.

But Anxiety lay prone at their feet, in no state to control anything, and furthermore, the glittering eyes of the doubts seemed almost… locked on him, glinting with malice.

More questions, and the only one who could answer them was unconscious and quickly gaining a sickly tint to his skin. The doubts were creatures of despair, and if they reached Patton or Anxiety-- the more emotion-driven pair out of the four of them-- the results could be disastrous. They needed out, now.

Logan firmed his shoulders, moving to cut through the panicked back-and-forth his companions were doing.

“Roman,” he called, taking reference from every instructor that Thomas had ever respected to insert authority into his tone, “pick Anxiety up.”

The creative side jerked, his eyes drawn down to Anxiety for a second before flickering away. “And give up my stalwart defense? We’ll be overcome before we reach anything resembling an exit!”

“You need to pick up Anxiety,” Logan repeated, and took a deep breath, shedding all the dirt and gore that he had accumulated while trekking through the Imagination. “I’m bringing the exit to us.”

Applying his function to a space that wasn’t real tended to... destabilize it. It was a last resort, the sort of thing that they’d figured out early on should be avoided. Roman demonstrably put his heart and soul into his work, after all, and fracturing it hurt Creativity as much as the realm itself. Even something as small as Logan breaking his own immersion made Roman twitch, let alone what he was about to pull.

Roman’s eyes went wide with understanding, and then grim determination. He sheathed his sword back into nothing and knelt down at the fallen Side’s side, only hesitating for the barest moment before sliding his arms under his shoulders and knees and lifting him into the air.

The motion seemed to jar Anxiety, and he let out a pained whine that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from Puff. Lifted up like this, they could see the singed gouge that tore through the back of his hoodie, the smoking, rotting injury lined up on his spine in the exact same place it had hit Puff.

“It looks bad,” Patton whispered, his eyes wet and his hands half-pressed over his mouth. The doubts were closer now, circling like wolves. They couldn’t be allowed to worsen Anxiety’s condition.

“We will handle it,” Logan said, not allowing even the slightest tremor in his voice as he held his hands out. He met Roman’s eyes, one last warning, before closing his own and focusing all his attention on dismantling the environment around him.

It was all illusory, from the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air to the cold stone around them. None of it was real, not the magic or the monsters, not when one thought about them logically. The Imagination was a limitless space, shaped and crafted by Creativity, and so any distance between them and the placement of an ‘exit’ was simply imaginary.

There was no logical reason to traverse an imaginary path, and so with one yank, Logan pulled and then folded the space between them and the exit, like crumpling a piece of paper to make two ends meet.

The landscape crinkled around them, bricks shattering and environments crashing together with discordant scraping. Roman would be feeling the effects of the hole in his work for a while, but there was a doorway ahead of them and the doubts were scattered and caught in the folds and tears Logic had created.

“Move,” Logan said through gritted teeth, and Roman staggered through the exit, Patton hot on his tail. He stepped through as well, the door slamming shut on its own behind him. His presence wouldn’t be tolerated in the realm for a good long while after this.

He beckoned Roman over, shoving away the guilt he felt at the other Side’s pained grimace. If his power had just held long enough for the Imagination’s effects to be wiped from Anxiety as well--

The wound pulsed once, as though to announce its stubborn survival. It was glowing a painful violet, the injury resembling nothing more than a slowly expanding Lichtenburg figure.

Logan’s knuckles went white as he looked down at it. He hadn’t even managed to make the injury into something real, something more manageable to treat.

He reached out, grasping again for that sense of unreality, of rejection, and Roman pulled away, backing up.

“No more,” he said firmly, his voice a sharp contrast to the shaking of his arms. Logan felt that familiar guilt threaten to flood for a moment, before-- “Specs, you’re about to pass out. You used too much.”

He blinked, glancing down at his hand. It was shaking, too. He’d overtaxed himself, been too involved in the previous daydream to shut it down without any backlash.

Logic shouldn’t have been too involved in anything. He clenched his fist, abruptly furious with himself.

“Whatever that witch’s calamitous curse caused, it’s spreading slowly for now,” Roman announced, still seeming almost skittish with Anxiety in his arms. “We have yet time to uncover the truth.”

Patton pressed the back of his hand against Anxiety’s forehead, hissing sympathetically. “He’s burning up. I don’t know about curing curses, but-- we can at least help with this.”

They all had memories of Thomas’s parents coaxing him through fevers and flus, but Patton was the best at actually following that example. He directed Roman to the couch, flitted back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with all the classic illness aids.

“This is a spell-based sickness. There’s no reason to believe that this illness will function similarly to Thomas’s past experiences,” Logan started, and then was promptly cut off by Anxiety jerking halfway up off the couch, twisting, and vomiting into the small trash can Patton had just brought out. “... I stand corrected.”

His voice seemed to drag Anxiety’s attention from his retching, his head bobbing up to look around.

He stared out at them with bleary eyes for a heartbeat, all of them quiet and frozen and waiting, and then he slumped back down into both the couch cushions and unconsciousness. A mutual breath of relief went around the room.

“So, are we… going to talk about it?” Patton asked, as though half-dreading the answer.

“Talk about what?” Roman snapped sarcastically, crossing his arms. “The fact that apparently our dear draconic companion has been none other than Anxiety, the scourge on our home, the blight on our fields, the bane of Thomas’s existence, this entire time?”

“We don’t own any fields,” Logan interjected.

“Well, if we did, the guy would probably blight them! He’s a-- a blighter!” Roman replied, increasingly higher in pitch. “This is probably some kind of trick, a foul villainous plot for some greater purpose we don’t understand yet. Anxiety can’t possibly be— have been—!”

“Talking shit?” A familiar drawl rang out, a dark figure appearing on the stairs between one blink and the next and making them all jump. “I thought I heard someone say-- Anxiety?”

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone looked between the two identical figures in the room.

“Well,” the Anxiety that was clearly actually Deceit said, glancing over the three of them, “I don’t suppose I could convince you that he’s the fake one? … No? What a shame.”

He lifted his shoulders from Virgil’s perpetual slouch easily, shedding his disguise in favor of his usual attire. Several more puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“You were the one who appeared when we introduced Puff to Thomas,” Logan said, cutting off the startled exclamations from the others. “And just now-- you returned from appearing to Thomas, didn’t you? As Anxiety, not yourself.”

Deceit rolled his eyes, adjusting his cufflinks absently. “Yes, well, someone had to do his job while he was… preoccupied. Or were you all so remiss as to not notice the decline that comes with a complete absence of Anxiety?”

They all bristled in unison. “All we’ve been doing as of late is trying to figure out why Thomas has been struggling recently,” Logan replied stiffly. “We cannot jump to conclusions based on the seemingly random reticence of one Side.”

“Oh, but now you know it’s not random at all, don’t you?” Deceit purred, stepping down the stairs one by one. “After all, Occam’s Razor has never proved to be true before.”

“You’re the one who’s slithering around impersonating other Sides!” Roman cut in with a sharp accusation. “How do we know you’re not the reason dear Thomas has been acting off?”

Deceit’s lip curled, displaying a curved fang. “I haven’t been the only reason Thomas hasn’t fallen apart entirely! But if you’d really like to cast blame, I’m happy to inform all three of you that this is your fault.”

“Our fault?” Roman and Patton’s voices overlapped, one outraged and the other alarmed. Logan frowned, smoothing down his tie absently.

“Are you speaking under false pretenses again? Only moments ago, you were claiming that Anxiety’s… disappearance was the source of Thomas’s recent struggle.”

Deceit’s gloves crinkled with the force of his grip on the banister. “You three are the ones who drove Anxiety to believe that he was superfluous, to the point that he decided somehow trapping himself in the form of a— a pet was better than spending another moment as himself in your presence,” he spat, each word furious and bitter.

There was a tense pause, and Deceit visibly reeled in his anger with a deep breath. “I refuse to spend any longer debating sins with you. If you’ll hand over Anxiety—,”

“No!” Logan startled himself with the sharp response, but Roman and Patton alike had echoed it. They exchanged looks, all of them struggling for a moment to put it to words.

Finally, Patton turned to where Deceit was staring at them with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know why Anxiety chose to— chose this, but I do know that he got hurt trying to protect us. And if it really is our fault-- ...Well, it wouldn’t be right either way, making you or him deal with this alone.”

“And that’s assuming you even have the tools to deal with it,” Logan added, earning himself an irritated glare from the Dark Side. “That was not a slight against you. To elaborate on my meaning, Roman’s experience with the realm and the perpetrator behind the injury could be invaluable in treating it. It would be remiss for us to not offer aid.”

There was a beat, and Roman looked up belatedly from Anxiety, his face pale and eyes distant. “Right,” he said, and then stronger, “Right. We’ll help Anxiety overcome this curse, and then speak with him ourselves on the matter of blame.”

Deceit looked between the three of them assessingly, gaze occasionally flickering down to where Anxiety lay. “I could handle this perfectly well,” he snapped, “but fine. However. If you worsen his condition and force me to continue this ridiculous charade… you will all certainly enjoy the consequences.”

He let the threat sit in the air ominously. Logan thought his forced disdain was a rather strange way to express protectiveness over Anxiety’s well-being, but to be frank, Deceit’s motives could be difficult for him to parse on a good day.

“Deceit,” Patton called before the other Side could sink out. “You’re welcome to come check on Anxiety whenever you’d like. I… I just wanted you to know.”

Deceit cast a glance back at Anxiety, unreadable, and sank out without another word.

—-

Half an hour after Deceit’s revelations, Anxiety woke up.

They hadn’t noticed at first. Patton had been in the kitchen, making enough soup to feed a small army, and Logan and Roman had been preoccupied with bickering, trying to piece together a timeline.

“—can’t be certain that any of the appearances prior to Puff’s introduction to Thomas were Deceit. Anxiety did not withdraw entirely until after that event,” Logan was saying, sharpening his tone to keep Roman from interrupting for the sixth time.

“But the things he said, it has to have been Deceit,” Roman retorted again. “Perhaps this has been going on for months, all part of a plot to replace Anxiety!”

“And do what? Thomas actively ignores Anxiety as often as possible,” Logan stated, the fact making something in his stomach twist oddly. “It would be pointless for Deceit to replace someone with little to no influence.”

“Who knows how the minds of Dark Sides work?” Roman scoffed, and then glanced over Logan’s shoulder and stood. Logan turned to watch him adjust the blankets that had shuffled part ways off of Anxiety.

Roman paused, and then leaned in slightly. “The curse mark—,” he started, and then was cut off by two and a half blankets being tossed directly at his face.

Anxiety scrambled off of the couch with surprising speed for someone who clearly could barely feel any of their limbs. His eyes were wide with unmistakable terror, pupils slit, and Logan lifted his hands non-aggressively.

“Anxiety, calm down,” he started, and Anxiety shot off towards the stairs with frantic and unsteady steps. From this angle, Logan could see the way the wound left from the curse was pulsing and expanding, and felt his own jolt of fear.

Patton rushed out of the kitchen just in time to see Anxiety overshoot and slam into the wall beside the stairs, bouncing off without a sound and struggling to regain his momentum like an animal mindlessly fleeing for its life.

“Patton, grab him before he hurts himself even further!” Logan called, and Patton hurriedly half-tackled the Side, pinning his arms and lifting him up.

Anxiety keened, voice warping into that double tone, and then kicked out against the wall, nearly toppling the both of them. By now, Roman had freed himself, and he jumped to Patton’s side to lend a steadying arm.

Logan hurried forward, careful to stay out of range of Anxiety’s still-kicking legs.

“Anxiety. Anxiety, can you hear me? You need to breathe deeply now, please follow this pattern,” he tried to count steadily, even as Anxiety stared right through him and made awful, gut-wrenching whimpers. His eyeshadow was streaked down the sides of his face like inky tear tracks. “3, 4, 5– Please, Anxiety, we’re not trying to hurt you.”

“It feels like it’s growing,” Patton whispered, Anxiety’s back still pressed to him. Roman pushed the neckline of the other Side’s hoodie aside, and swore at the dark, angular tendrils that were creeping up to his shoulder blades.

“We need him to calm down,” Logan said, but there wasn’t a single soothing method that would work if the person was too far gone to even sense him. “I don’t—,”

“Okay. Okay, I’m— I’m going to calm him down,” Patton said firmly, and then stepped back from the other two and maneuvered Anxiety so he was facing Patton. Logan recognized what Patton was attempting only a moment before Anxiety was pulled into a firm, encircling hug.

Patton’s ability to share positive emotions through physical contact— once jokingly dubbed a ‘drug hug’ by Roman— hadn’t been used frequently since they were all significantly younger. Nowadays, with Logic clearly not needing emotions and Creativity too prideful to ask for one, Patton mostly only used the ability accidentally— slipping up when he was hugging someone while too excited or happy.

