#of a concave in the very ends. it’s the way she’s so afraid of that getting worse and something snapping because she remembers the pain of

[trollbreak]

Man I put on shuffle for eiteth brain and got yarrow angst instead. Hewwo??

[abugwritesstuff]

Thicker Than Water - Chapter Two

oops sorry this second chapter took way longer than intended! but here it finally is!

-----

As it turned out, she’d been of a similar mind. That next morning he was awoken less urgently and to the sound of a gentle pat-pat-pat against his door. Her little familiar had come bearing a message and after a few chin scritches, flew off blissfully unaware of the meaning of the contents in the envelope he’d delivered. 

I think we should talk about it now. Meet me by the forest. I’ll be there waiting for you.

-MC

Lance crumpled the message and tossed it into the bin as he began undressing and dressing as quickly as he could. His heart had jumped into his throat but the sooner he spoke to her the sooner he’d know the truth of what to expect, so there was little point in wasting time. The time was now, finally.

When he arrived at the edge of the Academy campus, she stood there among the cluster of trees on the very edge, hands held in front of her and obviously tense. He took a deep breath and approached, and when her head swiveled around to meet his gaze, she sucked in a breath of her own. 

“Hi,” she murmured. She was wringing her hands anxiously as he moved closer, and she turned away abruptly, her back to him. “Let’s, uh… let’s go to the usual spot.” At that, she began walking at a quick, nervous clip and he trailed behind her as they made their way to the clearing by the pond, cutting through the underbrush and through the trees in complete silence. 

Lance watched her, saying nothing, afraid that trying to cut the tension might make either one of them burst with barely disguised panic and fear. Her shoulders were held high and tense and she kept a faster pace than usual, almost as if she was hoping to outrun him- or something else.

When they arrived, she folded her arms across her chest stiffly and stared off into the distance. Lance watched the tension roll through her jaw as though she were gnawing on her words, and after a moment of quietly watching the emotions flicker across her face, offered her his hand.

“Hey,” he whispered, hoarse. “...You can tell me.”

She looked up for a moment. Her eyes were wide and rimmed red, and her gaze immediately slammed back down to the ground. “I… I know. It’s just difficult. And… you probably already know, don’t you?” Her voice faded into a whisper and all but disappeared at the end of her sentence, fading into the ambience of the forest leaves rustling with wind around them. 

For a few long seconds, Lance didn’t speak. He studied her. She seemed almost concave in herself, hollow and frail and scared, shoulders stiff and sloped forward as though bracing for a blow and trying to hide at the same time. The moment in time felt otherworldly, as though it existed outside of time and space, and so he dared not break the strange bubble they were in until she slowly lifted her line of sight to his. Those same wide, red-rimmed eyes were brimming with tears. 

“...Yes. I know.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do it, Lance.”

“No. Don’t apologize, ever.” Lance shot back immediately. He held her by her shoulders, bringing her closer and wiping her tears with the heels of his palms. “No. Not ever. Not for this.” His own voice had become rough and gritted his teeth against the wobble in his voice. “Do you hear me? Tell me you do. You oughtn’t ever feel like you have to do something one way or the other on my account.”

She nodded, closing her eyes tightly. “I just… I know what this is going to mean and I’m so sorry to do this to you, and to us…” she choked out. “But I can’t. I… I don’t know why. I want to have our baby even if it doesn’t make any sense… I can’t explain it. I’ve gotten attached somehow, I guess.”

Lance felt his stomach twist at the mere mention of the future, and pulled her close into his arms, enfolding her tight against his chest. We’ll sort it out, don’t worry. We’ll sort it out and everything will be right as rain, no need to worry at all, love, he wanted to say. But it wasn’t true, and so the words died before they could form into anything more than a silent wish. He wanted to say he shared her attachment, that he wasn’t desperate for her to change her mind, but he didn’t. So he nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, rocking her slowly in his arms. 

They stood there for a time, until the faint dappling of rain against the upper canopy of tree cover gave way into steady rainfall, pelting the grass beneath them until their feet began to sink into the waterlogged meadow. Lance pushed his hair back and stared upward at the gap above where he’d watched the moon so recently before. The sky was fully gray now, with no sign of any moon to speak of, or to. 

“Let’s get us inside,” Lance murmured. He tugged her along behind him and the pair retreated from the forest just as wordlessly as they’d arrived.

—----

Sorting out what to do next felt nigh impossible, so for a time, they didn’t. There was yet a sense of unreality to it all, though it was slowly being chipped at each day. Later, she would describe it to him as You know, like in a movie when they’re using like, the film score to unsettle you and they keep giving clues and showing things that are out of place to build suspense? Lance would have no clue what any of that meant, but feeling unsettled became increasingly normal. It was easy enough to halfway forget the reality of the situation for a moment or two given her very unpregnant appearance, until she’d vomit randomly or tire suddenly or develop a sudden hatred for the foods she liked most. It had a way of suddenly intruding so that there was no real peace, only living in avoidant fear of the day when there would be no time left. 

For a month, the pair went about their usual business. Her classes, his delinquency, their pairing off afterward and retreating to his room or the forest, or sometimes town or the docks. They spoke of it, sometimes, though Lance found it difficult to verbalize. His mouth went soft, cotton-y when the topic came up. It wasn’t that he was managing to avoid thinking of it entirely. It was impossible not to have it hovering somewhere in the back of his mind.

It was at that point that late at night, when she’d returned to her dorm for the evening curfew, that he began to settle at his desk and mull things over. Plans had to be made sooner rather than later, and despite how partially fake it all felt, she was really and truly pregnant. With an Irian royal baby- the worst kind, Lance thought. So each night, he pulled out his maps and any useful books from his shelves and spread out, scribbling out any notes and any fleeting ideas about what they could possibly do. 

Ira was fortunately far away from the Isle of Colde. One would have to sail to Avari and then cut through to Ira if going directly, or otherwise cut through Qelsum and do the same thing. A fully shipbound route would be long and arduous, and Irians avoided it whenever possible, the seas to the north being cold and difficult to avoid ice floes in, and the seas to the south being choppy and unstable at best. Thus, Colde was a relatively safe location- for now. The problem was its status as a temporary house to royals and a diplomatic third location: anyone could come and go with little real surveillance. Irian merchants, tourists, students, and mercenaries alike often came and went as they pleased, which would make it incredibly easy for a henchman of Addis’s to arrive and discover the truth of her condition. Colde could, or rather, absolutely would, become an unsafe place within the next few months. Lance already knew that he was at least occasionally watched as he traipsed around town. It just hadn’t mattered until now. 

Leaving Colde for somewhere, anywhere but Ira, was the next logical move. There were a few clear non-options. Relations between Avari and Ira were tense, making it a less than ideal place for an Irian to decide to live. While her eye color would help her blend in properly, his would stand out in a way that could call undue attention. And Avari would have no qualms about sending the two, or rather three, of them directly to his father’s doorstep. Avari was a no-go, as was Invidia for its submissive relationship to them. And frankly, it was no real loss for Lance. Guy was cruel and domineering, and Roy was dishonest, traits he disliked immensely. He couldn’t particularly imagine enjoying the countries that had created them. 

Akedia, being the furthest distance from Ira, had seemed initially promising. A country full of chronically conflict avoidant people seemed perfect for the two of them and was the first option to make it onto the shortlist. However, Akedia’s lack of interest in war and conflict easily translated into a lack of watchfulness towards its borders, making it an easy locale for Irian mercenaries and spies to enter. Besides, it was the obvious place to run off to and likely the first place they’d look once his absence had been noted.

Qelsum shared only a small chunk of a border with Ira, though that was still enough to make him wary. The trouble with Qelsum was less about mercenaries and spies making it across the border, but more about the pair of them making it into Qelsum at all. The country was strictly watched, usually out of a desire to keep out Avarians, of which she appeared to be. There’d be little way to get in and staying in would be a challenge as well.

Luxure made it onto the shortlist with Akedia. Luxure was, very fortunately, a country where Irians could and often did blend in with ease. The trouble was again that blasted border, of which a wide swath of it was shared and the travel between rather porous. But it was a significantly easier country to hide in for both an Irian and a supposed Avarian. No one would think much of them living there, particularly if they lived away from the bustle of the main cities. The culture was rather obnoxious, but that was no real detractor when lives were on the line. 

Lastly, there was Voleri. Voleri also made it onto the list. It shared no borders with Ira, though the distance between could be and was sailed from time to time. It was a relatively poor country for all its agricultural wealth, and had no particularly close ties with the other nations in Saligia, preferring independence. These were preferable traits to Lance, though the country’s overall lack of might made the question of spies more pertinent as it was also likely that their borders, particularly their seaside ones, were not well-monitored. 

Lance sat back in his chair and tapped the end of his pen against his chin, mulling things over. There was still much to consider, even if he did select a country to escape to- money, disguises, transport among them. There was also the issue of gaining permission from the headmaster to leave. His cooperation would be necessary in order to exit the Isle without immediately arousing suspicion. Beyond this, there was the issue of Hawke, who was duty-bound to keep an eye on him and at least periodically report on how he was faring at the academy- though he wasn’t one to disclose much, suddenly running off with his paramour wasn’t something the man could avoid talking about.  

There was also the issue of Christoph. The boy was dependent on him, hidden within the alleyways of town in order to shield him from slavers. It was hardly possible to bring him along, given his obviously Vanan appearance. Staying where he was was the only real option, yet without anyone to properly look after him he would be forced to leave his little hidden home in order to secure food and other supplies. 

Lance crumpled over his desk, groaning in frustration. At best, he had two more months to work a miracle. He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked blearily down at the mess of papers stuck underneath his forearms. Maps, notes, plans… there was little sense to be made of it and the continued nights mulling it over had resulted in little headway towards a solution. He wasn’t one to ask for help if he didn’t absolutely need it, and with her life on the line as well as his, he found his pride slipping through his fingers rapidly. 

—---

For a few more days, Lance lingered on the edge of a decision. Calling on her for assistance in finding the right solution felt unfair, given how much stress he’d caused for her, so taking this on as his own burden to bear on felt fair. With her relatively incapacitated, especially as things progressed, inevitably he would need to call on Hawke or the headmaster as the only two that could offer any kind of real help. Even asking the headmaster was a bit of a gamble, so taking that risk was a difficult pill to swallow. After all, sometimes things felt somewhat normal. 

Until they didn’t any longer.

It was one brief moment sliding into two, building and building until something, somewhere, seemed to hit critical mass. That morning over a small breakfast she’d picked at and around for minutes on end, she’d mentioned in passing to him that she felt tired. He’d pushed her plate a little closer to her. “Well, no wonder. You’re eating like a bird,” he’d grumbled at her. She’d pushed the bite sized pieces of egg absently around her plate, nibbling here and there and sighing until it was time to leave for her first class, slinging her book bag weakly over her shoulder. The thing looked to nearly weigh her to the floor, and Lance found himself standing and taking it from her, then carrying it for her all the way to her classroom.

He knew little about pregnancy. It wasn’t the sort of thing covered in an Irian prince's education, or if it was, he must’ve snuck away from Zeneau’s lecturing that day. Given that, it was easy to assume that the exhaustion written all over her face was a result of the stress she’d been under- the stress he’d caused. The sheer, high-strung panic of the situation had begun to wear off for him and been buried under waves and waves of guilt. It made it difficult to meet her gaze or speak much of the future, or of how she felt. 

At the edge of the doorway, Lance passed her book bag back to her silently as swarms of other students brushed past to take their seats, murmuring and giggling about whoever the professor was that day. She took the strap for a brief moment, slipping the bag over her shoulder and ever so slightly turning- before pausing dead in her tracks as it slid down her arm and hit the floor. 

Her voice was so quiet that he barely caught it. “Oh, Lance, I feel a bit…” she whispered, before buckling at the knees with her neck gone slack, head hanging low. Lance lunged forward, gathering her in close and tucking her against his chest, forcing her into a semi-standing position before stepping backward against the wall. Beside them, the final straggling students slipped into the classroom as the bell rang, and the door swung shut. 

For a few beats, Lance did nothing but listen to the electric static buzz of his heart in his ears. He stared down at her: Her face was pale and her body was limp, but she was breathing normally, something he noted with relief. Luckily the hallway was empty and no one was around to witness the pair hunched awkwardly against the hallway molding, so Lance bent to scoop her into his arms.

Just then, the familiar sound of a lazy, laid-back stride came around the corner. Lance whipped his head around like a deer caught in headlights to find Hawke walking toward them with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Oy, there’s the ‘ol lovebirds. Haven’t seen the two of you in awhile. Strange to see the two of you snuggled up in the corridor, though.” Hawke came to a stop in front of them, a single gruff eyebrow raised at Lance before his gaze panned down slowly. Sure enough, at a distance the pair looked cozy, but up close Hawke could notice the slack in her limbs and the way her head lolled to the side, hair swinging outward in an abnormal cascade. He let out a slow whistle of breath between his lips. “...This just happened now, I take it?”

Lance huffed and picked her up slowly, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “...Clearly. I’m going to take her for some rest then.”

Hawke pulled him back by the shoulder. “Hold on there, lad. Passing out in a hallway’s hardly normal behavior. She’s in need of the infirmary, not your creaky bed and a hangover potion.” He gestured casually behind him as he walked in front, taking the lead. “Come on, then.”

Lance froze there, staring at the other man’s back as he walked ahead. Hawke turned, puzzled.

“Well? Let’s go. Toa should be in the infirmary at this hour. He’ll be able to help.”

Lance swallowed the growing lump of tension in his throat and slowly shook his head. “...She can’t.”

“...Excuse me?”

“She can’t. Go to the infirmary, that is,” Lance choked out through his teeth. 

Hawke stared at him, incredulous. “It’s the typical place for people that pass out in hallways, as far as I’ve always known,” he responded. 

Lance shifted on his feet for a moment. The risks of having their secret found out by an S-rank prince were too great, and as far as he was concerned, Toa was too loyal to Qelsum not to report back any information that was good material for leverage. He cussed under his breath and shook his head, casting off any last vestiges of doubt. “Come with me. I’ll explain.”

Ignoring the protests at his back, Lance led the professor back to his room and after depositing his paramour on the bed and fluffing the pillow under her neck, gestured for Hawke to sit down at the pair of chairs beside the book shelf. 

Hawke sat down reluctantly. He cast occasional glances back and forth, from Lance’s moving form to her still one, laid prone on the bed with one pale hand dropped over the side. “This is awfully odd of you, y’know,” he grumbled. “As an employee of the Academy, you know I have a duty to look after the well-being of students here…”

“That’s why you’re going to have to help us.” Lance interrupted him. He’d gathered up his stack of papers from the desk and held them out as he leaned back against the edge of the bed, staring down the bridge of his nose at the older man. He watched as Hawke flipped through each crumpled sheet, eyes scanning the pages back and forth and widening with each pass. 

Hawke ran a hand down his stubble, brows furrowed together. “Lance, what in the Creator’s name is this nonsense? Some kind of escape route?”

Lance nodded. 

Hawke stared at him. “...Have you entirely lost it? You’ve tried this sort of thing before, lad. And I can’t help you, either. And what’s that got to do with her?!” he asked, baffled and his voice rising with confusion. 

Lance took a breath in and stared up at the ceiling, willing the words to come. He raked one hand through his hair and sighed, clenching his eyes shut. “...She’s pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. The room was dead silent, until Hawke let out a breath. “...Fuck.”

“I was hoping for more encouragement than that,” Lance muttered.

Hawke threw his arms out, exasperated. “What do you want me to say? Congratulations? Creator… I thought you knew better than to just… throw caution to the wind in that department.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “...Though I suppose I see what the relationship troubles are now.”

Lance grimaced, ignoring the remark, and leaned over to snatch the papers back. “That’s why we have to leave. It’ll only be so long before she starts showing and before word gets back to Addis.”

“Sure, but… what exactly is your long game here? Run away and hide forever?”

“No- I don’t know. I can’t think that far out, I just know we need to leave. And that she needs to be safer than she is here.” Lance sat back and looked back at her, relieved to see that the color was starting to come back into her cheeks. “Listen- I don’t know, Hawke, I just… I just need to keep her safe. I’ve already fucked her life up so completely, I owe her whatever I can give her now,” Lance cleared his throat, trying to hide the thick tension of emotion that was rising around him. He stared intently at the floor, willing away the red, raw heat gathering around his eyes and hoping Hawke didn’t notice it. “...She deserves better than all this.”

Hawke said nothing for a while, turning his gaze to the woman laid on the bed. “...And so does that kid of yours,” he muttered. Another few moments of silence passed and Hawke leaned forward begrudgingly, forearms against his knees. Looking up through the curtain of disheveled hair, he muttered in a near-whisper: “I’ll help you. But once you’re out of here, there’s nothing I can do. Understood?”

Lance nodded. Hawke snatched the papers back, rifling through them until he came to a particular one, then tossed it onto the coffee table and jabbed one finger down on it. 

“This. This is where you’ll be going. I know a way there that’s a bit unconventional. And as it turns out, I happen to know a guy.”

As the day stretched into dusk and settled into the evening, the two sat hunched over the table, plotting out the barebone plans of the future.

[ancientgreekwitch]

Astragaloi

Astragaloi is a form of Ancient Greek divination using the knucklebones of a sheep. They can be real, or fake ones made from pottery, metal, or wood.

Numerical Value

The curved, small side is called “Chian.” It counts as a 1. The wide, convex side is called the “belly.” It counts as a 4. The wide concave, side is called the “back.” It counts as a 3. The flat small “S” shaped side counts as a 6.

Here is a visual to show you:

Throwing

The divination can be performed two ways. One way is to throw the same bone five times, using the first throw as the first number, the second as the second, and so on. Or, one could have five bones, and read them from left to right.

Interpretation

Each series of numbers has a name and an interpretation. They are as follows:

11111 - The Sky above Olympus: you will think well and find happiness in your work. But appease beauty (Aphrodite) and the messenger (Hermes).

11113 - Warlike Wisdom: By avoiding enmity and Animosity, you will reach your prize. The activity that you have in mind will turn out as you wish it.

41111 - Fate: Don’t do the business that you are engaged in; it will not turn out well. It will be difficult and impossible around someone who tires himself out. But if you go abroad for some time, no harm will come from it.

33111 - The Eagle: you will achieve your goal; do not fear.

61111 - The Largest Daimôn: It will be better to fulfill whatever vow you made to the daimôn, if you intend to perform what you ponder in your mind. You will be saved.

11143 - Caring Fortune: Do not do the business you are about to do.

33311 - Victory: you will win; you will take what you wish, and you will achieve everything; you will be honored, and you will overcome your enemies, the plan that you are about to realize will be according to your desire.

44111 - Joyful Victory: Do all your business because it will turn out well. The sick will be healed; and he who is in another country will return home.

41133 - Healing: A storm will come about your business, but it will turn out well; who is ill from his suffering will be freed, and safely home the one who is abroad will come.

11163 - Steering Fortune: Do not yet make haste to go; rather wait, if you set out to rush mindlessly, you will do great damage to yourself, but if you wait, blameless time will accomplish everything.

11164 - Beauty: Sail wherever you wish; you will return full of joy, for you have found and accomplished everything that you ponder in your mind; but pacify beauty (Aphrodite) and the messenger (Hermes).

13333 - Lightning’s Wisdom: you are fit for every business and ready for any undertaking. He who is ill will be saved.

33331 - The Seasons: the plan that you follow is not allowed, thus wait; it is terrible to walk into enmity, competition, and a trial.

13334 - The Sea: do not hasten to do business. Now is the wrong time.

61133 - The Daimôn: Do not project terrible things and think terrible thoughts. There will accrue no gain from it, and no reward will come from this path you are walking.

44411 - The Good Daimôn: you will be lead down a good path. You will return with rich fruit and an untroubled Fate.

13344 - The Savior, the Sky: Approach with courage the business that you set out to do; do it! You will win.

11166 - The Egyptian Sky: Undertake with courage the way you set out in your mind. you will accomplish whatever your mind tells you.

33333 - Fortune the Savior: The woman who has given birth to a child, had both breasts dry, but then she again flourished and has milk in abundance. Then you too will reap the fruits about which you ask.

43611 - The King of Hosts and Guests: Do not make haste with the business for which you set out, it is not yet time. Him who is ill will be saved, and and an end to the travel of him who is in foreign land will come.

63331 - The Strong Hero: The moment has not yet arrived, you make too much haste. Do not act in vain, nor like the dog that has borne a blind puppy. Act Deliberate calmly, and you will be lead rightly.

64411 - War: Why do you hurry? Wait calmly, the moment has not yet come; if you hurry without sense and in vain, you pursue something that is not yet ready. I do not yet see the right moment, but you will have success when you wait a little while.

43333 - Time: Scorpions stand in your way, do not hurry towards the business that you intend; wait, and what you wish will arrive later; neither to buy this nor to sell is better.

44413 - Music at Delphi: Do not make haste, it will not be better to go; when you wish to rush mindlessly, you will damage yourself very much; but when you stay put, blameless time will perform everything.

66113 - Marriage: The time is ripe for marriage; you will marry and return home. You will achieve whatever you want in your business, having found the thing about which you are anxious.

16634 - The Messenger, The Savior: I do not see anything painful among the things about which you ask me; do not think small, go forward with courage; you will find everything you wish: your vow will be fulfilled, and there is a perfect occasion for you.

44333 - The Sun: Take courage and fight. You will punish your opponent.

14444 - Revenge: now everything will be fulfilled and you will be lead the right way. You will perform everything according to your mind, do not wear yourself out anymore. You will achieve beautifully whatever you desire.

