#so sad when they shut it down right after I rediscovered it

[justmypartner]

Still Breathing: Chapter 6

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one.

Writer’s Note: Hi!! Oh man am I excited about this chapter. It’s sweet and flirty, but also pretty angsty, so you’re welcome and I’m sorry? I’ve hit a good spot with writing this story, so I will probably be posting more often. I still can’t promise weekly updates, but I will do my best. Thank you so much for the kind words on this story. It truly means a lot. I hope you enjoy! 

Read on AO3 or below

“Hailey?”

“Hello?”

It wasn’t until a coffee cup was being raised in front of her face that she pulled out of her absent stare. 

“Sorry,” she shook her head, blinking her eyes back into focus. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile as she reached out to grab the cup.

Everything had been a blur since that last dance with Jay the night before. When the song ended and she finally worked up the nerve to pull away from him, she desperately tried to swallow down her emotions with the rest of the bottle of wine. Not long after, when she couldn’t get her mind to shut off, she told him she was beat and asked him to drive her home. 

She then spent the rest of the night stuck in that moment in his arms, debating whether or not she was falling in love with him, or the moment. Then, every time she closed her eyes she saw his beautiful emerald eyes and his infectious smile and she knew the question was rhetorical.

She woke the next morning with a text from him asking to meet at what had become their coffee shop. She had the weekend off. She knew he knew that, so she had no real excuse to blow him off. So, she compartmentalized everything that happened the night before and agreed to meet him there.

“You okay? You seem off this morning,” he posited, taking a sip as he eyed her from the opposite end of the table.

There he was reading her like a book, the way only he seemed to be able to do.

“Yeah, no matter how much red wine I have, I always feel it the next morning,” she lied, taking a large swig of her coffee as he nodded, eyeing her carefully as she did so. 

“Sorry,” he offered, the slight pout on his face expressing his empathy.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly.

“So, I actually asked you to meet me because I wanted to run something by you.” 

“Okay…” she said, a resistance in her voice.

“How would you feel about sneaking into a college party with me tonight?”

“Why on Earth would we do that?” she breathed out a laugh with the question.

“I’ve never been. It’s on my list.”

“You’ve never been to a college party before?”

“Nope. I enlisted right out of high school, then my active duty filled the education requirement for the academy. Never even stepped foot on a college campus until I was a cop and needed to for a case,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re not missing much. I only went to maybe one party in my undergrad years, wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah well, my brother spent all of his college years partying. Figured I ought to see what the hype was all about. I was waiting for fall to come around so I could blend in with of all the incoming students, but I only want to go if you agree to come with me.” 

“Fine, but only because it’s on your list… You’re going to have to do something about this look though,” she said, waving a hand in front of her as she gestured to his outfit.

“My look? What about you? You’re the one who dresses like a cop.”

She scoffed, taking one of the sugar packets on the table and flinging it in his direction. He flinched, a sneaky grin on his face as he laughed at his own joke.

“I can still wear my hat, right?” he asked once the laughter died down, a serious look overcoming his face.

“Yeah. I actually think I still have a U of C one you can borrow.”

“Cool.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a hat.”

“You don’t want to. The chemo has thinned my hair out so much. I just haven’t had the courage to shave it all off yet.”

A sad look overcame her face, and she quickly adjusted it when she noticed his eyes dart away timidly.

“Actually, I have been wondering since we met, are you a brunette or a red head?” she questioned, trying to divert the mood.

“Oh, that’s a surprise.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his now intentional pattern of aloofness. 

“One day, I’m going to be the one to surprise you.”

He gave her a disbelieving nod as he brought his cup to his mouth, concealing the smile she knew was breaking out across his lips.

— — — — 

Later that evening when she had just finished clasping the back of her last earring, there was a knock at the door. She made her way downstairs, hurrying to answer it. 

Jay stood on her doorstep in a maroon button up, dark jeans, and his usual ball cap. In the time she’d known him, it was always t-shirts and henleys, so to see him more dressed up had her heart racing in an entirely new way. 

As distracted as she was by his appearance, it didn’t stop her from noticing the way his eyes trailed up and down her body. She wore black jeans, black leather boots, and a silky blue tank that cut a little low. It certainly wasn’t her typical attire, but she knew it was basic enough of a look to blend in with every other college girl at whatever party they wound up at.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his mouth falling slightly agape as he seemed to force his eyes to train on hers. 

“Wow yourself,” she told him, stepping aside so that he could come in. 

Once the door was closed, they stood before one another in her foyer, both still silently gawking at one another for a minute longer.

“So, what do you think? Do I look like I should be at a college party?” he asked after clearing his throat, holding his arms out as he sought her approval. 

She pursed her lips to the side as she eyed him up and down, taking a little more time to do so since he had granted her his permission. 

“I don’t know I feel like it just needs-“

Her eyes fell to the top of his shirt where the top button was secured. She stepped forward, her hands moving to unbutton it and expose a little more of his chest. Her breath became shallow with the proximity. She pulled the collar out a little more once the button was popped. Doing so exposed a gold chain she’d never noticed before, one with a small medallion attached that rested in the contour of his chest. She noticed the way his jaw tightened as her fingers brushed his skin when she picked it up to inspect it further. She rubbed a thumb over it in her hand, an inquisitive look on her face as she did so.

“Do you always wear this? I’ve never noticed it before.” 

“It’s my brother’s. He gave it to me a few weeks ago. It’s St. Luke, the patron saint of doctors and surgeons. My mom gave it to him when he first told her he wanted to be a doctor. He thinks it’ll somehow help me, I’m not so convinced, but it reminds me of her so I wear it,” he explained, only his mouth moving as she still inspected the small medallion in her hand. She smiled, releasing it as she took a step back, folding her arms over her chest. 

“You know, the more I learn about your brother, the more I think I might like him more than you,” she told him smugly.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he spat, squinting his eyes at her jokingly.

“Are you ready to go?” 

“Yeah, let me go get your hat.”

She momentarily disappeared upstairs, pulling the hat from her closet before descending the stairs once more.

“Here,” she told him. He grabbed it, holding it in his hand as he peered over at her with a look of patience. 

“Right, um let me get my things and we can head out,” she said, turning around to grant him the moment he was silently asking for. When she came back, his hat was swapped out and he wore a shy look on his face.

“Thanks,” he told her, and she knew it wasn’t just gratitude for the hat.

— — — —

Even a block down the street from the house they could hear the music and voices of a hundred or so college kids. It was enough to send shudders down Hailey’s spine, a reminder of why her first college party was also her last. 

“You sure you wanna do this? Can’t we just go get plastered at a bar and call it a night,” she offered, looking up at him in the dim light of the street. 

The look he sent her was one of both amusement and certainty, and she knew his decision on the night’s plans was unwavering. 

“Fine, but you’re my designated driver. The only way I’m getting through this is with booze running through my veins,” she sang.

“I didn’t plan on drinking anyway.”

The comment was enough to stop her in her tracks. She sent him a look, silently questioning the statement as a smirk grew on his face. 

“I mean I’m going to have a beer or something, but I’m not supposed to get hammered or anything. I’ve already got enough chemicals in my body trying to kill me.”

She nodded, and they continued their slow pace towards the house. Another reminder of what seemed like many lately that he was living on numbered days. She just wasn’t sure what that number was. Her face fell, and she focused her attention on each step she was taking, trying to pull herself out of the instant sullen mood she’d fallen into.

“Alcoholic,” he mumbled under his breath, causing her to kick at him playfully with the tease. It was just what she needed to smile again, but not quite enough to keep that reminder from plaguing her thoughts.

Once inside, they were met with the overwhelming smell of beer, musk, and weed. 

“How many of these kids do you think are underage?” he whisper yelled into her ear as they brushed through the crowd blocking the entrance. 

“All of them,” she returned, shaking her head at the thought of a time when she was one of the many carefree kids they were surrounded by. 

They found the drink table. Jay went for a can of cheap beer and Hailey poured herself a couple of shots of tequila. The smitten look and prideful smile he gave as he watched her down the first two were enough to make her do a third. It was going to be a long night with him looking the way he did, let alone with him looking at her like that. She knew she needed to be loosened up to get through it.

By her fourth shot she was in the middle of a crowd of people, her hips doing most of the work as she danced to whatever song was playing through the speakers. Jay opted out, claiming he was much more a slow dancer than a party dancer. 

She’d been alone for a while, a couple of young guys dancing alongside her before getting the cold shoulder and moving on. Even when the guys approached, it didn’t stop Jay’s eyes from keeping a determined stare. She pretended she didn’t notice, but he kept a watchful eye as she swayed to the rhythm of the absurdly loud music.

About an hour had passed. Hailey watched as Jay broke his stare, moving to play a few rounds of beer pong. She laughed when she watched him swap his beer for soda water when the other guys weren’t looking. Not that it mattered considering how good he was at the game. Hailey had kept her eye on him every so often as she danced with various groups of soured sorority girls. 

Eventually, the strands of hair by her face were stuck on with sweat, and she had lost sight of Jay for about 15 minutes. When she finally found him again, he was leaned against a wall, some young college girl standing only inches away from him, hung on his every word. 

She blamed it on the booze, but it sent a heat rising in her. She couldn’t blame the girl, he looked damn good, but she couldn’t help but envy how oblivious the girl was to what it meant to be close to him.  

She watched from the other side of the party, the low light seeming to only shine on the two of them in that large room of people. Her jaw was clenched and she thought about going over and pulling him away, being close to him in a way that had been stuck in her mind since the night before.  

She then watched as he said something that sent the girl running, and a smile came across her face. She made her way over to him, his eyes lighting up when he saw her. 

“You must really know how to sweet talk a girl,” she teased, practically having to scream over the noise. 

“You would know,” he said it in a way that caused her cheeks to become even warmer than they already were. 

“What’d you tell her?”

“She asked if I would go to her um… what’d she call it? Formal or something? She said it was some sorority thing. I told her I couldn’t because I have chemo that day. She thought I was kidding and then, well you saw the rest,” he chuckled, both of them looking over Hailey’s shoulder as the girl found some other guy to mingle with. 

“You look like you’ve had fun,” he told her, instinctively bringing a hand to brush the slightly damp waves out of her face. “Why don’t we go outside for some cool air?” he offered. She nodded, grabbing a bottle of water on her way out.

The backyard was unexpectedly empty. It was a charming little courtyard with a few tiki torches keeping it dimly lit, and a big porch swing hanging from the large tree in the corner. Hailey made her way over, plopping down on the swing less than gracefully as she opened the water, her weak attempt at sobering up a bit.

“What do you think of your first college party?” she asked him as she tried to settle herself onto the swing.

“Overrated,” he said simply.

“Told you,” she returned, swallowing down a large gulp of the water.

“I kinda like seeing you like this,” he told her, laughing at the way her short legs swung back and forth to move the swing. 

“I kinda like seeing you in general,” the words came out before she could fully process, and she squinted her eyes closed tightly, cringing at how forward her boozed up brain was making her.

He leaned against a tree across from her, crossing his arms as he snickered at her words. She laughed too, shaking her head as she took another pull from the water. He brought one of his hands up to readjust his hat as he watched her. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. The pop of his collar, the way his eyes were still so vibrant in the low light. He was a sight to be seen, but it seemed like every time she looked at him like that lately, it only reminded her just how short her time with him could be. 

Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her veins, or maybe it was that thing that the shooting awoke in her, but she felt like she needed to tell him how she felt. No matter how much time they had left. Then her brain dwelled on that. Time. What did his prognosis look like? She’d never asked him. Never had the courage to ask him. But in that moment? Hammered Hailey was just about ready to ask, do, and say anything.  

“How much time do we have left?” she broke after a few moments of being lost in her jumbled, tequila ridden thoughts. 

“If you’re ready we can go if you want. We don’t have to sta-“

“No. I mean how much time do we have left,” she repeated, her eyes glossing over in a way that made the sight before her look like the view through a rain coated window. 

His face was twisted in confusion, then it softened as he realized what she meant, and dropped immediately into a pain inducing look of sorrow. He walked over, grabbing the swing to stop it from moving before falling down next to her. He let out a sigh, bringing an arm to rest on the bench behind her back as she felt him looking over at her. She sniffled, fidgeting with the bottle in her hands before she brought her eyes to meet his. 

“Why now? Why wait until now to want to know that?” he asked, the words coming out benignly. 

“Because I want to tell you something, and if I’m going to tell you, I need to know first.” 

“If I tell you, will the answer change your mind about whatever it is?”

“Maybe,” he kept his eyes on her, somehow knowing she wasn’t being truthful, somehow pulling the truth out of her with one look. “No,” she looked down into her lap, took a breath, and reset their gaze. “I just need to know.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes moving to stare straight ahead as she kept hers on him. 

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, taking a beat before continuing. “If this chemo does what it’s supposed to do, if it shrinks the tumor enough, I have surgery, go a few more rounds of chemo, and I could be in the clear. If it doesn’t? Things only get worse, and… I don’t know exactly how long, but the doctors give me a 30% chance of 5 more years.”

Silence fell upon them. Her gaze pulled away from him. They both looked straight ahead, not even daring to look at one another as Hailey let the news simmer. There was a pain in the back of her throat as she tried to hold back the sadness that plagued her body. It was a heaviness that started in her chest, extended up into her head, and burned the back of her eyes with a pain she hadn’t experienced before. She pinched at her temples with one hand as she kept the tears from streaming down her face. The only sound that surrounded them was the loud bass and indistinct voices coming from inside the house.

“Change your mind?” he finally asked. She could tell he’d turned his head back to face her, but she couldn’t find it in her to look back. 

She shook her head, her stare still avoiding him as she closed her eyes. The tears that had built up spilled out and rolled down her cheeks. She groaned, those tears falling down hopelessly despite her best intentions. 

“Are you going to tell me?” he asked, his voice was hopeful and quiet, and it only broke her heart even more.

She shook her head again, sniffling as she wiped the tears away.

“It’s a surprise,” she eventually told him, her voice raspy. She finally turned to face him, forcing a smile through her hurt as she jumped from the swing.

“Hailey-“ 

“I think I am ready to go home,” she told him, resting a hand on his knee briefly before making her way around the house and out to the street, not even glancing back to see if he was following her.

The ride home was quiet. His eyes kept tied to the road, and hers roamed out the passenger window. The same magnetic like force that seemed to always pull them together was somehow pushing them away in that moment. She finished the rest of her water. It wasn’t enough to sober her up completely, but she wasn’t quite as foggy as she’d been back at the party. 

When he pulled up outside of her place, he told her a short and quiet goodnight as she hopped out. She returned his farewell, flashing him a fake smile as she closed the door and headed up towards her place. 

She walked up to her stoop, trying to focus on her steps to keep from stumbling over. She was still somewhat drunk, but she was also just overwhelmed by the emotions weighing her down. Her brain kept replaying what he said. A 30% chance of 5 more years with him, or an unknown chance of a lifetime. The idea of each scared her for different reasons, but there was only one that seemed impossible to accept.

There was the sound of a door shutting behind her, and she spun around. Her face fell into a frown as she saw him jogging towards her. He got dizzy just from standing, the last thing he needed to be doing was running after her.

“Jay, woah,” she called out, reaching her arms out towards him when he was close enough to touch. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he assured through winded breaths. 

“Did you forget something or-“

“Look, I don’t know what you were going to tell me earlier, but I have something I need to tell you,” he interrupted, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to restabilize his breath. 

She looked up at him, a blend of confusion and expectation on her face. His head was tilted toward the ground, and she could just make out his eyes from underneath the brim of his hat. They were glossed over and they avoided hers as he seemed to prepare whatever it was he had to say. 

“I don’t know how much time I have left. That’s my truth, and it’s scary and frustrating, and probably a little unfair, but every time I think about it, all I can think about is how I want to spend every minute of whatever it is with you. It sounds crazy because we haven’t even known each other that long, but… there’s something here. It’s something I’ve known for a few weeks now, but if I’m being honest it’s something I knew somewhere in my mind from the moment I stepped on that damn elevator,” he said it with a sense of urgency and passion that broke her heart in an entirely new way that night. 

That pain of holding back her tears returned as the words cut straight to her heart. Then he reached out and wrapped his hand around her forearm, allowing it to slowly slide down until it was grasping her hand in his. She shuddered at the touch. At the electricity that seemed to jolt through her body with his fingers against her skin. There was a reluctant and almost fearful look on his face as he did so, and she just squeezed his hand back, allowing him to know it was okay. He then grabbed their joined hands with his other, stepping forward as he brought them to rest on his chest.

“Hailey, I need to tell you this, and I hope it doesn’t scare you off I just...” he cut himself off, his eyes falling to the ground once more. He inhaled sharply, bringing his eyes back up to hers and peering into them with the same desperation and fire she carried in hers.

His mouth parted and the words left his mouth as if time had slowed down. It was one sentence, six simple words, but she could have sworn the world stopped spinning when he said them. 

“I’m falling in love with you.”

[axther]

internal monologue

TW: main character death, disassociation, derealisation, massive angst, accidental murder, dead bodies, overall a lot of traumacore, and jumping off a cliff (but not to aliven’t). 

Beta’d by @reddriot​ HEHEHHE this was your monster, ze 

This is a paired fic with @ererokii​’s “Pretend I Am”. Please go check her story out as we both made each other suffer while writing it. 

 Venti’s memory was unreliable. He rediscovers this the hard way. 

“Do you blame yourself?” 

Venti had been drinking. He didn’t know for how long, why, when, where. It all blurred together, days, weeks, months. Everyone was talking and his head pounded and the lights made him want to hurl. He was still empty. All those years of sleep and drinking and singing and he still could never fill it. 

He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. And that’s when he heard it. 

The tavern went dark. It fell silent, and the chairs were empty. 

“Do you blame yourself?” The voice rang in his ears like a bell, one that he dreaded to hear. He remembered his voice. He heard it every day, and wished he wasn’t such a coward that he took on a dead man’s skin. 

“What?” Venti’s voice was quiet. It wasn’t his voice anymore, no. It was his, the Bard’s, and Venti couldn’t even remember the poor bastard’s name. He had given his life for Mondstadt, for Venti, and he couldn’t even be remembered. The Bard’s voice echoed in his ears, and the tavern was caving in. The woman next to him was so soft, so sweet. He could almost touch her cheek, and he reached a hand out. She could pull him out of this, and that gentle smile was so close. 

“It’s quite common in this situation for you to feel some kind of...guilt.” The Bard sounded too calculated. Cold. No, Venti’s Bard was good and kind and whole. This Bard was cruel and emotionless. Empty. 

“What situation?” Venti’s voice didn’t leave his body. Nothing was his anymore. It never was, after all. He was no archon. He was no bard. He stole everything for himself. And something bubbled in his gut. He turned to the other side of him, and the Bard was next to him, with a face of pure, smooth skin. The Bard titled his head, and Venti knew there was a sick smile under it all. 

“The accident.” 

The battle was won. 

Vanessa was talking to some of her colleagues about rebuilding Mondstadt. All those alongside here were giants, not in size, but deep within themselves. Venti knew that he would have to go on, wandering Tevyat soon, in hopes of spreading songs and joy. 

And then, he got a tap on his shoulder. 

“Lord Barbatos?” 

The voice was kind, worn, sturdy like fir and pine and all the things that grow tall and strong. Venti turned, almost jumpy, when he saw a young woman behind him. She was in all words, average. Had he seen her in the street, he would not consider her to be much more than a normal citizen. But the large spear strapped to her back said otherwise;it was enormous, taller than Venti and sharper than even Venessa’s blade. 

“Yes! Hello!” he chirped, getting back his cheery disposition. This wasn’t right. This isn’t what happened. WHAT HAPPENED She smiled at him and bowed slightly. When she looked up into Venti’s eyes, Venti realised she had green eyes. No, blue. Brown? And they were wide, and then almond, and quite suddenly, Venti realised that she was changing, her face not one thing for one second. The world around him started melting, and everyone was laughing, staring at him, staring at him, staring! 

You don’t remember what she looks like!  

Venti felt like he was choking, and he took a step back. He brought a hand up to his neck, and there was nothing there-wait! His hands were gone too! 

Just make something up! 

“Stop!” Venti shrieked, and it was his voice, finally, his true voice, squeaky and terrified. It was all acidic, dissolving and crumbling around him. 

“Wait.” Her voice was quiet, and it broke through the sound and the rage and the horror. “Lord Barbatos. What is my name?” “Wh-what?” Venti gasped, the whole mountainside empty. When was this Dragonspine? It was Windrise before, green and beautiful and now it was just cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. 

“What was my name, Lord Barbatos?” She tilted her head, and now she was panicking, face distorting into nothing but unadulterated fear. “I-I can’t remember, Lord Barbatos! Oh, gods! Help me!” 

“No! No!” Venti tried reaching for her, the world disappearing until all that was left was a pair of the most gorgeous eyes Venti had ever seen. They sat in the snow, lifeless and cold. 

“YN! No! Wait for me!” 

Venti was choking on his own drink when he came to. 

Diluc was shaking him, red eyes wide. Jean was there, the Traveller was there, and Barbara had her healing at the ready.

“Oh my gods,” Diluc whispered, pulling away before sighing and crossing his arms. “We thought you had a stroke.” “What?” Venti’s head felt like it was full of cotton. “I...did I pass out?” “We don’t know.” Jean’s voice was soft, and it reminded Venti of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made his back shiver, but it felt almost like it was being contorted. He was being crushed under the weight of something, something he didn’t know. “You...it was like you were zoning out, or daydreaming...like a nightmare.” 

“Nightmare…” Venti looked down at his mug, seeing his reflection in it. But his heart leapt to his throat and the clock stopped ticking when he saw the Bard behind him. This time, he had a mouth, too wide and filled too full with razor-sharp teeth. Something in his inhuman heart began to quake.

“I need to go.” He stumbled out of the chair, feet hitting the floor too soon. 

Too soon? Like her? 

Venti tumbled out of the bar, almost face planting on the sidewalk as Jean and Diluc called out behind him, barely catching himself before running as fast as he could. The night felt warm, the air was muggy, and he was choking. He ran out the front gates, ran past the birds, the bridge, the rolling hills. His feet ached and his head spun, and nothing could stop him. He closed his eyes, wheezing and praying to whatever god above he could. 

Oh, wait. He was the god people prayed to. 

His running slowed, soft as the air began to cool. A breeze picked up, ruffling his hair, and in the distance, he heard laughter. His eyes were still shut, and for once, he felt...peaceful. He was still walking, but if he listened closely enough, he could hear people walking next to him, chipper and sweet. 

“Well, I think the festival should be called Windblume.” The Bard huffed playfully, skipping a bit in his step. “It’s got a ring to it!” “What do you mean?” YN’s voice was soft, and Venti could almost see her tilting her head. “It’s always been called that.” “Oh.” The Bard’s voice dropped with Venti’s stomach. “That’s right.” “We never met,” YN sighed. 

“We were thousands of years apart.” The Bard finished her sentence. 

“We both…” she began. 

Venti opened his eyes, overlooking Starsnatch Cliff. 

The wind was rougher here, tugging him over to the edge and making his cape whip over his shoulders. There was the taste of blood on his tongue and the smell of it in his nose, and he felt sick. 

“Look down,” The Bard put his hands on Venti’s shoulders, holding roughly and putting his thumbs in the front. “I dare you.” 

“No.” Venti’s heart hurt like it was being squeezed by a vice. “I don’t...I don’t wanna.” “But she’s down there,” the Bard whispered. “All alone.” 

“What?” Venti blinked, taking a sharp breath in. 

“You left her down there.” The Bard sighed, almost sounding like he pitied Venti. 

“No?” Venti felt confused. “She’s...she was…” “She’s dead, Barbatos.” The Bard breathed out, letting go of Venti. “You’re really sick, you know.” 

“What? No!” Venti spun around, feeling lost in the midst of a storm that he couldn’t control. “What are you talking about?” “She hated heights.” Now, the Bard had eyes—deep, like sockets of coal instead of real eyes. No, they stared right through Venti, bore through whatever shadow of a man he once was. “Can you imagine? Her falling in love with the god of the winds?” 

“Stop…” Venti whimpered, and just for a second, when the Bard blinked, she stood there, ominously smiling. Her smile was always so sweet, Venti thought. Sweet, like flowers and the ocean breeze. She loved him so much. 

“And you betrayed her trust, just like that.” The Bard murmured and shook his head. 

“What do you mean? She…” Venti wanted to say that she grew old, and died in Springvale surrounded by their children and grandchildren. But something on the tip of his tongue split his thought in half, making him freeze. 

“She what, Barbatos?” The Bard tilted his head. “Say it.” 

“She…” 

It was a windy day. 

Venti stared over the edge of Starsnatch Cliff with a giddy grin, holding the top of his hat. The drop below was enough to make any mortal man shiver, but he turned to the love of his eternal life and grinned. 

“Hey! C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun!” He jumped up, grabbing YN’s hand and humming. “I swear, nothing bad will happen!” “I…” YN glanced at the cliff’s edge and gulped, slightly pulling away from Venti. “It sounds really dangerous…” “Nah! It’s just gliding for two, after all!” He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling softly. “You trust me, don’t you?” “Always!” Her voice was soft and pleading, looking down to meet his eyes. “But you know how much I hate heights.” “Don’t worry! I promise it’ll be a great experience!” “But what if I fall…?” “You won’t! I won’t let you go!” He was on cloud nine, floating above everything and everyone. YN was right before him, and everything felt right in the world. But then YN sighed again, and pulled away. 