Since switching over to this half of the Mindscape, Anxiety had never been exposed to this particular ability. The other Side twitched in Patton’s grasp for a moment, tail thrashing, holding out far longer than Logan expected before slowly melting into the embrace. When Patton finally pulled away, Anxiety was blinking dazedly but seemed considerably more aware of his surroundings.

“His back,” Logan started, and then stopped short.

The wound’s unnatural spread had stopped, the previous panicked pulsing of it reduced to a slow, muted metronome.

“His— Is it based on his heart rate?” Logan asked, bewildered and hating it. “It can’t be consciousness, he’s conscious now and the growth has stopped entirely, but it hadn’t receded at all earlier—,”

“Fear,” Roman said, his mouth set grimly. “A curse for Anxiety that feeds on fear. That’s exactly the kind of cruel irony that the Dragonwitch loves.”

Patton tightened his grip on Anxiety’s hand, his face wrinkled with worry. After a moment, Anxiety squeezed his hand back, still seeming a little distant from the actual conversation.

Logan knew from experience that getting one of those hugs at full power could feel like the emotional equivalent of being dropped into cold water unexpectedly-- it was a shock to the system, one that took a while to adjust to. He wouldn’t be surprised if Anxiety’s nonverbal state lingered for a while longer.

“Then… how do we fix it?” Patton asked. “Do we need him to… stop being afraid for real? Can we do that?”

Logan was quiet, thinking about how fearful Anxiety had looked for the brief moments he was fully aware around them. Roman looked away, and then shook his head.

“I need to return to the Imagination to check on something,” he announced, gaze distant. “I should… probably begin restructuring it, as well.”

Logan hid a wince. “I apologize for being so rough on the realm,” he said, remembering the way Roman had shaken with strain.

Roman waved it off. “You did what you had to, to get us all out. More useful than… well, consider yourself magnanimously forgiven.”

With a smile that seemed a pale facsimile of his normal one, he departed.

Logan turned to Patton, who looked a little wobbly at the knees. “We will be able to help him eventually, we just need more time to investigate,” he said as gently as he could, leading them both back to the couch. “Until then, we can take shifts to look after him.”

Patton curled his free hand around Logan’s, searching his gaze as though seeking some kind of solution. “We’ll figure this out together, right?”

“Right.”

[skzsauce01]

Harmony

Synopsis: Dogged by a shameful past, you try to fit as your new identity in a new dance program at a renowned music conservatory. The school heartthrob and world-class violinist takes interest in you, which would be fine if he wasn’t also your childhood best friend.

Warning: hysterectomy, infertility, panic, mention of murder disclaimer: fertility does NOT determine your worth as a person

Word Count: 10.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Kim Seungmin

There he is. Of course, there he is. Where else would the handsome prodigal son of the most prominent violinist go if not the best music conservatory in the country? You watch his bleached head of hair make its way across SKZ Conservatory of Music’s courtyard as fans flock him from behind. 

As for you, you sit on a random bench by yourself, waiting to start your first day at the conservatory’s new and nameless dance program as Emily Regan, not Y/N L/N, and most definitely not the gifted Kim Seungmin’s long-lost childhood best friend.

You must have stared at him too long, for he catches you and smirks. Blushing, you quickly clear your throat and head to class. He couldn’t have recognized you, right? No, you definitely look nothing like you did when you were six. If so, then why is he following you? You speed up, and while he makes no attempt to do the same, he surely is still on your tail. You turn the last corner and he does the same. You enter a room and take a seat. He— oh, you have the same class. First year literature. Just your luck. 

He walks by where you are seated and stops. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You wish the ground would swallow you, but at least he didn’t call you Y/N or something like that.

“R-Regan. Emily Regan,” you mutter.

“Oh, American?”

You nod, still avoiding his eye.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Kim Seungmin.”

He extends a hand out to shake, and you take it hesitantly. You aren’t sure you are on first name basis yet, but Kim Seungmin does what Kim Seungmin wants, you suppose.

“Hello, Kim.”

He smiles and takes the seat next to you and you wish you could disappear. But you can’t, so you excuse yourself to use the washroom. You thought you could get another spot when you returned, only to find him reserving your spot next to him for you.

The whole class, you do your best to focus on the professor, but he makes it difficult for you. He makes no effort to hide that he’s stealing glances at you, and fear creeps up your spine. What if he connects the dots and realizes you are your father’s daughter? He’d hate you, that’s for sure. After all you’ve done to him, it’s only natural.

You shake your head and he looks at you curiously. No, the one who did all that isn’t you, but Y/N L/N. You’re Emily Regan now. You just have to make sure you keep it that way.

Still, you’re glad to be able to see him again.

You know you should not be doing this, and there is no reason for you to potentially embarrass yourself even more, but you cannot help yourself. His pieces of work are right there, and his door was propped open so that you could see the music inside. So, you let yourself in.

Being the son of a major benefactor of the school, Seungmin has his own studio on campus. Instruments of all sorts line the wall and his Stradivarius violin lays on the table beside the draft of his latest composition. No one will steal it anyway; it’s chipped and insured. 

It does, however, mean that Seungmin probably just stepped out for a bit, so you’ll have to be quick. You look at his piece and hum the notes to yourself.

A small smile forms on your lips as you read the sheet. It’s a duet, and he’s only written the second violin part for now. 

This whole thing feels familiar. Reading music with him, cheek to cheek, is something you did often. In fact, that’s exactly what you were doing that day you got that call to rush home only to find where you once lived was turned into a slaughterhouse. Your fingers curl around your cardigan as you recall that day. It was Albinoni’s Adagio. You shake your head and refocus on the notes before you, humming a little louder to drown out your thoughts. You need to finish before—

“You have perfect pitch.”

—Seungmin returns.

You shoot up straight and turn slowly around. Seungmin leans against the door with his arms crossed.

“You have perfect pitch,” he repeats, walking over to his piano. He takes the sheet and plays it on the keyboard. “You weren’t even a microtone off.”

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t—”

He holds up a hand to silence you. “You’re a dance major, right? Do you play anything?”

You shake your head and lie. “Not really.”

“That’s a shame. Well, it’s never too late to start.” He picks up his violin and hands it to you. “Do you want to hear how the piece actually sounds?”

Your eyes widen at the familiar instrument and you visibly flinch backwards to which he raises a brow.

“Emily? Something wrong?”

“No, er, I, uh…” What should you say? “I’m alright. Thank you, and sorry for intruding. I need to use the washroom now.”

“Hold up,” he calls, effectively making you freeze in your step. “You don’t think you can just walk in here and leave unscathed, do you?”

“W-what do you mean?” you laugh nervously.

“You’ve got to pay the admissions fee,” he replies. “If you don’t play the violin, then here.” He hands you his music. “Compose the first violin.”

“What? I don’t even play!”

“You can try, or I can call security. You might even get suspended,” he smirks.

You open and close your mouth soundlessly. If you fail here as Emily Regan the dance major, then what will become of you? You have no choice but to concede and take the paper from his hands.

“Great. It’s only thirty-two bars, so bring it by tomorrow!”

“But I—!”

He takes out his phone and begins dialing the number for security while reading out each digit.

“Fine! I’ll do it!” you relent.

He grins victoriously. “Great!”

You frown at your new project. “But if I may ask, why the first violin? Don’t people usually compose both at once or the melody part first?”

“I like playing second best,” he answers casually.

This you remember from your childhood days, but that was long, long ago, and only because you always wanted to play first. His skills have improved tremendously since then. Anyone who calls Kim Seungmin a second violinist these days would surely be mocked. “Second? But you’re a renowned soloist!”

“I just haven’t found the person I want to follow yet.”

There’s a pain in his voice that makes you bite your own lip. Even if that person is still here, how can he, the prodigal son from the greatest violinist in the nation, stand next to, let alone play with again, the child of a pariah?

“I better get started on this,” you excuse yourself. You can’t bear to see the scars you left on him any longer.

Seungmin finds you the next day with your face on your desk. 

“Rough night?” he chuckles.

You pop your head off the table and swipe your hand over your mouth to rid it of any drool. At this point, you should give up ever looking good in front of the school’s heartthrob. 

“Here,” you cough, sliding over your work. “I’m forgiven with this, right?”

He hums approvingly and pulls up a keyboard on his phone. After playing it once, he shakes his head and pulls out another score and places it in front of you. 

“This won’t do. Try again.”

Your eyes widen. “But—!”

“You didn’t put yourself into this piece did you?”

How can he say that after you spent all night researching and writing drafts, trying to make something that wouldn’t disappoint the great Kim Seungmin? You open your mouth, however, no objection comes out. Something in you knows he’s right.

“Take your time with this next one. Just bring it to my studio when you’re ready, okay?”

You give a small nod and look at the paper on your desk with dread.

“But you did work hard on this,” he continues, “so here. A reward.” He slides a cup of coffee to you.  “Tell me what you like and I’ll get that next time.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” you say, a little surprised by the gesture. “This time or the next.”

“Oh, come on. A little boost is nice after a rough night, isn’t it? How many hours did you even sleep?”

Good question. You’re curious yourself. You went to bed at four and were awakened at seven by your bladder, so one, two, “Three.”

He looks at you weirdly.

“What?” you defend. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You’re not from America, are you?”

That came out of the left field. “What?”

“Americans count like this.” He raises his index finger then his middle and then his ring, counting a number with each digit. “But you went like this.” He holds up five fingers and progressively puts one down, starting from his thumb.

“I must have gotten used to it here already,” you laugh sheepishly. “Oh look, the professor!”

You feel his stare, but thankfully, he does not say anything else after the instructor greets the class.

The next attempt takes you eight days. You wouldn’t mind a little longer to work out the finer details, but seeing him in class pressures you to just turn it in.

You hold your breath as he scans over your new attempt. Your nervousness does not last long though as he does not even bother playing it and instead drops it right into the bin. He takes out yet another copy and slams it on the table in front of you.

“I really am trying my be—”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he cuts sternly. “Remember what I said. I want you in this piece. Not your best— you.”

“I—”

“No. Look here. Look at me. Focus.”

You gulp and do as told. His lips are pursed and his eyes intense.

“What do you feel?” His question sounds more like a statement.

“Happy?” you try.

He scowls.

“Sad?”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “Look at me. What do you feel?”

You rack your head for emotional words. What answer could he possibly be looking for? “Attraction?”

Seungmin breaks his seriousness and laughs loudly. “Attraction?”

“I mean, you have all those fans and the looks, wealth, and talent,” you try to explain, “so I thought you were looking for that.”

He pokes your forehead. “This isn’t about me or what I’m looking for. It hasn’t been since I gave you this piece. Think about it honestly. What does Emily Regan feel?”

Emily Regan? “Frustrated.”

Another shake of his head. “Deeper. Think. What do you feel?”

You bite your lip and flick your eyes to meet his. What do you feel? What do you feel, posing as a dancer here at SKZ Conservatory in front of Kim Seungmin?

“... shame.”

He smiles bittersweetly and hands you a pen. “Write,” he whispers gently.

You stare at the empty bars, pen quivering slightly above the page. Finally, you draw a small oval in a line.

You write and write, humming the notes to yourself and not realizing how time has passed. When you finally finish, the sun has already gone down. You look up and see Seungmin with his elbows resting on the table across from you and his hands clasped, not having moved a centimeter for the past few hours.

When you finally put down the pen, he turns the sheet towards himself. He stares at it for a good ten minutes before standing up with it and pulling out his Stradivarius. From his phone, he first records him playing his own composition and then plays yours over it.

The whole thing could not have been more than five minutes, but to you, it feels like an eternity. 

At last he finishes the piece with an up bow and brings his arm in a circle to his side. He stares at your work for a few more silent moments before saying, “Have you published music before?”

That certainly is not the comment you were expecting. “No?”

“It’s… familiar. I don’t mean the piece, but the style, it’s…”

“Well, do I pass?” you cut in before he can think too much of it.

He sets down his instrument. “It’s a little bland, but I'll take it. Good work, Emily.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Wait—” He calls after you, but you are already out the door.

You speed walk until you are in the safety of a nearby washroom. You rest your back against the stall door and let out a sigh. Does he remember the amateur pieces you made almost two decades ago? Did you accidentally just expose yourself? No, prodigy or not, there is no way he can connect you to Y/N L/N just from thirty-two bars of music. At any rate, it’s best to lay low from him for now, you decide.

Laying low does not really work when you are one of the few members of the conservatory’s budding dance ensemble though. Seungmin is hosting a charity concert and requested dancers for his show. You manage to finish your numbers for the night without complications and are now waiting in the wings for the curtains as Seungmin begins his final piece.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to enjoy his music until something about the tune strikes you. Your eyelids flutter open as a familiar melody fills the auditorium. It’s your piece! Sure, he wrote it into a solo, but the resemblance is unmistakable. 

