#why does god keep giving us so many trials and shit?? WHERE IS MY FUCKING PEACE?!

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

Array of Information || Kenshin || 4.2 || RE: Erik A, Byrne, Kokone, Akito, Jae-Min, END

Ah god, here we go.

As the discussion begins to pick up, Kenshin carefully glances around the trial room. A lot to consider, a lot to think about. Emotions were running rather high too, sorrow, anger, fear, so on. As he glances at Byrne, noting his slight concern for a second, Kenshin reaches over to give his hand a small squeeze, before letting go.

And then the truth about Erik A’s note reaches his ears.

…..

……..shit. In an instant, Kenshin tenses up for a moment, gripping his podium. That…. That explains one of the favors, and why the surgery program was set up like that, and everything else. But… dear fucking god. He didn’t think he was going to have to hear something like that again so soon, and yet… god, fuck this motive for making that an answer.

“.....y-you don’t have to apologize for that Erik, the lack of memories fucked with us so…. I’m just glad that you were delayed.” He’ll leave it at that. Thank god Erik was still alive, but best not keep pushing that topic now.

With that, he shudders, taking in a deep breath before letting go of his podium.

“.....y-yeah, yeah I agree with Byrne that Erik is clear… I’d rather not argue that he could have done this considering…” everything.

Kenshin slowly stands back straight, before tilting his head. “Any more people we can clear, while we are at it? I’m just thinking, since a couple more details could help us eliminate more possibilities. Not to mention, answer many more questions.”

There, his eyes go between Jae-min and Akito, before sighing. “Yeah, please let’s save all the bickering and arguing over petty shit for later. I don’t think any of us wants to listen to passive aggressiveness over a fucking key right now.” There were much more important things to worry about.

“Speaking of the key, though…” Kenshin begins, humming slightly. “Even if it was used as a tool to lure someone into the trap, why a key? If it is someone’s personal key… Why would someone offer up a possession like that? At risk of losing it or something, plus using something so personal to lure someone just seems… off. I don’t know.”

However, as soon as Kokone snaps at herself, Kenshin immediately jolts, looking her way. His eyes remain on her for a moment, before reaching over to rest a hand on her shoulder for a few seconds.

“Hey. What Byrne said, don’t beat yourself up over that. Lot of shit was going on so don’t worry.” Though, he gets it. Quietly, he sighs, before crossing his arms.

“Carrying on, that means someone here is injured. Something had to have happened to them. I don’t know if that means they’re the killer or not, but it would certainly explain the blood. However… it still doesn’t answer many questions. For starters, if the person who bought the tools ran to hide the pliers in the tech room, why didn’t they hide the other tools? And why did the trail stop at the tech room? Even though they rinsed the blood off in a later room, why didn’t it continue??”

“Not to mention… what the hell is with the lighter fluid sheets and the bedpost?? My first guess was that someone wanted to set shit on fire, but how does that even relate to the case? It doesn’t seem like something that was a part of the killer’s plan. So what’s the explanation for something just out there like that?”

“Also, since the discussion of the Android devices is going on… keep in mind that- while it makes sense that the person involved would have that brand of device- if they were close to someone with that brand, they could have taken it.” However as he says that, Kenshin pauses. “....I don’t know how they could have returned it and when, but it’s just another possibility.”

There, his gaze goes back to END, before nodding. “I can’t explain where the knife went, maybe it was taken as a weapon or something. As for the rest of the tools… could the handle on the bookcase have counted toward that total? That may have been two tokens. Plus, the scissors. Though, that still means there are more missing tools, or we are overlooking something.” …..Just a thought, though!

“So the killer spent a lot of money, but the question is… which of the two favors did they buy? Because the sheets were used in the murder plan, but also AION was an accomplice. And since it was three different people who bought the three favors…. Which one?”

“While it makes sense for them to buy the AION accomplice one… how the hell did they get the sheets then?” Kenshin shakes his head. “Guess I’ll keep thinking about that then. There are still a lot of points to wrap up, or think on more.”

A thought crosses his mind for a second, before putting it aside. Let’s just keep listening, he needs a bit more information.

[bunnyb34r]

When will god give me a fucking break? 😩

[the-modernmary]

chess, not checkers || a. hotchner x f!reader

Summary: Cross-examining Agent Hotchner should have been a lot more simple than it had been. But when the questioning slips out of your control, you find yourself being profiled right there in the middle of the courtroom. Amazing how one stranger can know you better than anybody you've ever met.

Contains: SMUT! 18+ only, minors DNI. Fingering, (light) choking, semi-public sex, adultery, anger sex, enemies to lovers, edging, lawyer hotch <3

Word Count: 8k+

Comments: This is so heavily inspired by “charcoal grey” because we all know how hot he was in that scene. Thank you to @angelfxllcm for being an absolute godsend as I wrote this and being the most supportive friend ever. (If you haven’t read her work, you absolutely should!)

“Fucking FBI and their selfish ass schedules,” you grumbled as you hurried through the hallway of the courthouse, your intern Robin on on your heels. “Court gets pushed back for a week because Agent Hotchner just had to leave with them on a case instead of working remotely, and then expects us to drop everything to go to court the second he gets back to D.C. As if we don’t have jobs too. As if I don’t have six other cases sitting on my desk that now have to be pushed back because of him.”

 Robin scrambled behind you, nodding along to every word that left your mouth. “Does this happen with the, uh…”

  “BAU,” you supplied.

  “—BAU, right. Do court cases usually get pushed back for them?”

  You shook your head as you checked your watch. A glint caught the corner of your eye. Shit, your ring. You hadn’t expected to go to court, and completely forgot to leave it at home. You pulled it off and slipped it into the outside pocket of your bag, hoping nobody noticed.

“No. Most cases from the BAU never go to court,” you explained. “There’s enough evidence against the people they arrest that it’s almost always a plea.”

  The Bankers Box in Robin’s hands almost slipped as you placed another file precariously on top of it. “Then why is this case going to court?”

  Your step faltered as you processed her question, and you couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. “You did read the brief for this case, right?” you asked, unsure if you really wanted the answer, except her embarrassed blush and averted gaze gave you enough of one. “Seriously? Okay, well, first of all, because of that, you won’t be sitting at the attorney’s table with us. Instead you’ll be in the public seating. I won’t weaken my case because you decided to be unprepared. If this happens again, you won’t be welcome to join me in court at all, am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Deciding to take pity on the poor intern, you sighed as you started your explanation. “Our client claims that his arrest was unlawful and therefore none of the evidence they found should be usable. I’m inclined to agree with him, so we’re fighting all of the charges that were made with evidence found after the arrest.”

  “So you don’t think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t ask that question. I’m not God and I’m not his priest, I don’t need to hear his confession. I just need to get him out of unjust and illegal charges.”

  Robin’s eyebrows furrowed. “So he’s going to walk free? Even after everything he did? How do you sleep at night?”

  Fucking Christ, how did this girl even get into law school? You rolled your eyes, suddenly regretting your decision to take on an intern. “No, he’s not going to walk free. He’s going to get a lesser charge, because everything else was obtained illegally. And I sleep very well, actually, because my job isn’t some episode of Law & Order. Less than 10% of my cases ever go to trial. I’m not here to suddenly convince juries that the evidence is wrong. My job is making sure that everybody is given their constitutional rights, that the police are doing their jobs correctly, and that the State isn’t over-punishing. Any cop knows that, and if you ever come across one that doesn’t, you know that you should look into those cases even further. You have to realize, criminal defense lawyers—”

  “— are the last line of protection against a corrupt system.” You turned to see your assistant, Marcus, making his way towards you, briefcase and your spare blazer that you keep in the office in hand. “I see you’re giving her your famous anti-prosecutor lecture.”

  Marcus helped you slip on your blazer over your satin button up, his hands lingering on your skin for just a little too long to be considered professional, and it made you shiver in anticipation. “God knows she needs it. Thank you, Marcus, for bringing these so quickly. Were you able to get the physical copies of Agent Hotchner’s files?”

  Marcus held up his briefcase. “All right here. Although I have to say, I’m a little lost as to why you need his service records.”

  The three of you turned the corner to enter the courtroom, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Robin obediently took her seat in the public viewing area while you and Marcus pushed through the swinging door to settle at your table. “I’ve heard stories of Agent Hotchner’s testimonies. He used to be a prosecutor, so he’s not easily tricked, but he is prideful and will defend his work. I’m going to use that to my advantage. It’s like I always say, practicing law means always playing chess, never checkers.”

  Marcus took the seat next to you, making sure to sit close enough that his knee brushed yours the whole time. “You know, I was thinking, this case is complicated,” he whispered, “And we haven’t combed through everything yet… It could take more time than we planned.”

  You smirked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. “Agreed. I’ll tell Tony I have to stay late at the office tonight.”

  Before Marcus could continue his flirting, you were distracted by the door to the judge’s chamber opening, revealing the back of a man in a black suit. “Thank you again, your honor, for the continuance,” came the deep timbre of the man, and oh. You certainly weren’t expecting that. “A young girl was able to be reunited with her family this week because of it.”

  The man in the doorway turned, and your breath caught in your throat. He was tall and buff and expensive-looking and absolutely gorgeous. His suit was tailored to fit him perfectly, the sleeves of his blazer straining against his biceps. He carried himself with an aura of confidence, like he belonged in the courtroom, and he was making his way directly towards you. Unconsciously, you separated from Marcus, putting as much distance between you and your assistant as possible without raising suspicion.

  The man said something to the prosecution before turning to you, hand outstretched. He said your name as a greeting, and your name had never sounded so good. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

  When you stood up to shake his hand, you tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body, or the way the two of you held on just a moment too long to be considered proper. It felt as if he was looking right through you, learning all of your secrets as though they were written on your body. No, you knew that look. He was studying you. “Agent Hotchner, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Counselor. Please, call me Aaron.”

  You raised your eyebrows in Aaron’s direction, still shaking his hand, and it made your skin burn. You dropped his hand. “I’m just glad we’re able to get this case done and over with. Hopefully with no more delays.”

  His eyebrows quirked upwards in what could only be described as shock. “I see your reputation precedes you,” was his only reply before going to his respective seat, and if he noticed you watching his every move, he made no indication of it. That being said, you definitely felt his gaze on the back of your head as the judge entered the room and the session began.

  As the proceedings dragged on, you and Marcus continued to talk strategy, his hand finding its way to your thigh ever so often. You also continued negotiating with the prosecutor, both of you flashing Post-It notes of potential plea deals that you would be willing to accept, always careful to keep it out of the eyes of the judge and jury. By the time Aaron had been called to the stand, the offer given to you still wasn’t low enough. Fine, if the prosecution wanted to make a fool of themselves, so be it.

  You listened to Aaron’s testimony with the prosecution, completely enraptured. There was something about the way he spoke, so full of authority and confidence, that made the entire room drawn to him. He was incredibly intelligent, that much was clear, and despite the many years since he had actually practiced law, that prosecutor candor hadn’t left him. Staying focused on the case had proven to be more difficult than previously expected. You found yourself staring at his lips, and it didn’t take long for your mind to conjure up some obscene and explicit situations starring the man in front of you. 

  Eventually, his eyes caught yours, and he watched you, his lips — god, those lips — quirked up in a smirk. Aaron watched you expectantly, and in the light of the courtroom, his eyes were almost the color of whiskey, and you wanted nothing more than to drink it all in.

  A sharp “Counselor” broke you out of your trance. In the corner of your eye, you could see Marcus looking at you in concern, but he was the furthest thing from your mind now, especially as Aaron let out an amused huff of air.

  “Counselor, does the prosecution wish to cross-examine the witness?” the judge asked with barely hidden annoyance, making you think that it probably wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

  You stood up quickly, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you did. “Yes, your honor. Thank you,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you noticed Aaron’s eyes trailing down your bare legs.

  The cross-examination started normally, and Aaron answered all of your questions with careful precision that only a lawyer could pull off. He seemed to know exactly where you were trying to go with your questions, and easily sidestepped any unflattering implication you were trying to make. Long, biased questions were met with short, clipped answers, not giving you anything to work with. Whatever move you made, Aaron was right there, two steps ahead with you. Never in your life had you met somebody who could follow you so easily or could match your wit without so much breaking a sweat.

  It was exhilarating.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you started, hands clasped behind your back. “Could you please explain to the court how profiles are used when finding and apprehending suspects?”

  Aaron sat up a little taller in the witness box. “Using behavioral research and past case studies, we’re able to construct what we call a profile of the perpetrator, or unsub. Anything they do can give us insights as to who they are — their victims, what weapons they use, even how they dispose of the bodies. Once we have a profile of who we believe is committing these crimes, we have our technical analyst run the parameters through her system. From there, narrowing down our search is easy.”

  You nodded slowly, pretending to mull over what he was saying. “For clarification’s sake, in layman’s terms, you build your profile off of assumed psychology, and not concrete evidence, is that correct?”

  The muscles in Aaron’s jaw flexed, a sure sign he was gritting his teeth. “Behavior analysis is a tool, just like any other—”

  “It’s a yes or no question, Agent,” you interrupted, and oh, he was not happy about that.

  His tongue darted out from between his lips. “The research we use for behavior is—”

  “Yes. Or no.”

  Aaron hesitated, his frustration building up to palpable tension that settled in the courtroom like a thick fog. You weren’t giving him a chance to explain or show off anymore, didn’t allow him to be seen as the smartest person in the room anymore, and that was getting to him.

  “Yes,” he conceded, grimacing as if admitting that was physically painful for him.

  “Thank you,” you replied, and he caught the unspoken that wasn’t so hard now, was it? even if the rest of the room did not. You walked back over to your table, snatching up a piece of paper and holding it in the air. “Your honor, the defense would like to submit Exhibit Seven into evidence.”

  Once the judge gave her express permission, you placed the form in front of Aaron with your left hand, perfectly manicured fingers splayed out in front of his eyes. You almost missed the way his head tilted ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed, like he was staring at a puzzle half complete. “Agent, could you please tell us what’s laying in front of you now.”

  He leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the paper before meeting back with yours. “This is a part of our official report of the case. Specifically, it has the profile that was used to lead us to the apprehension of Mr. Mckenna.”

  “Does it say on that paper who had the final sign off on the profile before it was circulated?”

  “Yes, that would be me. As Unit Chief, my job is to sign and finalize any reports.”

  “And could you please read the profile, verbatim, as written on that report?”

  Aaron’s face remained neutral, with the exception of his eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly, he had started to piece together your strategy, and he didn’t like it. “The unsub is a white male, between 32 and 40 years old. He’ll most likely be unemployed and driving a van or truck — anything that would let him easily transport his equipment and victims. We believe that he’s also had run-ins with the law before, likely as a juvenile. He’ll come across as friendly, if not a little shy. We believe that this comes from a failed relationship in his past, one where he believes that he was manipulated and wronged, and now he’s going after surrogates for that woman. Killing these women is the only thing that gives him any sort of power. If we can figure out who this past relationship was, it will lead us directly to the killer.”

  You paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, your skirt tightening around your legs with every step you took. “Between 32 and 40 years old, unemployed, and killing surrogates… Except Mr. Mckenna is 22 and works part time as a bartender. How do you justify arresting my client with those inconsistencies?”

  “As I mentioned before,” Aaron started, his voice dangerously low, “A profile is just one tool we use of many. Not every single part of the profile will fit every single time. Which is why we also rely on outside evidence to ensure that we have the best chance at catching the unknown subject as quickly as possible.”

  “Except you had no concrete evidence, which you admit in your own report!” You took two steps closer to him, getting as in his face as possible without risking being held in contempt. With every word that left your mouth, your voice got more and more forceful, and you got more and more under Aaron’s skin.

  “All of it was circumstantial at best. You had a hunch, an inherent bias against my client due to his previous conviction record, and you were frustrated at your own inability to get a good lead. But you can’t arrest somebody on a hunch, or because you’re angry. You had no evidence and the man you arrested didn’t even match the profile that you came up with!”

  Your eyes locked with Aaron, his gaze heavy, and neither of you dared look away first. “Objection!” came from the prosecutor behind you. Exactly what you wanted. “Argumentative and foundation.” You flashed Aaron a predatory grin.

  Two moves to checkmate.

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Withdrawn.” You tapped the witness bench, hoping to convey an air of aloofness and calm. Aaron scowled. “Agent Hotchner, before joining the FBI, you were a prosecutor, is that true?”

  Confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, and it gave you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that you had the upper hand. You knew the answer to every question you were about to ask, and he knew that. He just couldn’t figure out where you were going with this line of questioning, or what the relevance even was. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  You made a soft hum of approval. “Could you please walk us through your higher education?”

  “I attended George Washington University for both my undergraduate and law degree.”

  “What did you major in for your undergrad?”

  Aaron hesitated. “Political Science.”

  Check. “So all together, you’ve had about seven years in higher education. In that time, how many psychology classes did you take?”

  It was almost sadistic, the way you relished in the slight twitch of his face — the realization that he had been backed into a corner. The silence was deafening as Aaron’s scowl met your smug grin.

  “None,” Aaron said finally.

  “None,” you repeated, performative shock dripping from your words. “Do you have any academic background in psychology or human behavior, then?”

  Aaron’s jaw clenched, and as you made your way closer to the witness stand, you saw his thumb frantically moving back and forth over his fingertips. Clearly, you had struck a nerve. “The FBI has rigorous coursework in order to become a profiler, along with multiple exams and continued training as more research becomes available to us. The profiling classes are no easy feat and are written by experts in the field. Creating profiles has a long and respected history in detective work, and these profilers have caught some of the most prolific serial killers of all time.”

  You placed a hand over your chest in faux modesty. “My apologies, Agent Hotchner, I believe I wasn’t very clear. I’m not calling into question the validity and effectiveness of profiles. I’m calling into question the validity and effectiveness of you as a profiler.”

  You could practically see the cartoon fire spewing out of Aaron’s ears. He was so close to being in your trap, something he had to have known, too, yet he continued to toe dangerously close to that line.

  “A lack of formal education in profiling,” you continued, keeping your voice light, “and the blatant disregard for basic police and legal procedure as shown in this case with my client… I mean, how many other mistakes were made in your past cases? It’s hard to believe that you can read anybody, much less the hardened criminal that you have painted my client to be.”

  Checkmate.

  “Objection!” cried the prosecutor again. “Your Honor, this is —”

  He was cut off by the judge raising her hand. “Sustained. Counselor, I would advise you to tread lightly from here on out.”

  You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Withdrawn.” You turned around to make your way back to your table, ignoring Marcus’s look of complete disbelief. Baiting Aaron had been easy, and now all you had to do was wait.

  The courtroom was uncomfortably silent for one beat… two beats…

  “Not only can I read Mr. Mckenna,” echoed Aaron’s voice, “But I can also read you.”

  Once you got back to your desk, you turned around, hands resting on the cool wood of the table top, but you never sat down. Instead, you leaned forward, and arched your eyebrows in a silent challenge — one he was all too eager to pursue.

  “The red Harvard Law tag on your briefcase is a perfect match to your lipstick, and you wear the same one every time you go to court. Not because you’re superstitious the way most lawyers are, but because it’s your way of maintaining control in the courtroom, something you’re desperate to keep in every aspect of your life, personal and professional. I would guess that this need goes back to late high school, early college. But you’ve been worried about appearances and how you’re perceived for even longer than that.”

  You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So he thought you were Type A? Anybody could have guessed that by your anything. All they would have to do is look at your color coded case files or your daily schedule, planned down to the minute. You had only been trying to sway the jury when you insinuated that he wasn’t a good profiler, but maybe you were actually starting to believe it yourself.

  Except Aaron got a dangerous glint in his eye, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. Clearly, he was playing chess, too, and by the looks of it, he believed he was winning. 

  “In fact, you’re so worried about losing control, that despite your busy schedule, you refuse to hire a planner for your upcoming wedding.”

  That got your attention. The objection that you were about to call died on your lips, and all you could do was stare with poorly hidden shock. Next to you, Marcus turned pale as a ghost.

  Aaron, cocky bastard, continued his profile of you, with no clear signs of stopping anytime soon. “You have a tan where your ring usually is, and I know you’ve been wearing it recently as you subconsciously fiddle with where it would be whenever things in court aren’t going your way. Just like you’re doing now. You still have your maiden name, which you plan on giving up when you do get married because not taking his last name would arouse too many questions that you want to avoid. Just another way your concern of appearances is manifested. So you’re engaged.

  “I would say congratulations, but it’s not a happy relationship, not on your side, anyway. Younger female professionals will take their rings off in fear of not being taken seriously, but you’re an established and respected lawyer. You needn't worry about that. So if it’s not about you, it’s about the fiance. You don’t want to be associated with him.”

  You gripped the edge of the table, too angry to form words. Your nails dug into the varnish, and you were sure that your heavy breathing could be heard from across the room. This dick. This absolute, garbage, piece of shit dick. The worst part was how casual he sounded as he aired all of your dirty laundry for everybody to hear.

  “He’s holding you back, in all aspects of life, but mostly intellectually. He doesn’t have a sliver of your capabilities. The two of you are probably high school sweethearts, prom king and queen type, but while you grew up and matured, he never did. He can’t keep up with you. Still acts the same way he did in high school, only now with more access to alcohol and money. Career wise, he doesn’t have much going for him, probably some sports related pipe dream. But you stay with him because you know how to control him and how to use him to your advantage.”

  Aaron’s eyes zeroed in on Marcus, and all of the color drained from your face. The voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to object, to get the judge involved, anything, before Aaron did any more damage, but you were frozen in your spot. For the first time in your life, you were completely and utterly speechless and spiraling out of control.

  “That need for control is also why you’re sleeping with your assistant. It’s casual for you, but not for him anymore. You should break that off. That’s nothing new for you, though. In fact, I would bet that if we looked back at all of your affairs since your engagement, we’d find a long string of men and women, all of whom are your subordinates or of lower status than you. It’s a win-win situation — they’re more than eager to have a chance with you, and you get to stay in control. Oh, you’ll stop when you actually get married, but you continue to push that date back, as well. So…”

  He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling good about himself, and God, you could kill him. You could reach over the witness box and wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until his whiskey colored eyes popped out of his smug, beautiful face.

  Aaron lifted his chin, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Do you believe in my abilities as a profiler now, Counselor?”

  That snapped you back into action. You cleared your throat and unnecessarily smoothed down your skirt in an attempt to regroup your thoughts. “Well, Agent Hotchner, thank you for that little show and tell. It’s clear that you are very passionate about your career. However, just like your profile of my client, you have no evidence for any of your unsubstantiated accusations.”

  It was a pathetic attempt at saving face, and Aaron knew it, but it had to be enough for you. You turned your back towards Aaron so that you could face the judge, who, to her credit, had a perfect poker face the whole time. “Your Honor, I move to strike Agent Hotchner’s outburst” — not an outburst, Aaron was too composed to ever have one of those, but he grimaced at the word all the same — “from the record, as no question stands before the witness at this time.”

  The judge looked at you dubiously, clearly debating her ruling. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry, you were legally in the right, but there was always the chance that she wouldn’t be on your side. You noticed yourself fiddling with where your engagement ring would usually be, and you cursed yourself under your breath. How could Aaron have possibly known all of that?

  “Sustained,” she said finally, “I direct the jury to disregard the witness’s, uh, example when considering the evidence.”

  You let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t much of a win — everybody still heard what had happened, it was still in the back of their minds, like the ring of a bell echoing — but at least in regards to the case, you had the legal upper hand.

  The judge turned back to you. “Defense, the witness is still yours, if you have any further questions.”

  If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have cut your losses, but between your oath to defend your client to the best of your ability and that stupid self assured grin on Aaron’s face, you knew that you really had no choice.

  Deep breath in… Slow breath out… You’re at a stalemate now.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you said, causing him to perk him up in interest. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to continue. “Wouldn’t an ex-lawyer and an FBI agent be familiar with the rules of decorum in a courtroom?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Counselor.”

  “Let me rephrase, then. Would you say that you have a history of emotional outbursts and rule breaking in your line of work? And I’ll remind you that you are still under oath.”

  Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, I wouldn’t. Integrity is one of our core values, and we take that very seriously.”

  With shaking hands, Marcus handed you one of the files you’d had him print out on Aaron. “If that’s so, can you explain why, since your promotion to Unit Chief in 2005, you and your team have had seven disciplinary hearings, one of which being an internal investigation into the excessive force used by one of your agents, and another being a congressional hearing?”

  A sick sense of satisfaction passed over you when you saw him get visibly shocked, his poker face breaking for the first time that day. If he wanted to go for blood, you could fight back twice as hard. “I’m not at liberty to discuss either of those cases.”

  You shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, Agent. So between the discrepancies in the profile, your inability to control your temper, and your history of breaking procedure, coupled with the fact that you arrested my client without any warrant by kicking in the door to an innocent civilian’s house, do you really believe that your arrest and the subsequent evidence that came from that arrest was obtained legally? Or do you just not care either way, as long as you’re able to prove that you’re right?”

  Right as he opened his mouth to speak, you turned your back on him and started to walk back to your table. Aaron wasn’t even able to get a peep out before you cut him off with a sharp “Question withdrawn. At this time, the defense rests.”

  “Our arrest was made on the grounds of—” Aaron tried, and you smirked to yourself. He must have been desperate if he was trying that move twice. You whipped around, gaze steeled.

  “I have no further questions, Agent Hotchner,” you repeated, only letting out the slightest hint of amusement. “But thank you for your cooperation with Lady Justice today.”

  Aaron’s eyes met yours, and a weight settled in the pit of your stomach. You should have hated him, but something about him had you completely and utterly entranced by him. Maybe it was the novelty of the case. Maybe it was the matching intellects and the fact that he was the only other person who could give you a challenge.

  Maybe you just liked the way you got to lose control with him.

  As he passed you, his arm brushed yours, and your whole body burned.

  “Very cute, Counselor,” he whispered, voice dripping with condescension. “How long did it take you to come up with that little switch up?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “I was playing chess, you were playing checkers, and that’s why you lost.”

  The rest of the session went on normally, if not a little tense. To your surprise, Aaron hadn’t left immediately after his testimony, and instead took a seat in the section for the public. Good. As soon as courtroom decorum wasn’t a factor, you were sure to give him a piece of your mind.

  Court adjourned for the day, and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You told Marcus to continue to push for a better plea option as you grabbed your briefcase and stormed out, pushing through the throngs of people until you could see the back of Aaron’s head.

  You sped up your steps until you were right behind him, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

  You pulled Aaron into an empty conference room, hoping to get some privacy before you completely blew your lid. You already had one public humiliation because of him, and you did not need another.

  “What is your problem?” you hissed, locking the door behind you. “You had no right to put my personal life on blast like that.”

  Aaron placed his hands on his hips, swooping the sides of his suit jacket back, and you had to make a very conscious effort to not stare. “You questioned my profiling abilities, and I proved them.”

  “You didn’t prove shit,” you argued, folding your arms across your chest. “Except for the fact that you’re an insufferable bastard.”

  “Are you saying that my profile was off? Because if you didn’t want to be caught committing adultery, then you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

  You gritted your teeth and took a step towards him in a futile attempt to come across as intimidating. Even in your heels, he still seemed to be towering over you. You’d have to level the playing field somehow. You gripped his tie and used it to pull him down so that he was closer to eye level with you. “I don’t need your judgment, Aaron.”

  Aaron moved closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His Adam's apple bobbed and it captivated you. “I couldn’t care less about what you do,” he said flippantly. “Matter of fact, I don’t think this fit of anger is even inherently about your little secret coming out. Do you want to know what I think it is?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I think,” he continued, completely ignoring your protest, “You’re angry because as much as you can dish it out, you can’t take it.”

  Your grip on his tie tightened at his words. “Trust me, I can take anything,” you said, voice low and breathy.

  Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips — those kissable, red stained lips of yours. You hadn’t had to reapply your lipstick once throughout the day, and he idly wondered just exactly what it would take to muss up that perfect, pouty red lip. 

  “I also think that for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t have control, and you liked it.” He bent down a little bit more so that his lips brushed against your ear with every word and you could feel his breath run down your spine. “Aren’t you bored of sleeping with boys who are so far beneath you?”

  You’re not sure who initiated it, but the next thing you knew, your lips crashed against his, the two of you making out like it was the last kiss either of you were ever going to get. His hands felt impossibly everywhere all at once — gripping your hips, tugging at your hair, and even snaking under your work blouse to palm at your breast. His teeth nipped at the fibres of your lips. With every movement of his hands, little gasps escaped you, and you could feel the curve of his lips curling up into a smirk.

  His fingers trailed up the side of your body, past the curve of your neck, and tangled themselves in your hair before yanking it back, exposing the column of your throat. Immediately he attached his lips to your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

  “Aaron,” you whined, trying to regain the breath he stole from your lungs. You practically melted in his arms, going completely weak at the knees, especially as his tongue trailed across the underside of your jaw. You let his tie fall from your grip, instead bringing your hands up to cup his face to pull him in for another kiss. 

  His lips set a bruising pace, and it caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach. You had never once been kissed like this, never once felt so all-consumed by a person. Aaron’s cologne surrounded you, making your head spin. Bruises were sure to form from how harshly he was gripping your hips, but you didn’t care. He was addicting, and you wanted more.

  Hotch walked you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, his thigh shoved in between your legs, forcing your skirt to ride up. The position made his arousal obvious as he pressed against you. The way he held you was possessive, primal even, Unconsciously, you ground down on his thigh, hoping for anything to help relieve the ache between your legs. 

  Unfortunately for you, Aaron caught on to what you were trying to do, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling away just far enough to speak. “Look at you,” he whispered, and the raspiness of his voice only served to turn you on even more. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and his thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging at it ever so slightly. His other hand slowly trailed its way up your thigh, nails scratching at your skin. “Skirt hiked up around your waist, desperate to get off. Your little boyfriends aren’t doing it for you anymore?”

  He pressed his thigh further into you, ripping an involuntary moan from your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your hips still moving back and forth against him, not caring how needy it made you seem. “I need… I…”

  “What? Big, bad lawyer doesn’t have any more smart ass comments?” he cooed sarcastically, pushing your skirt up even higher. He replaced his thigh with his hand, and his fingers ghosted over your covered pussy, teasing you, not giving you nearly enough contact. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. Go ahead, needy girl, if you’re that desperate.” Aaron yanked down your panties in one fell swoop, and you blindly kicked them off to the side. “Be a good girl and show me how much you want this.”

  Without any more of a warning, one of his fingers entered you, and you let out a breathy moan that Aaron was sure to have on repeat in his mind for days to come. When the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your brain completely short circuited. You threw your head back as far as you could despite being pressed against the wall as his name clumsily tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pressing you further against the wall. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

  Electricity coursed through your veins as he added a second finger, easily finding that spot in you that made you see stars. You rocked your hips back and forth against his hand, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. His lips trailed from your jawline, down your neck, and to your collarbone. 

  “Look at me,” Aaron ordered, tightening his grip on your chin, and your eyes shot right back open. Instead of the whiskey colored irises you had gotten used to, Aaron’s pupils were so blown that they made his eyes completely black. “I want to see you lose control all over me. Gonna make sure you come harder for me than you have for any of your boy toys.”

  That wouldn’t be very difficult. Nobody had ever made you feel the way you did then, Aaron’s fingers buried deep in your cunt and lips exploring every inch of skin he could access. No part of this was for his pleasure — from the curl of his fingers to the slow circles on your clit, it was all expertly calculated to bring you to the edge with as much intensity as possible, and it was all devastatingly effective.

  “I’m so close,” you whimpered, and if it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would have completely lost your balance. “More, fuck, please.”

  “More?” he mumbled against the column of your throat. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

  Coherent sentences were not an option for you at the moment, not when you were so deliciously overwhelmed with pleasure and with Aaron. Besides, how could you tell him that you wanted him to completely and utterly ruin you? That you wanted him to bend you over the conference table and pound into you until you could barely speak. You wanted Aaron to mark you and send you home to your fiance with reminders of every little thing he did to you for the days to come. You wanted raw and untamed passion. You wanted to be consumed, for him to settle in your lungs like smoke, and haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. 

  You didn’t want nice and calculated the way every other man you’d been with had acted — you wanted Aaron Hotchner to take control.

  You couldn't say any of that, so instead, you grabbed his wrist, the one that was holding your chin in place and, without breaking eye contact with him, you guided his hand down until it rested on your throat. “More,” you choked out, giving him an animalistic grin.

  That was all it took. Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and desperate and swallowing all of your incoherent moans as his fingers moved harder, faster.

  You clung to him like a lifeline as you felt your whole body tense up, your orgasm fast approaching. You were so fucking close and he felt so fucking good and, God, if this is what losing control felt like, then you and Aaron could do this forever and —

  His fingers were gone from you, and you clenched around nothing. You cried out in protest, which only seemed to amuse him.

  “Oh? Prom queen isn’t used to not getting what she wants?” Keeping his hand on your throat and you pinned against the wall, he made slow, teasing work of his belt buckle.

  Your chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to catch your breath. “What happened to watching me come undone all over you?” you shot, trying to even out your voice as much as possible. It didn’t work very well. “Did you lose your nerve?”

   A dark, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, Princess, that’s still the plan. I just never said where. I want to make sure you’re nice and wet and ready for me to turn you into a moaning mess on my cock.”

  In an attempt to regain some control of the situation, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah? And how do you expect to do that?”

  He smirked and released your throat. Wordlessly, he grabbed your wrist, and guided your hand down your body, further and further until you reached your throbbing pussy. He used his hands to press your fingers to your clit, and you whimpered softly. God, you were dripping, and the extra stimulation didn’t help your shaking legs.

  “By making you so needy and whiny that by the end of this, you're begging for me,” he hissed, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word. He moved your fingers so that you were rubbing small, slow circles around your clit, although it wasn’t nearly enough to give any real relief. “Begging for me to come and fuck you over and over and over again. Because you know that your pathetic fiance and your string of affairs have never made you feel like this before.”