66114 - She Whom You Cannot Escape: Do your business and undertake it; the time will be favorable. In the middle, difficulties and danger are waiting. As to the other oracles, things will turn out well for you.

16443 - Lightning in the Sky: What you plan will not turn out according to your liking, when you do it; it is not useful to travel to foreign lands. You will show no insight if you sell now, nor will it be useful.

44433 - The Greatest Daimôn: I do not see this plan as safe for you; thus wait. You will do well, after this there will be luck; as for now remain calm, and stay helpful.

63333 - Good Time: Do not make haste, rather wait and do not act like a dog that gave birth to a blind litter. Take counsel calmly, and things will turn out happily for you.

66133 - Good Hope: Everything about which you ask me is smooth riding for you and safe; do not be afraid, the painful difficulties will end and you will disprove the suspicions.

44461 - The King of Possessions: Proceed with courage, the oracle is about hope; it announces also that the sick person will be saved. If you need to consult an oracle, you will receive what you desire.

34444 - The Messenger who Brings Gain in Trade: you will think of a good plan, undertake what you desire; you will find whatever you ask the oracle for, and nothing will be bad for you.

33364 - Victorious: You pronounce a good oracle, once you have thought it through, you will do whatever you desire; you will win, you will reap the fruits, and you will achieve everything.

44444 - Inexorable Fate: The sun has gone down, and terrible night has come, everything has become dark. Interrupt the matter about which you ask me; it is neither better to buy nor to sell.

43661 - The Moon: Do not undertake this business; it will not turn out well for you. One will help the one who is ill, and if there is any fear, nothing bad will happen to you.

63344 - The Protecting Boys of the Sky: A man who makes haste does not achieve what opportunity offers. You have a profit, and there is fear everywhere because of evil; your business is ill-fated, and everything is painful; watch out!

66611 - The Fire: It is impossible to do business; do not toil in vain! And do not turn every stone, lest you chance upon a scorpion. Fussiness will not bring you luck, be on your guard for all sorts of misfortune!

66441 - The Harvest: Everything about which you ask me is on a smooth way for you and safe; do not be afraid; I see nothing that will bring you harm; take heart and go forward.

44463 - The Sun, Bringer of Light: You will achieve whatever you desire, and you will find whatever you worry about. Make an attempt, having taken heart; everything is ready; you will find what is invisible, you will come to the day of salvation.

33366 - Fortune, who Leads to Good Things: Your matters are doing well; this oracle tells you to press forward; you will get away from difficult illness and master everything, and he who is erring in a foreign land will return.

16663 - The Manifest Fates: Do not put your hand into a wolf’s mouth, lest some harm happens to you; the matter about which you ask is difficult and delicate; but you stay quiet, avoiding travel and business transactions.

44446 - The Ocean: throwing seeds and writing letters on the sea are both pointless and fruitless doing.

43366 - Terrible War: Do not undertake the travel that you intend! Nobody will do it. A large fiery lion is about, against whom you have to be on your guard, a terrible one. The oracle is untractable, wait quietly.

16664 - Wisdom: Honor wisdom (Athena), and you will get everything, whatever you wish, and everything which you are planning will turn out well; she will free from bonds and will save the sick person.

66443 - Happiness: Sail, wherever you want, you will return home again, having found and done everything according to your wish; you will achieve everything, and thus to buy and to trade is happiness.

66633 - The Music of Delphi: Stay put, do not act, obey oracles. With time, you will find an occasion, but for now stay quiet. If you wait a short while you will achieve everything, whatever you desire.

44466 - Time, the Eater of Children: Stay at home with your possessions and do not go somewhere else, lest a terrible monster and a revengeful demon approach you. I do not see this business as reliable and safe.

46663 - The Moon, who Brings Light: Take courage; you have an opportunity; you will achieve what you desire, and you will come upon the right time to begin your travel; your toil will have its chance; is is good to engage in work, competitions and litigation.

66661 - Mother of Gods: As wolves overpower sheep and powerful lions overpower broad hoofed oxen, so you too will master all this, and everything about which you ask will be yours.

66644 - Thunder of the Underwold: The business has its obstacles, do not make haste, but wait; there is a road, painful, impossible and not to be approached; to buy is painful and to sell brings loss.

66663 - Heavenly Beauty: a good oracle, travel to you will be granted; you will escape from sickness and vainglorious thoughts.

66664 - Damage: It is impossible to undertake something vain; do not in vain toil uselessly, lest you incur damage by pressing on. It is not good to begin traveling nor doing business.

66666 - The Square Messenger: Do not go, wherever you intend to; it will be better for you to stay; I see something hostile to you, thus wait; afterwards, it will be possible, and you will be freed from fear and saved from toil.

[clarkesrifle]

You, Me, Us

The Haunting of Bly Manor Spoilers below the cut (fic)

Chapter: 1/4 -- The Final Night at Bly Summary: Jamie and Dani had nine blissful, wonderful years together. It would never be enough, but it was more than worth it. Rating: T Warnings: Major Character Death A/N: This is unedited. It was written when I had no sleep for more than 36 hours. Whoopsie.

ao3

“YOU WON'T FEEL IT,” Rebecca whispered to the young girl. “Okay? I’ll…I’ll feel it for you. I’ll just tuck you away, one last time.” Her heart was broken. For so long, so long ago now, she had put effort into this child’s education, her rearing…and now she was resigned to watch her die. “Go ahead, love. You let me handle this part.” Rebecca already knew what would happen. She had felt the burning ache of water creeping into her lungs, slowly and then all at once. The horrible, terrible burning. The taste of rotten algae and dissolved flesh on her tongue. She feared water so immensely now, but for Flora….she’d go through it again. She knew what would happen. She was prepared. It wouldn’t take any of the pain away from her, but she was ready for it this time.

For a moment, she indulged herself in anger towards her former lover for leaving her to drown on her own, alone. He cowered away, pussied out in the final moments. She died, unwillingly, terribly, alone.

Rebecca refused to let Flora go through the same pain.

“Let me in,” the former Governess said to her student, her friend. “Let me in.”

“It’s you. It’s me. It’s us.” Flora was gone.

☾

THE WATER OF THE LAKE WAS FRIGID, unlike anything Dani had ever felt before. Her throat throbbed, her voice was hoarse and she struggled to make a noise louder and more coherent than a moan — she had just been strangled, after all.

Flora, Flora, Flora. Her mind only went to Flora. She had failed Miles so horribly. Peter was all that was left. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t let Flora sacrifice herself for her. She was so young — so much to live for, so much more to see.

And drowning….

Drowning was such an awful way to die.

Flora, who had just previously been screaming for help, had fallen eerily silent, as though she were already gone. Perhaps she was. Please, Dani pleaded with herself to hurry. To move faster despite not being able to take in enough air. Her legs and back were battered from the Lady’s ascent up the stairs.

Dani had seen Rebecca enter into Flora, pushing the child into the “forever home,” as Peter had called it. Both children were supposedly gone, but Dani wouldn’t allow it. She’d personally organize a fucking exorcism if she had to.

Without real thought or reason other than pure instinct, Dani forced the words out of her mouth with such strength she knew not that she had.

“It’s - It’s you.”

The air couldn’t pass through her mouth properly, the words wheezed yet were powerful nonetheless.

“It’s me.”

Flora’s chin grazed the water now. Dani was running out of time, and quickly. Another step and the girl’s nose would be underwater.

“It’s us!”

The Lady turned, and Dani felt her stomach lurch with both disgust and terror at the sight of her face and utter hope that perhaps it had worked. Please, please, please. Jamie called out for Dani in the distance, but the blonde was so hyper-focused on the girl that she did not hear.

The spirit walked closer to her until she was very well inside of her. Dani felt the entirety of her composition changing as she welcomed in her new housemate. A pool of rage entered into her stomach, deep within, untouchable yet still noticeable.

Suddenly, Flora was in her arms. Dani felt her mouth move but she was unsure of the words she was saying. She felt the water move behind them as Jamie ran into the lake and crushed them both into a hug.

The water was freezing, the spirit inside of her colder and darker, and Dani was unsure if she was in the midst of a panic attack or hypothermia, but she stuttered and repeated the same words over and over again into Flora’s ear. 

Jamie spoke, but Dani couldn’t register what was said over her own swirling emotions, but when the gardener pressed her forehead so gently onto her own…it quieted. For a single moment, it all quieted down.

The Gardener helped the girls out of the lake, where they reunited with Henry and Owen.

“Hannah, where’s Hannah?” Owen forced himself to speak. Henry couldn’t quite meet his gaze…

The owner of Bly Manor rubbed Flora’s head affectionately, looking down at his niece — daughter, not that he would ever tell — and nephew. He supposed the best course of things was to tell them all the next day after they’d had time to rest and to process, and perhaps better understand all that had gone on in recent weeks with the housekeeper, who lingered just like the rest of the dead.

☾

JAMIE TURNED THE COLD WATER ON. They were both covered in foul algae. They needed to get it off, otherwise, she was sure that they’d never get the stench off of their skin for the rest of time.

Jamie did put them both in the shower because of the smell, and she told Dani, who had gone quiet after they had left the edge of the lake, as much. What she didn’t tell her was that she had heard that running water helped ease shock.

The au pair sat down onto the tile directly under the stream of the water. She blinked. Dani shielded her eyes and looked up as Jamie slowly turned on the hot water before leaning down onto the tile next to her.

“You don’t have to take off your clothes,” Jamie whispered as she draped her hands off of her knees. “If you don’t want to.” She couldn’t help but feel so painfully awkward in this situation. What should she say? I’m sorry you’ve let a vengeful, murdering ghost into your body, but you smell. “Can I…can I wash your hair?”

Dani looked at Jamie’s hands for a moment, wondering how they’d feel on her so intimately. She nodded her head, but didn’t say a word, she just turned around so that the water would hit her back and not her side.

Tenderly, slowly, as though she were afraid to set her off, Jamie pulled all of Dani’s hair towards her back, letting the water hit it completely and rise out some of the dirty lake. Jamie had brought the shampoo and conditioner into the shower with them and globbed a large amount into her palm. Rubbing it between her palms, she gently placed them into Dani’s blonde locks.

Brown bubbles fell off of Dani’s hair and swam down the drain and Jamie watched it go away, praying that it would be the last time she saw any part of that lake. For her profession, she had to keep her nails trimmed back so that there wasn’t much dirt trapped beneath them by the end of the day. Instead of scratching, she rubbed Dani’s scalp with her fingertips.

Jamie touched Dani’s chin gently, tilting her head back so that she could rinse out the rest of the shampoo. “Guess it’s more efficient this way,” Jamie tried to tease, but her usual flirting tone sounded more dower tonight. “Got your washing and your hair done all at once. Who needs a launder anymore, anyway?”

It pained her to hear Dani not respond. She missed her smile. That big, goofy, sweet smile that made her stomach jump when she first caused it. Jamie had been proud of making her smile. She felt shame in not being able to, at the moment where perhaps she needed to the most.

Rubbing the conditioner between her fingers as she had the shampoo, Jamie generously applied it to Dani, who was overcome with such an overabundance of emotions that she felt numb.

The only thing that Dani could think — the first thought to pass through her head for the hour — was how good it felt to have Jamie wash her hair.

The process was repeated with the conditioner, and Jamie tried to excuse herself from the shower so that Dani could disrobe and wash the rest of herself, but a hand caught her wrist. “Stay,” Dani could barely whisper. “Please.” Her lip quivered. 

Jamie could only nod her head. Dani stood, and despite the heat of the water, she couldn’t stop shivering. One by one, article by article, Dani took off her clothes with some gentle help from the Gardener.

Not how I expected to take off her clothes for the first time, Jamie thought to herself. Out of respect for both Dani and for the situation, Jamie didn’t let her eyes go any lower than the flowering bruises on her neck. She wanted so desperately to reach out, kiss them, make them go away, but she knew that only time could do that.

The soap had been kept in a shower caddy, which she applied vigorously to herself, scrubbing herself red and bloody in some places. Dani wanted to scratch the Lady out of her body, scratch the remnants of the lake, the horror, everything away. Jamie grasped Dani’s wrists, placing her forehead onto the blonde’s. Gently, as though saying I’ve got you, you’re safe, Jamie rubbed her nose against the au pair’s.

I’ve got you, Jamie thought to herself. I’m here.

After Dani finished cleaning herself, she did not want to be left alone, not for a single moment. Jamie undressed, showered, and they stayed inside of the tiled walls until the water turned cold and then some.

Jamie helped her friend — lover, partner, it was still unsure — dress in a nightgown, and tucked her into bed, kissing her forehead gently. “Please stay,” Dani said once more, begging her with both her words and her eyes. “Stay.”

Looking through Dani’s wardrobe, Jamie grabbed the nanny’s winter pajamas and threw them on quickly before crawling into bed next to her. Dani felt freezing still, and she quickly huddled against Jamie for her warmth and for her comfort.

Soon, Dani fell asleep to the feeling of Jamie running her fingers through her wet hair.

☾

THE NEXT MORNING, Owen looked down upon the curled-up body of Miss Hannah Grose. He maintained his composure for a short while before crumpling inside, emotionally concaving upon himself. His breathing faltered and he found himself doing something that he hadn’t done even when his mother had died.

He bargained. He pleaded.

But none of his thoughts, nor his aching heart, nor his pleas for her return did much more than die at the bottom of the well as she had.

His mother — well, that had been a long time coming. Owen had long accepted the fact that his mother had died and left a shell that looked and sounded like her behind, inhabited by something other, someone different.

Hannah, on the other hand, had just been alive. He had just seen her not an hour before, beautiful in the moonlight but distraught at his being there. Would that truly be his last memory of her? Of her telling him that he wasn’t meant to be there? Of her foolishly trying to protect him from a ghoul when she had been the one needing him?

How long had it been? Had it truly been her, or an apparition? Her curious spaciousness and sudden quirks in those final weeks would make sense to him later, but in that moment all he could feel was inconsolable grief.

Did she know? He asked himself as he dug his fingers into the well’s bricks as though it were the only thing keeping him standing — it was. Did she know?

Did she know?

Did she know?

Of course she did, he realized. The thought had been implanted in his head so quickly and without warning, it was as though Hannah had placed it there herself. She knew.

As the others, five blokes from town who had volunteered, came, bringing gifts of rope and condolences, Owen insisted on being the one to rappel down into the well himself. He may not have been there in her final moments — had she been scared? — but he would be there for her final journey.

The well stunk of wet and earth and death. He was unsure if it was naturally this way or if this was the smell of human rot. The way down was long. Long enough to kill, deep enough to fear. When his feet touched the bottom, he was careful to not harm her. The thought of harming a corpse, long disposed of, was almost laughable. Yet, he respected her in death as he had in life. He reached down and closed her eyelids. He couldn’t bear himself to look at her eyes, for fear of what would be there.

Owen gently grasped the woman who should have been his Parisian partner, his co-restauranteur, his…well…. At that moment, he couldn’t smell the rot. Instead, he smelled her perfume. He smelled the smoke of the bonfire not so long ago yet so distant now. He decided, then, that his Hannah Grose would not be a bone he threw to the flames. He would feel this. Permanently.

The group of men above him pulled and heaved their combined weights all the way up the well. Finally, after God knows how long, Hannah was free.

She knew, Owen told himself.

She felt the same.

Strangely, The Batter Place never had a speck of dirt within its walls. The whole of the restaurant was pristine in its cleanliness. If one ever cared to watch, they might notice any leaves or twigs that may have been tracked in underfoot being gently rolled out as though pushed by a breeze.

Miss Grose was immortalized upon the walls of Owen’s restaurant, next to his bedside, and forever within his heart. She quite liked it there. It was warm. He was warm.

[craykei]

I’ve written this because I no longer know where you are . And I know you won’t want to listen to me if I ever found you . So this will be here for you .. so fate can have something to lead you toward .

This is for the significant wonder :

It’s been years .  And my recollection of you fades with time . Not that it’s my intention to erase my own memory .. I won’t forget events in my timeline, or any important words you spoke to me . But I want to preserve a part of you in my mind . It’s long overdue that I strike what I’ve built .. and lock the image .  Of you .

Do you know who you are ?

You may have forgotten .  Because you’re different today . But you used to be somebody .. unbelievable .   You were a dream come true .  Everyday . And a hope never lost .  Anchored heavily and true . You were real . I knew of your depth .. yet I dared not tread beyond shallow water . Your welcome was a warmth .. That would easily subdue the air around me . And continue to envelop my spirit .

You had me absolutely yours . Did you ever know ?

Your words so pure, my heart would have stopped at your slightest verbal command Should you ever speak it done . And you would be the only divine being on the surface of this earth Who could accelerate my heart to race again .. With nothing more than a simple glance .

Your beauty was a challenge to appreciate .. in truth it was a universe in itself . As it filled infinite dimensions .. composing an endless symphony . And its potential was far too immense to be held in the very world you lived in .

But I appointed myself to that solitary journey ..   And embarked on a chain of blissful discovery Of everything .   Everything inside of you .

And granted, if my heart took the greatest capacity of courage ..

Then maybe I’d know for sure If this is where I was truly meant to be .

Underneath the most stars I’d ever seen in my life . On a porch stairway foreign to me .. Sitting one step below, and an arm’s length away .. From the most beautiful girl .. ever to grace my life story .

We were there together .. and I was a nervous wreck . I couldn’t speak .  And I wouldn’t dare look your way . I was afraid my words would slip .. And I would tell you .. you’re beautiful . Then instantly end up despising myself for using such incompetent words . You had no idea .. It was the first time I’d ever experienced for myself .. The supreme elegance which moonlight has the power to reveal . In you .

I was no match for the velocity bound inside of me . It was inevitable that I would lose to it soon .. And something .  Just .. something .. would escape me .. And reach you . And you would finally know . That I loved you . … And it .. escaped . … My voice was a disaster when I said it . I was instantly overcome with embarrassment and a concave silence .. Awkwardness left me ready and waiting to stutter my next word .. Possibly an apology for my crude mannerism .. Or a chuckled diversion to typically break the tension .. I was at a most desperate and pitiful loss for action or dialogue . Until I looked up . And saw your face . You changed everything . It was the first time in the history of my existence That I stared into the eyes of my destiny . It was in that instance where time itself ..  had stopped . To let us live in that moment .  Just a little while longer . Your stare was strong .. piercing me and tearing me apart . You spoke to me very clearly .. only with those eyes . They reflected everything the sky had to offer . Even if my sense of hearing was immediately taken from me Right then and there .. It still could never stop me from understanding The response within your gaze . You loved me . And my heart soared ..  clear into the highest of heavens . You began to cry as you said it . And I shared that feeling with you .. We repeated ourselves over and over again .. Releasing an abundance of jailed emotion and destined words . I held you so close .. As if to cover and shield you from the world .. Bravely protecting you from all harm that exists . And that is what I did . From that night on . Thus began the birth of our relationship together . I loved every minute of it .

At times it was a struggle to find myself with you . But I hadn’t the slightest need to wonder why . An easy journey would lead me worthlessly elsewhere .. It made perfect sense to me .. that a girl of your value Could only be reachable beyond life’s most difficult obstacles . I worked my hardest .  Just to have that time by your side . All of what I owned could easily have been traded .. To acquire what I needed for you . Because you were appreciative . Of everything I did .  And everything I was . Do you remember .. I drove alone for seven hours .. No phone and no more than a few dozen dollars in my pocket .. Just to see you .. For an hour and a half . And it was seven more hours driving back home .. Lost in total happiness .. and weary swoon That I was able to feel your arms around me .. And your face burrowing softly against my chest . There was never a time where I was simply able to set my eyes on you .. Without being overcome with a heavy rain of joy .. From the thought that this lovely woman Of unimaginative elegance standing here before me .. Is truly mine to cherish . … We created a world together .. didn’t we . It seemed like the longest period in my life .. You and I were inseperable . Truly .. I loved you so . We achieved sweet perfection . Until the scale had to be balanced . I don’t know why we came to that point .. In which everything good began to slowly burn .. I’d always put myself up to be blamed .. for blaming you . But we both knew it wasn’t that simple .. Eventually .. I let go .. freeing my hold each day . Releasing you of that shield which protected your entire being .. And allowing the horrors you feared to swiftly reach you . You lowered yourself so much . Putting every ounce of pride away . Just to ask me to reconsider my departure . But I couldn’t . I was callous and cold . Steadfast and loyal to my decision . And I hated myself for a long time because of it . You experienced the worst disasters of your life . One .  After the other . And I was not there to help .. Because of my own horrible choice . You spiraled into a maze of despair, deception, and death . And your health unfortunately coincided with these dreadful events . The world around you blamed you for everything . And you could have easily turned the blame to me . But you didn’t .. You accepted it all didn’t you . I know you did . I just couldn’t believe that you still loved me that much . Literally .. you were the only person who’d ever told me You’d give your life for me .. And proved it . But you disappeared . Before I could find you to apologize .. You were gone . I searched non-stop for what seemed like forever . Only to find that we were no longer even on the same continent . You had been sent away . My hope . Had fled my being .  Only to be replaced by new fears . I had never known the feeling .. Of not being able to know for sure If the only person you care about in life .. is still living . I plunged into the deepest despondency I’d ever experienced . Possibly the only true depression I’d ever been bound within . It lasted for what seemed like a seperate lifetime .. Trudging through nights where I lay in utter silence Only to wake up to days where I quietly float through the hours . I hated myself .  And I hated everything . It was the last and only time I’d ever felt this way . As the months crept by ever so slowly .. I met someone who understood . Somebody who only wanted to help .  And she did .  Somewhat successfully . And I moved on . Meanwhile .. you were there .  Away and across the globe . Never had a way of contacting me whatsoever .. but you never lost any hope . Still just as in love .. and working diligently to somehow find your way back to me . The possibility that I’m still looking for you .. Was the strongest motivation that kept you going . But word somehow found its way to you . And you heard I moved on . And it killed you .