“But…” “But I did.” Venti’s voice was hollow, even to himself, and he watched her spark and pop, a figment of his imagination. 

“You did, my love.” YN sounded so sad, eyebrows furrowing. “Why did you let go?” 

“I…” Tears welled up in Venti’s eyes, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“But I’m gone, Lord Barbatos.” YN sobbed, covering her eyes with her hands. “I’ve been gone for so long.” “They never found…” Venti choked on his own words, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “They never found your body.” “You told them I ran off, remember?” YN softly wept, before the Bard appeared behind her. He grabbed her hands with a tenderness that only lovers had, and gently pulled them away. YN’s eyes were gone, nothing more than gored out holes in her head. Venti nearly screamed, taking a step back in alarm before realising he was at the edge of the cliff. The wind picked up behind him, and when he turned on shaky knees, he saw a gruesome sight underneath him. 

YN’s corpse was upon the sand, blood staining the grains and flowing out into the ocean. Her blood was so dark that it was almost inky, dispersing into the water without a trace. But it stained Venti, stained his clothes and his hands and his heart. His eyes felt like they were bleeding with her, staring at the rocks that gouged her eyes out when she landed.  Her skull was the worst—split open like a nut and spilling everywhere. The sight was terrible, horrible, heartbreaking and earth shattering. 

“You loved her, Barbatos! You loved her and you killed her!” The Bard cackled. “You let her fall! How useless can you be to kill your own girlfriend?!” 

Venti felt himself swaying. The mocking was too much, and he could hear laughing behind him. Laughing! Laughing! The whole of Tevyat was laughing at him, laughing and weeping and pointing their gnarled hands at him. 

“You should’ve joined her!” the Bard howled above the din. A storm from the sea swept in, nearly blowing Venti away with the wind as he tried to hold on to anything he had left. “You can’t protect anyone! Join her, little god! Join her, and watch her rot in the abyss!” 

It was too much, it made Venti’s ears ring and when he tried to cover them, his hat blew off his head and into the sea. He closed his eyes, praying to get away from whatever waking nightmare this was, but when he opened them, YN’s corpse was right at his feet, blood soaking into his shoes as she blinked and her face contorted into a huge, toothy maw. Everyone’s yelling became one, with the Bard and YN yelling louder than all the others. 

“Don’t leave me, Barbatos!” “Don’t leave her, Barbatos!” 

“Please don’t leave me!!” 

And Venti fell. 

Venti’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

He woke up to the sea lapping at the top of his head. He had a splitting headache and the sun shone right in his eyes, making him glower and sigh. For the briefest, holiest moment, he couldn’t remember what he was doing or where he was. He just wanted a nice drink at Angel’s Share and maybe play a nice song for Aether. 

But then he heard the sea, and he remembered. 

A feeling of dread began to overcome him, and when he sat up, his hair was damp and made water run down his back. He knew his cloak was positively soaked and that he had no way of knowing how long he was out for. He just remembered falling, thinking so long as she isn’t alone before passing out. 

He stood up on shaky legs and knew that YN wouldn’t be there. 

Her corpse was only a hallucination, or something of the sort. He knew it, he knew it so well, but the night she appeared, it felt so real. 

Venti hated his relapses. 

He slowly made his way up the beach in haze, and then past Windrise, and he realised without thinking much about it that he was simply making his way to Mondstadt, without truly knowing the way. There was a magnetic pull, one that he almost hated had he not cared so much. His heart bled, oozed, spilled everywhere. But if it bled for Mondstadt, for the Nameless Bard, for YN, then when would it bleed for him? When would he get his turn? 

He stumbled into Angel’s Share and sat on his usual stool. He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. He looked to his other side, and the Bard stared into an empty mug. He had no face, no eyes, no smile. He was mundane again, with no memory and no song. Venti couldn’t remember YN’s face again, and he wondered, should he look into his drink, if her eyes would be floating there. Someone shuffled next to where YN was sitting, and when he glanced, he saw a young woman in YN’s perfect visage. She was perhaps a little less muscly, and a little more dainty, but when she glanced at him with an annoyed eye, Venti’s blood froze. It was humiliating, and he wondered if somehow, YN’s ghost had come back, reincarnated, to torture him for his sin. 

“Do you have a problem?” The young woman asked. YN turned her head, and Venti could just barely make out her tilting her head before she seemed to quite suddenly disappear. The Bard laughed under his breath, and all of Tevyat mocked Lord Barbatos, the Anemo Archon and Windborne Bard. 

Venti had been drinking. 

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 10

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo

Chapter Warnings: Discussions of bullying, death, injuries, and other tragic things, offset by a lil fluff at the end

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

A/N: Just want to quickly apologize for the 2 week delay in updating this story, but also this will be my 99th post on this blog which is kinda fitting once you read it, so I guess some things are just meant to be...

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Chapter 10: Good Grief

He met her at the designated place that evening, barely able to contain the mixture of excitement and dread that welled within him. On the one hand, Crosshair welcomed any opportunity to spend time with Joan, especially after she had shown interest in wanting to grow closer to him. She looked as beautiful as ever when she joined him, wearing her cute little shorts and signature smile.

But on the other hand, they were running out of time. He deployed tomorrow afternoon. How could they possibly grow closer in such a short window?

And how could he possibly say good-bye if they did? 

He led her through the set of double doors and down a long hallway, keeping his strides as relaxed as he could, despite his every nerve being on edge. She walked fairly close alongside him, but nothing too scandalous. Not that it was likely they'd be caught. This part of the facility was more-or-less abandoned, only used to house the more rarely-used supplies for the maintenance crew. Half the walls were stripped of their usual white sheen, revealing cracked plaster and dirty insulation instead. Only a few like himself knew it was a good place to go when in need of some privacy.

But there was also something here he wanted to show Joan. A way to help her understand his life as a defective clone. He wasn't sure why the idea had popped into his head earlier; he should have just suggested the simulation room again, programmed it to a nice, romantic beach or something. But it was too late to go back now.

They neared the door in question and Crosshair punched in the code. He gestured for Joan to walk in ahead of him, wanting to keep an eye on her reactions.

It was barely considered a room, more of a corridor that was meant to connect this hallway with another. A motion-sensor light flickered on as they entered. Miscellaneous boxes and crates had been pushed up against the wall on the left, dusty and unimportant. It was the righthand wall that gave this space significance. It had long been reduced to its concrete foundation, and chiseled crudely over most of its surface were names and numbers. The largest script was in the top left corner, only two symbols.

"Ninety-nine," Joan read out loud as she stood in the center of the room and looked over the wall in reverence. "This is a memorial."

Crosshair nodded. "All the clones who've died here, never stepping foot into battle. Most of them defects, like 99. Their names won't be found anywhere else. This... is their only legacy."

She nodded at him solemnly in understanding. He watched as she brushed her hands over some of the etchings, fingers tracing the lines as she read them over. There were mostly numbers, many of them not having lived long enough to find a nickname. One of his own batch-mates had been like that, only living a few short years before his defective heart had given out. 

Crosshair tore his gaze away from Joan to find his brother's number on the wall. Beneath it was the second lost brother, who had made it just a little longer. Scraps, they'd called him. He brought his hand up to rest alongside their names, frowning deeply at the memories they gave him.

He felt Joan come to stand next to him and he swallowed hard.

"He was sick all the time, but he kept trying," he explained. "He was worse off than me, and yet I was the kid who cried every night, and he'd talk me down. He'd tell me we had to keep fighting, we had to prove them all wrong. And then one day... he was gone. He'd failed some test and they just... they took him and...."

He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Thankfully Joan didn't need him to. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed reassuringly.

"They told me I'd be next," he said, his voice getting lower. "The Kaminoans. The training Sergeants. The other cadets. With Wrecker, Hunter, it was obvious they'd be useful, their mutations were fine. But me? What was I good for? Who could look at me and know what I was capable of?"

His words hung between them for a short while before Joan gave another squeeze of his hand.

"I'm so sorry, Crosshair," she said and he knew she meant it. "You deserved better. They all did. But... I know this might not sound quite right, but without that pain, you might not have become as determined and passionate and committed and loyal as you are now."

He finally looked away from the wall and down at her, surprised that she remembered the words he'd once written for her, all those months ago. The words he believed embodied who he really was.

"You didn't let your past break you. You used it to make you stronger. You should be proud of that."

He had never been told such a thing before. He'd never been given permission to feel proud, to take ownership of his life. It made him feel... relieved. To know that all of his struggles could mean something made the burden of grief that much lighter to bear.

And to hear it coming from Joan made him feel things, too. He realized he wanted to kiss her. She was standing somewhat close, her fingers were still grasping his own. She seemed to be enough at ease, comfortable here with him, even in such a sad moment. But he panicked and looked away before he could act on such impulses. He still didn't know what she wanted, or any of the things she'd alluded to having gone through herself. It didn't feel right to make to such an intimate move yet.

"Um, we can talk about you now," he stuttered awkwardly, overly aware of how clammy his hand felt under hers. "If you want...."

She laughed a little, but it wasn't a joyful sound. "I'm afraid my story's not any happier."

"Oh."

She cocked her head a little and reached up with her free hand to lightly touch the tattoo around his eye. "Didn't get a chance to tell you before, but I really like this. It's perfect."

He smirked but kept his eyes carefully fixed on hers, waiting. She seemed to be deciding what she wanted to say.

"Not sure if you've seen my own." She tried to sound playful, letting go of his hand in order to turn slightly and show off the splattering of tattooed birds around the thick scar on her thigh. "It's... kind of a memorial, too."

Joan looked toward the wall and took in a measured breath. "When the war started, my family did what we could to help. But then comes the Republic with its grand, shiny new army, and they tell us they've got it from here. Go home. My parents listened... I didn't. I couldn't. No, I marched up to the first battalion I could find and I told them I'd be helping them whether they liked it or not. They were the 116th, led by Commander Crowe."

She held a small smile on her face, fondness peeking through the sorrow like rays of sunlight into a curtained room.

"Your brothers," said Crosshair knowingly.

"Mmhmm.... They were so good to me. They taught me everything I know. We went through so much together. And then one day..." she looked over at Crosshair apologetically as she borrowed his previous words to tell her own story, "my speeder exploded, messed up my leg really bad. I did everything I could to try and fix it myself, but we were short on supplies and it just wasn't getting any better. Crowe insisted I go to Coruscant for treatment. I didn't want to, I hadn't been apart from them in years, but there was no choice."

And then the curtains were snapped shut and all that was left on Joan's face was sorrow. Sorrow and darkness.

"They died while I was recovering. All of them. A single missile to their ship somewhere in deep space. And that was it. No more 116th battalion. No more family."

Instinctually, Crosshair reached for Joan's hand as she had done for him. She seemed surprised, breaking out of her haze and looking at his hand like it was the only thing grounding her.

"I should have died with them," she said in a hoarse voice. "At least, that's what I told myself for seven months. Until Cody came. He'd been good friends with Crowe, knew all about me. He told me to get over myself. That I was still alive for a reason and that I did nothing to honor their memories by letting myself waste away. And then he offered me a job, said I could help some of his other brothers, the way I'd done for the 116th."

Slowly her sadness was fading and Crosshair was grateful. It was easier to hold on to his own pain and learn to live with it, but seeing the same feelings in Joan had scared him. He didn't know what to do to help her. As she wrapped up her story, though, he began to realize that he already had.

"He said it was an experimental unit and that none of you would look like, well, the regular clones, so maybe it'd be easier for me to get back into it. And it was. I knew I loved all of you boys from the first day. You were all confident and eager. None of the battle-worn spirits I was used to dealing with. You gave me life again. Helped me rediscover my purpose. My passion."

She took a step closer to him, holding his hand back firmly.

"You were the tough one," she smirked. "You're so calm and relaxed, so sure of yourself. Any time I felt anxious or like I wasn't making a difference, I knew I could count on you to put me at ease. Even when you were a little sassy."

She giggled, but Crosshair's mind was reeling. She thought he was the assured one? This whole time she'd been seeing him the same way he saw her?

"And then, you know, you stood me up that one day," she sighed dramatically and then it was his stomach that started doing flips as the regret from his actions returned. "Which happened to be the, uh, anniversary of their passing.... And I didn't think I'd be able to do anything that day, except that I knew you'd be coming by, and so I actually got out of bed and did some chores and saw other patients.... And I was trying to think of ways I could keep you for longer than just a consult on your injury. I was going to have you teach me darts and maybe help me sneak some good snacks from somewhere or ask to get a tour of your new ship...."

She was looking up at him with bright eyes and the thought of kissing her returned. She was definitely close enough now, and as he made eye contact, she couldn't seem to remember what she was going to say next, her voice trailing off into short little breaths.

"I really am sorry," he said, stalling for time. He wasn't sure why he kept hesitating when it was something he wanted so desperately. So much for her thinking he was confident.

"I know," she said softly. Was she leaning closer or was he?

"I... I'm leaving tomorrow," he said.

"I know." Both of their hands were clasped in each other's now, pulses beating rapidly beneath hopeful grips.

"And," he kept going, even though the space between them was continuing to grow smaller, "I've never done this before."

"I know." She grinned, and that undid him.

Whatever self-conscious walls he'd put up for whatever irrational reasons came crumbling down as he finally closed the gap and pressed his lips against hers.

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Void of Extinction by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 6/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche @jonesfandomfanatic

Chapter 6: Wave of Remembrance

Emma paced the small room, chewing wearily on her lip as she watched the man on the bed in front of her. She felt her entire body freeze the moment Killian hit the ground, his eyes blank, staring into the sky. Her immediate fear was that she had shared too much information and overloaded him. But once she got to his side and realized he wasn’t breathing, she was terrified she had killed him.

She was grateful to Mary Margaret and her quick thinking; her medical staff was by his side almost instantly. By the time they got him breathing again, Emma was certain her own heart had stopped beating in her chest.

He groaned from his place on the bed and Emma rushed to his side, pulling his hand into hers as he blinked his eyes opened and closed.

“What happened?”

“I’m so sorry, Killian, I knew I shouldn’t have told you too much at once, dammit, I thought I had lost you.” She said through tear-soaked sobs.

He reached across his chest, wiping tears from her face. “There, there Lass, there’s no need to worry about me. I’m a survivor after all.”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” She sobbed through half a smile.

“I apologize, Swan.” He grinned. “Won’t happen again.”

“What did you call me?” She paused, recognizing his use of her last name, something Killian used frequently when referring to her, she didn’t want the hope to soar in her chest.

“Uh, is Swan not your last name?” He asked in confusion. “I was sure I heard it mentioned.”

She frowned, “Yeah I guess so.” She said sadly.

“Have I upset you?”

“Of course not, no it’s nothing. I’m just glad you’re alright.” She stepped away from him and he grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward the bed. As soon as he did, he dropped her hand, staring directly at her.

~*~

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, my gorgeous Swan?”

“Yes, but you can tell me again.”

“When all of this settles and the walls come down, I’m gonna buy you a house on the ocean, and we will sit out on the porch and watch the ships come in until the sun sets over the water. And then I’m going to take you into the house and make love to you until the sun rises.”

“When will we sleep?”

“Who needs sleep when I have you, love?”

“Are you alright? Dammit, where’s the doctor?” He could hear Emma’s raised voice as his vision swirled. Reaching out he took her hand again.

“I’m alright.” He groaned. “Just another vision. Honestly, I’m fine, it didn’t hurt as bad this time.”

“You just told me you wouldn’t scare me again.” She scolded and he found himself laughing at the anger on her face. He sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching his back as he stepped down on the ground, ignoring Emma’s constant pleas for him to sit down.

“I’m fine. I’m not going to lay in that bloody bed anymore.”

“Why are you always so goddamn stubborn.” She yelled.

“Stubborn? I’m not the one insisting that someone else has stolen my life.” He returned her fire as she stood with her mouth open.

“Why is it such a bad thing for you to have his life?” She asked loudly, tears forming again at the corners of her eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, he didn’t want to yell at her, none of this was her fault. “I’m sorry Emma, it’s not my intention to hurt you.” He didn’t know how to stop her from crying, instead he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her body and holding her against his chest as she cried into him. Instinctively his hands found her hair, brushing the strands with his fingers. “Please don’t cry, love.”

She sniffled under his chin, her hands resting on his chest. He could get used to holding this woman, even if it wasn’t his right to do so.

“I miss you so much.” She said softly, before he felt her mouth against his chest, her hot breath causing a slight groan to get stuck in his throat.

“Emma…” He breathed the warning into her hair the moment he felt her mouth languidly move to his jawline. His eyes fell closed as her teeth skimmed his flesh.

“Come back to me, please.” She begged, a stray tear dripping from her face onto his skin. He couldn’t breathe, his heart was pounding through his chest, the pain traveling up his back as he groaned in discomfort and she pulled away from him, her face puffy and red, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, oh God, Killian, I’m so sorry.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his nose as the pain subsided. When he was able to see through the slanted space of his narrowed eyes, he focused in on her face, the sadness across her features, the way she bit her lip to stop the tears from flowing, he would do anything to stop her pain. Anything.

Before his brain caught up with his body, he had pulled her into his arms again, his lips latching on to hers, a squeal of surprise escaping her open mouth. The moment she returned the kiss, his entire world exploded into light around him. It was as if the pull of her gravity had suddenly swallowed him whole. Everything else ceased to exist except for him and the woman in his arms.

His Emma. His world.

Visions invaded his thoughts, a wave of remembrance.

His mother cradling him in her arms as she sang a soft lullaby.

Mourning at the gravesite of his lost brother.

Being sworn in as an officer of the law, David Nolan standing before him as he placed his hand on the bible.

Emma Swan wrapped in a sheet, standing at the edge of his bed, staring out the window at the world below them.

Watching Emma walk away from him as he swore he would see her soon.

Standing there as Neal Cassidy stepped out of the shadows of his apartment, a gun in his hand.

Being placed in a machine as he screamed Emma’s name before the door slammed shut and the blackness took him away, burying his thoughts in the recesses of his mind.

It all came back to him in a heartbeat, an instant of pain and then nothing but the feel of the woman in his arms.

He pulled away from her, his palm resting against her cheek. “Emma?” He felt the tears pooling, blinding his vision, as her green eyes, eyes he wanted to be lost in for the rest of his eternity, stared up at him. “You’re alright!”

“Killian?” She said with a gulp as he nodded his head, pressing his lips to hers once more, he felt her entire weight push toward him, knocking him back against the wall with a laugh. Suddenly she was peppering him with kisses on his cheek, his jaw, his forehead. “It’s you.”

“Aye love, it’s me.” He said, resting his head against her forehead. “Sorry it took me so long to find you.”

She smiled at him before launching into his arms again. “I missed you so much.” She breathed against his neck, her hands fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. He reached up, cupping a hand against hers, stilling her movement.

“Shouldn’t we inform the others?”

She bit her lip and he melted. “We can tell them in the morning.” The moment she smiled with a mischievous gleam he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed.

“As you wish, M’lady.” He teased as he deposited her onto the bed.

He kissed her as if it were the first time their mouths had touched, like rediscovering something you thought you once lost. Holding her in his arms, their bodies sliding against each other in a mixture of heat and sweat, he swore to her that he would never leave her again. When she fell over the edge, his name on her lips, he wasn’t sure how he had survived without her for so long.

As they lay together in the dark, her heart beating against his chest, her eyes sought his as if she had something she needed to say, something weighing on her heart.

She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. “Killian, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He sat up, pressing his mouth to her shoulder. “You can tell me anything, love.” She turned toward him, letting the sheets fall around her.

Suddenly the door to the room swung open and Will stepped through the archway. “Emma…Oi.” His hand went to his face. “I uh…”

“Would you please wait outside.” Emma said, swearing under her breath.

“Yup, can do. Sorry ‘bout that…”

“Get out Will!” She shouted, trying to pull her sheet against her chest.

As soon as the door closed she fell against his chest. “He’s never going to stop talking about this.” She groaned.

“Go see what he wants.” He smiled. Kissing her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’d better not.” She smiled, sliding out from the sheets as he leaned against the wall, watching her dress, happy to once again feel like himself.

~*~

Emma stepped outside the door, Will was leaning against the wall.

“Oi, I told you that man would fall for you in any reality, but that didn’t mean I wanted to witness it.”

“Next time try knocking.”

“He was out cold, how was I to know you two would be shacking up right after he almost died.”

“He remembered.” She said suddenly. “That was Killian, not James.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious? And your first thought was to give him a proper shag before you let the rest of us know?”

She rolled her eyes. “We were going to tell everyone in the morning.”

“Plans changed. Mary Margaret wants to see everyone now.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Well, if you’re done having sex with your boyfriend, perhaps we could all find out.” She slapped him on the shoulder and retreated to the room. “We’ll be right there.”

When she entered, Killian was still sitting on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Mary Margaret wants to see everyone now. I’m not sure what’s going on, but Will seemed to think it was important.”

He stood from the bed, gathering his clothes from the floor. “Did he say what the urgency was about?”

She shook her head and continued dressing herself, trying not to let her nerves get to her. “No, just that she wanted to see everyone right away.”

He paused, stepping closer to her, stilling her in her place as he lifted her chin, pulling her eyes to his. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. You and me, love.”

“God, I missed you.” He bent slightly to kiss her lips, letting her continue the task of pulling her clothes on. They walked hand in hand toward the control center, smiling at each other before entering the room.

“Together.” He reminded her before stepping through the door.

~*~

The door opened and Killian stepped through the opening, his grip on Emma’s hand tightening. He didn’t miss the way everyone gawked at them, whispers rumbling through the group.

Mary Margaret stepped toward them, pausing as she stared at their entangled hands. “It’s a pleasure to final meet you, Lady Nolan. David mentioned you in passing more than once.”

“Killian?” She exclaimed.

“Aye, seems the fog has lifted.”

“Thank God.”

“What’s going on?” Emma interrupted.

“David called me an hour ago. He’s on his way with Regina to the Eastern border. He said they got a call about a body, a man named Felix Croft.”

“He worked for Neal.” Emma said nervously. “He attacked me on the pier, he might have killed me if Ruby hadn’t taken him down.”

Mary Margaret frowned, “They are pinning it on Killian.”

“What?”

“David told me that an eyewitness put you at the scene and that they saw you kill the man.”

“Clearly it’s a lie.” Emma squeaked.

“I’m not concerned about Felix.” Mary Margaret shook her head. “David told me that he was going to be out all night as they investigated the scene. So that means that both Regina and David will be indisposed this evening, now is our time to get to the data port. But we don’t have a lot of time. We need to move now.”

“How are we going to get into Regina’s office?” Emma asked.

“You tell me.” The woman looked in his direction. “You had a plan previously, how were you planning to get into her office.”

“There’s a thing about Regina that not a lot of people knew, there had been a few death threats on her life, so she had a secret entrance built into her office, very secure and only a select number of people know the code to access it.”

“How does that help us, Mate?” Will interjected.

“Because I was one of those select people.” He said with a wink.

“Ok, then we have our way in.”

“How? The minute they see Killian on the streets they will alert Regina. Did you forget about the shoot to kill order?”

“That’s why Killian isn’t going.” Mary Margaret announced.

Killian’s heart sank. “If you think I’m letting Emma do this alone, I can assure you that you are wrong.”

“It’s too dangerous, if you go, we’ll be caught immediately. The only chance we have is if you stay behind.”

“She’s right.” Emma said softly beside him. “You’d never make it past the walls.”

He turned toward her, “We said we would do this together.”

“Killian, you put your life on the line to protect me, it’s time for me to return the favor. I can do this.”

“You’ll still be helpful from here.” Mary Margaret assured.

“How exactly would I be of help from the underground? Babysitting?” He said sarcastically.

“I can’t take Henry with me.”

“I was talking about Will.” He added, a small pout on his face that slowly turned into a smile.

“Cheeky bastard.” Will swore, sitting down at the table across from him.

“You’ll be on the communicator, you have the code, we’ll be your eyes, but you need to talk us through how to get to the office. We still need you.”

He nodded at the dark-haired woman standing in front of him. “Aye, then when do you leave?”

~*~

Emma cooed softly with her son in her arms, rocking back and forth in the middle of the room. “Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart. Never to part, baby of mine.” She ran her hand across his chubby little cheek as his bright blue eyes smiled up at her. She felt a tear slip onto her cheek.

“If anything goes wrong, promise me, you’ll take care of him.” She spoke softly, trying to keep her voice calm as she spoke.

“Love, nothing is going to go wrong. You get in, enter the code, upload the information, and get out.”

She looked up at Killian and smiled nervously. “I know, but just in case. Promise me.”

He stepped beside her and wrapped his arm around her, bending to place a soft kiss against her brow. “I will protect him with my life.”

“Thank you.” She smiled down at Henry as she placed him into his bed. Turning she wrapped her arms around Killian’s waist, enveloping herself in his scent as he pulled her against him.

“Stay close to Will.”

She laughed. “You know I could kick his ass, right?”

“For me, please, I need you to come home to me.” He almost begged, his voice cracking as he spoke. She melted into his embrace, feeling the gravity of the situation before her. She was so close to completing her mission, she wanted it to be over, to finally feel safe. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She heard a knock on the door causing them to break contact. “It’s time.” Will announced, sticking his head into the crack in the door.

