#understand where your enmity should be directed

[whumpfish]

PSA:

I keep my activism mostly on other blogs so that this one is all whump, writing, and chronic pain/illness focused. I don't have a huge dni at the top of my page because I am trying to keep this blog on topic.

But apparently, it needs to be said: I do not want to interact with people who try to justify genocide/promote that shit. I also do not want to interact with people so rotten that they claim to want entire families to suffer trauma and suicide because they want to be 2cool and the most activistest 4evar and make the pointiest point with zero critical thinking or base knowledge.

I am old for this site. I was born in 1984. So a lot of people in the latter category don't have this memory. I'm trying to be cognizant of that. But I grew up hearing "Gays deserve to get AIDS and die, it's what they get for living that lifestyle."

And y'all might not want to hear this, but "Veterans deserve to get PTSD and commit suicide, it's what they get for living that lifestyle" has the same energy. You still are so zealously ignorant in your ahistorical hate and your dedication to not understanding the underlying issues that you want not just individuals but everyone in their lives to suffer trauma and death.

Combat PTSD does not happen in a vacuum. Suicide does not happen in a vacuum. It leaves scars on entire families for generations that last forever. I cannot believe I have to say this. My entire, very antiwar family has suffered the ripple effects of combat PTSD (my very gentle and antiwar uncle was drafted during Vietnam and has night terrors to this day), and suicide (my oldest uncle had bipolar I like me and died of it before I was born).

Entire gulfs opened between my family and our faith. Between generations. Between individuals. I had a hard time engaging with a lot of my family for a long time because subconsciously they were afraid, because nobody knew how to talk to Sam either once the bipolar hit critical mass and look how that turned out. They didn't even notice it was there, the traumatic response of withdrawal was that automatic. We still don't know how to talk to my uncle about the shit he saw, so we don't. It feels considerate, but also not, because I never liked being apart from my family over silence on anything, and I don't know how he feels because we don't ask, and it's this vicious circle under the surface that never goes away. And he never had a choice, just like me, just like my bipolar uncle I never got to meet.

If you think that draftees, and people who wanted to go to college without the crushing student debt they see their peers suffering, and people who were straight up lied to--because recruiters will say literally anything to get warm bodies in the door, they will lie about access to medicine, they will lie about where you're going, they will lie about what your job will be--and their entire families deserve trauma and death for the actions of governments and military-industrial complexes... fuck you. Just. Fuck you.

Family annihilation as punishment for one person getting crossways of a predatory government was supposed to have ended a couple hundred years ago.

[sunxdusk]

Briengr sat in the library of the College of Winterhold.

The glowing lanterns flickered eerily, illuminating the rows and rows of shelves and pigeonholes containing scrolls, leather-bound books, maps, and other sensitive documents that would require special permission to read. The college library was surprisingly well furnished and stocked, although the librarian hadn’t bothered to update any of the more essential volumes. As a result, most books were unreadable, written in ancient nordic writings that were foreign even to him and Savos Aren. Still, there was a good selection of Altmeri volumes and many maps of the mountains that populated Skyrim.

Some elvish maps were executed with far more detail and precision than human maps. His kin, it seemed, were sticklers for detail and perfection. Ancano would have a field day if permitted entry into the college's illustrious library.

As should every Altmer strives to be. Perfection, Came Ancano’s nasally voice, and Briengr shook his head, frowning at the memory of the bastard cornering him during lunch and daring to order him to spy on his classmates. ‘You have a duty to your people! You will not dare disobey a direct order from me, boy!’ Perhaps he’d been too hasty in assaulting the little agent. Savos Aren had yet to forgive him for punching the pompous ass in the nose, forever earning the enmity of the agent and the agent’s little shadow, who seemed to be damned determined to upstage him at every turn with her mocking green eyes and twisted scowl.

Audacious pricks. Both of them.

On the low-crafted table in front of him was a map of the mountains showing the area around Winterhold for all of a hundred leagues. Little pictographs indicated towns and villages, making their meanings easy to understand. A blue axe indicated a flowing river. A sword might be an iron mine. A boat indicated a port where merchant ships might go down the Sea of Ghosts. Major trails were marked in thick red lines, lesser ones in thinner ones. What looked like perilous routes through mountains were lines of black dots. Crossed swords indicated a battle site. An orc’s head most likely marked the lair of an Orc Hold. Looking at the map, Briengr could see that this place he was looking for ran down to the lowlands of the eastern side of Winterhold. The way was clear, but from there, it was a long circuitous route to Labyrinthian. The fastest way lay along the old roads, which faded with time.

It looked as if his little rival was right, he thought sourly. It might be quicker to wait and gather supplies for the perilous journey. Assuming he could get past a horde of undead, it would be for the best to take it slow, and judging by the number of skull symbols on the map, possibly much safer.

Annoyed and impatient, Briengr slammed his hands on the hard surface, gritting his teeth at the ridiculousness of it all. For years he’d been searching for knowledge that would complete his training in the way of the Ethereal Hunter, and now he was once again forced to wait! He didn’t know why or how, but Ancano’s pet was definitely at fault for this, and the insult of being proven wrong once again burned. "Well then," he began, tone a silken mockery as he sensed a familiar presence enter the library. "You were right all along... Lady Hithfaeril."

@ramblingsofamoonwatcher

[mc-critical]

When the fandom brings up the question of whether Mahidevran comforted Hürrem in E75 out of genuine empathy for her condition or just to make sure she and Mustafa are out of suspicion, I sit here wondering: why can't it be *both*?

Mehmet has been shot by a mysterious arrow and Hürrem was shaking in worry, sadness and fear for the life of her son, she was literally about to collapse. Mahidevran has been there; she understands very well what it means for your son to be in danger, she herself is always troubled and uneasy when there isn't a single notice to be had from Mustafa and there's the likelihood of the slightest bad thing happening to him. So seeing Hürrem like this, standing there with the lingering question of whether will her son survive or not, with no clue who was behind what was done to him, being overwhelmed by the worst thoughts and assumptions from all sides... I feel Mahidevran would sympathize plenty with that. I'd even say she initially went to Hürrem only as a mother that condoles with the pain of another mother, in an attempt to calm her down from what she was going through then.

Because motherhood usually bonds Mahidevran and Hürrem as much as it separates them. It's their maternal instincts that pushed them to protect each other's little kids in times of need, setting every grudge and enmity aside. It was precisely the maternal gratitude that motivated Mahidevran to return Hürrem's ring. They're both ready to do anything for their children and both have expressed understanding of the position of the other as a mother several times. Just like we have Hürrem figuring out that Mahidevran hesitated when it came to Efsun because of Mustafa in E56 and telling Mihrimah that Mahidevran too has a treasure and gets the courage from him in E94, we also have Mahidevran saying to Mustafa that Hürrem regards every breath he takes as a threat to her children in E94 as well (this and Hü's conversation with Mihri are, "coincidentally", parallel scenes that happen one after another in the episode) and that nobody can stop a mother whose child is sick in E101. If there's one thing that can make Mahidevran relate to Hürrem along with standing against her... motherhood is this thing, the only thing. I don't see why the E75 case could be an exception.

In addition to that, yes, Mahi was definitely thinking of the way this incident could impact Mustafa. And why wouldn't she when all gazes were directed towards both of them in that moment? Mustafa was right there when Mehmet was shot, Süleiman who was mad at Mustafa before for the Helena fiasco could get even warier of him this time, she was certain Hürrem would suspect her and her son since the exact same thing would surely be going in her head if she were in Hü's place there (hence her saying in solidarity that she knew what was Hürrem thinking) and no one knows anything about the attack - neither who did it, nor where is this person currently residing, can this person ever be found, can they ever get answers, none of it. And this should be something that concerns Mahidevran, since a single remaining piece of doubt could be detrimental for Mustafa. It would make him lose favor and deeply upset him on a personal level. It could be detrimental for them all and Mahidevran realizes it. The battle would become even tougher than it already was. So in order to protect the future of her son, she would totally seek to assure whoever she can that "this has nothing to do with us". She would obviously try to remove that suspicion from Hürrem's head, regardless of all.

The Mahidevran that swears she and Mustafa are innocent is also a mother, but a mother of the heir. And as she herself remarked in the previous episode: "It's not easy to be a mother of the heir". This is why telling Hürrem what she did after comforting her became a priority. Being a mother of the heir truly requires considering so much stuff at once, trying to think in advance as much as possible, because despite that Mahidevran was quite firm in her belief of a good future that would come eventually, she was aware she had to ensure it first. And leaving a yet completely uncertain situation that involves Mustafa where it was isn't a good idea at all. There was a reason she was in relief that Mehmet was okay and she ordered for sweets to be given to everyone in the Manisa castle: in her eyes, at least one part of the problem is cleared out. And after Mustafa finds and gets rid of the one who's guilty, another will be, too.

[bigskydreaming]

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go. 

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you. 

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her  themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome. 

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily. 

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did. 

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking  his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame. 

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later. 

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Leo do you have any voice headcanons for the ros? If not could you describe what their voices sound like??

Oh, I’m pretty bad with things like attaching voice claims to the characters haha. However, I do spend a lot of time trying to make sure that each character has a very distinct voice about them that people can identify even if I don’t point out who’s speaking in the book

E has a very cheery and informality about them. Compared to most, their voice is probably more artificially higher-pitched due to them talking with an optimistic passion. They have a lot more excitement in their voice, so they use a lot of short exclamations. They also talk with a more friendly tone, so their speech pattern is a lot more casual and doesn’t use a whole lot of big words

R’s got an almost ever-present smirk attached to their voice. There’s a constant quipping attached to their speech, paired with a smooth melodic voice like they absolutely know their voice is very nice to listen to and aren’t afraid to show it off. Though they’re very confident with it though, the sentences they say have a very intentional misdirection about them. They answer questions with questions, transition topics away from themselves and things they don’t want to discuss, and direct the path of conversations when in a group discussion. You can say their overall voice is like an amused evil puppetmaster, though I should probably clarify they’re not actually an evil puppetmaster haha

L has a very stiff formality and uses a lot of large words. Due to their lack of socialization, they default to a very proper speech pattern as though reading a mental prompt. I wouldn’t say their voice is quiet, but it is incredibly soft and seems to taper off or end in a question when discussing things they aren’t comfortable or familiar with. When intellectually curious, their speech seems to wander through the subject and bring up several questions and topics at once. Their voice at many points sounds as though they’re thinking out loud, which they consider a bad habit that they attempt to curb.

V’s got a very quiet and monotonous tone. It’s very stiff and uses many terms they’ve come to be familiar with in their time with Jagd. This being the case, they actually have a pretty good grasp of vocabulary and understanding verbal commands despite not knowing how to read themselves, though it’s still a few steps behind some of the more intelligent characters in the group. Their speech is typically very short and brief. They also do not talk as much as others, and in scenes where the group talks, it’s not uncommon that V only has one or two brief lines, and generally only talks in those cases when someone directly brings them into the conversation.

P probably has the deepest voice of the ROs, given that everyone was the same gender. They’ve got a constant enmity attached to their voice, so everything they say generally has a harsh bite in it when talking normally. Being the most temperamental of the group, they’re seen angered more often than others, which generally makes them sound like a hard drill instructor snapping at you while weaving insults. It probably doesn’t need to be said, but they’ve got something of a cussing problem, which they use habitually in many sentences. They’re also very informal and blunt with the words they use, and in many conversations, they’re the ones to cut out the extraneous topics to get straight to the point, often shutting up the more talkative members.

M’s speech is very easy to identify in the book due to their constant elongated talking pattern. They speak very softly, almost sing-song-like, and with a constant drowse that slows the pronunciation of their words. Despite that, many of the sentences directed at you are usually said with a subtle underlying slyness. They’re also one that doesn’t talk as much in group settings, though they usually allow themselves into the conversation when they do. Unlike V, who is more of a ‘speak only when spoken to’ in groups, M functions more as a ‘speak only when it matters’. Their sentences also have a small amusement attached to them in many cases, like they’re telling a small inside joke only they know.

Raven’s speech could only really be described as erratic. Due to having some extreme fluctuations in their emotional state -- at moments only needing a couple statements to switch them from overtly ecstatic and happy to a dismally sobbing wreak and then back to happy -- it’s hard to say there’s any real normalcy or pattern in the way they talk. The only real static condition in all of it is that Raven always takes their current emotional state to an extreme, and it is brought out through their voice. They are never simply happy or sad or angry or interested. Either overly excited or in a pit of despair or homicidally provoked or obsessive. In any case, in whatever they do, they act with extreme passion. in this way, they tend to use a lot of shorter exclamations instead of longer sentences. In groups, they tend to be more interested in seeing where the conversation leads instead of actively participating in it, adding small nudging statements every so often.

S is one of the other characters whose speech is much easier to identify than others. You can usually point them out in a crowd of dialogue due to their very informal style of speech and copious shortenings of words, like using ‘ya’ instead of ‘you’ and ‘tryin’’ instead of ‘trying’. They’ve got a very distinct voice, and I’d probably describe their accent as a slight southern twang. They’re one of the other characters that can swear a lot, though it tends to only come out when they’re angry or working and, unlike P, S’s temper is pretty well kept. Typically, they talk with a very upbeat and energetic tone, along with a constant troublemaking smirk. They’re a grade-a rulebreaker, and they very easily sound like it haha

F, like L, has a very formal pattern in how they talk. I’ve gotten some asks that consider F to have something of a French or British accent, though I don’t know that I’ve ever attributed an accent with them. At most, their accent is ‘elegantly condescending’ haha. With something like that, naturally, their sentences are constructed deliberately to patronize the subject and elevate themselves, often calling down very long-winded and complexly constructed insults using metaphors and drawing harsh parallels. Many of their sentences are much longer compared to other characters, while still saying just about the same thing that V could say in five or fewer words. That said, though they’re very insulting they tend to contribute a lot of elevated thought in group discussions, and like P tend to keep the conversation on track when someone else diverges too far from the main topic.

I hope that somewhat answers your question! haha

[minmotl]

Ch. 69: Sui Zhou Touches Tang Fan’s Lips As They Sleep On The Same Bed

Context: Continues from Chapter 68. Tang Fan, Sui Zhou and the other men are headed back to the Imperial City and Tang Fan knows that his punishment for letting Yin Yuan Hua get killed will be severe. Sui Zhou tries to help him but is helpless to do so, and Tang Fan plans for him instead, touching and warming the man’s heart.

*Note: Liang Wen Hua is Yin Yuan Hua’s direct supervisor and the both of them have been trying to sabotage Tang Fan for the longest time. 

Introduction Post | Masterpost

—

Highlights under the cut

Tang Fan smiles slightly, and then finds a chair next to the bed to sit down on. The red swelling on his face has already faded, so this action naturally looks elegant.

“What do you think will happen?” he asks in return, wanting to hear his good friend’s thoughts.

Sui Zhou is highly skilled in martial arts and has a firm, strong body, so even after sustaining severe injuries, now that he has laid down for so many days he is more or less recovered. Now, as he sits leaning against the side of the wall and chats with his good friend, this is instead another type of rest.

Listening to Tang Fan’s words, he then says sombrely, “A lot of people already think that you are in the Zhang Ying’s camp, but from what I can see, Wan An has been wanting to switch him out and so he definitely won’t sit in the ministerial position for long. Once he leaves, you’ll have to face Liang Wen Hua on your own, but in today’s court there are a few different parties that are competing fiercely with each other. Although Liang Wen Hua and the Chief Minister Wan An are close, but Liu Xu and Liu Ji do not look upon Wan An favourably, you still have a chance.”

The bunch of them have stayed in Gong County for a month, and at this point, Sui Zhou still does not know that Zhang Ying has been assigned to Nanjing, and also has no idea how accurate his premonition is.

“So what you mean is, I should depend on Liu Xu or Liu Ji?” Tang Fan asks.

Sui Zhou nods, “In the internal courts, today’s leading three elders, aside from Wan An, are Liu Xu and Liu Ji, these two men. Liu Xu is righteous and blunt, while Liu Ji is used to patronising others, and they are certainly no easy people to get along with. However, Liu Xu is the Emperor’s teacher and even he has to address the man as Dong Liu-xiansheng. The respect he has for the man is apparent. As for Liu Xu himself, he can appreciate capable young officials, so if you can gain his protection, you will not need to be afraid of Liang Wen Hua.”

And within the internal courts, although Liu Xu tends to be arrogant, compared to others, his personality can be considered one of the better ones. Moreover, he often advises the Emperor to work hard and serve his people. The only thing is, Liu Xu has a bad temper and likes to lecture others. If he sees someone he does not like, no matter if that person has done something good or bad, he will still lecture them from a higher moral ground. This has garnered the resentment of others, and so his relationship with others in court is not good. He tends to spread rumours to the disadvantage of others, which is why he, Wan An and Liu Ji are discussed together in the same sitting.

***

Tang Fan only laughs bitterly at his words, “This is a good solution, but on me, this doesn’t really work.”

Sui Zhou frowns, “Why?”

“My teacher and Liu Xu hold old grudges against each other, detesting one another. They cannot resist but want to triumph over the other. With Liu Xu’s character, do you think it’s possible for him to protect his enemy’s student?”

“There is deep enmity between them?” Sui Zhou asks.

Tang Fan, “Not quite to that extent, but you are also well aware that the both of them have bad tempers and believe in that they know best. You know this, it is easy to determine who the winner is in a physical fight, but between scholars, it is challenging to see who wins. I am not certain how their conflict came to be, but in any case, I once saw my teacher throw water from a cup at Liu Xu with my own eyes, and he said that Liu Xu is just as this water, that he is dirty and hard to deal with.”

Sui Zhou, “…”

Well, since they have already come to blows, it is probably impossible for them to become friends in this lifetime. And Tang Fan, as Qiu Jun’s student, if he approached the man, judging by Liu Xu’s personality, it is not difficult to imagine how Tang Fan will be humiliated as a result.

This method indeed will not work. When he thinks about this, Sui Zhou too is a little helpless.

He is the zhenfushi in charge of the Northern Administrative Court, and although the official hat he wears on the top of his head is Rank Five qianhu only, the rank he has when compared to civil officials of the same rank is very different. Not only do Rank Five civil officials need to give way to him, even the seasoned elders in the internal court will have to stop and exchange greetings with him when they see Sui-zhenfushi.

Moreover, he is also related to Empress Dowager Zhou, while the Emperor trusts him immensely. For him to keep progressing upwards is not a difficult thing.

And yet, for Sui-zhenfushi who holds so much power, he is unable to do anything for his good friend’s career problems. On the surface, it seems that this is due to the entirely differently systems that govern the promotions for Embroidered Uniform Guards and civil officials.

However, Sui Zhou believes that this is the result of him not being powerful and strong enough. If he had the power and authority that someone like Grand Tutor Sun Ji Zong has now, even if Liang Wen Hua wanted to sabotage Tang Fan, he would have to reconsider and they would not be stuck in this situation where they can only react to changes.

Tang Fan sees his frustration and instead comforts him, “You do not need to be like this. I know you are doing this for my own good but whether or not I continue to be an official, this is not under yours or my control. I have already done my best at the things I need to do and have no regrets. You don’t have to worry about things that will happen in the future.  We should live in the present, and there will always be things to worry about tomorrow!”

Sui Zhou hears this and does not know if he should be reassured by how open-minded Tang Fan is, or worried that he is so nonchalant.

Then again, if Tang Fan was the the type of official that went after status and power, focusing only on promotions, then the both of them would unlikely have any common interests or views, or become good friends.

It is commonly said that there is a everything happens for a reason, and if you lose something you will also gain something. Although it is impossible for everything to go smoothly, but they headed into Marquis Gong’s tomb, meet bloodthirsty, merciless and ferocious tomb-guarding beasts and originally thinking that they would have to die down there, and they ended up returning safely. This is already a fortunate thing; hey really should not ask for too much.

In any case, he has plenty of savings and when it comes to that, Sui Zhou can definitely afford to take care of him. All he has to do is think of ways to make Tang Fan stay.

Sui Zhou does not realise that unconsciously, he has already been influenced by Tang Fan’s casual, broad-minded attitude. The way he used to regard life in a strict and narrow manner is also slowly changing.

If it was before, he might have gotten angry at Tang Fan’s lack of ambition and competitive drive, and the way he does not seem to want to work with anyone else, but right now, he instead understands Tang Fan and acknowledges his friend’s perspective towards life.

This is because Sui Zhou knows that it is not that Tang Fan does not want to progress upwards, that he doesn’t work hard. It is that he has already done his best within the limitations of his capabilities, and he does not want to force things. He prefers to let things come as they will - he works with the determination of wanting to work towards maintaining peace in this world, but as a person, he is happy being himself and will deal with things when they happen.

To be able to be friends with him is the other person’s fortune.

“You’re right,” Sui Zhou’s mouth curves upwards, and his heart eases.

He does not know when it started; when he looks at this person and thinks about him, his eyes lose the cold and hard edge usually present when he looks at others, and what’s left behind is a light layer of happiness.

***

“Guang Chuan, after we head back, you better make a trip to Yuan-zhenfushi’s. He has been with the Embroidered Uniform Guards for so many years and though he does not think much of power and status, he is definitely not someone who will let others step on him. Since he let you command the whole of the Northern Administrative Court, this means that he obviously is impressed with your abilities and is intent on making you his successor. If you can obtain his complete approval and you absorb all of Yuan Bin’s power and connections, then even if Wan Tong returns, he will not be able to touch you easily. At that point you would control the Northern Administrative Court firmly, and naturally will not be afraid of Wan Tong.”

“And,” Tang Fan sits on the bed and bends at the waist to remove his shoes and socks, then hugs the covers and lies on the bed as he plans for Sui Zhou, “You are Empress Dowager Zhou’s grandnephew and the trust that the Emperor has for you is not lesser than the trust he has for Wan Tong. After you return, you must remember two things and you will be able to stand firmly before the Emperor. No matter how Wan Tong tries to sabotage you, he will not be able to do anything to you.”

Sui Zhou raises an eyebrow, “I’m all ears.”

“Firstly, no matter what the Emperor wants to do, you must not oppose him. If he asks for your opinion, you must not respond. Whatever he says, you do, unless it clashes with your principles. Secondly, after Wan Tong drags Yuan Bin down, you must ask for leniency for Yuan Bin. If the Emperor asks you for a reason, you should say that you are willing to serve him as Yuan Wen served the previous Emperor. Not only will the Emperor not blame you if you say this, but he will also pardon Yuan Bin, and be closer to you as well.”

The Cheng Hua Emperor has plenty of bad habits but at the same time, he is also rather soft-hearted and nostalgic. However, he is also an Emperor and emperors do not prefer their subjects to oppose them day in and out. With this type of personality, the Emperor is indeed a very contradictory person.

Although Tang Fan has only seen the Emperor in person a few times, from the descriptions of people who often interact with him such as Sui Zhou and Wang Zhi, it is not difficult to deduce the Emperor’s character.

What he has just said to Sui Zhou can be regarded as him guessing at the Emperor’s thoughts and this is taboo. If it wasn’t someone like Sui Zhou who he is this close to, Tang Fan will definitely not say any of this.

Sui Zhou naturally understands and his heart warms as he enjoys this treatment.

“I understand, thank you.”

“Between you and I, is there any need for thanks?” Tang Fan smiles.

At night, Tang Fan sleeps rather restfully and these problems have obviously not affected his mood.

Sui Zhou, however, is unable to sleep.

Tang Fan took the initiative and asked to sleep on the inside so that he would not accidentally press on Sui Zhou’s injuries if he tosses and turns. He is lying on his side and his back is almost pressed entirely against the wall. Sui Zhou feels uncomfortable on his behalf just looking at him, but Tang Fan is still able to descend into his dreams.

Sui Zhou’s gaze is sombre and he looks quietly at Tang Fan for a long while, then reaches out to touch that handsome face.

His fingers land on the other’s lips, but he only lightly caresses for a moment. The touch is not made out of lust or want, only respect and sincerity.

Before he met Tang Fan, Sui Zhou was actually incredibly lonely inside.

The Sui family members are not able to understand why Sui Zhou entered the Embroidered Uniform Guards, and in their eyes, Sui Zhou should have emulated his older brother, working hard at the imperial examinations, helping the family to forge a path of honour which will allow them to get rid of the reputation that says they relied on their external relatives for status. Although the authority the Embroidered Uniform Guards wield is great, they have a terrible reputation as well. If he had received an empty title, that’s one thing, but being called a dog to the imperial court, what is this?

However, Sui Zhou does not need anyone to understand him. He is like a single, long wolf, moving forward on a path he has set his heart on.

And then he met Tang Fan.

A person who genuinely wants to help him to plan and strategise for the future.

To be able to attain such a soulmate, what more can he ask for?

He can only reciprocate with everything he has.

The bright moonlight peeps in through the window and lands on Tang Fan’s face. This illuminates his beauty and makes him look like an immortal, unlike a common man.

Suddenly, Deity Tang moves his lips, as if saying something.

Sui Zhou’s curiosity is piqued and he moves closer, but he ends up hearing Tang Fan mumble, “Crab roe… tofu soup…”

Sui Zhou, “…”

Tang-daren’s imposing and noble image has been shattered.

===

Notes:

*今朝有酒今朝醉，明日愁来明日愁 - An idiom that literally translates to ‘I will get drink on alcohol today, and worry about tomorrow when tomorrows comes.” Means to live in the present and worry about things when they happen rather than in advance.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

NEVER WAS THERE A TALE OF MORE WOE, THAN THAT OF OUR JEANNE AND FANGDADDIO 😭😭😭

But alas, I will relay what I read back in the day to the best of my abilities! Spoilers for the end of Jeanne’s route under the cut, rated E (for everyone) for maximum uwus (and M for angst bc F U C K):

Okay so basically Jeanne’s route goes a lot like most of the routes, and when MC gets attacked (by the rival vampire turned by Vlad) our eyepatched wonder is not happy about it. He storms over to Comte’s room and demands to have his questions answered. Comte notes how deathly serious he is and breezes past the enmity, telling him to go ahead and ask whatever he needs to. Jeanne threatens to kill Comte if it turns out that he’s lying about anything from this point forward. To which Comte (being a little shit), replies that he literally can’t die so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Jeanne tells him he doesn’t care what it takes; he’ll rend him apart to the tiniest shred over and over and over again--even if it takes them both to the other side to accomplish it. Comte concedes and says “very well; if I lie, you’re welcome to try.” Jeanne finally asks if Comte has made a revival pact with anyone new. Comte is genuinely confused and confesses that he hasn’t--that he has no idea who Jeanne is talking about. “What ‘comrade in arms’???” Jeanne seems to sense that Comte is responding in earnest (but is also confused bc like, then who the fuck else turned the guy??? WHO IS THE THREAT I MUST STAB)

Jeanne admits that MC was attacked and you can feel the change in gravity in milliseconds. Comte starts asking where she is and if she’s okay, and Jeanne explains that she’s still in the mansion and she’s fine. Jeanne then asks if Shakespeare has the ability to turn people like he does, and Comte is bewildered to put it mildly. He’s like ??????? Where is this coming from, of course he doesn’t???? I turned him myself, he’s a lesser vampire--he doesn’t have that ability???? In a moment of sheer livid impatience, Jeanne grabs Comte by the lapels and screams “Then who can!?!?!?!” Comte stares at him and admits that there are only two people that he is aware of who can accomplish such a thing, himself and someone else. They hear a loud crash and they run to the dining room, only to find a window smashed, Mozart wounded, and MC gone. Comte’s furious sprite appears, and he asks Jeanne to look after MC, he has something to take care of. Isaac asks him where on earth he’s going, and he reveals that he’s going to Will’s house before storming out.

