#the floodgates were open and I felt everything fresh and new as though it was only yesterday that she left

[kingtonberry]

///

[julesthequirky]

Broken and Unfixable - An Angsty Ficlet

Broken and Unfixable

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam.

WC: 882

Warnings: Angst. Hitting insecurities deep. Dean is toxic and cruel.

A/N: Honestly think I went a bit too hard with this.

You caught Dean’s wrist, but he shook your hand away. He didn’t even regard you. He just continued walking down the hallway.

“D.”

His long strides carried him down the corridor faster, and you had to speed up to match him.

“D. Why are you avoiding me?”

He whipped his head around to you, sending a nasty glare your way.

“Dean, Y/N. It’s Dean.”

Your stomach twisted. A few days ago, everything was alright. Perfect even. He had been charming, flirting and smiling. He had given you kisses and whispered sweet nothings all night long as he made love to you. You didn’t understand what was with the cold shoulder he was giving you.

“Dean. Please. I need to understand.”

You saw the back of his head shake in annoyance. Then, his shoulders tensed from behind, and you just knew that he was grinding his teeth from putting too much pressure on them. You got the distinct feeling that right now, you were something he’d rather flick away or crush under his boot. You’re glad he wasn’t looking at you.

He spun on his heel at his room, spreading out his arms, blocking you from entering, as he held the door frame. You nearly stumbled into him.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“You do?”

He gave you the same look he gave you the other night, except this time, it was tinged with something malicious. It was in his eyes.

He leaned forward.

“Sure. But I want you to tell me.”

You hesitated. This Dean was not the one you had come to know and love.

“Dean.”

“You know what. I’ll spare you. It meant nothing to me.”

His words hit you like a suckerpunch. They knocked the breath outta you, and it left you reeling.

“You were just a body. A means to an end.”

He wasn’t stopping. Why wasn’t he stopping? Your world was imploding, but you stood there listening, hanging on to every word.

“Were you gullible enough to believe any of the crap I spewed out? That’s on you, sweetheart. Not me.”

You felt your lower lip tremble. No. He wouldn’t get to see you cry. You strengthened your resolve even though everything inside was crumbling.

He sent a condescending smile your way. “Darlin’, I could never love someone like you.”

With that last admission, Dean slammed the door in your face. The emotion you’d locked away broke the floodgates. All the strength in your legs disappeared, and you crumpled to the floor. His words ripped a gulf-sized fissure into your heart, and you sat head to your knees, arms wrapped around yourself, and you gave in, the emotional pain too much to bear.

Why did this always happen? When was it your turn for a happy ending? Each time. Every one. They all ended the same way. A means to an end. It’s nothing personal.

But it was personal. Each knock set you back ten steps, and you had to pick yourself up and start again each time. Each time the pain and rejection greatened. There was never enough alcohol or drugs to numb it.

You deserved love. Deserved to be loved. It was all you wanted, with your crappy broken scraps of a heart. What was wrong with you?

Sam had warned you, of course. He’d told you plenty of times not to get involved with his brother. “He’ll drop you like a hot potato.” Sam’s words opened the chasm all that bit wider, and you cried harder.

*

Your throat and head hurt, and your eyes stung from the tears clinging, refusing to fall. But you didn’t want to get up. Time had slipped away from you as you sat hugging yourself. The sound of heavy boots came from down the hallway, and they were coming closer with each step.

“Y/N?”

At Sam’s voice, a fresh bout of tears started up. This was it. He was gonna tell you that he told you so. It was what you deserved, after all.

“Oh, Y/N.”

You felt Sam’s hand on your head, stroking your hair in a comforting manner. This was new. And it felt nice.

“Tell me what happened.” His voice was soft against your crushed soul.

You gave a barely noticeable shake of your head, but he noticed. His fingers were tender as he raised your head, so he could see you. He cradled your face in his hands.

You could barely see him through the blur of tears.

“Why?” You hoarsely asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

You faced reality.

“I’m unlovable.”

Admitting it allowed the pain to crash into and onto you. Admitting it allowed the pain to pull and hold you down with its full weight. Drowning you. But this time, you didn’t fight it.

Your eyes scrunched up, and you sobbed. Sam pulled you tight against his body, wrapping as much of himself as he could around you.

“No. No. No. That’s simply not true.”

It sure was. You had experienced it enough to know. You were worthless. That’s how it was. That’s what the world was shoving down your throat. Day in. Day out. You’d denied it for long enough, but it was impossible to run from. Letting the truth in shattered you. You were broken and unfixable.

[loki--fics]

All For You - Part 2

Loki x Reader

Content Warnings: abuse mentions, violence, strong language

Word Count: 2,294

~

     Loki had only been partially right the night before - you did have a slight headache when you woke, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he had made it seem like it would be. It's nothing a couple of aspirin can't cure, You thought as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

     "Well look who finally decided to get up." Your head snapped to the side, your fiancé's voice startling you. "Did you have fun?"

     You sighed. "What are you on about now?"

     "As if you don't know," He scoffed. "Bringing that God back to our room, flirting with him, kissing him."

     "For fuck's sake, Ben, he kissed my cheek," You retorted. "I'd had a bit too much to drink so he walked me back to our room."

     Ben was visibly seething. "Is he better than me? Is that it? Are you going to leave me for him now?"

     "God, what is wrong with you?" You snapped. "I only just met him last night!"

     "What's wrong with me?" Ben shouted, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you off the bed. "I'm not the one behaving like some depraved whore! That's all you, Y/N!"

     You rolled your eyes. "Oh, yeah, because you eye-fucking Nat last night totally wasn't worse than a kiss on the cheek."

     The force behind the resounding crack that followed was enough to knock you to the floor. Your eyes watered as you held a hand to your burning cheek, the sour taste of iron filling your mouth as your head spun trying to process what just happened.

     Touching a finger to your lip, it came away bloody, and you looked up at your fiancé in shock. "Did you just hit me?" 

     Immediately, Ben's face softened as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Baby, I am so sorry, I- I didn't mean to!" He kissed your forehead and pet your hair. "You know I didn't mean to do that, right? I just… You made me so angry, it wasn't my fault! I- All I could picture was Loki kissing you, and-"

     "Ben, stop," You said, too in shock to cry. "Stop it."

     "And then you said I was eye-fucking Nat, when you know I wasn't, right baby?" He continued. "You were just being jealous, and maybe you aren't as hot as she is but if I wanted her then I wouldn't be with you, okay? I love you."

     You looked at him in disbelief. "Maybe I'm not as hot as she is, Ben?" You asked coldly.

     "Baby, come on, don't be like that," He scoffed. "It's okay, I'm not going to go after her, I love you."

     Shaking your head, you scooted away. "You love me?" 

     His eyes welled up with tears. "Don't make me beg, please? I love you, Y/N. I didn't mean it, I promise. You know I wouldn't have done that if you hadn't made me so angry, don't you?"

     Your resolve broke at the sight of Ben crying, and you placed a hand to his cheek. "Please don't cry," You said softly.

     "Let's just forget this ever happened, okay?" He said. "Don't tell anybody, then they'll think I'm an awful person and they'll try to make you leave me, and you don't want that, do you?"

     "No," You sighed. "I know you didn't mean to, Ben. I'm sorry I made you so angry, it won't happen again."

     He smiled, kissing you roughly. "I know baby. We're leaving today anyway, so let's just get packed up, and-"

     "I'm going to take a shower," You interrupted. "Then I'll help pack, okay?" Ben nodded as you stood, and started to follow you to the bathroom until you turned around. "Alone, please."

     His smile faltered, but he nodded. "Okay, I'll just pack it all up myself then, I guess." 

     "Ben, I'll help when I get out-"

     "No, just go enjoy your shower alone," He said harshly before turning around and throwing your things into suitcases. You let out a sigh and walked into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind you. 

     Walking over to the mirror, you inspected your cheek. There was a very prominent angry red handprint, already starting to bruise, and blood was dripping from your split lip. You felt tears burn behind your eyes as you started the shower, undressing slowly before stepping in. You noticed bruises on your wrist and arm beginning to form as well, and it was like the floodgates had burst open as tears poured from your eyes.

     You sat on your knees on the floor of the tub, hunched over as you tried to sob as quietly as possible. You didn't bother with actually washing yourself, you just sat there and cried until you had no tears left and the water went cold.

     Turning off the water, you wrapped your body in a towel and grabbed a second one to dry your hair, ignoring the pain in your wrist as you did so. The bruise on your cheek would be easy to hide with makeup, and you could cover the bruises on your arm with long sleeves, but your split lip was another thing entirely.

     I'll have to come up with a story to explain that, You thought as you went about your routine. You splashed some cold water on your face, hoping to get rid of the puffiness of your eyes, and then brushed your teeth (and in doing so, reopened the cut on your lip). After it had stopped bleeding, you began layering concealer on your cheek to cover the bruise, trying to take your time before you had to face your fiancé again.

     Even with all of your stalling, you were soon finished in the bathroom, and walked back into your room to find Ben sitting on the bed, suitcases unpacked, with a sour look on his face.

     "What's the matter?" You asked. "I thought you said you were going to start packing while I was in the shower."

     He huffed. "There's a snowstorm moving in, we're not going to be able to leave for at least another few days."

     You tried not to show the relief that poured through you at the news. "I'm sorry baby, I know how much you wanted to go home today. This could be a good thing, though-"

     "How is it a good thing?" He snapped. "I don't want to have to stay here, with that slimy snake Loki just waiting to get his filthy paws on you."

     "You're right, I'm sorry," You replied quickly. "I was just trying to see a silver lining, but I guess there is none."

     "Whatever," He grumbled. "We'll just stay in here."

     You raised a brow at him. "Baby, if I have a few more days to spend with my brother, then I want to spend them with him, not hiding in my room." You saw him stiffen, and knew he was getting upset so you quickly continued, "Besides, would that not be suspicious, if we stayed holed up in here for days?"

     He sighed. "I guess you're right. Just… Stay away from Loki, if I catch that weasel anywhere near you, I'll kill him."

     Deciding that now would not be a good time to mention that he, a normal human man, could not kill a magic wielding God, you simply nodded. "Okay, I'll stay away from him. Let's.. Let me get dressed, and we can go eat breakfast, alright?"

     He rolled his eyes, but nodded, and you quickly picked out an oversized, cream coloured turtleneck and black fitted jeans, throwing them on after putting on clean knickers. 

     "Are you ready?" You asked, and he nodded. The two of you walked to the kitchen together, where you were greeted by your brother, who was very obviously nursing a hangover. 

     "How are you feeling, Tony?" You asked. "You must have one hell of a hangover, because you look like absolute crap."

     He chuckled dryly. "I'm surprised you don't, Y/N, what with all that Asgardian wine you drank last night." 

     You felt Ben stiffen beside you, but you didn't dare look up at him. "It's nothing that a couple of aspirin won't fix," You replied, looking for something to change the subject. "Did Pepper make breakfast? It smells amazing in here."

     "Yes she did," Tony said. "She just finished, went all out since you two are here. The whole shebang."

     You smiled. "Well, I'm going to go check if she could use a hand setting the table or anything. Ben, you can stay here and catch up with Tony, tell him about your new job."

     Giving your fiancé a quick kiss on the cheek, you escaped to the dining room, where you found Pepper laying plates down in front of the seats at the table. "Hey! Do you need a hand?"

     "Oh, no, Y/N, you're our guest," She said, smiling warmly. "I'd never ask you to- Your lip! What happened?"

     You felt anxiety prick at your chest as you forced a smile. "I'm a pretty rough sleeper, I must have smacked myself. But please, you put so much effort into cooking, it's the least I can do."

     You felt a wave of relief crash over you as she accepted your explanation and handed you the rest of the plates. When you had finished putting them out, you helped her carry the food from the kitchen, and Tony wasn't kidding when he said she made the whole shebang - French toast, eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, crêpes, and fresh fruits.

     "That's everything," Pepper said, setting down two pitchers of orange juice. "Thank you for your help, Y/N."

     "Of course," You said, smiling warmly. "Is JARVIS going to let the others know breakfast is ready?"

     "Yes," Tony said, walking in with Ben. "But I'm starved, so I'm not going to wait for them." 

     You and Pepper laughed as the four of you sat down, and you filled your plate with some French toast, fruit, and hash browns as more of the Avengers began to trickle into the dining room.

     Everyone chatted amicably amongst each other, giving much deserved compliments to Pepper on her cooking, but you could feel Ben seething next to you. What had Tony said to him that would have made him angry all over again? It couldn't have just been about you drinking that wine, could it?

     Whilst you were eating, the cut on your lip reopened once again, and you had to excuse yourself to the kitchen to clean it up. Dabbing a paper towel to your lip, Loki meandered into the kitchen from the hall, eyeing you.

     "What happened?" He asked, eyes staring at your split lip and noticing the faint discolouration on your cheek. 

     "I'm a rough sleeper," You said. "I must have hit myself in the mouth while I was asleep or something." 

     "Did you hit your cheek as well?" He asked.

     You looked away from his intense gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about," You replied quickly.

     He was about to reply when Ben walked into the room, his eyes immediately falling on Loki. If looks could kill, Loki would be dust on the floor - but, to be fair, so would Ben. 

     "What do you want?" Ben snapped. "Here to mack on my fiancé some more are you?"

     Loki looked at you, and you looked at Ben. "It wasn't like that, Ben, we'd all had a lot to drink last night."

     "Yeah, I know you kissed him first," Ben said, his voice thick with barely-suppressed rage. "Tony told me."

     You froze, looking at him in shock. "It was on the cheek!" You hissed. "Ben, please just stop this!" 

     "What's the problem?" Thor asked, walking into the kitchen. 

     Ben visibly paled, and his shoulders sagged. "Nothing," He said, obviously defeated. "I was just leaving." 

     "What happened?" Thor asked after Ben left. "He seemed upset, is he okay?"

     "He's fine," Loki said quickly. "I provoked him."

     A look of understanding came over Thor's face. "Ah, yes, well that does make sense. You need to stop that, brother."

     Loki nodded, and Thor went back in the dining room. Turning back to you, Loki looked at you expectantly.

     "I do believe you owe me an explanation," Loki said. "That is twice now that I have witnessed your fiancé speak to you in such a manner."

     "I don't know what you're on about," You huffed.

     Loki stepped closer to you. "Have you forgotten that I am the God of Lies? You cannot lie to me, I will know."

     "Well, you're wrong." You turned away from him. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

     "Your lip is split open, your cheek is bruised, that oaf you call a fiancé speaks to you like you are his property, and twice now I have had to step in to cover for you." His blue eyes bore into yours, and you were at a loss for words.

     Taking a deep breath, you exhaled slowly. "I don't know what you want me to say, Loki. You don't know what you're talking about. Ben would never intentionally hurt me, he loves me." 

     "So he's unintentionally hurt you, then?" Loki asked, catching on to your careful choice of words. 

     You pulled your chin away from his grasp. "I would appreciate it if you would stop interrogating me and allow me to finish my breakfast," You said. "You're welcome to join."

     You plastered a smile on your face as you walked back into the dining room, ignoring the dread seeping into the pit of your stomach. Ben was livid, that much was obvious, but you tried to convince yourself that there was no way he would repeat the events of that morning.

     Right?

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Man Made of Stone: Chapter Four

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Remember when I said I was going to sit on this? Ha.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Summary: When things go wrong.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/notes: a little fluffiness/steaminess; blood; implied violence; drinking; smoking; aaaaaaangst; Ben Wyatt voice: It’s about the parallels; I want to thank all of you so much. I love seeing your comments and I love knowing that you’re enjoying this series. 💕 as always, if you would like to be tagged, let me know

Word count: 1683

After Carrillo left, you turned on every light in your apartment and peeled off your wet clothes, feeling like you were going to explode right out of your skin. You changed into clean pajamas and flopped down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. The moment in the stairwell came back to you and you touched your fingers to your lips, wanting to taste him again. You found yourself wondering what would have happened if Carrillo could have stayed, and you imagined him filling your doorway, pictured the fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest and shoulders. In your mind, you sat on the edge of your bed and he walked over to you, taking your chin in his hand. You spread your fingers out over his stomach and untucked his shirt, slipping your hands under the fabric to feel his skin. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes dark, and his hand moved down your neck to your shoulder, pushing you gently back onto the bed. Carrillo stripped his shirt off, dropping it to the floor. 

“Jesus,” you whispered to yourself. You grabbed a pillow and squeezed it over your face to stifle a giggle--feeling like a sixteen year-old again. When the wave of giddiness passed and you came back to yourself, you got to your feet and went over to your desk, sliding open a drawer. Inside was a pile of letters, the paper well-worn, the ink fading, and a notepad. You took it all out and went to curl up in your reading chair. When your husband was alive, the two of you wrote notes and letters to each other all the time, and that’s what you sat with now. It had all started when the two of you were starting to get serious and he went away on an assignment. Even though he was gone, you still wrote letters to him, and you started one now. You wrote down everything that had happened the past two days, starting with the injured man. You wrote about the pills and the whiskey, about Javier and Carrillo. You wrote about how you felt about Carrillo, and you wondered if the two of them had ever met. You couldn’t remember if your husband had ever mentioned him, or what he thought of him. You wrote until your hand was a mess of cramped muscles. When you came to a stop, you let out a sigh and flexed your fingers. Your husband used his words to fight, he didn’t believe in violence as a way to solve anything, but the longer the two of you lived in Colombia the more his beliefs were tested. He was not a violent man, but his life ended violently. The officer in the street the other day was the closest you’d come to seeing your husband’s death.

“Let’s not think about that,” you whispered to yourself. But it was too late, the floodgates had opened, and with them came the fear, too. Your husband and Carrillo were working toward the same end, in their own way. Would they both meet the same end? You shook your head and tore the letter up into small pieces, throwing them in the trash. It wasn’t the same. You turned off all the lights and curled up under the covers, imagining Carrillo there beside you, his arms keeping you close. 

There were no calls for you at all the next day, and you worried that perhaps you’d revealed too much. That you’d come on too strong. He was a cop, he’d know how to reach you, so that wasn’t it. You considered calling him, but you were too weighed down by the anxious feeling that he didn’t want to speak to you, that something had changed. The day wore on like a snail, slower and slower with each new thought and each new worry. And the strongest fear, the one that sank in your gut like a stone, was that something had happened. Would anyone call you if something had? You tried to call the DEA’s office, but no one picked up. When the day came to a close, you rushed home, checking your machine the moment you were through the door. Nothing. 

“Nothing?” you whispered. 

You tried to keep yourself occupied that night, tried to keep your mind from running, but nothing worked. You couldn’t stop fidgeting, couldn’t sit still. The streets darkened and the lights came on, and you gazed out the window, watching people pass through the alley below. Everything was too quiet, and your thoughts were screaming. You opened the window, letting the humid air and nightlife in, and paced through the kitchen, ducking your head in cupboards and the refrigerator, no idea what you were looking for. The door burst open and your head snapped up. Javier and Murphy stumbled across the threshold, supporting someone between them.

“Not again,” you whispered. You stepped over to the open window, and your heart stopped when you saw them lay Carrillo on your couch. The deep green of his uniform shirt was stained with blood and panic seeped into your bones. You rested one hand on the windowsill for support, your other hand gripping your constricting stomach. You stared out into the darkness, heaving in the humid air. You’d seen this all before, you knew how it ended. 

Javier approached you, and you glared at him, wide-eyed and desperate. He held his hands out to you in an appeasing gesture.

“Hospital,” you ordered. Javier’s eyebrows pinched together and he shook his head slowly, apologetically.

“We can’t. They’re out looking for him, they know he’s at least injured and they’ll be at every hospital, every clinic.”

“I can’t save him,” you said, forcing the words out, afraid they would catch on a sob.

“You have to try. There’s nowhere else to go,” Javier said. He turned to Murphy and told him where he would find clean towels and your kit. He told the third man, Trujillo, who you only just noticed, to get some water. Your eyes fell on Carrillo, lying unconscious on your couch, never imagining he could look so small, so broken. You felt Javier’s hand on your shoulder, and you looked up into his intense gaze. 

“Just do what you can to get him stable,” Javier urged, his tone stern, commanding. “We can get him to a hospital when things calm down.” You took a deep, shaky breath, gritting your teeth, staring hard at Javier one last time. At Carrillo’s side, you stripped him of his vest and shirt and found yourself gazing down at the damage the bullets had inflicted on his body. You already wished you could do more. Someone touched your arm and you looked up to see Trujillo standing at your side with a bowl of water, Murphy behind him. You cleaned the gunshot wounds as best you could. There were three in total, one in his right shoulder, another in the left side of his abdomen, and the last in his left leg. There was already so much blood. As you cleaned the wounds and packed them, you thought about how if he did survive, the scars would mar him forever, brutal reminders. The thought sat in your mouth like a sour grape. You bit down on your tongue to keep the tears from spilling over. 

When you finished bandaging the wounds, you stood and went into the bathroom with the last clean towel and wet a corner of it with fresh water. You used it to gently clean the blood off the right side of Carrillo’s jaw, and found yourself staring down at the bloom of red saturating the white. 

The night moved slowly. Trujillo had positioned himself near your front door, Javier was slouched in your reading chair in the corner, the lamp on the side table near him the only light. Murphy sat at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, his gun sitting in front of him. The window was closed now, trapping in the stifling air, and the blinds were shut. You stayed by Carrillo’s side. You had covered him with a blanket and put your fingers to his neck, checking his pulse. It was slow and your chest had tightened with fear. Sitting now, you had to stop yourself from checking it constantly; had to stop yourself from laying the back of your hand across his forehead to feel for the slightest hint of a fever. You watched his stomach rise and fall with each labored breath, convincing yourself that was enough. Javier got up and walked into the kitchen, grabbing the whiskey bottle and three glasses from a cupboard. You heard the clanking of ice and soft mutterings between him and Murphy. 

“Here,” Javier said a few moments later. You looked up to see him holding a glass out for you and you took it, pressing the cool tumbler to your forehead. He didn’t bother offering any to Trujillo, knowing the man wouldn’t take it. You glanced over at him, sitting stoically, gun in his lap, and put away the whiskey in a single swallow. Eventually, Javier slipped into a light sleep, his head propped up in his hand. You glanced at the other two men, neither one of them paying you any mind. You leaned forward and lightly brushed your fingers through Carrillo’s hair. His face was barely illuminated by the warm light from the streetlamps that managed to slip through the blinds and you were captivated by how soft Carrillo looked. You just barely touched his forehead, where the lines appeared whenever he was stern or focused. They were hardly visible now. You were so tired, you couldn’t fight the tears anymore. With a sigh, your shoulders fell and so did the tears, quiet and uninterrupted down your cheeks. 

“I was wrong, before,” you whispered to Carrillo, “when I said they’d already taken everything from me.” You pressed your lips, wet with your tears, against his cheek. “I love you, Horacio.”

 At some point in the night, your exhaustion overwhelmed you and you fell asleep. Javier woke to see you holding Carrillo’s hand in yours, the fingers of your free hand resting on the pulse point of his wrist while you slept.

Tag list: @vanthrefrigeration​ @redwine-n-hiddles​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @maharani-radha-writes​ @cheesybadgers​ @funtasi​ @lettherebrelight​ @themidnightsun-12​ @ajeff855 @madlyhowling​ @chiara-cannot-sleep​ @massivecolorspygiant​ 

[vhsrights]

117 Days

Pairing: Morcia

WC: 2.2k words

Summary: Morgan just got back from a dangerous case, leaving him and Penelope in need of each other. What better way to do that than to take one of their signature walks together? Alas, dates are an important thing and lead to more than on realization.

*based off of @morcias post about sunflowers and the sun for morcia :)*

----

Morgan felt like his mind was soaring as he walked down the path, highly aware of Penelope’s arm in his own. They had just gotten back from a case that Morgan had escaped from by the skin of his teeth. After that, the only thing he wanted was Penelope. He wanted to feel grounded, that he was still okay and still here. Having her by his side did just that. It was a feeling that couldn’t be put into words. Though, Morgan was sure that if he asked Spencer, the boy genius would have some obscure phrase for it.

Normally, the crisp air would bother him, but that day he welcomed the way it subtly burned in his lungs. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that was running through him. Morgan couldn’t put his finger on it. He didn’t know why he felt so intensely in the moment. His focus was split between the way that Penelope’s arms gently snaked through his own and the scenery around them. Morgan hoped that the near future would help him to connect the dots. His long, strolling stride guided the pair along the path.

Penelope let herself relax against Morgan. The nervous energy that had been teeming inside of her had slowly dissipated after their first hug that day. She had scurried over and jumped onto him as soon as she heard his knock against her lair’s door. The way that his arms and musky scent wrapped around her, Garcia’s worry subsided. She felt her heart beat a little faster, glowing under Morgan’s tight embrace. Here, with him, Penelope didn’t have to think about all of the darkness that they worked with. Rather, she could bask in the sunlight that her best friend emanated.

----------------------------------

She had always thought of herself as an entity that grew and changed, shaped by the people and events that passed her by. Some took pieces of her that they never returned, others that replaced those pieces and more, and then there was Derek. He was the glue that she fit every piece into. He was the one that she could ground herself in when the moment felt too much, as if it could shatter her in any second.

That was why she had fallen in love with him. It was beyond the way that Derek looked, acted, and spoke. She fell in love with the way that he felt things, the way that he thought, and the way that he never failed to connect with her on a level there were no words for. She was positive that even the great Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t have a word for what she felt. In her mind, there weren’t enough in the world to do that feeling justice. Penelope opted for the one thing that could even come close to represent their bond. She had pulled back from their hug and spoke, reverence in her eyes.

“Do you want to go on a walk with me today?”

“Of course. Do you want me to pick the route today?”

Derek’s answer was almost immediate. Their walks were a thing of intimacy that both loved and needed when their jobs reminded them of the transience of life. At that point, Derek and Penelope had a system. It was a memorized system.

The light returned her eyes with a passion, rejuvenating her spirit. Penelope spun on her heel and rapidly crossed the room back to her desk. She pulled open the drawer that was tucked under the desk, producing a frilly cup that was filled with popsicle sticks. The smile on her face had widened once more as she tilted the cup towards Morgan. Each stick had a number that corresponded to a walking route that she had mapped out around the city.

Morgan let out a hopeful sigh, excited to see what adventure he would pick for them that day. To him, it wasn’t about the walk, rather who he was walking with. She could make walking through the Library of Congress seem like a tour of an amusement park. Pretending to inspect the group of sticks, Morgan pushed a couple around. He picked up one after a few seconds, examining it for a number.

“Today’s route is lucky number 9.” Derek chuckled and handed the stick back to Penelope.

Garcia’s eyes lit up at the mention of the odd number. That was her favorite route on the map by far, even if she wasn’t supposed to be picking favorites. They would be cutting through multiple parks and in front of Derek’s favorite bakery, Savanna’s. She could already tell that today was going to be an amazing day. The feeling was not one that she could describe, rather one that Garcia could tell in her heart.

“Perfect. Thank you, handsome. I’ll grab my stuff and then we can make our way out of here.”

Derek simply shined his charming smile at her and leaned back against her door. His eyes closed for the moment, the weight of his go bag and the case they had solved heavy against his shoulders. Penelope would make it okay. She always did.