When he finishes, he bows and makes a speech. Your classmate nudges you to snap you out of your surprise and urges you onstage for the curtain call. The whole time, you stare at Seungmin, unsure of what to make of the situation. 

At the end of his speech, he gestures for the dancers to come forward. He meets your eyes with his usual smirk and grabs your hand for the bow.

When all is done, you want to find an explanation for that last piece, but your bladder demands to be released right at that moment. You’ve been finding yourself needing to go more and more or the area starts to hurt, so you quickly relieve yourself and speed out. To your luck, it seems Seungmin took his time packing up his violin; you see his silhouette just across the field from the performance hall.

“Wait,” you call out, running after him. He doesn’t hear you until you are closer. “Wait!”

Seungmin turns around as you stop in front of him, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath.

“Emily?”

He takes a look at your state. You’re still in your costume from having rushed out, and your sheer asymmetrical skirt is doing nothing for you against the night wind.

He shakes off his coat and wraps it around you. “Are you here because of that last bit?”

You nod and stare at him, hoping your gaze draws an explanation out of him.

“It’s a good piece. I felt the need to share it.” He fixes the collar around your neck. “I know I should have asked first. I’ll buy you food sometime to make up for it, yeah?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter that you played it; I just want to know why you did it.”

“I told you already. I like it,” he shrugs.

“You like Paganini. You like Strasate. Anything from them or even something you wrote would have made a better finish. Why this?”

“It’s a charity concert for the needy. Your piece had fitting emotions.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Is there really nothing else?

“Hold on.” He narrows his eyes back at you. “How do you know so much about composers?”

“I— It’s— This is a music conservatory! I’ve just seen their names around in murals and such!”

“Makes sense,” he nods.

“Good. Well then, have a good evening, Kim,” you bid, relieved, and begin to turn around.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm? It’s quite late,” he offers.

You turn around but do not stop walking away. “I still need to change. Thank you though!”

It is only when you’re in the green room do you realize you still have his coat.

“Kim,” you call out, shuffling your feet quickly after him.

A wide grin spreads over his face as he turns around and sees your form. There’s a tuba on his shoulder. “Emily! Looking for me?”

You nod and thrust forward the bag in your hand. “Your coat. I came to return it.”

Seungmin dramatically wraps his hands around the instrument. “Oh no! My hands are full right now! Could you bring it to my studio in fifteen minutes?”

Your grip on the bag tightens in frustration, but he leans towards you, tuba looming overhead, and blinks thrice.

“Please? I’ll make it worth your effort.”

You fumble backwards, flustered, and drop your hand and the bag to your side. “Fine,” you relent. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he promises. As you walk out of the music hall, you hear a tuba playing fanfare.

Fifteen minutes later, you knock at his door which opens before you even finish your first knock. Seungmin greets you and gestures inside where a plate of mochi sits on his table with two cups of tea.

“Care to join me?” he invites.

You again hand him the bag and keep your feet planted where they are. “I think I’ll have to pass, but thank you.”

“Aw, don’t you like sweets?” He reaches for the plate and circles it around your face.

Still, you shake your head. “Again, thank you, but based on the last few times I was in here, I would rather not be.”

“I promise not to make you compose again. Just come in before the tea gets cold!”

“Why do you want me to anyway?”

“Huh?” His eyes widen at the question.

“I mean, other people have perfect pitch, yet you only sit with me to work through a composition. You sit next to me and buy me coffee and now you’re inviting me to tea. Why are you so interested in me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “‘Cause I like you, obviously.”

That sets off your alarms. Quickly, you dart your eyes around, looking to see if any of his fan girls are around to hear that and murder you. You then push him into the room and slam the door behind you.

“Excuse me, what?” you exclaim.

He sits by the food, crossing his legs. “I. Like. You.” he repeats slowly.

“B-b-b-but that’s impossible,” you sputter. “Curious? Maybe. But attracted to? No.”

He chuckles. “Why not? I mean, it did start out as curiosity, but the more I poked around, the more intrigued I became. You’re a woman full of mysteries, Emily. I like that.”

You put your hands in front of you and slowly back up. “No, no. No. No. There’s nothing to me at all. We don’t know each other very well. Of course a stranger is going to have a lot of unknowns. Once you get to know me, you’ll find that you’ve wasted your time and energy.” You like your acquaintanceship right now. Even being ignored by him is totally fine, but if he ever finds out who you are, he’ll hate you and spit on the person you’ve tried so hard to become.

“Oh really?” He stands and advances to you, making you shrink. “Then let’s put your theory to the test, shall we?” 

“What do you mean?” you gulp.

“You answer my questions and I’ll see if I still like you then.”

“Q-questions?”

“Yeah. We can go slowly if you’d like. Maybe one a day? How does that sound?” 

When you don’t respond, he begins. “Why do you seem so afraid of touching a violin?”

“I— uh…”

“Why did you lie about your home country? Why did you feel ‘shame’? Why did you sneak into my studio to look at my work yet claim to have no interest in music?”

With every question, he takes one step in your direction, finally backing you up against the wall. 

“And” —he lowers and softens his voice— “how does it feel to kiss you?”

“I’ll— I’ll—” You squirm in your shoes, head down and fists balled. The silence is deafening between your stutters, but he makes no effort to fill it, waiting patiently for your response.  “I’ll answer the last one,” you finally squeak.

“Alright then.”

You hear one of his hands pressing on the wall behind you and feel the other coming up to your jaw. He leans closer and closer and you squeeze your eyes tighter and tighter. You’re shaking so much, you can’t tell if you’re even still standing anymore.

His breath fans your lips as he suddenly chuckles and straightens up. He leaves a quick peck on your forehead and steps back.

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want to, Emily.” He has a soft smile which you stare at with surprise at the turn of events. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop annoying the daylights out of you though,” he adds cheekily.

He slides the mochi back into the box they came in and hands them to you. “Go back to your dorm. Maybe we’ll continue our interrogation next time. Oh, and there’s a closer toilet if you turn right since you seem to go all the time.”

You stand there, mochi in hand, with your jaw opening and closing without any audible sound. He laughs again and turns you around towards the door.

“Go, before I poke you with my bow.”

Mention of a violin snaps your soul back into your body. “Okay, okay. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Thanks for returning the coat,” he calls after you as you disappear into the washroom on the left.

“Remember to choose a partner for this project. Let me know if you can’t get one by next week,” your literature professor concludes and whisks out the door.

You feel the entire room turn towards your direction no thanks to the one and only Kim Seungmin sitting next to you. He himself turns toward you with a plotting grin.

“Emily.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, pain rippling through your belly as you do so. There is no point resisting, and you don’t feel up to it today anyway.

“Are you free tonight? I’ll pick you up after your practice and we can get a head start.”

That night, you already know who has just arrived when the girls come squealing into the locker room. You couldn’t care less though. You try to rub away the pain that’s nagging at your belly and fumble around for some pain killers. You allow yourself five minutes after tossing back the pills, but begrudgingly drag your feet outside so as to not keep Seungmin waiting. 

He greets you with an electrolyte drink which you take and thank him for as discreetly as possible without catching the attention of his fans. He thankfully seems to take the hint and follows you outside, only fully approaching you when the last of the girls retreats back into the changing room.

“Ready for our project?”

“You’re awfully excited for homework,” you comment.

“It’s not just any homework.” He bumps you with his shoulder. At that moment, another wave of pain grips your stomach, causing you to stop in your step and bend over.

“Did I nudge too hard?” he gasps. “I’m sorry!”

You shake your hand. “Just… premenstrual cramps. It’s a little hard to manage these days,” you squeeze out.

He walks you to a nearby bench and kneels in front of you. He opens your drink for you and wipes sweat from your forehead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go home and rest for today?” he asks worriedly.

“I’ll be fine in a bit; I just need the medicine to kick in. Sorry for delaying us.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He takes your hand and massages the pressure point between your thumb and index finger. “Is there anything you need?”

You assure him that you’re fine and can continue with the scheduled homework session which you know he cut short with one excuse or another. You two do the bare minimum on the assignment before he “realized” he scheduled an appointment to restring his violin. After Seungmin walks you to your dorm, you quickly put on a liner and head to bed.

That night, you learn that a liner was a mistake. You wake up as you often do by a call from the bathroom. Groggily, you swing your legs off your bed and are startled by a loud ‘squish.’ Too distracted by the gnawing in your pelvis, you think nothing of it, until you open your door and the hallway lights pour into your room, illuminating your blood-covered feet. With a gasp, you quickly turn around and see the trail of red behind you. You quickly reach for your heaviest pad only to be gripped with the worst shock of pain you’ve had yet. You fall to your knees then ultimately to the floor.

Waking up on the floor makes you forget where you are, and realizing that you are laying in a pool of blood and urine does not help. It takes a moment for you to recover from the shock the state of your room gave you, but when you do, you decide to get yourself cleaned up first then deal with the room later.

Twenty minutes later, you again face the disaster that is your dorm. Thankfully, you do not have literature today, so no one— and by no one you mean Seungmin— will notice if you take a day off to take care of it.

You begin pulling off your bedsheets to wash when you hear a knock at your door. You panic and look around. It doesn’t take a genius to know your room is in no condition for a guest right now.

“Emily?”

And of course it has to be Kim Seungmin. You freeze in your spot, not knowing what to do.

“Did she leave?” you hear him ask himself. This is good. You hope he leaves.

“I guess so,” he mutters. 

You hear some plastic shuffling outside and then his retreating footsteps. You breathe a sigh of relief which you immediately regret because of the pain that comes with breathing too heavily. Your periods have never hurt this much, you note with worry.

You return to your sheets until your phone vibrates with a notification.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Hope you’re feeling better. I left some soup and food at your door since it seems like you aren’t home.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Call me if you need something. Or if you need a ride to the hospital.

Hospital? You rub your abdomen, wondering if the pain warrants a visit. You take some more painkillers and eat the food before finishing cleaning your room. As you leave the washing machine running downstairs, you sit at your table after another washroom stop for a quick nap. You nestle your head in your arms and close your eyes…

… and open them a few hours later, feeling like you’d rather be dead. You can barely breathe and your room spins around you. You don’t even remember to grab your keys as you stumble out the door. Hospital, hospital. No, the hospital’s too far. The conservatory’s health center will have to suffice for now, and it’s only two buildings away.

You must look really unwell, for as soon as you step into the facility, there are already three staff members rushing to your side. You aren’t sure what happens next. It looks like your arrival caused quite the commotion, but all you can hear is Mozart’s Requiem playing somewhere. The world is closing in on you, and you feel your legs give out.

“Seungminnie…”

You wake up to the humming of machines in a hospital room. You realize they transferred you when you see an old lady sleeping in the bed beside yours.

Thankfully, you feel much better now, though you suspect it has something to do with IV connected to your wrist.

Seeing that you are awake, a nurse comes in to check your vitals.

“Are you feeling alright, Miss Regan?” she asks.

You nod and thank her as she replaces your IV bag.

“The doctor wants to see you in a bit for your consultation, but I need a bit of information from you first. We couldn’t find any family members attached to your name, so you’ll have to fill out some forms for yourself, alright sweetie?”

After making sure you are able to, she hands you a clipboard which you complete steadily until one section. “Emergency contact,” it reads.

Seeing your hesitation, the nurse chimes in. “It can be anyone. A friend, teacher, anyone you can trust just in case, you know?”

You smile politely. "May I leave it blank?"

The nurse looks stunned. "I suppose, but what if something happens?"

"You can call a lawyer."

She looks doubtful but stays quiet save for the few instructions she gives to reach your doctor’s office. As you walk there, you think about what just happened. Emergency contact? You'd just moved here for school. Your mother passed during childbirth, and your father— Emily Regan doesn’t have a father. There's no one you could have put down, you tell yourself. No one. Not even a certain overzealous violinist. 

You knock twice on the door you were told. 

“Miss Emily Regan?” the doctor greets as you walk in.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Doctor Lee. How are you feeling right now?"

"A lot better."

"Glad to hear it. Please take a seat. Tell me, have you experienced frequent urination lately?"

You walk out of the pharmacy with a paper bag in your hands. Your heart drums in your ears but for a completely different reason this time. What will this mean for you? You’ll need to be resting for two months after the procedure, and as a dance major, this means you can’t attend class. Never mind its impact on your school year, what will this mean for your entire life? Your father has already tarnished the name Y/N L/N. You’ve tried so hard and lied so much just to make Emily Regan real. What have you made her into now? Dirty. Fiendish. Despicable. Even if you escaped being the daughter of the most hated artist who shamed his whole nation, you’ll never escape who you really are. And now this? Your hand unconsciously rises to your belly, rubbing it. It’s only further proof of what a defect you are. 