  Aaron yanked your hand away from your clit and you could sob. You wanted to cum so badly that you could barely put it into words. Still holding your wrist, Aaron brought your hand up to his face. He took a brief moment to admire the way your fingers glistened, covered in your arousal, before bringing them to his lips and sucking.

  Eyes wide, you made a choked noise as you committed the view of Aaron to memory. “Please, Aaron, fuck, I need you,” you whined, the start of a long string of incoherent begging. You needed him then and there, damn the consequences.

  He pulled your fingers out of his mouth slowly, and you moaned at the obscene wet noise it made. “So desperate,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his slacks. “All for me. All because I edged you once.”

  Aaron pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his dick, and you licked your lips involuntarily when you saw it, big and thick and leaking precum. Clearly, it gave Aaron a bit of an ego boost, because as he ran the head up and down your sensitive folds, he reminded you, “You did say you could take anything, Princess.”

  Your breathing came out shaking as you shivered, waiting for him to do something — anything. You were so empty and you needed him so badly. If you didn’t get his dick in you soon, you were pretty sure you would lose your mind completely.

  “Fuck me, Aaron,” you moaned, arching your back to press into him more.

  He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in an almost intimate gesture. “Patience is a virtue,” he chastised.

  In your haze of arousal, you barely noticed him grabbing your briefcase and digging through the small pocket in the front. You especially didn’t notice his pause when his finger touched something small, round, and metal in the bottom of the bag. The only thing you cared about was him coming back to you, holding up a condom packet with a smirk.

  “I knew I’d find one somewhere in your briefcase.” You let the comment slide, the excitement at the prospect of sex with Aaron Hotchner outweighing any jackass comment he could make. Aaron made quick work of putting on the condom. The second he was done, one of his hands ran up your thigh, getting a good grip on it before pulling it up and around his waist.

  “Do you feel how wet you are for me? How willing you were to give up control? All for me? That—” Lips pressed to your ear, he pushed his cock into you, bottoming out with one thrust. You threw your head back in pleasure. “—Is playing chess, sweetheart.”

  Aaron dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck as he began pounding into you at a desperate pace. He had held off on his own pleasure for long enough, and now he was chasing his orgasm with a ruthless determination. One hand stayed gripping your thigh, the other one braced against the wall next to your head. Aaron nipped at your neck in between moans of praise for you.

  “I — oh, fuck — knew it,” he groaned, digging his fingers deeper into your thigh. “You wanted somebody to take control. Somebody who knows how to please you.”

  You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You were an incoherent mess at this point, his name tumbling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. At that moment, it probably was. 

  “Finally, that bratty mouth of yours is good for something. You sound so pretty, moaning out my name. Say it again.” A particularly deep thrust caused you to tug at his hair. “Louder.”

  Never before had you met somebody like Aaron Hotchner, and you weren’t sure if you ever would again, so you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself get lost in the absolute pleasure he was providing. You memorized everything you could — the way the calluses on his hands felt against your skin, the way he moaned out your name, how deliciously full you felt, and how for the first time in your life you felt truly seen — so that you could suspend the moment in amber to preserve in the back of your mind.

  “Please,” you begged, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. “I’m so close. Fuck, Aaron, you feel so good, please.”

  Aaron tore his lips from your throat, choosing instead to press his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours with every word he spoke, so close that you were practically kissing him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. Be a good girl and come. All over my dick.”

  When you came, it was with a cry of his name as your whole body shuddered. You clung to him as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts began to stutter, and he took the opportunity to capture your lips in one last, scorching kiss, and you were all too happy to oblige.

  You think he moaned something as he came, but you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure that you felt every single inch of him. As if you could ever forget it. 

  The two of you stayed where you were for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of being full a little longer. Your walls fluttered around Aaron, which caused him to muffle his whimpers into your throat.

  “Aaron…” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment. “That was so—”

  “I know.”

  “We shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I know.” He pulled back just enough to leave a lingering kiss on your lips, and your whole body burned. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”

  You shook your head. “Not at all.” The confession lingered in the hair for a tense second because both of you seemed to remember where you were.

  Aaron slowly pulled out of you, an act that looked almost painful for him when you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling. He could have spent all day in you, if given the chance.

  The two of you adjusted yourselves in silence, both of you hoping to be able to leave the room with some semblance of professionalism. At the very least, the goal was to not look like you had just had sex in a courthouse conference room. Shame and embarrassment flooded you — what had you been thinking?

  Once you felt that you were presentable enough, you grabbed your briefcase and tried to ignore Aaron burning a hole in the back of your head with his gaze.

  “Well, Aaron, this was fun.” You cleared your throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around at some point.”

  You were two steps away from the door when you heard his smug, courthouse voice come back in full swing.

  “Forgetting something?”

  You turned around in a huff, ready to go right back to arguing with him, but what you saw made your whole body heat up in embarrassment. There was Aaron with a self-satisfied grin and dangling off his finger was your panties.

  “These are cute,” he mused. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to fully appreciate them.”

  You rushed over there, fully prepared to snatch them out of his hand. “And you never will,” you shot, but even as you said it, you didn’t make much of an effort to take them out of his hands. You just stared at him and his swollen lips and mussed hair, all your doing.

  Ever the gentleman, Aaron started to hand your underwear back to you, but instead of taking it back like you knew you should have done, you covered his hand with yours, closing it in a fist around your panties.

  “Who says you can’t?” you whispered, guiding his pantie-filled hand down to his pockets. “This way… You can keep it as collateral. To make sure I’ll come and see you again.”

  His breath hitched in his throat as you guided him to put your panties into his suit pocket, and you were glad to be the one surprising him this time.

  “I don’t care about your fiance,” Aaron started, and you braced yourself for the worse. “But I’m not interested in being the ‘other man’ to your affairs with your assistants, too.”

  “Consider it ended,” you promised, not caring how desperate or easy it made you look. You wanted to keep Aaron around for a long, long time.

  Just until the wedding, you corrected yourself.

  You slung your briefcase over your shoulder, wincing as it dug into a bruise that Aaron had left. It would be there for a while — you’d have to find a way to hide it from Tony until it faded. The thought made you stupidly giddy. “I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

  He nodded in goodbye, and you slipped out of the conference room on shaking legs. As soon as the door closed behind you, you reached into your bag, and reluctantly slipped on your engagement ring.

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. It took over a 150 chapters for Hera to face the consequences of trying to set up her niece and brother in law knowing full well her sister would hate that union. 

2. i just dont get how rachel is totally ok to listen to and take ideas by random people to add to LO, but is offended over the idea she listen to even minor input from literal greeks for her GREEK MYTHOLOGY story. like she'll take suggestions to add r4pe to her story for shock value, but listening to greeks to make it even a little accurate is too much to ask of her? im not saying she has to do a "presents" line like riordan does, but silencing greeks out of their own culture's stories? really?

3. am i the only one who hate the modern setting? something about it is so underwhelming, and rachel focuses on it way too much to where when she finally tries to add fantasy and/or ancient elements (flying around, the ancient clothes, growing big (??), the magic pom, etc) it just feels out of place. a lot of stories have a blend of modern and fantasy but LO just overemphasizes the modern too much for too long that the fantasy now being added seems random over a natural fit.

4. im not against the idea of making up new stories for the gods to work in, but i think the issue with LO is none of the stories add anything? like why do we need a chosen one story in persephone? why do we need hades to now be a kaiju to take out his dad? why have hera be a cheater? why have persephone need to teach hades slavery is bad? why have a trial? & the list goes on. theres so many interesting new stories you could use with them and LO picks the most useless ones, esp in a romance comic.

5. Idk if this is just me or what, but the panel of Hera snorting in laughter after Hestia talks about Persephone being a candidate for TGOEM comes off so poorly timed considering Hera is fully aware that Persephone can't be in TGOEM bc of the Apollo thing

And ik the scene is supposed to be more like "haha hestia thinks she doesn't love Hades bc of TGOEM" so maybe I'm looking Too Deep but that was the impression I got when I first read the scene, it made me feel really icky rather then laughing with her 

6. the idea of rachel even touching the other pantheons is a threat, also would just lead to a bigger mess. rachel for starters cannot stand hxp not being the top so?? would persephone take out the abrahamic god when they become more culturally important than the previous pantheons?? like she can joke the other gods are out there but she cant even keep one pantheon together, imagine her trying to connect a bunch of others that she cant rip off from tumblr text posts. it'd be a disaster.

7. rachel: i hate people acting like PJO is the best depiction of myth. also rachel: you should 1000% see my completely made up story masquerading as greek myth as the most accurate thing ever.

-----FP Spoilers/Mention-----

8. (Spoilers for chapter 190!)

So I have a lot to say here but I'm gonna keep it brief

Firstly, are we really saying Persephone having wrath is just Eris' meddling? Is that what we're doing? And that Persephone only has ambitions because Eris gave her wrath? Okay. Okay. Persephone literally couldn't have dreams without interference from someone else, idk what else to say other then how fucking sad that is, and more "Oh see shes not bad at all, it was Eris who made her do it because she cursed her uwu"

Secondly, ik it was done for bad reasons but Zeus' punishment for Persephone is the highlight of season 2 for me. That's all I'm gonna say. 

9. FP Spoiler: Man, my prediction that Persephone will be the one to cause winter looks like it might be coming true. I’m calling it now - Persephone will mess up doing her mom’s job, get angry about not being able to see Hades (I doubt she’ll give a shit about her mom now living as a mortal - it’ll be a passing, one panel mention at most) and then she’ll cause the winter by “oopsies”.

Also, let’s see how bad RS messes up the Demeter’s Exile to Eleusis. She already messed it up by making it a Zeus punishment instead of a self-imposed exile. Screw the importance of Demeter exiling herself from Olympus I guess. 

10. FP Spoilers Episode 190: I'm fucking crying, Persephone has absolutely nothing to make her interesting anymore.

Her intelligence was warped into her brain by Athena, she's pretty because Aphrodite slapped her with a pink cushion (and also because Hera), she's kind not because that's her personality, but because Hestia literally crammed kindness down her throat and her ambitions and anger issues aren't the natural result of her smothered childhood, they're just Eris deciding to be a dickhead for no reason.

I have asked this question many times throughout the trial, but exactly what was the point of this entire scene again??? Why did RS have to give Persephone a pseudo-Sleeping Beauty backstory??? What has this accomplished??? Everything this episode told us about Persephone we've already known since mid-season 1! Why is RS so determined to suck all the intrigue out of her characters via bs-retcons??

Also, wow, really feminist of RS to introduce a new, supposedly super-powerful female character, only to have her literally dragged down by Asspollo and humiliated in front of everyone. So empowering. So cool./s

Eris did legit nothing. She showed up, rattled down some more "look how cool Persephone is"-talk disguised as a "tragic" backstory-twist, got pulled around a little bit and then disappeared. Cut out her scenes and absolutely nothing changes. Same for Apollo revealing he's Zeus' son. (Which, wow, what a plot-twist. Who could have seen this coming. Not like Apollo and Artemis being Zeus' kids is basically a cornerstone of their mythos./s)

Also also, this episode tried way too hard to make me feel bad for Persephone after the verdict. Like, oh nooo, you got put on the gods' equivalent to house arrest and community service? In a literal paradise, far away from the guy who wanted to force you into marriage and everyone else who could hurt you? And you get to be ruler of the mortal realm too? You poor baby, however will you bear this cross?

There is literally only one downside to this outcome and it's that hxp won't be allowed to see each other for a while. (Though even then, I wouldn't really call it a downside, hxp has been nothing but forced and terrible.) Zeus even says, right after verdict, that the punishment is temporary and that he'll lift it when he's convinced Persephone and Demeter have atoned for their crimes. But hxp act like this means they'll be separated forever and do all this overly dramatic kissing and I'm sitting here like "calm the fuck down, it's literally not that bad???"

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Hi! I love everything that you write and heh I am a fan! 😄 tbh this is my first time requesting something on Tumblr! If you don't mind and if I am not being a bother...can you write about how the guys would react If MC suddenly starts making meme references? I don't know how I got the idea but I am REALLY curious. And love you! :D

Hiya! Tyvm for the kind words, and apologies that this took a while! I hope you have the chance to enjoy it regardless ❤️❤️❤️ Love you too, sweet pea! I promise to get to the next request you’ve sent ASAP~

Aight but this would be hilarious because the range of the reactions is just ungodly. I will be putting this under a cut after Napoleon so I don’t clog up everyone’s dash, but all the suitors are included below otherwise! 

Comte is the one that recognizes a few, but didn’t really stay in modern times long enough to be as well-versed as a Gen Z kid might. Regardless he finds the wittiness and absolute chaotic fuckery to be delightful, and will 100% support the harmless nonsense. It never fails to get a laugh out of him

Mozart that first day be like: “Buzz off MC I hate you” MC, because she likes swinging bats at wasps’ nests: “Well that’s not very cash money of you” Mozart: ?????????? Comte, giggling in the bg like the secret fae he is This one’s just because I’m petty, but after the events of Comte rt I just imagine them encountering Vlad again and MC’s just “I lived bitch.” while Comte is flipping him off behind her lkjahgkjhdsg

Comte @ Leo when he finds the latter under his desk: Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you.  MC: wheezing from the hallway as she’s about to give him his letters

MC: So how was your day, honey? Comte: Good, good--briefly had to go beastmode upon the punk that pilfered my lint roller MC, biting her lip to keep from laughing: So does Leo still have his kneecaps? Comte: for now.

Comte, @ literally anyone upsetting the MC: I won’t hesitate, bitch

Comte: Be careful with my emotional baggage, it’s designer

MC: What if I was evil and ran towards you at very fast speeds Comte: My arms are strong, I would catch and hug you

Leo and Dazai are the ones that don’t have a single reference point but are filled with so much dumbass chaos energy that they just. Understand immediately???? Nobody knows how or why, but they just catch on so fast--adapt the language in a matter of weeks. Never underestimate the power of combined boredom, depression, and humor

I swear to god I just see MC taking them their Blanc/Rouge and being like “here you go sir, one enslaved moisture” and they just go fucking hog wild from day one. MC starts impersonating Theo when he leaves the room around Dazai, like fake deep voice “you all only hate me because you do not like me and I am mean to you. grow up.” Or like the MC meets a baby on her travels with Leo around town and she holds them and says v seriously and sagely “So you are Baby? I have heard tales of your exploits.” and Leo about loses his shit right there. They both think MC is the funniest person alive--they’ve never been more eager to throw a ring at someone in their entire life.

Also a bonus for my beloved Dazai:  MC, facing even the slightest inconvenience (like dropping her fork) in the most dramtic voice possible: Life is not daijoubu. Dazai: wheezing

MC, after watching Theo turn down a woman at the bar in the meanest way possible: bro quit letting the darkness consume you u r scaring the hoes Dazai, literally rolling around on the ground, half-drunk and dying:

MC, walking alongside Dazai and stopping to stare at her reflection in the River Seine. Dazai’s expecting some sad or twisted shit, since people often feel comfortable talking about those things around him, but instead she just: “Oh, it’s you. The source of all my problems.” And he about falls into the river from shock HAHAHA

At this point don’t be surprised if his next book is about an absolute madlad woman similar to MC

Napoleon finds it to be a delightful quirk more than anything? He doesn’t really understand it, but he finds it funny when they change their voice for effect or speak in exaggerated tones. If it’s just comprehensible enough for an outsider to understand--or Sebas gives him context--chances are it’ll send him into a laughing fit

For this one I just imagine MC singing that Ratatouille meme song obnoxiously bad while cooking, and Napoleon and Comte are just so wildly amused by it bc it makes zero sense and it’s only vaguely French at this point

MC @ Napoleon while they’re cooking brunch: Can I offer you a nice egg in these trying times?

MC, conflicted because she’s tired and wanted to sleep in but also got to see Napo’s cute sleeping face for a few hours: For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5AM on the day I can sleep in. Sebas: Early to bed and early to rise makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise MC: early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch Napoleon: laughing in agreement

Isaac is the type to be bewildered and concerned at first (especially when he hears the more nihilistic ones hoOOOoooOO BOY) but eventually begins to understand it’s some bizarre attempt at humor (that hurts Zack baby). While some part of him laments that it reminds him of Dazai and he’s secretly jealous of how she and Dazai bond over it, he will sometimes join in the chaos when the mood strikes him and he’s feeling mischievous

Isaac: How are you feeling? MC: Oh, I’m not Isaac: seconds from dialing 911 Isaac: Are you okay? MC: Oh yeah dw I just suffer from that syndrome where your neutral expression makes you look like you’re an angry serial killer Isaac: say sike rn

Isaac, tutoring MC and correcting something:  MC, muttering while redoing it: The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math. Isaac: unable to help a laugh

One time MC was avoiding Isaac for fear of hurting his feelings and he just confronts her like: Isaac: back by unpopular demand, me! What’s wrong, MC pls MC was so hecking proud of him

Isaac, telling MC about a recent discovery he learned at uni from another professor: bones typically heal stronger after they’ve been broken--so long as they’re set properly, of course MC, looking him dead in the eyes: So what you’re saying is that I should break every bone in my body until I become superhumanly powerful? Isaac: please do not, no

Mozart and Jeanne are just. Totally lost. Why are you talking like that??? Why are you making “crab hands”???? They don’t understand. Maybe never will. They reach a point where they just kind of laugh and shake their heads, endeared by the oddity after they’re used to it and have determined it isn’t a threat/insult. 

MC: It’s a cold and it’s a brooooken, Waluigi. Waaaaluigiiiii...waaaahluigi..... Mozart: surprised, then starts snickering and playing along on the piano

Arthur, asking MC very personal questions out loud because he is an idiot sometimes: Soooo MC, are you a top or a bottom? MC: I’m a threat. (If he asks a second time, the response will be “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy.”) Jeanne, fighting a smile:

MC, about to punch an asshole: Your free trial of being alive has ended Jeanne, seconds from laughing for the first time in 100 years:

Also, because I genuinely can’t help myself. You know that knight meme like “Parry this you fucking casual.” I cannot stress enough that it is literally the personification of Jeanne’s entire character. I’m not even joking.

Arthur and Shakespeare are utterly fascinated by the rapid evolution of wordplay and the sheer hilarity. They will ask all about these so-called “memes” and ask for examples of them if MC can show them (either somehow accessing her phone or drawing them). MC draws Arthur the knife cat meme and he about a s c e n d s at the hilarity of it all, points and yells THEO IS HOLDING THE KNIFE. He is correct. They will be delighted and follow along eagerly, and--god forbid--will make their own based on late 19th century struggles.

Is this where Shakespeare got the idea for “What, you egg? stabs him” and “You are a saucy boy.”? I’m too scared to ask. Don’t even get me started on “The Fool jingled miserably across the floor.” That one is just too on the nose...

I can’t even imagine what would happen to Shakespeare if MC like translated vines and memes into Ye Olde English around him. Imagine she’s at one of those noble balls and hears rumors of these two guys living together and they’re so obviously gay and he says “And those gents w’re roommates.” And in the most false surprised tone ever MC just replies “oh mine own god, those gents w’re roommates.” Imagine having a wife that’s just as hilarious as you are and hits you with all the force of a bag of wet mice every time you speak in retaliation, he’s going into palpitations.

Every time Arthur does smth stupid MC just: “I Pretend I Do Not See It.”

Vincent is tickled pink by MC’s penchant for finding joy and/or amusement in nearly everything they do, and he smiles gently when he sees them muttering and laughing to themselves. He wants to be able to join them in what they love, but he has a harder time following along and understanding the darker humor sometimes. Mostly gets confused??? Please give him the easier ones to mimic and laugh when he tries--or just include him in your jokes MC. He’s babie your honor...

But he also. Will not. Stand any kind of self-deprecation or borderline verbal self-harm. He’s usually very easygoing and calm, but for whatever reason that stuff makes him go deathly quiet and upset.

MC, after something goes horribly wrong, hugging Vincent: Oh Vince, we really in it now Vincent: giggling a little despite his worries, relaxing

MC: Theo stop simping for Vincent that’s my job

MC, when Theo leaves the room and she gets Vincent all to herself: The evil is defeated.

MC: And this is where I would put my will to live...if I h a d one! Vincent: ;-; MC: oh shit, oh fuck, I was only kidding Vincent wait (MC was subsequently lectured and loved on for many hours)

Theo is conflicted because on the one hand, he loves to see you smiling and having fun. On the other, you’re clowning as hard as Dazai and Arthur and he can only handle so many monkeys in his circus. Most of the time he will roll his eyes and be the straight man of this comedy, but you might find him cracking a smile--or accidentally letting a chuckle slip past his lips now and again.

MC, after meeting Theo: I’m a nice person, but I’m about to start throwing rocks at people.

Theo, those first days: Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me? MC: I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting closer.

Theo: Every time I ask MC to explain “vibe check” to me she hits me with some kind of improvised weapon

MC, after the “incident” (you know the one): This year, I lost my dear lover Theo Theo, in the distance: QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I’M DEAD! MC: ;-; sometimes I can still hear his voice...

Sebastian is last because oh boy. OH BOYYYYY I LOVE HIM. Okay so the way I see this happening with Sebastian is just. So wild. Because at first he’s t r y i n g so hard to be the proper butler man. He does not meme. But then he starts to drift closer to what Niles from The Nanny was, where he’ll quip and joke in private or when the situation is just beyond the amount of absurdity he can handle without making a snarky comment. Everyone in the house can’t fathom how Sebas and MC got so close so fast, but there are points where they’re just “Are they even speaking English anymore???” It’s 11 times funnier than normal because Sebas almost never smiles or laughs when memeing, the deadpan quality of his playing along sends MC every time

Has ABSOLUTELY said “HEY. PANINI HEAD. ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME???” jokingly when MC made a mistake in the kitchen. They laugh about it for y e a r s

MC: I can’t date someone who keeps a lamb as a pet, that’s so weird Sebas, brushing Lotte in front of MC: MC: MC: Okay, I will make an exception because she looks very polite

MC and Sebas, fully aware of the fame some of the men will reach in modern times: We will watch your career with great interest.  (I s2g that’s like half of Sebas’ rt right there I’m crying)

Sebas rt with Lotte be like that 500 dollar Mareep meme: “sometimes a family can be just a boy, his gf, and their 500 dollar two foot tall Lotte”

[tarajenkins]

Please no more Square, I am at my (character) limit lmao

"The Light will not be denied!" 

I really do still wonder how anyone who played through ShB could reach the conclusion that a child with no Blessing Of Light ever stood a chance against the will of a Lightwarden. And not just any child--a child the Ascians intended to use as a doorstop to prevent the First from being destroyed before the Rejoining could happen, a child whose own trusted parental figure was willing to gaslight and manipulate them for the sake of their own power. A child whose behavior would absolutely need to fit a certain mold to achieve their ends. 

The Light corruption of a Sin Eater is confirmed by Halric's arc to be a lot like Tempering. Repeatedly Tempering someone, like Loonh Gah's mother in the Amalj'aa questchain, destroys their sanity. Emet-Selch's own dialogue up there confirms that the Warden essences in the WoL would not only drive them to madness, but violence. Vauthry had the essence of a Lightwarden forced into him before he was even born, and he had no higher power to protect him. 

Selch puts it plainly: the corruption of a Lightwarden is absolute in time, even for the WoL. I have yet to hear a good reason why Vauthry’s corruption would have been the sole exception to this rule. The “half Sin Eater” bit is brought up sometimes, but that is just buying into the lies his father told. Vauthry was already an entirely Hume infant. He was never “half” anything. He was already complete. He was corrupted. Tempered, according to Halric’s arc--blaming him for not fighting it is like blaming Thancred for the Waking Sands. It’s not a thing anyone can fight.

There’s also Yoshi-P asking players to ask themselves if Vauthry was really a friend of the Sin Eaters, or was he being controlled by someone.

(On a side note, I could have sworn it was stated the Ascians can't handle Light well, or at all? How did Emet-Selch even do that in the first place? Bad Writing(tm) \o/)

Silence Is Golden:

In a world where everyone rightfully fears Sin Eaters, a world where Eulmorans had fought them and died to them for decades, where those corrupted by fallen Sin Eaters have to be put to death before turning themselves--how would the mayor of Eulmore even explain his son's "gift"? Explain his son having a second, Sin Eater face in his chest? Explain that he allowed his child to be corrupted by a rando in a cloak, with no input from his wife? How did he keep her silent? Besides Square not bothering to give her dialogue, of course.

(Also, there was at least one other Minifilia in Vauthry's lifetime. The Minis all fought for Eulmore, as per Moren's book. How did they miss the Lightwarden now residing in Mr. Mayor's child? Did Hydaelyn know?)

It's such poor writing on Square's part to have left the disturbing Echo of how Emet-Selch “made” Vauthry as a footnote, and even moreso to have Wrenden claim in the hilariously contradictory patch 5.1 that Vauthry's father was the "good old days" of Eulmore. A man that would agree to let that be done to his own wife and child, a man who vocalized such disregard for his own peoples' lives, that was the good old days, really? The mayor who had "unrest" and detractors "stirring up the citizenry"? THAT mayor?

This is how far the writers were willing to go to dehumanize a fat man who had absolutely no consent or control in his “destiny”. And, speaking of dehumanizing--

--Square couldn't be arsed to treat Vauthry's mother like a character and not a convenient and silent womb, so we have no idea what happened to her. (My money is still on the Obscenity theory.) But since Vauthry only mentioned "Father", it sounds like the mayor raised him alone. 

What did Former Mayor do when his son had challenging questions about his father’s plans for him, or when the child balked at the answers given? How did he explain whatever happened to his wife? Just how much did "Father" have to manipulate that child's world to maintain the lies?

It’s strongly implied Former Mayor kept his son in a state of isolation where neither his word nor the Ascians' will could be questioned until the child was thoroughly brainwashed to believe, and there would be no questions then. Whether intended by Square or not, Vauthry does display many signs of an adult who suffered extreme isolation as a child. 

An entire childhood, with his likely only trusted source of knowledge and solace being someone who was grooming him for a power grab--and all the while, he can’t escape the presence of a creature inside him that drives mortals mad.

One of “Father’s” directives stands out in particular between the lines during ShB, though we don’t know how it came about originally:

Don’t tell anyone what you really are.

Even though Vauthry was given a good reason “why he was born as man and sin eater both", it still leaves the impression he was born because Sin Eaters are bad, and Vauthry needed to stop them from doing bad things--plus hush, don’t tell, people would find his existence bad if they knew the truth of it. Kids ask questions. Kids wonder. Feeling like an outsider hurts, let alone an outsider made of the same stuff that everyone fears. If Sin Eaters are monsters, then what was he? 

The fact Vauthry asked his father why was he born that way in the first place indicates the child instinctively felt there was something wrong.

The in-game dialogues appear to back this up. Although Vauthry's "heritage" was supposed to be this amazing thing, the true nature of it was instead lied about and kept hidden his entire life. Seems unusual for a guy supposedly convinced that he is “perfection”, doesn’t it? The fact that Eulmorans never once referred to Vauthry as "half Sin Eater" or a "God" during twenty years of his rule, the fact he only mentioned it himself before the Warden was about to claim him entirely; all well and good his father obviously invented some lie to placate the masses (“born with miraculous and convenient power” was all it took), but how did maintaining that lie, hiding who he really was, read to Vauthry all those years? 

During ShB, he still seemed to keep to the isolation he likely always knew. He never left that room. The citizens came to him when they wanted something, but it was never implied or shown he sought social contact on his own. Nothing was scaled to him, utensils, glasses, plates, etc.--as though he refused to single himself out as different from everyone else.

He called the Lightwarden’s awakening a “trial” to be embraced during Crown Of The Immaculate. Odd that someone supposedly convinced of his godhood would ever think he needed testing--but it makes perfect sense in the context of someone who always felt they needed to prove that they were worthwhile.  

He was proud of his power to protect his people, and proud of the paradise he built for them, but he didn’t want Alphinaud to paint a picture of him, he wanted a painting of the city. There were zero paintings or other monuments to himself in Eulmore. Lot of people in the fanbase speak of him being vain, yet he seemed to not want to be seen unless he had to be--almost as though, even toward the end, even through all the bluster, he still read being “half Sin Eater” as wrong.

With that in mind, there didn’t seem to be much evidence to even tell Vauthry he was born because he was wanted. He was born because his ability was needed. If not for his father’s ambition, however sweetly that may have been disguised, then to defend Eulmore against the monsters he was a part of. His ability was needed, not even him specifically--and the Eulmorans, with all their wishes and dreams to be fulfilled, could easily enforce the belief on the child that who he was didn’t matter, what he may want did not matter, only what he could do for others mattered. And what he did for them wouldn’t matter if they knew the truth of him. What a terrible, conditional ”love”. It could explain why he was so cynical about human nature. (Even though his predictions about human nature in the face of a dying world 110% came to pass in the Black Rose timeline. 6_9 gg G’raha) 

Yet despite all this, Vauthry needed to be convinced he was doing good for the shattered world. He needed to be convinced what he was doing was right, despite having power enough to not care. If Amaurot was Utopia, then Eulmore reminded me very much of Ursula K. LeGuin’s Omelas--a paradise, at the cost of one child’s eternal suffering. 

Food For Thought (and Bad Writing(tm)):

A lot of people have a boner for the cannibalism implications of meol despite the bad math behind it, but fucking meol, how does it work? 

Sin eating historically was to cleanse one who has passed on of their earthly sins that they may find peace in the afterlife--this was done in different ways by different people, but one of the best known methods was ritualistically baking the sins of the dead into bread or cakes and consuming it. Yoshi-P has even said he thought of meol as a sweet bread. Quest text from the Unfulfilled Forager in Gate Town further backs up that meol is not meat-based:

(By the way, nothing was keeping this man from hunting a shit-ton of meat that was literally within walking distance.)

It suggests Vauthry could have been taught that by eating the sins of the world, a.k.a. Sin Eaters, a.k.a. meol (which in the Japanese version, was something he was apparently afraid of doing?) --he was saving someone’s soul. 

“And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.”

In reality, there would be a point Mr. Mayor would not know how to feed the Warden forced on his child. Humes don't have a natural method of feeding on "living aether", yet the Warden would not reach its full potency without it. Making meol could either involve an instinctive act on the Warden’s part, or it was taught--and that seems very much beyond his father’s area of expertise, OR Vauthry himself, so I’d almost wonder if the Ascians had a part in it.  But like mixing medicine in a favorite food, theoretically, the aether provided by meol would slowly build up. And as the Warden grew in power, it would need more, and more. It would explain that final “powerup” before Mt. Gulg.

Provided Sin Eaters have any living aether left. They never explained that bit. Sin Eaters have no bones, no blood, no meat, nothing but Light. We saw enough of them dissipate into the air, including in cutscenes. Even Tesleen, very recently turned, faded. There is nothing else to them but Light...and there should be nothing left but that “blank perfection”, the Eater would have ate the rest? So where is the “living aether” they require to survive?

Fresh-sliced sneater wing, empty as the plotholes of this arc.

I could buy him turning people into Eaters directly, but then what was the point of the bread?

That’s right folks, meol still doesn't make sense, surprise! Also: so many people in one city allegedly being "disappeared" over twenty years, from a stagnant population, to “feed” everyone every day--yet no panic, not so much as a hushed whisper about it? Eulmore is supposed to be the safest place anywhere -- no idea how it could gain that reputation with that theory. Square wrote Eulmore like it existed in a vacuum, no one knowing no one. The lack of depth is still jarring, three playthroughs later. Only one unreliable narrator of an NPC (Thoarich) even hinted this theory, to boot. 

Side note I thought was strange: you never see any of the normal food in Vauthry’s chamber actually eaten, it’s all untouched. I wonder if the Warden somehow eventually affected his ability to tolerate the food a Hume would normally eat.

That said, his “mind control” of the populace was laughably ineffective, so I wonder what even was the point of feeding them meol. Perhaps it was again the Lightwarden instinct to create more of its own kind. Nothing else seems to fit. “Oh no, this Eulmoran is staggering randomly around, muttering about Vauthry! How can we survive this onslaught?” Yyyyeah no, lol. Alphinaud confirmed the Eulmorans were acting of their own free will until that final showdown, so the mind control seemed to be a panic move--I wonder if it was even took conscious effort at that point, or just another instinctive SOS from the Warden. Given his father’s trouble with the smallfolk, I have to wonder if it was Former Mayor’s idea, if there was a real reason behind it. Not a reason that would make good sense, but nothing in this arc does make good sense, so.

The thing is, meol was an optional dish. No one was forced to eat it. So Vauthry must not have been relying on controlling or turning anyone.

But despite the fact meol defies their own game logic, Square really did seem to relish hinting at the dehumanizing, Austin Powers “haha fat guy eats people” trope anyway, and seriously. They could do better than that--I hoped they’d BE better than that. But here we are, the company that is supposed to go so hard against harassment takes an easy target and encourages a very specific negative response to it. This is the reason I believe Eulmore was such an inconsistent arc--they almost entirely depended on Vauthry’s appearance to carry the weak narrative, explaining very lttle of his actual motivations because that would ruin their weak-ass “gotcha” that he was the Lightwarden of Kholusia. Of course he’d be evil, just look at him! Right guys? Look! He’s fat! 

Just as they used nothing but thicc’qotes in the trailer to try establishing the evils in Eulmore. Thicc’qotes eating fresh fruit whilst having pleasant conversation is the root of it all in Square’s eye; not a noblewoman who tried to have her maidservant murdered, not the nobleman who pushed his bodyguard over the rails, or even that asshole on the balcony laughing about splitting someone’s head like a melon. No, fatness is the real wickedness. Square was full of shit for this one and it shows when looked at with even a little critical thought. I don’t know what I expected of someone who requested a human “Jabba The Hutt” to be the last-minute midboss, someone who looked at a heavier Lakshmi and said “that’s not cute”, or a jackass who told a cosplayer they needed to lose weight onstage at FanFest 2014.