Poor Shakespeare faces the brunt of Comte’s rage--though I get the feeling, knowing now that Shakespeare is Vlad’s puppet--that the threat was meant more for Vlad than for Shakey boy. Comte goes to Shakey’s place and Shakespeare offers to put on tea or wine, says it’s strange for him to appear so late. Comte tells him not to bother, since he isn’t here to exchange pleasantries. Shakespeare seems p shocked given Comte isn’t usually one to be so direct or terse, and when Comte walks in he backs Shakespeare into the wall step. By step. By step. He asks him if he was involved in the harm done to MC, and Shakespeare’s like “Yeah lol what’s it to you.” And when their shoes are nearly touching, Comte grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground. He tells Shakespeare that if this goes on, he won’t show any mercy: "To those that would harm a single member of my house, I will hunt them to the ends of the earth. To the very depths of hell." The narration notes that he lets go of whatever dampens his pureblood aura and nearly suffocates Shakespeare with his raw intensity and power, before putting him down again and saying “That’s all I have to say. I have no more questions for you.” Comte walks right back out, slamming the door while Shakespeare is on the floor coughing. 

So, needless to say, things are hella rocky between Comte and Jeanne throughout the better part of the route. But given the odd dichotomy of Comte’s reactions (his complete acceptance of Jeanne’s fury versus his own anger being directed at Vlad), it definitely felt like there was more there. Everything finally comes full circle at the end when Comte gathers everyone inside the dining room to explain precisely what happened (Vlad, etc. I’m assuming) and asks everyone to take proper precautions moving forward: "I'll take steps to make sure this never happens again. But if we are faced with a similar situation, know that I am prepared to protect you all with every fiber of my being." He deems secrecy a moot point given this incident, and just wants everyone to be safe and ask for help should they need it in the future. 

MC notes that he doesn’t have his usual placid demeanor; he’s incredibly serious and grave. She’s like “Oh boy some serious shit went down huh...but if anything, I feel like it’s only made us have more faith in his ability to protect us c:” AND HERE IS WHERE THE BIG HURT HAPPENS KIDS GET YOUR TISSUES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Jeanne: "...Alright. I will trust in your words. But can I ask just one thing?” Comte: “Yes, Jeanne?” Jeanne: "You know I always hated you, I truly believed you revived me against my will for a long time." Comte just sorta deflates, but he doesn’t say anything (MY POOR BABIE) Jeanne: "But, is that really the case? Did I want to live on, away from that pyre...?" [There was a long silence.] Comte: “...That day, when I appeared, you screamed desperately 'Why must I die here. Whether it be God or the devil, someone make use of me!'” Important note: Jeanne tells MC that he is able to recall thinking that, but he has no acute recollection of saying it; this is the moment at which he lost consciousness. MC: [;-; No matter how hard he tried to stifle it, it (his deep wish to live) came out all the same...] I wasn’t able to transcribe it, but Comte essentially tells him that he tried to ask Jeanne, but he was already barely hanging on--there was no way he could get a proper answer. (This is highly plausible given we know that Jeanne was incarcerated by the Inquisition, tortured, and starved before he was tied to that pyre--it was a miracle he lasted that long. He didn’t even have the strength to move/struggle from where he was tied). Comte goes on to say that Jeanne was pissed to shit when he woke up and there was little he could do to alleviate that (I mean given he was waiting for the sweet release of death it makes sense but also N O ;-;). For a while Jeanne just stares at him before asking: Jeanne: “...Why? Why didn’t you tell me after all this time?” Comte: "Because I thought it was okay if you berated me a little." Jeanne (vine voice: AMERICA EXPLAIN): ?????????? Comte: "Despite being alive...you looked dead to the world ever since the day we met. No matter how hard I tried or whatever I did, I couldn't seem to change that. But...the only emotion I seemed to be able to draw out of you was hate. If hatred was the only thing that could move you, I figured I'd take on that role. Better to see you express something than to see you lifeless beyond any glimmer of hope or change." Jeanne: "Why....why would you go that far?? Why did you bother? I don't...understand" BECAUSE HE HAS SO MUCH LOVE TO GIVE AND HE LOVES YOU I’M SOBBING ALL OVER AGAIN OKAY DEEP BREATHS THE SHOW MUST GO ON MINNIE Comte: "Because I'm the one that revived you...because to me, you're all my precious family." Jeanne: "...............................................................I...I'm sorry" AND JEANNE HANGS HIS HEAD WAAAAAAAAAAAH Comte’s brows rise: “...Jeanne?” Jeanne: "I know an apology doesn't forgive everything I did/said. But I don't know how else to make amends"

It goes on to show them all making amends, and while Jeanne can sometimes be like “ughghhghgh d a d stop nagging I’m fINE” he secretly really loves the guy. In Jeanne’s third bday story he’s literally like [Comte’s a weirdo but I see now that that's just how he cares abt me. He's not just worldly, he's a good guy. c: I just don’t care abt whatever he’s going on abt rn]

So like full disclosure before Jeanne’s route I still loved Comte but I really didn’t know much about him beyond the “eccentric nobleman persona.” Granted we definitely get glimpses into who he really is, but this was a sizeable breakthrough. (And probably a strong allusion to the release of Comte’s MS soon after.) That being said, there were so many things said here that just absolutely shattered my heart. 

Because here’s the thing. I have no qualms with Comte’s wish to be a dad--or even to revive the men, for that matter. If it makes him happy and he intends to take care of them reasonably well, then who am I to criticize him? (Fun fact: Leonardo essentially says the same exact thing; he’s more against it than I am because of the whole turning humans, but he doesn’t necessarily vilify Comte because he knows his intentions are good. And if everyone’s happy with it, what can he say?) But the fact that Comte handles their issues with so much patience and maturity...I’m in love???? There is sincerely nothing sexier than this for me. He’s fully aware that Jeanne was treated like absolute shit by the people he tried to protect, that he never really got to live for himself a single day in his life--never knew a moment’s peace, joy, or appreciation. He tries everything he can think of to get Jeanne to maybe not hate being alive as much, but fails at every turn. He still refuses to give up on the guy despite the less than ideal state of things, and decides that if Jeanne needs an enemy to survive--he will be that enemy. He doesn’t care that the guy he’s trying to help would skewer him the second he had his back turned (Jeanne pls this was a new suit couldn’t this wait). He takes full responsibility for deciding to turn him; knows that since he erred on the side of caution, it’s up to him to offer a life that’s worth keeping/staying alive for. He doesn’t belittle Jeanne’s plight for a moment, never deems him stupid or shortsighted. He’s able to understand that in the wake of so much pain and loss, of course Jeanne might not notice the finer points of Comte’s attempts to cheer him up. Even if it pains him to be on negative terms (HE LOVES HIS BOY HE DOESN’T WANT TO FIGHT) he will fully accept it if it brings Jeanne peace, if it helps Jeanne get to a place where he can begin to accept the affection he wants to offer.

And THAT’S what kills me, kids. Four hundred years, and Comte fucking LEARNED something. He is perceptive to uncanny degrees, and never fails to read a room in milliseconds; not only does he pick up on how people feel, he responds with appropriate, gentle measures. What I love so much about Comte is that he knows full well that genius does not come without its price. You could be the smartest person on earth, the most talented, whatever you choose to call it, but it will invite no shortage of hatred from other people, no shortage of misunderstanding and disdain and violence. If people don’t go mad with power, they are destroyed by the very places that birthed them. As such, the last thing he wants to do is put them under more pressure, or force them to do things against their will; he just wants to give them a chance to live beyond such fickle and hostile circumstances. And he takes this seriously, this isn’t remotely a whim for him despite all evidence to the contrary. He gets that healing takes time, and as much as he wants everyone to be happy he’s more than willing to give them space/resources to figure it out. Like. He is the father everybody DREAMS they had (if they didn’t already have a good one) and the fact that I can’t tell him what a wonderful job he’s doing is killing me on all levels INCLUDING physical.

And I just?????? Jeanne’s palpable remorse when he finds out????? And Comte’s surprise???????? Like Comte wasn’t necessarily expecting that level of apology, he knew he was taking a gamble and he was ready to do whatever he had to, he wasn’t intending to hold it against his boy. But Jeanne just has such a tender and well-meaning heart (no matter how much he struggles to express it) that regret was inevitable. There’s just so much love in that moment, in Comte’s capacity to forgive and take on so much of poor Jeanne’s unhappiness, and Jeanne’s fully ability to admit he was misguided, lower his head, and apologize. THEY JUST GET ME BLUBBERING LIKE A THREE YEAR OLD OKAY THEY ARE BOTH SO IMPORTANT TO ME AND I HURT

Tl;dr: JEANNE’S ROUTE SHOT ME FORTY-SEVEN TIMES IN THE CHEST AND LEFT ME PINING FOR COMTE MORE THAN EVER BEFORE OTL

Also a bonus, because it only just occurred to me (spoilers from the end of Comte’s route):

THEY HAVE A LEGIT REVERSAL AT THE END OF COMTE’S ROUTE???? Comte once again gathers everyone to reveal Vlad’s identity and intentions, and he apologizes for keeping it from everyone, lowering his head. He’s more than ready to face everyone’s ire for keeping secrets, but everyone’s just like “dad pls lift your head it’s okay, we’re just glad we can help you now--you don’t have to carry it all on your own.” AND IT IS IN FACT, JEANNE, THAT ALSO SAYS “No need to bow like that Comte, aren't you the one always saying we're family?" AND WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS IN A PUDDLE OF TEARS?????? I WILL NEVER BE OKAY. POOR COMTE WAS SO MOVED AND MY HEART CAN’T TAKE HAVING THIS KNOWLEDGE WHERE’S MY HANKIE. JEANNE. BEING THE ONE. TO SAY. “Aren’t we family?” WHEN HEARING HOW HARD COMTE WAS WORKING TO PROTECT THEM, BC HE 100% IDENTIFIES WITH THE STRUGGLE OF LOOKING AFTER PEOPLE THAT DON’T KNOW/CARE THAT SOMEBODY ELSE IS THE SACRIFICE FOR THEIR PEACE OF MIND. I--

WHAT IS IT THAT JEANNE AND COMTE SHARE TO THE CORE, SO MUCH THAT JEANNE WOULD NEED NO OTHER EXPLANATION TO CHANGE HIS MIND AFTER YEARS OF BITTER DISDAIN???????? THEIR CAPACITY FOR DEVOTION, THEIR EASY WILLINGNESS TO SACRIFICE ANYTHING TO PROTECT A LIFE. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS EPIPHANY IS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME

I’m crying rn I just: Comte: !!!!!!! Somebody who gets it!!! :DDD Jeanne: die. Comte:  Comte: ;-; understandable have a nice day

[raptured-night]

Alright here are other ones that I had asked for to deathdaydungeon but they seem to be occupied for a while... There is a theory saying that Neville had a Snape Boggart because Snape had threatened Trevor, which represented Neville’s “proof” that he wasn’t a Squib, as he feared so. In this case, why didn’t he have a dead Trevor as a Boggart instead? Do you think that Snape expressing his worry over how James fancies Lily could be consistent evidence he wanted to date her or not?

I do believe that @deathdaydungeon has shared a few of their thoughts on Neville’s Boggart before that you may find of interest since they’ve not yet been able to respond to your ask. Indeed, the entire discussion following their own thoughts is well worth a read, and here’s another version where I share just a few of my own thoughts. 

That being said, I’m going to cite from a much older and very lengthy discussion post I once wrote regarding Snape as I went into a great length and detail exploring the potential symbolism of Neville’s Boggart to Neville and some of the psychological implications. Because that particular meta covered such a broad range of topics concerning Snape and that particular bit came at the very end of what proved to be a 20k word essay simply linking you to it and expecting you to search through it all to find the sections that pertain to your ask seems less reasonable than simply quoting from that portion of the meta here (although if you find yourself with a bit of time and the interest for it, here is the link to that monster of a meta all the same). So, with that said, here are my thoughts on Neville’s Boggart, Trevor, Boggart!Snape, and Boggarts overall. 

I have often challenged Harry’s narrator as one that is intentionally designed to be biased or unreliable (notably it is a limited-omniscient perspective) in order to demonstrate how it can influence reader perception of characters and even the world the characters occupy. However, the discrepancy between Harry’s perspective of how he is treated by the Dursleys and Neville’s perspective of his own family and how he is treated is revealing exactly because it is made more apparent for being presented through Harry’s narrative. From the start of HP: PS, Harry’s narrative wastes little time in painting for the reader a picture of abuse and unhappiness where Harry’s life with the Dursleys is concerned. With Dudley serving as our counterpoint to emphasize the extreme neglect, abuse and more general mistreatment that Harry suffers while under their roof (e.g. being forced to sleep in a cupboard with spiders while Dudley has a second room, being bullied and beaten while Dudley’s is doted on, even having his hair cut in a humiliating fashion while Dudley receives a new school uniform, etc.), Rowling’s narrative also expresses to the reader Harry’s awareness of the injustice of his situation and his feelings of resentment, discontent, and helplessness. When it comes to the Dursleys and their cruel treatment of Harry the narrative does function as a mostly reliable gauge for the reader to go by. Thus, when the reader is confronted with Neville’s account of his own family experiences in HP: PS I would argue that what makes it the most jarring is the fact that it goes against the precedent set by Harry and his narrative, in that Neville does not appear to recognize anything out of the ordinary in how he has been treated:

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all- Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me -- he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned -- but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced -- all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

Notably, Neville joins the other first-years like Seamus Finnegan in very casually relating details about his home life to his new peers and the reader learns that he would appear to come from a family that would risk potentially killing him over the possibility that he might have been born a Squib (the way that Squibs might function as an allegory for neurodivergence and disability is, in itself, an interesting subject to explore; especially given the attitudes of Neville’s grandmother and uncle, whose behaviors might be compared to those of modern anti-vaccers, so-called “autism awareness” groups like Autism Speaks that promote an idea of autism as a disease to be cured, and those parents who treat their disabled children in abliest ways). Indeed, it would appear that Trevor was a gift from the same uncle who had constantly tried to catch him off guard (in the same way Dudley and his friends always forced Harry to be on the defensive) and held him out of a window before thoughtlessly dropping him, which does add a new dimension to his emotional attachment to his toad (a reward from an abusive uncle just for not being so inadequate that he failed to get into Hogwarts). The stark difference between Neville and Harry’s perceptions of their families and their unique responses to how they are treated does give us some potential insight into their insecurities and measurements of self-worth.

Additionally, it gives us some potential insight into the possible sociocultural attitudes of wizarding society and might suggest that behaviors like those from Neville’s family are normalized and not regarded as abusive so much as they are accepted as just another extension of the “eccentricity” of their world. It is of interest that when Harry receives his first acceptance letter to Hogwarts addressed to “The Cupboard under the Stairs” the Dursley’s appear concerned at being caught out and move Harry to Dudley’s second room. They are also temporarily said to have tried to seem “nicer” to him, likely for fear of being watched. Moreover, the Dursley’s do show some indication that they may be aware that their treatment of Harry is abusive and would be viewed negatively by most of their Muggle society when Harry joins them at the zoo and Vernon Dursley reluctantly buys him a lemon-flavored ice cream to save face when the vendor draws attention to Harry being excluded. Overall, the very fact that Neville did feel so comfortable openly discussing his Uncle Algie’s treatment of him and the low opinion his family all appear to share about his magical capability does seem to support a point of contrast between Muggle and wizard societies and their views on abuse and child endangerment.

Furthermore, the different ways that Harry and Neville react to Severus is also revealing. Especially as there have been numerous discussions about the psychological factors that may have contributed to Severus’s seeming disdain for Harry and Neville but fewer discussions seem to be devoted to exploring Harry’s own strong animosity for Severus or the source of Neville’s potential fear of him. Significantly, we can observe that for Harry the protection afforded by Lily’s sacrifice does create a scenario where he must return to the Dursley’s at the end of each school year (in some ways, one could observe that the consequences of Lily’s death bind both Harry and Severus to an environment where they sustained most of their trauma). Thus, we see where any outward defiance within the household of the Dursleys is complicated by the requirement that Harry must remain with the Dursleys even after he learns he has magic. Instead, Harry has to mostly resort to cunning acts of self-defense (e.g. taking advantage of the Dursley’s ignorance of the Underage Secrecy Laws to lead them to believe he can use magic against them) or we see that his resistance assumes a more passive-aggressive tone (understandable given the retaliation he can expect from direct confrontation) with the exception of HP: PoA, when Aunt Marge’s sustained verbal abuse and threats over the course of two weeks manages to trigger an explosion of magic in Harry.

Whereas, at Hogwarts, we see Harry buck against authority more and more each year and Severus remains the focal point of his more active resistance. His refusal to address Severus using his title or forms of respect, even in the face of correction by multiple sources, culminates in Harry openly sassing Severus in his sixth year (”You don’t have to call me sir, Professor.”). He becomes more openly brazen in working around Severus, confronting him, and defying him when challenged. As the series progresses, Harry’s enmity toward Severus grows until we see a rancor of mutual proportions between them that culminates in Harry chasing Severus out of Hogwarts throwing curses in HP: HBP. Thus, where Harry cannot so openly defy the Dursleys, in many ways, Severus becomes a figure of authority (one who seems to unfairly hate him and who is biased against him and his house) that he can more safely (i.e. where resistance with the Dursleys might result in real harm or consequences defying Severus results in detention at worst and lost house points at best) resist in their place. Therefore, where Harry may function as a less threatening proxy of James for Severus to project onto, so too does Severus potentially function as a more secure stand-in for the Dursleys that Harry can lash out against and rebel from.

In the case of Neville, I would posit that Severus may also function as a representation of sorts. Specifically, he may serve as a symbol of the deeper anxieties and insecurities that Neville formed as a result of the pressure that his family placed on his magical capability. A pressure that the Hogwarts environment and its preferencing of a culture that fosters competition between houses and depends upon a performance-based reward system may only have exacerbated. As Harry observes in HP: GoF, McGonagall wasn’t the only professor while at Hogwarts to seldom compliment Neville, rather it would seem that “...Neville very rarely heard that he was good at anything.” His first-year alone began in an inauspicious manner, as we see Neville struggle in almost all of his classes from Charms to Potions to Flying (which lands him a broken wrist and Harry a spot on the Quidditch team). While we can debate the extent to which Neville’s magical struggles are the result of him being on a different level of skill and/or learning curve to some of the other children, we can at least acknowledge that his anxiety may have contributed significantly to many of his mistakes (”But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.”), just as Merope Gaunt’s magical ability was considerably hampered by the constant criticism and abuse she sustained from both Gaunt men in her household (notably, just as Neville’s grandmother implies that he was nearly a Squib, so too does Merope’s father criticize her magical abilities by calling her a Squib).

Which brings me back to the subject of Severus and the finer points of why he may have become Neville’s Boggart, specifically. Undoubtedly, for a self-conscious and anxious student, having Severus for a teacher would be a harrowing experience and I do not deny that Neville wouldn’t have found it difficult. However, as I’ve also established previously, Severus was not entirely unique in how he approached teaching nor even the only teacher at Hogwarts to criticize, be harsh, or single-out Neville. As such, one must ask themselves why it is Neville that perceives Severus as more uniquely terrible or to be feared. For starters, we could once again point to the unreliable narrative of Harry Potter and what it tells us about the public opinion of Severus, even before Harry had his first class with him, and how that may have also influenced Neville’s preconceived notions of him as well. Notably, when Harry asks Percy (a school prefect) about Severus he’s told this, "Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape." Thus, anxious already, it’s feasible to argue that Neville may have entered Severus’s first potions class with an idea of Severus’s “infamy” as well. 

More critically, however, one might speculate as to whether Neville even consciously connects his performance anxiety and fear of being perceived as a failure with the treatment he received as a child by members of his own family. Indeed, I would submit that the true source of Neville’s fears does stem from the traumatic experiences of his childhood and what they would have reinforced for him; that is, the idea that he would be better off dead than a Squib, a magical failure who can only become a burden to his family, and the conditioned expectation that any failure his part will always be connected to harsh corrections and/or punishments (such as having your uncle constantly torment you by trying to constantly catch you off guard or even threaten to drop you out of a window). Indeed, within a society where Squibs are treated as sources of shame and second-class citizens, and where you never speak of that “second cousin who became an accountant,” (HP: PS) Neville’s fears are legitimately validated and he would be more out to view other authority figures as capable of doing serious harm to him (if only by rejecting him from Hogwarts, declaring him a near-Squib, and sending him out into the world without a magical education). Thus, he might take them at face value as a genuine threat to his long-term acceptance in the wizarding world and regard his teachers (particularly the overly critical, stern, or harsh ones) with a deeper source of anxiety rather than test their boundaries, as we see with Harry vs. Snape. As such, the boy whose family hadn’t even entirely expected him to get into Hogwarts finds himself faced with the constant pressure of not disappointing them or proving himself undeserving of his place there among the other students. Returning back to Severus, we can find evidence of an interesting symbolism in him being Neville’s Boggart and how that might lend insight into these deeper fears Neville carries.

I do not believe it was a coincidence that Rowling placed the scene where Severus had Neville demonstrate the efficacy of his Shrinking Solution on Trevor before the Boggart lesson with Lupin as the reader is shown (i.e. between HP: PS and HP: CoS Neville is only shown making mistakes in Severus’s classes that would prompt him snapping at him or we are just told Severus was horrible) in more certain terms why Neville might fear Severus enough for him to credibly be his personal Boggart. As we know, Trevor was the gift that Neville received from his Uncle Algie for “surprising everyone” in his family with his acceptance to Hogwarts, which we could argue makes Trevor a symbol of approval from a family who formerly saw him as a disappointment. Moreover, Severus also functions as a symbol in that Neville may have come to associate him specifically with his anxieties over being singled out as inadequate. Quite fitting, as Severus Snape the biased teacher and Head of Slytherin House who hates Gryffindors, fancies the Dark Arts, covets the DADA position, has exacting standards and does not suffer fools lightly is both the safe (in that it’s likely easier for Neville to fear him than it would be for him to unpack all the psychological realities of the trauma his family inflicted on him) and the most obvious candidate for Neville to focus all of the anxieties and fears he may have formed as a result of his family’s treatment of him. Treatment that his world would appear to have normalized in such a way that, unlike Harry, he may not have consciously recognized --or even want to recognize-- it to be cruel, unfair, and even abusive. Ergo, when Severus uses Trevor as his “teaching moment” the symbol of Neville’s fears (i.e Severus) is seemingly threatening the symbol of Neville’s validation (i.e. Trevor) that he is not a complete failure and a total disappointment to everyone in his family.

Ultimately, Rowling does reinforce this psychological symbolism when she has Neville’s Boggart of Severus connected to an association with his grandmother. Also of interest is the fact that prior to Lupin introducing his class to the Boggart, Severus also makes an unexpected appearance in the staff room where he seems to caution Lupin in the form of mocking Neville (something I’ve theorized before may have doubled as a veiled warning about the wisdom of exposing children, especially those like Harry and Neville, to a creature that assumes the form of your fears). So that, once again, the connection between Severus as a source of fear and Neville’s insecurities are emphasized to the reader in such a way that by that point they are very present at the forefront of the reader’s mind and it makes it very easy to accept that Severus would be Neville’s Boggart at face value and leave it there. However, upon closer examination, the symbolic connection between Neville’s fear of Severus and his fears associated with his family is also very present. Notably, when Lupin singles Neville out to lead the class in demonstrating how to handle a Boggart, Rowling makes a point to have Lupin establish the correlation between Severus and Neville’s grandmother:

"Professor Snape... hmmm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Er -- yes," said Neville nervously. "But -- I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."

Significantly, Neville first admits to Severus being his Boggart and when Lupin brings up his grandmother he acknowledges that he does not want his Boggart to turn into his grandmother, which might support my theory that Severus is a safer focus for Neville’s anxieties and fears than acknowledging any connection between them and his family would be. Nevertheless, his Boggart does become an amalgamation of Severus and his grandmother and it is only by confronting them together that he is able to overcome his Boggart. Interestingly, one can also observe that the majority of the forms the Boggart assumed in Lupin’s class were primarily surface-level fears that some might associate with childhood or more general phobias, such as clowns or spiders. Even Harry, who Lupin expected would see Voldemort, found himself confronted with a Dementor instead, largely because his most recent experience with a Dementor unearthed the traumatic memories of the night his parents died. As such, one can argue that Harry did not fear the Dementor so much as he feared what the Dementor had come to represent to him, which, while connected to Voldemort in a more intangible sense, had more to do with the trauma of the night when he lost his parents and was a more immediate threat for Harry to process and to fear (rather than the more distant and abstract awareness he would have had of Voldemort existing somewhere in the world, the uncertainty of when he would even return, and what that, i.e. actual war, might even be like for him to experience).  

In fact, Rowling presents us with another example of the Boggart functioning as a representation of deeper fears and anxieties much later in HP: PoA, which further supports the argument that Snape was not Neville’s Boggart just because he had managed to become the sole source of trauma in Neville’s life but rather because he had come to represent the more complex fears that Neville was not prepared --or potentially of an age of maturity yet-- to be able to consciously process or really confront head-on. It is noteworthy that Rowling makes a point to draw the reader’s attention to the fact that Hermione had not had an opportunity to face the Boggart by the end of Lupin’s lesson (He seems like a very good teacher", said Hermione approvingly. "But I wish I could have a turn with the boggart --") and I would posit that it was an intentional build-up to the reveal at a later part of her book where we discover that Hermione and Neville would seem to share very similar fears:

Hermione did everything perfectly until she reached the trunk with the Boggart in it. After about a minute inside it, she burst out again, screaming. ‘Hermione!’ said Lupin, startled. ‘What’s the matter?’ ‘P-P-Professor McGonagall!’ Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. ‘Sh-she said I’d failed everything!’ It took a little while to calm Hermione down.

Ultimately, we might question whether it was wise on McGonagall’s part to encourage Hermione to attempt such a rigorous schedule as she did third-year. Particularly as we see the evidence of the pressure (psychological, emotional, etc.) that Hermione has placed on herself knowing that McGonagall received special permission for her to use a Time-Turner as the third-book progresses and Hermione becomes more and more frazzled and anxious. Nevertheless, one is justified in applying some scrutiny to any assertions that McGonagall was Hermione's Boggart because she was a more literal source of fear or trauma for her, so much as one might argue that she had also become a symbolic focal point for the anxieties of a student and that the Boggart merely provided a representation of those deeper, more complex fears. As a Muggle-born, one might argue that Hermione does have certain fears about being found inadequate or unworthy of belonging to the magical world and that she compensates for those fears by placing a great amount of significance on her grades and the approval of her teachers. Therefore, where Trevor may serve as a symbol of validation for Neville, for Hermione it is her grades and the approval of her teachers that similarly assume a symbolic function and help her feel she has validated her right to be at Hogwarts. Thus, just as Severus served as a representation of Neville’s fears of inadequacy when he threatened Trevor or assumed the form of a Boggart in his grandmother’s clothing, likewise, could we argue that McGonagall functioned as a representation of Hermione’s anxieties about disappointing her teachers and failing to demonstrate she belonged at Hogwarts and, more subsequently, the wizarding world.

Both Neville and Hermione might be said to be very keenly aware of their privilege in being accepted into Hogwarts and, perhaps, the most self-conscious of their right to be there as a result. As a Muggle-born, Hermione was able to discover a world of magic despite not being born into it, and we see where the impact of that does seem to instill in her a conscious desire to prove herself and demonstrate that she has a place in that world and at Hogwarts. In contrast, Neville may have been born into the magical world but the pressures and expectations placed on him by his family would appear to have made his own acceptance to Hogwarts feel less secure; as if he were on shaky ground and the privilege could be revoked from him at any moment. It’s no coincidence that in HP: PS Hermione seems to regard being expelled from Hogwarts as worse than death (even if we do allow for hyperbole) or that Neville most demonstrates his courage when standing up for Gryffindor house to preserve the points they have. Rowling could be said to have drawn some intentional parallels between these two characters as early as the first book, and the similarity of their Boggarts and the anxieties that it reveals only further validate this connection.