She was the one whose words and strength got him through more than most people thought was humanly possible. People often complimented him on his resilience. Yet every time it was brought up, all Derek wanted to do was say that it was because of Penelope. She had shined her light on his heart, giving him the power that most people could barely fathom. Derek had just fallen in love with her along the way. She was the very pillar that he leaned on but had taken his heart in the process.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought because he felt her cool fingertips brush against his arm. Standing up fully once more, Morgan walked Penelope downstairs to their cars in the parking garage. They had parked side by side several days ago before he had left for the case. Watching Penelope close the door to her car made Derek’s heart clench. He didn’t want her to leave; not him, not alone, and not with the chance of not coming back.

Penelope would come back to him, safely. She always did.

Convincing himself of that simple fact, however, was a tall order. Taking in deep breaths, Derek began the drive home. He was always the one in the field and the line of fire. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about Penelope. Derek knew the world and its cruelty, as did Penelope, but he had vowed to himself that he would protect her from it as much as he could. Penelope Garcia was simply too good for this world.

----------------------------------

They met up at Penelope’s apartment nearly an hour later. Derek was in a sleeveless hoodie and gray shorts. His sunglasses sat on his head and he grabbed them as he waited for her to open the door. Seconds later, it swung open on its hinges, revealing Penelope’s bright outfit. She was wearing a baby blue dress with a spread dinosaur pattern, layered with a light green cardigan that had sunflowers on it. A floppy, off-white sun hat sat on her head with its eccentric bow giving it style.

“You look beautiful as always, mama. Ready to go?” Derek stuck out his hand for the woman, guiding her out towards himself.

She locked the door and they went on their way. The air was brisk, and Penelope’s cheeks immediately had a slight pink tint. She explained the route to Derek in the beginning but soon after they fell into a comfortable silence. Their relationship had that kind of beauty, where the silent moments were just as important and beautiful as the ones that were filled with loving words and encouragement. Penelope let everything but thoughts of Derek Morgan melt away. She took in the nature around them, baffled by its beauty. She finally spoke when they were deep in the first park.

“Derek Morgan, you are quite the gentleman. Thank you for doing this with me. I know that we’ve been doing this for a long time, but every single walk seems like I’m going into a new world. I just, it’s scary knowing that you go out into the world to protect others. I never know if you’re going to be okay, and I don’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t-”

Her words had been spurred by the realization of what could’ve happened in the last few days. She was beyond thankful that Derek was here by her side, as he should be. Her words were cut off when Derek stopped walking and his hand reached up to her face. He let his thumb gently caress her cheek while his hand cupped her face.

“Baby, I will always come back. No matter what, I’ll be there with you. You are my sunshine, my energy, and the one person who turns my world. I won’t let anything happen to either of us. It was how my parents raised me and how I intend on living. I’m not leaving you.”

Penelope felt her cheeks grow hot and knew that her tears were just barely within their floodgates. She took advantage of the lull in the conversation. Penelope turned her body fully towards Derek and buried her face in his chest. She hugged him hard, not trusting her words to convey what she felt. Derek immediately his own arms around her, cradling her head against himself to help calm her.

“Fran and Hank Morgan made sure that their son knew what love was, so when I see it, I know what to do. They were the ones that showed me how beautiful a relationship, and even friendship, work. So when you, beautiful, walked into my life, it clicked.”

At that moment, his eyes fell on a small cluster of sunflowers. They leaned towards the patches of sunlight that peaked through the canopies of trees around them. Perfect. Derek let Penelope come to her bearing, and eventually slowly pulled away. He smiled at her wider than he ever had before, turning away.

Derek had a little ritual for their walks. It started on their first walk when he had seen a radiant, violet flower in the distance. Breaking away from Penelope, he crossed over the pathways and plucked it. Wasting no time, he returned and presented it to her. The flower was beautiful, fresh, and everything that reminded him of Penelope. It grew with each walk, sometimes ending in him gathering small clusters of flowers for her. Penelope would take and cherish those flowers, holding them close for the rest of the walk. She had a small corner in her house for them, letting them stay as a reminder of Derek.

He knelt down and grabbed 2 sunflowers, examining them before walking back over to Garcia. Derek extended his arm to give her the flowers, but Penelope stayed frozen. His eyebrows furrowed and he stepped closer. The tears in her eyes were on the verge of falling.

“117.”

Derek’s head cocked to the side. 117? Had he forgotten something important?

“Did I forget something, Babygirl?”

“Uh- 117 days. I just remembered. That was how many days your dad gave flowers to your mom before he proposed. You told me the story a month ago on your porch when we had that Italian takeout.”

“Oh.”

“Never, never mind. I just remembered it randomly.” Penelope tried to backtrack.

“No, you’re right. My dad was quite the romantic, and if I’ve learned anything from him, it’s that you never give up on the people you love. So with that, I guess this is only fitting.”

Derek took one final step to close the gap between him and Penelope. He had one shot at this, and his heart was pounding. The world around them had long disappeared, nothing in their sights but each other. Derek let his hand rest against Garcia’s face, searching for something in her eyes. He pulled her in and let his lips touch hers. It was slow, neither one fully aware of what was going on. Finally, Penelope pulled back.

She looked into his eyes, finding exactly what she was looking for. Genuine love and adoration. It made her heart flutter. She leaned back in to kiss him again, this time more alert. His lips were soft and she lost herself in him. Derek’s hand moved to rest under her chin, tilting her head up to reach him. Penelope was perfect, and here, kissing her, made him never want to move again.

They separated and both could have sworn that world had gotten brighter around them. Realizing that he was still holding the flowers, Derek raised them up to present them to Garcia.

“For you, m’lady. In honor of my parents’ and our 117 days, and the rest of our future ahead of us.”

Garcia giggled and took the sunflowers.

“You are so cheesy, but that’s what I love about you. I’m glad we went on a walk today.”

“Me too.”

taglist: @jelle-jareau @altsvu @hotchshoney @jay-writes-jemily @ssakayprentish69 @nocreditinthestraightworld @ssa-jareaus @alexandrablake @coramvobis @temily @scandinavian-punk 

[thebigqueer]

BILCO FANFIC - “The VSCO Demon”

Summary: Will is possessed with a VSCO demon that will turn him into the one and only Billiam Thabdrew Sksksolace, a VSCO girl.

Word Count: 3513

Note: This is my first writing on Tumblr so everyone sing happy birthday! also its terrible! also I GREATLY APPRECIATE FEEDBACK (but please give it to me gently cuz im a Sensitive Bitch TM) (if you even sound a little mean ill start crying)

ALSO: Credits to my online bff for Nico’s pet hyena, Bambi. (HI I LOVE YOU)

Nico knew something was wrong with Will.

He could tell that there was something always bothering him, hidden deep beneath that sunshiny facade he always seemed to use in front of other people. He was hiding something, and it seemed to be eating at him like a parasite. 

Nico’s suspicions began when he first noticed Will’s slight speech slipup. Will and Kayla were discussing the new demigods that were to move in soon, and Kayla let loose the fact that she was a little iffy about one of them. Will’s eyes had widened, showing off the blue of his eyes, and he said, “Anna oop-”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. He’d already said it. Nico didn’t know what it meant, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous. (Was it some kind of prophetic power? Did Will just spew some words from a prophecy in a totally different language? Maybe Nico would ask Rachel later.) When Nico confronted him afterwards, Will just turned his head away and said he was going to head to sleep.

It wasn’t only his foreign phrases - it was also the stuff he bought. On their dates to New York City, Will would slink him and Nico away to a store and buy something. Sometimes it would be an oversized T-shirt, other times it would be scrunchies, and one time he even bought a gigantic water bottle. (“It’s called a Hydroflask,” Will told him.)

Will was scary in those moments. His eyes would get big as he eyed all his new items, and his hands would tap furiously on the wooden counters while he waited. Nico wasn’t sure what this meant, but it seemed that Will was going through something. Something terrible. 

And the moment they got back, Will would start immediately sobbing. Nico would literally have to hold him from falling face down on the ground because of how hard he would be weeping. He’d cry, “It’s not happening, it’s not happening! I can’t become VSCO!” 

All Nico was able to do was watch his golden boyfriend sob in his arms, unable to help, unable to understand.

It wasn’t until a late day in November when Nico found out what his boyfriend was hiding from him. Will had been antsy all breakfast, avoiding Nico’s eyes like it was the coronavirus; Nico knew that he wasn’t the only one who noticed - Kayla and Austin had given him furtive, sympathetic glances. Nico’s heart pounded in his chest, anxiety spiking his pulse and chilling him down to the bone. 

Nico couldn’t help but to wonder, Is he going to break up with me? 

Safe to say, his breakfast was ruined, and he pulled just a little away from Will. He didn’t miss the awkward looks he got from Kayla and Austin, nor did he miss Will’s slight flinch at the loss of contact between the boys.

After a silent breakfast, when everyone had left to start their daily activities, Nico stood to go. If Will didn’t want to talk to him, then fine. He’d manage that. 

But a warm hand clamped on his wrist, begging him to stay. Nico turned his face to Will’s, absorbing his golden features and the heavy vulnerability in those blue eyes. It hit Nico that whatever Will wanted from him, it wasn’t going to be good.

Nico sat back down carefully. Will’s pink lips were turned at the corners and, having a closer look at his face, Nico realized his eyes were puffy and red like he’d been crying.

Upon seeing his boyfriend’s expression, Nico reached out and touched Will’s tan face gingerly, brushing his own pale fingers through his golden locks. “Will,” he whispered, “what’s wrong? You’ve been so… so closed off from me. Is everything okay? And don’t lie this time, please. I’m serious.” 

Will opened and closed his mouth, then unlatched his eyes from Nico’s and closed them. He took a deep, shaky breath, as if gearing up for a long and tiring mission. Nico squeezed Will’s right hand - His baby hands, Nico thought ridiculously, all small and cute - and laced them together, squeezing lightly. A “Hey, I’m here for you” squeeze. 

Will turned his focus back on Nico, a small smile lacing the corners of his mouth, but not quite eradicating his internalized pain.

“Nico,” he began, “I… I have an issue.” Will’s freckled cheeks bloomed with bright red blotches and he sheepishly looked away again. 

Anticipation and anxiety gripped Nico like a vice and his breath hitched. “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to tamper down his growing unease. He didn’t want to make Will feel more nervous than he already did.

Will swallowed, as if he was trying to keep down the words from ever appearing. Nico brushed his pale thumb over Will’s, hoping it would calm him a bit. A beat passed, and Will said, “I have this… demon inside me. It’s a terrible demon. I was possessed as a kid.”

“What?” asked Nico. “A demon? What do you mean?”

Will sighed shakily, his eyes focused on the floor. “It’s called a VSCO demon.” 

“Will…” Nico started, but he wasn’t sure what he would say. I’m sorry? That didn’t seem right, not at this moment. It seemed like Will wasn’t quite looking for pity. Instead, Nico opted to inquire more about this demon: “What exactly does the demon do? How much is it going to impact your life?” 

“Well… actually, it’s going to impact my life a lot. Essentially, it’ sgoing to make me a VSCO girl. You know what that is, right? I explained it to you.”

Nico nodded.

Will continued. “First, it’ll start off with more subtle things, like specific hand spasms.” Will demonstrated what he meant by bringing his right hand to his face and then turning to the side, then frowned. “There’s also some expressions that I might repeat a lot. Like… ‘anna oop-’, or ‘oooh, tea, sis!’ or ‘sksksksk.’” 

Nico watched Will’s expression as he said each phrase and his heart felt like it was being squished. Will looked like he was trying very hard not to let it take over him, let those stupid terms make him into a new person, but he was so exhausted. Nico touched his boyfriend’s face again. “I’m… sorry, Will. That’s terrible.”

Will nodded, but he didn’t seem to hear Nico. “When it gets worse, you’ll start noticing. I’ll be wearing oversized T-shirts, I think… scrunchies on my wrist, maybe.” He sighed again, but this time a small sob escaped from his lips too. When he looked up, Nico saw he had fresh tears glassing over his eyes. “I’m going to be carrying that stupid Hydro Flask with me forever, Nico. Forever.” 

That seemed to do it. In a matter of seconds, the floodgates of Will’s emotions had opened up and he was spilling everywhere. Nico pulled him close, despite not being much of a hugger, and drew small circles on his back. He felt Will’s tears soak through his T-shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he felt so heartbroken by Will’s emotions, he wanted to start crying himself.

But he had to keep it strong, for Will. Nico bit his lip to keep himself from letting out a few tears himself. 

After several moments, Will seemed to calm down enough to pull away from Nico, even though tears still ribboned down his cheeks like liquified crystals. He pulled a tissue from his sweatshirt pocket and blew his nose, honking like he was the goosiest of all geese.

“Anyway,” Will continued, sighing heavily. “I have to tell you something else.” He threw the snot-saturated tissue over his shoulder, where some poor sucker would have to pick it up themself and throw it out. Taking a deep breath (Nico swore he was just trying to steal all the oxygen out of the air now, probably trying to photosynthesize or something), Will pulled Nico’s hands to his chest. “When the demon takes over me, Nico, my alter ego will come out. I will not be able to control it. His name… is Billiam Thabdrew Sksksolace.”

Will paused dramatically, letting that name sink in.

“Oh, Will,” Nico said quietly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend. “Is there a cure to this? Can you fix it?”

Will rested his head in the space between Nico’s neck and shoulder. “No,” he answered, his voice muffled. “There isn’t. I just have to live with being a VSCO girl from now on.” Pulling away so that he was mere inches from Nico’s face, he asked: “Would you still love me, Nico? Even after I become… become Billiam?”

“Of course,” Nico exclaimed, not a moment of hesitation. “Of course! You are more than your stupid demon. You can be as much of a VSCO girl as you become, and I will always love you.”

Will’s face crumpled again and he pulled Nico tighter, so close Nico could almost swear his ribs were going to break. 

