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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.4]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Chapter 04: Demands of the Faithful

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.

[Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.]

“I’m glad you could make time,” Byleth says, carefully placing her fine cup on the small bottom plate. If she notices how uncomfortable you feel, sitting in the centre of the yard, drinking tea, she ignores it. “Let’s think together about what we want to teach during the mock battle.”

“This is a bad idea,” you say, nibbling on your cup. “A very bad idea.”

The late afternoon hours are quiet, but it certainly helps that the tea arrangement is tugged away in a far off corner in the courtyard, hidden behind tall hedges that allow privacy. The sweet smell of chamomile tea and strawberry pastry is a nice exchange from the usual savoury smells you’re used to in the cafeteria. All around you, the high, spiky roofs of the monastery’s towers stand out against the fiery, orange sky, throwing longer and longer shadows as the sun sets behind the mountains. The clouds are soft, pink cotton-candy, blushing at the warm touch of the sun.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Byleth continues, cutting through a piece of cake with her fork. “We’ve seen what the house leaders are capable of. It’s time to see what the rest of the students can do.”

“Don’t take me wrong. I think a mock battle will help them grow,” you agree. “I just don’t really understand why it’s me who has to lead the Blue Lions.”

“I think Professor Hanneman is not present at the day of the mission,” Byleth explains. “It seems on the last day of Lone Moon he always leaves the monastery for a private reason. And I assume Lady Rhea means to see the extent of your power.”

That’s what you expected as well. In the last couple of days you realised your power is a muscle, to be exercised daily, never to be pushed to the extreme. It was a strenuous task to try out how much is too much; where there’s still room. Under the keen eyes of Hanneman, you two practised day after day, trying to figure out how much your body can take before exhaustion sweeps over you and renders you immobile. Crests usually don’t have a limit; depending on their nature they grant a permament boost to the bearer’s abilities. Muttering under his breath, Hanneman had made quite a show to remind you what a curiosity the Crest of the Herald is. Like you wouldn’t know.

“Since we’re going to be on the field as well, you might want to get more practice with the sword,” Byleth proposes, and you groan. She has a way of being brutally honest, and so far no one’s been spared to get the brunt of it. “I’m not letting my students hold back. Not even against you.”

“You really are a voice of confidence, you know.” Shoulders drooping like someone took the wind from your sails, you throw your head back and drink the rest of your tea. Byleth’s expression doesn’t change, and you wonder why you even try being funny around her.

After clearing the table, Byleth accompanies you to your next lesson hall. It’s nice in theory, but her vigorous way of trying to drill sword techniques into your head on the way doesn’t hide her true agenda. Only slowly, you begin to realise that is maybe her way of caring for someone. Brutish in appearance, but once you look past the first impression of indifference, Byleth’s silent demeanour speaks louder than words.

Students linger in small groups in front of the class rooms, their exhausted faces from a full day of lessons and hard training visible in the way they carry their bodies. If you had a say in it, you’d cancel the evening lessons and let them rest; a reoccurring debate inside the faculty that doesn’t go anywhere. Byleth stops in front of the class room, surveying the students with a cool gaze, when suddenly Claude and Hilda jog towards you, and by “jogging” they decided Hilda to be the only one running while carrying Claude bridal style like he weighs nothing. As they pass you, Claude tips an invisible hat in your direction, calling “Hey, teach,” and then immediately “Bye, teach!” as they cross the courtyard.

Your gaze follows them. “What just happened.”

Byleth doesn’t even bother to look. “Claude and Hilda happened.”

Heavens, you don’t know if you’re able to handle them later.

After exchanging goodbyes with Byleth, you tackle the next forty minutes with a belly full of sweets and a mind occupied with worrying about everything you might do wrong next week. Forming two groups, you hand out two different manoeuvres you dug out of books, and present the task, “Work out the pros and cons of each battle tactic, and present them to the class. Explain where you would have done things differently, and why.”

Sylvain raises his hand.

“Yes, you can leave to bathroom breaks without asking me,” you say.

Sylvain drops his hand. Then raises it again.

“No, you can’t bring animals you find on your way back to your seat,” you say.

He drops his hand. Beside him, Ingrid fails to stifle a groan.

Twenty minutes later, the first group stands in front of the class. Mercedes’s steady hand draws the perfect copy of the manoeuvre on the chalk board while Annette recites every step flawlessly. They’re a powerful combination, and that’s only half owed to their friendship. Mercedes is soft; she’s the silk hiding the dagger that Annette’s sharp mind is. There’s strength in kindness, and both have honed this ability to a razor-sharp weapon. There’s still a pouch of unfinished cookies Mercedes has baked for you left in your room, something to keep in mind for the next tea hour with Byleth. Felix and Dedue don’t add much, and you’re a little afraid to ask, seeing how Felix’s eyes burn holes in the back of Dedue’s head. There’s been rumours going on about a dispute, but no details, and you gladly leave that sort of teacher-student business to Hanneman.

The remaining students do their job almost just as good. But the thought of children being so confident in ways of war and killing leaves a painful twinge in your chest. You wonder what will become of them all in a few years, what battles they will win. What battles they will lose—this fear lingers at the edges of your consciousness like an ever-present shadow. To push it away, you try to refocus on the task at hand.

“Look at the battalions you have,” you advise, tapping a finger against the cool surface of the board. It comes away white with chalk, leaving a white smudge on your robe as you wipe it off. “Where are they placed?”

Ashe clears his throat. “Two Lance Soldiers, that’s Infantry. One Magic Squadron, also Infantry. The latter is stationed far northeast on that island. Two Pegasus Corpses, which are Flying Types. We put them behind the mountains to ambush the enemies on their way to one of our Infantries.”

“A good idea in theory,” you acknowledge, and don’t miss how Ashe exhales in relief. “And where are you enemies?”

“They’re facing our Infantry and the Squadron,” Dimitri steps in now. “The Flying Unit engage from the back. After their victory, Infantry and Flying close the last opposite unite off on the bridge, and join the Magic Squadron in fighting.”

“Okay, okay,” you nod. “And now look at the terrain of this last unit you want to take on from the front and back. The one on the bridge moving towards the Squadron.”

The room is quiet for a minute, and then a silent “Oh” from Ashe.

“Yes. Oh. The Magic Squadron moves slower through the woods. You’ll lose them. And one of the Lance units is probably the next to go.” You draw sharp lines across the board with red chalk, changing the battalion’s movements. One goes across the whole board, crossing out the word Sea. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to have your Pegasus Companies move this way across the water, join the Magic Squadron and then close in from the right to join the Infantries?”

“But Herald.” Ingrid raises her hand, but doesn’t wait for you to pick her. “If Infantry and Flying take out the first enemy, we’ll still win. The remaining unit will be trapped on the island without a possibility to retreat. Wouldn’t it be wiser to sacrifice the Magic Squadron just for that?”

“I agree with Ingrid,” says Sylvain. He’s sitting on a desk, and swings his legs back and forth. “With or without them, we won the battle, and that’s what matters.”

You turn back to scan the manoeuvre one more time. They’re right—blocking the enemy’s escape routes off proves a solid guarantee to win, and yet you’ve somewhat hoped they wouldn’t settle on this option. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, turning your lips upside down as if you’ve bitten into a lemon.

“Sometimes, you don’t want to win the battle,” you start slowly, the thought blossoming from a dark place deep inside you. “Sometimes you want as many as possible to live.” Which is easier said than done, and no one in the room agrees on your statement because they know just as much that such a choice isn’t always granted. Before the silence stretches on too long, you quickly add, “I guess it is more important to know there is no right or wrong answer. You make decisions later on that will either grant you victory or death, and you will have to live with those decisions.”

Unanimous murmur sounds from the students, a topic nobody wants to dwell on too long, and you grant them that wish; this precious little time they’re still allowed to be children and make mistakes before responsibilities catch up to them. The rest of the lesson flies past without disturbances, and when the bells announce the break, they jump from their seats and scurry outside.

“Don’t forget there’s going to be a test after the mock battle,” you call after them, knowing they’ll forget anyway and then boycott. The Lions are finally done with lessons, but there is the Deer House who have the misfortune to attend the last period of the day. As you prepare their unit of instruction on different terrains, Dimitri approaches you, his expression a mixture between confidence and tension.

“Herald.” He stops in front of your desk, shoulders squared into a declaration of deference. “I have prepared instructions on everyone’s weaknesses and strengths. Please, do consider to take a look. Since one of the rules is that only six units will be stationed on the field, I hope this will make your decision easier who to choose.” Placing the papers with outmost care on your table, Dimitri hesitates a moment before continuing, “What you said earlier … truth be told, I think the same. To limit the loss of lives as much as possible should be a priority to a leader as well. To hear that from someone like you … I was quite glad.”

“Someone like me,” you repeat, but you’re more surprised to feel your fingers itch to take the papers and get a first read on everyone. After going through similar notes from Linhardt, you’re now excited to learn more about your proteges, and with luck someone from the Golden Deer students might provide you with a first survey as well.

“Someone responsible for tactics and strategy,” Dimitri quickly clarifies. “Someone tasked with bringing absolute victory.” He gives you a look that is somehow both caressing and calculating at the same time. “I understand that those sometimes compete with one’s own beliefs regarding the value of life. One’s conscience is as much of a weapon as a sharpened blade. If it breaks, what use is there to a person.”

“Those are … some mature thoughts.” You don’t know where this observation goes. Of course he is mature, he has to be as the successor of a noble lineage. “For someone your age.” You press your mouth into a thin line, cursing your inability to think of a better response. But Dimitri simply smiles—a smile that is like a light suddenly being turned on in every room of a dark house.

“Oh, but I do not want to bore you with such matters. I just wanted to add, I really do look forward to have you on our side during the mock battle.” He gives a little courtesy bow. “Let us discuss the details on the day before the mission. A good evening to you, Herald.”

Dimitri leaves with a little bounce to his step. It’s probably better he’s in high spirits, even though you aren’t sure what exactly made him happy. It would be a real shame to extinguish his excitement by being an utter failure during the battle, so you make sure to read whatever he managed to put together about his classmates as soon as possible. There’s still some minutes left before the first Deer students will enter. Exhaustion lulls you into resting your eyes, and the moment your head is cradled in your arms, you doze off.

It’s the third time you have this dream after joining the Officer’s Academy, though calling it a ‘dream’ is a stretch—there is nothing happening, nothing to see. Only white, as pure and unblemished as a young lily blossom in early spring. Only this time this picture—maybe a memory, but of what or where you can’t say—is different.

Wake up, a voice whispers, barely recognisable and dull, spoken behind a wall of water. Wake up.

Your hands weigh a ton. Unable to reach out and grasp it, the dream blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand.

Wake up.

“Herald, wake up,” Claude persists. “You’re drooling on my test papers.”

His hand brushes your shoulder and you jump, all focus on the dream dispersing. Multiple voices fill the room in a shower of sounds, not helping to regain your senses of where you are. It doesn’t help that your right eye throbs dully, and as you rub it to somehow reduce the sensation, white spots dance across your vision.

“So sorry, Herald,” Claude smirks with his hand still hovering over your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake you from your beauty rest, but Hilda planned to draw obscene things on your face, and we can’t have that now, can we.”

“Liars never prosper, Claude!” comes Hilda’s response from somewhere in the back of the room. You groan, narrowing your eyes at him. Going back to sleep and stumbling about to try and figure out what’s going on sounds more pleasing than dealing with Claude’s shenanigans.

“Man, what a bummer you won’t join our House during the mock battle,” he continues as if Hilda hasn’t said anything. “If someone asked me, I think to have you fight for the Blue Lions is cheating.”

“But no one asked you?” you offer, indulging him with a weak smile.

“The audacity, right?” Claude rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, leaning against the teacher’s desk. “Just imagine the brilliant schemes we two could work out. Oh, I have an amazing idea. How about you ask Lady Rhea—”

“I’m not asking to be by your side during the battle.”

“Ouch.” Claude places a hand over his chest, right above his heart. “Immediately shut down. Who knew our dearest Herald would be such a heart breaker.”

You shoo him away, not only because he’s getting on your nerves, but there’s also Ignatz and Raphael standing in line, waiting for your attention.

“We’ve heard the students from the other Houses gave you some insight in their abilities,” Ignatz says, tugging a stack of papers to his chest. “We decided to give you one as well.”

“I’m sure you’ll like them,” Raphael chimes in, looking more excited than usual. “I gave Ignatz instructions on how to make our report the best. Forget boring words, Herald, we’ve prepared the real deal!” He rips the papers from Ignatz’s hands and slams them on your table. A crack sounds on the underside, and Raphael leans his whole weight upon the surface, completely oblivious to the protesting creak of the wood.

“Here, we started with Claude, since he’s the big shot and all that,” he explains, opening the first page. It shows Claude, a surprisingly accurate portrait of him, if not a little bit scrawny. He’s wielding a bow, nocking multiple arrows. Seems like Raphael wasn’t the only one giving instructions.

“And here is Leonie, and there’s Lorenz, and oh! That’s us working together as a team!” Raphael beams as he turns the page. In this picture, everyone is assembled, fighting against angry looking soldiers and horned monsters. There’s Lysithea and Marianne shooting lightning bolts from their hands, zapping their opponents. Raphael is carrying a huge stone, on top of it stands Hilda, wielding a mighty axe.

“These are the most accurate file reports I’ve seen,” you say for lack of better words. “It really is a shame I can’t join you for the mock battle.”

“There’s gonna be a next time, no worries!” Raphael gives you a thumbs up, then retreats to his seat, Ignatz by his side. They’re a funny duo, not just because of their different build. Their personalities seem the complete opposite, and yet strangely fit like a child’s box to sort blocks into the right shapes.

The difference between the Golden Deers and Blue Lions, for one, is the noise level. Instead of waiting for you to call them up one by one, they love to shout answers whenever they see fit. Judging who was the first isn’t really easy when four people scream at the same time, so you’ve given up on that—Claude’s policy whoever screams loudest didn’t help all too much as well. Maybe it’s time to ask Byleth about some tips how to handle them. When the bell tolls for the last time for this day, announcing everyone to be relieved of their work, the student clear out faster than during fire drills, leaving you with a turmoil of thoughts and worries and two little voices bickering about how much of a disaster next week is going to be.

After seven days and nights of restless sleep and vigorous training under the vicious supervision of Byleth, the green fields stretching before you end boarding on lush woods, its treetops protruding into the sky. It’s a wonderful day you would enjoy much more without knowing this is a battle field, and the people behind you wait for your command.

“Black Eagle and Golden Deer are in position. Captain Jeralt said the mock battle begins in roughly ten minutes.” Dedue gives you an expectant look, and you give him a curt nod, your mouth dry.

“Thanks. We’ll have a last briefing. After that, we’ll deploy our units.”

Dedue joins his classmates, leaving you to your troubled thoughts. With luck, none of your opponents will reach you, and you won’t have to fight. It’s as if you can feel Byleth’s taste for your blood all across the field, even though right now she’s just a blurry, dark blob in the distance, surrounded by her students.

“Do not worry, Herald.” The hard metal of a gauntlet on your shoulder makes you flinch, backing away from Dimitri. The worry on his face is a mirror of your own, albeit for different reasons. “Everyone will do their best to follow your orders, and fight with everything they've got. Your leadership will lead us to victory.”

“Oh, yeah!” You don’t meet his eyes. “For sure.” Zero pressure and all that. You don’t say that, seeing that most of the students don’t appear to be as nervous as you. Confidence is key, and even though you see none of it in tangible proximity, you can at least fake it until you make it.

Six minutes left. With a deep breath, you try to get hold of yourself, and face the Lions.

“Since we don’t know who will be deployed by Manuela and Byleth, prepare for everything. I want to split the group. Dimitri, Dedue and Mercedes move to the northern forest. Felix, Sylvain, you’re moving west with me.”

Felix pulls a grimace, but before he can say anything, Sylvain throws an arm around his shoulders and leans on him, gracing you with a full grin. “We got your back, Herald.” He earns a whack on his back from his friend.

“Why are we splitting up if our plan is to take out each group separately?” Dedue inquirers. “Isn’t that what we agreed on before?”

“I think the Herald plans to let our opponents think we plan on taking them both on at the same time.” Dimitri throws a quick glance at you. “We’ll draw them in our direction, and once they are near, we close in from both sides.”

You nod. “Precisely. We know the Black Eagles will start far north from us. The Golden Deers are northwest. As soon as one of them moves towards us, we’ll have to defeat them immediately. It will be easier fighting one House, not both at the same time.”

“Look at you, Your Highness.” Sylvain pats him on the shoulder, looking proud. “Someone’s been paying attention in class!”

“Sylvain—” Dimitri’s chiding meets deaf ears as Sylvain already turns away, checking his lance for a last time. But he does beam a little, you think. Or maybe it’s just the sun making everything look much brighter. It’ll go into your report nonetheless. Chances of a victory look good—even if you have to retreat, the Blue Lions might make it on their own.

The bressy sound of a horn echoes across the valley, reverberating in your bones. The mock battle begins.

The weight of the wooden training sword hanging from your hip is foreign; it’s as though you only expect to trip over it. Determined to keep it in its holster, you approach the grove, flanked by Sylvain and Felix—and not a minute too soon. Moving towards you is the first line of enemies, Ignatz, Lorenz and Marianne.

“I think they didn’t see us—” Sylvain starts just as the first arrow flies past his head and hits the trunk beside him with a thunk. For safety purposes, all arrow’s tips are wrapped up in stiff cloth, not intended to leave permanent wounds but surely still capable to deliver nasty bruises like the training swords and lances.

“I think they saw us—” Sylvain’s brilliant new observation ends in a yelp as Felix shoves him out of the line of fire.

“Get down, dumbass!”

You three duck behind bushes and trees, cautiously observing how the others advance, their weapons drawn.

“I’ll go for Ignatz,” you say. “Felix, you’re fast enough to reach Marianne and take her down before she starts healing everyone.”

“Fine, we’ll try your plan.” Felix has his sword drawn already, gripping it tight enough his knuckles turn white. “Try not to get kicked out too soon, will you.”