After another year .. you were finally able to come back . And you contacted me . Do you remember how thrilled I was ? I was so relieved to know you were still alive and well . Physically . But your heart had been broken .  And your spirits darkened . And you were hurting so much . I felt the sadness I’d caused you .. And even felt the happiness you still wanted for me . You never did give up on putting me first . And I hated how you were so perfect . Unreasonable to the core .  Yet unselfish by nature . I wanted to be like you in that sense . And I wanted to find a way to somehow see you happy again . You eventually moved on . Found somebody in an unexpected atmosphere .. And he did hold you dear . …… We never spoke more often than once every 4 months or so .. And I was always eager to hear your good news . I loved to hear how much you cared about him . And about how your family was doing so much better . It brought me so much happiness to listen to you share these things with me . We carried on this way for quite some time, didn’t we . Rarely ever talking to each other .. and always by total chance . You seemed to be slightly different .. But I always felt like .. the old you was in there somewhere . Until your relationship had failed . I’m so sorry . Please believe that it brought me no happiness to learn of your misfortune . You were mistreated terribly .. and for awhile you allowed yourself to be blamed . Just like always . Taking the nobility route . But you eventually took note of his error .. And you were able to realize your innocence in the matter . … That’s when you changed . … You no longer wished to speak to me . When I tried my best to talk to you .. I was only responded to with hostility .. And annoyance .  And cruelty . It was all so sudden . I surely could not understand why you had become so cold-hearted towards me . Out of everything I’d been through with you .. This was brand new . I contacted you to ask how you were doing .. And it only upset you . You spoke to me rashly and casually .. cursing and being coarse Like never before .. as if I was a nobody to you .. Or a nobody to everybody . I felt as if you had totally shifted .  And I was afraid to know the truth . You were like a completely different or rather, opposite person . Or maybe you just forgot .. who I used to be to you . This was the last time I’d spoken to you . …..   ….. And also .. a leading motivator in composing this letter of sorts . Believe me .. I will not act as though I truly understand you now . But I will also keep myself from being anymore of a bother to you . And I know I made you aware of that upon our last conversation . I just wanted to let you know .. I am finally ready to close this chapter in the book of my life . After everything we had been through .. which was indeed valuable .. I guess this is where our story ends . I just wanted you to have a final understanding toward my definition of our time together . I will not immortalize you in my mind as a terrible person . You will be one of the very few people I will forever remember . Please accept these parting words . You will always be inside my definition of ‘beautiful’ . Even though you may dislike me or no longer care for me .. There will always be a special place for you in my heart and memory . A place that has been crafted by you .. during the period in which we existed as one . You are loved .  By an entire world of people . Don’t ever doubt your worth .  You are absolutely priceless . Any man who does not see that .. is not even worthy of your eye contact . Your way to success clearly exists .  Please do not give up on yourself . Extraordinary things require hard work to reach .  And I learned that through you . Be honest with yourself .  You deserve the best of all things . Don’t ever be ashamed of your wonderful smile . And please don’t second-guess your beauty . Never allow yourself to be abused .. you must be treated as the queen you are . Aim beyond what you expect for yourself .  You’re far greater than that . I won’t be finding myself in your life any longer so I sure hope I’ve said all that’s necessary .  I’m sure I’ve covered all that I wanted to assess . I know this isn’t the best way to convey such strong emotion .. but if you’re meant to know these things, then I know you’ll find your way here naturally . And since you probably won’t want to talk to me .. I’ve left all of this here for you to read at your own pace .. if you choose to read it at all . Have a great life .. wherever you are .  And good luck with whatever you’re doing . I hope you’re well .. If there’s one mental picture to keep .. Let it be the moment we shared On the porch steps of your house . Underneath the most stars I’d ever seen in my entire life . Thank you for showing them to me . And thank you for teaching me to be a better person .

Thus concludes .. the story of us .

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Helping Hands - Chapter 2

Series Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Loki shows Haley a bit more of the world she hadn’t had the opportunity to discover. Tony and Bruce begin testing and a painful truth comes to light.

Chapter Warnings: Needles, Implications of neglect, light descriptions of injury

A/N: I was absolutely stunned by the response for the first chapter! It definitely motivated me to get this next bit out to you! Thank you again to @vodka-and-some-sass for Betaing for me!

“Um, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Haley?”

It was odd to address a room like it was a person, even after Tony had explained in the simplest terms possible the AI that lived in every fiber of the tower that would be her new home. She hadn’t left her room yet, choosing to stare out of the tinted windows at the bustling city below. It was awe-inspiring, to know that so many people existed, going about their lives without any knowledge of the horrors behind her eyelids. Now the city sparkled with glowing lights darting around beneath her, chasing away the darkness from the overcast sky. Did anyone sleep?

Odder still was to be given a name for her own. A moniker not meant to harm her, insult her, or one based solely on the powers that were both a blessing and a curse. Maybe the introduction of a name could be a new start for her. Perhaps a chance to become more than just what she could do for others?

“There isn’t any food in here, and I’m starving. What do they do for food?” she asked, closing her hands over her almost concave stomach as it rumbled loudly as if seconding the meekly asked question.

“In the common area there is a communal kitchen used by all Avengers living on-site. During business hours, various restaurants and the cafeteria are operational for faculty, staff, and visitors on campus,” the pleasant female voice responded, sounding from somewhere over her head.

Haley ran a hand over her spiky short hair, staring at the door as if it would bite her. “And is it business hours?”

“Unfortunately not. But if you follow the map currently on your television screen, it can get you to the kitchen.”

It wasn’t like she had any money, anyway. Didn’t you need money to buy something from a business? Tony had said that whatever she wanted, all she needed was ask, but she doubted that extended to the entire tower. Glancing once at the screen that flickered to life against the wall, she committed it to memory before slipping her socked feet into a brand new pair of sneakers that Pepper had dropped off a few hours ago - along with enough clothing and toiletries to last her an eternity.

Using the hand scanner to leave her room, she hovered in the doorway of her temporary sanctuary, staring out at the shadowed black hallway. Soft light illuminated one end of it, trickling in from the same direction FRIDAY had indicated for the kitchen. She steeled her nerves and anxieties with a deep breath before slowly making her way in that direction, ears perked for any sound that would send her scurrying back to her room. Her body had known hunger before, and it could wait.

A high-pitched whistling sounded from the kitchen when she stepped into a large room which appeared to be solely for relaxing. Various couches and plush armchairs were scattered about in loose formations, some facing bookshelves stacked high with more books than she knew existed, others televisions bigger than her wildest imaginings. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat, large eyes darting to the source of the sound.

Soft footsteps sounded on the shining marble floor, interrupted by the clanking of dishware and a heavy sigh. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly at an enticing aroma that drifted her way through the air conditioning, and she cursed softly under her breath when the domestic sounds ceased for a split second.

“I will not harm you, little one.”

She was almost positive that voice belonged to Loki, the more outspoken of the group with the intelligent eyes. He hadn’t given her any reason to fear him - yet. Balling her hands up into fists at the shiver of anxiety that coursed down her spine, she stood up as tall as she could manage and followed the sounds and smells into the warmly lit kitchen.

Her assumption had been correct. Loki stood in the middle of the room, swirling a spoon in a steaming cup that clinked quietly with each minute movement. He had exchanged his daunting leather outfit for something much more comfortable. The black, soft-looking pajama bottoms hung low on his hips to reveal a sliver of pale skin just below his fitted white t-shirt. It was startling to see such a change in the intimidating man, who peered at her with a quirked brow.

“Anyone with ears would be able to hear your stomach complaining, and your cheekbones are so sunken it appears painful,” he commented, a hint of sadness lingering on his velvet voice. It wrapped around her, a caress to her frazzled nerves that lowered her hackles just a bit. “What do you like to eat?”

What did she like to eat? Any food she had been given was meager and tasteless, the scraps leftover from Mr. Shaw’s meals or unwanted food to be tossed to the dogs. Food wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, but for fueling her body, keeping her strong enough to heal her owner. Embarrassment flushed down her face and neck as her thoughts came up empty, and her hands twisted together unseen in the confines of her sweatshirt.

If he was bothered by her lack of an answer, he didn’t show it. She got the sense that he didn’t reveal much behind his finely sculpted features. Indifference suited the straight line of his nose and the press of his thin lips. It was… nice to watch the straight line of his back as he bustled about the kitchen, gathering various foods on a plate and pouring a second cup of his steaming beverage. He said nothing, merely tilted his head in her direction before setting the spoils on a vast table with enough seats to fit all of the faces she’d seen earlier on the Quinjet.

She sat at the seat in front of the food at the wave of his hand, shoving her hands beneath her thighs as she watched him take the seat opposite her. He pulled a book from thin air, and she gasped, shrinking back into the wooden chair as if it would swallow her whole. Had he…?

“My apologies,” he purred, the words a warm caress to the fear that had her heart thudding against her ribcage. “Simply a bit of magic, pulling my belongings to me should I need them. Eat.”

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the selection of brightly colored fruits and thick, buttered bread, waiting for him to take the plate from her and laugh at the gall she had to hope for fair treatment. He reached over and plucked a glistening green grape from the bunch on the plate, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly before cracking open the book to peruse the pages.

Magic? He mentioned it so casually, as if it was an understood fact about him. But with how little she knew of the world, it could very well be so. She could take the injuries from others, and that certainly didn’t seem natural. Quickly, she picked several grapes and pushed them into her mouth, resisting the urge to moan at the delicious sweetness that exploded across her tongue. Before she knew it she had the plate held to her chest protectively and she couldn’t eat fast enough. Never had she been given such a veritable feast of such exquisite flavors.

Only when the plate was empty did she look up. Loki acted as if she hadn’t just devoured her meal like a wild animal, regarding his book with quiet curiosity lighting on the furrow of his brow. Her slightly shaking hands gripped her own impossibly delicate cup, warm to the touch from the fragrant beverage within, and she sipped it delicately, afraid of getting burned. The warmth flooded her body, reaching the tips of her toes and unfurling within her with a comfort she was wholly unused to from something as simple as a drink.

“Earl Grey,” he supplied, looking up at her briefly over his book. “The tea. You enjoy it.”

Enjoy. She never got to enjoy anything. But this tea - Earl Grey - and the filling fruit and bread he’d gathered for her, she’d thoroughly enjoyed that. She enjoyed the foreign feeling of fullness in her belly and the layered aroma wafting up from her cradled cup. 

She could even see herself enjoying Loki’s presence, stoic and calm and wholly unbothered by her existence as he allowed her to sit in his shadow. He radiated a strength that she longed to glean for herself.

“I do.” She hummed quietly after taking another warming sip. “Thank you.”

~

“We just want to draw a bit of blood and give you a routine physical. There will be a needle for the blood bit, and then I’ll take your heartbeat with this,” Tony held up a device hanging around his neck, “and check your overall health by just taking a good look at your body. At the end, I’d like to hook up a few monitors and have you do a bit of healing, but only if you’re up for it. How’s that sound?”

Haley shifted uneasily on the cold metal table, casting a quick glance at Loki, who stood still as a statue against the far wall, watching Tony and Bruce with narrowed eyes. He had quietly inserted himself into her presence whenever she had left her room, and it felt right to trust the mysterious man. Loki gave her a quick nod before watching the two men in front of her again, his face lowered so that his long, raven hair framed his face and cast a shadow over the planes of his cheekbones.

“Okay.”

The two men were respectful as they worked around and on her, asking permission before Tony touched the cold metal disc to her chest or Bruce gently squeezed her leg with what looked to be a set of pliers. None of it hurt, and she didn’t even blink when Tony drew several vials of blood from a needle he slid into her arm. Were these men doctors? They didn’t look the part, with Tony’s perfectly styled hair and trimmed goatee, and Bruce’s threadbare button-up shirt that hung on his frame.

A monitor beeped out the drum of her anxious heartbeat for all to hear from sticky pads connected to her chest. Tony had also attached a few to her scalp, all while muttering to himself, “At least she doesn’t have a lot of hair to get in the way.” All of the eyes in the room settled on her, and it took everything she had not to curl up from the weight of their gazes on her bony shoulders.

Bruce stepped in front of her, rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal a small, raised red line across his forearm. He offered her a smile that begged her to relax. “I burnt myself on the oven the other day. Should’ve known better than to try to cook,” he gave a self-deprecating laugh full to the brim with warmth. “Can you heal this?”

Of course she could. But burns were her least favorite to handle. They weren’t any harder for her to heal than any other injury, but the raw, itchy skin was her least favorite. Still, these men had offered their home to her, given her food and clothing and medicine and a place of her very own without demanding entrance to it. This small burn that hadn’t even blistered wouldn’t take long to dispatch at all. A small price to pay.

“I’m going to touch you. Okay?” she asked quietly, mimicking the permission that they had asked of her for the entire time she’d interacted with them. Everyone she interacted with had taken to asking her before doing anything, a luxury and kindness she wasn’t accustomed to. How long would that last after they saw the extent of her abilities? Just until one of them got injured beyond what they were willing to deal with. That was how it worked.

“Bruce.” Loki’s warning came from over her shoulder, thick with veiled threats that she wasn’t certain she wanted to know how he would uphold. Even as he had chipped away at the protective shielding around her heart, she still felt the danger that he posed, carried in his confident stride and unhurried movement. So averse to the showy bravado she was accustomed to, guns waved around and threats growled over hands clutching the collar of her shirt. He didn’t need that. His reputation was enough, it seemed.

Bruce nodded and offered her his arm. His breath quickened beneath his shirt when her thin fingers slanted over his skin, and his pulse practically matched her own ringing in her ears. It was all too easy to direct the rush of electricity beneath her skin through her fingertips in the golden glow she’d come to dread for the pain it promised. Sure enough, she bit her bottom lip between her teeth at the stinging sensation that scratched at her forearm where Bruce’s burn once was, hidden by the thick sleeves of her new favorite sweatshirt.

“Incredible,” Bruce breathed, rubbing his hand over the freshly healed skin as if it were some parlor trick. A common reaction when she first healed someone, before they got greedy and jaded to her powers.

Tony pulled out a pair of yellow-tinted glasses and leaned over a computer, typing away furiously as his eyes darted over all the data he could consume.

“Leave us,” Loki commanded, and the heat of him practically pulsed at her back.

“But, I, this is my lab!” Tony stammered, chest puffing out as he stood up and pulled his glasses off to glare at the man whose breath fanned over the top of her head.

“Come on, Tony, we can have FRIDAY send the data to the other lab.” Bruce dragged the other man out with a hand on his arm, closing the door behind them to leave a deafening silence in their wake.

Loki stalked around the metal table until the front of his thighs almost brushed her knees, staring down at her with too many emotions warring on his face to name. He moved slowly, his hand reaching out to encircle her wrist and seize the fabric tucked beneath her clenched fingers into her palm. His fingertips were calloused, rasping against her skin with the heat of his touch as he slowly pulled up the baggy sleeve despite her pulling away in protest.

“Don’t-”

He flipped her now bare arm over to reveal the burn that had etched itself into her skin, dragging his finger just beside it to make the shiny skin catch the light. “You do not heal them. You take their wounds for your own.”

There wasn’t any use denying it with the evidence grasped in his careful touch. “I do.”

A growl ripped from his throat, feral and animalistic and so terrifying that she pulled her knees up to her chest and held them with one arm wrapped around her shins. He released her from his hold, allowing her to cradle her arm to her body against the conflicting singing of her skin from his touch and painful burn she’d brought upon herself.

“Unacceptable.”