“Thank you, Nico. Thank you.” 

~~~

It was only a few weeks until the real changes started showing up. 

When Nico went into the Apollo cabin in the mornings, sometimes he’d see Will in an oversized T-shirt, waving around a metal straw with his baby hands, exclaiming, “OOOH THAT’S TEA!” whenever one of his siblings said something, or referring to himself as Bill Sksksolace when someone called him Will. 

Those spells wouldn’t last long, but it was still discerning. 

As the days progressed, it got worse. The spells wouldn’t last in just the morning - they’d appear in the afternoon, in the night time, and at nine in the afternoon. Nico would walk in on a conversation Will was having with another camper, and just when things seemed like they were going smoothly, Will would mutter: “SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKS.” The camper would look at Will strangely, laugh a little, then leave. 

Nico would have to sit with Will and tell him that it was alright, that it’s just part of the course. He’ll be alright.

Despite the fact that things were getting worse, it didn’t bother Nico too much. He already knew it would happen sooner or later, so there was no point anticipating and being scared over it.

And yet, nothing would prepare him for the gut punch of when it really did happen. 

It was a morning like any other. The sun shone above the camp in brilliant golden rays, and the wind was windy (as wind is) and just perfect for a November day. Nico was hopeful today; maybe they’d go out to New York City, like old times. Try to get Will’s mind off his doomed fate.

Nico had an inkling something was wrong the moment he knocked on the cabin door. Maybe it was the shift in the wind, maybe it was anxiety, or maybe it was the fact that he heard people shouting, “PUT THAT METAL STRAW DOWN, WILL!” that made him nervous. Nevertheless, he waited outside. 

Kayla was the one to open the door. She looked exhausted, like she’d been running after someone all morning. When she realized it was Nico, her expression told Nico everything he needed to know. 

Nico stepped in tentatively, nervous about what he would find. 

And boy did he have every right to be nervous. Nothing could prepare him for what he was about to find.

Will had transformed. Like, completely transformed.

Gone were his golden curls. In place of them was a messy bun at the top of his head, wrapped with a purple scrunchie. If one scrunchie wasn’t enough, he had literal sleeves of them over his arms, all the way up to his elbow, of all kinds of nauseating and headache-inducing colors. On top of that, a knee-length T-shirt covered him from the shoulders to his thighs, and in his small baby hands was a Hydro Flask with a metal straw sticking out of it, which was currently sticking between his teeth.

Upon seeing Nico, his eyes widened and he offered him a bright smile. “Sksksksk!” Will exclaimed. “Oh my gods, it’s literally Nico!” He rushed towards his boyfriend with his arms wide, and just when Nico thought he was about to get a crushing bear hug, Will surprised him last minute by shoving twenty scrunchies into his hands as well as a metal straw. 

Nico looked at the treasure in his hands - Where the everloving fuck did he get so many? thought Nico - then back at Will, and again back at his treasure. Tears pricked at his eyes and his chest constricted, making it harder to breathe. “Will-” he began.

Will looked genuinely confused. “Who’s Will? I’m Billiam Sksksolace. And that’s the tea here today.”

“Right. Billiam.” Even saying the new name hurt him in ways Nico didn’t even think were imaginable. He placed a hand on Will’s - No, Bill’s, Nico reminded himself - cheek, tracing his lover’s freckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Anna oop-” Billiam said. “I feel fine, sksksk. Why?” He raised his eyebrows and leaned in, tilting his head for a second. “Is there tea?” 

Nico sobbed, his heart wrenching. Where was Will? “No, not at all.” He kissed Bill’s face. “Not at all.”

20 YEARS LATER…

Nico had successfully gone crazy.

He and Billiam had three kids. Each one blond. Each one young.

Each one just as VSCO as their dad. 

It was an endless cycle of “SKSKSKS” and “ANNA OOP-” and they had about fifty thousand metal straws strewn around their house. Their kids didn’t even wear pants anymore, just oversized T-shirts. They didn’t even have the demon - it was a Monkey See, Monkey Do situation. 

And Nico was done. He’d even developed a twitch in his eye. From the moment he got up in the morning to the moment he fell asleep at night, his mind swirled with unwanted expressions and metal straws in his eyes and Hydro Flasks on the table and oversized T-shirts strewn across the bed and he was positively done.

There was only one thing left to do. 

Nico grabbed the knife from the kitchen drawer. Then he turned to the onions on the cutting board and started chopping with rage. (It was his turn to make dinner tonight, and he hated every moment of it.)

But he had something to look forward to, and he had everything ready. 

Bill was home from work now, sitting in the living room and scrolling through Instagram. Nico watched him, thinking about that fatal day several years ago at Camp Half-Blood when everything had gone wrong for him. 

Well, Nico would fix that today.

“Bill,” Nico called, gritting his teeth. Calling his beloved William “Bill” still stung him, despite it having been years later. “It’s time for dinner. Call the kids.”

Bill stood from the couch and fixed his messy bun, then called, “Billiam, Jr.! Litpollo! Percy, Jr.! Time for dinner! Sksksk.” 

Nico made his way down the hall and opened the garage door, crying out to his pet hyena: “BAMBI! Come on, boy. Time for your yummy chinken dinner.”

Bambi growled and bounded into the building, turning towards the kids that had now come into the dining room. Bill eyed the oversized cat with scrutiny. “Bae, I think we need to tame that thing.”

Nico turned his head to look at his hyena. He shrugged. “Seems fine to me.”

“He’s gnawing on our child’s head.”

Nico eyed his kitty, who had its jaws around their child Litpollo’s head. “No he isn't,” Nico decided. “It’s just licking Litpollo's head. Litpollo just has a really tiny head.” 

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Nico clapped his hands and exclaimed: “Time for dinner!” He offered Bill a dazzling smile. “And I have a surprise for you.”

Bill’s eyes widened and a smile of his own flashed across his face. “Sksksk. I’m excited. Yass queen.”

Nico’s eye twitched. “Yes, time for dinner.”

The family of five (including Bambi the Hyena, it was six) sat at the dinner table. (Yes, Bambi sat at a dinner table. Nico considered that quite domestic of Bambi). 

“Now, before we start, I have a little something for Bill.” Nico stood again and pulled out something from his pocket. Bill leaned in to look at it, and realization dawned on him. He hissed and jumped up from his chair. 

“Skskskskskkssksksksk!” he exclaimed. “That’s a cross. Why do you have that?” Just being in the presence of it seemed to make him antsy.

Nico offered him a dangerous smile. “Well, you see, Billiam, I became a priest online. I have a certificate and everything.” He tilted his head innocently and, with that smile still plastered onto his face, said, “I am here to eradicate the Demon of VSCO.” 

“No,” Bill said shakily, but his voice had changed. It was rougher, scratchier, a voice he wouldn’t have on any other normal day. “No, you can’t. You’ve been going behind my back this entire time? How dare you.” 

“I’m here to save you, Bill. Or should I say… William.”

“NO!” Bill screeched, picking up Litpollo and shielding his face with the child. “I REFUSE! SKSKSK!”

Nico only smiled wider, his dark eyes shining with fearsome mirth. Suddenly, the lights flickered on and off and a harsh wind blew across the room. Outside, clouds started gathering like they were ready for a shitshow to happen. Nico rose from the floor, the wind carrying his weight like he was lighter than paper. He held out the cross in front of him, showing it to Bill’s VSCO demon. Bill hissed, and his eyes starting glowing bright yellow, clearly aggravated by the cross. He dropped the child, who squeaked and ran off to eat his dry chinken dinner.

Nico’s own eyes had started glowing, but his were a bright red flash like he was about to shoot lasers. “BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME,” Nico exclaimed, his voice projecting outward and all around the house, “I PRONOUNCE THEE, VSCO DEMON, GONE.”

Nico slammed the cross against Bill’s chest, making steam circle and sizzle around Bill’s chest. The blond cried out in pain, but Nico ignored him. 

“BEGONE, THOT!” Nico thundered.

A big bang resonated between them, and Nico and Bill were both thrown across the room. Their children screamed, but all Nico could think about was Bill and whether or not he was back. Despite being disoriented, he sat upright and looked across the room. Billiam was thrown to the kitchen, and his messy bun had come undone. The scrunchies on his wrists were hissing and smoking, but otherwise he looked fine. 

Nico stood up slowly, keeping his hand on the wall for balance. “Will?” he said quietly. It was strange using that name after so many years, but it felt good. It felt comfortable.

Bill didn’t answer. Nico’s heart started racing.

He rushed to Bill’s side, checking his pulse and touching his face, making sure was alive. When he decided that he was alright, Nico let out a breath of relief. He shook Bill gently. “Will? Will, please, wake up. Tell me you’re okay.”

For a moment, all was silent. Nico’s children had even stopped screaming, but Nico wasn’t sure where they were or what they were doing. Right now, it was only about Billiam. 

Suddenly, Bill started coughing. He sat up a little straighter and coughed into his arm, and Nico patted is back in means of helping his partner. Bill stopped after a few moments, but his focus was only on the kitchen tiles.

Nico’s heart pounded in anticipation. Was Billiam gone? Was Will back? Goosebumps prickled his skin. 

“Will?” Nico asked. “Are you okay?”

Bill started laughing. Nico wanted to take this as a good sign, but the laughter seemed eerie. He took Bill’s baby hand in his.

Bill turned to face him, a wide grin on his face. “YOU FOOL!” he exclaimed. “YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOON! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU JUST DID?”

Nico gasped and threw himself away from Bill, shaking his head. “No,” he whispered. “No. It should have worked! I went onto Wikipedia for the instructions!”

Bill only laughed harder. “YOU DIPSHIT! YOU MULTIPLIED ME!” His eyes danced with his laughter.

“Multiplied?” Nico exclaimed. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” He frowned. “Also, no swearing in front of the kids. Watch your fucking language, asshole.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Bill exclaimed. “MY CHILDREN,” he called, turning his face away from Nico’s. “COME!”

From the dining room, the children’s small feet pitter-pattered across the floor. Rage filled Nico’s chest, and he tackled Bill to the ground. “VSCO DEMON!” he cried. “What did you do to them? If you hurt them-”

“I did no such thing,” Bill said. “I would never hurt them.”

“Then what did you do?”

In creepy unison, all his kids exclaimed: “SKSKSK! I’VE GIVEN THEM ALL A PIECE OF ME! NOW I EXIST IN ALL OF YOUR FAMILY AND LOVED ONES!”

“NOOOOO!” Nico cried. “WHY?”

“Children,” Bill said, “what do we say to Nico?”

“SAVE THE TURTLES!” And they all took off their oversized T-shirts and threw them in his face.

The end. Nico sobbed forever.

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 21: Answers

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan awoke that morning feeling fresh and clear and light, so much so that it surprised him. Unnerved him. He still felt weightless, but he was no longer falling, no longer lost. He could almost still feel Aelin’s hand in his, a phantom limb. Guiding him onwards.

The day passed normally, only Aelin was banned from the kitchens so they made their trek up to the temple ruins in the early morning rather than at noon. They were both quiet for most of the day, adjusting to this new thing – this new dynamic between them. Or at least Rowan was.

He didn’t know what to do with her, didn’t know where to place her in his life.

Yes, she was temporary, and would soon be gone back into the west, but right now she felt frighteningly permanent. And though she was young, she felt old. Very old. Her experiences in life had aged her immensely, and though she was very similar in temperament to Fenrys, Rowan felt far more akin to her than he’d ever felt to the reckless male.

But she wasn’t a friend, wasn’t a sister, wasn’t a companion. She was still his student, still under his command. And he did not take that lightly, nor could he forget it. She was his responsibility until they knelt at Maeve’s feet in Doranelle, and no earlier.

And yet, last night something had passed between them. Something had shifted, and would not easily shift back.

Yet it was far from easy between them. The day Aelin didn’t provoke him at least once, would be the day the world fell apart at the seams. What was strange was Rowan was almost starting to enjoy the teasing, and how it morphed into a comfortable banter between the two of them.

Mostly, however, he felt a ravenous, aching curiosity. The girl was a mystery, one he was now determined to solve. One that he would solve. Last night, Rowan had broken down the door, and handed her his past on a silver platter. And she had taken it, had listened to his every word. Without judgement, and without reproach.

It had felt…good. To open those floodgates, to let go of his truth. To share it with her. And he had no intention of going back to the icy silence. All the questions had built up within him over the past weeks and were now resting on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked. He just had to find the right opportunity.

That evening, Rowan ate in the kitchens with everyone else, then retired to his rooms early to begin repairing the damage done to his tattoos. He used a mirror to ink in the mangled sections on his face, but soon realized it would be impossible for him to fix the marks on his right arm without help.

Rowan sighed deeply, and went to go ask Aelin a favor.

···

“Tell me about how you learned to tattoo.”

“No.” An automatic response.

Aelin looked up, her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t answer my questions, I might very well make a mistake, and…” She lowered the tattooing needle closer to his arm for emphasis.

Rowan almost laughed. As it was, he let out a huff of air through his nose and his lips tightened, preventing a smile.

He was sitting on his worktable, facing away from the idly burning fire and towards the closed door. Aelin was sitting in the rickety wooden chair and hunched over his wrist, baring the tattoo needle with a wicked glint in her eyes, her neck arched towards him, her golden hair falling over her shoulders and masking the beautiful curve where her neck met her torso –

“Did you learn from someone? Master and apprentice and all that?” Aelin’s question jerked Rowan from his thoughts.

“Yes, master and apprentice and all that,” Rowan answered, silently cursing himself. “In the war camps, we had a commander who used to tattoo the number of enemies he’d killed on his flesh – sometimes he’d write the whole story of a battle. All the young soldiers were enamored of it, and I convinced him to teach me.”

“With that legendary charm of yours, I suppose.” This time, he couldn’t completely hold in the smile curving his lips. He cursed inwardly again, and mentally shook himself.

“Just fill in the spots where I – ” Rowan hissed in pain as Aelin took the needle and punched another mark into the thin skin on his wrist. “Good. That’s the right depth.”

Rowan couldn’t help but be impressed. Before they’d begun, he’d instructed her on how to properly use the tools, and she’d taken to the lessons quickly, her skill with blades translating fairly well into the subtle dexterity necessary to make the delicate markings. Usually he asked Gavriel to assist him, and it’d become a regular ritual in their easy friendship. Once, he’d asked Fenrys, and then immediately regretted it. The male had no patience for the fine, slow work.

Aelin made several more marks, her hands steady, while Rowan focused on locking his jaw and evening his breaths.

“Tell me about your family.” Another casual question.

“Tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Fine.” Her hard voice revealed nothing. “Are your parents alive?”

Rowan shook his head. “My parents were very old when they conceived me. I was their only child in the millennia they’d been mated. They faded into the Afterworld before I reached my second decade.”

Aelin was quiet, so Rowan paused for a moment, deliberating. There was so much he wanted to ask her – about the years he knew nothing of, about her family, her friends, about whoever had died and left her to cross the ocean alone, desperate enough to bargain with a Fae queen. But he knew he had to ease into it.

“You had no siblings.” The statement was flat, the question implied. And even though Rowan had thought it innocuous enough, Aelin still hesitated, her embers curling around her as she steeled herself.

“My mother, thanks to her Fae heritage, had a difficult time with the pregnancy. She stopped breathing during labor. They said it was my father’s will that kept her tethered to this world. I don’t know if she even could have conceived again after that. So, no siblings. But – ” A pause, and a deep breath. “But I had a cousin. He was five years older than me, and we fought and loved each other like siblings.” Her voice was hollow and cold. Rowan searched, trying to remember, but the name slipped his mind. Her cousin…

“I don’t know what happened, but they started saying his name – as a skilled general in the king’s army.” And then it clicked. Aedion, Aedion Ashryver. The name he had heard her whisper in her sleep that night they camped in the wilderness together, the male she had apologized to in her dreams. The Wolf of the North, and general to the King of Adarlan.

Rowan didn’t know much about him, only the scant rumors that had made their way across the sea. Before the fall of Terrasen, not much was said about the boy – especially when so much attention was laid on his much more powerful cousin – but Rowan could remember hearing of vague machinations to marry Aelin and Aedion, strengthening Terrasen’s ties to the Ashryvers and Wendlyn, and therefore to Doranelle.

After its fall, Rowan had heard nothing at all until Aedion swore fealty to Adarlan and was placed in charge of Terrasen, only now under the thumb of the evil king. He had become Adarlan’s whore, and a menace to his own people. But still, he had survived. A feat in itself.

Aelin’s voice was quiet as she admitted, “I think facing my cousin after everything would be the worst of it – worse than facing the king.”

Understanding twisted in Rowan. She had left Aedion to deal with everything completely alone – with the fall of their kingdom and the slaughter of their family, with the murder and enslavement of their people, with the shame of having to kneel to the southern king. Aelin’s hands trembled, shame and hatred dousing her golden flames.

So Rowan gave her all he could – the calming meditation that came with the repetitive action of using the tattoo needle. “Keep working,” Rowan said, jerking his head towards the tools currently sitting in her lap.

After a few more taps of the mallet, Rowan chanced another question. “Do you think your cousin would kill you or help you? An army like his could change the tide of any war.”

Aelin’s lips pursed. “I don’t know what he would think of me, or where his loyalties lie. And I’d rather not know. Ever.”

Rowan kept silent, waiting for Aelin decide to continue the conversation. He knew what it was to be unable to talk, and though his curiosity burned, he didn’t want to push her into giving anything she didn’t want to give him.

But after only a few moments of silence, she offered up another question. “Do you have cousins?”

“Too many. Mora’s line was always the most widespread, and my meddlesome, gossiping cousins make my visits to Doranelle … irksome.” Aelin gave him a small smile, and though it didn’t touch her eyes it urged him onwards. “You’d probably get along with my cousins. Especially with the snooping.”

Aelin squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. “You’re one to talk, Prince. I’ve never been asked so many questions in my life.”

The light teasing had him baring his teeth in response, though the pressure of her hand was a surprisingly welcome warmth. Rowan stiffened, forcing those thoughts back, and glanced meaningfully at his bleeding wrist. “Hurry up, Princess. I want to go to bed at some point before dawn.”

But instead, Aelin used her free hand to make a particularly vulgar gesture. Before she could drive the point home with some quip or insult, Rowan caught her hand with his own, baring his teeth again. “That is not very queenly.”

“Then it’s good I’m not a queen, isn’t it?” She tried to keep the words light, but they burned with the weight of her self-hatred. And Rowan could no longer hold in his curiosity.

“You have sworn to free your friend’s kingdom and save the world – but will not even consider your own lands. What scares you about seizing your birthright? The king? Facing what remains of your court?”

Their faces were now inches from each other, close enough that he could see the flecks of brown hidden in the indistinct border between her turquoise pupils and their golden core, their hands still clasped together between their chests. “Give me one good reason why you won’t take back your throne. One good reason, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.”

Aelin paused, seeming to weigh the intentness of his gaze against her desire to keep her answers locked up deep in her chest. Then she finally said, “Because if I free Eyllwe and destroy the king as Celaena, I can go anywhere after that. The crown … my crown is just another set of shackles.”

He leaned back slightly, the information clicking into place. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, another set of shackles?” Rowan loosened his grip on her hand to reveal the two thin bands of silver that encircled her wrists – the marks of heavy chains, embedded in her bones.

Aelin yanked her hands out of his grip. “Nothing,” she said. “Arobynn, my master, liked to use them for training every now and then.”

Rowan’s mouth tightened. Something was off in her scent, and it almost smelled like the anxiety that came with a lie. Not that Rowan blamed her if she was keeping anything back from him – she didn’t own him anything.

Aelin went back to her work, and Rowan kept his body very still through the sting of the tattoo needle. But his mind was far away from the small, damp room. It was across the sea, in the capital of Adarlan and deep in the bowels of the Assassin’s Keep, where he could see a small golden figure curled up in the dark, her limbs held in chains. A perfect reflection of the cage she still labored within, the mental shackles containing her power. But in this image, Aelin had a child’s face.

Fury rippled through him, and the question leaped to his lips. “Why did you stay with Arobynn?”

A pause. “I knew I wanted two things: First, to disappear from the world and from my enemies, but … ah.” Aelin avoided his gaze. “I wanted to hide from myself, mostly. I convinced myself I should disappear, because the second thing I wanted, even then, was to be able to someday…hurt people the way I had been hurt. And it turned out that I was very, very good at it.”

That quick flash of fury gave way to a much deeper, writhing rage as the image of that chained girl shifted, her face becoming twisted with a suffering and anger and violence that no child should be faced with. There was much about the princess that eluded him, but this didn’t. He too had been put in chains, he too had a master.

But he had chosen his chains, had walked into this slavery. She had been forced into it, and the difference there was massive. Infuriatingly so. The difference between jumping off the ledge, and being pushed.

Aelin continued. “If he had tossed me away, I would either have died or wound up with the rebels. If I had grown up with them, I probably would have been found by the king and slaughtered. Or I would have grown up so hateful that I would have been killing Adarlanian soldiers from a young age.”

Rowan’s brows rose at all the questions she was purposefully leaving unanswered, but Aelin only clicked her tongue, saying, “You thought I was just going to spread my whole history at your feet the moment I met you? I’m sure you have even more stories than I do, so stop looking so surprised. Maybe we should just go back to beating each other into a pulp.”

“Oh, not a chance, Princess. You can tell me what you want, when you want, but there’s no going back now.”

She lifted the needle and mallet once more, another tease on her lips. “I’m sure your other friends just adore having you around.”

Rowan grabbed her by the chin, lifting her face to look up at him. “First thing,” he breathed, “We’re not friends. I’m still training you, and that means you’re still under my command.”

A thin shield, one Rowan could only hope would stay intact under the weight of Aelin’s relentless teasing. If she started making any other kind of advance, he had no idea what he would do. Rowan didn’t know what Aelin wanted with him, but he did know that he wanted her. And that he couldn’t ever have her. For many, many reasons.

So he also said, “Second – whatever we are, whatever this is? I’m still figuring it out, too. So if I’m going to give you the space you deserve to sort yourself out, then you can damn well give it to me.”

She studied him for a moment, their breath mingling.

“Deal,” she said.

···

The next few weeks passed more quickly and easily than any Rowan could remember in the past century. He still woke up almost every morning gasping for air, still occasionally heard Lyria’s faint screams in his head, and felt the cold numbness dragging at the corners of his mind. But time no longer pressed in on him like bags of sand, and passing through each day no longer felt like fording through river rapids.

Emrys grudgingly let Aelin return to the kitchens the next day, and she spent each morning and evening playing scullery maid. Rowan had decided to continue the pattern, even if he now knew that the work wouldn’t teach her the lessons he’d originally intended it too.

Aelin didn’t need to be taught the value of hard work, didn’t need her arrogance curbed by manual labor. She already understood these things. But she seemed to enjoy her time working with Emrys and Luca, so Rowan had no intention on depriving her of meaningful, productive work in which she found purpose and camaraderie. Particularly as it freed up his mornings to continue his pursuit of the dark creature.

To both his and Malakai’s relief, no more dead demi-Fae appeared. And though each morning Rowan flew into the wild, carrying out systematic searches for the creature, he found nothing at all. As usual.

By now, the flights were almost solely out of habit, or perhaps some sense of obligation. Though he remained vigilant, Rowan didn’t truly expect to discover anything on these trips, and he ended up spending most of the time thinking about the princess.

Not that he really wanted to be doing that either.

But he couldn’t help it, she was an enigma. The more he tried to unravel her, the more tangled up she seemed to be. And she was very adept at dodging his questions; much of the time they spent together, it was he who was speaking, telling her his many stories, his long history.

Now that he had finally let go of some of his truth, the rest of it followed suit, flowing out of him more painlessly than he would have ever thought possible. But it was more than that – Rowan wanted to tell her. Wanted her to know him, just as he wanted to know her.

Rowan told Aelin about his various campaigns in the south and east of Doranelle, the wars fought and won, the courts that rose and fell with the tide, the Fae he’d led through battle and who died at his hand and under his command. Told of sieges in bloody sand that lasted for years, of the destruction of towns and villages, the massacre of evil and good men alike, of spying, lying, cheating, and killing.

And she listened to it all, unwittingly giving him the greatest gift she could give.

Fenrys, Connall, Lorcan, Vaughan and Gavriel were frequent visitors in his tales, though it was rare that all of them were ever in one place. Aelin didn’t ask many questions about them, and Rowan only rarely provided names or details. There were stories that weren’t his to tell, truths that didn’t belong to him.

As he talked, Aelin worked with her magic, painstakingly drawing out small tendrils of flame and trying not to burn up the mountainside. She only sometimes failed. The small things were still the hardest, and Rowan had her practicing lighting candles, putting out hearth fires, weaving ribbons of flame through her fingers. Slowly, she improved.

A week or so after the incident beneath Bald Mountain, Namonora finally sent notice to the fortress.

Prince Whitethorn –

We have completed our examination of the body, though I would prefer to explain our conclusions in person. And also, I think there is someone here you would benefit from meeting.

Please come at your earliest convenience.

– Namonora, Head Healer

Western Compound, Doranelle

So the next morning, Rowan flew out to meet with Namonora at the Healer’s compound.

This time, he found her sitting at a worn desk in a small room deep in the stone castle, pouring over a piece of paper, her brow furrowed. Rowan greeted the old female respectfully, his head slightly bowed. Namonora jerked from her reverie, then greeted him in return.

“As you asked, so I have come.” Rowan said.

“Indeed you have, Prince Whitethorn.”

“And?”

“And there is no doubt that the demi-Fae are being murdered. None whatsoever.”

Rowan’s lips pursed, and he nodded, gesturing for the old healer to continue.

“The body arrived approximately two weeks ago. Both I, and two other experienced healers conducted the examination. We couldn’t determine an exact time of death, due to the strange nature of the decay, and the damage done to the body in transport. The demi-Fae could have died as few as two or three days before he was discovered, or as much as three weeks.”

“Is that normal? To have such a wide gap?” Rowan interrupted.

“Far from it. Normally, we can determine the age of any corpse by the degree to which various species of insect have matured on the body, in combination with how physically decomposed it is. But this body has not decomposed naturally, and has been avoided by all kinds of scavengers – including insects.”

“Do you know of anything that could cause such a thing?”

Namonora clenched her teeth, and shook her head jerkily, frowning. “No. I have never heard of bodies being avoided by insects – such a thing is completely unnatural. A disruption of the biological cycle, the order of things. It all but confirms that whatever killed the demi-Fae is just as unnatural.”

“You mean, the creature…marked them, somehow?”

“Perhaps, I don’t know.” Namonora shook her head again, this time in discomfort. “It could be the scent that keeps them at bay, but we couldn’t prove such a thing. It could also be as simple as the fact that the corpse was so withered and empty of sustenance that scavengers were deterred from feeding.”

“What about a cause of death?” Rowan was intent, his eyes narrowed.

Namonora pursed her lips. “Another mystery. You were right, there were no marks on the body, nor could we find any internal damage to any organs, vital or otherwise. The lungs, heart, liver, intestines, brain – all intact.”

“So death was magical.” Rowan asserted.

“Yes.” Namonora sighed. “I can’t think of any other reasonable explanation, though I don’t know of any power that could inflict this kind of damage.”

“It has to be something new.”

Namonora pursed her lips. “One of the first lessons you get taught as a healer, is that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. I do not like asserting something so outlandish, no matter how it stares us in the face. It was why it took me so long to summon you. I kept re-examining our notes, turning the facts over and over in my mind. I even consulted with my former instructor, but he knew nothing that could be helpful.” The healer sighed, a huff of air out of her nose. “But once Paynor arrived, I knew I could wait no longer.”

Rowan frowned, asking a silent question.

Namonora just shook her head, standing from her chair and moving to depart. “I will let him tell his own story.”

The healer led him back through the compound, and towards the wing of the camp where long-term patients stayed while being treated for non-life threatening injuries. Namonora knocked on an obscure dark wooden door, her expression expectant. A soft, “Come in,” could be heard from within, and she entered, revealing a small, dry room with a well-made bed and a tall, lean man sitting upright, though his left leg was encased in plaster.

“Head Healer,” the man greeted her, nodding respectfully. He was completely human, his scent bland and uninteresting – a mixture of wool and hay and oats. His clothing was simple, but clearly marked him as a soldier from Wendlyn, possibly naval.

“Paynor.” Namonora inclined her head in return, her face tight, “This is Prince Rowan Whitethorn.”

Rowan nodded his greeting, while the man’s scent filled up with that all-too-familiar fear, his eyes widening, muscles stiffening. Rowan shifted slightly. It had been a while since someone had reacted to his presence so violently, and it discomforted him.

The soldiers of Mistward had no love for him, but they no longer flinched whenever he entered a room. Rowan could even eat in the kitchens now without attracting too much undue attention. And spending so much time with Aelin, who had not feared him even once since that first encounter, was really shifting his expectations for how others reacted to his presence, and not helpfully.

Namonora’s voice cut through the tension rapidly filling the small space. “The Prince is investigating a series of deaths, and I think your story is relevant to his search.”

The soldier looked confused, but with a gesture of encouragement from Namonora, he began to speak. “Until very recently, I was a soldier serving in Wendlyn, in the King’s navy, beneath Prince Galan Ashryver.” The young soldier shifted in his seat on the bed, settling in to tell his tale.

“The first couple of years were simple, not easy, but expected, you know? I fought when I was told, did whatever work was asked of me, kept silent when I was told to. But then a few months ago, we got a strange assignment. A foray into enemy territory, but not to strike – to spy.” At this, the soldier’s eyes flicked uncomfortably over to Rowan’s and then back again.

“It was strictly against the King’s directive, but the orders came straight from the lips of Prince Galan, and my commander wasn’t one to question princes.”

“So you went.” Rowan said, his face inscrutable.

“So we went.” Paynor agreed dispiritedly. “Galan wanted us to make a sweep of Adarlan’s coast, to scout the locations and dispersal of enemy ships, and to determine whether the bastard king was really intending on invading us anytime soon. We were to disguise ourselves as merchants, but instructed to keep our distance from foreign ships as much as possible.”

Paynor signed. “It worked at first. We shot across the sea, heading for the southern half of the western continent, around Fenharrow. After about a month, we reached land, and began to skirt our way up the coast. We knew we would have a sketchy bit of sailing around the Dead Islands, but we had no idea what we were in for. A storm caught us at exactly the wrong time, and we were marooned just off the coast. Only twenty-three of us survived the sinking. But that was only the beginning of it.”

The soldier’s face darkened, and he shook his head slowly. “Now, I have to think I’d gone insane. But I would have sworn I could hear…roaring. Fell noises at night. And then people began to disappear.” The soldier shuddered. “For all I know, they were only wandering off and then succumbing to dehydration, or exposure. But with that roaring…it was hard not to think that the islands were haunted. That a creature was coming at night and killing us off – one by one.”