She lifted her jacket from the chair beside her and pulled her arms through the sleeves. When she turned she saw Killian leaning over to pick Henry up from his bed. She held her breath, watching as the boy leaned his head against the man’s broad chest.

“Killian…” She said softly. “When I get back, we need to talk.”

His eyes met hers, full of worry and anxiety. “I've found when a woman says that I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

“Emma, we need to go.” Will pushed the door further open, stepping inside. “Sorry.”

“Go love, we’ll talk when you return.” He said with a smile and Emma crossed the room to press a kiss to her son’s head, leaning up on her toes to then meet Killian’s lips.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“I know you will.” He said with confidence before clearing his throat. “Stay close to her.” His remark was directed across the room to Will.

“I won’t let anything happen to her.” He said with a nod.

“I meant that so she could protect you.” He chuckled.

“Bugger off.” Will grumbled as he walked out of the door with Killian and Emma close behind.

Emma followed the group through the maze of dark halls until they reached a giant hanger with the sound of water all around them. Sitting at the end of the room was a small boat.

“Alright, we get in and we get right back out. That’s it. We have no room for error.” Mary Margaret stated firmly. “We can’t make any mistakes because we only have a few hours before David comes back to the office with that bucket of rust.”

Emma turned and wrapped her arms one more time around Killian’s neck, running her hand along the back of her son’s head. Leaning against his ear she whispered, “Take care of him, Henry.” She kissed her son and then smiled at Killian. “Be right back.” She stepped onto the boat and sat down in between Ruby and Will.

The boat pulled away from the bunker and she watched as Killian stood at the edge of the water, her son wrapped protectively in his arms, until the fog overtook them, and she was surrounded by darkness.

[losingmymindtonight]

been on a for-your-own-good imposed exile from my phone & social media since Friday, so what’s a gal gonna do except eat pizza, reread The Inheritance Cycle, and finish old fic drafts?

I humbly present: Peter can’t sleep, but Tony’s a father now, and he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.

--

Peter was okay.

He was. That wasn’t even him being self-sacrificing (like May thought) or deferring some kind of PTSD (like Tony thought) or anything. Most of the time, he was totally, completely, undeniably okay.

As a general rule, he just didn’t think about Thanos. He was too busy for that, with planning for his school’s Europe trip and patrolling and learning how to be a big brother to Morgan and resettling a whole apartment with May and rediscovering the absolute thrill of being alive along with the other fifty percent.

He had a good life, and considering everything that had happened, he was so, so lucky.

So, Peter was okay. Despite what Tony and May seemed to think.

He only ever had problems when the sun fell.

Vigilante by day, anxious wreck by night, he thought, more than a little bitter.

There was a bone-aching frustration that came with insomnia. He couldn’t sleep, but he was tired. God, he was so, so tired. His eyelids creaked, his face was tight and worn. Every inch of him was screaming for rest.

And yet, well, here he was: awake, staring at the ceiling, mind swirling down the inescapable drain of death throes and battle heat and the memory of his DNA vibrating apart.

He clenched his fists, then slowly pried them apart. His wrists hurt, yet his webshooters were comfortingly cool on his bare skin.

“Mister Parker,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. suddenly said, and Peter still jumped despite the fact her volume had been lowered and pitched into her softer night mode. “I apologize for the intrusion, but per my protocols, I am to alert Boss if you or Morgan are awake for longer than thirty minutes from the hours of 11:00 pm to 6:00 am. I thought it was only fair to warn you that he is en route to your bedroom and you should be prepared for his arrival.”

There was a time when an alert like that would’ve filled him with annoyance. A time when he would’ve met Tony at the door with a sharp reminder of, I’m almost an adult, I can take care of myself, on his tongue. Now, though, he just felt a dull splash of surprise.

“Mister Stark has rules for if I’m awake?” He asked the ceiling, blinking slowly at the smooth molding. It was different than the popcorn texture in his apartment. Probably easier to deal with when it came to painting.

As if on cue, his door swung open. A soft, yellowish bar of light flashed over his sheets and then collapsed in on itself with a distant click. Huh. So Tony thought that this needed to be a private conversation. 

“It’s called the Cradle Protocol,” Tony offered, and despite the fact that Peter hadn’t actually looked in his direction yet, he could hear the man’s smile in the warmth of the words, like curling into a fireside on a winter’s day. “You know, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh? Thought you spent most of your life wondering about pretty much everything.” His bedframe creaked as Tony settled down near his hip, and suddenly Peter didn’t have much of a choice but to stare up at the man, taking in the burn scars on his face and the gray in his hair and the quiet love in his eyes. “That’s what kids are best at.”

“I’m not really a kid anymore,” he whispered, but not a single inch of the words felt defiant. God, he wanted to be a kid again. He looked back on the moments he’d spent racing to adulthood and wanted to cry. Wanted desperately to hit rewind on all of it.

“All of us are kids, in the end,” Tony said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “And you’ll be my kid forever. Sorry. No exchanges or returns on that policy. It is how it is.”

Tony’s thumb brushed soothingly over his cheek as he spoke, and the contact was rough and calloused and so intensely familiar that Peter let his eyes squeeze shut against it, swallowing hard.

“I don’t want to exchange it,” he whispered, and somehow he felt a little ashamed to admit it. Like he was rearing up against the order of things. Or, like he was admitting the truth in a space where untruths were expected.

There was a pause. Peter blinked his eyes open again, and saw that Tony’s gaze had drifted away from him. He was looking up at the headboard, soft curves of sadness mellowing his face.

Finally, he breathed, eyes tracing their way back to Peter’s own, gentle yet intense.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Peter?”

It was a redundant thing to ask, and both of them knew it. There wasn’t a person in the world who couldn’t guess the why of that question. There were probably a million different people all around the world staring up at a million different ceilings, all cold-eyed and shivering because of the same goddamn reason.

“I don’t know,” he lied.

Was it still lying if everyone knew that what you were going to say was a lie before it even left your mouth?

Tony just nodded, like those three words had told him everything that he’d needed to know. For all Peter could figure, maybe they had.

“Alright.” Tony patted his thigh through the blankets, then stood. “C’mon. Get up.”

It probably said a lot about him, or maybe more about his relationship with Tony, that he was already climbing out of bed even as he muttered a halfhearted, “where’re we going?”

“On a mission,” Tony said, gently tugging one of Peter’s oldest and softest hoodies out of his closet and pushing it against his chest. “Put this on.”

He did as he was told, tottering lazily into the hallway, too exhausted to do anything but follow.

“What’s the mission?”

Tony glanced back just long enough for Peter to see the corner of his mouth quirk up. “I need to put my baby to sleep.”

If he hadn’t been so goddamn tired, he would’ve picked up on the wryness in Tony’s voice. As it was, he blinked hard, brain whirring against the fogginess.

“‘S Morgan awake?”

The question startled a bark of laughter out of Tony. “God, Pete. I can’t believe you’re even managing to walk in a straight line right now.”

They were at the front door, now, and Tony snatched the car keys off of their hook in the entryway and ushered him into the cool night air. Cricket chirps swelled all around them. Peter let his eyes drift shut at the sound, then smiled when he felt Tony snag the edge of his sleeve, gently guiding him over the gravel.

“Ought to get this paved, huh?” Tony muttered, almost to himself, but Peter let the words fall over him anyway. “Would make life a hell of a lot easier when we got those summer monsoons. Plus, less of a tripping hazards for the kiddos, especially when they’re half asleep.”

“‘M awake,” he protested.

“I know,” Tony said, almost under his breath. “I’m working on it.”

Peter heard a beep as one of the cars unlocked, and he forced his eyes back open. They were standing in front of Tony and Pepper’s minivan, something which Peter still couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Tony Stark owned a minivan. Sure, it was a nice minivan, with leather seats and F.R.I.D.A.Y. installed and parking sensors, but it was still a minivan.

“C’mon,” Tony muttered, using the hand that wasn’t braced against Peter’s back to pull open the passenger’s side door. “Slide in.”

He let Tony manhandle him into the seat, even though he could’ve easily done it on his own. The exhaustion had stripped his stubbornness away. The only thing left was a yearning urge to be protected, cradled, loved.

It was good, he supposed, that those three roles seemed to be Tony’s favorites to fulfill.

Tony got into the driver’s seat, then double-checked Peter’s seatbelt twice before starting the car. He cracked the back windows, and the cricket chirps and nature swell mixed hypnotically with the buzz and hum of the engine. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning his face in Tony’s direction when he felt the man’s eyes on him.

“You’re supposed to be looking where you’re drivin’,” he murmured, knowing that his smile was all drowsy and lopsided. He could feel them moving, though, so he wasn’t wrong.

“Nobody’s out this late.”

“Still need to stay on the road.”

“Oh, hush. I’ll take no driving smack from the child with a learner’s permit.”

He yawned. “Passed the test.”

“You sure did,” Tony murmured, pride warming the words. “I’ve got that picture that May took after hanging in my office.”

“I know.” A shard of longing pierced his chest. “Felt normal that day. Jus’ for a bit.”

He opened his eyes just in time to see guilt cascade over Tony’s face. Whoops. He really hasn’t meant to make his mentor sad. He was just loopy from all the sleepless nights, wading through the detachment weighing in his head. It was hard to stay conscious and keep his filter all at once.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Tony said, hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles flashed white under the occasional streetlamp. “I wish I could take it all away.”

Peter just blinked. God, he was tired. His brain ached with it.

“You can’t.”

And Tony couldn’t. Peter knew that. Iron Man could do a lot of things, even survive the constriction of space, but he couldn’t void memories. Nobody could.

“No,” Tony admitted, and even through the fuzziness in his head, Peter found the wherewithal to be surprised, “but I can be here.”

Peter let his eyes drift shut again. Somehow, that was all the fixing that he needed Tony to do. I can be here.

That was it, wasn’t it? It was why the memories of Thanos rung so clear at night and pitched silent during the day. Because Peter hadn’t really been afraid of dying during the battles. He’d been terrified, horrified, by the thought of being left alone.

And at night, in his bedroom, walls and doors and locks between Tony or May or anybody else who would stave off the quiet, that fear was so much easier to taste.

He was so, so afraid that at the end of it all, he’d been irreversibly alone.

“Can you talk to me?” He whispered.

He just wanted words. Something substantive in the nothingness of night. And Tony was only ever speechless when there was something to be afraid of.

He’d... He’d been silent when Peter had died. Had been silent after he’d done the Snap, too. The look on the man’s face, the lack of speech in the haze, had rung in Peter’s nightmares ever since.

He could hear the roughness in Tony’s voice when he responded, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about his silence on Titan, too. If he even remembered the stillness from the Compound’s dust.

“Of course, buddy.”

And he did. He talked about Rhodey and college and the first time he met Happy. Peter found himself drifting in and out as he rambled, although he never seemed to fully wrap his hand around true sleep. He’d nearly get there, Tony’s words fading into something he couldn’t quite comprehend, and then he’d recognize the shift and jolt himself out of it.

Somehow, it was even more frustrating than what he’d been doing before. At least then, he’d known he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Here, it kept dangling in front of him. And to make it worse, every aborted attempt at sleep felt like a failure. Like he’d screwed it all up, despite all the effort Tony was putting into helping him.

“Sorry,” Peter suddenly muttered, blinking away his most recent near-rest. Tony fell silent. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Shh, Pete,” Tony soothed, right hand abandoning the steering wheel and settling on his arm. “It’s not your fault. We’ll get there.”

“‘M trying.”

“I know you are. You’re doing great.”

For a breath, Tony just rubbed Peter’s arm, breath and nature filling the car.

“I used to do this for Morgan, you know,” he finally said, voice low. “Learned it within the first month. Think I must’ve put a thousand miles on the car, driving around just for some precious minutes of peace.”

“Ben used to drive me around when I was little,” Peter mumbled, twisting until he found a comfortable position: draped over the center console, head just inches away from Tony’s elbow. The console was leather and padded, which made it a surprisingly good pillow. Plus, he was close enough to pick up the steady thrumming of Tony’s heartbeat. “I didn’t like sleeping after my parents died. Car always worked, though. Dunno why.”

Tony’s hand settled on the top of his head, and a swoosh of comfort whisked from that one point all the way down to his toes. “It’s the vibrations from the engine. Low frequencies make us tired. It mimics the sensation of being rocked to sleep.”

He smiled. Trust Mister Stark to turn anything into a physics lesson. “‘S science,” he muttered.

Tony’s thumb swiped over his temple. “It’s science,” he repeated. “Do you want another story?”

Hmm. Yes. And he wanted Tony’s hand to stay right there, too. The tips of his fingers kept brushing over the nape of his neck, and the pattern was nice. Slow. The kind of monotony that was so easy to get lost in.

“Mm.”

“How about a special one?”

“Mm.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Tony said, laughter in the words. He sounded pleased, though. Peter was too busy falling asleep to figure out why. “Y’know, I never went to Queens much when I was a kid. Howard wasn’t a big fan. And then I didn’t have much of a reason to go once I was an adult. Everything I needed was in Manhattan or Malibu. Point is: imagine how surprised I was when a web-slinging vigilante actually forced me out there…”

Peter drifted off long before he could recognize that the story was about him.

--

Peter half-surfaced to the quiet thud of a car door opening, and the crunch of shoes on gravel.

It wasn’t the usual way he woke up. He’d gotten used to jolting into consciousness, sweat slicking his trembling limbs and damp sheets snarling all around him. It was a violent thing, full of heartbeat and rib-ache.

But this was soft. Warm. Safe hands slid under the back of his neck, his seat tilting back until he was lying almost completely flat. On instinct, his eyes flickered open, and he grinned sleepily at Tony, who shushed him in a barely-there murmur.

“Nice and easy, Pete,” Tony said, voice warm and safe and already blurring. “Now be a good boy and go back to sleep.”

And for once in Peter’s life, it was as simple as that.

[themissinggenius]

Part 2/2

Another conversation was coming, but it was avoided for the time being. Clarice showered in the guest bathroom; earlier, she had tried peering around the house—still mad but a bit embarrassed by the outburst. The door had been put back into place since she showered, and the water had been cleaned off of the floor. Hannibal was nowhere to be found. I really did it this time, she thought. Her body relaxed, and her face softened. She didn’t think it was appropriate to laugh, but the thought still surfaced, prompting a sad smile. I pushed around the violent centerpiece of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. And he just cried. Shithouse mouse. The smirk dissipated as she ruminated further... She had hit him. Being a domestic abuser wasn’t just rude; it was boringly common. 

She moved the thoughts about violence to the side and shifted her attention to the cause of the scuffle. I don’t know what he expected. Hannibal knows the depth of my old relationship with Jack, as much as he hated him. He told me to say goodbye to my father, so why not Jack?

Your daddy and Jackie Boy aren’t the same, she reminded herself. At this moment, she was both grateful and resentful that her internal voice of reason was that of her husband. At least it was helping her see his view. Okay, so the relationship isn’t necessarily comparable. But why would he think I wouldn’t come home? Did he really read my intentions so incorrectly?

Clarice laid awake in the guest bedroom for hours.

~~

Hannibal Lecter relies on his intuition; it may just be his most famous attribute. On rare occasion, though, his cunning will fail him. On the day that Jack Crawford died, it most certainly did.

However, he doesn’t know that yet. Instead, he is reclined in repose at the seat of his harpsichord which he does not play. As he is off in one of the ill-visited quarters of the home, Clarice would be unable to hear the notes carrying from her position in the guest room; even so, he does not play. Hannibal gleaned a look of disgust and frustration from her earlier, and thus, he was certain his Starling would take flight by the morning for reasons known but difficult to accept. There is no reason for him to play.

Poised on the bench, he disappeared to his memory palace without struggle. The difficulty came when he walked down the halls, closing each door that had belonged to her. Hannibal contemplated as he walked: There is a certain symmetry to this—an appreciable one. Clarice’s hotheadedness had been a defining feature of hers, whereas he relied on coolness. He chastised himself for his own emotional outburst; it was unlike him to breakdown, and though he had allowed himself to become vulnerable to his wife, with her likely departure, he had to withdraw from all this fragility. He had to shut down. He had to be the ice to meet her violent fire. 

Thus, he closed her doors, sealing the emotional ties within each.

~~

Hannibal emerged at the sound of her voice. He had not heard her approaching in nor had he smelled her. 

A few paces away from the harpsichord, Clarice stood. Hannibal had been contemplating whether to address her as Clarice (Perhaps too informal at this point...), Agent Starling (But even when she goes back, she won’t be an agent...), or Miss Starling (Ummmm, I don’t like this one very much...) when she interrupted.

“Hannibal,” she started. 

“Ah.” He paused but spoke again before she could continue. “I see you’ve finally decided to join me. Had enough tossing and turning up there, or did you come down to use me as your personal punching bag again?”

“No, no. I just think-”

He cut her off again. “You know what I think, Ex-Special Agent Starling?” Oooh. That works, he thought. “Well, actually I wonder. I wonder if that was how Daddy took care o’ Mommy when she wouldn’t shut ‘er yap.” His imitation of her accent—which she had long abandoned—made her flinch. “If Ma didn’t have dinner on the table at five-o-clock, yes siree, she’d be in some kinda trouble. And boy, does Clarice still wanna be like her Daddy! No matter what,” he emphasized with a drawl, “she’s gonna stand by him. It sure do seem that way tuh me!” Hannibal smirked, and his face betrayed no warmth.

The room had felt colder to Clarice when she had walked in. She had expected him to be upset, but she hadn’t expected this. The woman paused and considered the implications: her musings were correct. He really did misread her, and now he was trying to drive her away. Well fuck that. 

In their years of marriage, the couple had picked up on a few of each other’s traits. For one, Clarice was not going to allow a bit of intimidation break her. He came close to doing so in Baltimore, but he would not again. She steeled herself, adopting a bit of his icy demeanor.

“No, Hannibal. My father did not hit my mother. I think I would’ve told you by now, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away; rather, he just pursed his lips and smiled. 

Then, he began: “As you know, I don’t try to predict you because it often proves fruitless.” He looked off before setting his gaze squarely on her. “However, considering these... outbursts of yours and the contempt plain on your face, I have bought you a ticket back to Arlington in time for dear Mr. Crawford’s funeral. For my safety, I will also be leaving, but not to Virginia. I know how much you must miss Jackie; please, give him my regards when you go. Maybe if you scream and pound on his grave hard enough, someone will hear and they’ll finally find you... Three years after you were reported as a missing person.” Lecter’s eyebrows shot up, and he shrugged. “Though I doubt you’ll be reinstated, as you haven’t kept your resume up to date. It will be no problem for you, though, Clarice.” He gave her a kind, patronizing look. “You’re a very smart girl. When you rediscover that the FBI has no use for your intelligence, try showing off your trophies from the firing range. Maybe even tell them about your skills in hand-to-hand combat... I could write you a glowing reference!”

Hannibal was perfectly still in his seat with his wife just beyond him. He waited patiently for her to break. He wanted no end to be left untied when she left. Your turn.

“I see you still try and lick tears after you’ve tired of tasting your own.” Clarice took a slow step toward him. She needed to crack his facade quickly. “Fortunately or unfortunately, I have no intention of moving back to the States. I find that I’m quite happy right here.”

Only she could have noticed the slight twitch of the doctor’s right eye upon this admission. And she did.

Starling inched closer. “Now, about this ‘contempt plain on my face’...” She mirrored his voice and flat expression; her imitation was even better than his had been. “Did ya happen to consider that it’s because you just tried to tear me apart—unsuccessfully, I might add? Let me tell you what I know, Doctor.” She hammed up the formality in her tone. “I know you’re not comfortable feeling worried about another person. I know that you felt vulnerable when I was gone, and I know you didn’t like that.” 

She paused, remaining collected. She raised her voice a tad for this last bit. “Lastly, I know that you ASSUMED. And if there is one—just one!—good thing that goddamned Jack Crawford taught me over the years,” she laughed, “it’s that, when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME. Trust me, baby, you did just that. And despite what your intuition told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She did it. The true stoic’s face had broken, and Hannibal the Cannibal sat, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth and then closed it. She continued.

“I’m sorry that you misread my motivations. I spent yesterday reflecting on how I had gotten to this point, and I had come home feeling glad. I was planning on going upstairs to find you, drawing a bath for the both of us, and then dancing later on in the evening. Your assumption got us a bit sidetracked, though.” Looking down at her watch, it was 2am. Holy crap. She focused back on him and noted that he was still unmoving but appeared less rigid than before. The room felt like it had finally warmed up.

Clarice took a last step towards her husband. Now above him, looking down, she said, “I am sincerely sorry for hitting you, Hannibal.”

Finally, he stirred. “Clarice, I have not once so much as laid a finger on you in anger...”

“I know. Ironic, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

His wife smirked at that, and he returned the favor. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Anyway, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You know what else won’t happen again?” She held his chin and spoke softly. “You doubting us. I’m with you for the long haul. Where the hell did you even think I was going?”

“Ummmm. To be candid, I’m unsure of what I thought your plan was. I assumeddddd,” he looked up at her teasingly, “that you were leaving because of a change in heart.”

“My, Dr. Lecter, you didn’t have every one of my steps planned out before I could even think of them? What have I done to you?”

“I can now definitively say that you bring out the worst in me.”

Clarice laughed and sat down next to him. “Crying? And worrying?” She was feeling more relaxed, placing her hand on his leg as she started laughing harder. “Why am I not surprised that you consider that to be Hannibal Lecter at his worst?”

Her husband just smiled back at her. She saw his cheeks blush almost imperceptibly, which then prompted a further fit. It wasn’t long before they were both laughing.

“You had better... go back... into that memory palace of yours... and open up my doors ASAP,” Clarice ordered while catching her breath.

“And how did you—?”

“You were sitting on that bench for quite a while before I called out to ya. Try not to forget about me so soon, huh?”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.” Never again, he added silently. “But I must ask... Would I be incorrect in assuming you still want to dance?”

Clarice smiled widely. Hannibal shifted in his seat and began to play.

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 19 - History

“Let me help you relax,” she says, and she immediately presses her lips to yours in a kiss that takes you completely by surprise. But the sweetness of her lips quickly becomes too difficult to resist, and before you know it you are returning her kiss deeply, her tongue swiping lightly across your lips in a bid to enter your mouth.

“Bora,” you manage to say, “your students are right there, and you have a boyfriend,” you say matter-of-factly. And it was true; the nearest students were no more than twenty feet away, and at any moment any one of them could walk by and see what was going on.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t give a damn, and forget my students,” Bora replies, “what about your girlfriend?”

“She wouldn’t care. I think it would turn her on, to be honest. But she might care if your students caught us making out in the middle of a class she’s teaching.”

Bora brings her mouth to your ear, her voice barely heard above the loud music as she says, “I think we both need a little escape from all this. And also… Who says we’re just going to be making out?”

Seoul’s central police precinct was a hub of activity, but the small meeting room you and your team found yourselves in remained almost uncomfortably quiet.

Forty eight hours have passed since you’d received that mysterious text in the middle of the night, and an equal amount of time since anyone had last heard from Choa and Jeongyeon. The hope that perhaps their phones had run out of battery or some other reasonable explanation had long since died, and genuine concern that something serious had happened to them gripped what remained of your team.

Across the table Seolhyun is nervously fidgeting, scribbling angrily with a pen in her notebook or biting her fingernails. In the chair next to you Momo’s elbows are on the table, her fingertips massaging her temples. You reach over and try, in vain, to ease her mind by massaging the tense muscles of her shoulders.

After what seems like a lifetime the door finally opens and Park Jihyo enters. She is accompanied by another male officer whose clothing and wealth of tattoos make him seem a little bit like he could be a criminal himself, were it not for the badge worn on a chain around his neck and the holstered pistol at his hip.

“This is Detective Park Jaebeom, Organized Crime Unit,” Jihyo says by way of introduction, as she stands by the head of the table and drops a tablet on it.

“Jay is fine,” the officer says with a nod towards you and your team.

“Organized Crime?” Seolhyun asks, “so we’re assuming something bad has happened to Choa and Jeongyeon?”

“Given recent events and the text message sent after their disappearance, yes, we are operating under that assumption. As missing persons cases are beyond my jurisdiction and the assumption is that Red Velvet has a hand in this, Jay here has been assigned the case. I’ll continue to assist, but he will be lead investigator.”

Next to you Momo has covered her mouth with her hands in a vain attempt to hide her shock. You had to admit the seriousness with which the police were handling this case, and in particular the involvement of someone who usually dealt with gangsters and mobsters, made you fear for Choa and Jeongyeon’s safety.

“We’ll be investigating all possibilities,” Jay begins, “including the possibility that they were involved in an incident like a car accident or something else that doesn’t necessarily involve foul play. We’ll be contacting local hospitals to see if they’ve been admitted.”

“It’s fucking Red Velvet,” Seolhyun snaps impatiently, “who else could it be?”

“We need to investigate all the possibilities,” Jay continues, “and Red Velvet will certainly be at the top of that list. Jihyo has given me a brief summary, but I’ll need to speak to each of you individually to get the details. She also tells me you guys have combed through the data on their servers?”

“We made a copy of it, yes,” you answer, “and we were in the midst of going through it trying to find something that might lead us to Irene, their leader.”