Moreover, it also showcases for the reader the key difference between him and Harry as two characters who came from abusive family environments. Where Harry is able to acknowledge the wrongness of the way the Dursleys treat him, Neville exists in a world where such behaviors seem to be more normalized and, as a result, he could be said to project his fears onto Severus in lieu of being equipped with the recognition that he would need to acknowledge the more complex source of his fears. In conclusion, Neville may have been socialized to accept the treatment of his family largely because he does love them and he places greater importance on their acceptance of him. Whereas, Severus is a more safe option for him to channel his fears through given he is someone who already has a reputation of “infamy” --unless you’re a Slytherin-- and could be expected to do exactly what Neville most fears; reject him and belittle his competence as a wizard (a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts). Likewise, Harry can more safely push back against Severus than he can the Dursleys, so Severus does become a more convenient outlet for his feelings of powerlessness and anger and one who can be expected to play the role of antagonist that Harry counts on (until HP: DH when he suddenly doesn’t). This is why any contemporary psychological analysis does fall short unless one is prepared to go beyond the issue of Severus being Neville’s Boggart and fairly examine the matter of McGonagall being Hermione’s Boggart and the psychological underpinnings of Boggarts as a concept overall.

In regards to Severus’s reaction towards Lily, I would argue that it could be interpreted a few ways. One could choose to read it as evidence of Severus’s romantic attraction to Lily and his anxiety that Lily might prefer James as a romantic partner over him. Canon could certainly support such an interpretation and it would be more than valid. However, given the full context of the conversation that came before Severus displayed any anxiety, one could also interpret Severus’s response more platonically. Notably, prior to Severus becoming concerned by the idea that James fancies Lily and that Lily might not mind being fancied by him so much (because she fancies him back) they had been arguing over the behaviors of people from their houses and how objectionable they might be. Lily insisted that Mulciber had used “dark magic” on a classmate (which might be hyperbole given there is never any mention to teachers responding to a student using dark magic openly enough for other students to have a conversation about it later) and that Severus shouldn’t associate with him. In turn, Severus alluded to the very real dangers that the Marauders were capable of based off his own first-hand experience. 

Importantly, although he is forbidden to discuss the incident with Remus, he does noticeably try very hard to make Lily aware of the danger but she is not convinced. Interestingly, Lily also makes a point to single-out James and defend him specifically while Severus is criticizing all four Marauders. It is ultimately this that leads Severus to the issue of James and provokes his flustered observation about James’s infatuation with Lily. Thus Severus’s anxiety and his relief when Lily denies having any interest in James could also be interpreted through the lens of Severus’s experiences with the Marauders as bullies who only recently escalated the situation between them with Sirius’s prank to new and much darker levels of malice (and that they were able to do so and received no apparent consequences from any of the authority figures at Hogwarts; in fact, one could argue that from Severus’s perspective it would have seemed Sirius nearly killed him and Dumbledore responded by protecting the Marauders by enforcing his silence). Ultimately, the anxiety might also be read as Severus’s fear for a friend who has ignored his warnings about people he has a legitimate reason to believe can be dangerous and he does not want Lily to get involved with James for that reason. So, there you have it, two different ways of interpreting that scene from the book. 

Once again, thank you for your ask! 

Regards,

Raptured Night

[98prilla]

Understanding

@coquettishcass you can never escape what your art has inspired. 

A direct continuation to Comfort, Patton helps Deceit tell the others about his struggle with depression. 

He is… scared. Not an emotion he will ever admit to, not out loud, but he is scared out of his mind.

He can feel everyone’s eyes on him. He can’t seem to summon his usually sly smile, he can’t seem to meet anyone’s eyes.

He can feel Virgil’s eyes on him the most. They are hard and cold and burning daggers, but the more he looks, the more puzzled his gaze. He knows Virgil can feel his fear, his anxiety, at being here. So different than his usual surety, but he doesn’t have the strength for his usual facade.

“I should just go.” He mumbles. Patton squeezes his hand, says no, at the same time Roman spits out a low, growled, yes. He flinches, he’s still too tired for this, too empty for this.

���Roman!” Patton scolds and he feels Roman’s incredulous gaze.

“What? I’m just saying what everyone is thinking. I don’t know what fantasies he’s been spinning that made you invite him to this meeting you’ve called, but I’m sure they’re just lies.”

He jerks away from Patton, stumbling back as if struck, liar, echoing in his ears. That’s all he is, after all. All he’ll ever be. Roman’s words cut straight to his core, because they are everything he knew Roman would say, he is not welcome here, never here.

“Dee?” He jumps, startled. He hadn’t realized Virgil had moved from his customary spot on the stairs, was now next to him.  

He’d forgotten Virgil is taller than him. He stands in Virgil’s shadow now, unable to meet those dark violet eyes, unable to respond to the concern emanating from him in waves because his voice is stuck in his throat. He is seeing a thousand memories behind his eyes, of before Virgil left, before Virgil hated him, and he doesn’t deserve Virgil’s care, now. Virgil shouldn’t feel obligated to care.

He has never felt this small. He can hear Patton, standing in front of him defensively, explaining to the others about his depression. His bad thoughts. His nightmares.  

Patton had asked his permission, to hold this meeting, to tell the others, and he had given it. He knows he wouldn’t get the words out, knows the others wouldn’t believe it, coming from him. But they listen to Patton, and Patton had asked, instead of just blurting it out he had asked, and Patton had already helped so much, so he had agreed.

Now he wishes he hadn’t. Wishes he was hiding back under his covers, because Roman is still arguing, disbelieving, and Logan hasn’t said anything, is just staring at him, and Virgil is so close, so close, and he wishes he could reach out, wishes he could give him a hug, but he lost that right years ago, he won’t ever ask anything of Virgil, even though he is almost shaking from the effort of not, is on the cusp of shattering under that fathomless gaze.

“I’m sorry.” He manages to rasp out. He is hugging himself around his middle, cold again, afraid again, as he hears Patton finish his explanations.  

“When did it get this bad?” Virgil asks lowly. He thinks Virgil knows, it is easy enough to guess, and he shakes his head, refusing to answer, refusing to make or even let Virgil consider himself to blame.

“S my fault. I hurt you I… I deserve… this." He gestures at himself, all of himself.

His rumpled clothes, not even his usual outfit, just sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. His hair, curly and tangled and disheveled, the bags under his eyes, darker even than Virgil's, his near constant, small, shivers. And that is only what they can see. There’s so much more, he is so damaged, he is just a master at hiding it. Roman isn’t the only one who can act.

“Falsehood.” He jumps again at Logan's quiet word, eyes landing on the logical side, who for once isn’t hiding all of his emotions. He can read concern and consideration and… not quite pity, empathy, maybe, before he looks at the floor.

“Deceit. Depression is an invisible monster. It makes you think you should be hurt, it makes you hate yourself, it makes you think the world would be a better place without you-” He knows this and yet…

“Wouldn’t it be?” he doesn’t realize the words have slipped past his lips until he hears Logan’s sharp inhale, Patton's soft coo of distress, a muffled curse from Virgil. Roman is the only one who's silent, and when he finally gets the courage to look up, his silence is not what he expected.

Roman is frozen in place, face a mask of almost horrified awe, but as he watches, it becomes softer, and then Roman's eyes meet his.  

He flinches as Roman makes his way across the room, until he is right before him, and he is waiting for the sing of steel, for the ice of pain, for it all to end.

Instead he is pulled close, and tight and warm and he realizes Roman, Roman of all people, is hugging him.

He thought Patton's hugs were something, Roman's are altogether different. They are stong and fierce and overwhelmingly scream of safety, of protection, of defensiveness from the rest of the world, of love.

“No, God no, Deceit. I'm sorry, I’m so, so, sorry. I thought… I thought you liked playing the villain, I thought that’s what you wanted, to be spooky and mysterious and the bad guy. I didn’t know… didn’t know it was hurting you, that I, was hurting you. I’m sorry.” Of everything he’d expected Roman to say, an apology had never even crossed his mind. The fact that Roman means every word just baffles him further, and he doesn’t even know what to say if he could summon words.

“Roman is correct. I had assumed, wrongly, that based on your antagonistic behavior you did not desire our friendship or companionship. I see now your behavior is more similar to Virgil’s scare tactics when he first appeared than to true enmity. I apologize, Deceit. If you would like, I will look into different treatments and methods of living with and managing depression. We can work together to determine what is most effective in minimizing the symptoms and length of your episodes, as well as what we as a group should and shouldn’t do to help avoid on setting these episodes in the first place. Despite all of these measures, there will still be episodes, and days you are not ok, and that, too, is natural. It is not deserved, it is not your fault, and we will all help support you through them.” He nods, that’s all he can do, he doesn’t understand why they’re being so kind, he doesn’t understand how to comprehend this overwhelming niceness, doesn’t know how to explain to them how little he deserves it. Then Roman pulls back, and he almost protests the loss of warmth, but now he is facing Virgil.  

Their eyes meet for a single moment, before he looks away. What can he say, what can make things better, what won’t tear them apart even more, because this, between them, is of his own making, was borne of his own self-destructiveness, is own damn fault and always has been. He has always been the problem.  

Then Virgil lets out a small breath, and opens his arms, and before he can help himself he is propelling into them, so fast that it almost knocks Virgil over, but he doesn’t care, right now, because it is Virgil, and he is solid, he is real, he is warm, he is there, he is holding him, he still smells exactly the same, coffee and ink and paper, and maybe a hint of tea, now, too, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this moment.  

He doesn’t know when they ended up on the floor, but his legs must have given out at some point, because they are both kneeling, and he his clinging to Virgil and sobbing again, and trying to stutter out incoherent apologies, and it hurts like hell, but feels so damn good at the same time and he doesn’t think he will ever, ever let go of his storm cloud again.  

“I know, I know, dee. It’s ok, it’ll be ok, I promise. You don’t... you don’t have to do this alone.” His sobs are dying down into silent, sniffling tears, and he responds by gently butting his head against Virgil’s chin, like a cat demanding attention, and he feels a prism of light explode inside of him at Virgil’s breathy laugh, at the small smile that flickers across his face, at the fondness in his eyes as he looks down at him, at the warmth present there after having been so, so cold, for so, so long, and it nearly breaks him again.  

“... you gonna let go anytime soon, Scales?” His breath catches. That had always been Virgil’s nickname for him. He hasn’t heard it years, hasn’t thought about it in years, and the question has him burrowing back into Virgil, mumbling a very shaky, very determined no, his heart seizing at the very idea. “ok. Imma move us to the couch then, if that’s ok?” Virgil asks, and he nods, feeling Virgil scoop him up, gently sit down on the couch, and the whole time he doesn’t let go once, lest Virgil disappear from his fingers and this is all a dream.  

He feels warmth settle on the other side of him. He glances up, surprised to see it’s Roman who has wrapped an arm around his shoulders, is cuddled around him, filling him up with more of that intoxicating warmth he’s been lacking for so, so long.  

“Is this ok?” Roman asks, his voice is so... different, now. Where it was once steel cold as his katana, now it is warm and hesitant, a little unsure, a little protective, not of Virgil, but of him. He just nods, curling tighter against Virgil, as Roman curls tighter around him, and he can’t help but let out a small sigh of happiness.  

He hears Logan settle in his armchair, can feel his small smile from across the room as he flips open a book. Knowing him he’s already studying up, researching, he’ll be taking notes all day now, idly sharing facts and statistics, each of which will make him feel just a little bit better, just a little less alone, because even though he knows objectively thousands of people out there have depression, it still seems like he is impossibly the only one with this pain.  

He hears Patton, humming and moving around the kitchen, probably baking something, that’s what Patton always does when his emotions are heightened to an unsustainable level. He wonders if Patton would be surprised to find that he has the same mechanism, cooking when stressed, because then at least he has control over something in his life.

Distantly, he hears Logan call for Remus. He hears Remus pop up, surprised and unprepared, because no one has ever summoned him before, and they start speaking, oddly serious, for once. He realizes Remus is speaking about him, his condition, that Logan has asked if Remus wants to help research, that Logan gives him a stack of books to read through. He can imagine Remus’s awe at being trusted with any of Logan’s books, knows the care he will take, because he craves their approval like a drug, and Remus cares about him more than is good for him, and will do anything to help. He already has the most knowledge of depression anyways. Dark creativity is his department, after all.

Well, Remus can wreak whatever havoc he wants, today. Logan summoned him, Logan can deal with him. He’s still tired, still hasn’t caught up on sleep, and he feels the dull thrum of familiar fear rising in him at the notion. But Roman is snuggled up against him, his head on his shoulder, Virgil is holding him close, and no pillow could possibly compare to the absolute wonder of the real thing, and he feels himself slipping under, into the dark, but before, just before, he hears it.  

“Love you, scales.” and he means it.

[damienthepious]

okay at least one of y’all guessed Scattered so CONGRATULATION, FRIENDO. also. jesus fuck i’m sorry i keep doing this. ONE more chapter. ONE more. I think.

Scattered On My Shore (chapter 18)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [ao3] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum & The Keep

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol), Mutual Pining, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: The Lord of the Swamp has returned home! An exciting event for all who live there, certainly. Arum's humans want some assurance that he will still be safe, when they leave him to return to their own home.

Chapter Notes: There's some discussion of mental health, depression, and suicidal ideation in this chapter, mostly dealing with past events in the fic. Take care of yourselves! I love you! aaaaaa kinda freaking out we're so close to the end now aaaaaaaa im. not ready

~

They stay an extra day. Just to be certain that the Keep's influence and healing are truly going to stick, Amaryllis says, but none of them are fooled.

Arum does not feel as if their time together is passing correctly; every moment feels distinctly present, his awareness heightened by their closeness and by the Keep's consciousness at his edges again, but time rushes past with the speed of a hunted hare. Arum does not know how to dig his claws into this day and make it stay, if only for a moment or so longer.

When they pull themselves from embrace in the late morning, they eat together again (as close by his side as the night previous, and Arum feels warm from his core). After, they explore the greenhouse more deeply, and Damien recites something that bounces such with clever rhyme that Arum can hardly keep up with the content rather than the form.

He takes them outside, then, because they are curious about the swamp itself, and because Arum cannot seem to deny them their curiosities. He cannot seem to, he does not want to- the fact that they wish to know his home is so intoxicating a realization that he can hardly prevent himself from gripping their hands and rushing to show them every single thing that they could possibly have an interest in.

The Keep opens the way, letting them out at the front, near one of the wider ponds, and-

And the noise strikes Arum first. Instinctively he spreads his arms, pressing Amaryllis and Damien behind himself, safe between his back and the Keep, and then he blinks and realizes what, precisely, he hears. What he sees.

His denizens. The assembled masses of the swamp, flocks and families all gathered on the water and among the low foliage and up in the branches, the venomous monkeys interspersed with brightly colored birds, egrets and lynxfish at the edge of the water, frogs and snakes and chittering rodents, every single beast with a touch of his Keep at its heart-

They have amassed here, outside his home, and their rustling feathers and trilling peeps and croaks and squawks, their hooting and scuffling all slowly die off as each one of them turns their gaze upon him.

And then, after that pause, that silence, the crowd erupts.

It is a decidedly cheerful eruption, but Arum still takes a step backward at the sudden noise, pressing the humans back with him as the denizens of his swamp give one enormous, celebratory noise.

Arum can feel the Keep behind him, all smugness and delight, and as the cheering begins to subside, a suspiciously familiar bird alights at to his left, its head tilted to fix him with bright, beady eyes.

"A-ah." Arum stares at the heron, and he hears Amaryllis give a stunned, breathy laugh behind him. "You- ah. What did I say… spread the word if you must," he mutters. "I see you took that instruction quite to heart, yes?"

The heron chuffs, and then preens as if distracted, and Arum laughs as well as the crowd fades back to silence entirely, staring up at him with obvious expectation.

"Er- they seem," Damien laughs nervously when Arum glances over his shoulder to meet the poet's eyes. "Rather- rather exuberant, I should say."

"I mean, yeah, but can you blame them?" Amaryllis adds.

"No, not at all, it is simply- I was not expecting-" Damien laughs again, and this time when Arum glances to check his expression the poet looks almost shy. "It is simply that… I am quite glad to know that you are so beloved, Arum."

Arum blinks, and then he glances back towards the creatures amassed, surrounding. He sighs, but- he cannot quite bury the wry smile that curls his mouth as he steps forward again, allowing his cape to billow behind him.

He waits for a moment, allowing the excited tittering to die back down after his movement, and then he straightens his spine.

"I suppose the lot of you were eager to see proof with your own eyes, rather than rumor on wing." He shoots a glance towards the heron, who makes an admirable show of puffing up its feathers with pride. "Well," he says slowly. "You may lay your fears to rest. I was separated from my purpose by treachery, kept distant by injury, but-" his voice fails, an unexpected hitch in his throat, and he shakes his head quickly. "But I- I am home. I have come home, and I will not be parted from it again. I- I apologize, for the length of my absence-"

He hears the humans behind him make simultaneous disapproving noises, and he shakes his head again.

"It was never my intention to be kept away for so long." He grits his teeth. "It was never my intention to be away at all. Though-"

He can feel the slight tickle of heat, the radiant warmth of the humans behind him, the safety of their presence at his back.

"Though I will admit that the distance has given me a rather inarguable dose of perspective . The Swamp of Titan's Blooms will be reassessing certain alliances and enmities in the near future," he says in a growl, "but- for the moment, it is sufficient that I am home. I will not be torn away again."

The heron cries out, and Arum attempts not to appear startled when the assembly of his denizens takes up the cheer in response. He manages, barely, not to allow his frill to flare. It ruffles at his neck instead, and he grumbles as the noise fades off again. The heron squawks a question as he is opening his mouth to continue, a pointed inquiry, and Arum bristles, but-

Well. The question is a fair one. Arum himself barely understands how this particular arrangement is even possible.

"These- they are-" Arum pauses. He swallows, and then he half turns to glance back towards the humans, and then he quickly turns his attention back to the front as the looks on their faces break through his control, causing his frill to flare partway. The assembled beasts shuffle, slightly, but they do not chitter or call through his brief silence, and he squares his shoulders. "Amaryllis and- and Sir Damien," he says. At the edge of his vision Amaryllis waves, the absurd, charming creature, and he feels Damien stiffen at the further attention. He inhales, and then he- he reaches back, opening his palms without looking behind himself again, and before he can harbor even a moment of doubt he feels their fingers twine with his own, and they step up beside him properly.

Where they belong, he thinks.

"They are… they are my… consorts," he tries, eying the pair of them, and Amaryllis raises an eyebrow with a wide grin. Damien flushes dark, which- is interesting. Worth revisiting at a later time. They do not seem… bothered, that he would claim them as his, however, so he exhales slowly and turns his gaze back towards the assembled creatures. "They are honored guests, under my protection. It was their efforts which allowed me to return to you as quickly as I have. It was their efforts which allowed me to return to you at all."

He pauses again, and the creatures titter with varying levels of excitement and confusion and enthusiasm, and Arum sticks his snout in the air.

"That will be all, then," he snaps quickly, turning as the Keep dutifully reopens a portal for the three of them. "This has taken rather enough of your time- and mine. This absence will not be repeated. Return to your homes and lives and all will be taken care of henceforth, good day."

Amaryllis and Sir Damien laugh rather enthusiastically in his direction once they are safely hidden within the Keep again. Arum attempts to maintain a dignified level of fury, but-

Wretched creatures. Amaryllis snorts into her hand and nearly doubles in half, and Damien makes a noise that approaches a squeak, and Arum cannot help but fall to laughter of his own as he gathers them into his arms.

~

Amaryllis' expression begins to cloud over with concern partway through dinner, and Arum is wary from the moment he notices the change to the moment when she finally opens her mouth after the meal is done.

"So," she begins, and Arum attempts to stifle his instinct to bolt. "I wanted to… to talk to you about what happens after we leave," she says.

Arum ducks his head slightly, sighing.

"There is no cause for concern, Amaryllis," he murmurs. "I can apply some salves well enough on my own, and obviously you need not fear harm to your species from my hand, either. Provided no knights come traipsing through my swamp, that is," he says, gesturing lazily. "I have no interest whatsoever in returning to the same work that nearly killed me. As far as I am concerned, this war did kill me. I will not be dragged into it again."

Amaryllis winces. Damien's lips press tight together, and he squeezes Amaryllis' hand for a moment before she releases her grip on him, and shifts closer to Arum's seat instead. "That- that's kind of exactly what I wanted to talk about. Arum, I… I need you to tell me you're going to take care of yourself. That you're not-"

"I said, not moments ago, that I am perfectly capable of-"

"Not the injuries, Arum," she says quickly, and he pauses, narrowing his eyes. "I need to know that- that you're not going to hurt yourself if we're not here with you," she manages, and Arum feels his breath go shallow.

"Amaryllis," he says. "Don't- don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not," she says. "I'm worried about you."

"Absurd," he hisses, looking away. "I am home, entirely thanks to the pair of you. I should be the one worrying over you, going back into the wilds. I could not possibly be safer."

"From yourself?" Amaryllis says, her brow furrowed with worry. "Look, I- I know this is uncomfortable, Arum, but- but I know that you've tried to get Damien to- to-"

"What? Wh-what did you tell her?" Arum says, turning towards Damien, and he means to snap but his tone sounds more hurt than furious. Damien only sits, his hands clasped in his lap, his lips pressed tight together. "What did you say, knight?"

"He didn't tell me anything, Arum." She shakes her head, angling her body a bit more between them, leaning closer. "Nothing specific, at least, but I'm not stupid. I heard you goading him plenty of times, and he said you told him about your- your work before we left, and he said that if he killed you then, it wouldn't have been a slaying and really there's only one way to interpret that evidence-" she pauses, cringes, bites her lip. "You tried to get Damien to kill you."

Arum freezes, his mouth going dry.

"I don't know if it was because of guilt or- or depression or panic about the trip or what, but- but I already told you, Arum. I didn't put in all this hard work just for you to die. Just for you to throw all of it away-"

"I am home, Amaryllis," he manages in a whisper. "You brought me home. There will certainly be no reason for me to- to endanger myself now."

"No?" she says weakly. "There wasn't any reason for you to try to goad Damien into killing you back in the hut, either, Arum, but you did it anyway."

"I-" Arum glances away again, his hand flexing, but she reaches out and takes one of his hands, squeezing tight. His eyes flick to Sir Damien, sitting quiet though his worried eyes are fixed on the pair of them. "I- that was- different-"

"Different how, Arum?"

"I did not want you to endanger yourself for me, Amaryllis," he hisses, turning towards her with his tail thrashing. "You- you make the world less cruel, by your actions, your choices, your existence. The both of you. You try, if nothing else, and for you to leap to action and danger for my sake is- was-"

She stares up into his eyes, her hand clasped tight around his wrist, and he clenches his teeth and pretends that his throat is not aching.

"If helping me destroyed you, it would be the worst of cruelties I have inflicted upon this world. And I, Amaryllis, have inflicted more than my share of cruelties already."

"So you try to take yourself out of the picture instead? Arum-"

"The little knight did not bite when provoked regardless, so I hardly see how it matters," Arum growls, and in his periphery he sees Damien flinch, his head ducking.

Amaryllis' grip on his wrist tightens. "You do know that's not comforting, right? It matters because I- because we love you, and because if you die, Arum, you'll be dead. Even if you were trying to protect us in some roundabout way-"

Arum flinches, and she pauses, pressing her lips together for a moment as she visibly chooses a different phrasing.

"If you had managed to convince Damien to do it, it'd be cruel, first of all. He doesn't deserve that kind of guilt weighing on him. And second, again, you would be dead, Arum. You implied that you and the Keep exist in a symbiosis- what good would you be to it if-"

"Another would come after me," Arum hisses. "I am not the first, and I will not be the last. The Keep will always have a familiar, no matter my own mortal status."

"That-" Amaryllis makes a noise, small and uncertain. "I- okay. Okay, explain that. If you dropped dead right now, would the Keep just- generate a new familiar instantly? Would I be talking to your replacement in a minute flat?"

Arum flicks his eyes away again. "No. Don't be foolish, it doesn't work like that."

"Explain it to me, then," Amaryllis repeats. "Of course I don't know how it works, Arum. So explain to me why you would think that your death would be in any way an acceptable option."

"It- another familiar would be created, yes. They would require- time to grow, however. The Keep nurtures us from infancy. It would have a hatchling-"

"So," she says calmly, "obviously this is the preferred option. You can protect your home better than an infant could."

"But-"

"Would the Keep want you to die?"

Arum flinches again, twisting his body away from Amaryllis though he still will not pull his wrist from her grasp. The Keep gives a sharp, swift reply of its own, near discordant in its vehemence, and Arum ducks his head with a hiss. "N-no."

"I can tell you love the Keep, Arum," she says, more quietly. "I have to imagine that it loves you too."

"It-" Arum inhales, sharp and panicked, then exhales something like a laugh. "I-"

The Keep trills again, and then it reaches with gentle vines to grip a wrist on his other side, echoing the way Amaryllis is holding him. The contact is too gentle, and the feeling of the Keep's affection in his mind is too raw, too close, after so long missing the feeling. He closes his eyes, clenches his teeth together, and pretends not to feel his eyes heating, his throat constricting.

"Yes," he says in a whisper so low he is not confident that Amaryllis' ears will be able to discern it. "Yes, my Keep loves me." He swallows, then lifts another hand to grip the vine the Keep is holding him with. "It loves me," he repeats, a little more steadily, and if he refuses to open his eyes, then perhaps he need not acknowledge the wetness on his cheeks at all. "The Keep loves me, just as I love it."

Amaryllis makes a soft sort of noise, and Arum feels her hand- feels her thumb on his cheek, feels her gentle away the evidence of his ridiculous surplus of emotion. He waits until her hand retreats, and then he opens his eyes again with a sigh.

"You can protect the Keep and care about yourself too, Arum," she says quietly, and her own eyes are bright. "I just- I need to know you're going to be safe. I can't just leave, not knowing if I'm going to see you again-"

"If we are going to see you again," Damien adds gently, moving closer at last, arranging himself behind Amaryllis and reaching to brush his fingers down Arum's arm. "I know, Arum, that it is not so easy as to simply decide that the demons of one's own mind are conquered. It is not a matter of willpower alone- that is why we wish to speak of it."

"We want to help," Amaryllis says, her voice wobbling very slightly. "We want to understand what you're feeling, and we want you to know that we're here, and we care about you, and you matter to us. Even when we leave, even when we're away from you- you matter to us and it's important to us that you know that you matter, that you're not- you're not replaceable. Not to us."

Arum attempts to ignore the way his heart is racing, the way his eyes still feel too hot, and he finds himself failing when the Keep hums, vines embracing him as it echoes the sentiment firmly.

"I- I have- surely you understand that I have precisely zero intention of harming myself," he breathes, quick and harsh. "I do not want to die-"

It is only that sometimes, in the past, when he was exhausted past his means or when the creeping gray of his mind clouded him… it would have been so much easier. Only the Keep would mourn, and soon enough even it would be drawn past that grief by his replacement. Arum very rarely considered those thoughts, outside of those moments of darkness.

They are watching him, watching whatever must be playing out in his expression, patient and fond and worried, and Arum exhales very slowly.

"I do not want to die," he repeats, his voice coming steadier. "I… I can understand…" he sighs, ducking his head. "It is not unreasonable for you to… to concern yourselves. But I have been- I have been speaking with my Keep, since my return, and- and we will not be parted again, least of all by my own hand. I meant what I said, this afternoon, when I spoke to my subjects. If nothing else, my recent proximity to death has given me a rather jarring dose of perspective. I wish to live, to protect my home, to-"

Arum snaps his teeth together, stifling the words that wish to come next, but then-

His shoulders relax, and he allows a smile to curl his mouth. He need not hide such words. Not anymore.

"I wish to live," he repeats. "I refuse to die before I have loved the both of you as well as you deserve, and I imagine that will take rather a long time."

"Oh," Damien breathes, clinging to Amaryllis as she gives a watery sort of smile. "Oh, Arum- oh, my lily-"

Arum's breath catches, and Damien freezes, his jaw snapping shut in obvious mortification.

"Er- rather, that is- that was- rather presumptuous of me, of course-"

Arum presses forward, draping himself over Amaryllis as she yelps and cackles a laugh, pressing her back so that she and Damien both are trapped between Arum's chest and the cushions below, and then he nuzzles Amaryllis' neck, nuzzles past to press his snout into Damien's ear, nipping gently as he crowds closer, closer, warm and safe as he remembers again that they will not push him away, they will not scorn him.

By all the incomprehensibility of the Universe, they will claim him.