Paynor took a steadying breath. “I soon lost track of the days, but we had to have been stranded for nearly a week. And then, the night before we were rescued, I think I caught a glimpse of…something. A…darkness. That reeked of death. But then it was gone, and in the morning the twelve of us remaining were found by a passing vessel and taken to the nearest port, where we bartered transport onto a ship heading for Varese, and didn’t look back.”

The soldier’s voice regained some of its former strength. “Another month passed in travel, and we regained some our health. But this leg – ” Paynor gestured to the limb currently bound in plaster “ – was broken in the sinking, and it didn’t set right. So once we returned to Wendlyn, I was sent to the Fae healers, so I might recover its use. And now here I am.”

Namonora nodded, her pleasant expression doing little to disguise the anger and fear and disgust that colored her scent. “Thank you Paynor, I know that was hard for you to relive.”

The soldier nodded, his brow furrowed in anxiety and confusion. “I only hope I could be of service, ma’am. But I don’t really understand how I could much help.”

Namonora only nodded once again, giving the soldier a polite farewell and turning to leave the small room. Rowan followed her back up to her small office, thoughts swirling.

“So.” Rowan said, once the door was shut behind them.

“So. Last time you visited, you asked after anyone who bore a similar story to yours. So once I heard Paynor’s, I sent for you.”

“He is not exactly a trustworthy source – he admitted himself that he must have been going mad.”

“Quite to the contrary. Before you came last time, we had already treated another from Paynor’s company and discharged her. There is another to corroborate his story, who also spoke of a strange darkness stirring in the Dead Islands.”

“That does not mean it has come here.”

“No, it does not. But you must be able to see the similarities between them.”

Rowan sighed. “Paynor did not lie, but I am loath to take such vague assertions at face value. As you said with healing, so is true with most things: the easiest explanation is usually the correct one. And a connection between two events, thousands of miles apart and separated by an ocean, is far from the easiest explanation.”

Namonora’s jaw tightened, and she sighed as well. “Still. I thought you should hear his story.”

Rowan nodded, and thanked her.

Namonora shifted in her seat, her eyes once again finding his. “And as for your other problem, how has that been going?”

Rowan blinked. “She has progressed well since we last spoke.”

“And is Aelin Galathynius’ mental block gone?”

Rowan couldn’t contain a flinch of surprise.

Namonora gave him a small smile, her eyes warm. “I did not know until I saw her in person. I knew her mother, many years ago. A good woman, the Ashryver Princess. Her daughter seems to have inherited her strength, and her compassion.”

“So it seems.” The words were tight, even if Rowan should have anticipated this after Emrys’ revelation the previous week. Namonora had been here just as long as the old male, if not longer, and her memory was infallible. No matter her penchant for bedside tales and impractical notions.

“The Heir of Terrasen has walked a hard road. I can only hope that it has been less dark of late.” The healer’s eyes glinted.

Rowan’s mouth tightened, but before he could reply, Namonora interrupted once again. “I stand by what I said before, Prince. There is still hope. And it gladdens me that after all these years, you seem to have found it again.”

Rowan just nodded curtly, his face an icy mask as he strode from the room. It wasn’t that he was angry with the female, more that he didn’t have the heart to contradict her. No matter all that had happened, how much had changed, it didn’t mean that there was any hope for him.

Rowan had been entrusted a spark, and he would ensure its survival unto his own death – but that meant nothing for his own future. He had tied himself to Maeve, and though it had been at the lowest, most desperate point in his life, he had still done it. And it could not be undone.

Not for anything, let alone feeble hope.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Pieces of Glass Ch. 2

Read it on AO3

Snap, Crackle, Pop

“Scar, no!” Grian felt his voice crack at his scream, watching as Scar leaned over the edge just a little too far. He watched in slow motion how Scar’s hand wrapped around the crystal he threw off the edge, and how Scar followed its deadly path of no return. He watched as Scar’s green eyes met his, wide with fear, as he fell farther and farther away.

“Grian! Help!” 

Grian stood stock still, eyes unblinking as he watched Scar’s form get smaller and smaller, his voice already sounding dangerously distant. What had he done? Why had he thrown that crystal? Why had Scar tried to catch it?

He had to help Scar. He had to. But how? He didn’t have an elytra yet so he couldn’t exactly fly down and grab him. Could he build down? That was difficult to do normally, but doing it faster than the pull of the void was definitely impossible. He had to think. Scar would die if he didn’t do anything. He needed to help Scar. He had to. He had to. He had to.

His hands scratched at the front of his chestplate, a pain beginning to blossom in his chest as Scar’s words rattled in his brain. The End wasn’t known for any extreme temperatures, but Grian felt like he was in the Nether with how heat spread itself through his body. His breathing became ragged as everything started to become far too much. A bright white light began to invade the corners of his vision and he couldn’t help but shut his eyes against it.

Something in the back of his head snapped. Something he had long forgotten. Something he didn’t realize he still had.

He heard a cracking noise quietly behind his thoughts and a blinding yellow color forced his eyes open as his back arched against the force that dragged him off the edge of the bridge. He barely registered that he was falling until he caught sight of Scar again, a ball of shining diamond armor against the inky black of the void.

I have to help Scar.

That single thought overpowered his mind and he was reorienting himself in the air. Wings beat downward, sending Grian soaring towards Scar faster than the pull of the void itself. After only a few seconds of falling he felt his breath leave his lungs and he coughed, bringing his arm over his mouth as if he could somehow stop the air from leaving him. Black dots swirled around his vision and he blinked against it, trying to see the different nauseating black of the void instead. The sudden pressure difference made his ears pop painfully but he was so close, just a little farther.

His arms reached downward and made contact with the purple fabric of Scar’s wizard robe, allowing Grian to pull him towards him and hold the curled up wizard to his chest as securely as possible. His already struggling breath hitched and pain coursed through his back as the wings flapped forcefully, slowing his quick descent and preparing to launch him upwards towards the yellow islands that looked miles away with his swaying vision. He adjusted his grip on Scar’s form, making sure there was no risk of dropping him as he began the too slow rise up. Grian knew he was fairly strong, and he prided himself on being able to pick up most of the hermits (it was quite comical when he would hold up someone like Mumbo or Xisuma who was almost a foot taller than him), but between the void sapping his strength and the fatigue from flying he worried that he could drop Scar at any second. The thought made him sick.

After what felt like ten minutes, Grian was able to more or less throw Scar onto the closest End island, and he barely got himself over the stone before the wings gave out and he face-planted into the ground. His ears rang and his back throbbed through the wings that were laying limply on his back and dragging him down. He closed his eyes at the swirling and shifting end stone underneath him giving him a headache and he shakily managed to use his arms to push himself up. He coughed, forcing the fresh but too-thin air into his lungs and groaned at the way it left his throat scratchy.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking to focus his blurry vision. He pushed himself up to sit on his knees and took in a deep breath, calming the rest of his nerves. He heard a noise to his left and his head snapped over, worried flooding him when he saw Scar staring at him with wide eyes.

“Scar! Oh my god, Scar are you okay?” Grian’s own eyes widened at the way his voice echoed in his head and bounced off the end stone and he slapped a hand over his mouth. He raised his shoulders to his ears, trying to block out the unnerving reverb of his own voice. He barely contained a whimper at Scar’s high-pitched “yeah” in response, confirming he noticed it too. Why was his voice doing that? Had his voice ever done that before? He took a deep breath, waiting a few long moments before he mumbled behind his hand. “Uh,” he let himself relax when he heard his voice back to normal.

“So,” was Scar’s helpful response. And then the floodgates opened. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know!” Was his genuine response, anxiety filling his body again as he threw his hands up in the air.

“You have wings?”

“I just saw you falling and-”

“Is this normal for you?”

“No! Well, I mean, I guess I panicked and-”

“Why were your eyes glowing?”

“My eyes were what?” Grian’s voice raised in pitch and he patted the sides of his head as if he could feel the light his eyes had supposedly been giving off.

“They were glowing. They aren’t anymore though.” Scar quickly reassured him, sitting cross-legged and facing him. They stared at each other, but Grian’s mind was occupied with what the hell was happening to him. “So, wings, huh?”

His back straightened at that reminder. His head spun around to look at the faintly glowing feathers that perked up over his shoulder, their golden color slowly giving way to reveal a much more tame yellow. They felt lighter on his back since he landed to the point where he completely forgot he had them, instinctively folding them against his back. He extended one barely, reaching a hand up to graze over the feathers and he flinched at how the small movement sent a sharp pain down his spine. He probably pulled a muscle, considering he got them barely ten minutes ago and had already overexerted himself. He let the wing settle back into its place and turned back towards Scar, studying his folded hands in his lap. 

Why was this happening? What caused these wings to sprout out of his back? Did Scar do it somehow with his magic? Did Scar actually have magic? Could Scar even do that with magic he maybe had? Was it an effect of the End in this new world? Did they stumble upon something they shouldn’t have and Xisuma didn’t know when he decided they would move here? These all seemed like really loaded questions.

Grian glanced up, noticing Scar was still sitting across from him. Right. First things first, he isn’t going to be able to focus on anything until he knows Scar is safe. He pushes himself up from the end stone, dusting off his diamond leggings until he sees the faint glimmer of the enchantment on them, and takes the steps towards Scar. He manages a small smile as the other takes his hand, pulling him up to his feet and Grian makes sure he doesn’t fall over

“Do you think you can make it back home without falling off another bridge?” Grian asked quietly, a steadying hand still on Scar’s arm as he looked up at him with concern.

“Uh,” The other took a moment, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.”

Relieved, Grian gave him a nod before turning away from him. “Good, then you head back.”

“What about you?”

Grian walked back out onto the bridge that Scar had built and looked down at it, pulling out some blocks from his inventory. “I’m gonna keep going and see if I can find anything.”

“What? Alone? Grian, there’s a reason we use the buddy system. Heck, you just proved why-”

He grit his teeth, cursing that his friends were so caring. “Scar, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. You go rest, okay?” Scar opened his mouth to protest but Grian didn’t let him. “I need some time to think, anyways. May as well try and get something out of it in the process.” He could tell he wasn’t convinced by the hard stare he gave him. Grian felt himself shrink under the gaze, chin trying to burrow into the turtleneck of his sweater and he looked away. He steeled his nerves, looking back at Scar with the most genuine look he could and practically whispered. “Please, Scar. I’ll be fine.”

Scar’s gaze didn’t falter but eventually he gave in, sighing as he rubbed his temples. “Alright, okay, I’ll go home. But you better come see me the second you get back, okay?”

Something familiar popped in the back of his mind and stung ever so slightly on his right hip. His back straightened and the wings tensed painfully against his back but he was too occupied to really care. He blinked. “Okay Scar, I will.” His voice came out on its own.

Grian was still staring, watching as Scar turned away from him and made his way slowly back to and over the bridge that they had made to get to the current island. He blinked a couple more times, shaking the fog that had curled its way around his head as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

His eye caught a glint of something aqua on the cobblestone he was standing precariously on, and his attention turned fully on to figuring out what it was. He kneeled down to look at it closer before he picked up, carefully noting how pointy it was. He dropped the piece onto his other hand that was close to his chest, eyes squinting to get a better look at it. 

And then he noticed it.

He could very clearly see the red of his sweater covering his chest.

His mind worked way too slow to put two and two together, but his eyes widened and mouth gaped at something that felt obvious and slightly terrifying all together.

He was holding a piece of his chestplate. The chestplate that he had been wearing before Scar fell. The chestplate that he realized wouldn’t have allowed the wings to move freely. So, he supposed, the wings forced the chestplate out of their way. And the way to do that was by completely shattering it. The wings on his back completely shattered a full diamond chestplate with unbreaking magic imbued into it in a matter of seconds.

Grian closed his mouth, swallowing hard as he glanced back at the now terrifying feathered appendages that had made his back their home. How? Was the main question that kept resurfacing in his mind. How? And Why? 

Why was this happening to him? Why was this happening now? And what had he done to cause it?

He placed the diamond shard into his inventory, gripping cobblestone slabs in his hands instead, and moved towards where Scar had been building out from. He felt his head swirl and his stomach drop as he looked over the edge and he had to close his eyes to keep himself from vomiting then and there. He couldn’t do this. Not like this. Not after what had just happened.

Maybe he should go back. Catch up with Scar and then come back at a later time when he wasn’t making decisions based off the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Then the adrenaline gave him an idea. He rolled his shoulders a few times and gritted his teeth against the pain that pulled at his back. Grian took a deep breath and bit his lip as he forced the wings to spread open to their full length. He stumbled back a step at the shift in weight, but caught himself, and made sure his feet were stable on the ground before he tried lifting the wings up.

“Now or never,” he muttered, keeping his eyes shut as he beat the wings down. He yelped as he shot into the air, his eyes opening and panic flooding his body as he realized he was now falling back towards the cobblestone bridge from what had to be at least twenty feet in the air. He braced for impact, covering his face with his arms, but he felt the wings move on their own. He landed rather gently, albeit clumsy.

So clumsy, in fact, that he tripped over his own feet, and right off the edge of the bridge.

He screamed as he felt nothing solid beneath his feet and desperately reached up to grab the bridge, only managing to painfully scrape his fingertips on a pebble. Not again! Okay, okay, Grian, calm down. Calm down. Focus. He forced his eyes shut again, willing the wings out from their tense, equally scared position. Come on, come on!

Suddenly, he wasn’t falling anymore. 

He opened one eye then braved both as he realized that the wings were keeping him suspended in the air with small, graceful movements. He breathed a laugh, looking back up at the once again distance bridge and islands. He looked forward, towards where he had planned on going in the first place and then took one glance at the wings again. He nodded to himself before thrusting the wings down with a powerful beat, propelling him towards the islands further out.

Grian smiled at the feeling of the air billowing against his face as he soared through the End. He didn’t feel steady on the wings -- it was nothing like an elytra -- but he felt that same thrill that he usually did when flying. He whooped, trying to do a twirl in the air and choked when he got tangled up in the wings, causing him to tumble downwards onto an island. 

He laughed, pulling himself off the ground and looked up, spotting the magnificent End City that stood before him. He beamed when he spotted the ship, crouching down and jumping up with the flap of the wings this time. He was landing gracefully on top of the vessel in seconds, letting the wings fold against his back as he walked down the steps toward the treasure he was looking for. 

His eyes immediately locked on to the elytra hanging on the wall, and he dug in his inventory for his sword as he also spotted the nuisance shulker. He dully noted that the shulker didn’t fire any bullets at Grian as he killed it, pocketing the shells from the creature for himself at a later date. He placed his sword on its spot on his hip and delicately grabbed the artificial wings from their perch. 

Elytra always had this unique feel to them, the fabric thin but strong, but would still tear if overused. The grey material was silky smooth downwards, but felt like sandpaper upwards and left little trails of discoloration. He ran his fingers down the wings, smiling at the welcome nostalgia that came with it.

He was rudely reminded that he wouldn’t get the chance to relive those memories any time soon as he felt his back muscles tense up in a painful cramp. He was finally calm for the first time in hours, and his body was through with letting him get away with overworking it. He let out a silent scream as he curled in on himself, stretching the muscles attached to the wings even further and doubling the pain. 

He cursed, trying to think through the constant, throbbing pain on what to do. He tried to force the muscles to relax but couldn’t quite get the wings to move in the right way and ended up with the left one awkwardly half-extended. While turning his head to look at it in disgust he caught sight of a glimmering pink in the staircase of the ship.

The potions! He always took those potions these ships held for granted, but right now he couldn’t be more grateful. He hobbled over, hissing as the extended wing grazed the wall he was using for support up the stairs. He grabbed the bottle and nearly dropped it trying to get the cork out, but managed to get the majority of the contents into his mouth rather than dribbling down his chin as if he was an overgrown toddler. He instantly felt the pain dull, his body finally relaxing while it’s nerves weren’t being attacked by two foreign appendages and he fell back on his butt. He sat there, taking in deep breaths as the wings hung limply and almost dragged him back down the stairs. He let the empty bottle roll away from his hand and he instead picked up the elytra that he had dropped, he closed his eyes and let the feel of the fabric comfort him.

This had to be the most terrifying and physically exhausting experience he’s had since Demise last season. Sure, cutting down jungle trees and boating everywhere was tiring and annoying, but he didn’t think anything would ever compare to the rollercoaster he’s been on in the last hour or so. He was going to sleep for at least a week when he got back to his nice, safe, comfortable hobbit hole.

Speaking of which, he should start heading home. He got what he was looking for, an elytra for Scar, so there wasn’t really any reason to stay any longer. Grian didn’t want to stay any longer. So, he used the block the brewing stand was on to stand up, put the elytra away in his inventory, and grabbed the second healing potion just in case, before moving slowly up the stairs to the top of the ship. He made his way to the bow of the ship, looking over the edge at the yellow ground and endless void that made his vision swirl and he quickly looked away. How the hell was he going to get down?

As he went over his options he carefully made his way over to and grabbed the dragon head from its perch. He could try and use the elytra to glide down but he didn’t know if he could strap it on correctly to make it effective, let alone control it. He could try flying again but one twitch of the wings made him quickly rule that out. The safest, but totally not, was to try and anger an enderman on the ground so it teleported up to him. Then he could kill it, grab the enderpearl, and get down. Simple enough.

He steeled himself, sword in hand, and looked out over the edge again to spot a dot of black against the yellow endstone. He stared at one intently and began to wonder if endermen had a certain range of aggravation. Maybe they didn’t mind being stared at, as long as you weren’t right nearby.

Grian’s theory was quickly proved wrong, though, as he heard that familiar “fwoop” sound behind him and the telltale screech of an angry enderman. He swung his sword around, slicing at the monster’s legs. It screamed at him louder in response and swiped its long arms at him. With a duck under them and one leap forward, he impaled the creature and swiped the enderpearl from the smoke that arose from its dissipating body.

He once again looked over the edge and threw the enderpearl safely in the middle of the island. He didn’t hear the pearl shatter on the ground but he knew it had as nausea overwhelmed him and he saw the endstone beneath his feet. When he made sure he wasn’t about to puke he blinked out over towards the direction he came from and realized he hadn’t made a bridge to get back. 

He groaned, realizing he has three options to get back and he isn’t too keen on any of them. He could either build his way back which would surely take a few hours, enderpearl his way back and get super sick in the process, or he could fly back. He stretched the wings out behind him, wincing at the sting they gave him but satisfied that they weren’t unbearably tense anymore. All he had to do was fly back to the bridges. He could do that. 

He took in a deep breath, flapping the wings a few times without taking off and hissing at how they moved on his back. I can do this. I can do this. It’s not that far. I’ll be fine. He swung his arms back and forth, psyching himself up, and before he could think any better he ran towards the ledge of the island. He shut his eyes, leaping off the edge with a yell and forcing the wings to move.

Grian didn’t open his eyes until he knew he was in the air, managing to narrowly avoid crashing into a chorus flower. His back still stung but it was more bearable now that he had a rhythm. He decided to focus all of his attention on scanning the ground for cobblestone bridges and not on the physical state his entire body was in, in case it just decided to completely give out while he was still in the air.

Luckily for him, he spotted the last cobblestone bridge sooner than he had thought and stumbled into a landing on the connected island, quickly chugging the second potion and sighing as the wings hung limply on his back once again. Now all he had to do was the easiest part: walk back to the portal.

Without a second thought, he began the hours-long trek back. His exhausted mind was quiet, too tired for any coherent string of thoughts when he wasn’t actively searching for anything to think about. He wouldn’t even try to deny the tears that came to his eyes when he stepped in water and he registered that he was on the main island at last. Finally.

He stops right before the bedrock of the portal, staring down into the inky blackness and feeling familiar dread sweep over him. A thought pulled at the back of his brain, one he couldn’t seem to shake despite the years that have passed and proved it wrong.

What if he didn’t end up in Hermitcraft when he went through?

He huffed a laugh at his thinking, hands supporting him as he leaned on the rough bedrock. He could almost see himself in the darkness of the portal, the amalgamations of the static stars tricking his eyes. He closed his eyes and climbed up so that he could step into the portal. He had nothing to worry about. 

The wings weighed heavily on his back as he stepped into the portal, bracing himself against the unnerving numbing feeling that came with it. He was scared to open his eyes, but the shift in air pressure and warm temperature, along with how the wings squished into the mattress underneath him reassured him that he was indeed back home. 

Grian didn’t want to get up, finally in a position to rest from the crazy adventure he had just had. He wanted nothing more than to lay there and fall asleep. But he couldn’t. He felt a nagging, pulling sensation on his body as he sat up in his bed, urging him to go out the door as if he had an errand to run that he couldn’t remember.

“You better come see me the second you get back, okay?”

Right. Scar wanted him to go see him. He pushed the stray hair that had fallen into his face out of his line of sight and trudged over and out the door. Slowly but surely, he stood in front of Larry, staring at the ladder up as if it had personally offended him and his tired body. Once he was up the last rung and entered the shell without a door, he couldn’t suppress a groan at the second ladder he would have to climb. Scar better be up there.

He was. Grian poked his head up through the floor, spotting the snoozing wizard underneath his purple covers with his armor and robe strewed about the room. He pulled himself up, debating whether or not he should wake Scar up. If he did, that might mean it would take longer for him to get to sleep and that just didn’t sound like it was worth it at the moment. If Scar got mad at him, he’d deal with it later.

He takes the elytra out of his inventory and places it on a nearby chest that he thinks Scar will see and rummages around his stuff to find something to write a quick note on. Satisfied, Grian doesn’t hesitate making his way back to his hobbit hole and doesn’t bother taking off his armor before face planting into the soft cover and allowing sleep to overtake him.

[alison-anonymous]

♡ speak now ♡ varian

Speak Now ♡ Varian x Reader

Requested: no, this one was all me ;) I adore Varian, so here is a nice little imagine for you all!

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of abuse, forced marriage, TONS OF FLUFF IN THE END!

Summary: reader and Varian have been best friends since they were little and have secretly been in love with one another for a long time. Literally everyone knows but them. Reader and Varian soon became almost like family to the royal family of Corona, but as the years passed, the reader soon became engaged to a very wealthy, very abusive man who threatened to kill her if she did not agree to marry him. In this, Varian and the reader are both 18! 

♡♡♡ 

       Today was your wedding day. 

       A day full of love, laughter, fluttering butterflies in the stomach, hushed whispers, and cheers in celebration. A day that was supposed to be happy and spread joy all throughout the kingdom of Corona, just like Rapunzel and Eugene’s wedding was going to bring. Only... your wedding day was the exact opposite. 

       You stood before the three-paned mirror, staring at your reflection intensely. You wore a long, uncomfortable white gown that trailed behind you for meters and a corset so tight that you had to practically gasp in order to take in one breath of air. Your hair was done up in a very tight up do, courtesy of your soon to be step-mother, who was a very angry, very scary and powerful woman. It had seemed as if though she were trying to rip the hair out of your skull as she did your hair and makeup... You couldn’t help but grimace in disgust at your reflection. Bags hung under your eyes, and were still bloodshot from all of the nights you had spent crying yourself to sleep. Of course you didn’t want to get married to Dane Kinsley! The man was a horrid beast whose only concern in life was getting more money. The only reason why he wanted you to marry him was so that he could get the money you had inherited after your father’s death. Turns out family friends can turn out to not be friends after all...

      The room was quiet around you. Unbearably so. Mrs. Kinsley had ordered you that no one be able to see you five hours before the ceremony, not even her. So after she had gotten you all done up, she placed a pair of hand cuffs around your wrists and locked you in one of the church’s towers until the ceremony was about to begin. When you were a little girl, you had always fantasized about how all of your friends and family would be crowding around you, gushing about how beautiful you looked and how lucky Varian was to be marrying you... 

      Shit... you silently cursed in your head. You weren’t marrying Varian, were you?

      A fresh set of tears sprung into your eyes as you cast you gaze towards the barred window. The cuffs were heavy around your gloved wrists and chafed against the fabric. Funny. It was supposed to be your wedding day, and it felt like you being kept prisoner. No, you didn’t love the groom. You were in love with someone else. You had been in love with someone else for quite some time, but were always afraid to admit it. Varian, your best friend and notorious alchemist of Old Corona, was the one who held your heart. And even though you were about to get married to someone else who clearly couldn’t care less about your well being, you knew he always would have your heart.

       Of course you had thought about running away or even saying no. But that simply wasn’t an option. The second Dane proposed to you, you immediately said no. But when his mother pressed a knife against your throat and he threatened to kill you and all of your loved ones unless you married him in three days time, you knew you had no way out. You broke the news to your three good friends, Princess Rapunzel, Eugene, and Cassandra, Rapunzel’s lady in waiting. The talk when a little like this...

♡ flashback

       “YOU’RE GETTING WHAT NOW?” Eugene practically screamed in terror at your shaking form. 

       “I-I’m getting married in three days time to Dane Kinsley...” your voice was barely above a whisper, but your voice had gone hoarse from screaming and crying. Rapunzel’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hands. Cass simply stared at you with sad eyes.

       “But I thought you were in love with Varian,” Eugene said incredulously. But the second he saw the tear slip out of your eye, he immediately put two and two together.

       “Hey, hey, hey,” Rapunzel soothed as you broke down in a fit of tears in the middle of the hallway. Your sobs hurt and your cheeks burned with the hot tears that streamed down them, but you couldn’t stop crying. You had promised yourself to a man you didn’t love and now you could never get a chance to be with Varian. “N/n, it’ll be okay. We’ll get you out of this.” She gently pulled you in for a hug. You buried your face into your shoulder as you cried.

       “I-I love Varian,” you sniffled. “I love him more than anything and now I won’t ever get to be with him.”

       “Can’t you just say no?” Cass asked, concern dripping from her tone.

       “I tried,” you sobbed even harder. “He threatened to kill me if I refused.”

       The three gasped in horror as the words left your mouth. Cass and Eugene shared horrified looks as Rapunzel gently pulled you back, still holding onto your shoulders as she bore her green eyes into yours. “Y/n,” she said softly. “That’s forced marriage.”

       Your eyes widened a bit in shock. “W-what?” 

        “We can get you out of this,” Eugene answered for her, stepping in closer. “If you haven’t given your consent yet, there’s still time-”

        “No,” you rapidly shook your head, e/c eyes filling with tears once more. “He said he would kill not only me, but everyone I love if I don’t do this. I’m not putting you all in that kind of danger. Especially Varian.”

        “Especially me, what?” 

        You swiveled around to face the all too familiar voice that interrupted your speech. And there he was, his adorable blue eyes shimmering with confusion as he held a stack of books in his gloved hands. The second he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks, he instantly dropped the books, letting them clatter onto the floor, and raced to you. Gently pushing Rapunzel out of the way, he cupped your cheeks and wiped away the stray tears. You felt your heart stop with his closeness and the sparks ignite from just his closeness. Little did you know, he was feeling the exact same way. Only, his eyes were filled with concern as he stared down at you in worry.

       “What’s wrong, N/n? Please don’t cry,” he whispered the last part, neither of you noticing the soft, knowing smiles the three adults exchanged. You rested your hands on his forearms and leaned into his touch, savoring his closeness while you still had it. You loved him with all your heart. At first, you had thought it was just a silly school-crush that most girls had when their best friend was a boy. But as time went on, the feelings didn’t go away... and instead they got stronger. It was the same way for him, only he didn’t think anyone as perfect as you could ever love some nerd like him as more than a friend. You loved the little streak in his messy hair, the goggles he insisted on wearing all the time, his adorably crooked smile, his baby blue eyes, his voice, his obsession with science and all things alchemy, how he was always trying to help others. How he loved you for you and never judged you for it. Varian had been there for you when no one else was and he loved you even more than he loved his father. Varian was your everything... but you had to let him go. To save him.

       “V-Varian...” 

       You have to tell him. You owe it to him.

       “I’m getting married.” The second the words left your mouth, you could almost see Varian’s heart shatter. The floodgates opened up once more as you began to cry again, only now Varian’s eyes too filled with tears. The sight made your world come crashing down as he slowly pulled away from you, blinking in confusion. 

       “W-What did you just say?” His voice cracked, eyes never leaving you. You reached back out for him, only to have him take a step away from you, shattering your heart even more. 

       “Varian, please don’t do this,” you cried through bleary eyes. “I-I don’t want to marry him, but-” 

       “You’re getting married,” he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else as he cast his gaze down to the floor. “To someone else.” 

♡♡♡ 

       You felt like a half of you was missing staring out the window in the silence. Tears attempted to escape out your eyes, but you hastily wiped them away to avoid screwing your makeup up for the fifth time this hour. The chains clanged together as you rose your arm and rattled when you slumped them back down. The world seemed a lot darker now, you thought. And it was only going to get darker... 

       Suddenly, the sound of a bold unlocking came from the opposite side of the door. You turned slightly just as Mrs. Kinsley appeared, a hateful look plastered on her face as she marched towards you in a modest black dress. She looked like she were more dressed to attend a funeral than a wedding. 

       “I told you not to move from that spot,” she hissed, noticing how you had stepped away from the mirrors. You winced in fear as she stalked towards you, snatching your hands by the chain harshly and unlocking the cuffs. 

       “I’m sorry, miss,” you sighed with relief as your hands were free once again. “I just... wanted to look outside.” 

       “You won’t have time for that soon, brat,” she snarled, her grey eyes striking fear into your spine as she grabbed your wrist so tightly it made you yelp in pain. “Now come on, the ceremony is about to begin.”  