And then he stormed away, leaving her curled in on herself on the table, staring at the door with the intoxicating masculine musk of his cologne still teasing at her nose and the incessant beeping of the monitor betraying her conflicting emotions she couldn’t even begin to place.

~~~

Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki @otakumultimuseoc @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic​ @myoxisbroken​ @blah666 @brokenthelovely​ @myworddump @polireader​ @wiczer​ @littleredstarfish​ @the-broken-angel-13​ @arch-venus25​ @xxloki81xx​ @jessiejunebug​ @tinchentitri​ @sllooney​ @devilbat​ @vikkleinpaul​ @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses​ @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian​ @toozmanykids​ @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius​ @sabine-leo​ @lovesmesomehiddles​ @peterman-spideyparker​ @wegingerangelica​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @catsladen @silverswordthekilljoy​

[brntwd]

CHAPTER ONE :   curiosity leads to trouble .

 scene  transcript  between  henri  rousseau,  jasper  atkinson,  roman  keating,  banks  delcoy,  thalia  pham,  and  the  scott   family .  on  june  4th,  2020 .

opening:  it’s the last house on persimmon lane .  a little one on stilts .  the sort of house that looks like maybe it’s seen a hurricane or two in it’s day –– the blue paneling is slowly bleaching white in the sun .  there’s quite a few loose planks here and there,  as you bramble up the porch,  and the dock that juts out awkwardly into the water from the yard is blocked off by a fallen tree .  there's a very overgrown quality to the landscaping,  if you could call it that .  a porcelain bathtub full of spearmint plants lay on it's side in the tall grass .  there were several newly broken bird feeders .  a neon sign flashes in front of lace curtains in the window .  you see only candlelight through the windows .  they probably don't have power back yet .  PSYCHIC / PALM / TAROT / TEA / BY APPOINTMENT ONLY .  

thalia pham: lia isn't too familiar with the scott household, given that she's a woman of science and doesn't believe in any of that crap. that doesn't mean she doesn't have respect for the scotts--whatever they're doing, they're probably taking lots of money from dumb middle aged rich white women who complain about balancing their chakras, the perfect group to scam. people like that are just desperate to find "culture" in a small place like brentwood. if there's a place to do so, though, it certainly looks like this house. she's standing on the porch with the boys, reluctant to take the initiative and knock on the door. "not it!" she exclaims, waiting to see who will draw the short end of the stick.

henri rousseau: most of the year he simply longs to be considered a proper member of the gang. being able to properly take part without feeling like he's missing out. today he's just happy he can play the semi-innocent tourist card...  like he hasn't skated past the scott house umpteen-million times over the years. no. he's playing innocent, trying his best not to dig his hands in his pockets ( and curse himself further, if that's a thing) as he rocks on his heels. there are times when he knows to shut his mouth, and this is most definitely one of them... well, that is, until thalia mentions not being it and his jaw drops. "what?! nu-uh. if thalia's not it, i'm not either. i mean..." he purses his lips, "i know i have it, but like... if i'm cursed these could be my final moments! going out after knocking on a door is not really how i pictured it happening." banks delcoy: there's something about the house post - hurricane that makes him  .  .  .  uneasy. not in a this place gives me the creeps way, but more in a way that banks can't quite put a name to. beneath the gray sky, it feels too vibrant and too aged all at once. banks is shaking his head already as he swallows back a gulp of water from the two whales cup grasped loosely in his hand.  he supposes that he should be the one to take the leap   --   he pitched coming here in the first place   --   but instead he just leans against the white - washed banister. "i second lia. not it." roman keating: the atmosphere feels akin to what he imagines it would be in one of those movies cecilia used to love so much; the one she swore to him he’d love in return because it was supernatural. it turned out to be a romantic comedy about sister witches but he never complained. he stands behind the rest of them on the scott porch and crosses his arms over his chest with a heavy exhale, hoping the brittle wood didn’t concave from their combined weight. they were sticking their nose in something they had no business knowing ( if it was anything at all ). for all they knew, this could end up being a wild goose chase. roman’s right eyebrow raises and arms lift to protest. “i don’t even want to be here, let alone touch that damn door,” he opposes with a scoff. “japser can do it if he’s so worried about giving henri peace of mind or whatever.”

jasper atkinson: jasper had walked selene home after work whenever they got off at the same time. it was on the way to his apartment anyway, so it hardly mattered to him. while he didn’t believe any of the bullshit that spewed out of her mouth, he knew she did wholeheartedly, and so he respected it. who was he to knock her down? everyone had their thing that got them through life. “you guys are ridiculous. it’s a fuckin’ door.” he goes up to it and rings the doorbell, but there’s no sound inside. so instead, he knocks on the door. scott family . “ do you have an appointment ? ”  after a lot of dramatics about who was going to have to answer the door,  it is eventually fiona who does it .  six years old and forty inches high .  she’s wearing her belle from beauty in the beast costume over a pair of polkadot pajama pants .  she opens the door just two inches,  like she was told to,  and asks again,  louder :  “ DO YOU HAVE AN APPOIIIINTMENNNNNN–– ? ”  she was rudely interrupted by her mother,  who now stood in the doorway .  thirties,  bright blue eyes,  brighter blue overalls,   bandana,  juice box .  lavender gave her daughter the capri sun and then ushered her back into the house .     “ awfully sorry .  we don’t have power back yet . ”  she wipes sweat from her brow and starts her own capri sun .  “ i’m afraid we’re closed .  come back again .  .  .   well,  leave us a voicemail .  we’ll call you back when we have phones again .  take care . ” thalia pham: lia patiently waits as they finally pressure jasper into getting things done. she knows it's coming, because it always eventually happens. when the door swings open, though, thalia's met by someone closer in height to her than the boys--an adorable young girl with a loud mouth. when her mother tries to turn them away, thalia rushes to stop it from happening. they'd come this far already, right? "wait! we have kind of an urgent matter on our hands here. please?" henri rousseau: the brief sound of bickering is quickly replaced by the sound of henri's heartbeat in his head at the thought of having to head home with the chain."please." he repeats, almost as soon as it's left lia's mouth, if but a little desperately. "i, uh, i found something. a necklace. in amongst the debris on the beach but it... was like it didn't belong." his brow furrows and he briefly wonders whether or not to take it out of his pocket right there on the porch. "it just... it doesn't feel right."

banks delcoy: when a young girl begins calling out the door, a crooked smile threatens to twist at his lips. it's, admittedly, a little endearing. she fits right in with the neon signs casting technicolor shadows across his friend's faces. another woman swiftly replaces her and he's edges forward a step when lia cuts in. after a beat, banks nods toward henri in assent. "even a picture of the thing feels weird. we thought you all might be able to help." ilene scott: “ yeah, ”  lavender looks between the fiery one and the curly ones .  “ well .  that’s weird .  put it back where you found it . ”  as she’s closing the door,  there’s a voice from the candlelit kitchen .  “ lavender,  they’re going to think you were raised in a barn with those manners .  please,  come in .  i’m making iced tea . ”   lavender sighs, but ultimately waves a hand to welcome them inside .  she huffs up the stairs .  to the right,  there was a small yellow kitchen that was affectionately lit by the natural carolina sun pouring in through the windows and the hundreds and hundreds of candles . ilene,  town psychic and blue grass fanatic,  waved for everyone to have a seat at the table .  well,  probably someone’s gonna have to sit on the counter .  and maybe someone needs to pull up a stool .  “ lets have a look at it,  then . ” jasper atkinson: at this point, jasper felt like all he really needed was to be there for henri. he knew that he’d just about short circuit if he had to explain himself at this point. so, he sat next to him, hoping his presence would be enough. “i haven’t seen it yet, but if it’s real, based off of the picture, i’d date it at about 18th century.” his gaze shifted to his cousin. “show her, henri. it’s okay.” henri rousseau: there's always a bit of hesitancy whenever he takes the lead in something. more noticeable in his step as he makes his way across the kitchen - even if there is something oddly soothing about the interior of the house. but it's jasper's presence that finally gets him to stop twiddling his thumbs. just like it could when they were kids. "right, yeah, of course," he murmurs, digging in his pocket for a moment before pulling the chain out and laying it on the table. "it um, it's sorta alright like this. but when i looked at it more closely it... it sounded like it was whispering to me." ilene scott: “ where’d you find it ? ”  she narrows her eyes at henri . henri rousseau: "on the beach... just slightly buried in the sand." ilene scott:  she looks between the pendant and the group of people surrounding it .  “ well .  lets see then . ”  she reaches behind her and grabs a deck of tarot cards from the kitchen counter .  they’re barbie pink .  she passes the deck first to the curly boy who found the necklace .  “ shuffle,  pick one,  pass it on .   all of you pick one and put it down on the table . ” henri rousseau:  normally there would at least be a smile on his face at the colour of the cards. a reminder of the shade his step-sister sometimes insists on painting his nails with. but there’s something about the potential of being cursed that has him on edge, focussing more on the cards as he shuffles them than any offhanded remarks he could otherwise be making. although it takes a great deal of energy not to snort when he finally puts the card that feels right down on the table. the fool. were the cards really pointing out how much how much of a mistake picking up the necklace was too? he doesn’t know how tarot works well enough to say it, but it certainly feels that way. thalia pham:  lia watches as henri draws the fool, looking a bit embarrassed by how on the nose it is. she doesn't really get tarot cards and their supposed duality, but it would be rude to refuse. she slides the top card off of the deck and turns it over, placing it neatly in front of her. the sun. she feels warm.

roman keating:  an impatient foot taps the ground beneath him. “this is all a load of crap, right?” he inquires of the older woman who has dealt them the deck. when the cards end up in his hands, there’s a force that urges him to pull straight from the bottom. roman flips the card over to observe its depiction; the tower. all he sees is destruction. the structure's been lightning struck and bound to crumble, inhabitants falling from the sky are set to crash. he presses his lips into a thin line. banks delcoy:  banks can hear his mother's voice in the back of his mind as he takes the deck from roman   --   she had always said his curiosity is what would damn well get him in the end. little corbin banks had never believed her, of course, as he never had any intention of getting caught in the little excursions his intrigue would pull him toward. as a child, it had been harmless things   —   like sneaking out of his room at night to see what the grown - ups did from his perch at  the top of the stairs in their small two - story, tiny hazel eyes peering brightly like a cat's from between the spindles of the banister. this curiosity would morph into less harmless acts as he got older, and no matter how much he thought he got away with, leah banks always knew what went on in her own home. and he can't help but wonder what she'd say now. banks has no idea what any of  .  .  .  this means, but there's a tug in his chest that yearns for understanding. that same tug has him pulling from the middle of the deck   --   the card he flips onto the table reads wheel of fortune. hm. jasper atkinson:  as he watched all of his friends flip over their cards, information flowed through his mind. he'd read about all of this before, and thus, knew what each card that was flipped over meant. memories of sitting at the library, going over books in the metaphysical section, trying to grasp a sense for anything that might save him from his life. but the more he read, the more he realized it was all bullshit escapism. that didn't stop him from retaining the information, however, and it didn't stop the smile from curling up the corner of his lips as he watched henri and lia pull the fool and the sun. it was quickly erased when he noticed the tower and the wheel of fortune pulled immediately after. he knew what the tower meant, and the wheel of fortune, of course, could go either way. but no, he didn't believe in it. he took the deck for himself, split it in two (as he read was customary) and then picked from the top. two cards came out stuck together, and when he was about to place one back, ilene stopped him. told him that both cards were meant for him. he nodded and handed her the deck, then gently and carefully placed his cards down on the table. the chariot and the hierophant. he knew what they meant apart, but not together. fuck, he hated not knowing things. hated having to rely on other people for information. he looked up at ilene, trying to mask whatever anxiety he was feeling. ilene scott:  ilene watches carefully .  her expression is indiscernible .  after a long while .  she waited for the boy who chose two cards to finish before she moved .  ilene drew two more cards from the deck .  the star .  the magician .  she slid them into the middle of the table,  careful not to let them touch the pendant .   she says :  “ you’ve found it .  it’s starting .  hooray .  you’re not going to be able to use it until you find them . ”  she sips her iced tea .  she doesn't look at the gemstone on the table .

jasper atkinson:  he furrows his brow, a sudden rage filling his chest that he quickly pushes down. "are you just gonna be cryptic like that or are you gonna give us some real information?" thalia pham:  thalia reaches over to squeeze jasper on the arm. now is not the time to snap, even if she agrees that this hasn't been ...the most helpful, yet. she gives him a reassuring smile, to calm him down. jasper atkinson: and just like that, the anger in his chest cools to a simmer. as he makes eye contact with thalia, he knows exactly what shes thinking. shes with him, and she would handle this better than he ever could. she was always better at talking to people than he was. he placed his hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze before looking back down at his own cards, then at all of the cards on the table, as if putting together pieces of a puzzle. banks delcoy:  his attention skips across the cards and while he couldn't begin to interpret what any of this means, seeing them all together feels   --   right, maybe? complete? eventually he looks up to ilene. "what's starting?" something, though, tells him he's asking the wrong question. thalia pham:  thalia fixes her gaze on banks' own display of confusion. she draws her arm back, folding it across her chest with the other. "and what do we need to find?" ilene scott:  she sort of just listens to their questions .  nodding along while ripping open a sweet n low packet and pouring it into her iced tea .  finally,  she looks at the wheel and then to the sun .  “ good .  ”   lavender,  who it has become clear was hiding behind the door way into the room and listening to the conversation,  interrupts with a throat clear .  “ would you kindly get that thing off the kitchen table ? ”  she looks at the pendant .  “ we don’t want any part of this dust you’re kicking up .  treasure huntin’ is not known for being a profession in which people live particularly long .  ”  ilene says nothing ,  stirring her tea . jasper atkinson:  treasure hunting. jasper looks up. sudden interest sparking his eye. how much was this necklace worth? could he go to college with the money? would henri share? what if he found his own bit of treasure? if anyone could solve the puzzle, it would be him. but the cards on the table told him this was something they all had to do together. it was a piece of the puzzle. he didn't say a word. part of him not wanting to get his hopes up at the thought of a way out. banks delcoy:  it's almost as if the mention of treasure hunting has his heart pausing it's pace in the cage of his ribs. mind briefly flashes to his grandfather. "are you talking about the prospero?" maybe he's pushing his luck, but there's a sense that time to ask questions is running out. "is that what this is from?" closing:  " no, " lavender says,  crossing her arms,  still staring at the pendant .  " it's about time you should be getting home, now .  have a safe trip home . "  she starts to swipe iced tea glasses and empty them in the sink .  ilene says :  " next time,  consider making an appointment .  and yes,  take that with you .  you've met the other two .  you just don't know that you've met them .  certainly though,  you lot are starting to kick up some dirt .  it's starting .  bye bye,  now .  " armed with a reusable bag filled with mostly candy but also what could feasibly pass as groceries,  selene roller skates home from work .  to her understandable surprise,  her front porch was rather populated .  there was :  a bunch of kids she went to high school with,  the guy who works at her restaurant,  and a tourist .  weird .  she stood there,  and watched,  and said nothing .  she tilted her head .  then she went inside the house and closed the screen door behind her .  she looked at her grandmother .  and her aunt .  she said : “ what the fuck ? ”  fiona,  who chose now to come out from under the kitchen table,  said :  “ they didn’t have an appointment . ”

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Drunk Punch Love: Chapter 10

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

Chapter 10: Goodbye

It all started with Joker making a toast. "You may have a serious justice boner going on, and sometimes I think you need to get that stick outta your ass, but I'm still gonna miss you, Garrus. The Normandy won't be the same without the dynamic duo annoying us all to hell."

Garrus laughed, but seemed perplexed. "Dynamic duo?"

"Yeah, you and Shep, shooting shit and making us watch, or dragging us across the galaxy on crusades, or ditching us all to go be broody leader types or whatever. She's going to be irritating without you around to distract her."

Anya wasn't sure she could take anymore of Joker's ramblings, especially when every two sentences he kept on throwing her winks. Joker on a buzz was not nearly as funny or clever as he thought he was. Standing up, she stopped the circus act. "Okay, let's take the glass away from our pilot and sit him the hell down."

Kaidan took said glass and stood next to Joker. "Aye, aye, ma'am."

With a glare, Anya sat back down and crossed her arms. "Oh god dammit, don't ma'am me."

Speaking up like the unhelpful asshole he was, Garrus just smirked at her. "I don't know, Shepard, you could pass for a ma'am."

"That's it, everyone's kicked off the ship."

Instead of feeling threatened, the three men around her just started laughing. Okay, Anya had definitely gotten too lax the past few weeks. Her subordinates didn't even take her seriously.

Before she could get snarkier, Kaidan gave her a friendly smile. "I'll get the pilot and I some water, and you two can enjoy some more time together. We don't need to have him flying drunk if the Geth show up, do we?"

As they walked out of the mess, Joker said, "I could if I had to."

Anya watched them go and couldn't kick the grin on her face. And she also watched them go because she knew if she looked back to Garrus, the pit in her stomach would form and she'd have to deal with those feelings again.

For days, ever since Liara left, she'd been sitting with a wad of uncertainty and guilt in her gut. Because the compassionate, almost infuriatingly psychic asari said as parting advice: "If you really don't want people to go, you have to tell them".

Safe to say, that wasn't very helpful with her current situation.

Sure, she wanted Garrus to stay. That was the only personal, selfish thing she'd wanted in a long time. But how she could stop him? The galaxy was in danger, and he'd... Well, she said it before. Damn turian would make a great Spectre. He wanted to make things better, which was exactly what she was fighting for. How could she stop him just because she wanted to stay that "dynamic duo"?

So, despite Liara's ominous and unhelpful advice, she looked back at Garrus and smiled like a friend. Because a friend was ready to support his aspirations wherever they took him and that's what he deserved.

Running a hand through her hair, she broke it out of the very loose and limp ponytail it was in. Anya just kept her gaze trained on his blue eyes, trying to memorize the pleasant way he was looking at her right now, with all his hopes and dreams ahead of him. She needed to remember that. "So how does it feel, being on your last mission on the Normandy?"

After Anya asked, Garrus started drumming his fingers against the table, this far off look in his eyes. "Surreal. When I first joined up with you, I thought I was crazy for trading C-Sec for an Alliance ship. I wanted to stop Saren, but I still didn't know much about humans. But now that I'm leaving..." He shook his head and downed his drink. "My world won't be the same without you- all of you."

"I know how you feel. I thought the Normandy never could feel like home without Anderson, but we made it our home again. I'm sure you'll fit in great with the Spectre program. Give me some tips they never gave me, will ya? I didn't exactly get the formal training."

He laughed, the sad kind that when it ended, it felt like an end to something greater. "Definitely. I can't wait to be able to teach you a thing or two."

"You already have. Needed some of those sniper lessons you gave me. Saved us from those damned geth turrets on The Citadel."

"You were a fine enough sniper already. Anyway, all the things you can do with a pistol terrify me."

"Yeah, but I was better because of you." Shepard sucked in a breath, knew she was getting a little too close to her own wayward feelings. "We're going to miss you, Garrus."

"Me, too." After a moment, he gave her a serious look and said, "Shepard, I-"

Anya reached across the table and touched his hand, shaking her head. She needed him to be sure and confident, because she wasn't. "Don't doubt yourself. It's about time you got out of my overinflated shadow. You're the best shot I know, the best soldier I know. You deserve more than that."

"I wasn't going to say that." Garrus turned his talons under her hand, held it like it was liable to break. Anya didn't know what that meant, but she didn't want him to let go. "I was going to say that being in your shadow has been an honor. And I loved every minute of it."

Feeling her whole heart collapse, turn into a concave hole in her chest, Anya pulled her hands away from his and held it in her lap. They started to shake; she wished they wouldn't. All that resolve she'd been proud of was crumbling into dust on her fingertips. "Don't say things like that when I have to say goodbye to you."

Garrus walked around the table and sat down in the chair next to her. It was like the air filled with lightning, and from it she could tell the slow, steady pace of his breathing. She'd been keeping up her composure the past 10 days, all she needed was to get through this simple scouting mission, send him off where he belonged, and-

But then he took her hand out from under the table and held it. "Everyone's been leaving on their own missions, and you still have Joker and Kaidan. I'm no different."

When he said that, her head jolted up and she was staring into his eyes. Anya wanted to always see his eyes. He was trying to mend her, she could tell, but she didn't want to be mended. She was a broken human and that was okay; she could live with it.

With each passing second, though, she wasn't sure she anymore if she was a broken human who could live without him. Anya tried to sound as in control as possible, and said, "Don't say that, Garrus. You know you've always been different." His eyes filled with this far off mix of concern and friendship and maybe even pity, but she didn't want to see it. She couldn't stand it anymore. "I didn't want anyone to go, but of course you're the hardest one to lose. I can't picture my world where you're not always interrupting it and reminding me to be human." Anya's mouth just kept going, and she couldn't stop it. She was leaning in close to him and it was like a drug; she was just as intoxicated as that first, fateful night. "Until that bar on Noveria with you, I think I stopped knowing if I was human at all. I can still be Commander Shepard alone, but until you I hadn't been Anya in years. I'm so afraid of losing who I am again. Garrus, I-"

And just as his forehead dipped to press against hers, and she was finally feeling some sort of strength in the out-of-control emotions she'd been spewing, the ship quaked and threw her and Garrus out of their chairs.

And then Joker was yelling over the intercom that they were under attack, the room shook, electronics exploded, and everything was on fire.

Garrus helped pull her up and the moment was gone; they were soldiers again, and they had a ship to save.

By instinct alone, she and Garrus put on their helmets and started ushering people to the escape pods. Shepard was talking to Joker and trying to assess the damage. Apparently it was an unknown vessel, shooting a giant, ship-destroying laser. They'd been hit once, and all they needed was one more hit to have the Normandy collapse in on them. Joker was doing everything he could at the helm to keep them running.

But Shepard was acutely aware this could finally be it; they could all die.

And looking at Garrus, brave and full of promise, she couldn't fucking bear it.

Walking over to him as he got the last nearby crewman onto the ship, a sleepy and frazzled Dr. Chakwas, she grabbed his suit. "Do one more quick look for other survivors, and then you get my people out of here."

"Shepard, I'm not leaving you."

Kaidan suddenly was next to them, holding a wounded helmsman. "We've gotten a lot of people out, but there's one problem: Joker's refusing to leave the ship."

"Idiot." Anya cursed and made up her mind. "Alenko, Vakarian, get these people out. I'll find Joker and send anyone else I might find toward escape pods."