It is around four by the time you arrive back at the dorms. Thankfully, the hospital phoned your resident assistant who has your keys for you. You’re still distracted by your thoughts as you approach the building and nearly miss the man pacing up and down the front door.

Seungmin has his shoulders hunched and hands clasped together as he blows on them to keep warm, his grey cardigan not doing much against the evening chill. 

“Kim?” you call out, not believing your eyes. You are, after all, on a lot of drugs.

He immediately runs towards you when he recognizes you. You stand where you are and wait for him to come, now believe that he truly is here. Was he out here waiting for you? Your hand curls around your belly. He shouldn’t be wasting his efforts like this on someone like you. Never mind the faults of Y/N, even as Emily, you no longer deserve the love of someone like Kim Seungmin. You’d never wish for your childhood best friend to be with someone as flawed as you.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire as he stops in front of you, raising his hands as if wanting to hold you but is afraid you’d break under his touch.

“You didn’t pick up the phone…” he whispers. “You weren’t home and you didn’t pick up the phone…”

“I… had something going on.” You tuck away your prescription in your coat. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t—”

“Kim.”

“—the phone—”

“Kim Seungmin!”

His eyes look up to meet yours and you see the daze being snapped out of them.

“Huh?” 

You exhale sharply and repeat. “What are you doing here?”

“Your dorm doesn’t allow guys past twelve,” he replies matter of factly.

Your brows knit together. “You were out here for four hours?” 

He nods. “Where were you? You were sick yesterday, and now you’re off the map until four in the morning.”

You shouldn’t have snapped. You know what he means by his words, but you aren’t exactly having the best day, and Seungmin isn’t supposed to be here. You aren’t who he actually likes. You aren’t the six year old Y/N nor are you an ideal bachelorette. No, you are some imposter and you hate it. You hate it, so you state flatly, “Why does it matter to you where I was? If you’re worried about the literature project, then I’m sorry. I promise to finish it on time, but it was you who ended the homework session early yesterday, and as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have anything scheduled for today. Thank you for the meal earlier, but if stuff like that’s going to make you feel entitled to knowing about my every whereabouts, then please stop doing it.”

“That’s not what I—”

You close your eyes and let your head roll back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, so please just leave me alone for a bit.”

You walk past him, expecting the conversation to be left at that. You hear him hesitating, which you also expect, but you are not ready for the:

“No.” 

Seungmin runs in front of you and spreads his limbs out, blocking your path. “You’re suffering. I don’t know from what, or if it’s even really period cramps, but you are. I’m not letting you do it alone.” He sucks in his cheeks as he tries to find his next words. You half expect him to take you to his studio and sit you down with a drink until you give him at least a hint of what’s happening, but he surprises you with, “I’m not saying you have to share it with me, but you need to have someone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” he objects. “And trust me. I’ve seen a man try and it cost him his life and his daughter.”

The familiar story makes you freeze. Despite yourself, you ask, “Who?”

“My father’s best friend. The late violinist, L/N.” 

“T-the one who turned out to be a murderer?” Why are you saying this? Just leave him and go!

Seungmin approaches you now that you’ve stopped. His presence makes your eyes water. “He only got involved with the wrong people and ruined his name because he tried to deal with the grief of losing his wife on his own. He even hid it from his own best friend, and that’s how everything tumbled out of control.”

“And his daughter?” Stop it! Y/N— no, Emily, stop it!

“No one knows, though she could be dead. My father immediately sent out searches for her, but nothing ever came up.” His voice softens almost to the point of inaudible as he talks about her. “Father hasn’t played a duet since, and neither have I.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say.

“Don’t be. You didn’t even know about it, so what could you have done?” he laughs dryly. 

The irony makes your toes curl.

“Just don’t make me watch another person go down the same path, okay?” he pleas gently.

Again, you should have done something else. You should just say, “Okay, I’ll reach out if I need it” and leave it at that. Instead, you turn to him and ask, “Can you play me ‘Méditation’?”

You watch his eyes widen at the ‘coincidence’ of your request, especially after that story. 

“‘Méditation?’” he asks.

“Yes. Massenet’s.”

He visibly takes a step back and you know why. After all, you’ve made this exact request a million times whenever you were left to sleepover at your father’s best friend’s house.

You wake up on the couch of his studio. Seungmin lays sprawled out on the floor next to you, violin on his chest and bow dangling from his thumb. You use the blanket he put over you to lift the ten million dollar instrument onto a table before he can roll over and crush it. You cradle the Strad, lifting it over its owner to the table on the other side.

“You know who composed ‘Méditation’ but you can’t touch a violin?”

The voice startles you, and you jerk backwards, stumbling back onto the couch. Once you’ve regained your balance, you glare at the man who’s still laying on the ground, moving only his eyes to look at you.

You sigh and pull the blanket over your head. “Don’t pry my secrets or I’ll have to keep avoiding you,” you warn.

“Oh!” he hums.

You pull the blanket back down and see him sitting up now with an arm propped on his knee. “What?”

“You finally admitted to hiding things,” he tells you.

“Everyone hides things.”

“But not everyone sucks at denying it.”

“Hey!”

He points at your jacket. “Your pill bottles are literally rattling with every move you make, Miss I’m-totally-fine.”

You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. “They’re— they’re—”

“Pill bottles,” he insists. He folds his hands on the couch and rests his head on them. “Your inept lying is adorable.”

You groan and toss the blanket over his head. He tries to pull it off, but you clamp your hand over his to stop him.

“I don’t want to tell you this, but you did house me for a night, so you deserve to know at least this much, I guess.” Your serious tone stops his resistance attempts. “I’m scheduled for surgery in a little over a week. I’ll be in a hotel for two weeks after the procedure with a nurse since I don’t have someone to care for me during the bed rest period. It’s a relatively safe procedure, so don’t worry.”

Seungmin flips your hand over and grabs it. The blanket slips off his head and you are left looking at his glassy eyes.

“I…” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “I won’t ask you where you’re staying if you don’t want to tell. Just promise you’ll text after the surgery. Let me know that you’re still alive at least.”

You nod. “You’ll see me working on our Powerpoint for the project at least.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

“I won’t be able to dance for a month and a half after this. My general education classes are all I’m going to be doing,” you assure him.

“If it gets too hard—”

“I know. Thank you, Kim.” 

You roll your suitcase off the bus. You aren’t sure if it is extra windy today or if it’s just your nerves, but you shiver as you stare at the hospital before you. You take a deep breath and take a step forward only to find your feet glued to the sidewalk. 

Just then, you hear a ping through your earphones. You pull out your phone and see a message.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [7:41 AM]: [get_well_soon.mp3]

You click into it and a piano and violin playing a familiar intermezzo fills your ears. You then look down at your feet and successfully lift one up and place it in front of the other until you are in front of the reception.

“Hello. I have an appointment under Emily Regan, and I'd also like to update my emergency contact information.”

After two weeks, you’re at last pushing open the door to your own dorm room.

You aren’t sure if it’s the morphine or the darkness of the room, but stepping inside after two weeks and seeing your curtains sway lightly in the evening air makes you feel emptier than you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly, your emotions overwhelm you all at once and you succumb to the floor. Your throat tightens and you wrap your arms around your abdomen, tucking your knees to your chest. You think you are crying, but you can’t be sure. The walls are closing in. You feel yourself being shackled by chains and no matter how hard you scream, no one hears you. Your voice bounces in your head like a ricocheting bullet and water is seeping in from somewhere, filling your nose and mouth, depriving you of air. All the while, your heartbeat echoes in your head.

Ba dum.

Ba dum.

Ba 

… dum.

With a strangled gasp, you manage to break one hand free for a split moment, and you immediately look for the remote that has called a nurse for the past two weeks. Of course, you are no longer at the hospital, so the only thing you grab is your phone.

“Seungminnie… Seungminnie, Seungminnie.”

You fumble with the device, but the chains are tightening around you again. Fog clouds in and you can’t see your phone anymore. You don’t even hear it hit the floor as it slips from your hand.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Suddenly, you’re six again. Before you is the empty hallway of Violinist Kim’s mansion. Your plastic princess heels thunder with every step as you run down the hall.

Ba dum. “Seungminie?”

There’s no one there. Every turn you make just leads to another empty hall. The ground begins to morph, twisting and turning under your tiny feet. 

Ba dum. Ba dum.

The giant bow on your dress unravels and cinches around your ankle, and you trip and scrape your chin.

“Seungmin!”

“Emily!”

The ribbons shrivel. The chains clatter to the ground. The water drains. You gasp haggredly for air as your hands fly up to his shoulders for support. Beside you, your phone sits on the floor, his name illuminating from the screen.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his own device from his ear.

Your hands climb up to his face, cupping it. Your eyes are still glazed over. Blood drips from your lips from having been gnawed on too much.

“You’re… you’re not Seungmin.” You put your hands all over his face, feeling its features. “Or are you? No…”

“Emily—”

“Who’s Emily? You’re not Seungmin.”

“Stop biting yourself.”

“Seungmin’s not blond. Seungmin’s not—”

“Emily!”

“WHO’S EMILY?”

He freezes and looks at you. You’re drooped over at this point, defeated and tired. He then puts one hand behind you and pulls you into his arms.

“I am Seungmin,” he says gently. The vibration of his chest as he speaks lulls you. “I am Seungmin,” he repeats. “I’m right here. You’ve found me. I’m right here.”

Shakily, one of your hands reaches up and grabs his shirt while the other circles around to your lower belly.

“... Seungminnie…”

You’re in the furthest corner of the bed, staring at him. He’s just standing there, staring at you, juice in one hand and your keys in the other.

“So,” he begins. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully. Your eyes shift to your desk where some medicine including a bottle of Kadian and a pack of birth control sit carelessly. “But I don’t suppose I had to say much for you to figure things out.” He’s going to leave you all alone now. Why is he even still here? He should realize how unsuitable you are for someone like him. There’s undeniable evidence in front of him now.

He clutches at his chest and scrunches up his face as a glaze passes over his eyes. He takes a moment before taking out one of the pills. He hands it to you with the juice, obviously having read the administration instructions.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That and the frequent urinations. How much did they take out?”

You look away and your hand subconsciously reaches down. So he is still holding onto hope for some miracle. That’s why he hasn’t left yet. “Enough.” Now go, Seungmin.

He sits beside you, fiddling with the blankets between his fingers.

You break the silence first. “Don’t feel inclined to stay.”

“Huh?” he questions, looking up.

“I’m” —you motion downstairs— “you know. You’re here because you like me, right? Well, I can’t exactly produce an ideal family anymore. You should probably look for someone who can help you continue your and your father’s legacy.”

He looks more confused than you’ve ever seen him. “What?”

“I’m saying you should walk away now. I won’t hold it against you, so you don’t have to live with any guilt. I never considered our relationship possible anyway.”

Confusion shifts to anger. “You— You think I— I—” He struggles with his words after having been presented a scenario he’s never even considered. He exhales long and hard. “No. Just” —he grabs at an imaginary stress ball— “no. I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me. I don’t like you just because of your fertility. How could you think that? I don’t want a child. I want you. Do you understand? You! I couldn’t even sleep or drink for the past two weeks you were hospitalized, and the only time I could eat was whenever you sent a text or when I saw your little cursor on the Powerpoint. You think a surgery like that can weigh out whatever I felt that drove me to do this?”

“Still, I’m—” 

“Worthy, beautiful, and loveable,” he insists.

Those words are foreign to you. They’ve been long before you went to the hospital. How can he believe such things about you? Would he say the same things about Y/N? 

Seungmin sighs when you don’t respond and drags you closer. You don’t resist which he takes as a good sign. “So you don’t have to hide things from me anymore, okay? I’ll be here for you.”

You try to bite your lip only to find ointment there, so you play with a loose thread on your blanket instead.

“I… I’m already hiding a lot of things from you that I’m afraid to confess,” you admit. “Will that still be okay?”

You feel him nod. “Take your time. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable.”

You close your eyes and bask in his warmth. Will he really be okay if he knew he has in his arms the daughter of a drug addict murderer? Will he really be okay knowing you’re his “best friend” who left him without a trace for all these years?

You hope so. 

You want to believe so.

“It’s out! It’s out! It’s out!” you exclaim. 

“It’s just one grade. Relax,” Seungmin chuckles. Still, he stops playing the piano and swings his legs over to look at your phone.

“Not all of us have an established violin career to fall back on,” you remind him while logging into your account. You cover your eyes and hold the phone away from you as the page loads. “I can’t look.”

Seungmin takes the device. “I think you should.”

“Why? Is it good or bad?”

“We got a hundred.”

“We did?” You uncover your eyes. “We did! We did!” 

In your excitement, you give him a quick hug. He puts your phone on the table and drags you onto the piano bench. “You’re not doing anything right now, right?” He puts a simple piece in front of you. “Try this.”

“Kim, I don’t play.”