       It felt like only seconds before you were walking down that aisle. You had to walk down it alone, since your father was gone. You weren’t allowed to have any bridesmaids or maid of honors, which almost killed you when you were told you couldn’t have Rapunzel or Cassandra as your bridesmaids. The only people who stood at the altar were the priest, Dane, his mother, and Max who was the ring bearer. But the second the magnificent white horse saw your exhausted, heartbroken face, his ears slumped back against his head.

       The walk down the aisle was the most painful thirty seconds of your life. You clutched onto the tiny bouquet like it was your life source, and tried your best not to look at the faces as you passed them. People began muttering in concern the second they saw you. You didn’t blame them, you probably looked miserable. The only time you dared to look at the people was when you passed by the row your friends sat in. Rapunzel was clutching onto Eugene with tears in her eyes as she watched you stiffly walk past her. Cass was sorrowfully casting her glance aside and Varian... oh my god, you didn’t even expect him to show up, but there he was. Almost as if he were waiting to see you. You both locked eyes for the entirety that you walked past him, you even looking behind you as you walked towards the altar. His mouth was dropped open slightly at the sight of you in white, but the second he saw Dane, the heartbroken expression soon took over his features once more.

       Forcing yourself to look away from his beautiful blue eyes was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. You hesitated for a second, making the audience go quiet for a moment in shock. But the second Dane sent you a glare, you quickly stepped up to your position, jumping a bit when Mrs. Kinsley jabbed something hard into your side as a punishment. The organ stopped and you forced yourself to look up at Dane, who wasn’t even looking at you and was instead winking at one of the girls in the front pews. Max sent you a sorrow filled gaze, which nearly sent you into a fit of tears that even a horse knew this wasn’t meant to be.

       “Dearly beloved,” the priest began, causing everyone to shut up. “We have gathered here today for the union of two lovely people: Dane Kinsley and Y/n L/n.” The priest began his speech, but you slowly began to drown it out as you stood there with shaking knees. Thankfully the dress hid it. You ran through the process in your head, remembering that the option to object came after the I Dos, which was strange but was the way that Corona did things. As the priest continued, you glanced up at Dane once more, only to see him inspecting his cuticles purposefully, like the priest weren’t even speaking. You couldn’t remember the last time you had met someone as rude as this man. The first time you two met, he spilled wine all over your blouse and then accused you for the accident. 

       With the priest droning on in the background, you took this moment to glance out around the crowd. Some faces were smiling pleasantly, but most of the people whom you knew wore deep frowns on their lips. Even Rapunzel’s parents sent you sorrowful gazes when you made eye contact with them. You then made the mistake of finding Varian in the crowd again and connecting with him once again through just your eyes. You felt your heart stop when you noticed he wasn’t wearing his normal outfit anymore and was instead done up in a tux. You had never seen him dressed up before... and he looked undeniably handsome. A smile grew onto your lips without you even noticing, as a soft one grew across his as well. He seemed... nervous, you thought as you noticed his fidgeting. Something he only did when he was debating doing or saying somethi-

       “Do you, Dane Kinsley, take Y/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Holy shit, you quickly snapped back into the horrific reality. You were at the I Dos already? A lump formed in your throat and your stomach tied into knots as you watched Dane push back his cuticles for a moment before he noticed it was his cue.

       “Huh? Oh, I do, or whatever,” he waved off the priest before going back to pricking his nails. Little did you know that Varian, who was sitting next to Rapunzel, gritted his teeth and balled up his fists in fury at the man. He just dismissed you like that? Didn’t he care that he was about to marry the most beautiful, most perfect girl on earth? 

       The priest continued. “And do you, Y/n L/n, take Dane Kinsley to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

       Silence.

       You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed as your mouth felt like cotton. You stood there, staring intensely at Dane, as images of what your future life might hold... becoming enslaved to your husband. Never being allowed to go outside without him. Having to cook, clean, and do chores for every hour of the day. Give birth to children who would only get ignored and neglected just like he would neglect you. Getting petrified by your new stepmother. Never living to see your best friends again. Never being allowed to see Varian again... 

       A lone tear slipped down your cheek, causing the crowd to gasp. Tears streamed down Rapunzel’s cheeks as she buried her face into Eugene’s chest. She couldn’t bare to see this. Varian’s heart broke as he saw your face crumple for a second. You didn’t want to do this. You would rather die than do this.

       You couldn’t do this.

       “She does,” Mrs. Kinsley’s sharp tone startled you and the crowd, as she jabbed you again, causing you to yelp a little louder than you wanted to. The King and Queen furrowed their brows in suspicion as Varian’s anger only bubbled, his brows knitting together slowly at the way they were treating his Y/n. The priest sent her a look as Dane sent you a glare that sent chills down your spine. “Don’t you, Y/n?” 

       You didn’t have a choice... with tears streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably, you choked out, “I-I... do...”

       Surprisingly, the crowd let out small sighs of dejection at your acceptance. You felt like your heart was going to crawl up your throat and spew out your mouth, all over the douchebag’s face. The priest then gave you your one last chance to escape... you could hope that someone would say something...

       “If anyone objects to the union of these two, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The priest’s voice boomed off of the church walls. You squeezed your eyes tight as more tears slipped down your cheeks, praying to the gods above that someone say something, anything. Seconds ticked by of silence... 

       Oh no. This was it. You were about to be tied to this monster before you... forever. The priest took a deep breath to continue and-

       “I OBJECT.” At the very last second, the voice of your savior broke through the silence. Gasps soon turned into cheers as you turned to see who was standing... and your eyes soon rested on Varian. Your heart instantly melt as you saw him, standing in the middle of the aisle with clenched fists and the most determined look you had ever seen on his face. Rapunzel was off to the side with a huge grin on her face, shaking Eugene by the shoulders.

       “Varian...” you softly whispered to yourself. The Kinsley’s started growling next to you, but they didn’t matter anymore. Varian was objecting, he truly did care about you. The priest motioned for him to continue, and the boy began to walk towards you slowly, staring you right in your eyes. And in that moment, it was like everyone else in the church disappeared until it was just you and Varian. The love of your life.

       “Y/n... I love you.” You couldn’t suppress that gasp that fell from your mouth. “I have loved you for such a long time that I can’t remember when I started and I promise you that I won’t stop loving you, not even after I die. I love everything about you. You’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re selfless, you’re kind, you’re loving, you always see the best in people even when it’s not there. You make people want to be better. You make ME want to be better. You’ve always been there for me and you’ve never given up on me. Now I’m not going to give up on you. I know it’s taken me forever to finally tell you how I feel, and now I’m terrified that I’m too late but... You don’t belong with a menace like him. Please, Y/n...” tears brimmed his eyes as he came to a stop right before you, looking up into your eyes. “Be with me instead.”

       “awws” littered the room as Varian reached his hand out towards you. The priest cautiously closed his book, a smug smile on his face as he watched the scene unfold. You gratefully took Varian’s warm hand in yours, a grin spreading across your face as you let out a gaspy laugh. 

       “Of course I’ll be with you, Varian,” you smiled. “I love you too.” 

       Tears of happiness now brimmed at his baby blue eyes as he sent you his signature grin, his shoulders sagging with relief as he pulled you towards him. Cheers filled the room as you neared him gratefully, when suddenly someone’s hand wrapped around your forearm so tightly it made you shriek in pain. It was Dane, with a deep scowl imprinted on his face, which had now turned a tomato red in fury.

       “What the hell is this?” He snarled. Varian’s grip on your hand tightened as he quickly snaked an arm around your waist protectively. “She is MY wife. Get your fucking hands off of her.”

       “She’s not your wife,” Varian snapped, pulling your frazzled form towards him. You used your free hand to wrap around his neck while you tried to wrestle the other one free. “She belongs with me. Back off.”

       “Oh - hoho, you’re going to regret this...”

       And then he pulled a fucking crossbow out from his pocket. How the hell he got that in there remained a mystery, all you cared about was the very pointy, very dangerous object sitting inches away from your face. Then the screams started. Rapunzel, Eugene, and Cass were the first to reach your side, wrenching your arm out of Dane’s painful grip. Cass unsheathed her sword and barked to Varian, “Get her out of here! We’ll handle the Kinsleys.” 

       Varian nodded, and pushed you in front of him, but you were quick to grab his hand and pull him along with you as the two of you ran like the wind down the aisle. Varian had to hold part of your dress as you carried the other half as to not trip over it. Soon after you two had started running, the royal guards of the Kinsleys began chasing after you once Mrs. Kinsley ordered them to retrieve the bride. Varian pulled a couple vials out of his pocket and tossed them at the guards, causing an instantaneous explosion of varied neon colors that sent a few guards into shock. You giggled, a warm smile floating across your mouth. 

       “Smart move, love,” you panted due to the corset sinching around your waist. Varian sent you a wink as he pushed open the big doors. 

       “Why thank you, Milady,” he quickly turned around and slammed the doors shut, but soon fled off with you in tow. You both ran for a long time, still being chased by the guards until Varian sent Rudiger to distract them. You both finally came to a stop once your reached the corridor leading to Rapunzel’s room. You slowly slid down the wall, giggling like a mad woman as you crashed onto the floor. Varian slid down next to you, still trying to catch his breath. 

       You were having a hard time breathing due to the corset, and even though your breathing was quiet, Varian still caught notice of it. “Are you okay, love?” 

       “S-stupid corset,” you gasped out, gritting your teeth as you quickly dove your hand into Varian’s pockets inside his jacket, causing him to blush almost instantly at your closeness. You pulled out the pocket knife you forced him to keep on him just in case something bad happened, and used it to slice the strings open. The boards fell loosely against your stomach, and you let out a huge gasp as oxygen flooded into your lungs. Varian’s cheeks still remained a bright crimson as he gently turned your chin to face him, and brushed the loose strands of hair out of your face. A brief silence fell amongst you two as you simply stared into each other’s eyes. Memories flooded through your brain of all the time you had spent together... all the days you spent in his lab, helping him work on new formulas, the day he named a new element after you, the many times you ended up spending the night at his place, the countless times you ended up falling asleep on each other due to exhaustion... it was Varian. It was always Varian.

       “Did you mean everything you said back there?” You whispered, suddenly noticing how close you were to each other. If you inched a little closer, your noses would be touching.

       Varian let out a bashful chuckle, and scratched the back of his neck. “I mean... yeah, of course I did... do-do you feel the same? I mean it’s totally alright if you don’t want to be with-”

       “Varian,” you interrupted, not being able to help the grin that formed on your face. He stopped and stared at you with those gorgeous wide eyes of his, his bangs falling slightly over one of his eyes. You leaned in closer, and gently touched your nose against his, making him jump slightly. “I said it before, but I’ll say it again. I love you too. Thank you for saving me.”

       “It was the least I could do,” he smirked, and before you could utter another word, he swooped in and pressed his lips against yours. You froze for a moment in shock, but soon melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. Varian had saved you from making one of the hugest mistakes of your life, and you were pretty certain he was never going to let you forget it. 

       But as long as you had Varian, nothing else mattered ♡ 

♡ a.a.

[falseroar]

The Light Keeper (Part 1)

((Story: William and his friend are finally ready to make the leap from sea to shore. It’s all William has ever wanted, but their last night together in the water may ruin all those carefully laid plans.

Warnings: mentions of blood and a shark attack.

A while back I kind of promised a fluffier fic to balance out the story I posted yesterday, and despite what it sounds like, this is it. This is another WKM Mer AU, a one shot completely unrelated to yesterday’s story, although there are some common elements like the “every step on land feels like knives” thing that I borrowed from Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid. It’s a one shot that, um, managed to double in size when I rewrote it, so I’ll actually be posting it in two parts today to make it a little easier to read. Oh! And if anyone is curious, William and the others like him have mer forms based off of nurse sharks, which are apparently pretty chill, tend to stay in one place, and hang out in groups during the day while hunting alone at night, with only larger sharks to worry about.

Part 2 is up now.))

The mer sighed, his thick gray tail stirring the water of the underwater cave as he lay with his head resting on his arms, eyes scanning the rocky surface of the bay’s bottom outside and down below. There was movement in the water, as always, the flash of silver as schools of fish dipped in and out of the current, the waving streams of kelp that together with the brightly colored coral served to hide those not willing to venture out into the open water.

And past all of that, the sudden drop that marked the end of the bay and the start of the vast and dark depths of the ocean.

Here, alone, he felt the sting of just how quiet these waters were now. Sure, there were boats on most days, trailing their nets in the water or dropping those silly-looking traps down, but even today there were no shadows cutting through the waves overhead. 

He’d already lost count of how many days it had been since the others moved on, in search of less dangerous waters, not helped by how many times he had drifted in and out of sleep those first few days. There were stories that there had been more mer in these waters, back before the humans settled the bay, but even he could remember when his people weren’t the only ones in these waters, when others from up and down the coast would stop by in their migrations.

Now it was just him and the one he spent every day watching and waiting for, quietly afraid that today would be the day they failed to return.

They were just so…small.

It was the first thought that crossed William’s mind that night, when he spotted the unfamiliar shape moving among the forest of kelp. And fast, he realized when the distant figure froze at his shout before taking off toward the rocks.

He tried to keep up, but by the time he reached the other side of the bay, all he could see was a pair of eyes staring back at him from deep within a crevasse that he would have thought too tight for even one of the young mer to fit in.

“Shh, I’m not going to hurt you,” he had said, but they just pulled further back into the darkness and refused to answer until he gave up and swam away.

Except then he was on the lookout, always keeping an eye on that side of the bay when he ventured out to hunt. He was more than willing to keep his distance, if it meant getting a better idea of the stranger in the bay with a tail and coloration unlike any he had seen before.

“A migrater, probably from up the river that feeds into the bay,” one of the elders of the group had said, when William brought it up. “They move from saltwater to fresh and back again, but I’ve never heard of one on their own before.”

The other elders had looked uneasy at that, sharing a few possible theories, but William had stopped listening at that point. He didn’t waste any time going back to the crevasse, and to the surprise of both the other mer and himself he managed to get halfway in with only a bit of a struggle.

“Have you ever touched grass?!”

If William had been the sort of mer given to thinking things through, he might have realized how terrifying it might be to have a strange and much larger mer forcing his way into your shelter, but then he also might never have heard the stranger speak.

“…What?”

“Grass? The green stuff that just pops out of the ground, like kelp, but it’s…Well, I haven’t seen any up close, but it looks different, does it feel different? Upriver, did you ever see any humans? Did they ever see you?”

Confused, the stranger had slowly answered his questions. Yes, they had touched grass, no, it didn’t feel like kelp. Yes, they had seen humans, but they had always been careful to never be seen.

Of course, that just opened the floodgates for even more questions, some of which the stranger knew the answer to, others they just shrugged at. Until, finally, just as William was about to leave and hunt for the night, it occurred to him to ask one more question.

“What’s your name?”

“…Y/N.”

“I’m William,” he said, reaching an arm into the crevasse to envelop their hand in his own. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, okay?”

Before they could answer, he was swimming away.

That’s how it went for a few months, with the strange new mer gradually opening up and even venturing out to swim around the bay with William, although they never strayed out for long at night. They listened as he told them what little he had been able to learn about the humans of the bay by watching them, listening in to their conversations on the boats or even on the docks of the town when he ventured close enough.

“One day I’m going to go up there,” William had said one night, as they floated on the surface.

Y/N wrenched their eyes away from the rotating light of the tall tower that stood apart from the town, on a patch of rock that jutted out between the edge of the bay and the sea beyond, and followed his gaze to the town itself. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but how?”

“There’s a deep, deep water mer, in the rift where the sun does not reach,” William said, pointing in what he thought might be roughly the right direction. “It’s said that if you’re brave enough and determined enough, you can make a deal with that mer for anything. Including a spell to walk on land. Of course, you have to have something worth offering in exchange, or else I would already be gone.”

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Y/N had said, surprising William. Before he could answer, they scrunched up their nose and asked, “But deep water mer, aren’t they…”

“Absolutely massive, I’ve heard,” William said. He grinned at the smaller mer and added, “They’d probably snap you up as a snack.”

They had shoved him away (or tried to), protesting that they weren’t that much smaller than him, and the conversation had devolved into a bunch of jokes until they gave up and swam away. At the time, neither of them could have imagined that it would be Y/N who ventured down into the rift.

Now, William rose up, visible joy and relief spreading across his face as he spotted the blue of his friend’s tail, the dark shape sticking close to the sand and rocks as they swam. As soon as they reached his cave, William swept them up into a hug.

“William!” They struggled, but not much and certainly not enough to free their self from his hold. “Do you really have to do this every time?”

“I missed you,” he said, only relaxing his grip a little but apparently still enough for them to slip away. “How did it go? Tell me everything!”

They tried not to, but he saw their smile at the now familiar words. Before answering, they swam into the cave and came to rest on the mossy floor with a tired sigh.

“First things first, how is your fin doing?”

“Good enough I don’t think I should have to just stay in this cave all the time,” William answered, but he turned so they could get a good look.

It had been a regular day, dozing on and off with the others, before there was a scream and a flash of blood in the water. Their shelter had always felt safe, but with the snapping and lunging jaws at the entrance it suddenly seemed like a deathtrap.

William didn’t remember deciding, or even thinking before he surged forward and tackled the predator, rough skin tearing at his own as he locked arms around the thrashing body and pulled it away so the others had a chance to flee. He did remember the pain though, when both bodies slammed into the rock and suddenly those terrible, hungry jaws turned on him and tore into his pectoral fin.

Y/N carefully removed the makeshift kelp bandage and studied the wound before admitting, “It does look a lot better.”

“Thanks to you,” William said, and they just shrugged.

Like they hadn’t been the first mer he saw after waking up, covered in bruises and scratches after having somehow fended off that great white shark who had found its way into their waters. Like they hadn’t silently decided to stay with him, allowing the others to move on down the coast. Like they hadn’t tended to his wounds, day after day. Like they hadn’t hunted for him to make sure he had enough to eat. Like they hadn’t returned one day after venturing down into the darkness of the rift, trembling and with their hair sheared off, but bearing two identical shell necklaces on two separate strings.

“I think everything might finally be ready,” they said as they closed their eyes. “According to the deep water mer, that pair of ‘scissors’ was the last of the payment. That, and explaining that the humans call them ‘scissors’ and not ‘two sharp blades working as one.’ Still don’t know what all of that stuff is for, but it’s the last time I’ll have to go down there.”

William ran a hand over the back of their head, feeling the rough edges where their hair had only just started to grow back, and felt them shudder but lean into the touch.

“I should have helped,” he said, not for the first time.

“Going up there is…Walking hurts, William, even when you’re not wounded. That’s why the deep water mer said—”

“That I had to wait until my fin was healed,” William finished. “Y/N, please, I’m ready!”

“…Tomorrow,” they said, closing their eyes once again. “Just let me rest, and tomorrow we can…”

“Leave.” William felt a thrill at those words, but something in his voice made the other mer raise their head and look at him.

“You could still try to find the others,” they said. “It might take time, but we know what direction they went. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Am I sure?! Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this? Even if—even if I thought I could ever swim like I used to, I don’t want to just find another place to settle down and spend my whole life in. I want to see the world, Y/N, and the deep sea…” William’s fingers brushed his fin and he winced. “Well, it’s never where I really wanted to go, is it?”

They relaxed at that, and William realized they had been worried for him, yet again. After all, they hadn’t asked before venturing down into the rift, most likely because they knew he would never have let them go on their own. He also realized that he wasn’t the only one whose life was about to change.

“What about you?”

“…It’s not like I have anything worth staying down here for,” they said. “Besides, someone has to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“But isn’t there something you want to go on land for?” William pressed. “You’ve been up there several times now, is there anything worth leaving the water for?”

They took so long to answer that William began to fear there wasn’t going to be an answer, until they said, “It’s…beautiful, in a different way than the water. It hurts to walk, but feeling the grass under your feet makes it feel worth every step. And the music…”

They stopped, smiling at some memory, and William felt the tension easing in his chest. Enough to tease, “Now, I remember there was something about a way to get rid of that pain. What was it again…?”

Y/N turned their head away, but William just swam to their other side and pressed his face close to theirs until they answered. “True love’s kiss can make the spell permanent and banish the pain of leaving your world behind. Apparently.”

He cracked up into a laugh at their expression and the less than enthusiastic way they said it, same way the deep water mer did when they learned that particular part of the spell.

“So, have you found any dashing princes up above?” William asked. “Any fetching ladies catch your eye?”

“William.”

“At least tell me you’ve learned the light keeper’s name.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then what have you even been doing up there?!”

“Getting what we need to survive,” they said, using their tail to push him away. “You keep this up, and I won’t tell you where I hid the clothes.”

“Joke’s on you, you already told me,” William said. They had explained how they had found a place near the shore to hide money and clothing, both of which they had been surprised to find was so easy to obtain in exchange for a few dozen pearls, although neither could figure out why the human in question would want so many.

“Like you were actually listening.”

“I wonder how it works if your true love isn’t a person,” William mused.

Y/N tried not to, but eventually gave in and asked, “Want to explain what that’s supposed to mean?”

“What if my true love is adventure, is exploration, is a little bit of madness every now and then? How am I supposed to kiss that?”

“Carefully.”

William chuckled, and as silence started to descend upon the cave an idea struck him.

“…Let’s swim up to the surface.”

“What? Please, William, I’m so tired—”

“But this could be our last night like this!” William shook their arm as gently as he could. “We can look at the stars together.”

“There aren’t any stars, there’s a storm coming in.”

“Even better!” William tried shaking them again, but they just groaned. “Come on, you love riding the waves. And maybe we’ll see someone?”

His encouraging tone did little to stir the other mer, and after a minute or so William decided it was time for desperate measures.

“Wha—William!”

Y/N’s eyes shot open as they felt the shell necklace go up and over their head, but the other mer just gave them a smile before leaving the cave. As he expected, it didn’t take long for them to catch up and start swimming circles around him as he ascended, eyes on the necklace clenched tight in his hand.

“Be careful with that!”

William answered by putting the necklace on to go with his own before catching the small mer in his arms. “Come on, we should see how your ‘true love’ is doing! Do you think he’ll be wearing the yellow again?”

“He’s not my true love, I don’t even know anything about him,” they protested.

“I know he looks like a clownfish in that getup,” William said.

“He does not! …He looks like a yellow tang.”

William laughed and pulled his friend up with him, until they both surfaced in the midst of huge waves that drew the water up before sending it crashing down, the roar of the swell almost as loud as the wind and thunder overhead. A bolt of lightning split the sky and William felt Y/N’s grip on his hand tighten.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said, or tried to, but he wasn’t sure if they could hear his voice over the noise. Still, they followed his lead and together they swam along, occasionally allowing themselves to be picked up and carried along with a wave that upon impact would leave both of them spinning along in its currents before another tried to drag them in. Above and below the water, they could hear each other’s laughter, enjoying the ride and the sudden shifts from air to water and back again

In the middle of the bay though, away from the rocks, the waves weren’t quite as rough and the two mer were able to tread water and watch the light spin around the top of the strange tower, illuminating the bay and the sea out beyond.

“Do you think there any ships out there?” William asked, peering out toward the horizon or the little bit of it that could be seen through the roiling clouds and water.

“I hope not,” Y/N said, before suddenly tightening their grip on his hand again. “William, that wave!”

He saw it too, already larger than any of the others before it and gathering strength as it passed through the narrow opening of the bay, drawing in the water until it seemed impossible that they could not see the corals down below. And drawing in the mer too, as they realized when they tried to dive and swim to shelter, only to find themselves rising higher and higher.

Just as the wave crested and began to descend upon the bay, William felt Y/N’s hand slip out of his own.

Once it was over, William found himself alone in the open water, dazed but uninjured. And with no sign of the smaller mer, no matter how far he swam or how much he called above or below water. He resurfaced what felt like hours later but may have only been minutes or even seconds after the crash and called again, tears joining the saltwater in his eyes so that he could barely make out the rocks in the distance. Much less make sense of the sight of the yellow-clad figure moving there, not until it was too late to do anything about it.

((End of Part 1. Link to Part 2.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

[musedblues]

Always Something There To Remind Me [Part: 5]

summary: Home is where the heart is. You’re working on finding yours. After a handful of misfortunes, your old friend Joe helps to unravel life’s greatest mystery while adding a bit of extra grief to the mix.

warning: Angst central! But a truly happy ending?

w/c: 4k

a/n: Well well well... enjoy this chapter lovies! There's only ONE final update to go. I have far too many feelings, I'll leave it at that. But DO let me know how you lot feel!

taglist: @im-an-adult-ish​ @mrsmazzello​ @lettinggosthehardestpart​ @the-moving-finger-writes​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @sherlollydramoine​

Part 6

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Enough time had passed that you began to wonder what was next, in life. Where were you supposed to go, now? What were you supposed to be doing? There were still tendrils of sadness and uncertainty keeping you glued in place, without a clear view of your future.

But like always, you had Joe. And like always, you had plans with him. After romping around the city, you decided to invite him over for a classic movie night, the very next weekend.

As you sat in the flower shop all week, willing customers to show up and save you from boredom and longing for Friday to come closer, your wishes half came true. That day, Joe showed up on the other side of your counter several hours earlier than planned.

"You know I have to finish my shift before we start movie night, right?" You joked as he rested each palm on the opposite side of your counter. Joe wasn't smiling, and he was dressed up way too nice for a casual night of ranking your favorite films.

"I'm so sorry. But I have to cancel movie night." Joe lulled his head, a moment of silence for the plans he just shot dead.

"You came all this way to let me down, huh?" You jeered once more, hoping you didn't sound half as crushed as you felt. It was just movie night, you could reschedule.

"I totally forgot I already promised Lacy I'd show up at this super fancy thing tonight."

"Ouch." You remarked, regretting your tone for real now. Lacy hadn't been around to greet you since she'd spotted Joe outside your shop last week. And you knew she was never really your friend, but it still stung to know you'd been used.

"I'm really sorry I spaced it. But I felt too bad about letting her down last minute." Joe explained.

"Why? Might help to knock a bit of air out of her head." You countered. Because while you knew you were unimportant enough to let Lacy walk all over you, Joe deserved better.

"She's not that bad," Joe added, pointing out that Lacy was at least a little bad.

"She's not that fucking great either." You were now officially angry that her claws were deep enough in your friend that he hadn't taken notice of the fact that Lacy was using him, too.

Once the floodgates opened, you couldn't go on acting like you didn't have something to say. Thank God the flower shop was empty and your boss was out with deliveries...

"You're just a trophy to her, she just takes you out to show you off!" It seemed you were stating the obvious, but it felt much scarier.

"Whoa, where is this coming from?" Joe shifted away from your counter, furrowing his brow as if this was really news to him.

"I just can't believe you don't see that you're a prize for Lacy to win. I've never once heard her tell me what it is what you do when you're together, just that you score her a few hundred new Instagram followers every time you come around."

"Yeah well, I'm about to be late for another appearance." Joe shrugged, speaking low in your direction. Maybe he liked the attention, you thought, heart sinking to the floor as you realized that this life had yet to make sense.

"I really wish you could hear what I'm trying to say." You spoke up, desperate for Joe to stop moving toward the door and away from you.

"Call me when you learn to say it better." He bit back just moments before disappearing into the crowded mall and leaving you all alone.

///

That night, you never turned the television on. Instead, you held a book in your hand, pretending to turn the pages. All you really focused on was playing the scene with Joe from earlier over in your head, wishing it could have happened differently.

When your mother got home she was raving about the day she spent photographing some reality star’s wedding. You pretended to listen, keeping your eyes on the book and your mind far far away.

“Where’s Joe? I thought he’d be here tonight.” Your mother wondered, kicking off her shoes and bustling toward the kitchen.

“Hell if I know.” You sighed, realizing you still didn’t know what he and Lacy might have been up too or why he was wearing his fanciest suit jacket.

“So… dinner for two then, I suppose?” Your mother rang from the kitchen, clearly trying her utmost not to irk any further.

“Actually I think I’m just gonna call it a night.” You decided, sitting up and heading straight for the stairs. You shouted a half-hearted goodnight to your mother, longing for this day to just end. But as you shut yourself into the bedroom that hadn’t much changed since you were in high school, you couldn’t stop letting your mind wander.

So, you called Tegan, jumping straight into filling her in on everything that happened since the last time you spoke to her. She listened, adding in quips that meant she was paying attention. When you finished letting it all out, Tegan seemed to think over her response.

“I understand you’re upset, but you haven’t really said why.” Your friend pointed out, an ocean away. Funny how she was still your light in the dark, you thought.

You realized you just told Tegan the story of your whole week, ending with how shitty you felt for snapping at Joe over a girl who didn’t matter that much; but never gave your true feelings away.

