#recalling all the people she's met that she personally caused so much grief

[ophiuchus-interactive]

Hi, darling! ❤ "i’m finally ready to be with you, but you’ve finally moved on from me, and i’m too late" please?

Am I gonna regret this? Absolutely.

Oooh!!! Nobody specified means everyone gets some pain!!!

Thank you dearie!!!

(TW: Death, growing old, regret, mention of grief, slight mention of blood)

Valerian-

“Was it worth it?”

It was like an itch.

No matter how many times over the years Valerian fought with himself to ignore your last words to him, he couldn’t. It crept up on him, crawled under his skin like a memory made of carrion beetles and worms. The question wouldn’t die, it decomposed- fertilizing nightmares of days long gone by. It turned his heart rotten.

He wakes up sometimes with his hand reaching out across the bed, the coolness of his empty linens sending Valerian drowning amongst the currents of time and misfortune again. Giving his decision the moniker of “mistake” would hardly encompass how much of a fool he was, how he thought so assuredly he had you, that you had all the time in the world to wait.

Just one more job, he would tell you, one more bounty. And all there would be left for him, was you.

But you were gone. And your words stung and scraped and dug at his skin. And he scratched and scratched and scratched at the fading memory of you.

Peter-

People talk about the five stages of grief like it’s a process, but really, it’s a map. It’s a state you find yourself in, a sick and twisted path of destinations and crossroads that path themselves in and out of hell. You find yourself there. You hardly ever leave. Some people are lucky; some find themselves in acceptance of their loved one’s death. Some lose themselves in their anger. Some people, desperate to cling to the memories, never make it farther than phase one.

Peter’s destination was bargaining. He never got any further than that.

Desperation. Helplessness. Despite any and all appearances of the cheery, capable man, you saw more in your time with him than most. And he was hurt.

Peter tried many times to get through these feelings, the past clawing at his heart and mind, ripping- always ripping- him back to where he left off. He was so beside himself in his worry for you every time you got hurt, there were times you thought it better to not go home at all. If only to quell the pain. If only to stop his hurt.

And maybe it was bad. Bad to let him go like you did. But how much more could you stomach watching him hurt? Ghosts haunting him, tormenting him, his face twisting at the sight of you coming out of a battle alive.

Be okay, for me. Please be okay.

You hated promises you couldn’t keep.

You hated the thought of breaking his heart even further, if one night you came home, and you weren’t okay.

Rosalie-

Love isn’t perfect. It was an epiphany she had working on a dock, years after she’d left you. She was older, wiser, but still remembers you the way she liked you best: smiling. Your voice had faded from her memory, your words probably twisted by time, but it was your smile that she recalled with perfect detail. It was good, this way. Better.

Rosalie tries not to think about the moments where it wasn’t flawless, and always to her surprise, those memories are nothing more than blunt daggers in her mind. Tears, anger, regret- those feelings surface, dull and subdued, but they don’t affect her the same way it does with your smile.

Where did it all go wrong?

Rosalie doesn’t know. She doesn’t expect it, either. She broke her finger slamming her hammer down, missing the nail when she came to this realization. The shattering sound of her ring finger was a dull, monotone noise compared to the blood that rushed in her ears;

Did I not try hard enough?

It was you, smiling. The crystal clear sound of your laughter. The mute sounds of your anger- the blurry visions of your tears. Faded arguments. Jokes that sound so familiar. Her memories weren’t perfect. Her love for you wasn’t, either.

But it was real.

Real like the fractured bits of bone and knuckle. Real like her scream. Real like the hot, furious tears that poured down her face, the pain- the pain.

Intangible. Imperfect.

Like her memories of you.

Thane-

“You’re lucky you’re not dead, you know,” Thane’s voice was steady, like scolding was part of his profession, “if they were any closer to you-”

“I know,” You say, your eyelids slamming shut. You did your best to hide your frustration, lest Thane suddenly decides he was going to start bitching to you about that, too, “but I’m alive. It’s fine,”

“It’s reckless,” He corrects, and the familiar feeling of your heart dropping to your stomach throws you off. You were over him. His words shouldn’t sting this much anymore.

“Foolish, really,” Thane continues, and his cold, sterile needle seems bury itself deeper into your skin, “but, given your proclivities for practically throwing yourself at death’s doorstep, I’m not surprised,”

You scoff, throwing back your head in disbelief. Is he being serious?

“I jumped in front of the damn gun because you weren’t moving fast enough! Any slower, Thane, and you would’ve been dead.”

He stops. The needle sat still against your skin. The sutures pulled taut- your wound was almost closed.

“What?”

“He was aiming for your effin’ head,” You spit, tired, tired of the damn man in front of you. Never so much as a thank you for the amount of times you saved his ass, and he’s still giving you shit? Still grating on your fucking nerves?

“I…” He sucks in a breath, “I didn’t know that,”

“No shit,” You huff, “you never do.”

That seems to be enough to snap Thane back out of his daze. His piercing, cold eyes met yours, and you were surprised to see that they seem to mirror your irritation. Your fury,

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

That you're loved, you fool. I loved you.

Why couldn’t you see that?

Why couldn’t you see me?

There was so much at that moment you wanted to say, so many words that turned stale on your tongue. It was bitter, finally seeing the realization on his face, to watch those very lips that you’d only dreamt of tasting, turn until tight, thin frown. Confusion and worry and shock painted his face a pale, pinkish gray. It was the color, you realized, of regret.

Of his regret. Not yours.

Ophelia-

When Ophelia found your first gray hair, she almost cried.

It’s started. The clock is ticking.

You soothed her horror with laughter, plucking the strand of hair straight from your head and throwing it to the side, like it was garbage. Trash.

“You stress me out,” You say with a laugh, and Ophelia finds it in herself to smile. She doesn’t notice at first, how the laugh lines deepen.

You complained of pains in your back. Your hips. Riding a horse has become too much of a pain for long distance travel.

Your head of hair is now silver. Ophelia pays the color little mind.

She insists on riding into town herself more and more, much to her quiet, naked distress.

You slap her shoulder playfully, shrugging off your discomfort like you were twenty-three again,

“And miss out on the candy restock? Perish the thought.”

Ophelia now loves the contoured lines of your face. You’ve laughed a lot. It’s pretty.

You sit at home now, keeping your hands busy as best you can.

Ophelia does her best to ignore the gossip in town. She’s older, and yet they call you the pervert.

Does she really look so young? Has she really not changed? Will there be no sign of growing old with you?

You smiled sadly as she said these things late one night. She’d be crying again,

“Be still, my heart. I am always with you.”

She misses it.

She left for town only a day ago. The tulips were in bloom. Ophelia thought it a good idea to surprise you.

Doc greeted her in town. He shook his head, eyes cast to the ground.

The tulips were ruined in her haste, and Ophelia cried herself into exhaustion.

It was a terrible day. A feather unnoticed on her neck, had turned a light shade of gray.

Javier-

Javier was cold. Dying was a frigid feeling.

His chest heaved slow, shallow breaths. With each rise and fall of his chest, he could feel his own blood fill up his lungs, his own chest caving in. Dying was an uncomfortable feeling.

He held your hand like it was his lifeline. Javier didn’t want to look in your eyes again, he knew the light was gone.

“Re-remember when,” he starts, and the force of his breath alone causes him to gag and heave. For a brief second, he wonders if this was it- he couldn’t even say goodbye, before he said hello again. Javier was okay with that. But his breathing slows and calms down, and it was enough for him to start again,

“R-remember when I first met you?” It was a favorite of his; you looked so wild back then, so free. Years have passed and times have changed, you along with it, but the way you looked then?

It made him believe in such a thing called love.

Javier tries to laugh, but it comes out as a choked, wet cough. His hand still held onto yours tightly,

“...you...made me feel alive. And...and scared, a-and brave, and- oh, god, I love you. I-I love you.”

Javier took a breath. Dying was a tiring feeling.

He held your hand. Dying was a lonely feeling.

But he’s coming, and he’s sorry that he’s so late.

Sergio-

“Thank you,”

He laughs. It’s a hollow sound. Sergio was three fingers deep into his rye when you finally spoke up, and of course, it makes him laugh,

“Is that what divorced people say to each other? Thank you?”

You shrug, gulping down a glass of your own poison. Divorce decrees took more out of you than gunfights. Is it any wonder why one happens more than the other?

“You were my husband,” You say quietly, your eyes never meeting him, “You loved me, for better or worse...thank you, for that.”

“You’re an amazing person,” Sergio says without hesitation. His fingers were cold as he clutched his whiskey glass, raising it high into the air, “I...I mean that. Truly.”

What more was I to do, if not love you?

You smile, gulping down your sorrows, lest they escape your lips. Crying was for later. You’re saying goodbye, now.

“I, ahem,” Sergio clears his throat, his free hand going to wipe his reddened eyes, “I hope that whoever they are, they treat you good and proper, and that you are loved…” He pauses, “...that you are loved, as I’ve loved you.”

Say it more. Mean it. Husband, what words are these, when I’m no longer meant for them?

“I don’t hate you, Sergio,” You blurt, and they were words that demand repeating, “but this...I’m not...we, we’re not-”

They are only meant for you.

“-I know,” Sergio says, giving a wave of his hand, “I know. And thank you,”

“For?”

“For allowing me to love you,” Sergio says unevenly, and he takes a moment more to finish his drink.

????/Hope-

So this is agony.

Another’s hand upon your cheek.

You looked happy in their arms. You wore the same smile that made them realize what love was for the first time- what it could truly mean. Those feelings only grew inside them as time went on, bright and fluttering and bursting, so this is love.

It felt good.

But you never gave them that look you’re giving your lover, now. There’s no light in your eyes when your gaze finds them- you grin, you always grin, but it’s the same look you give Valerian and Peter.

It hurts. But why?

They should be happy for you- you're happy. You have someone to love. If this is what you’re feeling, being in your lover’s arms…?

They’ll have Rosalie run a diagnostic on their systems- surely this is a glitch that needs to be fixed. If you’re happy, they’re happy. Rosalie can fix this pain, and Hope will be normal again.

It hurts, being like this.

[liddolwhynot2000]

Chains: Part 1

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Summary: In that moment, like a stamp on an official document, you cemented your own feelings-- you were okay and you were happy for Marie and Erwin, your own feelings be damned.

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Pairings: Levi/Reader, Erwin/Reader

Genre: angst, longing, firm resolve

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ChainsPt2 ChainsPt3. ChainsPt4

Drabble#1

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When you had first met Erwin Smith, it was during his younger days as a lowly cadet. You were a barmaid back then, working at the tavern that was frequently visited by the soldiers. Looking back on it, even now, you could easily recall when you had caught sight of the handsome, young man.

He had been laughing merrily, surrounded by his friends. His blue eyes had been sparkling, cheeks flushed from the alcohol intake, hand slapping the table repeatedly. You had instantly liked the look of him, admittedly becoming a little smitten by him.

You saw him around after that, but were often too shy to approach. Your friend, Marie, was the one who usually served their table. They were never too rowdy, making them an easy table. It helped that Marie found most of them easy on the eyes.

It was on one of her sick days that you ended up encountering Erwin for the first time. The other barmaids had pushed you to serve the table, and after a pep talk with yourself and a few deep breaths, you had approached them.

Most of them were suprised to see you, no doubt having grown to expect Marie and her banter with them. Some of them, much to your surprise, looked rather stunned by the sight of you. You knew you were decently attractive but you had never gotten a reaction like this. Although, much to your slight dissapointment, you hadn't been able to catch Erwin's expression.

Maintaining your cool and politely smiling, you took their orders, ignoring how some of them stuttered. As you walked back to give their orders, you could have sworn you had felt eyes watching you.

And even thought you knew it could be anyone, a part of you had really hoped they were Erwin's.

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After that, you didn't serve their table for a while, only accidentally making eye contact with some of them. More often then not, much to your elation, it was Erwin.

The two of you had even chatted with each other, not really friends but no longer strangers. It was usually when he was the first to arrive before his friends and lasted for just a little more then a few minutes. But it was still enough to make your heart beat too fast afterwards.

One day, Marie had asked you to help place some dishes at their table. Hiding your eagerness, you dutifully began setting the tray up.

When you approached their table, you were met with bright expressions and polite greetings. You carefully looked at everyone sitting at the table as you set the dishes down, giddily noting Erwin's smile. However, your heart had jumped in your throat when his eyes lit up, a grin breaking out.

'Why hello soldiers!'

You were caught off guard when Marie's voice rang out from behind you. The soldiers began talking to her, and you began to inch away after a meek goodbye. You kept your expression neutral, unwilling to show how you really felt as you walked away.

As you washed dishes that night, the way Erwin's expression had lit up at the sight of Marie had repeatedly flashed in your mind.

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You kept your head down after that. You were shy and weak, but you had some self respect. Someone who harboured feelings for someone else was off limits for you, especially since it involved someome you considered your friend.

You knew Marie wouldn't turn him down if he approached her. He was handsome, polite, had good manners and considering his status in the top 10, likely to go into the military police. You knew her parents had wanted her to marry someone who could give her a good life, someone preferably in the military police. It was a match made in heaven really.

You would only ruin your friendship with Marie if you tried something. And you couldn't even begin to think of how awful it would be to get rejected by Erwin. So, with your heart locked and wrapped up in chains, you carried on with life as before.

You pretended to not care once you started noticing Marie and Erwin balantly sitting together, away from his friends. You refused to acknowledge your bitterness at the flirtatious edge of her tone, the dreamy sighs she gave when talking about him, instead choosing to smile at her and wish her well. The way he looked at her like she was his everything, and how besotted he was just by her existence, it often reinforced the tensility of the chains across your heart.

A few weeks later, when you had gone to throw the trash away in the darkness of the night, you spotted two very recognisable figures in an intimate embrace against the wall.

In that moment, like a stamp on an official document, you cemented your own feelings-- you were okay and you were happy for Marie and Erwin, your own feelings be damned.

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Since then, you began to watch their blooming romance with a much more open heart. You still had feelings for Erwin, ones that made you feel ashamed of yourself now, but you were much more at peace with them.

Besides, it wasn't like you were in love with him. You had liked him, had wanted him to notice you, but alas, you knew your own personality was what had kept you from making an impression on him. You were too quiet, unlike Marie, who was sociable and chatty, often finding it easier then you would to get along with people. You preferred silence and books, while Marie often filled silence with pleasant and entertaining chatter. She often managed to hilariously banter with the soldiers, something you could never comfortablly pull off.

As graduation grew nearer, you could see how excited Marie was getting. Once Erwin joined the Military Police, she was planning on introducing him to her parents, which would probably lead to them getting married soon. She had already started looking wistfully at wedding dresses, envisioning the ceremony. You anticipated recieving a wedding invite any day really.

Except, you didn't. Marie quit her job the day after graduation and you only heard from her in letters afterwards. She wrote to you cheerfully enough, however there was no mention her upcoming nuptials. Although, you found yourself lacking the time needed to dwell on Marie and Erwin, for your mother had fallen ill and needed extra care and attention.

Months would go by, full of doctors visits and tears, and your mother would only get worse. She lost her sense of smell and taste, and wouldn't eat anything you had made for her. It was when she started struggling to breathe and couldn't even sit up on her own, that you lost all sense of the world around you.

By the sixth month of her illness, as you quietly slept by her bedside, her body would quietly give up on itself, only to be discovered by you in the morning.

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A year after your mother's untimely death, you recieved an elaborate letter in the mail. You had figured that Marie and Erwin had already gotten married and you had missed it in your haze of grief, but much to your surprise, you had recieved a wedding invitation.

Taking a bite of the apple in your hand, you had slowly opened the invite, figuring you already knew what was written inside.

... You are cordially invited to the marriage ceremony of Nile Dok and Marie...

Eyes wide, you had stared at the invitation stupidly.

Looks like Marie hadn't been telling you alot.

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The wedding was to take place next week, so you had gone a few days early to visit Marie, too curious about what exactly was going on.

Your friend had been happy to see you, apologising for not visiting. It was only when her mother had left to go to the market for some last minute shopping that the two of you finally talked about the elephant in the room.

Erwin had joined the Survey corps

The day before graduation, he had unexpectedly told Marie that he was considering it. Tensions had already been high, because his friend Nile had drunkenly confessed to Marie, leading to a big fight. At the end of the night, Marie had managed to convince him to join the Military Police, only for him to end up joing the Survey Corps the next day anyways. She had known her parents would never approve, and had ended their relationship immediately, much to his despair.

Nile, who had joined the Military Police, had approached her a few months after. He had already begun climbing the ranks and Marie knew her parents would be thrilled, so, she had accepted his marriage proposal.

'Dont you love him?'

'I loved him. But I love my parents more. He knew that.'

'I thought.. That-'

'that I would give up everything to be with him?'

You blinked in surprise, causing her to chuckle.

'I told him my priorities from the start. He chose the titans. Not me.'

You had let the topic drop after that, opting to discuss her wedding dress instead. However, the truth in her words kept ringing in your head. Erwin had decided to join the Survey Corps, knowing full well he would lose Marie.

The chain on your heart shook a little, your traitorous heart imagining for a moment of it had been you in Marie's place.

You would have supported him.

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You hadn't seen Erwin since two days before his graduation ceremony. In fact, it had been 2 years since the last time you had seen him. You had quit your old job when a friend had offered you a job as the manager of a decent resteraunt owned by her uncle in Wall Rose. Unbeknownst to you, it was near the Survey Corps Headquarters and often visited by their soldiers.

It was during your first week there that you saw Erwin again and much to your surprise, he approached you seperately. You had noted how he had gotten taller, easily towering over your small form. He had only grown into his looks in the time you hadn't seen him and his way of speaking was eloquent as always.

You could hear the distinct clanging of those chains, trying to slowly untangle themselves, as Erwin inquired about your well being. The conversation had been short but smooth. And somehow, by the end of it, the two of you agreed to have lunch together in the near future.

You had considered it a fleeting, empty promise on his part. You doubted he would actually go out of his way to spend time with you.

You were proven wrong when 3 days later, he arrived at the resteraunt during your lunch break.

The metal in your chains began to feel brittle.

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Another year would go by, and you settled in the new area well. You had neighbours you got along with, co workers who you worked with pleasantly. The pay had been five times what you had been making before, so you had been saving alot of money, maybe enough for a house one day.

Unexpectedly, you and Erwin had become friends. When he wasn't planning for expiditions or performing chores, he sometimes approached you. The two of you either discussed books, or sometimes ate at the resteraunt together, enjoying each others company.

You could hear the whispers, the rumours about the two of you. Everyone had assumed that this closeness between the two of you meant more, that it was romantic. You never acknowledged anything, firmly believing he was just being friendly with you.

You had given up on him ever feeling anything for you the day his feelings for Marie had become clear. Your heart was clean and you harboured no ill will. The fact that the two of you had become friends changed nothing.

You would never allow anything to happen.

If only you could get the demon rattling at those damn chains to understand that too.

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The Survey Corps had come back from a horrible expedition, more then half of them had failed to make it back alive The crowd of civilians had thrown trash at the rest of them, cursing them out as they sadly trudged back to headquarters.

Erwin had come to you at night, drunk. He had brought a bottle of alcohol with him, drinking and ranting. His words slurred in between, but you could make out what he was saying anyways.

How he wished the higher ups would hear him out more, how much he hated sacrificing his comrades. How he couldn't sleep at night, haunted by the dead faces of his friends.

You could only pat his back to comfort him, he had rejected any hot beverage you had offered him, preferring to just drink his sorrows away.

Suddenly, Erwin had put the bottle aside and stared at you.

'Is everything oka-'

You gazed directly into his deep, blue eyes. He was in your face, you gulped as you processed his closeness, his lips inches away from yours. You could smell the alcohol he had consumed on his breath. He blinked, looking at you carefully.

It was silent as the two of you stared at each other, neither daring to move or speak.

Your eyes had widened as he leaned in a little, the chains began unravelling against your will.

You had stop to stop this right now-

'M.. Marie?'

.................

Days after the 'drunk incident', you sat on your bed, wrapped up in a warm blanket. You had just finished a book and after setting it aside, were ready to sleep.

Sighing, you tiredly smiled to yourself. You and Erwin were still friends, because that's all you had ever been. His comrades had come looking for him that night and carried him back to the barracks, leaving you in deep thought.

Erwin hadn't remembered what had happened that night, and you were glad about it. It was for the best really, because you didn't want to lose your friendship with him. Erwin was your friend who you sometimes hungout with, and you longed for nothing more regarding him.

The chains you had kept tight around your heart had loosened that night. And, with a new resolve, you had gotten rid of them completely.

You didn't know who, or when, but you would let someone in, you decided to yourself. Someone who would see you as their first choice, who would look at you in a way they had never looked at someone else.

Burning out the candle, you went to sleep with a light heart. You had no idea you would meet that person a month later.

And Levi had no idea that someone could make him feel so much with just one smile

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A/N: Heyooo so this liddol piece of angst got stuck in my head. There's gonna be a part two where where Levi/Reader get together, it'll mostly be fluff, with some angst and drama. Hope y'all liked this! Please review and my asks are always open for requests or questions. :D

[hlizr50]

These Scars Paint the Map that Led Me to You

Azriel and Gwyn both have scars, and both are determined to show the other that those scars are just as beautiful as the rest of them.

Read on AO3

Part 2: Gwyn

Gwyn had never been self-conscious about her body – in recent years her appearance had been low on the priority list of things that should cause her worry.

But when Azriel’s breath had hitched, eyes widening almost imperceptibly as her silk robe had fluttered to a puddle in the floor, she’d had a moment of gut-wrenching anxiety. She felt her cheeks heat, a flush that was likely crawling down her neck and over her near-naked breasts. She turned her back to him, wringing her hands and trying to calm her unsteady breaths as she stood there clad in only a bra and panties.

She had warned him about what he would see – the physical scars of Sangravah that were nowhere near as deep as the emotional ones. They peppered the flesh of her bare stomach and her thighs. Claw-like fingernails had dug into her as the general stole her innocence away, but those few jagged ridges of pink skin were only the beginning. The cruelty had been wrought on her from all sides, the daggers cutting into her when her frantic begging and tears had not been enough to satisfy their sadistic needs. They had wanted to hear her scream. And she had.

The visible reminders of her trauma had been nothing but an afterthought. She saw the scars every day, but they decorated skin that was taut above lean muscle and a ferocious heart. She was proud of the body that she had created and proud of what it could do. She was proud of herself, at least most of the time. There were days where it took everything inside of her to smile, to love, to believe in the good in the world. But those days were becoming more and more rare. The male with her now had helped her more than he could ever truly understand. But the look in those hazel eyes when she finally let him see nearly all of her… Mother she didn’t know how to read it. But she’d heard that pause in his breathing and, even though she had no reason to believe that he would find any part of her unattractive, she was suddenly very unsure of herself.

“Gwyn.”

She had never heard him sound so… shredded. His voice caressed her bare skin like velvet. It made the air seem thicker, somehow, and when she felt his heat at her back she thought her heart might beat right out of her chest.

“May I touch you, Gwyn?”

Mother above, if it were possible to love Azriel more than she already did – more than with all of her being – that request would have pushed her right over the edge. At the beginning of their relationship he had asked permission for every touch that he wanted to give her, every step on the path of intimacy they had slowly walked over the last few years. She loved what they shared, and loved that they had long moved past the need to ask and grant permission for hugs and kisses and embraces and caresses. But Azriel – perceptive as he always was with her – saw her vulnerability in this moment and had made sure that she was ready for his touch.

“Please,” she whispered, then winced. It sounded too much like desperation, praying he still wanted to touch her skin, marred as it may be. She knew it was preposterous to believe that he would judge her for it, even for a moment. But that breath he’d taken… the widening of his eyes…

The weight of his calloused hands on her hips burned like a brand. She felt his rough thumbs trace light circles just above the swell of her ass. The sigh that escaped her relieved some of her tension and she felt her breathing grow steady. Until she felt the caress of his soft, warm lips in the curve where her neck and shoulder met.

“I do not even know where to begin, Gwyneth.” Her skin tightened with goosebumps as his lips moved against her, and she knew he could feel the shiver that coursed through her. “First, let me swear to you that my reaction to seeing your body was simply my being unable to comprehend how utterly perfect you are. I knew you would be, but actually seeing it…” He snaked his hands around her middle, graceful fingers tracing over the many raised remnants of torment before pulling her tightly against his bare chest. She felt his nose graze the sensitive spot below her ear before he inhaled deeply, those strong arms a cage of warmth and safety. “Gods, Gwyn. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The anxiety rushed out of her in an exhale shaking with relief. Azriel must have felt it, too, and the loss of his warm lips against her neck left her cold and wanting. But he just gave her a gentle squeeze and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Did you believe I could see these marks and be anything less than reverent? You are a picture of bravery and resilience. These scars tell a story of an incredible female who let her light shine through the darkness, who chooses to love when she had every right to grow cold. These,” he murmured as his hands slid over her belly, fingertips following every line he could find, “remind me just how lucky I am to know you. To hold you. To love you.” Gwyn felt tears needling at her eyes, even though his words were not so different than things he had told her before. But he could still overwhelm her. Most of the world knew him for his silence, cool detachment, intimidation. Few people knew who he was behind the mask of the Spymaster, and he had graced fewer still with the gift of his words – thoughtful eloquence wrapped in a voice that could be cool as stone in the night or soft as the lightest brush of an angel’s wing.

“I never thought you would think less of me for them,” she murmured back to him, placing her hands atop his as he continued to run them over the flesh of her middle. “I’m sorry, I just had a moment–“

“Shhhhhhhhhh.”

His lips were on her neck again, his breath hot under her ear. “Don’t apologize, my songbird. Never apologize for what you feel. We all have moments of uncertainty. And you know I understand that feeling.” She did know. She knew how the scars on his hands had caused him endless pain and anxiety, how he would hide them behind his back or in his shadows. She had made it a personal mission to free him of that grief, to show him how special he was and how important those hands were to her, just as they were.

His full lips branded the tingling skin beneath her ear. Then twice, then a third time.

“May I see you?”

She smiled to herself, understanding what he wanted. She pulled his hands apart and away from her stomach, shivering as the cool air replaced his warmth. Gwyn only let go of his hands long enough to face him before grasping at his fingers again. Liquid hazel eyes met teal, the first time since she had let that thin robe fall to her feet. Gwyn watched as the shadowsinger – her savior and love – took his time looking at every inch of her. Could that be a flush staining his cheeks? She always felt unreasonably smug when she could make him blush. The priestess took this chance to admire him, too. It was far from the first time she’d seen him bare-chested. She still remembered the first time he had gone shirtless at training, or – if she was being honest – she recalled that she couldn’t remember anything else about that particular day. The sight of him had completely unraveled her, and the feelings that had erupted in that moment had been both exciting and terrifying.

Azriel was absolutely beautiful, and everyone knew it. His cheekbones were high and sharp, and when his shadows were clouding his features she was sure that face could be one of nightmares. But this male had only saved her from them and had helped chase them away ever since they had found each other. The line of his jaw was hard as stone, and Gwyn’s fingers often found themselves there as she looked into his hazel eyes that could be the dull and dark eyes of the Spymaster, or glowing nearly gold with emotion – eyes of the male who felt things so intensely and deeply that it threatened to destroy him. The eyes that finally drifted back up to hers were those glowing pools. She knew that love swirled there, knew that he would find the same shimmering emotions in her own gaze.

The shadowsinger gingerly drew his fingers up her arms and over her shoulders before finally holding her jaw with such aching tenderness, as if he thought she might break apart in front of him. Her eyes remained rooted on him, deciphering the emotion playing on his face. For a moment she wondered where the delicate shadows were hiding that usually wafted above his shoulders and magnificent wings, but she shook off the distraction. He had likely simply pushed them into the dark corners and crevices of his room, wanting to keep this moment as intimate as possible. He stepped up to her then, and it was her breath that hitched in his gentle grasp as he wore that crooked grin of contentment. He was never so beautiful as when he was happy, and that didn't happen nearly often enough. She couldn’t help but smile back. He leaned in and pressed those full, sensuous lips to her forehead, causing her to breathe a shuddering sigh. Then a kiss to her nose. And then those lips were slanted over hers, dancing with them as they pushed and pulled. She breathed him in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, reveling in the feeling of her skin against his. She felt his tongue probing over her lower lip and granted him access, letting him explore her mouth. His shoulders were heaving under her arms, as if he had never been able to kiss her like this before, and she couldn’t help but feel the emotion that threatened to pour out of her eyes and spill over her cheeks. The love that she felt for him, from him, was unlike anything she had thought possible.

She slowed down the kiss and pulled away carefully, bringing her hands to his jaw, where she always wanted to touch. His eyes were hidden behind thick lashes and she wanted nothing more than to see them, to see him.

“Azriel,” she whispered, and he looked at her. “I never thought I could feel like this, never thought I would want to be touched, to be kissed. You have taught me how to be strong and brave. You have shown me a future I never realized I could have, Az. I… I love you so much.” Her body shook with a chuckle when he answered with a kiss, one of his arms leaving her face to wrap tightly around the small of her back and pull her flush to him. When he lifted her toes off the ground she wound her legs around his hips, only vaguely aware that he was moving with her hauled up in his embrace. They broke apart when he came to a halt, but he kept his eyes glued to hers. He lowered until her rear came in contact with the bed, and continued to lower himself to his knees on the floor in between her legs. His eyes were burning flames of pride and adoration as he placed his hands on top of her thighs and let them stroke down to her knees and back.