Even more disappointing? All these questions here, all these inconsistencies? For the majority of the playerbase, “he’s fat” was good enough. The Ascians get a million thoughtful theories. One of their victims? The playerbase thinks he manifested from the womb as you see him in game. They don’t stop to think of what it implied, to be born corrupted and groomed as a tool not only for Ascians, but his own father. They avoid the fact the fandom darling directly violated a woman and child’s bodily autonomy even as they insist on Vauthry taking absolute 100% responsibility for everything he was made specifically to do. And there’s just one difference between him and literally every other villain in this game, aside from the fact he had no choice. Yeah. As much as some players hate to hear it, if Vauthry had swapped models with the fandom darling, we wouldn’t be hearing justifications for mass murder/dictatorships/skeevy noncon. We would definitely be hearing how Vauthry was used, though--and how tragic his story is.

Some players bring up Dulia-Chai as though she somehow counters all the bodyshaming bullshit elsewhere. It doesn’t. She was still in place along with all the other thicc’qotes as Square’s fucked-up shorthand for excess and indolence. I had to learn she kept books for the Stoneworks in optional dialogue. Maybe if she didn’t talk about cakes and such so much, but I mean, that’s what fat people do, right? 

So if you’re laughing at fat men, we fat women know you’re actually laughing at us, too. Git gud or stop embarrassing yourselves.

“Tyranny”, aka you keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means:

Whatever the Ascians did to make sure Vauthry’s "Ascension" was a time-release event, the "madness and fury" clearly had taken him when we met him in Shadowbringers. Punishments for those having broken the laws of the city changed from exile into vicious death sentences. Suddenly the God talk, where not even Alphinaud had heard that. It really makes a case that Vauthry was slowly declining into madness the longer he was exposed to the Warden--in fact, Thancred sort of confirms it, during the trailer: “This town certainly has changed, but not at all for the better.” He was only on The First for five years. 

Vauthry likely had no introspective dialogues because much of who he actually had been was already gone, and the player is left with his remaining drive to do “good” and “justify your existence” wrapped around the instincts of a Lightwarden.

Yet a lot of things remain that really contradict the "bones of the poor" narrative the writers were trying to push about the city, and many times I felt a real disconnect between what our party was saying and what Eulmore was actually doing. A lot of it implies that, despite the Warden utterly subverting Vauthry as per the hard rules of Tempering, there was benevolence at work, once. The Minstreling Wanderer said that he could not say whether Vauthry was wicked in his youth, and I take this as a sign he was not. 

First off, let’s just get this out of the way: The Crystarium also expected you to work for the city in some form if you were expecting to stay there.

”Layabouts”: a people who were the main line of defense against the Sin Eaters for all The First for eighty years, until the futility of it, and all the loss, broke their spirits entirely. Just another sample of how Square intended Eulmore be shown as fat=lazy, despite their own lore--until Square was lazy themselves and didn’t finish the thicc’qote models so Eulmore would be exclusively fat bodies as shown in the trailer. 

The narrative often fudged with writer omnipotence regarding the protagonists, pressing to cast Eulmore in a negative light because they’d given up hope, even though loss is so important in excusing the Ascians’ actions. Our party had the WoL, whom they knew not only had a good chance of defeating Lightwardens, but G’raha seemed to know the WoL could contain them. Your average native inhabitant of the First would not be far off the mark feeling hopeless about the world, though, because they didn’t know about these extraordinary circumstances. Most of their oceans were lost in the Flood, and that in itself, realistically, is a death sentence. It’s all well and good G’raha was so perky and hopeful, and all well and good the game contrived a convenient deus ex machina to fix the issue (they never really addressed the issue anyway), but none of the locals could know any of this. I can see why Eulmore would think the Scions were full of shit, because for 80 years after the Flood, Eulmore tried to stop the Sin Eaters and could not. Honestly, I expected more sympathy for the Eulmorans, because they had been the front line for so long and lost so much. But lol fatties amirite?

Now, Square tried to dabble in many other Enlightened Social Commentaries with Eulmore, but immediately contradicted themselves so many times I was constantly asking myself why Alphinaud was being so goddamn extra dramatic. Gate Town/The Derelicts:

Not at Eulmore’s hand, Alphinaud honey, you can’t solo farms or communities. The people who remained behind were borked over by the ones who left. What are you even trying to say here, Square, help me out. Generosity--”largesse”-- is bad? Abandoning what you have, all others  be damned, for something you were never given a promise of receiving....good? Sympathetic? Seriously, what is your point here, Square? How does this equal Eulmore being malicious? How does this not make the bulk of Gate Town hopefuls a bunch of dipshits? Wright is in sight from Gate Town, but no one ever thought going there might be better?

If Square meant for Eulmore to seem a prison for the “poor”, they did a shitty job of that, considering: 1) A big point about Gate Town was that the people staying there left viable homes, farms, and communities for a chance at getting in, a chance that was never guaranteed by anyone, and they refused any alternatives Alphinaud offered them, plus

2) No one was keeping anyone from leaving if they wanted to. No guards, no masked vigilantes, no rando singing Hotel California in your ear.

So ruthless a prison, there were not only invisible guards holding you against your will, there was an Amarokeep waiting in the Derelicts to whisk you away for 70 gil so you can pretend to make a daring escape, straight to the freebie Amaro that will take you to The Crystarium. Tell your friends! Tell Alphinaud! He will literally buy anything this expac.

- “Young Kai-Shirr” getting into Eulmore was never a “matter of life or death”, and I can’t tell if that was Alphinaud being pretentious again or the writing was just that bad. Kai-Shirr was offered work at the Crystarium and he refused it, “it has to be Eulmore”. How is that on anyone but him? (Plus why does no one ever question Kai-Shirr’s complete lack of caring for why Alphinaud wanted in, if that was true? Was Kai-Shirr then not dooming Alph to “death” instead when he robbed him? That’s not very cash money of him.)  

This isn’t “life or death” either.

Neither is this.

Nnnno. 

Considering Stilltide reported they have fish for all, and Wright’s trouble was not enough people, this is not only not “life or death”, but fucking creepy. Hopefully this better illustrates my confusion of what we were being told vs. what we were being shown in Gate Town/The Derelicts.  d( ᐖ )

- The citizens In Gate Town/The Derelicts were not at the mercy of a "contest" to be let in. It was shown to be literally a help wanted board with jesters, and the “contest” was “do you have this certain skill someone is looking to hire”. I guess the Crystarium will hire a fishmonger to do the work of a chirurgeon or something? 

The jongleurs were otherwise just "rule of cool", I guess--although the significant look the Red gave us, followed soon after by Emet-Selch’s lurking outside the Offer, made me wonder if they were not acting as monitors on Vauthry for the Ascians. 

- There was at least one person in the Derelicts from the Crystarium, looking to make a quick gil on the extravagant “refuse” of the city, and several locals were doing the same. I guess those “layabouts” inside the city had their uses after all, Katliss.

- Meol was not the only food given to those outside the city. Produce and such that was not “pretty” enough for the fussy free citizenry was distributed to those camping the outskirts. 

I’d have expected a “tyrant” to let that produce rot. Catty in Stilltide confirmed there was enough fish for everyone living there, and Zia-Bostt above seems to back that up. Game in the field was also aplenty even in terms of map mechanics--this was not some form of forced famine to hold the smallfolk in a state of dependence. Eulmore was still paying the villages for produce. 

So much for the exploitation of big, bad Eulmore! 

Again, Alphinaud himself bemoaned how the people were there of their own choice, and how they refused any and all alternatives he presented them with. The people in Gate Town wanted to wait for Eulmore, they left their own homes and farms freely for Eulmore, screwing over their neighbors in the process--and that is not Vauthry’s fault, that is on them? 

Hurricane Florence left my husband and I homeless a while. You do not fucking pass up sure shelter and work and food to wait instead for a nebulous chance at Hollywood or Las Vegas--and if you do, that’s all your own tomfoolery, that’s not “injustice”, no BONES OF THE POOR required. It’s common sense, Square, goddamn lol 

The Free Citizenry:

- The rich would not be permitted into the city if they did not give up their wealth  for the benefit of all living there. This was a condition for the rich only. There is zero indication those funds were being put into Vauthry's pocket; it ran the city, and both free and bonded enjoyed the results (there seemed far more bonded residents in Eulmore than free, to boot.). There's a policy that would never fly in at least two allied citystates, lol.

It raises the question, if Wrenden and Former Mayor were so damn equitable, how were there even rich to begin with? There’s an old noble in Vauthry’s Eulmore who apparently does not know how to tie his shoes without a servant--a.k.a., the idle rich existed before Vauthry even came into power. The dialogue of Vauthry’s father also made it seem that these were systems in place long before he his son was even born -- except Vauthry’s system did not allow their hoarding of wealth, and distributed it instead to the benefit of everyone in the city. It was also a system that was so satisfactory, both free and bonded citizens became loudly dissatisfied after he was gone. 

- The rich were the only ones guaranteed “Ascension”, and if you want to call that a perk I’m going to assume it’s because the entire system relied on their dosh--technically, they already did their “work” for the city. (”Buying a stairway to Heaven”, as it were.) So much for those "bones of the poor", Alph. Statistically, if bones built Eulmore, it was the bones of the rich.

Until Gaia, Ascension was only mentioned twice, but again, no real context was given. (jfc Square, we shouldn't have to buy an overpriced lorebook for this.) First time was the Weeping Warbler chain. Going by the quest dialogue, it sounded very much like something offered as mercy to terminal illness or otherwise impending death, as the Warbler's creepy patron lamented how he almost wished he could hasten his own to join her (btw, the right answer to that poor girl's fear that she'd be a burden more than a treasure was "YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR VOICE”,  asshole. >:| ). Players at the time were legit “oh that poor old man, she’s like his daughter :CCCCC” Ahahaha oh my sweet summer children

Either way, "Ascension” was definitely implied to be entirely voluntary. It was implied there were even rules and conditions to be granted it. And Vauthry did not seem to push anyone towards the idea, it was just there. (If it was for terminal illness, though, consider the following: Thoarich seemed confident the Warbler would live, but may lose her voice. If you have to be terminal to be Ascended, ironically Vauthry may have refused her patron's request.) The second mention was from Vauthry himself, for his “trial” when the Lightwarden awakened--so he certainly, tragically, believed what he claimed it was.  The Bonded Residents:

- Even at his worst, there is no indication that the free citizens were encouraged by Vauthry to abuse their workers; in fact, the Amiable Maiden and her Ardent Attendant implied heavily that appreciation and respect for one's bonded was the ideal that was pushed by Eulmore, that "love for one's fellow man". 

At no time were the bonded residents “slaves” (a new accusation from Twitter). They were “bonded” to the patrons who hired them by a work contract, and they sought those jobs willingly. No one kept them from leaving Gate Town, only kept them from getting in without a work arrangement--again, a prerequisite the Crystarium also had according to Katliss. The bonded residents were paid, and apparently paid well. 

As the WoL, we were also bonded to the Chais, and were able to come and go later. It was like the writers knew they needed to sit the fence so the free citizens would be redeemable enough to help with the immersion-breaking giant Talos plot later, and so never pushed Eulmore to the evils they talked about but never showed--leaving behind the most disconnected, self-sabotaging arc I’ve ever seen from this MMO.

An evil slaveowner at work.

Alphinaud rewarded for being an agreeable yet melodramatic young boy.

- The bonded we met who fled Eulmore had fled their patrons, not Vauthry himself--even the Warbler thought Vauthry a “great man”. No one in Eulmore feared him.

- Tristol’s “grave sin” to be patronless and penniless was contradicted by Fathana, whose patron had died some time ago, and yet she remained in the city without one to help new workers--because her patron had been so kind to her. The clerk whom you first speak to upon entering Eulmore even says that if you are “fired” or otherwise lose your patronage, you can try to find another patron to remain in the city or work as a general laborer like Fathana until, presumably, you do find another patron. Or maybe you don’t even need a patron, and you are allowed to stay as your own boss at that point, she certainly was.

Since the Chais helped us leave the city, I’m not at all sure why they didn’t do the same for Tristol, especially if Vauthry’s violence was a well-known thing. It’s almost like violence from Vauthry wasn’t expected, and they’d never think that would happen. I mean, some recent time ago, Vauthry only exiled thieves from Eulmore.

(Hell, Square may have even fudged Tristol’s punishment, implying Vauthry had ordered him tossed off the balustrade of The Offer. Vauthry’s balcony appears to be the one directly above The Path To Glory, right above the gates into Eulmore. There doesn’t seem to be ocean nearby at any realistic distance or angle from that balcony. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

- Laws that we saw in effect were for the benefit of patrons and bonded citizens alike. There was nothing to suggest those laws were unreasonable, either. The punishment became fuck no unreasonable (though as I pointed out earlier, the punishments seemed to ramp up in violence the longer the warden was part of him, from exile to a literal pound of flesh, much like Titania went from a benevolent ruler to Jumpscare Prime). But fraud being a crime is sort of expected anywhere, and creeps at the Beehive should not touch dancers unless dancers consent, lest they get the bouncer. ( another strangely thoughtful law for a “tyrant”. )

- The bonded residents inside seemed much happier with their lot than Alphinaud’s dramatic assessment, which was also confusing as hell. 

-  Entire families were allowed to enter if one member was hired. Alphinaud was able to drag us along with a minimum of fuss as his “assistant”. Vauthry’s definition of how one “gives” to Eulmore was not based solely on traditional work.

- Bonded residents were not afraid at all to speak of bending rules for perfect strangers when offering drinks to us, so Vauthry wasn't out prowling for blood 24/7 like an Inquisitor trying to fill their heretic quota. Not only was Dulia-Chai not afraid to go calm him down at the height of his rage, Chai-Nuzz didn't freak out at the idea she'd do it. Nuzz. Wasn’t nervous. Yeah, let that one sink in 9_6

The only time Vauthry acted seemed to be when an issue was brought forward directly to him. Otherwise, it seemed like standard Lightwarden behavior: stasis, until presented with a real and immediate threat to itself, which in Vauthry’s case was a threat to the order of his city, or the ones killing Lightwardens.

For allegedly being aggressive against Kholusia's neighbors, Vauthry seemed to have taken the Crystarium's refusal of his offer to lead them back in the day really well, as in, he did jack shit in retaliation and accepted it. In fact, he was so warlike, Emet-Selch was surprised Vauthry would move that army, even for a very clear threat against fulfilling the false destiny Emet-Selch forced on him. 

While on the subject of aggression, the people in Amity have dialogue indicating they feared Vauthry would send the army after them--which he obviously never did, in all 20 years of his reign.  

- “No one leaves” except hey whoa there hi, Lue-Reeq, who comes and goes as he pleases. Plus that bonded resident who came to Wright looking for ale. Plus us, also bonded residents, because Dulia-Chai once again had nothing to fear from Vauthry.

Also anyone who was exiled previously. For supposedly wanting to keep people inside Eulmore, Vauthry sure was terrible at doing it lmao

GCBTW: I'd really love to see Square and Alphinaud be similarly vocal and insistent with the actual horrors our own Allied city-states commit without the corruption of a Lightwarden in play. The selective outrage/pearl-clutching is really immersion-breaking.

Ishgard: “Highborn” genuinely exploiting the “lowborn” every other sidequest to this day. Genocide of the Au Ra. At least two FATEs, one job quest, one lorebook entry, and one dungeon indicate Ishgard has fucking disgusting levels of rape carried out by figures of authority. Rent is being charged for people from the Brume--the homeless, destitute people in the Brume--to live in the Firmament, but they can arrange payment plans! And this was all talked about while one of them was shivering in the cold nearby. What, can't the highborn be arsed to share what they have? Eulmore is the height of wickedness because they couldn't cram an island full of people into one tower, but Ishgard's our pal even though they can't manage to make space in their mansions for one small area of one city. My God, Vauthry had FOOD in his chamber, shame!--but that's okay, Aymeric, you rock that extravagant dinner spread in the dating sim cutscene. Maybe the Brume can fight over the Ishgardian Muffin crumbs.

(Yes, I know, Vauthry had more food than that in his chamber. He’s also approaching fifteen-plus feet tall. Proportionally, the food in his chamber would be the equivalent of you or me living on cocktail peanuts and thimbles of water. Once more, Square was so fixated on fatphobia they didn’t do the fucking math.)

Doma: “Hey yeah look guys I know child trafficking is bad but let’s just smile and nod at this guy who did it to Yotsuyu and give him a different post, okay? Okay. Remember to be polite. We will never speak of this again.”

“Let me laugh about your beliefs and call them bullshit while I angle you into a war that isn’t even yours, Xaela tribes.” Gridania: Lets people straight up die if the “elements” tell them it’s okay. Exiling a child for stealing a bag of flower seeds is normal and totally not at all fucked up. Open and accepted racism against the Duskwights with no sign of Kan-E-Senna saying fucking stop that shit.

Ul’dah: Human trafficking. Child trafficking. Human lab rats. Using prisoners for blood sports. The Syndicate living it up in finery, giving exactly nothing to people living in the streets. Notoriously corrupt Brass Blades. More implications of fucking disgusting levels of rape. Turning away the Doman refugees when they literally had nowhere else to go and nothing left. We smiled and nodded when Godbert said people mustn’t be given charity, they must work for their own good.

Limsa Lominsa: Fucks over the “beast tribes” at every opportunity, then complains they summon Primals.

But remember, folks, it was Vauthry’s Eulmore that was the real evil we had to desperately move against. Not the newer, capitalist Eulmore that didn’t feed two guys from Wright because they couldn’t afford it, shoosh those “bones of the poor” don’t count. The writers tried to retcon a lot in 5.1, it seemed--suddenly, it was implied people were forced to leave villages, conscripted, etc. Except the people were still there to tell us otherwise in 5.0, and there was still no sign of any Eulmoran forces keeping them in Gate Town. We went from Alphinaud demanding the free citizens take responsibility for what they’d done in Eulmore to posthumously blaming Vauthry’s “bad influence” for everything up to and including a noblewoman’s attempted murder of her maidservant, because the noblewoman’s husband was creeping on the girl. 

Which leads us to another of my biggest peeves--all the while, despite “the truth” being so important when it came to Emet-Selch, the sins of Vauthry’s father and the suffering his wife and child endured because of Emet-Selch’s direct hand are left unspoken. We smile and nod silently to Eulmorans and then offer them up Vauthry and his “bad influence” as an excuse for their own misdeeds. I’ve never felt less a “hero” in this game as I did then. Yet Emet-Selch, who committed this atrocity on a child, was called a HERO because fandom darling, while the child is vilified and thoroughly dehumanized.

It’s really telling how much blind condemnation the fanbase dealt to Vauthry for reasons that were completely inaccurate, while the fandom darling of this expansion was 100% the founder of not one, but two civilizations based on domination, the most recent being a nation whose canon creed is  "No lands must remain beyond our grasp. Go forth. Conquer. Rule.", a nation whose people have a habit of calling all the “lesser races” they conscript “savages”. Fandom Darling was also hype af for Black Rose and called it worthy of his bloodline! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

It’s really telling that the fanbase will randomly accuse Vauthry of being a sexual predator with Sin Eaters based on exactly zero evidence (but a lot of projection on their part), while the fandom darling 100% canonly used the actual Solus zos Galvus’ enthralled body to sire a child with Galvus’ unwitting wife, and going by the dialogue--

--he’s done that before. No wonder consent was no big deal when he made that offer to Former Mayor. But this was played for sympathy because fandom darling and what do you know, the fandom bought it.

Square “both sided” actual authoritarian characters--actual colonizers, actual mass murderers of entire worlds, actual skeevy-ass characters who don’t care about consent because “not really alive”--called it “heroic”, even (the latter was called “moral relativism”, and it’s genuinely unnerving how many players pushed that as absolution or relatable)--but throughout the course of the main expansion and two subsequent patches,Square went all-in that the fat guy who had his agency and sanity stolen from him in utero to be used as a tool of destruction was the real tyrant. We the player were encouraged to buddy up with E-S while we were never once given the option to wonder if something was terribly amiss with Vauthry, if he may need help. They didn’t even spare us a “jfc that poor man, the Eaters got to him” when he blindly twisted his neck 180 to neither see nor hear us. He was still “evil” because reasons, a.k.a., he was fat.

TL;DR, the playerbase: 

I remain unconvinced the Ancients were not clever enough to suspect summoning the “Will Of The Star” may have an effect on their own wills, as their wishes for Zodiark carried an unspoken need for the Elder Primal to be granted control to achieve its end. Emet-Selch stated that Tempering was to be “expected”, even “natural”, though his appearance towards the end of 5.3 seems to contradict Tempering: has there ever been another instance that a Tempered being was able to act directly against the best interests of the primal that holds them in thrall? Elidibus sure couldn’t. 

Disclaimer: I actually have no issue with liking the Ascians, be it shipping, writing, art, porn mods, whatever. But if you come into my yard with nothing but shit talk for Vauthry on reblogs of my art, yet have all the praise for the one who made him, you’re going to hear in my personal space about why you’re a hypocrite. Often. With receipts.

The End.

First off, it’s popular in the fandom to say the Lightwarden was Vauthry’s real body because it’s just so damn inconvenient to the dating sim mentality that the fat guy was the default. Thing is:

That is Innocence’s head and its wings inside Vauthry’s split-open back during the pre-phase two “transformation”. Between that and the second face that appeared to cave in most of Vauthry’s chest (on the heart side, interestingly enough), the face whose eyes opened and glowed upon the Warden’s “awakening”:

It doesn’t look at all like it was a “transformation”.  It looks like the Lightwarden emerged and absorbed what was left of its host’s physical form while still retaining Vauthry’s broken mind.  (Notice the nose, much longer than Vauthry’s actual nose, eye spacing, the bit of smile. That second face was the Warden.)

Before his death, Vauthry did not say "well dang, the Ascians promised I would be all-powerful so I could be evil! Curse them for cheating me!"

He said "Father told me...that I am hope. That I am righteousness. That I am...a god... That is why I was born...as man and sin eater both...I kept the people safe!"

Those lines make no sense if Vauthry interpreted Father’s manipulations as "haha I'm a spoiled evil brat I can do what I want". A spoiled evil brat wouldn't need to be convinced what they were doing was GOOD, would they? Why would that even have been a thing, wouldn't they just not care? He had the power to not give a shit. Instead, he would see his peoples’ “dreams fulfilled, their wishes granted.” EDIT - Canon as of 5.3 appears to support this analysis! \o/ 

Spoken at the end by G’raha Tia on the subject of enduring hope, and additionally supported by the Minstreling Wander, who told us in the Immaculate EX unlock he could not say if Vauthry was wicked in his youth. ”Vindicate his existence”. Vauthry was never in this for the evil selfish lulz. He believed he needed to prove the “half Sin Eater” heritage forced on him did not make him a monster, that it was good, that he was good, and he did it by doing everything he was gaslighted to believe was good by his father--until the Warden finally broke him entirely. To the people who debated so strongly he was just evil because reasons, or refused to hold other characters to the same standards of damnation they set for him because reasons, hope your shoe tastes good. Your reasons were always really clear, btw.

This remains the story of a child who needed a hero that never came, and players choose to discard it, like the free citizens snub produce, because Vauthry isn’t pretty enough for them. A fat character’s stolen life simply isn’t worth the effort of contemplation because the one who made him makes players horny on main.

What happened to this character, with just the little information the game gave us, was straight-up abuse. Yet too many in the fanbase thought no further than juvenile fat jokes (so cool) or unquestioning contempt for a character who was clearly in a state of mental breakdown (unless it was the fandom darling, he’s allowed, even if it destroys worlds) --while Square readily had their characters ace detective enough to detect his weight, but not his unnatural height, his pointed ears, his fogged over eyes, his bendy-straw neck, his second freaking face. Oh, and he can control Sin Eaters. Wait, you mean the Lightwarden was in him the whole time!? Seems legit gais, what an unexpected turn of events! 

ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

[thecrenellations]

Return of the Thief Notes, Part Three: The Book of Pheris, Volume 2, Chapters 6-14 and “Alyta’s Missing Earring”

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part One | Part Two | TaT)

Contents:  Elephants, guesses about gods and dead men, villain team up, the unexpected, AAAAAAH, elaboration on the word cloud above (which is one big Gen, medium Pheris, medium love, and scattered other names), and more quantitative analysis! I love this book.

Format:  Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Chapter 6

285. unkingly moment, last night with her at home

MISMATCHED STOCKINGS (I have a thing about this.)

Wedges of ribbons?

285. cute

286. a pitneen? A drunk bird?

Wait. Gift of animals??? Did he steal the thunderbolts wearing it?

A canary no longer

287. Hilarion and Ion, wow

Throw a cup of wine on me

288. War pants! War pants!

What’s Attolia wearing?

Sophos! (the whistling!)

288. Ok fine it’s gonna be sad ... I say as if I didn’t just experience the trial (the last lighthearted moment)

Pepper!

Be careful Pheris

Also Relius went to Dite and Juridius, right? (I was convinced Dite would show up)

Sinerine!

290. SOCKS! Yay <3 magus

I was resigned to not much magus but he is HERE!

He’s … so much nicer than he was to the kids in the Thief, lol

A CART!

Lamb, falling in same paragraph. Worried.

Gen :( Gen you ran all over the palace and leapt in the water last night. You are so stupid.

292. Yay Sophos I love you

Math buddies!

294. I’M SAD.

They have had this convo before

I love them

It’s because I can that I think I should

295. Do not overreach. Eddis is right

Danger in self indulgence?

I love her! “I was outside chasing your brother with a stick”

296. My heart. You have to trust yourself. I don’t know if I can. Then you have to trust us.

Tactical Irene!

Thanks I’m gonna hold on to it: “The Call of life is a s powerful as the call of death, and it is no weakness to answer to it”

297. Oh no. My children. Tell each other things like that!

Great time to be childish, Gen.

Yeah honestly. It’s bothered her FOREVER

299. Pull it together, kids!

Thx Helen

Inkpots … :( :( :(

Chapter 7

302. See … that Continent occupation isn’t good either!

303. Unfortunately that is NOT an alternative. Bc volcano.

305. This is stressful.

Chloe, interesting

306. Elephants

Oh my god it’s better than I ever could have imagined (there was like 10 years of lead up to the elephants, and I thoroughly enjoyed them)

I love him

Gen wtf

Yes drink up those guards (“We could keep [an elephant] in the guard’s bathhouse! There’s plenty of room.” “And the guards will bathe ...?” “In the palace reservoir.” “Our drinking water.”)

#6 Gen about elephants

308. This is gonna be a disaster

Hilarion with an eyeglass

Fuck Pheris is making this up.

Gen I love you

Oh my god

Honestly idk if Gen is having fun but I AM

They’re. They’re such a power couple.

Also Bu-seneth is so rude to Attolia

309. so vague about battle, but I’m sure it’s horrible

310. hero talk. Chills.

311. all the woman comparisons for Gen (“Would [a world with no war and no heroes be a bad thing?” “That’s a woman’s question”)

Wow. Interesting. Anonymity

312. Don’t listen to them Gen!

Bad tempered cooks

313. lol. Good looks.

Gen. the hand joke. Why

Well that was … a scene (I don’t know my Henry V)

Reassuring to have a glove. Which one?

314. No. Bad. This is what I was afraid of. (Nahuseresh baiting Gen with Kamet)

Ok Pheris

315. That cannot be true. (it was not!)

Gen. No. No.

316. Wow. That worked out well. So far.

They called him annux. If Kamet is really dead…

319. Yeah Attolia is RIGHT

Yeah I can’t actually either!

Irene knows. In his story!

320. Glove resolved very fast

Interesting reversal (Gen and his dad)

Maddening!

Chapter 8

322. who’s charging off in a haze of glory now

Philologos wounded

Wait, the attendants follow him in to battle...

Cleon RIP

Temenus <3

No. Stenides

If they ever returned.

His brother died in an explosion

Gen’s tears

This is sad.

323. lion lamb :(

325. At least they have each other

Morality is an illusion. Like safety?

326. that’s what Costis was mapping, right? (nope)

How many has Gen killed now

328. Who. Pol? Ambiades? (The cairn man question remains)

Oh no

Oh no. you can fall from a horse

HILARION!

Is Fordad a spy?

I am just not accepting this yet

WAIT THE MEDES TOOK HIM! (I thought the Attolians had taken Gen, or Gen’s body, at first.)

330. wow things only Pheris can do

GDI Erondites

WOW THIS IS A VILLAIN TEAM UP

332. You gave it to him dude (Nahuseresh asking “Why does he still have this?” about Gen’s hook)

I love Gen. I wonder if he’s afraid.

This is bad.

Whose treason, whose betrayal?

333. Yeah! Kamet said so (“Tell me again that you are king.” “Annux, if you prefer.”)

334. Oh god.

Get your stories straight bastards

Rolled in a rug!

336. Oh gen

Oh god

Yeah this is …

Be careful what you ask for

338. What did he sign as, though, Attolis? Eugenides?

Nomenus wtf

What does mwt have against facial hair (Fordad, Nahuseresh)

Costis please come (idk how I thought he was going to help, but I was in Costis Denial and expected him to show up at any moment)

Everyone must be going through a lot

A face like an open grave

Gen.

Gen I love you

YES

YES

Is he … invulnerable now?

Gen what.

Is he possessed? Is he already a god?

341. Yeah same. (“I think he meant that I should not fear him, either. I did, though ... I still followed him”)

This isn’t being self indulgent or overreaching, is it?

342. RIP Ion Nomenus

“My work”

Oh Nomenus

Does he just exist for the morally gray and loyal angst feelings? It works (...)

344. What did he DO

Yes! Swearing Gen!

345. love all caps Gen

Those names

Aaah

346. Ooof.

Chapter 9

347. moon promises

Yeah

Noooo Philologos :(

Legarus … :(

349. Gen what what

Sparks

Costis? Stenides? STENIDES?

Wow ok he killed Bu-seneth

350. god

See I said Nahuseresh shouldn’t have said that

Also is Gen a bastard

351. WHAT (“Because your council had just voted to kill him”)

Oh Helen

Oh Irene

Does he invite him in?

This is reassuring to the reader (“He can bear his god a little while without losing himself”)

Aaaaah Galen

354. Gen that’s a lot. A lot.

Don’t kill everyone.

So so so x7 of doom

Bye Yorn

I hope he wins too

Go away Nahuseresh

Omg

another fall

Interregnum

Ok it was Lader (when you don’t know who the man at the cairn was, keep on guessing!)

Yeah the circumstances thing is back

Oh god

Oh no

Chapter 10

361. how long has it been?

362. three days

I love them (Elephants! My excellent queen!)

You promised to trust him

364. Oh no. Oh no. (Relius)

370. These Helen convos…

371. Sad. :(

372. Emtis and Lader

Yeah.

Omg

374. Wow

Steal by elephant?

377. Don’t forget about Dite!

378. He’s gonna kill him?

379. Is Dite dead too?

Oh Sejanus

Oh I see

He’s got a mercy taste too

380. Switching!

Lying in moonlight. Hm.

381. Yesss

Nooooo

383. I’m nervous

Gods blessing on your road

Wow. <3

They would have fallen… (if Pheris had gone through with his plan, that’s how they both would have died)

Did not expect Sejanus feelings in Rott.

Chapter 11

386. He’s gonna know. But the trust.

Ion knows.

390. Gen…

Pheris is Lyopidus?

I’m scared

393. I kind of love Ion

More Sejanus, bring it on

I’m nervous

Hmmm… who could it be

395. MoW :( <3 I will not be ok if he dies too

Gen knows the way bc Costis (nope)

Oh my god these two (“I lied” “I know”)

Chapter 12

398. Oh no.

This is not

Her Thief

Irene. “only sleeping” this is what Eddis said to her

But mist… water???

Face touch

402. not living or dead. King

Yes. But no.

403. crying at everything and the MoW next to him

There he went

It was the Eddisians. He fought with them.

404. yeah that’s a lot to deal with, Pheris

405. what a mystery man (Sejanus)

Lol mysterious exit averted

Excuse me that was a difference

406. :(

Am I king

407. Helen is once again right. She’s also always right

MOIRA was Melisande???!??!? (who even knows)

409. ?? Irene?

Same as for Dite. Man loves his brothers. (nephews. you know what I mean.)

Nice.

AAH yup. Add it to the list (“How neatly you tie them together” ... the list of is ways Gen and Irene are becoming more like each other)

410. speaking of which where is Costis!

Hm… what god was that

I love their reactions

411. SPLENDID.

Oh Irene. It’s true <3

It’s so true (“When the king gives his heart he gives it completely”)

Now I’m crying again, at them

412. Gen, she has a point.

Amazing. I … I don’t think she meant to ask like THAT

Jesus, Gen.

You do not know a wagon from a wheelbarrow

413. Irene!

She’d better get home safe.

Gen!

Omg

414. I have another bad feeling, about Gen

415. High king or queen though?

Magus <3

Chapter 13

416. “of course”

That’s ominous

417. No! Sejanus!

A gut wound yikes

418. sadness

419. lol “ill will”

We’re in Roa. My heart’s pounding.

422. I love Gen.

YESSS

Yes I love them.

Sheep.

Kamet!!!

?!?

Costis. Mattresses exist.

424. Oh no.

426. roof dream

Good roof dream

Good job Helen

428. TWINS. Everyone was RIGHT

Reyatimi

Oh shit. The sky.

Oh dear. :( aaah

430. Climbing the rigging!

“it’s just that you have so many least favorite things”

431. I love them (Gen and Irene)

432. I love them (Gen and Helen)

433. RIGHT! I was thinking

I can’t <3 (they’re naming the baby after the MoW, and it’s perfect, and she’s not gonna tell us, huh)

OH MY GOD!!! (baby thief!)

WOW!

434. AAAAAAH (Hector! @threetoadswaltz​ finished reading before me and knew that I would explode about this and I DID, I threw my arms in the air! HECTOR!)

PERFECTION!

435. AAAAAAAAH (this was when it became clear they were going to dance on the roof)

Yes she was (as surefooted as the king)

Is this the first time she’s Irene

Yes.

I’m filled with happiness

Celia and Lavia again … lol.

Lol Chloe

THALIA

CRENELATED wall

HE’S ALIVE

Kamet is a sweetheart

The gods!!!