“I guess I’m just a little jealous, huh?” You huffed a laugh, basking in the flicking amber light coming from the lamp on your desk. “I’ve always been used to Joe’s attention. Ever since I got back home… I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should tell him all that, y/n.” Tegan suggested softly, after a long understanding pause. You wished she was closer so you could hug her and remind her what a damn good friend she was. So you told her just that, and went to bed even more confused than before.

///

A couple of days passed as you tried to think up what to say, and when to say it. Joe coldly suggested you call him, but that felt far too impersonal. You realized that since coming home, since Kris died, and Joe’s dad passed, and since spending time together again; you and Joe never really talked much about any of that.

Your phone was blank of text messages from him. Even though you wanted to ring Joe, you knew that the second you got his attention that all you’d want to do was make things right. And he deserved much more than a cellphone chat.

So one very cloudy afternoon, while your mother was over having lunch with Mrs. Mazzello, you left a note and hopped in the car. While just thinking zooming down the freeway made you nervous, the thought of going much longer without Joe made you absolutely sick.

You held your breath behind the wheel, minding speed limits and thinking of nothing but what you had to do. The city streets were jam-packed, but even through all the traffic, you seemed to end up in a parking spot in the blink of an eye. You made it. This was it. Now for the hard part...

When you passed through the third-floor entrance and stood outside Joe's door, you were still holding your breath. But you had to knock. You had to get this over with. Much quicker than you expected, the door opened and Joe was standing there in a fancy leather jacket, expectantly gazing into the hall. But his expression morphed into confusion when he saw you, and you wondered who else he might have been hoping to see.

“Hi.” You shrugged meekly. Joe stepped to the side wordlessly offering for you to come inside. You took the opportunity to speak up once more as Joe shut the door behind you.

“I know you said to call, but I think we have too much to talk about.” You started. Joe moved back in front of you, listening.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you at the mall last week I shouldn’t have said most of that.”

Joe shifted in place and looked away from you, just before saying, “I really can’t do this right now.”

You felt a distant rumble in the grounds of your universe and wondered if this was it. If you’d waited too long and showed up at the wrong time and ruined everything on your mission to make it right. Then Joe went on…

“How are you so good at pushing me away and then showing back up like nothing ever happened?”

Just as you were about to ask what the hell he was talking about, he spoke up again.

"When I went along to drop you off at the airport before you moved to the UK, do you remember what you said to me?" Joe asked in a pitch that stung your heart. You were so anxious back then to rule the world that it was hard to recall past all the fresh wreckage. So you shook your head and prepared for Joe's answer. You weren't expecting to be greeted with a smile today, but Joe's upset was scaring you.

"I told you I was going to miss you. And all you said to me was 'try and remember what it was like before we met.' That's how you left me." You'd never seen Joe's eyes so piercing. He was angry, but he was talking so calmly that you couldn't understand what to do. Had you really dismissed Joe's feeling like that then?

"But then you just kept calling me. And of course, I answered." He scooted a little closer as you drew your arms around your middle.

"Then you move back here, and we get on like no time has passed. You stay with me and you sleep in my bed and I wake up to find you've left it." He stopped, chuckling in a small breath as your stomach fell away.

"And now whatever this is about.” He waved a hand to you. “You push me away and then come back and I don’t get it. So maybe you should just- wait... how- how did you get here?"

"I drove." You said with a tiny smile. A rush of pride swooped deep in your chest, but the nerves dancing on your skin were the only thing you could feel. "And... I know. I came here to apologize. I'm sorry for a lot of things and I-" Joe was staring at you, searching your face while you started in on your monologue, there was a knock at the door.

"Queen is in town" He huffed. "And so is everyone else." Joe offered an exasperated explanation as he took a few steps to greet whoever he’d actually been expecting.

A happy looking Gwilym Lee bound into the room, and Joe smiled for the first time since your interaction.

"Oh, the gang is all here! I didn't know you were coming along." Gwilym looked at you with a hundred-watt smile that reached his eyes. Your heart didn't know whether to flip or plummet to the floorboards.

"I've just got to change if that's alright." Gwil shrugged to Joe, holding up a small tote of clothes, you presumed. The boy's plans must have been minutes away from happening. Why was your timing always so shit?

"Yeah of course." Joe pointed to the bathroom even though Gwil already knew where to find it. The guy disappeared behind the door and you were left alone with Joe without much time to make things right. You began to fear that your poor timing had left a permeate scar on your friendship with Joe forever, but then he spoke up.

"You can either come with us, and you and I can talk about this later tonight... Or you can go home now. And I really don't think you should do that."

His voice was quiet for the sake of Gwilym happening to hear, but there was a softness in Joe's tone that wasn't there minutes ago. He was giving you a chance. You felt like a kid who'd just weaseled their way out of detention, one folly dismissed, but the rest of your actions being closely monitored until further notice. You had to accept his offer, even if you weren't dressed as well for the occasion.

“Okay.” You nodded, unsure how you were supposed to act, barely processing where you were off too.

The tall Welshman reappeared from the bathroom in record time, sporting a striped mint green shirt and wild eyes.

“Let’s go have some fun!” Gwilym announced, leading the way to the front door. This was like an optical illusion, a fever dream version of the weekend before where everything was the same but so much different all at once.

///

The next thing you knew you were sat in the back of Joe’s car, one seat away from Gwilym, who went on wishing he could stay with Joe again but how there was some hotel in the city paying for his room, hosting some fashion show he had to attend. You wished you could have such worries, but teetered in the middle of feeling excited to see Gwil, and totally afraid of where you and Joe stood.

Just before your thoughts consumed you, the car pulled into the backstage lot of a huge arena. Through a break in the gates, you could see hoards of fans peppering the sidewalks on the horizon, racing to the front doors. At the sight of a couple of young girls and their parents decked in Queen merch, you realized that this night was probably going to be the long-awaited best experience ever, for some of these concert goers. And here you were, an undeserving drag along. You tried not to appear as out of place as you felt while you got out of the car and followed close behind the boys who knew right where to go.

On the way, without a word or a moment's hesitation, Joe grabbed your hand. You couldn't at all be sure if he could tell you were out of your element, or if this was a step in dissolving the divide between you, but you were glad for it either way. You gripped back and took a deep breath, listening to Gwilym ramble about how excited he was for everyone to be together again.

Oh shit, you thought. Of course, everyone was going to be here. Tonight of all nights, when you couldn’t be sure what was going on between you and Joe, he pulled you alongside him through the back halls of an arena. Roadies and techs hauled heavy equipment down side halls, while the one you walked through remained empty and hollow. Your heartbeat was heavy and low, you swore you felt Joe squeeze your hand. Why was he still holding yours?

You didn’t have much more time to worry before you were upon a green room, where several strangers mingled around craft tables hardly looking your way.

The group who did turn around with a cheer was made up of Joe’s former co-stars and dear friends. You knew their faces and remembered their names. Joe made sure they all knew yours.

Lucy was made up of perfect features and a gentle disposition and she hugged you like you’d known her for years. You didn’t know Ben but you’d go so far as to say his smile was genuine and he meant when he said he was glad to finally meet you.

Then there was Rami. You’d learned his name before all this, back when he worked with Joe before. The handsome actor crashed a few facetime calls with Joe and was always nice to you during those virtual hangs. You never really imagined you get the chance to say hello again, and wondered if the superstar even recalled those days at all.

You watched Rami break away from a happy hug with Joe, who started to introduce you. But Rami spoke up first.

"I always wondered when this day would come." Rami let a knowing smirk turn up at the corner of his mouth when he locked eyes with you. And something happened, as you looked at him.

You'd been coping with the fact that everyone kept disappearing. But as you looked at Rami for the first real-time, you realized that some people came back. Rami hugged you without another word, and you hugged him back hard, and it lasted a while. It was as if he knew what you were thinking, how profoundly this meeting altered your perspective.

You spotted Joe watching on with a soft expression that nearly broke your already confused heart. He caught your eye and closed his in a slow blink, silently communicating that for now, everything was okay. When the hug ended, you smiled at Rami and he told you he was glad you were here. If there weren't a mess of other people excitedly chatting around you, you might have just cried.

And of course, that’s when two members of the world’s coolest fucking band bopped into the room, casually greeting new faces and kicking around the lounge as if they weren’t royalty.

Roger and Brian were happy to see Joe and Gwil, and the boys were happy to see the band. You felt all too much like you were invading Joe’s space, but he still looked happy when he reached over to introduce you to Roger and Brian. The rockstars cheerfully acknowledged you and you had no time to process what was happening as the group moved from the green room to the hallway. It was time for the show.

How did you end up here, at the bottom of a spectacular risen stage, watching Joe latch on to his friends who you’d only just meet but made you feel apart nonetheless?

Joe mingled among his friends who seemed to truly adore him, but kept floating back to you, filling you in on inside jokes and old stories. And when you started to tell some of your own, it seemed Joe had already beaten you to the punch, having already told his new friends about all your old adventures.

When Queen took the stage, your world was enveloped by the boom of multiple speakers and songs you’d loved forever. Brian and Roger were masters of their craft. You lost yourself in the spectacle, watching fans raise their fists in the air and sing along to familiar ballads. It wasn’t long before someone tore you from taking it all in, though.

"A ydych yn cael amser da?" Gwilym was leaning toward you, a beer at his chest and a nervous grin on his lips

A smile bloomed across your face as your brain worked at super speeds to piece together what he'd just asked. Living so long in Wales and serving drinks to grumpy old men who had a lot to complain about was the best way to pick up the langue; alongside Tegan who translated stories to you after hours. You didn't know everything, but you knew enough to realize Gwilym had just asked you if you were having a good time. You hadn't heard a thing like it in ages...

"Bydda! Wyt ti?" You laughed, turning to look at Gwil with glee.

"I just texted me mum to ask how to say that on the ride over, I'm sorry I don't know what you just said," Gwilym admitted over a flaming guitar solo, a little tipsy.

"We'll have that secret langue down one day." You laughed.

Everyone had been so lovely and welcoming to you, but Gwil seemed to officially be your friend now, too. You realized that the interaction with him was the first time you’d ever addressed your time in Wales without mentally spiraling down the path of the tragic backstory you scored there. You almost missed the place, now.

As you considered the rocky way your day had started out, you realized that the night had been made of tiny stitches of really good things. You weren’t foolish enough to understand how lucky you were, but you felt undeserving all the while. 

Rami kept giving you winks and nods that you somehow understood.

Lucy kept pulling you in for sweet selfies.

And the band played their hearts out. But when they eased into Who Wants To Live Forever, you were sent floating back to earth, cursed by trauma you didn’t even feel attached to any longer, but that still haunted you all the same. The song only sent you deeper into your own thoughts, and luckily when you turned to look for Joe, he was right by your side.

“Thanks for letting me tag along.” You spoke to Joe, leaning in close so he could hear past the song.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Joe leaned closer, and while you didn't know why, you knew he meant it.

///

You were in the backseat of Joe’s car against before you knew it. Gwil had slipped in the front to help find directions to his hotel, planning to get lunch with Joe before he headed home for London at the end of the week.

A part of your heart had been left in that arena, on the stage where two musical icons put on a killer show. In the place where you met some of Joe’s closest confidants, a place you’d been invited too. Your ears rang, and the bright lights that flickered as Joe drove through the city caused you to doze off.

You only caught bits of Gwilym leaving, barely registering when he promised to see you both again. You only really came to when Joe parked in a lot of his building.

What now? You didn’t know. You only followed behind Joe as you noticed him watching to make sure you were close by. Neither of you spoke on the trek up to his place, and even as you passed into his apartment there was a lingering silence. The calm before the storm, you decided.

You stood in his kitchen a few feet apart, knowing that you had to finish what you started here, earlier.

“I know I didn’t give you much of an option showing up unannounced but… why did you invite me to the show?” You asked slowly, trying to reason why Joe would have been nice enough to let you tag along if he was so upset with you earlier.

He stood leaning against the island, staring at you as if he’d forgotten you'd been at odds the last time you stood here.

“Because even though sometimes I don’t understand you, I still want you around. I still want you to be a part of things. It just makes sense.” Joe looked at you through his lashes.

“I’m sorry I’m so good at fucking everything up.” You said, tears stinging your eyes. You didn’t deserve Joe, and he didn’t deserve you and the shadows cast from the cloud that seemed to follow you around these days.

“You don’t fuck everything up,” Joe spoke assuredly. “You might make shit a little difficult sometimes, sure, but that doesn't change the fact that I love you.”

You had been trying not to cry since you got here, but nothing could stop you from bursting into tears, now. Yeah, this was definitely the backward path to making things better. And you were so confused that it was hard to see if things were better or not. All you could do was cover your face in your hands and hope for the best.

And when Joe spoke up to nervously ask why you were crying, all you could say was,

“Because I love you too.” You explained in a frustrated cry. This was another example of how unnecessarily stressful you had to make things, and that only made you cry harder.

But it wasn’t long before you felt Joe approach, cautiously reaching out to calm you down. He pulled you closer and you dared to close the gap, falling against Joe as you struggled to stop your tears.

He held onto you there, letting you cry until you couldn’t any longer. There was an exceptional weight lifted from your shoulders in the midst of letting out everything you’d been trying to push deep down for so long now.

As you steadied your breathing, you wished you didn’t have an excuse to release your latch on Joe. But when he slowly let go of you, he remained just as close. Joe brushed back your hair and wiped away some of your stray tears as you stared at him in awe of his unwavering care.

Then, he kissed you. Joe kissed you. Like the cameras were rolling and you were meant to appear crazy about each other. It all happened so quickly that your brain seemed to short circuit. You came to your senses enough to give into kissing him back, hardly thinking of how you got here, lost in the fact that it was happening at all.

But as the kiss died down and you both parted to catch your breath, you remembered why you came to Joe’s in the first place. And even though his eyes were still locked on your lips, you regretfully had to snap him out of it.

"Don't you dare kiss me again until we figure our shit out," You demand, wagging your finger and spinning over to the couch. It was time to stop pretending you knew everything about each other and ask a few questions.

“We’ve never really talked since I got back. I think we’d better.” You crossed your arms as Joe chuckled, at your demeanor but nodding as if he just realized this was true.

Together you sat facing each other in the middle of his big comfy couch, and seamlessly delved into a conversation about all the bits that made up your complicated life long relationship. You talked about how sorry you were for so many things and how grateful you were for others.

Joe apologized for getting so upset with you when you showed up, today. You apologized for not calling him as often as you should have and missing his dad's funeral. You started to apologize for letting your jealousy get the better of you last week, but Joe stopped you. He admitted that he'd only kept Lacy around so long because he did, in fact, like the attention. Then he apologized for making you feel like you had something to be wrong about.

The conversation lasted for at least an hour or more, until you caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. It was suddenly three in the morning. There seemed to be so much more left to discuss with Joe, years of conversations had been left unfinished, and you were just getting started on picking up the pieces.

"Hey, remember when I used to joke about you and I swapping places for a day?" You suddenly recalled with a smile. Joe's eyes sparkled with recognition while he barely lifted a brow, suggesting you go on...

"I really believed no one would notice. Because you were always over for dinner and I was always over for breakfast."

"And we were gone together most of the day, anyway." Joe chuckled, eyes blinking slowly like an old trusting cat. You let yourself smile, considering everything all at once. Not much had changed, it seemed...

“What the fuck are we gonna do now, Joe?” You asked, like there was a war outside and no time to find shelter.

“What we’ve been doing. What we’re doing now.” Joe shrugged. “Figuring shit out together.” He stressed that final word with a micro nod and a gleam in his eye.

"Can I stay the night?" You whispered, not out of shyness, just respect. Besides, you already knew the answer. You could tell Joe wasn't going to let you out of his moonstruck sight for the rest of time and you had no plans of straying.

As soon as Joe started to give a nod of approval you slouched closer to him, slinking your arms around his shoulders and nearly falling asleep the second you melted against him.

Joe held you, not too tight. Just warm and precious. His fingers lightly scratched your shoulder blade as you both seemed to sigh in relief.

"I missed you." You muffled against his skin. Joe let out a contented mewl then, pulling you ever so slightly closer against him.

"Do we have all our shit worked out now?" Joe asked in a way you knew was serious. And because for the most part, you did, you said,

"Are you just asking so you can kiss me again?"

You both laughed, just like always. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t worried about what happened, what was currently happening, or what might. You just felt happy. You were happy.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[breakyourhaloandley]

01: All I Need Is One More Broken Heart

I let out a shaky breath, smoke seeping out from between my lips. The small exhaust fan above me is buzzing, threatening to break any day now just like everything else in this apartment. Jake would kill me if he knew I was smoking inside, but I don’t see how it matters. This place is a glorified garbage heap so a little cigarette smoke isn’t going to make a difference. 

Lifting the bottle of white wine up to my lips I take a long drink before staring back at the person in the mirror. I don’t know what time it is, nor do I really care, but I’m sure it’s not the ‘proper’ time to be drinking, whatever that means. Black eyeliner is smudged under my eyes and my long black hair is in desperate need of brushing. I’ll get to it later, sometime when I’m not stuck in a fucking spiral of drunkenness, sadness and utter lack of care for my wellbeing. 

The front door clicks and I hear someone fumbling with keys, I guess Jake is back. I flick the rest of my cigarette into the toilet before flushing away the evidence. I stumble, almost losing my balance as I make my way up to the kitchen where he’s fixing himself a plate of questionable Chinese leftovers. 

His eyes dart up to me, and he doesn’t even have to say anything. I see it in his disappointed scowl. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon Andy,” he states, motioning towards the bottle in my hand. 

“And this is white wine, not liquor.” I retort, needing anything but a lecture from one of my bandmates. None of them have any room to talk. 

“You know we have band practice tonight, right? Tour starts in a week.”  “Don’t remind me” I groan, well aware of the ticking time bomb set to blow up in my face in a matter of days. 

I should be excited, it’s our first major tour. We’re headling the AP Tour this year along with my friend Matt’s band, D.R.U.G.S. I should be, but I’m anything but excited. A few months ago it would have been a totally foreign concept to me, the thought of not wanting to be on tour. Yet things change, people change and in what feels like the blink of an eye the things that used to fill you with joy become your worst fears. 

It’s not that I don’t love music anymore, it’s not that I don’t want to be in this band or that I don’t want to sing anymore. It’s that I don’t want to deal with the things that come with it. The screaming fans who think I’m some perfect fucking idol they should look up to, someone who can save them from themselves when little do they know I can’t even save myself. It’s the interviews, the time schedule, the sleepless nights in a bunk too small for my legs, it’s the loneliness despite being surrounded by people night and day, it’s the expectations. 

I wonder if the fans will notice, notice the new cracks on my perfect exterior where the flawed human being is threatening to breakthrough. I don’t know what happened, but something changed on the last tour. It was as if this darkness had consumed me. The funny thing is that I had actually made a vow to myself at the start of our first tour that I wouldn’t drink. I’d seen alcohol destroy too many of my childhood idols to ever want such evil in my life. 

Like most promises, this one wasn’t kept. It was our second tour and during the kick-off party, I had a fatal lapse in judgment. Someone handed me a drink, the stench of alcohol was potent but I drank it anyway. I can only compare the feeling to someone who is about to drown, and right before they open their mouth and let the water fill their lungs, they manage to resurface gasping for air. All the anxiety, the fear, the demons that have haunted me since childhood were suddenly quiet. I felt free, happy, confident and social. 

I no longer cared what people thought about me, like that life-saving breath of fresh air, I felt alive. 

I guess you could say I went overboard, I started drinking every night and that’s when the darkness started creeping back in. The shadow slowly wrapping its cold fingers around my throat and after the tour ended it spiraled out of control. Bad decisions, at least those that I can remember, haunt me yet I just keep making them. 

So now I have a week before the tour starts, a week to get my shit together.  “And are you fucking listening to me?” Jake snaps, pulling me out of my wine-induced haze. 

“Uh yeah-”  “I said you can’t pull the shit you’ve been pulling on tour. No more ending up on the stage floor crying and making a fool of us. John said that-”  “Thank you, Jake, I’ve seen the videos I don’t need a lecture.” I cut him off. 

---

The walls burst down the second I see him, like floodgates opening-up and memories that I thought were buried suddenly resurface like it was yesterday instead of a month ago. He’s standing there, silky black hair concealing his face. He’s too busy tuning his base to even notice that I’ve walked in. His tattooed fingers work the strings of the instrument and I’ve never been jealous of an inanimate object before now. 

My heart is racing in my chest and I swear to god he has to hear it. I feel a knot in my stomach and I’m not sure if it’s that or the hangover making me feel like I’m going to throw up. Ashley looks up, his caramel eyes fixating on my lanky frame. Eyes dart up and down and wait, was that a grimace? He sets his base down and his boots click as he walks towards me. 

“You okay Six?” he asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow. 

“I’m fine Ash.”  “You’ve lost weight,” he comments, the tone of his voice tells me he doesn’t mean it as a compliment. 

I’ve been steadily dropping weight since our first tour, I don’t know where it got out of control but like most things in my life, it did. God, I want to be fucking wasted right now, anything but dealing with this. 

This dance we’re doing around each other is new, and I don’t know the steps to it. All I know him as is my best friend, the person who’s been there for me since the start, warmth in cold, oxygen to a drowning man. 

I can still feel his lips on mine, the night it all went to hell. It was the last week of the tour and after killing almost an entire bottle of whiskey we made a fatal error. The circumstances that led us to that error are blurry, blacked-out sentences in the story of my life. What I do remember has become my own personal hell that plays on a loop in my brain. 

The heavy motel door slams shut, the outside world ceases to exist as time stands still in some little town in Texas. Those tattooed fingers are dancing along the outline of my hip bones, my back pressed up against the cigarette stained wall. I’ve wanted this moment since we met, to feel his strong arms wrapped around me, to be the center of his attention and desires. And here we are, our lips inches apart, a hurricane about to make landfall. 

His hands glid up my bare skin, following the contours of my torso. A shiver goes down my spine and I feel my heart about to explode. “Kiss me” I whisper my breath catching in my throat. 

Our lips collide and I melt, surrendering myself completely over to him. I part my lips as he slips his tongue into my mouth, his nails digging into my pale flesh. There’s a roughness to it that drives me mad and I can taste the whiskey on his lips. 

He pulls me over towards the bed, falling on top of me as the bed creaks under our combined weight. His fingers lace in my hair before violently pulling it back. I let out a moan all the nerves in my body firing. He has complete control over me, I’m a puppet on strings. 

I tug at his belt, leaning up and whispering in his ear “I want to feel you inside me” I don’t care what the consequences are all that matters is this moment. 

He pushes me back, quickly standing up. My heart stops in my chest as he shakes his head, a disgusted look across his face. “Fuck” he breathes pushing his hair back. 

“W-What?”  “God, what are we doing? No... Andy, I’m not gay. I- fuck I’m drunk. Look we can’t do this, I’m not attracted to you and I’m sure as hell not gonna fuck you.” 

My heart shatters into a million pieces, this has to be a dream... no a nightmare and I will myself to wake up. Only I don’t wake up, “Ashley...” 

“Look I get it, you’re uh- you’re gay. I kind of always suspected that I guess. But I’m not and this isn’t going to happen. We’re bandmates, I’m your friend and we’re both just drunk.” I stopped listening to the words coming out of his mouth but the next thing I knew he was out the door, something about sleeping on the bus. 

We ended up doing the whole awkward day after ‘talk’. Let’s just forget about it, neither of us meant for it to go that far, we can just carry on as if it never happened. Bullshit. 

And now we’re here. It’s been a month since I’ve seen him, the longest we’ve ever gone since he joined the band two years ago. He stares at me, I guess expecting me to say something from this mutually agreed-upon script we’re supposed to be acting out now. Words fail me though, all I feel is the lump in my throat and it feels like it is suffocating me. 

“You’re taking care of yourself, right? You said you were going to get better about that. Cutting down on cigarettes and drinking, eating better.” I can’t tell if the concern in his voice is real or just for show. Did I even say that? Maybe I did, but I didn’t mean it. 

“I’m not going to drink this tour.”  “One out of three is better than nothing I guess.” he jokes, though I don’t think he believes me. 

“I uh- I’ll be back in a sec.” I manage to get out before brushing past him and away from the others. 

I barely make it into the bathroom of the studio before breaking down. Air is hard to find as I gasp for breath, the tightness in my chest getting so bad that I swear I’m going to pass out. I brace myself against the sink, my knuckles turning white from the death grip I have on it. Tears well up in my eyes before falling, mixing with the black shadow around my eyes into long black streaks down my face. 

There is no way I’m going to be able to do this tour sober, I don’t know why I’m fooling myself. I want nothing more than to be half a bottle deep in whiskey right now, all these fucking emotions shut off. Sliding down against the wall onto the tiled floor my head spins from the hangover and lack of oxygen which only increases the nauseous feeling in my stomach. I try to convince myself this is just another panic attack but the feeling of death is so real. I lean over the toilet, pushing two fingers back into my throat until I feel my gag reflex kick in. I throw up the little that’s in my stomach before leaning back against the wall. 

My hands shake and I’m unsteady on my feet as I push myself off the ground. I rinse my mouth out with water and try my best to wipe away the smeared makeup before walking back out to where the rest of my band is. They’re already practicing, the sounds of drums and electric guitars drowning out the sounds of my little breakdown. I try my best to force a smile and join in, but I feel disconnected from them, from the music, from life. 

We practice for hours, and I feel every second of it. While the rest of the guys talk about ideas for the tour I slip out the back. I light up the second I step outside, the nicotine calming my nerves instantly. I’ve smoked half the pack before I even realize it, but the health of my lungs doesn’t make my list of concerns. 

I listen to the sounds of the buzzing street on the other side of the building, closing my eyes as I try to find a moment of tranquility. 

“Andy we need to talk.” his cool voice says from behind me. Ashley walks over to face me, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter from me. I watch as he places one between his pale pink lips, the flame flickering in between the cracks of his cupped hand. 

A dirty little secret about Ashley, he’s known to smoke a cigarette or two whenever he’s stressed. He loves to preach about hating them, how disgusting and dirty they are but compared to the things he used to use it’s nothing. The thing about being so close to someone is you know almost all of their secrets, you’ve met all of their skeletons and Ashley has more than his fair share of them. So I let his theft slide. 

He blows the smoke out in a white cloud before sighing. “I told John that on hotel nights I’ll room with one of the other guys. I think it’s best that way.” 

I scoff, laughing at his feeble attempt to act like we’re not completely fucked. “Is it?” 

“I figured it would be easier for you.”  “Wow you’re so considerate” I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm. 

“Andy you said that we would just agree to forget about everything. Just be normal bandmates. I know you’re hurt but it’s just the way things are. Maybe it’s my fault, I let you believe there was something when there wasn’t.” 

Ashley was my lifeline when I moved here. A month of living in my car before meeting him and the others had taken its toll on me. I was on the verge of giving up and crawling back to Ohio with my tail between my legs. Then I met him and he showed me a warmth that kept me going. He was there the nights I broke down in tears, missing home and second-guessing myself. He was there when I needed advice, guidance, someone who I could trust. Even when I started drinking he was there, making sure I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning, pulling me together the next morning... and now it’s over. 

“I’m sorry for fucking things up. I just... miss what we had, friendship, whatever you want to call it. I’m drowning Ash.”  “I’m still your friend Andy. Don’t be dramatic, you’re twenty now you don’t need someone babying you.” 

My heart aches, I tried to fight it for so long. I tried to tell myself that it was hopeless to have these emotions for someone who would never want me the way I wanted him. I tried to convince myself that the truth wasn’t the truth, that I wasn’t madly in love with the man in front of me. I am in love with him though, and for a few moments on that fateful night, I thought he loved me back. 

“When I asked you to kiss me, why did you?” I ask bluntly. 

He is clearly thrown by the question, and the calm facade he is so perfect at maintaining drops for a second. Just long enough that I can see he is human, not some robot immune to emotions. “I don’t know.. maybe there was a part of me that wanted to try it, maybe it was because you asked. Maybe it was the whiskey.” 

I close the gap between the two of us, the smoke from our cigarettes mixing in the air. He doesn’t move back, just stares at me, his face once again expressionless. “And you felt nothing?” I whisper. 

“Nothing Andy.” We stand there, motionless in the cool Hollywood air. Kiss me, punch me, insult me, push me up against the brick and fuck me, do something. “Then I guess I’ll just forget about it,” I reply. 

He places the cigarettes and lighter into the pocket of my leather jacket. “Goodnight.” he simply says before walking away. 

[boywivlove]

| When Lightning strikes |

Pairing: Briefly mentioned Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Apocalypse AU | Angst

Summary : Kim Taehyung is broken, after a successful supply run turns sour, a loss that no one could have seen coming hits him hard. As he is forced to take shelter from the storm and the dead in an abandoned shack, his thoughts are of the rest of his group waiting for them to come back. Taehyung reflects on the people he’s lost and the last time he saw you, letting thoughts of you overwhelm him. Determined, he will brave the storm and take down anything in his way for a chance to hold you and his family in his arms again. Even just for a minute.

Song inspiration | the Lightning Strike | Snow Patrol.

Warnings : Mentions of major character deaths | mentions of murder and violence | Descriptions of gore | swearing | Strong language

Word count : 3k words.

Author’s note : I finally did it. I finally wrote something somewhat worth posting on here, this idea came from a song fic summary game with @ddaenysus​ and @jhspetitegf​ last night and I thought I may as well make something of my ideas. Be aware this is ANGTSTYYYY.