As she tried to pull away, Garrus grabbed her arm. He held on like he was holding her life in her hands, but right now she didn't have time for the sentimentality of that. "And what about you? I won't let you go alone."

Her heart was racing and there was this foreign, deep-seeded, ominous fear taking hold of her. But she grabbed the edge of his helmet, pulled it forward to touch hers, and then shoved his hand off her. No matter how much she wanted to keep that voice by her side, now was not the time to ask him to stay.

To make sure he stayed alive, she had to let him go. "I'll find you. Now, that was an order. Go."

Though Garrus stood there for a moment, watching her run off towards the stairs, she eventually saw him grab two more crew members, toss them into the shuttle and, just as she was losing sight of them, hit eject.

If this really was the end, at least she'd made sure he made it out.

Now, she had a shitty younger cousin of a pilot to save.

When she made it to the command deck, the central hub was completely spaced. The ceiling hull was ripped open and all that was left was the floor walking up to the cockpit. Good thing she already had her helmet on. Making sure her boots were good to \keep her attached to the dck, she started walking across the open space.

In the darkness, she could see loose debris and pieces of her Normandy flying away. Worse, she could even see a few people. Anya kept down the vomit, watching Pressley's body float away.

Old man was a difficult officer, but he was a good one. And despite his prejudices, he was willing to learn to be better.

And now he was gone.

Walking forward to Joker, she had to assume he was there. She couldn't stand the thought of losing her ship, her crew, and him, too. Not after all they'd been through.

Finally, after what felt like eons, she stepped into the air pocket of what was left of the helm. Joker was there, slapping so many buttons and yelling into the comms like a madman. Anya couldn't even get her head straight enough to identify what he was saying.

Instead, she just grabbed a spare helmet and slapped it on his head. He said, "I'm not leaving her!"

Grabbing his shoulder and pulling him from the pilot's seat, she didn't care if she broke a bone. She wasn't losing him like this. "We're going. Now."

But just as she turned towards the last escape hatch, to the right of Joker's seat, she felt the ship beneath them crack. No. Dragging him along, she ran towards the door and opened it, throwing his ass in.

And before he could yell more, or she could get in, the ship broke underneath her. Anya knew her choices here: eject the pod and save Joker, or kill them both trying to get herself in.

So, watching the anguish in her friend's eyes, she slammed her fist on the eject button. And after his pod flew off and away from the ship, the Normandy buckled and shattered, a broken vessel that she used to call home.

Another jolt, and Shepard was thrown from the panel, hurtling through space. She could see them, though, the pods flying out in the other direction. At least a good chunk of her crew should make it, including Joker, Kaidan, Chakwas, and Garrus.

That was what mattered.

Anya could feel tears running down her face, with that final piece of solace. Finally her time came, where she was the one left behind and everyone else survived. She'd made it out alive so many missions, it was about time it happened. And if it meant they all lived, that was okay. It had to be okay. They could save the galaxy without her.

It would've been a slow death, if just then her helmet hadn't knocked into some heavy duty debris. She could suddenly feel the oxygen in her suit rushing out at a breakneck pace. Her hands were grasping, trying to cover the hole, even though it didn't matter. Her chest felt like it was getting vacuum suctioned out and the faster the air went, the faster her thoughts did, too.

At least she saved Joker. At least she told Garrus how she felt. At least she inspired all of them to save the galaxy, to become better heroes than she could ever be. At least...

And then everything faded to black.

///

This is the end of Part 1! (AKA Mass Effect 1). We will take a little detour for a few chapters into INTERMISSION: Archangel, but then we'll be back with part 2 shortly :)

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[bluesimba]

Post Glory

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Reader, Ryuji/Reader

Warnings: Heavy spoilers, explicit depictions of depression, intense grieving, and trauma.

Notes: Can we talk about how much trauma the Phantom Thieves have been through in canon

Dedicated to @ao3-actually-android <3

[I]

November 1st.

The receptionist at the front desk glances at you from under her bangs for the fourth time. She adjusts the collar of her shirt and types something with a flutter of her hands. From the corner of the waiting room, a member of your security team stares at her.

You pick up one of the magazines on the table in front of you. The glossy pages pass between your fingers, and several diagrams of the brain pop up with its functions outlined. Terms like depression and anxiety and trauma stand out on almost every page. They cycle through your head again, but this time it’s not three hours after you swallowed sleeping pills.

Breathing on beat with the ebbing and flowing of the waiting room’s music makes your head less congested.

A door locks the waiting room off from the offices, and a woman in a light pink dress steps through. Her voice carries your name. When you stand up and gesture for your security team to stay put, she smiles at you.

“Hi,” she says as she leads you to her office. “My name is Kaede. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tells you her qualifications.

“Pleasure to meet you, too! I’m sorry I had to reschedule at the last minute. It’s been pretty hectic.”

By hectic do you mean being fused with the fibers of your bed? Or avoiding the growing mountains of clutter that sprung up in your room? How about how it’s taxing to grab your phone charger from the floor? Or worst of all, not being able to articulate why you can’t do anything, instead masking it with “busy” or “hectic” or “sorry, I can’t do that today.”

“That’s no problem. Our specialized program is very flexible with our clients’ schedules.” She opens her office door for you. You take the seat next to her desk, and while you marvel at the cohesion of colors in her office, she sits behind her desk, clicks her mouse, and brings up a tab on the computer. “Before we begin, everything we talk about here is strictly between us. Nothing will be shared unless you become a threat to yourself or others.”

“Okay.”

“So, I read over your personal statement, and you mentioned you made an appointment for therapy because you feel untethered. Can you elaborate on what lead to that feeling?”

“Sure, so I’ll start with the Phantom Thieves.”

[II]

August.

Café Leblanc’s red closed sign protects you from the swarming streets. Hives of reporters frenzy outside, lanyards around their necks and cameras in hand. Your hand knocks against the salt and pepper shakers as the others crowd in the booth, with Makoto next to you. Across from you, Ryuji inhales an appetizer.

Futaba glares at Yusuke, who sips tea from a white cup. She pushes her glasses up and scrunches her nose.

“Inari, acknowledge that your left leg is shorter than your right,” she says.

“Nonsense, my legs are symmetrical, that I can assure you.”

She pulls out her phone and ignores her cup of coffee, which is four sizes too big for her. You and Makoto exchange glances.

You lean over the table to come out from the corner. “And what’s the point of arguing over Yusuke’s leg difference, Futaba? You’ve both been squabbling more ever since. . .”

Futaba halts trying to pull up Yusuke’s medical records. Sojiro stops waxing the bar just for a minute, his pink shirt now too vibrant for the solemnity washing over his face. The legs of the Phantom Thieves sit around the table, but Akira’s absence comes with its own ghost. Two years and his ghost still follows.

Makoto seems like she’s on the other side of the world, now, from you.

Akira who solves everything. Akira who acts as the unifying pillar. He makes you ache. He makes you lonely, untethered. The thrills, the disguises, the abilities, they all have his name on them. Everything about him scrambles you.

“Anyway.” You cough. “I’ve been thinking we should do something together since we’re all off right now. You know, like the good ol’ days.”

Silence resounds in Leblanc, but Ryuji grins and it warms your heart. “That’s awesome! Whaddya say, guys?” He looks around at everyone, and his enthusiasm brings everyone back together.

“That would be nice, especially since it’s been so long,” Makoto says. She shuts her eyes for a second. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”

You hum. “How about the beach? I think the last time we all went together was when we went to Hawaii a few years ago. We could pick up a game of beach volleyball!”

“And it’d be a good chance to get some sun!” Ann says.

Everyone takes out their phone calendars, and Makoto, the master of organization herself, makes quick work of it. “How does the last Saturday this month sound for everyone?” she asks.”That way we can avoid Autumn from September to November.”

November.

November.

November.

It takes you away. It stuffs your heart in your throat. Everyone else continues planning, unfazed, but Ryuji notices. And his smile dims.

Makoto calls your name, but it doesn’t register. So does Ann.

“Wendy.” Futaba puts down her phone.

You blink. Wendy. Wendy. Your real name doesn’t bring you out of it. Wendy, your alias, with a fishing hook on it tugs you out of Neverland.

“Oh, sorry.” You blink again for good measure and to reassure everyone you aren’t a stone statue. “It’s just been a. . .” Hard? Debilitating? Exhaustive for reasons you can’t articulate? “Busy time. I guess it caught up with me all at once.” There it is. Busy.

“Happens to the best of us.” Makoto smiles. “Does that date work for you?”

“Absolutely,” you say without glancing at your calendar.

Over the next fifteen minutes the Phantom Thieves disperse—Ann with a modeling gig she’s got to make, Makoto for a lunch with Sae, Yusuke to read up on art theory, Haru for a meeting, and Futaba to make memes. Ryuji is the only one who stays.

Leblanc’s quietness disturbs Ryuji to his core. You see it by the way he fidgets and leans back to yawn. When he knows you’ve caught him, he looks away.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey. What’s up?”

Sticking his elbow on the bar, he puts his hand on the side of his neck. “You can talk to me if you need to.”

Right. November. Robin Hood. Goro.

“Thank you, Ryuji.” You avert your eyes downward. “But this is something personal.”

He leans back against the booth, putting more distance between you two, and he looks. . .he looks something you can’t decipher. Wounded? No, small. After a second he brings back his smile to mend the air. “No problem. Just gotta look out for one of my best buds.”

“Hey, do you know if Morgana is stil. . .”

“Upstairs? Yeah, I think he sleeps up there sometimes, since, you know.”

“Let’s invite him to the beach with the rest of us.”

“The cat? And sand ? Now that’s something I gotta see.”

“Don’t be mean, Ryuji!”

When he laughs you have to choke down your own. The light in Leblanc hits him just right, and he looks untouched by the corruption, by the palaces, by Yaldabaoth. Hope lives in his eyes and dreams light up his cheeks.

November’s weight sits on your shoulders. Akechi Goro’s death lingers. The Robin Hood to your Wendy is sleeping. And to think, he was eighteen.

Your brother would have been twenty this year.

[III]

The beach concaves away from the rest of society. Stray beach towels spot the sand and the waves edge up to reach for their ends. Cliff edges meet the ocean under the inky new moon sky.

Tiny lights hang up on a string and frame the entrance of the restaurant you eat at. Morgana peers at Ann from the stool next to her with hearts in his eyes. Sometimes he tries to steal a glance at Futaba’s phone, only for her to yank it close to her chest. If the beach behind you disappeared, no one would blink twice.

Morgana wanders over to you and Ryuji and hops on one of the two empty stools that separate you both from everyone else. His lip curls and a smile sneaks out. You shield your bowl of ramen in case he decides to pounce on the bar. There’s not a chance in hell you’re letting him knock over this art; a prepared egg sliced clean in half with its golden yolk on display, a spread of colors blended together, and flavors that glide over your tongue and keep you coming back for more.

“Looks like you got burned, Ryuji.” He licks his paw and glances at Ryuji from the corners of his eyes.

Ryuji’s lips screw, and he tries to cross his arms but winces because of the sunburn spread over his body. “It’s not like I knew the sun was gonna be raging today.” He looks at you. “And you knew and didn’t tell me!”

You laugh. “Sorry, but you should’ve brought the sunscreen anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. At least I wasn’t afraid to get in the water.”

A smirk cuts your lips, and you cover Morgana’s ears. “Don’t make fun of him! Of course he wouldn’t get in the water!” Turning to Morgana, you coo at him in a voice you know makes his skin crawl. “That punk didn’t mean it, Morgana. Don’t listen to him. I’ll protect you.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t get in, either! And who are you callin’ a punk?”

When you uncover Morgana’s ears, he takes the chance to slip away.

“Oh come on, Ryuji, you were being a little punk-y.”

“Was not!”

“Really? Then maybe we should get everyone else’s opinions.”

Before you can call out to everyone and make Ryuji’s skin even brighter, he hoists you up and throws you over his shoulder. He winces but starts walking to the shoreline.

“Did you forget you were sunburned?”

Two beats of silence echo between you two before he answers. “It’s no big deal. Besides, you’re getting wet at least once today.”

The fool. The absolute buffoon. The heat under your face erupts.

“You’re hopeless, Ryuji.”

He says something you don’t catch because blood detonates in your ears over and over again. Your heart chokes on an overload of sugar. It’s buried in a sugary grave. You protest by muttering into his shoulder.

Only a few inches of space are between you and the water by the time he stops walking. He’s a few inches shy of being chest-deep. If you flick your foot down, you’d skim the water for sure, but there’s no fun in tearing his dream of dunking you away.

“Hold on, gimme a sec.”

That doesn’t sound good.

It isn’t.

He shifts you around and you flail, then you wind up in his arms. Your heart, stuffed with sugar, is revived by the way he looks at you. Light rosy tinges whip over his cheeks, and he turns his head away from you for a second.

Once he collects himself, he counts off with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“One, two. . .”

“Just do it already!”

When he lets go, you see him mouth the number three. The water floods over your face and body, and you seal your eyes shut.

It’s quiet, here. You kick up some sand with your heel while trying to get your bearings straight, but the ocean swallows the noise. All you have is how the grainy the sand feels.

How did Goro feel on that sinking ship? Explosive? Confused? Destroyed?

Helpless?

Did you even know your brother well?

How can you even attempt to understand the pits of helplessness and wrath he drowned in when something like this—going for a swim—sets you off? How can you grieve for so long and know so little?

Someone’s calling your name, but the sounds are muffled by the water.

Ryuji plunges his hand in and brings you back. The ocean’s surface breaks with your head, and your resurfacing looks less “majestic mermaid with perfect hair” and more “air exists and it’s delicious.”

After a second he brings you close to him, wrapping you in a hug. You press against his collarbone.

“Ryuji, what’s wrong?”

“I just got worried, ‘s all.”

You pull back. “Well, I’m all right. You made sure of that when you pulled me out. See? Nothing bad would’ve happened.”

He avoids your gaze. “I tried calling your name.”

“I think I heard that. You might’ve had better luck if you called me Wendy. Seems like I can hear that from around the world.”

Wendy tells you what to say, how to smile, what to wear, what to think, and who to be. If you do everything she says, you can stand next to Robin Hood and Peter Pan and all the other fairytale characters who are bound to the pages of their own stories. Wendy makes you worthy.

She was always the press’ favorite.

“I ain’t gonna call you Wendy. ‘s not who you are.” He says your name under the moonless sky in such a way that it might break if the ocean got too close to it. “You ain’t Wendy.”

You aren’t Wendy.

You aren’t Wendy.

“I—I appreciate that. A lot.”

He looks at the beach. “You don’t gotta thank me. Let’s get back before the others come lookin’ for us.”

Both of you tread in silence. After a minute the water slides off you, but the sand sticks to your wet feet as you climb out of the ocean. You both wander over to his beach towel; its colors were blasted dry by the sun earlier.

When you sit down, you sit close to him and your shoulders bump. Beads of water trail your neck, your arms, and your legs. You glimpse him staring out at the ocean.

“It’s nice being out here,” you say. You reel back the words “with you” when you think about Akira.

“Yeah? Can’t say I’ve ever had a sunburn this big before.”

You roll your eyes and bring your knees to your chest, but the smile sailing over your lips slips out. “Which is because you didn’t bring sunscreen.”

“Pffft, there’s no way a stupid sunburn’s gonna get a leg up on me.”

Along the beach there are sandcastles, some in perfect condition, some folded in on themselves, and some that exist only as lumps of sand. A tiny red and white store-bought flag pokes out of a collapsing one. The tide rolls in and out and chips away at the ones along the shoreline.

“It’s kind of nice to be away from the world for a bit,” you say. “You know? Sequestered away from the reporters and everything.”

He puts his arms behind and lies on his back. “You’re telling me. Been hounding us ever since our identities were released. I mean, who does that! We were seventeen!”

“We were seventeen and arguably the most powerful force in Japan.”

“C’mon, we were kids. You should know how all that affected us better than anyone. You’re majoring in psych and all that stuff.”

“By affected you mean the stress it’d have on a developing teenage brain?”

“That! Someone should tell all those reporters to read up on that shit.”

Streams of conversation come from the restaurant. The rest of the Phantom Thieves tell jokes and bicker and bask in the restaurant’s lighting. Judging from that spilling sound, Morgana jumped on the bar.

“They’ve been hanging around my favorite places. It got bad a few weeks ago,” you say.

“Whadda they want?”

You shift. “An interview with Wendy.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “Tell ‘em to screw off. You don’t know a Wendy.”

Leaning against him right now would be nice. You’d fit next to him well, and he’d sling his arm over your shoulders. Under the moonless sky, you’d both be two halves of a complete moon.

But you do know a Wendy. If you were stronger, you could evict her right now with his help. She reminds you of the abilities you had and the times where it was you and the Phantom Thieves versus the world. She reminds you of Goro.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Waves continue to crash. Tiny sounds from the ecosystem of the beach wade between you both. He chews the inside of his cheek. When he breathes, it smothers the tiny sounds and the conversations from the restaurant.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’,” he says.

“About?”

He sits up and rubs the back of his neck. “Everything we did, I guess. Changed a lot of stuff.”

You laugh. “It’d be kind of weird if nothing changed when we fought a god. Besides, I thought you’d enjoy the spotlight.”

“You kiddin’? I can’t even run in peace without someone on my ass.”

“Well.” A quick brush of your hands takes some of the sand off, and you get up and hold out your hand. “You can always try now. I’ll race you to fire up that competitive spirit!”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

He clasps his hand in yours. “Yeah? Don’t cry when you lose.”

[IV]

Doctor Kaede slides a box of tissues to the corner of her desk and you pluck one to have something to hold onto. “What you’re feeling is valid. Have you discussed your grief with anyone else?”

“Only one person, Akira.”

“What about him made you open up?”

Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, Futaba, Okumura, Sae, Shido. Hell, the collective social conscious of everyone wrapped up in the endless tracks of Mementos! How many times do you need to add Yaldabaoth to that list, too? Everyone talks about the humans the Phantom Thieves changed, but no one mentions the cosmic-defying entities you defied by daring to be your own people. Akira brought a rag-tag group of teenagers together to challenge the very fabric of the universe.

“I don’t know, really. I guess I thought if anyone could understand, it’d be him. He was the closest to Goro.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Were you close to your brother?”

You fidget and rub the side of your neck. “We didn’t have that kind of relationship in the traditional sense. He had a hard time opening up, refused to, most of the time. I didn’t know anything about him other than that Shido was somehow involved, but there was something different when Akira showed up.”

“And how did you cope with Goro’s. . .actions?”

She might as well stamp the word “murderer” on his forehead. Is she wrong?

Of course! He was tossed aside by Shido and manipulated as a kid!

No, she isn’t. Goro did that of his own free will.

Come on, you of all people know the toll abuse and manipulation takes on a child.

I know. I know he was in unimaginable pain.

Then why are you sitting here and betraying him?

I’m not betraying him. These are the facts of the situation. I wanted to help him!

You can’t even imagine what he went through. Stop trying. You even admitted some guy got closer to your brother in one year than you did in your whole life.

We’re still family .

“I probably could’ve coped better.”

[V]

October.

Leblanc’s lights give you a headache.

“You gonna be okay, kid?” Sojiro asks as he unfastens his apron.

Hunched over with your forehead against a table, you groan. The bags under your eyes drag your face down, but hey, who needs concealer when no one can see your face?

“Wake me up when people obsess over something else.”

He walks over and pats your shoulder. “You can stay if you lockup. Remember to turn off everything when you leave this time.”

The door opens before you answer. Light, airy, almost, the bell rings. You lift your head, blinking, and turn toward the door. Who comes into a café five minutes before closing? His slim silhouette stands in the doorway while rain splatters on the pavement. Great, you know he’s the type to order something extravagant, expect it in two minutes, and stall closing.

Sojiro whistles and puts one of his hands on his hips. He smiles. “Finally decided to show your face around here, huh, kid?”

In one second he goes from being a stranger to someone who causes the ache in your heart; a curly black head of hair and glasses. Now, though, he’s taller, and the blazer he wears looks like it was plucked from a high-end fashion designer’s wardrobe.

“Akira,” you say. The table wobbles under your hands when you jut up. His very presence reinforces the chronic loneliness, the hollowness everyone tried to patch up with promises to get together, and the messages you and Ryuji and Makoto and Futaba—and everyone sent that were left on read or met with a single word response.

Shock registers on Sojiro’s face when you storm up to Akira, and in some place deep, deep, deep down in your head, a twinge of, what is it—shame or fear?—rears its head. But fuck it. If you looked away, Akira could pull one of his disappearing stunts.

“You asshole!” You jab a finger at him, grind your teeth, seethe, and do all the things that say I hate you, I hate you, I hate you .

Wide-eyed, Sojiro steps in to break you apart. “Hey, hey, hey—”

Akira holds out his hand. “It’s fine.”

“Two years, Akira! You could have called or texted or something, but you didn’t.” You ball your fists. “You vanished.”

Him being here means you need to answer a question: how much can you matter to someone who up and leaves?

“Both of you sit down and cool off,” Sojiro says. “I’ll make you a drink.”

Being a foot and a half away from Akira who now sits across from you makes your jaw tight. The pot in the back brews coffee.

Akira looks you in the eyes. “You’re right to be angry.”

You cross your arms over your chest.

“I needed to make sure no one would cause you any issues,” he says.

“We’ve been followed for the last two years by reporters, Akira. Anyone we know has been hounded, too. Sae’s gotten so much more shit outside the courtroom. We scrubbed Mementos, but there will always be bad intentions.”

Sojiro walks over with your drinks in hand, sets them down in front of you both, and gives you each a glance.

“Thank you,” Akira says. He picks up the mug and brings it to his lips.

“I’ll be in the back. Don’t burn anything down, kid.”

When Sojiro disappears into the back, Akira sets the mug down.

“I wasn’t talking about the press,” he says.

Oh.

“You should’ve told us. We could’ve worked together so you didn’t have to do it on your own.” You look down. “We needed you, too. I needed you, Akira.”

He places his hand on yours. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

Tears line the bottom of your eyes and spill over. “It’s hard when everyone asks about him, you know? And it’s been two years so I feel like I’m supposed to be over it, but I’m not . I keep feeling it again and again and again.” You place your other hand over his. “You have to know how it feels, Akira. No one else gets it. You have to know.”

He says your name, and if your sniffles were any louder, you would have missed it. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Yeah, you need this.

“Where?”

“Trust me.”

He offers you his arm when he gets up, and you cling to him with the skin on your arm and hand touching his blazer.

“Always.”

Quiet streets listen to your footsteps as you take the back alleys. When you're here with him, will the portals come back while you round the corners? Your grip on him tightens. Rain pelts the umbrella.

“You’re nervous,” he says.

“And whose fault is that?”

He smirks.

You pass the little red arcade nestled away from the world where you met Akira for the first time, the old bookstore with a joined café where you ran into him the second time, and a closed movie theater where he got your number the third time. Then, a park comes into view. The wet grass bends to your feet as you both walk to the bench with an overhang.

The wooden bench squeaks when you both sit down, and Akira folds up the umbrella, then leans it against the bench. Ducks waddle out from the pond hidden by bushes.