The gods!

Aracthus

Mystery goddess?

Ula?

Moira! Yes!

(I was very happy. The page itself:)

Alyta’s Missing Earring

Wait. Was it Alyta.

Glad we got a bi god (with all due respect to Immakuk and Ennikar, whose bi-ness and godliness is perhaps more up to the reader)

Got very bi very fast

Also. He’s Gen.

Interesting difference in story

Kathodicia!

Are we literally getting ALL the answers? (No. But so many more than I expected!)

Gen’s grandfather sucks

An urn huh

Omg. Heiro’s earrings?

Oh my gosh.

Same, Gen. Same.

Obvs Phresine knows.

Is Phresine a goddess?

Same, Gen. Same.

She got to tell a story! She is so happy!

I think he’s a little scared

Moleskin

Yeah peace huh

This series is socially sanctioned silliness

1000 Eugenides. Wow.

They did melt though

Little thief.

<3 <3 <3

He’s a character in a story

A big question

Tamarisk? Takima? (We are not getting all the answers.)

That’s it! Thank you for reading - it feels very self-indulgent to type up all of these, but I will honestly take most chances to relive the intense and wonderful experience of reading this book for the first time, which often means looking back at my own notes and sometimes means sharing them with people. Also, I really love reading liveblogs/real-time book thoughts, so here is one from awhile ago ... all at once.

Anyway, check out this word cloud from all of the notes (made with this site):

It’s ... mostly just character names, with a variety of words that express my enthusiasm and feeling (love, lol, wow, yes, excuse me...). Gen is the biggest because I said his name 115 times! Here are some totals for the other characters who came up a lot:

115 - Gen (and 10 Eugenides)

42 - Pheris

26 - Costis

18 - Irene (and 6 Attolia)

16 - Helen (and 8 Eddis)

10 - Sophos (and 4 Sounis)

12 - the magus

11- Kamet

11 - Teleus

10 - Relius

9 - Ion

6 - MoW

6 - Moira

5 - Sejanus

These don’t fully represent how much I had to say about them, because I didn’t always refer to people by name or title ... which kind of explains why Costis’s total is ridiculously high compared to how much he is in the book -  I likely have more notes about other characters, but I didn’t need to bring up their names because they were already present in the scenes I was taking notes on (for example, I think I talked about Relius more than Teleus, the magus, or Kamet, but many of those just referred to him as he, because it was obvious to me who I meant). But also I was just looking for Costis! Anyway. My use of names and titles for the monarchs also really illustrates how much this book reshaped the way I think of these characters’ relationship to them, Gen’s and Irene’s especially.

It’s representative of my feelings about this series that I wrote “I love them” about so many combinations of characters. Who, exactly? And how many times? Well...

5 - Gen and Irene

4 - Gen and Helen

2 - Gen and Pheris

1 - Gen, Irene, Helen, and Sophos

1 - Helen and Sophos

1 - Costis and Kamet

1 - unknown combo of Gen, Pheris, and Relius on p.166, I love them all and can’t remember. Kamet’s map was there, too, and I do love Kamet, so maybe he was in there too.

no matter what the numbers say, I love them all endlessly, and I love this book.

be blessed in your endeavors, yes I will take any questions about these notebook screams, etc.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Free Fallin’

“Can we, uh. Drive?”

Cas turns to Dean Winchester, amused, yet not entirely surprised. The hunter’s standing in the doorway, the line of his lips slant. But he’s got his eyebrows raised in a pleading stance, his posture as unsettled as pinkening, flustered cheeks. He is, in spite of the hesitation, to the core of his being, endearing to Cas.

But Cas rallies to stay serious. There’s a chance Dean needs that right now. “If you’d really rather. Of course.”

If you really want to avoid this. 

Dean seems uncomfortable, still, though Cas just gave him an out. Cas can feel the restlessness in his guilty stare. 

It hadn’t been long since Castiel got his wings back. And this was the first chance he was going to have, post completely healing, to fly - trial runs (flights?) didn’t really count, because they didn’t have any destinations, and he’s actually been looking forward to flying with someone, because it’s been a bit of an eternity since he’s done it. Been of use, like that. So ever since the case popped up on their radar, courtesy of a small-scale hunter in Maine, who acceded to keep them updated, he’s been waiting. 

It’s too far away to drive, if urgency strikes. They’d have to fly. Especially now that they could.

(Sam set off for Texas with Jack six days ago - a newspaper article leading them to cremated ghosts with elite, mysterious family members, and a whole lot of them. It’s fairly tame, as far as salt-and-burns go, and Castiel trusts both Sam’s intelligence, and commitment to keeping Jack safe, enough to not have decided to follow, three days in.

Which means it’s just Dean and him.)

Cas knows he’s never been more enthusiastic on a personal level about the discovery of a vampire’s nest. And he doesn’t pin it to a hunter’s heart dripping gamelust - because he’s aware that the idea of flying across the country with Dean Winchester, after so long, is significantly more appealing than the intricacies of pretending, and ridiculous badges, when they get there. 

So alright, Cas’s been waiting for this. Packing, planning and leaving. With Dean, and Dean’s familiar duffel, and his wings - it’s been an exciting thought. No matter how little time it’d take, and no matter how many times he’s flown around the vast Milky Way in the entirety of his life as an angel - this had felt like something monumental for Cas to suggest, and for Dean to agree to, through a mouthful of dinner, and several thoughtful nods. It had felt like something special.

But now, if Dean’s in enough discomfort to come out and audibly hint at it, it’s harder for him than he let Castiel believe - in the past, or even the night before yesterday. Cas knows he’d never impose on Dean. Or reinforce the multiple, exceedingly valid arguments he hadn’t had to use the first time, in favor of flying versus driving. Dean has the right to retract his agreement, his consent at any moment, and Cas instantly resolves to not let it show that this had meant something, because Dean would end up shouldering all the guilt Cas had no resolve to create, and absorbing it to the deepest crevices of his mind, to let himself fester in it.

Cas stays impassive. Ever proficient at dormancy. 

Still, Dean picks up on it. Guarded walls come up to shelter something akin to fear. “You wanted this.” It borders on inflammatory. A tinge of accusation, but it doesn’t feel pointed at Cas. 

“I did.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean grimaces, entering the room with a streeled step. It’s as if Cas’s earnestness knocked a few layers off his shield - and reduced the distance between them, literally and metaphorically. Truly, honesty is the strongest axe Cas swings at Dean’s unhealthy defenses, with.

“Dean, you needn’t be.” Cas assures him, and he means it, although the disappointment within him is giving way to a sullen sense of despondency he doesn’t wish to indulge in, so he deflects by concentrating on Dean instead. 

Dean shifts, raises his eyes from the floor to meet Cas’s, and they linger in a stare of depthless confessions. 

It’s unlike them.

So when Cas tries to render a small smile, because it felt like the silence needed to be reacted to - needed one of them to pull off, there’s no way for him to know that it’ll push them over the edge. Dean wrenches away from him, and Cas sees the strings holding him stoic, snap.

“Sonuvabitch, Cas -”

Dean storms up to him, glaring. He’s angry, it almost radiates off of him - just not, per se, at Cas. 

“- we’ve all come such a fucking long way!” He growls, and Cas meets his stare uncertainly, thrown off. This is unpredictable, to say the least. Dean’s positively glowering at him - except it’s through him, like he’s been hollowed out. “We saved the goddamn world, man. Died a combined total of a hell of a lot! Sam’s gone from being an angry teenager to a kickass, new-age Bobby Singer. Dammit Cas, we lost your wings and got them back.”

We lost your wings.

Cas nods, faintly. He still isn’t sure where Dean’s going with this. 

“Back then? You would’ve put two angelic fingers on my forehead, and zapped me the fuck to India, or something.” Dean grits out, edging towards his worst temper. Cas can hear him trying to restrain himself. “But now, you won’t - now, you listen, and you try - because you’ve grown, Cas. You’ve become family, and I -”

Cas doesn’t think about the fact that if Dean isn’t angry at him, there’s no reason to be yelling. Instead, he thinks about the rare haziness in intense, green eyes, and the pain in his crushed voice.

“And I haven’t fucking changed.” Dean ends abruptly, inflicting a scornful glare at the floor, and -

Oh. 

“Dean,” is all Cas says, because he isn't sure Dean’s done yet. They’ve always jumped to conclusions, and realized they were wrong later, but Cas really doesn’t want to interrupt right now. 

“Ten years, we’ve known each other.” Dean looks up again. There’s too much in his eyes. “Forty years, I’ve been hunting. And I’m still the goddamn same, Cas. Angry, pissed-off, worthless. The hits just keep on coming, and all I do is bury myself in the losses, and then Sam or you screws my head on straight and we pull a miracle out of our asses, but end of the day, I’m this fucked-up, hurting piece of shit, and -”

Emotions shine at the corner of Dean’s eyes; years of keeping it all down, finally overcome. With the surfacing ruinness, Dean lets out a strained sound, and lets his head fall. Chin buried in his chest, at last, he forces out. 

“- and I’m still too afraid of flying.”

“Dean.” Cas loses what remained of his reticence, and if Dean has more to say, he can say it with Cas close, hovering near with his hands featherlight along Dean’s arms, wanting to comfort, but not knowing how. Cas wants to be there - but he’s never gotten a chance before. He has no idea how. “Dean, look at me. Please. It’s not like that, Dean, you’re not those things - Dean, you’re one of the best men I know, just, please -”

Cas knows he isn’t doing the most articulate, or efficient job of reassuring the volatile, shaking hunter - almost - in his arms. None of it seems to seep through, however hard he tries. It’s years of repression. Like the other shoe dropping, the facade of being okay just crumbled - and it’d been the most convincing one yet, one Dean’s been hiding under since God was sent away. 

Instead of listening to Cas, Dean’s lost in his head. He scrubs his face with his hands, and then fists them in his hair, screwing his eyes shut. It hurts Cas to be so helpless right now - because no words seem to make a difference.

“I’m scared of it, Cas.” Dean repeats, voice breaking mid-sentence, and the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes.

Cas looks at him, terrified. He wishes he could hug Dean - wrap himself around him in a tight embrace, and not let go until Dean stops shaking, because right now, he’s trembling, but Cas has no idea if he’s allowed to do that. Dean is - well, from what Cas interprets of the situation, he’s having a panic attack, and Cas doesn’t want to cross boundaries. 

Cas just wants to brush off Dean’s tears, which have never been there before, and run his hands through his hair, and caress his temple, and he wants to soothe Dean’s knuckles with his thumbs, and he wants to tell Dean how wonderful he is, again and again until he believes Cas, and then calmly, he wants to take Dean’s hands, and -

That’s probably exactly what Castiel needs to do. 

Dean’s too out of it to register Cas gently plucking Dean’s hands from his face, freeing his hair of their assault - or maybe, he just can’t comprehend Cas holding his hand so tenderly, like it’s some kind of a precious thing, and Cas’s hands curl around his fingers, pushing Dean’s palm against his. 

Dean’s hands are colder than his, so Cas squeezes till Dean’s feel warm, and he looks at Dean as he does it, and Dean’s noticed now, and he’s staring at their hands, held between their chests, and he’s looking such awe - this delicate, beautiful wonder which makes Cas demand from himself why he hasn’t done this before. 

Somehow, as the seconds pass, Dean quietens. 

And as Cas holds on - simply holds on, running the pads of his thumbs on Dean’s skin, Dean’s chest stops heaving. He still looks dazed, and is breathing heavy, when Cas moves insufficiently closer, swaying into Dean’s space. 

“Will you let me try again?” Cas asks, in the same voice he’d have asked, do you trust me, and Dean understands it. 

He keeps looking at their hands. 

“Will you let me take you flying?” Cas says. “And we can hold hands, or if you’ll let me, I can hold you, and I promise it’ll be alright.”

There’s nothing, for a while. 

And then, Dean’s right thumb twitches, tracing the second knuckles of Cas’s fingers, and Cas feels a shadow of solace go through him, nervousness mingling with grace in his veins. 

“I’d let you take me anywhere, Cas.”

Cas feels his heart swell. Dean looks up slowly, seeking out Cas’s eyes, and Cas holds his gaze, and just like that, they’re back to saying things without any words. 

You fell from Heaven. Pulled me out of hell. We’ve been to purgatory together, so believe me, I’ll go to the corners of the world with you. 

“Maine?” Cas ventures, with growing confidence, for a smile - history assures him that Dean’ll join in, and he almost does. Only a wisp, but it’s there. 

“Yeah, but fucking hold me, okay?” Dean huffs, and it’s such a relieving sound of mild exasperation, more than a reach for normalcy, and Cas adores it. He knows Dean isn’t alright - not yet, and he doesn’t know how long it’ll take in the long run, but he knows he’ll be there for Dean. Through all of it, and on the other end. 

This is the farthest they’ve gotten, too. Dean’s hinted at these issues before, but he’s never had a breakdown in front of Cas - or anyone, and he’s never not backed off into a shell, after. This Dean is trying, and it’s wonderful. And it’d be growth, if Cas had ever looked at Dean Winchester, through the lens of an all-knowing immortal, like he’s not the most incredible being in the world, but a specimen, an experience - a phenomena to be analysed. 

Cas looks on, trying to dissect the way Dean’s eyes stay glued to his, unconsciously, and trying to read Dean through them. He can sense faith, and hope, and his resolve is renewed. 

“Well, we’d have to let go, first.” Cas points out, slow, and Dean tentatively does it first, ending up with his arms on his side again. Circling back to awkward, and adorable in his nervousness. But Cas doesn’t let him fold in, and retreat into himself, because now that he’s got Dean saying yes, and Dean asking him to, of course he’s putting his arms around him. 

Of course, he’s putting a hand on Dean’s hip - and drinking in the subtle responses of his body to Cas guiding him closer, and his other hand goes to rest on it’s eternally demarcated place on Dean’s left arm, as he looks up at Dean with all of the admiration and reverence he feels inside, trying to coax it into his eyes, and it’s not even a fraction of a millionth which makes it there, but Dean still blushes, so maybe for now, it’s enough. And then Dean’s hand grazes against Cas’s elbow carefully - because Cas hasn’t asked Dean to touch him yet, (so he doesn’t), but oh, how he wishes he would.

“How are you, Dean?” 

“I’m going to close my eyes.”

“How would you know you’re not scared if you closed your eyes?”

“How do you know I’m not going to be scared?” Dean throws back, still vulnerable, but a lot more himself. It’s a challenge, a flame disguised as a rhetoric, but Cas treats it like a question. And answers, as plainly as he can.

“Because now, you believe in me.”

It’s not a lot of words, and not the most eloquent Cas has ever been, but it conveys so much that it almost stuns Dean again. He nods, jerkily.

I’ve always believed in you.

Dean waits.

Trust is not the same as belief.

Cas decides it’s not worth this moment wasted, to stop for supplies or guns. They can circle back for them. This is it. Dean’s ready right now, and Cas wants to show him how beautiful it can be - and how with Cas, Dean never needs to fear flying.

Castiel would, and has given up his life for Dean Winchester. He’s charred, ruined, and lost his wings. Yet now, the angel shall show him how to live, on those very wings. Life is a string of poetic ironies, threaded together by choices. Love is the first pearl, and courage is the last.

“Cas.” Dean breathes out, as Cas starts to dissociate, focusing himself deep within. Dean stares openly, for Cas’s eyes are closed now, as he reaches through the realms to gather himself. “Of course, I believe in you.” Falls from his lips in an awed whisper, and the sound of his voice is still too much for the frailty of the moment.

That’s when it happens.

“I love you.” Cas lets out, because it seems far too important that Dean knows, and there’s limits to implications which can’t hold him back anymore. They’re going to fly together. 

Dean’s eyes widening is the last thing he sees, before he needs to concentrate his grace again. It feels like giving in to an old habit you’ve had to live without, more than a lover you’ve moved on from - and Dean’s hands grabbing onto him don't even register as they take off. His grand, celestial wings flap, and time hurls them out of their reality. 

Everything fades, and with the sounds, borders, and colors, so does Castiel - once again, heavenly. Everything goes away, stripping their hearts bare and momentum flickers on their skins, as ethereal, sky-like wings render the only one who remains, speechless.

Beholding the magnificence of his angel, love resonating through his ribs, Dean keeps his eyes open. 

*

It never takes too long.

Dean holds on to Cas, with arms clinging around his neck, until the end. It feels like he’s gliding - but somehow also like he’s driving hands-free in the clouds, though he’s surrounded by too much of everything for it to be the sky. He’s not terrified, but he’s overwhelmed, and he’s goddamn living- hell, he’s never lived this much in a breath, because the second he’s trying to replace the oxygen in his lungs, he finds the chasm of warped space start to dissipate. 

The ground under his boots returns, just like that.

He breathes in air - cold, real air, in the middle of a field which is certainly not Kansas, with a full-blown smile on his face which he’s not even thinking about. It still feels like he’s floating, to some imaginative part of his consciousness. It makes his heart slower, and shoulders lift, and he’s unjustifiably happy, and peaceful, and to hell with being afraid, he feels content.

Dean Winchester feels brave again. 

Maybe it’s because of Cas’s words. Maybe it’s because his arms are still fastened around him. Or maybe it’s because, Cas. He’s everything. Dean's been an idiot to have been trying to ignore the things he feels, because if he’d gotten here sooner, he could’ve had more of Cas looking at him like that, and Cas’s hands planted warmly on his sides, and Cas just smiling at him from this close. 

Now, he’s determined to make the most of the time he’s got. 

When Castiel slowly opens his eyes, looking composed again - and a little proud, definitely pleased, almost too lovely, Dean doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait for the voice in his head to catch up, and start second-guessing what he’s wanted to do forever. Dean just lurches forward, grabbing the trenchcoat lapels to reduce the gap, and kisses him. 

Cas responds almost right away, pushing back into the kiss, and Dean, with all of himself, and letting both arms circle Dean’s waist and shoulders, ending up impossibly close. Dean cups Cas’s face, tilting it towards himself, as he kisses him with everything he’s ever felt. There’s gratitude, and apologies, and need, and want, and then there’s the love, and that’s where he stops thinking. 

“Cas, I -” Dean pants, running out of breath. They’ve stopped kissing, and are simply paused in the moment with their foreheads leaned into a reassuring touch. Dean’s waiting to hear himself say it, and he hopes Cas is, too. “I - god, Cas - I love you too.” He takes a full breath. “I love you so much.”

And then Cas breaks into a smile, chest heaving as well, with the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and lips pulling up, and Dean gets to lean in and kiss him again, and he gets to tell Cas he loves him, and tell Cas he loves him every morning, and every time he feels like it’ll burst out of his chest if he doesn’t, and he gets to want Cas to hold him, as they fly, and -

Goddammit, he gets Cas. 

And that’s a happy ending, if Dean Winchester’s ever dreamed of one. 

[lyssismagical]

it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back

Febuwhump Day 21-24  – Lethal & Drown & Unwanted & Abandoned

Read on AO3

*

Tony woke to the same damp old cave he’d woken up in last time. Except one thing is different.

There’s a boy, no older than sixteen years old, chained up in an identical wooden chair across from him. The boy is unconscious, curly hair falling in front of his eyes, head resting against his own chest.

A boy.

Not a man. Not an adult. Just a child.

In a cave, somewhere in Afghanistan with crazy terrorists who’ve already done open-heart surgery on Tony without anesthetics. Who knows what they would do, or have already done, to the boy across from him.

“Hey!” Tony says, too scared to lift his voice too high in case they come back for him, but the fear that this boy is hurt runs just a little deeper than the fear of the terrorists. “C’mon, kid, wake up.”

The boy groans, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists, standing out against the rusted metal of his thick handcuffs.

“Five more minutes?”

“Open your fucking eyes, kid, and let me know if you really want another five minutes here,” Tony snaps. He doesn’t know why, but his wrists aren’t cuffed. He’s not attached to his chair in any way, other than the fear pinning him in place, and the pain flaring in his chest.

The boy blinks his eyes open, squinting at Tony. His left eye is bruised almost shut, the purple-blue crossing over his nose and splaying out across his opposite cheek. But he doesn’t pay it any attention as he looks at the bandages on Tony’s chest.

“Sorry bout your heart,” the boy offers, shrugging. His bambi-brown eyes trace up to Tony’s face, taking in the obvious fear and worry. “They’re not coming back for you. Not to hurt you, at least. They’re going to ask you to build one of your missiles.”

“How do you know that?” Tony refrains from trying to find a way to get the boy out of his chains.

“Been here for a little longer than a few months, now. I know a lot about their plans and desires. You being hurt wasn’t part of the plan. They wanted you in peak condition, actually.”

Tony’s jaw drops, eyes widening at the thought. Months. In this cave. By himself from what Tony’s aware of.

“You’re just a kid,” Tony says, fingers twitching against the arms of his chair.

“Trust me, I’m well aware of what kids my age should be out doing, but I was never a child, Mister Stark. Never was, never have been, never will be, at this rate,” the boy says, too casually for Tony’s liking. “Anyways, I’m Peter, just so you know. Peter Parker.”

Something about the boy’s face and last name strike Tony, and he blatantly stares for a few moments until it clicks. “Richard Parker.”

Peter winces, fists tightening. “Unfortunately, yeah, that’s my dad. Not quite dad of the year, though, huh?”

Tony thinks back to the last time he saw that name. In the news, probably. Richard Parker died years back, but Tony doesn’t remember ever knowing about a child.

“Yeah,” Peter says. “He had this whole experiment thing going. He wanted to see if he could invent a serum to regenerate limbs and heal even the worst illnesses, or some bullshit. He got it to work for spiders and then he needed a human trial. Guess having a baby with a few too many medical concerns was enough for him.”

Tony’s heart clenches. He knows he’s only known Peter for a few minutes, maybe a half-hour, but fuck he knows Peter doesn’t deserve the cards he was dealt.

“How’d you end up here?” Tony asks.

“He couldn’t handle a messed up kid, I guess. He sent me to a facility where I could get ‘trained’ or some bullshit. This was a job.”

“To get chained up in a cave?”

The boy laughs. Honest to god laughs. “No, my job is to be like their slave or whatever. I can be a translator. I can help you do what they need you to do. People pay a lot of money for enhanced kids if you could believe it.”

Tony doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t want to think about this child being turned into a slave because of somebody else’s mistake.

“Can you get us out of here?” Tony asks because he supposes he has to know.

But Peter just laughs again like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Don’t you think we’d already be long gone if I could get out? Vibranium cuffs, strongest metal there is.”

The chains clink as Peter lifts his hands, just a few inches away from the chair. There’s the same sort of metal wrapped around his waist, and more around his ankles.

With his hands lifted, Tony sees the dark red stain covering Peter’s grey long sleeve.

“Fuck, what happened?”

Peter looks down like he hadn’t noticed it before and then he shrugs. “Disobeying, probably. I tried to tell them to give you something for the pain. I tried to convince them to take you to a better doctor. They don’t really like it when I try to contradict them.”

Tony wants to ask if he’s okay, wants to demand that Peter never do something like that again, wants to tell the kid that everything will be okay.

But nothing comes out.

And judging by the easy shrug the kid gives him again, and the sad look in his eye when they flicker over Tony’s bandaged chest, Tony won’t be able to keep the kid from being selfless.

Instead, he settles for a quiet, “God, kid.”

And the kid, hands shaking and eyes haunted, nods in agreement.

*

Tony cries out when the men who had entered the room head straight for Peter.

The men block Tony’s view of the kid, crowding around the boy’s chair.

“I’m cooperating!” he hears Peter cry out, before he hears the telltale noise of a hit, echoing in their little cave. “I said I was cooperating!”

Words are spit out in another language, one Tony couldn’t even try to understand, but then Peter’s being tossed onto the ground by Tony’s feet.

Tony reaches for him, never happier to not be chained up, but the men get there quicker, shoving Tony’s hands away and one of them lands a solid kick to Peter’s stomach with their thick boots.

“They want you to build a Jericho missile,” Peter coughs out, rolling up onto his knees even as he gets kicked again, making his movements weaker and uncoordinated.

“A missile?” Tony repeats stupidly, not knowing how to help as Peter goes sprawling back on the ground, a relentless storm of kicks following.

Peter cries out, curling up by Tony’s feet, arms around his head.

“I’ll do it!” Tony shouts, lifting his hands only to let them hover uselessly in the air. “I’ll build it! Please, just stop.”

The men take a few steps back, muttering in the same foreign language.

Finally, one of the men steps forward and grabs Peter by the hair, dragging the boy to his knees and telling him something.

There’s blood staining Peter’s mouth and dirt caking every inch of his body, but he still meets the man’s eye and nods.

A disgusting smile creeps onto the man’s face and he lets Peter fall back to the dirt without warning, turning to his men gleefully.

One man steps forward and clasps a thick band of metal around the kid’s neck, undoing the rest of the chains.

The kid doesn’t make any noises, staying still and quiet like he’s finally decided to stay out of harm’s way.

The first man grabs Peter by the hair again, lifting him to his knees and Peter doesn’t fight it, keeping his eyes downcast, jaw clenched.

As the man speaks, Peter translates to Tony.

“They want a list of the things you need to build the missile. They want you to start making it now, the only chance you’ll have of being set free is if you do what they ask.”

Tony knows what that means, he’ll never be set free. But he can’t stop the question that tumbles from his mouth. “What about you?”

Peter offers a watery smile at that but doesn’t actually acknowledge the answer, continuing to translate to Tony about what they want. And then he translates everything Tony needs to the men, a plan already formulating.

Tony doesn’t know for sure what his grand plan will be, all he knows is that he’s going to get Peter out of here if it’s the last thing he does.

The men finally leave with Tony’s list of equipment, leaving Tony to fall out of his chair to the ground where Peter curls up.

“Hey, hey, buddy, it’s going to be okay, you hear me? It’s going to be okay.”

Peter lifts his head, eyes welling with tears and blood dripping down the side of his head where one of the boots must’ve nailed him, arms wrapped around his stomach, and shakes his head.

“It’s not!” he cries, pressing his face against Tony’s knees. “It’s not going to be okay. You can’t promise me that.”

Smoothing back Peter’s unruly curls, Tony sighs. “I know I can’t promise you much, kiddo, but I promise you that I’m going to find a way out of here.”

And Peter cries, hiding his face away against Tony’s knees on the dirty cave floor, and he cries.

When his head turns, Tony sees the words branded into the metal sitting around Peter’s neck.

Stark Industries.

* “They said they’d hurt you if I disobeyed,” Peter says, offering the can of green beans to Tony. “They said that because I’d gotten too good at taking my own punishments, they’d punish you if I put a toe out of line, and vice versa.”

Tony doesn’t care too much about his own wellbeing. But there’s a spike of fear at the idea that if Tony does something wrong, it’ll be Peter getting punished for it.

“Stop it,” Peter says, rubbing his hands together to try to retain some warmth. “I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t give a shit if I get hurt for you. I’ve been dealing with this for as long as I can remember. I need you to keep doing things out of line because you made me a promise.”

“I’m not letting you get hurt, kid.” Tony shakes his head, passing the green beans back to Peter. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

Peter rolls his eyes, not accepting the can. “Sorry but you promised me you’re going to get us out of here. So if you’re following through with that deal, I need you to do some things out of line. Ends justify the means and all that bullshit.”

It’s a solid point. How is Tony supposed to get them out of here if he follows all the rules to the exact? As much as he doesn’t want the kid to get hurt, when he gets Peter home, he’ll be able to fix him up.

The cave gets dark as they finish up their beans, wordlessly curling up on the small cot together. Tony wraps his arms around the boy, hoping that he can protect Peter better if anybody comes back, but also for the little bit of comfort it provides the two of them in the cold cave.

There’s a part of him that’s revolted by the closeness, the vulnerability of being here with a stranger, but that stranger is a child, one that Tony would already protect with everything he has. Everything that’s led up to this moment, every war profit and weapon, every drunken night spent with nameless faces, none of it matters.

All that matters is getting Peter out of here.

“You know,” Peter murmurs, jolting Tony out of his thoughts. He can’t even make out the kid’s face in the darkness. “I won’t have anywhere to go when you get me out, if you get me out. I don’t have a family waiting for me on the other side of all this. The only people who were supposed to be my family are the people who got me into this in the first place. I’m not like you, Mister Stark.”

“Trust me, kid, I don’t have anybody waiting for me either.”

Peter shakes his head, the movement visible in the darkness. “No, I’ve seen the news, Mister Stark. You’ve got Miss Potts, you’ve got Mister Hogan and Mister Rhodes. You’ve got the entire world caring about what’s happened to you. I’ve got… I’ve got nobody.”

Tony wants to argue, wants to say that Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey are probably glad Tony’s gone. That after all the shit he put them through, they’ll be thriving without him. But that’s not the part that matters.

Instead, he presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, the way he remembers his mom did for him after nightmares, and murmurs, “You’ve got me now, kid.”

* The men deliver the things that Tony asked for, and the work begins.

Peter, it turns out, is a genius.

He says it’s because he didn’t do much in the facilities he was kept at other than learn. He used to build shitty electronics out of things he found in dumpsters, and he was allowed to go to the library to check out books whenever he pleased so long as he stayed out of the public eye and used a fake name.

So, the ideas start pouring from them, creating blueprints and diagrams for a suit. A superhero suit out of the metal they were given for the missile.

They had to keep it a secret, they had to be extra careful about what the camera saw, and the days were passing, turning into weeks that they’d been there from what Tony could tell.

Tony got hurt a few times. A few awful times where they shoved his head underwater until he thought he would die. But it was only a few times. Peter was always extra careful that if either of them got blamed, it would be Tony, so Peter would get hurt for it.

And Peter got hurt a lot. Too much.

He would be dragged out of the room by the thick metal cuff around his neck, a shock collar Tony learned the hard way, and he’d be tossed back into the cave, sopping wet and shaking, most of the time unconscious.

There was nothing Tony could do.

Nothing.

All he could do was hold Peter close when he fell into the room and hope like hope was enough.

* The men don’t drag Peter out one of the days, they instead handcuff Tony to the cot and carelessly toss Peter to the dirty floor.

Tony doesn’t understand any of the words they spit in Peter’s direction, but the way the kid flinches and cries at the words, Tony gets the gist of it. Even if he didn’t, it’s easy to understand what they’re implying by the way they hit Peter.

“Please,” Peter begs, curling up on the floor, crying out as a boot hits him in the stomach. “Please, I can’t- I can’t-”

Peter’s words get garbled by the noises of the men shouting, and it takes a moment for Tony to understand.

Peter isn’t begging them to stop. He’s begging them to take him out so Tony doesn’t have to see.

And Tony can’t say anything or else it could count as disobeying, and Peter gets hurt for Tony’s mistakes. He doesn’t even know what his mistake was this time.

“No, please!” Peter begs, curling up tighter on the ground. One of the men grabs his arm and drags him up just enough to produce a syringe and plunge it into his arm.

The syringe has Stark Industries branded on the side.

“That’s lethal,” one of the men say, dropping Peter to the floor who writhes and sobs.

They hit him a few more times and then turn to Tony, saying something in another language. When Peter doesn’t say anything, they kick him in the back.

“They- They think you’re not follow- following the rules,” Peter says, voice shaking almost as bad as his hands as he tries to get them underneath him.

“Fuck them,” Tony says. “Fuck this.”

Peter shakes his head, tears dripping onto the dirt. “Mister Stark-”

“Tell them I’m making the missile like they asked, it just takes time. We just need time.”

Peter chokes out the translation to the men, coughing blood up onto the ground.

“It’s not- They said we have to hurry, Mister Stark. They said- They said we’re running out of time. Please, you’ve gotta- please, I can’t- It hurts, Mister Stark, please- I can’t-”

Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the scream that tears through the air, Peter’s body convulsing before he falls to the ground, eyes closed, breathing heavy and erratic.

They shocked him.

They drugged him and they hit him and shocked him.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Tony shouts, voice breaking. “I’m going to kill every single one of you for this!”

Peter gets kicked a few more times for the threats. And guilt rushes over Tony like a tidal wave. He tugs at the handcuffs, desperate to just hold the poor kid.

“Please, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry. Just let me hold him. Please, god, just let me hold him.”

But they don’t. They don’t let Tony out of his cuffs, they don’t move Peter from where he’s curled up on the floor, they don’t say anything.

They walk out.

And all Tony can do is sit and watch Peter’s chest to make sure it keeps rising and falling.

He tells Peter about his mom. He talks about her piano skills and the food she used to cook, about how much she loved his father unconditionally even if his father wasn’t the best. He talks about his father and their rocky relationship, how their death forced him so young to take over Stark Industries.

He talks about Pepper and her no-nonsense mindset. About Happy and despite being the head of security, can’t work technology for the life of him. About Rhodey and how he’s stood by Tony’s side as his best friend for decades, without fail, Rhodey’s always there. (He doesn’t bother saying that Rhodey’s not here now when Tony needs him most.)

He talks until his voice is raw and hoarse, until the fire dies across the room, until his eyelids are drooping.

And then Peter moans in pain.

“Mister Stark?” he calls out before he even opens his eyes.

“Yeah, buddy, I’m right here, I promise.”

It doesn’t soothe the boy like he was hoping, instead his bottom lip begins to tremble, and he lifts his shaking hands out in Tony’s direction.

A simple request.

Peter wants to be held.

“I can’t, kiddo. I’m all chained up over here. I can’t get to you,” Tony says, rattling his chains for effect. “You’re not chained up, though. You can come get to me.”

And the kid, he cries.

“Mister Stark.”

“I’m here, kid. I’m here, you’ve got me. Don’t cry, I hate it when you cry,” Tony says, surprising himself at how much he genuinely has grown to care for the kid over the past few weeks.

“Mister Stark.”

Tears spring to Tony’s eyes as well hearing the kid sound so broken. “I’m right here, kiddo. I’m right here. It’s going to be okay. I promised you, remember?”

Peter’s face crumbles. “Mister Stark, they’re coming back. They’re- They’re coming back. I’m- I can’t do it again. Please, I can’t- It hurts so bad, Mister Stark, please, I can’t-”

Lethal, echoes in his head. All he wants is to hold Peter.