It can be hard to see clearly in a storm, especially at night. Vision was limited enough but adding harsh winds and harsher rainfall? That just makes things utterly inconvenient. The flashes of lightning were his only saving grace at this moment in time, lighting his surroundings for the faintest of moments that Taehyung dare not close his eyes for even a second, his life depended on it. He was alone, injured and depending on lightning of all fucking things. The rain mixing with the blood that has stained his clothes and skin, giving the air that familiar metallic aroma. 

Running through the underbrush he could hear them, the now familiar snarls and groans he had been forced to become accustomed and aware of since the world went to shit. His hearing was his saving grace at this moment, his vision not accustomed to the harsh rainfall of the particularly harsh storm. Those guttural growls and faint shuffling of dragging feet telling him where not to run and the lightning momentarily letting him see the swallowed lifeless faces getting closer to him as he ran. However long he seemed to have been running for though, luck seemed to have thrown him a lifeline here. A cabin. A small, rundown looking shack that looked like it could have been a small little rest stop for people camping or hunting in the wooded area. Taehyung got to the side of the shack, trying out the door with no luck, but seeing a window he took his chance and used the battered looking pipe he had to break through to his possible piece of salvation. He quickly made work to making sure there wasn’t any of those things lurking about in the tiny space. Luck was on his side in that moment. Using the strength he could manage with his bruised and bloody body, he managed to move a long empty shelving unit to block the now broken window, sealing the only entry those dead heads could use to get to him. He sat in silence for what seemed like the longest of times, in the dark of the hut just listening. All he could hear was the patter of the heavy rainfall and the occasional rumbles of thunder. The lightning setting the room alight for seconds at a time.                          

Only when he was sure he was safe for that moment, Taehyung set to work on setting up his resting place for the night. He lit the spare candles he had in his travel pack, he had to admit Jin had good `this will come in handy later` moments. He set them up on one of the wooden tables and used one of the others to place upon the door. He didn’t trust a locked door not to break should a group of hungry rotters come knocking. Once his little nest was set up he went through the green backpack, the once vibrant grass green was now covered in rips, tears, grime and now, fresh blood. He retrieved the small red pouch, took out the tiny travel sewing kit and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He then set to work on the rather nasty slash running across his abdomen, not deep enough that he would bleed out then and there, but not shallow enough to warrant just winging it and leaving it unattended either. He threaded the needle and set the needle over the flame. This wasn’t gonna be the best medical care in the world but when needs must.

With each stinging stitch he was only just becoming aware of how numb he was, he ran his cold fingers over his stomach, nothing. Yes, he had been in the freezing cold of the shittiest storm he had seen since the world went top side, his skin beaten with freezing winds and his clothes were drenched. But this numbness was different. It was a numbness of different circumstances. The numbness you get when you get bad news, like the death of someone you know. The numbness that you don’t realise until your brain finally processes it. With each stitch he wished he could feel something. But feeling the slightest bit of anything would only open the floodgates to everything he felt in the past 24 hours. Thinking back now on how things were looking like things were settling into something hopeful. How could he have been so stupid.

 24 Hours earlier

The night air was cool and crisp, mixing with the wisps of smoke from the small campfire the group had made for their meals. The menu tonight consisted of cans of mixed vegetables. The water they had left was rationed between the group as they silently savoured their mouthfuls. Hopefully the scavenging run to the gas station they passed on the road would be kind to them, their supplies getting thinner by the day. The team was set, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook would go on the run, while the rest would stay back and keep the camp safe. How they had avoided the dead so far was a mystery but they weren’t going to question the good luck they’ve had so far. But at the same time they couldn’t get too comfy, they always kept moving, never staying in the same place for too long. They had seen what happens when you do that, the people who thought they could just hunker down and not take precautions, and they weren’t going to bring bad vibes onto the group by thinking about the what ifs. Taehyung sat going over the supplies they would need to look out for during the scavenge, Jin piping up every so often about canned crab, making the group smile and sigh in unison. Taehyung then looks to the person across from him, she was sipping her water as if it was the sweetest nectar, catching his eye, her lips upturned in the faintest of smiles, her cheeks warming slightly as she focused back on Namjoon and the map they were overlooking. He held his gaze for the slightest moment, thinking back to the night before, the feeling of your hair in his fingers, your hands caressing his cheeks, and his lips between yours.

Post supply run

The three were walking the path they came, their backpacks were full with the spoils of a successful scavenge. The gas station had been pretty much cleared out of most stuff, but in some wondrous miracle, whoever came before left canned goods, those usually gross fruit granola bars that sit by the till that no one usually touches were now highly coveted and worth more than gold. They even found an overturned vending machine and with a little elbow grease, it opened to reveal bottles of water, and to the boys delight, candy bars galore. The high they were feeling knowing how the group will be able to fill their bellies with the glorious taste of sugar gave them the energy they needed to make the 4 hour track home.

They decided on the walk as it would be better to not draw attention, and while it was Jimin who complained about the possible walk of shame back, coming home empty handed, watching him savour the sweet treat with a spring in his step made Taehyung feel like he could walk on water. He thought about the supplies they had gathered. Water, canned veggies, canned fruit and granola and candy bars. The gas station also had a little apothecary like pharmacy section which they managed to salvage some bottles of pain meds, bandages, the little things that make a big difference to your survival. One thing Taehyung couldn’t wait to showcase to the group, that Jin would more than likely so anything to have a share in, canned crab. The boys had already started screaming all the ways they could make the hungry man their personal servant. 

The small group had stopped to rest for a moment, taking the time to take some well deserved sips of water. Jimin and Taehyung set to the task of evening out the load of the packs for each member, equally sharing the load until they got home. Jungkook took watch, better to be safe than sorry, they came so far and accomplished so much in this one day then they had in weeks, things were looking up, but you can never be too careful, never. 

it all happened in a split second, one second that changed the game entirely. Looking over to the two finishing the supply sharing, Jungkook was looking to the treeline, and the small group of deadheads that had come across them. It was only when the one closest to him let out the ever familiar growling they had always been so watchful of, that he quickly turned around. A matter of seconds is all it took. Jungkook wasn’t quick enough to notice, and it was only when he felt teeth tearing into his upper shoulder did he react. The scream of pain and surprise ripped through the area like a gunshot, alerting the other two men. Taehyung and Jimin could only look on in horror as Jungkook ripped himself from the grasps of the corpse, his right side now stained crimson and his eyes wide with fear and disbelieving. In his shock he couldn’t bring himself to raise his baseball bat, giving Taehyung cause to react, bringing his rusted pipe down on the monsters head, making short work of it. Seeing more of them, the group made for a hasty retreat, grabbing their packs, Jimin grabbing Jungkooks and Taehyung grabbing Jungkook himself, they made a b-line for the trees and to anywhere but there. 

It had all happened so fast, how could their luck have changed so quickly. 

After they got a safe distance away from the deadheads, they set their injured friend down at the base of a tree, his face had lost its colour, his skin clammy and stained with his blood, which was still spilling down his side with no signs of stopping without proper medical care, the bitch had got him deep. Taehyungs body was tingling and cold. He was shakily rummaging through his pack for the medical supplies they had found when he heard the wheezing words of his friend, 

`I,, I wasn’t, pa-aying attention,,,Im sorry`

The look in Jungkooks eyes was that of a child that had crossed the road seconds before a car comes speeding past. The look when scolded by parents. His lips quivered as he silently contemplated his actions. Jimins eyes shone with unshed tears as his friend scolded himself. 

 Present day

The stitches were not in anyway a medical marvel, but in times of desperation, they were a step to stability. Taehyung set the needle down and wiped his newly stitched skin with rubbing alcohol, the sting was barely recognised in his head. Taking a can of soup out of his pack, pulling the top to open it and stills his hand. He looks at the dried red liquid smeared onto his skin, his knuckles had split open, mixing his own blood with the blood on his hand, he then looks at the second pack on the floor. The blood on the pack that also stained his hands. The blood of his friend.

5 hours earlier     

The two are silent, walking with a heavy weight upon them both. They had left him. They had left their friends body under the tree they set him down to rest. Jungkook succumbed to the blood loss in the end, his wound already turning black and the blood starting to dry and crack around the teeth marks. Jimin and Teahyung were adamant in not abandoning him, that they were gonna get him back to camp, they weren’t stupid, they saw what happened when you got bit. Jungkook wasn’t stupid either, he could already feel the fever setting hin his bones. He shakily handed his pack to them, telling them he will rest for a little, and join them later at the campfire, his way of saying goodbye they guessed. But what could they do? taking him back wouldn’t be practical, he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own, and when he did eventually pass from the infection, it would only be a matter of time before he came back, and turned his cold dead eyes on them. Jungkook had made his mind up, he tossed jimin the backpack, and gave the two a smile, his eyes spilling tears, his breath staggered and his lips quivering. The last thing he sees his the teary faces of his friends as he closes his eyes and rests.his limbs becoming heavy and his breathing slowing.

They didn’t say a word when they walked. what could they say. there was nothing they could say that would bring their friend back, Jimin turning every so often out of habit, as if expecting to see him, catching up like he promised. 

it was hours later when words were uttered. a question was raised that brought the pain of it all to the surface. 

`what do we, how do we tell the others…`

It seemed like they forgot for a moment the others back home, Jungkook was the youngest of the group, the others had all taken to him like a younger brother, Namjoon especially, had been close to Jungkook, watching out for him when he could, an extra sweater when it was cold, sneaking him his own water and food when he wasn’t looking. As they contemplated how to break the news of their youngest friends death, Taehyung thought back to you again, a memory of you he now cherished every detail of, you were so motherly to Jungkook. Wrapping your red scarf around him and zipping his jacket up to his chin, scolding him about the complications of getting colds when living outdoors, Jungkook getting bashfully grumpy at being victim of your mother hen act. A fleeting memory that Taehyung would now hold in his heart with all the other small memories of mundane things. 

The sun was getting low as the skies darkened, the clouds bringing a fitting miserable darkness to the pair as they made their way home. At this point they just wanted to get back and be with their family, sharing in the grief and loss they now had welcomed. The quiet was interrupted by a booming roar of thunder. But the choking sound that followed was what brought Taehyung out of his thought, turning to his remaining friend, he felt all feelings leave him. What he thought was thunder, now identified as a gunshot.

 present day 

He looked at his hands, his cold, bloody hands. The blood that belonged to not only him, but two of his best friends. in the space of a day, he had lost two precious people to him, akin to brothers. His family. 

The gunshot came from the treeline, Jimins neck spurting blood and choking him as he fell to the ground, Taehyung was cold. He falls to his knees and grasps at his friends neck, trying to stem the bleeding with no avail. Why the fuck was this happening. He thought of nothing that could jinx the luck they had, why was everything falling apart in front of him. first Jungkook, and now, now Jimin. His friend died quicker than Jungkook did, Grasping Taehyungs hand as he did, the bullet wound filling his mouth and lungs with blood that suffocated him quickly. his blonde hair now dip dyed crimson. Tae just sat with him, an utter loss at what he could do, he wasn’t a doctor, he had no idea beyond basic common sense to stop bleeding. He just sat, the only thing he felt in the minutes he sat there was the cold barrel of a gun pointed into his neck as the owner demanded any supplies he had. He was numb.

His tears dropped into his hands, making the blood of him and his friends mix with the other guys blood, Taehyung couldn’t really remember how it had happened, he remembers the gun, he remembers standing up. He remembers the knife that slashed into his abdomen, the cold sting of the newly open wound. But beating him with his bare hands, he couldn’t remember, it was only when rain started to fall onto him did he snap back to reality, seeing the two dead bodies on the mossy ground at his feet. 

He sat in the dimly lit shack for what seemed like hours, his mind just replaying the moments before his friends deaths, his friends bright smiles before they were taken from this world so cruelly. His knuckled stung with the reminder of his blind rage, of which he was unforgiving. He felt nothing at this point. His mind just recalling memories of before the new uncaring world took people he loved dearly from him. He thinks to the rest of the group, he thinks about you. That night at the campfire. The setting sun behind you gave you the look of a golden halo, a burning effigy burned into his mind and making tears he thought he ran out of run down his face. He thinks to you and the others, worried about the three of them, and leaving to find them and meeting your deaths in manners just as cruel as Jimin and Jungkook. And it’s when he thinks of your deaths, he feels something, a pang in his heart. He wants nothing more to be with you all, he wants you to hold him, to comfort him and tell him everything is going to be alright. Wanting to hold you in his arms and feel your lips on his again, even if just for a minute before you or he are both ripped away from the world like everyone else.

The smell of rain on grass is fresh and clean, a scent that has been long since forgotten as the smell of sweat, mud and occasionally, but more recently, blood, has replaced the smell of cleanliness. the rain is still heavy, but the light is a saving grace, everything clearer now morning light has come. Taehyung emerges from the confines of the shack as the light of the sun rising hurts his eyes for a moment as he adjusts. 24 hours in a cabin with nothing but himself and his thoughts. It changes you. You reach places in your psyche that you never would contemplate going. He thinks to his friends, living and departed. He thinks of you, and he commits himself to the task of getting home. He will get back to you all. He isn’t alone, he realised this in the late hours of the night as he thought of his friends. He would prefer the bright smiles of his friends to be beside him, but the silent vow he made to himself set him in his newfound purpose. He will do anything to keep you all safe, and the memory of his friends alive. A vow he made to himself along with the vow of getting back to you.

Before the storm ends.

➶➶➶ fin➶➶➶

[sanktasmorozova]

4/2 @ 10:30 PM

benpoe | 1/1 |  3,568 words | e

part of I KNOW PLACES, a benpoe epistolary fanfic - i highly suggest you give it a read through or you’ll be very confused as to what’s happening here!

Ben wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t a quiet, observant Poe Dameron. 

He watched Ben enter the kitchen through the side door, watched him take his hoodie off and drape it over a chair, watched him try to sit on the couch, on a stool at the counter, and finally decide it was best to pace the refurbished brick tiles back and forth, back and forth and back and forth again. Ben flexed his fingers, pinched the bridge of his nose, shoved his fists into his pockets. 

And all the while, Poe watched and waited, perched on the countertop less than a foot from Ben’s elbow while he poured another glass.

“You were away a lot,” he said finally, and kept talking when he realized Poe was going to try to protest. “That’s not — I’m not blaming you. You were creating albums and selling out stadiums on world tours. And I was away, too. Less than you, because I was picky about which roles I took in the beginning, but that doesn’t...it doesn’t matter.”

Poe, for once in his life, said nothing. 

Ben was suddenly very engrossed in counting the spaces between the subway tiles that lined the backsplash. “That’s why it took you so long to realize I was an addict.” 

“If I had known—”

“It’s okay,” Ben said, because it was. He had never blamed Poe for being successful or busy. In fact, his passion for his art was one of the reasons Ben loved him. “I was barely twenty, but I was the actor everyone wanted to cast. People were writing entire scripts with me in mind. They wanted to franchise Smuggler all over again. Add onto the story for the sake of nostalgia and breed a new generation of fans at the same time. That was going to be the contract that carried me through my twenties. A guaranteed lead role in four films. They even offered to make me a producer.”

Poe’s expression was focused, his dark brows drawn together in concentration. “I remember.”

“I was a cash cow,” he said, “and Snoke knew it. He wanted me in as many projects as possible and the only way I could do it all...the only way he could keep me that busy and work me that hard was...was to…”

“Was to keep you high,” Poe finished. 

Ben nodded.“I was abrasive and unreliable on set. If I wasn’t screaming at the crew or my costars, I was passing out. I was rushed to the emergency room twice, but Snoke kept it quiet. He protected me, even when the studio pulled out of Smugger’s Son 2.”

This time, Ben could feel the tension in Poe’s body change, even if he couldn’t look at him. “That son of a bitch didn’t protect you—”

“He kept my name clean,” Ben pointed out. “But I had let him down. He made sure to remind me that I was a great disappointment, that I was nothing but wasted potential at every turn and I wanted...I just wanted to please somebody, and since I had fucked up my relationship with my parents, I didn’t feel I had anywhere else to turn.”

Ben looked at Poe’s hands and realized he was white knuckling the edge of the countertop. He knew what Poe wanted to say but it didn’t matter. He was struggling not to speak over Ben, to tell him that he’d always had somewhere to turn, but none of it mattered, not when neither of them could change the past. What mattered was the truth and Ben...Ben was finally ready to complete all twelve steps and make his amends.

He paced again, this time into the living area that took up the other half of the room, and sank onto the couch. Poe followed. 

“I wanted to please somebody,” he emphasized again. “Anybody. So when Snoke asked me to help him with his fresh talent recruits, I didn’t say no. Most of them were just kids. Bright-eyed, expectant and unaware that this industry chews people up and spits them out. And I was fucking Ben Organa-Solo. They’d seen my movies. They were all starstruck and they...well, they were a lot like me. They were eager to please.”

Poe moved closer, likely out of some instinct to comfort as Ben’s voice began to shake. Ben was sure he didn’t mean for it to feel suffocating. His heartbeat accelerated anyway. 

“It was easy to get them hooked,” Ben mumbled, averting his eyes away from Poe’s intent gaze. “It weakened their defenses. Made them dependent. I wasn’t just under Snoke’s thumb. I was a weapon in his arsenal. He’d trot me out to impress whatever up and coming talent he needed to ensnare and laugh when they were all desperate and strung out a few weeks later.”

Poe placed a hand on his knee. Ben jerked away and tried not to notice how startled and hurt Poe looked. 

There was a great whooshing in Ben’s ears, almost as if his head was being held underwater, when he spoke again. “I kept track of what happened to them over the years, even after you got me clean. Some of them got help but their careers derailed. They couldn’t find work without Snoke. Some of them found new managers. People that didn’t need them hurt and needy for approval. Those lucky few made me incredibly jealous. One of them...”

Poe waited. Ben licked his lips and swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“One of them you knew.”

Poe’s jaw tightened. “Who?”

Ben blinked past the burning in his eyes. “Paige.”

He was trying to hide it, but Ben saw the anger and confusion flash in his eyes and knew Poe was thinking about how he’d been friends with Paige years ago. They were discovered around the same time and while Paige and her sister formed a different, more eclectic sound, Poe appreciated good music. Ben could still remember Paige’s high, warbling voice and the way she sang with so much intensity that it was easy to get lost in her music. 

He had nightmares about that voice now.

“Paige Tico died,” Poe said slowly, carefully measuring his words. “She overdosed.” 

Ben nodded. The world started to tilt uncomfortably. His breathing was shallow, the back of his neck was hot, and he wondered if he’d have a panic attack right there on the couch. 

“In 2017.”

Another nod, and this time Ben’s hands started to shake. “Yes. In 2017.”

And then Ben told him about the morning the news broke and the realization that he was responsible for her death. He told him about how he’d gone into a fit of rage and destroyed half of their shared belongings and how he’d thrown whatever he could into a bag and left. He told him about his guilt and shame and feeling as if he could never look at Poe again. He told him about a failed bender that ended with him drunk and on his knees at his mom’s house at 3 AM, clutching at her waist and pressing his face into her middle as he sobbed. He told him she worried he traded one addiction for another, and how he’d seen that fear on her face and vowed to never spiral again. He told him about the next three months, when he ignored every text and call and packed up Poe’s belongings and mailed them to LA, and he told him that when he hadn’t known what else to do, he’d worked on a script for over a year and it took another before he could even bear to show it to Leia. 

Ben was an abnormally quiet person, reserved and cold, but words flowed freely. The floodgates were open and he could hold nothing back. Everything else was quiet, the sounds of the city dampened by the mellow music that gently flowed from the sound system in the corner of the living room. Ben began to cry and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes in embarrassment. Poe pulled them away and held them in his own. 

When Ben’s voice grew hoarse, Poe went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water and made Ben drink it, even though the cool liquid burned his raw throat. 

“I’m trying to take responsibility for my mistakes,” Ben hated how whiny his voice sounded, but he hated the way he wanted to instinctively close the distance between them by reaching for Poe’s hand even more. He’d spent his whole life reaching and grabbing for things, always demanding more, more, more so long as it was on his terms. “But I just keep making them. This entire project is a way for me to selfishly try to right old wrongs, regardless of what Leia says about the importance of a script like this. We even cast Paige’s sister. And…and I insisted Leia send the script to you to gauge your reaction. When I found out you actually wanted to audition I…”

Poe stood. Even the minimal space between them felt like a yawning chasm that Ben could not ever hope to repair. He just kept — no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop fucking up. 

When Poe turned to look at him again, arms crossed over his chest, Ben knew his face must have betrayed his torrent of conflicting emotions because he softened, just a little. 

“You didn’t force her hand, Ben,” Poe said. “Not in the end. Paige made her own choices. Just like you made yours.”

“Right,” Ben felt like crying again, but he forced the tears back down with another deliberate swallow. His nails bit into his palm. “She made her choices, but I introduced her to that world. She never would have gotten tied up with Snoke if not for me.” 

Poe considered that for a very long moment. The silence stretched on until the song changed. It was an odd contrast to all of the times they’d sat in companionable silence, or bickered over something inconsequential because bickering usually led to sex, or when they’d talked about important things like the future, kids, and a home they could build together. 

The music filled the space between them while Ben focused on Poe’s even breathing, the way he studied Ben’s features as he worked things out in his mind. Finally, Poe seemed to come to a decision because he nodded to himself. 

“It’s not your fault,” Poe said, and Ben felt the surge of truth in his voice. He believed what he was saying. He closed the distance between them and Ben was forced to tilt his chin in order to hold his gaze. “You went about things the wrong way when you tried to fix this mess, but you tried. And…” He pulled Ben’s hands to his lips. He kept his eyes on Ben, solemn-faced and serious, and kissed his fingertips. “And now I know the truth.” 

He watched Poe’s lips move whisper-soft across the tips of his fingers again and a little shudder rolled through him, as if he was being rocked by gentle waves. Like anything caught in the tide, he felt drawn out toward the horizon line. Toward him. 

“I…” Ben’s heart pounded in an uneven, deafening litany. There was a slight hitch in his voice, even with only one syllable muttered out loud, and then he was stumbling again, words coming hard and fast before he could hope to stop them. “I know I have no right to say it, after...after everything…but I...I…”

“Hey,” Poe caught a stray tear with his thumb and brushed it away. “I’m not going to say I understand because I don’t, but I can say that I forgive you.” 

Ben nodded, gaze trained to his hands, which he had stubbornly fought to keep in his lap. 

Poe kissed him. His lips brushed against Ben’s softly, so softly, but Ben’s eyes refused to close. They fluttered, long lashes kissing the tops of pale cheeks, but they did not shut. When Poe pulled away, Ben’s cheeks were wet with tears.

“I meant what I said,” Poe moved again, this time kneeing into the couch, one leg on either side of Ben’s hips to straddle him. “I still love you.”

Inside his chest, Ben’s heart did a flip. He would never understand how he could say it so easily, as if it was as simple as taking a breath, but his expression was so open and honest that Ben knew he wasn’t lying. There were no ulterior motives, no more secrets or half truths between them. 

He pressed another kiss to Ben’s temple. When Ben reached up to run his hand through Poe’s hair, Poe ran the roughened pad of his thumb across the tender, blue veined skin of the inside of Ben’s wrist. It sent a shiver down his spine that wasn’t fear or terror, and Ben was almost shocked he could feel it. The vulnerability of it made something inside his chest twinge. 

Ben squirmed toward him, half out of desperation and half in desire. A small whimper formed his name at the back of his throat when their lips touched, and Ben found he had to grab hold of Poe to keep from swaying.

When they finally parted, Poe had to suck in hard puffs of air. “I love you,” he said again, cheeks tinged red. 

Ben gnawed on his bottom lip. He wished he could project his thoughts into images to make Poe understand the way his skin seemed to catch fire when they were this close, the ache in his soul at the thought of ever being without him, the way Poe took up all of the room in his heart in the most wonderful, fulfilling way possible because Ben loved him. 

So much it hurt. 

His lips parted with a shaky breath. He pressed them into a thin line. Opened his mouth again. His chest burned with the sudden realization that if he doesn’t say it now, he will never, ever have the chance to say it again.

Ben leaned forward and pressed his face against Poe’s shoulder. “I love you.” 

His voice was muffled and raspy, but Poe heard him all the same and laughed, tugging at his hair so he could pull his head back and kiss him again. 

Ben felt icy, cold all the way down to his toes when he tilted his jaw so that he could chase after his lips, but Poe was warm when Ben’s hands crept under the hem of his shirt, blunt nails scraping against the skin of his chest before removing the fabric altogether. Ben shivered toward him, lungs burning from lack of oxygen, but he relished in the feeling of being consumed. His hand moved up to trace the curve of his chin, the stubble he had started to let grow scraping against his palm, and dedicated each curve and slope of his visage to memory.

“I love your hair,” Ben continued, tugging on his curls again. 

Poe’s mouth quirked up in a grin when Ben nudged at his hips, urging him to settle onto the couch next to him. “Oh?”

“Love your throat,” his voice was a murmur, half swallowed by his lips finding Poe’s again. He peppered kissed down the underside of his jaw, drawing softly along the pulse point. “Love your chest.”

Poe could only groan.

Ben smiled against Poe’s skin. He trailed a line of kisses over his shoulders, down his belly, and then Ben dropped to his knees in front of the couch, his hands sliding up Poe’s thighs. “Do you know how much I love you?” 

“I think I do,” his voice was somewhere between a groan and a sigh because Ben was already trying to work his pants down over his waist. He lifted his hips eagerly to help, watching as Ben pushes them down around his ankles. “But maybe…” Poe inhaled sharply when Ben ran his fingers up the inside of Poe’s bare thigh. “You could show me?” 

Ben’s tall enough that he could lean up for one last kiss before he ducked down and closed his mouth over the head of Poe’s cock. 

Poe was not good at staying still when Ben had his mouth on him. He squirmed and jerked, even when Ben had to pull off so he doesn’t cough, and Ben had to use one hand to try to hold his hip down. He was noisy too, and the pleasant, half strangled noises he made filled Ben’s senses until he could almost forget the guilt he wasn’t quite sure would ever go away. 

“Fuck,” Poe slurred, head falling back against the couch, and it was very similar to how all of this started more than a month ago when Poe had stormed into his apartment and demanded answers Ben had not been ready to give. “That’s - good. You’re so good, Ben.”

Heat zinged through Ben at the praise, and he pushed further down, so his lip touched his thumb, and then it was over fairly quickly. Poe made another gurgling noise, shivering all over and gripping Ben’s hair, and as Ben’s eyes began to water, he thought that even if Poe offered forgiveness willingly, maybe he could earn it this way. 

Come dribbled out of his mouth when he pulled back. Ben wiped the back of his hand across his chin and eased himself back on his heels, trying to slow his breathing.

Poe was clearly trying to move to either kick his pants off completely or grab hold of Ben. Maybe both, but his movements were a little slow. “Can you come here?” 

Ben clamored up onto the couch. Poe kissed his sweaty hair, his neck, his mouth, any part of him he could reach as he eased him out of his shirt and worked his own pants off his ankles. Ben helped by kicking off his shoes and tugging his socks free, made more difficult by Poe’s hand already halfway down his jeans. He hissed when Poe’s palm passed across his dick, stroking up and down experimentally. 

There was a rhythm to the way Poe moved, humming a tuneless sound that Ben was sure sounded like some melody in his head, and shifted to change his grip. He held Ben loosely, rubbing his thumb over the head until Ben could feel his thighs start to shake. Ben could do nothing but roll his hips and squeeze his eyes closed, trying not to get off too quickly, but it was...hard, no pun intended. He was very, very desperate and Poe was so eager, reading the little twitches of his body and almost laughing when Ben’s hand closed over his wrist so he didn’t think to try and ease up in an effort to make Ben beg for it. He had a habit of doing just that when he felt like teasing, but Ben didn’t think he would survive that particular breed of cruelty at the moment. 

“Like that?” Poe asked, even though he already knew the answer. 

Ben nodded, quiet except for his labored, anxious breathing, and then he held tense before coming, hot and sticky across Poe’s fingers and side. 

“Messy,” Poe commented, laughing again. He reached for the closest object to clean himself up, which happened to be Ben’s dark t-shirt. 

“Hey,” Ben was slowly returning to himself, so his face scrunched up in disgust as he watched Poe wipe his skin clean with the thin cotton. “Do you have to - fuck. It wasn’t like a brought a change of clothes. I still have to wear that out of here.” 

Poe scooted closer, kissing Ben's cheek despite the fact that they were both sticky and sweaty. “I can wash it for you.”

Ben was contemplating the surge of more than just arousal at the way Poe always eased into gentle domesticity when he heard his phone ding. One of the apps he used to track his complicated sleep schedule was warning him that if he wanted to enter a proper REM cycle, he needed to fall asleep in thirty minutes. 

“We have to be on set in a few hours,” he said, dismissing the notification. 

“Right,” Poe mumbled into his shoulder. When he looked at Ben, his eyes were a little hopeful. “You could stay.”

Ben hesitated for only a moment, remembering the last time he’d asked. He took a moment to admire Poe’s messy hair and his flushed cheeks. He wasn’t pushing. “Okay,” He kissed the top of Poe’s hair. “But I need to shower first. I can’t sleep if I’m all...sticky.”

“‘Course,” Poe grinned again. “I’ll join you.”

“Obviously,” Ben smiled and shook his head, pushing against his shoulder to dislodge him so he could get up from the couch. “I’d expect nothing less.” 

[raventhekittycat]

Detective Conan Fanfic: Crying Again

Alright, after posting about working on this for over a month now, it is finally ready to publish. Posting on here for now, will later post on ao3. Have a fic in which Akemi lives. Words: 4k+

Crying Again

Though he had always thought the expression was cliched and somewhat disingenuous he now understood what it meant. He really truly couldn't believe his eyes. Up until this point the most unbelievable thing Akai could think of that he had witnessed was when he had first spotted Shiho again on the street, shrunk down to the body of a six year old. Though he did have to admit he didn't know what he had expected though when Shiho summoned him to the hospital she was doing her residency at.

