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julik0vatay · 5 months ago

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Hollow Knight keeps my attention in background while Im busy with other things so I am once again writing for sake of getting it all out of my head.

There's 3.7k words result under the cut.

Time loop with all endings smashed together, with some fix-it post-game speculations. Mainly focuses on The Knight and their journey, the Void, and finding hope in others. Not all characters appear, but its implied most characters survive. Alot of things are vague on purpose. Somewhat open but still happy ending.

Also posted on AO3!

Fool's errand

***** They walk the road under their feet like an ignorant fool first time. Everything fresh in its decaying glory, and they don't recognize a thing in their path. There is only vague need to go, and unfamiliar faces telling them they have places to be, and they follow, getting lost in the process.

They die a lot for their ignorance. They get used to it.

They end up their journey chained for cause they don't quite understand. And when they see no way out of that… Void (nothing but misery and regret) swallows them whole.

---

They wake up with a sense of deja vu accompanying their every step. They walk the road careful and methodic, noting every crossroad on their path. They listen carefully to words of not-so-unfamiliar faces now, but it seems like all roads lead to their demise, one way or another. And they could live die with it but it seems fates of others aren't much better no matter how careful they thread their steps.

They let their frustration out on the damned, bitterly think their fate is already sealed (ha!), and prolong the inevitable with wandering this cursed place. They get some insight for their troubles at least. There is a bigger picture they're trying to puzzle together but its not quite working yet.

When they exhaust their excuses they reach their end. They end up damning another along with them. And Void (full of guilt) swallows them whole.

---

They wake up and question their sanity. There is familiar road under their feel and friendly bugs who don't recognize them. Familiar weight of their nail gives them no hope for way out. They find lighter weapon to wield. This one feels heavy on their very soul instead.

They can carry that weight. They will carry everyone's regrets if they must. This place belongs to them by birthright after all, and they refuse to damn anyone else still lingering in these paths. They've seen more than enough deaths they couldn't prevent.

And when a crack in armor is presented to them they don't hesitate to slip their weapon in. There is bittersweet satisfaction of finally reaching source of their sorrows (some of them anyway).

There is other one by their side, restless and tired of fighting. They all can finally find piece. And yet… Void (full of hopes) drowns what is left of them.

---

They wake up and don't do a thing the way they're told. There are places to be and things to do and maybe they can find another way, save more than just a dozen lost souls if they try. Call them selfish and stubborn but there are bugs they don't want to see dead again. Call them fool for playing with fates against gods. They won't even try to deny.

They make their way in dreams and wonder if they leave a trace. Would someone remember their face when all is done? Would they want to be forgotten instead?

Climbing up is something they've done for half of their life (other half would be digging deeper). They're good at that. But this climb is harder than anything they've ever done, taking everything from them to keep their focus sharp on the goal.

At what point do they loose themselves in fighting?

Sight of their doomed siblings fills them rage. This is what was taken from them, and their judgement will be the price.

They rise and Void follows. They win and they loose themselves. They tear old light apart. Void (rage) swallows them both.

And Void is hungry in its wake and they can't do anything but watch as they're swept away in this sea of darkest tears. There is no voice to scream that this is not what they wanted.

Void (heavy and numbing) lulls them to sleep.

---

They wake up. They think for a long time.

They will try again. But this is not how they want things to end. They want to leave behind seeds of hope, not destruction. Even this damned trice over place deserves hope. They all deserve some hope.

They find new quest for themselves.

They're no gardener but leaving flowers behind seems like good idea at the time. They think of bugs they now hold dear in their mind. It is a good place to start.

Not everyone they succeed in finding. They still leave flowers behind. Even those that fall appart in their clumsy hands may one day grow. They desperately hope it's enough.

There are bugs who refuse their offerings. Sister, scolding them for stalling. Dear friend, looking too lost in thoughts. Cheerful miner they're afraid to approach. Troupe master, only smiling at them before offering another dance. Lady they hesitate to call mother, offering a warning they don't understand. Snarky nailsmith, threatening to trash it.

But they still leave flowers behind.

They leave them on graves and in bugs hands and in places noone visits and they hope.

They give one to Elder bug, their first friend here. He's happy with present and it fills them with satisfaction of a job well done.

They leave one on kingdom's edge. They leave one next to road leading to fallen palace. They leave some for dreamers still sleeping.

They leave one next to their doomed still sealed sibling. Like a promize.

They give one to Seeker who calls them names. For giving them hope. And just as much - for themselves. If they fail again, this will be their grave. They already accepted that.

If there's nothing but demise waiting for them then at least they could try to save everyone else.

They try not to think about how they're their father's child, biting more than they could swallow. But. They're full of Void and Void is always hungry. They'll manage or die trying. And then try again.

They walk fallen kingdom's dreams. They can almost feel more unseen eyes on them. Not just seekers but bugs sleeping and dreaming of them. They wonder how others see them in their sleep. Do they see shadows creeping under their feet, looming over their mask? Do they see Void's countless eyes blinking back?

Sometimes they almost convince themselves they can hear their friends' voices calling out to them, cheering on them. They aren't sure it's wishful thinking or results of their efforts. They hold onto them regardless. This is what they are fighting for.

Their sister's dream is as sharp as when she is awake. Name freely given, name reluctantly accepted, name now cherished sounds harsh and true with her voice. They're nothing but Ghost and this will be enough. They decided so themselves.

Their lost kin is but a lingering wisper.

Their doomed sibling still standing tall and proud. Not loosing battle yet loosing war. They're here to change that. Even if it hurts every time they try.

They make this climb and they walk these stairs and they know what is waiting for them and they feel Void following their every step. And bright old light ahead can try to blind them all it wants. That won't stop them. Just watch.

They rise. They fall. Void (full of everything they ever loved and hated) welcomes them in.

They're storm within themselves. Sea current drags them along familiar path but this time they refuse to go under. It's not enough. Just by themselves it's not enough to lift sorrows of many. They try anyway. This is what they came here for. Hope.

Somewhere some part of them finds a speck of light.

And everything goes still.

*****

Hornet thinks they stalk her dreams sometimes. She can never quite catch their facemask anymore, only a shadow hiding in shadows. Footsteps fading in rustle. Clank of metal against stone. Ghost of a ghost.

But never in waking world. This one is full of dealing with survivors. Which there are surprisingly many considering circumstances. She blames Ghost for that.

She isn't quite sure what her place in this mess should be. She's survivor and fighter and self-proclaimed protector and yet she's restless and can't find her footings with so many bugs moving in and out and about.

And then there is her somehow still alive half-sibling. Not a vague figure in her memory but a breathing half-broken living thing. How to deal with this she doesn't know either. She did her part helping with what she could but wounds of mind are harder to heal than wounds of body. This is not her battle to fight.

She looks at what is left of crumbled kingdom and for the first time wonders if this one is not her fight either. There are bugs still standing and willing to build new life. They don't need her that much even if she is willing to help sometimes.

She decides to think about this later, when her mind isn't busy with more important things like survival.

---

They no longer have a title or a name they could call their own, even in the quiet of their mind. The mere fact that it is now QUIET there still leaves them baffled. They forgot it could be like this.

It gets noisier sometimes, when there are many things to keep track of, bugs coming in and coming out and none of them they recognize. Even princess (sister…) looks much older and stands much taller than they could recall. Then again their memory is patchy at best and painful at worst.

The one they recognize only stops by their dreams. The one who answered their silent cry for help. The one they never saw with their own eyes after waking (at least they think they didn't?).

Their mask is a mirror to their own, long outgrown. Their face is now marred with scar deep crack right in the middle, making two halves, held together by sheer force of will. They don't hide the damage even if it's not quite real. Shadows cling to them like cloak, long and ever changing, trail under their footsteps, wispy fog over their head. They never stay for long, only check on them and then fade away in shadows where they came from.

They appreciate visits being short. It's hard to decide how to act with someone who is your saviour and not-quite-but-not-quite-not a new God.

Still, they wish they could reach out. But when they try they can feel only Void wispering back. They aren't sure if they're deaf or just forgot how to listen.

And when they wake they're busying themselves with sights of everything and anything and there's much to think and they do just that - watch and listen and think.

They have life to live. They never expected to have that chance. They will not let it slip out of their hands. It is a promise in a form of a flower and they will try their best to keep it. Price for this was way too high.

This line of thought almost sends them down the spiral but they catch themselves. Not again. They did not survive this long going down that road.

One day at a time.

---

Quirrel finds himself lost in quite uncomfortable way. He was this close to calling it quits on this whole adventuring thing (and more than that but he's not going tell another living soul how close he was to the edge of water that day).

And now there is someone he expected long dead - awake and just as confused as he is - and he's running errands like a young fool again. And quite frankly he'd rather be elsewhere. He is too old for this! Life he was sure he left behind bites him in new ways every day he's here and what is worse he can't find one person he wants to see the most!

How come on all their journey over Hallownest they've met so many times but now that apparently infection is over he can't find a single trace of them?? Did they really meet their demise? He was really doubting that, after personally watching them fight.

But the longer he searches the more he looses hope. Everyone he asks gives him same answers - they've met his wandering friend before infection was wiped out (And wiped out it was!! Leaving no traces to examine but corpses!!) but never after.

He's sure lost wanderer is behind that. It's the HOW that confuses him more than anything. Last times he saw them were when they hesitated to break the seal - he could understand that, there were always things to prepare beforehand - and then when he wentured for blue lake, too tired of waiting for their return.

This one memory is a bit hazy, but he thinks they tried to give him something… Some pretty thing that felt too fragile in his rough tired hands so he gave it back with polite shake of head.

He regrets not holding onto it now. What was it that they offered him? Was it somehow important?

Could it be answer to their fate?

He finds half of an answer in place where he started his descend. Eldery bug, holding onto precious looking flower. It stirs his memory enough to ask. Elder is more than happy to talk but there is melancholy in their voice.

– Amazing flora, isn't it? It is a gift from a friend. I haven't seen them travelling through this old town in awhile… It got much livelier here since then. Doesn't feel like ghost town anymore. Too bad my friend isn't here to see. I wonder if they are wandering farther somewhere now…

That night Quirrel dreams of his silent companion. They're sitting on the bench in hotspring on the lake's edge next to him. They're holding pale looking flower, nothing but memory of a real thing. They don't look at him but still offer it to him. This time he accepts. It hits him like a blow that this could be second time they're saying goodbye.

Words feel wrong when he finally forces himself to say:

– Is this truly your end? Somehow I never expected to outlive someone so resilient as you, my friend..

They turn to him and breath catches in his throat as he looks at their mask, tracing with eyes deep crack running down right between their eyes. No ordinary bug could survive injury this bad. But they're not ordinary bug and he did see them survive similar looking wound.

He tries again:

– Surely that couldn't be it? I've seen you healing cracks before.. Unless this one runs deeper than that?..

They stare at him, as if thinking. Then shrug. He's not getting answers that easy.

When he wakes up there is a petal on his face. But he can barely remember his dream.

---

They linger in dreams for a sole reason of not finding a way out. Seeker no longer here, swept under raging storm they created and with that voice quiet they can't find an anchor.

Dreams of bugs come and go and they cannot manage to do much more than watch.

It makes their hands itchy for action. Pantheon stands quiet without Seeker to channel it.

Familiar faces are the only solace they can find.

They watch from shadows their sister's battles - with herself and the world they left behind. They don't go any closer. No reason to add another problem to already growing pile of them. She'll manage just fine without them, she did so long before they came back here.

Their taller sibling dreams rarely and all their dreams are a patchwork of pains long ignored. They don't hide themselves here because Void has no reason to hide from Void but they don't stay for long. Their fate won't be another burden on battered shell of their sibling. Let them heal.

Many bugs blink on their awareness, some more often than others. It warms their non-existent heart that they left something behind to be remembered by. That there are bugs still alive to remember them.

Nightmare flame visits once in a while with a polite bow. They can't decide if he appoves or not the fate they choose for themselves. They bow back regardless. It's nice to feel heat radiating from him. They don't mind another dance.

Void below their feet is quieter now. Storm passed and parts of it, of them, vaporated into nothingness. Maybe they found peace. But still they linger.

Some part of them, selfish and stubborn, still wants to live. There are siblings they want to see again. There are bugs they want to visit.

They wonder if their shell is still out there, unscratched, waiting for their return.

*****

That faithful day the infection disappeared all of them woke up from the same dream. Dream of blinding light setting into inky stormy sea. Of night falling over endless day, with only stars blinking, mirrorred on sea surface.

This peaceful night all of them fall asleep to the same dream. Rain falling down, disturbing calm waters, storm brewing. There is someone lost at the sea with no anchor and no shore in sight.

---

Horner finds herself dreaming of sand under her feel. There is tide coming and she knows not to touch black waters below yet she stays where she stands.

Her red cloak and tall mask could be a beacon on its own but in case its not enough she calls out to the endless sea.

– Ghost of Hallownest!! Are you still there??

---

They dream of Void calling them in and have no choice but to answer.

They have a debt to pay.

They drop down into blackness below without hesitation and let the current drag them along.

Somewhere out there a cry of frustration sends waves over black surface. It is enough to give them direction.

They reach out.

---

Quirrel dreams of walking rocky tunnels under the lake. Claustrophobic feeling weights him down and he watches dark droplets slide down the walls as he walks.

There is pale flower in his hands and it's the only source of light guiding him in the dark. He holds it just a bit closer.

He knows somewhere out there is his lost friend. He just has to find them again.

---

Elderbug dreams of beautiful garden he wishes to grow. He hopes one day his friend will come to see it.

He's okay with waiting. They can take as much time as they need.

---

Nightmare can offer nothing but flickering firelights. They appreciate the sentiment even if it gives them no help in finding a way out.

They cry out send out a spell full of frustration before setting down again. It comes off of them in waves as they float on the surface of endless dark sea. No matter where they look they can't find solid ground anymore.

… Maybe they're approaching this all wrong.

They look back into themselves and search for something, anything. They can find nothing they haven't seen before, countless eyes looking back into themselves.

They keep looking.

They see countless lives cut shorter than blink.

They keep looking.

They see every step they made overlapping, ever-changing yet changing nothing.

They keep looking.

They keep looking until they realize some lights blinking don't belong to them.

They reach and find shiny petals swimming, shimmering in the dark.

They reach and hear voices calling for them, looking for them, waiting for them.

They reach and anchor themselves.

And then they wake up.

*****

Hornet wakes up with a feeling that certain someone did something that would result with more mess she'll have to deal with. Again.

She reaches for her weapon. She sees her taller sibling creep out of their nest towards the well leading down. She sees them drop down and curses under her breath.

She follows.

---

They know not what changed in the Void but its something they can feel. It calls them in, somewhere down there, no longer urgent but now more solid than before.

With energy they didn't realize they had they move down, down, down, towards source of disturbance.

They have pretty good idea what and who they're going to find.

---

Several bugs wake up feeling like they missed something important, unable to pin down what it was. And Myla, one of them, can do nothing but sing herself back to sleep.

Surely tomorrow she'll remember.

Surely.

---

The Teacher is frantically writing down notes when Quirrel finds her awake. Before he can even raise his voice there's a paper showed in his hands and he's walked out of the door he just came in.

– We have new readings and a direction! Go check it out, would you? We have no time to waste!

Scratching his head he looks at the mess in his hands. It's a rough map with several places marked for checking and he can't help but think that his friend's maps were far easier to understand.

Well, he was about to say he's leaving anyway. Latest dream left him aching for another search attempt. He might as well see what all this noise is about on the way.

---

They wake up.

There is headache coming in waves and everything swims before their eyes.

But they're awake now and it's all that matters.

They attempt to get up. Their body feels weak. Weaker than at the very start of they journey. With aching limbs they push themselves from the ground. They feel heavy. They are heavy. In fact they can barely fit into their old shell and they feel Void almost spilling over.

They feel pressure building behind their eyes.

They make first reluctant step.

*CRACK*

Thin line runs down their eye and they can do nothing but hold it down.

They're fragile. They will destroy their shell from within like this. This just won't do.

In attempt to release the pressure they try to heal. It helps nothing and leaves them drained instead. Well, so much for that.

They think about dreams. They let themselves spill into shadows under their feet. There, that will work for now. There is now a moving, horned, blinking puddle of Void looking back at them from the floor. Technically, still part of them. But it feels lighter this way.

They let themselves rest for another moment before trying to move again. Void clings to their feet and follows. It dances and thins and creeps like normal shadow would. Just much darker. Much longer. They can work with this.

They need to get out of here and deal with that crack before it gets worse. They have a sinking feeling it will leave a mark they won't be able to fix.

Its okay. They survived worse.

And most importantly…

They will see everyone soon.

#hollow knight #the hollow knight #julik writes stuff #julik draws stuff #2024

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anxietycroissant · 1 year ago

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So this has stalled but in case anyone else lets stuff slip through the cracks like I do on Ao3, here’s the first chapter of my (so-far) #sydcarmy rambling story that never gets to the point. It’s four chapters so far and I’m hoping this will motivate me to keep it going.

It takes place immediately post season 2 as Carmy gets busted out of the walk-in. It’s a bit feel-good so far but that is unlikely to continue without a few bumps in the road. Enjoy! If you’re lazy I’ve literally pasted the entire first chapter into this post like an absolute champ.

Chapter 1: Mister Freeze

Late night after Friends and Family

The Bear BOH, Chicago, IL

Syd entered the kitchen quietly from the door that led outside, wiping her dry lips with the back of one shaking hand. They had actually pulled off the night, even with Carmy stuck in the walk-in. She pulled her eyes shut as she felt a low swooping sensation in her stomach as the memory of her coming so close to giving up while doing expo flashed in her mind. She never thought she’d be so thankful to Richie. He completely saved her ass. She had wanted to thank him profusely at the end of the night, but he was nowhere to be found as Tony (or was it Terry?), the fridge guy, was breaking Carmy out of the walk-in. Her fingers had begun to haltingly compose a text to Richie to see where the fuck he was, but she figured that she’d save this big conversation for another day. Her gratitude was too big for WhatsApp and that’s just how it was. Plus, what in the actual hell was making her phone so greasy? Olive oil?

Richie unexpectedly saved the day… what the fuck was that? A smile edged up the corners of her mouth until her face ached. It was funny how much she needed to remember that sometimes people can still surprise you in the best ways. She frowned, as a cousin of that thought entered her mind. People can also let you the fuck down.

Carmy was her partner, and she valued his experience and opinion above almost everything. But he really lost himself. It wasn’t so much that he broke his promise to her that he wouldn’t let her drown. It was more that he just totally broke down. She’d never known somebody who could be both so brilliant and yet so unable to cope when things got tough. Everyone had tried to talk him out of his anxiety spiral, but nothing anyone said had done any good in the end. The only person who could help Carmy was Carmy, and that sure as shit didn’t happen.

She had heard bits and pieces of things he had said to Tina from inside the walk-in as she zoomed around the kitchen trying to get things done. She didn’t find out the whole story until later. After the last tickets of the night came through and the stress level of the kitchen started to even out, she realized that until that moment she had forgotten all about Carmy. That’s the thing about working at such a high level: it’s good and bad to focus so completely on something that you totally forget any and everything else.

The moment her thoughts circles back to Carmy, she stopped checking up on everyone and walked back towards the walk-in. The familiar scent of clean, hot dishes and the lingering odor of hot oil hit her as she shuffled tiredly away. She saw the back of Nat's blonde head and could almost physically feel the worry she was directing towards the metal door of the walk-in. Nat must have felt Syd watching her and whispered, “I keep wondering why this is taking so long! Pete keeps circling the block in the car waiting for me. I just want to see if Carmy’s okay, but every time I try to talk to him through the door he won’t say anything. He’s being such a little bitch right now!” She sounded equal parts worried and disgruntled, like always. Syd smiled and cracked a yawn. “You go ahead, Nat. I promise I’ll check up on Carmy and get him home safe. You and Pete head home and rest up. You were amazing tonight, but you look a little bit like…,” her face froze as she saw Natalie’s raised eyebrows. ”Yeah. Um, what I actually meant to say was that I’ve like, got this. Yeah,” she fumbled awkwardly.

Nat just nodded, not even hearing that Syd had basically tiptoed really close to telling her that she looked like hammered shit. “Thanks, Syd. I don’t know what any of us would do without you. Text me if you need anything or if I should come back, OK? And let me know what he says, yeah? And this is a big ask, but… can you see if you can get him to eat something?” Nat rubbed her eyes, causing her mascara to smear ever so slightly. Syd wondered what her own mascara was doing at that moment. “And oh yeah,” Nat spat out with venom, “It would also be great if you could calm him the fuck down and get him to stop getting in his own freaking way all the time.” She did have the decency to grimace in apology after that last bit. Syd cocked her head to the side, already feeling defeated. “Should I be like, taking notes, Nat? Or is that all?” Nat let out a harsh laugh and squeezed Syd’s shoulder, practically racing out the door. ‘Fuck,’ thought Sydney , ‘She’s leaving before I can change my damn mind.’

Syd leaned her back against the wall, and slowly sank to the floor to wait for Carmy to get out. She waited a few minutes longer before the guy whose name probably began with a T finished with the door. Before he opened the door, he said, “Hey, no offense, Syd… but can I get paid before I open this door? Carm has been saying some weird shit and I just want to get the hell out of here.” Syd nodded distractedly, running a hand along her braids. She reminded him just to bill them. She was not going to call Nat back in right now to ask what the new process for paying contractors was. And honestly, she wasn’t dying to know how much money it was going to set them back to have this emergency work done. Mystery Man just shrugged, his gesture seeming to mean that he didn’t trust her promises but that he was too tired to care. “Thanks so much for helping, have a great night!” Syd called out as Terry or Tim or Tony made a beeline for the exit.

‘Well, shit’ , Syd thought. 'He didn’t even open the door all the way.' She hoped she could. As she pushed, the door swung cleanly on its hinges until it was all the way open. She stepped in, the cool air a welcome change from the warm kitchen against her flushed skin. Carmy was just sitting there staring at the floor, seemingly unaware that he was free. With his arms wrapped around himself, he had his head down in between his knees. His blonde curls obscured his eyes, so she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Syd let herself sink down next to him. She cautiously put an arm around him and wrapped her palm around his shoulder. The cold of his shoulder reached up and bit her. He tensed up immediately but relaxed a bit when he realized it was her arm and not someone else’s.

“Syd,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’m so sorry, Chef. I’m so, so sorry.” He either didn’t have the energy or the will to look at her. “I broke my promise to you already.” He seemed so bereft, so adrift, that Syd couldn’t even voice her anger or disappointment at that moment. “Carmy,” she said softly, “Let’s get you out of here and then talk about it.” She kept her arm around his freezing shoulder but got onto her knees so she could leverage her weight to help him stand up. She thought he would put up more of a fight, but he got up willingly enough. She dragged him over to his locker and then helped him into his wool jacket, and had to physically pull his feet out of his Birkenstocks and put them into his sneakers. It was a bit worrying, the way he was accepting her help without question. She got her bag out and changed her own clothes and shoes, and then they walked out to his car. He just stood there, so she told him she was driving him home. He didn’t argue, didn't smoke a cigarette, didn't give her shit. It all kind of worried her.

The atmosphere in the car was tense and quiet as soon as the doors shut. Syd turned on the radio to fill the silence. She was thankful that at least they weren’t listening to any of his fucking depressing music. Syd, under the guise of running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose braid behind her ear, was really sneaking multiple sidelong glances at Carmy as she drove to his place. To his credit, he wasn’t giving anything away. His blue eyes just stared straight ahead, devoid of any emotion. She kept hoping she could think of something to say, but her brain was maxed out. Also, she was pretty sure there was trash or something under the gas pedal, and she needed to focus on not killing them in a fiery car crash. Carmy started mumbling something as they approached his neighborhood, apparently to himself. Syd sighed and eventually found parking underneath a tree by his building.

Even later that night

Carmy’s apartment

The two of them slowly walked up many, many stairs to his apartment. Syd figured that this was the only way left to find a decent apartment in Chicago; find something on the hundredth floor with no elevator. She twisted the key in the lock and opened his door. They both stumbled inside. Carmy waved at her as he slowly slurred, “Thanks, Syd. Go home and get some sleep. You killed it tonight.” She gave him a half smile and nodded. But as she started to turn around and head for the door, something didn’t quite feel right. She whipped her head back around and caught Carmy shivering. He had apparently waited to fall apart until after she left. “Carm, what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me you were so cold? We had the heat on high the whole way here,” Syd huffed, losing what little patience she had left. “We could have saved time going to the ER!” At that thought, Carmy really looked at her. And he looked scared. “Syd, please,” he whispered, “No doctors, okay? I just can’t. I’m so tired and those places freak me the fuck out.”

“All right, Carm, but I can’t leave you alone- and we’ve got to get you warm.” He just looked at her, utterly spent and waiting on her next move. “Shit,” she thought. Maybe he has mild hypothermia? Is that a thing? Can you be just a little bit frozen? She Googled it and it was a thing. She also Googled if spiraling makes hypothermia worse, but the only thing that Google advised against was hot baths. Not super helpful, but good to know? She was torn between calling an ambulance and trying to fix him herself. If she was being honest, she didn’t have the energy to convince Carmy to willingly leave in an ambulance. And she certainly didn’t have the capacity right now to get him down those stairs on her own. She sighed and decided to put the kettle on. His depressing apartment wasn’t helping either.

“OK, Carm, let’s get you into something warmer,” she said dully. He just stood there, so she slipped into his bedroom. Pulling open drawers that barely slid open, she found some sweatpants that somehow looked like normal sweatpants but also like an artisan had handcrafted them in a long-forgotten Italian village. As she ran her hands across the expensive fabric, she wondered where he shopped. And when did he shop? Did he secretly have a massive online shopping addiction, or did he spend every day off buying expensive as fuck sweatpants and obscure white t-shirts? After grabbing the sweatpants, she found a thick, long-sleeved tee. She also grabbed some boxers and thick socks.

As she padded back to Carmen, she saw that he was shivering more than ever. “Arms up, dude,” she said sternly. He put them up without a fight, although they shook slightly. She pulled up his shirt, catching her knuckles on his chest as she did. His skin felt like ice. ‘Shit,’ she thought. New clothes weren’t going to be enough. She slid the new shirt over his head anyway and helped him pull his arms through the sleeves. She tried not to stare at his body while he was in this vulnerable state, but it was an exercise in control. Because all of his muscles were on full display less than a couple of centimeters away from her eyes. If she had had more time, she’d have taken a mental inventory of a few new-to-her tattoos. Her face felt hot all of a sudden and she shook her head to stay on task.

He managed to get his shit together for a second and changed his pants and boxers in his bathroom with the door (halfway?) closed. He was taking too long, so she pushed the door open and pulled him back out. She gave him a long look, sighing. She didn’t like what she saw. A wax version of a person stood in front of her, without substance or colour. Maybe it was just her, but he looked even paler than usual. His skin normally had a golden undertone with a blush of red ready to rise up just underneath the surface of his skin. Not that Syd had perfectly cataloged the colors of his skin in her memory or anything. Because that would be a new level of weirdness. Just then the tea kettle began to whistle. Sydney took some dusty mugs down from his cabinet and some even dustier tea bags, making tea for them both.

She dragged Carmy to sit down on the edge of his bed and handed him the scalding hot cup of tea. He looked at it, then at her, and then back at the tea again. “Syd,” he trailed off. “I’m fucking cold.” Syd looked up at the ceiling. Why did this shit always happen to her? How did she find herself in these situations? She felt like she was in a really random episode of a TV show with endless seasons, like Grey's Anatomy. This scenario had played out at least a time or two on that series, she thought to herself.

She gestured to Carmy to take off his shirt. “It’s either that or we go to the hospital,” she warned, as he looked at her in disbelief. “We have to get you warmed up somehow, and I’m afraid to put you in the shower when you’re this cold. If you fall and pass out, I don’t think I can pick you back up. I know we’re the same height, but fuck, dude, I don’t work out!” He let her come closer and take his shirt off. The collar got stuck on his nose for a second, and Syd heard a high laugh escape from her mouth. “Cool, super cool,” Syd thought. “Real chill.”

She gently pushed Carmy down onto his pillow and then laid down beside him. She pulled the covers over them both and wrapped her arms gently around his body. His eyes were tightly shut, and his shivering shook them both. “Syd… I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this,” he whispered through chattering teeth. “Hey,” Syd whispered excitedly, “you said two whole sentences! That’s more than you’ve said in the last hour!” Her grin faded as she saw the misery etched on Carmy’s face. His body felt tense like he would bolt if he could. Did he really hate this so much, or was he simply ashamed to be so weak in front of her ?

“Hey, Carm, it’s just me. You can relax, let’s just... You know? Get you warm, ok? You’re totally fine. We’re just cuddling, right? Nothing scary is happening. It’s just me.” But then a sudden realization hit her. “Oh fuck,” she thought, cringing inwardly. He has a girlfriend. Who is an ER doctor? Of course he’s tense. “Carm, should I call Claire? I’m sure you’d much rather her do this, right? Especially since she’s a… fuck… I don’t know? Actual doctor who knows what she’s doing? I can’t believe I’m such an idiot! I’m so sorry!” But Carmy just shook his head, pressing it into her shoulder. He was mumbling, but his voice sounded much clearer than it had just a little while ago. “So Claire kind of heard me say some shit while I was locked in the walk-in. Yeah, I thought I was talking to Tina, but I guess Tina left? And I’m paraphrasing but I am pretty sure I told her she wasn’t worth all of this time? Pretty sure we’re broken up. So. Yeah. Please don’t fucking call her, Syd.” Carmy dragged his hands through his hair, which at this point made little to no difference. His hair was already wild after his jaunt in the walk-in.

Syd didn’t know what to say, because she had never known how to feel about Claire in the first place. Claire was fine? Perfect on paper, but not for Carmy. “Syd?” Carmy had apparently asked her a question. “Sorry,” Syd replied, “Are you okay? Uh.. fuck, you’ve had a bad night. I guess you were under a lot of pressure though. If you say you’re sorry and you didn’t mean it, I’m sure she’ll understand.” Syd believed this to be true while wanting it not to be true at the same time. She had that odd feeling of missing a step while walking down the stairs deep in her belly.

Carmy’s nose felt like ice against where it was wedged against her shoulder. “Look, I feel bad about how I said it, but I’m also relieved.” She could feel him smile slightly, the first bit of life she’d seen from him since the walk-in had been cut open. “I always really liked her, you know? And when we started hanging out, it was cool. But she got to see me when I was ok. I don’t think she ever saw that side of me, where I get angry or anxious or throw up or just guzzle Tums. For a while, I thought it was fine. But it’s not. And she reminds me of being a little kid. And like of how I was in high school. And that’s not her fault, I know. But I can’t be with her.” He sighed. “I’m not explaining it well at all, I know. But I’m glad it’s you here and not anyone else. I don’t think I could take it.” Sydney nodded, understanding immediately. “I get it,” she murmured softly.

She looked down and saw that her hand was lightly rubbing his back. His very naked, very muscular back. She felt the heat radiate from her cheeks, down through her arms and legs, and into the sheets. She was very, very thankful that Carmy was still out of it. Too out of it to notice that she was losing her damn mind. As her hands slowly rubbed up and down, she felt Carmy’s muscles relax bit by bit. He even felt a bit warmer now. Still fucking cold, but she didn’t think he needed the hospital anymore. He felt like he’d just come in from playing in the snow. The mental image of Carmy as a boy, coming inside from building a snowman, appeared in her mind’s eye. She had to bite down a smile.

“What?” whispered Carmy softly. “What made you smile just now? Where did you go?” Syd just shook her head. “It’s too embarrassing,” she admitted. “I’m sure it’s definitely more fucking embarrassing than what I’ve experienced tonight,” he deadpanned. She chuckled as he cracked a grin. “I was just thinking that now you don’t feel like ice anymore, and then I thought that now you feel like you’re just cold from playing outside. Like kids do after it snows.” Carmy pulled back to look at her. “Do you think we’d have been friends if we’d known each other back then?” he asked. “I don’t know,” answered Syd truthfully, staring up at the ceiling. “I was a major nerd. And I was also a lot younger than you. Four years was a big difference back then. That’s like ten years in kid years.”

Carmy stared at her. “Four years isn’t much anymore, though,” he breathed. ‘Fuck,’ thought Sydney desperately. ‘Don’t look at me like that with those eyes.” He scrunched up his blue eyes. “What do you mean?” He asked. “Oh, fuck. Did I say that out loud?” She laughed nervously. “Syd,” he stared at her as he shifted a bit closer to her. “What do you mean?” he repeated softly. There was no judgment in his eyes. He just wanted to understand.

“Jesus Christ, Carmy, you have to know that your blue eyes are enough to stop traffic. People in small villages would probably have a parade to celebrate that shit.” She shut her eyes tight and waited him out. She slowly opened one eye. Yep, still staring at her. He was smiling at her sadly. “I don’t think anyone is gonna throw a parade for me any time soon, “he replied. “But they definitely would for you.” She wrinkled up her face as though she had swallowed a mouthful of vinegar.

“Syd, you’re worse at taking a compliment than I am, fuck. You don’t see it, but you’re everything. Everyone loves you, you’re incredibly talented, and you- yeah, you’re just everything,” he sighed. “I don’t deserve you,” he says as he pushed a stray braid out of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Syd,” he repeated.

Syd suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say, and her mouth was dry. As Carmy gazed into her eyes, she felt herself on the edge of something, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to go over. Trying to hang onto some semblance of normalcy, she squeezed his shoulder in reply. Carmy, whose arms had until now been resting at his sides, reached up to wrap an arm around her waist. She felt her skin warm at his touch, which was weird, right? The heat wasn't coming from his body; that was for sure. Was she freaking out? Was she breathing weirdly? Could he tell? Oh God. He seemed so calm, and she was losing her mind. Apparently not noticing her awkwardness, Carmy moved closer. She could feel his soft curls touching her cheek. She could feel his chest pressed into hers, soft and reassuring. He even smelled? Cold, somehow?

“Syd? This is really nice,” he whispered, stroking her back. “Carmy, why does your breath smell like spices?” Sydney couldn’t help but giggle. Carmy should smell like cigarettes and soap, and she finds the difference strange. “I was hitting the walk-in door, you know?” Carmy said softly, “And I accidentally knocked over a container of cloves. Luckily it was almost empty, but I got a fucking mouthful. It was intense.” He was staring at her again. She felt the places where his fingers touched her burn with electricity.

“I like cloves,” Syd said stupidly. Her cheeks started burning, and she groaned. “Don’t listen to me,” she murmured. “I’m fucking delirious.” She chanced another look at Carmy. Yep, still staring. “Syd,” he said quietly. “Look at me.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. She caught him looking at her mouth. He quickly looked up and had the decency to apologize with a look. He slowly brought a hand up to her cheek, feeling her soft skin. “Do you- can I-“ his words were cut off as Sydney suddenly sat straight up in his bed, causing his arms to fall away from her. “Carmy,” Syd breathed, “I.. I just can’t. I don’t know how to do this. After everything tonight- and Claire- and you probably had hypothermia just now- it’s a lot.” Carmy squeezed her hand in understanding. “Syd, I get it. I’m sorry. I should not have put you in this position tonight.”

Syd smiled sadly, her dark eyes wide. “But Carmy? I liked this. You know, except for the part where I had to basically carry you up the stairs. And the whole me worrying about you having hypothermia part? So ok now that I’m hearing myself a lot of it actually sucked? But also I got to see at least 17 tattoos I’ve never seen before, and I’m also not saying no, OK? I just think we need some time.” She got up then to stop vomiting out words. Carmy rolled out of bed too, swaying slightly as he stood. He put his arms around her in a tight hug. She leaned her slender body into him for a second, forgetting everything she’d just said. “Text me when you’re home safe?” he asked. His eyes smoldered. Syd was pretty sure she had never smoldered at anyone. “Yeah,” Sydney said unevenly. She somehow turned around and walked to the door without passing out. As she closed the door, she saw him, still staring at her. And “Jesus Christ, fuck me,” she thought. “Those abs. Will I see those abs again?”

As she walked towards the train, she looked at her phone and saw several messages and missed calls from Nat, each one more frantic than the last. She called her immediately, explaining that she had stayed with Carmy until he warmed up. She mentioned making the tea and helping him change his clothes, but she left out the rest. Natalie thanked her profusely before hanging up. Eyebrows raised, Syd threw her hands up as she walked. Being a human was so confusing sometimes.

#ao3 #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #sydcarmy #the bear fx #the bear

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calidore · 7 months ago

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cyberpunk

a very short ateez fic

summary: Under the neon gaze of Seoul, two past lovers meet at a local convenience store; two lovers who promised they will find each other in their next life. As the night grows older the secrets they share become more intimate. Will they fall in love again or should their love die with the night.

i wrote this thinking about yunho, but his name is mentioned once, so really it can be about any member heavenly inspired by "cyberpunk" by ateez. i took some lyrics from it too no warnings, but my writing is very mundane. i focus more on the vibes than the plot it didn't turn out exactly how i invisioned it, but i hope you like it

ao3 link: cyberpunk - bonefire - ATEEZ (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

also, my submissions are open

Darkness falls over the city, but its reign doesn’t last long, as the neon lights accompany it in a chaotic dance. The silence spreads around, trying to paralyze the city, but with no success. At night, Seoul is more alive than ever, at least for the lost souls.

You finish your cigarette while watching over the movements of fellow night creatures and listening to the ring of the convenience store bell. The pack was almost half empty. You spot a dirty white cat eating from a can left by one of the diner employees. The diner was dimly lit, isolating four souls from the frozen night. You could tell that time passes differently inside the diner. The old gentleman, the couple and the chef were all laughing, exposing their souls to the sleeping audience from outside. The cold wind cuts your skin and suddenly you remember the childhood winter nights you spent watching plastic people inside snow globes enjoying their lifeless existence.

The cat finished eating and went back to its shelter, passing by an open window. You took a closer look and saw a highschooler with his headphones on, looking at the starless sky. It has been a while since you were able to see any stars. Their light has been replaced by the neon signs, which have made your sleepless nights even lonelier. One of them was flashing its green light in the boy's face, but he didn't seem bothered by it. It made him look less real, so maybe he felt that way too. You were wondering what could possibly keep him awake at this hour; he has a whole world in front of him. But then you remembered that worlds come in different sizes.

You light another cigarette and take your eyes away from the downtown city to look around yourself. The convenience store was busy and loud. A couple of drunk guys who only lay out their hearts at times like this, a stressed university student preparing for a sleepless night and a guy who doesn't belong here. You don't pay him much attention, even though he caught your attention with his mere presence, but it was enough for him to get closer to your spot.

"May I sit here?" he asks, pointing at the empty spot on the bench. You blow out the smoke while looking at him and nod. He sits down, looking at the city that spreads in front of him with empty eyes. "Does it make you feel like a god?" he asks and you look at him without turning your head, intrigued by the questions. It takes him a while to continue, either trying to gather his thoughts or waiting for an equal half spoken answer. "Sitting like this, watching over the city, feeling like you know its entire fate, yet nothing at all?"

You try to catch a glimpse of the man next to you without looking directly at him. You are certain that you have never seen him before, but something about him, his presence, his existence, feels like you have met before. It feels like something that refuses to be forgotten.

"Being a god is a very lonely and dreadful job." you answer without thinking too much, which is out of character for you. Another one of your cigarettes leaves the pack.

"It's like watching a black and white photo with some splashed neon paints. A controlled reality in which life, inevitably, loses its meaning." Your eyes were still watching the people walking down the street. Even though their faces were hidden in the night, you could tell that no one smiles.

You listen closely to the description he gives of this fake view of the city. He is right, if it wasn’t for the lights that lose their paths, it would look like a black and white photo.

But the noise of the city tells another story. Dozens of people wander around when their sanctuary is in this state. The night dilutes time, giving some comfort to the lonely souls. Everything around you feels manipulated, the sky, the stars, even the time. You couldn’t tell what is true anymore.

"Each one of these people is asking questions you do not have the answer for. No wonder your existence would be doubtful." You say, while watching a group of young adults entering a club.

The stranger takes a look at you, then turns his eyes back to the city.

“What do you think is her question?” He points at a window where you could see a woman. She was writing something, pausing from time to time to look at the neon sign of an electronics shop.

“She has a hole in her chest.” you whispered, because anything louder would not sound like a confession. You couldn’t tell why, but this man made you feel like you could tell him anything, because he would understand it better than you. He made you feel like you could give him your heart and he would take care of it for you. But you didn’t have one, so those promises didn’t distinguish from lies.

He listens to you, waiting for you to continue your thought.

“She should fill it. But not with something less holy than her own heart or she will never feel whole again.”

“Something like what?”

Both of you admire the woman. Her misery has mesmerized you because it felt so sincere and personal. You realize why gods do not interfere with humans. It makes their immortality much harder to endure.

“Her lover’s unspoken secret,” you answer.

He looks at you confused, probably hoping for a different answer.

“Why not her lover’s heart?”

“Hearts change. Unspoken secrets don’t. They are more reliable.” you answer.

“It seems like you have lots of answers.”

You turn your head and finally face the stranger. He was tall, wearing a black coat. You try to analyze his appearance more, but your eyes are locked on his. They were strangely shiny in the dead of night.

"Who are you?" you finally ask him, but you are not sure you are prepared to hear the answer.

"Who am I?" he asks you back, surprised by your question.

You can’t shake off the feeling this man gives you. His presence felt too familiar, like you have known him for a lifetime, but you are sure you have never met him before.

He chuckles at your confused look, but he sounded tired, defeated. “I’m Jeong Yunho.” He offers you his hand and you shake it slowly.

You sit there, looking over the city in silence. It felt more comfortable than lying.

At the first sign of dawn, the man gets up and says his farewells:

"I am glad we have met again." he bows in front of you.

You were surprised by his words, but you don't pay too much attention to them, thinking he might've misspoken.

"You are leaving already?" you ask him, trying to keep your voice from breaking. You could feel the hole in your chest growing.

"I have to,” he pauses for a moment, staring at you, "but I hope we'll meet again." He smiles at you, but you notice how empty his eyes look. Your gazes are locked on each other for a while, neither one wanting to look away, afraid that the other will disappear.

You involuntarily take your eyes away from him to look at the city that is about to wake up, but when you turn around to take a final glimpse at him he's already gone.

You look back at the harmonious streets where nothing blooms. You see a post clock and notice that it's not working. Time has lost its meaning. Past and future merge into each other. This city has drained you of all your feelings and, just like the smoke from your cigarette, they now spread over it, veiling it. It’s a city made of lies and stolen feelings, no wonder you find such comfort in its silent state.

You take another cigarette from the almost half empty pack. You take another look at the sleeping city as you slip back into time.

#ateez #ateez yunho #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez yeosang #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #old lovers #ateez angst #ateez cyberpunk

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maybelinefox · 9 months ago

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2003 Lighthouse AU Chapter 1: First Meeting

This is inspired by @beebopurr 's Rise lighthouse au, and you should definitely go see theirs for yourself. I love their art! The first meeting in this chapter is taken almost directly from theirs as well as an ask they got. The rest is from me.

TW: mentions of guns and the use of them and an injury caused by one in this chapter and the next. Weapons (mostly guns) will be a continuing plot point that will eventually lead to the usage of one in the last chapter that will result in a major injury, but no death. If you don't want to see that, don't read. Minor swearing throughout the story as well.

Here it is on AO3:

Thank you @wendigomahana for beta reading!

Chapter one under cut!

I take a deep breath before stepping off my boat onto the pier. From a distance, the only thing I could see of this island was green. Now that I'm up close, I still only see green, aside from the giant-ass rock cliff the lighthouse is sitting on. I've never seen this many trees gathered in one place in my entire life.

I can't tell if it's gorgeous or intimidating.

I probably shouldn't do any exploring until I've studied a map of this place or something. Knowing me, I'd get lost in like ten minutes.

Once I reach the walkway leading off the pier, I look back up at the lighthouse to see a person walking out of it. He waves, and I wave back. Looking back down to the ground, I see the walkway leads to a path curving up onto the rock. I shove my hands back into my pockets as I follow the trail.

"You're a couple hours early," the man states as I reach the entrance to the cliff.

"I purposefully overestimated my arrival time in case the ocean tried to pull me back. Or in case I forgot how to sail."

He nods, breaking a smile. "Well, I s'pose that makes sense. You sail much?"

I shake my head. "Just got that boat a couple months back. Haven't been able drive one myself much lately, but I practically grew up on the water."

He chuckles and looks out towards the pier. "Certainly looks a lot better than my old dingy. Haven't used that thing in a few years 'cept for reef fishin. Hope it still works."

His shoulders move in a near silent chuckle as he turns towards the lighthouse.

"Already got all my stuff packed up. Friend a mine came and got the bigger things last week. Place should be cleaned out for ya, 'cept the bare essentials and furniture it came with. All of which 'sides the food is pretty old. Most of it's been here longer than me."

He gives me a tour of the place, which entirely consists of four and a half rooms. The main living area with a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a small storage closet all on the bottom floor, and then a curved set of stairs leading up to the bedroom. The stairs keep going up to the top of the lighthouse where the main workspace is, and then up to the light itself.

"And that's the whole building," he states with a shrug. "Not much, but they don't really expect one person to need more than this, I guess. Here, let me show you how all this works."

After about a half an hour of him going over all the rules and procedures and showing me what all the knobs and buttons do as well as how to work the phone and radio, we head back downstairs. Over the next hour or so he shows me a few chores that need to be done a certain way, and then goes over the rest of the chores that are pretty self-explanatory. Then, we find ourselves standing in the living room again.

"Well, I guess that's it," he starts as he turns to take one last look at the inside of the lighthouse. "Ya know, when I first got here, it only took me a couple months of boredom to become so done with this place I wanted nothing more than to leave it. Now…" he takes a deep, sentimental breath and shakes his head fondly. "Now I really think I'm gonna miss this."

"You can come back to see the place whenever you want," I tell him with a small smile. "Just keep in mind I took this job 'cause I'm a major introvert, so I'd like to be warned at least a few hours in advance, if ya could."

He chuckles. "I will certainly take that offer into consideration. And honestly, I may just take ya up on it within the next week or so. Got a feelin I'm gonna be homesick real soon. And this ain't even my home anymore."

"Where ya going?"

"Oh, I'm stayin with a friend a mine till I can find me a place. Gonna be doin nothin but house hunting for a bit now. Sure I'm ‘onna get bored with that pretty quick."

I smile. "Yeah, I can imagine."

He looks around one last time.

"Well, I s'pose I should get outta your hair now. Let you get yourself all comfortable and set up and all. Do ya need anything before I go?"

"What did you say your name was again, sir?"

He reaches his hand out for a handshake, and I take it.

"You can just call me Phil, little lady."

I shake his hand.

"It was nice meeting you, Phil."

"You as well, Ayla."

He turns to leave the building. Then, like he forgot something, he pauses and turns back to me, pointing towards something leaning against the wall next to the front door.

"Almost forgot, I'm leaving ya that rifle there, just in case."

"In case a what?"

He turns fully towards me now, eyebrows furrowed to show his seriousness.

"There's things out here. Don't know what they are, but they ain't human. Only seen one clearly once. Big green thing, walked on two legs, something wrong with its back. Now, I dunno what that thing was, but I sure as hell wouldn't let it get close enough to find out if I were you."

He walks towards the gun bag, unzipping it to show the rifle inside. A Marlin. Ruger-made.

"Ammo for it is on this shelf here right above it. I've shot at them with it a few times. They don't get much closer than the trees no more, but best to keep using this to teach them not to get closer. I got it all nice fer ya in it's bag, but it'd be smarter to keep it loaded and ready to grab at moment’s notice."

He gestures towards the door, hand still on the gun.

"Pretty sure I hit one a them last week. Not sure where, but I saw blood splatter on the ground the next morning. It's probably bled out somewhere, so hopefully that's one down."

He leaves the bag unzipped and walks back over to me.

"I've called people to deal with them. They got one a them, so they told me a few years back. But there's more, and those people come by every once in a while to try again. So, in case ya ain't feelin too safe, there’s no need to worry."

I nod, not sure whether to take this seriously or not. At least it's a nice gun.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He nods, satisfied, then turns back towards the door.

Standing near the edge of the cliff, I wave at Phil as he readies himself to pull away from the pier. At least we discovered the engine still runs, so he won't need to call someone to come get him.

Nice guy, but I got this job to be alone. Didn't want to have to wait a few more hours for someone to get here to tow his boat.

After I'm sure he's far from the island, I turn back towards the lighthouse. I'll get my stuff from my boat tomorrow. I've got all the essentials in my bag. For now, I'm exhausted from the trip and would rather just crash.

This lighthouse, like almost every other lighthouse in the country, is automated. Phil already did all the daily chores before I got here, saving the ones that needed demonstration for last so he could show me how to do them, so nothing to worry about until tomorrow.

The next week is pretty much just me getting the hang of things. The biggest of the chores is keeping the lens and windows in the tower clean so the light isn't any dimmer than it should be at night, as well as keeping an eye on all the electronics to make sure none of them are busted or wearing out or need replacement. Honestly, I'm already starting to understand what Phil meant by boredom. There's not much to do around here. I'm almost wishing I was living a few decades ago, when lighthouse keepers had way more to do without all the automated electronics. When they actually controlled the light and had to remain focused on their task. There's really nothing for me to focus on now.

I also haven't seen those "things" Phil was talking about. My first night, I thought I saw something moving around in the trees at the base of the rock, but I was so exhausted that night I wouldn't be surprised if I was delirious enough to think something moving in the wind was a monster. Or worse yet, maybe I was hallucinating. But after I got some sleep, everything was normal.

The second week begins just about the same. Chores about a third of the day at most, then finding ways to entertain myself for the rest of the time. I've begun researching hobbies that can be easily practiced on an island just a few miles from the mainland.

I get supplies delivered to me once a month. They take a list from me of essentials only, such as certain foods I like, what brand of toothpaste I prefer, etc., as well as anything anyone on the mainland wants to send me. If I want to order something online, I have to have it sent to someone I trust on the mainland, family or friend or whatever, and have them take it to the people loading the supply ship. Or just have them bring it to me themselves in their own boat. So basically, if I want a material hobby, like knitting or some other kind of crafty thing, I have to go through multiple channels just to get the supplies for it. So it'd be best to take up something I can do on the island with the bare essentials, just to avoid the hassle.

By this time, I've set up a comfortable chair on the cliff behind the lighthouse, overlooking the water. I've spent the last couple nights sitting out on this chair for a while to watch the waves.

It's on one of these particular nights I'm looking out over the water and watching the lighthouse light gleam across the sky in the distance, thinking on maybe taking up fishing again, when I hear something thud against the rocks beneath me.

I sit up straight, listening to see if I can figure out what that was before I have to investigate.

Or if I even want to investigate.

Not long after the initial thud, I hear what sounds like a groan, followed by a whimper and some thrashing in the water.

Shit.

Quickly, I grab my lantern, (extra strength, battery powered, obviously), and rush back inside to grab my med kit.

Something alive is down there, and probably hurt pretty bad by the sound of that thud.

I make my way down the path to the base of the lighthouse rock as quickly as I can before darting towards the water. Once I turn around the base to see the rocks beneath the lighthouse, I freeze.

There, leaning up against one of the larger rocks, is....

Something....

I can't tell what I'm looking at. The light from the lantern is barely hitting it, but I can see what looks like...green...scales? I can't tell, but it doesn't look like normal scale-less human skin. It's humanoid, but I'm not sure I'd call it human. And its back is...huge…

The second the light hits it, the creature whips its head towards me. I see what looks like brown eyes before they go completely white. They still look open, but there's some kind of...inner eyelid? I think? Covering them. Its head is a bit rounder than a human head normally is, and it looks naked, but there's something of a much lighter greenish color covering it in the front. And there's something wrapped around it, but I can’t really tell from here what it is.

Once it sees me, the creature quickly slides backwards to get away from me, but ends up trapped against the rock behind it. From the direction of the trail left by whatever it's trapped in, (I think it might be a fishing net?), it looks like it hit one of the smaller rocks closer to where I'm standing and pulled itself into an alcove created by the larger rocks further away. So it can't jump into the water and the cliff rock is too close to the rocks it's leaning against to be able to squeeze through.

It's trapped.

It seems to realize this after quickly turning to examine the rock it backed into, and whips its head back to me with wide, fearful, inner eyelid covered eyes.

I step a bit closer, allowing the light to cover more of the creature. The opening of the fishing net it's trapped in seems to be hooked over its neck. The netting is ripped and wrapped around its left arm and back, trapping the arm against its chest. The rest is dangling off, trailing out into the water and around the rocks.

I take a deep breath and step closer, causing the creature to curl up defensively against the rock. I hold up my med kit.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound as calm and soothing as possible. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm here to help, actually."

The creature turns its head slightly, towards the med kit. I can't see where it's looking with its eyes all white like that, but I can see something akin to recognition crossing its features before it seems to look back to me. It doesn't move, though.

I take another slow step closer. It still doesn't move. After a couple more steps, it suddenly decides to use another tactic to protect itself.

Unfurling itself, the creature crouches on its three available limbs and looks up at me with its teeth bared. The strangest, most menacing clicking noise I've ever heard escapes from its throat, and I immediately freeze in place.

When it sees that method had an effect, it takes what I can only assume by its still fearful face is something it believes to be a bold risk, and takes a step towards me.

Now I'm the one who doesn't move despite a terrifying, unknown creature advancing on me.

It snaps its teeth at me and clicks louder, stepping towards me again, but I can see that its resolve began waning when I didn't back away.

Making a bold move myself, I step towards it again.

It stops moving and flinches backwards a bit, causing a hiccup in the clicks.

"I want to help," I say again, holding up and pointing to the med kit. "This will help you feel better. I'm sure that net around you is painful."

It seems to understand some of my words, because it stops clicking and tilts its head as if it's listening. Now that there's more light on it, and in its current crouched position, I can clearly see what looked so strange about this creature's back.

It's got a shell. Like a turtle shell. That must be what's on its front, the plastron of the shell. And the sounds it was making just adds to that fact to tell me what's happening here, impossible as it may seem.

This thing is quite literally a giant, humanoid turtle.

I'm suddenly reminded of the description Phil gave me of those monsters he was talking about, and I begin to wonder if maybe he truly wasn't crazy, or if I'm already going crazy myself.

After a moment, the turtle creature straightens back up just a bit, sitting back on its legs and raising its functioning arm up off the ground about an inch or so, resting its elbow on its knee. It stares at the box.

"...help...?" It says slowly, curiously, in a raspy voice that obviously hasn't been used much.

I feel my eyes widen a little in shock. I don't know what I was expecting when I spoke to it, but apparently I wasn't expecting it to speak back.

"Y-yes," I say, taking another slow step forwards. It doesn't move back, but its head slides down slightly, as if it's watching my feet move. "Yeah, I want to help. I'm gonna see if I can get that net off ya, then this box has stuff in it I can use to fix your wounds."

I speak slowly, because I don't know what it can and can't understand. Hearing myself talk, I weirdly begin wondering if maybe it understands perfectly, and just doesn't need to talk, hence the raspy voice. So perhaps me speaking slowly and trying to use simple words is only being condescending. I shove those thoughts out of my head in favor of focusing on the situation at hand, deciding that if proof arises that this turtle thing does understand perfect English, I'll immediately start speaking to it normally.

The creature watches my slow approach, though now it holds just as much curiosity in its gaze as fear.

Once I'm almost within reaching distance of it, it falls backwards and pushes itself up against the rock again.

"Can...get it....no help...." It says slowly, reaching up with its free hand to grab the net around its other arm.

"Don't do that," I crouch down next to it, but it jerks away from me.

"No help," it says again, more firmly this time.

"You could hurt yourself doing that," I say, reaching into my pocket to grab my knife. "Let me get it,"

"No."

The turtle pulls on the net.

I reach out and grab its hand.

Jumping in surprise, it lets go of the net and turns towards me. Then just as suddenly, it's eyes screw shut in pain and it hisses, free hand shooting up to grab its neck where the net is hooked.

I sigh, figuring what probably happened, and bring the knife out of my pocket, holding the lantern up to see better.

Its eyes open, then immediately squint in the light.

"Here, can you hold this right here?" I ask, holding the lantern a bit closer to its free hand.

It turns its head to see me better as its hand comes up to grab the lantern. Unfortunately, in doing so, it sees the knife.

It gasps as it flinches backwards, it's hand shooting into the water behind it to support it leaning away from me.

"Oh shit-" I blurt out in realization as it uses its hand to scoot into the adjacent rock a couple feet away.

"Wait," I stand back up, adjusting the med kit on my back, hoping it didn't touch the water when I was crouched. "I need it to cut away that net. It's not gonna come off by pulling at it. I promise I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Bad men use," it states fearfully, pointing towards the knife. "Bad men hurt us with sharp thing."

Ok, so it seems to be capable of full sentences, weakly formulated as they are.

I sigh, stepping closer only a little and holding my hands up as open as I can while holding the lantern and knife.

"I'm not the bad men. I want to help. Knives can be used for good things too."

Staring wide-eyed at me, it slowly brings its hand back towards the net, gripping it but not pulling.

"That hurt you, remember?" I say, pointing with my lantern hand at the net. "Don't pull on it. This can get it off of you without hurting."

The turtle shrinks in on itself a little, staring at the knife. Its gaze slowly shifts over to me, and after a few moments of staring, it slowly nods.

"Ok," it says quietly. "No hurting...."

"No hurting," I repeat, slowly taking the couple steps necessary to get to it.

I crouch down next to it again and hold out the lantern for it to grab.

"Can you hold this for me? It'll make it easier for me to take the net off."

The turtle slowly reaches up and gently takes hold of the lantern handle, fingers brushing mine. That's when I notice it only has three. And they are indeed covered in scales. Very smooth, soft, green scales.

I try not to think about how strange that felt as I let go of the lantern.

"Now, just keep it right there, ok? This hopefully won't take long."

The turtle nods, keeping its white eyes trained on me, but it feels like its actual eyes are glaring at the knife.

Slowly, so it can see everything that's happening, I move the knife to sit underneath the net, blade pointed up, and begin sawing away, using my other hand to anchor the net in place. It doesn't take long before the thickest part of it is cut, taking most of the tension off the turtle's neck.

The second that tension is gone, the turtle sighs in relief, leaning back a little like it's deflating as the stress leaves the muscles of its shoulders. It keeps watching, though.

I cut away a few more pieces of the netting still holding its arm in place, then slowly reach up to its neck as I put my knife away. The turtle tenses up again, not sure what I'm doing and once again fearful of my intentions.

"I wanna look and see what it did to your neck," I explain. "It hurt you, so I wanna make sure you're not bleeding."

It flinches slightly away from my hand, then looks down at the net now in the water and its newly freed arm. After a moment, it looks back up at me and slowly nods.

I slowly place the tips of my fingers on its face and turn its head towards me to give me a better view of its neck. I can feel its hidden eyes on me as I lean around it to see the wound better. Luckily, it doesn't look like it's bleeding. At least, not badly. However, the skin (scales?) there has been rubbed nearly raw and there seems to be a small opening where the net sliced into the flesh.

"Ok, that's not too bad," I say. "Let me see your arm."

I release its face and move a bit in front of it so I can see the arm more directly. It raises its left arm, far less hesitant than I expected, and allows me to hold it in my hands. There are a few scratches but nothing major, the realization of which has me letting out a breath of relief. The turtle tilts its head curiously at the sound, but doesn't say anything.

"Well," I start. "It doesn't look too bad. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get you inside to look at it in better lighting and to bandage you up. Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to, but it would make me feel better to know your wounds are covered. At least the neck one."

What I can only assume to be this hairless creature's brows furrow in confusion at my words.

"Inside?" It asks. "Where?"

I point up to the cliff, where the top of the lighthouse is visible from underneath.

"In there. That's where I live."

It follows my finger, and when its eyes land on the lighthouse, its jaw drops in a light gasp. Unexpectedly, the inner eyelids covering its eyes slide open, revealing my previous assumption of its eyes being brown to be correct. Its surprisingly human-like chocolate irises stare up at the lighthouse in wonder as I watch on.

"In there?" It asks in disbelief.

The more I hear its voice, the more I believe this creature is male. It sounds young, (which doesn't help), with a very soft and somewhat higher pitched voice, but the tone sounds to be more in the masculine area.

"Yeah, in there," I say, slowly standing. "Don't worry, I live alone."

I reach out my hand to help it (him?) up. He turns his head back towards me, and his eyes move to my hand once he sees it hovering in front of him. After a moment of staring, he looks back up at me.

"Can't go there."

Now it's my turn to tilt my head, but more in confusion.

"Why not?"

"Angry man lives there," he explains, looking back down at my hand. "Very loud. Bang stick hurts. Can't go there."

My eyes widen in realization.

Phil told me he kept the "big green thing(s)" away from the lighthouse by shooting at them. He said he hit one last week.

I quickly look the turtle over again, but he doesn't look like he's been shot anywhere. Not anywhere I can see in this lighting, at least.

"Here," I say, holding one hand closer to his right and reaching for the lantern with the other one. "Grab my hand with yours. I'm gonna help you stand up."

He glances between my face and my hand a couple times and waits for me to pull the lantern out of his hand before he slowly moves it towards mine. Gently, his three fingers slide into my five, and we both close our fingers around each other's palms.

I'm suddenly hit with the thought that this guy is probably very heavy. But luckily for me, his left arm is not too injured for him to push himself part of the way, mainly using my grip for stability as he gets himself up.

"That guy left almost two weeks ago," I say as he lets go to test if he can stand on his own. "I live there now, not him."

The turtle, now standing just about eye-level with me, turns to look at me in shock after he's determined he's quite stable on his own two feet.

"Angry man is gone?" he asks, sounding doubtful.

I nod. "It's only me. No one else."

He stares at me for a moment before full comprehension sets in. He then snaps his attention back to the lighthouse and a look I can only describe as pure joy and disbelief lights up his features.

He points up at the building above us.

"I can go in there?" he asks in a quiet voice, seemingly in awe of the concept.

I nod again, smiling. "You sure can. Just follow me."

I turn to lead the way around the rock back to the path. I hear his steps behind me, and a couple jumps in the water as well, as if he were a child jumping for joy at the thought of going into a lighthouse.

I begin to wonder if he is.

A child.

That would explain how young he sounds, and his minor speaking comprehension.

Oh damn. If he's a child, how big will he be as an adult?

All thoughts and worry leave my mind the second my foot steps onto dry land. I cringe at the squelch and the rushing feeling between my toes.

I hadn't really thought. I'd just run out the door. I didn't grab the wading boots. So now my sneakers and socks are soaked.

Ugh, I hate wet shoes.

The turtle doesn't seem to care about the sound of my shoes, however, as his focus remains transfixed on the lighthouse building the entire trip up to it.

Once we reach the door, I pull off my shoes and socks, leaving them outside beside the doorstep to dry, before opening the door and stepping inside to set the lantern down and dry my feet on the doormat. I turn towards the turtle and gesture for him to come inside.

"Come on in," I say as I leave the door to head to the bathroom.

When I come back out wearing dry pants and holding a towel for him, I find him standing at the door still, wide eyes taking in every detail of the living room.

I step towards him, gently grabbing his good arm to tug him inside. My measly pull doesn't move him even the slightest bit, but he gets the hint and steps forward. I close the door behind him and turn to put the towel over his shoulders. Or, I try to. The shell ends up taking most of the coverage.

He turns towards me at the feeling of something touching him, then looks down in surprise to see the towel. I walk in front of the turtle to pull the towel up tighter around his shoulders.

"You can use this to dry yourself off. Like this."

I rub a small part of the towel over his wet arm, then pull it away to show the now dry scales.

He blinks in surprise, then grabs the towel and begins rubbing it over his scales, trying to recreate the magic in other wet areas of his body. I smile at this as I head over to one of the stools at the kitchen counter, pulling it out and turning it towards him. Setting the med kit on the counter, I turn back to see he's already mostly dried himself off.

"Alright come sit here so I can patch you up," I tell him.

He looks away from the bottom of his foot he's currently wiping the towel on and up at me before glancing down at the stool. He uses the towel for one last scrub of his other foot before slowly making his way to the stool to sit down. I step around in front of him as he puts the towel back over his shoulders and hugs it to him as much as he can.

"I'm gonna need to see your arm and neck, bud," I tell him, motioning to the towel. He pouts, but takes it off and bunches it in his lap, hugging it to himself. I make a mental note to get him my warmest blanket after we're done here.

I spend the next few minutes cleaning and dressing his wounds. Mostly the one on his neck. There's only one on his arm bad enough to need to be covered. His neck wound is the most concerning, but so long as it stays clean and covered the scales will probably grow back.

"There," I say, finishing the last one. "That should be better."

He looks down at the bandage on his arm. He hadn't reacted well to the cleaning alcohol used on his wounds, especially when it hit the raw open spot on his neck. But with some gentle encouragement, he had allowed me to continue. I'm not sure if that means he trusts me, but at least he's not afraid of me anymore.

"Can I see the light now?" he asks in a very excited, childish voice.

I glance into his eyes to see them wide open, a hopeful gleam in his irises.

I can't help but smile at the childish enthusiasm.

"Sure, but you have to be careful. We don't want to break it. The light is very important for the ships going by in the water."

He nods enthusiastically, dropping the formerly precious towel as he stands.

On the way up through the bedroom, I grab him a blanket, and he happily wraps it around himself as he walks up the stairs.

The turtle is practically shaking with joy the entire time we're up in the light. He stays true to his promise to be careful, but he apparently took it as "don't touch anything". On multiple occasions, I can see his hands twitching towards some mechanism on the light out of curiosity, before he remembers jerks them away. So, I show him some areas I'm not too worried about him touching, just to help him get that out of his system.

When his hand first touches the cool metal at the base of the lamp, he seems to melt into the touch, entirely in awe of the giant metal beast in front of him. He watches the lamp turn, marveling at the sight.

"Why does it do that?"

"Do what?"

He slowly looks towards me and holds one finger up before moving it in circles, similar to how the lamp spins.

"Oh, the lamp spins to give sailors the impression the light is blinking. Or turning on and off. That way they won't mistake it for a star, and will know they need to go towards it."

"Cool...." He says in an impressed, breathy tone, as he looks back up at the lamp. Then he tilts his head, seemingly confused.

"But..." He thinks for a moment. "It can...blink...itself?" He glances at me, then turns back towards the light, almost shy now.

"Sorry..."

Ah. He's embarrassed by his question.

"That's a good question, actually," I start, and he turns back towards me, blinking in surprise, before a slight smile graces his features.

"Back before they could just screw in a lightbulb whenever the light went out, they used giant lanterns. Those aren't nearly as easy to turn on and off, and would have to have someone sitting by them all night in order to keep it up. So that's why they came up with the spinning thing. The lens magnified the lantern light, and that's what was spun. It moved around the lantern to create the blinking effect."

As I explain, I gesture to certain parts of the lamp that are still somewhat similar, though the whole thing is essentially a giant flashlight. The turtle watches with genuine interest as I answer what he believed to be a stupid question with an entire historical/scientific monologue.

"They did that for so long it became iconic, and what sailors specifically looked for. So some lighthouses, like this one, still spin the light around. Just for sentimental reasons, to be honest."

"Woah...." He says under his breath, genuinely impressed by the reasoning. "That was so smart...."

"It really was, huh?" I look around a moment before an idea comes to me. I head back downstairs to the office area and look around the walls until I find it. Stretching up, I carefully pull the paper off the wall, smiling down at it in my hands before heading back up.

He had turned and stood to watch me when he’d noticed me leaving, and observes me curiously as I ascend the stairs. I hold the paper out to him.

"Do you know what that is?" I ask him as he takes it. His "brows" furrow in concentration as he stares at it.

"A....old....lighthouse?" He asks, unsure. He looks up at me and tilts his head.

"Yep. It's the first lighthouse. Or what they believe is the first lighthouse."

His eyes widen in excitement, and he looks back down at the drawing.

"There's a few different designs of what they believe it looked like, but that's the most agreed upon. The thing is in ruins now, so there's no way to be sure."

He listens to my words before pointing at a few written on the page.

"Pa...pa-ras?" He tries to pronounce the word above the building on the paper.

Ok, so he can kind of read. Interesting.

I point to the letters of the word.

"'P' and 'h' together make an 'f' sound, and that's an 'o', pronounced just like that." I don't wanna move too fast and try to explain the accent it should be pronounced with, so I stick with the basics. That should get him to pronounce it almost exactly.

He stares for a second longer before trying again.

"Pha...ros?"

"Yes!" I say, and he smiles at the praise.

"Pharos was built in Alexandria, Egypt. They think about twenty-five hundred years ago or so. It's the first known lighthouse, so everyone who studies or works in lighthouses are called 'pharologists' in honor of the first one."

He looks back up from the paper and points at me.

"You?"

I chuckle. "Yes, that would make me a pharologist too, since I work in a lighthouse and have studied how they work."

He beams at this information. "Cool!"

He asks a few more questions about lighthouses and the mechanisms of the light itself, and I do my best to answer all of them. After about half an hour, he begins slowing down. I notice he looks at the bandage on his arm a few times. Then he goes silent for a bit, staring out the window at something in the trees and pulling the blanket tighter around himself. I look out too, trying to see if I can find what he's looking at, but I just see trees.

Just when I'm wondering if I should question him or just leave him to it, he turns to me.

"Are you a doctor?"

I blink a few times in surprise at the random question, before shaking my head.

"If you mean a medical doctor, no. I have some minor medical training, but nothing to the level of an actual doctor."

"But you can fix...uh...wounds?"

"If they're not bad enough to need a hospital, yes. Why?"

“Hos...pital…?”

“It’s a place where sick or hurt people go to get better. The real doctors are there.”

He stares at me for a moment, seeming to contemplate something. Then he looks back out the window.

"We need a doctor...." He says quietly, almost too low for me to hear.

This is the second time he's referenced there being more of him. Phil had spoken as if there were multiple, so I had automatically been thinking like there were. But now that I'm actually thinking about it, I begin to wonder if there's like a whole tribe of them, or if it's just a single family. And if he's a kid, then what do the adults look like? Would they be more wary of me than this one?

"Do you need me to go somewhere?" I ask, almost hoping he says they can bring the injured party here. If there are bigger and far more untrusting and protective adults out there, I'd rather not risk going into their territory.

He turns back to me.

"He hurt to move. Sleep all day. Hurt when he's awake. Not eat much anymore."

"So, you don't think he can come here?" I ask.

He looks down to think for a moment, then shakes his head.

"Can't move."

"Ok..." I cross my arms in contemplation. "Do you know what's wrong with him? How he got hurt?"

At that, the turtle looks back up at me, and upon seeing me his eyes widen in some kind of realization before he flinches backwards.

Oh, he's scared of me again. What did I do?

I back up a step, holding my hands out.

"Are you ok? I'm sorry if I-"

"Human…" he says, wrapping his arms and the blanket around himself. "Bang stick...."

Oh....

OH.

The one Phil shot is still alive.

"Where?" I ask.

He looks back at me, confused.

"Where did the bang stick hit him?" I ask again.

A different kind of realization passes over his features, and he moves the blanket to raise his left hand and points to a spot on his right arm. Just below the elbow. Then he moves his finger across his scales from one side of the outer arm to the other, drawing a line.

So the bullet grazed him, but left a sizeable enough gash. That gash probably became infected.

Damn. That infection’s probably been raging for over two weeks. I'm almost shocked the arm hasn't fallen off. Unless it's already spread up further. Cutting the arm off to save the body is probably out of the question now, as it's highly likely it's already reached organs. There's no way he'd be able to survive much longer without antibiotics.

Of which I'm not exactly in rich supply.

Also, these are turtles. They have a different form of healthcare in certain areas. I know a lot about turtles, but I'm trained in human medical health. I wouldn't be too confident I'm doing the right thing if you threw a heavily injured turtle in front of me.

"Is it swollen?" I ask. I know the answer, but I'm hoping he can tell me it's not as bad as I think.

He makes a curious sound, almost like a chirp, as he tilts his head.

"His arm," I gesture towards my arm, then hold my hand open around it to signify a bigger size. "Is it bigger than it should be?"

He nods and makes a similar gesture himself to show how much bigger.

Ok, not too much bigger, I suppose. But then again, I can't actually be sure until I see for myself.

"Ok, let me get some stuff."

This definitely can't wait until morning. If he's had an infection in his arm since it was shot, every second counts.

I grab up my med kit as well as any and every antibiotic, painkiller, and anti-inflammatory I can find and throw them in a separate bag along with a few bottles of water and some clean rags. Stopping to think for a moment, I decide to bring some strong sleeping pills too. Just in case surgery or something painful of the sort ends up needing to happen. On that note, I grab multiple sharp objects of differing sizes to throw in the second bag as well.

This is really gonna suck.

Leaving the storage closet, I find the turtle blanketless and standing in the living room, staring at the door.

I should really find a name for him. Or maybe ask him and see if he's already got a name.

"Hey," I start, walking up to him. "So, I can't believe I haven't already asked you, but do you...."

I trail off as I notice his attention has not turned to me, and he's still staring at the door. Following his gaze, I freeze when I realize what he's staring at.

The gun is still by the door.

I debate whether I should try to pull his attention away from it or go over and physically move it.

Sighing, I figure touching it would make things worse.

"It's not gonna hurt you," I say softly.

He slowly turns to me.

"It hurt Mikey."

Mikey.

Ok, so they do have names.

Interesting.

"That's because the guy holding it wanted to hurt him," I say. "It can't hurt anyone unless it's being held by someone who wants to use it to hurt people."

Slowly, I move towards it. I hadn't closed the bag, so it's still leaning against the wall halfway exposed. Reaching out, carefully, so he can see what I'm doing, I grab the zipper and zip up the bag so the rifle is no longer visible.

"Now, no one's holding it, so it won't shoot. It won't hurt you. And it's gonna stay here. I'm not intending on bringing it with us."

Unless....

I look back at him.

"Is where we're going dangerous?"

He tilts his head. "Why would it be?"

I think for a moment on how to explain, and settle on: "It's probably not dangerous for you, but is it dangerous for me?"

He stares for a moment, thinking, before shaking his head.

"I'll be with you. They'll have to let you in."

Ok, ominous, but I'll take it.

"Then it'll stay here."

I move away from the gun to open the door.

"Why bring it to danger? That would make the danger worse?"

He steps around the gun bag to get through the door, giving it a wide berth and staring at it the whole time like it might jump out at him.

"Well, while some people use those to hurt, others use them to protect," I explain, closing the door behind us. "If we were going somewhere dangerous for me, I would be able to use that to protect myself. But I trust you to have my back, so no worries."

I also feel if he had that kind of reaction to seeing it, his family may be just as bad or worse if I walk up carrying the thing that put Mikey into such a scary state. It may end up causing the danger to me, whereas if I didn't have it I would be perfectly safe.

He thinks on what I said for a long time, leading me from the lighthouse into the trees, before finally speaking.

"Why can it do both? Why protect from something that hurts with something that hurts? Isn't that what shields are for?"

"Well, remember how I used the knife to help you? It can hurt, but it can also be used to help."

He turns back to me, still seemingly confused, but connecting the dots.

I sigh.

"If whoever is trying to hurt you tries hard enough, you may need to hurt them back to get them to stop."

He stares at me for a moment before going back to his task of leading me through the forest.

He doesn't talk any more after that.

A while later, as we near some kind of grove-looking area with what appears to be a small cave hidden in a thick patch of trees, the turtle stops and turns to me, nearly swinging the lantern into my face with how quickly he spins.

"Is that why?"

"Is that why what?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out for a moment as he contemplates his question.

"Is....is that why he hurt us?"

"The angry man?"

He nods.

"Did he think we hurt him?"

I stare at him for a moment, opening my mouth to answer, but ultimately closing it as I try to find the right words. He watches, patiently, waiting to know if he and his family had done something wrong.

I take a deep breath.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. He thought you were going to hurt him, and he wanted to stop you before you could."

"But..." He looks back towards the grove.

"Mikey got too close. He did not hurt angry man. He just wanted to see what angry man was doing. He said angry man was tearing up the lighthouse and he want to see why. Then angry man used the bang stick. Mikey was just watching. He did not mean anything-"

I hold up my hand to stop him.

"Of course he didn't. But the angry man didn't understand. He thought something else was happening. He's the one that misunderstood. Mikey did nothing wrong."

He watches me as I talk, big brown eyes looking about ready to cry.

"What's your name, by the way? I'm sorry I haven't asked."

He sniffles a little, then rubs his eyes.

"D-Donny," he says. "Father called me Donny."

Uh oh.

That was past tense.

Wait, Phil did say one of them was caught a few years ago.

Shit. Are there a bunch of children out here without an adult?

Is there a mother nearby who doesn't talk much, if at all, so she never says names, and that’s why he only mentioned his father?

Is there another type of adult and offspring care system I'm unaware of happening here?

…am I in danger and Donny doesn't know?

I shake my head, just barely enough so Donny doesn't see.

"Ok, Donny," I say, hopefully in a soothing voice. "My name is Ayla."

A small smile appears.

"Hi Ayla."

I chuckle.

"Let's not think about the angry man right now. Mikey needs help, right?"

Donny nods quickly, turning back to the grove.

Masterpost Next

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt #tmnt au #tmnt lighthouse au #tmnt lighthouse au 2003 #tmnt fic

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larkawolfgirl · 4 months ago

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Where the Sun Still Shines (Kresnikcest)

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Tales of Xillia (Video Games), Tales of Xillia 2, Tales of Series (Bandai Namco Video Games)

Relationship: Julius Will Kresnik/Ludger Will Kresnik

Characters: Ludger Will Kresnik, Julius Will Kresnik

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Sibling Incest, Established Relationship

Summary: Ludger is sure that it was fate that brought him and Julius together.

Read on ao3

Ludger never got tired of being with Julius. He felt safe, comfortable, and familiar in that way that comes after getting to know someone almost as well as you know yourself. They had been dating for the last two years now, but their connection felt deeper somehow. Ludger was often offput by just how well he was able to read and predict Julius. The way he had guessed ahead of time that Julius would sink his face into his hair the first night they moved in together, and the way he felt like he knew exactly what Julius was thinking whenever he wore a crafted smile.

They were preparing dinner the same as yesterday. There was nothing particularly special about today versus any other day, yet just being with Julius and being able to watch him moving around the kitchen with so much life made Ludger feel as if he’d been given a gift.

"You're over-salting it," Ludger teased from his spot at the counter, chin resting in his hands as he leaned forward to watch Julius work.

Julius shot him a look, his expression halfway between amused and exasperated. “Hey now, no backseat cooking.”

Ludger chuckled. “I’d be happy to help.”

Julius pointed his spoon at him. “No, you always end up helping. Tonight, I’m treating you.”

Ludger sighed, shifting so that he was leaning back in his seat. “This is nice.”

“Being dined?” Julius teased.

Ludger grinned but shook his head. “It feels like we’ve done this before.”

“Don’t start with your soulmate talk again.”

“Come on, Julius,” Ludger insisted. “What if it really was fate that brought us together?”

Julius glanced over at him with an endearing half-smile. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

“I’m serious! How else do you explain us both getting lost in the woods at the same time during a heavy downpour so that we were forced to spend the night together in that storage shed?”

“Coincidence.”

It couldn’t be. They matched each other too perfectly. A veterinarian and an animal shelter owner who share tomatoes as their favorite food. Besides, Ludger had felt a gravitation from the moment he had set eyes on Julius—an invisible pull, like the mythical red string of fate. Hearing Julius say his name for the first time had felt like being greeted into a home he had forgotten about.

Ludger sauntered over to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. “We fit too well for this to be a coincidence. Admit it. Deep down, you think we’re soulmates.”

Julius let out a soft huff, shaking his head, but Ludger could feel him relaxing into the embrace. “You know I don’t believe in soulmates,” Julius replied, his voice softer now. “The world’s too chaotic for that kind of thing.”

“Maybe it’s not as chaotic as you think,” Ludger mused, his voice warm with affection. “Maybe everything that happened—us meeting, falling in love—was meant to be.”

Julius didn’t argue further, though. Instead, he hummed quietly in response, placing his hand over Ludger’s.

There were times, especially in the quiet moments when Ludger would watch Julius, when a strange, inexplicable relief would wash over him. It was as if there were whole stories of them conquering challenges that Ludger couldn’t remember. And the more time they spent together, especially now that they lived under the same roof, the feeling only intensified.

As warm and happy as their relationship was, there was a current of something deeper there.

Every now and then, when Julius’s guard was down—like when he was lost in thought or when Ludger caught him staring for just a second too long—there was a flicker of something in his expression. A fleeting hint of something just beneath the surface, something that made Ludger’s chest tighten with unspoken emotion. It wasn’t sadness, exactly. More like… yearning. It was as if some part of him was still reaching for something that hadn’t yet been fulfilled.

A cold sweat clung to Ludger’s skin when he woke from the dream. He could still feel the warmth of Julius’ arms around him and the blare of a train’s horn still blared in his ears as if both had been tangible. His heart had ached. With love, but also regret and pain and guilt.

Ludger kicked the tangled sheets off his legs, but he couldn’t shake the lingering emotions. There was a strange heaviness in his chest as he watched Julius sleep. He was right there beside him yet it felt as if he was just out of reach.

The dream continued.

They came in flashes—disjointed snapshots of laughter, brief brushes of fingers, heartfelt eyes. But others left him with anguish and helplessness. It felt as there was something always standing between them.

Each time he woke up, Ludger would touch Julius’ face to remind his racing heart that he was right there. He would watch the gentle rise and fall of his sleeping chest until Ludger’s mind caught up with reality.

Ludger kept himself busy to keep his thoughts at bay, But every time he caught Julius’s gaze, something deep in his chest stirred and he feared what could have happened in their past.

Then the visions started creeping in during the day, moments of déjà vu replaying repeated moments. Flashes of memory overlaying the present moment. Words echoing in his head as if they were lines to a script they had already rehearsed.

It was late at night. They were still seated on the couch, the overhead light and soft flicker of the television illuminating the room. His favorite romantic comedy was playing, but Ludger wasn’t really paying attention. He was too busy watching Julius out of the corner of his eye, wondering why his heart felt as if it was simultaneously too full and too empty every time Julius looked at him.

Ludger was about to say something—he didn’t know what, just something to break the silence—when Julius suddenly paused the movie and turned toward him with an unusual seriousness in his eyes.

“Ludger,” Julius began, his voice low and steady but edged with nervousness. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Ludger’s heart skipped a beat. He knew what this was. The way Julius was looking at him, the subtle tension in his body.

Julius shifted slightly, reaching into his pocket, and when he pulled out the small velvet box, Ludger’s breath caught in his throat.

“I know this isn’t a grand romantic gesture like in these romantic films, but I didn’t want to wait any longer. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He opened the box, revealing the simple but elegant ring inside. “Will you marry me?”

Everything crashed into place, and for a second, Ludger couldn’t breathe. His heart felt like it was both swelling and breaking at the same time. As soon as his lips parted, he remembered everything.

He remembered the love—the aching, desperate love that had defined them. But most of all, he remembered what had torn them apart.

They were brothers.

In another life, one filled with unresolved longing, they had been bound by blood and doomed to a tragic fate. He remembered the anguish in Julius’s eyes, the way he had fought against it, tried to deny it, tried to resist what they felt for each other.

Ludger remembered whispering, over and over again, how he wished they weren’t brothers—how he wished they could have had a chance to just be together without the world condemning them. And now, here they were, in this life, in this new chance. They weren’t brothers anymore. That weight wasn’t there. That barrier was gone.

And yet…

As he looked into Julius’s eyes, saw the hope, the love there, Ludger felt his throat close up. He should have been overwhelmed with joy—they were free now. Free to love each other without shame, without the weight of the past hanging over them.

But instead, all Ludger felt was sorrow, because now he knew. He knew what they had been through, and he knew Julius—he knew that if Julius remembered too, he wouldn’t be able to go through with this.

He couldn’t just say “yes” without telling Julius the truth.

They had been brothers.

The knowledge hung in his mind like a curse, tainting the joy that should have filled this moment. Ludger wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Why did this truth cling to a love that was otherwise as simple and beautiful as any other?

Julius was still watching him, waiting for his answer.

Every fiber of his being wanted to say yes. To bind Julius to him before he could attempt to escae from him again. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it; he couldn’t force him into something he would find shameful.

But they weren’t brothers anymore.

He could scarcely believe it, the realization so big, so incredible, that the joy and gratitude brought him to his knees.

Julius’ hand, still holding the ring, trembled as Ludger knelt in front of him. “Ludger?”

“I was right. We have known each other before.”

Julius blinked in confusion. The sudden shift in topic seemed to shake him. “What are you talking about?”

“It feels like we’ve known each other for an entire lifetime because we have. In another life, we were…brothers.”

That single word was the catalyst he expected. Julius’ face was pale as the truth dawned on him. He stood there, silent, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Ludger could see the conflict, the uncertainty, the disbelief filling his expression. But Ludger couldn’t let him fall back into that hole, not this time.

He clasps his hands in his, not minding the ring box which clattered to the floor. “But, Julius, we aren’t brothers anymore! We don’t have to hide. We don’t have to fight it anymore. We—” He took a shaky breath. “We can finally just be us. We can be together, really together, without anyone telling us it’s wrong.”

“But it is wrong.” Julius’ voice was defeated

“This must be a gift from Origin for the sacrifices we made,” Ludger insisted, voice urgent. “We’ve been given what we always wanted. A life without any pain or guilt.”

Julius shook his head, his eyes clouded with conflict. “It must be a test. A second chance to prove that we can withstand the temptation.”

Ludger’s chest tightened painfully. “You don’t know that. Haven’t we suffered enough? We deserve this.”

Julius turned away, running a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. “I don’t know, Ludger. You called us soulmates, we were ever supposed to be together in the first place.”

“What are you talking about? We’re family.”

“You can’t remember anything from before you were five in the previous life can you?”

“I was young.” What did that have to do with anything?

Julius swallowed before answering, and when he did, his tone was laced with bitterness. “I killed your mother, Ludger. We never would have even met if I hadn’t stolen your mother from you.”

Ludger’s heart shattered with unprocessed grief, but he wouldn’t give up on him. Not after everything they’d been through.

“I don’t care. That’s behind us.”

“You’re impossible. Does nothing phase you?”

He grabbed Julius’s arm, forcing him to face him. “Of course they do! But you’re the most important thing to me. You’re the impossible one. Why do you let everything tear you up? Why did you hate the thing that tied us together?”

Julius flinched, his face a mask of pain and guilt. “Because the world would never accept us, Ludger. Our relationship was wrong then, and it still feels wrong now.”

Ludger’s grip tightened on Julius’ arm. “Tell me honestly, what was it you hated, that we were brothers or that the world rejected us?”

Julius couldn’t meet his gaze.

“The world doesn’t get a say in how we feel about each other.”

Julius’ voice is so quiet, he almost misses it. “Sometimes it feels as if I don’t either.”

Ludger supposed he understood that. In this life, the feeling of attachment had latched onto him from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It was all-consuming. They would drown in it if they were not careful.

Still, the feelings were real and they were what he wanted.

If only Julius would learn to keep his head above water.

Ludger forced his boyfriend’s face to meet his hard, unyielding eyes. “I told you this before, and I mean it now as much as I did then. The world can burn if it means I get to be with you.”

Julius was alarmed at the intensity of his conviction. “Ludger—”

But Ludger cut him off, his grip tightening on his arm. “I mean it, Julius. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care about rules or judgments or whether the gods punish us.”

“Look at me,” Ludger demanded, his voice soft but firm. “We aren’t brothers anymore. Nothing bad will happen.”

Julius swallowed hard. “What if—"

“I killed you, Julius. I won’t lose you again.”

For a long moment, Julius was silent. He stared at the floor, lips pressed into a thin line, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Ludger waited, his expression softening but never faltering.

Finally, Julius exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost trembling. “I can’t lose you either. I want you so badly I scare myself.” Hands clenching at his sides, his eyes finally met Ludger’s, showing fear and frustration. “I shouldn’t feel this way. There’s no way I’m supposed to be this… obsessed with someone. It’s not right. It can’t be right.”

The rawness in Julius’s voice cut deep, a reflection of the war he had been fighting withing himself for years. Ludger’s emotions swirled in response to his confession. Knowing Julius’ deepest fear was how much he loved him shifted something.

Ludger pushed closer into Julius’ personal space. An unnatural smile set upon his face, the warmth in his voice edged with something disquieting. “Why not? Why shouldn’t you feel this way? Isn’t it proof that we are supposed to be together?”

“Because it feels wrong. The way I want you,” Julius confessed, his voice breaking.

Ludger’s unnatural grin widened. He lifted Julius’ hand to his cheek, tilting his face against it. “You think its dirty, don’t you? What if I told you I want you to want me that way, brother or not.”

Julius swallowed hard. “I’ve never had another choice, have I? You’ve always been it for me. In this life, in the last, in any life…It’s always going to be you.”

He closed the distance between them, pressing his forehead to Ludger’s. “Okay, I’ll marry you.”

Ludger’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. He pulled Julius into a tight embrace, holding him close.

“I love you,” Julius whispered, releasing all of the weight he had been carrying on those words for so long.

Ludger’s lips curved into a softer, more natural smile this time. “I love you, too.”

Without breaking eye contact, he felt for the abandoned ring box. As soon as he found it, he slipped the ring onto Julius’ finger.

The older man held his hand up toward the light to inspect the piece of jewelry. “I was supposed to be putting that on you.”

Ludger caught his hand in his, loving the feeling of the metal digging into his skin. “Buy me a new one. I have to tie you to me before you change your mind.”

With a chuckle, Julius shook his head. “I’m not leaving this time.”

“Promise?”

“Till death do us part.”

And even then, Ludger hoped they’d start again.

#kresnikcest #julius x ludger #tales of xillia 2 #tales of xillia #julius will kresnik #ludger will kresnik #tales #tales of #my writing

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hongherbac · 3 months ago

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[Hatori Centric] He Didn't Press the Button - Chapter 3

Read it on AO3

Fandom: モブサイコ100 | Mob Psycho 100 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Chapters: 3/4 Words: 5,034

Non-Romantic Relationships: Hatori Nozomu & Joseph, Suzuki Touichirou, Shimazaki Ryou

CW: curses, a lot of smoking

Summary: Former "Claw" executives solved the problem in their own way.

Chapter 3

　　The situation continued to deteriorate. Shimazaki had completely disappeared.

　　Hatori had been calling him over and over again for days, but the answer was always an empty, void silence. It seemed that Shimazaki had left his cell phone somewhere and never bothered with it again. Hatori checked the sales records of all the communication companies, guessing that the blind man might have lost his cell phone by accident, and also searched the city's surveillance cameras for its whereabouts. But there was nothing. Any sign of Shimazaki had simply disappeared from the world.

　　They sent a guy to check the cell phone's location, and found a clean bright apartment. The furniture was simple, with traces of everyday life everywhere. The bed was casually made, and clothes hung on a partially open balcony, which was the right size for Shimazaki. There was a decent stereo in the living room. Numerous music records filled up the adjacent bookshelf.

　　The whole apartment gave the impression that the resident had known he would be leaving for a while, but still planned to come back.

　　Once again, Hatori was called into Joseph's office alone. It took almost every effort to convince him that he had no connection to Shimazaki. In the end, he paced back and forth in agitation, his fingers digging into his tousled brown hair, his face flushed red with anger, and his volume getting more and more out of control as he shouted at Joseph.

　　"I fucking swear - "

　　"All right, all right. Don't get so worked up. It's just routine, you know."

　　Joseph's eyes squinted into narrow slits as he held a cigarette between his fingers. The office was even smokier than usual, with the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. His expression was cold and blank.

　　"If you run into him, let him know he has 24 hours to report, or the government will issue a nationwide warrant. At that point, he won't be able to back out."

　　"What? An arrest warrant!?"

　　"Shimazaki has a criminal record and holds too many secrets. It's very likely that he's on the run."

　　"You're kidding me! We don't know anything yet! Maybe he was hurt and can't move on his own? Or he could be sick, or... dead."

　　"Then we'll give him a posthumous medal."

　　Hatori glared at Joseph fiercely, feeling that he'd never wanted to smash that face so badly. Right now, he wished he could fight like Shimazaki, Minegishi, Serizawa, or even Shibata, where he could personally tear that arrogant attitude apart. But, no, Hatori had only one other way to fight.

　　"... I need to use the 805 surveillance room."

　　"Suit yourself."

　　He stormed out in anger.

　　Just as the door was about to close, a ring tone suddenly sounded from inside - default music. It was Joseph's official phone. Out of some... intuition, vigilance, curiosity, or perhaps pure revenge, Hatori paused. Through the crack in the door, he heard Joseph pick up the phone, his voice suppressed and bitter; at the same time, he slid the headset to his head, and immediately caught the faint signal drifting in the air.

　　Hatori walked slowly down the corridor, listening to the conversation between the two officers through his headset. The more he listened, the heavier his heart became.

　　So, apparently, Suzuki Shou was missing as well.

　　Over the past few months, the boy had never missed a visit with his father, rain or shine. Even on the day that Kageyama Shigeo lost control and plunged the city into chaos and destruction, he still showed up at the facility as scheduled. When he learned that his father had been sent on the special mission, he immediately went after him.

　　But he did not show up today.

　　Of course, Suzuki Shou had a volatile temper, and he was approaching puberty, so he might have just lost track of time, or he might have just gotten tired of his criminal father and decided to live his own life. But when the staff tried to contact him, neither his cell phone nor his home phone worked. To make matters worse, his bike was found near the facility. It had been blown over and was lying flat on the ground, covered in a thin layer of dust, with summer weeds growing through the frame.

　　Hatori entered the elevator and tapped on the panel, ordering it to go straight up, ignoring the poor colleagues waiting on other floors. He looked in the mirror and realized he was pulling his hair again, so he forced himself to put his hand back down.

　　After his colleagues were mind-controlled, Shimazaki's whereabouts became a mystery... And now, Suzuki Shou had disappeared. All of this couldn't be pure coincidence.

　　" - worry about Suzuki's reaction. They want you to do the talking."

　　The caller breathed heavily.

　　"We have to calm him down or he could do great damage. You went undercover for him, handled his interrogations, and even went on a few missions with him, so you should have some rapport, right?"

　　"Rapport?" Joseph scoffed, "Do you want a negotiator or a punching bag?"

　　"Well, umm..."

　　"Fine. Okay, I'll go talk to Suzuki. I have some questions for him anyway."

　　The caller was relieved and thanked Joseph again and again with earnestness.

　　There was a click on the phone, followed by a hollow, monotonous beeping. But Joseph didn't hang up. He was silent for a moment, then spoke:

　　"Hey, Hatori. Are you listening?"

　　"... Hmm."

　　"Then you know the situation. The target has changed. Prioritize the search for Suzuki Shou."

　　"Got it."

　　"Maybe you'll find someone else on the way."

　　Hatori cut off the communication.

　　Rubbing his brow, Joseph reached into the drawer and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes.

　　The facility was two buildings away, connected by interior corridors. He handed over his ID at the reception desk. The staff behind the bulletproof glass scrutinized it, comparing information over and over before finally nodding and letting him through. An armed guard motioned for Joseph to follow and solemnly led the way. The man wore a rifle and a large keychain on his belt that jingled with each step. At each checkpoint, the guard removed the keys to unlock the heavy iron doors, then replaced them on the belt.

　　Joseph watched these draconian security measures with growing impatience. He could unlock all the doors in seconds with hardened smoke. Firearms were useless. If any of the prisoners posed a threat, the guard would only be a hindrance, forcing Joseph to divide his attention to protect him.

　　Damn bureaucracy.

　　He insisted that the guards wait in the hallway while he went in alone to face the world's most ferocious esper.

　　The room was sparse. Suzuki Touichirou sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes cold and piercing, radiating a strong sense of oppression. It was as if he was not a criminal in an orange prison jumpsuit, but a powerful dominant figure, an interrogator, silently waiting for an answer. Joseph leaned against the wall and slowly took out his lighter to light his cigarette, letting the steel door close behind him and automatically relock itself, leaving him alone with the beast.

　　"Suzuki Shou... Your son. He's currently missing," he said blandly, "There's no conclusive evidence yet, but it's probably a kidnapping."

　　Suzuki stared sharply, forcing Joseph to continue.

　　He summarized the situation.

　　"Think about it, even though you are now voluntarily in custody, there are still many fools out there who want to get their hands on your powers. They'll stop at nothing if they can."

　　"You think someone wants to use Shou to control me." Suzuki said.

　　"Let's just assume that's the case." Joseph looked up at the swirling white smoke and tapped off the ash, "This guy must know about your relationship with Suzuki Shou. So he's either a government mole, or an acquaintance of yours, or... both. And then he would have to be strong enough to deal with Suzuki Shou; you don't know how much trouble your son can get into."

　　"I know, he always does." Suzuki pondered for a moment, "If someone wants to threaten me with my family, they should have chosen an easier target. Have you investigated my wife?"

　　"We can't."

　　Suzuki raised an eyebrow.

　　"Well, it's quite interesting," Joseph said coldly, "I'm pretty sure the government did a thorough investigation back then, but then we realized that the name on all the documents was changed to 'Aragaki Yui', and the address to 'Flying Spaghetti Shrine'. In other words, we lost all the relevant information. I wonder who was behind this."

　　Suzuki's lips curled up slightly.

　　"Anyway, I will be frank with you about the investigation. In return, I hope you will cooperate with the government and provide some information. We have the manpower and resources, and when we catch this guy - " Joseph pointed his cigarette at Suzuki with a smirk, "That's when you'll make your appearance. And I won't ask anything if any 'accidents' happen during the arrest. How about that?"

　　"Agreed. But you have to agree to one more condition."

　　"Say it."

　　"I demand that Hatori be put in charge of the search operation. And that he be relieved of his other duties and responsibilities until it is over."

　　"That's it? It's easy. He just started the investigation 30 minutes ago, and the preliminary report should be done soon. I can send you a copy."

　　"No. Thirty minutes is more than enough for him."

　　"Hmph, you trust him a lot."

　　Suzuki nodded, "I know his capabilities. Let me talk to Hatori myself."

　　"Unfortunately, I'm afraid you can't - "

　　Bzzz. Bzzz. The wall-mounted broadcasting system suddenly crackled with noise. They all turned to the speakers at the same time and immediately realized what was happening. The static lasted less than a second before it became clear, as if wired in, and the steady voice of Hatori rang out:

　　"Hi, boss. I'm listening. Go ahead."

　　Joseph's face sank. Suzuki, on the other hand, remained impassive, showing no emotion.

　　"Hatori, report the situation."

　　"Uh, okay. Let's see... Shou was last recorded seven days ago, at 11:27 a.m. on March 23rd. After the visit, he went down the west hallway on the second floor, and entered the blind spot of camera A8316, where he has not been seen since. Since Shou can be invisible, this opens up a lot of possibilities... so I've expanded my search to a one-kilometer radius, including the streets and the interior of nearby buildings.

　　"In addition to the missing location, I have checked his home, school, train station, and several supermarkets and restaurants he frequents, as well as the routes between these locations. I have also tracked down his close friends, including Kageyama, Fukuda, Higashio, and Ootsuki. None of them have been in contact with Shou in the past week.

　　"The bugging system has been set up, and the search area can be expanded to cover the entire Seasoning City by tomorrow. After that... Maybe I should start analyzing large scale audio material."

　　"Good. The work of the government hasn't rusted on you." Suzuki said, "Tell me your thoughts on the current situation."

　　"......"

　　The speaker fell into silence.

　　Joseph signed, dropping his hand with the cigarette, "I'll answer that. Considering the current situation - "

　　"I think it was Shimazaki who took Shou away." Hatori said abruptly. The broadcast system amplified the sound of his tense breathing, as if his thoughts were struggling at the edge of his lips, hesitating to be spoken, "Only he could evade my tracking to this extent. To memorize all monitor locations, to perfectly avoid every camera and recording device, and to deliberately abandon any electronic devices that could be used to locate him. It would have to be Shimazaki."

　　"Where is he?"

　　"Last seen in the office seven days ago, and has been out of contact ever since. That matches the timeline with Shou."

　　"I see. Shimazaki is well aware of your abilities, so he will be particularly cautious with these measures." Suzuki's voice remained steady, "In that case, it will be necessary to use a method you have never tried before."

　　"......?"

　　"Hatori, you can sense electronic devices. What is the range?"

　　"Well, I rarely try that... It gives me a headache in the city. It also depends on the strength of the signal. For a car or something like that, I should be able to go about two or three kilometers."

　　"What about a watch battery?"

　　"A watch battery! Just that little bit?" Hatori pondered carefully, "Two hundred meters... I guess."

　　"That's enough. Shou always wears a watch. Shimazaki wouldn't think of dealing with it. I can tell you the make and model number." Suzuki said, "You can transmit power via radio waves. Do a carpet search with cell phones all over the city, compare the pictures, delete the innocent ones, and you'll be able to find Shou."

　　Hatori thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the desktop.

　　"It'll work. But it's going to take a couple of days, and there's no guarantee they won't move around in the meantime."

　　"I don't intend to wait that long."

　　Suzuki lifted his gaze to the room monitor, as if he was looking through the screen, straight into Hatori's eyes.

　　"I will transfer my energy to you."

　　Hatori gasped. He breathed heavily, like a little boy receiving an unexpectedly incredible Christmas present, so overwhelmed with excitement that he could barely speak, "I-I uh… Are you serious? I can actually receive the boss's energy? REALLY?"

　　"When did I ever joke?"

　　Suzuki said in a calm voice, but there was a flicker of playful amusement in his light blue eyes.

　　It was gone in a flash. He slowly stood up, reaching for the psychic restraint on his left wrist. It looked like a regular black bracelet, with curses densely engraved on the inside. A red aura erupted from Suzuki's fingertips. In an instant, the restraining bracelet shattered with a thud, billowing thick smoke and falling to the ground in a twisted heap.

　　With his back against the wall, Joseph rasped, "Wait a minute. Are you just going to walk out of here?"

　　"I’m doing this to find my son. It goes with the government benefits."

　　"If you don't get permission, what you're about to do is called escaping." Joseph narrowed his eyes as he brought the cigarette to his mouth, his body tensing, "We have some procedures to follow first."

　　"Do it later."

　　Suzuki walked to the door. The electronic lock buzzed slightly, automatically disarming the alarm. The red aura flashed again and drilled into the hole of the mechanical lock, turning it slightly. He pushed open the metal door as easily as if he had just stepped out of his own house.

　　The corridor outside was cold and pale. The simple, bare passageway was empty, unnaturally quiet. The corridor stretched for several dozen meters before branching off. Not far ahead was another junction. It was a complex network of passages connected by several classified government facilities, and, of course, there were no signs.

　　"I'm at... Uh, never mind. Follow the light."

　　With that, a fluorescent light in the distance suddenly began to flicker, blinking in a regular pattern. Suzuki stepped towards it. He walked out of the room, then stopped and turned to Joseph:

　　"You might want to keep an eye on me. This is a special mission after all."

　　Joseph signed.

　　They followed the direction Hatori had indicated. Each time they approached a light, the next one began to flicker. They encountered several locked metal gates along the way, but easily broke through with their usual methods. They left the facility without incident.

　　Joseph knew the way after that, but Hatori chose a different route. They went around the back of the office, through two buildings, and then down the fire escape back to the elevator shaft. The elevator was open in front of them and automatically closed as they entered, going straight up to the 8th floor. They didn't encounter anyone along the way.

　　The light indication finally stopped at the door, a wooden sign on it read "Surveillance Room 805".

　　Suzuki opened the door. Inside, the room was occupied by countless electronic equipment, with three entire walls lined with monitors, each switching between images like the frantic compound eyes of insects, flashing at such a rapid pace that no human could keep up with them. The remaining wall was lined with professional instruments, each with jacks, levers, buttons, and knobs of unknown function. Black wires crawled across the room like sticky spider webs.

　　In the center of the room were several long tables and chairs, clearly meant for a full team of operators. But for the moment, Hatori was the only one sitting alone, his glasses reflecting the flickering light. Hearing the door open, he turned to the entrance.

　　Suzuki was standing there. He looked at him, and he looked at him. The images on the screens distorted for a second.

　　"Hatori."

　　"Hey, boss."

　　They spoke as if they had met just yesterday.

　　Suzuki entered and glanced at the flickering images on the walls. Hatori waved his hand, and all the screens went off in response, returning the room to silence and darkness. Only the machinery operated, emitting a warm, hypnotic hum. Joseph took a seat in silence, crossing his legs as he watched the two former criminals. He regretted bringing only a pack of cigarettes.

　　"Ready?" Suzuki said.

　　"Anytime." Hatori smiled, took off his glasses.

　　He suddenly stopped, holding his glasses in both hands, his head bowed, looking somewhat disoriented. Without the lenses, his pupils seemed to be a bit difficult to focus. He said in a low voice, "Boss, when you find Shimazaki......"

　　"I know, don't worry."

　　Hatori put his glasses on the table and turned to Suzuki, signaling with silence that it's time to begin.

　　Suzuki raised his hand, and the red aura began to flow, swirling around the two of them. Hatori couldn't help but hold his breath as he felt an extremely powerful energy - hot, brutal, almost burning - sweeping over him, as if he was being swallowed by a storm into its wild center. He appeared utterly trivial to this overwhelming force, like an ant trying to push an elephant.

　　With little resistance, he let the scorching energy flow into his body. And it felt...

　　Oh, god. So painful, and yet so beautiful. It was as if Hatori was breathing fresh air for the first time in his life. His whole body swelled with an endless flow of energy, from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers, like a flood of water roaring through, relentlessly filling up all the space. He felt like he could do anything at this moment, with the entire world’s airwaves under his control. But at the same time, he was also burning, like a flame consuming his body from within, the heat melting his flesh.

　　Hatori tried his best to bear it. It was a torture of ecstasy. He would have stayed longer if he could, but he realized that if this terrifying power wasn’t released soon, his head might explode.

　　"By the way." Suzuki said to Joseph, "Apologize in advance for your losses."

　　Hatori struck both palms together. His body erupted with a strong, blinding red-yellow aura, with arcs of electricity sizzling through the air. All the screens flickered on, distorting in chaotic swirls of color. Instruments shook, indicator lights flashed crazily, and fans spun like they were about to take off. The fluorescent lights grew more and more intense, like a bomb approaching its critical point, until they finally exploded with a bang. Muffled cries of alarm and cracking sounds came from the distance.

　　"Can you keep going?" Suzuki said.

　　No. Impossible. Joseph thought to himself, unable to admit that he was stunned by the sight. You're going to kill him.

　　Hatori wasn't looking anywhere in particular, but his expression was intensely focused, as if his consciousness was far beyond the room, beyond and the recent time and space, immersed in a world where only he could see. He nodded imperceptibly.

　　"Very good."

　　The power further intensified like a roaring wave. The aura radiated sharply, as dazzling and blinding as the blade of a sword.

　　The room was filled with crackling static electricity. The machines were completely overloaded, spewing gray smoke, and the wires were so heated that they began to melt. Hatori gritted his teeth, his body tense, his eyes glittering with pain and joy, as if he were drowning in his own aura. Joseph unconsciously gripped the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

　　The whole process lasted only a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

　　Finally, Hatori slowly raised his hand, and pointed to the row of monitors on the wall. A map popped up on the screen, showing the geographic street layout of the entire Seasoning City. In the lower right corner of the map, a bright red dot flashed.

　　His body collapsed.

　　The red aura caught Hatori before he fell to the ground. Suzuki used his psychic powers to pull several tables together, gently placing Hatori's unconscious body on top of them. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his orange prison jumpsuit and started to step outside.

　　"Where are you going?" Joseph said.

　　"Go get my son."

******

　　There was a lounge on each floor of the government building. A few desks, chairs, bookshelves, and a water cooler were all that was needed. The room was quite simple and clean. At the moment, the floor was still littered with fragments of light bulbs that had been hastily swept aside. The room had no electric lighting, so the blinds were rarely open, letting in the soft, lazy afternoon light of spring from outside. Sparrows chirped and pigeons paced on the air conditioner, making soft cooing noises.

　　Next to the window, a long couch sat against the wall. Hatori lay quietly on it, looking tiny and fragile, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. Someone had covered him with a white jacket.

　　The door creaked open. A slim, white figure stepped inside. The man wore a black shirt and tight pants, with an electronic lighter hanging from a brown cord around his neck. He took out a cigarette and flicked open the lighter with his thumb, only to find the inside was burned to a black scorch. He tsked, found a wheel lighter in his back pocket instead, and put the cigarette in his mouth to light it.

　　He exhaled a dense cloud of thick white smoke. The smoke gathered into filaments, and wrapped itself around the door handle, hardening and solidifying, sealing the room tightly. The man leaned over and looked at the couch, where Hatori appeared to be sleeping, completely defenseless. He extended his hand, and -

　　"I didn’t expect you to fall so easily."

　　The man quickly withdrew his arm, noticing that Hatori's eyes were slightly open, looking at him groggily; he was Joseph, but not quite. At least part of his head wasn't.

　　"You're awake."

　　"My body hurts like hell." Hatori smiled weakly, "Boss's power is really something, isn't it? Now I can't move at all. Help me up."

　　Joseph braced the sides of his body and helped Hatori sit up on the couch, his back resting on several soft pillows. That alone made the exhausted esper catch his breath. Hatori blinked, looking a little confused. Joseph found the carefully kept glasses on a nearby table. After putting them back on, Hatori seemed a bit more complete.

　　"... Honestly, you're not far behind."

　　"Wow, are you complimenting me? This mind control is really getting serious." Hatori giggled. Joseph glared at him in displeasure. "Don't be mad. Can I have a cigarette?"

　　Joseph took a cigarette out of the pack and handed it over, then lit it for him.

　　"I didn't know you smoked."

　　"Not usually. But since I've worked so hard today, I think I deserve a reward."

　　Hatori gripped the cigarette gently, his fingers trembling slightly with exhaustion. Joseph retrieved his white jacket, pulled up a chair, and sat down next to the couch. He was surprised to see Hatori taking deep drags on his cigarette like an experienced smoker. Hatori's eyes were misty, and his disguise, worn down by smoking and fatigue, was slowly fading away.

　　"I smoked for a while in high school." Hatori said. "I thought it would help me break into the circle. Then I realized that as long as I followed their orders, ran errands, copied homework, took the blame, and tampered with game data for them, they would be nice to me. So I decided to stop wasting my money."

　　"......"

　　"Once they threw my school bag into a ditch just for fun, so I deleted all their game accounts. I was beaten so badly that I couldn't get out of bed for several days."

　　Joseph watched his cigarette, a fine white mist slowly drifting from its tip.

　　"When I was in high school, I got into a fight with my buddy, and I accidentally trapped him in the toilet with smoke. Turns out the plumbing had a little... indigestion from my smoke."

　　"... Oh. No way."

　　"It took the local fire department 4 hours to cut through the smoke. By the time they found him, the sewage was up to his calves and the toilet kept spewing every few minutes - like a fucking geyser. It was quite a sight."

　　They burst out laughing. Hatori laughed so hard that tears welled up in his eyes, and he almost lost his grip on his cigarette and burned the couch. When he finally managed to hold it steady, he took a drag, but couldn't stop laughing. He ended up coughing violently as the smoke irritated his throat. The pain from the vibrations forced him to stop and catch his breath.

　　Hatori closed his eyes, realizing how weak he was now. How easily he could be dealt with.

　　"I wouldn't lay a hand on me if I were you," he said. "I'm very useful as a pawn. I take money from the government, so I follow their orders. I don't care who’s messing around behind. No opinions, no principles. Completely at your disposal."

　　"That's not how you acted in front of Suzuki."

　　"Uh, well..."

　　"Forget it, Hatori. We both know very well that you're not good with words." Joseph said, "If we had Shimazaki under control, Suzuki Shou would be in our hands by now. We won't make the same mistake again."

　　"So, you really did target Shou."

　　"More precisely, it’s Suzuki Touichirou. It was all so simple until Shimazaki came out of nowhere and stirred everything up. I have to say, you two are my biggest pain in the ass ever."

　　"Is that your opinion, or that of the mind control pervert?"

　　"Both." Joseph shrugged, "But it doesn’t matter. Anyway, Suzuki's going to take care of Shimazaki and hand over his precious son himself. Maybe he'll even leave Shimazaki half alive, which would be more ideal. As for you - " he approached the couch, "you'll be joining us soon."

　　"What a nag. Are you really that desperate for someone to admire your grand plan?"

　　He gave a fierce glare, then extended his right hand, with a cigarette held between his fingers, and pressed the tips against Hatori's forehead. Unable to resist, Hatori felt a cold, tingling energy flow into his head, like an annoying sharp monotone in his ears, making it harder and harder for him to think. He winced and groaned.

　　Hatori muttered, "My head is going to hurt like hell when this is over."

　　The other frowned.

　　"You know what? I've been thinking, this mind control ability is really handy. All you need to do is catch a few people first, then they'll do the work for you and go on to infect others." Hatori struggled to move, as if trying to maintain his consciousness by talking, "And you can monitor everything from a safe place, far away from the actual battlefield. We are similar somehow."

　　"True. But I don't have to rely on anyone else. That's our difference."

　　"You are indeed a tough nut to crack. Just like ants, no matter how many workers you kill, it's meaningless if you don't catch the queen. But when you're brainwashing a new target, like now, you still have to transmit the energy directly from yourself."

　　"......"

　　"Unless someone could sense that energy flow in that split second, and immediately teleport over to beat you up..." Hatori raised his trembling hand and took another drag on the cigarette. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes, "Well, I happen to know the only person in the world who can do that."

　　The other froze.

　　"I'm the bait." Hatori grinned and blew white smoke into the other's face, "Gotcha, idiot."

　　Joseph - not Joseph - scrambled back. But it was all too late. He suddenly screamed, clutching his head in pain and stumbling over a chair. Hatori felt the cold energy in his head gradually dissipated.

　　He was tired. Exhausted. As if the last drop of power had been drained from his body. Sleepiness rolled in like a wave, making everything distant and blurry. Hatori heard Joseph cursing, which soon turned into a series of nervous, concerned calls. The cigarette slipped from his mouth and officially burned his favorite, now somewhat tattered, light blue pigeon sweater. Sleepiness gently enveloped him, welcoming him into the sweet, still darkness.

　　Before feeling sorry for the sweater, Hatori fell into a deep sleep.

#fanfic #fanfiction #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #ao3 #archive of our own #nozomu hatori #mp100 joseph #suzuki touichirou #super 5 #ultimate 5 #hatori nozomu

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mimisempai · 2 years ago

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Give me everything

Square and prompt : B5 - Sparring @dreamlingbingo Daily Prompt : Angry

Summary

There are days when resentment, anger at one's failed actions, gets out of hand. This is one of those days for Hob.

Dream will find out how Hob copes with these kinds of days. But maybe Hob doesn't need to deal with them alone anymore.

Add tags : Est. relationship - Anger - Guilt - Self hatred

No Archive Warnings Apply

On Ao3

Rating T - 2031 words

"Hob, are you okay?"

"Yeah."

That was the third time Dream had asked him that question since they'd come home and all three times Hob had given the same answer. Dream was not fooled and could see that Hob was doing the opposite of well. Only, he didn't know how to reach his lover. He watched Hob move around the living room, without a word.

He replayed in his mind what they had been doing since they got home and then he realized that Hob's mood had already been like this when he had joined him at his class. Dream had arrived just as the students were waving goodbye to the teacher as they left the class. Concentrating on Hob, he had not noticed the title of the day's lecture written on the blackboard at the moment, but it seemed to have registered in his memory. That’s how he realized the reason for his lover's mood.

"Slave Trading in 18th Century Europe."

Of course it was that.

Who better than Dream knew Hob's sense of guilt about what he'd done back then.

Suddenly, Hob pulled him out of his thoughts when he said in an almost unrecognizable voice, "I... I have to get out. I'm sorry."

Dream didn't have time to react as Hob had already closed the door of the flat on him. He didn't hesitate and decided to follow him because he didn't like Hob's expression at all.

He followed him from afar, for several hundred meters until he saw him enter what seemed to be a basement.

Dream entered as well, being perfectly capable of concealing himself.

He saw that the place was a kind of boxing club, with a ring in the middle, punch bags and training areas all around.

There was nobody there but a man who said nothing when he saw Hob coming. Dream watched Hob walk towards the locker room and emerge a few moments later in gym clothes. He then walked towards the man who seemed to be the manager of the place.

Dream approached and heard the conversation.

"Hi Hob, it's been a long time."

Hob replied dully, "Yeah, sure, hi. Can I use a bag?"

The man nodded, "You want me to hold it for you?"

"Yeah, please."

"Okay, let's go."

Dream followed at a distance as the two men walked to a corner of the room where a bag of sand hung and the man stood behind it, holding it firmly in place.

Then he asked, looking a little worried at Hob as he pointed to his hands, "Hey, Hob don't you want to put on your boxing gloves?"

Hob replied, "No, if I put them on there's no point, I need to feel..." he paused and finished in a breath, "...the pain."

The man shrugged and, tightening his grip on the punch bag, he replied, "Okay, it's up to you."

Dream witnessed Hob take a fighting stance and deliver a few light blows. He moved so that he could see his lover's face, while remaining invisible. Hob's blows became stronger and Dream was shocked by the hard and angry expression on his face.

He watched him for a few more moments and then, unable to take it anymore, he appeared next to the man who held the punchbag. Hob, now in a trance, lost in the rage that radiated from his whole being, did not see him.

Dream said softly but persuasively to the man, "I'm taking your place." While holding the bag against which Hob continued to hit, the man looked Dream up and down and asked, "Are you sure you can handle it?"

Dream replied, "Don't worry about that."

The man saw the determination on Dream's face and gave way to him, still without Hob noticing.

Dream could now physically feel the force of Hob's blows.

He was now punching faster and Dream saw the sweat beading on his forehead. Then he looked at Hob's hands and saw that they were beginning to suffer from the treatment Hob was inflicting on himself.

He tried to intervene, "Hob..." but his lover didn't even hear him and continued on.

Dream could see that Hob was going to get hurt, so he didn't dither. He let go of the bag and without Hob being able to react, he placed himself in front of Hob and wrapped his arms around him, pressing him against his chest with all his strength to force him to stop.

"Let me go on," Hob hissed through clenched teeth, struggling in his arms to push him away. But Dream didn't let go. Hob gasped against him, "Dream, let me...I..."

Dream answered softly, "You'll hurt yourself..."

Hob raised his voice, "That's what I want! Let me go!"

But Dream couldn't let him, so he kept holding Hob against him with the same determined strength. Hob struggled on fiercely at first, slamming his points into Dream's back, writhing to break free of his embrace while cursing and threatening Dream. The Lord of Dreams took no offense, because he knew it wasn't against him.

Over Hob's head he met the manager's gaze and the manager nodded with understanding before closing the door of the room on him.

Gradually Dream felt Hob's movements become less virulent and his body become more supple against his. Now that he had lost his grip, Hob's breathing became faster.

Dream breathed against his hair, "Hob..."

Hob shook his head.

Dream coaxed him, "It's okay, let go. I've got you. Don't fight what you feel. Give it all to me. I can take it."

Dream felt Hob's hands clench behind his back several times as the first choked sob passed his lips. He held his lover tighter against him, ready to take the wave that Hob wanted to hold back but was slowly letting go.

Dream let himself slide on the ground, dragging Hob along while continuing to hold him close. There, Hob could not hold back his screams and tears, unable to fight against the intensity of his emotions.

During all this time, when the cries turned into tears and then into sporadic sighs, until he had nothing more to give, Dream stroked his back and whispered words of encouragement.

He more or less figured out the reason for Hob's state, but he would wait until he was ready to tell him.

Suddenly Hob sat up and exclaimed in a broken voice, "Oh damn it, Dream, tell me I didn't hurt you when I..."

Dream immediately replied in a soothing tone, "Breathe Hob. I'm fine. You couldn't be even if you tried."

Then, as if realizing everything that had just happened, Hob looked utterly embarrassed and buried his face in Dream's neck.

"I'm sorry..."

But Dream cut him off and admonished, "Don't you dare apologize."

"But..."

Dream retorted, "No buts, Hob. Look at me."

Hob shook his head at Dream's neck but the dream lord insisted, and said in a much louder voice that would stand for no resistance, "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Hob obeyed and raised his head. Dream grabbed his chin so the other man couldn't look away. "You don't have to be sorry," Dream said, enunciating each word carefully. "You hear me, Hob? Not for what you just did, or for allowing yourself to feel. You have a right to be sorry for your past actions, your bad choices. But not for how you feel. Do you understand?"

Hob nodded but Dream insisted, "I want to hear you say it."

Hob whispered, "I understand..."

Dream continued, "Although I have an idea why you acted like that, do you want to talk about it?"

Hob shook his head and answered softly, "No, not now. Later... maybe."

Dream hummed and said gently, "Whenever you want. When you're ready. Even if it's a thousand years from now."

Hob gave a half smile and replied, "Thank you. Thank you for understanding me and helping me."

Dream smiled and pressed a light kiss to Hob's forehead before saying, "I'm far from an anger management expert, but it's the least I can do, to offer you my support."

Hob was about to snuggle up to him again, when Dream held him back and added, "Next time you feel like that though. Tell me and..." Dream let go of Hob and took his hands in his, delicately running his thumbs over the reddened knuckles before continuing, "...please instead of hurting yourself like this, fight me."

Hob chuckled, "Against you? Excuse me but..."

Dream retorted, "Robert Gadling, I don't allow you. I'll take you down any time you want."

Hob asked, a sparkle in his eye, "Really? How about now?"

Dream's face turned serious again and he asked, "Are you sure?"

Hob nodded eagerly, "Yes. Absolutely. Don't worry, I am okay, or I will soon. Or maybe you're afraid I'm going to hurt you."

Dream replied teasingly, delighted to see the sparkle return to his lover's eyes, "In your dreams!"

Hob chuckled and then, his face serious again, he uttered, "Don't go easy on me, okay?".

Dream replied softly, "I don’t intend to, ready ?"

He discarded his shirt and shoes, causing Hob to exclaim, "Hey, you're cheating! You're trying to divert my attention by putting that in front of me."

Dream shook his head, his mischievous smile back on his face, "Do the same and we'll call it even."

Hob retorted as he too took off his shirt and shoes, "I doubt it."

When he stood up, Dream was right in front of him and grabbed his face, "Don't doubt. Don't doubt the way you affect me, with or without clothes."

Then he leaned in, kissed him, and took a step back, standing on guard with a challenging look.

Hob took the first step and, with a succession of quick steps, made a quick hook with his leg to successfully knock Dream to the ground.

Dream, surprised, found himself pinned with Hob astride him and realized that he was going to have to be serious.

Hob, amazed at his quick success, was caught by Dream's next move, which reversed their position, his legs preventing Hob's from moving. After a few minutes of fighting in the same way, returning blow for blow but still without hurting each other, they were face to face and panting.

As they caught their breath, Dream looked at Hob with a concerned expression and asked softly, "Still okay?".

Hob nodded and replied breathlessly, "Better than ever."

As if he couldn't resist the impulse, he moved quickly and grasping Dream's hand, he pulled him closer. Their faces were now close to one another and, panting, they looked at each other intensely continuing the duel of their bodies with their eyes. In the end, it was Hob who gave in, pressing his lips to Dream's. They kissed passionately and Hob forgot what they were doing. When they separated once again to catch their breath, taking advantage of his lover's inattention, Dream tackled him to the ground again and whispered, looking down, "... Don't let your guard down, my love".

"Cheater!" protested Hob, pouting.

"But I almost lost," Dream replied. "Because this whole thing is incredibly distracting," he pointed out, running his hands over Hob's chest and stomach in a gentle caress before continuing, "I can't fight you like this and keep from laying my hands on you any longer."

He leaned into Hob for another kiss. When their lips parted, he let his forehead rest on Hob's and they stayed like that for a long moment, eye to eye.

Seeing a shiver run through Hob, Dream stood up, reached out to help him up and asked with a smile, "Ready to go home now?"

Hob nodded, keeping Dream's hand in his and answered in a firm voice, "Yes. Let's go home."

Dream asked, "In the magical way or the normal way?"

Hob looked around at the two and replied, "Let's indulge ourselves for once. Do your magic."

Dream wrapped his arms around Hob and said softly into his lover's ears, "Don't be afraid, I got you."

Hob tightened his arms around the lord of dreams and whispered, "I know."

Then they vanished in a cloud of sand.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Masterpost here

Dreamling Masterlist here

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #dreamling fic #centennial husbands #centennial boyfriends #morpheus #morpheus x hob #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #hob x dream

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kg-clark-inthedark · 2 years ago

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Chapter 11 of Beyond the Spheres by kg_clark on Ao3

Corvo Attano/The Outsider

Chapter preview below the cut…

I still remember my first fight like it was yesterday. It was within a year or two of my father’s death. A neighborhood kid was taunting my older sister Beatrici and, even though I was only five at the time, I already felt it was my responsibility to defend her. Void knows Father wasn’t around to do it anymore. And Mother was busy making ends meet.

We were both so young, me and that other boy. He was maybe seven at the oldest, yet I went after him with such brutality. What sweet satisfaction I got from the blood that gushed from his nose and the way he cried out for his parents. It felt good to hurt someone who deserved it, and it felt even better to have been of benefit to Beatrici. But what really hooked me on it all was what she said to me afterwards.

“My brave little Corvo. I’ll always be safe with you by my side, won’t I?”

That was it for me. From that point on, I defended her with everything I had during our rough upbringing. We were scrappy and inseparable in the mean streets of the Batista Mining District. It was with childish hope that she dreamed of seeking out a more adventurous life for herself away from Karnaca. And it was my own childish hope that let me think she would take me with her.

So much of my boyhood was defined by my relationship with her - my only true friend, the only person who I believed understood me. Then she simply disappeared. She boarded one of those ships we used to always watch together without a word to anyone. Not even to me…

I naively thought I’d always be able to protect Beatrici from danger. And, likely to humor her simple little brother, she let me believe I was needed for such a purpose. But it seemed I had been a burden to her the whole time. Just a little kid shadowing her around the city.

By the Void, I was so lost after she left. So I just kept doing the only thing I felt I was good at. I fought, and I put all of myself into it. I accomplished so much through just that one skill. My Blade Verbana victory, my time as a Grand Serkonan Guard soldier, my acknowledgement by the Duke himself. But it didn’t quite feel the same doing all those things for myself. After all, I was just Corvo Attano.

But then came Jessamine. I fell so easily into the role of Royal Protector, it was as if I’d been made for the position. After all, I’d already spent most of my childhood trailing after someone with bigger dreams than myself and scaring off anyone who dared threaten her. Protecting Jessamine gave me purpose again.

Then of course there was Emily. Our beautiful daughter, perfect in every way. The first time I held her, slumbering sweetly mere hours after her birth, I told myself that I’d finally done it. I’d brought into my life people I loved who wanted and valued my protection. I was needed. Life was as perfect as it could get for someone like me. I wouldn’t be cast aside, not as long as I remained of use to them…

But somewhere along the way I started falling short. I failed to protect Jessamine. It took me months to retrieve Emily after that. And all those years later I once again let my daughter fall victim to those who wished to harm her for their personal gain.

The one thing I thought myself good at, the one thing that I was able to offer to my loved ones, I failed at. Time and time again I let them down. Perhaps I’ve never been any good at protecting people in the first place. Beatrici must have seen the writing on the wall and left before I had the chance to disappoint.

So truth be told, I’ve been suspecting most of my life that I may be good for nothing. But what finally solidifies it for me is this current moment I find myself in. I’m lying in a growing pool of my own blood and looking up to see my only remaining family directing her blade at the man I love.

It’s clear that I've failed once again.

Continue reading on Archive of Our Own…

#beyond the spheres fic #writing this one made me sad #corvo is such a tragic character to me #always measuring himself by his service to those he loves #dishonored fanfic #corvosider #corvo attano #the outsider #human outsider #dishonored fanfiction #dishonored

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clumsyclifford · 2 years ago

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2022 Writing Evaluation

hi i dug this up from the archives of this time last year because it was fun to do and i wanted to give other writers a chance to reflect if they’re so inclined! so here is my 2022 writing self-evaluation. point of order, i’m mostly filling this out specifically for my bellawritess ao3 and all the rpf stuff i write, not my other secret ao3 where i put fics written about fictional media. okay, onward.

1. number of stories posted on ao3: 23!

2. word count posted for this year: 117,763

3. fandoms i wrote for: 5sos, atl, and 1d (but also teen wolf, mcu spiderman, hawkeye, and daredevil)

4. pairings: cake, lashton, malum, jalex, narry, halex (you know that very popular harry styles/alex gaskarth ship), and mirry.

5. story with the most kudos/bookmarks/comments: the answer to all three of these criteria is a change of heart and a silver lining, my winter 2021-22 fic exchange fic, which makes me very happy. i cannot believe that fic was from last year, january feels like forever ago but i love love love that specific work so much, in large part because of how much i was able to tailor it to meg as reciprocation for all the times and ways she tailored things to me.

6. work i’m most proud of (and why): i’m gonna say a three-way tie between (1) i got a radar for trouble (and you’re a renegade), (2) between all the gasping i finally breathe, and (3) play it again and again and again. #1 is the cruel summer prequel fic that i always half-jokingly said i would one day write and then surprised myself by actually writing, and i am incredibly proud of how well i managed to recreate the vibes of cruel summer fic but also write a prequel that made sense with the direction the actual cruel summer story took. #2 was one of the first legit fics i wrote to break myself out of this big 5sos fic slump i had been in (consequence of a perfect storm of a lot of small things), and i may have gotten lost in the metaphor sauce but i maintain that the metaphors are really fucking good which was gratifying to me as a writer who had felt like maybe i’d lost my real writing skill before then. #3 is the christmas fic i wrote for hazel, and what i’m most proud of there is that i fuckin actually wrote that. my love for my friends carried me through the warfields of attempting to romanticize christmas, and in so doing i think i actually learned something about christmas, ugh i feel like i’m getting less jewish every second i spend talking about this but i really am proud of myself for writing that and even moreso because i think i tailored it pretty well to hazel’s taste and that made me happy. it was like an extra challenge i set myself and then i did it well.

7. work i’m least proud of (and why): pretty much all the prompt fics from this year’s batch, tbh. this malum roommates one is really funny if you imagine you’re a fly on the wall of mine and megs’s dorm room but it’s the most nothing fic on the planet otherwise, and you’re my whole house is cute but again, literally nothing. unfortunately these were written while i was binge watching seinfeld which probably contributed to how much they were About Nothing but that’s no excuse.

8. share or describe a favorite review you received: i’m super terrible at remembering comments and stuff that people leave me but a few days ago i got a comment on yssdf saying it was one of the best love stories they’d ever read and that just about knocked my socks off

9. a time when writing was really, really hard: from aboutttt february to september, which is pretty obvious when you notice that i didn’t post a fic (on this account) between march 18th and september 27th of this year. i hit that aforementioned slump in a big way and i was also busy with life stuff and i was also just. unmotivated and uninspired! but in that time i wasn’t really doing a lot of writing to struggle with. something that was actively hard to write was definitely parts of the jet lag songfic i wrote for the fest. megs and hazel both experienced various aspects of my intense battle with Plot and Characters. it was not pretty.

10. a scene or character you wrote that surprised you: luke in the muke college beach fic!!! he was so much more gutsy than (a) he’s usually written and (b) i expected him to be. and tbh, michael in that fic also kind of surprised me, although less so because he was based on a real guy i know, so it was more like trying to delve into the fictionalized mind of a real human being i go to school with and understand what it is that makes him only APPEAR to be an asshole and in reality maybe actually have a heart of gold. if that makes sense. character work but the character is based on a real person who is based on a real person. meta af.

11. a favorite excerpt of your writing: ill be the first to admit im a sucker for when there’s a song playing in the in-universe fic scene and then the lyrics tie into the moment. i have that in two fics that i can think of, so here they both are:

(1) from everywhere, everything:

Luke is trembling when he looks up at Ashton, but he only nods. Tilts their foreheads together.

Say it’s me that you’ll adore— Sinatra sings, and then there’s a scratch and a crack, and the whole record player crashes through the glass tabletop.

(the end of that lyric is “for now and evermore” !!!! HOW FUCKED IS THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

(2) from faith in a stolen car (the jean jacket songfic i just wrote for the fest):

Calum’s rumbling laugh shook both of them as Springsteen vowed I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul, and Ashton sang along in a silly voice so Calum knew he meant it with everything he had.

[and]

He turned up the music, and ‘No Surrender’ blared out of the surround sound. The lines that had been stampeding around Ashton’s brain since Calum had first swept him up in tonight’s teenage delinquency now screamed against the wind in his ears.

Ashton smiled wider than his face could handle and screamed right back.

“WE MADE A PROMISE WE SWORE WE’D ALWAYS REMEMBER,” Calum’s voice joined his, and together they beat back the deafening gales; “NO RETREAT, BABY, NO SURRENDER!”

12. how did you grow as a writer this year? this year i learned the importance of conflict. “hey bella, didn’t you learn that in seventh grade english?” YES but then i IGNORED it and now i have relearned it in a fanfiction context and in the broader sense that i now understand every story has a conflict and more than that, a story needs a conflict, because that’s what drives it. after i finished writing those prompt fics, i thought, damn, these are fun but nothing is fucking happening in any of them. i wonder why that is! and then i realized. there was no conflict. i was writing “scenes” but nothing interesting within those scenes, so there was nothing pulling the characters from point A (the start of the scene) to point B (its conclusion) and as a result they all became meandering blocks of text with no goal or direction. anyway. point being that i have embraced conflict as a necessary factor in storytelling and i hope this will mean no more seinfeldian fics, prompt or otherwise.

13. how do you hope to grow next year? yes <3 jk but i sincerely have no idea, i don’t have any current ideas on how i plan to grow next year i just very much intend to grow. how it happens is anyone’s guess

14. who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc)? gotta be a tie between megs @igarbagecannoteven and hazel @allsassnoclass. obviously megs is my #1 rubber duck roomie, whether she likes it or not, and she has helped me solve more problems than i am comfortable admitting. actually i’m very comfortable admitting it megs has untangled a myriad of fic knots on many occasions this year she is the best rubber duck in the world. and hazel has become my virtual rubber duck which is great because it means i have all my bases covered! truly these two are a dynamic duo because they will both just let me sit there and complain and yet always have the right thing to say.

15. anything from your real life show up in your writing this year? as always, a great many things. make the same mistakes ‘til the morning breaks and the muke college beach fic are both inspired by things that happened with this one guy i know from school (yes, the same guy, and yes, he is represented by michael both times, and no, i do not know why it happened like that). the latter came from just a single snap i saw on his snap story, and none of the fic is actually based on real events, but the former is HEAVILY based on real events between this guy and one of my good friends at school. lmao!

i’ve been wishing i could breathe underwater is based on my experience scuba diving, which is to say, pure unmitigated terror, 1/10, do not recommend except to say that you did it. tequila shots from the dark scene of the crime is chock-full of baseball talk, specifically about Worst Team In Baseball the Washington Nationals (affectionate), so those feelings are straight from my heart. the concept of tell me what to see has not happened to me but it was very much inspired by my experience of getting in the habit of working out and realizing your muscles are literally increasing in size. the christmas fic has all my jewish disdain for christmas. that’s the shortlist, i think!

16. any new wisdom you can share with other writers? honestly, nope! i think other writers are thriving on their own fic journeys, as i am on mine. you guys seem to have a handle on things. i can reiterate my vehement loathing of comma splices or otherwise incorrectly-placed commas, but other than that i don’t have much to offer in the way of wisdom.

17. any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year? yes!! i am really excited to (hopefully) finish this fic ive been intermittently writing that is based on back together by tss. well, actually it’s based on the specific energy that was created in the world when back together and 2011 were released on the same night. it’s a tss!5sos au. it’s going to be really good okay. it’s tasty. and as always i hope to finish summer camp au i am dead fucking set on finishing that fic there is no question in my mind that it will be completed someday sooner rather than later i hope but definitely eventually. aside from those, i can’t think of any other fic plans i have! just gonna see where the winds of fic fate take me.

18. tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read: @igarbagecannoteven @allsassnoclass @kaleidoscopeminds @burstingsunrise @cringeycal (?) <3

#stuff #tag games #fic talk #it's 3:20am im going the fuck to sleep #tomorrow is going to stress me out so much #ive been experiencing low-grade but slowly-growing levels of stress for the past week or two about this trip #and now it's. now i'm leaving in TWO DAYS and jesus christ im nervous #i am so stupid for this #for everything #it's going to be fine #ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh gay fucking fear!!!!!!!#goodnight

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eirian-houpe · 24 days ago

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Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Teyla Emmagan/Michael Kenmore Characters: Richard Woolsey, John Sheppard, Jennifer Keller, Ronon Dex, Rodney McKay, Original Stargate Character(s), Original Stargate Wraith Character(s), Michael Kenmore Additional Tags: Angst, Traditions, Drama, Canon Typical Violence, Politics, Bureaucracy, Conflict Series: Part 2 of SGA Virtual Season Five Summary: When the IOA replaces Carter as the head of the Atlantis Expedition, and the first thing that happens is the alienation of long standing allies, in spite of Sheppard's best efforts, trouble can't be far behind. Woolsey's command is given a baptism of fire when the Alpha team is ambushed off world, and hampered by a lack of intel they truly are on their own.

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Chain of Command - Act 2

Sheppard didn't knock. He didn't even think of knocking. He just stormed in and started on the offensive.

"I sure hope you're satisfied," he said, letting the volume of his voice speak to the intensity of his anger.

"Colonel Sheppard—" Woolsey started.

"Don't 'Colonel Sheppard' me!" Sheppard exploded. "Do you know what you've done?"

"I understand your concern," Woolsey said.

"No," he contradicted the expedition commander, "You don't understand anything."

Woolsey sighed and started to rise. Instead he stopped when Sheppard leaned down, bracing his arms against the desk and all but pushed his face right against Woolsey's.

"The Athosians were more than just our friends. They were our allies and our guides. We're still little more than strangers in this galaxy and without their knowledge and their help we would have been dead a long time ago."

"But, Colonel Sheppard, the fact remains – in attempting to rescue Teyla from Michael's compound the loss of life was completely unacceptable. Two whole teams, practically wiped out in the initial explosion and countless other souls lost in the subsequent battle against the Wraith."

"Woolsey," Sheppard pressed, "As bad as it was, and much as I might, in other circumstances, agree with you, it's nothing compared to the loss of life to come if we don't get Teyla back from Michael."

"Ah yes," Woolsey said. His sudden understanding lent his voice a very sarcastic edge. "Your Intel from the future."

"We have to get her back, Richard," Sheppard began pacing, "and before the baby arrives."

"Colonel, I've read the report, in some detail as a matter of fact. You found the place in McKay's information. She wasn't there. You've already changed the—"

"No," Sheppard argued again. "Michael still has her, and the baby, and once that's been born there'll be nothing to stop him from fulfilling his plan – destroying the Wraith and then subjugating the humans of this galaxy to his will. Those that survive, that is, just like McKay told me."

"Before you came back and changed things," Woolsey insisted, before going on, "and anyway, Colonel, wouldn't that in actual fact be a good thing?"

"Letting millions of people die?"

"Ensuring that Michael has the capacity to destroy the Wraith."

"No!" Sheppard swung round and glared at Woolsey. "If this is the real agenda behind the IOA replacing Carter… If this was their plan all along—"

"Colonel Sheppard, are you suggesting that the IOA would sacrifice Teyla's life in order to achieve some kind of twisted—"

"No, Woolsey, you did. You pretty much said as much."

"I said no such thing," Woolsey argued, finally standing and pushing out his chest in a self important display, "I was merely pointing out the positive of a tragic situation that has occurred as a consequence of war."

"Bullshit!" Sheppard spat, shocking Woolsey to silence. After a moment he added, "Besides which, it's an entirely moot point." He fixed Woolsey with another angry glare. "We're rescuing Teyla."

Lisstha thanked the man they'd left on guard at the door and pushed it open to go quietly inside to see Miran.

He sat up as soon as he saw her.

"Lisstha," he said her name with such emotion that she almost lost her resolve for what she came to tell him.

"Miran, you should not have spoken as you did," she said as he took her hands in his own.

"Someone had to," he told her, kissing her softly in greeting.

"This isn't the time. It isn't right."

"Lisstha, listen to me."

"No, Miran, it is you who must listen to me." She let go of his hands and walked away from him a little way. "I am willing to make this sacrifice to keep my family and friends safe. After I am gone you will be needed in the village."

He huffed in disbelief. "They would be happy to be rid of me."

"They would be foolish to be rid of you," Lisstha corrected him. "The village needs the strength that is in your blood if it is to survive."

"Survive for what?" he spat. His voice was heavy with scorn. "So that future generations can be stolen away just as they're taking you." He sighed and said, "Don't be a part of this, Lisstha, please."

"There is no other thing to do, Miran." She shook her head and turned to face him again, "I want you to promise something to me. I want you to—"

"Don't even think that I'd take another than you."

"But you have to, don't you see?" she told him. "I told you the village needs your strength and the only way for that is for you to bring children."

"No, Lisstha, listen," he said, "I won't let you go to this end, can't you see that? The angel that came, he told me what will happen. The journey does not end with the Haradians. You will be taken from them to a terrible servitude. A servitude to which all of the others have gone before, and there is no chance of return. The moment you cease to please those that would master you, you will die a horrible, painful death at their hands."

"You're wrong," she said, but wrapped her arms around herself in fear of his words. He had never lied to her before, why would he now, when there was so much to be said between them in so little time? "I know that you love me, and you wish to change my mind, but—"

"It is the truth. The angel told me—"

"You should be careful, Miran. Heed the words that have already been told to you. This may be no angel, but a demon sent to lead us all astray – or the servant of demons here to test our faith in what has always been." She came to him and gripped his hands again, tightly in her own. "This sacrifice is the only way to keep our people safe from the wrath of the Haradians. Please… I do not wish to spend this time in strife with you. I did not come to argue. I just…" her voice cracked slightly, "I just wanted to see you one last time."

"It does not have to be a last time," he insisted, "Only trust me."

"Trust the voice of this 'angel' you say you have seen," she pulled her hands from his. "No, Miran, not even for our love will I risk the safety of my people." She blinked back the tears that gathered in her eyes. "If you cannot see the foolishness of your words and deeds, then you are too blinded by the obsession of keeping me at your side. You cannot call it love unless you can let me go."

She turned from him and started toward the door. Desperately he called after her. Blinded by her tears, she forced herself to keep on moving. She could not go to him now – it would break her resolve, and she could not allow herself to be responsible for the destruction of her village, no matter how deep her fear, or how much she wanted, truly wanted, to stay with Miran.

She closed the door on his desperate cries of her name; leaned against its smooth surface and let out the sob that had gathered in her chest.

"Goodbye, my love," she whispered.

It was a scene not unlike he had seen before on more than one occasion, only this time it carried a bitter air of finality. He stepped further into the corridor where the Athosians were piling their belongings ready to take them to the gate room.

"Halling," he called out to the man who had assumed the mantle of leadership. "Hold on."

"Colonel Sheppard," Halling said as he straightened up from checking on a number of cartons and boxes. "I know why you are here, and believe me, I understand the gesture, but my mind, and that of my fellow Athosians, is made up."

"Woolsey doesn't know what he's doing," Sheppard said, with an urgency infusing his usual lazy tones. "He's talking out of his ass."

"He is your leader, John Sheppard," Halling argued, "and even if you refuse to see it, I believe, he knows exactly your government's agenda."

"You—"

"How many times must we see it; be subjected to it before you too see as I see now. We have never truly been trusted, nor fully welcomed among your people."

"That's not true," Sheppard protested, the hurt clear in his voice, "there are no other people I'd rather have at my side."

Halling smiled, just a little. It was a sad smile, but genuine as he reached out and put a hand onto Sheppard's shoulder.

"I know that is true of you, John," he said softly, "but I am not speaking of you alone. I speak of your leaders and your military." He sighed as he continued, "This may be difficult for you to hear, Colonel, but there were several occasions when Teyla came, upset, to seek my counsel; when she would have left Atlantis to return to her people because of the things she felt, and the things that were said to her, and of her."

"Isolated individuals," Sheppard tried to argue, but Halling shook his head, stopping the words from finding their way from his lips.

"Not so, and well you know it," Halling said, then he sighed again, "It is no reflection on you personally that I choose to lead my people away now. Only it is the way it must be. If we Athosians were to stay in Atlantis now, we would have no more freedom than we had when we were prisoners of the one you call Michael."

"Halling—"

"Hear me in full, my friend, please," Halling held up his hand to stop him from saying anything more. "The one thing that kept us all from falling from our fear when we were captives was the certainty that Teyla would find some way to come to us in rescue. I know her. The thing that must sustain her through her own trials is the knowledge that we will do the same."

"We're going to find her," Sheppard interrupted. "I told Woolsey—"

"I am certain you did," Halling nodded, "but my decision must stand, Colonel Sheppard. Until Teyla's return to us, I must lead these people – what few we are – and my first responsibility is to their safety and comfort, both of body and spirit."

Sheppard sighed as he saw the resolute expression on Halling's face. "Where will you go?" he asked.

"Doctor McKay has located a suitable world for us to build our settlement."

"McKay—" Sheppard blustered, feeling a rush of antagonism toward his fellow team member at what he considered a betrayal.

Halling nodded. "Right after he and I had this self same argument that you and I now share." He sighed. "Sheppard, I know that you, and Doctor McKay, and even Ronon would argue the same for us to remain behind on Atlantis, but it just cannot be. We must find our own place in the galaxy once more… and we must find Teyla and bring her home to us."

It was long after dusk before Lisstha returned to her home. She had spent the time walking alone among her people, settling her grief and her fear. He parents and her brother were waiting for her, but she waved them away, still wanting solitude.

"I must rest," she told them softly. "I have a long journey ahead of me."

"Of course," her father said softly, and kissed her brow before letting her go to her room at the very rear of the long rectangular home. She walked the corridor slowly, her legs tired, as heavy as if they were made of stone. All of her limbs felt the same, as if walking away from Miran's love had somehow taken all of her strength. Lethargically, she pushed open the door and went inside, not bothering to push it closed behind her. She knew her family well and trusted their respect of her to keep them from following.

When the voice came from behind her as she entered the room, she froze.

"If it were not so tragic and unnecessary, you could say almost that it was an act of heroism." She heard the door close behind her as the voice spoke again. "Please do not do anything so foolish as to cry out or draw attention to my presence. That would make this all the more of a tragedy."

"Who are you?" she demanded, spinning round to face the intruder.

"Miran told you already who I am." A figure stepped from the shadows behind the door. A man… he tilted his head to regard her. Miran's angel…

She knew the stories of the supernatural beings that were called angels among her people. She squinted at the one she saw standing framed by her door though half in shadow. Tall he was, certainly, and the half-light on his face lent him an otherworldly appearance, as did the pale quality of his eyes, but in spite of the strange markings she could see on the lighted side of his cheek, she would not have described him as at all reptilian in appearance as the legends of her people insisted.

"An angel would not counsel actions that would bring the wrath of the Haradians down on my village," she said defiantly.

He turned his head to the side, tilting it to regard her coolly. "I counsel salvation," he said. "The Haradians would take you from your village to give you in payment for their own freedom to ones far more insidious than the Haradia themselves. It is your journey's end that you should fear."

"I do not fear it because I know it will keep my people safe."

The 'angel' walked toward her, a cat stalking his prey and as he came into the light, even though each of her nerves and senses screamed at her to back away, her defiant resolve made her stand in place; accept his touch as he ran his fingertips over her face.

"So naïve," he said quietly, "for all these years your Haradian masters have kept from you, by their own servitude, the most fearful of terrors and you do not even know…" he shook his head then. "Such a shame it cannot continue."

"What do you mean?" she asked, stepping back in fear of his words.

"I must take you from here," he told her, sounding almost regretful, "If your people will not willingly comply with what must be, then I must ensure that it will occur by any other means."

"No," she said, beginning to look around her in panic for a way to escape him. "I will not allow you to do this."

"You have no choice," he said. He raised his hand toward her, and she saw he carried a weapon not unlike the ones the Haradian guards, that came with the Hag, carried. She had no time to make sense of the fact, for in the next moment a tingling heat spread through her body, enveloping every inch of her skin, pricking every nerve with intense sensation until her flailing senses could stand no more, and shrouded her in the comfort of oblivion.

The last thing she saw brought a scream, that never found escape, bubbling from deep inside her … the bloodied, severed head of the man she loved.

The last thing she expected was to see anyone with Major Lorne when she did her late evening rounds. It was for that reason that the small yelp escaped her as she opened the door of the isolation room in which Colonel Carter had suggested it would be safer to keep him, and not the 'who' of the figure standing at the bedside watching the steady pulse pass across the monitors. Nor the two armed guards who stood flanking the door through which she'd entered.

"Doctor Keller," Woolsey greeted her.

"Mister Woolsey," she said trying not to sound panicked. "What are you doing here?"

"Playing a hunch," he said mildly.

"I think maybe you shouldn't be here," Jennifer said, trying to sound official.

"I think I'm maybe ready for some answers now, Doctor," he said, the mildness becoming harsher, almost clipped.

"I don't know what you mean," she said and tried to move around him to check the flow of the drip, and the readings from the monitor, as well as make a visual examination of the Major.

"I'm neither blind, nor stupid, Doctor Keller. I know there's something going on, and looking at Major Lorne's appearance I believe I could make a pretty safe guess as to what that something is. Now either you start to provide me with some information or you will be leaving on the Daedalus when she returns to Earth." He caught hold of her arm and signaled to the soldiers, who began to step forward. "Which is it to be, Doctor?"

Jennifer sighed, "I'm following standing orders, Mister Woolsey, to say nothing."

"That's most admirable, I'm sure," he said without letting go, "but my command supersedes any orders given by my predecessor and I'm telling you that I want to know what's going on here."

Jennifer snatched her arm from his grasp and massaged the flesh where his fingers had dug in. She glared at the soldiers, until Woolsey signaled to them to step away again. Then she answered, "When he was a captive, Major Lorne was exposed to Michael's retrovirus."

"What!" Woolsey exclaimed as though it had been at the same time both his greatest fear and also the furthest thing from his mind. "Do you mean to tell me that he's going to turn into one of those… things… one of Michael's zombies?"

"I wouldn't put it exactly like that," she said.

"Then how would you put it, Doctor?" Woolsey frowned deeply as he gingerly leaned forward to look more closely at the Major. "His presence in this state compromises the security of this base. Exactly when were you going to tell me?"

"I wasn't," she snapped, finally tiring of his officious threats, "it was a medical decision, and with the standing orders I'd been given I was to report only to Colonel Sheppard if and when the situation became unmanageable."

"This is mutiny!"

"This is the Hippocratic Oath, Mister Woolsey, because I'm certain that the next words out of your mouth are going to be some form of order that will threaten the life of my patient."

"How dare you!" Woolsey blustered.

"Contradict me then," she said. "Prove to me that I'm wrong, and that you're not about to suggest that having Major Lorne around here threatens the safety of Atlantis," she fixed a mock surprised expression on her face and continued, "Oh wait, you can't… didn't you just say that only a moment ago?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Doctor Keller," Woolsey said angrily, "nor does it address the issue."

"Which is what?" she demanded. "That you're going to have your goons bundle me up and ship me back to Earth?"

"Which is keeping someone around who's turning into… into…"

"A hybrid, Mister Woolsey," Jennifer said, tired also of dancing around the issue. "Major Lorne was exposed to Michael's retrovirus and he's turning into a hybrid. And whilst I'd be the last to try and defend Michael, it's my medical opinion that, in giving him the drug, Michael may well have saved his life."

"What do you mean?" Woolsey asked, momentarily disarmed.

"Everything that Doctor McKay told me, and the report from the medics aboard Daedalus that rescued him from Michael's cruiser, suggest that without the retrovirus, there's no way the Major would have survived the crushing injuries he suffered in the collapse of the compound."

"But…" Woolsey appeared to consider her words and was confused by them, but only for a moment before he said, "but what are we going to do?"

"Do, Mister Woolsey?"

"Well, we can't leave him here like this."

"What do you suggest," she snapped, "that we lock him up? He still needs medical attention even though he's not in danger from his injuries any longer, his body's undergoing massive trauma. His DNA is literally being rewritten. Even now it's possible that the shock of that could kill him."

"There must be something you can do," Woolsey said, "some way to stop this."

"I've already been administering the strongest NTRI drugs that we currently possess, but they did little to slow the progress of the drug. A few days ago, I added in a small quantity of the original retrovirus that Doctor Beckett created, but—"

"Doctor Keller," Woolsey interrupted, "unlike my predecessor I'm neither a scientist nor have I a grasp of medical knowledge."

"I've been giving the major drugs that were specifically designed to combat infection by retroviruses, like AIDS." She paused to watch understanding pass over Woolsey's face, "They don't work on Michael's retrovirus. Doctor Beckett's retrovirus was a little bit more successful – at least at first."

"What do you mean?" Woolsey asked again.

"Carson created the drug to suppress the Wraith aspects of the DNA present in the Iratus bug from which our best information leads us to believe the Wraith evolved. Michael's retrovirus, from what I've been able to ascertain, imposes Wraith DNA onto the human genome. At first the two almost balanced each other out."

"But not any more?" Woolsey asked.

Jennifer shook her head, "Over time, it's almost as if Michael's retrovirus adapted to the presence of Beckett's and the changes started again. I'm still trying to find a solution, but as fast as I find something that works, even for a short time, the retrovirus adapts." She sighed, "besides which, genetics is not exactly my specialty."

"Perhaps Doctor Beckett—"

"No," she said, "I already considered that, and the risk of awakening Carson is unacceptable. I doubt he'd survive and I'm not prepared to have that on my conscience."

"But—"

"If we found a way to get our hands on some of the serum that Michael was injecting into Doctor Beckett, then perhaps I'd consider it, but… since you won't authorize any further action against Michael then that's out of the question. So… Major Lorne will have to make do with my efforts… and I remind you that he's my patient, and therefore outside of your jurisdiction – unless of course you plan on making good on that threat of removing me as head of the Medical Division of this expedition?"

"God knows I should!" Woolsey exploded. "For your sheer insubordination toward me, but the irritating truth of the matter is that technically, since you were following standing orders, you've done nothing wrong. But keeping him here, this is insanity, doctor."

"This is defending the rights of my patient, Mister Woolsey, a member of the team. Didn't you say we needed to prioritize, and defend the Atlantis expedition?"

"Don't quote my own words back at me, Doctor Keller," Woolsey said angrily.

"How can I not?" she exclaimed in frustration. "Since the moment you stepped foot on this base you've been singularly unreasonable, and you haven't got a clue what's going on in the Pegasus galaxy or how best to deal with it. You won't listen to your advisors, and you alienate those with whom we've spent years building relationships. You can't keep on riding roughshod over everything that's gone before. If you want to be the commander of this expedition then you've got to earn the respect, not expect it just because of your position."

"Are you done?" Woolsey asked her. She threw up her hands and turned to leave the room, eager to get away from the annoying little weasel she saw in him.

"Doctor Keller?" his voice halted her steps in the doorway, and she turned to face him.

"What?"

"How long?"

"Hmm?" she frowned, momentarily confused.

"How long before the transformation is complete?" he asked, nodding toward Major Lorne.

She shook her head, "I don't know. It could be a matter of days, it could be longer. Why?"

"I think," he started and nodding toward the two soldiers said, "for the sake of safety, I'd like to post those guards on the isolation room – if that's all right with you."

"He's unconscious, Mister Woolsey," she said with another sigh.

"For now, yes," he agreed, "but what happens when he wakes up?"

Smoke curled skyward from another of the ruined buildings and the sound of weeping interrupted the nightly singing of the insects that lived among the trees and bushes of the village. For the third night since the disappearance of the murderess, Lisstha, the Haradia had come with their weapons and with fire to destroy the buildings and force the villagers to flee the solid protection they afforded.

Remnants of families wandered aimlessly among the ruins, searching for possessions or for family members they feared taken by the Haradian men that had come in force to take their youth and the promise of their future.

"Damn her!" one of the village husbands, clinging tightly to what was left of his family, spat into the dirt where those who had so far survived injury gathered to discuss what they might do in their defence. "She brought this on us."

"And she is gone," one of the remaining elders shook his head, "it serves us little cursing her existence. We must decide what we should do now. We have tried fighting the Haradians, and we have tried offering them no resistance. The outcome is the same. It seems they wish to reduce us to ruin."

"And then what?" one of the women sobbed. "The menfolk all hurt, the young men and women taken... what will become of us?"

"I do not think we have a choice," Ynek spoke up, holding his infant daughter close, "We must take a chance on what Miran said, and use the mystical box to send for help against the Haradians."

"Miran is dead," the elder pointed out to him, "And the secret of which of the symbols would summon this help is gone from us."

"Not so," Ynek admitted quietly. "Before he came to you all with the news of his visitation, he came to me and told me of it. I tried to dissuade him from speaking, but he was unswayed – and it has cost him his life. As his friend, I must honor his memory, and if his mad visions can bring us even a little hope against our destruction, I say we follow his advice… and do as he urged us.

"But what if—"

"The time for 'what if' has passed, Elder Gramm," he said respectfully. "I believe it is the only way."

"And you will do this?" The elder asked, nodding slightly. "It will be a risk. To do so you must travel toward the Haradians."

"I know." He sighed, and handed his child to one of the others, before taking from his pouch the small box that had once belonged to Miran. "But I believe we have no choice."

"Then go with our blessing, Ynek, in this desperate hour… and let us hope that Miran's angel was just that… and not some demon to lead us astray."

"What can be worse than that which we now suffer?" Ynek asked softly, before he turned and made his way out into the darkness, toward where the Ring of the Ancestors stood.

Halling looked up from sharpening his weapon as the flap that made the doorway of his hastily constructed home rustled and then lifted aside. Jinto entered, looking behind him as though he was suddenly afraid of the night.

"I did it, father," he said. "Marida's mother said that she will pass the word. The men and fighting women will gather at the central fire as soon as the homes are completed."

"Thank you, Jinto. You are a good son to me."

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"May I go with you?"

Halling shook his head, "You are among the few I would trust to stay and defend the village, my son. I cannot allow you to come."

"You do not think me capable—" Jinto began to argue.

"On the contrary," Halling said quietly, smiling at his son proudly, "if there were no need to protect those we leave behind, I would gladly have you at my side, and Teyla also would be happy to have been delivered by Jinto, son of Halling, but there are those too young to travel with us, and some with child – and we are so few in number that we must protect them all. So I will call upon you to stay and guard them."

Jinto sighed, and threw himself into his seat beside the fire. "I suppose," he said, sulkily. "Perhaps we should have stayed with Colonel Sheppard. Then I could have fought at your side."

"No, my son," Halling reached over and ruffled his hair, "it is time for the Athosian people to decide their own destiny and not to blindly follow those that walk in the place of the Ancestors without their wisdom."

"When will you leave?" Jinto asked, leaning against his father a little. "And where will you go to begin the search for her? How will you find where Michael has her captive?"

"Tonight, I do not know," Halling answered, "but in the morning, I will trust what comes to me as I sleep. It is what Teyla would do."

Jinto nodded, and then added, "And I will keep the village safe for when you all return."

"I know you will, my son," Halling cupped his son's face between the palms of his hands, and lowered his forehead to Jinto's. "I know."

Sheppard leaned against the desk, arms folded, listening again to the message that had come into Atlantis from the relay station.

"…and we need your help. They come nightly… destroy our homes, take our children, our youths… please… if you can hear us… we need your help."

"It has to be some kind of trap," McKay said, frowning deeply, "I mean… how would they know – M3X-667 – we've never had any contact with them, not even the Athosians as far as I recall."

"That is the relay station we told Todd to use to contact us." Ronon nodded agreement with McKay.

"For all we know they could be a bunch of Wraith worshippers just waiting to sell us out to the highest bidder, and by that I mean…" McKay made a sucking motion with his hand slightly outstretched.

Sheppard shook his head, "I can't explain it," he said, "But something about this feels… genuine…"

"Why?" Woolsey asked, clearly still angry from everything he'd discovered, "I have to admit I rather agree with Doctor McKay, as strange as that might sound."

"Thanks," McKay said sarcastically.

"Because…" Sheppard began, not even sure of what he was about to say. "… I mean… if they'd have said it was the Wraith that were attacking, sure, I would agree too, but they don't. They're under attack by another bunch of people, what do they call them?"

"Haradians," McKay supplied the answer and then looked over toward Ronon. "Anything?"

Ronon shook his head, "No one I've ever heard of," he said.

"Look," Sheppard cut the air with the side of his hand. "Who they are, and what their agenda, is irrelevant. They know we're here and they've asked for our help. So we should—"

"I disagree," Woolsey said.

"There's a surprise," Sheppard said sarcastically. He turned to Woolsey. "We have a certain responsibility to the people of this galaxy and—"

"While we're standing around here arguing about it," McKay cut in, sighing, "nothing is getting done, either here or elsewhere. There has to be some way we can find out more without committing ourselves too deeply."

"What do you suggest, Doctor?" Woolsey asked.

"What if we send in a small reconnaissance team, while we," he indicated himself, Ronon and Sheppard, "contact some of the people we know to see if they can tell us more about the Haradians."

Sheppard pointed at Rodney, nodding. "I can go with that," he raised an eyebrow at Woolsey in question.

Woolsey sighed. "Very well, but I want to note for the record that I'm not entirely happy about it."

"Noted," Sheppard said, sarcastically, "and for what it's worth—"

"It's worth very little, Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey said before he could even finish the sentence, "Nothing that anyone has said today has changed my opinion in the slightest on what our priorities here should be. I'll be in my quarters when you find something."

Sheppard sighed as he watched the man leave. "God!" he exploded once Woolsey was out of sight.

"Well you have undermined his authority in just about everything today," McKay said with a shrug. "How do you expect him to behave?"

"You think this has something to do with Michael, don't you?" Ronon asked, preventing Sheppard from answering that he expected Woolsey to pass the stick that was currently up his ass and start behaving like someone who could command the Atlantis expedition sensibly.

"I can't explain it," Sheppard answered. "But there's something about this whole thing—"

"Or maybe you're seeing what you want to see," McKay said, with a tone of regret. "Much as I hate to say this, we have to consider the possibility that we might never catch up to Michael, and find Teyla."

"No," Sheppard said vehemently. "I refuse to accept that." Without another word, he slapped Ronon's arm and indicated the gate room with his head.

The commander of Bravo team straightened from his firing position as the last of the aggressors fled from the village.

"Bravo team, stand down," he ordered and watched as the rest of his men lowered their P90s and looked around them.

Slowly… timidly, from within the remains of the houses came movement as the villagers began to show themselves.

"Ynek," the commander called softly, "We're looking for Ynek. You called for us…"

One of the shadows moved and resolved itself into a grizzled looking man who had obviously seen battle in recent days. His shoulder was bandaged, and an open wound on the side of his chin was reddening with the promise of infection.

"I am Ynek," he said. "You are those who came from beyond the Ancestors' Ring?"

"We heard your call for help, yes. I'm Captain Warsh. The leaders of my expedition sent me here to find more information, so that we can assess how best to help you."

"Well, you have seen first hand what we face, as I described with the mystic box," Ynek said. "Those men come nightly to drive us from what little protection our shelters afford us; to punish us for not sending to them the one chosen by the Hag."

"I think maybe you'd better start at the beginning," Warsh said quietly. "You were supposed to send someone to them? Who are these people?"

"I'm not asking for more than two or three men at most," Sheppard tried very hard not to raise his voice as Woolsey once again denied his request.

"The Athosians chose to leave Atlantis, Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey repeated with a complacency that gnawed at Sheppard's guts. "No one said they had to leave. Halling made it perfectly clear that he didn't want our alliance to continue. I can't justify sending soldiers, who could be construed as an invading force, into what is now Athosian territory."

"The settlement is unprotected," Sheppard ran a hand through his hair and spun around to face the base commander. He was certain he was being deliberately difficult in order to make a point, only he couldn't figure out just what that point might be.

"You said that Halling's son, and some of his companions remained behind to defend the settlement."

"He's a child," Sheppard moaned, through clenched teeth.

"My understanding is that Jinto is more than capable," Woolsey countered, and went on to add, "besides which, as I have already pointed out, our priorities now must lie with the defence of this base from the very real threats that exist in this galaxy."

"Threats that aren't going to leave the Athosians alone just because they try to distance themselves from your prejudice and the prejudice of men like you!"

"There's no need to get personal, Colonel," Woolsey said, "I'm certain that Jinto knows how to contact us, should the need arise."

"Should the need arise, it will already be too la—"

The Gate activation alarm cut Sheppard off mid-word and after another moment or two of treating Woolsey to a look that would have withered many a man in his tracks, but failed entirely to even penetrate the shield of ignorance surrounding the new base commander, followed the other man from the briefing room to the control room, where the gate technician was already checking for the presence of an IDC.

"It's Captain Warsh's team," he announced.

"Lower the shield," Woolsey commanded. "Let's see what the Captain managed to discover about our mysterious cry for help."

Woolsey treated Sheppard to a look of smug sarcasm before he turned to look out over the balcony and down into the Gate Room. As he did so, the self satisfied look faded from his face, to be replaced by a shocked expression of disbelief. The four man team of marines stepped from the event horizon, and then turned to usher the first of a ragged and somewhat dirty group of refugees, mainly older men and women, into the rapidly filling Gate Room.

"This is kind of familiar," Sheppard said almost cheerily as he watched the newcomers looking around them, awe and more than a little fear showing on their faces.

"What… what is the meaning of this?" Woolsey demanded as he stepped closer to the railing to address Captain Warsh.

"That wasn't very diplomatic," Sheppard said, heading for the stairs down to the floor, merely a step or two ahead of Woolsey.

"Captain Warsh?" Woolsey persisted in trying to get a report from the commander of Bravo team.

"Mister Woolsey," Warsh said urgently, "Colonel… I know this isn't exactly protocol, but I didn't feel I had any choice."

"Go on?" Sheppard prompted, feeling more than a little satisfied with the way this had begun to play out.

Warsh nodded, and to both men, ushering one of the refugees to come forward, said, "This is Ynek. I really think you need to hear what he has to say."

#stargate atlantis #sga #chain of command #virtual season 5

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