“I know her well,” Jay answers, a dark look on his face. There was something in the way he reacted to her name that led you to believe there was history between him and Red Velvet’s leader.

“This tablet has a full copy of everything of note that we found on their server,” Jihyo says, picking up the iPad she had laid on the table, “organized by every case Red Velvet has been involved in.”

Jihyo hands the tablet to Jay, who scans the data. The female detective looks at him nervously, as though wondering whether or not she should say something.

“...including the Sistar studio case,” she adds.

At the mention of the name Jay pauses and sighs, an unreadable expression on his features. Whatever Sistar meant to him, it wasn’t good.

“How can we help?” Momo asks, recovering sufficiently from her earlier shock and rediscovering her desire to help find her missing friends.

“This is potentially a criminal case,” Jay answers, turning from the table, tablet in hand, as he begins to exit the room, “and no place for civilians. We will handle this.”

“There must be something we can do,” Seolhyun says, desperate to do something.

Jay pauses at the door, his hand on the doorknob. There is a seriousness in his tone and in his eyes that was not there when he entered the room.

“Comb through Red Velvet’s data again. Let me know if you find anything that might be helpful. But don’t do anything stupid. Stay out of this case.”

The detective leaves the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving the four of you to return to an uncomfortable silence.

---

“So what the hell is that guy’s problem?” Seolhyun asks, her mouth half full of hamburger as Jihyo sits down to join the three of you at the fast food joint across the street from the police station.

Jihyo takes a moment to compose her answer as she pops her straw into her drink and takes a sip.

“He has… history with Red Velvet.”

“Go on,” Seolhyun prods.

“I don’t know all the details, to be honest,” Jihyo admits, “but apparently he’s been involved with them before. Rumor has it Red Velvet went after his girlfriend. I’m not sure what the circumstances were, but he’s definitely not a fan of them.”

“That could be a good thing, I guess? At least he’s motivated,” you note.

“Then how the hell did he get assigned to this case? Doesn’t his history with Red Velvet compromise his judgement?” Momo asks.

“Normally, it would,” Jihyo answers, “but as far as his boss is concerned, this is a potential kidnapping case involving organized crime elements, nothing more. I suspect he just neglected to tell his boss Red Velvet was involved.”

“Please don’t call it kidnapping,” Momo says, a sad look in her eyes. Jihyo realises her mistake and rubs the back of Momo’s hand.

“We’ll find Choa and Jeongyeon,” the detective assures her, “and after we do, we’ll find Irene and make her pay.”

“What do you know about what happened between him and Red Velvet? You mentioned a girlfriend?” you ask, eager to know more about the man spearheading the effort to find your colleagues.

“Like I said, I don’t know much. I know she works at a small dance studio on the other side of town, but that’s about it. There was one other girl involved too - Jay’s girlfriend’s best friend. The other girl works at a bar.”

“We should go talk to them. Maybe they know something about Irene that could help us,” Momo suggests.

“I suppose I could dig up the names and the addresses of their workplaces from police records,” Jihyo offers, “but as a police officer myself I can’t officially question them if it’s not part of our active investigation. Someone else would have to speak to them - off the record, of course.”

“Momo and I can go speak to Jay’s girlfriend,” you say, “she can translate if she doesn’t speak English. Seolhyun, you can talk to the girl at the bar. Let’s regroup at the hotel in three hours.”

“Listen,” Jihyo says, measuring her words, “it’s important that the three of you realize that it’s entirely possible this could all be a misunderstanding, or that an unfortunate non-malicious mishap like a car accident or something has happened to your friends. Let’s not assume they’ve been kidnapped until we’re sure of it.”

The three of you nod in reply - a small part of you hoped that at any moment Choa or Jeongyeon would call and say their cell phones had died or something, and that all this was for nought, but the larger, more practical part of you knew that the chances of that happening were slim.

After finishing your meal, you and Momo flag down a cab and head to the address Jihyo supplied you.

---

Yoon Bora danced like her body was made of liquid.

You’d watched plenty of dancers in their element in your time - Momo herself was no slouch, and she loved to dance whenever she had the chance - but Bora was on a different level. She was not a precise, technical dancer; instead she danced as if the music flowed through her veins, and her long, limber limbs moved to the rhythm and beat to their own accord.

Momo appears entranced by the older woman as she completes her routine in the small dance studio, just as enraptured as the dozen or so students watching Bora and her two backup dancers work through the song. The two backup dancers were certainly not terrible, but whereas it was obvious they were putting tremendous effort into each and every move, Bora danced as if the various moves were as natural to her as breathing.

With one last flourish the song ends, and Bora’s students join you and Momo in enthusiastic applause. In Korean, the young woman dismisses her students with a wide smile before retreating to a nearby bench to take a sip of water and towel down the sweat running down her face and neck.

You approach her, somewhat hesitantly, with Momo by your side, neither of you quite knowing how to start a conversation. You make eye contact with Momo, and she takes the hint and greets Bora in Korean.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Momo says softly, adding a small bow when Bora turns to the both of you.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Bora replies, adding a small bow of her own in greeting, a hesitant smile on her lips.

“Ahhh….” Momo stammers as she struggles to remember the Korean words for what she wants to say. She stares blankly at Bora and back at you, before bringing her hands together and forming a circle with her fingers, as if she was trying to describe something using sign language.

“Nae… ileum? Ileum...eun…”

“Can I… help you?” Bora answers, her English heavily accented but nonetheless easy to understand.

Momo and you simultaneously let out a sigh of release at the fact that Bora could at least converse in English. You quickly introduce yourself and Momo.

“You’re an amazing dancer,” you say.

“Thanks. Dancing is my… passion,” Bora replies, taking a second to come up with the correct English word.

We were hoping to speak to you,” you begin, “about Red Velvet.”

A sudden look of concern washes over Bora’s features.

“Are you… with the police?”

“No,” Momo says, “but we want to find and catch Red Velvet.”

“How did you know who I am?”

“We have a friend in the police who gave us your information,” you explain, “because we’re dealing with Red Velvet and we were told you’d dealt with them in the past.”

“I… I don’t want to talk about them,” Bora replies, quickly turning and starting to pack her water bottle and towel into a small backpack.

“Please,” Momo pleads, “we think they were involved in kidnapping our friends. We could use your help.”

Bora pauses for a moment, as though weighing Momo’s words in her head and wondering whether she really wanted to speak further about a subject that had clearly triggered her. She finishes packing her things and zips up her backpack before sighing deeply to herself.

“You can buy me coffee first,” she says, before walking past the both of you towards the exit.

---

The nearby coffee shop that Bora leads the both of you to is small but cozy, and mostly empty save for a couple of students studying for an exam and a young couple keeping to themselves in a corner booth. It certainly wasn’t the most affluent neighborhood, and it was a far cry from the hyper modern buildings of downtown Seoul. But the coffee shop nonetheless had a certain old school charm about it that appealed to you, the slightly old fashioned decor and abundance of small, kitschy decorations somehow making the place feel more comfortable than the cold, cookie-cutter hipster coffee places that littered the trendier parts of South Korea’s capital.

Momo approaches the table where you and Bora are waiting, three iced americanos on her small tray. The three of you take a drink and a sip before Momo asks the first question.

“We’ve heard that you have history with Red Velvet. Can you tell us what happened?”

Bora looks out the window with an unreadable look on her face. You take a moment to appreciate her beauty for the first time - she was certainly beautiful, with a fit dancer’s body to match, but what struck you most was the look of utter contentment she had while dancing; that look was far from her features now, replaced with a look of concern as she relives memories that were probably painful.

“Three years ago, my best friend and I were head instructors at a dance studio in the less-wealthy part of town, not too far from here,” she begins, “We had two other friends who came from wealthy families - they were our primary investors, and they paid for pretty much everything. The four of us were really close… like sisters. In fact, we called the studio Sistar.”

Bora takes a sip of her coffee, the look on her face telling you and Momo that she was about to relive unpleasant memories.

“One day, someone from Red Velvet approached us with an offer to buy the studio. They didn’t care about the business; SM just wanted to buy the building it was in so they could demolish it and throw up a new building. We refused them; we loved our studio and we loved our students. It was a rough neighborhood, and we knew that dancing kept these kids from becoming involved in crime. My boyfriend - he’s a policeman. He saw the positive impact it had on these kids. He told me that dancing kept them off the streets, where they’d become recruits for local gangs.”

You share a knowing look with Momo, knowing now why Jay was so passionate about whatever had happened between Bora and Red Velvet.

“Anyway, Red Velvet became more and more insistent. And one day, our two friends - the ones that were the owners and ran all the financials - they decided to sell the studio.”

“Do you know why?” Momo asks.

“No,” Bora replied, her eyes cast downward as she begins to struggle to relate her story, “we never really knew why. Soyou and Dasom - they disappeared. They were our two closest friends, and one day suddenly they were gone.”

“My god,” Momo comments, “do you know what happened to them?”

“We found out later that they fled overseas. My best friend and I think maybe Red Velvet threatened them. Hyorin - my best friend - thinks their families were threatened. Either way, they decided to sell the studio, and SM took over. They demolished the building and threw up an ugly building made of glass and concrete to house one of their offices.”

“Bora,” you begin slowly, “did you come across anything that might help us track them down? A contact number, or an email address? Did they leave anything behind?”

“I don’t remember,” she answers, “it was a long time ago. And it was… tough.”

Momo leans forward and rubs the back of Bora’s hand, trying to give the woman some solace despite being a stranger. The older woman manages a weak smile, appreciating the gesture even if it wasn’t very effective at chasing away the demons of her past.

“I kept a directory of documents from that time on my computer back at the studio, including emails and other things,” Bora says, “maybe there might be something in there. I’d show it to you, but I have another class to teach in ten minutes…”

“I’ll teach it!” Momo offers, the eagerness in her tone surprising the both of you, “I’ve taught a few dance classes back when I was in school. Is it a hip hop class? Modern dance? Jazz? Teenagers? Little kids?”

“Modern dance, actually. Teenagers… and you’ll have to teach in Korean…”

“Dance is a universal language! I can do it!”

Bora takes a moment to weigh Momo’s offer, the younger girl’s enthusiasm at the prospect of teaching teenagers to dance finally convincing her. There is a brightness in Momo’s face that you hadn’t seen in awhile.

“Okay,” Bora answers, Momo’s enthusiasm having convinced her.

Momo nods happily as the three of you get up, Bora walking Momo through the outline of her class as you leave the coffee shop and head back towards the studio.

---

Off to one side of Bora’s small dance studio is a large room divider made of several rectangular cubed bookcases, each filled with a fitted box that students used to store their belongings during dance classes. It also served as a makeshift room divider, with the other side of the bookcases serving as a small office area with a table and a computer that you assumed was used for the dance studio’s administrative records.

After Bora takes a few minutes to introduce Momo to her class and ensure she was on the right track, she joins you in the small office area where you’ve already started going through the emails, spreadsheets, and other documents on her computer.

“Anything you need in there?” Bora asks, raising her voice slightly to ensure you heard her over the booming music that dominated the dance studio.

“No, nothing yet,” you reply, scanning each document for an email address, or contact number, or anything that might lead you even a little closer to Irene. While most documents were in Korean, email addresses and phone numbers used the alphabet and numerals, and so you would occasionally point these out to Bora, who would explain who the email address or phone number belonged to.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” Bora says, “but I tried pretty hard to erase everything that happened from my memory. I’ve tried my hardest to move on.”

“I know,” you reply, “and I’m sorry for asking you to relive all of it. But we’re trying to bring Red Velvet to justice, and I hope you can help us do that.”

“I know,” the dancer replies, her eyes cast downward, “and I want to help you. If Red Velvet had my friends, I know I’d do everything I could to get them back and make Red Velvet pay.”

You give her a small nod as you put aside another close a PDF you were scanning through and open the next document in the folder.

“Your girlfriend is really in love with you,” Bora says with a glance back towards the dance floor, “it’s obvious by the way she looks at you.”

“She is,” you agree, “and I’m thankful for her everyday. And it’s partially why I want to put Irene behind bars. I want to make sure she can’t ever hurt Momo.”

Bora nods, a small smile on her lips.

“She’s a very lucky girl.”

You return Bora’s smile, but you quickly return your attention to her documents. A few minutes pass, but there is nothing in her computer that can help you.

“Dammit,” you swear softly as you close the last document. You bury your face in your hands on the desk, the frustration of knowing you were no closer to Irene than you were that morning finally getting to your nerves.

Bora reaches over and rubs your forearm.

“I’m sure something will come up. Maybe your friend will have had better luck with Hyorin.”

“I hope so. I’m so frustrated - I feel like I want to punch something. How can I sit here doing nothing, knowing my friends have probably been kidnapped?”

The music track booming over the studio’s speaker changes to a new song, and you listen to Momo speak in more-than-slightly broken Korean as she tries to explain the next routine to Bora’s students. As the song starts up and the sound of squeaking shoes once again fills the studio, Bora rises from her seat and, much to your surprise, sits in your lap. You are painfully aware of the tightness of her yoga pants and her scant sports bra, the thin, form fitting clothing failing to disguise her well shaped body and the toned muscles beneath it all.

“Let me help you relax,” she says, and she immediately presses her lips to yours in a kiss that takes you completely by surprise. But the sweetness of her lips quickly becomes too difficult to resist, and before you know it you are returning her kiss deeply, her tongue swiping lightly across your lips in a bid to enter your mouth.

“Bora,” you manage to say, “your students are right there, and you have a boyfriend,” you say matter-of-factly. And it was true; the nearest students were no more than twenty feet away, and at any moment any one of them could walk by and see what was going on.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t give a damn, and forget my students,” Bora replies, “what about your girlfriend?”

“She wouldn’t care. I think it would turn her on, to be honest. But she might care if your students caught us making out in the middle of a class she’s teaching.”

Bora brings her mouth to your ear, her voice barely heard above the loud music as she says, “I think we both need a little escape from all this. And also… Who says we’re just going to be making out?”

Before you can react Bora has returned her mouth to yours, and her tongue quickly finds passage into your mouth, grazing your teeth before her lips seal against yours and she kisses you deeply. Her slim hand reaches between your bodies, and you realize that she is quickly working your belt and button of your jeans loose.

You want to resist for any one of a million reasons - you had just met her, you didn’t really know what her intentions were, and there were students just a few feet away from the both of you, for starters - but the fact that you could both be caught at any moment brought new excitement to the act, and you found yourself not resisting at all as Bora finally manages to undo your button and slip her slim hand into your pants.

You gasp involuntarily at the feel of her hand cupping your already half-hard cock over your boxers. All the while she is exploring your mouth with her tongue, and you find yourself unable to resist pressing your own tongue against hers, duelling madly against it while her hand continues to stroke your rapidly hardening shaft.

Bora breaks the kiss, and without wasting a single moment she dives into your neck, planting passionate, almost frenzied kisses there. Freed from her lips, you take a moment to fully grasp what was going on - Momo was not even thirty feet away from you teaching a dozen teenagers a hip hop dance routine, and here you were, knowing at any moment that any one of those students could walk in and find their instructor stroking you to hardness.

The sheer audacity of what Bora was doing was exhilarating, to say the least, and you quickly find your shaft at full attention, the cotton of your boxers already moist with your pre-cum. Bora rises from your neck, a wicked look on her well-sculpted features as she raises her hand, and, with a quick, deft motion, slips it into your boxers.

The first touch of skin-to-skin contact between her hand and your hard shaft sends spikes of electricity shooting up and down your spine, and it is a current that quickly escalates in voltage as Bora quickly begins to stroke you up and down, her small hand closing around your cock and pumping up and down.

“Fuck, Bora,” you say into her ear, thankful at least that the loud volume of the music in the studio would likely mean no one but her could hear you.

“Feel good?” Bora replies into your own ear, “I bet it does… but we better make this quick, the lesson will end in ten minutes…”

You lift your head from against Bora’s, taking a moment to bring yourself face to face with her. And you are more than a little satisfied to find a flush on her cheeks, her eyes already drunk with lust as she continues to grasp your shaft and jerk it with quick pumps of her wrist and forearm. A sly smile appears on your face as a devilish thought crosses your mind.

You rise from the chair, Bora quickly taking the hint as she hops off your lap. Without giving her any time to react, you grab her by the hips and face her towards the bookcase; pressing softly on her back, she quickly realizes what you want to do, and she leans forward against the bookcase, bracing herself on it with her hands.

Hooking your thumbs on the waistband of her yoga pants, you quickly draw the skintight material down, exposing her round, full ass as you strip the pants down to her mid thigh, smiling as you notice that she wasn’t wearing underwear underneath them. Giving her as little time as she gave you, you quickly press your right palm flat against her hip before sliding it downward and quickly finding the heat of her crotch with your fingertips.

From this position there was almost nothing separating her from the dance lesson going on mere feet away from her. Were one to look closely, a student would have no trouble seeing her body pressed against the bookcase through the small spaces between the fitted boxes and the bookshelf itself. This was to say nothing of the fact that any one of them could simply walk right around the bookcase…

You are thankful once again for the volume of the music, because the fact that even you heard the loud gasp that escapes Bora’s mouth as you make first contact with her pussy means that it was probably a loud sound indeed. You are more than satisfied to find that she was absolutely drenched, the audacity of the act and extremely high possibility of getting caught in it driving up her pleasure, even before you touched her.

And so your middle finger finds no resistance whatsoever when it slips between the slick lips of her pussy and into the silky embrace of her body. Simultaneously you press forward with your hips, and your shaft presses against the naked, soft skin of her ass, your length nicely wedged between her cheeks.

Bora turns her head enough for you to see her mouth opening in a frozen, silent gasp of pleasure, her hands grasping the exposed shelf of the bookcase in a vain attempt to ground herself amidst the pleasure very quickly building in her body. With one hand she reaches back behind her own head until she finds your own, and she turns her head enough for you to lean forward yourself and crush her lips with yours in a passionate kiss.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp as the newer, closer position of your bodies presses your hard, leaking cock against the small of her back. You watch her lust-drunk eyes hold contact with you as she opens her mouth and mouths two words - you don’t hear them, but you sure as hell knew what she was saying.

“Fuck me.”

You take half a step back and line up the head of your shaft between Bora’s ass cheeks, searching for and quickly finding the hot wetness of her entrance. Then, wasting no time, you quickly press forward with your hips, slowly burying yourself into her slick, wet body.

You worry for a second that her students might hear the loud gasp that leaves her throat as you enter her, but you are convinced, in that second, that the entire class could have walked around the bookcase and found you balls deep inside Bora - and it wouldn’t have stopped you from fucking the delicious young dance instructor.

Remembering, suddenly, that there was less than ten minutes left in Momo’s dance lesson, you quickly grasp Bora’s wide, firm hips with both hands and establish a quick, rapid rhythm of thrusts into her slick pussy. There was no time for slow build up, no time to relish the slow rise of pleasure in your bodies. Not now, not with a dozen teenagers a few feet away presenting the threat of discovery, and not with the hard time limit presented by the end of their class.

And so you quickly begin fucking Bora against the bookcase, relishing the feel of her wet, tight pussy wrapped around your shaft, grasping each inch of your cock as it drives in and out of her body. You equally appreciate the sight of her round, soft ass cheeks as they are rocked with each thrust, and you are disappointed for a moment that you weren’t able to view more of her tight, fit body - not that you had any right to complain, not while you were fucking her against a bookshelf, a mere random glance on the part of any of the dozen students enough to get you both caught.

Despite the speed of your thrusts, you do your best to relish every entry and exit into her body, glancing down and enjoying the sight of your shaft, liberally lubricated with her juices, plunging in and out between Bora’s ass cheeks. You watch, delighted, as her round cheeks are shaken with each crash of your hips against them, enjoying the feel of her warm butt against your pelvis with each thrust.

She was slick, so very slick, but also very tight; part of it was the position, part of it was the gradually build up of pleasure that caused her pussy to tighten around you; but even without those factors Bora was still so tight around your shaft, squeezing you so much you thought she might crush you inside her body.

For her part, Bora seemed to be enjoying the session just as much, if not more, than you were - the tightening of her body around you and the white knuckle grip she had on the bookshelf wood telling you she was just fine with the liberties you were taking with her body, not caring about slow ramping up of speed or depth of thrusts, caring simply about fucking; about penetrating her pussy, driving your rock hard shaft in and out of her willing body as quickly as your hips would allow. She didn’t care, didn’t even want foreplay or gentleness; all she wanted, all she cared about was the thick shaft penetrating her wanton pussy over and over again and the pleasure it caused to surge throughout her body.

And so you aren’t surprised at all when her pussy tightens significantly around you as she reaches back with her right hand, her fingers turning into claws as they bury themselves into your forearm seeking some sort of release for the pleasure coursing throughout her body. The only surprise in your mind is how quickly the pleasure was ramping up in her body, and how quickly she had come to the precipice of orgasm.

She turns her head, and she leans back enough that you take it as a hint to bring your own head forward, thankful that you are endowed enough and she flexible enough to continue to fuck while your bodies were almost standing vertically, her back pressed against your chest. You take the opportunity to wrap your right arm around her torso, grasping the bottom hem of her  light green sports bra before pulling upward, letting her soft, round breasts bounce free; her chest was on full display now, as if having her pants pulled down to her thighs and being fucked against the bookshelf was not risky enough. You quickly grasp her left breast with your palm, squeezing the mound of flesh tightly, igniting another source of pleasure in Bora’s body.

That was when one of her students decided to retrieve a water bottle from one of the fabric boxes that filled the bookcase.

It is with no small sense of fear when you both realize that the student has chosen a box that is only two squares away from Bora’s exposed breasts and torso as you fucked her. You both watch, frozen, as the fabric box disappears from the bookcase, and you both listen as the student pops open the water bottle cap and presumably takes a few sips of water.

The risk of being caught is so near, so high - but it only made the situation more intensely hot.

And so you begin fucking Bora again, giving her long, slow thrusts with your shaft, and her body jerks and quivers with each thrust, knowing full well that she was just a wayward glance or a small sound away from being caught fucking a man she had just only met, and in the same room as one of her dance lessons, no less.

Her pussy tightens around your shaft as if reflecting her nervousness at the heightened possibility of being caught, her entire body taut with fear and anxiousness and intense lust,  and the feel of her body quickly becomes unbearable. Your hand squeezes a little tighter around her breast, and you could swear you could feel her heart pounding against your palm.

It takes what seems like an eternity, but finally the student finishes their water break. Tossing the bottle back into the fabric box, he or she shoves it back into the bookcase, making the only barrier between you and the rest of the class whole again.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum,” she says as soon as the student rejoins the class, the sounds unmistakable even given the loud music that was quickly reaching its crescendo. You are surprised she was close to cumming so soon, but at the same time, given the nearness of your own orgasm, you supposed that maybe you shouldn’t be surprised.

“Cum for me, Bora,” you manage to hiss into her ear, delighting in the effect of your words on her features as the pleasure quickly becomes too much for her small body to handle. Her orgasm is quick and short, but extremely intense, if the quivering, shaking mess that it reduces her to is any indication.

You don’t slow your thrusts as she cums, happy to feel the pulsing, tightening flesh around your shaft as you continue to hammer in and out of her slick, hot pussy. The song playing in the studio maybe had another minute or two to go, and then after then Momo might be able to buy you another minute as she dismissed the class - regardless, your time was quickly running out.

Not that you had any trouble cumming quickly, what with the feel of Bora’s orgasming pussy pulsating around your shaft as you fuck her. You quickly let go of any pretense of holding back your orgasm, quickly giving into your desire to cum inside this young woman’s body, to paint her pussy with white semen.

Bora recovers enough from her own orgasm to realize that the quickening of your thrusts means you are also approaching that wonderful plateau she is currently enjoying, and she somehow gathers the wherewithal to ensure you followed her into bliss as she presses her face against yours and uses her voice to push you over the edge.

“Fill me with your cum. Quick… fucking cum in me… faster.. Fuck me faster… harder... fill me up with cum!”

Her pleads have the same effect on you that yours had on her, and with one last, deep thrust into her wet heat, you finally begin to cum, your shaft pulsing as it sends stream after stream of hot, thick semen into Bora’s slick, hot pussy.

Bora opens her mouth at the feel of you filling her with your cum, and you are thankful that you are aware enough to realize that the song playing in the studio was winding down - quickly, you press your free palm against her open mouth, just tightly enough to stifle the long, high pitched moan that escapes her mouth.

Not even thirty feet away, Momo has begun to thank the students for their effort, and you are thankful to hear that the students are clapping in appreciation and have begun to ask her questions, thus keeping them unaware just long enough for a stranger to finish pumping hot semen into their regular dance instructor from just behind the bookcase in the same room.

You finally finish depositing your load of semen into Bora’s body, and as much as you would have loved to keep thrusting into her body and the slick mess you’ve made of her pussy, you regretfully pull out slowly, the sensitive skin of your shaft creating aftershocks of pleasure as you finally remove yourself from her. You are satisfied to stare at the creamy, slick mess of her pussy as you slump back into the chair and quickly button up your pants once more. Bora takes a little longer to recover from her orgasmic bliss to pull up her yoga pants, thankful that they were dark enough to hide any resulting stain your combined juices were about to make on the thin fabric.

Bora finds enough strength to stare enticingly at you, biting her lip seductively before she pulls her sports bra down and covers her naked breasts once more. She does so just in time, as the students have begun to walk towards the bookcases and withdraw the boxes within them to retrieve their belongings until the bookcases are basically hollow and see-through.