"My honeysuckle," he hisses into the crook of Damien's neck, and Damien gasps. "Mine- my love-"

It is wild, it is absurd, maddening, the things he is allowed- what they allow him-

Amaryllis laughs even harder, her hair falling into her face as she unconvincingly pushes at his shoulders. "You- you are such a-"

"I love you, my Amaryllis," he growls, and his heart swells as her breath catches too.

They have given him so, so much. They have given him everything.

He knows precisely the gift he intends to give them in return.\

~

The next morning dawns bittersweet, though the resplendent peach-and-gold of the sunrise does not appear to have been informed. The light pours warm through the portal when the Keep pulls it open to the very edge of the swamp, and Arum does not know how, precisely, to feel as he watches Amaryllis' posture stiffen and Damien's shoulders sag, when the reality of the parting strikes the three of them in the same moment.

The Keep presses wrapped packages into the humans's hands, bundles of supplies that should more than keep them fed until they reach some semblance of human civilization again. Arum suspects, but has not pried such to confirm, that the Keep has also stealthily added in portions of sweets, as well as other small gifts and trinkets, possibly some bunches of local herbs that it observed Amaryllis taking a particular interest in.

They tuck the new gifts into their packs, and Damien presses his lips together tight, flicking his eyes to draw down Arum's face, rather obviously committing his sight to memory.

"I don't…" Amaryllis sighs, and he and Damien turn their attention towards her. "I don't know how long it'll be before we can manage another trip like this," she says, frowning, and Damien presses a hand to her shoulder, his own expression going mournful.

Arum forces his expression flat, burying his nerves and his hope both. "It may not be so difficult as you think, to see each other again."

He's gratified when Amaryllis' eyes dart to him, surprise and skepticism on her raised brows.

"You better not be threatening what I think you are," she warns. "Magic healing or no, I do not wanna find out that you decided to take a big solo trip so soon after recovering, even if it means we get to-"

"I do not intend any such thing," he says mildly, suppressing the urge to grin, and he nudges the Keep in his mind to fetch his surprise. "Do you… trust me, Amaryllis?"

"Stupid question, Arum."

"Even if what I tell you will sound impossible?"

"Most of what you say sounds impossible," she hedges, narrowing her eyes.

"We love you," Damien says, a little tearfully, and Arum struggles to maintain his composure as the poet takes his hand, lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles. "Of course we trust you."

Arum squeezes Damien's hand, and he knows his voice will tremble if he attempts to answer that, so he simply nods before he tugs Damien's hand to his own mouth to echo the gesture as Amaryllis rolls her eyes at the both of them.

"Good," he says eventually, when he knows his voice will come steady. "Good. Then- I have something for you."

"A present?" Damien smiles. "Oh, Arum-"

"I suppose you could call it that," Arum rumbles, looking away for a moment as the Keep deposits the bundle into his free arms. "Though, it is a rather self-serving gift, if anything," he adds in a murmur. "Here."

He hands Amaryllis the linen-wrapped ball of roots and soil, watching as she carefully cradles it, her eyes bright as she tilts her head to better see the dark brown sapling with the shining green and purple leaves sprouting small and fragile from the bundle.

"Arum, what-"

"Trust me," he says, and she shoots him a look, scowling though he knows- he knows that she will bury her curiosity for his sake. It will be worth it, he thinks, for the surprise. "Bring the plant home with you. Ensure that the soil is not lost- it is just as important as the flora itself. Place it somewhere it will be safe-" he pauses, breathes a laugh. "Perhaps you could find some room beside the Jungle Flame, out of sight of the kitchen window. If you can bear to clear the stack of notes cluttering the corner there-"

"Watch it," Amaryllis grumbles, and Arum laughs again.

"Give it a home," he says quietly. "Mix the soil provided with some from your own garden. Not too much- no more than half again. It will bloom quickly, when it is settled, and when it does-"

She tilts her head, calculation in her eyes as she commits his instruction to memory.

"When it does," he murmurs, "if you wish to see me again, all you need do is ask."

"If," Amaryllis snorts, and Arum ducks his head. "Yeah, dummy, if we wanna see you again- Saints you're ridiculous-"

"Oh, Arum," Damien murmurs, and then he- goes up on his toes and flings his arms around Arum's shoulders, embracing him tightly and pressing his face against Arum's neck. "Oh, I can safely assure you that my heart will ache with your absence the very moment we are parted, oh my lily-"

Arum returns the embrace, squeezing tight and lifting Damien fully off the ground, though he growls and glares at Amaryllis over the knight's shoulder. "And you call me ridiculous."

"You both are," she says, utterly fond. "I've got a type."

Arum laughs, and clings more tightly, and when Amaryllis steps close enough to grip his arm and kiss his cheek, it takes more strength than Arum knew he possessed to release the both of them from his grasp.

He does let them go, eventually, murmuring his affection close against their skin until they can no longer justify delay. He watches them leave, smiling despite the ache in his heart, despite the utter strangeness of being parted, at last, after so long beside them. He smiles, willing the Universe to grant them swiftness and safety.

The sooner they are home, the sooner he will see them again.

[->]

[dwellordream]

haunt/hunt sry if this if wrong but im terrible with politics: why did nell agree to her future children with harry (instead of lysara) having the dreadfort, wouldn't that make H-karkstark extremely powerful to control? wouldn't lysara resent and even feel treathened by such power being on one house which has already proven to be somewhat unreliable (rickard and the uncles) maybe cause enmity and make her want to cut them by the size? it seems a bit weird for nell to accept such a future risk.

I think from Nell’s perspective Lysara is going to have her hands full as the reigning Lady Stark, if the Dreadfort is also considered under her direct domain then that means they’re going to have yet another generation to wait for Lysara to potentially have children of her own and then ‘assign’ one of them to it. In the mean time, who is going to be watching over these lands? That’s more appointments and more middle-men. By Nell’s reasoning, the fact that she and Harry K. at some point will have children is inescapable. She is fertile and as much as they are on shaky terms right now, she has accepted that if he survives the war, she will be expected to attempt to produce children with him. One of those children will likely go on to rule the Karhold, because otherwise it’s going to Alys and Sigorn, and most of the northern lords would have a fit over that. Assuming they have more than one child, which seems likely if they both survive, both being very young and presumably healthy, Nell does not want any additional sons eying Winterfell for themselves or growing up feeling jilted or like they’re just ‘the spare’ while say, their half-sister gets rule of the entire North and a brother gets the Karhold. They would still have an equally valid claim to the Dreadfort as her son, no one disputes Nell’s claim to it as Roose’s eldest living child. If she comes out and goes, “Yeah, so, I’ll have your children, Harry, but don’t expect any of them to have a claim to the Dreadfort, I forbid it, I’m either naming my half-sister as my heir or waiting for a grandson through Lysara,” that’s going to be just as controversial a decision. Edit to add: Nell would expect a son of hers going to claim the Dreadfort to also renounce the Karstark name and take on the Bolton surname and sigil. No ‘Karstarks of the Dreadfort’ nonsense. While on the one hand, you are right, this sets up the next generation of Karstarks to be quite influential and powerful, and the idea of a half-Karstark holding the Dreadfort probably annoys some of the other northern families who feel that House Bolton should be just be extinguished completely and the lands divvied up, Nell has already thrown her lot in with the Karstarks through this marriage. She is permanently tied to Harrion through it. His public persona is to a degree hers. She needs him to be well liked and respected so that he doesn’t drag her down with him if something happens and people turn on him.  All the Karstarks accused of treason have been tried and executed, and I don’t think anyone honestly believes this is all some Machiavellian long game of Harry Karstark’s where he plays the understanding new husband and secretly plots to murder off the Starks and take Winterfell for himself. As has been discussed at length, both in the fic and outside it, if Harry wanted to finish off the Starks, he could have easily killed Robb way back when, married Arya to claim Winterfell, then let the Lannisters and Freys handle the rest. That said we obviously don’t know how Lysara would think of Harry when she is a grown woman, since, well... that hasn’t happened yet. The future is pretty much unwritten. Maybe he’s a controlling stepfather who slowly poisons the well, even though he’s got good intentions, and an adult Lysara responds to this with ‘honestly, fuck you, and fuck my mom for letting your house collect all this power and influence’. Maybe he’s a great father figure and Lysara counts the Karstarks as close allies. Maybe Lysara has some qualms with how her mother handled things but accepts that Nell herself was... 18/19 at the time and in a very unenviable position and did what she thought was best in the moment. Maybe they’re all dead at that point.

[jeonggukingdom]

across a lifetime (m)

❖ Pairing:  Taehyung x Reader x Jeongguk

❖ Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Sci-Fi - criminal!AU, time-travel!AU

❖ Summary: In your world only a few rules exist: don’t reveal your true identity to anyone, kill or be killed and, most importantly, do not get caught. It only takes a few moments for the scale to be tipped to the wrong side, for the fine equilibrium to be easily ruptured by an inexplicable turn of events and for you to lose the only person that ever mattered to you. With the love of your life lost in the distant past, you are left with only one option: get caught. ❖ Word Count: 29.101 words

❖ WARNINGS: lots of violence, murder/death, mention of wounds and blood, gore, graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, oral (receiving), fingering, hickeys, dirty talk, cussing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex— the sex scene is not very kinky but it is very passionate ;)

❖ Author’s Notes: This story is part of the “Under Fire” collab hosted by the @btssmutclub ! ♥ Make sure to check the rest of the stories because they are all bomb **  ||  The main plot of this story was based on this prompt: here. I tried to research a lot to write the scenes set in the past but if there are some errors, please do not mind them too much, I really tried! ♥ ❖ PS: I know some of you struggle to read long fics on Tumblr so here’s the AO3 link to read it more comfortably: here!

❖ 6th May 2018, h 23:58 || Seoul, South Korea

 In your world only a few rules exist: don’t reveal your true identity to anyone, kill or be killed and, most importantly, do not get caught.

Taehyung’s scream behind your back comes in the form of your name, the urgency in his tone goading your legs to move even faster, begging you to keep going and not to stop, not to even look back. But you do look back, because that is the only way you think the dread in your heart will be quenched but, instead, you are met with the most terrifying sight you could have possibly envisioned.

The bright yellow uniforms of law enforcements shine like a beacon in the night, looking quite menacing in the night with their proximity.

You can hear their voices shouting your way, you can see their guns aimed at you both as you try to flee the scene and save your asses but it is clear, despite how hard you try to deny it to yourself, that this time, there is no chance of escaping and for the first time in forever, you are utterly terrified.

► two hours before

“Understood.”

Taehyung clicks his phone shut, his lips drawn in a tight line as he stares at the closed gate before you. The house it is supposed to protect is concealed by darkness, the silence all around it making it appear abandoned or, at the very least, currently vacant but you both know it is not the case. You can’t see them but you know there must be at least thirty guards surrounding the building and every way of access to it.

Most importantly, you know perfectly well who is secluded there, protected by his men as he comfortably sleeps in his master bedroom with a light conscience and a heavy wallet.

Your gaze drops on the file in your hands, your eyes scanning the pages one last time before you need to leave the car and complete your mission.

“Was it Hoseok?” You ask absentmindedly as you turn the page over to stare at the face of the man you are about to kill.

You have spent countless of days studying your target, his life and lifestyle, his habits and all the little things that can help you both finishing off the mission as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Taehyung hums as he rolls his eyes, the displeasure clear in his demeanour as he refuses to address what the nature of the call was.

“He means well,” you say, deciding to fill the silence with a peace offering hoping it will set his mood straight again so that he stays focused the entire time you are on the field.

You know Taehyung like the palm of your hand and you like to think he knows you just as much, to the point where sometimes words aren’t necessary to express what one of you two is thinking or going through. Sometimes, though, Taehyung makes it really hard for you to understand him and tonight it seems like it’s going to be one of those kinds of situations.

He has clearly decided to shield himself inside what you like to call his ‘silence-ball’, that inaccessible place in his mind he likes to seek comfort in when he is upset, angry or quite possibly both and not very willing to talk about it.

“I know, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He replies after a few seconds that almost feel like minutes. The tension in the car gets thicker with every breath you take and it makes you squirm in your seat.

If there is something you do not like is working with your partner when he is in a dark mood. It makes you anxious, restless even and those feelings bring your eyes back to the file in your hands.

Target Name: Myung Ki Kwon, male Age: 37 Marital Status: married, 2 kids (currently out of the State)

You know the file by heart by now but still, you keep checking every single detail, careful not to overlook even a tiny fraction of it because, in your line of work, even a single hair can make the biggest difference.

You sigh out loud as you force yourself to close the file and stop over-thinking every single detail of this mission. It’s not like it is your first one nor the hardest one you ever got and, even though he is in a rough mood at the moment, you know you can always count on Taehyung. You have been partners for six years, four of which you have been spending as an actual couple and there is no doubt you can do your job to perfection.

Assigning you to this case was not a coincidence and even though the enmity between Hoseok and Taehyung is fairly mutual, your boss is still smart enough to recognise a good agent and trust them with the most dangerous and delicate cases.

Your target tonight is the head of the local mob, he ascended to power in the span of a few months after ruthlessly murdering his predecessor—someone who, at that time, was supposed to be your target.

In those few months at the head of a clan, though, Myung Ki Kwon has managed to conquer what the ones before him never could. Just like oil expanding in the sea at a quick rate, so did his power and, in a few weeks, half of Seoul has been turned into his domain.

"So what did Hoseok say?" You ask to both fill the silence in your car and possibly soothe Taehyung's nervousness and your own in the process.

Taehyung pursues his lips, his eyes turning cold as he fixes them on the road almost as if he's imagining your boss there, defenceless and ready to be shred to pieces.

"Apparently there will be no extraction team for us."

Taehyung's words are pronounced slowly, quite surely reluctantly because he knows perfectly well what they will do to you.

"What?!" It is something akin to a shriek what comes out of your mouth and he winces a little at the sound because he hates this just as much as you do, if not more.

Extraction teams are the most important things in your line of work. They are what makes it possible for you to survive and to not get caught and not having one can easily mean absolute doom.

Taehyung sighs and fixes his gaze on you, his eyes turning gentle as he takes in your distraught expression and the way your body has stiffened against the leather seat.

"There was a problem with the other mission and they had to send another extraction team there to help. They'll try to get here in time but we are most likely on our own."

Why not recall the mission? You wonder for a second but you know why perfectly well. This is your chance and to waste it would be too much of a risk. Your target must be eliminated, the sooner the better.

"It's ok, we're good enough on our own." Taehyung takes your hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze that makes you smile in return.

You know you are good, you know that most of the times your extraction team has been helpful only to make a quick escape but still, the doubt settles itself in the back of your mind and even though you try to ignore it, you know it'll remain there for the rest of the evening, like a woodworm.

"I know, you're right, I'm just being silly."

He gives you a little smile in return and then turns his focus on the iron gate again, peering in the darkness to check even the smallest of movements in its midst.

You have studied how the security system works, how often they take rounds and at what times so it is only a matter of waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

That moment is in about ten minutes, according to the watch at your wrist.

You take a deep breath in and close your eyes to relax both your body and mind.

You have been doing this for years and you know how important it is to calm yourself, steady the beating of your heart and clear your mind from all thoughts that aren't related to the operation.

You push out of your mind the doubts, the news about your extraction team not being there, you even push as far away as possible Hoseok's orders that morning. You know your job, you know how to kill and disappear like you never been there in the first place.

Being an assassin for a rogue agency—even if it is aimed to target high-profile criminals that menace to disrupt the equilibrium of the entire society—means you are public enemy number one for the Government and the law enforcement. To the rest of the world, you do not exist, you are absolutely invisible and that is how it shall remain.

"You ready?" Taehyung's voice peels you off from your meditative state and you open your eyes again.  Yes, you know you are.

You hum in response and follow him outside the car while clicking the timer on your wristwatch. Time, as always, is the essence.

You steal a glance at your companion and he silently nods in your direction whilst reaching for the gun behind his back.

You mirror his movements and follow him up to the gate, your eyes fixed on the dark field ahead to scan any possible change in the usual routine.

Just as expected, the passage is clear and it should remain so for the next couple of minutes—just enough for you two to climb the gate and seek coverage in the darkness before you are spotted and shot on the spot.

It was a surprise to discover that against all odds, the gate is not secured by anything aside from the guards. No electricity, no sensors for movements from the outside, no nothing.

For someone like Myung Ki Kwon to overlook something so important feels very out of place and that is why all of your senses are alert, ready to catch even the smallest of signs that things are bound to be harder then they look.

Behind this gate, the unknown awaits you. Aside from the number of guards placed on the outside perimeter and how they change position every two hours, you have no idea what is waiting for you behind those closed doors.

As your feet touch the ground on the opposite side of the fence and you wait for Taehyung to join you, you scan your surrounding with your infra-red glasses, seeking every trap that could be hidden in the darkness.

Your partner lands safely beside you and you exchange a knowing look because, from this point forward, you're on your own.

You nod towards him and hold his gaze for a couple of seconds, the usual silent prayers and recommendations hidden in it. Be safe, be careful, do not get caught, come back to me.

You turn your back towards your partner and silently run in the opposite direction, quickly finding refuge behind a big old tree. Just as you stop behind the bark and crouch on the ground, you spot the first guard.

He is an easy target for you when you are lurking in the dark and he has no suspicion of your existence.

He goes down quickly and silently as you ambush him from behind, your hands strong around his neck until you hear it crack to the point of no return.

You drag his corpse to your hiding spot and strip him off of his weapons, safely hiding a few inside your boots, your hostler and the small of your back. Extra ammunition is always helpful in those types of missions, especially when there is only two of you and plenty of them.

Your steps are silent as you come out of your hiding spot again. Your eyes scan your surroundings anew, your heart beating steadily in your chest as you crunch on your knees and look up towards the high windows where you know guards are situated.

Every step is careful and calculated because the presence of traps under the ground comes more and more plausible the longer it takes for you to spot another guard. It feels too easy and when an assassination mission appears to be simple it's because it is not and you are getting lurked inside a trap with not a single way out.

You glance at your watch and notice that ten minutes have already passed. It has been too long without a guard and you are now certain, the danger awaits you behind the corner.

You decide to ditch the perfect silence of your steps on the ground in favour of speed. After all, time is the only luxury you do not have at the moment.

Your run on the lawn seemingly goes unnoticed in the night and it helps you reach the opposite right external wall of the building.

Finally, you spot some guards there, their figures bulky and dark and menacing as they stand like statues in front of the balconies. In a one on one fight, you'd probably lose against any of them but you have an advantage right now: you are beneath them and they cannot see you just yet.

You take this opportunity to silence your weapon and shoot the closest one from your position.

Just as expected, the bullet perforates his neck—the only truly exposed spot in his armour—bringing him to the ground within seconds.

You quietly watch the two guards gaze in his direction before rushing towards him, just like you planned.

They go down just as easily, albeit the last one mustering a tentative shot towards your general direction.

The bullet doesn't even come near you but it is not good news either. A gun going off in the night is enough for everyone else in the house to be alerted by it and you know, there is no chance in hell you’ll be able to bring the other guards down as easily as these ones. You lost the element of surprise, after all.

Just as you expected, the lights flicker on inside of the building, shining like beacons in the night.

The initial advantage you and Taehyung had is shrunk to a minimum in an instant. Hiding in the dark won’t be as easy when there is light shining all around and eyes eager to catch even a single glimpse of movement on the outside.

You curse under your breath and check your watch again. Eighteen minutes.

You decide to go for it and rely on both your partner on the other side of the house and your own skills. There is simply no point of keeping yourself hidden like this the entire time. Now more than ever, your time is shrinking and the longer it'll take for you to enter the building and find your victim, the fewer chances you'll have to actually get to him.

You run as quickly as you can, your legs moving even faster as you realise someone has spotted you the instant you came out of your hiding spot. You do not dare a single glance their way or towards any of the windows and just keep pushing forward.

You can hear the bullets going off behind you, you can feel some of them graze your skin and the hissing sounds they make when they pass near your ears but still, none of them catches you and you know it is not just because you have skills, oh no, it is also luck.

When you finally reach the safe spot that represents the far end of the complex you are almost out of breath and you can make out the edges of a shadow lurking there, dressed all in black as to camouflage with the darkness itself, pointing a gun right at you.

For a second, you fear the worst. In fact, for a second you even consider lifting your own weapon and shoot them right between their eyes but then you recognize his stance and the way he holds his gun and you realize it is your lover you are looking at.

You quickly lift your arms as to surrender to him and you hear him hiss under his breath as he recognizes you as well.

"Shit, I almost shoot you." He whispers as he runs in your direction, cutting your distance short so you are standing side by side.

"What the fuck happened?"

"There were three guards and one of them shoot me before I could take him down."

You whisper as you keep scanning your surroundings, looking for more guards to take down. It is, again, oddly eerie and calm when you’d expect for all the guards to be running down the lawn by now, looking for you.

Taehyung hands grasp your shoulders roughly, forcing you to turn around and face him.

You can’t clearly see his face in the darkness, even when you are standing so close to each other but you can still sense the way his eyes are scanning your body, probably looking for possible injuries, alerted by your poor choice in wording.

"I'm not hurt, the bullet didn't even come close to me.”

You hear the sigh of relief he emits before letting you go, his muscles relaxing before your eyes as he steps a little to the side to look up at the window above your heads.

"Is your side clear?" You ask, moving alongside him so that your shoulders are always brushing against each other.

Your plan has been screwed over at this point and what you have to do is adapt and, judging by the numbers reflected on your watch, you have no more time to spare. You need to enter the house and find him, doesn’t matter if you’ll have to break hell loose in order to do it.

“Yes.”

His reply is short and barely above a whisper as he glances upwards, gesturing up to the windows with his hand as well. You follow his pointed finger and find a guard there, his eyes evidently fixed somewhere in the distance, probably trying to catch sight of you.

You nod your head yes as he looks at you, years of practice making it possible for you two to understand each other without the need to speak.

He secures his gun behind his back and puts his hands together to form a step for you to climb on so that he can propel you forward.

You have done this plenty of times before and just as always, Taehyung is able to push you upwards enough for you to grab onto the window and surprise the guard there with your sudden appearance.

"Oh, hello, there." You say before punching him hard in the face.

The guard steps back a little and you take the chance to jump onto the floor, aim your gun at him and finishing him off before he can even think about aiming his rifle at you.

You turn around with a little smile on your lips while reaching for the electric wire secured on your belt.

Your agency has evolved a lot in the past few years when it comes down to weaponry and useful utensils and the extensible wire is one of those. Absolutely weightless yet strong enough to resist to the weight of the heaviest soldiers, it proved to be quite resourceful in more than an occasion and as Taehyung grips the other end of it to climb up the wall, you are proven yet again that the right tools in the right hands can make the biggest difference.

Usually, you do not get cocky on the job, you do not get too relaxed and you never let your guard down but, somehow, tonight you do all of the above for just a little second and you have to pay the consequences of that carefulness with a bullet planted in your left shoulder.

Your cry of pain fills the dead silence of the house and it represents yet another mistake that you shouldn’t have made.

When the sound of a bullet resonates in an otherwise silent environment and it is followed by a shout of pain, there is no chance in hell all the inhabitants won’t know your exact position and where to run to in order to finish you off.

Taehyung climbs the remaining inches of the wall with bolting speed and practically launches himself inside the building, aiming his gun to the guard before they have a chance to finish you off.

The shot is neat, precise between his eyes, but the fire in his eyes doesn't die down as he looks down at you and notices the pain twisting your features.

"I'm sorry, I was distracted," you say with gritted teeth. The bruise on your ego seems to be hurting far more than the bullet lodged within your skin but, either way, you are not allowed to stop now.

You run with him through the long corridor, one of his hands around your elbow in a strong vice that almost feels bruising on the skin, anger and concern evidently seething inside of him as he looks for a place for you to hide, even for a few seconds.

He absolutely hates when you get hurt. Despite years of training, he still loses his focus when you are injured, no matter how slightly. It makes him do things he shouldn’t and it makes him care about things that shouldn’t even be on his mind during work and, really, this is not the right mission for you to be going through all of this, especially considering no extraction team will be there for you at the end of it but, things have happened and, once again, you need to adjust.

Taehyung’s eyes scan your surrounding as if he were looking at the rough blueprint of the house you got in your file and, disregarding completely the fact that any noise will give your position away again, he opens one of the doors along the corridor with a strong kick, breaking it off of its hinges.

The room appears to be one of those on the north aisle of the house with no windows and only one way of getting either in or out of it. This one is held in complete darkness for the moment and, for the few seconds you are spared before guards show up there, it represents a safe refuge for you to attend your wound at the best of your abilities.

Taehyung guides you inside the room and forces you to sit down so that he can take a proper look at your wound with the torch in his hand—his gun safely placed next to his knee, ready to be picked up and fired the moment someone shows up by the doorstep.

"The wound is not that deep, it's a good sign." He says, his voice thick and tense and not matching his words very well which puts you on edge because you know, your lucidity as a team has been cut in half now.

You have been on so many missions before, you have killed so many targets, even harder than this one and you made such a rookie mistake tonight compromising not only your own health but also the success of the mission itself and that is something your partner will need to deal with alongside you.

Guilt perforates your heart like stalactites and you gulp down heavily, opening your mouth to pronounce your shaky apology when Taehyung rips off a limb of his own shirt, offering it to you like a bandage for the time being. You do need to stop the bleeding if you want to survive the night and still be somewhat useful to him.

"Can you move your arm?" He asks before you have a chance of repent for your mistakes and you find yourself nodding your head yes a few times, unable to utter a single word.

This is a half-lie because yes, you can move your arm but no, you can’t move your shoulder without it hurting like a motherfucker—something you quickly decide Taehyung doesn’t need to know.

"Good." His voice sounds rough and thick and you look up at him with dread, noticing how his lips are still in a tight line as he takes the gun back in his right hand and gets up on his feet.

"We need to move."

You check your wrist and your insides constrict at the numbers shining on it. Thirty-six minutes.

Ideally, the mission should last for 60 minutes sharp, the time including getting in and out of the building. Clearly, you are late on track and Taehyung knows just as much and you can see it in the tense line of his shoulders as he moves to the door and peers outside.

The sound of bullets going off comes next and it forces Taehyung to pull his head inside the room again in order to avoid them.

He takes a sharp breath and then bravely jumps out of the room, firing his gun like a mad man. You get up on your feet as well, wincing at the pain in your shoulder, and grip your own gun in your right hand, ready to put it to good use to help him.

Your partner is fast and he is sharp and precise and it really isn't a surprise that he clears the hallway so easily without you need to lift a single finger. This is why Hoseok still relies on him, after all.

You step into the hallway as Taehyung turns his head towards you, tilting his head to the side to prompt you forward and follow him.

Moving through the building is not an easy task now that your cover has been completely blown and you have to keep fighting your way through the corridors while losing hope of ever finding your target.

Fear of him fleeting in the ruckus fills your mind and makes your insides feel incredibly heavy but, still, you do not dare voice the doubts out. Right now is not the moment to have second thoughts, to show concern or to give up your objective.

The building turns out to be something akin to a maze for those that do not inhabit it and, despite your eager study of the blueprint it becomes a very arduous quest to not get lost within it.

What you start losing, though, is the count of guards you have to kill in order to keep moving forward and, yes, there are far more than the thirty expected ones on the external perimeter.

The long and intricate corridors and the guards that keep coming your way only slow you down more to the point nervousness starts seeping in and out of you. We should just blow this bloody shit up, you think as you turn yet another corner in the hopes of finding a new course to keep on moving to the heart of the building.

Taehyung suddenly stops in his tracks and, consequently, so do you while scanning your surroundings to find what gathered his attention.

There it is.

It’s a tiny shift in light and texture on the far end of this corridor, right in front of the wall you are facing right now.

Taehyung steals a glance your way and you nod in acknowledgement while slowly taking a few careful steps forward.

If you hadn’t been trained for years and if you hadn’t had all those missions behind your back to count as experience, you would have never caught the little detail.

A secret passage is hidden at the end of this corridor and you keep moving towards it, hope rekindling in your heart with every step forward you take.

Now, how to open that secret passage is a whole other story.