“It’s simple. Look.” He squeezes in behind you and puts your hand on the keyboard. “That’s middle C.”

He presses on the key and you scoff. You lift your left hand up as well and humor him. You’re definitely a bit choppy, but you make your way through the piece slowly and surely. Seungmin wraps his arms around your belly and rests his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music. When you get to the end, you lift up your hands and rest them on your lap.

“You’re just cuddling, aren’t you?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes shift to the music. “No, I like it.”

You feel his heartbeat accelerating at your words. “So uh, you’ve played piano before, haven’t you?”

“Uhm. I played a few different things.”

“Violin?”

“That was my focus.”

He’s not surprised. “Were you good?”

“I was better than you,” you tease.

“Oh, really?” He jumps up and puts his violin under his chin in a challenging stance. 

You put your hands defensively out with a laugh. “That was like years ago!”

He wiggles his eyebrow and starts performing up-bow ricochet and left hand pizzicato.

You roll your eyes humorously. “We get it, Mr. World-class-musician.”

He laughs too and sits back down beside you. “Speaking of which, I’m playing with the JYP Philharmonic next weekend. You’ll come, right?”

You nod. “If I can manage to walk there.”

“I need to get there early, but I’ll have my driver take you.” He smiles widely. “You have to come, you have to. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

He holds a finger to his lip cheekily. “Now it’s my turn to have a little secret.”

You fix the ribbon around your neck and smooth out your skirt as your driver comes around to open your door. You thank him and make your way into the building where Seungmin asked you to meet him. You hear him before you see him.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. She really is.”

There’s another lower voice that mumbles a reply you can’t make out. 

“Kim?” you call, approaching his waiting room.

Seungmin’s grin widens as he turns around and sees you. You, on the other hand, drop the chocolate and banana you brought for him when you see the other man in the room.

Seungmin gestures to you and looks at his companion. “Dad, this is Emily Regan, the girl I’ve been talking to you about. Emily, my father.”

Violinist Kim looks as shocked as you. “Emily… Regan?” His eyes narrow.

Seungmin furrows his brows. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything and extends a hand out to you. “Nice to meet you, Emily Regan.”

You shake his hand uncertainly, unable to look at his unblinking eyes.

“Emily? Dad?” Seungmin looks between the two of you.

The older gentleman turns to his son. “See me for a moment.”

After Seungmin sits you on a couch, the two step out into the garden as per his request. You watch as Violinist Kim says something that makes Seungmin run a hand through his hair then stab them into his pockets as he slouches backwards. He replies with something that his father quickly rebuttals. What can they possibly be discussing? It’s clear Violinist Kim does not approve of you. Does he realize who you are? Or is Emily Regan the one he disapproves of? As a parent, it’s not uncommon to want grandchildren after all.

Suddenly, someone else bursts into the room. “Mr. Kim Seungmin, the conductor is looking for you!”

The stage worker is surprised to see only you in the room, and you inform him where the performers are. He thanks you and lets himself outside to deliver the message.

You stand as Seungmin and his father walk back in. Your friend pauses in his steps to talk to you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “This isn’t how I thought my dad would react to this. I’ll talk to you after.” He then spots your hand which has again found its way to your abdomen and frowns. “I swear that’s not something we talked about nor is it even something worth getting upset over, okay?”

You give him an assuring smile. “Break a leg.”

You watch as he hurries to catch up to the stage worker who is giving a briefing as they walk. You don’t bother to ask what is wrong. You can already tell from the cold eyes of Violinist Kim what is wrong. All you can do is wonder how much he told his son.

The concert goes well. You can tell that whatever happened with his father took a toll on Seungmin’s mentality, but his concerto was still dynamic and captivating. A few rows in front of you,  you spot Violinist Kim still nodding along to the music and supporting his son. 

After forty minutes, the house lights come back on and it is time for intermission. Seungmin is done with his concerto, so you go back backstage to see if you can catch him. You don’t have to go that far though. On your way, you hear a tree go, “Psst, Emily!”

You look and see him waving you over. He’s still calling you Emily, so that’s good, you note.

“Why are we out here?” you inquire.

He takes you a little further into the woods until he finds a boulder for you to sit on. He hoists you up so you’re comfortable.

“I thought I should clear things up before my dad talks to you,” he explains. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know what kind of headache misunderstandings cause.”

You nod, prompting him to go on. He does.

“You remember when I told you about Violinist L/N?” 

This sends your heart racing. Has he found out?  

“Well his daughter used to be my best friend. The thing is, my dad thinks you look a lot like her, and he thinks I’m only with you because of it.” 

Oh, it’s just that. Thank goodness. 

He grabs your hands, his eyes serious. “I just want you to know that no matter what he tells you, that’s not it. I like you for you, Emily, and nothing more and nothing less.”

You’re still convincing yourself that he isn’t aware of your past identity, and you must be making a face that he registers as doubt for he slides a hand up to your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Please believe me.”

You snap out of it. Of course you believe him, and it wouldn’t change much if he were in love with Y/N L/N anyway. However, you don’t miss the opportunity to ask, “What would you do if she is not dead? What would you do if she came back?”

“I’d celebrate her return. I’d grab lunch with her and introduce the two of you, but that’ll be the extent of it.”

“What if she’s been doing well all these years, and you were the only one left hurting and alone, wondering where she is? Could you forgive her? Could you accept someone like that, not to mention a child of a murderer, with open arms?”

Seungmin retreats his hand and frowns at you. “Why are you saying things like that? She’s my best friend!”

You grab his hand before it can go far. This time it’s your turn to stare him in the eye. “I’m not accusing her. I’m just asking if you, Kim Seungmin, would be able to forgive her in this scenario, and I’m not going to say that you’re right or wrong if you do or don’t either.”

“Then why do you ask?” His frown shifts to a perplexed one.

You let your hand drop to your side. “I… I’m in a similar situation. I don’t know if my friend will accept me if I try to reconnect.”

“Do it.” He has on a smirk now as he walks closer. “If it’s you, I’m sure she’d love to reconnect.”

You pout at his unsatisfactory response. “You’re just biased.”

Your pursed lips only makes him stare at them. “I sure am,” he mumbles. 

He again brings his hand up to your neck, index finger resting behind your ears. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding your question or just distracted, but who cares? You’re distracted now too. The woods are setting the perfect mood, and the orchestra is playing something romantic inside. Your eyelids begin to close. He looks at you one more time, his own eyes drooping.

“Is this okay…” he whispers raspily. “... Emily?”

Your eyes fly open and you shove him away a little harder than you intended to. This isn’t you. The person he wants to kiss isn’t you, and you can’t steal that away from him, even if you desperately want it yourself. You can’t have this. You can’t have him. It isn’t yours and it isn’t right.

He falls down and looks up at you, bewildered.

“I’m— I’m sorry!” you blammer. “I, uh, I have to go.”

You jump off the boulder and walk faster than you know you should post-op.

“Emily.” You hear his feet crunching leaves right behind you. “Emily. Stop. Emily. Emily. Emily.”

Why does he keep saying that name? 

You don’t turn back and you don’t slow down.

You hear him curse and speed up, which scares you, but before you can react, he sweeps you off of your feet and carries you in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Something you won’t on your own,” he replies vaguely. He storms to his green room and kicks the door open. He sets you down in the middle of it and pulls out his violin. “Play,” he commands you.

You shrink back at the sight of the instrument. It’s a glorious instrument carved from a choice tree and shaped over a careful flame by masterful hands, capable of drawing out the soul of its player. You know touching it will draw out what you’ve been working so hard on suppressing. You aren’t Y/N, daughter of Violinist L/N. You have no business with a violin. “I can’t. You know this, Kim.”

“You can’t play or you can’t admit the truth? Play, Emily.”

Wait, what?

He holds the Stradivarius in front of you. His tone is firm and his eyes are fierce, but he doesn’t hold the violin any closer than thirty centimeters away. He needs you to make this last leap.

“What do you know?” you demand.

“Play.”

“Tell me, what did your father really tell you?” you screech.

“Play.”

You begin shaking. The f holes are taunting you. You hear the screams of your father’s victims. You hear the TV reporters all cursing his name. They’re all inside there. They’re all inside, waiting for you to release them with your playing and eat you alive. “Kim, please.”

“Play.”

“No, I— I—”

“Play.”

He already knows. You’re sure he already knows, yet somehow, this still feels like a chasm far too wide for you to cross. Can you accept this violin? Can your past? Y/N is the child of a drug-addicted murderer. She’s a six year old whose own father bathed her in blood and blacklisted her existence. Can you accept Y/N L/N?

You look up at the deep brown eyes before you. You know he can.

“Seungmin…” you choke.

He lowers his voice and softens his gaze. “Play,” he tells you.

And so you do. You timorously reach for the instrument and perform Albinoni’s Adagio, the very last piece he’s heard you play. 

Tears roll down your face as your fingers fly across the board like you’ve played the piece all your life. You’re scared, you’re scared, you’re so, so scared. You didn’t even realize how hard you’ve been working to repress this part of you, and now that you’re facing it head-on, you don’t know what to make of it, but for once, it’s okay. Even if you fall. Even if you break apart, you finally have someone who will pick up the pieces. 

You play, and play, and play until you don’t know what to play any more, yet still you played. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you play until you can no longer lift up the scroll. You let the violin slip to your side and the bow clatter to the ground. A pair of arms wrap around you to stop you from collapsing. You close your eyes as one final tear makes its way down your face.

Seungmin presses your head into his shoulder. “I forgive you, Y/N, because I love you.”

<four years later>

You look onto the expecting crowd. Your heart’s beating quickly and the violin in your hands feels heavier than usual. Seungmin steps up next to you with his instrument. He adjusts your white skirt, his new golden band glistening under the lights as he does so.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

You smile at the familiar question. “Ready,” you reply.

He smiles back and lifts his Stradivarius under his chin. You do the same and he begins to play three one-eighth C’s followed half one. You feel his music envelop you. You close your eyes, place the tip of your bow on your E-string and let “Wedding March” flow from your soul.

A sense of peace overcomes you. After learning about your father, starting your life over, and losing your fertility, peace seems almost foreign to you, yet you’ve done it. Amidst all the chaos, you’ve finally found your harmony. 

~ ad.gold

Read it from Seungmin’s perspective here.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Sovereign Talks (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil Genre: Bit of angst sandwiched between two pieces of fluff Rating: T for language Notes: Another partially/selectively mute reader story! Again, this is somewhat self indulgent, essentially being a self-insert story with edits to make it better for a wider audience. PS Daniela says some stuff that's kinda insulting, though it's out of misunderstanding rather than poor intentions, and she tries to make up for it. Also, some of the descriptions of the reader's muteness might not make sense to everyone, as I'm essentially describing how it feels for me, personally. Summary: Daniela's favorite servant is sweet, charming, eager to please, all the things she wants from a romantic partner. But there's one detail she's never quite understood. An argument, a discussion, an inevitability.

Try as you might, it was nigh impossible to please your employer. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong, and Daniela Dimitrescu was more than pleased to point it out to you. At least her intentions weren’t severe. It didn’t really bother her if you missed a spot while dusting, or if you accidentally stumbled upon a ‘private’ conversation. What mattered to her, at the end of the day, was having material to tease you with, or ‘bargain’ with. She’d approach you slowly, musing out loud about your chores. Then she’d point out a flaw, smirking ever so slightly, before placing a finger beneath your chin. You’d make awkward eye contact, desperate to get out of the situation.

And then she’d tell you exactly what she wanted from you.

Most days it was simple enough. Or at least it had been at the start, when she first sought you out. ‘Carry these books for me’, she’d say, beckoning you to follow her. ‘Make a copy of this poem so I can return the book to Duke’, she’d command. Every single time you were powerless to refuse. Hell, you couldn’t even say anything if you wanted to. So you did as she asked. In time, you came to realize the truth behind her actions, the center of her motivations: She wanted to spend time with you.

You had been baffled, at first, to connect the dots in such a way. But Daniela made no attempt to hide her feelings, letting her touches linger on your skin, smiling without any cruelty when you were near. Once, she had even covered for you after you broke a vase. When you had tried to protest, hands waving, mouth refusing to speak, she had shrugged you off with a simple ‘you are worth the price’. Ever since then, the two of you had been rather close. Sure, she had never officially asked you on a date, but she had held your hand while the two of you read. And she had held you, swaying back and forth, as music played in a distant room. Then there were the times she caught you in the corridor, pressing you against the wall for a quick kiss… or a long one, that is. Certainly that meant something? Otherwise you’d look quite silly, blushing as hard as you tended to.

Eventually your concerns subsided considerably. It took a long, difficult conversation, however, and an argument you’d never forget…

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

“Have you read Crier’s War yet?” Daniela asked, looking at you over her own book. The two of you were in her personal study, near the library, lounging in peaceful quiet. Well, it had been quiet. At her question you glance up, ensuring you made eye contact before shaking your head no. “I think you’d like it. Impossible love between two people from vastly different cultures, who start out opposed… sounds familiar, hmm?” This time you nod, laughing a little under your breath. Then you’re returning to your novel, oblivious to the way your partner is watching you, her eyes narrowed. When she catches your attention once more, it’s with a question you had hoped she would never ask. “Why don’t you talk?”

Trying to hide your discomfort, you practically bury your nose in your book, refusing to look up at Daniela. In response she grabs your notepad, slowly sliding it closer to you. For every second of silence she moves it another centimeter. With a slight groan you give in, snatching it from her hands, but sending her a glare as you do. Quickly you grab your pen and scrawl her a note. Not an answer, rather a question of your own.

“Why does it matter?” Clearly that wasn’t what she was looking for, as she leans back and gives a groan of her own.

“Seriously? I’m just curious. You can laugh, groan, make other, nice little noises… I just want to know how you work,” Daniela explained, frowning all the while. Admittedly, you understand where she’s coming from. But that didn’t mean that you were terribly comfortable with this conversation. In fact, it’s a subject you’ve been dreading ever since the two of you started ‘dating’. How exactly were you supposed to explain your condition? Especially without being able to talk directly through it?

“It’s complicated,” you write, angling the paper so Daniela can read it from her side of the table. But she only spares it a quick glance, before staring hard at you again. “Fine, babe. My mouth feels like static. My tongue is heavy, and trying to talk is like walking when both your legs are asleep. There’s never not a lump in my throat.” Now she’s reading attentively, frown vanishing, replaced by a confused expression. Shifting awkwardly, you internally pray that she doesn’t have any follow up questions. Alas, there are no gods on your side this day.

“Did something happen? Or were you… born like this?” Daniela asked, watching you closely. Frustrated, you give her a pleading look, hoping that she’d get the message and back off. Instead she doubles down. “We could arrange for a doctor to come out here, if that’s what you need. All you have to do is tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. It’s a multifaceted issue, and-” you have to turn the page to continue writing at this point- “a very personal one. But if you must know, it has to do with my anxiety.” There’s a pause, and for a few seconds you think the conversation is over. The relief that floods your chest only lasts a single moment. Then you’re face to face with Daniela, who’s leaning across the table, eyeing you with an expression you can’t make sense of. Now your heart is racing, leaving you trembling.

“So… it’s not a matter of whether or not you can talk at all? It’s a choice?” Daniela questioned, sounding aggravated. Instantly you’re shaking your head, scowling at her interpretation of your words. “What, you’re saying you can’t even relax enough to talk around me? Your fucking girlfriend?” This was exactly the sort of thing you had been worried about. How could you expect Daniela to understand the way your mind locked your jaw in place? How could she ever realize how terrifying the whole castle was?

“Calm down and let me elaborate, please,” you write, as fast as you can. But Daniela yanks your notebook away from you, tossing it to the side. All you can do is stare at her in shock. This was more than just a misunderstanding, this was her actively sabotaging your only reliable method of communication.

“You want me to calm down? Can’t you see why I’m upset? I just found out my partner isn’t comfortable around me. We could have been talking all this goddamn time! Why haven’t you told me this before? Why haven’t we worked on this?” Daniela was practically yelling now, and both of you had risen to your feet. You’ve backed away a meter or so, only for her to close the space between you, one hand cupping your cheek. No matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to look her in her eyes. “C’mon, please,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Tears are starting to cloud your vision. “Say something. Anything.”

Wordlessly, you pull yourself from her grasp, too overwhelmed to do anything other than let your feet carry you out of the room. Half to your relief, half to your misery, Daniela doesn’t lift a finger to stop you.

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

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since you ‘talked’ to Daniela. Ever since, she had been avoiding you, and you her. Hell, for three days you struggled more than usual to communicate with anyone because you hadn’t dared to go back for your notebook. In the end someone had found you a new one. It didn’t quite feel the same though, considering your normal one had been a gift… a gift from the very person who had taken it away from you. For two weeks it had felt like every single thing was another reminder of your loneliness. You wanted desperately to fix your situation, but had no clue where to even begin. Until an irritated Cassandra hatched a devious plan, that is.

You weren’t privy to the specific details of her scheme, and could only guess as to her motivations (presumably being annoyed by Daniela’s sulking). All you really knew was that one moment you were following the middle child, supposedly to assist her with organizing something, and the next you were being shoved in an unfamiliar room. Inside, Bela was trying to stall Daniela, making up a ridiculous excuse for her to be there. As soon as you entered, the eldest daughter made a beeline (flyline?) towards the exit. Before either you or your girlfriend could process what was happening, the door had been shut and locked, trapping the two of you within.

“What the fuck?” Daniela asked, temporarily ignoring you in favor of pounding on the door. It didn’t budge, unsurprisingly, but someone outside did yell in response. Not that you could make out what the muffled voice was saying. “Ugh, I swear I am going to kill them for this.” Unable to get out, she finally turns to look at you. In an instant the anger drains from her face, replaced with a bittersweet smile. There’s enough tension in the room to weigh the corners of your lips down. It’s getting harder to breathe, and you can’t quite look Daniela in the eyes. “Hey. Hey, c’mon, if they’re going to be assholes, we might as well make the most of it, right?” She asked, voice a million times softer than you would have expected, considering your previous conversation. With that she moves to sit down, gesturing for you to join her.

“Mmm?” You ‘say’, really just making a confused humming sound. For once, you do want to talk. More than any other time you’ve wanted to. But your tongue was caught in the bear trap your teeth represented, preventing almost any sound from escaping. Still, this is a side of Daniela that you do not often see, with how prideful she tended to be. All it takes to get you to move is for her to pat the spot next to her. Then you’re shifting, blushing hard as you lower yourself onto the couch. Not quite ready to meet her gaze, you stare at your thumbs, twiddling them like an anxious child.

“Bela seems to think that I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you,” Daniela mused, more to herself than to you. One of her hands slides towards you, however, eagerly intertwining her fingers with your own. After two whole weeks of isolation… it’s an amazing feeling. “I said something stupid. It’s been driving me mad, and I have no clue what to do about it. Fuck-” she flinches as she speaks, eyes clamping shut- “I just want to fix this. I want you to feel good around me. I want you to feel the same way I do. More than anything, I want to be your safe haven.”

Your eyes meet, finally, as warmth floods your chest. Words fail you, as they are wont to do, so you leave them behind. Instead you reach for your stars- the body of your girlfriend, pulling yourself into her arms. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, you are smiling softly, overwhelmed by the embrace. Soon enough you can feel Daniela rubbing soft circles into your back with her fingers. She presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head, enjoying the hug too much to pull back even the slightest bit.

“Is there anything I can do? Anything to make you more comfortable?” She asked, for a moment not even realizing the difficulty you would have with responding. Finally connecting the dots, she changes the position of her arms, ensuring that you could stay in her lap while still being able to gesture with your hands. Instead of replying, your first concern is to gently cup your girlfriend’s cheek. Then you place a kiss on her forehead. “You’re my everything, you know that, right?” Daniela whispered, sounding almost in awe. Suddenly you’re possessed by a rush of courage, clearly bolstered by her affection, and you move without thinking. You lean back in for another kiss, hand moving to the back of her head for stability.

Both of you are smiling now, even as your kiss gets more intense, the two of you pressing against each other as best as you can. One of Daniela’s hands runs itself through your hair, before taking it in a loose grip. All you can think about is how right this feels. Your heart is racing, especially as your girlfriend switches to an open mouth kiss, letting her tongue slide across your lips. It catches you off guard, and you need to pull back to catch the breath she had so eagerly stolen. Even then you swear you can feel her pulse pounding just as hard as yours is.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” Daniela murmured, embarrassed, worried that you had stopped for a very different reason. In response you shake your head a little, then practically smother her face in tiny kisses. She’s giggling at that, grinning, all of her anxiety fading away. Most of yours does too. Everything feels perfect. So much so, in fact, that you feel something you haven’t felt in almost an entire year: The loosening of your jaw muscles. Clarity unstiffens your tongue, making age-old static clear up. Can I…? You wonder, wanting so desperately to use this opportunity as best as you can. After all, who knew when you’d ever be this comfortable within the castle again. Hell, the thought alone makes you more nervous, and you struggle to think of something, anything, to say.

“L-l… Love,” you stuttered, barely getting the syllable out, mouth feeling incredibly dry, mind racing, hating how it sounds because holy shit you haven’t talked in a year and was Daniela going to hate your voice and forget all about what you were saying and ruin the moment or worse was she going to hate you or thoughts thoughts pounding in your head like a hurricane, because because because-......................... Anxiety, above all else, was an asshole. One that had prevented you from hundreds of conversations, and limited a thousand more. Now, moments after finally speaking, your mind is on the brink of a tear-worthy breakdown. But you’ve said your piece, and by God has it been received.

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!” Daniela cried, equally overwhelmed, for a far different reason. She’s holding you as close as she can, burying her face in your neck. Likewise you rest yourself against her, letting your eyes drift shut, happy beyond description. There were still things you had to talk about, yes, and you would once more have to rely on your trusty notebook. Daniela had a lot to learn, to understand, but this was a start. More than that, it was the first step after the mending of a broken bone. Everything to come would be far, far easier, a labor of love done fearlessly.

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

“Should we open the door now? Or at least unlock it?... How long does it take two idiots to stop being mad at each other?” Cassandra asked, leaning against the hallway wall. Meanwhile Bela had her ear to the door, straining to hear what was going on within. Sure, she had gone along with her younger sister’s plan, but she hadn’t been entirely convinced that it wouldn’t end in disaster. Then again, so far so good. No yelling, no (loud) crying, just some quiet words from Daniela. Maybe they’re working things out, Bela thought, starting to smile. And then she heard something she’d never forget…

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!”

“We are not opening that door,” Bela replied, suddenly, her ears burning red. She didn’t know how things had gone from so quiet to so potentially dirty in such a short amount of time, and she did not care. Without even a hint of an explanation, she turned to leave, desperate to get certain mental images out of her head...

[brywrites]

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand.  You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

..

Tags: @calm-and-doctor​ @averyhotchner​

[eliemo]

Solitary

Summary: Logan wakes up. He wasn't supposed to this time.

TWs: aftermath of a suicide attempt, implied/referenced self harm, self hatred and self esteem issues, hopeful ending

Notes: Mind the tags pls, I wrote this with no plan at like 1am. Platonic LAMP

When Logan woke up, the first thing he registered was a splitting headache, white hot pain spreading down his head to his spine like his skull was being snapped in two.

The next was the pulsing agony in both of his arms, shooting up to his shoulders with a sudden intensity that made him gasp before he could stop himself, only to be met with another stabbing pain in his throat.

“Hey hey hey, easy.” A vaguely familiar voice filtered in from somewhere nearby, but Logan was pretty sure the pain would only worsen if he opened his eyes to look. “Easy, Lo. You’re safe, you’re ok.”

All Logan was able to manage was an awful sounding croak. He felt someone running their hand gently through his hair, another holding the side of his face.

“Breathe, kiddo. You’re ok.”

Patton. A bit of the rising alarm faded when he recognized the moral side’s voice, but something still pulled at his chest when he realized how scared Pat sounded. What was going on?

“Can you open your eyes?” Patton asked, soft and concerned right beside his ear. “We really miss you, Logan.”

Patton’s voice broke a bit at the end, miserable and pleading, and that was enough for Logan to risk pain that came with the sudden light, making another weak noise in the back of his throat as he pried his eyes open, surprised and a little frustrated over how much effort it took.

Like he’d warily expected, the barrage of light did feel like someone was repeatedly taking a knife to his eyes, but it wasn't nearly as intense as he’d anticipated.

It took a second for everything to come into focus, but when it did Logan could make out that he was on the couch in the living room, a dark blue blanket draped over him, the curtains closed over the windows to keep the sunlight out of the dim room.

Patton was crouched beside him, fingers still running through Logan’s hair, slow and gentle. Virgil was perched on the other end of the couch, eyeshadow smeared and staining his face with dried black tears.

Roman was standing beside the armchair just a few paces away, looking like he’d just been startled out of his seat, face pale, eyes wide and shiny.

They all looked...awful. They looked about as bad as Logan felt right now.

“Wh-what?” It hurt to talk, voice raspy and shaking, but the confusion was only making his head hurt more. “What’s happening, I—”

“I’ll, uh- I’ll get him some water,” Roman said hastily, failing to hide the worried glance he sent Patton’s way. “Hang in there, Teach.”

Roman was gone before Logan could say anything, and his gaze wandered instead to Virgil who was still planted by his feet, shifting anxiously where he sat, glancing between Logan and Patton like he was waiting for someone to speak.

Luckily Roman wasn’t gone for long, hurrying back into the room within seconds and practically thrusting a glass of water in Logan’s face.

He moved to sit up and take it, only to hiss at the pain shooting up his arms at the tiniest of movements, falling limply back onto the cushions.

“Don’t use your hands, honey,” Patton said, a second too late. “Here, let me help you, ok?”

Any other time Logan would have protested. He was perfectly capable of drinking a cup of water by himself. But right now all he had the energy to do was give a tiny nod and let Patton help him to sit up.

He didn’t have the energy to fight, keeping his aching arms under the blanket and letting Patton bring the cup to his lips. The cold water eased the pain in his throat somewhat, even if it took a frustratingly long time for Logan to swallow a few sips.

“There you go,” Patton said when he saw done, and Logan hated how overly gentle the other side was being with him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Logan said, despite how badly everything hurt. “What...happened?”

He saw the three of them exchange worried glances among themselves, trying and failing once again to hide it from Logan. His head was still too heavy to remember what had put him in this position in the first place, but their concern was only worsening his rising anxiety. Or maybe he was just picking up on some of Virgil’s distress.

The anxious side shifted again, brows drawn together as he looked Logan over. “Do you not...remember what happened?”

Logan took a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing against the lump in his throat, taking a moment to catalogue his aching body, his headache, and the searing pain shooting up his arms.

“Was I...injured?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Patton immediately burst into tears. To his dismay, Roman and Virgil’s eyes started welling up at the same time.

Oh, god. Logan was even less prepared to deal with their emotions than he usually was.

“Is that…” he trailed off, swallowed, and tried again. “Is that a yes?”

Patton only began crying harder, and before Logan could try to apologize the moral side was throwing himself forward, arms wrapped around Logan as best he could, sobbing loudly into his chest.

“Patton, I—”

“I’m so sorry!” Patton wailed, only further growing Logan’s confusion. “I’m so sorry Lo, I’m so sorry! We didn’t- we didn’t know! I swear we had no idea!”

“Let him take a moment to wake up, Padre,” Roman said, still hovering anxiously. He and Virgil were being much quieter about their distress, but both of their faces were soaked with tears. “But we...we really are sorry. Gosh, Logan we’re so so sorry.”

Logan screwed his eyes shut again, still coming up blank when he tried to connect the dots. “What...what on earth are you apologizing for?”

“For not realizing you felt that way, Lo.” Virgil moved to put a hand on Logan’s leg, refusing to look the logical side in the eyes. “Jeez- you’re family and we never...we never noticed.”

Patton was still bawling into his shirt, Virgil tightened his own hold, Roman began pacing as he tended to do when he was stressed, and Logan still had absolutely no clue what was going on. Why wouldn’t someone just tell him what had happened?

“Patton...” Logan stopped, first from the pain that came with raising his hand to touch Patton’s shoulder, then from the shock of seeing his arms. “I—”

“Don’t look, baby,” Patton said, gently guiding his hands back under the blanket like Logan hadn’t gotten a clear view of blood stained bandages wrapped around his arms from his wrists to his elbows. “You’re ok.”

His arms were...had he...?

Roman cleared his throat, and Logan looked over at the sound. The Prince held a wrinkled piece of paper in his hand, crumpled and a little stained, and the writing Logan could just barely make out was suddenly alarmingly familiar.

“We, uhm. We found your note.”

And just like that it all came rushing back- the overwhelming pain, the emotions, everything spiraling out of his usually so strict control as he finally let everything out onto a flimsy piece of notebook paper.

He’d lost control, no longer able to see a better way out. All he’d been focused on was the horrible pain in his arms soaked with blood that signified an ending he hadn’t even been sure he really wanted.

It came back in a fragmented blur, and Logan abruptly remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have woken up.

Oh. Oh no.

“I am...so sorry,” Logan said, at a loss for what else to do. “It was never my intention for you all to—”

“Your intention was pretty fucking clear,” Virgil snapped, and Logan was taken aback by the hostility in Anxiety’s voice. “Jesus Christ, Lo! What were you thinking?”

“Virgil,” Patton snapped, but the wavering in his voice overshadowed any vehemence. “That’s...let’s calm down, kiddo. Ok?”

Virgil wiped his eyes with his sleeves, shoulders hunched as he crossed his arms and stared at the ground. Logan’s chest squeezed, guilt and panic overwhelming.

“How long was I...asleep?”

Patton gave a shaky sigh, going back to running his hands through Logan’s hair. “Since last night. It’s...I think three in the afternoon now.”

Logan’s stomach dropped, and the pain in his arms flared up again as he struggled to sit up, only to fall limp against the back of the couch. He’d been out all day, forcing the other sides to stop what they were doing and look after him.

He couldn’t imagine how much damage and stress he’d caused. The one thing he’d been trying to avoid doing any more of.

“I’m very sorry,” Logan said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “My intentions were not to be an inconvenience or cause any unnecessary stress. I will attempt to get back on schedule as soon as possible and—”

“Get back on schedule?”

Logan couldn’t remember hearing Virgil yell like this, shrinking back into Patton’s arms before he could stop himself, the anxious side having stood up from the couch, eyes wide and brimming with new tears.

Logan cleared his throat, struggling to speak with his heart hammering in his chest. “I...apologize for—”

“You think we’re upset over the schedule?��� Virgil snapped, flinching when Roman moved closer to put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for you to wake up after you tried to kill yourself and you think we’re upset because we’re behind schedule? Are you fucking serious, Logan?”

The screaming eventually dissolved into ragged sobs, and Logan watched as Roman gathered Virgil up his arms and pulled him close, the anxious side burying his face into the Prince’s chest.

Roman hadn’t stopped silently crying, silent tears sliding down his cheeks as he pressed his nose to Virgil’s hair, trembling with the strength it took to hold back his sobs. And Patton hadn’t let go of him, half of Logan’s shirt soaked with the moral side’s tears.

He hadn’t...expected this. Any of it.

Honestly, Logan hadn’t expected anyone to even notice his absence at first. He supposed they might not have known he’d...passed at all if he hadn’t been found before he’d finished.

He'd expected them to be mildly agitated when they found out he was gone, a little annoyed that he’d taken such drastic measures instead of continuing to ignore it and move on for Thomas’s sake. They'd have to make their schedules themselves now, and his death would likely push a few things back.

Things might be a bit less efficient without him but...they’d realize it was for the best eventually. They would be happier without him around. The air would be lighter.

It would be quieter. They wouldn’t have to constantly hide their annoyance every time he opened his mouth.

They wouldn’t have to deal with him at all anymore.

He hadn’t...expected anyone to be upset over the thought of losing him. He hadn’t even succeeded, he was perfectly fine, and every single one of them was in very clear distress.

“I am...very sorry,” he tried again, wondering if all he’d managed to do was ruin things irreparably. “I never wanted to upset any of you.”

“It isn’t about us,” Patton said, reaching over to quickly squeeze Virgil’s hand. “It’s not about our feelings. It’s about yours.”

“No, Virgil is right. It was selfish of me to—”

“It wasn’t selfish,” Virgil said quickly. He pulled away from Roman, just enough to look at Logan. “It’s not...it wasn’t selfish, Lo. It wasn’t your fault.”

Logan frowned, because that...was an exceptionally strange thing to say. Especially when he had every right to scream until his voice was hoarse. “Of course it was. I did it to myself. I was fully aware of what I was doing.”

That made Patton tighten his hold and Virgil’s gaze drop to the floor, but Logan didn’t falter. It was the truth. He wasn’t going to make excuses or pretend to be ashamed. He’d been convinced it was the right thing to do.

Roman suddenly sighed, trembling and quiet, the only one able to meet Logan’s eyes. “Sometimes our brains tell us things, Lo. They aren’t true and they’re awful but it’s...hard not to listen. You just need some help quieting the thoughts.”

“My thoughts are...perfectly rational,” Logan said, despite the situation. “I was simply mistaken. I thought I was doing what was best.”

“You thought we hated you!” Patton was crying again, sobbing with nothing holding him back, and Logan suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at the note left on the coffee table. “You thought...Lo, the things you said—”

“I was wrong,” Logan said curtly, even as a prickle of dread settled in his stomach. “I was...I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

He was a bit taken aback by how quickly the three of them burst into affirmations, all of them suddenly crowded around him, holding him close as gently as possible. Keeping him safe.

“We love you,” Virgil was saying, and the anxious side had somehow managed to half commandeer his lap, his arms wrapped around his Logan’s middle. “I love you, Logan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not...your fault,” Logan said, wishing his arms didn't hurt quite so bad. He couldn’t even attempt to hug anyone back. “I shouldn’t—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Roman spoke up, placing a gentle but grounding hand on Logan’s back. “I know it feels like you did, Teach. I know. But you didn’t.”

“I tried to...I- I thought—”

“You’re in a bad place and we didn’t notice,” Virgil said, barely audible from where his face was pressed into Logan’s shirt. “That’s our fault. We- I should have been there to help, I didn’t know you—”

“I was attempting to hide it.” Hiding it had become normal. He’d hoped it would all simply go away, or fade away to the background at the very least if he just pretended.

But it had only grown worse, leaving him feeling empty and numb and hurt each time he was ignored and talked over, each time an argument went a little too far, each time he felt like a burden for simply speaking his mind. For having a thought in the first place.

He’d thought they hated him. He thought they hated the sound of his voice, his presence in their lives, his existence. A bitter part of him had wondered if they’d celebrate his death before erasing him from their memories entirely.

He hadn’t been able to say it aloud. But he’d finally been able to sit down and put it all on paper, finalizing it into one last goodbye.

Logan has been stupid. Logic had failed, and he’d done something irrational.

If he couldn’t even do his job well enough to keep himself alive, what even was the point in keeping him around? Thomas might be better off without him after all—

“Logan.” Patton was right in front of him now, warm hands on Logan’s cheeks, effectively cutting off his spiraling thoughts. “We’re here now. We’re here and we know.”

Logan curled his shoulders and nodded, the thought equally comforting and terrifying. He’d never planned on having to face the consequences of this decision. Of his awful, irrational feelings.

“We’re gonna help you kiddo,” Patton continued. “You’re not alone, Logan. You never ever have been. I’m so sorry you thought you were.”

Logan swallowed, alarmed at how tight his throat was becoming, vision quickly becoming blurred. “I...I don’t want to cause any pointless stress. We’re all busy.”

“We’re worried about you,” Patton said softly, never letting go of Logan. “You worry about the people you love. You worry about family.”

“I...” he paused, closing his eyes as the tears finally spilled over. “I wasn’t...sure that I was.”

Virgil lifted his head and frowned, but Logan refused to look down at him, staring blankly at the wall instead. “You weren’t...what? Family?”

Logan didn’t respond, didn’t jump to correct the assumption because he...couldn’t. He’d questioned his place for so long, somewhere along the way he’d begun assuming nobody cared. That it wasn’t a question for anyone else.

The heartbroken noises from the other three sides made him flinch, and he melted into their touch as they rushed to assure him once again, hard as it was to focus on anything they were saying.

He’d been so stupid. How could he have mistaken this for anything but love?

“You’re family, Logan,” Roman said, holding him from behind with his head now rested on Logan’s shoulder. “You will always be family. I’m so sorry it got this bad.”

Logan wasn’t sure when he’d started letting himself cry in earnest, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

There were three pairs of arms around him, holding him close while he trembled and sobbed and tried to force out apologies that kept getting caught in his throat.

He’d been selfish, and he’d upset them all so much but…

But he’d been so hurt. He’d felt so hurt for months and none of them had noticed. Nobody had asked. He wasn’t angry, he knew they would never have left him like that if they could have known. But it didn’t change the fact that it had happened.

But it was...going to be better now. Logan wanted so badly to believe it was going to get better.

“We’re going to fix this,” Patton said, and Logan’s eyes slipped shut when the moral side once again began playing with his hair. “We’re gonna be right here, Lo. We’ve got you. It won’t ever get this bad again.”

Logan felt himself drifting back to sleep, the pain fading to a dull ache in the background, and he didn’t try to fight against it. His chest was still heavy, mind clouded with distorted thoughts and doubts, and he knew none of that would disappear the next time he woke up. He wasn’t naive enough to hope it would.

But he had a way to fix it now. A way that wasn’t quite so final as his original plan.

And his family would be there when he woke up. He didn’t have to do this by himself anymore. He didn’t have to be the only one trying to fix this.

Logan believed them. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. Never again.

[sitaarein]

None Stand Equal In This Dark World

A/N: Officially my largest ever fic so please. Just read it and be nice sob because I’m kinda proud of some of it

Written for @grishaversebigbang 2021!!!

Corporalki: @homicide-depot​

Materialki: @generalnabri (x), @kolarpem (x), @aivicart (x), @maximumbluebirdpatrol , @niadrawing (x)

 (Summary: A murder mystery AU featuring Zoyalai, twists and turns, moral dilemma, and then some more

Read on AO3

Chapter One

The apartment door was wide open.

 In retrospect, that alone should have set off the alarm bells in Zoya’s head. No one left the door to their place wide open. She can’t imagine why she simply dismissed it. 

 Scratch that, she knew why. She’d been tracking this idiotic Grisha for a month now. She was tired and desperate. 

 But it appeared that- who would’ve thought- not being at the top of your game has consequences. 

 Consequences like staring down a man who’s been tied to a chair and gagged in the middle of, what Zoya guesses is, the lounge, eyes wide with terror.

 Zoya is mad at herself for not managing to guess it was a red herring- the damn door - and very, very mad at the Grisha who has, once again, slipped right through her hands. 

 She nods to one of her men, and he immediately drops to the man’s level to untie and presumably interrogate him. Zoya doesn’t stick around for the details- she trusts her people to give her good reports. Instead, after a cursory look around, she tips her head back to face the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, and leaves the apartment. 

 The weather outside took a dramatic turn in the fifteen minutes she was inside- it had been sunny before, or at least as sunny as Ravka ever could get. But now, the sun has all but ceased to exist, and the bitter cold is back once more. 

 Zoya prefers the cold. 

 (She doesn’t, not really, but no one needed to know that.)

 Zoya starts walking, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her mind races, trying to connect all the dots, trying to figure out where her investigation had gone wrong. Start from the beginning. Don’t miss anything. The most minor of details are the most important.

  The beginning. A woman showed up to their headquarters about her missing family. Those cases were usually dismissed completely, handed over to the police forces- Zoya’s force was Grisha-centric, other cases, no matter how large or important they were, did not concern them. But this case was different.

 The woman was Grisha. 

 Her family weren’t, evidently- and neither did they know that she was. They’d been missing for six weeks, and the odds were pretty heavily stacked against them still being alive. The woman was detained (she was Grisha, this was Zoya’s job ) and a group of officers were dispatched for a search and rescue.

 The officers never returned.

 Alarm bells were now ringing, and the General assigned Zoya to the case. In the time since she officially took over, twenty more disappearances were documented, and all of them in Os Kerva alone. Saints knew what was happening in the rest of the country.

 But Zoya had never believed in Saints, so she found out what was happening in the rest of the country.

 The total number of disappearances in all of Ravka that had this case’s signature mark- an eclipsed sun left wherever the victims were seen last- was an estimated three thousand . Zoya couldn’t believe no one had connected the dots before her. Then again, the entire of the force were filled with incompetent idiots, so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her. 

  The series of events . Zoya travelled up and down the country with the best of her underlings, talking to anyone who knew the victims, searching their last known places with tooth combs, building up working hypotheses, using all the resources they had available. Zoya was not an idiot. She knew exactly how capable she was. 

 And she also knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

 And so, when she got a call from one of her top detectives about a confirmed Grisha she’d been trailing for some time now who’d begun suspicious activity, she was clutching at straws and willing to take anything that came her way. She met up with her agent, and a few days later, they got the address of the apartment she was currently pacing in front of.

  The present . This part could be summed up fairly quickly. Zoya is, once again, at a fucking dead end . 

 Before she can kick something (or someone) out of frustration, A faint ringing reaches her ears, and frowning, Zoya stops in her tracks. Her phone is never not on silent. Calling Zoya Nazyalensky for anything was utterly pointless- she never picked up. 

  But the GIA has ways of getting into contact with its members regardless.

 Muttering a curse, Zoya digs around her pockets, looking for the infernal device with its grating, high-toned ringing. Finally locating her phone, she jabs the answer button without looking at the caller ID.

 “Yes?” she asks bluntly. 

 “Zoya,” Alina’s voice greets her.  

 Zoya immediately forgets everything that had been on her mind. When Alina calls, it’s rarely for a friendly chat. 

 “What’s wrong?”

“You need to get back here. As soon as possible.”

 “Understood. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 Alina hangs up immediately, and Zoya pockets her phone, mind racing.

 She orders one of her lackeys to send her a report when they're done, grabs the keys for the van they’d used to get to the apartment from a rather distracted officer, taking off.

 Zoya reaches the Grisha Investigation Authorities in approximately half the time she’d given to Alina, and she may or may not have disobeyed quite a few traffic laws to get to her destination as quickly as she did, but that was frankly unimportant. 

 She strides through the doors, not bothering to acknowledge the many who’ve halted their paths to nod to her or, in the case of a few particularly stupid (or courageous, however you wanted to see it) people, attempt to strike up a conversation with her. She didn’t break her pace even once, until she’d reached the door to the meeting room they usually used to meet up for serious issues. After taking a moment to compose herself, Zoya pushes the door open.

 Inside, she finds all of her fellow Commanding Officers assembled- Adrik, Leoni, Alina, and Genya. Frowning, Zoya scans their faces, and mentally shifts whatever’s happening even higher on her scale of terrible shit to take care of immediately.

 Because not even Leoni, who can find positivity at a funeral, is smiling right now. There’s barely a hint of her optimistic and eternally cheerful personality in her countenance. 

 Zoya carefully takes the seat left for her around the circular table. Her gaze flits from one worried face to another, and she decides to be direct.

 “How bad is it?”

 The question seems to jolt Alina out of her reverie. She looks up, and Zoya feels her breath catch, because she looks so… helpless. Terrified.

 Genya takes it upon herself to answer Zoya’s question with another question, her mouth set in a grim line. “How’s your investigation going?”

 “We lost the suspect,” Zoya admits, her earlier frustration returning with the reminder of the infernal case. “We’re right back to where we started- but without the hope and the general idea of where to start.”

 “I’m not surprised,” Adrik mutters. “Considering who your delightful suspect is…”

 Zoya furrows her brow, and glances back at Genya. “Explain.”

 Genya looks as if she would rather do anything else, but after coming to the realisation that no one else is about to, she sighs and does so.

 “I’m presuming you remember Alina’s case that went cold about two years back?”

  A little too well. Even years later, that case haunts her- the truly horrific killings, from corpses with their body parts stuffed down their throats, to children who had clearly been still alive when burnt, the utter dead ends, Alina’s far too close brush with death, and… the person behind it all.

 “You don’t think it’s the same person??” Zoya demands, horror spreading through her veins.  She can not handle another Kirigan. 

 In lieu of replying, Genya nods to Leoni, who pushes forward a large envelope. Dread pooling in her gut, Zoya opens the package to find pictures from Alina’s investigation.

 “We revisited these when your disappearances started,” Genya says. “And… found more similarities than we’re frankly comfortable with.” 

 Zoya shifts the photos around, and then freezes at one, having caught sight of a mostly blurry but still distinctive calling card. “That’s…”

 “The eclipsed sun,” Adrik provides grimly. “You’re screwed.”

 “Hey, now,” Leoni protests. “We don’t know that.”

 Adrik snorts. “Don’t we? Need I remind you of the damage this person wrecked to the GIA and our country?”

 “How do we know this isn’t just a copycat?” Zoya breaks in. “None of the bodies of the victims this time around have been discovered,”

 “Copy cats still tend to have their own twists on kills, a signature, a mark that’s theirs. While none of the killings for either case have many similarities, they also don’t vary in terms of said signature.” Genya says.

 “Killers are proud creatures,” Adrik inputs.

 “And this one’s no exception,” Leoni says, eyes grim. 

 Zoya looks up. “What do you know?”

 Leoni hesitates, but then gives in. “We got a note this morning. A photocopy should be in the envelope too.”

 Zoya overturns the envelope, and sure enough, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up, reads it, and crumples it up. 

 “You’re sure this isn’t a stupid joke?”

 “It was in the Director’s office.” Leoni says. 

  Shit.  Zoya glances back down at the crumpled mass she’s still clutching. You will burn on your mistakes. What mistakes? 

 She ignores the faint voice in the back of her head. You know what mistakes.

 Zoya takes a deep breath, focuses her thoughts, and then exhales. “How’s the Director doing?”

“He’s terrified.” All of the COs seemed to be equally startled to see Alina was the one to speak. Her mouth is set in an angry line, and Zoya can guess the track of her thoughts, because they were the same ones that had crossed her mind upon hearing the words- who is he to be terrified? What right did the Director even have to feel scared, when he himself never so much as interacted with the cases???

 Adrik sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Which is what has led us to our current predicament.”

 “And what do you mean by that?” 

 Genya exhales in a huff. “He wants the Mentals on this case along with all of us.”

 ���He what.” 

 Alina, lips twisted in a sardonic smile, gestures to nothing in particular. “You heard correctly.”

 “Why ??? This is my case, and I will handle it.”

 “He doesn’t want a repeat of the bad press that came with my failing last time, I’m guessing.”

 “Bad press,” Zoya spits out. “I wonder how much bad press he’ll get when I-”

 “Do not,” Genya warns. “This could be helpful to us.”

  But also a personal disgrace , Zoya finishes the sentence in her head. The Mentals were practically a legend of the GIA- they were special, elite investigators, a whole mix of people ranging from scientists to- if the rumors were correct- ex-spies, who ended up with the cases no one else in the force could solve, and somehow, without fail, solved each of them within a week at the least. 

 It was irritating as hell.

 And having them assigned on your case meant that the Director did not trust you to be successful on your own. 

 Absolutely wonderful.

 “So when are these... spectacular detectives arriving?” Zoya asks. 

 Genya opens her mouth, and then closes it, before starting, “Well-”

 “I hope I’m not too late to this marvelous party?”

 Zoya swivels to see who this truly abnormally cheerful person is, and then blinks. She turns back to face the others once more- Adrik still looks glum, Leoni is smiling her most polite smile, Alina seems to have perked up and Genya is genuinely smiling. They all look… unsurprised.

 Of course they were hiding more secrets up their sleeves.

 “ What,” Zoya finally breaks and asks. “Is the damned PR guy doing here?”

 The aforementioned PR guy pouts. “Is that really what I’m known for around here? My PR duties? That’s quite depressing. Why would you focus on that when you could talk about my stunning good looks, or my undeniable charm, or even my ability to-”

 “Nikolai,” Alina interrupts. “Shut up.” she looks at Zoya, a hint of dry amusement in her eyes. 

 “Zoya, this is Nikolai Lantsov, and he is indeed our PR guy, but he’s also… head of the Mentals.”

 Zoya blinks. He’s what??? And then, wait… they knew who the special investigators were? How long have they known? Why was I not informed?

 She doesn’t voice any of her thoughts, choosing instead to stare, unimpressed, at the blond, who grins at her in response. 

 “If I had known you possessed such astounding grace and beauty, Miss Nazyalensky, I would have made your acquaintance sooner! I’m sure these upcoming days will prove to be an absolute pleasure, provided I get to spend them in your delightful company.”

 “Saints save me,” Zoya utters faintly. “The Director assigned an idiot to my case.”

 “Hey, now!” Nikolai protests. “You haven’t even met the rest of my team yet!”

 “An idiot who talks too much,” she deplores. 

 Genya and Alina both snort at that. In fact, all of her fellow COs seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in this situation. Zoya hates all of them. 

  “Well, now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way,” Nikolai says, to which Zoya distinctly hears Adrik mutter “pleasantries?” under his breath, “I think now would be a wonderful time for me to introduce you to my brilliant team,”

  Genya sits up immediately, looking eager. Zoya wonders what that’s about. 

 She finds out fairly quickly.

 Nikolai ushers in a group of people, and she recognises one in particular, one who she has, in fact, known since her college years -

 David. Genya’s husband, David Kostyk, is a part of the Mentals. Harmless old David. Zoya can’t believe her eyes. 

 She scans the rest of the group, but the others barely seem familiar. The two Shu right in front of David look similar enough to be twins, apart from the height difference. Right next to David is a woman that, with a jolt, Zoya recognises as Adrik’s sister from what she’s heard and seen of her. Bringing up the rear is a man who vaguely resemblesNikolai himself, ducking his head shyly as he enters the room. 

 “Now that your merry party is all assembled,” Adrik says glumly. “Any ideas where to start?”

 “Shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?” Adrik’s sister asks.

 Adrik stares at her. “I’ve known you since I was born.”

 “We’re not the only ones in the room, Adrik.”

 “Oh, aren’t we ? I can’t say I noticed.”

 Nikolai interrupts their glaring match to finally provide Zoya with names to all the unfamiliar faces. 

 “Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and Isaak, meet the officers we’ll be working with for the next few weeks or longer- Alina, Genya, Zoya, Leoni, and Adrik,” he gestures towards each person in turn. Zoya briefly wonders how he already knows their names, before realising that just because the GIA didn’t know who the special investigators were didn’t exactly mean they didn’t know the GIA either. 

 “And now,” Nikolai beams. “Let’s get comfortable. It’s time to discuss our present conundrum!”