Momo turns the corner past the bookcases, her face flushed with exertion but nonetheless wearing a look of eager accomplishment. Completely oblivious to what you and Bora had just done, there is a bright smile on her face as she asks, “So, find anything?”

---

“Nothing,” Seolhyun replies with an exasperated sigh, “Hyorin told me all about what happened but didn’t have anything that could lead us to Irene.”

“We didn’t find anything either,” you answer, although Momo gives you a knowing smirk; you and Bora had confessed to her about your little liaison during her dance class, and while she was grudgingly impressed that you were able to have sex in the same room without being caught, she was nonetheless disappointed that she wasn’t able to join in, especially given your adventures with Jihyo earlier in the week.

“Bora and Hyorin are dead ends,” Momo says, a look of disappointment on her face, “and we’re not any closer to finding Irene. Any word from the police?”

Jihyo takes a moment to compose herself, or perhaps to prepare herself for the reaction her words are likely to receive.

“My team has canvassed local hospitals to see if Choa or Jeongyeon were checked in,” Jihyo says, “but they haven’t found anything either. Jay called a meeting an hour ago and he’s escalated the case - the two are now officially missing persons, and foul play is officially suspected.”

Momo, Seolhyun and yourself had of course suspected that Red Velvet was involved, but to lose your last hopes of your friends’ disappearance being chalked up to a misunderstanding or mishap was still a blow; to hear that foul play was officially suspected suddenly brought new weight to the situation, and made the situation a lot more real and intense. The thought that something bad had happened to Choa and Jeongyeon, that their safety and even their lives were in danger, was almost unbearable.

“Oh my god,” Momo gasps, and Seolhyun’s only reaction is to bring a hand to cover her open mouth in shock.

“There must be something we can do,” you tell Jihyo, desperate to be able to do something, anything, to aid in the search.

“Unfortunately, what Jay said earlier still holds true,” the young detective replies, “this is officially a criminal investigation now. We’re on it. And now the best thing you can do is stay safe in your hotel rooms. There’s no telling what Red Velvet is capable of, and as you three are potential targets, we need you to remain safe and secure.”

Jihyo continues to speak after that regarding what the protocol for this type of case was, and what you should do if Red Velvet tried to contact you, but though your ears hear her words your brain doesn’t process them, for you are too lost in worry for your missing friends.

Suddenly overcome by anger - at Red Velvet, at the police for their perceived lack of action, at yourself for being powerless to do anything - you storm out of the hotel lobby.

---

In a dark, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Seoul, Park Choa and Yoo Jeongyeon are huddled together in a dark room.

“I’m scared, unnie,” Jeongyeon says softly. The young girl had tried to put on a brave face throughout their ordeal, but now, almost two days since they were kidnapped, her reserves of strength were beginning to run out.

Choa wraps her arms around the younger girl, stroking her hair with one hand as she rubs her shoulder with the other.

“Our friends will find us,” she says softly, “and these assholes won’t hurt us. They just want money. They don’t want to hurt us…”

Whether she believed those words was a different matter altogether, but Choa knew Jeongyeon needed comfort, and that was what she was going to try to provide.

Suddenly there is speaking, faintly heard, outside of the door of the room where they were being held. The two female captors were conversing with their male comrade, their voices rushed with alarm. There are footsteps and the sound of a door opening, before more voices begin to speak. The new voices are different from those of the three captors, although the number of new voices is difficult to discern, if there was even more than one.

“Something’s happening,” Jeongyeon states, her arms grasping a little tighter around Choa.

“Whatever happens, we’ll be okay,” Choa replies as she wraps her arms a little tighter around her friend, “we’ll be okay…”

There is a commotion outside - the voices are too muffled to be heard clearly but the tones suggest there is a confrontation happening. Loud noises follow; the sounds of a physical altercation, accompanied by threatening shouts.

Finally there are two loud cracks - the kind that send shivers of sheer terror coursing through one’s body - gunshots.

Seconds pass, but to Choa and Jeongyeon they feel like an eternity as they wait in tense silence. Jeongyeon has begun to quiver and shake in Choa’s arms, and the older woman tries to comfort her as best she can, but even she knows her efforts will be in vain. Who shot who out there? Were her captors now dead? Was it the newcomers? Were they next?

Eventually, the door to their makeshift prison opens, and two silhouettes appear in the doorway. The harsh light makes it difficult for Choa to focus, but when she realizes who is standing there, all she can do is sit there in stunned shock.

[what-a-nightmare-ts-au]

Roman was mean to him, so he's pretty upset

After letting Patton in, Remus throws his hands out dramatically, and a big, fluffy couch with only a little blood on it materializes before them. He bounces onto the side with blood and pats the seat next to him. Patton hesitates for only a brief moment, ensuring that his side is blood-less before joining him. He holds out the plate of cookies to Remus, who most certainly does not hesitate before wolfing three down. 

“Y’know, Remus,” Patton reaches for his own cookie, shaking off a slight sense of déjà vu. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine if you aren’t. Unless you’re always this much more flamboyant when you’re upset, but last time I checked, that’s not true.”

“Oh, come on! So this isn’t working either?” Groaning, he pouts and stuffs a few more cookies into his mouth. “How come Roman’s the one who got the self-control in the split? How come I can’t hide things like he can? It’s not fair!”

“I mean... ‘self-control’ is a pretty strong word there, bud.”

“Well at least he can keep from spewing every little thing that comes to his mind! I can’t! It doesn’t matter if I’m sad or mad or happy. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, or how serious the situation is. If I ever went to my best friend’s funeral, I’d make a fucking dick joke about the shape of the coffin. No matter what I try, I’ll always be... well, Roman phrased it well. An annoying little loudmouth who should just shut up!” He tearfully takes the last of the cookies, and the plate vanishes.

“Oh dear... Is that what he got mad at you for?" Now that there’s no plate to risk dropping, Patton lightly rubs Remus’s back to help comfort him, and Remus’s breath hitches in surprise. Patton wouldn’t willingly initiate contact if he was only there out of obligation; even the thought of it would be repulsive. Which must mean that he still legitimately cares. If Remus had known that before, he wouldn’t have put up with nearly as much shit to stay on good terms with Roman. 

He nods, leaning into the touch. “I kept yelling at him in front of Ethan, but I really, really didn’t mean to! It always just slips out! Like my--” 

“Wait, wait, wait, when were you two with Ethan?” Patton rushes to express his confusion before Remus can finish. “I thought only Logan was supposed to go.”

“Well, long story short, Logan caused issues and Roman went to help, Roman caused issues and I went to help, I caused issues and I was told to leave.”

“What sorts of issues...?”

“Flashbacks, mostly. Ethan got banged up a bit too.”

“Wait, what?! How did he get ‘banged up’?”

“Apparently he scratched his hands when he forgot where he was the first time. Then I heard a crash when I knocked on the door, and I think something happened when Logan did that too? And I have no fucking clue what happened the second time he forgot where he was, but he randomly sounded like he almost choked to death or something.”

Wide-eyed and silent, Patton stares at him as he processes the information, then begins to stand up. “...I think Logan and Roman have some explaining to do.”

“No, no, no, come on Pat! Just a few more minutes?” Remus grabs his hand, frantically clinging to his rediscovered friend. He can’t just leave him alone now! 

Patton cocks his head at the request, hesitates for a moment, and then sighs. “Sorry, kiddo, I--”

"But Ethan’s asleep now! Nothing’s gonna happen for a while, which means we have time to deal with it later, right? Please?”

Ever since they found Ethan, and especially after he woke up, the sides began spending all their time on trying to fix everything. They’ve been doing whatever they can to figure out what to do, how to help, why he was afraid -- and then how to keep Thomas intact in the midst of it all. And in the process, Patton realizes, they’ve forgotten about their own needs. They’ve forgotten about each other’s needs. Ethan may have gone through a lot, but he isn’t the only one in the mindscape who needs attention. 

Patton takes a single glance at Remus’s attempt at puppy dog eyes, and any remaining reluctance melts away. 

“Well, I did come to comfort you,” Smiling warmly, he sits back down, and drapes his arm around Remus’s shoulders. “What kind of friend would I be if I up and left before I was done?”

Remus beams, and before Patton knows it, he’s caught in the biggest bear hug he’s ever been in. 

Everyone’s always told Patton that he gives the best hugs, but it’s beginning to look like he might have some competition.

He giggles, and hugs Remus back.

[mousehole5000]

wow i made this draft on november 1st i really took a break from this huh anyway tgcf chapters 121 - 142

i realize now this coffin scene was inevitable. feel kinda weird about hua cheng  back and forth from Teen to Big Man but it is very funny that theyre having their “dude dont look at my boner” moment while in the jaws of a water dragon

pei ming: why didnt you guys make a bigger coffin so you didnt have to squish together like that? xie lian: haha yep!! anyways what brings you here?

“In the grand, spacious centre of the entrance hall sat a person. And this person, dressed in all black, its face snow-white—was a corpse! Instantly Xie Lian shut the doors soundly.” - king of minding his own business.

okay this is where i stopped putting notes here for a while but i did save some in my e-reader so here’s some of the highlights

“Guzi used to have a good sleeping form, but perhaps with his cheap dad’s bad influence, now he was also spread out on top of Qi Rong’s stomach like a dead fish. Lang Ying himself was curled neatly in the corner, and was covered by a few shirts. Xie Lian lifted the blanket covering Qi Rong, suppressed the urge to smother his face, and covered the two small children.” - xie lian funny moments. also it would be really funny if qi rong redeems himself by learning love through these misfit chiildren and it might actually endear me to him but i hope that doesnt happen

Every heavenly official was yelling, and even Ling Wen was throwing a fit. “DON’T THROW EVERY BIT OF USELESS INFORMATION MY WAY, HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK I HAVE TO GO THROUGH EVERY DAY? DON’T YOU ALL KNOW TO USE YOUR BRAINS A LITTLE BEFORE ASKING ME?!” - ling wen marry me right now

“An expression like “seen a ghost” that only mortals experienced was now showing on his face for the first time. Shi Wudu’s pupils shrank to the smallest they could, and he blurted, “You’re still alive?!” “I’m dead!” He Xuan said coldly.” - okay everythings going tits up rn but i did laugh

i did see spoilers re: ming yi/he xuan reveal + shi wudu’s fate beforehand so i dont have a genuine reaction other than oh shit

“He slowly enunciated each word. “I won’t touch your fate. But, here in this place, chop off your brother’s head for me.”  CLANG! He threw a rusty blade onto the ground. Shi Qingxuan stared at that blade, his eyes wide. He Xuan continued, “Then, never show yourself before me again, and I will pretend you’ve never existed in this world.” - okay idk what else is going to happen but rn im concerned that this is like the 2nd biggest ship. i guess we’ll see?? i mean i am really curious whats going to happen to them. shi qingxuan keeps calling he xuan “ming-xiong” and i... sad

shi wudu im not really invested in you as a character but these next two bits... interesting

“If I don’t die but have nothing, then that’s truly a fate worse than death. If I’m not the Water God, I can’t take care of you. I won’t even be able to protect myself. I’m scared that we won’t even last two days…TAKE IT!” - damn. something about the wealthy losing everything and not knowing how to live without it bc thats their entire life and identity

“EVERYTHING I HAVE TODAY, I FOUGHT FOR MYSELF. I WILL FIGHT FOR WHAT I DON’T HAVE. I WILL CHANGE FATE I DON’T POSSESS. MY FATE IS UP TO ME AND NOT THE HEAVENS!” - okay so the whole committing spiritual fraud by tormenting a man and his family to get your brother a cushy title thing aside this was kind of badass. heretical? possibly. but still. also is he intentionally riling up he xuan so sqx doesnt have to kill him? if so damn...

also okay as long as im here im just gonna say it. the choice that he xuan gives shi qingxuan is fucking brutal but i actually think its probably as fair as it could be. sqx didnt know about or participate in what happened to hx but they did benefit from it greatly while hx lost EVERYTHING and i can understand he xuan’s thinking of “if you really feel bad for what happened to me then you have to make a sacrifice and understand the suffering and this is as clean as its going to get” and theres a bit where sqx is trying to beg for mercy but cant get the words out which im guessing is bc theres no good argument!! what happened was fucked up!!

“When Pei Ming saw that reinforcements had arrived, he didn’t appear particularly delighted; instead he threw the sword into the ground, then rubbed his nose and said, sounding grim, “You all just had to come just as I finished making these, what the heck.” - pei ming making coffins chopping down trees with his sword i love it #wastehistime2k17

“Xie Lian brought that basket of eggs along, and gave them away as souvenirs from the mortal realm. Many who received the eggs were overjoyed; some deciding to eat it along with their own blood, and some proclaiming they would hatch an eight-foot monster.” - GHOST CITY GHOST CITY

“Placing the brush down, he blew lightly at the ink and smiled. “If I like something, then my heart will not have room for any other, and I’ll always treasure it. A thousand times, a million times, no matter how many years, this will not change. This poem is the same." - thats nice and all but king... get therapy. i actually have further thoughts but tbh i dont want to put them into words bc they are simply too personal! moving on

didnt take any notes but somewhere in here was the bit with mount tong’lu opening and hua cheng losing it and kind of um. hm. that scene. thats another trope i really hate tbh i dont care for it as a way of including physical intimacy between characters and idk if it really ever adds anything but whatever moving on

The Half-Maquillage Woman - kind of interesting monster idea bc women and aging…. yeah. however i think this would be a lot stronger if there were a) more girls and this was b) discussed or illustrated at all prior to this moment. still interesting that its included knowing the author is a woman tho and there’s been comments on how ling wen is perceived vs pei ming. this book does keep giving me hope for interesting female character arcs i really want it to deliver something

quan yizhen..... i get u

lmao i have a note on a bit with lang ying that says “please dont be hc in disguise” and..... my clown nose was on but at least i knew that. for real this is bothering me how much he’s just. always. there. i know he’s a lead but we didn’t really need him around for a lot of this. oh well.  okay now to my current notes

“Yet it was precisely because it wasn’t cooked that it had to be eaten quickly. Once Xie Lian cooked it, it wouldn’t be edible anymore” - fucking fantastic

“Xie Lian hugged his belly. “Of course! Only after having met you did I rediscover that it’s such a simple thing to be happy, hahaha…” Hearing this, Hua Cheng blinked. Xie Lian’s laughter quieted a bit, realizing what he just said was a little too revealing.” - okay i know i said what i said about being tired of hua cheng being everywhere but... the line…. the fact that theyre laughing together…. :pleading:

“It’s not,” Ling Wen said. “At least, I believe, there will definitely not be another in history who can create a dish called ‘Incorruptible Chastity Meatballs’” - and truer words were never spoken

“I, DO NOT WORSHIP GODS. “I, AM GOD!” - this was every bit as badass as i hoped but no one told me it was immediately followed up by a little bit of the ol dinner theater fjalkdsfjsd. also puqi shrine noooooooooo

“Xie Lian sighed as he thought, “Qi Rong has taken Guzi away, who knows if the poor child was eaten or abandoned. Wind Master...... ..... who knows if Black Water took him away. Pray they’re both safe.” yeah hey are we going to fucknig. find out what happened to the child???

and yeah i dooooont really care for the age regression? thing thats going on. i just dont like that trope tbh. but tiny hua cheng whipping out his fat ghost king wallet in the store was funny tho. it is really funny that hualian are just like wandering around some random towns while the heavens are in an uproar. i guess theres not much else to do but its funny

“Me too, me too. You all know of my shixiong, right? Talented, with an infinite future! He only had one small vice: he loved playing women. Decades ago, a little prostitute ghost seduced my shixiong and sucked him dry into human jerky, and that Hua, Hua, Hua, that ghost king dared shelter her.” - yes omg give me the forbidden hua cheng lore i love this for him for real it goes along nicely with xie lian’s principles about giving another cup. god i love shared values

“Hua Cheng poked again, and a small hole appeared on the wall, as if the wall was made of tofu.” - how’d he do that. why is this a ghost king power. its useful tho

*me shaking qi rong when he pops up* WHERE IS THE CHILD

mu qing fu yao is here okay im happy now. once again no one has a good grasp on their secret identity and i love that. this inn has descended into chaos and im delighted and im glad lan chang is back

“The good ol’ kitchen was suddenly squished and crowded, loud and noisy. Fu Yao was chasing that fetus spirit leaping up and down, Lan Chang was chasing after Fu Yao like she had gone mad. Half of Qi Rong’s face changed shape by the way Xie Lian was pressing him down on the chopping board, his back turning into a target for those yellow talismans Fu Yao hurled while being observed by a crowd, and Lan Chang would step on him from time to time.” - this is pure chaos. i love that mu qing was in that room when the mob checked and he didnt say a word didnt open the door just sent out a talisman as a warning. king your disguise is transparent

“Xie Lian remembered the way Feng Xin laughed until he was hoarse when he first heard that verbal password all those years back, and couldn’t help but feel nostalgic, even though it wasn’t the right time.” - awwwww omg im emotional about this... faithful friend feng xin laughing at xie lian’s stupid joke password and remembering it!!! ;_;

“They have, but they’re not effective,” Feng Xin said. “Usually they’re the most diligent in scorning the Palace of Ling Wen, like they could do the job way better if they had the position. Now that we need them to take up the task, not a single one can do even half of what she does.” - typical... typical typical typical

also emotional about the fact that feng xin contacted xie lian at all.....

also!! emotional about lan chang as a mom and wanting to help out sick lil guzi.....

xie lian forcing “fu yao” to let him help “his general” is making me.... what is friendship if not playing along with your buddies little shenanigans while also making them accept your help

“Someone like Mu Qing, even though he’s narrow-minded, petty, sensitive and skeptical, has a bad personality, constantly guessing, doesn’t say nice things, likes to nag, always offending people and has a lot of people who dislike him, has no friends, can remember small, unimportant details for a long period of time…” ”Xie Lian went on in one breath with a straight face, but in the end he concluded with, “...But I’ve known him since we were kids, after all, he’s still got principles.” - XIE LIAN PLEASE AFJDLKSFJDL omg ive seen this quote before but i figured he was talking to someone else not actually to mu qing himself fgjasdkfjsl. god thats amazing. hey im gonna help you out because i care but i will roast you first <3

waaaaaait so is lan chang aka jian lan that girl from book 2 we took a page to talk about and then disappeared? that has to be it why else would we have stopped to discuss her

“Jian Lan spat on his face, then choking his neck, she slapped him twice again. “WHAT SHITTY SUPREME! YOU SURE KNOW HOW TO BLOW YOURSELF UP! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, THINK YOU’RE EVEN WORTH TO BE THOUGHT OF AS EQUALS WITH THE OTHER THREE SUPREMES? WHAT ARE YOU EVEN GOOD AT? YOUR THICK SKIN? OF COURSE I DARE HIT YOU!” - oh this feels so good i cant lie. YES GET HIM!! CHOMPING AND VIOLENCE YES!!!!

okay this description of cuocuo.... im... that sure the hell is a creature

this book is so entertaining bc i already saw spoilers for the feng xin/jian lan/cuo cuo reveal and yet i could never have predicted the circumstances that brought it about. imagine being feng xin. the heavens are in an uproar and your only friend/enemy has been jailed for possible fetus spirit-related crimes but he escapes along with this female ghost who keeps causing problems. you figure “fuck it lets see if dianxia kept his old phone number” and he has but then he hangs up on you. you’ve got fuckall else to do so you go find him. mu qing is there but he’s in his disguise the two of you were using so you could watch over his highness while staying aloof. you think you see hua cheng only he’s a chiild for some goddamn reason but who knows at this point. the female ghost is also there and theres a fetus spirit climbing trees and biting your arrows in half. you realize the female ghost is your ex and the little demon is your son. it bites you. what do you do

amazing that despite everything going on everyone is still playing along with the “fu yao” persona when it would probably be easier to drop pretenses at this point. then again tbh if i could explain my actions to my friends while pretending to be a third party.... i probably would so.. carry on

“With all his devotees gone, only Feng Xin still treated him like the Flower-Crowned Martial God and His Highness the Crown Prince. ” “...his protection charms were all seen as trash. However, Feng Xin was still determined and tireless in handing them out; telling Xie Lian, look, you still have devotees.” “After all, he was the darling of the heavens since birth, high and mighty. Feng Xin so naturally spun around him like he was the world, so how could he possibly have his own life, his own heart” “Whether or not that fetus spirit was Feng Xin’s son, if it was that period of poverty that made Feng Xin lose the girl he loved, Xie Lian wouldn’t be able to forgive himself no matter what." ohhhh my god this relationship i. im...

oh my god i still have 30 more chapters until book 4............ its naptime now i think

[justmypartner]

Still Breathing: Chapter 7 

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one.

Writer’s Note: I realize how mean that cliffhanger was, so I offer you this chapter in apology. I *hope* it makes up for the torture that last line of chapter 6 created. I think this is my favorite chapter so far, so I really hope you enjoy!!!

Read on AO3 or below

“I’m falling in love with you.” 

Stillness followed as those words left his mouth. They stood before one another, barely inches apart, and somehow it was still too much space. Her hand remained trapped in the confines of his, laying rest over his heart. It was as if the world around them stilled too. There was no noise, no wind, no movement, just the two of them there on her walkway, their hearts beating in sync with one another.

It took her a minute to process. At first, she wasn’t even sure if it was real — if the words that left his mouth weren’t just some figment of her imagination. Then she noticed the look on his face, the firm set of his jaw, and the glimmer in his eyes, and it was all enough to assure her that it was real. 

She released her hand from his grasp, reaching up to cradle his face. He closed his eyes with the touch, his hands finding her waist, pulling her even closer against him. It was the type of touch and intimacy that was unfamiliar for them, yet it felt like a habit they’d practiced every day. She raised up, ready to let everything go, the thought of his lips against hers the only thing on her mind. Then, he removed his hands from her waist and brought them to rest on her forearms, pushing her away gently. 

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” he told her, a pang of regret in his voice.

She released the breath she was holding, dropping her forehead against his chest as she let out a confounded, “I know.”

“Trust me, I want this, I just want it when we both have a clear state of mind,” he told her, and she pulled away so that she could look up into his eyes. His level of honor and restraint only made it harder for her not to jump him right then. Though as difficult as it was to admit, she agreed. She wasn’t so happy about it in that moment, but she knew the future and sober version of herself would appreciate their prudence.

“You know, you ruined my surprise,” she whispered as her hands dropped from his face to his collar, fidgeting with it for a moment before resting against his chest. 

He cocked his head at her, his left brow raising to voice his lack of understanding. 

“That thing I needed to tell you earlier… I was going to say I’m falling in love with you too.” 

He bit his bottom lip to smother the smile that broke out with her words. He then grabbed her hand from his chest, slowly raising it up to leave a kiss on the top. Her eyes fluttered closed, melting at the sensation of his lips against her skin. God was she regretting those last few shots of tequila. 

“Goodnight, Hailey,” he said as his lips pulled away from her hand, a low gruff in his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“Goodnight, Jay,” she told him, grudgingly pulling away from his grasp.

She turned and walked up to her front door, turning around when she got there to see he was watching her every move.

She wasn’t just falling in love with him, she was nose-diving, like she had been shoved from a precipice with no warning. Hearing him say those words back only made it worse, giving her that feeling of falling all over again. Though, as enraptured as it made her, it also scared her half to death. She chose to push those fears aside for the time being. They were falling for one another, and that was the only thing that seemed to matter.

— — — —

“Upton! You coming to Molly’s tonight?” a voice echoed through the small locker room, startling her as she shoved the last of her things into her bag. When she closed her locker door, Adam was standing behind it with a look of anticipation on his face. Kim stood behind him with a similar look, both of them eagerly waiting for her response.

“I’m sorry, I have plans,” she told them. She had to force a sad tone, trying her best to keep the smile from breaking away at the thought of said plans.

Not even the hangover Hailey had woken with the morning after the confession was enough to dampen her mood. The first thing she saw when she woke was a text from him. 

Good Morning, please don’t work late tonight. We have plans. 

And don’t even ask, it’s a surprise ;)

She spent the rest of the day staring at the clock, and to her delight, the case wrapped early. 

She slugged her bag over her shoulder as she moved to exit the locker room. Kim and Adam followed her movements, keeping their eyes on her as she kept her stare straight ahead. 

“C’mon, it’s your last few days of desk duty. That’s something worth celebrating. Also, you’re starting to give me a complex. I’m thinking maybe you just don’t like us,” Adam said, the playful twitch in his voice making her chuckle. 

“Shut up. You know I love you guys, I just… have plans,” she said, nervously trying to avoid having to explain exactly what her plans were, or rather, who her plans were with.

“Uh huh. Are we ever going to get to meet these plans?” Kim questioned, her inquisitive look implying the double meaning of the word. 

“I- I don’t even know what that means,” Hailey laughed out, shaking her head as she felt her cheeks burn. 

“Oh, but I think you do,” she said, Adam’s head now snapping in her direction. Hailey opened her mouth to object, but Kim cut her off. 

“Please, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way your face lights up when your phone buzzes. I’ve seen it for weeks, I guess I just figured you would’ve told us by now,” she shrugged.

“You know, now that you say it, I’ve noticed that too,” Adam butted in. 