“I’m so proud of you, Gwyn, but I did not teach you how to be strong and brave. You have always been those things, one of the strongest and bravest people I’ve ever known. You only made a choice to practice it and to hone it, and I am endlessly thankful that I have been a part of that.” Gwyn couldn’t breathe as he lowered his eyes and leaned in, pressing his mouth against one of the scars on her stomach. He continued to do so, as if trying to make sure his lips found every last mark of the suffering she’d faced. “I don’t know if I can pinpoint exactly when it is that I fell in love with you…” Kiss. “…maybe it was the day you cut the ribbon…” kiss “…maybe it was the day you finished the Blood Rite qualifier and demanded your prize…” kiss “…Cauldron, it could have been that first day I came to training and saw you there, fighting the demons I had obviously triggered with that smile that I adore so much.” Kiss. “But that doesn’t matter.” Gwyn wiped the dampness from her cheeks, only barely aware that her emotions had indeed overflowed. Her shadowsinger looked at her with a gentle smile and reached up, first to tuck a strand of copper hair behind the arch of her ear and then to trace calloused fingers over her cheek. “What matters, lovely priestess, is that I did fall in love with you. That I love you now. You are the most beautiful thing in the universe and this body that you have, these marks you bear, are only a testament to that truth. You have trusted me with so much, Gwyneth, and I know revealing yourself to me like this took so much courage. And I will spend the rest of this night, the rest of our future together, worshipping every single scar.”

“So many words, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn gave a wet laugh, twining her fingers through his hair.

“You embolden me, Berdara. There will never be enough words to adequately explain how precious you are to me.” Azriel pulled her down by her nape and brushed his lips so lightly over hers. He held her there, forehead to forehead. “There will never be a moment in my life when I do not wish that I could take away the suffering that you have endured. I will never be able to erase that, and it fucking kills me. But know this, my love. Every day I will strive to make new memories with you, to cover these scars in love and adoration.”

The Illyrian released his hold on her and leaned back into his feet. Gwyn let the wetness blur her vision as she reached out her pale hand to brush away a tear that had managed to escape through the thick lashes that curtained his hazel stare. His hands cradled the back of her knees, and she could see that his usual tension was completely gone. The dark tattoos that waterfalled over his shoulders swirled lazily, the muscle relaxed underneath. The trust he spoke of went both ways, and she was so grateful that his trust in her was so deep that he felt safe to be this raw and open to her.

“And on those rare days, songbird, when the ugliness creeps through – when you look at these scars and can’t see the warrior goddess that you are – I will be here to remind you. I will always be here, and I will always adore every single mark on your soft skin. I love every last inch of you, because these scars, these evils that were done to you… they paint the map that led me to you.”

@trashforazriel @tealnymph-writes

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] 17: In which beans are ruined

[Ao3 Link]

At the mention of Trelawney, Arthur dimly recalls a scrap of half-remembered conversation from last year, when he’d idled with the man in a Lemoyne saloon while waiting for a mark to arrive. The first flicker of your existence, passing him by unknown. Like the brief touch of a licked finger through candle flame: deceptively benign, with just a whisper of the burn to follow.

Somewhere between his first and second glass of whiskey sours, Trelawney had mentioned the burgeoning demand for opium in Chinatown. A former contact of his had recently left the high stakes poker circuit to get in on the profit, and he’d lamented the loss.

“It’s a shame,” he’d said, absently swirling the ice cubes in his emptied glass and regarding the swirling wood grain of the countertop with a pensive, faraway look. And for once, the sentiment had sounded genuine. Knowing him, the man was grieving a lost business opportunity more than anything else, but it’d been a long time since Arthur had heard him even bother to feign emotion for a stranger. “She’s not suited for smuggling in the least. Can’t say I can see this ending well.”

Less Trelawney’s gift for prophecy and more stating the obvious, now that he knows exactly who he’d been talking about. Prickly disposition, clueless when it comes to violence, and far too trusting of strangers. The cavalier attitude of someone who’d never been exposed to serious conflict and who, having since been exposed, lacks even the conviction necessary to put a bullet in the man holding her hostage.

And far too delicate besides.

When you’d pulled the blanket down your shoulders to untie your braid, Arthur had tilted his head back just enough to catch an eyeful of your backside. A pretty thing to put to paper: the wet swathe of hair draped over your shoulder, the faint shadow of your spine a dark curve flickering with the shifting of firelight. Soft, dappled lines wrapped in the body of someone who’s caused him nothing but grief in the past weeks.

The view had confirmed something he’d already been suspecting: your lack of threat to anything larger than a rat terrier.

Judging by your physique, you’d probably struggle to lift anything more than fifteen pounds. Maybe twenty, on a good day. A veritably pathetic amount of muscle tone with none of the etchings that rough living leaves behind.

Some foreign high society girl fallen on hard times, he guessed. But oddly, none of the clumsy caution people of that strata have when confronted with any sort of real work. You’d fallen into the rhythm of whittling bark off the cottonwood branches too comfortably for someone unacquainted with physical labor, handled the knife with a deftness that comes only from rote repetition.

“I knew Trelawney had connections to some gang out west, but I never thought…” You shake your head slowly, dazed by the absurdity of this new development. “Did he know? When I sold them those bonds, did he realize they were yours? And why—”

“Nah, he wouldn’t have known. I, uh… wasn’t too keen on tellin’ folk I got robbed by a woman.” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out an embarrassed huff. “Told ‘em the whole thing was a bust.”

Looking back, he may as well have told them the truth. The lie hadn’t done much to salvage his pride, and had prompted weeks of jibes at his own expense. Snide little asides from Micah, overt ridicule from Bill, and the painful ordeal of Sean.

“Gettin’ sloppy in your old age,” he’d quipped. “I’ll tell you what you need, Morgan. You need to let someone else hold the reins for a change. Someone quick on the uptake, someone young and hot-blooded and—”

“Get back to me when you’re done complimentin’ yourself,” Arthur had replied, already walking away.

“Wait, Morgan — take me with you next time you ride out! I’ll scout somethin’ out, and we can…”

Sean had been insistent as a mosquito and twice as annoying, but ultimately bearable so long as he had a beer in his hand or a pillow over his head. His own head, though he’d been sorely tempted otherwise.

No, what had really driven him to leave camp had been Dutch.

Dutch and his put-upon fatherly air, all stern mouthed disapproval and downward sloping shoulders. His pointed observations of Jack’s tattered jacket, well on its way to becoming a patchwork Ship of Theseus. Pearson’s dwindling supply of seasonings, so scarce that the stews have become bland to the point of near inedibility. The stocks of medicine running low, bandages boiled so many times that their fibers have since frayed to a cobwebbed consistency.

“I know you’re doing your best, son,” Dutch had sighed, casting a weary eye over his threadbare kingdom. “God knows you’re the only man I can depend on to get anything done around here. But folks are… well. Folks are struggling.”

Arthur’s eyes had slid momentarily towards Dutch’s tent, resting on the golden gleam of the gramophone and the crisp cotton sheets laid across the bed. An unbroken sea of white, with not a stitch out of place. And not twenty feet away, Hosea’s shabby lean-to, the older man’s bedroll bearing the same disjointed array of colors as the rest of the camp’s accoutrements.

Dutch always did have a taste for the finer things in life. A level of refinement proportionate to the depth of his ambition, which in earlier days had been tempered by kinder, simpler ideals. Feed those that need feeding. Shoot those that need shooting. Robin Hood-esque, with a western (and occasionally lethal) twist. Evelyn Miller had been a fixture even then, but in those halcyon years Dutch had not yet twisted the author’s words to the tottering worldview that he’s since constructed.

The gang’s nascent success had bred standards and attracted new followers. A ragtag flock all too eager to nourish their leader’s growing, malignant appetite for grandeur.

“Just one last score, and we’ll be clear of all this… this manmade rot.” Dutch said, gesturing in the direction of Blackwater. “But for now, we’ve got to play their game. Get our hands dirty for the time being so we can wash ourselves clean of all this when we’ve finally got the means.”

Arthur had departed under the pretense of retrieving the missing bonds (impossible) or locating some cache of similar value (near impossible), but in truth he’d done so primarily for the preservation of his own sanity. More and more these days, he’s been seeing cracks in the foundation of the man who’d given him this life, dragged him out of the gutter and set him with a previously unwavering sense of purpose. And it feels treacherous — traitorous, even — to take any of it into question.

But as always, the open road and the unabiding sky of the prairie settled him into a different mindset altogether. The cycles of flora and fauna in untouched wilderness exist completely separate from the artifices of men, with the legacies of countless tiny lives encapsulated in the fine grit of the dust to which all things return. And in that certainty comes an overwhelming comfort. Everything else seems trifling in the wake of the vast perpetuity of nature.

A few days spent wandering would do him good, he’d decided. Spend some time away from all the trappings of civilization, then rob some poor sap on the side of the road so as not to return empty-handed.

And then you’d ruined his plans entirely by literally walking into him as he’d been passing through Strawberry.

“Well,” you say, offering up a small, nervous smile. “What now?”

What now, indeed. Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Guess we take a visit to Trelawney’s,” he replies, already dreading the inevitable embarrassment of explaining the whole sorry situation to the man. “And if it turns out you’re tellin’ the truth, I’ll give you a ride from Rhodes to St Denis.”

You frown and furrow your brow. “Rhodes?”

“Yeah, Rhodes. Trelawney’s got a caravan there on the outskirts of town. You didn’t know?”

“You can’t take me to Rhodes,” you say automatically, as if stating the obvious. “I mean… look at me.”

“You’re a woman?” he asks stupidly.

“I’m an Oriental, you moron. And Rhodes is a fucking… it’s a fucking Raider town.”

“You’d be with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

You shake your head and set your mouth into a grim, flat line. “That’s worse. They might think we’re together. And they don’t take kindly to miscegenation.”

Your words have to them the quality of a veil being drawn back, exposing a corner of this country’s ugliness he’s not often been privy to. A familiar knot of guilt tugs at his innards, accompanied by the unpleasant, impotent sensation that surfaces each time he catches the ungracious stares of the crowd when walking into town with Tilly by his side. Each time he hears the practiced courtesy in a shopkeep’s voice drop away when the man turns away from him to address Charles. Each time he watches Lenny reread for the thousandth time the letter from his dead father, the creases in its paper worn so deep that it would have long since fallen apart were it not for the boy’s careful, reverent handling.

“You know those big plantation houses just south of Rhodes? They hire Chinese sometimes to work the fields. Cheaper than sharecropping, apparently.” The look on your face is drawn and bitter. The bite in your voice suggests something personal, the sting of an injury not yet healed. “One of the boys got involved with a white housemaid. He’d saved up for train tickets to Philadelphia, and they were… he was going to marry her there. Wanted an August wedding. The number eight’s lucky for us, you see. So August 8th, 1898… he thought it was all very romantic. Used to make this stupid joke that he wished he’d met her ten years earlier. Raiders strung him up in an oak tree a couple weeks before they were set to leave.”

Arthur’s tongue lies silent and heavy in his mouth.

You take in a deep breath that rattles with the failing determination of someone struggling not to break their composure, then look to him with a desperation so absolute that it seems almost indecent to witness. “Why don’t you just leave me here? Keep me tied up if you have to. Come back for me when you’re done with Trelawney.”

In the short span of time that he’s known you, you’ve made enough of an impression to warrant several conclusive classifications. A haughty, pampered little thing. An ineffective liar. A self-destructive fool — but not stupid. Definitely not stupid.

The sheer idiocy of your suggestion indicates a fear so deep that it’s completely severed you from your senses. Just a frightened little bird caught in a trap, scratching and clawing for the narrowest possible opening for escape.

“You’re tellin’ me to tie up a woman and leave her in the middle of nowhere? May as well just hand-deliver you to the wolves. No,” he says firmly, trying to shake off the unwanted pang of sympathy. Dutch had been right about one thing — the gang did need money, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this opportunity for it slip away out of misguided compassion for a woman who’d literally robbed him as he’d bled out. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Soon as we near Rhodes, I’ll tie you to Boadicea the same way I did when we left Strawberry.”

You blink and utter a disbelieving, “Excuse me, what?”

“Reckon they’ll treat us both a hell of a lot nicer if they think you’re a bounty. Gives me plenty excuse for keepin’ you in one piece, too.”

Your face ventures on a quick journey through the five stages of grief. The grief in question being for the loss of your dignity. The blank look shifts to a glare. You open your mouth to spit out something no doubt acerbic and very rude, but a flash of uncertainty crosses your face and you quickly bite your tongue. Then you lower your head and squeeze your eyes shut. When you finally open them again, there is a defeated resignation in them that attests to a lost mental argument.

“You better ride slow if you don’t want a repeat of this morning,” you say wearily.

Arthur shrugs. “Can’t throw up if you got nothin’ in your stomach. We’ll just skip feeding you breakfast tomorrow.”

To his relief, the atmosphere lightens to blessed, familiar hostility. You tell him to go fuck himself. That you’ll literally fight him for the apples you know he has tucked away in his saddlebags. That maybe you’ll throw up anyway purely out of spite. That he’s a miserable piece of shit who you wish—

A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the outcrop for a fraction of a second, painting everything beneath it into harsh shades of white and black. It strikes as sudden and violent as a fiery whip crack, leaving behind it the bittersweet scent of burnt grass and a curl of grey smoke like a departing ghost. Its near-simultaneous clap of thunder drowns out your last sentence with an ear splitting boom so encompassing that the vibration of it seems to rattle down to the bone. The silence that follows has in it the anticipatory hush of the void prior to Genesis. You shatter it with a quiet but appropriately placed, “Jesus Christ.”

The land outside is hedged low in the horizon, and the vastness of its sky swallows all else. It crowns as its dominating feature the movement of its anvil-shaped clouds. They shift leaden and portentous, translucent bellied and lit up by the jagged tongues of lightning darting throughout quick and sporadic as pale dragonflies. Roiling violet like the murky blood of some vast organism, pulsing membranous over the prairie with a fury of near biblical proportions. And below, the buttes with their strange eroded shapes like scattered islands in a black sea of grass. In the torrential dark, their silhouettes flash ivory with every strike of lightning only to sink back into the hushed umbra of night.

There is a muted look of awe on your face, as if witnessing for the first time the true scale of a storm. Something that before now had been glimpsed only through the gaps between high-shuttered buildings. Tempests caught in concrete snares and, not unlike the men that build them, diminished until they are but a feeble whisper of their former selves.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur. “I never knew rain could be like this.”

With a jolt of displeasure, he finds that the soft expression on your face renders you unexpectedly pretty in the fire’s flickering light, the amber reflection of it bright as copper in your eyes. A gentle chiaroscuro, the smooth line of your cheek and shadowed hollow of your throat the anchor points to which his eye is drawn.

You shuffle a little closer to the outlook’s rain-veiled edge. The roughspun blanket, still drawn tightly around your shoulders, shifts. Arthur quickly averts his eyes, but even so is met with a sliver of bare skin that runs neck to navel. The subtle outline of a breast, the mild fishbone curve of a rib.

And all at once he’s unbearably, disastrously hard, filled with a painful but directionless longing — not just for intimacy, but for the simple reassurance of another body pressed close, skin to skin and breath to breath. A kind of tenderness he’s been deprived of for so long that the memory of it brings not warmth but the brittle cold of hoarfrost. Absence like a thick pane of ice, the things he’s lost visible just underneath.

From the periphery of his line of sight, you’re but an indistinct blur in the vague shape of a woman. How appropriate then, that you should be the focus of this formless arousal. And how infuriatingly pathetic. He hadn’t lied when he’d said you weren’t his type, and yet here he is, his cock stiffer than it’s been in months at just the suggestion of a woman’s naked body.

In desperate search of both distraction and something to obscure himself with, Arthur pulls back the front flap of his satchel and fishes out your blue notebook. He glances briefly in your direction, already anticipating your angry shout of indignation — but you’re far too occupied with watching the progression of the storm to so much as glance in his direction.

The notebook’s contents are far more legible than he’d initially assumed. Most of the foreign characters seem to be either names or places, which makes it possible for him to pick out the main thread of most sentences.

Its first half consists of what looks like a ledger. Neatly organized columns with foreign characters and numbers that he hasn’t the slightest idea how to parse. When he flips past it, a slip of paper scrawled with the same strange, flowing text flutters from the pages and alights delicately into his lap. Arthur picks it up, and as he examines it, it occurs to him that he has no idea how to orient it.

Prior to this, he’d only ever seen Chinese characters painted on the roadside food stalls accompanying railroad workers on their long trek westwards. A strange, complex syllabary. He’d once read somewhere that each word of the language had its own unique character. A sort of pictograph that, when studied, relays its meaning to those who knew how to read it.

He scrutinizes the slip of paper in his hand, but finds himself unable to pick out even the vaguest of resemblances. The corner of the paper bears a square seal of red ink, inset with an intricate consortium of straight lines. Curiosity spent for the moment, Arthur slots the document back in place.

The rest of the notebook looks to be an odd mixture of field observations and long, ornate paragraphs about various landscapes. A few pressed wildflowers, field observations of city flora and fauna, crudely drawn animals reminiscent of the scattered petroglyphs he’s found carved in long-abandoned settlements. An earmarked passage describing the wetlands bordering St Denis, full of strikethroughs and hastily added phrases squeezed into the margins. Another describing what sounds like Cotorra Springs.

“The amber fields are dotted with sprigs of larkspurs and wild flax like blue-violet stars,” Arthur reads aloud.

You turn to face him so quickly that your wet hair arcs through the air like an ink-stained brush, scattering water droplets that sizzle and hiss when they fall into the fire. Wild-eyed as a spooked horse, but frozen into a horrified silence as he licks his finger and traces the rest of the line across the page, continuing, “And even further north, viridian-blue pools from which rise plumes of white smoke, the water still and clear as glass. Hills of black obsidian —”

You scramble towards him and, while clutching the blanket around your shoulders shut with one hand, slap the notebook out of his grip with the other. It lands perilously close to the fire, but you snatch it up without giving a second thought to the nearness of the flames.

“That’s private,” you hiss, hugging the notebook to your chest the way one might accidentally smother an infant.

“Thought it was fair turnaround, seein’ as you never extended that same courtesy to me,” he retorts.

The memory of that miserable morning after surfaces in him like a bloated corpse too persistent to stay hidden. His billfold emptied, ill-gotten gains vanished, and his journal speckled with smeared, bloodied thumbprints from beginning to end. Above a sketch of a mountain wildflower he’d drawn a question mark next to, the word “crocus ?” written in an angular, jagged scrawl.

“Yeah, because I thought you were going to die!” you argue back. “Figured you probably had your next of kin listed somewhere in there!”

Next of kin. The phrase pierces through like a stitch popped out of place, and Arthur nearly flinches. It’s an unintentional blow on your part, but nevertheless he deflects the only way he knows how. When bitten, bite back.

“Oh that’s real charitable, comin’ from the dope-peddler,” he jeers. “You save this compassion for everyone you fuck over, or just me?”

A clear and unguarded expression of hurt crosses your features. The same you’d worn when he’d had to pry his shotgun out of your hands. Forlorn, helpless as a wounded prey animal. But it passes quickly into a cold disdain, your head raised high again and your eyes hard as flint.

“Do you know,” you say quietly, lip curling with contempt. “I seriously considered cutting your throat when I finally realized who you were. I should have.”

Then you blink, forehead wrinkling as you sniff at the air. You glance at the fire, where his forgotten can of beans is beginning to burn.

Arthur curses. He hastily swipes one of his discarded riding gloves from the grass and pulls it on, then grabs the can and blows on its contents, fanning away its delicate wisp of black smoke.

You retreat to the far inner corner of the outcrop and frantically page through the notebook until you find the red-sealed paper sheafed inside. With a sigh of relief, you slump against the rough granite wall, the tense set of your shoulders loosening as though some secret string stretched taut through the frame of your body had suddenly been cut loose.

A sullen silence permeates the shelter, punctuated only by the grating scratch of metal as he scrapes burnt food off the edges of the can with a spoon.

“You forgot to mention that the whole place smells like shit,” Arthur says finally. He keeps his eyes on the can, attention focused squarely on the arduous task of excavating beans.

“What?”

“Cotorra Springs. Smells like week-old shit. Especially around the pools.”

The rustle of blankets. From the corner of his eye, he watches you tentatively scoot closer. “You’ve been there?” you ask. Your voice is still deeply reproachful, but touched with genuine curiosity.

“You haven’t?”

“No. I’ve just seen pictures. And notes from people who have.”

“Huh,” he says. He scrapes another carbonized mouthful from the can. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you wrote about it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You think so?”

“Sure.

The corner of your mouth quirks upwards in a reluctant smile that unfolds like the breaking light of a clouded dawn. “Well, that’s… that’s good to know.”

“You writin’ a book or something?” he asks.

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” The smile wilts slightly, and you drop your gaze down to the notebook on your lap. “No. Just a favor for an old friend’s husband. The man fancies himself an explorer, but can barely string a sentence together. He’s paying me to pretty up his notes for him. Half of which I think are made up. There’s some bullshit in there about an enormous rainbow colored pond full of boiling water.”

Arthur laughs. “Naw, that bit’s true. I’ve seen it. It’s a hell of a thing.”

You seem skeptical. He doesn’t blame you. Even after having walked the rust-banded edge of that craterous spring himself, his memory of it still carries with it the preternatural awe of a place half-dreamed. He tells you about the slow gradation of color leading inwards from the rim. Ochre to cadmium, to turquoise, to a deep cerulean with the unreal brilliance of a painted ocean. Steam hanging like a pungent fog. Entire stretches of ground covered in a thick, boiling mud, bubbling ominous as something out of Dante’s Inferno. A constant gurgling of earth and water, as if he were treading upon some living thing in the midst of an infernal digestion.

Halfway through his description, you flip the notebook to a clean page and ask him for a pencil, then begin scribbling down his words with an unceasing, determined hand. This bemuses him. That anyone might find his drivel meaningful enough to commit to paper is a new experience altogether. It’s an odd feeling, but not at all an unpleasant one.

That is, until you begin peppering his narrative with so many questions that it takes the better part of an hour to accommodate them.

What kind of plants grew there?

“Bunch of disgusting slippery shit around the edge. Algae or something. Other than that, can’t think of a single thing that’d lay roots in boiling water and sulfur.”

Did the mud boil like roiling water, or was it more the viscosity of a slow simmering stew?

“More like wet cement, really.”

Were there animals?

“No. Nothing there for ‘em.”

Birds?

“Didn’t see any.”

Insects?

“A shit ton of gnats, but not much else.”

How wide were the prismatic bands around the crater? What was the geology like? Did the surrounding forest taper off gradually in the vicinity of the spring, or was the loss of vegetation sudden and absolute as a drawn border?

“Give me your notebook.” he says, having finally reached the point of exasperation. “Easier if I just draw it for you.”

To his faint surprise, you hand it over without hesitation. He sketches out what he’s able to recall, all the while acutely aware of the madness of the situation. Fucking illustrating an account of his own wanderings for the woman who robbed him while they both sit in varying states of undress. Scribbling out a messy landscape in the same notebook whose contents he’d derided just a little while ago. Focusing all his attention on Cotorra Springs so as to ward away the unfortunate possibility of another inopportune erection.

The mediocre drawing he finally manages to scratch out would have disappointed him under any other occasion. Instead, he feels a warm flood of relief at its conclusion. If this doesn’t shut you up, then nothing will.

Nothing will, it seems. To his immense chagrin, the drawing sparks another round of questions. After silently admiring his work just long enough to spark hope of your satiety, you ask him about the species of the trees. Had he explored the nearby forest? Were there flowers? What season had he visited in? Was the acrid smell of sulfur present even here?

“Look,” Arthur says wearily. “You clearly come from money. Why don’t you just hire someone out to take you sometime?”

You snort at the suggestion. The corner of your mouth lifts upwards into something that’s only nominally a smile, and more the type of grimace that accompanies an old wound. “The only two men I’d trust enough to take me out into the middle of nowhere are dead. And with the money I owe, I can’t… I can’t just… you know what?” you say abruptly. “It’s getting late and I’m fucking exhausted. I’m going to sleep.”

And with that, you tug the blanket tight around your shoulders and huddle against the ground like a felled shrimp. You lay with your back to him, the words left unsaid hanging over you both like an unripe fruit of a question.

Arthur fetches his bedroll and unfurls it close to the fire. A battered pillow emerges from the worn tarp as he spreads it flat. After a moment of contemplation, he picks up the pillow and tosses it in your direction. It hits you square on the head.

Immediately, you sit up and snarl at him. “What the fuck is wrong with — oh.” You pick up the pillow and grasp it tight, as if at any moment he might change his mind and demand it back. Your small “thank you” is puzzled and uncertain.

“I’m gonna put out the fire,” he says. “You try to slit my throat in the dark, I’ll wring your neck.”

But the threat comes out empty and toothless, and judging by the renewed sarcasm in your voice when you tell him you’ll keep it in mind, you seem fully aware of it.

Arthur douses the flames by kicking dirt over the embers, which glow dim and vermillion for minutes afterwards, fading slow to dull, crumbling ash when the heat finally bleeds out of them. The pleasant smell of smoke lingers inside the shelter for a good while longer, but even that dissipates eventually, leaving just petrichor and the crisp, clean scent of early autumn rain.

The worst of the storm has shifted westwards. Water drips in a steady stream from the outer edge of the overhang, churning the ground below to a soup of mud. The cloud cover is still dense, but it’s thinned enough that moonlight gleams through the feathery underbelly in a pale and spattered mottle. With it, he can make out the dim outline of your body, the rise and fall of your chest in a slow, steady rhythm he sorely doubts you’d have the patience to feign.

He lies awake there in the dark for a long while, shuffling through a jumble of discordant emotion. It’s as if the pieces of several sets of puzzles have been mixed together and jammed into an incomprehensible mess, so hopelessly and thoroughly muddled that he can no longer tell where one thing starts and another ends. He sorts his way through it until the rain weakens to a grey drizzle and the drip of rainwater turns from the unbroken stream of a faucet to a series of droplets beating out an abstruse morse code against the ground.

In the end, he’s only able to definitively place a single solid sentiment. Pity.

———

Couple notes:

Arthur's understanding of Chinese is incorrect, but aligns with the assumptions a lot of Western scholars during that time period had regarding it. There was a big tendency to treat it like Japanese, which despite using some of the same characters, uses a completely different structure.

Cotorra Springs seems to be based off Yellowstone. The big boiling rainbow spring is actually real: it's called the Grand Prismatic Spring and seriously does look like something out of a fever dream. Yellowstone also does smell like sulfur in some places, but it’s not so much like week old shit as it is the potent fart of someone who’s eaten far too many deviled eggs.

No algae grows in the spring. It's actually cyanobacteria, but there's no reason Arthur would know this. It does look pretty gross up close.

[musedblues]

A Taste Of Honey (Part 2)

summary: A 1920's Deacy au! In which the reader, who comes from a family heavily involved in the American temperance movement, meets John, a bootlegger from overseas.

a/n: Well here it is. I'm fully aware interest may be completely lost in this fic but I'm very proud to have finished it. Im not sure where my writing journey will go from here. All I know is that this has been a very long time comin'... enjoy if you dare!

part 1 - 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"If anything happens, Deacy, I'll have your head!"

Ivan shook his fist from the front porch, illuminated by the light flooding from the opened front door. 

"I'll be fine!" You dismissed, skipping toward the car, still getting used to the sway of the heavy golden dress you borrowed from Alice. 

"I'm talking about my car!" Ivan shouted, correcting you. John let out a laugh at the remark, and gave your brother a nod, while he opened the passenger door, nudging you toward it.

Your brother and his wife had loaned the essentials to send you and John away for the party a man you never met was throwing. It was a small thrill, the prospect of such fun to be had, in comparison to the sickening exhilaration that coursed through you at the thought of spending any kind of evening at John's side. And the fact he'd asked you to. 

The ride was quiet and short, but dragged on with each new glance you dared to steal at the man driving. Both of John's hands relaxed on the wheel. A hint of that deadly smile on his lips. 

By the time you got to where you were going, you'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of the man by your side, that you'd nearly forgotten your plans for the evening.

If you had any expectations, they were blown clear away. Before you was an estate made up of too many windows to count, draped in vines and hanging lights. 

Even the crunch of the gravel that decorated the winding path you entered into sounded oddly elegant.

Inside was a fever dream of all the things you'd imagined on your short journey into the threshold. Across a giant winding staircase and below the shimmering chandelier were people from all walks of life, crammed together to have one grand time. Different music came from different corners and wild laughter filled the gaps, if there were any. 

And before you, John led the way. You couldn't recall the moment your hand found the bend of his arm, or if he cared that you'd reached out to him as he weaved through the crowd. But the grin on his face when he turned back to catch your eye had to be a good sign; despite the way your heart nearly burst at his look. 

John led you past hoards of people and trays of half full glasses. There was only one way to go, further inside the home, but John seemed to move as if he had an idea of where he was headed. Sure enough when the pair of you met the landing of the staircase, the host of the party was there to greet you. 

The host's initial booming hello was focused mostly on John. And without more than a glance your way, the party thrower shuffled John away from your side, insistent on sharing a chat with him on the top landing of the stairs.

You were left to linger, stalling at the base of the stairs and studying the crowd around you. Girls in beaded skirts and men with slicked back hair passed you by flashing well meaning but entirely distracted smiles. 