“I was starfished out on the grass here and screaming when you asked me to join the Phantom Thieves,” you say.

“Morgana thought you were in pain.”

“Oh, I was. I was cramming verb and adjective conjugations. That time feels close and far away at the same time, you know?”

Whenever he casts a glance at you, it’s distant. You could lean against his shoulder, intertwine your fingers, and have your skin on his, but the barrier between you holds. Your heart remains content in your chest instead of lurching in your throat.

He whispers your name. “You talked about Goro earlier.”

Wailed, more like it, but yeah.

“You’re grieving,” he says. “I think seeing a professional would help you.”

What? Your eyes open wide. Does he think you can’t handle it? Does he think you’re broken? Stop. You take a deep breath. You’re not broken. Seeking therapy doesn’t make you broken or fragile. It makes you strong.

“Why?”

“I’m concerned about you. I know an office. They helped me with my trauma.” He puts his hand on yours.

Trauma? Was it trauma? Okumura’s death. Goro’s insatiable craving for revenge. Your brother looking at you, red blood vessels popping in his eyes, like he’d kill you. He said he would. Sweeping away the terrifying sides of Goro let you file everything you don’t like away and lock them up.

When Akira touches you, why do you wish he was Ryuji?

Your nails leave imprints on your palms, little crescent moons. “Can you send me their phone number?”

“Sure.”

All of Akira’s attributes line up with what you want on paper: charismatic, intelligent, sociable. So, why, when he scoots closer to you, do you want him to be Ryuji? Why do you want Ryuji’s arm slung around you and for him to pull you close?

“Akira, what do I mean to you?”

You watch the ducks. He looks at you.

“Everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand. “I know.”

[VI]

You puncture holes in the tissue and avoid Doctor Kaede’s eyes.

“Before we end our first session, are you aware of the model the Five Stages of Grief?” She pulls out a piece of paper with the stages of them in one column—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

“Yes.”

“Are you practicing self-care strategies?” She runs her finger down the other column, and you hone in on one or two of the thirty or more strategies.

“Sometimes, but it’s hard to talk about when I don’t know how to put the words together.” You jam your hands together.

She nods. “Grief is especially difficult to navigate because we’re not taught how to cope and understand what we’re feeling. If you’re comfortable, talking about how you’re feeling with people you trust could also help. Sometimes we seek external understanding because we’re unsure of how we feel on the inside.”

Akira—you poured and projected on him. He became your only emotional outlet.

“Grief comes in stages and everyone processes it in different ways. No matter what, you’re not alone.”

“Thank you, Doctor Kaede.” You smile. “Can I make a follow-up appointment for next week?”

You’re not alone. You’re never alone.

[VII]

November 2nd.

You hole yourself up in your apartment, as per usual on the second of November. Glimmering stars peek through your closed curtains. All at once, numbness takes you and keeps you suspended from the rest of the world.

Rings from your phone don’t bring you down. Each minute passes on lethargic legs, and you don’t need anything or anyone to tell you it’s 12:34 a.m. As soon as it was 12:01, you knew. Packets of candy litter your nightstand. You sink into your bed.

Someone raps their knuckles against your door. You turn away from it.

Ryuji calls your name.

You slug one leg out from underneath the blankets, then the other leg. The cool doorknob sends a shiver up your spine.

“Hey,” Ryuji says. He takes a moment to catch his breath. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to run.”

One blink, then two, then three. He’s here for you. He remembered, and your throat constricts.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“Wanna sit outside?”

“Yeah, I do.”

You step out, closing the door behind you. Autopilot takes over when you lead him to a sitting area with two foldable chairs next to each other. Instead of sitting, you wander over to the gray railing and peer down to the busy street. He stands next to you, and you let the silence talk between you two.

Akira is everything you want on paper, but Ryuji—Ryuji is real and here. You touch his hand and trace the veins.

“Thanks for remembering, Ryuji.”

He catches every flutter of your eyes, and when you lean into him, he laces your fingers together. His hands, steady and warm, ground you.

“‘course, I’d do anything for you.”

You ask him a medley of questions: Why are you putting so much effort in? Why do I feel this again and again and again? Why can’t I let go?

Please, will you stay?

But they all roll themselves together when you look into his eyes, hands still intertwined, and breathe his name: “Ryuji.”

His name is air for your lungs. His touch is the sun walking on your skin. His closeness is a catharsis you’d only ever caught in Neverland before.

He brushes the side of your face with his free hand and kisses your forehead under the half moon. “Anything for you.”

Together, in time, you both could make a full moon.

[scenarihoes]

Hi, odd request and I suck at explaining so write whatever you what on this, just need more of my bird boy here. Tokoyami having a crush on a support course student and he writes a edger Allen Poe/speakpeare sort of journal about his thoughts and has a page on his feelings for her and compares her to the Greek goddesses athena and Persephone. Just being a real sappy boi and his crush somehow finds out about this and they sit on his bed while she reads it and he is just absolutely dying. (Sorry)

CUTE CUTE CUTE CUTE CUTE

nights in white satin

tokoyami fumikage // reader

————

Fingers drag over satin bedsheet, hair and feather splayed over the surface. Unlike you, content albeit abashed with a notebook caught between your fingers, Tokoyami feels like his heart may truly leap from his chest. Everytime he watches your eyes scan the lines of text his pulse grows just a bit quicker- anxiety, anticipation. With the words you read written from the very pencils bound by his hands, he may as well be naked before you. He feels exposed- but he’s unsure if it’s uncomfortably so. 

She is Athena

The first line read, scribbled, hasty.

Courage, wisdom, time and strength

and to whom do I owe the thanks

of placing her beside me, of planting her feet to the soil

rooting and blooming inside me, within this beating heart

and within this empty chest concaved to build a garden

in its wake, and to turn tragedy, to beauty. 

Rib to vine, just as fear to growth.

Although he feels like he should say something to burst the heavy silence, he does not. He can’t bring himself just yet; you aren’t done reading. Instead he decides to wait until the cue is given. Like a statue, he lays beside you and swallows hard. 

A soft, gentle sigh escapes your lips and he makes his stomach do flips. Your free hand points a finger at the lines you read along with internally.

“I like this one,” You murmur happily. “Do you really think of me like that?”

Quickly he glances at the line in question. 

If she is not Athena, than she is Persephone

and I shall be Hades.

Once again a harsh swallow forced Tokoyami’s throat to constrict. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton- he clears his throat and says, “...Yes.”

You smile. Cute. Silence as you drag your finger along the pages of scribbled words upon the notebooks worn paper. 

I will bleed pomegranates dry on her tongue, sprawl the flowers in her crown

In her mane and upon her cheeks

and I will let her breathe a new life into me

One of color

Of trust and lacking in dripping decadence.

“You have such a beautiful way of words.” The ends of your sentence are dulled with an exhale. Even though the bedroom is dark, only lit by the dullness of his candles, he doesn’t need to lay eyes upon your expression to understand your benevolence. The warmth in your tone makes his stomach stir in a sort of delight he hadn’t anticipated before. 

From the very moment you’d asked him if you could explore the poetry he’s written, you in mind and muse, he’d felt like he was drowned by emotion. Tenacity, anxiety, affection. Even if you hated the poems he knew you well enough to know that those malicious thoughts would never see the light of day. It comforts him just as much as it makes him cautious. 

His words had always been the largest part of himself. Poetry lay at his core, watchful eyes searching for muses. He always settled upon you- his favorite subject.

You flipped the page and he’s choking all over again.

“Can I read more?” You ask, and though he feels like there’s weight in his chest, he remembers the garden. Petals scratch the back of his throat. 

“You may.” 

How you can even read the messiness of his writing, he’ll have to spend the rest of his life guessing. Sometimes he writes so fast even he himself, the composer, cannot understand the scrawls of pencil on paper. 

Dove and crow, a pitfall and pit full of feathers.

“I like that line, too. Am I the Dove?” Looking up at him, he’s sure if he wasn’t feathered in black you’d see the flush on his face. He nods once, and you giggle such a sweet laugh that he has to shut his eyes and relish in the sound. Not just cute, adorable. Astounding, staggering, breathtaking. A sound that he couldn’t go without hearing, again.

The gears in his mind grind- he can feel a new poem mapping out within his mind as you continue your quest through his recorded thoughts. 

For the first time

I touch stars and I feel light

Eating and splitting and driving me into two,

Two halves of myself, a strike down the center

and For the first time,

I shine within the darkness. I beacon amongst the shadows,

and I do not see the monster shrouded in black,

But feathers. 

Tufts of angelic white and a thousand shimmering halos

a thousand different raptures.

I see her and the outstretching of my arms, the unhinging of my jaws,

The golden blood bleeding from petal and thicket sewing me back to one.

For the first time,

even in the chaos,

I am whole.

Slowly, slowly, you turn to see him. He can feel the intimacy of your gaze, as well as he can sense the vulnerability. You look at him as he looks at you- the holder of everything. Star catcher, star eater, the center of such a great broad universe.

It’s then he realizes that this is a moment he could have never gone without. The fear urges him to look back and remember just how tenderly you look up at him with your finger still lingering at the final word of his poem.

“This is...” Your head turns forward, eyes scanning over the lines all over again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s just-...” You swallow. “These are so beautiful, I-I don’t... Do you really think of me like this?”

Love swells in his chest. Carefully he reaches out and plucks the notebook from your hand, closes it and sets it on the empty space between him and the wall. 

“All of that and more,” His voice is much steadier than he’d thought it would be. “I think of you as everything, and more.”

Your hands close around nothing. Rolling over to face him, you lay on your side, look up at him with awed eyes. The candles light paint them with spectacular hues.

“How do you come up with all that? Does it take a while?”

“Not usually. I often write just as the ideas come into my head.”

For a long moment, your eyes leave in him sudden contemplation. He reaches out and touches his hand to the side of your face and let’s his eyes fall halflidded when you look up at him warmly.

“...Can you come up with anything on the spot?” 

Tokoyami’s eyes rewiden all over again. “Right now?”

You nod. “O-Only if you want to!”

It’s a lucky moment in history when he know’s exactly what to say. Since the moment you’d began reading he’d been building his lines in his head, waiting for the moment to write them down. He takes into account the words, the expressions, the lucidity of your eyes tracing his pensmanship so brutal even he the creator has troubles recreating the ideas in the depths of his mind. 

His eyes soften as he pets your cheek. You still stare at him like you’re in trouble just for asking. 

“Okay,” He takes in a breath, and begins.

“You’re the flower that outmatches the raging winds. Petals that bloom even without the rays of lights, thriving within the darkest depths and the most fearsome corners. With you, there is the light, and hope. All that touch you feel the dust of your pollen on their fingers, like moth to flame, like humankind to warmth. Even against the face of time and change you remain steady, a symbol of love, of kindness and bravery and shelter to those too afraid to face the light waiting for them.”

It’s flows from him without skipping a beat.

His eyes close, body going lax. Speaking the words out loud rather than writing them feels foreign on his tongue, but he welcomes the oddity. 

“Out of this entire world, I consider myself the luckiest person to be at your side. You strike me as light strikes darkness, as good strikes not evil, but the lost.”

“You considered yourself lost, before you met me?” You ask in such a small voice. 

“I considered myself not lost, but without. I hadn’t realized what I was missing before there was you. After the moment you were a presence in my life I felt drawn to you as night is drawn to day, always chasing. I was afraid, in the time before you approached me, that I would never understand what it meant to be a person within your life. Such a beautiful creation could never have been mine.” Tokoyami runs his hand through your hair and shuts his eyes. “I believed that I bound to nothing but darkness, but you’ve certainly convinced me otherwise.”

A hand catches his wrist and he peeks his eyes open, looks down to see your figners wrapped around him. You smile. 

“I’m happy that I could convince you otherwise. You really are amazing, you know that?”

Tokoyami is frozen in his place for a moment, staring. Then, suddenly, he brings you close to him. He tucks your head underneath the feathers of his chin and feels content, he feels peace. You make happy sounds in the back of your throat and pet over his softness with soft hands. 

He still isn’t sure who to thank exactly for allowing him such a blissful moment, such a person to welcome in his arms. His entire life spent jaded in such a casual way that only a watchful eye could see it, just for all those hard edges to grind and preen and erode until you could touch him without worry.

More poem worm their ways into his mind. They always will, until the ends of his time. He sighs sweetly againt the top fo your head and pets down the length of your back, feels you melt against him.

Just as light will always find the darkness, you will always find each other. 

[harryglom]

Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

Clock after clock stacked floor to ceiling. A chorus of tick-tocking and tock-ticking. Old and gold, ornate and engraved, bare and blank, international, novelty and nautical and a cuckoo clock or two. At the centre, the ones with darker edges of black firs and autumn wood matched with one another in a circle. In the centre of this circle were two lines drawn by a set of clocks of brighter colours, of white edges and silvers. Altogether they built a mosaic of clocks and, drawn as one, became a single giant clock in and of itself. A bazaar of sound, it was like being perched inside a beating heart. The display being so intricate, you have to ask, whose got the time?

One might also think to ask: is it safe for a psychiatrist's waiting room to have such an absurd array of clocks? If reality has become fragile to someone in some way as to lead them into his or her care, they probably shouldn't adorn their walls with displays that could be interpreted as a personal affront to a person's peculiarity. Or, at least in my experience of the room so far, a pointed statement of one's own alienation and madness.

The secretary chewed sourly on her pen, sucking and un-sucking in time with each loudly punctuated second. Her eyes were full of contempt, colourless and glazed over by the poison of her own perceived wasted potential. She looked like the ink had been slowly drawn into her lips and, year on year, sapped into her pale skin and made one with her blood. Her name was Irma Loveless and she didn't seem the person who could appreciate the irony of her name.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

She wasn't amused. She stared blankly through me, threw the pen onto the desk and walked across the room to the bathroom down the hall. The door thudded behind her and left me wondering if she makes that same sour face when she's taking, as can only be deduced by her unwavering demeanour, a powerfully hateful shit. Secretary, a word that used to wear its heart on its sleeve. Now pronounced sek-rah-terry, once was secret-ary: a bank of secrets. Is there any more fitting place for such a title than within ear shot of a therapy session? Perhaps the troubles of the world have meddled their way into her life as sullen ghostly whispers. Or perhaps she's just a cunt.

Sara Simmons leaves the doctor's office. A frail middle-aged woman, Sara can best be described as a blonde perm hanging at the end of a mop. She's always jangling her bag and twitching her taut and bony arms looking for something. I don't think she'd know relaxation if it hit her in the face with rohypnol. She used to come in here with her husband until her madness was deemed by the psychiatrist not to be shared. He was a banker, a big guy who looked at the other patients as if there should be a VIP room to separate him from the riff-raff. He was a man with big money, big decisions and a big dick attitude. He had no time for emotions besides a hunger for domination and a suicidal thought or two. Now she comes in alone, twice a week, with an irrational fear of time. I wonder why?

She told me all this last Tuesday despite my best performance of a certifiably anti-social Grade-A nutjob. I suppose for 200 pounds an hour, you've got to make your moneys worth where you can. I'm not a doctor but from the stolen minutes of self reflection she's inflicted upon the waiting room, I'd diagnose her with an incurable case of a terrible personality. She gives me a weak smile before leaving money in an envelope on Irma's desk. She's stopped charging the credit card: her husband thinks she's at brunch with the girls. Like he'd care, she'd say with a sudden vigour, a crack of pained breath splintering the air, hoping someone or something in the universe would challenge her. The last thing she does when she leaves is tie up her navy blue scarf, a cotton stream beneath the frazzled bolts of sun that comprise her hair, covering the air between her shirt and pale throat and I struggle to not momentarily consider picturing a noose.

Mr Peterson would usually be next, waddling in from his time-machine life of waist coats and romantic poetry memorised verbatim, a stanza or two left to linger in the waiting room like a sudden burst of sunlight.

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Selfishly, the Dickensian odd-ball went and died on us. He joined his husband and Byron in the big clouds in the sky and left us behind in a cultural wasteland, adrift like the boss-eyed soldiers wading through the embers of Dresden. Matching craters in the earth and their skin, concave boils of led and blood, where once joy and life resided in. We're all looking, like Byron said, for the moment where the fates change horses.

Irma returned unchanged and motioned me through to the doctor's office. I'll have to rethink my diagnosis of poisoned blood and bowel extremities and go with what is most simple: a cunt, a total and utter cunt. I nod at her and the curtesy goes unrecieved, her eyes drawn to the floor as she slams the door behind. It was a white fire door-- heavy enough that a slam requires deliberate, rehearsed and methodical engagement. Yes, a cunt indeed.

"Oscar, what can I help you with today?" Doctor Mathis says as she pins her round framed glasses onto the thin bridge of her nose. She sits cross legged in a pallid green skirt suit and her silvery blonde hair hangs above the lightly frayed cotton edges of her jacket collar. She is a vision of grandmotherly serenity and she speaks with a honeyed-glass transatlantic accent. "Been too busy being sane to see me?"

This is a reference to our last session, a month prior, where happiness had coursed easy through me like a summer's breeze. I always get hyperbolic when I'm happy and so the usually pointed words of sane and insane avoided by psychiatrists have become part of our regular vernacular. They probably didn't teach her this when she got her PHD but sometimes, for the right patient, we need to be mocked out of our self indulgence. I suppose, not mocked so far as to stop paying 200 pounds a session to discuss nothing but oneself but who am I to judge? I'm the one who is insane.

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

I've made a game of deciphering my psychiatrists when I get bored of myself. I play detective, scan outfits for clues, ticks and habits, the rings and life around their eyes. Divorced? Former addict? A late-starter? A sexual maniac who feeds off the madness of others? She's the first one who ever picked up on it, grinning with amusement, noticing me noticing her.

"Its hard being watched for you isn't it? Being vulnerable to observation. Those who feel themselves cast outside their lives, feeling scrutinised, often seek control in casting others in the same place." She never stuttered or paused. She simply removed the purple beaded bracelets she habitually played with, the ones I had been not so surreptitiously eyeing up throughout the conversation. The beads rattled for a moment on the table and she leaned forward like a drawn arrow. "Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?"

She's always like that, audaciously perceptive in a way only a good psychiatrist can be. Sometimes in doctors offices there is a lot of excess data, the human folly of pinning significance on that which has none, wrapped up in narratives perceived to be influenced by everything but that which has truly influenced them. Once we had core experiences and reactions, simple emotional mathematics. Now we have existential self awareness and who needs it, to end up like Sara Simmons? Yet sometimes something slips through the cracks, strikes a chord brighter than lightning, lingers in the lexicon of your brain, rigidly unforgotten like your worst nightmare or deepest regret. Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?

Instead in this session we discuss the pitfalls of self awareness, mindful not to mention Sara after the swift and stern rebuke Dr Mathis dealt me the last time I mentioned another patient in her presence. I perfunctorily professed my regret, admitting that I'm a bit of a bastard. She said outside of these walls that would not count as an apology. There's always something being avoided like the remaining broccoli on a sweet tooth kid's plate. Aimless philosophy and scathing observation are my chocolate pudding. I wonder if beneath the frailty Sara Simmons is the same-- using wellness as a pastime, branding Mr Peterson a poof, Irma a piece of work and me a creep. Little did she know that I am all three.

"I'm sometimes not in control of my thoughts." I spring forth, hoping to jumpstart anything other than auto-pilot conversation. She holds silent with her pen poised. "I've told you before, my brain whirs past me. It's like life is happening over here in one part of my brain and me, the real me, is off to the side."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

Even in a place as safe as this, the last word hits me like a knife edged boomerang, severing her pleasantries and my dignity at the throat. I can feel her eyes on me, I know they're gentle but even in her profession she must sometimes be afraid.

"We've talked about moral scrupulosity before. It's very common and not indicative of the rationality of people with your condition." She says "Much as popular culture would have you believe otherwise."

She knows I like horror movies. I used to talk about them a lot when I first came here, that they were all to blame; Freddie, Jason and Jigsaw, and of course Hannibal the Cannibal. They danced in my dreams, finger nails, steak knives and masks, bonfires of depravity ablaze beneath my eyelids. Yet in daylight, my thoughts never showed them holding the weapon. It was never them squeezing the life, bubbling bursting cartoon eyeballs left lopsided, pinning fur-skins to the walls. She talked me down from thinking I was one of them.

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

I suppose it is rather funny in a way, those dark corners of thoughts that never belonged to you. A summer's day, cherry blossom and silver maple seed twisting into your conditioned hair and artisanal ice cream when your brain decides to ponder what that short woman would look like hanging from a tree. A building in flames at the slightest shame of a cracked voice, to think of nothing else but the sound of their screams. Or a man who cuts in line at the coffee shop being crumpled by construction, loose scaffolding, metal bolts and beams where his face should be. I suppose it is rather funny. Unfortunately, it's not for me.

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

Surrendering, always surrendering. Surrendering to impulses to run away, surrendering to happiness, surrendering to love and for all the money in the world I can't stand the possibility of surrendering to myself. She leans forward again, closer with her hands on her knees, and gestures for me to open up towards her again.

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"Because for all my medicine, mental tricks and multiple degrees" She takes off her glasses to clean them again. "I don't have the answers to everything. I have only what we all have-- the present moment."

I look up at her, with glistening eyes that say the honey moon is over. Her eyes are calm, still as the shores of emerald green seas. In the silence, the clock ticks enter the from the other room. It doesn't startle me, it becomes a part of me, my brain ticking forward with it, ready to strike a new hour for my life. Of course, this hour has been and gone many times but it rings true as the bells of midnight every time.

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for a moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grown too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

I heave open the fire door and clear out of Irma's way before she gets to take up my space. I don't make eye contact with anyone on the way out nor skirt my eyes over the weirdest wall in the world. I just glare over the empty chair where Mr Peterson would sit. As I walk onto the pavement, the high trills of bird calls replacing the sterile ticking of the clocks, the world rushes back to me. A flash in my brain, for once pleasant, recalled a poem he once said.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

   Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

   Dies at the opening day.

Silvery upon the leaves, beams of gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis.

I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.

[uneryx]

The Bridge Between - Ch 1