The door slams open again, the same men filing into the room, this time, a bucket of water held between a few of them.

They’ve both been through this song and dance before.

“No!” Tony cries out, pulling at his restraints. “No! Don’t fucking touch him!”

Peter sobs, trying in vain to escape the hands reaching out for him, but he’s weak, drugs coursing through his body and beaten within an inch of his life.

There’s nothing he can do.

There’s nothing Tony can do.

Later, long after Peter wakes up after passing out from the waterboarding, Peter crawls over to Tony, rips the cuffs away from his wrists, and they hold each other close and cry.

And Peter lives. Like he always does. And he doesn’t stop taking all of the hits for both of them.

The next day, Peter’s too hurt to leave the cot.

He curls up in a little ball, low whines escaping his throat when he can’t help it, body trembling miserably.

It didn’t help that they waterboarded him in cold water. It made the shivering relentless.

And after the first time, Tony learned that Peter couldn’t thermoregulate.

“You okay, bud?” Tony asks quietly, kneeling beside the cot to push back Peter’s curls, nearly flinching at the heat radiating from the kid’s forehead. Fever, of course.

Peter’s hazy eyes slowly meet Tony’s, empty and haunted. “M’okay.”

It’s a blatant lie, but Tony doesn’t bother pointing it okay. “Okay, buddy. I’m going to get some work done, alright? But you stay right here and rest, and you let me know if you need anything, alright?”

Tony tugs the thin blanket around Peter’s shoulders, gently tucking him in.

“Okay,” Peter whispers, voice hoarse and broken. “Be careful.”

Tony isn’t sure whether he means that Tony should be careful and not get caught doing bad things so Peter doesn’t get hurt again, or if he means to be careful because he’s scared he won’t be able to protect Tony himself.

Either way, Tony nods and offers a weak smile. “Soon, kiddo, soon, I promise.”

It’s not enough. Soon would never be enough. Peter shouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.

Peter just nods once, curling up a little tighter as his small shoulders tremble.

He’s going to get Peter out of here. Get the kid back to the tower to get some needed medical attention, give him a real bed, a real room, a real home. He had to.

So, he forces himself to cross the room, leaving Peter alone in the cot, looking small and young, and makes himself focus on the task at hand.

He was going to get Peter home.

No matter what.

  * Three fucking months.

Three godawful, scarring, life-changing months that they spend in the cave, working relentlessly on their project.

But it’s finally complete and their plan is in action to get them out of here.

“You ready, bud?” Tony asks softly, cupping the boy’s face. He never thought he’d be the parental type, never thought he’d be a good person for anybody to idolize, but he’s all that Peter has and he has to be enough.

Peter’s eyes are wide and glassy, but there’s a strong determination shining within him as he offers a grim smile.

“Always, of course. Let’s get this show on the road.”

And their plan commences.

Everything works according to plan. The suit, the bomb explosion, it goes well.

But then the panic is showing in Peter’s eyes, fear blazing through the determination. “We don’t have enough time.”

Tony frowns down at the suit encasing his body, holding him to the wall, and the loading bar filling too slowly, and the sound of feet and guns approaching quickly.

Peter’s face falls and his eyes are teary as he leans his head against Tony’s chest, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, taking a step back and schooling his face into bravery. “I’m going to buy you some time. Follow the plan.”

“No!” Tony shouts, trying in vain to get his arms off the wall, to stop Peter from making this mistake, but there’s nothing he can do but watch as Peter races off down the hallway, grabbing a gun off one of the men who got taken down by the explosion.

There’s nothing Tony can do but follow the plan and just hope he’ll find Peter on the other side of it all.

So he rips himself off the wall, guns blazing and starts off through the twisting cave.

There are no problems as Tony makes his way through the memorized plan, carelessly killing anybody that crosses his path.

These were the people who hurt Peter, he doesn’t give a shit about them.

The light is blinding when he reaches the entrance to the cave, freezing in his steps when he sees the kid.

“Peter,” Tony breathes, pushing the mask off his face and falling to his knees next to the boy sprawled on the ground.

Peter has the audacity to grin up at Tony, fumbling fingers grabbing his arm. “Did I do a good job?”

Tony chokes out a sob, gently cupping Peter’s face. “You did wonderful, buddy. Now we’ve gotta get you out of here, okay? We’ve gotta get you home.”

“Don’t have a home, Mis’er S’ark.”

“No, kiddo, you have a home now. Told you, you couldn’t get rid of me that easily, huh?” Tony says, shaking his head. “I’ll be back for you, okay? I promise.”

Peter nods like he doesn’t believe it and Tony can’t help but to think of Peter when he was a baby, imagining chubby cheeks and a gummy smile and the biggest bambi-brown eyes, being left behind by his father, never to see him again.

Tony can’t help but to think about Peter growing up asking where his parents were, what happened to them, why they never came back for him.

And now he’s being told to wait, by himself, again. Tony can’t help but to think about all the broken promises, to the point where Peter won’t even dare to believe this one.

“I’ll be right back, buddy. Got to make sure it’s safe before I take you anywhere, okay? I’ll be back before you know it, just keep your eyes open, alright?”

Peter nods again, and lets his hand fall from Tony’s arms, offering a watery smile.

Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s head before he turns towards the opening of the cave to get them to safety.

* Tony scoops Peter into his arms without preamble, tucking Peter close to his chest and hoping the metal isn’t too hot against the kid’s skin, it doesn’t help that Tony’s already torched the place and they’ll need to fly through it.

“Got you, kiddo, I’ve got you, just like I promised,” Tony murmurs, taking off towards the sky.

They did it, they’re out of that godawful cave, and Peter is tucked in his arms.

The sky is close enough to touch, heat falling beneath them, and they shoot out of the little village towards the sandy ravines.

Tony keeps Peter close, even as the boots run out of fuel and they finish their arc towards the sand too fast.

Flipping in the air, Tony keeps Peter cradled on his chest and hits the sand on his back. He loses grip of Peter as soon as they hit the ground, the momentum throwing them through the sand.

For a moment, his vision whites out.

And then he’s fumbling to rip the metal off him and stumble through the sand towards Peter’s body.

He can hear a helicopter somewhere overhead and he’s reminded that it’s been three months since he got taken (sixteen fucking years since Peter was) but people were still searching for him. Despite the helicopter, Tony doesn’t bother trying to wave it down. Instead, he heads straight for Peter.

“C’mon, buddy, not the time to sleep just yet. Wake on up, kid, I still need you,” Tony says, carefully drawing Peter into his chest.

There’s blood. A lot of it. Staining the front of the kid’s shirt, but it’s almost always stained with blood, so Tony doesn’t find himself as worried about it. He’s more worried about the rattling breaths Peter’s taking in and the way his ice-blue lips are smeared with blood, despite the heat pounding down on them.

“C’mon, kiddo, I promised you I was going to get you out of there and home. I’ve grown attached to someone for the first time in like a decade, so it would be cruel of you to just ditch me now.”

Peter’s eyes blink open at him, squinting under the sunlight. A lazy smile touches his face and his muscles relax.

“Missed the sun,” he says, voice slurring and hoarse. “Thank you, Mister Stark.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid. I’m getting you to the best doctors in the world and then I’m showing you to your new home, just like I promised.”

Peter’s trembling fingers curl into Tony’s shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I don’t wanna die, Mister Stark. Please, I can’t- I can’t die, please-”

“It’s okay, kid. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

There’s pounding footsteps heading towards them and all Tony can think is he needs to protect Peter, so he wraps his arms tight around Peter who trembles in his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Tony snarls protectively, cupping the back of the kid’s neck and holding his head against the crook of his neck.

“Tony, it’s just me, man. It’s okay.”

Gripping Peter tighter, Tony looks up to find-

“Rhodey?” Tony sobs, hanging onto Peter. He can’t even imagine how wrecked they both look, crying in the sand. “Rhodey, fuck, the kid- he needs help. He needs- Fuck, you’ve gotta-”

“Let’s you guys home, alright? It’s going to be okay. You have to trust me though.”

Rhodey looks like he’s going to take Peter from him, arms outstretched, and the kid cowers, crying out in fear.

“Don’t touch him, please, fuck, don’t- I’ve got him, okay? I’ve got him,” Tony says, clutching the kid closer.

Lifting his hands in surrender, Rhodey takes a couple of steps back from them, watching as Tony scoops Peter into his arms, cradling him against his chest as he had before.

Peter hides his head against the crook of Tony’s neck, burning forehead pressing against Tony’s skin, shaking in his arms, tears spilling over his shirt.

“I’ve got you, kiddo, I’ve got you,” Tony murmurs, stumbling forwards. Rhodey gets a good grip on his upper arm and helps haul them towards the helicopter.

“Mister Stark,” Peter whines quietly. “I- I-”

Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, ignoring the strange look Rhodey sends him. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Remember, I promised you.”

There’s nothing much Tony can do but spew reassurances like they can fix this.

There’s nothing he can do but hold his kid close and hope like hope means anything.

* As soon as Tony’s cleared in medical, aside from things like starvation and dehydration and sleep-deprivation, among the whole heart surgery thing, plus some pretty nasty burns from the suit, Tony begs everyone he sees to take him to Peter.

He doesn’t care if he looks like a pathetic version of The Tony Stark. He doesn’t care if he looks like a wreck.

All he wants is to hold his kid.

Is that too much to ask?

Thankfully, Pepper arrives to medical pretty quickly, despite everything.

“I need to see Peter,” Tony says before everything else. He doesn’t give a shit about himself or about the company or about the media. “I need- Pepper, I need to see him.”

Pepper sits at the edge of his bed, gently resting her hand on his ankle. “What you need to do is calm down, Tony. Peter’s still in surgery. He’s going to be okay, but you can’t see him just yet.”

“Tears for your long lost boss?” Tony says because he just wants to pretend like he doesn’t feel like somebody scooped his chest clean.

Pepper lets out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I hate job hunting.”

“I can’t make weapons anymore,” Tony says. “You can’t talk me out of it. The people there, they- I can’t do it.”

“Okay,” Pepper says like she gets it, like she understands. “We’ll figure it all out later, okay? For now, I want you to rest.”

Tony shakes his head, awkwardly shoving the blankets off his legs with his left arm in a sling. “No, you don’t understand, I need all production of weapons to be frozen. I need all the exports to be stopped. I need every piece of weaponry with my name on it to be taken back and destroyed. I need you to- to fix this. I’ve made too many mistakes and I need to fix it, Pep.”

Pepper’s hand is soft and cold against his cheek, carefully cradling his face. “Of course, Tony, right away. Do you want to talk about it?”

“They hurt the kid with my weapons, Pep. They- They used my weapons to kill innocent people. My weapons hurt my kid. I can’t- I can’t have them falling into the wrong hands anymore.”

The smile that touches Pepper’s face is proud, proud of Tony, which isn’t something Tony thought he’d ever see. “Your kid?”

Tony’s eyes flicker down to the bed, looking everywhere but at Pepper. “I’m not going to let him down. Not now.”

“It’s a good look on you, Tony. This whole caring thing you’ve got going for you, it’s nice to see. Despite everything, I’m glad Peter has you.”

They lapse into silence, Pepper’s eyes on him but he doesn’t look up.

Eventually, Pepper pats his leg once more and stands from the bed. “Get some rest, Tony. You deserve it. I’ll figure the company out.”

“Send me any updates through JARVIS, alright? I want every weapon recalled immediately.”

“I’ll make it my top priority, Tony.” She stops at the door, eyes glancing down at his bare chest, arc reactor glowing brightly. “He’ll be okay, you know that, right?”

Tony forces himself to nod. “If possible, could you get Happy to make up the guest bedroom next to mine? Properly set up for a teenage boy?”

Pepper nods, hesitates like she wants to ask him something, but decides better of it and ducks out of the room.

After the past three months in the cave, barely hours apart from the kid, Tony can’t sleep by himself. He’s used to curling up in the small cot with Peter, holding him tight to try to stop the relentless shivering.

Now, he’s expected to rest when he hasn’t even seen Peter in who knows how long. He’s expected to be okay with leaving Peter alone with strangers while he does nothing.

He’s spent too long hoping, and now they’ve got it, but it isn’t enough. It won’t feel like he’s safe until he gets Peter in his arms. It won’t feel like he’s made it out of the cave until he’s allowed to speak freely and rest easy, holding his kid in their home.

He hates feeling useless and like there’s nothing he can do. He’s felt like that for three months and he’s sick of it.

But there’s still lingering fear that if he steps out of line, Peter will be hurt for it.

So he keeps his mouth shut and lays still in the hospital bed.

* “Knock, knock.”

Pepper pushes the door open and steps into his room.

It’s been at least six hours since she left, but Tony’s refused to sleep or move from his bed.

“Is Peter okay?”

She offers a soft smile and sits at the end of his bed again. She looks pretty, dressed professionally and well-rested. “He’s still asleep, but you’re allowed over. But first, I figured you’d like to know I have all of our employees working on recalling all of the weapons and all production has been frozen for the time being.”

All the worry rushes out of his body at once. “I can go see him?”

Pepper holds out her hand to him. “Yeah, come on.”

She leads him out of his hospital room and down the hall to another door. She pushes it open to reveal Peter lying in his own identical hospital bed. He has an oxygen mask and a heart monitor and plenty of needles and IV’s.

“He doesn’t like needles,” Tony says. He remembers Peter getting drugged back in that cave and his stomach clenches. “Is he- He looks so pale, Pepper, is he-”

“He’s okay, Tony,” Pepper murmurs, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders and leading him to the chair beside the bed. “He lost quite a bit of blood but he’s on the mend.”

Tony lets go of Pepper’s hand to hold Peter’s, gently squeezing his cold hand. “He can’t thermoregulate. Would you- Would you turn up the heat?”

Pepper does as asked, barely taking her eyes of Tony as she does. “He’s going to be okay, Tony, you don’t need to worry.”

Shaking his head, Tony murmurs a quiet, I know, before tuning her out, focusing solely on the beeping heart monitor.

Pepper leaves him not long later, murmuring something about checking on the progress of his requests, but he doesn’t care. He only cares about Peter’s cold hand in his.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Peter peeks one of his eyes open. “Mister Stark?”

“You’re a little shit, you know that? I hate you,” Tony says, making sure to throw as much sarcasm and relief into his voice. “They took you to surgery, you realize, for injuries you never bothered to tell me about.”

Peter shrugs, sitting up in bed despite Tony’s protests, and pulling his oxygen mask down so it hands around his neck. “My bad? I heal quick, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” Tony repeats incredulously, grip tightening on Peter’s hand. “Do you have any idea how long your list of injuries is?”

“I was in Afghanistan for seven months, Tony. There was a lot that happened before you were there anyways.” Peter shakes his head, blinking the haunted look out of his eyes, and grinning. “Either way, I feel wonderful but absolutely famished if you’ve got some food around here.”

“If I have food?” The teasing joke dies in his throat though. Even if Tony’s always had food, will always have food stocking his kitchen a few floors up, Tony can’t even imagine how unstable even basic necessities are for Peter.

Peter shrugs again, looking at Tony expectantly.

“Let’s get you cleared by a doctor first, I’m not about to let you wander about without permission.”

Tony hits the button for the doctor to come and looks at Peter with a squinted expression. “I’m guessing you have questions?”

“Where are we? Please don’t say New York. And what the fuck? And also, who was just in here?”

Tony can’t help but to laugh and with the way Peter looks up at him with a wide-eyed expression, Tony wonders if he’s ever done that around the kid. “You’re in California, right now. My Malibu Mansion. And Pepper was in here, my assistant.”

“Like Barbie?”

Before Tony can say anything, Cho walks into the room, sporting a professional smile.

“Hello, Mister Stark, nice to see you looking a little better, as you, Mister Parker,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

The nonchalant, confident Peter from seconds ago seems to have disappeared leaving an anxious shell. His fingers shift restlessly and his mouth is set in a firm line, eyes focused on the floor.

“I’m fine.”

Tony nudges Peter’s arm. “You have to be honest with the doctor, kiddo, she’s just here to help.”

The kid’s eyes flicker to Tony before falling back to the ground. Quietly, almost too quietly for Tony to pick up on, he asks, “You promise?”

“I promise, buddy. Miss Cho just wants to get you back on your feet, just like I do, I trust her.”

Peter sniffles, chewing on his bottom lip. “My chest hurts and my stomach.”

Had Tony been the first person Peter allowed himself to trust? That kind of pressure is almost too much for Tony to handle, squeezing Peter’s hand in his. He doesn’t know how to be that person for the kid. All he knows for sure is that he cares and that he needs the kid to be okay, to feel safe, to have a home in Tony, and he knows that’ll be enough to guide him through the motions.

“That’s to be expected,” Cho says, voice gentler than before and she purposefully moves her hands to her hips so they’re both visible and weaponless. “You had quite a few ribs that were broken and healed improperly. You had a punctured lung when you got here, though it was pretty new. And we used medicines for enhanced people which comes with some side-effects like stomach pain.”

“Yikes,” Peter manages, letting out a choked laugh. “That sucks.”

And Cho smiles, nodding. “Yeah, it does. But we expect a full recovery within a few days with your healing.”

“Could I show him around? Get him some food upstairs?” Tony asks, squeezing Peter’s hand again, smiling when he gets a squeeze back.

“Yeah. I think I’d like to see him again tonight, especially if the chest pain persists, but as long as he takes it easy and rests, I think he’ll be alright to go.”

So Tony takes Peter’s hand, helps him out of the bed and leads him all the way up to the top floor of the mansion, without letting him go.

“You want something to eat?” Tony offers, leading him to the kitchen that Pepper kept well stocked. He wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed on his floor while he was gone. “A sandwich?”

Peter’s face pinches like the idea of a sandwich makes him uncomfortable. “I, uh, I could just go for a can of green beans, honestly.”

“I’m not-” Tony cuts himself off and wonders if this is too big of a jump for the poor kid. Seven months living off gross food in a can, probably long passed the expiry date, in a damp cold cave, all the way to living in a luxurious mansion.

“I, uh, I don’t mind. Whatever works. I just- I don’t know, this is a lot,” Peter says apprehensively. “A little overwhelming.”

Tony can’t physically give him a can of green beans. He can’t do it, but he can do regular fresh green beans and hope it’ll be okay.

“I don’t know if I ever told you, but I, uh, my mom was Mary Parker, well Fitzpatrick. And believe it or not, she was amazing. She loved me so much. I remember she used to make sandwiches for my dad to take to work with him. She used to hang out with me all day while he was working. She would always tease him for wanting the crusts cut off his sandwiches,” Peter explains quietly over his green beans.

Tony can’t help but notice that Peter doesn’t even try to pick up the fork left for him.

It was the same kind of thing for Tony, though. His mom was amazing, loved Tony unconditionally, but she also loved Howard unconditionally despite his devotion to work that took away from them.

“Yeah?”

Peter’s eyes flicker up to Tony. “Yeah. But in the end, she didn’t put up a fight when my dad took me away. She just kissed my forehead and said goodbye like she couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“Nobody’s taking you from me,” Tony says. He doesn’t know if that’s what Peter’s hinting at, but he needs the kid to understand it anyways. “I will fight tooth and nail if anybody tries to take you from me. I’m not letting you go, ever.”

And Peter’s shoulders droop, blinking a few times. “Yeah, of course, yeah. I know. I just- I don’t know. This is really new to me.”

Tony offers a reassuring smile. “It’s new to me too, don’t worry, but I know for sure that you can’t rid of me anymore. You’ve got me on your side. No matter what.”

Nodding, Peter finishes off his green beans and offers a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for this one, kid… I’ve also decided to stop all weapon production. Pepper’s recalling everything, making sure none get made from us anymore. I should’ve realized how much harm they were doing earlier-”

“Yeah, of course, that’s good,” Peter says, cutting him off. He looks paler than he had seconds earlier and Tony realizes Peter probably doesn’t want to hear about weaponry this soon after their rescue. “Could I actually lay down for a bit? You heard Miss Cho, gotta get my beauty sleep.”

Tony shows Peter to his bedroom, making a mental note to thank Happy for the very quick work he did in fixing up the bedroom right beside Tony’s.

“Get some rest, kid. Let me know if you need anything, alright? I’m just next door,” Tony murmurs. He pauses at the doorway, hand hovering over the lightswitch.

“Could you, uh, could you just leave it on?” Peter asks, letting out a nervous laugh. “I’d rather not be in the dark anymore, you know?”

“Course, kid, yeah.”

Peter nods a few times, sitting on the edge of his new bed. “Night, Mister Stark.”

Later, Tony will realize that as soon as he closes the door beside him, Peter races into the connecting bathroom to throw up and talk himself out of a panic attack before bed.

Later, he’ll realize Peter moves the pillow and a few blankets onto the floor because he doesn’t feel comfortable on the soft mattress after seven months on the godawful cot.

Later, he’ll learn that Peter curls up in a tight ball and cries himself to sleep.

But for the moment, Tony just turns and closes the door, unable to offer any help if Peter doesn’t want it. He just hopes Peter will come to him if he needs it.

* Tony jerks awake at the sound of his door opening. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he supposes even he has to sleep at some point.

He’s reaching for his nightstand, for some weapon, when the light spills in to reveal Peter standing there.

The kid is crying quietly, shuffling on his feet like he can’t make up his mind, and then he’s scurrying into the room on almost silent feet.

“Kid?” Tony murmurs, slowly lifting up in bed to squint at the kid who jumps at his voice.

“Mister Stark,” Peter cries, hands lifting out towards him. A child asking to be held. “Can’t- I can’t sleep alone, I can’t-”

Tony shushes him gently, silently lifting his blankets.

The kid crawls into the bed without a second thought, curling up against Tony’s side like they’re still sleeping on the tiny cot. He hides his face in Tony’s shirt, nearly cutting his cheek on the edge of the arc reactor, crying into the fabric.

“I- I dreamt I was drowning and I- I couldn’t get to you and I tried- I tried so hard, Mister Stark, but I couldn’t- I couldn’t-”

Tony gently smooths back Peter’s curls, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’re okay, kiddo. I’ve got you. We’re safe now, we’re out of there. We’re safe, I promise.”

“I just wanted my nigh’light,” Peter admits through his hiccuping sobs, shaking fingers tapping on the glowing arc reactor. “I- I- I woke up and I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here, bambi, I’ve got you.” Tony wraps an arm tightly around Peter’s waist, holding him close.

Tony keeps up a litany of reassurances and soothing words until Peter’s trembling ceases and his tears slow, knowing that they’re safe now so the words are what matters, not just another way to get them through the pain.

“Get some rest, kiddo, I’ve got you, I’m here,” Tony murmurs, kissing his forehead again.

“They’re not- They’re not coming back?”

Rage flashes through Tony’s chest and he silently swears he’ll kill every single person who hurt Peter with his bare hands. For now, he soothes Peter’s fears softly. “No, you’re safe now. I’m going to protect you, kid, I’ve got you.”

“You won’t- You won’t send me away?”

“You’re my kid now, Peter, nothing’s going to take us away from each other, okay? I promise and I don’t break my promises, do I?”

Peter giggles through the leftover tears, his laughter like the sun finally peeking through the clouds after a storm. “No, you don’t.”

“See? I promise you, it’s going to be me and you now, and I’m going to keep you safe.”

Peter finally relaxes, eventually slipping back to sleep in Tony’s arms.

And it’s not okay, they’re still pretty far from it, but for now, it’s enough. It’s enough to hold each other close and rest.

Later, there will be a lot to deal with, a lot to work through, the longest list of trauma to face, but as long as they have each other, there’s nothing they can’t do.

[proxylynn]

Underfell: File Name not Edgy Enough #27

Chapter 27: Burden

WARNING: I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. THAT BEING SAID, THIS IS HOW FILE NAME NOT FOUND WOULD FUNCTION IN THE AU OF UNDERFELL. BEFORE YOU READ THIS, UNLIKE THE NICE TIME OF UNDERTALE, THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED. THIS STORY WILL BE GRAPHIC, GORY, USE SWEARS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, AND DEAL WITH SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTERS. FOR EXAMPLE, THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE READ THE FILE NAME RELOCATED SPOOF WILL KNOW HOW I PICTURE THIS VERSION OF LYNSIE COMING TO THE UNDERGROUND. IT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING DUMB. IT IS BECAUSE SHE CHOOSES TO END HER LIFE. SO TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. I MADE IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO LET SOME OF THIS EDGINESS OUT OF MYSELF. WHICH I GUESS MAKES UNDERFELL LYNSIE EVEN MORE TRUE TO WHO I REALLY AM. ANYWAY, ENJOY. ^_^

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

[A quick recap]

My melancholy blinds me to my current surroundings. I only come out of it once a spotlight hits me.

"The hell...?"

Things look funny. No doubt it's a setup by Mettaton. But I'm unsure what this act is. I mean, it looks like a receptionist's waiting room. A desk and some random chairs.

"GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTS...!"

Mettaton zips in wearing a red suit and shoves me in a chair as he takes center stage.

"FIRST AND FOREMOST, WE HERE AT MTTTV WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE LACK OF ME OVER THE COURSE OF THE PROGRAM. DUE TO THE LACK PREP WORK WITH MY COSTAR HERE, WE SADLY HAD TO FORGO A THRILLING ACT BACK IN LEVEL TWO INVOLVING HUNDREDS OF EXPLOSIVES!!"

I so freaking called it. I should let him have his moment...Nah!

"I thought you said that act was shit anyway?"

He extends an arm to cover my mouth.

"FORGIVE HER. SHE'S LOST A LOT OF BLOOD AND NOT ALL THERE MENTALLY."

I leer at him flatly.

"BUT...DARLING HERE IS GOING TO MAKE AMENDS WITH US ALL RIGHT NOW. IT'S TIME TO ANSWER SOME BURNING QUESTIONS."

I'm so confused as he lets go and leaps onto the desk, posing dramatically.

"IT'S TIME FOR..."

A large neon sign shaped like him drops from the ceiling.

"BURNING THE MIDNIGHT OIL WITH A KILLER ROBOT! THE LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOSTED BY YOURS TRULY."

Huh. Not a bad title.

"I thought you were working on a courtroom trial program?"

He scoots to now sit behind the desk.

"UNFORTUNATELY, WHILE I DO HAVE THE FUNDS, I DON'T HAVE AVAILABLE WORKERS TO MAKE SUCH A SET. SO...WE'RE DOING THIS INSTEAD."

"Heh...Must be hard to meet your expectations."

"DARLING, YOU HAVE NO IDEA."

A tense dramatic score plays.

"SO, DARLING...ARE YOU READY TO TELL ME EVERYTHING?"

Ah. I see now. Fine, Metta, have it your way. Just be careful what you wish for. You may not like it. Now don't get me wrong. I know my limits. I'm not about to tell him EVERYTHING. I'm not that stupid. But if he wants truth, he's going to get a version that's missing some characters and other junk.

"As you wish. You wanna know the truth? You want to scar the entire Underground? Sure. Why not. What else do I have to lose at this point since you exposed me? So congratulations! I hope you like the prize you've been longing to get. Because I sure as hell don't."

Let the show commence.

[Now our featured presentation]

"RIIIIGHT...ANYWAY...WHY NOT INTRODUCE YOURSELF. LET THE UNDERGROUND KNOW JUST A BIT ABOUT YOU."

I wave with a stupid grin to where I think a camera is.

"Howdy, monsters of the Underground. My name is Lynsie. Last I checked, I'm 5'8'', twenty eights years old, born November 7th, am a Scorpio, blood type A+, and enjoy long naps by the beach."

Am I introducing myself or recording a dumb dating profile video?

Mettaton whips out some cards from his desk.

"REALLY? YOU'RE THAT OLD? HUH."

"Yeah. Why?"

"YOU LOOK OLDER THAN THAT."

I sneer.

"It's the raccoon eyes. Insomnia is a hell of a slap to the face."

"THAT ASIDE...HOW ARE YOU FEELING? YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH A LOT SINCE THIS PROGRAM STARTED."

"I'm grateful to have this reprieve. It's nice to not be flung into fight after fight for a moment. I don't like fighting. I'd much rather avoid any conflict if able."

"SUCH A KIND GIRL. ARE ALL HUMANS THESE DAYS LIKE YOU?"

I eye him funny.

"WHAT?"

"Do mean 'kind' or 'stupid'? Because every monster has called me a fool for being nice."

"STUPID IS A STRONG WORD. NAIVE IS MORE LIKE IT."

I rumble lowly in my seat.

"But...To answer you properly, no. Not all humans are like me. Or...I'm not like most humans."

"OOOOH~, SUCH AN AMBIGUOUS ANSWER. FINE THEN, IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE LIKE THAT, I'LL HAVE TO BE MORE BLUNT IN MY QUESTIONS. LET'S SEE..."

He flips through some of his cards.

"OH! HERE'S ONE...HOW DID YOU COME TO FIND YOURSELF IN THE UNDERGROUND?"

Blunt? I'll give you blunt.

"Easy. I tried to kill myself."

[SNOWDIN: Skeleton House in present time]

The mood in the room sours as the human continues.

"Yep. You see, Mt. Ebott has a reputation, a legend dating back lord knows how long, that those who climb the mountain never return. This has made it a popular place to die. Not as bad as the literal 'Suicide Forest' of Japan, but it does the job okay."

Mettaton's screen blacks out.

"Don't give me that look. You wanted this. You wanted the truth. So take it. Take the blunt no holds bar truth of the matter. And you know what else? It wasn't the first time either. I can think of at least five other attempts. Each more pathetic than the last. But, if memory serves me right, I do believe my very first try was when I was still so very small. Somewhere around age six to eight. I had learned that apple seeds contain cyanide, a very toxic poison. Of course, there's not a heck of a lot in a single seed, but if you ingest a lot...well...Kid me didn't know how many were needed. Just that it was deadly. As you can see, I didn't have enough and I didn't try that form of suicide again. I don't try the same kind twice. I'm too fearful of messing things up the second time. What if it only partly works and I end up surviving? Heh...Trying to end it all only to live but in even worse condition? The irony would be such a hilarious joke. Then again, that's my life in a nutshell. One big cruel unrelenting joke."

Toriel's eyes water. She knew her child had her demons, but she knew not just how far back they spawned. Mettaton's screen relights.

"I...I WASN'T EXPECTING..."

"Yeah, no one does. No one expects me to be so dark. But what can I say? I do a damn good job hiding it."

"BUT...WHY THOUGH? WHAT WOULD MAKE A CHILD THAT BENT ON KILLING THEMSELVES?"

She takes a deep breath and lounges back in her chair.

"You ever feel guilty for something? Something you have no idea why you should feel that way for but you just do?"

She runs her hands over her face.

"I don't remember why I asked her that question. Maybe I was just morbidly curious. I knew my siblings were unexpected pregnancies. The eldest never came to be, so whether it was a boy or girl is forever unknown. My brother came about in the randomness of my mom hooking up with my dad. She married my dad because, well, she did like him but also so that he wouldn't be deported once his school visa ran out. He and his family escaped their homeland to start a new life...but did so illegally. Even on the surface, there's no true freedom. Four years into the marriage, I was born. Things only seemed to spiral from there. Dad would stay out drinking. Mom would be pissed. Bro and I would hide in my room and try to keep the fighting out. Mom gave up on him, someone else charmed her heart and would later be the father of my sister. Eight years into this world and they divorce and months later sis is born. She was unknown and with how old mom was at the time, she now suffers from spontaneous seizures."

The girl looks up in thought.

"So a few years ago, I asked mom...Was I unplanned like they were? Was I another surprise baby?"

She looks back down, her face holding a more cold expression.

"No, she told me. You were the only planned one. ...I should've stopped there. *sigh* I then asked...Why? She answered..."

Emotion leaves her.

"We had you in the hopes that you'd fix our marriage."

Silence. Dead silence.

"So much pressure. And to put that on a babe? How was I supposed to solve your problems? How is it my fault you couldn't stand each other when things got rough?! How is a kid supposed to make sure you don't start taking drugs and acquire sixteen felonies?! How is it my job to make sure you don't regret loving someone else?! How is that fair?! Why not take some fucking responsibility for once in your god damn life?!"

She becomes irate, grabbing one of the chairs and beating it into another one till both are useless before ending with a guttural roar that pains the throat in its harshness.

Toriel recalls similar words from her not long after they became close and she found her.

"Child? You're trembling. Is everything all right? Child, please. Just speak to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I hate you! I hate all of you! You fucking pieces of shit! Why?! Why is it so hard for any of you to care?! I've been missing for days or weeks and none of you care! *sobs* Did you ever love me?! Why did you even bother having me if you don't even care that I'm gone?! *bawling* Why? Why? Someone tell me why...please..."

"I know this isn't the most pleasant of times to ask...But since we've come to know more about each other, I have been curious about something. The humans that fall down here...They tend to not fall down for the happiest of reasons. If it is not too painful...Can you share with me your reason? What made you come to a cursed mountain where none ever return from?"

"*hard sniffling* They used to care. I used to know what it was like to know others cared. I can't remember when they started to pull away. When I became invisible. I just want to know why. Was it something I did? Did I do something wrong? Did I not make them proud? I thought I did everything right. I was a good girl. *voice cracking* I'm a good girl. Aren't I?"

Even Grillby had memories of such talk pop into his head.

"You are an amazing person. You live in his cold place and open this bar to every sad face willing to cast aside their mean spirits for spirits of another kind. You put up with a lot of nonsense, a good bit came from me today, and I'm sorry about that."

"Where is all this coming from?"

"I'm not done. You have been nothing but nice to me. And doing that isn't easy in this world we live in. Since meeting you, you've shown me more kindness than I got from my own family, and this is only our second meeting. Heh, how pathetic is that? I fell into the Underground trying to die, only to end up wanting to live because of the few that showed me any decency. And for that, I give you my thanks."

"Pussycat?"

"I don't know if it was the punch or I'm just in a weird mood. I'm probably making things awkward. No one wants to hear someone ramble about lame junk when at a bar. This is a place people go to forget things. I know I've got a lot I want to forget. Like the three or four times I ran away from home but never had a plan and always had the cops take me back. Or the time I cussed out my grandma because I thought she lost my dog when it turned out my mom had dumped the pup at a shelter and told me it escaped. Or the suicide attempts..."

"Attempts?"

"Oh yeah, there was more than one. Hard to believe, but I'm a very sad person. No, that's being too nice. Depressed is more accurate. 90% of the smiles you see me do are fake. Just part of the mask I wear to hide how truly miserable I really am."

"God, I hate myself. I'm a sad pathetic mess."

Sans now gets a clearer picture of the baggage weighing on her.

"oh! and don't forget, you're making dinner. pap only let that slide because you were practically dead. so don't get any ideas thinking you can get out of it."

"Did you just really say that?!"

"the hell is your problem?"

"Did you really just insinuate she'd harm herself?"

"i dunno...maybe?"

"You can't say that kind of stuff to her!"

"why not?"

"You...You don't know how she came to the Underground, do you?"

"she told me that she fell."

"I'm not comfortable telling you this, seeing as she hasn't and I don't think it's my place, but I can't let you say idiotic things like that."

"okay, weed, you have intrigued me. if she didn't fall, then how did she get here?"

"Well...Falling is how she came to the Underground. But...She didn't fall from an accident."

"you're telling me she..."

"She fell on purpose. She...was trying to die. I don't know about her life on the surface. She doesn't tell anyone about that stuff, not even Mom. But I have been with her since the start and I can tell...Under all that toughness and pass the goofy dork innards...She's very sad deep down."

And that moment that recently happened at Grilbby's.

"enough with the act! you act all calm, with your little quips and remarks. making you look so well put together. but i know better. i know you're just as messed up as the rest of us. so why don't you get off your high horse and get out of my life!"

"You're right. This is an act. Every day, I wake up and I pretend to be this way. To play this role of the girl that never gives in and can smile through it all. I put on my mask and face this world as best that I can. But inside I'm dying. I'm being crushed by insecurities, doubt, depression, and so much negativity that I let myself fall into a pit hoping for the sweet embrace of death. I have attempted to end my life a good handful of times. Each more pathetic than the last. Even now, I'm just a few triggers shy of crumbling into a blubbering mass of tears. Yet there are few things that keep me from doing those bad things now that I'm here. And if putting on this act keeps me in, relative, ease...Then yeah. I'm gonna pretend my ass off that all is fine with me. Because I'm a fucking moron that is too afraid to open up to those closest to me and ask for help!"

Papyrus, of course, takes all this in as vital information he could use against the human. Her emotional and mental instability can be used to manipulate her. Grooming her to be more obedient to his will.

"I'm sorry."

"DAMN RIGHT YOU'RE SORRY."

"No...I mean, I'm sorry for earlier. It was wrong for me to hit you. You just...*sigh* How do I say this without sound like a dweeb?"

"JUST...SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY. DON'T ALTER YOUR WORDS. THEY LOSE IMPACT THAT WAY."

"If that's true, then don't make a big deal out of this."

"W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"I am an emotional wreck and going through so much internal bullshit that it ain't funny. So know that the stupid things I'm about to say are true because this is making me feel very vulnerable and uncomfortable which I think you feel too."

By now the human was breathing heavily over the shattered remains of once recognizable objects, slowly regaining her composure. She stares at the mess for some time. Mettaton doesn't even try to do anything that could get her attention while in such a state. Eventually, she drops the bits in her hands and takes a seat in the chair she spared. Slumping in remorse and holding her face.

"I'm sorry. That...That was shameful. I'll pay you back for the damage."

"DO YOU NEED A MOMENT?"

She rubs her eyes of faint moisture.

"N-No...No. I'm fine. That...That was just a moment of venting weakness. I normally cry this crap out of my system. But...I'm so sick of crying. Yet...That felt good though. So much pent-up bullshit I don't or can't let out was just dropped like weights off my back. ...Does this count as therapy? Because this feels better than that child physiologist mom sent me to after I ran away...the first time."

"SOUND LIKE YOU DON'T CARE FOR YOUR PARENTS."

"You'd think that, but no. Don't get me wrong. I love my parents. They could've been far worse even with the flaws I've mentioned. Dad never missed work and made sure bills could be paid. Mom always made sure we could eat even if it meant she didn't and often broke the law to do so."

Her head lolls back as she lounges.

"It's easier to dwell in the negatives than the positives growing up. It can make for a bitter soul. This is just the tip of a massive iceberg, there is so much more crap hidden below. But now is neither the time nor place to dive deeper into those murky waters. I'll drown if I stay under too long. *sigh* I don't hate them for the life they brought me into. I'm just...disappointed. Disappointed by the choices they made and things they expected to get from them. Disappointed in myself for allowing all that to have so much of a hold on me. Disappointed...So very disappointed...*long drawn out groan* Could we please leave the personal questions for now?"

"VERY WELL."

He flips through the cards.

"YOU'VE BEEN IN THE UNDERGROUND FOR SOME TIME NOW. HOW HAS THAT BEEN? WHAT IS IT LIKE TO BE A HUMAN AMONG MONSTERS?"

This gets their attention. The human knows better than to tell all. But she's so far been extremely open. They hoped she was of sound mind enough to remember to keep some secrets.

"Even after all the attempted murder...I prefer monsters to humans. Because at least once the fighting is over, things can be somewhat normal. It's like 'hey, I know I just tried to kill you, but do you wanna maybe hang out for a bit?' and then that happens. It blows my mind how there's no animosity or spite afterward. After Humans fight with each other there's no calm, no peace of it being over, hell, a war might break out if it was bad enough. You never know how bad someone feels after and if the grudge they carry will make them go to extreme measures to make them feel better. Well...Except for the Irish. Those lads can tussle and then be all chummy after like it was a bonding experience. Nice folk. Always fancied them. Heh...Kinda like Monsters. A tough outside but nice inside. Maybe that's one of the reasons they were persecuted too. ...God, my kind is trash. All it knows is hate. We even hate ourselves. And one day...That hate will be the end of us."

She moves some hair from her face. A small smile coming to her.

"Moments like this...It's nice. Brief pauses of reflection and repose. Typically I end up doing this kind of thing in my head or I talk to myself. Funny how that works, the mind I mean. It is a self-aware entity in itself that can be both you and not you at the same time yet won't confuse itself by doing so. Probably why the imagination is such vital part of it. *pause* Heh...My bad. Lost myself for a moment. Back on point...Sure, this all began with you nearly killing me and it's probably just leading up to something else. Something good or bad. Yet till that happens...This is nice."

"SPEAKING OF NICE...YOUR LV HASN'T GONE UP FROM ITS BASE LEVEL. WE'VE SEEN YOU GO INTO FIGHTS, SO IT'S NOT THAT YOU'VE AVOIDED THEM COMPLETELY."

"As I've said...I don't like fighting."

"YOU MUST BE AWARE THAT PACIFISUM IS NOT A RECOMMENDED OR AN EASY THING TO DO IN THE UNDERGROUND. IS IT HARD BEING NICE FOR YOU DOWN HERE?"

"Is it hard for a fish to swim or bird to fly? Nice is my default. I don't have it in me to be genuinely mean. I can be rude or even a bitch, but that's only if that was how I was treated first. The real hard part about it is getting others to understand this niceness is real. Some pick it up with no trouble. But others are difficult. Going so far as to think I'm trying to lull them into a false sense of safety as part of an evil human trap. Can you believe that?"

Sans eyes Papyrus who rolls his sockets at his brother, both knowing damn well she meant him.

"EVEN SO, HAS THERE BEEN A TIME WHERE YOU WANTED TO FIGHT BACK? SURELY EVEN I PROBABLY INCURRED SOME IRE FROM YOU?"

She looks at the mechanical machination with a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"Ire is a strong word. True, I'm not happy about this situation. Exposing me for ratings. One of your goons bashing me over the head. The creepy stalking behavior by watching me through cameras. The needless puzzles and fighting. All of it wasn't necessary."

"I DISAGREE. EVERY BIT WAS COMPLETELY NECESSARY."

"Bull crap."

"NOW NOW, LET ME EXPLAIN. REGARDLESS OF YOUR INTENTIONS, YOU HAVE TO AGREE THAT YOU BEING HUMAN DOES CALL FOR CERTAIN MEASURES TO BE TAKEN. HUMANS DEAL PHYSICAL DAMAGE AND MONSTERS ARE WEAK TO SUCH ATTACKS."

"I know that. Get to your point, Metta."

"MY POINT? VERY WELL. MY DATABASE CONTAINS THE COLLECTED INFORMATION WE'VE GATHERED FROM THE PREVIOUS HUMANS THAT CAME BEFORE YOU. EACH WEAKER AND WEAKER AS TIME PASSED. YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND, HAVE BEEN DISPLAYING STRANGE ABILITIES..."

A monitor comes down, displaying the human in her earlier distress and giving off that strange energy.

"NOT TO MENTION YOUR SOUL HAS BEEN CHANGING IT'S COLOR WITHOUT MAGIC INFLUENCE."

The monitor shows the many different colors her soul was throughout the show.

"SO, DARLING, AS YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING HAS BEEN COMPLETELY NECESSARY. EVERY LITTLE OBSTACLE ALLOWED FOR MORE OF YOUR UNKNOWNS TO BE REVEALED. HOWEVER..."

The monitor goes back up.

"I GET THE FEELING YOU'RE STILL HIDING SOMETHING."

She glares at the robot.

"I repeat, this wasn't necessary. All you needed to do was ask."

She sits up straight and focuses. Her soul emerges...it is a deep dull blue.

"I don't know everything. Seeing as this whole 'soul' thing isn't known on the surface anymore. To use now, the soul is an intangible thing. It leaves when we die and does whatever since no one truly knows what happens after death. But...I do know my soul isn't normal. Not normal from what I've learned here anyway. I possess ten traits for which my soul can become."

Shock smacks them. Even Mettaton spits oil from some port.

"T-TEN?!"

She nods.

"Ten traits. Ten colors. Nine of which are completely fine."

Her breathing falters as she concentrates harder, forcing the soul to change color to her will.

"Blue, integrity. Cyan, patience. Green, kindness. Pink, passion. Purple, perseverance. Orange, bravery. Red, determination. Yellow, justice. White, hope. ...These are my main traits. The nine that make up my core personality. Yet...There is one, the last one, that I will not show you. No matter what."

A question mark appears on Mettaton's screen. Toriel and Sans know full well which one she means.

"WON'T SHOW? HOW COME?"

"That soul is too dangerous. One that I can't control. The black soul of relentlessness."

Papyrus sockets widen. Sans wasn't making it up after all.

"IF YOU TRULY EXPECT ME TO BUY INTO THIS BLACK SOUL NONSENSE THAN YOU BETTER FIND A WAY TO PROVE TO ME THAT IT'S REAL!"

"and how do you expect me to do that? have it triggered and let her kill half the town?"

"OF COURSE NOT! SHE'D NEVER GET THAT FAR INTO SUCH A SPREE ONCE I SLAY HER."

"YOU DON'T THINK I CAN KILL HER?"

"her? sure, you'd kill her no problem. she'd probably let you do it if things got really bad. but the black soul? that's a different story all together."

"YOU TALK AS THOUGH YOU'VE SEEN THIS 'BLACK SOUL' IN ACTION."

"..."

"YOU HAVE, HAVEN'T YOU?"

"that thing isn't something you want to mess with. don't go after something you can't handle."

"YOU DARE THINK THAT PITIFUL CREATURE CAN HARM ME?!"

"no! i don't think it would harm you! i know it would kill you!"

"I have no will over that trait. It consumes me utterly. Coldly targeting anything and everything as a threat, then calculatingly eliminating victims brutally with no remorse by any means. Pain doesn't phase it. It has no fear. But I do. I fear this soul. I fear becoming that...that thing. That beast."

The robot's screen blips.

"YOU MAKE IT SOUND TERRIBLE. IF IT'S AS BAD AS YOU SAY, HOW HASN'T YOUR LV INCREASED? SURELY A MURDEROUS SOUL LIKE THAT WOULD HAVE A BODY COUNT ATTACHED TO IT?"

"I have thankfully been taken out of that state when it happens. My brother down here, the flower you may have seen me with, he's the one that saves me. I don't know how he does it as I only barely register what happens when the Black Soul is in control. But it's one of the reasons why we stay together. He doesn't want to die and I don't want to hurt anyone, so it's a good deal for us both."

"AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT TRIGGERS SUCH A STATE TO HAPPEN?"

"I'm not 100% sure but I have a theory. The worst of times. Moments when I lose all hope or can't take the pain. Mentally and/or physically. It takes over when I can't deal with things. And I guess it tries to 'solve' the problem...by getting rid of it."

Her demeanor is becoming more unsettled as she continues.

"I...I normally am unwilling to share this information. I don't like being personal with strangers. But since this is a live broadcast, and I've basically torn open a can of worms full of my emo baggage, I want this to be known. I need others to understand the danger. Because you all seem to view me as an easy kill. The dumb nice human that doesn't fight back. It'll be easy to get her soul. Hell, if it weren't for the black trait, I'd have given this thing to you guys ages ago. But it's not worth it. There's no point going to the surface, otherwise I'd be more inclined to leave and be subjected to the crap I deal with. And trust me...You don't want to know what I deal with."

Her eyes get dark and her expression serious to the point it's unnerving.

"The death that can possibly happen if the black soul activates and isn't stopped could be limitless. As the bearer of this curse, I remain here. Not because I see less harm if it triggers around monster, hell no. I trust my death to you because I have faith in monster kind being able to handle it. It's because I don't want to risk it being weaponized by humanity. Magic...REAL magic like this is gone from the surface. If it were to be discovered now...Magic will be coveted like any other valuable resource. Blood and dust will be spilled over ownership. The experiments to find a better means of harvesting it, the torture, the suffering, the endless cycle of hate feeding upon the lack of morality. I have no doubt monsters wouldn't even be seen as people. We've done it to different creeds of humanity throughout history, hell we still do it. I...I don't want that for Monsters. Part of me is saying I'm overthinking it, but I can't that optimistic side of me knowing all the fucked up shit Humans do. I don't want you guys to suffer. I don't want to cause harm. I don't want to see any more death! Please!!"

Her eyes are watering and her body trembling.

"I...I-I hate this feeling. This h-helplessness. I'm caged. I'm useless. I'm nothing on the surface. I'm a danger underground. I'm my own worst enemy and I don't know how to fight. *struggling* Why? Why didn't the fall kill me? Why can't I just die? Why am I so weak? I can't even bleed to death!"

She's a mess, weeping into her gloved hands. But Mettaton dismisses this display and keeps going.

"WEAK? YOU SELL YOURSELF SHORT. CLAWING INTO YOUR OWN BODY ISN'T A VERY WEAK THING AT ALL. COME TO THINK OF IT...IN YOUR ENCOUNTER WITH MUFFET, YOU TOLD HER WHY YOU DID IT. CARE TO EXPLAIN WHAT YOU MEANT?"

A recording is played.

["I have just spent an ungodly amount of time trapped in that elevator over there having my soul violated by people that don't even exist anymore on this plane of reality. I have clawed my skin off to stop feeling their hands on me."]

Her face has the look of someone biting their tongue fairly hard to stay in control.

"What's to explain? I meant what I said and said what I meant."

"YOU'RE AVOIDING THE QUESTION, DARLING."

"No. You're refusing the answer."

"YOU SAID YOU'D TELL THE TRUTH!"

"I am!"

Agitation mounts.

"BULLSHIT! HOW THE HELL CAN ANYONE BELIEVE THAT?"

"I don't give a crap if you believe me or not! You weren't the one there!"

"JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!"

"It doesn't matter! You can't do anything about it! No one can! You can't stop people that break the laws of reality!"

Sans didn't like what he was hearing. And none of them liked that her still exposed soul was sparking with that strange energy.

"THERE ARE NO PEOPLE LIKE THAT!"

"How would you know?!"

"IF EVEN A FLY FARTS ANYWHERE IN THE UNDERGROUND, I KNOW ABOUT IT. IF ANYONE WITH ABILITIES LIKE THAT WERE HERE, THEY WOULDN'T BE UNKNOWN FOR VERY LONG."

"Did you not hear my words? They don't even exist anymore on this plane of reality! You can't find people that are outside time and space, you fucking idiot!"

"I'M THE IDIOT?! DO YOU NOT HEAR YOURSELF?! OUTSIDE TIME AND SPACE?! YOU CAN'T EVEN MAKE A CONVINCING LIE!"

"I'm not lying, you insufferable ego-maniacal narcissistic jackass!"

"TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!!"

"I did! Accept the fact there is shit in life you can't fathom or comprehend yet is true! Like Bigfoot, life on other planets, or stigmata! Unexplained phenomenons are the backbones of reality! Deal with it!"

"THAT'S NOT AN UNEXPLAINED PHENOMENON! THAT'S A PURE IMPROBABLE IMMPOSSIBLITY!"

"By who's rule?! Are you God?! Do you know every infallible law the universe runs on?! No! You know nothing! No one does! So stop digging for shit that isn't there before something bad happens!"

"THEN GIVE ME A REAL ANSWER!"

"Stop...Please stop!"

"DARLING..."

"I s̷ái͟d͝ s̷t̢̛o̧͘p̀͟!̵̕͜!̧"

A surge of energy bursts from her soul, the flash whites out the screen and hurts the eyes. While blinded they all can hear the garbled sounds of pain and the sudden thud of weight hitting the floor. Their sight comes back to see the human writhing on the ground and gripping her soul, teeth bared in restrained growling.

"DARLING?"

She struggles to make her body move. Just slightly getting her head off the floor.

"Th͜i͞s͠...͜T́h̴i̵s̸ ̛įs ̕y̕our ̛f́aul͝t͏..̢.̴I͜ ͟a͡ske͝d ͠y̕o͏u t̷o͜ ͜s̛top..̢.̵"

The energy courses from her soul over her form, a brighter than normal light emanates from her clutched soul. She weakly pulls herself up to be supported by her free arm and the reason for the light is made clear, a crack has marred her soul. But that is far from the worst part. Sans spots it before Toriel but she's the one that points it out.

"Oh no!"

"What's wrong?"

"The darkness!"

Indeed. Black began to appear in the human's heart. The darkness corrupting the white light and faintly leaking out of the crack. The girl feels this. Panic flashes in her eyes but she's in no condition to handle so much on top of what has already happened.

"Wh̸en̢ wil̡l҉ ̛yo͡u̶ le͘ar͜n.͞..̡Y͘ou ̴fuc̀kín͜g id̴iot.̸..W͢hén wil̡l yoų ́a̶l̢l͜ léar͘n that͏ ̵y͘our act̵i҉o͞ns ͏ha͡v̛e ͘co͡n̴seq͘uenc͘e̶s͘?͘!"

The distortion. The off tone. The malice that seeped out. Perhaps it was enough proof for the automaton to believe her earlier words. For Mettaton seems to be distracted one second and then takes it all seriously the next. One of his hands snakes under his desk and the next thing to happen is the floor beneath the human opens up, dropping her into the unknown. Glitched roaring echoes as she plummets. A sickening crash leads into dead silence.

"WELL...THAT WAS INTERESTING."

His nonchalance about the whole thing is upsetting.

"SADLY, MY CO-STAR SEEMS TO BE HAVING A BIT OF TROUBLE. NOT EVERYONE CAN HANDLE THE STRESS OF BEING IN THE SPOTLIGHT, LIKE MOI."

His flamboyance is rubbing them the wrong way.

"HOWEVER, DESPITE HER TEMPER TANTRUM AND LACK OF COOPERATION, I WILL ASSURE YOU ALL SHE IS NOT DEAD. I MERELY GAVE HER THE SMALL BREAK THAT SHE CLEARLY NEEDED."

It's likely that the break involved her bones or some body part.

"BUT...I CAN GIVE YOU ALL SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO...THIS WAS THE LAST PRELEWD ACT. THE NEXT TIME YOU SEE US TOGETHER, IT WILL BE FOR THE MAIN EVENT. THE FINAL BATTLE APPROACHES, MY ENCOURAGABLE VIEWERS. DO NOT MISS OUT ON THIS HISTORICAL MAKE OR BREAK MOMENT."

The show shifts into a commercial break.

Toriel begins shaking. She can't deal with this much longer. Grillby does what he can to give her support, but he too has much on his mind. His pussycat unloaded a TON of things and a lot of it was incredibly concerning. Papyrus ushers his brother away from the other two as not to be overheard.

"SO...HOW LONG?"

Sans looks at him funny.

"uh...what?"

"HOW LONG WERE THE BOTH OF YOU GOING TO HIDE THIS PART OF THE SECRET FROM ME?"

"um...which part?"

"THAT POWER. SHE HAS TEN TRAITS, SANS. JUST HOW STRONG IS THAT GIRL?"

Sans scratches his skull.

"i honestly don't know, pap. i didn't even know she had that many. my main worry was always the black trait, so i never asked about others."

Papyrus folds his arms and shuts his eyes in thought.

"i swear, i ain't lying to ya."

"I KNOW YOU'RE NOT."

"then...what's wrong?"

"*HUFF* I DON'T LIKE THIS. I DON'T LIKE THE IDEA OF THAT WEAKLING BEING POWERFUL."

His eyes open but look at nothing.

"I SHOULD'VE KNOWN SOMETHING WAS OFF THAT NIGHT...THAT PUNCH...SHE WAS HOLDING BACK SO MUCH..."

Papyrus clenches his fists into tight balls of rage.

"THAT BITCH."

"ya know she didn't want to hurt ya."

"THAT'S THE THING. SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD HURT ME. HOW WEAK DOES SHE THINK I AM? THAT'S WHAT'S PISSING ME OFF MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW."

Sans sighs. One day his brother will taste humble pie and not like it.

[HOTLAND: LAB]

Undyne finishes off her sixth bowel of ramen and looks at Alphys.

"Well...That wasn't how I thought it was going to end. Was it really necessary to tell him to drop her?"

Alphys takes a few more notes and ponders.

"Would you rather there be no main event? Besides..."

She adjusts her glasses.

"If what the human said is true, then the Black Soul being triggered in an open area would result in mass casualties. The zone in which the ending will be shot in is, for the most part, closed and under my remote control. So even in the event of something going wrong, which the odds of such are highly unlikely, then any and all threats can be dealt with in an optimum manner."

Undyne nods.

"I guess that makes sense. Still...I don't what I saw. There was real fear in the human's eyes."

"Good. She should be afraid. She should be very afraid of what's to come."

"And what's that?"

"That would be spoilers."

"Damn it. *sigh* A human soul with ten traits...Sounds tough. I wanna fight it!"

"It does raise a lot of questions. One, in particular, is on my mind."

"What's that?"

"If a human soul, deprived of magic, possesses ten traits and begins gaining magic...What will happen when it attains 100% magic?"

A cold chill runs through the captain.

[HOTLAND: SOMEWHERE ON LEVEL 3]

I am getting so sick of this crap. Why can't I just die at this point?

"*muffled* Lynsie?"

The voice and light jostling is bringing me back to consciousness. Damn it. Here I go again.

My eyes weakly open to the sight of dirt and rock. Just an inch away from losing the ability to see. Like I need a handicap in all this.

"Lynsie? Are you okay?"

Ah, Flowey. It's about time we met back up.

"*groan* H-Hey, bro. I missed you."

He smiles sadly.

"Are you okay? Can you move?"

I roll over on my back and check myself.

[HP ██████████ 10/40]

[HEARTBREAK level ONE in effect]

I figured that's what happened. No wonder the Black Soul was triggering. Thank goodness for the fall knocking my ass out or things would've gone bad fast.

"I think I'll be okay. Sore, but okay. I'm sadly getting used to falling and possible brain damage."

My answer has him pout.

"What's with the face, bro? You know I'm a tough cookie. I'll be fine."

His face gets full of concern.

"I...I heard what you told Mettaton."

Yeah, you and the rest of the Underground.

"I...I understand now why you didn't talk about your past. Why you kept to yourself. I'm sorry."

God, he's too sweet for this place. I reach over and gently stroke his petals.

"I love you, bro. You have no idea how much it means to me that you care. But don't pity me. I do that enough on my own."

I wearily sit up, shaking my head of all that baggage I brought up for the show.

"I wasn't pitying you. It's just..."

He fiddles with his leaves in a shy way but I cut his words off.

"Bro, I get it. I do. It's the same feeling like when you told me your history. Yet, let's be honest here, you're more mentally mature than me and I'm still not completely okay after getting all that off my chest. We can talk more about it later after this ordeal is over. Maybe over mom's cheesecake? Deal?"

"...You mean it?"

"Yeah. I promise."

He smiles brightly.

"Okay. I'd like that."

I pick myself up and stretch, taking a look around at where we are.

"Don't tell me he dropped me back at the start."

"Nope. This is still Level Three. In fact...I do believe MTT Resort is just past this place."

"...For real? Is it a safe space?"

"Yep. There are shops and rooms to rest."

I hear a heavenly choir sing in my head.

"Finally! The universe throws me a decent bone!"

I regret saying that the moment it leaves my mouth. Flowey looks at me funny.

"Don't take that out of context, you know what I meant."

"I don't know. You and Smiley Trashbag are eerily close."

My eye twitches. Things I wish Gaster didn't show me try to pop into my head.

"Are you okay? You look like you're about to puke."

"Never insinuate something like that ever again."

He shakes his head at me. I try to change the subject before I have a heart attack on camera.

"So...Are you able to follow me to the resort? I'm sick of being separated."

"There's ground outside of it and parts I can reach beyond it, but the resort itself I can't get in without some sort of aid like a pot. Cement and tile flooring is a pain to break into."

"Damn, bro, you hella strong."

There's a deactivated reversed conveyor belt that's attached to the artificial platforms.

"Is it safe to cross? It's kinda giving me 'trap' vibes."

"You should be fine. This is normally the part where the colored tiles would be used again, but you know, stuff changed. It's probably off."

"Ah. Gotcha. I guess...See ya soon?"

"You bet."

He ducks into the ground so I take it as my time to leave this pit. The entire time I feel on edge. With my luck, the trap will turn on and I get screwed. Thankfully nothing happens apart from some jets of flame randomly going off in the distance and making me jump like a wuss. At least it got me to the stairs quicker.

After a quite the climb, I reach the top perturbed yet undaunted as a four-way crossroads greets me, though the two paths on the sides are blocked. More Royal Guards, a cat to the left and some kind of insect on the right, both in that imposing armor.

"Well if it isn't my best customer..."

The Ice Scream rabbit pops up from behind the cart I wasn't paying attention to.

"Fancy seeing you again."

As odd as seeing him here is, he's a familiar face that is a sight for my sore eyes. I approach.

"Hey, guy, what's up? Haven't been seeing you much in Snowdin Forest for a bit."

He leans on the cart like a cool guy.

"Yeah...Been moving around seeing if I can make mad gold somewhere where the weather isn't the same temp as my product."

"Any luck?"

"Waterfall wasn't so bad. Even started a new program with rewards cards. Turn in a card with ten punches and get a free doubling of your next order. Speaking of which..."

He reaches into his pants pocket and hands me a punch card. Some holes have already been made.

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had the funds to get this far. So...Instead of starting your card full, I may have added your previous buys. Can't say I haven't gotten better at my wonderful salesmanship."

I can't help but smile. He's come a long way. I'm proud of him.

"Well then, wonderful salesman, I'd like to add some more holes please."

"Heh...sure. But I'm warning you, prices have gone up. 25G. Got to charge more here 'cause of the heat."

"Understood, my dude. Um...Just curious...Got fudge pops? Kinda have this hankering for something chocolate."

He shakes his head.

"Sold out. The Royal Guards bought those like crazy."

"Damn. Oh well. One blue, orange, grape, and blood. All bisicles."

He fills my order and I pay the 100G.

"Here you go. All five ready to enjoy."

I look at him funny.

"Five?"

"Yep. Five. I definitely didn't toss in a strawberry one because of customer loyalty. Nope. Didn't do it."

Must...resist...the urge...to HUG!!

"...Thank you. That...That means a lot."

He gives me a wink and I practically skip away up another set of stairs. I place the treats in my inventory for now. I know not what crap will happen from here, so healing items are a big help.

I am met by a large complex. Redbrick that's been tagged with graffiti, yellow-tinted windows with some broken, a gold MTT sign with two Mettaton images with devil horns, a black & white checkered awning over the door, two large plant potters that have dry withered flower remnants, and a blood-red or just stained that way rug embroidered with gold MTTs.

"Classy."

I'm about to head inside when something hits my leg. A paper airplane? I inspect it to find it's a note.

[Hey! Go up the creepy alleyway on the right for some great deals!]

"...I'm gonna get mugged, aren't I?"

It's against my better judgment, but this is a neutral zone, so I should be okay. I wearily creep around, following spray-painted arrows, to end up finding two girls gossiping among garbage. They notice me and straighten up.

"Hey! Check it out!"

"Yeah! Check it out!"

"So, like, what's up? I'm Bratty, and this is my best friend, Catty."

"I'm Catty, and this is my best friend, Bratty."

Oh no...More valley speak!?! Why is that a thing down here?!

Bratty is a tall, green alligator or crocodile monster that wears a primarily black shawl with yellow and red details on the sides. She has yellow hair that flows into curls and red lipstick.

Catty is a plump purple cat creature who wears a set of black overalls with yellow buttons and tufts of red fur with yellow highlighted tips coming out from under it on either side. She has black hair with a red streak in it and a yellow earring on her left ear.

"Uh...Hi? So...This is a shop?"

"Like, the best shop!"

"You should buy ALL our stuff!"

Catty gets this blanket out and opens it out to show me their items. They don't have much, just four things, but I can't turn away from these items.

[25G - Junk Food - Has a big bite out of it]

[350G - Rusty Revolver - Bullets NOT included]

[350G - Tattered Western Hat - ATTACK up when worn]

[600G - Mystery Key - Probably to someone's house LOL]

A gun...How the fuck is that here?

"Oooh! I know that look!"

"That's the look of some wanting something!"

"Bratty! We're gonna be rich!"

"Where did you find this stuff?"

"I mean, like, where does anyone get guns, or food, or..."

"We found it in the garbage!"

I so called it.

"It's GOOD garbage."

"It's like, really good garbage."

"Where do you get the garbage?"

"Like, the garbage store, duh!!! ...Waterfall mostly."

"I found a gun in a dumpster!"

I check my gold...I don't have anywhere close to 1,300G for their garbage.

"Um...Maybe we could work out some sort of arrangement?"

They glare.

"That's poor talk."

"You need WAY more money."

What I need is to get that stuff away from them. That stuff is bad enough with humans, I don't want monsters messing with crap like guns.

"Ladies, I'm sure there's something we can do. Shops run on trade. This is just a trade of a different kind. I can't give you the gold, but I can get you other things. There's gotta something you'd both want that I can fetch for you in exchange?"

They mull it over.

"Thanks, but we, like, don't really need anything."

"Oh my god, can you go get us some Dazzleburgers?"

"We don't. Really need. Anything."

"Wait! I'll pay you 1000G if you get Mettaton to autograph my butt!"

Catty seems to be the easier one here. Maybe I can work with this.

"While I do know the guy, I'm not sure I can get Metta to sign your butt."

"Damn."

"Wait...You know Mettaton?!"

Their eyes sparkle.

"...Yes?"

They squeal with fanatical glee.

"Oh my God. Mettaton."

"Oh my GOD, METTATON."

"He's like...My robot husband."

"Actually he's like...MY robot husband."

"I think we're like...both going to marry him."

"We're both like, ALREADY married to him. He just, like, doesn't know it yet."

They're insane.

"Okay...Can I ask what's a Razzburger? I could try to get that."

Their eyes widen in shock.

"You don't know what a Dazzleburger is?"

"Do you, like, live under a rock?"

Don't we all do since this is a mountain?

"Dazzleburgers are epic!"

"They're only sold in the resort."

Interesting.

"Inside huh? Let me guess...Very pricey."

Bratty nods.

"The stuff inside, is like..."

"TOTALLY wicked expensive."

"But, like, this stuff we found is like..."

"TOTALLY wicked cheap."

"You should..."

"Like..."

"TOTALLY wicked buy all of it?"

"Cheap? You're selling a random key for 600G!"

They giggle at me and I sigh. Bitches, man...bitches.

"So where inside am I gettin' them?"

"The MTT-Brand Burger Emporium."

"You have to get them from Bugerpants."

That name...That name brings back memories...as well as sore spots. Douche-cat...

"Burgerpants."

"Yeah, that guy from the store. Yuck, what a creep."

"Yeah! He's a creep! But he's kind of cute, too..."

"C'mon Catty, don't you have ANY standards?"

"Nope!!!"

...You need standers, Catty.

"Yeah, I met him. Not so much a creep but he is a massive prick."

"OK, like, the annoying thing is..."

"He'd be OK if he just treated us with some respect."

"But he just acts..."

"Really weird."

"And then acts like it's OUR fault he acts that way!"

"Like, when we asked him to get those Dazzleburgers..."

"He dropped them and ran away before we could even say anything!"

"We were, like, going to share them."

"Really? I wasn't."

"Catty!"

This zone is full of awful people.

"One last thing...How many you want?"

Catty waves her paws.

"So many! Enough to fill a dumpster!"

"The mega value pack should cover us."

I give Bratty a thumbs up and leave their shady establishment. Now I enter the main building and this time I'm greeted by someone for once. It's either very diamond-like or very origami-like, but above all, it's a tiny monster.

"Welcome to MTT Resort - Hotland's biggest apartment-building-turned-hotel! Whether you're here for a night or still live here, MTT Resort prides itself on a great stay! Just passing through...? Nice! MTT Resort prides itself on being passed through!"

"Interesting business model. Does it work?"

"Oh, indeed it does, human."

"You know what I am?"

"Oh yes! The staff has been informed of your coming and instructed on how to handle you upon arrival."

Oh god, what now?

"Over on your left, we have a dine-in restaurant complete with a stage which hosts a wide cast of live acts. Either comedy done by locals or Mettaton entertains when he isn't too busy."

"Neat."

"If you're feeling like you hate yourself, behind me is the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Dazzleburger!"

Well, they know how fast food works.

"All further questions can be taken to my coworker behind the desk."

I scratch my head and shrug.

"Thanks."

I walk away and head for the other receptionist. It's not a bad-looking lobby at least. Red & yellow checkered tiles and the rug from outside continues forward into parts unknown. The obnoxious fountain of Mettaton is gaudy though. I reach the desk and the monster behind it is a weird one. It's blue and its head is a hand with very well manicured red nails.

"Yes, we know. The elevator music volume is super loud and the song is stuck on a three-second loop. We are working on it. Because of this incident, rooms are running at a special rate! 200G a room. Interested?"

Someone sounds grumpy.

"No thank you. I was told to come to you. I'm the human if that helps."

Their head fingers extend in alert.

"Oh! Sorry. I was instructed to inform you on where to go next."

"That would be helpful, yes."

It motions to where the rug is heading.

"If you follow the rug there, you'll be lead out back to the entrance of the CORE. Mettaton will be waiting for you at the top."

"Could I use the elevator instead? All this travel is exhausting."

"No can do. The elevator leads to the Capital and main residence of our people. You're not allowed to go there."

"Oh...That's fine. I didn't want to go there. Just trying to take shortcuts if able."

"*ahem* If you require a small rest, might I suggest renting a room?"

"I don't the gold, sorry."

"That's fine. Mettaton has pre-paid a room for you. One time only."

I'm stunned. Damn him! Why does he confuse me so much?! I want to like and hate him at the same time!

"Um...In that case, sure. Where are rooms?"

They motion again.

"Down the hall to the right."

I wait for them to give me a key or card but nothing is there except awkwardness.

"Is there a problem?"

"No...not really. But...uh...Isn't this the part you give me a room key?"

"What? Room...Key? No, we don't do that. If you leave your room, you'll have to pay again."

So if I enter I can't leave or else I'll have to pay? That's insane!

"On second thought, maybe later."

"Shame. Do let us know if you change your mind. Have a sparkular day!"

I'm getting the feeling they're being nice because they were told to be. Otherwise, I doubt I'd be given such a warm welcome. Oh well. Time to pay a certain someone a visit.

I stroll up to the emporium and find myself paused. I can go about this in many ways. The different choices and outcomes play out in my head super fast. After a few, I settle on something...something that'll leave an impression. I push the doors open. A digital bell sounds. I look at what appears to be a sadder version of McDonald's. And like a mindless corporate drone, he speaks while moping the floor before seeing "who" just walked in.

"Welcome to MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Dazzleburger. Sparkle up your day (TM)."

He begins to turn around.

"What can I do to..."

His eyes widen seeing me, grinning sadistically at him like a lunatic.

"Uh...help?"

This hurts my throat to do, but it really sells this whole thing. I deepen my voice to imitate Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget and just laugh. He is unnerved to say the least.

"*menacing* No one will help you."

"H-Hey now...Don't think of doing anything funny."

I walk up to him and he backs away slowly before leaping behind the counter.

"Stay back! You can't hurt anyone in shops!"

I keep the deep voice.

"*menacing* Hurt you? Foolish boy...Why would I do that? It's not like you put a cigarette out on my wrist and bashed my head with a bat!"

That last part was done a bit too harsh and I end coughing. All seriousness leaves.

"*coughs* Nah, man...*normal* I ain't gonna do anything. For reals. I was just messing with ya."

He eyes me funny.

"Riiiiiight...What do you want then?"

"Preferably, my phone."

He flinches, his eyes looking quickly down then darting back up.

"I..."

"Metta doesn't have to know."

"What do you mean he won't know?! He knows everything that goes on here!"

"Look, you either give me my phone, or I'm gonna go back there and take it."

"You're not seri..."

My dead stare shuts him up. He seems to freeze up now. I sneer and put my hand out. He looks at my hand and then starts sweating. I'm beginning to lose my patience.

"You have five seconds."

His fur stands on end and he suddenly slams his face on the countertop, giving himself a bloody nose.

"Sorry, (Ha ha) it's against the rules to talk to customers who haven't bought anything. And talking with you this long has put me in serious shit. If you want this 'exchange' to continue, you're going to make a purchase."

I'm not happy.

"...What do you have?"

[60G - Sorebet - Very popular food.]

[120G - Dazzleburger - Very popular food.]

[300G - Mythical Villain - Anti-Hero Sandwich. ATTACK UP in battle.]

[500G - Biltong Slab designed to look like Mettaton - Don't ask. Please.]

I huff through my nose and shell out the 60G.

"That Sorebet better come with my phone."

"Yeah yeah. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"Fuck you. I wear boxers."

He eyes me with a blush before heading into the back. Might as well chat him up while I can.

"So...Do you know the chicks behind the building?"

"Huh? Oh...Them. Yeah, I know them. What of it?"

"They were talking about you."

"The girls were...Talking about me...?"

Hooked him.

"They mentioned you threw burgers at them and ran."

"Bullshit! That is not what happened."

He comes back to the counter with a glass of frozen dessert and my phone.

"Care to enlighten me?"

He sighs and lights a cigarette. I wonder if he can do that while on shift?

"Never interact with attractive people. Unless you're 'one of them', they're just gonna take advantage of you. Those two chicks asked me to sneak them some Dazzleburgers. And I, the naive teenager that I was, said yes to them. Bad idea."

"What happened?"

He takes a dag and lifts the collar of his uniform shirt open, blowing the smoke in there.

"Does that really keep the smoke from spreading?"

"It's worked so far. *puff* So I went out to the alley to see those two ladies, and uh...you know, see what'd happen next."

"Like...Naughty stuff?"

"...Maybe."

"Nice."

He blushes.

"Anyway...Then my boss comes out of nowhere, sees me, and demands to know what I was doing. I was so startled, the hamburgers in my pockets tumbled out onto the ground. Not wanting to lose face to the girls, I scrambled to pick them up! But, as I was bending down, the weight of the remaining hamburgers...*puff*...caused my pants to fall down."

He expected me to mock him. But I can't feel anything more than pity for the guy. This surprises him and he continues his story.

"Then the girls laughed at me. Everyone calls me Burgerpants now. It's gotten to the point I can't remember my name half of the time. It's even on my name tag for fuck's sake!"

Poor douche cat.

"I think you're the first to not laugh at me or that story."

"Why would I laugh? That's...That's messed up, man."

He takes another drag.

"You know something...I misjudged you, human. I know it ain't much, but, I'm sorry for being an ass."

I rub the back of my head.

"I'll be honest, guy...Since the bar thing, I've seen you only as a prick. The idea of you having hard times and lashing out didn't cross my mind at all. That's my bad right there. Sorry on my part for being a bitch."

He smirks.

"So...You're really not going to tell Mettaton about this?"

He hands me my phone.

"Dude, this stays between us. Besides, he's kinda been pissing me off lately."

"Yeah, he does that."

He takes a deep drag before putting the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe.

"Can I give you some advice? I'm getting on in years, so take it from me...You've still got time. Don't live like me. I'm 19 years old and I've already wasted my entire life. I'll probably be trapped at this stupid job forever. But wait! There's one thing that keeps me going! If ASGORE gets just one more SOUL, we'll finally get to go to the surface! It'll be a brand new world! There's gotta be a second chance out there for me! For everyone!"

"Maybe. So, what did you want to do before this?"

"Oh...I wanted to be an ACTOR."

"Neat."

"When I first came to Hotland, it was my dream to work with Mettaton. Well, be careful what you wish for! God, look what that idiot has done here. This place is a labyrinth of bad choices. And every time we try to change something for the better, he vetoes it and says that's not how they do it on the surface. Oh! Right! Humans are always eating hamburgers made of RHINESTONES AND GLITTER."

"...I can assure you we don't eat that. Eating that would be very bad for our health. Maybe even fatal. Monsters don't really eat that...Do they?"

His eyes shift and I facepalm.

"And you guys think I'm gonna hurt ya?"

"You should probably get going. The boss will get his gears in a bunch if you take too long getting to the CORE."

"Fine."

I put the Sorebet in my inventory and remember my awkward side-quest.

"Oh! Before I bounce, can you help me with something?"

He tilts his head.

"What?"

"The chicks, Bratty and Catty, they have items I want but don't have the crazy amount of gold. They say they'll trade for a mega value pack. Any way you might be able to help make this trade happen?"

He sighs.

"Really? Do you know how much that is?"

"1300G close? Because that's how much I need."

"...What kind of shit are they selling that's worth that much?!"

I goofily shrug. He groans and rubs his face.

"I can't just give you that much for free."

"Catty thinks your cute."

"...For real?"

I nod. He fidgets, fingers tip-tapping and pitter-pattering.

"Okay, I'll tell you what...You score me a hook up with her and I'll give you the burgers."

Damn you rule of three in side-quests!

"Argh...I guess I can try. It won't be the weirdest thing I do today but it is on the list though."

His eyes light up with excitement. I can't mess this up now. How often does he actually smile like this?

"Thank you! *ahem* I mean...Cool."

I slink out of the emporium and head for the exit.

"Um, excuse me, human...The CORE is the other way."

I groan.

"I know. I'll be back."

Exit building, go into the creepy alley, and meet the girls again.

"Look who's back."

"Do you have the Dazzleburgers?"

I show my empty hands.

"Ha! I knew she'd blow it."

"Sucks to be you!"

"Hold up. He'll give me the goods. But..."

"But...?"

"Catty...Do you really think he's cute? 'Cause he thinks you're hot."

Catty's face flushes. Bratty rolls her eyes.

"For reals? He wants a date?"

"A date? A hangout? A simple meeting while he's working? I don't know. For all I know she can walk in, say hi, and that's it. All I need is confirmation and you get all those shiny burgers."

"Yes!"

"Catty...?"

"What a deal! A cute guy and free food! It's the score of a lifetime!"

"Catty, he's a loser. You hang out with him once, then he wants to hang out... All. The. Time."

"But don't you feel bad for him, Bratty? Poor Burgerpants...Think about how cool we are compared to him!!! We'd be saving his LIFE with our awesomeness!! His LIFE, Bratty!!"

"Uh, so?"

"Think of all the Dazzleburgers he could get for us!!"

And just like that, I feel like shit for doing this.

"...So is he free after work?"

"*huff* I'll be back...again."

Leave the alley, enter the building, meet up with Burgerpants.

"I don't like the look you have there. Did she say no?"

I can't lie to this guy.

"Dude, I'm really uncomfortable with this."

"What's wrong?"

"She said yes. But..."

"She said YES?!"

"I mean, she agreed, but please listen..."

"Ha! Ahahaha!! Yes!!! You've brought a tear to the eye of this old man."

I feel so bad.

"Dude, please...I'm, like, 100% sure she's gonna use you for free food and maybe gold."

"...So?"

I'm taken back.

"Look, you don't think I didn't think of that? I know she's probably going to use me. Everyone does. If it's for the food, I don't care. That's just another way I can stick it to my boss. Speaking of..."

He plops this cardboard case down on the counter.

"A deal's a deal. The mega value pack for the girl."

...Okay, they're made for each other. Everyone here is trash!

"So, uh, what time did she say she wanted to hang out?"

I hate everything about this!!

"I'll be back again."

Take food, leave, exit, alley. At this point, I nearly shove the shit at them.

"Oh my God!"

"Is that the mega value pack Dazzleburgers?"

"OH MY GOD!!! GIMME!!!"

"God, Catty. Try to have some self-control."

"Sorry..."

"'Cause they OBVIOUSLY brought the Dazzleburgers for ME."

"NO WAYYY!!!!!"

I point to the items.

"Trade. Now."

Bratty puts the key and gun into the hat before handing it over to me.

"Thank you."

I put the key in my inventory and equip the other two.

[You equipped the Tattered Western Hat]

[You gain 12 Defense and 5 Attack]

[This battle-worn hat makes you want to crew on straw for some reason. It also raises attack by 5.]

[You equipped the Rusty Revolver]

[You gain 12 Attack]

[An super old gun. It has no ammo. Must be used precisely, or damage will be low. Duh.]

[HP: 40 ATK: 62 DEF: 50]

I am becoming OP!!

"Oh! Give burger-boy this!"

Catty hands me a scrap of paper with her number.

"Fine. I'm just glad this is done."

Back to Burgerpants. I slap the paper down.

"Here's her number. I hope you don't regret this."

His face contorts in a weird way...Is he...Happy?

Sweet! I need to pick a spicy outfit for my little shindig later. Though, now that I think about it, I had to throw away all of my clothes to make room for the outfits Mettaton gave me."

"...What?"

"Don't take it the wrong way. They're just all these...Weird getups. 'Promotional' costumes. For 'holidays'. Or 'specials'. Or 'because he felt like it'. The thing IS though! Most of the time I'm the only employee who has to wear this stuff! Sometimes he even calls me into his office just to...Make me put something on...Then he laughs and lets me go back to work as normal."

My pity meter is breaking.

"Anyways, I won't sweat it. I'll take it casual. NEVER let hot people think you care. That's how they GET you."

And the pity meter dropped dead.

"Good luck with that."

I leave on that note. Fuck this resort. Fuck this quest plot. Fuck this whole damn thing!

Wanting this shit show to be over and done with, I do as instructed by following the rug's path out some doors that have a giant sign above that says "CORE". Lazy-ass designers, I swear.

Weirdly this leads to a balcony. A balcony that has been opened and a walkway built that connects to the massive facility. The light from the resort barely shows half of the path as the CORE itself surprisingly gives off the faintest glow. The CORE is an entirely mechanical complex that is largely black and yellow with red accents. The blah colors aside, what gets my attention are the two monsters that were minding the entrance that slip inside when I show up. I don't like this.

"Flowey, you better be able to get here. I have a bad feeling about this."

Approaching shows more of this crazy thing. The CORE appears to be the most industrial and modern region of the Underground. Ozone, a byproduct of electrical power, is omnipresent below the floor level of the CORE. This could mean the CORE might be made of stainless steel, titanium, or platinum; as ozone is highly corrosive to most organic materials. If this is the case, they could use this stuff. The CORE could be a source of ozonated water, which cleans clothes, sanitizes food, and purifies drinking water. This also implies this might be the greatest source of oxygen in the Underground as ozone simply decomposes into oxygen at high concentrations and temperatures. The only hazard I can think of is that oxygen is a shitty thing to breathe. Breathing pure oxygen at high pressures can cause nausea, dizziness, muscle twitching, vision loss, convulsions, and loss of consciousness. Breathing pure oxygen for a long time can irritate the lungs causing coughing and/or shortness of breath. Higher exposure may cause a build-up of fluid in the lungs and subsequent death. Guess how much more O2 is needed to do this to a person? 20% more. God, Humans are so freaking weak. I'll need to be careful here.

The lobby of the CORE has an elevator to the north and two paths to the left and right. Not a bad looking place, very lavishly decorated, the floors are engraved with intricate patterns and multicolored neon tubes serve as wall ornaments and embellishments. I check the elevator, which is disabled, I'm not shocked at this point. Not much else to do, I go to the path on the right, which turns out to be a small room with a square platform overlooking a pit of fire. Not bad. I do enjoy looking at fire. It's pretty. Moving on! Going through the left path leads to a rectangular stretch of wall-less hallway with a doorway at the end.

"Hmmm...My bullshit senses are tingling. I'm willing to bet a random encounter/ambush is about to happen."

As if cued by my words, something cracks the back of my head and then hits my gut as I turn.

"*wheeze* Called it..."

My attacker appears and my dull cracked purple soul is forced out to play.

[Madjick pops out of its hat!]

Madjick has a typical appearance of a wizard. It wears a curved wizard hat, a pair of boots, and two rotating orbs emitting cross-shaped particles. Madjick has a sly smile on its face, but a pair of bright eyes are hidden just under its hat.

[FIGHT]

[ACT]

[̴͝SP͜͞E͡L̵͜L͟͠͏]͘͢

[ITEM]

[MERCY]

I wonder if SPELL will work on this thing? ...N-No. No. Can't chance it. Stick to normal tactics.

[ACT selected.]

[New options available.]

[CHECK]

[TALK]

[STARE]

[CLEAR MIND]

...The fuck kind of options are these?!

[CHECK selected.]

[MADJICK – HP: 190 ATK: 29 DEF: 24 – This enemy can only speak in magic words.]

Finally! My states aren't shit compared to my attacker. Also, only speaks in magic words is the most fucking adorable thing I've ever heard.

"Abra cadabra."

An orb spawns off to my left and rapid-fires crosses at me. I dodge and the orb tries to cut me off by going where I'm headed. It fires about eight times and moving around is not so great.

[HP ████████████████ 16/40]

Thank goodness my defense got increased during all this crap. I could've been really messed up.

[Madjick flaunts its orbs in a menacing manner.]

It snickers.

"A smug one. I like that."

[TALK selected.]

"You know...I can do magic too."

It looks at me intrigued.

"Yep. I can make your smile disappear."

It pauses before sneering at me.

"See? I made it vanish before your very eyes!"

It didn't seem to like my humor.

"Hocus pocus."

[Madjick begins chattering to itself. Its gibberish dizzies you...Your DEFENSE drops by 1.]

My head feels fuzzy. Did it just jinx me? Are there more types of magic than what I've been told?

One of the orbs begins to chase me while deploying harmful but immobile crosses. Yet due to the jinx, my sense of direction is ass-backward. Left is right and right is left. Up is down and down is up. However...much to Madjick's dismay...I'm used to being incredibly dizzy. My childhood was filled with countless hours of boredom appeased by spinning around till I couldn't see straight.

[HP ████████████████████ 20/40]

Ha ha...Suck on those magic balls, wizard-boy!

"*slur* Is that what you call magic? Boo! Disappointed!"

[Madjick whispers arcane swear words.]

"*slur* Oh...Someone needs to put some gold in the swear jar. I'm gonna tattle!"

It growls.

"Eh eh eh. It's not your turn."

I slap my face a few times.

[CLEAR MIND selected.]

"I wonder where Flowey is?"

[You think of pollen and sunshine. Your confusion abates. Your DEFENSE increased by 2.]

"...What?"

"Alakazam!!"

It tries to surprise me with that following orb trick. But now that I know that move it's not so bad.

[HP ██████████████████████████ 26/40]

Huh? Am I auto-healing faster? Sweet! Surely that only means good things for me.

[Madjick peers at you with strange eyes.]

"What? You scared? My sick moves and auto-healing too much for you? No worries, wizard-dude, we cool. I got you."

The hell did I just say? Am I magic high? Fuck it.

[MERCY selected.]

[New options available.]

[FLEE]

[SPARE]

[SPARE selected.]

It looks at me funny. Then it looks at my HP.

[HP ████████████████████████████████ 32/40]

It flinches.

"Please and thank you."

Madjick accepts my act of mercy.

[YOU WON!]

[You earned 0 XP and 120 gold.]

The fight ends, my soul returns to my body and I give my opponent claps of approval.

"Good show, buddy. Keep up the good work."

It seems confused but nods, hovering away behind me towards the exit.

"Well...That was weird."

My head still feels odd. Nothing a few brain sloshing shakes of the old noggin won't fix. Anyway, no time to question strange feelings or whatever. I gotta get through this so I can get back to Toriel. Onwards I go.

Continuing forward, I enter a room with a bridge that is cut off by a tesla coil. Wow. Hadn't seen that in a long ass time. How much do I wanna bet there's a convenient off switch nearby. Oh, look! A super obvious switch right there on the wall. Who could've ever had guessed! I flip the switch and lasers fire at me! First blue, then blue again, and orange. Thankfully they're slow, so once I triggered the first blue laser I easily hit the deck to avoid the others that pass by.

"Setting booby traps on top of other traps now. Geez, Metta, I'm starting to think you don't like me very much. Well, that's fine. I don't like me either! So come at me already and quit this pussy bullshit!"

Calm down. No need to get riled up. Get through this and go home. Then I can just stuff my face with Nanny's awesome cheesecake and pass out happy. I march on, doing my best not to look down or notice how some of the walls and floors are chipped away. Now I'm paranoid about if any other laser that turns up is functional or decorative.

The path leads into a crossroads with a path to my left and a path straight ahead. My bullshit sense is tingling when I look at the left path. Straight ahead it is.

This room contains a bridge with many blue and orange lasers followed by a massive wall of blue lasers.

"Nope. Just nope. Screw the rules! I have plot armor importance and common sense!"

Fuck this outfit. Fuck this shit! I have lost all my fucks! I get down on the floor and combat crawl the long as fuck cold metal catwalk.

"*muttering* Stupid bullshit. Why do I have to be nice? If I wasn't nice, I wouldn't have to put up with shit like this. Bitches don't end up in laser catwalk traps. But no...I have to be a decent person. *getting louder* I have to be a good girl. I have to not give in to the overwhelming urge to punch assholes for being assholes because that's wrong for dumb reasons! *shouting* Why am I pissing myself off?! This is extremely counterproductive given my current situation! Fuck!!"

I blame all this on Mettaton. That's a healthy way to look at it. Probably not. But I'm not a mental health doctor! The fuck do I know?! After crossing the bridge, I storm grumpily along another walkway only to reach something called "Core Branch".

Turns out the "Core Branch" is a four-way intersection. Fan-fucking-tastic. Man, my mood is fucking sour. Maybe the digital sign can be useful and give me directions.

[North, the warrior's path. West, the sage's path. Any path leads to The End.]

"*growling* This is so...FUCKING STUPID!!"

Nope. Not falling for anymore of this. I choose neither side and go straight. This middle path of the "Core Branch" has me entering a vertical room with a right path leading to the eastern portion of the "Core Branch". There's nothing to my left. It just drops into the ozone, so it's certain death. I'm so sure this place followed all safety measures. There is a sign on the wall that is telling me to "Get lost...And stay that way".

"Wha...Why have signs telling me to leave when you told me to come here?! Stupid metal moron giving me dumb mixed messages."

I hate everything. No monster better encounter me while I'm in this mood. I take out a gold piece and flip it. Heads for straight and tails for the right. It lands on tails so right I go. This has to be the stupidest designed building ever! What the hell was Gaster thinking?! Was he on the drugs? Because this seems like he was on the drugs! 'Cause now I'm at another four-way crossroads. Only now I have two digital signs.

[To the East! This is The End.]

[I cannot fight. I cannot think. But, with patience, I will make my way through.]

A third, and hopefully final, tesla coil blocks what has been established as the exit. This means there's a switch somewhere. F that shit. Know what? You know what'll piss everyone off? I'm gonna do what that sign said. I'm going to be patient. Because if I know Mettaton, and I know massive egos very well, he won't want boring content to be televised and eventually spice things up. I plop my edgy tush under the sign and...wait. Using this time to chill. Let this negativity go and...

*Clank-clank-clank*

Oh hell no!

A large monster ominously approaches. Knight Knight is a monster that wields a great staff with a sun symbol in her right hand. She wears a suit of black armor and what resembles a horned helmet with a crescent moon emblazoned on her forehead. The helmet's eyepiece occasionally widens and un-widens as if it is her mouth. Her torso is dominated by a dragon face whose beak occasionally opens and closes, revealing a small eye. It is unclear whether which face is the true face.

"Let me guess...You're here to make me move?"

"Yes."

"No."

She's confused.

"...No?"

"Did I stutter? I'm not moving."

She readies her spear.

"Then prepare for..."

"Let me stop you right there. I get that you're doing your job and following the law, and blah blah blee bloo, whatever. I have been through one of THE worst days in my life. My mind, soul, and charitable goodwill have been pushed to limits that are very VERY thin now. I am in no mood to deal with any more crap. So I'm going to say this once because I ain't fighting you or moving from this spot till this electrical blockaded is gone...Turn around and go home."

She doesn't take me seriously and laughs.

"Heh heh...You have no power to give me orders, human."

She takes a step closer and I snap.

"I͏͟ ̧̀̕W͝IL͘͡L̴ ̶Ŗ͟͜I͝҉P͘ ̵O͜F̧F̛͞ ̸̀Y̧͡O̡͢U̡͠R ͠H̸EA̶͏D͏͢ ̸̕A͜N͢D S̢̛͜Ḩ̶Į͢T̵̕ ͝D̶̀OW͞N̷̴͠ ҉͞Ý̸̢O̡͡U̡͢R ̸ŅE̴͝CḰ̡̧!͞͞!̧͢"

She stumbles back in shock. The strange energy sparks off me. I regret everything.

"I̵'͘͟͏ḿ͢͞ ̧̕͞so̧̨͡r̴̢ŗ̷͜y̧.̵̛.̢͞.̛p̢l͝ea̷se͢.͟.́͢.leave me. I'm so sorry."

I seem to have disturbed her. She slowly steps back and turns around when she's convinced I'm not going to move.

"Adieu...Human."

She leaves me and I let out a shaky exhale. It's getting worse. I'm losing control. I can't do this for much longer. I haven't been given any proper time to deal with this shit. My internal bottle has been shaken too much! It's going to explode! I...I...

"What the heck was that?!"

Flowey pops up beside me and I'm too freaked out to be startled.

"Sis? What's wrong?"

I hold myself in an attempt to squeeze into a tiny ball of self-loathing. This only worries him more.

"Lynsie?"

I...I can't...I need a break. If only I had my music. I could drown out all this. Lose myself in the lyrics.

"B-Bro..."

"Yes? Talk to me. I can help. Tell me what you need."

"...H-How fast can you get to Snowdin?"

He frowns.

"You want me to get 'him', don't you?"

All I can do is nod.

"I...I can help too. You don't have to turn to him."

My eyes dart to the blocked path. He puts things together. He is a smart boy after all.

"True. Mettaton is that way and the room his encounter takes place in is an elevating platform. I can stretch from my roots pretty far but not THAT far."

He pouts.

"*huff* I guess there's no other option. He does have experience helping you out when things get bad. And he can teleport."

I feel bad that I'm making him do this...again. Like in the dead timeline.

"I...I'm sorry."

"Wha...N-No! Don't apologize. I understand. You're worried. It's okay. We'll get through this. Family helps family. What kind of big brother would I be if I didn't do everything to help? Even if that means getting others to help when I can't."

"...I need a hug...please?"

It pains me to see him hesitate. But vines come out to wrap around me for a bit.

"Thank you."

The vines retract and he extends to nuzzle my cheek.

"It won't be like last time. I promise. You won't kill anyone. No one's going to die."

"H-How do you know?"

"Because you're strong. You just have to believe in yourself. I know I do."

...I needed that. I give him a smile.

"There we go. There's my sis. Now keep that smile. I'll get Smiley Trashbag and we'll be back home with mom in no time."

He really is too sweet for this world. He sinks into the floor and I forgot to ask how he was able to get through this floor. I mean, I guess he said he can get through cement so metal can't be too far of a long shot. Asriel sure is a super strong boy even as a flower.

*BUZZ*

The power to the coil suddenly is shut off remotely like I so knew it could be. Damn it. I was hoping to have more time. How impatient is Mettaton for this? Reluctantly, I get up and walk down this new road. Halfway along this bridge, I am blocked by three vaguely familiar monsters that look like tougher versions of monsters I see in the Ruins.

Final Froggit has spike-like protrusions on its head and eyelids, accompanied by a crown-like muff on top of its head. Its lips are marked with lines, as though wrinkled from age. Its "shoulders" are decorated with sharp excrescents, while the silhouette between its legs forms a face with a triangular smile and cross eyes.

Whimsalot has a more human-like appearance than Whimsun. Also, its antennae are thicker, and there is a muff on their head that branches in two. Whimsalot's appearance is also accompanied by a double-bladed spear and a knight mask. Its ghost-like torso is skinnier and shorter.

Astigmatism's body consists of a large ball and four spiked limbs. The ball is accompanied by two "horns" on each side. When idle, a large eye can be seen on the ball also with three eyelashes. However, it changes from this face to another where the eye hollow is changed with a smile. When having its eye closed, the two side eyelashes become Astigmatism's eyes, while the middle one simply becomes a marking.

I don't know what I must look like to them. Probably dreadful. Because they move aside with not a word being side. I nod in thanks, proceeding to the end which for all I know might be the most tragic moment of my life second to Grillby dying. No! Stop it! Do as Flowey said. Smile. Stay chipper. Think of something silly. Like how dumb this place is. Honestly, was Gaster high making this place? I'll have to ask him later. Nah...I'll ask Sans. Less hassle.

The bridge comes to an end, leading to a shadowy doorway and an elevator that probably would've been super handy but was out of order to pad out the length of this bullshit subplot. Augh...It's so much easier to think my life is a fictional story or internet abridge series. It's the only way my brain allows most of this crap to make any sense.

"So this is it, huh? The epic conclusion of this grand show. Heh...I want to feel accomplished for making it this far. Almost. But all I do feel is..."

I can't finish my sentence. The weight I thought I got off my back earlier begins pressing on me again.

"Nothing...I feel nothing. *sniffling* Damn it...Don't fucking cry!"

With a breakdown seconds away from happening, I enter the doorway to the room of darkness and a door shuts behind me then locks. There is no going back now.

Please...I made a promise...Please...Don't make me have to RESET...Please...I'm begging...Please...

[adinosaurnamedmittens]

God I CANNOT shut up in my brain about how much I love Kaede Akamatsu. And how jipped we were of a badass fem protagonist. I mean, don't get me wrong, Shuichi's cool, and I love his relationship with Kaito and Maki, but FUCK! IT WOULD’VE BEEN SO GOOD!

So good under cut bc, like I said, I cannot shut up

Like instead of bitchass Kokichi leading Shuichi to obvious conclusions, we could have a detective who's not super sure of his own conclusions cluing in Kaede on the case. And then the more confident and sociable Kaede would convince the rest of the students. Co-heros Kaede and Kaito doing a workout plan with Shuichi. Two hurricanes of positivity pulling Maki out of her depression? Kaito occasionally taking a chiller role and letting Kaede shine? Kaede playing the piano for everyone to decompress after a trial? Kaede falls into depression after learning the secret, and Shuichi shows up w/out his hat for the first time, saying "I've been thinking a lot about what you said. And you're right. I can't keep running away from things I'm scared of." They embrace. She looks at him tiredly, but with a hint of mischief. "Did you really get charged up all by yourself?" He laughs. "Hm, well, maybe Maki had a hand in it." he backs up a bit. "She's really worried about Kaito. I think, she needs someone like you. I think we all need someone like you right now" Kaede scrubs her eyes and gives him a tired smile. "Alright, alright. You don't have to keep guilting me. Just, give me a couple minutes, okay? I really need to shower."

I just have so many thoughts, man. Like, maybe the first case was Ryoma taking his own life to save the others from the time limit. And then Kirumi kills Rantaro instead, bc everyone suspects him of being the mastermind from Shuichi’s trap and pictures. So when Kirumi was looking for potential victims, she chose the obvious troublemaker. Oh God, and if you could still swap between Shuichi and Kaede, having them on opposite sides during Gonta's trial? Where you could pick between controlling Shuichi and revealing the truth, or Kaede and fighting Shuichi at every turn? "Why Shuichi? Why do you keep fighting me?" "Because of you! ... Because, you said... I have to reveal the truth. And trust in myself. And something's off about this case. I... I have to see it through. I have to find the truth." God, you could play the fourth trial so differently based on who you chose!

And HOLY SHIT the group tension after trial 4! Kaede forgives Shuichi before Kaito does, and they have a long talk. But Shuichi is still acting weird, and Kaede n Maki are trying to pull the boys back together. With Kaede involved in Operation: Get the Boys to Talk, it gets a lot more intense and unavoidable. Kaito yells that he’s trying to avoid saying something impulsive and hurting Shuichi. Shuichi says that he gets it, and turns to leave. Kaede tries to rally the squad, saying that they have to work together to stop the killing game. Shuichi goes “That’s rich, coming from you.” The rest of them look on confused. Shuichi covers his mouth, clearly not intending to say that. He quickly turns to leave, and Kaede runs up and grabs him “What do you mean, Shuichi?” He stays silent.  “Shuichi, tell me!” “...I know what you did. At the library.” he says quietly. Kaede’s face goes from confusion, to shock, to horror. She drops his arm. “You told me to face the truth. So I did.” and Shuichi walks away. Kaede collapses as Kaito and Maki rush to her side. Kaito yells at Shuichi, maybe even follows him out the door, but Kaede is just crushed. She knows the only reason Rantaro survived was the body discovery announcement distracted him and pulled him out of place from the shotput ball.

Cut to the next day, when Kaede decides to invite them all for tea, and confess to Kaito and Maki about her plan to kill the mastermind in the beginning. Kaito and Maki arrive first, Shuichi being late due to nerves. When he shows up and sees Kaito, he immediately turns to leave. but Kaede calls after him. “Wait, Shuichi! This isn’t about you and Kaito. It’s... its about me.” Shuichi stops. “Kaede, I was out of line last night. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Kaede smiles sadly at him. “No, you’re right. I’ve been running away from the truth, too. But I’m ready now. It’s just... I could use a little help, y’know?” And Shuichi sits down and they both explain to Kaito and Maki how Kaede plotted to kill the mastermind, and was only stopped by sheer luck. They all come closer together, bc of course they do, They accepts Maki, of course they’ll accept Kaede. And Kaito chastises Kaede about keeping all her burdens to herself.

[hyperions-strap]

for the abo prompts?: rhys and jack have been trying for a baby for a while. nothing seems to be working until one morning jack wakes up with his scent different and sweeter, and as it turns out, rhys is prolly a little too into the pregnant jack smell.

✨💞 Done and posted over on AO3 💞✨

Feel free to send any more prompt ideas 💘

-

Jack lets his head hang like dead weight, trying to enjoy the feeling of Rhys' knot swollen inside him. His body is aching, only the sweet bliss of endorphins from his alpha knot relieves the pain. They've been having sex every available moment, it's only just starting to become tiresome and more of a chore than a pleasure. Jack always feels content afterwards, when Rhys is practically ready to pass out, and they just stay together, quiet, enjoying the release of their bonded pheromones wrapping around them both like a blanket. 

It's more enjoyable for Jack when he's laying on his back, of course, but they've tried that dozens of times, they wanted to test other positions. Admittedly, appreciating how thick Rhys' knot is works best when he's sat up straight, riding him. 

He rests his hands on Rhys shoulders, watching the younger man's chest slowly rise and fall with each steady breath. He doesn't even notice the touch of Rhys' flesh hand against his hip - not until there's an accompanied voice to match.

"Jack," his voice is barely even a whisper. It's wrecked from exhaustion, cracking under the weight of itself, but still manages to be  quintessentially Rhys' at its core. Jack lifts his eyes to look at the younger man. His heart flutters when he sees him smiling. "How you feeling?" 

There's a sorrowful silence for a mere second, before Jack exhales the heaviness cluttering his chest. "I'm fine, kiddo. How's your dick feeling?" He does his best to act normal, but the withering corners of his smile are more of a give away than he realises. Rhys extends a hand to stroke his cheek - the cold metal is surprisingly soothing against Jack's bare cheek, nice against the rough edges of his scar.

"It'll happen, Jack. These things just take time for some people."

Rhys' optimism is warming. It does surprisingly help Jack feel less broken, but it can't work miracles. They've been trying for months to get pregnant, but to no luck. They've seen doctors, fertility specialists, voodoo witches, and hippie love gurus claiming to know the secrets to a bountiful fertile bond, but nothing. There's nothing wrong with either of them, they're both perfectly fertile, everything is in working order, it's just a lack of lady luck, so to speak. Jack doesn't want to admit it, but having no success is beginning to weigh in his self worth more than he appreciates. He's never been a lovey dovey, family oriented, domestic omega, but something about starting a family with Rhys feels unexplainably right. He'd say it's destiny, but that's too cheesy for his liking.

Why couldn't they make a baby then? It seemed like child's play, any moron with a knot and an above average IQ could make it happen, but inexplicably Rhys and Jack couldn't. They'd synced their ruts and heats, they'd used fertility enhancements, they tried every old wives tale as far back as they went, but it seemed like fate had other plans. After a while, the frustration began to infuriate Jack. He wanted this so bad - to give Rhys the family he deserves. It's the one thing he can't threaten or bargain his way into getting! His status as an omega hasn't bothered him since he was a teenager, but now he can't help but resent himself. 

He's lucky to be bonded with the most level-headed, docile alpha known to man. Jack could easily put down any knucklehead that pushed him too much, it didn't matter if they were an alpha or not, but having someone with patience and understanding certainly helped Jack's blood pressure. Sure, stereotypes about alphas and omegas weren't inherently true - Jack and Rhys were proof of that - but Jack couldn't deny when his hormones and pheromones for their heaviest and clouded his judgement, he certainly appreciated the loving embrace of an alpha that adored him no matter what.

After a while, Rhys' knot begins to go down, and Jack, with about as much grace as an oversized gorilla, pops off his lap and flops down beside him on the bed. His eyes shut the second his back meets the mattress. A hand rests against his flat stomach, playing with the coarse hairs covering his skin. Jack peers down to see Rhys watching him, content to do so forever.

"I should probably elevate my hips or some shit, right?" Jack teases, lifting said area and holding himself in position with his hands propped against the small of his back. "Keeps the baby goo inside or whatever."

Rhys grimaces, shaking his head. "Don't call it 'baby goo', that's disgusting."

"True though."

"It's cum - just call it cum!"

Jack laughs. He lets the lower half of his body fall back down, bouncing slightly against the springs. Rhys goes back to mindlessly playing with his belly hair, twirling it, sweeping it one way, enjoying how it feels. Jack tries to ignore the pestering voices crawling out of their hiding holes, telling him he's worthless, that all his accomplishments have been for nothing if he can't have a baby with Rhys. They tell him he deserves this, for all the bad he's done, for being a dictator, for being so selfish most of his adult life.

Rhys can see the wheels turning in Jack's head. The older man thinks he's subtle, but he's as easy to read as a kid's book. He rolls on to his front and crawls up to rest on Jack's chest, pouting playfully, walking his fingers up his biceps. Jack smiles softly.

"It'll happen." He says quietly, but it does little to reassure Jack. Rather, it makes him frown.

"What if it doesn't, huh? Will you be okay without a brat to take care off?"

"You're really convincing me you want this to begin with when you call it a brat." He laughs, but Jack rolls his eyes and turns away. It's harder on him, Rhys knows - it's always the way with omegas, but when your partner is hell-bent on denying old fashioned stereotypes associated with his status, it likely will result in deep seated repression, only to finally show itself in abrupt murderous rampages. Getting Jack to admit he even wanted kids to begin with had been a tedious trial, and it hurts him to know he opened a wound he can't heal.

Rhys takes Jack's face in both his hands and kisses him tenderly, drawing out the passion so it sinks in deep with Jack. He loves him more than words could ever begin to convey, even on his worst days, and he hates to know he can't immediately make things better with the flip of a switch. 

"It," he kisses him again, "will," and again, "happen. I know it will." Rhys says on the end of a heavy breath, kissing him one more time for longer. Jack moans softly, his hand looping round to hold Rhys' waist.

"Will you be okay if it doesn't?" Jack sounds so fragile, maybe even a little scared. Rhys looks at him shocked before kissing his forehead.

"If we've still got each other, that's all that matters, okay?"

Jack accepts it for now, just so he can settle in for the night and get some sleep. It won't keep him happy forever. The inevitable self loathing will come back, stronger, but all he can do is keep going. He doesn't think Rhys is lying either - he probably will be okay with just Jack if they never have kids, but it's still scary to imagine a world where Jack's better half leaves him because he was some kind of detective omega. He puts his arms around Rhys and does his best to think of good things. Against all his instincts, he even says a soft prayer to himself, hoping for good news.

-

A few weeks go by with no change. They still fuck like rabbits and research any new fertility treatments available, but it's boring routine at that point. Eventually Jack suggests they think realistically about giving up, which Rhys fights him on and insists they just need to stay positive, but the older man gets serious fast. It's easy to assume Jack's just being his usual aggressive self, dominating the conversation, belittling Rhys to feel like a tough guy, but the truth is he can't handle feeling like a failure much longer. Waking up, taking tests, seeing no change, it's starting to seriously break his heart. 

One morning however, when Rhys had to spend an all nighter at the office, Jack wakes up with what feels like a groggy hangover. Everything is just slightly discombobulated, his limbs feeling heavier than usual, and his eyes take a lot longer to adjust before he can confidently sit up without getting dizzy. He's not sure why he feels so peculiar - he hasn't been drunk in God knows how many months - but he's too tired to really ponder it. He rubs his eyes tirelessly with the balls of his palm, followed by stretching his arms out wide above his head until he hears a distinct crack from his back. 

He thinks about getting himself breakfast, but the comforting heat of his bed is too intoxicating. He wants to snuggle down again, bury himself under his duvet and sleep away his day without a care in the world. Thankfully, just as his stomach begins to rumble, he hears the front door echo, and Rhys' tired voice call up to him. 

"Before you collapse in bed, do me a favour and make some French toast, will ya, pumpkin?" Jack yells out. He grins victoriously when he hears Rhys groan in response. The sound of cutlery clinking together is like music to Jack's ears. 

When Rhys looks shattered when he walks into the bedroom with Jack's food. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, along with his shirt untucked and left scruffy after popping a few buttons, and his eyes struggle to keep themselves open. When the plate is in Jack's hands, he haphazardly clambers out of his suit pants and collapses with a thud into the bed beside Jack, face first in the pillows.

Jack eats his toast, staring at Rhys, amused by the sight of his wonderful alpha disheveled. It takes a few minutes before Rhys moves again, lazily sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The only sound between them is Jack's crunching.

Then Rhys frowns. He turns sharply to face the older man, staring at him quizzically. When Jack catches him he pauses mid bite.

"Wha-?" He mumbles past the toast in his mouth before taking a bite and swallowing. Rhys flares his nostrils and sniffs the air loudly, to Jack's dismay. "What's the deal, cupcake? You're being a freakin' weirdo!"

"Something smells good…" Is all Rhys can say before he's feverishly sniffing the air again. Jack rolls his eyes.

"I'm eating French toast, it's probably that."

Rhys shakes his head. "No, this is different...it's kind of sweet."

"French toast can be sweet--"

"It's not French toast, Jack!" Rhys snatches the plate from his hands to put in the bedside table. Without warning he grabs Jack possessively and sticks his nose flat against the crook of Jack's neck, scenting along their bonding point. It causes the older man to shudder, a sudden spike of heat rushing through his veins and lighting every muscle he has aflame. Rhys inhales deeply up and down his neck repeatedly. It's really sweet - almost sickenly so, but not so much Rhys would want to pull away. It's like a familiar smell, homely, that makes him want more and more so he can unlock a treasured secret. He inhales more, as if even possible.

Jack starts to feel wavy. Rhys' own alpha pheromones begin to fill the air, possessing Jack, gently rocking him into a tranquil trance. He's fully aware of what's happening, but his body is lighter than he remembers it being. It's a safe feeling, an uncontrollable peace that happens when Rhys is blissfully possessive. He moves his arm to touch Rhys' face, wanting to stroke his cheek and maybe try persuade him into a kiss if he's coherent enough to do so. He gets as far as Rhys shoulder before the younger man takes his hand in his own.

Then Rhys licks Jack's sensitive skin, and moans like he's experienced food for the first time after being starved. He licks again, then nips him softly, stopping when Jack starts purring a little too sensually. It takes a lot to pull himself away, but when he does he immediately knows the answers to all his questions. He takes Jack's face in his hands and kisses him excitedly, knocking Jack out of his state.

"You're pregnant!" Rhys cheerfully yells, bombarding Jack with congratulatory kisses. The older man mumbles in confusion, eventually able to detain Rhys from his wild excitement to actually understand what's happening. He stares at Rhys, his eyes wide like dinner bowls.

"Run that by me again, kitten?" He asks urgently, and Rhys obliges, taking his hands in his own.

"Your smell, Jack, it's different! It's us, it's a mix, and it's the most amazing smell I've ever smelled in my entire life!"

Jack is still visibly confused though, baffled by the frantic happiness his partner displays. He lets the words sink in for a moment, then moves to get out of bed, pacing the spot. He thinks about the impossibility, how it's a cruel prank, or a trick, or maybe even a dream. Is there a smell? The French toast still smells pretty good, he doesn't want to say it's him in case it's just his own gluttony tricking him.

Then Rhys pounces out of bed and nuzzles into his neck again, sniffing in short bursts before inhaling deeply again. Jack's legs go tingly, and he has to catch himself against the wall before he falls in a slump. He can feel Rhys' cock tenting his boxers, pushing up against him eagerly. 

"Kid, slow your roll," Jack manages to get out, pushing Rhys off him so he can see his face, still lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'm still catching up. What's that nose of yours trying to tell me?"

Rhys composes himself best he can. He takes Jack's hands in his own and pulls them to his chest. His heart is beating like a jackhammer, fearing it might burst any second. Jack can't fault him, his is about the same if Rhys is really about to confirm what he thinks he is.

"It worked, Jack. You're pregnant."

The words carry such weight to them, Jack's embarrassed to say he actually tears up. It's a surprise to Rhys, he hadn't expected the older man to shed a tear for just about anything, but there he is, waterfalls falling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop. Jack frowns despite them, says it's Rhys' fault for inducing some omega hormone in him, but it doesn't ruin the moment. Rhys pulls him in for a long, loving hug and squeezes tight. He takes joy in nuzzling his nose into his neck again, scenting what he's now sure is their offspring, snug and protected inside Jack. It's the sweetest smell he'll ever know, he's sure. 

They book a doctor's appointment to make sure it's all true, and sure enough it's confirmed. Jack gets a scan and they see their pea sized baby on a blurry black and white monitor. It's almost surreal, Jack's convinced he's still dreaming hours after the appointment. It doesn't fully register until he's back home standing in the kitchen, and Rhys has his arms wrapped around his middle. His hands are placed gently over where their child will grow. It makes both their hearts flutter to think about.

When Jack feels an airy fuzziness coming over himself again, he groans, trying to knock Rhys off. "Stop scenting me, for God's sake, or I won't be able to stand the next 9 freakin' months!"

Rhys chuckles. He kisses their bonding spot softly and leans over his shoulder slightly. "It's a really good smell though, Jack."

"Well what do you expect, it's me you're talking about. I produce only the best."

"Yeah," Rhys spins Jack around so they're facing one another and holds him in his arms. He can't help the huge, dopey grin lifting the entirety of his face. "You really do."

[sparring-spirals]

Please do a meta on how absolutely awful trent is and how the nein oppose him if you are willing. Please, thank you

Alright, anon. Sorry for the delay, caused by, among other things:

1- Every time I tried thinking about Trent my brain kept saying "Get FUUUUUCKED IKITHOT" and absolutely nothing else, which doesn't make for a great meta.

2- Related, every time I did actually try to answer it, it spiralled into multiple pages of extremely detailed and tangent-ing rage about the 3 million and one things Trent sucks for, with great detail in why things suck and are horrifically harmful and I, personally, should get to fistfight Trent. Eventually I realized that a- i don’t have to extensively cover everything Trent has done wrong (not physically possible) b- i shouldn’t (bad 4 my blood pressure probs)

3- I kept randomly tangenting into specific pedantic/moral shit that Proves Why Trent Is Wrong, and it’s basically the equivalent of, idk, trying to use calculus to win an argument with a squirrel; it might be relevant, I might be correct, but that squirrel does not give a single fuck about the calculus when making decisions.

After many attempts this has come out to more of a bullet point list that gets more incoherent as you travel down. I’m not sure I got to the second half of this ask. Tbh my first thought was this post (A GREAT POST), although I’m assuming you meant more in a narrative-foil kind of way. Maybe someday.

For the sake of not bombarding people with Ikithot bullshit, a read more. Feel free to not look if you think it will incite Bad Feelings in ya.

- The things Trent did /to/ Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf were bad. I’m hoping I don’t have to extrapolate on that. For my own sake I’m not going to.

-> ok i said i wasn’t going to but i just want to say that: intentionally targeting youths, who have allegedly/specifically limited opportunities in life due to circumstance, knowing that “devoting your whole life to blank cause” is going to sound amazing to them, and taking that as free range for you to Fuck Up Their Lives and phrase it as “ah but without me you would still have No Opportunities” is so, so, so deeply fucked. Both in fiction and in real life.

-> fuck

- The general highline stance of “i do things for the greater good” is Deeply Fucked for various reasons. To avoid pedantic tangents (as mentioned above), I will simply point to Caleb saying “I believe we can do better. I believe we can do this with a little less blood.” ily caleb. you’re doing great caleb.

-> [deleted rant about the inherent issue with tossing innocents into woodchippers to weigh against a nebulous greater good that is meant to Help Someday] [deleted rant about You Motherfucker Don’t Get To Be All Cruelty Happy And Pretend Its All About The Future]

- Phrasing the losses FUCKING MURDER as soldiers dying valiantly for a greater good/cause DOESN’T COUNT WHEN THE PEOPLE DID NOT KNOW/DID NOT AGREE/ DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT CAUSE THEY WERE DYING FOR, you fucking 

-> THIS DOES IN FACT COUNT, THE CHILD SOLDIERS YOU RECRUIT, IKITHOT. Because they don’t know! They don’t! They didn’t! You don’t get to pretend that the rose tinted vision you sold them at the start lets you count as “informed consent”, you don’t get to keep piling sins onto them and say they knew what they signed up for at the start because they fuckin didn’t-

- and it is SO SHITTY, that Trent knows and uses this against them. Caleb is still fighting this, Astrid repeated the sentiment. They’ve done unforgiveable things. They were necessary. They were unforgiveable. As a result, they need to keep doing them, they have to have been worth it, because what if they weren’t? What then? What if those awful things weren’t worth it, but perhaps they are not irredeemable and marred for the rest of their lives?

Trent can’t let them think that. So he ties their sins and their tragedies together, because as long as They Have Lost So Much, It Has To Be Worth It, They Have Done So Much, It Can Never Be Forgiven, both reign true. They can’t leave. They can’t leave. Caleb is fighting his way out of this, step by step, but it is awful that we still see it in motion, in Astrid, in Eadwulf, in every new recruit whose life he’s going to burn, whose sins he’s gonna tally and use to bind them closer.

- And this fucker, this fucker, tries to pull back in Caleb’s growth to him. Tries to take credit. This is. Absolutely a thing! That abusive people do and it makes me so deeply, overwhelmingly furious. 

-> Caleb made himself, Caleb grew, Caleb rebuilt. It’s a Mighty Nein made Caleb. It’s a Caleb that has taken lessons of love and forgiveness and learning, of awkward apologies and bakeries and dick jokes and families. Caleb who fought so hard for every inch of growth, of forgiveness, of being able to see fire and trying to say his regrets without letting them burn him alive. And this asshole-

-> “You had to break to regrow. You’re welcome.” christ. christ. I’ve been trying to pick apart a good way to phrase this all week, and I’ve decided on this: Pain is not the only way to grow strength, to grow resilience. I think pain, and strife, and struggle are, perhaps, the easiest ways to test these qualities. But pain is not the only way to create a strong person. Loss, and fear, and grief, and suffering, are not. People can have an immense capacity for strength and resilience without needing to be burned to the ground first. Trent is looking at someone who came through a trial by fire and acting as if he is responsible for the outcome and not just the experiment. You ““““breaking him to rebuild”””””” wasn’t necessary. Even if you were a definite part of the path that Caleb took to get to where he is? You don’t get to claim credit for it, you geriatric fishstick motherfucker.

- *lies facedown for a bit*

- also i KNOW astrid and eadwulf both are like. very much in a space of their own right now. and not necessarily even in a space to start recovering from trent. and the Nein very well might have to fight and/or kill them. but god, i want so badly for them to get out from Trent’s influence, and befriend the Nein, and befriend Caleb. i want so badly for things to get better for them. even if they don’t see it that way at first.

- i think i should just leave this on my generalized anger at him trying to uproot Caleb’s general sense of security by claiming guidance on how he got there, trying to insert himself as all knowing and constantly in control. I don’t even care if its true. I don’t care if he did make a plan for Caleb to escape, because no matter what Trent planned, he didn’t fucking plan for the Mighty Nein, no one can plan for that shit, so things are not gonna be under his control the way he’s pretending they are.

- i hope Veth superglues his ass to his chair somehow. Not his robes. His ass. 

[ziracona]

Hi! I just realised I havn't popped in in awhile. Do you have any headcanons u feel like sharing about the newer survivors?? (I love them all, they're so cool but I think imma have to say cheryl is my bby gurl. she's tired. let her rest.) also. i am. going insane. from a toothache :) - Sleepy

Hey! Hope your tooth pain clears up! I’m so sorry—that’s one of the worst. : /

Hmmm, I do, but I’m trying to think of ones I haven’t said in asks before. 😬 Unfortunately my memory of fictional characters is great, and my memory of what I said in asks is shitty. :’-]

I don’t know the newer survivors—except Nancy and Steve—as well as I do the older ones, because I’ve never written them, and I haven’t played Silent Hill. I like Zarina, Yui, and Cheryl a lot though. Poor fkn Cheryl can join Quentin in the “Please God, just one good day?” Existence. Rip to them both. 😭

Poor kid gets out of hell once, and ya throw her back in. :’-]

Let’s see—headcanon I am fairly sure I haven’t already shared. I think Yui and Min would get along really well, and Jane and Zarina would too.

Yui hates the serial killers especially, from her own personal experience, and goes to bat hard against them every time.

Ash flirts with everyone to a point it’s even more than Ace does, and for a while it becomes a competition between them to see who can flirt more and better than the other (not in a shitty way—everybody knows they have the competition going on and it’s more a ‘I can act better than you’ than a ‘I can win more hearts’ one.) Ace is declared the winner in class, Ash the winner in sheer quantity he’s able to churn out, and they agree to call it a semi-draw. It’s actually a really fun week for everyone, because they’re all constantly being complemented and flirted with in a way they know is performative and seeks 0 real actions from them in return, so essentially they are just showererd with ‘drunk girl in a bar bathroom’ levels of praise for seven days.

Felix and Nancy are the only two with significant others waiting back home, and they bond over talking about their wife/boyfriend and sharing stories and having someone around who understands that specific brand of pain and can encourage them that they’ll make it back home.

Tapp is a dad, so he gives Felix a lot of advice on stuff since he was an expecting father. Not so much “do this” advice, since his relationship with his family didn’t go so well, and he feels like he’s in absolutely no position to teach—more like “It’s okay. Women have been giving birth for thousands of years. She’s gonna make it just fine even if you’re not home yet, and you’ll get back to them. And I’m gonna teach you some of the tricks so you’ll be ready when you do. You can even surprise her by already knowing how to change a diaper and warm a formula bottle. I’ll show you how to do it,” and talking him through some of the stuff he would have been able to learn from infant care books. It’s sweet, but Tapp almost dies when Jane says its “Very heartwarming” and teases him, so they cut him some slack. Felix is really appreciative. Laurie has taken care of a ton of kids, and gives him some advice too, and so does Nancy, who had two younger siblings.

Steve is a disaster who suffers from “I like you and you are a girl, so *pigeon meme* Is this falling in love?” syndrome. Gets shot down hard by Laurie, who is ridiculously pissed at him for bringing it up during a trial when their lives are on the line, but after he gets over being super awkward around her, and she reaches out to be like, ‘Look, dumbass, why did you even like me?’ And he’s like ‘...because you’re, uh, really cool? A-and pretty? And...’ and eventually she’s like ‘Buddy, you don’t even really know me. You’re just lonely. You’re not in love with me, you just want to be, because you want to be in love with somebody, and that’s not gonna cut it, for me, or anyone. Be in love with a person—not with the concept of being in love. And for that to happen, you have to know them first.” And since Steve is good af self-improvement, he realizes she’s got a real point, and tries to find his worth outside of needing a girlfriend, and becomes both a lot happier, and one of Laurie’s closer friends. (Side note—this extends probably only to my initial Steve ideas. I had the idea batted around that in that universe, Stranger Things /is/ an existing show, but it’s based on a mix of urban legend and history from the 80s, and Nancy and Steve are the version from the actual 80s, and I think in that pitch Steve is dating Barb, who is still alive, and already worked through this specific issue, because many things happened differently for wild comedic ‘But in the show’ effect, becuase both them repeatedly going “WELL REALITY WAS A LITTLE DIFFERENT” when like, monster hunting shit from the show won’t work on the Demogorgan, and *Spit take* “THEY HAD ME HIT ON ROBIN?” “Ewwww” “YEAH ewww! She’s basically my lesbian little sister! We’ve been best friends since grade school! What the fuck :’-]” make for amazing joke potential. )

Cheryl starts having nightmares where she sees things from the Entity’s eyes she was never meant to see, and finding out dangerous amounts of information this way. The Entity decides at some point this is too big a threat, but because it’s proud, it doesn’t want to just kill her, as that would be admitting a human is a threat, so it starts having killers gun for her mercilessly to try to get her to give up, and the poor girl is in agony.

Zarina documents stuff form the realm constantly, and has a careful scrapbook collection of all notes and paraphernalia from past survivors. She also keeps conspiracy pages tacked together trying to figure out who they were becuase they deserve at least the justice of people somehow knowing how they died and what they went through. Laurie is a big help with this, and so is Claudette, who has been keeping stuff for a long time.

Yui is very no-nonsense, and protective. She gives off strong big sister vibes. She especially also loves board games/puzzles/other games like Shogi or Go and such, and Dwight and Adam create game pieces for her to play Go with when she mentions how much she used to like that kind of thing, and Yui is incredibly touched, and makes several other ones for people to play with too, and it becomes a very enjoyed pastime between trials. It’s engaging and competitive, but much more relaxed and low energy than sports or training or going for a run, so it’s a great alternative. Meg gets super into making puzzles, and all the artists do too, and take turns painting pictures on boards, cutting them into puzzle pieces with extreme painstakingly slow care, and then doing puzzles together. Jake is invaluable in the actual cutting pieces out area, but actually enjoys to do it.

Felix knows a lot more than anyone else about the Entity when he’s taken, so he spends a bunch of time with the research team trying to recall whatever he can from his childhood and sharing any information he has, then just stays on it because he wants to. He’s desperate to meet Benedict Baker someday himself, becuase that man seems to get around, and he really wants to know what happend to his father.

Everyone becomes protective as fuck of Cheryl when the Entity starts targeting her, and someone—I think Kate and or Meg—probably both together—as a one-off joke call themselves her knights at some point, becuase they’re running such dedicated protection detail, but it becomes a whole thing, and several more start to do it. They’ll like ‘fist clasped arm across chest at attention, quick bow’ when they see her, and it’s goofy as fuck, but it helps a lot making Cheryl’s reality more bearable. Plus, it’s really sweet. Nea gets in on this and comes back one day with a little daisy chain she made cause she was bored, sees Cheryl, it clicks, runs over and offers it as a ‘favor’. Zarina sees and comes back later that day from a trial and kneels and presents Cheryl with a rescued toolbox with a brand new part. This becomes increasingly common and extravagant, and Cheryl /cannot/ deal, but it’s like, genius, becuase it takes exactly this level of surreal goofy friend bullshit to distract from the hell she is living. She ends up just regularly having someone come back from a trial or trip to the woods, salute with an arm across their chest, bow, and present her with anything from a pinecone or pretty rock, to flowers or a medkit, to a salt statue or key, to a painting or hand made bracelet, to a makeshift weapon or a pillow. Everyone always tries to outdo each other, so the gifts tend to be extravagant. Zarina considers herself Cheryl’s righthand woman/personal knight by chocie, because she wanted a cause to fight for and has found one she truly loves, and she makes Cheryl her favorite gift so far, coming up to her at the end of a long day, after a very bad trial where Cheryl was mercilessly and slowly killed by the Pig, kneeling, and offering a thick shard of stained glass from the chapel, made sturdy and held in place with a few chunks of soldered and wrapped iron along the blade and down the grip, forming a razor sharp and reinforced stained glass knife.

[mvnvgedmischief]

you’re so obtuse but i love you anyway: au where sirius doesn’t go to azkaban, and james and lily don’t die, and sirius and remus work at hogwarts, in conjunction with the wolfstar nerds discord server. 

sirius is chaperoning a hogsmeade weekend. he wears his leather jacket, emblazoned with padfoot across the back, and his favorite sex pistols jumper to the outing.

1.7k words of fluff

the sunshine streaming in to the room is a lie if you ask sirius. the warm glow of the morning dapples in through the windows, and casts the most glorious light on remus’s dirty blonde waves, and illuminates the splattering of caramel freckles on remus’s nose. it truly is a sight to behond, and if sirius didn’t feel so utterly cynical about the sun right now, he’d probably thanking merlin that he gets to see remus looking this beautiful and peaceful. but the sun is a liar.  april in scotland has no business pretending to be warm the way it does. the sun beaming down on the grass looks so fucking lovely that he shouldn’t need a coat, and yet the temperature is still a cool 45 degrees. 

he’s lucky that he isn’t expected to dress with the formality does to teach, he’s lucky, because it means he can pull on the acid washed sex pistols jumper remus has been wearing around their quarters recently, that smells like him, to chaperone his third years at hogsmeade. he’s so grateful that he and remus are here, together, teaching. in their youth, they had never really grasped what life would be like beyond the war. he and james had discussed it once, but they never got further into the conversation then maybe we’ll be quidditch players. and puddlemere united didn’t want someone like him on the team. james didn’t want to go out for the trial when he had a new baby at home. so instead, sirius and remus had settled for a bit. they had a spell of muggle london, and they had loved every minute of it. they had relaxed into routines of going to clubs, going on dates, perfecting recipes, and living in domestic bliss. but eventually, that had come to an end, and they needed something to occupy their days. sirius was thankful that the war had ended, and that dumbledore had offered him a job at his alma mater, teaching defense against the dark arts, no less. it had always been a class he deemed useful, despite how close to home it hit for him. he and remus were back in the castle they had forged their relationship in, walking the same walls they walked in their youth. and now, he was off to watch a new generation of students do the same thing, taking their friends to hogsmeade and courting each other over a chocolate bar. 

he thin fingers wrap around the soft fabric of the jumper, and the feeling of warmth, of a closeness to his lover, radiates through him from the contact. it makes his chest ache in the best way to have access to remus’s clothes like this, and to be able to wear them without fear. there had been so much to be afraid of, so many hurdles to overcome in this castle the first time. but the world was a different place, four short years ago when he graduated. he pulls the jumper over his head, and the smell of parchment, oak, and earth overwhelms him. it could make him cry tears of joy, if he thought too hard about it. he slips on his drainpipe jeans, and his chuck taylor trainers. remus had always been fond of them, and who was sirius to deny his boyfriend the simple pleasures in life. he puts on the kettle, as usual for his morning routine, and heads toward a mirror to style his hair. he’s finally gotten his inky strands to lay just right when he hears remus stirring in bed. the part of his mind that he thinks accounts for his wit forces a smug smile on his face, because he can’t help the way he immediately feels pride knowing when remus will wake up, given his routine. just on time. 

when remus finally sits up in bed, the kettle is ready. so instead of returning empty handed, sirius waltzes back towards the four poster bed with to mugs in toe, one tea black with a heaping scoop of sugar, one with milk and honey in the perfect balance for his snobbish, tea drinker boyfriend. there’s a light smile on his face, and he hands off the beverage before he even has the time to greet remus with a sweet good morning moonbeam. 

“cariad bore da” remus smiles, his eyes still hazy in his early morning sleepiness. 

“morning, love.” sirius smiles, although he’d be a liar if he said he’d actually been told what those words meant. through context clues, he’d figured it out long ago. it’s the same way remus greets him every morning, with the same pet name he’d been given all those years ago in sixth year.

“you’re chaperone today, right?”  “yeah, ‘m right chuffed about it honestly.” “oh, i’m sure you are.” remus grins, because he knows that sirius “i’m super punk” black loves chaperoning the kids on hogsmeade weekends. he loves to impart any wisdom he has at zonko’s. he loves to come back with little surprises, like a new book or some chocolates for remus. 

“so you’ll be back around dinner, then, yeah?”

“should be. i’ve got to shove off, if i don’t want minnie to have my arse for being late.”

sirius pulls remus into a kiss, and it’s so full of the love and peace they’ve made for themselves, right here, in this home. if sirius was being honest, he’s probably never been more at ease, even with the snivelling greasy git of snape roaming the halls with him. he pulls on his leather jacket and makes a move for the door. 

“oi, sirius black! you’re really gonna walk out of here in that jacket, and my jumper, right now. that’s fucking unfair.” 

“moony, i’ll be walking back in here in your jumper and this jacket in a couple of hours.” he laughs. he tosses his hair over his shoulder to make eye contact with remus as he reaches for the door, and he definitely doesn’t pretend not to notice the way remus gives him a once over with a love sick smile adorning his face.

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when sirius arrives in hogsmeade, he does as he’s supposed to. he keeps an eye on the kids, seating himself on a bench to keep track of who’s going in and out of zonkos. he’s already taken care of his errands in the small town for the day, a tiny package secured in the zipped pocket of his jacket, and a bar of chocolate for remus in his other pocket, patiently waiting for when he returns to their chambers in the evening. he doesn’t expect to see liz tuttle and penny haywood walking up to him, eyes wide and giggling over something. neither seemed like the pranking type, and most of the students knew that that was truly his specialty on these trips. 

“professor black!” penny calls, and he looks up from his book to acknowledge them. 

“alright girls?”

“we just had a question for you.” liz begins, her eyes fixed intently on his jacket. he isn’t exactly shocked, really, neither penny nor liz had ever asked him about it, but that didn’t mean plenty of other students hadn’t had inquiries about his proclivity for muggle fashion, or the fact that he never wore robes. both he and remus dressed much more like muggles than the majority of the hogwarts staff, and students were bound to have questions about muggle casual clothes. 

“what’s a padfoot?” liz asks. she was clearly the bolder of the two, but penny was also a joy in his class.

“sorry– what?” 

“padfoot? you’re always wearing that jacket, and it says padfoot across the back. what’s it mean?” 

sirius can feel his lips curling into a smile, but he simply shakes his head. he couldn’t tell them it was his nickname. not when the map, which was still in the castle, clearly stated messr. padfoot on it. he could deny any connection to the map, should it come up, if no one knew it was his nickname. 

“it’s a muggle joke, girls. don’t worry about it.” 

“is that–” penny starts, but liz shoots her some kind of look that sirius has neither the time nor the energy to decode. “is that the jumper professor lupin wears all the time?”

that however, does get a reaction out of him. the young man can feel his cheeks going read at the question, because he really didn’t think these kids took so much stock of his and remus’s closet, and it was his jumper anyways, why shouldn’t he wear it?

“‘s a matter of fact, yeah, it is.”

“oh– you two must have been very good friends while you were at hogwarts if you share clothes.”

“yeah, friends.” sirius agrees, resigned to the fact that he knew remus didn’t want everyone talking about their relationship. sure, it had been four years since they attended hogwarts, but that didn’t mean the bigotry they had experienced no longer existed. and they were so happy here, it would be ridiculous to jeapordize it, if students’ parents found out about them. 

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when sirius returns for the evening, he’s in just as breezy of a mood as when he left. he’s got a shit eating grin on his face, because he’s overwhelmed with joy every time he spends a moment alone with remus. as soon as he’s back, he’s finding his place with his arms wrapped around remus, and his lips pressing gentle, loving kisses into his boyfriend’s hair. 

“i got you something today.”

“you always get me something when you’re chaperoning.”

“if i want to spoil you moonshine, i’m going to.”

sirius pulls the small package out of one pocket, and the bar of chocolate out of the other. when remus’s hands pull the wrapper off of the smaller of the two boxes, and open what’s inside, the joy on his face is something that sirius is sure could rival any magic, or any god.

“just wanted to say i love you.” sirius whispers, watching as remus slips the modest silver band on his finger. 

“i love you too.”