You'd felt mesmerized enough by the scene to slowly start to drift into it yourself. Reaching to brush your finger across meticulously carved bookcases and daring to take a glass from the extended hand of the first person to smile directly at you. 

You reached for the stem of the blue stained flute, and managed to make your talk small enough for the interested lad to wander far off. But offers kept coming. Glasses of this and that shoved in your face. You accepted the offers more out of respectful politeness than any eagerness to lose your wits. 

By the time you lost track of everyone's kind gestures, and a man was leading you closer to a table decorated with cards and chips, another hand intervened.

John was back, letting his fingers curl around your shoulder and nudging you in another direction of his choosing. Thrilling as it was for you, to have been handled just so by him, you were a little taken aback. 

Funny how after the sips of this and that, you felt steady as ever. But one look from John and your knees threatened to give out and all your cares too.

In the middle of the packed house, with John looking at you that way, you felt like the only person alive. And somehow this all added up to equal your new found courage to speak a little bolder than usual.

"Are you on strict orders from Ivan to steer me clear of any strange attention or do you maybe fancy me a little, John?" You dared wonder. You almost didn't care of the answer. So long as he kept guiding you through this evening with a strong steady hand.

"Both." John seemed to decide, continuing to guide you along. The pair of you had reached the patio doors by now, and the cool night breeze rushed through in perfect time to ease the heat that had rushed to your cheeks at John's response. 

"Let's go see the gardens!" You decided at first glance of the sprawling greenery that surrounded the estate. 

John let you tug him along, darting between couples and groups who'd come to ruin the fresh air with all their smoke.

He followed along, a very good sport, smiling as you pointed out flowers and trees you didn't realize could bloom in this part of the country. As you turned from marveling over a certain rose's colour, John seemed almost enraptured. Maybe not by your subject but certainly by some part of you. His gaze was fixed, and he seemed to bite back a wider grin. And your already lightened spirits seemed all the more weightless as your eye's met his. 

"If you keep looking at me like that, John, I'm going to have to kiss you." You let a small laugh escape, as the foreigners' expressions remained steadfast. 

He'd kissed you only the night before, on your brother's staircase. It was the only reason you felt free of regret enough to lean in and brush your lips against his again. John reciprocated fondly, letting one of his hands creep around the bend of your waist. You never realized it was possible to feel so happy. 

"Did you do that because you've been drinking? Or do you perhaps fancy me a little?"  John mocked your earlier statement, when the kiss died and your eyes locked. 

"Both." You smiled, charmed enough to try it a second time. But this kiss was broken much sooner than you reckoned any kiss ought to be.

"You know I'll be leaving soon. Just a week's more time." John killed the mood with a few words. You glanced to your feet and muttered understanding, noticing his hand still clutched your waist. 

"I just don't want to see you disappointed." John spoke up after a beat of heavy silence, and the words seemed hard for him to piece together, but he spoke them all the while. 

"Then don't disappoint me." You shrugged, glancing back up to the perfectly handsome man, who's smile seemed sad now.

"Come on, then." John said, moving his hand to find your own. "Not even I get to enjoy parties like this too often."

And you let him guide you back inside. You let the sun set on all the pretty flowers. And you let yourself feel grateful for the rest of the evening at John's side. 

///

He rode the train home with you the next day, sitting across the bench from you, and not saying very much. 

You felt the need to chatter at the pass of every few minutes. You got John to ramble a little about the other places he was due to visit in the states. The guy only one more stop at some.fancy hotel after your town, in the big city, next week. Then he'd head home. 

After explaining as much, the man went quiet again. But you couldn't let the silence last. It was as if you didn't work to hold his attention, it would be lost the next time you looked up. Maybe that wasn't true. But you couldn't risk letting John slip away so easily. Not when your heart practically lept from your chest each time his eyes met yours. If it wasn't meant to be, then so be it. But you were going to fight for the chance that you had, while it was still within reach. 

So when the train pulled into your neighborhood, and John stepped onto the platform, you stopped him waving goodbye. 

"Will you be back? To our shop, I mean?" 

John took a step closer toward you with a very serious expression that softened just before he spoke. 

"I wouldn't dare leave before telling you goodbye." He promised, in a low, sweet manner. 

John pressed his lips to your temple for one brief heavenly moment. And then he turned away to hail a cab. 

At least now, in your terrible mix of emotions, something very bright and warm burned within you. And you got to believe, for a moment, that the same reigned true for John.

///

But all was not well at home. How could it ever be? 

Your mother was horrified that you'd up and left for the night without so much as a word about it to her, and to your brother's home no less. 

Her disdain for her first born left you sick to your stomach more and more each day. 

But this was nothing new. You knew to give the woman a showy apology and to stay silent as she confined you to the kitchen table as she lectured about morality. Tomorrow things would be back to her regular sort of unhappiness. 

What really stopped you cold in your tracks that night, though, was the sight of your father stood in the doorway of your room with his arms crossed.

To bring a frown to his face was your greatest fear. For he'd loved you and shown it. And you dreamed of doing good by him every chance you got. As you stalled in the hall and waited for him to speak his mind, you hoped this would only be a reprimand for causing your mother unnecessary grief, for her madness made you all ten fold more miserable. 

"I know you've been with your brother..." Your father nodded with understanding, not looking right at you as he spoke calmly. "But that also means you've been with John. And I don't like that."

Oh. Ivan had warned you this might be your fathers mood. But you'd ignored his warning in hopes it wouldn't have been true. 

"You know John!" You countered, "You work with him! You're telling me you get to work with a man you don't like but I can't see him?"

"He's a fine man. But all wrong for you." 

"You're supposed to be the one who lets me find these things out on my own." You reminded. Your mother did plenty of directing you from day to day. Your father knew of what you spoke and nodded reluctantly, uncrossing his arms and looking you square in the eye. 

"Well not this time. Stay away from John, you hear me? He'll be gone before you know it anyhow." 

Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze as if to ease the blow of his demands. But as he walked back down the hall, the uncertainty that had stormed within you since John left you at the train station, raged wilder than before. 

What a jam... 

///

There was nothing stopping you from returning back to the depths of the coffee shop, the next time Ivan started up his business. 

Your mother was sound asleep, and your father was already there, serving the last of the coffee up top. Once you arrived you knew he'd be cross but unable to march you away. 

So you slipped on your finest dress and twirled down the rickety staircase that led to the party your brother charged for. 

There were already a good deal of friends jam packed into the small basement; dancing to swells coming from the gramophone and lining up to grab a glass from Ivan's makeshift bar. Your brother flashed a grin when he saw you sauntering in, but his smile turned somewhat more into a worried grimace when he saw you march up the man near the end of those overturned book shelves.

So was everyone concerned over your connection with John? Even the man who'd held your interest sort of frowned at the sight of you demanding his attention. 

John had his fingers curled around a glass. You took it from his grasp and the action made the bootlegger grin oh so slightly. But his frown returned after you slammed back the swallow of liquor in his glass- unsure yourself by what had come over you.

"Hey, come on, don't be that girl." Ivan called to you from behind the bar. You couldn't be sure if he was commenting on the way you'd claimed Deacy's drink for your own, or on the way you seemed too eager to get the stuff in your system. 

Before you could snap back at your brother's comment, though, John spoke up.

"Don't worry about it," He insisted in the charming draw of his. "Just pour me another." And as the man who you adored stepped past you to hold your brothers attention, John sort of let his hand brush across your waist. And he left his fingers to linger along your sides as Ivan, disgruntled, poured another for John. 

"Is that all you cut in line for?" Ivan sighed, nodding toward the few people, impatiently waiting to fill their glasses, stood in a row behind John. 

And you hadn't really considered this before your brothers prompting. But at his asking, you were moved to pull out a twenty dollar bill from your coin purse, and demand he give you your money's worth.

Ivan was reluctant, going on for a bit how once your father spotted you here, like this, that he'd surely be disappointed. And you didn't want that, did you? But little did Ivan know, you'd already disappointed your father. And you were determined to get something you wanted tonight, one way or another.

So with a sigh, Ivan poured you a tall drink and informed you were good to come back for a few more, to match your payment. 

So began your evening of ignoring John's worried remarks about slowing down. And as you kept the drinks coming you weren't even sure why. Perhaps it was to test your very own limits. To somehow prove you were more in control of your path than all the others who seemed to have something to say about the direction of your life. 

And damn John, for the way he kept his eyes locked on yours between the distance he silently kept insisting upon. And damn him for helping you find your balance, despite the steps he kept taking away from you. For letting his hands stay secure around your waist, long after you'd straightened up from stumbling.

And damn your father. He had to have been behind John's change in attitude. From the moment you'd met, John had been a flirt. And steadily, his quips kept getting bolder, until the last party you attended. Ivan's rambling about your fathers dislike of your fondness of John had to be what caused him to step back.

And damn your father, for finding you all dizzy in John's well meaning clutch, now. Your dad pointed to the door and demanded you find your way out of this scene. 

"I know you're not taking her back to your hole in the wall you've been staying at, in the state she's in." You father grumbled in a low curse, his eyes searing into John's. You tightened your hold on the fellow, shooting your father a glare all the same. He couldn't tell you where to go or with who. 

"Take her upstairs if ya like. But don't step foot past the alley. I'll be up in a minute."

After a shared look, John moved, pulling you alongside him. You moved,  happily leaning into him, disgruntled by the course of the evening all the while. Even Ivan seemed to shoot you a sorry grin when he noticed you being marched away, from across the room.

The alley was a little cold. But John's figure was warm. And as you followed his lead pausing just beyond the backdoor, you could feel this chance waiting to slip away. 

"You like me, don't you?" You wondered, turning to face the man you'd been so taken with since the moment he showed up at your door.

"Of course." John nodded, and answered so softly and with such care truly felt as though it were melting. 

"Then kiss me, John." 

"You're drunk."

"But we may never get the chance again. One or both of us are about to be beheaded. Either way, that'll make kissing hard to do from now on." You implored, letting your head fall to rest precariously on his shoulder as you finished your plea. You heard John let out a somber little chuckle as he dared to tighten his arm around you. 

And then you heard a shuffle beyond the backdoor, and let out a sigh at the timing of your father coming to ruin everything. 

But instead, the door bursts open to reveal Rita in a fluster. Her usually perfect makeup streaking down her cheeks. At the sight of the girl you'd always admired, a pang shot through your chest. But not immediately for her upset, whatever it was, but because you realized you'd failed to see your friend here all night, until now.

Before you could apologize, or ask what the matter was, Rita sucked in a breath and let out a string of words for you. 

"He was a snitch. He-he told my parents everything." She stammered, wild eye'd. 

"Who?" You begged to know, having turned away from John, but not having totally turned your attention away from his hand still rested on the small of your back. 

"The pastor's son. Cole. He- he said he was alright with this whole thing. But he... He told your mother. She's on her way here, she's-" 

Sound of a car roared closer, and the engine died away, drowning out the last of Rita's warning. For a second, you thought of making a break for it. But then the click of heels on the pavement seemed to count down your fate.

And then she stood there before you. Your mother, dressed to the nines, complete with her usual scowl.

You couldn't let go of John. Your nails seemed to dig into his side on their own accord. The pair of you stared ahead to the woman who gave you life, and kept you from living it all the same. She stood and stared too, almost like she was giving you a chance. And that was the scariest bit of it all. 

As time seemed to pause, John let your name escape him in a nervous breath, like a warning. Trying to alert you that your hanging off him wouldn't help. But there was no way you were gonna let him go now. 

It was then your mother decidedly sauntered up to the two of you, letting her eyes search your from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back up again. 

When she let out a scof, you realized you'd been holding your own breath. And when you opened your mouth, willing oxygen in, or words of mitigation out, your mother decided what was next. 

Before you could blink, one of her strong hands was digging into your arm, and she was tearing you away from John's gentle hold.

And despite his caution earlier, you could feel John's hand still trying to keep hold of you, as you were yanked away. The sensation of being taken from the man's clutch was horrid, but what was more painful was the feeling of his fingers trying and failing to keep hold.

So when your mother tossed you aside, toward the brick of the coffee house wall, you were hardly affected; not like you'd only just been.

And when you looked up, after steadying yourself and dusting your stone imprinted hands of dust, John was stepping closer toward your mother. He shouted something at her, about how she didn't have the right to treat you just so. But before he could finish defending you, he was shut down.

Your mothers hand flew across his cheek, and the sound of the slap and John's shocked hiss echoed through the alley and caused something vile to rise in your gut. 

You pushed yourself from the wall then, indifferent to the dizziness you felt, desperate to reach out to the man you'd been so fond of; calling his name.

But your mother was there, more sober and more angry. And she halted your mission to make it to your man, digging her nails into your sides and forcing you in the other direction. 

"John I'm sorry, John..." You called past the lump in your throat. That was when Ivan came upon the scene. He darted from the doorway and did his damnedest to block your mothers storming off. 

"You're a monster. Let her go!" Your brother fummed, as your mother managed to storm around her first born, pushing you along. 

"I'm her mother. And I'll do as I see fit to keep my child out of harm's way." Your mother stated, almost calmly.

"You're no mother. You're a walking nightmare. She's not your plaything-"

"Word's won't fix this, Ivan." You said, reminding him that his defying of the woman only ever made her ten times more evil.

"I'll pray for your children, son." Your mother nodded, opening the passenger door of her car, and flinging you toward the bench. "They're going to need it."

You didn't look to Ivan, as your mother drove off. You didn't dare look to John. You only hung your head and cried silent tears while your mother peeled down the road. And the whole way home, she spat vile things about you and Ivan. Her own children. About your father, her beloved husband. And aout John, a man who, since his arrival, had only tried to help out.

You let your tears dry when the car pulled up to the house you'd never really felt at home in. And went willingly from the ride to the door, knowing you would get very far in the countryside if you dashed away now. You'd need a wiser plan. Still, your mother dug her claws into your arm and marched you up the staircase to your room, like you were a girl no oler to know better. 

"Stay here." She demanded after pushing your further into your bedroom, her fist around the doorknob, establishing total control. 

You expected to be banished here. What you didn't expect, however, was the return of your mother with boards to nail against your windows. You might've laughed if you weren't the one being all locked up. Wasn't this sort of thing only supposed to happen in twisted fairy tales? You're life was twisted enough, you supposed.

She left you there, trapped in the space that was meant to be your own, meant to be safe. As you sulked in silence, the memory of your mothers assault on John haunted you. The horrid sound her action resulted in. His gut wrenching reaction, the small hiss, his stalling in the place she put him in. 

And the way he watched you being dragged off, helpless and sorry for you. It was pathetic, the situation you found yourself in. So you let your tears bubble up again and you cried and cried; until exhaustion set in. Tomorrow was a new day....

///

There was a pounding at your door, loud enough to jolt you from slumber.

"Open up!" The sound of your father calling from beyond the hall stirred you fully conscious. In one swift dash you were stood before your door, jiggling the handle, feeling silly for hoping that would work. 

"She's locked it." You groaned. "Do you have a key?" Your wonder was nearly frantic, and so were you- trying still to twist the knob. At the sound of your fathers grumbled cursing, you began to bustle about for some hair pins, but quickly realized you wouldn'tve had a clue to how to finess the tools into working like another. 

Then you heard your mother. She  shouted down the hall, telling your father to get out of her sight, to leave you be. Shouting that you were better off confined. That you'd be locked away until she found the right reformatory to ship you off to. You knew she meant it. You knew she'd send you away without a care of your consent. 

"She's not a child anymore. You can't just treat her like a bad pet who needs training."

"I'm her mother. And I'll be damned if I don't do what's best for my child. I failed the first time. God knows you never cared about either of them like I care." Your mother spat, breaking your heart and your fathers too no doubt. 

Their bickering lasted a while longer, and you spun away from listening in to force yourself to think. There had to be a way out of here, out of this life. There had to be a way to a better world. 

And the best you could do was wait.  Until dinner. Wait until your mother brought you a tray of soup and bread, trading a few put downs before she twirled from your room. And then you checked the time, and counted down the hours to her always predictable nightly routine.

And you waited still, until your bedside clock ticked well passed after midnight.

And then you used a lamp to pry the nails away from windows. You could tell her bedroom light was out by leaning against the sill.

With no time to spare, you tossed a change of clothes in your purse, and the envelope stashed with tips you'd been saving for over a year. 

It wasn't a very long way down. With the help of a lattice panel and the dark of night, you found grassy freedom in no time. Your heart beat heavy as you crept toward the road. It wouldn't be safe, not until the city lights were in view. But your shoes were flat and your hopes were high.

Miraculously, no one stopped you. Not the truck who zoomed by somewhere still deep along the dark country road. Not the school kids on the edge of town, tossing bottles off the bridge. And not the sleepy clerk at the desk of the hotel you raced into. 

"Be here, be here, be here..." You prayed under your breath, hurrying to the room you remembered John booking. And right as you rounded the hall, the door of the room you'd been in search of opened. 

But the squeak of wheels gave away the presence of a maid, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies out into the hall.

"He's gone?" You sighed, stopping at the end of the hall, your feet aching after moving so ceaselessly through the night. 

"Whoever was here left a while ago." The maid stopped for a moment, looking to you with a sorry expression. "Around dinner time."

"Right. Is there a phone at the desk?" 

The maid nodded and wished you luck, and you thanked her for it. You'd need as much as you could get. 

The clerk who was still kicked back, sleeping, startled at your ringing the bell on the desk. And though they didn't seem pleased at your begging to use the phone, they let you.

It only rang twice. 

"Hello?" Your fathers voice was a pleasant surprise. Of course he'd gone to stay with Ivan, in the midst of all this chaos. 

"Dad, Im-"

"Where are you? Does she know you've gone? I'll come fetch you."

"No." You implored, holding up a hand as if he could have seen your insistence.  "No I've phoned to let you know I'm taking the train to the city. I've got to find John before he leaves. And I'm sure of where he is. I've got to try." 

John had told you where he was headed next, on your last train ride together. And you'd felt silly for keeping the details at the front of your memory... until now.

The other line went quiet for a beat. And you'd fully prepared yourself for your fathers disapproval. But then he just said,

"Okay." Your father seemed to realize the weight of your feelings, you thought, by his tone of voice. "I knew you'd get out of there, eventually." And once more, you could tell by his tone he wasn't just referring to the room you'd been locked in for the last couple nights. "Phone us again, when you're safe and sound. I know you will be."

At his blessing, tears sprung in your eyes. You were going to go no matter what. But to have your father on your side made you even more determined to fly out of this hotel, and to the next one you knew John was meant to be staying at. 

///

Booking a train ticket was nearly impossible. And if you had spent much longer pleading with the station, you would have missed the bus pulling up down the block, offering rides in the right direction. 

The couple hour journey was maddening, and thrilling, and terrifying all at once. You were on your way to change your life. No matter what John said, or how he greeted you; no matter if he fell into your embrace or left you in the hotel lobby, you'd never go back the way you'd come from. 

And luckily, you managed to find the hotel John had briefly spoken of, without much trouble. It was the grandest of the business booming on this side of the city. Folks flooded in and out of the revolving doors, as you considered the past set of days that had led you to standing before here with such an erratic heartbeat.

But you only stayed paused for a moment. Your feet were darting inside before your mind caught up with how close you were to the mission at hand. 

The lobby was just as full of people as the revolving doors had been, lines forming near the desk, groups fighting to fit their luggage into golden elevators. 

And though you hated to be the person you'd decided to be, you dashed to the end of the front desk, hoping the clerk would spare you a minute at most. 

"I just need to know if someone's booked a room." You begged to know, shooting sorry looks to the people you'd cut in front of. The clerk seemed to have no patients for you, but miraculously, another set of hands swooped in to help. Some nice older woman flipped through the bookings to find John's name, after you gave it, and came up short.

"What about Deacy?" You hoped all of a sudden, quickly beginning to lose your ambition the longer she shook her head.

You'd done what you could, rudely so. And scurried away so your unwelcome presence would no longer be in the way of things.

And as you sauntered away, giving one last pathetic glance about the crowded lobby, you reminded yourself that it was all alright. You might not have found John. But you were finally free.

And then you pushed through the revolving door. And past your ghostly reflection, you spotted a familiar set of grey eyes. 

John seemed to wait until your gaze registered his own, before spinning around to make it indoors. You ignored the chilly night air and pushed on until you were right back where you'd just started to leave from. 

There he was, before you as real and sure as the sun and moon.

"You never gave me a proper goodbye." You reprimanded through a growing smile. He'd promised to give you a farewell, once. 

"How about a rain check? I've got lot's more important things to tell you, as a matter of fact." The man you'd come to adore smiled then, and offered his arm. You held on without hesitation and managed to follow his lead through the crowd, to the room he'd been staying in.

It was a humble little space, his suitcase opened on the coffee table and a yellow lamp left on by the window. John shut the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the pale blue tie round his neck, as you glanced about the room.

"I came by. Your place, I mean." John admitted, leaning against the closed door, as you turned from admiring the wall art to face him.

"You did?"

And then John said your father had dragged the Brit along, that night he'd knocked at your door. John was outside with high hopes. But your mother had caught your father before you'd even known there was a plan. 

"So you did try to come and tell me goodbye." You laughed a little, kind of glad he wasn't able to. This reality where you'd run to him was much more befitting to the situation, you thought. 

"Well, no." John pointed, not laughing along with you. "I never really wanted to say goodbye."

You stood there, taking in the sight of him. Watching John's brows oh so slightly furrow upward, hope pouring from his expression. You considered the gleam in his eye and the way he slowly seemed to shift his posture a little closer to you. 

"So we haven't got to part ways in a hurry then?" You wondered. Asking more than if you could linger a while longer in his rented room.

John seemed to know what you were asking. He seemed relieved, too. His shoulders loosened as the man crossed the space between you, in no big hurry. It seemed the two of you had all the time in the world at your disposal, now. John took his time, reaching out to tuck away some loose hairs near your ear. And his smile grew steadily too. By the time the guy pressed a kiss to your lips, you'd been wondering if the dawn would be breaking any time soon.

But the longer John went on kissing you, the less you thought of the sunrise. As John enclosed you in his arms, all your thoughts were of the man you'd come to adore. 

And as laid next to him and closed your eyes to the rising sun, you couldn't recall ever having experienced such a bright morning. 

"So you're not too eager to head back home, yeah?" John asked, once you'd both stirred from a restful slumber.

"I think I found a much more suitable place to be." You smiled, referring to the spot you'd settled under John's arm. 

And it didn't take much convincing on his end for you to agree on catching the next boat across the pond. 

///

The other line rang so long you'd almost decided to hang up. Then your brother answered. 

"Helllooooo!" He sang in a chipper timbre, making you wonder if he'd been expecting you at exactly this time, or if he answered everyone that way.

"Well I was going to ask how you were but it seems you're so well I don't have to wonder." You laughed into the receiver. 

The morning was early, and a breeze blew back a sheer curtain, obscuring your view of the grey English morning. 

Ivan spent the next few minutes yaking about how glad he was to hear from you. And you were glad to listen. On your rather spontaneous journey overseas, you were bogged down for a brief moment, at the thought of being so far from your dear brother. But as he rambled in your ear now, you'd never felt closer to him.

Ivan asked how things were. He asked after John, and that mattered so much more to you than his concerns for your well being. And when you had had your fill of the attention being on you, you begged your brother to give you all the details of what happened after you ditched home.

He said your mother was as furious as expected. Said she tried to blame your brother and her husband for your running off. Said she tried to get the police to shut down the coffee house for hosting such an undignified business after hours.

"You should'a seen her face when she found out officer Willard was our most loyal customer." Ivan chuckled. 

"We did have to pay a fine, in the end, so she'd quit her raving. It was almost everything we'd saved away for the baby." 

Your brother sighed. And you cooed his name in commiseration. 

"But my friend who owns that estate, the one who threw that party John took you to," Ivan explained. "He was good enough to loan us a bit of cash to stash away." Your brother said the man tried to give the money away outright, as a thank you to Ivan for helping start up his own speakeasy of sorts. But Ivan was dead set on paying him back, one day.

"Now we can't decide to name the babe after him, or John." Ivan chuckled. 

"And what if it's a girl?" You mused. 

"That'll just have to be a surprise." Ivan said, and just then the line went dead. You called your brother's name with a little hope he'd come back to tell you more. 

But you didn't worry when the line went on buzzing. You'd see him and his darling wife and his child to be, one day. You'd see your father too, if he was still hiding out at your brothers place. Hell, maybe they'd all come over here. 

Maybe you'd build a life with John, in his humble little English flat. You certain felt at home, watching the guy of your fancy stay dreaming as the sun rose. 

John had been kind to you. He'd been your friend when he didn't have to be. He'd let you lean into him, and he laughed at your jokes. He invited you into his world and smiled wide the closer your ship rolled toward London. 

And he'd treated your shoes as if they'd always been stored in the middle of the welcome mat. John opened his space up to you, and asked every night for the first few weeks, if you were happy, if you needed anything more. Your answers were always yes and no. 

And he didn't need to ask for honey in his coffee anymore. You just knew to add a little in the warm cup you'd have ready near the place he liked to sit in the morning. 

It was familiar and it was sweet, and so was John. Maybe he liked honey in his tea, too. And dear God, how you prayed every year from here on out; got to be spent guessing at life alongside the man who'd thrilled you by wondering all your answers all along.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part V

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

“‘Justice is Dead’: Inspector Hyrule Loses her Badge for Lying in Sheikah Murder Trial”

This headline, alongside a photograph capturing the catastrophe that had been Link’s trial, was what had made the front page of the Times not long after it had all transpired. And it wasn’t the only one of its kind. Far from it. It seemed every publishing firm in town had released an article covering my epic blunder in court.

My name wasn’t unfamiliar to the masses either. As the daughter of the last pre-Yiga mayor to stand in office, anyone who read the paper regularly knew who I was. Until now, I’d been known all across town as the prodigy detective dedicated to keeping the streets free of crime, but now, all those people would look upon my face and see nothing but a filthy, lowlife perjurer.

I could live with my name being ground into the dirt by the media. What made me truly bitter beyond words was that the few individuals whom I’d once trusted and looked up to would now think the same of me.

I’d tried reaching out to Prosecutor Sigatur countless times in the hopes that she could in some way continue the investigation in my stead, but every time I called, she would never pick up. She probably saw this case as closed now anyway. I had managed to get a hold of Auntie Purah, but all she’d been willing to say to me was that she needed time to think before hanging up. As for Paya, I couldn’t even bring myself to try to contact her.

It wasn’t something I took pride in. Clearly the best thing for me to do would be to apologize to them all for my actions, most of all to Paya after all the needless grief I’d caused her. But I simply couldn’t do it. Just the idea of it felt wrong. No words that I could possibly say to them would be of any use in bettering the circumstances. I couldn’t bring Auntie Impa back. I couldn’t undo what I’d done. I couldn’t do anything. There wasn’t a single thing I was good for other than making a mockery of myself and disappointing those who’d once dared to put their faith in me. Nothing at all.

And now, to put a cherry atop the sundae of darkness and misery that my life had come to, the one person who mattered most to me, the one I’d dedicated myself to protecting, was gone, forever. Just when we’d finally found each other again. There was still so much I’d wanted to ask him, and even more that I’d wanted to say, but...

What I wouldn’t have given just to be by his side at that moment. What we did didn’t matter. Even if he and I were simply in the same room together, I’d feel more at ease. But who was I to wish for such things? I was the one who had failed him. I should’ve just testified that I’d been the one behind everything. I should’ve been the one on death row right then. Not him.

I thought recalling a happier time would perhaps help to restore me to my rational self, before it was too late, but in the end, it only proved to pour more salt in the wound.

“Alright, I’ll see you around.” Both Paya’s and my own ears perked up at the familiar, jovial voice down the hallway. “Great time catching up with you!” No sooner than we’d heard those words did Link come striding out of one of the classrooms on the left.

“Uhh...!” I turned toward Paya, who was suddenly as red as a raspberry. “I j-just remembered I had something to ask one of my teachers about!”

Just then, Link’s eyes landed on the two of us. Paya gave him a wave and a sheepish smile, both worth no more than half a second.

“You two have fun!”

Then she started to turn on her heel.

My outstretched arm just barely missed the strap of her school bag. “No, wait!”

“Bye!”

I gave a disgruntled snarl as she made her hasty retreat. She was far enough now that if I tried calling out to her, I’d only be drawing attention to myself.

“Everything alright, Zelda?”

“Link!” The boy in question was right there, just a foot’s distance or so behind me. “Oh, yes. Quite. Paya’s just...”

“She seemed busy.”

“Yes, yes,” I grumbled. Busy putting me on the spot, more like. As always. “Who was that you were talking to just now?”

“Oh, you must mean Sidon!” he exclaimed. “He and I knew each other in elementary school. He just transferred here last week, or so I’m told. What a small world we live in!”

He spoke animatedly, gesturing with his whole body as he told me tales of the mischief he and his childhood friends used to get up to. Though he himself had only been enrolled here since the start of that year, it seemed he already knew everyone on campus. Even the members of faculty were fond of him.

“So I heard you got in touch with my father again the other day,” he said as we rounded the corner of the building’s exterior on the way to our usual lunch spot.

“Oh, yes, I did!” He took a seat next to me on the concrete bench in front of the greenhouse.

“How’d that go?” he asked, then tore a massive bite out of his sandwich.

I winced in a mixture of worry and amazement. “Well, he didn’t really have much to contribute to my case, but I appreciate his hearing me out all the same.”

“Ah’m thure you ‘o.” He swallowed his mouthful of food before continuing, to my relief. “But he doesn’t take time out of his busy schedule to talk to just anyone, you know.”

“Oh, certainly. If it weren’t for Urbosa, I’m sure he wouldn’t even give me the time of day.”

Then a teasing grin lit up his face. “Aren’t you forgetting about someone?”

“Oh! Of course. My apologies,” I bowed, swivelling in his direction. “You’ve been a great help as well, Link. Thank you.”

A faint crease formed between his brows. “Come on now, I was only joking.” He gave my shoulder a light shove, nearly making me drop my lunch tray. “You should try being less prim and proper all the time. No one’s counting on you for anything, are they?”

“No, I suppose not.” No one amongst the living, anyway. Besides, he already had me eating lunch outside the cafeteria. How much more improper did he expect me to be? “I think it’s just the way I’ve been brought up.”

He gave a slow nod. “That’s understandable.” No doubt he could imagine how strict the CEO of Sheikah Tech. could be with her daughters sometimes. “Still, if you want my advice, try lightening up now and then. Trust me, you’ll be loads happier that way.”

My heart swelled at his kind words. If it were anyone else, I probably would have dismissed them as just another naïve optimist. “You think so?”

He shook his head, correcting me with, “I know so.”

I’d bumped his knee with my own when I’d turned to face him a short while earlier. It was then that I finally took notice of our sustained bodily contact, which in turn made me notice how little distance there really was between where he and I were now sitting.

He must’ve realized this as well. While I was still in a flustered rut about what to do, he caught me off guard and scooted even closer, until our thighs were just a hair’s breadth away from touching. I, of course, was a gawking, red-faced mess at this point, but he didn’t seem to mind. He simply kept looking at me with that disarmingly sweet smile of his.

Never in my life had I met someone more determined to keep smiling in spite of all the world’s cruelties than he was. It wasn’t ignorance; his father was none other than the district’s chief detective. He was simply, genuinely, fearless.

“Hey, so...” His mannerism had shifted out of nowhere from confident to slightly less confident. “Will you be coming back here for the horticulture club meet this afternoon? I just remembered you mentioning that the other day, and if you are going, it’d give me a reason to go.”

A rush of giddiness took hold of me, causing my heart to thrum wildly within my ribcage. “Really?”

“Oh, wait. Did I just—” He laughed into his palm, then groaned. “Did I say, ‘a reason,’ just now?” I nodded, perplexed. “I meant, ‘more reason.’ That’s what I meant to say, obviously, because I was already thinking about going before you mentioned it.”

He seemed to be telling that more to himself than to me. I did my best to reciprocate his forced chuckle. “Alright.”

“Yep...”

The bell rang in the distance, signalling five minutes until the start of class.

“Oh, dear. I’d better be off.” In a rush, I stood up and gathered my things. “My next class is on the other side of campus. Bye for now, Link!”

“Wait, Zelda!” I halted. “So...are you going?”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips. “That’s what I had planned for today, yes.”

“Oh, spiffing!” His crow’s feet appeared adorably at the corners of his eyes, making my own smile grow. “I’ll see you then!”

By the time the memory had reached the end of its reel, there was a knife situated in the trembling grasp of my hand. Though the cuts were already a great deal in number, I’d barely even felt them until now. Now they stung like venom. In truth, it was most likely a result of the tears that had begun to fall upon the marred surface of my inner forearm. With this realization, my silent tears were only magnified into sobs of insurmountable extremity. The blade in my grip clattered mercilessly onto the desk. I was never going to see him again, was I?

As the salt of my tears mixed together with the little puddles of red that had formed, I caught myself staring blankly at the ball key sitting on the far end of my desk: the one Link had found at the scene of my godmother’s killing and had kept secret until the day before his conviction, when he’d entrusted it to me. Its dim, tangerine glow was just another painful reminder of how hopeless this situation really was.

Of course, being the spectacular mess of a person that I had become, I’d made the oh-so-wise decision to cut myself at the place where I carried out my chemistry experiments. With grandiosity, I oafishly spilled an entire beaker’s worth of fluid just as I’d finished wiping away the blood.

But just as I was about to go and fetch the mop, something happened that I never could’ve expected.

In the darkness of my apartment, the area on my desk where there had once been blood was glowing a strikingly brilliant blue.

I picked up the beaker that I’d knocked over. It bore the handwritten label, “5-Amino-2,3-dihydrophthalazine-1,4-dione.” Scanning the desk’s surface, something else caught my eye—something that could potentially be the “key” that I’d been searching for since the moment I’d discovered my dear godmother’s dead body.

The orange glow of the ball key, which had just so happened to find itself square in the middle of the splash zone, was being obscured by spots of blue light.

[rainbowpacifiers]

Twin Kingdoms (A3! Event story) - Epilogue: The Inheritance of G

Sorry for the delay! Reni talks A LOT. Some minor development concerning Hakkaku’s plans for the final play. Kindly excuse any potential mistakes!

Chapter 10 | Index

Reni: Thank you for taking the trouble to come. Board member A: Good work. It was the sprouting of a new GOD Troupe. Board member B: Both Asuka-kun and Takato-kun did great as well. They grew into fine actors. Board member A: Speaking of, Takato-kun no longer belongs to the GOD Troupe? Reni: That is correct. Currently, he's active as a member of the reborn MANKAI Company. Reni: If you would like, I want to introduce you to MANKAI Company's general director, who is in the back right now--. Board member A: I'm sorry, but we actually have a meeting. We will have to leave right away. Reni: Is that so?.... I will send you an invitation to MANKAI Company's next play, then. Board member A: Thank you. Board member B: It would have been nice if Amadate-san had been able to come as well, right? Being a theatre junkie too, he loves collaboration plays like this. Board member A: It appears he's in the middle of a business trip in the countryside, so there was no way around it. Reni: I see.... Board member A: We will be taking our leave, then. Reni: Take care on your way. Reni: (That leaves Syu--) Reni: (He left? I keep telling him to let me say hello, at least. Good grief.)

Izumi: That's a very lavish closing party. Azami: Are the ones here all staff members of the GOD Troupe? Tasuku: Yeah. The closing parties are always like this. Tsuzuru: What an incredible difference to ours. Haruto: Normally, we don't do such flashy things, but it's GOD Troupe's style to go all out when it's to reward the staff and actors. Azami: I want that yakuza to hear this, too. Tasuku: Feels like he'd only consider it after we earn as much as the GOD Troupe does. Azami: Urg. You're right, he totally would. Shift: Azami, the food is really awesome, so you'd better eat a lot. I always take some home in Tupperware. Haruto: You're the top actor; don't do something so miserly! Tsuzuru: Speaking of, there is so much food, I don't even know what to choose from... Izumi: Why don't we try a bit of each for now? Madoka: Hello, Minagi-san. Tsuzuru: Oh, Madoka, hey. Madoka: I wanted to say once more how nice it was to have been able to work alongside you. Thank you. Tsuzuru: The pleasure was mine. I learned a lot, and it was very stimulating. Tsuzuru: Thanks to working with you, I wondered if that was what it is like to have a conversation through a brush. Tsuzuru: For the first time, I experienced the feeling of exchanging ideas and feelings beyond speaking in words. Izumi: (Seems like this was even greater of an experience for Tsuzuru-kun than expected.) Tsuzuru: ....That reminds me. Director, there is something I would like to talk to you about. Tsuzuru: About the play that Hakkaku-san was envisioning - how do you feel about having his grandson help with the script? Tsuzuru: While working on the script with him this time, there were of course his skills, but it was also really easy do to. Tsuzuru: On top of the written interaction between Hakkaku-san and Madoka that would be born, I think it'd make Hakkaku-san happy that Madoka is writing for it. Izumi: Indeed, that might be a pretty good idea. Tsuzuru: Well, it all depends on Madoka, though. Madoka: --Of course, please let me do it. Madoka: If I could experience the ideas of the grandfather that I respected and work on writing a script for my brother, it would make me very happy, too. Tsuzuru: Great. Izumi: (Looks like Tsuzuru-kun was able to become friends with someone great to consult with. He did say that he didn't yet have the confidence to put what Hakkaku-san entrusted us with into shape.) Izumi: (But I'm sure it will work out with such a reassuring colleague like Madoka by his side.)

Host: The next number is--number 25! If you have a bingo, please come up! Shift: So, Haruto-san? Got one? Haruto: Not at all. Shift: Oh, you're one number away! If a 23 or 67 is called-- Haruto: I've never managed to get a win before, so it'll be a bust anyway. Shift: Eh, as I thought, you usually don't win at this stuff, hm? Tasuku: I've received stuff like a TV and a microwave. Shift: Seriously!? Haruto: You-...you usually play dirty. Also, stop showing off yer muscles by only wearin' short sleeves in the practice room! Izumi: Showing off muscles.... Tasuku: Haruto really is a pain when he's drunk... Izumi: And he's the type whose dialect slips out when he gets drunk, isn't he? Tasuku: He also gave me his real name, Yamada Genta, himself while he was intoxicated. Host: The next number is--23! Shift: Oh, Haruto-san, Bingo! Haruto: Huh? Shift: You've got a Bingo! Go up front! Haruto: Really...? Reni: Congratulations. Here is your prize. Haruto: Thank you. Reni: Ah, right. After the Bingo game, wait at the entrance for me. Haruto: --I will! Shift: Haruto-san, lead actor power! Azami: Congrats. Madoka: How great. Shift: What was your prize? Haruto: Erm...an eletronic kettle... Haruto: Sigh...you take it. Shift: Eh!? You sure!? Haruto: I've already got one. I can't possibly replace that, right? Shift: I can use it for cup udon! Haruto: Listen when other people talk!

Host: That concludes the Bingo tournament! Haruto: --

Haruto: ..... Reni: Sorry for calling you out here. Haruto: D-, don't be! Reni: I wanted to continue our conversation from the other day. About my coaching methods having changed... Reni: The main cause was that I realised my real feelings that were dormant within me. Reni: For a long time, I was obsessed, and I didn't have the room to properly consider anything but the members of my own theatre company. I failed as a chairman. Haruto: That's--you are my life, Reni-san! Haruto. --I, I'm sorry. I will mind my words. Reni: That's also a facade you put up, right? From now on, you don't have to hide it needlessly unless you’re on stage. Reni: ....You know that Tachibana, the father of MANKAI Company's general director, and I are old friends, right? Haruto: Yes. Reni: Even after I set up the GOD Troupe, I kept being influenced by Tachibana without realising it. Reni: Because of that, my field of vision became narrower, and my attention shifted to the individuality and variety each actor possessed　and I dared to avoid making use of that. Reni: Rather than the talent that Tachibana was blessed with, he emphasised making use of what each actor was born with and making them bloom "like" on a stage. Reni: I was against Tachibana's way of doing things and quit MANKAI Company. And therefore, I persisted with denying Tachibana's methods. Reni: If the GOD Troupe would succeed that way, I figured I'd be able to rank above Tachibana. Reni: ...But I was wrong. You guys made me realise that with your play. Reni: Tachibana's way was right. That's why I was enchanted by the man of the theatre named Tachibana Yukio. Reni: I had just intended to pursue my own ideals, but in the end, I am a merciless man who depends on one person. Reni: ...Are you disenchanted? Haruto: Na--no! Even then, I like the ideals you pursue. Haruto: As for my life as an actor, it will never change the fact that you are my greatest benefactor. Reni: Right...If I recall correctly, you broke away from your hometown in order to become an actor, right? Reni: Actors express something for the entire audience-- There is truth to it, but it's also part masquerade. Reni: Among the audience, there might also be one person whom you really want to reach. Who is that to you? Why do you continue acting? Haruto: At first, that was definitely my mother. Haruto: (She was very opposed to my moving to the capital, but even then, I'm sure she must have had great expectations for my future...) Haruto: (She must have also wanted to get back at all of those back in our hometown who knew that I wanted to become an actor and made fun of it.) Haruto: (After I'd entered the theatre company, I also discovered a rival that I absolutely did not want to lose against. But...) Reni: And now? Haruto: It's Reni-san. Haruto: Ever since Tasuku was in the GOD Troupe... Haruto: I was always wavering between a feeling of definitely surpassing him one day, and a feeling of possibly being no match for his talent. Haruto: This time, I lost sight of the meaning behind me continuing as an actor when I experienced my own powerlessness while once again being jealous of Tasuku's skills. Haruto: But, even if I can't win against the "real deal", I want to repay you and the GOD Troupe for the rest of my life. Haruto: That I'm going to continue with acting is for the sake of expressing my gratitude for being able to meet you and the GOD Troupe. Haruto: I want to make the superior ensemble that is the GOD Troupe eternal. Haruto: Being far from the world I dreamed of, I came to Tokyo with longing and met the GOD Troupe, which felt like my only destiny among many theatre companies. Haruto: The vague longing to go to a beautiful dream world has turned into a firm vow to carry on in/with the GOD Troupe. Haruto: So no matter what happens, I will never leave the GOD Troupe, I will never leave under Reni-san. Reni: --. Reni: ...During this time's rehearsals, I felt a little envious of Tachibana. Reni: While working on the conception with Tachibana's daughter, I felt a sensitivity within her that was close to Tachibana's. Reni: I'm sure that she must have inherited something akin to the theatre spirit that Tachibana believed in. Reni: I wished I had someone that could take over after me like that.  Haruto: You have me. Reni: ...Yes, indeed. I was reminded of that just now. There is no one but you who could inherit the ideals of the GOD Troupe. Reni: Haruto, carry a strong spirit as an actor. Haruto: I will. Reni: A spirit that I.... The kind of spirit of being an actor that I have acknowledged as the chairman of the first generation of the GOD Troupe. Haruto: --I will engrave that in my memory!

____________________

Chapter 10 | Index

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hello AJ. Shy anon here. I recently started watching MJHT and I recall you've watched the show too. I haven't gone too far ahead but I just noticed that Nupur has a lot of similarities with Khushi. (Which is funny because Sanaya is in it as Gunjan who's like such a contrast to Khushi and Nupur). The very first similarity I actually noticed was the clothing, specifically the bangles. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the show. Just any thoughts. I really enjoy when you deep dive and dissect shows and storylines. I hope you're doing well. Bye 🥰

Hello Shy Anon!!!!

Oh I love that show and its cheesiness to every bit! It had the perfect everything - romance, comedy, drama and an excellent way to show a parallel lead that rarely happens now cause the whole focus goes to literally one character...

DAMN THOSE DAYS!!!

Oh Nupur? Haye!

(long exploration of Khushi, Nupur, Mayank, Samrat under cut)

Yes, Nupur and Khushi have a LOT of similarities because:

1) They represent the classic Indian television female lead; manic pixie, colorful, quirky, witty, middle class, wears tons of jewelry such as bangles and earrings and a Bollywood loving dream girl. This is ITV’s basic template for every heroine. Nupur and Khushi are just the far better and memorable ones. 

2) They’re also written by the same writer! 

However in my opinion Nupur is a slightly more fleshed out and stronger character because:

- She never compromises with her self respect.

- Balances tradition and progressive thinking very well. 

- Keeps grudges and demands apologies when she’s been hurt.

- Knows how to communicate. 

- Allows people to depend on her as much as she depends on them.

- Is always a sister first, lover second. 

- Has ambitions, career, education but ALSO loves romance, marriage, etc. 

- GROWS as a character. She starts from being too eager to fit in, naive, unaware, to mature, proud of her roots, intimidating :)

- Knows when to apologize, works on her ego. 

- Is fiercely independent post marriage and loves being ‘Nupur Bhushan’ as much as ‘Mrs. Mayank Sharma’. 

Nupur would never work with ASR. She’d kill him. No doubt. And sue his dead body. 

Also I think given she was a Star One heroine, the writer/s had more room to develop her as an independent woman as opposed to the perfect ‘bahu’ which is what star plus literally demands from all of its heroines. 

Nupur never had to fit in Mayank’s household nor meet the ‘Sharma’s’ expectations unlike Khushi who is inborn with what they expect from a Raizada bahu. There’s no standard at the Sharma household. Their ‘ideal’ bahu is one who’s independent and has her own persona. Like Mayank’s mum and Nupur. 

I feel Khushi would’ve been more like Nupur if IPK was made as a Star One show. She’d be a slightly calmer, more orthodox and more childlike than Nupur but yeah, actually be treated as an independent character. 

Lol, I realised what a brilliant actor Sanaya was when I saw her interviews!

Also, let’s just say that Gunjan was path breaking as an ITV lead. 

She’s everything you’d expect in a ‘male lead’ and so different from what they catered.

- She’s extremely intelligent, anti social, a scholar, fiercely loyal to her family, mature, pragmatic, practical and is acutely aware of her surroundings. She’s proud of who she is - even though she is intimidated of new spaces and people. A classic introvert who’s very new to Mumbai. You’ll notice later in the show that she’s a no bullshit woman and her hurt, grief lasts for years. 

Unlike other female characters who go over their emotions in a flip and their hurt is never addressed, Gunjan has difficulty moving on from her pain and takes a lot of time to come to terms with her emotions. Also, she’s incredibly sorted and slightly naive about the matters of heart. 

She’s so guarded that she ends up hurting the person she loves. 

Now I feel ASR and Gunjan would be excellent friends if they met in college. Their personalities and pride on education and intelligence is at par - they’re equals if you ask me. 

AND COMING TO MY FAVORITE BOIS - MAYANK AND SAMRAT.

SAMRAT IS MY ETERNAL LOVE. THEIR BROMANCE IS EVERYTHING AND SAMRAT IS THE SWEETEST PUP WITH THE MOST EPIC CHARACTER GROWTH. YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHY. HE IS THE BEST MALE HERO ON TELEVISION. BOY IS JUST... SO FREAKING NICE. BEING HOT DOES NOT MEAN YOU’RE A DICK. HE’S HOT AND SWEET AND EVERYTHING!!!! 

Mayank, I love him. Again, I feel he’s a very mellowed version of ASR. Quick to judge, “once good opinion lost, then lost forever” types (*cough* Darcy), attached to his mum, does not take being lied to very well, is very single focused, slightly self absorbed, refuses feelings for like a billion years, likes being ‘self made’ and is proud of who he is. Also, secretly loves challenges *lol*

In my eyes MJHT, despite being kitschy, cheesy, very 2000s with a barely passable wardrobe, remains as a much superior show than IPK just in terms of writing and characters. Yeah, they do have shit plots in between and you go WTF but in general they never really compromise on the female nor male leads. I mean I wish they went a hundred episodes less but still...

They really focus on fostering a healthy relationship between all the important characters and not just love, but also - most importantly - friendship. In that way, it was incredibly mature writing. I will defend this show with my last breath! AND CAN I SAY THIS SHOW HAD AN ENDING? LIKE A PROPER ENDING?

THEIR ENDING WAS THE EXACT REVERSE OF THE FIRST PROMO MJHT EVER RELEASED AND I CRIED. *spoiler no spoiler but if you can ever search for the “love bole toh...” promo then you’ll know what I mean when you’re done with the show*

I’ll tell you where IPK surpasses MJHT - production value, subtlety, background scoring, direction and chemistry. Like Samrat/Gunjan, Mayank/Nupur will give you all the feelz for sure (and I was so damn excited when I learned that Mohit and Sanaya are a real life couple) but there’s something different with Arnav and Khushi. You can’t tear your eyes away from them and I think it’s because Sanaya and Barun are... brilliant actors.

Barun, especially, is a rare gem. 

But apart from that, enjoy MJHT and keep me posted! Also you should write to @leila1 - she’s another MJHT lover like us!!!

THANK YOU FOR THROWING ME BACK INTO MY BACHPAN FEELZ

[queenofimagines]

Touch

Request: “can i get a peter parker soulmate x reader in which they rescue her from hydra and she's distant from peter then bucky shows up and they're all buddy buddy touchy feely cause they were in hydra together and peters all jealous cause why isn't she that way with me I'm her soul mate even though really she wants to open up to him but is nervous and stuff and bucky is the supportive best friend and happy ending”

Warnings: None

Notes: I KNOW I’VE BEEN GONE FOR A WHILE BUT THIS TURNED OUT REALLY LONG SO MAYBE THAT MAKES UP FOR IT???

The little mark on your wrist used to bring you comfort. Once, a long time ago, in the darkness of some cell that Hydra had stuck you in, the thought that somewhere, someone was waiting for you, that someone wanted you for more than just your powers shed a little bit of light to your life. For a long time it was just you in that cell with nothing but a bed and a steel toilet in the corner, the only contact you ever really had was with the guards that would always drag you towards something unpleasant. They would probe and examine and torture you in the name of science, all so they could one day use you for something you were sure you didn’t want to be apart of.

You came from a long line of empaths, but not particularly powerful ones. The ability to feel others’ emotions in and of itself was seen by many as a rather useless power, but your family had used it to help as many as you could, finding their ways into professions in which knowing what another was feeling was vital. The powers each individual person had varied slightly, for example, your mother could feel others’ emotions while your father could feel the physical pain that others experienced. Many others in your family didn’t have two parents with powers, so it was understandable that as the only one born of two empaths you were among the strongest of your line. You were able to not only feel other people’s emotions and physical ailings, but you were able to heal others; to take away their pain or inflict happiness if need be. For this reason, HYDRA had targeted you, wanting to use you as their own personal interrogator.

You could still remember the day they took you. It had been a quiet Friday night and, as usual, you and your family were getting ready for your weekly movie night. You were all huddled onto the couch, arguing over what you were to watch when there was a harsh knock on the door.

“Did you invite one of your friends over?” Your dad asked, already beginning to stand.

“No, did you?” You asked, looking at your mother.

“No, I didn’t. Who would be here so late anyway?” Your mom asked. There was another knock at the door, this time louder and much more impatient.

“I should open the door before they break it down,” Your dad laughed.

“Can’t we just leave them be? They’re interrupting out long awaited movie night and we didn’t get to have one last week because of that emergency that you were called in for.” You argued.

“Honey, maybe they’re in trouble. Whoever is at the door is feeling really anxious.” Your mom responded. Your father nodded, moving to open the door.

Oh how you wished you’d argued harder.

The next thing you heard was a gunshot and a thud, then men in what looked to be black combat gear crashed through the various windows of the room while more came filing in through the door. Your mother immediately pushed you behind her, attempting to protect you from whoever had just invaded your home, but you were surrounded, so it wasn’t hard for one of the men to grab you from behind. You clung to your mother as hard as you could, screaming and crying and hoping that by whatever miracle you would both come out of this unscathed, but another man had grabbed ahold of your mother and roughly yanked her back, not even hesitating before breaking her neck. The scream you let out was guttural and ugly, had it not been for the incredible pain and anger you felt in your chest, you wouldn’t have thought it came from you. You fought against the man behind you, grabbing onto his head and extending your anger onto him, manifesting it into physical pain. He quickly collapsed, holding his head as if it were going to explode. You were able to fight off a couple of others the same way before they were able to grab ahold of your arms and secure them in glove like cuffs. You didn’t stop fighting, though, kicking as hard as you could at anyone you could reach, but they were quick to hit you, causing your vision to become blurry and your head to become hazy. The last thing you saw before you passed out was the sight of your fathers body, bleeding out on the ground from his head where they shot him as they dragged you out the door.

Ever since that day, HYDRA had studied you, exploiting your powers and forcing you to become stronger. For a while you resisted, fighting until you were beaten to a pulp by the many guards that always accompanied you. When HYDRA realized that violence wouldn’t work, they employed a new strategy, seeing the opportunity to use an already trained soldier to control you.

When Bucky was unfrozen again there was nothing new. He had been under HYDRA’s control for so long that the routine of coming out of the ice was so familiar that it was basically second nature. What was surprising, however, was the girl that greeted him in his cell. She was scared, he could tell, but there wasn’t much he could do to make himself seem smaller or to make her feel more comfortable, and besides, having just come out of the ice his brain was too foggy to comprehend much and he was much to scared of the same tortures they always subjected him to, so he very slowly shuffled to the awaiting cot that looked like it hadn’t been slept in and slowly sat down.

You stared at the strange man, wondering why he was with you, but you could tell he was scared, or at the very least just as uncomfortable as you were. You slowly moved towards him, watching as he grew more tense the closer you came. You gently laid your hand on his arm, a slew of emotions instantly rolling through you: pain, grief, longing. You knew he was in the same boat as you, probably stolen away from his own family.

“Hi,” You smiled as best you could, “I’m Y/N”

From that moment on, you and Bucky had been each other’s support systems, always there for each other when you had endured your respective torments. When some of the higher ups noticed the bond you two had formed, they decided to move onto the next phase of their plan. They began to use you and Bucky to control the other, threatening to hurt you if Bucky didn’t comply and vice versa.

When Bucky was finally rescued, he fought to bring you back, and he did, four months later. In those four months you had been punished for Bucky’s apparent failure, they interrogated you 24/7 until they realized they wouldn’t get anything from you, whether they believed you or not when you told them you didn’t know anything, you were unsure.

Coming back to life was an adjustment, to say the least. Bucky was a blessing to you, he helped you make your way back to a normal life, even becoming your legal guardian when you wanted to attend school again. Bucky was hesitant to let you go but you had insisted that the best way for you to get back to normal was by acting as normal as possible, so after having passed all the tests, he enrolled you into Midtown School of Science and Technology. His choice in the school was no accident, Bucky knew that Peter attended Midtown and tasked him with keeping an eye out for you. It didn’t take long for you and Peter to become friends and took even less time for you both to realize that you were soulmates. Bucky had threatened Peter when he found out, making sure that he wouldn’t break your heart, but he was secretly happy that Peter was your soulmate instead of some random boy he didn’t know.

You were over the moon when you found out that you and Peter were soulmates. You had been in love with the boy since you met him and knowing that he was actually meant for you absolutely blew your mind. More than that, though, Peter had been so kind to you and you couldn’t even put into words how grateful you were for him, so you showed your affection as best you could. You remembered details about him that others would usually forget: how he liked his coffee, his favorite snacks, the exact way he took his sandwich from Delmar’s. You were completely unaware of the fact that Peter was a physically affectionate person, and even more oblivious to the fact that you seemed to have an aversion to physical contact. After all that HYDRA had put you threw, you really shouldn’t have been surprised, but you also didn’t see any harm in avoiding touch for the time being.

Peter had noticed how you never touched him. You seemed fine when he held your hand or held you close, but you were never the one to initiate it. You were never leaned up to kiss him or hug him or cuddle with him and he understood why but he was still a little hurt, especially when he saw you immediately embrace Bucky after he came back from his mission. What Peter didn’t know was that every time Bucky went out on a mission you drove yourself into the ground with worry. He was basically the only family you had left, losing him would be like reliving the day HYDRA took you. You had made Bucky promise to keep most of your time together under wraps, only telling people what they needed to know and nothing more, so even if Peter knew that you had a rough past, he didn’t truly understand what it was like.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. Peter had been huffy and passive all day, tipping you off right away. When you asked, he recalled your earlier actions. Peter had woken up before you, quietly eating breakfast with the rest of the avengers before you sleepily walked into the common area. You passed him, barely sparing a glance, in order to sit by Bucky. Bucky instantly wrapped an arm around you, quietly asking you how you slept and pulling you into his side.

“Nothing.” He said, curtly.

“Peter, talk to me.”

“I just...” He looked at you, not wanting to continue, but when he saw your bright eyes and reassuring smile, he knew he couldn’t just not say something. “Why do you hug Bucky and not me?”

You looked away from him, unconsciously rubbing the mark on your wrist, a nervous habit you picked up as a child.

“Did I do something? Are you... not in love with me anymore?” He asked. He knew you were soulmates but it wasn’t uncommon for soulmates to temporarily fall out of love before they were able to grow into the people they were meant to be.

“What? No! No Peter that’s not it!”

“Then what is it?”

“I... Peter while I was with HYDRA Bucky was the only one there for me. I lost everything and Bucky helped me heal, he’s the only family I have left. Every time Bucky goes on missions I’m absolutely terrified that I’ll lose him like I lost my parents, so with him I guess it’s just natural. I’m sorry that I made you feel uncertain about things.”

Peter didn’t feel the need to say anything, instead, he pulled you into a tight hug, assuring you that you had nothing to apologize for. You spent the rest of the day glued to Peter’s side, becoming slightly more affectionate as the day went on, but not forcing yourself to do anything you were uncomfortable with.

When dinner time came you sat next to Peter, completely engrossed in the story he was telling you about something stupid that Flash did during the debate teams last meeting. Bucky watched you from afar, happy that you were finally growing out of your shell and proud of the happy person you had become.

[periminkle]

Orphic | 03

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 8.0k

rating: pg-15

warnings: swearing, people throwing up, death, mentions of harming test subjects, ANIMAL ABUSE

author’s note: hahaha no it hasn’t been almost a month since i uploaded the last chapter, what are you talking about ?? this was also supposed to be the second half of chapter two before i got carried away and added an extra 8k to it,,, anyway eNJOY

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A few days had passed since word broke of Taemin’s death. With his absence, there was a substantial lack of cells to study, thus granting loads of free time to brood over said jaguar cub.

Knowing he would eventually leave prepared me for a mild episode of dejection, but nothing could compare to the aching gap left from his passing. Despite having known the little guy for only a short month or so, he was my stress reliever, coaxing a tender smiles after a day’s worth of drudgery with his endearing behaviour. He was the spark that fuelled my growing bond with the only decent people I could find here.