As promised - some fanfic Fandom: The Dragon Prince Summary: Callum, Rayla and Zym make their way through Xadia. As they continue their quest, they learn more about themselves and each other. Basically a fan season 3, picking up right where season 2 left off and probably diverging from canon.  Tags: No warnings, Gen-ish, Rayla, Callum, Azymondias, Sol Regem, Original Characters, Fan Season 3, 2 Nerds and a Baby, Worldbuilding based on speculation, very slow burn

Read on AO3 here

Dawn rose over the precipice of the canyon, illuminating a long, golden form ahead of them, and Rayla’s heart sank. They had made it, hadn’t they? After all the hardship and fighting and heartbreak, finally she had brought Callum and Zym into Xadia, only for their hopes to be dashed.

“Oh no,” she breathed, holding out an arm to stop Callum from plunging ahead without caution. The archdragon before them lifted his massive crowned head, and turned to face them. His eyes were scarred, singed closed by the blast of dark fire he’d endured at his downfall all those years ago. A fallen king, but not one easily forgotten. She named him, reverent and fearful all at once.

“Sol Regem.”

The former Dragon King was, in fact, blind, but Rayla didn’t doubt that his nose or hearing were as keen as ever, if not more. She had mere seconds to act. “Follow my lead!” she hissed to Callum, urgently ushering Zym back into the backpack (which he was quickly outgrowing). The wyrmling whimpered, but with a stern ‘don’t even think about questioning me right now’ glare from Rayla, he curled up and tucked his nose under the feathers of his tail with a sad expression in his eyes.

“I smell humans.” Sol Regem was standing now, his massive form blocking out the sunlight and casting him in silhouette. Callum swallowed hard behind Rayla, and clutched the backpack with Zym inside tighter. For her part, Rayla steeled herself, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward.

“Th-that would be us, your grace,” she replied. Her voice quavered more than she would have liked, so she cleared her throat. “We’ve returned from the human kingdoms and probably reek from our journey.”

Sol Regem’s lip curled as he snarled, a deep rumble that shook the canyon and stirred something animal within them all, urging them to run and hide. “I am aware of what an elf returning from human lands smells like,” the archdragon retorted, voice low and menacing. “And what you have with you is a human.”

“Oh y-yeah?” Callum cleared his throat as his attempt to sound brave came out as a squeak. “Could a human do this?” He drew a glowing blue rune in the air, three concave strokes within each other, and inhaled. “Aspiro.”

Sol Regem sniffed the air as it blew around him. “Interesting,” he rumbled. “That is indeed competent Sky magic, and yet I cannot smell the petrichor and ozone of a primal stone.” He paused, thinking, tail tapping the rock below him idly. And after a brief moment, he bade Callum “Come forward, boy.” The tone of his command left no room for dissent.

At Callum’s panicked glance, Rayla shooed him forward, taking the backpack from him. Don’t keep him waiting, she urged with her eyes. Zym peeked out from the backpack and quietly whimpered, until Rayla shushed him and pushed him back inside.

On shaking legs, Callum stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between him and Sol Regem, the infamous solar archdragon that had razed a human city before the division. He didn’t remember all of that particular history lesson, but Callum DID remember that it had been a human mage – the first dark mage - who had blinded him thus… and who had also drawn his ire. All in all, not someone he was terribly keen on meeting in person.

He swallowed hard as he stood before the fallen king now, praying to whoever might be listening that Sol Regem would believe the lie that, due to having a primal arcanum, Callum couldn’t possibly be human.

The dragon lowered his massive head to Callum, and sniffed. The heat of his breath, the heat of him, instantly put to mind being burnt to a crisp by dragon fire. It was like standing beside a blast furnace. Callum could feel the sweat dripping down his face and sides and he tried to remember to breathe. In, two three, four. Hold. Out, two, three, four, five, six.  Repeat.

One final snuff out, with an extra bit of heat to ensure the boy fully understood his place, and Sol Regem lifted his head to regard what stood before him.

“Interesting, indeed.” This close to the dragon, and it was as though the bass timbre of his voice shook Callum’s bones themselves. “You smellthoroughly human. I even catch a faint whiff of dark magic.” He spat out the words like they were rotten meat. “And yet I cannot ignore that you have forged a connection to the Sky Primal, nor can I ignore that you have been caring for a dragon whelp. His scent is all over you, and I smell only happiness and trust, not fear.” Sol Regem then laughed, a cold, mocking chuckle, as he laid back down on the stones and drummed his claws against them. “Your fear almost masked it, but no. How indeed could a human connect to Primal magic and earn the trust of a young dragon? What are you? And do not waste my time with this ‘elf in human clothing’ nonsense.”

Callum glanced back at Rayla for assistance, but she seemed at a loss. This hadn’t exactly gone as planned, after all. Sol Regem wasn’t in her plans, and in the little time she’d had to formulate around that spanner in the works, she hadn’t accounted for the archdragon’s nose being so good he could smell out all their secrets with just a few whiffs. She returned an incredibly unhelpful and panicked shrug.

Zym, for his part, wriggled out of the backpack and toddled his way over to Callum and Sol Regem. He’d been indicated, so there was no sense in hiding in the backpack, right? Especially since Callum and Rayla seemed scared. He nudged his friend in the hip with a reassuring chirp.

“Ah, the little one reveals himself,” Sol Regem said with a chuckle, a bit warmer this time. “What ever was a tiny fellow like you doing in—” He stopped abruptly, leaned closer, and inhaled, sharply, drawing all of Zym’s fluff upwards in the draft.  Zym darted behind Callum’s legs with a whine. Then, with an angry snort, the former king drew up to his full height and towered above them, blocking out the light of the rising sun.

“That is Avizandum’s child,” he accused, menace in his voice and the ember of dragon fire brewing in his throat. “There is no storm dragon of that age anywhere in the world, save for the egg that was destroyed. And yet, here is a recently-hatched storm dragon.” He whirled on Callum, his every word a promise of destruction. “You will explain.”

“We found him!” Callum blurted, too afraid to lie. “Rayla came with the other Moonshadow assassins to avenge the Dragon King and the egg, but we found the egg in the dungeons, and we’re bringing him home.”

Sol Regem’s expression narrowed, dubious and critical. “Why?”

“Why… are we bringing him back, or why was he in the dungeon?”

Backlit though he was, Sol Regem’s scowl could be heard and felt in his reply. “Answer both.”

“Uh, well… we think that our- the high mage, Viren, was keeping it for um, dark magic reasons.” Callum twisted the end of his scarf in his hands, thoughts racing as he tried to summarize their adventure without giving too much away. “And since that’s wrong, and the war is wrong, we uh. Want to do what we can to fix things.”

Sol Regem snorted derisively. “Now you decide that dark magic, war, and death are wrong? What makes you think that the Dragon Queen will listen to some petty human apprentice mage, holding her son and reeking of dark magic? Even if you have, for some unfathomable reason, stumbled onto the secret of primal magic,  what could you possibly do to persuade the Dragon Queen not to unleash her armies on humankind for their countless atrocities?”

Callum swallowed, and steeled himself, as Rayla quietly panicked behind him. It terrified him to the core, but in that moment Callum realized that if he was going to get past Sol Regem, he was going to have to do so as himself, without secrets. “Because I’m not some petty human apprentice mage.” He drew himself up, standing tall before the Great Solar King. “I’m Prince Callum of Katolis. Prince -- King Ezran is my brother. I destroyed the primal stone I was learning magic from in order to hatch the egg of the Dragon Prince.” Zym chirped in affirmation, standing tall as well in a mimicry of Callum's posture.

For a split second, Sol Regem was stunned by the honest admission. Then, he laughed, the kind of laugh that comes from being completely caught off guard by something absurd. Despite himself, Sol Regem believed the boy, too. Although the mustiness of clothes that had been worn for weeks masked it somewhat, the boy did smell like he came from privilege. And he knew something of the inner machinations of the human kingdoms, knowledge that the average commoner wouldn't know. Granted, in Sol Regem’s  cynical view, humans were selfish and deceitful, but there was no way anyone would be foolish enough to tell a lie that ludicrous, that outlandish, and expect to be believed.  

So that was it, then. A prince of the human kingdoms had hatched the dragon prince and decided to waltz right into Xadia, hand-in-hand with one who had been sent to murder his family, with the naïve hope that the Dragon Queen would give two figs about their bid for peace.

Pathetic. Adorable.

His laughter died down, and he looked down his nose at Callum. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just eat you now and take young Ayzmondias straight to his mother, without your meddling or the disgusting taint of dark magic you bear.”

“Look, the dark magic was a one-time thing and I almost died, so I’m never doing that again.” Callum took a step backwards, thinking. “I… I just want there to be peace. My brother wants peace. And I want to show other human mages that they don’t have to use dark magic as a crutch. Iconnected to a primal source, and I barely know any magic. I want to show them how, so no one ever even thinks about using dark magic again.”

“Not to mention, he only did it to save me and a dragon that human soldiers had captured anyway,”Rayla interjected. “I’ll kill him myself if he ever tries it again, but I don’t think he would. It was pretty bad.”

“Uh, yeah!” Callum replied, giving Rayla a dirty look at the suggestion that she would personally murder him. “Anyway, can’t work on diplomacy and eradicating dark magic if I’m dead so… Please don’t eat me.”

Sol Regem inhaled once more, considering their words and breathing in the three of them. They were so earnest, so eager, the scent of their sincerity rolling off of them like a cloying perfume. All three of them were only children, with the brash sort of hope only children who haven’t witnessed the world’s cruelty carry within them. They certainly believed in their mission, fruitless and futile as it sounded to Sol Regem’s ancient ears. And the human thinking he could teach other humans Primal Magic was pitiful. It would never work, of course, for Sol Regem knew of the centuries where humans had tried and failed, their inferior natures cutting them off from the sources of magic. But somehow, some way, this particular human had figured it out.

Unless….

The sun king brushed that disgusting notion aside. It was impossible, and if it were true, he’d smell it.

Sol Regem then decided he was more interested in seeing what the world would be like if these children tried to accomplish their goals and failed, rather than their adventure ending in his belly. Someone else would crush their hopes, inevitably. In the meantime, watching them try would be more fun than anything else he’d seen of the increasingly tiresome war between humans and Xadia. And should they succeed, well. It might actually give Sol Regem something to do.

“Very well,” he said, after a pause that was long enough to make the children squirm with discomfort. “I shall not eat you.” The human boy’s sigh of relief was audible, and carried a faint puff of wind with it. How very interesting. “And I shall not inform anyone else that a human trespasses in Xadia. Find some way to keep him more incognito, young Moonshadow. It would do to keep Prince Azymondias's return a secret as well.”

“Oh man, thank you, your, uh, grace,” exuded Callum. “I promise we’ll do our best.”

“Do not give me cause to regret this decision, boy.”

“I won’t.”

Rayla bowed to the archdragon. “We truly are grateful, honorable Sol Regem.”

“See that the prince remains safe,” he rumbled back, and turned away from them, laying back down on his rocky bed. Zym yipped his own thanks, and Rayla gathered the two princes up.

“Come along, you two. Time to find some shade and some sleep.”

The trio strode down the canyon, and around the bend out of sight.

Sol Regem waited until they were out of his range of hearing, and then let a piercing cry echo towards the south. He waited only a few moments before a figure emerged from the rocky precipice above him.

“You called, my lord?” asked the figure.

“Yes. Further along the canyon you will see three children – a Moonshadow girl, a human boy – though he will likely be disguised, and a baby dragon.”

“Uh, forgive me, but did you say 'human'?!”

“Do not question me. He is no ordinary human. Follow them, be my eyes, and send me regular reports on their movements.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Ah, and one more thing. The wyrmling is... important. Ensure nothing ill befalls him.”

The figure bowed. “I will ensure the his safety, and keep an eye on the others.”

The figure flapped its wings, and ascended to the sky.

Satisfied, Sol Regem gazed westward, the rays of the sun warming his old bones. What funny, irritating creatures. Inferior as they may be, humans were, after all this time, still capable of surprising him.

[hmspogue]

Stranger Things Season 2 Trailer Shot by Shot Rundown Pt 2

  A week late but here you go (the first run down can be found here)

disclaimer: i own nothing, all shots and scenes depicted belong to Netflix

it should also be noted that these are just MY theories and opinions. I am by no means an expert, and you are absolutely entitled to your own thoughts and theories.

without further adieu here we go-

MY BABY IM SO READY FOR YOUR RETURN

as long as she has her eggos and is safe that’s all that matters :’)

i hope shes warm enough

that person is me running away from all the shit that’s about to hit the fan

so i’m assuming this season is really going to focus on the lines between dimensions blurring around Halloween thus why Will is struggling so hard rn yada yada yada nothing new

i want to know why this monster is just now on the radar you know? like while Will was in the Upside Down did he know about THIS thing or just the demagorgan

dang i guess trick or treat is ruined then?

yyyyyyiiiiiiIIIIIIIKKKKKKEEEEESSSS i CANT EVEN TELL WHERE ITS HEAD IS WTF IS THIS THING

??? where are they? and who is that random man with them? it kind of looks like a lab or some place underground. also i’m screaming bc 

NOTE: their outfits here are different from the ones they’re wearing in the shot of them staring at the wall i love detective legends WHO GO OFF AND RESEARCH THE SUPERNATURAL by themselves how interesting 

no really who is this guy and who is he keeping tabs on (see: the white note cards to the left)

WHO YOU GONNA CALL (i made this joke in my last rundown i’m sorry i’m so lame)

i think i mentioned this in the last run down, but even though i’m not a huge fan of Steve atm, i’m intrigued by this dynamic of him and the kids they’re going to be doing

does every small town in tv shows have a lookout point where the core group congregates to see shit go down?

this is such cool cinematography if they did, in fact, make one side of the road green and the other dying on purpose

i’m ALSO SO EXCITED TO SEE THIS FRIENDSHIP DYNAMIC THIS SEASON (just bc Will was MIA last season, we didn’t really get to see much about his relationship with the other three aside from how much they wanted him back, and towards the very end of the final episode)

ok even though this new monster is creepy as hell and i’m so upset will has to suffer again this season..........this kid is a hella talented artist way to go Will you’re doing great

omg please stop hurting mah boy...but also wtf why do I have to deal with another slow burn ship this season screw this

.......you........you’re to blame

who are you and what are those glowing light cylinders doing in front of you

NOTE: i actually think this is Hop in the same scene as a clip you will see later in the trailer...you can look there to see my theory on why he is doing this stay tuned

pictures???? of what I can’t tell. why are they showing these to him while hes in the hospital? (peep the gown)

someone help this kid pls

are they at an ER or a police station?

big mood Joyce (ugh I hate how she has to suffer through this again just let the Byers live please)

can’t even tell whats going on here other then the fact that it looks like the upside down next slide

what are all these wires yikes

this doctor seems like (based on what I saw this trailer especially) he’s going to become a new reoccurring character...interesting...he better not back stab any of my children or i will stab him in his back

DONT BE SAD MIKE SHES ON HER WAY BACK TO YOU 

oh my god a conversation between Will and Mike where Mike fills him in and tries to explain his feelings for Eleven HERE FOR IT PLEASE LORD

RUN MY CHILD FLEE I WOULD PROTECT YOU IF I COULD

I REALLY HOPE SHES OKAY OH LORD

MIND POWERS ARE BACK OH HELL YEAH

ummm...??????? first of all whose house is this, I dont reconize it and second of all...

why does she look so angry now i’m kind fo concerned WHOSE HOUSE IS THIS?

halloween dance maybe? i’m just confused as to why people are at the school in the middle of the night, i think this is mainly wishful reaching on my part

what’s interesting to me about this shot is not even so much the drawing (which i discussed in my last rundown), but the fact that Joyce has the phone next to her again? last season she had it in hopes of communicating with Will, which causes me to question who she is waiting for this time?

a portal i’m guessing?

NOTE: I think that Steve and Dustin are going to be the main friendship focus out of the kids and Steve. i think it’s going to be Will off having problems of his own, Mike with Eleven when she comes back sorting things out, and Max and Lucas...which i’m guessing is going to be the love interest for max they’ve been hinting at and if any of the crazies out there start trying to SHIP Dustin and Steve I will come for your throats

jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesus please mAKE THIS STOP

IT LOOKS LIKE LITERALLY ALL OF THEM ARE CONGREGATED WHY AM I LIVING FOR THIS

nope ignore, next

IGNOREING THE FACT THAT THIS LOOKS LIKE A PARALLEL TO HOP WHEN HE LOST HIS DAUGHTER. NEXT

how many dang trips is Hop taking to the Upside down this season?

edit: see further down for the theory

see: my last statement 

who are you odd doctor man?

well he kind of looks as out of the loop as the rest of us so i think we can trust him...for now...

*heavy labored breathing*

oh boy...

excuse me while i scream until my lungs concave (OK BUT THE BED ROOM SHARING TROUPE PARALLEL??? CANT I JUST CATCH MY BREATH FOR FIVE SECONDS BEFORE BEING ATTACKED AGAIN?? okay but it kind of looks like theyre in a hotel???? why????????????)

Holes (2003) that should be Hopper behind her

this scene was in the Comicon trailer and it doesn’t concern me any less now 

me too steve...me too...

...will the real Karate Kid please stand up

actually, the more i think about it, the more i’m thinking Hop making all these weird trips to the Upside Down has to do with that deal he made with the scientists last season...like his end of the bargain was basically doing all the dangerous dirty work everyone else is too afraid to do 

that or he’s being sent to locate Eleven but I’m choosing to ignore this theory

YIKES (Part 18937487002)

lowkey think this is going to be that weird pet thing Dustin eventually gets but watch me be wrong

classic Samwise Gamgee

nothing but respect for my sons (if their love triangle causes any sort of animosity between these two this season I’m burning something)

i reeeeeeeeeeaaaaallllllyyyyyyyyy want to like Max this season and I hope shes more like cool and reserved and not annoyingly angsty and rude like so many tv franchises like to paint preteen girls. but Stranger Things has not failed me yet so I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt

interesting that Will and Mike aren’t there doing whatever the heck they’re doing, but Steve and Max are? idk if it means anything, it’s just interesting. makes me wonder if Will and Mike are going to be off figuring out whats happening to Will, while these four focus on something else? but what?

Dustin is ready to throw down (I think that this has to do with his “pet” they’ve been teasing this season. like idk maybe he’s trying to tame it or something)

everyone in this show is about to be in the best damn shape of their lives with all the running they seem to be doing my god

oh my god??? so it looks like they’re sterilizing him for something, but Hop looks like he’s in pain so I’m completely against whatever the hell is going on in this scene

NOTE: this is probably in reference to him paying off his end of the bargain with the lab

can this monster just calm tf down and give these mf kids a chance to take a BREAT?????????????? LEAVE

this whole trailer consisted of horrified looks, people in pain, and running

so maybe Hop is being used to test weapons for the labroatory on the monsters in the Upside Down? and that was the deal he made?

the amount of panic and seeming lack of experience these people working at the lab have expressed on multiple occasions makes me doubt their credibility as scientists to begin with

she looks terrified and sweaty this is not a good combination (also did you know that Nancy Wheeler could run me over with an 18 wheeler and I would say “thank you”?)

that looks like Nancy’s gun so looks like the core group is getting ready to rumble 

can’t tell if he looks suspicious, seductive, confused, or constipated in this shot so MOVING ON

??????????????? who tf are you? (based on the pictures on the walls, he’s in the Byers house?)

anD HES PUNCHING JONATHAN BYERS ABORT ABORT THIS JUST TOOK A TURN I THINK TF NOT YOU TRICK ASS BITCH

I don’t think I’ve ever hated an idea more than the idea of my bois going into the upside down themselves no thanks

does anyone know this guys name? i can’t keep calling him Samwise

wiLLIAM PLEASE NO

a raid of sorts? but on what because this doesn’t look like the upside down so...the real world?

again with these inexperienced scientists working on what is apparently a very important government project. this staff need to be reevaluated

*Teenager by My Chemical Romance plays in the distance*

(the relevance behind this shot makes me curious, because from what i can tell which obviously isn’t a lot with the mask and such, its not anyone we know yet...and it’s just a bunch of teenagers sooooo)

i think it should be noted that Dustin is wearing the same outfit and headset from that scene from the previous trailer where he’s screaming “ABORT ABORT” so my guess is we are just going to have one episode where the kids venture into the Upside Down for a mission of their own (in which they ALL better return safely or I will be making some calls)

i’m confused now, because previous to this, it looked like Dustin was outside with the headset kind of running point, but here it looks like he’s in there with them??? idek anymore

i’m so sosososoososososososo really for this show down scene

HELL YEAH

this pretty much confirms for me my theory on how the love triangle pans out (Lucas and Max end up together) 

*sigh* at this point, i’m officially worried for every single one of the main characters 

LOOKS LIKE JOHNNYBOY HIT BACK(look at that bloody nose) OOooOOooOOOOOoO (also i can’t wait to hate you whoever you are we’re just going to call you Crusty for now)

hmmm....this is the same van that those teenagers in masks were getting out of a few scenes back...interesting

WHO ARE ALL THESE NEW PEOPLE

she literally looks so angry this trailer oh man...though this one she also looks more...upset maybe?

correct me if i’m wrong but is that not the woman who we’re pretty sure is Eleven’s mom? the distortion around the camera also kind of makes it look like a vision/ flashback, so this could possibly be something Eleven is seeing and explain why she’s so upset?

this looks like the same scene where she’s yelling and looking pretty mad. also noted: this is the same outfit she’s wearing when she appears in that unknown door way looking so angry 

NOTE: i’m also confused about her hair? like yes, i know they let Millie grow her hair out this season, but in a recently released short clip where Eleven busts out of the wall into the middle school, her hair is still buzzed. so does this suggest a time jump? if so, how much time has passed? does this also suggest that she came through the upside down a while back and has been living on her own long enough for her hair to get THAT long? which would mean she didn’t go to Mike or the others for help, she just has been roaming around doing whatever it is they’ll have her doing...

solidifies my belief that Dustin and Steve will be the main friendship they will be pushing this season 

NOTE: ....??? why does Dustin have flowers? i lowkey think Dustin is going to awkwardly go to Steve as like a big brother figure to give him advice on his crush on Max

eternal mood

oh okay wow...so this is actually right before all the shit with the kids going into the upside down all happens (Dustin’s shirt and headset)

all of these scenes with the same outfits makes me wonder how long of a time period this season spans over...honestly my guess would be like three days

lol why does Steve seem so confused by the contents of his own trunk

NOTE: whoa whoa whoa this just went from day to night...so the whole “do you still have the bat” scene is different from Steve actually removing the bat from his car

why does Steve have the bat to begin with? I thought it was Jonathan’s?

i’m betting said shit just officially went down

aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’M REALLY NOT READY GUYS THIS SEASON IS GOING TO SHAKE US ALL TO OUR CORES 

QUESTION: is there anything you guys want me to do when the episodes are released? maybe like an episode rundown w/ my thoughts and opinions? idek leave a comment if you reblog and have an idea

AND THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 3K YOU ALL ROCK MY SOCKS OFF LOVE YOU ALL 

[little-sundays]

Ube

Street racers!AU

warnings: There’s always a beginning even before the beginning.

playlist: 1, 2, 3, 4

Jonghyun kicked hard on the gas pedal before hitting the clutch to shift the gear to a five. He then took a left turn before doing a drift to avoid the other vehicle behind him. Consequently, he grabbed his pistol from the compartment when the people behind him started shooting at his direction. He was about to pull the trigger of his gun until a bullet penetrated his skin.

“Fuck.” The male reacted quickly and in effect, he had dropped the gun. Instead of struggling to get a hold of the gun, he hit on the brake causing the car to move to the side until it was beside his. However, Jonghyun had a different plan in mind; he kicked on the clutch to do a reversal drift and drive the other way. This startled the other racers as they struggled to follow the male; however, before they even got to reach him, Jonghyun had already escaped.

Jonghyun drove back to the city; afterwards, he switched cars at a parking lot before heading towards a nearby convenience store. Once he entered the store, he walked to the emergency section until he glanced at the concave mirror atop him. He observed the girl turn her head to the side as if to check her surroundings before putting the chips in her bag. However, as she was about to add another item Jonghyun tugged the bag away from her. She demanded rather than asked, “What do you want?”

He was silent when he brought the bag to the counter. Instead of telling her off to the manager of the store, he paid for the food she tried to steal--and he questioned himself why. He turned his head only to see her leaving through the doors. He eyed her as she stood under the roof of the building while watching the rain pour lightly outside.

After getting the goods, he exited the store then handed the bag back to her before standing beside the female. The drizzle had stopped after a few minutes; consequently, she was about to leave when he spoke up abruptly. The male didn’t know what to ask her and instead followed whatever thought ended up in his mind. He asked, “Are your parents at home?”

Jonghyun watched her as she turned around to face him and say, “They’re away for vacation.”

The female then tilted her head even more and eventually caught a glimpse of the severe injury on his right hand. The bleeding was continuous, so some of his blood was already coloring the wet pavement. Her eyes widened at the sight before stating, “Holy shit.”

The male added; although, he was unsure why, “I need to crash in your place.”

She instantly replied horrified by his sudden request, “No, you might kill me.”

He mocked whilst shrugging his arms nonchalantly at her, “I can actually, but I’ll have to delay it for another time.”

The female ignored this and persistently grabbed his injured hand after she dropped her bag on the wet pavement. Jonghyun watched her as she fished out a pocket knife from a compartment of her bag before tearing a strip of cloth and wrapping it around his hand. His heart beat increased a little at the way she carefully rolled the piece of cloth and the feel of her nails brushing against his knuckles. However, when she looked up at him, he couldn’t avert his gaze from her as if he was bounded to her. Yet, he forced himself to distract himself from her by clenching his fist, although it was still painful.

Once he released the pressure in his hand, he stated, “Thought you would be afraid of me after what I have said.”

The female shook her head as she placed the blade back in the compartment. She said, “I could’ve killed you if I wanted to either.”

Unconsciously, his lips curled into a smile while he stared at the ground to avoid her gaze on him. Although she knew, he still pointed out, “Your bag’s wet.”

“I’m very aware of that.” She uttered in a frank tone before picking her bag from the wet ground. Unexpectedly, Jonghyun pulled the strap away from her grasp, thus dragged her towards the stolen car until she blurted out, “I’m not trying to sell my body nor do I want to die a virgin.”

Jonghyun was taken aback by her outburst, but it seemed to curious him. He asked, “A virgin? How old are you?”

Instead of getting an answer, the female threw him a question of her own. “Who are you?”

Feisty, he thought. He raised his brow at her before letting out a soft laugh, “Kim Jonghyun.”

Jonghyun noticed the female reach out for her bag, so he pulled her to his chest where he got to see her features even more. He was dazed, because the girl was someone he saw years ago. He knew her, she was Kim Matcha. Even if he knew her, he wanted her to introduce herself to him. He repeated his question again, “How old are you?”

The female shifted her eyes away from his, thus answered, “I’m seventeen.”

He smiled when she finally turned to him, he then asked, “Your name then?”

Without any delays or hesitations, she truthfully answered him, “Kim Matcha.”

Jonghyun’s grip on her waist loosened, and afterwards he whispered in a low voice, “You grew up beautifully.”

Thereafter, he pleaded, “Let me crash into your place just once.”

“Fine. Just once,” Matcha replied. He smirked at her; however, he debated within his thoughts. He was afraid if the other mafia would use her against him or if Kang Daniel would. He could tell she was trying to read his eyes, but he was already used to masking his expressions. He was already used to holding back his desires in fear of losing her. He’s oppressed it for years, and finally—he thought—finally did you two cross paths.

Walking towards the vehicle, he settled the bag at the backseat before opening the door for her. Thus, he sat down on the driver’s seat and asked as he turned to face Matcha, “Where do you live?”

However, when looked back at the road, he noticed the same gang following him this morning. He barely listened to her answer when he lowered both of their heads and hid under where they couldn’t be seen. Matcha was about to speak up when Jonghyun begged her with his eyes, and in effect she reserved it for later. Thereafter, the two heard a voice from outside, “He isn’t here.”

“You?” Matcha asked in a soft voice only for the both of them to hear. The male leaned closer to her and explained, “They’ll kill both of us if you call out to them.”

Afterwards, he peered at the front and sat back on his seat when the place was clear. Matcha followed and seated herself on the passenger’s seat. Hence, the drive to her apartment was silent. Once they finally reached her complex, Jonghyun noticed the building beside hers. It was the Building of Pierre which was rumoured to be a venue of President Seo’s welcoming party.

After parking the car nearby, the two entered Matcha’s room. She dropped her bag on the floor before walking into the kitchen. Jonghyun followed suit and waited in front of the sink for her. When she finally came back with the aid kit, she cleaned the stains on his hand while he bit back a growl from escaping his lips. He stared at her as she gently applied a small amount of iodopovidone around the wound before rolling the bandage around and securing it tightly.

“How did you get this?” She asked whilst gesturing to the hole on his hand. He decided against telling her, so instead he said, “That’s an invalid question.”

“My house, my rules.” She returned to which Jonghyun habitually licked his lips. He said forgetting about his former decision, “Remember the gang that was after me, they’re after me, because I’m part of Kang Daniel’s mafia—the 101.”

After he finished his sentence, he watched Matcha toss the bloody cloth and cotton in the bin before turning back to him. He leaned back until his back hit the edge of the counter. She observed, “You like to stare, don’t you?”

He admitted selflessly, “You seem interesting for a seventeen year old girl.”

Matcha rolled her eyes at him before shoving the fresh clothes to his chest. Yet, when she stood closer to him, he realized she was memorizing every part of his face. He wanted to kiss her, but he chose to smile widely at her instead. Consequently, she laughed at the way his nose widened when he grinned. Embarrassed, he said afterwards, “I should really wash up and change.”

He sauntered towards the wash room and closed the door behind him before dumping the fresh clothes on top of the sink while the bloodied clothes were lying on the tiled floor. He got under the shower where he released all of his thoughts; he had to leave and go back to the headquarters to discuss the issue with Kang Daniel. But he also needed to make sure that she wasn’t involved with the mafia.

The next day, Jonghyun prepared a cup of coffee for himself and waited for Matcha to wake up. He tapped his foot lightly on the wooden floor to distract himself whilst he waited. His attention shifted from the girl to his mug, she was only wearing a plain shirt paired with shorts, but it managed to make him nervous.

He slowly sipped his mug before looking at her once more and greeted, “Hey.”

Matcha fished out a bar of butter from the refrigerator and the loaf of bread resting on the basket, thus grabbed a plate and placed it on the table. She dropped the bread and butter on the table after taking the butter knife. Finally, she replied, “Morning.”

Jonghyun automatically reached for a bread, thus questioned her, “What time does your class start?”

“Around nine, usually the teacher’s late, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“I’ll drive you to school, it’s the least I can do.” Jonghyun reasoned out, so he could be with her for a little while. Maybe even see her wear her uniform. Creep, Jonghyun thought, that’s just perverted.

He pushed away his own thoughts and said, “For a high school student, you’re still able to change both the present and future. I envy that.”

The male knew he was going to risk his whole life when he joined the mob. He considered it several times, at some point he even wanted to leave. Kang’s id was filled with hatred and insanity, yet he couldn’t leave the mafia easily. They would be on his tail as well.

Jonghyun was brought back to reality when Matcha chucked a piece of bread to him. She was the complete opposite of him; although, they fairly had a share of similarities. She was still different compared to him.

“For an adult, you think so lowly of yourself.” Matcha replied which earned her a shrug from Jonghyun. He admitted honestly, “I’d like to live a happier life, but I chose to side with the mafia, because I needed money. Wouldn’t you do the same if you were insatiable?”

She said before changing into her uniform, “But I’m not, and that’s our difference.”

When they finally got in front of the gate of her school, Matcha in a pensive state turned to him. Jonghyun’s thoughts wandered when she kissed him. He wanted to press himself closer to her when she pulled away, but he held back the urge to do so.

Rather he drove back to the mafia’s headquarters where he met Min Gi and Dongho waiting outside the club. The three entered the building and joined the meeting inside.

Daniel threw the files on the table; hence, he explained, “We’re losing a lot of money, due to Jun’s gang stealing our dealers.”

He added, “President Seo is holding an event at the Building of Pierre for his speech. I need an ample amount of time for distraction and someone to kill the surveillance cameras before I go in the surveillance control room. I already ordered Ha Minho to hack into the systems and steal the hard disk before we burn the place.”

Jonghyun read the files until he stopped at Agent Seo’s profile. He muttered, “Kang, you’re going to make a bigger conflict if you proceed with this plan. We can’t just involve the president or even the government as freely as we want.”

Daniel eyed Jonghyun suspiciously, he spat, “Why are you even in the mafia? Isn’t it, because you need money?”

When Jonghyun couldn’t answer his questions, Daniel assumed the answer and ordered, “Then do your job.”

Jonghyun walked into Matcha’s bedroom that afternoon of January. He watched her pull her shirt off of her body. Unconsciously, Jonghyun’s feet dragged him towards the female, yet he stayed a meter away from her just to prevent himself from pushing her against the wall. He whispered softly, “You’re painfully beautiful.”

He restrained himself from running his palm against her back until she faced him. Fuck it, he thought. Jonghyun pressed his lips against hers almost bruising both of their lips, but he couldn’t really care much. He just wanted to drown himself in her taste.

His hands roamed every part of her body as if he was trying to paint it into a memory. Finally settling his palms on the curve of her hips, he led them towards her bed. He let her straddle him, just because he’d like to have her on top.

Slowly he pulled away from her lips to let his teeth scrape the side of her neck. The sigh she released made his grip on her hips tighter and his head spin.

“Jonghyun,” she sighed. The male held his groan back and instead let out an approving hum before he let his hands brush the inside of her thighs. Trailing his lips on her shoulder blade, he bit on the juncture enough to form a visible hickey.

She added after her long pause, “Are we seriously going to have sex with you fully clothed?”

Out of his own desperation, he swiftly threw away all his remaining clothes and savored the feeling of his skin against hers. He teased, despite him being impatient, “Didn’t you say you were a virgin?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to seduce a man, I’m not that naïve.” She replied making him raise both of his hands in surrender. He then shifted her hips in his lap which resorted to him biting back his own moan. Rather, he traced his fingernail around her skin before digging them slowly into her back.

“Are you certain about this?” He suddenly asked which was ironic, because he was getting quite impatient over the slow intimacy between the two. But he was nervous and afraid that she might not be in love with him.

He was frightened over the idea of losing her, because of Kang’s plan. He thought it over and over again, she’s only seventeen.

“Jonghyun, make me forget the whole world.” Matcha demanded which helped Jonghyun forget about his worries.

He became greedy for once in his life, finally forgot about the people around him and only focused on her. And he blamed himself, because of that--he became too selfish.

The morning after, Jonghyun awoke to the feathery tracing on his arm. He let out a groan before turning to the girl, he said smirking whilst rubbing his eyes, “You in for round two?”

“Do you have anything better to do?” Matcha questioned frankly before staring at the ceiling above them. The male sat up and while looking at her, he uttered, “Probably comply with Kang’s orders.”

Unexpectedly, she threw him the question he wanted least to hear, “Are you ever going to leave the mafia?” 

He didn’t mask his guilty expression when he noticed the way her eyes wavered across his gaze. She was upset, he said to himself. 

“You’re so selfish,” she stated, “you’re insatiable. You can’t take a risk, because you’re afraid. What are you even afraid of?”

“I’m taking a risk for the both of us, because I’m not terrified. I know why I’m here and why I’m in love with you.”

Jonghyun couldn’t give her an answer, because she was right; he was afraid. He lived in fear his entire life and somehow the mafia couldn’t even give him a sense of security. He wanted this relationship, he really did; however, he knew he would also be the cause of her pain and cries.

Jonghyun hated himself for that.

“What the fuck, Kim!” Daniel exclaimed rather than questioned. Jonghyun had tried to shoot the other male, but instead got shot in the right hip by Ha Minho.

Jonghyun was about to pull on his trigger once again when he inhaled the smoke coming from control room. Consequently, Jonghyun rushed to the ballroom until he saw Matcha coughing through the smoke.

He pulled her back by the waist; however, she elbowed him in the stomach making him stumble backwards and was punched in the face afterwards. Yet, he still managed to speak up despite his injuries, “We need to leave now. The place is going to explode after eight minutes.”

She wrapped his arm around her shoulder ad helped him out the building before the blast. He held her tightly to his chest to shield her from the explosion. He expected her to slap him, rather she checked him if there were more wounds or cuts.

Thereafter, she called for the ambulance to stitch up his arm and pull the bullet out of his hip. He was brought to the hospital and was being monitored before he got out of his room to talk to the female.

“Forgive me.”

“Forgive me,” Jonghyun said in almost a whisper, “I became greedy over you.”

He added, “I wanted you all to myself, then I remembered you aren’t my property.”

“I needed you most,” he said while sobbing silently, “I ruined both of us, didn’t I?”

He hit his lap several times and even hit the back of his head against the wall. He didn’t expect her to forgive him so easily, so he drowned himself in his own tears for the moment. He believed that she hated him. He believed he was insane for doing such things for the mafia and for her.

He blurted out, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated as he let his tears fall. Matcha enveloped him in an embrace while they sat there in their own silence. He listened to her heartbeat to ease him. Thus breaking the silence, she repeated his words.

Dedicated to: @stanstal, @gwikimchi, @coolheartbeatmusic, @uni-yuto, @starlightstitxh, @101mess, @wannabl, @jamlesswritings, @dreaminglee, @wannaonescenarios, @anonymous101s2

[shorthaircutsmodels]

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[park-thatasshere]

PLATA O PLOMO | 01

‘No one wanted to cross them. They were dealing with big boy issues. These kids didn’t have time to fight with words behind one another's backs or on SNS’, no these kids fought with bullets.’

Featuring: ot7 (bts) Genre: Smut/Angst/Crack Word Count: 1.8k Trigger Warnings: drug abuse, gun violence, violence, swearing, death

m.list

A/N: Ok so I’ve wanted to write a gang au series for a really long time and have put it off in fear that I won’t be able to uphold the quality. I never get tired of gang bts and I really want to share my take on it. Feedback is encouraged!

It was a jungle of sorts. One filled with the roaring of car engines, walls of concrete towering over every inch of land, varying in shape and size, but menacing all the same. The sirens’ song was white noise to the people. You yourself had grown accustomed to the redundant whirs sounding throughout your neighborhood.

The catcalls that followed you on your trek down the street, were nothing more than a reminder. You didn’t work the usual nine to five your parents would have been proud of. Your hours varied with each client. You were a self made escort, arm candy for well to do men and women on occasion. Your duties weren’t fulfilled until your clients were fully satisfied.

Tonight was no different. You’d been mistaken as a streetwalker more times than you’d care to remember and the soles of your feet felt like they were nearly shaved down to nothing with every step you took in your stilettos. But it was all for the sake of your future, you could deal with this just a little longer, you were halfway there.

Once your apartment came into view you silently prayed to whatever higher power was up there giving you the strength to make it home in one piece. You looked up to the sky only to see clouds were blocking the otherwise ominous moon and you grew jealous of how it was able to be hidden away from the imperfections of this rundown world from time to time. Pulling yourself from your thoughts you turn into the concave where your home resided. Nearly doubling over when you see a figure hidden in the shadows.

“Babygirl, when do you plan to take me on as a client? I can be very promising.” Jimin steps out into the light. You noticeably flinch at the sound of his voice.

“When you stop trying to negotiate prices with me.”

“Sounds to me you’re afraid you’ll get sprung off the feel of my co-”

“Come on Jimin,” both you and Jimin look up to see V “y’know Namjoon doesn’t like when we hang around longer than needed, besides I’ve already finished collecting.” V gestures to the paper bag crumpled up under his arm, thumb striking the dial of his lighter continually until he gets a light.

He carefully shields the fire from the slight breeze and moves the flame to the dangling cigarette in between his lips. V was always saving you from the unnecessary banter Jimin always tried to carry out, hoping that maybe he’d be able to get a taste of what he’s been hearing so many great things about before Jimin got his greedy hands on you.

With a huff of resignation Jimin pushes himself off the wall, “Maybe another time then, goodnight sweetness.” Jimin blows you a quick kiss before he is running to catch up with V. You watch as their backs disappear around the corner and head inside your apartment.

You wake up to violent banging on your front door and jump up to switch your light on and rush to the living room. You glance out the window to see that the sun still hasn’t made its uniform appearance and infer that it’s early in the morning. With adrenaline rushing through you, you don’t even think to look through the peephole before your swinging the door open to let them in.

Jimin and another man you’d never seen before come rushing in carrying a boy no older than twenty in their arms. His hair is matted to his head with sweat, face contorted in pain as he gnaws on his bottom lip to keep a scream from bubbling up his throat.

A few other men come rushing into your apartment with not so much as a ‘can I come in’. They are all covered in blood and your eyes skim each of them to find the source, finding them all sporting various contusions blooming on their bodies. You look back over to the boy Jimin is carrying and see he has a large bloodstain on his thigh.

“Put him on the couch.” They both nod and do as they’re told while you run to the bathroom to get your first aid kit. Coming to sit at the end of the couch to closely inspect the open wound you see the slight gleam of the bullet. “It’s lodged pretty shallow in his rectus femoris, I can take it out if you want but I have no way of numbing it so it might-”

“Just get this shit out of me!” He all but whispers into the small space and it rattles your thoughts, making you get right to work.

You sterilize the metal tongs and cautiously dig them into his flesh, willing the embedded bullet free. He screams out in excruciating pain causing everyone else in the room to flinch, until the pain becomes too agonizing and he passes out.

Once you remove the bullet from his thigh you move to stitch up the wound. You carefully thread the needle in an attempt to be as delicate as possible. You’d only seen this done on medical shows that barely treaded on any medical concepts or in demonstrations on dummies, never in the flesh.

“Can you hurry the fuck up!?” One of the men scoffs from behind you, visibly shaken at the scene. You pay the room a quick glance, skimming over everyone in the room. He seems to be the only one who is showing any sort of reaction.

“Jhope chill,” Jimin throws a glare his way, “She’s doing the best she can.”

“H-how could this happen?” Jhope sinks down onto the ground, hands gripping at his roots. A man with a thin build takes a spot beside him, rubbing the back of his head in a comforting manner.

You don’t let the atmosphere around you affect your efforts and after cleaning and bandaging the wound you leave him there to rest.

You wipe away the sweat built up on your forehead and look over to see Jimin smirking to himself. This infuriated you to no end. Who did he think he was, waltzing into your home with his posse thinking he was the shit.

“What the fuck Jimin!?” You run up to him, shoving him into the wall and he bursts into laughter eyeing you up and down.

“I didn’t think such a casual look could be so sexy ___.” His eyes are trained on your underwear peeking from underneath your shirt. You look down to realize you lacked bottoms and ran back to your room to put some on. Once the initial awkwardness had simmered you felt it time to get answers.

“What the hell happened?” You scan each one of them waiting for someone to speak up.

The one that seemed to be the most put together of the bunch stood up and began to explain. “We got into a little altercation with some guys at a party and shots were fired. Jimin told us he knew someone near here who was a doctor.”

You send a halfhearted glare over to Jimin, who only chuckles. “It’s true isn’t it? I saw you a few times leaving school. You were leaving the medical building if I recall?” He looks up in mock thought tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“How would you know where the-”

“I go to school there.” He smiles triumphantly.

“Correction.” The collected one of the bunch interjected, “He used to go to school there, but he had to leave in order to-”

“Ok Namjoon enough with the synopses on my schooling.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively pushing himself off the wall and over to you. “How bout we take this time to get down to business babygirl?”

“Not this again Jimin, besides shouldn’t you like, you know introduce me to your friends?” You gesture to the several men in your living room.

“Jhope, Suga, Jin, Namjoon, you already know V, and the kid on the couch right there is Jungkook.” They all give you some sort of acknowledgement when they hear their name.

“Look Jimin, I did everything I could for your friend, but you guys should really take him to the-”

“No can do.” Namjoon intervenes, taking a few steps closer to you. He steps out into the light of the small living room, giving you a better look at his face. He was tall and lean with sharp eyes that held a much older light than he himself was.

Actually all the men surrounding you were very attractive, each having a distinct trait about them that would have any sane women dropping to her knees in seconds. You guessed you weren’t sane. At least not sane enough to throw it back for hoodlums, not that you had room to judge, seeing as you grew up on the same side of the tracks as each of them.

Lord only knows where you would have ended up had you hung out with the wrong crowd. A crowd that even authority figures turned a blind eye to. No one wanted to cross them. They were dealing with big boy issues. These kids didn’t have time to fight with words behind one another's backs or on SNS’, no these kids fought with bullets. It was quite unnerving to be surround by so many dangerous people with so many lives under their belts.

You never dwelled on the fact that Jimin or V were apart of one on the most lethal gangs in Seoul. Part of you didn’t want to believe that someone so vivacious and his quiet partner were fiends of the underground.

Deep down you saw the signs. The steel peeking from underneath their shirts, sometimes on their way home from ‘collecting’ you noticed the brown paper bag soaked in red, leaving droplets on the asphalt as they went about their day. You just chose to ignore them, maybe for your own peace of mind.

“W-well, you all can’t stay here. I’ll keep an eye out for him while he rests but this can’t be a regular arrangement. If you need medical attention go seek it at a hospital, or don’t. He can bleed out for all I care, and don’t think this shit is free either, I got-”

Namjoon motions to Jin who, in turn, throws down two rolls of cash on the table. “Will that be enough?”

He doesn’t let you answer as he motions for the rest of the boys to follow him out. You reach over to pick up the money, thumbing through the bills curiously.

You don’t even realize Jimin is the last to leave. He sneaks up behind you, arms gripping onto your hips as he pulls you back into his chest. His lips graze over the shell of your ear, whispering gently.

“There’s more where that came from babygirl.”

You’re completely caught off guard, left a stuttering mess, watching his form disappear behind the door.