Both of you look for ways to open it up whether through some sort of password, keys, handles, anything.

You knock on the wall a few times, trying to feel if there are some empty spots on the wall but your search is not fruitful and the clock keeps ticking around your wrist.

Actual minutes tick by before you as you try to find your way in, even by force if necessary.

If your target hasn’t fled the scene yet, there is no doubt he is hiding behind this door, perfectly protected and concealed in the real heart of the building.

Sixty minutes.

Your eyes pick up on the number blinking on your clock, the digits turning a deep shade of orange to signal you your operation should be pretty much over by now and yet here you are, still trying to even reach your Myung Ki Kwon.

Taehyung grunts in frustration and kicks the wall hard as if trying to bring it down by sheer force.

For a moment you hold your breath, almost hopeful that kick alone could bring the whole wall down but, of course, it is not that simple but as he kicks it another time, in that split of a second, you catch it. The shift.

"Do it again," you say, your eyes focusing on the left corner of the room, right next to the window.

Taehyung kicks the wall again under your instructions and you focus your whole attention to that portion of the room until you can clearly see it: the way in.

A few inches away from the window lies a wooden black table and right on top of it is placed a completely lit chandelier made of little tendrils of crystals.

You cross the room with quick steps and jump on the table with a swift movement, eager to check if your hunch is correct or not.

You lift your good arm up and tug at one of the little tendrils hanging down from the ceiling, the one at the very centre of the old-looking ornamentation.

As you pull the crystals down towards you, you hear the clicking sound of a mechanism going off and, sure enough, a few seconds after the wall you had been staring at for at least ten minutes flies open.

"How-?" Taehyung's question is swept away by gunfire aimed your way.

Five guards in all jet black armour come out of the secret hallway with loaded machine guns focused directly on the both of you.

Your steps are quicker than your mind, bringing you down the table and under it as Taehyung slides towards you and forces the table to a vertical position in order to protect the both of you from the explosion of bullets.

Your companion grunts in pain beside you, signalling you he has been caught by at least one of the bullets fired your way.

The table is standard wood and it does not suffice as a cover under the rapid-fire. In a few seconds, it’ll be totally useless as a protection and unless you can think of a solution fast, you have no chance of escaping this madness and your pending deaths.

Bullets graze your skin again, too awfully close as they break the wood in front of you. Shards of the split open wood plant themselves in your skin and you really start doubting you'll make it out alive.

"Hold onto me," Taehyung says, forcing you within his arms as he reaches for his belt, "We'll have to use the grenade now."

You look up to him and nod your head. The grenade was supposed to be your last resort because you know, once it goes off there is no way the Police won't be alerted by it and that means even a shorter amount of time left for you to kill your target and escape.

Still, with no other option available, Taehyung launches it behind your backs while hugging you tight to his chest in order to protect you from the blast.

It takes only a few seconds for the grenade to hit the ground and explode beneath your feet, sending you both flying forward.

Your ears start to ring, covering any other sound but you know you can’t stop now. This is your chance.

Taehyung has his hands around your shoulders as you both get up on your feet and turn around to marvel at the destruction you created.

There is a deep hole right at the centre of the room, the wooden floor has caved in and turned a burnt black colour and, from the creaking all around you, there is no doubt the part of the building where you are standing will collapse soon.

There is only one option available: jump.

You take a few steps back and then start running with all your might to launch yourself into the void, hoping your strength will be enough for you to reach the other side.

Your fingers grab onto the sinking wood of the floor with all the strength you possess, your shoulder burning like hell as you try to lift yourself up and save yourself from certain and very painful death.

The shards of wood cut and nip your skin and the slight pain makes you groan out loud as you give it your all to push yourself up to safety.

Once you are standing on your feet again you turn around to look at your boyfriend, still standing on the other side of the room.

“Don’t stop, I’ll be right behind you!”

You give him a curt nod of understanding and even though your heart hurts a little, you turn your back on him and start running again.

The corridor is long and seemingly bottomless as you race through it, your steps echoing on the walls, surely giving your arrival away.

In the short amount of time it takes for you to cross the long corridor, a thousand different scenarios play in your head.

As an experienced assassin, you exploit those few minutes to prepare yourself for nearly anything possibly awaiting you at the bottom of this passage.

With your gun firmly grasped in your hand, your heart beating steadily in your chest and your mind clear of anything that is not your target and his death, you finally step inside the room secretly lodged within the heart of the building.

You expected many things to be there to welcome you, including absolute emptiness but, to be honest, Myung Ki Kwon sitting calmly at the centre of the room with a cigar in his mouth and a smirk painted on his features wasn’t one of them.

Your target appears to be completely alone, dressed as if he were about to go out and attend a gala event or a wedding and he sports the most unbothered and calm expression you have ever seen.

"Looks like you found your way in," he says before inhaling deeply the tobacco of his expensive cigar. He puffs it all out a few seconds later in your direction, a taunting expression painted all over his features.

You take a step towards him, your gun precisely lined to the perfect spot between his eyebrows. After the hell he has made you and Taehyung go through, you are more than ready to take him down and get it over with.

"Ah, ah, ah," he shakes his head a little while rising his other hand for you to see what he is holding, "I'm afraid your life is connected to mine, dear. Kill me and this bomb will blow the entire building away."

He puffs his chest a little and opens up his vest to reveal a tiny bomb bound around his upper torso, ready to go off in approximately fifteen minutes unless deactivated.

His smile twists into something perverse, evil, and it gathers goosebumps on your skin because you could have never imagined him being ready to take his own life just to spite you and take you down with him.

What does he have in mind? You ask yourself. There is no chance in hell this isn’t part of a bigger plan because, simply, there is no way someone as smart as Ki Kwon wouldn’t think of a way for him to survive while taking down his enemies in the process.

You are a trained soldier. You were taught to value your life and protect it for as long as possible in order to accomplish your goals. But, you were also taught to make sacrifices for the sake of your mission and if you were alone, tonight, what you would be doing right now is shooting the target and kiss your life goodbye knowing you helped in making the world a better place, even if a tiny bit.

Sure, you are scared of dying, hell, you are scared of even getting caught and plenty of other things but you would still do it, for the greater good.

But tonight, you are not alone and it doesn’t matter how much you want to kill your target, it doesn’t matter who he is and what he has done and will keep on doing to innocent people unless you stop him now because Taehyung means more.

You cannot and you will not sacrifice the life of the man you love only to cut down one of the heads of the hydra.

For every Myung Ki Kwon you kill, another will rise and you all know it, even though you keep fighting in the hope that one day another head won't grow back but, is it really worth it to kill this one man at the expanse of your lover?

You decide that no, it is not worth it and in that tiny fraction of a second you hesitate, in that instant when you start to drop your weapon, something hard hits the back of your head.

You stumble forward, your vision turning into black and white dots as you try to turn around and look at your assailant.

A punch is delivered straight to your face next and then your weapon is falling from your hands and down on the floor, out of reach.

You can barely catch up your breath before a kick is sent up to your stomach, so strong it makes you cough out blood.

Myung Ki Kwon has saved the best for last, it would seem.

You had studied the file to the point you could recite every dot and comma in there and yet, in the heat of the moment, you forgot the most important detail: Myung Ki Kwon has a special bodyguard that follows him everywhere.

Another rookie mistake.

You are on the ground, blood flowing out of your mouth in big droplets, ears ringing and head spinning as you try to push yourself up and fight back the mountain before you.

His bodyguard is one of the tallest men you have ever seen, quite easily double your size in everything and he has clearly the upper hand in this fight when you have been deprived of your weapon.

“Seems like you’re all on your own, little girl,” he says, voice low and rough as he takes a step forward, ready to break your body further.

You steal a glance behind his back, your heart heavy with concern as you start to wonder where on earth your boyfriend went. He should have been here by now and the fact that he is not fills you with dread.

You take in a sharp breath and re-focus your attention on your opponent. He is big, sure, but that also means he is heavy and if you have an advantage in every one-on-one combat situations is that you are fast.

You charge forward with your bare hands trying to reach his face and as he intercepts your attack, you let your body slide down on the floor so that you can pass between his long legs.

As he spins around to catch you, you land a high kick on his chin, sending him a few inches away as he grabs onto his bone with a wince.

“You fucking bitch,” he says under his breath as he jumps forward to catch you.

Again, you are faster than him and manage to crouch down before he can grab your neck and pin you down until you cannot breathe.

You push yourself upwards and land a punch on his right cheek, splitting the skin open.

The mountain takes a step back and you take advantage of his little confusion to land a powerful kick to his abdomen.

The man coughs hard but grabs your ankle with his rough hands and with a strong pull of his arms, you are sent flying on the ground again.

You hit your head on the concrete floor and groan at the utter pain that invades your skull with the free fall.

Myung Ki Kwon’s bodyguard is on top of you in an instant, his hands tight around your neck in a bruising vice that leaves no way out for you to fight back.

"Get your hands off of her, you motherfucker," Taehyung’s voice comes from behind your back and you glance in his direction, relief spreading through your body as he appears before you looking like a guardian angel.

The first bullet out of his gun catches your opponent on the right shoulder, the second one the soft spot between his neck and clavicles and as he takes a staggering step backwards in pain, Taehyung completely empties the rounds of his gun on his upper body.

The enormous body of Myung Ki Kwon’s personal guard falls forward and lands right at your feet, the little choking sounds he emits as he suffocates on his own blood absolutely revolting. You are sure, though, that the nausea filling your stomach is not due to his gruesome death but, rather, a concussion.

Still, you push yourself on your feet again, helped by the strong and steady hands of your boyfriend.

Taehyung is staring straight at your target, his eyes not even blinking as he assesses the situation at hand.

"Careful, dear, or you'll still end up killing your lover," Ki Kwon says, his eyes teasing as he keeps glancing between the two of you and the way you appear to be a little too close for you to be just partners in crime.

Myung Ki Kwon is a brilliant man, he is extraordinary at reading people and situations and it is precisely because of these gifts that he has been able to ascend to power so quickly, so efficiently.

Such a wasted talent. He could have been so much more, something bigger and just and profitable for the society but, instead, he chose the easy way; he chose power and money and let his soul rot like everything else he touches.

And that’s why Taehyung, unlike you, doesn't hesitate for a single moment.

He lifts up his spare gun tugged behind his back, he aims at your target and then, he shoots.

Your eyes close, your body tensing as if readying itself for the inevitable blast that is out to sweep it away but then, the explosion never comes. What does come is the sound of Taehyung's voice screaming your name, urging you to run.

"We have exactly one minute and thirty seconds to get out of here."

His words have barely the time to register in your mind before he is urging you forward, grasping your hand to pull you towards him and force you to run.

Your feet are almost flying on the floor as you race against time to save your life. Everything in your body hurts and begs you to stop, lie down and just rest but you are not allowed to.

You keep moving forward, Taehyung right behind you albeit stumbling a little with wounds you have no idea how appeared on his body in the first place.

There is no time to stop and check on him, there is no time to wonder or even care. As long as you are still alive, you need to keep pushing forward.

The bomb goes off behind your backs just as you, somehow, reach the exit door of the house and for a moment it feels like you are flying up in the sky.

The force of the explosion lifts you from the ground and throws you right back on it a few seconds after. Your fall is bad and uncontrolled and you are sure you've just broken a bone or two and the desire of just giving up and surrender becomes even more potent as pain washes over your entire being.

There are tears in your eyes and blood all over your face and even inside your nose and, if it weren't for your lover right beside you, you would probably give up, lie there and just wait for the end to come your way.

But Taehyung's groan awakens you from this state and you are forced back on your feet by his strong hold.

Your bodies are battered, broken even, but you are both still alive and staring into each other’s eyes. We’ve made it through.

The thought has barely the chance to form inside your head before you hear it in the remote distance: the sound of Police cars heading your way.

"Fuck," you glance at your watch, it reads eighty-five minutes in bold, angry red digits that signal your absolute doom. Taehyung must see the panic in your eyes because he shakes his head no and takes your hand in his and forces you to start running all over again.

As your feet stomp against the loan you realize that there won’t be any extraction team waiting for you outside this hell hole and, without the concrete chance of you reaching the car you came in, there is barely any hope for the two of you to survive this night.

Taehyung must know this as well but he keeps urging you forward, he keeps pushing you over your own limit and what your poor body can sustain.

You climb back up the gate as fast as you can while keeping your eyes on the end of the road whilst the red and blue lights start to become visible in the night.

Taehyung lands a little rough on his left ankle and groans in pain but doesn’t stop for a single second. He grasps your hand and pulls you alongside him in a desperate run that feels hopeless and pointless.

Your boyfriend stops for a second and pushes you forward, forcing you to run ahead of him as he looks behind your backs.

You keep running because that is what he wants you to do and you try to ignore his heavy pants or the shouting noises behind your backs as the Policemen leave their cars behind in favour of a running chase.

Taehyung’s scream behind your back comes in the form of your name, the urgency in his tone goading your legs to move even faster, begging you to keep going and not to stop, not to even look back. But you do look back, because that is the only way you think the dread in your heart will be quenched but, instead, you are met with the most terrifying sight you could have possibly envisioned.

The bright yellow uniforms of law enforcements shine like a beacon in the night, looking quite menacing in the night with their proximity.

You can hear their voices shouting your way, you can see their guns aimed at you both as you try to flee the scene and save your asses but it is clear, despite how hard you try to deny it to yourself, that this time, there is no chance of escaping and for the first time in forever, you are utterly terrified.

One of the officers chasing you aims at your lover’s leg and without fail blows his right calf off, forcing him to stop and fall on the ground in pain.

"No!" You whip your head around and ignore the way it starts to spin immediately, too eager to reach your lover and save him—by any means necessary—to care about your own well-being.

"What are you doing?! Don’t stop, RUN!"

Taehyung yells at you, tries to push himself upwards and force you to keep on moving but you can't. He is doomed and that means you are too because there is no chance in hell you are leaving him behind.

"I'm not leaving you!"

Your hands reach for his face as the Police starts catching up with the both of you, cutting the distance too short for you to be able to save yourselves.

"What are you doing?" He asks again, tears and snot smearing all over his face as he tries to push you away, "You have to run."

"I can't," you whimper out, tears streaming down your face as well as you look into his eyes for what feels like the last time.

"Yes, you can, _______, look at me. You have to run and save yourself."

His eyes of onyx turn serious, almost cold as they stare right inside your own.

He doesn’t speak the words but you can still hear them loud and clear inside your head: if you stay now, if you don’t save yourself, I will never forgive you.

"I'll save you, baby, I swear I'll find a way to save you."

You sob and kiss his lips and rip your heart to shreds in the process as you force yourself to peel off of him and resume your desperate run to salvation.

You look back one last time as guns are aimed at your running figure while Taehyung gets handcuffed and roughly taken away.

You close your eyes and force yourself to keep running, for him.

Your breath is heavy, your legs are tired and on the verge of collapsing and you can see no hope ahead of you until you hear the gunfire all around you.

The grunts in the distance, the sound of men falling to the ground and the great numbers of bullets moving past you in all directions are the things that force your eyes to open again and re-focus on the dark street.

The sight before you seems impossible: an extraction team awaits you a few meters away, their guns taking down officers left and right.

In an instant, relief spreads through your heart and mind: you are safe.

Hoseok steps out of the vehicle, his eyes dark as they fix on you and the evident absence of your companion.

"They have Taehyung!" You cry out as you run towards him, your arms outstretched to reach him and the promise of salvation that lies between his arms.

Your step-brother runs towards you to envelop you in a tight hug that makes you cry out in pain. It has been years since you last hugged each other and it feels a little like a homecoming but you do not have the time nor the luxury to rejoice in the feeling. You have to save your lover.

"Please save him, please." Your voice quivers as you look up at him expectantly but what you find depicted on his face breaks your heart all over again.

"It's too late now, we need to get you to safety."

“What do you mean it’s too late? He’s right there, we can save him!”

Hoseok’s arms turn rough around you, pinning you down to stop you from running all the way back to your lover and get him back to base.

You scream and struggle to get out of his embrace, you kick and bite the hands of your saviours because they refuse to run and try to save Taehyung.

How can they leave him behind? No, how can he? How could you?!

Despair swallows you whole and soon after so does darkness as the sedative injected in your neck works its way inside your veins, turning you lax between Hoseok’s arms.

You try to fight the liquid sleep with all your might at first but, as it starts to anaesthetize both the pain in your body, your mind and your aching heart, you find yourself gladly embracing the peace it promises to bring.

❖ 10th May 2018, h 10:00 || Seoul, South Korea

Your eyes slowly flutter open and focus on the now-familiar white ceiling of the hospital wing of the Agency.

The splitting headache comes right after, making you grimace as it slowly arises from the back of your skull up to your forehead.

The concussion has given you barely any reprieve from the moment you had run out of Myung Ki Kwon’s house and found yourself safely tucked in aseptic white sheets.

“Hey,” a voice coming from the door catches your attention, forcing you to adjust your focus a little to the left.

Hoseok is standing there, dressed in his all-black attire as if he is about to go on a mission and you would catch on to more details in his appearance if you were to let your gaze wander on him a little bit longer. But you don’t because the sight of him repulses you, now.

Your eyes pointedly fix back on the ceiling before you, not a single word escaping your lips as he steps closer to your bed and sits on the chair right next to you. He has been visiting you every day for the past three days, even multiple times in the same day but he has always received the same treatment from your part: cold, distant.

His presence there makes Taehyung’s absence even more obvious and it makes the guilt within your heart expand every day a little more to the point you fear that is what you’ll only be able to feel in a few days. Guilt and regret.

Your body has been stuck on this bed for the last seventy-two hours and there is no way of knowing how much longer you will have to spend here, confined in this room.

A concussion, a perforated shoulder, a few broken ribs, some internal bleeding and a great number of burns and cuts all over your body are the injuries you brought back as a prize from your mission and, according to them all, you have been lucky.

Lucky sounds like a fun word when your entire world has been swept away and taken from you. Sure, you are alive but, do you have any desire of being so when he is not there?

The immobility that has been forced on you is slowly driving you insane. Your hands twitch all the time, eager to do something, anything.

Taehyung isn’t lost yet, there is still some hope and it is that hope that has made you beg for release a thousand times. Hell, you even tried to escape the bloody agency but you couldn’t make it. Not with your body like this, not with thousands of them and only one of you and especially not when it is your step-brother giving the orders around here.

Hoseok sighs next to you and brushes his fingers along yours.

You do not move, you do not even breathe to acknowledge his presence there but he can surely make out the goosebumps gathering on your skin as you force yourself not to flinch away. Even that would be giving him too much.

He doesn’t deserve your eyes on him, he doesn’t deserve your words nor your time because he is the reason why Taehyung has been caught.

He didn’t postpone the mission, he didn’t send an extraction team, he didn’t arrive on time, he didn’t save him.

Your heart grows heavy, your eyes filling with tears as his presence becomes too much for you to bear.

You used to love Hoseok with all your heart. You weren’t brothers by blood, you hadn’t been born by the same father nor the same womb and yet, you had found each other in time while living under the same roof.

For years, Hoseok had been your true companion, your best friend, the brother you had never had but always wished for.

And now, you can’t even look at him for more than a second.

In a way, Myung Ki Kwon has won. He has died but he has taken away everything from you: your family, your lover, your purpose in life.

Hoseok sighs next to you whilst retracting his hand so that he is nowhere near touching you.

Relief spreads through your body like a wave and you hate that it does but, at the same time, there is nothing you can do to change what resides in your heart.

“I’m off for a mission,” he decides to say after a while. His voice is soft, his words are careful and slightly elusive and they make your heart-rate pick up in hope because maybe, just maybe, he is going to try and save him, at last.

You slightly tilt your head to the side but still keep your eyes focused on anywhere but him.

You can feel his gaze fixed on your face and it takes all of your strength not to turn around and stare back at him.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to get him back to you, I promise.”

Your heart stirs in your chest, hope spreading through your limbs like a warm wave.

Hoseok’s promises are like diamonds: rare and precious. You know he wouldn’t dare to make an empty promise to you, especially not about Taehyung and his well-being.

You hear the sound of his clothes as he gets up, you catch onto the sigh that leaves his mouth and then you plant your eyes on his retreating figure—slumped shoulders, tense neck, nervous steps.

You lift your left-hand to your lips—the one he had brushed his fingers on—and nervously start to nip at your already-chipped nails.

You wish you could join them, you wish you could fight with claws and teeth to get your lover back but you can’t and rationally you do know it is for the best—not much you can do in the state your body was reduced to, after all—but at the same time it wrecks your heart to not be able to be there for him like he has always been there for you.

Still, you hope and confide on the efficiency of your step-brother and the team he is going to bring alongside him.

► twelve hours later

 Night has fallen and moonlight filters through the open windows at the other end of the wall.

You have been staring at them for the whole day, watching the time go by and the light shift and change until it was completely gone and replaced by a silvery hue.

Your heart has turned uneasy many hours ago, your stomach feels upset and queasy and the nervousness within your body has turned your limbs restless in the confinement of your bed.

It has been so long since Hoseok has left you this morning, so many hours and minutes have ticked by while you are stuck here, waiting.

The more it takes for him to return, the less you believe he will come back successful and that is a thought you'd rather not linger on too much because it would mean Taehyung is lost forever.

The taste of blood suddenly fills your mouth and you grimace at the sensation and the slight pain of your bottom lip splitting up, again.

You have developed this habit of biting down your lips and nails in the past few days as a form of stress-relieving when you are not allowed to do pretty much anything else.

You curse under your breath and reach for a tissue on your nightstand to stop the slight bleeding and get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth.

As you lift your gaze up again, though, your eyes meet the slumped figure of your step-brother.

His black hair has gotten longer over the past few months and now, as he hangs his head low, a few strands cover his eyes, concealing the feelings reflected in them from you.

You can see the tense line of his shoulders, you can see the way he literally drags himself in the room and in your heart, you already know.

But you rebuff the thought, you refuse to acknowledge anything until he has said something because that is how you save yourself from falling to pieces.

You decide to ignore his split lip or the dark purple halo around his left cheek, you decide to ignore the way he favours his right side as he walks into the room and you also decide to ignore how he flinches every now and then when his weight shifts to the left.

You decide to ignore all of this because if Hoseok got so hurt during a mission it can only mean it went wrong. There is no one in the agency more lethal than Jung Hoseok and there is also no one in it able to beat him or even scratch him.

Your step-brother sits in front of you as you stare at him, too scared to utter a single word or to even breathe, at this point.

He looks up at you for barely a second before shifting his gaze on the ground, unable to look at you. In twelve hours, the parts seem to have turned.

You couldn’t stomach the sight of him this morning and now, as you eagerly try to pry into his eyes, he is the one unable to face you, albeit for very different reasons.

The seconds seem to stretch into hours and the more you look at him, so defeated in his seat, the more the thought you had been trying to ignore all this time becomes prominent, impossible to push down and lock away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice sounding as broken as your body and heart feel.

He flinches at the sound of your voice but lifts his head up anyway and as his eyes fix on you, you know. There is no way for you to deny it any more, there is no way you can pretend not to know.

Hoseok’s eyes are filled with unshed tears and as you stare down into his irises, yours does as well.

“I’m sorry, buttercup.”

The little nickname Hoseok had given you plenty of years ago splits your heart into two uneven halves. You can’t even remember the last time he called you that, let alone inside the agency where anyone could hear it and the fact that he decided to use it now, of all times, speaks volumes of how wrong things have gone today.

“Wh-what happened?” Your voice trembles, your throat constricting with the effort to keep yourself in one piece in front of him and not just burst into tears. Not yet, you tell yourself.

“We tried... we really did, ______, but there is a reason why nobody has ever made it out...” Hoseok’s voice sounds tired, defeated and you hate it but most importantly you hate what he is going to say soon, “We couldn’t... I’m sorry.”

His eyes beg you to understand and to forgive him and truth be told, you have no idea whether you’ll ever be able of doing so. A part of you wants to because without Taehyung, Hoseok is the only person you have left but the other part of you doesn’t think it will ever be possible because he is part of the reason why you don’t have anyone else besides you any more.

“Taehyung is gone.”

The finality of his words shatters you and even though you didn’t want to cry in front of him, you do.

The tears feel hot on your face as they freely fall on your cheeks, your lips quivering as you stop yourself from screaming at him. He’d deserve it but at the same time, he doesn’t, not when he is looking so desperate himself.

“How... how much?”

You feel like you might choke on your own words but they move past your mouth and he shivers at them, closing his eyes to gulp down heavily as if saying the number out loud would cost him a limb or a vital organ.

In this world, the law doesn’t believe in long-term prison sentences nor the execution of criminals. In this world, your world, criminals are punished with time-travel. They are given a second chance in life away from everyone they ever held dear and if they fail again, they’ll meet their destiny in a different time where laws are regulated differently and no one can save them.

“Sixty-nine years.”

The scream that erupts from your mouth scratches your throat and wrenches your heart from within.

Your hands grasp Hoseok’s shirt and they push and pull his upper torso until his head is lulling back and forth and he is sobbing alongside you.

The tears you had been holding ever since this morning all come rushing down, falling to your cheeks, on your nose and down your chin.

He is gone, gone, gone. Sixty-nine years means Kim Taehuyng is probably dead by now or too old to even remember who you are. He is lost, forever and, with no hope of ever touching his face or hearing his voice you are left stranded on this earth, alone and heartbroken.

“You promised me! You promised me you’ll get him back!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Hoseok’s voice is broken, barely above a whisper and you know you are wrecking him even more with your words and your actions but you don’t care because you are hurt and you want to hurt everybody else in return.

“It’s all your fault!” You scream in his face, unable to control your despair and anger.

You know those feelings are misplaced on him, they should be turned towards yourself because you messed up that night, not just Hoseok. You are the one that left him behind, you are the one that promised him you’ll get him back and didn’t. You, you, you.

Still, you focus them all on him because it’s easier to blame someone else that isn’t yourself.

“I begged you to save him and you didn’t listen to me! He was RIGHT THERE, HOSEOK, WHY? WHY DID YOU LEAVE HIM BEHIND?”

The scream makes your voice hoarse and it makes you cough as it feels like ripping your throat out from the inside.

Your chest is heaving, your breath ragged as you scratch your step-brother’s face with your nails, as you punch him in the chest and push him away from you inch after inch.

He lets you do this to him, he lets you hate him and push all of your rage out until there’s nothing left. He lets you because he feels like you are right, he feels like it is all of his fault and it is not true but, in the end, we all believe what we want to and Hoseok would rather you’d blame him for everything rather than yourself.

So he takes it all, silently, and when you can’t go any longer, when your body gets too tired and you turn slump between his arms, he hugs you tight to his chest and lies down on the hospital bed with you.

He is there when the doctors come and sedate you to calm the wheezing breaths and the erratic beating of your heart, he is there whilst liquid sleep takes you again and he is there when you finally drift off to a far better place where Kim Taehyung is still alive and well and holding you tight in his embrace.

❖ 21th June 2019, h 22:14 || Seoul, South Korea

The reflection in the mirror is both familiar and foreign to you as you peer into your own eyes, as you study the tight line of your lips and the sharp curve of your jawline.

Your hair is loose in small waves that fall right above your shoulders—far shorter than it used to be—and it frames the face of a girl that feels like you but, at the same time, that doesn’t.

Your attire is one you have worn many times before: black pants, black t-shirt, black boots and black gloves.

Today is your first day back on the field and your heart is already beating fast in your chest at the prospect of being out there once more, even though you plan it to be the conclusion of your career as an assassin and not a new beginning.

You can’t help but let your mind go back to the last time you prepared yourself before a mission. You looked at this very mirror one year ago as well, you studied your appearance to make sure everything was perfectly in place and, when your boyfriend entered the room, you smile at him before grabbing your jacket to leave.

This time, a quick little knock on your door is what awakes you from your daze and as you turn around whilst the door opens shortly after, you are not met with the kind gaze of Taehyung but by the lean figure of your new partner.

Jeon Jeongguk—former Marine and highly experienced in this field despite his young age, has been with you for the past six months.

He was scouted by the Agency when you were still stuck in a bed in the hospital wing and you got to know him only a few months after his arrival, albeit his fame preceded him.