“Hm, maybe it’s about time you both make detective then,” Hailey said sarcastically, pushing the door for the bullpen open as they descended the stairs into the lobby. 

The department wasn’t as big as it seemed. Hailey had come to learn everyone was connected in one way or another, so revealing anything could mean inadvertently breaking her promise to Jay. She found it best to avoid the subject in any way she could, which meant avoiding even the idea of him when it came to talking to anyone in the CPD.  

“Why don’t you invite him out tonight? We’d love to meet him,” Adam proposed. 

She tried to come up with an excuse, and she was grateful when her thoughts were cut short.

“You three, come here,” Trudy instructed. They shared a look between one another before descending the rest of the stairs and coming to lean against her desk.

“Little birdie tells me you’re back in the field soon,” Trudy said leaning over her desk as she directed her attention to Hailey. 

“Your source may be correct,” she told her, forcing a slight smile that hid her mixed feelings about the idea.

“That’s great. Try not to get shot again, will ya?” Trudy said bluntly. 

“Yeah, copy that,” Hailey said, rolling her eyes as she smiled at the sergeant. 

“You two,” she addressed, pointing to Adam and Kim. “Either of you hear from Halstead?”

“Halstead?” Hailey questioned before either could answer.

“Yeah, he’s the other detective who’s on furlough,” Adam told her before directing his attention back to Trudy. “I haven’t heard a peep since the day before he left.” 

“Neither have I. I still can’t believe he just up and left out of nowhere,” Kim added.

It was the first time Hailey was hearing anything about the detective. Curiosity got the best of her, so she pressed the conversation further. 

“Where’d he go?” 

“No clue. Voight came in one morning with furlough papers on his desk, along with a note that said he was going on some long-planned trip. It was super unexpected-“ Adam’s voice continued on, but Hailey’s mind failed to comprehend a single word.

Her vision blurred and the noise around her muffled. Her mind brought her back to that first night with Jay. When he was still a nameless stranger, telling her his story for the first time.

My team doesn’t know about my cancer. They think I’m on vacation, traveling the world or sitting on a beach somewhere.

Suddenly, she made a connection she should have seen from the beginning. Voight had told her about the detective who took furlough, the whole reason he’d brought her onto the team in the first place. It would be a lie to say the thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but she didn’t entertain it enough to actually believe it could be true. Hearing Adam talk about this Halstead guy, giving an eerily similar story to what she knew about Jay’s team? It made her nervous. She wasn’t even sure why. Her first thought was that it was some unwarranted guilt for being his replacement. She didn’t exactly take his position, but some paranoid part of her imagined him seeing it that way — as some sort of betrayal. Before her mind could roam too far, she snapped back into focus. 

“I really have to get going,” she lied, looking down at the time on her phone then bringing her attention back to the trio before her. 

“Have fun with your plans!” Kim called out as Hailey moved to exit the building. She waved a hand back, not turning around to let them see how rattled she was.

She didn’t want to stick around for more details. She didn’t want to have the theory confirmed. She figured if she could continue to live in her world of blissful ignorance, everything would be okay. 

She was halfway home, lost in her thoughts when her phone rang. His contact popped up on her screen, and it was enough to cast away all of the cloudy thoughts fogging her brain. The rest of the night was about being with him, about openly sharing those feelings she’d tried to keep locked up for weeks. Whether or not he was the same detective from her unit, she wasn’t going to let the idea and whatever implications it carried ruin her night with him. 

When she got home, she took a little extra time to pull herself together. He’d told her he was picking her up, remaining vague about the evening’s plans, so she kept in her work clothes and just fluffed out her curls a little more than usual. Her heart picked up in her chest when she heard a knock at her door. She felt like a teenager, giddy about her crush coming to pick her up for a date. 

The wide smile she was greeted with on the other side of the door immediately had her grinning right back. 

“Hi,” he said, the smile never leaving his lips. 

“Hi,” she returned as she joined him on the stoop, closing the door and locking it on her way out.

He grabbed her hand as they walked out to the street, interlocking their fingers as he pulled her closer to him. She looked up at him, that same smile stuck on her face. She could get used to being that close to him. 

He drove them deep into the city, and she tried piecing together what he had in mind. He’d asked her about her day, and she’d asked him about his, but none of that small talk distracted her enough from eventually figuring out their intended destination. It wasn’t until he was pulling into a random parking lot by the river that her heart officially dropped into her stomach. 

“No…” she whispered. He just chuckled from the driver’s seat, shifting the truck into park as he looked over at her. 

“Jay, I am not jumping into the Chicago River. Do you know how polluted that thing is? And don’t even get me started on the number of bodies I’ve had to pull out of there,” she rambled and he reached over, placing a hand on her knee, making her freak out for an entirely different reason.

“You don’t have to, but it would be more fun if you did it with me,” he said, rubbing his thumb against her jeans. 

“Are you sure you even need to be doing this? Isn’t your immune system wrecked by the chemo and everything?” a sudden look of panic overcame her face.

“I don’t plan on drinking the water, Hailey. I’ll be fine,” he assured. The tense look on her face told him she wasn’t so convinced.

They eventually got out of the truck, and he gathered a bunch of towels from the back. It was nearly 9 pm by that time, so it was dark, and not to mention very cold out. Chicago Autumn was nowhere near as brutal as Chicago Winter, but it wasn’t exactly swimming weather either.  

As they approached the bridge, she only became even more nervous. He’d settled by a bench on the riverwalk, dropping towels on it before kicking his boots off and shooting her a questioning look.

“Last chance,” he said, prepared to make the walk up to the walkway of the bridge alone. She blamed it on a brief lapse of sanity, but she couldn’t shake the idea of wanting to join him. She wasn’t sold on the idea, but she also didn’t think she could bear to watch him jump in alone. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered. She shook her head as she kicked her own shoes off, resting them next to his. 

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?” he asked, a smile breaking away across his lips. 

“It’s the whole point of the list, right? Make some memories… live a little?”

His smile grew and he nodded, holding out his hand for her to grab as they walked up to the bridge together. They probably looked insane, walking on the bridge barefoot in the middle of the night. When they made it to the ledge, the nerves only got worse as she looked down into what she knew to be very cold water below. 

“Are you sure about this?” she asked as he released her hand to climb over the railing. 

“We’re still breathing aren’t we?” he returned, and she shook her head at him with a nervous groan. 

Once he was on the other side, he balanced himself with one hand on the railing behind him and offered her his other. She took it hesitantly, climbing over to join him on the other side. With one hand joined with his and the other grasping the metal behind her, she looked down into the dark water.

“Ready?”

She whimpered. 

“If I catch a disease from this, I’m blaming you.” 

He laughed, pausing only for a second before taking the leap without warning, his grip on her hand pulling them down together. 

She let out a scream as their bodies gave way to gravity, and in a matter of seconds, they were submerged under the unbearably cold water. The sensation sent chills throughout her body as every muscle tensed up. When her head rose above the surface, she gasped for air, looking around for Jay. She treaded water for a second, her head swiveling around to try and find him. A brief panic overcame her, but then his head popped up a few feet away and she let out a sigh of relief. Somehow the beanie he wore survived the jump.  

“See that was not so bad!” he called out, his cheeky laugh causing her to swipe water at his face.

They swam to the riverwalk, and Jay pulled himself up onto the sidewalk first as Hailey followed behind. The swimming and the effort it took to pull her up must have been too much for her shoulder, and she winced in pain as she exerted herself up onto the sidewalk.

“You okay?” he asked, reaching out to help her stand once she was on solid ground.

“Yeah, that just made my arm a little sore,” she said, rolling her shoulder out.

“Here,” he told her, grabbing a towel and walking towards her. He wrapped it around her tightly, giving her a smile before wrapping himself up in one of his own. 

They carried their shoes back to the truck, their feet leaving footprints on the dry pavement. Out of nowhere, she began to laugh, drying the droplets that trailed down her face with the edge of the towel. 

“What?” he asked as he blindly laughed along with her. 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” she said, shaking her head. 

“Worth it though, right?” 

“Debatable,” she muttered as her teeth chattered. 

When they made it back to the truck, they threw their shoes into the back, and he immediately got his keys to start it up. He was trying to get it as warm as possible before they climbed in. 

“Hang tight a bit, I’ve got some more towels for the seats.”

She hoisted herself up onto the tailgate, scrunching the towel against the ends of her hair to dry the droplets leaving tiny puddles all around her. Every part of her body was shivering. The wet sweater she wore clung to her skin, only making her even colder. She did a quick scope around, finding herself in the clear before trying to tug the sweater over her head. She found it hard trying to pull her right arm through. The pain from her irritated shoulder made it almost impossible, and she let out a sharp wince every time she tried. 

Jay walked around the truck, his movements halting when he noticed what she was trying to do.

“Do you need help?” he asked hesitantly. She was half topless with her right arm stuck in the sleeve of her shirt, and she found it sweet that he was so seemingly unsure of if it was okay to look at her like that. 

“Uh, if you don’t mind,” she said, her chest rising and falling quickly, no longer just because of how cold she was.

He made his way over, standing between her legs as he helped pull the sweater over her head and slide her remaining arm out of the sleeve. He tossed it somewhere in the back of the truck and quickly took the towel from beside her to wrap it over her shoulders, pinching the ends together at her chest.

“Thanks,” she said. He nodded before picking a towel up for himself, resting it between his knees as he removed his own shirt. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she saw his bare torso, the muscles contracting and relaxing as he pulled the shirt over his head. He kept the beanie on as he draped the towel over his shoulders, and she frowned as she watched water continue to trail down his face from it.

“You don’t have to wear that for me,” she told him in a low voice, her eyes pointing to his head. His mouth parted as if he were going to object, but she just reached out to him, pulling him closer by his arm. She watched him swallow hard as the gap closed between them and he was right back to standing between her legs. She took the hat off slowly, causing him to shudder. His hair was thin and patchy, but it still had a slight wave in it. It wasn’t as bad as he’d warned. She actually found him to be far more attractive without the hat. 

“Brunette. Very light brown, but brunette,” she voiced with a smile, dropping the beanie beside her. 

His breath was shallow, and he remained silent for a moment.  

“I know it looks bad, you don’t have to be nice,” he said evenly, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. The insecure look on his face and the way he couldn’t look her in the eyes filled her heart with pain.

“Jay-“ 

She couldn’t find the words, so she grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him down to her so that she could pepper a slow trail of kisses against the top of his head. Then her lips trailed down his temple and to his cheek, finally pulling away to rest her forehead against his. 

“You’re perfect,” she whispered. “Plus, you should know I kind of have a thing for brunettes.”

She felt him let out a relieved sigh as his mouth curled up at the sides. Instead of responding he just leaned into her and captured her lips with his. 

Her shoulders dropped as she kissed him back. She felt his hands almost immediately snake under her towel to slide against her waist. His fingertips against her bare skin sent chills throughout her body and made her pull him even closer to her. The kiss was hungry and slow, and she was certain she’d never been kissed that way before. When she pulled away, he followed, and when she slid a hand down his chest, his grip on her waist tightened. It was the kind of kiss that made her lose all sense of time and space — the kind you only dream about. He moved his hands to her legs, gripping the sides of her thighs to pull her closer toward him, and eventually those same hands rose to grab at the sides of her face. He instilled a warmth in her that was almost enough to make her forget how cold she was, a warmth that lingered even after he’d pulled away.

“Wow,” she muttered, mindlessly playing with the chain around his neck. 

“Yeah,” he said, stroking a thumb down her jaw as his eyes blinked open. 

“I uh- I don’t mean to cut this short,” she breathed out, still trying to catch her breath. “But it’s really cold, and I desperately need to get out of these clothes.”

They laughed and he raised a brow at her, causing her to swat the back of her hand at his chest. 

“Not like- You know what I mean,” she giggled.  

“I do,” he grinned. He leaned down and left one last peck on her lips before grabbing her waist to help her down. “Let’s go.” 

As she thawed out on the drive home, she also cooled down from that moment they shared. Then she thought about her unintentionally suggestive comment. They hadn’t talked about it, they hadn’t exactly had the chance to, but she wanted to take things slow. Maybe part of it was not wanting to accept the option that left them with a short amount of time together, or maybe it was the fact that she’d never really figured out what a real relationship should look like. Either way, she knew what they had was unlike anything she’d ever had with anyone else. She wanted to make sure they did things right. Though she wasn’t exactly sure if he was on that same page. 

“Hey, um I know time’s not exactly on our side, but I do want to take my time with us… with you,” she told him as his eyes flickered from the road to her.

“I want that too,” he nodded, reaching over and intertwining their fingers together. 

“You do? You’re okay if I want to take things slow?” she asked him, uncertainty clear in the way the words left her mouth. 

“I don’t have any expectations, Hailey. All I know is I want you, and I want this. Everything else we can take day by day,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. She smiled, reaching over and grabbing at his face to leave a kiss against his jaw. 

— — — — 

Hailey insisted on a shower the second they made it back to her place. Jay took that as an opportunity to order dinner, light a fire, and build a bed of pillows on her living room floor. She just about melted into a puddle when she came out to find the setup, a still shirtless Jay trying to dry his pants by the warmth of the fire. 

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked as she sauntered her way over, her mouth agape at his surprise as she brought her arms to wrap around his neck.

“Better,” she said, flashing him a dimpled grin. Her eyes surveyed the room before meeting his again.

“I never would have guessed you were a romantic,” she teased, her eyes pointing to the setup before them.

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes as his fingers tightened around her waist. 

“I can throw those in the dryer if you want to shower real quick,” she told him as she nodded to his soggy pants, her fingers once again fidgeting with the chain around his neck. 

“My shirt’s in the back of my truck, any chance you got a shirt I could borrow?”

“I don’t know I kinda like this look you’re rocking right now,” she said, sliding a hand down to poke a finger at his bare chest. He let out a chuckle, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink as he sent her a smirk that could make her knees buckle. “But… if you insist on putting a shirt on, I’m sure I have one that’ll work.” 

“Okay,” he murmured. He leaned forward and her face scrunched up as he left a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “Be right back.” 

He left his clothes out in the hallway and she tossed them in the dryer. She had a collection of oversized shirts she often wore to bed, so finding one that fit him wasn’t hard. She picked one out and left it on the door handle of the bathroom before making her way back to the living room to wait for him.

Not long later, he returned in just the shirt and his boxers, causing a smirk to creep across Hailey’s face. 

“Actually, I think I like this look better,” she told him as he made his way over to her.

“The jeans were still damp, also I figured if you get to be comfy, so do I,” he smirked, helping her with the boxes of takeout splayed across her coffee table. 

“Hey, you don’t see me complaining,” she winked at him. “I’m going to go get a beer from the fridge, you want one?”

“Sure,” he said, nestling into the pillows she was retreating from.

When she made it to the kitchen, she checked her phone that rested on the counter. She had one text from Kim. The message elicited a mindless smile the second she opened it. It was a picture of Kim, Kevin, and Adam at Molly’s, their drinks raised in the air as their bright smiles lit up the screen.

I hope your PLANS are treating you well. Totally not sending this to make you miss us ;)

Her smile fell when she looked over at Jay in her living room and she was reminded of the conversation at the district earlier that evening. What if he really was the same detective from Intelligence who took furlough, the one who left them shorthanded, the one whose spot she had filled. Part of her wanted to talk to him about it, but then again she found it pointless to try and put out a fire she wasn’t even sure was lit yet. She took a step back from it, trying to settle her mind on just being with him, savoring every bit of that perfect night that she could. She pulled two beers from the fridge before turning her phone off and rejoining him in the living room. 

The rest of the night was filled with easy conversations, tangled-up bodies, and lazy kisses. Yet, there were a few times that night when she tried the name on him. Jay Halstead. She repeated it in her head, and she couldn’t shake the way it seemed to fit him so well. Then her mind would drift to a reality where it was true. A reality where he was better and he was back at work, and they were partners, and they worked well together, and that same way he naturally made her feel safe translated to when they were on the job. She was pulled even further into the fantasy when she imagined they would get to go home and work well together there too, build a family, spend time with their friends, and everything in that reality seemed to be so perfect. It seemed like the kind of well-lived memories she would have wanted to have when she woke up in that hospital room.

Then she looked over at his beautiful face in the orange glow of the fire before them, the light from the flames creating dancing shadows across his face, and she realized he wasn’t that guy and that wasn’t their reality. To her, he was just Jay, and their reality was perfect moments and indefinite timing. Though that might not be as ideal as that one she’d created, she just knew she wanted every moment with him she could get. He’d taught her how to live, how to find a way to appreciate life outside of her job, and it made her that much more grateful for everything he was. She found some solace in that, so she tried to push that fantasy from her mind completely. Though no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but replay the name Jay Halstead in her mind. It made her wonder if maybe that was one part of her fantasy that carried some sort of truth.

[maandags]

maybe if he’d come back earlier everything would have been fine.

it wasn’t even in the middle of the night, like you’d read in the stories, or how you’d see in the films, where the long-lost lover finds their way back to the one they’d left behind and shows up on their doorstep at two in the morning, rousing them from their sleep.

no, it was a regular saturday afternoon, two p.m. instead of two a.m, and he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and the only thing that had visibly changed about him was the fact that his hair had gotten longer–and there also was a scar on his cheek. and one at the base of his neck. and another one cutting through his hairline. you wondered how many more old wounds his clothes hid.

“y/n,” Matt Holt said, and his voice had the audacity to sound like that–soft and relieved and full of sadness and on the verge of breaking–and you had never wanted to punch someone more.

you nodded, lips puckering out, and walked right past him, pulling the door shut behind you and making sure to clip his shoulder. you didn’t think you imagined the hurt flashing across his face. your hand didn’t even tremble when you shoved your keys into your car door, even though your vision was hazy. 

you left him standing on your driveway, and you didn’t think you saw him move at all until he was out of your rear mirror’s sights.

–

he came back twice after that, and you closed the door in his face both times. it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore him–but he’d been missing for years, and you’d only just come to terms with him truly being gone. you’d only just accepted the fact that you really would never fall asleep in his arms again, and that you’d never hear the soft wobble of his voice first thing in the morning. you’d only just started to get whatever was left of your life back together.

you guessed you had been supposed to fly into his arms whenever he had first walked up to your front door. that was what the dainty and abandoned lover giddy with happiness would have done. in the stories. in the fairytales. where the prince saves the princess and they get a happy ending.

but you’d long ago realised that your life was no fairytale. that sometimes you didn’t get to have a happy ending.

when you’d gotten word of Matt disappearing, you had refused to even consider the possibility of him being dead despite the pitiful looks and awkward pats on the shoulder you’d received from your co-workers. lost in space, you remembered telling yourself over and over whenever you’d wake from another nightmare in which Matt’s corpse would be dumped on your doorstep. not dead. lost in space.

lost and found.

–

this time was different. it was in fact late at night when he returned, wringing his hands and his eyes cloudy. you narrowed your eyes at him from where you sat on the bench on your porch, pulling the quilt you’d lugged out closer around you and starting to get up, gathering up your mug of tea. you spared him one flitting look before reaching for the doorknob, but your hand froze in mid-air when he said, “please stop doing that.”

you didn’t turn. “doing what?”

“you know what. avoiding me. you won’t even look at me.”

it was true, of course. it hurt to look at him, to see him whole and very much alive and wonder what he saw when he looked at you. 

“i don’t owe you anything.”

“i know. but i was hoping–i don’t know. i’m sorry.”

your hand came to rest on the doorknob, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn it. instead you forced the words you’d been mulling over in your head for days to slip past your lips. “sorry for what? for disappearing on a mission i told you not to go on? for making me cry myself to sleep every night for years, thinking if i’d just been more insistant, just pushed a little harder, you would still have been here with me?” you barked out a bitter laugh. “Matt, you died years ago. you shouldn’t have come back.”

–

the worst part was that you knew it wasn’t his fault.

logically, of course. he couldn’t have controlled being kidnapped by aliens–it was all over the news. he and his team were a world-wide sensation–but you had been telling yourself for so long that he wouldn’t come back, and now that he had… it just felt fake, somehow. 

no, that wasn’t it. your entire world had been snatched out from beneath you, and you hated feeling this helpless, powerless, everything spiralling out of your control. the careful lies you’d built to help you get through the days had been shattered in one word–your name from his lips.

you hated how he made you feel–how he still made you feel, even after you promised yourself you’d move on. you hated how in the small hours of the night you lay awake, wondering if he’d still feel the same way he used to, wanting to map his body out beneath your fingertips once more. rediscovering. 

you hated the feeling of falling all over again.

– 

and then you were standing in front of his house.

you didn’t know why your feet had felt the need to lead you all the way to the other side of town, to the house you’d been actively trying to avoid for years. but you had a feeling it was maybe time to start facing it. 

you hadn’t had a nightmare as bad as the one you’d had this night in a long time. and you hadn’t woken screaming and crying, but dazed. numb. limbs feeling heavy enough that they seemed to sink right through the mattress, pulling you along with them. suffocating. suffocating. you needed air.

Matt had always been your air. 

you weren’t even sure if he’d be home, but then you saw his silhouette moving behind his bedroom window, and the breath was knocked right out of you as you were flung into the past.

“i can see you when you’re undressing. you know that, right. you need to move to another spot.” 

he’d smile that crooked grin of his. “you don’t like seeing me undress?”

“i never said i didn’t. i just don’t like it when you undress in front of the whole damn street.” you’d huff out a breath, tugging at his jean’s belt loops. he’d flush a deep crimson, as he always did whenever you turned his own cheeky flirting against him. you leaned close to his ear, letting your lips barely brush his jaw. “that’s for only me to see.”

he turned, and you locked eyes. without a word, you spun on your heel and marched out of the street.

– 

it was almost like you’d coordinated it. 

you didn’t know what had caused you to take the detour to your tree. Matt and your tree. the swings hung from the same place they always had, and Matt was seated on one of them, using his feet to rock himself back and forth. he cocked his head when he spotted you, but his once-soft brown eyes were dark–darker than they should have been. it was a sunny day. if you closed your eyes, you could recall the exact shade of his eyes on a sunny day.

you took your seat beside him, and for a moment when neither of you spoke, it almost felt right.

“don’t apologise.”  you couldn’t say how you’d known he was going to apologise, but you just knew, because you knew him.

“i’m still going to.” his voice was almost swept away by the wind, and yet you found yourself drawn to it like a moth to flame. “i’ll apologise as many times as i need to.”

“what for?” it was an echo of one of the first things you’d said to him since he’d been back. sorry for what? except this time, you actually meant it. you were curious as to what he thought he needed to be sorry for.

“for letting you down, mostly, i guess. for making the wrong choices every time. for not listening to you when i should have. for hurting you as much as i did–even though i might not have been able to do anything about it.”

despite everything, you found yourself shaking your hand. “we all make bad choices. i know i did. i tried to erase you completely from my life. rebuild a new one–one where you never were.” you shrugged awkwardly, only vaguely remarking you had subconsciously synced your swing’s rocking with his. “that was my big mistake. i should have cherished the memories i did have instead of pushing you away completely.”

his fingers twitched as if they were itching to grab yours. you knew yours were. “i would probably have done the same.” you knew it was true.

it was nice to just enjoy each other’s presence for a while, rocking on your swings and keeping your thoughts to yourself. you slowly let yourself grow used to his presence again, thought the fear–that one day you’d wake up and find him gone again, and that you wouldn’t be able to handle it–remained.

when the sun started to dip behind the houses, and you stood up to leave, he called after you. “y/n?” you turned, shoulders tense. “you’re the only good choice i’ve ever made.”

–

why were you crying? you had no reason to be crying, but before your muddy mind could comprehend what you were doing you’d picked up the phone and dialled Matt’s number with shaky fingers. maybe just hearing his voice would be enough to calm the nerves rolling in painful waves inside you. a mere second after he picked up, Matt said, “i’m on my way.”

you’d crashed into his arms the second he crossed your doorstep, and you cursed yourself for being so weak. but without a moment of hesitation he’d wrapped his arms around you, and he was stroking your back the way he used to do when you’d get upset. you had half a mind to collapse to the floor, but managed to keep that small amount of control to yourself. 

“hey, hey, it’s okay,” he mumbled. you drank the words up eagerly, willing them true. “everything’s fine.”

it was. everything was fine. “i don’t ever want to feel this way again. i don’t want to have to be told that you’re gone again only for you to show up years later.” you took a shaky breath; your voice broke. “i don’t want to lose you again.”

he’d gotten taller. and more muscular. you felt them tense beneath your touch. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you looked up, and from his eyes shone nothing but truth. light brown, soft like caramel. the colour of every good thing in this world.

he kissed you, and with every second he held you in his arms you felt yourself learn to breathe again.

[random-french-girl]

Yang: ■, ☼, ൠ

This is VERY LATE i’m sorry thank you friend

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

Yang definitely keeps her space tidy, and she prefers when things are clean and organized. Though I wouldn’t say she’s like, unreasonable, or takes it too seriously either. She doesn’t mind a bit of chaos! She likes when a place feels lived in! So she doesn’t complain when Ruby’s clothes are all over their dorm room at Beacon, or when their shared desk is drowning under Blake’s 567 notebooks. (She’ll just pick up after them for a while, and ask them to clean up if it gets out of hand.) (But she for sure bonds with Weiss over the fact that they are the two tidiest members of team RWBY, and they create a whole chore wheel while eating dinner one night. Ruby is stoked and already planning to turn it into a competition. Blake is…not thrilled.)

Yang’s taste in general is pretty eclectic. She likes vibrant, warm colors. She painted the walls of her childhood bedroom a different color like, every year. (Her ~yellow period still makes Tai’s eyes hurt just thinking about it…) She had a variety of posters and pictures on her walls at all times, she’s definitely NOT a minimalist! Bands, movies, celebrities: anything she enjoys is fair game. Let’s be real, she even had one or two super cheesy inspirational posters....

She always sets up a picture of the people she loves next to her bed. Summer, Tai and Qrow. Ruby of course. Weiss and Blake, eventually. And flowers - she likes flowers on her bedside table.

As much as she is an extrovert, she really values having her space to chill, where she can read/play video games. As a teen, she used to lounge in bed for hours, not really doing anything, which drove Tai nuts. (Oh, Yang was one of those teenagers who dramatically slammed her bedroom door shut when she was pissed off. She broke a lot of doors.)

☼ - appearance headcanon

Yang cares about how she looks! She puts a lot of time and effort into her hair maintenance - though she’s not huge on make up. Same with her clothes: she likes to feel comfortable, but also like, hot. 

ൠ - random headcanon

Let’s talk about Yang and reading. First Tai, then Summer both read stories to her when she was little, which is why reading to Ruby was like….her first instinct when Ruby was missing her mom.

Yang LOVED reading as a kid! But I think that, after Summer’s death, she kinda… stopped reading for herself. She read to Ruby, and she read what Ruby most wanted to hear: adventures about people like Summer, heroes fighting for the right thing and saving the day. Talk about a weird therapeutic/commemorative tradition… 

But reading for pleasure? Yang just. Stopped for a while. Instead she devoured engineering textbooks and hand-to-hand combat manuals. 

And then she meets Blake. Reading by herself in Beacon’s hall. Blake who becomes her partner! Blake whom she very much wants to be close friends with! Maybe possibly hypothetically wants to impress! 

And that’s when Yang starts reading again for herself. Blake lends her books and gets her to try new genres - Yang is NOT a fan of all the intense horror books Blake reads, but she likes the ones that focus more on adventure or mystery. They talk about books together! Yang makes Blake read her childhood favorites! Yang rediscovers the joy of reading!

Also one day she asks Blake about that Ninjas of Love series, and because Blake blushes BRIGHT RED and STUTTERS and refuses to talk about it, Yang has no other choice but to immediately borrow them from Beacon’s library. She reads them all, and memorizes the funniest/raunchiest passages just to be able to quote them at will whenever she wants to tease Blake. One day, a very unamused Blake throws Ninjas of Love volume 6 directly at Yang’s head, who ducks just in time. The book hits Ruby, resulting in a pretty impressive black eye, a visit to the infirmary, and a 30 minutes scolding from Weiss for both Blake and Yang. (Weiss uses the word “childish” a record-breaking number of times, which is saying something.)

ALSO also: one of team RWBY’s guilty pleasures is actually…. bedtime story with Yang… On evenings where they’re all kind of tired, or sad, or scared, Yang will pick a book from the shelve, and plop herself on Blake’s bed. They all know what this means. Weiss turns off the lights, except the one Yang needs to read, and they all pile on the bed around Yang. Ruby to one side, Weiss to the other, Blake’s head on Yang’s lap. Ruby brings enough blankets for everyone. And then Yang starts reading, and they all snuggle close to each other, until they’re all asleep and Yang puts the book down gently, turns off the light, and falls asleep as well.

[feelingfredly]

Keep Your Friends Close (And Your Family as Far Away as Possible)

(My Contribution to Kitsunegeddon 2019)

Summary:           

“Relatives are the worst friends, said the fox as the dogs took after him.” – Danish Proverb

Long lost relatives, yokai politics, magical turf wars...  or just another day in Ichigo's messed up life. He should never have taken up playing the shamisen.

Chapter 1--Tuesdays in the Park with Ichigo

Ichigo ducked under the branches of two pines and headed for his little corner of the garden. He’d discovered it years ago—a place to hide from kids who thought that a head of orange hair was a constant invitation to fight—and rediscovered it recently.  Surrounded by hydrangea bushes, the spot was quiet and hidden from the main paths which was a necessity if he didn’t want his friends and family to “coincidentally” discover him there. It didn’t matter where they were supposed to be, whether it was work, or school or even out on a date. Yes, Orihime had even dragged Ishida into the park to “just happen to run into him” while they were on a date. The archer was not amused.  But since it was Orihime, he nodded and didn’t contradict her even though Ichigo thought he was going to strain a muscle keeping his mouth shut.

The ground was soft and mossy, and since the hydrangeas were in full bloom their scent was an almost tangible thing.  It was beautiful in ways that Ichigo forgot the world could be sometimes.  No hollows to fight.  No blood or sand or screaming.  Just the flowers and the park, and today…   his shamisen.

He dropped his pack carefully and knelt beside it.   The long neck of the instrument still made him a little nervous when he carried it around, but it was surprisingly durable. It wasn’t like his guitar, but it wasn’t completely unlike it, either. Sort of a logical extension from one stringed instrument to another.  Like learning to switch from sword to sword as Zangetsu changed.  A blade was still very much a blade, even if they were all different.

There was a breeze which was nice.  It had been horribly hot and humid for a week, the temperatures shortening everyone’s tempers. Yuzu and Karin had gotten tiny pink battery powered fans with attached misters they used to help them cool off while sitting in the shady patio behind the clinic, and Ururu and Jinta had started fighting over who got to wash the steps of the shōten so they could play in the water from the hose.  Even Kisuke had broken down and used his lotus fan for more than hiding behind, and for once Ichigo didn’t question his clothes; the jinbei was probably the most comfortable thing he could choose, especially considering how loosely he’d taken to wearing it.  Ichigo had seen more than one of the local housewives eyeing the expanse of chest he had on display, and honestly, he couldn’t blame them.  It was quite a sight.

He sighed and settled on the soft earth; the shamisen perched lightly on his right thigh.  Yuzu had taken the little rubber mat he used for keeping it from slipping and had cut the bright pink square into a flower shape, telling him that now it looked like a peony and it would bring him romantic love.  Ichigo didn’t have the heart to tell her that it looked more like a paint spill than a peony, but he didn’t think that even peonies were likely to bring him any closer to romance so it didn’t really matter.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted romance, and if he did?  Being a human/hollow/Quincy/Shinigami/Lord of Hell hadn’t gotten him anywhere with the only person he’d ever been attracted to, so he didn’t think a damned peony was likely to tip the scales.

Scales.  Right.

Ichigo pulled out a Quincy blue yubikake that had somehow found its way into his bag.  It was daintily embroidered on the outside with his name, and he wondered how long it had taken Ishida to make.  Probably not long, but it fit perfectly over his index finger and thumb and meant that his sword callouses didn’t interfere with his playing, and every time he put it on he thought about how his mother would be happy that he was coming to accept his Quincy roots. He didn’t even mind the color.  He picked up the bachi and settled the shamisen on his lap, loose and away from his body.

 Knees hip width apart.  Back straight.  Nose, chin, belly button in a line.  Breathe.

The music came effortlessly.  The old-fashioned sounds were at odds with what he normally listened to, but somehow still very right.   It made sense in a way.  It would fit in Seireitei.  Most of the Shinigami would enjoy it more than rock and roll.  For Ichigo, though, it forced him into a mental place where he could slow his thoughts as he picked his notes, allowing the music to speak for him and through him, giving emotions that he was too uncomfortable to speak of a voice of their own, even if the only place they were heard was this hidden corner of the garden.

His feelings for his family always came out first.  It sounded sweet and steady, a refrain that he could almost hear in his sleep, while the music for Chad and Orihime and Ishida was stalwart and playful in counterpoint.  Rukia’s music was fierce and beautiful, and the other Shinigami appeared sometimes, complex and sometimes discordant.

And then there was Kisuke.

He’d gone to visit the blond at the shōten that morning, but Kisuke had been more distracted than usual, attention taken by some new problem he’d been given by Kyouraku, and when Ichigo left he couldn’t help but feel more than a little bit invisible to the other man.  Oh, it wasn’t fair of him. It wasn’t Kisuke’s fault that he wanted more attention than he was getting.  Wasn’t his fault that Ichigo felt more than was returned.   Ichigo wasn’t the first person to suffer from unrequited feelings, and he wouldn’t be the last.

But oh, those feelings…

Ichigo poured them into his music, the rhythm was his breathing when the blond stood close, or the rush of blood to his face when Kisuke smiled at him.  High notes danced along for the tingling in his fingertips when he longed to touch the smooth skin over Kisuke’s sternum.  Long slow calls in the melody echoed the ache in his chest when the other was gone for too long.

It should have been sad.  It should have felt hopeless.  It didn’t.

Ichigo didn’t believe that his feelings would ever be returned, but he couldn’t regret them.  He was a better person because of them, and the music reflected that deep-seated knowledge that even in times of hardship those feelings would sustain him.

He didn’t know how long he’d played; he often lost time when he was engrossed in the music.   The breeze, though, had picked up, and while the sun was still bright, a wild rain shower kicked up.

Ichigo didn’t hate the rain anymore, but it still carried with it the memory of loss and the connection he had to his mother, so instead of packing everything up in a rain-soaked panic, he allowed it to pour into the music as well.

If his face was wet with more than raindrops as he played, no one else needed to know.

After the rain had stopped and Ichigo had found his way to the end of the music in his heart, he sat listening to the drip-drip-drip of raindrops off the leaves of the hydrangeas.  He shook his head, hoping he hadn’t ruined his shamisen, and slowly began to gather his things.

“That was quite the performance.”

Ichigo jerked around toward the voice.  He hadn’t noticed anyone else around, but there, at the edge of his clearing was an older man in a dark suit.

“At first, I was quite annoyed to find you here, it being my granddaughter’s wedding and you without an invitation and all, but then I got a good look at you.  Later, when you played, the guests, every one of them, could feel the truth in it.  You gave my granddaughter quite a gift; it will be talked about by the family for years to come.” He bowed his salt-and-pepper head.  “I thank you.”

Ichigo stared at the man for a moment, trying to make sense of what he’d said.  “Your granddaughter’s wedding?”

The man nodded once and cocked his head to one side.  His features were sharp and Ichigo couldn’t help but think that somehow, he looked familiar.  “Yes.  The family has come from far and wide to see her married today.  It was a joyous occasion.”

Ichigo bowed his head politely, holding his shamisen tightly to his chest. “Please give her my congratulations and good-wishes.  I did not mean to intrude.  If I’d known…”

The sharp-faced man made a dismissive gesture.  “I’ve already forgiven you for your trespass, but I must ask—has your family lived in Karakura long?”

Ichigo thought about trying to explain that his father was actually a banished Death God in the human realm on a whim.  “My mother’s family has.”

The man nodded. “I was right, then. I’m guessing you’re Masaki’s boy.  Kurosaki… Ichigo, yes?”

Aaaand the day kept getting stranger.  “Yes. Kurosaki Masaki was my mother, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

That got him a laugh and a smile that was not much more than a baring of teeth.  “Advantage is a matter of perspective.  But, for now, allow me to even the field a little. My name is Hakuzosu. I knew your mother’s mother.  She was the daughter of my cousin, but that was long enough ago that I won’t hold your ignorance against you.  I knew the kits, ah, children had grown up around here, but I don’t get back often enough to keep in touch.  There are always stories, though. The family is terribly nosy.”

Great.  Not only did he give an impromptu concert for some strange outdoor wedding, but somehow it included extended family he’d never heard of, and here he was looking like a drowned rat.

“It is an honor to meet you,” Ichigo bowed low, aiming for properly polite, and thought he must’ve gotten close enough when the old man bobbed a bow in return. “I’d be quite remiss if I didn’t make up for my ignorance somehow.  My family’s home is nearby…”

He was abruptly cut off.  “Yes, yes. If I remember correctly Masaki tied herself to…  well, to your father. It was quite the talk of the elders. Like you, she tended to, how shall I put it…  refuse to accept others’ reality and substitute her own.”   The man smiled even more toothily. “I didn’t understand her choices, but I always admired her follow-through.”

The guy clearly had less than flattering thoughts about Isshin, but then lots of people did.   Hell, Ichigo did at least half the time.  He wondered what the man meant about the elders, though. Ichigo fingered the yubikake he was still wearing, with its Quincy crosses, and the man shook his head. “No, boy, not those elders.  Your mother had quite the family tree.  It was a shame when her light was dimmed too early, but her ties to us were weak enough that even we could do nothing to save her.  For that, too, I feel there must be reparations.”

Ichigo pushed himself to his feet and tucked the shamisen into the top of his open bag.  This was getting too strange to take sitting down.

“I am sorry, Hakuzosu-san, but I must admit that this is all rather confusing.” He looked over the man again.  His suit was clearly expensive, and he was groomed within an inch of his life. His nails were manicured, and his hair styled just so. He was wearing two rings, but neither looked like any of the magical items he’d seen in Kisuke’s books. Other than that, he looked like anyone else attending a wedding.  But something felt strange about him.  It wasn’t any sort of spirit energy Ichigo had encountered before, but it was definitely not normal. The disturbing thing was that it felt faintly familiar.

“Kurosaki-san,” the man stepped closer and Ichigo was forced to look up at him.  He was tall. “Is there something special—maybe something just beyond your reach—that I could possibly help you achieve?”

Kisuke’s face flashed through Ichigo’s mind, and Ichigo flushed a little.  That was not something he wanted to talk to this stranger about, even if there were anything anyone could do.

“The offer is appreciated, Hakuzosu-san, but no.” He bowed deeply. “I am happy enough to have been reunited with lost family and to know that my shamisen playing didn’t ruin your granddaughter’s wedding. That is gift enough.”

He looked up at the taller man and suddenly made a connection. Ichimaru Gin.  The man looked like an older version of Ichimaru Gin.

“Hakuzosu-san,” he asked a little tentatively, “you wouldn’t happen to have connections to the Ichimaru family, do you?”

The toothy grin appeared again, this time with a hint of canine a little too long for comfort.  “Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised, Kurosaki-san.  The family is quite prolific, and we’ve spread ourselves far and wide.  I am fairly certain I’ve heard of a few Ichimarus. Why do you ask?”

Ichigo stared.  That certainly put the cherry on the weird sundae of the day. “For a moment you reminded me of someone.  He was an almost-friend, I guess you could say.”

Something that looked almost like sadness flashed across the older man’s face and Ichigo was fairly sure he knew about Gin’s death, whether he admitted it or not.

“Well, at least he had you as an almost-friend,” Hakuzosu said, strangely, and then bent over and picked something up from the ground between them.

“This is a pretty thing,” he said, holding up a small pale ball, larger than a pearl but smaller than a pigeon’s egg, “you must have dropped it.”

Ichigo held out his hand and the sphere was dropped into it.  It was a pretty thing, it almost glowed as he held it, but Ichigo had never seen it before.

“It isn’t mine, Hakuzosu-san,” he said, trying to hand it back, but the older man stepped back dropping his hands, refusing the action.

“It is now,” he said, a real smile twitching his lip.  “Some of the most valuable things in life come to us through happy accidents, Kurosaki-san.”

Ichigo closed his fingers around the little ball. It felt warm and pleasant in his palm.  Happy accident?  Why not?

“Thank you, Hakuzosu-san,” he said with another bow, “I will keep it and remember my good luck of reconnecting with my mother’s family.  Are you certain I can’t convince you—and any other members of the wedding party, of course—to come by the house for a visit?  You could meet my younger sisters—they’re twins.  I’m sure they’d love to hear any stories you could tell about our mother.  We were all very young when she died.”

Hakuzosu pulled an old-fashioned pocket watch out of his vest pocket and made a tutting sound. “I’m afraid that I must decline, but your invitation will be remembered, and I’m sure the rest of the family will appreciate it. I suggest you pack up your things before they become irreparably damp and head back to Urahara’s.  He will want to see your new acquisition, I’m sure.”  His tight-lipped smile reminded Ichigo of Gin so strongly that he stepped back a pace. “And I will see you again…  soon.”

The well-dressed man turned at that and disappeared through the tree branches, gone as quickly as he had appeared, the promise lingering in the air.

Ichigo looked at the—stone? —in his hand and suddenly what Hakuzosu said clicked.  Head back to Urahara’s.  He’d never mentioned Kisuke or the shōten.  How did he know about them?

“Hakuzosu-san?” He pushed through the pine trees and out onto the main path of the garden.  There was no one there.  No wedding party.  No dapper old man with salt-and-pepper hair and a knife-edged grin.  What the hell was going on?

To his left, just off the path, a gray fox stared at him, mouth open in its own foxy smile and then…  it just disappeared.

[bakudomaster]

Pushing Daisies

Hello again everyone! It’s time for another in-depth analysis of a show that I’ve watched. This time I’ve picked a show that I have recently rediscovered - question: do you guys like pies and corpses...?

[The facts were these]

PREMISE

In the fall of 2007, a quirky little show known as Pushing Daisies premiered on ABC. Taking inspiration from all things kitsch and Wes Anderson, the story centered around Ned (no, not THAT Ned), a self taught baker specializing in pies who has the unique ability to touch dead beings and bring them back to life. As with many superheroes, his powers did not come without restriction: once touched, should Ned touch the “undeaded” once more, they would become dead permanently. Also, once Ned touches the dead, they exist consequence free for only 60 seconds before something living in close proximity has to die to balance out the cosmic scales.

A bundle of anxiety and intimacy issues on a good day, Ned uses his special skills to moonlight as a part time private investigator to help full time investigator Emerson Cod solve various murder cases and collect reward money. One day, it turns out that the case they have to solve is that of Ned’s childhood sweetheart, one Charlotte “Chuck” Charles. Ned takes a risk and resurrects her beyond the 60 second rule, meaning that someone else has to take her place in the great beyond.

Together with Ned’s waitress (and unrequited admirer), the quartet must solve mysteries, keep the secret of Chuck being alive again from her eccentric aunts and come face to face with all of their emotional issues.

Sadly, the show was cancelled before it ever took off, but more on that later on.

CAST & CHARACTERS

Lee Pace as Ned - the man with the magic touch, he owns a restaurant called “The Pie Hole”, where he makes... well, pies; what did you expect? Ned discovered his gift/curse at a young age when he resurrected his dog after being run over and his mother after she suffered a brain aneurysm. He also discovered that his powers did not come without consequence, as the cost of bringing his mother back to life was Chuck’s father dying. Abandoned at boarding school by his father, Ned grew up and opened his restaurant where he also helps Emerson Cod solve many murder mysteries for the rewards of justice and money. Due to his powers and abandonment issues, Ned has trouble opening up to anyone and carries around a great deal of anxiety. Lee Pace was previously unknown before the show, but he rightfully gained much recognition afterwards, going on to make a few bad movies before getting roles in the Hobbit and MCU franchises.

Anna Friel as Charlotte “Chuck” Charles - Ned’s childhood sweetheart and neighbor, Chuck grew up with her father, having believed that her mother died giving birth to her. Once the universe decided to claim her father as payment for Ned’s mother being brought back to life, she was raised by her shut-in aunts and never allowed herself to travel beyond the gates of her house for their sake. Deciding to break that rule, she was killed when she went on a cruise, after which she was revived the socially anxious Pie Maker Jesus. Chuck is a very optimistic and sincere girl who enthusiastically takes to solving cases. She carries around a bit of existential depression in her, what with being previously dead and all, but she cares for her family and friends very deeply. She can never touch her boyfriend again, but she’s very happy to just generally be around him. Anna Friel had a bit of a generic career before the show, but all that changed once it was cancelled. She was nominated for a Golden Globe for her work here.

Chi McBride as Emerson Cod - a jaded private investigator who believes in nothing but the almighty dollar, Emerson frequently contracts Ned’s skill to revive murder victims, ask them how they died and who killed them, solve their cases and collect easy reward money. He had a romance with one of his PI targets a few years before the series began, resulting in daughter who is now missing. He is the author of a children’s pop-up book, hoping to get it published so that his daughter will use it and come find him instead of the other way around. He does not like the complications that come with having Chuck around nor does he care for Ned’s frequent ethical dilemmas or Olive’s stubborn charms; but he does appreciate all of them in his own way. Chi McBride previously starred in Boston Public and went on to star in short lived shows such as Human Target and Golden Boy before getting a recurring role on the new Hawaii Five-O

Kristin Chenoweth as Olive Snook - a former jockey turned waitress, Olive works at the Pie Hole, lives next door to her boss and carries a very strong, yet unrequited love for our Ned. She does not take kindly to Chuck suddenly appearing and gaining the affection she had worked so hard without reward. She believes that Chuck faked her death and is locked out of the loop as to what is really going on. After some snooping around of her own, she makes firm friendships with Chuck’s aunts, Chuck herself (they even become roommates) and even Emerson. She also learns to accept that Ned will never see her the way he sees the dead girl and tries to move on. Kristin was a very well established Broadway actress before the show and won an Emmy for her role in the show’s second season. She went on to do more plays and more TV shows, with a few guest starring roles here and there.

Swoosie Kurtz as Lily Charles - a cynical and sarcastic agoraphobe, Lily was once part of a synchronized swimming duo called the Darling Mermaid Darlings with her sister Vivian. They toured all over the world before settling down to raise Chuck once her father died. She’s fond of martinis, guns and does not take kindly to strangers... or anyone for that matter. She also happens to be carrying a few secrets of her own as Olive find out and is devastated when she finds out Chuck dies at the beginning of the show. Ms Kurtz is a very acclaimed actress, having an Emmy and two Tonys to her name. She went on to star as Joyce Flynn on Mike & Molly after the show.

Ellen Greene as Vivian Charles - Chuck’s other agoraphobic aunt, Vivian was the other half of the Darling Mermaid Darlings. She’s much more compassionate and delicate than her older sister, but is lost and sad after her niece’s death. Wanting to explore the world in all senses of the phrase beyond her house, she finds herself frequently held back by Lily’s stubbornness... but is that all that’s keeping her back. She was also once engaged to Chuck’s father. Ms Greene is renowned for her role in Little Shop of Horrors (both musical and film versions).

STRUCTURE, DEVELOPMENT & WRITING

Described as a “forensic fairytale”, Pushing Daisies drew inspiration from all the 20′s right through to the 50′s. For those who haven’t seen the show, have you ever watched the Wes Anderson segment in the Family Guy episode Three Directors? You’d be surprised at how similar the setting is, even though it’s a parody. You could even say it has a very Tim Burton feel to it, and who doesn’t love Tim Burton?

Combining the murder mystery and fantasy show genres was not new at all. Medium started up 2 years before PD; whilst Missing & Tru Calling debuted the year before that. If PD was going to be different, it needed another element to make it a success, critically at least. It found that piece by embracing full on quirkiness and adding equal amounts of emotional gratification instead of the darker themes of the aforementioned predecessors, it could carve a niche for itself in the late 00′s television market. PD didn’t serve up thumping adrenaline in any of Ned’s pies, but it didn’t need to: there were other shows who could do that better. It aimed for something else entirely, making the crime element a portion of itself rather than the whole focus.

In this sense, the show followed through with the more intellectual sarcasm starting to appear more frequently at the time (thank you Tina Fey), but tempered it with sincerity. Characters were allowed to be jaded or anxious, but never at the expense of the lighthearted atmosphere. The show’s scripts were also tightly consistent with character development, often pairing very unlikely characters for humorous or heartwarming moments. Characters also took on very familiar tropes in a very unique way - instead of endlessly pining for the pie maker who could never be hers, Olive attempted many a times to get over him, finally accepting that friends instead of lovers was better than slicing Ned out of her life completely. Emerson was a hard-boiled private eye, who wanted his AWOL daughter to find him instead of the other way around.

As with many shows airing on ABC at the time, PD carried a family secret/scandal that affected almost every character, forcing them to go to great lengths to keep it buried once the truth had been discovered. It fit in well with the general theme as opposed to the other examples who used it for shock value or to prolong viewership.

Sadly, the pie maker and his friends weren’t destined to remain on TV for long. The show was one of the victims of the 2007/8 writers strike, forcing it’s first season to end after only 9 episodes. Production resumed afterwards, however the second season only premiered an entire 10 months after the first one did, with only a quarter of the viewership. ABC pulled the plug through the second season in 2008, leaving the final three episodes unaired in the US until May 2009. Pushing Daisies was... pushing daisies - eh? Eh? Ok, I’ll see myself out.

BULLSEYES & IMPROVEMENTS

What the show gets right:

The general offbeat, yet pleasant mood

Olive Snook - for a relative outsider (she’s not part of Emerson’s PI business nor does she truly know Ned’s secret), she worms her way into all mystery related plot lines, proving herself to be a badass sidekick along the way

Speaking of Olive, she is wonderfully unique. Though she sees herself as a rival to Chuck for Ned’s love, she bonds with the previously dead girl over taking care of Lily and Vivian, even rooming with her. She also doesn’t go down the tsundere route - she’s not afraid to discuss her feelings maturely with Ned and accept her defeat in amore.