Moreover, he spent the last couple months of his life caged, muzzled and treated atrociously, as if he was the beast. I pushed back tears for the umpteenth time.

My head jerked backwards as a tissue was abruptly shoved in my face. “Do you want me to get another box?” Yoongi’s rough voice permeated the sniffles I tried to hold back and I buried my face deep into my arms, closing my eyes and trying to even out my staggered breath.

In my grief I pushed everyone away, disgusted with even my own lack of ability to protect the one faultless being that was ripped out of my grasp much too soon. Bereavement blinded me, leaving me unable to distinguish friend from foe and as a result, I cast them all out.

Unknowingly, I reverted to the mindset that I had hoped to leave behind in the city, where there was no one to turn to when everything spiralled out of control. Blaming others for my own shortcomings opened my eyes to just how cowardly I was, losing myself in a labyrinth of my own self-loathing.

It was lonesome, to say the least.

But they’d never left my side, much to my initial displeasure. Either Namjoon or Yoongi constantly shadowed my inhospitable self, from the office to the lab tables, going as far as waiting outside the bathrooms for me. I angrily confronted each one about the evident stalking on numerous occasions, yet Namjoon would insist that he was worried about my well-being and Yoongi claimed he was simply headed the same way.

By the second day, I caught on to their schedule of routinely swapping babysitting duties at around the second and third hour mark. I attempted to find some respite and solace by escaping to the break room once, when I knew both assistants had already taken their respective time off for the day. Foolishly, I believed that I’d finally evaded the duo’s clingy tactics. 

However, before I could bask in my newfound solitude, Jin’s lethargic form made an appearance. True to his overbearing, fatherly instincts, he placed a homemade sandwich on the coffee table in front of me and lectured me on skipping meals.

Even without acknowledging my mistreatment towards them lately, I knew the three of them were empathetic enough to chalk it up to my process of mourning. Nonetheless, the immeasurable guilt I felt had accumulated over the abundance of time I had to reflect on my actions. Enough hours had been allotted to sulking and after a full day’s worth of encouraging, internal pep talks, I mustered up the courage to put effort towards amending my wrongdoings.

The screech of wheels rolling against the smooth tiles of the floor elicited the roll of his name off my lips. “Yoongs.” Intrigued by the lack of a hostile tone present in my voice, I felt his gaze flit to my hunched frame. The fact that I didn’t even have to lift my head to feel his eyes softening at the vexing nickname stuck a fresh layer of shame to my skin. “’M sorry.”

With my face practically burrowed into the sleeve of my lab coat, the apology came out muffled and barely audible, though I was met with the thoughtful, low timbre of Yoongi’s hum. “And, I know it’s no excuse, but everything has just been a lot lately.”

Regardless of my verbal atonement, the blonde man continued on his path out of the office, evident by the creak of his weight shifting off the chair and the following footsteps that drifted farther away.

I belatedly lifted the heavy weight of my head off of my arms, vacantly staring at the doorway that Yoongi had just passed through. Before I knew it, his unusually lively form lumbered back inside, two brightly patterned tissue boxes in hand. “What a crybaby.”

The corners of my lips tugged upwards for the first time in the past few days. It was a welcome development.

One down, two more to go.

With a single reconciliation under my belt, repeating the same process with Namjoon went a lot smoother than expected. I sought him out after my healthy banter with Yoongi ceased, eager to successively rectify all the relationships I’d bruised. “Don’t stress about it; honestly we deserve a cold shoulder for the trouble we’ve caused you. Yoongi probably depleted over half your stash of beer all on his own.”

The drinking tolerance of those boys was well beyond my comprehension. Although my house was completely out of the way home for all of them, I could only assume that it was sheer obstinacy impelling them to commonly stop by my house to wind down after a typically harsh day.

Lifting my head from the microscope that held samples of Doshik’s DNA, the resident blue tang speedily running laps in the tank, I peeked over at Namjoon’s dark hair, ruffled from the strap of his goggles. “I don’t mind. All I’m saying is that if I ever run out of stock, you guys are going to have to bring your own drinks.”

“C’mon Y/N, don’t be like that. Restocking your liquor every once in a while is nothing compared to our company right?” The appearance of his endearing dimples brought me back to the times I magically woke up in my bed after drinking my problems away with them the night before, the days they sent me home early because I yawned one too many times or all the snacks I strangely picked out of my bag ever so often.

I raised one teasing brow, crossing my arms and leaning back in the incommodious, metal chair. “Once in a while? With the rate that you guys are going, I would have to go to the store every other day.”

“Like I said, mainly Yoongi’s fault.” His deft fingers switched to a higher lens before continuing, “But really, you’ve got to confide in us, alright? I think we’re past the stage of ‘I want nothing to do with you when my shift is over.’”

It seemed like another weight had been lifted off my shoulders from the unexpected, forgiving nature of both men despite having every reason to be peeved at my churlish attitude as of late. Before I could formulate a response, Namjoon added, “Are you feeling better?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to his question when I was just as clueless about my own welfare. But, I disregarded the notion of lying or concealing anything from them, as they’d relentlessly proven their loyalty and concern for me on more than one occasion.

“I’m not sure yet, Joon. I think I need some more time.” I covertly swapped out my microscope slide for the one sitting next to the unsuspecting man, intent on decreasing his workload, even if only by the slightest bit. “I’m glad that I have you guys, though. Thanks for dealing with my grumpy ass.”

I couldn’t help the curve in my lips when his impish gaze finally met mine, evidently content with my candour. “To be honest with you, Yoongi told me about your apology, so I was kind of expecting it.”

My jaw dropped in betrayal. “He told you?”

“Mhm, said that you could practically refill Doshik’s tank with the amount of tears you shed.”

“Wha—how could he, this guy!” Contrary to the clear exasperation in my tone, a wide grin revealed my true feelings. “Then he says that Jin exaggerates all his stories.”

A hearty chuckle escaped him. “Well, at least we know where Yeri got it from. Do you remember the last time she came to the lab?” I couldn’t repress my own chortle at the memory, the onslaught of laughter provoking a sudden cramp in my stomach that I uselessly pressed my palm against, attempting to quell the overactive muscles. “She swindled me out of twenty bucks by crying about Jin throwing out all of her toys!”  

With a flaming red flush to my cheeks, I struggled to get a sentence past my quivering lips. “You can’t even blame the kid,” I temporarily regained my breath and continued, “you’re just too gullible.”

“Hey!” He pouted at the remark, jabbing a gloved digit into my side as a form of retaliation. The blow to my ribs induced a high-pitched squeak out of me and my hand darted to the sore spot in an attempt to block any further attacks. “Have you ever been on the end of those puppy dog eyes? You can’t just do nothing, it’s basically witchcraft.”

“Yes, yes, Jin taught her too well.” I attempted to placate the threatening fingers that hung in the air, poised for another stab if need be.

Namjoon bobbed his head in agreement, seemingly pleased with my answer as brought his attention back to the chromosomes in front of him. “Have you had time to go see him?”

“Ah, no, not yet. He’s the last one I have to pour my soul out to.”

In the comfortable silence that ensued, I found myself recalling the vile confrontation from a few days back. Truth be told, my mind regularly drifted to Hyunho’s harsh words whenever an empty lull emerged within my headspace, which was the exact reason I enjoyed keeping myself occupied as of late. The echo of the wretched man declaring Taemin’s passing was the predominant focus of my flashbacks, but a particular fragment of the rest of his spiel stuck out to me as well—the mention of a tiger cub. “Hey, Joon?”

No doubt noticing the change in my tone, Namjoon fixed his stare on my fragile countenance once more, holding my gaze. Only then did I realize that I was unconsciously craving the sincere reassurance locked away beneath those brown specks, similar to a wailing newborn falling silent at being held in its mother’s embrace.

“Did you know?” The question spilled from my lips before I could process it.

Even with the lack of context, the adept assistant instantly shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t.” My gut twisted as he redirected his stare, trapping his lower lip between his unforgiving teeth in thought. “I still don’t really know. I’ve heard bits and pieces from some gossiping researchers that talk too loud, but I haven’t gotten enough to piece everything together. Hoseok said that they recently found the test subject they’d lost a while ago.”

Sincerity undoubtedly rang within each syllable of Namjoon’s voice. After a speedy internal debate, I unloaded all the horrendous secrets that I’d uncovered, from the initial suspicion I harboured to the folder in Jin’s office, and finally to the mutated PDE6C gene. The hardly intelligible speech all raged past my lips much like word vomit and my knee began to briskly bounce up and down from the massive influx of emotions.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Namjoon said softly, stretching one lengthy limb out to rub soothing circles onto my back. “Let’s go slow, hm?”

I concentrated on the gentle touch that now rested on my shoulder, schooling my breath before continuing, “I need to help them. I can’t stand around, watching Hyunho and Minzi do whatever they want with no repercussions. These are lives they’re ruining.” Feeling myself getting heated again, I twiddled the tips of my fingers to keep my head level and busy. “It’s not just about Taemin anymore, think about it. This can’t be the first time a lab animal has been ‘tested on’ and died of ‘natural causes’ or whatever excuses they’ve been using.”

I didn’t catch the recognition flashing in Namjoon’s eyes, but his silence drove me to release the thoughts that had been stewing around my conscience for a while now. “Hyunho said that they’re bringing in a new cub right? We can’t let the same thing happen to him. We have to protect the animals in this lab, Joon.”

“I know how you feel, but there isn’t much we can do when they take the animals away to perform their tests.” As he saw me open my mouth to butt in, he interjected, “Trust me, we’ve tried. I’m pretty sure that the only reason we’re still around is because Jin keeps vying for us despite all the ruckus we’ve made.”

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing though! Have you been in the break room lately? Have you heard their screams? Joon, there’s something in there. Even now, they’re probably torturing some poor, undeserving animal.” In my determination, I grabbed the lapels of Namjoon’s pristine, white lab coat. “We have to save it.”

“We don’t even have a key card, Y/N,” Namjoon protested, his tone of voice still low and gentle, imploring me to understand the more rational side of the nonsense I was spewing. “And even if we did, the second we barge in there the cameras will spot us and we’ll be fired immediately. No matter how persuasive Jin can be, he won’t be able to save us from that. Then there’s really going to be nothing we can do to help them.” He hung his head in resignation. “At least we can make their last days somewhat enjoyable. At least from here we can wait for an opening, a chance for us to catch them in the act when they inevitably slip up one day.”

My brows pulled upwards in my distress, bringing my head closer in an attempt for Namjoon to see my desperation. “And how long is that going to take? Weeks? Months? Years? When do we put our foot down?”

His features softened and I already knew that I wouldn’t like whatever he was going to say next. “If we don’t act logically, we won’t be able to save anything.”

My jaw clenched, but I knew he had a point. 

A sigh escaped his distraught form. “Go eat something and cool your head. We’ll talk more when you get back.”

In my defence, I had made my way to the break room like Namjoon suggested, nearly settling down with one of the many homemade sandwiches Jin left in the fridge—but not even five minutes passed before torturous whimpers of pain filled my ears. The pile of carbohydrates in front of me suddenly didn’t seem quite as appetizing.

In order to restrain my impulsive self from further digging my own grave, I mercilessly gnawed away at my lip, repeating Namjoon’s warnings like a sacred mantra in my head. When the dull taste of metal hit my tongue, I quickly placed the meal back where I found it and scurried out of the agonizing space as fast as my legs would carry me.

Rather than providing relief though, I found that every step weighed heavier than the next. I felt the toll both physically and emotionally. No matter how much distance I put between myself and the tormented creature, I wasn’t able to escape the distressed cries that echoed throughout my skull, perpetually bounding from one end to another. 

My plan was to drown out any nonsensical thoughts with the lengthy sequence to Doshik’s yellow tail.

However, it was foolish to believe that I would be able to concentrate on the chromosomes in the petri dish. I couldn’t focus on properly setting up the gel electrophoresis, forgetting to dig out small wells in the agarose gel and even incorrectly attaching each end of the power source, mixing up the spots for the cathode and anode. At this point, I had to restart the whole project.

My annoyance was made vocal by the groan of frustration slipping past my mouth, though there wasn’t anyone around to witness my theoretical fall into insanity. After a few beats, attributable to the pads of my gloved fingers drumming against the lab bench, I gave in to my curiosity and concern.

I wish I hadn’t.

A quick search on the computer in Namjoon and Yoongi’s office brought up the history of the animals that had been kept at this laboratory at one point in time or another. I was revolted at the sheer number of predators who had spent their last breath here.

Dread filled my gut at the upcoming arrival of the tiger cub. I knew I could no longer heed Namjoon’s words, no matter how sensible and pragmatic they were in comparison to my own faulty logic. But to tune it all out, live in ignorance and deal with countless other innocent mammals meeting the same tragic fate as Taemin—no, I would protect anything within my reach, no matter the cost.

Although I could never fight off all the monsters of this world, I hoped to have enough power to at least change one innocent being’s life.

And that would start with whatever they’d hidden away upstairs.

With this new mission in mind, my once empty days became filled to the brim with organizing a brilliant plot, often sacrificing hours of my sleep to continue planning and ensuring every aspect was foolproof. It took self-restraint that I wasn’t aware I was capable of in order to not burst in behind Minzi whenever she threw that smug smile at me before entering with her keycard; though I knew that plan wasn’t beneficial to the animal inside. Hence, I clenched my fists and dug the soles of my runners deeper into the ground whenever I thought of it’s tortured wails.

Just a little longer.

Despite familiarizing myself with the tone of the screeches that constantly resonated in my mind, I still couldn’t place the species the groans belonged to. It didn’t necessarily matter, but I was starting to run on the blind hope that they would be similar in size to Taemin, who I could easily carry in my grasp. In case, I also hid one of the carts used around the lab to transport loads of spot plates and test tubes, emptying it of all equipment and sanitizing the sides in case of any lingering, harmful chemicals.

After many long, strenuous hours of devising strategies and avoiding suspicious eyes, the day of the crime was finally upon me. Throughout the day, I used my precise notes to shift the angle of each camera slightly when I found myself alone, just so I could sneak past without showing up in frame. 

I even headed upstairs to finally visit Jin, not having found the chance to properly apologize to him yet. The opportunity wasn’t wasted though, as I scoped out the cameras in the dim hall and nudged them over to the side as well. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to deal with those inside the torture chamber itself, but I would cross that hurdle when it came down to it.

Hopefully, the all-black guise I prepared would cover any distinguishable features amidst the shadows of the night.

I was nearing the end of my extensive plan, the only step remaining being the act of acquiring a key card, grimacing as I thought about resorting to the horrible decision of swiping that which belonged to Jin. Ironic, really, considering that the whole reason I was going to see him was to atone for my previous behaviour, yet I was planning to nab his keycard within the same breath. 

That aspect of my plot was at a standstill, as I’d never gotten a glimpse of said object in Jin’s office or on his person. I was stumped, beginning to believe that he didn’t have access to the lab upstairs. But his position as assistant director must surely give him such privileges, right?

As I was about to enter Jin’s office, prepared to snoop around a bit with the excuse of looking for Doshik’s file for concerns about his unusual allergy to something within the tank’s water, I spotted Eunmi, the snotty receptionist, striding past my frozen form. 

She plucked the notorious keycard out from an inside pocket near her chest, holding it against the reader as my eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. Unperturbed by my blatant shock, she adjusted the pile of folders squeezed within her hold and strolled in.

A huge grin split across my face as I formulated my next steps. Instead of carrying on to my original destination, I changed my route to head off to the front entrance, patiently waiting for Eunmi’s return. I could push off Jin’s apology for a little later.

After about half an hour had passed, I spotted Eunmi gracefully slide back behind the towering desk, which concealed everything but the crown of her head. The loud clicking of the keyboard filled the silence.

Typical.

“Ah, Eunmi!” I briskly walked towards her, meeting those sharp eyes for a fraction of a second before they flickered back to the monitor in front of her. “I don’t see you around very often, how have you been lately?”

“Cut the small talk newbie, I’ve got work to do,” she sneered.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to allow her words to affect my deceptive, cheery disposition as I asked, “I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me tonight? Y’know, since I’ve been here a couple weeks and we haven’t gotten a chance to know each other yet!”

“Sorry, too busy,” Eunmi asserted, flicking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her shoulder. It seemed to be one of her many annoying habits that ticked me off.

Slapping my flattened palm against the shiny surface of the desk, I leaned back slightly and threw out my bait. “Ah, that’s too bad. I wanted to treat you out tonight, but I guess you’ve got too much work, huh...”

Hook.

She hummed in thought. “Time and place?”

Line.

“Bar two blocks away, eight-thirty?”

Eunmi raised a single, defined brow. “Nine. Your treat?”

I confirmed with a nod as her lips curled, displaying a pink lipstick mark on her front tooth.

Sinker.

Precisely a quarter before nine, the gentle creak of wood followed the twist of the doorknob to the assistant researchers’ lab. Jin’s drooping countenance peeked through the crack he created, fixating a mock glare on my busy hands. “That’s enough, Y/N. You can pick it up tomorrow.”

Despite the multitude of gel electrophoresis equipment scattered around me from the past few hours spent slaving away, most of that time was allocated to finalizing the nitty-gritty details for tonight. Honestly, analyzing DNA became second nature to me by now, creating space within my mind to freely cogitate due to the lack of deliberation the task required.

I swivelled around in Yoongi’s chair, facing the evidently fatigued man. “I’m almost done with this sequence though, give me ten?”

He let loose an excessive groan of frustration at being unable to retire for the day, tousling his unkempt locks before collapsing on the worn down bench in front of Namjoon’s desk. I hummed a catchy melody as I continued to scribble down the results from each experiment.

“Now that I have you all to myself,” I gingerly began, stealing a glance at Jin’s unmoving form, “I wanted to properly apologize for everything.”

He raised his arms to cushion his skull against the tough surface, which I took as a sign to continue. “Yoongi might have already told you about my poor attempts to make amends with everyone and I haven’t had the opportunity to sit down with you yet so,” I paused, taking a second to inhale and gather my thoughts, “better late than never, right?

“I shouldn’t have turned my back on you guys when all you do is look out for me,” I sincerely confessed. “I guess I took advantage of how comfortable I felt around you, but I realize that it was unacceptable to treat you as my friend when we’re at work and you’re acting as my boss. I crossed a line and I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to conduct myself accordingly at work.”

A few minutes of devastating silence trickled by. My mind was whirring with all the possibilities of Jin’s next actions; whether he would flip out and rage, simply march back out the door or if he’d fallen asleep and hadn’t heard a word I said. Unsurprisingly, when I turned around I was met with the tranquil sight of Jin’s relaxed frame, soft snores circulating in the office.

I swerved over to him, the squeak of the old chair screeching horribly against the tiles of the floor. “Hey, Jin. How about you go home and I’ll make sure to lock up, hm?”

His eyes fluttered open into slits and I could see the gears whirring in his half-conscious state. To seal the deal, I threw out a cheeky smile; one that I knew he couldn’t resist. “Alright, fine. You just,” he was interrupted by a hefty yawn overtaking his speech, “you just need to lock this door and the main entrance. Everything else is already taken care of.”

My eyes lit up at the sight of his keys and I let out a hum in acknowledgement at his instructions, attempting to curb any suspicion.

Jin’s tall stature towered over me when he pushed off on the balls of his feet, standing up to his full height. “And you didn’t need to apologize, Y/N.” My jaw went slack at his confession of having heard my whole spiel and I had to strain my ears in order to pick up the quiet mumble of, “I should be the one begging for forgiveness anyway.”

Before I had the chance to process his words, much less time to compose a well-thought-out response, he brushed past me and discarded the shiny metal on top of my pad of paper. The revving of a car engine came to life, headlights beaming through the window to the left as he sped away.

Although I could have spent much too long trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind Jin’s bewildering statement, the clock was ticking. Ten minutes remained to clean everything up, change outfits, lock both the office and the front door, then book it to the bar.

Prancing through the flashy entrance with mere seconds to spare, I registered the reality that I might have missed a minute detail in my intricate scheme. Whereas the individuals loitering around appeared as though they’d just come from a fashion show, I felt severely underdressed in the tight jeans and oversized sweater I’d worn to work that morning. 

The place was relatively empty, seeing as the night had yet to begin. Nevertheless, I made my way over to the bar stools where I saw Eunmi with a glass in her hand. 

“Eunmi!” After a closer look, I took in the wine coloured body-con she slipped on, complimenting her dyed hair well. But from the forced smile she plastered on, I could tell she hadn’t discovered that lipstick mark from earlier.

“You didn’t go home and change?” She pointed out once I was within earshot, her awkward grin morphing into her mundane scowl. Oddly, I felt more at ease with her evident displeasure than her amiable facade. 

I glanced down at my attire with a slight shrug and pretended to dust off non-existent wrinkles. 

“Tonight’s on you, so let’s start off strong, hm?” If the stench wafting off from her breath was anything to go by, I presumed that she commenced her own pregame at home before arriving. She waved the bartender over, “Two shots.”

He flashed a greasy smile and a nod our way before beginning on our drinks.

“So,” I tried to initiate conversation that hopefully didn’t come off as awkward as I felt, “how’s the pro—”

“Nope, we’re not talking about work here.” Eunmi turned her chin up, rolling her eyes at my apparent nonsense. “I don’t wanna think about that shit hole more than I already have to.”

It was difficult to remain civil in the face of the obvious contempt she harboured in her voice, although I bobbed my head to convey my consent anyway. While racking my brain for any other topics to touch on, I came to the realization that I’d never properly interacted with the surly woman seated beside me; other than asking for directions on the first week and extending a greeting that was rarely reciprocated, I only knew her name and that she enjoyed clicking away on her noisy keyboard for the majority of her days.

Swooping in to the save the definite lull in the discourse, the round-eyed bartender slid over the shots. Eunmi, shockingly, downed the drink as soon as it came into her grasp. In an effort to appear as amiable as possible for the sake of the overarching strategy, I rushed to follow. The abrupt grip on my forearm halted any movement though.

“But, I will say,” Eunmi confidently boomed, puffing her chest and slapping one outstretched palm on the table. If the irked stares the other patrons were giving us right now were enough to kill, I was certain that we’d be ash by now with her outrageous volume overpowering the dull beat of the music. “I am way overworked considering what my job description actually entails. The place wouldn’t even be able to run without me!”

My brow creased as I toned down my own voice in the hopes that she would get the hint. “Oh, uh, of course! And, uh... just as a refresher, how have you been helping out lately again?” Honestly, with the lack of visitors to the lab, assistants having to prepare samples and write reports, Eunmi’s role within the lab puzzled me greatly.

“What haven’t I been doing is probably the better question to ask!” She haughtily spat out, swiping my glass and chugging the liquid down her—most likely burning—throat. Even the narrow glare courtesy of the bartender himself couldn’t stop her from slamming the empty glass on the counter. I smiled apologetically. “I mean, from delivering J3’s documents to manning all the receptionist duties, I wonder what miss Minzi is doing exactly!”

Naturally, my head tilted in curiosity at the unfamiliar name. “J3?”

“I keep telling them; ‘he’s too dangerous’, ‘if he gets out again we’re really in for it’, but who’s about to listen to the too-brilliant-for-her-own-good receptionist? This is exactly how those stupid characters in the horror movies die; they don’t listen to the smart one!” With each argument, her unstable torso swayed back and forth, threatening to completely topple off the barstool a number of times. I placed a hand at her waist in an attempt to keep her upright, although she, very dramatically, slapped it away.

Undeterred by the aggression, I leaned in closer with widened eyes. “Mhm, but I would listen to you, Eunmi. What exactly is J3 though?” I prayed to any higher power that she was too intoxicated to pick up on how desperate I came off in prodding her for information.

She scoffed, “You don’t actually think I’m that dumb, do you?” Her face reared closer to my own, merely centimetres apart at this point, eyes burning holes into my soul and the stench of tequila thick on her breath. “I know what you’re trying to do here, inviting me out to get wasted, even going as far as to pay for it all.”

Panic rose as I nervously chuckled, eyes darting. “I don’t know what you’re getting at?” To relieve some of the perspiration building in my palms, I nabbed the freezing water that remained untouched in front of Eunmi—not so subtly placed there by the bartender.

Licking her lips, she arrogantly leaned back with a cocky smirk plastered across her countenance, “You want to get in my pants.”

Any remaining liquid in my mouth grotesquely flew into the air.

“It’s okay, no need to be embarrassed that I connected the dots. I mean, a lot of people have been in your shoes.” Eunmi expressed, flicking a stray strand away from her forehead. “But I just don’t see you that way.” The look of sympathy she attempted to exude didn’t sit well with me, although I didn’t know whether it was because I could trace where her eyes were drifting to—another drunk guy who’d ripped his shirt off and began spinning the fabric around as if he was some kind of helicopter—or that anything less than hostile was strange look on her.

I was still pondering on whether it was a blessing or a curse that she misinterpreted my intentions so horridly because after downing a couple more shots and a cocktail to top it all off, Eunmi was thoroughly convinced that I was harbouring some intense feelings.

The second time she swiped her pink tongue across her lips, she gracelessly clambered off the barstool. “Don’t worry about it too much; it’s not you, it’s me,” Eunmi drawled out, pointing a well manicured finger to her chest. “It just wouldn’t be fair to you, having to stand next to me all the time when everyone knows there’s absolutely no competition.”

I didn’t realize how many people had entered the club since we’d arrived and I reached out to grab Eunmi’s wrist again, worried at the way she was stumbling away from me. Even though she was a bit of a lousy woman, I wasn’t heartless enough to have Eunmi fend for herself in a pool of sharks, especially when she was heavily intoxicated.

My attempts to restrain her were futile though, as she squirmed away while eyeing the man from before, who had scrambled onto the top of a table and sensually moved his hips to the beat.

“Ooh, I do see something worth banging toni—”

And down she fell.

As I reached over to aid the inebriated receptionist, lifting by her exposed upper arms while wondering just how much alcohol she consumed prior to her arrival. Coming in contact with the unexpectedly damp, sweaty skin impelled me to cringe away from the unpleasant sensation, but I resisted temptation to turn tail and duck out of there for the sake of my goal. 

Eunmi’s whines complaining that she was fine and endeavours to wriggle out of my loose hold only served to further thin my nearly non-existent patience. At this point, I had to conserve as much energy as I could for later on, not expend it all to take care of a toddler that couldn’t seem to stand on her on two feet.

When Eunmi’s visage faded into sickly green shade, I hurriedly yanked her limp body over to the unusually vacant washrooms. Out of seemingly nowhere, another sobbing, disheveled girl wriggled out from beneath the sink, evidently having thrown up there as well. As my nose scrunched up at the fishy odor, the stranger crawled over to Eunmi’s side by the toilet, gently patting her back and cooing at the similar, dreadful state the two were in.

While her focus was on aiming her regurgitation into the toilet, all her efforts in vain with the sheer amount of vomit surrounding her, I took the opportunity to file through her shimmering purse that I held in my clutch. I rummaged around to quickly find the key card, slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans, thankful that despite the change in outfit, she brought along the same bag that she had left work with. 

“Eunmi, I think we should head home now,” I suggested, mildly concerned about her ability to breathe due to her continuous retching. Without waiting for a response, I began dialling the number for a cab.

After she finished emptying all the contents of her stomach and my wallet felt noticeably lighter than when I came in, I detached the weeping girls from one another and took hold of Eunmi’s underarms, dragging her past the dancing masses and plopping her down at the entrance.

“I get that you had a rough day,” I huffed out, taking a seat on a misplaced block of cement, “but did you really have to get so wasted?”

Streaks of her dark mascara decorated her cheeks from her bawling session, swollen eyes staring off into the distance. “Might as well enjoy myself before J3 finally rips my throat out.”

My brows knitted together at the repeated mention of the name, although I wasn’t able to dwell on it for long because I was soon blinded by a pair of bright headlights beaming from a vehicle painted in a distasteful mustard shade. The cab pulled up to the curb and I somehow managed to shove Eunmi into the backseat, forking over another wad of cash as I encouraged her to mumble out an address.

The car sped away and the lingering breeze grounded me, steeling my resolve despite the wet drops spattering onto the sidewalk. It seemed as though even the weather was attempting to foil my immaculate plans and I silently cursed my past self for failing to check the forecast ahead of time.

Deep down, even the possibility of having to endure another day acting clueless to the torment transpiring within my own workplace terrified me. Not even hard-headed Namjoon could deter my unwavering will at this point.

I jogged back to the lab as quickly as my fatigued legs allowed, predictably drained from hauling another person. The adrenaline pumping through my veins was the only tangible factor keeping me going and luckily, powering through the skittish apprehension gripping my mind.

Once the spotless exterior of the lab came into view, I began scouring through the bulky tote bag I lugged around everywhere. My hand ran across a smooth length that I failed to recognize, pulling it out to identify the unknown object. A miniature fishing rod decorated in vibrant red accents emerged.

The toy I bought for Taemin.

Clenching my fist around the rod, determined to save them this time.

Driven now more than ever, I located the keys that Jin entrusted me with earlier, twisting the lock open and slinking inside. The door creaked eerily behind me as I scanned the tenebrous entrance. 

Refraining from switching on the lights, I relied on my muscle memory to sneak off to the changing room and donned the black guise in my locker. I secured a cap on top of my head before creeping up the stairs.