When you were still recovering and in desperate need of a new partner, he was the one that volunteered to be assigned to you even though it wasn’t going to be really beneficial for him. In fact, within the Agency, there were only a few people that were willing to work with you and, truthfully, you couldn’t blame those that wouldn’t.

Jeon Jeongguk easily became your anchor in the past few months. He was kind and patient and he helped you get back on your own two feet in more ways than one.

He is also the one that has trained you rigorously for the past six months in order to help you to become better, stronger.

His doe-like eyes fix on you and you fore a smile to spread on your lips as you fully turn towards him. You offer him a little nod as an answer to the silent question shining in his eyes.

“I’m ready.” Your voice doesn’t betray a single hint of hesitation nor fear and surely not nervousness but you do feel all of those, within your heart. In the past six months, you have also become a master at concealing your true feelings, your most intimate thoughts and you also learned how to embellish them under false pretences and pretty lies.

Your heart has been roughly mended a great number of times at this point but, there is no point in hiding to your own self that you are not the same person you use to be and that you probably will never be, at least not until you have him by your side again.

Jeongguk smiles down at you showing the tip of his teeth whilst he tilts his head a little to the side, encouraging you to walk to the door and leave the safety of your room.

You follow him with eager steps that could be quite easily be mistaken for giddiness over your return on the field but that are, in fact, prompted by the fact that you were finally given an opportunity to change everything. Tonight, it’s your first and only opportunity to get back to your lover and you sure as hell won’t let it slide between your fingers.

You know Hoseok has been rather hesitant about sending you back on the field once again but,  you have played your part well and every psychologist in the agency has assured him that you are ready. And you are, but not for what they all think you are.

You can sense his onyx gaze following you as you climb up the stairs that lead to the outside world and for a second, you almost turn around to greet him but, in the end, you decide not to.

There is this fear in your heart that one look at you will show him all the little lies hidden inside your eyes. You’re scared he’ll be able to catch the hint of deception hiding in there, your true intentions for tonight’s mission and it’s a chance you cannot take, not tonight.

With deep regret over the missed opportunity to talk to your step-brother for the last time, you follow your partner to your ride for the night and silently climb inside the vehicle, your insides twitching with the deep sense of deja-vu that overcomes you as that fateful night comes to your mind once more.

Jeongguk steals a glance your way after you depart from the Agency and you scoff at his over-protective gaze and evident concern.

The sound that leaves your mouth makes a smile appear on his own and you feel your heart warming up at the sight.

Jeon Jeongguk is not only your trainer or partner on the field, no, in the past few months he has easily turned into your confidant, your best friend and he has made it possible for your heart to feel something other than despair when you thought it wasn’t possible.

You care about Jeongguk, hell, you love him just like you love Hoseok and the thought of betraying them both tonight makes your smile falter a little.

The drive to your destination is pretty silent but it is not that awkward silence you always wish to fill with something, it’s rather a comfortable one and it helps to steady the rampant beating of your heart as you run through the details of your plan once more.

Tonight’s mission is pretty easy and you have no doubt in your mind you’ll be able to finish your last job effortlessly, especially with Jeongguk on your side.

You have studied the file to perfection even though it was evidently the easiest mission Hoseok could find for you. Still, you applied yourself for all of them, but especially for Jeongguk’s sake.

You are going to betray all of them, sure, but you’ll still make sure they all remain safe despite your own choices.

The target you are going to terminate tonight is someone you could have taken down on your own even a few years back when you were just starting in the field but, tonight you have a partner next to you and an extraction team set up there for you two when it’s over.

It is an inconvenience to have this many people around tonight of all nights but, truthfully, you cannot blame your step-brother in the slightest. He has almost lost you in more ways than one and, evidently, he is not going to take any more chances when it comes down to your safety.

The car comes to a halt in front of an anonymous complex building and your insides churn uncomfortably as you are so quickly faced with the execution of your plan.

Whether you’ll pull it off or not, everything changes tonight.

You drop your gaze to the watch at your wrist, the flashing white digits telling you it’s currently fourteen minutes past ten and, in about six minutes, your mission will begin.

You sigh out loud without meaning to and the sound draws Jeongguk’s attentive eyes back on you.

“Nervous?” He inquires, tilting his head a little to the side before flashing you with one of his cute smiles.

Despite everything, you will miss Jeon Jeongguk and his adorable antics.

The thought makes you squirm a little in your seat and you are forced to look away from him before you give away too much of what you are thinking. After all, Jeongguk is just as much of an assassin as you are and reading people is something he had to master to become as good as he is now.

“A little, yeah,” you decide to reply, your answer not being that far off the mark, albeit it being for a very different reason than the one he is thinking about.

Jeongguk hums a little, his eyes drifting off to the end of the street as he gets lost in his own thoughts.

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” he says after a while, shifting his gaze back on you as you lift your own to meet his doe-like eyes, “But you got me, remember?” He gives you one of those cheesy smiles that makes your eyes roll up to the ceiling and a smile spread on your lips.

“Guess I do, don’t I?”

“Hey, what is that supposed to mean?” He asks whilst lightly nudging you with his shoulder.

Jeon Jeongguk, the only man on Earth able to make you laugh after everything you have been through. The giggles erupt from your mouth with you having absolutely no control over them and his eyes light up in response, shining with something you can only describe as adoration. This is something you have only recently picked up on: the way Jeongguk looks at you and what it could potentially mean.

The sight, then, no matter how endearing, fills your stomach with guilt. You will have to betray this boy tonight. Of all people, you will have to hurt the one that helped you building yourself up in the past few months and if you could do it any other way, you would. But you have no choice.

So, in order to protect yourself, your own heart and your choices, you force yourself to slip into your new character, to let the mask fall on your face and play the part to perfection.

When the clock strikes twenty minutes after ten, you step out of the car with Jeongguk standing right next to you.

Your eyes do not betray any hint of doubt or fear—albeit you feeling both of them within your heart—and as he steps forward to lead you to the vacant-looking apartment complex, you commit your betrayal.

Your finger hovers in doubt for only a mere second over the left button on your wristwatch but, before you can actually talk yourself out of it, you press it down and send the alert to the law enforcement, heart beating rampant in your chest.

The once white digits on your watch turn an angry red but this time, they are not a scary sight, this time they signal hope for a different future—or past, you suppose.

Ten minutes, that’s how long you have to eliminate the target and help Jeongguk escape without you. As for you, you will wait for the Police with your arms spread wide.

In a world where criminals are sent in the past and you were forced to part ways with your lover there is only one option left: get caught.

► ten minutes later

 Jeongguk’s legs are moving fast in front of you, his quick steps leading the way out of the building and into the seemingly empty street.

As expected, your mission was carried out with outstanding ease—your target was silently terminated and nobody within the complex area has noticed anything.

On any other night, you would consider this mission to have been extremely successful.

Jeongguk’s steps are light against the pavement and as you follow suit, your heart starts feeling heavier knowing any second now, they will show up.

Just like that night more than a year ago, what alerts you is the sound of the sirens approaching your general position and the shifting in light in the night as the Police cars tint the surrounding buildings in red and blue hues.

Jeongguk turns towards you, his eyes big as saucers and filled with a panic that you thought you’ll never see reflected in them.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath before taking your hand to pull you forward and force you to run even faster.

He probably can’t believe what is happening tonight, not after everything ran so smoothly and especially not now, of all times, when you are finally back on the field.

Of course, he has no idea you are the cause of all of this and, really, how could he?

You follow him without uttering a single word until you are right in the middle of the street, aiming for the little turn on the left at the end of it where you know your extraction team is waiting for you.

As you pass a lamplight and you are sure you’re perfectly visible in the night, you stop.

There are a few things you’ll never forget and one of those is the panicked and questioning look on Jeongguk’s face as he turns towards you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice a little higher than usual as he tugs on your hand to encourage you to move forward and keep running to safety with him.

You plant your two feet on the ground and shake your head ‘no’ a little.

You can see the confusion in his eyes and the apprehension swimming in those black irises as he turns his whole body towards you.

“Hey, it’s ok, we still have time to escape. But we’ve got to go, now.”

You force your hand out of his grasp and shake your head again, unable to push out the words you rehearsed in your mind a thousand times.

You watch his eyebrows knot together in bewilderment, you notice the way he nervously licks his lips as he grabs your shoulders with his hands, giving you a little shake as if to wake you from a daze.

Of course, he can’t even fathom the grandness of your betrayal right now and how could he, when you showed him not a single hint about you being capable of doing this to him?

“Talk to me, ________, what is going on in your head right now?”

Maybe he thinks you are re-living that fateful night and are now too scared to keep on going, afraid that story will repeat itself. Or maybe he just thinks you have gone mad and finally reached the point of no return. Still, he tries to understand, he tries to help you and you wish he would just leave you there and not be so nice for once, just this one time.

And maybe you are crazy, maybe there is no turning back at this point but in your heart you know, this was your only option all along.

“I’m not coming.” You finally say as the volume of the sirens turns louder in your ears, signalling the Police’s imminent arrival.

“What do you mean you’re not coming?!”

He lightly shakes you again, dread twisting his features as he tries to pull you towards him and finally get you to start running before it’s too late.

“Go, Jeongguk.”

You watch realization spark up on his features, his eyebrows shooting upwards and his mouth falling agape as all the pieces of the puzzle finally connect inside his mind.

“You called them,” he whispers, his voice so small it does nothing to conceal his shock nor how hard it is for him to actually believe you would do this. His eyes look at you as if they are seeing you for the very first time and maybe they are, after all, what you have been showing to him all of this time was someone you are not, not any more at least.

“I’m sorry... I had to.” Your voice is weak, your excuse pathetic but you still offer it to him like an olive branch hoping it will be enough to soothe his heart and help him move forward.

“Are you fucking crazy? What do you think will happen even if you get caught?! ”

Fear propels him forward and turns him rough as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward, forcing you to take a few steps towards the end of the street just as the Police cars turn around the corner, facing your backs in the distance.

“Please, Jeongguk, leave.”

You try to force his hand to release your arm but it only turns his grasp rougher on your already bruising skin.

“I’m not leaving you!”

The heart you had tried so hard to mend in those few months together with him absolutely shatters at his words. The sense of deja-vu leaves you breathless, it gathers goosebumps on your skin and makes your head spin whilst absolute guilt spreads within you like a wave.

“I can’t keep living like this, Jeongguk, please.”

Your eyes swell up with tears, your bottom lip starts trembling and you gaze into his eyes with a pleading look that makes him shake his head and turns his eyes glossy with tears.

“What about me, then? What am I supposed to do?”

Jeongguk’s bottom lip trembles just like your own and it is then that you realize you may have underestimated the depth of his feelings for you.

Yes, you had an inkling he rather fancied you and maybe you had encouraged him by never addressing it but at the same time, the doubt of him feeling something stronger than that had never crossed your mind before now.

The desperate gaze that he fixes on you, the way his body tenses at the prospect of leaving you and the way he is crying right now as he struggles to decide what to do with both you and himself are all very familiar. Because you have felt the exact same way, a little over a year ago.

It is clear as day now that Jeongguk, somewhere down the line, has fallen in love with you.

Maybe if you and Jeongguk had met in another life, or maybe if you had known him before Taehyung then, maybe you’ll be able to feel the same about him.

But destiny has made you meet Taehyung years before him and you have fallen hopelessly in love with him and it doesn’t matter how much you may try to overcome it or to deny it, you know in your heart there will never be a place for someone else. Not now, not even in a hundred years.

“You are supposed to move on and find someone better.”

Jeongguk shakes his head vigorously, a sob erupting from his trembling mouth as both of his hands grab your face, his eyes turning pleading as they gaze into yours.

“I don’t want someone better, I want you.”

You close your eyes as you exhale loudly to try and steady yourself. This hurts so much and you’ll never overcome the hatred you feel for yourself for doing this to someone so precious and kind like Jeongguk.

He deserved better from the very beginning but you have been selfish enough to use him all this time, even without realising it.

You lift the hand that was holding your gun all of this time and with a sinking heart, you lift it to his head.

“Don’t make me do it, please.”

He shakes his head a little in bewilderment, his eyes big and terrified by the person they are staring at right now because to him, this is not you at all.

“I’m sorry, Jeongguk,” your voice trembles as you sniffle loudly, “I really am sorry but I love him,” you shake your head a little because you truly are hopeless at this point and you have no will to try and repress your own feelings any longer, “ I will always love him.”

Jeongguk stops breathing for a few seconds, his eyes closing as he takes it all in: his confession, the rejection, your weapon aimed at him and your decision to try and go back in time to find Taehyung.

A shaky breath comes out of his parted mouth as he forces himself to let go of you and take a few steps back.

Tears are falling in big droplets on both of your cheeks as he slowly steps backwards, defeat painted all over his features.

“I hope you’ll find him and you’ll live a happy life together.”

His voice is strained but you know he truly means it because that is who Jeongguk is. Someone so kind and gentle it’s a wonder he’s actually considered a deadly weapon within the Agency.

You force yourself to smile for him one last time and nod your head yes a few times.

“Leave happily, too, Jeongguk and thank you for everything.”

Jeongguk offers you a small nod before diverting his gaze towards the Police-men running out of their cars with their weapons out, ready to shoot you down at any given opportunity.

“Tell Hoseok that I’m sorry and that I love him.”

Jeongguk nods his head again and then he closes his eyes and turns around, forcing himself again to let go of you and think about his safety now.

You watch him go with tears smearing all over your face and neck and when he is almost out of sight, you drop your weapon on the ground and lift your hands up in surrender.

Your heart feels like a hummingbird inside your ribcage as the Police-men finally approach you, guns aimed at you from all angles whilst one of them roughly handcuffs your hands behind your back.

❖ 25th June 2019, h 15:00 || Seoul, South Korea

 Time has always played a big part in your life. In fact, for most of your adulthood, time has been essential.

Now, held in a cold and bare prison cell for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re starting to lose all knowledge of time and how it flows and ticks by to the point in your mind, it’s all turning into a big blur of now and then.

Meals are brought to you in a seemingly precise pattern that allows you to guess what part of the day it is and a semblance of night time is also given by the lights turning off at a very specific hour—whichever that might be.

You often find yourself glancing down at your wrist where your watch used to be out of pure habit. A sigh escapes your mouth each time you are met with the sight of your own skin and not the comforting digits you were seeking.

The silence and loneliness of your confinement prove to be truly unnerving and slowly driving you absolutely insane.

With nobody to talk to and nothing to do, you can’t stop your mind from drifting off and imagine Taehyung in this very situation. You can almost see him before you in the ugly orange outfit, lying on the bed with his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he struggles to recover from his injuries and the thought of leaving you behind.

You also think about Jeongguk a lot. You apparently like the most to indulge in the sorrowful memory of his pained look as he forced himself to turn his back on you and run to safety.

One thing you try not to think about too much, though, is Hoseok and how he may be trying to cope with your absence.

There are a great number of scenarios possible you’d rather not indulge in, the most prominent one being him trying to break you out of prison, like he tried to do with Taehyung, even though he knows it’s basically impossible.

There is a tiny part of you that fears he’ll not only try but also succeed in his endeavour. Of course, the biggest part of you is more preoccupied with him getting himself hurt to the point of no return in the attempt to save you from the path you chose for yourself.

All these thoughts have nowhere to go except run around your head, mixing together, overlapping each other to the point you sometimes have a hard time distinguishing what is real and what is only a fragment of your own imaginations.

After all, this is what you are made to do in a place like this: think, think, think.

Nights—or their rendition of them, at least—do not pass by easily as well because more than often, sleep escapes you.

When you close your eyes you can’t help but picture Taehyung’s face or Jeongguk’s and, honestly, you have a hard time deciding which one is worse. What you know, though, is that your heart breaks a little more every single time and that is why for the past few days—assuming it has been multiple, that is—you have given up on sleep altogether in favour of a silent wait for your eleventh hour.

You can’t always hide your nervousness well; your body jerks every now and then, your legs relentlessly move up and down to alleviate some of the stress you feel clutching your insides, your lips often nip at the tender skin around your nails.

When the door opens again for the third time today, you almost jump from your seat and rush to the guard to ask him the millions of questions swirling in your mind.

You do nothing of the sort, though, as your gaze fixes on his stern one and the tight line of his lips.

You do try to pry into his eyes and catch a hint of something in them, literally anything that could give away a little something but you are met with the same old cold stare.

It feels like a little bit too early for it to be dinner already but then again, time has been slipping through your fingers more and more with each passing hour so who knows, maybe you have already lost the ability to discern it through the tight schedule of the prison.

“Get up,” the gruff tone of the guard’s voice almost makes you flinch, forcefully peeling you off from your own thoughts.

His stance is more intimidating than usual today, his features twisted in a little smirk that dare you to even slightly question his authority so he can have a little fun with you.

The thing is, you are not being held against your will right now, hell, you surrendered yourself to them and that means you have no reason to talk back or disobey their orders.

You get up on your own two feet and let him handcuff your hands behind your back without uttering a single word.

He pulls you out of the prison cell and you follow him diligently as he quickly crosses hall after hall of this seemingly infinite maze of white walls.

There isn’t much to see, really, but you still scan your surroundings eagerly, almost excited for the change of scenarios.

Your eyes actually lit up as for the first time in days—how many could have passed? A couple, a whole week? No idea—you see a clock hanging on a wall.

The ticking hands of the clock inform you it is three sharp, whether that is AM or PM you have absolutely no chance of knowing just yet but you would guess for it to be in the afternoon, just out of logic and intuition.

The walk to your destination—wherever that may be—is pretty silent and it doesn’t help your mind from slowing down on the reeling thoughts at all.

All the things you’d want to ask and inquire about get stuck on the tip of your tongue but, every time you lift your gaze to the huge back of your guard you are reminded that questions are not well perceived here.

At the end of yet another long corridor, you spot a couple of guards waiting for the two of you, each one of them at one side of the big door you came through for the very first time a great number of hours ago—at least sensation wise.

Your heart absolutely leaps in your chest as a new sudden thought creeps up in your mind. This is it, this is the day.

The three guards tower over you, covering every corner of your body except for your back as you are escorted to the trial room.

You have never seen one of those rooms before, except for photos on-line that did not make it any justice.

The white polished room is round and bigger than you anticipated, the ceiling is tall and spherical with a glass at the very top to let the light flood in and illuminate the whole ambient.

If this weren’t an “execution” chamber, you would actually deem it as lovely and warm-looking.

As you move past the door you feel the eyes of the judges and the few civilians present there close in on you, studying you as you slowly walk to the centre of the room.

The first guard that came to fetch you forces you on the elevated seat positioned there, right under the glass you saw while coming in.

In this position, you are now able to look everyone present here today right in the eyes.

As you stare at them you notice some of them squirm in their seats as if uncomfortable under your scrutiny, you also see some of them looking at you with hatred in their gazes as if you were the lowest scum of the Earth, the worst criminal they could think of.

It is laughable when you think about it.

Sure, you are not an innocent soul, far from it actually since you have killed so many men and women in your life but those lives you took, they were taken for a purpose and yes, the means to an end do not always make it right but in your world, you either seek justice for yourself and try to help the whole world by damning your soul or you let the criminals have their way with thousands of innocent lives.

So, even though the many eyes looking at you now as if you are as bad as any other serial killer or the criminals you have killed puts a bitter taste in your mouth, you’d still chose this path for yourself. Yes, even though that would mean losing Taehyung all over again and get yourself caught just to try and find him in the distant past.

Your resolve wavers a little though when you see them. A chocolate and a onyx gaze are fixed on you, a mixture of emotions swirling inside those familiars irises filled with unshed tears.

You didn’t notice them at first but now that you have, you simply cannot look away, hell, you even find blinking a hard task when you all know these right here are the last minutes you’ll spend together, forever.

Hoseok and Jeongguk are standing right at the very end of the room on each side of the exit door as if ready to bolt out at any given moment. And maybe, that’s precisely the case.

Your heart flutters in your chest with a great number of different emotions: sadness, fear, guilt, regret—all of them rise and rise and menace to choke you with their power.

Your eyes swell with tears and you find yourself shaking your head a little, a pleading look plastered all over your face because what if, what if they are here to save you and not to say goodbye? You can’t go back, you won’t.

Please don’t try to break me out, please. You repeat these words in your head like a mantra as if they were even able to hear them.

Jeongguk’s eyes are the ones that leave your face first, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth as he struggles not to break down right in the middle of the room.

You let out a strangled sob and divert your gaze from your brother to the judge in front of you, eager for the trial to begin and put an end to all of your miseries—or at least a part of them.

Your ears try to catch onto any abnormal sound that could come from within the room or even right outside of it as chaos ensues but nothing of the sort happens for a very long while.

You barely hear the judges talk and list all the crimes you are being accused of, you barely register the little coughs and snorts from the civilians watching this live because all of your attention is focused on the two dear people you are going to leave behind soon.

Their shoulders are slumped, their lips trembling a little and their cheeks are wet from all the tears they couldn’t choke down any longer.

You know at this moment that they have accepted it, that they are here to see you one last time before you go and that they won’t fight for you but rather root for you.

You mouth the words ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ and you force a smile to grace your lips for them, to give them both a somewhat happy last memory of you.

A cold metal basket is suddenly placed on the top of your head, the contact making you shiver and move your gaze towards the guard right next to you.

You realise now you have no idea how these things actually work and despite yourself, your heart spikes up in your chest with the fear of the unknown.

A few straps are fastened around your torso and your legs are pinned to the chair with handcuffs similar to the ones binding your hands.

You are told to open your mouth and you do so, confusion making your eyebrows knit together as you silently ask for an explanation. Of course, you aren’t given a verbal response yet again but a mouthguard is placed between your parted lips and you instinctively bite it down with your teeth, assuming it is to protect yourself from biting down your tongue.

If you didn’t know any better, you would actually think you’re about to be electrocuted in front of everyone present.

“Jung ________,” the judge says, making your gaze shift up to him so you can meet his cold stare, “You are hereby sentenced to go 69 years in the past.”

You exhale loudly, your heart beating like a hummingbird between your ribs as you realize you’ll be sent back an entire year after Taehyung’s arrival.

Fear and doubt clutch your soul as you start to realize this journey will probably be harder than you first envisioned.

There is no place for doubts though, especially not now that the “executioner” has started the machine that will teleport you back into the past.

You feel a surge of energy coursing through your body and you shiver at the weird sensation. Your heart feels like a heavy stone in your throat and you feel your breath getting shorter and you can’t tell whether that is panic shooting through you or the effect of what is being done to you.

You hear a strangled call of your name and you are forced to fix your gaze on Hoseok and Jeongguk again knowing it is indeed your very last time seeing both of their faces.

Your brother has a firm grip around the chest of your best friend, pulling him towards him and the exit door to stop him from making a mistake he’ll pay with his life.

Jeongguk is crying and reaching his hand out for you, his entire face twisted into one of pain and dread over your depart.

You would reach for him too if you could, you would caress his cheek and tell him that everything is going to be okay, that he will overcome all of this but you can’t.

Even your words get stuck in your throat as a bolt suddenly blinds you and twists your body in all directions, almost eliciting a painful scream out of you.

You didn’t think time travel would hurt this much but it does. It feels like every little cell you are made of is being blown and then recreated with a different form and function. It feels like being ripped apart and built again, but all in the wrong order.

You hear a muffled scream and realise it is your own, blocked by the mouthguard still safely tucked in your mouth.

You catch a glimpse of Hoseok’s face as he cries his heart out and of Jeongguk’s desperate eyes as he falls on his knees realising it is too late to do anything now.

With that last image imprinted in your brain, you close your eyes on the present day.

❖ 25th June 1950 || Seoul, South Korea

The pain stops altogether, disappearing as quickly as it came and all at once. For a second, you keep your eyes close to catch your breath, feeling almost as if you imagined all of this happening and once you dare to look at your surroundings again you'll find yourself still stuck in a prison cell.

Can pain so vivid be imagined, you ask yourself.

The distinct sound of a horn is what prompts you to finally open your eyes and take in what is all around you.

The street before you is busy with cars you would deem ancient in the present time but that shine like new gorgeous pieces here, in what you assume to be the past.

You jump back as the man behind the wheel yells at you to get the hell out of his way and you bow in apology as he stares at you.

Well, he isn't the only person staring at you right about now and you quickly realise that with your neon orange prison uniform you must be shining like a beacon in the night.

The desire to blend in and disappear between this mass of people is what forces you to move and start walking, in which direction well, that is up to luck, apparently.

You know you must still be in Seoul but there aren't any clues around to confirm your theory nor somebody you could ask it to. At least not with you looking like this.

What you want to do now is make sure nobody looks at you for too long and, most importantly, that nobody decides to report you for whatever reason and send you straight into a Police station once more.

As you walk through the unfamiliar streets—your teeth torturing the poor skin around your nails out of habit and nervousness—you scan your surroundings in search of hints that could tell you where, or rather when, exactly are you.

The year is 1950 and if math didn't help you in guessing it, surely the women walking beside you would have.

Some still sport the classic Hanbok look while others look more up to par with the occidental fashion, albeit them being in the smallest percentage, at least around this area.

History has never been your forte so it is not a big surprise that you cannot remember a single event from this year that may help you in finding out the date and also give you a tiny lead towards Taehyung's whereabouts.

As more and more time passes though, you realise that looking for someone in an age where smartphones and internet do not exist equals to searching for a needle in a haystack.

When you formed your plan in your head you hadn't really thought about the after and as you keep walking around having no idea where to go or what to do, you realise that finding him—if even possible—amongst twenty-something million people will be way harder than you initially envisioned.

You stop on your tracks and force yourself to breathe in and not panic already.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath to steady both your heart and mind, applying what you have been taught at the Agency even in this switch of scenario.

When you feel like you have significantly calmed down you decide to put on pause the thought of Taehyung and how to find him because realistically speaking, there are a few things more vital than that right now.

First: blend in with the people around you.

You scan your surroundings in search of a clothing shop and find one right across the street and even though the thought of crossing it scares you—because let's face it, there is nowhere to hide or conceal yourself out there—you still force yourself to face the dread and get it over with.

The shop appears to be closed and you wonder why when it's still broad daylight outside but, in this case, it works in your absolute favour.

You look around the building in search of a back door or even a back window you can force open to help yourself in and, after a few minutes of attentive search, you find something that will work perfectly fine.

There is a tiny window on the wall that faces the side road and you assume it to be either the bathroom's one or the dressing room's one—not that it would make that much of a difference.

You look around a couple of times to make sure nobody is watching and when you are absolutely sure no prying eyes are fixed on you, you break the tiny window with a single hit and climb up the wall to force yourself in.

In your life, you have done many despicable things in order to take down your targets and you try to brush off the sense of guilt over trespassing and stealing from some innocent man by thinking of this as another one of your missions.

It doesn't help as much as you'd want it to but, without a single Won in your pockets, this is your only option.

You look around the shop and take in the great number of dresses and their different styles at your disposal.

Though you would love to put on one of the more modern dresses simply because it would feel a little bit more familiar, you quickly decide that a more traditional attire would surely draw less attention on when out in the open.

With a sigh you reach out for the first Hanbok you can find and quickly slip out of your prison clothes with a sigh of relief.

The fabric of the Hanbok feels soft between your fingers and it makes you realize you have no idea when was the last time you even wore one of these. Probably when you were still a kid and both of your parents were still alive.

The thought of them brings back memories of Hoseok and your first years together and those reruns draw a shaky breath out of your mouth.

You shake your head ‘no’ a couple of times to push them all out of your head and keep moving forward. You do not have the luxury of dwelling in distant memories you cannot reach nor change.

Without any more hesitations, you fasten the burgundy Chima at your waist, tightening at the best of your abilities while standing in front of the mirror.

The Jegori paired with it is of a beautiful anthracite grey, the collar lightly decorated with strings of burgundy to match the skirt whilst the sleeves are adorned with rose’s design of a darker and almost black colour. The design is simple but very elegant, giving it a refined touch that makes you feel like a princess after staying in those prison clothes for so long.

The image reflected in the mirror is almost of someone you do not recognise. You feel like a new person and you even look like one with no make-up on your face, your hair cut shorter than they used to and not a single sign of the fierceness that once used to inhabit in your eyes.

