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masterwcrk · 2 years ago

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she doesn't remember the last time she pulled this many doubles, & there's a cruel sense of irony that just a week prior she & Izzy had been tucked away in a corner booth at Sarabeth's lamenting how they needed something to take their minds off the news. the city felt like it was under siege with everything going on - some sort of turf war if what she overhears in the hallways is to be believed, or some sort of general gang activity that's on the upswing in response to local legislation trying to put illicit profits generated off the port in a chokehold. they'd never be able to fully stamp it out, Simon had told her in one of his long-winded tangents when he was pretending he wasn't stalling on the off chance Izzy might drop by while he was bring his best friend lunch. instead, they wanted to twist the thumbscrews & at least make some token effort to show they were tackling organized crime & then they could go back to ignoring it & the backdoor profit it generates for the city as a whole.

but that's not her wheelhouse. actually, if her step dad & her mother had anything to say about it at all, it wouldn't even be a topic they leave the TV on for during dinner but she's not entirely sure if that's because her mother would prefer to pretend problems don't exist, or not. she can never tell with her anymore. Jocelyn Fairchild Fray certainly had her reasons to shy away from that facet of the city but Clary couldn't pretend it didn't exist forever when she worked at the busiest hospital that saw the most ER activity across far too many metrics. being in pediatrics did have a lot of benefits though. all of that feels like it's at least a little bit of a world away from her little corner more days than not.

or at least it had, now they're all stretched thin & everyone in actual trauma care has hit burn out from the unrelenting waves of activity they've had to endure. she's not sure how any of them are actually still on their feet, but she'd been decently sure she was about to find out when Isabelle had hand-carried a chart on a tablet up to pediatrics & specifically request her friends come give her a hand with a PROBLEM CHILD. she'd looked over the chart on the tablet Izzy had shoved her way, reading & re-reading it for about the third time until the words started to make sense in the order she was reading them, & all the while wondering why Isabelle Lightwood thought for even one moment this particular case was something Clary was remotely equipped to help with. her area was definitely children & adolescents. the chart had been a whole adult, & apparently a very, very aggressive one at that from all the warnings & notes & citations listed within it.

the moment she had stowed the tablet & actually walked up to the room, though, it had all made sense in its own weird sort of way just in seeing another nurse about to lose a hand. she'd set that record straight immediately & then spent the next hour wondering if she was dealing with a human being or a feral cat in a person suit with how distrustful he was of every single interaction.

that had been a few weeks ago though, & now she had a name - Kaz. she'd gotten to know him & his goon squad a bit in that time. the goon squad was a casual name she'd had to come up with when trying to describe the way he always had two people hovering somewhere around his room, even outside of visiting hours. she'd seen private security before, even on her own floor when the children of visiting diplomats needed procedures or celebrities & politicians made their rounds to visit special cases. seeing someone - or more typically several someones - casually loitering against a doorway, though, she couldn't help but wonder who Kaz really was that his security gave off such a lethal aura.

it was almost as lethal as the aura he himself gave off, if she was being honest with herself but that was something she distinctly did not tell her mom. in truth, he scared her some days. he was uncomfortably abrupt, borderline rude even when he was more or less behaving himself, & all too acutely aware of everything from a shift in her tone to the way she navigated her way around the wires & machines in the private room whenever she had to come up & take over whatever botched attempt at treating him had failed this time. he scared her, but in a way she couldn't put into words. as aggressive as he was, he never seemed to target her so long as she maintained his boundaries -- & reminded the others to do the same. if anything, he seemed significantly calmer whenever he recognized her footsteps or voice, & that was an improvement she could live with.

she's desensitized to the last name - one she & her mother had agreed to keep out of necessity while that one thing was still up in the air. it offered a smidge of protection for the both of them, & she had spent the first sixteen years of her life using it so changing it even knowing her mother's real maiden name had just felt ridiculous until they could be sure it was safe. still, the way he says it had... it wasn't correct to say that it had hit a nerve, so to speak, but there's a part of her that wonders what her actual name would sound like in his accent & that is a line of thinking she had shut down so hard it had probably given her emotional whiplash.

' good afternoon to you, too, Kaz, ' the redhead teases even through her own exhaustion. ' and yes, I'm finally here. had to stop off some paperwork on another floor and it took more time than I really wanted it to. ' she was still a pediatric nurse, even if somehow strings had gotten pulled to have her spending more & more time one on one with this SPECIAL CASE. she moves across the room with purpose, opening the blinds & letting the light in. he might not be able to see, but he had responded well to the light tests & he wasn't going to get better shoved away in the dark in a forgotten room.

she also quietly snatches up the flowers in the vase by the bed & switches them out for the small bouquet she'd brought. that had been a little special touch of hers for all her patients that struggled harder than most. it was usually just 2-3 stems of whatever was in season from the vendor that set up shop between her subway stop & the hospital, but it helped BRIGHTEN the room. she'd never mentioned them, & he hadn't either so she generally assumed he had elected to ignore it. honestly, that suited her just fine. she's not sure what she would say if he did bring it up. he'd probably think it was ridiculous.

' I need to check, and potentially change, the bandages on your eyes. ' she's not quite looking forward to this - the close proximity of her hands to his face made him nervous, & nerves made him lash out even on a good day - actually having to touch him generally provided even worse reaction. the last few nurses who had done this hadn't escaped entirely unscathed. ' I don't want to take more time than I have to, but I am going to do it. it's up to you if you're going to let me do this quickly so I can keep contact to a minimum for you. think we can make that work? '

@masterwcrk put in overtime on the wrong days...

The last thing he heard before everything descended into a chaos he couldn't handle was Wylan's voice, soft and emphatic, saying, "oh, shit." Kaz wasn't known for foolish behaviors and Wylan didn't sound nearly panicked enough to necessarily mean something had gone terribly wrong, but the way his head snapped to the side to look at the redhead was perhaps the worst thing he could have done. Wylan looked horrified for the split second Kaz saw him before Jesper grabbed the demolitions 'expert' and yanked him down. How Wylan didn't get caught in the blast was anyone's guess, but Kaz's head hadn't even finished turning when the explosion went off, searing his vision and rocking his hearing so that he pitched away and into the crates he'd been using for cover. They'd already been under fire, which had to have been how Wylan's flashbomb had been compromised, but Kaz didn't see how the fight ended and he didn't hear the shouting of Dime Lions coming for their location. Someone grabbed him and he felt his cane connect with a solid form when he lashed out, was released, then grabbed once more by the arm holding the cane. The second hand yanked him along.

It had been a rough night, getting free of the Dime Lions territory and back to their own, and Kaz took too long to figure out that it had been Jesper who grabbed him the second time and held firm until they'd stopped moving finally - his stride was longer than Kaz's own and harder to maintain with his leg screaming displeasure after that ungraceful landing into the crates. The problem was that he had to figure it out and also endure the contact that made his skin crawl - his hearing was all wrong, like he was underwater and too far away, but his vision was doing less than that. He couldn't see. At all.

He didn't know what story Jesper and Wylan had given at the hospital, but he'd been admitted as an emergency and promptly sedated for freaking out at too many hands on him that he didn't know. Later, when his hearing had started working back online, he'd gathered more about his situation, particularly when Jesper and Wylan showed up for visiting to inform him that he'd scared the shit out of them when he wasn't responding and that he'd nearly broken Rotty's face (and would have if the guy hadn't turned his shoulder into the blow), but there had been blood and that had been the last straw in the call for whether to go to the hospital. There was someone on his door from the Dregs at all hours and the hospital had caved to the 'personal security' needs, considering his injuries, but it still meant that he'd been stuck in the hospital for nearly three weeks and what little tolerance he had for being cared for had been used up in the first day or so.

It made him a problem patient, and he knew it - they all did. It was there in Jesper's voice when the guy visited and flirted with the nurses, flattering them well beyond his usual like it was some apology. Wylan was the one to apologize verbally, and Kaz wouldn't have been surprised if the Dregs on his door chatted their fair share, but he wanted little to do with most of them. 'Most', because there was one nurse who made him crazy at first, but who he'd started to respect just for her ability to adapt to his bullshit. The first time she'd stopped a male nurse from physically helping him up with a sharp declaration that he didn't like being touched, so don't touch him, he'd had to rethink his feelings on her and their interactions. Since then, he'd been less difficult for her, but really, he wasn't sure how much of an improvement she saw it as. He was still an asshole.

There was a tilt of his head as footsteps came into the room, his hearing having returned too slowly for his preferences, but at least he had that. A nasty splinter of crate had been removed from his side when he was admitted, so that kept him off of his feet without help - nurse's orders. His eyes were still healing and covered, so hearing was what he had to go on, which meant that he'd figured out the sound of anyone he knew approaching. It was Clary, the preferred nurse (read: the only favorite), and Pim was on the door. Good. She was running late and he wasn't about to say that he was worried she wasn't going to come, but he'd been wondering. "Afternoon, Ms. Fray. Something held you up, hopefully something good," he offered, not a question, but there was still curiosity there. His own routine was mind-numbingly boring lately, so it was wring something interesting out of his few visitors or crawl the walls of his own mind. He did enough of that anyway.

#starsinshadows #☆ ❛ show yourself grace ❜ || verse. ( au. — trauma nurse )#☆ ❛ and the words came pouring out ❜ || interactions #long post #you know #I meant for this to be shorter than your starter #so congrats I guess #LMAO #q.

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astralscrivener · 2 years ago

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pspsps ... 46 w/binxhera ......

bestie. u get me . u get me. i hope i did them justice for u

46. Linking arms with each other (Binxhera)

It becomes a daily occurrence.

Binx comes to expect hearing Andhera’s knocking at their door. She used to spend nearly every hour anticipating it until it happened. Slowly, though, she learned that Andhera’s knocking fit seamlessly into her routine, and so long as an event from the Bloom did not demand their presence, Andhera arrived just after lunch each day.

Today, though, Binx lets their guard down.

It would be understandable to do so. In this place of magic and whimsy, under the orchestrations of the Seafoam Court and Court of Wonder—the sour note in the back of her throat is purely her own—the weather should be perfect, as it has been every other day. Bright sun, only a few puffy white clouds for atmospheric effect, temperatures neither stiflingly hot nor unbearably frigid.