You blow a strand of hair from out of your eyes, squinting at his back as he jumps out of cover. The last couple of weeks you’ve put in some extra hours of sword practice with Felix. As an exceptional swordsman, noble and diligent in his training unlike anyone else—safe maybe for Dimitri—you imagined no one could teach you as much as possible in the short amount of time until the mission. It took some convincing, but the decisive argument that sold him was your desire to become better to finally have at least a chance against Byleth. If she is stern during practice, Felix is vicious, exploiting the tiniest opening you give in order to make you learn from your mistakes. Your body was a medley of pain and aches after every evening, but now the memory of that very same melody is your marching song towards battle. Then there’s always the knowledge that if you three can distract them long enough before the rest of the Golden Deer students arrive, Dimitri and the rest will close in on your position, and taking down your opponents won’t be difficult.

“Sylvain, Lorenz is yours.”

He answers with a simple salute, grip tight around his training lance, and as you both follow Felix out in the open, an image flickers before you, there and gone like a flame going out with a last glint. An arrow, headed straight at you. Your body moves in instinct, dodging the projectile not a second too late. Judging from the direction of its origin, Ignatz must be just beyond the rocks only a few hundred yards away. You throw a MiasmaΔ in his direction, the black ball carving its path across the grasslands. It hits the stone, chipping parts away and revealing Ignatz, crouching behind it. He looks up, dirt on his cheeks, and adjusts his glasses before ducking out of his cover, another arrow already ready on his bow.

Another arrow hits him on his back, hard enough to get him down on his knees. Mercedes’ accuracy isn’t as good as Ashe’s, but the determination carved into her face makes up for lack of skill. Dimitri and Dedue are right on her heels, but a single look thrown over your shoulder shows that Felix and Sylvain have everything under control. Coming out victorious as well, save for Sylvain pressing a hand against his ribs, they were still complete. The knowledge of that makes you sigh in relief, a new surge of hope soaring inside you.

“I knew we shouldn’t have listened to Claude’s dubious plan.” Lorenz’s bickering is still audible, even as the three proceed to leave the battle grounds to meet up with Jeralt. You’re really curious to see what exactly Claude had in mind, but diverting your focus for just a second could become dangerous. Instead, you turn towards the students.

“Stay close,” you order, waiting until Mercedes is finished checking Sylvain's injuries. “We’re going to move further towards the Golden Deers and eliminate them first.” Flexing your fingers against the slow growth of getting used casting spells, your group begins to move further north.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Dimitri buckling and unbuckling his spear from his back. Out of lack for the right words, and because the first rush of adrenaline still courses through your body, you jostle against him, wearing a grin on your face.

“Look lively, Your Highness,” you advise. “All that nervous fumbling isn’t what a leader is supposed to do.”

A tiny gasps leaves him, more an exhale than anything else, but he turns towards you, slightly flushed. Bringing his hands to his sides, it’s too obvious he’s tensing his body so they don’t stray again—like a statue that’s on the edge of shattering at the tiniest movement.

“You’re right, of course.” He lowers his head a little. “I just keep thinking that the Black Eagle students wait for us in that direction as well. Some are surely moving towards us as we speak.”

“Are you worried about Byleth?” you wonder, and more as an afterthought add, “Or Edelgard?”

“Anyone who is not worried about Byleth is a fool, if you ask me,” he replies with a crease between his pale eyebrows. “And well, this is our first chance to prove ourselves, being the heirs to the ruling factions. I know Edelgard is exceptionally strong. And Claude surely has an ace up his sleeve. You are right, Herald. Nervousness is a sign of hesitation, of weakness. I will be better than that.” A new fire comes alive in his eyes as he strides onward, catching up to Mercedes and Sylvain to compliment her on the excellent shot from before.

The epiphany really comes only now, fast and hard like a lightning bolt, that these children will drink in everything you have to offer—advices, orders, simple words of encouragement—simply for the title that is strapped around your neck. The weight of that responsibility slows your steps, which allows for another worry to quickly catch up: has everything you have taught them so far been right? Do they really know how to exploit the advantages certain classes have over others; will a strategic retreat even occur to them in the right time before it’s too late.

Doubt is like poison, slowly eating you from the inside. This mock battle won’t just be a lesson for the students. It will also test if you have put them on the right path, and the realisation unfolds a new conviction inside you, breathing new wind into your sails.

You quickly catch up to them, another rush of encouraging words on your lips when another image flickers on and off, painting your sight red. You freeze, raising an arm, hand formed into a fist.

“Halt!” you shout, processing what you just saw. The students pause, forming a loose circle around you. The throbbing from before settles back in, more persistent now like someone’s knocking against the back of your skull to get your attention. You try to ignore that and focus on categorising every student’s ability in alphabetical order.

“Linhardt,” you gasp, eyes wide open and glued on Dedue.

The students exchange worried glances. Sylvain is the first to speak. “No, Herald,” he says. “Linhardt’s the pretty boy with all the books, you know. Who sleeps just about anywhere, like a cat. That’s our Dedue here.”

“No, I mean Linhardt has Nosferatu,” you quickly explain, flailing your hands in hope to express yourself better. It doesn’t look like it helps. “Linhardt is the only one left who can use Nosferatu, and he’s going to land a good hit on Dedue. And with good, I mean bad. If he hits you, you’re down, Dedue.” Because only that makes sense, as Marianne is already standing on the sidelines and you haven’t heard about anyone else learning the skill. Undoubtedly a Nosferatu will hit Dedue if you don’t change course or take the spell caster out first.

Dedue steps forward. “Should it give us an advantage against our enemy, I will gladly face the opponent and go down if it means it won’t interfere with our progress towards the Golden Deer students.”

“Sacrificing yourself for a mere praise from the boar, is that what you hope for?” Felix demands, or more like snarls, his handsome face crumpling into an ugly look of contempt. “Pathetic.”

“Sacrifice is a big word to throw around during a mock battle, don’t you think,” Sylvain unhelpfully throws in, his posture a little too relaxed in the light of the conflict that’s about to break out.

Dedue shakes his head. “I am simply fulfilling my duty,” he states. “Anything that will bring His Highness victory.”

“You would also run head first into an ambush and get yourself killed, is that it?” Felix grimaces. “Blindly following orders—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Your raised voice makes them pause, and you use that second to grab lead of the conversation. “We don’t even know if Linhardt is going to be alone or joined by other Eagle students. What do you think will your little act accomplish, Dedue?”

He sets his mouth into a grim, hard line, unable to come up with a satisfying answer that isn’t a repeat of what he just said.

“You’ll have a tough time going against Black Eagles with all their magic users, so stay with Dimitri. Go and deal with the rest of the Golden Deer students. And you—” You meet Felix’s glare with narrowed eyes. “A battlefield isn’t the place to throw around petty disagreements. You would do well to remember that.”

“Understood.” He rips the training sword from its holster. “But let me go take down that mage. I’ll cut him down swiftly.”

“We’ll go together. I’m not leaving any of you on your own. Take care of Claude,” you tell Dimitri, showing with a nod that you fully trust in his leading ability. “We’ll meet east from the barricades in exactly one hour.”

He doesn’t shy away from you glare. “Understood. Take care you two.”

Felix takes the lead with long, eager strides. As you follow him, you rub your eye, wincing at the pinprick-like pain. The dull throb doesn’t cease this time, and if you had to take a guess, there’s only once left for the Crest to activate before you reach your limit. So far, nothing has helped you to ascertain when exactly a foresight occurs, and leaving it to pure chance is like grasping a loose rope in hopes that it is tied to something somewhere as you take the leap. Maybe Hanneman will make more sense of it laters.

“You should have stayed with the others,” Felix says after a moment, scanning your surroundings for any sign of the enemy. It sounds more like a simple statement than an accusation. “I can handle someone like Linhardt on my own.”

“I said before, we don’t know if he’s alone. I highly doubt it.” It’s like Dimitri said before: Underestimating Byleth will surely end in casualties and defeat. You don’t consider it far-fetched that she has sent a non-magic class with Linhardt, but who that will be is left to be determined.

“No matter how many accompany him. Be it two or three or all of them, I will take them down.”

“It takes more than one person to win a war.” Though you don’t doubt Felix might try it by himself anyway. “You’ll notice soon enough that you will rely on your comrades.”

“I will rely on them as long as they don’t get in my way.”

“So charming,” you mumble to yourself as you two round a mound. It really is none of your business, but you're actually curious about what is going on between him and Dedue. The moment you finish outweighing the pros and cons of trying to go down that rabbit hole, the air around you changes, barely noticeable save for a change of wind—it completely stills for a second, but that is enough to realise what’s happening.

“Felix—” you manage before the Nosferatu explodes in front of you, knocking you to the ground. Before the mock battle, all magicians were instructed to weaken their spells; no lasting damage should befall any of the participants. Only because of that you manage to climb back on your feet, only left with dizziness that makes the world spin. The jarring sound of metal clashing against metal clears your mind a little, and when you turn around, Felix and Ferdinand are clashing blades.

You turn further, and there he is, a hand raised in your direction. “Sorry, Herald,” Linhardt says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “The professor threatened with extra homework if we would hold back against you.”

“Of course she did,” you mumble, grabbing your sword with sweaty hands. Two against two is fair, and you have no doubt that Felix will hold his ground against Ferdinand. The only solution to your little problem named Linhardt is to get as close as possible, and make use of your advantage in meagre sword skills.

Another Nosferatu is sent your way, but this time you dodge, the hair on your neck standing on end. Somehow your body automatically shies away from Faith magic like a cat fleeing from water. Just one more hit will surely be enough to throw you out of the mock battle, and you can’t have that, not when the picture of Dimitri’s resolute expression is carved into your mind.

You close the distance, all nerves tensed in anticipation, completely focused on trying to feel where the next spell is going to land. As Linhardt retreats into the woods, his sight obscured by trees, you dive after him, shoving twigs out of your way. A shadow moves through the undergrowth; every muscle in your body locks up, but you plunge forward, sword raised—

Linhardt gasps when he finds himself pressed against a tree, your sword at his throat. With both hands up, he doesn’t move an inch, simply blinking at you. Somewhere above you, a bird cries out; a branch breaks. Linhardt makes a face like he jammed his foot in a door he slammed shut himself.

“I surrender,” he says. “Getting beat up and spending time in the infirmary doesn’t sound as good as reading tomes in the library.”

“You sure?” Your heart beats so loud in your chest, it’s a miracle it doesn’t break through your ribcage and fly off. “Byleth might drown you in homework for that.”

He shrugs. “I call it a strategic retreat. I’ll just have to—” A yawn. “—convince the professor.” Another yawn. You begin to see the ulterior motive behind his surrender. Squinting at him, you proceed to bind his hands with a dark spell. Black shackles appear around his wrists, locking them tight together. As you make your way out of the grove, you hope Felix had the same success.

That thought immediately dies when you return to the plain and see Jeralt heaving an unconscious Felix on the back of his horse, a battered Ferdinand by his side.

“Ah, Herald.” Even though beaten up black and blue, Ferdinand still manages a smile. It looks a little lopsided with his swollen cheek and the dried blood on his upper lip. “I don’t mean to offend, but I hope you return because Linhardt defeated you in mighty combat?” A second too late he sees the magic binds around Linhardt’s wrists. His face falls. “My, Linhardt.”

“You don’t quite look so good yourself,” Linhardt throws back without any heat in his voice. He sounds rather bored. Tired.

“Excuse me, but what happened. What’s wrong with Felix?” you ask, turning to Jeralt. Before he can answer, Ferdinand chimes in, “He fought splendidly! Though I had no doubt in that, he is a noble after all. Yet, after ringing me to the ground, he lost consciousness. By my honour as the heir of House Aegir, I cannot take advantage of that. We both shall step out of battle.”

“He passed out?” Now that you take a good look at him, he’s still pale, unhealthily so. Slick sweat glues his dark hair to his forehead, and the skin beneath his eyes shimmers slightly blue—lack of sleep.

“Overexertion, I guess,” Jeralt says now. He pulls Linhardt to his side, and gives his shackles a thoughtful look. “I’ll take these three with me. You go and continue the mock battle, Herald.”

“But…” It doesn’t feel right to leave Felix alone. Even though he technically isn’t, you imagine it would be better to wake up to a friendly face.

“He’ll be fine.” Jeralt gives you a strange sideway glance. “The other brats rely on you right now, don’t they? Go to them.”

He’s right, of course. The mission isn’t over yet, and with a strong combatant like Felix missing, victory has just slipped from your grasp.

There is the meeting point. There it is, and no student from the Lion House is in sight. The minutes pass in long stretches, ticking away until it’s impossible to tell if time moves on or holds still. Holding out between the trees, you look in both directions—for your comrades and the enemy. For whatever reason, Byleth has decided not to advance to your position, and you aren’t sure what that’s supposed to mean. More minutes pass in aggravating silence, heavy and oppressing, and then—

“Herald!” Dimitri’s voice rings through the woods. Your head snaps to him, and there they are, the Blue Lions tearing through the woods, a yellow flag with a deer on it waving behind them.

“You did it!” Joy and relief spreads through you as you stumble towards them. “You guys really did it!” They shuffle around you like kittens searching for warmth, and something tight uncoils inside your chest. Is this what Byleth always feels when she’s in front of her class?

“Hilda and Claude were mighty opponents, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” Dimitri reassures, but then a shadow jumps over his features. “Unfortunately, Mercedes had to leave. We couldn’t reach her in time to step in.”

“Step in,” Sylvain repeats, muttered under his breath as he brushes red locks from his sweaty forehead. “I want to see you stepping in when Hilda swings that axe like a lunatic and not scream like a little girl.”

“Where is Felix?” Dedue inquirers, ignoring Sylvain.

Your shoulders drop. “Well, Linhardt was accompanied by Ferdinand, and while I pursued Linhardt, they fought. None of them emerged unscathed, although I feel Felix drew the shorter straw.”

“Felix?” Dimitri repeats. He sounds as if you just tried to convince him it’s going to rain butterscotch pie later. “Our Felix lost?”

“Not exactly the fight, but I’m sure his pride took a hard beating.”

“Well, that leaves four against four.” Dimitri brings a hand up to his chin, a worry crease between his eyebrows. “And they still have Edelgard and the Professor.”

“And we got the Herald and you!” Sylvain beams. “I say we wrap this up and celebrate our victory with a nice dinner and maybe some ale? How does that sound?”

“Sacrilegious.” Your voice is drier than the crisp leaves cracking under your feet. “Aren’t you too young for alcohol?”

“Too young and irresponsible,” Dimitri agrees with you, looking tired of Sylvain’s antics. “But I don’t object to a celebratory dinner.”

“That is, if we win.” Dedue reads your mind, and brings the conversation back on the right course.

“I assume the Black Eagles are holding position. They’re waiting for us,” you say, briefly checking everyone’s state. Safe for dirt and scratches, they’re still doing good, though having fought already, the Blue Lions are on a slight disadvantage. You can only hope some of Byleth’s students dropped out facing the Golden Deers.

“We shouldn’t keep them waiting then.” Sylvain winks, playing with the grip of his lance. The smile that flirts with his lips is threatening.

“Keep your guard up.” Dimitri shares a single, meaningful glance with every one of you, then leads your little group out of the forest. Whatever Byleth has planned, you hope that you’ll be ready for it.

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hela-avenger · 4 years ago

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poison & wine- part 35

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1065

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: Here we have it readers! The end of this long and great journey! Hope you enjoyed it! Epilogue coming this Saturday!

poison & wine masterlist

You feel everything fall into place when you finally kiss him. The emotions that had been storming inside for the past few months were finally settling allowing you a peace that you had sought for when you had left.

This was where you were meant to be. This was the place you’ve been looking for in your travels.

You slowly pull away realization dawning on you of what you just did.

You don’t regret it.

Your emotions had been too much for you when Loki made his appearance. You needed an outlet and this was what you decided to do. You just hope that Loki would understand.

“What did you do that for?” Loki breathes out.

He seems dazed and you intend to use this to your advantage as you try to pull yourself away from his chest. He doesn’t allow it, holding you in place.

“I wanted to,” you answer honestly. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since our last day in Asgard.”

“But why now?” Loki asks. “Why not do it then?”

“Because we were under a lie and I…” you hesitate to continue. “I wanted to kiss you because I wanted to not because I had to in order to sell our fake courtship.”

“And why did you find a need to kiss me?”

“Why do you think I did?”

“Y/N…”

You slip away from his hold as you found that the butterflies in your stomach were quickly disappearing at his questioning.

Wasn’t it obvious how you feel for him? Especially now?

“After all this time, you can’t expect me to say it.”

“You’re angry with me.”

“Of course I am,” you exclaim. “You broke me. You humiliated me. You told me to leave!”

“Leave the room not the realm!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?!”

“It’s pure common sense!”

“Common sense?” you repeat. “Common sense would be not to yell at me in front of the entire population of Asgard!”

“I wouldn’t have had to do such a thing if you had just listened the first time!”

“You are such a jerk! I don’t know how I could have considered actually accepting the Apple of Idunn to spend the rest of my life with you. You are an ignorant, selfish person. I can’t believe I lov-”

Before you can continue, Loki’s hand is on your chin tilting it up as he presses his mouth on yours. He’s much more gentler than you were but the effect is all the same. Perhaps even more so since he was the one who initiated it.

You melt into him any anger you held disappearing the moment his lips softly dance with yours. His hand is warm against your cheek before it moves to dig into your hair to tilt your head higher. You feel light. Light enough to float away if your hands weren’t clinging to his coat as an anchor.

Loki pulls away too soon for your liking sporting a stupid grin. It was as if he knew a secret he shouldn’t.

“I love you too.”

“What?” you whisper in surprise causing Loki to laugh.

“I love you too,” he repeats.

His words echo in your mind and you can’t help but find his amusement over you grating.

“Too?” you ask. “I never said it.”

“You were about to…”

“But I didn’t!”

“You are insufferable, woman,” Loki exclaims with false annoyance.

“You like that about me,” you point out to him with a laugh. “You like my fire.”

“No,” Loki answers with a shake of his head. “I love that about you.”

Your laughter fades away at the sincerity in his eyes. It dug deeply into your soul and you find yourself back to that day in Asgard. Back to that moment alone before you entered the reception of hell.

In that peaceful moment, Loki’s stare had been different. It had haunted you all these months you were away as you tried to decipher it. The answer was very obvious but you were so blinded with anger and pain that you hadn’t realized it until now.

He loves you. Prince Loki of Asgard loves you.

“You really do love me,” you sigh.

“Of course I do,” Loki answers. “You’ve had my heart since the first moment I saw you at Stark’s gala all those months ago.”

Your heart is beating quite fast as you realize that everything you’ve ever wanted was just at your reach. All you had to do was seize it.

“I love you, Loki,” you finally tell him. “I really do. I love you.”

Loki is quick to kiss you again and you can’t help but laugh into it. His excitement over your confession being amusing to you. He presses another kiss on your forehead before looking down at you.

“Would you do me the honor of courting me?” Loki asks you. “No lies, no deals. A real and honest courtship.”

You can’t help but keep him on his toes as you playfully think it over.

“Do I have to make you another shirt?”

“No.”

“Will we have to present ourselves to the court and ask for your father’s blessing?”

“No,” Loki smiles.

“Would we have to fight off another Bilgesnipe?”

Loki is quick to laugh and shakes his head.

“If that’s the case then... yes,” you answer. “It would be an honor to court you, Prince Loki of Asgard.”

You throw your arms around his shoulders and push yourself on your toes to press a kiss on his lips but you’re interrupted from doing so as wolf whistles and loud cheering fill the air.

You turn around to find Bucky and the rest of your friends watching in amusement. You glare at them in return.

“Are you staying then?” Bucky calls out.

You turn to Loki who’s waiting on your response like the rest of them.

“Are you, pet?”

“Yes, I’m staying,” you answer. “It seems I’ve been thoroughly convinced.”

You hear them cheer once more but you could only focus on the man in front of you.

“Seems like we’ve gathered a crowd,” you point out to him. “Why don’t we give them a real show?”

Loki grins at your request and quickly pulls you close to kiss you. The cheering and whistling continues but you couldn’t care for it. You’re finally happy as you kissed the man you so deeply love.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug@nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld@readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @devilbat @victor-criss-bish @skinny-macncheese @musicconversedance @baby-bunnyxn @fandoms-allovertheplace @marvelloonie @jinxjinxednova @queenmuahaha@accio-boys @eternalqueensworld @umlvk @roger-the-reindeer@punkrockhufflefluff @your-local-abyss@horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rogerrhqpsody @imsad420@pandacookieowo @justnerdystuffs @hanoi15 @oneprolificqueen @nikki-who-likes-coffee @fandomrelative @nikki419ninja @onedollarduck @help-i-need-a-social-life @ephemeraljade @catsladen @amwolowicz @captainmarvelnerd @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse @ddaeing @leftperfectionmoon

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow@oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress@sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-njorddottir @aoirohi @defunctcherrybomb @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff@hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard@not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @moonlightprime @badhollandfluff

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cuddlepilefics · 4 years ago

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New Year’s party

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregiver: Chan

Noone’s POV.:

Chan had been invited to a New Year’s party and he could bring one other person. The leader decided he’d like to take Jeongin with him, if the younger agreed to come. He had been crushing on the younger for a while now and maybe the two of them going to a party could be like a date, without him having to ask the younger out. The maknae was more than happy to tag along. He himself felt close to his hyung from the moment they first met and even though he couldn’t name his feelings, he was extremely fond of occasions he’d spend with Chan without the rest of their group around. As the evening of the 31th approached, Jeongin grew more and more antsy. They had decided not to tell their members where they were going, so the youngest couldn’t ask any of his hyungs for advice on how to dress. His stomach was churning anxiously as he dug through his closet. Lucky for him, Chan had told his fellow Aussie about his plan and the fact that he may or may not turn this into a date depending on how the night would progress. When the leader was certain Felix wouldn’t squeal as soon as he left the room, he let the younger go and Felix decided he’d go to Jeongin to hear his side of the story and to check on the maknae’s feelings for their leader. The Aussie walked in on a distressed Jeongin pacing the room and pulling his hair.

It took the older a few minutes to talk the other down. They sat on Jeongin’s bed and the maknae confided in Felix that he wanted to look good for Chan but he didn’t find any clothes he was satisfied with. “Innie, do you perhaps have a crush on Channie-hyung?”, the older chuckled, causing the maknae to freeze in his spot. “I – I don’t know? I never really – I don’t think I ever thought about it this way?”, Jeongin stammered uncertain, furrowing his brows, “Now that you say it, he always makes my tummy feel funny. Lix, is that a crush?” Felix cracked up at the other’s confusion. “Yes Innie. I’m pretty sure what you’re experiencing right now is a crush. Come on, I’ll help you pick out some clothes”, the Aussie giggled, pulling his dongsaeng up from the bed. Being pulled to his feet that quick made the maknae’s head spin and he hugged his friend tightly to not fall over till the black spots disappeared. Felix started laughing again, wriggling his way out of Jeongin’s grip: “Innie, I love you to but we need to get you ready.” The older quickly put together an outfit for the maknae and styled his hair. “Wait, let me put some foundation on you. When did you get so pale? You really need to go out more, see the sun and stuff”, Felix stopped the other who was already getting up to leave. Felix quickly applied some makeup to the youngest’s face, chuckling at how the excitement heated the other’s skin up.

Soon Jeongin was good to go and after giving Felix a quick hug, thanking him for his help, he dashed out to meet Chan at the front door. Felix waved them goodbye, thinking ‘I ship it’ before the door closed and the pair was gone. The thing was, despite Felix trying to diffuse his nervousness, the maknae’s stomach was still in knots. They could already hear the music blasting from the street and he stuck close to Chan when they entered the crowded house. The air smelled of sweat and alcohol and Jeongin couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable there. However, there was no getting out of this now, so he just became Chan’s shadow, not leaving the older’s side for even a second.

Chan’s POV.:

This night was absolutely not going the way I had imagined it to go and that was not a good thing. Jeongin had gotten shy the second we stepped into the house. He didn’t seem to enjoy himself at all but I was going to change that. I led my dongsaeng to a sitting area where a handful of my friends were gathered doing karaoke. Sitting down in the only unoccupied spot, I pulled the maknae onto my lap. My friend who had invited us greeted me and handed us drinks. Innie looked at me slightly panicked as he wasn’t of legal drinking age, so when I had finished half of my drink, I quickly exchanged our cups. He giggled into my shoulder when he realized what I was doing, going back and forth between both of our drinks. It was adorable but I’d have to take it slower from now on, if I didn’t want to be wasted before midnight. There’d be a huge firework which we didn’t want to miss, so I should still have my senses together by that time. As the hours passed, I frequently tried to convince Jeongin to do karaoke since I knew how angelic his voice was, but he always refused. He barely talked to anyone, not even me really and he didn’t participate in any of the party-games. I couldn’t help getting upset. I just wanted to have some fun with my crush and maybe even get a bit closer but he wasn’t having it at all, so as the time ticked by my mood sank lower and lower.

Jeongin’s POV.:

Everything was too loud. It was unbearably hot between all those people but I clung to Chan’s chest while sitting on his lap, despite him being warm and sweaty like everyone else because he was my anchor in the chaos going on around me. It was quite overwhelming and to make matters worse, I had figured after a while that my stomachache wasn’t caused by nerves. I felt safe in Chan’s arms, especially since I saw him cover for me when I wasn’t drinking but couldn’t turn down the drink either, but despite feeling safe with him, my stomach still hurt. The stale air not helping at all, rather making me nauseous. I really wanted to be anywhere but here but I had promised Chan to spend the evening with him and to watch the firework together, I couldn’t disappoint him. Plus, I didn’t want to bring his mood down by whining about not feeling good or by making him leave early. Resting my head against my hyung’s shoulder, I swallowed a few times to keep my stomach in its place. “Come on Innie, you have such an amazing voice, you’ll sing everyone into the ground. Just one round”, Chan tried to persuade me but I shook my head. He tried to get me to participate in multiple of the activities they had prepared like karaoke, just dance and truth and dare and hadn’t I felt so shitty I would have loved to join but right now my sole focus was on keeping my stomach contents inside my body. “Why not? There’s nothing you want to do. You’re no fun”, he whined and I could hear that he was seriously pissed. “I need the bathroom”, I stammered, looking at my hyung expectantly. “Up the stairs, first door on the right”, he sighed, reaching for his drink the second I was out of his lap.

I choked out a quick “Thanks”, unsure whether he had heard it or not and stumbled in the direction he had given me. I couldn’t breathe, the walls were closing in on me, my stomach churned. Fighting my way up the stairs, I dizzily tripped over my own feet, tears streaming down my face. My stomach hurt, but my heart hurt more. Channie-hyung was mad at me. I had ruined his fun after he had decided to take me out of all people, I had to ruin his night-out. Pushing into the bathroom, I was met with a couple making out in the cramped space. At first, they didn’t notice me over their moaning but then they tried to kick me out. However, they quickly fled, cringing in disgust when I threw myself at the toilet retching hard.

Noone’s POV.:

Almost thirty minutes had passed and Jeongin hadn’t actually thrown up yet. Instead, he lay curled up on the bathroom floor, seemingly knocked out while wishing for the nausea to fade. At one point, someone had walked in on him but had quickly closed the door again, leaving the boy to his own devices. In the meantime, Chan’s friend plopped onto the sofa next to Chan laughing. “Your boyfriend really is a lightweight, isn’t he”, he chuckled, patting Chan’s shoulder. “What do you mean”, Chan frowned, realizing he hadn’t seen Jeongin in quite a while now. “He’s knocked out in the upstairs bathroom”, that’s all Chan needed to sober up. He knew the younger didn’t drink at all. His friend was cut off by Chan jumping up from the couch sprinting up the stairs and almost tripping himself, with his balance not being in peak condition after the amount of drinks he had. Bracing one arm against the doorframe, he pushed into the bathroom finding the tight bundle that was his dongsaeng. On the first glance he did seem knocked out like his friend had told him but looking closer, Chan could see the goosebumps on his skin and the little shivers that shook the younger’s frame despite the rather warm temperature in the building.

The older slid down with his back against the wall and pulled Jeongin into his arms, earning a whimper. “Hey, Innie, what’s going on?”, he whispered, brushing the maknae’s hair out of his face to get a better look. Instead of answering, the younger pushed Chan away, startling the older, as he launched at the toilet again. Being moved from his curled-up position had sent his stomach over the edge and he gagged up a thin stream of his barely digested dinner. His hyung quickly got over his initial shock and rubbed soothing circles onto his back. Soon the tears were streaming down his face again, when Jeongin choked up another wave. He was sobbing at this point, choking on air and coughing up more stomach contents. Chan was stunned by how much the younger was throwing up, he hadn’t even eaten that much earlier. Jeongin’s head spun and he rested it on the toilet seat, completely spent from the ordeal. He was still crying but much quieter now, there was just no strength left in him. Frowning, the older moved him from where he was laying to rest against his chest instead. The maknae kept crying into Chan’s shirt, while the leader held him, trying to comprehend the situation. “I-I’m so-orry”, the younger sobbed, “I-I’m no f-fun.”

Just like that Chan’s heart broke, remembering what he had told his dongsaeng earlier. Gently he lifted the younger’s head up a bit, feeling the dry heat on the maknae’s forehead and running his thumb underneath the puffy eyes looking up at him broken, as he brushed away the tears. “Shh, you weren’t feeling well all evening, huh?”, Chan cooed as he continued to stroke the other’s cheek. Jeongin shook his head, there was no point in denying it now anyways. “Baby, why didn’t you just tell me?” – “I-I wanted you to have fun, h-hyung”, he sniffed, not noticing the petname that slipped from the older’s lips, “I was so h-happy that you asked me. I d-didn’t want to make you mad at me.” The leader was now close to tears as well, how could he have been so oblivious? “It’s ok, I’m not mad. You know, I wanted you to have fun too. That’s why I got upset when you weren’t having any. If you had told me you weren’t feeling alright, we could have just stayed home. I wouldn’t have minded”, Chan explained, carding his finger’s through the younger’s sweaty hair. “I didn’t want to stay home. I really like you”, Jeongin admitted, playing with his sleeve, “so I was excited to have you for myself, away from the group.” – “I really like you too, that’s why asked you to come with me and no one else”, the leader confessed, heart swelling at the thought of his baby liking him back. “Let’s go home, yeah?” – “But the party? The firework?”, the maknae frowned. “I’d much rather cuddle you all better than party and we can watch the firework from our window, ok?”, the older promised, helping Jeongin stand.

With a protective arm around his dongsaeng’s shoulders, Chan said goodbye to his friends, explaining the situation. The two walked the few blocks home since Chan was to drunk to drive and it wasn’t that far anyways. Jeongin only got sick onto the pavement twice but given how many people were drinking in the streets, he didn’t stick out. Returning to the dorm, they got many confused and curious looks for being home a few hours earlier than expected. “Innie’s sick”, Chan explained, reminding Felix of the maknae’s pale complexion earlier, walking the younger to his room. He removed their makeup and helped the younger into some more comfortable clothes before getting changed himself. He quickly made a cup of peppermint tea and also collected a bottle of water and a bucket, taking the items back to his room. His bed was bigger than Jeongin’s so he wanted the younger to stay with him. When he set everything up, the maknae was already asleep, not even stirring as the leader rummaged around the room. Chan lay down beside the maknae, petting his hair and admiring his face till there were only ten minutes left till midnight. He really didn’t want to disrupt the other’s much needed slumber but he knew how mad Jeongin would be if he missed out on the firework. Gently he hummed the maknae’s name, stroking his arm firmly, as he took his time waking the younger. After about two minutes, Chan had pulled the curtains aside, clearing their few, and sat on the edge of the bed with Jeongin in his lap. The maknae was sipping on the tea, which was only slightly warm by this time, letting it sooth his sour tummy as he leaned into his hyung. As promised they watched the firework together, wishing each other a happy new year before settling back in bed together. The younger was almost drifting off when Chan spoke up: “You know Innie, there’s one thing I don’t want to be in the new year anymore. That is single. Will you Yang Jeongin be my boyfriend?” Jeongin was wide awake again, hugging his hyung tightly. “I will hyung, yes I will”, he squealed happily. The leader placed a soft kiss onto his boyfriend’s forehead, who could feel the older smile into the kiss, before wrapping the blanket tighter around them, telling the younger to sleep his bug off so they could kiss properly.

#sick #sickfic #fanfic #bxb #emeto #whump #comfort #fluff #new year #yang jeongin #bang chan #jeongchan #chanin

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

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ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

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“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

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Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully.

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s.

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her.

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again.

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought.

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

#my writing #fic: ancient names #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #not gonna melt down in the tags even though i wanna #just. thank you all so so so much. this has been incredible to write and enjoy and make so many friends #yes i am crying do not LOOK at me

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cryysiswritesthings · 4 years ago

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Beneath the Darkness in My Bones || Chapter Five

Fandom: Inuyasha Rating: Mature/NC-17 Warnings: Horror, Psychological Torture, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Torture, Rape, Parent/Child Incest, Obsession, Drugged Sex, Sexual Assault, Abuse, Non-Consensual Somnophilia Status: In Progress Pairing(s): KogKag (main), BanKag, Oni(gumo)Kag Summary: Horror is all she knows. Darkness is in his blood. She is the other half of his soul, and his calls for her echo long into the night.

Find it On: Tumblr | AO3

***NOMINATED FOR THE BEST DARK FICTION CATEGORY FOR FEUDAL CONNECTION’S 2021 1ST QUARTERLY ANNUAL AWARD!!***

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Series: Flowers Grown in Darkness Desecrate You

Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 ||

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #bankag #onikag #inuyasha #beneath the darkness #btd chapter #flowers desecrate series

As each day came, Kagome spent more and more time in the hidden dungeon with her new companion. Inuyasha told her stories of the land in the West, the forest and meadows he called home. He told her of his elder half brother, a cold man who ruled his father’s lands. Of his Uncle, who had always treated him kindly, and was the undisputed leader of the Western armies.

He told her of his mother, the human woman his father had fallen in love with. Of their passing nearly two decades prior, and the battle that had claimed their lives. And he told her of Kikyo, as he’d known her before Onigumo’s presence in her life.

Those stories were the hardest to believe, though she did her best to not let him know that. Or, she supposed it was not that they were hard to believe. More so that she could not reconcile the woman he spoke of with the negligent one who’d raised her.

When it was her turn, she told him only small things of her life. How she was meant to be married soon, though she did not know to whom. That her father’s guard was disturbingly obsessed with her. And when she displeased her lord father, he raised his hand against his only daughter.

That fact had been met with Inuyasha’s own anger, and he’d restlessly paced his cell for nearly an hour after. It hurt him that the man who’d killed his friend now abused her child. But trapped as he was, there was nothing he could do about it.

It comforted her that he was so upset on her behalf. That someone aside from Bankotsu might care for her well being was a balm to a long forgotten wound. But when he asked her why she didn’t, couldn’t, do more to stop the beatings, she worried he wouldn’t understand.

Kagome was surprised to learn she’d been wrong. If anything, Inuyasha had understood her meaning perfectly. The duality of fear and heart ache, the terror of worse punishments and the desperate need to be loved by someone incapable of such an emotion.

They’d sat in silence the rest of the day, hands clinging to each other through the bars.

It was the middle of the day now, flecks of light shining through holes in the stone walls. The remains of their breakfast sat in the basket she’d found on the first day, gnats flitting wildly over the forgotten food.

Actually, now that she thought on it, there had been a distinct increase of the annoying pests over the last few days. And not just over their food either; she could hear true flies buzzing from inside Inuyasha’s cell.

Her silver haired friend was currently lying on his back in front of her, allowing her the special privilege of playing with his hair. She’d wanted to wash it for him, even bring a bucket and rag he could use to wipe himself off and feel clean. But he’d refused her offer, worried about what Jakotsu’s reaction would be if there had been any signs of someone taking care of him while he was gone.

All things considered, it was a valid concern. But if that was the case, she would need to bring a bucket of water by anyway. That way he could clear his cell of what would be known as an ‘unusual’ amount of excrement for a man who shouldn’t be eating. If the smell was getting to her after just a few hours, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like living with it everyday.

That was when the idea came to her.

“Inuyasha? Could you do something for me?”

Twin ears flicked back in her direction, an amber orb opening. “Not really sure what I could do from in here.”

Kagome shifted to her knees, scooting closer to the bars. “I need you to use your claws to cut something for me.”

“You want me to cut something?” Thoroughly confused, he moved anyway, setting himself closer to her. He looked wary. “And what am I cutting, exactly?”

Kagome held up a lock of her hair, smiling brightly. “This right here.”

He blinked once. Twice. “Why?”

“Just trust me!” Biting her lip, her grip on her hair loosened a bit. “Please? I promise its for a good reason.”

He scowled. “If you say so…” The chains rattled as he reached through the bars. He adjusted her grip, and with a quick slice, the strands were cut. “There, happy?”

“Yes!” Looking down at her dress, she dug through the fabric until she found her slip. This fabric she could tear on her own, and no one would notice the minor alteration.

Inuyasha watched, curious about her actions. Kagome tore off a small part of her undergarment and knotted it tightly around one end of the hair he’d cut for her. She then tugged his fingers close to the bars and made him hold the knot for her.

Slim fingers split the hair into three even parts, and Inuyasha starred in some surprise as she worked the strands into a braid. When she was near the end, she tore more of her dress to tie off the other end.

“Woman, what are you doing?”

Her smile was full of mischief, and she held out the braided lock for him. “It’s a present. It can’t smell good in here, so I thought this would give your nose a break when I’m not here.”

Inuyasha paled.

“Kagome, you can’t give me this. You can’t give me this.”

“Why not?” Glancing behind him, she nodded to the cell walls. “I’m sure you could pull one of those bricks out and hide it behind there. Jakotsu won’t see it that way.”

“That’s not the problem.” Swallowing hard, he tried to give it back to her even as his fingers tightened around the gift possessively. “I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can. And you will. I won’t take no for an answer. And tomorrow I’ll bring something for you to wrap it in so it won’t get dirty.” Her friend still seemed to be struggling, so reached out to cover his hand with both of hers. “Please Inuyasha? I know it isn’t much, but it’s something I can give you. That way…” she looked away from him then, her eyes going to the floor. “Just in case.”

The other studied her, searching his mind for her motives. It occurred to him then--if her marriage ended up anything like her mother’s, he’d lose Kagome too.

Biting his tongue, he pulled his hand from her grip, cradling her gift to his chest. There was no way for her to know what such a thing meant to someone like him. What it would mean to her Other, if she ever escaped from this place.

If this princess ever managed to find them, and her Other found out about the gift, he’d be hunted down and killed. There was no questioning that.

But it was a comfort nonetheless. So he would return her gift of friendship with one of his own.

Inuyasha carefully set the braid to the side. One quick tug, and he pulled three hairs of his own.

Kagome watched him, a nervous excitement flickering to life in her chest. “Inuyasha, what are you…”

“Hush. I need to concentrate.” She didn’t speak again, so he went back to his task. His hair was made of stronger stuff, and so he had no need of other tools to tie it off. He tied off a small knot at the end and twirled the strands around his finger. As he let them slide free, the three hairs shifted, blending into one.

Kagome’s eyes were wide with awe. When he finished, he held it up for her to take.

“Here. It’s long enough that you can use it as a necklace, or as a tie around something you want to keep safe. And it’ll never break or tear on you.“

Biting her lip, she took his gift in return, inspecting the silver strand carefully. Tugging it between her hands gave credence to its strength, but even so it felt like a ribbon of silk.

Blinking back tears, she gave him a small, tremulous smile. “Thank you, Inuyasha. I’ll treasure it always.”

Hours had passed since then. The princess had gone to collect more food and water for them to share, each time taking longer to return. Her fears of being stopped had worsened the more time she spent away from the castle’s watchful eyes; as they were, there was nothing Inuyasha could do to help calm her.

This time, her delay had come from another stop. In her rooms had been a small deck of playing cards, which she and her companion now used for entertainment. She’d taught him simpler card games at first, but then they’d turned to balancing the cards in order to make shapes.

The sun had started to set, the last of its rays disappearing as the moon rose. A sudden, unexpected gust of wind made her shudder, but it was the call that made her heart stop.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh… Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh…

Swallowing hard, she tried to block out the sound, focusing harder on the half-made pyramid in front of her. But it was not to be ignored.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh… Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh…

She looked from the male behind the bars to the only sliver of light in the stone. It had been days since she’d heard that sound. She’d thought she was doing better.

Inuyasha followed her gaze for a moment before he turned back to her. Her eyes were half lidded, head tilted to the side. Like she was listening to something far away, something only she could hear.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh… Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh…

“What is it?”

She hummed lightly. “Nothing. You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

It was a moment before she answered. “Howling. Always howling.”

“The wind?”

“The wind, the trees, the mountains… it’s inhuman.”

“Where is it coming from?”

“East. From the woods.” She blinked, coming back to herself. She was suspicious. “Why are you asking?”

He turned thoughtful, a white ear flicking atop his head. “I wondered what you were hearing, since I couldn’t.”

She seemed curious. “Is your hearing so acute?”

“All of my senses are. Hearing, sight, smell…” He bit his tongue, looking nervous. “You said it was inhuman. Does that bother you?”

She shook her head, shifting against the bars. “No. It…” she flushed lightly. “It sounds silly, but I feel better when I hear it. It’s… it’s as if whatever is howling is looking for me. It wants me to come to it, to find it…” her next words were soft. “So it can protect me.”

He seemed to relax, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Good. I’m glad.”

Something sparked in her chest, a question and answer all at once. “You… you know what it is, don’t you?”

“I know what it is.” He sighed, eyes drawn to the claws tipping his fingers. “Is… you said it was coming from the east. Are you sure? Not west?”

“It’s in the east. That’s where it wants me to go.” One of her hands circled the bars, teeth sinking into her lip. “Please, if you know anything…”

“If it’s from the east, it can only be a wolf.”

The statement drew her up short. “A…wolf?”

“Mm. You’ve probably seen him a few times, but you might not remember.”

She looked skeptical. “I think I would remember having seen a wolf, Inuyasha.”

“Not in person, doofus.” He grinned when she huffed at the playful insult. “In dreams. You’d have seen him then, like Kikyo did my Uncle.”

A beast of magnificent size, her hand tangled in coarse, dark fur.

She’d never touched him before.

Strength lined every tense muscle; she knew his urge to sweep her from the earth.

“Kagome?”

A muzzle as large as she was small, a chuff of warm breath and the squeal of a child’s delight. Her lady mother’s horrified screams, and a growl so loud she could feel it vibrating in her chest.

“Kagome?”

She shook her head, blinking her way back to reality. “You…”

Inuyasha’s smile was small, understanding. But there was a bitterness behind his eyes she couldn’t explain. “You’ve seen him.”

“He’s… he’s huge. Enormous. Wolves never get that big.”

“Lemme guess. When he walks next to you, his head comes up to what, your shoulder? Maybe sits a bit higher?”

“Bigger.”

He blinked in surprise, chains scraping the floor as he sat forward. “How much?”

“What?”

“How much bigger?”

“He…” She closed her eyes, trying to think. Trying to remember. “He towers over me. Twice the size of my father’s best horses.”

He stared at her in shock, which very quickly turned to worry. “You’re not afraid of him?”

“No, he’s… No.” She couldn’t understand where her surety came from, only that she knew without doubt that what she said was true. “He would never hurt me.”

Her friend relaxed. “Good. That’s good.” Curious, he questioned her further. “What does he look like? Do you know?”

Kagome shook her head. “No. I… I’ve only ever seen him in fragments.”

Inuyasha frowned. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

The half-dog hummed, elbows coming to rest on his knees. He stared at their tower, marginally aware of the princess’s eyes on him. “Can I ask you something?”

She blinked in surprise. “Of course.”

Inuyasha picked up a card, twirling it in his fingers. “Why did you think I wouldn’t believe you? I mean…” meeting her eyes, he pointed at his ears with the card. “It’d be a bit hard of me to say otherwise, considering.”

Flushing red, the princess reached through the bars and flicked a card out of place. Her friend’s indignant cry bought her a few minutes to try and find a way to answer him.

While Inuyasha grumbled, Kagome finally spoke. “You might think it’s silly.” Amber eyes flicked up to meet hers before looking back at their fallen tower. His way of telling her he was listening. “It’s just… I’ve never told anyone before. And even when I think about it sometimes, I wonder if maybe I’m really going crazy. Or if I’m turning into my lady mother, closed off and afraid.”

He winced, concerned. “Kagome…”

“I know she was different when you knew her,” she said quickly, cutting off his interruption. “But you have to understand, the person you and everyone else have been describing isn’t the woman I knew. She was… she was cold. Uncaring. She...” The confession was quite, almost impossible to hear. “She barely touched me unless she had too. Never gave me a kind word. She wandered the halls like a ghost, always searching for something. I don’t want that to happen to me.”

“It won’t happen to you. I promise.” The chains screeched across metal when he reached through the bars to cover her hands. “There’s so much you don’t know… so much I can’t tell you.” He sighed when she looked at him with confusion. “It’s part of our history. The more I tell you, the more danger you could be in. Kikyo… I think I told her more than I should have. And that’s why things went the way they did.”

Kagome shook her head insistently. “Inuyasha, my lord father is responsible for what happened. Not you.”

“But see, that’s just it.” Frustrated, he leaned against the bars, ears drooping. “I want to explain, but I’m afraid of what could happen if I do.”

Hesitant, but wanting to comfort him, Kagome reached through the bars and cupped the top of his head. “I think… I think I understand. At least a little.”

He sighed. “I don’t mean to keep secrets. I hate it when it’s done to me, so I don’t like doing it to other people.”

“It’s alright.” Her fingers scratched behind a delicate ear, unthinking. The appendage twitched, but aside from an exasperated huff, he did nothing to stop her. “Can I ask for something? If it’s not too much?” He hummed in answer, shoulders sinking as the tension in his muscles slowly ebbed. “When the time is right, will you promise to tell me as much as you can?”

“I promise.”

The alpha’s lips pulled back, baring fangs at one who couldn’t see them.

So. One born of the West was in the castle.

It wouldn’t matter. The Other would know not to encroach on his territory. Humans couldn’t see it, but all of the mates were marked with symbols of belonging. It was how they knew to keep safe those who were destined for them.

But just because the humans couldn’t see them didn’t mean they were unaware of the symbols all together. Those marks would draw others to them, humans of great strength, of cunning, of passion. They could not see, but they would sense the difference in the chosen nonetheless, even if they couldn’t understand what it was.

In the days of old, when human and Other would join for all to know, they had built communities and kingdoms of unparalleled renown. But such strength was not without weakness. And in those weaknesses, devastation would follow.

Soon, the lord and his guard would return. The pack had tracked their crossing. And after that…

The call of her soul was getting stronger. As was his. She would leave the castle and come to him. He knew it, even if instinct demanded he answer her summons.

All he had to do was wait.

#kogkag #bankag #onikag #inuyasha #beneath the darkness #btd chapter #flowers desecrate series

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trouvelle · 4 years ago

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The Dead Don’t Cry

Guess who’s just started The Walking Dead? (;-_-)/ And guess what this is—well y'all got it right, it’s a zombie!au fic! I will apologize for the things I write here, but I am not sorry for being lured into zombie!au D:

Fandom: Detective Conan/DCMK Pairing: Shinichi/Ran Rating: PG-13 Genre/Tags: Tragedy, Angst, Horror, Zombie!AU Warning: Character Death Summary: He still thinks she’s as beautiful as ever. She is still the one to brush the hair out of his eyes when they’re about to go to sleep to dream of their previous lives.

•

It’s been very quiet.

Ran is quiet. She’s been quiet for about a week now.

Shinichi is used to the absence of humanly sound outside, save for the constant noises from the zombies that serves as a reminder that their world out there has been left for the dead to roam.

But that’s okay because he knows Ran is still there. All he has to do is cheer her up. He’s just waiting for her to wake up from her beautiful slumber. And when she’s up and about, he’ll have a scrumptious plate of breakfast for her to start the day well.

“Smells delicious. Absolutely delectable,” Ran praises dreamily, walking into the dining room and taking in a whiff or three. There she is, Shinichi grins.

When she proceeds to feast on the food he prepared, Shinichi whips out his faithful shotgun and sets it on the table, just in case.

These days, he trusts his shotgun more than anything. He’ll survive as long as he has it with him—and his girlfriend, his childhood friend, the only person he’d give anything up for. It hurts to think that their tomorrows have been stolen, that they have to grow old without their family and friends, if they even survive this. But this is after, not before. And even though it hurts, it’s for the best that Shinichi learns to keep his finger steady on the trigger.

“Maybe you can do more cooking from now on,” Ran jokes light-heartedly, because she knows he doesn’t like to cook, nor is he good at it. He only does it today because Ran has fallen so deep in her sleep. She doesn’t get much sleep nowadays, nor does he, not with the nightmares that lace even the brightest of their dark nights. So when he sees her sleeping so peacefully, how dare he wake her?

“I’ll do my best,” Shinichi says earnestly, extending his left hand to intertwine it with hers. If it makes her happy, he’ll do it. There’s nothing much that can cheer her up nowadays.

All he’s been trying to do is to make her smile. And it’s strange because Ran looks like she’s about to cry, her eyes foggy and her mouth twisting into a protest.

The dead don’t cry. Their bodily functions, like tear production and activation of the visceral motive system, stop working. That’s what being dead means.

But not Ran. She’s not dead. She’s very much here, and Shinichi is grateful that he’s still able to feel the warmth seeping from her presence.

It’s hope that will end up killing him. He’s sure of it. At night he counts his blessings carefully, however little he has left, pocketing his hopes of keeping Ran’s dissolving remnants of humanity and sanity intact. So far, someone or something up there is listening to him. But for what price?

He stands up to collect their dishes and silverware to be washed, but not before slinging his shotgun back around his shoulder. After he turns around, he hears her. “Shinichi, you wouldn’t really shoot me, would you?”

He pauses in his steps. The question weighs heavily on his blood-stained palms.

Would he? Does he have to? Can he?

“You know I can’t.”

Even if Shinichi no longer believes in anything, he believes in Ran.

“I know, but I want you to,” She whispers so quietly that he almost mistakes it for a breathy exhale.

Is he hearing her correctly? After all, his ears have been ringing since the last time he fired his shotgun at a herd of those monsters.

“You know you have to,” Ran presses on. Her eyes are shining with sincerity. If Shinichi is no longer certain about anything, this conversation makes him certain of one thing.

And the words ring so violently until his heart threatens to shatter along with his composure. The last thing in this entire apocalyptic world that he can control.

He yells, “Stop the nonsense, Ran. Why are you saying all these?” He can feel his heart beating so fast against his ribcage that it hurts.

They both know the answer already, but they’re reading the lines of their script because this is what Shinichi needs—closure. This is their arabesque melting into a finale.

“I’m scared.”

He hears her whimper. My God, Shinichi realizes with a thump. Of all the things in the world that she’s scared of, Shinichi never wants to be one. He drops his shotgun to the floor, so now Ran has nothing to be afraid of. He thinks Ran doesn’t seem to notice anymore, but maybe she does, because she picks it up and slings it on her shoulder with much ease.

“Zero rate of survival, right? That’s what you told me. I don’t want to be one of them.” Her fingernails dug their way into her own arms, sinking into the flesh. Shinichi feels lightheaded at the sight of her sputtering blood. He makes his way back to the table to halt her movements before she injures herself even further. She stops him in place with the shotgun pointing at him. “I’m already becoming violent, Shinichi. Can’t you see that I’m turning?”

No, Shinichi wants to say. He still thinks she’s as beautiful as ever. Even though Ran may have dark red sclera encircling her foggy irises and pasty mottled skin, and purplish, blood-caked fingernails, she is still the one to brush the hair out of his eyes when they’re about to go to sleep to dream of their previous lives.

Contrary to her words, Ran’s cloudy eyes brighten, and she becomes increasingly more animated.

She continues, blood dribbling from her arms, dripping and staining the ivory carpet. Shinichi is momentarily distracted. He remembers his mother reprimanding him for almost spilling his juice on her newly-bought carpet, but that was years ago. Still, nothing but good memories here.

“You have to end this, Shinichi, before you plead with me to stop. Before you beg me to stop. Before I have flies following me around in swarms and maggots squirming in my ears.” Ran stands up, body violently jerking with her every word.

“I don’t want to be the one who tears you apart!” She shouts pleadingly. It’s ironic, because every part of him has already been ripped into pieces anyway. “I don’t want your last memories of me to be the me who can barely speak other than with gurgles. Not when I won’t even be able to see you.”

When Ran pulls the trigger, a loud bang erupts, and everything around Shinichi is muffled. Even Ran’s face is muffled, a burst of red distorting what had once been gentle eyes, jawline kissed with maroon butterflies.

As he bends down to clean her face, (Ran has always been a neat person, Shinichi clicks his tongue), he wonders how she could have decayed so much suddenly. He cleans the barrel of his shotgun and tries to recall when Ran’s eyes stopped shining and turned frosty. But Shinichi must remind himself:

Ran is dead. She’s been dead for about a week now.

AO3 / FFN

#shinran #Kudou Shinichi #Mouri Ran #Detective Conan #DCMK #zombie!au #im so so so sorry #for this #zombiepocalypse #istg i didn't mean for what happened to happen #pls don't come for my head #issa tragedy #death #angst #fic

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winchester-fantasies · 5 years ago

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Backtrack - When Time Runs Out: Chapter 2

Backtrack Masterlist

Series Summary: What if you were the one Dean came to instead of Lisa? Rewrite of “Swan Song” and some of S6.

Word Count: 1182

Warnings: angst, fluff

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

You awoke to the sounds of someone moving around the room. You cracked your eyes open to find Dean, fully clothed, shoving what looked to be clothes into his duffle bag that he’d stuffed under the bed a year ago.

“Dean?” you asked, your voice coated with sleep.

He glanced up, and even in the dim light of the room, you could see his eyes were wide and filled with an emotion you couldn’t read. “What’s going on?” you asked. You sat up and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was barely 6:00 in the morning - the light of dawn not even peeking through the curtains yet.

Dean stopped what he was doing, his shoulders slumping and his eyes casting to the ground. “I...I have to go,” he said so quietly you were sure you must have misheard him.

“Wh...what?” you asked, your voice unwittingly quivering.

“I have to go,” Dean repeated, this time louder and with more conviction. “Sam...he needs my help.”

“But...but I heard you. Last night...you told Sam you wouldn’t leave me again.”

“You heard?” he asked, his voice shocked and slightly remorseful.

“Of course I did,” you snapped.

Dean hung his head and swiped a hand across his eyes. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he said, his voice wrecked. “I never wanted to leave. I made promises I thought I could keep…but this life. You never really get to leave.”

“Then let me come with you,” you said, climbing off the bed.

“(Y/N), this life…. It’s unforgiving. It’s not a place….”

“Dean, you said it yourself last night, I’m tougher than I look. I can handle it,” you said, coming to stand in front of him. You took his rough and calloused hand in your own soft one when he didn’t look up at you. “I want to do this. I can’t be separated from you again.” You raised his hand to your lips, kissing the backs of his freckled knuckles. “Please.”

He finally looked up at you, a look of hope and longing in his green eyes. He took his hand from yours and reached up, cupping your face in his hands before lowering his mouth to yours in a sweet and sultry kiss. “I can’t ask you to sacrifice the life that you built,” he whispered against your lips. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut, almost as if he couldn’t stand to see your eventual rejection.

“Don’t you think my life is mine to choose which way to steer it?” you asked softly, running your fingers over his stubbled cheek. He shuddered against your touch, and you kissed him again, tenderly.

“This life is hard, (Y/N). And it’s dangerous. Everyday is a target on your back, and if you’re with me, you’ll be in more danger than you know,” Dean stated, his words trying to dissuade you.

“Dean, I’ve been with you for almost a year now,” you said with a soft smile. “I’ve been a target from the get-go…. Because, Dean, whether or not you forgot about the life, your enemies haven’t.”

Dean frowned and pulled back so he could search your face. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice filled with suspicion.

“I’ve seen things, Dean,” you said bluntly. “I’ve encountered things...creatures that I never thought I would since you’ve been back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asked, voice gruff and bordering on anger.

“Because I know how to handle myself. And I knew what to do. Because you taught me well.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered at your revelation and he took a deep breath as his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips. “Is this really what you want?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Dean. Because it’s where you are,” you said, cupping his cheek. “And I’d go anywhere as long as you were there.”

Dean smiled softly. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you repeated with a smile of your own. You stood on tiptoe so you were eye-to-eye, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you, Dean Winchester, and I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

**********

“What’s she doing?” Sam asked when you and Dean stepped out of the bedroom, both of your duffles packed and ready to go.

“She’s coming with us,” Dean said. “You got a problem with that?”

Sam’s jaw ticked and his eyes bored into his brother’s as if he was trying to restrain himself from what he really wanted to say. “No,” he finally clipped. “It’ll just be another mouth to feed.” He had said it so quietly Dean hadn’t heard, but you had and his words cut you. Sam wasn’t the same sweet and endearing boy you had known from your childhood. He was rough and methodical, with emotions so rigid they bordered on heartless. You didn’t know if Dean saw the difference. But you did and nothing about it or Sam felt right.

But you knew you’d have to get used to it and accept the situation, and him, for what it was. Because you were leaving everything you had grown to know to follow the man you had loved for over a decade.

Sam and Dean stepped out of the apartment and headed for the Impala. You stopped in the doorway, taking one last look at your home that you would probably never see again. All your furniture, knick-knacks - everything left to an empty home. The only things you had taken were the pictures you had taken over the years, memories of heartache and joy alike, ones you never wanted to forget. And you brought your paintings and supplies. Art was a part of who you were - it ran through your veins and was like the very air you breathed. You couldn’t just abandon the one thing that had kept you alive.

You had left a note for your landlord and the rest of the year’s rent as well as a farewell letter that you wanted delivered to Monica and Mandy. They had been there from the start; they were the first ones that ever reached out to you when you first moved here and they were really the only true friends you had. You hated to leave them without much of a goodbye, but you hoped they’d understand.

You sighed, your eyes pricking with tears as you closed your door and locked it, placing the key on the top of the door frame. You walked down the stairs and out into the parking lot. Sam and Dean were already in the Impala, her engine purring as they waited. Dean smiled softly and Sam stared at you blankly as you walked around to the back, throwing your duffle in the back seat and climbing in.

You didn’t bother to buckle in as Dean shifted the Impala into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. You looked back at your home, your fern still visible from your makeshift studio. And you didn’t look away until Dean turned the corner and it disappeared from your view.

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

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤️❤️

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

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Tags:

Everything:

@divadinag @mogaruke @calaofnoldor @defenderrosetyler @coffeebooksandfandom @emoryhemsworth @satans-0-spawn @fandom-princess-forevermore @titty-teetee @gallifreyansass @swiftrogerswinchesterthot @hollymac79 @codename-nyx @kalesrebellion @peaceinourtime82 @babypink224221

Dean Girls:

@weepingwillowphoenix @akshi8278 @thesuicidalflower @adoptdontshoppets @unmistakablyunknown @karikatz12481

Backtrack:

@hazel-eyed-hunter @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @wickidlady @messrrs-prongs @tranquility-or-chaos @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @pansexualgrapes @whatareyousearchingfordean @cpag7 @musiclovinchic93

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction series #backtrack #when time runs out

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dw-writes · 5 years ago

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Dial Tone Devil - Chapter Four

Summary: Lucifer’s reputation of granting favors is the second best thing his known for. So when you ask for one - point blank - and offer him immediate repayment in the form of a coin he thought to be long gone, he immediately agrees. But you come with baggage, and series of suspicious circumstances, and Lucifer finds himself full invested in your story.

All because of a suspiciously familiar coin.

Interesting.

A/N: HI GUYS AND WELCOME TO F R I D A Y!!!! Idk about yall, but its been a LONG ASS week!! And it’s about time for some good old Lucifer. And I’m sorry this is a little late (?) but I was listening to a friend drop some scalDING TEA!! AS ALWAYS, if you guys enjoy this series!! Let me know! And if you wanna be added to the tag list, I’ll be more than happy to add you! :D

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fifteen

More Content: Dial Tone Christmas || The Keys to Lux || Quarantine

To Tag: @revinval @spotgaai2000 @measure-in-pain @kittenlittle24 @broadwayandnetflix @i-am-fandoms-and-satan

Linda’s office was in a smaller, comfortable office building, with bright windows, soft chairs, and a couch that you sank in to almost too much. She smiled as you looked around her beautiful office, lowering herself into the chair across from you. You drummed your hands on your knees, then pulled one of the pillows over into your lap to hug it tight.

“You’re nervous,” Linda pointed out.

“Oh, my heart feels like it’s gonna flutter up my throat and out my mouth,” you replied with a high, rattling laugh. You stuttered, and felt your voice catch, dropping it into a whisper, “I’ve never done therapy, I’ve never had the money—”

“Well, I know you have insurance,” Linda said with a nod as she grabbed a file from the coffee table. “Lucifer sent over a copy of the card—why does he have your insurance card?”

“He’s Lucifer, I don’t think he realizes he shouldn’t open my mail,” you pointed out. You sighed and fell back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “But, I-I-I can’t complain! I mean….he gave me job, he gave me a place to stay, he’s paying me so much money, and all these perks, and it—” You stopped as you squeezed the pillow, sitting up. Your voice dropped back down to a whisper, “He said it was a favor, all so I could give him a coin? But, I won’t lie, this feels like Sugar Daddy thing? And I don’t? Know what to do about this.”

Linda set your file down. “You don’t know what to do about your situation? Or how you feel about it?” she asked. When you couldn’t answer, she smiled. “Has anyone every treated you this way before? Completely over the top?”

“Uh…no.”

“Have you treated yourself this way before?” she asked.

You scoffed faintly, a small, bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I drown myself in work so that I don’t have to think of myself, so no, I don’t.” You looked up. “I mean, I get delivery.”

“That doesn’t count,” Linda pointed out. She crossed her legs, and frowned. “Why don’t…you tell me about yourself.”

You hugged the pillow and looked down. “Suuure…”

After an hour and a half, Linda sent you out with neatly penned prescriptions – anxiety, depression, and sleep – and her phone number. It was sweet of her to do, and you thanked her multiple times for it. She then demanded you see her every Monday, like clock work, and that if you missed she would find you.

You didn’t doubt that.

So you took the bus, filled your prescriptions, and headed back to Lux, more exhausted than you had been when you woke up. Walking through the doors, you yawned, and stretched, and fumbled your keys in search of your own.

Lucifer grabbed your arm and tugged you backwards, out the door and into the sunlight. “There you are! Do you not have your phone? I’ve been calling you for HOURS.”

“I? What?” You stumbled as he dragged you.

“I have been calling you, yes.” He righted you, smiled, and straightened your clothing with wandering hands. “I know you have your phone, you always have it.”

“Why does that matter?” He headed towards his car, jingling the keys. “Listen, I just got back from visiting Linda, I’d like to relax?”

“And do what, read?” He scoffed as he opened the door. “C’mon, get in. We’re doing some investigation.” You stood still on the curb, shaking your head, shrugging as you watched him roll his eyes. “Please?”

“It’s my day off,” you commented. You waved your free hand around. “Monday?” You let your hands slap your thighs as you dropped them. “I don’t have to listen to you, and I don’t have to get in your car.” You turned away.

“I want to investigate your school mates,” he called after you. You groaned as you turned back to him. “You know, see if there’s anything fishy, I believe is the term. Maybe question your professors.”

“Why?”

“Well that’s what friends are for, of course!” You sighed again, rolling your eyes. “If you’re done with the broody teenage sighing, we can head off.” Lucifer patted the door before walking around the front of the corvette. You climbed into the low seat, shoved your bag between your feet, and leaned back against the seat. He pulled away from the curb. “So? Off to the university, yes?”

You sighed, letting it melt into a groan as you dug into your bag. The water was there, given to you by Linda when you saw her, and you swallowed the biggest of gulps to down your brand new medications. “Yup…”

You felt Lucifer’s eyes on you as you dropped your head back against the head rest. “Alright now, out with it. What’s got your undies in a bunch?”

“Ever since the semester started, just thinking of campus has made me anxious as hell,” you answered. You shook your head. “Maybe it’s just me being paranoid? Maybe I really couldn’t take it all.”

“Nonsense!” You blinked at the loud exclamation. It left your left ear ringing and you wondered if your medication had kicked it quicker than you thought. Lucifer pulled over to the curb, turning in his seat to face you once he parked. “What in the world makes you think that, hm? You have, singlehandedly mind you, raised our profits by tens of thousands since you’ve been here!”

“Uh-huh?”

“So, going to the university, it should be simple! You deal with much more stressful situations that a simple paper about ethical dilemmas.” He nodded. “Besides, Kant is an obnoxious knob who worked himself up into guilty knots.” It was hard to agree with him when your head swam. You dropped your head back against the seat again. “Do you want to go? I feel I should have asked that before.”

“No, I told you that,” you ground out. You patted your bag, which still sat in your lap, and held up the bottle of anxiety medication. Where were the side effects listed?

“Oh, what’s this?” He snatched the bottle away and rolled it around. “Interesting that Dr. Linda would give you hard medications, but good on her.”

“Can you not?” You leaned up and took the bottle back, shoving it into your bag. “Look, can we get this trip over with, I really don’t wanna draw this out longer than necessary.”

UCLA’s campus gave you a sense of nostalgia as Lucifer drove through it. Or maybe it was the anxiety medication, it was really hard to tell the difference. As he pulled into a parking lot, you climbed out of the corvette and slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Ah. So.” Lucifer shut the door with thud. You squeezed your eyes shut. It rattled your skull. “Where to? The naughty professor—you know, I did always find that trope rather arousing.”

“Can you please keep it in your pants?”

“Rather hard to say,” he answered with a grin. You rolled your eyes and started up the stairs. “I can give it to you, if you’d like!” He hurried after you. “I can go all day!” You yanked the doors open and stalked in, only running smack into the professor you had spoken of—a middle aged man with grey stubble and a full head of hair.

You swallowed, ducked your head, and apologized as you walked inside. Lucifer glanced back at the man as he followed you. “Who—”

“My professor,” you puffed. Lucifer arched his eyebrow as he straightened his coat, turning back towards the door. “No! Please, I—”

“Not to worry, I can speak with him without you, now that I know what he looks like,” Lucifer murmured. He turned to you with a smile that held all the charm of a snake. “Where’s his office, darling?” You motioned towards the elevator with a mumble that sounded like the third floor, and sat on one of the many couches that littered the foyer of the building. You dropped your bag between your feet and doubled over with your head in your hands. “Are you alright?” he asked as he walked over.

“No, no, like I have said for the past hour.” You snapped your head up and stared at him, “I am not alright. This whole thing is a disaster, and I would rather not deal with going through the stress of being here again, Lucifer.”

Lucifer lowered himself onto the seat next to you with a guilty frown. “I didn’t realize that this affected you so much.”

“Are you—” The antique clock in the lobby chimed for one in the afternoon, “—Kidding me?”

“Now, now, no need to swear,” Lucifer chided. He unbuttoned his coat as he shifted towards you. “Tell me, dear, what do you truly desire?” he asked. You narrowed your eyes at him, felt a hum in your ears. “What could I give you that could make you better, hm?”

“What do I desire?” you asked. He nodded as a smile crept across his face. “Right now?” The smile faltered. “To not be here, because being here is torture,” you answered.

“But is that really what you want in life?” he asked.

You shook your head lightly as you stood, snagging your bag from the floor. “What, no, it’s what I want right now,” you replied. You waved at the door. “Let’s go, you can come back and do whatever you want with the professor or whatever when I’m not here.” You propped the door open. “Let’s go,” you ushered, wheeling your arms.

Lucifer patted his pocket as he stood, feeling the smooth coin press against his fingers. “Right, of course.” He followed you out to the Corvette, but stopped. “Where did you say you found the coin again?” he asked as he stopped.

You dropped your bag into the foot well as you looked up. “What?”

“The coin you gave me, where did you get it?” he asked again.

You threw your hands up with a huff, and planted your fists on your hips. “I told you, I found it on the curb out in front of Lux when I was walking past.”

“Yes, well, you didn’t plant it there, did you?” he asked.

Your mouth opened as you stared at him with narrowed eyes. “No, Lucifer, that is the opposite of finding it.” You reached over the door and pulled the lock free, climbing into the seat.

Lucifer nodded slowly as he followed, and turned the car over. He paused as he put the Corvette in drive. “Your professor, what is his name?”

“Manfred Sutherland,” you answered. You looked over as he eased the car out of the parking lot. “Why…?”

“Oh, just curious.” He smiled and it only made you worry more. “This way I can go see your professor whenever I please.”

He dropped you off in front of Lux with a smile, a wave, and permission to raid his penthouse for any alcohol that you wished, then left with little else to say. You swung your bag around and headed back inside, shaking your head. “Whatever,” you muttered, “Go ham.”

#lucifer #Lucifer Morningstar #lucifer on netflix #lucifer on fox #lucifer on fox requests #lucifer on netflix requests #lucifer on fox imagines #lucifer on fox request #lucifer on netflix request #lucifer on fox imagine #lucifer on netflix imagines #lucifer on netflix imagine #dial tone devil seires #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar/reader #lucifer morningstar imagines #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar requests #lucifer morningstar request

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dolcetters · 5 years ago

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GET TO KNOW THE BLOGGER .

Can be used for RP and non-RP blogs to get to know a bit about the person behind the screen!

1. FIRST NAME: hannah

2. STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF: if i’m not wearing shoes i walk exclusively on my toes and don’t even realize i do it until someone asks me why i’m on my tip-toes. i’ve been doing this since i was capable of walking. no one knows why. this has resulted in me having monster-calves. you will fear their power.

3. TOP THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON: --♥ the whole eye area (eyes, eyebrows, etc) --♥ shoulders / collar bone area??? --♥ uh... ? ....... however they express BIG HAPPINESS, i always find that endearing!

4. A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF: sushi. give sushi.

5. A FOOD YOU HATE: anything with like... the texture of cottage cheese. i tend to hate food more due to texture-reasons than taste reasons.

6. GUILTY PLEASURE: collecting DnD dice like a goblin. i don’t need more, but they’re so pretty, and i KNOW i’m only in one group right now so i don’t need all these FUCKING DICE, but i don’t care--listen--this is important--these ones glow in the dark and these ones are perfect for my aasimar monk and THESE ones--will my RP character survive this situation let’s find out--oh shit that’s a 2, GUESS YOU’RE FALLING ON YOUR FACE, DOLLOP

7. WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN: under-roos and a t-shirt. might wear socks in the winter. i also pineapple my hair, so, a scrunchie + two bobby-pins

8. SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS: serious. i’ve never been in a relationship, but a fling is kind of intimidating to me because i know i get attached jfldsghsd.

9. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE: i’d have either never gone to SCAD or i would have taken a year off between my sophomore and junior year at minimum, because that area is about where depression dug its claws in and paralyzed me for another 7 or 8 years, it was great.

10. ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON: i think so?? i’m much slower to be physically affectionate but i’m empathetic and always down to listen, help, give advice, etc??

11. A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN: the ring, spiderman: into the spiderverse, us, spirited away, your name, weathering with you

12. FAVORITE BOOK: i don’t even know, my dude

13. YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE: GIVE ME A FUCKING DRAGON TO RAISE FROM HATCHING, I DEMAND TO BE THE MOTHER OF DRAGONS, DANY HAS BEEN LIVING MY DREAM SINCE 8TH GRADE

14. TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS [IF YOU ARE AN RP BLOG, YOU CAN USE YOUR OWN SHIPS AS WELL]: rosecetto (FMA), wallygar (teen titans/dc comics), widojest (critical role), marshfield (life is strange), ... uuuh izumi/sig (FMA)

15. PIE OR CAKE: cake. small exception if it’s apple pie and there’s vanilla ice cream.

16. FAVORITE SCENT: lavender, wet earth, the air after rain

17. CELEBRITY CRUSH: either marisha ray or emilia clarke

18. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO: ireland, iceland, australia, or new zealand

19. INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT: i scored 9 outta 10 on introvert last i tested fjdlsjg

20. DO YOU SCARE EASILY: yes, and yet i love my psychological horror flicks/games

21. IPHONE OR ANDROID: an old iPhone that’ll probably be out of date by the end of the year like, to the point it’s no longer compatible with the iOS.

22. DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES: absolutely. i’m currently playing animal crossing and CONTROL, but frequently play horizon: zero dawn because my love for that one is unending

23. DREAM JOB: making a living off my own webcomics/stories ; in the works

24. WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS: set aside half for savings/emergencies/helping the family out if they need it and the other half can go to trusted research and/or animal conservation organizations

25. FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE: lol not really a fan of wrath and/or gluttony. definitely not my least-least favorite characters ever of all time, but for the sake of my brain i’ll go with those from this fandom

26. FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER: atta////ck o///n t///it///an ; i was drawn into it because the soundtrack was killer and also got attached to another side character destined to die (who was pretty much always forgotten by the fandom, too, so fuck me, i guess), but left shortly after learning shit about the author / the storytelling just went to utter shit / generally being exhausted with everything and every one. also wound up in an almost emotionally manipulative/abusive friendship because of it but they decided to dump me like a sack of potatoes and called ME the toxic one but whatever; play me out, britney

tagged by: stole it from @zirable and @homra-no-artemis tagging: steal it plz idk

#♦: ooc answer .#♠: m : dashboard .

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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We’ll Be Home For Christmas 1.1

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day One – A Tale of a Fateful Trip – Part 1 (Prologue)

Author: Gumnut

8 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 3490

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph

This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic and it is a big one ::headdesk:: I hope you enjoy it. I know I have thoroughly enjoyed researching a gorgeous corner of this planet.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

And as always, thank you all for creating such a fantastic fandom. Thundernerds rock! I hope you all have a wonderful festive season. Thank you all so much for everything.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Day One: A Tale of a Fateful Trip

Virgil was miserable.

Pain was minimal as long as he didn’t move too much. He didn’t really even need any of the painkillers that he was given to take with him at the hospital. It was just that he knew his brothers were tired, and despite the attractions of the beautiful city of Auckland, all they really wanted to do was go home.

His brothers could quite easily do just that. The ‘birds were at the local GDF base, it would be a matter of minutes and they would be home. But Virgil wasn’t allowed off the ground, they wouldn’t risk him and they wouldn’t leave him behind, no matter how many times he told them to do just that.

The glare Scott raked him with the last time he suggested it had been scathing.

Didn’t make him feel any better.

Grandma, of course, sensed his sadness and was known to slip up behind the couch he was chained to and wrap her arms around him. She kissed his hair and mumbled reassuring words in his ear.

He was ever so grateful, but he was still miserable.

Balled up cartridge paper lay about his feet. His pencil just wouldn’t create anything of value. Creating gave him a boost, and he desperately wanted to feel something positive, so he persisted, but the pile of balled up paper at his feet just got bigger and in the end he threw the pad and pencil aside, wincing when the pencil hit the table and likely destroyed the lead inside.

With a groan he levered his feet onto the couch and curled up into a flinching ball of misery.

His brain conveniently listed off all the positives about his life, everything he should be thankful for and all the reasons he shouldn’t be feeling sorry for himself. That just made him angry and annoyed that he was so pathetic.

God, he hated this.

He wasn’t really that ill. Just had some small difficulty moving and couldn’t fly to go home.

His family was suffering and it was all his damn fault.

“Hey, Virg?” The voice was soft, but it was definitely Scott testing to see if he was awake.

“What?” So he was grumpy, big deal.

“You’re awake.”

Well, yeah. He didn’t answer that.

Scott edged into his line of sight. Maybe his brother sensed his foul mood.

Of course, that thought just made him feel worse. The word ‘burden’ came to mind.

He closed his eyes, took a second, and then forced himself once again upright. Familiar hands reached into help, gently holding his shoulders until he was steady. “I’m fine.”

Scott shifted the detritus over on the coffee table and sat down in front of Virgil, his long frame folding neatly and a lot smoother than Virgil had any hope of achieving at the moment. “How would you like to go home?”

Virgil looked up at him. “How? I can’t fly.”

“Flight is only one way to get to Tracy Island.” He smiled. “We have a very versatile aquanaut on our team.”

Virgil stared at him. “Thunderbird Four? It’s just as pressurised as Two. Carries the same risks.”

The smile softened. “No, Virgil, Gordon can pilot more than a submarine. He’s bought us a boat.”

“A boat?”

“Actually, technically it is a yacht and a luxury one at that.” Gordon’s grin was broad and eager as he entered the room. “All aboard for Tracy Island, bro. She’s got all the perks and enough under the hood to get us there in time for Christmas.”

Virgil stared at him. Then stared at Scott. “Really?”

Scott’s smile was a sight. “I really don’t know why we didn’t think of it earlier.”

“Because all you pilot types live in the clouds.” Gordon strode up to his eldest brother and dug him one in the ribs before turning to Virgil. “So, what do you say, Virg? Up for a little cruise? Should take us about three days. Kayo and Grandma have gone Christmas shopping and will likely haul half of New Zealand’s food supply back in Two. Scott’s already stashed One and Tracy Two can stay until we need to pick her up.” Gordon had obviously worked out all the details. His brother was literally bouncing where he stood. But then it wasn’t often the aquanaut got to ferry his family around.

Virgil stared at his brothers. “Us three?”

Scott’s smile became a grin. “No, us five. All of us.”

“Five bachelors cruising on the open sea.” Gordon waved his hand across the room as if peering into a far horizon.

Virgil arched an eyebrow at him. All of them. All five brothers. Together. On a boat. For three days. His gaze turned to Scott. “You sure you want to do this?”

There was something in his brother’s blue eyes. “I’m sure.”

Virgil straightened where he sat. Surprisingly, he felt lighter, more positive. Could be the energy radiating off Gordon. His brother was always a bucket of sunshine in the rain. “Okay. When do we leave?”

“Yes.” Gordon actually fist pumped the air. Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Now, big bro, pack your bags, we are going now.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Now?” That explained why he had been alone all morning.

But Scott had already started moving, Virgil’s meagre pile of supplies being shoved into the overnight bag that had sufficed for his hospital stay. “Well, we want to be home for Christmas, so we have to get going.”

Virgil moved to stand up.

Gordon stepped in front of him. “Hey, no, you stay there. This is a full service operation, Virg. We’ve got this.”

Another arched eyebrow was an answer to that, but Gordon was as good as his word and before Virgil could think twice, he was in a car, luggage in the trunk and on his way to the docks.

-o-o-o-

Scott was tired. It had been a long...well, everything. International Rescue never stopped, Tracy Industries never stopped and apparently, his brothers never stopped.

Virgil had scared him.

Okay, so nowadays appendicitis was a mild inconvenience, but in the past it was a killer and a painful and sudden one at that. Perhaps it was because it was something innocuous, something not related to a rescue and so out of the blue that it knocked Scott around so badly. But what worried him more was that his brother had ignored the warning signs of serious illness in favour of International Rescue. It wasn’t the first time and he wasn’t the only one of the brothers to do such a thing. Hell, Scott himself had done it. Lives had been saved despite injury and illness many times. But perhaps this was a louder warning. Perhaps they should be taking better care of themselves.

Grandma’s scathing words had driven it home. The Tracys were taking this Christmas off. They were due the time, they were tired, Virgil was ill. Any of those three on their own were cause for concern. All three together forced their matriarch to lay down the law.

Scott knew his place.

And she was right.

But their dilemma was a frustrating one. None of his brothers, particularly John, could fully relax away from home. There were celebrity issues to begin with, and this forced idleness rankled badly.

So, when Gordon suggested they go home via sea, Scott jumped on the idea wondering why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. Three days on the ocean. They would still be idle, but they would be away from restrictions, out beneath the blue sky and they could be home for Christmas.

And how long had it been since all five of them had been together like that? Had it happened since they were children on one of Dad’s road trips?

Scott swallowed as the car with himself, Virgil and Gordon made its way down to the docks. The sight of the ocean lifted his spirits more than he would ever admit to his aquanaut brother.

The vehicle slipped through a security checkpoint and into a private area.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Gordon was bouncing again, this time in his seat. The aquanaut was going to have the time of his life over this little trip. Scott couldn’t help but smile at his happiness.

And yes, the boat was a gorgeous craft, even to a flyboy like himself. She had clean lines and looked fast sitting still. White with a streak of yellow down her length...no doubt, very recently applied along with the name on her bow, A Little Lightning.

She was large, but not huge. Just big enough for five tired brothers to live in comfort and fly fast over the waves.

Gordon was spouting off her specs to a politely interested Virgil. Scott tilted his head to one side...no, that spark in his engineer brother’s eyes spoke of genuine curiosity. Scott smirked just a little. Might need to watch Virg for the first couple of days to keep him out of the engine. He could pull it apart and put it back together once they were home and he was better.

Scott lent his brother a hand to get out of the car. He was still walking slowly, careful of his incisions, but he was a touch straighter than a couple days ago and he was off medication - though that was no surprise. Getting him to take any medication at any time was a challenge.

“She’s beautiful, Gordon. How did you find her so fast?”

Their brother grinned. “I have friends, Virg. You know, those people you can share a drink with from time to time.”

Virgil’s flat eyed glare was more fond than exasperated. “How much money did you throw at these friends?”

A shrug was all the answer he gave. “It’s worth it.”

“Give me a number and I’ll throw it your way.” Virgil was sincerity itself.

“Forget it, bro. Not required.” The hand waved in Virgil’s direction was entirely dismissive. “Just have a look, Virg. This girl has speed!” And the discussion devolved into specs again as the two of them walked towards the pier.

Hmm, apparently, Scott was cabin boy today.

To be honest, he didn’t care.

Loading himself with luggage, he followed their slow progress onto the dock.

-o-o-o-

John wasn’t much of a sailor, but when Gordon suggested the trip, he jumped on it.

Out in the middle of the ocean he could see the stars unhindered, it would be quiet except for the wind, water and their boat and, to be honest, it would be good to just be with his brothers uninterrupted.

And besides, on Earth, the ocean was the closest he could get to the weightless freedom of space.

So the astronaut was happy to help prep the boat. Being a resident of Tracy Island required at least some marine knowledge for safety’s sake and it felt good to exercise it for a change.

Alan was a little less enthusiastic until John mentioned a new video game recently released in beta. He had meant to mention it to his littlest brother some weeks ago, but life got in the way. Years ago, the two of them used to tackle each other in various games and they hadn’t done so in ages. John had contributed to this game at the request of a couple of associates from college. It was a high level space simulator matched with an adventure storyline. It should have a good enough mix of reality and fantasy to keep the hi-octane teenager amused in those moments of too much quiet.

Gordon had already allocated some time to some extra-curricular activities around the Kermadec Island group south of Tracy Island, so there would be plenty of the softer sciences to go around somewhere in their second day of the voyage.

John smiled at Gordon’s reaction to the term ‘softer sciences’. He hadn’t known his younger brother actually knew the definition of the word he used. Then again usage didn’t always prove understanding. A few more words in Swedish at a later date should clarify that situation.

As he placed the last of their food supplies into refrigeration, he heard the first distant rumble of a familiar voice, followed by the excited chatter of his aquanaut brother.

His smile widened and he made his way out onto the deck. Virgil had an arm tight against his belly, but his expression was excited as Gordon rabbited on about the engine specifications of his new boat.

Well, John, Alan and Scott had contributed to the cost of the boat, but it really was Gordon’s regardless. None of them really cared about it other than it getting them and their brothers home safely. Gordon was the one who loved a good ocean-going vessel and this was definitely a brilliant contender.

John rolled his eyes at Virgil as he offered him a hand getting onboard and his brother grinned at him. A few solid steps and the engineer got his feet securely on the boat. His brown eyes caught John’s and he suddenly found himself caught in one of his bear hugs. Perhaps not as rigorous as usual, but just as warm.

John couldn’t help, but hug back.

“Hey, where’s mine? This was my idea, after all.”

Virgil laughed and wrapped his arms around Gordon. “Thanks, fishy.” It was brief, but all three men were grinning as the two brothers separated.

“Well, that’s sweet and all, but some of us have to work for a living.” John smirked as Scott arrived at the water’s edge draped in luggage. A quick leap onto the dock and he helped him shed bags and the odd suitcase and with Gordon’s help, lug them onto the yacht.

Virgil was hugging Alan, who had emerged from the cabin.

John nudged Scott. Under his breath, “He okay?”

“Seems happy enough about the boat.” A sigh. “Looked miserable enough to sink it before I told him.”

“Let’s hope it cheers him up.”

“Let’s hope it cheers us all up. It’s Christmas, for crying out loud.” Scott grabbed the bag with Virgil’s art equipment, which had been added to without the artist’s knowledge and clambered onto the boat and headed in the direction of the cabin assigned to Virgil.

Gordon had dragged Virgil up to what he called ‘The Bridge’, what Scott called ‘The Cockpit’ and what was blatantly and obviously the control centre of the yacht - it would be flyboys versus fish for the entire voyage, no doubt. Said fish could be heard still babbling excitedly to his engineer brother.

John made a note to rescue the invalid if necessary.

Between John and Scott, they unloaded the last pieces of luggage and sent the driver on his way with a generous tip. John ran the supplies list through his head. Gordon had managed all the permits and regulations an international voyage by sea required and there were quite a few. There was less red tape in space.

Of course, when your daughter is an AI, the red tape moves just that little faster. And yes, he did smile to himself. He couldn’t help it.

-o-o-o-

A Little Lightning left dock just after the tide turned midafternoon. It would have been better to leave early in the morning, but time was what it was and they set out when they could. It had been decided that between the autopilot and four out of five brothers and no, Virgil, you are not piloting this ship, so forget it, they could make up the time overnight.

“It’s a boat, Scott.”

“Semantics, Gordon.”

“Reality, Scott.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Are we going to hear this discussion the entire way?” He had stashed himself in a comfortable seat at the back of the ‘bridge’. He had a great view of Waitemata Harbour as they cruised slowly past the CBD of Auckland itself. The weather was fantastic and the sea calm as glass. The forecast said the same for the next three days and the only stormy hints were in his brothers’ eyes.

“Regardless of the type of craft, Virgil, you aren’t able to drive a car at the moment, much less pilot a boat.” Emphasis was put on the word ‘boat’ as his eldest brother glared like a petulant child at his aquanaut brother.

“Fine. I’ll be chauffeured.”

Gordon snorted as he directed the yacht between past an incoming liner. “Now you know how it feels.”

“Know what feels?”

“Not being allowed to drive.”

Virgil glared at his brother, but couldn’t think of an adequate retort.

Alan snickered.

“Shut up, Alan.” Okay, so perhaps Gordon had a point. “She’s my ‘bird, Gordon.”

“It’s okay, Virg. We understand, don’t we, guys.” Gordon grinned back at him. John smiled. Alan rolled his eyes.

Scott shrugged. “I don’t have a problem. Virgil doesn’t hesitate to let me fly Thunderbird Two.”

“You’re hardly ever on Two.”

“So? Virgil doesn’t have a problem with me flying Two, do you Virg?”

Four pairs of eyes stared at him in challenge, but not all from the same perspective.

“Er...”

“You think Scott is a better pilot that the rest of us?” Alan was always the direct one.

Virgil opened his mouth, but his eldest brother beat him to it. “I am a better pilot than all of you.”

“What?!” It was an offended scoff from the two youngest.

“Though I will admit that you each have your specialities with your ‘birds. Virgil is much better with Two than I am, for example.”

“And you are totally pathetic in Four, let me tell you.” Gordon was staring out across the bow, but there was still a smirk on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“Who buried my girl in sea sludge recently?”

“That was unavoidable.”

Gordon spun on the spot. “What?! You’re still claiming you had no choice? I gave you recommendations on comms, you ignored them and look what happened, oh mighty pilot. You may be the greatest in the air, but you suck underwater, Scott, face it.”

“And I can run rings around you in Three, trust me on that.” Alan folded his arms and stuck his nose in the air.

“Hey!” Virgil shouted and cut off the discussion. “What the hell? You’re all damn good and fine pilots, no matter the craft. So, I’m a control freak with my girl. You’re all the same. When was the last time I piloted any of your craft? I’m fully trained and fully capable as any of you are, but she is my ‘bird and while I’m alive and kicking, I will fly her. That is no reflection on your capability, only on mine. And for god’s sake, get over it.”

Okay, so he got a little angry. It wasn’t his best attempt at diffusing an argument, ever, but the dumb ass looks directed at him were at least silent ones.

“Now stop fighting and let us enjoy this trip.” He blinked. “And Gordon, you might want to avoid that oncoming container ship.”

The aquanaut jumped and the yacht swerved as he shifted her quickly to the left to give way to the massive cargo carrier bearing down on them. The sharp dirge of the ship’s horn emphasised her captain’s ire at their deviation into his vessel’s path.

“Sorry!”

It was a vain apologetic gesture of his little brother’s part. It did put an effective end to their argument nonetheless.

There were many islands at the mouth of Auckland’s main harbour and it was extremely scenic, particularly the volcanoes.

Virgil was intimately familiar with volcanic structures and had visited several as part of IR, he understood their power and had witnessed it first hand, but the artist in him never failed to be caught by their symmetry and their mystery. They still caught his imagination and stunned him.

As they accelerated around the islands and out into the bay proper, the sea opened out into a beautifully flat expanse of watery blue. They were still surrounded on all sides by distant patches of green. Another little volcanic island reared up and they cruised past. A couple of dolphins danced along in the wake at their bow. John helped Virgil climb up the stairs to the railing at the front of the boat. He twinged several times, but ignored it despite the frown of Scott following up behind him.

It was worth it to stand up the front, the wind in his hair, a brother either side of him. The last of the islands passed by and the ocean opened up in front of them.

Dolphins continued to keep them company.

Both Scott and John kept a grip on an arm each, wary of him stressing himself in any way. Virgil turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes, letting the sensations fill his mind.

“Better?” It was a whisper from Scott, barely heard above the rush of air over his ears.

Virgil smiled.

“Better.”

-o-o-o-

End Day One, Part One.

Day One, Part Two

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #Alan Tracy

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lilulo-12fanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

A Light In The Dark

Requested by @hobby27 “Ooo ohhh 65-66-67-70-78 shy dean and clueless reader” I hope you love it darling!

So this one has formed a life of its own so it's really long. I'm not even sorry about it. I don't know exactly how shy Dean is in this...but I hope you like it!

65: “ Did you do something different with your hair? ”66: “ Is that a new perfume? ”67: “ Stop being so cute. ”70: “ This is why I fell in love with you. ”78: “ Hold me, don't let me go. ”

As always thank you for your likes, comments and reblogs. If you would like to be added to my Supernatural Tag List or any of my others (I currently write for SPN, MCU, Arrow, TVD and I love PLL so I’m down for that too) send me a message! (Not an ask- it’s easier for me to look back at messages if need be!)

Taglist:

@fandom-princess-forevermore @deans-baby-momma

You were sitting in the library of the bunker doing some “light reading” on light magic. Nothing in the library of the bunker was light reading but it fascinated you. You, like the Winchesters, were a legacy to The Men of Letters. Granted you were a woman, but you were confident if they hadn’t gone out the way they did, as time went on more women would have been accepted into the society. You were a huge asset to the Winchester brothers and a huge nerd. Research and learning new things about the supernatural world were your life blood. Your photographic memory made your skills unmatched, even by Sam Winchester. You remember the day you met Sam and Dean vividly. It had been almost 3 years ago. You grew up thinking you were one thing. You had no idea you were adopted until you had a medical scare and needed a bone marrow transplant. Your parents had confessed the truth when no one in your family was a match. That led you down a dark and twisty road to your birth family’s past.

Your mother had died after she gave birth to you, but it hadn’t been from child birth complications. She had been attacked by a vampire. Your father had stepped in while she was moments from death and killed the blood sucking bastard. He rushed your mother to the hospital. They were able to deliver you at 35 weeks via emergency C-Section. There was no way your mother would survive. The doctors acted quickly and saved your life. Your father, so grief stricken from the loss of his wife and his life as a hunter led him to give you up for adoption.

Once he knew you would survive and were healthy, he found you a wonderful family who desperately wanted a child but couldn’t have one. He made sure you would live your best life. He explained all of this in a letter that your parents kept from you for the first 21 years of your life. You felt so betrayed and yet it made sense. You never felt like you belonged. You were always the “odd one out”. Your adopted mother had a miracle pregnancy when you were 4. They had given fertility treatments one last shot and the IVF brought you your brother and sister. You loved your siblings more than anything in the world but you never felt like you belonged with your twin siblings.

When you discovered your grandfather was a member of the Men of Letters and your mother would have been a legacy had the Men of Letters not been almost decimated. The Men of Letters fascinated you, so you dug and dug until you found out everything there was to know. It took a while but you discovered the location of their secret headquarters. You had been trying to figure out how to get into the bunker when Sam and Dean discovered you. They got the jump on you since you were so focused on breaking in. There you stood, hands in the air while two of the worlds most perfect men pointed guns at you.

After tying you to a chair in the middle of a devil’s trap they put you through the gamete of testing to prove you were a human. Even after letting them slice into you to prove you were human, it took them 72 hours to give you a chance. It was surprisingly Dean that gave in first. He and Sam were fascinated by your story. You had made the bunker your home ever since that day. The boys had driven you to your home to pack up your things to stay with them at the bunker. You needed to find out who you really were. The answers you needed were there with Sam and Dean. Saying goodbye to your brother and sister was hard. Letting go of your parents was easier, the sting of betrayal and lies still so fresh. You hoped that you could forgive them one day for lying to you.

You didn’t go on the road with them all that often. You usually worked research at home and sent them info. Occasionally when you felt the cabin fever closing in you’d hit the road with them. You were always welcome but they tended to push you to stay behind on the more grueling cases: The case they were on their way home from happened to be one of those cases. They had been gone for 3 1/2 weeks. A simple Salt and Burn spurred into another case a state over with shape shifter that proved to be one of the most difficult cases they had been involved in for a while. You missed them. The two had become your family. You were also worried. The eldest still held the Mark of Cain. While Dean had been somehow keeping the rage in check, you still worried he’d go off the deep end. His self-loathing was at an all time high. You were afraid if anything happened he wouldn’t be able to come back from it. You settled down on the couch with a book. You were hoping you could find some magic to remove that damn mark. The boys stumbled in to the bunker a little after midnight. They were exhausted and sore. The idea of a hot shower and their own beds was beyond appealing. Dean also couldn’t wait to see you. He had spent so long trying to ignore the little feeling that fluttered in him any time he was with you for the longest time. You were the first girl in he didn’t even know how long that made him nervous and made him blush. You were blissfully unaware. Sam, however, was not. He razzed him about it often. The truth was though, you helped keep the Mark of Cain at bay. He would look at you and the blood pounding in his ears would dissipate. He knew you had made it your life’s mission to remove that mark from his arm. He was terrified that mission would kill you.

They were surprised to see the library light on. Normally when you were in the bunker alone you went to sleep relatively early. Sam had worried about you being alone for so long, but the last time you spoke you had assured him that you were fine. In any event, you could take care of yourself. He’d watched you in the shooting range plenty of times to know how good your aim was. He looked at his brother leaning in the doorway and peeked his head in. There you were, passed out, book in your lap.

“You’re kind of creepy staring at her like that.” Sam elbowed his brother. He got a simple glare in return.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to leave her here or put her in her own bed.” Dean reasoned.

“Nah, you better wake her up. She’ll be pissed off if we came home and didn’t. Dean nodded. While Sam loved teasing his brother, it was nice to see him soften towards someone. After Lisa and Ben, Sam was sure that he would spend the rest of his life alone. You were different. You were in this life. You wanted to be in this life. You were good for Dean. Sam was quite certain you felt the same way Dean did, you just didn’t realize it yet. It was kind of an honor to watch the two people he cared most about fall in love.

“Hey- Y/N, wake up sweetheart.” Dean had sat down on the edge of the couch in front of your curled up form. He pushed some hair away from your face and you stirred.

“Dean?” You slowly opened your eyes. It took a moment for you to realize what was going on and then you popped up and threw your arms around him almost knocking the both of you off the couch. “Oh my god you’re okay. I was so scared something happened. You didn’t call. Why didn’t you call?” Your frantic rambling was always endearing.

“The phone charger died out. There wasn’t a good place to stop and get one. We just wanted to get home.” You nodded your head and then buried it between his neck and shoulder for a moment. Sam felt like he was intruding on a private moment. Then he heard you say “You smell.” Dean laughed, a real laugh and pulled away and studied your face. He touched the end of your hair. When they had left it had been down to the middle of your back and now it barely touched your shoulders.

“Did you do something different with your hair?” It was in a teasing tone.

“I’m surprised you even noticed.” You teased back and Dean held his heart in mock offense.

“Sammy, you may have the longest hair in the house now.” Sam rolled his eyes and strolled over as Dean helped you to your feet.

“Hi Sam.” You smiled and he bent down to hug you, lifting you off the ground slightly, ignoring the death glare from Dean. Sam was pretty sure he didn’t realize he was doing it. “I missed you. I’m glad you’re home.”

“I missed you too, y/n.” Sam let go much more quickly than Dean had. He reached over and grabbed the book you had been reading. “Light Magic and All It’s Wonders”? He gave you a skeptical look and you yanked it from his hands

. “Nothing but dark magic put that thing on his arm. Light magic may be what can get it off.” You reasoned. Sam wasn’t so sure. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that.” You turned from him before he could argue with you.

“Is this what you’ve been doing for the last month? Haircuts and research?” Sam relented. He didn’t want to fight with you.

“Yes. That’s what I’m here for. Research.”

“I just feel like if light magic could remove it, couldn’t Cass do it?” You looked at Sam like he was the dumbest person in the world.

“And how pure is angel magic really? I mean...even Cass has used his abilities for less than noble reasons. The magic that transferred that mark to Dean was pure evil. The only thing that will remove it is pure, unblemished magic. Your problem, is that you associate all witches with evil and deals with demons. That’s not the case. We know from Rowena that there are witches that are born with a gift and then there are those that gain their power from Hell. I will find a witch that has not compromised herself if that’s what it takes. There has to be one somewhere on this planet.”

“Okay, enough guys.” Dean jumped in before Sam could respond. He couldn’t handle an intellectual sparring match at the moment. While you normally handed Sam his ass, Dean was too tired. “We can contemplate Glinda tomorrow. I need a shower, as Y/N so lovingly pointed out, I smell.“ Sam nodded and headed to his room. While he doubted you, he wanted you to be right. He didn’t mean to give you a hard time. He was more concerned how you were going to feel when it didn’t work. You were so invested in fixing Dean’s issue. He knew you were terrified that Dean would fall down the same rabbit hole Cain had. The idea of putting Dean down was not one anyone wanted to contemplate.

_____________________________________________________ You woke up much earlier than you had wanted. You had hoped now that your boys were home and safe you would rest easier. That wasn’t the case. The Mark of Cain weighed heavily on you. You were scared. Sam was desperate. You wished he was more open to your ideas. You weren’t naive. You knew there was a good chance that you were wrong. But it didn’t hurt to try. You climbed out of bed to take a quick shower. You grabbed a pair of denim shorts and a white t-shirt. You knew you would end up cold so you put a cardigan out as well.

Once you were dressed you threw on a little bit of make up and headed out to the kitchen. You peaked in at Sam and saw him sprawled out on his bed. He must have been reading before he fell asleep. His arm was hanging over the bed and there was a book on the floor. You quietly shut the door and went and peeked at Dean. He was laying on his back lightly snoring. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep and not having nightmares. You wished it could be like this all of the time for him. You snuck in and quietly got the keys to the Impala so you didn’t wake him up. You grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a quick note to the boys that you ran out to get some groceries and to text you if they needed anything.

You happily hopped into the Impala. You had other cars you could drive but Dean’s was your favorite. You rolled the windows down and let the cool early morning air bite at your cheeks as you drove, turning up the music to quiet the thoughts of demon marks and bad omens that continually ran through your mind.

2 hours and $300 later you were stopping to get breakfast and coffee to bring back to the bunker. After all of the shopping you had no desire to cook anything. You’d make Sam and Dean something for dinner. They had been surviving mostly on bad diner food and convenience store snacks for the past month. You had lived mostly on Yogurt, cereal and pizza while they were gone. You hated cooking and especially hated cooking for yourself. Sam and Dean actually made more meals than you did.

You pulled the Impala in the garage and texted both of the guys for help. It was unsurprising that Sam was the only one that came out to help.

“Dean’s still sleeping.” Was how Sam greeted you. You just nodded at him. You were still a little upset with him about the night prior. He sighed and finally started speaking. “I’m sorry. I just am worried you’re hanging your hat on this and it’ll fall through.” You sighed.

“Let’s just bring the groceries in. I bought breakfast too.” Sam laughed.

“You bought all of this food and then bought breakfast?”

“Shut up.” You laughed.

_____________________________________________________

You tip toed into Dean's room with a takeout container and a styrofoam cup of coffee and set it on the night stand. You say on the edge of his bed and gently shook him.

“Dean...wake up.” He groaned and slowly opened his eyes and gave you a soft smile.

“Is that a new perfume

or did you bring me bacon?” You threw your head back and laughed.

“Stop being so cute. Get up and eat, it’s after 10am. Oh, I took the Impala this morning. Filled it up with gas for you.”

“Breakfast in bed and you took care of my car?

This is why I fell in love with you.

“ Dean stopped, eyes wide and a blush creeping up his face. How you didn’t notice he was freaked out, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he was happy or disappointed by your reaction.

“Ha ha.” You rolled your eyes. “Man...I should have brought you pie too...you’d be kissing my feet” you patted his cheek and stood up.

“Meet me and Sammy in the library when you’re done. We’re going to get our nerd on.” You smiled at him brightly and then left the room.

“I think I found a spell.” You jumped up from the table. “Sammy...I found it.” Your eyes were wild with excitement. “We can save him” Sam prayed silently that he didn’t have to crush your excitement. He slid the book over to his side of the table to take a look.

“This might work.” He grinned at you.

“We just have to find the right witch to do it.”

"The right witch to do what?" Dean poked his head in the library.

"She found a spell in that book." Sam let himself get excited.

"Can't Rowena do it?" Dean questions. You shook your head.

"No...from what I can tell, it has to be a witch that is, and I quote, pure of heart. So that means they haven't practiced dark magic...not even once."

"Well how the hell are we going to find a witch that hasn't?" You scoffed at Dean.

"Will you ever learn? Not all witches are evil. Just because something has the reputation of being bad, doesn't make it so. It's not the rule."

"You're right. But wouldn't it be easier to find a way for Rowena to remove it?" Sam asked.

"Dark magic always has an incredibly dark cost. Don't you think we've suffered enough consequences?" Neither Dean or Sam responded. You pushed the book aside and pulled out your laptop, determined to find a witch to solve all of your problems.

_____________________________________________________

It had been weeks and you were still no closer to finding someone to cast the spell to remove the mark from Dean's arm. You were frustrated and getting increasingly cranky with Sam and his constant negativity. When Dean suggested that the three of you take a break and go out and have some fun, you jumped at the chance.

"Okay...the rule of this trip is that we don't talk about the mark, removing it, magic or skeevey witches." Dean laid the ground rules out before he started the Impala. You were settled into the backseat behind him so Sam could push the seat back further and have more leg room. You met Dean's eyes in the mirror and he gave you a smile and you were off.

"You okay sweetheart?" Dean's voice pulled you from your thoughts almost two hours into your night. You had been sitting at the bar sipping your drink and watching the boys play darts. You hadn't noticed you were zoned out and they had stopped playing until he was standing next to you. Sam was watching cautiously from the other side of the bar. "I haven't heard a peep out of you since we got here."

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"About what?" You met his eyes in the mirror.

"Can't tell you...it's against the rules." He sighed and leaned in closer to you.

"Y/N...please, I'm begging you. Please just put it away for now." You didn't respond, instead, you hopped off of your stool, stomping towards the bathrooms. You shut the door and locked it behind you and took a few deep breaths. You were trying to save his life. He couldn't go back to being a demon. You and Sam...you wouldn't survive the loss. The two of them became your family and it was the first time in your life you felt like you belonged. You took a few more moments to compose yourself and you exited the bathroom to find Dean, arms crossed, waiting for you. You mirrored his stance, crossing your arms, one hip jutting you and you stared back at him.

"You've got to let it go. You're driving yourself and Sam crazy with this white witch business. You're obsessed."

"Of course I'm obsessed. I don't want to lose you. Just stop, okay?" You walked past him and headed out the back door to get some air. You really didn't feel like getting into a screaming match where anyone could hear.

"Sweetheart, you're not going to. We'll figure this out, we always do." Dean was chasing after you. You spun to face him.

"And with what consequences? I'm not letting Rowena anywhere near you. Not with her magic. You'll be the one that has to pay the price, and who's to say that price isn't worse than the mark itself. And if we leave it? How long until you're completely a demon again and we can't get you back? Neither one of those are an option. Sam and I almost didn't survive this last time when you went off with Crowley. Neither one of us will if you fade on us again" You wiped a stray tear that slid down your cheek. Dean wiped the next one that fell, leaving his hand on your face and his thumb caressing your cheek. You didn't realize how close he was until you looked up and were staring directly into his green eyes. You felt your breath hitch. His intense stare left you feeling exposed. "Dean-"

But before you could say anything further he was kissing you. You never realized how badly you wanted to kiss him until his lips were on yours. What started off as slow and sweet quickly turned needy and he had you pushed up against the building, one hand still on your face, the other in the back of your hair. You were breathless when he pulled you away.

"You don't understand. You're not going to lose me. I was keeping the mark in check before I was killed. The only reason why I went demon is because that's what saved my life. But now that you and Sam got my humanity back, it wont happen again. Don't you get it? You keep me here. You keep me here. You're the light through the darkness. I wont ever leave you. God, I love you, so much. I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much." Your eyes were wide. "Say something...please."

"I...I think I might love you too." He kissed you again.

"Hold me, don't let me go."

You whispered. The two of you stood in an embrace for a long time until Sam came out when it was time to go home.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester request #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural request #supernatural imagine #Supernatural Imagines #spn #spn request #spn imagine #spn imagines

85 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

Text

I mean, here’s the thing....

I’m more than capable of writing positive Batfam posts, meta deep dives that don’t dwell overlong on negativity, serious content, light hearted content, content about each and every one of the Batfam....anyone familiar with just a few different samples of my posts knows I do not lack for topics to happily ramble on about for absurd lengths. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s a direct correlation where like, the less negative emotions I have about the content I’m writing, the LONGER it ends up being.

So its not like I particularly need or want to be the ‘loud angry scary adult cis white man yelling at kids’ to have something to say or talk about. Or that I particularly like that state of mind. I’m certainly not unaware of my privileges or that I can be off-putting or not someone everyone wants to be around on here. Its actually something I put a lot of thought into regularly, as personal accountability is such a big deal to me, and that certainly includes my own. There are times where I’ve looked back on something and thought yeah, I definitely could’ve dialed it down there.

But not gonna lie, given that personal accountability is kinda My Theme and I DO put a lot of time and effort into being self-aware and taking care not to cross certain lines, whether you believe me or not or agree with where I draw my lines or not....

Its more than a little obnoxious to regularly see my positive posts and my emotion-neutral meta posts and even my negative critical of canon posts take off and get hundreds of notes in just a couple of days....

But without fail, any time I so much as suggest that fandom’s perpetuating some of the very same toxic tendencies I criticize canon for, with the extension of that thought being hey fandom, unlike canon and how its written, we actually can do something about how we write these very same matters and slowly but surely normalize reader resistance to canon still perpetuating those ideas in the future, and maybe someday even they might buy a vowel and realize hey, our audience does not like what we’re selling here.