Emerson and Olive frequently team up together, even though they’re as different as night and day. Olive proves herself so competent that Emerson offers her a position at his firm should she ever get tired of The Pie Hole

The sets and cinematography contribute to the fairy tale escapism mood. I wish more shows did this nowadays

Olive’s songs, especially her renditions of Eternal Flame and Hello (Lionel Richie’s version, though I’m sure Adele’s one would be equally perfect, if not more so)

Ned coming to terms with his abandonment and intimacy issues by slowly letting people in

Jim Dale as the eloquent narrator. Never have exposition and narration been so quaint

Vivian’s delicate melancholy when she realizes her boyfriend abandoned” her and now she has to take the rose colored glasses off

Digby - enough said

The show doesn’t get much wrong, but then again it couldn’t have considering the extremely short run. Had they received a full season at least once, I’m sure the tension in the various mysteries could have been a bit tiresome. Instead, here is a wishlist of sorts:

Who Dwight Dixon really was and why he was obsessed with the pocket watches

See Ned connect with his twin half brothers a bit more

What did Chuck’s father get up to after he took off

Explore Ned’s dad character, who he was and why he abandoned his two families

A slow burner of Emerson’s missing daughter plot

Emerson’s relationship with his mother (Debra Mooney is a hoot)

Delve into more of Vivian’s anger at her sister in the last episode

CULTURAL IMPACT

PD was a critically acclaimed gem right from it’s very first episode. That continued through the 22 episode run. Unlike its peers, it didn’t chop and change plot elements to see what worked and what didn’t. It chose a direction and it stuck with it.

Many fans have expressed their desire to see the show revived, claiming injustice at the fact that it was gone too soon. I think part of why it was cancelled, apart from the production troubles it faced, was that it was a bit ahead of its time. Considering it as a whole by today’s standards, it seems something better suited to Netflix rather than mainstream TV. It was a very specific show that needed a very specific mindset to watch. It didn’t have the commercial broadband appeal that Desperate Housewives or even Weeds had.

Could it be revived today? I think it’s in a very prime position to at least be considered. Creator Bryan Fuller is currently busy with Star Trek: Discovery, but I’m sure he could find time, at least in a consulting capacity. Streaming services offer a much more diverse set of original productions, something cable and network services are struggling to keep up with - it’s an environment that Pushing Daisies would thrive in. It comes down to the cast - Lee has a quietly booming movie career, but it would be nice to see him on TV again. Both Chi and Anna are busy with other TV shows, but I could see them working this in during their inter-season breaks. Kristin has just come off a cancelled TV show, so she’d probably say yes.

Let’s hold thumbs - after all, these guys are in the business of bringing the dead back to life

WHERE TO WATCH IT

The series is available on Amazon’s Prime Video service

If Amazon hasn’t licensed it in your region, you can find episodes from various channels on Dailymotion (just search for the titles)

[theonewiththefanfics]

I’ll Keep You Safe (Part 1)

Synopsys: Bodyguard! Bucky; Endgame AU

When Tony Stark asked Bucky to become a bodyguard for the Reader he didn’t think his life would change that much. But it did. And not everything was for the better. 

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: angst, lil bit of floof

Warnings: mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general sadness 

Word count: 2160

Bucky’s heart had broken almost two weeks ago, and he couldn't really blame anyone but himself. Yet at that moment, when their eyes locked, it shattered.        “James,” Y/N whispered his name, Y/E/C eyes filled with confusion and fear as she looked down at her body where a stream of scarlet coloured her white tank top before crumbling to the ground. His name was a mantra she kept repeating, it was the only thing that existed in her mind. James, James, James, James, James it repeated, but there was no question or statement for him to answer. She just kept thinking of her James with his cerulean orbs, his soft lips and gentle touch. It was the last thing she saw and felt before darkness consumed everything.        Things were not supposed to go the way they had. For fuck’s sake, the reason Bucky even knew her, had her in his life was because he’d been hired as her bodyguard. He was meant to keep her safe and out of harm’s way, yet here he was, looking down at Y/N, cradling her face between his palms and begging for her to open her eyes, to keep breathing. To not give up on him.

       Red stained the floor all around them and soaked his pants and her clothes to the bone. He could feel the warmth of the blood as he removed one hand from her cheek and pressed down on the bullet hole. Bucky never wanted to hurt her, in any way possible, but this time he prayed to every god known for a painful yelp to escape Y/N’s mouth. That would tell him she was conscious and aware. But her head just lolled to the side, body lax like a ragdoll.        “Come on, sweetheart,” he grunted, putting his metal hand over his flesh one to add more pressure. “Come on!”        There had been only a few times in Bucky’s life when he had cried. At Steve’s mother’s funeral, when he had been drafted into the army, the first time Hydra started to experiment on him and he called for the help of his best friend, when he had broken out from the years of torture and rediscovered who he was and now, and now watching the woman who he had irrevocably fallen in love with bleeding out onto the floor. And he couldn’t do anything about it.       “I’m so sorry, doll, I’m so, so sorry,” he choked on the sob that ripped his chest apart while applying more pressure to the wound. But the blood still spilled out. “I know I messed up, I screwed up a lot of things, and I don’t care if you hate me, I don’t care if this is my punishment, just don’t die. Please don’t die. Do whatever you have to - to get rid of me from your life but think about Tony. He’ll miss you, fuck, doll, he loves you so much. Think about Pep and Morgan. About Peter. Don’t give up on them… come on, doll. They need you…” and as much as Bucky was trying to be selfless, he was a selfish person. “I need you, doll. I need you, sunflower.”        All the shitty things that had happened between the two came crashing down like wildfire during a drought. Every mistake, every harsh word, ate at him from the inside out until there was nothing left. Because no matter how many wonderful moments they’d spent together, no matter the amount of happiness they’d given to one another, when the one who he had thought he’d spend his life with, if he was able to right all the wrongs, was dying in his arms, the good bits were worth nothing.        “Mister Barnes, Tony and the medics are here,” FRIDAY’s sudden announcement tore Bucky out of his thoughts.        “Move, Barnes,” Tony’s voice was stern and taut with suppressed anger. Bucky just shook his head. He couldn’t. If he let go of Y/N, she’d die. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t be the cause of more grief than he already was.        “I said move, so the doctors can help!”        But when Bucky, didn’t so much as shift, an arm made of metal grabbed at him and pulled him away. That shocked him because Tony was in his full-on Iron Man, meaning he'd flown back from the mission just to deal with this, as the medics gathered around Y/N.        He tried to rip out of Tony’s hold, but it was like his body didn’t want to. He was so drained, so weak that he just remained like that – with Iron Man’s arms tightly holding onto his biceps, as the paramedics kneeled down next to Y/N, one of them putting a mask over her nose and mouth to pump air into her lungs, another one doing chest compressions, while someone else went to look at the dead man a few feet away. He wouldn't need resuscitating, that Bucky made sure of. The bullet in his head was enough of a sign.        It had been probably the most satisfying thing he’d done in the past week, but Y/N’s unmoving body was a consequence to it all. To his mistakes, his distracted nature and most of all – his past with Hydra. All of that had accumulated with her being picked up, a system attached to her veins, as she was rushed to the closest hospital.        “Let me go with them,” Bucky pleaded, watching as the medics wheeled the gurney out of the Tower. “Please, let me be with her.”        “The last thing they need is a hysteric super soldier, that can’t get it together. That won’t help them, and neither will it help Y/N.” Bucky could hear the held-back tears in Tony’s voice, and his heart broke even more.        “It’s my fault,” he was finally released from where Tony held him, and he whipped to look at the genius. “Please, just let me do this one thing right, let me help her.”        “You can meet up at the infirmary. Let the doctors do their job.” And with that said, Tony closed the helmet and set off into the air, tracking the ambulance that way.        Bucky was left alone at the Tower with two pools of blood behind him slowly merging together, a shattered coffee table, bloodstained walls and two discarded guns by his feet. Yet even through that whole mess that he should be probably cleaning up, as it was, after all, his fault, all he could think about was how Y/N had gasped his name, her face slowly leeching from color, her usually glowing skin, dulling down before her Y/E/C eyes closed and would not open no matter how hard he pleaded.        Dazed he turned around and walked into the hallway and to Y/N’s room where all of the shit that had happened, had started. Her bed was still messy and unmade, as she hadn’t had time to do so, a pillow at the foot of the matters because the girl could toss and turn so much, she ended up completely upside down. There was her half-drunk coffee cup still steaming on the bedside table, and her book with the dogeared page she hadn't gotten the chance to finish.        He trailed a finger over the spine of it without realizing that it left a burgundy line across the paper. And then he broke. His breathing turned completely ragged, and the more air he pulled in, the dizzier he got. It wasn’t long before he was on his knees, head gripped between his hands and pulling at his hair as if he was trying to pull out the memories of Y/N’s lifeless body from his mind.        Through a haze, Bucky heard FRIDAY say something, and he decided to focus on that sound like he used to with Y/N when she coaxed him out of a nightmare – a soft voice soothing him.        “Mister Barnes, are you alright?”        Bucky wanted to laugh at how an A.I. was asking how he was feeling.        “Your heart rate spiked and breathing patterns turned irregular signifying a panic attack. Should I contact Mister Rogers?”        “No,” he choked out, wiping away tears from his cheeks. “No, there’s no need for that. Let him stay focused on the mission. I’m – I’m going anyway. Can you please tell me which hospital Y/N was taken to?”        He was surprised at how composed he was while in the cab. Sure, his hands trembled as if an earthquake was going on, desperately clutching onto the book he’d taken from Y/N's room. It was the last thing she'd touched, and it grounded him in a horrible kind of a way.        She’ll want to finish it once she’s awake, he reasoned. Once she’s awake not if she survives. There was no room for argument. And all throughout the ride, all Bucky could think about was, if he’d done things differently, would Y/N be smiling while sitting in his lap, instead of fighting for her life?

Four months prior

       “Tony, I don’t need a fucking bodyguard!”        “Uh, yes. You do.”        “No, I don’t!”        That was the conversation Bucky heard as the walked towards the common room.        “My house, my rules!”        “This is the Avengers Tower! Literally, it has a ginormous fucking 'A' on the outside of it!”    "Well, it used to say 'Stark'."    "Well, it doesn't anymore!"        “I still paid for it!”        “If anything,” the woman continued on with her argument, “this is Pepper’s house. After all, she is the CEO of Stark Industries.”        “And if she was here, she’d say the same thing – you need a bodyguard! Ah, Barnes, there you are!” Tony exclaimed seeing the super soldier walk inside the room. “This pain in my ass is Y/N Y/L/N, she’ll be staying with us for a while.”        Out of politeness, Bucky extended his hand for her to shake, but she didn’t reciprocate, just kept staring a hole into Tony’s skull, hoping it would combust. To be fair, he was used to other people ignoring him, being afraid of him and just shutting him out, but somehow, when Y/N did it, he wasn’t hurt. Actually, it was kind of funny how unwavering her gaze was, and how with every passing second her eyes narrowed more and more at Tony’s skull.        He cleared his throat, pocketing his hand and gave Stark an amused look. He just rolled his eyes.        “I was wondering if you could act as her bodyguard for the five months she’ll be here.”        “Again,” Y/N gritted, “I. Don’t. Need. A. Bodyguard. I’m literally in the safest building on Earth.”        “Also, the most dangerous one.”        “Yeah, well, not my fault is it?”        “Can you stop with the sarcasm for one fucking second?”        “I dunno. Can you stop being annoying and listen to what others are telling you.”        “I’ve listened to you,” Tony replied putting a hand on his hips, “and I’ve elected to ignore the stupid bullshit coming from your mouth. You need a bodyguard.”        “And in a few more minutes, you’ll need a casket.”        A tense silence settled between the genius and the stranger, but Bucky could feel it was more frustration than anything with ill intent.        “I uh,” suddenly his voice was thick, and he couldn’t properly speak, so he cleared his throat. “I uh, yeah, I’d have no problems helping out… just tell Fury that I won’t be able to make it to missions.”        “Done,” Tony said, still having his stare off with Y/N.        “No, not done. I don’t need a bodyguard.”        Tony released a deep sigh before he placed both palms on her shoulders and brought her in a hug, her own arms still crossed across her chest.        “Just until this whole thing blows over, please, Y/N,” Tony was pleading now, and it shocked Bucky to see the usually closed off man be so vulnerable. “Please, just to put my mind at ease… just so I know you’re always safe.”        “Fine,” Y/N grumbled, returning the hug, and tucking her face in the crook of Tony’s neck. “But I’ll be complaining the whole time.”        “That’s Barnes’s problem now.”        “Oh, no,” she laughed pulling back, “you’ve roped the poor guy into this. Don’t think I’m not above walking to your lab to annoy you every day and make videos so FRIDAY can play them for you at the ungodliest hour of the night.”        “Fine, I’ll just disable your access to the lab floor and code FRIDAY so she doesn't respond to your commands.”        “Tones, if you think me annoying you entails just talking your ear off, you have no idea who you’re related to.”        Stark just skipped away with a middle finger stuck in the air. When he was out of sight, she huffed and smiled, turning to Bucky and extended her hand. “Hey, I’m Y/N.”        And that’s when his life changed forever. With one smile, Bucky was a goner.        “Hey,” he softly replied, extending his hand once again, only this time being greeted by her soft skin. “I’m Bucky.”    

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A/N: so, we doin this? we doin this.

P.S. my tags are always open/ requests are closed for now.

P.S.S. feedback is always appreciated :)

[winteranc156]

Lovely, Dark and Deep

I wrote the first part to this some time ago for @cassiopeiasara. I've sort of continued itl. Just a note, I haven't watched past season 1 on the show, so I've just kind of wandered down my own mind for this. Enjoy!

Hecate had left their vacation plans up to Ada. She wanted her to feel completely in control and comfortable of wherever they ended up for the short break between terms.

It was a small concession to make to have Ada feel herself again. Capable and competent. Confident in her ability to be…simply be.

She had been fully prepared to endure any place Ada chose. She had expected a crowded, hot beach somewhere near the equator.

When they first arrived at the cottage deep in the dark woods of Germany, she had thought Ada had chosen the place for her. That she, perhaps, wanted to reconnect after a hectic term. That she wanted to talk and rediscover each other. That she wanted to mend shelved misunderstandings.

But two days in, Hecate knew Ada had chosen the seclusion of the woods to brood. She watched the shadowed figure against the window frame. She swallowed her sigh and turned in the bed, away from the window, away from Ada. It would do them no good if she were grumpy and morose along with Ada. She would worry about the aching sadness that had settled inside her chest after she slept.

But Hecate couldn’t find sleep. Her mind turned in and over on itself until the sting of tears clawed at her eyes. Ada had not touched her, had not looked at her, had barely spoken a word to her in two days.

For the first time in her remembrance, Hecate wished for the distraction of other people. She wished they were at a bright, sunny, crowded beach where she could hide in herself. Here in the seclusion and quietness of the woods, the distance that had crept up between them seemed inescapable.

“You’re crying.” The bed shifted with the weight of a body sitting. But there was no hand on Hecate’s arm. There was no warm reassurance. There was only a statement of fact and a turned back.

Hecate curled further into herself, shrinking her presence. If she feigned sleep, perhaps this could be avoided and the hole in her heart would stop getting bigger.

“I can feel you,” Ada sighed, tired, so tired, “your magic calls me when you’re in distress.”

Hecate wiped at her face with the heel of her hand.

“Why are you crying?” The question was tentative but oblique in its delivery, accusatory almost. Certainly rhetorical, because Ada was anything but stupid, especially not concerning emotional things.

Silence stretched between them, dense and alive in the two feet between their turned backs.

“When did we get like this?” Hecate’s question was thick. It landed heavily against the stifling silence.

Another sigh bounced against the silence, this one defeated.

Hecate felt the bed shift again and then Ada’s back pressed against her own. The heat seeping into her body anchored her but also made the ache in chest sharp and hot.

“There’s darkness in me, Hecate.” A hand fumbling in the dark reached for hers; Hecate, full of love and so much wanting, laced their fingers together. “I want to protect you from it, keep your goodness and your soft heart away from it.”

Hecate wanted to protest and deny the words filling the silence with too many deep secrets. But, she knew Ada was right. She was always one choice away from being Agatha. (The terrible tragedy was, of course, that Agatha was always one choice away from being Ada.)

“You can’t, Ada,” Hecate’s voice trembled with the truth of her words, “not without shutting me out. I can survive your darkness. But, I can’t survive your silence and distance.”

Ada’s magic curled her distress at the words around Hecate’s abdomen. The cold, sickly tendril of anguish instinctively made Hecate squeeze the hand in hers. She imagined identical tears as her own were falling from Ada’s closed eyes. Silence swallowed the room again. But their hands stayed connected.

Tomorrow they would face all the things they had been avoiding until this moment. Tomorrow they would have long conversations and long silences. Tomorrow would be hard, and possibly full of hurt.

But, there would be a tomorrow.

And, tonight they were together, back to back, hands clasped, binding them in the firmness of who they were together.

________________________________________________________________

Hecate wasn’t sure what woke her. She kept her eyes closed and listened; she allowed the quiet surroundings of the cottage to awaken her fully.

The first thing she noticed was the soft breathing on her neck. They had shifted in the night and were breast to breast, stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh. Hecate’s long form was held firmly against Ada by arms wrapped around her middle. It felt right to be pressed together.

A small, pained noise and hands gripping at her nightdress pulled all of her attention to Ada. Hecate rubbed circles into Ada’s back. “Ada,” she called softly, repeatedly, her hand shifting from back to shoulders to neck.

“Hecate.” Ada woke slowly, and then quickly. Her blue eyes were open and bright in the darkness surrounding them.

“Nightmare?” Hecate pressed a hand to Ada’s cheek.

Ada averted her eyes, hiding from Hecate’s gaze. “Memories.” The quiet stillness surrounding them seeped between the crevices between them.

Hecate wondered at that, at all she still didn’t know about Ada despite years of intimate friendship, years of marriage. The recently familiar pang of longing and hurt ached inside her chest. She opened her mouth to ask, but Ada’s lips covered the question. And her mind went blank because they hadn’t touched in two days, and they hadn’t touched like this—with this intent and purpose—in too long. Work, disaster after disaster, Agatha, Mildred, their tiredness, and a seemingly endless list of reasons had stopped them. Hecate wanted to ask, wanted to talk; she wanted to erase the emotional distance between them. But, she also burned at the touch.

Ada’s mouth was desperate and needy, her lips hard and insistent on Hecate’s.

Hecate opened to her because she had missed this closeness, this intimacy. They would get to the talking. They would resolve whatever the issue was that had raised a wall between them. But, that could wait. The press of desperate desire wrapped her mind and her body.

“Can I touch you, my darling?”

Hecate trembled at the question and the endearment pressed into her neck with a hot breath. In this they had never had any exaggerated sense of entitlement. They had always asked, always waited for consent to be given.

She took Ada’s hand and pressed it against her chest. The quiet, sure yes was swallowed in the whisper of magic that surrounded them when Ada banished their clothes.

Hecate sucked in a sharp breath at the press of flesh on flesh. It had been so long. Ada was soft and warm against her. She shuddered at the familiar way Ada touched her, practiced fingers leaving burning trails on her skin.

She opened to Ada, a sigh escaping her at the fullness and connectedness. Their magic flared around them as they moved. Hecate pressed hungry, desperate kisses to Ada’s lips. Her movements became jagged and she pulled Ada closer and deeper. She jerked sharply onto Ada’s hand, her breathing stuttered and stopped, her muted pleasure loud in the quite of the space around them.

Ada held her. Her fingers idly carding through dark hair.

For the first time in months, Hecate felt the warmth of their love fill her. They were going to work through this as they had worked through everything else they had faced in their many years together.

Hecate kissed her slowly, with all the love she felt for her. Can I touch you…her magic asked. The hesitation in Ada’s eyes gave her pause. “Trust me to love you,” Hecate whispered, vulnerable and open, her heart laid bare before the woman she loved.

Yes bounced in Hecate’s mind. “I do.”

________________________________________________________________

“Are you sure it’s supposed to look like that?” Ada looked down into the black liquid.

Hecate watched Ada’s hands grip the cup, her shoulders tense, her whole demeanor coiled tightly. “I’m not asking this of you, Ada.” Hecate’s eyes were soft. “Talking will suffice.”

Ada shook her head. “It’s time I share this with you.”

“There are easier ways than sharing an intense telepathic and empathic connection.” Her hands fluttered aimlessly.

“We already share that,” Ada nodded, making her decision. She tipped the cup back and drank the contents, “this will only make things clearer to you.” She took a deep breath and gently took Hecate’s hand. “No more hiding myself from you.”

The cottage faded and a rush of images and emotions assaulted Hecate. She whirled through Ada’s childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, middle age, and the now. Their present. Ada’s memories of them. All the experiences and all the emotions of each significant moment in Ada’s life flashed in her mind. She felt it all: the happiness, the anguish, the contentment, the numbness, the pain, the anger, the disappointment, the fear, the love. Oh the intense love.

And always, in every moment: Agatha.

And, Hecate understood.

She saw.

She felt.

As surely as the fact that she shared a magical, mental, and emotional connection with Ada so did Agatha.

The world around her solidified. But it wasn’t the cottage that appeared around her, instead Hecate found herself in an unfamiliar sitting room with a familiar face staring at her from across the room. A cruel smile overtook that face and the blue eyes were sharp and cold.

Ada’s hand tightened around hers.

“Oh my, dear sister,” Agatha’s saccharine voice mocked as she approached them, “what treat have you brought me?”

Again, so soon whispered at the periphery of Hecate’s mind. Her stomach knotted uncomfortably when she realized the meaning of Agatha’s words. Her mouth set in displeasure and her eyes narrowed.

Ada stepped in front of Hecate. “Agatha,” her voice warned.

The sound of Agatha’s laughter grated Hecate’s ears. It reverberated through all the memories she had experienced, bouncing loudly through her mind.

“There’s no mummy or daddy here for you to turn to, Ada,” the cruel smile darkened, “whatever will you do when I break your most favorite toy?” She circled them.

Both Ada and Hecate turned with her. Hecate could feel the prickle of Ada’s displeasure and anger. She knew Agatha could feel it too.

“Our little secret is out, sister.” Agatha stopped abruptly, giddy at her sister’s displeasure. “How does that make you feel, dear Hecate?” She leered before quickly signing and chanting the words to a spell.

Hecate could feel the draw and pull of Agatha’s magic; it was so similar, so familiar yet simultaneously so foreign, so strange. She also immediately felt Ada’s magic, intimately familiar.

“Enough, Agatha!” Ada’s voice boomed in the space, loud in all their minds.

Agatha smirked. “Does it bother you that she’s as much mine as she is yours?”

Hecate stepped forward, hands fisted, eyes sharp. “I do not belong to you.” She slipped her hand into Ada’s and concentrated on countering the effects of the potion.

Agatha’s laughter followed them back to the cottage.

They stood surrounded by bright morning light and the chirping of birds. Ada moved first, busying herself with making tea.

“Ada,” Hecate placed her hands on her shoulders, tentatively, “it’s not uncommon for magical twins to share the same source of magic.” She spoke softly, not sure how much of Ada’s upset was due to the new knowledge she possessed. “I have always been aware of the possibility.”

“I thought I had severed our connection long ago,” Ada sighed and turned into Hecate’s arms. Hecate relaxed, loosening some of the tension in her gaunt frame. “Agatha let me believe…” She shook her head. “I should have said something to you. I should have…”

Hecate rocked them unconsciously, the dread she’d been holding for months slowly loosened its grip on her chest. This was familiar. This was Agatha being Agatha; her they could face together. “You bound her magic. You couldn’t have known.”

Ada sighed. “Agatha got creative when I bound her. She’s has been using the connection we’ve always shared to use my magic. It’s how she discovered that you and I are bound. It’s how she’s seen us…” She trailed off, but Hecate understood. She had experienced what Agatha was privy to in Ada’s mind.

“Agatha’s deceits and choices are not yours to take responsibility for,” there was no judgement. “Is this why you’ve pulled away the last few months?” Hecate had to be sure. There had been too many things left unsaid between them.

“What would you have me do?” Ada gripped Hecate tightly. “I refuse to share you.”

“Good.” Hecate watched the bright scenery outside the little window in the kitchen and the crushing weight that had been pressed on her heart eased and lightened. She shifted, lifting Ada’s chin so their eyes locked. “I choose you, Ada.” She was unaccustomed to being the one to initiate physical affection between them but it came easily, as easily as her love for Ada. She kissed her softly. “That doesn’t make me Agatha’s by association. Nor does it make you culpable.”

Ada opened her mouth to protest but Hecate traced her thumb over her bottom lip.

“This isn’t your doing, Ada.” In this Hecate was certain. “Agatha has no right to use you as she has and then make you feel that it’s your fault.”

Ada sighed and closed her eyes. “I could do more to stop her.”

“What more could you possibly do?” Anger at the situation bubbled inside Hecate. “Short of—” Her words stopped abruptly and a different type of dread settled cold and heavy in her stomach.

A sad, hollow smile marred Ada’s face. “Yes,” she nodded slowly, “binding my power—”

“No,” Hecate interrupted, hands gripping Ada, “no.” She shook her head. “It would change everything.”

Ada nodded, her face set with the same sad smile, her eyes shiny.

“No, Ada.” Hecate pulled Ada to her, thoughts muddled and slow. “There has to be another way.”

“Perhaps,” Ada agreed easily, “either way, we will figure this out together.”

Hecate held on tightly. “Together,” she promised.