But when Binx awakened this morning, it was to the sound of rain and hail lashing against her dwelling. Breakfast was delivered in an enchanted basket by a soaked messenger, who stuttered out the explanation that Binx’s gracious hosts didn’t want their guests to trouble themselves braving the storm. So Binx accepted the basket and ate breakfast and wondered what had happened to cause such a disruption, or if this was the prelude to some new circus.

The hours dragged on. Lunch, too, was brought by another drenched servant whom Binx sent on their way with an extra coat, and it was then that they resigned themself to spending the rest of the day indoors, doing…nothing. Something.

She could check in on her patrons. They last heard from Scratch about the invisible creature, but there are plenty of others to check up on. Mika, Klink, Sarabeth, Jimothy—

“Uh—” And there’s a knocking that snaps Binx’s head up, has her whipping toward the door, has her pausing to listen for the rain. And sure enough, it’s still there, not having died down but in fact seeming to have grown more torrential. “Lady Binx?”

There is no one here with an intonation more awkward, and Binx has to school a smile off her face when she opens the door. It grows easier to do so when she sees Andhera standing there in their same robe, no umbrella to be found, dripping wet.

“Prince Andhera,” she addresses, mouth forming a sort of O-shape as they stare at him, “what are you—?” Then she cuts herself off with a shake of her head and steps aside, sweeping an arm in gesture. “Please, come in.”

Andhera, casual and with a smile, flaps a hand. “No, no. I’m quite used to this. I was actually wondering—” and they pause, taking in the concern in Binx’s wide eyes, “—if you would, ah, like to accompany me for our walk. As you can see, aha—” and he coughs, “—there’s no one around, and it grows darker by the hour. And you and I both know that darkness—” and they stop, and fumble, and mutter to themself, “—well, now, that sounded like a come-on, ah-hum—”

Binx holds up a hand, and Andhera stops. Closes their mouth.

“We’re taking an umbrella,” Binx says. They dash back inside, and a moment later return to the door with a large umbrella, perfectly sized to comfortably fit the two of them.

Andhera’s smile splits his face. For the Prince of Darkness, Binx has rarely ever seen someone smile so brightly.

“Lead the way,” she says, ignoring that strange sensation in her chest as she joins Andhera outside.

As the umbrella unfurls over their heads, Andhera offers his arm. Binx loops theirs through, stepping so close to him that their biceps practically press together.

Later, Binx might overanalyze it all. Might think about our walk and darkness and being so close to each other. Might wonder if Andhera is doing the same—they suspect they will be. But for she now lets it all be, and lets the rain and the darkness wash over them both.

touch meme!

#binxhera #acofaf #dimension 20 #andhera x binx #my writing #ask meme #eileen answers

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years ago

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Quiver (bbh)

Summary: You meet a man who seems to know nearly everything about you, save your name.

As with nearly every Baek fic I write, for @illneverrecover! Although she actually paid me for this one hahaha

Also thank you to my sister for betaing and making my gorgeous banner!

Warnings: angst, violence and death tw, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, oral sex (f. receiving), this is more soft and sad than horny tbh

Word Count: 10,219

Deja vu is something you don't feel very often, and so when it washes over you in a wave that leaves goosebumps on your flesh, you look around.

You're not sure what you're looking for, but you feel that when you find it, you'll know.

Your eyes fall on a man sitting at a table, looking down at a book. His hair is slicked back but with pieces falling into his face, and as if he knows you're staring, he looks up at you.

He has the warmest brown eyes, and something like a shock shoots through your heart. Your feet are moving before you realize it.

"Have we met before?"

He smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Maybe in another life."

His name, it turns out, is Baekhyun, and he works at some investment firm you've never heard of but it doesn't matter because he has the most endearing way of smiling at you while you're speaking to him.

You assume he has money because the car he leads you to is nice, not ridiculously so but expensive to upkeep, a foreign model that's sleek and your favorite color: red.

"Why red?" You ask, sliding into the leather seat of this stranger's car because you just know he's safe, somewhere in you.

He gives you that half smile again, the one that gives you something akin to deja vu.

"Reminds me of someone."

You wonder if you might fuck him on the first date, if coffee even counts as a first date, and it's the first time you've ever done that but when he makes you tea and you lean against his kitchen counter he gives you this look. It's like there's something dark and deep in his brown eyes, something both flirty and almost darkly lustful.

It makes your heart flip. It makes your body tingle. It makes you a little afraid.

But you've never been one to run from fear, especially when it's all wrapped up with excitement and lust.

When you're sitting on his couch and sipping tea he's swiveled his body toward you just slightly, open and inviting, but he doesn't make a move, just watches you, listens as you fill the silence, laughs when you make a face when you pick up his tea instead of yours, which is bitter and devoid of the sugar you love.

You make the first move, in fact, end up clutching at his shirt as you kiss his mouth over and over because it feels soft and his tongue is hot and it feels familiar.

His hands skate up your sides once, above your shirt, and then again, under it, and that feels familiar too, long fingers on your flesh.

"You haven't met your soulmate yet," the tarot reader said. You and a friend had visited her a few years ago, when you were half drunk at a carnival.

"At least," she'd continued, "not in this lifetime."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?" You ask, two weeks later when you've spent almost all

your free time with him, and most of it in his bed.

"Maybe in your dreams," he'd quipped, and you elbow him but he's already spooning you and you're too half asleep to do much damage.

"Always in mine," he says, softly, just as you're drifting to sleep, and you can't pry your eyes open long enough to ask what that means.

You start a fling of sorts with this mysterious man, and for the most part, you’re happy. But then you start having these dreams.

Sometimes, there’s fire on a wall in front of you and when you turn around it’s behind you, too.

You can feel your skin burning and you can barely breathe when you wake.

Sometimes there’s thunder booming all around you, lightning that streaks across the sky and you’re running and running toward someone, a man with warm brown eyes, but you can’t get there and when you look down you’re running in water up to your waist.

Always, he’s there. You suppose it’s because you and Baekhyun have been spending so much time together, that he’s in your head all the time as much as you hate to admit it.

Finally, he’s next to you in bed when you bolt upright, frightened by the thunder because it’s one of those fire dreams, one where you can feel the flesh on your arms crinkling, and it burns burns burns until it doesn’t, until you feel so cold you wake up shivering.

You’re afraid and disoriented and the dream all comes out in a rush — you tell him everything, small details about how you’re clutching a rosary in one hand, how the baubles on it popped n the flames, and he puts his arms around you, lets you bury your face in his chest as your heart rate slows down.

“Your name was Eva, then,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d think you were still dreaming.

Something about it rings true. You wonder if you’d heard that in the dream and told him still half asleep, so you nod against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck after pulling you into his lap and it’s so mournful it almost frightens you.

“You can’t help my dreams,” you say playfully, trying to forget it, and he gives you the saddest smile.

“No, not those.”

You keep having those dreams, and they get more and more detailed and sometimes your name is Eva and sometimes it’s Yui and sometimes it’s Sarabeth and they’re all different, you look different, but you always feel how it ends.

And Baekhyun is always there. He looks the same, unlike you, and sometimes he’s your enemy, sometimes he’s your friend but most of the time, he’s your lover.

The dream that finally makes you confront him goes like this.

Your name is Angelica and your father was royalty but you’re just a bastard, your mother a commoner, a servant of the crown.

Once you’re old enough to have his eyes, you have to stay hidden like some fairy tale princess. Except you’re no princess in your dusty cabin, and you learn to hunt small game so that your mother doesn’t have to steal so much from the castle. It’s good that you learn, because your mother stops coming to the cabin and you learn that the plague has taken her.

The plague has taken nearly everyone, and you haven’t seen another person in months when you happen upon a man.

You have your bow drawn before he ever sees you, the string (made of rabbit sinew because it’s all you had, the bow made of oak that you’d chopped yourself) and arrow pointed straight and true.

He shifts, turns around and you hesitate just a moment when you catch his gaze, something familiar in his deep brown eyes. It’s long enough for him to draw his own bow, and he’s quick, quicker than you are, so you let your arrow fly.

His arrow flies a second after yours and they meet in the space between you, shredding each other in two.

You’d thought, then, that it was an omen.

Good or bad, you didn’t know.

You’d run back to the cabin and locked yourself in, but he’d followed you.

A few hours later, he knocked on the door and your heart started to race. Your mother had warned you what men could do to an unattended woman.

There was nothing else, though, and you waited half an hour to open the door.

A basket is sitting on the doorstep, and it contains dried meat and fresh cherries and peaches.

You hadn’t had fruit in years. There’s also a small bouquet of flowers, filled with dandelion fluff and baby’s breath, a few blossoms of lavender. It smells lovely.

You take your time eating the peaches, they have the sweetest juice that you let run down your chin like a child.

It’s been so long since you’ve eaten well that you overdo it and your stomach feels tied in a knot, but you’re smiling when you fall asleep that night, for what feels like the first time.

There’s another basket at the end of the week but he’s standing on the doorstep with it, smiling.

“Maiden, I was wondering if you had any water?”

“Will you draw your bow again when I turn my back?” You ask, wary, and he shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You drew yours first, maiden. I was surprised. The plague has taken so many it seems like I’m the only one left in all the world.”

He doesn’t look intimidating, doesn’t look as if he’s about to rush you, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let a strange man into your home, so you sit on the doorstep with him and eat the peaches he’d brought.

He watches the juice drip down your fingers, how you lick it off, with something in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

You sit and chat for a while, still wary, but he keeps looking at you like that, and you wonder if this is what it feels like, if this is what is to be wanted.

Three days and three dinners of peaches and dried meat later, you let him inside for a glass of water drawn from the well out back.

He drinks it down like he’s been thirsty for days, and you feel guilty for not letting him in earlier.

The way he licks his lips when he’s done makes something flutter inside your stomach and you put a hand there, low, almost on your pubic bone.

He watches every move you make, this mystery man who doesn’t have a hint of facial hair despite living in the woods, watches where you place your hands and fingers, how you move your mouth. He watches you as if you’re something fascinating, like watching fire burn wood down to embers.

When you were young, your mother took you to the Maypole festival, and all the children had been given these long sticks to dip in the fire, to twirl them around and make shapes in the night sky. You’d done it over and over until the stick was burned down too far and even then, you tried to dip it and burned your wrist.

He looks at you like you’d looked at the shapes you’d made with the lit stick. With wonder.

The first time he touches you it feels like the first time you’d felt warm water on your skin as a child, warmed on the fire with an iron pot, your mother spooning it over you slowly.

He touches you that way, slowly, murmuring bits of your name and it slides off his tongue like honey.

“Angelica. Angel,” he murmurs, right at the shell of your ear, and your bones seem to turn to jelly as you melt into him, your back against his chest.

Your mother had told you that one day you’d have a lover.

“Not a king,” she’d said, “but something more.”

You’d asked her what’s more than a king and she’d only smiled, held a finger to her lips as if the two of you shared a secret.

You did, your secret was that you existed, that your father was who he was and that your mother wasn’t his queen, at least not in name.

You tremble underneath his hands and when he turns you around, presses his mouth to yours, he does it slowly. You’re the one who grabs the back of his head, threads your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, wanting him closer, so close, wanting to burrow inside him and live there because you’re aching for him all over and you don’t know what it means.

“Let me call you by your name,” you plead when he’s kneeling before you, pulling down your underclothes, spreading the curls at your core where you’re hot and aching and wet.

He shakes his head. “I have too many names.”

“Tell me one of them,” you beg.

He doesn’t answer, presses his mouth to your cunt and you gasp, tugging his hair hard and he makes a low groan, throat exposed, that makes something come awake in your lower stomach, something somehow both like fire and honey, hot and slow and sweet.

“Give me your name,” you demand.

One corner of his mouth turns up.

“My name is Love,” he tells you, and presses his face back into your cunt, inhales like he loves the scent of you, his hands spreading apart your thighs so roughly that you brace your hands on the table behind you.

It isn’t a name you’d heard any man to have, but maybe he isn’t a man, maybe he’s one of the fae your Irish born mother told you stories about when you were a girl.

Maybe that’s the something more your mother told you about your future lover after reading your palm when you were sixteen.

You hunt together, and you’re in awe of how quick he is with his bow, how he shoots straight through the heart of even the smallest animals, voles and rabbits that you roast over the fire and feast on while he tells you wild tales about his brothers and sisters.

One rules the sea, he tells you, with a magic trident. One makes lightning bolts for his father deep underground where there’s fire so hot it melts rock and stone.

You’re fascinated, sit for hours just watching his mouth as he speaks and sometimes you vault into his lap mid sentence, silence him with your mouth on his because you want want want.

Your mother had told you many things about your future lover, about how you should be demure just like a man wants, but you can’t even try, not with him. Not with your mysterious, many named, no named lover, because he presses your nails deep into his chest when you straddle his hips, hisses when you leave bite marks along his throat and collarbone.

You pretend to be demure sometimes, if only to make him frown, to make him throw you down on your bedclothes roughly, to bite your lip bloody.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have talons, angel,” he growled, and you can’t help the way you laugh loud and open, even with your legs spread wantonly.

Physical love isn’t at all like your mother had described it, and you wonder if she’d only ever been with the king, with a man who cared so little for his paramours that he’d allowed your mother to die alone in the slums, locking her out from the castle so that his heirs might live.

It isn’t something that you lie down and take the way your mother must have, sometimes it’s animalistic, feral like you’d seen horses mate at the castle’s stables when you were young.

You present yourself on all fours and he slides his hands down your ass, grabs the flesh there to part you, presses his face into your cunt until your thighs are shaking. It’s not love that you feel during those times, not exactly, more like that want want want that you feel so often with him.

Your breath catches when he pulls your hair, wraps it around his fist so that your back arches, so that you twist to look at him. Later, when you’re both sweaty and sated, that’s when the love comes, loud and blooming in your chest as he kisses the fingerprint bruises he’s left on your hips, his fingers gentle on your sensitive skin until your breath slows.

Love is a thing that blooms, you would write if you’d ever been taught how. Love is my man’s name and it’s blooming in me like spring flowers.

You go for walks to gather berries because you’re too busy fucking to hunt and you can get by on a few more fruits and you don’t want to wake him. Once you’d brought home rose petals for tea and a piece of a honey comb that had made his eyes light up.

He’d spread the honey across your nipples, suckled and nipped there until you were sore, and one day, you want that again, especially the way his brown eyes sparkled when he’d seen it.

You have a way with the bees, after all, a way of singing high and sweet that makes them buzz around you slowly instead of angrily.

You’re halfway down the path before you realize you’ve left your quiver and bow. Love (both the man and the feeling) makes you feel stupid, heady and slow, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should turn back.

Instead, you head forward because it’ll be sunset soon and you won’t be able to find that tree, the one with the beehive and honeycomb that your man loves so much.

It happens so quickly it feels like an instant. You step out from the bushes after gathering some blackberries, so juicy they’ve stained your fingers, and the next thing you know, you’re on the ground. When you try to stand, you can’t, a pain blooming (a lot like love) through your stomach and you’re sure there weren’t any raspberries so what’s this red spreading out onto the ground?

You see your man’s boots, barely laced, before you see his face and someone behind you is stuttering but you hear the swish of your lover’s arrow, a choked, gurgling sound and then he’s knelt down at your side.

“Angel, angel,” he whispers, and he’s crying and you want to tell him not to because it makes you afraid.

What’s happened? What’s wrong?

You don’t realize you��re not actually speaking until he cradles your face, lies down in the dirt to face you, and everything but his touch, his eyes, seems far away and unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I need you to remember. When next we meet, remember my name.”

You want to. You want to remember everything about him but you’re sure that you’re floating away now.

“Baekhyun,” he tells you. “My name will be Baekhyun.”

As an immortal, it's hard to remember every moment. Years and decades blur together. The only moments Baekhyun can call to mind in perfect recall are the first times he's seen you

For a while, he’d thought Rome might be the worst lifetime he’d ever have.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, knows it’s his job, but he can barely ever bring himself to do it.

In Rome, you’re excited, young, bouncing around with your hair braided. Fire red, always red, always as fiery as your personality. “Eros, right? God of love.”

He’d smiled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “You think I’m a god? I’m flattered.”

You scoff, swirl your dress around as you turn, speaking with your hands as always and his heart aches with how familiar it all is. “Don’t think that means you’re special.”

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. Means that you’re here to help me fall in love.”

“Is that so?” He can’t stop smiling at you, despite knowing what will inevitably happen next.

“Mmhm.” You’d taken his hand, flipped your braid over to the other side of your shoulder. He always tries. He always tries, gods damn it, damn his father and his brothers and sisters, he tries.

But there’s always this moment, where you take his hand, or brush your knuckles against his lips just so, or you just look at him up under your lashes, and the arrow he’s supposed to be aiming feels like it goes straight through his heart.

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s like the arrow in his heart twists, and gods know his arrows have always been true and fatal.

Your smile is so bright, and his heart is so full but it hurts at the same time and what a curse this is, to be able to fall in love with you so easily but have you fall for someone else just as fast.

He tells himself that he won’t try to change your mind, that he won’t let himself get close to you as you go on this search for your true mate.

You’d been childhood sweethearts, you and your match, but he’s been called away to war and you’ve been in mourning ever since.

He’s a god, but he is the god of love, after all, and with all your heart you believed that you loved another. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing… for the third time.

The first time, when it had all started, he’d fallen in love with you and seduced you and you’d forgotten all about your true match and it had all ended in fire and blood.

In Rome, in your third lifetime, he tells himself he won’t let that happen again. So when you put your hand on his thigh when you crouch down to drink on your journey, he wills his skin not to heat and his heart not to skip.

Three weeks in and you’re exhausted, your feet are swollen and bleeding from all the walking and you slide into his furs instead of your own, press your face against his chest.

“Maybe he’s gone,” you say, quietly, and Baekhyun is as still as death, telling himself he doesn’t want to lean down to kiss you, to tell you that it doesn’t matter where your sweetheart is because he’s here and ready and he wants you more than anything.

“We’ll find him,” he promises, and it’s a promise he keeps, even when you press your mouth to his and he takes it, this small comfort, until you fall into a fitful sleep.

Greece was bittersweet, because you found your match in the end and Baekhyun shot his arrow hoping that he’d miss. But his arrow was true, shot straight into the heart of your paramore.

You found your true match, fell in love, had children, and Baekhyun could have gone. Could have sailed away at sea, gone anywhere in the world. But even in Greece he’d spent three lifetimes with you (in one way or another) and he can’t bring himself to be more than a few miles away from you.

Instead, he’d watch you playing with your daughter in the garden, watch you kiss your husband, laughing into his mouth when he picked you up.

He watched you grow old, have grandchildren, plant roses that still never bloomed. You were never a gardener, no matter how you tried. It’s odd, how happy he feels for you, and how his heart clenches in his chest, how hard he wishes it were him.

He would never grow old, and he would never have you more than a few fleeting weeks, months, once even two wonderful years. Eros is love, and love isn’t supposed to fall in love.

So when he did, all those years ago, his father cursed him to find your match, over and over and over. It was you then and it’s you in Greece and Rome and England and Portugal and a thousand other countries that didn’t even have names when he’d met you there.

He’d thought Greece would be the worst because of the longing, because of the jealousy that brewed vile in the back of his throat, but Rome was much worse.

The Church ruled everything and at first Baekhyun thought that was normal. After all, when he was young he and his family had ruled everything. These are just different gods, although perhaps harsher ones.

They called you a harlot because of the fire red of your hair, the way you wore dresses slit up to your hip, the way you'd laugh if someone asked the last time you'd gone to confession.

"You should go to Mass," he'd warned with a lock of that fire red hair slipping through his fingers.

You'd smiled at him. "Why's that, lover? You want to hear my confession?"

He tugs your hair, exposing your throat as you let out a raspy moan, grinding against his thigh.

"What have you to confess, stellina?”

(Of all the languages and all the pet names he'd called you, stellina is his favorite, translates to star, and you burn so bright and beautiful it breaks his heart.)

"Impure thoughts," you muse. "Fornication before marriage.”

You pause. "This might take some time, amore."

You slide down under the linen, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips on his hip bones and thighs, and he forgets what he was going to warn you about.

(He loves any term you call him, in Spain mi corazon, in England love, in German liebling. But his true favorite is when you learn his name, his true name.)

You die fighting, that lifetime, clawing at the priests who’ve decided a witch needs baptism, holding you under the water until you finally stop, your nails broken and bloody.

Baekhyun finds you there, hours too late because he’d been sleeping off the night before, when he’d warned you about Mass, when you’d both stayed up all night, love talk and making love and a good deal of fucking, too, and he hates himself.

Hates that even though he is what he is, he needs sleep and food and water. He hates himself when he lifts you up, your fire red hair darkened by the water, hates himself when he kisses your bloody nails one by one and buries you behind the garden where you used to plant roses that never bloomed.

He hates himself most because it never gets easier, seeing you die, never gets easier knowing that he can’t, that he’s cursed to do this over and over.

In 1402, in Malaysia, you’d just had two streaks of red locks in the front, tendrils that stuck to the sides of your face when you were sweating, and you’re sweating when he first sees you, although you hit him before he ever sees your face.

You’d dropped down from a tree branch, locked your arms around his neck and cut off his airflow. It isn’t as if you could have killed him, but he respects it, all the same. You’ve got this little knife and you slice his throat but it doesn’t bleed, closes up as you watch and you drop to your knees, wide eyed but still, not submitting. Even when you know he’s a god, you never submit. At least, not that way.

Later, he kisses all the scars on your forearms and wrists, defensive wounds from battles and scuffles with the male soldiers who’d found you out.

"I never let them break me," you'd said, proudly, but there's something behind your eyes that makes him want to slaughter all the male soldiers in their sleep, bring you their heads, a sacrifice like the old gods had demanded.

As he had once demanded, before he met a human girl with an immortal soul full of fire and was punished for worshipping her.

Now it's 2021 and he's been through so many years, and he's tired. He's changed his name, over and over, from Eros to Cupid to then more common names.

He's been Baekhyun the last four lifetimes because you seem to like it, it makes you giggle in 1924 when your red (always red, red like fire and blood and love and all things that are important to him) hair was bobbed and you were wearing a black sequined dress at a speakeasy.

"Baek," you'd laughed, tipsy, one hand on his arm and he couldn't stop smiling at you. "Almost like Bark, like a dog."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he'd answered, flirting but also honest. He'd always been whatever you wanted because he got so few years with you, each time.

"You'd be my dog?" Your eyes sparkled with booze and excitement.

He nodded. "Follow you around like a puppy."

When you'd given him an incredulous smile, he'd opened his mouth in the middle of a packed speakeasy in New York City and barked like a dog.

The way you'd laughed is something he can hear in his dreams years later, tries to make it the memory he remembers most instead of the ones where you'd died screaming.

Now, there are no more gods who want you for sacrifice, all of his kind who were vengeful had gone silent, moved on or passed on, including his father who'd cursed him in the first place.

He's hoping, every lifetime, that this is where it ends. He's hoping that this time he doesn't have to tell you.

He's wrong, just like he had been in 1425 and 1604 and 1976. The curse outs itself, as curses always do.

You sit up in bed, watching him sleep and shivering, for what seems like hours after that dream.

He wakes slowly, but scrambles up into a seated position as soon as he’s fully conscious, being careful not to touch you.

“Do you remember?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, even if you have a feeling you do.

“At some point, you always remember.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you so goddamn cryptic?” Your voice is hoarse and loud.

He nods, as if expecting your outburst.

“Sometimes you’re not ready to hear.”

You want to scream in frustration. “Hear what?”

“What I am. What we are.”

“And what are we?”

“Immortals.”

You gawk at him. He makes it sound so simple, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re an immortal?”

“You, too.” He pauses. “Well, in a different way.”

“So what, you’re telling me that was real? My dream? Angelica?”

Baekhyun lets out a long breath, shifts on the bed to face you.

“You were Eva. Angelica. Yui. In Greece I called you stellina. You’ve had more names than I have.”

You look up into his eyes and if he’s lying, he deserves an Academy award for the performance.

“What… what are you?”

You aren’t sure if you’re frightened or intrigued or both.

Baekhyun smiles then, wryly.

“Eros. Cupid. Angelica simply called me Love.”

“You’re telling me you’re like... the god of love? The one with the arrows?”

He looks as if he wants to laugh at you but wisely, he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“Is it… is it always like it was when… when I was Angelica?” You ask, breathing in deeply because you remembered the pain in your chest, the way the blood spread out on the dirt in your lucid dream.

“Almost always,” he says softly, and reaches out to put his hands on yours.

You would have thought you would have flinched away but instead, his touch seems to comfort you and you lean into him.

“What happens when I don’t?” You ask, curiously, and something shutters over his eyes.

“You’re happy.” He rubs your knuckles between his fingers.

It’s a lot to take in and you have a million more questions but also, you can’t think of a single one that you can put into words. You pace around the bedroom and when that’s not enough, your entire apartment, and then outside to the elevator and back and he stays put, sitting cross legged in bed and looking at you with those deep brown eyes.

Finally, you plop down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“So what do we do?”

He just looks at you, again with that bemused smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

“How do we fix it?” You demand.

Instead of responding, he takes your hands in his again, brushes his lips across your knuckles but this time you do recoil.

“I’m not going to die horribly again. You can’t want that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs, and you want a reaction, something other than the way he’s just looking at you so you shove him and he just lets you, falls back on the bed when you do it a second time.

“You just keep letting me die?” You accuse, crawling up onto the bed and he makes a growl in the back of his throat, grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pins you when you try to shove him again.

“I never let you die. I try over and over and over to save you, but I can’t. The only way I can save you is by finding-”

He looks away from you, shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth and you wriggle under him.

“Finding what?” You insist.

He lets you go, rolls over and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“Your true match. In all the lifetimes that you’ve lived to old age in, I shot my arrow to find your true match.”

You deflate, lying there next to him and staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re saying in order to live like a normal person, I have to fall in love with someone else?”

“Yes,” he says miserably. After a few moments, he lifts his arm and opens one eye to look at you. “Got anyone in mind?”

You shove at his arm, but not as hard this time, and he breaks into a smile, takes you into his arms. You melt against him, just like before, because that’s what feels right, that’s what feels natural.

“That happened? Before?” You ask, stroking his hair and usually he preens at the attention, leans back to kiss you but now he buries his face in your hair, avoiding your gaze.

He murmurs something in affirmation and kisses just under your earlobe.

“You found someone else for me?”

He nods, still not lifting his head, and you huff out a breath, wanting some kind of reaction out of him.

“Was he hot?”

Baekhyun groans and laughs, rolls over onto his back. ‘You always do this.”

“Always do what?” You demand, poking at his side. “You know all these things about me...or well, some version of me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at you, smiling just a little. “You know everything about me.”

You huff, frustrated. “It doesn’t feel like it. I want to know more. I want to know how I died, why I died, what all this means.”

To his credit, Baekhyun tries to explain it to you. The curse, his family, but it’s all twisted up in your mind with these memories you have of him in past lives, of being so in love with him you can barely breathe, wanting him so badly you can barely sit still, and it ends with you tearing off his clothes and him laughing into your mouth as you guide him inside you.

After, you’re contrite, kissing along his collarbone.

“I don’t want you to find anyone else for me.”

Baekhyun makes a sound in the back of his throat and you don’t know if it’s surprise or something else.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you continue, orgasm drunk and with this fire burning under your skin, remembering how Angelica felt, how Yui felt, moving closer to him on the bed because you can’t bear to have your skin not touching his in every place you can.

He pulls you on top of him, kissing you after you squeal in surprise and your lips feel swollen and bruised already but it’s the sweetest ache.

“I don’t think I could, even if you asked,” he admits, and something about the way he says it makes you proud, makes your heart swell. His hands skate over your upper arms and his touch gives you goosebumps.

“No?” You shift to spread your thighs, liking the way he hardens under you with just the barest movement.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his tongue coming out slowly to lick his lips. You see that you’ve bitten his bottom lip bloody and it sends a shot of heat through you.

“Usually I never found anyone else for you, not after I’d touched you. I started out meaning to find someone for you. Touching you first… having you first… it makes things complicated.”

You don’t speak but shift again and it seems to spur him on.

His face is flushed and it’s cute, makes you smile.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning now, like the cat that ate the canary, and he groans but he’s smiling.

He sits up suddenly, bracing himself against the headboard and he puts his hands on your hips to move you backwards so that his half hard erection sits right at the cleft of your cunt and when you gasp and try to guide him inside you, he tightens his hands with a slight shake of his head.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“You know I am.”

You gasp when he puts pressure on your clit with his thumb, humming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve loved you for centuries, and I’ll love you for centuries more, stellina.”

“What does that mean?” You gasp, your insides on fire with lust and love and full to bursting, rocking your hips forward and he gives you what you want, puts more pressure on your clit and lets you guide his cock inside you.

“Star,” he says softly, moving a hand up to cup your cheek. “Because you burn.”

You do burn, you burn inside and out and you want to tell him that you burn for him but he sticks his thumb in your mouth, presses down on your tongue just how you like and all you can do is moan around it.

He keeps his other thumb positioned just right so that you can rock against his hand and lift your ass so that his cock slides against your g-spot and you suck on his thumb until he hisses and bucks beneath you, moving so that you can lean down and kiss him hard, brace your hands on either side of him so that you can get more traction.

You’re sure that you’ll be sore in the morning, ever since you’ve met him (in this lifetime, at least) you’ve been in some type of bittersweet pain, an ache across your throat, soreness in your thighs and hips and ass where you’ve been riding him, a rawness deep inside from too much sex and not enough rest.

There’s never enough, never enough of your sweat misted skin sliding across his, never enough of his hand fisted in your hair, of his cock at the back of your throat, of his fingers hooked inside you. The past couple of weeks you’ve only left his apartment for work and a few changes of clothes (not that you wore them much, anyway).

It makes you feel more sane, knowing that you’ve wanted him this way in other lifetimes, makes you feel like the way you feel makes more sense, because you were beginning to think you were going crazy.

It isn’t as if he’s some kind of sex god, exactly, he just seems to know exactly what you like, exactly what you want, right away. That makes a kind of sense, now, how even when you’re on top he knows exactly what to do and say to get you to tip over the edge.

“I love the way you look like this,” he rasps, looking up at you as if maybe you are a star exploding and it isn’t just some nickname he gave you in Rome. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You cry out his name, throwing your head back when you cum and he palms his hands across your breasts and the stimulation across your nipples sends an aftershock through you right after. You’re like a ragdoll for a few moments after your orgasm and he shifts you around just like one, using you to get off and you kiss and kiss and kiss him, loving the way it feels when he spills inside you.

You say it then, maybe because he said it to you first or maybe just because your heart is full to bursting with it.

“I love you.” It’s almost defiant. “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else.”

He strokes your cheek where you’re still lying on top of him.

“I don’t know if we get a choice, stellina.”

There’s always questions when you find out, and Baekhyun is prepared for them. There’s often questions that hurt, somewhere deep in his bones, questions you’d asked over and over again.

Sometimes you’re curious about your other perfect matches, and that stings. Sometimes you want to know about your deaths, and those are hard memories to bring to the surface.

The question that always hurts the most, though, is the one you ask after you’ve both showered, lying sated and exhausted in his bed, the curtains blacking out the sun outside.

“Did we ever have children?”

You’re rubbing your stomach and there’s something caught in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“We didn’t. You did. Sometimes.”

You look up at him and frown. “With my true match?”

Baekhyun heaves a sigh so deep it hurts his chest. “With him, yes.”

You pause. “Was it the same guy? Same… soul, I guess?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, his heart sinking, but you don’t ask anything more, you just lie your head on his shoulder.

He wonders what you’re thinking, wonders where it branches off from here. He’s been here so many times before. He feels more tired than he should.

But instead of asking more questions or storming out crying or any of the things you’d done after you’d found out, you start to snore softly, curled up next to him.

Baekhyun wonders idly if he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s drifting off before he’s even completed the thought.

When he wakes, you’re gone, and he scrambles out of bed in his boxers to pace around the house. He can feel you aren’t around and it’s like a hole in his chest. It’s always been that way, he knows when you’re close and when you’re not, and you must be miles away because now, there’s nothing.

When he checks his phone you’ve texted that you’ll be back with food. He’s shocked that it’s nearly noon, it hadn’t even been sunset when he’d dozed off.

Perhaps immortals can be just as bone tired as mortals, sometimes. After a dozen lifetimes of fighting, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He waits for you, sitting on the couch and idly flipping through the channels, and he thinks about when it all ends. His father had moved on, had no one worshipping his name anymore, and it isn’t as if school children are learning much about Eros, Cupid relegated to only one day out of a year with awful sour sweet candy and paper mache hearts. He’s stored his bow a few hundred miles away, hoping that this lifetime he wouldn’t need it, hadn’t actually found a true match for anyone but you in centuries.

Baekhyun wonders, with no real sense of urgency or fear, if this is the last lifetime. There’s a kind of exhaustion he’s never felt before that seems to weigh him down, and he’s finding it hard to care about anything but you. He hopes it happens before you pass, before the curse ends your life too young and too violently. He wants to move on and set you free, because he knows he can’t resist you for more than a couple of lifetimes. He’s tried too many times and failed.

You return bright eyed and with half a dozen books and a notebook, a pen pinched between your teeth.

At your urging he goes out to the car and brings in the breakfast you’d bought and you spread your books across the table.

“Greek and Roman Mythology for Dummies.” He reads aloud, laughing, and you look up at him from the floor and frown.

“Don’t judge me, this is all new to me.”

He holds up his hands. “Not judging. What’s all this for?”

“I’m going to find a way to end the curse, of course.”

Baekhyun sits down hard on the couch. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” You demand, your nose scrunching up just a little.

He can’t help but smile at you, and he shrugs.

No reason to shoot down your hopes. Not yet, at least.

Four hours later, your eyes red rimmed from staring at books and your laptop screen, you jump onto the couch and into his lap.

“I found it!” You screech, and kiss all over his face.

Baekhyun smiles, kisses you back, and you make love there on the couch. You want to be bent over, his hand on the small of your back to keep you over the couch arm, up on your tiptoes and making a little grunting noise every time he thrusts into you.

Baekhyun may be exhausted after all this time but he never gets tired of this. He never gets tired of you.

Your moans are muffled in the couch cushions but he hears his name, the one he always uses with you, ever since you were Angelica and that hunter’s arrow had pinned you to the ground.

Baekhyun is tired. He’s tired in a way he’s sure no human ever could be. He’s tired of all the times he’s lost you, to your true match and then worse, to death, and he’s tired of living them over and over again.

But when you stand up, twist his face to kiss him, your eyes bright when you grin against his mouth, he thinks that it’s all been worth it.

You’re always worth it, and the thought of getting to meet you again, another you, is all it takes for him to keep going.

It takes a few months to get the time off work, match up travel plans, and get supplies.

Supplies meaning mostly travel gear and light clothes and a passport, the place you need to get to is high up on a cliffside in Northern Greece.

Baekhyun’s supportive enough, you guess, but you feel a bit nervous about his lack of excitement when you’re finally there, in Greece, at a gorgeous resort near the cliffside. Money hadn’t been a problem. Apparently when you’re immortal you manage to accrue a bit of savings.

“Aren’t you happy? Doesn’t this feel like home?”

Baekhyun laughs, loud and open, for what seems like the first time since you’d found out.

“This isn’t my home, stellina. I’m older than Greece.’

You blink, shocked. “But you are Eros.”

He nods. “I’m Eros, and Cupid, and Ishtar, and Kuni. Many gods and goddesses, different names. My duty and purpose was always the same, but I’ve never had a home. Except with you.”

He brushes your cheek with his nose and you sigh, hate that the way he says that so simply, as if it’s the whole truth, makes your heart clench.

“Still, you remember being here.”

Baekyun nods, staring out at the sea, reliving some life you only half remember.

You don’t ask many more questions, at least not until the next day when Baekhyun is listlessly pulling on his clothes and you’re tugging at his hands, excited, wanting to hurry and have this curse looming over your head end, so that you can stop thinking about it.

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” You pout, but you quiet when he looks up at you, his usually warm brown eyes dull and exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You ask, softer now.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Some.”

Then he grins at you and there’s a flicker of life in his eyes. “I’m a very old man, you know. I need my rest.”

It makes you laugh, makes you forget, and you don’t think of it again until you’re hiking up the trail, about an hour’s long journey to reach the top.

He’s behind you by a few hundred feet and you frown at him, waiting until he reaches you. You’ve never seen him out of breath.

You take his hand, tug him further up the trail but it’s only a few moments before he stops, bracing himself on a tree near the trail.

“Stop,” he wheezes, and you do, tilting your head at him in confusion.

“Baekhyun, we have to-”

“Just stop,” He insists, and you’d think he was angry if his voice weren’t shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” You fire off at him, moving closer, and he shakes his head.

You take his chin in your hand and force him to look at you.

His brown eyes are still as tired as earlier, and wet now, too.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he manages hoarsely.

You take a step back. “Have we done this before? Have we been here before?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, but there’s a truth in his silence.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “So what? Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this is different-”

“It’s not different. In France you were called Jacqueline and we came here. You read books about it, forced me here just like you did this time. You were so certain it had worked.”

You shake your head but he keeps talking.

“You were so certain that after a couple of months, I was certain too. Three months later, there was a bus accident.” His voice breaks and he’s quiet again and you feel like you can’t breathe properly for the ache in your throat.

“We don’t know that will happen again.”

“I know!” He bursts out. “I know it will happen because it does, over and over again! Listen, we should go back to the hotel. I can get my bow out of storage and-”

“No!” You cry, stalking over to him. “No, that’s not the way to fix this.”

Baekhyun laughs bitterly, and he won’t look at you. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“You don’t know that,” you say stubbornly. “Whoever I’ve been in the past, I’ve never been this person, and I know I can fix it.”

He pushes himself away from the tree as if it takes effort to do it. “You always say that,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

You’re angry, heat rushing through your veins, and you don’t know if it’s at him or the fact that some ancient curse has decided to come through your life like a brushfire.

You push at him and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even keep you from pushing him against the tree.

“You don’t care, is that it? You’re what, bored of this? You want to get your bow so you can get rid of me?”

His jaw tightens and he looks away from you. “Maybe I do.”

You push him again and he has nowhere to go, backed up against the tree so he just takes it, stands there.

“Coward.” You spit. “You’d rather match me with someone else. You’d rather let someone else-”

“Stop it,” he says, something like a warning in his voice and you want to laugh or cry or both.

“Look at you. You can’t even hear me say it, but you’re going to marry me off like some 14th century child bride-”

“I’m not-” Baekhyun huffs, then stops, runs his hand through his hair. “He’s your true match. You… you always love him, when you meet him.” He struggles with the last sentence but he maintains eye contact, jaw working.

“Fuck my true match. And fuck you if that’s your answer to this.” You rage.

He doesn’t speak. “You’re always happy when you find him.” His voice is weak and it sounds like a weak excuse to your ears and you’re shaking with anger and fear.

You have this memory, sudden and sharp like a knife.

You're in this stone room, an inn you think, and you're half asleep but you can hear a low murmur from the room. It's familiar, from your traveling companion of the last few weeks.

His name is on your lips as you sit up but he's pacing around the room, not paying any attention to you. The way he's talking to himself makes you worried.

"You have to do this. You have to, you know you do," he mutters and there's something liquid in his voice.

Suddenly he slaps himself across the face and you yelp his name, stand up to take his wrist in your hand.

"Baekhyun," you whisper. "What are you doing?"

His face is flushed and his eyes look so tired, so worn, like he's lived a thousand years.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he manages, pulling away from your touch as if you'd burn him.

A few days later, his hands are shaking when he draws his bow, and your eyes are on him instead of your true match.

"Wh-what if you miss?" You whisper.

Baekhyun smiles but he won't look at you. "I don't miss."

He doesn't, but part of you wishes he had.

The memory just makes you angrier, makes you want to push him again.

“Am I? And what about you? What about you, Baek, are you happy without me? Are you happy giving me away?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you.

“No, really. Tell me. You must be happy giving me away because you want to do it so badly-”

“I hate it!” He bursts out. “I fucking hate it, every single time. I hate the way you look at him. I even hate how happy he makes you. I should be happy giving you away so that you can be safe, so that you can have the family that you want, but I fucking hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?” You demand to know, tears streaming down your face.

“You know-” he starts and you shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

Baekhyun puffs out his cheeks, he does that when he’s frustrated, when he wants to scream but you don’t have time to think about how cute it is right now.

“I hate it because I love you. I hate it because whoever your true match is, you’re mine.” He says, finally, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Because I’m yours,” you parrot back at him, and his mouth opens, brows furrowed in a frown.

He takes a step toward you, now, but you don’t back away, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hips in his hands, tugs you toward him, claiming your mouth.

You claw at him, can’t help yourself and you don’t care that brambles are scratching your legs when he lies you down on the ground, don’t care because he’s panting your name into your ear, your name, not all those previous yous. You don’t care because you’ve chosen him, despite whatever the gods had determined to be your “true match.”

“We have to do this,” you tell him as you’re adjusting your clothes and he’s still lying there, panting.

He nods, as if humoring you, but he isn’t as listless when he starts back up the trail with you, keeping up with you and stealing kisses and making small talk.

You’re sweating by the time the two of you reach the top of the mountain, and when you look back, Baekhyun has fallen behind a bit, struggling up the hill.

You startle when thunder cracks overhead, sudden and close, but you walk back down the path to him, put your hand on his arm and he’s trembling.

“We’ve never made it this far,” he says, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

“We don’t ever know what happens next, Baekhyun, but you know what happens when we don’t.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not if you let me get my arrows, we can stop all of this, we can-”

“No!” You yell. “No, shut up about that, I can make my own choices!”

You tug on his arm and he stumbles forward only a few steps before stopping again and you can see the circle of stones at the top of the hill, where you’re supposed to stand according to the legends, and you haven’t done weeks of research and travelled across the world for nothing.

You take his hand in yours, squeeze, and look into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you promise, and you have no idea what’s about to happen and it’s raining now, cold against your skin, but you know that you have to do this.

Baekhyun looks at you and there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and uncertainty but you tug at his hand again anyway and this time he follows without resistance.

It happens so quickly after that.

You step into the circle first, and he pauses, hesitating before breaking the barrier by stepping over one of the irregular stones. The second he does, lightning cracks above your head and you cry out, frightened.

Baekhyun grabs you out of instinct or some desire to protect you and you go down, scraping your elbows against the rock and sand as you try to catch yourself. Baekhyun puts his hands on either side of your head and it’s raining so hard that it’s all you can hear, that and the thunder, and there’s lightning everywhere, lighting up his features as he looks down at you.

“I was never strong enough to do this before,” he says, nearly yelling over the storm. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

He’s cut off by another crack of lightning and he seems to be… lighting up, somehow, some glow that you think is from the lightning but then you see it’s coming from inside him. He arches his back, his face lined with pain and you realize something’s happening, something bad but when you reach up to touch him, he’s giving off so much heat that the tips of your fingers burn.

“Baek,” you whisper, and he manages to focus on you again. When he does, his face… it isn’t his face, but somehow you recognize it anyway and it keeps changing, cycling through all the lifetimes you’ve shared together.

“I’ve been so many things,” he says, and his voice is strong even over the chaos. “but I’ve always been yours.”

He manages to touch his forehead to yours and you’re terrified by the storm and what’s happening and especially how it seems to pain him to even move, how he’s glowing brighter and brighter until your eyes start watering.

He says your name but it’s your name and Jacqueline and Eva and Yui and so many others, all wrapped into one, and kisses you, the bright light coming from him forcing your eyes shut as he gets closer.

When you open them, there’s no sound of the rain or thunder and the ground under you is dry, as if you’d imagined it all.

But you can taste the rainwater in your mouth. You can still taste him there, too, but he’s gone.

You scramble up, yelling out his name and there’s nothing, just the sound of the birds in the trees. Moments before, the sky had been black, but now it’s sunny again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears running down your throat as you stumble down the path.

You’re sobbing by the bottom of the path because there’s nothing, no evidence he was even there at all. You’re remembering what he said, how he said you’d never been that far before, but you’re wondering if he’d known, anyway.

You’re wondering if breaking the curse means that he has to die and how all of this is your fault your fault your fault.

There’s a sound in the woods and you barely realize it until there’s a man standing next to you.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

You sniffle, looking up at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Baekhyun, just the same, wearing the wet and sandy clothes he’d been wearing just a few moments ago, but something’s wrong and you can’t rush to him like you want to.

“Baekhyun?”

He rubs the back of his neck, smiles a little sheepishly. “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it. I think… I think I got lost.”

You think about how this feels, how there’s not a single light of recognition in his eyes and it feels like your chest has cracked wide open. You think about how he must have felt this, over and over again, and understand why he didn’t want you to have to feel it.

You take a deep, shaky breath and wipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“You’re not lost,” you tell him, and take his hand.

Baekhyun looks down at your hand in his and then back up to you, a smile breaking across his face. “No, doesn’t seem like it anymore.”

You’re trying not to cry as you lead him back to the resort when he stops and you turn back to look at him.

“I know this might seem like an odd question, but… have we met before?”

It hurts but you crack a smile anyway, remembering how he’d done this for you over and over, remembering what he’d said to you a few months ago.

“Maybe in another life.”

#supermnet #noonasinnetwork #byun baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x reader #super m imagine #exo imagone #baekhyun imagine

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strangeinvader9 · 3 years ago

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Painful Truth

I sat in a corner of the room, knife in hand and wrist held out. I'd never done this before. I'd come close, but the best I could ever do was cut my hand or one of my fingers. Usually it was enough, but I wondered just how much better it would feel to cut my wrist. I drowned in misery and pain. I'd forgotten what happiness was and slicing open my own skin gave me a pain I knew how to deal with. Lifting the knife, I placed the blade against my skin, just beginning to put enough pressure to split the skin when a familiar voice spoke up. "What do you think you're doing?" I looked up to see my creations. My OCs with their chosen partners; Phoenix Jewels with Trafalgar Law. Jasmine Hawkins with Levi Ackerman. Sandra Phoenix with Optimus Prime. Sarabeth Simmons with Erwin Smith. And Iris Jackson with Alistair Theiren. “What’s it look like?” I snapped back. “It looks like you’re about to kill yourself,” Jasmine responded. “Don’t be stupid, I’m holding the knife wrong.” “Creator, put the knife down,” Iris pleaded. “No. Go make out with your boyfriends or something.” “I don’t think you heard her correctly,” Sandra snarked. “Put. The. Knife. Down.” “I said no. Now go away.” Footsteps waltzed over and the knife was snatched from my hand, though it still left a cut. “Ow. Hey, Jewel, give that back!” “No way, Creator. We need you,” she replied. “The hell you do. Now give it!” “I said no. You hurt yourself you know what happens?” “I finally get a pain I know how to deal with?” “Yes, but we get hurt as well.” “Don’t care.” “What?” I stopped fighting for the knife and looked each of my OCs in the eye. Sapphire blue, forest green, dull brown, vibrant brown, and gingerbread brown. “Sandy, Jas, Jewel, Iris, Sara. You’re all an extension of me. You’re the me I wish I could be in the world I’ve thrown you each into. From Jewel to Sandra, you can see my progression from depression to indifference. I love each and everyone of you dorky goofballs because you’re me. But I've given you each the one thing I don't think I'll ever have; the love of someone you can have a future with. Watch this." Grabbing the knife from Jewel, I sliced it across my palm and immediately, their partners were by their sides. "You see? You each get a person you can share your pain with and who can help you to heal it. I have no one but myself." "What about us?" Alistair asked. "What about you?" "What about the real version of us, the one we each share a trait of?" Levi clarified. I laughed though there was no humor in it. "That relationship crashed and burned years ago. We tried to keep it going, but I could never give him what he needed despite my desperate desire to do so. He's moved on and found what he was always looking for and I'm stuck loving someone who will never love me back. The only benefit is that we are able to at least remain best friends because we can't ignore the fact that we are so close to one another." "Do you think you'll ever find another?" Optimus questioned. "Yes. And no. There's a part of me that believes I'll find love again. Another part of me knows that no matter who I end up with, they'll never be what I'm looking for because I already found it I couldn't keep it. And yet another part of me knows I'll be alone for the rest of my life." I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Law. "No matter what happens, Creator, know that you can always turn to us. So long as part of you still loves us, we will love you and be there to comfort you," he explained. Feeling something being wrapped around my hand, I looked over to Alistair as he bandaged my cut. "We're part of you too. When you need us, well be there. I'll be the part of you that loves you for you." A punch to my arm drew my attention to Levi. "I'll be the part of you that protects your heart from assholes." I looked back at Law when he squeezed my shoulder. "I'll be the part of you that always has a sarcastic comment ready for the daily dose of idiots." "I'll be the part of you that allows you to be understanding of others," Erwin assured me. I smiled at all the boys before turning my attention to the one that had been silent almost the entire time. "And you, big guy? What can you offer?" Optimus gently scooped me into his servo and lifted me to optic level. "I can offer the most important thing; the courage to be yourself, regardless of if you find a mate or not," he answered. I genuinely laughed, reaching up to hug the Autobot the best I could. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys. I really don't."

#tfp optimus prime #levi attack on titan #alistair therin #erwin smith #x reader

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captainscanadian · 5 years ago

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HOW YOU GET THE GIRL Gang, here’s a sneak peak:

The woman you were meant to meet with that afternoon - Dr. Proctor was her name, was the Residency Director at Riley Hospital for Children at Indiana University Health. You were well aware that Riley Hospital was known for being a world class pediatric hospital and the fact that you had even been offered a fellowship there seemed to be an honour in its own. But you were unsure about wanting to work there, mainly because you were hesitant about leaving New York. After all, it was your home.

Nevertheless, you found yourself arriving for your lunch date at Sarabeth's at Central Park. Dr. Proctor seemed a lot more friendlier in person than she was in her emails. But she had made it clear from the minute she arrived that The Chief of Staff at Riley himself had been wanting to take you under his wing. Apparently, he was a close friend of Dr. Stark's and had heard all good things about you. While you were grateful that Chief Stark had given you a good recommendation, you wondered if you wanted to leave him or his hospital behind.

"I mean no disrespect when I say this, Dr. Proctor. It's such an honour that you've even offered me a fellowship at Riley. I know it's every pediatrician's dream to work there and at one point, it was mine too. But I can't see myself leaving Howard Stark Memorial all that easily." You told her rather politely. "I've been rotating in that peds ward since I was a third year medical student and I worked so hard to be able to match here for my residency. Even if it's for a year, I can't see myself leaving that easily... it's my home."

The older woman chuckled softly before giving you an understanding nod. "Dr. Y/L/N, I know exactly how you feel. I pretty much grew up at Riley myself. My father, who is now the Chief, he's been working there since... the late 70s.. My siblings and I were born and raised in that hospital and it is hard for me to see myself working anywhere else. My father's Chief of Staff now but... I work there and my two sisters work there, it's not easy for us to leave either. Believe me, I get it."

"You come from a whole family of pediatricians?"

#how you get the girl #bucky barnes x reader

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alanncs · 5 years ago

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╰ actress & model 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐫𝐨 posted this tik tok on her instagram story featuring famous rap artist 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐥 today after they were seen grabbing breakfast at sarabeth’s resturant on madison avenue . this comes just a morning after alanna & singer 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦 hosted a large party at their home last night , but both appear to be elsewhere the next day . rumours have been spreading that alanna & conner have turned their 10 - year friendship into more after years of insisting they’re just friends because apparently the two were seen being heavily affectionate last night at the party . the video makes us wonder if the rumours are true , as you can see conner in the back hyping up alanna on the actress’ attempt at the dance trend . @connerhq

#this decsription is Trash #but i saw yall posting these so i had 2 post haileys she so cute <3 #lets just pretend jb is conner LOL #╰ ˚･ﾟ ♡ 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐝'𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨 : 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒔 .

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southwesternworldbuildersllc · 5 years ago

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On Port Sarabeth’s State Schools, Part 1 - The Early Years

MASSIVE WARNING: THIS IS THE YANDEREVERSE, SO IT’S GOING TO BE FUCKED UP. WARNINGS INCLUDE CHILD CONDITIONING, BRAINWASHING, SLAVERY AND JUST GENERALLY A NIGHTMARISH ENVIRONMENT COVERED WITH PASTEL GLITTER. I DON’T CONDONE FUCKING ANY OF THIS, AND NEITHER SHOULD YOU. IT’S SICK AND WRONG AND EVIL.

Port Sarabeth is a chilly urban city state in the north with a rating on the YD scale of Y-9. All the dere types other than yandere are seen as lesser beings and hardly even human. The yanderes of this place firmly believe that all other dere types are too foolish and unmotivated to function, and need the guidance of yanderes. They don’t even count as people in the population census; rather, they’re literally considered property of their yanderes, and yanderes pay property taxes based on how many darlings they “own”. As such, the entire educations and rearing of the young victim class before they turn 18 are dedicated to teaching, training and indoctrinating them to be skilled, obedient, servile darlings. This “industrialized training” is what makes Port Sarabeth so (in)famous.

At birth, a baby’s blood is taken to determine their dere type. If they are a yandere, they’re safe, and will have among the finest educations in the world. If not, they are taken away from their parents and sent to one of several places called a State School. State Schools are orphanages, boarding schools, group homes, training facilities and matchmaking agencies all in one. The yandere parents (or, in the absence of a yandere parent, the owner of the non-yandere parents) is compensated handsomely; the feelings on the matter of the darling parents are ignored, because it is believed that they don’t know better. Nonetheless, most darlings are so brainwashed that they are happy to see their children go on to become future darlings.

As for the children, their surnames are removed, as they don’t need one until they are sold and/or wedded to their yandere. From the time they are brought to the facility, their indoctrination into the perfect darlings begin.

From the period up until they turn 7, these progeny spend their days in parts of the State Schools known as Nurseries. The entire designs of Nurseries are purposed so that the progeny will come to consider themselves as weak and demure. Only soft and/or pastel colors are allowed on their clothes, their toys and even the walls and furniture, as overly bright colors too young are believed by the state administration to cause rebellion against yanderes later in life. It also encourages them to be docile. They are completely isolated from the outside world, knowing only their peers and their caretakers. Only approved toys and media are allowed in. These items include kitchenettes, dollhouses and other domestic related toys. Media paints the world as a wonderful place as long as they obey, showing happy yanderes and darlings having families. Incidentally, the children are taught to revere, be grateful to and submit to yanderes, as they are superior lifeforms who give so much for them.

At age 7, the children leave the Nurseries and enter Elementary School. This is when they meet other yandere children for the first time in their lives; at the beginning of 2nd grade in the normal, yandere schools, the classes go on field trips to the state schools to learn how they operate and observe the victim students. They are not allowed to speak to each other, to prevent the yanderes from becoming too attached. Following these exhibitions, the training proper of the progeny begins. They learn the alphabet and how to read via specialized books.

#port sarabeth #this post is tol #CHILD CONDITIONING WARNING #SLAVERY WARNING #it’s a fucking dystopia folks #Yandereverse worldbuilding

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mcbride · 5 years ago

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hi there ! do you think that woman from twitter really dislikes caryl ? Cause I wonder why she would answer with that gif which looks quite positive to me :) thanks!!

HEYA! I was wrong! The gif reaction comes from a pro-Caryl reviewer (Sonya), the ones I was thinking were anti-Caryl are Sarabeth and Kristenwhoever, I believe. And yeah, it’s still a very positive reaction. I’m so ready! Cannot wait to watch… I’ll probably need lots of chocolate and someone to hold my hand but I’m feeling good about it!

(omg, my first ask since i decided to come back!!! thank you!)

#omgomgomgitshappeningreacttion #it's coming #in my bones #questions #Anonymous

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bianca8198 · 5 years ago

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i'm touring colleges in new york next week and i was wondering what some of your favorite restaurants in manhattan are?

I hope you have a great time!!

Restaurants:

-Jack’s Wife Freda, Bluestone Lane, MUD, By Chloe, Butchers Daughter, John’s on 12th, Tompkins Square Bagels for yummy bagels, Champs Diner (in Brooklyn), Two hands, Citizens of Chelsea, Grey dog, Sarabeths, Dudleys

If you’re into coffee:

-Bluestone Lane, MUD, Toby’s Estate, Kobrick Coffee, Ludlow Coffee Supply, Think coffee, Cha Cha Matcha,

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xfilesnews · 7 years ago

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Recap and Review: ‘The X-Files: Stolen Lives’

Another audiobook has joined The X-Files library shelf. "The X-Files: Stolen Lives" was released by Audible on October 3rd. Based on the Season 10 comics from IDW, this continues the adventures of Mulder and Scully from "Cold Cases." The stories are written by Joe Harris, executive produced by Chris Carter, and produced for audible by Dirk Maggs. Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, and Mitch Pileggi return to their roles, and other fan favorites lend their voices as well. As with the first audiobook, you don't need to be familiar with the comics to enjoy this audio version, but it does help. If you haven't yet listened to "Cold Cases" I'd suggest trying that first. The audio series does not follow the timeline established in the TV version of Season 10 so there are events and characters that would seem out of place to new listeners. "Stolen Lives" has some solid scares so if you're a monster of the week fan you're in luck. But it also dives into some mythology, though not quite as heavily as "Cold Cases."

Does "Stolen Lives" pass the bar set by "Cold Cases?" Hit the jump for our recap and review.

We again start with Chapter 2, as Chapter 1 is opening credits. Chapter 2 is called "Immaculate" and follows Season 10 issues 16 and 17. The story begins outside an abortion clinic in North Carolina. A young woman is hassled by protesters and makes her way inside. As she approaches the woman is also hearing a voice in her head. She seems familiar to the clinic staff but before they recognize her she detonates a bomb she smuggled inside. The girl survives and convinces the protesters to follow her.

When looking over the evidence, the girl whose name is Joni Cartwright, apparently has a halo and that's how Mulder and Scully end up on the case. After interviewing a nurse who was burned in the explosion, Mulder and Scully decide to split up and investigate more of Joni's backstory. Joni's family is religious and Scully finds Joni's mother along with a creepy pastor. Being sensitive to cases involving religion has never been Mulder's strong suit, and we see that again when Mulder questions his first suspect. The mystery of the case leads us from victims who look like they died of fright, to a cliff in the woods where the possessed townspeople meet a tragic end. The good pastor is not exactly who he seems and we learn who Joni's baby-daddy really was through Scully's investigative tactics. And as usual, it's Mulder who sees the monster for what it really is. “Stolen Lives” starts with a much more "monster of the week" tone than "Cold Cases" did, but there's no lack of controversy here. The X-Files has never shied away from religion or difficult subject matter and this is no different. "Cold Cases" featured a school shooting so tackling an abortion clinic bombing seems on par with the tone set there. The chapter reminds me a bit of Season 7's "Signs and Wonders" in that we're dealing with a pastor who is not what he seems. But "Immaculate" is much more violent than I remember that episode being. Listening to Scully dress down the pastor was one of my favorite parts of the chapter, with Mulder's interaction with a scared Sarabeth a close second. I appreciated the Frank Black joke, as I'm sure other "Millennium" fans did. I was also glad to hear them reference the missing Agents Doggett and Reyes at the beginning. We haven't heard much about them since the beginning of "Cold Cases" so it was a good reminder that part of the team is still missing. Mulder's sarcasm was about what you'd expect for any faith-based episode and I cracked up at the "moderately godless heathen requesting permission to enter." I wasn't crazy about the fact that once again, Scully being a mother and how that might affect her was brought up at the beginning of the case. This story was written in 2014, and William would be 13 by then. He's been away from Mulder and Scully for a long time now and it just seemed weird to me to have Morales say "I hope this doesn't affect you." You notice no one ever asks Mulder that same question?

Chapter 3, called "Chitter" follows Issue 9 of the comics. This was Joe Harris' first original monster-of-the-week. And if you don't like bugs, I'm sorry. At the start, we're introduced to the "Chittering God" and a gross sounding swarm. Mulder and Scully are soon on the scene in Pennsylvania but the investigation doesn't start well for Scully. After some joking with Mulder and comments about a funny smell, she passes out. But Scully being Scully, when she recovers she insists on investigating the house anyway. They find a switch that leads them to the killing room.

As always with the X-Files, things are not what the seem and the initial suspect, Mr. Keansey, isn't the only guilty party. Once again Mulder and Scully's investigations take different directions with Mulder interrogating the suspect and Scully out in the field. The first suspect, and his bug friends, indicate the Chittering God is after Scully. Scully cases the neighborhood and visits with an old woman named Mrs. Hoynes who reads her tea leaves. Mrs. Hoynes tells Scully she knows she lost a child "recently." And that the chittering god feeds on that sorrow and "both grow stronger." As Scully tries to escape it seems the woman, or the god, is trying to get her to hurt herself. Mulder arrives in the nick of time and keeps any more violence from happening.

The chapter gets points for the gross-out factor. The roaches in "War of the Coprophages" were bad enough but hearing the scratching on the headphones left me wanting to take a shower. The thought of being able to sic bugs on someone and call on a swarm makes me shiver. The story is definitely creepy and it's interesting that Keansey was just as much a victim of this crazy old lady and her "god" as Scully almost was. That Mulder and Scully were sharing a hotel room and discussing the case warmed my little shipper heart.

While I liked the story, I was again frustrated with the "Scully Mom Pain" angle. In the comics chronology, this issue is further removed from "Immaculate" so it might not have seemed as repetitive. I'd also like to point out that Scully has technically lost two children. Emily seems to be forgotten a lot. I do think it's fair that Scully is a person who has faced a lot of despair, but Mulder has too, so why wasn't he a target as well? Perhaps in the off years, he's had a little more therapy? I thought Mulder seemed like a bigger jerk than usual in this episode too. We know he can be a jerk and love that about him at times, but he's usually not mean. And there was something about the way Mulder said "you think this is all about you?" that rubbed me the wrong way.

We return to our missing federal agents in Chapter 4, aptly titled "Monica and John." This mirrors Season 10 Issue 18. Our first glimpse of Monica Reyes shows she's been in captivity for a year. Held in a tiny cell, she describes the events that lead to her abduction. She was in Wyoming paying a visit to William's adoptive parents when she was taken. She believes she's being held by John Doggett, who leaves to go to a post office. That trip triggers the FBI and Skinner and Scully get involved. Mulder is apparently off testifying to keep Monty Props locked up so he misses the action.

Of course, the Doggett holding Monica captive isn't really Doggett all. The real Doggett is also being held captive. He manages to escape from his cell and goes to free Monica. Their captor returns and seems to be one of the Acolytes we met in "Cold Cases." In a twist, he asks Monica and John to kill him. Doggett resists because he wants evidence of what has happened to them, but Monica stabs him with the stiletto anyway because she believes the FBI has forgotten them. Just as the alien melts away Skinner and Scully arrive.

This was the shortest chapter of the book and one I'd like to have seen in more detail. I was so glad to see Doggett and Reyes again and the refresher on the "new" mythology was helpful. I can't imagine what it was like to have been held like that for so long. I would have liked to have heard more of their story. And we're left hanging about what's next for the two. Do they get to go back to the FBI? Does Monica quit and record her own best selling whale song album? I found this a good chapter, just too short! I also really missed Robert Patrick and Annabeth Gish voicing their characters. The woman doing Reyes was close at points, but Doggett's actor wasn't even close to Robert Patrick's memorable style.

Get ready for a little time travel in Chapter 5. G-23 follows comics issues 19 and 20. We dig up a few ghosts and Mulder gets sent on a wild trip that doesn't involve line dancing. The story begins in 1966 in Nevada at a military installation. Two young adults are smoking a cigarette laced with something called G-23 and they're getting progressively more freaked out. The young woman starts thinking she sees aliens. Shadowy men are observing the teens, none other than a young CGB Spender and Bill Mulder. In the present day, Mulder is waiting in D.C. to meet Scully for lunch but before she arrives the CSM crashes his party. After a round of 'who is my real dad?' with Mulder, the CSM presents him with a poster of the Nevada desert and a camper van with a G-23 plate. After a meeting with Scully and later the Lone Gunmen, this sends Mulder off on a wild goose chase into the desert.

Langly follows Mulder to what starts as a party in the desert but turns into a bad G-23-induced trip. In his hallucination, there’s a vamped up version of Scully in fishnets, heels, and Spender's trench coat. This vision calls herself "Red" and sounds more Spender than Scully. She leads Mulder through the remains of the old G-23 complex and on a trip down memory lane. They talk about what was the G-23 substance was really made of and of Bill Mulder's work fighting the alien colonists. In the end, the real Scully rescues Mulder but whatever proof he thought he had of the incident is gone.

I wasn't sure what to think of this chapter on first listen, and may give it another try. Anything that involves the Lone Gunmen makes me happy, and the actors always sound really in character. I laughed at Langly calling Frohike 'Jump Street' because Tom Braidwood was a first assistant director on that show back in the day. One has to feel for Mulder at the beginning that he keeps getting haunted by this zombie ghost from his past. And I thought it was interesting to dive more into Bill Mulder's background. It makes him out to be a slightly more sympathetic character that he was in the TV series. I felt like they were trying to redeem him a bit. Whether that succeeded, I'm not sure.

I also wasn't particularly thrilled with the "Scully as vixen" bit. If Scully herself makes the choice to don that outfit and say "sweet dreams baby" I'm all for it if it's her idea. But for that to be a fantasy and not her personal choice gets old. In this version, at least, it's insinuated at the very end that CSM was dressed that way himself all along, but that's not the case in the comic. There's no doubt Scully is a beautiful woman but we love her for her intelligence and what her brains bring to the case. This struck me as more of an excuse for the guys to write her as sexy than as something meaningful to the plot. It also strikes me as funny that once again Mulder gets himself into trouble because he runs off on his own.

It's back to the mytharc in Chapter 6 with 'Elders." This is the longest of the chapters and covers issues and ground from New York to D.C. to Cuba and finds Mulder in a whole new mess of trouble. We start with Prime Elder talking to the CSM about the ability to read minds and the scars on his head. If that doesn't tip you off to who he is, it should have. He meets with the Syndicate group who are all clones like the CSM. Elsewhere in Virginia, Scully and Mulder are playing hooky at a county fair that turns tragic. A woman claiming to be someone from Mulder's past shoots three people and turns the gun on herself. This launches an investigation of Mulder that digs deep into his past involving something called the Chilmark Project.

As part of the Chilmark project, Mulder spoke with a woman named Caroline Ross who looked oddly similar to the woman who attacked him at the fair. But it's not possible because Ross hanged herself in 1991. As they leave the FBI Mulder is hounded by reporters. Scully stays behind to defend him but as soon as Mulder clears the pack he's abducted by another group of men.

Mulder ends up a prisoner in a cloning facility hidden in the Guantanamo Bay prison in Cuba where Prime Elder reveals himself as Gibson. While he's at the facility Scully is working with the CSM who hints to her that Gibson is the one who has taken Mulder. But he's not the only CSM in this episode. Another version is helping Mulder at the base in Cuba. Skinner also finds himself in the crosshairs of the Syndicate, who kidnap him and torch his apartment.

Back in Cuba, the CSM helps Mulder escape and gives him a memory stick with evidence of Gibson's treachery. Not only has Gibson created this facility but he's been working to frame Mulder as well. No sooner does Mulder escape than Scully ends up in Gibson's clutches herself. With some help from the Lone Gunmen, we learn more about what exactly Gibson was up to and how he plans to move his creepy clone creating operation back to the U.S. Yet another CSM clone this time helps Scully escape. A quick meeting between her and Mulder sends Mulder looking for a way to escape and Scully heading back to deal with Gibson once and for all.

Gibson claims he was only protecting Mulder and that he will only be hunted further even after the allegations are cleared. Scully fears Gibson continued to do to himself what the Syndicate had in the past. While they argue Gibson tries to lead a ship into port using telekinesis. That's the ship he will use to move his cloning operation and continue the project. Scully dispatches the threat and races off to find Mulder.

Mulder and Scully reunite just as he's about to board a smuggling ship. Scully is rattled by her encounter with Gibson but Mulder reminds her they will get through whatever Gibson did together. Scully encourages Mulder to leave with the smugglers and that she'll go back to the FBI to clear things up. And just when Scully thinks she can get a drink to clear her head, she realizes she's surrounded by multiples of the person she thought she killed just moments ago. And there, we end. This also marks the end of the Season 10 comics series.

I love mytharc eps and was glad to see it back in this new form again. And poor Gibson Praise makes for a great villain. It was interesting to see how they expanded on what was done to him, and the flashbacks of the time he and Mulder spent together back in 2001. I also loved how often we got to see Scully fiercely defending Mulder. After all this time she knows him like no one else does. I got a particular thrill watching her tell off A.D. Morales at the beginning. I would have loved to see Skinner more in on the action instead of being pushed around by the Syndicate or Morales. But I'm glad he was included in a smaller way at least.

A few overall thoughts now that we've finished the series: I feel like Mulder and Scully spend way too much time apart in this series. I know they split up a lot in the TV show but it felt like they were working without each other most of the time. I did enjoy that Scully got to be more of an active investigator than in "Cold Cases." She wasn’t stuck doing autopsies as much. And clearly, Mulder has never learned that when he runs off on his own bad things are going to happen. Mulder’s dry humor is captured well and the banter when Mulder and Scully are together is pretty funny in parts. As far as the stories themselves, if you find them hard to follow at times, paging through the comics again can help with that. The audio version does work to flesh them out a little more but they're close to what we saw on the page. I made the comment after finishing "Cold Cases" that the acting can come across as a little wooden at times and that's also the case here. Though I do think it was a bit better this time.

Overall, I do think the series is worth your time and an interesting listen. There's no perfect substitute for the TV show but these audio adventures are entertaining and make the wait for a new season a little easier. While we've now made our way through the Season 10 comics, we don't yet know if they'll continue the audiobooks with the Season 11 series from IDW, which is also different from the upcoming TV series. We'll keep you posted as soon as we hear something!

#The X-Files #XFiles #Stolen Lives #Audible #IDW

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