*Shrugs* Or maybe not. But even SOME changes to how specific problematic tropes and dynamics are being written in fandom currently could still only be an improvement, is all I’m saying.

Except, every time, without fail, no matter HOW I go about saying it, how polite, mild, civil, non-accusatory....its either crickets or immediate heels dug into the sand as often the very same people who commented on my neutral meta with variations of ‘this is pretty insightful’, like at the mere SUGGESTION its worth taking a more critical look at their own content to see what they might unknowingly be perpetuating and like....the very idea of asking fic writers to be more accountable for what toxic tendencies we perpetuate within our own creative works, even just among our own far more limited platforms....

Its like... HOLD UP! I AM BEING ATTACKED! WITHOUT CAUSE! WHY DO YOU HATE THE FANS? WHY AREN’T YOU SAYING ALL THIS STUFF ABOUT THE ACTUAL COMICS???

And its just like....uh....I did. I do. You were there. You were saying I was making some really good points. But without calling any individuals out or making specific insinuations or personal attacks....I am suddenly just the most unreasonable of the unreasonables, because I dared say “hey, we can’t do anything about what canon writes, but we can do something about the things we write, and actually transform some of the more problematic tendencies and dynamics from canon into things that benefit all the characters and all the fans.”

But nah. Without exception, those posts either get nada or they get vitriol, no matter my own linguistic volume....and meanwhile, posts I made just before them and just after them are now hitting the thousand notes mark. So I kinda can’t help but wonder, is the problem really that I magically lose all ability to grasp supremely basic concepts and start spewing irrelevant gibberish anytime I’m critical of fandom specifically? Or.....just spitballing here....is it at ALL possible that maybe I’m not as much of the problem there as you want to make me about to be?

Like, say what you will about how toxic my more negative, angry posts can be, but personally, I think artificial positivity is just as toxic....plastering a ‘I see nothing wrong here’ sign with a smiley face over a bunch of mold doesn’t actually accomplish anything but allow that mold to fester and grow even further, without notice, until it becomes too widespread to ignore anymore at which point its usually rooted so deep its impossible to get out.

So yeah. I get angry, the all caps come out, and the volume level of my posts on those subjects rises. Its something I’m aware of and something I’m okay with and stand by with certain posts and that I decide I’m not okay with and keep an eye against repeating with certain other posts. Its a process, it doesn’t have an endpoint or finish line, and I’m okay with all of that.

What I’m NOT okay with though, and never will be, is the heat I draw for that and the condemnations and criticisms of my behavior and how toxic and unpleasant I make fandom with those posts....as though the tendencies I’m pointing out in them, by virtue of already being present throughout fandom, don’t already make it toxic and unpleasant in a lot of ways, for a lot of people.

But for all the times I have someone respond to me or call me out specifically for one of my angry posts that very deliberately are made with no specific individuals in mind, just generic references to fandom wide tendencies as a whole....there’s a whole lot of ‘helpful advice’ for all the things I should do different or better to avoid making fandom a more toxic place.....and not a hint of awareness that there’s anything at all they could be doing differently to make fandom less toxic than it already is in various ways.

So just saying, I’m kiiiiiinda not super keen on being lectured for my shit by people who are committed to the belief that their own shit doesn’t stink....WHILE AT THE SAME TIME, I have a good half a dozen positive or neutral meta posts still making the rounds through fandom and consistently picking up notes that according to the tags, generally seem to be viewed as adding positively to fandom in their own respective fashions.

Which basically from my perspective, makes things look like this:

Me: regularly contributes positive content that’s received positively by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, with zero negativity attached to these posts....regularly contributes meta content that’s deemed insightful and adding fresh viewpoints by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, again, with zero negativity attached because it doesn’t rely on putting down any other characters to make whatever points I’m after.....

....but then contributes posts that are critical of certain specific characterizations and viewpoints within fandom itself, without actually having a twelve step powerpoint presentation attached detailing ALL FANS MUST DO THIS INSTEAD....and instead I usually just include a spectrum of possible alternative takes.....

But wait! Nooooow comes the pushback. Which usually sounds like various forms of this:

Stop trying to police us! La la la la can’t hear you over the sound of your moral superiority complex! You just want us to do exactly what you want us to do which is gaslighting and the very same abusive behavior you talk about which makes you abusive!

And also, a bunch of changing the subject or avoiding addressing various points I raise completely.

Maybe you see my issue? I don’t need tips on how to be a positive fandom presence, I actually don’t have any trouble creating positive content or meta, a large amount of which is deemed insightful and humorous and otherwise well received....but the second I make a criticism of fandom and suggest there’s things fans could be doing differently to address the toxicity existing around various characters in various respects, instead of just keeping everything about DC’s flaws which none of us including me have any kind of platform to even reach DC with......

Suddenly I have ZERO idea what I’m talking about, I clearly don’t get the point of fandom, period, I’m obsessed with my own moral righteousness, and am like, so out of the ballpark misguided its not even funny, and I need all of this explained to me like a five year old, because everyone obviously should get that ‘we’re just fans, why are you blaming us for things we write specifically instead of DC who are getting paid as if that’s even the point?’

So yup. I get ticked off, I make more posts venting about being ticked off, rinse and repeat and my volume goes up.

And that’s it by the way.

You’ll notice, that’s kinda the worst that ever happens, because I literally have never done anything but....type posts with lots of capitalized letters. I don’t target specific individuals, I don’t harass people, I don’t @ specific fics or fic writers or urge people to flood their comments or ask boxes with callouts. I’ve never called anyone in this fandom names or made personal attacks other than the posts various people have felt targeted by because my description of specific tropes or tendencies I have a problem with apparently made them think I was talking about them I guess? Hmm. Weird.

So what’s the point of this post? Idk. Nothing really. Not trying to accomplish anything, just putting my thoughts out there as a way to work through them because like....that’s literally what I have this blog for, lmao. And FYI, I super don’t appreciate the tactic of condemning me for my quote unquote rage issues and framing all this as me yelling at kids on the internet....kids, specifically, and oh right, just screaming at people rather than addressing my own abusive behavior.

Since abuse is a hugely personal and important topic to me, let me just say accusing me of abusing generic fandom in general (since again, I haven’t actually made any of this personal about any individual with my fandom criticisms)....like, I’m quite willing to consider and address flaws in my own behavior when raised, but I’m not a fan of being called abusive in a context that demonstrates a complete lack of awareness as to what abuse actually is.

You don’t like me yelling on my blog? Fine, you don’t have to like it, or me. But abuse is the exploitation of a power differential, taking advantage of power one person has over the other, or that the other person just doesn’t have period. The fact that I am an adult cis white man does not make me aggressively capitalizing stuff in my own posts the same as “the same triggering position of the cisgender man who screams and makes kids feel scared and wince and hide from your posts.”

Like, lol, nice. Classy. I mean who cares right, that yeah, even acknowledging that we can legitimately sense tones and moods through even written text.....a person ranting on their internet blog is not remotely interchangeable with the physical presence of an adult cis white man loudly screaming in your face and with the potential for immediate consequences and harm. Does that mean the tone of my posts is above criticism? No. It means exactly what I said. The one is not the same as the other.

Secondly, the repeated insistence on me yelling at kids...and this person I’m quoting isn’t the only one who’s done this, FYI, and its crap. Am I unaware that there are a lot of minors in fandom? No, I absolutely am not. Its why I make a point to check the blog of someone I’m replying to heatedly before I respond, to make sure they’re not a minor, and if they are, I don’t engage. So that I can categorically state, with complete certainty, I have never yelled at a kid in this fandom. Do my generic yells about ‘fandom’ not include kids then? Yeah, you could say kids are included there, though again I’d have to question why my criticisms of specific handlings of specific subjects somehow equates to me yelling at specific individuals, whom apparently are all kids and only kids. Like, framing my posts as being all about me screaming at kids specifically is a deliberate choice with a clear aim of making me look as bad as possible. This isn’t subtle.

Third, as an abuse survivor I’m keenly aware that doesn’t exempt me from being abusive myself, but it does mean I find it really fucking gross to be labeled abusive because my posts make kids feel scared and wince and want to hide from my posts. As someone who as a kid absolutely had to hide from their abuser in fear, I really, dearly would love to know what exactly it is about the capitalized sentences written by a man who couldn’t even pick a stranger’s URL out of a lineup, that’s so scary that kids, specifically, want to run and hide from the big bad posts. No, seriously. Go on. Please tell me what exactly it is about my screaming rage issues as conveyed by my posts, which pose any kind of threat or even the potential of threat for someone who I’ve never interacted with and only feels personally attacked by my posts by virtue of associating themselves with the behaviors or tendencies I’ve centered in those posts as the things I’m specifically angry about.

I also apparently am abusive because that’s what you call it when I gaslight or attempt to gaslight a fandom....which is apparently what you call it when my fandom policing tries to get everyone to do exactly what I want them to do. Which again is pretty interesting to me given that I’ve literally never told even generic ‘fandom’ at large to do anything in specific other than....’hey this thing I think is shitty and thus am criticizing shouldn’t be a thing, stop doing it.” Oh wait, I’m sorry, I also ask people to consider their creative impact and not insist on pretending everything we write exists in a vacuum and has no potential to carry harm, and just keep this in mind when making our creative choices. Still not sure how that’s demanding everyone do things exactly the way I want them, since the only clear and actionable request or demand in all of that is...omg....HE ASKED THAT WE THINK ABOUT THE STUFF WE WRITE, HOW COULD HE???

Like, literally, that’s the furthest any of my angry, rage-borne DEMANDS have gone: I’ve asked people apply more personal accountability to their own creative works and not take their potential impact for granted just because they’re a fic writer rather than a published one....and oh yeah, not engage in perpetuating certain tropes or dynamics I consider toxic.

Now, anyone is certainly welcome to disagree with my take on any or all of those tropes, tendencies or dynamics being toxic....but to do so, like, you need to actually DISAGREE AND MAYBE EVEN TELL ME WHY. But the overall refusal to engage with any of my posts criticizing certain fandom tendencies regarding the characters, other than to make it about my overall toxicity and RAGE.....like, that means that I keep making posts that include specific examples for what I’m describing and why I think they’re toxic, and nobody’s actually made any kind of case for me being wrong in any of those posts? So.....its not actually gaslighting to try and convince people these things I bring up are toxic....when I’m actually including reasons and examples of the things I’m talking about in order to convince people, and I’m not actually ignoring, evading or misconstruing counter-arguments....because nobody’s actually making counter arguments in the first place!! That’s not fucking gaslighting, that’s called EXPRESSING MY VIEWPOINT ON A MATTER.

And for the record, like I said earlier, abuse is the perversion or exploitation of a power differential. Try all you want, but you can’t claim I have power over myriad specific individuals I don’t even know EXIST without them interacting with me directly....power that I’m then exploiting just by yelling at stuff on my blog. Yes I’m aware of my overall privileges as a cis and white man. But none of those change a damn thing about the fact that I’m not actually yelling at anyone in specific and people reading my posts have to decide for THEMSELVES whether the thing I’m pissed about is a thing they do before they can even CLAIM to feel at all ‘targeted’ by my RAGE (with me still not being able to tell from that who any particular individual this might apply to is, and also, THATS NOT EVEN THE POINT OF ANY OF MY POSTS)....NOR do any of my privileges negate the fact that every single one of you exists in varying physical distances from me, unknown to me, and I have ZERO power to compel you to even read my posts in the first place, or to keep you from exiting your browser or app or even just going ahead and blocking me to be sure you’re ‘safe’ from the big bad abusive boogeyman and his posts of Gaslighting and Rage.

Me venting on my own damn blog, even knowing that other people can see what I post and share it if they want, is NOT the same thing as screaming in your face and making you want to wince and hide, no matter WHO you are. It just literally isn’t. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a problem with my posts or my tone, it just means what it says. Its not the same thing, they’re not interchangeable or even comparable, because NONE OF YOU ARE A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE. There are NO possible consequences to ignoring, disagreeing with or just scrolling past my posts, firstly because THERE’S ZERO WAY FOR ME TO EVEN KNOW THAT, IF I EVEN CARED. Nobody, kid or adult, can ever HIDE from my posts, because that would first require MY POSTS EVER BE ABLE TO FIND THEM. Whatever the hell THAT even means.

You’re not my prisoners. You don’t have to be here. You’re not even ACTUALLY HERE. Nobody owes me an audience, and honestly, the lack of one wouldn’t change all that much because I babble on all the time about shit none of my followers actually care about, because I post for ME first and foremost, and people from there are welcome to do whatever they want to do with my content, or do nothing with it at all. I literally don’t care, other than thinking its shitty that so many people find my content worthwhile except and until I get critical of fandom behaviors at which point they only engage with it to make it all about ME and MY toxicity instead of anything I actually posted about. Which I then...gasp...vent about. How dare I be angry in the space I cultivated for myself online and other people chose to look in on by their own choice because rather than being threatened or bullied into doing so, they found at least something I’d said interesting enough to be worth listening to hear what else I might say.

I HAVE ZERO POWER OVER ANY OF YOU. At most my posts hold some weight for the people who think I generally have interesting or insightful things to say, but that’s literally it, and that’s the result of me having said things they find interesting and insightful overall. I can’t MAKE anyone do anything, if I’d ever even tried to make anyone do anything other than actually LISTEN to what I ACTUALLY am saying on certain subjects and CONSIDER IT. So if we’re going to throw words like gaslighting around so carelessly, we might want to hold that one up next to the phrase ‘fandom policing’ I so often get accused of....as though I’m any kind of actual authority with actual power to actually enforce any actual agenda I even actually have.

Which brings me to the last thing I want to touch on, which is my supposed moral righteousness, that oozes all over everything I post and drowns out any good points I have to make, which again, apparently is just in terms of fandom criticisms, since every other point I’ve ever made in fandom seems to come through just fine.

Like.....tbh, I don’t really know what to do with the many times I’ve heard people say I’m self-righteous and obsessed with my own moral righteousness. Considering like...I’m not shy about acknowledging my flaws, I know perfectly well I can be loud and angry and aggressive in my posts and have talked plenty before about not being super proud of that, I’ve never claimed to be a saint and I don’t think my actions and choices are the gold standard everyone should adhere to. In fact, the only time I make a point to state what *I* do or did or what *I* think or believe....is when its directly relevant to something critical I’m saying.

And you think that’s because I want everyone to be aware of how moral and righteous I am? Fucking please, if I were as self-absorbed as you people make me out to be when giving me shit, I just wanna know when you think I’d have time to squeeze out 10K of random Batfam meta every other day, instead of being busy finding new things to say about myself.

Literally the only reason I make a point to bring up my own behavior or choices when criticizing others is because PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY IS THE CORE THEME OF LITERALLY EVERYTHING I SAY IN THIS REGARD.

And you know what personal accountability requires? A willingness to acknowledge and address your own behavior. Which is why its kinda hilarious the consensus seems to be I’m too up my own ass to even be aware of my own behavior or actions, given that the literal actual reason I bring up examples of what I did or think when making posts about personal accountability....is to stress that REGARDLESS of what those things were, I think its important to not just be talking out of my ass. But rather to emphasize I hold myself to the same expectations I’m asking other people to consider, I’m putting it out there and on the record, here’s what I did relevant to this matter I’m talking about and why I made that choice....see, I’m not asking anything of anyone else that I don’t expect to be held to myself. ITS NOT ABOUT TRYING TO IMPRESS PEOPLE WITH MY MORAL RIGHTEOUSNESS, ITS LITERALLY JUST ME TRYING TO ESTABLISH I’M NOT LOOKING TO BE A HYPOCRITE IN THIS REGARD, SPECIFICALLY.

Like, is maybe that unnecessary and counter-productive? Could be, its something for me to think about some more, but gotta tell you, its a little hard figuring out what will and won’t work when I’m STILL waiting on the first time someone actually engages me on an actual criticism I’m actually voicing about fandom.

*Shrugs* Whatever. Like I said, I don’t even know if this post has a point beyond just getting this all out of my head, so whatever. Make of it what you will. People will likely still just keep viewing me however they already do, for better or worse. Oh well. C’est la vie. Its not the end of the world anymore than any other post I make is, no matter how much RAGE I imbue it with. As I’ve always said, that’s literally the only reason for any of the posts I make ever...I’m just getting them out of my head and down on paper, so to speak, in whatever mood I’m feeling while thinking about that topic. Yeah, I phrase things for a generic fandom audience most of the time, other than when I’m talking to someone directly, but never have I made a post with an entitled and expectant belief that people will take every word I say literally and regard it as a directive for what they should do and how they should live their lives. Since, y’know, I don’t actually think I should be the ruler of everyone’s choices.

Over and over I keep repeating, I just want people to put more THOUGHT into their choices, and keep in mind various contexts that yeah, I think are relevant to certain topics, sue me. Because the vast majority of creative choices I take issue with, I actually fundamentally believe are just the result of a lack of thinking critically or with a broader awareness of various implications or repercussions. Shocking though this may seem, I’m actually a big believer that humans are inherently good or at least have the capacity to be.

The thing that amps up my frustration and ticks me off so often is how much time and effort I end up wasting trying to get people to address the actual things I’m asking them to consider, instead of dancing around it and evading it in every way possible, not even like, as an attempt to counter it, just willfully refusing to let it be about the topic I ACTUALLY raised.

And yeah, just FYI, to whom it may concern, since this is so often relevant it seems.....gotta say, I find it particularly odious that WITHOUT FAIL, the very same people who carelessly throw out ‘don’t like don’t read’ as the catch-all solution to every issue anyone ever might have with something in fandom, as though its that simple.....

Time after time demonstrate a COMPLETE refusal or inability to take their own damn advice, since NONE of this would ever even come up if the loudest advocates of that system actually APPLIED it themselves.

And simply....didn’t read my posts.

I fail to see why I’m expected to do what they don’t consider worth doing themselves, to spare themselves the aggravation (or fear) from reading my posts. Let alone interacting with them.

But whatevs. When do I ever know what I’m talking about anyway, lol, on account of all this RAGE I’ve got mucking with my head and objectivity.

Oh well, gotta go. KALEN SMASH!

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