You sigh out loud and force yourself to stop looking at your own reflection in favour of your new task: find a pair of shoes that is actually comfortable to walk around in.

You are used to the comfort of running shoes or sneakers and there is no chance in hell you’ll find something as soft and comfortable as those here but, in the end you opt for a traditional looking pair of shoes that have no heel and seem at least fit for a little run, if necessary.

The next problem you need to face is your hair. When you cut it a few months ago you did it because you needed a change, you needed to look different since you felt so not like yourself on the inside. Surely, you hadn’t thought of needing them now to blend in with the rest of the civilians.

You do your best to tie them up in a semblance of a bun and decide that this will have to do even though it is not perfect. It’s not like you have that much of a choice anyway.

You stop to ponder a little whether it would be possible for you to climb back up the wall and exit through the window you came in through while dressed like this and you decide that no, that doesn’t seem plausible in the slightest.

With no other option available, you walk to the door to study the lock and figure out how to force it open.

The thing about doors is that they improved over the years and locks have become harder and harder to pry open. In this case, though, time appears to be your friend because cracking the door open proves to be far easier than it was to climb inside in the first place.

You try to look as casual as you possibly can while you exit the shop and you exhale loudly when you realise no one is actually looking at you, not anymore at least.

You resume your walk through the streets with your next goal in mind: find out what day is it today.

Your eyes look around eagerly, studying your surroundings with new-found curiosity and as you move past a couple of shops and restaurant you start noticing a somewhat disheartening detail. Everything appears to be closed.

You wonder why all of the public places would be locked down in the middle of the day—if the sun up in the sky is anything to go by.

You stop on your tracks and look around with a pout, finally noticing how the streets are getting quieter and quieter the more time passes.

With your eyebrows knotted together, you decide to approach a woman hastily walking in your general direction and looking as if about to break into an actual run.

"Uhm, excuse me?"

The woman looks at you with a cold stare that makes you retreat the hand you had moved forward to make her notice you.

"I was wondering if you know why everything is closed around here," your voice is small and your skin hot to the touch as you pose your question. You have never truly been the extreme shy type but there is something about the way this woman looks you up and down that makes you doubt everything about yourself.

"Are you daft?" She exclaims, her eyebrows rising as if she can't believe the ridiculousness of your question, "Who would want to go around on a day like this?"

You tilt your head to the side a little, confusion written all over your features as you try to remember any important event happening during this year.

"Haven't you heard the news, child?!" The woman before you clutches her heart and looks at you as if you were an actual kid and she couldn't believe she had to be the one delivering bad news to an innocent soul.

"I'm afraid not," you reply in uncertainty, your voice barely above a whisper.

"The War has started, baby girl."

The words feel like heavy stones on your shoulders as she deadpans the news to you. Of fucking course, how could you even forget something so important?

Today is June 25th and it is the start of the conflict between North Korea and South Korea and you are right in the middle of it.

You feel panic surging through your body as you start to realize what this means for you. Finding Taehyung was already difficult but finding him in a country that is about to go to war? Suddenly, it feels hopeless and impossible.

Your despair and doubt must be written all over your face because the elderly woman shoots you an apologetic smile before excusing herself and rush along like everybody else around you.

You don't realise you have started walking until you find yourself in the middle of a park, having no idea how you got there in the first place.

It is dusk already and you still haven't figured out how you will spend the night in this foreign place without a single Won to offer in return for hospitality.

When night falls and it seems impossible to keep moving around with not a single clue of where you are supposed to go, you find yourself looking for a shelter for the nighttime.

You are about to lose all hope and simply crawl in a ball at the side of the street when you stumble upon an evidently abandoned building.

You look up at the broken glasses of the windows, the decadence of the walls and the ajar doors on the side road.

With reluctance, you enter the building and choose an empty room for yourself, favouring the proximity of the window over the door.

In this position, you can benefit from both the fresh air of the night and a vantage point in case any visitors decide to show up during the night.

You hug your legs to your chest and stare at the empty corridor ahead, your heart beating fast in your chest as your body starts to relax and the adrenaline dies down leaving only fear and despair behind.

You wish you had thought more about what you were going to find in the past, you wish you had made a better plan to find Taehyung than simply be sent here and deal with the rest once you were stuck in the past.

A part of you wishes you could take back everything but you know, you would have never been able to move on with your if life you didn't do this for both yourself and Taehyung.

You had promised him to not leave him behind, you had promised to get him back and you failed at both of them so it only seemed logical you had to sacrifice yourself in order to be with him.

Now that you are here, though, the thought of never finding him is stuck in your brain and makes you squirm on the floor in anguish.

Tonight, resting in an empty room in a foreign city with not a single soul to turn to, you cry yourself to sleep feeling like you may have made the biggest mistake of your entire life.

❖ 12th September 1950 || Busan, South Korea

  The sound of waves hitting the shores and the smell of salt filling the air make you relax as you stare at the expanse of the sea.

You breathe in as much air as you possibly can and exhale loudly with your eyes firmly closed.

Your body is tired after a long day at work but your mind is even more distraught and your surroundings have nothing to do with it.

A little less than three months have passed since your arrival here in the past and you are as close to finding Taehyung as you were on that very first day.

The thought nullifies the calming benefits of the sea altogether and you find yourself struggling to keep the tears at bay. It feels like that is what you have been doing all this time when you are alone and you have nothing better to do than to think and indulge in your own misery.

You turn your back on the sea with a sigh, dragging your limbs to the busy street so that you can return to your accommodation.

You have been in Busan for a couple of weeks now, following the troops here to keep helping with the wounded. You haven't studied medicine in the future nor here in the past but you are quite accustomed to wounds and how to treat them on the spot and, honestly speaking, voluntary work is what is keeping the army going in this dire times.

The North Korean army has conquered Seoul a few days after you arrived here in the past and slowly but steadily, you have been pushed here in Busan alongside with the army as they kept losing territory inch by inch.

Of course, you already know how the War will end but there is still no way of telling whether you'll make it out alive or not by the time the US military comes at your rescue in the south. You are crossing the street with your eyes fixed on the ground and a nail between your teeth as you nibble on it when you hear it. A voice as deep as the ocean, a little chuckle that, in a way, resembles the one of a kid.

Your heart skips a beat as you lift your gaze, hope filling your whole body to the point it feels like it may burst before you even get the chance to make sure it is actually him.

A few meters away from you stands a tall young man. He is dressed as a soldier: a light green uniform, a hat atop his head and black boots at his feet.

His jawline is sharp and manly and you can barely see the tip of his round nose but everything inside you tells you it's him, it has to be.

He starts to walk towards the camp after greeting the young woman he was talking to when you first heard his voice and you follow suit, your steps fast against the bitumen.

Your heart is heavy with doubt—what if it's not him or what if it is him but he has moved on? What if he has forgotten all about you in this year you spent apart? What if he has a new partner now and he is no longer in love with you?

All those questions do not stop your hasty steps at all because even if all of them are true, you just need to see him, to look into his eyes and hear his voice again.

He turns a little to the left and as he does, he exposes his entire profile to you and that's when you know, without a doubt, it is him. Finally, after all this time, Taehyung is standing before you in actual flesh and bones.

He looks relaxed, happy even, and most importantly in perfect health and you would start crying right in the middle of the street with the depth of your relief if the urgency of touching him wasn't this strong, forcing you to keep chasing him.

As he starts walking faster and you struggle to keep up with him in your stupid uncomfortable shoes, you find yourself screaming his name out loud.

"Kim Taehyung!"

You watch him freeze on the spot and slowly turn around towards you, his eyebrows knitted together as if he can't believe someone has just yelled his name in the middle of the street.

Or maybe, he can't believe his own ears and the way that voice resembled yours so much because he knows, without a doubt, that it is not possible for you to be here, right now.

But as his eyes stop on you standing in the middle of the street with your breath ragged and your eyes filled with tears, he truly has a hard time believing all of this isn't real.

You see the hesitation in his irises, his legs quivering a little as he struggles to decide whether he should walk to you or not.

A sob escapes your lips because you can't believe you are staring at his handsome face again.

He looks exactly like you remembered him to be: tall and lean, muscular but not excessively so, black hair a little longer on the back of his head and eyes always shining as if stars were trapped in there when he was born. Kim Taehyung has always been drop-dead gorgeous and, damn, you have missed him so much.

With not a single hint of hesitation, you run to him and throw your arms around his neck to hold him tight to your chest and keep him there for as long as you can.

"__________?" His voice trembles with a mixture of emotions you can only describe as incredulity, relief, happiness and confusion all mixed together and in response, you hold him even tighter.

"Is it really you?" You can hear the tears in his voice as it grows thick with them whilst his arms move to rest behind your back and return your embrace.

"It's me, baby, it's me."

You let go of him that tiny bit that allows you to look into his eyes and as you do, you both fall completely apart and start crying your hearts out in the middle of the street, not caring one bit of all the people surrounding you.

"Ho-how?" He asks, his bottom lip quivering as he brushes his wet nose against yours, "Are you real? Please tell me this isn't another dream."

You shake your head 'no' a couple of times and move your hands to caress his red and wet cheeks, eager to feel more of his skin under your digits just to make sure yourself this isn't one of your own dreams.

"I'm here, I came back for you just like I promised."

"How? What happened?"

He rests his forehead on yours and exhales loudly whilst holding you even tighter with his firm hands, almost as if scared that you'll disappear between his fingertips.

"I... I made sure the Police would catch me as soon as I was cleared to go out on the field again." You confess, your eyes shifting from his intense gaze to the tight line of his lips.

"You willingly did this to yourself?" You can sense the incredulity in his words and, honestly, you think you've taken a crazy leap of faith as well but, as you stand here with him in your arms it is very hard to feel regret over your decision.

"I couldn't live without you."

The confession makes your throat burn with the tears you are so forcibly trying to gulp down, it makes your heart feel incredibly small in the expanse of your chest and you do not have the courage to lift your gaze up all on your own.

It is one of Taehyung's fingers under your chin that pulls your focus back on his eyes.

He is looking at you as if you are the most precious gem he has ever seen and that look of love and adoration, that familiar gaze you were so used to seeing before, erases all doubts about him forgetting all about you and starting a new life for himself.

Kim Taehyung is clearly enamoured with you as much as he used to be and the realisation fills your heart with utter happiness.

All the hardships you had to face, all of the sleepless nights and the tears and desperate moments they were all worth it.

Taehyung lets go of your body and grasps your hand in his own, smiling at the way your fingers automatically entwine just like they used to, fitting together as if they were moulded to always be united like this.

"Come with me," he says and you eagerly follow his quick steps as he guides you through the Camp and a more secluded place.

"So you're a soldier now?" You ask as you briskly walk side to side to reach the privacy of his room.

"Ah, yes, well..." He trails off and steals a glance at your face as his cheeks empurple with a hint of embarrassment, "Killing people is all I ever learned to do so... I just thought I should make the best of what I've been taught in the future."

You smile at the way he tilts his head to the side a little in uncertainty, suddenly escaping your gaze as if you'd ever judge him for his choices.

Being a soldier definitely sounds better than being an assassin when spoken out loud in a casual conversation and in the end, it all seems to be tied to one similar reason: defending the world you love so much from the people that menace to endanger it.

If this were a time where being a female allowed you to join the forces, you would have probably chosen the same path for yourself.

You tug a little on his hand and he finally turns his face towards you, a sheepish smile gracing his lips as you nod your head in understanding and give him the biggest and happiest smile to ever grace your face.

"You are a nurse, then?" He asks after a few seconds, glancing at your simple black dress and classic black shoes that seem to be the go-to-attire for medical personnel outside duty.

"Ah," you glance at yourself and shrug a little before lifting your gaze towards him, "Well, I couldn't join the military but I am quite accustomed to wounds and how to treat them on the spot so I figured I could make myself useful here."

"Look at us, making the best of what we experienced on the field here in the past."

Taehyung is literally beaming at you and you smile back while tightening your grip on his hand. A part of you is still struggling to believe this is real, that you made it and are now finally together again.

Taehyung's steps come to a halt and you stop next to him, looking up at the door that stands before you.

You laugh as you watch him struggle to find the keys in his pockets while absolutely refusing to let go of your hand, almost as if afraid the moment he'll let go you'll turn into dust.

When he finally finds the keys and helps you inside his room, you exhale loudly in relief at the prospect of finally being alone again, away from prying eyes.

Taehyung must be feeling exactly the same way because the moment the door closes behind your backs he pushes you against the wooden surface and steals a kiss from you.

The contact is sudden but not any less sweet. You find yourself sighing on his mouth at the sensation of his soft lips moving atop your own, stealing your breath away.

Touching him again, feeling him like this for the first time in over a year feels like absolute bliss.

Your body seems to melt under his touch just like butter under the scorching sun and the more his hands roam all over your curves, the more eager you get to feel more of him against your skin.

"God, I've missed you so fucking much," Taehyung says as he parts from your lips to breathe in and calm down the quick heaving of his chest.

His nose keeps caressing the tip of your own as he stares right inside your eyes, almost as if he could look at your soul through them.

"I've missed you too," you whisper and your voice breaks a little as you choke those words out because you have never spoken words truer than these ones.

You have missed Taehyung like one misses air and all this time, you felt like a part of you had been ripped from you and scattered across the whole world.

Now that you have him here before you, though, you feel whole again and it is with that sentiment that you grasp a few locks of his hair and pull him forward so your lips can meet again.

His hat falls unceremoniously on the ground with a loud thud but you are both deaf to anything else that isn't the rampant beating of your hearts and your breaths, slowly mingling together.

Taehyung’s lips find the curve of your neck next, right below the ear, and they conquer the sensitive skin anew with his warm kisses, eliciting soft sighs out of you.

He presses his body to yours as if to make sure you won’t be going anywhere and you find yourself pulling on him with just as much passion and eagerness.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he whispers atop the curve of your jawline as he covers it with sweet and feather-like kisses.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” you reply as you seek his eyes to let yourself drown into those black pools.

He smiles at you, shaking his head a little as if he cannot believe you are apologising for something you couldn’t control but he knows, he must know that your apologies go deeper than that. You are sorry for leaving him in the first place, you are sorry for not being there when he was sent back nor when they tried to save him but most of all, you are sorry for the many mistakes you’ve made that night.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, we are both here and we are well.”

He says and you can’t help but claim his mouth again as he does so because his words move your heart in ways you didn’t think possible. You thought you had known happiness and love before by his side but as you keep pulling him into you, as you keep savouring him, it feels like this right here goes way beyond what you felt for him before.

Taehyung is truly your soul mate, your everything and there is no way of hiding that when your fingers are so restless, your mouth so greedy and hungry for the taste of him.

His hands move on your hips and slowly inch backwards until he is palming your bottom cheeks and squeezing them tight, turning your kiss into a heated one.

You sigh and whimper in unison at the sensation of being this close after so long and you can feel the excitement building between his legs with each passing second.

You do not want to rush anything today, though. What you want is to savour him for as long as you possibly can, make him yours all over again.

After such a long time, it feels like your bodies need to get acquainted again, they need to discover every niche and ridge they were made of until you know every single inch of each other just like you used to.

“I want you so much,” he whispers in a shaky breath as he leaves your mouth to attack the expanse of your neck.

Your back arches a little as his lips close on the sensitive skin and bloom purple roses there to mark his passage.

Your eyes flutter shut whilst your fingers grab his locks harder, forcing him closer so that he won’t stop kissing you like this, claiming you inch after inch.

“You can have me, baby,” you reply in a soft whisper, “You can have all of me.”

Taehyung groans against your skin and you shiver as he roughly pulls your dress upwards to reveal your naked legs and aching core.

You are mildly aware of the arousal between your legs and how it must have painted a dark spot in the centre of your underwear and the way his eyes immediately zero on it makes your sex tingle with excitement.

Taehyung’s hands travel upwards again and chose your breasts as their next victim.

His fingers are passionate, a little bit too rough as they encompass the supple flesh and pull it out of your flimsy little dress.

He appears to be extremely pleased with the absence of a bra and he eagerly licks his lips as if about to taste his favourite dessert.

The sensation of his hot mouth against your sensitive buds is intoxicating. A shiver runs up your spine, covering your flesh in goosebumps as you deliciously sigh for him and arch against the simple touch.

His tongue rolls out of his mouth and encompasses the already hardened nipple and you whimper for him, encouraging him to keep up with his little tantalizing touches.

He kisses the thin skin between your breasts and moves to the other to give it the same exact treatment and grow the arousal pooling in your core.

He seems to be satisfied only when you are heaving for him, the expanse of your chest covered in saliva and decorated with tiny, purple love marks.

His fingers hook the edges of your dress around the shoulders and guide it downwards, slowly revealing your body to him.

His eyes drink up the sight of you half-naked before him as he is trying to impress it firmly in his memory, almost as if he has forgotten how you look like and feel like against him and wants to make sure he won’t forget ever again,

You shiver a little under his scrutiny albeit the room being almost too hot for comfort and he smiles at you while biting his bottom lip, the look on his features absolutely mesmerising.

“You’re as beautiful as I remembered,” he says under his breath but he can’t hide the way his eyes linger a little too long over the scars of the wounds you’ve got as a token on your last night together.

“It’s ok, Tae, I’m all healed up,” you whisper, your tone purposefully tender whilst your hands caress his head and cheeks to soothe him further.

He softly hums in response and leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a few seconds just to bask into the sensation.

When his gaze fixes back on you he gives you a little smile and then presses his lips on every little scar that has been freshly added to your body. There are many that constellate your body and they are all small reminders of the enemies you’ve faced, of the hardships you have conquered and raised up from just like a phoenix.

You know Taehyung has many of his own and some may even be new to you but all those blemishes, they have shaped you into what you are today and they don’t make neither of you less beautiful on the outside nor the inside.

You shiver at the sensation of his tongue lapping your flesh as if he were trying to mend your skin and you find yourself sighing for him, calling his name with desperate eagerness to feel more.

His delicate hands respond to your call with ardour, pulling your dress all the way down until you are left in nothing but your flimsy underwear.

As you stand before him like this, exposed and ready to be loved to the utmost, you reach for his uniform and start unbuttoning his jacket as quickly as you possibly can.

The fabric almost seems like a trap with its line of stubborn buttons and Taehyung has to help you undo some of them to free himself.

You almost groan at the sight of a white shirt beneath his jacket blocking your view of his naked torso—albeit it being almost pointless with the way it is soaked in sweat and almost completely see-through and stuck on his golden skin.

You have no idea how he can stand the uncomfortable fit of this garment when you can barely bear the feeling of a cap atop your head while working at Camp.

You strip him off of the shirt and bash in the way he immediately shivers as your breath hits his wet and hot skin.

You attach your mouth on his chest and he sighs instantly at the sensation, relaxing under the feeling of your lips tasting him like this.

As you claim every inch of his upper torso and discover a few new scars there, your hands work fast on his pants to let them fall on his feet and free him of his tight confinement.

Taehyung steps out of his pants and shoes as you keep kissing him, licking and biting the supple flesh to leave there marks that will soon mirror the ones he left on your chest.

With greedy hands you clutch his bottom cheeks and pull him towards you, forcing his hips to rock forward and slightly meet your own. The sensation of his erection against your clothed sex makes the both of you whimper with desire and there is no denying you won’t hold much longer with this dragged out wait for your carnal reunion.

Your fingers hook the hem of his boxers and you slide them down his legs to free him from the sticky garment and as he hisses at the freeing sensation, you attach your lips to his neck and suck on the tender flesh until he groans in both pain and pleasure, perfectly mingled together.

You palm his erection with one of your hands, basking in the way his body trembles at the mere touch and his mouth opens with a silent moan.

Taehyung remains so pliable when it comes down to the pleasure you can ignite in him with the simplest of actions and your heart rate spikes up in your chest. You have him right at the centre of your palm even after all this time, just like he has you.

“I need to feel you, baby,” he whimpers out and you shift your gaze from your hand around his cock to his pleading eyes.

“Then take me,” you reply, your voice sounding almost daring as if you doubt he would when in reality, you are quite acquainted with the way Taehyung loves to claim and ruin your body.

It doesn’t come as that much of a surprise then that he instantly lifts you up, forcing you to hook your legs around his hips for support whilst he steals your breath away with his ravenous tongue, seeking your own.

The kiss is sloppy, lewd with the sounds of your ragged breaths and tongues toying with each other whilst saliva starts to gather on both of your chins.

You moan as his grip around your bottom cheeks turns a little rougher whilst he spins you around to drag you to the bed at the end of the room.

His steps are unsteady as he manoeuvres you through the tiny apartment, his everything focused more on you and how you taste like to care enough about what is surrounding you and where your bodies are going to bruise come morning due to the few bumps along your way.

You are both breathless by the time you reach the comfort of his bed and you sigh as the soft mattress welcomes your back, hugging your body as if it were made of clouds. Or maybe it just feels like it because you are absolutely flying right now, your heart so content it feels like it could burst any moment now.

Taehyung’s eyes are fixed on your lean figure and you tilt your head to the side a little, offering him a sweet smile while opening up your legs for him.

The silent invitation seems to be enough for him to join you on the bed and finally claim what has been his all along.

The mattress dips as his knee presses against the soft surface so that he can climb right between your legs.

You welcome him in your arms as he pushes his body forward to feel your heated skin pressed against his own whilst he steals your mouth anew with the same amount of vigour and passion shown before.

You feel like a feral animal that has been starving for days and is now faced with a feast. You want to taste all of him all at once whilst still savouring every instant and make it last for as long as you possibly can.

Despite the passion burning in your hearts, Taehyung takes his time as well as he explores your body anew, planting small kisses on his way southwards, where he knows your arousal resides.

You sigh every time his lips touch something new and as he grasps your breasts you softly call out his name, biting your bottom lip as his teeth graze the already battered flesh of your hard nipples so he can gently tug on it, drag it forward and enclose his lips around it to give it a firm suck.

Your fingers find purchase into his messy locks again and he groans as you tug on them a little too fiercely in response to his incitement.

“Baby, please,” you whine, arching your back so that your hips can slightly brush against his own and get a taste of what it will feel like to have him lodged deep inside of you again, battering your core until you are screaming his name for everyone to hear.

Taehyung smirks on your skin but is forced to comply to your wishes quite quickly once you hook your feet behind his back and you start rocking your hips forward to meet his turgid cock through your underwear.

He hisses under his breath and forces your hips to still with his strong hands, pinning you down on the bed with a daring look in his eyes.

You release his back from the vice of your legs and watch him resume his travel southward with lust shining in your eyes.

He slides a little off the bed to remove the shoes you hadn’t realized were still planted on your feet and then he kisses his way up from your ankles up to your inner thighs.

You inhale loudly and immediately close your eyes as you feel his hot breath hitting the wetness of your clothed core.

He nuzzles his nose into your panties and you whimper as he shakes his head a little between your legs, the tip of his nose brushing perfectly against your clitoris.

His long fingers hook on the hem of your underwear and you lift your ass up from the bed to help him slide them down your legs and finally reveal the depth of your arousal to him.

He hums in contentment at the sight of you so hopelessly devoted to him to the point even a few kisses can turn you soaking wet.

His hands firmly press your hips down as he blows hot hair on your exposed sex right before his mouth plants a sweet and seemingly-innocent kiss atop your thirsty lips.

Your lashes tremble as you struggle to keep yourself still when he is so close you can almost feel him filling you up and yet, not quite close enough for you to feel actual pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open as you pathetically sigh for him before he has even started touching you, savouring you.

Fuelled by your evident desires, Taehyung’s mouth opens and his tongue darts out to lie flat on your soaked core and lap at the sweet juices dripping out of you.

A long and shaky breath escapes your mouth at the sensation of his languid muscle pressed against your feverish skin.

A string of whispered pleas and calls of his name fills the silence of the room as he laps at your core fervently, his head moving up and down as he covers the expanse of your folds with the tip of his tongue.

Taehyung hums contently against your mound, the vibrations he produces making you shiver whilst forcing your eyes to pry open so that you can bask in the sight of him, residing so prettily between your legs.

“I missed the sweet taste of your cunt so bloody much,” he says as soon as he catches your eyes fixed on his and you whine at the lewd words he speaks with such ease.

“Yeah? Have you thought about it often?” You force yourself to say through the little whimpers that leave your mouth, eager to drink up more of his lasciviousness.

“All the damn time,” he confesses, voice husky with desire as he tilts his head a little to the side to flick the tight bundle of nerves atop your aching core.

His mouth encompasses the trigger to your pleasure in earnest desire of having you surrender to him completely and that, you gladly do as he starts sucking on the little bundle of flesh like his life depends on it.

Whimpers escape your parted lips whilst your hands fly to find purchase on the covers, tugging on them with tight fists that menace to rip them off if you tag on the thin fabric a little longer.

The way your body so hungrily responds to every single one of his touches turns him fervent, eager to give you the pleasure you so evidently need and the truth is that you haven’t been touched like this in over a year, you have denied yourself pleasure all this time, believing you didn’t deserve any bliss after what you did to him.

Your body is literally starving, hungry for any form of attention it can get and that is why you are so pliant under his touch.

“Did you think about my cock filling your tight little pussy?” He asks as he slightly lifts his face up, away from your aching core whilst his fingers slowly slide down from your hips down to your wet folds.

His digits are careful, slow against your overflowing sex but they make you sigh nonetheless because you have missed this, all of this, for way too long.

“Y-yes,” you pathetically whimper back because it’s the truth and there is no point in hiding it. You have dreamed of him like this countless of times and that is why you open up your eyes and fix them back on him. This is not a dream and you do not want to miss him looking like this, so entranced with the depth of your arousal and the power he still holds over it.

“Have you touched yourself thinking about me pounding into you just like I used to?” His voice is all rough around the edges, deep and guttural as he stares right into your eyes, seeking an answer in your gaze.

Your expression falters as you struggle between wanting to please him and keep the teasing game going, or tell him the honest truth.

Your resolution on lying is very short-lived though as you catch the shift in his own eyes while he keeps looking at you. For a moment, you forgot how acquainted he is with your habits and little mannerism. For a whole second, you thought you could fool the man you love but you were wrong and that much is clear in the way his brows furrow while he tilts his head to the side, studying you.

His generous fingers leave your core all at once and you almost whine at the sudden loss.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He inquires, encouraging you to speak up whatever is passing through your mind right now.

Your heart hurts a little as you stare at him, looking so serious and concerned and you find out you can’t actually hold that gaze when you are about to confess your very last secret to him, undress your soul completely for him.

“I... I couldn’t. I didn’t think I...” your voice is small as your eyes move to fix on the white wall behind his back, purposefully avoiding his deep and attentive eyes. Your face turns uncomfortably hot as you muster the courage to utter the embarrassing words out loud, “I didn’t think I deserved it.”

The mattress beneath you dips with his weight as he climbs back up on top of you to rest between your legs. Despite yourself, you find your eyes trained in his as he guides your chin upwards, making it impossible for you to look away as he steals a kiss from your mouth.

“Why?” He asks, his voice soft because he probably already knows the answer to this very question but still needs to ask.

“Because I left you,” your voice breaks and his eyes seem to fill with shining stars as he lets out a strangled breath before claiming your lips anew with a gentle touch.

“When was the last time you’ve had an orgasm?” Roses bloom on your cheeks as those words leave his mouth before he places a soft kiss against your temple, the gesture so tender you fear you may burst into actual tears and break down before him at the way he keeps looking at you, touching you and kissing you like you are the most precious treasure on the whole planet.

“I don’t know,” you blurt out in honest truth, your voice still so small it is barely above a whisper.

Taehyung sighs and closes his eyes for a few seconds and when he opens them back up, his long lashes framing his intense gaze, you are rendered absolutely speechless by the fire burning in them.

“This ends tonight,” he says, his voice almost harsh to your ears whilst your heart skips a beat between your lungs with the fear of him referring to your relationship. There is so much sorrow and love gracing his features though you find it hard to even breathe normally, “You won’t feel guilty about leaving me behind ever again.”

The tip of his nose strokes your own, encouraging you to nod in response and acknowledge his desire.

“Ok.”