With the staircase enshrouded in darkness, I was forced onto my hands and knees to carefully navigate myself; I tried not to think about how pathetic I looked at the moment.

My hands trembled in the face of the obstacle I had envisioned barging through countless times—and now, I was presented with that very opportunity on a golden platter. Well, with more lying, drunken antics and conniving than intended, but none of that was important in the grand scheme of things.

Taking hold of the key card and pressing it firmly against the reader, the ruby glow blinked green. Success.

I took a tenuous inhale and an even shakier exhale before heading in. Considering the lack of windows, the complete darkness that enveloped the room was expected; hence the downwards tilt of my head and slight adjustment of my cap as I begrudgingly flicked the light switch beside the doorway. Immediately, I covertly surveyed the ceiling for any cameras that could be covered or nudged out of sight.

Oddly enough, none were fixed up there nor were they scattered along the walls. I wearily stepped deeper inside, elated yet distrustful all the same. The number of cameras I passed on the way here was more than I could count on both hands, so I couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t want a single, watchful eye in here.

Just what kind of experiment were they performing here?

Relenting in my inspection, my attention wandered to the middle of the rectangular room. There, on what looked to be a decrepit operating table, laid a human body.

Well, sort of human.

The lack of movement on the other end prompted me to draw in closer, examining the man. I was bewildered at the jet black ears that stood atop the crown of his head, poking out through his dark locks. Hesitantly, I stretched a hand out and tugged on one, watching his face for any sign of cognizance. My heart rate sped up at the confirmation that they were indeed attached to his skull and were undeniably soft to boot.

Examining the rest of his body, which was clad in simply a pair of boxers, I spotted a similar pitch black coloured tail resting beside his left leg. Although I resisted the urge to check if that was real as well, since I was sure that if he was anything like his animal counterpart he wouldn’t take well to the idea of a sudden jerk on his tail. 

I couldn’t help but run my digits along the length of the fur, pleased to find that it was just as fluffy as his ear. The longer I stared, the more confusion swarmed my head. The pads of my index and middle finger came up to rub at my temple, unsure of what I was observing.

Were they trying to fuse the DNA of a human and—

A sudden, horrifying connection fired off in my head, making my heart drop to my gut as I examined the rest of the room. I pleaded for my assumption to be incorrect, just a figment of my bereaved brain.

Resting on the floor in one corner of the room was a sheet, draped upon an indistinguishable object. With bated breath, I staggered over to the lump and pinched the fabric, lifting the sheet off and uncovering what lay beneath.

Taemin.

My chest tightened and I felt claustrophobic in the spacious room, as if the walls were closing in and I could no longer afford the luxury of a breath. Salty tears welled up, slipping down my cheeks as I quietly wailed, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Through the blurry haze, my gaze travelled along his tiny body that was missing patches of fur, making parts of his pale, bruised skin visible. Another sob wracked through my body as I looked to his face and met a pair of dull, emerald green eyes; they were devoid of life, staring aimlessly at the wall. They didn’t even have the decency to lower his eyelids.

Instead of shock, a sort of numbness filled me—which was a thousand times more terrifying. I longed for the rich emotion that blazed through every orifice of my body, anything other than the apathetic desolation that halted my waterworks.

With one last glance, I shut his eyes and allowed the muscles to remain in their relaxed position. My heart yearned to give him some semblance of a proper burial, although I reminded myself that his young, playful spirit no longer occupied this empty carcass. After smoothing my palm over the side of his head and giving my final goodbyes, I covered his unmoving form once again.

I used the corner of my sleeve to wipe away any evidence of my anguish and turned my attention back to the man on the table. At the very least, I would save one life tonight.

Upon further inspection, I noted the chains cuffing his limbs to the table, which made me wonder about the threat he might pose if released—something I hadn’t taken into account. A quick scan of the room gave no clues as to anything that could free him, prompting me to forage through the few lab benches scattered around.

The mess of papers, test tubes and syringes made it difficult to locate anything, I doubted if even the head researchers could rifle through this mess to uncover something of use. A common theme among all the stacks I came across was the name, J3, scrawled across each of them; the familiar name that Eunmi brought up earlier that night piqued my interest. But, I stuck to the mission at hand, stressed from being on borrowed time.

Irritation settled into my features with each tick of the clock, coming up empty at the bottom of each bench I scoured. Through pure coincidence, I made out the gentle skitter of metal bouncing across the floor after making contact with the front of my sneaker. I grinned and scooped up a key

After stumbling back over to the table, I scrutinized his distinct features, defined brows resting above his closed eyes, enhanced by thick lashes. Travelling over his high cheekbones and down the slope of his nose, I inspected his thin lips complimented by the tiny mole underneath and framed by a strong jawline. I found his countenance oddly familiar, as though I’d seen him somewhere befo—

A hollow chuckle escaped my lips.

It was the burglar.

Of course, perks of moving into a small town right? You’d get to know everyone, even the criminals!

My eyes roamed over to his side where an atrocious attempt at first aid was located, the torn skin peeking through slivers of the bandages. Bright pops of colour laid in a few different spots, courtesy of the Hello Kitty band-aids he’d stolen from my drawer back home. The sight of the white cat on the well-built man almost made me burst into a round of giggles, but the dried, crusted blood reminded me of the gravity of the situation.

Any remaining resentment I harboured fled with my next exhale, leaving pity in its exchange.

In reality, I didn’t sustain any injuries from the scuffle and all I’d lost were a couple of first aid supplies. While in this rare compassionate state, I also reluctantly forgave him for the hassle brought about from my broken lock.

Even if he probably snipped a few years off my life with the stress from the encounter—resulting in the growth of a couple white hairs, no one deserved to be screeching out their lungs in pain every day.

I deftly unlocked each lock confining his wrists and ankles and stepped back to admire my handiwork when I processed just how ripped the guy was, strength bulging out every crevice of his body. All I could think about was how the hell I was going to transport this hulking mass of pure muscle out of here. 

The idea of plunking him onto the cart I prepared earlier and wheeling him all the way home was tempting, but other than all the little kinks in that plan, most of all, I didn’t think it would be too comfortable with his current state adorning his body.

Then came the crippling realization that I couldn’t handle this on my own.

Thus, I retrieved some clean bandages from one of the benches, deciding that it would be best to snatch a few tranquilizers for my own safety as well and returned to his side.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my short list of contacts before locating his name. As the device began to ring, I reached across the stranger’s lithe body to unravel the old dressing, nearly consumed in reddish-brown dye at this point, to replace them with new ones.

The chime ended, indicating that the receiver had been picked up, before he asked, “Y/N? Why’re you calling so late?”

I began to place the gauze on some of his superficial wounds. “Hey, so, um... long story?”

[libradusk]

Touch Starved | Ahsoka Tano

Word Count: 1,260

Pairing: Ahsoka Tano x Reader

Summary: The most vivid memories of your adolescence were stolen by violence and war, a chance reunion 14 years after the fall of the Jedi Order reignites what little hope still dribbles through you

warnings: some mention of blood and death that comes along with Order 66

Part of my Touch Starved miniseries

Chance, that's what it had all boiled down to at the end of it all, how you had survived the worst day of your short life - the worst day of the war.

If you had been with anyone else at the time, you would have been dead, cut down just like your master and the thousands of other Jedi who had all met their fate that horrific day. You had known it at the time through your stolen adolescence, and you certainly knew it now as a fugitive - the only birthright you had ever known now sentenced you for execution, the Empire’s mark for death forever branded on your very soul.

When you had stepped onto that Star Destroyer bridge alongside Ahsoka and Captain Rex, you could never have predicted that the rapid flash of hyperspace would soon double as a blurred countdown to your final moments as a Jedi.

Your assassination had been pre-written in blaster-fire and blood.

At the time you had been happy - drained in every way possible following the Siege of Mandalore, but undeniably overjoyed at being reunited with Ahsoka once more. You had even noted - despite your conscience deeming the thought ludicrously selfish for a Jedi - that you dared to feel whole again, now that your closest confidant and treasured ally had returned to fight at your side - to fight alongside all of you to finish the war for good.

If only you had listened to Maul’s final, desperate warning to you all.

From the moment that first gunshot had grazed your neck, everything else stumbled into slow motion behind it.

The burn that seared and cauterised across your flesh was incomparable to the pain of realising that the only world you had ever known now crumbled around you, that the same soldiers you had battled alongside - laughed, cried and mourned beside, were now either dead or trying to kill you too.

Your own, personal tragedy had unfurled its merciless bindings around you and cut you to pieces in the process.

Bile, adrenaline and unadulterated fear curled over each other for the entire time it took you to escape, threatening to overwhelm every one of your senses as you navigated the dungeon of corridors and airfields. Recalling the events even now caused your lungs to constrict and shrivel in your chest the exact way they had back then - there was no mercy spared for whether you were awake or sleeping, your memories remained tarnished all the same.

Everything finally came to a screeching stop the moment you stumbled from that stolen bomber and your knees collided with solid ground. Despite your freedom, you had felt anything but relief at the feeling of snow blanketing your blistered knees.

You could still smell the smoking remains of the Star Destroyer ship and the clones that had perished alongside it long after you had finished burying their bodies.

Only after you had placed down the last helmet and turned to face the haunting expression on Ahsoka’s face had your body finally allowed you to cry, your soul wrecked with confusion and grief that neither of you could truly answer.

She had held you then, despite your bloodied hands staining her cowl and the fact you knew she was just as broken as you were - she remained steadfast and let you crash against her, your only remaining warmth left across the whole galaxy.

Her own tears had burned hot with fury as they dripped onto your frost-bitten skin when she finally shattered alongside you.

She was torn from you too soon after that.

Or rather the Empire tore you from her.

Your throat had practically bled as their forces had ripped you away, ravaged raw with screams of protest and pleas for her to run, to continue to survive through it all.

The look drowning in those misty-blue eyes still tormented your dreams long after rebel forces had come to your rescue, as did the way she had grasped helplessly towards you as Rex had muffled her cries and dragged her out of view - to safety.

You had made peace then, that somewhere out amongst the stars, Ahsoka was still safe - still alive, even if she couldn’t be by your side anymore.

The thought had eased the hollowness in your heart, if only by the most minuscule amount.

That fateful night relit the fire in your stomach - despite the terror and loss of the only two people you had left in the world it brought alongside it. You stopped running, determined now more than ever to retake the peace that was stolen from you - from Ahsoka and Rex and everyone else who’s lives had been dictated and swallowed by the horrors of blood lust and power born from war.

You had vowed to honour that reignited mission when you had settled down to sleep amidst the threadbare sanctuary of the rebel base that night - and every night that followed thereafter.

You cannot break me further, I have nothing left for you to take from me.

I will stop you from forcing others to suffer as I have.

That skeleton of a mantra continued to guide your every action, to dictate your very survival for years, until at last it guided you to the crew of the Ghost and settled you amongst its rag-tag family of Rebels.

You never envisioned yourself ever reuniting with Ahsoka in your remaining lifetime - had not even dared dream of it. Instead you had always placated yourself with a fantasy wherein she was alive and well hidden in a remote pocket of the galaxy - untouchable and sparkling and happy.

In retrospect you should have known better than to pacify yourself with the lie that the ex-Jedi would ever be the type to ever cower away while others suffered in her stead. Your morals - your spirits - would also entwine you together. The two of you shared a destination that had been forever stitched across the stars, regardless of the path you each walked to reach it.

Jedi or not, the stars could only keep you apart for so long - no matter how excruciating the wait, the means or the time between.

Yet the moment she stood before you once more, older and taller and exhausted, but still as warm and beautiful a soul as you always knew her to be, you couldn’t help but crumble.

And so did she.

For a second the two of you reverted to the ghosts of those tear-stomped teenagers once more, torn apart and furious when you had already lost everything but each other, jaded and scarred by events far beyond your control.

But beneath the tears and anger and pain there was the Ahsoka you knew, the same Ahsoka that had offered you a chance to live - to keep on fighting despite the hell you had both been dragged through day after day.

The Togruta had all but melted into your embrace then, choking back relief that quivered over her shoulders as wide eyes and tentative hands had swarmed over your face, desperate to check that you were truly there, truly alive.

You wondered, if your tears seared against her skin with the same intensity that buzzed across your own as her fingers cradled your jaw - every nerve threaded tightly with a prickling intensity as your soul restitched itself with each touch of Ahsoka’s skin against your own.

It bordered on overwhelming in the most magical way.

For at long last, after so much sacrifice you had been blessed with the most wonderful chance reunion - no, miracle of them all.

[dragonagecompanions]

DA2 You've probably got this many times - how would companions react to mage Hawke being made tranquil? Particularly interested in how a friendly/friendly romanced Fenris would react

Carver: While he might have resented many things about his older sibling and how their family’s magic affected their childhood, Carver would never ever wish for something like this. Ever since they had gotten to Kirkwall, Carver had warned his older sibling to be careful with all of the templars roaming the city. This place wasn’t like Lothering which only had a few templars in the Chantry that could be avoided; no, Kirkwall was teeming with templars that would look for any reason to lock up Carver’s older sibling. But did they listen to him and his warnings? Of course not. They had taken risks and look where it had gotten them. As much as Carver almost wanted to say ‘I told you so’, seeing his sibling in this state just left him heartbroken and full of anger. Not anger at his sibling like usual, just anger. Who the hell thinks that doing this to someone is a solution to anything?!?!?! And as Carver holds his sibling close, a sentiment they don’t really return, a pit in his stomach and the feeling of bitter bile rise in his throat as the worst kind of thought hits him. Now he won’t live in their shadow, and even if that thought would have been nice, these circumstance were not ever how he would have wanted this.

Aveline: Aveline might have married Wesley, who happened to be a templar, but that doesn’t mean that she agrees with the Order. The rite of tranquility was often something that she did not agree with the templar order on. Since she became a guard in Kirkwall and she was taken to the Gallows for guard work or with Hawke, she has not ever liked the sights of the Tranquil mages. So when there is a pounding at the door to her captain’s office, a pit starts to form in her stomach. Pounding is never a good sign. She opens the door to her office and the sight outside makes her sick to her stomach. Hawke is in the arms of two templars, but they aren’t fighting the templars as they usually would. There is no more of Hawke’s fire in their eyes and the calm voice that greets Aveline is not right. Hawke is unceremoniously shoved in her arms and her nauseous feeling melted away a bit to anger. This…. this was not the Hawke that she had fled into the Korcari Wilds with, the Hawke that would have died to protect their younger sister from Wesley when they met. There Aveline was left, with this broken version of her friend, seething with anger and a sense of pity for what had been done. 

Varric: There is basically one way to get onto Varric’s bad side and that is to fuck with his people. This means that the templars that brought Hawke to him in this state as well as every other stupid templar in those Gallows that allowed this to happen had made an enemy of Varric. However, that is an issue for another day as Varric would never abandon his people, which includes the now tranquil Hawke sitting at his table in the Hanged Man. It becomes quickly apparent that they are not like the Hawke he has known. They listen to the stories that Varric spins as he drinks to handle all this, but any of his clever quips that would have at least gotten a smile from Hawke now seem to just go over their head. As was said, Varric does not abandon his people, including Hawke, so he will always make sure to take care Hawke. But, the Black City will crumple before Varric gives up doing everything that he can to find a way to help Hawke, using whatever connections he has to gather that kind of information.

Anders: The minute that Anders finds out, from the moment that tranquil Hawke seems to stumble their way into his clinic, he snaps. Karl had been bad, and the threat to the girl had been worse, but this? All Hawke ever seemed to do is try to make a difference in Kirkwall and now they had been dealt the worst punishment out there. Vengeance roars inside of Anders and all of his self restraint is gone was he looks upon another friend made tranquil. There is nothing left to hold Anders back and if you think that what he did to the Chantry before was brutal, then the hell he would raise for Hawke would be at least ten times worse. And just like with Karl, I think that Vengeance’s powerful presence would bring some of the fade back to Hawke, but it would not be permanent to bring Hawke back. They would be gone, deprived of the fade, and while Vengeance roars within Anders, he also is taken with a sense of grief as he has lost another person to tranquility. 

Merrill: The Dalish do not concern themselves with the things that humans do, but that does not mean that Merrill has not heard rumors about the Rite of Tranquility. Especially after she moved to Kirkwall and suddenly the threat of templars was so much stronger, she had to keep from being discovered. However, when the short knock came to the door of her home in the alienage, she had not thought that she would be confronted by that reality in the form of Hawke with the tranquil brand burned into their skin. Everything was wrong, even their greeting of her was wrong and Merrill started crying immediately. This was Hawke, the one who brought her to the city and helped her settle her, but without their magic, they were so much duller. Merrill tries to offer them tea since they had come to visit her, but in the end, she breaks into sobs over lost friend. She already lost Tamlen to that mirror and now Hawke is gone. Merrill becomes even more sure of her decisions as she sees Hawke like this. It seems that though blood magic might be the only way to bring them back, all of her lost friends.

Isabela: Before Isabela had come to Kirkwall, she couldn’t say that she knew that much about this conflict between mages and templars. Those kinds of things tended to have a habit of staying on land and away from her ship. Even still, isabela has her morals that everyone deserves freedom and well, the tranquil she met in the Gallows... they creeped her out. When she wraps her arm around Hawke’s shoulder, there was something just... wrong about their postures. She quickly sees the brand on their forehead and sucks in a breath. She isn’t drunk enough for this. Every time she glances at Hawke staring blankly at her, Isabela has to take another shot. She might not have heard much about the mages and templars on the seas, but she sure as hell can use the seas to travel, searching for anything for Hawke. All she needs is a ship! This time, for Hawke.

Fenris: Fenris is dully aware of every single comment to support the rite of tranquility when he arrives at the Hawke estate to see his friend. Seeing Hawke just standing in front of the fireplace as their mabari whines at their feet was... startling. Fenris is aware that this might be the first time he has seen a tranquil mage, except maybe Karl, but this was disturbing. Tranquility was for blood mages, not good mages like Hawke! Everything that Fenris had learned from Hawke had taught him this: not all mages were bad and Hawke was one of the good mages. The lyrium in Fenris’s skin hums as his anger causes them to glow. What was it?! What was the reason to do this to someone as good as Hawke?! Why?

Sebastian: There had been plenty of times that Sebastian had made comments about Hawke being a mage or made comments that preached the Chantry’s ideals, but he wasn’t aware that this would actually happen. There is a pit in his stomach as Hawke dully enters the Chantry and Sebastian approaches him. Throughout all of his years with the Chantry, he can’t actually recall seeing any Tranquil come into the Chantry in Starkhaven. No, he knows he would remember it as he sees the way that Hawke moves, without any life that they once had. The Tranquil are made the the templars, servant of the Chantry, so why does seeing Hawke like this make Sebastian’s stomach hurt so badly? This is the Chantry’s rule, right? So why does this feel so wrong to Sebastian? 

Dog: From the moment their master comes home, Dog can tell that something is terribly wrong. They don’t smell right and they gave a whine confusion. They didn’t hug Dog, didn’t bend down and affectionately kiss Dog, didn’t call Dog the best mabari in all of Thedas like they usually did, merely patting Dog as they approached their master. It’s not right and they whimper, burying their nose and their master doesn’t paying that much mind at all, instead going to their room without a weird. (I know that Dog is typically just in origins but Hawke can also have a mabari and I wanted that angst)

-Direct From Orzammar

[ceescedasticity]

Jin Guangyao’s Hoarding Problem, version 2, part 1

Okay I’m still not writing this PROPERLY.

Canon notes: This is mostly but not entirely CQL-canon. If I write it through to the end, it will probably turn out better than canon for JGY, but not what you’d call WELL.

***

Jin Guangyao has a lot on his plate: scheming for the Jin Sect’s advancement and Jin Guangshan's elevation to Chief Cultivator; scheming for his personal advancement within the Jin Sect; trying to get Qin Cangye to let him marry his daughter; trying to juggle his sworn brothers; dealing with the tragic death of his half-brother; dealing with the weird thirteen-year-old half-brother that's been dropped on him in some sort of power play; managing the whole Yiling Laozu… thing. There's a lot. He didn't particularly want more. Really.

So Xue Yang — all right, technically Xue Yang is his fault, in that he went and found Xue Yang and brought him back, but his father wanted someone who could do demonic cultivation for them, and that basically meant Xue Yang. The demonic cultivation (n.b.: demonic cultivation may involve any or all of animated corpses, murderous ghosts, and visible resentful energy!) was Jin Guangshan's idea, so Xue Yang is his fault. The whole demonic cultivation… workshop in a subsidiary Jin property near Jinlintai is also Jin Guangshan's fault.

(…This "workshop" needs a name. Wiktionary tells me that "dizang" (地藏) can be a literary term for cellar or basement. The workshop is not completely underground, but it partially is; plus, the word is also the name of a bodhisattva and the irony appeals to me. Hopefully this is not a terrible mistake, but: let's call it the Dizang.)

The Ghost General being chained up in a cell rather than being destroyed was… mostly Jin Guangyao's idea, actually. Jin Guangshan wanted to destroy the thing that killed his precious son, but he accepted that having an example fierce corpse — an example conscious fierce corpse — could only help their research. He also salivates at the idea of being able to control him.

Jin Guangyao floated the idea of also keeping Wen Qing, who after all was an unmatched physician…? Jin Guangshan blew him off. Who cared about a stupid Wen bitch, probably the Yiling Laozu's whore… he hopes she screams when she's burned.

The heavily bruised woman in Wen Qing's clothing does scream. She doesn't say she's not Wen Qing, because at least this way she doesn't have to go back to Xue Yang. None of the Jin cultivators assisting at the execution notice a thing, because they are all stupid.

Jin Guangyao doesn't know Wen Qing, but he knows of her, from his time in Qishan, and Xue Yang has met her and contribute a little more information. Wen Qing isn't afraid to get her hands literally dirty, but metaphorically — she doesn't like it. But she would do anything to keep her brother safe. Wen Ruohan kept her on a leash for years. It's doable. He can just keep her shut away in the Dizang, and no one will know.

He wants her to cooperate, not try to escape, treat anyone he brings to her for treatment, and prepare medicinal compounds upon request. In exchange, she gets to live, she'll be decently treated, Wen Ning gets a break from being a research subject to come see her at least once a month, and Wen Ning will be used only as a research subject — they won't use him to kill anyone.

She agrees.

Wen Ning gets his attention, when he's being escorted away after the first visit, and says that if his sister is given any victims to patch up and send back for more, he will end the deal himself, by killing everyone involved if necessary. He's… probably bluffing? Jin Guangyao really wasn't expecting conditions from that corner but agrees, sort of — any such patients will be negotiated for separately.

Then he has to go, cause there's a pledge conference he has to get to.

Jin Guangyao's reasons for having Su Minshan use a teleporting talisman to take Jiang Yanli to Wen Qing may include, but are not limited to, the following:

He actually kind of likes her, as much as he likes anyone in Jinlintai. She's always respectful to him. Her kindness reminds him a little of Lan Xichen.

If her life is saved because Jin Guangyao's man took her to Jin Guangyao's personal physician, then Yunmeng Jiang will owe Lanling Jin and Jiang Wanyin will owe Jin Guangyao. Granted Jiang Wanyin wasn't a whole lot of help to the last people he owed a massive debt to, but Jin Guangyao is a lot more willing to aggressively hold it over his head than Wen Qing and Wen Ning were.

Having Wen Qing's first patient be someone she would like to save, who is not a prisoner, may help… start slow. Ease into things.

If Jiang Yanli dies, Jiang Wanyin is going to become intolerable, and Jin Guangshan will probably push dealing with him off on Jin Guangyao.

So that happens.

Su Minshan is not otherwise occupied with a second flute. Wei Wuxian is running on too much resentment and not enough sleep, his own grief and guilt and fury tangled up with all the feelings he's been around — from the Burial Mounds, from the history of Nightless City, from the live people right there. He was at least half out of his mind when he arrived and it only got worse from there, and things… happened, and the corpses weren't listening to him anymore. He did try to stop it, when Jiang Yanli asked him to. He couldn't, but not because of outside interference. He just couldn't. And he's vaguely aware that Jiang Yanli might not be dead, that someone was yelling about a doctor, but she looked pretty dead and it was his fault and everyone wants the goddamn Seal and they're killing each other over it and he ruins everything he touches and there's nothing left, nothing, and Jiang Cheng is telling him to go to hell—

He falls.

The bloodbath grinds to a halt, slower than it should have with one primary driver. A lot of people are dead; a lot of people are still alive; many of them are even ready for action.

In another universe, Jiang Sect might have elbowed its way into taking the lead in the hunt for the Yiling Laozu's body. Jiang Cheng would have found Chenqing (and maybe something more, that he discreetly buried and never spoke of). In this universe, either someone stole Jiang Yanli's body or else — and he doesn't even want to let himself hope but he can't not — she is alive and he doesn't know where she is. Neither of these scenarios is acceptable. Finding her body (don't hope for more, don't hope for more) is the highest priority. Jiang Sect mostly clears out.

Much of the available members of Jin Sect take off for the Burial Mounds for plunder and wiping out the remaining Wens! [Who did not turn themselves in with Wen Qing and Wen Ning, that was stupid.] It really wouldn't do to have anyone else get the loot and/or have everyone realize the Wens are noncombatants. (The Jin know perfectly well they're noncombatants.) They aren't alone — there are a number of tagalongs from sects great and small — but it's mainly Jins. This is roughly as it is in the usual universe.

Lan Sect is abruptly preoccupied with internal issues, which internal issues are also taking off for the Burial Mounds, also as in the usual universe.

Nie Sect gets left with more than its share of cleanup, most likely also as in the usual universe.

Jin Guangyao, who as we recall rose to a position of significant trust in Wen Ruohan's Nightless City, takes a shortcut down to the bottom of the cliff (which is not actually lava that is very unsafe). Just to look, before he follows to the Burial Mounds to make sure they don't miss anything important in the looting.

He isn't expecting to to find Wei Wuxian somehow still alive. Just barely.

The logical thing to do would be to finish him, or summon everyone and let the careless handling kill him in minutes. Everyone wants him dead, he's clearly dying, simple enough.

Except…

Wei Wuxian is insane, and has been at least since he walked away from power and privilege to go camp in a mass grave with a pathetic bunch of fugitives. Probably longer. But there's no denying he's brilliant. No one every cultivated with resentment without Yin Iron before him, at least not at such a scale. And it's not like he's dangerous in this condition. And would anyone really be surprised not to the find a body? Maybe he turned into evil smoke and floated away. So maybe…

He has to wait for Su Minshan to get back, because trying to move Wei Wuxian in any normal way would probably kill him straight out.

Wen Qing gets about an hour break between healing Jiang Yanli to the point where Su Minshan can safely take her back to the normal Jin healers and Jin Guangyao and Su Minshan teleporting in with 90% dead Wei Wuxian.

(If he's here, no one is protecting the Burial Mounds. It was all for nothing.)

She thinks it might be kinder to let him die. She seriously thinks about letting him die. But she can't bring herself to do it.

There's only so much she can do, of course, in the absence of a golden core. But she can keep him alive, for the moment.

When he's stable — for the moment — Jin Guangyao comments that she wasn't surprised by the lack of a golden core.

Wen Qing says of course she wasn't, she was his doctor in the Burial Mounds for a year.

Jin Guangyao says that he was surprised, because he'd read Wen Zhuliu's reports and he never said anything about destroying Wei Wuxian's core — just Jiang Wanyin's. (He's lying. He noticed the oddity of Jiang Wanyin's non-missing core almost immediately after the war, and while at first he suspected Wen Zhuliu must have lied for once in his life, Wei Wuxian's non-use of spiritual energy led him to suspect something close to the truth. He wasn't sure Wen Qing was involved until just now, but that's not a surprise either.)

He says he knows she did it. (He's not lying. Wen Qing schools her expressions well, she had to in order to survive Wen Ruohan's Qishan, but Jin Guangyao is on another level.)

Wen Qing says it doesn't matter, it doesn't work without a voluntary donor, so it's of extremely limited utility. (This is not technically a lie, as it has definitely never been done without a voluntary donor. And it might be true in general.)

He lets it go, for the moment.

Wei Wuxian is slow to wake, and not in a very good place once he does. It's a relief and a comfort to know that Jiang Yanli is alive, and Wen Qing is alive, and Wen Ning is no less alive than before.

But with Wei Wuxian out of the way the Jins are going to kill everyone in the Burial Mounds and all of them know it.

Practically speaking it doesn't make much difference — the sects were going to attack the Burial Mounds one way or another, and Wei Wuxian was in no condition to defend anything. But dying trying to defend them would have been better than dying for nothing and abandoning them.

Wen Qing mostly doesn't blame him, because it doesn't make much difference and she knew he wasn't going to be making many rational decisions. But she tells him the best thing he can do to try to make up for it is not abandon her and A-Ning now.

He lives.

That doesn't mean he's well enough to reconstruct the Stygian Tiger Seal, or interpret any of his notes, or even talk to you, Xue Yang, does Jin Guangyao know you're here?

Xue Yang is eminently unsuitable for delivering supplies to a sickroom, and Su Minshan has a sect he's supposed to be running and can't be lurking around Lanling all the time. So, Jin Guangyao conscripts Mo Xuanyu, weird thirteen-year-old, who is desperate for any scrap of attention and approval and becomes instantly devoted to him, and who no one is going to miss anywhere else.

(If Jin Guangyao had waited a little longer to pull Mo Xuanyu into his orbit, this wouldn't have been the case — Jiang Yanli would have taken him under her wing. But right now she's isolated, still both convalescing and mourning, and Madam Jin keeps Mo Xuanyu well away from her.) (Mo Xuanyu considers Madam Jin's treatment of him completely normal, incidentally.)

And for a little while we have a status quo.

[rubik-ashala]

Let Alucard have nice things!

This doubles as both a headcanon description and a rant so here goes:

I just got done watching the 3rd season of Castlevania and I am not happy. I have two things two say about it. This contains spoilers for the series so you have been warned.

First complaint and observation:

Did anybody get the feeling that the show was supposed to end after the second season but didn't? That everything was wrapped up nicely, Dracula was dead, the big world destruction war was halted, we were shown what the trio would be doing after everything etc. Like it was meant to end there but then a conversation like this happened:

Castlevania team: And that’s a wrap everybody! The good guys took down Dracula in an epic fight, the world was saved, Job Done! Time to move on to new things.

Shareholders, producers, etc: Uhh, actually we already signed you up for a 3rd season. So you might want to get on that.

Castlevania Team: What! But we weren't prepared for a third season! The whole plot is wrapped up! What are we supposed to do?

Shareholders, producers, etc: Don’t know but you better get to figuring it out.

Castlevania: I guess we will just game of thrones it terribly then and hope we make it through.

Because that is what it felt like happened. There seemed to be no overarching plot, just four separate ones and only two of them is even remotely together. They take two side characters Issac and Hector and give them there own plotlines. Issac gets the Denarius treatment for no real reason other than to seemingly follow in Dracula’s footsteps and Hector gets dragged to Camilla’s realm because, she needs a forge master to grow an army so she can take over what has been fractured. They split up the trio, suddenly giving Serphia and Trevor a romantic relationship with little to nothing building up to it and throw them in a quest to keep Dracula from coming back after some crazy monks due some occult doctor who style shenanigans to open a portal to other worlds. And while that is going on, Alucard aka Adrian Tepes gets left alone guarding his fathers now broken castle and the Belmont’s treasure trove for months after everything has happened.

Which flows into my Second point:

Alucard got done dirty in the third season!

We watch as Alucard deals with the mental repercussions of what he did, alone. We watch as he deals with the loneliness of being out in the middle of nowhere alone for months with none to talk too. And we see the toll it is taking on him albeit comedically. 

Then the siblings come in. 

They come to him for help and education on fighting vampires back in their homeland, something that Alucard is more than happy to help with. One, because he has company again and Two, passing on the knowledge to the new generation seemed fitting.

During the time they stay he grows fond of them and they him. You see them training and horsing around, eating meals together and other wholesome shenanigans.

You get to see a conversation where the sibling talk about how they notice how lonely he has been and how they believe he stays out here to punish himself and maybe they should do something for him before they move on. And it’s all like “aww that is so sweet!”

Then you see Alucard trying to sleep and failing miserably in his bed. Even so far as wondering if he should get a coffin to sleep in. Then you see the siblings show up in the door way and begin walking towards him in the bed saying , in a very sultry voice, how alone he must have been, how he should deserve a reward, ectera. Followed by them getting all hot and steamy with him.

 The scene makes a point to show how much Alucard is enjoying this attention, and how happy it is making him. Your watching it and it’s like “Maybe it's gonna be one of those fond memories he will be able to look back on after their gone.” or “Maybe they will become some Badass monster hunting thruple and Alucard wont be alone anymore.”

Nope! Not today in my Grim Dark Gothic Fantasy World!

They instead, after giving Alucard the night of his life, put these metal cuffs on him that shoot out a bunch of ropes that tie him in classic Jesus on a cross position and then proceed to try and kill him. 

Why?

Because the were under the belief he was lying and holding things back from them, and in particular about the castle not being able to move. And they were tired of being lied to.

Luckily for Alucard they didn't realize his sword could move on its own and they weren’t alive for much longer because of it but...Really?

Why? Why do this to him?

He lost his mother to a witch hunt, he had to kill his own father and now this? All in little over a year? What the Hell man!?

Let the Dhampire have nice things! He deserves better than this!

So, I made a headcannon to soothe me angry brain.

I took a fantasy race of mine that was inspired by the Crusnics of Trinity Blood and added them in to Castlevania. In Particular one specific one.

Name: Floki 

Age: Around Adrian’s age give or take a few months.

Hair: Black

Eyes: Mismatched blue/green

Height: About the same as Adrien’s perhaps a little taller.

Personality: Mischevious, HArdworking, Loves deeply, Fiercly but wisely protective, loves to work with his hands, loves to learn more about the world and how it works. Deeply fond of Adrian even though he hasn’t seen him in a few years. Also, a smidge psychotic, but just a smidge.

Floki is part of a race of beings referred to as “The Old Ones”. They are a race similar in habit to the Vampire but they feed off vampires, night creatures and other supernatural beings over humans. They are immensely powerful, even at young ages and have been rumored to be the source of some of the gods of Ancient Mythology. 

Floki’s father (Yet named)  was Dracula’s mentor and where he got much of his scientific knowledge from in his early years. They became friends during his teaching and even after parting ways, would still occasionally see each other every few half centuries or so to trade information and chat.

During this time, Floki’s father was desperately trying to have children of his own and failing. At one point believing that he was sterile and unable to father children. Something Dracula knew as well and so hid Lisa’s pregnancy from him for fear of making his sadness worse.

However, a few months later, It was revealed that his current love was with child and Floki was born accompanied by much drunken Norse revelry.

When the two men met again a few years later, Floki was brought with his father to show to Dracula that he finally had a child. A moment where Dracula also revealed his son and Where Floki met Adrian.

Floki showed Adrian what it was like to play and horse around. They would play pretend out in the woods, get dirty, skin thier knees, the works. And where one was, you would find the other close by.

The visits between the two powerful men became more frequent due to the boys wish to see each other, not that the parents minded all that much.

Over time Floki’s affection for Adrian would change and deepen. His longing to stay by his friends side would get stronger and one fateful afternoon when Adrian got hurt, FLoki would realize how he had fallen in love with him.

Adrian would never know this however, due to Floki’s unstable powers at the time, his sub par control of his hunger and the fear of hurting him.

As they got older, and partly to the above, their visits to see each other would lessen and by the time they were full grown, had stopped entirely. 

That is until Floki Heard of Lisa’s death at the hands of the church.

Even with his incredible power to teleport far distances it took him several months to reach Wallachia. He didn’t seek out Adrian immediately though, too curious to see the truth of what happened.

Each of “The Old Ones” Has a unique skill that is developed and evolved over time, according to personality, interest, skill and homeland. Due to Floki’s curiosity, his love for history and his desire to see how it all works together, he developed what he liked to call, memory recall.

His skill allowed him to see memories of the past through people, objects or locations where something that evoked strong emotional or magical reactions in the area happened. And if there was no such thing, if the event was more recent, if he had access to people that were there and stood on the location, he could see and feel the event as if he lived it.

Lisa’s death held him up in an inn for several days trying to chase the feeling of flames on  his skin. Dracula’s anger and grief laid him up for even longer as he cried himself sick. 

Gregit was better though, seeing the man who did the deed getting called out by a demon and then eaten gave him a bit of satisfaction.

Briela was fascinating though. He had to meet whomever managed to capture the ever moving castle.

By the Time Floki would arrive at the now defunk castle and underground hold, the siblings bodies are already outside on pikes.

This doesn't scare him away of course, and to find out why they were there he uses his memory recall. Where he sees through there eyes what they did to Adrian, albeit a little fuzzy. But is able to hear what the twins were thinking in that moment and see, just for a short time, Adrian tied to the bed afraid and hurt.

This causes him to snap his fingers and cause the corpses to burst into flames.

An action that draws Adrian’s attention causing a little bit of a fight before they recognize each other.

Over the next while Adrian allows Floki to stay and fix the castle as well as the Belmont estate and work towards getting the transportation engine online again. Eventually. 

Overtime, all of Floki’s feelings come back with a vengeance and he gives as much attention and TLC to Adrian as he allows. Eventually getting Adrian to allow him close enough to see though his memory what the siblings had done to him

A scene that will either start a few revelations with both Adrian and FLoki or lead to a very steamy situation. Possibly both.

But it all ends in Adrian getting all the Love and TLC that man deserves after the hell he was put through.

I just hope they aren’t trying to set him up to become an antagonist later... 

[zztophat]

𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑡: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔

SUMMARY: Taking place during the time warp event, we see the return of Ritual Night Club and all those who were transported to 1693. The return of the club is both a welcome sight and a place of much confusion as the team tries to put together what exactly happened on St. Patrick’s Day. TRIGGERS: Depression, PTSD, Grief, Death Mentions WRITTEN WITH: @yrahcaz-arataz, @of-hexes, @ofsamwinchester, @daisyljohnson, @ofdeathstouch​

SAM: Zach had told Sam and Thorn his plan. It was a stupid plan. Getting left behind shouldn't have been an option, especially when Sam was sure Zatanna was already worried as Hell back in their own universe trying to find a way to bring them home. It would've broken her heart from them to come back without her family, but Sam didn't get a chance to tell Zachary that before he was running off and making sure they couldn't come after him. After the doors slammed shut, Sam was already pushing on them, but they didn't budge. He could hear something moving on the other side of them. Something was crawling across them, or growing. "Do we have anything to knock the door down?" He asked Thorn.

THORN: In terms of bad plans, pulling a heroic sacrifice was always a bad move. Thorn didn't want to go home without Zach. She didn't want to explain to his family what had happened to him. Zach didn't seem to care. This whole thing had him feeling like he needed to be some sort of sacrificial lamb. She tried to tell him that punishing himself like that wasn't going to do anyone any favors, but he just wouldn't listen. So, here they were locked back up in the club. Even the windows seemed to be blocked by growing shrubbery, vines, and woodwork. She looked around for something they could use to break down the door. "Emergency fire ax," she recalled. She grabbed the ax from the glass plated lock box and handed it over to Sam.

SAM: In a way, Sam understood where Zach was coming from. He'd been in similar situations where he'd seriously screwed up. Hell, he'd been the cause for the apocalypse starting how many times now? He'd felt that need to make up for everything, and self sacrifice often felt like the only option. It didn't mean Zach was right though. Sam hadn't been right when he'd tried the same things before either. He accepted the ax from Thorn and backed up a little, indicating for Thorn to do the same. He brought the ax down on the door with full force. It just bounced off, doing absolutely nothing. Magic. Of course. Sam groaned, but it didn't stop him from trying over and over. In the end, the ax just broke off the handle, splintering apart. Sam tossed it to the side. "Maybe there's something else," he said optimistically. He searched through the things they'd gotten from Eleanor, but there was nothing there. He searched through the whole club for anything they could use and found absolutely nothing. He met back up with Thorn near the doors. "I don't know. Maybe we can . . . Maybe, uh." He racked his brain, but was coming up blank. "Have we tried-" The building started to shake, just like it had done when they'd been sent here. "Shit." It was too late then. Zach wasn't here, and they were being sent back. He'd done it but at too much of a cast. He sat down to make sure he didn't fall over and raked his fingers through his hair. "I'll handle telling his cousin what happened." It wasn't going to be easy, for her or him, but someone had to tell her.

THORN: She flinched as Sam hit the door with the ax several times. Despite the heavy hits, the door took almost no damage. Whatever magic Zach used to re-enforce it wouldn't be broken by physical blows. Thorn looked around the club frantically for something they could use. Could they make a Molotov? Would fire break down the door? She wasn't sure and she judged that it was too risky to try. If the doors didn't budge despite the fire, they would all burn. She grabbed onto one of the pillars as the building began to shake. "No!" Whatever Zach had done was working but he hadn't made it back into the building yet. They couldn't just leave him in this timeline, but they were helpless to stop it. Thorn held on quietly to the pillar until the building calmed. She sniffled when Sam addressed her. This was the second person within the span of a month who'd tossed their life to the wind for her and his benefit. "Maybe we can bring him back?" Thorn asked hopefully. "His cousin...she's a powerful magician. Maybe she can track him down if we give her enough information to find him." Maybe they weren't too late. Zach had learned a lot about survival in the last month. He just had to hold on long enough, right?

ZATANNA: They'd gotten some information back now from Cupid and Maze's interrogation. It was enough for Zatanna to be able to create a spell to locate the correct universe where the club had disappeared off too. She was setting up the final preparations for the spell with Daisy when they heard a loud crackling. At first, Zatanna thought maybe Daisy was quaking something but she looked almost as confused as Zee. A minute later, the club manifested itself back onto its original foundation. "Holy shit..." Zatanna breathed. The investigation site had seen a lot of weird shit lately, including a pirate ship, but this new development gave her some hope. Zee made her way over to the doors of the club and could see some sort of enchantments were placed on it to keep the doors secured. "I'm gonna lift the spell holding the doors shut. I dunno what's in there," she admitted. She hoped it was all the missing people, but she couldn't be sure. "Have your agents ready." Zatanna turned her attention to the door as she placed a hand upon it. "Nepo emases!" she pushed the spell forward and with that motion the doors opened. Zatanna stepped aside as people slowly started making their way out of the club. She kept her eyes peeled for her people. Zach, Ambrose, and Sam. Sam would be the easiest to find, that is if he was still himself.

DAISY: She was relieved that they'd been making some sort of progress on all of this. They needed it after the week they'd had. Some of her agents were still recovering from the effects that Belphegor had put on them, but they were all mostly okay and had been relieved of their duties until they could be cleared. With what information they'd gotten from Mrs. Morningstar and Ms. Valentine, they'd been able to figure out how the times worked differently too. For the other universe, it would've been a month now since everyone had been gone, but with Zatanna's spell work, they had a way to get everyone back. Before they could do it though, the club appeared on its own. "I guess it decided to meet us halfway," Daisy muttered. She waved her hands at her agents, but they were already preparing, either for the worst or the best. Daisy hoped it was the latter. "Have medical on standby," she told them. "We don't know what these people have been through, so let's try not to traumatize them further."  She nodded at Zatanna once they were all in position, and then the doors were opening. She was relieved once people started pouring out, and she moved forward to help as many people as she could. "Anyone who needs medical attention, head in that direction. If you need help walking, wave down an agent, and we will assist you. Water and food stations are available to you, but we will ask you to stay for some basic questions unless you need immediate attention. We're here to help in any way we can." She repeated these statements as more and more people exited the club. Once they were all out, she focused her attentions on helping everyone.

SAM: Sam heard Zatanna's voice not long after the shaking stopped. It was both a relief and a crushing burden. She'd expect to see her whole family here, but she'd only find Ambrose. He prepared himself for telling her the truth as the doors opened, but he stalled a little to figure out what to say. He focused on helping the other people first. Some of them were injured, and he offered them a shoulder to lean on until they could get to an agent to help them the rest of the way or just carried some of them out the doors. He was glad that this was a club, so no kids had been here at least. After everyone else had been taken care of, Sam left the club too. He met Zatanna's eyes and saw her walking towards him. It was then that he realized what she might've been thinking. "MugwortMUGWORTMUGWORT!" he said in a panic so she wouldn't just knock him out while thinking he was the other Sam.

THORN: She was relieved when the doors to the club finally opened up. It was getting more than a little claustrophobic in there. She started helping people out of the club, hoping against all hope that she'd see Zach somewhere in there. Maybe he managed one last magic trick and snuck in just before the whole thing disappeared. Her disappointment grew as the club began to empty with no Zach in sight. She looked at Sam helplessly and shook her head as they exited. Her eyes adjusted to the light enough to see someone barreling toward them. She recognized that someone as Zach's cousin, Zatanna. She was making a B-line for Sam, a determined look in her eyes. Sam started hollering something about Mugwort. It was a healing herb but also kind of a psychedelic that opened up the senses. "That's an interesting way to say hello. Mugwort, Ms. Zatara," Thorn greeted her with a Vulcan salute. She gave Sam a silent look that said If you need me to stall some, I can definitely stall. She was always good for providing distractions.

ZATANNA: She watched as people filed out of the club. To her relief, she was able to see Ambrose being helped out by one of Daisy's agents. There wasn't a sign of Zach yet in the crowd and slowly the crowd was thinning out. Where the hell was he? Zatanna spotted Sam's tall frame as he was one of the last individuals to walk out of the club. She made a B-Line for him, a spell on her lips to put him to sleep just in case he wasn't her Sam. He seemed to realize what was on her mind as he shouted the code word. Zee eased up and hugged him instead. "Thank fuck, I was seriously starting to get worried," she replied as she pulled away. She recognized the redhead beside him as Thorn, lead singer of the Hex Girls and somehow the only friend Zach managed to keep other than Ambrose. "Hello Thorn. I'm glad you're both okay. If either of you need medical attention, we have a set up this way. We'll have to ask you guys some questions, but first I need to ask Zach a few of my own. Where is he?" Zee wouldn't have been surprised if he put on a disguise just to get past her so he didn't have to face her. She knew Sam and Thorn wouldn't cover for him if he did.

SAM: He let out a sigh of relief when Zatanna hugged him instead of putting some kind of spell on him to knock him out or something. As much as it might've been nice to have been out for the count to prevent him from having to tell her what happened to Zach, he wouldn't want the truth to be put on Thorn to tell Zatanna. That was his responsibility. He felt guilty, not just because he should've looked out for Zach better but because Zatanna was sounding so relieved and worried about them instead of the one who was really in trouble. "We're okay," he assured her. He swallowed when she asked where Zach was. "Zatanna," he started softly, trying to lead her away from other people. He wasn't worried about them being in danger, but this was personal to her. He doubted she'd want everyone to see her reaction to this. "Zach . . . didn't make it back." He tried to say it as gently as possible, but there wasn't any sugarcoating this. "He found a way to get the thing that sent us to Salem to send the club back, but because he wasn't in it, he's still stuck back there. We tried to stop him from going to do it, but he locked us in. I'm sorry, Zee. He's not here."

THORN: She didn't like having to deliver this kind of news or even hearing it delivered. She knew a bit about Zach's family already. Enough to know that his uncle, Zatanna's father, had passed away some time ago. Hearing the news that Zach was gone too wasn't going to be easy. Especially because from what Thorn knew Zach and Zatanna's last interaction hadn't exactly been a pleasant one. She stayed quiet as Sam told the magician the difficult news. "There's still time..." she offered. Maybe she was naive, but she wasn't willing to just give up on Zach. Sure, he'd gotten them into a lot of trouble, but he didn't deserve to be stuck in that time period. "We can try to give you whatever information we have so you can locate the universe we were in. Maybe we can help you find him." They knew the place better than most. They could guide her through it to the last place they'd seen Zach.

ZATANNA: There was an anxiousness in Sam's voice. The way he said her name caused an ache in her chest. Whenever someone said her name like that, they were about to deliver some bad news. Zatanna couldn't help but look around for Zach, but still there was no sight of him. She focused back on Sam as he continued to speak. Zach...didn't make it. "W-what?" Her chest tightened as the air escaped her lungs. She felt like she'd been punched in the gut. "No, no, there has to be some mistake. He's just playing a trick on you so he doesn't have to face conseq--" she was so dizzy. She grabbed Sam's arm to steady herself. "So he doesn't have to face consequences," she finished, but even she didn't believe herself. Sam continued to explain what Zach had done. How he'd pulled a hero move just like her dad to save the rest of them. "Oh, god..." she whispered as it finally sunk in.

There was a ringing in her ears now. People were talking but it was like they were underwater. She flashed back to the last fight they'd had. She'd warned him again that his stupid antics would get him hurt but she never expected him to actually get hurt. She figured she would always be there to pull him back from his own chaos. She could vaguely here Thorn trying to reassure her. She focused on her voice and the thoughts behind it. She was right. It wasn't too late. They had already set up a spell to take them to that universe. Zatanna wheeled away from Sam and Thorn and made her way over to Daisy. "We have to perform the spell," she replied. There was a determined fire behind her eyes. "My cousin managed to find a way to send everyone home, but the price..." she shook her head. "He's stuck back there still. I have to go get him." She wasn't asking Daisy to come with. There was enough that needed to be done here. But she also wasn't asking for permission to do the spell. Her family was on the line and she was going to do whatever it took to save them.

SAM, DAISY, & ZACHARY: As Zatanna reacted to the new, Sam thought back to what she'd said after she told him the truth about barrier she had to put in his head. This was probably the kind of reaction she'd been expecting back then, maybe not to this extent, but something like it. He remembered when he had been like this, all the times that Dean had died, and he'd fallen apart. Family had a way of hurting you in ways that nothing else could. He wished he could do anything for her besides just tell her the truth. "He's not," and she knew he wasn't. This wasn't something Sam would take lightly. He wouldn't have told her this if he didn't know for sure that Zach wasn't just avoiding trouble. The way Zach had left made it all too clear that in his own eyes, he'd been ready to be left behind. He'd expected it. He held Zatanna up, so she didn't fall. He rubbed her back gently as she processed the news more fully and Thorn offered up other solutions. He appreciated her being here, but he also worried about what consequences Zatanna's spells might've had on her. He knew she would've paid it no matter what, and that's what worried him. It worried him even more that they didn't know what Zach had to do to get them here. If they went back to the past and found him dead there, how much more could Zatanna break. It was one thing for her to think he was stuck in a different universe, but death was a lot more painful to one's family.

She had about as much purpose in walking over to the S.H.I.E.L.D. director as she had when she'd come up to Sam before. Daisy rose a brow when Zatanna suggested doing the spell anyways. As far as she could tell so far, the problem had been solved. The club and its occupants had returned, but then Zatanna mentioned her cousin. Daisy nodded in understanding. She would've done the same for her family. She had done the same kinds of things for her family, but then she looked past Zatanna and shook her head. "You probably shouldn't do that spell."

She nodded past her towards the entrance to the Ritual, where Zachary Zatara was walking out now. He lacked his normal prideful demeanor. He appeared uncertain as he looked around. His clothes were torn in various places, and nearly all patches of skin were covered in cuts and bruises. A black eye forced his right eye shut, and he held his left arm close to himself.

THORN: It wasn't easy news to tell and it definitely wasn't easy news to hear. Her heart broke for Zatanna as she tried to process the news Sam was telling her. Denial came first, but then she was hit with the realization that what Sam was saying was true once Zach didn't appear from the club. She gave Sam a sympathetic look as Zatanna wheeled away from them. "You did what you could for Zach," she whispered to him. "I might not agree with the choice he made, but it was his choice. I meant what I said back there. It might not be too late to save him. The Zach from a month ago had zero sense of how to survive in that universe but the one that left us today knows better." She'd seen Zach grow a lot this past month. Maybe not because he wanted to, but because the circumstances called for it. As she opened her mouth to say more she heard footsteps behind them. Thorn turned slightly and her expression changed to immediate relief as she watched Zach exit the club. "Well, I'll be damned," she smiled. She wasn't sure how he got here, but she was sure glad to see him.

CHARLIE: She felt the shift almost immediately as the club returned. The natural order had just adjusted to it's disappearance and now it had to re-adjust to its reappearance. She didn't spare a thought to how much work this was all going to be though. She was too excited for the possibility of it all. If the club was back, then maybe Sam had come home with it. Charlie traveled quickly through the veil and back toward the investigation site. She'd been here multiple times this week, but this time she was full of hope. She made herself visible as she stepped out of the veil and looked around for Sam. Her heart leapt when she saw him. "Sam!" she called out to him. She didn't spare much of a thought to the fact that it might not be her Sam. She probably should've but Zatanna was here and she hadn't put him to sleep yet so Charlie had to assume it was safe. She sprinted toward him and threw her arms around him. She pulled away only momentarily to cup his face and get a better look at him. He looked tired and worn out but he was okay. He was alive. "I told you," she kissed him. "Clubbing isn't your scene."

ZATANNA: She knew from Sam's tone that he was serious about this, but it was still hard to process. Zach was gone. All of this started because of a fight they'd had, a fight that she'd never get the chance to apologize for. She felt numb just like the day she had when her father died. She knew from experience if she didn't find Zach that feeling wouldn't go away for the next forever. Just like her dad, just like Tracy, this was going to be another soul on her hands. She was operating on fumes and anxiety by the time she reached Daisy. The SHIELD director seemed to understand where Zatanna was coming from but Zee was confused when she said she shouldn't do the spell. Zatanna eyes followed to where Daisy had gestured and before she knew it she was running. Her body was moving automatically as she sprinted toward Zach and threw her arms around him. She held him tightly and just cried. "I thought I lost you, you stupid, moronic..." the insults didn't even make sense after a certain point, she was just relieved he was here. "Don't ever, ever, do that again, okay?" she pulled away so that she could look him directly. "Okay?" she asked, tears still speckling her face. Her eyes communicated the pain underneath. No more dead Zatara's, Zach. I can't do this again. I can't.

SAM: Sam sighed. He knew Thorn was right. He'd done everything he could to try to go after Zach in time, but it just hadn't been enough. He knew it wasn't his fault that Zach was gone, but he just wished he could've done more. Even if they still had a chance to go back to find Zach, it was still a lot to put on Zatanna. "Yeah," he said quietly. "But who knows what he would've had to do to get us sent back? You heard the way he told us that plan. He wasn't just talking like someone who's getting left behind. As someone who's had that kind of experience, he was talking like someone who was getting ready to die in a dramatic blaze, and even if we do bring him back alive, once you get into that kind of mentality, it changes how you handle everything." He wasn't against going back for Zach, but they needed to be prepared for the worst. He sighed, only glancing up once Thorn spoke again. "Son of a-" He laughed as he watched Zatanna running over to her cousin. Zach looked a little worse for wear, but he was alive at least. For Zatanna, that was clear that that was all that mattered.

"I guess-" He turned as he heard Charlie shouting his name. A smile spread across his face, and he ran to her too. "Charlie!" He met her halfway, picking her up and spinning her around as they hugged before setting her down again. "Well, we didn't really do much clubbing." He laughed before pulling her back in for a long kiss. He was just glad to have her back in his arms. "I'll probably need to go see Raphael again after this." He didn't feel like anything was wrong in his head right now, but the whole situation had been stressful, and he didn't want to take any chances. He pulled out of the hug, but didn't let her go just yet, instead walking her back over to where Thorn was. "Thorn, this is my girlfriend, Charlie. Charlie, this is Thorn. She helped us keep everything in order more or less in the other universe."

ZACHARY: He was both looking forward to and dreading coming home. He hadn't expected to make it back at all, but he'd somehow still made it here. He wasn't  sure what Belgirel had actually done to convince Mxyzptlk to send him home, but he didn't have a way to find out now. It didn't take him to spot Sam and Thorn. Sam was a giant, so he was easy to spot over everyone, and it was easier to find people close to him soon after that. He spotted Zatanna a little further off soon after that, talking to some S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. They pointed her in his direction, and he prepared himself for the worst as she charged at him. As her arms rose up, he flinched, but then she was hugging him. His arms also wrapped around her and held her tightly. He hadn't thought before that he could ever miss her this much. She was crying, and he was crying, both sobbing over each other. "I'm sorry," he blubbered. "I'm sorry. You were right, and I should've listened to you. And I'm sorry I kept putting everything on you and arguing with you all the time and changing the shows and not thinking and ignoring you and I'm sorry." Both of their faces were covered in tears, Zach's cleared through streaks of dirt on his face. As Zatanna pulled back and got a better look at him, he nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I won't. I won't." It was the most sincere he'd been with her in a long time.

THORN & CHARLIE: She knew Sam was right. The way Zach had talked to them before locking them in made it clear he intended this to be a suicide mission. Even if his cousin went out to find him, there was a chance they'd be too late. Thorn was flooded with relief when she saw Zach walk out of the club, but even now she could see what Sam was talking about. With the way Zach carried himself it was clear he felt the weight on his shoulders. Some of that weight disappeared a little when Zatanna hugged him. Thorn smiled despite the circumstances. It made her miss her sisters, Dusk and Luna. She hadn't seen them in almost a month now. "I guess husbands are really hard to kill these days," she joked. It was clear she was glad Zach was alive. She wanted to check in on him, but she knew she would have to wait until these agents released him.

She looked up when a female voice called for Sam. Thorn's grin widened as she watched him run over to the woman and kiss her. Right on, Samuel, she cheered him on mentally. It was nice to see him happy for once. Much like Zach, Sam spent the last month with a chip on his shoulders trying to keep them all afloat.

Charlie held onto Sam as if he would disappear if she let go. He'd only been gone for a week in her timeline but it was a long and exhausting week. It had been so hard to focus on anything other than the gnawing feeling that she might lose him after just getting him back. Dean, Jack, and Zatanna had all felt the same restlessness. "You can see them after a nice hot shower and a nap," she laughed as she ran her hands through his hair. Based on the clothes, she could tell he'd come back from a time period that was even older than the one she'd been born in. She smiled as they approached Sam's friend, Thorn. Charlie recognized Thorn as a musician and also as one of her charges. "Hello, Thorn. Thank you for keeping him alive. It's not always an easy task," she smiled gently.

Thorn felt a weird sense of familiarity when meeting Sam's girlfriend. It was like seeing an old friend after years of being separated. She knew the woman was a reaper which was pretty cool. Thorn had a lot of questions, but she knew those would have to wait. "It's the hero complex isn't it?" Thorn razzed Sam. She looked up when she heard an agent call for Ms. McKnight and Mr. Winchester. They wanted her and Sam to answer some questions and get medically cleared for release.

"Go," Charlie encouraged them. She stood on her tip toes and kissed Sam one more time and then another for good measure. "I'll wait for you guys out front, okay?"

ZATANNA: She was shaking both from exhaustion and relief. This had been one of the hardest weeks of her life and the last ten minutes alone were an absolute emotional rollercoaster. She pulled away to get a better look at Zach. He looked rough, tired, and somehow older. She knew from questioning Maze and Cupid that time ran different in the other universe, but it wasn't just that. There was a look behind Zach's eyes that Zatanna recognized. She'd seen it in the eyes of League members after a rough battle, in soldiers coming home from war, in Sam and Dean, in Michael, and in herself. Trauma. A heaviness that brought down the soul like a physical weight. She hadn't seen Zach cry like this in a long time and it scared her. "It's okay," she replied as she held him again. "It's alright. I'm not mad. We'll figure it out, okay?" She believed him when he said that he wouldn't do anything like this again and that was the frightening thing. Zach rarely learned from his mistakes but he hadn't been this sincere and honest with her since...well, since her dad died. Whatever happened back there scared the shit out of him, that much was clear.

She didn't want to let go of him but agents were approaching them now. They knew about Zach's involvement in this, and they had questions. Zatanna didn't pull away entirely as she looked up at him. "We're gonna get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes," she instructed as calmly as she could. If she managed to stay calm, maybe she could keep him calm too. "The agents here have some questions for you. I don't know what happens from this point forward," she admitted. "But I'll be here every step of the way. We'll figure something out," she promised again. While this was a joint investigation, the repercussions were out of her hands. Justice League protections didn't apply to him because he wasn't a member, but she could be here for him as his family.

SAM: It would've been safer to see Raphael as soon as possible. He didn't want to risk anything or anyone by not checking on the state of his barrier soon enough, but Charlie was probably right. He did stink, and the 1600s did little for concealing body odors. "Will you join me in it?" he asked with a smirk, just happy enough to have her back this close. He was excited to have her and Thorn meeting. In their time in that universe together, he considered Thorn a close friend now. "It's something like that." He laughed as he answered Thorn. He turned his head when he heard an agent calling their names. "Um, actually, that's Mrs. Zatara to you," he said as he pointed at Thorn with his thumb. He grinned as he met Charlie's lips for another kiss. He held her close for just another moment. "Can you text Jack, Dean, Bells, and Cupid for me while we're talking to the agents? Let 'em know I'm okay? I don't exactly have my phone right now." He knew they'd be worried, and they deserved to know as soon as possible.

ZACHARY: Breathing in deeply, Zach managed to stop himself from crying. The tears were still fresh on his face though, and he didn't bother to wipe them away. It was weird how much she was comforting him. It was like how they were as kids doing mundane things like when Zach would fall out of a tree and get himself hurt. Zatanna had been right there back then too, telling him that it was okay, that she wasn't mad, and that they would figure it out. It had been a long time since then. Things had changed so much that a reaction like that was abnormal. She was always mad when he did anything these days. She was supposed to be mad. She was supposed to lecture him and tell him everything he did wrong. It was unsettling that she wasn't. It was wrong, but Zach couldn't bring himself to do anything about that. He didn't want to upset her. He didn't want to make things worse. He just wanted to go home.

As the agents approached them, Zach pulled away from Zatanna even as she tried not to pull away entirely. She was trying to protect him, but that shouldn't have been her responsibility, and he shouldn't put it on her. "I know what they're here for," he told her. He knew he'd messed up. He faced towards Zatanna and away from the agents, putting his hands behind his back, so they could properly put the handcuffs on him. "It's okay."

DAISY: Daisy took the step forward to put the handcuffs on him. She understood how hard this must've been on Zatanna, but she couldn't offer her much comfort. From what Mrs. Morningstar and Mrs. Valentine had told them, it seemed like Zach was to blame for everything that had happened. If that was truly the case, her cousin would be locked up for a long time, but that's what this investigation was trying to figure out. She instructed her agents to take Zach to the interrogation room, but she held back for a moment to talk to Zatanna. "I know you're going to want to be there, but you can't be in the room when we're questioning him. You're too close to this, and he might answer differently if you're there asking the questions. I'm not going to stop you from watching." Frankly, she didn't think she could stop Zatanna if she tried. "You'll just have to do it from the observation room. Are you okay with that?" There was an underlying question there. She meant to ask if Zatanna was okay in general, but she could tell what the answer was to that. "I'll be careful with him," she assured the magician.

THORN & CHARLIE: Charlie felt herself blush fiercely, but she didn't look away. "I can definitely clear my schedule and make myself available," she grinned. She'd missed this feeling. It felt like she was whole again. She laughed when Thorn called Sam out on the hero complex. Whatever they'd been through had helped them forge a bond of sorts. She was glad to see both of them made it out alive, but living through these things always left scars. Her eyes ventured over to Zach. The normally flashy magician looked absolutely broken in this moment. He survived the battle, but a part of him still died on the battlefield. The reaper looked up when she heard someone call for Sam and Thorn. Sam's correction made Charlie raise an eyebrow. She looked at Thorn, then at Zach, then back at Thorn. It was a shame Cupid wasn't here.

"Ah, so we're not letting that go even in this universe, huh? I can't annul a fake marriage," she reminded him. She glanced over in Zach's direction and flinched when she saw him put his hands behind his back. A moment later, agents were putting handcuffs on him. It didn't feel right. None of it felt right. She knew Zach had fucked up but this felt unnecessary. He wasn't a threat. When she got arrested in the other timeline for witchcraft, he stepped in to protect her. She felt like she owed him the same, but before she could move in that direction, an agent stepped in her way.

"Ms. McKnight, Mr. Winchester...this way please," the agent indicated with their hand. Thorn tried to stand on her tip toes to look over the agent and back at Zach and Zatanna, but the agent gently ushered her toward the medical set up.

"I'll let Dean and Jack know you're home," Charlie nodded. Dean was probably already on his way here. And Jack had taken to loitering around the investigation site even when he shouldn't be. "Some things happened with Cupid and Bells. They're okay, but it's been a heavy few days. I'll fill you in when you get out. They'll be happy you're home," she kissed Sam one last time and watched him disappear down to the medical set up with the SHIELD agents. Much to the confusion of the agents around Charlie, before any one of them could escort her out, she'd already stepped through the veil and was gone.

Thorn waited patiently down by the medial set up as Sam approached. An agent handed them both a bottle of fresh water and directed them to one of the queues. From this vantage point, neither Zatanna nor Zach were visible. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how much trouble do you think he's in?" Thorn asked.

ZATANNA: She felt nauseous as the handcuffs were placed on Zach. It wasn't the first time he'd fucked up, but it was the first time he'd fucked up this badly. If what Cupid and Maze had said was true, then she couldn't protect him from the consequences of these actions. She watched in a daze as the agents took Zach away. Zatanna was half expecting him to pull some sort of escape trick and shimmy out of the handcuffs but to her surprise he didn't. He was so complacent with all of this. It was bizarre, unfamiliar, and terrifying to her. She didn't know how to navigate this anymore. Zatanna took a deep breath as Daisy approached her. "I know," she nodded. Daisy was right. Zatanna couldn't be impartial in this, and Zach was probably afraid of her response to the things he'd done to begin with. She could feel the underlying meaning behind Daisy's question. Zatanna wasn't okay but this wasn't the time to fall apart. They needed to figure out what Zach had done and how to prevent it from here. "Yeah, I'm okay with that," she nodded. She trusted that Daisy would handle this with care even if it turned out that Zach was at fault. Maybe he could avoid jail time if he agreed to give up his magic, but Zatanna wasn't sure how willing he'd be to do something like that. "I have to call his mom and let her know that he's home if you wanna give your agents a heads up." They'd all dealt with Stella this past week, and they could all anticipate how she'd react.

SAM: He was glad Charlie could get time for that with him. He knew how the veil worked, how minor changes could make more work for the reapers and how big things could throw the veil into chaos with how many deaths were moved forward or back. What happened with the club was huge. More lives came back to the universe, and some had regretfully not come back at all. That would throw the veil for a loop, and Charlie's presence would be expected there to help. He'd want to spend as much time with her as he could get before she went back to work. For as long as she was here, he was holding onto her.

“Not in a million years, especially once Cupid hears about it. She'll probably just make it more final and real.” He laughed. How could he not tell Cupid about this? After everything she'd been through, a story like that would help to lift her spirits. “Zatanna would probably just feel sorry for you.” He followed Thorn's gaze where Zach and Zatanna actually were. It wasn't something Thorn needed to see after what she'd been through with him already, so he was glad when the agent stepped in her way. Sam was taller than them all, so he could still see what was happening. He could still see how Zach didn't fight it at all as the agents led him away. Now that his suicide attempt seemed to have failed, it didn't look like he knew what to do with himself besides just accept what was happening. It stung seeing that, especially when Sam related so much to it.

“Thanks, boss.” He kissed her cheek in appreciation. He didn't want to worry them for too long especially when there was always the fear about the other him in the air. He rose a brow when she mentioned Cupid and Belphegor. Even if they were okay, it made him worried about them. He hugged her tightly before she kissed him and went off through the veil, watching her on her way out as he and Thorn were led to the medical area. He looked back to Thorn when she spoke. “A 7 maybe. From what I can see, he's being compliant, which might help him, and while Zatanna can't do too much for him, she'll fight tooth and nail to make sure they aren't just taking advantage or wrongly mistreating him. He'll have consequences, but hopefully they'll see it's not all his fault. He'll be okay.” He elbowed her to try to keep her thoughts off of it. “As his wife, you can probably get rights to go see him.”

DAISY: Zachary was being led out of view now by Daisy's agents, and she could see just how much this was bothering Zatanna. Even without regulations about family with these things, she felt like it was just a good idea personally that Zatanna wasn't going to be in the room for the interrogation. She wasn't sure what Zachary had been through in the 1600s, but it was clear that it affected him dramatically. It had to be traumatic, and it would probably hurt Zatanna to hear about it. She might've suggested that Zatanna not even listen in, but she doubted that would've been accepted well. "Thanks for the warning." She nodded. She waved one of her agents down. They came up next to her, and she told them to expect Zachary's mother to show up. "Give her whatever accommodations she needs," she told them. "And if there's a problem, let me or Zatanna know." She trusted her agents to gently handle Ms. Zatara, but a worried mother was a powerful force, especially one armed with magic. She looked back at Zatanna. "I can wait to start on the main part of the questions until you finish your call if you want?" she offered. She wasn't sure how long the call would be, but she imagined Zatanna wanted to be there.

THORN: "You're gonna tell Cupid?" Somehow she didn't doubt that Sam knew Cupid. It seemed like a very Sam Winchester sort of thing.  "That's bold. What if she makes fun of you for not getting married yet? I dunno, chief, I wouldn't risk it," she teased. "Honestly, I'd be honored to even be a passing thought in Zatanna's head, but she's got a lot on her plate already." In the grand scheme of things, Zach had fucked up by getting them sent to 1693, but he'd also kept Thorn and some of the others safe while they were there. She hoped that Sam was right that the agents would see it wasn't all Zach's fault. She snorted when Sam brought up that spouse privileges could probably be used here. "You are literally the worst," she laughed and squirted some of the contents of her water bottle at him. "And you smell like a hippy commune." One of the agents called for her name and gestured for her to come forward. "I'll see you on the other side, BSG," she threw some finger guns at him before disappearing behind one of the canopies to be medically cleared for release.

ZATANNA: She numbly watched as Zach disappeared from view. She didn't really want to call her aunt, but she knew she had to. If she didn't, Stella was probably going to ream her in as much as she was going to ream Zach in. She hoped her aunt would at least listen to the agents and not interfere with the interrogation, both for her sake and Zach's. The last thing Zach needed in the middle of being questioned was his mom coming in to yell at him. "Thank you," Zatanna nodded. "I'll make it quick and I'll see if I can get her to be a more rational person before she gets here," she promised. "I'll see you in the interrogation set up in ten minutes." Zatanna looked up at the ruined club one last time before she turned away and made her way to a quiet corner to call her aunt and give her the news.

SAM: "Of course! She's gonna love it. It'll be nice for her to have a project that's less stressful." He laughed when she tried to turn it back on him. There were good reasons why he and Charlie hadn't gotten married yet. They might've been dating for months now, but they weren't ready to take that step yet. Cupid knew a lot of what they had both been through. Sam had almost gotten married once already, and it had ended tragically. Charlie's attempt at marriage had been just as bad, if not worse. They weren't looking to rush things, but at least Cupid knew they were working on developing their relationship. He was pretty sure she didn't expect them to be ready for marriage that quickly, and she was probably just glad that Charlie was ready to be in love with someone after so much time. "She already did make fun of us a little. Before we were sure we loved each other, Charlie can tell you how relentless she was. That's how I know to sic her on you." He shrugged. "But if she does bring up the fact that Charlie and I aren't married yet, I'm not afraid to talk about that with her. I'll just show Cupid the ring I'll use when I eventually propose. It should satisfy her enough." Or at least it might've distracted her enough. He could just keep her talking until she forgot that she was reaming him about not being married yet. 

"You underestimate just how much Zatanna is willing to stack on her plate even when it's already full. I've got a feeling you'll start coming up a lot more in her thoughts, especially now that you're part of her family." He nudged her again before she squirted her water bottle at him, snickering to himself. "Takes one to know one. Actually I think you smell worse." He waved his hand in front of his nose before she got called away. A different agent called his name, so he headed away as well. He'd be glad to be out of here soon, so he could see his family. 

DAISY: "You're welcome. It's probably going to help both of us anyways." That phone call would hopefully at least buy them some time to get some questions answered before Ms. Zatara started getting more hostile about wanting to see her son. "Take your time. I'm sure you'll need it. I can use that time to get Zachary medical attention, cleaned up, and some clean clothes." From the looks of things he really needed all of that. It'd be better for them if he was in less pain while they were asking him questions, so they could more accurately determine if he was telling the truth or not. From how things had been, she had a feeling he wouldn't lie, but it was better safe than sorry, even if Zatanna would be there to keep things contained if they needed her. "But I'll meet you there once we're both done." They turned separate ways, Zatanna going to call her aunt and Daisy going to see to Zachary's medical needs. This had been a long week, but at least they were reaching the conclusion now. // END

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Fall on Me ⊰

Request: one where the reader has had feelings for reid for a while and confessed them to him but he then tells her about maeve and when the whole incident happens she stays by his side to comfort him and they end up together? -Anon

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Lots of angst, mention of minor character death, grief

A/N: Firstly, this became much more than what I had anticipated but I was just super inspired and in the feels. Also, this doesn’t really follow the timeline of the show.

Second, my recent fics haven’t been showing up in tags and idk why. If you would like to be tagged in future fics so you don’t miss any, let me know and I’ll gladly add you. I hope you enjoy!

You shifted in your seat as you counted the people strolling leisurely down the busy street. It was a lovely Saturday afternoon in D.C., and almost everyone was out and about enjoying the fresh breeze and warmth of the sun brought by Summer. That’s why you opted to sit outside of the cafe, having been cooped up inside of your office all day for the past week.

Glancing at your watch, your smile faltered when you realized that almost fifteen minutes had already passed. Spencer was very punctual, he would usually arrive earlier rather than later. It was a bit worrying to you because of all the years you’ve known him, he’s never been late.

You were just about to call him on his phone when the chair across from you was pulled out from underneath the table, and you saw Spencer taking a seat.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late,” he began as he set his bag down while you put your cell back inside your pocket. “I was on the phone with someone and didn’t realize what time it was.”

You smiled as the waitress came over to give Spencer the menu. “It’s alright. I wasn’t waiting for that long anyway.”

“Still, I kept you waiting,” he added, giving you a smile of his own before looking through the menu.

You couldn’t help but stare at Spencer, the tips of his long curls framing the front of his face, hiding away the warm brown eyes you’ve grown to adore. He was quite handsome, not to mention kind-hearted and intelligent. He cared about you more than anyone ever has.

It wasn’t a surprise that you developed feelings for him. And today, you planned on telling Spencer the truth—you loved him.

Honestly speaking, you were nervous about doing it. There wasn’t a secret that Spencer didn’t know except for this one, and you weren’t sure how he would react to it. But to calm yourself down and be able to go through with this, you refused to think of the worst that could happen.

“So, I have something to tell you,” Spencer spoke once the food was ordered. “Remember that geneticist I reached out to because of my headaches?”

You nodded, recalling the time he shared that with you. You had been so concerned about his health though Spencer kept reassuring you that he was going to be okay. “I do. Her name was Maeve, right?”

“Yeah, Maeve,” he said her name in a gentle tone, his lips slightly curling upwards at the sound of it.

You knew little about Maeve, other than Spencer contacted her for his medical issues. He never met her in person because she had a threatening stalker, and it was safer to communicate using phone booths. You weren’t sure why he was bringing her up now.

“Well, anyway, we’ve been talking for months now, and I’ve fallen for her,” Spencer revealed.

Just like that, and it was as if everything around you had stopped moving.

“What?” You could only say, feeling your heart falling into the pit of your stomach.

“I never told you this because I wanted to be sure, but I’ve fallen in love with Maeve. I know it’s crazy because we have never seen each other—”

“Yes, it’s crazy,” you interjected, hoping that Spencer would notice your discomfort, but he only continued.

“But she’s funny and brilliant. We have these wonderful talks about life, literature, and everything!” He said excitedly, and you couldn’t help but feel the ache inside of your chest from seeing him so love-stricken. “It doesn’t matter what she looks like, she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me.”

The last bit delivered the final blow to you. The tears pricked your eyes as Spencer kept telling you more about Maeve. You couldn’t even process the words he was saying as the world felt like it was spinning and spinning…

Suddenly, you grabbed your bag and got up from your seat, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor, causing the customers around you to check the commotion. Spencer looked at you in confusion as the first drop of tears began to fall.

“I have to go,” you blurted out as Spencer stood, his face showing concern.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked, his hand coming to rest on your arm, but you quickly stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not knowing how to explain to Spencer why you weren’tokay. “I just need to go.”

You didn’t even register Spencer calling out your name as you stormed away from the patio area and walked down the sidewalk in quick steps. The tears in your eyes clouded your vision as you turned down the corner, praying that Spencer wasn’t following you. After a couple more blocks, your legs were about to give out, and you sank down on an empty bench.

You sat there as you cried to yourself, ignoring the strange looks from those passing by. Once you finally got a hold of yourself, you took a deep breath and noticed the skies growing dark as the sun began to set.

Sighing, you started heading back home as you tried to forget what had just happened. Your phone kept ringing multiple times until you powered it down, not even looking to see who was calling because you already knew.

As you made your way to your apartment on the other side of the city, you felt the atmosphere around you change. The world which seemed so warm and so bright just hours before was now colder and darker. And it wasn’t because the day had come to an end so that the night could take over.

It was because your heart was broken by the one man you trusted—you loved— and you didn’t know if you could ever heal from that.

-x-

Three months passed, and the city embraced the beginning of Autumn. The leaves on trees were changing colors, and the wind in the air became chillier. Still, people were spending time outside, absorbing the last bit of warmth before the need for thicker coats returned once again.

You had just left your office for the evening, and planned on taking out food from your favorite restaurant down the street where you worked. It had been a fairly busy day—clients kept coming in, phone calls seemingly never-ending. You had taken up more responsibilities at your job, which meant working longer hours during the week.

You didn’t mind it all. In fact, you wanted it. Work was work, and it kept you busy.

Busy enough to keep you from thinking about Spencer.

What happened in the aftermath of that day was something you tried not to dwell on. Three days later, you called him and explained that you were just stressed from work during that week. It was a lie, of course, and Spencer, knowing how smart he was, deemed it as such. You refused to reveal the truth, however, not wanting to get in the way of his happiness.

Because even though it had hurt, you still loved him and wanted the best for him.

Even if the best wasn’t you.

Spencer’s job and your increased workload prevented you two from speaking often. It was either he was on a case a thousand miles away, or you were staying late at the office working overtime. You were glad since you needed space, and it was much easier this way.

After picking up your food, your phone started to ring. Deciding against answering it because you wanted a quiet night to yourself, you continued your walk before another call came in. When you ignored it a second time, your phone rang again, and you finally saw that it was Spencer trying to reach you.

“Hello? Look, Spence, I’m not really in the mood to talk—”

“(Y/N)? It’s JJ,” her frantic tone on the other line caught you off guard, and you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“JJ? Is everything okay? Where’s Spencer?”

“Something happened to him,” JJ said, her voice breaking up. “Reid’s safe, but he needs you. I don’t have time to explain, but just come down to the headquarters.”

The call ended, and immediately, the adrenaline kicked in. Dropping your takeout, you ran to a nearby taxi and told the driver to take you to Quantico as fast as possible, promising him a big tip at the end. Fortunately, it was late at night that there wasn’t much traffic, and you got there in half an hour.

You were out of breath by the time you reached the elevator, the soft music playing in the background doing nothing to ease your nerves. Once the doors opened, you saw JJ waiting by the glass doors, and you jogged up to the federal agent.

“Where is he?” You questioned in a small voice, and before she could answer, Spencer emerged from one of the offices, exhausted and emotional.

Even from a distance, you could tell by his reddened and puffy eyes that he had been crying. You felt your chest tightened at the thought of what Spencer could have witnessed. His work was always so violent, but never was he this affected by it.

As he caught sight of you, he hung his head down and dragged his feet to you. JJ leaned into your ear, whispering the name “Maeve.”

You didn’t need to know anything more.

“(Y/N),” Spencer uttered your name low, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. “She’s gone.”

You immediately felt his tears falling onto your neck as you let him cry into you. He hugged you with a tight grip as you ran a soothing hand up and down his back. You turned your lips towards his ear and said, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m here, I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m so sorry.”

You knew your words weren’t enough to bring him comfort, but at least he knew that you were there for him, and you were going to help him through this.

-x-

Winter seized the Capital with its thick white snow blanketing the entire city. The holiday came quickly and went, decorations that lit up the streets were now stored away. Schools were closed, traffic was unrelenting, people were lining up at coffee shops for a hot beverage to keep them from freezing in the cold, frigid air. Winter moved unforgivingly slow, making time seem like it doesn’t pass at all.

Spencer was barely managing it, and you could tell. Maeve’s death prevented him from going to work for two weeks, and when he did go back, that was all that he could do— bury himself in his work.

It took time for Spencer to open up to you about what had happened. He knew how you hated hearing about death, but you pleaded for him to talk about it this time. You wanted him to tell you about his feelings. If he was angry or upset. Did he blame himself or had any guilt?

You weren’t a therapist, but you were a friend. It would only hurt Spencer if he kept his thoughts bottled up. He needed to let it out, and eventually, he did.

You had been coming to his apartment every night whenever he wasn’t out of town. You could be tired from working for the last twelve hours, but would still have enough energy to take care of him.

“So, I brought you Chinese at that place we love so much,” you announced as you looked through his cupboards to get plates. “They miss seeing you there. You used to stop by at least once a week.”

Silence filled the air, and you exhaled deeply. Spencer was in the living room, mindlessly tracing the edges of a book cover in his hands. You knew that the book was a gift from Maeve, and it was the one thing he’s been clutching on because it reminded him of her.

Once you got the plates and cutleries, you brought them along with the food to where Spencer was, setting them on the coffee table. “I got your usual order, and asked for extra sauce this time since I know it’s your favorite.”

Spencer abruptly stood up and dug his hands into the pockets of his cardigan. “I’m not hungry.”

He was about to retreat back into his room when you reached for his hand and gently held him in his place. Spencer’s eyes flickered up to yours, and you could see the emptiness inside of them. You knew he was still grieving, but he wasn’t taking care of himself. Ever since Maeve’s death, he’s never been the same, and it worried you.

“Spence, I can tell you haven’t eaten anything all day. Just eat a little bit, and then you can head to bed, okay?”

“Why do you care so much?” He asked you, his tone laced with bitterness.

“What do you mean? I’m your friend. Of course, I care.”

Spencer shook his head. “You didn’t seem to care about Maeve when I told you about her months ago.”

There was slight anger in his voice as you stared at him wide-eyed. Your mouth felt dry as you tried to come up with what to say in response to his accusation. Spencer was hurting, but he still didn’t know how much he had hurt you when he told you about Maeve.

“I did care about her,” you began as you stepped forward. “She made you happy, and that’s what mattered. I only wanted you to be happy.”

“Yeah, but when you stormed off, it didn’t seem that way. After that, every time I mentioned her name, you changed the subject. I let it go because I didn’t want to ask at the time. So, now I’m asking you. Why?”

Your eyes began to well up tears as he looked at you sternly. “I don’t know what to say, Spence.”

“Was it because you thought that it was impossible to fall in love with someone whom you’ve never met? Ever since that afternoon, you’ve acted so distantly as if I had done something wrong. Just tell me the reason.”

You knew that it was his pain driving the anger. It broke you when he believed that the shift in your relationship was because of Maeve when it was far from it. His brain was flooded with so many different emotions that he wasn’t thinking logically.

“I loved her,” Spencer told you. “But you weren’t supportive.”

“Because I loved you!” You released a cry as you let go of Spencer’s hand. “I loved you, and I was going to tell you that when you told me about Maeve.”

Spencer remained silent as you moved to sit on the couch because your legs couldn’t carry you anymore. You were surprised when he did the same, lowering himself down on the seat next to yours, his knees almost touching yours.

“I loved you,” you repeated, this time softly as your eyes fixed on your hands clasped on your lap. “And you broke my heart when you said you loved Maeve. But I had never seen you that happy and so in love. I decided to take a step back because even though I wanted you to enjoy it, I couldn’t let myself suffer.”

No one said a word afterwards. The howling of the wind outside was all you could hear aside from the shaky breaths you released.

Then a hand came to touch your shoulder, and your eyes went back up to Spencer’s who only looked at you apologetically and in regret.

“I didn’t know— I’m sorry.”

“Of course, you didn’t know,” you mumbled, using your sleeve to wipe the remnants of your tears. “I didn’t tell you anything, and it’s not like you’re a pro in reading signals.”

Spencer frowned slightly at that, and you gave him a shake of your head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like it’s your fault.”

“It’s okay,” he responded. “I’ve always been blind to things like that.”

You swallowed thickly, the air in the room felt… lighter.

“You’re going to get through this, Spence,” you said as a promise. “I know things between us have been tense ever since that day, but I still love you as a friend. I’m not asking for anything in return. I only want what’s best for you and to make sure that you’re okay.”

He gave you a small nod of understanding as the weight was lifted off your shoulders. Eventually, Spencer reached for the take out which had long grown cold by now and began eating. You smiled and did the same.

You weren’t sure what was going to happen now that you had told him the truth, but one thing was certain— you were never going to leave his side.

-x-

“The chocolate lava cake was better than the apple custard-pie,” you argued before licking the remaining frosting on your plate.

Spencer laughed, shaking his head at you. “That’s because you have a terrible sweet tooth.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with that,” you shot back with a playful smile as you called the waiter over for the bill.

“Hey, I’m just glad we were finally able to try the dessert,” Spencer replied, alluding back to the last time you were both sitting outside of this cafe.

Ten months had come and gone, and things were different. As promised, you helped Spencer get through his period of grief. It was far from easy, but he was able to pull through. Eventually, he was back to his old self again. He was smiling more, laughing often. The team had even noticed it, and JJ thanked you personally.

Everything seemed to return to normal. You finally had your best friend back, and your friendship with him had grown stronger.

“So, I have something to say,” Spencer said, repeating the very same words he did back in the summer.

“What is it?” you wondered curiously.

“First, thank you for what you’ve done in these last few months. I thought that being alone was the best way to move on when it wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t around.”

You smiled softly at him as he reached over the table and held your hand in his. “No need to thank me, Spence. It’s nothing.”

“Secondly,” he continued, “Maeve’s death was tragic, and the time we had was cut short. But you reminded me that there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. It took a long time to get out of it, but here I am now with you.”

“What are you saying?”

“These past few months were difficult, but you being there the entire time reminded me how important you are. You know everything there is about me, and you care for me like no one does.”

Spencer sighed, running the pad of his thumb gently on the back of your hand. You could feel his gaze on you as you watched the circles he traced over your skin.

“I didn’t realize it until weeks ago, but it’s always been you. I love you (Y/N).”

Once the words left his lips, you froze. A worried look then appeared on Spencer’s face.

“Isn’t it too soon? I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Spence.”

“I know it is, but with everything that’s happened, I don’t want to lose the chance because it could easily be taken away.”

You didn’t know how to react. Despite all that has happened, you had never stopped loving Spencer, but this didn’t feel right. You wondered if he was ready— if you were ready.

“Spence, I don’t think you’re sure—”

“But I am,” he said, getting up from his seat before pulling you up from yours. “I’ve never felt any more sure in my life.”

Your heart was pounding fast and hard. You wanted this so badly, and you knew Spencer had moved on. As he stood there in front of you with a hopeful gleam in his eye, you let out a deep breath and nodded your head, a smile gracing your lips.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer beamed as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. Before you realized it, his lips were on you, all the longing and love he had were conveyed through the kiss as you stood there, stunned.

But it was Spring, you told yourself. Spring was a time for new things— new joys and new sorrows. New beginnings and new endings. New adventures and new memories. The possibilities were endless, but one that you were sure of was that it was a new page to write on as your story continued, this time with a new love.

And once you reminded yourself of that, you closed your eyes and finally kissed him back.