There were many things he'd only barely done in his life. He'd barely managed to convince his mother to let him join the FBI, barely managed to infiltrate the organization, barely managed to stay one step ahead of them at times, barely managed to find Shiho after he left, barely managed to fake his death, barely managed to outsmart Bourbon, barely succeeded at bringing them down, and at times barely keeping himself sane, plenty of close encounters and just scraping bys. But now it felt like none of it mattered, as he could barely stand. 

He felt his knees going weak, his jaw slacken, and the tears well in his eyes as he leaned against the door frame for support. He could actually feel himself slowly sliding down to the floor as his legs gave out. There she was leaning against the raised back of the hospital bed, Shiho standing beside her. Alive. Breathing. Alert. Looking at him. It was Miyano Akemi and he could say nothing.

The relief of seeing her alive again was quickly outweighed by the fresh wave of guilt that came rushing back into him. If he hadn't used her to infiltrate, the organization wouldn't have felt the need to dispose of her. She wouldn't be here in this hospital. She wouldn't have needed to try and protect Shiho as fiercely. She wouldn't have had to cry. As these thoughts went zinging through his head, he felt paralyzed and couldn't move. He was so glad to see her alive but it couldn't ever outweigh his guilt. He couldn't even be sure she wanted to see him. If she'd been alive all this time— he quickly dashed the thought. He shouldn't be thinking selfishly here.

As his thoughts tore into him relentlessly, pinning him in place, Akemi spoke up. Gesturing slightly she called him over with a quiet come here that wasn't much louder than a whisper. 

With those words he knew he should move, bring his legs back under him instead of crumpled under him, seiza style, like they were. He watched as Shiho squeezed her shoulder and said "I'll leave you two to it'" before moving to leave. As she walked past him and out the door she put a hand on his back and gave it a slight shove. "Go," was all she said to him before she was gone. 

With Shiho's push and Akemi watching him somehow he found the strength to stand back up and move to her side. The first step was the hardest as he fought to regain control over his body. How could she want to face him? All his fears were screaming at him in his mind. But each step came a little easier as he knew he had to obey her request.

Finally at her side, he moved to the chair she indicated to, next to the head of her bed. Sitting down he still didn't know what to say or where to begin. An apology didn't even suffice for everything he'd done, everything she'd been through. As he sat there looking at her trying to formulate any useful thought instead of just his racing emotions her hand flew through the air. 

He was stunned. The slap hadn't been that strong and didn't do much damage but the shock still was huge. The moment hung as he was about to say something along the lines of I deserved that, Akemi spoke up for the second time. "Idiot." After that word came out as she reached out and clung to his jacket, bunching it up with both hands. Now she was crying as well. "Shiho told me what you were like after you thought I had died. And how it's only been worse since the organization is gone." She loosened one of the hands she had been using to hold his jacket in a death grip with and reached up to brush the tears from his face. He hadn't until that point noticed the tears that had started to spill down his cheeks.

At that point the floodgates broke. She was too good for him. He deserved that slap and whatever else she threw at him and then to be cut out of her life. Pressing his forehead down into his hands clasped together in a single fist he sobbed. How could she still care? He'd hurt her so much, betrayed her in the end and hadn't even managed to protect her or Shiho. And those weren't even the only people who ended up hurt by his hand. His family, the boy and the girl, the NPD, the list went on. They had succeeded in the end but at what cost? 

As a near silent litany of "I'm sorry"'s poured from his mouth unaware, Akemi put her arms around him and drew him into her. When the embrace finally registered in his brain he jerked back, breaking out of it. He couldn't accept it. Looking at her tear stained face again with his own tear stained face twisted in pain, he broke further. "H-how? I failed you. I used you. And you, and you," he stumbled feeling his voice break as he got his mouth around the last bit of his sentence, ''you don't even know my name to blame."

"I don't need to know your name." The words cut into him more than he anticipated. But it was to be expected and he accepted it. As he started to withdraw in his mind knowing that he had crossed the uncrossable line, knowing that of course she wanted to cut off all relations with him, she continued. "I don't need it because I don't blame you. And either way you are my precious Dai-kun. Even if your name is different you will still be my precious person. Your name doesn't change that."

All he could do was stare at her. Opening his mouth to utter more protests she brought her finger over it silencing him. "Uun. I cared for you for who you were, for who you are even now. Knowing you were FBI didn't change that. I still love you, so," she paused for a brief moment, hoping what she had said would sink in before she asked her question, "may I know your name?" She paused again, this time less for impact and more to catch a break. It was the most she had talked in a long time and it showed. "I don't want to blame you. But I also don't want to call someone so dear to me by the wrong name. So will you please tell me?"

Though the tears were still falling they no longer were the body wracking sobs that had taken hold moments before. He couldn't deny her. He was in no place to do so. He knew he never would be for as long as he lived. Following this line of thought he took in her earnest face, instantly regretting that again he was the source of her tears, before he let his name pass over his lips. "Shuuichi." Though the initial reply was undeniably quiet with a little more presence he spoke up. "It's Akai Shuuichi." 

Almost from the moment he had met her he'd wanted to tell her. To say it finally came as a relief to him. With it, it resolved one of his bigger regrets and enabled him to calm down a bit. He still was experiencing the most pain he'd felt since receiving news of her death but he found his breath wasn't getting choked up in sobs anymore. He could focus more on her now and a little less on the guilt and that tore at his insides.

Akemi let the name wash over her. "Akai Shuu...ichi. Shuuichi-san, Shuuichi-kun, Shuu-kun. Shuu-kun," she played around with it in her mouth a bit finding the rhythm of it, grateful to finally know it. As she tested out how to say it and find what felt natural to call him, quickly throwing away some possibilities—san just felt wrong, she’d known him too intimately for that—while lingering over others, she thought to herself that it somehow felt fitting, and not out of place. After thinking for a minute she asked, "What kanji?" 

"The shuu of to excel and ichi of one."

Humming to herself she thought it really was fully fitting. He was truly the most excellent person she knew. His determination, his brain, his dedication, they all were excellent. "It suits you."

At that he took pause as the guilt and self-loathing that came with it, cut back into him. It couldn't be further from the truth in his mind. Excellent at what? Using people? He couldn't even say that. He would have been undercover longer if that were the case. Sniping? That wasn't a skill to be proud of and he'd failed at the shot he'd wanted to take the most, that time he gave Gin his scar. Not even his brain was near the top. He couldn't count the many times he'd been outsmarted, sometimes by his enemies, sometimes by his allies. Hell, Shuukichi was better at strategy than he was. And certainly his personality wasn't excellent. With these thoughts circling his head he let out a bitter laugh. "Excellent at what? All I am is horrible, all I do is barely passable. There isn't anything excellent about me. Even what I'm best at is sub-par."

Akemi was taken aback. Though she had heard from Shiho that he really had seemed to have turned into an empty shell without a purpose and was almost without a doubt suffering from depression, she wasn't expecting him to be this self-deprecating. She wasn't quite sure she had ever seen him put himself down in any manner before. 

Without putting any thought into her words she started to protest. It hurt to see him like that and so she tried to speak to distract him, convince him otherwise before formulating a solid argument, but in the end it didn't matter. In an uncharacteristic move he cut her off. Again she had to be surprised; he'd always been considerate and listened to her even when he didn't agree.

"Akemi, I failed you. I failed Shiho too. I promised to protect you and I couldn't protect either of you, keep you out of Gin's reach. It's only by sheer luck that Shiho's alive, that I found her and was able to help and try to protect her. In the end a high school boy did a far better job at that than I ever did.

Akemi felt the tears begin pouring down her face again. It hurt to see the man she loved, the man that usually inspired her, had comforted her, start to tear himself down again. As he continued on with his miniature tirade she couldn't take it anymore, feeling each word as if it were a knife wielded against her instead of a knife he was using against himself. 

She needed to silence him, temporarily at least, even if it wouldn't change his way of thinking. This wasn't how she wanted to be reunited. Carrying along with that line of thinking, she extended one hand and clapped it over his mouth figuring it was quickest to start with that. She felt him startle underneath her hand and close his mouth as she started to move her other hand. To do what she wanted she needed a better grip on him, and so she snaked her hand up around the back of his head. It was harder to hold him than she had really anticipated with his hair cut short now and the cap covering most of it. But the time for being gentle had ended as she dragged his head towards hers. She wasn't going to let him escape as he had done earlier when she embraced him.

Staring into his anguished eyes around the tears in hers, knowing she wasn't a sight to behold either, with her face twisting up in her sobbing and how frail she was, she couldn't care. She needed him to see that she was crying for him while she did this. Dropping the hand that covered his mouth down to his jacket she closed the last few inches and kissed him. 

Akai froze. This kiss was effective and served its purpose in shutting him up even if he didn't know it. Even when they were together they hadn't kissed much. He always thought it was against his better judgement despite the fact he cared for her. Though the converse could be said to be true as well, in that he rarely did it because he cared, because he didn't want to use her further. 

As he stayed frozen Akemi drew her head back just far enough to speak. "Don't say those things," she choked out. Moving her head back to a more reasonable distance, she spoke what she thought. "You didn't fail either of us. We're both alive right? And I wouldn't have found the strength to leave if it weren't for you. You did that. You saved me. Even if I almost died because of it, if I hadn't I wouldn't be living a life I could be proud of. And Shiho would have never thought to leave. You saved both of us from them. And that is far better than being protected within them."

Neither of them moved while the words processed. Though Akemi hadn't had to think about what she had said before she said it, the words felt true to her in her heart. They weren't platitudes she had sprouted to make him feel better. With a little more confidence she raised her eyes to meet his again. Staring straight at him praying to any god that might listen that he would hear her, listen to her, believe her, she pushed ahead with conviction.

"You didn't fail. I'm alive."

The words hit him like a truck. The guilt that had grasped his heart since her death hadn't let him consider anything but the fact that he failed; however right now what his heart was hearing was the fact that she was alive. To be reminded so forcibly by her actions and words that she was living while he was still reeling from having found her to be so, kept him quiet. But the words did register. She really was here, holding onto him, somehow possibly still maybe even loving him. 

Finally, almost in spite of himself, he made a move towards her for the first time, extending one hand to the back of her head, the other reaching around her back, drawing her to him in an embrace. Clinging to her, his face buried in her shoulder while she held him, he let himself break. "You're alive. You really are alive. This isn't a nightmare." At last, the solace that she was living started to take over his clouded heart as he started to sob again, this time more in relief than guilt.

They sat there a while crying on each others shoulders, glad to be reunited, regretting what had transgressed, and each subconsciously starting to form a small kernel of hope for the future. After some time both of them started to calm down, Akai moving to draw back first, his sense of proprietary compelling him. As they drew apart he noted the mess he had made of her hospital gown. Slightly embarrassed by the sorry state of affairs he had created, he accepted the tissue Akemi offered him. After blowing his nose, he took a moment to compose himself while he brushed the tears from Akemi's cheek. "I'm sorry, I've made you cry again. I never wanted to be the reason for your tears again but it seems I failed that."

She shook her head under his hand. Placing her hand on his cheek over his tears she replied. "I'm not the only one crying here now, so it's alright. It just means we both care; there is nothing wrong with it."

He was surprised at first by her words. The logic seemed foolish but he couldn't disagree with the truth behind it. You wouldn't cry if you didn't care, and he knew it was dangerous to not care, even though it hadn’t stopped him from losing most of his. But that brought him to his next thought. “If there’s nothing wrong with them, then why hide them? I don't want to hurt you."

Akemi was mildly surprised at the rhetorical question he had unintentionally posited. She could tell he was thinking back to there parting when she finally had been unable to hide her tears. She could tell by now he knew for sure that she had concealed them more than a handful of times before. Even though she knew he didn’t expect an answer she decided to answer anyways. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Akai was taken aback. “Hurt me? If you knew I was using you then you had every right to hurt me as much as it pleased you. You should have used me right back; I wouldn’t have left you.”

She smiled a bit, but it hurt. He finally had been able to mention what had happened with her without immediately caving in on himself, which was good, but explaining why wasn’t pleasant. “I couldn’t though. If I cried and you had asked what was wrong I would have had to explain you see? Or make up an excuse. But if you found out that I knew then the magic spell would be over and you would leave. I didn’t want it to end. That’s why I hid them from you.”

Her words hurt. They resurrected the guilt that he had been feeling, albeit a slightly different, fresher, newer guilt. But it wasn’t as horrid or as wretched as the original. And so it didn't consume him fully, however much it took a hold of his face. As it shown in his eyes, he cast his face down, away from her in his shame.

Akai had some sense though as to placate it and so steeling himself somewhat, he raised his head again to face her. “If there is nothing wrong with them please don’t hide them from me in the future. I don’t want to hurt you, and I won’t leave your side, if you show them.” Meeting her eyes, he promised her, not knowing how she would take his response. 

His promise had been left open ended, and not truly as a full offer to resuming dating, but his subconscious desires had snuck into his wording, and Akemi heard it. "In the future," he had said. She caught those three little words, and hung onto them. "'In the future.' Does that mean that this is your response to my message?"

It was the first time she really allowed herself to hope again, and her fierce eyes were burning with it. Though she had had her hopes before, and they had been renewed when Shiho talked of him, she tried not to listen to them, knowing that nothing may come of them. The two years she hadn't heard from him had hurt, even though she understood why there had been no communication. But it the back of her mind there had always been the niggling of doubt, that he really had only used her for his cover and hadn't cared in the slightest. Those doubts had hurt even though she was sure she knew he had cared.  

As the weight and implication of his own words hit Akai, he had to take pause. He hadn't even thought of her message or answering it at this point, his emotions being so all consuming. But he knew what the answer was. He'd known as soon as he had read the mail. The answer had always been yes. He couldn't deny that he had completely and utterly fallen in love with her after all. Akai knew what to say.

"If you will have me, yes. I'll be yours."

Akemi's eyes lit up as she broke into a semi sweet smile. All those small niggling unkind little doubts that had plagued her mind unbidden were banished. She was a little sad that he didn't have more confidence in his answer—she had been the one to ask, it was natural then that she wanted him—but she was still glad to hear his answer.

"You foolish man, of course I want you."

Foolish? Foolish? Though he had been slowly putting the picture together, the slight dig went at him first, confusing him before all the pieces clicked in place. Her hidden tears, her allowage of her usage, her response when he told her, her final message, her trying to make Shiho and him get along, it all made sense. She'd known for a long time and had only loved him for that, not who he pretended to be. Akemi just had wanted him to love her in return. That's all she'd truly wanted from him. She hadn't needed the truth. Even if she had liked to hear the truth from him, it wasn't on her priority list.

For Shiho who had come back to stand outside the door, the moment seemed to hang forever. Akemi was still a patient recovering from a coma and needed rest after all. But as she waited for a moment to interrupt she received a shock. Akai had started to laugh. She didn't believe the man could even laugh before. Between Akai's dry chuckles, she heard him respond. 

"Foolish? I guess I am the foolish man here, and you never were." After he calmed his laughter he looked Akemi in the eyes. "Akemi, I love you. I've loved you for a long time now. Will you go out with me?" Even though the question was settled more or less by his previous response, he felt the need to formalize it and at least try and show that she had what she had always wanted.

Despite their previous interchange, Akemi was overcome with emotion. Maybe this is what a marriage proposal felt like to other people. To hear he loved her, to hear he had loved her for a long while before now, it made her heart sing. The spell wasn't broken and she had found her prince, her superhero, her James Bond. And he loved her back. As she felt the tears well back up in her eyes, she placed her hand over his and nodded before getting out, at first an emotionally strangled whisper, but then with clarity, "Yes. Yes, I will."

Shiho silently left as the two of them reconnected. Ten more minutes wouldn't hurt. As she wandered to the lobby, she knew she had made the right decision even if she wasn't happy with end result. Akemi had needed this after all. And she had to admit Akai did too. They both needed healing. 

Once at the lobby, she confirmed that the other person she had called was there. She was a little surprised to see Masumi in tow, but then decided it was probably for the best. Akai seemed to have a sweet spot for his younger sister, and was less likely to make a scene or argue with Mary if she was there.

When she returned, they seemed to be talking about his hair. She'd briefly wondered at some point why'd he cut it when he seemed a little vain about his appearance, but never really cared to question it. As she walked in she caught the tail end of his response and was surprised to see him turned away from Akemi with a light blush dusting his cheeks, seemingly embarrassed.

"...together, you liked to play with it. I didn't want anyone else touching it after that." Akemi's eyes were aglow as the grin she was wearing spread even wider. Shiho had to admit they were a cute sight together like that even if she hadn't fully forgiven him. She cleared her throat to let them know she was there. It had been a somewhat intimate statement and she really didn't want to hear anything more like it. They both turned to look at her.

"Akemi you need to rest. And before either of you say anything you won't rest if Akai is around. Plus Akai, I've scheduled a psychiatrist appointment for you after this. Mary and I have been in agreement on this matter and she's waiting for you in the lobby with Masumi to make sure you don't escape." There was a hint of steel in Shiho's voice which brooked no argument. She had really come to respect the older woman after a rocky start, finding that they agreed on many things, and as such had stayed in touch with her.

As Akai turned to look at Akemi, hoping that she might protest his departure—and he could get out of dealing with his mom—he saw that she just looked slightly confused. Quickly he realized she never knew the names of his family, even though he had occasionally talked about them vaguely. "Mary is my mother, and Masumi is my little sister."

"I'd like to meet them, sometime."

"Of course. I can tell you about my family tomorrow, in the meantime." Akai said the tomorrow in a questioning tone, and received a nod of confirmation from Shiho as he did so. "I have a younger brother as well."

"I'd love that." Akemi beamed her classic smile, though both Shiho and Akai could tell she was growing weary.

Smiling back at her Akai replied. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." Though he didn't want to leave, he allowed Shiho to drag him down to the lobby to his family. As she did so, a small smile remained on his face.

A/N: This is hasn’t been fully edited (or beta’d) by anyone other than myself so if you catch any errors, feel free to point them out to me. I am planning on extending this and have started working on both a scene that takes place directly afterwards and one that takes place before. As such parts might change slightly once I decide whether to post it as a series of one shots or as a multi chapter on ao3. If you have read my response to the dcmkemogust2019 prompt nightmare, that does tie into this. I wrote this because I really wanted to explore how Akai would react to finding Akemi alive. But as I continued writing it I found that it was also really fun to look at how Akemi would react to him as well. She is one of my favorite characters and I suspect it shows a little here. And yes I am aware that comas don’t work like how I have written, but since the series ignored it with Kir, I felt that I had the right to also ignore it.

[takingcourage]

In Stasis

Pairing: Jaime x MC 

Word Count: 2,300

Summary: Jaime helps Arden through a day that’s difficult for both of them. Set prior to the events of Wishful Thinking. 

Note: This was originally intended to be a Mother’s Day piece, but real life got in the way and I clearly didn’t finish it in time. While I promise I have more fluff and fun in the works for these two, today’s fare is a bit of angst with what I hope is a warm and fuzzy resolution. Enjoy!  

Arden exhaled deeply, headache dissipating with every millimeter further her face sank into the pillow. The warm breath on the down tickled her cheeks, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. At least she was feeling something other than the cramp that had been gnawing at her low back since she’d arrived at the office that morning.

Even though it was only 6:00, the idea of just staying in bed until sleep claimed her was tempting. Her wakeup alarm had gone off far too early, and she’d spent most of the afternoon fighting yawns. Still, she knew she was a long way from sleep. The exhaustion that clung to her went beyond just physical tiredness. It was going to take more than mere sleep to relieve the burden.  

With a groan, she rolled onto her back, throwing her arm up to shield her eyes from the harsh artificial light above. And there’s the headache again. I need to take some ibuprofen.

Arden roused herself with resignation, catching a glimpse of her haggard face in the mirror before she leaned down to rustle through the assortment of bottles in the vanity drawer. When she resurfaced with the medicine, she took a second look.

It wasn’t often that she noticed the resemblances to her mother, but this evening they stood out starker than usual. The wavy dark hair, delicately arched brows, a thin, straight nose -- all features she’d long since reconciled as part of herself. But today, she couldn’t let go of the thought that they were also part of the mother she’d lost. 

Arden had cut her hair short the summer after the funeral. She supposed part of it was the need to feel control over something in the aftermath of an event that had removed all of her certainty for the future. Yet, she knew it was more than that. There had also been a compelling desire to erase the most striking similarity they held. To erect another barrier against her father’s wistful gazes and tendency to accidentally call her by her mother’s name.

Vision blurring, she angled her mouth to the faucet and swallowed the pills. In spite of the water, it was a struggle to keep them from sticking in her throat. 

Three years without her mother. Today the absence was still raw.

Glistening eyes reflected back at her when she straightened, exposing the chink in her defenses. Move on, she willed, gripping the laminate countertop until her tendons hurt with the strain. Get ahold of yourself, Arden. She wouldn’t want you to keep feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve been idling for three years. It has to stop.

Trembling breaths shook through her frame. When they finally slowed, she let go of her hold on the sink and leaned down again to rinse the tear stains from her face. Arden was just patting her cheeks dry when she heard a sharp procession of knocks at her front door. Jaime.

In an instant, she recalled their earlier exchange of messages:

Just so you know, I’m bringing dinner tonight once you’re off work.

Have I told you you’re the best friend a girl could ask for?

In the wake of everything that had happened, she’d completely forgotten.

Arden swiped a shaky finger across eyelids that were still hot to the touch. As she made her way to the front door, she couldn’t help despairing over the state of her apartment. Jaime was well used to stacks of organized clutter from her research, but this was a new low even for her.

One hand went to the doorknob, the other to her hem in an attempt to tug the wrinkles out of her tank top. He’d certainly seen her in worse, but she’d hardly dressed with company in mind. 

Jaime stood on the other side of the door, clutching a sizable bag of carryout in one hand. His smile was a little more subdued than usual, but the sight of him still brought considerable improvement to her mental state. She motioned him inside. 

“I come bearing--” He halted on seeing her face. “Arden. What happened?” The tender worry in his voice threatened to drive the tears from her eyes a second time. She took a step back to allow him in, gathering her wits in the meanwhile.

“It’s nothing,” she sniffed, wishing she’d had the foresight to blow her nose before opening the door. “I just forgot you were coming, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He set the bag of takeout on the coffee table and motioned for her to sit beside him on the couch.

Reluctantly, she latched the door and followed his example. With desperation, her mind flitted from thought to thought in an attempt to settle on some foolish piece of banter that would convince him she was fine. Her thoughts refused to cooperate.

“Talk to me, Arden. I can tell something is wrong and we both know that keeping it inside never does you any good.” 

Arden knew he was right, but she’d be caught dead before she admitted it to him. She nibbled a cuticle and refused to meet his gaze.

Jaime sat silent for several long moments. “I’ll start.”

Beside him, Arden pulled her legs onto the seat one by one, crossing them so that even her feet were covered by the excess fabric of her pants. Having settled, she stared at the rug until her eyes no longer processed what they were seeing.

“I went to Paula’s grave this morning, like I always do. Took her some sunflowers and told her about life. It’s been five years without her, but I’m starting to think it never gets easier.”

“Mmhmm.” She felt the sting of tears building up again in the back of her throat.

“I visited your mom too. I filled her in on all the things that you’ve been doing -- how hard you’ve been working. She would be so proud of you, you know it?”

His hand cupped her kneecap through the thick layer of sweatpants. The simple touch was the first human connection she’d had all day, and it took substantial self control to keep her distance. But she wasn’t going to let the weakness win anymore. She could make it through without his hugs, excellent as they were.

The silence was overpowering. 

Arden knew what he was doing. Jaime was always trying to convince her that she needed to get her frustrations and her worries out -- and usually, she did. But today, all of the things weighing her down just felt stupid. Expressing them seemed useless. 

Jaime’s thumb traced gentle orbits along her knee. Still, silence reigned.

Arden couldn’t bear the quiet any longer. 

“What am I doing with my life, Jaime?”

Judging from the bewildered expression, whatever he was expecting her to say hadn’t been that. Nevertheless, he soon recovered. “You’re chasing after your dreams.”

“Yeah? Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” Her voice choked around the thick mass lodged in the back of her throat. 

“Arden, you were born to be a reporter. You’re smart, you’re good with people, you’re--” Whatever he was going to say, he caught himself before the word slipped past his lips. When he resumed, Arden had the distinct impression that he’d switched tactics. “And you make words come to life like nobody’s business.”

“I’m only doing what literally anyone else with a word processor could do. It doesn’t take a genius to write about some ridiculous woman suing Yosemite for having poison ivy.”

He withdrew his hand as he pondered her words. “You’ve been writing since before I even met you. Don’t you remember all of the times you’d drag me over the fence to look through your notebooks?”

“I never dragged you,” she insisted with the hint of a smile, finally shifting her gaze upward.

Jaime smiled back faintly, his eyes bright with remembrance. “You still have that same passion for writing,” he observed with a gesture toward the stack of notes she’d moved from the couch to the floor. “And you’re an incredibly hard worker, Arden. Surely it’s just a matter of time before they recognize that.”

“I’ve been there for two years, Jaime.” She squinted at nothing in particular, her mind preoccupied by her muddled impressions of failure. Beside her, the cushion dipped as Jaime shifted closer.

“And most days you love your job….” he offered, taking her hand. Hesitantly, he continued. “Is there something more to this than just job satisfaction? Are you sure this doesn’t have anything to do with the holiday?”

This innocent, insightful question was the key to unlocking the floodgate.

“I hate working holidays. Especially today. The studio is busy and the stories are all about families and that kind of feel-good crap. We’ve got recipes for making mom breakfast in bed, twin toddlers who went viral after their mom posted a video on Facebook of them showing the cards they made her at school -- and the worst one -- you know that second baseman we just brought up from the minors?”

“The guy who’s already breaking all kinds of batting records?”

“That’s the one. Apparently he used his signing bonus to buy his mom a new house.” She squeezed Jaime’s hand in a burst of energy. 

“Pretty generous of him...”

“Everyone’s going on about what a good son he is and how great it must be to have your kids remember you when you make it big. I just...” Arden paused, realizing how tightly she gripped his fingers. “Oh! Sorry.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” He clasped her hand in reassurance. “So this story’s got you bugged?”

Arden sucked in a deep breath, more to discourage tears than for any other reason. “I can’t help thinking that my mom will never be there to see me succeed -- if I do succeed, you know... I’ll never be able to tell her about my promotions or have her see my face on TV when I finally become a reporter. I know that’s stupid, but it makes me feel like nothing I do even matters. I think I just feel stuck.” The tears still came despite her attempts to prevent them. She slapped at them with her free hand, but fresh ones continued to tumble down her cheeks. 

“C’mere.” Jaime gathered her into his arms so that she was tucked against his chest. His soft flannel shirt was warm beneath her cheek, the steady beating of his heart just detectable through the layers of fabric. Arden’s emotions ebbed as his long fingers ran through the hair at the back of her neck. 

What would I do without him? It was hardly the first time she’d asked the question, but she still hadn’t come up with a sufficient answer. It didn’t even matter what he said or did. Having someone who understood meant all the world to her. 

“You’re a good pillow,” she muttered into his skin. Certainly better than the one I was pouring my frustration into earlier. She felt a chuckle against her cheek, but he made no other response. After several long moments, she pulled away. “And I think I’m all right now. Anyway, you didn’t come here to deal with my meltdown.”

“I’m here to deal with you however you come, Arden. If a meltdown is in the cards, we’ll work through it.”

“I think I’m good for now. I just needed to get it out.” She ignored the knowing spark in his deep brown eyes. “Besides, I’m starving and our food is just sitting there getting cold.”

“Probably so.” He extracted his arm from behind her back and set about untying the knot in the plastic bag. “I figured you could probably use a decent meal,” he told her by way of explanation. 

“I’m glad you did. I was expecting another evening spent deciding between a Hot Pocket and SpaghettiOs for dinner, so you’ve actually saved me a lot of trouble.” 

She laughed at the exasperated shake of his head. Although there was still a somber undercurrent to her thoughts, her spirits were in a much better state than they had been when he’d arrived. 

“Glad to be of service. I hope you’re in the mood for Chinese.”

“I’m always in the mood for Chinese.” Arden’s mouth watered at the mere suggestion of teriyaki stir fry. By the time the cartons were open on the table before her, she was absolutely ravenous.

It wasn’t until the worst of their hunger had been sated that Jaime spoke again. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you, Arden. Your time will come eventually, and when it does, I can’t wait to cheer you on from the sidelines.” 

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you. And I know that all of that persistence has to pay off someday.”

She scraped the last bite of broccoli to the corner of her carton."You sure you’re not just telling me what I want to hear?”

“Of course not. Every word I said is true.” 

Arden made a show of batting away the notion, but she took the words to heart all the same. “Well, thanks.” She tried in vain to stop the smile that stole over her face at his compliment. “You’re pretty incredible yourself, you know that?”

Faint though it was, she just caught the blush that broke out across his cheeks. “I do try.” 

And you succeed, she considered, digging into her rice. Arden kept the thought to herself, not wanting to give him any more satisfaction than he already had. He was cocky enough without her feedback. 

Besides, he knew how much he meant to her, didn’t he?