“Promise me,” he kisses your temple again and you lean into the sweet touch, a little smile gracing your lips as you finally catch onto what his words meant all along.

“I promise.” You say and, this time, you mean it.

“Good,” he kisses your neck next and bites the tender skin until he elicits a moan out of you, swiftly throwing you back into an aroused daze.

“Now,” he says, licking his lips as he glides down your body to return to his initial position right between your thighs, “Time to get what you deserve.”

His words are titillating but also remarkably sweet with what they entail—you have been too hard on yourself, you have punished yourself way too hard for sins you didn’t even commit to his eyes. All this time you deserved everything, you deserved happiness and you still deserved him. So now, he is bent on giving you all of the above, for the rest of your lives together.

His mouth drops on your mound and he grunts as soon as your taste fills his senses again, sending delicious vibrations to ripple through your sex just like ocean waves.

His lips enclose your clit anew so that he can suck on the little mound with all his might whilst teasing your folds with his long and slender fingers.

Your eyes shut and your mouth opens to allow soft sighs of ecstasy out of your parted lips, your body slack against the mattress as you completely give in to the pleasure firmly building within your stomach.

His digits part your dripping folds and you stir in anticipation for the feeling of his warm tongue inside of you, finally claiming what has been his for a very long time.

You bite on your bottom lip as the tip of his enticing tongue moves past your folds to gather all your juices and gulp them down.

The sound of appreciation that moves past his mouth gathers goosebumps on your skin and summons your hands on his brown locks to keep him perfectly still between your thighs.

You can feel Taehyung’s lips twisting into a smirk as you slightly roll your hips forward to meet the dragged out ministrations of his tongue, too eager to feed the raging fire inside of you to care any longer about savouring the moment. You have waited long enough.

“You taste so sweet,” he grunts as he nuzzles your clitoris with his nose, drawing a sigh out of you whilst his fingers start ghosting around your sex anew.

He looks up at you with the most tantalizing smile you have ever seen and as you get swept away by the intense look in his onyx eyes, one of his digits moves right past your external labia and intrudes your sex.

Your body tenses at the sudden sensation of being filled after such a long time and you exhale loudly as he plunges it all the way down and brushes against your pleasure spot with mind-blowing precision.

“T-there,” you whimper out, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as you relish into the way your walls start to stretch around him, at the way your juices overflow your core and taint his hand and the white covers beneath your ass.

Taehyung slides his finger almost completely out of you and then slams it right back in as if it were his cock aiming for your cervix. The sensation is blissful and it is evident in the way you start panting for him, rocking your hips to meet the slow pace set between your folds but it is not enough.

“I want-I want to feel you,” you whimper out and Taehyung slips another finger inside your pussy in response, adding to the pressure within you to stretch you even further and prepare you for the glorious feeling of his cock rocking in and out of you.

The thought alone makes you moan out loud and lick your lips as they turn sandpaper dry in mere anticipation.

His swollen lips find the enlarged bundle of flesh hidden above your folds and they suck on it hard until you are yelping in both pleasure and pain. The sounds do not make him relent in the slightest, in fact, the scissoring inside you turns bruising whilst his tongue ravishes you whole and you are quickly turned into a whimpering, begging mess.

Your chest heaves up and down as delectation starts to coil within your stomach, turning everything scorching hot just like liquid fire coiling from your throat down to your core.

Your mind turns fuzzy as your eyes roll back at the sensation of the tip of his digits battering your core with relentless precision and as he slides a third finger in, you come undone under his touch.

“Yes, just like that baby, come for me,” he whispers, voice husky with arousal over the way your body writhes around his palm as the wave of pleasure washes over you from the tip of your head down to your curling toes.

Taehyung’s fingers slip out of you coated in your humours, shining under the orange sunlight coming through the window behind your backs.

The light filling the room caresses Taehyung’s face in a way that makes him look almost angelic with his tousled hair and shining mouth but what he has been doing between your legs is the furthest thing from it.

The smile painted across his lips though helps in creating the little illusion.

That is until he inches forward and decides to collect every last drop of your orgasm from your aching core.

You flinch at the sensation of his tongue fervently licking your sensitive skin and you whine while pulling on his hair, the over-stimulation making you dizzy.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he interjects between two deep and slow licks that gather goosebumps over your heated skin.

“Tae,” you mewl as you push yourself up on your elbows to look at him with pleading eyes.

“Yes, baby?”

“Fuck me, please.”

He smirks and you know he had been waiting for you to beg him this shamelessly all along but as his eyes start to twinkle and he palms himself before you, you can’t find it in yourself to actually be mad at him.

His member looks painfully hard, the tip all red and hungry and sticky with pre-cum as he gives himself a few pumps whilst staring at your dripping wet core, waiting for him.

His cock twitches slightly as you roll your hips for him, taunting him just enough to make him groan out loud.

His free hand comes to rest on your hip as he aligns himself with your vulva, the underside of his cock grazing your skin to gather up all of your juices and make his sink inside of you easier, slicker.

You whimper as the tip of his cock teases your swollen clit and he sighs in response, licking his lips a few times as he tries to steady himself.

With a trembling breath, he grips the base of his cock and with a slow drag, he pushes the head of his cock past your folds and inside your womanhood.

Taehyung moans at the sensation of your walls squeezing him so tightly and you follow suit, overwhelmed with the thrill of having him inside of you again after everything you have been through.

He drags his cock inside of you slowly, inch after inch and every time he goes a little deeper, he sighs at the way you madly contract around him and whimper out his name with nothing but bliss laced within your voice.

He gulps down heavily as he pushes the remaining inches of his girth inside of you, his breath trembling as the base of his cock hits your ass and he finds himself finally deeply sheathed inside of you.

The mattress dips with his full weight as he pushes his body forward and rests his hands on each side of your head, cradling your face with loving fingers as he stares right inside your eyes.

His hips rise a little and then slowly push back in, allowing you to savour the deep drug of his length within you.

His mouth is on top of yours the moment you let out a pleading call of his name and just like that, he starts to slowly rock into you.

Your hands find purchase on his muscular back, your nails dragging along the tense skin until you find the curve of his tight ass to squeeze and press against.

The muscles of his bottom cheeks are hard and tense as he smacks in and out of you, the sound of his balls hitting your ass and your ragged breaths filling the room quite quickly along with the scorching heat of those summer-like September days.

Your fingers crawl around the soft skin of his bottom cheeks, the press of your digits on his flesh making him hiss in both pleasure and pain.

Your lips attach on his neck and suck hard on the flesh, making his hips stutter as his mouth opens into a deep moan of ecstasy.

The sound makes your walls squeeze hard against his turgid cock and he is forced to close his eyes and let his head sink in the soft curve of your neck to keep thrusting forward, picking up his pace inside you.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whines as you roll your hips against his, meeting him halfway to chase your own release for the second time tonight.

“Y-yeah? Is fucking me as good as you remembered?” Your voice trembles with the strain of forming a coherent phrase and speak it out loud between the needy whimpers that still escape your parted lips, no matter how hard you try to keep it quiet.

“No,” he thrusts deeper into you and you yelp at the sensation of his twitching head striking your pleasure spot with utter precision, “It’s even better.”

You whine at his words and feel your walls contracting against him to the point it makes him hiss and curse under his breath because ‘you are so fucking tight’ and there is no chance he’ll last much longer like this.

“Come here baby,” he says, grimacing a little as his cock leaves the warmth and comfort of your delicious pussy to lie right behind you so that you have to turn your head a little to gaze into his face.

His dark brown locks are damp and slightly sticking to his forehead, sweat is slowly dripping over his face and down his alluring neck and you push yourself a little forward to catch a droplet with your mouth and savour the saltiness dripping all over his body.

Taehyung exhales loudly, his eyes fluttering shut as his cock slides right back into you with very little effort.

One of his hands reaches behind your neck to grasp your fingers and intertwine them with his own whilst his arm supports your head upwards.

The gesture is accompanied by a sweet and rather chaste kiss that warms your heart and fills your eyes with shining joy.

The boxed grin on his features turns your body into a puddle and it tugs on your heartstrings to the point it almost hurts between your ribs. How much have you missed his trademark smile, God.

Your eyes water with happiness just as he resumes his pace inside of you, aiming for both of your releases in a desperate endeavour to get lost into the bliss together.

His mouth seeks your swollen lips and you gladly concede them to him, parting them to welcome his tongue past your teeth to tease your own.

The kiss is a little sloppy, it falls on your chin and on his nose as you rock against each other, but it is heavenly nonetheless and brings you both a little bit closer to the breaking point.

You feel his hips stutter and lose the pattern as you start rotating your own a little bit, eager to feel his cock twitch again against your tight walls. His moans turn deeper, more frequent and his eyes close shut as he gets lost into the sensation and that’s how you know, he is very close.

Taehyung licks his lips and guides his free hand on your stomach and then down your core, opening his eyes again to fix them on his target: your swollen little trigger.

His digits find it with utter ease and earnestly press against the enlarged bud, drawing figures eight on it with the same speed set between your legs.

Your head falls backwards, supported only by his strong arm and your mouth opens to let out a deep, guttural moan.

“Do you like that, baby?” He asks in a panting breath as he fixes his gaze back on your face and the way it morphs with pleasure with each one of his deep thrusts.

“So mm-much, y-yes! Don’t stop, please, baby.”

Taehyung groans and roughly claims your lips anew as he fastens the rhythm of his thrusts turning it into a rather bruising one destined to make the both of you unravel between each other’s arms.

“Fuck-ffuck, uh, _______,” his voice breaks with a deep moan that sounds a lot like your name and you feel his dick twitch inside of you, his under-cock artery pulsating against your walls as he creams your sex and fills you whole.

His hips slow down a bit as he milks his orgasm to the very last drop and the sensation of being held like this, pleasured by his hand and filled with his cock and his release makes the dyke of your own orgasm burst completely open.

Your juices spill over his pretty cock and coil between your legs, nicely mixing with the white droplets of cum that have pooled out from your battered pussy.

Your breath trembles as he slowly pulls out of you, his eyes fixed on your sex, mesmerised by the sight of all the juices still oozing out from it.

With your free hand you guide his chin upwards so that you can meet his gaze and when you do, you kiss him with all the love you are capable of showing him.

“I love you, Taehyung.”

He tugs on your entwined fingers whilst caressing your face with his free hand, drawing you closer so that he can firmly hug you against his chest, unwilling to ever let you go now that you are finally one, once more.

The minutes tick by slowly in the silence of the room but you, for once, do not mind a single bit. For the first time in forever, it feels like you have the whole eternity ahead of you.

It is you that breaks the silence, though, after a long while.

“Tae?”

“Mmm,” he tilts his head a little to the side so that he can look inside your eyes as you lift your head up and rest your chin above his toned chest.

“How will we survive here?” You ask, your heart feeling a little tight between your ribs as the anxiousness you’ve been feeling for the past few months starts creeping back up now that the daze of your orgasm has completely dissipated.

“As we always did... together.”

He shows you your favourite smile again and you melt into his embrace because you are instantly convinced. Everything is going to be fine.

Copyright © 2019 by jeonggukingdom. All rights reserved.

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic! 

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block. 

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that! 

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

[tanoraqui]

I just wanted you to know that I just read all your hellmurder castle 'verse posts and I LOVE THAT AU SO MUCH

what you have to understand about my Hellmurder Castle AU (Homestuck set in the world of Girl Genius, if you haven’t read it) is that it was born specifically from my spite exasperation with all the long, epic AUs about either only the trolls or the trolls + beta kids, with alpha kids appearing as background characters at best and often not at all. Many of these fics are great, and many of them were written or at least planned before the alpha kids even appeared in canon, in which case it’s not the authors’ faults at all. But I LOVE my alpha kids, and Roxy may be my favorite and Dirk is a delight, but I was ALSO tired to tears of how even in fics featuring the alpha kids, it was almost always Derse-heavy.

So I basically said “fuck it”, yeeted them all into the world of Girl Genius (which was inevitable), figured out the torrid backstory of the beta kids and ancestors and how the dancestors and trolls fit in, and set about focussing the plot and character development exclusively on the alpha kids, particularly Jake and Jane. Particularly particularly Jake, because a) I thought him more underappreciated than Jane, and b) the idea of a Heroic Adventurer who constantly has to resist his own reflex to be a minion is fucking funny.

Let’s elaborate, shall we? Because I’m okay again, after the epilogue. I have forgiven. So, the hypothetical pfennig novels/fics in a series:

Jake English: Escape from Castle Lalonde

In which Jake leaves home, and meets a number of interesting people.

covers from basically that scene of Roxy capturing him through Jake escaping with Jane, and them agreeing to be adventuring partners. A lot of the middle consists of Jake helping Roxy and Dirk win back Roxy’s ancestral home of Castle Lalonde, defeating whatever villainous spark - probably an OC - had taken up residence.

Jake means to leave, but Roxy and Dirk need help cleaning up, and getting their labs running, and with interesting projects…and possibly they put a shock collar on him so he can’t leave the grounds…or at least tell him that’s what the collar does, and prove it, like, twice, and then turn it off because they don’t actually want him crippled in an emergency; mostly he’s just a great minion and Roxy is pretty sure he’s destined to be part of their team for defeating the Batterwitch, as laid out in the obscure and highly metaphorical prophecy her mother left her in a wizard book.

this is not at all good ground for either friendship or a healthy minion/master relationship, which is why Jake is pretty damn game to help Jane escape and then run away with her.

Jake English and the Red Miles

in which…I actually have barely any memory of wtf is supposed to happen in this one. Presumably, they have to survive the Red Miles at some point, with some ridiculous series of revivificationsthe trolls show up at Jake and Jane’s camp (okay fine, I love them, too), and after some alarmed mutual weapon-pointing, explain that Jake’s grandmother, Lady English, made them after Jake left, except now she’s died so they’ve come to find Jake and either bring him home or, at least, join his adventuring team and keep him safe

(yeah, Jade instilled some loyalty, which is Sketch. In fairness, when she lost control of the original generation of trolls, all her best friends were killed and/or disappeared, presumed dead. she has reasons)

I wonder if there was supposed to be a timeskip between this and the previous book, or if Escape from Castle Lalonde happened later into Jake going out adventuring than I think, or if Jade just got bored and made 12 new people like…3 hours after Jake left home

for pacing, the trolls should probably show up pretty early in this story, so they have a long time to be around before shit hits the fan

a lot of this book, aside from whatever shenanigans they’re dealing with re: Red Miles, would be Jake dealing with the fact that he is suddenly responsible for 12 people who keep looking to him for orders, and somewhere in the distance is an entire town (Hellmurder Village) that’s likewise.

they do not go back to the Castle at the end of this book, even though they arguably should bc Jake has responsibilities. But he also has adventuring to do, by golly, and…hm, it’s one of the Rings that causes the Red Miles, isn’t it? So maybe they get it at the end of this book, and now they have to track down the other one. Which brings us to…

Jake English and the Rings of Skaia

In which Jake and Jane (and Roxy and Dirk, and 12 young trolls) explore a castle, learn a little history, and generally level up their friendshipsI split up the aspects of Castle Heterodyne in this au: Jake has the recently inherited Castle with the terrifying, nigh-magical power source buried in its depths, and Jane has the abandoned derelict that is fully sentient, most automated, and even more malicious than it is trapped. This is the story of that castle, and the Ring of Life hidden somewhere in it

Jack Noir. The castle’s sentience is Jack Noir. Or perhaps more accurately Spades Slick? Who cares.

I had a very elaborate mythology/history thought up at some point about the twin spark queens of Derse and Prospit and their great enmity, and the saga of betrayal and heroism that marked their reigns and left behind this castle and two super magical scientific rings of power, and I do not remember ANY of it now.

This is the bit where that scene of Dirk ripping out Vriska’s soul comes from. He and Roxy are here for the fabled treasure as well - possibly the castle only appears/is accessible at certain specific times? And they don’t know the trolls are with Jake, so…clusterfuck, there.

Jake English and the Troll Queen

in which the big bad is reveeled

there’s trouble brewing in the countryside, idk, monsters or pirates or something that can be traced, after some investigative heroing, to the self-styled Her Imperial Condescension, still unfortunately at large

mostly this fic is Jake growing into leadering a little more but also addressing the question of that inbuilt loyalty Jade gave this generation of trolls, because really, that was Sketch - and in general, who are we as people defined by who we follow, what groups we ally ourselves with; is it birth or genetics or who raised us or the family we choose or…

i kinda think Dirk and Roxy are conducting concurrent but generally not overlapping investigations to Jake&Jane’s(+the trolls) (dirk and roxy having pretty neatly answered all the above questions years ago by choosing each other, but still being kind of insular about it, and need to relax just enough to trust other people)

in the end there’s some confrontation with the Condesce and she convinces ½-2/3 the trolls to join her bc, honestly, why shouldn’t they

Jake English and the Castle in the Lake

in which…okay, in this one bit of fic I implied her base was in the ocean but I totally had this title written somewhere, so what is the truth??

in the above linked scene, the trolls who stayed with Jake and Jane were Karkat, Terezi, Kanaya, Gamzee, and Feferi, but idk about that. If Feferi’s there, why isn’t Sollux? And, like, Aradia would probably have just fucked off in her own direction completely, given the chance…

our heroes are trying to sneak into HIC’s base and disable it, okay. that is the plot of this one. probably they have to find it first, which is tricky, and basically a D&D dungeon crawl, and that’s before Jane gets tiara’d. Which definitely happens climactically. and then everyone else gets captured, with the possible exception of Dirk, who probably gets beheaded instead. things do not look good for our heroes…

Jake English and the Lost Hero

in which we find out exactly what happened in the previous generation

maybe even alternating chapters, past/present? 

what happened basically is that the first generation of trolls, the Ancestors, went absolutely batshit roughly as per homestuck canon. The Condesce, being OP, started just conquering land. She was stopped, eventually, mostly by the epic sacrifice of Rose and Dave. And John…except Rose and Dave’s bodies were found, and in a clusterfuck of inventions warping time and space and reality itself, John’s never was

Jade survived, of course. obviously.

John did, too, it is revealed. He was just disconnected from the time-space continuum, stuck popping up in random times and places, sometimes close to those he loved and sometimes not, mostly uncontrollable…

he’s appeared here and there throughout the stories, probably, a mysterious figure in blue who nearly has time to say something before dissolving into fizzing wind. Now he appears more frequently, and for longer periods as the story goes on, including just enough to help break Roxy and Jake out of prison. And whichever trolls were stubbornly sticking with them - if the Condesce wasn’t just mind-controlling all the reluctant ones…let’s be real, she was…lotta “I know you’re in there somewhere” fights here, probably

also, Vriska reveals herself to still be trying to help our heroes, because it is SO Vriska to try to double-cross Her fucking Imperious Condescension

this double-cross is revealed partly from her using Jake’s minioning safeword that he developed with Grandma Jade, way back when; meaning roughly “I don’t want to do this but I’m not sure I can stop”. It’s pumpkin, of course.

they revivify Dirk on the way out, and either stop in the Condesce’s lab to get sparkily distracted trying to pin John into reality or they make it back to Hellmurder Castle before doing that?

What am I saying. The Condesce is probably working on some spacetime-warping tech of her own, and Roxy, Dirk, and Jake use it to fully anchor John for the first time in…who knows, subjectively? It’s possible he stays behind to buy them time to run

Jake English and the Battle for the Green Sun

in which things come to a head

aka the Battle for Hellmurder Castle, and it’s mysterious and terrible power source

Jane and half or so of the trolls start out on the Condesce’s side, but if you thought there were good “I know you’re in there” fights before, just WAIT until Jake saves Jane with the power of friendship

ultimately, it’s alpha kids + Alternian trolls + dancestor-clanks VS Her Imperial Condescension

it’s close

it’s very close

I would have krilled for an H–EIR—ESS CHALLENGE X3 COMBO, ie, Jane, Feferi, and Meenah vs. the Condesce, so that happens

John maybe appears one last time-displaced time, for him before the events of Lost Hero, to deliver a well-timed hammer swing

I love Jake, but I’ll give Homestuck this one: Roxy getting the final blow with an ancestral Strider sword? Perfect.

in the denoument Jake awkwardly invites everyone to live in Hellmurder Castle, because he feels vaguely like he should stay and look after it, and of course he wants his chums around. Jane, Roxy, and Dirk are all like, “well, a real lab or seven would be amazing…but also…adventuring. Why don’t YOU come with US?” Jake is like, “oh JEEPERS yes!” The trolls and dancestors meanwhile talk out among themselves who genuinely wants to stay and who wants to go out adventuring, either with these idiots or just to make their own way

[bounnostra]

e1.2 ⟨ fire of scorpio ⟩ 👽 { re: sute, evie, mathilde, ami-ish, gen discussion

“In my next life don’t let me waste myself.”

He always knew that this place was set apart from the world that he knew.  The stars were different, foreign, unfamiliar. There were no constellations he could recognize, the glimmering light of Antares was absent, and even on the clearest nights that familiar dot that he’d come to recognize as Saturn was instead like the empty eye of a daruma.

-- So news that they were tethered to some alternate plane of reality does little to shake him, despite what the small squeeze of Mathilde’s hand might imply.

There are so many words being placed before him -- a conversation as dizzying as the movement of the earth -- and it’s impossible for him to grasp it all, let alone respond to all of it no matter how he wishes to protest to some of the things that he’s hearing.

Instead, he focuses on what was said specifically to him by Sute, although the longer he ponders it, the more he wishes that he hadn’t.

"Taken... advantage of...”

He’s heard it stated many times: how they’ve repeated this game, how they’ve all died before someway, somehow. With memories being reset, there was no telling as to how he died, who killed him, what his past relationships were like.

... So his shock is unfounded. The realization shouldn’t shake him as much as it does -- and even then, this is merely an assumption, isn’t it? -- and yet he still reacts as if what she has implied lay well within the realm of impossibility.

“-- ... Miss Mori you don’t mean that you-”

There was no guarantee that she had known him as she knows him now. For all he knew, in that previous cycle they could have hated one another. That gaze that always cut through like a knife may not have been lit with the fires of determination -- to get him to understand, to accept, to reject his circumstances -- but with flames on enmity instead. 

He would not pretend like he was someone who was difficult to take advantage of. This betrayal -- if what she was implying was the truth -- would not be anything new. Really, she’d been deceiving him for far less time than he had, and her lies were... for what? Not out of that bitterness that Yuuya possessed, that desire for him to view himself as something subhuman, irredeemable. And so...

“Regardless of what happened ... if a life as insignificant of mine brought you one step closer to Miss Saori, then I am glad for it.”

There’s a subtle shift in his expression that can almost be read as a grin, although it drops as he listens to what Evie says, and finds himself unable to return Mathilde’s smile.

“Mathilde... I am afraid of forgetting -- all of this. All of the things you have said to me. All of the time we have spent together. The promises that we have made-”

He glances down at the ring on her finger before his hand moves from hers to rest on her shoulder, drawing her closer, his expression difficult to place as he continues.

“But- if our only option is to remain here, then -- whether I recall my decision or not -- I will continue to remain beside you, so long as you will have me. ... I just, ah... ask that... you will forgive my clumsiness ... as I will no doubt be... reverted back to...- ... ... But still, it would be nice ... if I could eventually come to hold you like this again.”

He lets out a soft sigh, clearing his throat as if just realizing that he is being a ufcking clown. Distractedly, he turns to Evie.

“Miss Evie... you did not have to mention... what you did -- and perhaps this is odd to say given the current atmosphere, but ... thank you.”

There’s another wry smile on his face that he hopes is enough to convey his gratitude, and it does feel almost strange. Here in this room where ire still resided, he finds himself unable to dredge up anger or hatred -- towards anyone.

“... Mathilde and- Miss... Sylvie-” 

(His tone is cautious, as if asking for permission to use the name).

“-are correct. You all speak as if we were forced into this game solely for the sake of Miss Mori and Miss Evie -- but this is not true. Whether they had returned to play the game or not, we would have been subject to another iteration of all of this. Directing your ire at them... is pointless. They are not the ones you should be angry with.“

There’s a frown on his face that neutralizes as his gaze slides towards Amita.

“... And Miss Ramirez brings up a fair point as well. Perhaps we will be subject to another, ah, reset. But with how things are now... perhaps we will retain memories... or perhaps we are allowed some wishful thinking, and all of this may come apart at the seams.”

He was never one for optimism -- but then, he never had much to look forward to, either. He thinks to himself that his past self was wrong: having something to fight for isn’t as troublesome as he’d believed.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Wrestling in Prayer

by O. Hallesby

"Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation." - Mark 14:38

Most of us cannot quite understand how prayer can involve difficulty and anguish. Why should praying entail so much suffering? Why should our prayer life be a constantly flowing source of anguish?

If we will reflect but for a moment, we will, however, see that it really cannot be otherwise. If prayer is the central function of the new life of faith, the very heartbeat of our life in God, it is obvious that our prayer life must become the target against which Satan directs his best and most numerous darts. He understands better than we do what prayer means to ourselves and to others. That is why his chief attack is directed against our prayer life. If he can in one way or another weaken it, his prospects of stealing our life in God without us even noticing it are of the very best.

This is not only the most painless way of stealing from us our spiritual life, it is also the quietest way--the way which creates the least sensation. Satan desires above all to provide himself with servants who think that they are God's children and who are even looked upon as children of God by others. For this reason, Satan mobilizes everything that he can commandeer in order to hinder our prayer. He has an excellent confederate in our own bosom: our old Adam. Our carnal nature is, according to the Scriptures and our own bitter experience, enmity against God. It realizes that it can expect nothing but mortification every time we really approach God in prayer.

It is important for us to bear this clearly in mind. By so doing, we will, in the first place, be able to account for something which we formerly could not understand, namely, the aversion to prayer which we feel more or less strongly from time to time. Our disinclination to pray should not make us anxious or bewildered. It should merely substantiate to us the old truth that the "flesh lusts against the spirit." We shall have our carnal natures with us as long as we live here below, and we must endure the discomfort occasioned thereby.

We should deal with the unwillingness of our flesh in this respect in the same way as we deal with all the other sinful desires of our flesh. We should take it to God and lay it all before Him. And the blood of Jesus Christ will cleanse us from this sin as it does from all others.

The first and the decisive battle in connection with prayer is the conflict which arises when we are to make arrangements to be alone with God every day. If the battle is lost for any length of time at this point, the enemy has already won the first skirmish. But even though we do gain the victory at the threshold of our prayer chamber, our prayer-struggle is by no means over. Our enemies will pursue us deliberately into our very prayer rooms. And here our carnal natures and Satan will take up the battle anew, though from a somewhat different angle. Our carnal natures will be just as afraid of meeting God now as before we went into our prayer room. Now every effort will be concentrated upon making our prayer session as brief as possible, or upon distracting us so completely that we are not even now given an opportunity to be alone with God.

My friend, do you know anything about this battle? As you kneel to speak with your Lord, it seems as though everything you have to do appears vividly before your's mind's eye. You see especially how much there is to do, and how urgent it is that it be done, at least some of it. As these thoughts occur, you become more and more restless. You try to keep your thoughts collected and to speak with God, but you succeed only for a moment now and then. Your prayer hour becomes really the most restless hour of the day. To put it plainly, you feel as though the time you are spending on your knees is just that much time wasted. Then you stop praying. The enemy has won a very neat victory!

Here is where we are face-to-face with enemies who are vastly superior to us. And they will defeat us every time if we do not learn the true secret of prayer: to open our hearts to Jesus and give Him access to our needs. Prayer is for the helpless. Helplessness is not a hindrance, but an incentive to prayer. Our helplessness in connection with our restless thoughts and distracted minds will not be a hindrance to prayer when the Spirit has succeeded in teaching us the little, but important secret of prayer, that my helplessness is Jesus knocking at my heart's door desiring to enter in and employ His power to relieve my distress. He has power over my restless thoughts. He can rebuke the storm in my soul and still its raging waters.

The only way in which we can gather and keep collected our distracted minds and our roaming thoughts is to center them about Jesus Christ. By that I mean that we should let Christ lay hold of, attract, captivate and gather about Himself all our interests. Then our sessions of prayer will become real meetings with God. "And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus."